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melodygatesauthor · 2 years ago

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Chapter 1: The Awakening

prof!Steven Grant-Jake Lockley-Marc Spector X f!Reader

Edited by: @welcometostayingawake (she's the real MVP)

Mood Boards - Book Cover - Masterlist

Summary:

Doctor Steven Grant accepted a job as a professor at a prestigious college in New England. While you're on your way to your first history class in your second semester of your junior year, you run into an attractive English man at the coffee shop. The two of you hit it off, and since you're both headed in the same direction upon leaving, you decide to walk together. You're both excited to have met someone you have clear chemistry with right off the bat until...you realize that you both were headed to the same building, and that he's your new history professor.

When you discover that there's even more to this man than meets the eye, things get even more complicated than you could've imagined. Loving one man who's almost twice your age in a place where your relationship is forbidden is hard enough, nevermind three.

Chapter Summary:

It's your first day of class, and you meet a nice guy at the coffee shop on your way in. Too bad when you find out he's just out of reach.

Tags/Summary (these are for the ENTIRE fic):

college AU, no powers/not in MCU/no Khonshu, talk of mental illness, Marc has DID, forbidden relationship, age gap, reader is 21y/o, Boys are 38y/o, reader attends college in America but isn't necessarily American, smut, sex, masturbation, p in v, creampies galore, reader is on birth control, dubious consent due to identity issues, ANGST, romance, fluff and smut, oral sex, falling in love, reader is not race coded.

Word Count: 3.8k

It was the first day of the semester and you were already looking forward to it being over. With the holidays out of the way, you should be feeling refreshed and ready for the second half of your junior year, but when the sun beat through your dorm room and directly into your eyes, in combination with your screeching alarm, you wanted nothing more than to stay in bed. Your roommate was stirring on the other side of the room in her own bed, and you were sure she felt the same.

Coming back from winter break was never easy. You had to get used to a new schedule, and leave behind the laziness of gorging on food and festivities with your family. You picked up your phone and turned off the alarm with a groan before flopping back over on the mattress. It was only 7:15am.

Layla grumbled into her pillow. “I don’t want to go.”

“Yeah, me neither.” You agreed, throwing your blanket off in a huff.

“What class do you have first?”

“History with… Dr. Grant, I think.” You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, he’s the new professor who came over from England I think.” She sighed and got out of bed.

Her dark curls were a mess and bouncing all around her as she walked over to the small mirror in the wardrobe and picked something out of her teeth. You remembered hearing there was a new professor for this history course after the last one got kicked out for having inappropriate relations with a student, but you had forgotten the name of the replacement until now. History wasn’t really your strong suit anyway.

“My parents told me I have to ask him for tutoring.” You said, picking some clothes out of your drawer. “I flunked last year.”

“I remember.” She said with a hair elastic in her teeth while she pulled her curls back into a messy bun.

You got yourself dressed, put a little makeup on and finished getting ready. The air outside was chilly, and you pulled your coat tightly over yourself. You stopped in at Moonbean Coffee to get your usual pick-me-up before your first class. One of the perks of an open campus was the luxury of grabbing a real coffee before spending hours in a lecture.

The line in front of you was fortunately short, only one person stood between you and the barista. You noticed the man in front of you fumbling around in the pockets of his gray jacket. He let out a sound in frustration.

“Bollocks.” He said under his breath, patting himself down. “I think I left my wallet…”

He looked panicked, and you felt bad, having been in that position before. You decided it was time to do your good samaritan act of the day and you pulled your own wallet out of your bag.

“Here.” You reached around the man and handed the woman at the register a bill.

The man turned to you and his lips curled into a big smile. His tired eyes looked you up and down. You took note of his disheveled appearance. He clearly needed his drink as badly as you did.

“Oh! You don’t have to do that, I’m just-erm…I don’t have to have it.” He said, clearly anxious from your kind gesture. You took note of his thick English accent.

You shrugged and smiled at him comfortingly, “I’d die without my morning coffee. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good morning…” the barista said your name.

“Morning, T.” You said as she got started on your usual drink.

The man still stood there to the side. “That really was very kind of you. Very sweet.” He sipped the cup. “Oh bugger.” He cursed. “That’s hot.” A small chuckle escaped him.

You giggled. “Don’t mention it. I’ve been there, done that.”

His gaze lingered on you, lips still curled in a cheeky grin. He gasped when his wrist buzzed. He looked at it quickly.

“Oh, I really have to get goin’. You come here often, yeah?” He asked, looking at you eagerly.

“Y-yeah, I do.” T handed you your coffee as you handed her another bill and told her to keep the change.

Following him to the door, he opened it for you, letting you out first before exiting as well.

“Good, maybe I’ll catch you another time then, I’ll getcha back.” He nodded. “Alright then. Bye!”

“Yeah, sounds good!” You smiled foolishly at him, “bye.” You waved before realizing he was walking the same direction you were going.

He let out a laugh as you kept pace with him. “Well of course we’re walkin’ the same way. That’s not awkward at all.”

You chuckled, “Well, you can make it up to me now then, walking alone can be boring.”

When you saw the way he looked at you, your stomach fluttered. You’d seen that look before. He was interested in you. The man was clearly older than you, but you didn’t care. He was good looking, and judging by his messy curls, gentle gaze and overall demeanor, he was just your type.

“Alright sure, yeah, I can do that.” He said eagerly.

You introduced yourself. “…what’s your name?”

“Oh, name’s Steven, with a V.”

The two of you started walking in the direction of the building your class would be held in.

“So, Steven, clearly you’re not from around here, what brings you to a small college city like this?” You sipped your warm drink while the two of you walked through the chilly September air, not wanting to rush.

“Well, a job, actually.” He sipped from his cup, too, this time not flinching at the temperature.

“Oh, what do you do for work?” You asked, realizing you were approaching the brick building where your class was held all too quickly. You wished it was just a little further so you could get just another moment with Steven.

He stopped in front of the building, as if he knew you were stopping there before you told him your destination.

“I’m a history professor. This is my stop actually! Sorry, not a long walking partner.” His friendly and naive smile was about to fade when he realized the awful irony of the situation you were both in.

It hit you like a truck, “a-are you…Dr. Grant?” You asked, brows stitched together as your heart dropped into your stomach.

It made sense now: the English accent, out of place in a New England college city, the messy hair, the messenger bag and binder of notes that you just then took notice of. It should’ve been obvious from the moment you met him, everything about his appearance screamed ‘college professor’.

For some reason, this felt awkward. It was obvious just in the short time you’d known this man that you both were somewhat attracted to one another. Not that it was serious, of course, but there was an undeniable flirtatious air surrounding the whole encounter. The way he looked at you, and the way you looked at him, sharing timid smiles between promises of coffee, it was plain as day.

Now, he was shifting awkwardly in front of you as you were tapping the paper cup in your hand deep in thought. There was nothing wrong with buying your new professor a cup of coffee when he forgot his wallet, and there was nothing wrong with your new professor walking his student to class. You were both walking the same way anyway.

“Erm…yeah, yup.” You could see him trying to shake off the fog, the fantasy you both had entertained for the two minute walk.

“Well, that’s so ironic.” You tried to push past it, hoping it would help diffuse the new tension. “I’m in your class.”

He nodded despondently, his dark circled eyes looking to the ground to avoid your gaze. He hastily opened the door for you, and you thanked him as you walked in. You were stiff as a board as you made your way inside the classroom. Even though there was really nothing wrong with the interaction you’d had, something felt maddeningly nerve wracking about the whole situation.

You took a seat somewhere in the middle next to someone you remembered seeing around in other classes last semester, but never remembered her name. You hoped Dr. Grant would take you sitting in the middle table as a way of saying, “that whole interaction was totally normal, not awkward at all, see? I’m sitting in the middle instead of all the way in the back corner to avoid you.” You silently hoped the message translated.

You pulled your laptop out of your bag. You opened it and peered over the top. Dr. Grant’s eyes were stuck on you for a second while he shuffled the papers on his desk before he nervously looked away and sat down.

You tried to look at anything other than him, but you couldn’t help stealing glances at him over the top of your screen. He put his laptop on his desk and opened it. You watched him inconspicuously as he put his jacket around the back of his chair and he pulled out a pair of glasses, placing them on his face. They made him look older, but you didn’t think it made him any less attractive. In fact, you liked the way they looked. You quickly shook the thought from your head.

You need to stop this, you’re acting ridiculous, you told yourself.

“Alright, well.” He stood up, let out a deep exhale, and put the glasses back on the table. The final students were trickling in. “I’m Dr. Grant, but you can all call me Steven. Dr. Grant is a bit formal, innit?” He chuckled, but the rest of the class remained silent. “Alright.” He rubbed his hands together nervously.

You felt bad, seeing him clearly trying to connect with the uncaring class. He messed idly with his dark blue tie before patting it down and clearing his throat.

“Well, I won’t start us off with anything too flashy today. It is the first day after all.” He began.

The lecture was a couple of hours, but Dr. Grant made it feel like it was much shorter than that. He was like a completely different person than the anxious man you’d met at the cafe. He was excited, smiling and full of energy while he taught the first lesson. To see someone so passionate about something sparked excitement and admiration inside you, even if the subject itself wasn’t your strong suit.

The amount of times he said, ‘I mean, wow’, was surprising and more than a little endearing. He certainly had a way of making a topic that you weren’t very adept in much more interesting just from his own enthusiasm. As he was wrapping up the lecture, you checked the clock. 10:20am. Your next class wasn’t until 1:00pm, leaving you plenty of time to talk to him about tutoring. Only tutoring, you reminded yourself.

You felt anxious though, standing there after the last student left. You clutched your satchel to your side like your life depended on it. He didn’t notice you at first, because you’d started to walk away with the crowd, trying to decide if you were even going to ask him to tutor you or not, but then you remembered your father’s words. I’m not paying for you to waste your time in school, you already picked a meaningless major, the least you can do is get decent grades.

You stepped up to his desk and cleared your throat. He peered up over his reading glasses and jumped when he saw you.

“Oh, erm, hi, class is dismissed.” He said anxiously, so different from the person speaking with utmost confidence to fifty or more students just a few minutes ago.

“Yeah, I know,” you started, “I know, I just needed to talk to you about something.”

He started getting nervous, you could see sweat beading on his forehead above his strong eyebrows. If someone asked you why you were so anxious about asking your new history professor to tutor you, you’d tell them you had no idea, but deep down you knew it was because the two of you definitely had a weird connection at the coffee shop.

“Oh, is this about…it’s about the coffee, yeah? I really-”

“N-no, Dr. Grant-“

“Steven.” He corrected you.

“S-Steven.” You cleared your throat once again. “No, I’m, uh, I’m not worried about the coffee. I need to ask for tutoring.”

He pressed a hand to his chest in relief, “Oh, heh, right, yeah, ‘course.” A large smile on his face.

He felt the connection, too, you thought, and he’s relieved you didn’t bring it up.

“Well, there’s plenty of other students around who do that, yeah? Maybe go to the library, I think that’s where you sign up for something like that.” You didn’t know what it was about this man that captivated you, but when his eyes locked on to yours you felt your stomach twist in yearning.

“Um…yeah.” You were wearing a faint smile while accepting his rejection. “Yeah, I guess I can try that. They didn’t have anyone last semester, but maybe they will this time. Thanks.”

It was probably for the best that he didn’t tutor you, judging by his reaction, and that’s not even considering if the connection was real and you hadn’t just made it up. You gave him a friendly nod and turned on your heel toward the exit. Just as you were grabbing the door handle, Steven spoke up.

“Wait, hold on.” He said, standing up. You turned to him. “They probably aren’t very good anyway, the students they have tutoring. Why don’t you come by after your last class on Wednesday? Not sure why time you get finished, but I can make something work.”

“M-my last class on Wednesday gets over at like seven.” You explained.

He shrugged, “M’sure my goldfish will be alright if I get home a bit later than usual.”

“Wow, okay, brilliant, yes Dr. G-uh-Steven!” You couldn’t contain your toothy grin as you thanked him profusely and left.

You felt like you were in a trance for the rest of the day. You’d thought that by not having Steven in your direct line of sight you’d be able to move on from the feeling in your gut, but it only festered. He was occupying your mind. The way he laughed, the way he talked, the way he looked at you, it was maddening.

You kept thinking about his messy hair, wondering what it would feel like to run your fingers through it. When he got nervous just from looking at you, straightening his tie, you wondered what it would look like to have him loosening it, maybe unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. His eyes are what really captivated you, he looked exhausted, but they still shined so brightly when he looked at you, before he’d realized that you were his student.

When you got back to your dorm and turned in for the night, you took it upon yourself to look up your college’s specific rules around student and teacher relationships. Even though the last history professor got fired, you were trying to convince yourself now that there had to be a different reason. There just had to be.

There wasn’t a different reason though. The rules were plain as day: student and professor relationships were a no go. No one seemed to care what happened when you graduated, but until then, it was strictly forbidden. There was even talk in some resources you found about the student being expelled since they are, after all, a consenting adult who knew the consequences of their actions.

With that, it was time to lay your growing need to put yourself in Steven’s presence as much as possible to rest. At least, you wanted to. You couldn’t though, while you lay there in the dark, with Layla snoring on the other side of the room. You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked you up and down, his hooded eyes drinking you in, the way he exuded confidence to the class, and then became shy around you immediately after.

Your hand trailed down under your pajama bottoms to your already soaking folds, slick with your desire to know what else Steven was proficient in. You thought about his hands around the coffee cup earlier, how big they looked, veins rippling under the skin when he brought the cup to his lips. You wondered what they felt like, what one of his thick fingers would feel like inside of you. Slipping one of your own fingers inside wasn’t enough, you wanted more, you wanted to feel him.

You wished that you could fit a second finger inside, but it was too tight. You felt hot with need as you pumped in and out of your slick hole, imagining Steven hovering over you. He would tell you how wrong it was to be doing what you were doing as he trailed his hands up your ribcage and to your breasts. Would he moan loudly when he came, or would he be quiet but breathy, pressing his face into the nape of your neck to muffle his sound?

You didn’t know much about sex, not outside of porn that is. You’d done other things before. You’d tried going down on someone, but had a hard time figuring out how to do it right, at least according to the guy you were with. He had tried eating you out, but you found it was either very overrated, or he was really bad at it.

Thinking about those things made you wonder what Dr. Grant’s cock tasted like, or what it felt like. If you couldn’t even fit two fingers, you weren’t sure how you were going to manage to take him. Just thinking about it was making your arousal become unbearable. You needed him, badly, no matter how wrong you knew it was.

You could hardly take it, feeling your orgasm approaching as you fingered yourself to thoughts of your history professor. You decided you didn’t really care what he sounded like when he came, you just ached to hear him. It almost hurt how hard you bit your lip when your cunt clamped in waves over your lone digit. Your breathing was heavy, and when you felt clarity once more, you fell back onto your pillow. You had to let it go, you had to get over him somehow.

But Steven had to get over you, too.

When he got home that night after a long day of classes, he found himself standing in front of his mirror. It had been so long since he’d heard their voices. At least a couple of months. They said they wouldn’t come back, they said they would stay in the headspace, and that they wouldn’t say a word. They hadn’t said anything specific yet, but he could hear them becoming more active since that morning.

That wasn’t the only thing bothering him, the thought of you danced in his mind. You were there, causing his heart to race; causing him to feel a pang of guilt that was vastly outweighed by the arousal building behind his zipper. He had been fighting the pressure all day, fighting the heady thoughts. Steven liked to think he was mentally stronger than the primal desires that came with sex, but just seeing you in that coffee shop that morning, and the way you looked at him, it kept playing in his head over and over again like a movie.

It got to a point that he couldn’t bear the ache any longer. He took off his pants and boxer-briefs, freeing his weeping erection. He crawled into bed, not even bothering to remove his jacket or shirt, as he was too eager. Nothing had inspired him to relieve himself like this in a long, long time. He crawled into bed and laid down on his back, taking his cock into his closed fist.

Dry…s’dry, need some…

He leaned up, spitting a glob of saliva into his palm before going back to work on himself. He gripped his length, sliding over it with his fist much easier now, tossing his head back as he reached the tip. He ran his hand through his curls to get them out of his face, looking down at his cock while he thrust upward into his fingers.

“F-fu…” He said, trembling slightly.

He kept thinking about you, your hair, your sweet lips, the way you giggled when he burned himself on his hot coffee that morning. He whined, reaching down to grab the sheet at his side. He exhaled sharply, continuing to glide into his palm smoothly, increasing speed as he got even closer. The way your face lit up when he agreed to tutor you was etched into his memory.

So young, though…he thought, too young…

It didn’t stop him from bringing his hand back to his mouth, adding more saliva to continue jerking his length. He was putting his hips into it now, imagining what it would be like to have you, just for a second he let himself go there in his mind. He thought about having you on top of him, legs on either side of his hips. You, lowering yourself over his cock, taking him all the way to the hilt. Another whine escaped him. You were so pretty, he imagined looking up at you, maybe you’d bite your lip and throw your head back with a moan. Maybe you’d grab your breast, pinching the nipple, maybe you’d tell him how good he felt inside of you. That’s all it took. He filled the apartment with his moans as he coated his fingers and abdomen in hot sticky cum.

Steven’s brain was empty, other than thoughts of you that still plagued him. He’d hoped that by doing this, it would help him let it go, but now he wished you were there for different reasons. You were so bubbly and full of energy. He wanted to talk to you, he wanted to learn more about you, get to know what else makes you laugh.

With a heavy sigh, Steven slid off the bed, careful to keep his cum coated fingers from touching anything. He turned on the light in the bathroom and started rinsing his hands in the sink, finishing and grabbing a towel. When he started drying his hands, his eyes looked up into the mirror again.

His heart stopped. He waved at himself, checking to make sure his reflection kept up. They said they weren’t coming back…

Next Chapter

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TAGLIST (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @my-secret-shame, @thatmomwitchfriend, @alexxavicry, @welcometostayingawake, @jake-g-lockley, @campingwiththecharmings, @steven-grants-world, @lia275, @minigirl87, @ahookedheroespureheart, @ninebluehearts, @outmodead, @sleepyamaya, @pimosworld, @ababynova, @flordelalunas, @360iris, @momo-mochiball, @missdragon-1

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changingplumbob · 3 months ago

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Glenn: Well goodbye BooBoo. I need to go find Marisol. I think Elise said she was by the river?

BooBoo: *meows*

Putting his hands in his pockets Glenn heads away from the buildings towards the river. He can feel going through the protective barriers, like walking through mist. There are no spells he has to say to get out. The protection is about stopping things getting in. So far, it's worked. Some townsfolk walk beyond the edges of the property but always turn or stop before walking in. Glenn feels a bit guilty that less people can experience the beauty of the park but if they were discovered here there could be backlash. Not everyone was friendly towards occults even if the humans had begun to tolerate them.

As he approached where the river ran south of the property he saw a bundle of yellow and blue. Walking over he saw another spellcaster covering her dog with kisses.

Glenn: I'm not interrupting am I

Marisol: Not at all, I was just calming Sandy down after her bath

Glenn: She just had a bath? She looks dry

Marisol: Well I always move all the water off afterwards don't I

Sandy: *barks in agreement*

Marisol: Do you need help with something?

Glenn: Oh, no, I just... I've met everyone else in the coven and figured it was only polite to introduce myself

Marisol: A man with manners? Sandy approves

Sandy: *barks*

Marisol: It's Glenn right? Howard's grandson?

Glenn: That's me

Glenn bends down to say hello to Sandy while Marisol shifts awkwardly.

Marisol: I'm sorry you didn't get your guy

Glenn: Well if you listen to Ophelia he was never meant to be mine

Marisol: I listen to her most of the time. Sometimes she seems brilliant and other times...

Glenn: She's a few marbles short?

Marisol: Yes! All the best people are of course but it does make it hard to maintain a conversation now and then

Glenn: Why are you all the way out here? I thought everyone was busy studying stuff

Marisol: The coven isn't an institution. We don't stick to a set schedule of chaining ourselves to desks

Glenn: Sorry. I didn't mean to sound disapproving

Marisol: I know, I'm just antsy

Glenn: Oh?

Marisol sighed wistfully and turned to face the buildings. The pair were able to see them of course but no one else could.

Marisol: I've found I'm not good with change. We were at the last location for a long time. It feels like we've only been here for a heartbeat, it's still so new and unfamiliar

Sandy: *whines*

Marisol: I know the magic realm is only ever a step away but... it's different when your home base changes

Glenn: You don't consider leaving

Marisol: And what? Going backwards just me and Sandy?

Glenn: If you're not happy here-

Marisol: I will be. I can feel it. It's the change that's a difficulty. How about you, do you consider leaving?

Glenn: I don't know

Marisol: Sure you do. The idea has either entered your brain or it hasn't

Sandy: *barks in agreement*

Glenn: I guess... I guess there's just a lot of the world out there that seems interesting but it's still dangerous

Marisol: Some places are better than others for our kind

Glenn: I guess I just want a nice spot to grow a garden... and fall in love... and raise a family. Why did I just tell you that?

Marisol: *chuckles* It's Sandy, she puts everyone at ease

Glenn: Maybe I should get a dog

Sandy: *barks approvingly*

Glenn: Then again it's enough of a task keeping me looking gorgeous

Marisol: Don't worry if you feel out of place Glenn, it's a feeling I'm familiar with and will either pass or you'll move on

Glenn: Like die?

Marisol: *giggling* No, like move elsewhere. Willow Creek is not the only place in the world with dirt and plants I bet

Glenn: I know. My grandfather thinks I should stay for a bit though. I've never really done much focusing of my magic beyond gardening so it could be useful to learn some more. No point having a family if I can't protect them

Marisol: Hunting has been outlawed you know

Glenn: Yeah but society can take time to. Growing up... we moved so much. Hunting was illegal then to but it didn't stop irate townsfolk accusing us of stealing their livestock or killing their plants

Marisol: *scoffs* Like a Sutherland would ever kill a plant

Glenn: That's what grandfather told them! Still, small minds have small ideas

Previous ... Next

#sims 4 #the sims #simblr #my sims #ts4 #active simblr #GWG #GlennSutherland #MarisolMichaels

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crimson-mage-02 · 6 months ago

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Ultraman Rising

To The Stars and Beyond

Chapter 1: Bitter Reunion

Summary: Ken Sato has come back to Japan from LA to assume the role of Ultraman. While fulfilling his responsibilities as Ultraman, he has taken in a baby kaiju he discovered when Gigantron escaped from the KDF. Unexpectedly, he encounters his childhood friend and crush, Mireya Sayuri, an aspiring artist and photographer. However, their friendship is strained. Will their bond be reignited, or will it develop into something more?

A/N: Posting this again on Tumblr! This is my very first Ultraman Rising fanfic, I do hope that you will all like it as much as I do! After watching Ultraman Rising on Netflix, I became obsessed with Ken Sato and I just got started to write my own fanfic!

Anyway, enough of me babbling, please do enjoy reading my fic! There will be more chapters coming up soon! Hope you'll enjoy this fanfic as much as I do!

He was exhausted from looking after the baby. He was tired! Baseball, practice, watching over her, and making sure she gets fed. She does everything a human baby does! They never stop! He sighed deeply as he walked out of the elevator. A small smile crept onto his face as he discovered her peacefully sleeping in the basement. He took a sip of his coffee after a moment. Ken looked at the time from his watch and saw it was only 7 pm.

Ken pondered his options while the baby was asleep soundly. “Ken, if you want, I can watch over her, and you have some time for yourself.” Mina offered.

His eyes widened slightly and turned to the smooth orb beside him. “You sure, Mina? I don’t mind staying a bit longer.”

“I am sure. Go have some time for yourself.” Mina replied.

Ken pondered over the thought and glanced at the baby before sipping more of his coffee. A break wouldn’t be so bad. He shrugged. “Well, uh, I guess I would have some me time then. If something does happen, ping me.”

“Of course.” Mina nodded before turning her full attention to Emi.

After an hour of preparation, Ken rode his motorcycle around. He longed for Japan - the lights, the scenery, the food, everything. He cherished it. It was also where he met his first friend. He often pondered about her whereabouts and well-being. He parked his motorcycle in front of a museum.

Ken took off his helmet and entered wearing a baseball cap. He preferred not to attract attention when out. While he enjoyed his fans, sometimes it became overwhelming. He sought out places with fewer crowds. He strolled through the museum displays before heading to the art section. Ken grinned at the memory of accidentally spilling paint on his best friend, who then retaliated by splattering some on his face. He noticed photographers capturing a painting.

He stepped aside, allowing others to view the painting. Ken tilted his head to get a better look. His smile widened upon seeing a painting of a traditional Japanese temple surrounded by cherry blossoms at night.

Turning to the side, he noticed a lone woman gazing at a painting of the night sky with comets streaking across. He stood quietly beside her, appreciating the artwork in silence.

In the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar woven keychain on a purse and caught a glimpse of her face before she turned away to look at another painting on the wall. Ken reached out but hesitated, not wanting to draw attention from the other people inside. He clenched his fists in his pocket. Kenji walked around the bench and lowered his head. He wasn’t sure whether he should talk to her after everything he had said during their childhood. Her name was Mireya Sayuri. She was his first friend in Japan, and she never judged him for who he was. And he never judged her for who she was.

He once saved her from bullies who were mocking her for looking different. Kenji defended her from all the bullies, and they became the closest of friends. They used to play together constantly. Even their mother’s scheduled playdates before he moved to LA. One day, he felt remorse for hurting her feelings and never had the opportunity to ask for her forgiveness.

Ken managed to sneak through the crowd, deciding it wasn't worth approaching her. He observed her heading towards the painting of the temple he had seen earlier and then noticed the signature in the corner. She had fulfilled her dream of becoming a painter. He smiled proudly and admired the painting once more. This was her night, her special event. Ken turned around and unintentionally collided with a server, his eyes widening as the drinks spilled on Mireya's dress, ruining her special night.

All of the guests gasped in shock and the security guard came to her aid. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry!” Ken immediately apologised.

He heard her softly sigh before their eyes finally locked. He found himself captivated by her brown eyes. He was about to say something, but she glared at him. “So, you came here to ruin this event because you heard I was here?”

Ken frowned, taken aback by her fearless demeanour and then scoffed. “W-What? No!”

Mireya rolled her eyes and left even before he even attempted to apologise. He groaned lightly. “Dang it! Mireya! Reya, wait––“

“Sato-san! Can you please sign my autograph?”

“Could we please take a photo together?”

Ken found himself surrounded by fans and guests inside the museum. Just as he longed for some peace, he also looked forward to reuniting with his childhood friend, who had grown into a successful and talented artist. It was shaping up to be a long night for him, and he yearned to return home, away from the bustling crowd.

Hours later after returning home, he looked through the albums that his mom put together. Ken chuckled when he saw a photo of him and Mireya playing at the beach, playing baseball with his dad. He brushed his fingers against the photograph with a wave of nostalgia.

“Hey, Mina?”

“Yes, Ken?”

Ken closed the album and set it on the floor next to him. “Did––Did you know Mireya had to move?”

“I am sorry, Ken. But I didn’t know that she moved away.” Mina replied.

Ken sighed softly and rubbed his eyes, stood up to his feet and rested his hands on his hips. “Ugh, I ruined her special night and now, she won’t talk or look at me now.”

“Perhaps, you should talk to her again and apologise to her,” Mina suggested.

Ken scoffed softly, shaking his head. “No, after tonight, she might not want to talk to me at all. Besides, she has her own life and I have my own.”

(~)

Ken winced in pain and massaged his shoulder. His game today was not going very well. He could barely keep his eyes open and couldn’t catch the ball. He was still exhausted after watching over the baby kaiju in the containment unit.

Right now, he could use a nice and cold bath to––“WHOA!” Ken stopped his bike when he saw Mireya right in front of his house and he was gonna crash into her if he didn’t stop in time. “What the hell, Reya?!”

“Don’t call me Reya.” Mireya crossed her arms.

Ken sighed sharply before taking off his helmet and running his hand through his hair. He chuckled nervously. “Hi.” He sat on his motorcycle in silence before he glanced at his house. “Do you...I don’t know, want some curry? I could cook. Just like the way our moms cooked––“

“I came here to give you all these,” Mireya said interrupting him and grabbing a box filled with his old childhood toys and books.

Ken frowned. “What? Wait, Rey––Mireya! Please, look I am sorry about the other night. I-I didn’t know that you were back in Japan. I-I missed you.”

“Missed me? After everything you’ve said?” Mireya asked, clearly hurt by what he had done. “You said you wouldn’t be friends with someone like me. Well, after seeing you on TV, I would not be friends with a cocky, selfish, ignorant, hot-tempered and egotistical man like you.”

Ken scowled, overwhelmed with anger and frustration before releasing it all. “Well, I wouldn’t like to be friends with someone who left without saying a word and abandoned me! You didn’t even bother to tell me, your only best friend, what was going on! Maybe you were just too afraid to even say it to my face!”

Silence and tension filled the air as his eyes widened in shock and dread of what he had said. Mireya gasped in shock at his words, which only served to worsen the situation. Ken's shoulders tensed; his eyes filled with guilt looking into Mireya’s brown eyes. “Reya, oh my god, I––“

Before he could apologise, he was slapped by Mireya in the face hard. He looked back at her as she breathed heavily and walked back to her car. Ken watched her drive away in her car before he let out a frustrated yell and kicked the ground in anger. Could his life get any worse?!

Later, following his brief interaction with Mireya, he released some tension by practising baseball swings in the basement. The confrontation during today's game and their argument only fuelled his emotions further. Ken shouted out and swung his bat until the virtual simulation vanished, leaving him facing the infant's and Mina's worried gazes.

He breathed heavily and steadily, then closed his eyes to calm himself down. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“It is alright, Ken. I understand that your reunion with your childhood friend wasn’t all that you hoped for.” Mina said.

Ken shook his head. “It’s fine, Mina. It was my fault. All I do is make her even more mad at me. She’s different now, Mina. She was shy when I met her. Now she’s feisty, stubborn and well, hard-headed.”

“And so, did you like her back then?” Mina wondered.

Ken sat back down on the couch before looking back at Mina. He opened his mouth to answer her but didn’t get the words out. He sighed softly and buried his face in his hands. He remembered he had a crush on her. Okay, a huge crush on her. And looking at her now, god, she looked even more beautiful. Talented and feisty.

Ken leaned back on the couch and nodded. “I...I did. But that’s in the past, cause we’re not friends anymore after our big fight from earlier. I am Ken Sato, a famous baseball player. I don’t need her or talk to her anymore.”

(~)

The next morning, he fed the baby kaiju before he went for his photoshoot with his team. He needed to look good but still felt very sore after doing his Ultraman duties that he never wanted to do but he was asked by his mom to take up the mantle after his dad retired and got himself hurt. He walked through the hallways before his eyes widened when he saw Mireya was with the photography crew.

Why today of all days?! He sighed steadily and nodded to himself. He’s got this. He can do this. Ken approached the photography crew and greeted them politely before his eyes landed on Mireya who had a neutral expression.

All day he had tried to talk to her but she wouldn’t go anywhere near her. So, that goes to show that she doesn’t want to talk with him. Maybe it was for the best. Ken was in the locker room, taking a break and heard his teammates speaking among themselves and crowded the door.

He raised an eyebrow at them. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Miss Sayuri is in the hallway, check it out. She looks hot!” exclaimed one of his teammates chuckling softly.

Ken tightened his jaw and gazed down the hallways, where Mireya was engaged in conversation with the other photographers and crew members. He noted her outfit and watched as she sorted through some photographs. He could see her dedication to her work and couldn't help but smile to himself at how much she had matured and...become more beautiful. Wait, was he really thinking that? He let out a soft groan and shifted his attention to his teammates, who were also watching her.

“So, you think she has a boyfriend or what?”

“She’s not married either. I see no ring.”

Ken couldn't explain why he felt protective of her. He disliked how other men in the hallways stared at her as if she were a prize. However, he couldn't intervene. He and she were not on speaking terms and were unlikely to become friends again.

“Alright, you lot. Get ready for your photos. Sato, you are with Miss Sayuri.” Coach Shimura announced before instructing the other players to go into separate rooms to go on with their photoshoots.

Kenji turned to Mireya who also looked shocked that she would be the one to handle his photos. He could hear his teammates groaning and muttering in disappointment. He could feel his heart beating rapidly but he shook it off before putting a smirk on his face.

“Hey...looks like we’ll be paired off for the photos.” Ken winked at her. “Looks like we’re stuck together.”

Mireya rolled her eyes. “Mr Sato, if you could follow me please.”

Ken kept quiet and followed her to one of the private rooms. He saw all types of equipment in the room and then saw her laptop filled with photos of the Giants, Coach Shimura and him warming up in the field.

“Wow, these look good.” Ken complimented.

Silence filled the room and he glanced over his shoulder before sighing softly and taking off his helmet. “Mireya. Look, I want to apologise for what I’ve said. It was...uncalled for and I shouldn’t have said it. I was so angry at myself and I...” He sighed sharply. “I’m trying here.”

He saw her turning around with her hand on her hip and leaning against the table behind her. “And I should be apologising for slapping you in the face.”

Ken chuckled softly and waved it off. “Well, I do deserve that slap, though. That was a really good one, I should say.”

Mireya chuckled and bit her lips. “You have changed, have you?”

“Changed?” Ken playfully placed his hand over his chest. “Baby girl, I haven’t changed a single bit. I’m still the same Kenji you knew. But as a famous baseball player, that is.”

Ken heard her chuckling softly and saw her rolling her eyes before he was handed a baseball bat. He stared down into her eyes and realised how much he had grown a bit taller than she was now. He could see her brown eyes clearly and the world just stopped when they stood close to one another.

Mireya cleared her throat. “Um, just stand in front of the paper and we’ll get started.”

“Y-Yeah. I’ll do that.” Kenji nodded and stood in front of the sheets. “So, should I pose or...?”

“Whenever you are ready,” Mireya replied, grabbing her camera.

Ken nodded and posed with the bat resting on the back of his neck. His feet were apart, and he smiled while winking at her. He could tell she enjoyed seeing his confidence. She snapped photos continuously while Kenji switched to another position, holding the bat as if he were about to hit the ball.

After a few minutes, the photo session concluded, and Ken examined the photos with a smirk. “Wow, these are amazing!”

“Thank you, Mr Sato.” Mireya smiled softly.

“Reya, come on, no need for formalities when we do know each other.” Ken grinned at her.

Mireya shook her head with amusement. “You are one to never give up and like to challenge.”

Ken shrugged with a smirk on his face. “You know me too well, Reya. Now, what are you going to do with these?”

“They’ll be printed for the magazine. Later on, we’ll do a group photo with your teammates and Coach Shimura out in the field.” Mireya explained as she cleared up the table until her notebook fell on the floor.

Kenji and Mireya both bent down to grab the book and had their hands touching one another. He looked up at her and saw her looking down at their hands before gazing at him. He didn’t realise how close their faces were. He gulped softly and gazed at her lips, slowly leaning in before he heard a knock on the door.

“Mire? Are you about finished? Everyone is getting ready for the photoshoot in the field.”

“Um, yes we are!” Mireya answered and stood up while rubbing her hands together nervously.

Kenji stood up and passed her notebook back to her gently. “Here.”

“Thank you.” Mireya grabbed her notebook back before putting it back in her bag.

(~)

Later after practice and the photoshoot, Ken waited near the entrance on his motorbike and saw Mireya coming out with her co-workers. He put his hands in his pockets and approached her. “Hey, good work out there.”

“And you too, Mr––Ken.” Mireya chuckled nervously.

“Ah, see you remember to call me by my name. I’m touched.” Kenji playfully smirked at him.

Mireya rolled her eyes yet again before crossing her arms again. “What do you need Ken? The photoshoot is over. You are free to go home.”

“Well, I thought, maybe I don’t know, go to Tonkatsu Tonki, the same place we used to go with our moms. It’s my treat.” Kenji offered. He hoped to talk more and wanted to ease the tension between them.

“Oh, uh, I already made plans with my friends. I’m sorry.” Mireya apologised, pushing back her hair behind her ear.

Ken nodded in understanding and waved it off. “Nah, it’s okay, I understand. Figured you would spend your time with your friends.”

Then he saw a taller man walking up to Mireya and frowned at him, felt a pang of jealousy coursing through his veins and turned to his childhood best friend. “I’m sorry who are you?”

“Oh, I am Daisuke. One of Mireya’s assistants. I heard about you, Ken Sato.” Daisuke introduced himself.

Ken reluctantly shook his hand before turning towards Mireya who smiled awkwardly. He could tell she was uncomfortable and tried to move away from Daisuke’s grasp. He clenched his fists in his pocket and turned to Daisuke. “You heard of me?”

“Yeah, also, great game out there. It’s a shame no one can see the great Ken Sato continue his game when that monster appeared.” Daisuke chuckled.

“Heck, yeah, it was a great game until the kaiju interrupted it.” Ken remained composed, resisting the urge to confront or physically harm him for causing Mireya distress. “So, you and Mireya are friends?”

“Friends?” Daisuke scoffed. “She and I go way back. The two of us will catch up, won’t we darling?”

Ken glanced at Mireya, who gazed into his eyes as if silently seeking help. He became entranced by her eyes before Daisuke approached her, attempting to kiss her with a smirk. That was the last straw. Ken was about to punch Daisuke until he witnessed Mireya kneeing Daisuke in the groin.

“Oh....why?” Daisuke whined bending down, holding his crotch in pain.

Ken’s eyes widened and a smirk grew on his face. He was impressed by this change and he was proud that Mireya stood up for herself against the guy. In the corner of his eye, he saw Mireya’s friends coming to join in kicking his ass.

Once Daisuke was gone, Mireya let out a sigh of relief and he turned towards her, placing a hand on her shoulder gently. “You okay?”

Mireya nodded slowly. “I will be.”

Kenji watched Mireya’s friends scare Daisuke off. He sighed and turned towards her. “Let me take you home.”

“Oh, no it’s fine.” Mireya shook her head.

Kenji frowned and crossed his arms. “Seriously. It’s the least I could do.”

“I hope you are aware that I can look after myself.” Mireya mirrored his stance with her arms crossed.

Ken grinned, appreciating her sass and determination. He knew that she would be stubborn to ask for help. He chuckled and shook his head in amusement before stepping closer to her, just a few feet apart. “Well, I do not like you walking home alone.”

Mireya huffed and turned to her friends who silently encouraged her to go with him. He smirked before chuckling softly. “Your friends seem to agree with me.”

She rolled her eyes and ran her hand through her long hair. She couldn’t believe what was happening right now. “Fine! Fine! I’ll go with you. Only to get you to get off my back.”

Ken smirked triumphantly before grabbing a spare helmet from his motorcycle. It was a small white helmet and showed it to her. “Here...A spare helmet so your pretty head won’t get injured.”

She grabbed the helmet from his hand, and he chuckled in amusement. Ken donned his helmet and mounted his bike with her behind him. “Okay, hold on.”

“To what?” Mireya raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t you trust me, baby girl?” Ken winked at her, teasing her.

The response he got from Mireya was a slap on his head. He let out a breathy chuckle and revved up his bike. “Just wrap your arms around my waist. And I promise I won’t let you fall, baby girl.”

“Don’t call me, baby girl.” Mireya huffed, wrapping her arms around his waist.

The strength in her arms almost made him lose his balance on the motorcycle. He was unsure why his heart was racing. He released a calm breath. Ken focused on safely taking her home. “You might wanna hold on and navigate me where your house is, okay?”

Ken drove through downtown and returned Mireya to her home. He parked his motorcycle in front of her house, removed his helmet, and then turned to assist her in dismounting. “Nice digs.”

“Says the guy you live in a mansion across Tokyo Bay.” Mireya took off the spare helmet and ran her hand through her hair.

Ken chuckled and raised his hands in surrender. He did own a house overlooking Tokyo Bay, appreciating its tranquillity. It was preferable to his residence in LA. He glanced towards Mireya's house and whistled. “Your house has style. I like it.”

Mireya chuckled softly and crossed her arms before sighing softly, looking up at her house with a soft smile. “Yeah, it is nice.”

Ken smiled and strummed his fingers on his helmet. He rubbed his neck. “So, uh, yeah, great work. For the photoshoot, I mean. Guess, I’ll see you again?”

“And have your face be the first thing I would ever see? How lovely.” Mireya said sarcastically before walking inside her house.

Ken chuckled with a grin on his face. “Baby girl, you do love to destroy my ego, don’t you?”

He saw her turning around with her hand on her hip. Ken smirked at her and leaned forward on his motorcycle. He enjoyed riling her up like this. This type of banter reminded him of their childhood and he missed her. He missed being with her and wanted to rekindle their friendship.

“What I do enjoy is not seeing your face all the time and not having you flirt with me.” Mireya mirrored his smirk.

Ken chuckled and shook his head. He relished the banter they shared and admired her newfound sassiness. Once a timid girl, she had blossomed into a bold and self-assured woman. He was also proud that she had come so far in pursuing her dreams. He knew she was a talented woman. “Well, I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Reya.”

#my fanfic #my fanfiction #ultraman #ultraman rising #ken sato #kenji sato #ultraman emi #Ultraman Rising Ken Sato x Original Character #Ultraman Rising ken sato x oc

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abromelon34105 · 6 months ago

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Snippet from Chapter 5 of my ADA!Chūya, featuring…RANPO!!!

The collar has been the only thing on my mind today. I did try it on, and was shocked to discover that it fit perfectly, just how I like it - a little tight to remind myself of its presence but not enough to restrict movement or breathing. I currently have it shoved into the box of other items of that nature and I hope I never have to think about it again. If he’s sent a collar, I’m worried about what else he could send.

Thankfully, Kunikida doesn’t bother me about how distracted I am today. Perhaps Fukuzawa talked to him and said I’m working through things or something. I don’t know. I’m just thankful. I don’t want to deal with Kunikida bothering the living shit out of me today.

I suppose it also helps that I’m accompanying Atsushi and Ranpo today. Usually, Ranpo only needs just one other detective with him, but it’s Atsushi’s first time with him. So I’m mainly here to help him learn how to navigate and deal with Ranpo’s moods and quirks.

As usual, Ranpo gets all turned around and stuck all over the train station. I have to drag both him and Atsushi to our correct train because they keep getting lost. I can tell Atsushi is shocked that Ranpo actually doesn’t know the first thing about the train station, but it’s really not a big deal once you get to know the man.

After a small nudge in the right direction and a quick run down of the landmarks, Ranpo heads off in the direction towards the murder scene. Atsushi blinks and looks at me, but I shrug and follow Ranpo, letting Atsushi follow behind me.

“You know you’re late, agents,” the police detective says with his arms crossed as he glares at the three of us. Atsushi ducks behind me and Ranpo for whatever reason, but Ranpo either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “Now hold on, who are you?” Ranpo says with his hands on his hips as he faces the general direction of the officer. I can hear the hesitancy in his voice, and I know that the sudden change in officers has left him shaken. This one doesn’t know him and most likely won’t take him seriously. “Where’s Yasui-san?”

“I’m Minoura,” the detective says as he pulls out his badge from his coat’s inner pocket. “I took over from Yasui-san. This case has been reassigned to our division. So we no longer need you or your agency.”

Here we go, I think with an eye roll as Ranpo starts going off. “That’s ridiculous! Every difficult case should be overseen by a master detective, like me!”

“We don’t need private investigators on this,” Minoura said blankly. “Because the victim was a cop who worked for me.” Ranpo just faces Minoura with a slightly angry expression as Atsushi stays behind him, looking between him and me, as if asking if he’s supposed to do something in this situation. I shake my head a little, patting his shoulder.

“Prove it,” Ranpo says sternly and Minoura sighs before turning around and heading towards the covered body. He kneels down and removes the cover for the three of us to get a good look.

The front of the victim’s shirt is stained dark red, the stains in a pattern that shows three separate shots fired off. I glance over at Ranpo, who’s looking at the victim with an impassive face before sighing. “The victim’s a lady,” he says and Atsushi stiffens beside me. I place a hand on his arm, trying to signal him to calm down. There’s a reason for the statement.

“Yes, sir,” one of the on-duty officers says as he looks at Ranpo. “Her body was found floating in the river this morning.”

“She was shot three times in the chest,” Minoura says, kneeling beside the victim. “We don’t know where or when she was killed. We haven’t found the bullets either.”

“Any suspects?” Ranpo asks, fiddling with his hat. “Not yet. As far as anyone at the office knew, she wasn’t in a relationship, so we doubt it was a jealous lover.”

“Very interesting. So that means you don’t have any leads.” Ranpo sounds so smug as he puts his hat back on and Minoura narrows his eyes as he side eyes the short detective, starting to look more pissed off by the minute. He turns away and stands as he starts to speak. “That’s all the more reason why we can’t let an amateur private eye handle this.”

“Amateur?” I ask as I raise my eyebrow at Minoura. “Who said anything about us being amateurs?”

“Um, I-” Atsushi starts but I shush him and keep my attention on Minoura. He narrows his eyes at me, his expression just as cold. “It doesn’t matter if you’ve been doing this job for years. You aren’t properly trained on cases like these and I don’t need you messing anything up.”

“Properly trained?” I ask, my voice raising a little bit, even as I fight to control it. “Just because we didn’t go to police academies doesn’t mean that we can’t do it just as well, if not better than you and anyone else here! If you had just let Ranpo do his job, this case would be solved already!”

“There’s no way he would have solved it this quickly,” Minoura snaps back at me, stepping forward and getting in my face. Or…his chest in my face. I have to look up to actually make eye contact with him. “The only person who would be able to do that is the killer, so unless you mean to say that your friend here is the killer, I suggest you stop putting your foot where your mouth is!”

“I’m putting my foot where my mouth is?! You’re the one who’s assuming we’re amateurs! Ranpo’s been doing this job for over a decade at this point, so go and take your accusations somewhere else!”

“Wait, really?” Atsushi asks Ranpo beside me and he nods, making a quiet sound of agreement. “Yeah, twelve years now. Impressive, I know.”

“...How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-six.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, I don’t look it, I know.”

“You don’t act like it either,” Atsushi mutters under his breath and I reach back and lightly smack his arm to get him to shut up. He frowns at me but gets the message anyway.

“We don’t need private eyes on this,” Minoura repeats as he takes a step back from me. “Everyone on my team is better than any private detective out there. Including you bums.”

“Oh!” Ranpo gets that smile that means he has an idea brewing and quickly turns around, pointing at the officer that had spoken up earlier about the victim herself. “Tell me officer, what’s your name?”

“Wh-What?!” he exclaims, clearly unsure of what exactly is happening. “I am Sergeant Sugimoto, sir! The victim, Miss Yamagiwa, was my superior officer on the force!”

“Alright, Sugimoto-san,” Ranpo says as he walks towards Sugimoto, placing his hand on the officer’s shoulder. “Here’s your chance. Solve this case in sixty seconds. Ready, set, go.” He says this all in a rush, with barely a breath between sentences. But not a crazed rush. Smooth, calculated. Ranpo scares me sometimes.

Sugimoto panics and takes a step back, but Ranpo leans forward, keeping the distance the same between them. “I can solve this thing in under a minute,” he whispers to Sugimoto before turning his head a little. “If you’re as good as he says you are, you should be able to do that too.”

It takes me a second to realize he’s turned to face Minoura as he says that. Minoura notices as well and just stares at Ranpo, his arms crossed for a moment. He doesn’t say anything, so Ranpo keeps going. “Okay, it’s showtime!” He turns back to Sugimoto. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Now Sugimoto is full-blown panicking, stammering and making absolutely no sense as he tries speaking. I can barely hear him say something about sixty seconds being impossible.

“Tick tock, fifty seconds left,” Ranpo says with a smug little smile as he holds a pocket watch. I don’t even question where he got it from anymore. The pockets of the autism creature are a magnificent thing. Sugimoto freaks out some more, and Ranpo is clearly taking too much joy in the entire situation. “I hope that’s not what I look like when I’m under too much pressure,” Atsushi mutters to himself and I snort, remembering how he panicked when we told him about the tiger.

“Hold on,” Sugimoto says after a bit, seeming to have calmed down enough to think and talk, “I know Yamagiawa-sama was pursuing a political corruption case and also running an investigation on the Port Mafia. The murderer’s MO is similar to the Mafia’s when they want retribution. Maybe the Mafia did it! Because they knew she was getting too close-”

“No,” I say quietly as I stare at the ground and everyone turns to me. “The Port Mafia’s retaliation methods are quite specific. They have a signature that’s as unique to them as a fingerprint.

“First, the traitor is forced to the ground and made to bite the curb. Then, they stomp on his head to shatter his jaw. Finally, they flip him over and shoot him in the chest. Three times.” I can still hear the gunshots from each of those many killings I myself had to carry out. They’re overlapping until they are essentially just one set of shots with countless victims. I know this is the fate that awaits me if anyone in the Mafia catches me in an “official” capacity. I’m lucky I managed to come face-to-face with Dazai and not have my head smashed in when I did.

“I guess if we’re being precise, then technically yes, but still,” Sugimoto says as he stares at me with a slightly confused look on his face. I continue before he can say much more. “So this MO was similar to the Mafia’s but not exactly the same. That means-”

“The killer was attempting a cover-up?” Minoura cuts in, and I let him have it. No use getting into an argument over something like that. I glance back at Sugimoto, and his confusion has changed into something else. “Shooting two extra rounds to make it look like a Mafia hit…How cruel…”

Ranpo suddenly makes a sound imitating a buzzer right behind Sugimoto, scaring the living daylights out of him. “Nice try, Sergeant,” he says as he pats Sugimoto’s shoulder. “But you’ve got a ways to go before your ‘case solving skills’ match mine~! But don’t feel bad, you’ve been useful! You’ve helped us prove that Minoura-san’s best detectives are inferior to me!”

“Cut the crap,” Minoura says as he glares at Ranpo, who is still smirking. “I’m tired of all your jabber. You can’t crack hard cases with just deduction. You’ve been reading too many crime novels. Cases like this are solved through investigation. Interviewing persons of interest, and closely analyzing the crime scene.”

“Huuuh?” Ranpo asks as he turns to Minoura, taking a few steps towards him. “You’ve got a pretty thick skull. Great detectives don’t do investigations. My ability, Ultra-Deduction, can instantly identify the killer. I can also figure out when and how the murder was committed. But wait, there’s more! I can see in my mind’s eye how to make the killer confess and where the evidence lies to prove our case! My power truly is a rare gift.” He turns to Minoura, and I can see that he’s opened his eyes by now. His gaze is locked on Minoura, who seems a little startled by Ranpo’s eyes. I understand that feeling. You get so used to his eyes being closed that when he does finally open them around you, it throws you off and it looks like he’s staring into your soul.

“Given my line of work, I know all about you gifted types and your powers. But if you have such a special ability, then why do my colleagues and I still have a job?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Ranpo says with that smug smile of his and I can tell he’s closed his eyes again. “Now we’re starting to understand each other, detective~” Minoura growls under his breath as he glares at Ranpo, and I’m ready to rush in and defend him. Again. He really needs to stop getting into trouble with the police force. One of these days, he’s going to end up arrested and not even the President will be able to help him.

“You little bastard-” Shit. I quickly move to step in front of Ranpo, the poor innocent autistic not seeming to understand the gravity of the situation he just put himself in. “Now, now, detective,” I say as I hold my hands up to try and help Minoura calm down. “Please pardon the autistic creature’s behavior.”

“The heck does that mean?” Ranpo asks as he tugs at my vest. I wave him off, smirking a little to myself. “Don’t worry about it, Ranpo. Just focus on solving the case.”

Minoura sighs and shrugs. “You can’t stop bragging about your ability,” he says, “so let’s have a look at it.”

“Really?” Ranpo asks, getting excited as he turns to Minoura again. “So I guess I’m on the case. You should have just asked me nicely when I first got here.”

“Too bad you’ve got a lot more confidence than experience,” Minoura responds, smirking at Ranpo. “You realize there’s no hard evidence. Would you like me to count to sixty for ya?” He sounds so smug, so sure of himself, and it’s very refreshing to see Ranpo getting cocky back.

“I won’t need that long.”

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #chuuya nakahara #bsd chuuya #bsd atsushi #bungou stray dogs atsushi #atsushi nakajima #bungou stray dogs chuuya #ranpo edogawa #bsd ranpo #bungou stray dogs ranpo #fanfic #au

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milopolis · 1 year ago

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I wrote a fanfic in english class, we had to make something inspired by Shakespear, with his characters and stuff.. So here’s my thing ;

At the end of Romeo and Juliet, instead of stabbing herself with Romeo’s dagger, traumatised from seeing her dead lover’s body lying next to her , she decided to espace from Verona, from the Capulet and Montague, tired of their hatred. She ran for days, with no idea where to go. She, after almost 10days, ends up un a deep dark forest. Suddenly, she bumps into a human body with a Donkey head

Juliet : (scared, puzzled, taken aback ) What in the.. How.. I’ve never seen such a thing in Verina, who.. no, WHAT are you?

Bottom : (out of breath) Miss, miss, please don’t speak so loud, they could spout us, but there’s no need to panic, I’m just a simple man who’s been trapped with a donkey head, nothing to scream over. ( slowly circles around Juliet ). Now, if you may. I’d like to know one thing, how can such a pretty woman (eyes looking at Juliet’s) be wandering alone in such a dangerous forest ?

Juliet : I don’t have to tell you anything, we din’t know each other, now please, let me.

Bottom : Okay then, (handing Juliet a small jar of « water ») at least drink this, it’ll protect you from what’s inside the forest [ Juliet takes the bottle and continues her way. A few steps later, she opens the jar and drinks a sip of water ]

Titania : [loud echoing voice ] Find me that Donkey.. Human..hm..Thing! He has some serious damage to repair! (lower) I should’ve killed him right when he entered. ( sit on a stack of wood, takes a jar from her pocket and drinks a bit )

Juliet : [ stressed ] Hello..? ( appearing from a bush ) I’m sorry to bother, I’ve lost my belived and have nowhere to go, I just wanted to… ( Juliet and Titania’s eyes lock in each other ) know if you could.. help me..?

Titania : ( shocked ) Oh my ! Never my eyes have seen such a beauty ! You just appeared like the sun appears from the morning sky ! You.. you’re something my heart wants to discover, something that my eyes want to admire, that my whole soul desire ( approaching Juliet )

Juliet : ( taking Titania’s hand ) This is destiny! yYour words are filling up my heart, just more than Romeo could, your voice feels like morning birds, your face looks like what I kept seeing in dreams, you’re the one I’ve always been looking for ? ( they hug each other, feeling each other’s heartbeat )

Capulet : ( trying to revive Juliet’s lifeless body ) Juliet ! Juliet ! Don’t leave us like that ! ( tears falling on Romeo’s chest ) Wake up please ! I know you’re alive !

Juliet : ( waking up in shock, a tear streaming down her face ) Where am I ? Where is she ? ( feels Romeo’s cold body ) Romeo ? Why am I back here.. (confused) I thought.. ( crying ) I thought I could’ve been happy again.. ( lays her head on Romeo’s chest, still sobbing ) Everyone I love always disappear…

Capulet : ( confused, but relived ) Who is « she »? Anyway, my daughter, you should come home and rest. ( Juliet silently takes Romeo’s dagger ) Juliet ? Put this dagger away. ( Juliet turns to look at him, her face swollen with tears, letting out a small smile )

Juliet : ( tired, exhausted voice ) One step further, and there will be two bodies on this pedestal. I don’t know what happened there, what was that donkey man, why did I fell for her so fast, why everything happened. But it’s either you say my name one last time, and see my face one last tile, or, as I said, there’s going to be two lifeless bodies. I want to escape, to leave, everything, the Capulet, the Montagues, Verona, the Prince, even Romeo. I will leave and start a life without this useless hatred that brought Romeo to die. I want to forget that fairy that was for an instant the newly found light of my world. I just need to leave. What’s the point of staying in Verona, there is nothing left for le to do. Tell everyone that I’ve died. Don’t look for me ( wipes a single tear out of her cheek ). I won’t come back. Goodbye, father.

[ her father stays shocked for a few seconds, then falls on the ground, fighting back the tears with Juliet’s footsteps slowly disappearing ]

#shakespeare #romeo and juliet #fanfic #william shakespere

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oh-no-my-hand-slipped · 2 years ago

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I’ve been playing a lot of Super Mario Galaxy lately, and there’s a mechanic in a certain galaxy where, if you land in the water, you lose health due to how cold it is. But, even if he regained all his health, I’m sure the frigid temperatures would soon catch up with him.

That’s a very long way of saying - here’s a small, self-indulgent drabble! Though I absolutely love doing commissions, it’s nice to write something of my own accord every now and again. :)

*****************************

Mario had been gone for a few days. Usually, this wouldn’t be a reason for concern — after all, inter-galaxy travel took time.

But Luigi’s brotherly senses were tingling. Or, maybe it was just indigestion. Whatever the case, though, he had a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach that even anti-acids couldn’t solve. As many “bad feelings” as he had, this one seemed different. Like something he should listen to.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Rosalina had said, trying to placate him. “This particular mission may just need more time. Your brother wouldn’t want you to risk your life simply to ease your worry. But, if he doesn’t return in a few days, I’ll send both Lumas and Toads to guide him to a safe re-entry into our galaxy.”

Luigi couldn’t wait that long. There was definitely something wrong, he could feel it. He gathered up a few Toads that were wiling away the hours on the starship, hoping to find some semblance of a search party. But, as they often did, the Toads became distracted, and soon Luigi only had the scholarly blue Toad left. Luckily, they were more helpful than twenty of their fellow Toads.

“I remember,” they said, adjusting their glasses, “that his next stop was the FreezeFlame galaxy — one of the harshest in the universe. Especially its tundra.”

With this in mind, Luigi set off with the Toad in tow. Their knowledge of the starship allowed him to choose the route to the Freezeflame galaxy with little trouble and a starbit bribe for the guard Lumas.

Soon, the pair were shooting into space, with no knowledge what lay ahead of them.

Only now, in the frigid cold wearing nothing but his overalls, Luigi wondered if he made the right decision.

But he still had searched the frozen landscape, hands rubbing together and teeth chattering. Luigi was lucky he had Toad with him, who showed him the routed that had previously been discovered on Toad expeditions.

And they were even more lucky that they didn’t have to search for long.

“Mario?!”

A heap of red and blue floated on a nearby iceberg, unmoving. Luigi leapt from ice to drift to ice drift, trying not to slide into the frigid water as he got closer to his brother.

“Mario! It’s-a me, Luigi! I have come to rescue you!”

Despite himself, Luigi beamed. That felt good to say.

The figure shifted a little, and Mario’s flushed, round face peeked out from his cap.

“B-Bro…?” he croaked.

Luigi put his jumping ability to good use, as he bounded onto Mario’s iceberg in record time. He landed on his knees, sliding into an embrace with his brother.

“I am-a so glad to see you! I thought…I mean, I didn’t think…you…I…”

“It’s-a alright, L-Luigi, I’m here,” Mario said, rubbing Luigi’s back. “I - snf! - just got-a s-stuck on this iceberg. I can’t jump as f-f-far as you can…”

“Why didn’t-a you just swim back?”

Mario stretched out his arms. A thin layer of frost covered every inch of fabric, making the sleeves of his shirt sag.

“I t-t-tried. I c-can’t-a stay in there that-a long before…I…”

Mario’s mustache quivered, and his red nostrils flared. He patted his pockets, finally retrieving a handkerchief that was frozen solid. Luigi took out his own, green with yellow stars, and held it out to him.

“Th-Thank…wahhah-!”

He buried his nose into it.

“WAH’CHOOOOO!”

The mountains rumbled in the distance. Luigi got on one knee.

“C’mere, I’ll-a take you back to the starship.”

Luigi put his hands behind him, and Mario, with a sniffle, climbed onto his back, laying his head on Luigi’s shoulder. Despite the extra weight, he still managed to traverse the trail of icebergs with little trouble.

After reuniting with the dumbfounded Toad, they traveled back to the starship with a star they had brought along with them. Even after escaping the dismal galaxy, every inch of Mario’s body shivered.

“Are you okay, bro?” Luigi asked, keeping his brother steady as they soared through the stars.

“I’m-a little - snf! - c-cold, that’s-a all.”

Mario barely kept his footing as they landed in Rosalina’s bedroom. His face wasn’t nearly as red, but beneath the windburn was a weak paleness. Luigi felt Mario’s forehead as an Advisor Luma went to go tell their princess of their return.

“Marone! You-a feel like a hot plate of spaghetti!”

“I f-f-feel more-a like a p-panna cotta.”

Luigi took a blanket from Rosalina’s bed and draped it over his shivering brother’s shoulders.

“Let’s-a get you to bed, bro.”

“B-But Rosalina -”

“Rosalina can wait.”

Mario looked down, closing the blanket tighter around himself.

“I-I mean,” Luigi stammered, “I’m-a sure she won’t mind if-a you rest first.”

Mario nodded, his great mustache suddenly quivering. Luigi bent down, trying to look him in the eye.

“Mario?”

Mario covered his face with his gloved hands, turning away. His shoulders began to shudder. Luigi quickly took of his hat, squeezing it in his hands.

“N-No, I - don’t-a cry, bro! I didn’t mean to…I mean, Rosalina didn’t-a want to send a search party for you, and if I didn’t find you, I don’t-a know what would’ve happened! Oh, Mario, please don’t-a cry, I’m sorry…”

“W-What-a was I th-th-thinking?”

Mario buried his face in Luigi’s handkerchief, which was still in his pocket.

“I should-a have-a kn-known it was too f-far to j-jump…it n-never would have-a happened if I…hic! A-And you-a were s-so worried…”

Mario sniffled, then blew his nose with a loud honk. Luigi hadn’t seen him cry like this since they were kids. Usually he cried like their Papa, with only a small quiver of his mustache and a shiny look in their eyes.

Seeing him like this broke Luigi’s heart.

He embraced him from behind, running a hand through his hair.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s-a okay, bro. I’ve-a gotten stuck in plenty of places, remember? And you always saved me, right? It’s-a only fair I save you for a change.”

“I-I sh-sh-should have-a…hic-!…known b-better.”

“Just-a because you are the big brother doesn’t mean you can’t make mistakes. Besides, if-a you would have stayed there much longer, you-a would have frozen into a Mario-sicle!”

Through his tears, Mario laughed. It was a weak chuckle, but it was enough for his sobs to partly subside. Luigi gave his brother one last squeeze before standing up again.

“Let’s-a get you to bed. It’s-a in the study, right?”

Mario nodded, shifting from one foot to the other.

“L-Luigi…?”

“Yeah, bro?”

Mario rubbed a finger under his nose.

“I kn-know it isn’t that far away, b-but…I don’t know if I…”

Luigi lifted his hand. “Say no more, bro.”

Luigi lifted Mario onto his back again, blanket and all. It wasn’t long after they made their way out of Rosalina’s bedroom that Rosalina herself hurried towards them with her entourage of Lumas.

“Luigi-!”

Luigi gave the princess a glare that not only stopped her in her tracks, but her advising Lumas as well. Without a word, he turned away and walked toward the study.

He would talk to her later. Right now, he had a brother to take care of.

#ohnosart #ohnos fics #snz #snz kink #snzblr #snz things #snezblr #snzario #snez kink #snz scenario #snezario #whump

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giggly-squiggily · 2 years ago

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Great In Theory, Bad In Execution (Moriarty The Patriot)

Two fics in one weekend- whoop whoop! So Moriarty the Patriot. A gem of an anime filled with equally shiny characters! I love Sherlock so much, so naturally I have to write him! I hope you like it! :D

Summary: After one too many incidents of his ticklishness being discovered, Sherlock decides to create a "remedy" to make himself immune. Of course- how will he test it? Watson finds himself dragged in to help.

“Dreadful, shameful, an embarrassment to my reputation, how’d I let myself slip so easily-” Sherlock was pacing about his room, one hand shoved into his pocket while the other pushed his hair out of his face. All these hours later and his cheeks were still tinted a stubborn pink, deeping whenever the memory of that night replayed in his mind. “I should have never- I could have- UGH!”

“Sherlock?” A pajama clad Watson peeked in, cringing some at the glare his flatmate shot him. “Are you well? You're making quite a bit of noise. Miss Hudson-”

“Sherlock Holmes! If you don’t stop that insistent pacing I’m putting you on the street!” Said woman stormed in, tugging her robe tightly over her. Much like Watson, she was dressed in her nightwear, her sleep mask crooked against her forehead. “What in god’s name has you so excited?”

“Oh come now, you two! It’s only…” Sherlock looked at the nearby clock, blanching at the hour. “Eh…eheh. I hadn’t realized how late it was.” He cleared his throat, grinning sheepishly at his companions. “Well, I should be off to bed now. Goodnight you two-”

“Oh no you don’t!” Watson blocked his path. “You woke us both up with all your noise! Knowing you- if I leave you be, you’ll just go right back to pacing!” The doctor took him in then, brows furrowing at Sherlock’s outwear. “Did you just get back from somewhere?”

“Yes- the local pub. I had some business there when I ran into Moriarty.” Sherlock waved the details off, a gesture that would have seemed nonchalant if it weren't for the pink still staining his face. Watson and Miss Hudson shared a look.

“Well, I’m off to bed.” Their landlady announced, figuring what was about to be spoken should stay private. “Keep the noise down, will you Sherlock?” She smiled kindly at Watson before disappearing down the hall. Upon her exit, the detective seemed to relax some.

“It’s just the two of us now, Holmes.” Watson prompted. “Wanna talk about it?”

Sherlock groaned, walking towards the nearest couch and flopping down. “No. But…”

~~Earlier that evening~~

“Aha! Professor- what a pleasant surprise!” Sherlock grinned when his eyes landed on the familiar blonde man sitting by. “I take it you’ve finished your evening classes at the local university?”

“Hm? Oh, Mr. Holmes. A pleasure to see you too, yes.” Said man smiled, the expression a bit tired. “I’ve been stuck at the office for quite some time today- I’d much prefer teaching my students over grading their work.” Turning to the bartender, he ordered a round of drinks for them as the detective sat down. “How are things with your profession?”

“Boooring. If I get one more missing cat case, my head’s gonna explode.” Sherlock groaned, leaning into a hand as he vented about his most recent cases. If Watson were here, he’d probably scold him for speaking so crudely about his work. At least with William he could be frank. The Professor never seemed to be phased by Sherlock’s lack of filter.

“I suppose that’s the cost of popularity. You gain more work, but it lacks the intrigue you’re searching for.” William smiled behind his whisky as he watched Sherlock shoot his back, slapping his cup down with a satisfying nod. “Surely it’s not all boring?”

“Eh, I suppose. We did uncover quite the cheater! This lord- heh, he really thought he was slick.” Sherlock turned, something sinister in his tipsy grin. “He was sneaking women into his bedchambers almost every night! You know how he got caught? We found him in the bu-”

In Sherlock’s excitement, his hand accidentally knocked his empty glass towards the ground. Both men reached for it at the same time, William’s reflexes faster due to sobriety. Sherlock missed altogether.

What didn’t miss was William’s hand accidentally brushing the detective’s side.

“Gah!”

“Oh? Apologies, Mr. Holmes. Did I hurt you?” William looked up at the other, eyes curious at how red the other looked then. “Mr. Holmes?”

“I-It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Sherlock turned back to the bar, arms crossed around his middle in a failed attempt to look casual. That certainly sobered him up. William tilted his head curiously before his easy smile returned.

“Very well- I shall take my leave. My brothers; they tend to grow worried for me if I’m out later.” He gathered his bag and hat, leaving a coin for the bartender with a nod. “We’ll have to pick up where we left off next time, Mr. Holmes. I’m intrigued to hear how your riveting story ended.”

“Oh? Yeah, sure, definitely.” Sherlock nodded, unable to look anywhere but that blasted whisky glass. William passed by from behind. As he did, Sherlock felt something like a prod to the ribs, making him shoot up with a yelp.

“Apologies.” William smiled, eyes dancing with devilish delight. “I tripped.”

Sherlock was left sitting there at the bar for quite a long time.

~~Current Time~~

“That’s all?” Watson asked, blinking at his friend. “Sherlock, with all due respect, don’t you think you’re overreacting to such a small gesture?”

“Overreacting?” Sherlock sat up, his glare hot. “That was no small gesture, Watson! Moriarty, I could see it in his eyes! He knew what he had discovered!” Sherlock started to stand, pausing as if remembering Miss Hudson’s warning before easing back in his seat. “I felt like a fool- for something so, so childish!”

“Sherlock, many people are ticklish.” Watson reassured him, wincing some when Sherlock cut him another look. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, and besides- the likelihood of Moriarty using it against you is slim.”

“That’s not the problem, John! It’s not that he knows I’m…” Sherlock stumbled, squirming in his seat. “Sensitive- It’s how annoying it is in my everyday life! I can’t even get fitted for a suit or checked at the department without being reminded of it!” The detective huffed, crossing his arms. “I was cursed with this dreadful ailment- a trade perhaps for my intellect. Given the ability to solve cases but now I must live with too sensitive skin!”

“Yes. Unfortunately there isn’t anything that can be done for that.” Watson mused. “No potions or medicines exist to remove ticklishness from the body.”

Sherlock nodded glumly, and then stopped. Eyes widening, his brain went into overdrive. “John, you ol’ chap, you’re a genius!” Sherlock grinned, making the doctor look up with a blink. “A medicine to stop being so sensitive! It’s perfect!”

“Sherlock I wasn’t being serious-” Watson began, finding himself being pushed out the room gently by the detective. “Sherlock?”

“No time! I must get to work, Watson! Time is of the essence!” Sherlock smiled before shutting the door in Watson’s face, leaving the other staring at old mahogany.

“Oh dear…” The doctor yawned, suddenly too tired to deal with this. “This will only end in disaster, won’t it?”

~~~

“John! John! Come quickly!” Sherlock’s cries shocked Watson out of his morning routine. The doctor raced towards the bedroom, panic setting in. Has Sherlock hurt himself? Did an experiment go wrong?

“Sherlock, what is it?” Watson sprinted into the room, finding Sherlock in mint condition before him. In his hand he held a beaker containing a ruby red liquid. “Erm..you have a drink?”

“What? No, this is no ordinary drink, John!” Sherlock shook his head, presenting the glass to the other. “This is my creation! A cure for the dreaded sensitivity afflicting my body!”

“What…oh. Your remedy for being ticklish.” Watson felt his body relax, glad to know no real danger was before him. “I’m glad you’re- What are you doing?”

Sherlock, after presenting the cup, chugged the entirety of its contents in one go. Wiping the drips of red from his lips, he nodded. “Oh yes…I feel it, John. My genius is working!”

“You’re mad!” Watson cried, running over and grabbing Sherlock’s collar. His skin looked fine, no sudden changes in color or texture. “Why would you drink that? Oh no- where’s the charcoal? Tell me you have charcoal!” John yanked open the nearest drawer, searching for the tablets. “We need to get you to the hospital before you-”

“John, John, easy!” Sherlock took his arm, pulling him away from the drawers. “I’m fine! If the solution was dangerous, clearly I’d be dead now, wouldn’t I?”

“Poisons work differently, Sherlock!” John grabbed the beaker, bringing it to his nose. “If we can identify the chemicals-”

“John.” Sherlock cut him off, finally silencing the other. “I assure you I’m fine. I know my way around a lab, thank you.”

The doctor was quiet, still staring at the beaker in hand. Finally, he sighed, putting it down on the table and turning to his flatmate. “Alright. I trust you. So, this magical medicine you made?” John gestured to Sherlock’s body. “Does it work?”

“I don’t know. That’s the thing about humans, we can’t exactly test ourselves regarding our sensitivity.” Sherlock looked thoughtful before making his way over to the couch, shrugging off his jacket and shoes. Once comfortable, he sprawled out along the cushions, tucking his arms behind his head. “Come on now.”

“Erm…what?” Watson asked.

“Do it.” Sherlock told him. Watson stared some more. “Come on now- we don’t know how long this remedy will last.”

“You want me to…tickle you?” Watson asked. Sherlock flushed at the question, but nodded. “Are you sure?”

“Yes yes! Now hurry! Before the solution wears off!” Sherlock fussed impatiently. Watson sighed before walking over, stretching out his hands.

“Very well. Just remember, you asked me to do this.”

“Hah, no worries! If this worked, I’ll be imu-uuhhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuuhuhne!” Sherlock spasmed when Watson’s fingers touched his body, clawing at his stomach and sides. “Aheahhahahahhahaha! Whahahahhahaht the hehhehehehhheehhell?”

“Did it not work?” Watson asked, brows furrowing as he continued dragging his fingers along Sherlock’s torso. “You sounded so sure. Should I stop?”

“Nohohoohoohhohoho! Keehehehheheep gohoohohoohing! Mahahhahaybe it neehehehheds tihihiihime to kihihihihck ihiihih-IIHIHIN!” The detective all but squeaked when Watson pinched his lower ribs, his hands shooting down from behind his head to guard his torso. “Johohohohohoohn, dohoohoohohon’t!”

“Don’t what? If I recall, you weren’t even that ticklish here.” Watson mused, starting to smile. He let his other hand creep up Sherlock’s open side, walking up his ribs one bone at a time towards his armpit. “Or ticklish here? Maybe your medicine made it worse?”

“Perehehahhahhahahahps? Ihiihihihihihi nehehehehhehed to dohoohohoho mohohohore reeheehehshehehehharch! Aheahhahahhaahaha!” Sherlock squirmed to and from on the couch, batting at the hands. His cheeks were bright red now, his hair growing messier by the minute. “Geahhahahaha, ohoohoohkay! Ohoohohohkay, Wahahahhahatson, stahahhahap ihihiiihhit!”

“Already? But shouldn’t we check all the usual spots first? You never know- the medicine might have numbed a few.” It was absolute bull, what Watson was saying. Really, he was just starting to have fun. Sherlock could be quite the disaster when he wanted to be, driving him and poor Miss Hudson into his antics. It was nice to finally get some much needed revenge.

“Gohoohohohohohd pohohohoohint! Prohohohohoohcehehehheheed!” Sherlock nodded, arching with a cackle when Watson’s hands dug into his armpits. “AHEHAHHA I TAHHHKE IT BAHAHAHCK! I TAHHAHHAKE IT BACK GEHEHHET OHOHOHOOOHOHUT!”

“Hmm…nope, that’s still the same.” Watson dropped his hands down, grabbing Sherlock’s waist. The brunette all but shrieked, nearly jumping off the couch in his hysteria. “That’s the same too. Actually, I think your waist got worse, Sherlock!”

“WHHAHAHHAHAHTSON PELAHHAHHHAHAHSE!” The detective squealed, practically hugging himself to protect his tickle spots. No matter how tightly he pressed his arms in, Watson found a way past his defenses. “MOHOOHOHOVE SOHOOHOHMEWHERE EHEHHHEHLSE!”

“Okay okay…how about here?” Watson grabbed his hip, nearly getting a fist to the eye from Sherlock’s wild squirms. “Okay, definitely still ticklish. Here?” He squeezed his thigh, giggling some at the snorts he earned. “Yep, that’s still normal.” He even dared to tickle his feet, running a single finger down Sherlock’s sole.

“JOHOHOHOOAHAHHHHAAHAN!” Sherlock’s voice cracked from how bad it tickled, eyes wet with mirthful tears and voice fading in and out.

“Yep, you’re still ticklish everywhere.” Watson laughed, finally pulling his hands back. “Looks like your new medicine was a bit of a bust, ol’ chap.”

“Eheh…eheheh…heheh….” Sherlock groaned weakly, body limp with exhaustion against the couch. His hair fell in his face, matted with sweat and blocked his vision. Watson reached out to move it away when Sherlock proved too tired to do so. “Shahame…and heheere I thoohhought I did sohohomething…”

“Perhaps you should count yourself lucky you didn’t die from it?” Watson offered, earning a light pinch to the arm. “If anything, I think it made you even more ticklish than before.” “Drahahats…that’s ihihit. I’m leahhahving medicine to ohohohothers.” Sherlock groaned, closing his eyes. “I…I need a moment. Mahahaybe several.” He was out moments later, soft snores puffing out his lips. Watson smiled before standing.

“Here I was thinking you were killing him.” Miss Hudson’s voice made him jump. Watson turned to find her leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile on her lips as she watched Sherlock sleep. “Can’t blame you if you were. I’d want to kill him too.”

“Did we disturb you? I apologize.” Watson began, stopping when she waved him off.

“It’s fine, truly.” She walked over to the desk, picking up the beaker. “He drank it too. Such an idiot.”

“Yes. Though I have a feeling you knew he would.” Watson walked over, a secret smile touching his lips when their eyes met. “Wine, Miss Hudson?”

“It looked similar enough.” She winked, tucking the glass in her skirts. “You really think I’d let him drink whatever that concoction was? He’s bad enough alive. Imagine what he’d be like dead?” She shuddered. “He’d haunt us for all eternity.”

“He certainly would.” Watson agreed, laughing. “Would you like to have some tea with me, Miss Hudson? I’m curious to know what other interference you’ve done for the sake of Sherlock.”

“But of course, John.” She nodded, turning to the door. “That would be lovely.”

Thanks for reading!

#MTP #tickle #tickle fic #sherlock holmes #john watson #miss hudson #fluff #Lee!Sherlock #Ler!John #I love the idea of Sherlock being more ticklish when tipsy/or drunk #I don't know why- it just works in my head #Wrote this on a whim lols #long fic #Mentions of Moriarty

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milli-moi · 1 year ago

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Secret Invasion Episode 3 Very Minor Spoilers

Very minor non-spoilers really just regarding a brief mention of Dreykov in 1998, two years after Black Widow’s opening scenes.

When Priscilla said that they had a lead on Dreykov’s guys I thought instantly that if Fury hadn’t been involved with Carol and the Skrulls then he might have been involved in Dreykov and the sleeper agents in the US.

So instead of adopting a bunch of Skrulls Fury might have been able to adopt his first daughter.

- [ ] Imagine Fury being on the case and adding a little bit more to the intel so the fake family in Ohio never escaped.

- [ ] Imagine Fury tries to get at the level of the little blue haired girl and speak gently to her, only for her to proudly claim ‘я не понимаю’ and expertly knee him where it hurts most.

- [ ] Imagine him taking a liking to the kid who then manages to steal his keys, security pass and some sweets from his pocket before they even get out the car.

- [ ] Imagine Fury agreeing to take the kid home with him for a bit, they know she must have info unlike the little kid, but he thinks it’ll take time to get anything out of her.

- [ ] Imagine Natasha insisting that she doesn’t speak English for at least a few weeks while Fury tries everything to get her to give herself up.

- [ ] Imagine she gets visitation with her little sister, she is so happy that she was allowed to see her again and - although she spoke Russian for the whole visit- she admits to knowing English in the car on the way home.

- [ ] Her first English to Fury was ‘thank you for saving my sister’

- [ ] Imagine Fury in a clothes store with Coulson, both of them bemused as they try and find clothes for the ten year old, deciding on what is too sexualised and wondering if she should have crop tops yet?

- [ ] Fury quickly learning how to block the ways Natasha attacks him after she has a nightmare.

- [ ] Fury telling Natasha that she has PTSD, and that some of the bravest and strongest in the world have it too.

- [ ] He starts to do some self defence with Natasha but quickly discovers she knows a lot of martial arts techniques above his level.

- [ ] When after about a year of staying there Natasha eventually tells Fury everything about the Red Room.

- [ ] Fury crying later, unable to deal with the things this kid dealt with.

- [ ] Fury telling SHIELD he plans to foster Natasha long term, he claims it’d be unwise to send her out to a normal foster situation due to her skills, knowledge and trauma. But in reality he couldn’t ever let her go.

- [ ] Teenage Natasha having a spy for a dad who is always two steps ahead, but she is always three steps.

- [ ] Fury’s catch phrase becoming ‘Dammit, Natasha’

- [ ] Natasha managing to sneak onto planes to follow her foster dad on missions.

- [ ] Natasha becoming the first apprentice of SHIELD, getting tutored by all of the best agents in all their best skills to become an amazing agent.

- [ ] Fury ‘not crying’ at her passing out ceremony. He believes if he denies it enough the tears will be scared back up into his eyes.

- [ ] Fury being the one to glare at any male who looks in her direction while Natasha actively encourages them (and is also into women so…)

- [ ] Daddy Fury being so proud of his damaged little fire cracked daughter

- [ ] Natasha teasing and annoying him whenever she gets the chance- but is so glad she gets a good life, and her baby sister got a chance to be normal.

#black widow #natasha romanoff #natalia romanova #marvel #mcu #secret invasion #nick fury #nick fury’s daughters #dad fury #what if #because aww

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kukurykunapatyku · 3 months ago

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Sometimes what you were looking for was in your pocket all along

After coming back to work after Unwound Future, Hershel discovers someone broke into his office. Together with Flora, they set on a journey to uncover this new mystery! On the way, he might just discover how strained their relationship really grew. Also on Ao3

Chapter 3 - Investigation begins

Notes:

This work is part of Layton Big Bang, so here's wonderful co-creators! The artworks were made by: Polysaurus: twitter, tumblr Angie_creations: carrd, intagram, bsky, twitter The puzzles were designed by Louise: tumblr

Something should have happened.

Flora lied to professor. Well, not lied, exactly. It wasn't lying if he didn't ask, was it?

Was she supposed to feel guilty? Everything she was taught over the years screamed yes, and yet she couldn't bring herself to.

All she had was a feeling of cold hand grabbing her insides at the mere thought of Layton stumbling upon the truth somehow. It was like that time, when mum was still around, Flora took a plate of pastry meant for the guests and ate half of it, hiding the rest in the kitchen cupboard to get rid of the evidence.

It wasn't guilt, though it could be easily mistaken for it if she was a few years younger.

The rest of the journey was almost insultingly normal. Layton tried to keep up a conversation and, surprising herself, Flora chimed in sometimes.

"What was his name? You always say 'my brother', professor. Won't it be easier if I know who to look for too?"

He scratched his head.

"That's not as easy thing to answer, I'm afraid. He has a habit of taking new names and discarding them once they outlast their purpose. I personally knew him under three, and I have no idea if he even uses any of them now." He crossed his arms. "Though I suppose if you hear something about 'Jean Descole', it's probably him."

Flora turned from the window. Bruno told her once about people choosing another name for themselves, but he probably hadn't meant using them like suits to change on a whim.

"Well, what do you call him, professor?"

Layton send her a smile, but it hadn't quite reach his eyes.

"That is something I wonder myself, dear."

This seemed to finally kill any chatting mood. Layton sunk deeper into his thoughts and Flora sunk deeper into ignoring the gnawing feeling in her chest.

Caradan welcomed them with sun and delicate breeze dancing between the flags and someone's hanged laundry. Flora stayed silent when Layton chose the motel they were going to spend the night in. "Now," he said, "I want us to stay together but if we get separated, you need to wait for me here." Then they set off into town.

It was much smaller than London. Flora was glancing around, taking in the cobblestone street, odd-looking buildings and flocks of pigeons that took flight at any slightly louder sound. It reminded her of home a bit.

As they went further towards the city center, Layton's caution seemed less and less unfounded. The crowds weren't overwhelming yet, but losing each other wasn't out of question.

They stopped near the stand selling pocket watches. Layton leaned over the rows of rhythmic ticking and asked the owner something Flora didn't hear. On the material next to the working clocks laid one dismantled, with cogs and springs displayed for all the world to see.

Flora turned away.

She let her eyes wonder, until they landed on the cafe on the other side of the street. Through the window, a group of four people caught her eye. They were laughing, but their mood wasn't what grabbed her attention; it was their clothes. It was well past he carnival, and yet each of them was dressed like they just left a party. She could see a vampire with an orange bag, a robot in a bowler hat, another person with wings and arrows and next one with what looked like a Sherlock Holmes costume? They even had a pipe! It only blew bubbles though.

Layton was still talking with the seller when they stood up and left the building, still chatting, and walked past Flora. Her eyes followed them for a bit before returning to the window. She squinted; was that a book left on the table? Maybe one of them forgot to take it with themselves. Not thinking long, Flora scurried up the stairs, the bell near the door announcing her entrance. She headed towards abandoned book, grabbed it and brought closer to her eyes.

"The body in the hill," she read the title. A mystery novel? Flora looked at the back to see the description. "While digging new garden area, Patricia discovers a disturbing sign: her recently passed away aunt, with her left hand cut off. Who did mutilate her body and hid it there? Was her death really an accident? And who's next? A puzzling story about family secrets, grudges and gardening."

Flora's brows shot up. That did sound interesting, if a bit macabre. She turned a page. She's just going to skim through the prologue...

"Are you going to order anything?"

She jerked up. Her eyes met a waiter, who impatiently tapped the pencil on his notebook. Flora felt her cheeks get warm; she was a good thirty pages in. It seemed she got too engrossed in the story... She quickly apologized and left.

Layton wasn't outside anymore. Of course. Flora sighed and looked around. She could return to the motel, or she could-

Struck with an idea, Flora reached to her bag. But before the idea could crystallize into clear thought, sudden realization stopped her in her tracks.

She still had the book. Of course she still had it. She wanted to return it, that's why she even went inside... But what now? The group could be anywhere, or worse, they could've split up by now. Should she go back to the cafe? But would they keep the book until the owner returned for it?

She wiped her palms on the dress. Somehow the book seemed to gain another pound with every minute she hesitated.

"What's wrong, applepie?"

Flora spun around, book close to her chest. She saw two older women behind her, one taller than the other, with the shorter one leaning on a cane. They were both staring are her now.

"E-Excuse me, were you talking to me?"

"Sure we were," the shorter one chirped. "What happened, dear? You look especially troubled."

"Ah." Flora clutched the book harder. "It's not really that big of a deal. It's just... going to bother me, I guess."

The ladies were still staring. Flora started sweating.

"So?" the taller one droned.

"So?" Flora echoed.

"What is your problem? You hadn't answered yet."

"Well..." She prayed the book away from her chest. "There was a group of people in the cafe, and one of them left this book here. It's a very good book," she added defensively.

"Hm. What did they look like?"

"They were all dressed up, I don't know which one's book it is. There was detective, vampire-"

"Oh, these pals! You're lucky, they sure love their costumes."

"Do you know those people?" Flora tilted her head.

"Why, my dear, we sure do!"

And then the ladies started talking over each other:

"You see, at the end of this street there stands four houses, numbered 2, 3, 6 and 7."

"In each of one of houses lives one of four friends - Franken Rebot, Juliette Vantire, Leia Cupeed and Sherlock Detect."

"Each one of the always picks a certain outfit."

"Each one loves to read a certain genres of books."

"Exactly one of them has their first name related to their favorite genre, but it's not Mr. Detect."

"Exactly one of them has their costume related to their favorite genre, but it's not the one Martha was talking about or the one dressed like a Detective"

"Exactly one of them has their costume related to their last name and it's neither Sherlock nor one of those from before!"

"The women live in houses with odd numbers, and Franken's number is a multiple of Science Fiction fan's home number!"

"Which should tell you something, because Science Fiction fan and Horror fan are living just next to each other."

"The Cupid lives in one of the last two houses, and the Detective in one of the first two."

"And the last thing: The man with a name related to Mystery has a Robot costume, but he doesn't like Science Fiction."

In order to return the book, I need to find out which one likes mystery novels.

Flora put her finger on the chin, deep in thought. It will probably be easier to draw it out...

(Please don't scroll further if you want to solve it on your own!)

She quickly sketched the grid and get to work. The two women kept their distance, glancing at Flora from time to time, chattering and snickering. Flora smirked. Well, good to know everyone here is having a grand time.

After a few minutes she was pretty sure she got it figured out.

"In house 2 lives Sherlock Detect, who wears robot outfit and likes horror stories. In house 3 lives Leia Cupeed, who wears detective outfit and likes science fiction. In house 6 lives Franken Rebot, who wears cupid outfit and likes romance. That leaves Juliette Vantire, who lives in house 7, wears vampire outfit and likes mystery!"

The shorter woman clapped her hands. "Such a sharp mind, dear! Yes yes yes!"

"Now, if you want to catch her, we saw her going to the market square some time ago."

"Just go down that street and turn left two times, then to the right when you reach the fountain."

"Thank you a lot!" Flora weaved her goodbyes and took off. Who knows how long Miss Vantire will stay there?

She arrived at the market short of breath. The hive of bright shirts, coats and dresses buzzed around her. How was she supposed to find one bee in it?

Then, the shadow of a black cape glistened between the colours. With new life in her step, she jumped forward. "Excuse-" But then the person turned and Flora bit her tongue when she saw the middle-aged man instead of a young woman. She quickly shuffled forward, not looking back at him. Maybe he didn't notice.

Flora maneuvered her way through the square, making circles around the groups of gossiping people. Her eyes danced between the faces, trying to find her vampire without repeating previous mistake. So far, she had no luck.

Just when she was ready to give up, she saw another person in dark cape in front of a vegetable stand. Once burned, twice shy - so Flora squinted her eyes and scuttled closer. Apart from the cape, they wore high collar shrouding their head and Flora let herself hope. Then they reached to the side, pointing at some tomatoes, and a familiar orange bag slid down, sticking from behind the cape. Yes!

"Excuse me! Miss Vantire?" she shouted.

The woman looked over her shoulder, brows furrowing when she noticed Flora.

"That's me. Do you want something?"

Flora run up to her, thrust the book forward and let out in one breath: "Is this yours?"

Juliette stared at her dumbfounded before shifting and rummaging through her bag. She then looked up and smiled so wide Flora thought her vampire teeth were going to fall out.

"Oh, thank you very much! I didn't even notice it was gone, it would've taken me ages to find it again."

Flora couldn't stop large grin from appearing on her face. "No problem. I was happy to help." And she wasn't lying, it really made her giddy inside. Maybe that was the part she missed the most from adventures with Layton. The ability to just encounter a problem and solve it, helping people on the way. Somehow it never happened when she was going through London on her own.

She was about to say something more, when out of the corner of her eye Flora noticed something. A few meters away, a man took out large envelope from his pocket and swiftly sneaked it into another man's hand, before they walked past each other without another word. The whole encounter took less than 10 seconds. If she wasn't by accident looking there, she wouldn't have even noticed.

"Everything alright?"

"Ah, yes, I just thought I saw my friend over there. Have a nice day!" She pushed the book in her arms, turned on her heel and started forcing her way through the crowd. Her instincts, or at least that's what she would put a blame on if anyone asked, told her to follow the man with the envelope. Her eyes darted around, trying to find him in the sea of people. She pushed down the sound of triumph when she spotted the man some distance before her. Flora slowed down after that - as long as she could see him it wouldn't be wise to be too close.

The man moved further and further from the market. The crowds thinned and Flora found it harder to keep up without being noticed. She resorted to hiding in the shadows of the walls and behind the stairwells. Thankfully, after the man entered a maze of alleys she had a lot of nooks and crannies to choose from.

It's not that bad, she thought.

The sound of pebble being kicked away resounded impossibly loud between the walls.

She rushed behind the corner, hands on her mouth. Flora didn't bother holding her breath; part of her was sure the beating of her heart would betray her anyway.

She stood in place, her heart still trying to escape her chest, before she heard footsteps moving away again. Instead of going right after, she whipped a hand mirror out of her bag and tilted it towards the street, just to be sure.

The man was turned away, next to the metal fence four buildings over. He took out a phone, looked around a few times and entered through the gate. Flora sighed, relieved; she didn't botch everything yet. With more careful footsteps, she followed him.

The gate lead to a junkyard, with piles of scrap scattered about. Flora could see a few old cars towed against the nearest wall and some kitchen appliances stacked together. She surveyed the dumpsite, watching for any movement. There, some piles away, blue coat caught her attention, and soon after she heard a voice:

"---the archaeologist--- no, we need --- Yes, I--- it, I --- don't understand---"

Between the distance and how the man murmured, it was hard to understand what he was saying, so she gulped and took another few steps, making sure something was always covering her from his line of sight.

"The boss will be furious if we don't finish on time. We need this treasure." He listened to the person on the other end of the line. "Yeah. Yeah. No. Listen, it's not my first time with the Azran, I know what I'm doing. Someone has to be there to collect the package, it might as well be me."

Flora pushed down the gasp building in her throat. So it was something important after all. She licked her lips. She couldn't afford to miss anything.

He moved deeper into the junkyard, his voice fading away. Flora slowly crept between the piles until she heard him again.

"Of course no one saw me leaving the base," the man scoffed. "After the meeting, I went to the nearest restaurant and then to the main square." He let out annoyed grunt. "No, I didn't take the shortest path, I couldn't, I had to avoid the neighborhood watch posts. Damn bumpkins won't be making anything easier for us. But I did took the exact same number of turns as if I'd taken the short path, and I never backtracked." The man nodded a few times more. "Yeah, I guess. Well, I hope the delivery is not a bust. Can't repeat the last time. Take care."

The call seemed to be coming to the end. It was time to go.

Flora took a step back, and felt her shoulder bump into something. The whole word seemed to slow down. With terror, she watched as the tower of cans wobbled, suddenly remembering that gravity existed.

When it hit the ground, Flora was already on the run.

#Sometimes what you were looking for was in your pocket all along #katsu writes #professor layton big bang 2024 #professor layton #hershel layton #flora reinhold #fanfiction #my stufff

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bloodsthecreepy · 1 year ago

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They reminded for another time to keep all doors locked, and every window closed. I was sick of hearing it again and again. Mom and dad had left, and I had the house to myself.

I went ahead and plopped on the couch to watch TV. Just some of the shows my parents wouldn't let me see, only because they didn't like them and had mature content. I was fifteen, so I thought I was old enough to watch those kinds of shows, as well as being home alone.

It was an episode later, when I decided to order food delivery. From my phone, I put the order and waited. I didn't have a bank account, just a few dollars in the pocket. So I used the credit card mom left behind.

The doorbell rang some time later. I was hungry. I went to the door and saw some guy there with a plastic bag. The man handed it to me and just left. We hardly exchanged words, but at the time, I just didn't care.

It was an hour later, when I heard a knock at the door. I didn't answer it. But it happened again. Still, I didn't move from the couch. The third time, they just didn't stop, so I got up and went to the door.

No one was there. I wasn't confused at the time, just annoyed. Thinking back to it, the knocking stopped before I reached the foyer. Why didn't I question it back then?

I had gone back inside and returned to the living room, but the power flickered. Twice or three times. The TV went off as it happened. It really sucked, because every clock had to be set. But I only did that to the microwave and oven.

After some time, I had gone back to watching TV, when the flickered again, then went out for good. I was annoyed again. I got on my phone and called to report the blackout, but I couldn't make any calls. Which was weird, because the area we lived in always had service. And it wasn't some old phone, where if you cut the cord it becomes useless.

The whole time, I kept thinking it was some jerk pulling a prank on me or one of the neighbors. So I went outside to see who was out there. But I saw no one. There was no wind or rain either, so someone had done something. But I kept thinking the same thing and being stupid. I wasn't staying indoors, like I should had.

After I looked around from our property, yelling at whoever was out there, I started to head back inside. From across the street, I had heard a gun being fired and a woman screaming. It was a neighbor of ours, who had recently moved away from an ex. I had always thought poorly of her, and I regret all of it now, because I never truly knew anything about her.

I had turned and looked at her house. I can still hear those screams. I can still hear her begging. Then a figure ran out of the house and towards a car, that was parked along the road. Their head turned up and saw me. All I did was stare, and they aimed the gun at me and fired.

It had been some time, when I could hear sirens from both police and ambulance. Wasn't till later when I overheard about what had happened. Our neighbor had moved, after breaking up when she discovered that her old boyfriend was having an affair. She had just moved on and gets killed in her own home.

According to what I overheard from police, the power was cut off in the whole neighborhood, while the killer used a phone jammer. Explains why I couldn't make any calls. They had forced their way in through the backdoor and chased her up the stairs to the bedroom. She had a gun,but never got to it. That woman had to be caught by surprise, because they said the chase began, when she was in the living room.

The likely suspects were between the ex-boyfriend or the woman he was having the affair with, because she sent unwanted hateful messages to our neighbor. But no one was ever arrested. Now, because I was shot by the killer and survived, I was put in protected custody, in case they come back.

#horror #short literature #invasion #home invasion #first person perspective #literature #witness

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actual-bill-potts · 2 years ago

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II.

When Beren is escorted into the presence of the King of Nargothrond, his first impression is of the dawn.

Weary and sad as he is, his heart cannot help but lighten at his first glimpse of the famous Nóm, about whom he had heard so much, and from whose hands had come the little nightingale he kept in his pocket, and his mother's beautiful shawl, and the tough boots his father wore so proudly, which had borne him from the Fen.

He remembers pointing to the little badger and the hound, entwined on the mantel, when he was young: "Who made those, Mama?"

His mother had responded, smiling, "The very same Nóm who made your little bird! He carved that badger for me when I was no older than you are now; and he made the hound for your father when he was a mere babe in arms."

Beren's eyes had widened at the mention of the famous king, who had the last word in all the little ones' games: Nóm would take my side! was the indignant cry of every child who found themselves on the wrong side of a debate. He had shouted it himself; and he found it difficult to believe that so splendid and wise an Elf should have truly found the time to visit his mother and father, who were so dull and ordinary.

When he said this, his mother had only laughed: "Nóm certainly does not share that opinion! His curiosity about us is nearly boundless. But doubtless you shall discover this for yourself, some day. He will come when you are of age, if nothing else, and bring you another gift."

But Nóm had not come when Beren turned sixteen, sending instead terse, worried messages advising Barahir to shore up his defenses and retreat from the border. He had left a hurried postscript, in his own handwriting, in one of his letters: I am so very sorry I cannot come to see you and young Beren this year - once the Siege has been shored up and this darkness past, I look forward to seeing the fine young person he has undoubtedly grown into - stay safe, please - Nóm; and Beren's mother had shown it to him with a smile that did not seem at all worried, if one did not look into her eyes.

"You see!" she had said, "He has not forgotten you! I am sure you will meet him soon."

But the years had stretched on; the creeping fingers of the Shadow had clenched into a fist with a suddenness that had taken even Maedhros the Ever-Vigilant by surprise; and now Beren stands motherless and fatherless before Nóm at last.

"Beren!" Nóm exclaims now, his face that had seemed careworn despite its smoothness breaking into a radiant smile, "It is so good to see you again, my friend!"

Beren, in the midst of drawing his father's ring out of its pouch, freezes in the light of the king's gaze.

"How - you know my name?" he stammers.

A great sadness enters Nóm's eyes, though he continues to smile. "I held you in my arms when you were tiny, and I so looked forward to seeing you grown. I am glad to have that opportunity now, though I am sorry I did not visit when you were growing."

Beren does not know what to say to that; hearing Nóm echo his mother's words from long ago makes a lump form in his throat. He stares at the ground as Nóm swiftly crosses the space between them to take his hand.

"Well met, son of Barahir," the king says more formally, as he takes Beren's unresisting hand, "is there aught I can do for you? I see great grief in your eyes."

To this, at least, he knows how to respond; Beren drops to one knee before Lord Finrod. "My King," he says, formally, "I beg your aid, in the name of my father now dead. I - I have nowhere else to go," he adds, hating how thin his voice sounds in his own ears.

Silence, for a moment: and Beren dares to look up briefly. Finrod's grip has tightened on his own, and the sorrow in his eyes -

It mirrors Beren's own.

"Dead?" Nóm repeats faintly, after a moment. "I - I am sorry, Beren. Truly sorry, and more than sorry - if I had known -" He cuts himself off, and seems to collect himself. "Rise, my friend! Of course I will help you - did I not swear to Barahir your father aid in every need? Indeed had I not sworn, still I would give you whatever is in my power, for love of Balan and his children, and indeed for love of you who smiled into my eyes before you knew what it was to smile." He hesitates as Beren rises to his feet, then adds, "Indeed, though I will give whatever aid you ask - if time is not pressing, I would ask that you eat and drink first, and bathe, and rest, for you are weary and it grieves me to see it. Then send for me, and we will talk of whatever you wish."

Despite his despair Beren finds he is not, after all, so eager to break himself upon Thangorodrim as to refuse such a request; and he assents with gratitude to follow Nóm's steward Edrahil to a well-appointed room the likes of which he has never seen.

The next morning Beren feels at least more able to bear up under despair, and he hesitantly sends a message to the king, telling him he is available to speak whenever might be convenient. To his shock, Nóm arrives not five minutes later, appearing somewhat frazzled, hair flying loose about his knees.

"Beren!" he exclaims, approaching rapidly with hands outstretched, "You look better, and I am glad of it." He takes both of Beren's hands in his own, looking him full in the face with such sincere joy that Beren feels the tears he has kept at bay since he left Doriath begin to fall.

"Oh - oh dear," Nóm says, releasing his hands in startlement, "I am sorry! Have I hurt you?" His fingers nervously flutter by his side, in a manner so similar to Lúthien's when she is not sure what to say that Beren feels a fresh wave of agony overwhelm him.

He casts about blindly for a chair - cannot find one - instead sinks to the floor. A corner of his mind thinks resignedly that the king will now think him a complete fool; most of him is simply weeping for all he has lost, and cannot stop.

After a moment, he feels a warm presence settle beside him, and an arm fold tentatively about his shoulders. Nóm begins to sing softly, a rippling tune that warms Beren like the sun on stones, and he realizes with a shock that it is familiar indeed. His mother had hummed it often, at night by the fire or in the morning at the river: a song that thanked the Sun for its gold and the Moon for its silver, the trees for their shadows and the river for its clarity.

Hearing it now, even in the shadow of certain death and with the high clear voice of an Elven-king, makes his limbs relax and his tears slow; and finally he is able to uncurl and look up.

Nóm hands him a handkerchief.

The incongruity of the motion - the plainness of the cloth against Nóm's shining fingers and glittering nails - shocks Beren into laughter as he takes it from Nóm and begins to wipe his face. After a moment, Nóm laughs too, tentatively.

"What is so amusing?" he asks, sounding puzzled.

"Ah - I don't rightly know," Beren says, aware he sounds a fool but unable to think of any explanation that would make even a morsel of sense. "I am sorry for my outburst, truly," he adds, trying to blow his nose as quietly as possible.

Nóm pats him on the shoulder. "Do not apologize for grief," he says gently. "I have shed tears enough in my time; and to lose a father is a terrible thing."

"It is not only my father - " Beren begins, and then has to stop again as the terrible weight of memory presses down upon him.

A sharp breath; then Nóm says, "So Emeldir, too - "

Beren shakes his head. "I know not," he says miserably, "for she led our people from the battle - but there was so much death - everywhere - and I dare not seek her out. Everywhere I am pursued. We are sundered. I hope that she lives - but I do not see how any of our people could have survived the terrible flame that came upon us."

"Ai," Finrod says, "I am sorry. So sorry, Beren. Had I known - "

Beren puts up a hand, for he had had this argument with his father often enough: "Nay, you can take no blame for this. My father refused to send for aid. He said that your family had shed enough blood for a land that was lost already. And truly not a one of us disagreed with him. Dorthonion is - was - ours. And the battle was everywhere. Is everywhere," he adds wearily.

Distress is plain on the soft lines of Nóm's face; but he does not argue the point, and merely says, "What, then, would you have of me, little Beren?"

Beren draws in a breath. He thinks, for a moment, of abandoning his quest. Surely Nóm has seen enough of bloodshed; his stronghold shelters the ruined remains of three Elvish armies, and many Men besides. Beren had spotted more than a few lined faces, grim and haunted, among the taut serenity of the Nómin. He could live here, and rest, and find some semblance of peace again: and surely in time his beloved would forget him, and turn again to her people, and sing in the forest with an unshadowed heart.

But -

His hand brushes the nightingale in his pocket.

Nóm had known. Before Beren could talk or walk or even sing - Nóm had known that he was for Tinúviel, and Tinúviel for him.

Perhaps Nóm will know, now, if there is anything to be done. If there is any hope. Lúthien had told him, fiercely, not to give up: if you must go on this quest, she had said in her shining-rain-rolling-thunder voice, then go in hope, and not despair. The battle may be won yet!

"I have been charged," he says, "by King Greycloak of Doriath, to win a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown. I ask your aid."

His words ring in the air with unexpected power. For a moment - a moment only - Beren sees something like terror in Nóm's eyes. There must then be no hope - he opens his mouth to take the words back -

But Nóm's expression clears. "You have it," he says. "O son of my heart - you have my aid."

Go in hope, and not despair. The battle may be won yet!

Nóm arrives with the dawn, shining gold and smiling.

Little Beren is asleep; he had passed a restless night, waking often to wail with all the power of his little lungs - which was considerable. The babe had woken Emeldir so many times that she, who had shed hardly a tear from birthing-pains, had begun to cry; and at that Barahir had swept Beren from her arms, wrapped him up warmly, and departed their hut altogether.

At the first touch of the night air on his face, Beren had stopped crying; instead he had stared wide-eyed at the stars, wide brown eyes reflecting the light of the Valacirca until they slowly closed. More than half an Elf, that one - so like Emeldir already. Despite her stern face and strong arms, Emeldir loved the old tales, and the stars, and had something of the dreamy nature of her ancestor Belen - or so Nóm had said, at their wedding, and Barahir supposed that he would know.

Despite his exhaustion and the chill of the pre-dawn air, Barahir feels a smile tug at his lips at that. He hopes his son will take after Emeldir indeed, for she is everything good. In the strength of her arm, in the depth of her love, in her vivid way of telling tales, she is everything that he would have dared to hope for in a wife: aye, everything and more.

And then, as the first rays of the Sun bring a flush to his cheeks, he spots a tell-tale glint of gold on the horizon and breaks into a grin. He does not cry out a greeting - if Beren wakes again then Barahir will weep - but he shifts the little babe to one arm and raises the other in greeting, knowing Nóm will be able to see.

Not ten minutes later, Nóm arrives in truth. His smile near outshines his hair as he leaps from his horse. He is carrying a small velvet bag, cleverly sewn and encrusted with tiny glittering gems. At the sight, Barahir feels his face soften further, for he has a similar bag, tucked away in a closet; and so does Emeldir; and so indeed do all in the House of Bëor, living or dead.

"Good morning, friend Barahir!" Nóm greets cheerfully - but softly, mindful of little Beren. "Oh - your son is beautiful!"

"Good morning, Lord," Barahir responds, mildly amused by the sudden besotted tone in Nóm's voice. "I thank you. I said the same thing, when I first held him in my arms, though Emeldir persists in comparing him to a potato."

Nóm laughs. "A true lady of the Atani! As I recall, Andreth said something very similar about you - though not in Bregor's hearing, I assure you."

Barahir laughs lowly, holding Beren a little away from himself so that the laughter will not jostle him. "I am sure she will say the same thing about Beren, when she gets the chance," he says fondly.

"Ah, no," Nóm protests, "for Andreth speaks only the truth, and your babe is handsomeness itself."

Barahir looks hard at Nóm. "Was I a particularly ugly baby, then?"

"Ah - no - but Andreth was younger then, and perhaps more inclined to untruth," Nóm says hurriedly. "You were also beautiful, when I met you as a babe. You had such lovely small fingers and a laugh that could charm birds out of the trees. Your parents assured me it was remarkable for a child of the Atani to laugh so young!"

Barahir cannot help laughing again at Nóm's earnest protestations of his youthful perfection. "Ordinarily I would say that it is merely the famous Elvish love of children speaking for you - but in this my pride as a father must win out. Beren has not a single flaw in my eyes."

Nóm's eyes soften at the name. "Another Beren!" he says. "Is his grandfather pleased?"

"Pleased, and more than pleased!" Barahir exclaims, for his law-father had nearly fallen over with delight upon being introduced to his grandchild.

Then he remembers his manners. "Ah - Lord, you must be hungry - I can -" he breaks off, for he does not wish to set Beren down and run the risk of another waking, and Emeldir is asleep inside.

"No need, no need," Nóm says, waving his hand expansively. "I have no wish to inconvenience you, especially now. I have brought enough food to share," he adds, with a gesture to his saddlebags, "So do not worry."

"Thank you," Barahir says after a moment - his pride stings briefly, but not enough to overcome the idea of letting Emeldir sleep as she ought, and wake up to breakfast and a babe in good temper. And anyway, after so long it cannot be denied that it is Nóm's delight to bring gifts to the House of Bëor. It is an expression of love for a friend long-lost, his father Bregor had explained when he was young; and Andreth his sister had added, a wry twist to her mouth, it helps with the grief, to care for the family of one so loved.

So he does not protest the food, nor the other gifts he knows are coming, and Nóm's bright smile remains undimmed.

"I have brought this for little Beren," he says, gesturing to the bag in his hand, "and some other small things, for you and Emeldir - but all of those can wait! I have no wish to disturb the sleep of a child. I shall visit Andreth, and bring breakfast as a peace offering for my early arrival, and I will come back later in the day."

"Thank you!" Barahir says again, and smiles. "It is truly a delight to see you, Nóm."

Nóm's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles this time: the only sign of his great age that Barahir has ever been able to discern. "And it is a joy to see you, my friend!" he says.

He leads his horse away, and Barahir returns to rocking Beren, basking in the sun and the soft glow of Nóm's retreating presence.

Not long after that, both Emeldir and Beren begin to stir, and so they are all awake when Nóm comes again. He has found somewhere to leave his horse, and he brings with him a delicious-smelling covered basket in one hand and a somewhat lumpy sack in the other.

"Hello, Emeldir - and hello again, Barahir!" he says cheerfully, as soon as they open the door. "I have brought breakfast: potatoes and eggs, and sausage, and some fruit. I hope it was not too presumptuous," he adds, and then interrupts himself as he spots Beren in Emeldir’s arms, "oh, little Beren! He is perfect! Many congratulations!"

Barahir, feeling his stomach rumble and the exhaustion from his sleepless nights take hold, is even less inclined to listen to his pride than before. He says, "Thank you very much for bringing breakfast, Nóm. Will you eat with us?"

"Of course, of course!" Nóm says, beaming, "Many thanks!"

As Barahir is setting their table for breakfast, Emeldir says, "It is wonderful to see you, Nóm. Would you like to hold Beren?"

"Oh - yes!" Nóm exclaims, and holds out his arms. Barahir feels a moment of apprehension at that - Lord Finrod is so excited, it is as if he has never held a baby before - but reminds himself that Nóm had held both him and Emeldir as babes, and all their ancestors besides. And indeed Nóm supports Beren’s head with the necessary care, and Barahir feels a smile grow on his own face as Elf and baby stare enraptured at each other.

"Bah!" Beren exclaims, and tugs on one of Nóm’s braids.

"Bah indeed, little one!" Nóm echoes. "I have a present for you, if your parents permit it," looking questioningly at them, and when Emeldir nods he says, "it is in the sack I left by the door - if you would bring the little bag to him? There are some other small gifts in there," he adds, seemingly carelessly, as Emeldir goes to open the sack, "for you, and for him - but those can wait till after breakfast!"

Barahir watches, plates forgotten for the moment, as Nóm takes the little shining bag from Andreth and opens it for Beren. He withdraws a little wooden figure and sets it in Beren’s tiny hands. Beren immediately brings it to his mouth and begins to chew.

"No no, it is not for chewing -" Emeldir begins to protest, but Nóm is laughing.

"It will do him no harm, I promise," he says, "and it is his toy, after all, to do with as he wills."

"What animal is it?" Barahir asks, rather eager to know. When he had been a tiny child, Nóm had carved him a hound, ears pricked and head up, ready for a hunt; and Emeldir’s gift from him had been a badger. They were lovely things, sturdy toys for children that became treasured pieces of decoration as they grew; and Barahir’s hound now nestled with Emeldir’s badger upon their mantel.

"It is a nightingale!" Nóm says. "You know, it is very odd," he adds thoughtfully, "I felt certain that it must be a nightingale, for him, though I know not why. Perhaps he will grow up to be a bard!"

"Perhaps," says Barahir.

"He has the lungs for it," adds Emeldir, to general laughter.

Beren suddenly pulls the toy out of his mouth and smiles at Nóm: a real smile, the first from their babe! He has a deep dimple in his left cheek, and he is smiling so hard that his brown eyes nearly disappear into the folds of his cheeks. Barahir feels joy fill his heart at the sight; looking at Emeldir, he knows she feels the same.

"You have a beautiful smile, little Beren!" Nóm says, near glowing with satisfaction. Then he looks at Barahir and his wife.

"Thank you," he says. "I treasure these moments dearly."

"But of course!" Emeldir says. She is smiling.

"Thank you for coming to us!" Barahir says. "And now we should eat," he adds, feeling his stomach rumble again; and Nóm hands the baby back to Emeldir, and comes to help him set everything out for breakfast.

Nóm departs after a stay of only a few days, citing unrest in the North. He leaves behind three lovely baby-blankets, downy-soft; several sets of baby-clothes, in varying sizes, which button cleverly, the smallest of which somehow fits Beren perfectly; a new set of knives for Barahir; a lovely warm shawl for Emeldir; and the little nightingale, which Barahir hopes will someday sit on a mantle of Beren’s own.

He wonders, sometimes, what it means for his son that Nóm the Farsighted was so sure he would want a nightingale. Perhaps Beren will be a singer after all.

But mostly he looks at Beren, who now smiles more often than he cries, and feels nothing but joy.

#long post #finrod #beren #silm fic #my writing #the silmarillion #part 2 of 3 #can u guess the theme?

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callsign-jinx · 2 years ago

Text

A Rebel In My Soul | Chapter 4: Three Minutes

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Mitchell!Reader

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: swearing, brief mentions of death, someone's being an asshole, fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, slow burn. HANGMAN'S POV (again)

Summary: Y/N "Rebel" Mitchell is one of the best aviators of her generation. She grew up hearing the adventures and stories of Maverick, her father, that he used as bedtime stories. She became an aviator with her best friend Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw and now both of them have to come back to the Top Gun Academy for an important mission. Only the best of the best is called for this mission, including the southern idiot called Jake "Hangman" Seresin. Both of you had hated each other since day one. Now, having to work together once more, you count the days for this mission to be over, not only to never see Hangman again, but to also cut all connections again with your father.

Taglist: @theprettytragic @thatoneweirdhorsegirl913 @shrimping-for-all @inky-sun @popcrone818 @blue-aconite @milestellerwife

(If you want to be added to the taglist comment or send me a message!)

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love you give to this series! Things are getting a bit angsty but it's necessary, i swear. Also, i think this whole series is the epitome of "she fell first, but he fell harder". Comments are welcomed

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An hour after Hangman leaves, and tired of seeing Rooster flirt with every moving thing that walks in the bar, you get ready to leave. You kind of wished that Hangman would have stayed a bit longer. It was nice talking to him. It felt like discovering a new side of him. You exit the bar, grabbing the keys of your bike when your phone beeps inside your pocket. You look at it, the name on the screen making you smile.

Iceman.

Iceman: Honey, you cannot mop the floor with your father’s ass on the first day.

You: I was just doing my job

Iceman: Breaking the hard deck?

You: you know too much to be on a medical leave.

Iceman: I brought you two here, of course I know what you’re up to.

You smile. Iceman recommended you two to Cyclone when the mission was brought up. He knew that if someone was able to do the job, it would be his nephews. Yeah, he always called you that. You remember spending your summers in Iceman’s house, watching in awe how your father and him argued about who was right and who wasn’t every time that someone brought up a memory. He was like the cool Uncle you’ve never had.

He was the one that told you that, even if your father was against it, you should be a pilot. You had it in you, it was in your blood. And God knows that the world needs more amazing pilots like Maverick.

You: He tried to fix years of resentment in a dog fight, Ice. Can you believe it?

Iceman: Actually, I can. That’s your father’s style.

You: He almost got us killed.

Iceman: And yet I heard that he was the one to pull up first.

You: You really know too much.

Iceman: You need to forgive your father, y/n.

He was one of the few that used your name and not your call sign. It made you feel like a child sometimes. But for him, you where his little girl.

You: If he wants me to forgive him, he needs to explain why he did it.

Iceman: He won’t tell you.

You: Do you know why?

Iceman: Yes, honey. I know why he did it.

You: Could you tell me?

Iceman: I wish I could... but it has to be him

You: Yeah... you’re right. How you holding up?

Iceman: I’m better. I can even talk a little.

You: That’s amazing, Uncle Ice! I’m so so happy for you.

Iceman: How’s Rooster? Is he doing okay?

You: He’s still too cautious for his own good. He’s having problems following the rest.

Iceman: He needs to be faster...

You: Yeah...

Iceman: Be careful out there, okay? And don’t be mean to the other kids.

You: I’m not the mean one?

Iceman: Do I have to remind you that time you threw Rooster in my pool because he said that you were tiny?

You: He’s the giant.

Iceman: As I said, don’t be mean to the other kids.

You: Okay, Uncle Ice. See you soon. Love ya

Iceman: Love you too, kiddo.

You wish you had time to visit him, but all this hard work is making you exhausted and you barely have time to breathe. You’ll try to visit him next week, before the mission.

You turn the engine, but it doesn’t budge. Come on, not again. This stupid bike... You still have it because it was your first bike and it’s special. Lately, though, it’s giving you more troubles than anything.

After several more tries, the engine comes back to live and you leave the bar quickly. Once this mission ends, you’re throwing this old yellow junk away and getting a new one.

The following day, you’re in the briefing room, ready to learn what this mission is all about. There’s no one else here. You sit down, closing your eyes for a few seconds and praying to whoever is listening for this mission to not be as suicidal as you have heard.

People all over the base seem to know what’s up. Whenever you or the other pilots enter a building, they are looking at you with admiration in their eyes. There’s also compassion. They know something that you and the rest ignore, and it’s honestly scaring the shit out of you.

“Morning, Rebel.” you hear Hangman say.

“Morning.”

You don’t open your eyes, focused on the sound of his steps. He stops next to you, though. The leather of the seat crunching as he leans over it.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’m just a little tense.” you admit, opening your eyes to see him. He has a tender look in his eyes accompanied by a reassuring smile. He moves his hand from the seat, patting your shoulder softly.

“It’ll be okay.” For some reason, Hangman’s words make you calm a little. You nod, smiling a bit. You’re about to thank him when both of you hear Rooster’s voice outside the room. Hangman moves away as fast as lightning and sits on the other row of chairs.

Rooster sits next to you, nudging you with his elbow. “Chin up, Reb.”

You’re not even worried about the mission anymore. You just want to know what’s Hangman’s deal. He’s been nice to you for the past 24 hours. Can someone change that quickly? And why, of all the possible people, has decided to show you this side?

You glance at him. He’s talking with Coyote; he had entered just after Rooster. Hangman’s signature cocky smile it’s present again, probably followed by some conceited comments on his skills. Your mind goes back to yesterday. His sweet, irresistible smile. The warmth of his laugh. How his voiced lacked that usual narcissistic tone, the feeling of his skin against yours. You’d be lying if you said you haven’t been thinking about it all night.

Rumor has it that a little someone had a crush on Jake Seresin when she saw him for the first time. He was young, attractive, a bit of a ladies’ man back there. But your stupid young heart didn’t care about it. For better or worse, nothing happened back there, Hangman soon enough prove himself to be a complete idiot.

Now you look at him, and you think that maybe, just maybe, people can change.

“Time is your greatest enemy.” says Maverick, explaining, at last, the target of this mission. “Phase one of the mission will be a low-level ingress attacking in two-plane teams. You’ll fly along this narrow canyon to your target. Radar-guided surface-to-air missiles defend the area. These sams, they’re lethal. But they were designed to protect the skies above, not the canyon below.”

Every single pilot in the room turns to look at someone, consternation evident in their eyes. You look at Rooster, his eyes fixated on the screen.

“That’s because the enemy knows no one is insane enough to try and fly below them.” Rooster states what everyone is thinking.

“That’s exactly what I’m gonna train you to do.”

Rooster looks at you this time, raising an eyebrow. Yeah, this is some classic Maverick bullshit.

“Great, another suicide mission.” you mutter under your breath.

“On the day, your altitude will be 100 feet maximum. You exceed this altitude; radar will spot you and you’re dead.”

“100 feet?” your friend whispers to you.

“Roos, this is impossible.” you whisper back.

“Your airspeed will be 660 knots minimum. Time to target: two and a half minutes. That’s because fifth-generation fighters wait at an air base nearby. In a head-to-head with these planes in your f-18s, you’re dead. That’s why you need to get in, hit your target and be gone before these planes even have a chance of catching you. This makes time your greatest adversary.”

You look at Hangman, he seems to be enjoying the information. He's probably going to try to be the first one to get it.

You almost laugh when Maverick says that today “we’ll be easy”.

Max ceiling: 300 feet. Time to target: three minutes.

And that’s supposed to be easy.

Gradually, all of the team gets a chance to try to make it on time, following the parameters and the course marked on the screen. To say that this is almost impossible is to say something. None of your teammates make it on time to target, some of them surpass the 300-foot ceiling, some of them crushed an imaginary rock wall. You make it on time with only a second to spare, but you know that you have to be, at least, 30 seconds faster on the day if you want to survive. Rooster also manages to make it to target, but he is one minute late. Maverick is going to address that and you know it. So, when you enter again the briefing room after all of you had completed the exercise, you prepare yourself for the worst.

Maverick projects on the screen a simulation of Coyote, Phoenix and Bob’s exercise. You watch how the miscommunication of the team makes them fail.

“Why are they dead?” asks Maverick once the simulation is over.

“We broke the 300-foot ceiling and a Sam took us out.” explains Phoenix.

“No. Why are they dead?” Maverick moves to Coyote, knowing that he’s the one that needs to give an explanation here.

“I slowed down and didn’t give her a warning. It was my fault.”

“Was there a reason you didn’t communicate with your team?” Maverick is harsh with his words, but you have to agree that this would have been a successful exercise if they had communicated between them.

“I was focusing on...” Coyote tries to explain but Maverick cuts in.

“One that their family will accept at their funeral.”

Auch. That one hurts, old man.

“None, sir.”

Maverick moves again to talk to Phoenix.

“Why didn’t you anticipate the turn? You were briefed on the terrain.”

Phoenix doesn’t have time to speak.

“Don’t tell me. Tell it to his family.”

He turns to the screen, changing to the next simulation: Hangman, Payback and Fanboy. You’re honestly not surprised that Hangman tries to be the fastest and leaves the other two behind. He lives up to his name.

“What happened?” Maverick asks to Hangman.

“Well, I flew as fast as I could. Kind of like my ass depended on it.” responds Hangman, proud and conceited yet again. You’re beginning to think he has two different personalities.

“And you put your team in danger, and your wingman’s dead.” Rooster interjects, not giving Maverick time to scold the blonde man.

“They couldn’t keep up.” retorts back Hangman. Seriously, two personalities.

“Are you serious?” you ask aloud. Hangman looks at you, smirking before looking at the screen where Maverick has your simulation ready. You look closely, observing and taking mental notes of the places where you should be more careful, and the ones you could be faster.

“This is a great example of how is done. We only need to be faster here. Good job, Rebel.” Maverick praises you, and you nod awkwardly. You haven’t been praised by your father in years, and it feels strange.

The last simulation shows up. Rooster, Yale and Harvard move through the course at a slower speed than required. They make it to target, but at this speed, they’ll have to dog fight their way out.

“Why are you dead? You’re team leader up there. Why are you, why is your team dead?” Maverick asks, and you can feel in his tone that he is somehow disappointed. He did expect more than this from Goose’s son.

“Sir, he’s the only one besides Rebel who made it to the target.” butts in Phoenix, trying to give credit to Rooster.

“A minute late. He gave enemy aircraft time to shoot him down.”

“You don’t know that.” Rooster affirms. Well, if the situation was different, and you had some enemies doing that course and they ended one minute late, you would have had time to make it to their position. Maverick’s right.

“You’re not flying fast enough. You don’t have a second to waste.”

“We made it to the target.” Rooster tone is dangerous. He is fuming.

“And superior enemy aircraft intercepted you on your way out.” Maverick is trying to reason, trying to explain to Rooster why he’s wrong. And you hate to admit it, but your friend needs to leave the resentment aside and listen.

“Then it’s a dog fight.”

“Against fifth-generation fighters.”

“Yeah. We’d still have a chance.”

“In an f-18."

“It’s not the plane, sir, it’s the pilot.”

“Exactly!”

“There’s more than one way to fly this mission.”

“Roos...” you try to stop this conversation, both of them are heating up and you don’t want them to cause a scene in front of the team.

“You really don’t get it. On this mission a man flies like Maverick here, or a man does not come back. No offense intended.” says Hangman. Yeah, he must have hit his head against something yesterday and his real persona is coming back.

“Yet somehow, you always manage.” Bob adds, always ready to say something against Hangman.

“Look, I don’t mean to criticize. You’re conservative, that’s all.” begins Hangman and you know he really means every single word he’s saying.

“Lieutenant.” Maverick tries to stop this conversation, but Hangman keeps talking.

“We’re going into combat, son, on a level no living pilot’s ever seen. Not even him. That’s no time to be thinking about the past.” he says his last sentence looking directly to Rooster. What is he implying? Wait, thinking about the past? Does he know about Goose? Does he know that Maverick flew with him? Wait... does he know that Maverick is your father? Is that why he’s been so nice to you? Your brain moves fast, remembering how he began to be a decent human towards you after the dog fight. He knows. And if he had any suspicion left you must have solved it when you told him about the old man trying to pull your papers. How could you have been so stupid?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asks Rooster.

“You better stop talking, Hangman.” you say, already knowing how bad this is going to end.

“Rooster.” Maverick is trying to stop one of the men, but none of them are having it.

“I can’t be the only one that knows that Maverick flew with his old man”

“Lieutenant, that’s enough”

“Or that Maverick was flying when his old man...”

Hell breaks loose. Rooster gets up of his chair and grabs Hangman by the collar, ready to punch him in the face. Luckily, the rest of the team is fast enough to stop them. Maverick steps between them, you grab Rooster by the arm and the rest try to separate them.

“That’s enough” Maverick shouts.

“You’re a disgusting piece of shit.” you say getting closer to him, but Bob grabs you before you can do something crazy.

“You son of a bitch!” Rooster shouts. You’ve never seen him this angry.

“I’m cool, I'm cool. Hey, hey” says Hangman, smiling. He’s a complete idiot.

“That’s enough”

“He’s not cut out for this mission.” Hangman looks at Maverick, a proud smile on his face. “You know it. You know I'm right.”

“You’re all dismissed” Maverick’s words make you leave the room faster than the rest. You’re almost running, hoping that Hangman enters in the locker room. You see him turning and entering the room. You walk in there without thinking.

“Hangman!”

“Whoah, Reb, what’s u-”

You slap him in the face before he can even end the sentence. He looks betrayed, in some way. As if he wasn’t expecting that you, from all the people, were the one that would end up punching him. He touches his cheek, a dry chuckle leaves his mouth before looking at you.

“If you just think about Rooster’s father ever again, I swear to God it will be ten times worse the next time”

“What are you gonna do? Tell Daddy that some kid is being bad with your friend?” Hangman’s mocking tone hurts more than anything. You feel the disappointment in your heart, twisting it. Do you really thought that someone like Hangman could change? How stupid.

“You know”

“Do you think people are so stupid that they cannot put two and two together?” his voice is raising in anger.

“Does everyone know?!”

“Yes. Everyone knows. It’s not that hard to see. The attitude, the way he talks to you, how you do the exact same things. You’re just like your father”

“I’m not like him” you whimper with tears in your eyes. You can’t be like him. You just can’t.

“You sure? Cause the way I see it, you’re just daddy’s little trouble maker”

“I thought you were different. I thought you were being nice to me because you wanted to be my friend”

“Thanks, but I don’t need your friendship”

You come closer to him, breathing the same air. You can see his jaw clenching, glancing at every part of your face but your eyes. How did you two end up like this?

“When you end up alone, and nobody gives a shit about you, you will regret every single decision you’ve ever made. Nobody will ever love you”

“I don’t need love”

“Yeah... love is for the living people. And you're dead on the inside” you leave, tears falling to your cheeks and blurring your vision on your way out.

Jake sees the tears in her eyes and he wants to stop. He doesn’t know how, though. He was so focused on Rooster in the briefing room that he forgot that if someone hurts Rooster, they’re hurting Rebel. They’re two sides of the same coin. Always been together, always will be.

He cannot try to be Y/n’s friend if he doesn’t stop talking shit about Bradshaw. That's basic common sense. And yet, here he is, with a red cheek and an aching heart.

He wishes he could go after her, ask for forgiveness and fix everything. That option was taken away years ago. And he doesn’t know how to fix all this shit.

When did the world get so complicated? When did he became such an asshole?

When did he fall in love with Y/n Mitchell?

Has he always been in love? Well, he doesn’t know. But when he entered the room this morning and saw her sitting there, alone, and with a face contorted with fear, he wanted to do something. Talk to her, touch her, hug her... Anything. She can be reckless, but she’s not stupid. She knows when to be scared and this mission is one of those in which not all the team makes it home. Jake knows that Rooster will be team leader and Y/n will be on the mission. He’s not going to see that girl flying a suicide mission with a leader who is prone to froze in fear and be unable to proceed. Rooster needs to react. He’s a great pilot, goddammit. He just needs to stop thinking about the book.

Is Jake trying to make him crack? Probably. Now he’s realizing that’s not his job. And that he messed up big time.

He needs to make things right and apologize to them. That's the only way to get close to her. And he needs to be on her good side. Not because he wants to fly the mission. He doesn’t care about it anymore, honestly.

He's not going to let his girl go up there without telling her how he feels.

#top gun x reader #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman x fem!reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #hangman x reader #top gun maverick fanfic #jake seresin x reader #hangman seresin #hangman imagine #jake hangman fic #a rebel in my soul

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mintmatcha · 3 years ago

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quickie - dabi X hero!reader

Dabi x cis!fem reader

CW: public sex, voyeurism, standing sex, doll as a nickname, praise

a/n: thanks to shan’s discover server for dealing with my bullshit creating this <3

"We can't keep doing this."

The figure, leaned against the graffitied brick of a building, tosses back his hood as he takes another drag from his cigarette. The black of his hair, streaked with the occasional red, shines under the streetlamp. His burns are worse than the last time you’ve seen him, stretching from his face to his knuckles.

"You say that everytime." Dabi drops the cigarette butt and crushes it under the heel of his boot. "But you always come anyway."

You scuff your heel against the concrete, listening to how it echoes down the empty street. The dive bar you two stand in front of long ago cleared, all of the patrons disappearing into the night.

Maybe heading home. Most likely not.

You should be heading home too.

"I'm only here because you asked me to be here." you ask cooly, forcing your eyes to stay glued to your phone. You don't look away until his tight grip clutches your shoulder. Against the chill of the night, his touch is comforting.

"Don't play coy." he scoffs, "I never asked you to be here, little hero."

You flinch at the nickname, checking your surroundings once again. Being recognized as a hero would mean trouble in this neighborhood. You already clearly don't belong; you had dressed nicely for a date- a date with another hero, someone good for you-

only to abandon him the moment this asshole texted you.

"I just told you I was bored," Dabi smirks, the stitches at the corners of his mouth pulling as he eyes you up, "And you decided to entertain me, apparently."

You wish your heart wasn't beating out of your chest. You're not quite sure what it was about him- maybe the danger, maybe daddy issues, maybe the horrifying idea that you genuinely cared about him, maybe something entirely different- but you were wrapped around his fingers.

And he is well aware of it.

He hooks a finger under the strap of your dress and pulls it down and off your shoulder with a languid pace, eyes tracing over the exposed skin. "I like this. Kinda fancy, kinda skimpy-" His tongue runs over the edge of one of his incisors, his piercing catching the low light. "It's like you're asking for trouble."

You just shrug. "Maybe I am looking for trouble."

"I told you to stop playing coy." His hand cups your chin, dragging it up to look at him directly. His gaze is dark, hungry, and more than a little dangerous. "Are you here to get dicked down or what?"

You try to sound nonchalant, but your voice is high and tight in your throat. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

“Aw, come on now, lil hero. Don’t pretend to be a brat." he grins, pulling your head higher, “Lemme hear you say it. Tell me you came here to get fucked."

“I-” you hesitate.

“Come on, say it.” he takes your hand in his and, for a second, it's sweet- but then he guides it down to the front of his pants, cupping you over his crotch to feel the beginning of his excitement. "Say you wanna get fucked."

You swallow, and then gently squeeze his cock. "I want you to have sex with me."

"Nuh-uh. That's not what I said." he leans into you, lips brushing against yours, blue eyes never leaving yours, "Say you want me to fuck you."

"I want you to fuck me."

“Aw, dirty girl.” he purrs, "What would everyone think? The perfect sidekick, begging for a villain's cock?"

He closes the gap and catches the plush of your lip between his teeth- hard. You gasp and he doesn't waste the opportunity; his tongue finds yours, rushed and messy.

The kiss breaks, a string of spit connecting your lips for a microsecond. "Turn around."

Before you can react, Dabi's hand grips your forearm and twists it behind you, forcing you against the wall. The prickle of the brick digs into your cheek, but you can't focus on the pain- only the heat of his hands: one holding you still, the over sliding up your skirt.

"H-here?" you whisper, but don't resist. "Someone could see."

"Yeah-" his chuckle is low, "That's the fun part."

He's quick to flip the fabric up and over your ass, exposing your lacy panties to the night air. His palms your ass and shakes it, eyes glued to how it shakes and quivers under his touch.

"Very sexy." he coos almost mockingly, pulling the elastic of your panties so taut that it digs into your skin. You flinch when it snaps back, further pressing yourself into the wall, and Dabi laughs.

"Aw, sensitive little thing, aren'tcha?" he grinds against you, the rough fabric of his jeans doing nothing to hide the swell of his cock. It rubs between your ass cheeks, the friction of demin already burning. The only respite in the cool metal of his studded belt, smooth and slick against you.

"Are you sure you can handle this, baby?" he tugs you closer by the bicep, arching your back until your head falls back. Like this, he looks down at you, a wolfish grin on his face. "I'd be so sad if I broke you."

"No, you wouldn't-" your free arm slides down his front, thumb dipping into the waistband and fingers rolling over the buckle.

"Yeah, you're right." he helps you unclasp the buckle, the gentle tinkling the only sound that echoes down the empty street. It hits you then that, despite the late hour, someone could approach at any moment and catch you being fucked by a wanted criminal.

The scrape of denim is replaced by hot, smooth skin and a tickle of his happy trail. Dabi lets the weight of his cock fall against your folds and a warm trickle of precum grazes your cheek. The night only seems to be getting colder, but the latent heat of Dabi's skin only seems to build.

"Fuck--" he ruts up against you unexpectedly, "You're fucking dripping-" You can feel his cock sliding against you, the wetness of your arousal letting him easily slip between your thighs. The head of his cock ghosts near your clit, not nearly the pressure you need. "God, maybe I'll just fuck you like this-"

A whine escapes your throat before you can tamp it down.

"Oh, don’t be a brat.” he pulls back, “I’ll make sure you get what you need.”

He digs into his pocket and pulls out a gold foil packet, flashing it to you. You two agreed on protection since the first hook up- your insistence. He quickly rips into it with his teeth and rolls the condom down, barely covering his length before he pushes against your entrance, his fat head easily popping inside despite the stretch. You expect him to fully bury himself in one stroke, like he always does, but he stays there inside you, his cock barely past the petals of your pussy. Impatiently, you wiggle back against him, desperate for more, but he braces against you.

"Slow down, now-" he clicks his tongue before pressing a surprisingly soft kiss into your temple. Then, he shoves you forward again, face smushed into the rocky brick. "Lemme enjoy this properly."

You teeter on your high heels, legs already shaking as he finally rolls his hips forward inch by inch. Under his breath, he mutters so low that you can't understand him, but you catch clippings of praise and curses.

His pace is unusually slow, letting you savor the fullness of his whole cock before he pulls back to the tip. His breath is uncomfortably warm against the back of your neck. The scent of ash and tobacco that clings to him makes your stomach turn, but you can't help but want more of it- more of him.

The hand of your hip, unnaturally warm, almost burning, slips around to the front of the panties, dipping into the fabric to trace supply circles around your clit. It's nice- soft and gentle-

but you don't fuck Dabi to be gentle.

With your free hand, you push against the wall, forcing him to sink into you, hard. "Fucking hell-" he chokes out a groan as you start bucking against him. He uses your forearm as leverage, pulling and pushing down his length faster and faster. "That's it-- bounce like that- oh, good girl-"

Your voice, pathetic and lewd, fills the stress, but Dabi does nothing to muffle it. Of course he doesn't- he likes the risk. He wants to be caught, wants people to see him splitting you in half. Anyone even remotely close would be able to hear the wet, sloppy sound of your pussy, but you can't find it in yourself to care.

Once you get the rhythm he wants, Dabi releases your arm and grabs on to the front of your dress, palming your tits through the fabric greedily. It's rough, almost bruising, squishing you solely for his pleasure.

"So soft," he breathes. After a moment, he decides the fondling isn't enough and wraps his fingers under the hem, digging into the fat of your chest. With a firm tug, he snaps the remaining strap, freeing one of your tits into the cool night air. You don't even have time to shiver before his hand takes it place against you.

Dabi always runs warm, but something about sex- albeit the desire or the physical contact- makes him hot. The stroke of his hands, the lips across your shoulder blade, the dip of his stomach against your back- all of them leave ghosts, trails of goosebumps where heat used to be.

Even through the condom, his cock radiates heat deep inside your cunt, twitching and pulsing with every stroke. His fingertips never leave their mark, rolling your clit steadily.

"Y-you gonna cum for me?" he says through his teeth, "Gonna let me f-feel it? Let me make you feel good? Oh, such a good girl for me--"

The pressure on your clit all at once becomes too much and you cum, knees wobbling and threatening to give out. Your pace threatens to falter, but Dabi muscles through it for you.

Dabi's lips find your neck, right below your jaw. A flick of the tongue is followed by the sharp pain of his teeth digging into the soft spot. Overstimulation hits your quickly, your pussy twitching every stroke.

"'Is too much." you hiccup, reaching behind you blindly. You manage to caress his face, the staples warm and wet with his sweat. He nuzzles into the hand, a surprisingly sweet gesture.

"Just- just take it." he growls. The pace is suddenly lopsided, the rhythm gone as he starts to cum.

The gentle pulsing of his cock is immediately followed by pooling warmth. No, warmth is an understatement. It's hot, almost unbearably. You keen away from him, but he stays locked against you.

"G-get off," you hiccup, "You're t-too hot."

"You're not so bad yourself, doll." He withdrawals and quickly peels the condom off, tossing it to the side. He spins you around, running a thumb under your eye. Flecks of mascara and eyeliner stick to his skin. "Especially like this." he gestures to you as a whole. Running makeup, ripped dress, quivering legs, your own cum glossing your thighs- you look destroyed.

"You should walk around like this all the time." Dabi wipes his stomach with his shirt, haphazardly smearing the wetness more than cleaning it, before redoing his buckle. He takes his time, clearly not concerned about being exposed. "On second thought- nah. Just wear this for me."

You shimmy your dress down, trying to cover your ass as quickly as possible. "You're disgusting."

He throws his head back and laughs. "You didn't seem to think so a couple minutes ago."

"Fuck you."

Dabi shakes a cigarette free from the carton and sticks it between his teeth. "Aw, doll-" he dots the tip with his finger and it alights, deep orange against the dark of the night. "You just did."

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #mha smut #dabi #touya smut #minors do not interact #hotstuff

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artzee-bee · 3 years ago

Text

Not going anywhere | Lucifer Morningstar x reader

Fandom: Lucifer

Request:” Hi i have request for you ,Lucifer and the reader have a big fight they are married, and this fight it's lucifer fault The reader leaves home and Lucifer decides to give her space After a few days, he goes to the reader and realizes that she has been missing for a few days,When the person behind all this claims that the reader is dead and gives them a her body . Everyone thinks that the reader is dead and Lucifer He gets depressed and thinks it's all his fault , and after a few days, the thieves release the singer and the reader goes to Lucifer.Lucifer first thinks it is an imagination and then apologizes to the reader Thank you so much”

Genre: Angst with happy ending

Warnings: kidnapping, death

~~~

Your intention had never been to start a fight. All you wanted an explanation (preferably one that also made sense) and an apology, but apparently that was too much to ask, because as soon as you voiced your opinion, Lucifer went up in flames

“Don’t start this again!”

“I dislike it just as much as you do but what I hate more is being cancelled on, AGAIN, through a text message no less!”

“It was an emergency!”

“It’s always an emergency Lucifer! It’s starting to sound a lot like work means more to you than I do!” “The detective needs me, damn it!” your husband yelled

“And she has you! Every day of every week! All I ask for is one date night and for the past month you’ve done nothing but avoid committing to one or backing out at the last second! I’m tired of being your second choice Lucifer! I’m your wife and you are my husband, I love you to the ends of the world, I just wish you'd say no to Decker from time to time...”

“I’m saving people’s lives Y/N. So if you’re not on your deathbed, other people are and they need me now!” as he said this, Lucifer walked right past you and into your bedroom, seemingly ignorant to the painful words he’d just said. You looked around the living room, vision blurry with tears, your chest heavy with anger and disgust. You rushed towards the elevator.

“When you find time in your busy schedule and feel like being my spouse again, let me know!” the elevator door closed before Lucifer could say anything

~~~

When Lucifer woke up the next morning to a cold and empty bed, he didn’t think much of it.Truthfully, he was still kind of pissed at the attitude you had given him a day before, so he got dressed as usual and went to the precinct, assuming you’ll be home by nightfall.

Except when he got home that night, he stopped by Lux first, which ended up like it always does: with him sucked into an endless cycle of booze and dancing, that lasted until well into the night. When he did enter the penthouse eventually, he found it empty. Exactly the way he had left it in the morning. Even the tie he had left on the floor, after deciding last minute that it didn’t go with his suit, was untouched. Now this was curious, but still, Lucifer felt like you must be playing hard to get. He sent you one text message, before going to bed

“Call me when you can!”

The day after that, he figured his part was done! By reaching out first, he had already made a big compromise, so now it was your turn! To reach out, come home! But that didn’t happen that day, or the day after that.

Three days after the text message,Lucifer was getting worried. He was looking at his phone every other minute. Always making sure he hadn’t accidently put it on silent or missed any texts. He sent more messages, telling you he was sorry and that he wanted you to come home. That he would listen and spend more time with you, promising luxurious dates and weekend trips, if only you forgave him. You didn’t even open the messages.

“Lucifer are you listening?” Decker was insanely annoyed at her partner’s lack of concentration

“Sorry detective. I’ve...I’ve got a lot on my mind”

“Well, better get it out of the way now, so that we can move on to our case!” she said, cleaning out her desk quickly, before resting back into her chair “Talk to me!”

“It’s Y/N. I’m worried about her!”

“Why?” “We...had a fight a couple days ago and she left. She hasn’t come back since”

“Have you heard from her at all?”

“No…” Lucifer said, embarrassed at his own lack of care for you. He should have called you earlier, reached out more! He should have tried harder!

“How long had she been missing for?”

“4...maybe 5 days…”

“Lucifer, are you sane? And you’re only telling me now?!” Chloe jumped from her seat, turning on her computer

“I thought she needed space! I thought she was avoiding me intentionally cause she was angry! I didn’t know…” Lucifer choked back a sob, not wanting to break down in tears in the middle of the precinct

“Lucifer!” Chloe caught hold of his hand “I’m gonna find her! I promise you!” A few days later, she did. Well, more like Y/n came to her, in the shape of a pretty little gift box left on Decker's doorstep.

“A lil too late on your case detective” read the note attached to it.

Inside were Y/N’s clothes, all of them stained with dark, dried blood. Y/N was declared dead that day and the case was closed. At her funeral, only her closests friends were present. Lucifer wanted it to be as intimate as possible.

That day was also the first time anyone had seen Lucifer, since the news. His eyes were bloodshot and the dark circles under his eyes almost matched the black suit he was wearing. Throughout the ceremony he kept twisting his wedding band, a habit he’d picked up on since you went missing. He chose not to do a speech, but once the crowd disappeared, and he was left face to face with your grave, he pulled out a little piece of paper from his pocket and sat down on the grass.

“In hell, everyone feared me. There, I was nothing but another server of the universe, ruling over an empire I never really wanted, because I never had a choice. So eventually I left, thinking anywhere will be better than what I had, and I came to earth.

I ran into you about 2 weeks later, before I really even knew how to behave myself. Before I knew anything about who I really was besides ‘the devil’. I longed to know, grow and discovers different sides of me, where I could be something new, and you gave it to me. You made me who I never thought I could possibly be. You made me a lover. I never thought of myself as capable to love anyone, in any degree, but your light shone everywhere you went and your kindness touched me and everyone around you. It became impossible to not get infatuated with your person. I allowed you to see and feel around every dark corner of my soul and being and every time I thought it was the end. Everytime I would take in your touch as if it was the last, I would prepare myself for abandonment, but it never came. Through everything you stood by my side and when I felt my darkest, you gave me a fistful of your light and that was enough to keep me going. You married a broken man and called him perfect, despite everyone telling you how much of a foul you were. Even then, you shooed them away. Even then you chose me. I wasn’t worthy of your love or your trust and our last night together proved it.

You’re not here anymore to hear my apologies and I’ll never forgive myself for it. You’ve gone now somewhere I can not follow, but I know you are well taken care of there. I hope, someway, somehow, you’ll hear these words: I am sorry. I loved you with my entire soul. Not listening to you was the biggest mistake of my life and I’ll never forgive myself. I choose however, to remember you as you were, because I know that’s what you’d want. I’ll remember you and your laugh.I’ll remember our date nights and shopping sprees. Nights in Lux or on the penthouse balcony. I’ll remember all the meals you prepared for me and the flirtatious remarks you used to make, because you thought they were so silly. I’ll remember the little frown on your face whenever you worked on an important project for work and I’ll remember every evening walk around the block you’d make me accompany you on. I know I always complained about them, but they were always fun. Everything I ever did with you was always fun.

I loved you. I still do. You are my everything Y/N. Thank you for devoting yourself to me in all the ways that you did. I’ll forever live on in my heart.“

~~~

It had been months since your disappearance. After all this time, you finally managed to escape your kidnappers and report them to the New York police station, since that’s where you had been held hostage for so long. As soon as the paperwork was done and you were sure that the people who ruined you were getting the punishment they deserved, you jumped on a train and headed straight back home. Straight to Lucifer.

Lux looked exactly the same as you had left it. You were washed over by a wave of comfort that almost brought you to tears. Home. You never thought you’d get to step in here again. Overwhelmed, you took a seat on one of the couches, allowing your head to rest back on it, as you took in every detail of your surroundings: the feel of the leather on your fingertips, the cool breeze of the air conditioning, the warm lights. Everything was still here.

“Y/N?” you jumped at the sound

“Hi love…” your voice broke as you said those words. Words you never thought you would be able to mutter again. The sight of your husband, messy as he was, made you weak in the knees. He was standing at the top of the staircase, dressed in nothing but his robe, tied carelessly around his waist. He had probably just woken up. You wanted to say something again, but before you could, he laughed

“Nope” he said simply, before making his way down the stairs and to the bar “I’m not doing this. Not today, not ever!” Lucifer filled his glass to the top with bourbon, before turning around and trying to leave back to where he came from

“Lucifer, it's me!”

“Sure you are, except you’re not real! Nice of dad, taking my ability to stay endlessly sober, getting me drunk, forcing visions of my dead wife onto me to teach me another lesson about managing my emotions. Real clever, except this is too much! So I’m going to enter that elevator and I expect to never have to see you again, hum? Right, well, au revoir now!” he continued on his way, but before he could get far, you were clutching on the silk tie of his robe. Lucifer felt the tug around his waist and turned around slowly to look at you, this time a little more unsure. As if he was trying to figure you out

“Lucifer, I’m Y/N. I escaped”

“Escaped? But that’s impossible, she died! I saw it-”

“What you saw was a bloody shirt!” he looked up to meet your gaze, tears already forming “They lied to you Lucifer”

Finally, it seemed like he had connected all of the pieces of the puzzle. The glass of alcohol fell to the ground and your husband wrapped you in a big hug for the first time in months. He nuzzled his head in your hair and took in your scent, your figure, your warmth. Hell, you were even more perfect that he remembered! Silent tears fell down both of your cheeks as you collapsed to the ground, still holding onto each other for dear life

“I’m so sorry” Lucifer sobbed in your hair “I’m so so sorry”

“It wasn’t your fault Luci”

“If I hadn’t been a jerk you wouldn’t have left! If I would have simply listened to you, they wouldn’t have gotten to you! You would’ve stayed here, where you belong! You would have stayed with me but instead I was too busy with my stupid job and the stupid cases and I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry” he continued crying on your shoulder as you rubbed small circles on his back

“I’m here now my love” you whispered, kissing his cheek “And I’m not going anywhere”

#lucifer #lucifer netflix #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar imagine #lucifer morningstar angst #lucifer morningstar

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