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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 1 year

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Impatient

Miguel O'Hara X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info

Summary: Miguel needs to see you in his office, immediately.

A/N: First Miguel fic! Pretty sure I have written him a little too soft. But I can't help myself. (Also, I read Spiderman 2099 100 years ago, please forgive me.)

Warnings: hickeys, secret relationship (kinda), p in v sex, oral (f receiving), swearing, this has not been proofread, overuse of italics, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning.

Word Count: 2404

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It’s always been difficult for you to work when someone’s looking right at you.

Especially, when the person staring was Miguel.

You took a risky glance up from your computer screen to the far side and-

Yeah. Still staring.

Nerves twisted in your stomach as you quickly looked back to your work and swallowed. You tried to type, tried to verify the equation you were meant to be double checking, but your mind was swimming. The numbers and symbols just weren’t adding up to anything no matter how much you willed them to make sense.

“I need to speak with you in my office.” Miguel’s stern voice made you jump and accidentally hit several keys on your keyboard.

“Of course.” You managed to squeak out, the sound of your voice made you want to slam your head against your computer. “I’ll, erm, be right there.”

He stayed standing close, his arms crossed.

You swallowed again and got up quickly when he didn’t move.

Sabrina, your colleague at the desk next to you gave you a worried and apologetic glance. She obviously thought you were in for a bollocking.

You followed Miguel silently as you both exited the room and went to the elevator. You stayed silent as he pushed the button for the highest floor, the one his office was on.

You bit your lip, digging your nails into the skin around your thumb.

It was only when you were both two steps into his office that Miguel looked at you, turning so quickly that he was almost a blur. His hands on your shoulders as he pushed you back into the door.

The little yelp of surprise that started to escape your lips was quickly muffled by his mouth on yours. He grabbed the back of your thighs, lifting you up and wrapping them around his hips in one swift motion.

You clutched at his shoulders, the yelp turning into a moan as he slid his tongue into your mouth and pressed his body flush against yours.

“Fuck,” you pulled away to the side just enough to speak, “is this what you wanted to see me about?”

His lips are back on yours in an instant, muffling your question.

You pulled on the hair at the back of his head, just enough to be able to speak. “Migu-”

“Missed you.” He murmured, sinking his head back to your lips before trailing kissed over your jaw.

You gasp, arching your back towards him as dips lower, leaving soft open mouthed kisses along your throat and rocking against you. You can feel his cock, thick and heavy straining against the confines of his trousers.

“You, you could have sent an email.” You lose your train of thought for a second as Miguel nips at your pulse point. “I would have come straight up.”

He makes a hum of disapproval into your neck, already so desperate to feel you. He snakes his hand under your top, pressing against your waist and using it as leverage to move you against him.

His bulge rubs just right over your clit and you bite down a moan.

It’s like something in him snaps at the sound. “Need you, need you so bad.” He growls, pulling you away from the door and to the floor.

He’s everywhere, crowding you in, pulling at your shirt buttons and trousers impatiently. All while kissing you roughly.

You’ve been in this position too many times to know it’s only a short matter of time before he gets so irritated that he’ll either rip the buttons off or claw the material in two.

“Miguel, Miguel,” you soothe, your hands going to his face and making him look at you.

He pauses, breathing hard.

You kiss his lips softly, pulling back when he tries to press against you hard.

He whines, his hands on the floor on either side of your head. You can see his claws digging into the carpet in your peripheral vision.

You kiss him again, just as soft. And he lets you this time, rolling his hips against you ever so gently in a perfect rhythm with your lips.

You pull back, pressing another quick light kiss to the tip of his nose. “You okay?”

He keeps his eyes closed and nods.

You know he’s lying. Something’s upset him, something’s gotten under his skin and set his blood ablaze.

But you also know him. You know he can’t talk about it right now, not when whatever it is is fresh and bleeding.

He’ll talk about it later. Miguel always talks about it later.

You kiss time again, light and sweet before trailing your lips to his neck. While you don’t want to be seen covered in hickeys after talking with the head of the company, no one would dare even mention it to Miguel if they saw a love bite just above his collar.

You undo the top three buttons as you kiss his kiss, moving your lips lower and lower and then biting down hard.

Miguel hisses and clutches at you, pulling you tightly against him and rubbing his aching cock against your thigh.

“Please… need you.” He moans softly at your ear. The tension in his lips is insurmountable, like the smallest action could cause him to shatter.

You nod, kissing his chin then his lips.

He doesn’t pull away quickly. Instead he melts into the kiss, groaning softly, as he swallows your tongue into his mouth. Enjoying your hands running up his chest.

Thankfully (for your rapidly decreasing wardrobe) he unbuttons your shirt carefully, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin like it’s the first time he’s seen it.

He bites at your breast playfully through the material of your bra, gazing up at you and chuckling as you gasp and give him a look.

It’s always good to see him smile, the expression never fails to send a rush of heat to your core.

He undoes your trousers painfully slowly, taking his time in popping the button and pulling the zipper down as he kisses your hip and you wiggle underneath him.

He’s doing it on purpose now, going extra slow because you made him calm down.

“Miguel,” you start but he’s chuckling again.

“Don’t be so impatient.” He mutters against your skin.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and gawk at him. “Me? What about you?” You try to keep your voice stern, but it’s hard not to smile when he’s looking up at you like that. “You’re the one that-”

He loves waiting until you're in the middle of a sentence to act.

Without warning he hooks his fingers into your waistband and pulls your trousers down to your knees, the force of the motion nearly making you fall completely flat on your back.

You open your mouth to speak but Miguel is grinning like the spider that caught the fly.

“Looks like you're falling for me baby.”

You pretend to hit him. “That’s terrible.”

He laughs, pulling off your shoes and then finishing taking off your trousers. “You love it.”

“I love you, you idiot.” You can’t help but smile. “In spite of your jokes.”

He snickers and leans back down, lavishing your thighs with kisses until he reaches your centre.

You can’t help but moan softly and arch your back off the floor as he presses his face into your clothed pussy. “Fuck.”

He kisses your clit over your panties and nuzzles his nose into the wet patch that has started to leak through. “You love my jokes.” He murmurs, looking up at you, already so close to falling apart, with his large red eyes.

You shake your head. “They’re terrible.”

He grins. “Fair enough.”

Oh so slowly, he slides his finger underneath your underwear, and, for a second you think he’s going to swipe through your folds. But instead he curls his finger towards himself, extending his claw, slicing the material clean apart.

“Miguel!” You chide, without any real heat in it.

“I’m allowed to rip one thing,” he bats his eyes at you, completely juxtaposing his shit eating grin. “Besides I bought you these.”

“I’ll kill you.”

His smile widens, showing the sharp points to his canine teeth, “How about you give me a little death instead?”

“Now that is worse than-” You moan loudly, your head falling back against the carpet as he licks a long, slow stripe through your folds. Ending the action with a swirl around your clit.

You gasp, bucking up against him involuntarily.

“Oh,” he repeats the action, a little faster this time. “Looks like you like my quips actually.”

You huff and gently grab a fistful of his hair, pushing him back to your cunt. “Be quiet.”

He laughs softly but doesn’t talk back, pressing his face back into you and licking slowly, broad stripes with the flat of his tongue. He grabs hold of your ass, canting you upwards ever so slightly so he can fully work you over.

“Fuck, ah-”

He hums smugly as he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking on it gently and then flicking it with his tongue.

“Shitshitshitshitshit,” you can feel yourself getting close already, it was embarrassingly fast how well Miguel knew your body, how quickly he could bring you to the edge and push you over.

You grind against his face as he fucks you with his tongue, lapping up your juices and groaning happily.

It’s only when your back starts arching completely off the floor, when your breathing changes into a high pitch whine that he moves his mouth, focusing completely on your clit. Swirling circles and sucking on it gently before teasing it with the edge of his teeth.

You writhe underneath him, pulling on his hair as he continues his onslaught.

He looks up at you, catching your eyes for a second and it’s the happiest you’ve ever seen him.

You don’t even get the chance to warn him you're about to come. Your orgasm hits you suddenly, flooding your mind and body completely and utterly. Drowning out all other thoughts and senses.

Miguel worths you through it, pulling moan after moan from you, until you fall back on the floor exhausted.

He sits up quickly, the bottom half of his face and neck shining from your release. He’s grinning a little smugly and quickly pulls off his tie and shirt, wiping your come off his skin with the latter.

You barely get the chance to sit up before he’s kissing you again, the action deep and needy. He guides your arms out of your open shirt and undoes your bra, throwing your clothes to the side before kissing your chest.

“Fuck Miguel,” you whine as he takes one nipple in his mouth, his fingers toying with the other. Heat rises to your skin and even though you’ve just come, you still need him so, so badly.

He kisses up to your neck. “Get on your hands and knees.” There’s a softness to his voice, an unspoken please.

You move, doing what he asks instinctively.

There’s a shift and shuffle of material behind you as he kneels and pulls his trousers and boxers down to free his weeping cock.

He places his warm hand on your hip. The grip is strong, solid and comforting as he moves closer to you. The front of his thighs just touching the back of yours.

He pumps himself slowly, teasing himself with the sight of you wet and ready for him.

The carpet bites into your knees, but you don’t care. The anticipation, the warmth in your belly is driving you insane. You lean back a little, offering up yourself for him.

And he graciously accepts.

He presses the tip of his cock to your entrance and so slowly eases in, taking his time like he hadn’t been hard and wanting for long before he came to see you.

You gasp at the stretch, his thickness filling you up so completely and utterly it seems to push the thoughts out of your mind.

“You okay?” He mutters, his voice low and strained as he tries to control himself.

“I’m good!” Your voice goes up embarrassingly high at the end as he bottoms out, brushing deep inside.

“Good.” He breathes in deeply, trying to ground himself and you can feel him pulsing inside of you.

You push back ever so slightly, arching your back, “you can mov-oh!”

He pulls back and snaps his hips back into you, almost dragging himself out completely before slamming back into you.

You cry out as he sets a brutal pace, changing the angle with every thrust until he hears you whine loudly when he hits that special spot.

“There baby? You need it there?” There’s a teasing edge to his voice but warmth as well as he focuses all his energy on fucking you exactley right.

You gasp, unable to fully form words with the way he's ramming the air out of you. You barely manage a “uh, uh, uh,” of confirmation.

Pleasure coils in your stomach, building higher and uncontrollably higher.

He’s pulling your hips back with every thrust, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises.

Your knees burn, rubbing raw on the carpet, but you hardly register it with the way he’s making you feel.

“Miguel, I’m,” you whine, not able to get another word out as he picks up his pace. Fucking you even harder, even closer to your peak.

“That’s it baby, that’s it.” He leans over your back as he thrusts, kissing your shoulders and reaching his right hand down to rub your clit.

He barely gets a chance to circle it once before to cry out, clamping down on him as a wave of pleasure blooms through you.

His hips stutter as you grip him, your walls pulling his orgasm from him suddenly. He groans as he comes, emptying himself deep within you and thrusting softly as you both come down.

You feel light, boneless and ready to sink into a heap on the floor. Miguel’s firm grip is the only thing that stops you.

He kisses your shoulder softly.

And you sigh, your knees twinge. “One day I won’t get carpet burn after a ‘meeting’.” You mutter and he laughs.

“I love you.” He mutters against your skin softly. “Maybe I’ll get a bed put in here.”

You laugh loudly and he smiles.

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Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @solobagginses @melodygatesauthor @romanarose

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

#miguel o’hara #spiderman across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #x reader #miguel o’hara x you #x you #miguel o’hara x female reader #x female reader #miguel o’hara x f!reader #x f!reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #x fem!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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kunikuyu · 2 months

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"A reward for someone so good." Hashira Series!

Part 1, 2, 3, 5, 6

Obanai Iguro x Male! Reader

Warnings: Minors DNI, NSFW, Dom! Iguro x Sub! Reader, read as afab reader, jealousy, spanking, degradation, relationship of "enemies", mentions of blood (one, blood from the reader's lip), Reader is like a teasing brat here, slight mischaracterization of the character.

Summary: Pillar training has begun, much to your delight. Of course, as a hard-working and strong person, you can handle any challenge. Even if it's fighting a hashira. And in a way, they all see some value in you, and want to reward you for it.

Starting Mitsuri's training was easy, the difficult part was finishing it. But... Everything went wonderfully well, and you even got to sleep next to the girl. The next day, when you woke up, she gave you a basket full of sweets to eat on the way to the next pillar's house. "Just don't eat it all at once, save some for Iguro-san, okay?~" That's what she said, winking lovingly as she waved you goodbye.

And speaking of Iguro...

"You're late. And you came completely dirty, don't you have a shred of shame or dignity?"

Your mouth was only slightly pink from the Sakura mochi you were eating. For some reason, the other boy looked at your lips first before anything else. "Sorry, I guess." The truth was, you didn't really like Obanai either. The way he looked at you and cursed you made you simply not like him and even provoked him into a childish fight. But because he was your superior, you just ignored him most of the time.

He looked at you with an irritated look, before turning to enter his residence, which seemed dark, cold and silent, like a snake's habitat. It was calm, until your vision adjusted to the darkness and you realized that the hunters who were in training were completely tied up together, like a real horror scene (if they weren't just tied up with ropes, Obanai isn't so crazy).

"Your training is this, try to attack me without hurting any of these people. Hurt one of them three times and you become part of them." And so he says, already going after you.

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

He definitely tried to hurt you as much as possible. Probably a cracked rib, a completely purple and swollen waist from so many bruises and an eye that was barely opening. But, to improve your situation, you were already approved on the first day, since you managed to hit Obanai on the hand. Stopping to think a little, Iguro seemed to be hating something, or someone. You might think he knows about your training with Miss Kanroji, but how could he know? Mitsuri definitely wouldn't tell anyone something like that.

And speaking of Kanroji, the food basket is still in the corner of the room where you and the other hunters are sleeping. You planned to eat everything yourself, but you definitely couldn't handle it all and Mitsuri made it for Iguro too.

After thinking very sadly, you get up and take the basket, silently leaving the room and walking towards the light emanating from the nearest room. You walk over and reluctantly knock on the door. It's late, but if you didn't do it now that you were in a good mood, you wouldn't do it in the morning when you woke up.

Some beats. All without success. He really didn't want to see anyone's face. "...Know that I'm only here because Miss Kanroji made these Sakura mochi for both of us, otherwise I wouldn't be disturbing your peace."

...

"Are you going to open that door or not?"

...

And when you had already given up and were turning around, Hashira wraps his hand around the back of your hair and pulls you into his room with an unexpected strength from such a small body. You can't even scream in pain, because Obanai is faster and covers your mouth as he throws you against the wall and pins you with all his weight.

"Do you think I don't know what you and Kanroji did in that training? I don't know exactly what you did, but in the letter she sent talking about you, she seemed especially happy. I don't like the idea of you being the reason for Kanroji's smiles." But you barely paid attention to what the shorter one was saying. You just looked at his uncovered mouth, which now showed a huge scar. You were mesmerized, but you would never say that you found him beautiful in that way, and that your bodies pressed together only increased the tension.

"... Look at my eyes when I'm talking to you." He says, without measuring his strength, he grabs your chin and brings your face closer to his, making you look deep into his eyes. For some reason this time, you didn't see hatred or contempt in his eyes. You still felt like he didn't like you, but you also felt a certain lust emanating from the depths of his soul.

And after a few seconds that felt like entire eternities, he did something you never imagined would happen. He can't resist, and pulls you even closer, pressing your mouths together. That whole kiss is extremely aggressive, he really wanted to take his anger out on you. His tongue moved nimbly, fighting violently against yours. He bit your lip so much that you even started to feel the metallic taste of blood.

The snake's Hashira wastes no time, and even begins to remove his white pajama. "Cute outfit, did you buy it in the children's section?" And you just get a slap across your face in response. Was the slap strong? Perhaps. Will it leave a mark? Obvious. Did you like it? Yes. You just let out a small laugh, face remaining turned to the left.

"I despise you. You have no respect for yourself. Gets slapped in the face and just laughs, you're definitely a sick guy." "You're the one who hit me, don't act controlled because you clearly enjoy it more than me." Another slap to your face is delivered, your hair covering part of your face. You had to confess that maybe being beaten by Obanai wouldn't be so bad. After all, you've been beaten by him before.

When Iguro finally removes his clothes, he barely waits for a comment from you before grabbing your neck and pulling you into his futon. He was clearly thirsty, and needed his relief, his hands shaking slightly as he took off your pants.

.....

"Hmm... I didn't expect someone so short to be so huge." Despite the mocking tone, you really didn't imagine that could be part of Obanai's body. It's just... He's too short and his cock is too big. In response, he grabs your neck aggressively while spreading your legs, making a light moan echo from your mouth. "Your ability to talk so much nonsense is incredible. Now, spread those legs and don't you dare tell me to stop." "I wouldn't do that, Obanai."

The other man positions himself between your legs, slowly fitting into your soft, warm entrance. He closes his eyes as he blushes, not being able to handle the pleasure he felt as he entered you. Obanai begins to thrust into you slowly, his left hand gently squeezing your neck while his right rests on your waist. "O-Obanai... This is torture...! Go faster!~" But instead of listening to you, he just squeezes your neck tighter, preventing you from speaking. He seemed to like this rhythm, or he just wanted you to beg with tears in your eyes. That seemed to be the intention, since the whole time he was looking deep into your eyes, waiting for something to happen.

....

"...Please..."

.....

Maybe it wasn't a good idea to ask Obanai to go faster. He is a hashira after all. The man goes with all the strength and speed he can, thrusting into you brutally as if he wanted to take out all his anger on your cunt. Tears of pleasure, pain, and overstimulation flowed from your eyes, but you couldn't ask him to stop, could you? After all, you were enjoying this more than he was even. You could feel the tip of the other man's cock in the deepest part of your body, your legs were already starting to weaken. It didn't help that he didn't go easy on you in training.

Anyone could hear the noise you two were making. The sound of his balls hitting your ass every time he thrust, his moans and yours, the two of you weren’t exactly being silent. "Ah...~ so warm...~" That's what he thought every time he felt your wet walls squeezing his cock. He seemed strangely comfortable fucking his potential love rival.

When he felt that you were already close to your orgasm, he pulled out of you and slowly massaged the head of his member, cumming on your thigh. "...You're... fast huh..." You say, mocking the fact that he came before you. You can't even ridicule the other man for long, as you immediately feel two of Obanai's fingers entering you, while his thumb massages your clit. He did it brutally, almost hurting you in the process. Even so, it doesn't take long for you too to reach your orgasm in Iguro's hand.

He removes his fingers and lies down next to you, burying his face in your neck. "We will never talk about it." "About how cute your face looks while you cum?" And you get a bite on the neck in return. Is he really ashamed of having fucked you? Maybe, but he loved the feeling of burying himself deep inside your body. "It's okay, we'll never talk about it. Don't worry." You wrap your arms around him and lean his body against yours, making him blush slowly. "When did you get so muscular...?" "We haven't seen each other in a while. Now, stop talking and go to sleep."

"Are you really telling me to shut up? You piece of shi-" And you just kissed him to get your desired silence. Even though he doesn't like the way he look and is embarrassed by the scar on his mouth, he likes the feel of your lips touching his.

He still doesn't like you. At least that's what he'll say forever.

Author's note (me :p)!

My second favorite, and I don't even like Obanai ._.

#male reader #smut #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #obanai x reader #demon slayer #obanai iguro #kny obanai #ftm reader #tengen uzui #giyuu tomioka #mitsuri kanroji #sanemi shinazugawa #gyomei himejima

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zombvic · 3 months

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They are talking in real life. I should’ve been more specific when I requested it

I’m sorry. I hope you have a good day 🫶🏻🫶🏻

I'D BE YOURS IF YOU'D ASK. (kenan yildiz x reader)

summary : in which y/n ghosts the turkish footballer during their "situationship" whilst talking to another football player

face claim : no-one

notes : thank you for requesting !! lets pretend the copa america isnt going on at the same time as the euros lmao

pairings : kenan yildiz x reader , angsty fluff (?)

Y/n was familiar with the game of footballers. The heartbreak you'd get from talking with football players and then getting ignored out of nowhere, also known as ghosting. After multiple failed "talking stages" and "situationships" with various football players from all around the world, Y/n decided it was her turn to become the so-called ghoster. She enjoyed the sense of control and power it gave her.

As of June 2024, Y/n had been talking with a Turkish footballer named Kenan for about three months. After those three months, there was an undeniable change in the mood. She felt the conversations fade away, the replies becoming drier. After three months, you’d expect their relationship to progress, but instead, it felt like things were regressing.

A week had passed since she ghosted Kenan. She didn't choose the ideal time because the Euros were about to start. She thought maybe her absence would go unnoticed, or that Kenan would be too busy to care. But the truth was, she couldn’t handle the idea of being ghosted again. She took the first step to protect herself.

Kenan realized they hadn't talked in about a week while he was training for the Euros. The days were packed with intense practice sessions, team meetings, and strategy discussions. It wasn't until he had a quiet moment to himself that he noticed the absence of Y/n's messages. He checked his phone, scrolling through their last conversation, dated seven days ago.

He tried to brush off the feeling that she was ignoring him. Maybe she was just busy, maybe he was overthinking it. But as the days passed, he found himself missing her more than he expected. It wasn't just about the attention from her; it was the connection they shared, her way of always bringing his mood up, her way of cheering him up after a loss, the way she made him laugh, and how he could talk to her about anything going on in his life. He realized that he liked her much more than other friends do. He had a crush.

Even while training, Kenan's thoughts kept returning to Y/n. He made an effort to concentrate on the game, but it was difficult. What if she was truly over him? The thought of her abandoning him hit me like a blow to the stomach. Was she talking to another guy? Did she already have a boyfriend? Throughout the training, the worst-case scenarios couldn't stop forcing their way into his mind.

The day of the Georgia vs. Turkey game eventually arrived. Kenan decided to overlook the Y/n incident and concentrate on the match. However, he saw her in one of the VIP boxes as soon as he entered the field, he noticed her talking and giggling with a fellow football player, Kevin Alvarez. A wave of jealousy hit him. Why had she and Kevin come here? Is she trying to make me jealous? Is this some kind of game to her?

Kenan's attention split between the action on the field and Y/n in the crowd during the entire game. Kenan felt that Kevin was taking advantage of her companionship a bit too much. Knowing she was right there, laughing and giggling with someone else, made it difficult to focus.

Despite the distraction, Kenan played well and helped his team to win over Georgia. As the final whistle blew, he couldn't wait any longer. Eager to find out, he ran straight for the VIP box.

Kenan said "Y/n," as he walked up to her. Surprised to see him, she turned round, facing him. "Can we talk?"

Nodding, she followed him out of sight into a more peaceful area. "What's up, Kenan?"

He asked again, his irritation rising to the surface, "What's up? Why aren't you talking with me? And what's going on between Kevin and you?"

Y/n raised an eyebrow. "Kevin? We're just friends. What is your problem?"

"My problem? What is MY problem?! You ghosted me, Y/n. One day we're talking, and the next, nothing. Then I see you here with him, giggling, flirting like everything's fine. Like i"

"Look, every time I get into a so-called 'talking stage,' it always ends with me feeling like I'm bothering the person in question and never in a successful relationship. All I was doing is giving you space."

"Space?" Kenan frowned deeper. "I didn't ask for space. I wanted to talk to you. Instead, you left me hanging, making me think I did something wrong."

Y/n moved reluctantly, her eyes glancing away for a while before returning to his. "I am sorry Kenan. It wasn't my goal to hurt your feelings."

Kenan's jaw tightened, showing his simmering displeasure beneath the surface. "But why didn't you talk it out with me? We could have solved the problem, together."

Kenan shook his head, a mix of exasperation and relief flooding him. "Y/n, I like you. A lot. Seeing you with Kevin… it drove me crazy."

Her gaze eased as she turned to face him. "Kenan, I'd be yours if you'd ask. However, you have to understand that I can't deal with the constant unpredictability of our relationship."

Kenan held her hand in his. "Okay. So, I want to be your official boyfriend. I want to spend time with you, I want to take you out on dates, I want you to wear a jersey with MY name and MY number. I want a real relationship with you—not just a situationship or talking stage, an actual relationship."

As he was about to finish his sentence, Y/n hugged him. "Finally."

The tension slowly began to release as they stood there. They finally understood that they both wanted the same one thing: each other.

im hoping this is what you imagined while requesting, if not just lmk i can change anything <3

#fanfiction #football imagine #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #kenan yildiz x reader #kenan yildiz #juventus fc #fluff #kenan yildiz fluff #kenan yildiz angst

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aihaitahm · 1 year

Note

Hello! I saw ur request for well requests. So If this concept helps. I’d like to see your take on Jing Yuan/ Sampo Koski/ Blade and maybe Gepard on when the reader as their s/o is maybe like ambushed by an enemy and how they comfort the reader after it or nurse them back to health (it may be a lil angsty but I’d like to see your take)

gn! reader being extremely injured and how they react

characters: jing yuan, blade, gepard

im sorry idrk sampo and didnt write him though i hope you like it! :((

jing yuan

you and jing yuan were fighting jingliu after she caused a catastrophe within xianzhou luofu after being possessed by mara.

jing yuan kept insisting for you to back out and evacuate but you were stubborn and did not listen to him which lead to you taking a lethal attack from jingliu. thankfully you survived and jing yuan carried you right away after he defeated his former master.

worried about your state, he holds you tightly enough but not so much to hurt you, bringing you to get aid and to rest. poor him he is super worried, he felt a bit emotional but kept his nonchalant calm face on.

seeing you lay and rest up while he voluntarily takes care of you despite him also having injuries. yanqing tells his master he should also rest and that he can take care of you. yanqing tried his best to comfort him and force him to also heal up.

the next day, the general was eager to know if you were awake and okay. going into your assigned room, he was very happy to see you awake though that does not stop him from scolding you.

“(name) i am happy that you are with me my beloved however please listen next time when i say to back out. i am very worried about you and mimi was looking for you last night. i do not want to hear you insist and you will follow what i say. your life is important to me, do you understand?”

blade

you always like to accompany blade whenever he is out on missions. after all, supporting your boyfriend and boosting him will help him finish the mission faster while you also do great damage to enemies. then afterwards you aid him and then he gives you his affection and everything you ask for.

however fighting this boss made it to be difficult. you were already hit couple times and this boss and its minions kept targeting you.

this made blade extremely rage and tried to eliminate every enemy all at once though that wasnt enough to destroy all of them.

the only option left was to run. blade then carried you and escaped. even though blade was hurt, he didnt care as long as it wasnt you. hearing you cry how painful your injuries were made him a different type of anger. he is so sure he will defeat those little shits into pieces.

returning to the stellarons’ hideout to get you aided by the healers there, he is very impatient because they took it too slow for his liking. he then decided to bandage you on his own and bring you to them later. people knew how irritable he was however this was something else and just terrifying that they will just step away from him.

surprisingly he is super gentle and would make you drink pain relievers as you let him care for you. he scolds you as you slowly were feeling better but you just knew he was worried.

“tsk i dont fucking care if we failed the mission but next time, i will do some missions on my own. shit maybe most of it just so i know you are safe. i do not want you to… almost die. i would not be able to bear with the guilt and grief. you are my only one and i need you to stay alive.”

gepard

being the captain of the silvermane guards, he is inclined to always protect you. he would fight with you hand in hand and he would shield you from anything.

he trusts you and he knows you can fight as well as him. maybe even better. he would make you train the silvermane guards and you do a great job with it.

silvermane guards praise you for your strength and how lucky gepard is to have a partner like you. gepard is proud of you and is thankful for things that you do for them.

until one afternoon, you decided to accept a commission to defeat a bunch of monsters lurking by the city. without gepard’s knowledge about it, he was just surprised when one of the guards was carrying your body and you writhing in pain.

would be super anxious and emotional, holding your hand tight while you were being healed. even though the doctors were telling him to step out but he insisted and stayed. serval eventually had to tell her brother he has to step out in order for the doctors to fully pay attention to you. she comforted him, telling him you will be okay since you are so strong.

when he was finally allowed to see you, he was relieved and happy that you are alive. he then tells you to tell him about your commissions before going.

“my dear… im so glad you are alive and healthy. please be careful. please tell me about your commissions before you head out and make sure you know what type of monsters youre fighting. please… just be safe and bring me along with you.”

#honkai star rail #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #blade x reader #blade hsr #hsr blade #blade honkai star rail #gepard #gepard x reader #gepard hsr #gepard honkai

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phosphorus-12 · 6 months

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When you're looking at me(I've never felt so happy)

Post S4 Wakfu Fanfic

They’re walking and talking. About what? How beautiful the clouds in the west were looking? How the springtime in the kingdom of Sadida was the most beautiful in the world? No. Politics.

“Brakmar has been quite disturbed by some pirates causing a disruption with their trading vessels.” The ever-regal Queen Amalia of the Sadida used her most diplomatic voice, though the barest hint of annoyance snuck into her words. “They have been complaining endlessly.” “It is unfortunate.” Yugo, king of the Eliatropes, also spoke formally, never allowing his irritation to seep through. “Although if they would simply allow others who lose those resources to arm their ships better, the pirates wouldn’t try so hard.” “But then they complain that they are in danger of those merchants' weapons.” The Queen sighed. They continued working out the issue as they walked farther from the main city. They went quiet as they approached a remote garden, hidden away from the rest of the kingdom. The clouds that they could have been admiring approached quickly, hiding the blue sky with dark gray. It was likely that no one was out here, especially with the looming threat of rain. The first drop hit the ground, and more followed. The two monarchs were surprised and looked at one another. A gust of wind blew a large leaf into Yugo’s face. He looked shocked. Of all the things, he hadn’t expected that. Their eyes followed the leaf as it blew away. They looked back at each other. And started laughing hysterically. As they tried to catch their breath, the rain got heavier. They collapsed on a nearby bench, still laughing. “I-I just can’t-” Amalia snickered. “It just h-hit you! You-you looked so-so-” “I know!” Yugo could barely breathe through laughing and talking. “So serious and-and then I just-” They both kept giggling. As they calmed down, they leaned on each other, letting the rain soak their heads and shoulders. “It's hard being so formal with you.” Amalia sighed. “Especially when the others are being so…” “Disrespectful?” “Yeah! Disrespectful to you.” It was true. Many of the rulers of the World of Twelve disliked the Eliatropes despite all they had done for the world. The rulers weren’t happy that they had only just showed up, although it wasn’t really their fault. Things like facts did not matter to them in the face of their own thoughts and opinions. “Well, I can’t really do anything about it.” Yugo could not. It would cause tensions to rise and that would not help the still-recovering Eliatropes. He had to keep relations with the rest of the world amicable, or he would risk his entire people’s future. And although that was stressful, he had someone to help him. Amalia. Oh, how he loved her. He could never stop thinking about it when he looked at her. This made meetings a bit difficult at times. “Amalia,” Yugo said. She turned to look at him. He held his hand out. “Walk with me?” She took his hand. They walked out away from the bench. “Are you okay, Yugo?” “Amalia?” “What?” “I love your smile. The way your eyes close. How you talk to little kids who give you flowers on the street, you’re so nice to them, and so genuine, it really is beautiful.” “Yugo that is so sweet…” “Your patience…” “Yes?” “…Needs work.” “Yugo.” “I’m kidding!” “Thank you.” “…Or am I?” “YUGO!” He laughed as Amalia turned away and pouted. “Okay, I’ll apologize.” Yugo smiled. “Hmmm?” “I am sorry…” Yugo began walking up behind her as quietly as he could with the puddles surrounding them. “For?” Yugo sighed. “I am so very sorry for…THIS!” He picked her up and started to spin her around. “Put me down, put me down!” She laughed and smiled, for being spun in the rain is a lovely feeling. “Okay, okay!” Putting her down, they began their walk back to the castle. The rain got heavier until it was pouring. Amalia suddenly felt the rain let up. She looked up and saw blue. She smiled at Yugo, who used his cloak to keep her from getting completely soaked. As they neared the castle again, they looked at each other, whispering those words they always longed to say and hear. “I love you.”

#wakfu yugo #yugo #yugo wakfu #wakfu amalia #amalia wakfu #amalia sheran sharm #yugo sheran sharm #yumalia #yugo x amalia #wakfu #SO I HEARD Y'ALL WANTED POST-S4 YUMALIA FANFICS #YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE #I BRING YOU FOOD #IS 800 WORDS GOOD ENOUGH FOR A ONE-SHOT

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armandisdaddy · 1 year

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Femmé Fatale-Modern Au!Chp.2

[Pairing: Aemond Targaryen (Married Businessman) x Fem Reader ( Secretary) ]

[Content/Warnings:!!18 PLUS!!, Lust, Tension, Adultery, Toxic, Domestic Violence,p in v penetration, Biting, Hair pulling, oral masc receiving,Violence, Obsessive, Stalking, Mentions of infertility and Swearing. Arguments and talk of mental health.]

Working with Y/N was nothing short of the word intense. Aemond hadn’t touched her for the past few weeks feeling remorse and guilt for what he had did to Alys and getting away with it only made his conscious make the decision to stop it all together. Y/N on the other hand was beginning to get a bit frustrated it would’ve been different if he sucked at fucking her and then his rejection would not matter. But he broke something within her that night maybe it was her sense of reality or decision making; either way she was losing her mind. How could he ignore her? It was obvious they had more chemistry than the both of them originally anticipated and somehow he was ignoring she even existed unless he needed her however.

She decided to waltz into his office locking the door behind before speaking in a hushed but irritated tone. “I’m trying not to cause a scene in here. Is there any reason why you get to fuck me only a few weeks ago and now you’re treating me like a pile of shit or like I’m the plague. Aemond stared at the paper he was working on not even daring to look up he knew those piercing eyes and plump lips would get him every time. “We cannot continue with this affair, Ms. Y/N. I admit I took things too far with you and I apologize for that. If you have any grievances I will compensate you on any way that you see fit. But, I love my wife…as difficult as things have been I love her and she needs me. I cannot betray her again.” He wouldn’t even look at her and listening to this shit falling out his mouth enraged her even more.

“You’re being fucking serious!? You didn’t seem to love her with you face between my legs…or when you fucked me sensless in the back of my car! You love her!?” It was a good thing his office was sound proof . “You’re pathetic…I know you still think about it. I can tell you still want me just like I want you. I’ve been thinking about touching myself to the thought of you inside me again.” She pulled the papers away from him and slid onto the desk sitting directly in front of him. The heels of her shoes digging into his thighs. Painfully so but he liked it. He could smell her perfume and groaned softly as the thoughts of that night flipped through his mind. She lifted his face up by his chin and he melted into her hand once he saw that face. “I can’t…” it almost sound painful for him to say, but his hands found their way to her thighs slowly pushing underneath her skirt.

She smiled slowly unbuttoning her top and he stopped her not wanting her to get completely undressed. “I don’t want to fuck right now…we don’t have time.” Her pulled her closer pushing her back against the desk pulling one of her heels off her pulled one leg from her stocking. Exposing her pussy that shined once the light hit the glint of her slick. “You’re horny from this little argument…me too..” he moaned kissing her inner thigh smelling the scent of her pussy. It was intoxicating. She whimpered feeling the soft kisses move closer to her folds. He lapped at her pussy hungrily sucking on her mound ravenously. Fuck he missed the taste of her. She moaned under her breath trying not to alert anyone of what they were doing. He was beginning not to care anymore. Everyone knew his marriage with his wife was strained and they could see he was miserable regardless of how he tried to hide it.

“Aemond please…fuck me I want it.” She begged and even though he was pushing it he could not refuse such a request. He pressed the button to talk to Grace. “Yes, Mr. Targaryen?” He put his finger over his lips to alert her to be quiet. “Grace I’m taking an hour lunch in my office. I’m not accepting any appointments or meetings at this time.” Grace responded and now that that was handled it was back to making Ms. Y/N a mess. “So you said you want me to fuck you, yes?” She nodded while she watched him pull his cock from his pants slowly stroking it while he stared at her in front of him. “Come here and let me see that pretty little mouth of yours.” He sat down in his chair and let her climb underneath the table between his legs. She grabbed onto his thick length and began stroking it before she placed soft kisses along the shaft. Taking him into her mouth and quickly into her throat his hand cupped her face while she looked up at him. “I missed that beautiful face…” she felt warm inside and her pussy was beginning to throb. He held onto her hair bucking up into her mouth occasionally. She was covering his cock in saliva making a mess and he loved every minute of it. He pulled her up and bent her over the table smacking her pussy harshly before he stood behind her.

“How am I to pay any attention to my work with such a naughty secretary, Hm? You’re going to have to let me get some work done, pet.” He held onto her hips letting his already spit lubricated cock ease into her tight walls. He hissed softly and she whimpered feeling that familiar stretch. That’s exactly what she wanted. “If I give you what you want will you behave, Princess.” She nodded comp-licitly. “That’s a good fucking girl.” His pelvis crashing into her ass caused a rhythmic clapping sound to fill the room and it was such a glorious sound. He pulled her up putting a deep arch in her back as he pulled her arms back picking up the speed. Her legs shook uncontrollably and she could help but scream his name over and over. “It’s okay no one can hear you keep telling me how good I fuck you baby.” She creamed all over his cock and without warning he spilled his seed inside of her. He pulled out looking at her stuffed hole it was beautiful. He turned her to face him and he pulled her in for a kiss. His heart was skipping a beat was he falling for her. No he couldn’t be not with how this started. But he was unfortunately and it was going to be the beginning of his ruin. She was become more attached in love herself. Only 30 minutes had passed and he decided he wanted to go another round before his lunch was over.

Later in the day the office was closing he had let Y/N know he had to go home. He had a business trip coming up and he would be happy if she joined him. She obliged happily and they kissed once he walked her to her car. Arriving home his nose was hit with the smell of food cooking and he was greeted by his wife with a glass of wine. She was wearing a wine colored dress and her hair was curled and placed just right. He hadn’t seen her like this in years what the fuck was going on? “Hello my love.” Her tone was sweet and inviting and if he hadn’t just drained his balls a few hours before into his secretary he would’ve took the invitation. But as soon as he was enticed he was angry… “You haven’t so much as looked at me in two years and now you’re doing what? Making an attempt to save our marriage?” She was taken aback by his reaction she knew things between them had been strained but she didn’t realize how dire the situation was.

“Aemond I was just trying to have a good night…I know I have been present as of lately…” He cut her off and laughed. “Present you have been totally nonexistent…” He shifted slightly and she smelled an unfamiliar scent lingering on him and something clicked in her head. “Who the fuck is she? Why do you smell like another woman’s perfume, Aemond?” He thought of what had just transpired before he got home and he smiled to himself turning back to look at her and the gaslighting began. “Even if I was cheating on you…could you blame me? I mean we barely speak to each other. I haven’t held you in 3 years..Alys!!! Three fucking heart wrenching years…of you acting like I don’t exist and I’ve been patient with you. Lying to the world about us going to therapy sessions, trying to talk to you so you can heal. I’m not even worried about the sex I just wanted us to start taking the steps to getting you back. And now when it seems that I could give to fucks about this marriage you want to pull this shit?”

He was right, but she knew something else was going on. She was growing tired of his woe is me tale and threw the half full wine bottle at him screaming to the top of her lungs as his crashed into the table behind him. The glass broke and the tint of red was every where. “Do you think I wanted to be depressed for 3 years? I know I wasn’t doing my best but do you understand how it feels to be told we will never have kids…I can never give you that and I know more than anything you wanted children..I feel less than a woman.” He cut her off again downing that glass of wine. “No you’re wrong remember I told you more than anything I wanted you…I needed you to be alive with me kids or no kids you were my everything. Now I see no reason for this…I have a business trip planned in the next few days. I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight.”

He went upstairs took a shower and went to bed thinking about the next 7 days with Y/N. While Alys was crying in the kitchen losing her mind. See since she had lost their child she wasn’t really sane. Her therapist due to patient confidentiality she wasn’t allowed to explain the extent of her mental state she just prescribed her with the proper medication and it seemed like she was still depressed, but the psychosis she was experiencing was beginning to spiral out of control. Aemond had felt some remorse, from his actions tonight but his pride wouldn’t let him apologize he’d already gone too far with Y/N with their argument tonight. At this rate he was thinking of divorce it would be best for everyone in this situation . Even if Y/N and him didn’t last at least he’d be free.

To be continued…

Taglist- @dc-marvel-girl96 @namelesslosers @kckt88

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bowieandqueen11 · 1 year

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Celebrating Roman Roy’s Birthday Would Include...

Request: OOOOOH i have one if you don't mind. how about hcs for celebrating roman's birthday? cause as we know when it comes to roys there's inevitably Something Traumatic happening on every holiday, i just want him to have a good day with someone who loves him🥺

Love honestly so true he deserves someone to just love him without condition :( I am FEELING

Warning: strong language, implied eating disorder and mentions of childhood mental/physical abuse!

(I do not own Succession or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @bettercallgerri.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Roman Roy decided very early on the day to make an incredibly sensible decision. For the next twenty three and a half hours, he was going to ignore his phone every time it started vibrating in his jacket pocket, and irritated the skin against his breast. He was going to squeeze his eyes shut, and pick at his fingernails when at one in the afternoon, on the dot, his sister would send exactly the same generic fruit basket for his birthday as she did the previous year. He would crinkle his nose in irritation when the eldest Roy sent him a comic voicemail about how ‘he was still that little pup that threw a fish at him’ during their camping trip, despite his age.

And worst of all, and perhaps the most difficult for Roman Roy, he wasn’t going to feel depressed once about how his father had forgotten his birthday again. Well, not until he received the stereotypical rushed job of a blank card and sloppy signature of his father typed at the bottom the next day, sent as if he were signing a cheque. He wrote it off as being just another transaction: signing away all the love he owed Roman, justifying it as the price one has to pay for success. Only then would Roman allow himself to excuse off to the bathroom for a moment, before curling up into a ball and crying into his knees as he had done for every birthday he could remember.

He just wanted to spend one day: one single, solitary, sought after, scorned day to spend with the one person in his life he had always loved without hesitation. With the only person who truly saw him. Who loved him for who he was right now, and who, you knew, he should be. So, he decided the rest of his family could go fuck themselves for a meagre twenty four hours, while he made the most of snuggling up to you in bed.

Roman’s always been a naturally restive man at heart, and so it wasn’t long until that little goblin smirk of his came peering past the duvet and over your shoulder.

‘You know what?’, he murmured, resting his elbow by his head so he could turn and lie facing you properly. ‘Fuck it. We should just, I don’t fucking know, stay here all day until we have become one with the comforter.’

‘As lovely as that sounds’, you stretch up and groan, slapping Roman’s hand away as he reaches up to tickle under your armpit. ‘I have plans, I’m afraid.’

‘You- fucking- what? You have plans, are you fucking me right now?’ For a second he jumps up, his eyes squinting as he stares at you crestfallen. But then he sees the smile you’re trying to hide twitch at the corner of your lips, and he falls back down onto the mattress unceremoniously. While he reaches around and tries to thump you in the face with his pillow, you take the opportunity to wrestle his arm and loop it around your own. He gladly gives in, settling down next to you again as you continue: ‘I may have plans, but you’re very welcome to join in with them. If you’re nice to me, that is.’

‘I’m always fucking nice to you’, Roman mutters, but he reaches up to accept the kiss you’re trying to place on the side of his stubble. ‘Good’, you turn back to look at the alarm clock on your bedside table, ‘because we have to be up and out in approximately fifteen minutes.’

‘You are full of fucking surprises, you know that? God, I love you.’

Ever since you and Roman were seven years old, and his father had hit him for the first time after sneaking you up the side of his bedroom window for a sleepover his father had strictly forbidden, as he deemed Roman getting up bright and early for his fencing lessons the next morning to be far more important, you had kept a list in your head of all the mundane things Roman had been punished for as a child. Every birthday since then, you tried to strike one off the list, and this year you had decided to plan ahead, and asked Karolina to hire out a park for you a couple of states away for a water fight.

It was silly, and stupid, and childish, but when Roman sauntered into the kitchen after his shower and saw you trying to shove pretty hefty super soakers into your backpack, his face lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning. Hence the two of you flying off in your own private helicopter, trying to place a little wriggle room between Roman and the rest of the Roys; you felt almost ridiculous for a moment, whizzing past buildings and waving treelines with only a couple of water guns on you, but Roman was gripping onto your fingers so tightly the whole journey that the embarrassment flooded away. The whole time, his foot was tapping against the edge of yours like a wasp’s sting, his bottom lip nearly bloody from how hard he was chewing it. Whether it was from anticipation, or whether he had the foresight to anticipate the abuse he was going to garner from his father for the wasted journey and tabloid pictures you didn’t know. You held his hand back just as tightly, praying for him to have just one happy day.

Thankfully, once you arrived, Roman literally leapt out of the helicopter like some kind of Doberman. He shrugged off his coat and threw it back into the cabin, before rustling in the bag to grab his loot. Before you could even question what he was doing, a chilled gust of water came splatting you straight up the face, and hurtling you backwards. Let’s just say, Roman’s high pitched hyena laugh was heard all around the fringes of the daisy-strewn field, as he went skidding across the blades like a wanted criminal.

Sometimes, you would hold your hands up as if in defeat, and he would come strutting over to you with his gun in the air and one hand on his waist. Stating that you had run out of water, you wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face as he came and tried to pull your hands behind your back. He walked you both backwards until you were pinned against the tree, and although he’s doing his best to look all sexy, and mysterious, and sheriff like as he tries to unlatch your fingers slowly from the triggers, it was a huge mistake. Using the distraction, you pull his own gun from him and pull his shirt forward, spraying water straight down his bare chest.

‘Oh, you fucker!’

If anyone could see the two of you: sprinting about like children in the mud, not caring as bits of wet dirt skidded up and stained your suit shirts. Parading through the flowers, laughter pealing like bells wherever you went. They would think you were free, and perhaps, for a moment, you both were.

At one point Roman comes swinging down from an oak tree and scares the living absolute fuck out of you. For a second he looks afraid: that remnant of his father’s ‘love’ making him feel sick to his stomach, but that is quickly alleviated when you come over and trace down the slight stubble of his neck. Your pointer finger comes to trace up his chin, and then over the top of his lip, before you lean up and gently melt your lips against his awaiting ones.

The two of you decide (once you’ve managed to unlatch spider monkey from you) to swing your legs up over the tree branch and sit up there for a while, like you used to do when you were teenagers sickly sweet in a hidden, reciprocated love. Back in the days when Roman would carry himself, wounded and crying, to trudge around his father’s estate and find wherever your newest hidie-hole from the world was. It didn’t matter if it was underneath one of the neighbouring orchard trees, or out sitting on a lounge chair on his bedroom balcony, or tucked up inside one of the pool sheds, hidden between unused surfboards and half-chewed pool noodles, Roman had a sixth sense when it came to finding you. You, too, always knew he was coming: mainly from the sound of impeding sniffles, and you had your arm out and ready for him to come curl up into. Against his side, he would crest himself like the fallen son, trying to make himself as small a target as possible against your chest.

Sometimes you would tuck a book out from your bag and read to him. Other times, the two of you would just chatter like soft sunlight amidst the dark blots of his father’s pristine possessions. Most of all, Roman would usually fall into an uneasy sleep against your neck, and would only rise again once the irritated call of his newest nanny rang out from the veranda.

It had taken him a while to realise he could feel safe in your arms, rather than just hide away, but when he did, he would rest his head on your shoulder and wish he could stay alone with you forever.

So he was more than delighted to re-enact his favourite parts of his childhood with you, even if he can’t fully settle his whole heart into it. You try your best to seem as nonchalant as ever: leaning your head back until it scratches on the bark, swinging one leg over until it catches the sharp gleam of the cresting mid-afternoon sun. Roman’s hunched over, sitting in between your legs, and although he’s being set alight with some kind of giddiness that he can freely be with you now without having to hide, his body’s response is still set to flight or fight. His fingers dance over your legs like a skimming dragonfly, running over the inseams before landing on your ankles and squeezing.

Becoming over alert of how his eyes keep darting away from you, as if he’s still awaiting the strike he knows is punishment for daring to show love towards anyone, you reach out for him. After an awkward moment of manoeuvring, the two of you manage to reach an agreement on how to sit: you still leaning back, and Roman now lying against your chest, with his legs straight out against the skittish twigs. He looks ethereal against the soft rolls of honey that seemed to drape around the two of you, the crimson burnt fringes of the leaves protecting him from the outside world. And yet Roman still jumps when he feels your fingers brush against the edge of his face, as if you had been trying to burn him.

It’s taken time. It takes time. It will take time. But to you, using all the understanding and patience in the world would be worth it, if it allowed Roman Roy to live. So you just hold him around the waist, and wait for him to become comfortable. You whisper quotes from your favourite books into his ears, and the sky slowly begins to roll over with lavender and a deep blushing maroon, you tell him about the new memes online from Connor’s campaign. He snorts at that, almost twitching awake in your grasp, but you appreciate the way he tries by leaning backwards and languidly blinking, pressing a brushing kiss against your bottom lip.

Before the two of you return home, he decides he wants to see how ‘the peasants live’ by eating in a normal restaurant. Although he shudders at your implication that he’s turning into Cousin Greg, it ends up being one of the happiest dining experiences of his life. Roman had always had a difficult relationship with food: between his mother’s teasing about his looks at the dining table when he was a toddler, to his father smacking him for bad table manners, to every adult dinner party revolving around sub-plots and back-stabbing, he’d found it all difficult to swallow. Being with you, thankfully, made the experience a little easier.

He even found himself laughing when the sushi you had tried to feed him with your chopsticks came flopping down onto the table in a mushed heap of rice and wasabi, and the joy didn’t leave his face as you came up to cradle his face and wipe bits of salmon away from the lines of his lips. The whole time, he was incredibly aware of how carelessly he allowed his knee to rest against your own; he was conscious of how other customers might notice the way he held your hand over the bar stools between courses, but for the first time in his life, he allowed himself the freedom not to care.

One of the waitresses makes a comment about how sweet the two of you look together on the way out, and oh my god does Roman ride that high the whole way back to the park. Cue him being a full peachy, blubbering, hyper mess, with giggles only a dog could hear slipping out of his mouth every ten metres down the pavements.

You give him his present when you get home: you’d collated over the last couple of months some of your favourite pictures, both of you and Roman over the years, as well as full family shots. You had asked Connor, Kendall and Shiv to add some of their favourite memories in the margins of the shots, until the black and white photobook was bursting with neatly looped letters and little drawings of dicks (kindly added by Ken.)

Roman chokes when he sees it. He fists his hand into his mouth, shrugging as his eyes widen, brimming with tears as he flips through the pages. He starts getting over hyper, repeating over and over and over again that ‘yeah, yeah- it’s nice, I like it’, because he thinks it’s some kind of trick. Because he can’t handle the thought of his siblings loving him without some sort of condition. Because just one kind word it’s what he’s been seeking from them his whole life, and your eyes widen in horror as you realise why he’s taking a step backwards. Why his bottom lip is jutting out. Why he looks like a noose is tightening around his neck. You glance down, and you can see it in all the pictures: in every frame, his siblings are looking dead-on, deadpan into the camera, and he’s glancing up at them. In the pictures with you, he’s clearly choking down the love that’s bursting out of his every being as he gazes at you in every. single. one.

It guts you to realise it’s taking you so long to reciprocate just a little of that love that’s been suffocating him his whole life.

He regresses into Logan Roy mode, and it breaks your heart all the more; he wanders over to the cabinet to pour a tumbler of whiskey for the two of you, before settling himself down on the edge of the settee. He pulls out his phone, getting prepared to come back to himself: to scroll through the news channel and chat with you about the events he’d missed while taking a few hours off for himself.

Yet he doesn’t complain when you tenderly take his hand, choosing instead not to let him wallow. You lead him over to one of the armchairs over looking the cityscape, pushing on his chest until he collapses down into it. With a content sigh, he watches you go choose a book from the collection you had curated by the television, before coming back to squeeze yourself in beside him. He’s half sitting on your lap, but neither of you really give a stuff as he winds his arms around your neck and settles against your heartbeat. With his head on your collar bone, and your finger mindlessly drawing patterns in the tufts of hair behind his ear, you begin to read aloud to him. From time to time you peer behind the spine and catch his eye, and it makes you fumble over your words a little when you spot him. He’s gazing up at you as if you were perfection incarnate, and for the first time in his sorrowful life, Roman Roy begins his next year on this planet with one hopeful thought smacking around the inside of his head: perhaps this year, he won’t have to suffer just for being Roman.

#succession #succession imagine #roman roy #roman roy imagine #roman roy x reader #roman roy headcanons #kieran culkin #x reader #succession fanfic #succession fanfiction #kendall roy #shiv roy #logan roy #connor roy

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serasfanfiction · 4 months

Text

"Lucy!"

Lucifer braced himself. Even with the preparation, Beelzebub hit him like a ton of bricks. He wrapped his arms around her neck, his wings coming out as she lifted them both off the ground and spun them around.

"You're here," she exclaimed, squeezing him tight enough that he could feel his ribs protesting. "You have missed so many parties! I thought we'd never see you again."

Lucifer giggled as her fur tickled his neck as she nuzzled his cheek. "Hiya, Bee." He instinctively tried to protect his neck from the cold, wet feeling of her nose as she snuffled his hair. "I, uh, had some things to work through."

Beelzebub bared her teeth, growling low in her chest. "I still can't believe she left! What a bitch!"

Lucifer wilted, Lilith's leaving a raw enough wound that all mentions of it making him want curl up and cry.

His sister paused, gauging his response. She brought them down to the ground, her hold turning into something more gentle. "I'm sorry, Lucy." She gave him a jostle. "You totally deserved better."

Lucifer didn't believe that for a moment, but he didn't want to spoil the mood anymore than he already had. Over his head, his siblings shared a glance. He hated they looked so worried, even as it soothed something along the jagged edges of his self-loathing.

"It's fine." It wasn't, but he was thoroughly subscribing to the delusion that if he said it enough times, it might make it true.

"You can talk to us if you need to." Beelzebub gave him another squeeze, almost as tight as the previous one. "You may be our big brother, but we're still your siblings."

Lucifer blinked, his eyes stinging. He looked up over the mass of her colorful hair to see Asmodeus watching them. It went without saying that the offer was extended from him as well. Lucifer couldn't bring himself to nod. The promise would feel disingenuous, as he was unsure if he was in a place to ever take them up on them offer. Sadness flickered across Asmodeus's face, knowing him too well.

Beelzebub seemed to understand as well. She pulled away, giving his shoulders one last squeeze before she let him go. She turned her sights on the sinner in the room, floating over to get a better view of him. By the time Lucifer was sure he'd blinked away any incriminating evidence of his emotional slip and was certain it was safe to turn around, Beelzebub had already reached her target.

"And who is this cute dear?" It was difficult to determine if she was using the endearment or the animal species name. With her, it could be either. She made a circuit around Alastor, coming up and over his head to hover at eye level with him. "Is this the guy you were talking about?"

Lucifer sputtered, dismayed. "Wait, what?" He spun around on Asmodeus, pointing at him. "When did you even talk about this? I heard that phone call!" It had done right in front of him! How did he miss that?

Fizzarolli held up his phone to show a series of text messages he couldn't read from this distance but could guess at their content. Judging from the smirk on his lover's face, it wasn't hard who had told him to do it.

Traitor! The whole lot of them!

Alastor turned on the charm, although unlike with Asmodeus and Fizz, it appeared to be at least somewhat genuine in this case. "Please, call me Alastor. It's a pleasure to meet you, your highness." If he was irritated with her fluttering around him, he didn't let it show. "From what I've heard, the famous Queen Bee's parties sound like all the rage!"

Beelzebub placed a finger to her chin, squinting her eyes as if racking her brain. "Alastor?" She said the name slowly, considering. She set herself down on the ground, studying him intently. Lucifer noted she had shrunk down in size to match the sinner's height. "The radio host?"

The redhead's demeanor became more amicable, his ego stroked, confirming jovially, "Why yes! It's an honor to hear someone such as yourself has heard of my show." He shot Lucifer a smug look, which in turn earned him a renewed glare.

The Sin of Gluttony waved her fingers at him. "I'm always looking for new music to play during parties." She danced to an imaginary beat, swaying her hips and doing a little twirl. She pointed in his general direction as she spun back around. "You've got good taste in music, if a little out of date."

Alastor wasn't offended by her critique, likely having heard it before. Perhaps emboldened by her positive engagement with him, he offered one of his own, "Perhaps, but music today sounds so..." He paused, searching for the right word. After a moments debate, he settle reluctantly on, "Repetitive."

From out of nowhere, a short clip of music played, emanating from Alastor's direction. The clip was followed by another clip, from a different song, and then a third one. They were all obviously different songs, but they did all sound remarkable the same.

"Wait." Beelzebub's eyes had widened. Alastor paused his flipping through channels on a random song. A male singer with the kind of voice that could make anyone swoon was singing about how he took his whiskey and coffee and how the subject of the song was 'too sweet' for him. She gave Alastor another circle around. "You can generate music yourself?" She clasped her hands together in delight.

The redhead cut off the music, amused by her response. He clarified, "I can act like a radio, my dear. I sadly can't produce music out of nowhere."

Beelzebub threw her older brother a grin over her shoulder. "Lucy, you don't mind if I steal your partner later, do you?"

Lucifer, who had been watching all of this with stiffly crossed arms and an ever darkening glare, scoffed. He just knew this was going to become an issue and already could see the headlines come the next morning. "He's not my anything, Bee. Really."

To Alastor's discernment, Beelzebub sniffed the air far too close to the sinner for her to be doing anything other than catching his scent. Vindictively, Lucifer couldn't help but smirk and think to himself that, yeah, it's not as much fun when someone does it to him, was it? Little taste of his own medicine.

Then she asked, "Then why is his scent all over you?"

Lucifer's hands flew to his hair, belatedly realizing how telling the movement was. He didn't care. What the hell? He'd not only cleaned up last night with magic, he'd even gone for a shower out of the desperate need to swath himself in the comforting smells of his favorite shampoo and body wash. Nothing of Alastor should have remained.

Alastor had that pleased as punch grin on his insufferable, punchable face.

Lucifer hissed like the snake everyone called him, angerly pointing a finger at the asshole. "Take him! I don't want him!"

"Now now, your Majesty, what would Charlie do without her business partner?" Alastor's tone was all sunshine and roses, as if anyone would believe that for an instant.

Behind him, Lucifer heard Fizzarolli whispering to Ozzie, almost (but not quite) too soft him to hear, "Stealing his daughter's business partner? That's ballsy."

Lucifer must have looked one wrong move away from setting the whole building on fire because Beelzebub came floating over to him, saying, "Lucy, why don't we get you that new top?" She placed her hands on his shoulders and directed him out of sight of the main source of all his current woes. "I've always wanted to try some outfits with you!"

"It still needs to be formal," he said, imagining all the outfits she'd worn over the years. They always managed to be both with the times while also being on the cutting edge of what was appropriate.

She pinched his cheek. "Yes, yes, because you're somehow covering up more rather than less." She didn't ask nor did she attempt to find out why. He was ridiculously grateful for it. She produced a slew of garments from her own personal subspace dimension.

Lucifer tried not to sweat over the sheer quantity of them.

Alastor hadn't been wrong when he'd said they had time before the main event, but they didn't have enough for the quantity Beelzebub had brought. Lucifer was able to eliminate roughly half based on the fact they they did fit his aesthetic. His sister didn't look surprised by the choices he outright eliminated, leading him to believe they were there simply because she would have found enjoyment out of seeing him wearing them.

He held up one top from his remaining pile. It was a two-piece top, consisting of a fancy button-up shirt with poofy sleeves and a sleeveless waistcoat that could be laced up at the waist for a more form-fitting look. It wasn't bad, he was so going to steal it for a later day, but there was something... boyish about it. He eyed his sister. "Are you trying to tell me something?" He shook the garment for emphasis.

Beelzebub wasn't even trying to look sheepish. "Only that you'd look adorable in it!"

No one had called him adorable since he'd still had an unbroken halo and a full set of white wings. To his face, anyway. "You do remember I'm not a doll for you to play dress up with, right?"

She picked up a top with a similar vibe to it. "But you're as pretty as one, so how could I resist?"

Alastor looked like he'd swallowed a lemon or one of Asmodeus's more phallic candies. Lucifer filed that thought away for another time.

He sent the top away to his wardrobe in his room at the hotel with a small spark of magic the moment Beelzebub wasn't looking. Listening to the conversations going on around him with only half an ear, he snagged another potential choice, only to toss it aside almost immediately. A knock at the door brought an issue for Asmodeus and Fizzarolli, calling them away with the promise they'd be back shortly.

Beelzebub and Alastor became engaged in a discussion about music, not quite arguing which time period was better. Beelzebub had all of human history to pull from, but it was quickly established she preferred anything someone could dance to.

Alastor had a soft spot for Jazz, as it was the music that followed him throughout his early adult years to the end of his life. He admitted to liking some of the music that evolved from Jazz, such as swing music.

He was down to the final two potential choices - a toss up between a very high neck coat that flared in the sleeves and a more form fitting, corseted, button up tailcoat - when he heard Beelzebub's delighted exclamation of: "You can tune into Earth stations? Have you heard of XM radio?"

The seraphim blinked up at them, as Alastor responded with, "But of course, your highness! Everyone loves a radio station without commercials!"

Lucifer wondered at the full extent of Alastor's reach. Hell was supposed to be cut off from Earth and Heaven, save for specific circumstances. It was one thing to use a crystal or spell to open a portal to Earth. To walk in the dreams of humans as they slept to communicate and influence them. It was another thing entirely to actively reach through that barrier as if it wasn't there to begin with, tuning into any radio station on Earth. Something Alastor could apparently do with ease, as demonstrated by the sound of dance music, something heavily remixed, filling the air.

Beelzebub made a noise that could only be called a squeal, her fingers twitching like she was ready to make off with the sinner the first chance she got.

So distracted by the display, Lucifer didn't immediately notice that one of his hands were empty. Fingers flexing around air, he narrowed his eyes when he found the tailcoat in the grasp of one of Alastor's shadows.

"You were taking so long to choose, your Majesty," Alastor explained innocently. "I thought I might help you choose."

Feeling spiteful, Lucifer snapped the fingers of his free hand, simultaneously sending the coat with the flared sleeves away to his wardrobe while replacing his cashmere roll neck with the tailcoat.

Alastor, the little shit, merely smirked at him. Lucifer didn't like the fact that he couldn't tell if he had done exactly what the sinner had wanted him to do or not.

The doors to the office opened, signaling the return of Asmodeus and Fizzarolli. Both of their shoulders slumped in relief when the door closed firmly behind them.

"Someone blow something up again?" Beelzebub asked, sympathetically.

"I swear, this group can't go one day without blowing something up!" Asmodeus sighed, deep and long suffering. "They didn't even have the excuse of it being a prototype."

Both of his siblings made consoling hums at him. Asmodeus' attention turned to his older brother, a smile breaking out on his face when he saw Lucifer had changed clothes. "Lucy! Marvelous choice!" He paused, tilting his head. "Not really the colors I would expect from you."

That was mostly because Lucifer hadn't had a chance to fiddle with it. He smiled back, waving a hand over the top. The original coat had been forest green, with black buckles, and silver buttons. Forest green bleed out into pure white. The corset center of the coat was now his favored pink, while the buttons and buckles took on a shiny golden hue. He pondered the length of the tail, unsure if he found it too long or not. Deciding to leave it for now, he conjured his hat and cane from his room, topping off his outfit as he placed his crown on his head.

Feeling more himself, despite the change in wardrobe, he grinned. "What do you think?"

Asmodeus, Beelzebub, and Fizzarolli all gave approving thumbs up.

Alastor gave him a once over, smirking and unimpressed. "I suppose it's a little better than that ringleader ensemble you're so obsessed with."

Lucifer's eyebrow twitched, stalking over to the sinner. "You're on thin ice, bitch," he said saccharine sweet through gritted teeth.

Alastor watched him approach, his smirk a challenge.

Lucifer met it with one of his own. "Now I think it's your turn for a make over." He gave the sinner a lazy once over, pointedly lingering on the tattered ends of the redhead's coat. "Can't have my date in anything other than the best."

Alastor's expression darkened, almost imperceptivity. "I can't say I know what you mean, your Majesty. I always look my best." This last part was said with the undertone of a warning, not for an agreement, but to back off.

Lucifer considered the response. If anyone could recognize someone's pride having been slighted, it was the Sin of Pride himself. Alastor's pride had been poked at, but the seraphim wasn't immediately certain why. The sinner did indeed dress to impress every day, the haircut and the tattered ends of his coat too out of place not to be anything other than deliberate. So why was he upset?

The answer came from the depths he liked to keep the memories he acquired from reading one of his people's sins: the foundation of Alastor's public persona was one large middle finger to a world that had held him to a higher standard than everyone else around him, and yet, had still found him wanting at the end of the day. It was as much a defense as a way to gain a leg up against the people in power around him.

Lucifer took a step back, lessening the pressure of his approach. He asked, "Do you have anything for a formal occasion?"

A little of the tension left Alastor's stance, now that he didn't feel that he was potentially going to be accosted. "Events in Hell don't usually require a more ...formal dress attire." In other words: sinners dressed however they were going to dress and that was that. One was lucky if they chose to get dressed at all.

Still leaving all the choice in the redhead's court, the blond asked, "Can I make you a tuxedo? If you don't like it, I'll change it back." He paused, before tacking on, "I promise." It wasn't a formal deal, but he tried to keep his promises where he could.

Alastor seemed to be weighing his options, his fingers tapping against the top of his microphone. He could chose to take the offer or he could chose to go as he was, nothing more nothing less. The sinner approached on his own, pacing around his king, his gaze equal parts considering and lost in thought. "Something in my current colors," he finally responded. "If I don't like it, you change it."

Lucifer chose to be pleased that he was being given access to Alastor's person. When the redhead came to a stop in front of him, he raised his hand, keeping it in eye sight the whole time. Alastor picked up on his caution, something fond taking root in his expression. The moment Lucifer's fingers touched the helm of Alastor's sleeve, a golden flame sparked into existence.

Pure creation magic spread like a wave across the red suit, transforming it as it went along. Pin stripes were replaced by red wool of the same color, fine black thread woven into the fabric to cast the illusion that the fabric was darker from some angles. The lapels of the coat were folded back to reveal a completely black interior. A vest and pair of pants of similar design took shape. Underneath the vest, a pure white button up shirt stood out, bright and stark against the otherwise darker colors. The only thing Lucifer hadn't touched was Alastor's black bow tie.

He tiled his head, feeling there was something missing. An idea, born of random inspiration and the desire to uphold his promise to his daughter, took shape in Lucifer's mind. In one hand, a flame of creation magic appeared, raw and undirected. In the other, he formed a flame of pure hellfire. Holding the idea in his mind, he slammed his palms together. The two flames intermingled, eating at each other as they fought to either consume or transform the other. Lucifer bent the two forces to his will, forcing them to come together and take on the shape he desired: something wholly new.

When he opened his hands, sitting on his palms was a gem, one of a kind. As it tilted, the surface reflected back at him like black glass, until it settled to reveal a light within it, gleaming of hellfire. If one were to blow out all of the blue flames that lit the office, the gem would continue to give off a glow of its own. Most importantly, woven into the very fabric of the gem were powerful protection spells, ones that would protect the wearer from someone as strong as the Sins of the Goetia. It might even protect them from an archangel, although not for long.

If Alastor had been wearing this during the previous extermination, it would have likely given Adam a moment's pause. More than enough for the sinner to escape unscathed. Not that Alastor would have run, but still.

The sinner in question eyed the gem as the Devil raised it to his bowtie, securing it in place. Alastor shouldn't have the power necessary to tell what it really was. Some of the Goetia might. Anyone of them that did would know what kind of statement he was making by placing it there. It was a more physical reminder that this sinner was under his protection and he wouldn't take kindly to anyone trying to kill him.

Asmodeus and Beelzebub could tell what it was. The former was silently laughing at him, while the latter covered her mouth to hide her grin, for all the good it did.

Lucifer ignored them. He was merely keeping his promise, nothing more.

Alastor tapped the gem, the chime unlike anything he'd ever heard before. His hand traveled down his sleeve. "Wool?" There was a slight crease to his brows, unsure with the assessment.

Lucifer didn't have the slightest clue how he could tell, since the redhead was still wearing his gloves. Was Alastor pressing the cloth into his arms and could tell that way? The blonde took a step back, nodding. "Yes, vicuña wool, to be exact."

The sinner went still, his ears ramrod straight. "Vicuña wool?" His eyes were boring right into Lucifer's, something heavy in his gaze.

The blond found it difficult to tell if the reaction was a good one or a bad one. He'd chosen it because humans seemed to place great value on the wool for it's rareness and the quality of the fabric it produced. Once only for kings, only the wealthy could afford more than one garment. He largely only knew this because Asmodeus was a fan of the fabric and had raved about it on the odd occasion.

Lucifer waggled his eyebrows. "I said I'd dress you in the best, did I not?" He still felt there was something missing, not from Alastor's outfit this time, but his own. Hand aglow with his magic, he met the redhead's gaze and held it as he ran his hand down the center of the tailcoat, transforming the pink section into red.

The same red as Alastor's favored suit and current tuxedo.

The sinner huffed, the brewing conflict passing for something more possessive. He raised a hand, a single claw tapping the fabric that hid the mark he'd left. "Isn't matching color schemes as much a statement as this would have been?" His expression stated he thought Lucifer was a ridiculous creature, but he was bemused regardless.

Lucifer caught his wrist, holding on long enough to pull it away. "Didn't agree to be your property," he repeated, teeth bared in light warning.

Alastor wasn't affected, as always.

They were both startled by the loud clapping of someone's hands. All heads turned to Beelzebub, who was grinning brightly at them all. "Alright! Fashion crisis averted!" She slung her arm around her older brother's shoulders in a hug, squeezing tightly before releasing him just as quickly. "I will see all of you at the party! Got to get ready myself and then pick up the boyfriend and girlfriend!!"

She portalled out of the room before anyone could get any remark out. Lucifer mouthed 'boyfriend and girlfriend,' bewildered as to when that had happened.

Fizzarolli blinked after her. "Do you think she's going to bring anything fun with her?"

Asmodeus gave him a very light push, little more than a nudge. "Fizzy! We do not want everyone to get black out drunk in the first hour!"

The imp gave his partner a deadpan look. "Just because they can't hold their liquor doesn't mean the rest of us have to suffer."

Asmodeus chuckled as he made his way over to Alastor and Lucifer. "Lucy, brother, would you make a portal to our home?" He pulled out his cellphone. "By the time the limo arrives, we should be ready."

Fizzarolli snorted. "Speak for yourself." He dramatically pressed a hand to his forehead, demonstrating his flexibility as he swooned backwards over his partner's shoulder. "Some of us have to put a little effort into it to be this beautiful."

"Aw, Fizzy, baby, you look amazing no matter what you wear." Asmodeus followed this statement up by running a finger along the underside of the imp's chin, causing Fizzarolli to giggle.

Being the sin of Pride, Lucifer could sense the dual war in his little brother's chosen partner. Fizzarolli did indeed have his pride, he couldn't be a performer of his caliber without it. He knew his talent and his worth, but underneath it lay a wound so deep it threatened to overwhelm all of it. Asmodeus' words were an ongoing healing balm, like cool, clean water over a burn.

It was... sweet.

Lucifer swallowed the envy he felt watching them, missing the warmth that came from a loving relationship. Love looked good on Asmodeus and Fizzarolli was certainly flourishing from it as well.

He opened the portal, tempted to make a comment about them just using his own limo. It was practically Charlie's at this point for all that he ever used it. When one could just teleport or portal or simply fly to their destination, why wait to drive there? The suggestion died in his throat as Asmodeus passed him, pushing him along with them. The weight of his hand was heavy, as if he could keep his older brother there with him just by holding on to him.

Lucifer supposed he could stick around a little longer and ride with them. Leave the public guessing when he was going to pop up and from where.

He glanced over his shoulder to make certain Alastor was still with them. The sinner was stepping through the portal, taking in the new room they had travelled to. There wasn't anywhere truly 'safe' to jump to unannounced, if Asmodeus was at home, but he usually kept high traffic, potentially public areas clean of anything suggestible if he was going to work. Lucifer chose the kitchen because it was as safe as anywhere else, and he and Alastor would be able to get any snacks or drinks for themselves while they waited.

Not that Alastor was likely to have much of an appetite after his indulgence the day before.

It pleased Lucifer on a petty, vindictive level to see the taller figure in this particular setting. Everything was set up to be a comfortable height for someone as tall as Asmodeus. The counter tops likely were too tall for Fizzarolli to see over, if he never took advantage of his stretchy limbs to add on some height. Alastor's head and shoulders might clear the countertops, but there was no way he was reaching any of the top shelves without going full eldritch demon or without the assistance of his shadows.

What did the foot the redhead have on him matter when they were all lacking in height in this setting?

Lucifer closed the portal behind the sinner. Asmodeus and Fizzarolli wandered off deeper into the dwelling with the former telling them to "Make yourselves at home!" as they went off, likely to their bedroom. The king listened to their voices for as long as he could, keeping a watchful eye out as Alastor explored the new space.

He smirked upon seeing the exact moment the sinner realized the tips of his ears weren't on level with the bottom of the cabinets, the sinner lazily blinking at them like he found their placement ridiculous. He might have asked if Alastor needed any assistance, if not for the fact that even he could tell that would be walking right into a short joke. Instead, he simply conjured a pair of glasses as he settled in at the table taking up the center of the kitchen. "Care for anything to drink while we wait?" He filled his own with juice, waving the second empty one in invitation.

Alastor peered over at him from where he had moved on to inspecting a potted floral arrangement made up of one Lust Ring's indigenous flora, a plant with blue leaves tipped with purple. His eyes tracked the movement of the glass. "Wouldn't cake be more beneficial in this instance, sire?" His grin extended from ear to ear, teeth alight from within. "Wouldn't want to get any shorter, now would we?"

The reference almost went over his head. Of course he'd somehow find a way to throw in a short joke. Lucifer leaned an elbow on the table, crossing his legs. "Please, I'm hardly the white rabbit." He placed the glass on table. Alastor could take it or leave it. "And you're certainly no Alice."

Alastor abandoned the plant in favor of stalking over to Lucifer and the table. He tapped the lip of the glass, and then abandoned as just as uninteresting as the plant. The floor to ceiling window on the other side of the kitchen, however, seemed to catch his interest. "No," he agreed. Moving as if entranced, he made his way over to it. "I've always thought the Cheshire Cat suited be better."

He was certainly as annoying one, anyway.

Lucifer could only guess how different the blues and pinks of the Lust Ring must look after nearly a hundred years of the constant red of the Pride Ring. The radio host, in his own shades of red and black, stood out like a sore thumb, almost like a reminder of which of the rings he belonged to. His ears were completely forward, intent on catching the soft patter of the rain against the glass.

"Would his Majesty be willing to answer a little question?" Alastor met his gaze through his reflection against the glass.

Lucifer swirled his juice. His first impulse was to put stipulations on the exchange. Milking information out of the sinner usually cost something, why shouldn't getting information from the Devil cost the same? But Lucifer didn't have the energy to stoop to the sinner's level at the moment, so he decided to go with generous. "Depends on the question."

To a point.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't for Alastor to ask, "Does it always rain in the Lust Ring?"

"Yes?" Lucifer was more than a little baffled over why such a thing might interest Alastor, until he remembered that the only rain in the Pride Ring was acid rain. It tainted the water until the only safe sources were those kept safe from any access to the open sky. Anyone unlucky enough to be out in it would likely receive some nasty burns. "Oh, it's not acid rain. Only the Pride Ring has acid rain." The Greed Ring was certainly working it's way towards it, though.

Black tipped, red ears twisted 90 degrees around, Alastor being more focused on the little king than the rain. "And what makes the Pride Ring so special?"

The blonde gave a low grumble of disapproval. "Seems like you have more than one question."

Alastor pointed the head of his staff out into the room, circling it around to showcase it's emptiness. "Would you prefer I poke around your little brother's kitchen to pass the time?" His tone suggested he would absolutely make sure to mess with something, just to be a nuisance.

Lucifer had half a mind to let him do it, just to see what would happen if he did. He sighed, put upon by choices that had led him to babysitting a sinner in his little brother's home. "Hell didn't look much like anything when we got here." He put his drink down, loosing all interest in it. "It wasn't originally meant to be our prison. It was just convenient to throw us into it."

It had been decided from the moment Eve had bitten into the apple that anyone who allowed themselves to be consumed by the Root of All Evil's influences would be tossed down to join her in her prison. Foreseeing it would get bad, God had decided that Lucifer's punishment was to be trapped with the worst of the worst, forced to watch all the ways his decision had gone terribly wrong.

"When my siblings and I recovered, we joined our powers together to create the other rings." He nodded to the window, more a nod to the Rings as a whole than just Lust in general. "Lilith and I stayed in Pride. She wanted to be with her people." He paused. Amended, albeit grudgingly, "Our people. My siblings each headed south and claimed a ring for themselves."

He was a bit fuzzy on the early details following their arrival in Hell. Lucifer had been terribly injured in the fight leading up to their imprisonment, and then further injured protecting Lilith from the Fall. His siblings, each dealing with their own injuries, hadn't been able to lend a helping hand. The moment Lucifer had been recovered enough to help with making their new home more comfortable, he'd proceeded to push too hard, too fast, creating the Seven Rings all at once rather than one at a time. They had tried to warn him to take it easy, to slow down, but he had been desperate to do something right by his family. Even with the added help of his siblings' power, he'd gone down hard.

By the time he regained consciousness, the first sinners had already begun to arrive and his siblings had already moved into their respective rings. Everything had been decided with very little impute from him. Considering how exhausted he'd been, both physically and emotionally, it had been easier to go with the flow. He hadn't cared either way, to be brutally honest about it.

Alastor looked like he could tell there was more to that story, but let it go. "And the Hellborn?"

Lucifer shrugged. "They were already here when we got here." Belphegor had speculated that the Hellborn were Roo's response to humanity, but she hadn't been able to prove it. As time passed, the natural flora and fauna of Hell had evolved and expanded exponentially with the introduction of different environments, until there were multiple different species of both. Earth evolved slowly over time, but Hell evolved in leaps and bounds. "We did start getting different types over time, though."

"And human's being delegated to the Pride Ring?" There was something about the tone that suggested that this had been the question Alastor had been working up to all along.

The blonde pushed back from the table, rising to his feet. He came over to stand behind his date for the night, just to the side enough to see out the window. "An agreement between Lilith and my siblings." He tapped the apple end of his cane against his chin. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Mostly to keep down the fighting between the Hellborn and the sinners. Humans were innovative creatures and putting the worse of the worse in one place together was always going to be a recipe for disaster. The Hellborn hadn't stood a chance. Now the sinners fought primarily with themselves, while the Hellborn lived lives as varied as humans did on Earth.

Alastor fell silent. For a while, they simply stood listening to the rain, lost in their own thoughts. Lucifer thought he might be content to mull over the new information he had received, when he broke the silence to ask, "The acid rain?"

"A present from Heaven." From behind them, Asmodeus answered before his brother could, his voice an unhappy rumble. Alastor turned to face the sin, while Lucifer left his back to his little brother. Asmodeus approached, setting his hand on Lucifer's shoulder. His hand was large enough it encompassed the blonde's shoulder and the upper part of his back. "Michael thought Lucy's kingdom was looking too nice."

"A nice way of saying Michael was still angry at me." Lucifer internally grimaced at the memory of his twin's face, distorted in anger, at the way Lilith was thriving. That Lucifer wasn't doing anything to curb it. As if he ever would. "He thought making Hell more difficult to survive would curb everyone's spirits." He snorted. "Jokes on him, because they only infected the Pride Ring and humanity is... stubborn."

It was an admirable quality, even if it often got them into trouble. It was something Lucifer could relate to.

Lucifer shook off the thoughts before they dragged him down into too much of a melancholic mood. He already had to deal with the public and it wouldn't do if he couldn't even last more than an hour with them. He stepped away, turning as he did so that he could get a look at his brother. Asmodeus had changed into a suit similar to his usual one. The colors were more vibrant and he had added a business coat over it.

Fizzarolli, notably, wasn't on his shoulder.

Noticing where Lucifer was looking, Asmodeus laughed. "Fizzy needs a little more time." He began to usher his older brother towards the door, Alastor following of his own violation least the sin decide to get the idea of getting handsy with him. "It's his first time out in public since giving Mammon the literal finger and he wants to put on his best." As they neared the main entrance to Asmodeus' home, the sin called out towards the bedroom, "Fizzy Frog! Babe! You picked out your outfit a week ago!"

From the bedroom came the shout of, "But Ozzie! It needs to be perfect!" Fizzarolli appeared a moment later. The imp was wearing a white laced jester styled outfit, fitted with a laced up bodice that was black on one side and red on the other. His hat matched his bodice, with the colors switched, while being white underneath. Similarly, the hearts adorning his shoulders and forehead alternated the red and black pattern. "I need to look badass."

Asmodeus could move fast for someone his height, when he wanted to. He cleared the room in nearly two strides, picking his partner up. "Fizz, you look amazing. No one is going to say other wise."

Fizzarolli didn't appear completely convinced. "I just don't want anyone to talk shit about you if I don't."

He received a pat to the nose with a single finger and a no nonsense tone from Asmodeus, "The only person you need to impress at this event is yourself." The blue and pink sin hugged him close. "No one else's opinions matter."

Fizzarolli took a deep breathe, his anxiety visibly calming. "You're right!" He grinned, his whole expression lighting up. "And if they don't like me, who cares? Because I don't need them!"

Asmodeus beamed at him. "Exactly!" He made his way over, ready to shuffle everyone out the door. "Now where is that limo?"

Right on cue, a horn blasted outside.

Lucifer allowed himself to be shuffled outside, casting a glance at Alastor as the human-turned-demon got his first feel of normal rain since he'd died. The sinner held out a hand, cupped it to catch the water. Nostalgia softened the sharp edges of his smile into a more real one. Lucifer turned away when Alastor stepped out fully, tilting his head back to enjoy the feel of the rain on his face.

Lucifer refused to admit that Alastor was actually kind of handsome, when he was being honest with himself and the world.

The ride through Lust and then up to Pride was filled with small talk and blessedly uneventful. Lucifer, Asmodeus, and Fizzarolli had all been through the various ways to travel the Rings, so they were more interested in their conversation than the sights. Having never left the Pride Ring before, Alastor was more absorbed with the sights than their attempts to include him. He gave off the distinct impression that even if the sights hadn't been more interesting, he likely wouldn't have engaged with them anyway.

Lucifer could feel the uptick in his nerves as they entered the Pride Ring and the closer they got to Stolas' manor. The crowd of people outside, wanting to catch any glimpse of Hell's royals were lined up a mile away, all climbing over each other on the slimmest chance they would catch a glimpse of someone. The paparazzi had managed to secure the area closest to the drop off point, ensuring they would get the first photographs of the arriving guests.

A weight settled on the nap of his neck, the prick of one of Alastor's claws just above his high collar stealing Lucifer's attention before he could begin to spiral and reminding him that he wasn't alone. The mix of gratefulness and frustration was a heady feeling in his gut, even as he leaned subtly back into that hand.

The wait until it was their turn to disembark was both far too short and far too long. A portion of the crowd was especially intent on following Asmodeus' limo, the reason made all too easy to sus out.

Lucifer squinted at the signs, pointing at a particularly graphic one. "Are those... fans?"

Fizzarolli was a equal mix of put upon and repulsed. "Yeah, Mammon isn't very big on keeping boundaries between his cash cows and the... fans."

Visible through the crowd, the same fan - fanatic, rather - proceeded to do something extremely lude and inappropriate with what appeared to be a doll version of the jester.

Heaven was very dull and boring, Lucifer would never tell anyone otherwise, but he sure did miss it at times like this.

tbc

Part 16

#radioapple #alastor #lucifer morningstar #deer lucifer fic #hazbin hotel #i am so sorry for how long it took to get this out #this chapter is the first time a chapter has gotten so large #i had to cut it in two #not sure if the HB cast is in character #but i've been enjoying working with them #stolas and some of the other cast will appear in the next chapter!#the next chapter is already written out #and should be out sometime during the weekend!#the pic is by me as a thank you to all the lovely readers #who have left me a like and a comment #you keep me going #thank you all so much!

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sophie-hatter-jenkins · 9 months

Text

Fret

Written for @hinnymicrofic January 2024 - Prompt 22

Ginny Potter paced up and down in the kitchen, holding her bawling eight week old son in her arms. James’s tiny face was almost bright red, contorted with distress, as tears streaked down his cheeks. Ginny lifted him to her shoulder, stroking his back and softly bouncing him as she walked, trying and failing to contain her own spiralling stress levels.

What the hell am I doing wrong? she thought to herself. I’ve tried everything! He isn’t hungry. I changed him, I winded him. He won’t sleep. He doesn’t have a temperature. So why is he crying? Why can’t I fix it?

“Hey there, little man,” she told him. Her words were as soothing as she could possibly muster, but her voice cracked and wavered as she tried to hold back her own tears. “It’s okay. Mummy’s here. Mummy’s got you. It’s okay.”

Except it wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. Her son, her tiny little baby, had been crying for hours, and absolutely nothing she did seemed to make a blind bit of difference. A sob of her own escaped from her lips. What sort of mother can’t comfort her own baby?

She was tired - just so very tired. She hadn’t slept for more than forty-five minutes since the day she became a mother. Every movement felt difficult, as though her limbs weighed twice as much as they should, and all her thoughts were muddy and indecisive. She felt utterly helpless, unable to stop her eyes flicking to the clock on the wall - almost six o’clock. Surely Harry would be home from work soon? She was certain that she had never needed her husband more than she did right that very second.

In her arms, James unleashed a roar of torment that would have done a mandrake proud, and instinctively, she held him a little tighter - but that only seemed to make James wail even more loudly. A little flash of anger burned in her chest. What the hell was wrong with him? Didn’t he know she was doing her best? As quickly as it arrived, the irritation was gone, replaced by an acute sense of shame in her own reaction. How could she possibly be angry with her own baby? It made Ginny stop still in the middle of the room, screwing her eyes tightly closed. Her own tears mixed with James’s as she cradled him, paralysed by a potent mix of guilt, frustration and the sort of bone deep exhaustion familiar only to the parents of new born babies.

From down the hallway, Ginny heard the front door open and close, then the soft pad of Harry’s footsteps towards the kitchen.

“Ginny?” He put his hand on her shoulder, and without opening her eyes, she tilted her head to rest her cheek on his fingers. The breath that she released was half sigh of relief, half whimper. “Gin, what’s going on?”

“He won’t stop fretting, Harry,” she told him, through the sobs. “He’s been like this for hours. Nothing I do makes any difference. I… I’m a horrible mum!”

Gently, Harry turned her around, and put his arms around both of them. “Hey, hey, hey,” he comforted her, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head. “You are not a horrible mum. You’re exhausted, and he’s got himself worked up. That’s all. Give him to me, and you go and have a lie down upstairs. It will be fine. I promise.”

“You’re sure?” she asked, oddly reluctant to be parted from James even now. “You’ve only just got home. You must be knackered too.”

“I’m sure. We'll have some father-son bonding time,” confirmed Harry, taking his son into his arms and guiding her towards the stairs as he spoke. Ginny’s feet took her towards their bedroom as though she was on auto-pilot. She collapsed onto the bed and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Four blissful hours later, she woke to a quiet house. Feeling not exactly refreshed but certainly improved, she headed down the stairs to find… nothing. The house was empty. But, before panic could set in, the back door opened, and Harry slipped through it, with James strapped to his chest in the baby carrier, snug under Harry’s winter travelling cloak.

As soon as he saw her, Harry shot her one of his lop-sided grins and put his finger to his lips. “He’s sleeping,” he whispered.

“Where have you been?” she asked, keeping her voice soft.

“We went for a little fly,” admitted Harry, looking sheepish

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up. “You took him up on a broomstick?”

“Yeah. Hermione was telling me Muggles sometimes take their babies out in the car to calm down, and, well, I couldn’t do that, so I thought this might help,” he explained.

Ginny laughed softly. “I guess it did.”

“Yeah. And I’m not going to lie, his dad enjoyed it too,” he smirked. Then his expression softened. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better for some sleep,” she sighed. “I just don’t know what was going on with him today.”

“I don’t think he knew what was going on with him. But a change of scenery and a nap is good, no matter how old you are,” he said, looking at her pointedly.

“True,” she conceded, taking a step closer to him and slipping her arms around his waist, careful not to jostle their son. “Thanks for rescuing me today. I really needed it.”

“Hey!” Harry put his finger under her chin, tilting her head up so that she could look directly into those gorgeous green eyes. “You don’t ever need to thank me for doing my share. We’re a team, remember?”

“Yeah,” she smiled. “Team Potter.”

“Team Potter,” he nodded, dropping a kiss onto her lips. "Always."

#hinny microfic #harry potter #ginny weasley #hinny #harry x ginny #for all the new parents out there #very glad this stage is behind me!#team potter

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sorrowfulrosebud · 1 year

Text

I know damn well for a fact that Bakugou is deeply frightened of contortionists and double jointed ppl (me). Imagine a reader who’s a total cunt about it 😈😈

The UA’s first years talent show was a complete hit, and being the shy creature you were, you offered to work behind the scenes with Kirishima and the others. It was a total success, with rapturous applause and cheers. However, due to your shy nature, it wasn’t until you had snuck off to the haunted house team that someone had noticed you had gone.

SFX had always been a nifty little hobby of yours; hours spent in front of your bedroom mirror deftly applying latex and fake blood proved to be very useful during Halloween parties, and even day to day practice. That and the fact that you were a practicing contortionist made Shinsou and the other members of Class 1-B sought you out.

“Pleaseeeeeee Kachaan!! The haunted house sounds like so much funnnn!” Kaminari whined, pulling on Bakugou’s shirt. Katsuki knocked his hand away with crackling hands.

“No fuckin’ way, spark plug! It’s a fucking waste of time,” he yelled back. Kaminari glared at him before his face shifted into one of a playful foxes.

“Oooooooh? Is the mighty Kachaan of the Bakugou’s a (dare I say) PUSSY?!” Kaminari exclaimed, emphasising the last word. Katsuki smacked the back of his head in irritation. Carmine eyes glared daggers into the other blond’s skull as Sero slung his arm around his friend’s shoulders.

“Pluuuuus, I heard resident cutie (Y/N) volunteered to be a scare actor. She’s so shy, so it’s difficult to imagine. I bet she looks adorable, like a cute lil zombie who didn’t quite turn,” Sero purred, sleazy grin already applied. Katsuki contemplated before grunting in annoyance.

“Shut the fuck up, elbows and dunce face! Damnit, can’t believe I’m gonna fucking do this,” he grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets and stomping to the grounds.

After paying for the tickets for all three of his friends (“I’m sorry Bakubro, my wallet is in my other trousers!”), the trio made their way through the house.

Shinso and the others popped out, managing to scare Denki and Hanta with ease. Denki let out the occasional scream and bolt of lightening, causing Bakugou and Sero to smack the back of his head.

The overall ambiance was something Bakugou wasn’t impressed with; cheap lights, a shitty background soundtrack and the few odd jumpscares from his underlings. He would rather slit his throat than admit it, but he was looking forward to seeing you. You had a natural talent for scaring people; being shy and quiet made it easy to sneak up on your friends, intentional or not. So he was intrigued to see how you would pull out the stops.

The final room was cast in a deep purple glow with a large box in the middle. A metal handle was attached to the side of said box, completely still.

Bakugou rolled his eyes and tried for the exit, only to widen his eyes at the locked door.

“T-this isn’t funny man! Open the door!” Denki begged, being scared too much today.

“I’m fucking trying! Stupid thing is jammed!” He grunted in effort. Just then, a creepy song started to play from the music box. The tune of “Pop goes the weasel” filtered through the air as the boys watched in slight alarm.

The music stopped just before the chorus of the song. A slight creak came from the box. A blackened foot crept out, it’s pair soon following.

Your legs tangled themselves out of the box with grace before you manipulated them in different knots and pretzels. Your head snapped to the boys, letting out a terrifying screech as you crab-walked to them with dizzying speed.

A loud scream was let out, but it was not from Denki or Sero. It was from the blonde who was trembling and sparking his fists. Denki had jumped into Sero’s arms as the two controlled their hyperventilating.

You stared at the lads before cackling your ass off.

“OH MY GOD, WAS THAT YOU BAKUGOU?!?” You couldn’t believe it! The stoic faced blond who had stared death in the face more times than a 16 year old should, was afraid of a little gymnastics routine. Bakugou calmed himself down, steeling his nerves before glaring at you with the intensity of a thousand suns.

“Not. A. Fucking. Word. To. ANYONE. Understand?” He hissed through gritted teeth. He couldn’t believe his crush was able to scare him so badly, just by walking on your legs and back weirdly.

Your laughter subsided as you looked at him properly. For some reason, you felt at ease. You rearranged your limbs so you were standing properly. Your newly confident nature gave you the extra push.

“I’ll tell you what. To apologise for scaring you so bad, I’ll take you to that spicy mapo tofu place. Say, Saturday at 1?” You tilted your head, makeup still unnerving your crush.

“Tch, fine. But you’re paying,” he agreed, completely forgetting about his entourage who were staring at him wide-eyed.

You nodded and smiled widely, false fangs glinting in the purple light. You went back to the box, placing yourself in with ease. The door behind the boys clicked, leaving them to tumble themselves out and blink into the sun. It was silent for a whole 15 seconds before Denki opened his mouth.

“OH MY GOD, KACHAAN HAS A DATE!” Denki yelled before Bakugou slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Not a fucking word about today. Understand me sparky?” He hissed. Denki nodded in intimidation.

“Good, now piss off. I need to go get something,” he muttered, pushing past his friends with his phone in his hand.

Boneless Banquet 🥨

Pay for dessert and promise to never do that shit again, and I’ll pay for the next meal

#bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou x reader fluff #bakugou #Bakugou Katsuki #he hates contortionist

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silvercap · 5 months

Note

HHNGG there's so many good ones for the whump drabble challenge!! Hmm okay, what about 87. Overworked! <3

<33

Also this isn't going to be 100 words gahhshds I'm only partly doing the challenge 😭

Overworked

Leon's head is pounding, the overhead lights blaring painfully into the back of his eyes as he sips at his coffee and tries to force himself to focus on the mission report he's typing up. It's been a long day--the report is due 48 hours after extraction, no exceptions--and an even longer month, a slew of punishing missions leaving him sore and exhausted. The only reason he's not still out in the field are the cracks in his ribs, but it's far from the only injury he's sustained in the past week. Advil can't take away the ache of his recently-dislocated shoulder, tied up in a sling because he can't even move it without getting nauseous, nor can it dull the throbbing lines of stitches holding claw marks closed on his back.

It takes him a long time to finish and hit the print button, frustration and a yawning emptiness making it difficult to care whether or not it even makes sense. His head throbs as Leon rises to his feet, stepping out into the office to pick up from the printer--only for Hunnigan to step into his space the moment he's outside, looking just as tired as he is.

"Can you sign these project forms for R&D? They need them for Monday, but it would be best if you could get them done ASAP. Did you finish your report?" She hands him a new stack of papers, all tiny print and official jargon that will no doubt strain his already blurry eyesight until he can barely see straight. That's how it always goes.

"Yes." Leon tries not to get irritated, and fails. His head throbs sharply. He grits his teeth when she continues.

"Good. I also need you to look over updated SOP before my supervisor gets after me for it, and I've emailed you an old report from last year that was apparently missing a few details." She sighs. "You forgot to date it properly, again. Director wants a rewrite."

"What?" Leon frowns, struggling to control his tone. There's something filling the back of his throat with acid, headache jamming fresh spikes into his skull. "That's--I still have to go over that report from Wisconsin. I won't have time today."

"I know, but they want this done yesterday, and there's only so much that I can put off. There's a new online training module, too, on the updated office software--"

"Hunnigan, I don't fucking care!"

Leon regrets it the moment it's out, eyes widening as he realizes that his hands have curled into fists, chest heaving and heart thundering under his ribs. Hunnigan just looks stunned, the concern that's already bleeding into her expression putting something desperate and sharp in Leon's throat. The inexplicable urge to cry itches behind his eyes, but he forces it down, aware that his entire body is trembling. Around them, other DSO workers stare.

"I--sorry," Leon stammers, running an anxious hand through his hair. "Just...let me--"

He turns on his heel to dart back into his office, not bothering to close the door since he knows Hunnigan is on his tail anyways. He plants his hands on his desk as she follows him inside and closes the window blinds, glancing up as she shifts closer and wordlessly puts a hand on his back. The wound beneath pangs lightly, and Leon can't hide his flinch.

"I'm sorry," he says raggedly, voice cracking.

"It's okay. Why don't you sit down? You're shaking, Leon." Hunnigan doesn't wait for an answer, nudging him towards his chair until Leon sinks into it gratefully, clutching his skull against the ache. He can't stifle a groan. He feels Hunnigan drape something over his shoulders, and it takes him a moment to crack open his eyes and recognize it as her blazer. She's looking at him, worried.

"I'm fine," he croaks, to which Hunnigan shakes her head.

"No. How bad is it? I haven't had time to coerce medical into giving me your file."

"I'm just tired."

"You're not." Hunnigan shoots him a softer look. "Let me get you some water and I'll call you a taxi. If you're done the report, the rest can wait. I'd rather have you recovering than working yourself to the bone."

"Hunnigan--"

"I won't let you do this to yourself, Leon. They're working you hard for a reason--don't let them win."

#Idk if this is anything #Shady government is shady #my fics #ask game #drabbles #Thanks Cerul <33

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silverynight · 7 months

Text

The roommate

<--Previous

Part XVII

Izuku is walking down the street next to Kirishima when he has a weird feeling in his chest; he wouldn't call it exactly a premonition, but something's certainly not quite right.

Or maybe he's just worried and sad because his boyfriends don't talk to him about important stuff as much as he'd like them to.

"Do they make you happy?" Kirishima asks, suddenly stopping; it's early in the morning so Izuku supposes they have time to chat a little bit.

The green haired man sighs and closes his eyes; Kirishima gets closer, and Izuku notices he's usually silent that day, which is kinda weird for a guy who's bright and loud in general.

Maybe Izuku is just overthinking everything so he doesn't have to actually answer his friend's question. Kirishima is his friend, even though they have a little bit of time knowing one another, Izuku feels like he can trust him.

"To be honest, I'm a little bit frustrated with them at the moment," he confesses, deciding that the truth is the best thing in this case. "But they do make me happy and even though neither us get it right on the first try, the important thing is that we keep trying."

When he opens his eyes, Kirishima is right in front of him, in his personal space, which is not entirely weird coming from someone as friendly as him, but Izuku takes a step back anyway.

"You were supposed to say that they don't make you happy," Kirishima blurts out, and the irritated expression he makes is one Izuku has never seen on the pro hero before.

Then, it hits him.

"Ah," he mumbles as a shiver runs down his spine. "A mimic quirk, of course."

"I knew you were a clever one," Kirishima says, although Izuku knows that's not him at all, but someone who has made themselves look like the pro hero.

"What happens next?" Izuku asks, trying to think, for a brief moment he considers shouting, but he doesn't know if this villain is capable of hurting the people around too. He reaches into his pocket for his phone and tries to blindly call someone.

"Nothing," the fake Kirishima says, shrugging. "For some reason you're still happy with them, despite them treating you like this. I only take the unhappy ones."

"But why do you kill them?" Izuku asks; he's not sure if he wants to distract them or he's genuinely curious about it.

"I didn't kill her!" The fake Kirishima snaps suddenly, baring his sharp teeth and making Izuku realize that the real one must look terrifying when angry. "They're lying to you!"

"She was one of the people you took." Izuku points out, trying his luck; he hopes it's not running out just yet.

"Yes, but she escaped. I only keep them."

Izuku shakes his head because nothing makes sense. Of course they're lying, right? They're the villain.

And yet... Izuku feels like they're not.

"Who killed her then?"

The fake Kirishima growls, probably guessing that Izuku doesn't actually believe them.

"I don't know, but that one was already fucked up... her boyfriend was an abusive motherfucker. She was relieved when I took her."

"But that can't be possible because..." Izuku stops his mumbling to think properly; he doesn't notice but his own fingers have stopped trying to make a call. He's too trapped in this puzzle to think about anything else. "If you took her then her boyfriend was a pro hero, because you only take..."

"Difficult to believe a pro hero beats his significant other up? Come on!"

They're right of course. How can he forget Todoroki's mother? Pro heroes are just humans at the end of the day.

"That's why you're doing this? To prove everyone they're not saints? That they're not angels or gods?"

By creating a problem like that one, by kidnapping people they force the police and other pro heroes to dig into their lives; that's how the secrets come out. But why hasn't anything reached social media yet?

"That's one way to put it," the fake Kirishima laughs in a way the real one never would. "But this stupid society keeps covering up their mistakes. I'm tired of heroes having everything they want when they deserve none of it!"

Ah. They want to punish pro heroes.

"You should let the other people go."

"Nice try," the fake Red Riot pats Izuku's cheek gently, before they kiss him on the forehead. "I like you a lot. But no, they're not ready to go. If I release them they'll go back to their pathetic little lives."

A group of people rush down the street, most of them are trying to go to work or school and are too immerse in their own problems to pay attention to their surroundings.

"I'll come back for you later," the fake Kirishima waves, joining the crowd. "When they make you unhappy, because they'll fuck up eventually, I know they will."

The fake one tosses something in his direction and he realizes that it's Kirishima's phone. When did they take it?

Izuku doesn't know how he gets there, but his body takes him to work, like every morning. However, he collapses on the ground and can hear his coworkers and Hatsume rushing towards him.

"It's okay, I-I'm fine. Just give me a minute," he's shaking, but it'll pass, he's sure of it.

Suddenly, Katsuki's arms are around him; he's still in his civilian clothes. Izuku blinks a couple of times, wondering how he found out, but then notices that Kirishima, the real one, is right behind him.

Part of him is afraid of Red Riot for what happened, but Izuku finally notices that even though his eyes are the same color as the fake ones, his are full of genuine kindness and concern.

He should've realized what was going on sooner.

"Shoto is coming," Katsuki whispers in his ear, taking him in his arms. Then, he turns to Hatsume and adds: "I'm going to take him home now."

Izuku wants to say that he's fine, but the truth is that he's not.

They meet Shoto halfway and the three, no, the four of them, because Kirishima is following them too, go back into the apartment.

"Here," Izuku hands Red Riot his phone. "They gave me this."

"I thought I lost it. I'm sorry, Midobro."

Hearing that nickname makes him feel relieved.

"It's not your fault," he assures him. "I should've been more careful."

Izuku expects questions, he waits for them and tries to prepare answers, forcing his brain to remember details, but he's still in shock.

He's going to fail them.

However, the questions don't come; Shoto is on the phone talking to someone else, telling them to look for someone who looks like Red Riot; Izuku knows they're probably gone and looking like someone else by now, but it's worth a shot.

Katsuki hands him a cup of hot cocoa and Izuku realizes that despite needing answers, despite knowing time is against them, they're not forcing Izuku to speak.

They're giving him time, they're taking care of him first.

Do they make you happy?

He starts sobbing, unable to stop the tears, even though they're useless. Katsuki leans closer and kisses them away.

"What is it? Did they hurt you?"

Izuku shakes his head and suddenly Shoto's arms are around his shoulders.

"It's okay, you're safe now, I promise. We got you, love."

***

"I'm ready to talk now," Izuku says after a while; Kirishima is gone and he knows Shoto needs to go to the agency as soon as possible, but he's staying only because of him.

"Are you sure?" Katsuki asks in a whisper, almost like he's afraid of hurting Izuku with his voice.

Izuku usually doesn't like to be treated like something fragile, but he can tell they're both as scared as he is.

"We thought we were going to lose you," Shoto mumbles then, kneeling in front of the couch Izuku is sitting on.

"I'm still here," he mumbles, pulling the blanket closer to him.

Then, after taking another sip of his hot cocoa, he tells them everything that happened. Well, most of it.

"They take the people that are unhappy with their pro hero partners," Shoto starts talking to himself, pacing around the room. "But why did they want to take you?"

"Are you..." Katsuki doesn't finish the question, but he looks miserable. "I'm sorry, Izuku."

He pulls the blond into his arms; knowing he hasn't slept since his shift ended.

"They didn't take me because I'm quite happy with you two, even though you frustrate me sometimes."

"I'm sorry," they both apologize again, probably thinking about their latest argument.

"We were wrong about trying to shield you from everything, even the information that could've prevented this incident," Katsuki blurts out. "But it won't happen again."

"You're part of this investigation now," Shoto says then and after giving Izuku a kiss on the cheek he adds: "And we'll try to talk things out more often."

Izuku takes a deep breath, feeling like a weight has lifted from his shoulders.

"Thank you, that's all I want."

"Now I need to go to the office to look into the girl's death again."

"Do you believe what they told me?"

"Not really, but if they said that it's probably worth a shot looking into it."

"Can I see what you have on the case so far?"

"I have the case file in my laptop," Katsuki nods, heading towards one of the bedrooms. "And I'll gladly show it to you, but I'd like you to rest for a while first."

"You too! You haven't slept!" Izuku scolds him. Then, something occurs to him that makes him look from one to the other. "Wait! How do you know it's me? Why haven't you tried to ask me–"

"Hey, it's fine," Shoto whispers, kneeling in front of him again. Izuku doesn't realize he's shaking until his boyfriend takes his hands in his. "You're safe."

"It's for the same reason you haven't tried to prove it's us either," Katsuki smiles, sitting right next to him. "No matter how good they are at mimicking, we could tell if it wasn't you. And you know that too."

Izuku takes a deep breath and pulls them both closer to him; he feels their lips pressing against each side of his face.

Yes, he'd recognize them anywhere and perhaps that's why the villain chose Kirishima to mimic instead of one of them.

"We'll keep you safe."

"We'll keep each other safe," Izuku corrects Shoto as Katsuki smirks.

"That's right, nerd."

***

Next-->

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#bnha #mha #my hero academia #bkdk #tddk #bakudeku #tododeku #shouto todoroki #bakugou katsuki #izuku midoriya

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tropes-and-tales-archives · 5 months

Text

More Precious Than Rubies: Part 4a

This is an alternate timeline story that has a Rafael Barba track and a Sonny Carisi track. The two paths split off in part 3.

WC: 4229

TW: SVU-typical talk of rape and sexual assault cases; idiots in love.

AN: The prompt was "Everything will fall into place."

The day had started great. Barba had a grand jury return an indictment on a difficult test case, and the week only looked to get better as it progressed.

He left the courthouse and paused at the top of the steps. He squinted against the bright May sunshine, slid his sunglasses on, and took in the scene around him. There was something about the springtime that lifted the relative drear of his life. The trees in Thomas Payne Park were in bloom, a gentle wind was curving through the columns of the courthouse. Spring was a season of possibilities.

He started down the steps when he felt someone come up behind him. He heard a familiar voice call out, without social niceties or preamble, “we need to talk about the Forni case.”

He turned in time to see you fall in step beside him. He glanced you over as you both descended the steps and paused at the bottom to face each other.

Your usual pencil skirts usually hit precisely at the knee, but the navy blue one you wore now hit an inch or two higher, showing off your shapely legs. He was glad for his sunglasses hiding his eyes, but you smirked at him anyway.

“Nothing to talk about, counselor,” he replied. “We couldn’t reach a deal, so I’ll see you in court.”

Your smirk transformed into a wide grin. You reached into your satchel and pulled out a folded paper that you handed to him. He went to take it, and you held it for a beat, making him tug it out of your grasp as you smiled at him.

“Ah, but you won’t see me in court,” you said. “I got Forni shifted to family court. I’ll be seeing a one Ms. Pippa Cox instead.”

Barba opened the paper and scanned it in disbelief. “How…what…?” he sputtered.

If your smile got any wider, it’d split your face in half. “Turns out Judge Barth is open to certain studies that show how racial disparities affect minority communities when it comes to underaged people being tried as adults. She agreed that the case belonged in family court. I’m off to see Cox now to talk about a reasonable deal that serves justice without vengeance.”

He crumpled the paper in his fist and glared at you, and you only gave him a light laugh. You waved your hands in front of him like you were doing a magic trick. “Poof, there goes your case,” you declared. “The Amazing Girl Wonder does it again.”

You walked away, and he watched you go, trying to ignore the way your skirt strained a bit around your ass and how your legs looked in your heels. He gritted his teeth and felt a migraine start up in his left temple. McCoy was going to hate this, and Liv would probably have something smart to say too.

-----

He heard that you and Cox hammered out a deal that got Anthony Forni into a juvenile treatment facility. Less than a month into him serving his sentence, certain crimes committed against him came to light, and SVU was put on the case.

You had been right: Anthony’s uncle had been molesting him since he was a young child, and the more SVU dug into the old man, the more victims they found. Before long, Barba had a strong case with multiple victims and incontrovertible evidence. It was a slam dunk, and the jury was only out for a bit before they came back with a guilty verdict.

You sat in the gallery during the sentencing. Anthony was there to give a victim impact statement, and when it was all over, Barba caught your eye. You did that usual irritating head tilt of yours, but you nodded at him too. And then you smiled.

-----

May turned to June, and Barba didn’t have another case against you for the entire month. It should have been a relief – just his usual slate of cases without quite so much aggravation – but it didn’t mean he didn’t think about you. Just the opposite, in fact.

Barba prided himself on having a good read on people based on first impressions, and that went double with his fellow lawyers. He knew, for example, within five minutes of meeting Buchanan that the man was a money-grubber without a shred of moral integrity. He knew that his fellow ADAs were a mixed bag: Callier was competent but treated the job like a job without much passion for justice, and O’Dwyer punted off any case that he couldn’t twist into a headline or a law review article.

Barba had similarly judged you, but you kept surprising him. He was constantly revising his impression of you.

First, he thought you were just some barely functional law lackey and had landed in public defense because it was all that was available to you. When you proved yourself as competent, he revised his opinion of you.

Then he assumed that you were one of those lawyers who used public defense to vault into a lucrative career of criminal defense. That’s what Buchanan had done, after all. But after a while, Barba heard through the gossipy channels of his lawyer networks that you’d been offered positions with a few different firms and had turned them down. Revision number two.

He was currently settled on thinking that you really were some sort of do-gooder, revise-the-system sort of advocate. He saw the way your eyes shined when Anthony Forni finally got justice. There was no faking that sort of genuine feeling.

He wondered where your zeal for justice came from. He knew his fair share of bleeding-hearts in his career, but you were specifically driven – you didn’t have the vague, do-gooder, we’re all one people sort of passion. You were laser-focused on specific issues. Something had made you that way. He wondered what it was.

He almost felt bad – public defenders either burned out quickly or became embittered. As much as you were a thorn in his side, he would readily admit that you were a good lawyer with a sharp intellect for the law that belied how green you really were. He’d hate to see you in ten years (or five, or two), that sparkle in your eye and that annoyingly defiant head tilt gone.

But Barba was irritated by the fact that you were taking up so much space in his head. And it didn’t get any better.

In fact, it got worse. Barba went out with the squad one night to celebrate a hard-won case, and he had too much to drink. Your name had come up over the course of the evening – Fin complaining about you, remarking that he hated hearing your heels clicking down the hallway when SVU caught a new case with a public defender. From there, Barba couldn’t shake the image of you at the sentencing of Forni’s uncle, when you nodded and then smiled at him. Too many scotches in, and he couldn’t shake the image.

Liv had to load him into a taxi, and he stumbled home to his empty apartment. He only got himself half undressed before he collapsed into bed, and the combination of too much alcohol and a well-fought win and you on the brain left him feeling…well, amorous.

Barba rarely ever bothered to take care of himself, but in the spirit of celebration, he did – and as much as he fought it, he kept picturing you. His mind, soaked in booze, spun though a series of improbable scenarios: in his office, in the courtroom, in the SVU interrogation room.

His mind finally settled on a cliched stuck-elevator scenario that he’d be embarrassed by in the morning, but in the meantime…he pictured the two of you trapped in an elevator (power outage, it’d take hours to fix), you panicking (you were claustrophobic), him comforting. He imagined you doing that infuriating head-tilt you did, but in his mind, you tilted your face to his, pleading with him to distract you.

From there, the scenario deteriorated, and he brought himself to climax with you on his mind, and then he rolled over and slept the sated sleep of the near-dead. He didn’t wake up until late morning, but it was a Saturday and he didn’t have anywhere to be.

In the light of morning, he cleaned himself up soberly, his head throbbing and a twist of Catholic guilt at masturbating in the first place. He vowed to stop thinking about you.

-----

It was easier said than done.

Barba found himself collecting interactions with you like a magpie collection shiny baubles and lining his nest with them.

There were the usual meetings to review possible plea deals when you had one of his cases. He probably should feel ashamed to have thought about you that drunken night after the bar, but he was always able to meet your gaze levelly without hesitation. When a plea couldn’t be reached, there was the usual trials. You usually lost, but it was never a complete loss – you always managed to get more serious charges dropped or found ‘not guilty,’ and you managed to get a lot of your clients more lenient, alternative sentencing.

But there were other interactions too.

There was the time he saw you across the street of the courthouse. You were waiting for the light, and you turned your face to the sunlight and closed your eyes for a second. He saw you take a deep breath and smile at the stolen moment of serenity in what he assumed was a life as busy as his.

There was the time in the courthouse elevator, when he stepped on at one floor and you joined him on the next. You nodded at him and then turned your back to him, and he watched you and prayed for a non-fatal elevator disaster to strike. But god’s attention was clearly elsewhere because the elevator deposited both of you on the ground floor, and you strode away without a backwards glance.

There was the time he saw you running in Riverside Park. You were obviously doing some workout – sprinting for a distance on the trail, then walking back to your starting point while frowning at a giant watch on your wrist. Then repeating it, over and over. He had been out for a rare Sunday afternoon walk, tired of being cramped in his office all weekend, and he had stood and watched you from a distance until he was certain someone would call the cops on him for publicly leering at women in the park.

There was the time at the wine bar when he was just settling in his seat as you were paying and leaving. When you noticed him, you smiled and repeated the magic-trick gesture that you’d done with the Forni case. Then you left, and Barba found out the next morning that you’d yanked another case out from under his nose.

There was the conference on sexual crimes and cyberspace, and Barba only noticed you during a break before the keynote. You stood at the refreshments table and frowned at the offerings of stale bagels and burnt coffee, and he watched you sigh heavily before you speared a few slices of cantaloupe. He walked over to stand beside you, and he pretended to get a coffee.

“Counselor,” he said in greeting. “Learning about the new crimes you’ll have to defend?”

He watched you turn to face him, and he watched you look him up and down. He was glad to have worn one of his better suits, but he still wondered what you thought of him. Your mouth twisted into one of your half smiles, but that could mean literally anything with you.

“I have to stay one step ahead of the D.A.’s office,” you admitted. “They have some really tough lawyers over there.” You paused a beat, then added, “O’Dwyer is one of the best, honestly.”

Then you snorted at the look on his face and walked away with your plate of fruit, leaving Barba flustered with his cup of awful coffee.

********

You loved your job. You lost more than you won, but that was the life of a public defender, and you managed to divert a fair share of non-violent and first-time offenders into alternative sentencing arrangements.

The best was when you scored a hit against ADA Barba. You were cordial with the other ADAs – Callier, O’Dwyer, Niles – but Barba was linked to SVU and pompous to boot. You wondered if he learned how to smirk at Harvard, or if it was a natural talent.

You didn’t know how he was with other defense lawyers, but he seemed to enjoy arguing with you. You’d been offended by the “girl wonder” comment, but then you leaned into it, tossing it back in his face when you beat him. You loved the way his handsome face got stony, how his green eyes turned stormy when you bested him.

The best was when he clenched his jaw so hard that you could hear his molars straining under the pressure. You made a deal with yourself: if you got him to crack a tooth in frustration, you’d take a long weekend and go to the Catskills for a mini-vacation.

And if he never did, at least you could enjoy needling him. You loved throwing him off his game. Barba was just another politically-minded ADA, taking certain cases so that he could claim the “tough on crime” tag when he made his eventual run at a judgeship.

Still, he seemed okay as a person. You may even vote for him, if he ran for an elected position. Maybe turn up to one of his campaign events just to stare at him and wait for him to blink first. Or imply that one of his coworkers was better than him, like you did when you ran into him at a conference. The look on his face, somewhere between surprise and offense, had been hilarious.

Your life had a comforting rhythm. You worked. You went home. You ate lunch too often at Salvadoreño, probably keeping them afloat with your addiction to their pupusas. You took up a half-marathon training plan to justify your daily lunch calorie count. You hung out with your friends when you had free time, and you just contributed to an ongoing text string when you didn’t have time. Your friends were mostly lawyers too, and no one had time for anything other than work.

Work was a convenient excuse for your appalling lack of love life. After Sonny, you refused to date for a while. Once the heartache faded a bit, you went on a few first dates that were like slow-motion train wrecks. The Wall Street guy who spent the evening on his phone. The Bronx ADA who lambasted your job. The corporate lawyer who talked about himself the entire evening and then parted ways with you on the street afterwards after telling you that you weren’t his type, physically.

You only saw Sonny sometimes at work. It could have been easy to fall back into bad habits, but he kept his distance from you and only exchanged the smallest of small talk. Every so often, you caught him looking at you with a woebegone look on his face, but more often than not, he was joined at the hip to Amanda. Leaning on her desk with his lanky legs stretched out in front of him. Sitting in interrogation with her. Bringing her a ginger ale from the breakroom. Trotting after her like a puppy when a new case came in.

Almost two years later, and it still nettled to see it.

You were in the 16th precinct to talk with a new client who was going to be arraigned the next day. It was a Barba case, and you each did your usual snark-filled banter across the interrogation table. His eyes got their usual glint in them that made you question, as usual, if he was turned on by arguing. Then your client was led out in handcuffs, and you assured him that you’d be there in the morning for his arraignment.

When you went to leave the room, Barba opened the door for you and then fell in step with you. He was saying something about the case, making a final bid for some deal, but you barely heard him. As you walked through the precinct bullpen, your eyes drifted to Sonny and Amanda standing by the big-screen in the corner.

And you saw, clearly, that Amanda was pregnant.

It was like a punch in the gut, pulling all the wind from you. Your eyes went from her swelling stomach to Sonny’s face – who was looking directly at you with his bright blue eyes. The expression on his face was unreadable, and you turned away and walked as quickly as you could to the elevator. Barba matched your speed and kept up with you, but he had fallen silent. He watched you jam the ‘down’ button furiously, then joined you when the elevator doors slid open. He watched you jam the ‘door shut’ button just as angrily. You heard Sonny call your name from the hallway, and you hit the button and kept hitting it until you felt a tentative hand on your wrist.

“It’s shut,” said Barba softly. “You can stop.”

You couldn’t look at him. Your vision was blurry with tears as you stared at the elevator panel. You hadn’t meant to start crying – it felt like an involuntary reflex, seeing Amanda pregnant and Sonny solicitous with her. How long had he waited before he started sleeping with her after you broke up with him? Had he already been sleeping with her? Your mind stretched back to all the broken dates and the times he stood you up to be with her….

And of course, the one single time you got emotional at work, it had to be in front of your harshest competitor. You could envision a long stretch ahead of you where Barba mocked you for crying every time you tried to hash out a plea deal.

But he didn’t say anything right now. He removed his hand from your wrist and reached into his suit jacket. He pulled out a handkerchief – an actual cloth handkerchief, like some member of the landed gentry in a period piece, for fuck’s sake – and handed it to you without a word. You took it but just stared at it; it was a blindingly snowy white, and it felt like a bridge too far to wipe your tear-stained face on it, especially with his embroidered initials staring back at you.

When the elevator deposited you on the ground floor, Barba put his hand on your upper back lightly and steered you towards the ladies room, plucking his handkerchief from your hand and pushing you inside the bathroom.

He didn’t follow, thank god. You stood at the mirror and braced yourself against the sink. You took deep breaths. You pushed aside the mental image of Amanda and Sonny together. Not just pushed – you shoved it into a box, taped it shut, and tossed it into a dark corner of your mind with the rest of the awful life experiences that you compartmentalized. You were pretty good at it – you had lots of experience, after all.

You waited a long moment, just staring at your own reflection. You felt like an idiot. Of course Sonny would end up with Amanda. And regardless of when it happened, it didn’t matter anymore. You weren’t together.

What did matter was keeping your composure, especially in front of people like the entire SVU squad and ADA Barba.

When you exited the bathroom, the latter was standing outside, waiting for you. But if you expected him to smirk or gloat at your sudden show of emotion, you would be wrong. He just stood there, sharp in his black three-piece suit, with a look of concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and he didn’t sound like he was teasing, so you nodded at him.

“You look like you need a drink,” he continued, and he gestured for you to walk with him. You did.

“It’s only 11:30 in the morning,” you replied with a watery laugh, and he held the door for you as you both left the building.

“Lunch then,” he said. He took your elbow and steered you out to the street. “And a glass of wine wouldn’t hurt.” You opened your mouth to protest but he cut you off and led you towards a little Italian place on the corner. “You’d be surprised how much smaller problems seem on a full stomach and a bit of pinot.”

You followed him mutely into the tiny restaurant, to the tiny table jammed against a wall. You ordered a Caesar salad and allowed him to order you a glass of pinot, and he placed his order too. When the waiter dropped off your drinks and left, you braced yourself for whatever snarky comments Barba had planned.

You were wrong again. He didn’t even mention your dramatic scene at the 16th. He asked how you liked being a public defender, then segued to talking about lawyers you both knew. It turned out that you had a lot of mutual acquaintances – the law community of New York City and its surrounding environs was shockingly small.

When your food came, the conversation shifted to your individual experiences at law school. It turned out that you were both scholarship kids and knew the divide it could cause with your fellow classmates. You were both editors of your respective law reviews too.

“Though Harvard Law has a little more brand recognition,” you admitted with a small smile, and Barba only shrugged modestly and asked what topics you had written about.

It felt weird that it wasn’t weird, sitting across from your toughest opponent, eating lunch and chatting about things casually instead of bickering about plea arrangements. And, to his credit, you had barely thought about Sonny and Amanda since you sat down to eat. You’d have to revise your opinion of him as a pompous type. Maybe a person could be pompous and nice.

The waiter bussed your empty dishes and dropped the check, which Barba took without comment and paid. When you tried to protest, he made a snarky comment about your paltry salary as a public defender, so you glared at him.

You both stood to leave, and you each paused on the sidewalk in awkward silence. You finally spoke up to thank him, and you hoped he knew it wasn’t just for the salad and wine.

He cleared his throat. “It’s probably not what you’re thinking it is,” he said. “But I know what you’re going through.” He sighed, paused, then added, “everything will fall into place.”

You dropped your head and looked at your feet on the sidewalk. “I don’t want your pity, Barba.”

He swung his briefcase to nudge it against your own satchel, making you look up at him. “If you think for one second I’m going to go easy on you, Fordham Law, you have another thing coming,” he said with a smirk. “No pity. And no mercy either.”

“Bring it, Harvard Law,” you replied with a grateful smile. His smirk turned into a smile in return, and he parted ways with you – he walked to the left, and you walked to the right.

-----

You kept the Sonny and Amanda situation carefully compartmentalized over the next month. Sonny tried to talk to you once in the precinct, but you carefully kept the discussion focused on the new suspect you were representing. He eventually stopped trying, and you had a way of unfocusing your gaze when it drifted over your ex-boyfriend and Amanda.

Work was busy, you ran a lot with your training group, and any time your mind drifted to those thoughts, you shoved them away by focusing on other things.

Barba, for example. Still pompous, and not granting you an inch, as promised. He was still your toughest ADA: Callier was always open to reasonable deals, O’Dwyer ducked most of the cases you handled…but Barba always had fight in him. You could put the best deal on the table and he’d still argue with you about it, layering in platitudes about the law and justice while accusing you of being a softy.

You argued at SVU, you argued in court. You each got pulled into chambers and argued your points there. Judge Hawkins, herself a champion smirker, watched the two of you bicker for a full five minutes before she interjected and told you to get a room. Barba sputtered in shock, which allowed you to get your final point in without interruption, but Hawkins split the difference and only threw out half the evidence you were trying to get expunged. It was still better than nothing.

You still glared at each other during court, but there was no real weight behind it. He started calling you “Fordham Law” all the time, which was miles better than “Girl Wonder.” In return, you started shaking his hand after trials concluded, even the ones where he won.

And if you felt anything when his warm hand enveloped yours, you compartmentalized that too.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #tropes and tales

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bunniekittiee · 1 year

Note

Would it be easy to escape from Chop Top? I would love to see something from him because there aren't many writings... and the same from Nubbins

And by the way, I really like your writing, how you handle the characters and especially Johnny. ♡♡

What would Chop Top be like with his s/o? especially if she tells him that he makes her uncomfortable and that she wants him to stay away from her and even tries to find a way to leave so she can free herself from him...

I totally agree with you, there isn’t a whole lot of writing content for Chop and Nubbins and honestly they need to be in the spotlight too! And thank you! I enjoy writing as Johnny, the possibilities are endless with him lol

Escaping and being with Chop Top:

Like Nubbins, Chop Top has got an eye for trapping and sneaking.

He knows that he is quite skinny and doesn’t have the exact strength to overpower anyone for long periods of time.

Like yes ofc if he’s in a situation he can easily fight them off, but again, he and his twin are stick bugs.

Johnny and Bubba are the ones with the muscle, Chop and Nubbins are the ones that can catch/chase victims.

I think it would be hard to escape from Chop Top because he would do a lot to prevent you from trying to leave.

If he’s busy with orders from Drayton, then he will lock you in his room. He doesn’t fully trust you to let you roam, especially if you are known to run off.

And he would make extra efforts to have traps ready to catch you, even in the places that you can’t see.

He checks them everyday to make sure nothing else set them off.

He wants to trust you, but he has a hard time doing so because of how often you reject his advances.

He loves it when you put up a fight, he thinks it’s a game and it’s fun.

But after a while, he will get upset, especially if you antagonize him.

If he’s in a bad mood, he will become angrier and be ruthless.

He can be very hyper and will keep you up for long periods of time with his monologuing and talking.

Is a light sleeper, so if you were to move around too much, he will wake up.

Isn’t upset if you wake him up, but he gets worried that you are trying to leave.

“Get away from me you sick fuck!” you yelled out, lunging at him with your hands tied behind your back.

He frowned. “I’m tryin’ to be s-sweet on ya’, ya’ make this difficult!”

“Fuck you!”

His eyes burned with irritation. “That’s not nice at all, w-what’s with ya’? I’m doing everythin’ I can to be nice, but you make it so hard!”

“You make me uncomfortable. You’re disgusting! You and your whole family!” you screamed.

His heart felt a pang as you said these words, but his face was screwed up in anger. “Well ain’t th-that somethin’ sweetheart. Yer’ gonna’ fuckin’ get used to it w-whether ya’ like it or not!”

“Eat a fuckin’ dick!”

He slapped you. Hard. His unique eyes were narrowed and he frowned. “Watch yer’ mouth. Ya’ do realize I’m the only p-person keepin’ ya’ alive, right?”

“I don’t care. I don’t want anything to do with you! Just stay away!” you replied back, your cheek flaming red and stinging from his hit.

Glaring at you, he got up from the bed and left, locking the door behind him and leaving you in the cold atmosphere of his bedroom. Although he had decorated it to be comfortable, it was not comfortable for you. It was foreign.

He was hurt. All he wanted was for you to come around and enjoy being with him. He had to convince Drayton to keep you, and even then, Drayton bitched often at him to kill you. Get it over with. She was just another girl. But to Chop Top, you were much more than that. He had taken a liking to you and thought you would be a great addition to the family, but it was real hard to convince them to believe that when you rejected everything he tried to give you. He was starting to wonder if it was even a good idea in the first place to keep you.

After a few hours of Chop watching tv and you falling asleep, he retired to his bedroom that you laid in. Gently opening the door, he peeked inside to see your slowly-breathing form. He loved you when you were motionless, in a weird morbid way, but it was when you did not reject his advances. Your body would cuddle into him and find his warmth. That was, until you woke up and recoiled into a corner. So he cherished the moment, slipping inside the bed next to you. You did not awake from his movement.

Late into the night, you woke up with an incredible pressure on your bladder that was quite uncomfortable. Chop Top had an arm snaked around your waist which disgusted you. You started to squirm around and awoke him.

“Wh-what’s got ya’ all squirmy?” he asked sleepily.

“I need to pee.” you replied dryly.

He sighed quietly. “A-alright. Come on then.” He got up from the bed and led you out to the bathroom, waiting outside the door to give you some privacy which was new. The house was dark, adding to your paranoia. Relieving yourself, you glanced around the bathroom and got an idea. You could easily crawl out the window.

“What’s t-t-takin’ ya’ forever?” Chop questioned as he yawned. “Ya’ got me fallin’ asleep out here, hehe.”

You had the sink running as you gently pried the window open. It creaked, making you cringe slightly as you glanced at the bathroom door, but he did not hear it. Sliding your body through the tight space, you thudded onto the ground outside. This was your escape. You could leave. You got up quickly, running as fast as your feet could take you to an exit. It was dark and hard to see, but you maneuvered around sound makers. You did not want to alert the family.

Chop Top was getting impatient. What the hell was taking you so long to pee?

“Are you almost done?” he asked as he started to pick at the lock. The water was running but he did not hear you answer him back. Swinging the door open, his eyes widened as he saw the bathroom window was open. You escaped. You were gone.

Adrenaline pumping, he started to get out the window himself, screaming for Bubba to get his chainsaw like a banshee. He was not letting his prey get away.

You heard his yelling and took off faster, panting as you whipped your head around to make sure there was no one else chasing you. The sounds of Bubba’s chainsaw made your blood run cold. It was only a matter of time before he was mutilating your body with it. You glanced behind you and saw Chop Top gaining on you. He was fast, faster than you remembered.

“G-get back here!” he yelled while running. “Yer’ only g-gonna’ make it worse for ya’!”

The cold ground welcomed you as you fell hard. A warm, heavy body tackled you, slicing their knife on your leg and grinning wildly. “Hey there! Hahaha!”

“Get the fuck off!” you screeched as you tried to fight Johnny off of you.

“D-don’t hurt her ya’ m-motherfucker!” Chop Top screamed as he drew nearer and nearer.

“I ought ta’ put ya’ out of your misery, huh? Givin’ us a headache for no reason.” Johnny said smoothly as he held the knife to your throat. Bubba’s whirring chainsaw was much closer now. “You’re easily replaceable.”

“Johnny don’t fuckin’ hurt her!” Chop Top pushed Johnny off. “G-God fuckin’ dammit!”

He noticed your leg was wounded from the boy’s hunting knife. Nubbins ran up to Chop Top. “Ya’ got her brother?”

“Johnny wh-what the fuck did I say about h-hurting her?!” He yelled, getting up as he faced the young burly man.

“She fuckin’ escaped because of ya’ and your incompetence.” He spat at Chop, pointing his knife at him. “I should fuckin’ kill her, I’m the one who caught her.”

You whimpered as Johnny’s iron grip tightened on your wrists. Chop Top pulled out his own knife, waving it in Johnny’s face. “She’s mine, Johnny. So ya’ f-fuckin’ let her go and let me deal with her. She is not yer’ fuckin’ victim.”

Johnny stared hard at Chop Top, a weird staring contest between the two. Johnny sighed, getting up from you and shaking his head. “Whatever. Next time, I won’t be so fuckin’ nice about it.” He spit on the ground and stomped to the house, angry that he lost this fight.

Chop sighed as he put his knife away. “Come on, let’s get you up.”

Your leg was in a lot of pain from the slash Johnny gave you. Bubba made concerned noises at your state, tilting his head at you. Nubbins giggled to himself. “Lotsa’ blood. Hehehe. Blood.”

Your captor, yet savior, helped you up and held you close to him. He waved off his siblings and began to walk back with you slowly. As much as he was upset, he did not want you to get hurt. Especially by his family.

He carried you up the stairs, making sure to avoid hitting your leg on anything. He did not like to see you like this. You had the ghostly trace of tears on your face as you closed your eyes, waiting for death or for some relief. Sissy peeked out of her room and saw your sliced leg.

“Aww, poor darlin’,” she said as she got closer. “Want some help with her wound?”

“S-sure Sissy.” Chop replied quietly as he went into his room, setting you on the bed.

They both worked on your leg together, Chop Top stitching it up as carefully as possible as Sissy rubbed different soothing medication. You felt the pain begin to numb out. Sighing quietly with relief, you closed your eyes once more.

“Johnny just hates to lose a victim.” Sissy conversed while working. “He’s gonna’ be sulkin’ for a while about this.”

“She a-ain’t his victim.” Chop Top replied. “She’s mine.”

“Try tellin’ that to a man who enjoys killin’ more than anythin’ else in his life.” she said sarcastically. Chop Top let out a small chuckle.

Eventually finishing your leg, Sissy bid her goodbyes and left the two of you together. You opened your eyes and made eye contact with Chop Top. His eyes were swimming with irritation and fear. “Don’t ever do that again. Don’t kn-know what I would do w-without ya’.”

You nodded solemnly. He was right. They were out to kill her at any moment. But he saved her. He fought for her. That was… nice. The nicest thing he had done for you since he captured you.

“Thank you.” you murmured quietly as he sank onto the spot next to you.

“Don’t th-thank me.” he said back. “I w-would do it a th-thousand times over again.”

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