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crushed-like-an-ant · 4 years ago

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how to calm down an angry billionaire

Step 1. Deflect.

Peter was good at deflection. Always had been. It was a skill he'd picked up after people constantly tried to ask him about his feelings after his parents died, then again when Ben died. Any questions he didn't want to answer quickly turned into an animated conversation about whatever his mind thought of first (there had been that awkward time he'd asked a fellow orphan how their parents were), an apology and fast excuse to get the hell out of there (mostly worked except when he was panicking and the best he could come up with was a cheese making competition, that had caused a lot of questions Peter would rather never deal with again), or just flat out running away (sometimes he ran into poles or walls which was always a bit embarrassing given he was literally Spider-man). Sometimes Peter had to use all three options. So Peter knew when Tony finally decided to have the dreaded conversation about the whole not-my-first-time-holding-up-a-building thing, he would be able to deflect it. Or so he thought. Turns out, Peter had drastically underestimated the sheer stubbornness of Tony Stark.

It was a lab day, around three weeks after the incident where Peter and Tony had been stuck under a building and Peter stupidly let slip that he’d held up a building before. Peter had thought Tony had forgotten about his words. He was comfortable, tentatively confident and optimistic that it wouldn't be brought up again. He had no idea how wrong he was.

"Hey kid?" Tony said, cutting the comfortable silence between them as they worked, tone slightly hesitant. Peter should've picked up on it. He should've realised. But he'd grown complacent. So Peter ignored the dread pooling in his stomach and lifted his head from the mess of wires in front of him to look at Tony.

"Mr Stark?" he replied with a smile that Tony didn't return. Nor did he try to tell Peter to call him Tony. And that was how Peter knew something was wrong. Nerves skittered down his spine, clod fingers of dread snaking around his neck as nervous energy filled him and he began to tap on the desk. Anything to distract himself from the sorrow and worry shining in his mentor's brown eyes.

"Look kid, uh, I," Tony fumbled for words. Shit. This was bad. If Tony Stark was struggling to say something, you knew it was serious. Peter just stared at him in silence,unsure of what to say, anxiety coursing through his veins at the grimace that clouded Tony's features. What could possibly have gotten him into this mood? Had Peter done something wrong? Was he gonna, oh god, was he gonna take the suit? "Pete, I need to know what you meant when we were under the building," Tony finally managed to say, Peter relaxing. Oh. That was all?

"I just meant that I'd lifted a lot of heavy things," Peter half-lied, looking Tony straight in the eyes and lying to his face, mindful to make sure his tells were carefully under control. Training with Daredevil - despite Tony's misgivings about Double D - had been one of the best decisions Peter had ever made. He felt a twinge of guilt as he lied to Tony but it's not like he could tell the truth. And he wasn't really lying. Just withholding the entire truth. He shrugged nonchalantly, "Anyways, you reckon you can help me with this? I'm stuck. My mind kinda decided to go and die on me." Peter chuckled quietly. Tony wasn't laughing.

"I want to believe you, kid," Tony told him, "I really do. But I can't. You had a panic attack under there. What aren't you telling me Peter? Whatever it is, I'm here for you. You can tell me anything. And I don't want to pressure you into telling me anything until you're ready but I-I just-I need to know what happened. I need to know what you meant." Peter's resolve almost broke as Tony's voice broke. No. He couldn't tell Tony. Not only would Tony think he was weak, but Peter knew that Mr Stark would blame himself because he took the suit. Peter couldn't let him do that. Option one had failed him, so it was onto option 2. Make a quick exit without raising any suspicions. Yeah, he didn't think that was gonna work. Worth a shot though.

"Hey, Mr Stark," Peter said after checking his watch and pretending to look shocked at the time, "I'm really sorry but I have to go. I promised Ned we'd work on our Bio project tonight and I'm already seven minutes late." Mr Stark raised an eyebrow and pulled up a picture of Ned on his holiday in California.

"Nice try kid," Tony replied drily. Peter sighed, shoulders slumping. Time for option three then.

"I-I don't really know how to tell you, uh," Peter deliberately stuttered, guilt eating him up inside as he put on an act for Tony. For option three to work, Peter had to catch Tony off guard otherwise he'd react too quickly and lock the tower down. His act work, Tony's features softening and body relaxing.

"It's okay, bambino, take your time." And if that didn't make him feel like a horrible person, nothing would. Peter stood and padded over to some machinery near the exit, pretending to be trying to busy himself as he worked himself up to answering Tony when he was actually getting closer to the door.

"I, uh," Peter stumbled. Tony was now far away enough that Peter could easily run without being grabbed and stopped. The door was right there. Peter took his opportunity. He ran. Out the door, down the hallway, flying to the elevator. Pressing the button frantically, Peter groaned when nothing happened. Great. Tony had stopped the elevators. Sighing, Peter pulled the mask from his pocket and pulled it over his head, sprinting at the window. Peter burst through the window in a shower of glass, activating his web shooters as he fell, quickly shooting a web and catching himself. And he was swinging, swinging, swinging. Allowing himself to smile at his escape, Peter was unprepared when he was grabbed from behind by two cold metal hands. Thanks for nothing spidey sense. Tony flew a sulking Peter back through the broken window and into one of the meeting rooms, setting him down firmly in a seat. Peter crossed his arms, pouting as he pulled off his mask, Tony's Iron Man suit unfolding around him and the man stepping out, an unimpressed look painted across his features.

"You done deflecting yet?" Tony asked, a single eyebrow raised. Damn. Peter wished he could do that. Alas, no amount of practising in front of a mirror had ever given him the talent to lift one eyebrow and not look like a demented monkey. Time for a different strategy. Deflection had failed him. But Peter would not go down easy.

~~~

Step 2. Deny.

The unfortunate thing about this step was that Peter would always over-deny. He would deny everything or nothing. There was no in between. For example, he was once denying eating the last bit of chocolate and ended up accidentally telling May his name wasn't Peter and that he was an alien from outer space with a severe lettuce allergy. Don't ask. Peter really didn't want to relive that trauma. So although Peter always tried his best with denial, it never really worked out in his favour. Honestly, it was through sheer dumb luck that he managed to keep Spider-Man a secret from his friends and family for so long. It was probably some good karma that had been waiting for the perfect moment to help him out. It was a little late but hey, better late than never right?

"No," Peter blurted in a panic. Shock splashed across Tony's face as he folded his arms.

"Kid, you know you can tell me anything, right?" Tony told him gently.

"No," Peter exclaimed again, hurt painting the billionaire's face. "I mean, yes." Shitshitshitshitshit. Peter was an idiot. He had to deny everything - but not everything, Peter, remember the lettuce incident - so Mr Stark wouldn't find out. But Peter had always been shit at denial.

"Look, I know this is probably hard for you to talk about," Tony continued on, oblivious to Peter's internal panic, "but I won't judge you. I love you, bambino. You know that right? And I'll support you no matter what but I can't help you if you don't let me."

"No," Peter said. It was the only word he knew. Any more and he would have another lettuce incident or he'd end up rambling the truth. He couldn't do that. So his current vocabulary was limited to 'no', 'no', 'no' with a side of 'no'. Which wasn't suspicious at all. Totally.

"What the hell, kid?" Tony asked, mostly confused, slight irritation colouring his tone. Peter was hyper-aware of the thundering beat his heart was drumming to, the way Tony's slightly picked up when he said 'no', the sweat covering his body like a second skin. Tony's sigh sounded like a bomb to his sensitive ears, the sharp intake of breath before he spoke like a blaring alarm. "What did you mean when you said it wasn't your first time?"

"I didn't," Peter responded, brain not quite computing, "nothing happened." Tony's gaze narrowed. Shit. Was Tony going to take the suit if he didn't tell him? But Peter just couldn't tell him. He couldn't.

"Fucking hell Peter, just tell me dammit!" Tony exclaimed, running a hand through his messy brown hair in frustration. Peter knew - with the certainty that he knew his own name or the colour of his eyes - that denial had failed him. Time for Peter's next strategy.

~~~

Step 3. Stretch the truth.

When Peter's other strategies failed him, he turned to stretching the truth. It was simple really, just take the truth and dial it down from boiling hot to freezing cold and give it to the person on a silver platter with a charmingly innocent - and only slightly nervous - smile. Half-truths were easy to fool people with. Someone had said that the best lies were the ones based on truth. Peter couldn't remember who exactly had said that. He had never been very good with that sort of stuff, unlike MJ. So although stretching the truth was Peter's third option, he'd always been surprisingly good at it. People seemed to believe he was too innocent to be able to lie. Which was absurd because he'd spent ten years living with his Aunt and her terrible cooking and she still didn't know he hated her walnut date loaf.

"Okay," Peter conceded quietly and the rage slowly left Tony as he deflated like a balloon, looking smaller without all the fury. Peter sat down in front of Tony. "It was back in the fight with The Vulture and he threw a wall at me. I caught it and threw it back at him but he dodged it with his super awesome flying skills." Tony looked him straight in the eyes for a few seconds, Peter holding his gaze before Tony leaned forward.

"Cut the bullshit," Tony whispered, dangerously quiet, tightly compressed anger stemming from worry swimming in his brown eyes. "A wall wouldn't stay together if it was thrown, caught and thrown back. Even then, you wouldn't say it wasn't your first time while holding a building up unless you'd held up a fucking building already. And you wouldn't have a panic attack from holding up a building about something thrown at you. So stop lying to me, Peter Benjamin Parker." Damn. The full name. Peter released a heavy exhale, knowing he was beaten. He had to tell Mr Stark the truth.

"It actually was in the fight with the Vulture," Peter began, "so I wasn't lying about that. And I did have to catch a few walls." Tony raised his eyebrows at Peter's weak attempts at defending himself. "I went to his warehouse and he sent his flying suit at me. It wasn't particularly good at attacking 'cause it hadn't even touched me. I said that and Toomes told me it wasn't trying to." Tony inhaled sharply, clasping his hands together to stop them from shaking, Peter trying not to listen to how Tony's hands still hit each other gently. Enhanced hearing sucked sometimes. "He had directed the suit to take out all the supports in the building." Tony gasped, expression contorted into one of such extreme guilt and sorrow that Peter wanted to shelter Tony from the world for the rest of his days because goddammit he's seen too much and been through enough and couldn't the world just give him a fucking break for once? No one deserved one more than Mr Stark did.

"I took the suit," Tony whispered, voice thick with emotion, "I took the suit. It was your only protection, damn it, and I took the fucking suit!" Tony was yelling now, self-hatred and rage dancing in his wild brown eyes.

"It wasn't your fault, Mr Stark," Peter tried to tell him.

"How?" Tony scoffed, laughing bitterly, "How was this not my fault. I took the suit and you got hurt because of my mistake."

"It's okay, Mr Stark, you didn't know," Peter said.

"But I should've," Tony replied, "I should've known." Peter's features hardened, spine turning to steel. He wouldn't let Mr Stark blame himself for this. The blame was on Toomes and only on Toomes.

"Did you pilot the Vulture suit?" Peter asked firmly.

"What?"

"Did. You. Pilot. The. Vulture. Suit." Peter repeated, staring defiantly at Tony.

"No, of course not," Tony replied, slight confusion clinging to his features.

"And did you cause the building to fall?" he continued.

"No."

"Then it's not your fault," Peter told him simply.

"Kid, I shouldn't have taken the suit," Tony began, dropping his head into his hands. He opened his mouth to continue but Peter cut him off before he could say anything equally self-deprecating.

"Maybe," Peter allowed, "but then I wouldn't found out I was strong enough to get back up again. 'If you're nothing without the suit then you shouldn't have it'. You told me that. I thought the suit made Spider-man and I lost sight of what Spider-man really meant. God, I started out in a fricking onesie. That's what Spider-man represents. Not a hero with a multi-million dollar suit, but someone with nothing but their will to save others. Without you taking the suit, I never would've remembered everything Spider-man stood for.; With great power comes great responsibility. You gave me that tough love moment and I needed it. Now it's my turn to dish out some tough love for you." Peter took a deep breath. "You, Tony Stark, are being a fucking idiot. The blame of what happened in the past lies with Adrian Toomes, and Adrian Toomes alone. So stop this self-deprecating bullshit and use your fucking brain for once in your life. It. Was. Not. Your. Fault." Tony looked up at him, the self-hatred drained from his features, a slight smile adorning his lips which Peter returned.

"You're right, kid," Tony said, "when did you get this wise?"

"I've always been this wise, Mr Stark, I just wanted you to feel better about your lack of common sense," Peter joked, Tony chuckling.

"It wasn't my fault," Tony repeated. Peter tilted his head, confused at the strange undertone in Tony's voice only to see a fire lit in his caramel eyes. "I'm going to kill that son of a bitch."

And it was then that he knew he fucked up.

~~~

Step 4. Try some breathing exercises.

Peter had always been shit at breathing exercise. He just didn't have the patience for them. While he was breathing, someone could be getting raped in an alley, a shop could be getting robbed, or a kid could be getting beat up. So - despite the constant reminders to just try the damn breathing exercises for the love of god - Peter had never done anything of the sort. How could he? With his enhanced senses, it was impossible to relax. Would you be able to sit there and breathe while screams rang in your ears and sobbing pounded in your mind? Naturally, this meant that Peter wasn't the most experienced when it came to said breathing exercises. Maybe he should've practised. Life always had a funny way of throwing Peter in the deep end headfirst and tied to a ten ton weight and expecting him to swim. However, he had once read in a self-help book that breathing exercises were good for calming people down, so he decided to hit fuck it for the sixth time in the last 48 hours and try it out. I mean, it was that or release an angry billionaire in a metal suit decked out with the most advanced weapons in the world (except for maybe what HYDRA had because honestly Peter knew better than to underestimate them and he mildly respected their cockroach-like survival skills) who was hell-bent on revenge and gave zero fucks into the world. The second option was beginning to sound quite tempting, Peter would be honest.

"Mr Stark, you need to calm down," Peter told the man gently, placing a hand on Tony's shoulder. Tony tilted his head up to look at Peter - rage splashed across his face, tension lining his body - before he shrugged off Peter's hand and jerked into a standing position. And the room was suffocating, suffocating, suffocating, because damn had Tony always been that scary. A cloud of darkness surrounded Tony, filling the lab up and winding itself slowly around Peter's neck, stealing the breath from his lungs. Tony stormed through the lab, footsteps like thunder, anger crackling like lightning. Desperately, Peter followed the billionaire. "Mr Stark, Mr Stark, please calm down," Peter pleaded with him.

"No," Tony spoke, voice cold and flat, tone totally devoid of emotion, so totally opposite to the fury painting his entire body like a second skin. "No I will not calm down, Peter. He dropped a fucking building on you. He deserves to die."

"But you don't deserve to live with the guilt of killing him," Peter begged, tugging at Tony's sleeve in a desperate attempt to stop the man from his warpath. Peter knew he could easily overpower Tony. But he was hoping it wouldn't come to that. "Trust me, I know how it feels to want revenge, I really do, but you have to let it go. Please, Mr Stark."

"Dammit Peter, he hurt you!" Tony shouted, whirling around to face Peter, features twisted and manically furious. "He hurt you a-and I wasn't there and you had to deal with being crushed by a fucking building and then you got up and kept fighting because of that sick son of a bitch so I swear to fucking god I will murder him." Tony's eyes held a frenzied wildness in them, chest heaving up and down, Peter could hear his heart racing.

"Mr Stark, try some breathing," Peter said out of desperation, completely and utterly out of ideas. "Just breath. In and out, in and out." Tony's momentary surprise shocked him out of his anger, confusion flickering across his face momentarily before the anger was back, stronger than ever. Tony pivoted on his heel and walked away from Peter, heading towards where he kept his suits and leaving a heavy sense of dread pooling in Peter's stomach and twisting his insides in knots. So breathing hadn't worked. Thanks for nothing self-help books.

~~~

Step 5. Hack the most advanced AI in the world.

When in doubt, do something potentially illegal. A mugger had once told Peter that after Peter caught her trying to rob a young man. That lady had been fucking badass. It was honestly a shame she's gone to prison but a criminal is a criminal. Turns out the lady had been responsible for a string of high-end bank and jewellery robberies. Peter wondered how she was doing. Probably not well, considering how shit the American jail system is. Peter always tried to find alternative ways to stop criminals, only really sending in the pedophiles, rapists, murderers and the more professional robbers. Sometimes people had no choice in the shitty hand life had dealt them and goddamn if Peter didn't get that. People were just pushed and pushed until they were left with nothing but desperation. Maybe if the government or any of the fucking American systems were better or did their jobs properly then people wouldn't have to steal just to keep themselves and their families from starvation. Maybe Toomes wouldn't have started his alien tech business and then none of this would have even happened. Peter wouldn't be in this situation right now. And Peter was now out of options. He had an angry billionaire on his hands and absolutely no idea what to do. So, he took the lady's advice and decided to do something potentially illegal. He hacked the most advance AI in the world. (What, like it's hard?)

"Hey FRI?" Peter called with a wince.

"Yes, Peter," the AI replied.

"I'm really sorry," Peter told her before bringing up FRIDAY's code. (A/N - I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT COMPUTERS SO THIS IS GONNA BE SOME VAGUE, QUESTIONABLE AF HACKING) Fingers flying across the keys of the laptop, Peter bit his lip in concentration, brows furrowed. He had to hurry and shut down Mr Stark's suits before he reached them and left to murder Toomes. Adrenaline coursed through his body, brain whirring to life like the computer before him as he deleted lines of code, rewriting and altering the code that created FRIDAY as he tore down the firewalls Mr Stark had built. Peter vaguely registered that this was probably illegal and that Mr Stark would most definitely be mad about this later but he quickly waved the thoughts away. He didn't have time for them, he didn't have time, he didn't have time. Barely registering what he was doing, Peter submerged himself into the world of numbers, immersing himself completely in the ocean of lines of code, fingers instinctively knowing what t do as though he'd been born to hack. Again, probably not a great thing that this was so easy. But computers had always made sense to Peter. After what felt like hours but was really only a few minutes, Peter was into FRIDAY's system. And with a few taps, Peter shut down the suits. Quickly exiting the browser, Peter dropped his head into his hands. He'd done it. With a long exhale, Peter relaxed, leaning back into his chair and running his shaking hands through his hair. An enraged roar broke the peaceful quiet surrounding Peter and he squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe if he ignored it, Mr Stark's anger would go away. He couldn't deal with this shit. Peter was too young to die.

"Peter Benjamin Parker I swear to fucking god-"

"You probably shouldn't fuck god, Mr Stark," Peter couldn't resist remarking with a shit-eating grin. "People might get a bit mad. And who knows, you may even end up pregnant which I can't imagine will be very fun."

"What the fuck?" Tony whispered into the silence that followed Peter's statement. "I don't even want to know what goes on in your brain." Peter hummed in agreement. To be honest, he had no idea what was going on up there half the time. He was just along for the ride. And hey, if it distracted Mr Stark from his anger then it was a win win situation right? (How Peter won in this scenario he didn't know but he didn't question it).

"It's the trauma," Peter replied flippantly, as casual as one would be if they were discussing the weather.

"The-" Tony broke off into angry, confused gibberish that Peter didn't even try to decipher. Crisis averted. Now to deal with the aftermath.

~~~

Step 6. Watch a movie.

Peter Parker wasn't good with emotions. Being a socially awkward sixteen-year-old genius had that effect on a person. Not to mention the fact that he had a crime-fighting, sarcastic alter ego. Yeah, he wasn't great with feelings. Especially not his own. And now he was attempting to help Mr Stark clam down after the whole Toomes-dropping-a-building-on-him-reveal thing. And the only way an emotionally stunted teenage genius superhero knew how to help an emotionally stunted adult genius superhero was something most people would not class as a healthy coping mechanism. Distraction. Preferably with a movie.

"Hey Mr Stark, wanna watch Empire Strikes Back?" Peter asked. Tony fell into a confused silence which Peter took as an agreement. "Yes? Perfect, let's go." Grabbing Tony's arm, Peter tugged him out of the lab and into the elevator, confusion splashed across Tony's features as they entered the movie room. Peter dropped onto the expensive yet incredibly comfortable couch in the centre of the room, pulling Tony down beside him. "Hey FRI? Can you please play The Empire Strikes Back."

"Certainly, Peter," FRIDAY replied, a hint of warmth in her robotic voice. The Star Wars theme filled the room, Peter lips kicking up into a smile at the familiar sound. And as the movie played, Peter reciting every single line with the characters, he felt the rage and tension slowly drain out of his mentor as he relaxed.

"Hey, kid," Tony whispered, interrupting Luke and Darth Vader's showdown. "I sorry for getting angry. I just... I just didn't know what to do. Instead of asking if you were okay I blamed myself and wanted to frigging murder a guy who's already suffering in prison."

"It's okay, Mr Stark," Peter responded with a smile, sincerity gracing his tone. "I get it. After Ben died, I found his murderer. I almost killed the guy," Peter chuckled without humour, Tony watching him with sad eyes, the movie forgotten. "Point is, I know how it feels to want revenge. Don't apologise for being human."

"You really are the best of us all, kid," Tony remarked, a smile adoring his face, features relaxed as he looked at Peter.

"I learned from the best," Peter replied with a shrug.

"Thanks, kid," Tony said, throat tight with emotion.

"I meant May," Peter joked lightly, the heavy emotion clouding the room vanishing as Tony laughed.

"Are you okay, kid?" Tony asked, seriousness settling over them again.

"Honestly?" Peter responded, "no. But that's alright. Because I will be." Peter held Tony's gaze, warmth blossoming in his chest at his mentor's caring eyes, as Darth Vader's voice filled the room.

"No, I am your father," Darth Vader spoke. Peter turned back to the movie, watching as Luke jumped and fell.

"You're gonna be okay, kid," Tony whispered, "we're both gonna be okay."

Because Peter would be okay. So Tony was okay too.

And if Pepper walked in three hours later to find them curled up against each other, fast asleep she never said anything. (She got FRIDAY to take a photo and saved it to Irondad and Spiderson - an unsurprisingly large file. She should probably get Peter to do a DNA test. They did look rather similar)

#fanfic #peter parker #spider-man #iron man #irondad #father-son #pepper potts #unhealed trauma #marvel #the avengers #spider son #bamf peter parker #tired dad Tony #tony stark #aunt may

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afictionalwhore · 4 years ago

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Room for Two

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❀ AN: this is a gift for @lorlocks as a thank you for all her wonderful and beautiful art. Pls go check her out. She is amazing OTL

❀ TW: Shig being fluffy?

❀ WC: 2.6k

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It was in college that you met Shigaraki and the rest of the League. After a rough week of classes you wandered into the bar operated by the League. In your drunken state, you had confided your college girl woes to Kurogiri, who handed information about your quirk to Shigaraki. Later in the week, you found the leader of the League, along with Dabi, sitting on your worn couch. The two had planned to kidnap you, but after just a few minutes of talking, they were pleasantly surprised to find that you were more than willing to just go along with them.

Due to your quiet demeanor, you weren’t usually picked to go out on missions with the others, but your beloved leader deemed it dangerous enough to make use of your quirk. You didn’t have a dangerous quirk like Toga or Shig. It was the opposite. You could project a force field and protect those surrounding you from both physical attacks and objects and quirks like Aizawa and Shinsou’s. Your quirk, shield, was perfect for hero work. You were even recommended to UA in the sidekick program. But your social skills failed and you graduated without a job lined up and without friends.

This is how you ended up with Shig. You were scheduled to go on a small breakin mission the next morning with Shig as a test of your quirk before his planned attack on your alma mater. He wanted to make sure you could protect him in case anything went wrong.

You traveled far outside the usual vicinity of league activities so as not to arouse suspicion. Hours into your journey, as the sun began to set, your tire blew.

“Fucking dammit,” Shig said as he kicked the blown tire after you pointed out the screw lodged in it. Luckily, you had learned a few mechanics from your father. The man insisted you knew how to change a tire lest you fall helpless to a gang of villains on the side of the road. You shook your head, knowing his disapproval if he saw your current company now.

Shigaraki’s pacing and grumbling behind you made you more nervous than you’d have liked. You coughed while working, hoping to gain his attention. The lanky man continued his ways, wearing a hole in the dirt behind you. You coughed again, this time catching his attention.

“What’s the matter?” he scratched.

“Nothing, just. It’s getting late, and I think we should find a place for the night.”

“And? So?”

“Well, uh,” you stuttered. “There's a motel not far down the road. We passed it not long ago. Umm. Why don’t you get us a couple rooms for the night?”

The heavy padding of Shigaraki’s footsteps stopped behind you. You felt his staring on your back, and panicked for a moment. You tracked back through what you could have said to have upset him. Suggesting he walk alone back to a shady motel in the middle of nowhere could definitely have done it.

“You’re right,” you heard his rough, scratchy voice and felt yourself visibly relax.

“My, um,” you stumbled through your words, not expecting to get this far. “My wallet is in the console. You can get my card out and—”

“Tsch,” Shigaraki cut you off, “Are you stupid or something? Use your card with your name? They’ll trace back to you and expose us. It’s fine. I have cash.” A dry hand reached up to scratch at his neck.

There was the Shig you knew and loved. But he had a good point. You blushed as you bent back down to continue your work.

You relaxed as you heard Shigaraki’s footsteps recede. You were finally able to focus on the task at hand. You thought about your situation as you removed the hubcap. You had gone with Shigaraki and Dabi first to find meaning in your lonely life. The more time you spent with the league, you began to find your place in the world.

You never really had a place to fit in, and maybe that’s why you felt that you finally did fit in with the League of Villains. All of you, in some way, shape, or form, were outcasts of society and held a distaste for hero society. Even in the place you felt you fit best, you were still deemed an oddball. Shy and always blushing, you never really had much to say, opting to go along with what the others wanted.

It was safe to say that now you were in love with your boss. It was true that you initially went with the villainous pair back to the hideout because you wanted something more to your life, but you couldn’t deny your initial attraction to the pale, blue-haired man. He intrigued you, to say the least. But as you learned more about what exactly it was that made him tick, you found yourself falling for the man. You prayed your blush would go unnoticed every time his crimson eyes met yours.

Before you knew it, you had successfully replaced the flat tire with the spare. You made your way back toward the motel, slowly so as not to upset the spare you knew wouldn’t make it over forty. You slowly rolled the car into the decrepit parking lot, careful not to hit too many of the potholes littering the asphalt.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you heard the old receptionist say as you walked in through dusty glass doors. The jingle of a bell caused her to look up at you and away from Shigaraki. She glanced back towards the chatter of voices from the TV behind her, clearly more concerned about the soap opera in the background that she was missing due to her argument with your boss. “We only have the one room.”

Shigaraki turned to see you had made it, a hand pausing its scratching on the back of his neck. Behind you past the dirty glass doors sat your car in the lot. For a moment you thought you saw a flicker of relief in his bright red eyes. Your heart jumped at the thought of him thinking of you. You shoved the fluttering feeling back down and told yourself he was only relieved at your presence as a way to end his argument with the frumpy receptionist.

“Fine,” he sighed as he snatched the plastic key card from the woman. “We’ll take it. Save some money I guess.”

After stumbling awkwardly through the halls, you had finally found your room. It took three tries with the key card before you were actually in your room. It was everything you expected to be, judging from the looks of the exterior of the motel.

Yellowing, floral wallpaper that was as old as your grandparents decorated the room. The ceiling boasted a popcorn texture that you were sure contained enough asbestos to send the entirety of the League to the hospital. The carpet was a cream color, dingy with age and rough on your feet. There was a small ensuite, which you were thankful for, from which you could hear the gentle dripping off the shower. Against one wall was a TV that had to have been from the late 90s, high technology of its time now bought at a discount rate to furnish a sketchy motel. Perhaps the worst part of the setup was right across from the TV: a single bed in the middle of the room.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“Maybe there’s a pull-out? I’ve seen something like it on American TV,” you suggested, trying to alleviate the awkwardness that settled into the room.

“Don’t be stupid,” Shigaraki said. He walked towards the bed before flopping on top, shoes still on. The headboard was placed against a long wall, and the floral bedding looked as scratchy as your partner sounded. He dug through the bedside table, searching for a remote to the television.

You took your shoes off by the door before slipping your stockinged feet into the complementary slippers. They were once a soft yet vibrant pink, but now they boasted a dirty, pale gray with a hint of their former pink glory. You padded your way to the bed and sat stiffly on the edge of the bed as Shigaraki occupied the majority of the space on the bed. He looked bored, irritated even as he lazily searched the TV. After a few seconds, which felt like eternity to you, you stood and walked over to the bathroom.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you said, standing in front of the en suite while Shigaraki flipped through the few channels on the cable television. You stood for a moment, waiting to be acknowledged by the man.

“Well?” he said, eyes still glued to the faint blue glow of the screen. “Why are you just standing there? Go take a shower.”

“I just wanted to see if you wanted to go first or needed anything before I start,” you said, before turning to the bathroom and gently closing the door behind you.

You slipped on the rubber shower slippers, praying you wouldn’t get athlete’s foot or worse. On the near end of the bathroom, old towels rested on a shelf above the toilet. Across was the shower. After a moment of fiddling with the knobs, you managed to turn on the shower. The pressure was better than you had expected, and you thanked the heavens that you didn’t have to wait long for the hot spray. A hot shower was just what you needed to wash away your anxieties.

When you finished, you stepped out of the bathroom and slipped back into the sad pink slippers. Shigaraki was on the bed with a pizza.

“Figured you’d get hungry,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and helping himself to another slice.

You sat back down on the bed, staying in the corner you previously occupied before your shower.

“Thank you,” you said. You were thankful for the dull orangey lighting that hid your blush from Shigaraki’s scrutinizing red gaze.

The two of you ate in silence, watching whatever American drama Shigaraki had found. After a few hours, your exhaustion had caught up with you. Your yawning hadn’t gone unnoticed by Shigaraki.

“We should go to sleep now.” Shigaraki swung his lanky body off the bed to go turn off the lights.

“I could sleep on the floor, if you want,” you offered.

“No, it’s fine,” Shigaraki huffed. He clambered back onto the bed and refused to look at you as he pulled the blankets over him. “Just stay on your side.”

“Okay,” you sighed. “Goodnight, Shigaraki.”

“Goodnight,” came the rough reply you weren’t expecting.

Despite your heart pounding in your chest, loud enough that you swore Shigaraki could hear it as well, you drifted off with a smile on your face.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

Shigaraki never had a normal sleeping schedule. He was used to waking up at odd hours in the early morning while everyone else was asleep.

With a slight groan, Shigaraki stretched and turned to look at the cheap alarm clock on the bedside table on the other side of you. Electric red numbers stared back at his crimson eyes, reading 2:31. He looked at your dozing frame beside him, curled into the corner of the single bed in order to give him space. Slowly, so as not to disturb you, he slipped out of the bed. He was thankful for the rough carpet and not cold hard flooring as he padded his way to the cramped bathroom.

“Shit,” he whispered as he flicked on the lights. The buzzing of the fan echoed throughout the motel room. Shigaraki glanced over to your sleeping form to make sure he hadn’t disrupted you. Everything always seems too loud at two in the morning. But since you were asleep and he was trying to be quiet, everything felt truly too loud: the soft hum of the fluorescent bathroom lights, the irritating fan, the flushing of the toilet, the padding of his feet back across the dirty carpet, and the creak of the bed as he crawled back in beside you.

Shigaraki lay awake for some time, studying patterns in the horrendous popcorn ceiling like a child looking for shapes in the clouds. You lay fast asleep beside him. As Shigaraki listened to your gentle sleeping, he thought about what you meant to him. You had a valuable quirk for sure, and he was thankful for Kurogiri tipping him off about you. The truth was that he already knew of you. His eyes had been locked on you since the moment you walked into the bar, and when you went with him so willingly that fateful day, he thought he would melt on the spot.

Of course, Shigaraki had an image to uphold. He would die before admitting he had feelings for you. When you mentioned getting a motel, he couldn’t believe his luck. When there was only one room left, he thought he had to be in a dream. His fumbling with the key card was from his nervousness about sharing a room with you. He felt like a teenage boy trying and failing to impress you. His heart nearly leapt out of his throat when he saw the single bed in the motel room. When you stepped out of the bathroom wringing your hair out in a towel, head cocked adorably to the side, he thought he really had died earlier and gone to heaven, despite his actions on earth.

Shigaraki was terrified that you wouldn’t return his feelings. He was repulsive in his eyes. Who would want him with his scratchy voice, too high for a man in his opinion? His shaggy pale hair, rampant with dandruff? And his dry, flaking skin, that every lotion on earth never seemed to help? Looks aside, Shigaraki couldn’t take you out on dates. He couldn’t give you what you deserved. He couldn’t even hold your hand without risking your life. Shigaraki groaned as he dropped his face in his hands. Dabi would surely laugh at him if he could see him now.

A slight shaking of the bed broke him out of his thoughts. He turned to look at you as you continued to shiver. Shigaraki felt his heart swell as he took in your sleeping form. You were too good for him, having curled yourself onto the far side of the bed to give him enough room. You pushed the blankets off of yourself to keep him comfortable and warm.

Before he realized what he was doing, Shigaraki scooted himself closer to you. He pulled the blanket across him to cover your shivering form. It wasn’t until he had seen you relax that he was able to fall back into a dreamless sleep.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

The sun peeking through the gap in the curtains woke you up. The clock in front of you said it was only just past 7 A.M.

You hummed and tried to turn on your back, hoping to stretch your limbs, but something solid kept you from moving. You slowly opened your eyes, as though what you were hoping for would disappear if you opened them too quickly. It seemed too good to be true.

Curled into your back was the very object of your affections. His face was burrowed into his hair, and an arm was wrapped carefully around your waist. Even in sleep, he was careful not to touch you with all five fingers, instead curling his hand into a fist and tucking it underneath your bodies.

Gingerly, you tried to shift to relax your tensed muscles without disturbing Shigaraki.

“Stay,” you heard who was undeniably the man you were trying not to wake whisper. He nuzzled deeper into your hair and pressed his arm tighter against you.

“Okay,” you breathed, and relaxed against Shigaraki, a soft smile crossing your face, and fell back into a sweet sleep.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

#bnha shigaraki #shigaraki fluff #shigaraki x reader #a gift for you #i hope it’s ok #my beautiful humble queen #OTL

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hesgunnalovethis · 4 years ago

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Not That Bad

Leonard McCoy x Reader

Summary: You have the severity of your injuries in a twist sending Leonard McCoy’s blood pressure through the roof

TW: injury descriptions and strong language

ft. bestie Jim Kirk <333

Masterlist!

Word Count: 1737

“Yes. No. I understand Mr Spock. Cuttings on your desk in 40 minutes. Got it.” You closed your comm and checked your watch.

You’d spent 16 hours Planetside and after a complication that had landed most crew in the MedBay, you agreed to help out botany to complete the mission report. Really you didn’t have a clue what you were doing but you concluded it couldn’t be that hard.

Cross referencing the plants in front of you to the list on your PADD, you picked up the plier looking utensil and began clipping the stems from the root.

“Maybe I should transfer to science.” You muttered to yourself after you’d successfully pressed the first few cuttings into their sample bags.

Taking the next stem between your fingers you picked up the pliers and cut through the green and your fingertip, simultaneously. Blood shot upwards from your finger. You scoffed at the inconvenience.

You grabbed the first aid kit and examined the content that your Chief Medical Officer boyfriend had once talked you through and began to wish you’d listened.

Failing to remember anything, you wrapped a plaster around the top of your finger and watched it turn from white to red almost immediately. You tried layering another on top which bled through just as fast. After a failed third layer you took yourself from the lab and started towards the MedBay.

You stopped for a moment scouring your brain for which corridors to take. It had been so long since you’d actually journeyed to the MedBay by choice. You’d been utilising your doctor shared quarters.

Arriving at the desk you checked your watch again. 20 minutes before Spock was expecting you. You began to panic and turned to the receptionist.

“Could you ask Doctor McCoy to see me? It’s pretty urgent.” You said, grabbing a bundle of tissues from the display to contain the droplets falling from your finger.

The receptionist did as you asked and you heard Leonard through the comm.

“On the bridge?” He asked.

“No, Sir. Here in the MedBay.” The receptionist in front of you responded.

“In the Med-“ You heard a fuss beginning through the comm and then a room number you were to be assigned.

No sooner had you arrived, a half scrubbed in Leonard burst through the door desperately searching for what heinous emergency had beckoned you to his MedBay.

“Are you being serious right now!?” Leonard asked ripping off the last of his scrub uniform.

“Always good to see you too, Lee.” You responded, smiling.

Sighing softly he shot you an apologetic look and planted a kiss on your cheek.

“Hi, darlin’” He whispered letting down his doctor guard and allowing his southern drawl back in. He began to look you over again, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

You lifted your hand removing the tissue to reveal your slightly bloodied finger. Leonard took a step back rubbing his temples.

“Y/N, darlin’. PUT A PLASTER ON IT?!”

“I tried that! It keeps bleeding though!” You whined.

“There are people DYING in here, Y/N.”

“Oh go on, please. I have lab work due in 15 minutes and I can’t work with this bleeding all over the samples!”

Leonard sighed and moved to the other side of the room to collect the dermal regenerator. Taking your hand in his he kissed the cut before placing it under the machine.

He caught your eyes with his. “I left a 6 hour surgery for this.”

The next day you took your healed finger with you on your next mission where your team successfully released several hostages and transported their authoritative grasp to Enterprise Security.

“All clear, Jim.” You said to your comm after clearing the last room on your final check.

“Received. Take the turbolift to the bridge and let’s get out of here.”

Stepping into the foreign tube you found it very similar to Starfleet’s and got it moving towards the bridge. You began to hear Jim’s voice on the other side before the lift stumbled to a halt.

“Um, Jim?” You shouted through the metal.

“Great.” Jim said clocking the flashing error sign on the lift. “Don’t worry Lieutenant. We’ll... pry it open.”

“Full proof.” You said to yourself, getting ready to pull from your side.

After a brief plan outline and a countdown you began to pull. A small gap opened to the side and you managed to squeeze your body through before the door clattered closed on your newly regenerated finger.

“Again?! Why is it always you?” You asked your finger, pulling it from the metals grip and eying the purple residue left on it.

“Me?” Jim asked, doubled over from the effort he’d just exerted, before being distracted by his comm, “Bones! Yes, just calling to let you know of the ZERO injuries incoming to the MedBay!”

“Zero injuries?” You cut him off. “This is a broken bone for sure.”

“Oh my god.” Jim said in disgust looking at the weird purple oil all over the metal, your finger and subsequently his uniform. “Why is it that colour?!”

“Dammit, Jim.” You heard through the comm before Leonard hung up and Jim reconnected to the transporter room.

You arrived back on the transporter pad to Leonard’s eyes burning a hole in you and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Broken bone?” He said walking towards you.

“This bastard finger.” You said and Leonard took your wrist to examine it.

“THIS-“ He stopped abruptly and calmed himself. “This is a finger, Y/N. BARELY a bone.” He examined it further, “I’m not even convinced that’s broken?”

“Tell you what though, it really fucking hurts.” You petted your lip at him.

Slipping an arm around your waist he led you out of the transporter room and towards the MedBay. “Let’s get you patched up sweetheart, but we really have to talk about your hyperbole.”

It was a few days before you were due to arrive at your next destination and Jim had roped you into helping with his ensign combat training.

“It’s basically target practice.” Jim said in conclusion to a confused looking group of redshirts. “The phasers I’ve given you won’t shoot, but will read on the side if you’ve hit your target. It’s like laser tag! You’ve all played laser tag, right?” The room was silent. “And that’s another added to the list of shore leave activities.”

“Captain Kirk and I will be over here as moving targets.” You started, taking over from Jim. “Try and shoot me without hitting the Captain. Got it?”

You and Jim moved over to the course beginning the same choreographed fight you’d been using for years. You heard the pathetic fake phaser shots over and over and were beginning to question almost all of your life choices as a deafening shot fired and struck your side.

“Y/N!” Jim fell to your side, “PHASERS DOWN!” He shouted to the group briefly trying to determine which one hadn’t followed his only instruction ‘Do not bring your own phaser.’

There was a small commotion before you heard Jim’s voice again. “Kirk to MedBay I need a team to training room 1 immediately.”

You found yourself back in the same biobed you’d frequented for past 3 days consecutively and tried to keep up with the nurses’ quick conversations.

“Someone page McCoy now.” You heard one of them say.

“Not Leonard-“ You interrupted, “He’ll jus- is there anyone else?”

“Not anyone who could patch you up like Doctor McCoy.” One of the nurses stated opening their comm. “Doctor McCoy to room 6. On the double. It’s-“

“Lieutenant Y/L/N?” Leonard cut off the nurse.

“Yes.” She replied.

“For once I’m not even surprised.”

The nurses continued fussing around you and your biobed beeps became angrier.

You watched the door open and Leonard’s face turn from passiveness to urgency in a millisecond.

“My god!” He shouted, dropping his board and beginning to order nurses to different machines connected to your bed.

“Listen, Leonard it’s not THAT bad.”

“NOT THAT BAD?! YOU’VE BEEN SHOT?!” Leonard flicked his eyes between you and your vitals.

“Yeah, but, shot in a controlled environment.”

“You’ve been in here with a cut and a stave, guns blazing, and now you’ve been shot it’s ‘NOT THAT BAD?!’”

“Granted this doesn’t look-“ You were cut off by a wave of pain that sent you wincing.

“Hell.” Leonard turned to his own station briefly. “You’re not gonna like this sweetheart but you can tell me all about it when you’re back in one piece.” Leonard planted a kiss on your head and a hypo in your neck, sending you into sleep.

Coming back to, you heard your biobed beeping at a normal rhythm and a strong accent beside you.

“I don’t care what his test scores are, he shot a Lieutenant I want him gone.”

“Leonard.” You scolded.

“Darlin’” He moved to you instantly closing his comm without a word. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. Sore neck.” You said rubbing where he’d hypo’d you. His eyes were still racked with worry. “It was an accident. That’s why we train them we-“

“Darlin’ if he isn’t removed from this ship the only accident will be me prescribing him with cyanid capsules instead of his iron tablets.” He looked over your vitals again before picking up his clipboard, “But you let me worry about that. You can worry about this.” He handed you a laminated sheet entitled ‘Doctor McCoy’s Guide to a Serious Injury.’

You shot him an annoyed look.

“Just so there’s no more confusion.” He winked at you. You glanced over the ‘Serious Injury: To Be Reported’ column.

“I hardly think ‘A sudden cough’ is a serious injury, Leonard.” You scoffed.

“Oh sure. Let’s just let your DNA de-evolve into non humane codes exterminating crucial pairings.”

“Noted.” You said admiring the doctor’s bedside manner, “Is there a second page?” You said spotting another sheet in his hand.

“No. This is Jim’s copy.” Leonard replied.

“Of course.”

Leonard brushed your hair behind your ears and smoothed your forehead. “I’m glad you’re finally visiting the MedBay doll, but I would prefer if you kept your trips to mandatory immunisations and essential check-ups.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath, Doctor.” You said brushing your lips against his.

“And somehow I still wouldn’t change you for the world.” Leonard said quietly before closing the space left between you.

#leonard mccoy imagines #bones imagines #leonard mccoy x reader #bones x reader #mccoy x reader #mccoy imagines #dr mccoy x reader #bones star trek #Star Trek Fanfiction #star trek imagines #doctor mccoy #doctor mccoy x reader

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fires-of-ninjago · 4 years ago

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When the Tide Breaks

I was inspired by something posted by @miraculous-ninjabird, so have a little Kai angst!

TITLE: When the Tide Breaks

WORDS: 1,050

PAIRING: Lavashipping

WARNING(S): Language (Swearing), Alcohol/drunkeness

“Ugh, dammit…” I hope Nya’s home,” Kai muttered as his ATV pulled into it’s spot in the garage of the Samurai-X cave. He had to steady himself as opened the canopy, and felt the rush of cool air wash across his face. It was refreshing, but it nearly knocked him out. He summoned enough strength to pull himself out of his seat, he started his climb down; gingerly making sure that he had good footing before putting any of his weight on it.

“Crap...I should really talk to Nya about-” he belched as his foot finally touched the ground. “Ah, that’s better…” He tapped his chest as he stood on the platform. He gave the cave a slow glance, checking to see if anyone was there. For a split second, he could have sworn he’d seen his sister standing at the console, but the second he looked back, all he saw was an empty chair at the terminal.

“She’s still out,” he said to no one as he stumbled up the elevator that went up to the monastery. After another night of going just a little too far at the local bar. Jumanikai village wasn’t too far, and thankfully, his ATV came equipped with an autopilot feature that let him retrace his route to the garage without him actively driving. Even with him setting everything up in advance before ever going in, it still took him a good few minutes of fumbling around in his stupor to actually hit the big red ‘button’ on the screen.

“Shit,” he groaned as he made it to the central lift. He leaned his head against the cool metal of the frame as he finally found the call button.

“Why did I ever accept Mitsuki’s drinking challenge?” His stomach rumbled at the thought of how much liquor he’d drunk. “I should’ve lishtened to Nya…” One shot after another until Mitsuki finally fell over after shot 57. What was it they drank again? It was clear, he remembered how much, but it tasted like rubbing alcohol and it didn’t take much to fuck them both up.

“I hope Nya’sh in bed already…” A bead of sweat dripped down his brow as the lift ‘dinged’. Harsh light flooded the entrance as the elevator doors opened, hurting the fire elemental’s eyes, but he fought back the urge to step away. Instead, he followed the soft tones of the musac playing within, and hit the button to the living room. He nearly puked at the sudden change in his center of gravity as the room began lifting upward, forcing him to sink to his feet.

“...Kai?” He heard a familiar voice whisper in the distance. His head snapped forward as he instantly recognized its owner.

“Nya!” He called out as he shot up to a standing position, ignoring the waves of nausea and dizziness washing over him. He desperately searched the small room for his sister, but when he found himself all alone, something in him just wouldn’t settle down. He didn’t know how long he was crouched on the floor until the doors opened, but he scurried out as soon as he had the chance.

“Kai?” Someone said from the hallway. “Are you ok?” he heard some say as he leaned against the couch. He looked up to see Cole munching on a small piece of cake from just outside of the hallway. Kai swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat as he pushed himself back to his feet.

“Aw-Of course,” he slurred out. “Jusht don’ tell Nya.” The dessert-addicted elemental master put his plate down as he came into the living room.

“Kai, Nya’s...gone,” he said. “We…-We had her funeral almost a week ago.” Kai laughed as soon as he heard it.

“C’mon Cole! She’sh just’ gone ta shtay with mommy!” He was starting to get hysterical when he lost his balance. He flailed his arms as he started to tumble backwards; if it wasn’t for Cole’s quick reflexes, he would have landed on the edge of the coffee table.

“Woah, careful buddy!” Cole said as he pulled Kai back to his feet. Still feeling the giggles, he grinned back at his friend. He was about to thank him when he noticed the tattoo on his wrist.

“Nya…” he muttered. That feeling of unease was starting to swell again as he traced the lines of his tattoo with his other hand. “She...used to draw this on my good wrist all the time when... we…- we were…” Tears swelled up in his eyes as he saw the picture of them posing in front of the new gates when they’d finished rebuilding, and his laughter turned into quiet sobs. They were small at first, but somewhere between breaths, they became wails.

“She’s gone…” he sobbed as he crumpled like a ragdoll. “First Master, she’s...she’s gone!” He felt Cole wrap his arms around him as he buried his face into his worn gi; soaking it in his tears.

“I know,” Cole softly muttered as Kai started to rock himself. He’d spent weeks denying it, but now he just couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“She’zh gone!” He rasped between sobs. “I’ve lost her! My sister...My clever butterfly…” Despite the dizziness, he somehow managed to snake his arms around Cole as he gasped for breath. Cole didn’t move for the longest time as Kai let his grief vent unabated.

“Let it all out, Kai,” Cole whispered. His grip tightened as his grief started to spark.

“I’m her brother, it was my job to protect her!” He buried his face even deeper into Cole’s chest, as his tears began to turn to steam. “I FAILED! I FUCKING FAILED HER!” Just when he thought he was going to burst into flames, he felt a large, warm hand place itself on his head. There was something comforting about it; the feeling of just being held. His eyes shot open despite the hot sting of his tears, and he looked up. The soft look of pain on his friend’s face worried him, but when he saw the tears flowing down Cole’s cheeks, he understood that he wasn’t alone.

“We all miss her,” Cole said. “She may as well have been our sister too; we’re here for you Kai.”

#Ninjago #Ninjago Kai #Kai Smith #Ninjago Cole #Cole Brookstone #tw drinking #tw drunk #tw swearing #s15 #Season 15 #Lava #Lavashipping

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dzamie-oc · 4 years ago

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okay so I decided to make my own post rather than send an ask to @miniaturemallow, because it grew from a silly prompt to a minific. So, inspired by “who knows where you'll end up whilst sharing a bed with them” in their g/t dating dangers post:

Length: ~1k words Rating: M (vocabulary is the only reason this isn’t an X) Sex and Gender: Any/Any and Any/Any Sizes: either human/borrower (borrower POV) or giant/human (human POV) Species: human or anthro for both “You” and the bigger one

Minors DNI, please. You can check out my other stuff, but this is rated M for a reason.

-----

You idly kick your legs back and forth, off the side of their bedside table. It gives you an excellent view of their back while they change for bed, and as much as you may prefer them to turn around... this is nice. You aren’t sure whether them avoiding putting on their pajamas until after they were in nothing but their shorts was just for your enjoyment, or out of their own habit, but a sly glance back at you confirms that they at least know what they're doing to you.

Man, you could explore that landscape for hours. Literally, as you had found to their great amusement, that one date where you played explorer, charting out the wild frontier of their reclining - and clothed, then - body. Come to think of it, neither of you really remembered how that movie you were ignoring actually ended, not when declaring yourself the Lord Of The Midriff Sea was more entertaining.

The audible “shhff” of clothing against a body pulls you back out of your memory. Their pajama top and bottom match in an absolutely adorable, fuzzy outfit. Just looking at it makes you feel nice and toasty. And then they stretch. Oh, do they stretch. Arms up high, way up high, to the sort of height you need a grappling hook and plenty of planning to even dream of, while they make an excellent groaning noise which inspires some rather... uncivilized thoughts running through your mind. Not to mention that sliver of a gap between the pants and shirt when they reach like that... You envy those with photographic memories.

A booming laugh resounds through the room as they cross the massive distance to you and peer down with a calm smile. You lay back on your elbows, to avoid getting a crick in your neck staring up at them. Your instincts tell you that this creature is far too big and far too close, and that you need to bolt and vanish three minutes ago, but if you listened to them, you wouldn’t have such a great friend... partner, even.

“Well, someone enjoyed the view,” they tease, “y’know, I think this means you owe me a show of your own sometime.”

A lesser individual might get flustered from something like that. Someone like you from half a year ago. But you’ve learned. “I’ve already changed, but if you care to kneel down to watch, I’ll be sure to give you an eyeful!” You grab the hem of your shirt and make to pull it up off of you, though stop after a hand’s breadth.

They wave you off, then place their enormous hand, palm-up, next to you. “Perhaps another day. It’s bedtime now, and a certain couple are going to sleep together for the first time!”

Once you nimbly leap into their palm, they lift you up, then sit down on the side of their bed. You’ve slept there before, of course, even before they’d known you - just, not while they were there. Night time had meant free reign over all their stuff, so long as you returned everything before they stirred, and day time had meant access to the biggest, roomiest bed you’d even been on, and, sometimes, some lingering body heat!

“...lo? Hey, bite-sized beauty, you in there?” As their voice registers in your mind, you shake your head to clear it.

“S-sorry, got lost in thought. Heh, failing to hear you so close to me; it’s a wonder I didn’t get caught for so long.” You glance around, searching for your train of thought, and then: “Oh! Right! I wanted to bring this up. Uh, y’know how you’re so much bigger than me and could probably break my body without much effort?”

“I... am aware. Would appreciate not saying it like that, though.”

“Ah, sorry, will do. So the thing is, you’re a bit of an active sleeper.“ They quirk an eyebrow in confusion, so you wiggle your arms and to demonstrate. “Anywhere your arms might flop is a bad place for me.”

They furrow their brow, thinking hard, and you take the time to admire their pajamas some more. It’s strange, that something so big could ever be described as “cute,” but that’s all you can come up with for what they’re wearing to bed.

A loud snap startles you. Heart pounding, you look over to see their hand in post-snap position, and their face, triumphant. When they turn to face you, that gorgeous smile shifts into a more complex sort of expression. One that says not only, “I have an idea” and “it includes you,” but also “this is an incredible idea in that it stretches credulity” and “I’m very glad you’re so attracted to me.”

There’s a period of silence, as you try to interpret his face and they try to think of something clever to say. Eventually, they settle on, “well, let’s get you tucked in for the night.”

Their hand closes gently around you, refusing to let you fall while still keeping you safe. The other hand then moves down, away from your line of sight, but you can guess where it’s going. You smile and roll your eyes. Well, between their underwear and PJ pants, being sandwiched between two layers of fabric is sort of like a bed.

“Hey. Dropping.” It’s a warning the two of you settled on, because dammit it’s fun to fall short distances sometimes.

“Drop away!” you reply.

They open their hand.

You don’t fall between their underwear and pants.

Sure, you can feel the underwear on one side.

But the other side...

is them.

Your whole world quakes and shudders when they fall back onto the mattress, still holding the waistband open for you. When you next see their head, they look concerned.

“You good? Can always move you somewhere else.”

In response, you shimmy deeper, away from their waistband. Closer to them. Before they set their head on their pillow, you catch a satisfied smirk.

“Good night, cutie. I wish you very pleasant dreams.”

Your own goodnight is probably too quiet for him to hear. Nonetheless, he draws his hand back, and the elastic waistband falls, sealing you in for the night.

Oh, there’s no way you’re not doing this again.

#g/t #g/t fluff #nsft #writing #writers on tumblr #giant/tiny #size difference #furry #anthro #text

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grailfinders · 4 years ago

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Fate and Phantasms #143: Enkidu

Today on Fate and Phantasms we’re forging the Chains of Heaven and world-famous actor best known for their part in the 1990 smash hit Ghost (they were the pottery), Enkidu!

Our fair enby is a Monster Slayer Ranger, mixing in their anti-divine properties, self healing, and ability to sense movement through the earth around them. And that’s it. I know, I was surprised too.

Check out their build breakdown below the cut, or their character sheet over here!

Next up: If you haven’t watched No Evil yet, you should.

Race and Background

You’re made out of clay and have a lot of robot tropes slapped onto you, so Warforged is a pretty good pick for you. This gives you +2 Constitution and +1 Wisdom, as well as Constructed Resilience. This gives you advantage and resistance to poison, and you don’t need to eat, breathe, drink, or sleep. You’re also immune to disease.

To supplement the whole “not sleeping” thing, you instead take a Sentry’s Rest, standing still and conscious for 6 hours instead of sleeping over a long rest.

You look like you’re not wearing armor, but that might just be because of the robe. Regardless of your stance on putting Enkidu in armor, they still get Integrated Protection anyway, giving you +1 AC, and making your armor unremovable if you’re not incapacitated. This also means it takes an hour to put on and take off, but y’know, checks and balances.

Finally, your Specialized Design gives you proficiency with one skill of your choice. You were made by the gods, so it might be a good idea to remember their names. Religion it is!

Thanks to hanging out in the woods for a while after being made you’re an Outlander. This gives you proficiency with Athletics and Survival.

Ability Scores

Since Enkidu’s stats are literally described in terms of point buy, we’re going with that too. You’ll want your Wisdom as high as possible at 15 for the sharpest senses points can buy. We need to be able to speak to animals and sense vibrations through the earth, dammit! After that is Strength set to 14... and I just realized that despite going with point buy I ended up with a stat array identical to the standard array. Oh well. Anyway, strength is next, gotta hold together when you’re locking gods in place. After that is Intelligence (13), you’ve got a perfect memory and you’re great at adapting to change. Your Dexterity (12) isn’t amazing, but your body’s tough enough to deal with issues. Your Constitution’s (10) even lower, but it gets bumped up with your racial bonus. Finally, dump Charisma(8). You have a lot of issues when it comes to understanding other people.

Class Levels

1. Starting out as a ranger gives you proficiency in Strength and Dexterity saves, as well as three ranger skills. Animal Handling will help you get along better with your master, while Investigation and Perception make finding new information to digest a lot easier.

You also make celestials your Favored Enemy, giving you advantage on survival and intelligence checks about them. It’s a shame this doesn’t enhance your magic against them, but we’ll take what we can get. You’re also a Deft Explorer, making you Canny with one skill, doubling its proficiency bonus. Double down on Perception for an even stronger radar sense.

2. Second level rangers get a fighting style, and Blind Fighting lets you feels through your feets, sensing any creatures within 10′ of you as long as they aren’t specifically hiding from you. You can also cast Spells now, using your Wisdom to do so.

Cure Wounds is a good way to get your healing factor started early, and Hunter’s Mark is effectively mandatory for rangers. Deal more damage when you hit the thing and track said thing easier.

3. Joining the Monster Slayer conclave sets you down the path a turn against your creators and chain the heavens. (This also works for bunch of other types of creatures, but hush.) Your Monster Slayer Magic gives you a bonus spell each time you reach a new spell level. Right now you get Protection from Evil and Good, which forces disadvantage on extraplanar creatures attacking them, and makes it so they can’t be charmed, frightened, or possessed by them. Fighting gods would be a lot harder if they could just assume manual control, wouldn’t it?

You also get a Hunter’s Sense, letting you spend an action to learn a creature’s damage immunities, resistances, and vulnerabilities. Despite what FGO has taught you, taking down Godmode Ishtar will be harder than slapping every lancer you have into a team and hitting red buttons.

Your last Slayer bonus for now is the Slayer’s Prey, a bonus action to tack on even more extra damage to your first weapon attack against a designated creature each turn. You can only keep it up on a single creature at a time though.

That’s not all, though! You also get Primal Awareness, giving you even more spells when your magic levels up, and you can cast these spells once per long rest without using a spell slot (or whenever if you use a slot, like duh). Right now you get Speak with Animals. I don’t know why your master is a wolf, but you make it work.

Finally, the spell you normally learn at this level is Ensnaring Strike. You go Enkidu! Ensnare those strucken enemies!

4. Your first Ability Score Improvement is going towards Strength so you can stab things deader.

5. Fifth level rangers can make an Extra Attack as part of their attack action. You also get a bunch more spells.

From your subclass, Zone of Truth. Force a charisma save (dc 8+proficiency+wis) against creatures in the zone, and if they fail they can’t lie. It’s not really in character, but it is neat.

Primal Awareness gives you Beast Sense, letting you see and hear through a beast’s... senses... (hence the name) for up to an hour. This one’s a bit closer.

Your normal spell for the level is Barkskin, giving you a minimum AC of 16 for up to an hour. It’s not ideal since it’s a concentration spell, but it’s there if you want to be a stickler about not wearing armor.

6. At sixth level you can apply your Favored Enemy feature to Beasts as well. I don’t think Enkidu’s one to hold a grudge, but I doubt they like snakes much by this point. You also become Roving, adding 5 feet to your movement speed, and giving you a climbing and swimming speed equal to your walking speed.

7. Your next slayer goody is a Supernatural Defense, which adds 1d6 to your saves and grapple escape rolls against a creature you stuck your Slayer’s Prey on.

To further increase your adaptability, you learn the spell Enhance Ability this level, giving you advantage on any one kind of skill check for the duration.

8. Use this ASI to bump up your Wisdom for stronger spells and senses. You also become Fleet of Foot, letting you pass through difficult terrain without extra movement. You also ignore nonmagical plants when moving through them, and have advantage on moving through magical plants.

9. Another spell level up, another massive burst in how many spells you can use.

Thanks to being a slayer you learn Magic Circle, letting you trap an extraplanar creature either inside or outside of a 10′ radius circle. It’s... almost the chains of heaven, but there’s still some leeway in there.

You can also Speak with Plants thanks to your Primal Awareness. This one’s more of a stretch, but it’s part and parcel of speaking with animals now, so have at it.

Finally, the spell you learn by choice is Meld into Stone, giving you the perfect hiding spot for up to 8 hours. You are clay after all, this really isn’t much of an issue for you.

10. Tenth level rangers are Tireless, giving you a nonmagical healing factor you can activate as an action, and your exhaustion levels get reduced on short rests now too.

You can also shapeshift into Nature’s Veil, effectively making yourself invisible for a round as a bonus action.

11. Eleventh level slayers are a Magic-User’s Nemesis, letting you react to a creature casting a spell or teleporting nearby to foil it. The creature has to make a wisdom save against your spell save DC or waste its spell/teleport. Gods tend to cheat, and the easiest way out of chains is teleportation. Don’t let them do that. You can use this feature once per short rest.

You also learn the spell Healing Spirit for another long-term healing solution. It does require you staying put for a bit, but you can always meld into stone first if you really wanna.

12. We generally front-load feats, but there’s never a bad time for a Keen Mind. This feat rounds up your Intelligence, you always have a good sense of direction and time, and most importantly you have perfect memory for up to a month. Your memories are literally carved into your being, they’re hard to get rid of.

13. Thirteenth level rangers get fourth level spells, and you get three of them!

From the slayers: Banishment lets you force another creature back to its own plane. That’s literally the opposite of the chains of heaven, but it might be the best option for something like Tiamat.

From Primal Awareness: Locate Creature helps you keep tabs on a creature within 1000 feet of you. Gods are notoriously tricksy shapeshifters. This will help deal with that a bit.

You also become a Guardian of Nature, letting you transform yourself for up to a minute in one of two ways. As a primal beast, you can move faster, get darkvision, have advantage on strength-based attacks, and deal extra damage on a hit. As a great tree, you gain temporary HP, make constitution saves and dexterity/wisdom based attacks with advantage, and the ground within 15′ of you is difficult terrain for enemies. I’d say the former is more useful, but the latter also has its charms.

14. Your last Favored Enemy are Aasimar and Genasi, so you can be just as effective against demigods as you are against their full-blooded family. You also learn how to Vanish, letting you hide as a bonus action. You also can’t be tracked unless you choose to be or it’s done magically.

15. Your penultimate goody from the slayer’s conclave is a Slayer’s Counter. If a creature you’ve hit with the Slayer’s Prey tried to force a save on you, you can use your reaction to make an attack against it. If it hits, your save automatically succeeds. We might not be able to make all your saves good, but we can make it so you can ignore them entirely.

To protect you from physical attacks, you learn Stoneskin this level, giving you resistance to physical damage types while it’s up. Your skin is literally made out of clay, so it tracks.

16. Use this ASI to bump your Strength up more for stronger attacks and a better chance of your Slayer’s Counter connecting.

17. At seventeenth level you finally gain fifth level spells!

Your spell of choice is Greater Restoration, so you can remove all those debuffs from yourself.

Your final goody from your Primal Awareness is Commune with Nature. Now you can become one with the great outdoors and learn three facts about the area around you, up to a 3 mile radius. You can pick from: terrain and bodies of water, prevalent plants, minerals, animals, or people, powerful extraplanar entities, influences from those planes, or buildings.

Last but not least, your ultimate Slayer spell is your Chain of Heaven, Hold Monster. Force a wisdom save on a creature to paralyze it until it makes one on the end of its turn or up to a minute. No shunting it off to another dimension, no giving it space to wander around, just good old sit the fuck down.

18. At eighteenth level you gain Feral Senses, effectively giving you blindsight out to 30 feet. This renders Blind Fighting completely useless, but don’t worry about it.

19. For your last ASI, max out your Wisdom for the strongest spells, the strongest senses, and the strongest counterspells you can get. Also, in what I think is a first for this blog, you’re going to use Martial Versatility to switch out that useless Blind Fighting for something scarier, like Dueling. Your chains are pretty light if you’re trying to keep your human form, so I’d call them one-handed weapons.

If you want to launch those suckers for some distance though, I can’t recommend Conjure Volley enough. Get this, it conjures... a volley of projectiles, throwing them all over the place for damage.

20. The capstone ranger feature is the Foe Slayer, letting you add your wisdom to an attack or damage roll against your favored enemies once per round. It’s honestly underwhelming, but extra damage is extra damage.

Pros:

Thanks to blindsight and your obscenely high perception, you’re hard to sneak up on. Also, you don’t sleep, so you’re the perfect guard for a party on the run.

You’re a tireless ranger with a lot of healing spells to burn through, which makes you pretty self-sufficient if you need to go off on your own. You don’t need another person to take watch, and you don’t need another person to lug around healing potions!

You have a lot of ways to lock down enemies, ensnaring them in place for future attacks or escapes. This is especially true of extraplanar creatures, but Hold Monster works on literally anything, especially with your maxed out wisdom.

Cons:

We weren’t able to invest much in Dexterity, meaning your AC can be a problem if you’re playing to character. Barkskin uses your concentration, and wearing medium armor isn’t super flavorful.

Speaking of, like most rangers you have problems with Concentration. Your con saves aren’t great, and you have a lot of spells vying for the same position.

While you can do consistent, decent damage, it’s damage that takes time to ramp up. You need a turn for hunter’s mark and a different turn for slayer’s prey, and that’s assuming HM stays up the entire time.

#D&D 5e #Fate Grand Order #FGO #Enkidu #Fate and Phantasms #Ranger

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the-lady-writes-what · 4 years ago

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Hot and Bothered, CH. 1

Reader-chan is in a poly relationship with Hawks and Dabi, who may or may not be with the League of Villains. Use your imagination for that. Viewer discretion is advised.

Content: bondage/rope play, slight choking, slight degradation, oral, cock warming

Ch. 1 / Ch.2

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Your muscles were aching during the final lap. You woke up this morning nearly at the crack of dawn to get your daily run in before it got hot. Boy, were you surprised that it didn’t matter what time of day you started your jog. It was going to be warm, sticky, and humid all day. You realized that too late but pushed yourself to be active. Despite having cut your run time in half, you were a sweaty mess by the time you swung open the front door.

You quickly chucked off your socks and sneakers before heading towards the kitchen. Without hesitation, you opened the freezer door and shoved your head inside. A groan escaped you as the cold air blasted you. Last time you checked, Dabi was still asleep, so he wouldn’t come out of bed until at least noon, if not later. He was a heavy sleeper, and anything short of the apocalypse wouldn’t do the trick. You hadn’t seen Hawks for about an hour and assumed he’d flown off to perform his morning shift on patrol. You saw him making a cup of coffee just before you left for you jog.

Juggling two lovers, your job as a freelance writer, and an active lifestyle was difficult at first. Once the kinks (no pun intended) were worked out, things slowly fell into place. You had your face smooshed on a packet of frozen peas when your heard footsteps encroaching towards the kitchen. At first, you thought it was Dabi breaking out of his daily routine of not getting out of bed until the afternoon. As you listened more closely, the footsteps couldn’t have been his. They were lighter and more—shall we say—peppier? A pair of arms wrapped around your stomach.

“Don’t be wasting my electricity, doll. You’ll let food spoil if you keep it up.”

You were surprised. You turned your head to look over your shoulder to find Keigo in nothing but his baggy sweatpants. Just like you left him. Keigo pulled you close, your ass pressed firmly against his groin. He shut the freezer door at the first opportunity and nuzzled the side of your neck.

“Keigo! Don’t! I’m gross and sweaty. I just came back from my jog. Shouldn’t you be at work, anyway?”

“I got somebody to cover for me this morning. This means,” Keigo moved his lips to your ear and whispered, “You guys get to enjoy me all day long.”

You shuddered as his teeth nibbled on your lobe. You jutted his stomach with your elbow.

“I’m serious, Keigo. I’m not the mood. I just came in, and it’s super sticky out there. I just want some water and cool down.”

His gentle yet playful smile put you off guard. Before you could reach for the fridge door, Keigo beat you to it. He pulled out a cold-water bottle. Instinctually, you reached out for it. However, he had other plans in mind. You watched him unscrew the top and take a gulp of water. You were about to scream in protest when he mashed his lips on top of yours. Coldwater trickled down your throat and your chin. Keigo took another long drag from the plastic bottle and repeated the process. He made you drink from him until your shirt was a bigger mess. There was already a sweat stain down the middle of your tank top. Now you had a droplet going down to your teeny, tiny shorts. After each drink he gave you, Keigo licked your lips. He was begging for your attention. Wantonly, you whined as he kissed you on the mouth, no water this time. He turned you into a sloppy mess.

His fingers dug under your top; his nails dragged ever so slightly against your already hot skin. Keigo glued his mouth to yours. Letting his hands wandered over your flat stomach, he guided you into the living room when you were distracted by his tongue tangling with yours. He released you for a moment. Just long enough to ditch your tank top. Your sports bra was shoved up to your clavicle, thus exposing your breasts to his greedy eyes, hands, and mouth. He stared at your chest for a moment. It seemed like he waited for the beet red blush to spread from your cheeks to your neck before swooping in for the attack. One hand groped your breast, and his mouth teased the other without mercy.

Your eyes made a pre-cautionary glance towards the hall. There seemed to be no sound coming from your bedroom where Dabi, presumably, lay sleeping. If he caught you together doing something nasty without him, there was hell to pay. Dabi always looked for reasons to punish the two of you. Keigo was pressing his luck.

“K-Keigo, we shouldn’t be doing this!”

He chuckled. His eyes never left yours as he gave your nipple a kitten lick. You knew that he was a switch. If Dabi entered the room, that predatory stare he pinned you with would vanish. Keigo closed his eyes only for a second and opened them again just to watch you watching him take your breast into his mouth as suck as hard as he could. You had to put your hand over your mouth to prevent the piggish squeal escape from your throat and alert Dabi to the goings-on in the living room.

Keigo switched places. He started to give your wet nipple tweaks and tugs while sucking on the other. You shivered to the point of coming just from that. He must have sensed how close to the edge you were when he stopped. You managed to suck in some air during the brief reprieve. You looked down and saw the tent in Keigo’s pants.

“Turn around,” he said.

“What? No. If Dabi finds out—”

Slap.

You should be infuriated that he had the nerve to clap you on the ass cheek when you were in the middle of talking.

“Turn. Around.”

You didn’t disobey him this time. You turned, bent over, and put your hands on the sofa’s arm. Keigo chuckled behind her. His hands slipped down to your hips. Thumbs dipped underneath your shorts and edged them down along with your panty. You weren’t about to give him everything he wanted, so you clamped your thighs close together. It was hard to manage to begin with now were you were a hot mess. Both literally and figuratively.

“Good girl. I didn’t even ask you to bend over yet, and you did it all of your own accord. That of itself deserves a reward.” He kicked your legs apart.

You couldn’t see him fumbled with the tie around his waist to help ease his pants down far enough to pull out his engorged cock. One hand cupped your ass while he occupied his other hand by rubbing the shaft. You felt the head of him teasing that soaked bundle of nerves. You bit your tongue to keep from begging. Only two thoughts monopolized your mind. One, you really wanted Keigo to fuck you. Two, you wondered what would happen if Dabi caught the two of you going at in the living room. The thrill of getting caught breaking a house rule sent a pleasurable chill down your spine. It almost made it worth to risk punishment from the man who lived to dole them out.

Keigo’s head pressed into your slick center while you were distracted by your own thoughts. He pushed and pulled away, never once giving you the whole thing. You whined; he laughed at you for it.

“A second ago, you wanted to quit while we were ahead. Now, look at you. You want it, don’t ‘cha?”

He shoved his cock halfway inside your smooth opening, but it wasn’t enough. He listened to your whine.

“Beg for it,” he growled. “Like you mean it.”

Slowly, Keigo pulled out until the head of his cock remained inside you. He let it stay there until you gave him what he wanted.

“D-Dammit, Hawks,” you knew he loved it when you used his hero name in the bedroom. “Fuck me already. P-please.”

“Since you asked so sweetly…”

You screamed into the pillow as he shoved himself all the way in. He made you dizzy from it, and having him thrust hard and fast made it worse. His nails dug into your hips. He gripped you hard while his cock sank deep into you. Your teeth clenched tight around the pillow. Saliva coated the rim of your mouth and the pillow.

“I couldn’t—ah—help myself when I saw you with your—fuck—ass sticking out like that. I don’t get…to have you all to myself nowadays. So,” he moaned, “Let’s enjoy this while we’ve got time alone together.”

Keigo pounded away at you. The sounds of wet flesh slapping together resounded. It was enough to almost tip you over the edge. His hands gripped you even tighter.

“Fuck! You fit like a glove, baby-doll.”

You should have warned him about keeping it down. At least you covered your mouth. Not that it did much good. Your pathetic cries were still audible, and you’d be grateful if Dabi’s heavy-sleeper habits failed you not. Keigo’s thrusts came in rapid succession, pulling and pushing you with him. The intensity of his movements was sure to rearrange your guts like it was his fucking job. All sense of heroism flew out the window when he was inside you.

In. Out. In. Out. In…

“K-Keigo,” you moaned into the pillow.

“Hold on a little longer…Ha-ah. A little more.”

A little more came later than he said. You lost all sense of time while he was drilling you. White heat seared down your spine. You panted as you clenched around him. You felt liquid running down your thighs, and the sloshing sound increased. Keigo’s thrusts became erratic and helped spiral you towards another cliff. You came a second time while he painted your insides white. Your torso collapsed against the sofa’s arm. As soon as Keigo let go, your legs buckled underneath. You vaguely heard a faucet run. Keigo returned and gently wiped away the evidence of your mutual crime. He helps you fix your clothes before pulling his pants back up.

“Now, why don’t you hop in the shower while I make breakfast.”

Just on schedule, Dabi didn’t get out of bed until around one o’clock. You were thankful Keigo decided not to be a cheeky dick and ask him if he heard anything unusual this morning. Dabi wasn’t fully awake. He knocked back at least two mugs of coffee, and even after that, he was barely a functional human being. It was supposed to be a lazy day with Keigo home to play video games with you and Dabi. There was nothing out of the ordinary about dinner, though Dabi kept looking between you and Keigo. The only thing odd about the evening was when Dabi actively helped clear the table.

Keigo stepped into his office for about an hour to answer a business-related phone call. You watched Dabi closely, guilt churning in your gut. You noticed how Dabi lounged on the couch with his arm on the couch’s. The same spot where you gripped while Keigo plowed you this morning. His lazily scrolled through his phone, and his fingers drummed a slow beat on the couch’s arm. You nervously sat on the other side of the couch, trying to distract yourself by the T.V. Keigo finally came out of his office in the middle of some random romantic comedy you stumbled into.

“I’m heading to bed soon. Anybody joining me?”

“I need a shower first” You jumped off the couch and ran to the bathroom.

You ran the shower cold. You hoped to wash away this morning with Keigo and the fear of Dabi. You didn’t know how long you’d been standing in there, hoping that the day would just be over when you heard a moan. It shouldn’t have been all that surprising; either Dabi or Keigo was getting a head start. If you didn’t get in the bedroom soon, you’d be late for the play.

You walked into the bedroom in your towel only to find Keigo already tied to the bedposts with some familiar red rope. Dabi was busy between Keigo’s legs, sucking him off. Keigo’s face was red as the ropes that bound him. Dabi had him tied with his back entirely against the bed’s headboard to spare pressure on his wings. Dabi still had his mouth full when Keigo turned a pair of hazy eyes towards you.

“H-He found out a-after all—SHIT!”

Dabi gave him a long, languishing suck and gently scraped his teeth along the edges. Your thighs clamped together as you felt the first wave pool in your core. Dabi lavished Keigo’s cock with smooth kisses and tongue lashes. Only after you’d been standing there dumb as a post for a solid five minutes did he acknowledge your presence in the room. He licked his lips wet with Keigo’s pre-cum.

“If it isn’t the other troublemaker.” In slow motion, Dabi got off the bed. “Wanna remind me what the house rule is, princess? What agreed to do to each is only fair when we’re together?”

A blush crept over your cheeks. You tried not to stare at Dabi’s black pants hanging loose on his hips or the bulge forming in the center of them. You bent your head down to stare at your feet, trying to look as guilty as possible. Your hopes were that he would find you pathetic enough to grant a gentle reprieve from the punishment he seemed to have in mind. His hand grabbed your jaw and forced your head back up. His fingers and thumb squeezed your cheeks nearly to the point of bruising.

“I’m not such a heavy sleeper to be unable to hear two needy sluts fucking each other without my permission. I know you didn’t start it, princess. A sweet little girl like you? No. Never.”

He yanked the towel from your body and pointed towards the bed.

“I wanna see your best reverse cowgirl. I want you to put it slowly.”

You crawled on top of the bed and over Keigo’s shapely legs. You did as you were told. You stroked Keigo’s cock before sliding it in just as Dabi wanted. You let out a breathy moan as Keigo’s cock bottomed out. You didn’t dare move outside of Dabi’s commands, which hadn’t instructed on what next to do. You watched him walk towards you but never touched the bed. His thumb rubbed your lower lip.

“You two…” said Dabi after a torturous moment of silence. “Are going to stay like that until I say otherwise. I want you to think about our house rules and why they exist. If you’re good, maybe I’ll let you come.”

Dabi shucked his pants down to the floor, kicking them away with his feet. His boxers went with them. One hand snaked behind your neck, slithered into your hair, and grabbed a fistful, bringing your head down to his swollen cock. His other hand went to your throat as he forced himself down. He made you swallow his cock, all while keeping a light constriction on your throat.

“You sounded so…needy this morning. You were begging for cock like the little cum slut you are.” He released your hair and grabbed it again. “You were so busy having fun that you didn’t think about little old’ me. How selfish.”

Instead of letting you bob your head, Dabi pushed his cock to the back of your throat and out again. Drool pooled around your chin as it dribbled beneath you. You let the tears flow while he fucked your throat. The feeling was always so incredible having two holes stuffed, but only one of them was giving you any pleasure. Dabi’s cock was long and thick, and the metal rivets from his piercings hit the right places, whether in your cunt or being shoved against the roof of your mouth. The restrictive grasp on your throat made it all the more pleasurable.

“Moan louder, I know you want to.” He let go of your neck and placed his hands on either side of your head to make fucking your throat easier.

It was a delicious order you couldn’t resist performing. You moaned loudly around him as he moved back and forth. His movements were becoming erratic, the faster he moved. Any moment now, Dabi would shoot his load down your throat, and you, the willing victim, would be more than happy to take it all.

But that’s not what he wanted.

Dabi tightened his grip on your head as the end was coming soon. You felt his balls tighten as they slapped your chin. All of a sudden, Dabi pulled out all the way. You thought he was going to come on your chest. He liked to mention how good your tits looked with his cum decorating your chest. Instead, he turned and spent himself all over Keigo’s chest.

He smirked at the mess he made of each of you. Sweat was gleaming down your brows. Though you couldn’t see him, you felt Keigo twitch nervously. He yanked at the ropes that bound him, but they held good. The best he could do was shift his weight a little. His cock twitched inside you just from watching Dabi fuck your face and finish on his chest. Dabi bent from the waist and picked up your abandoned towel.

“I think I’ll freshen up a bit before we get started again,” said Dabi.

“Wait, what about us?” Said Keigo.

Dabi paused in the door. He stood in the doorway buck naked and with all the confidence in the world. He made one grin at you two. You knew neither of you would be getting much sleep tonight. Not with that shit-eating grin on Dabi’s face.

“Control yourselves, and don’t move until I get back. Then, I’ll give you a nice reward. This’ll teach you.”

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#my hero academia #my hero academia fanfiction #mha fanfiction #mha smut #smut #reader fic #dabi #dabi x reader #hawks #keigo takami #keigo #hawks x reader #dabi x reader x hawks #hotwings #minors begone

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princesssarcastia · 4 years ago

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first hp and now MCU *sigh*

sighs. anyway the reason the jane foster au thing is taking literally seven years is that I’m physically incapable of writing for the MCU without fixing everything I thought was dumb about it. can’t just do a canon re-write because I Refuse To Condone XYZ. The things I thought were dumb are many and myriad, but here’s one of them:

In Infinity War, they won’t destroy the mind stone while it’s still attached to Vision because they “don’t trade lives,” even though Steve made the same damn sacrifice, whatever. But the thing is the avengers then immediately travel to Wakanda and start trading Wakandan lives for Vision’s. They trade so many lives for Vision’s, and in the end it doesn’t even matter because they have to kill him themselves anyway. SO all those Wakandans died for nothing. They died for the aesthetic of the avengers having an army. They died because no one thought through “yeah, T’Challa is totally down to sacrifice his people’s lives for one android he isn’t close with.” They died because, let’s be honest, the lives of those random Wakandan soldiers meant less to not only the white main characters, but also the white movie creators. hmm. what could possibly be the impetus there. mostly stupidity, but probably also some racism, lbr.

anyway. all this to say what follows is a snippet where a) the battle to save vision isn’t taking place in Wakanda proper because the avengers don’t trade lives...other than their own. In fact, it’s taking place in the arctic circle, where Wakanda has a shielded research station with no civilians that Shuri can appropriate to fix Vision without having her citizens die needlessly. b) it’s just the avengers there, because they’re willing to put their own lives on the line for their friend and their principles. c) they’re using the mind stone as a lure to keep Thanos’ giant monster army focused on them, in this unpopulated place, rather than a city or a country.

you didn’t really need to know that, actually, because this fic snippet is about bruce banner. explicit tw in the tags you may want to check for if you don’t mind a spoiler. anyway, oh well, long walk for a short drink of water:

The walls shake with something other than the wind, and Bruce grits his teeth against whatever extrasensory response the other guy is having. If he doesn’t want to come out to play, then he doesn’t get to raise the hairs on the back of Bruce’s neck.

The other guy. After two years being trapped while he gets to play, maybe Bruce is the other guy now. Maybe the Hulk—

“Doctor Banner,” Shuri says without looking away from her interface. “If you’re going to help, then help. Otherwise stop distracting me and get out.”

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four...”You’re right. Sorry.” He turns back to his equations and keeps calculating what kind of energy source they can create here to replace the mind stone. Vision may be able to survive without it, but it’s ridiculous to ignore that it serves a purpose in keeping him not just alive, but functional. There’s a difference between surviving and living and the Avengers aren’t risking their lives just so he can—

Boom.

Dammit.

Shuri’s guard, the one T’Challa left with them—Ayo? Was that her name?—steps further away from them and speaks into her bracelet—kimoyo beads. Bruce strains to ignore it because he doesn’t need to know what he’s missing outside, doesn’t need to know how poorly the battle is going for his friends, his—his shield brothers, Brun would call it, without him. There’s no doubt in his mind Shuri could save Vision without him and there’s no doubt in her mind, either; he’s here as a courtesy and because it’ll go faster, at least. Because he’d be useless otherwise, sitting there with his thumb up his ass while his friends fight and die without him, without them, dammit Hulk—

“Princess,” Ayo calls.

“Not yet.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know how long, I’ve never done a neural reprogramming for an android before.” Shuri purses her lips. “Longer than this, certainly, to revolutionize a field that doesn’t even exist yet.” She reprograms another synapse. It looks like maybe thirty percent of them are done. Thirty percent, after four hours.

Bruce glances at Ayo from the corner of his eye because he’s a masochist and he can’t help himself. Her face is troubled, and so is Okoye’s on the projection hovering over her wrist.

“Ayo, tell her she needs to hurry up!” The projection twists like the general has taken her hand from her face. There’s a flash of silver, a war cry, and a brief, incomprehensible glimpse of something black and twisted and horrible. It cuts out in the middle of the creature’s answers screech.

Ayo slowly lowers her hand back to her side, and Bruce tries to focus back in on his work. Tries to focus on the math, on the energy readings, on Vision’s life in here instead of all the death out there, because if he doesn’t—

“I really am going as fast as I can,” Shuri says in a small voice. Twenty. She’s just twenty years old, what was Bruce doing at twenty?

Don’t go there. Don’t go there, Bruce. Shouldn’t have come back to the Arctic, that was just asking for trouble.

Focus.

What would happen if he lost it, and the Hulk refused to come out?

Focus. Focus on Vision, on saving his life. Save lives. Save his life.

“So you're saying that the Hulk... the other guy... saved my life?”

Another explosion rocks the room, rocks the station, rocks the damn arctic ice pack they’re standing on. It’s the biggest one yet. “Evacuate the southeast quadrant. All personnel in the southeast quadrant, evacuate to the next defense point.” The intercom doesn’t even crackle as it activates over their heads and Bruce is struck by how odd that is; it’s almost more unnerving that the idea of the situation escalating to the point of evacuation. Ayo pulls up a map of the station on her kimoyo beads and manipulates it, pulling up what he assumes is the southeast quadrant.

“That's nice. It's a nice sentiment. Saved it for what?”

“How bad is it?” Bruce asks.

Ayo’s eyes dart to Shuri, who is nothing but relentless; he hasn’t seen her stop once this whole time. “Bad. They have breached the facility’s outer defenses. Princess, perhaps we should—”

“No!” Shuri all but shouts. “I will not evacuate, I will not abandon this mission, we’re not finished yet. Tell someone to come fill the gap.”

“Princess, if they have not already done so, then they may not have the manpower to do it.”

“Then call reinforcements!”

There are no reinforcements because this is a hail-Mary, vigilante mission and all the Avengers on-world are already here. T’Challa isn’t bringing any more of his people into this, and Steve and Natasha and Tony would never ask him to. When they fail, that’s it, it’s done. And so is Vision, and this will all have been for nothing.

“I guess we'll find out.”

Bruce pushes his glasses off his nose and pinches his brow. He can’t even think about this; he’s thinking about it without thinking it, a glaring absence that lets you see the shape of it regardless.

“This wasn’t just a Wakandan station, right? I mean, you guys opened it up to other countries for the science and information exchange?”

A pause. “Yes.”

“Any military?”

A longer pause. “...Yes. Dr. Banner, what are you...”

She trails off as Bruce looks up. There must be something in his face.

“Did they leave anything behind when they airlifted out earlier? Weapons?” He adds, because there’s no use beating around the bush. No time.

“Probably, but you will find nothing there of any use. Wakandan technology—”

“Is much more advanced, I know. But you don’t really have any projectile weapons.

Ayo’s nose crinkles up in disgust, but is already turning back to her charge. “Of course not. So primitive. Princess, we will need time to evacuate to the ship, please.”

Shuri cuts a glance at him, seemingly ignoring Ayo. “What do you need a projectile weapon for, Dr. Banner?”

“Something desperate.” He pulls his glasses off and sets them on the table. “Stay here, Shuri, finish your work. Save him.”

Bruce has never asked anyone else to risk their life when his own would do. He’s not fucking starting now, when the whole universe is at stake.

Between him and Shuri, Ayo reluctantly lets the issue go, but he can tell if Thanos’ army gets a single step closer to her Princess, Ayo will throw her over her shoulder and sprint for the quinjet, mission be damned. He marches out of the room and follows Ayo’s directions to the nearest storage area; the American one, as luck would have it. Because of course the American team brought guns to the Arctic Circle on a science and information exchange program. Of course. A few M11s just lying around, lost in the hasty shuffle to abandon this place. Bruce picks it up and just holds it. Feels the weight in his hand. Ayo was right, they are primitive; primitive and ugly and violent and only good for one thing. Another impact. The station shakes again, and the lights flicker above his head. Now. It has to be now. He doesn’t have a radio, but he knows where the southeast corner of the building is, so he keeps the gun in a tight grip and heads that way. Three corridors away and he starts to hear noises. Yelling. Screaming. Gunfire. Energy bursts. The ring of Steve’s shield, the whine of Tony’s repulsors. And above it all that same horrible screeching noise from those creatures invading their planet at the behest of a genocidal maniac trying to kill Bruce’s friends. Kill the Hulk’s friends. Louder, and louder, and louder, until he can’t even hear himself think which is good because he doesn’t want to think about this he never wanted to think about this again even though he did, a lot, like after Lagos and Sokovia and Sakaar. The team has driven them back from the breach in the facility, that’s good. Wind and snow come howling in through the massive hole and Bruce shivers and tells himself its from the cold. Outside is...pandemonium. His friends are like brief sparks of light in a sea of writhing, angry, violent darkness trying to tear them apart. There are so many of them he can barely see the horizon and they show no sign of stopping. In the distance, he makes out Steve, locked in fierce battle with something that looks less like a bargain bin eldritch horror and more like one of those Black Order people. He’s losing. Even Bruce can tell that. “Now would be a really good time for you to get angry” He’s always angry. But the anger isn’t enough anymore. “Bruce, what are you doing out here?” Tony screams at him, flying towards him with his hands still targeting energy blasts at the enemy. “I thought you said the Hulk can’t come out, you can’t be here! Go help Shuri!” Ten, nine, eight, seven—oh, fuck it. “Won’t, not can’t, Tony.” One breath. Two breaths. He squeezes the grip so hard it starts denting his palm. “Those are functionally the same, big guy, so get the hell out of here. We got this!” “No you don’t, we’re losing!” Bruce takes a short inhale through his nose. “They’re not functionally the same when I can force his—our hand.” That finally makes Tony look at him, and Bruce doesn’t know if he catches it on his own or FRIDAY points it out to him, but he finally sees the gun. He dissolves his faceplate and looks at Bruce with wide, exhausted eyes. “No, no, Bruce, don’t you dare, Bruce!” He lunges, but he doesn’t make it before the gun goes off, the bullet tears through Bruce’s mouth and then—and then nothing. The Hulk roars. Anger isn’t enough anymore. Self-preservation will have to do.

#tw self-harm #not quite suicide but he shoots himself in the head #this was another thing that bugged me #the whole 'the hulk won't come out' c-plot/running joke #if they had actually done something meaningful with it #like on screen character growth for bruce + the hulk #or resolution of his issues #that would have been great!#but instead it was just a way to nerf the hulk so he couldn help beat thanos' army #this is like a kinda dark answer to that but *shrugs*#bruce banner #shuri #infinity war #mcu #mcu fic #god what am i doing with my life that it's come to this #ugh #the plot bunnies #they're trying to kill me.

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writeblrfantasy · 4 years ago

Text

i am thrilled to present to you another short from acogs: khyris mi'hail, or khyris the beloved in my conlang!

i'm especially happy with this one, but i say that about all of them, don't I? this one is inspired by the story behind the hanging gardens of babylon, how the king had them built for his homesick wife.

like most of my shorts, you don't need to know acogs to understand this <3 enjoy!! word count about 5k

“Everybody wake up, c’mon, everybody up!” The sound of pans banging together accompanies Major Malika’s shouts.

Khyris has been awake for an hour already, but he still groans at the thought of leaving his warm cot. The other corporals in the tent with him grumble and swear at the major with more colorful language than Khyris would dare risk.

Khyris sticks his head out of his blankets, bracing against the freezing winter air and squinting into the bright morning light of the tent. A few bastards who wake with the sun are sitting on the floor drinking coffee, the smell of which finally draws Khyris out of his warm cave.

“We were afraid you were dead,” says Eric, mumbling like he’s half dead himself. “You don’t move at all.”

“Nice to know you’re watching me sleep,” Khyris retorts, pulling on his three extra layers to fight back the biting chill. “Give me some of that.” Coffee in his system makes him feel a little more human, enough to make him realize there’s a group huddled around the morning campfire just outside.

Khyris joins them, coffee in hand, and finds them all staring at a map. “What’s going on?”

“Big news today,” Aeron says, grinning, full of energy no matter the time. “The queen’s visiting.”

Khyris almost spills his coffee. “What? Why? That man couldn’t lift a sword to save his life, what does he want with us?”

“Stow your hatred for a moment, my dear Khyris. He’s here to pick a spouse.”

Khyris stares, then laughs. “For a moment I thought you were serious.”

The other’s smiles slowly fade. Delia stares into her coffee like it holds the answers of the world—or more accurately, an escape from Khyris.

“You are serious. Sweet Cai.” Khyris buries his head in his hands. “Explain.”

“He’s here exactly because he can’t lift a sword to save his life. He wants someone who can. Solid strategy, I think.”

Khyris shakes his head. “He has hundreds of willing options back at court, the experienced soldiers paid too well to be out on the field. Why doesn’t he pick from them and leave us alone?”

“He doesn’t want a lazy court soldier. He wants a fieldman. Someone he knows he can trust with his life.”

“So he wants a bodyguard for a spouse, is what you’re saying. I thought he already had a team of those.” Khyris looks around. “Do you think Major Malika would notice if I disappeared for a week or two? Tell her I was indisposed. I was longing for home. Let me be a deserter, anything but having to see that bastard’s face.”

“Why are you so against him?” Aeron asks.

“Because he doesn’t give a damn about any of us. He just throws money at us, gives us more orders to build more cities, and every year checks in to see how we’re doing. He’d rather entertain the fools and artists of his court than pay mind to us.”

“So you don’t want to see him, but you’re mad he hasn’t come yet? Make up your mind, man!”

Khyris sighs. “I just don’t think you all should be kissing his ass, is all. He should be appreciating what we do for him. We just finished building him al-Hasa, he should be grateful.”

“We’re not kissing—” Aeron breaks off into a devious grin Khyris has seen before, and it’s never ended anywhere good. “You like him, and you’re mad he doesn’t like you back?”

Whistles and laughter go around the fire. “What?” Khyris sputters. “This is the queen we’re talking about, not some barmaid. You lot are ridiculous.”

Apparently happy with being labeled ridiculous, what Khyris thought were friends begin singing, “Khyris the Angrily Smitten” in an off key parody of a song he can’t remember.

“You sound like you’re drunk and it’s only sunrise,” he says in disgust, burying himself in coffee, his only friend this morning.

Later that day, he’s in the middle of a group training session and managed to forget about the queen’s newest joke. The stress of the major’s shouts during exercises in the middle of winter doesn’t leave much room for Khyris to think about anything else, though Aeron finds a way around it as always. Aeron’s only here to support his family’s farm—cooperation doesn’t matter much to him as long as he still gets paid.

In the middle of another round of hot yet cold push-ups, Major Malika calls for a sudden stop. “His Majesty is here,” she snaps. “I want to see some salutes, hear some respect. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Major,” they chorus, lining up to watch His Majesty Amoun’s brown and gold carriage pull up to the campsite. Khyris’ left hand goes to the side of his head like all the others, trying to keep his eyes in line as the carriage stops in a cloud of dust. The door opens with a click, and out steps a shadow cloaked in black, unusual for Kadar. Khyris’ eyes drift despite himself.

Khyris forgot how young the queen is, and how attractive, despite his own dissenting opinions. A dark, neat sheaf of hair and mustache frame a smiling face. His long winter cloak shows hints of Kadar yellow in ribbons and pins, but otherwise everything from the fur to his shoes is black.

“Welcome, Your Majesty,” Malika says with a deep bow.

“Thank you, Major. I’m delighted to be here.” Queen Amoun approaches the line of soldiers with his coat sweeping out behind him, just short enough not to get dirty on the sand. The soldiers drop their salutes as Amoun slowly walks in front of them like he’s inspecting them. Khyris fights not to close his eyes and disappear into a safer, less ridiculous world. He has many choice words for the queen, but keeps them all wisely to himself.

Amount is just passing Aeron and Delia, about to pass a stiff Khyris, when he stops and looks him up and down. “What’s your name?” Amoun asks.

Khyris swallows, cursing Cai in every way. He can feel Aeron’s traitorous, poorly smothered grin on his profile. “Khyris, Your Majesty.”

“Khyris,” Amoun repeats, slowly, like the sly tongue of a snake. He grins. “What a beautiful name.”

What to say to that?

Amoun solves the problem for him. “I look forward to seeing your face during my trials, Khyris.”

Khyris’ mind races, thinking of the Cairic Trials of Taru. They are Kadars, dammit, not Cairic. But, if the queen wanted to find a spouse who could defend him, there is not a much better way than that. “Trials, Your Majesty?”

Amoun laughs, a gentle, warm sound. “Wipe that fear off your face. I am not referring to the Trials of Taru, as thrilling and testing as they are. The trials I have created are much simpler, and will be much more to your taste, if that quiver on your back means anything.” He takes a step back so more soldiers can hear him.

“I wish we had a forest to do this, but alas, we are not in the north or in Tel Cairis. As you can see, there are three targets there.” Amoun gestures grandly to the three red targets being set up several hundred paces away, in the middle of the desert. “Whoever can perfectly hit the three targets”—he pauses for effect— “will get a private dinner with me.”

Khyris struggles not to laugh.

“The trials begin immediately, for all of you,” Amoun says. “You are soldiers, I’m sure you’re used to quick thinking and quicker requests. Come on, now.”

Khyris shuffles into a single file line with the others, Aeron at his back. “Not a word,” he hisses.

“Not a word,” Aeron echoes, but Khyris can hear his grin. Worst of all, he begins humming that awful song, Khyris the Angrily Smitten. He actively wishes for death even as he’s pulling his bow off his back and nocking an arrow into it.

Fail Amoun’s stupid target challenge. The easiest task in the world. He’ll be officially taken out of consideration, free to go back to the idiots at the campfire in the morning.

His focus drifts in and out while waiting for the other soldiers to shoot, even if they’ve never touched a bow before. Evidently Amoun believes miracles are possible. He seems like the type.

Amoun stands to the side of the line drawn in the sand where the archers must stay and shoot, his presence undoubtedly helping no one. Ever since he was a child, Khyris couldn’t stand people watching him practice or hunt. He savored the quiet of the northern forests where he grew up, savored the peace and focus in his heart while he hunted his family’s dinner. To have anyone else watching him, waiting, judging if he shot wrong, would ruin that sacred peace.

He sighs and shifts his weight impatiently.

“Relax, would you? You’re the best archer here, I have more reason for nerves than you do,” Delia says from somewhere behind him.

“That’s exactly the problem,” Khyris says. “I’m afraid I’ll do well.”

Someone scoffs ahead of him. He doesn’t keep his dislike of the queen private, but the way Amoun looks back toward the sound makes Khyris flush. Please don’t notice me, don’t notice me, look away.

“Then miss and make a fool of yourself,” Delia says. “You’ll be known as the army’s best worst archer, but not the queen’s spouse, a title I wouldn’t mind having. It’ll be a steady source of income for my family, at least.”

Khyris smiles. He and Delia became friends because of their similar situation. Aeron barged his way into their lives with no possibility of leaving. “I’ll be in the front row at your wedding.”

“I’d prefer your blessing on my bow.”

Khyris watches sorry swordsman after swordsman point their bows at the targets only for their arrows to land somewhere far off in another direction. Major Malika barks at them that they’ve failed, which is not an unusual thing for her to say, but they’ve never had to perform in front of the queen before.

People who have never touched a bow in their life still stutter and apologize for wildly missing. That’s the effect the queen’s presence has—not that it affects Khyris, of course. He glances sympathetically at the losers and thinks, I’ll be joining you in a minute.

At last, it’s his turn. Major Malika orders him forward with her usual grit, but Amoun is smiling with his big brown eyes and it’s every bit as unnerving as Khyris predicted.

“Let’s see what you got,” he says quietly, where only Khyris can hear. Khyris grits his teeth, mentally ordering him to shut up and let him focus.

Why is he trying?

Because it’d kill him to miss, he decides. He hasn’t missed since he was eleven, and he won’t start now. He has too much pride in his finest skill to be a laughingstock. Major Malika would know he wasn’t trying and would make him try again. He’s too good an archer for his own good.

He closes his eyes, trying to ignore Amoun’s presence, and lets the bow do the work.

The first arrow hits. He doesn’t stop to check. His focus is on the second target, and a minute shift of his position readies him for the next shot. Khyris disregards all other sound but the grip of his fingers adjusting on the bow, the whoosh as the arrow flies free. He can’t quite block out the gasp Amoun makes, but shaking it off is easy.

The wind begins picking up just slightly, hardly noticeable to anyone else, but Khyris knows the song of the bow like his own skin, and it’s not what he needs.

You’ve done well, says the voice in his head. No one will believe you purposefully failed if you miss. You will be free, and your dignity will be intact.

The other archers shot in quick succession, too eager or humiliated to wait. Khyris knows he’s already taken longer than anyone else, but he waits another few seconds before nocking another arrow and letting it fly.

Khyris opens his eyes to find his arrows in the center of all three red targets. He sighs in relief.

Relief for what?

All is deadly quiet, and then some idiot begins cheering. Khyris shuts his eyes again.

Aeron. Of course it’s Aeron.

Soon, everyone is cheering or clapping, Amoun loudest of all. Khyris flushes hot, looking around for him, who’s grinning like someone just handed him all the wealth of Kadar.

Khyris goes over to him and wraps him a hug, drawing laughter and ‘aw’s from the onlookers. It’s just an excuse to whisper, “I hate you to the skin of your bones,” in Aeron’s ear, who just laughs louder.

Khyris stands in front of a little pond where some fool spilled water outside Amoun’s tent, turning left and right to inspect his outfit. It’s the only fine thing he has, provided by the army, meant for rare banquets at the palace.

It’s a velvet jacket in Kadar yellow decorated with the few gold medals he has to his name, one for exceptional scouting, another for bringing down the largest hog anyone had ever seen, large enough to feed the whole camp for an evening.

The yellow tent flap opens and Khyris quickly snaps to a stiff position, relaxing when Amoun gestures for him to. “Khyris,” he says with a warm smile. “Thank you for joining me.”

You didn’t leave me much of a choice, Khyris thinks, though even he’s not bold enough to say that to the queen’s face. He’s wearing a thin golden circlet with soft brown gems embedded, the crown of Kadar. Khyris has never been close enough to see it; it sparkles in the evening sunlight.

He’s never been close enough to see the queen’s face like this—the kindness deep within earthy eyes, his short, well-trimmed beard and mustache, the single lock of black hair hanging down on his forehead. His black cloak doesn’t have a smattering of dust, and the long fur hairs poking out of the collar make Khyris ache for the crude fur coat he made himself the last time he was home—these velvet jackets don’t do much in the way of warmth.

Amoun even smells like the forests of the north, Khyris’ home, with a hint of soft incense.

“Please, come in.” Amoun steps aside to let Khyris slip past him. He takes a quick look around. Amoun’s tent is nicer than any camp tent he’s ever been in, a colorful carpet covering the sand, a table of golden wood with two chairs set up in the middle, a white curtain hiding what’s presumably a bed in the corner. Even the lanterns, burning with blessed warmth, are polished and new compared to the grimy ones in the tent Khyris shares with five others.

“Sit,” Amoun says softly, latching the tent flap closed to keep out the abhorrent wind. Khyris sits, happy to be out of the cold with a plate of hot food in front of him, if nothing else. The faster he can fail this and get it over with, the better.

Amoun sits opposite him and unclasps his cloak, revealing a finely woven black waistcoat over a long sleeved yellow shirt.

“Ah, so His Majesty is capable of wearing color,” Khyris says before he can think about it. He refuses to go back on it, even as Amoun looks at him in surprise. Khyris won’t be the timid little soldier afraid to even look at his queen. He respects himself more than that.

“I admit my dress is rather unconventional for Kadar,” Amoun says, slipping into a relieving smile. He picks up a white teapot and pours them both steaming cups. From the smell, it’s coffee—in the evening? Another oddity. “It’s one of many reasons for people to distrust me—or worse, dislike me.” He smiles again over the rim of his cup.

Khyris is holding his for warmth until he remembers that he’s not in the tent waking up to Aeron jabbering in his ear, he has manners. He quickly puts it back on the table. All the manners he learned from his father and his one visit to court suddenly leave him. Hopefully his country boy ignorance doesn’t show too much.

No, he wants it to show, doesn’t he? He wants Amoun to be disgusted with his choice and let him go.

Khyris grips the handle of the coffee cup again but after a few seconds of indecision, leaves it on the table.

“I do hope you’ll enjoy this meal,” Amoun says, oblivious to Khyris’ inner turmoil and the fact that this is the best meal Khyris will ever have in the field in the middle of winter. “Have you ever been to a palace banquet? Forgive me for not remembering your face—you all look the same in those jackets.” He shovels a forkful of something into his mouth—wait, what are they eating?

Khyris gathers himself and picks up his knife, reminding himself to breathe. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he says after what’s probably too long of a pause. “I have been to a palace banquet once, shortly after I joined your army.” He focuses on cutting what he now discerns to be lamb, a delicacy they don’t get out here at the building sites, laying on a bed but of golden rice. It’s hot and warms him to the bone, but it’s not as spicy as the kind his father used to make.

Amoun laughs, speaking with a full mouth. “Let’s not pretend it’s my army. Cai knows I don’t pay enough attention to it. Oh, forgive me”—he smiles sheepishly— “when I’m alone with someone, especially here instead of the palace, I forget my manners. My upbringing is coming back to haunt me. Perhaps that’s another reason people detest me.”

Khyris pauses. Suddenly the food is vastly less interesting than Amoun. “You grew up humble, Majesty?”

“Please, call me Amoun. I am here to court you.”

The reminder makes Khyris bring his eyes back to his plate. Make him throw you out.

“Yes,” Amoun continues, “I came from the forests of the north. My parents were well off, and I have no siblings, but it was not a glamorous childhood by any means. Not compared to what I’m used to now.”

Khyris chews slowly, hyperaware of everything. “I also came from the forests of the north, M—Amoun.”

“Really?” Amoun’s silver clatters against his plate. “I knew I chose well. Where exactly were you raised?”

Khyris tells him about the cabin his mother built, four young siblings and a father too crippled to hunt, a mother too overworked to cook, the privilege Khyris considered hunting.

He loses track of time as Amoun talks about those same forests, hiding from great imaginary beasts that were only the howls of the wind in the trees as a child, the warmth of the curry Amoun’s mother made—the same one Khyris’ mother made for his birthday.

Khyris has never met someone who grew up in the north forests before, and he soon finds he can’t keep the smile off his face.

Before Khyris knows it, they’ve both finished their meals and wine has replaced the coffee. No attendants come in to bring them dessert, Amoun only gets up and accepts plates from them through the tent flap.

Khyris doesn’t have to leave his chair the whole time—he feels like the queen here, dipping a spoon into the bowl of warmth honey cake soaked through with cream. Amoun asks him about his friends, his family, laughs at every story of his siblings, goes somber when Khyris tells him why he joined the army.

Amoun makes him feel like everything he has to say is worth something to him, that his nods aren’t the polite, diplomatic ones he’s no doubt used to putting on. Khyris is only too happy to return the favor and admire the reflection of the lamplight in Amoun’s eyes.

And then it’s ending. The wine has faded from Khyris’ system, and the warmth of Amoun’s hand as he helps Khyris to his feet is bittersweet. He doesn’t know when he stopped trying to make Amoun dislike him, if he was ever trying at all, but now he’s foolishly praying that Amoun will ask him back.

“Thank you for such a wonderful evening, Khyris,” Amoun says, smiling like the witches of legend are said to do—so strong, so beautiful, they make it impossible to look away. Khyris’ limbs seem to draw closer of their own accord before he realizes and quickly puts distance between them.

“Thank you,” Khyris says, a shadow clouding over his heart as he turns toward the tent flap that Amoun holds open.

“Would you like to go out with me again?” Amoun asks as Khyris is about to leave. He stares in hopeful disbelief. “It’s perfectly alright if you don’t. I would never force you into anything you would not want—I have heard the stories your companions tell. Khyris the Angrily Smitten.” Amoun’s lips curve into a smile with an unescapable hint of pain. “I think the angry part is more prevalent. You are one of the ones who would detest me at court.”

Khyris is again mad at Aeron, for an entirely different reason. Has this whole magical evening gone to shit?

“Majesty—Amoun”—he takes a deep breath— “I—I was wrong about you. I would like to go out with you again. It is possible for minds to change.” He laces his own fingers behind his back, arms held taught in the stiff jacket.

Amoun’s answering grin is brighter than the sun.

Amoun has to go back to Ramia, of course, and Khyris back to the city building corporal’s lifestyle, but they spend every chance they could get together, alone, in a welcome relief from life for both of them. Aeron and Delia have been nothing but evil about it, but it’s no less than Khyris would expect.

His and Amoun’s second outing comes mere weeks after their first, when Khyris thought he might go mad from anticipation. Would their next meeting be just as perfect as their first? He frets, despite Aeron’s relentless teasing about the fact that so recently, he’d despise himself for fretting about this.

He made the mistake of addressing the queen as Amoun in Delia and Aeron’s presence. At the risk of his own sanity, he’s been careful to censor himself since, though Aeron probably sees right through it.

Their second date is every bit as good as the first and more. Amoun invites Khyris to the camp where he’s staying, visiting another battalion of soldiers in the north. Khyris was happy to go just to escape Aeron’s teasing, but the smile Amoun gives him upon arrival did things to him he didn’t know were possible. After a few days together and the blistering kiss Amoun gives him when they part, Khyris knows his mind is made up.

It should not come as a surprise when Amoun proposes only a few months later. The whole purpose of Amoun’s visit, after all, was to find a spouse to court.

He’s not just falling for the queen of Kadar for all the perks of being his lover. when Amoun first announced this challenge, Khyris thought the steady income for his family would be the only reason he’d ever agree if miraculously chosen.

As soppy and awful as it sounds, as much as he’s becoming the very lovestruck fool he loved to hate, he enjoys Amoun for him, not for his money or his power or his safety. His company. His smile. His mix of ease and nerves, how he both seems to know exactly what he’s doing and has no clue at all.

Now, he’s in Ramia again for the first time in four years in the part of it he never thought he’d get to visit in his lifetime: the queen’s private palace apartments. Amoun is looking at him the warmth of the sun in those eyes and asking if Khyris will be his forever. What can Khyris say but yes?

Khyris might hang around court more often than he ever thought he would, but he still can’t bear to leave the army. He sees past the humor in Aeron’s voice when he asks, “Don’t forget about your fellow corporals when you’re the queen’s husband, alright?” Khyris spends half of the days leading up to wedding with the soldiers, working hard and crashing harder just like he did before, and the other half in some kind of paradise of luxury with Amoun.

He invites Aeron and Delia to the palace when he visits—he’s learned, as the queen’s betrothed, there’s little he can’t get away with, including sudden leave for any soldier he likes. Seeing the raw awe on Aeron’s face makes his own adjustment a little easier to bear.

He and Amoun decline to get tattoos of betrothal—that’s a Cairic tradition at heart, and the queen of Kadar couldn’t be seen with that, especially since they’re trying to move away from Tel Cairis’ traditions.

Being suddenly waited on and served food even better than the stuff in Amoun’s tent on their first date is nice, but jarring. He’s so used to the humble life, getting everything himself, being independent. The army only enforced that, even when he gained friends.

Now the clothes he wears puts his yellow dinner jacket to shame, and every bit of building has been made by hundreds of men compared to a few. He can only wonder how Amoun adjusted.

Amoun is a sweetheart, empathetic and sensitive. Unfortunately, this means Khyris can’t keep a secret around him, and he quickly notices Khyris’ discomfort.

“Mi’hail, please,” he implores one night, because of course he’d be the type to use old fashioned terms of endearment like that. “Tell me what I can do to make this place feel as much as your home as it is mine. All I desire is to make you happy.”

Khyris sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. His cheek is pillows on the silk nightshirt covering his arm, so light and soft and decadent you can hardly call it a shirt. His feet are made warm by the sheets of Amoun’s bed, the warm orange glow of candlelight turning Amoun’s skin the most beautiful gold.

This is not the first time Amoun has asked, but Khyris always tells him not to bother, he’s busy enough, he’s done enough already. “If we are to be married,” Amoun tries, “it cannot be on unequal footing. I will not have you be a sacrifice to be with me. You grew up with so little—let me repay you now.”

“Oh, and you grew up in luxury?” Khyris counters.

“Stop trying to switch the subject.” Amoun sits up against the cushioned headboard. “Tell me, or I will not leave it alone.”

Khyris knows how capable he is of that. He manages a small smile.

“A garden,” he settles on at last, thinking of the northern forests, how he loved the trees but always wished for a more glamorous, well-tended grove. “Remind me of the north, where we are from. Give me a version of our forests that’s neater, that shows the nicest parts without all the ugly ones.” He sighs, already picturing it, almost able to smell the richness of the tree sap if he concentrates. “With a fountain,” he adds. “Is that too much?”

Amoun’s eyes are shining. “Not at all. I will do it, mi’hail.”

Amoun builds him a garden. He commissions a fountain. He brings the forests of the north to Ramia.

Khyris underestimates him once again.

It takes so long and takes up so much space, Khyris is eventually banned entirely from the west side of the palace in case he catches a glimpse of Amoun’s hard work. All he knows is that Amoun is always beaming and giddy with excitement and anticipation of Khyris’ reaction.

The damn thing takes so long to build, Khyris doesn’t get to see it till three weeks after their wedding, when they get back from their trip alone to the forests of the north.

When everything is finally done to Amoun’s liking, Amoun can’t let go of his hand as he leads him out to see it. He even makes Khyris close his eyes, an incredible trust exercise. When Khyris is allowed to open them, his jaw falls open.

He’d been prepared by the sound of flowing water, but nothing could truly brace him for this. From the top of the steps leading inside where they stand, Khyris can see the whole thing: the fountain of himself holding his bow, quiver at his back, free hand reaching up to fix his hair. “Wh—how did you get a statue of me commissioned without needing me there?”

Amount just grins.

None of the trees are old enough to provide shade yet, but stone beds with soil inside house several young, green trees that will grow up to be the great sprawling ones of the north. The floor is stone, not dirt, and it’s much nicer and cleaner to look at than the leafy forest floor. The smell of the trees is absent, but it’s more than made up for with the greenery tucked into every spot, the rare pops of pink flowers from the east. Everything is well tended and trimmed, from the hedges to the plants to the shape of the trees.

Each layer up to the palace entrance is covered in some of potted plant, and an artificial river runs around every bit of it to feed them, the channel carved into the stone.

Khyris can’t fathom how he imported everything and how it’s stayed so fresh—the wont of a queen, he supposes.

“The gardens of Khyris,” Amoun says quietly at his back, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to pull him closer.

After another minute of silence, he laughs nervously. “Speechless, mi’hail?”

“Uh, yes.” Khyris turns his head to kiss him. “I don’t know how to thank you. it’s absolutely gorgeous. I—seriously, all of this is for me?”

“I would be happy to ban the public if you asked,” Amoun confirms. “Does it take you back to the north forests as it does for me?”

“You know it does. It’s perfect in every way.”

Amoun walks him down the steps to the garden itself, showing him every carefully chosen detail. Khyris is happy to stand with him near the fountain, enough for the sound of the rushing water to lull him into a sense of calm. He wonders how he could’ve ever hated Amoun.

“Khyris the Angrily Smitten, they called you all those months ago,” Amoun murmurs. Khyris’ ears burn hot.

“I find it endearing,” Amoun confesses, “but I know you find it rather—embarrassing. I’d like to call you something else.” His fingers curl around Khyris’ neck, soft and warm. “Khyris mi’hail? Khyris the Beloved?”

Khyris fights the smile threatening to break out and fails. “Better than Khyris the Great, or something awful like that.”

Amoun laughs. “I am great enough for both of us,” he says, and pulls Khyris to the sound of the water mingling with the wind. An earthly heaven without Cai.

shorts taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @lunarmoment @missingpeace

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses @47crayons @wickerring

#writing #writeblr #my writing #my short story #my wip #fantasy #fantasy writeblr #lila's wips: acogs #lila's short stories

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willowandfog · 4 years ago

Photo

Hey guys! I asked for people to send me some prompts my way and as promised I took the first two and wrote an Inu/Kag one shot.

The two winning prompts were:

“They're such an idiot. My idiot but still.”

& “Nothing else matters except for you."

Thank you to @ruddcatha and @smmahamazing for the prompts!

So this came from an idea I have for a fic. This ‘one shot’ will eventually be developed into a full fic. This one shot is from further into the story. The feelings, relationships and such are established by this point. (Warnings:) There is also some violence and brief references to torture.

Read below the cut:

Inuyasha pushed through the doors to the lab, carefully taking in the small group standing huddled together, talking in hushed whispers. Shippo was the first to notice him approaching, shushing the others before pointing over their shoulders towards him. The other two turned in unison as Inuyasha came to a stop in front of the group, hands on hips.

“Tell me you guys have managed to connect the bomb to Sandusky Shipping?” He asked in his rough, impatient tone.

Miroku, Sango, and Shippo stood gaping at him. “Well uhh actua-”

Miroku elbowed Shippo in the side. “Kagome still wasn’t exactly sure that the bomb is connected to them, she thinks that the bomb might have been moved somehow from its original place to make it seem like it was the shipping company.”

“Ooook. Why does she think that? Is she still testing things?” He held up a hand to stop them from speaking as they all opened their mouths to speak at once. “Nevermind. I’ll ask her, where is she?”

Shippo and Miroku shared a wide eyed look before taking a step away from him, trying to gain some distance, leaving only Sango standing directly in front of him.

Sango glared back at them before turning back. “Inuyasha, that’s what we were talking about when you came in. We found some unusual trace elements in the samples brought back for us, and… well Kagome wasn’t sure if they originated in the bomb or are just from the terrain when the explosion happened. She said she needed a ground sample from the site, outside of the explosion area.”

“Ok.” Inuyasha sighed, glancing at his watch. “When do you think she’ll be back? Kouga and I really need to move forward with this.”

“Here’s the thing.” Sango started nervously. “She went last night.” Inuyasha looked back to her, frowning. “The records show that she never came back to the lab and she wasn’t at her place this morning when I went to pick her up. We all figured she maybe just decided to go home and grab the samples this morning but… She should’ve been here three hours ago and she’s not picking up her cell.”

Pulling out his own phone, Inuyasha tapped Kagome’s name on his screen. The call connected directly to her voicemail. “Kagome.” He spoke in a low dangerous tone. “Call me. Now.” He growled before ending the connection. Inuyasha stood there, jaw tightly clenched, seething. He turned to leave, stopping at the doorway. He let out an aggravated shout a moment before he punched the wall beside the door, his fist leaving a hole in the drywall. “Whichever of you is capable of collecting a sample, meet me by my office in ten minutes.” He exited through the lab doors, hands tightly balled into fists.

Sango turned back to the other two to find them with their hands raised in position for Rock, Paper, Scissors. “Nope.” She said, before striding away.

-------------------------------------------------------

“I am never letting you drive again. What the fuck, Inuyasha? You’re going to kill us.” Kouga growled, grabbing the roof handle as Inuyasha swerved around another car ‘going too slow’.

Inuyasha grumbled something under his breath, turning down the road leading to the warehouse district.

“He’s right, I’d rather not die before I can legally drink.” Shippo mumbled from the back seat.

Inuyasha pulled up next to where Kagome’s sapphire blue Hyundai Elantra was parked next to the active crime scene tape. He had barely put the SUV in park before he jumped out. He threw open Kagome’s driver’s side door, picking up her phone that lay on the seat.

“Her phone’s dead.” He said turning to Kouga as he pocketed the object.

Shippo pointed at the east end of the warehouse. “She would have wanted to collect a sample from as close to the edge of the blast site as possible.”

“Kagome!” Inuyasha shouted as they ducked under the tape, walking towards the spot Shippo indicated. “Kagome!” He heaved a sigh.

“Guys…” Shippo said quietly, pointing to a spot near the tall grass.

Kagome’s large black collection box lay turned over, contents scattered. Inuyasha dropped his head into one of his hands, shaking it. Kouga carefully stepped through the tall trampled grass, scanning the ground. He crouched down, inspecting something.

“Inuyasha. Come look at this.”

Inuyasha knelt down beside him. When he saw Kagome’s issued firearm his stomach dropped.

“Look here.” Kouga pointed to the butt of the grip. “Is that blood?”

Inuyasha nodded. “Looks like it.”

“Why would she come out here alone? Especially when it was getting dark.”

Inuyasha growled slightly. “Cause she’s an idiot.” He rubbed his hand over his face in exasperation. “My idiot, but still.” He grumbled before standing, pulling his phone from his pocket and calling it in.

Why is this happening after we finally agreed to give things between us a shot? Dammit, Kagome, you better be ok.

-------------------------------------------------------

“Inuyasha!” Sango came sprinting into his office, huffing for breath. She handed him a file. “Kaede got those results on the blood from Kagome’s gun.”

Inuyasha cracked open the file, studying the contents for a long moment.

“It wasn’t her blood. She fought back, she’s still alive, Inuyasha.” Sango spoke quietly reaching across his desk and resting a hand over one of his.

“We don’t know that for sure. But she damn well better be.” He snapped the file closed, covering his eyes with his hands. “Why didn’t she just ask me to go with her?”

“Inuyasha.” Sango said gently. “As much as Kagome likes working with you. She isn’t likely to want to interrupt when you’re arguing with your ex in your office.”

Inuyasha sighed. “I gotta make a call about these results. Hopefully we’ll be able to find out where she is.”

-------------------------------------------------------

“Alright everyone, the blood we found on Dr. Higurashi’s firearm was from Johnny Marrow. Been in prison a few times, but mostly his cases almost never make it to trial. Some crimes include criminal possession of a controlled substance, evidence tampering, but most importantly several cases of assault, and he was suspected of several murders but we never had enough evidence to convict. We had an informant report Marrow conducting suspicious activity near the port. Now, if he doesn’t have the doctor, he should know where she is. Marrow is to be taken alive.” Inuyasha instructed the three HRT agents in the van as he strapped on his vest.

“That’s one of Darren Montana’s men right? Scummy, clean up, loose ends man?” Kouga questioned.

“Yeah.” Inuyasha said quietly as he sat down next to him, checking over his MP5SD6.

“Don’t worry man. She’ll be in there.” Kouga said, clasping him on the shoulder as the van jerked to a stop and the back doors swung open. “Let me take point. If we find her, you just focus on getting her out.”

Inuyasha nodded, following him out of the van. As the five agents gathered together to finish coordinating, the driver ran over to them.

“Thermal scanners indicate there are a dozen people inside. There’s a cluster of five on the west end. Three on the second level. One near both doors, and another doing patrols. Then the last one is isolated near the five on the west side.” He reported.

“Thanks, Luke.” Kouga said, turning back to the group.

“Should’ve brought more men.” Inuyasha groaned to himself.

“Alright guys.” Kouga started.

-------------------------------------------------------

Kagome jerked awake at the sound of gunfire. She yanked on her restraints, tears pouring down her face as the blistered wounds circling her wrists began bleeding, and her dislocated shoulder screamed at her. She failed to shake the matted, blood-caked hair from her face as she watched the door intently. Her vision swam, head throbbing, as the continued sound of gunfire seemed to echo in her ears. The dirty cloth rag pulled tightly at the corners of her mouth; her mouth and throat dry and raw.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed as she sat, tense, tied to the chair before the door swung open. She blinked squinted eyes at the bright light before she was able to make out a tall figure standing in the doorway, swinging a gun from side to side, scanning the room. When the figure lowered their weapon and kneeled beside her chair, she was finally able to recognize Inuyasha.

Tears of relief rather than pain began to flow as he gently pulled the gag from her mouth. He hesitated for a moment as his stern set face took her in. The bruises on her face already had different shades of blue and purple, and the dried blood down one side of her face indicated a head wound. His eyes turned soft before he moved behind the chair. As he cut the ropes he tried not to take in her blood soaked hands. She slumped forward, almost falling as the ropes fell free.

“Come on, Kagome.” He whispered to her, moving to scoop her up.

She let out a high pitched whimper as her limp arm was jostled, dangling uselessly at her side. Wrapping her good arm around his neck, she buried her face in his neck.

“Inuyasha.” She sobbed.

As he carried her from the room she noticed another agent had been guarding the door. Inuyasha followed close behind him, eyes scanning as they went. She closed her eyes firmly against the sunlight when they exited the building; hearing more shots coming from the second floor. Inuyasha carried her to the back of the van they arrived in, gently setting her down on a seat inside.

“Ambulance is on it’s way.” The other agent, Kagome thought his name was Evan, said to Inuyasha before turning and speaking into his radio.

Inuyasha knelt in front of her again, taking her face tenderly in his hands. “Are you ok?” He questioned softly.

“Yes.” She whispered but shook her head.

“Your shoulder.” He moved to take her arm as if he was going to pop it back into place but she pulled away from him.

“No.” Her voice was hoarse. “It’s really swollen, just leave it. She leaned her head back, closing her eyes again. “How did you find me?”

“Your gun.” He said simply, and she nodded.

-------------------------------------------------------

Inuyasha waited impatiently outside of Kagome’s hospital room. Almost an hour had passed before Totosai finally emerged, closing the door behind himself. He frowned, shaking his head as he approached Inuyasha.

“That took a while.”

“Yes well, when an agent is kidnapped and tortured, there’s a lot more questions to ask. She’ll have to fill out an official report when she’s out of here but it’ll do for now.” Totosai raised a brow at him. “You sent Kouga without you?”

“I’d rather be here. How bad was it?” Inuyasha questioned.

Totosai sighed. “They were trying to find out what and how much we know. They’re scared we’re getting close. I believe her when she says she didn’t give anything up, I don’t think she’d still be alive if she’d talked. I think they were just getting started on her though, if you hadn’t found her when you did…” he shook his head again, glancing at his shoes briefly. “They’d started pulling fingernails, Inuyasha.” He said delicately before patting him on the shoulder and walking away.

Inuyasha closed his eyes, trying to compose himself before heading into her room. He drank in the sight of her as he shut the door. He took in the small bandage on the side of her head, the sling on her arm, her wrapped wrists and her bandaged fingers. The majority of her face was covered in deep purple bruises and the corners of her mouth looked split.

Her eyes cracked open, a small smile gracing her lips. “Hey.” She called out weakly.

“Hey.” He replied back softly, approaching her bed.

“What are you doing here? I thought they finished the tests at the lab, confirming that Montana’s group planted that bomb. You were supposed to be making that arrest on Montana today.”

“Kouga’s going.”

“We all know that you should be the one making that arrest.” She said firmly to him.

He rested a hand on her bed, leaning down, bringing his face close to hers. His breath warm on her face, Kagome caught a whiff of his spicy cologne. “Nothing else matters, except for you.”

She sucked in a breath, heart racing. Her chocolate eyes studied the greyish depths of his violet ones. He leaned in closer, stopping when he was a hair’s width away, pausing for a moment to see if she would object. When she didn’t he placed a brief tender kiss to her lips.

He smiled at her grin. “I think you should let me take you to dinner when you get out of here.” When she nodded he held up a finger. “Actually. How about I’ll take you to dinner if you agree to not go back to crime scenes alone.”

She laughed. “Deal.”

@ruddcatha @lavendertwilight89 @cstormsinukagblog @clearwillow @witchygirl99 @dangerouspompadour @pinkpigeonstudio @superpixie42 @smmahamazing @bluejay785 @zelink-inukag @liz8080 @rootpatterson @umacaking @zelico

#inuyasha fanfic #inuyasha fanfiction #inukag #prompt fic #willowandfog

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nicklightbearer · 4 years ago

Text

Not A Warning, Babe, It’s An Order

yet another whf tickling fic! i just cant get enough of these two. this one is a lot longer and a good bit more.... sweet? cute?

in this; virgil didnt die and also nick and jack are Frens <3

“Ugh!” Nick huffed, balling up yet another failed composition and throwing it towards the trash can- at this point, while most of it at the bottom was empty bottles, it was overflowing with similar papers. Ripped, crushed, and ruined.. None of them were right. He couldn’t get down the mood he wanted, not in the slightest- and though he eyed the pills set in a neat bowl on his desk, he ended up shoving those away too and just pressing his head to his hands.

This wasn’t working. He couldn’t feel it, that groove that would inspire him to write a million words all in one night- that focus, that drive.. It eluded him.

From the open window, a cold chill. He’d left it open on purpose, of course- tonight, of all nights, he’d actually hoped that Jack would show up- but so far, nothing. Perhaps he wasn’t listening.

Perhaps he was off indulging in his own hobby. A thought that would’ve once made Nick shudder just made him snort now, and he stood up to grab his guitar.

Maybe this time, he could interrupt the magician’s work instead.

Making his way over to the window, he gave the guitar a few plucks- out of tune, dammit- but with his keen ear for such things, he twisted the pegs just so until the guitar sang as beautifully as ever. He pushed open the door to the balcony, giving a few strums, before settling on a chair outside and kicking his feet up on the railing.

Yes, this would do nicely.

Jack.. Wasn’t actually hunting, not tonight. He hadn’t been, as of late- sneaking off to Nick’s room to get a bit of company now and again, coupled with ‘terrorizing’ the poor man, well.. It’d been doing just fine.

At the moment, he was actually perched on the windowsill of some random citizen- he hadn’t bothered checking who, it didn’t matter- and peering into the window to a bedroom across the way. This house was his target- a doctor lived there with his wife, and it seemed that this particular fellow had taken a vested interest in the bobby’s investigation of the ‘escape’ of Foggy Jack.

Irritating, to say the least. Those doctors gave him the heebie-jeebies.

He’d been there for.. Oh, three hours? It was about three hours when he finally noticed something to break the monotony- hell, the doctor hadn’t even come home yet, all he’d seen was the wife folding laundry and watching the late-night run of Uncle Jack’s show- and it was.. Well, at first he thought he was hallucinating. It wasn’t the first time.

But as the song trailed off, he noted that it was different from recordings. It was as if Nick was playing his guitar right out into the open night air, something like a ballad version of When You’re Gone.

Surely Nick wasn’t playing outside at this hour. Though he tried to ignore it- probably just some other musician practicing- it kept going.. And his curiosity got the better of him.

Sighing, he slid down from the window, dissolving into his usual mist before even touching the ground.

If it was Nick, he’d be rather cross. At the same time, it was definitely a first for him to be doing something like this, and he wondered to what end it was.

When Nick noticed the fog rolling up the streets, converging into a larger cloud as it got closer to his house, he smiled grimly. It had worked- and he wasn’t actually sure how Jack would react to such a summons, as odd as it was. But he needed help- and of all the times Jack had offered, well, he surely wouldn’t be that put off.

He closed his eyes, now crooning the words to his song softly as he felt the fog push up towards his balcony.

“When you’re gone… Baby, it’s a long way home.” He could feel a presence behind him now, but he didn’t bother stopping his playing. It was near the end, anyway.

“Baby, it’s a long way home.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder as he finished the tune, and lolled his head back to open his eyes and grin up at Jack. The magician was quiet- looked rather neutral, but curiosity glinted in his eyes.

“A wonderful performance as always.” “Why, thank you.” “But I must ask.. It’s nearly midnight, most of the good folk have gone to bed or out to their activities of the night. Why haven’t you?” “I’m glad you asked!” Nick beamed, swinging his legs down and standing up as he grabbed Jack’s arm and dragged him inside- not that there was much resistance.

“I have to write a new song. And I’m having a lot of trouble!” “You sound delighted about that.” Nick huffed, setting his guitar down and turning to cross his arms with an irritated frown. Jack merely tilted his head, still not entirely sure where he came into play.

“Well! You’ve helped me before.” “Ah, so it’s like that?”

The way the word was murmured shot a shiver up his spine, and Nick held his hands out placatingly as a cruel smile spread across the magician’s face.

“No! No, it’s not, you big bully. Godsakes.” “Well, do explain.” Nick sighed, stepping over to his bed and flopping to sit on the edge- and, when Jack didn’t move, he patted the spot next to him. There was a brief hesitation before he settled down, hands resting on his lap as he watched Nick almost warily.

“I need a favor.” “A favor.” “Yes. I know you get all excited about- about making me laugh, but I hardly ever get to see you laugh. And I think it would make for a great inspiration if you’d let me have my own fun, for once.” Jack’s face reddened considerably, even if Nick could only peek at the spaces around the edges. He shifted, bringing a knee up onto the bed so that he was facing the magician and leaned forward while clasping his hands together earnestly.

“Please! It’d be a big help, really.” “I..” “And you can- you can have your fun later, once I’m done. Okay?” Jack raised an eyebrow. “No strings attached?” “Well- I mean- oh, don’t be mean. You know what I meant.” “Mmh. I suppose if it’s such a big help..” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose for a moment before nodding in agreement. Nick clapped once, already excited. “Perfect! Okay, perfect. Here, you lay down, let me get my pad.” Jack may well have just up and died, with how heavily his blush was- but he complied, laying back on the bed awkwardly before covering his face and exhaling. Nick had scampered over to his desk and ripped the last page off again, completely trashing his original ideas and bringing over the blank paper and pencil to set on his nightstand.

“.. It’s not going to be very comfortable there. Here, up you go.” As he was pulled into a more comfortable position- laying so that he was propped up on pillows instead of flat on the mattress- he was silent. Nick paused for a moment before scrambling to sit on his legs, suddenly rather aware of how awkward the situation could become if he didn’t pull this off perfectly.

“.. And the mask?” “Oh no. Not taking it off.” “Jacky…” The magician peeked through his fingers, watching how Nick’s face fell and his eyes shined. Ooh, he was getting good at those puppy eyes.

He deflated, hooking his fingers around the edges and wiggling it off carefully. The night air felt cold on his exposed skin- especially with how fiery it was from the flustered state he was in.

“There. Happy?” “Absolutely!” Nick’s smile was back, and he laced his fingers together, stretching them a bit before wiggling them a few times- Jack had to bite back a giggle of anticipation- to get warmed up.

“Alright. Don’t cover your face again, okay? I need to see you smile!” “God.” As his palms pressed to the magician’s sides, he yelped at the immediate slam of arms that nearly locked him in place.

“Woah there, Jackaboy- hey, you’ve only gone and trapped me!” “Well- I can’t- aha!”

His fingers curled slightly, and even with his jacket to protect him, the magician had to lock his jaw to keep the tingles that spread across his torso from affecting him too much.

“Come on, you silly boy.. Lift your arms up.” “I can’t if you- if you keep- doing that!” “Doing whaaaat?” The teasing! The tone! He hated it- but as skilled fingers began kneading at his sides, he couldn’t voice any of that. He pressed his arms down a bit harder, jerking as Nick’s hands slid down to squeeze his hips experimentally.

“Gosh, you’re such a baby about it. With all your big talk about how sensitive I am, I thought you wouldn’t be half so bad..” Nick tsked, pulling back for a moment before pushing his hands underneath the jacket and clawing at his stomach. Jack nearly had a heart attack right there, hands flying up to his mouth to stifle the sudden squeak as he squirmed.

“But that’s not right at all! You’re just as ticklish as me, aren’t you? God, what a hoot.” This was it. This was his funeral.

“Imagine if the constables caught wind. Foggy Jack, menace to society- and all you have to do to reduce him to a pile of fluff and giggles is a little tickling.” “Fuck ohohoff!” “Ooh, swears. So scary.” Nick was careful as he pulled one hand out to start undoing buttons- the jacket was soon pushed aside, and he grinned as he ducked his head down. One hand locked on each side, squeezing over and over as his face pressed against the magician’s stomach- and though he didn’t yet do much other than that, the hot breath he could feel through his shirt made Jack buck up in an attempt to throw him off.

“Hold still! Squirmy wormy, squirmy Jacky, my gosh!” “Faha- Fuhuck you-” “Oh, quit the swearing. I’m not going to stop.” His hands drifted up, nails easily drilling against ribs and finally coaxing out a howl of laughter as Jack threw his head back against the pillows. Accompanying this was an even more infuriating sound- a soft ‘oooomnomnomnom’ as he nibbled at Jack’s shirt- and the slight biting feeling only earned more laughter that had now reached a much higher pitch than he’d ever admit.

“Jeez, no wonder Virge likes this snack..” Though he heard the words, he had no time to process them- not now that Nick had deftly undone his dress shirt and buried his face against him, blowing a raspberry square in the middle of his stomach. “NooOOHOHO- AHAHA- NIHIHIHIIIIHIHICK!! NOT THE- THEEHEE-” “Oooooh, yes! That’s perfect, Jacky.” Though he had started pushing at Nick’s shoulders, the musician merely chuckled and pushed his hands up- and from how he started kneading his fingers into Jack’s underarms, the shocks it sent up his arms drained his strength almost completely.

“Tickle-tickle-tickle… Oh, this is rich. No wonder you like doing this.” “Nihihick- plehease-” “Pleeease what? You volunteered.” “Noho! I didn’t- ahAHAHA!” Another raspberry. If he’d been able to form a coherent thought, he’d be thinking about how awful that mustache of Nick’s was for such an endeavor- the way it brushed against his stomach sent shivers across his body and left him breathless from the laughter.

Nick hummed a little as he looked up, reveling in the fruits of his labor for a moment and relishing in the squeals of laughter that now poured from Jack’s smiling mouth. It really was inspiring- the way he thrashed about and laughed as though he were witness to the funniest joke on the planet.. One that Nick had…

That was it!

Nick rolled off of him abruptly, seizing the pad and pencil from where he’d landed on the floor. Jack was still giggling softly, gasping for breath as he opened his eyes and blinked- a disappearing act from Lightbearer was.. Definitely unexpected.

But he heard humming beside the bed, and after fixing his shirt, he peered over the edge to see the musician scribbling on his pad of paper, occasionally pausing to tap the eraser to get a beat before resuming.

He was only the slightest bit disappointed. As he made to sit up, though, Nick looked up- then huffed, standing once again and pushing him back down.

“Oh no, I’m not done with you yet, mister. This is a full song, not just one verse!” Shit. “Now, Nick- really, it can’t be that hard to-” “It is! Now hold still. Wait- I’ve an idea.”

He got on his knees, gesturing for a moment before finding his words.

“Roll onto your stomach. Hug a pillow if that helps.” He complied, and though many spots were now protected by the bed, he had a funny feeling he was going to hate whatever was happening- of course, this was only strengthened when Nick turned his back and settled to sit on his knees. He maneuvered in such a way that he could sit criss-cross, pulling Jack’s feet through his legs and yanking his shoes off with ease.

Oh no.

“Nick- come on, this is getting ridiculous..” “Not a peep! I don’t want any protest, I’ve got to focus!”

Nick hummed the part he was thinking of as Jack buried his face in a pillow- before, of course, using the eraser end of his pencil to poke rapidly at the magician’s feet. The steady stream of giggles he earned was muffled into a pillow- but it seemed like enough, and he started writing again for a moment before repeating his actions. Jack balled up a fist and slammed it against the bed a few times, his legs screaming that he kick but wholly unable to due to their position.

“Nihihick- come on, aren’t you done yet?” “Don’t be impatient! Hey, you ought to be flattered-” He paused, now poking between each foot with every word and relishing in the flurry of flustered snickers he earned-

“You’re~my~muse~for~this~song! Isn’t that exciting?” “Ihi- eheheh- I suppose…” “Hey, if this works, maybe we can try more often! God knows with that album I’m supposed to have coming up…”

A thrill shot up through his stomach, and Jack grasped at the pillow he was strangling to the point where he was certain it would rip. “I didn’t agreehee to ahahany such thing!!” “But you would! Or..” Nick swung around, now facing him properly and giving him a brief break-

“I can convince you~.” Jack’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest- only to have a sudden wave of giggles come out instead, as Nick slipped his hands under his jacket and shirt to flutter his nails up and down the magician’s back and sides.

“Nohoho- you’re awful! Ahahawful!” “Oh, you love me.” “I hahahate ihihihihit!” Nick laughed along with him for a moment before landing a final pinch on one side and grabbing his notes again. Jack grumbled into his pillow, taking deep breaths to try and calm down. Of all the things Nick could’ve asked him to do…

But soon, they’d both gone quiet, and the scratching of pencil to paper began to slow- more pauses, more tapping, slight grumbling. Jack risked a peek over his shoulder, noting the irritated expression that Nick had.

“.. Something wrong?” “Well.. This next part. It’s less.. I need that giddy feeling. And it’s not coming.” Jack squirmed his way back onto his back and sat up, pulling his legs out from under Nick- with the lack of protest he must be pretty focused.

“That giddy feeling?” “Yeah. Like- when you take Joy for the first time in… No, that’s not quite it.” He hummed again, tapping the pencil on paper before groaning and shaking his head.

“Smilin’ like a little child, in a candy store.. Like that. Sort of.” Jack was content to watch, the look of focus combined with aggravation endlessly fascinating- and when the expression popped to a surprised look, his eyes widened. Surely not again…

“I’ve got it! I know.” And he tossed the pad onto the nightstand again before turning to Jack- this time, he was determined. Jack winced, a smile already tugging at his lips- but he was taken aback when Nick instead raised his arms above his head. “Tickle me!” “.. What?” “Well, it would work! It has before. That giddy feeling- you’re pretty good at getting it when you want.”

A more menacing smile now found its way onto his face, though a fairly endeared one. Of course, this was much more his speed…

Though Nick had seemed determined at first, that quickly melted into nervous giggles as Jack’s hands pushed under his shirt, nails already scratching steadily at his sides. His arms swayed, wanting to come down from where he held them but staying up.. For now.

“Well, I must say, I greatly prefer this to your horrible torture. We should’ve started here, instead.” “Ghhheheh- thahat’s not- how it works!” “Well, it should be.” He chuckled quietly, slowly making his way up Nick’s torso and almost admiring his dedication- even when his ribs were the target of light squeezes, he kept up, though he’d folded at his elbows to clasp his hands behind his head as he trembled.

“You- ha!- fucking, you’re a buhuhuhullyheehee…” “Isn’t that what you asked for? Please, Mr. Lightbearer, do clarify. You wanted me to tickle you, so I am- what’s the problem?” “Ghhhhheheheh…” Jack paused for a moment, hands resting on his ribs, before abruptly pushing up and drilling into his underarms. Nick yelped before squealing out more laughter, arms falling back down and locking as he covered his face. Judging by how he swayed, he’d probably fall if he wasn’t careful- so Jack carefully guided him to lay down, keeping at his torment the entire time.

“Go on, uncover your face- I’ve barely even picked up the pace…”

Nick jolted, then gasped through his laughter and finally pushed at Jack’s hands.

“Thahat’s- stooohohop, I neeheed to write!” “Aww.. Do I have to?” Jack pouted, but finally let go when Nick squeezed his arms down again.

“Yehehehehes!! Jack!” “Oh, fine.” He paused. “You actually have trapped my hands, though. Ease up.” Nick took a few deep breaths, slowly releasing his arms- squeaking at a final squeeze from Jack before he was released properly. Grabbing his notepad, he shook his hands out to try and get rid of the shakiness before bringing his knees up so he could write again.

“Cover your face… Hm- hmhmmmm.. Mmh, mmhmmmmm…” Jack tilted his head, trying to peek at the writing and huffing when he was swatted away. “I’m not done! No looking.” “Are you using my words?” “No- well, sort of. You’ll see.” He kept humming a few times before shifting so that his back was to Jack.

“.. Hey, do it again. But not so fast. I’m trying to nail the chorus.” “Do what?” “What do you think, you bully?” Jack snorted, settling on tracing his nails up and down Nick’s back- enough to earn a few snickers, and keep him content as he wrote. “What an effort, for a single song.” “You have no idea.” “Mmh, I think I have some. I’ve watched you write the whole thing.” “Yeah, well.. Shhh.” More humming- and quite a few giggles later- he finally set the pad down and pushed Jack’s hands away.

“Okay. That’s the first draft.” “Draft, are you serious?” “Well, I have to make sure it’s perfect!” Nick stretched, though he kept an eye on Jack- of course, the bastard’s hands twitched towards him, but he held himself back well enough. “It’s late. The best thing for me is to sleep on it. That’s why I write so late, so that I wake up with a little inspiration left over.” “Mmh, I see.” He faceplanted on the bed, reaching up to work off his wig; it was a mess, anyways, so it didn’t matter if he just threw it on the floor for later. Jack simply sat where he was, unsure if he was now overstaying his welcome.

“.. Lay down. Dork. You’re probably just as exhausted as me. It’s fine.” Though he hesitated for a long moment, he eventually settled next to Nick- the blush was back in full, but Nick didn’t seem to care. He slung an arm over the magician’s waist, already drifting off himself. Jack sighed softly, now not holding back the urge to gently comb his fingers through Nick’s hair.

“.. Good night, Nick.” “Mmnh, nighty night. Don’t run off.” It was the last request he had- and though he had other places to be, things to do.. Jack smiled fondly at the musician that now snored next to him. He was perfectly happy to wait.

#HEHEHE #we ticklish few #lightbearer #foggy poggy #ticklefic #my stuff

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thelordofdarkreunion · 4 years ago

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Magnificent Scoundrels- Man Behind the Curtain

Here, we have the second to last story of the “governments meeting/Citadel” arc. We finally find out who precisely attacked, any why they did it. I hope you all liked it. As always, I do not own any of these characters except Drake and his crew.

“Pieces on a god’s chessboard are just that: pieces, and if you fail to perform adequately or refuse to play your part, you will be removed and another will fulfill your duty.”

Aboard the IMC Rhodes

The clean black deck rang with the thumps of two pairs of boot soles. Two pairs of hands ran through their equipment, tightening straps and checking weapons one last time. Two pairs of eyes scanned the massive Titan deck of the Rhodes. The two Pilots stepped onto small, circular elevators. M.R.V.N. robots waved cheerfully at them. The elevators took them up to the scaffolding around their Titans, cockpits already standing open.

Pilot Elizabeth Reiner stepped inside her Titan. The M.R.V.N on the scaffolding flashed her a thumbs up. With a quick reach back, she stored her carbine in a holster inside the cockpit. Pilots controlled Titans, to be sure, but you never knew when you’d be forced to dismount.

“Welcome back, Pilot,” came the A.I. voice of KK-9734.

“Good to be back,” she replied with a grin from underneath her helmet. She pressed a button, and the cockpit closed, sealing her inside. A hologram lit up on the panel next to her.

“Pilots, you are to deploy and provide fire and heavy armor support here. There is no need to leave you Titans. After your mission is complete, our shuttles will retrieve you.” Standard mission briefing from the general. Her comms crackled to life.

“Milk run,” came the voice of her wingman, Pilot Kara Morse.

“Pilot Morse is incorrect. This is a Titan heavy armor and fire support mission, not a delivery of calcium hydroxide,” replied KK-9734. Reiner snorted with laughter. Many Pilots realized that their Titans were way too literal, but they wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Very true, KK. Very true.” There was a slight thump as the two Titans were lowered into place. The general’s voice sounded over the comms.

“Stand by for Titanfall.”

On the Citadel

“Go!” yelled Vir. The squad in the next crater up took to their feet as one and started to fire at the machine gun emplacements inside the hotel. Shepard vaulted the crater he was standing in and took off at a dead sprint for Vir’s crater. An ATLAS mech fired a burst in his direction, but he ignored it as he slid forward and tumbled, hands over heels, into the safety of the crater. He stood up and brushed dust off his armor.

Medical crater, was his first thought. This crater was less of a crater, and more of a large trench-like hole. Lining the insides were dozens of wounded soldiers and the Turian, GA, and Valhallan medics working on them. Nearby, a horribly battered human, his uniform unrecognizable and chest torn open, writhed and screamed on the ground as Kraiker, the Apocalypse’s medic, worked on him. Two C-Sec officers stood anxiously over the pair.

“Is he going to be alright?” asked one of the C-Sec agents. Kraiker didn’t even look up.

“He will be if you shut the fuck up and let me work,” he snapped. “Shepard. Vir,” he said, still not looking up. “If you want some of these cases to live, I suggest hurrying the hell up. Chakwas, Katie, Krill, and whoever the hell is on the Enterprise are probably better than I am, and we can’t get to them unless we clear this area.” Before either could say anything, there was a flicker behind them. Cooper’s cloak turned off and he jumped into the trench just as a machine gun stitched a line of mass-propelled rounds above him. Cooper shook his head and brushed off his helmet.

“I heard, I heard,” he said, holding up a hand before either Vir or Shepard could say anything. “I’m calling in my Titan.” he spoke into his helmet for a moment. “There we go. Stand by for Titanfall.” High above, three streaks of light shone at the edge of the Citadel’s artificial atmosphere. Cooper looked up in confusion. “Wait a minute. There’s only supposed to be one…” he trailed off. Another voice sounded, this time over the open comms system of the Scoundrels instead of Cooper’s private one.

“This is Commander Briggs,” said a human woman’s voice. “You asked for armor support, so the IMC decided to reply. Cooper, you guys are on the same side, so try not to kill each other.”

“Tell that to them,” Cooper muttered to himself. The three Titans, two IMC, one Militia, slammed into the ground with enough force to briefly shake it. Glowing blue domed shields appeared around them, protecting them from all incoming fire. Cooper activated his cloak, and with a vault, and quick sprint, launched himself at his Titan.

BT-7274 caught Cooper in mid air, and gently placed him inside his cockpit. The three Titan’s dome shields dissipated. Immediately, they started firing on the enemy soldiers entrenched inside the hotel. Massive cannon shells, 20mm armor piercing bullets, and rockets ripped through the hotel’s outer facade as the allied soldiers beneath the Titans advanced.

The soldiers inside the hotel panicked at the appearance of the massive war machines. The remaining ATLAS mechs that tried to stop them were swiftly obliterated as the allied soldiers reached the hotel. The defenders ran from the outer walls to the back, hoping to get away from the assault… only to find themselves walking directly into the waiting fire of the ODSTs.

Elsewhere on the Citadel

Drake spun rapidly, lashed out with his boot heel, and broke the ankle of a Cerberus trooper. The other leg came around, and the errant soldier flew onto the Citadel’s pavement. Drake snapped his feet together, perfectly timed to the beat of the music playing, of course, and shot the trooper through the head. He turned once more, and shot another soldier down, the kinetic barriers of the enemy stopping the bullet, but not the plasma infusion that blew a hole in her chest.

Rocket spun around, machine gun firing wildly. A maniacal cackle iminated from his mouth as he gunned down Cerberus soldiers, their shields and armor giving way to horrifying amounts of bullets.

Jack, a powerful human biotic and member of Sheaprd’s crew, snapped the neck of a charging enemy with nought but a thought and flash of blue energy. She picked up another struggling trooper with a cocoon of biotic power, and threw him through the arches of a particularly ugly metal sculpture. An Apocalypse armsman slid forward on his knees and threw out his arms.

“Goal!” he screamed. Jack smiled. She liked these people. They were crazy.

Nearby, Maverick watched the insanity around her. Yeah, she could be loose. A little crazy, especially to Kril’s standards. But this? This was a bit too much. Ramirez skated across a puddle of water, almost fell, and still managed to get his rifle up in time to kill an advancing Cerberus soldier.

“Maverick! You’re the only non-crazy one here!” he laughed.

“Someone has to keep you guys in check,” she shot back. Drake looked over from where he was repeatedly ramming a knife through the armor joints of a struggling Turian.

“Well, to be fair, you’re a lot less crazy than everyone else, Ramirez,” he said.

“Hey! I resent that!” he yelled back. Ramiriez spun around, only to realize there were no enemies left. How odd. Drake turned and walked up to a set of double doors leading god-only-knew where and started to fiddle with the control panel as two of his armsmen kept watch. He struggled for a moment, only for the panel to give him an electrical shock.

“Ah! Fuck me!” he swore as he shook his hand. Rameirez cocked an eyebrow.

“Well, usually I’d buy you dinner first, but sure.” Drake’s neck snapped around so fast Maverick swore she could hear vertebrae pop.

“I like this one!” Drake yelled jubilantly. He fiddled with the control panel a bit more, before giving it a resounding kick. “Dammit. Stupid thing won’t let me in.” He motioned to the demolition teams. “Muelka! Federer! Blow it the fuck up!” The two advanced with positively feral grins on their faces.

“Aye, aye, Captain!”

Elsewhere on the Citadel

A set of heavy double doors guarded the way into the attackers’ last stronghold on the Citadel. Apparently, the other landing forces had managed to do quite good for themselves, with a group of traitor C-Sec officers even coming up to Shepard and begging him to take them prisoner rather than face whatever Quill and Drake were doing. A distant rumbling and pall of thick smoke rising into the air in Drake’s direction gave a good indication of precisely what they were fleeing. All communications in Quill’s direction were completely shut down, which was rather ominous… for the opposition. Shepard and Vir had faith that Quill could weasel his way out of whatever was going on over there.

As for Shepard and Vir’s group, well… No one was going to stop thousands of the best soldiers in the universe, backed up by three Titans and two living legends. Simplicity itself.

As for the door, there was a current argument between the members of Shepard’s ground squad, led by his first lieutenant Miranda Lawson and the Tempestus Scions and ODSTs. Lawson, backed up by the Normady’s chief engineer, Tali'Zorah, wanted to hack the doors open, which would take a bit of time. The Scions and ODSTs wanted to simply blow them open. It was at the moment that the Scions started going for their weapons, disliking that Lawson and Shepard were working alongside “xenos scum,” that Vir decided to intervene.

“Why don’t we all settle down, huh? It doesn’t serve any purpose to kill each other, especially since we’ve been working together to take back the Citadel,” said Vir. He turned towards the lead Scion. “We’ve wasted enough time already. Blow open the doors.” The Scion nodded and gestured to a pair of his troopers carrying bombs.

“You heard the man. Blow it open.” Vir turned to Shepard and Lawson.

“I know you want to preserve as much of the Citadel as possible, but we want to get to the bottom of this attack, and demolition is faster. I can pay for any damages, if required.” Shepard shook his head.

“I won’t have you paying for anything if I can palm off the charges to the Council,” he replied. Vir grinned.

“Fair enough.” He looked over to the doors, where the Scions had placed their charges. A mixed group of Scions and ODSTs stood on both sides, guns at the ready.

“Ready?” called the leader.

“Ready!” came the reply.

“Breach!” The charges exploded inwards with a massive blast of heat, melting a huge hole in the doors. Soldiers streamed in, checking corners and moving forward, ready to destroy their enemies. Of which there were none.

Vir and Shepard, backed up by a cadre of heavily armed troopers, stepped through the ragged hole in the door.

“Waste of perfectly good melta charges, if you ask me,” opinionated the Scion commander.

“Move forward. There has to be someone here,” replied Shepard. Heavy boots thunked into the cold metal surface of the dimly lit space as the various allied soldiers spread throughout the building.

“Contact!” someone shouted. This was followed by a sudden blast of small arms fire from at least twelve different points, and a small explosion.

“I think you got ‘em,” said Vir dryly.

“Yeah. The grenade was a bit… overkill,” voiced Shepard as he looked over the unfortunate individual's remains, mostly consisting of bloody smears on the walls.

“They’re in here!” called an ODST, gesturing to a large open room with several overhanging balconies. The rest of the soldiers filed in, quickly killing the nine terrified-looking people inside.

Above them all was a group of blue skinned aliens. Asari. The one in charge sneered at the entering soldiers.

“Well, it looks as if you have come here to die, scum. Our master was right about this,” she said.

“Master?” asked Shepard to no one in particular. The Asari gave him a leering grin.

“The Shadow Broker does not take kindly to your interference, Shepard, and once you’re dead, I’ll give your body to him.”

“Wait. Why the hell would the Shadow Broker, and information dealer, want to attack the Citadel with every bloody government in existence here? And why the hell are you, an Asari, working with Cerberus, a human supremacist group?” asked Shepard. The Scions, Valhallans, marines, ODSTs, and Vir looked back and forth between the two, as if it were a tennis match.

“That’s for him to know, and you to find out!” The Asari turned to one of the balconies. “Kill them!” A group of mercenaries stormed the balcony, and pointed their weapons at the allied forces down below. Before they could fire, a flurry of shots rang out behind them, and they fell to the ground, stone dead.

Quill, followed by a very shaken looking Captain Viter, along with their outflanking group, stepped out from behind them.

“Yeah, well, sometimes it pays to not have a plan, ‘cause if you don’t know what you’re doing, then the enemy certainly can’t know what you’re doing!” said Quill. He pointed his pistols at the group of Asari. “Your move.”

Every individual in the group readied their weapons and started to glow with a strange blue light.

“Doesn’t matter. You still have to kill us!” yelled the Shadow Broker’s minion. However, before they could do anything, more shots rang out. A group of the Asari fell dead. Two more were picked up and developed in blue energy, and thrown into the ceiling where they expired with a series of sickly crunches. The leader’s head was then promptly blown apart, to reveal Drake and his outflanking group.

Drake twirled his pistol around a finger and blew non-existent smoke from its barrel.

“Well. That was fun. Now what?” All of the different factions turned to look at each other.

“I’m sure the Council would love to thank you all for saving their station,” said Shepard, with only the barest hints of sarcasm in his voice. “Hell, they might even throw us a party.”

The Lair of the Shadow Broker

“You have failed me.” The voice came again, swirling with infinite power. It was ever-changing, made up of thousands of tongues, thousands of species, individuals, emotions, and languages at once. The Shadow Broker cringed. He was one of the most powerful individuals in the galaxy, but the voice brought him to his knees nevertheless. The physical power he held as a yahg, a species that few knew about, was nothing here. “You were supposed to destroy the Citadel, along with all of these pathetic mortals! Instead, a group you did not plan for stopped me!” All his planning, all the contacts he had in Cerberus, the Citadel, and various species’ militaries had failed.

“My lord, perhaps if-”

“Silence!” The Broker cringed again. For six decades he had schemed and maneuvered behind the shadows. He had destroyed the original Shadow Broker. He was confident he could get out of this deal… if he wasn’t dealing with the God of Schemes.

“My hold upon this reality is tenacious, at best. My most powerful mortal agent has turned against me and been hidden from my sight. This is why I turned to you. But you failed.” The voice projected a thousand emotions at once: anger, fear, sadness, melancholy, love. The Broker furiously scratched at his head to dispel the wrongness of so many contradictory feelings at once. “My power here is weak, yes,” continued the voice, “but not enough to do this!”

The Shadow Broker screamed. His body twisted in horrifying, reality-bending ways. Arms morphed into tentacles, then back again. His skin flashed through a million colors in the span of seconds, some he’d never seen before. His eyes shot out of his body on stalks, and fell over his chest. Skin shed. Eyes fell out of eyes, and appeared throughout his body. Bones twisted into horrifying spurs. Blood transformed into a thousand different liquids at once. Organs ripped themselves out of his chest, then re-arranged themselves. His body twisted, turning inside-out, upside-down, then back again. His massive maw widened further, to terrifying degrees, and teeth grew longer. Organs mutated, bones contorted, limbs elongated, and internal tissues burst forth from his skin.

The Shadow broker screamed. And screamed. The last thing to change was his sentience. He went from an individual of ruthless cunning and massive intelligence to a gibbering, mindless, mutated and twisted husk. Everything was taken from him, his immortal soul devoured by daemons.

There he would remain, a twisted, soulless, mindless husk until he was found by his minions, who were promptly torn apart. After half an hour, the thing that was once the Shadow Broker was finally put down by his own guards, erasing the sin of his existence.

“Arhiman has gone from my sight. The Shadow Broker is useless. These… Scoundrels are an annoyance but present an… opportunity. It matters not what has happened. This is only the very first move of the Game. I am Tzeentch, and you are all my pawns that move when I say so.”

#magnificent scoundrels #story #writing #my writing #crossover #fanfic #warhammer 40k #mass effect #titanfall #titanfall 2

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