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throwaway-yandere · 2 years

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ERROR 410: GONE (Yandere Faceless!Kamisato Ayato/Reader)

A/n: thank you for the 5 dollar tip, "anonymous"! I asked them for what they want in exchange and they asked for a fac█le██ ayato fic... Alright then... You did ask for it...

Unreliable synopsis: Your new coworker doesn't seem to be from around here...

It was a cramped night at the bus stop. Except for the elderly, many people had their phones out since it was nearly midnight and nobody had the stamina to engage in conversation. You recently got promoted as a district manager for an international company, and oh, the work is just too exhausting to drone about. However, in this station, it didn't matter if you were an energetic student or an employee. The bus is abnormally later than their usual "lateness", and such a redundant statement elucidates just how shoddy their schedule is. Everyone was simultaneously stressed and drained and each of their war faces screamed that they would selfishly fight for the seat ride home.

All except for one man.

From the moment he arrived, you were peering at him. He had a similar appearance to the character you were "maining" in the video game you were enamored with for approximately two years. Though you seriously doubt he was in cosplay, he and that favorite of yours look eerily identical. His long-sleeved black coat and simple white turtleneck blend in with modern fashion fairly, save for his elaborate light blue hair, which was organically unkempt and not at all synthetic. His keen eyes led you to believe that he is from an Eastern lineage, most likely Japanese, but you didn't want to make any unfounded assumptions. Because it's simply impossible for someone to cosplay at this time, you were left silently marveling at the incredible coincidence.

He muttered something to himself, but you did not hear it.

“11:56 PM.”

You had a smidgen of knowledge regarding the bus schedule enough to give yourself a pep talk in the hopes that it would motivate you to give him directions. But no amount of psyching yourself up could have prepared you for when another person walked up to him. She asked the question you had been meaning to ask for the past three minutes, assuming she was a college student. He grinned at the worried girl.

He was stunningly gorgeous when he smiled.

Wholly unfair how he exudes an aura of elegance whilst wearing normal clothes while you look like a sloppy burrito wrapped by a beige shawl this dead of night.

“Oh, no, no. I am not at all lost. I’m simply looking for someone.”

Everyone was fairly sure that person would never arrive, but he stayed roving around the room, pacing back and forth as if the person he was looking for will arrive the next minute. Whoever it was, you were starting to get angry on his behalf. Who would leave such an attractive man waiting? It was improper.

But to be honest, you have already admitted to yourself that your life is quite dull— so you’re aware that this nonsensical drama you had over this imaginary person stemmed from boredom.

Out of the blue, he fixed his gaze on you.

The stranger’s eyes softened. The simmering panic in his expression vanished in an instant the moment he saw your face, and his mouth gaped open for a short while before he sauntered forward, ignoring the student who awkwardly shuffled back to her waiting spot.

You immediately felt small, upright, and astoundingly nervous. Not ready to be accosted by anyone at all.

“There you are…” He gave you that smile again. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Mx. (Y/n).”

You scanned the area before jabbing your finger at your chest. He nodded as if you were being ridiculous to consider that it may be someone else.

Ah, so the lookalike was waiting for you.

You were mentally fighting yourself.

“I’m ███████ █████,” he said in a gentle tone— not at all reflecting the stressed out look he sported a moment before. “— The new product manager. I’m an incredibly recent hire, so please do not feel bad for not recognizing my face.”

That wasn’t the reason why your eyebrows were knitted, though. It’s because you DO recognize his face, but you doubt he’d take you for a reasonable person should you start pointing out his physical similarities with a fictional character.

███████ █████, huh? His full name is a bit average-sounding. Sounds like something you may have read on an early 2000s Weaboo forum on "What would your Japanese name be?" which lists down dates, birth months, and the first letter of a person's first name. However, it wasn’t entirely unbelievable— you just chalked him up as an unfortunate kid whose parents were eager to give their son the name "John Doe" when given the chance.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mister █████.”

“P-Please,” he shook his head. “Let’s drop the formalities. We shall work alongside together officially tomorrow. I would like for us to talk more casually if you would not mind.”

His vocabulary was painfully filled with constrictive pleasantries for someone who seemed to be eager to have a casually cordial relationship with you. Since a product manager and a district manager have roughly equal levels of authority in your company, his desire for friendship isn't too shocking.

Yet, you can’t help but stare… It’s still so strange how he also has a mole right underneath his lip.

He looks just like Kamisato Ayato from Genshin Impact, but not for long.

At first, you envied █████’s youthful glow and wanted it for yourself, but upon learning that he will replace Mister Blaiddyd, you mentally prayed that he wouldn’t lose his mind from stress like his predecessor. That’s how stressful being a product manager is. Give him two months and he’d probably start ruining his coiffed hair during crunch times.

“Understood,” your eyes darted back to the bus station, which remained regrettably devoid of any vehicle. You were starting to consider taking a taxi to avoid this awkward conversation but there’s not a single one in sight. “Since you’ve mentioned that you were trying to find me, might I ask why that is, exactly?”

“Ah, yes,” he instinctively adjusted his collar. His sharp and sophisticated face never averted away from you. “You see— Miss Goneril had informed me that I should approach you if I had any concerns about work.”

Ahh… Hilda…

His future plight still doesn’t change how annoying this situation is. Can’t believe you’re already assigned to helping a newbie out as soon as you got your promotion. She’s planning to milk your kindness dry this month, isn’t she? Despite being your best work friend, Hilda doesn’t have to be unkind to someone to exploit them. But you suppose you wouldn’t mind too much, given how he doesn’t look half-bad. Call it vain, call it a “coping mechanism”, but there wouldn’t be any shame on your end to teach a new attractive coworker the ropes of your job.

You'll treat him nicely. As the good Samaritan you are, maybe you'll also ask him to give up while he's ahead for good measure.

“Sure, I wouldn’t mind helping you out—”

“I'm most grateful!”

“—but it is VERY late.”

You took a quick look at your phone. 11:53 PM—and there were three messages from Miss Goneril confirming that █████ is the new hire. Since Hilda never filtered her remarks when it came to... aesthetically pleasing people, you instantly pocketed your phone. It was a grave oversight on your end that Hilda found out earlier that you weren't paying attention to her babbling earlier. You wouldn't get such a long message on how "hot" █████'s mole was if you were a better pretender. Her thirst was kind of unsettling.

Ah, whatever. You’ll just delete it later.

You held back a yawn, “where’s your stop?”

“███ ███████.”

“Ah, that’s where I drop off too.”

Additionally, it is the bus's final stop, so you would have to spend a lot more time with him. Great. You hoped he wouldn't try to strike up a conversation with some small talk.

He placed his hand on his chin. Now that he’s up close, you realized just how long his sleeves were. The silhouette nearly reminded you of Kamisato Ayato once more. █████ nodded with a half-teasing smile.

“Oh, not to worry, I know.”

Hilda must have told him right away. You secretly hoped that the main reason she paired you two up was because of your shared destination so you could applaud her wise decision-making skills, but you knew better. Once more, Hilda is attempting to match you with someone.

You cleared your throat, “well then, you better prepare yourself with some sleepless nights because the buses around here don’t come around plenty. You’d have to stand most of the time—”

He muttered something again, “three minutes left.”

“Hmm?”

“Ah, no, it’s nothing. I’ve recently moved here so please do continue explaining.”

“… Right.” You sighed, “do you live in ██████████?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’d go in opposite directions. I live in █████ so this is the only bus we share.”

“Unfortunately.”

That almost made you snort. Unfortunately? It's not at all unfortunate, though. During these hours, you rarely feel socially motivated to communicate, and you just know deep down that once he starts working, you'll find a method to board buses separately from him.

“If it’s alright for me to quickly digress— may I trouble you with something, (Y/n)?”

“Sure.”

“May I take a picture with you?” █████ asked. “I want to upload it in my Instagram Story to show my friends and family that I’m faring well. They’ve been insistent that I should make friends on my first day of work— even when based on technicalities, this doesn’t qualify as my first day.”

He must be the eldest and the breadwinner of the ████████ family. That's admirable. Working with someone like him is not a problem for you. They constantly know how to get the job done.

“I don’t mind,” you said, slightly nervous. “But can you not add any weird stuff?”

“Weird stuff?”

“Like, maybe a “my new coworker is ugly” or something like that.”

“W-What?!” █████ jolted. “I would never do such a thing! Especially towards you, my bel—”

“R-Relax, that was just a joke.” Not really. “Is it okay if I don’t take my face mask off?”

“… Of course, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Great.”

█████ scooted closer to you, placing his phone up and angling it in the direction that mostly showed your face. It’s as if he didn’t want his face to be seen, but with a handsome face like that? You’re highly doubtful that is the case. His hands were trembling. The poor man must’ve been incredibly sleep deprived and running on coffee like you.

Unwittingly, you placed your hand above his to steady his phone and you heard him gasp softly. You quickly withdrew your hand away as though you touched a hot kettle when its anything but warm.

His hands were cold, it almost didn’t feel human.

“Oh— sorry!” You shrugged, cringing. “I didn’t mean to—”

“N-No, it’s fine!” He chuckled nervously. “If anything, I should be the one apologizing. I have been told that I am terrible at using a Kamera.”

Why does he say “camera” with a hard “K”? You’ve never heard anyone else pronounce it in that way. Possibly a local accent. It was tempting to ask where he’s from but perhaps that topic would be better brought up some other time. Asking that question might just make him miss his family more, and his parents might be wide-awake right now anticipating any form of reassurance that their child is doing fine.

“Then allow me to take the pic for us.”

He smiled eagerly, “I would greatly appreciate that.”

█████ handed you his phone. You set it up at the same angle he had originally intended, although this time his phone's screen displayed both your faces more clearly. Although you made an effort to contain your emotions, you couldn't help but be overwhelmed by how much he resembles Kamisato Ayato. You mentally readied yourself for the possibility that you would feel his breath on your neck, but you didn't feel him breathe. That doesn’t make you feel untouched, however, since he rested his hand on your shoulder to pull you close enough for the picture.

Is he holding his breath?

“Stay still,” he commanded.

You clenched your fist, trying hard NOT to think about how close his voice is to Chris Hackney’s.

After you pressed the shutter button at least three times, you opened the pictures you’ve taken.

He really does have a beautiful smile.

“Is there something wrong with my face…?”

“Hmm? N-No,” you sputtered out. “I just thought it was a good pic.”

“I’m glad,” he laughed heartily. “I’m still getting used to this face after all.”

… Huh.

Maybe you lack sleep, but the photos remind you of those AI-generated photos on social media— the stolen ones that artists rightfully plead credit for. Maybe you just find him excessively gorgeous because he reminded you of a fictional character you were familiar with, but his appearance somehow seems otherworldly…

“11:55, one minute left.” He muttered again as he crooned above your neck, gazing at his phone.

“For what?”

█████ laughed heartily.

“For the bus, of course!”

You raised an eyebrow. The station was incredibly empty. You genuinely can’t tell who would lie to him about that.

“Sorry, █████, I don’t know who told you that but there’s genuinely no pattern as to when the bus arrives here. That’s fake news—”

“██████████!!! ██████████!!!”

You immediately snap your neck at the sound of the bus conductor.

“H-Huh?” Your eyes widened.

█████ wore a smug smile on his face as he watched you stare at his phone in disbelief. He was correct; the time was 11:56 pm. But before he had time to gloat and act “mysterious”, you snatched his cold hand and sprinted for the seats— apologizing to the college student you bumped into along the way.

No way in hell you’re going to wait for the next bus.

“We need to go! Now!!!”

You woke up the next day feeling more tired than the previous morning.

Tuesday means that you will inevitably have to work today. You woke up before your alarm, but instead of being a responsible adult and opening up a parcel of bread with hot coffee on the side, you rolled on your bed to whisk your charged phone from the nightstand. You received notifications from several social media apps and a work email from Mister Gautier, but you'd prefer not to startle yourself by hearing one of your subordinate's absurd justifications for being absent. Instead, you launched the Instagram app that you reluctantly installed because of Hilda.

The picture you took together with █████ is still up on his Story.

The image is just as you recall it. You might even say that your opinion of his appearance significantly increased after a good night's sleep. How did you manage to converse with your new coworker last night without turning into a stammering wreck when he is THIS drop-dead gorgeous? You're confident the picture wasn't edited in any way. After all, you saw him upload it directly to his phone's social media account because you wanted to make sure he wouldn't add any odd captions. Congrats to █████ for being incredibly photogenic. He genuinely looks like an AI-generated person with how flawless he appeared. You would have told Hilda straight away that whatever she was swooning over had to be some kind of catfish if you hadn't met him—

You squinted.

…

“Wait a second.”

You looked closely at his hand which rested on top of your shoulder.

“… Are those six fingers?”

That can’t be right.

Sure, he does look like an AI-generated person in the flesh but six fingers? Absurd. It’s probably due to the horrible lighting.

You can’t zoom in on a story, so you took a screenshot but—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

“Shit.”

You had no time to spare. Hastily, you rolled out, tossed your phone on the bed, and staggered to the restroom. You had to go as soon as possible since you have a meeting this morning. At this rate, soldiers who lived ration by ration likely had a healthier diet than you– but your boss is the embodiment of evil.

You’ll just have to look at the image later.

“Bad morning?”

“Oh, nice to see you here, █████.”

█████ grinned, pointing at the chair beside you, “would you mind if I sit?”

You smiled politely, “I don’t own this place, you know?”

He chuckled, “fair enough.”

It's 4:07 PM. Even though one of your team members arrived later than expected, you eventually built momentum and finished the presentation on a high note. Working with Mr. Gautier is such a headache. Thankfully, district managers have to go out in the field, so before you know it, you've excused yourself to eat lunch at your preferred café. The barely-melted coffee powder you had at home wasn't going to help you get through the day like your favorite cup here. Your cup was no longer a "morning joe", but better late than never.

█████ sank on the cafe’s chair, inhaling the aroma of the rich coffee you ordered. You assumed yet again that it was Miss Goneril’s atrocious wingman skills that led him to this place. His shoulders relaxed a bit afterward as he eyed your cup.

��I do wonder what real coffee tastes like…” █████ mumbled.

You'd give it to him, but you're stressed out—probably more so than he is, given that your supervisor basically holds his hand around the office like a newborn child. The gravity of the problems you carry as a District Manager is nothing to laugh at, either. It’s just a matter of getting used to it.

“Looking already stressed on your official first day, hmm?” You teased before you sipped your cup, pretending you don’t feel his jealous eyes. “Is being a Project Manager not what you had expected?”

█████ shook his head, scoffing with a lopsided grin.

“Oh no, I used to have bigger workloads. I’m only behaving this way since I’m not used to moving this face often.”

This face, huh? What a unique yet expected phrasing. After all, he is so attractive that it wouldn't surprise you if he thought of his face as a separate entity that must be maintained. █████ must be the type of person who cares an awful lot for skin care and self-love. Good for him, good for him.

“Never worked in retail before?” You tilted your head. “Never practiced your customer service smile?”

“In a way, yes,” he chuckled. “I am more accustomed to working behind the scenes since my younger sister takes most of the spotlight in the commi— our family business.”

█████ sure laughs a lot.

“Ah, is she something of an entertainer?” You teased. Knowing a thing or two about other people’s younger siblings, you anticipated some messy anecdotes which served to amplify your opinions on how chaotic having siblings is.

“No. On the contrary, she’s incredibly reserved and poised.”

“Then I bet there’s just something charismatic about her— is she the artistic type?”

“She is. Our family’s beloved princess is quite skilled in the art of dancing and calligraphy. You ought to watch her perform someday.”

You made an effort not to grin foolishly as humiliating thoughts ran rampant inside your head. His sister sounds like Ayaka already. How surreal would it be if you opened up your phone and did your Daily Commissions in front of him—

Oh, right! Your phone— that screenshot!

You ferreted your phone out of your bag, side-eyeing him each time you failed to find it inside its mini-pockets. █████ kept smiling as you busied yourself in hopes you’d locate your phone sooner. To fill in the dead air (and to avoid getting uncomfortable knowing that a man was keeping a close eye on you), you got right onto the meat of the subject by asking questions.

“Hey— I know this is weird, but can I see your hands?”

█████ didn’t respond for a while, lost in a trance before you lightly waved at his face. His soft gaze broke as he blinked fast multiple times.

“My… hands? Alright.”

He pulled his long sleeves— which iconically trailed longer than any other coat in the company— to smoothly show off his slender fingers. █████ glanced at his wristwatch in the process. 4:09 PM. Just one minute more.

Meanwhile, you flinched. He clearly had five fingers in each hand. The normal amount. You didn’t know what exactly you were expecting.

“Hah, I’m definitely sleep deprived,” you spoke humorously. “When I checked our picture this morning I swear I saw six fingers.”

He didn’t laugh. Slowly, he closed his eyes, unamused.

“You’re wrong.”

█████’s voice dipped low.

You never realized how warm his servile gazes were until he starts looking at you with a cold glare.

You felt your spine tremble as you took note of how he crossed his arms. What’s with this sudden shift in atmosphere? Shouldn’t he laugh at how strange your question was instead?

Why did he sound so offended?

Due to the nature of his tone, you sputtered out an excuse to bring back the light conversation you had before, “must’ve been because its dark— here hold on I took a screenshot of it.”

You opened your gallery, not bothering to scroll deep into it since it should be a recent photo. Yet, you paused, and frantically swiped up and down. You expected that screenshot to be the first image that greets you upon opening the app, but you only saw an entirely black PNG file. Why on earth did that screenshot turn void? You tried searching but you only found recent scans from the last week’s meetings and some “candid” selfies Hilda most likely snapped for herself.

This makes no sense whatsoever! You swore you took the screenshot earlier and there was no notification that it failed to save it.

“█████” smirked.

11:56 PM M: (Y/n) waits at the bus station.

02:33 AM T: (Y/n) arrives home.

8:01 AM T: (Y/n) has a meeting.

4:10 PM T: (Y/n) looks at their phone at Cafe █████.

4:10 PM. GONE.

You’re so adorable when you have your phone close to your face with your eyebrows knitted like that… Oh, his dear beloved, you nearly got him…

It’s such a shame that he knows your phone like the back of his palm.

“Is something the matter, (Y/n)?”

Kamisato Ayato chuckled behind his sleeve.

You wouldn’t meet his eye, “I was pretty certain I took a screenshot of it this morning, this is so strange…”

Quickly, you opened Instagram to check “█████”’s Story, but the image was missing as well. Since Stories only expire after 24 hours, and it has only been a little over half that time since it was posted, it shouldn't have disappeared. Your eyes remained glued to your phone, unbeknownst to the sinister smile your coworker wore amidst your defeated state.

“Say, did you remove your Stor—”

“Here.”

“█████” slid his phone onto the table.

You picked it up. It’s the picture you two had at the station. You zoomed in on his hand.

Five fingers.

“… Yeah, it’s definitely five,” you whimpered almost inaudibly. “Here I thought I could show you something funny. Damn. I’m really sleep-deprived.”

“I know, you sleep at around 2:30 after all.”

“Yeah—”

You took a breath and then shook your head. There is no need to be skeptical about that statement; it's simple arithmetic. He reportedly knows a lot about accounting, thus he most likely estimated the length of your ride home as if it were a no-brainer. You gave him a wary smile. He's a lot more calculating than you first thought; he even picked up that you were looking for the photo you took the night before without your having to tell him.

Doing what needed to be done without being asked…

“█████” swiftly took his phone back.

“Now then, would you care to enlighten me as to what tastes good on this cafe’s menu?”

You smiled.

Yeah. You think you’ll get along with the new Project Manager just fine.

“Why, it’ll be my pleasure! First off, the frappe here is not that bad…”

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 1 month

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(FE: Engage) Alear / Konosuba Emblem Ring

No one requested this, I have the INSATIABLE URGE to write crossovers no matter what, apparently. Doubly so with the idiots that began my love for crossovers, both Fire Emblem/Konosuba.

Awakening:

Alear stared at the rather shoddy looking ring in her palm, eyebrow raised as Marth and Vander at her side did the same.

The ring was horribly rusted, alongside just looking cheap, as if it were made of copper unlike every other ring which at least looked decent.

(Vander) "Divine One, please absolve me of my negligence but...are you sure that is the correct incantation?"

(Alear) "Truth be told, it sounds like someone just made it up on the spot. Name included. Marth?"

Marth floated over her shoulder and only shook his head.

(Marth) "I suppose there's no harm in trying?"

Alear sighed before clenching her fist and raising it into the sky.

(Alear)

"WAKE UP YOU MORONS!"

Instead of a brilliant light, the ring violently popped out four figures that all landed on top of each other, scaring the three.

(Kazuma) "GOD, MY FRIGGIN BACK!"

The brown haired boy shoved three girls off him, all while swearing under his breath as he dusted himself off.

Not that he needed to, considering they were just manifestations and not physical bodies.

(Kazuma) "What in the-Why the hell are we all glowy and crap?!"

The other girls quickly looked down to examine themselves, completely ignoring Alear.

(Darkness) "I-I can't feel anything! THIS IS A TERRIBLE EXISTENCE!"

(Megumin) "Can we still attack? C-C-CAN I STILL CAST MY EXPLOSIONS!?"

(Kazuma) "What did you do to us, Aqua?!"

(Aqua) "ME?! I didn't do anything! It was that stupid ring that you bought from Wiz! I KNEW that we should've just sold it off!-"

(Vander) AHEM!

The four quickly leapt back in terror as Vander made their presence known.

(Vander) "Compose yourselves! You stand in front of the Divine Dragon-"

(Kazuma) "Can it, grandpa! Our business is none of yours!"

(Vander) "Grandpa?!-"

(Alear) "L-Let's just all take a second to breathe and-"

(Kazuma) "And that goes to you too, toothpaste hair!"

(Alear) "...What's toothpaste-?"

Kazuma jammed a finger into Aqua's shoulder angrily, his expression bordering on snapping into full blown rage.

(Kazuma) "AND AS FOR YOU, YA STUPID BLUE GODDESS! THE RING WAS PERFECTLY FINE UNTIL YOU DECIDED TO TRY YANKING IT FROM MY HAND! Now we're stuck as some goddamn ghosts!"

(Aqua) "IT'S NOT MY FAULT! HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW IT WAS GOING TO TURN US INTO THIS!?-"

As the two continued to yell, Megumin and Darkness's glances turned towards the newcomers.

(Megumin) "Well, I'm Megumin! Nice to meet you."

(Darkness) "Please, call me Darkness. Those two over there are Kazuma and Aqua."

(Marth) "Well...I suppose I've seen stranger folks become heroes in my world?"

(Alear) "I supposed it'd be insincere to say if we didn't have a few strange folk in the Somniel too..."

(Vander) "I know we require all the assistance we can get but...I fail to see how this ring could help us."

(Alear) "

===

Supports:

===

Alear

(Kazuma) "Let me get this straight. You're supposedly like a god, but you have no idea what you're doing? Psh, why does that sound familiar?"

(Alear) "I take it your gods haven't been so kind...?"

(Kazuma) "They've been absolute idiots, that's for sure."

...

(Alear) "Kazuma, why exactly do I get people's underwear whenever I fight alongside you-?"

(Kazuma) "H-HEY! For the record, I'm trying to steal their damn weapons this time!"

(Alear) "T-This time?! Does that mean you just do that regularly?!"

...

(Aqua) "Hm...For a god, your choice of clothing is super weird."

(Alear) "I uh...could say the same for your choice of undergarments..."

(Aqua) "Hm? But having them be invisible is smart, since no one can see it!"

(Alear) "..."

...

(Alear) "C-Can I ask you something, Darkness? Whenever I get hit when you are with me, I can't help but feel that...you're happy?"

(Darkness) "OH YES, I AM VERY HAPPY! I can take whatever hit the enemies throw at us, please just let me go first!"

(Alear) "I...believe I hear someone calling for me, if you'll excuse me!"

...

(Alear) "Out of curiousity, why do you only cast explosions? Surely there are other fields of magic that you can be profi-"

(Megumin) "NOPE! Only explosions, end of discussion! Why don't you cast explosion sometime? It's a great way to clear enemies off the field!"

(Alear) "I'd prefer not to have my friends torched too..."

...

Anna

(Anna) "Hey there, sir! Interested in buying something?-"

(Kazuma) "Wha-aren't you a little too young to be swindling?!"

(Anna) "Hmph! Aren't you a little too old to be wandering around in kiddie rags like that weird suit?!"

Jade

(Jade) "Excuse me, Aqua? If I may ask, could I use you as a basis to write the main character in my upcoming short novel?"

(Aqua) "Ah! Someone finally recognizes my beautiful goddess radiance! As long as you pay me my royalties, I will not mind!"

(Jade) "Fair enough. Now, please tell me your daily life. This character fails miserably at everything they do, and I need to understand the mindset properly..."

Jean

(Jean) "I don't understand?! How does your body keep falling over everytime you cast one spell?!"

(Megumin) "Hah...m-my explosions are the coolest, and require ALL the energy I got..."

(Jean) "It will not be cool if you get stabbed to death after falling over from one spell! Please, try not to cast it too much!"

Vander

(Vander) "You four are considered to be heroes in your world? I am finding it hard to believe after witnessing you in action..."

(Kazuma) "Piss off, old man! We fought plenty of things you wouldn't believe! Give us the respect we deserve!"

(Vander) "You have lost any I could have given the moment you stole the enemy's underwear in active combat..."

Marth

(Kazuma) "Cram the friendship speeches up your ass, I don't wanna hear em!"

(Marth) "Wha-I was just going to say hello!"

(Kazuma) "Listen, I know your type when I see 'em, okay?! Buzz off!"

Tiki

(Tiki) "Hmph, you're a real jerk! And you call yourself a goddess?!"

(Aqua) "What's that? I'm sorry, I can't hear you from down there, pipsqueak!"

(Tiki) "...I'm going to do violence to you."

===

Victory Quotes:

"HAH! Suck it!"

"No match for a goddess!"

"Fall to the Crimson Demon!"

"HURT ME MORE!...Wait, what?"

#fire emblem crossover #fire emblem engage imagines #fire emblem engage headcanons #crossover #alear fire emblem #konosuba crossover #satou kazuma #aqua konosuba #darkness konosuba #megumin konosuba

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auroravictorium · 1 year

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high infidelity (pt. 1) (k.b.)

do i really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?

Summary: pekka gives up on trying to get information from reader and decides to wait for kaz's arrival instead. reader endures a bad injury, and the crows arrive to help. reader finally gets her revenge.

Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (established relationship)

Word Count: ~4.3k

Warnings: LOTS of blood and violence (stabbing, vague description of gutting someone), minor self harm (reader holds a piece of porcelain tight enough to cut her fingers), death of non-canon character(s), use of guns, shooting, lots of pain, mentions of illness/infection

Genre: angst and action

Author's Note: if you didn't read the warnings, PLEASE go back and look at them! this is a lot more violent than previous parts. also! this is from reader's pov! you can find kaz's pov here! sorry for the wait! i hope you all enjoy :))

part two

It was raining.

The pooling of water in the corner of your cell was the only indication you had of the weather outside. Seeing the filthy puddle forming made your already dry mouth seem borderline painful. You hadn't dared to touch the dirty bucket of water in the corner, surviving only off the broth and the small bowl of water your captors occasionally provided. At this point, you were willing to take the chance of drinking the rainwater leaking into your cell.

You ran your thumb along the edge of the porcelain shard you sharpened upon your return to your cell however long ago. The threat of piercing skin was a nice distraction from the aching of your throat, the white-hot pain in your chest, and the beginnings of a fever you were trying desperately to ignore. The gash on the back of your head hadn't started to heal; instead, it had gotten worse.

If you threatened to cut your finger enough times, you could ignore the reality of your situation settling over you. If they don't kill me, my injuries will. Internal bleeding, infection, starvation, dehydration.

However you considered it, you didn't have much time.

You didn't want to consider the possibility of Kaz not coming to get you. He had to be looking for you. He'd worked too hard to keep you out of the Dime Lions' hands to give up when mercenaries did their work for them.

But he had to know that Pekka planned to kill him if he came to get you. Kaz wasn't a fool.

Would he leave you here to die or come to get you and risk death himself?

The porcelain shard broke the skin of your thumb. Blood beaded at the wound and seeped down the ceramic, staining it a deep, lethal red. You almost didn't feel your finger throbbing, and it took a few moments to register in your mind that you should drop the makeshift blade. You should stuff it beneath your shoddy pallet and try to sleep until the mercenaries dragged you back upstairs. You shouldn't add to the injuries on and beneath your skin.

You did none of those things. Kaz will come for me. You curled your fingers around the shard, slicing the skin of your other fingers, and let your eyes slip shut.

He will.

As drowsiness wrapped you in its cool embrace, you realized you weren't sure if you believed it anymore. Not because Kaz would abandon you, but because you knew you were running on time that wasn't your own. You were at the mercy of the mercenaries, Pekka Rollins, Kaz's ability to get to you. You were at the mercy of exhaustion and the infection taking root in your blood.

If Kaz made it to you, would he find you alive or dead? Would he bring you back to Ketterdam to heal or to be buried?

Nine months ago, you'd faced death at the hands of a rogue Dime Lion on a job. As you'd felt those ice-cold shackles on your limbs, you'd thought of Kaz's smile. At the time, you'd never seen it; you'd convinced yourself you never would, but it was a thought you suddenly refused to accept as death came for you. Your defiance brought you back to life and to Kaz, stubborn, foolish Kaz, who decided to wait until your near death before confessing he cared.

Now, having seen that smile, having felt his hands in yours, having born dozens of wounds for the chance to get back to him, would you accept death as it stalked closer? Would you let it pull you into its embrace, lead you to the Saints as it had millions of others? Would it take you this time?

Unconsciousness claimed you before you could answer any of your questions, sinking its talons into you and jerking you beneath the cold waves.

When you woke up, you saw the sky. Your eyes were so bleary, weighed down in a way they hadn't been when you fell asleep, that you thought you were imagining it. But no, it was there just beyond a grimy window and far from your reach. It was grey and dreary, and the air smelled faintly of rain, untouched by the mildew and rot of your cell.

Your cheeks felt hot, yet you shivered as you glanced around at your surroundings. You were in the main room of the warehouse now, surrounded by rusty machinery, empty burlap bags, and other miscellaneous garbage from the building's production days. The mercenaries were nowhere to be found, nor was your porcelain shard. But you weren't alone; Pekka sat in a chair before you, his legs propped on a crumbling metal table. He spun a revolver in his hand and added a bullet each time he finished a rotation.

He'd cleaned the blood from his face and beard and changed his clothes since you'd seen him last. He looked as he had the day he first arrived, an unknown amount of time ago. Clean. Composed. Disgustingly powerful.

You jerked your hands against your bindings as if you had the strength to pull them free or break them against the wooden support beam you were tethered to. "Either pull the trigger or leave me be," you said. Your voice was unexpectedly hoarse, and you flinched at the sound. Each word sent scraping pain down your throat, and every breath coming out of your lungs felt too warm, too final.

Pekka smiled pleasantly and slid another bullet into the chamber. "These bullets aren't for you, lass. My men have seen your crew in the city, coming to make their rescue. I reckon an hour until they find you, maybe less if the boy knows where to look."

"I'll make sure your next of kin is aware they can expect to find your body in the canal in a few weeks," you snapped, forcing as much venom into your words as you could, which wasn't much in your state. You leaned your forehead against the wooden beam and shuddered, squeezing your eyes shut. It was too warm in here. You were so cold.

The news of the Crows being nearby should have perked you up and motivated you to keep fighting until they arrived. Instead, you could barely bring yourself to offer a scathing remark in acknowledgment. Even your worry for Kaz was dimmed by your worsening fever and overwhelming fatigue, not to mention the pain coursing through you as you shifted your weight from one leg to another.

The sound of boots echoed against the stone floor and off the walls, and you slowly opened your eyes to see who it was. All three mercenaries were prowling over, armed to the teeth and looking no less than bloodthirsty. The Crows had to be getting close to the warehouse, wherever it was; otherwise, the mercenaries wouldn't be leering at you like they had a few final sick bits of torture they wanted to inflict.

The one you hadn't seen since the coach ride, whom you half-heartedly decided to name Number Three, stepped forward and pulled a knife from the sheathe at his thigh. His free hand was bandaged, the result of your bite as he attempted to drug you in the coach, and you would've been smug about it if the world wasn't starting to wobble around you. Number Three cocked his head, and his brown eyes roamed you up and down, taking in the sallowness of your skin and the injuries scattered over you like a gruesome painting of red, blue, and purple. "Not much bite left, huh, sweetheart?"

You didn't bother responding, resting your head against the support beam and letting out a slow breath. Your heart thundered in your chest, making your head throb painfully; it took everything in you to not panic. Being outnumbered hadn't bothered you before, but it felt more threatening now that you knew Kaz and some, if not all, of the Crows were close to rescuing you. You were so close to freedom.

Hold on a little longer.

"Someone not feeling well?" Sergei drawled. He prowled closer, and the tip of a blade traced over your hollow cheek. It slid down your jaw, a terrifying caress as it traveled down your throat, shoulder, and bicep until it stopped at your forearm. You stiffened, turning your face away and trying to shift around the support beam to get away. But a body stood behind you, and Fjerdan Asshole clamped his fingers onto your shoulders to keep you in place.

You gritted your teeth and jerked your shoulders, but the grip only tightened. "Now, now," Fjerdan Asshole chastised. "Hold still." His fingertips pressed painfully into your flesh, and you fought to keep from groaning through your teeth.

Breathe.

Sergei slowly slid your shirt sleeve up, revealing the dark ink of the Dregs tattoo on your skin, and you held back as he lifted his knife. He pressed the tip of it against the crow's head, nipping the skin, and your breathing sped up as blood slowly trickled down your arm.

He leaned in until his mouth was against your ear. You trembled and turned your head away, but you refrained from cracking your skull into his nose. It was too risky in your condition, and the pulsing of the gash in the back of your head told you that you needed to stay still. The world was still tipping from one side to the other, in time with the throbbing of your wounds.

"Tell me," Sergei hissed, "has the pain been worth it, knowing that we're going to kill him the moment he steps through that door?" In one swift movement, he sliced the sleeve of your shirt right off, leaving a thin cut around your bicep where he'd removed it. "Knowing that it was for nothing? That you marked yourself with a symbol that will mean nothing the moment Ketterdam hears he's dead?"

He twirled the blade across his fist, his eyes darkening with a rage that made you feel sick. If your stomach weren't empty, you would have vomited onto the floor as you realized what he had planned. The knife. The utter hatred for the symbol on your arm. The slicing of your sleeve from the rest of your shirt like a surgeon performing a routine exam.

His words were deliberately spoken as if you'd live to see a Ketterdam without Kaz Brekker in it, where your only reminders of him would be your memories and your tattoo. This man intended to tarnish the first with pain and ruin the second with blood, and the rest of your captors intended to watch.

The orchestrator of it all smiled, a disturbing glee filling Pekka's eyes as he watched the realization cross your face.

You jerked your arm in his grip as your shoulders and breathing trembled with panic. It rattled your lungs, irritated your broken ribcage, filled your mouth with a coppery, bitter taste. "Get your hands off me," you snapped, twisting your arm to hide your tattoo. But there was nowhere you could go, absolutely nothing you could do to prevent this, and Sergei only readjusted his hold. Firmer this time, making the skin whiten beneath his filthy fingers. It would bruise, and your ruined tattoo wouldn't be the only reminder of what he'd done.

"I'm going to do you a favor," Sergei whispered like he had a secret to share. He brought the knife's tip to the top of your tattoo again, near the crook of your elbow. Your pulse thrummed beneath the touch of the metal, and you had to look away from the sight of his thumb tenderly stroking the inner skin of your elbow. Nausea rose in your throat, bile seeping onto your tongue as someone other than Kaz touched you with such gentleness. "Wipe the slate clean. If you're still, maybe you won't have a scar."

Tears brimmed in your eyes, and you couldn't bring yourself to stop them. There was nothing to be done, nothing to stop this. No breathing to exhale the impending pain, no controlling the sudden spinning of the room. You squeezed your eyes shut and sagged against the post as a quiet sob slipped past your lips.

No mourners. No funerals.

It was the only thing you could think, echoing through your mind in Kaz's voice. A quiet rasp shared in the dark of his room before you left, however long ago. The most he could offer right then, but more than enough for you.

You clung to what little comfort the memory provided and focused on every detail you could remember. Kaz's eyes. The concerned purse of his lips. His dark hair, ruffled from running his fingers through it too many times. Dust motes spinning lazily through the air, caught in the faint moonlight streaming through his window. How he looked as if he wanted to say so much more.

The comfort was temporary, beaten back as the blade pierced your skin. It was the worst pain you'd felt since you'd been taken, a hot flash of agony reverberating bone-deep. Your arm was on fire, liquid flame dripping down your skin as Sergei drove the knife deeper and slowly carved it downward.

You screamed. The sound tore at your raspy throat and echoed around the warehouse loud enough to make Pekka, Number Three, and Fjerdan Asshole flinch. Sergei remained unaffected, continuing his morbid surgery with a nauseating glimmer of amusement in his eyes. You tried to pull your arm from Sergei's grip, but his hand was an immovable vice around your arm that locked it in place as he slashed your Dregs tattoo in half.

Torn, jagged edges of skin, seeping blood. It was all you could see through your tears as you sobbed, turning your face into the wooden support beam to hide the damage from your view. The world started to tilt and spin faster as blood rushed from the wound and dripped onto the floor, splattering your boots and turning the stone red.

Sergei released you, but you couldn't let your arm drop to your side as you wished. With your wrists bound around the pole, you were forced to see your arm utterly ruined before you. It was the worst kind of torture, seeing blood where ink once was, how quickly a mark you fought to earn could be destroyed.

You heard footsteps moving away from you, and the hands resting on your shoulders disappeared. Wooden chairs scraped against the stone floor as the mercenaries started to settle around the table Pekka sat at, murmuring and snickering amongst themselves.

Metal thumped against stone, and the sound was followed by the rattling of chains.

The mercenaries went silent, and their chairs shifted once more. Safeties clicked on guns, and you heard metal hissing against leather as daggers were drawn. "Grab her," Pekka hissed. "It's Brekker's crew."

Nobody got the chance to lay hands on you before the doors to the warehouse slammed open, and four figures came rushing inside. Two tall ones, two shorter ones; a glittering crow on a cane, shimmering blades, spinning pistols, and sparkling coat buttons. Kaz, your friends, your Crows. Even through nauseating dizziness, you would know them anywhere.

Before you could call for any of them, the room exploded into chaos as Kaz threw a phosphorous bomb down and filled the air with smoke.

Chairs moved, and weapons clashed, filling the air with noise that rang in your ears and made you want to take cover. Pistols fired, and someone groaned. A body hit the floor next to you, and you flinched away from the face of Number Three staring up at you, a bullethole clean through his forehead.

To get out of the line of fire, you carefully maneuvered around the support beam, using what little leeway you had. You ducked as something flew right past where you stood moments ago: barely recognizable, charred chunks of chair legs.

You let out a shaky tremble and tried to get closer to the floor, unable to do much more than wait until someone cut your bindings. Until then... Despite the searing pain in your arms, you slowly started to scrape the rope against the wooden surface of the support beam, hoping a stray thread would catch in the rotten, splintering surface. Please please please. This isn't their fight alone.

Through the white haze of the room, Sergei noticed your attempted evasion and snarled. He broke from fighting with Inej, blocking a slash of her blade with one of his own before crossing to you. He cut through your bindings, jerked you to your feet, then held his bloody blade to your throat.

You cried out as he hauled you back, stumbling and nearly tipping over as the world did flips and your legs went out from under you. Black spots danced across your vision, and bile rose in your throat. You lifted your uninjured arm to get a grip on his wrist so you could push out of his hold, but he pressed the blade to the underside of your chin just hard enough to nip the skin. "You move, and I slash your pretty neck," Sergei growled in your ear. "Now, we're going to walk toward the back, and you aren't going to fight me."

Sergei started to walk backward, keeping his dagger positioned at your throat and ignoring how it shallowly cut your skin when you stumbled. As you got further from the clearing smoke and saw your friends locked in combat with Fjerdan Asshole, you felt the fading sparks of your energy flare back up again.

They smoldered until they sparked, sparked until they set alight, heated until they burned hot enough to burn away your pain and your exhaustion and your memories of the past days. You forgot about your fever and the wound in your arm rapidly losing blood. All you saw was the leader of the mercenaries swinging his fists at Jesper and batting Inej away like a fly, and Pekka landing a strike on Kaz's face hard enough to break the skin.

All you felt was rage for what they'd done to you and what they planned to do to your friends.

Bracing your hand against Sergei's arm, you bashed your head back against his chin and pushed away the weapon in his hand at the same time. Pain shot through your skull and right down your spine, threatening to send you sprawling to the floor. But you managed to stay upright and turned on your heel, swinging your left fist toward Sergei's face. His head cracked to the side, and bone crunched beneath your knuckles. His knife clattered to the ground as he grunted and stumbled back from the force of your punch.

You dove for the knife, landing badly on your injured arm with a loud cry, and narrowly managed to wrap your fingers around the blade's handle before Sergei shoved you onto your back. He pinned you to the floor with his weight and tried to wrestle the dagger from your grip, his fingers clamping around yours with bruising force. You panted and struggled, anything to keep him from establishing a hold on the weapon you'd managed to grab. The first one you'd had access to since yours were taken.

You'd die before you gave it up and let yourself be unarmed again.

Sergei suddenly froze above you, halting his attack as his face turned bright red. His chest was still, frozen on an exhale of breath, and he clutched his throat with his blood-stained hands. You watched in bewilderment as his eyes rolled back in his head, and his lips turned blue. Blood bubbled at the corners, starting to slide down.

You gasped for air, glancing over Sergei's shoulder to find the source of his agony. Nina stood there, her hands outstretched as she squeezed his heart and lungs. More blood seeped from his lips as her grip tightened on his organs, her fingers curling toward her palms. Her lips were pursed in determination, and her blue eyes were dark with fury. They flicked to yours, and she nodded.

Now.

You didn't need convincing. You drove the dagger into Sergei's chest as hard as you could with one arm's waning strength. Blood poured onto your hand as you pushed it up to the hilt beneath his ribcage, soaking into your remaining sleeve and sticking it to your skin. Sergei's mouth fell open as if he might scream, but no sound came out. Red drops fell from his lips onto your face and neck, and you wanted to gag as you twisted the blade to force it as deep as it could possibly go.

Sergei teetered before slumping to the ground, writhing and trying to pull the dagger from his chest. His frantic movements slowed until his arms fell to his sides, and he seemed to realize he was beyond saving.

It should have been enough. Seeing death approach in his eyes should have satisfied the hungry wrath burning in your chest, roaring in your ears. Instead, you pushed yourself into a kneel at his side. The ground was slick with blood as it pooled around him and dripped from your arm, and the world wobbled around you as you wrapped your fingers around the dagger's reddened hilt.

You ripped the weapon from his chest, making him scream in agony. A sick, twisted part of you relished in the sound. Good. I hope he hurts.

"Was it worth it?" you hissed, turning his words back on him as you positioned the blade above his navel. "Drugging me, breaking me, trying to kill me, only for you to die by my hand?" You dug the weapon in, piercing his flesh with slow precision. "By your own weapon?" You leaned in until your faces were inches apart, letting him see the wrath in your eyes. How unapologetic you were for what you planned to do.

He was alive enough to finally look afraid of you.

"I'll make sure there's enough left of you to be buried," you breathed. "Maybe if you grovel, the Saints will ensure you spend eternity in fewer pieces."

Sergei's eyes drifted shut. It was possible he didn't hear your words. Perhaps death had already claimed him, but you didn't care. You couldn't as rage flooded every nerve in your body. At that moment, you knew nothing else, even as black dots danced across your vision and you swayed unsteadily.

Your hand trembled as you twisted the knife in his abdomen, burying it further before shoving it upward with the rest of your strength. Blood slickened your palms and pooled around your knees. Distantly, you could see how much damage you'd done, how he was cut clean open from his navel to his sternum. You didn't want to look any harder than that.

The rushing in your ears slowly died out, leaving you in a heavy, numb silence as Sergei died before you. The fighting had stopped sometime during your moment of fury, and the air reeked of sweat and the metallic tang of blood. It was you and Kaz and the Crows, surrounded by the culmination of every decision you'd made up to this point, from leaving your family to whispering 'I love you' in a city full of vengeance. You never imagined your life and hands would be tainted by blood and death.

You'd always imagined the world spinning slowly, twirling gracefully on its axis. It was colorful and bright, carefree and uncomplicated. Clean, untouched, magical.

The world was not so.

You collapsed onto the stone ground between one blink and the next. The room spun too fast around you, so blurry and dizzying that you squeezed your eyes shut. Hands, so many hands, found your body, pressed against your wounds.

Gentle fingers pressed to your forehead, and you felt your pulse begin to slow. Sleep started to tug on you, pulling you under.

Tears slipped down the corners of your eyes, hot against your clammy skin. "No," you whispered, trying to turn away from the probing fingers. But your muscles couldn't or wouldn't cooperate. "No more. Please." You'd slept enough. You didn't want to sleep anymore.

You forced your eyes open, trying to focus on the blurry shapes moving above you. Four faces, your friends. One was closer than the rest, pale and streaked with blood. Kaz was hunched over you, examining your wounds.

"Nina, her arm," Kaz said. His raspy voice was familiar and comforting, like cocoa on a bitterly cold day, but panic lay beneath the words and froze you to the bone. You'd never heard fear in that voice before. "Jesper, the coach. Take Inej. Go."

A flurry of activity happened around you; two sets of footsteps disappeared as quickly as they arrived, and gentle fingers started to work on your arm and the back of your head. Gloved hands wiped away at the blood they could find, then one found your hand and gently squeezed as your eyes fluttered shut.

Sleep overtook you as your resistance failed, eased by Kaz's careful touch. It tethered you to earth, a silent promise that he wouldn't let you drift away. He was gloved and dark and the subject of every faded dream that danced through your mind as you slipped into unconsciousness.

You trusted him to pull you out of the fog when it was time.

kaz pov (part 2) here!

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fullofgutsndopamine · 1 month

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climbing towards the sun (you fill my lungs)

or: the wedding singer au

TW/ drinking (to excess), cursing, corny, ambiguous ending (but happy ending), hasan is in a band, banter, talk of drinking (liquid confidence), hasan is an idiot

more hasan here

requests open

“and that was hips don’t lie, which is, oddly enough, the grooms favorite song.”

a single cheer is heard in the back. the groom, drunk, holds up a half empty beer bottle that sloshes over the side onto his stained tuxedo.

“that was a joke,” the singer continues, “for the other half of you.”

even far away, with the lights that are half off (and at this point, you doubt its ambience and more the shoddy electric bill wasn’t paid at this place) as the chandelier swings: left, right, left, right-a hail mary it doesn’t fall on anyone and this isn’t known as a wedding and a funeral- it’s easy to see him.

the singer looks nervous. holds onto the microphone stand with shaky hands stained yellow from nicotine you can see halfway across the floor. the stand is an obvious life boat for him; leaves sweaty handprints on it after his hand is moved (how his hands keep going to his eyes, as if he’s pushing an imaginary pair of glasses up his face, even though he wears none currently)

“anyways uh-“ his eyes dart around, like he’s waiting for something to take him out, “this will be our last song before the food-“

more cheers. more than he’s gotten the entire set erupts.

“Anyways, this is my favorite song so-enjoy.” he takes a step back from the microphone, strums, steps back: “or not.”

no one’s on the dance floor. people linger on the outskirts of it, like they’re waiting to be pushed in, a drunken bet, but no one takes the plunge.

“jesus.” you snort across the floor. Annie, your best friend is at your elbow, “at this point we should just pull the plug. this has to be abuse at this point.”

annie snorts over the rim of her cup: “i don’t know,” she shrugs, her finger traces over the rim of a lipstick stained cup, “i think it’s kind of cute, how nervous he is.”

you fake gag, an eye roll: “it was cute for maybe the first song. And then he fucked up the words to California Girls and frankly, i can’t forgive that.”

“Oh please,” Annie snorts, “this is like your fourth grade recital-“

“one, two-“

the drums hit immediately after and he begins, his lips pressed hard against the microphone, eyes shut in an attempt to forget this place:

“wouldn’t it be nice if we were older-“

“shut the fuck up,” you gasp, “did you tell him to play this?!”

“it’s a wedding,” she rolls her eyes, “he was like, contractually obligated to play this at some point-“

“hold my drink.”

“No!” annie protests, looks at the empty floor, “we can’t do-“

you don’t listen. instead, the cup is pushed into her chest and the dress is held up in your fist, a hand raised above your head as you ignore a vacant floor.

“Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray-“

finally nearing the end of the song, the end of this nightmare, where he can leave, he pops open one eye. he’s grateful he went without his glasses; seeing the world fuzzy and blurry around the edges makes it harder to make people out, don’t really exist to him

except for a second. one person exists. middle of the dance floor, not caring how empty it is-

suddenly, he’s not rushing through the words. they have to be perfect, have to be right, just for-

the song ends too quick. the bride comes on stage. a hand on hasan’s shoulder as she thanks them, slurring, half heartedly-hasan doesn’t care, has to get off the stage-

“Will.”

he jumps. his bow tie is undone around his neck and his hair is sweaty as it stands up in the back:

“dude-“ will begins but hasan cuts him off, his hand still on his shoulder-

“the person on the floor. during the last song?” he drops his voice, licks his lips, “were they hot? do i have a chance?”

he rolls his eyes: “isn’t the first rule of being a wedding singer to not fall for wedding guests?”

“it’s a yes or no, dick.”

will fumbles with his blazer, pulls hasans pair of glasses out from the breast pocket:

“go get them.”

the only good part of being a wedding singer is the free alcohol. after two shots the world spins loosely but he feels semi confident, plays with the sides of his glasses in his hand as he, half blind, tries to find the only face he wants in the crowd.

you aren’t hard to spot, to your own credit. the bridesmaids dresses are a sin, some tacky orange color that couldn’t be saved no matter what, and your hair, frizzy from dancing and the humidity of bodies around you doesn’t help.

hasan takes the final gulp of liquid confidence and, hands still nervously on his glasses, too afraid to shove them on his face, makes his way to you before he does something dumb, like come to his senses

“No,” Annie argues with you, “because having a Pitbull song would be dumb-“

“excuse you,” you snort, “that’s mister worldwide, to you-“

“oh fuck off-“

“hey.”

hasan gets the word out before he can stop himself. wishes he came up with something smarter, something that would make him stand out to you as much as you did to him-

“hey,” he tries again, “figured i’d meet my number one fan.”

you laugh and hasan has to stop himself from thinking how he’d never get sick of hearing that for the rest of his life-

this close, it’s easier to see him. see past the nicotine stained skin and the nervous ticks-replaced by a constellation of freckles you want to memorize, a mop of unruly curly hair

you hope your voice doesn’t come out as nervous as it feels.

“it was sad to see you crashing and burning out there, is all.”

he snorts: “and you waited until the last song to save me?”

“i was going to sooner but you fucked up California Girls and i don’t think i can forgive you for that.”

“yeah?” he giggles, a step closer to you and you can practically feel his body heat on you: “well, i think i can make up for that.”

“is it a public apology?”

“i was thinking more like a dance,” he says, “and an encore of your song.”

his hands still play with his glasses and even though it feels more vulnerable than you’d like, seeing him like this, so nervous, you’re ready for his before you can stop yourself.

“here.”

you open the glasses up, watch as his shoulders slump in an effort to not tower over you, letting you push the oversized glasses up his face.

you give him a second to adjust. pushes his glasses further up his face, looks up-

“better?”

you’re more beautiful than he thought. far out of his league, more scary without the blur around the edges-

“much.” he says, “so that dance?”

his hand wraps around yours before you can even get the yes out.

#caroline writes #hasanabi #hasan #hasanabi x reader #hasanabi x y/n #hasanabi x you #hasan x reader #hasan piker x you #hasan piker fanfic #hasan piker fanfiction #hasan piker fic #hasan piker imagine #hasan piker x reader #hasan piker

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drippingmoon · 1 year

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Aquiver, Aglow: Beta Call Post

After being one of the biggest parts of my life for some years now, I'm very very happy to announce 'quiv is ready for its beta stage. I'm gonna echo my previous post: writing this story has been a soothing experience for me, and I'd love for this to apply to everyone. Never heard of 'quiv? No problem, new eyes are often wise. Old acquaintance? No pressure on you. Take a cup of steaming tea, or maybe not since it's summer, lean back and just tell me whatever crosses your mind. Believe me, it will help me enormously. And the stress is all with me, not you. So while I'm asking for help, I truly wish whoever gives me a hand to have a pleasant experience🥰

Sign-up period: till July? I might be more flexible, depending on the applicants, and there won't be any selection (a maximum of 7 people), which means you can start on the day you sign up

Deadline: October (SOFT deadline, since ideally I want to do another round of line edits then proofreading in November), with the possibility of extending until December (and don't sweat it if you need more)

Long story short: a human child restores faith to an angel, who in turn restores faith to Heaven.

Long story long: There's a place beneath Heaven where, in a shoddy little cottage, a mother and her child live. They are to wait for her promised day, when angels shall descend and devour their souls. For faith has been broken. Memories of kindness and warmth remain mere whispers, cracked under two centuries of prayers answered with bloodied chapels and trails of corpses, and callous wings plucking souls out of their once faithfuls' chests.

Tyrone knows his Mother is just waiting for the day the angels will come. She wishes to sacrifice herself to see her child out of the Promised Lands, so she fills his childhood with horrible stories meant to make him afraid and get him used to the inevitable. She succeeds. Tyrone is afraid, but of everything. Most of all, of the loneliness that keeps him company, and disperses only at night. Because, under the stars, he sees an angel on the rims of Heaven, taking care of her field of clouds, a mirror to how he toils over his wheatfield. That’s when he first feels they are the same. So when she falls one day, he asks not that she spare him, but that she stay. And, slowly, the nights turn so very warm.

It’s been two centuries since the angels knew where they wished to go. They live suspended in time, caught between memory and hatred. Anne, their Angel of Lies, has only ever cared for Heaven. For them, she’d draw their anger onto herself, if only they acknowledged they were still hung up on humanity. She’s tired. She’s old. Even the stars have closed their path off to the angels, and she doesn’t know what to do. So when she is met with sincerity for the first time in centuries, she wonders if she’s found a way. If nothing else, anger would reanimate Heaven, and for a little while stop the angels’ slow fall towards death. She listens to a child’s quiet wish, and agrees. Curiosity, she calls it.

They begin by using each other. With time, this no longer holds true, and they learn something. It was a thin line between that and caring about one another. And warmth, as it were, comes with sorrows shared.

GENRE: character-driven dark fantasy with humans, angels and stars interspersed with peaceful moments

WORD COUNT: 195k (standalone)

STATUS: sixth draft

WARNINGS: violence, gore, suicidal thoughts, abusive relationships, terminal illness

What I'm looking for

Content criticism, as in character arcs, plot development, your fav and least fav parts, and mainly if you think there are too many feathers in the story

The sky's your limit actually. Every thought counts 🙌

Typically you can ignore typos, but if any of them really pisses you off, feel free to shout at me

Same with line edits. The style is meant to be experimental at times, but not at the cost of intelligibility. So if I went overboard somewhere, please do shout but otherwise it's due a line edit

You get

Return betas! No time limit; and of course no word count limit

To save Private Jan (my penname lol) because there's no way I can afford editing prices, so we're pulling off an Atlas here no matter how many drafts I'll have to go through

Hopefully a great time?

You can just contact me in the DMs, but I'll put up a Google Forms as well for whoever would prefer that. Also, you can request a sample (the first/first few chapters) to see if it's your thing.

And that's it! Hope to see volunteers, and thanks so much for your interest! Have a lovely day🥰

#aquiver-aglow #beta call #beta readers #writers on tumblr #my writing #original writing #writeblr #writblr #beta request #writing community

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silenthillmutual · 9 months

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@hydrogenperoxdie requested festive alfhunter and this is where my brain took me ^_^ happy holidays!

Snow is not altogether uncommon in Yharnam, though the streets as of late have been coated more in ash. It's difficult to tell the difference at a distance - until the Hunter leans their head back to catch a flake on their tongue.

Tastes of fire and singed flesh.

It's not the worst thing the Hunter has put in their mouth, but still they grimace at the texture. Bits of fur stick to the roof of their mouth, reminding them of exactly what's at stake.

The Hunter pulls their mask back up, turning right and beginning the trek to their destination.

The Cathedral Ward is quiet, its monstrous inhabitants frozen, sleeping or dead. The Hunter pays no mind either way, ignoring the shrieking abomination as it rushes after them. If it attempts to follow, it will have two hunters to contend with.

...Or perhaps not. When the Hunter rounds the corner they find Alfred on the ground, cape pulled close over his chest, unmoving.

Anxiety courses through them, creeping closer to search for blood - only to startle backwards when he breathes out heavily and snorts.

No, snores. Against all odds, Alfred is asleep.

Something soft stirs in the Hunter's chest. Whatever it is, it isn't enough to stop them from waking him up. They reach out, pinching his nose, smirking when he coughs himself awake.

Alfred graces them with a disgruntled expression. "There were more polite ways to do that, you know." The Hunter shrugs, letting go and stepping back, allowing Alfred to stand. "So? Did you find what you were looking for?" They shake their head. Alfred frowns, tilting his head. "How disappointing. But you never did tell me what it was. Perhaps I can be of assistance?"

No. How could they explain? Even if they had the words, the tradition would seem foolish to him. They worship different gods here. The Hunter isn't even sure what they believe in anymore, but they miss it. The relative normalcy.

"Then perhaps I can offer you this, instead?" The Hunter can tell what it is without the shoddy paper concealing it. A pint of blood, intended for drinking. "I believe it's customary around this time of year."

The surprise must show on their face. He looks far too pleased with himself.

"I don't expect you to offer anything in return -" But the Hunter has already moved closer, pressing their masked face against Alfred's cheek. Finally getting the better of him, even if no contact passes between them.

All the same, Alfred looks flushed.

"Shall we drink, then?"

#bloodborne fanfiction

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judesmoonbeauty · 7 months

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The Past Records: Ellis & Jude Chapter 5

Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do NOT post my translations elsewhere. Also, feel free to ignore my random commentary.

Translation notes are marked with *** Alternate translation is marked with///

I followed both Ellis and Jude to a warehouse at the port, just as Liam had said.

Alfons: What in the world could they be doing here at night for a business meeting?

Harrison: Let’s say they have some kind of deal with a prisoner-

Liam: This is something the Crown should judge…perhaps.

Liam: I don’t think so.

Alfons: It seems like there's already someone inside the warehouse.

Harrison: That’s-?

When Jude and Ellis confidently stepped into the warehouse, the figures inside suddenly became startled.

Jude: Ah, you're the guy who tried to sell me a shoddy product the other day.

Business Partner: !!

Jude: And who's that next to you…?

Wilson: Thomas Wilson, president of the Wilson Trading Company.

Jude: Oh, I remember you, the guy who was running a shitty business, lost money to us, and went bankrupt.

Wilson: Ugh!

Ellis: So, he’s the worst of the worst?

Jude: I guess. I can’t believe he made a de with that pale-faced coward of a former convict.

Ellis: The one with the pale face, uh, not Mr. Wilson….

Jude: Dennis Donald.

Ellis: Mr. Dennis.

Dennis: N-name….you know….

Ellis: He said it's fundamental to know the name, family structure, assets, and backgrounds of those you’re dealing with.

Ellis: So, Mr. Dennis was threatened by Mr. Wilson, and stashed dangerous drugs in this rented warehouse.

Dennis: H-did you know that too?

Wilson: You idiot! Who would admit to that?

Jude: You’d make money by using my warehouse as a storage facility, and selling drugs to criminals coming out of prison.

Jude: And in the end, you'd say, "Jude Jazza pulled all the strings", and frame me for the crime to get your revenge?

Wilson: That's right. It's all for revenge against you!

Wilson: Tomorrow, the deal with the prisoners will begin. And the information has already been sold to a certain newspaper.

Wilson: It is impossible to move all the inventory in this warehouse right now. You’re done…ahahaha!!

Jude: Do you enjoy your life by wasting your time on such shitty things?

Jude: After all that hard work and making deals with dangerous people, there's no way you can ever go back. Pathetic.

Wilson: Hmph, you act like you can take it easy.

Dennis: Uh, uwaa!

Wilson: It’s so loud! What all of a sudden!?

Dennis: Drugs….there’s no drugs.

Wilson: What did you say?

Ellis: I'm sorry. I knew it was a drug you went into debt to procure.

Ellis: I got rid of everything.

Wilson: What…That’s a lie…when and why did you—

Jude: Didn’t you mention you have a clients coming tomorrow? I don’t know what they’ll do to you.

Wilson: Ugh, waaaaa!!!

Ellis: Oh, he jumped at you.

Jude: That’s a fishy move.

Ellis: What should we do? Can I knock him out?

Jude: There’s no need.

Wilson shook his fist and plunged it into Jude's leg, which swung up.

Wilson: Ugh!

Jude: Dennis, buying and selling drugs and people is illegal... It was written in the contract properly….oh, and…

Jude: You just scared the shit out of that cowardly little bitch, and were just looking on from the sidelines. *** I believe he’s addressing Wilson now.

Jude: If it weren’t for you….

Jude: You don't even know how many people's lives you could end with what you're trying to sell, if you don't get your hands dirty and let others do it all for you.

Jude: Besides, someone like you, a scumbag who thinks he's the only one who deserves a good meal, even if I didn’t do it, someone else would’ve done it.

Jude: If you're going to be my slave for the rest of your life, I might as well save you before some junkie ex-cons comes after you, right?

A few minutes later, Wilson's face was clearly marked with shoe prints as he begged for his life with an apology.

Ellis: Mr. Dennis, you are now Jude's slave, too, because this is a breach of contract.

Dennis: Ugh, ugh….. if you detach me from Mr. Wilson, I'll follow you for the rest of my life. ......

Ellis: Oh, are you crying tears of joy….?"

Jude: Disgusting.

Jude: So when are those sneaking around going to come out?

Alfons: Oh, did they know?

Liam: Well, I don't know what’s going on, but the person who is lying there has a grudge against Jude.

Liam: You mean he was trying to make a dangerous deal in this warehouse to bring you down?

Ellis: You're right on the money. Jude, gets resentment all over the place, so it happens.

Harrison: Then you turned down the assignment tonight, and you were acting suspiciously.….

Jude: We're going to be busy with the missions. I'm just trying to get rid of one of the troublesome things.

Ellis: The person with whom Mr. Wilson was trying to make a deal to frame Jude.

Ellis: He seems to be a former noble who drugged and locked up the people he kidnapped.

Ellis: I think he was going to re-offend once he got the drugs from Mr. Wilson.

Alfons: That's quite a scoundrel, isn't it?

Jude: If this scumbag catches that criminal, I'll do whatever it takes, crown duty or not."

Jude: It's so easy to come back to this world, damn it. I’ll show you hell.

Harrison: You’ve got a personal vendetta against him?

Ellis: No, he simply doesn’t like him.

Jude: If you’re on a Crown mission, you’re allowed to torture these guys aren’t you?

Jude: It’s like a hobby to torment corrupt aristocrats, and if I get paid for it, it’s a good job. 👌🏻

Liam: Wow…..you look evil.

Alfons: There may be no one more qualified for the Crown than Jude.

Harrison: Oddly enough, that concludes the report.

Ellis: Report?

Harrison: It’s nothing.

Later, the report was completed by Harrison and successfully submitted to Victor.

Jude: I knew you were sneaking around, but this is shitty.

Victor: Done. That settles the matter.

Harrison: Well, there’s one thing that still remains a mystery.

William: Mystery?

Harrison: Why is Ellis hanging out with Jude?

Harrison: It doesn’t sound like he’s being extorted….

Jude: Oy!

Liam: Yea, it’s not like they’re on the same page.

Ellis: I made a promise.

[Previous] [Next] [Master List]

#the past records #jude jazza #ellis twilight #cybird translations #ikevil translations #ikevil spoilers #ikevil jude #ikevil jude jazza #ikevil ellis #ikevil ellis twilight #ikemen jude jazza #ikemen ellis twilight

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thatsonemorbidcorvid · 1 year

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Have you ever been to therapy? Any tips on how to find a therapist who isn't a misogynist/trapped in the fucking 1950's?

I am traumatized by female therapists and social workers.... the invalidation, the gaslighting, and the blaming.... they remind me of my damn mother; denying male violence, and viewing me, a woman traumatized by male violence to the point I have alchohol use disorder, ptsd, severe insomnia, ocd, adhd, anxiety, sucidial feelings, sex repulsion, etc, as inferior and as a joke and judge me for being single and not having a bf, no empathy for my pain.

I am breaking up with a current therapist, and I know folks say therapy isn't needed... but I need brainspotting or emdr... I don't sleep and am severely suicidal and scared of people. I need therapy, and feel re-traumatized by my therapis.

my father sexually abused me for 20 years and prevented me from experiencing romantic love.

she would ignore me and read while I was talking, until I said "I am sad I did not experience romantic love." she said it could happen at any age.

when I described limerence and romantic obsession (over a boy I was trying to date in secret, but didn't work out because I was my father's property in his mind and he was threatening to take and send nude photos of me to him.. I was 15, the boy I was dating was 15....) I told her I would imagine we had worked out, and she expressed she thought it was healthy I was fantasizing about this

basically, my trauma to her is attention seeking, and wasn't that bad, I talk too much, and just need a bf. I have experienced suicidal ideation over this therapist, and am scared to seek therapy again.

I myself want to be a therapist, because most therapists are misogynists and I really wanted to be the one who wasn't. I feel haunted

Hi anon,

This sounds really hard, and I’m so sorry you’re going through it all. It sounds like you should definitely stop seeing this therapist, since she isn’t helping and is in fact making you feel worse. Well done for making the decision to disentangle yourself from a situation that is harmful to you, and well done for all you’ve done so far. It’s really admirable that you’re considering entering a field that’s harmed you in order to help others (though don’t feel pressured to commit to that plan if you begin to feel differently).

I don’t feel able to give you specific advice about finding a new therapist, particularly since I don’t know whereabouts in the world you are (and please don’t feel any pressure to share that information) so I don’t know how the system works near you. What I would recommend, if you can manage it yourself or have someone help you, is to establish your boundaries up front when contacting new options, and trust your judgement of their response. If you make it clear up front that you have certain requirements and expectations from therapy - bearing in mind that you should have the power in that relationship, since they are there to help you - and get push back or mistreatment up front, then don’t waste any more of your time with that therapist, just move on to the next. Maybe you could send the same initial email out to multiple people, and then read through and consider the responses as they come in? And if any get through that stage, you can treat the first appointment as another screen, and end the arrangement at any time if you feel it’s necessary. You’re looking for a professional to provide you a service - if you wouldn’t accept a shoddy plumber or builder, you shouldn’t accept a shoddy therapist. Well done again for putting your foot down on the current one.

With regard to finding a list of potentials, maybe see if you can find any recommendations, or consider contacting a local women’s charity to see if they have any preferred options. I’m going to open this to the community and ask them to weigh in with advice and recommendations as well - I hope that’s ok. Radblr women, please interact if you have any knowledge or experience to share.

In terms of the immediate short term - please stick around, and please reach out for help from those who can provide it to you directly, whether that be professional or personal connections. With regard to commencing therapy with a new therapist - take your time, and have faith in yourself to know what’s best for you. You can do anything you set your mind to. Good luck xx

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kariachi · 2 years

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Who wants nearly two thousand words of midnight fic?

Future fic- Mike has served his time and is out of prison.

He wasn’t going to bitch. He wasn’t going to moan. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and act like he wasn’t literally in a better place.

No matter how damn tempting it was.

Eight years, for one count of kidnapping and two assaults. There’d been an attempt by the prosecutor to toss on the assaults and kidnappings that had started this whole mess, but since those charges had been dropped in light of his help against the Highbreed, and he’d gotten a proper lawyer, eight years it was. He supposed it wouldn’t sound like much to someone who hadn’t spent it going between heavy surveillance and a lonely cell. There hadn’t been a chance in hell he was going to be trusted even vaguely alone with other prisoners, not with his powers and history, which had only made the whole thing harder.

He supposed that was the point.

But it was over now. He was free again, had- after a lot of charming and escalating and resisting the urge to eat somebody- gained access to the savings and trust funds that had finally become accessible while he was behind bars, set himself up in a hotel until he could get his housing situation worked out, and gotten access to a decent amount of food for the first time in what felt like decades. It may have been. If nothing else it was the first time he’d been able to eat as much as he pleased without judgement, and he had splurged. Smaller restaurants had shut down for the day in his wake. Everything was, fine. A new start to a new life, his addiction more-or-less behind him, a bright future in the fore. There was nothing to complain about.

He was twenty-six, with no social circle or support structure, a shoddy education, a criminal record, multiple burned bridges and well-earned enemies, an addiction to energy and power shimmering constantly under his skin, a continuous twitch when he shut the curtains or the bathroom door, and a not a damn clue what he was going to do with himself now.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He knew he was eventually going to have to confront his mom and her husband about at least getting some of his belongings, things inherited from his dad- though God knew he wasn’t looking forward to it. They hadn’t spoken since before the first girl he ate, a weekly allowance had just shown up in his checking account since they’d shunted him off. Something he did his best to ignore at the best of times twanged at the realization that that had been over a decade ago.

Even before that though, he had to figure out some sort’ve housing plan. Technically he could’ve lived in hotels for the rest of his life- between the money he’d inherited and his shares in the family business he could live in the best hotels for the rest of his life and have plenty left over- but everything felt, small. Closed in. There’d been a while there where he wouldn’t have minded one wit, happy to just have a clean mattress to sleep on in those years between his first and last arrest, and it was certainly miles ahead of his cell, but that didn’t make it good. Didn’t make him any more comfortable. And damnit he wanted his comforts back. Wanted to be safe and free and comfortable.

He was mostly there. Just a few more things. And once he had them…

He didn’t know yet. Everything he knew he had to do, it was all so much window dressing. Busy work. It was nice to have busy work again, but in the back of his mind he knew it couldn’t last. Wouldn’t last. Then what would he do with himself?

It was while he was vainly attempting not to think about it, sat at the room’s desk with a brand-new laptop in front of him, scrolling through house and apartment listings across the US and Italy, that a sudden knock at the door nearly tumbled him out of his chair. His shoulders tensed and hackles raised. There was a Do Not Disturb sign up, he’d ordered nothing, spoken to nobody of interest. There was no reason for anyone to be coming around and knocking on his door.

Unless some idiot needed help, which was a temptation he did not need.

The knock came again, three quick but not sharp raps on the wood. He brought himself to his feet and crossed the room to take a quick look through the peephole. See who it was who thought to bother him.

Seeing Levin probably should’ve surprised him more than it did. Eight years, and there’d certainly been no love lost between them. The man was on the list of people he was least interested in seeing again, and already the ire and spite he hadn’t been able to do anything with in so long crept up his chest. Just one good swing, if anyone could take it Levin could-

“No solicitors,” he called out. There was a snort on the other side of the door.

“Well then have I got good news for you. Heard you were out, figured I’d check things.” Really. He hadn’t even been out a week.

“I’ve been back on Earth for four days.” The first of which had been spent laying in a sunny spot in a field, the second had been spent in the bank, and the third recovering from the binge session day two had ended with. He hadn’t had time to get into trouble, even if he hadn’t been too damn tired to try. He’d been too damn tired ever since that bag, no matter how many times he kicked himself over not breaking the furball’s arm and bolting.

“I’ve met you; you need three hours tops.” Huffing a breath through his nose, Mike bit back a groan.

“You aren’t going to go away, are you,” he said.

“The last time you were free you started a cult and kidnapped my girlfriend, take a guess.” Rolling his eyes, he pulled on more of a smirk than a smile and opened the door.

“And how is our lovely Gwendolyn?” Maybe, if he got him to throw the first punch, he could hit him without getting thrown back in a cell. It’d be very nice.

“Way outta your weight class anymore,” Levin said, looking around the room as he entered like he expected there to be plots and plans hidden behind paintings. “Unless you’ve managed some serious training these past few years.”

“As a known enemy of the ‘great’ Ben Tennyson?” Mike scoffed. “I’m sorry to say no.” Levin snorted again, flopping down in his chair. Bastard.

“Guess you’re gonna have to not bother them then, huh? Are you seriously looking at places in Milan? Fucking rich bastard…” Forcing his expression into neutrality, he lifted Levin out of the chair and off the floor by the back of his shirt with as much ease as moving slip of paper.

“It’s the furthest I can get from you without needing to learn a new language,” he said, dropping him unceremoniously on his feet before returning to his seat. “Shockingly, after nearly a decade my interest in your little group has waned. I have more important things to worry about.”

“Like moving to Milan,” Levin said, speaking and sitting on the bed with as much calm as if he hadn’t just been lifted off the ground like it was nothing. It rankled.

“Like moving to Milan.” He watched as he visibly considered the matter, eventually doing a little nodding, shrugging motion.

“Smarter move than when I came back,” he said. Mike couldn’t help a smirk in response.

��You tend to set those bars low.” Levin glowered at him, with less heat than he would have expected. But then, all the years that had gone by, who knew what he’d done with that pluckable temper.

“I’m going to have an eye on you, you know.”

“I know.” And after this long he was used to it. At least Levin wouldn’t likely be policing every minute of his schedule, or trying to actively provoke him. “Again, Milan.” Would actually be an attempt to be far away from California in general- the whole place felt raw- but there was no need for Levin to know that. He wasn’t surprised by this situation, but that didn’t mean he had expected it. Maybe he should have.

It would be just his luck, for prison to have dulled him.

“You can live on the fucking moon for all I care,” Levin said with a shrug, “as long as you aren’t starting shit.” Again, he had been back four days.

“I’m not intending to,” Mike said plainly, huffingly admitting- “I’m tired.” Something passed over Levin’s face, too fast for him to read properly. Still, he was fairly certain he’d seen pity and it stung venomous in his gut.

“Yeah, prison’ll do that to you. You come out mean or you come out tired. Or in my case mean and tired.” Mike cracked a quiet snicker.

“I wouldn’t call you mean. Maybe dim. Predictable.” Levin started glowering again. “All I want is my creature comforts and my books. As long as I can have those back, I don’t intend to make any trouble.”

“I fucking hope not. Don’t wanna have to come out of retirement just to kick your ass.” ‘Come out of retirement’. Things certainly had changed since he’d been gone.

“Well, heaven forbid I inconvenience you.” Rolling his eyes, Levin stood back up, looking down on him from his full height.

“Well, all I was looking to do,” he said, “was check things out, make sure we were one the same page. So, behave yourself, don't start shit, we won’t have any trouble. Got it?” Mike stood himself, rolling his own eyes.

“Yes, Mister Levin,” he said in as mocking a tone as he could put on without straining something. Huffing, Levin waved him off and headed for the door.

“Good luck, Morningstar.” He scoffed. As if he needed it. Everything was under control or would be.

Mike pointedly locked the door behind him, nearly making it back to the desk before turning around and unlocking it again. Really, after so long Levin had nothing better to do than take up the role of his babysitter? After so long he still was that concerned? Clearly retirement didn’t offer much. The fact this much spare time and energy was coming from somebody who he knew damn well had actual hobbies was shoved back with all the other things he wasn’t thinking about right now. There were more important matters than all that, like getting a proper home up around him. Getting his shit back. Suddenly twice as tired as he’d been before the little ‘visit’, he settled back into his seat and went back to his search.

Fuck Milan, Naples was further out.

#fanfic

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neotis · 1 year

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Having some Nesta Thoughts (tm) so here are a bunch of Nesta quotes (for my own future reference) beneath the cut:

From beside my father, Nesta snorted. Not surprising. Any bit of praise for anyone--me, Elain, other villiagers--usually resulted in her dismissal. And any word from our father resulted in her ridicule as well. (14)

Of us, Nesta had taken the loss of our fortune the hardest. She had quietly resented my father from the moment we'd fled our manor [...]. (15)

But at least Nesta didn't fill our heads with useless talk of regaining our wealth, like our father. No, she just spent whatever money I didn't hide from her, and rarely bothered to acknowledge my father's limping presence at all. (15)

Nesta was prone to leaving [his cane] far out of his reach.

He could find work if he wasn't so ashamed, Nesta always said when I hissed about it. She hated him for the injury, too--for not fighting back [...]. (15)

Nesta rose and declared: "I need a new pair of boots."

[...] I glanced at Nesta's still-shiny pair by the door. Beside hers, my too-small boots were falling apart at the seams [...].

"But I'm freezing with my raggedy old cloak," Elain pleaded. (16)

I noticed the woodpile. There were only five logs left. "I thought you were going to chop wood today."

Nesta picked at her long, neat nails. "I hate chopping wood. I always get splinters." [...] Of all of us, Nesta looked the most like our mother--especially when she wanted something. "Besides, Feyre," she said with a pout, "you're so much better at it! It takes you half the time it takes me. Your hands are suited for it--they're already so rough." (17)

As usual, Nesta was complaining about the villiagers--they had no manners, they had no social graces, they had no idea just how shoddy the fabric of their clothes was [...]. Since we had lost our fortune, their former friends dutifully ignored them, so my sisters paraded about as though the young peasants of the town made up a second-rate social circle. (18)

I sometimes wondered if her unrelenting steel would have helped us better survive--thrive, even--if she hadn't been so preoccupied with our lost status. (19)

Nesta squared her shoulders. "I thought all you wanted was for us to get out of the house--to marry off me and Elain so you can have enough time to paint your glorious masterpieces." She sneered at the pillar of foxglove I'd painted along the edge of the table [...].

I drowned the urge to cover up the painting with my hand. Maybe tomorrow I'd just scrape it off the table altogether. (19)

"Tomas's family is barely better off than ours," I said, trying to keep from growling. "You'd be just another mouth to feed. [...]"

But Tomas knew [...]. I'd seen the gleam of desperate hunger in his eyes [...]. (20)

But we had nothing--absolutely nothing--to entice any suitor to take my sisters off my hands.

"We're in love," Nesta declared, and Elaine nodded her agreement. I almost laughed--when had they gone from mooning over aristos to making doe-eyes at peasants? (20)

"What do you know?" Nesta breathed. "You're just a half-wild beast with the nerve to bark orders at all hours of the day and night. Keep it up and someday--someday, Feyre, you'll have no one left to remember you, or to care that you ever existed." [...]

I'd heard the words before--and knew she only repreated them because I'd flinched that first time she spat them. They still burned anyway. (20)

[...] they hadn't deigned to speak to me after last night, though Nesta had awoken at dawn to chop wood. Probably because she knew I'd be selling the hides at the market today and would go home with money in my pocket. (22)

It was impressive [...] to see Nesta go ramrod straight, to square her shoulders and look down her nose at the young acolyte, a queen without a throne. "Go spew your fanatic nonsense to some ninny. You'll find no converts here." (23)

"We didn't kill anything!" Elain wept. "Please... plase, spare us!" Nesta hushed her sharply through her own sobbing, but pushed Elain farther behind her. (33)

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gcgutters · 2 years

Text

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queenofruneterra · 2 years

Text

FINE. Viktor NSFW oneshot.. - 1677 words

Viktor x Fem Reader

Y/N is power hungry

TWs: None

"Do you know how long you've been sitting there?" your voice, soft and delicate, gracefully penetrates the silence in Viktor’s lab.

He's startled at first, only just now noticing you creeping up behind him. Your arms slowly wrap around him, fingers dancing between strands of coffee colored hair as you rest your chin on his shoulder. "Yes." he states, his gaze never shifting from the apparatus before him. "Is there something you need?"

You roll your eyes at the ignorance of his question.

"It's just like you to be so imperceptive," you whisper into his ear with a mischievous grin and a chaste kiss on the cheek, knowing that you need to play your cards just right if you intend to capture his attention.

Your comment has the desired effect on the man, sparking enough curiosity within him to elicit an inquisitive "Oh?" followed by a slightly amused "what do you mean?".

You release him from your grasp, allowing your fingers to linger on his shoulders for a moment before speaking;

"Are you really that naive?"

The look on his face as he turns to you—confused, intrigued, and slightly entertained— is enough to validate your hunch that you're on the right track.

"If you've got something to say to me, just say it." There's a playfulness to his voice, subtle enough that most wouldn't notice, voiding his attempt at feigning annoyance. "I don't have time for this."

You quirk your head innocently, meeting his eyes, biting back an impish grin. "I don't think I've got anything to say. However," you continue, slowly dropping to your knees, never breaking your intense gaze, "There are some things I've been dying to do..."

You shuffle between his legs, hands slowly smoothing up his thighs. You feel him tense under your touch as your fingers inch closer to the crotch of his pants, and you can't help but smirk as he starts shifting in his seat.

"If you're only here to distract me, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," he breathes, gripping the armrests of his chair as he desperately tries to avoid your eyes.

"Distract you?" you ask, now rutting your hand against his crotch at a steady, agonizingly slow pace. "I'm only collecting what's due."

"This is an extremely inconvenient time to do that." You feel fluttering in your stomach when you catch a glimpse of his now flushed cheeks, and watching him hopelessly try to maintain his composure only makes you that much more determined to break him.

Viktor’s breath hitches as your fingers smoothly unbutton his pants, revealing his boxers and the growing protrusion beneath them.

"I understand you're feeling neglected, but-"

"You don't have time for me, right?" you recite,

your tone seeping with sarcasm. You play with the hem of his boxers teasingly as you meet his gaze.

"I always find time," he mutters, one hand moving to play with his hair. "You know how important this project is."

"But it couldn't be more important than me?" you ask softly, giving a seductive tug on his pants. He looks at you for a moment, then to your delight, relents, lifting his hips just enough for you to shed him of his clothing, his cock lunging forward, rock hard and flushed pink. "Not more important," he sighs, again attempting to maintain his composure. "But much less annoying."

You raise an eyebrow at his shoddy attempt at seeming irritated as you wrap your fingers around his length. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you didn't like this," you purr, circling his tip with your thumb, causing him to sigh and grip the armrests even tighter.

As you lean closer, you begin stroking him, quickly finding a pace that sends tremors through his body. "I would like it, I do like it," he says breathlessly, stumbling over his words, furiously fidgeting with his hair, struggling to handle the pleasure with equanimity. "But I need to, please, I need to work..."

His short breaths gradually become barely audible moans as you quicken your pace. You inch ever closer to him, allowing your lips to brush him as you speak;

"Don't you think a clever man like you deserves some respite every now and then?"

"Time and place," he grits out, one hand untangling from his hair and softly cupping your cheek. His face is red hot and his eyes are low, laden with lust and desire. It's beautiful, but you're still not quite satisfied.

Maintaining eye contact with your lover, you slowly lick a brazen stripe from base to tip, making sure to swivel your tongue around the head. His eyes flutter closed and he inhales sharply, his body shuddering as you begin to lap at him.

"I can stop you know," you tease, speaking between swirls of your tongue. "I wouldn't want you to fall behind because of me."

"It's far too late for that," he moans, desperation lacing his tone. His regularly calm voice is now whiny and needy, overflowing with lechery, exactly how you like it. Both his hands have found their way onto your face now, and he's looking at you with carnality, rolling his hips uncontrollably.

"Don't stop, please, I need this," he admits shyly. A lewd noise escapes him as you oblige and take him into your mouth, allowing him to slip to the back of your throat. You hollow your cheeks, slowly beginning to bob your head around him, humming in response to the uncharacteristic but wildly alluring string of profanities streaming from him as you do.

It's with shame and a tinge of humiliation that he cries "Fuck," slamming his eyes shut as you pull up. You notice a string of saliva connecting the both of you and feel his grip growing tighter.

"So you do have time for me," you murmur wisely, pumping him lazily with one hand and reaching under his shirt with the other. "Whatever happened to your staunch work ethic?"

"My ‘work ethic’ is perennial." his voice is weak, wavering as he speaks. "It was you who mentioned my need for respite." His subtle sass is amplified by an edge of accusation, which majorly clashes with his current state; a slick, writhing mess, wanton and lustful.

"Is that so?" you muse, choosing to ignore his tone as you slowly rise to your feet.

Viktor watches intently as you find a place in his lap, and you hear his breath quicken as you straddle him and press the wet fabric of your underwear against his exposed groin. Rolling your hips smoothly, you grind against him as your fingers once again begin to dance between strands of dark hair.

"Surely you can still spare a little time for your girlfriend." A particularly rough roll of your hips causes him to squirm. "Don't you agree?"

He nods slowly, weakly stammering out a breathless "Yes," before lightly grabbing your waist as he’s overcome with bliss. A coy smile finds its way onto your face as you continue grinding against him, drinking in his lewd expression and reveling in the exceedingly indecent sounds flowing from his slightly parted mouth.

"I knew you would." you mumble, dipping your head below his jaw. You begin sucking bruises onto his delicate skin, causing him to buck upwards and tilt his head to further expose his neck. "That's a specious claim," he whines, still attempting to maintain some control over the situation, slightly discomfited by how easily you've broken him.

You quickly work at the buttons of his shirt, never allowing your lips to leave their spot below his ear. "So you say." you whisper before finally pulling away and allowing him to shed his top.

You scan his naked body and watch as he swallows thickly. "This is a little unfair." His eyes are glassy and stuck on you, observing your every movement. "I'm completely exposed, but you, you..."

He cuts himself off, sighing your name as you pick up your pace. "You're so desperate." you tease, running your hands over his bare chest.

He whines softly and tugs at your skirt. "Unfair," he repeats, now too focused on his own arousal to come up with a witty reply.

"Then take it off," you whisper, standing up slowly. He quickly pulls your skirt down, exposing your underwear and the wetness between your thighs. He hesitates to take them off, his cheeks once again turning red, but seeing how badly he wants you has left you feeling extremely aroused as well.

You swiftly slip your panties to your feet, stepping out of them and back onto Viktor’s lap, hovering above him teasingly. "Is this what you want?" you breathe before lowering yourself onto him. He throws his head back in pleasure, subconsciously grabbing your hand and humming quietly.

You quickly find a steady pace, eager to please yourself and set on seeing his face contorted into an expression of ecstasy. Viktor soon begins thrusting softly, slowly beginning to meet your rhythm. As his pace gradually increases, his grip on your hand grows tighter, and his whines and moans grow louder.

Strands of his hair are stuck to his red cheeks, and you feel yourself growing ever closer to release as you watch his lean muscles contract under glistening skin. You run your hands down his chest, leaning down to kiss his body and revel in the breathy “god”s and “yes”s escaping him.

Suddenly, he grabs your hips, fucking into you roughly, his eyes shut tight. "Viktor," you moan loudly, feeling embarrassed by the lustfulness of your own voice. He only whines, slightly opening his eyes, his swift pace never faltering. You moan again, grabbing fistfuls of his hair as he pushes you over the edge.

He soon follows, his rhythm becoming erratic as he whines uncontrollably. His eyes roll back before fluttering shut, and his nails dig deeper into your flesh. You feel him release inside of you, his face twisted in pleasure, and listen proudly to him moaning your name, telling you how good you've made him feel.

#league of legends #league #league of legends headcanons #league headcanons #league smut #arcane #viktor #viktor lol #viktor x reader #i folded i folded i folded #viktor smut #arcane imagine #arcane imagines #viktor imagines #arcane x reader #viktor imagine

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raggaraddy · 3 years

Text

Mouthy

Prompt: You say to Yandere BTS "Oh my god! Just shut up!"

A/N: Couldn't sleep, so I wrote this laying in bed. I hope it's not some sleep-deprived nonsense ^-^

Trigger warning: Yandere themes, violence, emotional manipulation, choking, non-con, D/s themes, examples of a bad D/s dynamic.

Alpha! Namjoon

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You scream it through your bedroom doorway. Storming to the railing of the stairs, you lean over and scream again. "Shut up!"

The sea of people on the ground floor go quiet. Only the music dares to keep making a sound in the background. You skulk back to your room, slamming the door loudly behind you. You had had a long, disappointing day. You were tired and grumpy, and moody and sad. But the dozens of uninvited pack members couldn't care less as their party raged on into the night.

Not allowing you enough time to even climb back into bed, Namjoon storms after you to address your outburst.

"Y/n, go downstairs right now and apologize." He orders.

"No." you mope. Feeling it's a wildly unfair request. All these people are in your house making so much noise when you're trying to sleep. How is it you that's in the wrong?

"Do you think I am asking you? I'm telling you. Get downstairs now." He says sternly. His strict tone making you even more emotional. You just wanted him to be on your side for this.

"But- But I," you sniffle, with tears in your eyes.

"No," Namjoon cuts you off. "I've asked you all afternoon what's wrong. And you wouldn't tell me. So right at this moment, I don't want to hear it. You have been disrespectful to me and my people. So you are going to put some more clothes on and cover-up, and you will go out there and apologize to every single person." He growls, leaving no room to argue. "And you will do it sincerely, or I will give you something to cry about."

King! Seokjin

You didn't say it to his face. You would never be that stupid. But still, you clearly weren't smart enough. While gossiping to a friend, someone you thought was a confidant, you're complaining about a seemingly endless, boring meeting you had to serve today.

"And I just wanted to tell all of them; Oh my god! Just shut up!" You laugh.

But hours later it's no longer a laughing matter.

"How did you enjoy serving me today, Princess?" Jin asks his tone giving nothing away of what he already knows.

"I enjoyed it. Thank you, your Majesty" You politely smile, thinking his question to be a kindness.

"I often find these meetings so dull. Many of the Lords do like to ramble on. Sometimes I would enjoy telling all of them to just shut up." He speaks the words so purposefully that you know at once you've been exposed.

"My Lord, I-"

"If you are smart you will not say another word." He speaks softly, with a grin on his face. "I want to thank you, Y/n. I have an endless supply of other people I can hurt. Each one of them is freely at my disposal, but you are my favourite toy." He fills the space in front of you. "However, I am a man of my word. I swore to you that you will be unharmed if you are obedient, and I would not dare to break this vow. Of course, I have sorely missed playing with my beloved little dol, though."

Towering over you he sets off your instinct to get to your knees and grovel, begging his forgiveness for your carelessness. But that would only be a wasted effort.

"So thank you, Princess, for giving me the possibility to hear your pretty cries of pain again. I will make sure to use this opportunity to its fullest."

Assassin! Yoongi

He had been in a hyper mood for 2 days straight. His energy and enthusiastic interaction was something you always craved, but you had never dealt with it this long before and you were losing your sanity and your composure.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You shout at him as your last nerve snaps.

"Okay, Y/n." He gives little to no reaction. "Remember you said this in a month from now when you're begging me to speak to you."

But it didn't take a month. In two weeks you were in tears apologizing. He left you free to roam the house, but he revoked all communication from you. The only times he gave you any attention, was when he forcibly made you stop doing something he didn't like. Or when he wanted you for sex. But still, he wouldn't utter a single word, only bending you over to take what he wanted.

After 5 weeks, just as you thought you'd never hear his voice again, he finally broke his silence. Only to break your heart.

"Listening to you these past few weeks, I realise how much you talk. It's time you take your own advice and shut up. Y/n, I don't want to hear a sound out of you until I say. 5 weeks was easy enough for me. So let's start with that, and then I'll see if I want to hear from you yet."

Vampire! Hoseok

Hoseok was always so animated. Normally it didn't bother you, but he was talking and reacting through yet another movie and you were sick of it. It might have been because you were PMSing or maybe because Hoseok had forgotten to feed you all day, but when he yelled at the TV, you yelled at him.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" And right away you were teeming with regret.

"I'm sorry baby. Am I being too loud?" He laughs with an unexpectedly harmless reply. Playfully but roughly slapping his hand on your thigh. "I'll keep it down."

You're not dumb enough to think that your eruption would go unanswered. So you sit tensely, anxiously waiting to see how he will repay you.

"Baby," he whispers in your ear, after sitting in silence for 20 minutes. "You know I have very strong hearing right?" You nod nervously. Chewing your lip. "Well, your breathing is too loud and very distracting. I can hardly hear the movie. Can you please fix that?"

You know this is going to lead to something horrible, but you have no choice but to do as he says. For the next 10 minutes, you're completely distracted trying to inhale and exhale as softly and shallowly as possible.

"Hmm baby, it's really too much. I can't concentrate on the film." He stands, pulling his belt off. "Here let me help you."

He wraps his belt around your neck, pulling and setting it so tight that it's biting into your skin. Your throat constricting, barely letting you breathe.

As you wheeze and splutter and cough, he holds the end like a leash. Sitting back on the couch, he turns his focus back to the movie without letting you loosen the strap or get away. Your whole body is shaking, your eyes starting to roll back as you struggle to inhale. The belt is cruelly not tight enough to have you pass out though. Only allowing you to sit in your suffering. The sound of your gasping filling the room.

"Ahh, there you go baby. That's much better. Don't worry, it's just while we're watching movies. And there's only two more left in the trilogy."

Playboy! Jimin

He was telling you over and over how sorry he was. How he didn't mean to kiss that girl. That he was drinking. And that she kissed him. It was every excuse and lie he had spouted 100 times before.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You yelled at him. And for a moment it worked. He sat in stunned silence. But as you got off the bed to leave, taking your car keys with you, he chased after you.

"Where are you going?"

"Out Jimin. I need some time alone to think." You scowl.

But he refuses, blocking the door. Holding his arms to either side to barricade you in.

"No, you can't leave! I said I'm sorry."

"Fuck off Jimin, your apologies mean nothing." You say shoving him.

He doesn't accept that. With a roar, he grabs your shoulders throwing you down onto the bed. Quickly straddling you, using far too much force to keep you pinned beneath him. Tearing off the pillowcases, he makes some shoddy but effective restraints. Tying you to the bars on the headboard.

Ignoring your screams and how you struggle he starts to kiss down your neck, pulling at your clothes, rubbing his hands down your body.

"I'm gonna make you feel good Y/n. I'll show you that I only want you, then you'll have to forgive me." He says sounding desperate and unhinged.

You cry and yell for him to stop, trying to buck him off you, but his hand covers your mouth, his other successfully tearing down your panties from under your dress.

"Don't fight me, Angel. Just let me in. And I'll prove I love you the most."

Dom! Taehyung

Finally, Taehyung had agreed to spend some time with you in a social environment. He and you went out to a movie and dinner with some of your friends. They were vanilla friends though, so as an exception, for the day he loosened a lot of the restrictions and formalities you normally had in place.

You, however, you were getting a little too relaxed. While you joked with you're friends, you started to speak to him the same manner. As you and he were playfully arguing about trivia facts you realized you were losing the debate.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You joke. But in the company of your friends or not, Taehyung was not about to let you disrespect him. Even in jest.

"Is that how you should talk to me girl?" He asks loudly and in front of everyone, bringing the group conversation to a grinding halt.

His change in tone and his use of the possessive pet name, right away have you back in your place.

"No," you whisper. The sting of embarrassment hot upon your cheeks.

"No, what?" He pushes it.

You can't stand to look up. All of the attention is on the two of you. And even in your peripheral, you can see your friends looking at you judgementally, wide-eyed and in shock.

And he was making it worse by having you use his title around them.

"No, Sir." you surrender, your head hung low.

"Shouldn't you also apologise to the other people at the table? For interrupting our night with your rudeness." He keeps piling on one shame after the other. Stretching out the ordeal.

"No, it's fine." One of your friends tries to laugh off the awkwardness and speed the discussion away from this point. "She doesn't have to."

"Y/n," He prompts you, disregarding what your friend had said.

Thoroughly humiliated, you can't imagine how you are going to repair these relationships or explain this treatment away.

"I'm sorry for interrupting the night with my rudeness." you swallow heavily, hands shaking.

"Good girl. Now mind your mouth. Before you make me embarrass you further."

Mafia! Jungkook

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" you say in a hushed voice. More of a prayer said to yourself than an actual demand you expected Jungkook to hear.

"What did you just say to me?" he lowers the phone, gawking at you.

You really didn't mean to, it just slipped out. He was talking on the phone, going into too graphic detail about how he and his men dealt with a threat recently. You couldn't handle the gruesome details he was recanting anymore and the words just fell out.

"What did you just say? Did you just tell me to shut up?" He repeats again through your nonreply. His tongue running through the inside of his cheek, his jaw and muscles tensing. His voice jumping rapidly from stunned to aggressive.

You're at home alone with him, so you weren't paying much mind to what you were saying. But this afternoon he's been dealing with work. And right now he isn't Kookie, no the person in front of you is Jeon Jungkook. The temperamental Mafia head, who would as likely hit you as he would speak to you.

"I'm sorry," you squeak.

"You're sorry?" He scoffs, slamming the phone down. "If you had said it and meant it, that would be one thing. I could respect that. But you really just can't control your stupid little mouth can you."

"I-" you start a defence, or more a plea for mercy.

"Shut the fuck up!" He growls leaning forward in his seat making you flinch back. Darting his hand out he grabs you by the hair, pulling you back to where you were. "Don't flinch. I'm not gonna hurt you, I'm gonna help you." He smiles.

You wriggle in his clutches, mewling the same trifle apologies under your breath.

"Shhh, my brainless little Kitten. I'm gonna give you a gift." He smirks. "For your own safety, you don't need to talk for the rest of the day. I just need you to come when I call. Sit on my lap when I tell you. And purr for me like a good little pussy." Grabbing your arm harshly, he yanks you off your chair and onto the ground. "There you go, where you belong." He laughs. "You think you can remember to do all that? I know you can. Otherwise, I'll buy you a kat collar to remind you how my Kitten should behave."

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rubysunnday · 4 years

Text

she’s a lady

Request by @amirahiddleston - may i get #3 with benedict bridgerton x reader in which y/n isn’t a proper ‘lady’ but is often forced to go to the galas?

A/N: I hope this is alright, darling!

Y/N glowered at her aunt. “I cannot believe you managed to convince me to attend this... thing.”

“And I cannot believe that you’re still complaining,” her aunt, Allison, countered. “It will be fine.”

“I’m not a proper member of the ton, Auntie,” Y/N replied, slumping back into the cushioned seats of the carriage. “As everyone keeps making abundantly clear.”

“Lady Whistledown likes you,” Allison said, raising her eyebrows. “As do the Bridgerton’s.”

Y/N sighed. “Yes, thank you, Auntie. I still don’t understand why you drag me along with you to these things.”

“You entertain me.”

“What am I, your performing monkey?” Y/N asked, giving her a very unimpressed look. “You just like talking to Lady Danbury about how intolerable the rest of society is.”

“Well, yes,” Allison said, nodding. “But it’s also a good opportunity -”

“Oh, not this again -”

“ - for you to find a husband -”

“ - I do not need you playing matchmaker for me, Auntie!” Y/N snapped, giving her aunt a very pointed and grumpy look. “I’ll be fine.”

Her aunt raised her eyebrows at her niece. “You’ll become a spinster.”

Ah, the dreaded condition known as the spinster. An unmarried woman became known as a spinster when she went beyond the usual age for marriage. This was usual twenty-eight which was, in Y/N’s mind, still fairly young for a woman.

Y/N groaned and looked out the carriage window, choosing to ignore her aunt’s comment. “Oh, look, we’re here,” she said, thankful that the carriage had pulled up to Lady Danbury’s estate at the right moment.

A footman stepped forward and opened the carriage door. He held out a hand for Y/N and she took it, letting him help her down the stairs.

“Thank you,” Y/N said with a smile as she pulled her shawl around her shoulders.

“Y/N!”

Benedict Bridgerton broke off from his mother and Colin and began walking up to her.

“Benedict!” Y/n greeted, walking to meet him. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

“I was dragged along,” Benedict muttered, shooting his mother as disdainful look.

Violet merely gave Y/N a cheer wave as she walked in to the building with Colin and Anthony.

“Same here,” Y/N replied, shooting her aunt a disdainful look who’d happily caught up with Violet Bridgerton. “Well, we can be miserable together.”

“And perfectly happy apart,” Benedict finished, holding his arm out for her to take. “Miss Y/L/N.”

“Mr Bridgerton,” Y/N replied, smiling.

Y/N was miserable. She hadn’t been this unhappy since she’d been forced to dance with Lord Berbrooke until Anthony Bridgerton had swung in and saved her.

“Lord Smith, I don’t suppose we could have a break for a few minutes?” Y/N asked as the dance (the third one she’d danced with him that night) ended. “I’d like a drink and a moment to catch my breath.”

“Ever the lady,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

Y/N curtsied to him. Lord Smith was not a very nice person and didn’t particularly care about the etiquette of society. Y/N took her chance and tried not to run through the crowd to escape the man. Her aunt had vanished along with Lady Bridgerton and Lady Danbury and Benedict had disappeared off with his sister and she’d been left to the lion’s den with no one around.

In her haste, she didn’t look where she was going and walked straight into someone.

“Oh!” Y/N exclaimed. She felt herself falling backwards only to be saved from impact with the floor by someone’s hands grabbing her waist.

“Sorry!” Benedict exclaimed, wincing with embarrassment as he caught her from falling on to the floor. “That was my fault.”

“I wasn’t looking,” Y/N replied, waving his concern off. She glanced behind her and silently cursed as she saw Lord Smith heading her way, weaving through the crowd like a man on a mission. “Catch me,” she said quickly, looking up at Benedict.

Benedict frowned. He looked behind her and saw Lord Smith approaching and his frown depended. “What?”

“I’m going to fake a swoon to scare him off, please catch me,” Y/N replied, urgency in her voice.

She didn’t give Benedict a chance to question her, admittedly, shoddy plan. If she'd had more time - and wasn’t so desperate to just vanish into thin air - she probably could have come up with a better plan. But, as it was, Y/N took a leaf out of the debutantes guid book, closed her eyes and dropped, hoping her friend was going to understand her urgency and actually catch her.

Judging from the gasp that went up around them and the fact she felt Benedict’s arms gently lower her to the floor, she assumed he’d caught on to her plan.

“Have you been practicing that?!” Benedict whispered, moving her so that she rested against his leg.

Y/N felt a hint of a smile on her lips but forced herself to keep calm.

“What happened?”

That was Anthony. Which meant she was now safely out of Lord Smith’s grasp. Y/N slowly opened her eyes and found herself looking up into Benedict’s eyes.

“Hi,” she said softly, smiling.

“Have a nice nap?” Benedict asked, helping her sit up. One hand rested on her shoulder and the other was still around her waist - his grip firm and reassuring.

Anthony handed her a glass of water and raised an eyebrow at her, completely unconvinced by her little act. “You swooned?”

“Oh, be quiet,” Y/N muttered, taking the water and sipping it. “It was an emergency.” She nodded behind Anthony at Lord Smith who was standing next to Lady Danbury and appeared to be getting an earful about three dances in a row from her and Lady Bridgerton. “I was trying to escape.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

Benedict chuckled and Y/N felt his chest vibrate with it. She struggled not to smile a giddy smile as she suddenly realised how close she was to him - and the fact his hand was still on her waist.

“Want to try standing up?” He suggested, raising his voice on behalf of the ton who were watching and listening.

Y/N nodded and let the two brothers help her to her feet. “Thank you,” she said, turning to face Benedict. “I’d like some fresh air, if that’s alright?”

“Of course, Miss Y/L/N,” Benedict said, all but beaming at her. He took her arm and they slowly made their way out onto the terrace - away from the ballroom and the prying eyes of London.

Once they were safely away from the ballroom, Benedict let go of her arm and turned to her, raising an eyebrow.

“The fake swoon?” He asked, crossing his arms and smirking. “Seriously, Y/N? I expected better.”

“What was I meant to do?!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands up. ““Three dances, Benedict, three. I know I’m not a proper lady but -”

“Don’t say that,” Benedict said softly, taking her hand.

Y/N frowned. “Don’t say... what?”

“That you’re not a proper lady,” Benedict elaborated. “I don’t like it when you talk about yourself as if you’re nothing.”

Y/N smiled sadly. “Well, in the eyes of society, Benedict, I am nothing. I’m an orphan with almost no dowry and an aunt who’s marriage lasted a month before he died. I come with scandal and a reputation that was ruined before I even arrived.”

“Yet you are as much as a lady as those women in there,” Benedict replied. He raised a hand and rested it on Y/N’s cheek. “If not more. Reputation be damned, Y/N, you are more than worthy of the title of Lady. Heritage and money may buy you the title of lady but it doesn’t make you one. A lady requires grace and agility and elegance. They have to dance and be perfect and - why are you looking at me like that?”

Y/N stared at him. “You and the point of that sentence are further apart than the Earth is from Pluto.”

“I’m trying to compliment you!” He exclaimed, staring back at her. “I was -”

“Going off on a tangent that was entirely unrelated to the start of the sentence!”

“Y/N!”

“Benedict!” Benedict whirled around and marched towards her. For a moment, Y/N thought he was going to yell at her or something alike.

Instead, he held her face between his hands and kissed her on the lips.

Y/N, completely stunned by the sudden change in emotion and the fact that Benedict Bridgerton was kissing her froze.

Benedict, noticing her attempt at being a statue, stopped kissing her and stepped back slightly. “I’m sorry that was... I’m sorry. I hope no one saw that -”

“Benedict -”

“If they have, I’ll happily -”

“Benedict -”

“I’m sure Anthony won’t mind -”

“Benedict!” Y/N yelled, grabbing his face between her hands and forcing him to look at her and be quiet. “Shut up.”

Before he could protest, Y/N stepped forward and kissed him on the lips. Her hand moved to the back of his head and she leant forward, kissing him with all the passion and intensity she had for him.

Benedict broke away from her, panting slightly. “Y/N,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

“Yes?”

“Anthony’s staring at us.”

Y/N spun around and, sure enough, Anthony was standing in the doorway to the ballroom, conveniently inspecting a flower bush.

“Anthony,” Y/N scolded, walking forward. “What are you doing?!”

“Ensuring my brother doesn’t ruin a lady’s reputation,” Anthony replied, his arms behind his back.

“For the thousandth time -”

“You are not a lady,” Benedict chimed in, walking up behind her and kissing her cheek. “We know.”

Anthony smiled and offered his arm to her. “Well, I disagree. You are a lady to me, Miss Y/L/N. And, because of that, I’m now your chaperone.”

“Oh, you are, are you?” Y/N quipped, accepting his arm. “Does that mean Benedict has to ask your for permission?”

“I believe so,” Anthony replied. “And besides, I do believe a special license would make an excellent early wedding present for the two of you.”

“Oh, god, Anthony!”

#bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagines #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #imagine

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