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dovesnroses · 3 years

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A Quickie

For: @otromeru

Rating: Explicit

a/n: Hello! I know I haven't posted anything original in what feels like YEARS, but saying the last several months have been wild is an understatement. This is a request/dedication to @otromeru who is an AMAZING artist and one of my fave Obey Me! Fanart blogs. I love Neru, and I love her and Mammon's relationship. I hope you all enjoy it!!!

Warning: SMUT, oral f! receiving, mild voyeurism, Lucifer being a dick

Neru’s pissed.

All day today, she’s been putting out fires. Literal fires.

She doesn’t know who gave Beel and Satan the idea to try to improve Solomon’s recipes, but she’ll kill them when she does. Scooping the last of the ash into the bin, she sighs. It feels like all of Devildom is conspiring against her. Every day since starting her relationship with Mammon, there had been things to do: meetings to attend, punishments to endure, magic to learn. And even worse, the other six brothers had made it their mission to be the most giant cock blocks.

Even today, Neru and Mammon had been on her bed making out. His hand on her panties was teasing her just slightly. They hadn’t had sex in a week, and they needed this - she needed this.

But then her cell phone buzzed to life, and it was Beel asking for help to put out the large grease fire that had started downstairs. She would have ignored it if it hadn’t been Lucifer calling Mammon, demanding he come by his office this instant.

After that, she didn’t see Mammon the rest of the day. Lucifer had to have finished yelling at him by now. And there was still some time before she had to help with dinner; maybe she could find him and finish what they had started.

When she can’t find him in any of the usual places, she walks to his room. When he doesn’t answer her knocks, she assumes he’s not there. And since the door is open, she lets herself in just to be safe.

Mammon doesn’t notice that she’s there. His headphones are in; volume turned up so loud she can hear the bass. His hand is running down his exposed stomach, and the other hand is pumping his cock in quick hurried motions.

Neru’s frozen, watching her boyfriend pleasure himself. Her center begins to throb, and her mouth waters. She doesn’t even consider that he decided to start without her. Mammon tilts his head back against the pillows, his face and neck flushed deep with arousal. She feels herself getting wet. But she doesn’t want him to stop. Her hand reaches down, and she gasps when she finds herself already soaked through.

And that’s when he catches her.

“Babe, what the fuck?!”

Mammon scrambles out of bed to pull his pants up. Neru jumps and turns away.

“Mammon, I’m so sorry!” She squeaks. He’s going to think she’s a voyeur, and do demons even care about kinks? How was she going to -

“Babe, I didn’t even realize you were here,” Mammon murmurs, his arms circling her waist, “sorry you uh...saw that.”

Neru turns in his arms and sees he’s embarrassed. She feels terrible, but it was so fucking hot to watch. “What were you thinking about?” she whispers, looking up at him slowly. Mammon grips her tighter and breaks their gaze. She pushes herself up against Mammon and feels him straighten, “Mammon, tell me.”

He doesn’t look back at her when he replies, “You...”

And though she knows that’s what it could have been, hearing him say that sends a roaring flame straight to her core. He looks back at her noticing her breath is heavy. Neru’s eyes are dark, and her cheeks are flushed. Mammon smirks as he leans to whisper into her ear, “Do you want to hear more?”Neru shivers and nods, breathing out a yes. Mammon’s hands travel lower till he can grab her ass gently kneading.

“Mammon,” she sighs, “need you.” And she kisses him hard. Mammon keeps his hands on her and pulls her to the bed. She’s on top of him, kissing him, and he moans just enough for her to swipe his tongue with her own. It’s a messy make-out session, a necessity to make up for the lost time. Her hands skate down his front till she gets to his jeans, and she pulls him out. He’s still hard, and Neru moans because she is finally going to get what she’s wanted all day.

Mammon’s phone begins to blast that wretched pop song Asmo set as a prank. He’d yet to figure out how to change it, and it’s an even worse reminder that they’re not alone. She jumps back from him, and he pulls to look at it. Lucifer lights up in bright letters. Mammon groans, and a Neru panics. He’s going to have to answer it. He’s going to have to leave. And she’d be stuck again, wet and needy.

That is not happening again.

Neru rips the phone from his grip and tosses it to the edge of the bed, out of reach. She’s pressing kisses along Mammon’s neck, pulling the edge of his v neck down to nibble along his collarbone.

“N-Neru!” Mammon watches her, pupils blown wide: a dark violet. He tries to sit up, but Neru plants a hand on his chest, straddling him. Mammon watches as she reaches down under her skirt to slide fingers down her slit. A small sigh escapes her, and Mammon’s cock throbs. This is what he had been thinking about: watching her touch herself in slow, methodical movements. Taking all the time that they could never seem to get. It’s hypnotic. Neru bunches her skirt over her thighs, revealing pale yellow panties slick with want, and his breath catches. Mammon wants to taste her, no, devour her.

The cell phone screams to life again. Mammon throws his head back into the pillows. “Fucking shit! What do they fucking want-“a guttural moan cuts him off as Nehru grinds down on his length. He’s already so far gone, the friction of her panties the best distraction from his useless brothers.

“Mamm-on,” Neru whimpers, grinding down again, “Need you now.” She fingers her panties and pulls them to the side, revealing her mound pink and we. Mammon can’t keep his eyes off it. She can’t hide the feral hunger as she sinks, already perfect for him. Neru keens at the stretch of his cock inside her. In any normal situation, she’d keep still, get used to his girth inside her. But the demands of the day had frustrated her, and absence does make the heart grow fonder. Once her hips are flush against his, Neru begins a steady, rocking pace.

Mammon’s eyes roll back as he’s enveloped in the warmth of her Fuck baby just like that. Pussy so good. He knows he’s speaking praises and expletives, but even his voice feels a distance away from the feeling of velvet walls. He can hear Neru whimpering her praises. Head rolled forward, cheeks flushed red. God damn, she was beautiful.

“Neru,” he feels her flutter around his cock at her name, “Neru, baby,” She moans again, pacing faster onto him. Mammon growls and reaches to catch her hips. “Ya gotta stop, baby,’ he chuckles, “it’s too good.”

She doesn’t stop.

Neru bounces up and down her thighs, burning lost in the churning of her pleasure. Watching the way Mammon’s eyes roll back and relishing in the way he grips her hip: nails digging into her flesh.

“Fuck - Neru,” Mammon is pleading a mess. She can feel him tense under her. He wouldn’t last much longer. Neru catches his eyes and smiles.

“Let go, Mammon,” she whimpers, and that’s all it takes for him to release and release and release into her. He shudders and gasps, and Neru feels herself fluttering around him, clenching tighter as she milks him.

He finally has the wear with all to hold her still. He groans with a twitch and then breaths a heavy sigh.

“Fucking shit, woman,” he curses, holding them still, “that was -,” he huffs, “wow.”

Neru smiles at him, eyes still glassy with lust. Mammon’s entranced by the flush that starts at her cheeks and disappears down her neck into her shirt. He gains enough strength to push her off with a whimper, gently maneuvering her to the bed. He crawls over and litters kisses across her forehead, cheeks, and nose. Never in his eternity of living did he think something so beautiful could be his. Her giggles lit his heart aglow. And maybe it was that after sex rush of emotion, or perhaps it was because it had been too damn long.

“I love you,” he whispers.

A different heat blooms within her, and Neru smiles softly, reaching to caress his warm cheek, “I love you too,” she’s said it a thousand times, but he can’t get used to the gentle declaration. His face heats up in embarrassment, and he hides it under the guise of kissing her chest and stomach.

“Fuck!” He grumbles, “you’re just so fucking - Fuck I -“

Neru giggles, ready to tease him, but then she hears the distinct rip of her panties.

“Mammon-!” Mammon shoves her knees up to her chest, and she squeaks. He positions himself in front of her center and meets her eyes, cheeks still flushed.

“You’re just so fucking cute,” and he steals her response by licking a stripe up her center. Neru clamps a hand over her mouth, muffling her gasps. Mammon moans in satisfaction, tasting his release mixed with her juices. His tongue scoops himself out of her; he can’t get enough. Neru’s thighs are already tense and shaking in his hands. He glances up through long eyelashes to find her watching him. Hand still over mouth, face beet red, chest rising up and down faster now that she catches his gaze. Mammon hums around her and flattens his tongue against her clit. Neru arches her back, a high-pitched moan escaping her lips.

He smirks and continues his ministrations, eyes closing in fervor. He would devour Neru like this forever if he could. She was too sweet for anyone else but him. He was her first, and he’d be her last. Neru’s pants were becoming louder like she did when she was close. Mammon didn’t want to stop. Didn’t care if she was going to be over-sensitive. Her pleasure triggered his greed, and he needed -

“Mammon!” the pounding on his door breaks him of his trance. Neru tries to pull away as Lucifer’s voice calls for him again, “Mammon, you have not yet explained this bill from the other day.”

Mammon looks from the door to his girlfriend, who is very clearly ravished and looking very unsatisfied. His grip had weekend against her, and when Neru looked his way, she smiled a sad smile: a, we’ll have to continue this another time, smile.

“No,” Mammon growls, and when Neru continues to move, he grabs her legs again, “I said no.”

She tries to object, but Mammon pulls Neru flush against him, arms wrapping around her thighs and over her stomach. His lips immediately find her clit, and he begins to suck on the bundle of nerves, eyes never leaving hers. At once, she’s back on her climb. Neru tries to push him away, but they both know it’s fruitless. Her face is flushed, the brightest it’s ever been, and he’ll have to ask if maybe she’s got a slight voyeur kink.

Neru’s moans and pants get louder. She’s chanting his name, almost sobbing it. Her stomach tightens, and she doesn’t want to come when Lucifer can probably hear them on the other side of the door. But Mammon’s pushing her to a place she can’t come back from, so far that the logical part of her gets smaller and smaller till all she feels is his lips on her.

With a final suck of her clit, Neru spasms against him. Her mouth opens in a silent cry, eyes rolling back. He works her through her orgasm as she finds her voice. Hiccuping his name until finally weakly pushes at his head, signaling no more. Mammon gives her one final tender kiss before pulling away. He can feel her on his lips and chin, and he so wished he could go back and savor more.

“Now that that’s over,” Lucifer calls irritation thick in his voice, “I still need to speak to you, Mammon.”

“Conjugal visit is over Mammon!” Asmo’s voice calls sweetly, “but thanks for the show.”

Mammon throws a pillow at the door, shouting, shut up! He looks at Neru, who is very clearly embarrassed, but she can’t help a giggle that turns into a burst of laughter. He glares at her and tries to duck back down to her, but she holds him back.

“Down boy,” she teases, still breathless, “we’ve still got work to do.” Mammon licks his lips and climbs over to kiss her deeply.

“Fine,” he grumbles. He kisses her again, nipping her lip lightly, “but maybe we should consider getting a place for ourselves.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me swd #obey me mammon #mammon x mc #mammon x neru #obey me mammon x mc #obey me smut #dani writes #otromeru

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what-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me · 4 years

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The Haunting of Thomas Sanders

> Part 1 < Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: Nico was beginning to think his new boyfriend was haunted by ghosts. He never planned to bring it up until the ghosts themselves came to him asking for help.

[AO3]

CW: food mention, alcohol mention, past breakup

Notes: Based off this text post I made.

Nico had come to the mall for inspiration.

Anything to get out of his office would help him at this point, really. The meetings he had to go to were stifling any new ideas and the nosey, pompous co-workers were worse. The writer did not know what he was looking for, but what else brought people to malls? Maybe a new outfit would uncover confidence , maybe indulging in greasy food would be that final click he seemed to lack, maybe people-watching would offer the right story. Nico's bets were not on the last one.

The mall was not as busy as it once had been. When he was still a teen it was a lively place bustling with a constant traffic of people. Walking through shops offered hours of new stimulation and the hallways were towering, intricate skylights the crowning jewel. As time went on Nico got older and things changed. Online shopping is easier than anything and a fair few of the shops were closed down for good.

Nevertheless it was his favorite place to write if he had to choose. The buzz of energy helped him focus on work. Nico found peculiar security in being an irrelevant face in a crowd of hundreds, and knowing that each person had a life he could never even imagine opened floodgates of inspiration. The 'What if's?' and 'Why's?" he asked himself when people-watching could get the ball rolling.

Now there were less faces, less stories. Nico did not appreciate the way this shift reflected in his work. The difference was noticeable, and he struggled more with deadlines, but he worked with what he had.

He learned to pay attention to individuals more. However, currently what he had was waiting for his food, because at this point he might have more luck finding inspiration in eating then in others. There had only been a toddler throwing a tantrum, a teen scrolling on their phone, and a man who sat down across from him at the food court-

Oh hello, inspiration.

If Nico was staring, the only reason he got away with it was his laptop blocking his line of sight. He saw all he needed out of the corner of his eye. The floral shirt was extremely flattering, and if he wasn't mistaken he could see the outline of muscles. That brown hair looked fluffy, and what he would give to run his fingers through it while- Okay, Nico, you might be gay but that thought isn't for a stranger .

He could not even see his eye color. And the man in the floral shirt was eating, interrupting his meal would be rude. Maybe there was a way to make this still work? As his waitress got to his table and dropped off his food, he subtly turned his pinned-covered backpack in the direction of the stranger. If Mr. Handsome did not answer his silent plea then he would move on.

He tossed a fry into his mouth instead of letting himself think.

Maybe he had got his hopes up when the guy came in his direction, only to walk up to a Karrot King line. When the writer saw the man in the floral shirt inspect the plant, he wondered if he liked botany. Finally the same useless hope happened again when they made admittedly awkward eye contact for a few seconds. So he has brown eyes. The guy turned away rather fast so Nico dropped it. Maybe showing a pride pin made the guy uncomfortable and it was to good to be true.

Only when he heard a CRASH and saw somebody fall into a garbage can, did he finally get an idea about what to write. That was a metaphor he could spin into a story. Certainly it was not at all because he felt trashy for a missed opportunity. Nor was it due to that cute guy having disappeared, leaving his food uneaten.

Wait . You can still make this work, Flores.

He scarfed down the rest of his food and discarded the trash. Nico's fast pace to get to the table with the food turned a few heads, but he ignored it. Greasy bag in hand, he browsed the crowd for that familiar pattern. Every person wearing a floral shirt was either an older lady or a child. Nico swayed on the balls of his feet as he contemplated what to do next, but then he saw him coming out of the restroom.

Bingo!

None of what happened after went as planned. Serves him right for letting his overactive imagination create unrealistic expectations.

He should have known trying to do small talk with strangers would only backfire. After Nico had called out after him to return the food, he had tried to ask what made him leave in a rush to forget his food. Then the guy asked what was wrong with him and Nico dropped it. He gave the stranger his well-wishers and left afterwards. He would honestly rather head back to work then be here right now.

No matter if he was admittedly cute, Nico Flores probably would have been mad at the man if he did not look like he was on the verge of a public anxiety attack. He was probably starving, too, if he had forgotten his lunch.

The man in the floral shirt hesitated behind him, running after Nico.

When they actually sat down to talk together, the man in the floral shirt - Mr. Sanders, Thomas - was quite charming. And funny. And intelligent. Oh, when he had called Thomas an inspiration earlier he had meant it. He just met a singer and an actor, is there a more perfect match to a writer and poet?

Leave it to his imagination to think of a man he just met reciting the poems and lovingly singing songs he writes.

The two had talked for over two hours without noticing. They had bounced ideas off of each other and Nico made an impressive amount of progress. He felt so giddy with just this one interaction! Nico was sad that they had to leave; Thomas seemed just as reluctant to part.

"Well you didn't get to eat much today at lunch right?"

Thomas fiddled with his fingers, "Yeah…"

Nico did not let himself second guess himself , he offered, "Then let me buy you dinner tonight!"

As a breath caught in Thomas' throat, Nico was self conscious that he might have said something wrong, but the heavy blush across the other man's face was not of offence or horror at all. Thomas was smiling at him again.

Finding ways to make Thomas go speechless was going to be his new favorite pastime… if Thomas would give him a chance, he decided. Just that alone lit a fire inside him, and later when he finished with writing for work, he would write some more. All he would be writing about would be this, a collection of poems to free these butterflies in his stomach. Thomas seemed to look around for approval from anybody else and nodded quickly

"I'd love to go with you, Nico! Maybe we can uh- get to know each other better?" Oh man, it was flattering to have somebody so cute get so nervous at him of all people.

"Only if I could get to know the digits on your phone number better," he confirmed with a playful grin. It might have been cheesy, certainly. But he was also the person who told Thomas that they would not waste this opportunity. Pretending he was not corny now would be a lie.

Thomas taking his cliché advances in stride only made him more hopeful.

They both later met at a local bar and grill close to the beach. A salty sea breeze tousled his hair and the palm leaves. The hour was close to sunset, too hot for the mosquitoes to bug them but not too hot for the two of them to eat outside.

"I'm looking for a table for two? RSVP'd under the name 'Flores'?" He asked. The waitress nodded, sat him down with a menu. Thomas was not there, and a part of him wonders if he is getting stood up. Nico, not particularly interested in looking at food yet, fiddled with his laptop. He sighed because even If that was the case, Nico would try to make the most of the night.

The waitress brought Thomas to the table a few minutes later. The writer's heart soared before worry took root. Thomas was wearing that same expression from earlier that day on his face. He anxiously explained. "I'm so, so sorry for being late. And i totally get if you don't want me here and would prefer to just call this all off. I didn't mean to show up late, but then as I was about to leave my apartment I- my keys just-"

Nico grabbed one of Thomas' hands and smiled reassuringly. "Hey, I'm not angry you got here late."

Thomas really did look cute flustered, but he did not let go of the hand. Instead he ran his thumbs along his knuckles. "I'm happy you're here with me. Wanna order a drink and maybe share an appetizer with me?"

They both chatted about foods they disliked while waiting. Thomas hated carrots with a passion as it turned out, and he made a mental note to tease him about going to a Karrot King. Nico in turn talked about his dislike for most seafood and mushrooms because of the slimy texture. The waitress came and both agreed on a sampler platter to share.

"Mimosas at sunset?" He inquired.

Thomas smiled nervously. "I usually save them for brunches, with friends. All the other options I like are too much if I want to drive home tonight."

Nico nodded, understanding.

Just like in the food court, Talking with Thomas made time go past without him even noticing. They tried out food together, talked about music, and that led Nico into telling a story about a Highschool band. Thomas was red in the face and giggling uncontrollably by the time they paid for the check and had to leave.

They left the building together when Thomas stopped him. "There's a park around the corner. We can feed the ducks some leftovers."

If Nico noticed that Thomas was not ready to say bye just yet, he did not say it. The last of the sun was behind the horizon by the time they went through a breadstick. Watching Thomas interact with the ducks gave him the idea that this man loved animals. They were cute, he would admit, but nature found other ways to ruin his mood.

Nico laughed at himself, pulling his arms closer into his body. "I almost wish I dressed up a bit more. I didn't expect the mosquitoes to be this bad."

"I know it's warm out, but I can lend you a jacket?"

Nico did a double take at what Thomas was holding up. It was black with plaid sleeves, already oversized so it wouldn't have a problem fitting Nico. It honestly looked very comfortable, and it would keep him from being bit, but comfort wasn't what he was caught up on.

"Being warm beats being eaten alive."

When the fuck did Thomas have an extra jacket on him? Did he really not notice it?

He hesitated, and then asked a whole entirety different question. "Are you sure I can take this? I won't be able to return it to you tonight."

Thomas insisted, "Please, I don't mind- I don't need it. And you can keep it for tonight, or until we see each other again?"

Nico put the jacket on and it was soft. And it smelled like the cologne Thomas was wearing. Oh this was nice. "When will that be, Thomas?"

Thomas let his eyes linger on Nico in his jacket. "Saturday I'm free, I think. We could have brunch together, even."

He smiled. "Saturday sounds wonderful."

When they first had met, being infatuated was easy. It came to the pair more natural than breathing.

Nico originally did not know if his relationship with Thomas Sanders would go anywhere. But the first meeting had been so promising. And then they had a brunch date at Thomas' place, then a second and a third. Maybe… maybe Nico was moving too fast. Things kept going well nonetheless.

Four, five, six, seven. They kept on hanging out. Going out. They wanted to see more and more of each other. Quickly they were amassing a horde of good memories together. During nights away, they loved to text and call each other. They never put a label on what they did, which was starting to bother him. It felt more intimate than friendship. Were these dates?

According to his family, yes. They had noticed his change in mood and lack of free time quickly and demanded explanation. He kept it vague, but got advice anyways. Mama Flores said it was ridiculous that he had not brought Thomas by to meet the famila. Hid Papa was more doubtful. Even though it has been years since Nico's last major failed relationship, his father was still worried.

Papa Flores was a proud man, so it left a bad taste in his mouth when he requested Nico to take more time before giving his heart away. He had to oblige. Nico was over it, he healed, but some of his family was not. Nico's ex was like a second son to Papa, and everybody was hurt by him.

Call him cliché, but Thomas was different.

Even when Nico was past the stage of infatuation, Thomas took his breath away.

Could you be infatuated by somebody you have not actually kissed yet? It felt like it. Sure, when they had met at that food court, he had his breath taken away, and that feeling intensified when they saw each other more. He knew infatuation could feel like love, but these feelings passed the test of time and matured into something deeper. With more meaning. He did not like just the idea of Thomas and what their future might look like, he liked Thomas for his presence and as a person.

Suddenly his worries that they were moving too fast turned into frustrations they were moving too slow. They were more intimate than regular friends, but they never got far enough to be considered partners. It was frustrating to figure out. Nico was ready for a relationship, he was certain. The three months he spent getting to know Thomas were blissful, and calling their dates only "hangouts" had begun to feel forced.

So they talked about it.

Thomas said he was also ready but his actions seemed more… hesitant. He mentioned somebody from his past, who he moved on from but never could forget. Nico wanted to ask, to find out what happened to his heart for him to be so afraid. He knew what it felt like to have scars that still hurt, he wanted to be there for Thomas as he healed.

But that was not the time for the conversation. Not when Nico was nearly on Thomas' lap and his arms hung around his neck. Not when Thomas met his eyes and Nico stared at them for too long. It could have been him trying to figure out what emotions they held, maybe Thomas' eyes were that beautiful. His friend -- boyfriend? -- got so anxious and trapped in his head easily, but Thomas seemed in control of his more scary thoughts in that moment. It brought a smile to his face, unnoticed between the way they were slowly moving closer.

Still, cautious and vulnerable, eager and loving, Thomas had let Nico kiss him. Finally getting to show Thomas just how much he wanted to cherish him was amazing. And receiving that same passion in return was intoxicating.

Getting an answer never felt so good.

Nico's more-than-friendly feelings were not the only thing that was starting to add up in regards to Thomas either. There were strange happenings, though were so minuscule he had nothing tangible to go off of.

Thomas might be really good at sneaking things past Nico's eyes, common sense would say. Intuition told himself not to doubt what he saw. Thomas did not have that spare jacket on their first date originally. It literally had to of appeared from thin air. And when Thomas invited him for brunch, he noticed that two of the mimosas Thomas had prepared with brunch had vanished. Sometimes he experiences ghost touches when staying the night. The hands were gentle and comforting, calluses on the fingertips just like Thomas, but when he opened his eyes nobody was there.

That was the most noticeable of things. Though he could list off a dozen smaller happenings. He had no proof for them, as they could be explained, but Nico listened to his gut here.

And Nico has no idea what he would want to do with this information anyways. Thomas seemed to have some supernatural force that followed him around. What a fantastic conclusion to jump to! It would be weird to bring up, especially after Thomas had denied anything when Nico subtly brought it up. And the ghosts - for lack of better term - did nothing to harm Thomas.

The information that Thomas was haunted by ghosts was, for all intents and purposes, useless.

(Except it was not. It was fantastic material to write from. When he first called Thomas inspiration, his first impression never proved to be wrong.)

(And if Nico had started a personal project dedicated to a story based on it, nobody needed to know,)

The difference between Nico's feelings for Thomas and his feelings about his ghosts is that one actually got addressed.

He would be content to let Thomas have that secret to himself.

NEXT PART >>

#sanders sides #flirting with social anxiety #sanders sides fic #nico flores #thomas sanders #nico x thomas #karrot kings #pintroverts #nicomas #ts virigl #virgil sanders #the haunting of thomas sanders #snappy writes

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

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that final phone call

— Miruko is one tough rabbit, but eventually even the toughest of people need a helping hand. —

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pairing: usagiyama rumi (miruko) x fem!reader

warnings: angst, cursing, blood

word count: 5,836

a/n: this is for the bnharem angst april collaboration!!! here for the best girl miruko. I would die for her and yuh, im so tired its 5:40 am and I just finished this LMAOOO and its scheduled for 9am posting. lets hope for the best, enjoy bbs. angst masterlist here.

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Riiing.

“Pick up…”

Riiing.

“Don’t ignore this…”

Riiingggg.

“P-Please pick up,” Rumi mumbled into the phone, her head spinning, her breathing weak and faint. “Pick up the phone, y/n…”

Riiing.

“Please…”

Riiing.

Rii—

“H-Hello?” your tired voice answered, and just like that, warmth flooded Rumi’s chest. She had to resist the urge from cringing; there was no reason to cringe, she berated herself, accept your feelings Rumi. “If this a prank call, I swear—”

“Y/n,” Rumi finally whispered, the energy that always existed within her fading quickly.

She didn’t need to be in the same room with you; she already knew what you were doing. How your back stiffened at the sound of her voice and how your stomach clenched, remembering what had happened two months ago.

“Why are you calling?” you said so emotionlessly that it was a sucker punch to Rumi’s stomach. A sharp reminder of what she did to you, of what had happened because she was weak.

A ragged breath escaped Rumi’s lips while she closed her eyes, her head laying against the cold concrete, listening to the lull of the line.

“I needed to hear your voice…”

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One and a half years ago.

Usagiyama Rumi, better known as the Number Five Pro Hero Miruko was — to put it lightly — a powerhouse.

Known for her almost brash entrances, sturdy legs, and quick temper, it made sense as to why she wasn’t known as the Bunny Hero. She wasn’t soft enough to be a bunny, nor was she meek or gentle. No, Rumi was a hurricane of energy. She was fast, vibrant, and deadly. She was unmatched in her field of expertise, and she had no problem demanding people know that about her. She dived into her work, no matter how big or how small she handled everything with her fullest capability.

She was obsessed with her job because she always had something to prove.

But even a workaholic such as herself needed a break — or at least time outside of her uniform.

It was nearing midnight, and Rumi was strolling the dark streets of Hiroshima, her hands shoved into her jacket pockets. At the same time, she observed the neighborhoods she protected. It was a Saturday night, meaning that street life was quite busy. After working for two months straight without a single day off, her office staff had forced a two-day vacation on her. Still, it didn’t stop her from scouting these blocks for any sign of criminal activity.

But she stilled when she heard loud arguing many alleys ahead, and with an excited smirk, Rumi took off.

It took her approximately thirty seconds to travel an entire block and into an alleyway where a large and burly man was arguing with a small woman. Rumi stilled, her eyebrow quirking in her confusion, what was going on?

“You have to let me in!” you insist again, your nose scrunching in your annoyance, your chest puffing out, and your eyes blazing. “I have reason to believe that there is a drug-pushing gang in this very club!”

Rumi shifted closer to you, and this now apparent bouncer who was looking less than impressed with you. A drug-pushing gang? She had been trying to find intel on that gang but had been coming up dry, she wanted to know more, to find out more. It seemed that it was her lucky day that she wasn’t relaxing at home because it seemed that you had information she could use. It was ballsy of you to show up at a hideout with such demands… she liked that. Rumi’s eyes looked over at you, and her smirk turned into a grin.

You wore a charcoal grey pantsuit, a white shirt underneath the opened blazer with the first two buttons undone. Her eyes noticed the scruffed up short heels you wore, and the way that your hair was in a chaotic bun. How amusing.

“Oh yeah, little miss nosey? And who the hell do you think you are exactly?” he sneered, taking an intimidating step forward.

The bouncer was easily twice your height, and Rumi watched you, expecting you to take a submissive step back, but was surprised to see you hold your ground.

“The investigative journalist for The Daily Hiro!” you inform back, your eyes daring him without a single bit of nervousness in their blaze.

The bouncer opened his mouth, obviously ready to kick your poor journalist ass when another voice from the alleyway spoke up.

“She is not an investigative journalist,” the voice clipped, evidently very annoyed with your words. “She’s an intern. She makes coffee runs and edits my works, ignore her.”

Rumi’s eyes shifted on an angry reporter she knew by name. Hirano Naoko. A ruthless reporter that she often found herself at odds with because he didn’t agree with her... enthusiastic approach to being a hero.

A pained yelp escaped your lips when he grabbed your bicep and pulled you to him.

To an average person, there would be no way to hear the conversation between the reporter and the intern. Still, Rumi was not an ordinary person, after all.

“I thought I told you to take witness’s statements,” he hissed pulling you away into the darkness. “Not stir up fucking trouble! Drop the fucking gang shit before you get wrapped up in things you don’t want to get caught in.”

“But you don’t understand Hirano-sama, I saw—”

“I could give two shits about what you saw! That doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want! This isn’t some fucking cop show, grow the fuck up. You’re an intern, not a reporter!”

Rumi figured she had enough.

“Hold on!” she yelled, her voice bouncing off the walls of the alleyway, and all three heads snapped her way. Her arms folded across her chest while she tilted her head. There was nothing like the way all three eyes widening when they recognized the famed Rabbit Hero standing before them with a feral grin and civilian clothes. “I want to see if this intern is right, open the door, bouncer.”

The bouncer was like a mountain to the Rabbit.

Tall, muscular, and frightening in this dim and yellow light.

“M-Miruko!” he stammered, his fingers searching for something, and Rumi lowered her stance. Was he trying to inform them that she was here? “What a pleasure seeing you here!”

Then she heard it, the familiar noise of shuffling plastic. He was trying to alert someone.

In an instant, she was before him, her heel slamming onto his chin and sending him flying, knocked out cold.

“This is why we wear heels,” she snickered, watching the mountain of a man crumble to his face. How weak, pathetic. Her attention turned to you, the intern who looked both ready to pass out from this scare and vibrating with excitement. “Intern, you promise those villains are in there?!”

Your eyes flutter, and Rumi takes you all in. Strands of hair fall over your eyes, your painted lips pulled into a large ‘o’ from your shock, but there was that confidence in your eyes that made her lick her lips in anticipation.

“On my life.”

Rumi snickered, now that was an answer she wanted to hear.

And as a one-woman show goes, she flung open the door and, in under twenty minutes, single-handedly brought down the most extensive drug unit within Hiroshima. She had defeated them all, leaving her with significant cuts on her cheeks and arms, a fat lip, a broken heel, and bruises on her toes. But damn did she feel alive.

Rumi watched with a broad grin when the twenty-three men were put into police cars, their injuries far worse than her own. How amazing was that! Months of worrying disappearing on a leisurely night stroll! She couldn’t have done it without… her mouth frowned.

She did it with help?

Her eyes flew over to you, an intern, talking to the cops with a whole file that seemed to come from nowhere with incriminating evidence against this group. Rumi shoved off the medics that were applying more useless bandages on her and walked over to you.

“Oi, intern!” she called, and both you and the police officer turned around. Thankfully, the police officer was either done interviewing you or smart enough to leave once Rumi approached with her trademark grin. “You did good work out there.”

“Miruko-san, oh, um, thank you!” you smiled in return, bowing in greeting when she stopped in front of you. “Congratulations on closing that case!”

“How did you crack them? I’ve been working on finding them slip up for months now, but you figured it out?” Rumi asked, her arms folding and head tilting. “What did you see that I missed?”

Rumi could hear your heart stop and watched the way your eyes widened significantly. “O-Oh, well, I don’t know… I guess I have a knack of being at the right place at the right time?” you laughed, rubbing the back of your head. “To be honest, it was probably more important to me than it was to you… so I able to crack it before you?”

“What makes you say that?” Rumi asks, unsure if she should be offended or not. “Are you trying to say that I’m not working hard enough?!”

“Oh my god, no!” you panic, your hands out in a motion of retreat, your head shaking quickly. Rumi wanted to open her mouth and grill you for answers, but there was something about you that made her hesitate, that made her still. You shrug your shoulders, your hands clasping together. “My future career was riding on this case. The company thinks I’m a nutjob, so if I could prove my ‘conspiracy theories’ were right, I could finally be appointed a job as a journalist!”

Rumi hummed, taking a step closer to you, enjoying the way that your heart sped up when she did so, her head tilting in her amusement, “Well, you did what you had to do, congrats.”

“T-Thank you!” you brighten at the praise, and Rumi does everything she can to not throw an arm around you.

“Usagiyama Rumi,” she introduced herself to you, her hand extended.

You stared at her hand as if she was some goddess instead of a person. But that fire that had interested her well before that erupted back in your eyes. You extended your hand, grasping hers firmly.

“Y/l/n y/n,” you grin, and it’s at this very moment that Rumi solidifies that she indeed likes you.

You were a quiet fire, unlike her own raging one, but she was no idiot. You were something that would burn the entire world down because no one would see you coming, and she liked it.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Six months later.

“RUMI!” your voice shrieks from the kitchen. “HAVE YOU SEEN MY LAPTOP?!”

Rumi was soaking in a bath right now, her eyes closed while absorbing the warm water. Two weeks of straight and intense battles had left her body a bit beat up, but hey, she was currently in her girlfriend’s apartment presently being taught how to relax.

Yes, shocking, her girlfriend’s apartment.

It took a solid week for Rumi to realize that she had feelings for her, something that took a while for her to sort out because she thought she was mentally ill for a second. Nevertheless, her good friend Hawks laughed in her face about how she was not dying but instead just having romantic feelings for you. After that, it took two seconds for her to confess and three minutes for you to say yes.

It was very new for both of you, but Rumi was very pleased with where everything was going at the moment. Dating certainly wasn’t something on her radar for years now, but for some reason, that fire that burned through your soul was enough to pique her interest.

“Check under the bed!” she called back, listening to your feet shuffling against the wooden floor to get to the bedroom.

“Aha, I found it!”

Rumi cracked open a single eye to watch you waddle into the bathroom with the laptop in your hands and a wide grin on your face.

“So, I’m a junior journalist now, nothing too big or fancy, but… I think I have something outstanding in the making!” you excitedly inform her, throwing open the laptop while sinking to the floor next to the tub.

“I thought you said bath time was a no-work zone,” Rumi teases her lips perking and her red eyes drilling into your own.

An embarrassed look flashed across your face, but as you always did, you stood your ground and challenged her.

“I can give my information to a hero who wants it then!” you huff, moving to close the electronic device. “Like you care about my rule, anyways!”

“What a brat!” Rumi barks with laughter, her shoulders rolling in the warm and murky water. Her eyes watched the way her long white hair gently flowed in the water, something you had pointed out looked like moonbeams one night. It had been stupidly stupid, and she would forever remember the way you curled in a ball at your embarrassment. “Tell me!”

Snickering, you nodded, your fingers moving quickly against your keyboard while you searched for the document.

“I have information on the soon to be most dangerous crime group out there,” you inform her, your voice taking on a serious note when you look up at her. “Name it, they’ve done it, and worse yet, they’re a cultish family.”

Rumi felt a chill run down her spine at that information. That wasn’t a title you gave out quickly, nor with such confidence. Together the two of you had taken down four villain groups, and some of them had been nasty fuckers.

“What’s their name?”

“They go by the name Shinseina,” you inform her, your knees pulling up to your chest, the laptop balanced on your knees to show Rumi your document. “I got one tip about two months ago, and that’s all I’ve managed to find on them.”

Rumi stared at the document.

‘Organization Name: Shinseina

Symbol: A Black Sun

Number of Members: ???

Warnings: ???

Leaders: ???

Location of Base: HQ thought to be in Hiroshima, the possibility of there being more is very high

Crimes: Quirk canceling drugs, quirk enhancing drugs, murder, gang affiliation, rape, robbery, theft, illegal quirk usage, money laundering, and 12 more.

Number of Heroes Killed: 16+.’

Two months of hard work, and that was all you had managed.

Rumi didn’t even need to use her quirk to hear your hammering heart, this was obviously upsetting you.

Sighing, she pulled her wrinkled hand out of the tub to motion for you to place the laptop away, her eyes holding yours when you do as commanded. “Come here, loser.”

“That’s rude,” you grumble, but still, you slide to the edge of the tub and watch Rumi.

Rumi sits up in the tub, her lips pressing against yours in a sweet embrace.

Your eyes flutter close at the feeling of her soft and smooth lips against yours. The slight coldness of her skin from just sitting in this water, sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine. Rumi chuckled, and the next thing you knew, she was dragging you in.

Rumi relished in the way your pitched screams echoed off the walls, your denial of being brought into the water was useless. Eventually, she pulled your fully clothed body into the lukewarm water with her, and your cries of disapproval faded into beautiful laughter.

Your cheeks burned while Rumi’s fur stood up in triumphant victory.

“I told ya, squirt, I don’t lose.”

You slammed your head against her collarbone, moaning loudly in your defeat, “I hate you!!!”

“Sure, you do!”

Rumi could only dodge out of your way when you went in for a weak attack. It was okay though, she thought, teasing you again for your weak punch. She would always protect you.

Her eyes rapidly blinked when those thoughts fully sank into her mind.

Excuse me?

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Six months later.

“An obstacle course?” you repeated, your eyes looking at the bouncy house that was apparently a place for a date. While you pursed your lips, Rumi looked back at her friends who seemed excited. “I’m sorry, but in what world do you expect me — a journalist — to be able to keep up with you Heroes?

Rumi once again turned back to look at Hawks and his intern, who both seem ready to compete. So she turned back around to face you and nodded in egotistical confidence. Your mouth dropped when she finished nodding.

“The only time I exercise is when I chase after people who run away from me!” You cry, obviously not at all prepared to compete against people who practically worked out for living!

“Don’t worry, they won’t use their quirks, and this is a team obstacle course!” Rumi laughs, her arms flexing to show you that there was nothing to worry about. She would make sure you both won even if that meant she would have to carry you to the finish line. “I won’t let you get hurt,”

She knew you wouldn’t like the idea of it; after all, you hated losing. But you were not one to back away from a challenge, and Rumi loved that about you.

“Fine,” you huff, turning towards the obstacle course.

With a loud hoot, Rumi bounced after you, an arm wrapping tightly around your shoulders.

“This’ll be fun.”

The objective of the course was to get across some pretty insane things together. There was a maze, obstacles to climb over, crawl over, powerfully slam through, all leading up to a freakishly tall wall to go down a slide, which was the finish line. Rumi was brimming with excitement, if she had to launch you across the course, she would. No way in hell was she going to let Hawks of all people beat her.

Shoes came off, and Rumi bounced on her toes at the entrance. She was shoulder to shoulder with both you and Hawks, and her eyes were on the finish line. She was going to win with you, that was the truth.

The employee working the festival stand sighed, staring at the four of you and getting an okay from his coworker.

“You both need to be at the final obstacle at the very end, but only one person needs to cross the finish line to be the winner,” he explained, and his hand raised for a countdown. “Ready?”

Rumi turned toward you, her hand reaching out and grabbing yours and placing a reassuring kiss on the back of your hand.

“Set.”

“Stop being so gay, Rumi, how embarrassing,” Hawks teased to her right.

“Suck my lesbian ass, pigeon.”

“Go.”

Rumi took off instantly, tugging you along with her, and before she knew it, the two of you were on the course. It was actually going better than she was expecting, you weren’t as incapable as you thought. You were able to keep up with a bit of struggle, but Hawks had smacked into a wall earlier, so she wasn’t concerned.

Obstacle after obstacle, the two of you conquered until you reached the wall.

Rumi looked back and noticed that Hawks and his intern were still stuck on the second to last course. That maze had been pretty bullshit.

“I’ll climb first!” Rumi explained, and you agreed with a pant.

Rumi turned back to the wall and began climbing the poorly reinforced steps that were there. It was obviously constructed to be able to withstand a child’s footing and not anyone over the age of seven. So as it was already stupidly tall, it was a struggle to climb.

Rumi was almost to the top when she looked down at you. You were a few steps down, your face twisted in your attempt to concentrate, your arms wobbling under the strain of trying to support yourself. Her attention snapped over to Hawks, who seemed to be scaling the wall, and her eyes widened.

She needed to win.

She scampered up a few more steps before a cry came out.

“R-Rumi!”

Her focus slammed back to you and the way that your fingers slipped from the grasp, and in slow motion, you tumbled. It was without a doubt that this fall wouldn’t have hurt you, not a chance in hell would you have been injured, but Rumi’s instincts took over, and before she knew it, her arms were wrapped around you.

The trampoline bottom crashed onto her back, and you slammed onto her stomach.

Rumi had caught you.

She groaned at the discomfort caused by this action but lay still her hands stroking your cheek. Your eyes were wide, staring up at your girlfriend in complete shock.

“Are you okay?” Rumi asks in a rare moment of softness. “You weren’t hurt, right?”

“Why did you jump after me?!” you yell that amusement she loved so much burning brightly in your gaze. “I wouldn’t have been hurt, you dork!”

“I promised I wouldn’t let you get hurt,” Rumi insists, rubbing her nose against yours.

Once again, she can hear your hammering heart, and it relaxes her.

“But you let Hawks win!”

Rumi blinks at the realization, and suddenly the wheels in her head are turning rapidly.

“Would you ladies mind moving? The champions are ready to visit other stands unless you don’t wanna hang with us anymore!” Hawks calls out to both Rumi and you.

Rumi watches silently when you push off her, pressing a grateful kiss to her lips before responding back to the Pro Hero.

“Oh, Hawks! Has Rumi told you about the new detail about the Shinseina case I’m working on?” you called off, skipping to catch up with her friend that she had allowed to win.

Rumi gave up a victory for you… she threw it away to save you from nothing… she thought that there were things about you that she loved. It didn’t sit well in her chest, and she watched with a twitching nose when you exited the course with that captivating bright smile.

She couldn’t be in love… no, there was no way!

Love made you weak! Love made you insignificant! Love was a demonstration that you weren’t strong enough on your own, and to Rumi — no, to Miruko — that wasn’t okay.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Four months later.

Rumi at the edge of your bed, her head down, ears wilted, nose twitching, and face clouded.

What the fuck was wrong with her?

“Bunny?” your tired voice called out in the silence of the night.

The noise surprised Rumi. It had so quiet until then, and it had completely caught her off guard. Her! The Pro Hero with some of the best ears around! Who could hear the quietest things meters away!

“Are you okay?”

Rumi wasn’t okay.

“I pulled a kick today,” she whispered to you, her hands shifting into fists on her lap. She shook with rage, her body trembling like a leaf.

“Is that a… a bad thing?” you yawn, shifting on the bed and finding her body, relaxing at the heat she gives off.

“Yes.” Rumi snaps, her body stiffening against your touch. “Yes, it’s obviously a bad thing.”

“Why?”

Why?

Rumi’s eyes concentrate on her bruised thighs, her frown increasing. How could she tell you the truth? How could she say that you were her weakness?

For years she had been a headstrong hero, someone who didn’t think but reacted. She lived her life to the fullest every day, and she gave it her all every chance she got. It applied to her social life and her work life, especially her work life. She wasn’t one to laze about; she would die on the job if she had to, and her opponents always knew that, but lately, things had changed.

She found herself praying to some god about making sure she lived through these battles so she could go home to you. She prayed that someone else would find the Shinseina and bring them down so she wouldn’t be taken down. Being weak wasn’t a problem; after all, she was motherfucking Miruko, so she was used to building on her weaknesses, but this was different. No matter what she did, she couldn’t love you any less. Fuck, did she love you.

She loved the way your eyes narrowed whenever you interviewed people. She loved how you were quickly gaining traction in the media for being the best investigative journalist ever. She was so in love with you, and that’s where the problem was. Her love for you was so pure, so genuine, she wanted to give you the fairy tale ending. She tried to think before she acted, and villains were starting to notice.

Villains were threatening to hurt you, and Rumi was trapped.

“We need to break up.”

You weren’t expecting that, not in the slightest.

“W-What?”

“I don’t want to be with you anymore,” Rumi lies, and she feels you move away from her body, and it takes everything in her to not cry.

“Why not?” you ask, your voice steely smooth.

“You were access to the information I wanted. My office team is ass, and you were always getting your hands dirty with cases I needed to solve. But it seems that you’re nowhere near close to figuring out the last group I care about,” Rumi wills herself to say, her ears moving back up to show that she wasn’t lying. “I pretended for a year to be in love with you, but I can’t anymore.”

“Y-You’re not a great liar,” you state, challenging her false words.

Rumi loved it when you challenged her, but there was no time for that. So with a tight chest and flaring red eyes, she snapped around towards you, lips pulled into a snarl.

“Do you think I’m lying, y/l/n? I stuck around because you made me stronger, but now? You’re no better than the dirt on my shoes. Pathetic, useless, and a disgrace. I don’t need you anymore, so I’m cutting this off because I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Standing up, Rumi storms over to the door, ready to leave.

She wishes she could say that it ended there, but it didn’t. Not even close to being done.

You spat acid at her, and she returned it at the same toxicity. Over and over again, the two of you verbally battled. False emotions taking the better of you both until you were in her face, tears streaming down your face, fingers shaking in her face.

“You are a fucking coward, Usagiyama,” you sneer, the effect only dramatized by your red eyes and deep eye bags. “Get over your stupid fucking commitment issues, being apart of a team i-is not weak! I’m here to make you stronger, not for you to want to be a one-man squad again! You’ll die alone that way!”

“I know being apart of a team isn’t weak,” Rumi states, her heart long frozen over. “I just don’t want to be apart of yours anymore.”

A humorless laugh escapes your mouth, and you shake your head, “Don’t show your face here again, if I see you, I’ll call the cops.”

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“— and Miruko, you’ll enter first. You’ll be alone for about five minutes if that’s okay.”

Rumi looked up, her mind freed from her daydream about what was happening.

It was two months since she had broken up with you, and things had only taken a turn for the worse. She threw herself into work. Overusing her quirk in ways that over-injured villains who were petty thieves, or underusing it in ways that she kept landing herself in the hospital. To put it simply, the rabbit hero was a mess.

“Yeah, got it,” she nodded.

Things with the Shinseina ended up being brought to the light finally by you. You had noticed a slight clue in your office that had been undetected and ended up having you thrown into the Witness Protection Program due to the severity of the secret. But still, you provided an updated and completed information:

‘Organization Name: Shinseina

Symbol: A Black Sun

Number of Members: 237 thugs and lower cult members, 57 leaders and mid cult members, 12 senior members of the cult, 1 leader.

Warnings: All have dangerous quirks that can be used for assassination.

Leaders: Hirano Naoko

Location of Base: HQ - Hiroshima. Other sites detailed in the secondary report.

Crimes: Quirk canceling drugs, quirk enhancing drugs, murder, gang affiliation, rape, robbery, theft, illegal quirk usage, money laundering, and 12 more.

Number of Heroes Killed: 84’

“Hey, you get one call on this, we don’t want them finding anything on us in case we fail,” the leader spoke to her. Miruko breathed in deeply, accepting the cellphone that was given to her.

“Got it, thank you,” she muttered, and with that, they headed out.

Five minutes, that’s all it was.

Five minutes for Miruko, the Rabbit Hero, was nothing. Especially when she was zipping through room to room, taking out cult member after cult member. Everything was a blur, and she could only see her streaming hair following her like moonbeams in her wake.

Moonbeams…

Rumi thought of you, your face when you were happy when you were sad, and that night you broke up. Her lip trembled when her foot connected with someone’s chin sending them flying. Panting harshly, she stood in a room full of unconscious cult members. She had three minutes before backup would storm through the door, but which door to—

“SHIT!”

She just felt the impact. An intense tingle, similar to a severe electric shock coursing through her body. Rumi realized then that thousands upon thousands of circuits have just been broken, and it was burning her up. The heat was nothing she could have ever imagined, festering strongly in her bleeding wound. But there was still no pain when her foot connected with the man’s throat, instantly knocking him out.

He had snuck up on her, his quirk concealing him even from her rabbit ears.

Rumi whimpered when she fell to the ground, blood pouring from her wound despite her best efforts. He had managed to land seven blows on her, and the world was darkening quickly.

Three more minutes until they came, but she could call them now…

When Rumi collapsed on the floor, her vision swam when she pulled out the phone, a warm and sticky puddle forming underneath her, staining everything that was white about her. Rumi’s fingers punching in the number she wanted to call.

Riiing.

“Pick up…”

Riiing.

“Don’t ignore this…”

Riiingggg.

“P-Please pick up,” Rumi mumbled into the phone, her head spinning, her breathing weak and faint. “Pick up the phone, y/n…”

Riiing.

“Please…”

Riiing.

Rii—

“Y/n,” Rumi finally whispered, the energy that always existed within her fading quickly.

“Why are you calling?” you said so emotionlessly that it was a sucker punch to Rumi’s stomach. A sharp reminder of what she did to you, of what had happened because she was weak.

A ragged breath escaped Rumi’s lips while she closed her eyes, her head laying against the cold concrete, listening to the lull of the line.

“I needed to hear your voice…”

“Do you even know what time it is?” you almost growl, and that fighting spirit sends a warm feeling in Rumi’s chest. “What in the fuck do you need?”

“It’s two a.m., I know that, but I need you right now,” Rumi staggers into the mic, your spirit bleeding through the call.

The line goes silent for a bit, and Rumi’s eyes feel heavier with every passing second. She wants to tell you she loves you, please give her the chance to say it.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t go back to you anymore,” you curtly respond. “You made sure of that.”

How ironic, Rumi thought, because now she would never go back to you anymore… never…

“I know,” she hoarsely responds back, her mouth trembling and tears slowly pouring from her eyes. It hurt so much, how horrible it was to go out because of stab wounds. Of all ways to go out, she never expected it to be like this, nor did she expect it to be done with regret in her actions. Because fuck, she regretted how she ended it with you. She regretted letting you go. She thought of your face and how you looked the first time she admitted she loved you, of how dorky you were for your first anniversary. How your eyes glowed whenever you corned the people you were investigating with something that seemed straight from a story. “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry, y/n…”

“Are… are you okay, Usagiyama?”

“I love you…” she whispered before the phone fell from her fingers, crashing onto the bloodied floor.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

You stared at the phone, confused.

Frowning you placed it down, the call had ended, but why was she calling you?

How this stupid bunny pissed you off sometimes. Turning your phone back on, you went to recent calls and recalled the number she had reached you on.

Riiing.

“Sorry, but the number you’ve tried to call is no longer available, please try again. Thank you!”

Beep.

You frowned a pit forming in your stomach, but you put your phone away, and for some reason, you couldn’t fall back asleep that night.

It was eight in the morning when your phone blew up, and with a heavy hand, you grabbed your phone and looked at the billowing messages. And at the headliner, your stomach dropped to your toes, and bile climbed to your mouth.

‘RABBIT HERO: MIRUKO KILLED IN ACTION DURING Shinseina RAID!: It’s being reported that she was stabbed several times while alone, and while she was given a phone for backup, she used it on a call they cant trace.’

You couldn’t read it anymore, your heart hammering erratically while a blood-curdling scream escaped your mouth.

She was gone, she had called you last night to say goodbye, and you didn’t give her the time of day. She was gone, and you would never get the chance to convince her that having a life partner wasn’t weak.

Usagiyama Rumi was gone, and no amount of hoping, praying, or crying was going to bring her back to you or to redo that final phone call.

#miruko x reader #mirko x reader #usagiyama rumi x reader #bnha #bnha x reader

1K notes · View notes

supernaturaldesires · 4 years

Text

Dirty Little Secret - Chapter One

A/N This is my first attempt at smut, so please go easy on me! I’m not really sure where this is going yet, I’m just going with the flow.

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, breaking-and-entering, use of handcuffs, non-con/dub-con

Word Count: 1,056

As you parked your car in the underground carpark after a long shift at work and swung your door open, came a thud ‘clack’ as it connected with the concrete post.

“FUCK.” You cursed to yourself. That just about topped off your shitty day. With a huff, you clambered out of your beaten-up old Jeep Wrangler and slammed the door shut. Running your fingers over the large dent, you cursed again under your breath before hitching your bag over your shoulder and trudging your way up the stairs and into the block of flats above.

Sliding your key into your apartment door, the door suddenly gave way and immediately opened - it was unlocked. “What the-” you weren’t able to finish the sentence before you were grabbed from behind, arms pinned to your sides and a rough hand clamped over your nose and mouth. Immediately, you began trying to scream but any noise you made was muffled, useless.

“Hush now, sweetheart, take it easy.” That voice was familiar, and you froze. It was the voice that had been following you all evening throughout your shift at the bar. You wracked your brain to remember the name he’d introduced himself with.

Your intruder kicked your front door shut before swinging you both round and pinning you against the cold wood, one hand still firm over your mouth, though releasing your nose a little, allowing some oxygen in. Your blood ran cold when you suddenly felt metal wrap around one of your wrists and click into place. You struggled and resisted desperately, but you were pushed even harder into the door, your body aching between the weight of it and the man pinned up against you. Seconds later, your arm was pulled roughly behind your back and your other arm was soon met with metal and held firmly in place.

“Now then sweetheart, I wish it didn’t have to be like this,” your intruder breathed into your ear. “But I really fucking hate liars.”

You heard him fumbling for a moment before the hand fell from your mouth. You inhaled a large breath of oxygen, but just as you were about to scream, duct tape was quickly plastered over your lips. You groaned and cried in frustration, throwing your body around violently, trying to shake off your attacker. To your surprise, he suddenly disappeared from behind you and you lost your balance, crashing down onto the floor. Unable to break your fall, pain seared through your shoulder as it connected with the floor.

A dark chuckle came from above you. You twisted onto your back to finally see your attacker’s face and as soon as you did, his name locked into your head.

“Dean!” Your voice was muffled under the duct tape, but the sick smile that grew across his face confirmed your answer. He crouched down over you, gripping roughly under your chin. You tried to shout, scream, anything. His hand moved to your hair and he pulled you forcefully to your feet, tears stinging your eyes at the pain. He brought your face inches away from his own, as his green eyes bore into yours. In that moment, when that dark smile reappeared on his lips, you could have sworn his eyes blinked to black for just a second. You tried to cower away in fear, but the demon’s grip on your hair kept you in place.

“Do you know what I found most interesting once I broke my way into your apartment, Y/N?” He asked nonchalantly. “Which, by the way, was piss-easy to do. You looked smart enough to have a half-decent security system in place. But then again, you were dumb enough to take me for a fool.”

You shook your head vigorously, tears now streaming down your face. When he spoke next, the octaves of his voice raised, a mockery of you. “Well, Dean, I appreciate the offer, but my boyfriend is at home waiting for me.” Your eyes widened in fear and you tried pleading with him uselessly through the duct tape. “But funnily enough,” Dean’s voice return to normal. “I get here, and no boyfriend. Nothing more than a single bed. Not even a razor or extra toothbrush in the bathroom.” He released your hair, before holding a tight grip on your chin. “Which begs the question, my sweet, why did you lie?”

The duct tape was ripped from your face, and a pained squeal escaped your lips. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

A slap strikes across your face. “You’re avoiding the question.” His gravelly voice was stern, his eyes like daggers.

“It wasn’t anything personal - I don’t sleep with customers. I would lose my job. Please, you have to believe me.” His eyebrow cocked then.

“I see. So if I wasn’t a customer, you’d have come home with me?”

You began to stutter. “Well, no, I- that’s not what I-” A hand clamped around your throat.

“Are you lying to me again?” He screamed at you furiously. “Am I going to have to teach you a lesson about telling the truth?” Gasping for air, you tried to shake your head, tears rolling down your cheeks. The demon relaxed his grip on your throat ever so slightly. “My dear, if this arrangement is going to work at all, we’re going to have to teach you some real values. The first being honesty.” Confusion and fear flooded you. Wherever this was going, it wasn’t going to be good.

“What arrangement?” That earned you another strike across the face. “The second clearly being respect - learning to speak only when invited to.” Hand still firmly on your throat, Dean pushed you backwards a few steps until your knees connected with your sofa and you collapsed into the seat.

Dean rounded the sofa behind you out of sight, but you could still feel him close. “But not to worry, my sweet. We have plenty of time to teach you how to be a good girl for me, the perfect slut.”

At that moment, you opened your mouth to scream, but this time a damp cloth was clamped down on your nose and mouth. It only took seconds before you blacked out, just as you fell out of consciousness you heard those last words echo through your head: “I’ll keep you my dirty little secret.”

Chapter Two =>

#dean winchester #demon!dean #demon dean winchester #demon!dean x reader #demon!dean fanfiction #demon!dean smut #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn #spn fanfic #dirty little secret #dean x reader #demon!dean x you #dean x you

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xiu21chen99 · 4 years

Text

hxh headcanon!!

/imagine ofc!! everyone expected another, i hope shhdjdkf

umm... my art?? I'll be transferring it to digi-art tomorrow or sth but uh be nice pls, im new to dis

the art is related to the hc,,, anYWAYS DARK CONTINENT ARC TIMELINE and... TW! blood, violence and death. this is what i envision the "battle for hisokas head" arc story thingey would go

ON THE BLACK WHALE!

Hisoka has killed most of the spiders already, all that was left were Illumi, Kalluto, Chrollo, Shizuku and Bonolenov (bc the latter three formed a group truce rmmbr)

he decides to save the Zoldycks for last so he hunts for the mf who mangled his face and literally killed him

Hisoka makes quick work of killing Bono and Shizuku (nooo my bby ;-;)

Chrollo and he have a sort of stalemate stance bc they're in a discrete room in the Black Whale, they're meters apart and they're literally just walking in a circle to see who'd make the first move

Bono and Shizuku's bodies are in the same room

Illumi comes in with Kalluto in tow and the two siblings stop dead in their tracks to watch

that's when Hisoka moves in for the kill

but Chrollo counters w a spell he pulled from his book- an explosion erupts, tho it's a small, kind of controlled one but still, everyone in the room are forced back

Hisoka's thrown to a wall while the other three skid back on the feet

the emergency alarms ring in the room, the automated doors move to close

Illumi and Kalluto make eye contact before Kalluto runs for it, Illumi goes to block the door when he left, making sure Chrollo doesn't follow suit before walking towards Hisoka

"what are you doing?" Chrollo asks when Illumi helps the clown to his feet.

"oh, did i not tell you?" Illumi pulls out a few needles from his outfit "Hisoka has also commissioned for your head, but only under the circumstance where he could see."

"no, you forgot to mention that." Chrollo humors, book in hand and a forced smile on his lips

"oh this should be fun," Hisoka adds beside him, cracking his neck with a sinister grin

"i take it you were serious about the... engagement ring you mentioned earlier?" Chrollo asks as he flips to a page in his book

"quite, yes. i have already told my brother to not contact our parents about it, hence why he was with me up until now." Illumi explains, pins glowing with violet nen

"how boring, i had hoped you'd at least introduce me to my in-laws before we get on with it." Hisoka teases, cards in hand

"disgusting." Chrollo sneers, and the tension in the room snaps.

There's another explosion, quite bigger and definitely stronger. Illumi blocks the stray debris from his eyes with a hand, squinted eyes taking in everything that was to see.

Hisoka was still beside him though his head was snapping from left to right trying to navigate their common target

There's whispering, then Chrollo's puppets appear behind them, seeming to have grown from the concrete ground

they were mindless pawns, Hisoka gladly kicked them all til they returned to dust

what came next were Bono and Shizuku, though Illumi could have sworn they were dead earlier

"it's a stolen power, they might still be able to use their nen." Hisoka warns, and as if to prove his point Shizuku attacks Illumi with Blinky

"cut off their heads!" Hisoka yells, disappearing into the still present dust cloud of the post-explosion

Shizuku was the easier target, death made her think that vacuum of hers was a sword. Illumi pins her to the wall and snaps her head off

Bono was more clever, he hid in the dust and used his whistle like body to distract Illumi from where he actually was

Then he attacks when he had his back turned to him

But Illumi soon gets the hang of it, whips back to his right to catch Bono mid jump, and crushes his neck like paper

He drops the twice killed body and wipes his hands on his pants

There's strong aura somewhere in the room, so he follows his instincts through the smog

Another explosion, but this time actual smoke builds up in the room, triggering the fire alarms and the sprinklers

"you fucking bitch!"

"you should have stayed dead, Hisoka!"

Illumi follows the voices and now obvious sounds of fighting

as the smoke clears, he sees multiple figures go after who he assumes was Hisoka. Logically speaking, he was the only target of those useless puppets

Illumi jumps to his feet to help him, throwing pins at the three running to Hisoka at stumbling speed

He lands behind Hisoka with grace, feet as silent as ever.

the smoke is nearly gone now, so when Illumi turns to see if Hisoka was alright he's shocked to find a rock figurine, roughly formed to Hisoka's shape and build

"Hisoka-"

"i can't believe you fell for that" Chrollo says behind him, but Illumi has already sent needles flying his way

"what did you do?"

unprepared, Chrollo's sent to the wall, hands pinned and spread. there were matching pins buried deep into the palms of his hands making him unable to move

"I just killed the bastard who shouldn't have come for my friends."

his hands needed to touch something to detonate. with two more pins each added to his hands (and two more to each of his feet), Chrollo's made to float with Illumi's Manipulation

(hc power here bc i think he could do this, but he only saves it for special occasions or enemies lol)

Illumi pulls forth a mind control needle amd jams it into Chrollo’s forehead, “answer my questions, and answer me truthfully"

"what did you do to Hisoka, you could not have killed him in that short amount of time. I should have been able to sense something if you did. he is not in this room, so where is he?"

Chrollo groans, "he's trapped in the room i laid out for him"

"explain."

"i stole some random passenger's teleportation ability. its' condition is to only be able to open a portal if the room's closed and only has one door. i opened the portal and left him in the in between."

"you have been planning this, correct?"

"i only came up with it when Shizuku encountered the man with this power. he's still alive of course, but if i kill him then his nen portals would cease, and Hisoka will be trapped in that limbo forever."

"and nen after death..?"

"he adores the spiders, he surely won't hold a grudge if i killed him for this."

"this is a well executed plan." Illumi complements despite the situation

"thanks."

"open the portal, bring him back."

"why should i?"

Illumi grabs another pin from his shirt, this time giving it a lick before jamming it into Chrollo's arm

"i am already annoyed at how everything has turned out, just pull Hisoka out of the portal."

life slowly drains from Chrollo's eyes, as he goes limp against Illumi's pins that kept him afloat and away from any possible detonation medium

Chrollo-puppet, now on his own two feet, pulls out his book and flips to a page. The wall behind him opens, the metal folding out as if crumpled then Hisoka walks out, in shock. The wall closes silently, as if it never opened to begin with

Hisoka snaps out of it quickly, lips curving into a pleased smile, "nice work, Illu!"

Illumi waves a hand dismissively. "would you like to do the honors?"

"ooh~ don't mind if i do," Hisoka pulls out a card from somewhere and approaches the still Chrollo.

Illumi walks to a wall to lean against it, knowing Hisoka would take his time.

"you've married an idiot, Illumi Zoldyck." a voice said beside him, and he snaps his head up to see Hisoka's killing slash

"wait-"

But it was too late

another explosion, this time strong enough to blow the doors open and the walls broken

Illumi's once again pushed to the wall, back through the metal it poked him with blisters

As the dust settled for a third time, Chrollo stood in the middle of the room, unharmed and unpinned.

Under his foot, Hisoka. Dead?

"no-" Illumi coughs, dust filling his lungs

Illumi stumbles to the pair as Chrollo backs away, to the door now open

"Hisoka-" he falls to his knees beside the man, cradles the head to his lap. This was real, this was really Hisoka. he felt it- he felt the last ebbs of his presence fade along with the explosion.

He was really dead...

Was his Bungee Gum/after death nen a one time thing?

He was so stupid, he should have noticed that Chrollo was a fake. It had been too easy. Fuck.

Hisoka coughs, and Illumi zeroes in on it, on the way his once steady chest heaves with labored breaths. "Hiso- Hisoka?"

"Illu..." he drawls, unable to say it clearly

"what do i do?"

"ta... take m-" he coughs again, "take my heart, Illu."

"what do you mean?" Illumi presses a hand to the side of Hisoka's neck, trying to find a pulse

"this is my nen condition-" heave- "Bungee gum will help me get the engagement ring to you. it's in my heart, literally-"

"Hisoka, you are not making any sense-"

"just kill me already, illu-" cough- "and carve out my heart. you'll find the ring there."

"o-oh" Illumi's eyes widen

"do it, illu. before my-" heave again "nen runs out."

Hisoka's smiling. his glamour of texture surprise has worn off already, so his nose-less, peeling face stared back at Illumi

"go on, love."

with no other choice, Illumi elongates his nails and digs into the crevice between Hisoka's rib cage. his blood felt hot and sticky between his fingers, but Illumi dug deeper.

his heart was still beating though weakly, as if it still had a chance to live on

"bye, love." were Hisoka's last breathy words as Illumi pulls the organ out. It was shrouded in pink nen, Bungee Gum he thought, its distinct tint a permanent brand in Illumi's mind

gore slid down his hand, as illumi held it closer to his face for inspection

for a few fleeting moments it continued throbbing, but now it's stilled to a mere heart.

Illumi has done this method of killing before, but this is the first heart he thought held value

blood dripped from his hand down to Hisoka's smiling face, eyes open and gaze somewhere to Illumi's direction

as the Bungee Gum lifted, a ring popped out from an outward ventricle.

a bloody ring

how did he manage to do this?

despite the crimson, Illumi slips it to his ring finger with a grim smile

even after death, Hisoka still amazed him

He gently puts Hisoka's head to the ground, off his lap, and closes his golden eyes

Illumi's en grows with unbridled rage that it covered the whole ship. Chrollo is just a few hallways down

Bloodlust up in new heights, Illumi lets his presence explode, making sure nen and non nen users alike felt his hunger to kill

Finding Chrollo was too easy, but this time he's sure it was the real one. he was at the balcony, looking out into the sunset.

"i take it, you loved him?"

Illumi doesn't answer, instead walks closer with eery silence

"if you loved him then why didn't you tell him?"

one step forward, two, three. just a few more left.

"he wouldn't have reciprocated? blah, he was of peculiar taste, I'm sure he would've accepted you."

pins, needles, hell even a card he got from Hisoka. he threw all of it to Chrollo, aiming for where he was and the surrounding spots he could have gone to, to avoid them

pinned down and bleeding, Chrollo continues "or were you not aware you loved him until you saw him die right before your eyes?"

Illumi, more than once, said that assassins don't need friends. didn't have a need for anyone else but family.

but

"he was my friend. that's all there was to it."

Chrollo's head rolls to the balcony, falls off and to the sea. a king of hearts was placed where the head should be, engraved into the floor.

later that day, Illumi went back to the room where Hisoka was, to find Kalluto there. His kimono was bunched up by his hands to make sure blood didn't touch the ends.

"aniki, what happened here? where's danchou?"

"kallu, i want you to help me with something." Illumi said instead, "can you help me clean him up?"

"should we throw him overboard?" Kalluto gestured to Hisoka.

"no, i want to fix him up and find a coffin in this ship. i will bury him when we get back to the mainland."

"why?"

"because..." Illumi fiddled with the bloodied ring, "he was my husband."

for those of u confused don't worry, i am too. basically chrollo used a bomb dummy of himself and that’s the one hisoka killed but uh got him killed instead. shjsjfkf sorry if this was shitty it's 2:30am nd i just wanted to write this before i forgot. I'll fix it tomorrow hopefully

also the hc is the ring in hisokas heart thingey and maybe the room trap plan bc togashi wouldnt have introduced that bitch if he didnt plan on using him for the plot shjsjdkfkgl good night!

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scullysexual · 4 years

Text

{untitled post col fic: 2}

Chapter 1 link here. Ao3 link here.

Still working on a title for this. So this has become a thing that looks like it’s going to be regularly updated. There’s no posting schedule rn, I’m just posting whenever. Currently I’m eager to write this so chances are it’ll be posted on random days.

@today-in-fic @mypanicface Let me know if you’d like to be tagged.

- - -

Chapter Two.

Sunlight streams down through the bars, across her face. She tries to block the light with an arm but it’s useless. The cement ground is hard and her other arm aches with laying on it all night.

It wasn’t the first time Scully had found herself in The Box and it wouldn’t be the last.

Scully stretches, her body just about fitting the length of the small room, and pushes herself to sit up. Morning has arrived and she won’t have to wait long for somebody to unlock the doors. She’s been in here before, she knows the drill.

In the meantime, she shakes her arm back to life and wonders when it will be time to move on from this place.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

The red clone forcefully yanks her out of the van by the chain between her handcuffs. The metal cuts against her skin and Scully bites her tongue so as not to yell out. Once upon a time, she was putting the handcuffs on.

Having been stuck in darkness for what feels like forever, the sun is too bright and Scully finds herself having to squint.

“I don’t want to hear a word from you,” the red one tells her before pushing her into the line. She stumbles slightly but quickly regains her balance, throwing daggers towards the back of the clone’s head.

With her eyes adjusted, it doesn’t take Scully long to realise where she is. There’s a drop in her stomach as she stares up at her prison. They can build a new building but the fencing and grass have all relatively stayed the same. This was once the spot The White House sat.

She’s home. She’s walked past this street, this area, multiple times. Her apartment not too far away.

It becomes too much, to be standing here like she is, anxious and afraid of what to come but she will not cry, she won’t give them that.

There’s a thought to run. It was possible. Only her hands are cuffed together, her feet free. Adrenaline will make her run faster and she knows her way around this city probably better than the clones do.

But no. Her eyes catch the guards that stand around, their hands glued to their machine guns. She might be able to run fast but not faster than they can pull the trigger.

“Are these the new ones?”

A man’s voice cuts through her thoughts. Scully looks to the front to see a man with a long face and pointy chin, his hair a yellow colour of blonde. For the most part he looks human but Scully can see the slightly larger orbital cavity.

One of them. The colonists Mulder used to talk about, that she never believed existed- that nobody believed existed- standing before her.

“They are, sir,” the blue clone pipes up. “Most of them were found hiding in the Outskirts.”

The Colonist makes his way down the line, seeming to check each woman out. When he reaches Scully he stops and Scully doesn’t have the nerve to look him in the eye anymore.

“You were supposed to bring them to me unharmed,” the Colonist shouts, sounding furious.

“We had no option but to, sir,” the red one explains. With the Colonist looking away, Scully grins, he doesn’t sound so sure of himself now. “She forced us to.”

Her grin falls quickly when the Colonist turns back to her. His hand brushes against the bruise.

“We’ll get that looked at,” he says calmly and soothingly.

And maybe it was his hand touching her that had bile rising in her throat. Or maybe because she was scared and alone and feeling that fire slowly begin to fade out that makes her bat the Colonist’s hand away and cry out.

“Don’t touch me!”

She can almost hear everyone hold their breath. The Colonist’s grey eyes turn to cold ice. Out of nowhere something heavy collides with her ribs and abdomen. A cracked rib surely as Scully falls to the ground, her torso screaming in agony, those tears she promised she wouldn’t give them coming to her eyes as she splutters and coughs.

“And let that be a lesson to you all!” she hears the Colonist shout.

Scully stays laying on the ground, clutching her ribs, trying to calm herself. She’ll kill him, she thinks. She’ll kill them all.

“Take them inside,” the Colonist instructs. “Prepare them for the Initiation Ceremony.”

There’s a trample of feet moving. Scully knows she should get up, to follow them, but if they just left her here to die she wouldn’t fight it.

“What about this one?” one of the clones ask.

“Take her to the hospital.”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Spirits were high. One of the girls was pregnant and that meant the community had a reason to celebrate.

Mulder learned quickly that being part of the Higher didn’t really mean much. He got a nice house and wasn’t a slave but the real power still resided with the colonists.

He was told they run the facilities that train the new slaves before they’re sold for auction next month. He had bought Chloe, of course. In a race against another potential buyer, Mulder had almost spent a year’s allowance on her for fear she would end up with the slimy bastard who’s reputation for owning most of the girls put on sale just so he could brutally mutilate and abuse those who didn’t give him results in the first month sent shivers down Mulder’s spine. He had won the girl and after two months with no results, it was lucky he had too.

A new month was approaching and a new auction along with it. Most of the girls auctioned off came from the facility but if a Higher grew tired of the slave they had, if she had given them a child and they wanted no more, she too would be in the mix. Every month for the past four months Mulder had gone to the auction in the hopes that maybe she would be there but it hadn’t been the case and he was beginning to lose hope she was even in California.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Motels and bars had become a rarity in the world now, however the odd one still stood, mainly to serve the Colonists or hybrids who might have to travel. They were dangerous for a simple human to visit, he and Scully would often avoid them for fear of capture but right now they were the best place to head if they wanted information.

Concealed by a hood, in a booth furthest to the corner, the few people occupying the bar pay him no attention. Skinner sits beside him, a beer in front of him, and when he takes a sip, his face contorts in disgust.

“Tastes like shit,” the man says, pushing the beer away.

“Keep drinking it anyway,” says Mulder. They didn’t want to draw suspicion to themselves after all.

The door to the bar opens and a weasel little man wanders in. He throws a nervous look to a man nearest the door- someone Mulder immediately recognised to be a Colonist- before his eyes dart around, landing on Mulder’s.

The little man makes a beeline for their booth, sitting himself down opposite Mulder.

“You’re Mulder, right?” the man asks.

Mulder refuses to clarify, asking, “What have you got?”

“I was told you were looking for someone called Scully.”

Mulder’s heart clenches in his chest. After all these years of searching is he really going to find what he’s looking for in one man.

“What do you know?” Skinner asks.

“Just that she gets auctioned a lot,” the man says. He keeps his voice low, his eyes constantly wandering over to the others in the bar. “That she’s trouble.”

Mulder fights to keep the grin from appearing on his face, he would expect no less from his Scully.

“Do you know where she is?”

With a clear glance towards the Colonist closest to the door, Mulder’s informant shifts forward.

“There are rumours she’s in California.”

Mulder bashes his fist on the table causing the drinks to spill and the man to jump in his seat.

“Rumours?!” Mulder shouts. A few people look their way before going back to their business. His voice quieter this time, Mulder asks, “All you can give me is rumours?”

The man is pale, scared and nervous.

“That’s- that’s all I know,” he splutters.

Clenching his jaw, Mulder sits back in his seat and shakes his head.

The door opens to enter a newcomer and the man’s face looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“I’m sorry I don’t have more,” the man says. He’s quickly standing from his seat. “Cali,” he says again as he backs away from the booth. “Go to Cali.”

Mulder was pissed. All these years and still no closer.

“I’m not following rumours,” he declares.

“You might not have a choice,” Skinner says, Mulder’s voice of reason since the disappearance of Scully. His sanity. “It’s been five years and this is the closest we’ve came. We have a location.”

Skinner was right. It may just be a rumour but it was the first utter of a location and rumours have some truth to them.

So Mulder nods, a new plan formulating in his mind. California his new destination.

“Cali,” he says agreeing. “We just have to get there.”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

The door is unlocked and Edie stands in the doorway. She’s younger than Scully yet her hybrid-status puts her much higher position than Scully will ever be. Not that Edie sees that. Babysitting future human sex slaves was never her end goal.

“Learnt your lesson?” Edie asks.

A question she asks every time Scully ends up in The Box and each time Scully nods. They both know full well that by next time, Scully will be back in this box.

“Pack up your stuff,” Edie says as Scully climbs out the room. “You’re leaving.”

Her month is up already, Scully thinks. She hadn’t been keeping track. Days and months didn’t work like they used too, Scully doesn’t even think they call it 2002 anymore.

But this was it, she was leaving the prison. Her face scarred and her clothes consisting a multiple grey dresses. She wonders who long of a life she has left before they realise her body cannot build babies.

#post col sad angsty fic #i write

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pinkykitten · 4 years

Text

Waterbending

Avatar the Last Airbender - waterbending! Sokka x female! reader au

Specific/Warnings: fighting, violence, fluff, romance, race neutral reader, earthbending reader

Words: 2,562

Requested: sokka x reader who admits that she has ancestors linked towards the lion turtles and her bloodline has the ability to grant bending and to take it away just like the lion turtles and gives sokka waterbending after he was upset and felt useless for not being able to bend in one episode?

Authors Note: i know i said i wasnt going to do this but i couldnt resist; i posted this fic on my side blog but i deleted my side blog and im posting it here; skdgfdkgnfkg also my first au! hope you guys like!!! ;3

You were all exhausted having been chased by Azula. All of you barely had any sleep. You made camp thinking she was far away when in reality she was behind you and following you. It was the same pattern, set up camp, try to sleep, see her and then run away. Even Aang was getting tired of the repetitiveness of it all and was seeking to fight her.

There were dark bags under your eyes. You felt your muscles begin to shake knowing you needed rest. You felt pity for your friends.

Aang langed in a small abandoned Earth Kingdom town. You all were about to fight but you didn’t know if you had the strength to do it.

Azula was fighting Aang and her brother Zuko.

“I think he’s in trouble,” you shouted to Katara as she entered into the collapsed building to save Aang.

Azula stormed out and Sokka fought with her. He swung his boomerang back and forth, trying to cut or bruise her in any way.

You were stiff frozen. There was so much happening around you all at once. You heard nothing else except the beating of your heart. The thumps became faster and harder. Your friends were in danger and you felt useless.

Azula smirked as she pushed Sokka to the ground. He fell back and with fear in his eyes he brought his hands up to block his face. Azula felt powerful and that she conquered the world. Azula cackled as she lifted her hand to bring a igniting flame of fire to blow to Sokka’s face.

You sprinted as fast as you could and tackled Azula.

“Oh I see,” Azula shook the dust off her clothes, standing in a battle position with you opposite. “Is this your little lover boy? Do you care for this boy?” She scoffed.

You were shaking like trees in the wind. This was your first time going head to head with Azula, the fire princess.

“Well, come and get me.”

“No Y/N,” Sokka tried to stop you. He was immensely worried and had a strong bond, connection, with you.

With a loud shriek you sprinted toward Azula. She kicked fire towards you and you broke it with sprouts of rocks. Azula punched more short blasts to you with you successfully disinterested them with a wave of earth but then they became too much at a fast ongoing rate, so you produced a rock shield, separating you and Azula.

“Are you afraid? Scared to fight?” Azula taunted you. She wanted a reaction, she wanted you angry. To let go and forget the energy bond you created with the spirits.

You sat crisscrossed on the sandy dirt.

“What are you doing Y/N?” Sokka sprinted behind the wall you made. He brought your face into his hands and softly touched your cheeks. “If you stay here and not do anything, she’ll kill you. You’ll die.” Sokka’s voice was cracking. He couldn’t let another love of his life sacrifice themselves for others. He couldn’t go through with it again. He wouldn’t let someone so important to him lose their life. Sokka was frustrated and snapped, he punched the shield, feeling worthless. He watched those around him get hurt and he couldn’t do a thing about it. “I can’t watch you get hurt.” He coiled up into himself not wanting you to see his pain.

You lifted his chin so he could gaze into your eyes, “I’m okay Sokka. Don’t worry about me.” You beamed as you brushed his tears away. You inched closer as your lips made contact with his. It ended the minute it started. It was unsure. You were unaware if he liked you in that manner and your fate was unknown in this moment. You bent the earth with a stomp of your foot to make it pop from the ground and throw Sokka in the air to get him away from danger.

You closed your eyes and mediated on the energy within you. You felt the spirits opening up to you and allowing you to be one with them. It was such a light and good feeling. You felt you were flying though the clouds, your body felt weightless like a feather. You believed in them, in yourself, in your past, creating a connection with all life. You exhaled and to every present they were astounded when they saw you bend the energy to create an astral projection of yourself. Your earth bending walls crumbled and you grew bigger and bigger.

The others around you began to gasp and be in awe.

“I have never seen that,” Iroh spoke breathlessly.

Aang focused on you, speechless that you had that relationship with the spirit world. “She’s amazing.”

Azula in that moment was more frightened than any time ever. Her eyes widened at your form. Now she was frozen.

In your new form you walked slowly, looking at your friends and some foes. You raised your leg high in the air and clashed it against the ground, trying to strike Azula. Azula dodged the attack and did a spiral of fire against you. It did not damage. You were able take the harsh beating. You moved your arms in unison above your head in a loop and one by one the pieces of the abandoned building were starting to come apart and rip from the dirt and they were floating high above you. Your astral form smirked and in a snap you threw the pieces of debris on Azula.

You thought you got her. You thought you won.

Your spirit walked back to your physical body, ready to be one again when Azula sprinted from out under the debris. You saw her through your peripheral vision. Your brain wanted to fight but your body said no. You knew the spirits were trying to tell you something. You were too exhausted from not getting enough sleep that bringing your other form out was too much for your body to handle. Your astral form got smaller and smaller, your body weaker and weaker. Azula was right beside you ready to ignite your body in flames when Zuko acted and swayed fire to her to protect you. You felt your body give out and became normal again. Your body became limp and you fell back into Sokka’s arm. “Y/N!” He shouted to your face. You had more bags under your eyes, exhaustion clear on your face. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She used too much of her bending,” Aang said as Zuko fought with his sister. “Her body is getting weak. She needs sleep.”

Sokka laid you to rest and saw red. He was angry with Azula that she tried to hurt you but he was also angry with himself. He couldn’t protect you like he wanted to and that killed him on the inside. Sokka cornered Azula and the others did as well. It was six against one.

She finally admitted her defeat. Iroh smiled as he looked at dear Toph and Azula knew that was her opening. He let his guard down and she took it. You opened your eyes to see she blasted Iroh’s chest with fire. Your eyes widened in horror not knowing she would go that far and your lips quivered. Zuko cried as the others unleashed their powers on Azula and Sokka used his boomerang. All the power becomes an explosion creaming smoke. Azula takes this chance and disappears with the smoke.

Zuko was by Iroh’s side, crying. You and the others go behind him to comfort him.

“We can help him,” Katara reaches for Zuko.

“Leave!” Zuko shouts with a gust of fire.

Sokka carried you back to Appa to depart. You wanted to help and worry about Zuko and Sokka knew this from your face. He laid your head on his lap. “Please sleep. You can worry about them later.”

You knew Sokka was right and you closed your eyes feeling the soft comfort of Sokka by your side.

You were finally feeling better having slept for most of the day that it was already night. The others were sleeping and you thought to take it upon yourself to get items for the camp.

You knelt down to pick up water from the river. The night was peaceful and quiet as the wildlife spoke at dark. You were alone, thinking when you heard the crunch of leaves. You stood your ground as the figure stepped out from the woods.

“Woah, hold on there.” Sokka chuckled as he held his hand out in surrender. “I’m one of the good guys.”

You chuckled, “I know that. How’d you sleep?” You collected the rest of the water while Sokka sat on a boulder over looking the water. You sat beside him.

“It was okay. Appa keeps shedding though and it gets stuck in my nose.” Sokka wrinkled his nose, cross eyed.

You giggled in your hand, “its actually really soft.”

The splashing of water from playing fish could be heard. It was silent for a while.

“How did you do that?”

“Did what?” You asked trying to feign obliviousness. You were insecure about your energybending. You didn’t want to try to seem better than the avatar. You wanted to be normal and not want others to see you differently.

“You know what I mean Y/N.”

You bit your lip in thought, “when I was a baby I was born with unique bending abilities, ones that were granted to you if you so were chosen by the lion turtle and he had faith in you. My parents didn’t know until we were visited by the spirits and met with the lion turtle. He told my parents that our ancestors were one of the first men to have bending abilities and were favored by the lion turtle. Our lineage was one of the first and its been past down from generation after generation. My parents were shocked to know that they possessed this power but I possessed it with higher greatness in that I could take and grant others bending abilities. I’m sorry Sokka I didn’t tell you, I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what, Y/N? For me to love you any less? Not a chance,” he caressed your arms. Sokka shook his head as he kicked the dirt.

“What’s wrong, dear?” You asked. You were certain it was because of the aspect of that you didn’t tell him about your powers.

“It’s nothing, it’s just,” Sokka scratched the back of his head. “When I saw you almost get hurt by Azula I couldn’t do a thing about it. I tried fighting her earlier and you saw how that turned up, you had to save my butt.”

“Sokka!” You wanted him to quit talking that nonsense.

“Its true Y/N! You almost got killed by Azula and I couldn’t protect you. I had to just sit there and watch. I’m always too weak. I sometimes wish I was like you and the rest of them. I hate not being able to do anything and being useless!” He sat on the dirt, angry with himself.

You sat in front of him, touching his cheek. “I know what to do.” You stood up and put your thumb on his forehead.

“Woah, hold up, what are you doing?”

“I’m giving you what you want. Remember, I can take and give bending abilities. I’m going to give you one.”

Sokka’s eyes lit up and a smile grew on his face, “no way. You would do that for me?”

“Of course now hold still and just relax and let your mind be free.” You put your thumb on his forehead and your hand on his shoulder.

“Wait! Thank you Y/N.”

You grinned and did it once more and the power surged through you. Your hands began to glow as well as your eyes. You trusted the spirits and the energy and they knew who Sokka was.

Sokka invited the feeling. It was incredible! Sokka opened his eyes one second to take you in and you looked like a goddess granting him his wishes. You were so beautiful and concentrated. You were the love of his life.

You finally let go and felt a little drained. “I hope its what you wanted, I know you said you did but I just want to make sure its truly it. Oh wow I should of asked you before I didn’t mean-”

Sokka kissed your lips with a passion and force he almost knocked you off your feet. His smoothly glided over yours and bit your lip cutely. Your bodies were close as can be, faces flushed and nose bumping into one another. It was as if you both were each other breath of air. Your heart clashed against your rib cage from the excitement and adrenaline and out of love. You eyes became half lidded and you saw a circle of water around you two. You presumed it was Katara but realized it was actually Sokka. The waterbending was based on his emotions at the moment. He was still new and didn’t know to control it. You separated, “Look Sokka.”

Sokka saw himself waterbending and he almost felt tears come out of his eyes, “I’m actually doing it! I’m actually doing it!” He picked you up as he twirled you, you then two jumped up and down holding hands. Sokka leaned his forehead against yours, you both smiling like a bunch of silly love birds. “I love you Y/N. I love you more than anything in the world.”

“I love you Sokka. You did it my love. You did it.”

Sokka needed training before any big fight so you along with the other decided to teach him how to use and control his powers. Sokka was giddy and ecstatic to use his waterbending that he was all over the place and jumping all the time.

“Now that we’ve taught you a lot I want you to use it on me. Give me everything you got!” You were the last class of the day and not only did this help strengthen Sokka with his abilities but it made you both get closer and fall more in love with each other. “You got this Sokka. I believe in you!” Your smile almost made Sokka faint.

“I love you!”

“I love you more!” A huge boulder came in Sokka’s path but he missed it just in time.

“What the heck was that?”

“Pay attention! No more talking, boy! Fight me!” You pretended to be the boulder.

“Oh my God,” Sokka tried to stifle his laugh. “You know you do a pretty good boulder impression.”

“Thanks, it comes from like the back of the throat and then you-” you shrieked as a huge wave splashed on you sending you away. You were angry. “What the heck was that?”

Sokka smirked seeing you soaked. “You’re good, but not that good.” With a wink he got on his hands and started to spin, sending a gush of a halo formation water above you from his feet.

You were proud of Sokka. Everyday he just kept getting better and you knew one day to the rest of the world Sokka would be a hero, a great legend but to you, he’ll always be your Sokka. The boy you met that was benderless and always carried around his trusty boomerang.

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mimiplaysgames · 4 years

Text

And There Are Storms We Cannot Weather (Ch. 1)

Pairing: Terranort x Anti-Aqua Rating: M Word Count: 4,457

Summary: If light won’t give Aqua her family back, she’ll use darkness to free them instead. There’s just one problem: him.

Read on AO3

A/N: Happy TWO-YEAR fic anniversary to me!! I’m releasing this a week ahead of the big day, I was just too excited to keep it to myself. This is such a rarepair (strangely? WHYYYY) and it’s exhilarating and liberating to get on something different! It’s an Enemies to Friends to Lovers fic and it’s such a scary thing to work on. I need to thank my two betas: @steadyknight who is my sharper edge and will push me to my limits, and @lyssala who is my soft embrace and will keep me hopeful. Together, they balance this piece out and without them, I would not have the courage to post this. Thank you both so much for your insight, encouragement, and critiques. ;-; ;-; ;-;

~*~*~*~*~

Laced With Nitroglycerine

If she asks anyone in the world whether she exists, they’d say no - they don’t remember her, after all. They don’t even know why she disappeared in the first place, nor do they want to.

At least, no one today remembers her. She led a whole life a long time ago, and she spent twelve years recounting those memories like they were printed in a book, word for word. Each one of her loved ones has a text of their own, and if she had her way, she’d have them all on a shelf along with hers, together.

But there are empty spots on her shelf now. One is dead.

Another is sleeping, and she can’t retrieve him without the right key, unless she risks losing her mind.

The last one is unaccounted for.

So she traces her steps like she’s reading backwards, and watches people from places they don’t notice: within the cracks in between cobblestone, where they step on her; by the dumpster, where they abandon waste all over her, never realizing they’re burying her; under the storm drain, where they don’t bother to look; inside of closets, where they’re too preoccupied to peek.

After hours of eavesdropping useless conversation, she decides staying in Radiant Garden isn’t worth her trouble. She leaves, heading nowhere until she’s distant enough to wonder where she belongs.

Nowhere is a wasteland, with only a graveyard. And a man.

When the man sees her coming, he’s delighted to see her again, the way a child imagines a demon would be: lips curled, showing both rows of teeth, and a hungry glare where she’s the feast.

He looks the same, but he doesn’t, golden eyes ambered and deep which pierce through her. His hair is whiter than the sun - there’s no denying his presence, even yards away in the middle of an unmarked Keyblade burial site.

"All worlds begin in darkness, and all so end. The heart is no different - such is its nature. In the end, every heart returns to the darkness whence it came."

These are his first words to her, rich and smooth like the hum of a distant earthquake.

His glee cackles, an indication that he is no different from the very last moment she's seen him and that he has changed in every single way imaginable.

“I fell into darkness for you,” she says, her voice icy.

“Come again?”

She doesn’t lend a second for thought. He will not play dumb today. He will take responsibility.

Gliding across the sand, Master Aqua whips out a Keyblade - tacky blue slamming against ornate silver, her ugly Keyblade bouncing off of his as he knocks her back.

He sneers when he glances at her weapon. “Interesting choice for plunder.”

She grunts. She shrieks. She won’t give him a chance to talk (who cares what she stole?). Aqua slams her Keyblade against his, again and again and again. He’s going to take responsibility for leaving her behind. She will make it hurt.

He parries, sliding his blade up against hers to throw her off balance. Then he steps forward, and disappears in a puff of smoke. Pops back up, too close for comfort and erasing the space between them.

Close enough to grab her. Enough to take a faint whiff of cologne every time he takes a massive swing of his heavy Keyblade.

She dodges, floats, kicks dirt in his face - anything to break the air between them but still he comes charging at her, chest open for a strike and yet he gets too near to allow her a clear shot.

Like he knows she wants to. He knows what his weaknesses are and leaving his body exposed isn’t one of them.

Damn him.

They trade blows, metal to metal in beats and uppercuts, always blocked, clanking away and making enough noise to wake the dead.

Then without warning, he lurches back to keep his distance, strutting her in circles like he’s the predator.

If that’s the case, then he truly cannot grasp what he’s dealing with.

“Following ghosts from your past, are you?” he says, keeping his Keyblade flexed. “No, I am mistaken. You walk among them.”

“You’re not who I’m looking for.”

“On the contrary,” he coos, “I am.”

Digging into his pocket, he pulls out a metal and glass trinket, dipped in a color bolder than the earth beneath his feet.

"Give it back," she growls, as quiet and collected as a feline stalking prey.

The warm-orange Wayfinder dangling in display catches the sun when he wiggles it, before he clasps the entire thing in his large hand. He shoves it deep into his pocket like he's making a show out of taking something precious away from her.

“It is mine,” he says with a smile as sarcastic as a snarl.

Part of her should have known. The Realm of Darkness is not the only monster with teeth, and the moment she freed herself left her exposed to all that is hungry in the outside world.

When she steps forward, he steps back, his grin brimming like he’s excited. She throws herself against him for another hit.

He replies by playing coy, using switch and bait tactics to avoid every one of her attacks until she tires out. She's smart enough to realize it but she's too angry to care, telling her body that it can finally rest when he’s stopped breathing.

A lurch back when she lunges, a swerve when she's too close - he blends in and out of darkness to put distance between them just so she wastes her time catching up. He’s amused, beckoning her to come near with a finger. Come, is what he’s saying when he does this, I’m over here.

It's only when she starts getting furious, when darkness starts smoking off her skin, that he finally loses interest in taunting her.

She's used to attacks that stun; she's dodged and blocked against them all her life, but his have an extra kick, an extra surge of that desperate need to be stronger, faster, better, bigger.

Power is seductive and he's addicted to the girth of his muscles, into the way he slams his Keyblade onto hers, in the way his shoulders flex and tense with gusto when he pushes hard enough to make her stumble, in his prowess with dark magic that allows him to be too fast for his size.

He's a cheater, put simply. He cheats the laws of physics when he teleports, when he launches himself across the field like a bulldozer, when he floats around and mocks how hopelessly she chases him.

"So unrefined," he says about her flurries and fireworks, her ghosting and her flashy waves of purple. "You are deafening the desires of your heart," he continues like he's giving advice to a boring child, his posture suddenly lax like he has nothing to fear.

"I listen to it." She doesn't. It's abandoned her, silent as a weep when she turns to herself for answers.

"Clearly.”

"Shut up."

It's not like she doesn't know how her heart feels - angry and bitter enough to propel her forward, to make that Keyblade glow darkly and launch fireballs, blinding him until she follows through and meets him face to face, Keyblade to Keyblade, grinding and sparking and trembling. There's enough hatred and misery mixed in their magic to pool darkness together, a mass so dense it could stain stardust with black ink.

"You will do better by paying attention," he smirks, and she wants to punch it out of his face. His eyes scan her own, so deep and slick in gold that it reminds her of what she truly is: the same as him.

She spent many foolish years indulging in fantasies of what she'd make with their bodies once they were both reunited - making war was far from it.

"Give in," he says smoothly, their Keyblades shaking by this point. "Let your heart speak for itself."

She nearly spits at him. How dare he tell her how to do anything?

"Yes." He approves of her reaction, like he's getting off on it.

She’ll make him regret speaking to her like that.

Dropping to her knees and sweeping with a kick, she trips him, disappearing from his line of vision and leaving him stranded with nothing but dead Keyblades.

Aqua doesn't have much to say with words anymore. Her phantoms would pull their weight with that kind of hard work.

They creep from the Keyblades, stalking him until they finish their lap and vanish. Meant to be disorienting, they're a message, a filter for her pain so that someone out there knows. So that someone listens because dammit, she's been talking to herself for too many years.

"You left me to rot alone--"

"I waited so long for you to come get me--"

"I only wanted to go home--"

"I don't know what I did all this for--"

"Did you not care about me enough?"

“Traitor…”

"You will drown with me--"

But the bastard is not intimidated. He strides, barely giving them much of a glance as he rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck. He's not moved by her words when he should be.

So she slithers, comes right behind him for a direct hit but he's suave and self-assured, blocking her with the force of a boulder.

It's hard to say what catches his attention, what with her shrieking when she misses such an easy target. His eyes drink her face like he's reading her, down her ink-stained arms to her pauldron and ripped sleeves, like he's undressing them.

"What a wasted opportunity," is all he has to say.

He counters - three grounded steps forward with furious swings before a horrendous slam to the ground, darkness lapping at her face and tossing her backward. She stumbles over her feet, her still-foreign Keyblade forsaking her grip.

Aqua spits dry sand out of her mouth; this place is out of her element. He stands in her way, proud and reserved, brushing hair out of his face. Seeing him do that makes her blood boil and her mood miserable.

"It is not a wasted effort, however," he says, towering her, enjoying how he's looking down on a woman on her knees, clutching her chest and gasping for breaths. "What power would you hold if you simply-"

"What do you care?"

"I can offer you a better existence," he says, one hand at his waist, his Keyblade not fading away in the other. "Something with more class than a beggar in the desert."

"Who says I'm begging?"

"You are a commodity, a great asset."

“For what?” She scoffs. “To be a Seeker of Darkness? Summon Kingdom Hearts? None of that is my problem.” Looking him in the eye, even from the ground, makes her feel tall. “I’d rather swallow acid than stand next to you.”

He's smug. "Your heart is weaker than I expected, fleeing the inevitable like a wounded creature."

"It is not weak," she says, emphasizing the sharpness of that last word with a tisk.

She realizes she’s good at this - pretending to know what she’s about even though she wonders if she's truly gone apathetic.

What she wants right now is to scratch that smile off his face. "Neither is Terra's."

"Terra?" he asks like he has forgotten who that is. He searches the horizon, his lips curling with captivation when he remembers a game he's won. "Terra yearns for my confidence."

Whatever ego-rubbing he's feeding off of, it emanates in clouds of smoke licking the skin of his fingers. "Terra desired strength.” He holds a fist in the air, flexing the forearm. “Witness how powerful he is now. You can have the same, whatever you desire if you learn to control it."

She scoffs, rolls her eyes.

"You know nothing of the darkness,” he says.

Nothing? No. “I am darkness.”

She screams. She knows plenty, years' worth. Master Aqua hates darkness. Master Aqua reeks of it.

They come, hundreds of Heartless in reply, desperately crawling over each other like they will each die if they're too slow.

She hears them, trickling like raindrops... help help help help help.

At first, he's proud, waving his arm in grandeur like he’s announcing their arrival. He’s expecting they're here to be used as his example.

Yet he's the one insinuating she knew nothing. What a fool.

It's delicious to see him hesitate when they don't answer him.

Aqua laughs, twisted enough to remind her he's not the only one who's changed. "They're mine," she informs him.

With her horde, she's finally mutable, melting into their group when they save her, ebbing with their movements.

Until the man with Terra’s face is surrounded by a tornado of monsters. Until they are face to face again, and he's shaking to push her off of his Keyblade.

Her claw grips the armor on his left arm and he braces himself as she scratches the metal.

“Smile at me like you used to,” she commands, bringing her face closer to feel his breath.

He doesn’t obey. His teeth are locked in a snarl, his eyes occasionally darting to see if his blind spots are in danger - not in fear, but in fury.

Refusing her is the wrong answer. "What I want with all my heart is to take you back," she tells him with savor in her voice. "I swear, no matter where you are, I will be close. I will make sure you are never too far away from me. I will fix you."

He throws a mean glare before he knocks her off and teleports out of the eye of the storm, forcing her to open her Heartless barrier open and chase after him.

Now he gets serious. He slams the ground with his Keyblade, and the dirt under him ripple like the deep sea in the middle of night. From there, he floats, casting a spell, a summon - a Guardian of sorts - and the colors start weaving shadows.

Aqua and her Heartless have a heart-to-heart link. She doesn’t need to say anything for them to know what she wants. They leave her, twisting in a tidal wave with the intent to crash into him directly while she deals with his new threat on her own.

The shadows underneath her feet converge and slither. They are cold and slimy, the touch of something lurking underwater brushing against her legs.

Bursting out of the ground, it grabs her by the leg and thrashes her around like a toy. The momentum of it makes her dizzy, and she limps in its hold.

She shivers at the sight.

Empty yellow eyes, but angrier. Mouth taped by bandages like it’s injured. An empty shell in the middle of its chest, like it feels less than a regular Heartless. It’s huge and broadchested, and the first thing that comes to mind is the exact moment when she first met this creature. It hurt.

It hurt her.

Disappearing from its grip in a puff of smoke, Aqua comes at it from above, Keyblade in hand.

Her Heartless know to circle back away and pummel into the beast from behind. It takes a direct barrage of her grunts and strikes with her Keyblade - and her very kicks - to its face, until she’s too pissed off to have mercy and she starts coming at it with her worst blasts and explosions.

She’s found the man’s weakness - this creature. It raises its hands to cover its face from another one of her surging powerballs when the man throws himself in between, blocking with a barrier. Juggling both her and the tidal wave, he knocks out her attacks with large shockwaves while commanding the Guardian to deal with the Heartless - blast by violent blast, creep by unnerving creep.

The Guardian hides and stalks her Heartless, targeting the ones in the middle: the ones less aggressive and are only there to fill numbers. The lost. The confused. The children.

Each time it leaps from the ground and takes a hard strike, Heartless are ticked off, lost to nothingness forever in just one shot.

Aqua gasps.

Every Heartless vanquished is a sting somewhere, like a knotted string pulled from the surface of her skin until it cuts off her circulation. Then it snaps - from her back, her bicep, her face, her own heart, like a slap of rubber. Each and every one.

They’re gone. They’ve suffered enough crawling around the Realm of Darkness, and now this. It’s not fair.

Aqua calls them nearer to her. Together, they are sturdier, and she pets one of her Heartless - the youngest yet the oldest one of the group - to make sure it’s alright.

Man and beast teleport far enough away to add yards between. His shoulders heave with breath, and he staggers ever so slightly before straightening, like he has to remind himself that there’s something to be proud of.

The Guardian is dismissed, and the man opens up his arms and bows to her.

Stalemate. Surrender. It doesn’t matter. All she feels is pain when she promised herself after she left the Realm of Darkness that she’d never feel it again.

“Equal powers,” he says, hiding his defeat in his smile, “equal strengths. Equal truths.” She doubts that. “You are a worthy enough adversary, and yet I’ve bided enough of my time on you.”

He turns over his shoulder.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” she spits, her knees shaking.

It’s uncanny for an enemy to expose his back - traditionally his weakest spot - but he doesn’t consider it.

“You came here looking for ghosts, were you not?”

“It has nothing to do with you.”

“The graveyard is the perfect place to find one,” he says, waving his hand to beckon her. “This one is exactly who you’re looking for.”

Whether he’s taunting her or amusing himself, it’s easy to tell but hard to differentiate.

“You’re lying.”

“Suit yourself.” He continues on his way like he’s talking to himself. “The departed never linger.”

He doesn’t wait for her to catch up. Is he telling the truth? He’s smart, she’ll give him that. Smart and obnoxious, but he can’t afford to boldly take her to a trap.

If he pisses her off, she can finish the job. He’s weak enough now, and he should know this.

Aqua follows, her Heartless obedient and staying close. She eyes his shoulders, tracing the muscles to his spine. The most vulnerable spot is right at the brain stem.

He’s so much the same, and yet his stride has more bravado, more of a direction of where to go, like he’s solved all of his problems that plagued him in his young life.

“Tell me,” he says, glancing over his shoulder, “how did you escape the Dark Realm?”

Aqua doesn’t answer. It’s not his right to know.

“Peculiar,” is all he has to say about her silence.

She stops. “You’re wasting my time-”

“Here.” He gestures with his arm toward a blunder of rocks and boulders that have recently been blown off from a plateau high above.

Some of the pieces gleam in the harsh sunlight.

“This…” she hisses.

Armor. Chunks of it, sliced and abandoned in gold and red, next to a humongous, dull Keyblade laying flat on the ground. A scrap heap instead of a memorial, like all the rest.

She feels the man watching her as she gapes at the rubble before her.

“A lingering spirit,” he explains, his voice laced with a touch of condescension. “But no more. He spent far too long waiting for repentance until he was depleted of his will.”

She glares at him, golden eyes to golden eyes. His lashes are still luscious and as long as ever, lips slightly chapped as they always are. His lips are the same, but the smile is ugly. It twists, mischievous, like he understands exactly who’s responsible for this mess.

There is so much anger unspoken for but she doesn’t need words to tell him. Her fingers twitch, ready to slash him across the chest... but she’s drawn back by the very armor that needs her, pulling her heart heavily towards the ground. She doesn’t want to look at it but she knows it’s there, waiting for her to take care of it.

She can’t leave it now.

So she stares, waiting for the man to cower in her sight, refusing to be the first to step down.

But he notices what she’s trying to hide, and smirks. “You’re bound by his chains.”

His words pump her blood, her heart banging in her ears.

“Be wary of dead weight,” he says softly, his eyebrows pulsing upward. “Tied to your ankles, it will make you sink.”

“I know enough about drowning,” she quietly says.

He cocks his head, leaning forward. “There are depths you still cannot fathom.”

She inches closer to him, and can feel his breath on her lips. “We’ll see how hard you struggle to swim,” she whispers. “From now on, every breath you take is a gift from me.”

Something flickers in his eyes, and he smiles to himself.

Straightening up, he leaves her for silence, taking a step into a portal of darkness until it zips up behind him.

She hates him. Hates him for that stupid smirk he’s always wearing. Hates how good he is at reading her so easily, for knowing at first glance that she’d stay behind with the rubble when he turned over his shoulder.

She hates him for not letting her grieve her losses in peace.

The Realm has made good work of numbing her for twelve years, and now she takes a piece of it with her. Any surge of emotion - despair, nostalgia, yearning, wishing, and yes, even love - fades, leaving her stuck between yelling and not caring. Escaping the Realm should have been triumphant - not really deserving of applause, but it should have been the most important moment of her long life.

Standing here, in the midst of this mess, she wonders if waiting has been pointless all along.

Spurts of Heartless crawl toward the armor - they’re curious, as much as she is shaken by the sight. They’re attracted to what she feels, and because this armor makes her feel something, their interest spikes.

“Don’t touch,” she commands, and they squirm away.

First she takes the helmet under her arm. With the other, she grabs the torso by the neck rim, dragging it behind her. A few yards away is an indent carved into the plateau, right under an outcrop. It’s cooler there because the sun can’t touch it.

She takes laps, bringing in gauntlets and leg braces, all by herself. Finally, she drags that enormous Keyblade through the dirt, leaving a trail. It’s bigger than she remembers.

In the cave, she assembles the hips upright on the ground, right against the rock. Balances the torso on top. Lays the legs in front. Tries to attach the arms, but they simply fall.

Then the helmet. Sand spills out of the folds. One of its tall ears is chipped halfway, among other missing bits that tell her it was bashed in the face. Its visor is cracked, the damage running deep when she traces it with her finger. She imagines a pair of deep blue eyes behind the glass, but all she sees in the foggy reflection is her morphed face, gold eyes staring back.

“You broke before I did,” she says spitefully. Then the spite fades away, just like everything else. “I waited a long time for you, and…”

And it looked like it waited a long time for someone, too.

No matter how many times she wills her Heartless away, they always come back. Like puppies, they want to know what’s next. They just don’t have the words to ask.

“He’s not too far, don’t worry,” she says. Whether she’s saying it to her Heartless or to the armor, she doesn’t think too hard about it. “But this comes first.”

She balances the helmet on top of the torso, taking extra time with it. The last step is to lean the Keyblade next to the suit, against the rock. She’d rather have it here than among the nameless Keyblades out there - at least this can be a proper shrine, something to tell strangers who walk by that this was assembled with care. That someone who is nameless to them has been loved by those who remember him.

It’s better than the treatment she’s gotten, and she’s okay with that.

There’s still so much to fix.

Years of study have taught her that hearts are connected, and if a friend is in danger, she’d feel it.

Now that she’s spent enough time fighting with this version of a man, she can replay how his twisted heart beats (morphed, melted? Something is off with the way his heart thuds).

He’s traveling farther with each second, landing in a world that’s relatively close. He’s not in danger, not in the slightest, but it’s impressive how darkness makes it so much easier to track him than light could ever do for her. This is exactly why Heartless have an upper edge over people, lusting after hearts all the time, and she can almost feel it beating as though she has a hand over his chest.

Stepping out into the sun, Aqua and her pets are the only shadows in a world where nothing can escape its glare. A brighter light creates a darker shadow, and therefore the desert makes her the most powerful being here. Puffs of darkness spit up with dust with every step she takes, and Aqua conjures her own dark portal. It won’t be hard to find him.

There are no rules when dealing with a madman.

But he’s not the only one.

#terraqua #anti-aqua #dark aqua #terranort #terraquanort #kh fanfic #kingdom hearts fanfiction #antiaqua #there's too many tags just for her #i'm so excited to start this though!!!#and so intimidated #holy shit #what am i doing #my fic

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caiminnent · 5 years

Text

your hand, my knife [kylux, rated T]

Prompt: insomnia (@badthingshappenbingo, 4/25)

Summary: On the nights his skin feels stretched thin over his bones and the voices in his head sound truer than his own, Kylo comes to Hux for comfort. It will be the downfall of them both.

Fandom: Star Wars

Tags: Post-The Last Jedi, Non-TROS Compliant, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed, Non-Sexual Intimacy

3K || Also on AO3.

On the nights his skin feels stretched thin over his bones and the voices in his head sound truer than his own, he wanders.

Technically, there’s no night on a ship. It’s all cycles this and shifts that, systems built strictly to make the well-oiled machine that is the First Order even more efficient. Even the layout is designed specifically to direct rotations through the routes where they would be most valuable, not a square inch left unmanned in any given moment.

Not a square inch to fucking breathe is what that truly means.

He doesn’t realize there was purpose in his stride until he finds himself at that door. Third time this week—Hux will revoke his access again. This time for good. His palms are already sweating in his gloves at the thought of being locked out here with half a dozen officers still mulling around, their consciousnesses threatening to seep in through the cracks of his failing mental barrier—

That’s absurd. He’s the Supreme Leader. He has nothing to fear from an access panel; he could blast it into a million pieces if he so wished.

Ripping his glove off, he presses a thumb on the panel. It beeps, blinking green once before the locks disengage with a hiss that hides his sigh.

Past the narrow entrance hiding the rooms from the immediate gaze, Hux is—

Hux is sprawled across that awful couch in his robe with a datapad in hand, petting a sleeping Millicent on his lap with his other, strands of damp hair framing his face. The sight is… soft, almost, impossible to reconcile with the vicious, ruthless face of the First Order prowling the bridge. General Hux wouldn’t be caught dead looking halfway human, let alone at home.

Armitage might, though.

Unease rolls off Hux, a low wave that sends Kylo’s skin crawling. His fingers tingle with the need to soothe it away—he’s not here to leech off Hux’s comfort, only to find some of his own—but Hux would sooner throw him out than accept the peace offering. The marks around his neck, down his side that he wore like a fuck you for weeks were proof enough.

Kylo hates everything. Especially himself.

Hux lowers the datapad and slowly sits up, keeping a hand on Millicent. “Supreme Leader,” he says smoothly, nothing in his tone betraying his anxiety. “Pardon my state of undress; I wasn’t expecting company at this hour.”

Of course he wasn’t. No one dares disturb the General for anything short of an emergency during his off time—no one but Kylo.

“Don’t call me that,” he rasps, heart high in his throat. “Not here.” He never comes here as the Supreme Leader. He doesn’t even look supreme right now—in a single glove and the first clothes he’d found on his floor, cape forgotten in his hurry to get out, he feels more like a giant shit stain on the pristine rugs.

Hux’s assessing glance says as much as he scans Kylo from head to toe, trying to pinpoint what broke him this time. “Very well,” he says with a small dip of his head. “Ghosts?”

“Yes,” Kylo lies. Ghosts. Demons. Nightmares. All good reasons to excuse away why his feet won’t stop carrying him here. Simple. Dismissible.

He’s worn them thin by now, though. Hux must not be looking closely to miss how see-through they’ve become. Maybe he stopped caring about it, for all he still asks; what does the reason matter when they all mean Kylo is here to ruin his night?

Releasing a put-upon sigh, Hux glances at his datapad like it pains him to part with it. “I used to get so much work done during rest cycles.”

The knot in his stomach unfolds. “Sorry.”

Hux only rolls his eyes, stretching to the side table to put the datapad away—nearly tips his caf over before Kylo steadies the half-full mug with the Force.

Millicent jerks her head up, tail and ears prickling up as she scans the area. Hux smiles at her—a warm, lopsided little thing that takes ten years out of him, a new gleam to his eyes. Kylo is struck by an image he’s never seen: Hux half-naked in his bed, blinking sleep out of soft, blue-green eyes, his lips curling into that sweet smile for Kylo.

Pathetic.

Scratching between Millicent’s ears, who settled on Kylo as the source of curiosity, “Stop staring and go get cleaned up,” Hux says, a note of amusement lingering in his tone. He turns to Kylo and it disappears. “I’ll be a moment.”

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

Cleaning up is the part Kylo dislikes the most.

He’s not a beast, like Hux likes to insinuate often; he knows how to clean himself—but Hux has him wash with scented soaps until his skin is red and his scalp is hurting before allowing him into the bed. Punishment for all that he’s done to Hux on Crait—or power play, Hux exerting his will where he’s allowed to.

Or maybe, whispers that voice at the back of his head, he simply doesn’t want your smell on his sheets. He doesn’t want to remember that you’ve been there.

The thought cuts deeper than it has any right to.

Once he’s up to Hux’s standards, he steps out and into his old clothes—on second thought, takes the shirt off again and hides it at the bottom of the hamper for a cleaning droid to find. Hux will have a fit when he finds it neatly folded among his uniforms.

Part of him hopes Hux has already fallen asleep, so that Kylo can skip to the comfort of lying next to someone already, but the energy in the dim space is too off for that. He follows it to the bedroom, where Hux is enjoying a cigarra on the steps leading down to the full-height viewport, the pretentious bastard. The smoke detectors overhead are conspicuously passive.

Watching Hux watch the galaxy out there is far from a new experience. Kylo has seen that particular shine of red against the backdrop of stars a thousand times by now; the novelty has long worn off. The weight in his chest, the aching desire to card his fingers through that silky hair and slip the shoulder of the robe just that much lower have no place between Hux and him.

None at all.

Too tired for more games, he drops his gloves on the dresser and gets into the bed without waiting for express permission, burying himself under the plush duvet. The shower wasn’t enough to stave off the chill in his bones, nor is the wasteful warmth of Hux’s rooms. Nor will the duvet be, but Hux makes no move to even acknowledge him, let alone join him, so it will have to do.

Sleep hasn’t been a part of Kylo’s nights for quite some time. He stopped expecting it to be, trying to be content with drifting on the edge long enough to keep his head during the day. Still, irritation spikes in him when he’s drawn back from his rest, Hux’s barely considerable weight shifting the mattress underneath.

“Oh, hush,” Hux says even though Kylo didn’t make a sound, sliding under the covers. He’s dressed again, in a dark shirt that looks too big on him and matching pants. Kylo is already missing the robe. “Turn around.”

Kylo faces the viewport and closes his eyes, his body already growing lax in anticipation. No matter his words, Hux’s touch is always gentle as he combs the strands falling on Kylo’s face away, the lingering reek of smoke on his fingers sharp enough to sting.

Kylo grimaces. “Did you have to smoke the entire pack?”

The grip in his hair tightens in warning, not enough to hurt. “Do you or do you not want this, Ren?”

Kylo presses closer in answer.

Confusion and surprise rise in Hux like dust kicked off the ground, leaving a bitter taste in Kylo’s mouth. So Kylo is needy tonight, big deal. He’s not about to apologize for it. Shouldn’t Hux be glad to have more to throw in his face?

Hux carefully, almost experimentally, runs his fingers over Kylo’s scalp, through his hair, down a shoulder blade—pulls away at the shiver that elicits. Shame spreads through him, sudden and burning. Hux’s hands never really warm up, no matter the temperature of his surroundings or how long he keeps them under hot water. Poor circulation. Can’t do even that right. Weak, thin, useless—

It’s not Kylo’s thought.

Heart hammering in his chest, Kylo rolls over. Startled, Hux scuttles away, fear flashing over his face before his expression shutters into a guarded mask. The shame that coats Kylo’s insides is all his own this time.

Doing his best to pitch his voice low and soothing, “Give me your hands,” Kylo asks, extending his own with the palms up. Trustful. Open.

Hux frowns, eyes flitting down at Kylo’s hands on the duvet. “What—”

“Your hands,” Kylo repeats, trying to hold onto the thin threads of patience he’s never had for anything. He has to comfort Hux—doesn’t know why, doesn’t know how, but all his instincts are screaming at him to do something and by stars, he will. “Please.”

He doesn’t need the Force to sense the mix of distrust and curiosity oozing out of Hux as Hux cautiously places his hands on Kylo’s, allowing him to take them under the covers. Kylo tucks them against his chest and starts rubbing Hux’s wrists, palms, each finger—moving back up.

There are easier ways to do this. He could use the Force to help redirect Hux’s blood flow, no touching necessary unless Hux wanted it. He won’t ask, though. The trust Hux is—has been—placing in him is still fragile, tentative; it wouldn’t do to risk it by stirring up bad memories.

Hux’s eyes are trained where he can’t see their hands under the duvet. “What are you doing?” he asks on a low, bemused laugh.

“Warming you up,” Kylo says simply, starting on Hux’s forearms under the sleeves. The skin is smoother here, not calloused or scarred like his palms or fingertips, save for where his blade usually sits. “I hear I’m a human furnace. Might as well put it to good use.”

“Right. Can’t let your security blanket become an ice block.”

A security blanket. That’s what Hux believes himself to be. A kriffing child’s kriffing comfort toy.

Which one of them does Hux intend to insult?

Either way, Kylo’s not going to rise to the bait. “Something like that,” he says, shrugging his free shoulder. Humor drains from Hux’s face.

He makes his way down from Hux’s elbows, following the long, angular marks with his thumbs—Hux takes his hands away before he can get to the wrists. Kylo lets him, feeling oddly emptied in his guts—robbed of something he doesn’t even own.

“That’s quite enough,” Hux bites out, pulling his sleeves down sharply. “Let’s put your good work to test, shall we?”

Kylo grudgingly turns again, not bothering with the duvet. The backs of Hux’s fingers are only marginally warmer, but Kylo manages to suppress the shiver this time as they slide down his nape, between his shoulder blades, to the middle of his back and back up—like soothing an agitated animal. Soon enough, his eyes are drooping low despite himself, tension he hadn’t realized he carried slipping from his shoulders, his forehead.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” he mumbles, too boneless for more—stiffens again when his brain catches up to his mouth. Pillow talk. He’s trying to have pillow talk with Hux. As if Hux would ever tolerate that.

The hand has stilled on the curve of his spine. Kylo bites his tongue to keep from saying never mind. Hux might run this show, but he doesn’t call all the shots; Kylo can ask a stupid question without wanting to kick himself for it. He’s allowed to.

Hux takes a long breath, his touch caressing up Kylo’s body again. “Medbay,” he says on the exhale. Kylo wills himself into a statue, lest he do anything that makes Hux reconsider. “During my first years on the Finalizer—before I made it into High Command—I often had… causes, for extended stays. I couldn’t fall asleep in such an exposed, accessible place, however, nor would I accept sleeping aid for fear that I might grow dependent on them. This was a… tolerable solution, at the time.”

Kylo’s head is buzzing. Why had Hux had to spend so much time in the medbay? Do any of the personnel at the time remain on board, so that he can reward them and then banish them to a backwater planet for having touched Hux so intimately? Does Hux ever think back on those nights when he can’t sleep and wish for someone to soothe him like that?

Might Hux ever consider Kylo for the task?

The questions are like beetles in his lungs, scratching at him to get out—Hux radiating anticipation and regret behind him. Before, Kylo would push on regardless, stealing the answers from Hux’s mind if he has to, the urge to sate his curiosity winning over the risk of having Hux retreat back into his shell.

He doesn’t even remember when before was.

Swallowing hard against the words trying to crawl up, “Thank you for telling me,” he whispers. Maybe, in some far, unlikely future, Hux will tell him the full story—willingly. Maybe Hux will want to share things with him.

Until then, Kylo will hold his tongue.

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

He’s fallen asleep without intending to, he finds when he wakes up to an arm circling his waist and warm breath tickling his nape, Millicent at their feet.

He’s never felt safer in his entire life.

Closing his eyes, he allows himself to pretend, just for a bit. To imagine that this is just a regular morning in their shared quarters, nothing he hasn’t experienced before, nothing out of the ordinary. That Hux won’t be displeased to see Kylo has lingered past his welcome.

The alarm blaring from the side table shatters the dream.

For all his no-nonsense efficiency in everything, Hux wakes up slowly. Kylo can feel every shift against his back as Hux’s body resists wakefulness—sends a prayer to every deity he can think of that Hux can’t feel his heartbeat in return, evening out his breathing to feign deep sleep.

Hux’s whole body stiffens against his, that chalk-dust feeling rising again.

Instead of jerking back in horror, Hux pauses as he takes in the situation, the gears in his head turning almost audibly. He’s probably making that face, with the pinched mouth and lines cutting across his forehead. Kylo’s memorized it over countless simulations and battle plans, strategy meetings he only attended to appease the General.

Hux tends to radiate murderous intent by the end of those, though, not—not fucking contentment.

The thought sinks into his stomach like a hot stone.

The temptation to look into Hux’s mind and see for himself is overwhelming. He must be wrong. There’s no other explanation; he must be reading things wrong or—or the Force must have anchored on someone else passing in the hallway, in other quarters—hell, Millicent. Hux isn’t capable of feeling anything but contempt and dissatisfaction.

A thumb brushes against Kylo’s stomach and his heart skips a beat.

Hux pulls away. The alarm shuts off a moment later, followed by the refresher door.

Kylo rolls onto his back as if pulled in by gravity, staring at the ceiling. The room looks exactly the same as last night. As it should. He’s the one thrown off-kilter between then and now—the one with stupid, dangerous desires that will only see him dethroned, if not killed. The one that gets undone by a stray brush of skin.

Swallowing against the lump at the base of his throat, he pushes himself up and out of the bed, reaching for his boots in the corner. He doesn’t know what Hux’s morning routine entails, but Hux must want some alone time for it, to put on his uniform and his general face and the stick up his ass. Kylo’s already pushing his luck; he should leave before Hux comes back and kicks him out.

Hux appears before Kylo can get to the second boot. Kylo keeps his eyes on the task, not eager to face the General’s displeasure full-on.

Pausing in the doorway, “Oh,” Hux says mildly. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” Kylo says, trying to tug the boot up. He should’ve just used the Force and be done with it, but that would have woken Millicent up again. “I was just leaving.”

“Don’t.”

Kylo looks up sharply enough to hurt his neck—catches only a flash of Hux’s expression before Hux moves briskly past to the closet. Nothing but rows and rows of regulation clothing, jackets hanging without a speck of dust visible on them.

“Everyone is already awake,” Hux points out as he pulls out his clothes. “You will only raise heads in your… current state. My job is difficult enough without having to snuff out rumors that I’m fucking you for my position.”

Right. This is where they stand: Supreme Leader and his devious pet general. General Hux and the attack dog he’s trying to keep on a leash. Two monsters vying for power—nothing more, nothing less.

Kylo would do well to remember that.

Hux glances over his shoulder with the stack of clothes in his hands, raising a brow. “Some privacy, if you will.”

“Yeah.” Kylo nods, already picking up his gloves and the boot he’s knocked over. “Sure, of course.”

Hux watches as Kylo limps back into the main area to wait out the morning crowd, closing the door behind Kylo. All surfaces are cleared out of anything remotely personal again, the robe nowhere to be seen. If it weren’t for that ice blue couch, Kylo could have been in anyone’s rooms.

The door opens again. “And Ren?”

Kylo turns, almost tripping over his feet in his hurry.

“I’m keeping my end of the bargain,” General Hux says, nodding at the unmade bed. “Make sure to keep yours.”

#kylux #Armitage Hux #Kylo Ren #Star Wars #Bad Things Happen Bingo #finished fics #Cai does words #here we go #I've been breathing this fic for a week straight #this has been a ride #hopefully formatting won't fail me this time #your hand my knife

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sinfullytempting · 4 years

Text

Temptations (Filler)

Tag list: @chanberrys / @a-revolution-teez / @sailor-san / @needyateez / @hotnoodle / @marooneclipse / @mans-ayyye / @sominniej / @choisanz / @ktt-nz / @miyaboo103 / @deanvocals / @youseissi / @iwantdiemii / @rxsetemptation / @pookawrites / @sailor-san / and @princessvalencia1 / @iwantdiemii / please ask if youd liked to be tagged for when i post chapters.

San (Lust 1) / Yeosang (Gluttony 2) / Seonghwa (Greed 3) / Wooyoung (Envy 4) / Chapter 5 (no introduction) /

Wooyoung glanced at San before back towards you, his lips pulling into a grin as he walked closer, humming. You closed your eyes as the scent of evergreen trees hit you, relaxing just barely as the boy grinned wider. "Won't you open your eyes for me?" You opened your eyes and you took in the sight of Wooyoung as you put another gummy in your mouth.

Bright green eyes, almost intimidating and black hair. The necklace around his neck had the symbol of a snake and you glanced towards San's neck. His own necklace with the symbol of a fox. You tried to think back on Yeosang, trying to remember if Yeosang had his own necklace. You couldn't think...or remember much about Seonghwa other than him being otherworldly, gold eyes and a soft caramel scent.

The other flustered you too much to get a good look at him. You rubbed your eyes and sighed quietly, not noticing San coming up behind you and snaking his arms around your waist, lips automatically dusting against your neck, hands pressed flat against your tummy, almost pulling you back into him, flush against his chest.

Yelping you trying to pull yourself away from San only for your attempts to be rendered useless. You sighed, angrily shoving a gummy in your mouth as San nuzzled closer. "Why are you so clingy? If I get out and you're attached to me, people are going to think we are dating." San hummed quietly, lips brushing your ear as he spoke.

"Let them." You shuddered and San snickered.

"The sentence still stands love. Let me fuck you and I'll be sated for two weeks. Depending on how good you are it could be more." Did he just- "even longer if you're a virgin." He purred, sliding his hands under your shirt and digging his nails into your hips.

He giggled and pushed himself closer but Wooyoung whining made him chuckle and stand up straight, only to shove you towards Wooyoung, who grinned and caught you. "Sannie is a tease isn't he?"

Your jaw had dropped the longer San had whispered into your ear. "What-" You rubbed your face, groaning. "You're a rollercoaster." San smirked. "Y'know what is better than an emotional rollercoaster?" He laughed, shrugging.

You rubbed your forehead, the pair already giving you a headache. "Don't say it." San was full of obvious innuendos and he knew it.

You sighed, looking up at Wooyoung who had laid his hands on your shoulders. He was warm, soft and definitely adorable. He grinned down at you and scanned you, humming.

"Hey Woo, do you smell Felix on her?" Wooyoung frowned at the name, leaning closer and sniffing. "Kinda yeah...why?" San stared at him. "You can't be serious? Why do we have her if Felix was her guardian angel?" He rose a brow and Wooyoungs mouth opened. "Oooooooh you're right!"

He nodded silently and turned you around to face San, hands still on your shoulders. "C'mon princess." Red eyes almost beckoning you closer, hands reaching out towards you. You blinked, walking towards San, hands reaching for him like a string was attached. Once close enough San wrapped you up in his arms, almost immediately your headache dissipated. You blinked a few times. "hello sweetheart, I know Wooyoung is hard to take in." You stated at him, lips pressing into a line. "It's both of you together. It's like Yeosang is the only sane one." He chuckled and a soft warmth appeared on your forehead, disappearing just as San leaned away.

Did he just kiss my forehead? He grinned. "I did." Your head had stopped hurting entirely. The soft smile he aimed at you had you melting into his arms, your own coming up to wrap around him, eyes hazy.

"Princess. Can you give me what I need?" Your mind cleared and you blinked a few times. The thought of San kissing you didn't sound too bad…

You hesitated before glancing behind you at Wooyoung, who didn't look bothered before nodding faintly. Soft lips connected with yours and electricity shot down your spine and towards your fingertips and toes. You melt into his touch as he tugs you closer, hand splayed across your lower back as he leans closer into you, biting on your lip before trailing kisses down your neck and you tilted your head back, giving him room as he went towards your collarbone, biting down hard enough to leave indents of his fangs.

You helped and jerked, San's grip keeping you from moving. "San!" He purred, grinning softly. "That's music to my ears princess, hearing you call my name like that." He whispered and he pulled his head back. "I can't wait to mark you up angel."

You covered your face and squirmed, getting away from San and taking a deep breath. San made you light headed, hazy, weak and a little too relaxed. You easily get swept away. He wasn't a rollercoaster, he was like the ocean, calm and almost rocking you to sleep, other times it's full of waves but still calm. Rarely, so far, it's stormy, angry waves and faint thunder. Smelling of a thunderstorm.

San smiled teasingly at you and closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled. "You still smell so good." He purred and Wooyoung nodded. "He's right...you smell so delicate and innocent." He murmured, falling onto the couch.

Staring for a moment you pulled out your phone and texted Min, asking him to write notes for you as you weren't feeling good. San chuckled, breath hitting the back of your neck and you jumped, turning and glaring. When did he get behind you? "Don't do that." He took a step back, hands up in a teasing surrender. "Sorry princess." His lips twitched, the corner pulling into a smirk.

"How about you get to know Woo? You'll see him a lot." You furrowed your eyebrows before turning to look at the grinning boy- or was that a lopsided grin, half a smirk? You turned to look back at San who ushered you to the younger, pushing you to sit next to him. "Wooyoung will protect you if I'm not...available per say." San hummed and said boy nodded. "It'd be rare, but he's there, you won't know unless you smell him around, he's good at hiding." Wooyoung smiled and lit up at the praise. How cute, like a puppy.

"Thank you Sannie!" Your lips twitched, almost forgetting they were sins, demons, deadly beings with how childish and...human they were. Wooyoung turned towards you and grinned. "So I'm like your bodyguard when Sannie isn't around. You can summon me easier than Sangie, but not as easy as San." He leaned closer. You had to admit, he was utterly adorable. Enough that your hands twitched with the urge to squish his cheeks.

Your phone went off with a text message and you grabbed it quickly, a message from Min reminded you that you had a party you were going to that night. You looked up at the boys who were bickering with each other. You pursed your lips, wondering if you could manage to sneak out later, your outfit was in your closet and ready to go as soon as seven hit. You bit your lip and glanced at the time on your phone.

10:39

That gave you roughly 9 and a half hours toget yourself together, meaning get away from these sins and into the party at Min’s frat house. You squirmed before tilting your head to the side. A text from an unknown number had you squinting. You recognized that number. You jolted when your phone buzzed in your hand and you quickly answered and disappeared outside. “Hello?” You spoke before freezing at the voice on the other line.

“Y/n?”

“How did you get my number? I told you to delete it.” The voice sighed before the rustle of clothes told you he moved.

“You told me to, but doing it was up to me. The same goes to you, why didnt you block me?”

You clenched your jaw and gripped your phone, tightly but kept quiet.

“Come to the party tonight Y/n. I’ll see you there, dont forget to wear your costume.” The voice chuckled, voice rumbling across the phone to you.

You wanted to throw your phone across the room. But, remembering that you had sins, hot ones at that, made you feel the slightest bit better

You stood, fuming as you faced the balcony, clenching your free hand as you huffed angrily.

“Dont contact me again. Stay away from me if i do come.” You hissed quietly into the phone, pulling the phone away from your ear as he laughed, itching to reach through the phone to punch him in his pretty face.

“C’mon princess.”

“Dont call me that Changkyun.” You honestly didnt know how Min was friends with him before he found out what he had done to you, you didnt understand how anyone was friends with this douchebag.

Kihyun, Minhyuk’s best friend, was utterly adorable, and maybe you had the slightest crush on him- Thats right! Maybe you could convince Minhyuk to give you his number and you could ask Kihyun to play as your boyfriend so he would leave you alone.

You hung up and smacked your phone on the table next to you, glaring outside. The smell of evergreen trees surrounding you as well as the addictive scent of San’s cinnamon spice close behind.

“Are you ok?” Wooyoung appeared in your vision, eyes soft as he took in the anger in your eyes. You rubbed your eyes and sighed. “Who was that on the phone?” You heard San murmur as he picked up your phone, eyeing it.

“My ex boyfriend.” He hummed, eyes turning to Wooyoung and smiling, lips pulling into a grin as he looked over your shoulder. “Why was he calling Y/n?” You sighed and turned to look at San. “There’s a party tonight that im going to with some friends tonight, its a party that you can dress up as anyone you’d like. Im going as Harley Quinn from the DC series.” San hummed, red eyes scanning your face and tilting his head. “Can we come with? What time is it?” You tilted your head and turned to lock eyes with San.

“Im going with Minhyuk, its at 7pm...and no you cant go, i might need you though, just incase my ex tries something...” Both nodded and smiled. “What should we go as?” Wooyoung chirped, leaning against the table and humming. “How about someone from this ‘DC series’?” You scratched your cheek and shrugged. “Go look for it yourself.” You grunted before heading towards the couch and falling onto it, snuggling into the pillow and sighing, closing your eyes. “You woke me up and now im still sleepy.” You grumbled when you felt San’s presence close to you. He laughed and sat by your feet, pulling the blanket out from under you and humming. “I guess you could go back to sleep for a little bit, ill cook you lunch then wake you up when its done later.”

You rubbed your eyes and turned on your side, facing the couch as San covered you with the blanket, Wooyoung took a seat on the floor, humming as he turned on the TV. “Sleep well, Y/n.” You mumbled nonsense before falling asleep quickly, San’s hand stroking your calf slowly, helping you fall asleep.

-----

You stirred as the couch pressure moved, a quiet ‘Shhh’ lulling you back into sleep, the whispers or the two sins fading.

San sighed and covered you with the blanket before he turned around with Wooyoung following as he walked into the kitchen, looking around as he thought about what to cook for you. He scrunched his nose. “Should we call Seonghwa?” Wooyoung rose a brow and chuckled. “You’d willingly ask Seonghwa to come in here and help you do what? Cook?” San rolled his eyes before he went to the fridge to cook some lunch for a human.

San had to think hard, he had seen something about the DC universe that you had mentioned, he did have to say that Harley Quinn was indeed his favorite character. Although he did not like the relationship between her and Joker. Poison Ivy and her were a pretty cute couple. But was there a character that would go well with Harley? There was only one character that was coming to mind and that Batman. San scrunched his nose. There were plenty of girls around Harley that would work.He glanced at Wooyoung who was looking into the fridge for a drink for you. “Wooyoung, have you seen any movies from the DC universe shes talking about?” He stopped, remembering that The Riddler was a character. Thinking harder for a character for Wooyoung.

San shrugged and looked at Wooyoung. “We can dress you up as Robin.” At Wooyoungs whine San laughed quietly as he dug out some food and started cooking.

Moments later you trudged into the kitchen. “What are you making?” You mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “Brunch. Pancakes or waffles?” You hummed at San’s voice, rubbing your eyes as you moved closer to him, watching him cook with half lidded eyes, forgetting Wooyoung was there as you leaned against San tiredly. “Smells good…” You mumbled before jumping when Wooyoung grabbed your sides. “What the fuck?” You whirled around and half glared. “Hi angel~” You huffed before a glass was shoved in your hand by the male in front of you and you looked down, sighing softly. “Why are you guys spoiling me?” They shrugged and you sat down at the table, watching the two interact as they moved through the kitchen, a faint smile pulling at the corner of your mouth unconsciously.

Humming you rested your head on your hand that was against the table, eyes half lidded, still tired. A plate was placed in front of you, right as your eyes closed, the smell of waffles invading your nose and you sat back, opening your eyes to see both of the sins on the other side of the table, watching you. “We decieded who we are going to as this party.” You rose a brow, cutting the waffle up as you hummed. “You know you dont have to dress up from someone in the DC universe or at all.” San’s lips curled, smirking. “Alright then. We can be someone from Alice in Wonderland.” You blinked before placing the utensils down and looking up at them. “Mad hatter and the Cheshire Cat?” You hummed at their question. “Sure…” You grinned faintly at the image that popped up into your head.

San cocked his head and chuckled softly. “Minhyuk might be able to let you wear his outfits, we did them last year. Whos who?” San glanced at Wooyoung at your question before smiling. “I’ll be the cheshire cat, Woo will be the mad hatter.” Wooyoung shrugged and nodded. “Fine with me.” You smiled widely, glancing at the clock. Twelve thirty. Pulling out your phone, texting Minhyuk and confirming that he still had the outfits.

Continuing to eat you hummed, cocking your head to the side and closing your eyes. “This is good, you know how to cook? I thought you didnt need to eat.” San shrugged, smiling. “Ive claimed enough humans to learn how to cook.” You pursed your lips and nodded, finishing off your food.

All you had to do now, was stop at Minhyuk’s dorm, grab the costumes, come back and shove the sins into their costumes then get yours on. Getting up you put your plate in the sink before heading towards your room to change. “Im changing then im heading out.” San hummed in response from his spot, watching you turn and leave.

Throwing on some black ripped skinny jeans and an oversized hoodie of Minhyuk’s that you had stolen borrowed you shoved on socks and shoes before walking to grab you phone and your keys. Wooyoung appearing infront of you halted your steps. Lips were in a pout, eyes in puppy dog form. He was giving you puppy dog eyes. “Can i come with?”

“Do i really have a choice?” Wooyoung hummed. “Not really, but its nice to ask...” You nodded, leaving with Wooyoung as San shook his head and waved you off. “I’ll stay here.”

“Dont burn my place down.”

“No promises.” San teased, a smirk on his face.

Now all you had to do was get to Minhyuks place without having anyone stop you. You knew his spare key was ontop of the door fram, and you could just barely reach it. Maybe it was a good thing Wooyoung came along, he was a little bit taller then you. But maybe, trying to summon Seonghwa wouldve been better, he was taller then both of the sins currently invading your home.

Debating on driving was what was going on your head, it was only a 15 minute walk so you turned around, locked your door and headed towards Minhyuks place with Wooyoung trailing behind.

“Can you stay outside while i run in?” Wooyoung didnt answer, too focused on the hoodie you were wearing. “That doesnt smell like you.” You frowned. “It’s Minhyuks, why does it matter to you?” Wooyoung huffed. “San might care.” Its then that you remembered that Wooyoung was Envy. He was jealous that you were wearing Minhyuks hoodie ontop of San getting to you first.

“Are you jealous?”

“No.”

“Envious?”

“...are we almost there?”

You laughed at Wooyoungs blatant ignorance of your question before you turned and stop on the sidewalk at the sight infront of you. You took a few steps closer to Wooyoung, unconsciously gripping his sleeve.

“No way...”

#temptations #temptations chapter #written

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galli-writes · 6 years

Photo

Anything at All

(Click here to read on Ao3!)

(Click here to listen to the podfic!)

fandom: Teen Titans

pairing: BBRae

genre/warnings: AU - Canon Divergence; Implied/Referenced Abuse, Abusive Parents, Childhood Trauma, Graphic Depictions of Violence

additional tags: Angst, Family Issues, Friendship/Love, Protectiveness, Slow Burn, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions

summary:

There are a few things that Beast Boy knows for certain:

He’s 21....and a total lightweight. He’s a vegan (but not like...a pretentious vegan). He’s not going to be single forever.

And the Teen Titans are the only family he'll ever need.

a/n: Hello everyone! This is the first fic I've ever actually completed, and I can't wait to finally share it! I had a lot of fun writing it. I'm currently in the editing process and hope to post roughly a chapter a week. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Beginnings ( words: 5,680 )

Beast Boy watched as raindrops pounded against the side of the common room window, the sky a turbulent whirlwind of grays and blacks. Various equipment dotted the field far below, carelessly abandoned the moment Robin had called off training ‘due to weather conditions.’ The TV hummed quietly in the background against the rain, the kitchen lights glowing like street lamps in the dead of night.

“Finally ,” he said proudly, his hands and face pressed up against the cool glass. “The weather’s perfect.”

“Perfect?” a tired voice said a few feet behind him. “For what?” It was Raven, bundled up in the corner of the couch under a thick wool blanket. She was currently the only other person in the room, a large black book perched at the end of her hand like an enormous bird. “I thought you hated the rain.”

Beast Boy pushed off the glass, returning to the warmth. “I hate getting wet . Wet dog is not a good look. Even for real dogs.” He walked over to the coffee table in the center of the room. “But this," he said, getting on his knees to pull a large cardboard box out from underneath, " This is great."

He heaved the box onto the table, scooting magazines and abandoned plates off to the side. "I’ve been waiting for it to rain—and I mean really pour —for a while now.”

“Because...?” Raven asked, as she watched him begin to dig through the box.

“Becaaaaaaaaause,” Beast Boy said, drawing out the word dramatically. “This time, I'm gonna come out on top." As he said this, he lifted the box, shaking out a dozen items or so onto the table. Among them were a slingshot, an roll of chicken wire, some old hot wheels, and two empty milk cartons.

“Please don’t tell me this is another one of your ridiculous pranks,” Raven said begrudgingly, adjusting her position.

Beast Boy shot her two finger guns with a click of his tongue. “Hell yeah it is, baby.”

“Do you really think I want anything to do with...whatever this is?” she said, vaguely gesturing toward the items on the table.

“Nope,” Beast Boy said, a little too enthusiastically.

“Then why are you showing it to me?”

“Because,” Beast Boy said, starting to arrange the treasures before him. “I wanna run the idea by someone while Cy's busy fixing his car. And since I know you don’t actually care, I don't have to worry about you ruining the surprise. Which--side note--" he said, pulling away from the growing structure to examine it, "Never give Starfire the nuke codes.”

Raven rolled her eyes again. But just as she was about to lift her book back up to block him from view, Beast Boy stuck his hand out to stop her.

“No, you’re gonna wanna see this. Trust me .” He grabbed a well-worn Batman figurine that he’d set off to the side. "Okay, so pretend this is Cyborg," he said, planting it at one corner of the mousetrap-like schematic.

Raven just frowned. "Is that...Robin's?"

Beast Boy squinted at the figure, biting his lip. “Eh...Not important." He planted the figure in a square marked off with string labeled 'GARAGE.' One of the hotwheels sat parked in this section.

"Cy's been so busy lately, he'll never see this coming'," Beast Boy said with a smirk. "Next time he heads down to the garage, I’ll have everything already set up. First move--he’ll trip this wire right here.” He pointed to a piece of string as he said this. "And that's when shit hits the fan."

"Please tell me you don't mean that literally," Raven said, wrinkling her nose.

Beast Boy just flashed her a devious smile. “We’ll get there.”

The demonstration took at least two minutes to run through, Beast Boy talking the entire time. By the end, most of his props were either on the floor or halfway across the room.

“...And to wrap it all up,” he said, not pausing to take a breath, “This catapult will trip this switch here, opening the window over here, and then the wagon from over here will send him sliding out into the mud, rolling down the hill and into this huge puddle riiiiiiight...here.” He pointed at a spot on the table marked with a fridge magnet 'X', a huge grin on his face. "After a storm like this one, that whole area's gonna be a lake. A super gross, slimy, stinky lake of prank legend. It’ll take him at least a week to get the stench out.”

Raven stared at the exhibit before her. Her eyes had followed every one of Beast Boy's movements in complete silence.

“So? Whaddya think?” he asked, rising and breathlessly plopping down on the couch beside her. “Pretty impressive, huh?”

Raven glanced at the table, then at him, then ultimately, back down at her book. “Yeah. You’re a genius.”

“Oh come on , Raven!” Beast Boy whined, throwing his arms out, gesturing back to the miniature metropolis. “That took me like...a month to come up with!”

Raven turned the page with a sigh. "Maybe if you weren’t so busy investing all of your time and energy into coming up with useless pranks, you’d actually have some left over for important things.”

“Like…?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” she said, holding out her hand with a shrug. “Things like doing the dishes or checking the mail--or maybe actually learning how to carry your weight in a fight. Don’t know how to help you with that last one though.”

Beast Boy frowned. “Just because you can’t appreciate art doesn’t mean it’s useless,” he said, leaning over to the table and using his arm to corral the items back into their box. The ones scattered on the floor became enveloped in small clouds of purple. Beast Boy held the box open, as Raven directed them into the container.

“And I do too carry my weight!" he said, sliding the box back under the couch.

“That’s...debatable.”

Coming from anyone else, he might have actually been hurt by the remark. But coming from Raven, it was a challenge more than anything else.

“Oh yeah?” Beast Boy said, a determined smile crossing his face. “Then carry this !”

With a running start off the cushions, he jumped off the back of the couch and into the air, morphing mid-flip. When he landed, the ground shook and the ceiling lights swung back and forth violently. The TV remote and discarded plates clattered off the coffee table and onto the floor. Beast Boy shook his head, flapping his huge green ears. He reared back and stomped down on the kitchen floor, proudly lifting his elephant’s trunk to let out a loud trumpet.

Raven glanced over her shoulder at him, clearly unimpressed. She turned back to her book, lifting a hand in the air as she did so.

Suddenly Beast Boy found himself surrounded in black shadow...and his feet began to lift off the ground. He automatically began to squirm in a half-hearted attempt to bring himself down, but it was a lost cause.

Raven lifted him higher and higher until, when he was barely a foot from the ceiling, the shadow disappeared in a flash--and he felt himself hurtling downward. With one last elephant screech of alarm he quickly shifted again, plopping onto the ground with four nimble tabby cat paws.

Without missing a beat, he crouched down and leapt up onto the back of the couch and then down onto the cushion beside Raven. He transformed back, kicking up his feet on the table, arms folded across his chest. “Smartass.”

Raven was still looking down at her book, but Beast Boy could see the faintest hint of a smile on her face.

After a moment, he felt--and heard--his stomach growl about as loudly as any animal he’d ever been.

“Eugh, I’m starving. Pranking really does take a lot out of ya,” he said, springing to his feet once more. He headed to the kitchen just behind them--where there was always at least one bag of chips to be found in the pantry. This time it was Fritos--not a bad option at all.

“You want anything?” Beast Boy called over his shoulder, opening the fridge.

“I’m fine.”

In Raven’s secret, minimalist language, he’d learned that that usually meant ginger ale.

“Behind,” he said, chucking the last can of Canada Dry cranberry over his shoulder. Raven caught it and cracked it open in the air, all without even lifting a finger.

Beast Boy grabbed a root beer for himself and swung over the back of the couch again reclaiming his seat.

He looked up at the TV, which was still on in the background. He hadn’t paid any attention to it since he’d entered the room. The images that flashed by on the screen were dark and dramatic. It was mostly just video footage from a shaky night vision camera, rounded out with low budget murder re-enactments. “So what’re we watching?" he asked, shoving a handful of Fritos into his mouth. A doll with bloodshot eyes and a cracked face appeared in the corner as it cut to commercial. "Er...pretending to watch?” he asked.

“Ghost Adventures,” Raven replied.

“Seriously?” Beast Boy said, cracking open the root beer. It immediately started fizzing over, and he tried his best to lick up the extra foam. “You know that stuff is like...totally fake, right?”

"Of course it is," she said, not even looking up at the screen. "If opening interdimensional portals of that magnitude were so easy, my dad would've destroyed Earth ages ago."

“Then why do you watch this garbage?”

Raven let out an exhausted sigh. “I dunno. It’s kind of like...when you have so much actual demon shit going on in your life, watching the fake stuff is kinda...refreshing.” She flipped to the next page in her book. “You can change the channel if you want. I’ve already seen this episode.”

Beast Boy swiped the remote off the floor and was about to automatically click to one of his few go-to channels when Raven quickly interjected.

“—Just as long as you don’t put on American Ninja Warrior. Or The Carbonaro Effect. Or anything else in that vein.”

Beast Boy slumped in his seat. “What else is there?”

Just like the soda can and hot wheels before, the remote lifted out of Beast Boy’s grip and floated to the other side of the couch, landing in Raven’s free hand.

"Houses or food?" She asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Uh..." Beast Boy said, rubbing his chin. "Houses?"

The image on the screen changed drastically, cutting to a montage of different townhouses, highlighting their pros and cons. Then it flashed to a generic couple at a generic restaurant, two generic margaritas sitting in front of them.

Suddenly, a familiar, flighty voice echoed down the hallway behind them. “Hello, friends!” Starfire proclaimed as she entered the room. “I heard a loud crashing noise and came to see if everyone is—Oooo!” she squealed, the worry immediately dropping from her voice. “Are we watching the hunters of houses?”

“We are now,” Beast Boy said, taking another sip of his soda and setting it down on the table.

Starfire flew over to the couch in a heartbeat. “I have already seen this episode but it is enjoyable nonetheless,” she said, taking a seat next to Beast Boy, along with a handful of Fritos. “But I do love attempting to guess which house they will choose!”

“Didn’t you just say you’ve already seen this episode?” Beast Boy said, forfeiting the bag to Starfire, who was about to finish it off.

“Of course! But I do not remember which one they picked,” she said with a smile. “I hope it is the one with the crown of molding. It has so much character . At least, that is what the female voice always says.”

“Crown molding isn’t character,” Raven said, lowering her book again. “Character is when the realtor tells them that the former owner was a serial killer, and if you squint you can still see the blood stains in dining room where she chopped up her victims." She paused, exchanging a glance with a confused Starfire and disgusted Beast Boy. "And it has the original wood floors," she added hastily.

“But Raven!” Starfire exclaimed. “The with the mold comes with access to a pool of community swimming!”

Beast Boy shook his head. “You guys’ve both got it wrong. Character and pools aren’t important to them. They just said so,” he said, gesturing to the screen. “They need to pick the one in the suburbs. It’s the most realistic and the best bang for their buck.” He began counting off the assets on his fingers. “It’s close to downtown without being in it. Finished basement. Renovated kitchen. Plus they said they’re planning on having kids, and it’s in the best school district outta the three.”

The two looked at him, wide eyed and blinking.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Raven said. “I just never realized you actually possessed critical thinking skills.”

Beast Boy stuck out his tongue at her with a grimace.

Starfire giggled. “Well, I only hope that no matter which residence they select, they will live a joyful and prosperous life together!” Saying this, she clasped her hands together over her chest, looking off somewhere far away.

“I give it six months,” Raven said flatly.

Before the final reveal, the TV flashed to commercial again, now advertising soap and vacation cruises only old rich people could afford.

“Hmm..." Starfire hummed. "I forgot why it was that I originally came down here." She tapped her finger at the corner of her mouth. “Oh! The big thud! No one is hurt then?"“

“If you don't count hurt pride,” Raven said, a subtle smirk on her lips.

“Haha very funny,” Beast Boy said, crossing his arms.

But he immediately perked up as the ad on the TV switched. Now a chorus of joyful screams came from the speakers as a steel roller coaster completed a loop. Next it cycled through the images of a huge Ferris wheel and streets crammed with food carts and games.

“Oh, dude! I totally forgot!” he said, jumping to his feet. “The state fair opens this weekend!"

“Fair?” Starfire questioned, the same look of confusion still on her face. “As in the just and right?”

“No, no, no,” Beast Boy said, shaking his head. “Like the fair. You know...” He waved his hands in front of him as if painting an imaginary picture. “Sketchy rides, rigged games, shitty oversized stuffed animals..." He counted off the pros on his fingers once more. "And anything and everything you can think to eat--deep fried.”

"Deep...fried?" Starfire asked, her finger still at the corner of her mouth, eyes open wide.

Raven looked at Beast Boy, skeptical. “Is that your sales pitch?”

Beast Boy ignored her, continuing to talk to the one captivated member of his audience. “They also have performances, and auctions, and hella fuckin’ huuuuge vegetables. Stuff like that. Usually around the same place where they keep the farm animals.”

“Farm animals?!” Starfire said, her eyes lighting up with an intensity Beast Boy had not anticipated. “Do you think they will have...GOATS?”

“Uh...probably?” he shrugged.

“Oh, excellent!” Starfire said, jumping to her feet as well, tackling him with one of her trademark rib-crushing hugs. Luckily, she released him before he forgot how to breathe. “Oh how I long to see the small sideways-eyed sheep!” she said, hands shooting up to either side of her face.

“I mean,” Raven shrugged, “if you really wanna see a goat that bad...you don’t have to go to the fair to do it.” She nodded in Beast Boy’s direction.

“Oh, but Raven,” Starfire said, now flying over to her, claiming a corner of the blanket as her own, “It would be much more exciting to see multiple goats of many shapes and sizes simultaneously. Besides,” she shook her head with a pout, “Beast Boy cannot transform into the baby goat! At least, not that I am aware of.”

“She’s got a point, Rave,” Beast Boy said, taking another sip of his root beer.

Raven hunched her shoulders. “Fairs are just dirty, overcrowded, unapologetic government cash grabs.”

“But they have goooooaaaats,” Beast Boy said tauntingly, his comment immediately followed by another squeal from Starfire.

Raven just shook her head, returning to her book again. “We have more important things to do than go to the fair.”

“Like what?” Beast Boy said. “Sit around and read dusty old books all day?”

Just then, the three were interrupted by yet another voice, this one deep and mellow.

“Jesus. Well that was a shitshow.”

Cyborg walked into the room panting, covered in grease, with a towel in one hand and a large, techy looking cube in the other.

“What happened?” Beast Boy asked, hanging over the back side of the couch, turning to address him.

“This fucking battery,” Cyborg said, dropping the cube on the counter, “decided to short circuit on me, right when everything was coming together.” He sighed. “Fried the whole system.”

“Oof,” Beast Boy sighed.

“I am very sorry to hear that,” Starfire frowned.

“It’ll take me at least two weeks to get all the parts I need to fix it,” Cyborg said, cracking open the fridge. He pulled out some sandwich essentials—turkey, provolone, tomatoes. Then he grabbed some bread and mustard, generously coating the former with the latter. “Which means we’re gonna be out of a ride for a while. At least in terms of low profile transportation. Because I don’t think we can count Robin’s bike in the mix.”

“That is quite alright, Cyborg,” Starfire said, a little too enthusiastically. “I have always wanted an excuse to make use of the system of transportation for the public,” she beamed.

“Starfire. You can fly,” he said flatly in response.

“Yes, but the complicated schedules and routes of the buses is such a fascinating concept to me. And I would like to experience it with my first hand.”

Cyborg just blinked as if attempting to get rid of the thought altogether. He turned back to the fridge. “Aw man, are we all out of ginger ale?”

“Raven got the last one,” Beast Boy said, nodding back at her.

“Sorry,” she said, actually sounding a little bad about it.

“And we’re also out of pickles...sriracha...and,” Cyborg took a bottle in his hand and gave it a shake “ my seasonal, limited edition pumpkin spice creamer ?”

Starfire immediately ducked behind the couch, a pout on her face. “My deepest apologies, friend,” she said quietly. “I have quite a weakness for both the pumpkins and the spices.”

“This is chaos,” Cyborg said, giving up and closing the fridge door. “What are we? Animals?”

Beast Boy smiled, but before he could make a move, Cyborg pointed directly at him.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, dude,” he said, sitting back down. “We’ll go shopping later after it stops raining.”

“And how do you suppose we get there? Drive? Fly? How’re we gonna carry all the groceries back?”

Starfire gasped. “The public transportation!”

Just then, the airlock door slid open at the other end of the room for a third time, and the only other person who could have walked through it did.

“Oh, good, everyone’s already here,” Robin said, making his entrance. In his right hand, he was gripping a large, rolled up sheet of paper of some sort. Something like a map.

“Uh...yeah man, we live here,” Beast Boy laughed.

Robin just stared at everyone for a moment, and it became clear he had been referring to something a little more specific. His brow furrowed. “Really guys? You didn’t remember?”

Everyone just stared back at him silently.

Robin ran his hand over his face, as if wiping away his exhaustion. “We’re supposed to be having a team meeting right now.”

“Hey, I remembered,” Cyborg said defensively, between a bite of his sandwich.

“Only because I ran into you in the hallway on my way up here, and you asked me where I was going,” Robin said, crossing his arms.

Cyborg just smiled sheepishly.

Robin sighed, heading over to the couch. “I know these things sometimes seem redundant, but for once I actually do have something we need to talk about.”

“Washing machine broken again?” Cyborg asked playfully, looking at Beast Boy as he said it.

“Hey, that wasn’t me, and you know it,” Beast Boy retorted.

“Well it wasn’t me ,” Cyborg said, gesturing to himself. “I don’t even wear clothes.”

Robin lifted a hand and the two fell silent immediately. “Unfortunately, this is a little more serious than blaming each other for not taking out the trash or cleaning the bathroom.” As he said this, he pulled out the paper, spreading it out on the table, scooting Beast Boy’s root beer carefully to the corner.

The sheet of paper, more like an architectural blueprint really, showed detailed layouts of specific areas throughout Jump City. There were multiple lines drawn here and there connecting one section to another, notes scrawled in the all of the margins.

“The technology we have is pretty good at keeping track of our battles,” Robin started. “Who the main aggressor was, if they were alone or accompanied, what seemed to be their ultimate goal in the battle. Their predicted attack patterns based on past fights…” He paused. “But there are some things a computer can’t tell you--no offense, Cy,” he said, with a subtle smile.

“None taken,” Cyborg laughed in return.

“Anyway,” Robin continued, turning back to the map, “sometimes you just feel a certain way about something. The data might not show it outright, but your gut is telling you something’s off.” He sighed. “Usually these battles are a one-time thing—we get in we get out—and the criminal is acting either alone or with a relatively short term goal. But the past two or three missions, I’ve been noticing some patterns.”

Robin pointed to one of the circled locations in the bottom left corner of the map. “Lower East side, about three weeks ago today. We were attacked by that group on androids at that EPA lab. I went back to ask some questions the next day. The woman I spoke to seemed just as surprised about the attack as anyone else. All of the EPA’s data is in the public domain. The building itself is on a pretty tight lockdown due to standard government procedures. But there isn’t really much there to...steal. At least not information wise,” Robin said, hand on the back of his neck. “Those assholes left behind a pretty big mess, but they only stole one thing. A piece of equipment called a mass spectrometer. From what the woman explained to me, it’s a pretty standard piece of machinery in their line of work. Nothing incredibly special. She said it was probably one of the more valuable machines in the lab--some of them can be worth up to 100k. But that just doesn’t settle it for me,” he said, shaking his head. “If the criminals just wanted money, they would’ve robbed a bank. They have about the same level of security.”

“I mean...they probably wanna use it for something then,” Beast Boy suggested. “You know, cut out the middleman.”

“She told me these machines are most commonly used to test drug metabolism rates, or analyze blood samples. Forensics stuff,” Robin said, staring back down at the paper. “Stuff that would be useful on our end. Not theirs.” As he said this, he reached into his pocket and took out a small coin-like object. “The woman said that they found this jammed in one of the machines the morning after.”

He placed the coin onto the table. Everyone automatically leaned over to reach for the shiny silver circle, but Cyborg was the one who got hold of it first. It was bent poorly out of shape, but still had some faintly legible lettering visible on it. Cyborg zoomed in as far as he could with his one eye, the lens taking a moment to focus on the miniscule letters.

“A....R....S....E…” he read aloud. “And then something else. That’s all I can make out. Shit’s pretty worn down.” He handed it to Starfire. Raven leaned in to look at it over her shoulder.

Beast Boy quickly clasped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. The laughter was already erupting out of him. Everyone turned to look at him.

“May I ask what’s so funny?” Robin said, unamused.

“It’s just--” Beast Boy said, struggling to hold another cackle in .”Oh, come on! Arse? Like Ass?” he said, tears beginning to form in his eyes.

“We are fighting ass monsters?” Starfire said, disgusted.

Cyborg couldn’t hold back a laugh at that and snorted along with Beast Boy.

Raven rolled her eyes.

“No,” Robin said with a completely straight face.

Beast Boy reeled himself back, his laughter suppressed for now, but a grin still firmly on his face.

Robin cleared his throat. “Anyway...that brings me to my next point.” He reached into his pocket again, this time pulling out a small chip, like an identification tag. He placed it on the table. There were several letters missing on this one as well. “S, E, N,” Robin spelled out aloud. “They’re made of the same metal.”

Beast Boy looked down at the tag. This fight he did remember. It had taken place just a few days ago--at the local aquarium of all places. A break in that had escalated into a full blown hostage situation. They’d handled it, more or less, and no one had gotten hurt. Still, it all seemed like a lot more trouble than some fish were worth.

“But those were real people we fought at Franklin,” Cyborg said, frowning.

"We don’t know that for sure,” Robin replied. “And even if they were, that doesn’t mean the two attacks weren’t related.” He scanned some of the notes scribbled in the left hand margin of the map. “When I went back to Franklin Aquarium post battle, I decided to also check in with their adjunct Marine Biology research and conservation lab. Robin stared down at the tag. "I asked the researchers if they'd heard anything about the break in at the EPA. They hadn't--but said they’d worked on projects with them in the past. Again, no one had a good explanation for why anyone would want to target the aquarium like that. Besides property damage, the criminals didn’t leave much of a mark. At least, not one that they could prove.” Here, Robin flipped over the sheet of paper, revealing that the other side was covered in even more notes, even some crudely drawn diagrams.

“A man working at the head of R&D told me that they’d recently come into possession of a rare species of cuttlefish,” Robin continued. “And after the attack, it had gone missing. They said missing because they weren’t sure if it was stolen or killed during the general destruction.”

"Excuse me, Robin, but what is a fish of cuddles?" Starfire asked.

“A cuttlefish,” he repeated. “It's kinda like a squid. I didn’t understand exactly what was so important about it at first. Not until I took a look at the remains of the exhibit for myself." Saying this, Robin reached into his pocket and took out his phone, scrolling through it for a moment. "Most animals that change their color for camouflage do so on a pretty superficial level. Something to do with having specialized cells for changing color or creating patterns on their skin. But the species they lost at Franklin had only been discovered about a year ago. It was one of the only ones in captivity."

Without a word, Robin stopped scrolling and looked at Beast Boy. He handed him the phone, not even glancing at the other three.

Beast Boy grabbed the phone without asking questions. On the screen was a clear picture of an information sign under a vacant exhibit. Robin’s eyes still on him, he got the silent memo that he was supposed to read it aloud.

"Sepiida omneforman,” he started, having no idea what the words were supposed to sound like, “otherwise known as the South-African clay fish, is one of the rarest species of cuttlefish in the world. First discovered in 2017, by a group of researchers from Johannesburg, the clay fish is widely believed to be similar to the common cuttlefish in diet and habitat. Like their octopus kin, clay cuttlefish hide from enemies with chromatic camouflage and clouds of ink. However, they are one of the only living creatures suspected to also possess limited 'shape-shifting' abilities.” At this Beast Boy paused--just a beat. “Named so for these abilities, the clay fish is capable of reorganizing its structural DNA in order to create false appendages and skin textures/colorization at will. These abilities may help the clay fish to intimidate possible predators or allow it to better blend in with its surroundings. Scientists are currently researching the clay fish’s unique genome, with the hope of discovering more efficient ways to conduct gene therapy in modern medicine."

Beast Boy lowered the phone. He raised an eyebrow. “That's what everyone's so worked up about? Some fish that can kinda shapeshift?" He tossed the phone back to Robin. "Pffft. I figured that party trick out ages ago,” he said, kicking up his feet on the table, closing his eyes. “They coulda just asked,” he said with a smile. “I’m always happy to help the greater good.”

“I don’t know, Beast Boy,” Robin said. “They told me that they were eventually planning on breeding them. So that they’d have some to...experiment on.”

Beast Boy instantly perked up. He caught a glimpse of Raven in his peripheral, who drew a finger across her throat.

“Okay, yeah,” he said, swallowing hard. “I see your point.”

Starfire was looking down at the floor. She had been for most of the meeting.

“Is something wrong, Star?” Robin asked, looking over at her.

She met his eyes, but she still seemed a little distraught. “Why did you not tell us sooner?”

Robin rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I just...wasn’t sure they were really related. And I guess I’m still now a hundred percent sure.” He shrugged. “I didn’t want to give you all anything more to worry about.”

“So...what should we do?” Raven asked, also breaking her silence. But for her, silence through an entire meeting was pretty normal.

Robin bit his lip. “Well...that’s just it. I don’t know that there really is anything we can do differently.” He furrowed his brow, deep in thought. “All I’m saying is to keep on your toes. Unlike regular missions, if another one of these attacks happens, it might be something we can anticipate. And if we can predict it, we might be able to shut down before it really gets off the ground. Being even just half a step ahead of the game could save lives.”

“Don’t worry, Robin,” Beast Boy grinned, leaping up to his feet. “I got eyes like a hawk and ‘m quiet as the mouse he eats for breakfast.” He started to take a step forward to clasp a hand on Robin’s shoulder. But as soon as his foot hit the ground, a sharp pain shot up his leg and he started to wobble. Beast Boy crashed forward, his left arm slamming into the edge of the table on the way down. The whiz of a neglected hot wheels car faded as it zipped under the couch.

“Beast Boy! Are you the alright?” Starfire started with real concern in her voice.

Cyborg was busy looking under the couch to try and find the source of his fall.

“Eughhh...” he groaned, sitting up. He looked up at the table, where his half empty can of root beer had finished itself off. Beast Boy grit his teeth as he watched the sugary liquid crawl to every corner of the table--and Robin’s map.

Robin just stood there for a moment, looking down at it. He sighed, then hesitantly reached out and lifted the sticky brown paper from the table, watching as the excess root beer tricked off of it. “I guess I’ve made my point.”

“At...least it didn’t get on the carpet?” Beast Boy said, on his knees now. But that was a lie. It was on the carpet too.

“We’re doomed,” Raven said from the other side of the couch, rubbing her temples.

Beast Boy wasn’t sure why, but this time, Raven’s offhand remark actually stung--even more so than Robin’s.

But before anyone had time to say anything else, the room suddenly went dark. A blaring noise cut through the air. The TV flashed from suburban homes to a complex status report screen, showing a grid map of the city honed in on a specific location—the West Regional Bank. In the bottom left, a popup window began to stream security camera footage, showing several shadowy figures running down a hallway. One stopped for only a second, pointing a gun at the camera, which consequently short circuited and faded to static.

Without a word, Robin started running. Starfire and Cyborg followed close behind.

Raven sighed, as if she really weren’t in the mood, but turned to follow as well.

Beast Boy looked back up at the TV screen quickly. “I never even got to see which house they picked,” he mumbled to himself.

“Beast Boy!” Robin’s voice echoed down the hall.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” he yelled back, as he begrudgingly turned to bring up the rear. The sidekick slot, they called it. Beast Boy sighed as he took off. He’d been ending up there a lot lately.

#teen titans #bbrae #bbrae fanfiction #beast boy #raven #dc

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houseki-no-suffering · 6 years

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Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Human AU, 1960s AU Characters: Cinnabar/Phosphophyllite, Diamond, Euclase, Bort, Alexandrite, Yellow Diamond Summary: When 19 yo Cinnabar thought of giving Phos their heart, 16 yo Phos left them to move to another town with Antarcticite. 5 years and a lifetime later, Phos makes a sudden comeback into Cinnabar’s life, helping both of them realize that running away from your problems is grossly overrated.

A/N: nnngh I can’t believe I’m finally posting this, a huge thank you to @lapishead for betareading this and to @enfphos for their patience and adorable support. Enjoy!

Just a little more.

Cinnabar kept filling all the spaces in their mind with those words, trying not to leave any room for complaints. They were clinging to the hope that, if they persisted in telling themselves that they were almost done, the words would magically start sounding true rather than repetitive. It was a cognitive thing, Alex had told Cinnabar once.

Almost done.

Cinnabar’s mind must be extraordinarily stubborn, but at least the mantra had kept them from overthinking. As a form of cognitive gratitude, they repeated those words a final time as they picked up the last cardboard box from Euclase’s car. Then they reverted back to cursing their own physical form as they panted and puffed their way up the entrance steps and then, finally, collapsed on the bare mattress as soon as they stepped foot inside their new home.

The box followed them happily, bouncing on the bed along with Cinnabar and raining its contents on top of them and all around the room. Cinnabar paid it no mind. Objects were supposed to go missing in any respectable move.

Basking in the validation that they got from the newfound chaos, Cinnabar shifted their attention to the ceiling above them. It took them a couple of seconds to decide that it was judging the incompetent way Cinnabar had carried their boxes and that it would keep judging as Cinnabar unpacked. One more reason not to start now. Even the wall knew that Cinnabar was just the pale imitation of the previous tenant, but Cinnabar had resigned to mediocrity a long time ago.

It was a nice ceiling, they supposed, white, freshly painted, and with the distinctive sand-looking roughness that characterized most things in this town. Then Cinnabar’s eyes narrowed and spotted one single black dot that was singlehandedly ruining the pristine whiteness. Bort would totally blame them for it.

Awesome.

“May I? Oh, you are done already,” Diamond’s head peeked out from behind the bedroom’s door. Their smile betrayed just the faintest disappointment for not being able to linger any further.

“Mh-h,” Cinnabar answered, still contemplating Bort’s rage. Then they remembered to let out a small, whispered “thanks,” in exchange for Diamond’s help.

“Would you like a hand unpacking? You just need ask if you do. We’d all be happy to come over, I can call Benito and Ame, we’ll be done super fast.”

“I’ll do it myself,” Cinnabar mumbled, terrified by the perspective.

“Of course,” Diamond offered them another eloquent smile. No one had been happy when Cinnabar mentioned moving out of the school dormitory. Diamond especially had not been happy when they learned that the only reason was that Bort would be moving out as well, leaving their small apartment empty for Cinnabar to occupy.

Diamond’s fingers traveled along the doorframe with delicate interest, as if following a fond memory or searching for one.

“Did my little sibling call, yet?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Dia’s eyes got tangled in a mysterious web of memories that lay just below the surface of the wood. When they shifted their gaze to the ceiling, Cinnabar expected them to point out the insignificant black spot too. “It’s been a while. They’re probably very busy with the new school and everything. I’m sure they will call. No need to be worried, they’ll be fine. They’re always fine. Bort is such a responsible cutie.”

A weak “of course,” was all the sympathy Cinnabar managed to offer. Even when threading carefully among sibling rivalries and unresolved conflicts, the truth was that they would miss Bort too.

Without Bort, Cinnabar would probably lack both a place to call their own and a sense of independence. They were afraid that their newly discovered sense of self would crumble like a sand castle in a couple of days without Bort’s cement-strong pragmatism to keep it in place. Therefore, Cinnabar made a mental note to find some courage to call their friend before the castle collapsed. Bort had already done them the favor of providing the apartment with a phone, so Cinnabar could return the courtesy by sparing Dia the awkwardness of calling their sibling first. One of these days. In the near future. Eventually.

“Yeah,” Dia nodded again, more to convince themselves than Cinnabar, equally hurt and relieved by knowing their little sibling was hundreds of kilometers away. “And what about my Shinsha, will you be okay, dear? Don’t you think you’ll feel alone all by yourself?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m here, you can still… call, or drop by, I guess… it’s okay.”

“Of course, I’d love to. And I really need to bring you some flowers, this place needs waaay more colors, wouldn’t that be cute?.”

“Okay.”

Diamond giggled at Cinnabar’s lack of interest.

“You can tell me I’m being silly. Stupid, little, apprehensive Dia. I’ll shut up, no more talking, no no,” they admonished themselves. “So, I guess I should be going now…”

Cinnabar didn’t answer. Diamond picked up their coat from the chair next to Bort’s bed, their eyes lingering on the cardboard boxes and clothes lazily scattered around the room.

“I’m gonna miss you a little, I know it’s still the same,” they hurried to add, “but just a little bit, a tiny little bit,” they chuckled, “alright. I’ll see you around, bye-bye, Shinsha.”

“Bye.”

Diamond gave one last look at the room, their eyes finally noticing the tiny dot that had ruined the flawlessness of the ceiling all by itself. They knew, too, that Bort would hate it.

Diamond smiled.

Then they waved goodbye to their friend again and walked out of Cinnabar’s apartment.

—

Diamond was right when they said it would still be the same. That was exactly one of the reasons Cinnabar was terrified it would all come crumbling down.

Bort’s apartment was little more than one block away from the dormitories of the institute, which meant that Cinnabar would still stumble upon friends and family anytime they went to the library, ventured outside to buy groceries, or simply decided to take a walk. They would still meet familiar faces every day at work.

Bort’s apartment was the farthest Cinnabar could presently dare to get from everything, and yet it was barely any distance at all. It should be pathetic that it had still taken Cinnabar five whole years to get to this point. And that they were still tempted to throw it all away the second Bort’s train disappeared behind the horizon. Bort was wrong in believing that Cinnabar’s confidence needed more careful patching up. It needed to be rebuilt from scratch altogether.

Cinnabar’s best days were the ones when they would woke up and feeling bitter about it. When the desire for a stable sense of self was something they cared enough to miss. But most days they were just hungry for isolation. The company of old, useless memories still more appreciated than that of the present.

The pebbles of the road crunched under Cinnabar’s feet as they walked to the library. It was hot, irritatingly hot for a late summer day. Cinnabar should have tied their hair up and slowed their pace. Each extra movement was an admission of weakness against the supremacy of the heat.

For as much as Cinnabar hated cleaning, the fact that Bort had trusted them with an apartment to care for was nothing short of a miracle. And it said something about Bort’s excessive optimism toward Cinnabar. Cinnabar was not sure what was most surreal between leaving the dorms and have someone blindly believe in them.

As they pushed open the library’s front door, Cinnabar made a reluctant mental note to find the strength to unpack at least one or two boxes before going to bed. Looking at those boxes had a mysterious, therapeutic effect on Cinnabar’s mind, an illusion of productivity, a sign that something new and exciting was still happening. As long as at least one cardboard box was still around, the apartment would still be getting used to Cinnabar’s presence. And it would be easier to leave.

“G’ morning,” they signaled their presence, closing the door behind them.

“Hello, hello! My, did you time me? I was just about to leave,” Alexandrite’s energetic voice greeted them in the midst of their hurried chaos, “Papers are on my desk, books must be re-shelved, dust is piling up everywhere, this place looks more and more like a tomb with each passing day, but isn’t that fascinating? Gosh, just like a good old expedition down south, we should all visit Greece one of these days. Very informative. Very hot, as well. Always bring a hat. But do leave the dust, atmosphere is always important, people who complain can do so in my face.”

“Alright.”

Picking up equally fundamental objects from completely different parts of the room, Alexandrite’s storm quickly approached Cinnabar, briskly retrieving the last missing items— a summer coat and a hat— from the hanger behind Cinnabar’s shoulders. Cinnabar drew back carefully, on the verge of losing balance.

“Late, late, late,” Alex chanted as they hurriedly put on the coat, despite the temperature outside, fighting to keep in balance the absurd amount of papers and notes that they were holding to their chest. Cinnabar reached forward in a timid attempt to help, which Alex, in their hurry, failed to notice.

“Goddammit, I need more hands.”

“Need a bag or something?”

“Nature gave me arms so I could use them.”

Cinnabar’s mouth twitched, any further remark concerning Alex’s clothing would be disregarded in the name of eccentricity— or of pleasing a wide fanbase of young, curious students. Even retired academicians had expectations to live up to.

“Laaate,” Alex chanted one last time when they finally managed to put an arm in the correct hole of the coat, the papers still precariously squished against their chest. “Alright, I’m off. Take care of the place for me.”

“Don’t kill any kid.”

“Ah! I’ll try,” and then Lexi stormed out of the door, a couple of sheets of paper following after them, as late as their author.

Cinnabar mused for a second whether to catch them while Alex was still in earshot. Instead, they observed the papers’ silent fall until gravity reduced them to unresponsive leaflets. Then Cinnabar picked them up and walked back inside to put them on the front desk. Golden puffs of dust welcomed them on the wood.

Just like an old tomb.

—

Cinnabar didn’t make a habit to eavesdrop on other people in the library. No matter how loud the words, arguments and gossip just flowed away from their mind in a stream of lazy disinterest. It was one of the reasons Jade had stopped asking them to collaborate in the newspaper. Library news was lost to Cinnabar’s attention.

And yet, today’s buzz had managed to dig itself a small, tiny hole in Cinnabar’s mind. Scattered words and sentences made them uneasy, bits and pieces connecting to old images that Cinnabar had repressed years ago and only dug up when they felt like self-loathing.

They shouldn’t care, they knew better than to care again, but memories of a coach lazily departing from town crawled their way to the surface of Cinnabar’s consciousness.

It was so easy to remember the salt from the sea itching Cinnabar’s nostrils, the way the fresh breeze of that morning had dried cold tears on their cheeks. Several people had gathered in the piazza to watch that coach leave, waving, lingering, wishing they could leave too.

Cinnabar had climbed up to the last terrace of the lighthouse, breathing in the dawn and despising themselves for looking down at the piazza, too, still incredulous at what was happening. A part of them had even tried to spot a glimpse of teal hair through a windowpane, but the coach was too far gone already. The vehicle disappeared in the fog without noticing Cinnabar’s presence.

They still thought about that day, from time to time. It still felt like a surreal, bad dream. They wondered what had happened to a specific couple of passengers, and they still commiserated themselves for not being able to wish misfortunes on other people.

Cinnabar shouldn’t care anymore, but those voices had dusted off old aches and now it was hard to bury them again.

In an attempt to distract themselves, Cinnabar focused on the ridiculous amount of papers that they were carrying, because of course Alex had fallen behind on grading tests. And, since the thought of more work was not enough, they resolved to stop by Euclase’s shop as well, hoping that the familiar anxiety from social interactions would drown any other preoccupation.

Euclase’s grocery store was almost exactly halfway between Cinnabar’s new house and the school. It sat at the intersection of the town’s main road and the long, meandering street that led to the sea. The little shop was just one story tall but occupied every square centimeters with conscious pride, aware of its position at the very heart of the city.

The silvery chant of a wind chimes welcomed Cinnabar as they pushed open the door. It was almost closing time and the setting sun bathed the ambience in the sepia immobility of a photograph. Even Euclase was lost in the peachy hues that clothed the evening. Seated in contemplation behind the cash desk, they gave the impression of dozing off in a coat of warm sunlight.

At the sound of the wind chimes, Euclase turned their head immediately, waking up from their dream. Cinnabar offered a small nod as greeting.

“Oh, hi, Shinsha. I wasn’t expecting you. Can I do something for you?”

Cinnabar’s heart took a dull leap at the mention of not being expected. They breathed in a small gulp of evening.

“I’m just… stopping by, I guess…”

“Of course, of course. How are you, dear? Are you alright?”

Cinnabar nodded, but only when Euclase’s eyes widened in surprise did they realize that Euc’s question had not been mere politeness.

“That’s good, I’m glad, really.”

With quick precision, Cinnabar’s mind enumerated and evaluated all the things that could be wrong with Cinnabar or that Euclase might be concerned about. Their heart made another leap as anxiety washed over them.

“What’s up?”

“So you don’t know yet…” Euclase murmured and Cinnabar’s pulse quickened as they thought about the buzz that they had heard in the library that morning.

They wanted to walk to the cash desk, slam their hands on the counter and ask for explanations, or maybe storm out of the shop like the mature person they were, but their feet were cowardly glued to the ground, surrounded by warm, sticky sunlight.

“Is it about the apartment?” they asked, but they already knew the answer. Euclase shook their head no.

“Now, what I’m about to say might upset you,” they began, walking toward Cinnabar with a sweet, motherly smile plastered on their face, “but please, I’m sure we can find a way to deal with this. I know it’s going to be alright-“

Halfway through Euclase’s speech, Cinnabar had spaced out. If this were Sensei instead of Euclase, he would have patted Cinnabar’s head, offering a gentle smile. But Euclase was not Sensei, no matter how much they tried to walk in his steps. They just stood in front of Cinnabar, smiling, mindful not to hug or touch them, ready to deliver the blow with artfully coated sincerity.

“-there must be a reason why Phos is back in town and the least we can do is offer our support and our love. I’m sure we can all get along again as a family-“

Cinnabar’s throat was heavy, as if something was stuck inside of it and refused to be swallowed. As if someone had sat on Cinnabar’s ribcage, pushing all the air out of their lungs, and Cinnabar wanted to cry, had to cry, but couldn’t.

“So they come back, now…” they murmured.

“Yes,” Euclase seconded them, happy to see a reaction from Cinnabar’s side, “Phos has come back home.”

way to end chap 1 on a cliffhanger, but thank you so much for reading to this point! I’ll be super happy if you give this AU a chance: I poured my soul into this story and I love how it came out. I’m shooting for weekly chaps, but we’ll see how that goes. In the meantime let me know what you think of this: any kind of feedback is great!

#houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous #hnk #cinnaphos #cinnabar #phosphophyllite #1960s au #fic tag

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alexdecampi · 6 years

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The Scottish Boy excerpt: The Black Knight

Hello all! Now that I've posted the lovely art of the Black Knight from @Trungles in the last Scottish Boy update, I thought I'd give you an excerpt (spoiler-free) from a later chapter where the Black Knight features. (I’ve also re-posted Trungles’ art under the cut!)

I think one of the benefits of coming back to prose writing after a lengthy sojourn in comics is it's made me quite good at blocking out action scenes and keeping them dramatic and suspenseful. Anyway, judge for yourself. Please consider pledging for the novel this is an excerpt from, you can read more right here. It’s only $35 for a 450+ page illustrated hardback, and $15 for eBook. And in a very real way, I can’t do this without you.

“I need to speak to His Majesty,” mutters Montagu, pacing. He points at the head. “Take this thing away and bury it. You, come with me,” he commands, his index finger rising to indicate the young knight who had spoken first. “You’ll give a full report in front of the King. Number of troops. Weapons. Likely nationalities. Tactics. If the King approves, we’ll raise a larger force and destroy this resistance and all who support them the same way we took care of it in Scotland.”

“I’d like to go,” says Harry, stepping forwards before he even realises it. “I’ve been on several raids across the border. I know some of the land.” Harry inhales, and plays his final card. “Sir Thomas Howland, too, he is the most experienced raider of us all.”

Montagu smiles at him, his hooded eyes as dead as a December garden. “Good old Sir Harry. We can always count on you.”

The King prevaricates. Sending enough men to end the border resistance once and for all would mean sending an Earl, and if they send an Earl, they might as well just invade France. The King doesn't want to invade until Germany and the Low Countries get off the fence. Plus, their army at Antwerp is not large. A hundred and twenty knights, plus about a thousand men-at-arms.

Then France sends its fleet against English port towns. Portsmouth is hit; Southampton, burned. The Channel Islands are seized. The news reaches Antwerp at the same time as a letter from Oliver Ingham, the English seneschal in Gascony, begging for help against a French invasion.

Edward sends messengers to England to begin raising real army. And he sends an Earl over the border.

Montagu takes a quarter of their men-at-arms and twenty knights, including Harry and Sir Thomas. They follow the Scheldt river southwest to Ghent and then towards Tournai, just across the line into France. Once they reach Tournai, they will turn north and travel along that border, killing and burning their way towards Calais. It’s a cumbersome force, ill-suited to fast raiding in enemy territory. Instead, Montagu plans to intimidate the locals into giving up the mercenaries: each village will be asked for information, and if they don’t respond, the village and everyone in it will be destroyed.

The monotonous, flat fields of Flanders are finally relieved by low hills as they approach the border. Sparse stands of trees thicken into forest and Harry is relieved for the shade, even if he misses the stark, endless visibility of the farmlands. The docile barns and quiet farmsteads of the plains are not all friendly to the English cause. Any one could harbor enemy combatants ready to slip out under the cover of night and devastate an English camp. The landscape reminds Harry heartbreakingly of Dartington, and he spends a day in turmoil, imagining men like them riding through Devon, burning and killing.

They cross the Scheldt at a little stone bridge late on their third afternoon, and then the small army makes camp at the edge of the elm forest just on the Flemish side of the border. Tomorrow, they ride into France. Tonight, their last night on Flemish soil, they eat cold rations of cheese and hard bread and sausage, and turn in without fires. Harry sleeps in his mail. He learned that lesson in Scotland.

Their first mistake is assuming they were safe in Flanders.

Their second is assuming the mercenaries would fight like Englishmen.

The raiders slay the sentries with knife and bolt in the deepest pits of the night, when the moon has already begun her decline. Harry jolts awake to the sounds of screaming and the creak and twang of crossbows. He slams on his helmet, grabs his shield and sword, and unlaces his tent flap. His first instinct is to head for Montagu, because he has a feeling that is where the Black Knight, this Chevalier de la Mort, will be. But as he looks cautiously outside his tent, his military instincts take over. First, he has to secure the horses.

The camp is pandemonium. Montagu brought with him a score of longbowmen but their ranged weapons are useless in a packed, close-range night fight in a forest. Harry keeps his shield up and his head down and yells “<To the horses! To the horses!>” as he runs through the camp towards the horse lines. He deliberately chooses to speak in English, hoping none of the raiders understand their language.

He ducks under a crossbow bolt and whirls, his sword coming up low and under the bowman’s short hauberk. Harry feels the wet suck of the sword hitting the man’s thigh bone and yanks hard, pulling it out. He runs on. There’s no point making sure the man is dead. If he can’t stand, he’s as good as gone, and with luck one of his friends will stop to help him. Then Harry will have stopped two raiders rather than just one.

A few men-at-arms from their camp stagger towards him, clutching weapons and shields, most still in their nightshirts. By the time they get to the horse lines there are a couple dozen of them, knights and spearmen and a few longbowmen, massed together. It’s enough to make them a hard target in a camp full of easy ones, and but for a few opportunistic shots from passing raiders with crossbows they’re left alone.

Harry doesn’t hear the sound of hooves anywhere but from their own horses, fearful and restless in their lines. Inside, he’s panicking, because he knows the raiders' mounted force is out there somewhere. But where? It makes his skin crawl, knowing that the main part of the attack hasn’t even happened yet, that any moment now will come the thunder of heavy armor riding them all down. The forest will slow them, but it’s an old forest, with tall trees and little undergrowth. Nothing to stop a mounted knight.

Harry throws a bridle on on Nomad then jumps up on him, bareback, and once again yells “<To me! Rally to the horse lines!>” He orders the younger knights, all with fresh memories of squiring, to grab all the remaining destriers and take the men-at-arms and head as a body back over the Scheidt bridge, deeper into Flanders. All Harry can do is send a quick prayer heavenward that he’s not sending them to their death. It’s strange that the raiders hadn’t already freed the horses, or stolen them… unless they want the English to run.

Unless the bridge is a trap.

“<Ride back along the river!>” Harry calls, his guts twisting in panic as he remembers the little copse of trees on the Antwerp side of the bridge. At what perfect cover it would be to turn the crossing into a killing ground. “<Don’t take the first bridge you come to. Take the second.”>

The men nod their understanding.

Harry calls to some of the men-at-arms he’s worked with before: Carl and Pete and Kev and old Lars. He has just enough time to point out the horses of the Earl and his household knights before the raiders – who hadn’t been avoiding them, they’d been organizing – are on them. It’s a dozen enemy against the six of them, but Harry is on horseback and Kev has his bow. Kev can shoot six arrows for every one from the more cumbersome Genoese crossbows, and they soon even the odds. Carl's hit, they can’t tell how badly, but Pete and Lars get him over a horse and they’ll worry about it later, when they have the luxury of time.

They push through the camp towards Montagu’s tent. Harry can see the knights of quality bunched in front of it, surrounded by enemy raiders.

Montagu is furious, screaming at the raiders from behind the cordon of knights defending him. “French scum! Brigands! Your leader calls himself a knight, then why won’t he come out and fight like one?”

There’s a soft, harsh sound then, somehow audible over the clash of steel and the thud of arrows into shields. It’s a crackling, gasping wheeze, and Harry realizes after a moment that it’s laughter.

A chill runs down his spine as he looks to its source. There, deep in the shadows of the trees, is a pool of even greater darkness: a knight, huge and broad in black plate, his shield plain but for a bend sinister, on a large black warhorse. And he’s laughing at them.

Harry can hear the muted chink of the horse’s tack as the knight shakes his head in amusement and turns his steed, disappearing into the forest. And that’s somehow the most terrifying thing of all: that the Black Knight didn’t feel like he had to engage. That they weren't worth his time.

#fiction #novel #thriller #medieval #knights #romance #writing #amwriting

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altean-plance-au · 6 years

Text

How To Train Your Recruit

Submission by Aknazer. (Thank you again!) Find the first part to this series here. Table of contents for the AU in general here.

FanCanons - Shiro

Shiro Has A Past, and no, he’s not telling.

Shiro knows that Lance has inherent elemental abilities, despite the other trying to hide it. He also knows that without any (or very little) formal training, Lance is a hot (cold?) mess with them. Despite not understanding Lance’s obstinacy about admitting to them, Shiro respects that and starts leaving random instructional texts lying around for Lance to stumble over.

At twenty-seven deca-phoebs (years), Shiro is the youngest Captain of the Royal Guard ever. Despite the reservations of the Council, Alfor appointed Shiro to the post, and Shiro has worked hard ever since to prove that the King’s trust is well placed.

Shiro’s made a few questionable decisions - taking a half-Galra foundling under his wing being the most notable. Taking on an uppity kind-of-maybe-not-really noble with a history of insubordination was another. Introducing the two just to watch them fight was the third.

Shiro has no regrets about assigning Lance to guard Pidge: he figures that his two biggest headaches deserve each other.

“What do you think this is, a holovid? Stop charging me - you’re telegraphing every move in advance.” Shiro said, knocking Lance’s sword out of his hand with a practiced twist and slapping the pommel of his own blade against the younger man’s wrist. Ignoring the boy’s pained yelp, Shiro used the toe of his boot to kick the sword away. “Again.”

“Oh my gods, you are a slave driver.” Lance whined, shaking out his hand and glaring. “It’s barely a varga after sunrise!”

Shiro raised his eyebrow. “Uh-huh. And?”

“And you’ve had me out here since before that!”

“Good to know your eyes are working.” Shiro said mildly. “Now if only you would open your ears.”

“I hate you.” Lance grumbled, trudging over to where his sword lay in the dust.

Shiro ignored the insult, knowing that Lance didn’t really mean it. Well, he amended privately, perhaps he did right now - Lance was a lot of things (not all of them complimentary), but a morning person was not one of them. Before about 1000, the only thing Lance didn’t hate was his bed. (Coincidentally, Shiro had found that nearly 70% of his insubordination reports occurred before lunch.)

“Now,” Shiro instructed as Lance resumed his stance across from him, “let’s try that again - without the dramatic flailing this time.”

Lance gritted his teeth, eyes glinting dangerously, and Shiro repressed a grin. Good - he was getting to him. Without warning, Lance pushed off with his back foot, sprinting the short distance between them and swinging his broadsword into a short, overhead arc. Shiro blocked, letting the blade slide down and off his own before snapping his sword parallel to his body to block the short stroke aimed for his neck.

From here, he had two options: step back and slide their blades apart to prepare for the next strike, or step in and tangle their handguards, making it a contest of brute strength to hold onto the sword. Last time, he’d stepped in, and Lance had decided to try to overpower him.

Lance danced back as Shiro stepped in, sliding out of range with a scowl. He let Shiro knock his blade aside, using the momentum to bring the blade up into an overheard block as Shiro advanced.

“Good! You’re getting better at this.” Shiro praised, then brought his foot up and kicked Lance in the stomach, driving him back. Lance flailed as he lost his footing, sword dropping automatically as he stumbled and tried to regain his balance. Shiro moved aggressively forward, slotting his leg between the stumbling recruit’s and sweeping his ankle around to drag his foot out from under him. Lance hit the ground with an oomph, sword clattering out of his hand as his head hit the ground.

“Still got a ways to go, though.” Shiro observed, standing over the fallen young man. Lance glared, mouth twisting into a snarl, and Shiro’s eyebrows lifted as the air chilled around them. Not much - just a few degrees, but Shiro was familiar enough with elementals to recognize the signs.

Well, he thought faintly, how about that?

“Do you just drag me out here every morning to beat on me so you feel good about yourself of something?” Lance snapped. “There is literally no other reason for this.”

Shiro’s blinked, refocusing on the young man still sprawled on the ground in front of him.

“Sure there is. Someday, you’ll even figure out what it is.” He replied affably, knowing his genial tone would only annoy the other man more. “Now…again.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Shiro figured out pretty quickly that the best way to keep Lance out of trouble was to keep him occupied. And, barring that, too tired to be bored enough to look for it. For the first few weeks, Lance’s schedule had been split between drills with Shiro and diplomacy with Coran. Then Lance had been shifted to physical training four days, and diplomacy two. Finally, physical training five days in the morning, with guard duty in the afternoons and diplomacy on an as-needed basis.

It was, Shiro often reflected, like dealing with an okami pup - you had to wear their energy down to a manageable level before trying to teach them anything. Then you had to convince them that what they were learning had a purpose, and wasn’t just useless fluff. (And even if it was useless fluff, that they just had to shut up and do it once in a while.) Fortunately, Shiro had experience with dealing with distracted, disinterested cadets: it just took the right application of physical exertion, followed by mental exertion, and keeping their interest by keeping them challenged.

“What the heck is this?” Lance squawked, jolting upright as Shiro dropped a text in front of him.

“Olkari delegates are arriving next movement.” Shiro replied. “Study up.”

Lance squinted at him suspiciously, and Shiro knew he was trying to guess whether he would be actually escorting/guarding the delegation, or simply guarding the doors. Shiro had set him to both tasks, telling him to “study up” every time. Lance had neglected to do so before, and it had led to him making a fool of himself by offering the wrong salutation when he’d been unexpectedly assigned to escort duty after a week of guarding doors.

The embarrassment, Shiro knew, was a better goad than any reprimand he could have delivered.

Shiro sat down at his desk, flipping open his own book and pulling out a ledger to take notes with. The silence lasted for about twenty dobashes before Lance leaned back in his seat, groaning.

“This is boring…” He whined. “When is lunch? Is it lunchtime? I feel like we should have eaten already.”

“What’s the gesture to greet the Kahnzada Nawab Ishmuil?” Shiro asked without looking up from his book.

“Bow.” Lance replied. “Straight neck, torso bent to twenty degrees. Right hand on left shoulder, palm in.”

“Where do your eyes go?” Shiro asked.

“On the floor…no!” Lance jabbed a finger at him, grinning victoriously. “Trick question! I’m a guard, so I keep my eyes on his waist to watch for weapons.”

“Good to know Coran’s lessons are paying off.” Shiro chuckled.

“Um, no?” Lance scowled. “Coran was going over place settings for a Balmaran dinner party.”

Shiro blinked. “But…Balmarans don’t have dinner parties.”

“That’s what I said!” Lance threw his hands up in the air. “But did he listen? No! He was all ‘Tsk tsk, young cadet, I’ll have you know that I’ve dined with many a Balmaran noble in my youth and-’” Lance broke off, hand flapping in a universal blah blah blah gesture. “I’m pretty sure he was confusing Balmarans for Rephodians, but I don’t know how.”

Shiro snorted in quiet amusement, flipping to another page idly.

“So, what are you reading, anyway?” Lance asked. “I mean, you already know all that crap about the Olkari, budgets were done last movement, and your report - which I know you’re going to have me type up, stop lying - isn’t due for another three quintents.”

“Mm?” Shiro glanced up at him. “Oh, this? It’s a book on basic studies for elemental magics.”

Lance froze. It was only for a tick, and then he was leaning on one elbow nonchalantly, glancing at his book like he couldn’t care less. “Oh, yeah? What do you need that for? Got something to share with the class?”

Shiro snorted. “Not likely. No, Alfor’s niece is a budding Plant Master, and she’s driving her guards crazy.”

“What, is she throwing seeds at them?” Lance sniggered.

“I wish.” Shiro frowned. “No, she’s eluding them to try to train on her own. I was hoping if I gave her some more…benign exercises, she’d stop trying to escape.”

“Give her some houseplants.” Lance grunted, flicking a page over. “Problem solved.”

“We did that.” Shiro rolled his eyes. “Two exploded, one grew out of control, and one caught fire.”

Lance’s gaze snapped up, jaw going slack. “It…it caught fire? How do you even do that?”

“No clue!” Shiro groaned. “I was hoping that this book would give me some insight but… I think it’s too generalized. General exercises, and I think she’s blown through or overpowered the green magic ones. Huge section on water magic, but that does me no good.”

Shiro leaned back in his chair, grasping the bridge of his nose in mostly-feigned exasperation. “I’m heading to the canteen. Want anything?”

Lance hummed thoughtfully. “The usual.” He held out a few losa, but Shiro waved them off, closing his book and setting it on the edge of his desk.

Lance stayed in the office.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Shiro couldn’t check out too many tomes outlining elemental magic studies without arousing suspicion. Luckily, there were a plenty available within the city’s markets, and Pidge was happy to direct him to ones that she had found useful. And if they happened to find homes in his office shelving, well, that just made him look more official to the people who thought looks mattered.

And if some of them disappeared after he’d finished reading them, Shiro pretended not to notice.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“You’re going to what?”

“Introduce him to Keith.” Shiro repeated patiently.

“That’s what I thought you said.” Matt swirled his ale in his mug as he regarded his friend steadily. “The way you say this leads me to believe that you don’t mean over a nice cup of mead, or a friendly hologame.”

“Correct.”

“And the reason for this is because…?” Matt asked, rolling his wrist, gesturing for his friend to continue.

“Lance isn’t really being challenged anymore.” Shiro sipped his drink. “I’m too busy to take him on daily like I was at first, but he’s good enough that he’s giving my lieutenants a run for their money. Which, don’t get me wrong, is good - it keeps them on their toes, but also means that I need to find a better challenge for him.”

“So your solution is to haul in Kogane.” Matt said.

“Not ‘haul in,’” Shiro huffed, “his detail on Javnil is almost up, and he’ll be back soon anyway.”

“You’re going to put your no-nonsense, super-serious, I-wouldn’t-know-humor-if-it-bit-me pupil in a ring with Lance.” Matt repeated.

“Why do you make it sound so crazy?” Shiro muttered rebelliously. “Keith is one of the best and he’d definitely provide a challenge for Lance. And Keith does have a sense of humor.”

“So set him to a new weapon! Rotate him into sparring with the rest of the troops. You don’t have to keep him on broadsword and with the Guards.” Matt rolled his eyes. “You know this - I know you do. So, the logical conclusion is… you’re looking for an excuse. You want Keith and Lance to meet. Stop obfuscating and fess up.”

“Pulling out the big words now.” Shiro muttered. “Alright, fine, full disclosure: I think that the SpecOps unit isn’t doing Keith any good. Not physically-” Shiro waved Matt off as he opened his mouth, “Physically, he’s in his element. I mean…he’s more withdrawn. Less social, if that’s possible, even amongst his teammates. It’s weighing on him.”

Matt leaned back in his chair, studying Shiro closely. Shiro let him, knowing that Matt was every bit the bright mind his father and sister were. Processing time was a part of that, before brilliance emerged.

“You’re an idiot.” Matt said bluntly, ignoring Shiro gaping to take a long draw on his mug. “I know what you’re trying to do. And putting Keith and Lance in a ring together might work out in your favor - Lance may indeed prove to be a valuable foil to Keith’s seriousness, and the two might eventually become fast friends. But they might also tear each other’s throats out before they get around to reconciling their differences.”

“Well,” Shiro shrugged, “I guess we’ll see.”

#submission #aknazer #altean plance au #voltron legendary defender #vld fanfic #vld lance #vld shiro #adminrue

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commandercrouton · 7 years

Text

Jonerys Secret Santa 2017

Here is my submission for Jonerys Secret Santa. I was assigned @violet-eyes-silver-hair for this year, and I hope she really likes my fic! This is my first fic for the fandom, and it is still Christmas here so I made the deadline. I am so sorry I posted this so late. As soon as I got home, I unloaded my car and went straight for the laptop to upload it. This day has been hectic!

Violet eyes met brown eyes for the first time across the fire that was burning in the backyard of the party. She had blonde hair that looked white in the moonlight, and wore a ocean blue dress that highlighted her pale skin. A necklace that looked like a dragon’s tooth fell between her breasts. Jon stared for a second too long at the area where the necklace fell and looked up to find her staring at him with arched eyebrows. Jon blushed furiously and looked away, his cloak billowing in the wind.

His brother didn’t notice a thing as they continued their conversation, red cups in hand running low on beer. When Jon glanced back to the young woman, she was gone. He took a small sip of the cheap beer, and pretended to listen to his brother ramble about this new girl he was interested in. He didn’t understand why his brother’s frat decided to throw a costume party when Halloween was a few weeks ago.

“Did you hear me?” Robb interrupted his thoughts.

“What?” Jon blinked rapidly.

Robb rolled his eyes. “I said your ex-girlfriend is here.”

Jon looked up to see Ygritte’s red hair flash through the crowd. He wondered if she was bringing her new boyfriend as well.

“You okay?” Robb asked.

“Yeah, we broke up a while ago. We are fine now.”

“You’re too forgiving.”

“And you should be bringing me another beer,” Jon joked, thrusting his now empty cup to his brother. Robb smirked as he walked into the frat house to get more of the alcohol from the kegs they bought.

Jon stood there awkwardly, staring at the people surrounding the fire dressed in different costumes.

“What are you supposed to be?” The voice was quiet and commanding.

He turned around to find the petite blonde woman he was staring at. Her entire persona was regal and refined. She stood tall with an air of grace and power. Immediately he knew she was the type of person to get what she wanted, no matter the obstacles.

“I’m a Northern Commander,” he answered, feeling foolish in the attire he borrowed from his father. “And you are a…,” he looked over her outfit and couldn’t figure out what she was.

“I am a dragon queen,” she answered, winking. He grinned at her teasing tone.

“Don’t queens usually wear crowns?”

“A crown does not make a queen.”

“Very true. Where are your dragons?”

“I think a drunk girl stole them from me. They were cute stuffed animals.”

Jon laughed and he was pleased to see her smile a little at his response. “I’m Jon,” he introduced himself, bowing to the queen in front of him.

“Daenerys,” she answered, smiling even bigger as he finished bowing.

“I’d bend the knee, but…” he gestured to his heavy outfit and the fallen leaves on the ground.

“So what are you doing here. You don’t seem to know the members of this fine fraternity.”

“My brother dragged me out. He is trying to convince me to join next semester. Speak of the devil,” Jon said before his brother clapped him on the back. Jon could see Robb eyeing the new girl, and felt a surge of jealousy. It wasn’t Robb’s fault he was so likeable, but Jon was too familiar with girls preferring his brother over him. Robb handed him the drink and he smiled at Daenerys.

She nodded politely in his direction before turning her attention back to Jon.

“Is this the brother who is trying to get you to join?”

“That I am,” Robb interjected. “If I can’t convince him to join, maybe you can.”

“Unfortunately I cannot help you either. I am only here because my friend dragged me out. This isn’t really my scene,” she answered, never breaking eye contact from Jon.

Robb grinned as he realized there were sparks flying between this girl and his brother. Jon had been ignoring girls since him and Ygritte broke up the first month of the school year. It was a shock to both of them since they both chose this school to attend together.

Robb pretended to check his phone and told the two, “Sorry guys, but Theon needs me. Some guys are challenging us for our beer pong title. You two have fun!” He walked away, turning around to wink at his brother out of sight of the blonde girl. Jon raised his eyebrows in warning, causing Daenerys to turn around to see Robb grinning at the two.

“I am starting to believe there was no challenge,” she said.

“And you would be right.”

She stood tall and adjusted her long sleeves of the dress. He noticed her hair was done in beautiful and intricate braiding. He was about to ask her a question about her major, when they were interrupted by another person.

“Daenerys!” A beautiful black woman wearing a sheer grey dress stumbled onto Daenerys. She stumbled under the weight, and tried hard to regain her footing.

“Missandei how much have you had to drink?” Daenerys tried to shrug off her taller friend, but wasn’t succeeding.

“More than I intended. Tyrion is such a bad influence,” Missandei slurred. She saw Jon standing awkwardly besider her friend, and grinned. “Who is this handsome man? I knew I dragged you out for a good reason. Don’t mind me you two. If you want to bring him home tonight, we can sneak him in. Rhaegar won’t ever find out,” she tried to whisper, but failed miserably.

Jon blushed furiously at her suggestive tone. Who was Rhaegar?

“I am so sorry, but I think we have to go. It was lovely meeting you Jon.”

“Do you need help?” Jon saw how Daenerys was struggling under her friend’s height. She bit her lip nervously and darted her eyes back and forth trying to figure out how best to get her to the car. Jon saw the indecision and grabbed the other side of Missandei.

“Where to?”

Daenerys smiled a true smile at him, and his heart skipped a beat. Her normally stoic face completely transformed when she smiled.

“I have a car a block down from the house waiting for us.”

“Lead the way,” Jon answered, adjusting the weight so her friend was leaning more on him than Daenerys. She instructed him as they weaved the way through the crowd until they finally emerged from the house.

An older gentleman leaning against the lamp post ran toward them.

“Miss, is everything alright?” the stranger asked as he took the weight of Missandei off of Daenerys.

“Everything is fine Jorah. Missandei just had a bit too much fun. We should go home.”

Jorah nodded before realizing Jon was standing by them. Jorah appraised Jon warily before sharing a glance with Daenerys.

“He is a friend,” she affirmed.

“I’ll carry her to the car. We should get you ladies home.” Jorah scooped up Missandei and stood off to the side.

“Do you normally have men waiting for you outside of parties?” Jon joked, but immediately realized how inappropriate it sounded.

“Jorah is a close friend, and I guess you could say, bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard? Are you really a queen?” Jon teased.

Daenerys face became guarded as she shook her head no. “Goodbye Jon. Maybe we will see each other again. You seem like quite a man.”

Jon nodded, urging himself to ask for her number. Women like her don’t appear everyday. As he was mustering up the courage to ask her, she turned and walked away from him. He watched her stride confidently to her friends as they began the walk to their car. Jon waited a moment before he turned around himself and entered the party once again.

“You didn’t even ask for her number! You’re a fucking idiot, you know that. She was hot, and she was totally into you,” Robb berated Jon as they had lunch in between classes in the middle of the week.

Jon put his head in his hands and groaned. “I know, I fucking suck,” he moaned. He brushed his hair out of his face and tied it into a bun. “I don’t even know her last name, or how to find her. I don’t even know how to spell her name.”

“I can ask around, see what I can find out. Man, I was sure you had taken her home! Do you have any more details that can help us find her?” Robb grabbed the mug in front of him and took a sip of the black coffee.

“It doesn’t matter, I think she has a boyfriend.”

Robb looked at him questioningly. “What makes you say that? Did you see her with someone?”

“No, it was something her friend said. She said they could sneak me in their home without letting...what was his name? Rhaegar, I think…anyways, without him finding out,” he replied.

“Rhaegar? That does seem weird, but that doesn’t mean it’s her boyfriend. Could be a jealous ex, or a prude roommate. What else do you remember?”

“She said she had a bodyguard. That was really weird. He was waiting outside for her and helped carry her drunk friend back to the car. Part of me believes she might really be a queen,” Jon let out a frustrated sigh. If he ever met a pretty girl, thoughts of her would disappear by the next day, but she was different. Her looks haunted his dreams, and he thought he heard her voice on more than one occasion while waking in between classes. Wherever he looked though, she was nowhere to be found.

Jon looked up from his plate of food to see his brother’s face twisted into concentration. “What?”

“No fucking way,” Robb muttered as he pulled out his phone. Jon knew it was useless to try to get any information from him now. Robb wouldn’t talk until he was sure on his decision, or if he needed advice. From the looks of it, he knew what he was doing.

“Was this her?” Robb asked, thrusting the phone in his hands. Jon grabbed the phone and found pictures of the blonde haired beauty all over the screen.

“Why are there so many pictures of her on Google?”

“You really know nothing Jon. She is Daenerys Targaryen. I can’t believe it. The company said she was taking a year off from school.”

“What company? Why did you make her name sound all fancy?” Jon asked, scrolling through the countless photos of her. There were photos of her in formal wear, with suspected love interests, going to clubs with her friends, leaving the airport in sweats and sunglasses. He felt a pang of sympathy for her at the lack of privacy she had growing up.

“She is Daenerys Targaryen, heiress and partner to Targaryen Empires. One of the top ten businesses on the fortune five hundred list. Her brother is Rhaegar Targaryen, the President of the company. He inherited it from their father when he went mad. She is supposed to help takeover the business when she finishes school.”

“I guess that explains the bodyguard. Once word gets out she’s here, people will go crazy. I’m surprised she blended in this well. The media seems to follow her wherever she goes.” Jon handed back the phone.

“Well thank her brother for that. He has been leaking to the media the different countries she has been visiting on her ‘year off.’ Now we know it’s bull,” Robb answered. “I can’t believe you snagged a Targaryen.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Jon frowned.

“Like what?”

“Like she is some piece of meat. It’s not like that.”

Robb stared at his brother a moment before apologizing. “You’re smitten with her,” Robb teased.

Jon rolled his eyes. “Just help me find her. Without blowing her cover. Maybe ask your friends if they knew a Missandei or Tyrion,” he added, remembering the names of her friends.

Robb agreed and began texting his frat brothers for more information.

Daenerys groaned as she saw her brother’s name flash along the screen on her phone.

“Hello Rhaegar.”

'How is my darling younger sister? Are classes okay?’

“Classes are fine. What's wrong?”

'Straight to the point, just like Viserys taught you. I'm calling because Jorah let it slip you didn’t wear your disguise to the party you went to.’

Daenerys cursed under her breath, making a note to talk to Jorah about the meaning of loyalty. “It was a costume party. No one recognized me. They were too drunk anyways to remember me. I blended in, just like you asked,” she reasoned.

'Dany we made an agreement. If you were going to college away from home, you must wear that wig and keep Jorah close by at all times. No exceptions. You are recognized from your hair. You wanted a normal experience, so you have to make the effort to keep it,’ he reprimanded her.

“Fine, I will wear the brown wig to everything else. But the minute the media catches on to your lies about me travelling, I will burn that wig to ash,” she threatened.

Rhaegar held back a laugh. 'The wig isn't that bad.’

“I disagree. Anything else? I am meeting Tyrion for a tutoring session. Finals are coming up, and I will not fail.”

Rhaegar paused before deciding to continue. 'Jorah also mentioned a boy at the party…’

“And?” she challenged.

'Is he a boyfriend? How much does he know about you.’

“He knows nothing. I just met him at the party. He did not even ask me for my number.”

'You sound disappointed. Did you like this boy?’

“He was interesting,” she admitted. Looking at the clock, she realized she was late to meeting Tyrion, and rushed off the phone with her brother.

Daenerys drove and parked on campus in a record amount of time, and rushed to the library on campus. She glanced at her rose gold watch and saw she was only a few minutes late. The doors to the library automatically opened and she glanced around to find Tyrion waiting in the common area for her.

There were only a handful of people who knew who she really was, and he was one of them. He saw her enter the library and rose to meet her.

“Forgive me for being late, my brother called me. Seems Jorah let him know I didn’t wear this to the party,” she apologized, and gestured to the wig on her head.

“No apologies neccessary. What are we studying today? Politics or history?”

“History. I need to go over the War of the Roses. My professor advised it will be heavily covered on the final.”

“Right then, let’s get started shall we.” Tyrion led the way to the elevators and led the way to a quiet corner on the top floor of the library. The two spent the next few hours going over important names, dates, and battles until it was drilled in her mind permanently.

Daenerys stretched and sighed. She still had to finish a paper for her literature class.

“Need a break? I know an excellent pub with the most amazing honey mead,” he suggested.

She frowned in response. “I have not forgotten how you influenced Missandei drinking at the party. She was completely incapacitated the next day,” she lectured him.

Tyrion laughed in response.

“It’s not funny. I had to take care of her all day!” she reminded him, a small smile gracing her lips.

“Missandei mentioned you met a cute boy at the party. Perhaps you are really mad you had to leave Jon behind.”

“You know him?” she asked.

“Jon Stark. His major is environmental studies, and is on the rugby intramural team. I am also told he has a white husky named Ghost. Many siblings, but only has one brother who attends the college with him. They are roommates in an apartment a few blocks away from campus.”

“How do you know this?” she asked, impressed by his knowledge in not only subjects, but people as well.

“That’s what I do. I drink and I know things. I also know you made quite an impression on him.”

“Really now?”

“Yes really,” a roguish voice came from behind them. Daenerys’ heart skipped a beat at the northern accent she faintly recognized. She turned around to find Jon smirking at her, a backpack slung across his shoulder.

“Jon,” she said, shocked to find him standing there. He looked even more handsome than she remembered. His face had a romantic glow in the firelight, but now in the flourescent lights, she could view the curls of his hair, his strong jaw, and his arm muscles rippling underneath his tight jacket.

“You’re a hard woman to find Daenerys,” Jon told her.

“I’ll leave you two alone. Daenerys, I’ll see you this weekend for our next session.” Tyrion excused himself and left the two to talk and catch up.

“You look different without your cloak,” Daenerys started.

“You look different with that hair. Wasn't your hair blonde?”

A faint blush covered her cheeks as she consciously moved a strand of the brown hair behind her ear.

“You don’t have to explain, I figured it out, Ms. Targaryen. People seem to follow you wherever you go. It is a nice disguise.”

Daenerys stiffened at the sound of her last name. She was worried someone would overhear and then her cover would be blown. She eyed him as he mentioned her name, worried he only found her for her toes to the company. Her fears were unfounded though when he didn’t seem to be interested in her name.

“It was my brother’s idea,” she answered quietly, quickly glancing around to make sure no one else was around.

“Can I sit down?” Jon asked. She nodded in response and motioned her hand to the seat next to her.

“I want to explain that I have no intention of telling your secret to anyone. My brother helped me figure it out. He knew I was interested in finding you again, and he helped me locate Tyrion.”

“You wanted to find me,” she plainly stated, hoping he would elaborate more.

“I was quite fond of you at the party, and I’ve been kicking myself that I didn’t get your number. So I was hoping to find you and ask you out for a date this Friday.”

“Are you going to do it?”

“Do what?”

“Ask me out,” she smiled at him.

Jon smiled sheepishly and asked her, “Would you like to go on a date with me this Friday?’

“I’d love to,” she replied.

The two stayed in the library to talk for a bit longer before Daenerys insisted she had to go home to finish her homework. As Jon was walking Daenerys back to her car, their fingers would graze cautiously, until Jon gathered the courage to grab her hand completely.

He was shocked to feel a spark of heat shoot through him at their first contact. Jon knew she felt it as well from the look she gave him. Neither of them knew the date they would go on would be their last first date, but they both knew this relationship would be the start of something amazing.

Fin

#jonerys secret santa #joneryssecretsanta #jon snow x daenerys targaryen #violet-eyes-silver-hair #first jonerys fic #marissa writes #hope you enjoy it

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