#if the only way they interact with gender neutrality is as something dismissable and you can spin how you want

[carlyraejepsans]

Do you think Character and Frisk are nonbinary or is it supposed to be up to the players ?

no i don't think they're nonbinary

seeing as every single human we've met has been referred to as neutral the most logical conclusion is that UTDR humans straight up don't have genders at all.

[lesbian-for-arthur-morgan]

Hello! Love your work!

Can you do headcanons for Hosea with a daughter? (Or child if you'd prefer gender neutrality)

She's his kid with Bessie, and I was wondering how the two would be, growing up in the gang, how he'd be as a father, how she'd be with the other members, whatever you'd like to write!

As for her age, I'm thinking young adult during the events of the game, maybe John's age too

Thank you!

Hosea with a Child

Gender Neutral language!

Genre: Fluff! Some angst - No game spoilers Featuring: Dad!Hosea, Platonic John, Platonic Arthur Warnings: Mentions of death and grief

AN: I hope you like these! I really enjoyed writing this request it was so cute and fun to think about Hosea as a dad raising a kid in the gang <3 Thank you so much

---> Requests are open! Check out my guidelines if you have any questions!

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Childhood Years:

According to Hosea, you were the only good thing he had ever done with his life.

Being his only child with Bessie, you were spoiled as much as he could afford. As an infant you were given the warmest blankets, the softest toys, and the most attention he could give you.

That short period of time where he left the gang was around the time that you were born after him and Bessie’s wedding. He wanted to give you a proper childhood away from the hardship of the life of an outlaw.

As he said himself, though, the life just draws you back in.

When he went back to Dutch he brought you and Bessie with him.

Hosea worshiped and adored you. Everything he did in the gang he convinced himself was for you and Bessie.

He told you the story of Robin Hood as you grew old enough to understand stories before bedtime. He’d sit you in front of the fire and smile as you gazed up at him in wonder while he told the tale of the hero who stole from the rich to give to the poor.

During the earlier years of the gang, when they still stole for the good of others in one way or another, you always thought of Hosea as Robin Hood - he was a hero to you.

You started calling Dutch “Uncle Dutch” and considered many other members of the gang as family.

You were only eight when Arthur was brought in to the group. You followed him like a shadow and it warmed Hosea’s heart to see you trying to play with another kid (even though Arthur was fourteen by this time - he was still the youngest person for you to hang around).

Since Hosea eventually started viewing Arthur as a son, you viewed him as your badass older brother.

Teen Years:

By the time you turned fifteen, you were expected to start contributing to the gang. Most of the time you were just a pickpocket. Hosea didn’t want you robbing trains or putting yourself in any real danger, and Bessie wouldn’t allow you to do anything that could taint your soul (as she would put it).

For a while you were just quick and sneaky.

Arthur watched over you whenever you went into town to grab a few coins and watches from the people walking through the streets just in case anyone caught on to your act and you needed assistance.

You whined to Hosea that you felt like he didn’t trust you to take care of yourself since Arthur was always babysitting you, Hosea said he’d figure something out. He knew you could take care of yourself, of course.

He fixed it by telling Arthur to be sneakier while he was watching you.

Once you turned sixteen, Hosea started taking you on hunting trips with him. He wanted to make sure you could take care of yourself and your mom in case anything happened to him.

“Give a man a fish, he’ll eat for a day. Teach a man to fish, he’ll eat forever.” He’d say on nearly every hunting trip the two of you went on.

“But we’re hunting deer, Pop, not fishin’.” You’d correct him and he’d just wave his hand in the air as if to dismiss you. “Same concept, kid.” He’d retort.

At seventeen, John joined the Van Der Linde gang. It was the first time there was someone exactly your age near you daily that you got to interact with.

At first, John was following Arthur around like a puppy and it made you so jealous. You complained to Hosea about it, you said John was taking your brother from you and it wasn’t fair.

Hosea laughed lightly whenever you dramatically groaned and whined and told you to give it time, John would become your friend as well.

Hosea was right of course, as always. After a month or two the amazement over Arthur Morgan wore off and John became a great friend of yours.

The two of you bickered a lot, though. Being the same age and all, you were constantly at each other’s throats.

Bessie always said that you and John were like an old married couple. That comment caused you two to look at each other gag over dramatically.

Young Adulthood (around the events of the game):

When your mom, Bessie, died a part of you died with her. Hosea might as well have died too.

For a year, he never left his bed and when he did it was only to grab another bottle of whiskey to drown his sorrows in.

Some days were better than others during he grieving, but there were weeks that would go by when he couldn’t bear to look at you.

You had Bessie’s eyes and her smile. You had all the best parts of Bessie and seeing her in you but not seeing her made Hosea’s heart shatter all over again.

During this time you depended on Arthur and John to be your rocks. They were the ones who kept your focus away from the black hole of grief eating away at your insides. And during the days that the grief was too much to handle, they pat your back and held your hand while you let yourself rot away in bed.

Some nights John would come to see you when he couldn’t sleep and the two of you would cry over Bessie until you drifted out of consciousness.

Everyone felt her death deeply.

As time goes by, your wounds have healed as have Hosea’s. He sobered up and after a long crying session where all you two did was hold each other and reminisce over Bessie, you were a family again.

During the events at Blackwater, you were Hosea’s first priority. He got you packed and to safety as fast as he could once it was time to flee.

In that huge snowstorm on your way east, Hosea gave you his extra jacket and gloves to keep you warm. You rode in the wagon with Abigail and Jack, huddling with them for warmth and assuring them that John would be okay and back soon.

For a while after Blackwater, Hosea refused to let you out of his sights. After what happened with Bessie and the chaos that was that whole situation, you were the only thing he lived for. He couldn’t have anything happen to you.

You didn’t complain, either. You didn’t want to be away from him for a while. You were terrified during Blackwater, terrified you’d lose him or John or Arthur. You let him baby you and watch over you like a hawk as long as it gave his mind peace.

At Horseshoe Overlook, you went hunting with Hosea as often as you could. It was like a tradition for the two of you.

“Give a man a fish,” He’d start his lecture on the importance of learning survival skills and you’d have to stifle a groan and a laugh.

You’d probably heard that phrase nearly a million times at that point. He always said fish, too. Never changed it for whatever you were hunting.

Hosea wasn’t only your father, but your best friend. He was the best person you knew despite his occupation, and you adored him with your entire being.

He wasn’t technically a good man, but he was a great dad.

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I hope you enjoyed these!! Thank you for reading

[unhappytimeleaper]

Hii can I request yandere Mika hcs please?

requested by anonymous

Word Count; 4,200

Okay, so requests for just general headcanons are hard for me because usually there is just so much I could go off of. I tried my best to whittle down this to where it wasn’t overwhelming but still enough to capture the main points of what I wanted. I ended up cutting out some ideas because I couldn’t keep writing; I wanted to edit and finish this. I’m sorry. 

Also p.s. I’m a very small account with less than 150 followers. I only get notes occasionally, and I say this because I still regularly have minors interact, and I will instantly be able to see that and block you. I’m 100% aware the bigger accounts grow, the harder it can be for one person to check, but none of you are being sneaky, and I don’t care about likes/reblogs enough to let it slide. Go away. I don’t like you if you are actively a minor trying to save my work. If you can read all 4,000 words of this, you can read where it says don’t interact if under Seventeen. Even while getting ready to post this I had an ageless blog like my last post like no.  

Kagehira Mika; Unedited. Gender Neutral Reader.

CW; this is a clusterfuck. Yandere everything. Stalking, jealousy, unsolicited photography, stealing, manipulation, violence [against Mika, not reader], isolation, potential kidnapping, power imbalances, paranoia, other characters enabling yandere’s actions, and dismissal of feelings. Some moments can be read with lewd intentions, though never explicitly stated. Seriously it just has it all.

This blog is 17+ please have your age in your bio or tagged; any ageless blog and below the age asked for will be blocked at the end of the week.

For a general setup, Mika is. Well, a contradiction in many ways. The best way to put it is just as how others describe him, cat-like. It’s never to say Mika thinks he’s above you, consistently battling himself with the idea of being human over something like a doll, but for someone so ‘below’ you metaphorically, he pulls the strings. In the case of you, his extent of creepy actions, his stalking tendencies, and overall jealousy trap you in the strings of the marionette this time. For someone so below you as he claims, why does he have the power? Why does he not listen to you if he claims you have control over him? Cat-like— pets who rely on humans to bend to their needs and take care of them but still are more of a type to “run a household” rather than wait for the owner to come to them. 

A good example is, say, isolation; you explain to him keeping you alone with little interaction outside of him (and maybe minimal time with Shu or Ritsu) isn’t good; it isn’t healthy. Just a little time together in public, you don’t even need to go alone, just need to stretch and feel the bare sun on your skin even for a few moments; he loves you, right? He cares for you, so this would be better for both of you. He’s so weak-willed and eager to please you for a moment you think he’d easily comply, but it doesn’t work. It sends him more into a panicked frenzy, clinging and cuddling, making all sorts of claims that move too fast to rebuttal. It’s dizzying, and in the end, he remains the one truly in power despite his remarks about being only for your needs. 

Of course, the main this is despite his contradictions in power, overall, he does genuinely often seek to please you. Make no mistake that despite being the one with the upper hand in terms of your future, you still can easily live a life of semi-normalcy if you play your cards right. And even if things get to the extreme, like fully isolated, Mika will bend fate to bring you nearly anything you would ask for. And if he can’t get it, he’ll try anything he can to make it. 

Now to argue, the reasoning behind Mika’s tendencies is pretty apparent. The rooted abandonment issues are a crucial factor, it drives most of his fears and creates logic as to why he feels the need to lock onto people so intensely. He’s a rooted stalker, a mix between being extremely open with it and completely hidden, taking photos constantly without your knowledge, willing to collect all sorts of trash or items he can get his hands on, break-in, and more. There basically isn’t a stone unturned where Mika hasn’t been. Even more part of this comes in despite a fear of talking to strangers; he will threaten them for being ‘too friendly’ and say you two are together even if you aren’t, almost always driving people away from you. This can be found in Mika’s delusional nature of having conversations which he thinks are you giving advice or others telling him, much like how he fantasizes about conversations with Shu when looking for answers to projects. Some of this is attributed to Mika being well aware his emotions are almost always in control. 

Regarding you and others interacting, Mika primarily runs on autopilot. He might not even recall what he says to them; it’s a mix of emotion and adrenaline running the show. The final reason for his tendencies is trying to break out of being a doll. He does have feelings, wants, and desires that he should work to fulfill rather than always being just a doll told everything. It’s a lot of weight and pressure, and one of the things that comes with that is the human desire for love. For attention and validation on a deeper scale, something that the human side eventually craves from you. No longer does he just want to be a doll that falls into the corner waiting to be molded; he knows that as a human, these are things that come with it— even if profoundly misplaced. And as away the human side doesn’t take away from his more meek, submissive attitude that came with a doll mentality, at least not entirely, but it is what makes him realize more the nature of his desires. 

And as mentioned, Mika is… well, gross. Not in a literal sense, okay, maybe slightly literally in the thoughts and extreme hoarding of items he might be willing to take, but it’s more than that. Mika pushes the acceptable bounties; he has little and runs purely on emotions and whims— they control him. His actions are horrendously creepy at times, and his delusions push him to do things that just come off as disturbing. The tragic downside is ES isn’t an ordinary place with ordinary people. The majority of those around him come off more as enablers or too busy to care in the hustle of idol life. Examples being are Shu, Ritsu, and Arashi, all being helpless enablers to Mika and doing little to genuinely help you if it means Mika’s happiness. Cosmic Productions doesn’t care; as long as Valkyrie brings in revenue, then you’re just collateral damage and other companies at ES have little awareness of the reality going in the department. Not to mention I don’t think Crazy:B or Eden has the best members to speak on the subject, with 2wink being the most reasonable you could go to, but often they have enough going on it’s hard to seek solace in them.

And the last main general note is that while things would never be easy and life would always have some level of undertones of there being something wrong seeping from under the surface, Mika is one where you could get away with not being kidnapped and isolated. This doesn’t remove any general problems or underlying creepiness, it might even make it worse, but the idea of available yet moderated freedom might be better than nothing. Nearly all of your attention still needs to go to Mika, and if you would be to play the role of a partner to him, having the chance to still semi-function outside of being locked in some rooms might be a better alternative. This does stems from the fact Mika is willing to bend for you, as long as you comply with parts of his affection even for show. It also doesn’t dilute any aspects like stalking or stealing. But unless there is only full-out rejection of everything, would Mika likely turn to Shu or Ritsu for advice which would supply kidnapping as an alternative route (those little shits). It’s not easy for Mika to transport you to the dorm or Shu’s apartment to keep you locked up, and as mentioned, once isolated, getting Mika to let up and let you leave is nearly nonexistent even if you begin to return his advances (both for show or genuine). Overall, this is to say kidnapping is never a guaranteed ending with Mika, unlike with many others but not ever out of the question either. It can come very suddenly and always a looming presence if you aren’t willing to give into Mika’s fantasies. 

Okay, so that is the central portion. Now some more miscellaneous items. 

For one, Mika genuinely doesn’t mind if you use violence against him. Not saying he wants it necessarily; it’s not some masochistic desire to be hit, kicked, and generally beaten by you. But it doesn’t serve as a functional way to get him to stop or go away. He is essentially any attention is still attention. You’re mistaken if you think that while he is crying, clawing at your legs and hips for attention, a quick slap or kick to get him to let go will work. It might somehow many him latch on harder, claiming that it’s okay, you can do it again, it helps you calm down, just let him stay. Keep giving him the attention, the validation. And even worse this behavior is something Mika is willing to do in public if pushed or called out enough. Any terms of thinking you’re abandoning or leaving him creates an overdrive in him, quickly transforming into someone willing to beg to keep you around. In public, it’s made worse because not only does he look like the one being hurt by you— he’s an idol. Well-known one too, and if something terrible happens to him, it will only come back and hurt you. Either through die-hard fans or the company scolding you. Violence not only spurs Mika more but damages your livelihood in the bigger picture, making it null any tactic to help with the burden of Mika’s tendencies. 

However, this extends to one important thing. Your actions don’t really hurt Mika? Even on a physical level. It’s well noted Mika has an extremely high pain tolerance and that it would take a lot for him to acknowledge something hurting him in a way that would temporarily take him out. He doesn’t mind being physically hurt not only because it has some power dynamics and he’s doing anything to please you, but even in the case there is that contraction of him still having the upper hand. He gives you the permission to hit or kick him, likely because he has an awareness of being able to take it without it limiting his hold on you and still giving that outlet to you. Even if these are subconscious choices, it’s unsettling how much control he still has between his physicality benefits, idol career, and connections. Mika truly is a powerhouse in this way, and violence to him practically cannot solve anything as a means of escape, even if he offers it as stress relief or punishment to himself. 

Another big thing for Mika is forgetting the past and focusing on the future. There was before you, and then there is now. Anything before does not matter, and in a sense, he sort of expects this from you as well. Ex-partners, ex-crushes, ex-situation-ships; none of those matter now that he is here, and you better feel the same of these things being ‘dead.’ Photos or any other sentimental item need to be wiped away, and your mind shouldn’t need to wander back to them because you have something more now and forever. This idea of focusing on the future/now also relates to how many delusions and ideas for how things will work out between you in the long term. Marriage, starting a family, domestic life as a whole— Mika spends much of his time picturing and creating pieces that inspire him of this future as well as daydreaming of what life could become no longer attached to his past. 

Some more quick round-head canons; Mika will fill up notebooks and writing your name and his name. Pretty much any cross-over you can think of. Just your name with hearts, your name and his name with hearts, your first name and his last name, his first name and your last name, a teased ship name given from Arashi— the list can go on. It’s scribbled messily, and other times written with such extreme care. It’s only loose papers and trash, on his sketch designs and doodled with his finger on tables. Not only does he do it as a practice of his handwriting and the love of seeing your name written with that, but the combinations he can make feel like a validation of the closeness he has. Much like any early crush, it’s some comfort level of daydreaming— regardless of the actual proximity you have with one another. Also yes, he will lose loose pages and if you don’t know what he’s doing it’s very creepy the first few times. Or hundred. The amount of times he writes your names together is beyond comfort; very heavily boarding on obsessive. 

Mika is also not great at conversations, with mostly everyone but the awkwardness is pushed even more with you. There is too much pressure, and his feelings run in such high control that it often comes out as a mix of self-deprecating, worshipping you, and trying to act like a normal mess. It’s almost always awkward even if you try to ease him and are kind, and it does kinda become worse the longer it goes on because this is when his stalking, photography, and niche personal things become apparent in conversations. If you didn’t think he was stalking you beforehand or at least didn’t catch him, you’d be given many hints the more he talks to you. This extends from the fact he does everything possible to get materials and content he knows interests you. Even if you think it’s something knows one would know you like, Mika does somehow and will in passing bring it up in the weirdest form of trying to have a casual conversation. Books, CDs, and TV shows and stuff are all a part of his hoarding connection about you simply because you like it.  Even if it never would be something he’d look up on his own, he’d do anything to connect and relate even more to you. There never is any proof you can’t call him out other than having suspicions which, once again, little to anyone would take seriously, but you can’t help but feel Mika knows more than he is truly letting on. 

Will do any and everything for you if he can; carrying items, buying you things, cleaning stuff— of course, be careful asking him for this because he might take advantage of you letting him get this close to such personal tasks— but there never is anything he doesn’t offer to do. Idol work might get in the way, though, he can’t neglect his job, but any other time he is on your heels, waiting to do anything he can for you. And sure, at first, it’s nice. It lifts some burdens or comes off as Mika being Mika offering to give more than needed to anyone. But buying you things often comes off with a strange energy radiating off of them, even if there is seemingly nothing wrong. Him cleaning or doing simple domestic tasks, such as laundry, ends up with some things being missing or damaged. You notice so many other weird things in your apartment if he offers to clean. And carrying items,  while seemly harmless, still just makes your stomach churn. He fully just shows up out of nowhere on the most random shopping tasks offering his help and pushing closer and closer to you. What once was Mika feeling like his strange but overall kind, sweet nature stepping up to help an overworked staff member turns exhausting, skin-crawling offer. Even if he usually looks all sweet and innocent offering. Damn, the fact he does have some cuteness charm regardless of his actions. 

Arashi coming in clutch again being an enabler to Mika!! Upon teaching Mika about selfies and the momentum of photos… Mika gets a little too on board with this. He takes photos whenever he can, both blurry and crisp, highly focused or landscape of you, anywhere and everywhere. There are so many pictures he has and collects, often finding it hard to delete any one of them because there is something special attached to each one. Selfies and other photos he can get with you, either to your knowledge or without it are probably the most important to his collections. The second ones are those that either are from dates or situations that Mika dates. He is willing to print them off and keep them all over, even having dedicated spaces and boxes of printed photos or simply made posters. There would probably be some specific photo he becomes horrendously attached to as well, much like having one of Shu he constantly uses to talk to or seek advice from. 

The reason to account for the photos is because, as I’ve touched on, Mika is a filthy hoarder. He will legitimately take whatever he can get his hands on if he thinks it has some value to you. While I think depending on the item, particular trash isn’t seen as valuable or limited value others have much more. For example, plastic utensils aren’t valued at much; you used it once and then got rid of them, which has very little value to you. But say a silverware from your kitchen, chopsticks/spoon/whatever you use daily, has that value level and is worth wanting to keep for his own use. If you wear makeup, an empty lipstick/chapstick tube will be more sentimental or valued than a used tissue. This can also be found in the fact he’s mainly sharing spaces. While he still is a hoarder and does his best to keep his collection out of the main sight or in a place that isn’t easily accessed, there is always a chance someone could come to clean out those spaces. Something like a tissue is more likely to get loaded and thrown away, while Mika could better justify a chapstick holder as being able to be kept. This doesn’t change the fact that he is able and willing to collect a lot of gross things, such as well willing to have a container of bath water of yours if he could easily get it or an old notebook you might forget about. Even if it’s just work notes, he’d take it. And Mika might sometimes try to get rid of parts of his collection until he can secure a long-term and connected relationship with you, such as living together; it’s hard for him to part with anything of yours. These items are fucking everywhere too. His dorm, Shu’s apartment, the sewing station, and his area at CosPro. You might even see things you thought you lost just lying around and be able to “steal” them back with how prolific his hoarding is scattered. 

Clothing is the one thing; sadly, you will probably never get back, or at least if you could not in its original form. Mika loves, even obsessively, uses scraps and parts of your clothing in his. Even in the costumes for Valkyrie if he can, so there is a piece of you on stage with him. His use for upcycling extends back to his past, needing to take clothes and items from the trash to even have things of his own to wear, but now it feels much more special. This is rewriting all of the stigma and pain he carried of having nothing more than trash clothes— discarded by people just as he was. Sure, this clothes was stolen and didn’t have your permission to use, but it has the comfort woven into its threads. It smells like you and has the texture from how you cared for it when you washed it. It has the stains and memories of you, the feeling of someone being so loved by you it’s clearly ready to be thrown out finally, so it’s perfect if he repurposes it. He never takes too much, and if you have a clear favorite item Mika knows not to take it; maybe steal it from the wash pile and use it as a pillow cover for a bit, but always have it returned as well. At that time he’d fantasy the domestic life of being together, where he could openly wear his upcycled material of your clothes patched together [and you can wear them too!]. Or where he can take your clothes and wear them without shame or worry of getting them back on time, and the comments you’d make seeing him in your stuff. All of the fantasies turn him bright red, and even the next day, when you greet him, he looks a little more flushed than usual around you.

However yes, many things go missing, but they are often just as much replaced. Simple things are replaced with Mika spending his own money and then finding ways to either customize or make it so the item is uniquely tied to the two of you. Certain things also have trackers in them, but most are just decorative in some way. You remember how you lost your favorite pair of chopsticks when you brought your own lunch that one day. Weirdly enough the next day a new pair ended up in your bag but one bejeweled on the handle to match a particular sewer’s aesthetic while the other matched yours. Or hair clips that you once got as decorative jokes for a photo you and your friends had been planning; you figured you just misplaced them but these new ones you found are nothing like the previous ones aesthetic… If you look too long in a shop at clothing or accessories Mika might not always be able to buy them due to expenses buts he’s well quick to make them, even with the added benefit of it being tailored now specifically to how you prefer. They always end up at your desk so neatly packaged, many coworkers assume it’s perhaps brands trying to get cozy with you for future deals with idol groups but these aren’t the same as what you saw in the window. No, these are too perfect for you to be just any run-of-the-mill store item. The even more unsettling part is how this person managed to get your measurements so spot on if not for measuring you in your sleep. 

There is also one specific way Mika would get caught for the more,, creepy actions. You’d know he could be a bit of a stalker. He has his moments where it’s oblivious he’s following you or others but those always come off more like a kicked puppy trying to follow someone home rather than malicious. Like he wants to interact, but internal conflict holds him back so much he forgets where he is until he is slightly too far behind and stumbles to keep up. If he really wants to stalk, Mika can keep himself hidden. There are other times all his other more ‘bizarre’ actions are qualified as Mika being Mika, like being fatigued after bouts of practice and finding his way to your desk out of habit in hopes to see you rather than going and getting medical attention/rest, or coming to hover around your desk for inspiration like a cat. If you aren’t there, usually you see cheap candies on your desk as a reminder he was there and is probably off looking for you or went back to the workstation much more disappointed than before. For the most part conversation with Mika, you might not lead to believe anything is deeply wrong with his infatuation levels. He’s always spoken weirdly with his doll-like commentary and the idea of letting others “control” him such as Shu and you. Or that his comments tend to come from a lack of understanding rather than outright trying to harm, so you do your best to guide him in topics. You’ve always known his emotional state can be complex, and his childhood likely made it hard to process feelings, resulting him them dominating his sense of self and backfiring into making them more unsettling than maybe he intended [of course while Mika’s perception of the events being vastly different]. All of these would change when you awake in the middle of the night hearing stumbling in your apartment. The first few times you hear a thump or grunt, you believe it’s just your sleepy brain making up stuff. It’s unsettling, and you always can feel your heart rate spike, but you don’t have anything to assume there is something wrong. But it often continues and you’re getting worried. Everything comes rushing into a close of an era when you manage to shake yourself awake one night, hearing a whine from the floor by your bed only to see a mass of dark hair and clothes. None other than Mika, watching you in your sleep— or well trying. 

See while Mika would love to use the nighttime to stalk around your apartment and get things done… his case of night blindness makes it much harder. Walking into walls or furniture, tripping over a bag that wasn’t always there, or simply leaning in too close that he bonked his head into your trying to look at your face before diving under your bed as to tousle around. It never really hurts, but he does let out a startled noise, or the falling is enough to cause a loud sound. But now, you’ve caught him in the act. And many questions are bound to follow in the morning, ones neither of you can escape from. Finding out Mika’s habits won’t change the outcome for him too much; what will is how you choose to follow but it doesn’t matter. He’ll find a way to be around in your life more no matter how you respond. 

[wing-ed-thing]

Honey Cakes (Shino x Reader) Chapter V

Synopsis: You were stupid. You made a stupid choice; it left you with the first real heartache of your life, and you could safely admit that you deserved it. But then the war came. And as quickly as it came, it was over. So what about you and Shino? Sequel to Honey Stand.

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings/Tags: Gender Neutral Reader, Post War, Slow Burn, Slight Canon Divergence, Fake Tech Talk, Aged Up Characters, Angst

Notes: *beats idea with a broom* I’ve had the outline for Honey Cakes in my head for a year and I need it out I need it out out out I’m sick of looking at it *hits with broom*

“What’s not fair?” 

You snapped back to reality, not even realizing that you had zoned out into your salad. 

Shino sat across from you, a single elbow on the table as his lips steadily drooped back into a scowl. The little moment you thought the two of you had disappeared in an instant. The silence in the air was about as palpable as the tension. The lights blared down on your head as the clock ticked by slowly.

You sat still, avoiding Shino’s gaze as you wondered if it would be worth fighting about in the first place. The whole drama was beginning to feel so childish. You confronted him about your mutual past twice now, only to be met with unwarranted hostility. You wondered if you weren’t as much of the problem as you always assumed. In the silence, you only grew more sure of yourself.

You cast your gaze down to the floor, half of you unsure of yourself while the other seethed with annoyance. 

“Let’s just get through this mission. I want to prepare for the wedding as much as you do.” You quickly packed up the food container, pushing it gently back towards Shino as you suddenly lost your appetite. “Thank you for dinner. It was unnecessary.” You stood from your seat. You turned, hardly noticing Shino also rise from his chair.

“What’s not fair?” 

You shook your head, not wanting to engage. 

“I’m too tired to get into this. I have a report to write.” You pushed in your chair with your foot, still reeling from your interaction with Shou. Shino swiveled his head in frustration as he made curt gestures with his hands.

“Get into what?” He gritted your name, stalking after you as you began to make for the door. He reached for you. “Dammit, what are you talking about?” You turned suddenly, slapping his hand away from you. The sound reverberated throughout the room. 

You faced him with a pointed glare and a clenched jaw. Tension furrowed your brow.

“Stop acting like you care about me, Aburame!” The words poured from your lips like liquid poison. Your eyes widened as if the tension of keeping your comments in physically weighed down your features. Your vision began to blur, and you shook your head to dismiss the mounting tears. “I hate this. I hate this… this ignoring me for ten years like I never existed. I hate this disdain you’ve held for me all these years… Like the shit on your shoe… Then you have the nerve—” 

You took a step back as you swiped a hand across your face. 

“You did the same thing with that Sasuke stuff,” you exasperatedly noted. “And you think you have the right to act like you’ve been saving me? From the river? From the squad leader— who I now have to document, by the way, thanks a lot—” He scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he hulked. 

“Just drop the goddamn report shit—” You stomped your right foot, fists clutched straight at your sides as you stepped closer. You shook your head as you gaped to yourself. 

“I can’t, Shino! I’m trying to get transferred!” 

The room fell silent again. The ticking of the clock continued. So did the whirring of machinery. Shino recoiled an inch, unable to mask that your admission caught him off guard. His brow knitted as he wrinkled his nose.

“Here?” he asked with what sounded like a scoff. 

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You want to get transferred here?” Something about his tone made you feel a pang of shame. Your imagination filled in his unspoken judgment. A judgment that you were cowardly for leaving. A judgment that you were sacrificing your dignity to work with men like Shou. A judgment that you were better than this place. He spoke a part of it. His voice was about as quiet and level as usual, but Shino couldn’t help the bite of disbelief that laced his tone. “Out here, away from your friends, in the middle of nowhere to be left to the likes of that creep—”

“Everyone’s moving on, Aburame! I know that’s not your strong suit—”

“Please.”

—“But I need to move on too. Being stuck in teenage drama is so… so… shit! We’re adults, goddammit!” You fought back the urge to scream, clutching a tuff of your hair and just holding your scalp under your fingertips. Your foot made swift contact with a nearby trashcan. With another shake of your head, you turned to leave. “Everyone has moved on. I at least need to try.”

Your name spilled from Shino’s lips in a low grumble, and as he reached for you once more, you turned in an instant and landed a firm smack across his cheek. His glasses flew from his face, hitting the floor and spinning off somewhere in the room. Before you could blink, the lights in the room went out completely. 

Your hand stayed suspended between you as you stared into honey-colored eyes. Shino’s hand caged the light switch. The moonlight from outside did little to illuminate the room, but some reflected off of Shino’s bright irises. You had always expected them to be darker. You traced what little you could see into your mind, finally able to read Shino’s eyes after all these years.

Your left hand shot out, and before he could stop you, you tugged off Shino’s hood. His hitai-ate clattered to the floor. He caught your wrist, and as you attempted to hit the light switch, he caught your other. 

You stood together in the darkness, trapped in Shino’s grip. You tried to jerk your arms away, but Shino held firm, studying you in the dimness. 

You couldn’t help but stare. You couldn’t help but search for answers in Shino’s newly revealed face. When you tried to tear yourself away again, your movements lacked violence. Slowly, Shino let you go.

“You can’t keep doing things for me, Shino.”

“What things?” He was quick to respond, but other than his urgency, he gave nothing away. You stared back at his face, the answers you hoped to find nonexistent. 

“Bringing me what I used to make you back then,” you said bitterly. You caught the small purse of Shino’s lip as his jaw clenched.

“I brought what I knew you’d like, that’s all,” he deflected with his usual frown. His hands returned to his pockets. He took a half-step backward into a shadow cast by a piece of machinery. You stood in the dim moonlight as he retreated. 

“No, Shino. It’s your favorite. That’s why I brought it to you,” you snapped, although the admission came out softer than you intended. You cast your gaze off to the side as you played with the cuff of your sleeve. “I remembered. You told Kiba… that one time in Iruka-sensei’s class.” A moment passed you by, brought on by your brief reminiscence. 

“Ah,” Shino hummed in a way that almost sounded deflated.

Another pause.

Another tick of the clock.

More machine whirring.

“You were working all night.”

“Shino—”

“You’re reading into things.”

“Shino,” you spoke his name in defeat. He didn’t answer, adjusting his jacket with a jerk of his shoulders. You crossed your arms. “You can’t just pick out aspects of a relationship and separate them into parts you want to ignore and parts you don’t.” Your nose jutted out as you accented your words. 

“I’m not.”

“It’s selfish, Shino.” 

Yet another pause passed. Somehow, the silence had become even more palpable than it had been before. You couldn’t help but notice how shut down Shino looked, eyes dead with lips curled into a complacent pout. He almost looked indifferent. His thumbs poked out the tops of his pockets.

“I just want to get to the next base tomorrow and go home.” The words stumbled out of your mouth clumsily. You squeezed your eyes shut, running your hands over your face. “Let’s just… Let’s pretend we don’t know each other or something… Or something like that.” You turned to leave the room for the third time, and this time, Shino let you.

***

You departed later the next morning.

Shino leaned against a railing outside of the eastern base. Through one of the windows, he could see you walk out into the hallway with the base commander. The two of you chatted. The conversation appeared formal but otherwise as if it was going well. You nodded your head. The base commander stroked the sides of his mustache. Shino’s eyes flickered up. Shou sat on a balcony used for sniping. His legs dangled over the ladder as he glared at Shino silently, scathingly.

When you emerged from the base, you came out alone. You paused for a moment outside the door, letting it close behind you. You said nothing to Shino, inhaling deeply and steadily as you squared your shoulders and marched forward. Shino followed after you, thinking about your admission from the night before. Wordlessly, you began your journey.

***

The trek was made in silence, only to be broken when the sun began to set. 

“It’s getting dark,” was the extent to which Shino spoke over the rushing wind in your ears. He stopped on a nearby tree. The light of the sunset reflected off of his glasses. You landed on an adjacent branch just a bit ahead of him and didn’t spare him a glance. You expected a snarky comment to follow, but none came. 

“We’re going to keep moving,” you ordered. As de facto captain, you held the right to push into the dark. With your simple decision, you departed with Shino not too far behind you. He scattered another part of his swarm into the forest as the dimness grew. Neither of you said another word. If it weren’t for the tension between the two of you, it would’ve already felt like a normal mission.

You could hardly see. 

You maintained your speed as Shino continued to scout. He always had better senses than you. More used to operating in the dark than you were, Shino seemed to have no problem keeping up your punishing pace. 

A branch narrowly missed your head, your visual radius severely shortened by the lack of light. It must’ve been a new moon. Another bundle of leaves appeared in your vision, and as you instinctively ducked, your foot missed the branch. 

You fell in the darkness, twisting in the air as you dropped five meters down. The fall into the night made you dizzy and discombobulated as you swiftly calculated where up was. You threw together a random, instinctual calculation of chakra. 

The branch you landed on shook in the dark. A piece of it snapped, falling onto the ground below. Shino appeared by your side, silent and barely detectable, even just an arm’s length away. 

You kneeled for a moment on that branch, feeling the curve of it beneath your feet and the slow shake of it in the air. You remembered your very first squad leader telling you not to think about how high up you were when it came to canopy travel. He told you that shinobi work was about balancing thought with instinct. The crash below sounded soft. It told you exactly how high up you were.

You stood, your knees shaking just the slightest bit. Shino’s presence loomed over you, silent and watchful. He didn’t dare say a word to his benefit. You moved forward until the lights of the base came into view in the distance.  

The southeastern base was surprised to receive you at the hour you arrived. With the velocity you approached, you and Shino had given them quite the scare. You blazed through the initial greeting with an almost recklessness. If the base’s leadership had been more trigger-happy, things might have gone differently.

The base was illuminated with lamps that cast harsh shadows upon your commanding figure as you made your way up the steps. Shino watched the symbol on the back of your uniform as you strode ahead. You moved with a determination and coldness he had never seen on you before. 

Maybe this is what you were actually like on other missions, a stark difference from your energetic demeanor in your early years. The way you used to burst onto the battlefield, Shino always thought you liked mission work, or at the very least, a chance to show off your excellent mastery of the lightning nature. What Shino always thought was naive self-assuredness was all but vaporized by your blazing determination. 

You introduced yourself to the base’s nighttime leadership as you had done with the eastern base. Shino continued to trail behind. He, after all, wasn’t the brilliant engineer they needed to speak with. The two of you were ushered inside. Shino was led to his quarters by a cadet as you stayed to discuss your assignment. He spared a glance back as he couldn’t help but note how well you fit in surrounded by other captains and leadership. 

Shino hardly slept as his hive swarmed within his chest. He laid on top of the sheets, hands behind his head as he listened to you tinkering away well into the night. He turned his head on his pillow to stare into the reflection of lamplight in his glasses that were folded neatly on his side table. 

You’d end up falling asleep at the installation site. 

***

For as quickly as it started, it ended. 

Shino wanted the mission over even before it started, but now, as the two of you began your departure from the southeastern base, he couldn’t help but feel a hint of apprehension. You exchanged a few words with the base commander before you were off. Shino didn’t even have to ask to know what you requested. With a shake of the commander’s hand, it was just like the day before. 

Home was only a few hours away. 

Shino didn’t often consider the passage of time. He was introspective but not to an existentialist extent. He, at least, liked to think so. But as the air hit his face and the orientation of the trees grew more familiar, Shino felt a stir within him. 

He wondered if you even noticed the visible electricity radiating off of you as you raced ahead. The image of you served as a blatant metaphor as he thought back to what you said about moving on. With the prospect of Team 8 disbanding after Hinata’s marriage, he had been thinking a lot about things you’ve said as of late. 

Shino felt blatantly aware of the humidity in the air and the hardness of the tree bark through his boots. The fact he should probably request new ones and that he had been thinking about replacing his boots for quite some time and never had. 

It was barely mid-afternoon by the time the two of you arrived at the village gates. 

Shino blinked, and the two of you entered. He blinked again, and you had arrived at the Hokage building. Time seemed to pile up behind him while the present hammered at him from the front, leaving him pinned and defenseless as only his own thoughts kept him company. 

The two of you passed Shikamaru on the way to Kakashi’s office. He came from an adjacent hallway, stopping short in surprise as your paths missed a collision. As you continued, Shino wondered if you saw him. He locked gazes with Shikamaru, who tried not to let his concern show. Shikamaru gave Shino a firm pat on the shoulder before the two headed their separate ways. 

Even Kakashi eyed Shino warily as the two of you gave your report. The sixth Hokage stared squarely at Shino as if to silently inquire about the undertones of your mission. 

“I’ll submit full documentation by tomorrow,” you finished. Kakashi hadn’t said a word: not about the success of the installations and not about your incident with Squad Leader Shou. He hummed to himself, arms crossed. 

“I see.” Your eyes flickered to his, studying his posture for the words he left unspoken. “Very well.” He said little else as he dismissed you. You turned, ready to finally return home. Shino followed. Kakashi cleared his throat. 

“Shino.” The both of you turned your attention back toward Kakashi. He beckoned Shino forward with a finger. “A word.” Instinctively, you and Shino glanced at each other.

“Of course,” Shino muttered, and you closed the door behind yourself.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Whelp, that's the end of Honey Cakes. I hope you all enjoyed the sequal to haha lmao just kidding imagine if I did that I'm so sick of looking at this work I was thinking about it hahahahahaha I've gone mad

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V

[imagineanime2022]

Dating Headcannons For Atsushi Murasakibara

Atsushi Murasakibara X GN!Reader

Requested: Anon

Request: Murasakibara from Kuroko's basketball with a male reader that's taller than him? Or just general dating headcannons. Noticing a lot of your current content is pointed towards obey me and Bungo stray dogs. Are you getting bored of writing for those?

a/n: Kept the reader gender neutral so as many people as possible could enjoy this, though is geared more towards male reader I hope as that is what you asked for.

🍭 For starters there is probably a large amount of time that he spends not noticing you but you definitely noticed him, you were working in a convenience store that frequented.

🍭 You always kept his favourite snacks back for him and that was when he started to take notice of you. 🍭 The first time he really saw you, you were teaching some kids how to play basketball. He could see that you were good, the way that you interacted with the kids and taught them. You glanced over and waved before calling him in. 🍭 The real indication that liked you was actually playing one on one match with you to show the kids a real game. That was the day he realised that you were taller than him, you were always behind a counter or miles away from him he’d never noticed before. 🍭 You started talking more from there on but then his team needed a new manager so he asked you. 🍭 You took the position and that meant that you spent even more time together, you often brought his favourite food, just to get him to take part in practice properly or snap him out of whatever mood he was in. 🍭 You started calling him ‘Sushi which he seemed to love. Everyone noticed that you were very close but the person to say something was Tatsuya, nothing came from it until after the match against Seirin after his first loss he found himself looking for you to find comfort and it was after that that basically declared to the world (you included) that you belonged to him. 🍭 He never really officially asked, he did give you every chance to reject any advancement or shows of affection at any time. ���� You guys are probably the cutest thing that most people have seen, he’d often feed you if he knew that you hadn’t eaten and he always knew. You didn't know how but he always did. 🍭 He asked you why you didn’t play and you explained an injury that you got when you were younger so you just helped people that played instead. Since hearing that he’d always watch you and if he deems it necessary (which he always does) he’ll just carry you places or take your bag and carry that for you. 🍭 He’s the stronger of the two of you despite the fact that you were taller than he was, you always worried about him carrying you around but he dismissed the concern by jolsting you around and showing you he could hold you easily. 🍭 Everyone comes to you when they need to convince him to do something and he’ll usually do it but only if you would come with him, so be careful what you agree to. 🍭 The rest of the generation of miracles are all surprised to see him with you, mostly because he’ll often be standing there with a bag of crisps and he’ll eat one and then feed one to you, they were shocked the first time they all saw it, like they all just stopped talking at looked at him, which annoyed him and you had to calm him down after that too. 🍭 You doted over him when he broke his arm in the Jabberwock match and he loved it soaked up every bit for affection. Side note he’ll have you tie up his hair before every match as well often with the excuse that he can’t be bothered to lift his arms. 🍭 Often calls you sugar or sweetness and you could see Tatsuya roll his eyes every time. 🍭 You have to tell him off for being mean to everyone even if his nicknames were absolutely hilarious, you were in charge of keeping him out of trouble when Tatsuya wasn’t around. 🍭 You help him study a lot of the time if you can and he’ll listen to you though it’s always hard to get him to actually focus in the first place, if you're both hopeless then it just devolves into messing around. 🍭 When you guys cuddled up together, you usually wrapped around him, in some way, he’d be the one to pull you down to cuddle because you just won’t stop moving and he stopped caring about that task you had set for yourself and just wants you close. 🍭 He doesn’t like it when he doesn’t know where you are or can’t see you but there is only so much that you can do about that but you’ll text and call him as much as you can to make him a little more happy. 🍭 You don’t argue very often but small disagreements are common, considering his lazy and resistant attitude, you argue playfully about his attitude towards something, he’ll likely walk away from you and then wait for him to approach you again usually offering some kind of food for peace. 🍭 If he ever hears that something happened to you, he was there before you even knew what happened, he’d drop anything, he’d skip class and practice if it meant that he’d be able to make sure that you were okay. 🍭 All in all he loves you a lot and it might take him a while to say but he’ll show you everyday, just be sure to show him as well. He’s easily bored and if he doesn’t get back what he gives he’ll leave.

Request Here!!

[dreamcubed]

this is why we can’t have nice things | pansy parkinson x reader

song; this is why we can't have nice things [taylor swift] pairing; pansy parkinson x gender neutral!reader genre; angst, established relationship, break-up word count; 1,8k timeline; half-blood prince warnings; swearing, mentions of cheating, public humiliation (not of y/n), mild verbal conflict summary; you had already given pansy a second chance, but she really had proven that she couldn't be trusted, and that your relationship had to be ended for good

masterlist

"there i was giving you a second chance, but you stabbed me in the back while shaking my hand."

—————————————

Your gut instincts were always right - of course, this time you had the advantage of having lived through the signs of the same scenario before. Pansy becoming secretive, dismissive, distant, etc... all signs of her disloyalty that you had ignored last time out of the benefit of the doubt. She didn't deserve the benefit of the doubt again.

The undeniable sign the first time this happened was turning the corner in Hogsmeade to see Pansy wrapped in the arms of Draco Malfoy with her lips fused to his. Naturally, you had ran off afterwards, and refused to talk to her for a week: something about her eventual apology had seemed so genuine through the tears and sobs that you decided to give her a second chance. Now, as you watched Pansy walk away from turning down a study date with you, you couldn't help but feel as if that may have been a mistake.

It was the third time this week she had refused a study date with you in favour of studying alone: Pansy didn't like to study alone. That suggested to you that she wasn't studying - studying a subject the school offered, anyway. Maybe she was studying someone's genitals.

"Y/N," a familiar voice spoke, causing you to turn around to be met with Blaise Zabini's gaze, "You do know where she's going, don't you?"

You let out a sigh, "I have a feeling."

***

"In honour of the muggle subject of English literature, your assignment is to write a poem," your muggle studies teacher, Professor Burbage, spoke, "The subject can be anything that isn't exclusive to the wizarding world. If muggles don't know about it, don't write about it."

Longbottom raised his hand, "Will we have to read them to the class?"

"I would like for a couple volunteers to, but ultimately no. I do want each and every poem handed in, however."

You clutched your quill in thought, eyes flicking over to Pansy, who you had yet to address your suspicions with. She caught your eye and offered you a soft smile, which you returned, but the negative thoughts remained settled in your mind.

Blaise, who sat next to you, watched the interaction and gave you an incredulous look when you turned back to him. You rolled your eyes, but couldn't stop the smile from tugging at your lips. He was your most trusted friend, and the only person you would tell your plan to humiliate Pansy about, you had decided.

The plan had come to you during a study session in which Pansy failed to show up for, despite agreeing to. She never apologised for it, and you never brought it up, so she must have been very pre-occupied for the thought to never enter her mind again.

It was when her tardiness reached the twenty-minute mark that your hurt started dissipating into anger, a familiar feeling since she first cheated. Being surrounded by the knowledge of the library, it was only natural your brain was in a thinking state, and thus you found yourself fantasising about many scenarios of humiliation for Pansy. There was no way you would cheat on her in return - that felt cheap and underwhelming, aside from the fact you were sure that you would feel dirty afterwards. Regardless of the circumstances, it would still brand you as a cheater, and you didn't want that.

As it turned out, you wouldn't have to do much plotting, as the opportunity would fall right into your lap, courtesy of Professor Burbage.

***

Another Hogsmeade trip.

Honestly, the place somewhat left a bitter taste in your mouth ever since you found Pansy and Draco together there. Still, you needed a sweets restock to satisfy your everlasting sweet tooth, and the butterbeer of the Three Broomsticks tasted divine.

Perhaps less divine when you had to share a table with both Pansy and Draco.

Your friendship group had been more than awkward ever since the incident, and it had become clear there was on-going tension. After you had taken Pansy back, it had mainly been with Draco, but it was beginning to return with Pansy as well. Blaise had made his siding with you perfectly clear to the rest of the group, which you appreciated, while Crabbe and Goyle, like usual, remained opinionless - obedient servants to Draco. Theo had voiced his distaste towards Pansy and Draco's actions, but had not changed the way he treated them.

To be honest, you didn't really care. For you, one completely loyal and trustworthy friend was more than enough, and Blaise provided that.

Pansy was sat by your side, with your hands interlocked, but her attention was all upon Draco. It was strange, frankly, how numb to the situation you felt. By that point, Blaise knew of your plans to humiliate Pansy, and he also knew that your love for her was disappearing - although it wasn't all gone just yet, that would take time. So, all he could do was bite his tongue as he watched the brunette Slytherin girl believe she was getting away with cheating.

It was when Pansy shifted far enough back in her seat, for the briefest of moments, that you caught sight of the undeniable physical evidence you had yet to see. Draco, who sat on her other side, had his hand placed casually on her thigh.

You didn't feel a rush of anger, surprisingly. Instead, you felt a smirk grow on your face, now knowing for sure that you wouldn't regret your actions for even a second.

***

"Now, as terrifying as the prospect might be, do we have any volunteers to read their poems to the class?" Burbage asked, looking around the class with clearly very little hope.

You raised your hand instantly, taking your teacher by surprise.

"How courageous of you," was the remark you received, "Please, come to the front."

The anticipation screamed and twisted inside of you, fuelling your powerful stride to the front with your notebook in hand. In your mind's eye, you could picture Blaise smiling knowingly about what was about to happen, while Pansy sat obliviously in her seat, ogling at Draco from across the class.

"My poem is called This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things," you introduced, taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

"It was so nice throwing big parties Jumping into the pool from the balcony Everyone swimming in a champagne sea And there are no rules when you show up here Bass beat rattling the chandelier Feeling so Gatsby for that whole year."

You had to suppress a chuckle - Pansy didn't even know who Gatsby was. That was a neat little reference for the magic folk in your class to feel special about if they understood it.

"So why'd you have to rain on my parade? I'm shaking my head, I'm closing the gates."

Then, you allowed yourself to look up to make eye contact with Pansy, knowing that you had the next part memorised word for word.

"It was so nice being together again There I was giving you a second chance But you stabbed me in the back while shaking my hand."

Her eyes widened, and people began to look in the direction that you were gazing, as your tone gave away that this poem was personal.

"And therein lies the issue, lovers don't try to trick you Get you all alone and mind-twist you And so I took an axe to a mended fence."

By this point, everybody was glancing between you and Pansy, whispering amongst each other as you continued.

"But I'm not the only friend you've lost lately," you tilted your head and pouted mockingly at her, "If only you weren't so shady.

"This is why we can't have nice things, darling Because you break them, I had to take them away Did you think I wouldn't hear all the things you do without me?"

"Y/N-" she tried to speak, but you cut her off.

"Here's a toast to my real friends They don't care about the he said, she said And here's to my dignity I'm glad I found it again recently And here's to you 'Cause forgiveness is a nice thing to do."

You beamed proudly at her after that line, as you had said it in such a perfect imitation of a genuine tone, allowing the tiniest of smiles to etch on her face.

"I'm kidding, obviously This is why we can't have nice things."

Blaise didn't hesitate to start applauding, and out of obligation the rest of the class rippled into applause as well. All except Pansy, of course, who sat in a state of shock at her spot along the front row. You gave her a sweet smile, deciding to indulge yourself in the luxury of a bow to your audience.

Professor Burbage then regained composure, having initially been taken aback by the atmosphere in the room, and returned to the front, "Right, well, that was a very creative poem... thank you."

"You're welcome," you couldn't help but grin, "It was a joy writing it."

You then went back to your seat, keeping your chin held high as you walked past the rows of desks.

"Would anyone else like to read their poems?"

After your startling opener, no one else could find the bravery within them to volunteer, even if they had originally been planning on it.

***

Pansy found you after class, of course, and began spluttering her way through countless apologies, none of wish you cared for.

"Please, Y/N, please forgive me."

"No," you said, "I don't think I will."

"I know I fucked up but I-"

"Will only do it again," you finished for her, "So why don't you just save yourself the trouble of being tied to someone else? If you're single, you can fuck who you want, when you want, without hurting anyone."

"But I-"

"Or is it the kick of knowing you're doing something that you shouldn't that gets you?" you pondered aloud, before shrugging, "Either way, you're no longer my problem, so kindly bother someone else with your complaints. Perhaps Draco? You two are as close as ever, after all."

You turned away from her, relishing delightfully in the feeling that burned with you: revenge, justice, karma.

You felt like a bitch, and you loved it.

——————————————

i <3 10 things i hate about you

masterlist

written; 30/07/2022 —> 10/08/2022 published; 11/08/2022 edited; —/—/——

[wizardofrozz]

Ignite the Stars (5)

Darth Vader x Sith!Reader, Fourth Sister, Fifth Brother, OCs

Word Count: ~3.4k 

Warnings: light swearing, dark side Force abilities

A/N: ‘My Lord’ is intended as a gender-neutral term. 

<< Part 4 | Part 6 >> | Masterlist

Mustafar felt hotter than the deepest layers of hell. You paused at every window you passed, glaring at the turbulent glowing lava each time, silently cursing Vader.

Vader.

Interactions between you and Vader were a little…charged the last few rotations. After what transpired on the Executor, your relationship with him changed but there hadn’t been much time for you to figure out how. As soon as the Super Star Destroyer dropped out of hyperspace into the Mustafar system things got a little hectic. Vader was bombarded with tasks and to your disgust and disbelief, so were you. 

         “You’ve impressed me, my young friend,” Sidious praised, his twisted smile making your skin crawl. “It appears there was one thing my late former apprentice did right.”

         “Thank you, Your Excellency,” you forced out, dropping your head in a show of respect that was secretly a way to avoid his piercing eyes.

         “I think you’ve earned a reward,” Sidious hummed. The implication of his words sent your heart plummeting. The invisible collar closed around your neck, binding you to your worst nightmare. 

It was your own fault for believing that Sidious would release you back to your transient lifestyle when you arrived on Coruscant. The delusion that you even had a choice was a naive dream that held the panic at bay for a short time. With no other option, you stood at the briefing table, ignoring the murderous glares from the two Inquisitors hovering in the corner of the room, and listened to the officer summarizing intel from some Outer Rim planet. And you thought the briefings during the Clone Wars were bad.

         “Excuse me, My Lord.” It took you a few awkward seconds to realize that the junior officer at the door was speaking to you.

         “What?” you snapped, glaring daggers at the wide-eyed officer. Dorn, clad in his formal, black uniform, stood in your line of sight and you thought about using the Force to send a chair into his legs to wipe the amused look off his face but only narrowed your eyes instead.

         “I-I’m sorry to interrupt but Lord Vader has requested your presence, along with Fourth Sister and Fifth Brother.” The mentioned Inquisitors darted their eyes toward the door, nodding their understanding before returning their glares back on you. 

         “Thank you. Dismissed,” you huffed, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. The disgust rolling off one of the beings in the corner made your teeth grind but you pulled your shields tighter and focused on the captain that had started talking again. You did your best to absorb as much information as you could, holding off from rubbing your pulsing temples. Thankfully, the meeting didn’t last much longer and the officers crowding the room hurried out except for Dorn, who offered you a crooked smile as you approached.

         “May I join you, My Lord?” he teased, easily falling in step with you. 

         “Shut up,” you grumbled, glaring at the Inquisitors a few paces ahead of you.

         “Come on, it’s not that bad,” Dorn scoffed, nudging your elbow. Now that you had a moment to wrangle your racing thoughts, the gravity of your situation started to press down on you. The rigidity in your posture loosened along with the deep-set scowl you’d been wearing, leaving you raw and drained. 

         “I don’t want this, Dorn,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut. The Force pulsed with a spike of concern, Dorn’s abrupt shift almost bringing a smile to your face. Having someone that genuinely worried about you was unusual but you couldn’t deny it was a feeling you’d been craving for so long. 

         “I wish there was something I could do,” Dorn sighed. The forlorn expression on his face deepened the crease between his dark brows, aging him before your eyes. This time you did manage a small, grateful smile and swayed closer, brushing your shoulder against his in silent thanks. Dorn managed to return the gesture but his green eyes still held unwarranted guilt despite being helpless to do anything. 

Arriving at Vader’s throne room temporarily distracted you from your internal crisis. Dorn veered off as you approached the door but not without throwing a subtle sneer toward the Inquisitors. Fifth Brother pushed through the doors with Fourth Sister on his heels and you rolled your eyes but followed the pair. The throne room was nothing like you imagined, yet exactly what you’d expected from Darth Vader.

Two narrow windows stretched the width of the room, the flare of the surrounding volcanos dulled by the transperisteel. You wondered if this was what it felt like to look at the galaxy through Vader’s eyes. Muted and blunt. The crimson light from the two platforms framing the steps illuminated the reflective slab surrounding the stairs, leaving the corners dark and ominous. It took every ounce of self-control to bite back the smirk threatening to stretch across your face as you approached the staircase leading to the man of the hour. The marble throne managed to make him look small for once, something you never thought possible. 

Fourth Sister and Fifth Brother stopped at the bottom of the stairs, bowing their heads, awaiting Vader’s orders. On the other hand, you slipped past them to jog up the steps. Vader’s head swiveled in your direction, his glaring confusion almost making you laugh. His mood quickly shifted to mild exasperation when you plopped down onto the platform on his right with a sigh. The two Inquisitors lifted their heads, true surprise flashed across their faces as they waited with bated breath. 

Vader said nothing.

You could sense Fifth Brother chomping at the bit to snap at you and apparently Vader felt it too and immediately requested mission reports. The report was meaningless to you and your attention wandered, studying the room you had been waiting to see. Fourth Sister’s gaze occasionally flickered in your direction and you had to refrain from rolling your eyes.

         “Nothing more?” Vader’s voice pulled you out of your mindless examination, drawing your attention to his tense posture.

         “No, My Lord,” Fifth Brother finished but not without blatantly shifting his gaze toward you.

         “Is there a problem, Fifth Brother?” you taunted, raising a brow at him in question. His jaw ticked and Fourth Sister stiffened but said nothing, ducking her head when his narrowed eyes landed on your again.

         “What purpose do you serve here other than being a nuisance?” There was a pregnant pause, any traces of humor evaporating as you stood again. Your features hardened, holding his gaze as the Force swelled around you. Fifth Brother quickly realized his mistake. 

         “Would you like to find out?” In all honesty, his reply didn’t matter. With a tilt of your head, you reached for him, pushing past his attempt to shut you out and a simple command was all it took. The midi-chlorians pumping through his body halted, the feeling comparable to his lungs seizing for a terrifying moment before struggling to function again. The Inquisitors had a habit of using the Force to sustain themselves for long periods of time, meaning Fifth Brother awkwardly dropped to his knees, every bit of strength sucked from him in an instant. The dark side blanketed the room like a heavy veil, sending his partner back a step. 

         “That’s enough,” Vader ordered quietly. You wanted to hold on a little longer but fatigue had already been seeping into your bones before your demonstration. As soon as you released your hold on the man, you called on the Force again, washing away some of the tiredness clouding your mind.

         “What - what…?” Fifth Brother stammered, turning his slack expression on the woman helping him to his feet again. With as much grace as you could muster, you settled back in your previous seat, attempting to look as unbothered as possible. 

         “Dismissed,” Vader rumbled, his presence bordering on suffocating. You watched in silence as the pair tried to hold on to any sliver of dignity they still possessed while hurrying from the throne room. Once the echo of the doors closing dissipated you could feel Vader’s eyes on the side of your face and you let the facade drop. Your feet still ached from standing for hours on end and the bone-deep weariness from coming too close to overexerting yourself forced your shoulders down. 

         “That went well,” you quipped, turning your head in Vader’s direction. He made no effort to reply as he got to his feet and stepped around the holoprojector. You followed his approach, leaning back when he came to a stop between your spread legs. Vader stood frozen for a beat before lifting a gloved hand and lightly brushing a strand of hair off your forehead. The gesture was so…tender.

         “Utilizing that ability drains you,” he noted, his hand hovering a few inches from your face. 

         “Without practice,” you sighed with a shrug. “It’s been a while since I’ve done it.” Vader nodded almost absently, lightly brushing the tips of his fingers over your temple. 

         “Explain it to me.” You raised an expectant brow when he said nothing more and you could almost feel the eye roll directed at you. “Please.”

         “Well, since you asked so nicely,” you snickered, unintentionally tilting your head into his touch. Before you could think too hard about it, you launched into an explanation on Force Severing. 

This kind of exchange was never something you sought out or easily accepted if you were being honest but this was different. It felt natural for Vader to be lazily playing with your hair while you illustrated the complex mechanics of Force Severing. The interaction was new yet somehow familiar like you’d been doing this for years. 

The fledgling bond you’d formed with Vader hummed with serenity and you welcomed it for the first time. 

The weeks got crazier if that was even possible. You were starting to understand why Vader seemed to be wound so tight all the time. Between the dwindling number of Inquisitors and the never-ending stream of officers, someone always needed something. How in the sithhells Vader hadn’t lost his fucking mind was beyond you because you were about three seconds away from imploding. Yet worst of all, you hadn’t seen more than a glimpse of Vader but you could feel him nearby. Thankfully, the constant duties let you ignore the uncomfortable realization that you missed him.

         “My Lord?” drifted from over your shoulder and your eye twitched. 

         “What?” you forced through your teeth, crossing your arms tighter over your chest. What else could you possibly want?

         “You’re needed in the command room,” the officer relayed, their boots scuffing against the dark floor. You bit back the threatening growl working its way up your throat and turned on the officer only to stop short. The young, mousy junior officer did her best to hold your gaze. She was clearly…cautious around you but you couldn’t sense any fear, a rarity recently. 

         “Thank you…” you trailed off with an expectant look. Her brows twitched together but her expression smoothed out almost immediately. 

         “Sarin, My Lord,” she said, tilting her chin up and your lips twitched with a smirk. Names were important, they held power, and they were the first barrier strangers needed to overcome. That’s why few knew yours.

         “Can you tell me what to expect, Sarin?” 

         “I’m sorry to say I haven’t the slightest clue,” Sarin mumbled, pointedly shifting her gaze to the corner of the room. The laugh that rushed past your lips surprised you both but Sarin’s stiff posture loosened slightly. Her gaze burrowed into your skin, scrutinizing your expression down to the way you held yourself. “Permission to speak freely?”

         “Let’s hear it,” you huffed, shifting your weight.

         “You’re not what I expected.” Well, that wasn’t what you were anticipating. Sarin darted her eyes away but not for long, eventually meeting your gaze again. 

         “What? I’m not scary enough,” you scoffed, narrowing your eyes at her. 

         “Oh no, you are but I guess being able to see your face makes a difference. A reminder that you are human.” 

Sarin’s observation hit you with a pang of longing, a desire to be anything but yourself for once. For time to freeze around you so nothing but you existed. No mysterious power flowing through your body. No darkness laced with the echoes of your screams hanging over your head. Nothing but the child you were before years of pain and corruption. To just be a boring human.

         “Thank you, Sarin. You’re dismissed,” you mumbled absently, doing your best to blink away the fog settling around your mind. Sarin lingered in the doorway, her confusion and curiosity bleeding into the room but when you lifted your head again you were alone. 

The conference room seemed to stretch and expand, intensifying the emptiness growing in the pit of your stomach. It didn’t take much to find Vader’s simmering presence in the Force, whatever was going on in the command room could wait.

Pods of officers filled the command room, the branches of the military never straying outside their sub-units. Vader flexed his fingers, the material of his belt squeaking, his patience running thin as the last few stragglers. He ignored the chatter around him, methodically scanning the room, his eyes snapping towards the door when he felt a shift in the Force. You rounded the corner in a hurry only to falter, blinking a few times before continuing on at a slower pace. Vader chose to overlook the way he straightened as you stepped into the room, golden eyes scanning the sea of beings until they landed on him. 

Vader liked to think he was starting to understand you better, only for you to throw him off again. You looked…hesitant, your feet carrying you in one direction despite your eyes mapping a different path, a path toward him. Tilting his head, he watched you weave through the crowded room, stopping in his general vicinity but not close enough for his liking. His already waning patience snapped and he closed the distance, settling close enough that his arm brushed yours. Apparently, he had done something correctly because your coiled stance started to relax, your arm bumping his lightly. He wanted to ask what was bothering you but the second the thought entered his mind, the chief of military operations’ voice cut through the buzz of conversation. 

Like a good soldier and apprentice, Vader listened closely to the debriefing, adding his comments when prompted but your presence at his side made it increasingly more difficult. Your emotions were tightly guarded but you hadn't closed off the bond with him. It was harder to decipher your feelings, catching only a faint outline of what was going on with you.

When prompted, your voice sounded as strong and steady as usual but your eyes strayed toward the floor. Yes, something was bothering you and Vader was determined to figure it out. There was no doubt you could handle yourself but the fierce protectiveness he felt for you outweighed that. 

Someone would pay for upsetting you.

The soft exhale you let out once the drawn-out briefing finished had him looking down at you. 

         “I request to speak with you privately,” he said as quietly as he could. You arched a brow but didn’t object, nodding your understanding after a few tense seconds. 

It felt like no matter how hard he tried, every being that crossed his path needed something from him or you. Officers requesting clearance, one of the three remaining Inquisitors going on about intel, or a trooper offering paperwork. The longer it took, the harder his teeth ground together, the sound lingering within the confines of his helmet until he was sure he was going to crack one. 

         “Sit,” he commanded, probably a little harsher than needed when he finally lowered into his office chair. Your pinched expression told him that yes, it came out much harsher than he meant. Regardless, you complied, hopping onto the corner of the desk within arm’s reach. 

         “What’s up?” you wondered, bracing both hands on the edge of the desk. 

         “What is troubling you?” Despite your best efforts to contain the urge to flinch, your body still twitched, followed quickly by a harsh exhale. 

         “I appreciate the concern but it’s nothing you can fix,” you sighed, closing your eyes and rubbing above one of your brows. Vader wasn’t going to accept that answer and part of you knew it. 

         “Tell me,” he pushed. Your head was still bowed, watching your legs swinging slowly and he studied you for a moment, considering a way to bridge the gap. His body moved as if it already knew the answer, durasteel fingers prying your flesh fingers off the edge of his desk. Vader was careful, hyper-aware of his own artificial strength, probably for the first time, and squeezed your fingers. “Tell me, please.” 

Your expression softened but instead of the smug grin he usually got when he was polite, a small fond smile curled the corner of your mouth. However, it didn’t last long. Your eyes were glued to where your hand rested in his, your thumb tracing the seam along the outside of his palm. You crumbled, anguish creasing your face, and Vader’s long cold heart twinged with concern. 

         “I don’t want this,” you said quietly. Your posture slumped even more like saying it sucked the last bit of fight out of you. “There was a reason I ran and kept running when Dooku was killed. It didn’t want this then and I don’t want it now.” 

He hated that you were censoring your words, fearing that you’d anger him by saying what you truly meant. By saying you wanted nothing to do with the Empire or his Master. Vader may be impatient and aloof at times but he was not stupid. Anyone that paid you a second glance could see how miserable you were but Sidious had you backed into a corner and you knew it. 

Vader hated his Master a little more.

         “What do you want?” he asked, the question burning on his scarred tongue. Your chest jumped with a soundless, bitter laugh and your eyes flickered up to his mask. Their golden color wasn’t as fierce as usual, grief swirling in them rather than anger. 

         “Freedom,” you whispered, dropping your eyes to the floor again. 

Longing for freedom was something he could sympathize with. Yet, your troubled hue in the Force spoke to something deeper. If you were only bothered by being sucked in Sidious’ game, he’d expect rage but you felt so…defeated in the Force. Vader squeezed your fingers, prompting you to look at him before he spoke again but the words caught in his throat. The yellowish lightning in his office complimented the color of your eyes.

The natural color. 

The pieces clicked into place.

This wasn’t just about freedom from the Empire or Sidious. That played a part in your low spirits but there was more to it. You were tortured and twisted to accept the dark side, driven to conform or die. He couldn’t be sure he would’ve had the strength to choose death if the tables were turned when he was a boy. Pinpointing your motives for certain things you’d done, even just in the time since he’d met you, was difficult but he had a feeling you were going through the motions. Acting in the only way you’d ever known. 

Yet, deep down, all you wanted was the strength to walk away from it. 

Vader filed away his flow of questions for another time, wanting to think on the situation a little longer, and focused on you again. Providing comforting words never came easy to him, eventually growing frustrated with his own fumbling. Vader instead did one of the few things he felt confident doing.

You jolted at the first brush of his life force and he automatically pulled away, ready to apologize until you reached back. Your presence twined with his, finding comfort in just having him close, something that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He did his best to enjoy it, trying to focus on the desire to feel the way you brushed your thumb along the side of his hand but his thoughts wandered. A topic he stuffed down every time it emerged came to the surface. He embraced the half-formed thoughts, letting himself get lost in the gentleness of your presence while he planned. 

Dethroning Darth Sidious couldn’t be done on a whim.

Taglist: @the-official-memester​ @dokoni-mo​ @burn-bunny​ @guinea-pig16​ @alisu-id​ @astra-1780 @yvette-ace​ @instantnoooodles​ @jellydodger​ @alaneth​ 

[disaster-fruit]

Believe it or not, I am 27 and have just discovered ATLA and I have some questions. Is my feeling correct that most Zutara shippers are women/nonbinary folks and most Kataang shippers are, well, men. I just can’t help thinking how Kataang is written with such a male gaze in mind, while Zutara covers both perspectives. Anyways, I understand why the show ended with Kataang, I’ve read all the big metas, I understand that Bryke kind of sucks etc. etc. But I’m curious what you think about this perceived gender divide since you’ve definitely been around longer lol

Hello! I gotta say, i don't think i have a better perspective of the fandom to offer, since i haven't actually been part of the fandom since maybe 2012? and back then i was a literal child and i couldn't speak English so 'being in the fandom' was mostly just reblogging gifs and reading the zutara fics in brazilian ao3 of the time. I have watched and re-watched ATLA an unholy amount of times since then, and i have read and watched hours and hours of meta and theories and whatnot, but the fandom itself is not something i'm well acquainted with to give a good perspective on.

I do, however, love to talk and love receiving asks, so i guess you'll get my opinion anyway. And everyone knows i'm not usually concise.

First of all, are most zutara shippers women/non-binary and kat@ang shippers men? I don't know. I haven't been in the fandom and i haven't checked the bios of most posts i did see and interact, so i have no idea. The only kat@ang shipper i personally know is a friend of mine, who is a woman. So i won't speculate on whether or not your feeling is correct, perhaps a fandom veteran would be better equipped at answering it.

What i WILL say is that Kat@ang is, in my opinion, much more appealing from aang's perspective than from katara's. She's older than aang, in an age girls are absolutely not looking at younger boys that way, and doesn't show any interest in him romantically through the whole show, with the only exception that comes to mind being their dance on season 3 (easily their best moment imo), and then their kiss at the very last minute. All we know is that Aang likes Katara, and the other way around is open to interpretation at best.

One sentiment I've seen from kat@ang shippers is that they seem to really like aang and what him to be happy, and since he likes katara, they ship the two. That is all well and fine, we support people having fun with their ships for whatever reason here. That is however not a good enough motivation if you are, you know, the creators of a show who were supposed to have some duty to storytelling, themes, and cohesion. So them making kat@ng happen just so that aang could 'get the girl', despite all the ways that weakens an otherwise phenomenal story, is a bad choice that should be criticized. At the very least, in its execution.

So yeah i don't think its wrong to say there's a 'male viewpoint' to kat@ang as it was made in the show, though i wouldn't necessarily extend that to the kat@ng fans in the fandom since i don't know them, and it feels unfair to make that assumption. For all i know there is probably no shortage of amazing fics out there that explore their dynamic much better than the show did.

But though i can't speak for kat@ang fans, there is another group i've seen more often in my metas and video essays journey and talking to male friends throughout the years, what i'll call 'shipping neutral' men. You know the type, they love avatar, they'll spend hours and hours dissecting all the aspects of the story and the themes and the worldbuilding up UNTIL the topic is romance in the show. Then they'll wave it away dismissively saying the show 'was never about romance' and the crazy shippers are 'getting distracted' from the real story and how they just don't care about that aspect. And some of them will say they're fine with Kat@ng because it's canon (and no other reason), some wont have an opinion on any of the ships, except that they're not important and anyone who HAS an opinion on that is just silly.

And HERE i definitely see not only a gender divide but a sexist tendency to disregard romance as less important to any story, and not as an integral part that deserves care and deserves to be well interwoven with the rest of it. It's basically a stereotype now about how zutara fans have all these metas and analysis about how perfectly the ship fits the shows themes and how that would improve the writing (and yes, i agree with all of them) and that's because we know that romance is just as deserving as action, as worldbuildng and whatnot, and that it can be a powerful writing tool to enhance character and plot and themes, and that the way it is done it ATLA is not that. And i think these 'shipping neutral' men's analysis all fall short and even tend to not notice flaws in the story because they refuse to interact meaningfully with that aspect. Because as we all know, romance is for silly girls.

And being honest, i have much more respect for any kat@ang shipper of any gender that is out here being passionate about what they like, writing their fics and writing their own metas and having fun in a respectful way, than i have for men (and people who aren't men) with that dismissive attitude towards the romance arcs in the show.

That was a tangent! But damn i haven't answered an ask like this in a while and its always very fun. Hope i didn't offend anyone lol If its not clear i'm not a fan of ship wars, we stan having fun here. Buuut i also love debating and engaging with the story and that sometimes can get confrontational. There's definitely a space for 'ship discussion' or 'ship debate' that doesn't cross the line to 'ship war', i think that line is 'fun'. We're having fun, right? Discussing fandom and writing is fun, right?

Anyways hope this makes sense, sorry I didn't actually answer your question even though i talked THIS MUCH.

[merakiui]

Apricity

yandere!albedo x (gender neutral) reader art credit - miHoYo cw: nsfw elements, yandere, captivity/restraints, unhealthy behaviors note - please come home to me and take care on the journey, albedo! :D also kindly heed the warnings. thank you!

His eyes are unnaturally pretty. Like twin crystals glittering in an expansive, dismal cave, searching for secrets unheard of within Mondstadt. Somehow you’re always in his peripheral, not too close and yet impossibly far at the same time. The distance is harrowing, terribly so, and Albedo knows it should be nothing short of a coincidence. When he shows up at your quaint stall with Sucrose, claiming to be in need of the exact wares you happen to sell, you pay it no mind. After all, you’ve met your fair share of regulars, and their support is what keeps you afloat. 

But there is more to those beautiful irises than he lets on. Whether it’s intentional or not, you can’t exactly say. You suppose you would rather run into someone as well-respected as Albedo as opposed to an unlikable stranger with ill intent. And it’s always great to see a familiar face, especially when he chooses to peruse your stall rather the others around you. It isn’t all that strange; you’ve even become friends with Sucrose during your short interactions. Albedo has indulged in stiff conversations with you before, but most of them were meaningless. Simple throwaway chatter between two acquaintances. 

Oddly enough, Albedo finds himself wanting more. He doesn’t want to talk about the weather or the transitioning seasons; he wants to listen to you explain how your day was and if you made more profit than the day before that. He wants to stand there and immerse himself in your pleasant voice, ignorant to the hustle and bustle of the people around him. And yet he just can’t. For a variety of reasons that pull him out of the haze of intrigue, you’ll always remain in the background. And he simply can’t bear the thought of that.

It’s rude to deteriorate a relationship that’s only just begun to blossom. If your meager acquaintanceship with him were to wither away into dust, he would feel obligated to keep it going—as if he were simply beating a dead cow with a stick. Although your hobbies differ from his, it’s nothing he can’t handle. A genius must familiarize himself with other areas of study if he intends to craft solutions that are outside of the box.

“Albedo?” 

Your tone is meek and small, tinged with the slightest shiver. Part of him feels bad for lying to you, but you were just so trusting. It’s almost comical how easily you fell into his trap. If he gets to see you in such a delicious way all the time, he’s more than willing to forsake the truth to meet his own desires. A selfish wish, yes, but it’s absolutely wonderful.

“What is it?” 

He eyes you from his spot behind the easel, and even though you can’t see him you can feel his piercing gaze. Like the sun shining brightly in a wintry afternoon, his eyes smolder with unbearable heat and yet his expression is cold with brilliant focus. 

“A-Are you almost done? It’s really cold.” Your bare back touches the wall and you flinch, an instinctual response that makes Albedo’s brow quirk. “And this is sort of...weird.”

“How so?” 

He says that in such a dismissive manner, acting as if your current position isn’t compromising. As if this was a normal exchange between friendly strangers. You have trouble finding your voice in this situation, especially since talking seems like such a chore. You’re worried you’ll say the wrong thing and then it’ll leave a false imprint of who you are on Albedo. But you’ve always been nice, unable to refuse those who are kind in return, and so you’re forced to endure the discomfort that comes with modeling nude for this peculiar alchemist. 

“Think about it.” You distract yourself with a ramble of an explanation—certainly more than what’s necessary, but Albedo doesn’t mind. He finds solace in your voice. “You’re looking at me and I’m...n-naked. And we don’t really know each other. I’m not trying to vilify you when I say this, but I don’t want you to do anything bad to me. N-Not that you would! It’s just—this is really weird. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Hm.”

“And do I have to be tied up like this?” You shuffle in your bindings, fingers scrabbling over the cuffs and chains that jingle like horrible sleigh bells. 

“You were moving too much earlier. I won’t be able to get your anatomy right if you’re constantly fidgeting.”

But it’s uncomfortable, you think, chewing on your lip out of habit.

“I guess I understand. It must be an artist thing, right?”

“You could say that.”

His work on the canvas offers a display that’s just as lewd as the real model, down to the way your nipples perk and harden in the cold. He’s not even close to finishing and that’s a blessing in itself. He could stare at your figure for hours on end, committing every inch of your flesh to memory, and he wouldn’t grow weary. 

“Do artists normally blindfold their models? I don’t really know anything about this stuff, but it’s okay if it helps with the process.”

“I find it to be interesting,” he answers, simple and vague as ever. “It adds a mysterious touch to the finished piece.”

“So you draw the model with the blindfold?” You’re used to gazing upon paintings of flowers and portraits of influential historical figures rather than blatant nudity. “Artists are definitely unique.”

Albedo hums in response, secretly reveling in your naïveté. At the end of the day, you’re just a normal citizen of Mondstadt, who stands behind a wooden stall every single day and happily chats with potential customers. You excel in business, but when it comes to the inner workings of art you’re at a loss. And that makes it all the more easier for Albedo to spin all sorts of wild tales. He fears that gullible nature will harm you in the future, yet there isn’t a threat in sight. Not when you’re here in front of him, no longer confined to his peripheral. And you’ll stay there for however long it takes him to finish this painting. 

It’s a twisted infatuation. Albedo knows he shouldn’t take too much of your time or else he’ll become addicted and it will be impossible to focus on his studies. But he can’t stop himself or his wandering gaze, which trails up your midriff. Higher and higher until he’s staring at your face, eyes obscured behind the soft fabric of a blindfold. Your body is a temple he wishes to worship, and perhaps that’s a sacrilegious thought that ought to have him consider the weight of his emotions. 

And yet you’re far too irresistible. His thoughts are dangerously potent, swirling within his brain like a maddening hurricane. Surely your missing presence in the market won’t be questioned if he were to keep you just a little longer. Longer than the boundaries of sanity will allow, that is. There are other vendors who sell the same things you boast; the economy won’t shatter if you’re not there to provide.

The paintbrush moves along the canvas in even strokes and suddenly Albedo’s mind is wandering between subjects. From art to alchemy, love to lust, and the wondrous crevices in your anatomy that call out to him. The brush stills in his hand. If he’s not mistaken, Sucrose will be stopping by to assist him and the last thing he needs is staining his appearance in a suspicious color. 

“Albedo?” His name rolls off of your tongue in such a delectable way; it’s almost sinful how his thoughts race and race in an endless track. “Are you almost done? My back is sore and the floor’s really uncomfortable.”

“Sorry. This will take longer than I thought.” He sets his brush and palette down, and you listen to his footsteps as they draw near. “Something has come up, but I promise I won’t be long.” 

“Wait. You’re not going to leave me, are you? I need to get back to the marketplace!”

Before you know what’s happening, the blindfold is coming off and you’re locking eyes with Albedo, who peers at you with intense scrutiny. Certainly the look of a genius studying a textbook. You grow flustered all at once, just now coming to terms with the fact that he looked at your body for longer than you’d like to admit. Shyly, you shut your legs to obscure your private parts, but it’s not like that will help the embarrassment that claws its way onto your expression like a persistent beast. 

“You’re better off waiting here.” He shrugs off his coat, draping it over your shoulders as if that’ll keep the dreadful chill away. “As much as I would like to finish this now, I have other work that must be taken care of.”

“I get that, but you can’t just leave me here! That’s practically kidnapping!” you protest, hoping he’ll heed the desperation in your trembling vocals. “At least, that’s what this feels like.”

“I wouldn’t kidnap you,” he says, amusement flashing in his eyes. “You’re too funny.”

Yet he isn’t laughing and neither are you as you helplessly watch him depart. The floor is too cold for your liking and the idea of entrapment settles under your skin like a million maggots feasting on a decaying, chilled copse. Devoid of warmth and carrying an air of measured grace, Albedo doesn’t spare you another glance.

He doesn’t need to. He’ll have all the time in the world to study your body like it’s the finest artwork, and you’ll be powerless to object.

[rotshop]

Jebus x Gender neutral reader who's secretly a demon?

anon im grabbing you so so tightly by the throat im holding you up off the ground you are like a stress ball abt to burst . i love you. /p j

i kinda changed the prompt a LITTLE methinks ,,, idk ,,,

[ maybe very brief gore revolving around horns and tail ]

-now. jeb does try and give people some sort of benefit of the doubt. he tried to be patient with phobos, he might've not always been that way- some sort of weird side effect of dealing with employers. he gave crackpot the benefit of the doubt, he obviously had some sort of fondness for phobos, it was only natural to imitate his snarky and childish behavior in some form of flattery. he doesn't pry into people's lives, that's not his thing. he doesn't like being investigated, so he won't investigate others. you understood that pretty well. he figured it was because people seemed a little off around you, half steps back when you got close and whispers shared with pointed glances. he wasn't sure what that was all about, either way though, it'd made him work up some sort of guts to speak up when you'd been around him- something simple he could play off as talking to himself aloud if you didn't respond. yet, you had with earnest interest and wit.

-you were some co-worker or otherwise were someone who he ran into often, a few simple interactions turning into routine. he'd started spending lunch with you, introducing you and hofnarr officially for the first time (side note i think poly would be cute w/ that sort of concept but that's not the ask so i digress). then he'd started checking in on you whenever he got the time and chance to, even if you were ways away, in some whole other branch of the core, he did his best to come see you. which then turned into you joining him on his way back after seeing just how exhausted he was, the occasional tease of age and stress getting to him earning you a half-hearted, amused glare. of course, he wouldn't make you walk back immediately- then he'd have to come with you as repayment and the cycle wouldn't end. so instead you make yourself at home sitting on the corner of his desk or on the counter and watching him work.

-long story short ; you both talked a lot. he was never a very chatty person, it wasn't that he didn't have any opinions or things to say really, he just wasn't a fan of all the eyes and attention, it made him nervous. he could appreciate that you did your best to alleviate that, happy to go on even if the first few conversations he only pitched in occasional short answers, avoiding staring too much and not pushing eye contact- it meant a lot. before he knew it he was going on and on, minutes passing far too fast with every little tangent and bridge to a new topic before something snapped him back, making him apologize and rub the back of his neck in some sort of embarrassment at the act. you'd always laughed and reassured him it was fine, he vividly recalls a certain time you'd waved your hand dismissively, tilting your head to the side a tad as you smiled and told him it was fine, you liked his voice anyway.

-other people noticed he voiced his thoughts more in meetings for the next few days.

-then y'know shit got fucked up or whatever ig. it's a little bit fuzzy, it comes in vague outlines and colours that he can't exactly pin the source of. all he remembers was some shape coming towards him with something drawn behind its back(? was it even a person? it was really too hard to tell, it hurt his head.), then there was black and red, it was black for a long time. then, after either a very long or very short period (time seems to fade when you're dead. dead, it was something he'd scoffed dryly at the first time. after the halo it never really seemed to phase him, he can't remember exactly when it'd started to become mundane.) he'd seen the vague outline of you over him, something felt off about it though. maybe it was just the blurriness, he wasn't in any shape to start making attempts. the last real coherent thought he had before slipping back unconscious was how he was surprised you could pick him up, he didn't expect you to be strong enough to be able to without too much struggle. he'd thought about asking when he'd woken up, bandages tight around his torso (you'd asked him several times if they were too tight, it was funny how concerned you were) when he'd managed to find you after only vaguely recalling his surroundings as some old nearby medic's area the aahw had abandoned. the complete lack of eye contact and withdrawn, curled body language made him hold his tongue on that thought. besides, he already had enough to think about when you were handing the halo over to him to worry about it.

-anyway skipping ahead bc this is getting lengthy.

-when he eventually finds out (which, he will. he's smart and worries too much, it'll inevitably come out), he's not sure what to think at first. he (very guiltily) compares you to tricky. that clown is the only thing he knows that's even close to what you are. demon might not be its exact classification but .. he's desperate to say he has something to base his 'theory' off of. it puts a bitter taste in his mouth at first, the thought that you could come to that level of sadism and chaos. it hurts to think it would mean he'd lost two of his closest companions to the same spiral of kindness to bloodthirst. there was a noticeable silence for a while between the two of you. but . you weren't tricky. you weren't popping out of thin air with a weapon held high and a glimmer of brutality and gore in your eye. you weren't tearing him to shreds and bringing him back. (you'd only brought him back once, that very first time. you didn't really like talking about it much. the memory made you tight with worry and anxiety, so he simply avoided the topic for your sake.) you were kind.

-you didn't like talking about it too much, something about you feeling alienated by and for it. you told him enough about it though, little things you were comfortable with sharing. you'd told him about the abilities it gave you, the little physical differences you'd worked to alter or otherwise hide (there was always a certain weight on his chest whenever he traced over the slight stumps left from your horns that were hidden under your hair and the scar on your lower back, a noticeable dip in your skin left from your tail), you'd briefly mentioned where you came from- some Other Place. youd been a little more nervous about that last tidbit, he'd thought about it a little more. inevitably, he came to the same conclusion as he had on the overall matter; you were still the same person he'd fallen for.

[travellingarmy]

║Scaramouche║Jealousy

Requested from Wattpad.

Gender-neutral.

Fluff.

Word count: 1.5k

---

He doesn't know when so don't ask him. But he does know that you had somehow bewitched him into liking you because he couldn't explain what it is about you that had made him fall for you. Was it your hair? Eyes? Smile? Again, he doesn't know and all he could do is blame you for it.

His eyes stare lazily at the crowd, thoughts completely all about you and only you. He wishes he could see you-- oh, would you look at that? Not too far away, he spots a familiar stature, eyes looking at a list. You.

He pondered at today's date, crossing his arms. Based on his notes from observing you, you were out shopping for groceries. Oh, how could he forget that? That was the reason why he was out and about with no particular purpose tied to the Tsaritsa at all. He was grateful at how you always had a routine. That way, he could have these.. Encounters. He doesn't do much other than stare. Creepy, but he does not dare walk up to you to strike a conversation. He only does it when there is a really good excuse for them.

"I thought I'd find you here," a smooth voice spoke from behind the short male, a chuckle following after. Scaramouche had the look of annoyance at the sound that he loathed oh so much. "What do you want, pest?"

He does not need to look behind him to know that it was the young Harbinger, Tartaglia. The ginger chuckles, resting a hand on his hip. "Ouch, no need to be so venomous, old man." He does not even bother to feign hurt.

Scaramouche clicks his tongue, not once turning to see the ginger. "If you have nothing to say, leave. Can't you see I'm busy?" he spat. The taller male grins. "Oh? With what? Surely, stalking an innocent civilian isn't what you are busy about, is it?" Tartaglia has been watching for a while as well, but not at you-- Scaramouche, seeing as the sixth Harbinger started to act strange-- mainly towards you. He thought it was hilarious that a man such as the cruel sixth could easily coil under your words.

Scaramouche mentally curses at the male. "Piss off." He grits his teeth. This just made Tartaglia want to continue. However, a brilliant plan- much better than teasing Scaramouche- had crept its way in his head. Smirking evident in his tone, he bids goodbye to the short Harbinger.

"Good riddance," he mumbled to himself. His eyes had never once left your person as you move onto different stalls that had the needed items on your list.

Maybe he should go up and say a quick 'hello'? You two are friends after all. It wouldn't be awkward, right?

He bit the inside of his cheek, deciding against it. As much as he tops everybody, he cowers to interact with you and only pray that the Tsaritsa had something- anything- to give him a reason to interact with you. He thought it would seem awkward otherwise.

Sighing, he turns on his heels, planning on going to the training ground for new recruits and do something productive like watching new Fatui members bleed their guts out-- anything that would take his mind off of you.

-

He doesn't know when, but the next time he saw you made his blood boil. Actually, it wasn't you that made him that way-- it was at the sight of you talking to the eleventh Harbinger with all smiles and laughter.

Were you two always that close for you to allow Tartaglia to put a hand on your shoulders? It was evident that the Harbinger was up to something when he put it there. Scaramouche doesn't know what type of game Tartaglia was playing at, but he didn't like it in the slightest.

He wanted to walk up and wrap his arms around you protectively while he hiss and glare at the eleventh. But he had to hold back. After all, it would seem weird since you two weren't lovers. Oh how he wished that you would leave the ginger already.

-

If he was itching for a fight, Scaramouche would happily give it to him. It has been 2 weeks since and each day, Tartaglia always seemed free enough to hang around you. And you seemed undisturbed by it? How absurd! Had you not notice where that man puts his hands on you? That hand that the ginger holds is supposed to be his!

He scowls. He can't take this anymore. Scaramouche has finally figured out the game that the ginger started and tried not to fall for his petty trap to make him finally admit to you about his feelings. However, that didn't last long and he started to think that he should take this as a chance before that opportunity is no longer there; when Tartaglia has really fallen for you.

Taking a deep breath, he strides to you two with menacing glares thrown at the tall male. Tartaglia felt those eyes that he knew had been watching him since two weeks ago draw near, getting his attention, which soon caught yours.

"Oh? Why if it isn't gramps," Tartaglia greets, showing his signature smile that was usually a sign of trouble to come. Scaramouche stares long and hard at him before he turns to look at you.

"Scara, hello!" You smiled that smile he loves oh so much. His heart fluttered, almost forgetting the presence of a particular someone.

"Uh, so, gramps," Tartaglia starts, "(Y/N) and I are actually going out for lunch, so if you could speed it up.." Scaramouche shots another deadly glare at the male. It would have been scary to a normal person but since this is what Tartaglia wanted, he wasn't affected by it.

"You're not having lunch with them." With that, he grabs you by the wrist and drags you along with him. "H, huh? Wait, Scara, where are we going?" You look at the back of the short Harbinger before you turn to look over your shoulders at Tartaglia.

You thought he would stand there dumbfoundedly but instead, he waves at you with one hand as the other rested on his hips and balancing his weight on one leg. He gave a close-eyed smile, feeling proud that it had turned out the way he wanted. The eleventh wanted to follow to hear what cheesy thing Scaramouche would say, but he stops himself and decided to tease him later.

Now gone from sight after turning a block, Scaramouche pins you against a wall, both hands slammed beside your head. You yelped and hissed at the impact, closing your eyes instinctively.

"Hey, Scara, couldn't you just--" "I like you," he confesses, getting all words dying on your tongue. "Eh?" Silence followed after, and it seemed to you that there was a bird cawing not too far in the distance.

Did you hear that right? You look up and was met a flushed Harbinger who awaited for your response. "C, could you repeat that? I think water got into my ears when I took a bath this morning."

Scaramouche takes a deep breath and this time, said it loud and clear-- enough for you to comprehend. "I like you, (Y/N)," he said, the heat tingling his cheeks. Gosh, Tartaglia's spot would have definitely been given away by his laughter, if he was there.

"I like you too, Scara," you confess, a confused look on your face at the sudden confrontation. On Scaramouche's part, the light in his eyes twinkled like little stars dancing in the night sky. You liked him as well? A smile was threatening to break but before that could happen, he moves away and coughed onto his fist, clearing his throat soon after.

"W, well, I'm glad we have mutual feelings towards one another.." he said, face still slightly turned from you.

"But, Scara, can I ask what brought this up so suddenly?" you had finally ask. The Harbinger stare at you longingly and removes his fist from his mouth, scratching the back of his neck. "I was, uh, a bit jealous of.." He looks down, feeling embarrassed to say it. But you wanted an answer so he had no choice but to give it. "I was jealous of Tartaglia hanging around you."

Your heart fluttered. He looks adorable if you had to be honest. Who knew that he could be jealous by someone who was much younger than both you and him? You had long knew that the young Harbinger was up to something the moment he came up to you with the smile used when he was plotting something. You weren't that dense.

A laugh escaped your lips, getting the attention of the male. "H, hey, what's so funny?" His brows scrunched together in confusion.

You shake your head to dismiss the question and soon cup his face, bringing him close so that your foreheads were touching. Staring longingly into his indigo eyes, you spoke. "There is no need to be jealous because my heart belonged to you long ago."

---

[saturnity]

Telling Tenya Iida to take care of himself. Tenya Iida x Gender Neutral, Best Friend Reader.

(authors note: this is my first full length fic in...a while. motivation hit me like a brick and I decided I'd churn something out! this fic is dedicated to a few special friends: @classreptenyaiida, for the interactions I've had with him, @yarozu for being such a great fan and supporter!! @lostcoves for being my first friend on this platform and for being so so kind to me, @uwu-iwanttodie because god I know you're a sucker for tenya just like i am, and @tryingmyves for sticking around and being a wonderful person!! there's also one more special person this fic is dedicated to but I don't know their tumblr url and if they wish to be named LOL // but yes anyway, enjoy! i hope you like this, feel free to send me any feedback, rts and follows appreciated!!!)

warnings: none! all fluff. good for everyone.

Tenya Iida and (f/n l/n). The both of you were inseparable, friends since childhood, in the same class throughout elementary and middle school. You were overjoyed to hear that you’d be in the same class with him again in UA, brimming with excitement to be able to stick by his side for longer. Of course, you had a crush on him ever since you could remember...but you were really too scared, terrified, really, to confess to him- in fear of ruining your 15 years of friendship.

Out of all people, you were the person who knew how determined Tenya was to not only reach, but exceed his goals and aspirations. You knew how much he wanted to satisfy the people around him and meet their expectations. You didn’t exactly understand why he did it, but you knew how driven he was, and how he’d do anything within the law and the rules to get there. And he rarely failed. Tenya was a great inspiration in your life, encouraging you to do better, while growing together. In a way, he influenced you to work hard, train harder and to do your hardest. The both of you became a force to be reckoned with; your parents and Tenya’s parents realised this, and hoped you’d do great things as heroes in the future, allowing you to spend weekends and holidays together.

Throughout your first term, Tenya enthusiastically took up the role as representative of Class 1-A with pride. He’d come to you for feedback for his ideas, always asking your opinion before proceeding, and you’d be his biggest cheerleader. You improved ideas he delivered, making sure small details were tweaked, and ensured logistics ran smoothly. Whenever Tenya needed help, you were the first he’d go to. Tenya presumed the role of a figure of strength within Class 1-A, readily assisting people in need, hosting study groups after school, and going the extra mile to make sure everyone was...more or less, in line. His work towards being a ‘good hero’ started here, and it wouldn’t stop until his last breath. As an Iida, he worked daily to strengthen his reputation as a helpful, strong figure...no, a reputation as a hero.

But inside, you knew Tenya was tired. He was slowly burning himself out. He didn’t need a savior, but he needed someone to shake him awake. There were days where you’d find Tenya a little less awake than usual, even though he seemed to have the same amount of energy as every other day. You’d catch him zoning out after school days ended, maybe he’d drop from his chopsticks once more than normal at lunch, and sometimes he’d even forget to bring certain things to school. Your best friend definitely wasn’t sleeping or resting enough.

You did your best to make sure Tenya was taking care of himself. Sometimes, you would gently remind him to drink more water, or to get more sleep. Other times, you’d deliberately book ‘study sessions’ with him, only to do the exact opposite- taking him to a cafe for a ‘change of environment’, introducing him to several new drinks and cakes, much to his dismay. Or maybe you’d eat lunch on one of the school rooftops, and allow him to take a nap afterwards on your shoulder while you ran your fingers through his coarse, navy hair. Perhaps you’d relax at your house, a movie would be playing on the TV, and while he’d feverishly insist on studying or doing something more ‘productive’, you’d gently but stubbornly insist that he rest. As the days passed, Tenya placed his focus on his ambitions, and your opportunities to ensure his leisure decreased.

One night, you wondered why Tenya pushed himself so hard. Was it because he was a people pleaser? There were definitely times where he would be almost too eager to help others. Or was it because he decided to shoulder his world of responsibility alone? Maybe it was because he was constantly surrounded by good examples of what a hero should be, that he held the burden of his family name, that he was expected to be the next best thing for the hero community...or maybe it was all of the above. Tenya had been working tirelessly for this; yet he didn’t know when or how to take care of himself and to forget to be selfless. He was always running to help others, always thinking in the position of others, or whatever would be better for the future. You didn’t remember the last time he did something for himself. Regardless, you decided that you’d definitely work a little harder to make sure your best friend would care for himself. After all, everyone needed someone else to lean on, right?

You shook your head. “No. I’m serious. You need to rest. Or at least take it easy this weekend.”

Finally, one Friday afternoon, you saw Tenya yawn in class for the first time. He looked close to falling asleep, in fact, you could say he was positively exhausted. His eyelids fluttered downward, their weight becoming heavier and heavier with each blink. Inside, he was praying he wouldn’t get picked on to answer a question- he just wasn’t really following the class material anymore. Or worse, he hoped Mr. Aizawa wouldn’t assign group work- it’d mean he would have to actively interact with other people, which he didn’t have the energy for. Thankfully, the bell rang, and the gray, bleary-eyed teacher dismissed his class, unfurling his sleeping bag and escaping the room to get a nap himself. You walked up to Tenya’s desk and playfully smacked his arm, shocking him a little more awake. He adjusted his glasses and looked up to you.

“Heeey. Someone’s looking tired.”

“I suppose I didn’t sleep quite enough last night, (y/n).” Tenya grinned. To the normal eye, it would seem like one of the class rep’s normal, signature smiles, but to you, there was a fatigued weakness shielded behind its sunny exterior.

You arched an eyebrow. “You’ve said that every day for the last month and a half.”

“I know, I know. There’s so much work I need to get to, in fact, I should return to my dorm soon to st-” Tenya had finished gathering his things and prepared to leave the classroom, until your hand reached out onto one of his broad shoulders and pressed him back down onto his seat.

“No you fucking don’t.” You folded your arms, a frown plastered to your face.

Tenya scowled. ���Please, (y/n), can we joke around later? I have to get th-”

“Look, if you’re aiming to be a successful hero in the future, you might as well take your own advice that you give so often to others and rest. You always tell us to make sure we get enough sleep, and you’re not even doing it yourself. If you’re tired or sick, you won’t be able to perform as well as you want to, right? And you always want to be at your best, don’t you, Ten?”

“But-” Tenya protested. He had so much work to do, so much to get to.

“Tenya Iida. In our 15 years of friendship, I’ve never seen you this fucking tired. We’re only in our first year. Are you going to keep doing this throughout school? Or what, the rest of your life? For the love of god, cut yourself some slack.” You almost yelled out in protest, in disgust of seeing your best friend suffer in silence.

Tenya stared at you in shock. You’ve never spoken to him like this before, or at least, it was rare. Usually you played more of a supportive role by his side, and when you were more assertive, you were never this pushy. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he heard you shout. The remaining members of Class 1-A who hadn’t yet left the room stared at the both of you in a similar amount of surprise as your bespectacled classmate did. After sighing, you decided to use reason that Tenya would buy into, desperately hoping he would do as you said.

“Then it’s settled. We’re gonna take it easy this weekend, okay? And don’t apologise for making me worry. It’s my job to look out for you, you know. And we haven’t napped together in a while too. I kinda miss that.” You brought Tenya into a hug.

Tenya sighed. You were right. He couldn’t hide that he was tired. And honestly, it was exhausting having to troop through each class with the meager 4-5 hours of shut-eye he was getting. It was a battle that he knew he was losing. He surrendered to your suggestion.

“I...uh...suppose you’re right. Sorry for making you worry.” Right after Tenya had finished that sentence, he yawned. There was really no hiding his tiredness now.

“Hey...(y/n)? Thank you. I appreciate you doing this.” Tenya smiled, as he reciprocated your warmth.

[cryo-regalia]

Hm I think I'd be interested in seeing your headcanons for Bruno (jjba) because I've seen a few before and I'm curious on where you differ or agree with others. Thank you!

general yandere headcanons with a capo in passione ft. bruno bucciarati

— THEMES: yandere au, gender neutral reader, vento aureo spoilers, dismemberment, manipulation, violence, severe injury, death mentions, drug mention.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | 18+

I think Bruno is one of the nicer yanderes and the least suspicious of them all. He has to keep up a good public image as it is, so this is like a walk in the park for him. Although he can be threatening in his own way, he is also compassionate and genuinely kind and caring, especially towards his s/o and the innocent people of Italy. Many would find him unlikely to be one considering the fact he can be so focused on his work that romance isn’t one of his priorities. An obvious one, at the very least. It’s the one of the many reasons why he can get away with what he does so easily and have no one bat an eye or suspect him for a second. Many citizens trust him, consider him a protector of sorts despite his methods of getting the job done, so hearing that this kind young man is so obsessed over someone sounds absurd.

If his s/o is a regular citizen, the chances of meeting him are slim. Bruno’s usually so occupied with business within Passione that his mind is laser-focused on his task and he doesn’t have time for much socialization, let alone romance. In fact, he’d dismiss the idea of starting such a commitment with someone, call it foolish, and say it’s too dangerous to even consider. It’s harsh, undoubtedly, but it’s his way of keeping an innocent person out of harms way and from getting involved with their line of business. Even so, fate is a unique occurrence and something he greatly underestimated. They’d most likely meet him at Libeccio with the rest of his team, whether it be to ask him to solve some mysterious crime or because they worked there and were taking his order. In that case, he’d find himself following their movements as they walked around the establishment. It wouldn’t matter to him if they were as graceful as a professional ballerina or as clumsy as a baby learning to walk, he’d find them to be oddly captivating. There would be times he’d find himself far from his usual table, one arm around them and the other helping them hold a heavy platter of food before it could fall and crash on the floor. He’s gentle and kind as he swiftly handles the dishes accordingly before walking away and back to his curious team.

“They looked like they needed help,” Bruno would simply assure the group as his eyes casually wandered along the menu, “Nothing more to it.” That was a lie, and he hated how easily it fell from his lips.

If his s/o is part of Passione then seeing one another is significantly more likely, especially if he decides to welcome them into his team. In that case, it would be rather unexpected and he’d be questioned by Abbacchio, who isn’t all that thrilled as it is, about why he was inducting so many new people into their group. He would tell them that he had faith in their skills, regardless of whether they’re a Stand user or not, and that they would learn and gradually see them the way he did. They’re part of his famiglia now, it would be rude of him to treat them poorly when he had more than enough trust in them. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have even mentioned his team to keep them and their identities safe. Romance, although slow either way, would be a little faster paced as he would significantly more time with his s/o now that they work together. He’d learn about their interests, who they were, what they liked, but only at the pace that they were comfortable with. Bruno wouldn’t share much about his past as it’s not something he’s entirely proud of, but after some time of getting to know him, he may start opening himself up.

I think that having him as a yandere would be similar to that of a slow burn that would abruptly develop into something more. He denies a lot of his feelings for the sake of professionalism and tries his best to keep things strictly platonic. He’s seen a lot more death than he cares to admit and although it no longer fazes him, he doesn’t want anyone to lose their life for no reason, especially someone he cares for dearly. I don’t think he could take that kind of heartbreak, especially after the loss of his teammates by the hands of the boss and one leaving, even if his actions were out of pure loyalty. It’ll take a lot of patience, trust, persistence, and time until he’s ready to open up and freely love someone. He’s spent years building up this wall that wouldn’t let people in, so when it’s abruptly taken down by his s/o, it’s unexpected and he’s scared. He’s defensive. He’s hesitant. He doesn’t want the ugliness of who he is and his past to scare them away and for them to use against him, so he tells them to promise him that no matter what he tells them, that it will stay between the two of them unless he says otherwise. He’ll only start dropping information about himself that’s really personal when he knows he can trust them to keep it confidential. It’s best to show interest in what he reveals or he’ll pick up on it and not say anything about it again.

He is very aware of his own feelings to a point where he questions any sudden strange behavior. He’s never had a chance to welcome romance into his life, so he’s not sure what to expect regarding the sudden warmth in his chest and the yearning to protect his persona speciale. He’s used to the formalities and the affectionate gestures, which he will be sure to use if his s/o is comfortable with them, but sometimes it can get to be a little much. It’s due to his inexperience that he may push some boundaries unknowingly and he’ll have to be told where the line is crossed. He’ll definitely linger in their shadow or close enough to them for everyone to see without being glued to their hip, even if they start to get irritated by it. He’ll purposefully assign the team in specific groups so that his s/o is with him, but assure them that he does this because he thinks they get the best results when they work together. He’s all for giving small gifts (anything bigger than his hand would be an issue as they traveled so much), but he has plenty of genuine compliments exclusively saved for his s/o.

Even he knows when something is particularly odd about himself and his first reaction is to wonder if he’s under an enemy Stand’s influence and instantly be on guard, but he’s not and he realizes that when nothing happens over several days. Bruno is suspicious, but it’s not proving any harm in his eyes to be so worried and caring towards his s/o. He knows that his actions could be described as being obsessive and dangerous to some, but he doesn’t completely agree. On one hand, he sees this as his way of keeping his s/o safe and feeling loved. The world is a dark and cruel place and only he and his team can keep them safe. He would do anything for them, and I mean anything, and wants them to feel secure and loved. On the other, he’s a dangerous man. If his s/o doesn’t like that or what he often had to resort to, they shouldn’t have gotten involved with the mafia or him in the first place. But it’s too far into their relationship to turn back now and by no means will he allow things to go back to “normal” after revealing so much of himself to his darling, his tesoro/a.

“Il mio/a amore,” Bruno would murmur, his hands interlocked with his s/o’s. His voice would be soft, breathy, but his tone was low with a hint of desperation. If they tried pulling their hands away, he would only hold onto them tighter. His eyes wandered from their beautiful eyes to their mouth for a brief moment, a zipper holding their lips tightly shut. He’d pull them close, he’d be a little rough if they didn’t cooperate, and wrap his arms around their hips. His fingers would curl into their clothing, the tips of his pinkies brushing against their ever-so-soft skin with a gentle touch. His head would lower and he would rest his cheek against their shoulder, his warm breath against their neck. Despite the tenderness of his touch, the capo was tense and unwilling to let go. “I’ve given you my heart, my everything. I opened myself up to you, so why...” His lips would brush against their neck as he held them closer with a tighter grip. He grit his teeth and lifted his head to look down at his s/o, conflicted and pained. “Why do you try and leave me? Don’t you see I’m doing this for us?”

At first, something so heartfelt would be entirely genuine. He truly loves them and wants them by his side through thick and thin. They’re the only person who he feels like he can truly connect to and would be absolutely heartbroken should they show signs of wanting to leave him. Tell him straight-up and he’ll be in denial, but it would sink in after some time and he’d plead and those tender moments would turn into hardcore manipulation. It’s habitual to use such dirty tactics to get what he wanted from people, and his s/o is no different. He’s desperate to feel the love he barely got as a child, to feel safe in the arms of his beloved, to know they’re there for him and vice versa. There will still be moments where he’s honest and emotional, but less often if he knows that they’re hard to get through to. He won’t have to use these questionable methods unless he has to, but if he does, he won’t hesitate if they start misbehaving, whether it be talking back to him or going against his orders. He’ll scold them for acting so foolish, but then play the victim card and put the blame on them.

Bruno isn’t a big fan of PDA, but may let his partner hold his hand when they’re walking down the street or hold it under the table at a restaurant. He’s subtle with his actions in the public eye and does what he does for a reason, so be patient with him and he’ll be patient in return. It’s painful for him not to give them the affection they desire, but he doesn’t want to risk anything because of his carelessness. That’s not to say he doesn’t like or want affection, because he certainly needs it, he just doesn’t know who’s watching and doesn’t want rumors spreading to those who could hurt his s/o. Speaking of affection, this man is unbelievably touch starved. He will simply laugh and pat his s/o’s head if they comment on how little affection he receives but otherwise not think much of it, even if he knows they’re right. In fact, if they hugged him, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself for a second and would stiffen. By no means is he uncomfortable, he’s just surprised. It takes him a minute before he loosens up and holds his s/o close. He’ll kiss their head, mutter phrases in his native tongue, sway side to side, hold them tight. Even if they try and pull away, he won’t let them and force them into place for as long as he wants. “One more minute,” he’ll say, his voice muffled, but a minute goes by, and then another, and then another.

He would never lay his hand on his s/o like Kars would and sees harm like that as nothing but disgraceful. If they were an enemy, he wouldn’t hold back, but they’re someone he cares for so much. He’d beat himself up so hard if he did lay a hand on them, which would be entirely accidental, and kiss anywhere that hurts. Was that a bruise? He’d get some ice, but he’d hold onto it just in case. Did his nails accidentally cut their cheek? He would clean them up properly and then bandage them, his fingers delicately brushing their cheek with quiet apologies. Should anyone question them, he’ll say they were involved in a nasty accident with the stairs or a stray cat attacked out of nowhere. No matter the situation, he always finds a way to alter it in his favor. Why would the citizens believe that their beloved protector do any harm to someone he cares for? He knows his s/o is their own person and has a life of their own, but he’ll only let something like that slide if he’s involved and has an idea of what they’re doing. He’s paranoid, undeniably so, and has to know what they’re doing and where they’re at all times.

Bruno doesn’t act like anything is wrong, and will be pretty domestic. Uncomfortably so, to the point where he’s become so unbothered by his own actions that he sees it as normal and expects his s/o to do the same. He has a small, suburban estate that he promised to make cozy for them when they’re done with their mission, going as far as to tell them to think of some furniture or decorations that they would like. He may not be as welcoming to the idea of a pet other than something small like a fish, but it’s possible to sway him with some time and good behavior. He takes his relationship seriously, to a point where he becomes paranoid and hurt if he sees his tesoro/a interacting with another person in a way that he deems flirtatious. In that case, he may make it clear to the other person that they’re taken and use his Stand to force their mouth shut to silence any kind of backtalk. This may get a smirk out of him that they’re unable to bite back, especially if the person in front of them isn’t a Stand user. “Cat got your tongue?” He’ll ask, placing a firm hand on his darling’s shoulder that tightens and pulls them close. “If you’ll excuse us.” 

He usually doesn’t have the time for traditional dates, even if he does have some planned for when this is all over with, so he’ll set up private dinners for the two of them whenever they’re stopped somewhere overnight. His ideal date is getting dinner, sightseeing various spots around Italy, and eventually dancing to some music, his body pressed against theirs as they sway side-to-side. It’s during these times that he’s less worried about potential threats, but he still has his guard raised and ready to fight back if necessary. He’ll be a little more affectionate, especially behind closed doors, but be a little awkward initiating these gestures. The last time he’s had someone hug him was when he was a child, and he’s a twenty year old man. He’s not very experienced, but he tries. He’s gentle and sweet, and does his best to be. There’s no need to be foul, especially when he’s happy and has his favorite person. But if he starts to become jealous or not like where the conversation is going, he’ll first shut down the topic before becoming cold and distant (emotionally and physically) if it continues anyways.

Bruno wouldn’t be afraid to use Sticky Fingers on his s/o though. In fact, if they disobeyed him, he would take away the use of their limbs as a punishment. Yes, it could be seen as him scolding a child or pet, but he doesn’t intend for it to come across that way. This could last for a few minutes to days, depending on what happened to warrant such a penalization. And yes, he would put them in their view, but because they have nothing to grab them or move themselves with, they’ll just sit there. They’re left there to taunt them, remind them that misbehavior will result in something like this, if not worse. They can cry, scream, beg for him to undo this but he won’t. It’s way of trying to hammer-in the fact that he won’t allow something like this to happen again and that they should comply. He has a heart and he feels terrible that things had to come to this, but this must be done and comments that they should have been good before leaving the room to cool down. When he does return them to their natural state, he’ll have their favorite food with him and offer to spend time doing their favorite activities while on the road.

He won’t treat his s/o like a child, but he may baby them. He’ll definitely spoil them if they so pleased, especially after becoming a capo. He’s careful with his money, very aware of how much comes and goes, but if his tesoro/a wants something, they’ll get it no questions asked. Was there a new jacket they saw in a window of one of the many shops? He’ll buy it. Was there a rather pricey dessert that caught their eye? It’s theirs. Were their shoes worn from so much walking? How upsetting...did these brand new ones work? They’re the perfect size and had a decorative zipper like his own on it! If money was something they didn’t like the topic of, he wouldn’t flaunt it or bring it up around them too much, but it was a resource at their disposal. He’d go as far as to use it to influence the actions of some people should his s/o even attempt to run from him, only to be thrown right back at his feet.

He still cares deeply for his team, they’re his famiglia, but he won’t think twice about warning them about keeping their distance. If they become friends, that would be one thing, but he’s paranoid about unwanted feelings blooming. He’s sure that the others would keep their distance, but feelings were a strange phenomenon, as he learned. If his s/o didn’t get along with them, he’d passive aggressively comment on how they would be seeing them a lot and may want to try and patch things. Abbacchio would most likely say something blunt about the risks of getting an innocent involved or starting a romance no matter how private in their line of business. Bruno agreed, but promised that he knew what he was doing. He doesn’t make his actions hidden from the gang, they know fully well that he will take away a limb or two (or more) from his s/o. He strictly would order for his team to never get involved and that he does this out of necessity than him wanting to. 

Bruno would kill someone for his darling. Very blunt and sudden, just like his decision and attempt on this vile creatures life. If they asked him to, he would do it without missing a beat. He would question what they had done for his oh-so elegant and endearing star to request something like this, but shake his head. It would be for the best that he didn’t know. But if he saw someone simply looking at them with a disgusting gaze full of lust or offer them some kind of illegal substance, he’d be on that like a certain dog and his coffee-flavored gum. He would be made about the paraphernalia, but the audacity to even look at his darling in such a way always made his blood boil. If he didn’t have the time to personally execute the order (or the person) himself, he’d send Fugo, Mista, and Narancia to take care of it under the pretense that they were against what their team stood for. It wasn’t a complete lie, but it got the job done. And his darling, his amazing tesoro/a, would never even know or realize it. If they were an ex-partner, the target on their back would be placed on sight. There’s no trying to be logical with him when he hears about a former lover. Even if things ended decently, they left his (Your name) alone and hurt in some way and that’s inexcusable.

What happens there after depends on Bruno’s mood. If he was having a good day, he may just make it quick and end the pathetic life in seconds. There would be no need to drag it on for any longer, not when he had someone waiting for him. If they make noises, he’ll unzip their mouth and crush it under his foot or drop it in dirty water from a sewer that they’re more or less forced to drink. He may comment on why this has to be done, but no more than a few words before muttering an “Arrivederci”. It’s convenient, but with the violence taking place in the area that he hoped to take care of soon enough, the death would be played off as them being mugged and unfortunately killed in the process.

But if he’s in a bad mood or his unlucky victim imposed any kind of harm on his darling, say your prayers as fast as you can. Hurting them is like hurting him, and the fact that someone could hurt someone entirely precious can only spark anger in him. These little sessions would go on for no less than an hour. He’s careful not to draw attention to himself and would drag them by their hair, their body dismembered and collected in his arms, as he found somewhere much more private. He’d punch and kick and rip their teeth and nails out one by one, agonizingly slowly for the both of them. He’d be so close to screaming at the top of his lungs about what a disgusting person they are, but he can only chastise them for their actions. Verbally anyways. Probably gets satisfaction from hearing their muffled sobs and the cracking of their bones and compares it to the pain his darling was forced to feel. He most likely tears up in that case. He can’t stand the though of them being in any kind of pain and can’t believe he didn’t appear in their life early enough to save them from that. But when he finishes, he takes some time to calm down, get something from Libeccio for himself and a to-go box for his darling, and returns to their current hideout. He usually is good with keeping bloodstains out of his clothing so he’s never worried about that.

But on a lighter note, if Bruno’s s/o is on good terms with their family, he’d bring up the idea of meeting them. If they’re in another country, he’s fine with calls or video chats. Letters won’t work as he’s constantly moving, but virtually any other means are welcome. He’ll do his best to learn their language if they don’t know Italian or English, but his s/o may need to be a translator. But either way he wants to make it perfectly clear that he is perfect for them and that he would do anything for them. Anything. If they’re distant from their family, Bruno would never push it. He knows how sensitive the topic of family can be and would wait patiently until they were ready. If they never did, that’s okay. He’ll assure them that he would always be there for them and love them unconditionally. Passione would be their famiglia if it wasn’t already and it would stay that way for as long as they both shall live. He may even drop a rare joke of Narancia being their son, but it would go as quickly as it came and he wouldn’t repeat himself. If his darling went along with it (whether it be seriously or jokingly), he’d be surprised before smiling and affectionately bringing a smooth kiss to their knuckles.

“I’m the only one you need, caro/a. I’m the only one who can keep you safe. That’s right, relax. I’m here.”

© cryo-regalia, all rights reserved. do not translate, edit, or repost my work.

[fandom-monium]

Bonding

Summary: In which you suddenly transfer into the BAU, and Spencer is too socially awkward. (alternatively, the failed attempts Spencer makes trying to connect with you.) “You’ve been profiling me, Doc?”

Word count: 2.3k+

Tags/warnings: Spencer Reid x reader, another attempt at gender neutral reader so no pronouns, Fluff(??), kind of first meeting (?), Spencer Reid pining is everything (what an adorable loser), Spencer socially awkward is also everything, reader insert, mild social anxiety (??), no big warnings except a couple fucks and damns

A/N: TO MY TODOROKI FANS: YES, I’M STILL ALIVE. SOULMATE AU EP 5 IS STILL UNDERGOING EDITS. COMING SOOON~ THX FOR WAITING!

New beginnings are scary, Spencer Reid understands that more than anything. A fish out of water at school, thriving in all academics; it came naturally to him, but the rest... well being over six years younger than his classmates didn’t make things much easier. It winded him trying to connect with his peers. He gave up eventually, no one bothering to extend a line to him, and when they did, it wasn’t out of good intentions. He learned that new things are terrifying, be ready for the worst.

So when you stride into the bullpen without so much as a notice, no one’s prepared. Not even you, Spencer notices, your hands flexing at your sides. You shove them into your pockets as you politely smile.

“Everyone, this is SSA (First Name) (Last Name), our newest member of the team,” Hotch introduces.

They manage a welcome but introductions are cut short as a new case presents itself with severe urgency. 

Garcia whines, unprepared for your arrival. You later reassure her it’s fine, but Spencer figures you’re relieved by the way your shoulders relax.

Oddly enough, the way you ease into their team dynamic is almost instantaneous. Not like the way a puzzle piece fits because that would imply that the team is a set when in reality it’s changing; not often but it happens. 

No, your addition is similar to a LEGO brick.

You slip into the role of profiler with ease. You hesitate at first, but your voice doesn’t tremble in the slightest as you offer your own opinions and observations pertaining to the case. You provide them support much like the base of a LEGO model. 

Later on, when Spencer divulges this to you, you smack him hard enough he bruises. You equate him to a peach. But you grin, and the ache fades almost instantly.

Spencer would go as far as to say he respects you, despite not knowing anything about you at the moment. Your devotion shines through whatever hesitancy you had earlier, and though your debut to them was hurried, your dedication is not lost to the team, prompting them to give you the welcome you deserve.

As a result, they make an effort the next couple weeks. A “united force of camaraderie”, Garcia calls it.

Hotch and Rossi go to you, whether you’re at your desk or called to them. Usually, it’s for an extra opinion on a case because you’re fresh eyes. From his desk across from yours, as he inconspicuously watches you purse your lips, attempting not to smile at your seniors, Spencer realizes you do think differently than the rest of them. It’s slight but not too obvious. Maybe it’s because you’re new; you’ve only joined a week ago, or maybe it’s because the team has known each other for so long they’ve learned to predict what they’d say. He isn’t sure.

You do your best to answer them before returning to your assigned tasks.

While Morgan normally makes jokes and teases, he switches his methodology with you for reasons Spencer can’t infer. Instead, he manages to include you in whatever he is doing if you’re within the vicinity. You respond in kind before quickly moving on. 

Jokes and teasing come soon.

In an attempt to naturally get to know you, JJ and Prentiss question you, not like interrogating of course but⎼from what Spencer overhears (he just happens to be within earshot, totally not eavesdropping)⎼sometimes when they border on personal, he notes your swift change in body language. Like they hit a switch: open to closed. And when you answer them, you never give more information than asked for, quick to redirect the conversation. He’s certain they notice as well, but they don’t push. 

Your gratitude is evident in the soft quirk of your lips.

To his chagrin, Spencer isn’t as bold as his friends. When you interacted with each other, it was by extension of the team starting it or on the job so mainly professional. He isn’t even sure why he finds it so hard to talk to you because it’s not like you’re intimidating. 

Okay, maybe just a little. 

But he won’t let that hinder him. You deserve your spot on the team, and, just like the rest of his team, Spencer wants to do his part in making you feel welcomed.

Which means he has to talk to you, and not just about work for once.

Unlike the rest of his team, however, Spencer has to build up courage, frustrating him more than he’d like to admit because sometimes he misses his chance. For example, this morning: you stood at the coffee maker, burying your face in a book as you waited for it to finish brewing. He recognized the cover immediately but when he opened his mouth to rant to you, he choked.

Spencer Reid choked. He never chokes, not when it comes to books. But the words died in his throat, not even making it past his lips. Never had the doctor been so baffled with himself. He scoured his memories for signs, anything that would justify his stumble, yet there was nothing that rationalized this occurrence. He didn’t have this problem before. At least... not with other coworkers.

He cleared his throat to try again, but, to his dismay, you filled your mug and left.

On the other hand, Garcia is the most upfront with you, which leaves Spencer simmering because he would give anything to have that kind of confidence. Although, he can tell the tech analyst’s friendly demeanor almost… annoys you? No, that’s not right. You don’t outwardly dismiss Garcia when she catches you, and when he says catch, he means catch, as in he witnessed you on multiple occasions going out of your way to avoid the colorful hacker.

A month has passed since you joined the BAU. As he arrives early that morning, Spencer spots you down the corridor, and normally that wouldn’t pique his interest, but the way your eyes sweep the halls in every direction is too much. He snorts, nearly spitting out his coffee.

Curious, Spencer trails after you; he slows his pace, careful to maintain distance so that he would be at the end of the hallway and you at the other. You eventually come to a halt, making him freeze mid-step. His heart drops to his stomach. Oh god, did you notice him following you? Of course you did. You actually completed the FBI fitness exams.

But you don’t turn to him. Instead, you press your back against the wall, and as you peek over the edge, he wordlessly makes his way over. His curiosity overrides any nerves. He leans to peer over your shoulder at whatever you’re tailing and…

Ah, he gets it now.

At the end of the hallway by the elevators, Garcia stands a vibrant Sphinx among a sea of dark pantsuits and white-collared button downs, tapping her foot as she waits. Spotting the (your favorite color) paper bag in her hand, he thinks it’s safe to assume it’s another attempt to get you to warm up to her. The tech analyst purses her lips, pulling up her watch.

“Come on, come on…” You mutter, your eyes flicking down at your own.

Spencer glances at you, unsure of what you are waiting for. A minute passes.

Then Garcia looks at her watch again, letting out a frustrated huff. The elevator dings open behind her, allowing her to trudge into the crowded metal box, and the second the door closes over her disappointed pout, you sigh in relief.

The word tumbles out of Spencer’s mouth before he even processes what he’s doing. “Morning.”

You shriek, whirling to face Spencer only to smack into his chest. Though he prides himself in the growth spurt he hit as a teenager, Spencer isn’t at all sturdy and buff as Morgan, so, despite your close proximity, you nearly knock him and his precious coffee over. Luckily, your reflexes are faster than his and you clasp the front of his vest, tugging him into you. He fumbles with his free hand, catching your elbow. “I’m so sorry!”

It takes a moment for you both to compose yourselves. Before Spencer can fully register your hand steadying his wrist, you step back. Something inside him deflates.

"Don't scare me like that," You press your hand over your heart as you start towards the elevator. He follows next to you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help but watch the whole,” Spencer gestures at you with his coffee cup.

You groan, smashing the elevator button, “Alright, go ahead.”

“Go ahead with what?” His brow furrows. The elevator doors open, allowing you to enter. He hits the button for the BAU floor, and the doors shut with only you two, standing side by side.

“Tell me I’m a bad person, tell me I’m mean or whatever for dodging someone as nice as Garcia. I know you want to,” You grumble, not looking him in the eye.

“I don’t think that.”

The skeptical look you throw him makes him blurt out the words before they could get stuck in his throat. "I mean, it’s clear you don’t dislike Garcia. You give her your full attention whenever she's talking to you, you gratefully accept her gifts despite your obvious discomfort, which seems to spur her on by the way. Actually, you display similar mannerisms with everyone in the team⎼”

Your brows climb your forehead as Spencer digs himself further into the profile hole he made of you. He spills the numerous observations he mentally filed away, and as he rambles he finally understands how his coworkers, probably every person he’s ever rambled to, feel because oh god, now even he wants himself to shut up! Shit, what is he doing? Why? How to stop?

It’s one of those moments in life where words are out of his mouth before he realizes this is not the time or place⎼it certainly isn’t his place⎼ for this, to be profiling you the way he is doing right now.

Yet here we are.

In his head, he’s screaming but it’s too late, and when he finishes seconds later, there’s a beat of silence. You gawk at him. His eyes widen as his chest heaves; his heart pounds like it’s about to break out and escape.  

Then you glare at him, a playful gleam in your eyes. “You've been profiling me, Doc?” 

Oh god, let this elevator break down and drop him. Wait, no, that would kill you too. Fuck.

Spencer swallows, his face growing hot. He tells himself it’s because he just embarrassingly gave a near complete profile of you, unwarranted, definitely not because of the way you say his title. He could apologize⎼he should⎼but his mind blanks and anything else he has to say dies as his throat closes on him. He tugs at his collar, turning to face his pink reflection in the elevator doors.

To his relief, you chuckle, “Don’t worry, I’m not mad. Should've expected nothing less from a genius.” 

“Thank you?”

The doors open and you exit. Before you reach the glass doors, Spencer, biting his lip and unwilling to let the first real conversation he has had with you to end, gathers the remains of his confidence to tap your shoulder. You face him, your expression curious as you halt in front of the BAU headquarters.

Clutching the strap of his bag, he stammers, “Do… Do you want me to talk to Garcia? I mean, I won’t tell her we talked of course. I’ll make a suggestion or something⎼make it seem like it’d be her idea⎼I guess. Might help her tone it down, you know? For you?” He cringes at the last bit, his voice octaves higher than normal. God, what is he, thirteen? How he regrets his boldness. 

If you notice, you don’t mention it. Rather, you give him a onceover, and he tries not to squirm as your sharp eyes scan his face, his body language. You’re sizing up his character, profiling him the way he did with you. The difference is he had a month; you have a few seconds. “You’d do that for me?” You question softly.

Terrified his voice will betray him again, Spencer nods. 

“I⎼” You lick your lips, searching for the right words. Then you smile, a genuine smile, not the shy ones you offered to the team before. It's not awkward or polite. This is way better; your eyes crinkle, there's teeth, and Spencer squints, unsure whether to stare or grab his sunglasses in his satchel because wow, too bright. 

Both. He can totally do both.

I’d do a lot of things for you... as long it’s legal, a tiny voice in the back of his head admits. Spencer can’t bring himself to argue.

“I appreciate that.” Oh right, conversing. He shrugs. “No, really. I know that I’m being stupid and irrational⎼” He opens his mouth to protest. Social anxiety⎼any thing that makes you uncomfortable⎼ is most definitely not stupid. But you shake your head at him. “⎼No, I know I am, and I should get over it as quickly as possible but…” You trail off, glancing to the side.

Spencer follows your apprehensive gaze through the glass doors into the BAU headquarters. It’s early morning, people dawdling around the office, calmly going about their morning routine. It lacks the usual organized bustle as people stand in the corners and chat by the coffee machine, while others take calls or type at their laptops with an air of serenity. A rare, mellow day.

Before you can complete your sentence, Morgan speeds past you, bee-lining for the doors. “Sorry to interrupt, but we got a case!”

Spencer sighs. Spoke too soon.

You both follow behind him without question, leaving your thoughts unfinished, but Spencer catches the impish grin Morgan throws him over his shoulder. He curses under his breath, promises of his friend’s destruction on his lips. 

Just when he was starting to have an actual conversation with you.

Needless to say, eyebrows raise when he drags himself to the round table a couple seconds after you.

Author’s note: You can’t tell me that Reid pre-prison did NOT love action figures, figurines, LEGO models. He is a total nerd, it’s genetic.

So, I just started watching CM since it’s on Netflix. I now love this pipe cleaner with eyes. Can’t tell if I want to caress his lovely jaw or watch him squirm though...

I am basing this one(?)shot on how I get overwhelmed by friendly people. Not to say I don’t like Garcia, bc I love her, she’s one of my fav characters. But at the same time, thanks, I have mild social anxiety. I remember in my COLL 01 class, this guy was making an effort to socialize with our project group mates with invites to hang out together. I could not even. It was like the first day of class, like, chill, my guy.

Also, I‘m sad that I can’t imagine Reid with anyone that isn’t not interesting?? Sad bc I’m such an average person so when I project myself, it feels more unrealistic than it already is and hurts just a bit. I favor the idea of him being with like wild ppl, opposites attract, dumbass and smartass, badass and geek dynamics, stuff like that???

So, the reader’s back story is gonna be hella mysterious and stuff... ;P

And, I’m really into the idea of a Spencer Reid x Hunter!Reader. May try my hand at a CM x SPN crossover in the future. Only problem is that I haven’t finished SPN...

I’m accepting suggestions and ideas!!

Connecting (Bonding Part 2) is in masterlist!

[seijch]

of slushies and shitty coffees ft. iwaizumi hajime.

🍬 iwaizumi hajime + gender neutral!reader

🍬 1.5k, convenience store worker!reader, vague immortal and reincarnation au

🍬 this was for vee but i think she deactivated 🧍‍♂️ its also the first one i wrote back in october so its ... maybe not my best

"you know what i am, don't you?" + being immortal boils down to 70% loneliness, 20% doing whatever the hell you want, and 10% recurring nuisances that bear an odd resemblance to your first love. 

To say you hated working the night shift would be an understatement.

Sure, most days it passed with relative ease and allowed you to study on the clock, your studies rarely interrupted. A group of friends with the munchies here, a fellow student in need of a pick-me-up there, and an elderly woman that came in like clockwork at the 4am mark to buy cat food for the strays living nearby. You were well-acquainted with the few regulars of your shift and fond of the night manager, Saeko. On paper, there would be little to hate.

But the classes you had a mere three hours after your shift ended were nothing short of a living nightmare to push through; at this point, you’re sure that your blood is almost entirely comprised of the slushies and shitty coffee you spend your shift helping yourself to.

In fact, you’re in the middle of making yourself one of these slushies when the door opens behind you. “Welcome,” you throw over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of the customer as you achieve slushie-making self-actualization.

Your mouth goes dry instantly.

You’re sure they don’t just let Greek gods walk into the nearest 7-11, but there’s clearly a first time for everything. He’s handsome, with a jaw sculpted from the highest quality marble money could buy. In an attempt to prevent your jaw from hitting the floor, you take a long sip of the slushie. “Fuck!” you hiss, clutching your head as you wait for the brain freeze to recede.

In the time that it takes you to get back to the register, the attractive stranger is about ready to check out. “Just this for you?” you ask, the only noise being the whir of the air conditioning and the scanner beeping at the energy bars. When you don’t get a response, you glance up at him. He’s looking right at you, but there’s something deeper behind it.

It’s like he knows you, that you’re as familiar to him as the beat of his heart, the air in his lungs. It’s both too heavy and entirely too intimate for an interaction that consists of you ringing up his 2AM transaction of three protein bars. ”That’ll be $4.17.”

He pays in exact change. Not another word is exchanged between you, but the intrigue and infatuation you have for the stranger lingers, even into the classes you have the morning after.

The next time you see him, he’s with someone else. A friend, you assume — the man with the perfect brown hair ribs at him as they walk in. Once he makes eye contact with you, however, he falls silent.

You’re beginning to feel like you’re missing out on something, especially when the stranger’s friend pulls him over, saying something in a hushed whisper. Something begins to prickle at your skin, and it’s not (just) the way the AC vent blasts on you from where you‘re sitting.

Thankfully, Saeko has excellent timing, bringing the mop out and greeting the two with a wide grin. “We doing alright over here, boys?” They nod, Mr. Shampoo Commercial saying something about midnight cravings before they make their way to the slushie machine.

”Listen,” Saeko whispers to you as the mop passes your spot at the register, “if those boys do or even say anything strange, you know what to do.” When you’d first started working the night shift, Saeko had been very clear that your safety was her top priority.

(“You college kids remind me of my baby brother,” she’d told you one night as you dusted the shelves. “I know it’d kill me if any of you got hurt.”)

You ring up two slushies: one cherry and one cola. Mr. Shampoo Commercial’s the one paying, and it’s as you‘re returning his change that he decides to speak. “Don’t you remember us?” His voice is smooth, with a dangerous lilt to it.

”Oikawa,” warns Mr. Protein Bar. “Don’t.”

”Why not, Iwa?” To you, Oikawa asks, “It’s been a while, don’t you think?”

”I’m sorry,” you say, trying to keep your voice even in the face of his questions, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your foot is poised to knock over a busted shelf behind you; it was Saeko’s alarm system, something she claimed could be heard from anywhere in the store.

A look is exchanged between the two men. You don’t bother trying to read it; it’s the sea and the storm, roiling with a language only the two of them are fluent in. “Sorry,” Iwa says, taking his slushie and shoving the cherry one in Oikawa’s hands. “Have a nice night.”

You don‘t see Iwa for a few weeks. The next time you do, he’s alone. It’s another wordless exchange; this time, he’s buying two cans of shitty coffee. “Is your friend waiting outside?” you ask. He looks surprised to hear your voice, probably expecting you to give him the bare minimum after your last encounter.

”Actually,” he rubs the back of his neck, sliding one of the cans your way, “that one’s for you. Sorry about what happened last time.” He pops open the tab of his coffee. “Oikawa doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”

You nod, opening your own can. ”What was that all about?” you ask, taking a stab in the dark. You miss, unfortunately: he almost chokes on his coffee, the lines on his face growing more defined as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

”Don’t worry about it.”

It‘s a shitty answer paired with shitty coffee, but you take it.

And if you notice that he almost glimmers with an unreal sheen under the flickering fluorescent light, you dismiss the thought. Nothing else seems very real at three in the morning anyway.

He becomes another regular, swinging by twice a week. Two cans of coffee, paid for with exact change. You don’t have the heart to tell him that as an employee, you could just take from the pot whenever you wanted before you had to brew a new one for the morning rush. At first, he slides the can to you and wishes you a good night on his way out, but he grows more chatty as the weeks go by.

He asks about your day, asks about class, asks about work. Never does he share anything about the life he leads outside of shitty coffee and the four walls of the humble convenience store.

But it comes, little by little, like mismatched pieces forming the mosaic of Iwaizumi Hajime. You see it in the weight of the world trapped in his gaze, the way he rolls broad shoulders as if expecting the bones to crack. Most of all, you realize as you take a sip from your can one night, it’s the way he seems to know you better than you know yourself.

It started simple enough, a nod and a flash of something on his face when you told him what you were majoring in. A knowing chuckle, more to himself, when you mention how the old woman that bought cat food was one of your favorite customers. It comes, little by little, until one piece remains. The only way to get it is to ask.

He beats you to it. “You know what I am, don’t you?” he asks as you’re lifting tonight’s can of coffee to your lips. You spare him a glance before taking a long sip, delaying a response for as long as possible.

“You definitely look too good to be human.”

The corners of his lips twitch. “It’s good to know you never change.” You set the now empty can on the counter.

“Have we met before?” Iwaizumi, at least, has the decency to look sheepish. “Your friend with the perfect hair asked if I remembered you.” He snorts with the identifier you’ve given Oikawa, but you press on. “I don’t. But I think you remember me.”

You wait with bated breath for the final piece to fall into place, but he regards you with a look you can’t read.

You’re about to chalk it up to another swing and a miss, but he pulls out his wallet, a worn leather thing. From it comes a single picture, the color faded yellow, the image predating even black and white photography.

It’s Iwaizumi, looking just the same as he does now. He’s got his arm around the person next to him, pressing a kiss to their forehead. The other person is grinning from ear to ear, and it doesn’t take long to recognize who it is.

It’s you.

[reidandweep]

Riddikulus

Draco Malfoy x Gender Neutral Reader

A/N- In no way do I support JK Rowling and her views. This work is all about the characters created by their true author, Daniel Radcliffe. I do not also dismiss the actions of Draco’s character. My imagine of Draco will always be a different interpretation.

Word Count- 5011 words

Warnings- Mentions of death, drowning, angst, mentions of animal hearts, and fluff.

Defence Against the Dark Arts had never been a strong point of Y/N’s. Even more so now that they had gotten used to having a new teacher every year. It seemed being in the same year as Harry Potter caused staff to come and go for many particular dark and sinister reasons. They were glad that Lockhart was no longer teaching, as his ways of education was rather, in the nicest phrase, absolutely shit. So far, Professor Lupin had done more for the children in teaching the subject, than both Professor Quirrell and Lockhart did combined. Y/N was truly hoping that Lupin was a permanent fixture to the position.

While Lupin prepared the class for each lesson, nothing could prepare the students for having to deal with the Boggart.

“Can anyone tell us what a boggart looks like?”

Y/N looked around at the classmates near them, instantly noticing Hermione’s hand shoot into the air.

“No one knows. Boggarts are shapeshifters. They take the shape of whatever the person fears most. That’s what makes it so…”

“Terrifying, yes. Luckily, a very simple charm exists to repel a Boggart. Let's practice it now, shall we? Without wands, please... Riddikulus!”

Y/N joined their classmates in repeating the incantation.

“This class is ridiculous.”

Turning at the sound of the snide comment, Y/N locked eyes with Draco Malfoy. In Y/N’s world, Draco was a mere speck in the distance, and that greatly offended Draco. No matter how much he called them a mudblood or caught them in the corridors with his cronies behind him, as they teased the young wizard/witch, Y/N all but let the worlds roll off their back; like water on a duck. Draco wished, just once, that what he and his friends said affected them, but yet it never did, and that pissed Draco off to know end. Not because his words did not hurt them. But because he wished that he could affect them just as much as they affected him.

Draco hated to admit it, but Y/N was a constant thought in his mind. They had made home in his soul and his heart long ago, and yet, he meant nothing to them. Draco often watched them from afar. He admired how they interacted with anyone and everyone. Draco craved that kind of attention. He craved the good mornings and hellos that others around him were graced to from Y/N. He wished that he had never called them horrible names. That maybe if he never, had, they would have been friends. Or even something more. But Draco was a teenage boy, and even though he was a wizard, he still dealt with his feelings the same way most teenage boys do… he hid them.

Y/N simply looked Draco up and down as he sneered towards them. Quirking an eyebrow at the boy’s useless act to cause her fear, Y/N watched as the look on Draco’s face faltered and was replaced by a look they could only describe as nervousness. The longer they stared at Draco, the more nervous the boy became. So much so, his cheeks began to turn red. But it wasn’t nervousness Draco felt. It was embarrassment. Because the longer Y/N looked at him, the more he felt himself fall.

“Good. So much for the easy part. You see, the incantation alone is not enough. What really finishes a Boggart off is... laughter. You need to force it to assume a shape you find truly amusing. Neville, come up here, will you?”

Y/N pulled their gaze from Draco, as the class laughed at the conversation between Lupin and Neville. They watched as Neville nervously stepped forward. Leaning to try and hear what Professor Lupin whispered to the boy, Y/N watched as the wardrobe began to shake.

Lupin stepped to the side.

“Right then. Wands at the ready. One. Two. Three!”

Sparks shot from Professor Lupin’s wand. As they hit the doorknob, the wardrobe instantly opened to show a figure of Professor Snape crawling out. Y/N was surprised. They never really knew how terrifying Neville had found Snape. It must have been greatly if he feared him more than the woman who tortured his parents.

As Snape walked closer to Neville, they saw the boy falter with his wand.

“Come on Nev!”

Neville quickly glanced back at his friend. Y/N motioned their hand in the form of the incantation. Neville quickly looked back at Snape as he approached.

“Riddikulus!”

Suddenly, the figure of Snape transformed, as the man’s usual clothing was replaced with the ugliest outfit any of the students had ever seen. Instant laughter erupted around the room. Y/N covered their mouth as the laughter tumbled from their lips.

From behind them, Y/N heard Draco and his cronies grumble in annoyance. Rolling their eyes, the young wizard/witch chose to ignore them and instead focus on the hilarious figure in front.

As the class continue to laugh, Professor Lupin walked forward towards the gramophone. Placing the needle down, loud music filled the room, as the students looked at the teacher.

Spinning around, Professor Lupin pointed at Ron Weasley.

“Ron! Forward!”

The Gryffindor did as Lupin instructed; shakily stepping forward. The class watched in eager anticipation as the horrifically dressed Professor Snape’s figure twisted and twirled in the air. The mass of magic soon transformed into the largest spider any of them had ever seen. Shrieks could be heard from some of the students, as Ron quivered in his shoes. Y/N couldn’t help but look on fascinated at the sheer size of the creature.

Lupin quickly set Ron in a secure stance, tapping the boy on the shoulders. Y/N watched as Ron successfully produced the spell, causing the giant spider’s leg to be placed in roller skates.

Once again, the class erupted into laughter once more; with even the Slytherin’s letting out a chuckle or two. Y/N couldn’t help but glance at Draco, seeing the platinum haired boy quickly wipe the smile off his face at the turn of her gaze.

“Alright everyone! Line up and remember, to keep laughing.”

Y/N eagerly lined up behind their classmates. Placed behind Dean Thomas, they looked around the tall boy to see what everyone was facing.

“Ready to face your fear, Y/L/N? Bet it is something ugly and grotesque, like yourself!”

Y/N glanced behind them to see Malfoy and his followers laughing at his jibe.

A look of indifference fell on Y/N’s face.

“I’ve had to deal with you for the past three years Malfoy. I’m sure whatever it is won’t be as horrid.”

Malfoy’s smirk dropped as he heard the students around him laugh at Y/N’s rebuttal.

Y/N turned back to see that they were up next, watching as Dean turned the giant cobra before him into a helium balloon version of itself. They couldn’t help but giggle at the silly creature.

High fiving Dean as he walked past, Y/N stepped forward and waited for the Boggart to take whatever form it wished.

Y/N wasn’t sure what to expect when the Boggart began to morph. They found many things frightening like heights or clowns. Even birds creeped them out. But what they weren’t prepared for was to see a hooded figure crying next to a hospital bed.

The class ceased their laughter as confusion fell amongst the students.

It wasn’t clear what was in the bed as the cover was draped over the figure completely. A loud continuous beep erupted from the machine next to the bed. Whatever, or whomever was lying there was dying.

Y/N stood still in their tracks as the figure next to the bed let out a heart-breaking sob. The cries grew louder and louder; filling the room.

Just as Y/N drew their wand to cast the incantation, the hooded figure lifted their head, and whipped their gaze to Y/N’s.

The words caught in their throat as Y/N looked into the eyes of themselves.

Draco pushed himself off the wall and walked closer to where Y/N stood, his worry for them coming to the surface.

Y/N couldn’t pull their eyes away from the boggart, feeling like they were relieving the worst day of their life all over again.

Professor Lupin soon realised that the boggart wasn’t being changed. Ready to step forward and take over, he was stopped by the young student walking towards the boggart and stood on the other side of the bed.

The class watched in bated breath, unsure of what was going to happen.

Suddenly, Y/N looked towards themself. Looking into their own grief-stricken eyes, they watched as the figure stood up and walked toward the life support.

“No don’t do that! Don’t turn it off!”

Before they could reach their own figure, the boggart turned off the life support. Y/N looked on in shock. Quickly turning their gaze down to their bed, Y/N saw the rise and fall of the sheet covered body stop.

Slowly, Y/N turned to face the boggart version of themselves, and before anyone could step in muttered the incantation.

“Reducto.”

Students shielded their eyes as the boggart disintegrated. Like I divine presence was in control, the record playing screeched to a halt and silence befell upon the class.

“I think that is all for today. You may leave, except for you Y/N. Can you stay for a moment?”

The class began to disperse out of the room, throwing confused and worried glances towards Y/N, who still stood staring at where the boggart once stood.

Draco stood still in his spot, contemplating whether to approach them or not. Before he could do so, Draco watched as Professor Lupin slowly and carefully escorted Y/N up into his office, closing the door behind them.

“Oi Draco, Crabbe and I are going to hex some first years before dinner. You coming?”

Draco tore his gaze from where Lupin escorted Y/N. Facing Goyle, Draco moved to step out of the classroom following the stupid Slytherin.

Y/N stood still in Lupin’s office, as though in a trance.

Lupin carefully walked around the student, moving objects around to make the room more spacious. He could tell that what had occurred was more than just a boggart.

“Would you like to discuss what happened?”

Y/N broke out of their daze and stared at the professor.

“There’s nothing to discuss Professor. I saw the boggart and failed to use the correct incantation. So, I apologise.”

Lupin shook his head at the person’s dismissal of the traumatic event that had just occurred. Moving to lean against the desk, Lupin took in the stoic nature of how Y/N stood. It was more than clear that what had happened was truly affecting them.

“What happened is nothing for you to apologise for. I am the one who has to ask for forgiveness. I did not step forward when needed to. You should not have to have seen or faced what you had.”

A distant look clouded over Y/N’s eyes. A look that Lupin knew all too well.

“Don’t worry Professor. It’s nothing I haven’t faced before. Now, may I be excused?”

Lupin knew better than to push the student. Nodding his head, he watched as Y/N walked to the door and exited his office without another word.

Walking down the corridors, Y/N took in the gaggles of students walking to the Great Hall for dinner. As they entered the Great Hall, Y/N moved to sit at their house table, when suddenly their path was blocked by Draco’s buffoons; Crabbe and Goyle.

“Finished crying, have we?”

The two boys snickered as Y/N just looked at them with no regard.

“Yes.”

Crabbe and Goyle were thrown of at Y/N’s truthfulness. Shaking it off, the boys continued to jibe the person in front of them.

“Now tell us mudblood, who was it dead on the bed? I bet Crabbe it was your blood traitor of a mother. He thinks it was your worthless muggle father.”

Y/N wished they had stayed in Lupin’s office because then what would occur would probably never have happened/

Y/N stepped forward to and gave the pair a venomous look.

Crabbe and Goyle ceased their laughter, freezing in fear at the stare they were held under.

“The next time you think about calling my father or mother names, it’ll be you both dead on a slab. You got it?”

The pair silently nodded their heads and watched as Y/N walked around them, continuing to walk to their seat.

“Whoever it was, I bet they’re more than glad they don’t have to deal with you anymore.”

At the sound of their words, Y/N whipped around, pulling their wand out of their robes in a frenzy.

“Aguamenti!”

A flourish of water sprayed out the end of Y/N’s wand, instantly knocking the boys to the floor. Students around them screeched as they moved out the way of the spraying water. Y/N could hear those around them laughing at Crabbe and Goyle’s misfortune, but they didn’t care. Y/N would not allow anyone to disrespect their family in any way.

“Y/Fu/N!”

Ignoring the shout of their name, Y/N continued to spray water at the two boys. Pushing them further and further back, Y/N neglected the presence of the tears falling from their eyes. Watching as Crabbe and Goyle unsuccessfully tried to fight against the sprays of water, Y/N felt nothing but rage.

“Finite Incantatem!”

Suddenly, the water ceased spraying from the end of Y/N’s wand. Turning to give a piece of their mind to whomever stopped them, Y/N’s words ceased once they saw the Head of Slytherin house behind them.

The glare shooting into their own stare would have usually petrified them, but the emotion of the days was already clouding their mind. Before Y/N could defend their actions, they felt a sharp tug on their forearm.

Students watched in silence as Professor Snape dragged Y/N out the hall; Draco being among them. He had witnessed Y/N attack Crabbe and Goyle. It seemed his wish of Y/N being affected by the words from he and his friends had come true. But at what cost? Them being dragged away before Draco could even do what he had planned to do; step in and be heroic? The minute he saw his two idiotic friends approach Y/N, he knew that whatever they were going to say would not be positive. Draco was ready to walk over and stop them, but before he knew it, they were on the floor, drenched, and coughing up water. He had missed his chance to help once more.

As Madame Pomfrey rushed into the Great Hall, Draco followed the nurse and Professor McGonagall as they escorted Crabbe and Goyle to the hospital wing. While many would have thought he was accompanying his friends to see how they were, the minute Draco left the Great Hall he headed in the opposite direction; to where he knew Snape would have taken Y/N.

Y/N knew that their actions were irresponsible but after the day they had, they truly could not care if they were even kicked out of Hogwarts. They were scarred from the Boggart incident earlier on in the day and angered by Crabbe and Goyle’s horrible words. The day had just been too much to handle.

Snape continued to pull Y/N down corridors, weaving through the different paths around the castle before he reached his desired destination. Y/N obviously recognised the professor’s classroom as they approached the door.

Forcefully, Snape pulled the student into the classroom.

“Sit.”

They did not have the will to fight back at this moment in time. Feeling the exhaustion from what had just occurred, Y/N took a seat on the stool behind them; hardly having enough energy and strength to hold up their own body. The tears continuing to flow in rivers down their tear-stained cheeks; pooling in the creases of their hands which barely held their head up. What Y/N had seen had truly wrecked them, but what Goyle had said was what broke the dam.

“Now, enlighten me Y/L/N. What bewitched you to try and drown two members of my house?”

Y/N rolled their eyes. Of course, that was all Snape cared about.

“Do not roll your eyes at me child. Answer the question.”

“It was simple misunderstanding Professor.”

Snape rolled his eyes at the student’s attempt at dismissing the subject.

“Well, it must have been something for you to not only cause harm to your fellow students, but to nearly flood the Great Hall and now sit in my classroom and cry about it.”

“Like I said. It was nothing Professor.”

Before Snape could retort back once more, a knock came from the door.

Both Y/N and Snape turned to face the archway as they watched Draco open the classroom door.

“What is it Draco?”

Draco’s eyes flittered between the pair. He saw the tears that had stained Y/N’s face and the grimace on Snape’s.

“Professor Dumbledore wishes to see you. He said it was concerning the events of last week’s full moon.”

Snape glared towards Draco and headed towards the door.

Turning to face Y/N as he stands in the doorway, Snape pointed at the student.

“Do not leave this room. You will face the consequences for your actions when I get back.”

As Snape whisked his cape in a flourish and strode down the corridors, Y/N couldn’t help the scoff that emitted from their throat at the man’s over the top departure.

Draco stood in the doorway and watched as Y/N wiped away the tears. He wanted to help them. He wanted to help them with all he had in him. Seeing them cry felt what Draco could only describe as his heart breaking. It consumed him with guilt that the people who he associated himself with had hurt Y/N. But, yet, he knew, that the words he has said in the past have been just as horrible too. Except he had never seen the words affect them. Until now.

Y/N felt Draco’s presence still in the room. They could make out his figure standing in the archway of the classroom, watching them. Staring at them as they continued to wipe away their tears. They weren’t in the mood for anymore bullshit.

“Don’t even start with your pathetic, sarcastic comments Malfoy. Your cronies have done more than enough today.”

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but before even a breath left his tongue, Y/N pointed their wand towards him.

“I swear to Merlin Malfoy, leave me alone for fuck sake!”

Draco watched as the tears continued to fall down their face, tracing their blotchy cheeks, and falling into the curve of their neck, below their crumpled collar. He wanted to help.

Moving towards the potion cabinet, Draco searched through the shelves.

“What are you doing?”

Rolling his eyes, Draco continued to search the cabinets.

“Malfoy, what-”

“Will you be patient? And put that wand down for Merlin’s sake, I am trying to help.”

Y/N slowly lowered their wand. Placing the wand on the table, Y/N threaded their hands through their hair and leaned their elbows on the surface in front of them. Their body felt more and more heavy as the seconds went by. Like the weight of what they had seen and done had been placed around their neck and was dragging them further and further into the depths of despair.

Draco couldn’t stand seeing them like this, so he worked as quickly as he possibly could. Grasping the necessary ingredients, Draco positioned himself on the stool diagonally from Y/N and began working on the potion at hand.

As the smell of lavender washed over the room, Y/N carefully lifted their head to see Draco stirring a mixture in the boiling hot cauldron. He concentrated on his work in silence, giving Y/N the chance to stare.

While Draco thought Y/N saw him as nothing but one of the other students in the school, as a speck in their life, he was terribly wrong. Y/N noticed Draco much more than he realised. They noticed how much he cared about his studies, how he truly enjoyed potions the most. They noticed how he always started the day by eating eggs on toast for breakfast, just a different form of egg every day. They also noticed that even though he and his friends called them names, he unconsciously winced every time a horrible word was said towards them; like it hurt to even hear such things directing their way. Y/N also noticed how when the boggart had shifted into what she had seen earlier that Draco stepped forward and unconsciously held his wand tighter. She just didn’t understand why.

Continuing to stare, Y/N watched as Draco meticulously dissected the crocodile heart to his side, putting the necessary amount in the cauldron. Once he had done so, Draco mixed in the drops of peppermint needed and stirred the potion until completed. Pouring his creation into a bottle, Draco grabbed a piece of parchment, and teared a small piece off. Writing on the scrap piece, Draco tied it to the bottle and placed it on the table.

Draco slid the bottle across the table until it was in front of Y/N.

“What is this?”

“It’s a Calming Draught. You can take it for whenever you suffer shock, trauma, or an emotional outburst. You’ve already calmed down mostly so only take a few drops. But if you ever need to calm down quickly, take a large gulp. There’s enough there to last a while.”

Y/N’s eyes drifted from Draco to the bottle he had placed before them. They still felt the dried tears on their face and the tension in their body. They knew that continuing to think about what they saw would just cause them to cry more. Grabbing the bottle, Y/N did as Draco instructed, and poured a couple of small drops onto their tongue.

Instantly, as if the most soothing wave had rushed over them, Y/N felt calm. The tension in their back eased as they breathed a sigh of relief. No longer did tears pool at their eyes at the thought of what happened. They could only feel serenity, and at that moment, they were extremely grateful to feel only that.

At the sight of Y/N visibly relaxing, Draco himself felt the tension from his shoulders leave. Happy that he had actually helped as he desired to, Draco stood from his seat and began to put away the ingredients.

Y/N didn’t know what to say. Draco had always been irritable towards them. Making snide and awful remarks, but, as they had realised, it seemed it always hurt the boy to do so.

“Thank you, Draco.”

Draco paused for a split second as he held the jar on the shelf. He quickly continued to put the ingredients away.

“I’ve written instructions on how to further take the potion. You will most likely need to use it again if you find the memories of today too much.”

Draco turned back to face where Y/N sat.

Whilst he saw that they had calmed significantly thanks to the potion, he still saw an aura of sadness surrounding them.

“I’ve lived with that memory long enough to get used to it. But I still appreciate your kindness.”

Draco clenched and unclenched his fingers. The boy wanted to ask further questions about what she meant. However, he felt he was in no place to do so.

As Draco successfully packed away the items, he swiftly walked towards the door, ready to leave.

“You can tell Crabbe and Goyle that neither of them has won their little bet.”

Draco stopped in his steps. Confusion fell upon him.

“What bet?”

Y/N swung their legs as they sat on the stool, fiddling with the string of the potion in front of them.

“Crabbe thought it was my, in his words, ‘blood traitor of a mother’ who was on the hospital bed. Goyle said it was my ‘worthless muggle for a father’. They were both wrong.”

Draco was unaware of the exact words that Crabbe and Goyle had said to Y/N. Now that he had heard them, Draco wished he had his own supply of Calming Draught, as what Y/N did to them was in no means near how bad Draco was ready to deal with the pair.

Draco stepped closer to Y/N.

“What did you mean when you said you have lived with the memory long enough?”

Y/N ceased fiddling with the string in front of them. Turning to look at Draco, she saw a look that she never thought would be directed at her by the Slytherin Prince. He looked concerned. Almost sad to hear their words.

“For a lot of people, their boggart is something like a person or a creature. Mine’s more of something I had to do. I had no choice and I live with that every day of my life. I live with the fact that I had to turn off my brother’s life support as I was the only person he had left. He was all I had left. Now, it’s just me, myself, and I. Has been for a while.”

Draco was at loss for words. He could not imagine being without his parents or to have to lose someone so close to him.

“What happened to him?”

Y/N looked down at their lap.

“Accident at work.”

Draco moved forward until he was near the stool next to Y/N. Slowly taking a seat, he watched in case they chastised his actions. They stayed quiet.

“When did he pass?”

Y/N could feel the tears coming back. But they knew if they continued to bottle it up, that they would just react how they had before. Draco might have not been who they thought they were opening up to, but this was a day of surprising events.

Y/N flashed a watery smile to Draco as they sniffled their nose.

“Um, about a week after I started first year. He was nineteen and had just gotten a job as an Aura. One of the youngest ever to be one. He was apprehending a dark wizard when he was hit with a spell that I have no clue of. He was in muggle London and was found by a muggle who called an ambulance. If he was taken to hospital in the wizarding world he would have survived. But I can’t blame the person who called the ambulance. They didn’t know about magic. They did what they thought was best. I did what I thought was best too.”

Draco reached out to hold their hand. Just as his fingers grazed theirs, Y/N pulled their hand away. Confusion laced their features.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Why am I telling you this?”

“I don’t know either.”

Y/N stared at Draco, taking in his figure. He didn’t look like the confident, arrogant Slytherin that roamed the halls. He looked soft. Breakable like porcelain. Like if enough pressure would be forced on him, he would shatter into a million pieces. Draco looked how Y/N felt.

“Why did you help me Draco?”

There was so much Draco wanted to say. He wanted to tell Y/N how much he truly hated the horrible things he had said towards them. How he longed to have them say hello and good morning to him like they did to everyone else. How he was standing so close to them in DADA class earlier because he wanted to take down the boggart for them. How he was about to hex Crabbe and Goyle himself before they did. He wanted to say all this and so much more.

“I’ve always wanted to help you. I finally had the chance to now.”

Right as Y/N was about to ask Draco what he meant, the door to the classroom swung open once more. The pair watched as Snape walked through the door, his cape billowing behind him as always.

Snape looked up towards where Y/N sat to continue reprimanding the student. He ceased in his steps once he saw how close they and Draco were sitting. That their hands were inches apart. One look in Draco’s eyes and he saw himself at that age. Hopelessly falling into a feeling, he never stopped falling in to.

“Leave.”

Draco went to stand without an argument.

“The both of you.”

Y/N looked at the Professor.

“But I-.”

Snape whipped to glare at Y/N.

“I have greater matters to deal with than your hormonal outburst child. Now, both of you head to your dorms before curfew or I’ll have you both in detention for a month.”

Without a second glance, Y/N stood from their seat and followed Draco out of the classroom. The pair continued to walk in silence down the corridor. As they arrived at the moving staircase, Y/N noted that this would be where they departed. Just as Draco moved to walk down the steps, he felt a pressure on his arm. Turning around, Draco watched as Y/N stepped towards him. He could feel their breathe on his face. Draco Malfoy had never been so stunned for words.

“Thank you, Draco.”

As their eyes stayed interlocked, Y/N moved their hand from Draco’s arm and slid it down to hold his own. Giving the boys hand a squeeze, they let got, and moved to head up the staircase without another word.

Draco watched as Y/N strode up the staircase and passed a corridor. He watched until he could no longer see them. Looking down at his hand, he clenched and unclenched his digits, feeling the ghost of a touch that was there for a fleeting second.

Facing back to the stairs, Draco walked down them, heading to the dungeons. Just as he was about to pass the hospital wing, a sudden though came to mind. If Crabbe and Goyle thought they were spending the afternoon in there, they would think again. After Draco would be done with them, they were going to be in there for a week.

While Draco could be sweet and kind for Y/N, he was still the Slytherin Prince after all.