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fandom-go-round · 6 months

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bg3 companions + their reactions to finding out they knocked up fem tav? 👀 (for the ladies we can say they're trans or it's magic)

I wrote my boy first because he’s the best, can you guess who it is? Hint: He’s my first romance. No guess for you lovely requestor because you know too much LOL

Also I’m ignoring cannon endings here because we want to end up happy with babies. No angst here, begone!

Warnings: Implied Sex, Implied Sexual Situations, Pregnant Tav, Babies, Pregnancy Thing (Morning Sickness)

Astarion:

At first, he thinks that you’re joking. Vampires can’t have children after all, that’s a pretty basic fact. When you’re insistent, part of him wants to accuse you of cheating, as much as it pains him. That’s a part of him still tainted by Cazador and he muffles it as best he can. Astarion is going to insist you go to a healer together; if you’re not pregnant, something must be going on you need help with. When Shadowheart confirms you’re with child, he’s at a loss. Astarion doesn’t know what to say, truly.

After the initial shock, he goes on the hunt for anything and everything about human-vampire babies. The records are hard to find and some are locked far, far away but he finds them all. He can be very persuasive after all. It’s in one of these books that he figures out how you two made a baby; he’s going to be very careful taking your blood from now on. Speaking of, Astarion will refuse to drink from you while you pregnant, no ifs ands or buts. This is a firm boundary for him, even if you smell more and more delicious the farther along you get.

The pregnancy is hard and Astarion is afraid he’s going to lose you. The birth is especially gruesome and it’s only because of Shadowheart and Halsin that you’re alive. He wants to resent the baby for how you suffered but he can’t, they’re just too perfect. He’s afraid of getting too close, of tainting this little thing but you refuse to let him be apart. The first time he holds your child he weeps and it’s over. Astarion is always going to struggle with his emotions and feelings about being a father but never about how much he loves them. Also, he’s completely in charge of their wardrobe; you’re going to have the best-looking baby in the entire city hands down.

Gale:

Gale was always on the fence about kids. Sure they’re cute but they’re also loud and he struggles to take care of himself, let alone a little squishy creature. That doesn’t mean he’s upset when you tell him you’re pregnant, not at all. He’s just doing furious calculations in his mind and it looks like he’s crashed. Give his brain a moment to reset and he’ll give you a large grin and lean down to kiss you. Tara is the first person the two of you tell and she’s excited, vowing to be the baby’s protector. Gale loves her even more which is quite the feat. His mother is next and she immediately starts offering help. He just can’t get over how perfect his family is, it feels like a dream sometimes.

He takes a very technical approach to your pregnancy, like everything. Gale is reading all of the baby books and using all of the tracking charts he can get his hands on. He even goes to talk to midwives, wanting an expert opinion. It’s very sweet of him but you have to remind him that all babies grow at their own pace. He just wants to be the best dad he can and for him, that means more information. It is funny to watch him change a diaper for the first time but he never backs down from a challenge! Maybe he can use magic…?

He’s a mess when you actually go into labor. Gale swore he would be with you the entire time and then passed out in the final moments. He wakes up to a healthy baby and immediately starts crying. He enjoys being a dad, especially teaching your child new things. Your kid is going to have a huge curious streak that Gale will feed with vigor. He doesn’t consciously want your kid to be a wizard but would be overjoyed to have more in common with them.

Wyll:

Wyll is over the moon, as surprised as he is. Kids are something that he’s always wanted to have eventually and with you, his favorite person? What could go wrong? Of course, he’ll hear out your concerns if you have any and can have difficult conversations around pregnancy and child birth. One benefit of being a noble is that he has resources to help; whatever you want will be yours. He’s nervous to tell his dad but once the older man starts to tear up, he knows that he’s made a good choice. Wyll wants his family to be whole and happy.

He’s a chronic hoverer, as cute and frustrating as that is. Even in the early stages of pregnancy Wyll will try to do everything for you; moving a trunk? He’s got that, don’t strain yourself. Trying to cook dinner? Let him help you love. Be firm that you can do things yourself and he’ll back off. Just know that when you turn to ask him for help he’ll be waiting in the wings to be your hero. He’s also a pro at helping you figure out cravings. Wyll won’t complain if you wake him up in the middle of the night to go get something from the kitchen. He loves wrapping his arms around you from behind and rocking together; you being in his arms is his favorite thing.

He’s a trooper during the birth, being there the entire time. It takes a long time and he does worry but he encourages you and is your personal cheerleader. He can’t stop smiling after the baby is born, tracing their cheeks and forehead. As much as it would be funny to say Wyll struggles with being a dad, he really doesn’t. He loves your child so much, you’re surprised he never brought up kids in the first place. He is very much the definition of doting father but don’t let that fool you, he takes no disrespect, especially towards you. You’re the ruler of the house and Wyll is your backup. He’s the perfect mix of fun and strict dad. Now if he can convince you to have others…

Karlach:

Karlach is over the moon when you find our you’re pregnant. She had noticed you felt off and encouraged you to go to the doctor. Neither of you were expecting the baby news, as silly as it sounds. That doesn’t stop her form immediately lifting you up with a loud ‘whoop!’ and spinning your around the room. She loves babies! She loves you! This is going to be great.

She insists on redoing a room just for the baby. Even if their crib is going to be in your room for the first few months, Karlach wants your kid to have their own space. She paints the walls, builds all the furniture, everything. She asks for you opinion on decorations and doesn’t do anything without checking with you first but it’s her labor of love. It’s also her project for when she gets anxious thinking about the future. What is something goes wrong with her heart? What if something is wrong with the baby? What is the birth is too much for you? All of these thoughts get washed away in making the baby’s room perfect and then she goes to talk to you.

Karlach helps as much as she can during the birth aka you kick her (lovingly) into the hall to go grab towels so she stops hovering. When she gets back the baby is almost here and there’s no time to panic, just watch with wide eyes. She thinks you’re even more of a badass for going through all that and asks to hold the baby fist. Karlach cries holding them; they’re so cute and small and they’re the perfect mix of the two of you. She’s defiantly going to be the fun mom and there will be moments where it feels like you have two kids to scold. She takes safety very seriously, however, and is the first to lecture about stranger danger. Your kid will never feel unloved or unsafe, Karlach swears it on her life. This is her family now and no one else can have them.

Lae’zel:

Lae’zel struggles with the news that you’re having a baby. Partly because she never thought that she could have kids and the other part because she’s terrified about being a mom. She wasn’t raised in a traditional Faerunian way; no where on the continent can be compared to being raised Gith. She needs time to process on her own and it’ll be a few days before she comes back ready to talk. Take her concerns seriously and, if you truly want to keep the baby, she’ll raise them with you. She loves you after all.

It takes her a bit to understand all the changes your body is going through. It’s horrifying and amazing to watch your stomach swell and she loves gently cradling your bump as it grows. She doesn’t know what to do about the crying, except when someone else makes you cry. Then it’s easy: she wants to kill them. That usually makes you laugh and you’re able to talk her out of bodily harm. You do have some nice shop discounts now. Lae’el is very much your guard dog and she fulfills her position with pride.

The entire birthing process just shows Lae’zel that you’re the strongest person she knows. She’s completely impressed by how you handle everything and has a new respect for moms everywhere. She still thinks it’s gross and inefficient but badass all the same. Lae’zel is a strict mom but soft in her own way. She’s still learning to be kind to herself and the world around her. Your child will never feel the brunt of her frustration or confusion; they will, however, be able to swing a sword much too young. She beams with pride the first time your child beheads a training dummy and you know, deep deep down, that the two of them going to be trouble.

Shadowheart:

She starts to notice the signs before you do, honestly. At first it’s little things; you’re tired quicker, you’re more sensitive to certain smells. The big one is that you start to get morning sickness, frequently. Shadowheart finally sits you down after the fifth morning in a row over a bucket and checks you over. You’re pregnant all right, not doubt there. She’s going to be as surprised as you; you were both good about protection. Surprise baby!

She’s fairly neutral about kids. She never thought that she would have any, serving Shar, but now there’s a little more appeal to them. The pooping and crying she could live without but the idea of there being someone made up of the two of you? Shadowheart likes the idea more than she would admit out loud. She starts researching pregnancy healing the midwifery right away; she doesn’t have a lot of expertise with babies but she is a healer.

Shadowheart insists on delivering your baby herself. She wants to be a part of this and while you’re going to be doing the hard part, she wants to support you. If you have an issue, she will relent but has to be in the room. Your delivery is flawless and as she holds the bloody baby in her hands, she feels full. Of love and hope and excitement, all those emotions she once would have sworn off. For the first time since you’ve found out you’re pregnant, she’s excited to be a mom. She’s a strict but loving mom, teasing her kid and embarrassing them in public (just a little, like a cheek pinch). Shadowheart loves singing to your kids, something neither of you knew until now. Your house is full of love and laughter and singing, just perfect.

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fangirl-dot-com · 7 months

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Reader Lore - Born to Break Records

So this is a little filler for between now and the next chapter. This chapter might have triggers for death, abusive parents, and brief mentions of bullying. If these make you uncomfortable, then please feel free to skip this chapter. The synopsis is the reader’s life up until her first race win in F2.

Welcome to Reader-Lore

2003

The cry of a baby filled the sterile walls of the delivery room. Pants filled in the quiet moments, but were mostly covered. The wailing baby was placed into the arms of the waiting mother, the father looking down on the two.

“It’s a girl,” the nurse told them, writing something down in a book.

The atmosphere suddenly changed. The once hopeful air was dampened with disappointment. The father sighed loudly, turning his head to look out the window. The mother, who had held her baby tight, loosened her grip. Her nose was now scrunched in borderline disgust.

The nurse, feeling the off energy, offered to take the baby girl. She made some excuse about needing to weigh her and make sure that she was healthy, things that could have waited until after the parents bonded.

The mother was quick to hand her over, waiving her hand as though it wasn’t a big deal. The father had now moved farther away from the hospital bed.

The baby had started to wail once more after being taken from the arms of her mother. Arms that she thought were safe. Arms connected to the body that had cared for her for 9 months. Arms that suddenly did not hold her tight. Arms that willingly gave her away to some stranger.

Once the nurse and frightened infant left the from, the mother and father looked at each other.

“I wanted a boy,” the male murmured.

The female rolled her eyes, “I know. And so did I. But we don’t have a choice anymore.”

“We do. Could always leave her here. A boy would be able to break records. A girl is useless.”

“And be arrested? No thank you.” The mother rolled on her side, arms around her front. The father just huffed.

“Everything we talked about, our future, is now a wasted memory.”

The mother looked at the door with a sliver of hope, although, it was too small for anyone to see it. “Maybe she can do everything that you wanted a boy to do.”

“We can just have another baby,” the father persisted.

“You heard the doctor. It would be too dangerous for me to have another. What’s done is done. You can walk out now if you can’t commit.” The woman went to say something else, but was interrupted by whimpers.

The nurse had walked back in, now with a swaddled baby. Begrudgingly, the mother held her hands out to take the bundle of blankets. She looked down at the brand new baby, but her heart didn’t swell with pride like she read about. Her heart filled with distain, as if the baby were a Christmas present that she didn't want. But this time, she couldn’t return the baby like she’d return a gift at whatever store it was bought from.

The father had taken a few steps closer to the bed, but kept his distance. There wasn’t a bone in his body that actually wanted the child.

“We still need a name for her,” the nurse stated, clicking her pen.

The mother glanced to the father before saying, “Y/n. Her name is Y/n.”

2008 – Five years old

The air was stuffy, filled with the scent of petrol and burnt rubber. The quiet that could have been was broken by the rattles of engines and throttles. You wished for silence.

You wanted nothing to do with this. But, you’d rather get in a kart then flinch at your father’s hand. You had been allowed to wander around the track. The big boys were driving now. And by big boys, you meant 11- and 10-year-olds. They were bigger than you and drove karts that were so much faster than the little one that you had.

You looked around. There was definitely not a shortage of girls hanging around, but none were dressed like you. Most were the older or younger sisters of the drivers. Their pink tops, paired with shorts or skirts, flowed in the wind. None of them were wearing an old itchy race suit that was two sized too big. They were allowed to wear sandals, while you had to endure the tight racing shoes that your dad had definitely yanked on the laces too much. It wasn’t your fault that you hadn’t learn to tie them yet.

You watched their hair bounce in the tall pony tails tied on the tops of their heads. They didn’t need their hair to be wrapped in a bun at the base of their necks so that it could fit into a helmet.

You wished that your mom and dad would allow you to cut it off so that you could be the boy that they wanted. You knew that they didn’t want you, your little mind was able to catch on to things like that.

You understood patterns. Patterns on the track helped you know what areas to avoid. Patters on the kart taught you where to put your feet and hands. Patterns told you that moms and dads should be happy for their children, and not yell at them. Patters revealed that children did not flinch when their parents patted their heads or caressed their cheeks.

The wind blew loud as the kart race came to a close. You knew that you needed to get back quickly to where you parents were waiting, but you wanted to see the winners, wanted to see them taste a victory that you were so desperate for.

You squeezed past the other boys and looked up at the three on the podium. The one on the lowest step wasn’t rememberable. His hair looked the same as others. His height wasn’t tall or small, just in the middle.

But the boys on the other two steps were. The one on the second pedestal had a shaggy hair cut, with bangs that pointed down. You had seen him before, surrounded by his family. A little brother, a big brother, mom and dad, and then a man who looked at the boy with stars in his eyes.

You wished someone looked at you like that.

“And in second place, Charles Leclerc.” So that was his name. Sharl. His eyes were bright green and filled with light and hope. But a sadness still glazed them as he looked up at the boy on the top step.

The boy who towered over the crowd had blond sandy hair. For a winner, he didn’t look happy. His blue eyes didn’t hold the same brightness that the green eyes had.

“And our winner, Max Verstappen!”

That was a nice name. Max. You wanted to look at the boy winner for a few more moments. Engrave his image into your mind. Because, you didn’t know when the next time you’d be able to do this. Your dad would probably ban you from such things, saying something like you didn’t need to look at something you’d never achieve.

But you were hungry.

You were taken out of your watching by the announcement that your own race was going to start soon. And you weren’t in your kart.

You rushed through the crowd, trying to put on your bright pink helmet on. You could put your gloves on while you got into your kart.

By the time you got there, your dad was already looking at you with a disappointed look. Your mother was nowhere to be found.

“Where have you been,” he hissed, hitting your helmet.

“I wanted to see the podiums,” you muttered, getting your gloves on.

Your dad shook his head. “What have I told you about that?”

“That I shouldn’t look at things that I can’t get.”

“Exactly. Now get in your kart.”

You did as he said. You heart was pounding as you taxied the little thing onto the smaller track. You were able to be seen by everyone, your helmet acting as a little flag. It seemed to say “look at me! I’m the only girl trying to be on par with all these boys! Watch me fail!”

But you were determined to prove them all wrong.

By the last lap, you were right behind one more kart. One more pass and you could win. Prove your dad wrong. Prove everyone wrong.

You watched as he broke your pattern. The pattern that would help you win.

He made a mistake, and you welcomed it with glee.

You passed over the finish line with a significant gap behind you and that boy. At the stopping point, you parked your kart and stepped out, exhaling sharply.

You thought that people would cheer and shout, but the silence that you had wished for earlier had come to haunt you.

You won and there was nothing to celebrate.

2015 – Twelve years old

Everyone thought he was crazy. There was no way that he was going to sponsor a 12 year old in karting, a female none the less.

He wasn’t crazy. How could he not want to sponsor you, a consecutive race winner in your league. He constantly watched you drive circles around the boys who would berate you in their free time. He watched as you would let their words roll right off your back. You didn’t let their words get to you.

But, he was your godfather and he had a sense of responsibility for you. He watched as you climbed out of the kart, looking around trying to find a familiar face.

He could see your eyebrows raise through the visor when you caught sight of him.

“LoLo!” you yelled, quickly sprinting over to him. He was ready to catch you, but not expecting the hit with your helmet.

He let out an oof as you knocked him slightly off balance.

“Hey kid! You did good!” He rubbed your helmet as if it were hair. You quickly unbuckled the pink contraption and took it off, hair sticking to your forehead.

You looked around before your shoulders slumped. You kicked a rock as you spoke, “They didn’t come.”

Lorenzo had noticed a lack of your parents as soon as he arrived. He would have come earlier to help you with your kart if he had known that they weren’t here. He looked down at you with sad eyes, and that’s the last thing you wanted.

You always wished for someone to look at you with so much love and affection that it poured out of their soul. But you only ever got looks of hatred and pity.

He rubbed your shoulder, “It’s ok kid. But you wanna know something?” He crouched down to your level, pant legs getting damp with moisture. You nodded your head. “LoLo gets to sponsor you!”

You gasped, eyes tearing. Even though you were twelve, you knew the weight of the situation. Your parents had told you that because you were winning, you were embarrassing them. And because you were embarrassing them, they wouldn’t pay any more years of karting after this one. You wailed when you told Lorenzo the next time you saw him. And he saw your heart break into itty bitty pieces while you did.

When you left, he looked into every possibly way that he could keep you in karting. The only option was to sponsor you.

And sponsor you he did. He emailed, texted, and called multiple companies, trying to get their support. He would get sponsorship to put on your kart so that you could carry the logos proudly. He had your new one sitting in the back of his old truck, but that was a surprise. It was blue with two proud bulls on the very front. He had done it. He found you a sponsor that would keep you going for a couple of years.

His thoughts were interrupted by you actually knocking him over. He knew his sweater was getting damp, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to see you smile for the rest of his life.

You were too busy whispering thank you after thank you for you to notice the weird looks that you were getting. Looks from the boys that you had just beaten. Looks from the parents who didn’t know the worries of paying for karting.

He quickly picked you up and took you back over to get your cart. He helped you load it on the mover and rolled it over to his truck. You wouldn’t be needing this kart that was almost falling apart. You had a new one, and you’d be all right.

You talked the whole way home, animatedly moving your hands around as you described your latest win. Your hands rolled over the other as you showed him how you turned the wheel, barely clipping the front of the kart who wanted to push you off.

Lorenzo only looked at you with pure adoration. A look that you wanted so much, but were too busy to see due to your explanations of your imaginations.

Maybe he was crazy, but he didn’t think so.

2019 – Sixteen years old (F3)

Your eyes were pricked with tears as you read the letter you received in the mail. The big letters of DISOWNMENT flashed in the reflections. They had done it weeks ago, according to the date on the top of the paper. By now, your things were probably thrown away or burned.

You had just finished the F4 category and were making a name for yourself in F3. You couldn’t deal with this now. One of the management people came and knocked on your door, telling you that the race was about to start.

You crumpled the paper up and threw it in the trash. If they didn’t need you, you didn’t need them. That was the lie you continually told yourself. Of course a girl needed her parents. They were the people who were supposed to nurture you and help you.

But they never did that in the first place. At least you didn’t have to constantly buy drug store foundation and concealer and try to explain the black and blue around your eyes after it melted off during the race. No more flinching. No more hiding.

Just no more.

You would call Lorenzo and see if you could stay with him for a bit during the break. You would have to or you wouldn’t have a place to sleep.

Your breath shuddered at the thought.

You told yourself that you knew this was coming. They had cut all contact with you months ago and weren’t spotted when you went home during the last break.

You allowed the tears to fall as you got your helmet on. No one would see the streams as you placed your visor down. You were now hidden away from the weird looks that everyone sent you. No girl had ever made it this far.

Sure as you grew, there were girls in karting. That number seemed to increase in F4. Most of them were from the driver academies. You were still able to participate due to multiple sponsorships that Lorenzo had gotten you.

But with increase, there has to be a decrease. You were currently the only female in F3 and were set to be the only female to make it to F2. Well, that’s what everyone told you. Your stats reflected your need to prove yourself.

Race win after race win helped thrust you through the blockades built by men. They wouldn’t stop you, and you didn’t want to stop. Not now, not ever.

Each race win fueled your hunger in this world. And it only grew and grew.

Your tears were brushed away by the wind brushing through your car. At that moment, you told yourself that you wouldn’t cry over your parents ever again. They didn’t deserve them.

You could cry about other things. Such as passing over the finish line, marking your first win in F3.

You constantly showed the world that you could do it. You wanted to cry again as you listened to your anthem. You wanted to cry when the boys celebrated with each other, leaving you out. You wanted to cry as you walked back to your “motor home,” knowing that it was put up quickly for you.

The time you finally let yourself cry was when you were talking with Lorenzo on the phone. Your eyes were tired and dehydrated by the time you quit. Lorenzo was able to calm you down. He told you that he would take care of everything, take care of you.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to see him much though. The F3 calendar was far busier than the F4 one had. And you knew the moment you entered F2, time for relaxation would be far and few between.

But you had Lorenzo to fall back on when the times got hard. You could always count on him.

2020 – Seventeen years old (F2)

It was too soon. Too too soon. It wasn’t fair either. Your tears had not stopped streaming down your face since you arrived. The sterile smell itched your nose, but you needed to be here. For him.

He had gotten paler in the few moments since you had been there. His breath rattled with each inhale and exhale. And each breath brought more tears. You didn’t want to let him go.

“Please LoLo. I can’t do this without you,” you whispered, knowing that he probably would not hear you. The doctors told you that he was far too gone for that, but you liked to believe that he was still listening. “You can’t leave me like everyone has. I can’t be alone. I need you.” You put your face down in the blankets, squeezing his hand.

The nurses stood in the door, with tears of their own. They were watching a child lose the only family that she had left.

You inhaled sharply, wiping your tears away.

“You know I’m going to do it. For you. It’s only ever been you. You’ve been my best friend and I don’t know how I’m going to get through this scary world without you.” You hiccupped. “But, I know that you need to go. And I’m being selfish for keeping you here.”

You stood and kissed his forehead.

“Thank you LoLo, for everything. I love you.”

His chest rose, fell, rose, and fell.

But didn’t rise again. The multiple beeps from the different machines let you know that he was gone. And he wasn’t coming back.

One of the nurses came and rubbed your back as you sobbed, not caring who heard you. Your tears did not stop.

They didn’t stop on the plane to Bahrain. They refused to dry up during the practices as you set record times. They let up as you gave post-practice interviews, saving you from being embarrassed.

You cried as you put your helmet on. Stickers had been placed on it the night before with Lorenzo’s name and dates of birth and death to commemorate his legacy that would continue through you.

You knew this race was important. You heard that multiple F1 drivers were there to watch. And you’d give them a spectacle, before hiding away to burry your dead godfather. You hoped that the blond kid with blue eyes that had grown up by now was there. He didn’t need to know that you looked up to him. You just hoped that he’d be there. And possibly the green eyed Justin Bieber look-a-like as well, you had followed him too.

You had managed to score a P5 starting on the grid and you knew it would be tough to fight for the front. But you had a feeling that you’d be just fine.

And just fine you were.

You all hauled your F2 car over that finish line, finishing with a gap of 10 seconds. Your crew was screaming in your ear through the radio and congratulations were being thrown everywhere. You pulled into the number 1 spot and climbed onto the nose. You put your finger on the big numbers on the nose of your car, kissed the finger that touched it, and raised it, pointing at the sky. You had changed your driver number to the permanent 89 this season, and for the rest of your career.

One time, Lorenzo had showed you pictures of when he used to kart. The big 89 was visible through the old photographs. He had trophies upon trophies, but was never picked up by anyone. You told him that if he had raced these days, he’d be able to skip everything and would be put into an F1 car immediately. He had just laughed and told you to do it for him.

So that’s what you were doing. After you commemoration, you scrambled down the car and jumped into the crews waiting arms. These days, you did not flinch when they hit your helmet. You knew that these were celebrations for racers and you were thankful to partake. Two boys followed you up and went before you. You didn’t remember their names, only the Australian accent and the odd American accent. But they would remember your name.

You carried your flag high as you walked onto the stage. The anthem sounded much sweeter this time around. The trophy felt a little heavier this time though. You looked up to see those blue eyes that you saw many years ago. Max said a quick congratulations before you raised it as though to almost offer it to the open sky. This time, you let the tears go. You quicky wiped them away and picked up the giant bottle of champagne. You hauled it over your shoulder and sprayed the others, absolutely drenching them.

This time, they did it to you as well.

You knew you made it.

I’ll do it for you, LoLo.

December 2024 – Twenty-one years old

Christian Horner sat in the folding chair, as he did year after year. A camera was right in front of him, with an interviewer to the side.

“Please state your name for the camera.” He rolled his eyes.

“My name is Christian Horner, and I am the Team Principal of the Oracle Red Bull Racing Formula 1 Team.”

“Let’s talk about your driver, Y/n L/n.”

The screen cuts to the pace of your car, passing multiple others in one clean sweep.

“She’s one of the best talents I’ve seen in a while.”

A scene of you holding a trophy, high in the sky.

“What is one thing that you admire about your driver. She has said a lot about you.” Christian smiled. Of course you had. You told him that you saw him as the dad you never had.

“Almost everything she touches, she turns it to gold.”

The scene changes to your first win. The crowds of red cheered your name. Something you didn’t think was possible. You had taken that win from their favorites and you were being praised for it. Slow-motion splashes of champagne hit you from either side as you wiped your face.

The scene returns, but Max is in Christian’s spot.

“She’s different. She’s the epitome of what a rookie should be. I’m just thankful that she’s my teammate and not working against me.”

The screen fades to two Red Bull cars with an Aston Martin in between them.

“Y/n, Max is currently behind the Aston. Gap to you is 1.237 seconds,” Mitch’s voice is heard off screen through the radio.

“Tell Maxie that it’s time to do the old switcharoo!”

Your car suddenly slowed down just enough on the turn, and the crowd cheered as Max’s car went wide, putting him before you. You quickly got in his slip stream and the two of you sped off, leaving the green car in the dust.

Another driver, with green eyes, is now in the seat, answering the same question.

Charles looked up in thought while blowing some air out his lips. “She’s fearless. You normally don’t see that anywhere. Sure, everyone gets scared if they have an impact, especially as big as the one she had, but not her.”

The camera cuts to the violent scene of your first DNF. Your car flipped, you were trapped. People’s faces were adorned with tears including Christian, no one had been able to contact you. Yet, the focus is now on you, wiggling out from beneath the wreckage. You, in spite of it all, raised your fist as though you were celebrating a first win.

The scene cuts to an Australian with a straight smile. He looks semi-uncomfortable in the seat.

“It looked like you and L/n had a tussle in the beginning. Is that true?”

Oscar shook his head. “There was never a tussle. We both made mistakes, but that’s racing. Wheels touch all the time: it doesn’t mean that we have the urge to take each other out.”

The interviewer continued, “But she did take you out.”

The screen fades to a clip of two cars dangerously close together, one orange and one navy.

David Croft’s voice could be heard, “And there goes the Red Bull of Y/n L/n and the McLaren of Oscar Piastri! They are close together around that corner and they aren’t backing down. Are they going to make contact! And they do! Off the track they go, debris is everywhere. And I don’t think they are going to be able to continue.”

You knew that you should not have “never backed down never what-ed.” But Oscar was going for it and so were you. And you felt terrible. You quickly used the halo to climb out. Looking over, Oscar was doing the same thing.

The camera followed you as you made your way through the swarming stewards. You just knew that you needed to check on the Aussie.

The crowds could hear David speak again, “Oh no. Looks like L/n is mad. Does Red Bull have a thing for drivers with anger issues?”

Oscar looked up and saw you storming towards him, batting away the stewards hands. He stiffened, ready for anything. But what he didn’t expect was a giant hug. He could feel you shaking and he quickly put his hands around you.

“I’m ok.”

The screen flashes back to Oscar.

He huffed, “She did. But the moment she got out of the car, she came to check on me. She batted away the stewards who were desperate to make sure that she was fine, since she took the brunt of the hit. If that doesn’t convince you that Y/n is a great friend and better driver, then I don’t know what will.” The Aussie looked livid.

The scene cuts to now a new face, your manager.

The interviewer asks, “What is something that people might not know about Y/n.” Vito put his hand to his chin. You had already given him the permission to talk about what might be discussed.

He inhaled, “She’s strong. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well.”

“Can you give us an example?”

“The kid was disowned in 2019, right before her F3 debut. And you know what she did? She put that F3 car in the P1 spot. She never showed it though. She held her head high, and was squeezing into her place, that was waiting for her, in this sport.”

A quick flash of 16 year old you, holding your first F3 trophy, was shown on screen.

Vito kept talking as the scene changed to you walking around your motor home, greeting everyone who was there. They knew what had happened, and comforted you with words and hugs. You were thankful for them.

“She also lost her godfather Lorenzo in January 2020. It was heartbreaking to hear her over the phone. Her debut in F2 was the next day. I told her that she didn’t have to, but she insisted that she needed to race, to win.”

The camera followed 17 year old you, helmet on and visor down, as you walked to your F2 car, shining with your new number.

“In less than 24 hours, she was back in the car.”

Your car sped down the straight, over the finish line.

“And she won.”

The scene shifted to 23 year old Max Verstappen handing you the big F2 trophy. Tears could be seen in your eyes as you took the cup and thanked him.

“Did you know?”

Max looked at her in bewilderment. “I didn’t. And you would have never guessed it. Y/n has her heart on her sleeve, everywhere she goes, except when she races.”

A quick cut now shows Christian back in the seat.

“The last driver I saw with that mental strength was Charles Leclerc. He previously lost his godfather, and then lost his father. A few days later he won his race. Y/n lost the only family she had in less than a year.” Christian laughed. “These rookies are built different. You’d think they were made for the earlier days of racing, with how much they put into it. But Y/n, I don’t know. Her aura commands attention.”

The scenes now shown are from multiple races.

The camera followed you as you walked through the crowded paddock, trying to get back to hospitality. You thought that it would be different, that you’d have to squeeze through to get by. But with each step you took, the people parted like water.

You flashed a smile at many fans who seemed awestruck to be in your presence.

A new driver is now in the seat.

“She’s almost like Charles, in a sense,” Lando said. “The two of them,” he looked around, “I don’t know. It’s hard to describe.”

“Can you try?” Lando shot her a cheeky grin. “They are basically the F1 royalty. Any driver has a ‘celebrity image’ and people are excited to see us outside. They ask to take pictures, but they also do things against us.”

The scene cuts to multiple instances of booing and pushing drivers.

“And yet, Charles and Y/n bend them to their will almost. They listen to them. The King and Queen of Formula 1.”

A video of you, Lando, Max, and Charles speaking before the Monaco Grand Prix plays.

“Ah, Max. Did I tell you that we have to address them as your highness now?”

Max looked up from his phone and followed Lando’s finger that was pointed at Charles and you, deep in conversation.

“No? Why?” Lando walked over and showed him the edit and comments on his phone.

The caption read “Y/n L/n and Charles Leclerc are F1 royalty and we need to address them as such.” The video that played started with a clip of Charles in Monaco, with the grid and Monegasque royalty behind him. He looked so majestic. It switched over to you in your home country, with a crowd around your pedestal. You hadn’t even won yet, and they looked at you as though you hung the moon. You stretched out your arms and the crowd roared.

Max looked back at the two, who were ignorantly blissed. Max looked up at Lando.

“You’re right.”

The camera is back to Charles.

His eyes were wide with eyebrows raised, “Lando really said that.” He smirked. Shuffling up to good posture he said, “I’m fine with that. Y/n has always been different, but in a good way. She knows what the people wants, but also doesn’t get caught up in all the PR. She’s herself.”

A clip of you with fans plays. Your smile was mirrored with theirs. Everyone wanted to see you, hug you, feel you. And the waves that were emanating from you only made the crowd happier.

Now, the seat is occupied by none other than Sir Lewis Hamilton.

“What do I think about Y/n?” he questions back to himself. “I know that she is one of the best rookies to ever come across in the world of Formula 1. I’ve had the opportunity to share podiums with so many drivers, but her? There’s something different.”

The scene flashes to a podium shared with you, Lewis, and Max. Lewis had been able to take the win, leaving you on the third step. You had almost had the win, but a late safety car ruined it. Lewis looked over at you, expecting a disappointed face. But all he saw was a smile that rivaled the sun.

“She never seems to be disappointed with anything. Even if she was to qualify in last place, she would still smile.” Lewis laughed. “And I think everyone loves her more than they realize.”

A small clip of you and a bulldog flashes across the screen. Roscoe was licking all over your face.

“Roscoe, stop!” But you were laughing, and the dog thought that he should continue. Lewis found the two of you in the middle of the floor in the Mercedes hospitality. A blanket was draped around your shoulders.

“And what are you doing here kid?” Lewis put his hands on his sides.

You shrugged. “Toto told me I could hang out here. Max is having one of those ‘adult meetings’ that Christian says my ears shouldn’t hear. I think they forget that I’m 21 now.”

Lewis just laughed, thinking of how Toto must have let you in and had given you a blanket as well. He just ruffled your hair and sat on the ground with you.

The scene changes one more time. You are now in the seat.

The interviewer asks, “Please state your name and your occupation.”

You smiled, “My name is Y/n L/n and I am a Formula 1 racer who drives for the Oracle Red Bull Racing Formula 1 Team. I also DJ,” you shot finger guns at the camera and clicked you mouth, “Thanks Lando.”

“How was your first season in Formula 1. You obviously showed the world of what you could do.”

You nodded before continuing, “The season went better than I expected. To place third in the driver’s championship as a rookie? Unheard of.” You smirked. “Until now.”

The person behind the camera continued, “You were only 10 points away from Charles Leclerc. How does that make you feel?”

You cocked your head. “It feels wonderful. Charles had a really good season.” You leaned in as though to tell a secret. “If anything, don’t tell Charles or Max I said this, but Max and I would rather lose to Charles than anyone else.”

“And why is that?”

You deadpanned. “Well Charles is Lightning McQueen incarnate and Max’s emotional support rival. Who else would we want?” People laughed in the background.

“Now that you know you could win a championship…”

You cut her off, “Oh I’ve always known I could win a championship. But I also know that I was born to break records. And right now, I’m on a path to help Max break the 7 streak.”

“Ah yes, sorry. What would you do after winning a championship.” You hadn’t seen Max slip in.

“I think I’d pull a Nico Rosenburg. Ya know? Retire while I’m ahead.”

“You would not do that!” Max said behind the camera and you looked straight at him.

“Yes I would.”

“No you wouldn’t. Because you said you were born to break records. Well Kid, if I make a record championship, you need to be the one to break it.”

Oh my gosh, I loved how this chapter turned out. And it is officially the longest chapter I have written so far – 6,077 words. Right now, I have to write the chapter for the last race of F2 and you readers have to pretend that it lands on a weekend that the F1 drivers can attend.

Also! I am pleased to announce that the first few chapters of a new series will be out shortly! It is called “Besties for the Resties” and it’s how you got close with many of the drivers. Not all of them will have their own chapter and not all the drivers are being written about. So please be aware that this will not be going over 10 chapters!

Thank you to all my readers and Happy Thanksgiving!

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#charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x driver!reader #max verstappen x reader #platonic grid x reader #arthur leclerc x reader #formula 1 x you #carlos sainz x reader #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #logan sargeant x reader #alex albon x reader #george russell x reader #lewis hamilton x reader

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lunargrapejuice · 5 months

Text

will we make it through?

diluc ragnvindr x fem!reader | 7.7k + words

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, hurt/comfort/smut, oral (receiving), very emotional and loving sex, over stimulation, cream pie, mating press if you squint. i don't think anything else but please let me know if i missed anything!

the doors of the winery seem heavier than usual as diluc pushes them open, the parlor quiet and cold like the night outside and it makes his chest ache as much as his hands that held too tightly onto the hilt of the claymore tonight. usually the manor would blanket him with warmth the moment he stepped inside, especially when he knew you were waiting for him. finally being home, in your arms, simmered the flames of his duties that pushed him to work harder and harder and ignited a softer flame, one of love, more fierce and all consuming.

of late, that flame had been accompanied by a black smoke and uncertainty, clouding the once clear and comfortable distance between you. before it had been enough so that you ran as free as you pleased, for he would never hold you back, but close enough so he could reach out and pull you into him, watch over and protect you. bath in your light and love even when a man as shrouded in darkness and broken as him did not deserve it.

it started off manageable at first. a clench of his fist at his side when he had gone in to kiss you passionately, to convey how much he missed you, but ended up hurting you instead when his fingers tangled into your hair painfully. you yelped out in sudden pain and he pulled away so quickly, as if he had burned you, but it had only made it worse. he had swallowed down the lump in his throat when you sweetly told him it was okay and stood on your toes to kiss him softly but it was only the first of many loving intentions that did not turn out as he hoped.

a pang in his chest when the only time he saw you was when he came home from being the dark knight hero, your tired form half sat up and in an uncomfortable sleep, the light in the bedroom still on and an askew book in your lap. he took great care in tucking you in with gentle movements and felt so badly when you woke up anyways, welcoming him home and whispering ‘i missed you’s before falling back asleep even if you tried to fight it off in order to be with him for just a little longer.

his heart was torn between his selfishness to want these small moments with you and the need to protect you in any way he could, including your health and your sleeping habits. just because his own suffered at the cost of his duties should not mean that yours should too. he needed you to be well and with a reluctant heart told you not to worry about waiting up for him, that your sleep and well-being was far more important.

the distance, that smoke that hidden you from him, had only grown since that day.

reluctant and displeased in your own right, you still did as he asked and stopped waiting for him to return late in the evening, each night getting farther and farther from him, your sleep not improving at all. with the seasons changing it always made the winery grow busier, the threats to the city more eminent and with it all the moments you spent together becoming fewer and fewer. it was agony being away from you, diluc thought each time you popped into his mind, so frequently throughout the day, and yet you continued to be out of his reach, three or more paces ahead and he was falling even more behind.

and as each of you passed by the staff at different times throughout the day, the same light missing from your eyes, they began to wonder if either of you knew the other was in just as much pain.

he trudges through the heaviness of his own whirling thoughts. as if every step he took through the manor the loneliness of years past came flooding back; the coldness of the first night without a father or a brother, ice in his bones and blood on his skin. an untouched room left to collect dust and remained familiar but was not quite home when he returned years later. except this time it wasn’t burned pictures and items full of bittersweet memories that haunted him, it wasn’t secrets and death at his own hands that followed everywhere he went. it was the fog of what was becoming of your relationship that painted his fears in every room he passed.

the emptiness of life without you..

and how could it not when your rescheduled dinners together have become forgotten entirely or when every day it felt like you were no longer on the same page, off sync and so unsure of the others feelings. when he’d go in to kiss your forehead in a brief moment of passing, just for you to move at the wrong moment and instead of a sweet kiss meant to show you his affection, remind you he was thinking of you, you hit heads, hard. you try to act like it wasn’t affecting you too. having you knock quietly on his office door, unaware of the important business partners in front of him but hurrying to apologize and leave before he can excuse himself for a moment to tell you it’s okay and that he’d come find you once he was finished, so please wait for him. thinking he’d have the night off work and you try to surprise him with dinner only to find he would be unable to join you and when he did the same in return, your schedule too wouldn’t allow for it. you smiled despite it all, a silent promise that you were okay even if your eyes told a different story.

to say it had been hard recently would be an understatement, trust him he is feeling it so strongly too. but even if it had been this way and he was getting by, barely, it doesn’t stop how much it rips his heart from his chest when he slips into bed tonight, strong hands with a slightly detectable shake to them caressing your lovely visage, moving hair from your face. he drinks you in, takes in every inch of the person he loves more than anything else in this world, tries to memorize your face like he hadn’t already a thousand times over, like he might never see you again, and with such attention it’s impossible to not see the dried tear streaks on your cheeks in the moonlight coming from the window.

who knew one's heart could feel like it was still beating and breaking outside of their chest while the hole in their ribcage bled without mercy.. diluc felt just that knowing he was the cause of your pain and your tears and he wasn’t here to do a damn thing about it. how many nights had you spent like this while you were trying so hard to be strong? his thumbs caress the soft skin of your cheeks, as if they were attempting to wipe that which had already long passed and make up for a moment he had already missed.

diluc had always thought you deserved better, so much more than him because, even if he would give you the world, surely his darkness would take you like it had others and perhaps that was exactly what-

“‘luc?” your raspy and tired voice brings him from the words that surely wouldn’t be well for his heart but your bleary eyes, slowly blinking open and immediately collecting more tears, are just as telling to what he already knows. your tone wrought with lingering pain that you suffered in alone and it’s killing him, “y‘re home?”

“i’m home,” he assures you, his own voice unsteady as he pulls you close to try to hide, to not let you see the tears pooling in his eyes because he felt them burning the moment yours started to water at the sight of him. right now, in the middle of the night when you were both so close and yet so far, he didn’t know what else to do but try to be strong too and hold you against him while wishing he could carry the pain for you both, even if it broke him.

he can feel you shaking in his arms, knows the wetness of his shirt where your face is buried in his chest is from your silent tears but before he can speak, sooth you with a voice already breaking, your words stop his every function. he swears he’s not even breathing when you weakly ask him.

“diluc.. are- are we going to be okay?”

with the breaking of his heart, his whole body flexes and he holds you so close, in a vice grip you might have found crushing had you not needed it so badly yourself. one hand cradling the back of your head, burying in your hair, the other around your middle and keeping you pressed to him so nothing could get between you. he couldn’t hold back, couldn’t let you go for even a second, like every part of his rationale told him you would slip from his grasp if he gave even an inch.

“yes. of course.” despite the tear escaping him when he speaks, he says the words tenderly, reassuringly, strongly as he believes them, feeling your hands bunch the fabric of his shirt in a tight grip in a silent reply. he could not even begin to imagine a life where you were not together, where you were not beside him until the end of his days. you had to be okay and he would do anything to see that through.

* * *

bustling life in the winery started early in the morning. even if the master bedroom remained quiet and peaceful, the rest of the manor had workers coming and going and maids floating from task to task as soon as the sun began to rise from behind the hills of mondstadt. diluc and the many tasks he had to see to were not immune to the earliest hours of the morning either, no matter how much his body and heart begged him to stay in bed with you.

this morning had been the hardest of all. how was he supposed to leave when you had cried yourself back to sleep in his arms last night and held on to him tightly even in your slumber? when he rose with the sun anyways he did his best to let you rest, with the intention of getting as much work as he could done early before coming to wake you up with breakfast, behind the closed door of your bedroom where it was only the two of you and he could take the time to have a proper discussion and tell you that he loves you.

but it seems yet again you were not aligned when not forty minutes after he settles into his study with large stacks of paper on either side of him, waiting for his immediate attention, you quietly knock on the open door frame and smile. one that makes his chest both flutter and ache.

“morning ‘luc.”

“good morning darling.”

you both say at the same time and are just as quickly flushed with heat and a kindle of hope. he stands from his desk and with long strides makes his way towards you as you stumble over what you were going to say next while diluc falls silent against the strike of the match deep within his heart, so full of conviction and the truth of the words he spoke to you last night. you were going to be okay. he had meant it with his entire being.

the shy chuckle and smile you give him only fuels his hope more; so genuine and beautiful, full of the brightness he worried he was taking from you when all he ever wanted to do was preserve it, let himself get lost in it when you pulled him in so easily and found your own comfort in his shadows. the dress you wore, one you often put on when picking grapes in the vineyard that he recalled purchasing for you, one he knows well, only served to amplify how much he misses you, how absolutely divine he finds you. he would do absolutely anything for you.

“i.. um, i know it’s busy around here but i just wanted to let you know i’ll be around the winery today if you need anything,” you say, that sweet smile still on your face. all he needed was you.. your smile falters when you hesitate to speak your next words, your gaze moving from his handsome face to the floor beneath your feet. feeling his heart pick up speed at the sight of your distress. he moves closer to you, his gloved hand ever so gently grabbing yours and it catches your attention. when your gazes meet again, he sees determination behind your sparkling eyes. “.. could we have lunch together later?”

he’s eager to answer you, wants to ask if you’ll stay in his study with him the rest of the day even if it’s a selfish request, even if it means not much work will get done when he’ll need to have you right in his lap. his grip on you tightens, his pink lips stretch into a loving smile but as the words leave him, they meddle with the sound of quick footsteps and elzer calling for the young master, unaware of the moment he was interrupting. had he known, he would have done more to delay himself even if this was rather urgent.

“master diluc, is the paperwork for the wangshu inn order ready? the shipment from liyue is -” elzer stops in his tracks, green eyes widening when he sees the two of you at the threshold of the study nearly chest to chest. diluc still holds onto your hand but both of your gazes are now on the butler. “i’m so sorry -”

“it’s okay,” you interrupt with a squeeze of your beloved's hand, trying to reassure you both that your words weren’t a lie. you smile despite the snapping of your heart strings. the universe was hell bent on keeping you apart, wasn’t it? “i was just headed out,” the words felt strained coming from your throat but you knew right now you were only interrupting and needed to let diluc get back to his work.

as you let go of dilucs hand, your eyes return to looking up at him and you see emotions that seem to mirror yours, like in the deep ruby shade of his eyes you can make out how much it hurt him to hear you say you were leaving even though you would not be far. the push and pull of the many duties he carries on his shoulders and how painful it was when you pushed yourself away so he could focus on another, though he understood why.

“i’ll come find you.” a promise that you wouldn’t be apart for long but archons it was utter misery to have you be away from him for even a moment and watching you walk away and disappear from his view before he was ready had only made it worse, had only made his chest ache.

he wonders if you are holding back the tears you had, and hadn’t, shared with him last night as you push the front doors of the manor open, trying to keep your head up when he could see the heaviness of your heart like a blanket weighing down on you. it wasn’t until he couldn’t see you anymore that he returned to behind his desk, forcing his feet to move in the opposite direction of you when they screamed to follow, and did all the work he could before he could not hold off being with you for a moment longer.

the melody of your voice coming from the open window, distant but close enough that all it would take is a minute to get to you. his hand twitching at the remembrance of holding you for such a brief time hours prior. the picture of you from this morning, in that dress, smiling and blushing at him, flashing behind his eyes with every blink. your sweet scent lingering on his clothes. the love and devotion he holds for you, the distance and tears that had torn you both apart, the need to be close to his very heart and never ever let you go- it all stopped diluc so suddenly and he knew he was at his limit.

he needed you. more than air and water, more than his strength and the fire that had always been within him. more than anything else in this world and celestia he needed you.

his footsteps are determined, not stopping for even a moment and only slowing when he nears the front doors, seeing adelinde among the few others in the fourier having finished the worst of the workload already.

“adelinde that will be enough for today. please excuse the staff for the rest of the day.”

“yes master diluc,” she doesn’t question it and is quick to let the others that hadn’t already overheard know, looking forward to any early day they rarely got.

the afternoon sun paints the fields in a lovely yellow, bringing out the shine of plump purple grapes and the brightness of the lush green leaves. among it all he easily found you and feels his heart surge at the sunlight illuminating the exposed skin of your chest and legs even at this distance.

you hadn’t asked for the dress you adorned today, hadn’t even seen it before unwrapping the gift box he gave it to you in. it wasn’t extravagant but simple, comfortable, and of a shade that had always reminded him of you. it was years ago now but he remembers from the moment he saw it he knew how beautiful you would look in it and he was right. every time you wore it he had thought so and today that felt especially rue.

you caught a glimpse of bright red in your side view, the bounce of crimson locks and the darkness of his black coat in contrast to the vibrant day, before he made it to you but just the slightest sight of him had you paying not another thought to what you had been doing mere moments ago. the butterflies in your stomach began to flutter about wildly, the invisible tether of your love, that tied your hearts as one, going taut and bringing you to his side quickly, having you reaching for him as soon as you could.

“diluc~.”

“my love.”

he was just as eager to feel you, pulling you close to him with a large hand on your lower back as soon as you were within arms reach, the fingers of his other curling to caress your face tenderly. you melt against him, leaning into his touch, lashes fluttering closed, your hands holding onto his jacket tight.

yes all he had needed was you. and in your hold, he felt how much you needed him too.

“spend the rest of the day with me?” he asks, voice little more than a whisper as he leans in to place a kiss to your cheek. the warmth it left on your skin was like the nourishment you had needed so desperately and you love how it lingers when he moves to kiss your lips, delicate and reassuring.

“really? what about-”

“please.”

“i- i would love that, so much.”

your lips meet again, long and gentle, and you smile into his replying kiss, feeling that heavy weight of worry and anxiety melt away under his affections, the way he held you and kissed you softly with no intention of letting you go.

he had missed your smile against his lips, had needed it more than he thought possible and relishes in the way it lingers on his lips. it makes him feel lighter, as you always had, but in comparison his next words are serious, dripping with conviction and truth, telling you he needed you to hear his words and never forget them.

“i am unable to envision a universe in which we are not together,” he pulls you closer so you’re now chest to chest, forehead to forehead, sharing every breath, every heartbeat.

your chest tightens at the remembrance of last night. the thoughts that overtook your every worry, dug into every wound deeper and deeper until you weeped and dreamt of the terrible outcome of everything keeping you from him. a life full of still and dark numbness because truly how could the world keep spinning and moving so easily when you were without diluc.

“i cannot be without you,” he says, stopping your every thought, your every worry, kissing you again and again, whispering when he comes up for air, continuing to steal your breath. “not now. not ever.”

* * *

your feet hadn’t touched the ground since diluc lifted you into his arms bridal style, carrying you past the workers leaving for the day who didn’t disturb the soft gazes and wordless affections you shared as you disappeared past the front doors and into the now quiet manor. the heaviness of dilucs boots and the sounds of your lips now on his were the only sounds to be heard until the door to the master bedroom was flung open and you gasp at the intensity of which diluc presses you between his broad chest and the wall with a groan that made your core ignite.

the familiar wall cools your burning skin but it wouldn’t be too long now before the entire room was as warm as you and diluc were when entangled in each other. before the back of your head can be pressed against it too, with you so eager and pliant to accept everything he gives you and him so very desperate to not hold back, a large hand cradles the back of your head and keeps it from ever touching the wall as diluc kisses you deep, so full of love and desire. you can feel it with every movement of his lips on top of yours, the way his tongue swipes along your bottom lip and into your mouth, his fingers sinking into your hair, pulling you into him.

you can feel every heaving breath he takes, the weight of it on your body and the heat of it on your face. mixed with his normal scent of oak and wine it had you lightheaded, your thighs squeezing around his thin waist, your hands clinging onto his shoulders for more purchase even though he could easily hold your entire weight on his own and loved to do so. having you depend on him in any way always made his chest swell and right now, while he held you there grinding his hard clothed cock against the dampness of your panties, the fingers of his hand not in your hair squeezing the plush of your thigh, the flames of his heart threatening to devour every inch of you both, was no exception.

how long had it been since he had touched you more than in passing or late into the night? since he could remind you in this way that you are everything to him? you had been a constant on his mind even if physically he was far away. every moment without you was spent yearning, worrying, aching and now that he had you in his arms once more, nothing to interrupt you, and the universe be damned, he would not be ever letting you go again.

he groans your name against your lips at the feeling of your fingers sinking into his hair and tugging on his roots when he grinds against you particularly hard, in perfect time with you chasing after him. “i need you so badly.” his kiss is consuming, nearly teeth clashing and absolutely breath stealing and with every thrusts of his hips, he swallows your sultry moans.

he untangles his hand from your hair and grabs your other thigh, lifting you further up on his waist and easily carries you to the bed, each step confident and steady even with you distracting him, cupping his face in your palms, not wanting your lips to be apart from his for a even moment and he's sure to stay close as he crawls onto the bed. like you were the most precious of glass, he lays you in silky sheets and pillows slowly with your legs straddling his, your hands still holding onto his face, his strong arms keeping him from crushing you completely with his full weight.

you don’t realize you’ve started to cry until you taste the tears on your lips, warm and salty against the sweet taste of each other. diluc attempts to pull away, not far, but enough to check that you're okay and wipe your tears but you don’t falter in your hold on him and he cannot resist your gentle urgency. you can only deepen your kiss, tasting his tongue and lifting your hips to feel his cock that was making his pants incredibly tight.

neither of you know how long you stay like that, unable to part but when you finally pull away for air you desperately need, you’re panting and trying to tell him how much you need him too but it’s so hard to put into words right now. all you can get out is his name while you try to wipe your tears that just won't stop no matter how much you try to will them to.

“i’m here,” he assures you, bringing up one hand to wipe your wet cheeks with his thumb, watching your tears collecting on the dark of his gloves, feeling his own eyes burning. “i’m yours.”

“i’m yours,” you repeat in earnest, even if your voice is weak from your uncontrollable tears. your grip on him grows tighter as you pull him into a kiss, salty wet and desperate for him to know just how true your words were. “i’m sorry ‘luc. i’m so sorry..”

sorry we’re in this mess, that i can’t stop crying. sorry that i worried we might not make it through this, even if only for a night.

he hushes you with a gentle caress of burning fingers along your face and through your hair, the press of steady lips against your cheek. “there’s no reason to be sorry, my dear. everything is going to be alright, we will be alright.”

you nod your head, his words wrapping around your spine and seeping throughout your body, every ounce of you thrumming with the belief and the love you found in his words. “i love you.”

“i love you too,” he doesn’t miss a beat in his confession to you. he nuzzles into you, burying his face into the crook of your neck, taking in your sweet scent and the feeling of you underneath him, letting himself sink further into the mattress with nearly his whole weight enveloping you but it was more comforting than crushing and it had been exactly what you both needed. “more than i can put into words.”

your body was bursting with all kinds of heat, that from your beloved that he so naturally emitted and the burning, blazing flame within your heart that was a twin to his own. fueled by your love, by your devotion. and there was no denying the heat pooling between your legs either, the way your panties already felt so wet and the press of dilucs impressive erection against your inner thigh was not making it any better.

he felt it all too, wanting to let its fire consume him, bright and burning hot with his feelings for you, how he would do anything for you, how badly he needed you in any and every way. a familiar heat that he had felt for you since you stole his heart but even when he thought it impossible, it had only grown since that day and his inability to live without you grew with it.

his lips meet the skin on your neck, soft kisses placed along the length of your neck to below your ear and back down again, making your skin burst out in goosebumps. “can i have you?” he asks when his lips return to where they started.

“please.” you say with eagerness, your hands tugging at any part of his clothes that they can hold onto.

every move diluc makes is delicate, intentional, showing you the truth and intensity of his love. first, he removes his gloves, needing to feel all of you against his skin. vivid, hungry, scarlet eyes never leave your figure as he pulls off the leather from each hand and tosses them onto the nightstand, feeling you shudder under his touch when one hand grabs your thigh, spreading your legs further apart and the other ghosts over your collarbone, skilled fingers dipping below the strap of your dress, moving along the hem that plunges to your breasts.

“you are so soft,” he murmurs as if he hadn’t known he said it outloud, as if it had been the first time he had ever felt your skin in a way only he should touch you. the pads of fingers ghost along the tops of your breasts, barely moving below your dress to feel all of you but still hardening your nipples under the fabric.

your chest is heaving, like his touch was burning into your skin for you to remember for all time, your heart hammering in your chest every passing moment, every touch diluc gives you. your back arches to allow space for his hand snaking around your waist to your back and in his endless strength, he lifts your figure, your arms wrapping around his neck for stability. his movements are swift as pulls up the fabric of your dress, your arms leaving his embrace so he can take it off you completely.

in your needy movements you try to reach back with one arm to undo your bra but a strong grasp holds onto your wrist before you can unclasp the prongs. you feel it more than see it, the shake of his head in protest.

“let me take care of everything,” he says, deep and rumbling against your body, his breath fanning against your neck where his lips have once again found their home.

diluc guides your hand to his chest and you grip onto the fabric on his coat, wishing he was just as bare as you, especially when he unclasps all the hooks of your bra in one motion, pulling the fabric from between you and discarding it by your dress.

with a last kiss and a small lick of his tongue against your skin, his hand still splayed on your back, he guides you back down into the plush mattress, staying on his knees between your spread legs. now only a thin pair of lace panties keeps him from seeing all of you and he takes his time revealing you to him, unwrapping you like the gift you were and making you tremble with his hands and lips.

he kisses you, strong hands squeezing your waist when you moan into his lips and you might have cried in protest when he breaks away but they don’t leave you long, finding your collar bone and moving across your chest, down your arm, each finger, every knuckle and back up again only to move to the other arm, not a bit of you going unloved.

you shudder as his lips cascade down your middle, leaving a humming warmth in their wake all the way to the edge of your panties and back up to your breasts. he kisses the underside of one while grabbing the other with a gentle squeeze that has you mewling, arching for more. his breath fans against your sensitive skin, hot and heavy with parting of his lips as he envelopes your hardened nipple and presses into you, letting you feel how hard he is with a roll of his hips against yours.

every sweet suckle and lick of his tongue, attention that he gave to both of your breasts, had the pooling wetness between your legs soaking through your panties and your hips bucking to feel more of him. when diluc finally does part from your chest, he sits back on his knees, his tall frame towering over you and archons you swore you could cum just from the sight of him like this.

his muscles flex as he gets himself out of his coat and vest, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, throat bobbing, his cock painfully hard and thick in his pants, a familiar stickiness already smearing along where it rests in his boxers but it’s the last thing on his mind. there's a deep flush to his cheeks, his eyes rich with longing and love and behind it there's no hiding a lick of flames that are that of a man starved and so beyond desperate for his other half.

you’re not even sure you’re breathing watching him tug off his tie with one hand, your gazes never breaking, his other hand traveling down your leg to behind your knee and lifting it to his chest. long dark lashes flutter closed as he nuzzles his nose near your ankle before placing a kiss there and another and another, your legs already getting a light shake to them.

“you are so beautiful my love,” he whispers against your skin, his hand on your leg squeezing your flesh. another kiss, chaste and sweet and full of devotion, it’s heat lingering on your ankle even after he’s pulling away and tugging at the hem of your panties, lifting them up your legs. “i could never be without you.”

“‘luc..” you feel the tears pricking at your eyes again, hear the way your voice is wrought with emotions you’ve held back, tried to deny, pent up when you couldn’t be near him like you need to. “please, i need you.”

he knew all the ways you meant it, for he felt it too and knew what lay within the heart that he swore to protect and cherish. the very one he had been apart from in so many ways for far too long and that lay in front of him now, completely his to take again and again even if he didn’t think he deserved such a wonderful thing.

with your leg easing over his shoulder, his hair tickling the inside of your thigh, he spreads your legs further apart to allow space for his broad shoulders and doesn’t give you a moment to catch your breath after seeing him between your legs looking like heaven before his tongue, hot and flat against you, licks your dripping pussy with a deep moan that rumbles the bed under his chest.

the taste of you melting on his tongue makes him drunk so quickly. in a way wine and alcohol couldn’t attempt to rival and even more potent with intoxication. your reactions to his lapping tongue only add to that state of euphoria, diluc always finding that your pleasure was his own.

any other night this could have been enough to ease the overwhelming need he felt for you. sucking your clit between his lips, hearing soft and hazy curses drifting down to his ears, your fingers tugging at his hair with every intense shake of your legs that he kept pried open with strong arms when they threatened to close around his head. not that he would ever mind suffocating in between your thighs but this gave him the perfect angle to taste you and thrust his tongue in and out of your tight hole and tonight, he isn’t sure he’ll ever get enough.

every breath you took was deep but it was never going to be enough against the man you love utterly devouring your pussy, spreading your legs wider and diving his tongue deeper into you, his nose pressed against your clit until you worried he wasn’t even breathing.

your orgasm came before you could even try to hold off for a little longer, bursting on his tongue and eagerly drank down. your body writhes in his persistent hold, your hand buried in the mane of his hair pulling him closer and farther away, his name a melody of pleasure and need for more on your lips.

diluc doesn’t pull away, the languid movements of his tongue turning soft and soothing, letting you ride out every last bit of release without over stimulating you too much, allowing him to capture every bit of your essence on his tongue and feel your small shake when he rolls his tongue over your clit, too much and somehow not enough on your electrified body.

at the release of one of your legs, your warm skin rests over his shoulder again and he sighs against your clit at the contact.

“ah..!” you can’t help the jolt of your body at the feeling of skilled and calloused fingers parting your folds, the mixer of you both wetting them perfectly enough to slip one into you with ease, knuckle deep and curling right into the perfect spot. “diluc!”

he keeps a steady rock to his finger, lewd wet noises following every pump and lick on your clit that he gave with so much fervor, rebuilding that knot behind your tummy in seconds and when he added another thick finger, there was no holding back how quickly he could have you creaming and clenching around his digits.

you cry out, sweet and shaking and feeling like you might die if you didn’t feel him inside of you, if you couldn’t look at his handsome face and show him in this way just how much you loved him, how much you missed him, too. and before you can even fully come down from your high, with diluc still kissing your pretty pussy, you’re begging for him.

“love - please.”

he pulls away from your cunt with lidded scarlet eyes, your juices sparkling against his chin and nose as he sits back on his knees. it leaves you so incredibly empty when his fingers follow but your wanton whimper was due to the way he licks his fingers clean, long soaking digits slipping past his pink lips with a groan, dark lashes fluttering closed at the taste of you.

tugging at his shirt, you plead again but you never have to with him. all you ever had to do was ask and anything he could give you would be yours. “need these clothes off you. need to feel you against me.”

any worries, any self doubts, of what your touches could perhaps do to the other, hurt you again, not be attuned like you once were, melt away in the heat of every touch you give one another with no hesitation and no question on where your heart would be from here on out.

your fingers overlap as you help each other with every button of his shirt, the buckle of his belt and ties of his pants. your hands roam his body with each article of clothing he takes off and throws to the side, mapping out the scars you know every place of and a new scratch you had never felt before on his right pectoral.

it made your heart ache that he got hurt and hadn’t told you, that you hadn’t had the chance to care for it yourself but knowing him, you’re sure he hardly called this ‘getting hurt’. it wasn’t deep, likely nothing more than the tip of a blade nicking him that was nearly healed but you can’t stand the thought of any harm coming to him. let alone during a time where you were so apart.

using one hand to prop himself up, diluc slides out of his pants and boxers, cock resting against the thin red trail of hair adorning his lower abdomen, his tip sticky against his skin. with him hovering above you, your lips replace where your fingers touched over his injured skin, gingerly kissing him, pouring your love over every heartbreaking inch of his injury.

as if he had sensed the worry swirling in your heart, he lifts your gaze back to his with a gentle pull under your chin that you easily followed but he didn’t speak any words and instead he calmed you with a loving kiss to your lips that told you it was okay. he was okay, here with you now and forever.

he follows your lips as you lay back down, now resting on his forearm to be closer to you, chest to chest, the heat of his fingers like butterfly wings down your stomach to line his cock with your aching sex, sliding his tip between your wet folds until he could feel the mix of saliva and slick on his fingers.

the thickness of his cock head was a lovely mix of pleasure and burning stretch that had you clinging to him when he was barely inside you but he could have cum from the small, squelching thrusts into your perfect pussy alone. deeper and deeper with every few roll of his hips, he groans your name between his kisses that steal every bit of your sanity and diluc feels his own slipping with it.

“fuck angel,” a rare curse falls from his lips when he’s fully sheathed inside you, so tight around him, and stilling his hips to allow you to adjust to his size. his forehead finds yours, crimson hair now completely free from its ribbon falling on the sides of your face and wafts the scent of his shampoo into the air. “you are so perfect.”

shaking your head with a breathy chuckle, you cradle his face with both your hands and instantly he melts into your touch, feeling the small rock of your hips letting him know you were ready for more. he doesn’t part from this closeness, each heated breath shared with the thrusts of his hips that start slow and deep.

you try to force them away but you can’t help the tears that well in your eyes being so full of him, being close to him again, the love you share so evident you were overwhelmed in the best of ways. but you still wanted more, wanted to be overtaken and drowning in it until it was all you knew because for so long, longer than you thought you could endure, you were without and right now, as you held him with as much need as he held you, you hardly knew how you survived up until this moment.

more of him wasn’t something you had asked for. he was yours for the taking in heart, body and soul and in every delicious roll of his lips, in and out of your sweet tightness, each one with more fever than the last, you were lost in the scent of sweet wine and smoke, the burning flames of your beloved that cradled you and protected you and the undeniable love that was sewn between you in an unbreakable bond.

diluc brings you ever closer, a large hand sliding underneath your head to cradle the back of your skull and kiss you. your lips meet, full of so much love and longing and muffled murmurs of pleasure. you feel his hair tickle your face with the pace he set, his chest following to get closer, pressing right against yours and loving the way your breasts bounce against him each time he bottoms out, hitting the perfect spot in your gummy walls. he was pressed so close you wondered if it was his own heart beat you were feeling or your own, not knowing where his body ended and yours began.

he was so deep inside you with every snap of his hips, so close in every way possible, and when you felt him picking up the pace of his thrusts, using the arm not holding the back of your head to grab onto your thigh, strong fingers sinking into your flesh with gentle power and bringing your leg to rest at the side of your chest, you couldn’t help but whimper against his kiss swollen lips.

“oh gods… ‘luc!”

your back bows off the bed, at least the best it can with diluc pressed against you but you were unable to control the way your body reacted to how well he split you open on his cock, his leaking tip always hitting your g spot, perfectly fitting inside you like you were made for each other.

but it's the way he says your name, dripping with liquid fire and the stars he would pull from the dark night to show you how much you meant to him, that sent you over the edge of euphoria and when dilucs ruby eyes flutter open to see your crystalline tears that sparkled with the light of your love, love he had always been sure he didn’t deserve but couldn’t live without all the same, his own release followed, heavy and throbbing in the tightness of you.

he stays inside of you, feeling his cum leaking from your hole and down towards your bum but thoughtfully he moves your leg to a more comfortable position at his hips and lifts a bit of his weight off of you to allow you to take deep breaths, his arm flexing as he moves but not being able to be far, both because he couldn’t bring himself to, not yet, and because your hold on him remained snug with your arms around his neck.

all you could do was hold onto him, never wanting to leave this moment, and confess your love over and over, every one returned in kind with a burning passion.

“we will always be okay darling,” he whispers, brushing the tip of his nose along your own before placing a sweet, long, kiss to your lips. “i swear it.”

♡♡♡♡♡

genshin impact masterlist | main masterlist

#genshin impact #diluc ragnvindr #diluc smut #diluc angst #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr angst #diluc ragnvindr smut #diluc ragnvindr x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact angst #genshin impact smut #diluc #🌙moonlight.stories

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theartofprongs · 1 month

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Lily's Yearbook

"Sev does Hogwarts publish yearbooks every year?" Lily asks curiously from her spot at the library table.

Severus, who has taken up residence in the seat directly next to Lily, pointedly ignoring the other two Gryffindors at the table, grimaces at Lily's question.

"No Lily, that's a muggle tradition, why would we need such a thing?" Snape shakes his head tersely before pushing his nose farther into his Potions book.

Lily shrugs and hums lightly, "I guess I just think yearbooks are brilliant, oh! Especially the signing! Everyone leaves messages for each other and you get to look through them all summer."

Lily's eyes sparkle with excitement at the prospect of receiving handwritten notes from all of her dearest friend's at Hogwarts, ones that she can re-read during her time away from the magical world.

"Lily I'd forgotten all about yearbooks, it would be so wonderful if Hogwarts had them!" Little Mary Macdonald squeals from across the library table, her smile gleaming.

Marlene also perks up at Lily's excitement, "What's a yearbook?"

These new interjections cause the lone Slytherin tucked into the corner of the table to let out an annoyed huff, "Lily I cannot study here any longer, can we go somewhere that is actually quiet?" Snape directs his sneer at the two girls across from them.

Lily looks over at her two friends, who both have varying looks of disdain now plastered on their eleven year old faces.

"Sure Sev, I'll see you guys at dinner, Okay? Save me a seat if I'm late?" Lily quickly packs her books into her bag so that she can catch up with an already exiting Severus Snape.

"Oh, he is such a git, I don't understand why Lily puts up with that," Marlene snaps, "He doesn't even want her hanging out with people from her own house."

Mary nods in agreement, watching as the two finally disappear out through the library doors. There's a loud echo as the doors slowly close, and then Mary suddenly turns towards Marlene with wild eyes.

"I think I have an idea."

Marlene snorts, "An idea? That's a new one for you."

Mary gasps over dramatically at Marlene's quip, but continues smiling, "No Marly, we're gonna get Lily those signatures, like the ones in a yearbook, so that she can read our notes while she's stuck with him all summer."

"Wow Mary, you do put together some good ideas here and there!"

First year, 1971-1972.

Second year, 1972-1973.

Third year, 1973-1974.

Fourth year, 1974-1975.

Fifth year, 1975-1976.

Sixth year, 1976-1977.

Seventh Year, 1977-1978.

This was a lot of fun for me to do, but it also took me a while to get everything how I wanted. You'll notice that as they get older their handwriting (and for some even their writing utencils) change and grow with them. There are a few different themes and relationships going on throughout this whole thing so I hope you enjoy all the little easter eggs. Also you'll notice that it is heavily smudged and (wet?) even in some places, that's because I tried to make it seem as though it was pulled from an archive, whether from Lily's belongings or even Hogwarts. Let me know if you can't read anything specific and I'll tell you what it says. It's not perfect but I'm very proud of it!

#the marauders #hp marauders #ignore any typos #lily evans #possible foreshadowing #marauders #i actually love this #this is so silly #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #jily #hogwarts

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ennas-aesthetic · 8 months

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What the fuck is Jesus up to in Good Omens season 3?

This is a question I've been thinking long and hard these past couple of days and I have some THOUGHTS SO. Buckle up.

Aziraphale and Crowley watching the Crucifixion (Good Omens, 2019)

First off. The answer to the question posited is relatively simple. What is Jesus up to in GO3? With s2's ending in mind and with the hints we've gotten for 668: Neighbor of the Beast over the years, we know he's descending to Earth to initiate the Second Coming. And that Aziraphale would probably make that happen - or do everything that he can as Supreme Archangel to sabotage it.

But I wanted to examine on how Jesus might fit into Good Omens' overall narratives and established themes - about morality and humanism and free will, and. I'm just saying, there are A LOT of fascinating routes they could do for his character.

(Disclaimer as usual: this is a theory that I obsessed over when I was stuck at the cemetery during All Souls' Day and must be treated as such. In no way am I insisting this should be how canon events must happen. I am just doing this for the funsies.)

The THING about Jesus if you situate him in the world of Good Omens (with the assumption that most of the pop culture Christology mythos associated with him remain intact) is that in this context he very quickly becomes: 1. Adam Young's narrative foil; and 2. an Aziraphale parallel.

Now, the first one is obvious. Of COURSE he is Adam Young's foil, duh. Adam isn't called the ANTICHRIST for nothing. Brought into the world just for the sole purpose of ending it. However, when the time comes for him to fulfill the Will of his Satanic Father, Adam flat out REFUSES.

Both the book and the show attribute this to Adam's human upbringing. He was raised as a human, and because of that he has the trait that the book uses to DEFINE human beings: free will. At the end, Adam had the AGENCY to reject the destiny planned out for him.

'Adam stood smiling at the two of them, a small figure perfectly poised exactly between Heaven and Hell.

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's arm. "You know what happened?" he hissed excitedly. "He was left alone! He grew up human! He's not Evil Incarnate or Good Incarnate, he's just… a human incarnate—"'

- (Good Omens, 1990)

That is NOT what happened to Jesus.

Adam Bond as Jesus in Good Omens (2019)

Like Adam, he was raised as a human -- being a human incarnate was his WHOLE DEAL in Christology. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us... yada yada yada.

UNLIKE, Adam, though, Jesus wasn't able to REJECT his Destiny of Dying Really Horribly and Painfully on the Cross. Narratives in the Bible also made it clear that the Crucifixion was NOT his Will, but that of God's. Like... him begging to be spared from torment but ultimately following God's Will is such an important event entire devotional practices are made out of it.

"39 And he went a little farther, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt."

- (Matthew 26: 39, KJV)

We get a glimpse of that in s1ep3 of Good Omens, too:

"JESUS

(muttering through the pain)

Father, please . . . you have to forgive them . . . they don’t know what they are doing . . .

Crowley, in black, comes up next to Aziraphale.

CROWLEY

You’ve come to smirk at the poor bugger, have you?

AZIRAPHALE

Smirk? Me?

CROWLEY

Well, your lot put him on there.

AZIRAPHALE

I am not consulted on policy decisions, Crawley."

- (The Quite Nice and Fairly Accurate Good Omens Script Book, 2018)

SO. Here we have the character of the Christ whose free will and agency had been STRIPPED from him in the guise of a "noble sacrifice." He comes back again on this Earth to fulfill another "inescapable destiny."

Aziraphale and Crowley need to stop him. The solution the Good Omens narrative offers to "inescapable destinies and systems" (both in s1 and s2) is for the character to realize they have the freedom to choose their own fates. It happened with Adam, and it happened with Gabriel, and perhaps it will happen to Jesus.

(At this point my sister frowned and said: "Are you telling me you think Aziraphale and Crowley are going to help Jesus realize he has agency and that him Dying on the Cross for the 'Great Plan' was kinda fucked up actually?" which sounds crazy when you put it like that BUT NEVER SAY NEVER BABIE.)

Because that brings me to my second point: if this all happens, Jesus becomes an AZIRAPHALE parallel.

In the same way Anathema is an Aziraphale parallel and Sergeant Shadwell is an Aziraphale parallel. Here is a character stuck in a suffocating status quo. To save the world, he needs to know he can escape that status quo and decide for himself. In the same way Anathema has to learn how to stop being a descendant or Shadwell to stop being a Witchfinder, or Gabriel to stop being an Archangel, and Adam to stop being an Antichrist, perhaps Jesus has to learn he can stop being... Well, the Christ, as well.

And this, of course, supplements Aziraphale's journey of letting go of the idea of being an idealized vessel of God, so he could finally enjoy the freedom of personhood and choice on Earth, with Crowley.

Or they could turn Jesus into a cackling villain who Aziraphale and Crowley need to kill in season 3, and I'd probably eat that up, too.

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #this was such an insane meta post to make but i had to do it #putting my religious trauma to good use iktr #enna rambles

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danikamariewrites · 2 months

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Okay but being mated to Az, Cass, and Nesta but you don’t know and a foreign dignitary comes to stay at the House of Wind with the four of you and Rhys asks you to seduce/be flirty with them and the three of them are absolutely feral trying to keep their jealousy down

Just One Night

Nessian x Azriel x reader

A/n: I’ve been dying to write another fic with these four! They would absolutely want to kill Rhys for this especially Nesta.

Warnings: possessive Nessian & Azriel

Today is the day. Nesta had decided for the group that today they would tell you about the bond. She was just waiting for you all to get out of a meeting with Rhys and her sister. The last thing Nesta wanted was to confess the bond - and her love for you - in front of Rhys.

Nesta heard the angry footsteps echoing off the marble floor of her mates before she saw them. Setting her book down she tilted her head curiously at their disgruntled looks. The males dropped into their respective arms chairs letting out dejected sighs. Nesta stood with her arms crossed and a raised brow as she looked between the two.

“Well.” She said sharply. Azriel let out a low growl from the back of his throat. She felt his annoyance down the bond and looked to Cassian for an answer. Sighing through his mouth and rubbing the bridge of his nose Cassian bites out, “Rhys is having her seduce the emissary from Montesere. Cyrus Yarrow.”

When they looked up at Nesta those silver flames were dancing with anger in her eyes. Her left one practically twitching. “He’s having her do what?” She growled. Nesta turned on her heel, black dress flaring dramatically. Cassian grabbed her wrist before she could go give Rhys a piece of her mind.

Her fist balled. The first and only warning Cassian would get to release her. Letting go his open hand hovered cautiously. “Wait. She, just…she took the job. She knows what to get from the guy and we won’t let it get farther than that, yeah?” Nesta cracked her neck, letting out an annoyed sigh. “Fine.”

“You don’t want to be overbearing, Nes.” Azriel said. That deep, even voice relaxing her. “You’re right.” She looked back at her mates as Azriel waved her over. His arms open for her. Without hesitating Nesta sat on Azriel’s thigh, resting her head against his chest. “I know you’re impatient,” he says against her hair, “the Mother knows we are too, but we want to make it special for her.”

———

Pulling out the garment bag from your closet a knock sounded at your bedroom door. “Come in!” You hear whom ever enter, shuffling around the room. Nesta poked her head in your closet. You smile at her, “Hey you.” She gives you an equally dazzling smile. For a moment you swear something like love sparkles in her eyes.

Your heart leaped at the thought then quickly sunk. Remembering how in love she is with Cass. Blinking rapidly you plaster that smile back on your face. “What’s up?” You ask lightly. “I thought we could get ready for the ball together.”

You nod vigorously. “I would love that.” You and Mor used to get ready together - Feyre too - until she found Emerie. Usually when Rhys gave you a job for the evening you liked to get ready alone. Being alone lets you think through your plan for the night. Being with Nesta will be a nice change though. She was able to distract you from the awaiting nightmare of Cyrus.

Cyrus Yarrow was renowned for the females he chose to surround himself with. Always beautiful and charming. He was also quite demanding and handsy when he found something he liked. A shiver runs down your spine causing you to shake, your chin dropping to your chest.

Looking back up you saw Nesta had moved closer to your face. Her hand poised to draw with the kohl on your lid. “Are you ok?” You give her a small nod. “Stay still,” she giggled. A warmth bloomed in your chest at the sound.

———

The ball was in full swing. Nesta had stolen you for the first dance before you were swept away by Cyrus. Azriel had grabbed her waist before she could kill the male, dragging her into a waltz she could do in her sleep. Cassian was sending waves of calm to her down the bond. He stepped in for Az once the song was over. Also so Azriel could keep an eye on you for the night.

“Remember what Azriel said, Nes.” She gave him a curt nod, looking over her shoulder for you as they spin around the floor. “Hey,” Cass demanded, taking his hand from her waist to grip her chin. “She is fine. She is capable. I know the instinct to protect her and be by her is intense, we’re feeling it too. But tomorrow, he will be gone.” “Yeah.” She mumbled. Cassian pressed a quick kiss to Nesta’s lips before dipping her dramatically.

Azriel watched from the shadows as you entertained Cyrus. His party from Montesere was nothing like him. Kind and proper as they chatted with Mor and Feyre. His eyes bounced between the groups wanting to make sure that his court was safe. Feyre stood up straighter. A shocked and confused look pulling at her features.

He met his High Lady’s gaze and she tapped on his mental shield wasting no time in updating her spymaster. Cyrus no longer held the power they were told about. His Lord had stripped his title a week ago. This relieved Azriel. It meant he wouldn’t feel guilty about pulling you away from work and that Rhys wouldn’t give him a tongue lashing.

The Shadowsinger was about to step in and save you from Cyrus’s awfulness when a panicked feeling froze him in place. His shadows had reported Nesta and Cassian were safe. He even spotted them smiling and laughing as they danced.

When the realization hit Azriel that it was you projecting your feelings down the bond ran to you, sending his shadows ahead to pull Cyrus off of you. The look of disgust on your face had his instincts to protect you screaming at him to go.

Azriel drew Truth Teller, holding it to Cyrus’s neck. “Back away from my mate.” Azriel said practically roared. The fae around them stopped, gasps sounded through the crowd as they stared. You clung to Azriel’s arm through the whole ordeal. As the word mate left his mouth you stared up at Az, your eyes twinkling with love.

You had always had a crush on Azriel. But Nesta, you thought to yourself. No, you’d let her go. You have Az now. “Mate,” you repeat. Azriel stilled as the realization of the word he just spoke dawned on him. He slowly turned to look at you. The corners of your lip turning up at the his shock.

“Yeah, umm…” His gaze drifted behind you. You followed his gaze to find a stunned Cassian and a fuming Nesta. “Az?” You ask softly. The party had resumed around you as the couple stepped closer. Cassian placed his hands on Nesta’s shoulders in a calming manner. “Why don’t we all go talk somewhere else.” Cass suggested. “Why do we all,” you trail off as Nesta grabs your hand to drag you out of the ball room.

You kept looking between Nesta, Azriel, and Cassian as she leads you to the living quarters of the House of Wind. Her iron grip never leaving you. Entering the main living room Nesta drops your hand making a beeline for the bar cart housing one of Rhys’s expensive bottles of whiskey. Pouring herself a finger she downs the amber liquid in one go.

“I thought,” she started, her tone dangerously calm, “we wanted to make it special. To do something sweet for our mate.” Nesta flashed her perfect canines in a saccharine smile at the males. Azriel’s jaw tightened. His head dropped, clearly frustrated with himself.

You hold his hand with both of yours. Running your thumb across the back of his hand in calming circles. Nesta’s words caught up with your brain. Our, she had said.

You looked at her with wide eyes. “Our? As in all three of you are my mates.” Cassian couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah sweetheart. You have all three of us. We’ve been waiting to tell you and we wanted to make it special. Cyrus just got in the way.” You covered your mouth as happy tears lined your eyes. That warm feeling in your chest that appeared with Nesta earlier returning. The bond glowing fiercely as it branched out to all three of them.

You sink on to the plush couch taking in the information. You have been blessed with three mates. Each one you were madly in love with. And you get to love them all for the rest of your life!

Cassian came to sit beside you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders pulling you into his side. You could sense the apology on his lips before he could even say it. Cassian has always been too apologetic for his own good. You grabbed his hand resting on his thigh. “I’m not mad. I am incredibly happy to hear this.” Cassian’s head dropped to rest on yours. Azriel takes the spot next to you wrapping his arms around your waist pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You stare at Nesta who hadn’t moved an inch since you entered the room. You wave her over to join couch snuggles, tugging on the bond to entice her. Nesta ran at you. Jumping to straddle your lap and pushing Cass and Az off you. You hugged her tightly inhaling her scent of fire and steel masked by the vanilla and almond perfume she wears.

“I love you so much, y/n.” She whispered just for you to hear. “I love you, Nes. With all my heart.” You whispered back, just for her to hear.

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vxntagedior · 2 years

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can i request a poly!marauders x reader fic where they hurt her feelings or fuck up somehow and she’s SUPER stubborn and they have to grovel a shit ton to get her forgiveness and then they have makeup sex? i’m just not the immediate forgiver type and want to read something that reflects that lmao

forgive us?

summary | you're stubborn and they want to make it up to you

pairing | poly!marauders x fem!reader

warning | 18+ minors dni, smut [makeup sex, dom!reader, sub!james, remus & sirius, f oral, p in v, slight mommy kink, creampie, cum eating]

word count | 1.3k

From a young age you always thought that everyone had one chance, because in the real world there were no second chances.

The boys knew that from the moment they met you, and promised that they would always have your trust.

Wrong.

“How many times do we have to say sorry?” Sirius pleaded following you around the library, you hadn’t talked to them in days and each tried to get a word out of you but you were sticking your ground and keeping your mouth shut.

Your steps halted as you came across the book you were looking for, your hand pulling Sirius’s eyes from you. Following the direction of your hand, seeing your book you needed was on a higher shelf, Sirius complied, grabbing the book for you.

He was stunned when you pressed a kiss on his cheek before wandering off, fast enough so he wouldn’t follow you.

It was a step in the right direction right?

James was panicking, they didn’t mean to miss the date you planned for them and now they were paying the price for it.

Hogsmeade was beautiful during the winter, the villagers hanging up lights on their stores, the snow constantly falling from the sky, having it be the perfect weather for butterbeers.

It was the last Hogsmeade trip before Yule break and you wanted to see all of them before going home.

You met them early that morning, making sure to meet you at Three Broomsticks at noon, each boy giving you their word before you left. It was around 11:50 when you arrived. You always liked to be early, getting a table that was facing the village but also under the heat so none of you would be shivering.

Hearing the clock struck 12, you still gave them a little leeway, knowing they were usually a couple minutes late to everything, but eventually it was 12:15, 12:30 now 1:30 and they weren’t there.

Madam Rosmata was kind enough to give you your butterbeer in the house, and gave you a lecture about how you shouldn’t wait for no man.

The walk back to Hogwarts was cold, the castle was empty, only a few stragglers, ones who didn't go to Hogsmeade or came back early.

Gryffindor’s common room was quiet when you entered. Taking a few more steps farther in, you heard a bang from above your head, looking up to see the bucket falling down to you.

You scream feeling the slime cover, before hearing the sounds of cheering.

“We got you!”

James was the first to come out, his happy face slowly turning into horor. “Oh, merlin!”

“You look beautiful today.” James whispered to you during class, you ignored him continuing to listen to Slughorn go over the potion you were about to make.

“Did you do something with your hair?” He tried again, twirling one the ends.

“Mr. Potter!” James straightened up, turning his attention back to Professor Slughorn, “would you like to tell me what is in an antidote to Veritaserum?”

“I-uh…” James fumbled on his words.

“10 points from Gryffindor.”

Remus had been avoiding you like the plague, if he saw you coming down the corridor, he’d walked the other way. He didn’t want to admit it, but Remus was scared of you when you got mad.

You wouldn’t talk to them yet you would continue on like nothing happened.

He felt stiff sitting next to you in the common room, you four of you were working on your own set of assignments, you and Remus on the couch, James on the chair with Sirius leaning his body against it.

“Is there any way for you to forgive us?” Remus whispered to you, “We’ll do anything for your love.”

That sentence sparked a lightbulb in your head, you smirked to yourself before turning to look at him.

“Anything?” You asked.

It was the first time you spoke to them since you came back from break, Sirius and James snapping their heads up to look at you.

“C’mon.” You grabbed Remus’s hand, pulling him towards their room, James and Sirius following obediently behind you. They all stood in the center of the room waiting for you to make the next move.

Their eyes were attached to your body as you started to undress, taking off every piece of your uniform before you were left in your bra and panties.

Sirius gulped loudly when you sat on his bed, slowly spreading your legs, letting them see the wet patch on your panties.

“C’mere Jamie.” You becockened, James scrambled towards you, sitting on his knees between your legs. “Such a good boy, go ahead baby.”

James moved your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt to him, his lips kissing along your inner thighs before coming to your clit giving it a light kiss. You groaned, gripping his hair, pulling him up to look at you.

“I didn't say tease me, did I?” You raised an eyebrow.

“No, mommy, I’m sorry.” James dipped his head in embarrassment.

Remus and Sirius stood and watched as James dipped in his head back between your thighs, licking up your arousal, making sure he didn’t miss anything. Sirius tried to hide the boner in his pants, cupping the tent of his pants.

“You two.” You nodded, each boy came to your side. You gripped Sirius’s chin, “You gotta make it up to me baby.”

Neither of them said anything more, Sirius diving right to your neck, latching his lips around your skin, kissing the column on your neck. Remus pulled down the straps of your bra, seeing your perked nipples, pinching them before wrapping his lips around one.

You moaned at the feeling of their mouths all over your body, collapsing onto the pillows, sitting up on your elbows to look.

James’s lips continued to suck on your clit, as he pushed in another finger, starting to scissor the two.

“I’m gonna cum, Jamie.” Those words were like magic to his eyes, continuing to lap up your clit along with picking up speed, feeling your clit start to twitch in his mouth.

“Oh fuck!” You cried, Sirius pulled away from your neck, pulling you in for a kiss, swallowing your moans, letting his tongue meet yours.

“Wanna fuck you.” James pleaded. “Please mommy.”

“I don’t know baby, you have to share with the other boys.” You smirked. Remus was more than eager to volunteer, coming up to the bed, pulling you into his lap while trying to push down his pants.

James came up next to you and Remus, giving you a light kiss, before eyeing your tits.

Sirius sat below you, sucking Remus while he waited. “You gonna put it in for me babe?” He nodded at your words, lining Remus towards your entrance, watching you sink down.

“Fuck.” You leaned back, lifting your hips before slamming them back down on his cock, “Your cock feels so good Rem.”

The praise went straight to his cock, Remus trying to control himself to not cum so fast. His hands were on your tits, massaging them, slowing down your waist, when James started to kiss down your chest.

Sirius continued to lick between Remus’s balls and your ass, feeling the weight of your ass press his forehead everytime you came down.

With all the stimulation they gave you, you couldn’t hold it anymore, coming undone on Remus.

“Cum with me.” You whispered in his ear, pressing a kiss to the clear to his ear. “Fill me up!”

He was practically growling, his hands gripping on your waist, feeling you squeeze around him gave him that final push to cum. Sirius wasted no time, to lick up all the cum that leaked out of you, before continuing to eat you out.

Your body was pressed against Remus, smoothing out the hair on James’s head. He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I forgive you guys.” You hummed, “Who couldn’t after that.”

fin.

#poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x fem!reader #poly!marauders x girlfriend!reader #marauders x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x girlfriend!reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x girlfriend!reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x girlfriend!reader #poly!marauders

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anonymousewrites · 2 months

Text

A Not-So-Disastrous Romance (Book 1) Chapter Fifteen

Kusuo Saiki x Reader

Chapter Fifteen: Festival Problems

Summary: As usual, things go wrong for Saiki. Luckily, he know has a companion to help him.

“A haunted house, a café, bean bag toss, a haunted house, a café, a haunted house, a café—” Nendou listed off the different class events as he, Kaidou, Saiki, (Y/N), and Kuboyasu walked by them “—Whoa, there are all sorts of things!”

“All sorts of haunted houses and cafes, you mean,” said Saiki.

“At least everyone is having fun,” said (Y/N) positively.

“Should we just pick one and enter?” suggested Kaidou.

“Yare yare.” Haunted houses are a joke to me.

“We could eat something,” said (Y/N), knowing Saiki would prefer that.

“Restaurants with food made by high school students?” said Saiki dubiously.

(Y/N) nodded to one sign and grinned. “That one has coffee jelly.”

“Well, then, let’s go to the café,” said Saiki, instantly on board.

“Oh, yeah, that haunted house café!” said Nendou excitedly, pointing at the wrong café.

“No,” said Saiki.

“They shouldn’t combine the two!” exclaimed Kaidou. “I don’t want to look at ghosts while drinking my coffee.”

“That wasn’t scary at all,” scoffed a boy from a different school, standing next to his friend outside of one haunted house. “They said, ‘I’m gonna get you.’ How stupid.”

“PK’s stuff is crap,” agreed his friend.

“Who’re those guys?” wondered Nendou.

“They’re from another school,” said (Y/N), frowning and watching them go into another haunted house.

“I’m gonna check that one out,” said Kuboyasu. He smiled at the group, but it was tight-lipped and slightly menacing. “I get a kick out of scary stuff. I think this one’s gonna be scarier.”

“For them,” murmured (Y/N).

“They brought it onto themselves,” said Saiki. Karma wasn’t his problem.

Sure enough, a few moments after Kuboyasu walked in, two screams went up from within the haunted house.

“Whoa! They’re really screaming,” exclaimed Nendou. “Just how scary is that place?”

“Well, then, shall we go in here, too?” suggested Kaidou, pulling aside the curtain.

“I want coffee jelly,” said Saiki.

“We’ll get it after,” said (Y/N) encouragingly, and Saiki couldn’t exactly say no to that, so he followed them into the haunted house.

“It’s so dark that I can’t see anything,” exclaimed Kaidou, shaking slightly as they walked farther in.

I can see everything clearly, even the guy waiting to ambush us.

“Hey, get going,” said Kaidou, pushing Nendou forward nervously.

“Hm? You’re the one who wanted to walk in first,” said Nendou.

“I’ll lead,” said (Y/N), squaring their shoulders and walking forward.

Instantly, someone grabbed their ankle, and (Y/N) jumped, yelping in surprise. (Now that was just an unfair tactic, who wouldn’t be shocked at that?) Poor Kaidou screamed at their reaction, got breathed on strangely, and saw the exit sign—all of which terrified him until eh was basically clinging to Nendou as they walked onward.

“Come on, we’re going ahead,” said Nendou, unaffected.

“I think I’ll enjoy this from back here with you, Kusuo,” said (Y/N), sighing.

“You found this scary?” said Saiki.

“If someone grabs your ankle in the dark, you jump,” said (Y/N) sagely.

“Boo!” A boy jumped out at them, right in front of Nendou.

“Hey,” said Nendou.

The boy collapsed, unconscious due to the frightful sight of Nendou’s face.

“Whoa, that was realistic,” said Nendou.

“Because it was real,” said Saiki.

“Even I’d faint if I suddenly saw that face of yours up close in the dark,” said Kaidou.

“Uh-oh,” said (Y/N), kneeling and feeling the boy’s pulse. They gave a thumbs-up. “He’s alright.”

“What are you going to do?!” cried Kaidou, staring at Nendou. “It’ll be ruined for the next customer—”

“Ah, scary! It’s so dark!” said someone from behind them. Too late, the customers were coming.

“Shoot! Let’s hide this guy first,” said Kaidou, trying to drag the boy’s body to the side.

“I’ve never hidden a body before,” said (Y/N).

“We are not doing that,” said Saiki.

“Hey, look at these things.” Nendou laughed as he put on fake glasses that made it seem like his eyes were falling out.

“Perfect! Put them on!” said Kaidou, grabbing bandages for himself and throwing fake blood over Saiki. (Y/N) grabbed a zombie mask. “Here they come,” said Kaidou. He crouched and leapt out. “Boo!”

A face exactly like Nendou’s stared at him, and Kaidou collapsed in shock.

“Oh, Mom,” said Nendou, greeting her while his friend lay unconscious on the ground.

What a family resemblance, thought (Y/N).

“One Nendou…Two Nendous…” murmured Kaidou deliriously on a bench.

The group stood outside of the cafes and haunted house to talk properly instead of being in the dark (though the students had yet to take off their costumes). It turned out Nendou’s mother was there touring the PK Festival with Saiki’s parents, so they were there, too.

“You should’ve told me if you were gonna come,” said Nendou.

“I’m just stopping by because I’m on break,” said Mrs. Nendou.

“We happened to run into Nendou’s mother and became friends!” said Mrs. Saiki cheerily.

This is one friendship I wish you wouldn’t make.

“Well, now that I’ve seen your class’s attraction, I’m going home,” said Mrs. Nendou matter-of-factly. “Good luck with your haunted house.”

“Hm? We’re not doing a haunted house,” said Nendou.

“Oh, yeah, we’re borrowing these,” said (Y/N), taking off their zombie mask and setting it to the side.

“What, you aren’t?” said Mrs. Nendou.

“Our class is displaying rocks we found in the schoolyard,” said Nendou.

Saiki sighed. “I’ll go wash my face.” He didn’t need to walk around looking like an idiot.

He headed into the bathroom and set his glasses to the side while he washed the fake blood from his face.

Yare yare. This is why school events are such a pain. Lots of minor characters keep showing up and causing trouble for me. And I didn’t manage to go and get coffee jelly with (Y/N) yet, either. This all happened for nothing.

He finished splashing his face with water and straightened, picking up his glasses. Except when he put them on, he found fake eyeballs instead of green-tinted glass.

What the heck is this?

“What do you think, pal? They look good on me, don’t they?” said Nendou, resting Saiki’s glasses in front of his own face.

“Give those back to me, you idiot,” said Saiki, reaching out. His eyes widened, and he tried to cover his eyes. “Shoot!” He couldn’t help but exclaim out loud with his telepathy.

Too late. As Saiki looked up again, Nendou was already a stone statue, transformed by Saiki’s unfiltered gaze. The stone glasses fell and shattered on the floor. Saiki just stared. Not good.

“Kusuo?” Outside of the restroom, (Y/N) called out in concern. “I heard you cry out, is everything alright?”

They always become observant at the wrong moment.

“Kusuo, I’m coming in!”

Yare yare, not my dad, too.

Sure enough, Mr. Saiki nearly kicked down the door, and (Y/N) slid in with them, unable to stay out since they were worried (and there was no one else around, so…).

“Ah!” cried Mr. Saiki as he saw Nendou.

Saiki had turned around to avoid eye-contact with anyone. The last thing he needed was more people getting turned to stone.

“Hey, this is—” Mr. Saiki cut himself off and looked at (Y/N) worriedly.

“Did you accidentally turn Nendou to stone?” said (Y/N), staring.

“He took my glasses and looked me in my eyes. That’s his fault,” said Saiki.

“Kusuo, you can’t just say that!” said Mr. Saiki.

“They know.”

“I know,” said (Y/N).

“About his powers?” said Mr. Saiki, blinking in surprise. (Y/N) nodded. “Oh…alright then.”

“Can we focus?” said Saiki, irritated. “Just give me your glasses.” Mr. Saiki’s glasses floated through the air and landed on Saiki’s face. Now he could look at people without turning people to stone. “Okay, that power is blocked.”

“I like your eyes,” blurted out (Y/N) instinctively as they saw Saiki’s purple eyes properly. They had always been obscured by a green tint, but they could see the violet clearly now.

Saiki short-circuited and froze at the compliment while Mr. Saiki babbled about not being able to see without his glasses.

Turning pink, (Y/N) coughed. “So, uh, how do we turn him back?”

Saiki tried to focus. “The effects last twenty-four hours.”

“Uh-oh, his mom is waiting for him outside,” said (Y/N), frowning.

“Oh, no, what are you going to do, Kusuo?” said Mr. Saiki, blindly patting Nendou’s shoulder.

“You’re talking to Nendou. Don’t ever make that mistake again. It ticks me off,” said Saiki.

“Can you teleport him back to your house?” suggested (Y/N). “Then we can at least make an excuse that Nendou left instead of anyone seeing them.”

Saiki was reminded of one of the reasons he liked (Y/N): they were actually helpful.

“Are you listening, Kusuo?” said Mr. Saiki, still patting Nendou’s shoulder.

Crack

(Y/N) and Saiki froze before turning. Nendou lay in stone pieces on the ground. (Y/N) covered their mouth in shock, and Mr. Saiki was stricken.

“Kusuo…Look after your mother, okay?” He raised his phone. “Hello? Is this the police? I’ve killed someone.”

Saiki grabbed his dad’s shoulder before his sobbing could actually be listened to. “Calm down.” (Y/N) took the phone and ended the call. “You don’t have to go the police. It’s fine.”

“What?! Really?!” cried Mr. Saiki.

Saiki picked up Nendou’s head.

“That’s just a disturbing sight,” said (Y/N).

“I can turn back time and restore it to how it was,” said Saiki, doing so and letting the statue of Nendou come together once more. (Y/N) breathed a sigh of relief.

“Whoa!” exclaimed Mr. Saiki.

“What was that noise?!” Mrs. Nendou banged on the door from outside.

“Shoot, Nendou’s mother is gonna come in,” said Saiki. “Dad, go hold the door.”

“Okay!” Mr. Saiki grabbed the door handle and gave a thumbs-up.

Wham!

“Ooooh.” (Y/N) winced as Mr. Saiki was thrown into the wall as Mrs. Nendou broke down the door.

“What happened, you guys?!” cried Mrs. Nendou. She saw the statue. “Huh? What? What?! Riki?!”

(Y/N) and Saiki exchanged a glance as she walked closer. Then, she patted Nendou’s shoulders.

“This is amazing! So this is the rock display you guys were talking about!” she exclaimed. “This looks exactly like my son.”

“Well, I guess this is natural,” said Saiki.

“They’re definitely related,” said (Y/N).

“Riki? Huh, where did Riki go?” wondered Mrs. Nendou.

“Well…probably the restroom,” said Mr. Saiki.

“We’re in the restroom,” said Saiki, amazed by his father’s terrible attempt at lying.

“He headed out to check on some other classes. He volunteered to help them earlier in the week since some people are sick,” said (Y/N), smiling.

“Oh, really? That’s so nice of him,” said Mrs. Nendou.

Thank you, (Y/N), thought Saiki, thankful as always to have them around.

“Well, I should help out, too, and give you all a hand,” said Mrs. Nendou.

“What?”

“Huh?”

“You’re taking this to your classroom, right?” said Mrs. Nendou, gesturing to the statue of Nendou. “Now, let’s go!”

No one could argue with her, and within a few minutes, Nendou was situated in Class 3’s display. People instantly crowded around it, amazed and surprised at the exact likeness.

“H-Holy crap,” said one student.

“Why Nendou?” exclaimed another.

“How did they carve something like this?”

“Things have gotten worse,” said Saiki as he, Mr. Saiki, and (Y/N) stood to the side. “It’s so obvious that high school students couldn’t make something like that.”

“Maybe they won’t notice?” (Y/N) offered as much support as they could.

“Oh, what is this?” The principal walked in. “Oh, my!” He stared at the statue, and (Y/N) and Saiki’s hearts dropped. This situation was quickly growing out of control. “This is an incredibly elaborate stone statue! Is it a gorilla?”

“Very close, but not quite,” said Saiki.

Poor Nendou, thought (Y/N).

“I’m so moved…” The headmaster smiled. “The Best Class Attraction Award goes to Class 3!” he declared.

(Y/N) and Saiki stared in dismayed shock as even more people crowded into the room to get a look at the winning class’s display and the Nendou statue. They really had lost any semblance of control of the situation.

“It’s become the showpiece,” said Saiki, crossing his arms.

“This isn’t good, Kusuo!” cried Mr. Saiki. “Can’t you teleport it out and steal it?!”

“There’re too many people,” said (Y/N), frowning.

“Or better yet, should we break it? You can restore it just like you did earlier!” said Mr. Saiki.

“My power to turn back time can only be used once per day per target,” said Saiki.

“What?” said Mr. Saiki, panicking. “But that means—”

“Let’s make sure it doesn’t break again, then,” said (Y/N), concerned about Nendou getting hurt.

“Whoa, I wonder how tough the stone is,” said one boy, pretending to hit the statue.

“It’s really hard,” said another, pulling on Nendou’s ear.

“Don’t touch!” cried Mr. Saiki, running up and pulling them off.

“Huh? Whoa, what’s with this guy?!” cried the first boy.

“A scary middle-aged man is shouting,” whispered a girl worriedly.

“He’s suspicious!”

“Someone, go get a teacher!”

Saiki facepalmed, and (Y/N)’s eyes widened, but neither could exactly stop the teachers from dragging Mr. Saiki out. After all, they couldn’t just explain “oh, yeah, that is actually Nendou, Saiki turned him to stone, so please don’t hurt him.”

“I guess I have no choice. I’ll make Nendou’s safety my top priority,” said Saiki.

“He is your friend,” added (Y/N).

“Don’t say that, I don’t have friends. Other than you,” said Saiki.

(Y/N) just grinned. “Uh-huh.”

“Take this, Baron Cola!” A young boy had climbed onto Nendou’s shoulders and was pretending to shoot him with a toy gun.

“Get down, Yuuta,” said Saiki, stepping forward.

Yuuta brightened upon seeing his neighbor (and, in his mind, favorite superhero). “Cyborg Cider-man No. 2! Look, look! I capture Baron Cola.”

“No, that’s a gorilla, so get off,” said Saiki.

(Y/N) didn’t ask what that all meant, but they reached up as Yuuta began to rock Nendou back and forth.

“You can’t climb on exhibits,” said (Y/N) calmly, setting him down.

“But it’s Baron Cola!” exclaimed Yuuta.

“It’s not the real Baron Cola,” said (Y/N). They put their hands on their hips. “Do you understand?”

Yuuta stared up at them, and Saiki nearly groaned as the image of a superhero in pink superimposed on (Y/N).

Yare yare, not them too.

“I understand, Cherry Blossom Lemonade!” cheered Yuuta.

(Y/N) cocked their head and blinked at Saiki. “Who?”

“A superhero from a show he likes,” said Saiki.

“Are you two undercover, Cherry Blossom Lemonade, Cyborg Cider-man No. 2?! Is that why you’re being nice to Baron Cola? Are you on a date?” babbled Yuuta.

Saiki froze, and (Y/N)’s cheeks warmed.

“Yuuta, there you are,” said his mother, walking in. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. It’s time to go.”

“Aww, but I just managed to find the bad guy,” said Yuuta.

His mother chuckled. “I’m sure you did.” She took him by the hand and led him out.

“You called her, didn’t you?” said (Y/N), looking at Saiki.

“Yes,” said Saiki. He had called Yuuta’s mom with his telepathy, but although it had mostly been to keep Yuuta from hurting Nendou, it was also to avoid more of Yuuta’s questions. Him and (Y/N), on a date? Saiki had barely gotten over figuring out he had a crush on them. That was too much for him with so much else going on.

“Well, the festival is almost over,” said (Y/N), glancing at the clock and trying to push aside Yuuta’s assumptions (and their blush). “I don’t think we’ll be able to taste our classmates’ coffee jelly, but I think we’ve earned a trip to Café Mami after this.”

Okay, so maybe a date—which this wasn’t—with (Y/N) was something Saiki would get excited for.

(Y/N) and Saiki both let out a content hum as they took a bite of their coffee jellies. They had successfully kept Nendou in one piece and teleported him to his bathroom at home so, come tomorrow, he’d transform back like nothing had happened.

“I’m glad Nendou will be alright,” said (Y/N).

“I’m glad we avoided more trouble,” said Saiki.

(Y/N) nodded. “What about your glasses? Are you going to keep borrowing your dads’ or can you get yours fixed?”

“I can get mine fixed,” said Saiki, but, unfortunately, that would mean dealing with a certain someone.

“Are you going to go back to the green tint?” said (Y/N).

Saiki nodded.

“Too bad,” said (Y/N), smiling. “I like your eyes.”

Saiki felt his heart stutter, and (Y/N) looked firmly down at their coffee jelly in order to not over-analyze his reaction in case they had just made a fool of themself. Still, they couldn’t help it. They did like his eyes. They liked everything about Saiki.

For his part, Saiki found he liked the compliment. Appearances weren’t something he cared about or judged since, for the most part, he just saw people as bones or muscle, but hearing that (Y/N) liked something about him was nice. He wanted them to like him, too.

But for now, (Y/N) and Saiki were content to sit across from each other in content silence with coffee jelly. Still, though, thoughts of how much nicer it would be if this was a date flitted through their mind.

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@drowningfishy

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running-with-kn1ves · 4 months

Text

In The Book Stacks

A/N: This ones fo my 1(one) Ezra lover. Sorry for any typos! link to Part 1.

CW: making out in the library, possessive behavior, forceful behavior (Ezra holding reader captive temporarily)

Word Count:1900

“You're really stubborn, you know that.”

Dust poofed into the air as you slammed the book in your hands shut, your nose scrunching at the stench of mustiness.

“No one’s in a library at 8 pm on a friday,” Ezra lowered his voice to a whisper. “C’mon, right here.. Right here is perfect.” He planted a kiss to your nape hairline, softly pulling at your elbows from behind. “Who goes to the science-y section anymore, anyway.”

He kept trying to convince you with that slightly heightened tone, leg pushing between your knees as he trapped you between the bookshelf and him. You were starting to get annoyed, the shadow and humid warmth of his impatient body hovering only inches above you.

“I swear if you don’t stop breathing down my neck, getting caught will be the last thing you worry about.”

Ezra was unperturbed, giving a little laugh at how pissed off you sounded. What was so wrong about wanting to give a little love to his fiance in the library? Well- soon to be fiance, you didn’t know that part yet. Just give it a few months. Specifically, the May you graduate.

“Ooh, look who’s in a feisty mood. Are you scared of a little audience? Of our love… being witnessed.” He pecked at your shoulder, tickling fingers grabbing at your sides to make you squirm.

You put a book you had taken out back in the hole that it had left, shimming closer to the shelf and farther away from your boyfriend’s antics.

“No; I’d just never do something so abWHORant, especially not when I know you, would make an even bigger scene if one of the librarians caught us.” You rolled your eyes, letting out an exasperated goan; he was beginning to tick you off. “What am I even saying? See, you got me distracted again.”

“A little distraction never hurt nobody,” He swayed, pressing into your lower back with his thumbs, massaging the edges of your tailbone that he knew was probably aching from how much standing and searching you've done in the library already. Nobody who didn’t have a chem test tomorrow! you thought. ”Besides, aren’t you tired of searching for this book? We’ve looked in every isle…twice.”

You didn’t correct him for the intimate touch at first, finding it soothing and seemingly without the devious agenda he was proposing. But that touch soon moved to a caress, grabbing the sides of your hips, pressing them forward as his midriff touched your back.

“Books plural,” You sighed, sounding more defeated. “Maybe we should just go home; I shouldn’t have made the mistake of letting you come with me.”

Ezra was like a reward you’re supposed to enjoy AFTER doing an important task; you can’t have a reward in the same room with you though, otherwise all you think about is how needily it tempts you.

“I’ve accompanied you back and forth during this search, don’t you think I deserve a little bit of your time?” Ezra impatiently jabbed, grabbing your hand that was about to pluck another book. You yanked your arm away and pulled out a flimsy textbook off the shelf with it, refusing to acknowledge the tall, desperate creature beside you.

However, it was hard not to regret the harshness of your rejection as soon as you felt the sinking daggers of Ezra’s eyes.“ You know what--No. I’m sick of this. You’ve looked enough for tonight.”

The book was forced out of your hand and hit the floor with a dust-clouded thud, the sound scaring you with its echo bursting around the entire library. It skidded a few feet away from you as a sweetly warm palm concealed your mouth.

You were ripped backwards into a sturdy body, far warmer than the 69° library air brushing down your shoulders and bare knees. About to flail and hit your way free, a pair of bottom-heavy lips touched your cheek to stop you.

“I got off work early--ngh, walked with you all the way here,” Ezra wrapped around you, a squeezing snake intent on suffocating its prey. “And paid for your damn fancy coffee. And you won’t give me so much as a middle school kiss?”

Ezra looked down at you as your head jerked up, his heavy hand nearly blocking your nostrils as you rapidly huffed through them. What was he… going to do? You weren’t particularly afraid, even with his hand covering your mouth as if you were a hostage he was about to violate. But a thought in the back of your mind was scaring you; any sane person wouldn’t act as if they were going to suffocate you just for something so small as refusing to makeout in the library.

Ezra’s clean scent had been watered down by the day’s heaviness, his heavy exhales against your throat making you wonder if he was having some kind of episode. You would’ve elbowed him off if it weren’t for the other arm wrapped completely around your front sight, the anaconda’s tail keeping you pressed flush against its alluring body.

You liked that he took charge, that he held your hand with purpose and dragged you to come dance at parties. But this… should you have expected it, since he practically controlled every other physical movement of affection in your relationship? …But who in their right mind would expect their boyfriend to rip them close so violently?

A pained sound left his mouth as it held open, tongue so hesitantly resting against your lower neck, near your shoulder. It twitched, Ezra seemingly unsure of himself in enacting the obscene display. But by the soft shut of his eyes, the arch of his eyebrows in ecstasy-- you wondered if that was really hesitation, or perhaps a poor attempt to snuff his desperation.

‘Maybe he's savoring your last moments before choking you out.’ That extreme, but maybe-not-entirely-wrong intrusive thought murmured inside you.

His hand shivered as it stroked your cheek, pulsing against your shut mouth. The other thumbing your forearm as it crushed against your body in his grip, keeping it close as you stood stiff as a board.

A high-pitched groan left your covered mouth, whining to be released as you could hear a hoarse cough of some librarian or fellow stressed student from the other side of the bookcase. You pleaded with Ezra with your eyes, tugging harshly on his thick coat for him to let you go.

“stay, quiet..” He mumbled, pressing a finger to his wet lips.

Slowly, his palm raised from your lips as he watched you for any sudden moves.

Taking a deep breath and a pissed punch at his arm, you turned around to face him.

“That's what I should be saying!” You scream-whisperered. “We're in public and you're acting like a child who can't gotta toy he wants-- I'm not your mommy-!”

“Shh!” A voice from the opposite side of the book case ushered.

Ezra grabbed your beating hands, pulling your wrists tight to his chest as you tried to pound against him.

He seemed to grow small by shrinking down towards you, pulling your softening hands upward. He stared up so earnestly, like he hadn’t just licked a feverish stripe down your neck with a desire sp hungry that he didn’t consider your wellbeing.

“Sweethearttt,” Ezra leaned down with a whine, his sweetly soft eyes melting him slowly back to what he was before he tried to suffocate you. “I just want to be yours. Just want to kiss you and keep you…close.”

You swallowed looking at him, bending lower than you to get up close from below, nose nearly touching yours as he leaned up. Who was this overly needy person that replaced your already clingy boyfriend? He was acting more impatient than usual.

Your frustration melted a little on the outside, your curiosity more potent now that you could sense something was off.

“You’re being unusually obsessed today. Why do you need my attention so badly?”

You swore you saw Ezra’s face drop, mouth fixed into a plain thin line before it was gone in an instant.

“Why don’t you kiss me and I’ll tell you?” he grinned, bringing your hands up to his ears, burying them into his hair.

He circled you back to what he wanted again, nuzzling your nose as he waited for your move. He could kiss you, could relish in your skin and smell right here and now with your mouth too preoccupied to scream. But that wasn’t what he wanted.

“Prove that you love me too. I do so much for you, stay here with you, take care of everyone else for you… can’t you just show that you love me in return?”

His bright eyes crinkled, losing their shine as the grip pressing your fingers into his hair suddenly began to feel like handcuffs. Yet his face never wavered, staring into your eyes as he waited for your move. This was a test; he wanted to love you, but above all he needed to know there weren’t any… Threats. Whether that be your own weak mind or another man.

“Wha-,” Your mouth hung open, wondering with surprise where this trial was coming from. Did he see you do something and consider it a betrayal? “I..”

The usual Ezra would gaze back and forth evidently between your eyes and lips, a cute grin decorating his uncannily symmetrical face as he leaned in to kiss you. Now, he was a stoic void that waited emptily, expectantly.

You scoffed, feeling more ridiculous than when you circled this book aisle. “Fine… if it’s that big of a deal.”

Your untroubled tone tried to brush it off, but you weren’t fooling either of you.

It didn’t take much further to close the gap, pressing gently against Ezra’s stiff mouth as he kept your wrists tight against him. Well, if you were going to convince him, you couldn’t keep feeling like a prisoner in his hold. You caressed his cheeks with your thumbs, running your hands down to his neck despite his chokehold trying to keep you still. He eventually let go, however not without rough hesitation.

You felt like you were pecking at a statue, the warm aroma of his skin entering your nose as you pressed your face flush against his, tongue licking at his bottom lip with each kiss you tried to convince him with.

Ezra softened, just the teensiest bit, unable to ignore the sensation of your warm fingers on his jugular, moving to wrap each arm around his neck as you leaned against his broad nose. A slightly satisfied, indulgent groan left him. He felt like a teenager again, making out in the library with his hands flush against the bare skin of your back beneath your jacket and sweater, fantasizing about the curve of your spine and how your inner thighs would taste.

He melted, opening his mouth for you and kissing back with the fervor of a long distance lover you hadn’t seen in ages. But in reality, you had just had this same needy kissing session last night, much to Ezra’s pushing. He just wanted to convey how much he loved you, how special you were, to never let you feel inadequate or have the need to run to anyone else ever again.

“Is that..enough.. To convince you--” You tried to speak between his kisses, cut off each time with a wet peck against the corner of your lips.

The annoyed clearing of a woman’s throat came from uncomfortably close, foot tapping on the ground as the librarian waited for you two to finish.

#yandere #male yandere #self insert #reader insert #writing #x reader #yandere x reader #yandere oc x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #library #reader #x you #x reader insert #yandere reader insert #reader imagine #reader x character #reader aesthetic

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braveclementine · 2 months

Text

October 19: Non-Bed Surface (Severus Snape)💚

Warning: 18+ readers only, non-Bed Surface, degrading names (not loving), protective Severus, pet name, Professor Kink

Copyright: I do not own Severus Snape or other Harry Potter/Wizarding World characters. I also do not condone any copying of this.

You caught your breath once you were safely hidden under Severus' desk in the potions classroom. You had been sneaking around together for about four months now, having mind blowing sex and sweet kisses, but at the moment, you were slightly terrified of the male classmates that had been chasing you through the halls.

You could've casted a spell- you were a fairly good fighter- but they were popular boys with rich daddies and you really didn't want to get in the situation where you possibly won and they tattled, twisted the story, and you got in trouble. It just wasn't worth it.

Severus Snape was obviously the scariest Professor in school, and even the Slytherin boys wouldn't want to cross him. He wasn't the kind of man that even their rich daddies could intimidate into letting them off. Severus couldn't be intimidated by anyone, you were sure. Maybe Dumbledore. That would be it.

No, you were the only one who could get away with small things. In fact, he found them almost endearing, if you were not paying attention during class because you were staring at him, or if you almost ruined your potion because you were distracted by his presence behind you. He almost found it funny- if the potion ingredient you were about to add wasn't going to blow up the cauldron.

On the other hand, you did receive quite a few detentions from him, marking you as a trouble maker in his class. But they were just for the purpose of fucking and getting non-suspicious alone time.

You heard one of the boys throw open the potions door at that moment, the door bouncing off the stone wall, "I swear she just came in here."

"What's that spell to see if there's a person in a room again?" One of the boys asked.

"Stupid, that won't work, it'd just reveal everyone in the school." Another one scoffed.

There were five in total. They had cornered you in one of the hallways, asking if you'd blow them for a few Galleons. You'd been slightly terrified as they weren't taking no for an answer, upping the amount of Galleons as a tease. A slight distraction of pretending Professor McGonagall was behind them kept them distracted just long enough to duck under one of the smaller ones arms and start running.

You had no idea where Severus was at the moment. You had been hoping, when you'd entered, that he would be sitting at his desk grading papers and you would pretend to ask him a question and he'd protect you.

But instead, he was no where to be found. Maybe he was at the Great Hall, eating. It was just after lunchtime and his next class didn't start for another hour. Perhaps he was simply taking a stroll around the castle, trying to catch any Gryffindors in trouble and take house points.

So you'd hidden under his desk, hoping that they didn't look under there. Hoping they wouldn't even come into the classroom.

But they had. They had most unfortunately seen you come in here.

"She's in here somewhere." The first one said, "Find her and we can take her back to our room."

Unbeknownst to any of you, Severus had heard the boys enter the classroom, as he was sitting in his office, reading a Dark Arts book. At first, he had ignored them, assuming they were playing a childish game. He hadn't heard anyone enter so he knew that no one had originally came in. But when he heard them say 'take her back to our room,' he grew increasingly agitated, putting the book down.

He wasn't sure who 'her' was, but he hated when boys preyed on girls. He absolutely despised it.

"Where are you slut?" You heard one of the boys ask. You shivered a little under the table. You should've just headed for the Great Hall instead. But it had been farther away and you hadn't wanted to risk it.

Their footsteps were approaching the desk and you knew that any moment, they were going to find you.

That was when you heard another door open, "What are you doing in my classroom?" Severus' icy cold voice was asking.

"W-we were looking for a friend of ours." The first boy said nervously.

"Yes, I'm sure you call your friend such degrading names. You're lucky you're in my house and I'm in a fairly good mood, or else I'd be taking several points from you. Don't ever let me hear you speak of someone in such a detestable way again. Out."

The boys scampered and you heard Severus sigh. "Dunderheads."

You crawled out from underneath his desk, bumping your head, jarring the things on his desk, making you hiss. You heard his footsteps and you peered up, rubbing your head.

His heart nearly stopped at your innocent eyes. He'd only had you for four months and he was completely at your mercy.

His blood boiled when he realized that you were the one they were looking for. That you were the one they were calling 'slut'.

He knelt down, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, thank you for scaring them off." You mumbled, crawling into his lap to nuzzle into him. His heart warmed with you.

"They didn't hurt you, right?" He asked, cupping your face in his large, lovely hands. They weren't smooth, but rough with callouses, absolutely perfect. Rough and thick, perfect for so many things from potion making to getting you to scream his name through an orgasm.

"No. I distracted them and ran." You said matter-of-factly. "I didn't want to fight them. They have rich parents."

He understood that all too well.

You looked over you shoulder at the clock. Now that you were safe and in his arms, you were starting to get very needy.

"You know," You mumbled softly, rocking against his body slightly, "You still have forty-five minutes before your next class starts."

"Oh?" He cocked an eyebrow sexily. "And?"

"Will you fuck me on your desk?" You pleaded.

You felt him grow hard beneath you. He kissed your cheek, "Anything you want darling."

You were very quick to shoot up and plop your ass down on his desk, beaming up at him with large round eyes and a pouty lip. His heart was melting.

"No warm up." You demanded.

"As you wish." He mumbled quietly against your neck, pulling your knickers down and pushing your skirt up. Your hands were quick in undoing his belt. He discarded his robe on the chair and flicked his wand at the door, locking it and then charming it with two more locking spells and a silencing one.

He kissed sensually along your neck, sucking dark bruises into your skin. A sign that you were taken, even if no one knew whose you were.

You threw your arms around his neck, kissing along it as he slowly guided his thick appendage into your warm hole. His hands were firmly on your hips, holding you steady as he started off with slow rocking motions.

Slowly, he pushed you further until your back was flat against his desk and he was bent over you, fucking you more ferociously. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him to you.

With the silencing charm, you could be as loud as you wanted. Moans were ripped from throat and you cried, "faster!" or "harder!" as you needed. Your fingers tugged his lovely black locks between your fingers. It was only illusioned to be greasy to complete his appearance. He actually took great care of his hair and left it smooth, clean, and silky just for you.

"Ah kitten," He grunted as you milked his cock for the third time, "Has it always been a dream to be fucked on me desk?"

"Yes Professor! Wanted to be ruined on your desk." You whined, nails digging into his back. With one last final thrust, he finished in you, calling your name with a grunt.

You both caught your breath and he slowly slipped from you. He cleaned both of you with his wand, handed you your knickers to put back on, and then pulled you into his lap. He kissed you several times, falling more and more in love with you each time.

"If they ever bother you again, let me know." He murmured, smoothing your hair back from your face. "I don't want you to get hurt in any way, okay?"

You buried your head into his shoulder, overwhelmed with the love and attention that he was giving you. "Yeah." you mumbled. "Severus?"

"Hmm, darling?"

"I love you."

"I love you too." He kissed your nose. You gaze at the clock, "You know. . . there's fifteen more minutes and the desk didn't collapse yet. . ."

He chuckled, "What a needy little kitten. Bend over."

You grinned as you slid off the desk to turn around and bend over it. Things were going exactly as you wanted.

#Braveclementineworks #Kinktober2022 #Severus Snape #Professor Severus Snape #SeverusSnape #Severus Snape x reader #SeverusSnapexreader #smut #18+ readers only #kinktoberprompt #non-bed surface #Wizarding World

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cait-writes · 4 months

Text

Mine (Fluff)

TW: DV/Abuse

"Yes, you did!" He yelled, yanking on my arm to pull me back.

The arguing started since we left his buddy's house when after a few beers anything I said or did with anyone was considered flirting. We were driving back to my boyfriend's place when I wanted to go home and let things settle until he was sober.

"Brian, I'm not going through this again! I was not flirting - I was simply trying to tell him that we should stop drinking as we had to drive home. He couldn't hear me over everyone, so yeah, I leaned in a little. Nothing happened!" I exclaimed.

"You were all over him Y/N!"

I rolled my eyes and stared out the window. The farther away from my place, the worse my anxiety got. The thought to jump out of the car popped into my head and quite honestly, it didn't seem like such a bad idea.

Brian continued to yell and scream, calling me everything under the book. As I tried to build up the courage to get out, I noticed Brian started to swerve.

"Brian! Watch the damn road! You're going to get us killed!"

"Fuck you! I'm fine."

I grabbed my seatbelt and quickly undid it before pulling the door handle, thrusting myself forward. Brian swerved closer to the curb so I landed on the grass easily. The impact hurt, but it was manageable as I got up onto my feet and booked it. I looked over my shoulder and noticed his headlights so I went down a random alley and hid behind some garbage cans. I pulled out my phone and dialed Colby's number, hoping and praying he'd answer.

The first time it went to voicemail and my anxiety rose as I heard a car approach. "Damn it Colby, I need help. Please!" I whispered, pulling myself closer a garage and pulled the cans closer.

Colby's ringtone rang and I immediately pulled my phone away from my ear, "What the hell did he do now? Where are you?" He demanded.

"I'll explain when I see you, but please hurry. I jumped out of the car and I think he's looking for me. I hear a car." I share my location with him and he texted a thumbs up.

"I'm close by. I'll be there in a few minutes. Don't hang up."

I could hear the sound of the Corolla's engine and it roar as Colby sped up. It was about five minutes later when the familiar red car rolled down the alleyway. I dashed for his car and climbed into the passenger seat, throwing my arms around him as the tears began to fall.

"I'm so sorry, thank you for getting me!" I cried.

He held me tight in his arms before patting my back, signaling for me to sit back so we could leave. We stopped through the drive-thru to get some ice cream before settling back at Colby's as he didn't want me at mine in case Brian showed up.

Colby gave me the set of PJs that I usually wear when I'm here and gave me a sad smile. After the crying had stopped, it was hard to look up at him. I could feel the disappointment radiating off of him. After I changed into the clothes, we sat on his couch and put on some random show to play in the background.

We sat in silence for a bit before I started eating my ice cream. As my jaw opened, I winced. The adrenaline from earlier began wearing off and I could feel how sore my body was from the impact. I didn't remember hitting my head on the ground, but my jaw hurt like hell.

I went to take another bite of my ice cream when Colby leaned forward and ran his hand over my cheek, "Does it hurt?" He asked softly, his eyes scanning me up and down for any other injuries. He was gentle as he continued looking me over.

"I'll survive..." I mumbled. I've dealt with worse from Brian, but not that Colby knew. Brian had been physical before, a few times. Brian left his hand print on my neck and makeup wouldn't cover it for almost a week. My excuse for not being around? I caught a bad stomach bug. I could tell that Colby wasn't impressed, but he never let on otherwise.

"Not what I asked." He said sternly, his fingers gripped my chin and made me look up at him.

I took a deep breath before slowly nodding my head, my eyes burned with the threat of tears. "I'm fine, Colbs. I've dealt with worse. Way worse." I muttered, leaning forward and resting my head on his shoulder. He froze momentarily. "I don't want to talk about it right now, please. In the morning?" I asked, peeking up at him with a pleading look.

From my peripheral, I could see him clenching his fist, but he slowly wrapped his arm around my shoulders and rested his head on mine. It took a few steady breaths before he spoke again. "In the morning, we're gonna talk. But I am going to say this, Y/N, he's done. You're done. He's no good for you and you don't deserve the shit he's put you through...got it?" His voice was laced with venom, but I could see the anger he was holding back.

A small smile formed on my lips, "Yes, sir."

The subject was dropped and we focused on the show that played, it wasn't good so we finished up our ice cream and got ready for bed. I pulled back the covers and as I snuggled in I was greeted with Colby's scent. In my half groggy state, I felt Colby snake his arms around me and pulled me close before whispering, "You're mine."

#colby brock #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock imagine #colby x reader #colbybrock #fluffimagine #colbyfluff #colbybrockfluff #colbyoneshot

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cryptidclaw · 2 years

Text

Fire and Ice: Rise of Change edition (aka. my redraw of the Fire and Ice cover) is complete!

This took me FOR EVER, the complete opposite of the Into the Wild cover, that one I completed in 1 night, this one has been a WIP for possibly a month??? Could be more and I wouldn't be surprised.

This is probably one of the most complicated covers in the first arc, there are so many characters and such a big background! I am not used to illustrating backgrounds like this so at least it was a good push to get me out of my comfort zone!

Now info about my changes to the cover! The cats in the frame are Bracken(paw) and Cinder(paw), they are both important characters in this book and they are Fire and Gray’s first apprentices (Bracken is more Fire’s apprentice too honestly) so I thought they should get a spot light! Also I want to change a lot of the frames in future covers bec I like the idea of other important characters getting the cover spot light!

The other characters in the scene behind the frame are Sedgecreek (upper right), Graystripe (upper left), Troutclaw aka. Whiteclaw (below Graystripe), Voleclaw (farthest bottom left), Leopardfur (Next to Voleclaw), Fireheart (bottom middle), and Sand(paw) (bottom right). All of these cats were in the border skirmish between River and Thunder when Fire and Gray were traveling back from bringing back Wind Order!

Image IDs v

[Image ID: A digital illustration, which is a redraw of the original Warriors: Fire and Ice cover. At the top of the cover is the Warriors title written in dark purple, and below it is written Fire and Ice which is yellow and lined in the same dark purple. Below the title is a portrait style frame centered in the middle of the cover, this frame depicts Bracken(paw) and Cinder(paw) centered in the frame, sitting next to each other with mirrored blank, wide eyed expressions. They are in a dark night scene and are mostly in shadow with their eyes glowing a bright white. In front of them are black silhouettes of grass, and in the background in a dark blue night sky and a huge bright blue moon lined with white. Behind this frame, filling up the rest of the cover, is a illustration of a battle taking place in a sunset scene of a river surrounded by grass that is mostly lit in yellows and oranges. In the foreground at the bottom of the illustration are 4 cats, there are two on the left of the page, we can only see their angry seemingly yelling faces peaking over a log, the cat farther from the left has her arm raised with her claws unsheathed, the other two cats are faced away from the camera and are looking towards the first two. from left to right the first cat is grey with blue eyes, the second in gold with brown spots and amber eyes, the third is round, chubby and orange, and the forth is a cream and back tortie. In the mid ground are two cats by the river bank, one is standing with their left side showing and they are crouched low to the ground and screeching at something off screen, the other is behind this cat, and is getting ready to pounce on the first cat while screeching. the First cat is a brown and white cat with orange eyes and the second is a big gray tabby with glowing yellow eyes. On the other side of the river is a single cat looking over to the other side, this cat is a brown tabby with green eyes. At the bottom of the cover where the author is usually listed, is written “Rise of Change” in yellow text./End ID]

#cryptidclaw's warriors au #rise of change #warrior cats #warrior cats design #warriors cover #warriors art #warriors #Fire and Ice #Warriors fire and ice #the prophecies begin #TPB

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dwntwn-strnlo · 5 months

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DOUCHE matt sturniolo

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎, dwntwn-strnlo.

part 1.

↳ 𝐀/𝐍. i accidentally originally wrote this in first person (idk why 😭) but if there's anything that's in first person, i just forgot to fix it so ignore it!

↳ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. hockey!matthew sturniolo x reader

↳ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. go read part 1 first, if you havent already! - 'jackass'

↳ 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃? a part 2 was requested on multiple accounts!

↳ 𝐂𝐖! 'y/n' used, resolved ending (your welcome), rushed ending, not proofread

you texted nick that you were at the front door, and he was quick to let you in.

you felt awful with yourself due to the way you left things with matt. sure you said 'i love you' before you left, and you meant it with your whole heart. but that doesnt take back the things you said to him ahead of time.

viewing that it would be easier for you to apologize if someone else let you in, you texted nick instead of matt.

taking in a deep breath while you trail up the stairs behind matt, you silently wave to him, forcing a smile on your lips.

walking up to matt's door, your lightly tap your knuckles on the painted wood. a shallow 'yeah?' is heard from the other side, and you turn the doorknob cautiously, eyes drifting to matts the second he's in view.

"matt..?" you queried, hesitant but a splurge of confidence raining through you. there was no way you were going to let a fight get in between the two of you.

he looks up from the book in his hands, "y/n?" he closes the book, setting it on his bed before sitting up.

"hi," you muttered, gently smiling at him. hoping he wasn't too upset.

"hey," he still looked confused as to why you were standing in his room.

you gently closed the door and stepped farther in. "do you think we can talk? i want to apologize to you-"

he furrows his brows, "you don't need to apologize for anything, love."

frowning, you shake your head. "no i do, i feel awful for what i said to you the other day." you walked forward, sitting next to him at the edge of the bed. "i shouldn't have went at you like that. i should've let you talk."

the corners of his lips tugged down slightly, "baby it's okay," he whispered. "what you said was completely fair, and i shouldn't have punched that kid like that."

you softly sighed, taking his hands in yours. fidgeting with his fingers. "i want you to know that you can talk to me whenever you want, matt."

"i do know that, i just don't even know what happened yesterday." he mumbles, "i was fine, i was doing so good and suddenly- i wasn't.."

bringing your hand up to his face, you gently graze your thumb over his cheekbone. "and that's okay, you don't have to understand every feeling that crosses over you." you smiled gently, "but i just wanted to come over and tell you how sorry i am for what i said after the game. it was wrong and i should've waited to let you talk."

"it's okay," he smiles reassuringly, "you were frustrated too and i understand that."

you nod, gently leaning your head on his shoulder. letting out a huff of air, you laugh. "that cameron guy is a douche anyway."

matt laughs with you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "yeah, he is."

you smiled softly at him, intertwining your fingers before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

TAGLIST

@thetriplets3 @stxrniqlo @ifilwtmfc @iha8you @oneirophobic @20nugs @gracietaylorsversions @fenoy7 @mlimmm @prettysturniolo @ssturniolo @gabbylovesreading @oh-toseewithoutmy-eyes @matthewmurdockswife @jellybeanbby @slaysturniolo @iheartshifting @mxqdii @luvsturniolo @lvrsparadise @partoftoofuckinmanyfandoms

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo x you

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faeriekit · 1 year

Text

The Firstborn Son (part II)

Read the first part here!

dp x dc | Batman 👻 tw for: canon-typical violence, threats against children, purposeful exacerbation of triggering events

****

Dick is sick.

It started out as a cold, but the symptoms keep shifting—Dick’s been vomiting periodically, but not frequently enough to encourage them to fetch a doctor; Dick is too cold, then too hot, and then freezing all over again.

Alfred, of course, provides ‘round the clock care, but…

Bruce can’t help it. He’s Bruce Wayne’s ward, not Alfred Pennyworth’s, so Bruce makes himself busy reading children’s books and tucking in pillows and delivering small sips of blue Gatorade to the most miserable child in the whole wide world.

(According to Dick, anyway).

(Considering the keening whimpers and constantly cleaned sheets Bruce has been replacing, Bruce is inclined to believe it.)

Bruce is down the hall, fetching Zitka from the wash, when he hears the scream.

It’s too high to be discomfort—it’s too loud to be anything but fear.

Or pain.

“B!! B B Beebeeebeebee—!!”

Bruce has never been faster in his life. Not training with the league of assassins. Not flinging himself off rooftops.

He slides into the room just in time to see a sobbing, struggling Dick leave it. A clawed hand drags the nine-year-old by the arm out of bed, across the hardwood floor, and into a toxic green rift floating in the air. And then he’s gone.

Bruce’s world melts around him.

He needs—he needs his armor. He needs his gear. Dick is gone and he needs gear—

He hurtles towards the cave so fast that he almost bowls over Alfred in his desperation. He’s practically on all fours down the stairs. Bruce nearly rips the hands off the antique grandfather clock he’s fashioned into a door trying to get it open that much faster, and he’s shoving himself into Kevlar and thick black boots as soon as he reaches his gear locker. His belt is packed. His weapons are loaded—he needs to go before that green rift closes—before Dick gets anything farther—before anything happens to him—

Alfred is going to be upset down the line for the grapple-marks on the bannister, but all Bruce can think of is how quickly he can get back up to the boy’s bedroom. He lands, he launches himself off the railing, and lunges back towards Dick’s room.

(Again, blowing past Alfred.)

“Master Bruce, what on God’s green earth—“

“Something kidnapped Dick!”

“What?”

Bruce lands with all his considerable weight on the floor of Dick’s room, ignoring the colorful circus posters and world flags tacked to the walls for the sake of a green ripple burning through the center of the room. Bruce makes to jump through.

Alfred’s grip on his arm holds him back.

Bruce can’t even process it for a moment. That his parent—who knows how important Dick is, and cares for him too—is stopping him from going in after him. And then Bruce’s ears tune back in and Bruce begins to understand a little more.

“—throwing yourself into danger with only a moment’s notice and no back-up! We need more information before you go careening, head-first—“

Bruce would normally agree.

But he can see the tattered edges of reality closing in on the green wound. There won’t be much time to go through before the rift—whatever is it and wherever it goes—closes, and his nine-year-old-ward is left alone in a secondary location.

Bruce really hopes he’s not going to leave Alfred alone in Wayne manor if he goes through this. But he has to go through with this. Bruce has always been weak to stray pets and people in need, and this boy is—he’s—he’s Bruce’s responsibility.

He doesn’t say anything. Alfred raised Bruce—he knows how to read him. Bruce uncurls Alfred’s hands from around his arm, shifts his weight, and lunges through.

The world turns uranium green.

Kryptonite green, even. Everything has this odd, incandescent glow to it; considering that he can’t see the sun, Bruce—Batman—has to guess that the ever-present light is the only substitute for solar energy.

He’s going to investigate it more. Later.

When there isn’t a huge, periwinkle dragon with Dick clutched in its lime green claws.

The dragon is as long as a school bus, with the expected claws and teeth, red eyes, and ridged spines along its back to deter predation. It looks, in a way that is almost comical, like a living, breathing version of what a child might think a dragon looks like. It isn’t a color that can camouflage even in this green environment.

There’s no ground, but—somehow—Bruce is able to launch himself forward after the beast. He’s treading…air. Or something like it. Whatever this atmosphere’s glowing substance is. Dick is scrabbling against the unyielding surface of the beast’s claws, and Batman has to fetch Dick back before something worse than sudden transportation happens.

He’s not fast enough to catch it. It can fly, and Batman cannot.

Bruce flings batarangs at its foot. With any luck, it will have to drop Dick, and he can—who knows—dip down and catch him.

It flips a wing. The batarangs are harmlessly batted away.

But its mobility is compromised as it does, unable to pump its wings as it defends itself. Interesting. There isn’t anything in particular holding Bruce up in the air, a speck in an array of floating island, but when the dragon’s wing-beats are interrupted, it no longer moves as it ought to.

The reason why doesn’t matter. It’s an exploitable weakness. Bruce hurls another two batarangs at its foot, and when it ducks a wing to hide Dick from him, he hurls another two towards its other wing.

Bingo. The dragon’s wings stutter. It doesn’t fall, as Bruce worried it might have, miraculously. There doesn’t seem to be anything but abyss below or above them.

He strides forward. Dick is miserable, snotty and sobbing in his little elephant jammies, and all Bruce wants to do is pick him up and bring him home. He’s so close. Dick is reaching out with his little, fragile hand. Bruce has to grab it back.

He’s so close. All Dick has to do is reach out and grip his black glove—

A sonic blast propels Batman back.

“Come on, Bat-boy!” Bruce hears. His head snaps upwards. A blue-haired woman with a guitar and studded black clothing floats above him, pleased to be between him and Dick.

Bruce’s eyes narrow. Finally, he gets someone verbal. “Who are you? What do you want with the boy?”

The woman’s smile is all teeth. “It’s not about what I want, Bat-guy. Care to dance for a spell?”

The guitar in her hand changes shape; the fist-shaped body of the instrument precedes the fist-shaped beam sent his way, her fingers on the strings as she summons the musical blast.

Bruce dodges the first one. The second— the third one is too close, as Bruce tries to fistfight the woman as quickly as he can to get her out of the way, and takes a sonic punch to his Kevlar-padded chest instead.

He can’t breathe. The woman takes full advantage of his breathlessness by lifting her guitar, swinging it back, and giving him a hit that would have concussed him without his cowl.

Bruce can’t move. Dick’s captor is getting away. Dick is getting dragged away and he cannot make himself move.

“Golly G, Bat boy, I thought this would be harder!” the woman laughs. “Let’s try something smoother, instead. What do you think about a love song?”

There’s no point in engaging with her. She’s actively trying to stall him from going after Dick. However, despite knowing that she’s stalling, there isn’t a great way to disengage from the fight. Dick’s cries are tapering off with the distance, and Bruce can feel his heart stuttering for reasons not related to the thoracic injury he’s just endured.

(Her fingers flick across the strings, and her guitar flickers into the shape of a heart.)

So he takes a risk. And feints. Jumps back, gets distance between them, and tries to go after his kidnapped ward fast enough that the dragon won’t escape his sight.

Bruce dodges the first few blasts, but the lack of cohesive planes of movement are disorienting. He gets hit in the side with a blast, and—

Everything does fuzzy. Concussive-fuzzy, even. Where is he going? Ember (that’s her name?) is right here. He was…looking for her. Wasn’t he? Yes. Right. He was looking for Ember.

She floats down to his height. (Perfect control of her flight, a dim part of him notices.) “You with us, Bat-boy?”

Bruce. Nods. He wants to give her good information. She’s the important thing he’s looking for.

Her smile is electric. She’s the center of the world. “Good work! If you love me, you’re going to stay here and be patient. I’ll come get you in a minute, ‘kay?”

Bruce nods. He’s getting better at making his body move. He has to listen to her; how could anyone not listen to her, when her voice is so hauntingly beautiful?

Her laughter is the sunlight. And then she’s off.

Bruce is patient.

He will wait.

He will…

Oh God.

Dick is gone.

Bruce doesn’t quite wake up, but—Dick is gone. His ki—his ward, the bright little bird, the light of his house is gone. He’s sick and—Alfred isn’t here, and—

His looks around the area are frantic. There won’t be footprints or dust or debris left behind, but there has to be something. There has to be something he can use to get Dick back.

Focus. He needs to focus. Whatever rip he had broken through to get here, the spatial rend that was used to take Dick, is already gone. There is no way to go back and gather intel or get help. The woman that had trapped him in his head is already gone, with no trail to follow. Neither does the dragon have a trail.

He takes a—step. Whatever the equivalent is of stepping. And then another. If he triangulates the positions of the islands he had seen the dragon fly past, he might be able to approximate a direction. Maybe. It’s all he has—

—And something cracks against the back of his cowl. Bruce staggers.

A second blow and he’s out.

****

Bruce wakes up.

He’s still in the majority of his Batgear, which is a sign that 1) there has been little attempt to frisk him, and 2), that Dick’s naming conventions have worn off on him. Bruce is in an approximately 6’ by 6’ stone cell. His limbs are free.

Still. He automatically checks his belts for his equipment. Sure enough, his belt—smoke pellets, last of his batarangs, grapple gun, lockpicks, rebreather—and everything in it is gone.

There’s still a knife in his boot, though, so that ought to count for something. His captors aren’t used to trained operatives, nor deeply-entrenched criminal elements. Likely more used to common abductions; Bruce would be embarrassed to be taken by surprise by such amateur elements, but. Well. It’s not as if he can hear the footsteps that weren’t there in that vast green wasteland.

And, just like the outside green landscape, there is no central light. Everything simply…glows.

So he wasn’t removed from this new…dimension. He is only trapped in a building within it.

The cell has bars, but not bars big enough to slip through, cowl or no cowl.

Guards flicker past in concentrated routes. They’re just as liquid and green as their uranium homeworld. Their body armor places them more closely to a riot squad than to usual prison sentencing, but it’s not as if Bruce knows why they’re here or what their role is. They’re identical, from their helmets down to their wispy…tails…

A larger, bone-white build makes its way into his field of view. “Make way,” it announces to the guards, authority barely softened with a southern twang. “I’m going to speak to the prisoner.”

Great. Batman is a prisoner.

The huge build reveals itself to be a huge, broad-shouldered man, clothed entirely in white. Black boots. Black hat. His nose is…rotted away.

“Prisoner,” the man addresses him.

Bruce says nothing.

“You’re in here for the maximum sentence of a hundred years for bringing real-world items into the Ghost Zone. There’s no trial for this sentence: the King,” the man spits, “Demanded this personally. I am Walker, and I am the warden here. Cross me and you will regret it eternally.”

A warden.

Not an active member of the legal institution, but the end of it. Interesting.

Batman draws his cape around him. “I am only here for the boy. He is nine, he is ill, and he was kidnapped from his bed. Help me find him, and I will be out of your…”

Bruce takes a look at the man again.

“…Hat.”

“No can do,” the man says, firm. “Boy’s scheduled for a private execution with his Majesty. You’re in my custody now, and the boy’s going to find himself a permanent house in the Zone somewhere. Sit tight, or else your sentence is getting a few years’ extension.”

An exec— “He is nine,” Batman snarls, more his armor than he is the man within. “He is a nine year old with a hundred degree fever—why does he have an execution date?”

The warden, Walker, gives Batman a look. “Common practice for breaking your contract with the Ghost King,” the—ghost?—explains. “No reason for you to worry about it; you certainly can’t make any contracts from in here. Nothing comes in. Nothing comes out. Get comfortable—you’re not going anywhere.”

Not going anywhe— Bruce hurls himself at the barred door and the man within it, needing to go get his ill nine-year-old as soon as physically possible. He is getting out of here, and he is getting out of here this instant. The need to get his boy back is overwhelming. The thought of Dick, aching and fevered, in his pajamas and not even his armored suit, in the hands of someone who wants to kill him—

Bruce manages to wriggle past the first two guards, but a fourth and third manage to get him in the side with electricity. He doesn’t scream. The electricity doesn’t end—Bruce grits his teeth together and he tastes copper in his mouth but he does not scream, he has to get to Dick.

“Get him back in there!” the warden barks. The hall swarms with guards, and Bruce is pushed back into the cell, slammed onto the floor.

He rolls to his feet and lunges back up, fists outstretched.

The guards are too smart to fight him, and it burns, because he wants to repay this threat to his child with blood and broken bones. (Do ghosts even have bones to break? The best way to find out is to try. The barred door is slammed in his face.

Bruce heaves all his weight against it. pushes it with all the force in his body. Tries to pick the lock with the clawed tips of his gloves.

It doesn’t move.

A hundred-year sentence. A hundred years. It doesn’t even matter that Bruce could be stuck here forever, if Dick is about to lose his life in mere hours.

He wants to bang on the bars with his fists. He does. He wants to scream. He doesn’t scream, because one action might actually damage the bars and the other will only alert the guards to his state.

A hundred years. An execution date.

Bruce has to think. He has to get his way out of here. He has to think.

Someone is accusing Dick of a crime. The punishment is execution. It’s a pressing matter, but not helpful in the first problem of finding a way out of the cell.

Bruce has accrued a hundred year sentence. This is because he has brought “real world” items into the “Ghost Zone”. His tools and gear are all from his world, ergo, the world Bruce and Dick come from are the “real world”. This makes the world Bruce has fallen into the “Ghost Zone”. Ruled by the “Ghost King”, Bruce recalls.

He buries his face in his gloves. He needs to get out. There has to be something he can use. There are guards crawling everywhere and the prison is on high alert. The bars are drawn over the door.

This world is not the real world. There must be something exploitable in its occupants, in its functionality, in its physics—right?

Bruce knows—something—about ghosts. He tries not to worry about the supernatural in his work but he’s read a little of everything in his life. They are afterimages of people. More concept than personhood. If Walker is the warden, and the guard is the guard, that is all they are. There is no personal detail to exploit.

Not going through people, then.

Ghosts… Bruce has been hit and smashed on the head a lot, but they’re not famous for combat, they’re famous for their ethereality. For being able to walk through walls, float, disappear, reappear… They have done none of that. Ghosts, if that’s what they are, while they are in the Ghost Zone, are very tangible. Bruce has taken enough hits to the head and to the ribs to prove it.

Real world objects are forbidden, for some reason, but ghost objects lack the intangibility that would be expected of them in the real world. Ghost objects in the Ghost Zone retain real world physics.

Would real world items in the Ghost Zone retain real world physics…?

Bruce takes his face out of his hands. Looks at them.

This ought to work, he thinks, and punches the wall with no intention of meeting it.

His hand goes through. Hm.

Bruce is going to get his gear, and he is going to get it now.

****

Outside the prison is a large swathe of blackness. Gone is the green sky and floating islands.

All the better for Batman’s escape, then; since he doesn’t glow, there’s no easy way to notice him in the blackness of the all-consuming atmosphere.

In the distance is a stark red castle. The towers rise in the murky atmosphere, with its own red glow seeping into the rest of the zone around it.

If Bruce would have to guess, it’s pretty likely that the Ghost King lives in the giant castle. Dick is probably there. He’s lost his ward for a few hours, so reclaiming the lost time has become essential.

Bruce strides towards the castle. Or. Flies? He’s trying not to pay attention, to be honest; it seems that one of the rules of this Zone is that if Bruce starts thinking about what ought to happen, he’ll simply impose physical laws of his own world to apply to this one and start falling. It’s not helpful.

He has to focus on getting his ward. Making a plan—to ferret his kid out of wherever they’re holding him. To make diplomatic reasons as to why his nine year old shouldn’t be executed. To get down to the bottom of the issue… At his furthest, to take the fall for whatever Dick’s been blamed for as his guardian.

That Dick might not be alive is…not something Bruce is willing to consider.

He’s going to get Dick and figure out a way home. Bruce promised to take care of him, the same way Alfred promised to take care of Bruce.

So Bruce struggles his way through the wasteland. He keeps his eyes out for stray dragons he does not see. He makes his way to a red castle, unsure of how long it’s taken or how long it’s been since Dick was snatched away.

Bruce tests the durability of the outer wall. It flows around him like water, the same way the prison cell walls had. Batman ducks inside the fortress. And—

Bruce wakes up in bed.

Alfred is there. He looks…younger. For some reason, the bed is too big for Bruce to comfortably get out of on his own, so Alfred offers his hand and helps him down.

Oh. This room is his childhood bedroom. It’s so large. Why doesn’t he remember this blue-striped wallpaper? He doesn’t think he’s changed it.

Alfred supervises as Bruce washes his face and brushes his teeth (tasks which require a stepstool), and then they go down to breakfast.

Mom and Dad are there. Dad’s dressed for work, of course; Wayne Enterprises can solve its own problems, which means that today he’ll be in his clinic’s office. Mom is still in her sleeping robe. She probably has charity work today.

Bruce only lets go of Alfred’s hands for good morning kisses from his parents.

They have breakfast.

He doesn’t seem to have school today; Alfred dresses him in his much-smaller-in-Alfred’s hands peacoat, hands him a wrapped lunch, and waves goodbye as Mom takes him in her taxi to the city.

Everything seems….warm. Fuzzy. Mom’s hand holds his as they walk through hazy city streets on their way to her charity work. Her smiles are painful and familiar in Bruce’s heart. Although he can’t remember why, he’s missed them. He plays packed games and toys with her desk pens as his mother’s office does work around him.

He blinks, and they’re at dinner. His mother is in evening dress, although his father looks like he’s rushed here fresh from work. Bruce’s shed peacoat is on the chair behind him. They’re having his favorite meal. Alfred is plating Bruce’s seconds.

Bruce thinks he’s going to cry. He doesn’t know why all the quiet domesticity hurts like a wound to the stomach. Dinner is the same as it’s always been. Bruce goes to bed with goodnight hugs and kisses and I love you!s and it feels like something has been ripped out of him and he is bleeding. All his strength is leaving him.

Or, perhaps, Alfred is right, and he’s just tired. Alfred leads him up the stairs, cracks open his door. Waits for Bruce to enter before him.

Something is wrong about the room placement. Bruce can’t put his finger on it. Bruce is supposed to be in the other room. (His parents’ room).

No, he’s not… Yes, he is. This is supposed to be Dick’s room.

The bleeding sensation in his stomach gets bigger. Deeper. Bruce presses his hand there, and looks to see if he’s bleeding. He’s. Not? But the sensation of wetness is there. He just can’t see it.

Alfred is asking for him. Bruce can’t see his face anymore—just the spot where his face is supposed to be. The colors of the walls fade. There’s water covering his socked feet. When he looks down, there’s nothing there, not even a puddle?

Where is Dick? Where did he go? He’s supposed to be in this room—this room hasn’t been Bruce’s in years—no, he just work up in it this morning. Where’s—

Batman claws out of his dream with heaving chest. He swallows back bile before he accidentally leaves evidence of his passage, because—

Right. He’s after his ward. He’s retrieving Dick from his captors. His clawed gloves dig into the castle’s plush carpet as he tries to gain back a semblance of balance. He’s trembling. He’s no use to the rescue mission if he’s trembling.

Pity, a voice slithers out. Bruce’s neck cracks as his head jerks up. Up above his bent form is an indistinct body of stars. I was hoping I could feed on you more. Never mind your breaking and entering; I’ll inform the King of your attendance. I believe there’s a special moment for a special bird in the throne room.

Bruce feels his wan face grow paler yet. This is—worse than he thought. They know whose Dick’s second identity is. At the very least, they feel comfortable implying who Dick’s second identity is.

The body of stars slides down and away. It convalesces into some sort of elegant form, a goat-shaped face topped with ram’s horns.

It doesn’t matter. It does because it reveals Bruce’s location to the entity who wishes his ward ill, but it doesn’t because it does not change that Bruce has to get to the throne room and fix this. Whatever this is. Whatever’s going on.

Whatever. Bruce hurls himself through walls and looks for the throne room.

He finds one room entirely swathed in blackness. Bruce would withdraw himself from it, except. There’s a ping on his comm. His finger goes to click it automatically. “Ro—“

There’s no further sound. The lights around him click on—blinding in their intensity, until his cowl cycles into its sunglass lenses and Bruce can finally see.

He wishes that he hadn’t.

Skyscraper-high above him, scraping the rounded ceiling at its height, is a platform. On it—surrounded by colorful ghosts flipping and walking midair—is Dick.

No. Is Robin.

Dick is clearly still sick. He’s clutching himself, taut and shaking, and Bruce thinks he can hear sniffles over the comm in his ear. But there is a domino on his face and he is dressed in the bright colors and cape, a hundred thousand feet in the air.

Bruce’s heart races. “DICK!”

“B?” Dick shouts back, faint as the wind. His head tilts around. Bruce realizes that Dick can’t see him. Probably can’t see anything with the stage lights. The entire floor would be a swath of darkness and a deadly drop. “B-Bee? B, are you there?”

“I’m here,” Bruce reassures loudly, just in case Dick’s comm isn’t working. “I’m here.”

“That’s right, the guest of honor is here!” one of the colorful ghosts shouts, and lights play on the arched dome of the ceiling above them. “Now, for the star of the show! Everyone welcome Robin, last living son of the Flying Graysons! Round of applause from the audience!”

The room is empty of everyone but the performers and superheroes. Still, applause echoes hollowly from the walls, as if there are beings living in them, or the memory of what applause is meant to sound like.

There isn’t a clear answer as to how Dick got up there—there is neither a ladder nor a net to have climbed up to reach the platform. What is clear is that there is only one way down, and Dick’s yellow-caped form is surrounded by hostile spirits in diamond unitards, all grinning identical, captivating smiles at audiences that aren’t there.

“Tonight, we celebrate the reunion of a family! This little bird is going to meet his parents again at long last. Round of applause for the petit Robin, getting his wings at long last!”

The applause goes on and on. The sound thunders in Bruce’s ears. His veins go cold. There’s a burst of noise—and then confetti begins its descent, fluttering around them in a cloud of colors.

“B?” Dick whimpers over the comm. His usual confidence is gone. There is no grapple gun. No trapeze. No wires, no edges. No nets. Only hungry ghosts at his back, ready to end the life of a little bird. “I’m scared.”

“Don’t—“ Bruce doesn’t want to lie to his son. So he doesn’t. He will simply have to succeed. He holds out his hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll catch you.”

“Bee?”

“I’ll catch you, Robin. Focus on me, okay?”

The comm crackles. “…Okay.”

Bruce swallows. The voices and the applause swallow him down just as equally, and he fights to stay present and focused. He holds out both hands. There isn’t a choice. He has to catch Dick. There is no acceptable alternative.

“I love you,” Dick says, suddenly, and that’s the only warning before Robin’s small form begins to plummet from the platform. Bruce isn’t close enough. He sprints, arms outstretched. The sight is—it’s hauntingly reminiscent of the night they met—the plummeting, the gravity, the inability to breathe, but now it’s worse because Bruce has dared to care and he loves this boy more than he can stand to rationalize his feelings for—

Bruce catches his boy around the waist. Dick is in his arms. Thank God.

Bruce sobs. Dick one-ups him by bursting into tears. There’s some functioning part of Bruce that approves of age appropriate expressions of emotion; meanwhile, the rest of him has joined Dick in his tears.

It’s instinct and immediate to pull Robin’s shivering, crying form under Batman’s cloak. Not a moment too soon: the acrobatic ghosts on the ceiling whoop and cheer, dropping from their midair revelry to descend upon them. Bruce curls up around his child. He’ll have to be the wall between Dick and the world once again.

“Love you,” Bruce mumbles, just to verbalize the emotion. Just once.

And then everything goes quiet.

There’s only the sound of Dick’s labored breathing. Bruce peels back the cloak to only see what’s in front of them.

There’s a child in the room. No one else. The colors, the lights, the confetti are all gone. He looks like Dick. He has the wrong colors—white hair, blue pajamas to Dick’s red ones—but the features are close enough to be…eerie. The effect is likely on purpose.

“It’s okay,” the boy says. An echo layers over his voice. “It’s over. No one is coming to get you.”

Bruce doesn’t move. There is no evidence to prove the statement as fact.

“There were statements made about a hundred year sentence. And an execution.”

The boy doesn’t move. And then, like the corner chipping off an ice cube, a small smile cracks through a serene façade.

“…I mean either of you. He was never in any danger. And besides, it’s over.”

Bruce needs answers. “What is over?”

“The test.” The boy is succinct.

“A test.” It’s certainly not one Bruce had opted into. “Elaborate.”

The boy’s head tilts. Bruce notices for the first time that his eyes are the same unsettling green that he had been forced to swim through to find Dick. They have the same glow as well, casting green light on his cheekbones that flickers as he blinks. “Your son says that you are a good guardian. That he trusts you to care and protect him as needed, that you would fetch him if he were in any danger far from you.”

…All of which Bruce had done. He doesn’t quite let up from his crouch. There’s no guarantee that the danger actually has passed. But it’s easy enough to rearrange his stance, to lift a quietly hiccupping Dick onto his hitched leg, to put the boy’s head on his shoulder.

The little ghost looks…fond. “I see that he was correct. As such, I have something to entrust to you.”

Bruce is rather tired of the games. “Not interested.”

The white-haired boy smiles. Little fangs protrude from white lips. “See it first. I will return you home despite either decision you make.”

And then he’s off—skipping towards the back of the room, the ethereal glow following him. The spotlights are gone, if they ever existed. There is no sign of the absent audience, the acrobats, the Ghost King that had been teased in other conversation.

There is something in the back of the room. Bruce can’t make out what it is. But the boy lifts the top and dips his arms down into it, retrieving a green-wrapped bundle from inside.

The ghost boy darts back.

In his arms is a human infant. Bruce would recognize the look and feel of real flesh anywhere. This is a newborn. So new, in fact, it’s almost purple.

“You might recognize his mother’s name,” the boy offers, bouncing. It is very clear, suddenly, that this conversation was the end game. “She gets the Al-Ghul name from her father, who sold the baby to me.”

Bruce’s lungs choke. No, Talia wouldn’t have—would she—?

The ghost doesn’t even ask before putting the baby on top of Dick, careful to balance the baby and his ward both until Bruce’s arms are around one each.

The baby grouses ever so slightly in its sleep. Dick opens gummy eyes to wipe shaking fingers across the emerald swaddling cloth.

“Baby,” Dick breathes. The grabby hands should have been expected at that point.

“Robin. You are ill.”

More grabby hands. God help them both.

The ghost laughs. Bruce would dare call it a giggle. “I cannot keep him here, or he will be dead in all the ways that matter to the living. I’ll trust you to raise this precious thing of mine, Bruce Thomas Wayne. When he becomes his own man, we may speak of his role between worlds.”

And with that alarming statement, the floor around them becomes dotted with dozens of bright points, speckled amongst the carpeting and tile. The floor dips down, drags itself out from beneath them. They are surrounded by a floor of stars, floating. Floating, until—

Bruce wakes up in bed.

****

He thinks he had a bad dream last night. Bruce doesn’t remember it all, but he isn’t sure he wants to, either; his time in the league has taught him how unsettled nightmares can make him.

Bruce washes his face. Brushes his teeth.

He has a vague memory of being worried about Dick in his dream the night before. It’s probably related to his ward’s sudden illness, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t check in on him. Just that he has an understanding how the dream originated. Bruce might ordinarily be the first downstairs and meet Dick at the breakfast table. For now, he exits the master bedroom and looks for his ward.

Dick, unexpectedly, finds Bruce first—slamming his door open, spotting his guardian in the hallway, and electing to make a running leap into Bruce’s chest.

Bruce stands there and takes it, of course. Moving might disrupt the boy’s trajectory and put him in danger of collision. Dick nearly smacks his skull against Bruce’s in his haste.

“Good morning, Dick.”

“BRUCE!” Dick shouts, which is…not unusual, but is rare so early in the morning. He clings to his guardian’s broad shoulders. “Bruce—B, I had a bad dream!”

Huh. “So did I, chum,” Bruce validates, wrapping his arms around Dick so he doesn’t fall. “Coincidental. You’re feeling better this morning.”

“Yeah!” Dick agrees with a grin. “That’s because I wasn’t sick! It was a ghost.”

Bruce’s mood does a 180. “It was a what?”

“A ghost,” Dick reiterates, impatient. His bony knees dig into Bruce’s ribs. “He gave me a ghost disease. But ghosts aren’t real so now I’m all better.”

Bruce wants to ask more questions. He really does. But then there’s a faint little cry from behind one of the shut doors of the family wing, and Dick beams like the sun has come out from the cloud. “Put me down!!”

Bruce, numb, does. Dick scampers off after the sound in his jammies, popping open the door across then hall, and then the one next to it, before ducking into the room with the door ajar.

Dick screams like a bird, and the cry grows louder. Bruce darts into the room after them.

In a previously untouched family bedroom is a walnut-brown cradle. Dick is leaning over the side and cooing like a dove, one hand in and on his tippy-toes as he tries to reach…something.

Bruce’s deja vu of his dream gets stronger. He thinks he knows what he’ll find, but…

He approaches slowly. Lets his gaze fall inside.

Inside is a tiny, Talia-brown baby boy, swaddled and grouchy.

He’s probably hungry, Bruce’s brain says. He probably needs diapers, ASAP. The rest of brain promptly lights itself on fire.

“B it’s your baby!” Dick crows, as if he was in on this. “Look, we got it back! Ooh! Ooh! Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?!”

Bruce carefully sits down on the floor before his legs lock. The nine year old takes the opportunity to climb atop his lap to reach the crib better.

There’s no clear path out of this one. So, of course, Bruce shouts back into the hall: “Alfred?”

Alfred, who has clearly had a morning of his own, rushes up the stairs and into the room without his coat, only to find his previously-missing employer, his previously-kidnapped ward, and an infant on the floor of an unoccupied bedroom.

“What have you done now?” Alfred asks, more out of gross curiosity than genuine interest. Bruce shrugs.

“Actually, do not tell me. Young Master—yes, pass the little one here, please. Thank you, Master Dick.”

There is a lot of tender memory of a younger Bruce that he must have once been in Alfred’s care; the unwrapping of the swaddle, the gentle check of limbs, of the stomach, the hands and feet. The baby is in good health, if a little lethargic.

Dick peeks into the makeshift changing-table bed as Alfred attends to the infant. “It’s a boy!” Dick shouts two inches away from the butler’s ear, startling Alfred, the baby, and a too-sensitive Bruce all at once.

Bruce opens his arms, and Dick obligingly hops in them. He’s clingier this morning than usual. Bruce isn’t sure why, but he does feel the same, so he resolves to selfishly accept all the hugs Dick is willing to spare today.

“Thank you for checking,” Bruce says, and makes a not to remind Dick about body privacy again.

“Having a first son is important,” Dick announces, apropos of nothing. “Pop Haley used to talk about it all the time. How do you feel about it?”

Bruce thinks. Gives the question its due consideration. Opens his arms, just to see what will happen, and isn’t surprised to see Dick fall into them, relieved to be wanted.

“Well,” Bruce says. “I think I already have one.”

This is clearly the wrong thing to say; Dick looks at him, stares deep into his guardian’s eyes, and promptly cries loudly enough to compete with the baby.

(Hours later, Bruce will run his hands over the new cradle while putting his son to sleep, and find Damian Al-Ghul Wayne etched neatly into the crib railing.)

#ooky spooky!!#I thought this might be like. a cool few hundred words.#nope #6000 #dp x dc #danny phantom #dc #dcu crossover #batman #more the fool am I #all's well that ends well I suppose?

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