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treesandtheirberries · 3 years

Text

Dad!Harry talks to his daughter about her questioning sexuality

A/N: might make this into a blurb series? so presh. if you have any concepts around this, send them my way.

wc: 2,249

June was Harry and Y/N’s first baby, their biggest accomplishment before they were soon having another child. June was currently 13, the awkward age of Middle School, puberty, and overall questioning of identity. Y/N and Harry wanted this weird stage to be a smooth transition. They always encouraged her to express herself, with clothes, in hobbies, with their conversations. Although their first child, they both felt as though they managed to get through the difficulties of becoming a parent easily (thanks to the massive amount of parenting books, from birth to adolescence, that Harry kept buying while June was still in the womb).

Yet, there is only so much you can prepare your child for, and surely you can’t be there to guide them through every difficulty. Harry and Y/N weren’t sure if June would question her sexuality as both of them weren’t straight, they didn’t know if the process was the same for heterosexuals. But they never skirted around the topic. If anything, they encouraged watching same-sex couples in movies and such, even having many friends who had families with someone of the same gender (or a partner that was non-binary).

Harry hoped that this would be an excellent way to acclimate their children to the varying diversity of the world. Y/N grew up with racial diversity, but anything deviant from heterosexuality or cisgender was heavily frowned upon. They hoped that with their lack of omission of the varying aspects of identity their children would have the opportunity to understand themselves easier rather than constantly question their identity.

They forgot to take into account that this was simply a stage in adolescence they had to endure though, as Eric Erickson put it: a fight between identity and role confusion. And June was currently right at the center of it.

June, even as a child, was usually calm and they rarely had problems with her being fussy like they do with the twins, Mazzy and Mick (named after the artists constantly playing on their home turntable). Thus, any changes were quickly noticed in her behavior.

-------

Picking up the kids from daycare and June from school was on the top of Y/N’s list of things to do for the day. She adored seeing everyone’s faces after a day at work and seeing their warm smiles and tight hugs always brightened her mood.

Today, things seemed different.

June jumped into the front seat with a grunt, a frown, and even went as far as throwing her bag onto the floor of the car forcefully. This was generally out of character, except Y/N and Harry have noticed these bursts of anger more recently.

“What’s eating at ‘ya bug?” Y/N calmly asked, wanting to maintain a balance of emotions although knowing June was perhaps all over the place as most teenagers are.

June rubbed her hands on the top of her thighs and noticeably took a few deep breaths; a calming tactic her father taught her when she was younger to calm herself. She took a few more breaths until facing her mother to talk. “Sage didn’t want to hang out this weekend,” she finishes, the frown being found on her face once again.

“Oh, is she busy? Thought you two were having a sleepover at home?” Y/N inquired. She knew Sage and her daughter were best friends since the beginning of sixth grade, and she hoped they would maintain their friendship although she knew the ups and downs adolescents faced it might not be possible.

“She said she’s going to the mall with Rye.”

“As in the bread?” Y/N chuckled, trying to lift the mood.

June rolled her eyes, another behavior that has risen in frequency. “No mom. A boy. That she likes.” She grumbled crossing her arms and sinking further into the seat.

“Oooooh I see what’s going on here, Sage is going on a date!” She rose her voice to a pitch of puppy love, which didn’t sit well with June.

“We promised we wouldn’t date boys in Middle School. They’re all so stupid and ugly. I don’t get why she’s ditching me for him.”

Y/N was a bit surprised by this. Harry and she have talked about the day they’d have to worry about June’s infatuation with others and they were dreading it. Hearing that June didn’t have interest in it now was a relief, but of course, this whole conversation was concerning.

“I understand, not the nicest to make plans with someone when she already made some with you. But June-bug, you guys are teenagers. Of course, she’s going to take an opportunity to go on a date with a freaking boy!”

“Language momma!” Mick yelled, the three-year-olds’ well acquainted with naughty words.

“I guess. Just rude s’all.” June finished with another grumble. She wasn’t known for throwing huge fits, and her outbursts were usually this short.

Still, Y/N knew that this would be something that would affect her for the rest of the week. Her daughter is calm but incredibly sensitive, and the two parents have learned how to work through her internal struggles. She decided to ask the usual question during June’s turmoils: “wanna talk to dad about it?”

“Yes please.”

--------

Harry was finishing washing the plates as Y/N was getting the twins ready for bed. The small domestic moments like these reminded Harry of how lucky he was to have a family like his. He noticed June’s mood as soon as everyone entered the house, and once Y/N confirmed they would need to talk later, Harry was preparing himself to support his daughter through her problems. Y/N and he were definitely lucky with their firstborn being like June. Sometimes he’ll credit his efforts in teaching June meditation early, and depending on the day, Y/N agrees.

As he dries the plates to put back in their cupboards, June walks in.

“Hiya bug. C’mere give Poppa hug.”

June rolls her eyes (he’s having a hard time adjusting to these teenager habits) and walks closer to her father. Although she’s extremely close with both of her parents, there is a timeless connection she has with her father. “Not a child anymore dad. And please, do not call yourself poppa again. You’re not that old yet.” She mumbled in his chest, clearly needing the affection.

“Mom said you wanted to talk? Want her there?”

“Uhm. Maybe we could just talk in my room please.”

“Of course, let me just put these plates all back” Harry smiled, only letting go of the hug once he felt June move away. A small trick he learned from his mother after she attacked him with countless parenting trips: never let go in a hug with your child, let them determine when the hug is over. It gives them more comfort and stability in their lives and although he saw this as minimal, he understood its significance.

“I’ll help.”

----

As they walked to June’s room, they caught Y/N walking back from the twins’ room. “Hey baby, twins are done for. I’ll be in the room. “ She pecks Harry quick on the lips and turns to June to wrap her in a hug. “Love you cutie,” she winks at June as she goes to her room.

“Love you momma” June smiles, happy that she has a supportive family like this one.

“I’ll be there in a bit,” Harry smiles, his arm going back to June’s shoulders, giving it a squeeze.

Once they get to her room, both take a seat on June’s bed. Her back is on the headboard while Harry sits at the edge facing her, cross-legged. Every once in a while June would request to speak to Harry, Y/N, or both of her parents on the issues bothering her. Harry and Y/N were proud of having a daughter that felt comfortable enough to communicate with her parents, and they always were looking for new ways to enrich themselves with the issues kids have a different ages.

“Speak to me June, what’s on your mind lady?” Harry starts, initiating the push. He can tell that she’s struggling to bring her thoughts to words.

“Did you....well. How did you ... realize you didn’t like ... uhm, just girls?” She hesitantly asked, too flustered to look at her father on such a strange topic.

Oh, it’s happening, Harry thought. “Well, I was pretty young, I guess around your age, and I realized that I just wasn’t fully straight. It developed from there I guess, I talked to a few friends about it, spoke to your grandma, and eventually met a boy I really liked. It was really scary, I’m not going to lie, figuring out my feelings at that point. After that, it wasn’t a big deal and everyone in the family understood. I just knew something like gender wasn’t a big deal to me, and if I liked someone I liked them. But it’s different for everyone. Your mom can tell you how she found out she’s bi.”

June was soaking in the information her father gave her. She knew both of her parents weren’t straight, but hearing how they found it out was something entirely different. It wasn’t that she was foreign to the concept, but in personal terms, it was utterly confusing.

She finally looked to her father, giving him a small smile at the personal information he shared. They were a very open family, but something about this felt even more personal. “But, did you ever think you were faking it?”

“Not really, but you already know how pretentious your father is,” he chuckled, lighting the mood. “Your mother, as she’ll tell you, had a completely different experience. Said she struggled for years thinking she was either faking it or actually completely gay! She once told me that she just couldn’t disclose it with anyone, and that led her to a lot of contemplation. But if you’re feeling this way too, I need you to know your mother and I are here to support you in any way we can.”

“Dad,” June scrunched her eyes looking down at her crossed legs. “I think I might like girls. Or at least, I think. After Sage told me she’d ditched me I just realized I don’t like her just as a friend.”

At this moment, tears began to form in her eyes from all the confusion. Instantly Harry brought her into aa encompassing bear hug, keeping her safe in his chest. It hurt him to see her going through this dilemma, the inter-workings of adolescents were never fun.

“It’s just,” June suddenly choked on a sob, grasping her dad’s hoodie. Harry began to rub her back for support. “I like her I think. Like really like her dad. I don’t want her to date a boy, I want to date her. But she won’t like me and...I don’t know! Why did this have to happen to me!” She continued, clearly soaking his hoodie.

“Oh baby, please don’t ever think this is a bad thing. Sexuality is a spectrum, many of our friends are somewhere on it, and you already know Elizabeth and Mary are married. This is a beautiful thing to discover baby. But yes, I won’t lie to you, it’s going to be hard. There may be times you like someone who doesn’t like girls but bug, that’s simply life.”

“What if I am dad. I don’t know if I like boys at all.”

“Then you are. As simple as that. You can label how you feel or not, it’s all about what feels most comfortable to you. As you know, your mother and I will be here to support you in any way we can. If you like girls, so be it, you’re still our daughter and you know that. If you like boys, which I mean yuck,” he imitated a gagging noise, rising a laugh out of June “then okay. Both or everyone? It’s all okay bub. I do want you to think about it, It might take some time to accept it but we’re accepting you any way you are. You’re so beautiful and strong, and your sexuality doesn’t diminish that in any way.” He made sure to hug her tightly as he said this, expressing his full support.

“Dad, thank you.” June exhaled, releasing herself to wipe her tears.

“Of course, June. I’m so happy you were able to tell me this, I know it must’ve been hard.”

After a deep breath, June looked calmer after her small crisis. “I knew you guys would be okay with anything but it’s just, much harder than I expected to really like your friend who doesn’t like you.”

“It’s hard, so so hard. Ask your mum, seriously I swear she told me she also liked one of her friends at your age. Universal gay experience perhaps?” Harry pondered.

June gave a small laugh to that. “Yeah, I’ll ask. I don’t want her to think I left her out of this, it’s just that I’ve heard about your sexuality in the media more.”

“Pesky things, but I understand. It was so hard for your mom in comparison to me. Do you want me to let her know first, is it okay that I let her know you might be questioning?” He gave her daughter a sincere inquisitive look, valuing consent over everything.

“Yeah, of course. Probably talk to her tomorrow after we drop the twins off. I really appreciate it, dad.”

“No problem bug. Let’s get you tucked away.”

__________ part 2

OH MY GOD this is my first I HOPE YOU LIKE. please any feedback would be so sexy.

#harry #harry styles #harry styles prompts #harry styles one shot #harry styles one direction #harry blurb #dad!h #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #one direction #1d #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #fine line

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rainy-day-coffee · 3 years

Note

hi... how about head cannons about the dorm leaders with a magical girl mc from either the puella magi magica madoka, magical girl site, magical girl raising project or princess tutu universe please?

I'll be doing Magical Girl Raising Project for this one! I’ll be using the abilities found in the anime since I’m not creative enough to think of any myself. The personalities of the characters themselves have nothing to do with the abilities I chose, they’re their own person! This is written as platonic! I hope this is alright!

As an extra note, this was a really interesting topic to write about. I enjoyed it! I actually just binge watched this anime for this request! It was quite good, I might pick up the light novels!

Warning: Mild mentions of gore; spoilers for Magical Girl Raising Project(?)

Dorm leaders reacting to a Magical Girl Mc

A new game has been released! Customize your own Magical Girl and work hard to defeat monsters!

Granted a 1-in-10,000 chance to be a real-life Magical Girl, the unfortunate souls who agree to the contract are unknowingly pulled into a world of bloodshed. All Magical Girls are expected to collect Magical candies through acts of helpfulness. Whomever is at the bottom of the ranking list by the end of the week is greeted by death. That is, if they can even make it that far.

Magic: Swimming through objects as if they were water - the objects do not affect the user as they pass through them.

He’s never heard of an ability quite like yours! It isn’t teleportation--it’s literally going through objects, ignoring any kind of barrier. It sounds impossible. Understandably, he doesn’t believe you until you show him.

Please refrain from popping out of random places in an attempt to scare him. He doesn’t want to be on edge everyday, the stress he has now is more than enough.

He’s curious about the whole situation. Just how and why did these “people” wrap you (and others) into such a terrible contract? How is it possible to grant these special abilities onto otherwise magicless people? Unfortunately, you most likely don’t have answers for those questions.

Sadly, Riddle doesn’t know of a way to help you out of this. The library may have some information, but the chances are slim nonetheless. He can offer assistance in candy collecting instead!

Something always seems to be going on at his dorm, it would help him greatly if you were to keep an eye on everything and everyone. He knows it isn’t much, but every little bit counts. You have his full support.

Magic: Entering the dreams of others - the ability to pass through the Dream World, granting access to the dreams of those who are currently sleeping.

He’s extremely annoyed. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. He’s only seen you a couple times before, so why do you seem to plague all of his dreams?

In his dreams, you move so vividly and in-character, it baffles him. Dream versions of people can be accurate, but never to such an extent each time. He’ll confront you about it soon enough. He has no evidence of what you’re doing, however vivid memories of dream-you push him to demand answers anyways.

Highly uncomfortable to know his dreams, his usual safe place, can be invaded by a person. He demands that you stop. You can go bother someone else, he doesn’t need that kind of help. If he sees you in there one more time, he may have to resort to other methods to get you to stop.

In regards to earning candies, unless you ask him specifically for help, there isn’t much he can do. You can always help Ruggie out with chores around Savanaclaw and you’ll be set. It’s a good deal for both sides, you can earn some candies and Leona can finally sleep comfortably again.

He finds the system you’re stuck in deplorable. Unfortunately, he can’t get you out of it, but if you ever need extra help he can always have Ruggie find one or two ways to get you those extra candies you need.

Magic: Hearing the thoughts of those in need - with enough training, the user can pinpoint the location of a person. Additionally, they can hear thoughts apart from cries for help.

Your special magic interests him greatly. He already has a good pool of information of all the students, but being able to hear their most inner thoughts is something truly amazing. No amount of research could easily give him those kinds of details.

He has the twins watch over you for a bit, gathering as much information as they can about your situation and what you go about doing.

Given the circumstances, he doubts he can rob this ability of yours through a contract. This does however present an amazing opportunity.

This could blossom into a wonderful partnership. You need to collect candies, and he’s always willing to accept requests from those “poor” souls who need help. By helping him, you can meet your quota! The rules never did mention what kind of help you were limited to offer after all.

He pities you, nothing can be done about your situation at the moment. You can rest assured though, you’ll never be at the bottom of the leaderboard with him around!

When time allows it, Floyd and Jade will be busy poking their noses where they don’t belong. The mascot that appears when you’re around seems to come from that phone you use. If they can see it, then that means these beings have made a mistake somehow. Is it possible to find a way to free you from this through that?

Magic: Transforming into any biologically living being - the size and shape of the creature do not matter, anything is fair game.

When he first discovers your special magic, he’ll be amazed! Transformation magic isn’t exactly easy, so being able to turn into whatever creature you want sounds like a lot of fun!

He’ll be begging you to turn into a wide variety of animals. Can you please turn into a tiger? How about an elephant? Maybe an alpaca? This could go on for hours if you don’t stop him.

Upon learning the darker side of the Magical Girl world, he starts to cry. He knows the world isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, but this is too cruel. You didn’t know you would suffer this way. They should have at least given you all the information beforehand. Better yet, they shouldn’t be doing something so awful in the first place.

Because he finds it hard to keep secrets from Jamil, he ends up telling him about you. He then needs to convince Jamil that you aren’t trying to get him killed.

He goes around asking if people need help. He wants to do everything he can to ensure you survive. Money can’t get you out of this game, he’s tried to use it but that mascot that follows you around always refuses it.

Kalim doesn’t want you to die. Just thinking about it makes his head spin and worry bubble. It wouldn’t be his fault if you died in the first place, but the guilt would consume him entirely.

Magic: Freely manipulating sound - the user can generate sound from anywhere and even recreate the voices of others. As an added result of this ability, the user has enhanced hearing.

Vil won’t forgive you if you decide to mimic Epel’s voice so he can escape. He may be evading his lessons for now, but Vil will find a way to drill them into him later on.

He never would have thought such a thing was possible. This terrible fate you’ve had forced onto you makes no sense. The beautiful power you’ve been given is nothing compared to the price. He doesn’t blame you, he blames whatever is doing this.

If such a game exists in the world of Twisted Wonderland, he’ll use his influence to dissuade people from playing. Vil will do this behind the scenes of course, his public image has to remain intact.

He actively requests your assistance. For example, helping his dorm improve their instrument playing--your impressive hearing can detect small mistakes they need to work on. Apart from this, he regrettably can’t offer more help.

Hone your abilities and work with what you have. He knows you can prevail. Please take care of yourself as you move forward.

Magic: Receiving one futuristic tool a day - the ability to randomly pick one useful tool out of 444,444,444. The tool breaks down and is no longer of use after a day passes.

He’s in awe. A real life Magical Girl! To think they could really exist outside of anime! Just what kind of world did you come from? Forget living in a world where magic is common, Magical Girls are on a different level entirely! Curiosity gnaws at him, but given how shy he is he won’t approach you with questions himself. Ortho is more than happy to ask any questions for him in his place though!

Once he finds out you’re one of those Magical Girls, he feels a tad sympathetic. You really got the short end of the stick in life didn’t you? He knew the possibility was there, that trope is not uncommon, but a small piece of him wished it wasn’t the case.

He supposes your special magic can be compared to gacha luck. You never really know what you’re going to get. Unfortunately, in your case you can’t even calculate rates for good rolls.

If you’re willing to let him, he’ll happily take apart the tools and gadgets you get from your daily pull. One of those future items should help him create even better machines than he can now! And even they can’t, disassembling and reassembling objects he’s never seen is a thrill in and of itself

If you happen to hear a small tip from Ortho or someone else about an issue occurring around campus, it may or may not have been Idia. He has eyes all around the school, spotting problems is quite easy.

He’ll be rooting for you from the sidelines. You’re a protagonist in this story, he hopes you can make it through to the end.

Magic: Extreme regeneration - being able to recover from any wound so long as a portion of the user’s body is left.

Mortified when he finds your body all mangled and bruised after a rough “accident.” Malleus is ready to destroy whoever or whatever did this to you. He cares about you greatly, the very thought of seeing you in such a state makes his stomach churn and pure rage wash over him.

Once you explain your situation, he can grasp enough to understand the major gist of it. He doesn’t quite know what a “Magical Girl” is but obviously it isn’t something good. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be in such a terrible situation.

To know that you can take care of yourself in the face of danger, makes him relieved. Although he doesn’t like the idea of you getting hurt at all, a healing ability is always wonderful to possess.

While you earn candies, Malleus will be working on a way to free you.

Even if these beings who granted you this ability are “all-powerful,” his magical capabilities are among the top in all the world. Perhaps, he can start by politely asking for answers from the leader of this group. If that seems to fail, killing off that mascot seems like a good place to start instead.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #twst headcanons #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #kalim al asim #kalim al asim x reader #vil schoenheit #vil shoenheit x reader #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader

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its-deputy-caleb · 3 years

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haiiiiiiiiiiiiii can we get a john x fem reader wherein the reader is the doctor and a friend of the macfarlanes and they patch him up after getting shot by bill LOL (rdr1!! i’m not sure if you’ve played that but if you havent it’s ok to ignore this tysm :3)

WOAHH this is long overdue but I haven’t played the first (don’t kill me) so I decided to watch a 10hr play through— I’m yet to finish it cause its long and I’m watching it in short segments but I think I could tackle this. I really hope this doesn’t flop bc idk what I’m doing lmao.

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

It’s just a regular afternoon when Bonnie returns back to the ranch, you’re cleaning some of the medical cabinets, making lists of what needs to be topped up when you next take a trip to town or the Ranch’s general store. It’s light work for an easy afternoon but that all change pretty quickly when Bonnie came storming through the door, asking you for help on a man who’d been shot and needed urgent medical attention.

The list of medicines is dropped to the floor as she shows you to one of the units where he was currently laid out in the bed. You sat down, clearing his shirt and jacket to stop the bleeding and clean the wound. You were well focused on your work, stitching up the wound with practiced ease and addressing his other minor injuries like the small cut to the back of his head from hitting the ground and the bruising to his ribs from the bullet wound. Unbeknown to you, Bonnie has taken a stand behind your shoulder to watch you work.

“Damn fool thought he could take out Bill Williamson.”

“Bill Williamson?”

You could only stare down in surprise at the unconscious man before you. A man like Bill Williamson was not to be reckoned with, especially in a shootout if the evidence before you is anything to go by.

It took a few more hours of care but Bonnie stayed with you to make light of the situation and keep you company, only coming and going to bring back any supplies you needed. Once you’d properly bandaged his abdomen you stood from the shabby wooden stool you were sitting on and dusted your hands. You collected your tools into your bag and placed a soft hand to Bonnie’s shoulder.

“He should be fine now. He’s going to need lots of rest while his wound heals and he’ll probably be disoriented and dehydrated when he wakes but nothing more, you’ll find me if his condition worsens?”

Bonnie gave you a short nod in agreement, happy to stay with him for a few hours while you went and got some rest.

John woke with a splitting headache and a burning pain in his side. The events of the last few days coming back to him. He didn’t get time to think about it much however, when a golden haired woman came through the door, instantly giving him a light hearted lecture about chasing after Bill Williamson and getting shot at.

“Well while you may have done something stupid— we got to you in time and the Doc fixed you up real fine, got the bullets removed a few days ago. You’re a lucky man Mr…err?”

John made his way to the edge of the bed, sitting up and groaning at the pain that is usual for a bullet wound.

“Mr. Marston— John Marston and I suppose I should be thankin’ him for fixing me up.”

The woman leaned against the handle of the door, watching him shuffle on his feet awkwardly as she smirked at him.

“Bonnie MacFarlane. Miss, Bonnie MacFarlane and I hope you do thank her. She did a real fine job of takin’ care of you. She spends her mornings up on the hill by one of the large oak trees by the paddock, I suggest you pay her a visit before you start working off your medical bills.”

And with that, John picked up his hat from the wooden table that Bonnie had saved for him and started making his way over to you.

You were standing over by one of the smaller sheep paddocks off to the side of the MacFarlane Ranch and took in a deep breath, basking in the morning sun and leaning your elbows against the fence. You usually took the mornings to yourself, having half an hour to wake up slowly and enjoy yourself before you tented to a range of injuries and illnesses. Having been longtime friends to Bonnie and her father, your family had always been respected at the ranch and that came with certain privileges such as time off work in the morning.

Your peaceful moment was distributed, but not unpleasantly as you noticed the man who Bonnie bought in yesterday walking towards you. When he reached a certain distance his hat came off and held it in his hands, flattening his stringy hair as he addressed you.

“Pardon me ma’am, I didn’t mean to disturb you. Miss MacFarlane said you were the one needed thanking for taking care o’ me— so thank you.”

You noticed how he fiddled with the brim of his hat in his hands, trying not to look what you’d guess was embarrassed.

After you two introduced each other and you accepted John’s thanks, you offered for him to come and stand beside you by the fence.

“So who does a man have to be to go after an outlaw and bandit such as Bill Williamson?”

Your question was supposed to be lighthearted and fun, ready to tease him just as Bonnie had done for waltzing into Fort Mercer alone. You didn’t expect for John to answer you honestly

“An old friend…”

You stared at him in shock but he didn’t seem to notice as he stared out into the paddock of grazing sheep.

“Wait you know Bill Williamson?”

He could only nod for a moment, giving you a polite but almost sad smile at what seemed like a painful memory.

“Yes ma’am. There was a time when Bill and I weren’t so different.”

You actually spent a lot longer than you’d anticipated talking to John. For some reason unknown to you, John seemed to open up a fair bit. Maybe it all came down to the fact that you were approachable and kind, a quality you needed as the ranches doctor. Nevertheless he spent hours telling you about some of his time with the old ‘Van Der Linde Gang’. John spoke of train robberies and homesteads, what it was like to steal from folk and live wildly. He even mentioned gang rivalries and the epic tale of surviving a wolf attack.

He told you of some of the best times and even the worst but all of them were distance memories and he seemed quick to change the topic about why exactly he wanted to ‘reunite’ with Bill.

“What about you, Miss? How’d you end up here? Don’t see many female doctors around— w-with no offence intended ma’am.”

You let out a small laugh, hearing his curiosity turn to something desperate as he realised he may have been offensive. You kept your weight on one elbow, facing towards him and smiled.

“Well my daddy is the head doctor but he’s now semi retired. He’s a good man but he wasn’t always a doctor. A long time ago, when I was just a little girl our family were ranch handlers just like Bonnie’s family, but well… one season all the cattle got sick and were dying so my father moved to medicine. The MacFarlane’s are old friends and we’ve been with them ever since.”

John hummed, turning his gaze from you to stare at the vast Ranch that was almost a village in his eyes.

“Seem like good people— real decent folk.”

You nodded in response, growing up on this ranch became your home and you loved the MacFarlane’s very deeply.

“Indeed they are Mr.Marston, decent folk are hard to come by these days.”

Your pleasant conversation with John was suddenly interrupted by Bonnie who whistled down by the stables, clearly signalling for John to come and assist her with chores around the ranch. You could only hope that meant seeing more of John.

“It seems Miss MacFarlane will be needing my help. Thank you again ma’am, you saved my life.”

You didn’t get to say much as John took your hand in his, brining it to his mouth in a polite kiss to your knuckle before walking down the hill. He didn’t get far before you stopped him one last time.

“Oh Mr. Marston! I need to ride into town tomorrow to restock on medicines that they don’t stock at the general store. Would you be so kind as to accompany me?”

You eyes were full of hope and joy as he nodded and gave you a warm smile.

“It’s John, and I could think of nothing better than to help you ma’am”

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread onto your face as you watched John load his horse and ride of with Bonnie and a few others to work at various places around the ranch. You couldn’t stop the fluttery feeling in your stomach either at the anticipation and excitement of getting to see the mysterious but intriguing man John Marston.

(I will do a part 2 since i need more time to get a feel for rdr1!!)

#wow my first rdr1 fic #i have no idea what im doing #if this is horrible pls tell me bc i am soo lost #but i hope i did johnny justice here #and yes i promise a part 2 #john marston #john marston x reader #john marston imagines #red dead redemption 1 #red dead redemption #rdr1 #rdr2 #fem!reader

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

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In Your Eyes. Yan Izaya x Reader [COMM]

warnings: izaya orihara counts as a warning if im being honest. dude’s a jerk. word count: 3k.

7:12 PM.

This isn’t the time of day that Izaya would normally close his services. Not when most of his clientele operate under the cover of night, crawling out from their day jobs and towards him. Izaya’s second monitor is a testimony to that. Message after message flooding in, notifications going ignored after a brief glance. The inquiries have a wide range. From a businessman wanting to know if the wife in his loveless marriage is cheating on him as he suspects, to the yakuza seeking information on a rival group that has been infringing on their territory. These people, deep as their pockets may be, occupy an insignificant role at the time.

Izaya’s eyes flicker to the live feed coming in from outside his apartment. One sight in particular catches his attention, his lips quirking into a self-satisfied smirk. He stands from the leather chair behind his desk, stretches, and makes for the kitchenette. There’s a spring in his every step as he walks, fingers running over a variety of untouched teas. Earl grey, matcha, chamomile. Chamomile might be best here, he thinks. Izaya busies himself with boiling the appropriate amount of water. Any second now, he just needs to be patient…

There’s a tentative knock on his door.

Izaya already anticipated having a most prized visitor paying him a visit. The door was unlocked in advance, but the excitement in his veins is making it difficult to decide on what approach to use. Calling over to come in, or answering the door himself…? He decides on the latter. Playing the indifferent game is growing tiresome. When he swings the door wide open, Izaya’s greeted by the sight of you. You must not have been expecting such a swift response, as a cute gasp leaves your lips. Ah, how endearing a sight.

Not one to stand in silence for long, he extends an enthusiastic greeting. “Ah, [First]-chan, what a lovely surprise. Come in, come in.”

You do as he instructs, an uncertain smile on your face. He notes how you scrutinize your surroundings. Eyes shifting to every wall, your posture remaining stiff as you remain focused on nothing in particular. After a moment of deliberation, your attention returns to him, and you bow your head.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” you let out a strained laugh, fixating on the soles of your shoes. “I’m sure you must be really busy, but, uh… I had some stuff I wanted to discuss. With you, that is.”

“You’re in luck then, as I’m not doing anything at the moment,” Izaya pauses at the high pitched sound that signifies his water is done boiling. From how easily startled you are by the noise, he almost wants to tease you. Not yet, he decides. There’ll be time for that later. “Would you like some tea?” You nod your head. “If it isn’t any trouble.”

He takes this time to recall the cryptic text message you sent him earlier. How much self restraint it took not to respond -- for the greater good, he reminds himself -- the contents catching his interest. You’ve been remaining purposefully vague. Is it to tantalize him? Keep him in the dark for some unknown reason? How interesting, the myriad of possibilities you bring to the table! Izaya’s own theories are plentiful. Hearing it from you beats anything his own imagination could concoct. It was a gamble that you’d actually come by today since he never responded, a test to see just how important this discussion is to you.

It must be vital if you took the train from Ikebukuro to Shinjuku to get here, as he’s aware you have classes tomorrow morning. The day after that is clear of any university activities if memory serves. This further proves the point to Izaya that whatever it is on your mind must be taking high priority. How his heart flutters at the thought, anticipation rising as he whips together the tea. Humans once again exercise their adaptability, moving along in new directions, with just a tiny push from him.

When he returns, cups of steaming tea in hand, you’ve already made yourself comfortable on his couch. Your legs crossed, hands clasping together on top of your lap. Izaya’s oncoming set up footsteps must not have been enough to alert you to his presence, so he clears his throat. Just like you did before, you startle, jumping in place. Izaya tuts at your reaction.

“It’s not good to keep zoning out like this, [First]-chan. What if you trip and hurt yourself on the way home? Now, I can’t be having that.” He teases while handing you your teacup. You wear a sheepish smile on your face, cheeks turning a rosy hue from his teasing. This might be the first time he’s ever seen you this out of it. Upon closer inspection, there are bags underneath your eyes, and your overall reaction time is sluggish. Hm…

Izaya takes a set beside you, likely closer than he needs to be, but you never protest. A loud sigh leaves your lips as you sink into his couch. “I sent you a text earlier, but I don’t think you ever saw it.”

He nods his head in confirmation. The chamomile seems to be working its wonders already, your shoulders slumping down further. Easing you up in his presence has never been a simple task.

“I’ve been thinking a lot recently,” you take another sip, wincing at how the hot liquid burns as it travels down your throat, “What I realized is that, maybe I do rely on others too much. When Miki went missing earlier this year, you said something similar, didn’t you? That there was a lot I couldn’t do. At the time, I didn’t want to believe you. I still don’t know if I do. So that’s why I wanted to ask if you still think that of me.”

So that’s what is haunting your mind? A budding identity crisis? He wasn’t expecting something as ordinary as this, feeling almost taken aback that you’d come to him on the topic. Maybe it’s hypocritical of him to think that way. He often finds himself thinking back to the first time you showed up at his office, replaying your words and expressions in his mind like a projector. It’s unlike Izaya Orihara to be a sentimental person, yet he recalls your first meeting with immense fondness.

- - -

Namie had almost dismissed you. She informed Izaya that there was no practical way you could afford these services, and that taking your appointment would be a waste of time for them both. A standard broke college student isn’t worth all the effort. And on a regular day, he would’ve been inclined to agree. Maybe it had been the boredom, as nothing of interest was brewing in Ikebukuro at the time. Whatever the reason, in retrospect, he’s grateful for the chance encounter.

“A missing person’s case?” Izaya glances down at the coffee table, where you’ve laid out numerous personal pictures. All featuring the same girl -- Yamato Miki -- who you’ve come here today to seek help for. The job feels familiar, while simultaneously being unlike anything he’s been asked for at the same time. Information for the whereabouts of unsavory folk isn’t a rare request. This falls into a different category. You’re not asking out of ill intent, or he would’ve picked up on that by now. You weren’t lying when you said you were worried about the wellbeing of your friend.

His eyes return to you shifting in your seat. “I’m curious. Why not go to the police about this instead of me?”

From how your nostrils flare, he can piece it together before you even verbalize a response. This is the first question of his to earn such a blatant reaction. Everything prior, you had responded to the best of your ability, trying to keep your emotions in check. You steady yourself with a deep breath.

“I’d gone plenty of times, and none of them seemed to care in the slightest! Miki… she has a bit of a record, you see. Nothing serious, she wouldn’t ever hurt anyone, just stuff haunting her from her teenage years,” your gaze lowers, fists clenching by your side. “Since she used to run away from home a lot, they think it’s something like that.”

Izaya sees the pieces of this puzzle falling into place. It’s been about ten minutes since you came in, explaining your story, and his interest is starting to wane. There’s nothing that sticks out to him as unique. Maybe giving you the time of day was a mistake after all, like Namie suggested. Still, the question remains, why go to him specifically? You, a seemingly upstanding citizen, must surely have better options.

He’ll entertain this charade a tad longer. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

“It’s not unreasonable to think that,” Izaya can’t help but agree with what the police had told you. The change in your demeanor is subtle, former timidity melting away. Greedy as it might be, he wants to see more of this unsightly side of you. So he continues prodding without relent. “People with troubled pasts such as your friend have next to impossible odds to overcome.”

Your jaw’s clenching, he can see the imprints of how hard your fingernails dig into the palm of your hands. It’s simple to play someone like you to his own tune, he muses. Izaya just about had his fill of this. Maybe he’ll put a last nail in the coffin for good measure. Will you curse at him? Explode and yell? Break down crying? Storm off without a word?

“Chances are, she got in way over her head, and is currently laying dead in an alley somewhere. Or maybe she is somehow alive! In that case, what will you do then? If she couldn’t rely on you, her supposedly closest friend, why do you think that is? She either doesn’t trust you as much as you thought, or was taking advantage of your kindness all along.” Izaya can’t help the smile that curls onto his lips. Now that’s the look of despair he wanted! Being confronted with a fate you knew all along, and yet tried so hard to ignore. Only to fail, to be drawn into a vulnerable position of reality--

“So what?” The tone of your voice is eerily collected. You take a deep breath, glassy eyes refusing to break contact with his own, a sense of resolve keeping you in tact. Izaya tilts his head at this conjecture, as if to invite you to elaborate further.

“So what if she might be as bad as you say she is? Miki is my friend. I don’t care for some arbitrary method of judging people based only on possibilities. I’ll see the truth for my own eyes and decide myself.”

Well… to be honest, he was expecting an entirely different reaction. For you to scold someone like him is borderline laughable, yet here you are, doing just that. So why does he find himself even more drawn to you than before? There’s been passion ignited inside you by his own hands, social etiquette thrown to the wayside. Instead of letting this newly lit fire run rampant, you control the flame, refusing to burn as he intended you to. Izaya Orihara has never been one to back down from a challenge. Maybe this isn’t a waste of time after all.

Izaya leans in, resting his temple on his fist. “Pray tell, [First]-chan, what would you do in the event that I’m right? And your precious friend is involved with stuff she shouldn’t be?”

“I’ll give her a good wakeup slap,” you place a finger to your cheek, considering the proposition. “Then chew her out for making me worry as much as she has. In the end, I want her to know that she can come to me with anything, even the worst she has to offer. That’s what friends are for.”

A mindset like this is idealistic to say the least. Optimism has never been a field Izaya has excelled in, as he bases things on concrete reality. Is that even the correct label for your way of thinking, he wonders? You’re not ignoring the possible truth, making excuses for her, or even considering enabling her poor behavior. No, it’s a strikingly unusual approach, that takes far more patience than most people have to offer. The shift in outward demeanor from soft-spoken to this unrivaled confidence backs it up further.

Izaya wants to know more about you. To peer behind the curtain that is your mind, poking and prodding at everything within reach. Seeing how much you can withstand before falling apart at his hands. It looks like you were wrong Namie, he thinks. This is turning out to be interesting.

“If that’s the case, I’ll lend you my help.”

You blink. “Y-you will…? But you just went on a tangent about how my ‘deadbeat’ friend isn’t worth the effort.”

“What can I say? Your impassioned speech tugged on my heartstrings, [First]-chan,” he coos, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. “Maybe I’m growing soft after all. Alright, now let’s start with you giving me your phone number--”

“Hold on!” you exclaim, putting up a hand. “I don’t need help from someone like you.”

Now it’s his turn to be thrown off by another person’s words. Maybe a taste of my own medicine, he thinks.

Here he was, figuring you’d grovel at his feet for help. Now that he’s extending a hand out of what you should perceive as goodwill, you… don’t want it…? There’s no quick, witty response. The cogs in his head are turning, trying to comprehend this bizarre situation, and coming up with nothing satisfactory. He hears what’s most definitely Namie struggling to cover up a laugh in the distance.

“Were you not just trying to convince me?” Izaya quirks up an eyebrow. That’s how he perceived your earlier lecture, as a way to bring him over to your side. For a rare moment, there’s no condescending lilt in his voice, only a genuine attempt to rationalize your actions.

You’re already moving on from this loss, picking the scattered pictures up and returning them to your handbag. “Not really. I just didn’t like the thought of you looking down on someone without really knowing anything about them.”

This time, Namie isn’t capable of muffling her laughter. Izaya sighs as he leans back into his couch. How troublesome you’re proving yourself to be. Do you not realize that a few phone calls from his behalf would be enough to ruin you for the rest of your life? Or maybe you do realize, and don’t care either way. Whatever the case, he’s not letting this go. It’s not everyday someone manages to leave him at a loss for words.

“So it’s back to the police then, hm?”

You shake your head at his guess, frowning. “I’ll just figure it out on my own. Thank you for your time, Orihara-san.”

Now you’re standing to leave. Turning your back to him, you make for the door, leaving Izaya to try and piece together what’s happening to him. Izaya follows after you, intent on changing your mind. Anything to keep you close so he can continue observing.

“What exactly are you planning on doing? It sounded to me like you had no leads or connections. I’m not sure how familiar you are with investigation work, [First]-chan, but you’re not off to a very good start.” Izaya calls over, successfully getting you to stop in place. It’s a relief to know he hasn’t lost his touch. You don’t look fully convinced, so he continues on.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re going to be helpless all on your own,” Izaya points out, your grimace growing deeper with every word. He’s getting somewhere, he just needs to reel you back in. “We wouldn’t want my earlier premonition to come true.”

“I guess so,” you agree without enthusiasm, lips pursing. Izaya can’t help but feel satisfied with your compliance. Then you continue walking towards the door. “I need to give it some more thought. I’ll call your secretary this evening.”

With that, you’re out of sight, the door shutting in his face. Hm. He doesn’t get the feeling you’re acting like this out of spite. No, you’re sticking true to your own convictions, trying to get a feel for how to best work things out. Izaya’s already planning to run multiple checks on you. He has a growing curiosity for knowledge on you that needs to be quenched. What school you’re going to, where you currently live, if you have a record--

“I can’t say I was expecting that,” Namie comments in her usual monotone. From the skin tightening underneath her eyes, Izaya can tell she’s still fighting back a smile. “Someone turning down your offer to help and lecturing you? I almost feel undeserving of such a wonderful sight.”

Izaya sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair. “I’m glad you enjoyed your boss being berated so much.”

“There’s almost nothing better,” she concurs with a nod. “When you’re finished standing there and moping, I already brought her social media up. I figured you’d want to see it after that display.”

This is enough to capture his undivided attention. The boredom from this week is a relic of the past, Izaya’s enthusiasm for human beings returning in full bloom. What a terrifying beast you’ve managed to awaken. You’ll make for a fascinating source of entertainment. He already finds himself looking forward to the next time you cross paths, Izaya confident in his ability to make this happen. He excels at interrupting the flow of people’s lives unprompted.

- - -

The rest is history, so they say.

Izaya’s whittled you down this far, creating a codependency that pleases him, a result of hard work on his behalf. You stare at him with doe-like eyes. Vulnerable eyes. Waiting with bated breath to see if he’ll confirm or deny your deepest concerns.

He wraps an arm around your slouching shoulder. "Now that you have me, what you are or aren’t capable of on your own doesn’t matter anymore. Isn’t that right, [First]-chan?”

“I... I guess it might be.”

#btw the title for this fic is just a reference to the weeknd #the lyrics felt somewhat fitting...#i kept listening to it when writing this #izaya #Izaya Orihara #orihara izaya #jojo's bizarre adventures #yandere izaya #yandere #yandere x reader #durarara #durarara imagine #yandere durarara #durarara x reader #yandere imagine #yandere scenario #my stuff #commissions

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thr-333 · 3 years

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Drastic Measures- Part 16

@daminette-december2019-2020

~Deaging~

Yes I know I left a cliff hanger. Yes I know it was evil. That my friends is the point! if I cannot be an evil gremlin whats the point in writing at all.

Ao3

First < Previous

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Damian blinks awake, head groggy and with an ingrained sense to pretend he’s still unconscious. There are bird calls and the sound of the wind. He isn't at the league's base. Last he remembers he was.

Then he catches the sound of movement, not from an animal but a human. He stays still. They look around for a minute before shuffling closer to him. Foolish, they were obviously untrained and stupid. Even more so when they poke his cheek talking with soft-spoken words.

Damian grabs the wrist lightning-fast making them yelp. He surges up turning the grip into a pin and going for his sword, which isn’t there. In fact, he has no weapons. This realization makes him zero in on the person below him. It’s a girl, his age, and looking terrified. As she should be.

“Who are you?” He demands, no weapons so he presses the wrist at a painful angle.

“Ma-Marinette!” She squeaks, Damian doesn’t let up raising an eyebrow, “Dupain-cheng!”

Damian doesn’t know that name. So she can’t be a threat and she can’t be important. He lets up enough that her wrist won’t break and takes stock of his surroundings. They’re outside, a tropical area judging by the foliage. There are tire tracks, some footprints, and that's it, no other people around.

It must be a test from his mother or grandfather, those aren’t unusual. The question is what could it be. Certainly, it can’t just be to kill this girl, Marinette. Even without weapons he could have snapped her neck long ago. Information doesn't seem to be it either she doesn't have any training in resisting pain. But perhaps she can provide a clue, maybe that's her purpose.

“Why are we here?”

“I don’t know!” Or perhaps not.

He’ll have to look around. He drags Marinette over to a tree using the vines to tie her up.

“If I am meant to kill you I can do that later, it’s harder to unkill someone,” She relaxes, “Harder, not impossible,”

She is no longer relaxed. Damian paces through the forest, the tire tracks are clear, no effort to hide them, and can easily be followed back. He takes stock of his clothing. Someone changed those. They are all ill fitting, and now that he notices so are Marinette’s. Damian looks over his person for any details missed, finding a small notebook.

None of its coded which is strange in itself since it’s his had writing. Notes, a to-do list, Marinette is mentioned several times, something about a pet store, calculations and what he’s looking for; a location. They’ll head to Alaska then, he likely had to bring Marinette considering she was mentioned. He’ll have to find out where they are and move from there.

“Where are we going?” She demands as Damian unties her from the tree, not completely unbound as they start walking.

“That's not your concern,” Damian snaps pulling her along by a length of vine.

“Well, I am concerned so-”

“What?” He hisses turning to glare at her, Marinette shrinks under it.

“Fine,” She follows along in a few blessed moments of silence, “... what’s your name?”

“That’s not your concern either,” Damian rolls his eyes, this journey is going to be insufferable.

“Is anything my concern?” Marinette snarks, Damian squashes the smirk down putting up his serious facade.

“Walking faster so I don't gut you,”

That's an effective threat, at least for a while. Damina followed the trail of snapped branches and squashed foliage. If this was a test tracking certainly wasn't what was being tested. So what was? How quickly did he have to figure it out? And what would be the punishment if he didn’t?

“Do you know where we are?” Marinette tries again, she’s incessant that certain.

“I will soon,” The dirt was kicked up into what could almost be a road. They followed to find a proper dirt road and follow the worn path.

There's a few tracks, recent enough to be the past few days which means it wasn't just the people responsible for their situation that have come through here. It was a long walk. Not that it bothered Damian he had trained for much worse. The problem was Marinette. She wasn't tired, actually the opposite which was a problem for Damian. Pounding him with a hundred questions a minute.

“I’m from Paris,” Despite her hands being tied behind her Marinette still managed to lean in front of him, “Where are you from?”

“That's none of your business,” And so he kept trying to shut down every topic, but Marinette seemed more afraid of silence than whatever threat he could dish up.

When night started to fall they set up camp off to the side of the road. With luck, a truck would drive by at some point and he could commandeer the vehicle. Damian was willing to set up a fire but not try and hunt. Without weapons and Marinette in tow, it would be a pointless task regardless.

“Do you like pastries? I live above a bakery,” Which only begged the question of why this girl was important. The daughter of a baker? He was the demon heir and son of Batman, why on earth was he left here with her?

“I don’t care shut up,” Damian rolls over, Marinette securely fastened to a tree.

He wouldn't sleep tonight but maybe the illusion would keep her quiet. It doesn't. And Damina is unwillingly lulled to sleep. He only realized this when he was startled awake by Marinette warning him that a truck was coming. Damian readies himself to fight as the truck slows as it approaches them. Marinette has other ideas.

“Excuse me, we could use a ride,”

“Why are you tied up?” the driver asks looking between them concerned.

“A-a prank!” She is not a convincing liar, “Could we please ride with you?”

“Uh, sure, just untangle yourself and let's go,” Damian weighs the advantages of just killing the driver here, but ultimately deems it not worth the effort. Letting Marinette free can’t be that big a risk he greatly outmatches her in speed, strength, and skill.

Damian will admit her habitual questioning comes as an advantage as she makes small talk with the driver. Figuring out where they are. They get dropped off at the main city and from there they go to the port. It’ll be easier to stow away on a ship than a plane even if it will take longer.

“Stay quiet and follow me,” Damian warns Marinette, hiding behind crates at the dock.

Marinette nods following along closely her steps louder than his practiced soft ones. They sneak onto the boat headed for Alaska, its easy enough to stow away hiding among the shipment during the security checks.

“Wow you move like my Maman,” Marinette whispers, once the security has left.

“I highly doubt that,” Damian scoffs perched vigilant high on the crates.

“No really, she always moves silently and sneaks up on Papa accidentally,” Marinette giggles leaning back on the crates.

“Ah-ha,” Damian dismisses watching her out the corner of his eye.

“Yeah she tried to teach me but I’m too clumsy,”

“Teach you?” Damian actually looks over, “That would imply she actually trained,”

“She did, I don’t know where but I think it was with aunt Talia,” Damian freezes.

“.... Talia?” He hesitates, looking fully at Marinette now, “What's your mother's name?”

“Hm? Sabine,”

… well… it's a really good thing I didn't kill her Sabine would have taken down the whole league

“... So it was an act?” Marinette looks over at him concerned, “Surely Sabines daughter wouldn't be bested so easily,”

“What are you talking about?”

She must know something but what?

“Hey, wanna play hide and seek?” Marinette breaks Damian out of his thoughts.

“For training?” Damian puzzles.

“No silly,” She laughs, Damian can't bring himself to feel offended as it doesn't feel like she's laughing at him, “For fun,”

Hesitantly he lets her drag him along, taking turns hiding among the crates. At first, it does feel like training, staying silent, staying still. Then when she catches him he realizes the difference. There's no pain, no punishment, nothing. Marinette just smiles.

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no taglist :P

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug fic #miraculous fanfic #miraculous marinette #Marinette #badass marinette #maribat #daminette #marinette x damian

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local-spoon-does-a-thing · 3 years

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Samuel Hayden x Reader headcanons

A/N: Finally, after the long wait, it's here. I apologize for taking so long and I appreciate your patience with me! Hope you enjoy! The next one is going to be VEGA headcanons!

First meeting

For the sake of the fic, let's just say that you two met through the job. You are newly employed into the UAC. Obviously, seeing a 10 foot robot and realizing that you'll be working with a 10 foot robot would at the very least peak your interest.

Since you two would be working together from now on, you would try to get to know him better. But of course, he'll just treat you like he does with the rest of the workers and either give you boring, short answers or put down the questions. Wow, does he have a stick up his metal ass or something?

Let's just say that your first impression of him left a bitter taste in your mouth. Or maybe you're into that kind of thing, I don't know. But your curiosity for the immortal robot pushes you to continue your attempts. One day, he'll crack and boy, was it going to be worth it.

What your friendship would be like

Okay, he won't admit it but you finally got him to crack. See? Told you that your repetitive attempts would be worth it. All it takes is just A LOT of patience with this robot. Anyway, your determination starts to shine onto him after some time has passed and he admires it. Whenever his other workers tried to do the same thing you did in the past, they would all usually give up. But not you.

You did not give up one bit. Even when you felt like you were about to, you kept pushing forward with each (failed) attempt. And this was for trying to get to know him better. He can only imagine what you're like while you're working. But then again...you work with him so your work ethic doesn't go unnoticed.

Sooner or later, you two are talking and he actually answers your questions instead of giving you short half-assed ones. Though, if it's too personal or out of line, he'll put it down and warn you about it. Again, you're gonna need the patience. At least now, he's beginning to open up.

The friendship starts out very slow. There are times when you aren't able to talk to him at all throughout the whole day since he's a very busy person.

As your bond grows inch by inch, he starts to give you heavy constructive criticism on your work. Yes, this may seem harsh for some or most people, but he wants you to strive to be better. Don't worry, though! With criticism, he gives you a couple compliments here and there. Maybe if you're lucky enough, he'll offer his assistance. You should definitely take this as a form of bonding time.

Once you two get close enough, he'll start to become a bit more talkative around you. Hell, sometimes he even invites you to his office during your break times. You two would either talk about work, ask questions about each other, make some inside jokes, or just enjoy the other's company. He feels comfortable whenever you're around. Again, he won't admit it so don't expect him to admit out any mushy thoughts.

The crush stage

Ohhh boy, he has no idea what's going on. He doesn't have a heart, but why can he feel his non-existent heart beating so fast whenever you're around? Why does he become so restless all of a sudden? Had his gears malfunctioned? Was it the argent energy that was doing this to him? Hayden becomes desperate to figure out what the hell is happening to him.

He doesn't tell anyone about this since he's not that close with anyone, excluding you. He does research on his own and takes notes of himself so you might catch him more distracted whenever you hang out at his office.

If you ask about it, he'll deny it and quickly change the topic to something else. Don't bother bombarding him with more questions because he'll just continue to deny it.

After a short time has passed, he figures out what's wrong with him. And it's worss than he could ever imagine. He likes you in a not-so platonic way. Throughout his long years of living, he has never felt this way before. He was always closed off and was strictly business. But you managed to thaw your way into his icy heart. God, how could he let this happen?

You know something is going on. Before, he was distracted. And now, he's closed off, just like he was during your first encounters with him. Geez, this robot really does run on hot and cold, huh? He rarely invites you to his office now. When you're in his presence, he goes to a different room. He's trying to avoid you. He wants to get rid of these feelings.

Looks like your patience is going to be in good use once again. But you know that you can't hold it for long. If this continues, then you know that you're going to have to confront him about it.

Meanwhile, it seems that simply avoiding you and occupying his thoughts with work isn't going as planned. You still manage to end up in his thoughts. And when he sees you moving around the building, it's like someone just put glitter on his eyes (lens?) and now you look prettier than the last time he saw you.

Confession time

You decide that this whole ordeal has gone on long enough. Whether the feelings are mutual or not, you just want your friend back. Now, you stand in front of his office. As you knock on the door, you wait for an answer. It doesn't come by after a couple of moments. The door slides open and you can see the robot with piling works on his desk. Even you could tell that he was exhausted. Hayden straightens your back and tenses. Without any other word exchanged, you step into the room and cut him off just as he was about to speak.

"Doctor Hayden, do you not enjoy my company anymore? Did something happened? Have...we not been friends at all?" You decide to cut to the chase since you want to know his reasoning behind all of this.

This...wasn't expected from you. He didn't even expect your presence at all. He was going mad with these yucky emotions but sometimes, it felt nice to imagine what could be in the future. But that niceness turned into pain. Not knowing what you'll say or do to him once he confesses hurt him. He doesn't like the unknown. Though it seems like he has no choice now. One thing he wants is to get this off of his chest.

Before he confesses his reasoning for his doings, he hardened himself and braced for the worse. His confession to you is blunt and straightforward. No beating around the bush at all. Samuel stills and awaits for your answer.

If you reject him

He quiets. Nothing is to be heard in his office but his gears turning and working. He braced himself for this, yet he wasn't ready enough, not strong enough. He doesn't know what to feel. Anger? But not towards you. Sorrow? He was mostly at fault. Hayden does nothing else but give you a nod and dismisses you from the office. Maybe...it was better to keep quiet. He won't make the same mistake again.

Your friendship is more cold and lonely now. He copes by burying himself with work, barely giving you any attention. He still wants you as a friend, yes, but it just hurt every time he saw you.

If you accept

Totally caught off guard. Hold on, he just needs a minute. Wait, so you like him too? He asks once more to confirm it, and you did. He felt like all of the weight he's been holding has finally released him and was replaced with a familiar feelings of euphoria. If robots could smile, he would be grinning right now. But you could tell by his voice that he was immensely happy. The feelings are mutual, thankfully. He stands from his desk and walks over to you. He doesn't know what to say or express so he hugs you for the first time and thanks you.

What your relationship would be like

At the beginning stage of the relationship, he will be a tad bit agitated. He already has a hard time showing physical affection when you two were only friends before. Plus, this is his first relationship. He doesn't want this to be all willy nilly, he wants this to be a very serious thing. So for a while, you're going to have to be the one to initiate the affection first. He's a quick learner so soon enough, he gets the hang of it.

Definitely NOT the PDA type. During work, he is strictly all business. No tomfoolery allowed. He won't hold your hand when there's other workers around, no lovely words from him, etc. The most that he'll do is place a hand on your shoulder or on your back. I think that he would rather keep his relationship private instead of letting the whole world know. But behind the doors, oh boy, he can be one smooth motherfucker. He may not be good with physical affection, but he can be smooth with words.

Once you two have built up your relationship, he becomes more comfortable with giving affection and reciprocating it. He'll hug you more often, give you encouragement whenever you're feeling down, or maybe just even hold your hand while he works (but only if it's just the two of you in his office).

Not gonna lie, he gets pretty beaten down every time he realizes that he can't kiss you. He doesn't have lips, after all. So you're the one that's going to have to smooch his face plate. His body overheats a bit every time so be careful.

As for cuddling, he's like your own personal heat rock. This robot doesn't really need to sleep, but you do. He'll let you sleep whenever you sit on his lap and just admire your peaceful expression. At first, he may seem like a cold-hearted metal killjoy, but he really does care. And he really cares about you.

#doom eternal #doom 2016 #samuel hayden #samuel hayden x reader #doom x reader #x reader #fanfiction #headcanons

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0dirty-deals0 · 4 years

Note

idea inspired bc my bf likes to hold my boobs when we cuddle/sleep. i asked him why he likes he likes too but he got all shy and stopped. i want my tiddies grabbed so everytime we cuddle i slip his hand under my shirt so he knows he can do it. so maybe the brothers reactions to female mc grabbing their hands and doing that? hope that's ok! + sorry for the mini story 😔

The Brother's reaction to Mc letting them feel the tiddy:

Warning: Not really n/s/f/w, but chest feeling is mentioned. Chest is generalized so reader can be read as Gender Neutral.

Lucifer:

◇The first time you place his free hand on your bare chest is while you're sitting on his lap, keeping him company while he works per his request. He is incredibly confused by your action and raises a single brow to signify it. You do realize he still has work to do, right? As much as he wants to mess you up, he can't at the moment.

◇You have to bluntly tell him that this is just a comforting gesture to you. He won't question you any further but he will start wondering what other strange interactions humans have nowadays.

◇After a while he starts to notice how soft and warm your skin is under his hand and how comforting the rise and fall of your chest is. His tense form slowly relaxes and he finds himself at ease.

◇He's put in a good mood the whole day because of that gesture and he finds himself finishing some of his work quicker as well. When days are particularly rough, he now likes to hold you in private while resting his hands on your bare chest. Don't try to tease him about it while he has you in his grasp because this man will squeeze and tease back harder than you did.

Mammon:

♤The two of you were enjoying a rare, quiet moment in your room. You and Mammon laid on the bed close to one another and that's when a brilliant idea popped into your head. He was already a blushing mess when you took his hands but the moment you guided them under your shirt to place them on your bare chest he let out a strange screech like noise in the back of his throat, his face looked as red as Lucifer's vest.

♤He's quick to stutter out a, "What the hell do ya think you're doing!?" Even after you say that this is just a comforting feeling to you he's still a flustered mess.

♤He immediately notices how soft and warm your skin is under his hand and he's holding back from squeezing. He's in heaven but like hell he'd admit it.

♤If you try to pull away he'll prevent you from doing so. He'll quickly adjust your positions so he's spooning you from behind, hiding his face with your back as he tries to calm himself. He's always greedy to have you in his grasp. Even though he may 'protest' when you try this again, he won't completely fight you on it. He makes you promise not to do this with any of his other brothers.

Leviathan:

◇It was no secret that you loved teasing Leviathan here and there. His reactions were some of the cutest. So one day while sitting on his lap, you had the bright idea of slowly sliding his hands up your shirt while he was distracted watching a new anime of his. He didn't react much at first until he heard you gasp once his ice cold hands made contact with your skin, that was when the magic happened.

◇While Mammon had a weird scream in his throat, Levi actually let out a shrill shriek. You jumped at how loud it was but his hands still never left your chest. There are no words to describe how flustered and embarassed Levi was in that very moment.

◇He subconciously squeezed your chest due to his twitching fingers, the feel of how soft and warm they were under his cold hands rendered him completely speechless. He couldn't speak, he was just, frozen.

◇You tried to pull away after thinking that you may have finally broken him but he wouldn't let you go. He used his legs to trap you where you were, burying his face in the crook of his neck, anime left completely forgotten. He's fully enjoying how warm you are even though he's completely embarassed. If you ever want him to hold you this close again, this is possibly one of the many best ways of doing so. Just, please give him a warning before he actually dies.

Satan:

♤You two were initially studying in his room but the topic of different kinds of species came up and it sort of spiralled from there. He expresses that certain human media show fondness for chests though he could never understand why. You offer a more intimate research to see if you can help him understand, to which he agrees.

♤He's confused when you gently take his hands but his face slowly turns a light shade of red when you guide them up your shirt and onto your bare chest. He has to ask several times if this is really okay with you and you agree.

♤He knew humans were soft and warm but you just felt so different to the rest. The way you felt to him was incredibly comforting and the way your chest moved as you breathe was something he found oddly soothing even though he knew it was a normal thing living beings did.

♤He finds it super hard to pull his hands away but he didn't want to make you uncomfortable. He mumbles out how he thinks he can understand why some are fond of that particular area now. You can't help but tease him and say that he's always free to have another physical session if he'd like and he surprises you by agreeing to it. He soon discovers that the feeling of your chest really soothes him in a way he never knew possible.

Asmodeus:

◇You and Asmo were having your weekly self care session when this happened. While drying yourself after a relaxing soak in tub, Asmo talks about how he can guess a persons chest size, no matter the gender, just by feeling them. You called bullshit on this skill of his. He asked how he could prove it and the only thing you could think to do was grabbing his hand and placing it on your bare chest.

◇He's incredibly taken back by the forwardness of your actions that he actually forgets how to speak for a while. A few moments passes and he tells you your chest size. (If you knew your size to begin with, his answer was right.)

◇Still, even after he's given you his answer he's not willing to let go just yet. He gives your chest a bit of a squeeze and marvels at how nice it feels. He's been with many demons and humans, maybe even other creatures best unmentioned but he's never met someone with a chest close to perfection like his own. He wonders how everything about you is almost as perfect as he is.

◇Honey you started it, so best be prepared because now (with your consent beforehand) he's going to get a feel of your chest every chance he gets when you two are alone. He finds it very addicting to do so and it doesn't even lead to something sexual most of the time, he just genuinely enjoys the way they feel in his grip.

Beelzebub:

♤You were watching a human movie with Beel and everything was going fine, besides the fact that the movie was getting a little boring. A certain scene came up where the main couple were sleeping together and one of the characters had a hand on their lover's chest. Beel breaks the long comfortable silence to ask if it's a nice feeling to humans when a person touches their chest. You shrug and say that you like the feeling but you're not sure about how others feel about it.

♤He then asks if it's equally as nice to hold someone's chest and that's when you offer if he'd like to try. He grows flustered and doesn't say a word even while you guide one of his hands to your chest.

♤He's incredibly scared of hurting you, you'll have to reassure him that giving a small squeeze won't cause you pain. He does so with such care that that it makes you giggle at how sweet he is. His eyes seem to light up at how soft your skin and makes a reference that your chest feels like a marshmallow, causing you to laugh.

♤Your chest is now Beel's favourite thing to hold when you two are sleeping together. The way your chest moves to signify you're still alive and breathing brings Beel a lot more comfort than you realize, especially when he wakes up from a nightmare of his. It's more of a soothing and comforting gesture than a sexual one to him.

Belphegor:

◇It was normal for you and Belphie to sometimes sleep together after school and it was also normal for you to wake up hours earlier than him. If you were cuddling up to anyone else, moving wouldn't be such a big problem, but Belphie has an iron grip on you the moment he feels you try to leave. You can't even trick him, he just knows. So you accept your fate as his giant breathing pillow and decide to look through your D.D.D. while playing with his hair.

◇He suddenly moves you around so you're laying on your back and he's laying on his side with his limbs wrapped around you. Not one to waste an opportunity, you decide to play around with the arm that rested across your stomach. You flop it around at first, amazed that it doesn't stir him from his sleep, then you had the idea of placing his hand on your chest.

◇That's when he stirs a bit from his sleep, looking at your embarrassed face and then at where his hand is placed. He clicks his tongue and gives your chest a small squeeze, muttering out a 'nice,' before laying his head back onto your shoulder. It was such an odd experience that you couldn't help the stream of snickers that left your lips, despite being embarrassed at first.

◇He doesn't remember much of what happened and you don't really think it's that important to bring it up. However, while Belphie doesn't remember, his body sure does. His hands will start to roam on their own whenever you two sleep together and will make their way under your shirt to your chest. He doesn't know why he does it and you don't know why either, but the two of you are comfortable with it so you don't particularly mind.

Others: Ahh, I loved this request so much but holy shit I had to redo it like 3 times XDD IN THIS HOUSE, WE WORSHIP ALL TIDDIES! Thank you for the request anon! I'm a little insecure about this post so feel free to tell me if this wasn't what you wanted! Thank you for reading!!!

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor

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blackberry-gingham · 3 years

Note

This is a bit personal but how about beatle x reader headcannons/imagines of how the boys would react to their reader feeling self conscious about their body

No problem at all! So, I've seen this trope done quite a bit on other headcannon type pages for other fandoms, and since body insecurity is something very serious to me that I myself use to (and still do) deal with, I wanted to try and take this a little deeper then "you're sad, they tell you you're beautiful, the end", so I'm sorry if these get a touch angsty, but I promise everything works out ❤️

Also, I'm so sorry this took so long dear! These are somewhere between headcannons and my usual imagines, so I hope they're alright enough to make up for the wait! And remember, you're amazing and wonderful, just the way you are ❤️❤️❤️

George

Personally, I feel like George is sort of ?? forgotten ??? Of all the boys

By that I mean, like even non Beatle fans know Paul and John, and they might know Ringo just bc that name stands out, but George???

I mean, ik back before I was a fan I could never remember who "the fourth one" was

So anyway, even tho he's kind of in the background compared to the other three, that doesn't mean he's not sensitive to how the others are treated/feeling

At the end of the day I think he'd be his usual self and a good, sympathetic ear to insecurity issues

When he finds out, it's kind of an overtime process

He's use to bringing you snacks and take a little break like that with you, especially after a long day of recording or practice

But lately, you've been... Strange about it

Either straight up turning him down, or picking at the food and not really touching anything

He asks what's wrong, as gently as he can, seeing as he honestly already suspects the answer

You and George have been together for a while now, and he's always been easy to talk to, and understanding if you don't feel like sharing, so you feel that you can be honest

"I'm just... Trying to watch my figure, you know?"

He just kind of looks at you, confused at first

"Why?"

His face is hard to read, and yet still manages to turn to a completely different, very serious, emotion

"Has someone said something to you?"

You now have his full attention as he puts aside his guitar

You assure him that no, it's just a personal thing

"Oh", he nods

"Yeah", you nod

You're not sure how this makes you feel. Perhaps you're glad it's over, but you can't help but feel... Shunned?

But before you can ruminate too much, George brushes off his lap as though he's about to stand

Instead he sits back and looks at you

"Come here"

His voice is serious, but not quite stern

Invitingly, he becons you over and nods towards his lap

You look from his face to his long, thin legs

At first you decline, brushing it off almost as a joke

You look to your own legs

He can't be serious?

He asks you again, "Come on, I want to show you something"

At this point your curiosity is peaked

You get up and approach cautiously, as though he might run away

When the moment of truth arrives, you slowly, s l o w l y, begin to sit

Tired of waiting, George hooks his hands under your knees and pulls you forward

You fall onto his lap with a little thud and you figure this is it, expecting him to shove you off

Instead, when nothing happens, you dare to peak your scrunched up eyes open and see his smile waiting for you

He leans in for a gentle kiss, all the while his hands are resting on your thighs

His legs are like iron, not uncomfortable to sit on, quite the opposite actually, but strong in a way you hadn't expected

When the kiss is broken, he slides his palms up and out until they're resting on your hips

His callused fingers tickle a little, even through the fabric of your clothes

"So um, what were you going t-?"

He shushes and you, and picks up your hand in his

George brings the heel of your palm a mere inch away from his lips

He pauses just for a moment, making direct eye contact with you, before turning back to his work

He presses a trail of kisses along the inside of your arm, to the crook of your elbow, and up your bicep

You shiver, tensing as he goes up

But he doesn't recoil, or hesitate, or do anything of the sort

He gives equal love and attention to every inch of your flesh as he goes, only stopping at your shoulder to make sure you're still alright

As though giving permission, you bite your lip and give a subtle nod, curious to see what happens next

George releases your arm, now dedicating both hands to massaging your hips with all the thumb dexterity of a skilled guitarist

Next he moves along your shoulders, dropping down just a moment to give some attention to the bump of your collar bone

When he's done there, he lingers on your neck, gently kissing and sucking up and down before settling in one spot

After a moment, he starts humming a familiar tune against your skin

"Do you this song?", His voice is just a whisper

"Hm?"

"It's one of the first songs we wrote together"

George pulls back again to look at your face...

"As much as I love you for what's out here"

...Then presses one more kiss to your lips

"I love you even more for what's in here"

He kisses your forehead

Finally he pulls back one more time, and the way he looks at you is as though all the love in the world is inside those eyes

"Never forget that. Promise me"

You seal your promise with a kiss

John

Ok so I think we all know John struggled with an eating disorder(s)

So he knows the whole nine yards of what it's like being "overweight", "underweight", somewhere in between, and still never being good enough for everyone else

I mean John is basically infamous for having been body shamed and criticized out of all the boys, particularly in the early years

So all this to say, he knows how awful it feels

To wake up in the morning, try to get dressed, and take forever to choose an outfit because you hate how everything looks on you

To look in the mirror and be unable to stand your own reflection

To think once, twice, and yes, even thrice before enjoying your favorite little snack, or even just a regular meal

He wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy

And when he finds out that you, the most lovely person in the world, feel that way...

Oh, his heart breaks

All the boys would take this quite seriously of course, but John simply has a certain... understanding that the others don't

He finds out one night on a dinner date with you

You've picked at everything all night, hardly a bite

This is starting to form a pattern, and rest assured, he has been noticing

At the end of the meal, he asks if everything was alright in a way that references much more then the food

"Oh yes, fine", you force that same smile you always give when he asks that question

He waits until you're both in the comfort of your flat to breach the topic

You see, John is a man of many faces

The first layer is prickly and aggressive, the second is a mischievous joker, the third a sweet, but anxious individual

And under all those masks, the real John, is the most compassionate and loving man you've ever met

So when he does ask you what's really going on, he's very serious and very gentle

He wants you to know that you're safe to tell him anything and that he wants to help with whatever is so very clearly bothering you

It's tough to get it out, but John is patient and encouraging all the while and you manage it

You're surprised to hear that he suspected as much

John tries to go a little deeper, asking of there's anything particular that makes you feel this way or if it's just a constant thing

Regardless of your answer, he offers you what advice he can, from both personal experience and what he learned from his therapy sessions

John's not too great at comforting speeches, but he'll be damned if he doesn't do everything he can to make sure you know just how much he loves you

He loves you for your heart, and how patient and kind you are with not just him, but everyone

He loves you for your mind, and how you too can have deep conversations about topics that are important to you both

And perhaps most of all, he loves you for your personality and how you can poke a bit of fun, just like he does, and you aren't afraid to put him in his place when he's being an arse

"Is there anything I can do for you love?"

You smile, feeling just a bit better after his speech

"How's about a cuddle?"

John grins cheekily, "Now you're talking!"

He half tackles you from his seat beside you, turning your seated position into a reclining one

You can't help but laugh playfully as he easily picks you up in a bear hug and slips under you so you can rest on top of him

He presses a kiss to your cheek

"How's that?"

You smirk back

"It's a start"

John gasps in mock disbelief at your remark

You just wrap your arms around his shoulders, snuggling against him

"Well then, I guess I'll just have to keep it up"

At that, he nuzzles the side of your face, glad to see you finally feeling relaxed

John give you one more squeeze in his strong arms, holding you close

You two spend the rest of the evening cuddled up and cozy until you fall asleep in each other's arms

Paul

Now it's no secret Paul has always been the "pretty one" of the Beatles

I mean heck, even in the freaking cartoon he has the least goofy and caricature esque face of all the boys

But personally I would imagine that he's felt a certain pressure from time to time to keep up his looks!

It would be quite draining for everyone to have this flawless image of you and then expect you to live up to it 24/7, so in that regard he understands struggling with feeling less then perfect

And certainly with feeling subpar when others just expect far too much!

The night it comes out, the two of you have plans to attend a soiree of sorts

Music, lights, dancing, champaign, the hosts are pulling all the stops and it'll be absolutely a black tie affair

You've got a very fancy dress for the occasion that you got as a gift from Paul some time ago, it's all sparkly, exquisite, and your favorite color to boot

And it... "fits"

As in, you can zip it up and move and breathe comfortably in it, but it just....

Paul finds you standing in front of the full length mirror, mascara beginning to run quietly down your face as you tug and smooth and pull the dress in varying places

He's honestly a bit panicked and confused at first. After all, he does hate to see you upset, let alone cry

"is something wrong love? Do you not like that one? There's plenty of time to change!"

"it's nothing! Just an eyelash"

You try to laugh it off and hope that he'll just leave you alone

You see, Paul has been talking about this shindig for weeks in advance

It's hosted by a good friend, many more of which will be in attendance tonight

Not to mention he hardly ever gets to do something nice away from the press, so you're trying very hard not to ruin things for him

Paul walks over to you, concern written all over his face

"No really, what's wrong?"

You try to wave him off, but he takes you gently by the shoulders and looks you square in the eye

He looks around your beautiful eyes, searching, and it almost feels as though he can read your mind

At last he says "You don't want to go?"

With that, you just can't manage to hold a brave face any longer and the tears come rolling down

Without another word, Paul guides you to a seat on the bed and returns swiftly with some tissues

He dries your eyes as best he can and thumbs a soothing circle on your hand, giving you space to tell him what's on your mind

When you've had the chance to situate yourself, you tell him that you don't mind the party it's just that the way you feel in that dress, in fact, in all your dresses is just...

Paul nods understandingly as you trail off, and the two of you sit in silence for a moment

You're concerned you've upset him and ask as much

"What? No, of course not love!"

"But I know how much you want to g-"

Paul shushes you and brings a hand up to stroke your cheek

"I don't care about some stupid party, nothing matters more to me then you. I mean that"

He tilts his head and smiles at you

"Tell you what? We'll just skip it and have some fun right here!"

For a moment you're afraid he's doesn't mean it, but there's a childlike gleam in his eyes and grin on his face that tells you he not only means it, but is excited at the prospect

You're still a little doubtful that you haven't made him upset, but Paul reassures you until you're able to take him at his word

Absolutely relieved, you agree and wipe away your last few tears

"Good. Now let's get this off you, eh?"

Paul helps you take out your jewelry as well as undoing the far too complicated latches, ribbon, and zipper on the back of the dress

His delicate fingers slide up and down the length of your neck and back reverently as he works, planting gentle kisses to the nape of your neck every so often

With the hardest part over, and ever the gentleman, he gives you space to slip it off and put on something more comfortable

When next you see him, he's putting on a sweet and slow record, something like what you would've probably heard tonight

He's removed his suit jacket, tie, and shoes and when he turns to see you in your adorable PJs he smiles at you like you're the belle of the ball

"Ahem, may I have this dance?"

He bows low and offers you his hand, peaking up at you for just a moment to shoot you a playful grin

You laugh at his silly antics and give in happily to the charade

Paul leads you in a steady waltz around and around the room, the two of you stealing kisses and suppressing laughter all the while

When the record comes to an end, you both collapse on the couch and catch your breath

By now, you're fully confident you've had more fun just now then you would've all night had you gone

After a minutes rest, Paul hops up from his seat

"Just a minute, I forgot something... Wait right here!"

He darts off around the bend and when next you see him, he's carrying two flutes of champagne

Paul takes a seat beside you again and hands you yours

"I was saving this for when we got back, thought we could leave early and enjoy the rest of the evening alone"

You smile, touched by the thoughtfulness and still riding the high of the previous activities

Finally, you propose a toast

"To my amazing, lovely boyfriend"

Paul smiles at you with adoration. You mean so much more to him then a mere toast could describe

"To my love, the most gorgeous dance partner in the world"

Ringo

Idk if this is/was a thing, or if it's just something I've noticed, but Ringo seems to be the butt of the joke, particularly in regards to his appearance, a lot

Like he's the "short" one and he's got that nose

I only ever see him take it like a champ and all in good fun, and laid back as he is, it doesn't seem to hold him back but I'm sure he'd understand feeling insecure about ones body/looks

But for you to be insecure???

He just??????

When Ringo finds out, he's honestly the most bewildered of all

He finds you sat against the wall, hunched up and crying, half clothed, and a mess of clothing strewn around you

Usually whenever something's bothering you, you know you can bring it to him.

He's always there for you, after all

So to see you like this, he's absolutely terrified that something truly awful has happened

In that moment, thanks to his roaring adrenaline, he goes from rock star to olympic sprinter and dashes to your side so quickly it's as though he teleported

"What's wrong love, what's wrong?"

He holds your face up to look at him and quickly checks over you to make sure you're not injured or sick in some way

When he sees the pain in your eyes, he's nearly crying too

He wants so desperately to help you, and take all your troubles and worries away this very moment.

Even if it meant he had to shoulder the suffering for you, he'd do it in a heartbeat, no doubt

You feel rather embarrassed to be caught like this, and even worse still to see your boyfriend so upset on your behalf

This takes you back to square one, crying and nonverbal for a bit longer

Luckily, Ringo catches on that him getting upset is only going to make you more upset, so he settles himself and holds you until you're ready

When you are ready, you manage to choke out your insecurity, trusting him as you always do

And when he hears you're insecure about your body, or even your looks in general, he is just....

Ringo.exe has stopped working

Mind, it not that he doesn't understand your feelings!!

It's just that you are so completely and absolutely beautiful and kind and so much more to him, that he simply cannot fathom the idea of holding the opinion of you as any less

"is it the clothes? Because forget the damn clothes" He takes a handful and throws them up and away, like confetti

"I'll buy you a whole new closet if you like! W-would you like that?"

He smiles hopefully at you, as though you truly would like that, and it'll solve all your problems

You simply shake your head

And, after moment, Ringo starts to understand

He sits with you silently for a moment, the gravity of your feelings is so important to him that he's not sure plain old him has something good enough to say

But he knows he wants to say something

So, he meditates on it for a moment, and decides he can only tell you the truth

"Well... you know that I love you, yeah? Sometimes I wonder how a guy like me got so lucky to be with a right angel like you.... And so do the lads"

He laughs that deep, silly laugh you love so much

"Why, I think you're the loveliest girl in all of England er uh, no, all the world!"

That earns a little smile from you

You're about to respond when you catch a shiver

You're only down to your undergarments after all, and it's a bit drafty

Ringo notices and before any mention can be made, he sets to work at removing his sweater, eager to make sure you're cared for

It seems to be putting up a bit of a fight, but he manages to come out on top

"Er uh, will this be ok? I know you're fed up with clothes right now, but I don't want you to freeze neither"

He's genuinely concerned about your feelings in the subject, even as he holds the garment out to you

Buuuut... It's cozy and oversized on you, plus it smells comfortingly of him, so you take it

"Hey, that looks better on you then it does me!"

He laughs again, the state of him made a bit more comical by his now frizzed up mop top

You point the issue out to him, grinning yourself, and he shakes it out like a dog

Which, of course, only makes it ten times worse

For the first time that day, you laugh, and it's the most beautiful sound Ringo's ever heard

Feeling a bit better now, Ringo helps you stand and offers you some tea downstairs

You take a few steps, and then stop feeling the draft give rise to some goose bumps all up your legs

"Maybe I should get some pants..."

At the mere suggestion, Ringo looks at you like he has a bright idea and immediately goes to undo his belt

You burst out laughing, and stop him

He's confused at first, but when he realizes his own absurdity in his effort to be helpful, he can't help but laugh a little too

In the end, you come to the conclusion that a blanket and a cuddle on the couch will do nicely instead... Which is exactly what you do

Ringo spends the rest of the day keeping you entertained, warm, and covered in kisses

#the beatles #beatles x reader #john lennon x reader #paul mccartney x reader #ringo starr x reader #george harrison x reader #tw eating disorder mention #comfort #angst

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sondepoch · 4 years

Text

1 Day Before Rebellion

All Hail (Diavolo x Reader)

The current ruling class is brutal. Draconian. Tyrannical. Every demon who has sat the throne for the past ninety thousand years has brought nothing but hardship to the Devildom—something Diavolo and his father intend to remedy by seizing power as leaders of the Resistance. When Diavolo happens to come across the princess of the Devildom, he’s overjoyed. He sees you as an opportunity, a sign from a higher power that his cause is just; and he plans to use you as a pawn in his Rebellion. But life rarely goes as planned, especially in Hell. And when Diavolo realizes that he’s falling in love with you, things suddenly feel a lot more complicated than they used to be.

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MASTERLIST

All you can think about is Diavolo.

And the overwhelming stench of blood that lingers in the air.

You swallow thickly and study the arena, gripping the edge of your bench in hopes that the action will soothe the sick feeling in your stomach.

Have the cage fights always been this bloody?

You toy with the question in your mind, struggling to come up with an answer. It's been nearly half a year since you last visited one of these underground rings—you've been using your free time on Diavolo instead, these past few months—and your memories are foggy. The only proper thing you remember is how savagely the Victor had assaulted Diavolo the night you met, and how this season doesn't seem to be any less violent.

"It's okay," You mumble to no one, forcing yourself to heed the words. You have to be calm. Diavolo has enough to worry about without knowing that you're terrified to the core on the benches. "He's going to be okay."

But no matter how many times your mind whispers that your lover will be fine, your heart beats a different rhythm.

"And now, we have the first of our competitors for the fourth round of combat! On one side of the cage, we have the second-place semifinalist from last season's tournament! And on the other side, we have a total newbie, calling themselves the Fists of Purgatory! Let the fight begin!"

You wince as the two fighters start for each other, a shudder running up your spine when the unfamiliar men grab at each other's throats.

There isn't an ounce of restraint in the way their fists swing. These men are making use of sick lack of rules for these underground fights. They have nothing to hold them back, and their fists are flying wild, blood already spilling onto the floor.

They're fighting to kill.

You shiver, gripping the bench tighter.

Diavolo told you not to come. He knew that seeing these fights wouldn't be good for you. That you're already worrying enough about how he'll fare when he inevitably goes against the Victor, and that this will do nothing but further your concerns.

At the time, you whacked him on the head and told him not to be ridiculous. You'd been sneaking out to watch cage fights for years, and the violence had only unnerved you once or twice.

But now?

Every demon who gets injured takes the face of Diavolo. And when the stronger demon in the ring grabs the weaker one by the neck and bashes his head against the wall, it's Diavolo's face you imagine being brutalized.

The very thought makes everything so much worse.

"And we have a winner! In record time of just forty-two seconds, our semifinalist from last year advances to the fifth round! Check back in two hours to find out if our losing demon is truly dead, or if he's simply unconscious. And now, onto the next set of competitors—"

You tune the announcer out, standing abruptly. Diavolo defeated his opponent for this round a long time ago; he won't be fighting for another half hour, at the very least.

But a voice pulls your attention away.

"Where are you going, miss?"

Your eyes dart down to the man sitting next to you, surprised to find him looking up at you in an expression of curiosity. You can't see his face, given that his mask covers everything except his eyes, but you're positive that there's a smile on his face as he speaks.

"A-ah," You mumble, feeling caught off guard. It's rare for people to speak to each other during these fights. Most conversations happen between those who already know each other, and the rest simply wear their masks in silence, guarding their anonymity like it's the only treasure they possess. This may just be the first time someone has spoken to you from within the stands. "I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't mean to disturb your view of the fighters. It's just that I was feeling rather lightheaded, so I was hoping to get some fresh air outside. If you don't mind, might I go past you?"

"I see," The demon responds, looking thoughtful. "I have no qualms with letting you past, miss, but would you entertain the notion of me joining you? These fights have been rather boring, after all, and I also would like a change in scenery."

"Of course, Sir!" You exclaim instantly, your princessly instincts taking over as you accept the man's courteous invitation. You wince a little on the inside, abruptly realizing that this might not have been the best idea, especially given the shadiness of all things and people tied to these underground cage fights—but you're confident in your strength, so if this mysterious man tries anything, you're positive that you'll be able to defend yourself.

"Let us go," The man responds with a twinkle in his eye, extending his arm to you. Without a moment's hesitation, you take it, masking all your inner reservations as the two of you walk in line until you're outdoors.

"Ahh," You whisper the moment you've stepped outside. The cool wind rushes through your body like a tidal wave, and you're overcome with the urge to rip your clay mask off to feel the breeze against your face, but you resist it. "It's much more pleasant out here. Wouldn't you agree, Sir?"

"Indeed. Perhaps we ought to recommend that these cage fights be held outdoors instead. I can never sit through a full night of watching without sneaking out to the balconies at least once."

The man lets out a low chuckle, and you can't help but think that the sound is awfully similar to Diavolo's laugh. Of course, this man is nothing like your lover, his stature built smaller and leaner—but a quiet voice at the back of your mind tells you that there are more similarities between them. Perhaps the way they walk or the aura that hovers over them—but something about this man distinctly reminds you of Diavolo.

You study him from the corner of your eye.

Now that the two of you are outside, you can properly see the demon. The moon watches over the two of you, illuminating the green hair that peeks out from behind his mask, curtained just behind a bright patch of turquoise that hangs off one side of his face.

Lovely, you can't help but think.

The boldness of the green reminds you of Diavolo's own fiery reds.

"What brings you to these cage fights, Sir?" You try to start a conversation, breaking the silence of the night.

"Boredom, I suppose. Though on occasion, it is duty that calls." The man muses. "I often tell myself that I come to watch the fighters fight. The tides of the realm are ever-changing, and it's crucial for us commonfolk to know where the power lies in the underground. Other times, I come on the orders of the man I owe fealty to. He enjoys learning about new combat techniques."

"And tonight?" You keep your tone light, almost teasing.

"I'm here to visit a friend and an enemy."

The demon doesn't say anything after that.

"I see," You murmur, bringing a hand to your face, pushing your mask further up so that it doesn't impair your vision. "I hope happiness finds your friend and that vengeance is delivered for your enemy. May the lords of Hell see your wishes true."

"Thank you, miss." The demon takes another step forward, bringing you both so close to the balcony that the loose fabric of your commoner's robe touches it. "And what brings you here? You do not seem the type to view violence for the entertainment of it."

A light laugh leaves your throat at that, awkward at the realization that this man saw how unnerved you were. It's wholly unbefitting of a demon to flinch at the sight of blood—but you couldn't help yourself. The very thought of Diavolo being hurt sends a chill down your spine.

"I'm also here for a friend. In case he gets hurt."

"I see. Do you worry that he will be defeated?"

"Oh no. Not at all. If I'm being perfectly candid, Sir, I'm quite confident that he'll make it to the finals. It's simply that I fear he may get injured in the process. I spent a rather long time healing him before, you see, so I'd rather not have him get hurt again."

"A noble sentiment. You must be a healer, then." The demon's words are even, and you abruptly realize your mistake.

"Y-yes," You mumble instantly, hoping that he won't press on the subject. Only royalty has access to medicines and most healing products; nearly all healers have been driven out of business by your family's laws. If the man asks a single question, you know all too well that your lying skills will be no defense.

You draw your hands into fists as subtly as you can, already preparing to knock him out.

"If I know your profession, I suppose it's only fair that you know mine." You blink as the man skips over your words entirely, not a single word of doubt crossing his lips.

"Which is?" You press, eager to move on from the topic of your own supposed occupation.

"A butler."

You blink.

"A butler?" You ask, trying to confirm what you heard.

"A butler."

You nod your head slowly, forcing yourself to process the words. A butler, you think, squinting at the demon from the corner of your eye. Only the royal palace and the highest-ranking nobles have butlers—nearly all commoners are either too poor or too oppressed to have any—but you're positive you've never seen this man in your life. Namely, you've never seen that patch of teal before, the only distinctive feature you can identify when this demon's face is hidden by his mask.

"I see," You mumble after a long time. "That's quite fascinating, Sir."

"Is it? A butler's duty is hardly anything special. I'm sure that healers are much more interesting. Especially given the condition of the medical markets. It must be quite the journey, obtaining all the materials you need for your work."

"Do you truly think so?" You laugh awkwardly, beginning to sense an edge to the butler's voice. Was it always there? "The underground markets have everything, Sir. Even those which the imperial palace has denied to the commoners."

"I did not know that, miss." The butler looks at you from behind his mask, and suddenly his deep green eyes no longer seem casual. His gaze is dark, as if he's seeing into your very soul. "Despite all my connections, I can't think of a single demon who has received any medical supplies in a millennium. You simply must tell me where you're buying your goods from."

The shrewd, calculating look in the butler's eye sharpens, and now it feels like he's no longer staring into your soul but surveying its contents, analyzing every truth you have hidden away.

It sends a jolt of fear straight to your heart.

"I'm getting rather cold, Sir," You deflect, hoping that your nervousness doesn't seep into your voice. You were confident before that you could defeat this man if the situation called for it, but you're beginning to have doubts now that you can feel how sturdy his grip on your arm is. "Might we go inside?"

"Of course, miss."

Abruptly, the greens of his eyes lose their scrutinous edge and fade into a softer tone.

You instinctively relax.

A voice at the back of your mind whispers that maybe it was all your imagination. Your paranoia at being found out. Your fear for Diavolo infecting all else, causing you to view everyone and everything through a lens of skepticism.

But when you glance at the butler on your right, your eyes glazing over his features once more, you're certain that you didn't imagine that cunning gaze. You may have read too deeply into his words and overanalyzed actions, but that look he gave you was real.

And it was terrifying.

"Oh my," The demon murmurs, though the surprise in his voice sounds fake. "It would appear that we missed quite a few matches."

You blink in surprise, your eyes flying to the far wall where the winners from each block are drawn up. Your eyes widen when you realize that the fifth column is almost completely filled, only the bottom bracket left without a clear winner.

The man at your side pulls you forward, walking you back to your seat, and you squint to make out the figures in the cage below.

Alas, it seems that the two of you are late even for this fight, and it's clear that the battle is over. One demon stands over the other, the standing demon's foot hovering just above the weaker's stomach in a silent threat as to what will happen if surrender isn't swift and immediate.

The demon on top presses his foot down a little further, now touching skin, and his eyes take on an intimidating glint, burning bright with the adrenaline of combat—and then the demon beneath him has raised a hand with four fingers extended in surrender, and the round is complete.

The winner withdraws immediately, stepping back as the crowd rises to their feet with the ringing of bells, everyone elated at the realization that the first night is over.

But then, the demon looks up. Up at the crowd. Up at you. And your eyes widen, because you recognize those eyes.

His mask hides his face well, and his outfit is different than anything you've ever seen. But you know that shade of red too well.

Diavolo.

But as you watch the demon raise his fist, egged on by the cheers of the crowd, a small part of you think that this isn't quite the Diavolo you know. That this man, with such a dark glint in his eyes, is as unfamiliar to you as the butler you met outside.

You shake the thought from your mind, forcing yourself to applaud with the audience as you stand in congratulations and try not to think about the look in Diavolo's eyes.

It must have been your imagination.

Diavolo's training room stinks of sweat, blood, and grime.

The sweat is Diavolo's own—one can hardly participate in a cage fight and not expect a little perspiration.

The blood is of his enemies; not a single one has been able to land a clean hit on him, though their ichor paints his knuckles as a reminder of every punch he's delivered today, every punch you taught him to deliver.

But the grime?

The grime is an entirely different story.

The grime has been in this room from the very start. The grime is a reminder, a filthy, disgraceful reminder of the overwhelming loss Diavolo suffered at the hands of the Victor in the previous season. The grime is a message from those running the cage fights that Diavolo means nothing to them, that they see no potential in him. The grime is an outright insult, not an ounce of subtlety, claiming that he doesn't even have the right to a clean room like his competitors.

In this awful, disgusting room, Diavolo hardly cares about how the towels on the floor are covered in dried blood and sweat.

No, it's the grime that disturbs him.

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, yanking his shirt off and throwing it into a locker, one of the only things in this room that isn't downright filthy. At this point, he just wants to change as fast as possible and wrap you in his arms, showering you in kisses and affection.

Of course, the world never gives Diavolo what he wants.

"There you are."

The demon freezes, his eyes widening. Impossible, he thinks. There's no way…

Diavolo turns around slowly, eyes round in disbelief as he casts a glance behind his shoulder—and sure enough, there stands the demon butler that has been by his side for so many centuries.

"Barbatos," He whispers softly, turning around.

"My lord."

The butler smiles cryptically, but Diavolo knows him well enough to see the quiet happiness that lurks in the greens, pushed far back but still not far enough.

The men stare at each other for a moment, eyes communicating everything that words cannot—and instantly, they understand each other's stories. Barbatos sees the trouble Diavolo has been facing for months on end, the struggle of love and obligation, battling each other eternally in the back of the future prince's mind. Diavolo, in turn, realizes how much his friend seems to have aged over the course of these past months, a soft sympathy settling into his eyes when he considers just how much Barbatos must have been working in preparation for Rebellion, his workload nearly doubled since Diavolo hasn't been there to help him.

The demons stare at each other for a beat longer, eyes searching for anything that might have been missed—and then the moment has passed, the spell broken. Barbatos steps forward, and Diavolo turns around fully.

"It has been too long," The redhead murmurs, leaning back against a wall.

"Indeed. But there is no time to speak, my lord."

"Oh?" Diavolo's lips curve into a frown. A bitterness settles in his heart, the abrupt realization: Ah yes, you fool. What did you expect? Barbatos is here for one reason, and one reason alone.

"Tell me," He grunts with as much politeness as he can muster, continuing to dress. "What is so urgent that you couldn't use magic to speak with me?"

"It is not a matter of magic. I am here to fight you."

"Excuse me?"

Diavolo stares dumbly at the butler, wondering if he misheard the man. But the utterly serious look in Barbatos's eyes leaves no room for confusion, and the demon is positive that he did not misspeak.

"Barbatos, why would you ever want to—"

Diavolo can't even finish his sentence before the demon is attacking him, swift punches being thrown left, right, and center as the redhead scrambles back in defense.

"Barbatos!" He shouts, desperately scrambling around the tiny room as he evades the butler's kicks. "What are you doing?! This is madness!"

But the butler pays him no heed, only continuing to throw a flurry of attacks that Diavolo scrambles to avoid. "I order you!" He tries, eyes wide in alarm. "As your liege lord's son, I order you to stop!" Yet Diavolo has no authority over the teal-haired demon, for the butler works for his father, not him, and it's hardly long before Barbatos has begun to wear the redhead down, the abrupt assault after a long night of nonstop fighting forcing Diavolo's hand.

He grunts in anger as he begins to fight back, no longer dodging Barbatos's kicks but countering them with his own, red eyes narrowing in an odd mix of fury and confusion as he begins returning attacks.

Within minutes, the two are genuinely sparring and giving it their all in the small space, Diavolo panting and shirtless as he throws what little strength he has left at the butler and Barbatos only mildly disheveled as he continues to attack.

Diavolo is practically gasping for air by the time he finally traps Barbatos against a locker, slamming the demon against it with enough force to kill, though the demon of time looks wholly unaffected by the motion. Fighting Barbatos is nothing like fighting you—you, at the very least, have the graciousness to warn Diavolo before you start. And when you punch, there isn't the risk of shattering bone.

Diavolo grabs the butler by the collar and uses what little magic he knows to trap the demon in place, holding him still even as he stumbles back and collapses against the other side of the wall.

"Good," Barbatos blurts, abruptly freeing himself of Diavolo's magic. "That was very well-fought, my lord."

"What?" Diavolo snaps, and this time, he's genuinely irritated. He raises his fists in preparation to fight once more, but the butler waves him away.

"Your father wished for me to come and test the extent of your skills. Indeed, you have improved as much as you claimed to have. I assume that this was not your full strength, given that you've spent the greater majority of the night fighting other demons in cages, but you do indeed have the potential to defeat the Victor."

"You...were testing me?" Diavolo asks suspiciously, eyebrows still furrowed.

"Yes, my lord."

The redhead groans.

"Why couldn't you have just said that, Barbatos?" Diavolo runs a hand through his hair, noting with frustration that it's damp with sweat once more.

"Why, that would have taken all the fun out of it, wouldn't you agree?" The butler smiles his usual cryptic smile. To anyone else, it looks ominous. Cold. Maybe even scary. But Diavolo can see the childlike amusement that curves the butler's lips upward, the man almost giddy with satisfaction after his little stunt.

"Thank you for that," Diavolo blurts sarcastically, reaching for a towel. He tries not to think about the fact that he'll have to wash up all over again.

"You're welcome, my lord. At the same time, however, we do have urgent matters to discuss." Diavolo arches an eyebrow. "The princess."

He sighs.

Whatever illusions he may have harbored about Barbatos's sudden appearance are shattered the moment those words leave the demon's lips. Hearing them from another Resistance member makes the situation feel so much more dire, so much more real.

So much more urgent.

"Say what you need to," Diavolo mumbles, keeping his eyes low.

"I met her."

Diavolo’s eyes narrow.

"Barbatos, do not—"

"I did not do anything to her, my lord. We merely had a conversation. A rather brief one, at that. Do not look at me like that. It was entirely unplanned. I might not have even spoken to her if she didn't appear so nervous during the cage fights."

"She was nervous?" Diavolo interrupts, eyebrows raised. You had assured him time and time again that this wouldn't be a problem, that you wouldn't be uncomfortable with watching him fight.

"She was trembling, my lord."

Diavolo clicks his tongue in aggravation. "I told her it wouldn't be a good idea…"

"No matter. There were no bystanders around us when we spoke, so you do not need to worry for her safety. Though I must say, you were right about her utter inability to lie." A ghost of a smile appears on Barbatos's face. "It was almost enjoyable to watch her attempt to deceive me."

"Quiet, Barbatos," Diavolo warns sharply, though there's no real edge to his voice. He leans back, a soft smile dancing on his lips as his mind fills with pictures of you. "But what did you think of her? You must understand what I mean now, don't you? She's genuinely good, Barbatos. I'm certain that if we introduce her to Father, he'll realize that she's nothing like the family she hails from, and—"

"My lord."

Barbatos shakes his head disapprovingly.

"You are beyond the age of fairy tales. There is no happy ending for this princess, no matter how much you like her."

And with those words, Diavolo completely deflates.

His shoulders drop and he turns around, quietly knowing better than to argue with the butler when he speaks these truths. But when Barbatos sees Diavolo dressing so sullenly, he's reminded not of the future prince he will one day serve but is instead brought to thoughts of the past: a time where he and Diavolo were nothing but casual friends, a time when Diavolo had the luxury to pout like this and do nothing but brood.

"She does—" Barbatos clears his throat uncomfortably, not used to speaking of people in this way. "I did not mean to invalidate your feelings, my lord. She does have a...strange sort of charm. And there is...a certain...kindness, ahem, that one might find in her."

"There is, isn't there?" Diavolo pauses in buttoning his shirt to cast a wistful glance at his friend—and for a moment, Barbatos shudders, because the look that Diavolo wears as he thinks of you is pure love. "She's absolutely amazing in every regard. You can't help but be drawn to her. No matter how you try to fight it. Which is why I truly believe that if we introduce her to Father, we—"

Barbatos cuts Diavolo off abruptly, raising a hand.

The redhead quiets instantly, already prepared for his butler to launch into another lecture about how ridiculous it is that Diavolo is even entertaining these notions in his mind—but then he sees the alarmed look in his butler's eye, and Barbatos drops his voice to a whisper.

"I must leave, my lord." Barbatos sounds panicked, rushed as he mumbles words out while glancing at the door. "But remember, Rebellion is hinged on your success in defeating the Victor. You have it in you, my lord, you simply must be prepared for—"

He's cut off in the middle of his sentence when the sound of a click rings through the room, and then Barbatos has vanished entirely, gone in the blink of an eye such that when the door to Diavolo's room opens, the demon is standing alone.

"Diavolo?" You call gently, somewhat surprised to see him staring at empty space.

The moment Diavolo hears your voice, all thoughts of Barbatos and his warnings go out the window. He grins, kicking a towel away to trap you in a hug that lifts you off your feet for a few seconds as you laugh and press a kiss to the demon's cheek.

"Why are you taking so long?" You pout, buttoning up the remainder of Diavolo's shirt. "Nearly all the other cage fighters have left for the night."

"I'm sorry, darling," Diavolo apologizes, sighing. "I got caught up. I'm ready to head out now, though."

"No worries," You mumble casually, wrapping your arm around Diavolo's as you slip his mask onto his face and open the door, gesturing dramatically with a giggle as the two of you step outside. "But I just wanted to let you know that I'm very proud of you."

"Oh?" Diavolo asks, interlacing his fingers with yours. It's a bit awkward due to the height difference between the two of you, but within moments your arms are swinging at a leisurely pace, one comfortable for you both. "You know, I think you were more scared than proud up on the bleachers."

"I was not!" You defend indignantly. "If—if you saw me shaking, it was with excitement, Diavolo! Not—not fear! I was excited!"

The demon opens his mouth to say something more, to criticize your atrocious attempt at lying or to laugh some more and lay a kiss across your forehead, but he's interrupted when another demon pops up out of seemingly nowhere.

"Ma'am!" The demon shouts, waving a bandaged arm as he's carried away by a stretcher. "Thank you so much again!"

"I am glad to have helped you, Sir," You call back, cheerful. Your mask hides your face, but Diavolo is already aware of the beaming smile you wear based on how bright your eyes shine. "I hope your injuries heal well!"

The demon shouts something back at you, too far for either you or Diavolo to understand, but you respond with a gentle wave, calling "Good luck!" to the man for good measure.

"What was that all about?" Diavolo asks once the two of you have stepped outside. "You helped him?"

"Yeah." You let out a light laugh, almost sheepish. "Right before I went to see you, I saw him on the ground. His arm was injured rather severely, but had some medical ointment with me in case you got injured, so I used it on him. That's why I was late in coming to your room. He must have wanted to thank me, since he was mostly unconscious while I patched him up."

A warm smile crosses Diavolo's face at that, the demon proud to know that his lover has such a selfless heart.

"You really are too good, do you know that?" He squeezes your hand gently, wishing that he could rip his mask off and kiss you here.

"Hush," You mumble. "You would have done the same. It's our obligation to help those who need it."

"Oh?" Diavolo's eyes are filled with teasing mirth. "Are you saying that when you first tended to my wounds, it was out of obligation?"

"Hey!" You pout, swatting Diavolo's arm. "You know it's not like that! I just…"

"You just…?" Diavolo quirks an eyebrow at you, grinning as he pulls you outside the cage fighting arena and onto the street, already heading in the direction of the Temple of the Grim Reaper.

"I just want to help everyone I can." You relax as Diavolo tenses his hold around your fingers, the demon instinctively stiffening the moment those words leave your mouth.

"I do, too," Diavolo mumbles. But he's no longer thinking of you helping that demon, but instead of everything he'll have to do to you in the name of saving the greater good.

"I know, Diavolo." You grin at him, untying your mask as you beam up at him.

For a moment, the soft, understanding light in your eyes makes it seem like you really do know.

But then Diavolo is exhaling sharply, hiding his pained expression behind his mask as he realizes that you don't. That you can't. That Barbatos was right, and your story will end in nothing but misery.

You've never seen so much death.

All around you, there are corpses: bodies lying on the ground, either already lost to the world or drowning in their own blood. But you don't stop to look at them. Your dress is bundled up in your fists as you sprint down the hall, racing to a secret exit that only you know about.

The place that surrounds you seems to be the palace. Seems to be, because you're certain that the real palace isn't this dark. This ominous. This foreboding.

You shudder as a voice calls your name, a weak "princess" escaping the lips of a palace worker you vaguely recognize the voice of. Still, though, you don't stop.

The bodies that you've left behind in your run seem to be pulling you back. The weight of their burden falls on your shoulders as you struggle to take each step, the secret exit to the palace so close but so far away.

You reach a hand out, trying desperately to grab at a corner of the wall. To yank your body forward and pull your way to safety, to a place free of all this bloodshed.

But your fingers only touch air, and you're left struggling to move forward once more.

You fight your way forward, a garbled gasp leaving your lips as you struggle past a room—but you make the mistake of looking inside.

And there you see it.

Him.

Diavolo.

He's sitting in the throne room, though you can't come up with a single reason why he's here. You can only see the vague outline of his body, but you've spent too many hours running your fingers through his hair to miss the distinctive shape that the tresses take.

You halt in your run, your arm abruptly reaching for the man you love.

"Diavolo!" You shout, hoping that he'll come forward. That his silhouette will turn clear. That he'll save you from this dark, violent dream.

You call his name again, the word forcing its way past your lips despite the difficulty it takes to say it, but then it doesn't even matter because you're screaming for him, and you're desperately wondering why he isn't moving. Why his silhouette is so still. Why he does nothing as the outline of his figure watches you drop to your knees.

"Are you dead too?" You ask meekly, dropping to your knees. You glance around you, and even more bodies litter the floor.

But Diavolo is poised as ever: too upright to be dead but too still to be alive.

There's a man behind him. Another distinctly familiar figure, though you can't place where you know him from. You glance up at the two of them, your eyes filled with tears, and you reach an arm forward to crawl your way to the throne—to the darkness that Diavolo seems to emanate.

"Please," You whisper, practically dragging your body forward as you throw yourself at his feet. "Please be alive," You pray, clasping his foot when you're close enough.

And it's only here, when you're this close, that you can look up and see the expression on his face. If you do, you'll see his eyes, the amber eyes you've fallen in love with, and you'll know whether he truly is alive.

So you raise your head.

Slowly, impossibly slowly, you lift your gaze from his feet to his knees. His knees to his chest. His chest to his jaw.

You brace yourself for the worst, your sobs already worsening, and you begin to look higher and higher, just below his eyes and then you've looked up and—

"Darling!"

The shout pulls you from your nightmare, your eyes flying open in alarm.

Diavolo.

You shoot off his chest abruptly, impossibly alert despite having woken from your nap mere seconds ago, and spin around in his arms, cupping his cheeks with both your hands.

"Diavolo?" You mumble, a rush of emotion hitting you all at once. You were crying in your sleep before, but now is when you truly begin to sob, giving the demon no choice as you fling yourself forward and trap him in an embrace so tight he seems to choke. "You're alive," You mumble, still not believing the words. "You're alive. You're alive. You're alive."

If Diavolo didn't know what was troubling you in your sleep before, he's able to piece together the clues from your words. Within seconds, he's got his arms wrapped around you in quiet reassurance.

"Shh," He mumbles into your ear even as you continue to choke over the fact that he's actually here. That it was just a nightmare. That you're not surrounded by death and blood and violence, and that things are okay once more. "It was just a dream, darling," He rocks you in his arms, fingers running through your hair in soothing motions as you struggle to compose yourself. "I'm here. I'm alive. No one hurt me. I'm alive."

Your fingers tremble for a moment as you recall the contents of your dream: that he might be alive, but those palace workers were doubtlessly dead as you crossed them.

A sick feeling settles in your stomach. An overwhelming sense of anxiety, prompted by the inexplicable notion that this wasn't just a dream. That it was something more.

The very thought makes your eyes widen.

It felt like a warning.

"Diavolo," You blurt, leaning back. You force him to look you in the eyes, ignoring the concerned look he shoots you in return. "You can't go back to the cage fighting ring."

"Don't be ridiculous—"

"I'm serious! In—in my dream, I didn't know if you were alive or dead! It was—everyone was—there was death in the air, Diavolo! It—"

"Shh," He mumbles, quieting you as he pulls you into another embrace. "Darling, seeing those cage fights must have scared you more than you thought. I'm not going to get hurt. And even if I lose to the Victor, I'm not going to die. Alright?"

"No," You blurt, withdrawing. "Diavolo, you don't understand. My dream—my dream felt real! Like—like it was a sign—I'm being honest! And I know it sounds stupid, but I hardly think it's a coincidence that you were the focus of my dream, and now you're going off to the in the final night of the cage fights."

But the demon shakes his head, the look in his eyes disbelieving even as you try to get him to understand your dream.

"Diavolo, please! Just do this one thing for me! I know that it's a matter of pride, that you want to defeat the man who humiliated you—but I feel like my dream was urging us against this very thing!"

"Darling," Diavolo interrupts softly, touching your cheek. "You know you're a terrible liar, right?"

Your cheeks warm at that, and you feel a slight blow to your pride, but you nod your head. "Fine. I am. But how exactly does this relate?"

Diavolo chuckles, stealing a chaste kiss from your lips. "You're just as terrible at hiding things, love. I know that you've been on edge ever since you saw me fight on the first night of the cage fights." The demon leans back, tracing the outline of your cheek. "This dream is just the manifestation of those nerves. It means nothing. I'll be fine, I promise you."

"You don't know that," You grumble. But in your heart, you do see the merit to Diavolo's words.

It's been three nights now of nonstop fighting. You've already fallen into a schedule. You stay at the palace for breakfast and dinner, pretend to travel to the homes of various nobles for lunch while you visit (and nap with) Diavolo, and spend your nights watching the demon fight his way through the tournament.

But tonight is the fourth night.

And short as the fighting "season" is, none of the past three nights' combat will be able to compare to the brutalities Diavolo encounter tonight.

Every waking moment has been spent in quiet fear for Diavolo; you believe in his skills, but you have no faith in those around him. Cage fighting is a sport of the underground for a reason—the participants are not to be trusted. These past few days, you've been living in constant fear that Diavolo is going to go against a less-than-honorable fighter who will approach him with poison coating his knuckles. Or that he'll face someone concealing a weapon. Or that the no-teeth rule will be "forgotten," and your lover will be publicly mutilated.

You can't even try to pretend that the fear hasn't been messing with your mind.

"I don't think you should come tonight," Diavolo mumbles quietly.

"What?" You snap. You lean back, glaring harshly. "Diavolo, tonight is the single most important night—"

"And it will be the bloodiest. Those remaining are strong, but fierce. I made it to the fourth night when I last fought, and you remember how savagely I was defeated."

"Exactly!" You protest. "Diavolo, you can't possibly expect me to let you go in there alone. The arena is practically a den of wolves!"

"And this year, I'm going to be the strongest wolf of them all." Diavolo holds his gaze firm as he stares at you, his resolve nowhere near cracking. "You and I both know that I have what it takes to defeat the Victor. And even if I don't, I can defend myself better this year."

You stay quiet for a moment.

Internally, your brain is running at top speed. Weighing the pros and cons of letting Diavolo go alone. Trying to gauge the potential risk he might face. Figuring out how likely he is to get injured, and whether those injuries will need immediate treatment or not.

"Please," Diavolo mumbles quietly. "I know it must have been scary for you to have that nightmare, but it was just as awful to have you in my arms and shivering in fear, all without being able to do anything. I don't…If we can avoid that, I want us to do it. At all costs."

"Even at the price of me not being able to celebrate your victory with you?" You mumble quietly, trying to detect the faintest trace of hesitation in Diavolo's eyes.

"Yes." His answer is swift and immediate. "The second I leave the cage, win or lose, I will come here." Diavolo intertwines his fingers with yours and brings your hands to his lips. "And then we can celebrate together."

"You're awfully confident," You laugh lightly, already beginning to forget your dream in lieu of Diavolo's charms.

"Only because you trained me yourself," Diavolo grins cheekily, kissing your hand once more. "And because I already know how beautiful your smile will be when I tell you that I've won."

Convincing you to stay behind was the right decision.

Diavolo fights back the sick feeling that emerges in his stomach every time he glances at the pile of bodies that has been crammed unceremoniously into the corner of the prep room, just beyond the sight of the spectators but practically in perfect lighting for all fighters to see.

Thus far, there have been eight deaths. Three demons are expected to be dead within the hour (though a medical expert said that if they survive this hour, they'll make full recoveries), and two more seem to have lost their pulses but not their souls.

None of this has been at Diavolo's own hand, of course.

It's almost entirely been the work of the Victor.

Diavolo swallows nervously as he remembers snapshots of the fights he's watched. The Victor seems more unhinged this year than the last, and his combat style has been wholly erratic. Where he had some semblance of control in previous seasons, he seemed to care for nothing today as he swung his opponents around, thrusting them throughout the cage and giving them little chance to surrender, even if they wanted to.

Yeah, Diavolo thinks. Definitely a good idea to convince her to stay back.

He shudders, remembering how desperately you had cried his name during your nightmare. How he had shaken your shoulders but had been powerless to wake you. How, even after you awoke, he was hardly able to console you, only pulling you away from your memories of the dream with distractions.

If you were disturbed enough to have nightmares from the things you'd seen before, today's battles would send you to an entirely new realm of night terrors.

Diavolo has to try his hardest to push the memories out of his mind, continuing to change into his shirt. The last one had been ripped during combat—so the runners gave him something else. It barely fits, tight around Diavolo's chest but loose around his midsection, but the demon hardly minds.

After all, there's only one fight left.

He leans his neck from side to side, stretching the stiffness out as he prepares to enter, listening quietly to the growing noise around him. The break that took place right after the last match—held so that all spectators would wrap up any last-minute business to watch the final free of disruptions—finished five minutes ago. Diavolo isn't sure what the holdup is, but he's not going to let the delay shake him from his preparedness.

As such, he's entirely ready when, not four minutes later, he hears his title being announced through a microphone, his name booming through the room as he pulls his mask higher on his face and steps forward.

He enters the cage to the sound of restrained applause.

Diavolo's the underdog, he knows. The people who cheer for him cheer out of politeness, out of courtesy. No one expects the defending Victor to have his title stripped from him. Not when he's held the title for so long. Not when people are so used to seeing him defeat everyone who stands in his path. Not when it's public knowledge that Diavolo was practically obliterated by him last season.

The roars that erupt from the crowds the moment the Victor enters the cage from the other end are a reminder of who the expected winner is. Diavolo can already see the cruel glint in his opponent's eye, the calculated method the demon is planning on using to secure the final win.

But Diavolo has no plans of giving him the chance.

The moment the bell rings and the match has begun, he has already ducked low, prepared for the way the Victor's fist swings forward.

And then there's truly nothing but a flurry of fists, feet, and pain.

Diavolo holds his hands high as he retains his combat stance, never sacrificing his form even when he sees the rare openings in the Victor's movements. He approaches the fight the same way he would approach training with you: minimal offense, maximum defense. His goal is to tire his opponent out before he strikes, twisting the odds ever in his favor.

The Victor seems to have an inexhaustible source of energy, though. And while you were absolutely right when you said that you were stronger than him, the fact is that this demon is bigger than you, and Diavolo has to account for that every time he steps back to avoid a punch.

Curses, the demon thinks the moment he finds himself backed into a corner. His eyes widen momentarily, panic and raw, primal instincts taking over, and Diavolo closes his eyes as he lowers his head, thrusting all his weight into a single punch.

He makes contact.

Everyone's eyes seem to widen at the same time. It's the first decent hit someone has gotten in on the Victor all night. But while Diavolo was confident that he'd eventually be able to begin his offense, he never expected that such a poorly executed attack would make contact.

He could have dodged that easily, Diavolo thinks to himself, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

But then a sudden realization strikes him.

You could have dodged that easily.

But the Victor is too big to evade like you.

And the demon grins. Because if the Victor's defense is weaker than yours, then Diavolo knows he has this fight locked down.

He begins attacking his opponent with renewed purpose, and he can almost feel the shift in the room as the crowd slowly begins to realize just how strong Diavolo truly is.

It only emboldens him.

Within seconds, it looks like he and the Victor are going toe to toe with each other, both men getting in an equal amount of kicks and having to dodge the same number of punches. But Diavolo can feel his competitor's defense crumbling under the nonstop barrage of assaults. It starts with a fingernail just grazing his shoulder, then a stray punch landing on the demon's abdomen, and then Diavolo has managed to deliver a swift kick to the Victor's stomach, sending him flying back.

The Victor jumps back up within seconds, but the damage is already done. The crowd is murmuring now, and tension settles over the room.

But Diavolo can feel the tides of the fight. And they wave in his favor.

"Do you remember the last time we fought?" He hisses, glaring at the Victor even as they continue to spar. "You—" Diavolo grunts, trying to land a kick, though it's deflected by his opponent's arm. "Shattered my ribs—" Diavolo dodges an uppercut. "Bashed my head against the ground—" He throws a punch, and it catches the Victor square in the jaw. "Stood on top of me—" Both men kick. Their legs cross, both deflected. "And when I wanted to surrender," Diavolo practically spit the word, grabbing the Victor's collar and throwing him backward. "You broke my arm so I wouldn't be able to."

Diavolo's gaze darkens as he draws closer to the Victor, making use of the fact that his opponent is now backed against the wall. The roles are reversed as they stand, this time, but Diavolo doesn't make the same mistake as the Victor. He continues to throw punches, refusing to let up even as his competitor fights back, wincing only briefly when the demon lands a hit to his jaw.

Diavolo spits blood onto the ground, wiping his mouth.

Careless, he thinks. I'm getting careless.

But while that thought should stir Diavolo back into action, it only pulls the redhead deeper into his own mind, obsessed with thoughts of strategy and technique.

The Victor sees the moment of distraction.

He lunges forward, making a grab for Diavolo's throat. It's an attempt to tackle him to the ground, to thrust his head against the iron cage and beat him to death.

It's a move that will end the fight, should he succeed.

Diavolo's eyes widen when he realizes his predicament: his utter lack of defense as the Victor all but flies toward him, and for the second time in this fight, he lets his body's autopilot take over, legs moving faster than his mind could ever tell them to.

Diavolo forces his eyes to stay open as his leg swings upward and then clamps down, hitting the Victor straight on the head as the force thrusts the demon to the floor, where Diavolo stands over him.

The opponent's eyes widen instantly, and Diavolo seizes the moment, wasting no time in forcing the Victor to roll over before pressing his foot against the man's throat, standing over him.

It's one of the first moves you taught him.

And he executed it perfectly.

The look in Diavolo's eyes is nothing but menacing as he towers over his competitor, eyes blazing.

All around him, the crowd cheers. Masked watchers stand to get a better view of what is doubtlessly a defining moment of the fight, but no one can hear the words Diavolo speaks to the Victor.

"I will not kill you," The redhead warns sharply. But he continues to balance one foot on the Victor's neck and uses his other foot to step on the demon's stomach, Diavolo using his own body weight to force the Victor to stay on the ground. "I will not give you the privilege of escaping this fight by death."

Diavolo glares at the man beneath him. "Nor will I break a single bone of yours."

Diavolo presses down harder on the demon's neck until he can hear the quiet wheezes of the Victor.

"You will surrender to me now, or you will suffer for hours on end like this until you're ready."

And indeed, Diavolo has that luxury.

The Victor is in an inescapable position, weighed down by an opponent too heavy to throw off, his neck open and vulnerable. Every time his fingers twitch, Diavolo presses down a little harder on his neck, eyes bright with the promise of pain.

“Surrender,” Diavolo demands.

And for the first time, his eyes take on those of a king's.

His words are not spoken as a cage fighter urging another to end this fight. They are a command, spoken so icily that the Victor can sense the unspoken threat that underlines them.

Diavolo watches with unwavering eyes as the Victor braces himself before lifting his left hand, four fingers extended in the telltale symbol of surrender.

The crowd goes wild.

Diavolo can hardly hear the sound of the bell ringing as the audience screams in shock, elation, and confusion as they realize that this season has borne a new Victor, usurping the old. In fact, the redhead can barely hear his competitor's words of shame as the demon hangs his head while the crowd continues to whoop and cheer, and Diavolo abruptly thinks that you must be able to hear this noise from your location on the cliffside.

But then there's another sound.

And this one is coming from inside his head.

My son.

Diavolo flinches on instinct, eyes widening as he gazes around to check if anyone has noticed the magic. They're all too preoccupied with their cheering, though, but it unnerves Diavolo.

Raise your fist, my son. Let them bow to you.

The demon realizes abruptly that his father must be in this room. That his father is here, in this arena, just like Barbatos was, three nights ago. Diavolo's eyes fly everywhere that he can see, searching for the hulking frame of the true leader of the Resistance.

But amid the sea of masks, he finds nothing.

What are you waiting for? Do it now, before their cheers die out.

Diavolo gives up his search for his father, opting instead to heed the demon's demands. He raises a fist, slow and steady, to the sky. It's the mark of a Victor: only the strongest may assume this pose, and all before them must bow in submission as an acknowledgment of their power.

It's an awe-inspiring experience.

Diavolo watches with wary eyes as the (ex) Victor next to him bows first, the demon's head touching the ground. Then the first row of demons in the audience halt their cheering to drop to the floor; then the second; the third; the fourth—until every demon in the room is bowing to Diavolo, head lowered in loyal submission.

All except one.

Diavolo almost lets out a cry of surprise when he sees his father standing directly ahead, in the very midst of all the other spectators.

"My friends," The man announces in that booming voice of his. Everyone stares at him in surprise, confused as to why he isn't bowing. "You may rise."

All heads turn to Diavolo for reassurance, no one willing to withdraw from their bowed positions without explicit assent from their strongest, their protector, their Victor.

Diavolo nods his head quietly, and one by one, they begin to rise.

And then the magic begins.

Diavolo watches as his father takes to the air, robes flying up around him as the room gasps in shock at the use of magic.

"S-Sir!" Someone shouts. "It's—it's forbidden—if the imperial palace sees you using—using—"

Diavolo winces. The palace has driven such fear into the peoples' hearts that they can't even say the word magic.

"The imperial palace is our concern no longer," Diavolo's father responds smoothly once he's in the center of the room, floating to where all may see him. The man reaches behind his head, removing the elegant mask which had covered his face, and another collective gasp goes around the room—for removing one's mask breaks the single most important tradition of cage fighting.

"It is my pleasure to meet you," He announces, arms crossed proudly. "I am the leader of the Resistance, the rebel faction that is seeking to usurp the current crown."

The demon gestures downward.

"And the new Victor you have before you is my son."

Everything else that his father says is textbook. It's the same exact speech that he uses whenever he wants to bring people over to the Resistance. It starts with a list of the imperial palace's wrongdoings, goes on to explain how the oppression of the people has only worsened through the past hundred millennia, includes a few impassioned "We will not stand for this!" statements here and there, but it always ends the same way.

In cheers.

Diavolo's gaze is level when the sound of cries surrounds him once more, every soul in the room raising their own fists at the encouragement of his father, ready to defy the crown.

"It's time for the royal family to answer for their crimes!"

Hurrahs and whoops.

"It's time to restore balance to the Devildom!"

Shouts of agreement.

"It's time to usher in a new royal family—one chosen by the people!!"

Screams of approval.

Diavolo waits until his father is done speaking, used to every thought-out line in this speech. But then, right at the end, where the crowd is supposed to descend into cheers and every soul in the room is supposed to pledge loyalty to the Resistance and to Rebellion, his Father goes off-script.

"And now," The future demon king practically roars, and Diavolo looks up in confusion. Doesn't it end there? "The time has at last come for our Rebellion to venture out of the shadows and into the open!"

What?

"We have prepared for this moment for millennia! With the powers of foresight, power, and magic in our hands, the time has never been better for the people of the Devildom to take back what is rightfully ours!! To take back our rights! Our happiness! Our freedom!"

I've never heard this part before.

"The time is ripe, everything has at last aligned! Our Rebellion is no longer a process in the works, my friends, it can at last begin!"

Wait…

"The thousands of members of the Resistance are loyal to me! Every soul in this room recognizes my son as the strongest! And now, with these forces combined, the power harnessed in my faction and your strength as those who are honor-bound to follow my son, we have everything we need!"

No. This can't be. Father can't do this. Father won't do this.

"Tonight, the moon fell from the sky and closed its eyes to a broken nation! A shadow of its former glory! A miserable Devildom, more pitiful than it ever has been! But tomorrow, when the moon rises in the sky to gaze down at us once more, let it look upon a new world! A Devildom ruled by the good! The people! Us!"

"Father," Diavolo mumbles, numb with shock. But his voice is a whisper next to the roars of approval from all around them.

"Our Rebellion begins tomorrow, and with it, we shall burn everyone in the palace who has ever wronged us!"

Those words throw the crowd over the edge, and Diavolo's father raises his fist in response, the overwhelming support coming in the shape of shouts, whoops, cheers, and applause. The demon fills the room with magic, a forbidden hum that only further frenzies those in this room after it has been banned for so long, and Diavolo nearly shudders under its intensity, for it is more powerful than anything he has ever felt.

Diavolo.

The voice is small, almost quiet. Soft enough that no one else can notice it, but Diavolo looks at his father instantly.

"You didn't tell me Rebellion would come this soon," The demon blurts instantly, still slightly in shock.

Rebellion's arrival was dependent on when we would be able to harness the power of the underground. Timing was a coincidence.

"You knew," Diavolo mumbles, his breath shaky. "You knew I wouldn't fight if I—"

I did what I had to for the greater good.

"No, you lied to me, Father. You lied to me, and you used me, and—"

Go, Diavolo.

The demon blinks up at his father, looking almost stupid in his momentary confusion.

Go to your princess, and spend the four hours you have left in her arms. But do not try to stop the inevitable. You know as well as I do that the wheels of Rebellion have already begun to move—and I will send Barbatos to infiltrate the palace with you at the break of dawn. Say your goodbyes tonight, for it is the final night you shall have.

"Father, this doesn't change the fact that—"

Listen to me, Diavolo. If you do not want to spend your life regretting this, leave now.

"But—"

Go.

Diavolo doesn't wait any longer at that, spinning on his heel as he all but sprints out of the cage. The demon doesn't bother trying to contact anyone, doesn't bother changing out of the clothes that are drenched in sweat and blood, doesn't bother acknowledging anyone who bows to him as he passes.

He has only one goal in mind: to find you.

And to save you.

He transforms into his demon form the second he's outside, blending into the darkness as his wings carry him to your location within minutes. He drops himself in the swamp outside the cliffside so as to not scare you, but he's so desperate that he bursts out of it all the same, sprinting in your direction as you widen your eyes at him.

"Diavolo!" You shout, grinning that beautiful smile that he would appreciate so much more if he hadn't just learned that Rebellion will begin tomorrow. "How did it go?" Your eyebrows furrow the moment you see him. "Why are you running? Darling? You're still in your training clothes, do you know tha—"

Diavolo barrels straight into you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he all but clings to your figure.

"Diavolo?" You ask gently, running a hand through his hair. A wave of sympathy washes through your body, seeping into Diavolo's own. "Don't feel bad. There's always the next season, and—"

"I won."

"Huh?"

"I won," The demon repeats, reluctantly unburying his head from your stomach, leaning back to look you earnestly in the eye. "But we have to get out of here."

"What?" You repeat, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "Diavolo, you're not making any sense."

"Please," The redhead blurts, grabbing your hand. "We have to go. Now. I can explain...later. But we have to get as far away as possible right now, so please—"

"Diavolo," You mumble, pulling him into a serene kiss. Your disposition is nothing but calm and soothing.

Of course, Diavolo thinks bitterly. It's not like she knows that she's going to die tomorrow.

"Tell me what's wrong," You mumble quietly. "Slowly. Take your time."

"I…" Can't.

Diavolo stares at the ground, knowing all too well that if he tells you the truth—that he's part of a Resistance faction that's about to throw a coup tomorrow in an attempt to usurp and kill you alongside your entire family—you're not going to go with him. And if you attempt to head out onto the streets without him, your naive trust in the world will end in nothing but death. Only death, if you're lucky. But Diavolo knows you won't be.

"Please," He pleads dumbly, not knowing what else to say. He tries to come up with a lie. He tries so hard. But for the first time, he comes up with nothing. As if he's already told you so many lies that his brain refuses to supply him with any more, as punishment for his actions from months ago.

"Please, just believe me. We have to go. Right now. You're going to get hurt otherwise."

"Diavolo," You chuckle, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Your demeanor is still light and casual, not understanding the true gravity of the situation. "Whoever threatened you, I'm sure it will be fine. I can handle myself. And even if I can't, I have you to protect me, don't I?"

Diavolo swears his heart breaks a little at that.

"I love you," He mumbles, gripping your arm. The words are fast and clumsy, hardly romantic—but Diavolo fears he may never get to say them to you if he doesn't tell you the words now. He curses his past self for not saying the words earlier. For lying to you, to himself, and to the world in a pathetic attempt to be loyal to a Rebellion he no longer cares about. "I love you so much. And it hurts so much to love you this much—but I will always love you. No matter what. Please, you believe me, right?"

The demon tenses his grip around your arm, his eyes desperate.

"Diavolo," You whisper softly, pulling him into a hug. "I love you too. Just as much, I'm positive. But whatever has you so worked up is going to be fine, alright?" You press a chaste kiss to his lips, letting your lips linger until you can feel the way the tension has melted from Diavolo's muscles.

"If you love me," He mumbles, and Diavolo feels sick for resorting to this, but he doesn't know any other way to convince you. "If you love me, then you'll listen to me. Please. We have to leave right now." A faint light sparks in his eyes. "We can...we can run away together. And get married. And we can have a big house on an island—any island you want, as long as it's uninhabited. I'll—I'll even build you the house. And we can have children—unless you don't want children. And—and we can—we can—we can—"

Diavolo's eyes light up, imagining a future with you where the two of you get to grow old together, happy until the end of your days.

"We can do all that later," You whisper, embracing Diavolo. The demon realizes that he's shaking. "But for now, let's just get you back to normal, alright?"

"No," Diavolo mumbles weakly. "No please, if we wait, it's going to be too late."

And indeed, he means those words not in the context of Rebellion but in the frame of his own mind. Because the moment he begins thinking about the greater good and the fact that running away with you will doubtlessly doom the Devildom, he'll realize that he has to go through with Rebellion, no matter how much he doesn't want to.

"We have to go. Please, if I tell you why, then you won't come. We need to move now—before—before I change my mind and do something stupid—"

"Shh," You mumble, quieting him. "Close your eyes, darling," You mumble, pressing a kiss to Diavolo's lips. "Relax."

You pull your arms around him and he sobs freely into your arms, clinging to your figure like it's a lifeline as he realizes that he failed. That you're not going to run away with him. That the picture of the two of you, old and happy, holding hands on a beautiful island with no one to disturb you, was nothing more than a stupid dream.

The worst part is that he can't even continue his attempt to convince you. Because he knows it's wrong. That Rebellion is what the Devildom needs. And that Diavolo will be a monster for standing in the way of that.

But won't he still be a monster if he kills you?

"I don't want..." To watch you die, Diavolo wants to say, pulling you close so that he can memorize the warmth of your embrace, the shape of your body, the little details he can savor tonight but never again.

"Shhh, close your eyes, darling. Everything's going to be okay." You kiss him. "I promise."

He lets out a sob, clutching your figure in silent apology as he heeds your instructions and savors these moments of peace, for they will be the last. But as he shuts his eyes and tries to focus on the sensation of your arms around him, warm and loving, all he can imagine is the sight of your body in chains beneath him, the whole world watching as he kills you.

MASTERLIST

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | ✔

Word count: 11.1k

Notes: In my original draft of this fic, Diavolo never gives MC his real name. He calls himself "Brutus," tossing her the name of a character he heard Barbatos talk about once, not really knowing the context of it. At that time, the fic title was going to be The Tragedy of Julius Caesar.

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Next Update: 8/13/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

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beauvibaby · 4 years

Text

anxious - a.matthews

a/n: totally different than my writing normally on here, taking some random inspiration from things that have happened between my uncle and I

WARNINGS: mentions of physical altercation, anxiety, temper issues, cursing cursing cursing (I think that’s all I just wanted to make sure I covered everything)

“What do you mean you’re going over there?” I gasped into my phone as my mom told me she was going to my uncles house. My mind instantly flashed with what happened last time she was there, I could hear my shaky voice calling the cops all over again, the way I was terrified that he would lay a hand on her and I wouldn’t be able to stop him. “I’m coming with you.” I deadpanned, I was nearly at Austin’s place, planning on spending some quality time with him and some of the guys, and their girlfriends. “Y/N, I’ll be fine, you don’t-“ “for god sakes, mom, I’ll be there in ten minutes.” I quickly hung up the phone, dialing Auston as I made a u-turn, he picked up relatively quickly as I drove a little too fast down the road, but it was empty so I couldn’t really be bothered to care. “Hey, baby, you almost here?” Auston asked and I could hear people talking in the background, I let out a soft sigh. “I’m going to be a little late, my mom needs help with something, I’m sorry.” I lied to him, not entirely, that’s what I had to tell myself. He knew of my uncles issues, but he’d never witnessed them, he’s only met him once and that was in a restaurant so my uncle was actually trying to act normal. And if he knew that’s where I was going he’d have a heart attack, over the safety of me and my mom.

“It’s alright, is everything okay?” He replied, hearing the way my voice shook a little, I could feel the anxiety building in my stomach, I knew a fight was sure to happen when I got there, it always did. “Yeah, just uh, her last bulb went out in the kitchen.” I lied, a stupid lie at that, but he believed it, knowing my mom had a bad knee and couldn’t use the step ladder to change her lights. “But I’ll call you when I’m on the way to your place.” I assured him, my uncles house coming into view. “Alright, love you.” He never failed to sound like a loved truck teenager when he said those words and it always made me feel like the luckiest girl in the world. “I love you too.”

The second I stepped out of my car, I could hear them both yelling inside, “you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” I mumbled, rushing towards the house as my stomach knotted itself up in worry. I swung the door open and saw my mom standing on one side of the table, him on the other, yelling to the point of where his face was red. He was going back and forth between topics, not even making sense. The only words I caught, or even needed to understand was him telling my mom she was a useless bitch. “Don’t talk to her like that!” I shouted cutting him off, he looked at me incredulously, “don’t tell me how to talk, you’re in my house!” He yelled and I flinched back when he took a step towards me. “Dare I remind you that this is actually my mothers house? Because you’re a fucking lunatic who can’t be trusted to have anything valuable in his name!” I regretted my words the second his hand gripped my wrist. My mom yelling at him, he tuned out her words as he gripped my wrist tightly, I tried pulling it out of his grip. “If you don’t let go of me, I’m calling the cops and having you bakeracted!” I hissed, my eyes narrowing on him as my mom has her phone out and ready to call the cops. He faultered his grip and I took the chance to pull myself from him, “if you don’t go get your shit taken care of you’re going to be out on your own, I’m done dealing with your psychopathic tendencies.” I seethed, grabbing my mom by the hand and pulling her out of there. “Are you okay?” She asked as soon as we were by our cars, I nodded silently, “I, yeah, I’m fine, I’m going to Austons.” I muttered, keeping it together for her sake, knowing if I broke so would she. “You should.” Is all she said, climbing into her car, her tensions running high as well.

I was pulling into my parking spot at Austons apartment complex when everything started to hit me, but I sucked it up, wanting to go inside and see him and hopefully forget about it. I climbed out of the car and headed inside towards the elevator and gasped as I saw the already bruising mark on my wrist, “shit.” I muttered as I stepped into the elevator, it was the middle of summer, so I was in a tank top, and had nothing to cover the mark with. I was undoubtedly going to have to tell Auston, there’s no way he wouldn’t see it. When I got to his floor and I stepped out of the elevator I started to get anxious, and realized I never called him when I left either. I twisted the doorknob to his apartment, the door swinging open, “hey, y/n!” Freddie greeted. His tone was excited but came out a little loud making me flinch, he furrowed his eyebrows as I barely looked up at him, I had yet to walk in enough to see everyone else in the living room. “Are you okay?” He asked quietly, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention. I shook my head as I closed the door leaning back against it as I squeezed my eyes shut, I heard movement and when I opened my eyes no one was in front of me. I took the chance to angrily wipe at my tears before wincing from the pain in my wrist.

“Baby?” Auston called, speed walking around the corner, I flinched shooting straight up like a board, my back pressed flush against the door. “Hey, what’s wrong? What’s wrong?” He whispered, seeing how tense and scared I was. “I lied.” I managed to squeak out before I hid myself in his chest, his arms were around me instantly, “what are you talking about?” He asked completely confused as I sniffled against his chest. He moved his hands down to grab mine, moving me back, “ow!” I whined, quickly pulling my wrist away. “Y/N, what the fuck happened?” He gasped, seeing the mark on my skin, “don’t be mad.” I whimpered, and he looked at me his eyes softening. “I’m not mad, just tell me what happened, please.” He pleaded, cupping my face, “my mom went to my uncles house, and when I got there they were yelling.” I paused glancing at my bruising wrist, feeling Auston tense a little bit. “He told my mom she was a useless bitch, so I snapped at him, and then he grabbed my wrist and got in my face-“ “I’m going to fucking kill him.” Auston cut me off, releasing my face as he ran an angry hand through his hair. “That’s it, I threatened to call the cops, he let me go, and I came here.” I tried reasoning with him as he had a stone cold look on his face. “He physically hurt you!” Auston snapped a little to loudly and Mitch, Stephanie and Freddie peeked around the corner.

Auston was too busy pacing around the entryway to listen to me trying to tell him to let it go. Stephanie knew about my uncle, having found me after yet another argument. She saw the look in my eyes, “oh, y/n.” She muttered rushing over to me, the guys sharing a confused look as Auston went out into the hallway. “Don’t just stand there, go stop him!” Stephanie snapped at the the two guys, they didn’t question her and ran out into the hallway. “I just want to stay here with him.” I whispered to her when she asked if I needed anything. “God they’re idiots, let me go talk some sense into them.” She sighed releasing me when she heard all the guys now angrily speaking outside. “Hey you, genius, get your ass in there and put your manly pride aside, she doesn’t want you to beat the shit out of him, she wants you to hold her and tell her she’s okay.” I laughed at Stephanies temper towards Auston and within a second he was back in here.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He sighed scooping me up in his arms, I hid my face in his neck as I held onto him, he walked into the living room continuing his muttered words of endearment. “It’s okay, any other time I would’ve gladly let you handle him.” I laughed lightly, and I felt him loosen up as he sat down on the couch with me as I still clung onto him. “I just don’t want to think about him anymore, I’m so tired of the drama. I just want to live my life without dealing with his craziness. One day he’s going to be my problem and I swear to-“ “baby, calm down, and one day he won’t be your problem, he’ll be our problem, and I’ll be damned if he lays a hand on you again.” He cut me off, his words making me let an audible aw fall from my lips. “We’re just gonna go.” Mitch muttered grabbing his keys off the counter, disappearing out of the door nearly as quick as he appeared. I let a soft laugh past my lips as I met Auston’s eyes. “Are you mad at me for lying?” I asked like a little girl. “No of course not, I just wish you had told me, but you’re okay, that’s all that matters.” He assured me, a range of emotions running through his eyes. “You know what would make me feel better?” I asked after a while of silence, he was gently holding my wrist with an occasional kiss being placed on it. “What’s that?” He mumbled meeting my eyes, a lopsided smile on his face as he saw my droopy eyes from crying. “Ice cream.” I practically mouthed, and he let his head fall back in a laugh. “That can be arranged.”

#imagine #imagines #auston matthews fluff #auston matthews #auston matthews imagine #toronto maple leafs imagine #toronto maple leafs

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fe-semi-decent-scenarios · 4 years

Note

How would the blue lions react to facing/killing their s/o from pre-timeskip in battle?

[Wow, this actually upset me pretty hard when thinking about it lol. This kind of trope always gets me even if it’s being done by two characters that I don’t really like. It doesn’t help that there’s a thunder storm outside that’s making me feel emo. Thank you for the request, I hope you like it!]

Dimitri:

He’s slaughtered so many enemies that there is no more hesitance. His past self felt remorse for those he killed, and after each battle he would reflect on the dead. Unlike now.

He still remembers, but he doesn’t feel guilty. They opposed him and stood in the way of his revenge. To Dimitri, the people he faces in battle are nothing but walking corpses awaiting his blade

The professor had given him orders not to approach any of his old classmates. They wanted to try and save them

He brushed it off as a wasteful effort

“An enemy is an enemy. I care not for who they are or were, I will kill them if they stand in my way”

A regret he’ll live with for the rest of his life

The entire battle was a blurred frenzy. In his state of mind all the cries of those he killed mixed together. He knew not of who or what met his blade

Only when he saw the distress among his inner circle did he realize: he killed you, and he did it without pause

The professor didn’t get their opportunity to talk with you, and you barely stood a chance against his onslaught

Another soul to haunt him

Another loss he has no right to mourn

Another reason to be called a monster

Dedue:

Once reacquainted with his fellow Lions Dedue swore himself to the cause. He would fight without pause till his dying breath

It seemed that having him back was a boost for moral on their end as well, and he felt genuinely relieved to see that ‘everyone’ was alive and safe

Originally he assumed that you weren’t recruited for the battle at Gronder and that he could visit you at the monestary.

When inquiring about your whereabouts to his highness he only received a scowl. It wasn’t something new for Dimitri’s personality so Dedue decided to search during his free time

He spent ages walking around with the expectation of finding you...so, why weren’t you there?

He’d ask the professor if you’ve gone on another mission only to see one of their rare grimaces

Hearing that you’re fighting for Edelgard confuses him. He was certain that your loyalties lied with the kingdom. With a stoic demeanor he’d drop the topic and never bring it up again

Dedue may seem like a blind puppy who serves Dimitri, but he does have his own opinions. He just holds them back well

People mistake it for indifference. Felix takes a few shots at him for his lack of emotion

“You’re telling me that (Y/N)’s not here and you don’t care? Weren’t they your s/o?” “My personal feelings do not matter. If they oppose his highness then there is nothing left to discuss” “You two really are a match made by the goddess. A heartless dog for a feral boar”

When the time comes to cut you down he hovers near your body after the battle. When your buried the grave will never be empty. Every week comes with fresh flowers, and never is there any debris on your stone

Felix:

It was your own fault. If you had backed down like the others then this could have been avoided

If he didn’t do it then someone else would have. If he didn’t then you would have killed him instead

No. No you wouldn’t.

Felix knows that if the roles were reversed he would still be alive

How many people is he going to lose for the sake of the boar? First his father...now- now this

He assumed that after not seeing you in battle once that he was in the clear. You weren’t at the reunion so clearly something else must have been keeping you from coming back

He still could find you after this ended and you both could test your metal like the old days

It was the one relief he had

He wasn’t expecting to see you fighting at her side. Despite his stubborn behavior his affections towards you were obvious to everyone during his youth; something the ‘Emperor’ must have saved as a trump card

It was his responsibility to either make you see reason, or to end it all. He had not come this far just to die from old sentiments

“I will say this once. Get out of my way (Y/N) or I will cut you down”

You wouldn’t move or even fight back. They obviously made you into a human blockade. It was a swift death, something he continues to remind himself of

That was his final battle, one that left his sword heavy and thoughts lax

The future he longed for is gone, so this damn war better have been worth it

Ashe:

Ashe doesn’t like violence. He’s a firm believer that everyone is worthy of a second chance and that people sometimes do bad things for the right reasons. A life is a life, and it is precious

Each morning he wakes is a reminder of how lucky he is to be alive. There is no guaranteed tomorrow, and each day could be his last

He knows because he watches. He watches as the people he used to call friends die for what they believe in. In their mind they are fighting for what they think is right, just as he is

but he wasn’t prepared to fight you

Anyone but you. He prayed to the goddess the moment he noticed that you weren’t at the reunion. He wished for your safety, and hoped that you were not on the opposing side

He prayed that the goddess wouldn’t take you to her side

Despite being away for so long, he still loved you. That feeling was one of the few things he still held onto from his teen years

All faith was shattered when you appeared at the Valley of Torment. What a fitting scenery for how he felt

“Professor, let me try to convince them. No matter what happens I have to try”

and try he did. He begged you to switch sides once you were defeated but it was no use. You were doing what you thought was right

He couldn’t kill you, his bow wouldn’t hold steady even if he tried. The professor took it upon themselves to do it in his stead

He was grateful for their interference, but the image of your body won’t ever be erased from his mind

From then on he visits the church after every battle. He’ll sit at the same pew for hours and reconcile over what he could have done differently

He’d wonder why good people had to die for another’s benefit

Sylvain:

Sylvain finds the situation deplorable. Yet another person fallen to the system

Seeing you on the other side reminded him of Miklan, except you weren’t fighting to gain something. You fought for the side that wanted complete reorder

He thought your loyalties lied with the Kingdom, with him, but people change. The fire behind your attacks only fueled the questions within him.

Questions that he wasn’t 100% sure that he wanted answers to

Sylvain knows hatred, but just what happened to make you willing to give up everything?

He knows better than to blame himself. People didn’t know him for being the perfect partner, but there was nothing he or anyone else could have done to change your mind

What was he supposed to do? Lock you in the prison?Then what? It would only cause more issues. Seeing you in chains or in a cell isn’t something he could handle

You were one of the few people to break his barriers and see beyond the stigmas that others gave him. It was his turn to try and see your side of things, but he was too late

Just one more failure to add to the list. He failed his house, his brother, his friends, country, and now you

After the encounter he’ll be even more unmotivated than before. He only trains because Felix forces him, and never attends any of the extra lectures offered. His humorous mask basically dissolves to reveal what he’s always been hiding: exhaustion and despondence

If anyone tries to comfort him they’ll be brushed off

“Look, would you leave me alone? Don’t act like you understand when you can’t”

No one can, and he doesn’t want them to. He wouldn’t wish this hurt onto his worst enemy.

Annette:

She knew. It wasn’t the first time someone important had vanished from her life. People do not leave without reason

She knew that you were on the Empire’s side. She knew that there was a high chance of facing you in combat

Her father even brought up the possibility when they were alone together. He encouraged her to back down, but she insisted that all would be okay

It did not brace her for the hollow feeling of seeing your corpse

Normally when Annette is sad she’ll garden. If she can’t sleep then the first thing she does is go water the plants while humming one of her little tunes

So, she does. She pretends as if you two never reunited because it’s the only way she can push forward. With the situation as it is there is little optimism among the troops, she can’t afford to give in

She turns her grief into strength and volunteers to help around the monastery

As long as she’s busy then it’s okay. When she’s working then her thoughts can’t wander

Eventually it will settle in though, and she’ll want to vent. Out of everyone she’ll most likely go to Mercedes since she also has someone dear to her on the other side

“I-I don’t know what to do Mercie. It h-happened so fast but I can’t forget it!”

Annette is strong, and will remember you as you were to her. Not a ruthless enemy, but as someone she cherishes

Mercedes:

After the fight she’ll visit your old room. It hadn’t been touched in so long that dust coated nearly everything

The Empire had claimed Emile, and now you as well. When you fell it took all her willpower not to cast a healing incantation

It wasn’t what you wanted. The professor had offered mercy, but you chose death

A freedom she had no right to take away. With swift words she ended your life as peacefully as possible

It came as a shock to those nearby. If she had let the professor handle the deed then perhaps the pain would be lessened

But for some reason she couldn’t do it. Despite the tears in her eyes she refused to let you be pierced by a blade. An incantation would be more swift, painless, and leave your body as it was

While reminiscing in your quarters she’ll tidy up the space. She’ll admire your handwriting on the withered papers, sift through what books you had been reading, and eventually the room will be good enough to be inhabited again

Except no one would ever sleep here again, she knew it in her heart

However, Mercedes also knows that it was your choice. She won’t blame herself over your death, but instead use it as a driving force to protect the people she cares about who are still alive

“May the goddess guide you to eternal peace. I will never forget our time together (Y/N)”

Ingrid:

She wonders if it’s ‘her’ that’s the issue

Everyone she loves is gone. Dimitri is a shell of his former self, Glenn passed, her family’s in shambles, and now you have vanished as well

Ingrid doesn't like to show weakness in front of others, but there’s only so much one person can handle

Even a war-machine feels anguish from striking down people they care about. Ingrid has felt the hardship of losing a lover, but to be the hand striking the blow? How much strain can someone put on their emotions before everything snaps

The days after the world is unanimated. She continues on with her normal regime as if it was a minor bump in the road. Yet food has no flavor, training leaves her body weak, sleep is difficult to come by, and when people speak it’s as if there’s no tone to their voice

He sorrows become rage. She focuses all her negative feelings towards ending the war and it’s horrifying. Ingrid is known for her composure but if you gave her an eye-patch then the prince might have a twin

“This fight has drawn out for too long. Too many innocents have perished, and at the rate we’re going at there will be no future to speak of. Professor, my sword is yours. Let us finish this once and for all”

Pity those who cross her path. If women truly are made of ‘sugar, spice, and everything nice’ then your death has tossed five tablespoons of cayenne pepper into her mix.

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