#this is merely an inconvenience....a hilarious one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moodymisty · 3 months

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Off The Beaten Path

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: This is technically a reheated meal, but Ao3 seemed to like it and it deserved a revision since it was the first smut I ever posted. I hope at least one person here likes it as well.

Summary: “Death! We’re-” A neutral voice interrupts you, already knowing what you were going to say. “You seemed quite fine with the location when it was just your hand.”

Relationships: Death/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, it's like 20% porn if that, Porn with feeling, No use of y/n, Outdoor sex, Established relationship, Fluff

Word count: 7,392

Ao3 Mirror

Your feet hurt.

As in really hurt, more than you had ever thought they possibly could. Your boots have been through so much in such a short period of time they're on the verge of truly falling apart, even after numerous small repairs. But those small repairs were like putting a bandage on a gaping wound, largely failing to stop their slow descent into complete disaster. You were partly wondering why Death had still insisted you come with, even if you’d said straight up you were going to slow him down.

And while you did technically slow Death down, as he would never let you forget, apparently you were enough help- or entertainment- that he kept bringing you along. Even if he’d try and act like he was forcing the words out, he never complained beyond the first initial shows of inconvenience.

It also helps that you actually enjoy talking to the denizens of the other realms like the Makers, the undead of the Eternal Throne, even Vulgrim; Whom he had to deal with this time around. Death seemed to have a hatred for loose ends, and with only one Death Tomb left for him to seal up, it entailed having to wretch the final key from Vulgrim's grimy, greedy hands.

All but shoving the bound pages into your hands he forced you to do it, standing a good ten meters back down the path with his arms crossed as if the mere sight of the demon was too appalling for him to go any further.

He was still positioned so that you were clearly in line of sight however, just in case.

You just find it all hilarious, trading Vulgrim for the Tomb key with little fanfare and refusing yet another lowball offer for your soul as he takes the pages from your grubby little mitts, before walking back down the dirt path and tugging on the frayed edges of Death’s scarf. You know he's aware that you've returned, it's just fun to annoy him now that you know that his attitude towards you is mostly bark.

“Finished?” His eyes slowly open, looking down on you and hefting himself off of the hillock he’d been leaning against with his arms crossed.

You dangle the prize off of your index finger in front of your chest, the size and weight of it quite considerable for a key.

“One key; No strings attached.”

Long, pale fingers take the key from you and casually examine it, a jewel of a different color than the others embedded in the handle's side. He tucks it away in a pocket, looking down as you smile and speak:

“Vulgrim says hello, by the way. He told me to give you his greeting and I figured I’d pass on the message. He seemed upset he didn't get to talk to you face to face.”

Death’s prolonged sigh only serves to feed your snicker, as he denies amusing you with a real response. When he turns and starts walking not long after, the sound of your boots stumbling on the dirt as you struggle to catch up pricks his ears.

Something Death has frequently caught himself doing was listening to the sound of said footsteps; The consistent beat of them not too far behind him. When you were bored and kicked rocks, or if you started to jog trying to catch back up with his significantly longer stride. If you started to slow down, or were unable to keep up he would sometimes make as if occupied by something to let you catch his pace again.

Death largely has no need of breaks, apart from very few circumstances. Necromancies require a significant part of his energy, sure, but only a few could manage to make him weary enough for any rest. he can count on his hands the amount of times he's had to do so. Humans however need it constantly, wearing down and tiring after what he considers not much effort at all.

Though even if Death would complain about it, he’ll always keep a keen eye on you for reasons he won't admit.

“I truly wonder how the human race has survived as long as it has, if this is the length of your specie's stamina.” Even if Death plays it off, he isn't immune to the sugar of your satisfied smile, walking beside him and swaying your arms back and forth. “Because we learned how to work smarter, not harder.” You turn to look up more fully at him, still trying to keep pace. “Besides the point; Weren’t you the one who insisted I come along with you anyways? You could’ve just left me with the Makers again.”

Death goes largely unaffected by your attempt at catching him in a corner, keeping his eyes ahead while continuing forward. “Because I don’t trust the Makers as far as I can throw them.” You highly doubt that was the reason, raising your eyebrows. He’d no problem trying to force you with them when he’d gone to fight the Guardian... Or when he attempted to forbid you from following him to the Death Plains.

“You can throw them pretty far, at least last time I checked.” The glaring look in Death’s eyes is more than enough to cover you in an icy heat; But in the end he doesn't verbally chastise you for the snarky comment. “That pup can’t tell his own feet apart- and his teacher has had his head caved far too many times.” You start to raise a hand, but quickly lower it once that icy stare returns to beam down right at you. You speak anyways however, just to poke at him. “What about Alya and Valus?”

The resulting change in energy is enough to dislodge Dust into flight from his perch atop Harvester, who is formed as a single long scythe against the expanse of Death’s back.

“You're not a forge, so I imagine they would have a hard time keeping sight of you for more than a second without trouble.” While you find it amusing he cares so much, even if disguised as irritation, you cross your arms and huff anyways. “You really think I have such bad judgment that I need a babysitter constantly?” Death doesn't miss a beat in responding to you, almost as if he had the response pre-prepared. “You choose to be in the company of a Horsemen. As well as throw yourself at anything that doesn’t immediately attempt to split you in two pieces. Yes, I do doubt your judgment about your own safety. Immensely.”

Ignoring his own self jab, you roll your eyes and keep walking even through the ache of your sore feet. Leave it to Death to find a way to make the mere act of befriending someone sound so haphazard.

Sure befriending Draven hadn't been your smartest idea, but it turned out fine, hadn't it?

But while it hasn't been the first time you've traveled with Death since knowing him, it is the first time since he had returned from the Well of Souls.

Not much has changed in hindsight; apart a generally lighter mood on your part and a tiny bit of an attitude change on Death’s. Unnoticeable, if you hadn't spent so long with him before; Noticing every little tiny tell he has that gives him away. But it was nice now, not having the fate of Earth heavy on your mind. It was nicer to have Death back again however, head held high as he examined the freshly trodden path in front of him.

When spring arrived in the Maker’s realm, it hadn’t much arrived with a graceful and even entrance; More so with a slam, the snow melting and giving way to millions of leaves in what seemed like just overnight. The evenings still get chilly, but you’d much prefer it then the freezing winds and sleet you’d been dealing with not too long ago.

In your effort to keep pace with the Horsemen you notice patches of odd looking flowers along the tree line, and are unable to resist the temptation to pluck one. It’s stem is soft in your grip, covered in a peach fuzz, and smells delightful when you take a whiff. The color is a soft blue, yellow in the middle, reminding you of something you’d find in a valley of rolling hills.

Death notices you fawning over it, but doesn’t comment. It's not like he isn't used to you finding entertainment in seemingly menial things.

It was one of the things that actually made you pleasant to be around; He's been so numbed to everything over his long and unforgiving lifetime, seeing someone's eyes light up over something so uninteresting is, nice. Every now and again he wonders what the world looks like through your eyes.

Until you suddenly stumble forward, thankfully catching yourself before your tired feet manage to send you toppling into the dirt.

“Keep looking at the path instead of plants, and you might not fall.”

Holding the plant in your hand, you roll it gently in your fingers to feel the soft fuzz again while scowling at Death. It fades quickly though, taking another whiff of its familiar sweet scent. The soft petals tickle your skin with the softest touch.

“It just reminded me of something,” Your voice trails off, running through the rest of your sentence in your head instead of actually speaking it. It wasn’t until Death calls out to you, that you realize you hadn’t actually spoken aloud.

“Well?” His sharp tone startles you for a moment, seeing his eyes looking down at you.

“Are you going to finish speaking, or leave me in suspense?” Almost having forgotten what you were going to say, you twirl the flower between your fingers again.

“There’s this cute little plant on Earth called a Snap Dragon,” You can't resist the urge to pluck a different flower, smelling that one as well. “Comes in a ton of different colors. When it starts to wither though, the flower looks like a skull.”

Death let out a huff, and a mumbled: 'How charming', but you were unable fully tell if he was being sarcastic, or was just amused by the description of such an odd little plant. The sentence he speaks after however seems to lean towards that he was the ladder.

“Do tell me it doesn’t bite, will you? I’ve had my fill of violent plants.” You shake your head and smile, letting out a soft laugh.

“No, no biting. Just smells nice.”

Not moments after you finish speaking you twist on your ankle again, the uneven and partly detached sole of your boot sending you off balance and almost crashing into the dirt. You manage to save yourself again, but the flowers in your grip get partly crushed at the stems.

One of Death’s hands quickly darts out to catch you, prepared this time, but returns to his side in a flash once you right yourself. Since it's now been the second time you’ve almost fallen, Death decides it might be a good time for you to sit; Before you actually take a real fall.

“Go sit, before you topple over into the mud.”

Confused, you look up at him after tossing the flowers gently down. Death was normally quite the one for punctuality, and to simply sit for awhile wasn’t much his type. At least as far as you've known him.

And while you’d normally be correct, he wasn’t in much of any actual hurry to clear this last Death Tomb. Even if he’d never say it out loud.

A slight clearing between a few of the trees is where you decide to plop for a moment, just enough off the path. Slipping your pack off of your back with one hand, you plop it onto the ground with little effort, given how light it was.

The sack was yet another thing from the Makers- who you were beginning to think were coddling you- pulling a blanket from it and holding it in both hands. Death sighs but continues to watch.

“Do you truly intend on setting up a camp?” You brush out the blanket and sit on it with a huff, looking up at Death. “Well I was just laying down a blanket, but now I’m all self-conscious about it.” Even if his iris isn’t visible with the Nephilim glow of his eyes, you can tell Death was rolling them.

Letting out a soft grunt as you sit, the first thing you do is lean forward and try to re-tie the laces of your boots; Not that it would do much, but at least they’d be snug again. “Don’t get comfortable. We’re not staying for long.” Death notices the frayed and quite honestly sad state of your current footwear, as you tie them unaware.

Of course out of all the things the Makers chose to lavish you with, a pair of good boots wasn’t one of them.

“So, any reason in particular we're not just using Despair right now?”

Death, standing in front of the tree directly to your right, slides down it until he was leaning against the trunk in a sit just off your blanket. His one leg is bent, supporting an elbow.

“If I summoned Despair every time I needed to travel somewhere, I’m quite sure the beast would come to hate me.”

You're sure there's more to it than that, but he just takes the opportunity for more sarcasm; And you won't get much more out of him than that. Unbeknownst to you however Death would struggle not to crook a corner of his mouth upward as you laugh at his joke, moving to lay completely on your back.

It's nice to stare up at the tops of the trees, watching the light poke between them. They were so unbelievably tall compared to you that sometimes it was easy to forget they even had tops. But you continue to watch, spotting Dust circling through the leaves. He hasn’t landed since being disturbed off of Harvester, and must’ve found something at least somewhat entertaining in the skies. At least more entertaining than what was down here with you.

Death has since closed his eyes, opening one for a moment to see you silently looking upward. You have one arm in the air, a finger pointed as you follow where Dust was circling with a relaxed look. Why he had nary a guess, but it seems to keep you quite well occupied. ‘Thank the Creators.’ He doesn't find himself uttering that phrase very often That not only did you actually enjoy his presence, much to his apprehension; But that you actually knew the pleasure of a peaceful silence. You don't fill the air with constant whining or talking, much like a brother of his. It's something beyond rare to him, and he uses the moment to actually rest his eyes for once.

Death has no need for such a thing, but he can’t deny that it was a rare luxury he would like to partake in every once in awhile. Strife probably would’ve called him old, was he around to do so.

With your weight off of your feet for once they finally stop crying out, sighing as your muscles slowly loosen. What you’d give for a nice, soothing massage. That word perks a small part of your brain, wandering off as your eyes blur unfocused on the treetops. They were all starting to blend together, becoming one giant mass and no longer interesting.

Dust is no longer in view either, flown off somewhere far enough away that you can't even hear the distant echo of his caws; But even without it, the forest is just so, peaceful. With the Corruption gone, not a single thing other than the natural predators stalks these woods with ill intent.

Moving to adjust your top into a more comfortable position, which had bunched up into a wrinkled mess, it was the sudden jolt of feeling from the fabric of your bra against your chest that makes your thighs jerk together.

That wasn’t exactly the type of thing you had been thinking about moments ago, but once your mind starts to wander, you find it near impossible to get back on track.

Leaning up to look around there was not a creature in sight, the forest seeming empty. But it still always feels like it's alive; Watching. But if Death is able to sleep, you can say with absolute surety there isn't a soul in the leagues of forest around both of you.

Well, at least Death looked like he was sleeping- it's hard to tell for sure. His eyes are closed as he leans against the base of the tree, head tilted ever so slightly forward. He seems almost a statue, nearly frozen with his arms crossed over his chest. Maybe he's just thinking, but either way, his attention isn't on you.

The shoddy blanket you have laid out muffles the sounds of movement as you roll on your stomach. As long as you were slow, he wouldn’t hear a thing, and you were good at being quiet; When you had to.

Fair to say, it had been a trait you were forced to learn quite quickly.

Using the arm more obscured from Death’s point of view, you slowly slip a hand between the blanket covered ground and your body. A tight fit it squeezes between your stomach and the ground, slipping past the waist of your trousers. Quickly diving past the fabric of your underwear wetness quickly covers your fingers as they gently move, slow and deliberate as you try to keep your breathing quiet. You can't help but take a wayward glance over to Death, who is still unmoving. Good; Enough that your mind focuses more on your hand as it slides between your folds, teasing at your most sensitive areas that are still begging for more and more. Which you were quite intent to fulfill, as long as fortune continues in your way.

It's been awhile since, and now that you've paid attention to that inkling in the back of your mind, it's hungry; Borderline starving.

A harsh swallow makes your throat tense as you try to stay completely quiet, moving your mouth more against your forearm to muffle the sound of your breathing. It works enough to smooth your anxiety about it, fingers pushing harsher against yourself. It felt like you were making not a peep, surely you could go a little farther... Even the rustle of the trees was drowning out now as your mind focuses in on that tightening in the pit of your stomach, even if it hindsight wouldn’t be the most satisfying. But you were desperate for that little bit of paradise, letting out the tiniest of sighs against your arm, so close yet so far to- “You are far less quiet than you think you are.”

Gasping and almost letting out a shriek Death was suddenly close to you, body leaning partly over yours. When you attempt to wiggle away he pushes his right palm down onto your right shoulder blade, holding you in place. Even with such little effort he has you completely trapped you against the ground, the movement making your shirt rise a bit to show some of your lower back. “Death! I-I though you were-” “Asleep?” Trying to find the words to speak but also the power to pull your hand from your trousers, both were failures as Death holds you firmly in place. “Do you fail to remember the time I told you I have no need of sleep?”

You’d completely forgotten, to be honest. It was an offhand comment you’d made whilst in the middle of the whipping winds aboard the Eternal Throne, saying he had ‘bed head’. Death had said in response he couldn’t possibly, because he doesn’t sleep. Or at least his body didn't require it. That realization that he had heard everything combined with Death's almost scolding tone, sends a shiver down your spine.

No matter how many times you swore you’d snark back at him this time, take the leading role, Death always seemed to know how to completely end that line of thought before it could even begin.

“I-I, sorry I can,” His body weight shifts causing you to gasp for air a tiny bit, looking back as much as you could seeing his silhouette hover over you.

“Death, you’re,” You purse your lips tight together as you try to force the words out. But you only push out a breath of hot air through your tight lips, trying to gather enough of a coherent sentence to tell him off.

It seemed Death was trying to scold you for this, but…. “You’re, not exactly making this any easier.”

He's silent, feeling your thighs press together tightly and the tightness of your breathes, and when you turn your head, he can just barely see the colors of your eyes with how blown out your pupils were. It's always nerve-wracking to look at the Reaper; To stare into bright, unreadable eyes.

Granted, this isn't the first time; Your own personal room in the Tri-Forge, the halls of a now much more friendly Eternal Throne, a cave in the Dead Plains. Each time the Reaper had bared more to you than he probably had anyone else in an uncountable number of years. But Death’s lack of change in personality towards you had left you wondering if it was permanent, or merely a temporary indulgence.

When he’d gotten back from the Well of Souls however he’d said a few choice words that felt odd on his tongue, and you finally didn’t have to read between the lines; At least not as deeply. Death has never and probably will never be the most forthcoming.

Unless he wanted to be, shifting his body weight to better support himself as bony knees on either side of you dig into the dirt underneath your blanket.

It was a movement that seemed almost unintentional, except for the fact that it very much was.

It presses his groin harder against your ass, pulling the fabric of your trousers tighter over your hidden hand. Gasping as your body moves forward ever slightly from his weight, the Reaper’s body follows. You try your best to turn around and face him, but when it didn’t quite work, you look ahead with a sheepish expression. The woods hold nothing but trees for your eyes to focus on, a barren seeming wild.

“Death! We’re-” His deadpan voice interrupts you, already knowing what you're going to say.

“You seemed quite fine with the location moments ago when it was just your hand.” Death doesn't necessarily feel embarrassment- at least not nearly as often as others might. Living as long as he has weathers one down beyond such largely meaningless things. And while he has no issue teasing you- at least what he would consider teasing or as close as he could on the matter, it's only because the possibility of any matter of life seeing you effected by it was absolutely zero. Call Death greedy, but he would sooner slice himself width-wise at the gut than let any other see you even just flushed like this. Though maybe he had a reason to be that greedy when he had originally thought he was too far gone for love- let alone including the physical kind in the definition. “Well, I- that was a little different!”

Even if the forest was well empty, beyond the occasional wildlife, the situation seems to keep your voice barely above a whisper. “Oh really, is it? I fail to find a difference.”

You hate how often he could render you silent, pursing your lips tighter in an almost pout. He can hear, and see, the harsh exhale through your nose, almost shaking under his grasp. It had just been arousal at first, but now he’s succeeded in making you embarrassingly irritated as well. “You just love dangling things in peoples faces and then taking it away, huh?” He’s silent, body barely even fidgeting above you. It almost makes you nervous, your arm starting to fall asleep from where it’s still pinned underneath your torso. Death is always thinking, and not often could you guess what it was about. “Ask nicely.”

Death replays the abashed scoff you let out multiple times, a hot flush on your face. The pins and needles you feel in your arm almost seem to vanish as you get too distracted by the overwhelming heat on your cheeks. “You want me to beg?” Death hummed, faking some sort of contemplation. “That would work as well. Though I would prefer the former.”

Damn this reaper, damn him to hell. “You’re awful.” You’d never dare mean it of course, pursing your lips and trying to hold your knees from shaking. You have no problem with pleading to the Horsemen, but hearing your voice in the open like this, catching in the wind, it almost feels like someone would hear. Even if there wasn’t another living soul for an incredible distance. You take a deep sigh, the flushed heat all over your body only getting hotter, no amount of air able to snuff it.

“Please, Death.” He will never admit it to you, will never saddle you with the emotion that he had only wanted to hear those words; To actually hear someone wanted him. Let alone desired him. Those words bring him closer to your body, a hand of long, thin fingers coming to brush the stray hairs from your face. It was a completely silent gesture, but his uncharacteristic gentleness is more than enough to get it across. His knuckle brushes against your cheek for a moment and feels the inconsolable heat rushing across your face. He is as cold as the grave, and you are the first time in an uncountable number of years he’s felt the flush of heated skin.

He lifts off you enough that you could roll just enough and pull your hand from underneath you, moving to lay it in front of your chest.

Moving his own hand away from your face, it was a jolt to suddenly feel cool skin through your shirt. It was deliberately slow, trailing down the knocks of your spine and succeeding to send multiple shivers down with it. Slipping down the back of your trousers, he uses his wrist to push them downward until they, along with your underwear, lay like a cinch around your thighs. You won’t be able to get them off without much more effort, and it wasn’t something that you- nor Death it seemed- wanted to do.

You wouldn't have had the time anyways, as cold fingers quickly pressed against your folds and cause your thighs to tighten in surprise. Never would you say you hated the deathly chill to his skin, his body, but it always sent shivers up each time he’d surprise you with his touch.

They slide between your outer lips, back and forth pooling and drawing forth more slick wetness against your groin and thighs. It was a merciless tease, groaning from the horribly empty feeling you were now overtaken by as he kept just barely avoiding what you wanted.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t been indulging yourself not minutes ago on your own, but it felt different when it was Death. Leagues different.

“You’re being impatient.”

The angered groan you let out couldn’t have done less to motivate Death; If anything, it only served as kindling for him to toy with you more. He scolded you only to then finally press ever so slightly, two fingers gently but consistently making their way inside. It was barely moments before they were deep enough that you were gritting your teeth, gasping as they curled and you tightened around them in response.

“And you’re the one being a tease.”

Death didn’t respond, having no need to, as your sentence had absolutely none of the bite you had clearly intended it to. Your voice wavers too much, affected by the feeling of cold, deft fingers being driven deep in the heat of your cunt.

Death had once made a largely passed over comment about how his skin felt like the dead- and while you couldn’t disagree, you’d never get over how intoxicating it felt against your own.

Especially in this context, his other fingers grazing over your other lips and collecting the myriad of wetness glistening against against you. It was the source of multiple egregious noises, only beaten by the sound of moans you were attempting to muffle. But Death never once falters, dragging each movement out with an infuriating level of patience. Infuriating for you at least, as you can just feel the smugness dripping off of him.

The silent kind, knowing with an absolute surety you were crumbling underneath him. He was always confident when the tables were like this, focused away from him. The times you had tried to turn those tables, he could so deftly change them right back before you had the chance to do a single thing.

You’ll still continue to try though, pushing your body against him as much as possible feeling his weight against your back. Stubbornness will win out eventually.

With the inner parts of your thighs slick as well as what seemed like a good portion of Death’s hand, you move to lay your forehead against your forearms, feeling the heat of your face against them. It was almost as hot as when you stood next to one of the forges for too long, just on the edge of beginning to sweat. The motion as well helped to cover the sound of your whines, thighs shaking as your cunt tightens around his moving fingers.

A pocket of hot air forms in the area around your face and arms, thick against your face. But you dare not leave it’s comfort, as Death’s stare would easily render an even tighter feeling in your chest.

“I would find it quite insulting, if you’ve fallen asleep.”

In about a day from now you’ll probably have a million different comebacks that would perfectly fit this exact scenario, to bite back at his snarky little comment. But at this moment, the most you can muster was a light throw of your body and spit a single insult:

“Jerk.”

You’d bet your soul right now he was smirking behind that mask, even if you can’t see it.

Fingers slipping from you they trailed upwards, over your thighs and leaving a sticky trail. You can just barely feel the back of his hand and wrist ghosting over your skin, removing whatever clothing was impeding himself. Only just enough it seemed, as you can still feel cloth against your lower legs.

It was obvious, but even as you suddenly feel him press against you, your thighs still tighten and hips jerked in shock.

It was something you’ll ever dare say aloud, but it wasn’t the first time you realized just how much larger of a person Death was compared to you- in multiple regards.

Your eyes were too big for your mouth, latching onto a Horsemen.

The same hand moving upwards, he grasps just under your ass, pulling outward and leaving yourself exposed enough that he can press against you; Ever so slowly slipping between your outer lips. Methodical, Death was what you'd assume to be the slowest he could possibly be; Pushing inward slowly, slowly, until his hips pressed against your ass.

Three, four, five, six.

Soft and deliberate Death was until he was dragging soft moans from you, your body unwound and no longer tense. It was only then he sped up, the slightest bit, your own hips attempting to reach up to meet him with what tiny amount of force you could muster. It wasn’t much, he had you caged so close to the ground it felt like you’d go through it- the forest but a backdrop to him surrounding you almost entirety.

It almost instills a sense of vertigo, surrounded by his shadow as Death’s body weight was overwhelming against your back, forcing you into the ground as he fucked you. It's all so overwhelming; Grasping at the dirt, the grass, your blanket. Your toes curl as moans turned into cut little gasps. “Breathe, girl.”

It's nigh impossible to, almost feeling like the Reaper was taking the air right from your lungs. If you raise your head any little bit you’d be able to feel his mask against the back of your head, looming just over top.

Deep down you’ve always wanted him to take it off; To see his face. Even if it was more so to kiss him, hold his face smoothly in your hands. But you know he won't- not now, and probably never. You’d never have the heart to demand it, either way. It doesn't matter that much to you.

Caged by both of his arms parallel to your shoulders, you can only keep your head upright for a moment before moving to lay your head against your forearms again. His body weight against yours was almost impossibly heavy, far more than any human. But it wasn’t uncomfortable, keeping off of you just enough. Death is always meticulous, the perfect amounts of everything. Especially with you.

But even if he tried to hide it infinitely deep within him, you knew he always held back. You're the most fragile thing he's been around in an uncountable number of years. “Death…” You say his name wrapped in a breathless whisper it trails off as if a question, pricking his ears. “Harder.”

Death always is as gentle as he could possibly be, as your human frame would often bruise or cut from things that wouldn’t be even noticeable on him. But you beckoning him to teeter you closer to edge of pain however, is tempting. His body becomes faster, rougher, heavier, hips pressing against your with an aggressive abandon. It would’ve kept sliding you forward along the blanketed ground, had Death not yanked your left arm from under your head- pressing his hand around your forearm to hold you steady underneath him.

Fingers stretching out struggling to find anything to grip, to keep yourself stable, the only thing was still just the ground underneath. But Death doesn’t buckle even a little; Almost stoic. It was frustrating how unaffected he always seems, compared to you being almost always a near total mess. Managing to lift your head up enough to turn it and look back at him, you can see his hair falling over his shoulders and around his mask, shadowing it.

But it was the expression behind the mask that surprised you; You hear him let out the smallest shaking breath of air while turning his head away from your gaze. Death is a very quiet, indomitable being. To hear him let out even the smallest reaction, showing the slightest chip in his armor- meant he was crushed under such emotion that even he couldn’t hold it back.

But it had faded just as quickly as you’d heard it, going back to silence other than the most quiet noises of movement from him. It had been a delight, and you’d love nothing more than to hear it again.

It could easily be said you were making enough noise for the both of you, your stomach in wonderful knots, about to snap. You were so, so close, trying to arch your back to push your hips against him more.

You’ve never felt anything to this degree before Death- an almost overwhelming about of pleasure that could send your mind reeling. Seeing stars wasn’t that far off an expression, gasping loud enough that you instantly try to cover your mouth as Death laid almost completely down on you; Hips grinding enough you swore they’d leave marks. But he is just as silent as ever, listening to the sounds of you coming undone beneath him.

He struggles to think of anything that could compare- to hear someone cry out for your everything pleading for more. It makes his chest tighten with a feeling he can’t quite place.

Your thighs press tight against each other as you cum, almost too tight for Death to even move. He slows to a crawl, you tight like a vice around him as you feel a delightful shiver run through your body. It almost overwhelms your entirety, hand clapped over your mouth to muffle what would’ve probably been quite a loud gasp, if you hadn’t stopped it. Had you been anywhere else, Death would’ve peeled your hand away to hear it.

Still grinding against you with an amount you’d say was almost too much, you had to peel your hand away from your mouth to support yourself. You try to wrap around and reach for him; Desperate for touch. But you can barely grab anything other than his scarf, feeling his cool skin just barely against your fingertips. Your hand falls back to the ground with a thump, grasping at almost nothing.

His hand on your bicep tightens, the skin underneath surely bruising, as he finally slows to a halt against your own still tense body. A breath of air pushed through his teeth as a soft hiss, being almost completely muffled by the mask to where even you didn’t hear it. You might’ve thought he’d be short of breath as well, as you had been after you came, but how could one be short of something they didn’t even technically need? Death always had an odd relationship with natural functions like breathing.

It also seems now he realized how tight of a grip he had on your arm in his distraction, fingers loosening around the soft skin. But red marks still remained, and would continue to do so.

It wasn’t like you minded, in all honesty.

Breath finally leveling out you still lay limp, only moving slightly to adjust into a more comfortable position as Death pulls away. You can feel movement, presumably him adjusting his trousers and gaining what minute fraction of decorum he’d lost. When finished, you've barely begun to try and tug at your own clothing to right it.

It takes you a few seconds to do so, before managing to wrangle back full control of your arms which had both at one point been asleep due to the unnatural positions, now tugging down your shirt to fix it. “Ahh, there you are. I thought you dead.”

Pulling your bottoms upward, you had loosened your belt to help lessen the pain as they brushed against areas that would surely soon, if not already, become sore. A nice warm shower to clean up and relax would surely be nice, but a bit of out reach at the moment. “So now of all times is when you finally decide to crack a joke?”

Death doesn’t hesitate to respond, voice sounding absolutely coated in mirth. The Reaper moves to sit in the same position he had before everything, only this time actually joining you on the blanket he’d originally found pointless. He still did, but humans and their constant pursuit of comforts was in a weird way also amusing; At least when he was watching you. “Oh, so now you disapprove? I thought you were the one who wished I would ‘lighten up’. ”

You attempt to roll over and sit on your bottom to join him, but the sudden ache makes it a slower, gradual transition to a sitting position. If you had intended on this whole break being to lessen the amount of general discomfort you were feeling, it seems to have been a complete failure. A lovely, incredible failure. “There’s a time and a place, Death.” “I could’ve said the same to you not long ago.”

You’d be more tempted to come up with some sort of snappy comeback, If his two note chuckle at your embarrassment hadn’t caught you so off guard.

You just smack his chest instead, before looking away and trying to avoid any sort of eye contact. Moments later and his teasing comment well past gone, you sigh and lean against his arm in an over-dramatic motion adding to what you were about to say. Your lips just barely graze against the skin of his shoulder in an almost-kiss; something you’ve gotten used to doing.

“I think I need a little bit more rest though.” Death turns and even with the mask, you can tell he had a decently mirthful expression; By his standards. He’d spotted the way you’d looked up at the sky and noticed a familiar bird, fingers flexing as if you waited to lovingly squeeze the carrion eating pest. “Are you actually going to rest, or use the time to coddle Dust?” Almost as if he heard his name called the crow descends through the treetops, and plops into the lap of his preferred affection giver. Which is you, of course. Death watches the bird puff up, a nearly shapeless mass of feathers as you scratch to rid him of any dirt and douse him with, at least what you thought was, deserved affections. “The blasted bird already never listens, the last thing he needs is your wily affections making him any lazier.”

Death then suddenly notices the way you’ve been leaning against his arm, laughing and smiling, fingers toying with a torn bit of his armor. Your face was still slightly flush, hair and clothing a bit of a mess, and he couldn’t help the hand that darted out to fix a stray piece of hair without you noticing. It all feels, nice. Like he isn’t Creation’s most reviled being. “Summon Despair, I’ll win him over too. Horsemen without a horse.”

Death wouldn’t comment on how you more than likely already had, with how much you scratched behind his ears and call him ‘A good boy, The smartest boy,' and 'The best undead horse in the universe.' To think, Death could remember a time you’d been utterly scared out of your wits by the horse, and him by extension.

How you had changed tune about them so drastically in such a short amount of time continues to baffle him. He wonders sometimes if other humans would be as similarly forgiving.

“The realms surely tremble with excitement from the mere thought.”

The scowl that is being sent at Dust from his owner would’ve surely melted any other bird; But Dust is of a different breed, and simply sits content and continues preening.

“Quite the shame they don’t know then.” If Death had tried to contain his feeling of complete exasperation with you and all your antics, it didn’t work, letting out a sigh.

“Take it to the grave then, will you?”

You can only chuckle, extremely pleased at his exasperation. Dust joins in only in timing with a soft warble, overjoyed that you were scratching the puff of feathers behind one of his ears. How lucky Death thought he was, to have not one aggravating travel companion, but two.

Not that he would ever complain out loud. If anything, half of the reason he was out here was because you’d found the last Death Tomb so fascinating, even if for him it was just another monotonous journey.

You had been wide eyed looking at vases and murals, spinning around to see every little thing. So easily entertained humans were, as Death had watched you eye a variable mound of golden coins. It was part of the reason he insisted you accompany him, beyond an admittedly selfish desire to have you alone; And away from hovering Makers.

When was the last time something had caught Death’s interest so tightly? Besides you, he can’t quite remember.

“I could take it to the grave with me…” Death can feel the ‘but’ hanging just off the end of your sentence, waiting for whatever chaos you were going to concoct in the same way he prepared for the brunt of battle.

“Or you could introduce me to Strife, and I could joke about it with him.” You’ve said many a stupid thing before, both to and in earshot of Death, but none had gotten such a lightning quick response of:

“Absolutely not.”

#darksiders x reader #darksiders death x reader #Death/Reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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xshiny · 4 months

Text

pick me girl...

There were new recruits in TF141, and there was one of them who was a... pick me girl... oh no-

You, Price, Ghost, Soap, and Keegan were talking about the next mission, Alejandro was doing some work with Graves. Suddenly, the pick me girl approached you guys

"Hewwo! Can you guys just show me around this huuuuge base! I'm so smol that I get lost in this base... and don't wowwe! I'm definitely one of the bois!" She said. She didn't even acknowledge you because of the fact you are a girl.

You didn't want to deal with her, but you knew that you couldn't start up a fight. Not yet. You stood back with your arms crossed as you looked down at her, waiting for one of the guys to say something.

Soap snorted loudly at her, and she took a step towards Soap, putting her hands on her hips.

"Excuse yow? Hewwo? Can I be addressed, pwease? It's vewy rude to ingowre someone, ya know...?" Soap just rolled his eyes, and she was talking in this high voice. The other soldiers chuckled. You furrow your brows in annoyance, but you let Soap and the others handle this. Not unless things get too out of hand.

Keegan, the calmest soldier you know, walked up to her and got uncomfortably close to her. She backed up a bit but still smiled.

"What's your name, doll?"

"Oh! I'm [insert name], but everyone calls me [something cutesy like "angel" or "sweetiecakes"]. I always get lost in this base bc I'm so tiny and lost... pwease can I have one of you big men to show me arouuund??"

You cringe at the way she talked, and how she introduced herself. With narrowed eyes, you think about how she included her nickname. She's so...ew. Gives you the ick. You stand a little distance away, quietly observing the situation with this pick me girl.

Keegan chuckled and said in a flirtatious tone...

"Ooh! Don't worry your little head off! I'll show you where everything is, little princess." GAGGING AT THIS

"Aww, tanks you vewy much." She smirked. The other male soldiers were like... "Uuuhh" as they watched it all. You raised your brow in question as Keegan walks past you. You shoot him a questioning glance, and he gives you a reassuring wink. Did Keegan have a plan in mind?

Keegan and her walk off to some place in this huge base, and after 5 minutes your ear piece crackles, and Keegan's voice comes up.

"Uhh... guys... she's not stopping talking. Like, literally. Not for even a second. She's making me uncomfortable."

You sighed, and responded back to your ear piece.

"Where are you?" You asked, already on the move.

"Uuh, I'm on the roof, she dragged me up here and won't stop talking." And he said it in a panicked way that showed this wasn't just a mere inconvenience, he genuinely didn't know how to cope with her. Hearing that, you picked up your pace.

"Make sure you update us on what's going on up there with that....pick me girl". Keegan sighed and nodded, and Soap rolled his eyes.

"Alright. It's a nightmare here." He said, sounding like he was genuinely distressed. You walk out onto the roof, swiveling your head, searching for Keegan. You spot him backed up on a crate while the girl was all up on him. You frown at this and approach them quietly.

"Hey new girl, think you can walk around the base by yourself now?" You said as you nearer them, crossing your arms as you stand next to her. The girl looked at you and narrowed her eyes as she backed away from Keegan. Her expression was a mix of annoyance and confusion, and she was trying to decide how she was going to deal with you.

"Excuse me? Why don't you go mind your own business."She got even closer to Keegan, and he was obviously very uncomfortable, but he tried to play it cool.

"Keegan's my friend, so technically it is my business" you hissed, leaning down to hover above her since she was shorter. She rolled her eyes and spoke in a flirty tone.

"Yeah, whatever you say, sweetie, he's mine now."She laughed, thinking her comment was hilarious. The thing was, Keegan was actually getting annoyed at how clingy she was towards him.

"Yours? Keegan belongs to no one but himself" I scoffed, narrowing your eyes at her. You started up get annoyed by how she acted. She just laughed at that. THE AUDACITY-

"Oh... I think you're jealous..." She tried being flirtatious with him, but he was obviously uncomfortable. When you got mad and said that... she got mad too. "Okay, he doesn't, yet... but I'm going to make him! He's way too hot to belong only to himself."

"Clearly Keegan is uncomfortable with you" You said, and gestured for Keegan to come by you instead. When he walks over, your arm snakes around him, pulling him in close."You see the difference? Obviously Keegan is way more comfortable with me than you- take some hints, girl" you scoffed.

Keegan looked relieved to be away from her, and the girl looked so annoyed she was turning red.

"No... no... he's just shy! I know he likes me! He's just afraid of admitting it."She pouted a little. "Also, don't touch my man! I know he likes me, so you go away."

"You better watch your mouth, little girl" you scowled, pulling Keegan in closer. She scoffed and backed away.

"Listen here sweetie, you're one to talk... I'm clearly superior to you, and everyone knows that men prefer superior women." She said in this extremely arrogant and high-horse tone... as if you weren't even able to be in the presence of her. She got up and walked a little closer to Keegan, placing her hands on her waist and said.

"Can I have my man back?" You snicker sinisterly, and look down apon her.

"He's not your boyfriend" You hugged Keegan, your hands in some suggestive areas, but you glare at her. "And I'm your superior, you need to remember that you're a recruit" She had a shocked look on her face, probably didn't expect you to get so aggressive. She got so annoyed that her tone dropped her act entirely, and she seemed furious.

"Look, he's mine, I saw him first, so stop clinging to him, he's mine now. As the superior woman, he would never stoop low enough to be with you, he's mine. And you better stay away from him."

"Such a brat with all bark but no bite..." You sneer at her, letting go of Keegan and stalked closer to the girl. "What if I happen to be girlfriend, hm? What are you gonna do now?" You said, getting all up in her face. Even though you really weren't Keegan's girlfriend, you just wanted this girl to back off from your friend.

The girl scowled at you, but she was slightly intimidated because you stood over her with an ice cold glare.

"Well... I'd just fight you to win him over. I'm stronger, better, and much prettier than you." She was trying to be a bit intimidating, but she was failing miserably. She couldn't even look you in the eyes, and she wasn't able to keep her act together since you got close to her.

"You wanna test that, dollface?" You sneer, cocking your head, cracking your knuckles. She tried to keep to her attitude, but she couldn't keep it up. She looked a little scared now that you were being so aggressive with her.

"Y-you know what, he's not even worth it... he's not even hot enough for me!" Her tone made it clear that she wasn't joking, she was actually quite jealous of you and Keegan being close, so she tried to play off her jealousy in a cool way. You stepped closer.

"You try to flirt with the male or female superiors again and you'll be out of here faster than a bullet- you understand what im saying?" You grit through your teeth, your glare piercing into her. She backed up, a little intimidated now. She was so used to flirting her way out of problems, and the men were usually too blinded to see what she was really doing. But not when you were around... she saw that you were a strong woman and couldn't use her "assets" here.

"Okayyyy, s-sorry," She said nervously, and her flirtatious tone quickly left her voice.

"Good. Now see to it" you said, standing up straight again to your full height. You turned abruptly on your heel and motioned for Keegan to follow. Keegan took his time to follow. When the girl was finally gone, he exhaled and wiped some sweat off his brow, and chuckled nervously.

"Phew... she was really, REALLY clingy, huh?"

"I thought you were better than that- to let a girl walk all over you?" You joked, nudging his arm gently. Keegan smiled a little.

"I didn't know what to do. She's relentless, I couldn't get her to leave me alone. She was too clingy, and I was getting uncomfortable." He said, and you rolled your eyes, but couldn't hold back your laughter at the situation. You chuckled, shaking your head as both of you make way back to the main floor.

"I guess so... and I'm sorry I had to touch you like that back there- she had to get the hint you weren't interested in her" He shrugged and chuckled.

"Don't worry about it, you had to do what you had to do to get her away from me." He laughed a little as well when he mentioned how annoying and clingy she was toward him. He was glad you pulled him away.

#cod keegan #keegan p russ #keegan ghosts #keegan russ x reader #keegan x reader #keegan russ #keegan russ x you #cod fanfic #pick me girls are so...

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theunreliablewriter · 2 years

Text

Seen

Pairing: Larissa Weems x Fem!Teacher!Reader

Warnings: Insecurities over powers, Kissing

Fluff

Word Count: 853

Request: Hi! Thank you for the opportunity, i would like the following :) Larissa Weems x Reader first day of year school after they become an official couple (teacher-director relationships) can be first day of school after the whole Hyde-Thornhill deal, she (Larissa) would of course be alive. Thank you! You are very kind 💗 - @anazomeg

Author’s Note: Sorry this is short! I haven’t written anything creative in a long time, so I hope it’s okay! Let me know what you think! :)

You had dreamed of this day since you were first dropped off as a new student at Nevermore Academy. Though, almost everyone in your life questioned why.

They would ask, “Why would you want to return to a school of outcasts that made you feel like an outcast?”

And they were right.

During your youth, you were an outcast, and that especially included your years at the boarding school.

Your classmates never bullied you, nor were they ever necessarily rude to you. But you always wondered if that was only because they were afraid of you — afraid of what you could do to them without ever being noticed.

Nevermore had served as the home of numerous powerful beings, but none quite like you. With your power of invisibility, people kept their distance because who knows what you would have done to them over the most mild inconvenience? If they were to become your friend and, someday, angered you, would you retaliate without anyone being able to bear witness?

And this devastated you. You initially had thought they would have found your ability interesting, if not cool. How could they assume the worst by thinking you would use it to harm?

You were born with the ability to go unseen, but never did you truly feel invisible until your first days at Nevermore.

But, now, as your first day as a teacher, you were ready to start anew. And unlike before, you were not doing it alone.

“What if they find me boring?”

“Boring?!” The woman carrying an unbelievable number of boxes scoffed before placing them on your oversized desk. “Why do you think that?”

With a shrug, your gaze fell to the floor, as you quietly responded, “I don’t know. I’m just nervous, I suppose. I want everything to go so well this time.”

The single click of a high heel echoed in the vast room, and that was all it took for the towering woman you still could not believe you had the privilege of calling your significant other to place herself directly in front of you.

You felt the soft skin of her long finger gently push against the bottom of your chin until you were staring upwards into her entrancing blue eyes.

“I insist you listen to me, (Y/N),” Larissa spoke with a firmness to ensure you knew her level of seriousness. Of course, though, as it never was with you, her voice was not at all harsh. “Your time here will be everything you wish it to be and more. I will personally make sure of it.”

“But I don’t want you making it easy for me.”

“Such as how?”

“I don’t know. Scaring the students, whether it’s with those intimidating stares you do so well or making them do detention in the woods at night.”

Larissa laughed, making your heart flutter at the sound you could not get enough of. “I will do no such thing. Your success will be entirely of your own making, and I have not a single doubt you would not even need my help if I offered it. You are a wonderful teacher, my darling. You are of intelligence beyond your years. Your personality is addictive — one that has the ability to make anyone happy within mere moments of being around you. You are fun and naturally hilarious. By the end of the first day tomorrow, I am certain I will be hearing you are countless students’ new favorite teacher.”

Despite the smile already wanting to form on your face, your insecurity from the past could not help but ask, “You don’t think they will be afraid of me?”

Her gaze softened beyond what it already was. Her large hands grasped your face as she brought her own so dangerously close. “Not in the slightest, my sweet girl. Believe me, if they are not frightened by my return after thinking I was dead, and surely, if they are still not terrified of our dear student Wednesday who you will come to know, there is not a chance they will be fearful of you.”

Still mentally battling the countless thoughts trying to tell you otherwise, all you could do in response was nod.

“If anything, they will come to appreciate your powers, if not be amazed by them,” Larissa said to you. Somehow, her face had managed to move even closer than what it already was, allowing you to almost feel her words of, “But never, my love, will anyone be more amazed by you than I am.”

Your lips barely had the opportunity to spilt into a full grin before you quickly closed the remaining space between them and hers.

Rising up onto your tiptoes, your fingers tangled into her perfectly styled hair. And your kiss only continued to deepen as her arms encircled your waist, pressing your body entirely against hers.

With how safe you felt in Larrisa’s embrace, with knowing she would be there for you each and every day, every doubt seemingly evaded your mind in a single second.

Most importantly, with Larissa, you knew you would always be seen.

| Masterlist | Request Information |

#larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #larissa weems #larissa weems headcanons #larissa headcanons #wednesday #wednesday fan fiction #wednesday fanfic #wednesday show

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isfjmel-phleg · 10 months

Text

Why I like it: Mike and Psmith

It's Psmith Pseptember! I regret I haven't arranged anything formal because I have too many projects already and I feel like I ran out of intelligent things to say about this series years ago. (Apparently if you do a thesis on something you love, you will get burned out on it indefinitely. Rude.)

However: I am not an Intelligent Things To Say vending machine and I shouldn't expect myself to be. So I'm going to keep it psimple and just gush a bit on every Psunday (except this time, on Monday, because I ran out of steam yesterday, sorry) in Pseptember about why I like these books, one by one. At least, that's the intention.

I read Mike and Psmith because I wanted to get into Wodehouse, who had been recommended to me. I didn't know where to start, got the impression that the Psmith series was one of his early things, and figured I should start from the beginning. I was in my first year of community college and I interlibrary-loaned Mike and Psmith and I loved it.

The humor got my attention first, as is usually the case with Wodehouse. The book is very approachable, even for a twenty-first-century American woman with no background in cricket or Edwardian public school, because it's utterly hilarious. The narration, the situations, pretty much every word out of Psmith's mouth--it's all brilliant. Humor can be a means to get an audience invested; I probably wouldn't have loved Mike and Psmith as much if the narrative had taken them and everything else with complete seriousness. In fact, Mike and Psmith would probably be a lot less likable if they had been earnestly angsty and sullenly throughout. And furthermore, because of the humor, the more dramatic parts take on especial poignancy because of the contrast in tone.

But I fell in love with the book because of the characters. Psmith is so delightfully audacious. He says and does things that probably no one in real life could pull off but that he can through sheer self-confidence and indifference to any social norms he finds inconvenient. For someone like me, that was a refreshing escape to read about. Psmith stands out for his wit and unconventionality, but what promotes him from merely amusing to outright likeable is his capacity for caring about others and the tension between this admirable trait which he nonetheless endeavors to hide and his public persona of detached selfishness. He's complicated. But ultimately good. Meanwhile, Mike isn't really the nonentity that many readers dismiss him as, the ordinary foil to Psmith's exceptionality. He's not highly complex, but he doesn't need to be--he's real and relatable in a way that Psmith cannot be. The reader may daydream about what it would be like to be Psmith but may be more likely to see themselves in Mike (prodigious cricket talent notwithstanding). He's a believable teenager, caught up in the Supreme Tragedy of having to give up a dream as a consequence of his own poor choices, surly and belligerent at times, bad at thinking things through, but at the same time his heart is in the right place, and unlike Psmith, he is unself-conscious about it. He neither seeks praise or tries to conceal; he simply acts on his natural compassion for anyone in distress, even if it puts him out. He and Psmith are so alike and so different, and their friendship makes total sense.

The book was written primarily to be entertaining. Wodehouse was not trying to make a statement. I'm sure it has No Allegorical Significance whatsoever. But that doesn't mean that it doesn't have anything worth saying. Wodehouse's previous school stories, set in the same universe, had a more traditional public-school worldview. In these stories, the school was a community with its own particular values and code, which were not to be questioned. Those who failed to live up the community's standards--such as shunning sports--were to be viewed with suspicion and ostracized and must conform in order to finally gain acceptance. Mike and Psmith fit the pattern of the sports-shunning outsider, but they are presented with sympathy, and when they finally do choose to participate in cricket, it is not due to social pressure but because they conclude that it is the right thing to use their skills to help a friend in need. It's not a story about living up to the schoolboy code and restoring the arbitrary social order; it's about doing the right thing on a personal level, about the duties of one human being to another. A theme lightly treated, of course, but still something worth saying.

Anyway, this book helped me through a time in my life when I was just as annoyed with my new school as Mike ever was, and while I may not have met a real-life Psmith to help me survive it, I was still all the better for having made the acquaintance of Psmith on the page. Fictional characters are excellent companions in misfortune.

#Psmith Pseptember

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burnwater13 · 5 months

Text

The Razor Crest, pursued by New Republic X-wings on Maldo Kreis. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 2, The Passenger. Calendar by DataWorks.

Grogu loved the Razor Crest. It had been a great ship. It had taken them on a lot of adventures and somehow managed to fly again by the time they needed to get the heck away. Like the time the Mandalorian tried to avoid, evade the pilots from the New Republic and they had a particularly hard landing on that ice ball planet, Maldo Kreis.

The poor Razor Crest. Almost every bit of her was damaged during that “landing”. Her passengers were fine, which had been the one good thing that came out of that whole fiasco.

Grogu wondered not for the first or the last time, why the Mandalorian was so happy to bring bad people in under a bounty puck, but really, really, seemed to have a deep and profound distrust of authority? Did he think they were all corrupt? Did he think that they were all impatient? Or did he just think that whatever he was actually up to at the time was too complicated to explain to anyone else?

Of course, Grogu knew that the Mandalorian seemed to have a habit of making friends with shady people. Not necessarily evil people, but people who really didn’t seem all that keen on rules and regulations and following them the way other folks were expected to follow them.

Grogu found that down right hilarious. This Mandalorian, who voluntarily followed a Creed that didn’t let him take his helmet off in front of other people, was a bit of a scoff law. Grogu hadn’t expected that. He expected his tall friend to follow all the laws just like he followed the Creed. If he couldn’t do that, what was the point?

Sure, Grogu knows what you’re going to say. There are bad laws out there. Laws that make no sense. Laws that cause more harm than good. Laws that disadvantage one group over another. Grogu understood that. He had been trained by the Jedi after all. Then you change the laws. That of course takes time and the Mandalorian clearly didn’t want to spend his time gathering signatures on petitions. And he definitely wasn’t going to be speaking at zoning meetings to ensure that the slaughter house wasn’t built right next to the school. After all, Grogu really wasn’t school aged, so those other kids could fend for themselves or find their own Mandalorian guardians.

Grogu had to wonder what it had been like for Din Djarin growing up on Concordia. The only rules he followed were likely the ones set by the Mandalorians who lead the Children of the Watch. Whoever they were. The Mandalorian had never mentioned them by name.

Now, whoever they were, the Armorer must have trusted them enough to accept Din Djarin into the Tribe. He could have been like Bo-Katan. But whatever test she had put his guardian to, Din Djarin had passed with flying colors. The Armorer hadn’t cared that the bounty hunter wasn’t born on Mandalore, for instance. He must have told her enough about himself to make her happy that he was an old-school Mandalorian.

So why tell her all that stuff and not just answer the simple questions that the New Republic rangers, or whoever they were, had about where the Razor Crest had last been? Why bother running away? Why not just answer the question? What did he really have to hide? It wasn’t like anyone had seen his face. There weren’t virtual wanted posters plastered all over the galaxy with the caption “Have you seen this man?” No one had a bounty fob with Din Djarin’s vid attached to it.

But he sure acted like that was what was going on. Until something else happened that caused the Mandalorian to break all the rules he held dear. Now, that something else wasn’t minor or trivial or a mere inconvenience. Moff Gideon had sent super nasty battle droids to the surface of Tython and kidnapped Grogu. That was a shockingly bad thing to have happen. Especially if you were still being held accountable by the Armorer for the work she had assigned you. Uff. No way would Grogu want to disappoint her.

Because, even though the Razor Crest had been destroyed by Moff Gideon and even though Din Djarin had to pull in every favor he’d ever done for anyone else, and use every bounty hunting trick he’d ever learned to get Grogu back, the Armorer was still not happy that Grogu had seen the Mandalorian’s face. Loving rules that much seemed counter productive at the very least, which doesn’t really seem like the Way.

Was that why Din Djarin didn’t answer Captain Teva’s questions? Because the Creed made impossible? Whatever the reason, the Razor Crest had paid a steep price for it. Grogu just hoped it was worth it. He still missed that ship.

#calendar prompt a day #the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin #Razor Crest

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sequencefairy · 5 months

Note

A Marriage of Inconvenience

Yennskier! Fake Married due to familial obligations! Jaskier has a very nosy family! Yennefer thinks this whole thing is fucking hilarious!

(They, uh, definitely don't like each other, not at all)

This day was inevitable, him being the only son who made it out of childhood to the Earl’s eternal disappointment. There’d been an older brother, but Jonathan had died of a hemorrhagic fever before he’d turned twelve and that had left the Earl with three daughters and one son; a son who would refuse at every turn to be reshaped to fit the mold of heir. Jonathan had been the heir, and even though Jaskier would have happily abdicated in deference to a younger brother, there’d never been another son. His mother had died, too young, and then Jaskier had left home, to the sound of his father not quite outright disowning him but threatening it all the same. The money for tuition at the academy had arrived anyway, and continued until Jaskier had completed his studies. The implicit implication was that Jaskier would then return to Lettenhove to take up his responsibilities but Jaskier had wanted exactly none of that and had instead discarded Julian and all the finer doors that name could open and taken up his lute and a pack and headed out into the wider Continent. Geralt had never pushed for Jaskier’s history, having little patience for nobility on the best of days and feeling prone to murdering them for merely existing on the worst of days. Jaskier’s title offered some minor protection and occasionally got them into places they might not otherwise have been able to access, but he wasn’t in the habit of using it in public, wanting to stay out of notice. Geralt had been amenable to mostly avoiding Kerack and its environs; the pirate duchy wasn’t often in the habit of wanting to pay a witcher to kill monsters. Yennefer had known immediately, of course, plucked it from his head like she did so many other things, that fateful afternoon where Jaskier had lain, dead to the world, in her borrowed bed. She remains one of the few people who Jaskier allows to call him anything other than the name he gave himself.

#jess answers #crabsandlobsters #i WILL get back to this #i have just taken an extremely long detour into other tragic men

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runeseaks · 1 year

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Alcander snippet #1

Short snippet from later in my WIP, Playing with Fire (working title), when Alcander has moved past being a 'young adult' and settled into life with Setan's lot.

Content Warning: Violence & blood, though not particularly graphic in detail.

My eyes worked their way up the blade of the knife pointed towards me as if it was a mere stick. Its holder radiated incompetence; and, frankly, the knife would have been better off in my hands. No doubt it wanted to be put to use, not be used as some pathetic threat. Sharp, shining, waiting for it’s chance to finally fulfill its purpose. It was a paintbrush, waiting to finally meet paint. Unfortunate, really….

“Leave now, or��” Their voice cracked.

“Or what?” I smirked, moving my eyes from the knife to its novice handler. Maybe I could be so kind, as to grant the knife’s wish, at least once. “A bit inconvenient… but maybe…” I said out loud, more to myself than them, but a look of confusion crossed their face.

“How much are they paying you? I could pay you more—”

I laughed. “You think I do this for money?”

“Anything! I—I can get you whatever you want. Name your price.”

I looked them in the eyes. “You’d have been better off running and hiding. I’d have still tracked you down, but the effort would’ve been nice.”

Their knife stayed honed on me even when they flinched at the drop of a leaf. The wheels were turning in their head… What to do next? Frankly, I was thinking the same thing. Too many options. I always preferred they narrow them down for me. It was a game of patience sometimes. Almost always entertaining, though.

“Please, I have a family…” they pleaded.

“Would you like them to join you?” I asked.

They clenched their jaw. “Y—you’re a fucking monster!”

I opened my arms and stepped closer. “Flattery might get you somewhere,” I smiled.

They stepped back.

The sudden distinct feeling that someone was breathing down my neck startled me ever so slightly, until the grumpy voice of a demon, who had gone without any alcohol for a whole thirty minutes, invaded my mind, “Hurry up, stop playing with your food,” Setan said. I hadn’t even noticed him jump into my shadow. I’d figured he was busy elsewhere.

I sighed. Ruining my fun. To be fair, things weren’t really progressing as is, at least, not in any desirable way. I jumped forward in a flash, grabbed the knife’s handler, and teleported us to a nearby area before throwing them to the ground.

They managed to keep the knife in hand, didn’t drop it or land on it, surprisingly. Upon glancing down at the wet, sticky mess they landed in, they scrambled to their feet with a string of curses. If fight or flight hadn’t kicked in already, it certain had now. Having the blood of your friends and close business associates under your feet has a way of doing that to you.

“You… You won’t get away with this. One day, you’ll pay for this. YOU will get paid back tenfold for what you’ve done! Fuck you! F—”

I freed the knife from their grasp, and let brush meet paint. After a while, silence.

I turned to find Setan, arms crossed, leaning on a tree. You almost couldn’t distinguish him from the surrounding carnage. His skin matched so perfectly.

“Almost didn’t see you there, Seti. Mistook you for a blood splatter,” I teased, leaving the knife with its previous handler. I didn’t need it any more than they did.

“Hilarious. Meanwhile, you stand out like bird shit on a window.”

“Rude.”

He uncrossed his arms and walked towards me. We stood and looked around—checked our work, in a way.

Setan none-too-gently clamped his hand on my shoulder. “Well, that was fun. You were a bit slow though.”

I scoffed. “Pardon me, I was unaware I was being graded on my performance.”

“Hm.” He breathed. “Drinks are in order.”

“Careful, you’re getting predictable, Seti.”

We left the carnage behind.

#writing snippet #writeblr #fiction #fantasy #1st person pov #demons of the non-religious variety #morally grey characters #my writing #Alcander

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tsvai · 2 years

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tagged by @vrontons-modern-life not tagging anyone in particular, just tagging anyone who wants to do this!

i basically never post any of my work publicly because anxiety, (i just share it w/ friends) but this looked like fun and i probably won’t spontaneously combust if i just post a snippet from one of my current ffxiv wips lmao. probably.

tl;dr context required for this to make any sense at all (if you don’t play ffxiv there’s nothing i can do for you sorry lmao): in my wols’ canon, lahabrea is yeeted back out of the lifestream around the end of shadowbringers in a mortal body (w/ most of his memories) and is forced to fumble around figuring out how to be a mortal. aurelia stumbles over him during 5.4 and recognizes him by his voice, and immediately adopts him under the pretense of tutoring him in thaumaturgy (she’s excited bc here’s a chance to actually maybe make friends with an ascian this time! oh boy!). lahabrea thinks nobody knows who he is. aurelia, leovold (my other wol, not shown), thancred, and raha all absolutely know who he is. said hilarious pretense goes on for about a month - this takes place during that month.

Hephaestus was hunched over the table over a tome and notebook; his hair had long since started to escape the confines of his loose ponytail and was hanging unevenly into his face, veiling his profile. He was scrawling notes across the open face of his notebook with impressive speed – Aurelia wasn’t quite sure what he was studying, but she’d determined at a fairly quick glance some time ago that it wasn’t anything she’d assigned him. She had decided not to say anything about it.

She could hardly blame him, really – she was near-certain that most of what she’d given him to ‘study’ was largely review. She almost felt a little bad for him about it, but if this was the game he was going to insist on playing, she was going to let him play it – inconveniences and all.

Alisaie’s voice suddenly turned particularly petulant, drawing Aurelia’s attention.

“Yes, well… this argument is stupid, and—and you’re being stupid!” She accused, jabbing a finger at Alphinaud.

G’raha snorted loudly.

“Ad hominem,” Hephaestus muttered absently, in a disapproving tone that Aurelia suspected was probably his Professor Voice.

Unbelievable, she realized with amusement. He had been paying at least some degree of attention.

Alphinaud sputtered – Alisaie made an irate noise. G’raha hummed thoughtfully.

“I don’t remember what that means,” Alisaie shot back, “but—but no it isn’t!”

Hephaestus looked up sharply, his quill scratching to an abrupt stop on the page. He had a by-now-familiar look on his face that Aurelia was fairly certain meant that he hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud.

“It means a fallacious personal attack – and yes it is!” Alphinaud argued triumphantly.

“I think,” Aurelia interceded, “that it’s time to let the disagreement go, if we’re getting to the point of ad —ad hom—” She hesitated, stumbling over the unfamiliar term.

“Ad hominem,” Alphinaud and Hephaestus corrected in unison – with very poorly disguised amusement, in Hephaestus’ case.

“Yes, that,” Aurelia agreed.

“Fine, fine,” Alisaie sighed, standing up, “I’ve got shite to do, anyroad.”

“Hug and make up, first,” Aurelia instructed.

Alisaie turned to glare at her – she merely grinned back.

“Do you even know what we were arguing about?” Alisaie questioned.

“No,” Aurelia answered blithely.

G’raha snorted again – Alphinaud cleared his throat in an attempt to hide his own snort.

“It wasn’t over anything important, you know,” Alisaie shook her head at her before glancing back over at her brother, “We’re fine?”

“Of course we are,” Alphinaud agreed.

“Right, I’m off then,” Alisaie announced, pushing in her chair and heading away.

Alphinaud’s attention shifted immediately. “Hephaestus!” He began earnestly.

Hephaestus’ quill came to a stop again – he looked up warily, “Alphinaud.”

“Do you study debate?”

“Barely,” Hephaestus lied, looking back down again.

Aurelia snickered. She knew he was full of shite: she’d heard shades in Amaurot’s Hall of Rhetoric sing his praises – he was purportedly quite good at it.

Alphinaud shot her a puzzled look, “Is something amusing?”

“No,” Aurelia grinned.

Hephaestus frowned, glancing up and studying her warily for a moment before returning his attention to his notes again.

“…Aurelia…” Alphinaud piped up again after a moment.

“Hm?” Aurelia turned her gaze back away from Hephaestus.

“…We were just arguing about food,” he told her sheepishly.

Hephaestus’ quill came to a stop yet again.

“…Oh,” Aurelia muttered.

Hephaestus gave a barely audible snort, shaking his head and resuming his work.

#personal #i might maybe reblog this to my ffxiv blog we'll see lmao.#this is. harrowing. to post. but i really like this scene in particular from what ive been working on so. here it is.

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ichigomis · 3 years

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hello i just found your page while reading some fanfics and i love your works, i was also pondering with this idea in mind like what if they have a crush that has a resting bitch face? You can choose which hq boys you wanna do it with but i was just thinking of how hilarious it would be specially boys with a rbf too lololol i mean imagine them trying to read their crushs reactions

WHEN THEY LIKE SOMEONE WITH A RESTING BTCH FACE

with: suna, sakusa, kageyama

notes: hiyaaa nonnie ok so i chose these rbf babies i hope that's okay w you! —gn reader, fluff with a smudge of crack!

part one - part two - part three

❊ SUNA watches you as you work your way through the activity given. he knows he should be helping you (as every good lab partner should) but he just couldn't help but feel that you, well, didn't like him that much. which is a major inconvenience considering the fact that he is head over heels for you.

"do you hate me?" your voice suddenly shakes him from his thoughts, looking up at him from your work with eyes he can't comprehend.

he blinks, "no?" and he blinks again, this time tilting his head in question, "do you hate me?"

"huh?" your eyebrows knit together in confusion as he brings back the question to you. "no, i don’t."

the two of you just look at each other, two confused and natural scowls plastered on both your faces.

"so," he speaks after a good few seconds of complete silence. "you like me?"

a small gasp escapes you, pink rushing to your cheeks as if caught red-handed, "i never said that-"

"because i do," he cuts you off, eyes that bore through yours just a second ago suddenly looking at anywhere else, his own cheeks flushing red, "like you, i mean."

❊ SAKUSA just cannot figure you out. he's tried observing you, tried to start small talk, and even let you hold his hair—everything. but every time he sees you, you look, well, like his mere presence pisses you off.

"do you think y/n hates me?" he finally asks komori (his one and only last resort) as he looks on at you, seemingly frowning over your lunch.

his cousin's eyes dart to you then at him, "no? why would you think that?"

"they're always..." he fidgets with his bento box, finding the right words to explain, "...they look like they just do."

komori purses his lips, keeping himself from laughing, "you two look exactly alike." he says as he stares right through his cousin's own resting btch face, one he's accustomed to after all these years.

sakusa's eyebrows furrow and a pout forms on his lips, "no we don't," but then he thinks about it a second more and a sudden excitement gleams his eyes, "so, they don't hate me?"

❊ KAGEYAMA is distracted beyond explanation as he walks home, thinking back to the way you smiled (or at least he thinks you smiled) at him just a few hours ago.

it got to the point he just had to ask anyone about it, anyone. "what if someone smiles at you to tell you they hate you?" he blurts out in the middle of cleaning the gym after practice. the rest of the third years look up at him, more baffled by the fact that he was speaking about something other than volleyball rather than his sudden question.

"i don't think anyone would do that?" yamaguchi scratches his head, confused.

hinata butts in, "how did they smile?"

kageyama furrows his eyebrows and contorts his face into a "smile", trying to copy yours. "like this,"

and the three of them stare at him, either scared or keeping in their laughter, or somewhere in between. "yeah, i think they definitely hate you."

p.s.: pls these went better in my head im so sorry

» m. list

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #hq fluff #hq reactions #hq hcs #hq x reader #suna x reader #suna x you #suna fluff #sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa fluff #kageyama x reader #kageyama x you #kageyama fluff #🍰—rayray’s sugar

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teenwolffanclub-me · 3 years

Text

Strictly Professional

| FBI! Stiles Stilinski x Reader |

Part Three

———————————————————————

“I’m telling you, Lyds, the man is insufferable.” Y/N groaned, her head bouncing as she threw it back against the couch cushion behind her.

Her best friend simply giggled around the popcorn the two were sharing, honestly finding the whole situation hilarious.

“It’s been what...three weeks? And you still can’t stand the guy?” Her manicured brows rose in question as she settled into the pillows at the other end of their tiny couch.

“Can’t stand is putting it lightly.” Y/N rolled her eyes, annoyed at the mere mention of her partner.

They’d done nothing but bicker and distract each other for the last three weeks. She was positive they were stunting each other’s progress by now. They had to be, considering the fact that they’d failed each and every assignment so far.

It was embarrassing, really.

She’d worked so hard to get to this point. It was her lifelong dream to be an FBI agent some day, and now that possibility was closer than ever. But she was epically messing it up. Thanks to him.

She didn’t know what it was. There was just something about Stiles that made her lose the ability to think rationally. The only bright side was that she’d almost survived the first month.

One down, five to go.

Her phone suddenly began vibrating somewhere beneath the mountain of blankets she’d formed around herself. She dug for it furiously, barely managing to find it before the call went to voicemail.

“Hello?” She tried not to sound too breathless.

“Miss Y/L/N, you’re needed at the DOJ immediately.” A deep, rumbling voice crackled.

Her face paled at the sound of her supervisor’s voice on the other end of the line. She sat up straight and threw the remaining blankets off of her lap, shooting to her feet hastily.

“Right now?” Her chest tightened with anxiety, unsure what was going on.

“Will that be inconvenient for you?” His tone flattened with disapproval.

Her eyes flickered toward Lydia—who was watching her expectantly—for a quick moment.

“No, no. Of course not. Just, is there a problem?” She started toward her bedroom, knowing she couldn’t show up in her matching checkered pajama set.

“Shouldn’t be. Get here as quickly as you can. Oh, and pack an overnight bag.”

The line went dead. She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at the dark screen, utterly confused.

Several minutes later, she emerged wearing what she’d deemed business casual. A pair of jeans and a nice blouse. She didn’t want to go full formal, considering it was ten o’clock at night.

She hastily explained the situation to a very concerned Lydia and practically ran out the door.

———————————————————————

Y/N’s nerves quickly shifted to excitement as their supervisor filled all the interns in on what they would be doing.

Their next exercise. One of the last before they’d be given something real to work on.

Each team of partners would be tasked with solving the same case. They couldn’t look at the file until their time started—because apparently everything around here had to be timed—and they’d effectively be locked in an office for the next 48 hours. That’s how long they had to reach a verdict.

Was she ready to be alone with Stiles again so soon? No. But the thought of making some actual progress on her dream gave her little butterflies of anticipation that overrode any negative feelings.

As they entered their home for the next three days, Y/N tried her best not to think about how ridiculously good he looked in the undershirt and flannel he’d worn. So far, she’d only seen him in their official uniform, and the change was jarring.

Her growing attraction only made the simmering irritation that was always there in his presence worse. She hated that he could raise her pulse with just a simple glance from those warm chocolate eyes.

Yeah, being stuck with him for a few days was going to be rough.

Stiles was feeling a lot of things. He was antsy because, well, he was always a little anxious. But he hadn’t been able to get Y/N off his mind for days now. She’d implanted a seed in his brain, and every time he saw her, it grew to twice its size.

He didn’t know how to deal with her obvious dislike for him. On one hand, it annoyed the fuck out of him. He tried to be nice to her, if nothing else but for the sake of professionalism. But her snarky remarks and constant attitude bothered him for another reason, too.

He found it way too goddamn hot. Controlling himself around her was becoming increasingly difficult, and that was when they were in public. Three days alone with her in an office...god, he had no idea how he’d survive.

——————- 46 hours remaining ———————

11:47 p.m.

Y/N let out a sigh and rubbed at her eyes. She’d been hunched over the case file for the last two hours, reading it over and over in the hopes of finding anything worthwhile. Her back arched as she lifted her arms above her head, needing to move her body in some way.

As her gaze lifted, she noticed that Stiles had been very busy. Now that she thought about it, he hadn’t moved from his spot in front of the whiteboard since they started.

Her eyes danced around his creation, confusion mounting with each passing second. He’d covered the entire thing with red strings and nearly illegible handwriting.

“What the hell is that?” She spoke up for the first time since walking into the room.

His head jerked to the side slightly, giving her a brief glance over his shoulder before returning his attention to the mess in front of him.

“The case.” He crossed his arms, staring thoughtfully at the board.

“In string form?” She quirked a brow, still trying to decipher what exactly he was up to.

He rolled his eyes at the sass in her tone—not that she could see it—and pursed his lips. “It represents different stages in the investigation. So, like, green is solved, yellow is to be determined, blue is just pretty.”

She nodded absently, watching as he waved his hands around, finally putting the pieces together. “What does red mean?”

“Uh...unsolved.” He sounded defeated even to his own ears.

“You only have red on the board.” Y/N drawled slowly, honestly just wanting to push his buttons. She was up to speed now.

He turned to send her a quick glare, irritation bubbling in his chest. “Yes, I’m aware. Thank you.”

She popped to her feet and walked up beside him to get a closer look at the thing. He immediately took a small step to the left, trying desperately not to make it obvious. But there was no way he could stand only a few inches away from her right now. He rubbed a hand under his nose, trying to stifle the intoxicating smell of her perfume.

“You’re making this way too complicated.” She shook her head, eyes quickly scanning the board. “Clearly, it was the husband or the trainer. Or maybe her one friend, what was her name...”

She flicked through the case file balanced in the crook of her arm. “Ah. Chelsea.”

“What makes you think that?” He was turned toward her fully now, a skeptical gleam in his chestnut eyes.

Her attention remained on the papers in her arms, her free hand sliding down the page as she reread some of the stats. “Here it says on the night of her murder, Chelsea invited Anna to dinner but she was busy having a date night with her husband. He thought she was with Chelsea, and the trainer isn’t talking.”

“Okay...and? None of them are reliable.” He was failing to see her point, and she was wasting time by stating the obvious.

She glanced up at him, her head still tilted down, and he gulped, trying not to picture how she’d look at his feet doing the same.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t make sense. The logs at her gym show she was there that night, but she’d already been there the four consecutive days before.”

“So?” By now, he was frustrated. He just wanted her to get to the point. Their time was dwindling way too quickly.

She gave him a blank look, blinking slowly for emphasis. “No sane person works out five days in a row.”

He let out a pained groan and turned away from her, knowing that hadn’t been going anywhere productive. “You can’t apply your own lackluster fitness habits to a murder case.”

She glowered at his profile but decided to ignore the comment. Clearly, he was trying to rile her up, and it wasn’t happening.

“If she were that into working out, why lie to her best friend about where she was going? There has to be more to it.” She insisted, knowing in her gut that they were missing something.

A long moment of silence fell between them. Stiles looked over the board, endless possibilities flickering through his mind. He rubbed at his jaw as he considered the most likely option, an idea suddenly striking him.

“It was obviously the husband.” He revealed excitedly, almost positive he’d cracked the case. He felt Y/N’s stare on the side of his head and begrudgingly met her judgemental eyes once again. “Have you never seen a crime documentary? It’s literally always the lover.”

“The lover.” She repeated on an annoyed huff. I mean, now cliché can you be? At least, that’s what she thought before her eyes went wide with realization. “That’s it! She was having an affair with the trainer!”

His eyes narrowed as he considered how something like that might fit into the bigger story. “Big leap there, don’t ya think?”

“No, no, it makes perfect sense. Look, it says her husband’s an investment banker who works long hours and often prioritizes his career over their relationship. Who wouldn’t cheat on that guy?” She looked up from the file excitedly, the polarity between her demeanor and what she was suggesting totally lost on her.

Stiles glowered at her, earning him a casual eye roll. “You know what I mean.”

He did. It wasn’t too much of a stretch, and at this point they weren’t in a position to rule anything out.

So, with that decided, he hesitantly put up the first yellow string between Anna and her trainer.

——————- 40 hours remaining ——————-

5:00 a.m.

Y/N’s head jerked upward with a start, and she quickly realized she’d dozed off again. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and let out a yawn, absolutely exhausted. She hadn’t pulled an all nighter since freshman year of college.

Suddenly, a steaming cup appeared in front of her, and she put together what had actually woken her up.

“No sugar, a splash of heavy cream. Right?” Stiles asked gently, keeping his voice low.

The corners of her lips threatened to form a smile at the fact that he’d noticed how she takes her coffee. She never missed how he constantly watched her, but she didn’t know he was keeping tabs. And, if she were being honest, she often did the same.

“Yeah.” She nodded appreciatively and took a big sip, practically moaning with satisfaction as the bitter liquid washed over her tongue. It was perfect. “Thank you.”

He raised his own cup silently in acknowledgment, but really, he was hiding the growing blush on his cheeks.

They quickly got back to work, each of them trying to prove that their suspicion was correct. Y/N was firm in the belief that the trainer was guiltily, while Stiles felt in his gut it was the husband.

So, rather than bickering for the next day and a half, they settled on a friendly bet. One they were both intent on winning.

——————- 34 hours remaining ——————-

11:09 a.m.

Y/N squinted and tilted her head to the side as she looked at the board, trying anything at this point to get a fresh perspective on this case. She’d read the file front to back at least a dozen times by now. She could recite the testimonies word for word.

But she didn’t feel any closer to figuring it out.

There was a strong argument against both suspects. They each could’ve had their own motives. Y/N’s eyes trailed along the strings, some yellow now added to the red, and sighed. They had yet to add any green.

She glanced over her shoulder to check on Stiles. He’d passed out about an hour before, having made the fatal mistake of working on the couch. Now, he lay flat on his stomach, his face smooshed against the cushions and one of his hands dangling off the side.

Her eyes roamed over his form for a few more seconds, appreciating the way his dark hair was sticking up wildly. Her wandering gaze paused over the small strip of skin she could see where his flannel had ridden up, and she chewed on her bottom lip absently.

She forced her attention back to the board and narrowed her eyes, willing herself to see something new. At that exact moment, a brilliant idea struck her.

“Ha! That’s it!” She shot up to her feet and threw her hands up excitedly.

Her best friend Chelsea had to be more involved than initially meets the eye. I mean, she had a whole profile in the materials they’d been given. That had to mean something. She wasn’t sure what yet. Maybe she was having an affair with Anna. Or the husband. Or the trainer...

Okay, she really needed to wake Stiles up for this breakthrough. She couldn’t get her exhausted thoughts in order. She put the papers she was still holding down onto the desk and made her way toward the couch.

She knelt down beside it and merely stared at him for a moment, no idea how she should wake him. There was no telling if he as a light sleeper or if it’d take more effort to get him up.

She gently tapped on his back and retracted her hand, waiting with baited breath. Nothing happened, so she tried again. And again. And again.

After a few minutes, she used a bit more pressure on his shoulder, shaking him lightly.

He let out a little gasp and stirred, eyes just barely popping open. He muttered something intelligible and quickly dozed off again. Y/N cleared her throat, trying to ignore the way his voice had gone all deep and gravelly.

“No, no. Stiles!” She whispered harshly. “You need to get up.”

He peeled one eye open and frowned before shaking his head and turning away from her. Her jaw dropped at his stubbornness. Did he forget what they were supposed to be working on? Maybe she shouldn’t have let him sleep at all.

She decided to try shaking him one more time, but didn’t get any response. “Dude. I swear to god if you don’t—”

Her threat dissolved into a yelp of surprise as he suddenly turned back around and wrapped a hand around one of her wrists. He swiftly pulled her off balance, making her fall right on top of him. Before she could react, he’d twisted them around so her spine was against the back of the couch, and he was pressed firmly to her front.

Her skin erupted with flames at their close proximity. She flattened her palms against his chest—which was way harder than she remembered—and tried pushing him away. She quickly realized that was a losing battle as he went nowhere.

“Stiles, what the hell?” She hissed, kicking against his legs as a last ditch effort.

Not only was this wildly inappropriate considering the fact that they were partners and currently supposed to be working on a case, but being this close to him was dangerous for her sanity.

He hummed in response and cupped a hand around the back of her head, practically shoving her face into his chest. He wrapped his legs around hers, securing her in place. She tried fighting it for a few more seconds, but quickly gave up. She couldn’t deny how good it felt to be in his arms.

It was the first time they’d been this close, and she actually really liked it. He was warm, and smelled like a night spent around a campfire with friends. There were notes of sweetness and depth that calmed her instantly.

She felt her eyes growing heavy, unable to push through the exhaustion while in such a comfortable position. Her breathing evened out as she started drifting off, letting go of her worries about the case for just a few seconds.

They wouldn’t be asleep for long, anyway.

——————- 24 hours remaining ———————

9:15 p.m.

Stiles jerked awake, a tired grimace pulling at his lips. He popped his head up, feeling like he was about to suffocate. It was like he’d fallen into an oven set to 400 degrees.

He peeled one eye open and looked around, trying to get his bearings. He was in the office. Okay, that was normal. He was on a couch. Not as normal, but he quickly remembered with a groan that he’d fallen asleep while working.

He nearly jumped out of his skin as he continued looking around and saw a mop of hair at his chest.

“Gah!” He spazzed out, flailing his arms in a way that somehow managed to make him fall onto the floor with a thud.

Y/N startled awake with a gasp, instantly sitting upright. Her hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, but Stiles was struck with how beautiful she still looked. She blinked several times in an effort to adjust her eyes to the harsh fluorescent lights above.

“What the fuck?” Stiles murmured, more to himself, as he rubbed at his eyes.

“What time is it?” Y/N searched for her phone hastily, gasping dramatically when she saw that it was already past nine o’clock. “Good going, Stilinski!”

“What? Me?” He took great offense at being blamed entirely for their mess up. “You’re the one who somehow ended up on top of me!”

“Yes! You fell asleep a full hour before I did and trapped me there!” She shoved herself up off the couch and stalked toward the desk, feeling her chest tighten with anxiety. They’d wasted so much time.

“That is...irrelevant.” He muttered from behind her, quickly scrambling off the floor and joining her in front of the file.

“God, we’re so screwed.” She forced her fingers through her hair and flipped through the paperwork as if that’d help catch them up.

“Just chill, okay? We have plenty of time to prove it was the husband.” Stiles moved over to their board of strings, refreshing himself on the progress they’d made so far.

A deep scowl etched itself into Y/N’s features as she slowly turned to face him. “You mean the trainer.”

He tilted his head back with a groan and rubbed hand down his face. “You’re still on that?”

“Yes.” She walked across the room, stopping at his side, and crossed her arms in defiance. “Because I’m right.”

“You’re about as right as you are not annoying.” He scoffed, only realizing as she furrowed her brows at him that the insult hadn’t made much sense. “Whatever. The point is, it was the husband.”

“Stiles, I am not letting you ruin another chance for me.” She spat, all humor gone from her tone. She was dead serious. His partnership had done nothing but set her back so far, and she was tired of it.

His eyes twitched in frustration, lips pursing into a thin line. “Excuse me?”

“You’re constantly distracted, confrontational, stubborn, and honestly? A bit arrogant.” She absentmindedly took a step closer to him with each insult, only stopping once she was a mere few inches away.

Stiles’ eyes trailed over her angry face, feeling his heart flutter despite himself. “Maybe that’s because I know I’ll be a good agent. Clearly, you can’t say the same. I mean, what have you brought to this partnership other than a shit attitude?”

Her jaw clenched tightly as she stared him down, holding back every terrible response that came to mind. Standing here arguing was doing nothing but waste even more of their time. She knew that, but it still took every fiber of her being to hold her tongue.

“Just focus on your own thing. I’ll cover proving you wrong.” She practically hissed the words before turning away from him and shoving her head back into the files.

They didn’t have much time left, and she planned on using it wisely.

——————— 0 hours remaining ———————

9:01 p.m.

“Well, what’s the verdict?”

Silence. Awkward, heavy, painful silence. For way too long. So long that their supervisor was clearly becoming concerned. His eyebrows shot upward as he crossed his arms tightly across his chest.

Truthfully, neither of them made much progress after their fight. They hadn’t spoken a word since, and the tension in that office was palpable. They were both overjoyed to be let out but, now they had nothing to tell their boss. Usually, partners would talk about something like this before being put on the spot.

Finally, neither of them could take it anymore.

At the same moment Y/N said, “It was the husband.” Stiles said, “It was the trainer.”

They stared at each other from the corner of their eyes for a brief moment, stunned.

They’d both wordlessly decided to vouch for each other, apparently. Y/N could acknowledge—to herself, at least—that Stiles might be right. There was honestly enough evidence to support that either suspect committed the crime, and she wasn’t any closer to proving her own suspicion.

Stiles had also decided to go out on a limb and support her, because he did feel a little bad for insulting her so harshly. Clearly, she was passionate about her opinion, and that counted for something.

Then, they quickly changed their answers, once again speaking over each other. They both sighed in frustration, Stiles lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and Y/N squeezing her eyes shut tightly.

Just as she was about to start rambling again, Stiles cut her off with a wave of his hand. “It was the trainer, sir.”

He nodded his head slowly, unreadable eyes shifting between the pair. “Go no.”

“He and Anna were having an affair. Her husband found out, and made her choose. Safe to say she didn’t pick the trainer.” He chuckled awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he hoped the random explanation made sense.

“But,” Y/N chimed in, noticing that he looked a little lost. “According to her finances, she’d already paid for the next full month, so she decided to meet with him for one final session. You know, get some closure or whatever.”

“When she told him the news he, ya know...” Stiles dragged a finger across his neck and made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

They both waited for his response with baited breath. His hard expression was unreadable, which made them undeniably nervous. If they messed this up, they didn’t know if they’d even have an internship to come back to on Monday.

Finally, he broke into a slow, proud smile. “Good work, you too. For a second there, I didn’t know if you had it in you.”

Y/N let out a long sigh, feeling her anxiety finally wash away. Beside her, Stiles groaned and lifted a fist in the air triumphantly.

Somehow, they’d done it. Together.

———————————————————————

Y/N threw her head back, laughing at the insane story Stiles had just told her.

“There’s no way that’s true.” She shook her head in disbelief, fighting off the lingering giggles.

He chuckled lightly and played with the chilled glass in his hands. “I swear. He didn’t speak to us for like a week.”

“I can’t wait to tell Lydia her boyfriend kidnapped someone in high school.” She smirked before finishing off the last of her drink.

Stiles’ eyes widened, his stomach dropping at the unexpected news. “Wait. They’re dating now? Damn, I’ve really been neglecting our friendship.”

“So have I, honestly. We’ve definitely had our heads in the sand for the last three weeks...”

The were sitting beside each other, perched on tall stools at a the end of a long bar. The entire department decided to go out and celebrate after the exercise was completed, since every team was able to successfully solve the case.

They hadn’t spoken much at the beginning of the night. Actually, they’d actively avoided each other. After being in such close quarters for 48 hours, they needed space. The tension between them, although always present, had been dialed up to an unbearable level after the experience.

Remarkably, after a few drinks they found themselves drifting closer and closer together. Y/N had to admit that there were no other interns she wanted to talk to. He may ruffle her feathers, but Stiles was entertaining at the very least.

He, on the other hand, was staying away from her for a very different reason. Every time she was nearby, he felt like he was going to explode. He didn’t know if it was anxiety or arousal but whatever it was, it’d overridden his ability to think clearly.

Somehow, despite themselves, they still ended up here.

“I’m surprised you haven’t tried to kill me yet, with all the time we’ve had to spend together.” Stiles found her eyes again in the low lighting, his heart skipping a beat as he took her in.

She truly was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. She had this spark in her, this fiery attitude that just lit him up. It brought something out in him, something he wasn’t nearly ready to confront yet.

She rolled her eyes at what he was insinuating, but decided to tease him instead of explaining herself. And it definitely wasn’t because even she couldn’t justify the growing attraction between them. “Me too.”

His eyes narrowed over his glass as he swallowed the last swig. He put it down with a clank, never breaking eye contact. He leaned forward until only a few inches separated them, feeling a sudden surge of drunken confidence. Y/N’s gaze roamed slowly over his face, but she made no move to lean back.

“You can drop the act, you know.” He murmured lowly, unable to stop himself.

Alarm bells were ringing spastically in his brain, but he merely pushed them away. He’d been trapped in close quarters with her for way too long. Every single touch, every glance, had driven him a little more mad. Now, as the alcohol flowed through his system, he was finding it hard to remember why kissing her again was such a bad idea.

“And what act would that be?” Y/N leaned even closer, barely a breath separating them at this point.

“That you’re not dying to take me to bed.” His eyes fell to her lips, making her skin erupt with heat.

She had no idea what she was doing. But, by some miracle, she actually wasn’t tired of him yet. It was shocking. She couldn’t stand being around him and yet, she wanted more. She wanted different. She did want to take him to bed, damnit.

Her lips twisted in indignation at being observed so accurately. She leaned her upper body toward him even further and hovered her hand over his arm that was resting on the bar. She let her fingers dance over his exposed skin with a featherlight touch. His attention briefly moved there before his eyes snapped back to hers.

“Oh, is that what you think? Trust me, Stilinski, I have way more self control than you do.” The words wafted over him in a sensual whisper.

He visibly gulped, feeling his jeans tightening uncomfortably. Damn her and her sexy taunting. The urge to close the tiny gap between them was overwhelming, but that voice—however faraway now—was still there. Reminding him why he shouldn’t.

Y/N noticed his hesitation and her drunk, impulsive mind decided to take the leap for them.

She leaned that little bit closer, connecting their lips in a scorching kiss. For a split second Stiles was stunned, his eyebrows shooting upward and his entire body stiffening. He came to his senses very quickly, however, and returned the passion tenfold.

A part of him snapped. Something deep inside his chest that’d been festering for weeks. All self control went out the window the second she touched him. He slid a hand along her jaw, cupping her cheek gently as he swiped his tongue across her lower lip. She melted into him, scooting forward on her barstool to get as close as possible.

Her hands took their time roaming his upper body. She just couldn’t help herself. She’d been dying to feel the hard muscles always hidden by those damn white button ups since she’d gotten a small peek the night they met. At this point she could guess what those tight abs would feel like against her skin, her tongue...she’d only pictured it in her mind nearly every day since.

Stiles’ free hand suddenly curled around one of her hips. His fingers flexed against her twice before he seemed to make some kind of decision. A moment later, she let out a surprised yelp against his lips as she was pulled right off of her stool.

She settled between his spread legs easily, molding herself against his chest. Her arms circled his neck as his other hand disappeared into her hair.

He let out a low, rumbling groan as she nibbled at his lips gently. The sound went straight to the growing heat in her belly, and she unconsciously clenched her thighs together. Her entire body was reaching a feverish temperature, she was sure of it.

They both seemingly forgot all context the moment their lips touched. Like the fact that they were partners, they definitely needed to be catching up on sleep, and they weren’t even supposed to like each other. Plus, they were currently in the middle of a crowded bar with a bunch of strangers, other interns, and—oh yeah—their bosses.

They only separated when the sound of hoots, claps, and whistles echoed from nearby.

Y/N pulled back first. Slowly, so she could savor the tingly feeling kissing Stiles always left on her lips. She opened her eyes and instantly giggled at his frozen state.

“See? Nothing.” The lie slipped out in a breathy whisper as she gave him a sly grin, finding the way he inched forward, searching for her lips, endlessly endearing.

His eyes fluttered open, giving her this dazed, blissed out look. It was almost enough to make her feel bad for teasing him. Almost.

She pulled a ten dollar bill from her purse and slapped it down onto the bar. Keeping her eyes forward, she spun on her heel and waltzed toward the front door, hoping she looked at least a little bit confident.

All Stiles could do was watch as she disappeared, a dumbstruck smile on his lips, wondering what the hell he’d just gotten himself into.

Part Two Part Four

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

Midnight Secrets

Characters: Scaramouche, gn!reader

Premise: In which Scaramouche is a vampire

Word Count: 2,229

Warnings: Blood, general vampire shenanigans, swearing

Author’s Note: This was fun. I got to mesh together all the weird vampire canon I’ve picked up from random pieces of culture from Dracula to anime and sort of subconsciously put bits and pieces of that in this fic. Though what I mostly pulled from you’ll probably be able to tell.

Writing vampires is kinda strange in a way though. Never thought I’d have to describe the taste of human blood.

Scaramouche

When it came right down to it, being a vampire was an annoyance. No more, no less, there was nothing mystical or abhorrent in it. It was merely a pain in the ass.

Scaramouche knew that this was, perhaps, an unorthodox view of things, considering the kind of legends that tended to circulate about these creatures of the night, the fear that tinged the excited whispers of a rumored shadow-walker which stalked the plains of Inazuma. It ought to be a curse, ought to be some sort of existential nightmare. Yet it simply wasn’t. It was an existence of inconvenience, but not an abhorrence.

Then again, how would I human understand such a thing? Empathy only applies to that we can understand, can feel ourselves. How would a human understand the complex mechanics that allowed Scaramouche to accept his status as a vampire? It was impossible, or at least that’s how Scaramouche felt until he met you.

You laughed, looking back on the way you two met, for in all honesty you found it hilarious. Walking onto your back porch, expecting to find a fox or some such thing, and being met with the sight of a human hunched over, gulping down what looked like wine, appearing somewhat drunk as the liquid spilled over the corner of his mouth and onto his cloak. It was hilarious in retrospect, no matter how many times your partner clapped his hand over your laughing mouth. At the time though it hadn’t been funny, either for you or him.

Scaramouche was still in awe of the situation, dazed by the kindness that you had showed him. Walking over as if he were any ordinary citizen you’d gently asked if he was drunk, and when he, in his bloodthirsty state, blurted out that he was a vampire and you ought to run away before he slaughtered you, you paused only for a moment before asking him if he needed a place to hide. A foolish thing to ask a Harbinger and a vampire, but nevertheless an act of supreme kindness that he could not understand. When he had snarled at you and jumped back you merely stood there, eyes wide, same concerned expression on your face. It was a turning point, though Scaramouche certainly didn’t know it, and perhaps you didn’t truly either.

Scaramouche wasn’t sure why he decided to go to your house the next time he ran out of stamina and had to drink. It was a reckless thing to do, to reveal oneself, to prove that you hadn’t simply dreamt it all up. Yet somehow he found himself once more on your back porch, desperately pouring the drink that kept him alive down his throat. These moments were the most dangerous of his existence, the most annoying and inconvenient part of being a vampire. Usually they were the times that he had to lean into his heightened senses as much as possible, as to make sure no one found out and, if they did, no one caused a scene. This time, however, he let himself go, found himself being lured into an inexplicable sense of security. When he woke up, nestled in an unfamiliar room, swathed in an unfamiliar blanket, greeting with the look of excitement and relief that danced across your face, he knew that he had committed an irreversible act.

Though he hadn’t meant to stay within the confines of your house, the outskirts of your village, Scaramouche ended up passing an entire week with you before realizing how much time had truly passed; a Harbinger did not often think of how long they left their troops, for many missions required solitude. This was no such mission though. At first the Harbinger was unable to explain why he stayed, why he felt pulled towards spending time with you. It was only after the fifth day, when you proclaimed that you enjoyed spending time with him more than anything in the world, that Scaramouche had a name for the emotions he felt. Enjoyment, pleasure, joy, happiness, who would’ve thought that such a thing could come out of such a mistake? Who would’ve thought that a vampire could find a kindred spirit in a human?

The first week that Scaramouche spent with you he revealed little of what it meant to be a vampire. There were certainly moments when the situation however at your shoulders, like when you tried to prevent him from going outside for fear he might burn up, or when he got hungry and accused you of trying to starve him to death – you rather thought vampires didn’t need food to survive. Still when he left at the end of the week, for he had to leave eventually, you had pierced little of his true nature, or so you thought. The Balladeer, on the other hand, was shaken at how easily you seemed to penetrate his nature, his identity, how easily he followed your whims, glancing at whatever caught your interest. It was the kind of thing that one might expect a bitten human might do, fall into a sort of trance, a persuaded state. Yet there was no magic, no inexplicable phenomena. It was merely you.

The next time the two of you met was when you found out who Scaramouche was, as he was traveling with his entourage, acting a Fatui Harbinger proper. He was almost proud of the fact that you seemed more upset at his Harbinger status than his vampire state, though certainly it was a stupid thing to be upset by both things, for was that not simply the natural state of the world? Nevertheless you were there, waiting, when his feet found their way once more to your back porch, and when you begrudgingly smiled Scaramouche felt as if he had felt true sunlight for the second time in his life.

He told you about himself after that, though a part of him knew it was too reckless to do so. He hardly knew you after all, and if his vampiric state was a secret shared only between him and the Tsaritsa, wasn’t it odd that you somehow factored into it? Yet he once more found he could not contradict you, nor stop himself from following where your mind went.

“What does it even mean to be a vampire?”

“What?” It seemed like a very foolish thing to ask.

“What does it even mean to be a vampire? I mean, you don’t burn up in the sun, you need food to survive, you’re still part of a crime syndicate instead of, I don’t know, simply existing. Were you even born a vampire or is being ‘turned’ still such a thing? I don’t understand it Scaramouche. I want to. I want to know who you are.”

“A foolish thing to say. I could break you if I willed it. Why should I answer your questions when you are so below me?”

“Because I want to know. And because it’s stupid to say that I am below you.”

Perhaps it was the shock that loosened his tongue. He didn’t really believe you at the time, for how could he when all he knew was that he was superior? Yet he still told you everything, if only in that moment to prove that he was right.

“A vampire must survive on blood. Vampires walk in the shades between life and death, and thus there are many different mutations and types of vampires. Some require food on top of blood to survive, some do not. Some automatically fall asleep when the sun comes up, or burn at the contact, some do not. Some have other supernatural abilities, some do not. Vampires are not human, but they are an offshoot of something that may have once been human, may have once been adeptal or part of some long dead spirit or oni. That is what a vampire is.”

“It seems very complicated.”

Scaramouche could not tell if you were joking or not.

“It isn’t complicated to someone who isn’t a total ingrate. I require blood and food to live. I do not have to fear the sun. My lifespan may be expanded in some way. That is all you need to know, and even then you could live quite well without such information.”

“I see. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For telling me of course!”

Scaramouche realized all at once that it may have been a silly question to ask.

Afterwards visiting you became a habit for the Harbinger. At first it was curiosity to see how long until you inevitably became afraid of him. Then it was curiosity as to what such a mundane human as yourself could possibly spend their days doing – especially considering the fact that, regardless of whether you had a vision or not, you didn’t seem to be doing a great deal of fighting. Then it was curiosity for… what? Scaramouche could not answer this question, but nevertheless he continued to visit you. And something continued to grow in him, though he could not yet name what it was.

The day that he realized what it was, was the inevitable day, the day that Scaramouche had been dreading without realizing it. He knew that it was almost certainly going to happen one day, yet it did not make it any less distressing.

He was thirsty, he was really, really thirsty. But he wanted to see you, he felt that curiosity once more, pulling at him as always. It would be so easy to stop by the forest for a half an hour to find something to eat, to not push himself when he knew that he was already treading into dangerous territory. Yet pride and something else kept his mind clouded and soon enough he was on your back porch. He managed to register the door opening and your bright smile before a searing heat flooded his body and he felt sicker and more desperate than he had in his entire life.

“What’s wrong? You look horribly pale! Did something happen?”

“Stand back… fool.”

“What?” The hurt that echoed so clearly through your disbelief tugged at something in him, but Scaramouche pressed it down, down, down.

“You imbecile, I, I’m. I need something.”

“You? Oh. Oh don’t tell me you ran out of blood.”

“I just need, to find something. Until then you have to stand back.” Every word felt like iron as it passed his lips but still the Harbinger was determined to hold on.

“Will, will you die?”

“I, what?”

Scaramouche felt the ground tipping beneath him. Though he thought he was falling quite fast he hit not the ground but your shoulder. Your presence was overwhelming, you were too close. Did you not realize that you were so close? The closest living being in his presence. Why didn’t you run? It was smarter to run. But he did not want this, though he did not understand why, as his mind seemed especially dull. Even the shame he ought to have felt was somehow delayed.

“If you need blood then just, I, uh…” you faltered for a moment, before seeming to steel yourself. “I know that you don’t know me well or anything, so this may be awkward. But I’d rather you drink my blood than die. So just, yeah. Drink some of my blood.”

“No.”

“Why not? Are you that picky? It’s better than dying!”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why in Teyvat not!”

“I, I don’t know. I just, I. It will be unpleasant.”

“And you think I care when it’s either that or you dying? Don’t be a fool. You can apologize later, or tell me my blood taste common or whatever. But just live.”

“Why?”

“I, I don’t know! But you have to do it.”

Scaramouche looked at your outstretched arm for a moment, willing himself to be as slow as possible. Why did he care so much? It was just another source of blood, not enough even to kill you. Yet the idea of it still pained him, and for a single, horrifying second, he imagined that he might go to far somehow, and then there’d be someone else holding on for life, only he would be unable to help.

I’m sorry, Scaramouche whispered against your skin, feeling feverish.

It was almost an insult how large the relief was when your blood hit his throat, how sweet the irony substance tasted.

Afterwards he didn’t want to look you in the eyes. He was almost certain that he hadn’t taken enough to hurt you, but something kept his gaze, his, trained to the ground.

“May I tell you something?”

It was your voice that drew his head up, as if you’d somehow been the one to hypnotize him. Your smile, though slightly uncomfortable, was blindingly beautiful, and you never seemed so intensely real as in that moment.

“I think I love you.”

What else could Scaramouche do but obey the pull that drew his lips to yours?

Being a vampire was a nuisance, and annoyance, a pain in the ass. There were things one had to look out that ordinary humans did not, and secrecy was key to a “normal” life. Yet if annoyance was the payment for arriving on your porch that strange night, than Scaramouche could not but secretly feel it was well worth it.

#genshin impact #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin scaramouche #my writing #requested #oneshot

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pippytmi · 3 years

Note

Howdy! For the little au trope prompt ask. 2, 2, 39. Supercorp please. Thank you! (Hope it helps your writer's block!)

Everyone knows that when the Quidditch season starts, rivalries begin.

As a general rule, Lena doesn’t mind the Gryffindors. If she had to pick a house she hated, the Slytherins would be the unfortunate lot; Veronica Sinclair and Andrea Rojas alone give the group a bad name. (That could be Lena’s own personal bias, given the fact that both girls have broken her heart, but she maintains it goes far deeper than that). But the point stands—Lena isn’t a hateful person. Generally.

There is just something about Kara Danvers that brings it out of her. The one and only Gryffindor that Lena despises is that moronic, reckless Chaser who scores nearly every single goal she takes. The Ravenclaw team is nothing to sneeze at either, but Lena hates that of all people to throw her off her game, it is a girl who blew up her broom when attempting to fly on it during her first year. Seven years that she has known Kara, and still Lena is annoyed at the mere sight of those perpetually-askew glasses, those untucked robes, that undone tie; Kara Danvers is never expected to be poised and perfect, even with all the expectations on her shoulders. She’s just so...blasé. People talk about Kara like she is destined to join a Quidditch team straight out of Hogwarts and all Kara does is stroll into the Great Hall on game day with her head in the clouds.

So far up the clouds that she apparently can’t watch where she is going, either. Lena throws Kara the nastiest glare she can muster when they just about knock each other’s heads together, but all Kara does at the sight of it is grin. She always grins, not in a way that is arrogant or snide, but stupidly amused. Stupidly amused, as if everything Lena says or does is a bloody laugh, like Lena’s simmering hatred is nothing more than an inside joke.

“Hey, Luthor,” Kara says cheerfully, and there she goes, pushing those crooked glasses up her nose. There is a scratch on one lens, and Kara has either not noticed or not bothered to repair it. “Trying to take out the competition a little early, even for you.”

“You were the one in my way, Danvers,” Lena replies tightly.

“Was I?” And here is the kicker, that golden girl charm that fools everyone: bright blue eyes peeking out beneath those eyelashes, hand rubbing at the back of her neck, undone tie slipping an inch further. Kara tilts her head unassumingly as if that is even an actual question.

It makes Lena furious. “Here’s a tip,” she says, “for here and the Quidditch field. Maybe if you got your head out of your ass, you could actually see where you’re headed.”

Kara has the audacity to look affronted. “Is this because of the Brainy incident during training? Because he and I agreed that it was a joint effort. Joint…blame. Whatever you call it.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Just keep your aggression to yourself, Danvers,” she mutters, and then she resolutely brushes past. She has no time for blank, witty banter, especially when this is the year’s first game and she has a team to rally.

“My—? Hey,” Kara’s voice rings out, louder than necessary, and that idiot is actually following her. “Hey, wait. Lena. Do you seriously think I’m aggressive? It was an accident! Both times!” A beat. “I mean both the Brainy thing and right now. I didn’t knock into Brainy twice. I did knock James off his broom once, but you probably don’t care about that since he’s not from your house, so…well anyway, just so you know, that was also an accident.”

“I have zero interest in your training squabbles,” Lena says exasperatedly, “and you’d do well to keep that in mind.”

“Oh so this is about the Brainy incident,” Kara says. “How many times do I have to say that the training pitch was ours?”

“According to you,” Lena counters. With that she whirls around, nearly colliding into Kara’s chest, but she still manages to lift her head up high and stare down that egotistical jackass. “I know you might think you’re entitled to any space you waltz into, but some of us mere mortals actually schedule training sessions. You know, like we’re supposed to.”

“I did schedule the—!” Kara has a tendency to become flustered mid-argument, it seems, because her mouth opens but no words come blustering out. Finally she settles on scowling when she declares, “You are a piece of work, you know that? Would it kill you to apologize to me once in a while?”

“That would imply that you have apologized to me at some point,” Lena scoffs. “Which you haven’t, for the record.”

“Yes I have,” Kara is quick to disagree.

Lena crosses her arms; it’s a challenge, and Kara immediately stands a little straighter when she notices. “Oh?” Lena prompts. “Like when?”

“Like…when I knocked into Brainy.”

“I fail to see how I fit in that scenario,” Lena says, “since you didn’t break my nose.”

Kara gives a little huff, as if this back and forth is all so inconvenient right now; as if she hasn’t instigated it. “Okay, but I apologized for disrupting your practice, remember? I took complete responsibility even though it was your fault you couldn’t keep track of when your team was scheduled—”

“That was not an apology. You literally said ‘Sorry Luthor, we need this more than you do’ and then refused to leave for the next half hour!”

“But I said sorry in there, ergo, it is an apology.”

“Well then, when my team beats yours to dust I’ll be sure to apologize properly for that in that exact same sympathetic manner,” Lena sneers.

Somehow, trash talk only makes that dumb, signature Kara Danvers grin come back, completely wiping away any sign of vexation. “Oh yeah? Tell me more, wise old Ravenclaw—”

Before Lena can even begin to dissect that childish comeback (and stupid sing-songy imitation of the Sorting Hat), other students come filtering down the hall and they are practically swept up in the masses. One kid completely shoulders Lena before she even realizes what’s happening; she stumbles to the left, nearly collides with the wall, and opens her mouth to shout, but then:

“Hey!” Kara is already brandishing her wand with one hand and catching the boy’s collar with the other. “Ten points from Hufflepuff! You could’ve hurt someone, walking around without looking where you’re going.”

Lena bites her tongue to stop from making a quip on how ironic that statement is, because Kara is engrossed in a stare-off with the pimply sixth year who is demanding to see her prefect badge to prove Kara can even take points. She would normally side with the kid—anything to knock Kara Danvers down a peg—but, well. For once, Lena can’t be bothered to actively hate someone getting into a heated argument on her behalf.

Two minutes later and the boy stomps off with ten points gone from his house and a detention to boot. Kara, meanwhile, is still frowning as he leaves. “Are you okay?” she asks absentmindedly, still tracking the kid’s every movement with her eyes. “I swear, if there weren’t so many witnesses I would’ve hexed him.”

“Winning move for a prefect, I’m sure,” Lena says dryly, and Kara turns towards her with that slow-growing buffoonish smile and another sheepish nudge of her glasses. Her next words kind of just fall out, almost as if she’d never formed them in her mouth but in the deep recesses of her subconscious alone: “You know, you confuse me.”

“Huh?” Another nudge. The smile slips a fraction, but just enough to show Kara is slightly confused by the change in subject.

You confuse me, Lena wants to repeat. You are the opposite of self-aware. You are messy, and reckless, and selfless whenever it counts and it’s confusing because all I can really hate you for is being able to get away with being imperfect and still be adored by everyone.

But none of those words, thankfully, leave her head. All she says is, “Your approach to discipline confuses me. It’s not like he purposely tried to run into me—ten points might have been too harsh.”

“This coming from the girl who once threatened to curse me into oblivion for tripping her when we were twelve?” Kara’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who are you and what have you done to Lena Luthor? No, hold on, I know. You’re really Jess in disguise, right?”

“Hilarious, Danvers. I wouldn’t quit Quidditch, it might be the only place you’re suited for,” Lena mocks, but all Kara does is laugh.

“Nope, definitely Lena,” Kara says, and the way she says it is almost…fond. Come to think of it, Lena can’t remember a time where Kara actually called her Lena. It’s always Luthor and Danvers and stop breaking the faces of my best players and never—never anything else.

Lena clears her throat and looks away; she can’t take another second of those warm, bright eyes. “Whatever,” she says. “I…guess I’ll see you on the pitch.”

“Sure thing,” Kara says, and she takes a step back, tucking her wand into her pocket. “I’ll be the one rocking the winning team uniform.”

Slowly, Lena begins to feel the corner of her mouth twitch. Completely unbidden, completely unpredictable. “Dream on, Danvers.” She allows the space between them to grow, but their eyes remain locked, and the air feels heavy—thick—and the weight of their shared gaze holds a meaning Lena can’t possibly unpack right now.

But Kara’s tongue pokes out between her teeth cheerfully, and she doesn’t appear half as bothered by this development. “Always, if you’re in them,” she says, twists a little on her heel to walk away, but she pauses while she is still in earshot. “You know—next time you can just thank me for defending you.”

“You mean abusing your power as a prefect,” Lena replies automatically even as her head is running a mile a minute; even as Kara is getting farther and farther away and the scratch on her glasses lens catches the light.

“That too!” Kara shouts as she gets lost in the crowd, and damn her, Lena has to put her hand over her mouth to hide the absolute idiotic smile that has formed on her own face.

(Joint blame indeed, Lena muses, and she figures that she might as well form a rivalry with the Slytherins instead of the Gryffindors after all).

#this is both a threat and a reminder that im still working on these #😌😌😌#supercorp #supergirl #bisexualgoof #i need a fic tag #disclaimer that i still do not know anything about hp #im doing more research on harry potter than i do writing smh

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