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sorryimanon · 4 years ago

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Character: Shouto Todoroki

Long distance isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Your boyfriend, Shouto, goes overseas on a special mission in America. Back home, you try to take advantage of the distance with a couple of pictures.

Warnings: 18+, phone sex

Word count: 4k

Shouto watched with somber eyes as you packed the last remaining suitcase into the trunk of the car, back still turned against him so he couldn't see your tears. Bakugou and Izuku insisted on driving to the airport together, taking into consideration that they were all traveling overseas to the same destination. The night before, you were being a stubborn brat, not liking the idea of sending Shouto off at the crack of dawn. He showered you with affection afterward, his body never leaving your touch. Making love didn't cross both of your minds. It would've hurt in the after glow knowing the distance that'll be between you for the months to come. The two of you decided to just lay lifelessly in each other's arms, limbs interlocking, fingers carefully tracing skin, and hearts beating in unison. Moments like that is what truly captured the relationship as a whole.

With your back still turned, Shouto saunters over and wraps his arms around your torso, along with his head resting on top of yours. You hummed at his subtle touch. Eyes drawn to a close, you ruffled his split colored hair, already imagining the smile forming on his stern face. It was always a miracle when you manage to witness Shouto genuinely smile without forcing it.

You turned on your heel and reposition Shouto's hands on your hips. "Call me as soon as you touch down in America. Okay?" you didn't care at how needy you sounded, anything involving Shouto and hero work gave you anxiety.

The arm holding onto your hip soon reached the bottom of your chin, tilting it slightly so your eyes can formally meet. His dark irises became glossy as you stared harder, trying to capture every feature before he leaves in case within those months you forgot what he looks like. Even though you had a separate album on your phone filled to the brim with selfies and funny pictures of him, mostly taking up your storage space.

"I promise sweetheart. Remember, this will be the shortest 6 months you'll endure. I'll be home quicker than you can say All Might," he said, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. The action made you blush and giddy, referring back to the ways he'd make you feel during U.A.

Subconsciously, you both lean in against each other, waiting patiently for who's making the next move. Your lips hovered over his, unsure if he wants to kiss goodbye or stay wrapped in your arms. A minute has gone by and you two stayed cemented in the same position. Fuck it, you thought. Who cares if it'll make you miss each other more. You harshly grabbed his face and leaned forward, preparing your lips to come into contact. But the loud beep emitting from the car made you both jump out of each other's grasp, knocking you backwards onto the cold surface.

Bakugou's head popped out comically from one of the windows, eyes gleaming with rage.

"Oi! Hurry up you dumbasses! We were supposed to leave 5 minutes ago!" he hollered, spit spraying out from this mouth.

You overheard Izuku, who was in the passengers seat, trying to calm down the explosive blonde. A pair of calloused hands slipped behind the back of your neck, crashing your lips to mount another. There's no hunger in the kiss. No teeth or tongue battling it out. Just pure passion burning within the languish kiss. Feeling satisfied, Shouto released himself from your mouth, leaving you breathlessly staring back at him in awe. With one last romantic gesture, your boyfriend rubbed the outer part of your cheek and pinched it between his fingers, smiling at your reddened reaction and shuffled towards the side door of the car.

"I love you y/n," was all he said before sliding the door shut.

You mumbled the exact sentiment as the car revved up and maneuvered out of your driveway. Shortly after wiping away some dried up tears, the car soon disappears from your line of vision, leaving you all alone on the driveway.

“All Might...” you whisper to no one in particular.

About 3 months into the trial of long distance, you were already experiencing the symptoms of postpartum-boyfriend-syndrome. Constantly crying yourself to sleep? Check. Going through his Instagram to make sure he didn’t delete any of your pictures together? Check. Texting him every hour on any given day to see how fast he’d respond? Check. Also, the inevitable weight gain from stress eating? Double check.

A couple of your friends noticed the sudden mood change when Shouto arrived in America that first initial month of separation. Momo for example, confronted you in the locker room at the agency one day, spewing about how you almost got yourself decapitated by a villain when your guard was down.

“I’m sorry Momo. My mind has been in the gutter lately. Shouto hasn’t texted me all day since this morning. I’m just worried this whole long distance thing is going to ruin our relationship,” you admitted , wincing at how incredibly clingy you sounded.

Momo began undressing herself, her lips caught between her teeth, clearly taking in what you said. Once she shimmied our from her hero costume, a devilish smirk rested upon her face.

“If you feel like your relationship is going grey, maybe try to spice things up a little. Ya know? Use the distance to your advantage.”

Your hands stopped themselves from unzipping your tight suit. “Hah? What do you mean by that?”

Momo chuckled, amused by how innocent you were acting.

“Come on, you know what I mean y/n,” she slipped on her everyday attire and closed the locker. “You know what they say, a picture is worth a thousand words.” With that she gave you a wink and left the room.

A picture huh?

Across from you was a massive mirror. Each end reaching the edge of the room, everything being showcased, including you. Sometimes you’d walk in catching a few of the prohero girls taking selfies. They all had one thing in common, confidence. Something you had before Shouto’s departure. It felt as if someone used an ice pick to cut away the very little self esteem you had left, leaving you with barely anything to offer anymore. You couldn’t help to compare yourself to the proheros Shouto has been working alongside with since being in America. American girls were a different breed. Everyone over there looks exactly the same but different somehow. You tried not to think too much as you resumed on unzipping your hero costume. Today you wore a plain black bra set underneath. You hardly put on anything skimpy or sexy since you’re practically on patrol everyday, resorting to your trusty sport bras.

You caught a quick glimpse of yourself in the horizontal mirror, gaping at the added fat in your chest area. All thanks to the weight gain, your boobs looked delicious in the bra. The lower half of your body was nothing to ignore either. Your ass filled up the small undergarments, cheeks teasingly spilling out.

A picture is worth a thousand words.

Momo’s words enticed you enough to grab your cellphone from the pocket of your duffel bag. Work hours was over for everyone in the building, so you weren’t worried about someone walking in on this compromising state.

You tried to mimic the poses you witnessed from the times you watched the girls do it. One hand on the hip, the other behind your head, along with angling your ass to the side. The pose was uncomfortable. How did they manage to hold this stance for longer than ten seconds? You took some pictures anyway, ignoring how awkward you presented yourself in the mirror.

Each picture you swiped through didn’t meet the criteria. Were these even good enough to send off to Shouto? He loves you no matter what, he reminded you everyday in fact, but your stomach dropped of the thought of him being revolted at these images. You quickly deleted all of the them and sighed in defeat. One more try.

Dropping down to your knees, you held the camera above your head, showing off every part of your body. You spread your legs a couple of inches, your cloth slit on full display. To add even more, you leaned forward a little bit to have your boobs almost spilling out from your tight bra. Through the camera lens, the top part of your nipples were visible. Surly Shouto wasn’t dense to not notice.

Your mouth was agape as you stared at the pictures you recently took. This person in the frame didn’t look anything like you. If you were to show this to Momo she’d be a proud mother.

Without hesitation, you sent a couple of the pictures to Shouto, leaving a cute little message at the bottom once they finally delivered.

Missing you extra today :) xoxo

You didn’t wait for his reply and started packing up everything in your area. Hopefully Shouto won’t be angry at your sudden bluntness, but he left you no choice. An acute noise came from your duffle bag. The blood rushing through your veins suddenly became very cold. It must be a message from Shoto, it has to be. You waited till you arrived safely home to check what he responded with. To your dismay, it was a reminder for next weeks meeting. You shuffled out from your car and headed straight to your shared apartment, a pout currently prominent on your face due to the failed mission.

On the other side, Shouto sat stoic in a plush chair listening attentively to one of the leaders reporting about the current mission. Next to him was a grouchy looking Bakugou, who was currently falling in and out of sleep in his seat. By no surprise Izuku was the only one in the group wide awake and full of energy. The trio has been traveling across the nation helping out with smaller hero agencies in hopes for there to be a stronger allegiance between the USA and Japan. So far it’s been excruciatingly draining on not just their bodies but minds as well. All Shoto wants is to feel the familiar warmth of your body pressed against his. His touch starving tendencies wandered into his personal life when Bakugou caught him snuggling the hotel pillows one night, mumbling your name over and over again. Pathetic as it is, he misses you so much. Although, he wouldn’t admit that out loud, he tried to keep you updated on everything that’s been happening. He has a hard time expressing his feelings, especially when it comes to you. So when he felt his bottom pocket vibrate, he half expected it to be a goodnight message from you, since you’re a couple of hours ahead of him. Nothing prepared him for the promiscuous photo you shared of yourself plastered on his screen, looking back at him with dilated eyes and flushed cheeks.

Blood rushed to the lower region of his pants as he pinched the screen to get a better inspection of you. He thought you looked absolutely beautiful in this vulnerable state, not to mention how your body perfectly clings to his favorite pair of underwear, every curve and beauty mark showcasing before him. Below the plethora of lewdness, a short message from you was attached.

Missing you a extra today :) xoxo

Stifling a groan, he began to type out a reply, stumbling on his words even in text. Before he could press send, someone slapped Shouto’s shoulder and dragged him to his feet.

“Come on half cold bastard the meeting is over. We’re free to go,” Bakugou grumbled as he pushes Shouto out of the cramped room, having Midoriya to follow suit. Bakugou shifted his gaze to Shouto’s phone, gazing at the gross nickname for you on the screen. Shouto angles his phone away from Bakugou’s peripheral vision, praying that he didn’t see your half naked body.

Shouto stuffed his cellular device into his back pocket again, awaiting for the right moment to text you back. Knowing the dynamic of the relationship, his silence is nothing out of the ordinary, so maybe you weren’t thinking too much into this.

Hours later and still no reply from Shouto. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, you figured he probably hasn’t seen it yet, but the “read at ___” has your heart twisting in a knot. You knew he was a couple of hours behind, but would it take for him to at least send a well thought out compliment. Maybe he’s in the midst of an intense battle? Or worse, hooking up with one of the American colleagues. No, Shoto isn’t like that. Being unfaithful is uncharacteristically unlike Shouto. You mentally slap yourself for painting your loyal boyfriend in a different light, all because of some stupid pictures.

Clearing your mind from anymore self sabotage, you did your nightly routine to get ready for bed. As you tucked yourself in, the bright light from your phone flashed, indicating a notification. Everyone in your contact list has already gone to sleep. Everyone excluding Shouto. Frantically, you reached over to grab the phone, swiping across the screen to view his message. The following text shot daggers through your chest.

Call me now

No mention of the photos you sent hours ago. It took him this long just to conjure up a cryptic message. Although, you were curious to see what he'll say to you once he picks up. You pressed the phone icon on his profile and waited, the ringing making you sweat with anticipation. He answered on the third ring.

There was an uncommon silence hanging in the air. On the other end of the call, you can hear the faint acute breathing coming from your boyfriend. You laid frozen in bed, cowardly holding in your breath to prevent any noise.

Shouto broke the silence and said, "I'm sorry for not texting you all day. There was an immediate emergency that lasted longer than we expected."

You nodded your head, but then caught yourself after realizing he can't see your movement over the phone, and let out a grunt instead.

"So..."

"So?" It came out more aggressive than you wanted it to be, but the constant cat and mouse game of today set you over.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked.

No. Not in a million years could you ever be angry at him. Yes, sometimes there's things he did that you wish he'd do better, like expressing himself instead of sheltering back in his shell. Or the way how you envied the relationships your coworkers had, their partners showing them off like it was second nature. Not once did Shouto verbally express his sexual desires. As selfish as it is, you wanted to explore more with him than just regular mundane vanilla sex. Sadly you knew his response was probably going to be lackluster. But no, you weren't mad, just jealous.

"I'm not mad Shouto. Just...very disappointed in you."

In the background, the definite click of a lock from a door rattled your ears. He's in his hotel room, you thought.

"Is this about what happened earlier today?" he started, dragging his tired feet to the hotel bed. "You know, the pictures-"

"Right, the only pictures I put any effort into just for them to be completely ignored by my own boyfriend."

The line went silent again. Even though he isn't here, if he was, he'd be glaring at you with his intense stare, those bi-colored eyes never wavering away from yours.

"You really want to know how I truly felt about those pictures you sent?" His voice dropped a lower octave, sounding as though he dipped himself in pure molasses. Rich as it is, his sudden change of tone aroused you, sending an involuntary wave of pleasure through your body, tipping to the peak of your sex. The only time you heard him sound like this was either when he's livid to the core or about to completely wreck your shit. Both would coincide with each other on special occasions.

He didn't give you enough time to answer, figuring you were too stubborn to reply, and voiced his inner thoughts.

"The fact that you even think I didn't appreciate the photo's is quite silly sweetheart. In fact," you can hear the clanking of metal on the other end. "It makes me sad that I'm not there to worship every inch of that body. Was that your plan all along? To get me worked up by how much I miss your touch?" Shouto struggled removing his pants, the tent forming beneath them restricting him to smoothly slip them off.

You tried to keep your excitement down by squeezing your legs together, almost to the point where they crossed. Soon your breathing became sporadic. Just picturing Shouto touching himself while you both were on call gave you an adrenaline rush. Knowing you couldn't touch him but just yourself intensified your arousal even more. Slowly, you dragged a lazy finger from your sternum to the area around your belly button, tracing small circles on the skin.

"What would you have done to me if you caught me in that moment? Taking those pictures," your sultry tone boomed through his speakers, almost taken back by your approach.

Shouto raised his hips and shimmed out from his tight work pants and started palming himself through his briefs. "Sweetheart, id do nothing but ravish you. Taking my sweet time with you....fuck...I miss you so much," he couldn't hold back the whine he trapped in his throat as soon as his finger swiped over his clothed slit. The sound alone triggered a warm sensation spreading down below, already feeling the wetness coating your panties. By now, Shouto’s fingers would be disappearing inside of you, scissoring and messaging your velvety walls till you broke out screaming, but you had to make do and resort to playfully teasing yourself.

"Ngh...I miss you too...S-Shoto."

"Are you touching yourself love?"

Both of you were far too gone in arousal, there was no point in holding back your sexual pleas.

"Y-Yes, but I wish it was your fingers instead."

Hearing those words coming from your lips encouraged him to shove his entire hand down his boxers, gripping the base of his cock with ease. A small gasp left his lips feeling the crisp, cold air of the hotel room hit his exposed member. He shifted his hand vertically, giving light tugs to it before pumping it vigorously. The sensation strained him to close his eyes, seeing nothing but you doing the work for him. Late nights in the various hotel rooms consisted of him getting off to memories of all the intimate moments you two shared together. Of course it was lonely, but he never resorted to surfing the internet of lewd videos of random girls. They just weren't you. But tonight, he could finally relieve himself to the sweet ambiance of your moans. And he definitely wasn't going to regret it in the morning like usual.

"Listen to me, go faster for me baby," Shouto instructed, "Imagine it's me touching you."

Your cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, fully coaxing your face in heat. You followed through and dipped your fingers into your sex, feeling the warm texture of your walls petting them. All those months without any sexual relief built up so much tension that the tightness within you restricted from anymore movements. After a few strokes, you loosen and manage to reach in far enough to the peak of your knuckles.

Meanwhile, Shouto's hand never grew tired at the tedious strokes, pre cum dripping till it reached his inner thighs. Your name kept spewing out from his throat like a mantra, like you were the only thing he prayed for at night. Despite his lack of moaning, he grunted with each pump, the built up causing him to breathe heavy as well. Generously, he held the phone close enough for you to hear the continuous slapping of skin, along with the combination of wetness. You didn't restrain yourself from moaning though. Every whimper, moan, and groan reverberated across his empty hotel room.

"You wanna know something?" He tried to keep his breathing at a normal pace, but he hastily kept pumping at quick speed. "Everytime I go to one of those dull meetings, I can't help but to imagine you riding me in front of everyone...ngh!"

The confession elicited a moan from you, along with your legs shaking due to the stimulation. Your head flew back and hit the pile of pillows, mouth agape as you added in another finger.

"I miss the feeling of being inside you. So...fucking...bad,” he was beginning to lose his voice , sounding as though he was in constant pain. Poor boy.

"I never took you as being so up front Shouto, what happened?" You challenged him through the phone.

"I guess you really don't know me baby," Shouto shot up from the bed and bent over, not once removing his hand from his member. "Fuck fuck fuck...I can't wait till I come home, so I can finally taste you."

The coil within you was beginning to snap. Snaking your fingers underneath your shirt, you started flicking your thumb over one of your perked nipples, still immersed into the idea that he's actually the one touching you instead. Toes curling and arms bunching up the sheets, you knew you were about to climax. Just by hearing his speech pattern, you can conclude he was close as well.

"I'm about- I'm about to cum S-Shouto!" You pathetically whine.

"Cum with me baby. I've been holding off for you."

Even during intense moments like this, Shouto's gentleman persona didn't fade away over the course the relationship. With the knowledge you have now, knowing he's been on the verge of relief, you pumped your fingers in sheer brutality, never once missing the g-stop. Throwing his head back, Shouto was now on his knees pleading for mercy from the pleasurable pain shooting up through his member. He let out an exasperated whine.

"Now baby, cum for me."

Then you felt it, the knotted tension within you disappearing. Everything around you looked white, like someone snuck in and painted your room a different color. You can faintly hear Shouto orgasming on the other end of the phone as you calm down from yours. He's heard you climax many times before, but hearing your angelic screams over the speaker made him cum harder.

A few minutes later and you two were now recuperating from the intoxicating session, harsh breathing overlapping each other. It felt like years later when he detached his hand, now coated in his own fluids and cramped up. You loosened yourself and removed the two fingers finally. They glistened with your fluid as well, giving off the impression it was just sweat.

"Y/N? Are you still there?" Shouto's voice alerted you awake, almost forgetting you didn't manifest him to finish you off. You grab the phone after cleaning your drenched fingers and propped it on the pillow next to your shoulder.

"Wow that was-."

"Amazing?" He finishes.

"Took the words right out of my mouth."

He mischievously chuckled, "I know. I heard it loud and clear a minute ago."

You audibly groan loud enough for him to hear while snatching the nearest pillow to smother yourself with.

"So, are you planning on sending any more pictures like that during these last 3 months?"

His innocent inquiry made you break out into a grin that stretched from ear to ear. Those pictures sprouted a future of appraisal from your boyfriend, who you thought would never voice his inner thoughts till the day he dies. You two also found a secretive kink to phone sex as you continue to explore with him during these periods of loneliness. Once he arrives home, he assures none of that is just a “phase” as you two kept venturing beyond to sext each other during important events.

A picture really is worth a thousand words.

(Truthfully, honestly, this is possibly the worst thing I wrote but someone asked for a cute little passionate session with Shoto specifically. I hope you enjoyed (?)

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eclaire-went-bam · 4 years ago

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random riddler headcanons

cannot read the difference between > or <, he uses the "which way is the alligator facing" thing to help him. he keeps this secret very close to him

idk abt you guys but for some reason he always gave me. ace-spec vibes???

on that note he's quoisexual in my eyes. there are,,,question marks on the flag bro,,, it's perfect

that being said he's still DEF homoromantic we all saw that one coming

can't say the words “floor ride in the wyatt tier” in one go

has this unexplained fear of being wrapped up in something, especially arkham straight-jackets (ref to that one throwaway line in young justice lol)

biggest troll bait

80 page long defense plan intro is not fully an intro. it just. trails off into how he hates the batman and how superior he is to him after page 62 (reference to an arkham knight dlc)

the full defense plan is exactly 765 pages

has an official twitter account

adamantly believes cicada 3301 is real. he really wants to join just to feel super smart, but he found out about the whole thing after the organisation/arg/whatever you think it is went silent

when asked how he is, he says “well” to flaunt his correct grammar (although saying good is actually acceptable too lol don't tell him)

has spent WAY too much money on that green luminescent paint. he probably would've been richer than bruce wayne if he just saved it (arkham games again)

has taken either dance or theatre in the past behind his father's back. that's how he so effortlessly makes dramatic speeches, poses, and movements without falling over

would cry if he got a 99% instead of an 100% on a test. partly because 99 is an odd number and i need to self-project though (but also validation i guess 🙄)

can't??? drive???? PLEASE never let him behind the wheel he'll get a diu even while completely sober

hair conditioner before shampoo

he doesn't need a mask, everyone already knows who he is. at this point he just wears it because it feels natural to wear it when he's commiting 💕felonies💕 if not he feels practically nude

nobody knows if it's nygma or nigma and that's his greatest riddle in his eyes

has said or done SO many things solely because he wanted validation or to prove something and is now held up to that expectation all the time it's not fun

somehow rhymes when he's either very euphoric or very angry and he hasn't even noticed he does this

i mean yeah he rhymes with some of his riddles but those are on purpose

he was just. REALLY influenced by those books that are completely full of riddles when he was little. found it collecting dust on a shelf he was finally barely tall enough to reach when he was like 8 and practically brought it everywhere cus it made him feel so cool

speaking of which, serious case of chuunibyou/eighth grade syndrome

instead of just. saying words like "twenty" hell say stuff like "onescore" (hopefully i'm thinking of it right)

for someone who speaks with a lot of question marks he sure does have a lot of exclamation point undertones

doesn't curse just so he doesn't sound lesser. instead he'll try his very hardest to make improvisions that he tries to not make sound stupid

they sound stupid.

you best BET he flaunts whatever hat he has on EVERYWHERE that's his PRIZED possession

when he committed his first riddle crime everyone thought it was an arg

utilises the manipulative kind of word salads to sound intelligent (just wanna emphasise, not the schizophasia kind)

whenever it involves himself, he can't tell when others are joking or not

whenever he walks into the restroom, of course, he stares longingly into the mirror

honestly if there's any mirror he'll examine himself in it, even if not obviously. he needs to make sure he still looks a a a a adorable!!

“riddle me this: cryptocurrency???”

#just so you guys know #i had SO many written on my notes app #but then a bug on my phone happened and it basically. factory resetted my phone.#so they're all gone now #this is just what i remember #im so upset #anyways moving on #there are so many interpretations of him so #i kept the hcs as general as possible #i love him??? big fixation rn i need to draw him im surprised i hadnt finished anyth already #these have no real theme just completely random headcanons #the riddler #dc #headcanon #edward nygma #or is it nigma?#these headcanon posts are actually kinda fun;;;

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call-me-rei · 3 years ago

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Candy Conversations

***Just warning you now, this one is rated R***

-----

I love February. Love is always in the air for the first two weeks and then we start to fade from winter to spring in the last two weeks. Everything feels nice and cozy.

The entire month is great, but I especially love two specific days of the month: the tenth and the fourteenth.

February 10 is my fiancé, Vic’s, birthday. Ever since we started dating, I’ve always tried to make that day special for him. Some years I’d make a nice dinner, others I’d take us out to do something new. Last year I booked us a trip to Yellowstone for his twenty-ninth birthday. We saw the geysers and made love in the hot springs in the dark. It was a wonderful memory.

This year though Vic had to work late on his birthday. He was so exhausted when he came home that he wasn’t in the mood to do anything that night; he didn’t even have dinner. He apologized profusely the next morning and I told him we could make up for it on Valentine’s Day if he wanted. He agreed and we left it at that. I would’ve said or done more, but I didn’t want to ruin the surprise I had for him.

“Okay babe, I’m leaving.” I looked up from the coffee pot and toward my future husband. He walked in wearing a dark grey suit with a black tie and light blue dress shirt. I bit my lip as I looked him up and down.

Damn, I sure knew how to pick an outfit. And a man.

“You look so good,” I whispered as I pulled him in by his tie. His hands found their way to my hips as our lips connected. I savored the feeling of our lips moving together and pushed myself closer to him. His grip on my hips tightened, and so did the space in my pants.

“Babe,” Vic groaned against my lips. I sighed and pulled away, knowing what he would say. And even though I knew it wasn’t his fault, I couldn’t help but pout.

Vic had been incredibly busy lately. His company had the chance to sign on a new client and he was in charge of the pitch for them. While this was a great opportunity, it meant that he was working long hours and barely had time to spend with me. I knew he hated it as much as I did, but it was his job and he couldn’t help it.

I just wish it didn’t interfere with our sex life. I missed being kissed like I’d just kissed him. I missed touching him and feeling his skin on mine, his body against mine as we held each other through our movements and sweat and moans. God, I missed sex with him. We hadn’t been intimate in almost a month and it was getting to me.

I shook those thoughts from my mind as best I could and finished getting Vic’s coffee together. It wasn’t long before I felt his arms snake around my waist and his chin on my shoulder.

“I loved my note,” I said softly. I saw him smile from the corner of my eye and kiss my cheek.

On special days like Valentine’s Day and my birthday, or hell, even a random Tuesday, Vic would leave sticky notes with sweet messages for me to find. This morning I found one on the coffee machine that read:

Waking up to you gives me a better feeling than a cup of coffee ever could ♡

“There’s a few more of them hidden around.”

“I know. I can’t wait to find them all.” I turned my head and kissed him, more innocently this time.

“I hope you can find them all before I get home. I love your reactions whenever I do this.” I giggled. He was referring to the fact that I always sent him cute pictures or videos whenever I found one of his messages. They always made my day and he needed to know.

“What time do you think you’ll be home today?”

He smiled. “I’ll be back by five. There’s no way in hell I’m staying late today.” I couldn’t help the grin that stretched across my face. Vic wasn’t one to forget important days in our relationship, so I should’ve figured that he would do everything in his power to spend Valentine’s with me.

I nudged him back so he would let go of me, then I wrapped my arms around his neck. Once again, his hands made their way to my hips and we shared a sweet kiss. “I love you,” I whispered.

“I love you, too.” He pecked my lips then reached behind me to pick up his travel mug of coffee and his lunch that I’d put on the counter. “I’ll see you tonight.” I nodded and watched as he walked out of the house.

I sighed and made my way to our bedroom. I’d woken up before Vic to get his things ready, so I hadn’t washed my face or brushed my hair. I walked into the bathroom to get ready for the day and was met with another one of my fiancé’s sweet notes.

You look breathtaking at every moment of the day. I’m so lucky I get to look at you

I blushed like he was saying those words to me and snapped a mirror selfie to send to him.

I found this one. You’re sweet 😊

V: I’m also lucky but I already said that in the note 😉

Lol shut up

Shouldn’t you be driving?

V: I was about to but I tried to put my coffee in the cupholder and I found these

He’d sent a photo of the three candy hearts I put in his cupholder this morning when he was getting dressed. From left to right they said, “Be Mine,” “I’m Yours,” and “Love Ya.”

V: I’m yours too bb. I love you so much! ♥

A warm feeling flowed through me when I read his message. I smiled and replied:

I love you too. Have a great day 😘

V: I’ll try. I have meetings today so hopefully you can make it interesting

I chuckled. Oh, if only he knew how interesting I was planning on making it.

***

Vic had been at work for three hours and he hadn’t texted me. I knew he was in a meeting and would message me when he was out and on his lunch break, but I was bored as fuck. It was my day off and I’d already gone shopping for dinner tonight. That was all I had planned for the day.

Well, that and my surprise for him, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to start on that yet.

I huffed as I sat back against the couch and flipped through channels on the TV. Maybe I should start on his surprise. It would make both of our days more interesting.

I pondered the thought as I looked down onto the table at the note I’d found on my steering wheel.

You drive me crazy ;)

Vic had most likely put it there when he’d gotten home the night before, knowing I wouldn’t use my car until today. The note itself had me thinking. Maybe I could see just how crazy I could make him.

Without allowing for time to talk myself out of it, I pulled out my phone and opened the camera. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, but I knew I wanted to work with the driving Vic crazy prompt. I eventually made a decision and tousled my hair a bit then started a video.

I sat back against the couch and ran my fingers through my hair then down my neck. I kept an innocent look on my face, making sure my eyes held a soft expression and my lips were pouty and parted. I licked my lips slowly then bit my bottom one, trying my best to look at the camera seductively as I did so. Then I winked and ended the video.

I drive you crazy huh? How’s this?

I knew what that video would do to him, so I sent it with the message and waited. It took a few minutes, but I got the response I was hoping for.

V: Fuck babe, the things I would do to you right now…

Calm down sir you’re at work

V: Call me sir again 😉

I rolled my eyes and ignored the message. At least I knew he wasn’t too busy for my messages. That would work in my favor for the rest of the day.

***

Another hour passed, meaning that Vic would be on his lunch break soon. We hadn’t texted since I sent him the video, so I thought it was the perfect time for part two of my surprise. With a smile I walked into the kitchen and pulled out the whipped cream from the fridge. Then I walked back to the couch and took my shirt off.

I wasn’t sure what I was doing but I knew the reaction I wanted. So I sprayed the whipped cream down my upper half, starting at my pecs and going down to just below my bellybutton. Then I started another video.

I started at my bellybutton, showing the work I’d done, then panned the camera up to just show my lips. I slowly traced a finger from my bottom lip down to my neck. My finger went farther down, making contact with the whipped cream. I collected as much of the sticky substance as I could as I went down to where the line stopped. Then I moved my finger and the camera back up to my lips and made a show of me sucking the whipped cream off of my digit. I sucked it like it was Vic’s dick, putting all of it in my mouth and running my tongue on the underside of it. Of course Vic was much bigger than my finger, but the imagery was enough to make me moan thinking about having him in my mouth again. Once my finger was clean, I stopped recording and waited for Vic’s message when he found what I left in his lunch.

Uh babe? What’s this about?

I giggled. Vic had sent a picture of the candy heart I left in his lunch. This one said “Lick Me.”

I sent him my latest video with the caption:

Do you want a taste?

It didn’t take long for him to reply.

V: I will come back home right now and taste you

Please? Maybe you can clean me up better than I just did

V: No I’ll end up making a bigger mess on you

I guess I’ll have to clean it up the same way 😉

V: Don’t tempt me Kells. I may have to teach you a lesson when I get home

I smiled triumphantly. That’s what I was hoping for.

Why not now? 😏

V: Because I wouldn’t go back to work if I came home now. And you wouldn’t be able to go to work tomorrow either

I blushed. I knew what he meant, and I was hoping he would follow through with it.

Maybe that’s what I want 😉

V: Don’t tempt me Kellin

I sighed. He was right, I was messing with him too much.

Fine. I’m gonna wash all this off and find something to do before I get ready for dinner

I locked my phone before he could respond and took it with me to the bathroom. And I had every intention of just stripping and going into the shower…

But I couldn’t help myself. I took off the rest of my clothes and posed in the mirror to where my naked butt was in full view and I was looking at it over my shoulder. I took a couple pictures and picked my favorite to send to Vic.

One more so you don’t miss me too much 😘

V: Just wait til I get home

I giggled as I read his threat and decided to leave him alone. I couldn’t wait for him to walk through our door later tonight though.

***

The rest of the afternoon was pretty uneventful. I refrained from sending Vic more pictures and videos because I knew he had an important meeting after lunch and he needed to focus. That didn’t mean I didn’t want to though. The urge was strong, but I knew he’d be upset with seeing me exposed before he had to present in front of his bosses. Presenting with a boner wasn’t ideal in his business.

I resorted back to watching TV for a couple hours before I thought it was finally time for me to start preparing dinner. I went to the kitchen and pulled out the vegetables I’d need for the meal to wash and slice them.

About another hour of prepping the side dishes and main coarse later, I was finally putting the meal together to cook. I had just put the chicken and vegetables in the oven to bake when I heard the front door open and shut. I smiled to myself knowing that my fiancé was finally home.

“Hey babe,” I called out. Footsteps followed my voice to the kitchen. “I missed you,” I said as I worked on cleaning the counter from the mess I’d made. “How was your da-”

I was cut off by Vic grabbing my upper arm to turn me around. He crashed his lips onto mine as soon as I was facing him. We moved against each other hungrily, him more so than me, touching and moaning in between heavy breaths and tight grips on the other’s clothes or body. I grinded my hips into his to try to ease the tension building in my lower half. That’s when he pulled away.

“You had me wanting to do that all day,” he said in a husky voice.

“Did I?” I asked before biting my bottom lip seductively.

He hummed as a response. "You should make it up to me. You know, if you're willing." I smiled. Vic was so sweet and always asked for my consent before we did anything rougher than usual. The fact that he was asking me at that moment meant that he had something planned for me, and I was ready for it.

"Yes, I'm willing," I answered. The look in his eyes changed instantly from caring to lustful. I knew I was in for it.

He reached forward and grabbed the back of my head, gripping onto my hair and pushing me down until I was on my knees in front of him. I adjusted myself to be level with his crotch the way he wanted. He didn’t need to tell me what he was expecting.

With delicate fingers I undid his belt and the button of his pants. I looked up at him and watched him bite his lip in anticipation and took off his jacket as I slowly pulled down his zipper. He took initiative then and slipped off his shoes and his pants, leaving him in his boxers and dress shirt.

I felt up my fiancé's legs, loving the softness of his skin against my hands. That soft skin changed to the light material that composed his boxers. I trailed my hands up the fabric until I reached the waistband. Once again, I looked at him with innocent eyes and pulled them down to release him.

I loved seeing Vic exposed. Just seeing how excited he was because of me made me feel fearless and confident. I knew there wasn't a limit on the things I could do to pleasure him, and I wanted to go through most of them that night.

So I started with licking my lips at the size of his dick then kissing his tip lightly. There was already precum on it, most likely from the videos I'd sent earlier. He had probably been thinking about me while he was driving home. I trailed light kisses down his length to his balls and back up again, lightly sucking here and there just to tease him. He hated when I did that, but he put me in control first and I'd been tempting him all day. Why not ride it out?

I gave him another kiss on his tip, this one slow and lingering. He tugged on a handful of my hair urging me to get on with it. I almost chuckled at him, but I couldn't deny that I wanted to get started too. So I did.

Another lingering kiss led to me taking his tip into my mouth. I sucked on it softly and slowly ran the tip of my tongue over it before pulling up to do it all again.

“You’d better not be planning on doing this shit all night,” my fiancé growled, tightening the grip on my hair. He was threatening me, but I knew it was because he was enjoying my teasing. He knew what was coming would be even better.

Not wanting to prolong our pleasure any longer, I ran my tongue up his length from his balls and took as much of him into my mouth as I could before I gagged. A sigh of pleasure and relief left Vic’s lips as the grip on my hair tightened even more. I used his reaction as motivation and moved my head back and forth, keeping a tight seal around him with my lips and finding opportune times to run my tongue along his skin.

“Fuck Kellin,” Vic moaned. I glanced up to see his mouth opened slightly and his eyes closed. I slowly pulled my mouth off of him and kissed down his cock until I got to his balls and sucked on them as I stroked him. He took a moment to look down at me and push some hair out of my face.

“You look so good while you do that,” he panted. I looked up at him again while I took one of his balls into my mouth, sucked on it hard, and let it leave my lips with a quiet “pop.”

Vic guided my head up by my hair and brought my mouth level with his dick again. “Open,” he ordered. I did what was asked and was rewarded by him filling my mouth up. This time he held my head in place while he thrust himself into me. I moaned when he hit the back of my throat and looked up at him with teary eyes, silently begging for him to continue as pleasure filled my body.

I needed this; I loved this. I wanted more.

I tightened the grip my lips had on him so he knew to slow down. He let go of my head and let me continue at my own pace for a few more minutes before it became too much for me. I needed more than this.

Vic must’ve known that I was desperate for him because he reached down and pulled my hand to help me onto my feet. Once I was standing, he kissed me hungrily. His hands went straight for my ass, groping and grasping as his tongue played with mine. A moan escaped my mouth and went into his with another squeeze of my backside. My fingers tangled in his hair, desperately trying to bring him closer to me. Sometime during our make out session I wrapped my legs around his waist. He walked us to our bedroom, never breaking the connection our lips had.

Vic walked us over to our bed and lightly tapped on my legs to let me know I needed to loosen my grip. When I did, he dropped me onto the mattress and got on top of me. We kissed a bit more before his lips made their way to my neck, sucking on the sensitive skin. Vic knew that made me go crazy; I was a moaning mess underneath him.

I clawed at the back of his shirt wishing I was leaving marks on his skin instead. As if he read my mind, he pulled away from me to take off the light blue shirt and the thin white shirt underneath. I looked up at him for a moment, admiring him in all his naked glory.

Damn, I had a sexy man.

He came back toward me and pulled me to a sitting position by my hands. He then grabbed the bottom of my shirt and pulled it up and over my head.

��You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. His eyes traced over my upper body, admiring my tattoos and the color of my skin before he looked into my eyes. I leaned forward to kiss him, and he laid us back onto the bed.

Our kiss deepened and our hands roamed once again. Soon I was completely naked with hickeys beginning to form on my neck. By the time my brain could catch up with the actions happening in the room, Vic had stuck two of his fingers in my mouth and commanded me to suck.

I did as I was told and let him thrust his fingers in and out of my mouth to get them wet enough for what he wanted to do. Once he was ready he made me spread my legs so he could insert his fingers into me.

I moaned in relief when I felt him enter me. I’d been wanting something to fill me since that first kiss in the kitchen, and even though it wasn’t his dick, I was happy to have something. I leaned my head back against the mattress and enjoyed the feeling of his fingers stretching me out and his other hand stroking me.

“Please, Vic,” I heard myself moan when the feeling got too intense. He only chuckled before kissing both of my inner thighs and leaving the bed. I knew where he was going so I didn’t bother looking in his direction. I just focused on the pleasure I knew was coming.

And a few seconds later I heard the familiar sounds of a cap popping open and closing. I sat up then and watched as he sauntered over to me with a devilish grin on his perfect lips. I couldn’t help but blush at him. I stood up before he made it back to me and walked over to kiss him. I grabbed his dick as I did so and stroked it, rubbing the lube all around the area. His breathing hitched as he walked us back to the bed. I pulled away when I felt the mattress hit the back of my legs and turned us around. Then I pushed him back so he hit the bed with his back.

Vic smirked. He knew that I wanted to be in control so he let me do what I needed to do. That night I needed to experience everything he had to offer. I got on top of him and kissed him roughly before lining myself up and sinking onto his cock. Sighs of pleasure escaped both of our mouths the moment he slipped into me.

Once I got comfortable I rode him like my life depended on it. I bounced up and down and rolled my hips while I moaned, cursed, and screamed his name. I leaned my head down into the crook of his neck and he took control, thrusting his hips up to hit that one spot inside of me again and again. I left a bite mark on his neck, not that he cared.

Eventually Vic rolled us over so he was on top. He continued his assault on my prostrate, hitting that spot and making me shake and scream more than I ever thought was humanly possible. His back was covered in my claw marks and my hips were bruised from his rough grip on them. Just the thought of the marks we’d left on each other got me closer and closer to a release.

A few hard strokes and hungry kisses later and I was close to a climax. I begged for Vic to touch me while I dug my nails into his biceps. He flicked his wrist quickly and rubbed his thumb over my tip as he pounded me. I rolled my eyes and head back as pleasure took over me and I came on my stomach.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Vic growled. He kept his hand on me and let me ride out my high until I told him to stop because the feeling was too intense. When I finally came down, I pulled Vic to me by his neck and kissed him with all the passion I could muster. I moved my hips against him in time with his thrusts as the kiss deepened. Soon he was pulling out of me and telling me to kneel on the ground so he could cum on my face.

He got me a wet wipe to clean myself up with and pulled me up to join him on the bed. We laid there out of breath, tangled together by our legs, and sharing much sweeter kisses than the ones we had earlier.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” my fiancé said after he placed a soft kiss on my forehead.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” I rested my head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat slow down while he ran his fingers up and down my back. We stayed like that for a few minutes – content with our actions and enjoying our time together – before I heard the alarm I had set for the chicken go off.

I groaned in annoyance as Vic chuckled. “Is it time for dinner?”

“I guess so,” I responded with an embarrassed giggle. Vic kissed the top of my head before he patted my back.

“I’ll go turn the oven off. Why don’t you get in the shower and I’ll join you when I’m done? Then we can eat before round two.”

I smiled. “Sounds goo- wait, round two?”

“Yeah. I get dessert after dinner, don’t i?” I blushed and bit my lip as I nodded. “Great. I can’t wait to find out if those candy hearts taste as good coming from your lips.”

#One Shots #Kellic #Vic Fuentes #Kellin Quinn #Kellic fanfiction #Kellic fanfic

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kiruuuuu · 4 years ago

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Protection Mountain: The Finale⛰️

Yes. It is here.

Montagne/Bandit conquered my heart so quickly with what was meant to be a oneshot, then turned into a small series of oneshots, and ended up as my longest series in Siege. And now their main story is coming to an end. I would like to thank absolutely everyone who participated in this journey, be it through direct messages, magnificent art, shared ideas, comments, reblogs, likes, the simple act of reading and enjoying - you helped make this happen, you motivated and encouraged me. Thank you for falling into this bottomless hole with me 💖

A special thank you goes out to @ekhap, who commissioned this piece in the first place - without you, it’s likely I never would’ve written it. I’m so happy you enjoyed it, and I hope all of you who stuck around long enough to read this will too.

I have actually managed to post the entire series on AO3 as well, so you can comfortably read (or re-read) it here!! And without further ado, here is the final chapter of Protection Mountain. (Rating T/M, hurt/comfort + a ridiculous amount of fluff, ~8.5k words)

“I’m leaving tomorrow”, says Madeleine, voice soft and always a reprieve from the harsh reality of the hospital room around them. “I don’t think coming back will be necessary this time.”

Montagne squeezes her hand, making her smile.

She’s been juggling family and career for her entire life and right now is no different: on slower or off days, she hops on the train to visit, taking the opportunity to report on some local stories on the way, utilising her travel time to write up or edit her pieces. A busy bee, always worried about being overshadowed by her older brother. They haven’t seen each other this much for years and though the occasion could be merrier, Montagne is fiercely grateful for her presence. He’s unloaded some of his worries onto her and she onto him, and somehow they ended up lighter than before. Tourés tend to stick together, given the opportunity.

“Why do you say that?”

“You might not realise, but you’re looking much better, Gilles. You’ll be let loose on the world again soon.”

They exchange a quick grin over her choice of words. She’s certainly more of a menace to society than he is, and they both know it.

Next to her, Lion is sitting in a second chair, rigid. He’s confessed to Montagne in private that Madeleine reminds him of his mother – whatever that might entail – and so he’s unfailingly awkward around her, probably ruing the fact that they happened to drop by at the same time today. Dealing with strangers isn’t usually a problem for him; dealing with family of friends, however, is.

Apparently, Bandit won Madeleine over immediately, surprisingly enough. She says it’s his horrific German accent whenever he attempts to speak French and his deadpan humour, but Montagne is relatively sure she senses a bit of how much Bandit cares for him. Tourés are also protective of each other, siblings even more so. She wouldn’t have told him a thing about Montagne’s current condition if she hadn’t thought his worry genuine.

And then, out of the blue: “Cathérine called me.” She still sounds conversational, but her gaze becomes a tad more attentive.

Montagne stills.

Lion’s gaze is jumping back and forth between them, the man even more uncomfortable now.

It’s the last person he expected Madeleine to mention, so he needs a second to compose himself. “What about?” He tries to search for emotions, for any kind of reaction to encountering his wife’s – ex-wife’s name, but comes up empty. It’s like hearing about an old, lost friend of his: someone who once used to be important enough to be mentioned in his will, now someone who barely counts as a remnant in his thoughts.

“You, of course. Maman tattled and, eventually, it reached her. She wanted to know how you are and whether contacting you directly is a good idea.”

“And your reply?”

“I said I’d ask you.”

He nods, thankful. During their divorce, too many people presumed what would be best for either side instead of addressing them directly. It didn’t feel like their own private business anymore, somehow it affected everyone and so everyone was entitled to an opinion and a listening ear. He appreciates Madeleine allowing him this kind of control. “I don’t think she has my current number. Please give it to her and let her know I’d be happy to talk.”

And that’s that. They kiss cheeks and do a half-hug, exchange verbal pleasantries which are nonetheless heartfelt, and then she and her mild perfume are gone, leaving behind a slightly relieved-looking Lion.

“You do look a lot better, you know”, he confirms Madeleine’s earlier assessment, and though he seems intent on changing the topic – for him, family is still a sore topic most days –, Montagne’s mind lingers. Vague memories form a blurry whole, the image so distant it may well originate in a film he once saw or a book he once read.

Catou used to be his entire world and there were days he was convinced he couldn’t go on if she were to leave him. Yet time, the wound-healer, sometimes corrodes instead – and in their case, it must’ve mistaken their passion and devotion for sickness, for it cured them. They noticed before comfort turned into indifference, but only barely. By the time they decided on breaking up, another man was involved as well, though Montagne assigns him no blame whatsoever. Until their divorce was finalised, Catou kept her friend at arm’s length and he never even attempted to get any closer; but while she didn’t allow herself to fall in love again until Montagne openly gave his blessing, he could see the seeds growing already.

Neither of them cheated, he knows this for a fact. They’d never. He noticed how she became aware of the possibility of being with another man after a few of their long talks which denoted the beginning of the end, and while it hurt, he vowed not to stand in her way. If he couldn’t support her, he at least didn’t want to hinder her.

What hurt the most wasn’t any misguided feeling of betrayal or even jealousy, no. It was the realisation that he simply didn’t suffice. He gave her his everything and it turned out it wasn’t enough.

Maybe this is why he won’t accept Bandit’s proposal: the creeping fear of committing fully and finding it to have been in vain.

“You never spoke about her.” His friend has indubitably noticed his mood by now, or maybe the lack of response gave it away.

He supposes he hasn’t. Neither to Bandit nor to Lion, actually, not even when the topic had strayed to Claire and Alexis. “There isn’t much to say”, he summarises well over a decade of companionship, eroded and erased slowly by the very thing which tainted it in the first place: time apart. “We fell in and then out of love. She was a remarkable woman. She deserves someone who can keep up with her.”

Lion fidgets a little, avoids eye contact. Montagne’s words might’ve struck a chord but he’s too exhausted, too restless to talk it out. Madeleine’s statement has given him hope that he can leave soon, leave Bandit’s birthplace behind, hopefully to return and make happier memories in the future.

His friend’s next question catches him off guard. “Why did you marry her?”

It’s so much out of character for him to ask that Montagne needs a few seconds to come up with a reply. “I loved her, with all my heart. I expected to spend the rest of my life with her. Why do you -”

“Then why are you saying no to him?”

Montagne stares, shocked. The slight petulant undertone, the hint of defiance, the blunt accusation – Bandit himself could’ve posed the question, and it’s not for the first time Montagne realises how alike the two of them really are. But what leaves him utterly dumbstruck isn’t the implication of Lion approving of a marriage between them, no, it’s the fact that he can’t come up with a reasonable answer.

At least not one which doesn’t sound like an excuse.

He must’ve realised the impact his words have left behind, so Lion swiftly changes topics yet again, allowing for Montagne to recover and respond to a few simple inquiries, but nothing really manages to soften the blow.

~*~

There’s a reason he chose le Roc over more modern, flashier, possibly more efficient alternatives.

When he was younger, he used to hide his height by slouching, felt embarrassed by the fact that he’d stick out due to something he neither chose nor controlled – as a tall, muscular man, he’s perceived as intimidating or, worse, a challenge. He reacted to mentions of his physique with sheepish smiles and laughed it off when people referred to his ability to beat up whomever he liked, portraying it as enviable.

It took him a while until he began seeing his build as an advantage. It took friends confessing they felt safe with him around. Acquaintances appreciating his company during the dark. His soon-to-be wife admiring his drive to put his stature to good use. Ultimately, it influenced first impressions only, a quick glance upwards, but as soon as people heard him speak gently, noticed his aversion to unnecessary violence, be it verbal or otherwise, they forgot about his impressive physique immediately.

Like le Roc, it’s a shield. He utilises his own body to protect others and has subconsciously done so his entire life, be it to separate his little sister from her bullies, friends from aggressors, or even two agitated strangers: he absorbs the blows which to him are no more than light punches whereas they could cause more harm on their intended victims. He’s been likened to a mastiff and their instinctual drive to break up fights by simply standing in the way.

Like le Roc, it’s an asset. And like le Roc, it can get damaged.

What he hadn’t realised is just how much he relies on his body to function exactly the way he needs it to.

His life is his job, they’re irredeemably intertwined, and imagining one without the other is … nigh impossible. His mind struggles to come up with alternatives – helping others is in his essence, but picturing himself working in a nursing home maybe or a school, a community centre, is madness to him. Catou had been very involved in these kinds of projects, volunteered wherever there was a need, and while he saw the good she did, the joy she spread, she had a certain soft touch he simply lacks.

He’s a mountain. He can kill and besiege and protect and recover and rescue, but the thought of being responsible for children not his own, or the well-being of elderly people, terrifies him. A small mistake, a brief distraction could prove fatal. He’s trained for combat.

He needs to recover.

Sometimes, he wakes up and can’t feel his limbs. He hasn’t stood on his own two legs for who knows how long. Movement hurts, lying down hurts, existence hurts. But what hurts most is the prospect of never returning to the work he’s destined for.

No one is allowed to catch a glimpse of his frustration as he feels it’s ungrateful, possibly even malicious. Not only should he be elated over having survived at all, it would also imply he regrets having taken the actions he did, and nothing could be further from the truth. Saving Lion was inevitable; he just wishes he could’ve gotten away with less serious injuries. He wishes so fiercely. Bottling up his anger is destructive and being fully aware of how irrational his behaviour is merely continues the spiral of negativity, yet he’s powerless to change it. The people closest to him are still processing the shock of almost losing him and don’t need the added burden of his dread for his own future.

He wonders whether Bandit is repulsed by him. Aside from his atrophied muscles, he’s lost weight, there are the burns which will likely mark his body for the rest of his life, another ugly scar on one thigh where he’s been stitched up. His skin is discoloured in multiple places and he vividly remembers the way Madeleine winced when she visited him the first time. He already doesn’t consider himself overly attractive, so he must seem frightening. It doesn’t help that Bandit distanced himself the way he did at first – though it was likely the shock affecting him still.

Recently though, his lover has been doing much better. He’s been doing amazing, actually: when Bandit isn’t visiting him, he’s out and about, meeting with friends from the GSG9, eating at exotic restaurants, working out, keeping himself entertained. He keeps messaging Montagne, sending photos of dogs he meets or particularly tasty dishes they need to cook together (or rather attempt to), and every line of text lightens his heart. Bandit even keeps Six and Blitz up to date, informing Doc of Montagne’s condition unprompted, and converses with Madeleine as best he can. Of course, there are bad days sprinkled in now and then, days on which his gaze is endless and unfocused, days on which Bandit is either taciturn or won’t stop talking about unrelated things so Montagne can’t ask him how he’s doing. Recovery isn’t fast or linear, Montagne knows this.

He’s so goddamn proud nonetheless.

And even though seeing Bandit flourish, having watched him pick himself back up and carry on where he left off, witnessing the man he loves with all his heart succeed over this void in his chest once again causes Montagne’s chest to swell in pride and adoration, there’s a bitter note to it. An out-of-tune note, a scratchy, unpleasant one. Because Montagne believes he knows the reason for Bandit’s sudden motivation to improve his existence. And it’s not for its own sake, not for Bandit’s own benefit alone.

Montagne remembers stewing in his own thoughts, fighting the urge to call himself useless, agonising over what might become of him, and there’s no way Bandit didn’t catch him wiping his face when he burst into the room that one day a while back. He must’ve noticed how red Montagne’s eyes were, unusually red. He must’ve realised how fucking weak Montagne is. And probably decided it was his turn to take care of his love.

The next day, Bandit announced having joined a local gym for the time being, as well as his intention to watch a film by himself later. It can’t be a coincidence.

There’s nothing worse for Montagne than being a burden.

~*~

Bandit’s energy is enviable. It seems he’s attempted to prepare for every scenario imaginable: he’s washed all of Montagne’s clothes, bought a variety of snacks and pastries, piled magazines on the bedside table, purchased all kinds of toiletries and remedies including a remarkably well-stocked first aid kit, arranged lush-looking fruits on the small desk of their hotel room, and even produces ear plugs and a sleeping mask the moment Montagne mentions feeling vaguely tired.

It’s hard not to get swept up in the atmosphere his lover creates, especially when his own chest seems unusually light compared to the weeks prior – he’s elated to be discharged from the hospital, even if all kinds of other worries creep up on him during moments of quiet. Being able to return home is a wish he harboured without realising: he thought all he needed was distance from the very place that so consciously reminds him of his own frailty, but it turns out privacy and a new environment don’t suffice, not even close. Sharing a space with Bandit and Bandit only is an immense improvement, yet he longs to sleep in his own bed, feel like he belongs instead of being a perpetual guest. Still, he’s grateful for the spacious hotel room, some peace and quiet, and the assurance that no one is going to randomly check up on him anymore.

Except for Bandit, of course.

Maybe it was Madeleine’s comment which inspired him, or maybe he hadn’t realised how much he’d recuperated already, but once his sister had bidden farewell, his condition improved fast. It culminated two days ago, when Bandit entered his room to find him awkwardly holding on to the bed frame but standing, fully upright with no outside help, due to his own strength. He half expected to be scolded, though his weakness must’ve taken its toll on Bandit as well because all he did was burst into tears from happiness.

Montagne very nearly joined in.

Six arranged a flight directly once she received the message, paid for a wheelchair without batting an eye and ordered him to take it easy nonetheless. His leg will take a while to heal and the broken ribs forbid the use of crutches, so Montagne dutifully agreed and thought he could hear her smiling over the phone. He missed her curt, professional yet caring attitude, and it seemed she’d be glad to see him again as well.

All of which is why he’s allowed to spend his last night in Germany’s capital in the very same hotel room he occupied before it all fell apart. The life before tastes like honey, sweet and much too rich, thick in his throat and welding his mouth shut: how much he took his health for granted baffles him. How careless he was. How ungrateful. He longs to get back to lazy evenings with an oversized cat purring on his chest, to the chaos of messing up yet another recipe, their light-hearted bickering, not a care in the world. He’s desperate to return to it, without that creeping feeling of guilt over turning Bandit down for a mixture of sentimental, inadequate reasons he can’t even explain to himself. He lacks the words to express why the image of swapping rings or – heaven forbid – inviting his entire family to a big ceremony fills him with nothing but dread when instead he should be exuberant. Flattered, maybe.

“Do you want to shower?”

Bandit reminds him of a puppy, easily distractible and well-meaning, radiating pent-up energy. Montagne regrets having to refuse him anything. “No, I’d rather just read a bit and sleep. I can shower at home tomorrow.”

His lover very nearly pouts. “Are you saying I have to find another excuse to touch you all over?”

Montagne’s chuckle almost gets stuck in his throat. He’s not ready yet and has been racking his brain for reasons why they can’t sleep in the same bed, or why he won’t be able to undress at any point. He’ll have to deal with this eventually, but his foolish mind has convinced him he’ll be able to postpone it indefinitely if only he manages to use his injuries as a pretext.

If he wasn’t so fucking terrified, he’d call himself childish.

There’s no doubt Bandit has made an effort to tidy up the room, yet there are unmistakeable traces of his prolonged stay everywhere – the overflowing suitcase, tissues poking out from under furniture, too many cables for too many electronic devices carelessly strewn about. Housekeeping probably gave up after two weeks and resigned to only vacuum wherever possible and change the bedsheets, and the thought of exasperated staff dealing with the stubborn git he missed like hell makes him smile. He’s heard stories from various nurses and highly enjoyed Bandit’s redemption arc of starting out as a nightmare and turning into the highlight of their days. If he saw correctly, Bandit even bought them flowers. He must be very proud of his newly discovered move to weaken grudges.

“Wanna get on the bed?”, Bandit interrupts his thoughts a little too casually, so Montagne eyes him with suspicion.

“Do you want me to get on the bed?”

His better half purses his lips, probably considering whether it’s worth pretending like he has no idea what Montagne means (and oh, he hasn’t even considered this prospect, they’ll be finally alone and undisturbed, and despite his aversion to show any part of his skin, his body expresses some interest in the scenario) – but Bandit still manages to surprise him by muttering, almost embarrassed: “I just really want to cuddle right now.”

It’s disarmingly adorable, and Montagne’s heart melts. “Let’s do it, then”, he agrees. There’s some awkwardness in manoeuvring him out of the wheelchair and onto the much-too-soft mattress, but Bandit is stronger than he looks and able to provide enough support. As soon as Montagne sinks into the plushy pillows and Bandit presses himself against his side, all tension suddenly vanishes: his muscles relax, his thoughts calm down, his skin stops prickling. He hadn’t been aware how much he missed simple contact like this, the heat of another body against his own, the blissful feeling of being safe, being home, being loved.

This tiny bubble of everyday life suffices to soothe his cracked soul. He wishes he could wrap around Bandit fully, envelop him whole, drag him onto his chest, pull him into his arms – even offering his shoulder for Bandit’s head to rest on would help with his burning desire to be as close to him as possible, but for the moment he can’t. Not without considerable pain. Still, Bandit’s hand has slid into his, their fingers interlaced, and a gentle, regular breath caresses his cheek. Now and then, Bandit nuzzles him, presses a kiss to his cheek, sighs in contentment. They could stay like this for eternity.

And yet, Montagne’s guilt prohibits him from letting go completely. He has rejected this man. Refused to accept him into his life fully.

“If you wanna watch something, I pirated eleven films we haven’t seen”, Bandit murmurs against his jaw and makes him chuckle.

“I remember the hotel’s internet being unreliable. Don’t tell me you used public Wi-Fi? Mark would be horrified.”

“Yeah sure, I just sat down in the nearest McDonald’s and downloaded a hundred gigs of illegal stuff.” Bandit’s grin is boyish and attractive and so cute Montagne just wants to burn the image into his brain. “Better, actually – I asked one of the boys to do it. So we conspired together.”

“Are you going to miss them?”

Bandit thinks about it and eventually shrugs his shoulders. “Sure. It was nice seeing them again. But I think I miss everyone at Rainbow more. I haven’t been apart from everyone this long… ever, I think. Since I joined.” There’s more on his mind, Montagne can tell, so he waits and peeks down at the dirty blonde hair, the wild beard. Apparently Bandit decided shaving was too much of a hassle, so he gave up on it completely for the time being – and Montagne wholeheartedly understands. If he could grow one, he definitely wouldn’t be running around with naked cheeks.

After a while, Bandit adds, quietly: “I did visit Cedrick.”

Montagne wants to smack himself. How could he forget that Bandit’s twin still lives in Berlin? And while he’s proud of Bandit for taking the initiative and seeing him of his own accord, Montagne feels that he himself could’ve raised the possibility sooner. He knows they’re close, as close as any family member could ever hope to be with someone as fickle as Bandit, and he probably would’ve done wonders for Bandit’s psyche. “How is he? How is his family?”

“Good. They’re good. Gave me too much food, as usual. His wife got a promotion recently and the boys are doing great in school. They want to go to university later, imagine that. The first Brunsmeiers to go to uni.” Bandit glances up at him. “I also told them about you.”

There it is. He must’ve been dying to tell Montagne, judging by his pink cheeks and nervous fidgeting, and his demeanour as much as his words conjure up a bright smile on Montagne’s face. They had an unspoken agreement, an implied promise that they wouldn’t tell their families until they’re ready, which meant until Bandit was ready – coming out to friends was a big step, coming out to Rainbow a massive hurdle, and coming out to his family must’ve been a mountain to climb. His comfort zone has been steadily expanding, yet actions like these still turn Bandit into a skittish cat sometimes.

For someone with commitment issues like this, it’s incredible that Bandit decided for them to get married.

“Dom, mon amour, I am so proud of you.” He kisses Bandit’s temple and smiles even wider at his desperately dismissive mumbled reply of ‘’s nothing’. “That is wonderful news. How did they react?”

“Well, they wanted to meet you immediately.”

Yet they didn’t. Montagne’s smile fades a little. Did Bandit not want anyone to see him like this? Best case scenario, he figured that Montagne’s current state simply wouldn’t do him justice, and worst case… Would he be ashamed of him?

“But obviously, that didn’t work out, so I told them -”

“Why didn’t it?”

He must’ve noticed something, maybe an odd expression, because he reassures him instantly: “My love, I saw them yesterday evening. You’ll meet them soon enough, trust me. They were very supportive, in any case. I think Ced is just glad to know there’s at least one person out there who can tame me.” Bandit’s hand brushes over Montagne’s belly, toying with the hem of his shirt, and he puts his own over it.

Maybe he’s being dramatic. Thinking about it, his recent thought spirals followed a similar pattern to the dangerous ones Bandit entertains much too often, the ones Montagne has been trying to interrupt whenever he notices them. Except that Bandit can’t read minds as of yet and probably has no idea what’s going on with him, and how should he. Montagne hasn’t said a word. They haven’t mentioned their brief engagement, or whatever the fuck was going on for a bit, at all.

Maybe when Montagne said that he was worried about losing Bandit, he didn’t just mean Bandit’s own withdrawal from their relationship.

“I don’t like that you see me like this.”

Bandit reacts not, doesn’t glance upwards, but there’s a tightening of his half-embrace. He’s listening.

“I can’t stand it, in fact. I feel useless and powerless and I can tell it weighs you down as well.” Once he’s started speaking, the words nearly tumble out of his mouth by themselves, one by one does the truth finally spill over. “I’m sorry. You’re trying so hard, mon cœur, I know you’re trying so hard to be strong for me, and I love you for it, but… I don’t want this. I don’t want to be like this. I should be the one there for you.” His heart is heavy, his mind darkened and his eyes burning, threatening tears as evidence of his own fragility. Rarely do his emotions get the better of him yet his self-control is raw and worn out from too much use without a chance to replenish. “I know I should be grateful I survived, but I feel like an annoyance. I don’t even know if I can go back to Rainbow, I don’t know whether I’ll fully heal and I hate it.”

Before he can feel guilty for loading even more onto Bandit’s shoulders, his love cradles his head in surprisingly warm hands, whispers his name and puts their foreheads together. “It’s okay”, Bandit mutters, even though both of them know it isn’t, “Gilles, stop. It’s okay. Listen to me.”

Montagne expects platitudes and white lies, misplaced optimism, a few phrases people throw out and pat themselves on the back for consoling someone, but instead, Bandit says: “Look. All of this fucking sucks.”

Well. It sure does. Montagne frowns.

“I’ve been in the hospital before, I was injured pretty badly and felt less worthy than a sack of potatoes, believe me. I was hardly myself, I couldn’t sleep, the constant pain was horrendous and on top of that, all the pretty nurses were talking smack -”

This startles a small huff of amusement out of him and effectively interrupts his intrusive thoughts. “Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better?”

“- I’m getting to that part. But you probably know how degrading it is when you can’t even piss by yourself, right? That’s the fucking worst. You’re like a baby, and you definitely feel just as stupid. It was one of the worst months of my entire life. But you know what? I got better.”

Ah. There we go. Montagne’s mouth goes thin.

“No, I know what you’re thinking: empty promises. You don’t understand how true it is, though. I’ve been rock bottom a few times, but it gets better. You’ve been there for it, so you know what I mean. And don’t even think for a second that each rock bottom was the same level, no, there were times when everything seemed hopeless, but honestly? Each time, it got a little easier to get back out. To get out and get to a better level than before. My parents…” He catches himself and shakes his head a little. “I don’t wanna keep talking about me right now.”

Montagne nudges him. “Please do. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

A deep breath later, Bandit continues: “My parents valued independence highly, so Ced and I were encouraged to help ourselves, which I suppose is a good thing. But it also taught us to not rely on anybody else. To not expect any safety nets: you fall, that’s it. Convincing yourself it’s worthwhile to go on after you’ve fallen was hard. I felt like I failed at life, and for a bit, giving up was the better alternative. But I did have a safety net after all: Ced did his part, a few friends did, my boss, too. So it worked out.”

“But you got worse again”, Montagne mutters.

“Yes. I got worse. Still, by then I knew not only that it was possible to get back out, but also that others would help. Miles away from asking for help, mind you, but with more hope. I kept learning. And…” Despite his reluctance to go on, Montagne remains quiet and waits. Some part of him realises it’s something Bandit has to say. “And… as horrible as that sounds, as much as I don’t even want to imagine it… I think I’m at the point where I could go on without you. If you didn’t – didn’t make it, for example, I could… I think I could. The beginning would be the absolute fucking worst, no doubt, but I’d find something to – to make it worth it. To continue.”

Wordlessly, Montagne drags him into a bear hug. Presses their bodies even tighter together, ignoring the stabs of pain in his side, ignoring all his muscles protesting, ignoring the uncomfortable weight against his injured ribcage. He just needs this man like air all of a sudden, and it seems impossible to him how he could’ve ever rejected him in anything.

He knows exactly what Bandit means. It might be put in a morbid way, but he’s trying to express just how much Montagne has helped him. Comparing this version of him with the fragile creature he once warmed in his arms is unthinkable; this Bandit isn’t vulnerable anymore. And though he was hit hard by Montagne’s near-death, he ended up recovering, largely due to his own strength. A few years ago, he would’ve reacted very differently to nearly losing a loved one, that much is certain.

Bandit is clinging to him as well, taking measured breaths against his jaw and hiding his face. “You’re the strongest fucking person I know”, he whispers, voice cracking. “And even if you lost all your limbs or your eyesight or what the fuck ever, you’d still be you. You’d still be as great as you were before. That’s a fact, you dumbass. And if you can’t do Rainbow anymore, you’ll open a stupid dog café in Marseilles or sell Fairtrade products in a corner shop, I don’t bloody know. All I know is that you shouldn’t listen to that irritating voice in your head because it has absolutely no fucking idea what it’s talking about.”

By now, Montagne is chuckling and crying at the same time, overcome by too many emotions to be able to process any of them. It feels like he was allowed a deeper look in Bandit’s workings, like he’s able to understand him a little better. More importantly, he does feel significantly less stupid now that he knows Bandit is familiar with thoughts like these and already opened himself up about them.

“I’m also worried you’d be put off by all my injuries”, he admits after a while of comforting physical contact, feeling much more confident in himself and assured they can actually talk things out.

His better half lifts his head to squint at him in confusion. “Put off…? Like, grossed out? This is nothing, I once had someone in my arms whose guts were – wait, you don’t mean that I’d find you unattractive, do you?”

Montagne eyes his love for a moment, the man whose knees get weak whenever Montagne whispers a single filthy word in his ear, the man who has admitted to having more wet dreams about him than he’d like, the very man who so valiantly held himself back until Montagne allowed him to let loose, and who has never held back since. The man Montagne missed every lonely second he spent without him over the past weeks. “Well, I’d hope not”, he mutters.

Bandit looks at him like he grew two heads. “Are you serious?”

“The bruises still look quite bad, and all the -”

“Okay, listen. You stop talking. I’m going to kiss every one of your bruises until you’re not sure whether it hurts anymore, and then I’ll make you come so hard you’ll pass out. To hell with waiting, I won’t take this for another second.”

He’s not sure whether he should take it as a threat or a promise, but when Bandit starts pulling Montagne’s clothes off his body, he finds that he has no intention to argue whatsoever. And it’s good to know this part of him still works. “Be careful, mon cœur.”

Dark eyes flick up and are accompanied by a growl: “Can’t promise that.”

And though this one was definitely a threat, all Montagne does is smile. He didn’t even realise how much he missed this.

~*~

Bandit continues to do all the work for them the next morning: he orders room service and serves Montagne breakfast in bed while also shoving everything he finds into their suitcases. No need to separate their clothes or belongings; they’re going to the same destination anyway. They should travel more, take some time off and explore the world together – a notion Montagne hadn’t entertained until now as he was never really tempted to leave France or just Europe in general without good reason, and their missions abroad together with the other operators’ supplemental information used to be sufficient for him. But now, the thought of spending a week in a hotel with no one familiar around him but Bandit, the image of them going on walks while holding hands, pointing out quaint aspects of the place around them… it’s enticing. He vows to bring it up sometime.

Muscles still sore from the previous night, his mind is the opposite: he feels refreshed, optimistic, motivated. Part of the reason is undoubtedly the sex, he can’t deny it – falling asleep with Bandit in his arms, the faint feeling of satisfaction still coursing through his body, it’s as invigorating as the act itself, the knowing, challenging stare as Bandit swallowed -

Well. He shouldn’t dwell on it. They don’t have a lot of time planned between leaving the hotel and the departure of their flight.

But anyway, it’s not just that, it’s also the conversations before and after. The way Bandit made him realise what exactly is important, that he can rely on his lover without a guilty conscience. He kept repeating how beautiful Montagne was, even during, and though it caused him to blush in considerable embarrassment, he certainly feels less self-conscious now. There wasn’t a single second in which Bandit’s assurance wavered, no moment where he showed doubt. He meant what he said.

And, thinking about it, it would be the same for Montagne. He wouldn’t care about Bandit’s physical state. He’d still love him unconditionally.

Then why are you saying no to him?

It’s different, Montagne wants to argue in his head. But is it? He’s known Bandit for longer than he did Catou when he proposed to her. They were at a different point in life then, not entirely sure about their careers (well, she wasn’t), uncertain about their future (and children is still a sore spot he refuses to entertain), really too young to make such a momentous decision. He’s been living together with Bandit for long enough to assess how well they work together. How well they fit.

No. It’s not any different in his heart. Where it’s different is his head: he’s twice shy, irrationally worried about getting hurt. And consequently hurts Bandit instead. Bandit has openly declared his wish to make their undying love and loyalty official, whereas Montagne punishes him for a crime he didn’t commit. A crime which was nobody’s fault, in the end.

Watching Bandit tear through the room and toss most of what they own into the nearest suitcase, Montagne notices how there’s one object Bandit hasn’t touched. Montagne’s passport. And he probably never will again, without explicit approval. He made a mistake, apologised and learnt from it.

Now it’s Montagne’s time to do so.

“Dominic”, he says, and instantly all activity halts. Bandit is comically frozen mid-throw, like a deer in headlights. Montagne never calls him by his full first name. “Mon amour.”

“… yes?” He seems unaware of the severity of the situation as of now.

“I would like to change my mind. If it’s still possible.” Montagne extends his hand and, instinctively, Bandit glides over to take it and sit down on the edge of the bed. “I do want to marry you.”

Bandit blinks at him. “Oh”, he says. And then: “Really?”

“Yes. I’ve thought about it, and I realise I’ve been unfair. We don’t have to rehash how… questionable your proposal was, but it made me overlook the most obvious truth: that I do love you above all and want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I do want to make it official that way.”

Bandit still looks dumbstruck, probably overwhelmed from the suddenness of the announcement. “Uh -”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like us to have rings, too, so I can carry something on me at all times that marks me as yours and the other way round. So yes, mon cœur. My love. I hope your proposal still stands, because I would like to accept it.”

By now, his lover has turned crimson. He’s fidgeting with Montagne’s hand, bending his fingers and generally not knowing what to do with his own, and his embarrassment is terribly endearing – up to the point where he mumbles something Montagne would swear he misheard. “… for the benefits”, Bandit ends, apparently addressing his own feet.

Now it’s Montagne’s turn to blink, uncomprehending. “What was that?”

“I wanted to marry for the benefits”, Bandit repeats, louder, and Montagne’s mind screeches to a halt.

He stares at Bandit, Bandit stares at the ground. “You… what now?”

“Not just – well I mean, also, but definitely not only… you know, financial, because I think there is…” Bandit’s tongue seems to be disobeying him. “But, mostly because…”

“What on earth are you saying, Dom?”

“I wasn’t allowed to visit you.”

The shoe drops.

Boy, does the shoe drop. This explains so much. Montagne blanks for a second before his brain retroactively feeds him bits and pieces of information which now neatly fall into place, now that he’s been handed the solution on a silver platter. In his delirium, he never questioned why Madeleine was the only one coming to visit him – hell, even his parents did – instead of Bandit as well; he did hear about a fight between Bandit and Lion and probably, in his feverish mind, figured that Bandit was banned because of this and couldn’t visit him as a result. But never, not for a moment, did he consider the option that they simply turned Bandit away because he was no more than a stranger to them, no official connection between them.

No wonder Bandit went stir-crazy, no wonder his mind snapped and convinced him faking official documents was a reasonable long-term solution, no wonder he announced their wedding so casually without ever officially proposing. It was never meant to be a step forward for them as a couple, was never meant as any kind of declaration – it was meant as a preventative method in case they ever find themselves in a similar situation.

No wonder Bandit is thoroughly embarrassed by Montagne’s acceptance speech.

If there even was any left, all of his residual anger vanishes upon this revelation. He’s not even dismayed about Bandit’s motives: had he, at any point really, explained himself, Montagne might’ve actually agreed with him – because while a marriage means something much more sentimental and symbolic to Montagne, he understands Bandit’s viewpoint as well, especially under the circumstances.

Bandit is still avoiding his gaze, so he lifts his lover’s hand and kisses its palm until he has his full attention. “We’ve become victims of a grave misunderstanding”, Montagne states, a smile playing on his lips. “I understand now. Still, my point stands: I would like to be married to you, for the reasons I stated, and also for the reasons you had in mind. But I’d like you to think about it, because we obviously have different approaches and I want to be sure our expectations match.”

And this is the moment burning eyes meet his, framed in an expression so open and vulnerable that Montagne has no doubt about the authenticity of Bandit’s next words: “I don’t need to think about it.”

Montagne’s heart doubles in size. His composure, his tension, all of it melts instantly, replaced by a heady rush of pure serotonin as he realises just how right this decision feels. Inevitable, almost, like this has been their destination all along without either of them being aware, but now they’re here; exactly where they belong. All their time together has led up to this, the difficult conversations they had, the obstacles they overcame, all the beautiful little moments which were wholly theirs. It’s incredible to him how far they’ve progressed, from near-strangers who barely exchanged a word to lovers so intimate they’ll spend the rest of their lives together.

It’s not about the proposal itself, not about the wedding or even the marriage after – Montagne himself knows best that a marriage is no guarantee for happiness; instead, it’s something deeper, significant only to them. A promise to each other, a promise to take care of each other, to stay loyal and supportive, to listen and talk to each other. Ultimately, it’s extremely private, yet they might decide to share it with the world regardless.

“Come here”, he pleads and kisses Bandit, half drags him onto himself and pushes his hands under Bandit’s shirt – no, his own shirt, he notices, the one Bandit slept in. A shirt he brought Montagne to wear in hospital and a shirt he took back to wash it, but it seems he didn’t get around to doing so. Instead he just wore it. “I love you so much”, Montagne whispers against scratchy beard hair, and of course that moment someone knocks on their door.

They look at each other and simultaneously roll their eyes. Lion has terrible timing.

“We don’t have much time left!”, the other Frenchman announces from the other side of the door. “So whatever it is you’re doing, you better -” He stops once Bandit yanks open the door with an annoyed scowl.

“We were actually getting ready”, Montagne lies smoothly and can’t help his beaming expression. The same glowing, fluttery feeling which has settled in his stomach is tugging on the corners of his lips, forcing him to grin.

Lion raises a sceptical brow. “Seems like you kissed and made up then.”

“And out”, Bandit provides helpfully. “Don’t stand around, get this luggage downstairs, I’ll take care of Gilles.”

“That better not be a euphemism”, Lion scoffs, but Montagne catches him fighting a smile himself.

Maybe the two of them are contagious. It would certainly make for a more pleasant flight.

~*~

By the time they’re back in England, Lion is thoroughly done with their shit.

The entire jouney, Bandit fawned over Montagne and tended to his every wish – uttered or not –, all of this done on top of all the accommodations he’d booked in advance. They spent a relaxed hour in the airport lounge, sipping on overpriced drinks and listening to the bustling around them, and even flew first class despite the shortness of the flight. Not even the screaming baby that performed the entire duration as if it was having its debut on the big stage was able to put a damper on Montagne’s or Bandit’s mood, and part of him understands Lion’s irritated response to their admittedly disgusting lovey-dovey aura.

His friend started out being cordial and visibly swallowing various remarks, progressed to thin-lipped, high-browed and disapproving, and ended with eye rolls and audible sighs. Every affectionate nickname worsened his mood, every public display like kisses or interlacing their fingers prompted a judging glance, and every soft-spoken sentence had him check his phone for the time.

Montagne has no space in his fully-occupied heart to feel any sort of guilt, especially because he suspects Lion is largely doing it for Bandit’s benefit as the German seems to relish the reactions he provokes. He is very smug.

His suspicions are apparently confirmed when he’s alone with Lion for a minute while Bandit bodychecks his way through an unmoving and uncaring crowd blocking the baggage claim. “Seems like you came to an agreement after all”, Lion states neutrally.

“We did. And if I’m honest, something you said helped with my decision.” Lion only nods, like he expected it. Curious. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to like him? If so, I won’t need a wedding present from you because that’s all I could wish for.”

“Let’s not go that far”, comes the hasty response and Montagne chuckles.

“Then why?”

A one-sided shrug. “I think everyone deserves a second chance.”

They share no more than a significant look before Bandit returns, masking his annoyance with overdone cheeriness, and so his statement remains unexplained. Whether he finally noticed the mirrored qualities he and Bandit share, whether he’s referring to Montagne’s first marriage, or whether he’s implying that he might meet Bandit with a different attitude in the future, Montagne doesn’t know. Still, the assertion resonates with him.

Seeing the oh so familiar landscape rush past the window on the last leg back to Hereford evokes an odd kind of nostalgia in Montagne. The view is one he’s always enjoyed, it marked the end of a difficult mission, the return to normalcy in a way – because his life at Rainbow has become the new normal for him, his everyday life, the foundation for his daily routine. The company of his colleagues is dear to him, as is the work itself, and as gruelling their training schedule is, he sleeps better when his muscles are sore and his head heavy.

Knowing he won’t be able to go back to this life for the foreseeable future causes a bittersweet feeling in his stomach. He will still participate, no doubt, will be included in briefings and kept up to date, will confer with teammates, offer advice. So it’s not like he’ll be isolated or exiled. But the knowledge of being incapable of doing what he’s used to stings a little.

Even so, his mind is focused on another matter. There are many more obstacles to overcome in the future concerning their engagement, starting with their respective families (though he’s under the suspicion Madeleine has realised something is up, even if she might not be aware of the severity of the situation) and ending with important decisions on how to hold their wedding party – but the most valuable aspect is that they’ll be doing it together.

Although he’s not so sure whether Bandit is ready for some of it.

“Take it to your grave or I’ll haunt your son when I’m dead.”

Lion seems largely amused by the threat, patiently waiting in front of the main entrance to Rainbow’s headquarters for Bandit to open the door. “One of his friends is a flat-earther, so he’s faced worse.”

Montagne snorts and Bandit nearly slams into the doors from scowling back at the other Frenchman. “Seriously though. This is just between us for now, alright? Even I haven’t told anyone, and neither has Gilles. Right, my love?”

“I’d like to point out that you were the one who told Olivier about your ‘proposal’ in the first place, mon cœur. Drunkenly, if I remember correctly.”

“Does that mean I can’t even tell Gustave?” Lion seems intent on making Bandit faceplant after all – he’s got the easy job of pushing Montagne around whereas Bandit is tasked with the much more difficult assignment of holding doors open for them on the way to their canteen. “I would love to see his face.”

“No. Nobody. Especially not in Rainbow.”

“What about Père Bertrand?”

“Absolutely not. Who knows whether he’s a snitch.”

“Who would he snitch to? God?”

“Look. I don’t know why this is so hard for you.” Bandit’s voice is rising in agitation as he shoulders open the last door, back turned to the room behind him, eyes fixed on Lion. “Just don’t. Tell. Anyone. Okay? No one needs to know. No one! This is just between us.”

Montagne’s composure is crumbling. Wordlessly, he indicates the entirety of the canteen with a vague gesture, trying his best to hold back a hearty laugh.

In response, Bandit whirls around with a wild expression, only to be faced with an entire room decked out with the gaudiest decorations in pink and white, plus literally all of the other operators arranged along the wall, holding confetti cannons or glasses of champagne, wearing party hats and utterly aghast expressions, and above them, floating below the ceiling, are gold balloons spelling out E N G A G E D.

The awkward silence is palpable.

The champagne bottle in Blitz’ hand pops with a startlingly loud noise, making everyone jump and almost taking out Twitch’s eye in the process, and Lion just starts roaring with laughter, holding on to the wheelchair as to not lose his balance.

“Welcome back, Gilles”, Doc offers and lifts his glass for a toast, and that finally breaks the spell. Everyone rushes at them, congratulating them and greeting Montagne after his long absence, Rook with tears in his eyes and Jackal with an encouraging smile, there are too many faces and too many well-wishes to identify them all. Their gesture is heartwarming, and though Bandit stands in the middle of the crowd, hiding his bright red face with one hand (and repeating that no, he is not taking questions right now), he’s far from fighting the many hugs he receives. When Sledge takes him into his arms, there’s audible bone cracking and joint popping, and Montagne is suddenly glad to be confined to the wheelchair.

Maybe their reveal didn’t go quite as planned, but the support they’re receiving is invigorating. Montagne might’ve preferred a small wedding prior to this, yet being confronted with hard evidence of how much all these people care for them is beginning to change his mind.

He will talk about it with Bandit, later. For now he has a party to attend.

#rainbow six siege #montagne #bandit #montagne/bandit #lion #fanfic #protection mountain #I'm personally very happy with how all this is concluded #thank you to the one person who started all this you know who you are #thank you also to suzie for keeping this ship alive all this time #thank you all #💗💗💗#ALSO #CAN YOU GUESS WHO'S THE SNITCH?

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sapphirecobalt-1 · 4 years ago

Note

“The paint’s supposed to go where?” destiel, for the prompts! <3

The paint’s supposed to go where?” + Destiel, courtesy of @contemplativepancakes. Thank you so much for your patience <3

Rated M(ish). 2.5k

"The paint's supposed to go where?" Dean asks, shooting Cas a look that's half confused, half incredulous, and half horrified, which is one too many halves but Dean's never been good enough at math to care, especially not when his roommate of several years is staring at him like he’s stupid but doesn’t want to say anything out of misplaced politeness (it’s okay, Cas, Dean knows he’s an idiot, no need to sugar coat it).

Cas scrunches up his brows and it’s clear as day he’s confused about Dean’s confusion. "On...your...body?" He asks more than says, speaking slowly and it's a testament to how well Dean knows his best friend that he understands the meaning behind Cas' words. Is this okay? Are you sure you want to do this?

Dean glances back and forth between Cas and the paintbrush in his hand. “I thought you wanted to paint me?” he asks, uncertainty coloring his tone.

“No, I asked if I could paint on you.” Cas clarifies.

Dean doesn’t know jack shit about art, it’s why he’s a STEM major, but now he’s starting to wonder if he shouldn’t do that either, because really, who in their right mind would trust a person who can’t tell the difference between painting someone and painting on someone with an electrical system? Not Dean, that’s for damn sure.

“You want to...paint on me?” Dean repeats back to him, slowly, and as an added bonus even points to himself as if Cas could possibly be referring to anyone else in the empty studio.

Cas blinks. Then, he nods, patience and exasperation fighting for dominance on his features. In the end, understanding tinged with disappointment wins as he says, “if you’re not comfortable with this, I understand...”

“No,” Dean’s mouth blurts out before his brain has time to process Cas’ comment. “I said I’d help you with your project and I will.”

“Are you sure?” Cas asks hopefully, fidgeting with the paintbrush in his hands.

No. “’Course I am.”

Cas’ face lights up in appreciation and the butterflies in Dean’s stomach flutter up a storm cause they clearly have nothing better to do. Still, the look on Cas’ face when Dean accepts his challenge is enough to put the misunderstanding behind them and let go of his uncertainty.

Until it’s time for Cas to paint on Dean.

When Cas originally asked Dean to help him with his assignment, Dean thought he’d pose for a couple hours and Cas would paint him like a 16th century monarch (never mind that Dean wanted Cas to paint him like one of his French girls). And he was cool with that, hell, he even looked forward to it (spending time with Cas, that is, not holding the same position for who knows how long). Dean even did some stretches and practiced holding various positions for several minutes.

Nothing could have prepared him for Cas scooping up some brown (”it’s not brown, Dean, it’s called ‘Burnt Umber’”, whatever the hell that means) paint on his brush, walking into Dean’s personal space like he owned it (he did, good God he did), and painting broad strokes onto Dean’s pale, freckled chest. Dean shivers the second the cold paint touches his skin and Cas barely gives him time to adjust to the temperature and weird sensation of bristles on his skin before he goes to town painting...whatever the hell he’s painting.

Cas furrows his brows and Dean watches him stick his tongue out in concentration and it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

“So, uh, this paint safe for people?” Dean asks fighting a shiver that has nothing to do with the temperature of the paint and everything to do with the way Cas gently places his hand on Dean’s waist as he paints jagged lines across Dean’s chest.

Cas pauses to look up at Dean. “Of course.” he answers. “I would never ask this of you if I knew it wasn’t safe.”

Dean distractedly nods his understanding, his attention split between the sparkle in Cas’ clear blue eyes and the unfamiliar yet warm feeling ballooning in his chest. He looks away and forces himself to pay attention to his surroundings, afraid he might say something stupid if he continues staring into Cas’ eyes like that.

As far as college level art classes go, this one’s no different than most. It’s got several easels, canvases, paint brushes, and tubes of paint scattered all over the floor, tables, and open drawers. The sunlight streaming from the three floor-to-ceiling windows light up the room more than the dollar store bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. The dark grey walls are littered with murals in various stages of completion: sketched out, drawn, half painted and painted. Dean briefly wonders where the artists are and why they never finished before his eyes land on the creepy skeleton in the far right corner. It doesn’t have eyes, but Dean swears Michaelangel-Bones (as the art students named it for reasons Dean will never understand) stares at him.

Having had his fill of the offending decoration in the corner, Dean turns to face Cas only to frown when he doesn’t immediately spot his friend. Motion captures his attention and he looks down to see Cas, on his knees, in front of Dean, getting some green paint before carefully painting small strokes across Dean’s stomach, one hand on his waist.

Dean’s brain stops working and his heart, doing the exact opposite, pounds so fast he’s surprised it doesn’t beat out of his chest like they do in cartoons. But why would it, when it’s too busy pumping blood down south?

Dean tears his eyes away from the incredibly attractive sight of Cas on his knees and faces Michaelangel-Bones as if the skeleton’s gonna help him keep it in his pants. Although, weirdly enough, thinking about the disturbing skeleton whose not-eyes follow him around the studio actually does help Dean squash down his inappropriate thoughts about his roommate. Just to be on the safe side, he conjures a few very unsexy images (the time he accidentally walked in on his parents doing the horizontal tango, him and Charlie pigging out at the local buffet, stuffing their mouths and making gross faces at one another) all in an effort to get Little Dean under control.

Once his thoughts, feelings, heart, and Little Dean are all under control, he risks glancing down at Cas.

Cas who’s carrying on, painting God-knows-what on Dean’s stomach, casual as can be, completely oblivious to Dean’s internal monologue, seemingly unaffected by being practically face-to-face with Little Dean. He’s staring at Dean’s pudgy stomach with the same intensity as earlier when he was painting Dean’s chest.

All of Dean’s hard (heh) work making sure Little Dean behaves himself almost goes out the window when he notices Cas is sticking his tongue out a little in concentration and Dean wishes he was using his tongue for something else.

Dean berates himself for going down that road before thinking unsexy thoughts again, Don’t think about that, think about the time we didn’t realize Miracle was a girl until she had puppies. He better get his thoughts about Cas under control before he runs out of unsexy thoughts and Cas ends up coming face-to-face with Dean’s feelings for him. The last thing Dean wants is to make things awkward between them by being forced to admit he’s been in love with his best friend for years because said friend notices his boner.

"Done with the front," Cas chimes in. Thank God, Dean thinks, the torture is over. Dean's heart rate begins to slow down a bit and his thoughts settle. He relaxes.

That is, until Cas says, "Now it's time for the back," his voice a bit deeper than usual, giving Dean a nervous yet appreciative smile and Dean's heartbeat spikes all over again.

He returns Cas' smile, hoping he doesn't look as nervous as his friend did while trying not to let his mind run wild with possible explanations for Cas' nervousness.

Instead, Dean focuses on Cas and his friend walks around him, deliberately not facing Dean, squeezes out some light blue and some yellow paint onto his clear, paint-covered pallet, cleans his current brush and gets a new one.

Dean clears his throat. "So, uh, whatcha workin' on?" He asks in an effort to distract himself, fidgeting with the hem of his jeans. It's not that he's not interested in what Cas is doing, whatever it is he's doing, it's just that he really needs a distraction from the heat of Cas' hand on his waist.

"I'm painting a tree on your chest and the rest of the garden on your back." Cas responds just as his brush begins to paint long, broad strokes across his tailbone.

Dean shivers from the touch which only makes Cas squeeze his waist and now Dean's shuddering for a completely different reason.

"Dean, I need you to stay still, please." Cas reminds him, stern but not unkindly, pausing his process while Dean gets himself under control.

"Sorry." Dean replies. Once Dean is still, Cas continues painting across his back. It tickles a little as the bristles leave trails of cold, wet, and slightly slimy paint over his muscles.

Dean feels more than sees Cas’ precise brushing motions, feels Cas’ hot breath heat up the goosebumps adorning his skin and his breath hitches.

Cas stops painting.

Dean looks over his shoulder to find Cas already staring at him. He meets Cas’ gaze and swallows. “Everything alright, Cas?” Dean speaks softly into the space between them, which, Dean notices, isn’t much.

“Dean, I...” Cas trails off.

This close, Dean can see his friend’s dilated pupils and he’s certain his are, too. “Yeah, Cas?” Dean asks softly and tentatively, worried that if he speaks too loudly it’ll ruin the moment between them, pop it like a bubble. He swallows again, somewhere in the back of his mind wondering when his mouth got so dry.

Cas responds by leaning into Dean’s space and all his thoughts about his feelings for his roommate ruining their friendship fly out the window as Cas lightly rakes his nails up Dean’s side, over his shoulder blade, and down his arm.

Dean shudders in response, loving the feel of Cas’ hand on his body, although he wishes the guy would put both hands on him.

Cas’ hand slides down his Dean’s arm slowly, as if afraid going any faster might scare Dean off.

Once Dean feels Cas’ hand in his own, he intertwines their fingers and squeezes his hand as if to say I’m not going anywhere.

The soft look in Cas’s eyes becomes so intense, Dean’s surprised his pupils aren’t heart-shaped like in cartoons. Nevertheless, he returns Cas’ heart eyes and he swears he stops breathing and his heart stops beating in his chest as the world around them disappears.

No more sunlight streaming through the windows, no more Michael Angel-bones staring creepily at Dean, no more cold, wet paint drying slowly on his skin; only him and Cas and the small space between them that keeps getting smaller and smaller until their lips brush.

He distantly hears Cas’ paintbrush clatter as it falls on the floor but Cas runs his now empty hand through Dean’s hair and nothing else matters except closing the all but nonexistent space between them.

He’s not sure who moves first, only that one second there is a space between them and the next second Cas’ chapped, pillow-y lips are on his.

The angle is awkward and hurts Dean’s neck but it’s worth it because the kiss is sweet and gentle and everything he’s ever dreamed of and more.

They part only when they run out of breath and Dean rests his forehead on Cas’. They keep their eyes closed a little while longer, still a bit dazed from their kiss.

After a few moments, Dean slowly turns around. He opens his eyes and takes in the sight of Cas' unruly hair, heart eyes, the tiny blush coloring his cheeks, and his spit-slicked lips. Gazing into Cas' eyes, Dean finally understands what that funny yet warm feeling ballooning in his chest is.

Love.

"I love you," Dean blurts out, his mouth moving faster than his brain can keep up. He looks down at Cas' shirt collar, unable to meet his gaze, afraid of what he might see.

"I love you, too," Dean looks up at Cas' wavering tone. Cas' eyes are watery and Dean wipes the single tear streaming down his face.

"You - you do?" Dean whispers in disbelief. Somebody pinch him because he must be dreaming if his hot best friend actually reciprocates. "L-love me? Like, love me, love me?" Dean clarifies. It's stupid and he's well aware it is but he has to know, he has to make sure Cas doesn't mean it in the friend way.

"Yes, Dean," Cas answers in a steadier voice with a chuckle and Dean's heart soars. "I love you, love you."

Dean wraps his arms around Cas' neck and pulls him in for a desperate kiss.

Cas must have been expecting it because he wastes no time wrapping his arms around Dean's waist and giving as good as he’s getting.

They make out for several minutes, only pausing to breathe, letting their lips do all the talking, their kisses saying everything they've never dared speak out loud.

Eventually, Cas breaks the kiss and Dean whimpers at the loss of contact. As they separate, Cas’ shirt peels off of Dean’s chest, which feels really tacky. Dean and Cas wear matching grimaces as they take in the paint on Cas’ shirt. It’s the mirror image of the tree and grass painted on Dean’s chest except the edges are smeared making it look like a blurry photograph.

Dean stares at Cas’ shirt a little longer before the realization that he ruined Cas’ painting hits him. The color drains from his face as he looks at Cas with wide eyes. “Your painting, Cas, man, I am so sorry —”

Cas meets his look and his grimace gives way to a small smile and he lifts one shoulder in a shrug, as if to say what can you do? “Dean,” he interrupts, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“But I ruined your —” Dean tries.

“Dean, it’s alright.” He reassures. “You didn’t ruin anything.” A pause. “And if I recall correctly —” he smirks as his cheeks fill with a rosy pink color, “— I am equally to blame for ruining my project.”

Dean glances at Cas’ discarded paintbrush on the ground, rubbing the back of his neck at the memory of them making out moments ago. “Still…” Unconvinced and a bit guilty despite Cas’ reassurance, Dean prompts.

“Besides,” Cas grabs his hands. “I have more important things to do.” Cas gives him a very heated and suggestive look. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Dean swallows, hard, and nods a response, speechless at Cas’ words. He’s never really seen this side of his roommate and best friend but he is not complaining and plans on taking full advantage of this newfound discovery.

And in the middle of the day, in the middle of the art classroom, he does just that, Cas’ painting long forgotten in favor of doing another kind of project.

#sapphirecobaltwrites #Destiel fanfic #inbox asks #fanfiction prompts #college au #asks: contemplative pancakes #artist cas #model dean

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enkelimagnus · 4 years ago

Text

A Castle in the Forest

Percy x Vex’ahlia, Chapter 9, 3123 words,

A Modern AU, in which Vex is a park ranger taking over the Alabaster Sierras post, and finds much more than she bargained for

Read on AO3

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

“Well, hello, there. Who are you?”

The question is asked in two voices, one humanoid enough and the other dark and deep and fiendish. It resounds around her as if the room is much bigger than it actually is.

Vex can’t breathe. She’s made the biggest mistake of her life, and she’s going to die. This is the fiend, it has to be. The barbed devil from before seems ridiculously small and weak. It took seconds to bring it down, even if it was three against one. This one though? There’s no way Vex is coming out of here alive, if they start to fight.

Their arms are to their side, one of their hands resting on something on a belt around their hips. Sword hilt? She can’t think about what else it could be.

The door behind her is open, so there is somewhere for her to go. She could try to book it and run but she doubts she’ll be able to make it back out, unless there’s some sort of magical field keeping the fiend inside. She might make it to the tunnel.

Vex tries to make out what the creature’s shoes are, hoping desperately that they would make it hard for them to run after her but the smoke billowing on the ground makes it hard to see. The edges of the smoke are starting to reach Vex’s feet, too. She doesn’t want to find out what will happen if they start wrapping around her legs. She takes a step back.

“You came into my home, the least you could do is tell me your name,” they continue, taking a step forward, keeping the distance between them equal.

The unilateral blinking is unnerving. Vex has never seen something like this. She doesn’t remember learning about it in any class she’s taken either. It’s deeply wrong, but she can’t tell what’s happening, or what it is.

She doesn’t want to give them her name. Names have power, she knows that. She’s learned that. Staying silent isn’t a great option either.

“Wade,” she blurts out. She has no idea where it comes from, but it seems to work. Maybe she has a little bit of luck. Hopefully, she hasn’t burned it all on lying about her name.

“Wade…” The creature shifts a little, hand tilting to the other side, as they repeat the name she’s given them. “What brings you to me, today? You look… emotional.”

They would be emotional if they were in front of something like this fiend. A bit of rage rises inside of her. How dare they call her emotional? But she swallows it down. It’s not the fucking time. She can’t let her emotions ruin this for her too.

The clothing on them is beautiful, though old. It has seen wear without care for a while. The blue color is faded and the gold thread is scuffed, dulled. They look like a strange, faded version of a noble.

If they're noble, and standing in the basement dungeon of Castle Whitestone, there’s not a hundred different options on who they could be.

“Are you a De Rolo?” She asks bluntly.

A ripple of emotions erupts on the right side of the creature’s face, the side where the eye is blue. They seem relieved at first, then sad. Then worried. It's a rollercoaster on one side of the face. Once again, it feels wrong to Vex.

It does give her incentive to keep talking though.

“You have the clothing of a noble, but it’s old. And there haven’t been nobles in Whitestone for years,” she points out. “You have to be one of them.”

She wishes she’d researched them more, right now. If she knew their names, she could try to guess which one they were, she could try to appeal to their past to an extent. But she doesn’t know. All she knows is that this thing might be a de Rolo. Were they a fiend all along? Had they snapped and killed the entire family in one go after posing as one of them for so long?

Long enough to look like a twenty-year-old human. Vex is almost impressed. That sure was a long con. She wouldn’t have been able to handle pretending to be someone else for decades. She’d tried that for a couple of years as a teenager and it hadn’t worked.

“Are you from Whitestone, Wade?” De Rolo starts again. They don’t answer anything to Vex’s comments, but she’s seen enough. They shift and lean forward, taking a deep, loud inhale. “You don’t smell like the city. Like the dust and rot of this godsforsaken ugly little town. You…” They inhale again deeply. “You smell like woods. Like wild magic. Like Fey… it’s faded but it’s there, Wade. Why do you smell like Fey, when you’re obviously not one?”

Vex feels nauseous suddenly. She smells like fey. It has to be Saundor’s influence, still stuck in her, on her. His magic, his energy, his essence, wrapped around her and smothering hers still. It’s been seven fucking months. How long until she’s free? How many baths until she stops smelling like him?

The creature smirks. “See? It’s fun when someone reminds you of a painful past, isn’t it, little othlir?”

Vex takes another step back. She tries to reassure herself that they don’t know her, the term othlir is commonly used enough by full-blooded elves that it would make sense she’d been referred to by it once. It doesn’t have to mean they know her.

She raises her hands. “I don’t want to fight you,” she says. Her voice manages to be unwavering. “I will not tell anyone you’re here. I just want to leave.”

She wants to run home to Vax and never leave. She wants to stay alive. She wants to run from those words and the knowledge this thing seems to have. She wants to go and scrub Saundor off her once again. At least she doesn’t have to be careful of her burns anymore. They’ve healed months ago.

The creature’s mouth shifts as they smirk at her. It’s distorted and, once again, wrong. Vex’s hair rises on the back of her neck. They look predatory. And she’s the prey. She takes another step back. The creature follows, not letting her put distance between them.

She’s reaching for her bow when something changes. The black eye flickers, the darkness filling it seems to be shoved away and it turns to the same blue the other one is. The creature hisses loudly, bending on themselves. Something’s happening to them.

“RUN!” The voice is broken and desperate, but lacking the darker, deeper fiendish tone from before. It’s not both voices anymore, just one. And they seem to want her to leave.

Blue eyes meet hers as the body contorts, the smoke wrapping around it almost angrily. A struggle is happening. Vex feels so deeply out of her depths. She watches as their eyes flicker between blue with white sclera and fully black, the hissing resounding in Vex’s ears. They look in pain.

“Please,” they whisper again. When the eyes are blue, they look desperate.

Something snaps and Vex starts moving. It’s instinctive and she’s through the door before she can really realize what she’s doing.

The hissing gets louder and suddenly, there’s a beast snarling behind her, loud and angry. She jumps through the crumbled part of the wall and starts running down the tunnel. It’s dark and empty and the noises resound around her. They’re everywhere, the fiend is everywhere.

She turns with the tunnel’s path and she can see the outside light. She’s almost out. And once she’s out… Hopefully, it won’t be able to follow her past the tunnel’s exit. Once she’s out in the world, she hopefully will be okay.

She’s almost halfway there when a loud bang thunders through the tunnel. Her ears ring with the loudness of it. Barely a second later, her shoulder explodes with pain.

She screams. Tears rise in her eyes from the pain and she stumbles. Somehow, thank the Gods, she doesn’t fall. Her legs push her towards the outside. She can’t look behind herself. She can’t do anything but cry and run.

Vex bolts out of the tunnel and keeps going until she can’t stop anymore. Her clothing is dark with blood, the pain is horrible and she’s aware the only reason she’s alive right now is that it didn’t hit major blood vessels. Or at least, not too much.

Fuck. She stops for a second and reaches up. Her hands stumble through the motions of her Cure Wounds spell. She’s vaguely aware that she’s making noise, desperate noises of pain and fear. The magic wraps around her and seeps into the wound, managing to repair some of the damage but it’s not enough.

She isn’t sure how much more she can heal herself, and all her potions are at the cabin. She’s vulnerable, bleeding, leaving a trail behind herself, and the Parchwood Timberlands are notoriously dangerous. With a shoulder like this, she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to draw her bow correctly. She’s virtually defenseless.

She needs Vax. She reaches down for her phone. Thankfully, it’s intact and in her pocket. Her fingers manage to find the right places to click to send him her geolocation before she switches to her contact list. She hits ‘call’ and waits, and prays. She prays to anyone that can hear that he has his phone, that he has service, and that he’s still at the cabin and not in town the way he said he would be.

The call rings in the silence, for so long. Vex is almost certain he’s not going to pick up when he does.

“Vex?”

“I’m injured,” she blurts out. “Sent you my location. I don’t know where I am or how to get home, and I don’t think I can draw my bow.” Her voice is shaking.

This isn’t the first time she calls him in despair. Tears sting her eyes again at the thought. Useless.

“I’m on my way,” he promises. “I’ll take a healing potion.”

He hangs up then, probably to get everything she needs and get to her faster, but the silence is overwhelming. Vex looks behind herself, searching for a blue coat and dark smoke.

She desperately throws herself in her awareness. The fiend shows on her radar, but it’s far away. She finds herself relaxing a bit. Pain shoots through her shoulder again. She looks down at the hole in her coat, then at the hole in her body. It’s unlike anything she’s seen before.

What in the Nine Hells did this to her? Not an arrow, unless it was heavily modified. And the loud thundering bang… She can’t identify it. She knows a lot about weapons but that noise, she’d never heard before.

Another question that lacks answers.

She’s not going to get any answer right now anyway. She’s hopefully far enough away that she won’t end up face to face with the fiend and whatever caused that wound for now. She sighs heavily. With all of this, she hasn’t hunted. Fuck. She’s useless. She can only sit there and mope at her own stupidity.

Snow starts falling again as she waits, covering her clothes and her hair with little flakes of pure white that eventually melt from her body heat. She should be aware of the beauty of it, but right now, she’s not able to enjoy this. She’s hurt and tired and her mind won’t stop yelling at her. Vax is taking so much time.

She should check where she is. She doesn’t. Vax will find her eventually, he’s not that terrible in nature. She needs to stop giving him so little credit. He’s saved her enough times to prove his skills.

Everything is silent as the snow falls on her, and she sits there, quiet. She’s breathing. She’s okay. She didn’t die. That’s already something, right? She wishes she could stop her mind from working right now. It won’t shut up.

She doesn’t know how long she waits. She refuses to check her phone if it isn’t ringing. It’s not. She only has Vax after all, who else would make it ring? She just… sits there and waits, cold and tired and quiet.

The crunching of feet on snow makes her snap her head to see what’s coming. It’s Vax, all dressed in his black clothing, like a large ink stain on the white of the snow, purposefully not stealthy. Probably so she won’t shoot him. Smart.

Vex should be happier to see him. She’s not. It’s a bitter relief.

His eyes stop on the red stain of blood around her shoulder and barely move from that.

“I’ve given myself a Cure Wounds,” she calls out. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Vax nods quietly and hands her the red healing potion. She uncorks it and swallows. It’s sour and sweet at once, warming her from the inside out, despite not being heated. She feels the warmth seep into her bones and gather around her shoulder, where the wound is.

The pain disappears. She doesn’t look to see if it’s completely healed yet. She doesn’t want to take off too many layers while in the snow.

“What happened?” Vax asks after a second, when she puts the empty glass vial in her pocket and stands up, probably looking much better than when he found her.

Vex sighs and picks up her bow. “I went after a fiend.”

Vax blinks at her, then rolls his eyes. “You, alone, against a fiend? Vex….”

“It was a mistake, I get it,” Vex snaps and starts walking. “I’m lucky I made it out alive. That’s what you wanna hear?” She hisses.

There’s a bit of bewildered silence. “Are you okay?”

“I think the potion healed the last of the damage,” Vex replies. She knows that’s not what he meant, but she doesn’t want to talk about her stupid feelings. Especially not right now, when he seems so fine about it all.

Vex keeps going forward, until she realizes she can’t hear his crunchy footsteps anymore. She turns around. He’s standing a hundred feet back, arms crossed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She shouts.

Vax sighs heavily. “You’re going the wrong way, stubby,” he huffs.

Embarrassment burns hot on Vex’s cheeks. Useless, she can’t stop being useless. She starts moving back towards him.

“Tell me about the fiend,” Vax says once she reaches him. “I thought you’d dealt with one already a few days ago.”

Vex exhales. “I did. A Barbed Devil that had seemingly killed the ranger before me, Regae. I wasn’t alone. I found two others to help me, out-of-towners.” She explains. “I thought we were done.”

She tells him the rest of the story, at least the big lines. She doesn’t tell him she was screaming in the snow, or that she was searching for Saundor when she felt the fiend. She does tell him about Keyleth, about the path, about the fiend. The fiend that might actually be a person.

He’s silent while she talks, and she’s just done with the story of the wound and how she can’t tell what did it when they make it home.

Vax helps her out of her heavy coat and out of her blood-drenched shirt and undershirt. He draws her a bath and takes care of the stains on her clothing. Vex curls up on herself in the hot water. He takes care of her and her things efficiently and Vex wants to cry again. She should be able to do this by herself.

“Your things are gonna dry out,” Vax says, peeking out of the door of the bathroom. “I’m going out to hunt for that meat. I’m taking the crossbow that’s under the bed.”

“Be careful!” She calls after him.

He mumbles something she can’t really make out and starts walking away. The door slams and his footsteps disappear and then there’s only silence. Vex exhales. There’s a new fiend. It’s much stronger than the Barbed Devil. She’s going to need Pike and Grog on her side again. Maybe even more people. She’ll need to go back to the temples and ask for more. Fuck. She isn’t looking forward to that.

She closes her eyes. What was that thing? All that black smoke looked magical, but the body… the body was humanoid. The pale face, with those sharp features. They looked young, and humanoid. Blue eyes… Flickering between blue and black. And the two voices. The normal one, and the fiendish one.

Fuck. There’s a De Rolo in Castle Whitestone, and they might be possessed. They have a weapon that makes holes in people’s bodies, holes unlike anything she’s ever seen, unlike arrows from bows or bolts from crossbows.

The crossbow that’s under the bed.

There might be a crossbow under the bed. But there’s also Fenthras. And Vax might have seen it.

Panic overtakes Vex and she bolts out of the bath, opens the door and throws herself to the bed to pull the case out. She’s dripping water everywhere, and she’s thankful for the fire, because else she’d be freezing but that’s not what matters now. The case is there, a little dusty, except for the places where her fingers have undone the latches. She repeats her usual motions and opens the case.

It’s there. It’s there, in all of its glory. Vex feels like she’s breathing again.

Since the first day she saw it, in Saundor’s hands, she’s been in awe of it. Still now, it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. Verdant green, dark brown leather, golden bronze inlay. The craftsmanship is breathtaking. It seems to breathe and shift on its own, alive with its own strange consciousness. Vex wonders if it knows it isn’t Saundor’s anymore.

She closes the case back and puts it under the bed again. She dries herself off and puts on some clothes. She doesn’t bother with stays right now, Just a shirt and some pants. She’s not going back outside.

Trinket comes out of a hiding spot he’s found under one of the chairs to climb on her lap and snuggle into her. Maybe she’s calming down a little now. She yawns.

When Vax comes back, he finds her buried under blankets, curled up on the bed, fast asleep. Trinket naps against her and she seems deep enough in her rest that he doesn’t disturb her to ask questions about why Saundor’s bow is under her bed. That’s for another day. A day where they both feel less like they’re teetering on the edge of a cliff.

#perc'ahlia #vex'ahlia #percy de rolo #vox machina #critical role #mine #fic

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allycryz · 4 years ago

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WOL Challenge #8: Apart

[Prompt List Here]

[Filled Prompts Here]

Heavensward, post-Vault

Aymeric visits a recuperating Haurchefant while their loves travel to Azys Lla

Rating: T for mild sex talk, references to Aymeric’s time in the Vault

Pairings: Haurchefant x Nerys, Aymeric x Estinien

Discussed Estinien x Haurchefant, Implied Aymeric x Nerys x Estinien, Haurchefant x Aymeric

"Thank you for coming." Count Edmont de Fortemps says as he personally escorts Aymeric through the manor. A development he hadn’t anticipated.

That could be said about much of the past week.

"I owe Lord Haurchefant a great deal," Aymeric replies with an incline of his head. "And not just recently. He has always been a good friend to me."

"I hear that often, especially of late." The Count's brow furrows with an emotion between pride and sorrow. "It seems my son is well-loved."

"He is." There are those who will never show favor to someone like Haurchefant–like Aymeric–but all else adore him. Despite his near-constant presence at Camp Dragonhead, the man made friends of the apple sellers of the Crozier; the scholars in the Church; every tavern owner in the city; and much more besides.

"Then he has surpassed my every hope." Lord Edmont looks him over. "And how are you faring, Lord Commander? I have not forgotten the state you were in days ago."

"On the mend, thanks to the chirurgeons you found." Loyal men sword to Lord Edmont and House Fortemps. Young Master Leveilleur had monitored the healing himself in the initial days. No one spoke aloud what they all thought: a traitor might slip in and finish the job.

Blessedly, his father hadn’t seen to that particular cruelty.

"Tell me, how is he?"

"...Better. But we are discovering that my son is not the best patient."

"Truly? I would not have guessed that."

"Oh he is good-natured to all. But he alternates between pushing himself too fast, too soon or falling into a quiet sulk when he cannot get his way. No doubt that whatever mood he is in, he will try to hide it the moment someone walks in."

"That sounds more like Haurchefant."

They reach the door--handsome oak with subtle unicorn carvings in the panels--and Lord Edmont steps back. "I will leave you to it, Lord Aymeric. Twill do him good to see you."

“Thank you.” He is surprised by the genial clasp of his shoulder. There has been much talk of the changes seen in the three sons of House Fortemps. But Aymeric thinks the patriarch has also changed–as if Nerys’ presence has given him permission at last to be more open with his affection.

He cannot put into words, how much he appreciates the fatherly gesture just then.

Haurchefant slumps in an armchair by the fire, clad in a finely woven red and gold dressing gown over a tan nightshirt that falls to his ankles. He sits tall at the sound of the door, wincing when the movement jostles his injuries. The wounded arm is in a sling, carefully obscured beneath the scarlet silk.

“Aymeric,” he says. “Father told me to expect you. Forgive me for not standing, I am under strict orders to remain in this chair.”

“If you did, I should be very cross with you.” Aymeric sits in the opposite chair, warming his legs by the roaring fireplace. “You know you don’t have to stand on ceremony with me.”

Haurchefant covers his mouth, wincing as a chuckle moves through him. “Was that a pun?”

“It wasn’t not a pun.” Aymeric grins. “I’m sorry, I see that laughing is painful for you right now.”

“Don’t you dare apologize, I haven’t laughed in days.” He adjusts in his chair, mild consternation creasing his brow as he seeks a comfortable pose. Aymeric has suffered enough battle wounds in the past to know the frustration well. At last, Haurchefant picks up a bell on his sidetable. “Tea? Food?”

“Tea sounds lovely. Are you hungry?”

“Oh it’s complicated, that question.” Haurchefant’s genuine smile turns into something artificial. “I am not hungry and not hungry and not hungry but then I eat something...suddenly I am ravenous. The body is truly strange when it ails.”

“I remember.” Aymeric motions to his right side. “I took a mercifully non-fatal wound here a few years ago and that was the very same experience.”

“And your wounds recently?” Haurchefant rings the bell and settles back against his chair. “How are you faring? You look better.”

“I am better. All that’s left are the usual aches and sores of the body healing.” And a few scars, but those would fade over time. It was more than he had hoped for in that dungeon��Don’t think on it. Ask about him. “You look much better, too.”

“Flatterer.” Haurchefant winks. “But come now, you can pay me a prettier compliment than that.”

A servant enters the room, waiting at attention once it’s clear no one is in distress or pain. Haurchefant requests tea (“plenty of cream and birch syrup on the side please”), finger sandwiches, and the famous petit fours. Éléonore refuses to divulge her secrets despite all of Aymeric’s attempts to wheedle them out of the Fortemps’ chef.

“A ravenous day then?”

“Not really, but! My dear friend has come calling and I would treat him to things he likes.”

“With or without the prettier compliments?”

“With, naturally. Else I will tell Gregor to summarily evict you from the premises.”

Aymeric gives a long-suffering sigh, the one that can only be learned from Estinien Wyrmblood. But he stands to take Haurchefant’s uninjured hand and raises it slow to his lips, maintaining deliberate eye contact.

Etiquette demands he kiss the air above it but they are old, dear friends. He presses his lips to the knuckles and murmurs, “To see your beautiful face, to see you on the mend...it does this heart much good.”

“...Pretty indeed.” Aymeric doesn’t think he has ever seen the other man blush before. He won’t point it out but instead treasure it, for as long as it lasts. “Serves me right to challenge an unapologetic charmer.”

“I’d believe that if I didn’t know you love being put in your place, in the right mode.” Aymeric resumes his seat. “Estinien told me as much.”

“Ah…” An even dreamier expression overtakes Haurchefant. He should have visited sooner, if he is this gifted at lifting his friend from despondency. “That was a night I shan’t forget. He said he would tell you, but I never knew if he actually did.”

“He did. We talk about most of our intrigues and it was no small thing, that one of us should spend a night with our oldest and dearest friend. I never thanked you, by the by. For watching over him when he fled with The Eye.”

“No thanks required.” Haurchefant says. “I only wish I might watch over him now. He and Nerys both.”

“...I feel the same.” Aymeric admits. The very subject he hoped to avoid, if that was even possible. “Though I am well aware that we must stay here, just as they must go.”

“Must they…?” Worry and sorrow are clear in Haurchefant and he is slower to mask these. Hopefully, because he feels safe to bare such emotions in this company. “Ah, I know they must. As I know they will prevail. But it goes against everything in me, to stand by while my heart is in danger.”

“Hear hear.” It does not become easier, watching Estinien leave for another mission. To love a warrior is to embrace the possibility of loss with every day. Estinien took the same chance when he fell for Aymeric. “I am proud of them.”

“As am I.” Haurchefant fidgets again. “My apologies Aymeric, I did not mean to be so dour with company.”

“If not with me, then who?” Aymeric shakes his head. “You understand why I lost my heart to that man. Orchestrated it, even.”

“Ha. I only saw two friends pining and saw fit to help...push them along, as it were. You lost your heart long before I got involved.”

“Fair. I always wondered…”

Two servants enter with the refreshments and it takes some engineering to put everything in easy reach. Haurchefant has to adjust his pose again, doing a near-perfect job of hiding any discomfort. He thanks them profusely for their concerns, saying he is feeling better than he has in days.

Once alone, they fall quiet as tea is sipped and sandwiches tried. Aymeric sets aside a plate of three petit fours with sugar violets. If not, they will disappear by the time he finishes the savory portion.

“You feel that much better?”

“In truth...I am exhausted. The act of getting up and washed and dressed alone left me feeling as begrimed as before.” Haurchefant sighs. “But I did not want them to feel like they had to wait around. In any case, what did you wonder?”

“Hm? Oh.” Aymeric sets down the delicate red and white cup. “Why you went to such lengths when it was clear you held a torch for Estinien.”

“That? That’s easy.” Haurchefant shrugs and immediately winces. He must have forgotten that gesture was off-limits. “My friends were in love and I wanted them to be happy.”

“You had no notion we would be what we are,” Aymeric presses with a vague gesture. “A couple with an open arrangement.”

“My reward was your joy. That Halone saw fit to give me an extra gift well…” Haurchefant smirks. “Proof that patience and self-sacrifice are holy in her eyes.”

“Such blasphemy.” Aymeric does his best not to laugh or smile.

“Not at all! Did not Menphina find love in the arms of both Halone and Oschon?”

“I beg of you, Haurche.” Aymeric shakes his head. “The Fury must love you for all she has done, but even her divine grace must have limits.”

“Ah but who are we to set limits upon anything? Her divine grace or the boundaries of our hearts?” Haurchefant grins. “I wish I had known that teasing you was medicine. Can you come again tomorrow?”

“If I can manage it, I’ll come every day.” Aymeric says, truthfully. “Until this is over.”

The mischievous glint in Haurchefant’s eye trades for a solemn mien. He sighs. “Pray that the Fury brings them home soon. Not just to save you from my teasing, but so we have them back safe and sound.”

“I will drink to that.” Aymeric lifts his teacup. “To their safe return, so we may fuss over them.”

“To their safe return,” Haurchefant echoes. “If I am still unable to move well, you may have to embrace them both in my stead.”

“Gladly.”

If only Haurchefant knew how near to the truth he was. Estinien will tease him for it later, the Lord Commander hugging Nerys. But as Aymeric had pressed his lover about particular fantasies involving the Warrior, it is only fair.

Though when they return, Aymeric will feel less passion and more utter relief. Would that he might keep all three of them safe in the Pillars from then onward.

“Oh, I know you would.” Haurchefant says, lowering his cup.

Aymeric remembers that look. An invitation to meet him in the evening for stargazing, the night of a meteor shower. Only, he had found Estinien there instead. Who also wondered where Haurchefant was.

Some poor boy–no doubt tipped outrageously well–appeared with a message that Haurchefant was detained and they were to enjoy themselves.

“Drink your tea, my lord.” Aymeric says.

“Yes, ser.”

Perhaps Haurchefant knows, after all.

#nerys eluned #haurchefant greystone #aymeric de borel #estinien wyrmblood #edmont de fortemps #haurchefant x wol #aymeric x estinien #wol x haurchefant x estinien x aymeric #heavensward spoilers #Haurchefant lives #ally writes

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btsqualityy · 5 years ago

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BTS Second Pregnancy Series #13: Final Preparations

36 weeks, or 9 months, pregnant

Kim Seokjin

“Hey you two,” you called as you walked into the spare bedroom where Jin and Kaiden were sitting on the floor, trying to finish putting the new baby’s crib together.

“Hi Mommy,” Kaiden chirped as he looked up at you and you gave him a small smile before looking over at Jin, who’s tongue was poked out of his mouth as he concentrated on what he was doing.

“How’s it going?” You wondered and Jin finally looked up at you, a small pout on his face.

“Was it this hard to put together this crib when you were pregnant with Kade?” He wondered and you shrugged your shoulders.

“You and Hobi put it together last time, remember?” You told him and he nodded.

“Remind me on why we took this crib apart once Kade was done using it?” Jin requested.

“Because he was getting bigger and he needed a big boy bed,” you chuckled. “We also didn’t know when we’d end up having another baby.”

“I used to sleep in here?” Kaiden questioned as he pointed to the parts of the crib and you nodded your head.

“Yep, for a pretty long time too,” you told him.

“Ugh, this is so unnecessarily complicated,” Jin exclaimed as he threw down the two parts that he had in hands onto the floor. “Do I really have to finish this now?”

“It’d be nice if you did,” you giggled. “But we also don’t want you to have a hernia so you don’t have to worry about it today.”

“Thank God,” he muttered as he stood up from the floor and stretched his arms out. “At least we got the rest of the nursery done though.”

“You and Kade did a great job,” you nodded as you looked around the room.

“Do you like my pictures Mommy?” Kaiden asked as he pointed up to the handrawn pictures that he had made that were in frames on the wall, which included the one that he had drawn a week ago of your whole family.

“I love them sweetie,” you nodded, a giggle escaping you when Kaiden hugged your leg tightly. “I think the baby is gonna love them too.”

Min Yoongi

“Hey baby girl,” Yoongi smiled as Kinsley walked into the kitchen, having just woken up for the day.

“Hi Daddy,” she replied, wiping at her eyes. She then walked over to you, climbing up onto the chair next to you and looking up at you. “Hi Mommy.”

“Hi sweetheart,” you replied, leaning over and kissing the top of her head. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Can I have oatmeal please?” She requested.

“Of course,” Yoongi nodded as he set to work making a bowl for her.

“With the brown stuff too?” Kinsley added.

“It’s called brown sugar,” you told her with a chuckle and she nodded her head.

“Brown sugar too please,” Kinsley corrected and Yoongi nodded.

“Kins, me and Daddy have something that we have to ask you,” you spoke up and Kinsley looked up at you. “So, you know how Kammie is gonna be coming really soon, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, when I go to have her, only me and Daddy are going to go to the hospital so we wanted to ask you who would you want to stay with while we’re gone?”

“I can choose?” She wondered and you nodded.

“Yeah, you can,” Yoongi said as he brought over her bowl of oatmeal and set it in front of her. “Be careful, it’s still hot baby girl.”

“You could stay with grandma and grandpa,” you said, referring to your parents. “Or with your grammy and papa,” you finished, referring to Yoongi’s parents and Kinsley tilted her head to the side as she thought about it for a few seconds.

“Can I stay with god mommy?” Kinsley asked, referring to your best friend and you raised your eyebrows in surprise.

“Is that who you would want to go with?” You checked and she nodded her head.

“I’m sure she’d love to have you over,” Yoongi smiled.

“Are you gonna be gone for a long time when sissy comes?” Kinsley wondered and you shook your head.

“Only for a few days,” you assured her. “Not too long.”

“Ok,” Kinsley nodded before grabbing her spoon and starting in on her oatmeal, while you and Yoongi watched her fondly.

Kim Namjoon

“No Mason!” You heard Namjoon shout as you walked through the front door of your house, fresh off from work. After you took off your shoes and set your things down, you walked up the stairs and followed the sounds of both your husband’s and your son’s voices, eventually finding them both in your daughter’s nursery.

“What is going on in here?” You laughed in disbelief as you took in the scene in front of you. Both Namjoon and Mason were covered in yellow paint, with paintbrushes in their hands and shocked expressions on their faces from seeing you.

“Jagi, you’re home early,” Namjoon chuckled awkwardly and you nodded with a smirk.

“Yeah, you know that today was my last day before maternity leave so my boss decided to let me go early,” you explained. “What are you two up to?”

“We painted Maia’s room!” Mason spoke up and you laughed as you nodded your head and looked around the room.

“I see that,” you giggled.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Namjoon added. “I know that you’ve been a little stressed out that we hadn’t finished her room yet and I decided to get a jump on it so that you wouldn’t have to worry about it during your maternity leave.”

“Joon,” you smiled, blinking your eyes rapidly as you felt your eyes becoming blurry.

“Is that bad crying or good crying?” Mason wondered as he looked up at his father.

“I think it’s the good crying,” Namjoon replied and you nodded quickly in confirmation.

“I really appreciate it,” you smiled. “I’d hug you two, but I don’t want paint on me.”

“Can I get a hug if I take a bath?” Mason asked and you nodded your head.

“Absolutely.”

“Alright jagi, I don’t mean to kick you out or anything but I don’t want these paint fumes affecting you or the baby,” Namjoon said. “So shoo.”

“Ok, ok,” you relented, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “Come find me when you two are finished.” You then turned around and walked down the hallway to your bedroom, grateful to have such an amazing husband and son.

Jung Hoseok

“Mommy, why do you have a baby doll?” Berkeley asked as you walked into the living room, a small plastic baby doll cradled in your arms. Berkeley, Lennox, and Hobi were all sat on the couch together and you walked over to join them.

“Well, you know how Daddy and I told you guys that we were gonna teach you how to hold a baby?” You said as you sat down next to her and she nodded. “That’s what it’s for.”

“But it’s not real,” Lennox pouted and Hobi chuckled.

“It’s just for practice so it’s ok that it’s not real,” Hobi told him. You handed the doll off to Berkeley, who immediately hugged it to her chest.

“Like this Mommy?” She wondered and you shook your head before gently taking the doll and positioning it so that she was holding it correctly, supporting it’s head and body.

“Like that,” you smiled.

“Here, let Lenny try,” Hobi spoke up and Berkeley extended the doll to Lennox, who grabbed it by it’s arm and took it from his sister.

“You can’t be that rough with Hendrix kiddo,” you corrected him. “He’ll be really little so we’re gonna have to be really gentle and careful with him.”

“Oh ok,” Lennox nodded and Hobi helped him position his arms correctly.

“How does it feel buddy?” He asked Lennox.

“Feels weird,” Lennox replied honestly and you giggled.

“It does but you’ll get used to it,” you responded.

“Is Hendrix really gonna be little, like the doll?” Berkeley questioned.

“Probably,” Hobi nodded. You looked towards Lennox, who was still holding the doll and you were shocked when he suddenly lent down and kissed the doll’s nose.

“Was that soft enough Mommy?” Lennox wondered and you nodded your head, your eyes becoming wet with tears.

“That was perfect Len.”

Park Jimin

“I feel fucking huge, my feet are swollen, and my cheeks are so puffy, I can barely see out of my eyes,” you complained as you stood in front of Jimin, who was posing behind you with his hands on top of your bump while Jungkook got his camera ready.

“I know baby, but you were the one who said that you wanted some professional grade photos of your bump before you went into labor,” Jimin pointed out.

“I know what I said and I only said it because we took some with Noah and I didn’t want to not have any with this baby,” you explained. “But I also under anticipated how much I was going to feel like shit.”

“Well, you might not feel that great but you look amazing,” he whispered into your ear, running his hands over the fabric of the form-fitting green dress that you had on.

“Oh, you’re such a good husband, lying to me like that,” you laughed as you looked over your shoulder and up at him. “I appreciate it, really.”

“Yeah, except I’m not lying,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the spot right below your ear and you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face.

“I’m sorry if I’m a little cynical these days,” you apologized. “I’m just so ready to meet them and be done being pregnant.”

“You mean done being pregnant ‘for now’, right?” Jimin checked in.

“For now,” you assured him with a nod.

“But I don’t mind it because I know it’s especially hard for you at this point in your pregnancy,” Jimin said. “But you just have to keep in mind that it’ll all be worth it.”

“I know it will,” you smiled. “I can’t wait to see what gender they are and what they’ll look like.”

“Hopefully like me, just like Noah does,” Jimin chuckled.

“Oh, if this one looks like you too, I’m never giving you another baby,” you teased, squealing lightly when Jimin softly bit the lobe of your ear. Just then, you saw a camera flash go off and both you and Jimin looked over at Jungkook, who was lowering his camera down from his face and smiling his large bunny smile.

“You both said that you wanted candid shots,” he shrugged, making you and Jimin both laugh loudly.

Kim Taehyung

“You got it Spence?” You checked as you watched Spencer drag the laundry basket behind her as the two of you walked down the hallway to your and Taehyung’s bedroom.

“Got it Mommy,” she nodded with a grunt and you had to bite your lip in order not to laugh out loud. For the past few days, Spencer had been like your super helper, offering to carrying things or get things for you so that you wouldn’t have to be bothered with getting up. You had a sneaking suspicion that Taehyung had talked to her about how her little brother was coming soon and about how you needed to rest, but you decided not to ask because it was so sweet to watch how eager Spencer was to help you out.

“Here, I’ll put it up onto the bed for you,” you told her after the two of you had made it into your bedroom. You bent down and picked up the basket, lifting it up and setting it on top of the bed while Spencer busied herself with climbing up onto the bed.

“Ready to fold Elijah’s stuff?” You asked her as you overturned the basket, letting all of the onesies, t-shirts, pants, bibs, and blankets fall out and onto the bed spread. She nodded happily and you watched as she picked up a blanket and started to fold it.

“How much longer until he comes out?” Spencer asked and you shrugged as you picked up a onesie to fold.

“We’re not exactly sure. Now that he’s been in my belly for a while, he could come at any time,” you told her.

“Even at night?” She wondered in awe and you laughed at her facial expression before nodding.

“If that’s when he decides that he’s ready, then yep.”

“When did I come?” She questioned and you smiled as you remembered the day that you went into labor with her.

“Well, it was early in the morning when I figured out that you were ready to come out,” you said as you finished folding the onesie before moving on to a few of Elijah’s t-shirts. “I was cleaning the kitchen and Daddy was telling me that I should rest because you were gonna be coming soon but I didn’t listen to him.”

“Daddy said that you have to rest with Elijah too,” Spencer murmured as she focused on folding a bib and you smirked at how she unknowingly confirmed your earlier suspicions

“Yeah well, I felt that you were ready to come out and you were born at 4:38pm,” you smiled.

“On August 17th,” she added and you nodded with a smile. “Is Elijah really gonna wear all of these clothes?”

“Yeah, because babies pee, and poop, and throw up on themselves a lot,” you told her. “So there’s gonna be a lot of laundry to do once he gets here.”

“I’ll help you Mommy,” she chirped and you smiled before leaning over and kissing her cheek.

“I know Spence, because you’re the best helper,” you told you and she looked up at you with her wide boxy smile.

Jeon Jungkook

“Why do you have to have such a big bag Mommy?” Ava wondered as she sat on the bed in your and Jungkook’s bedroom, watching as the two of you packed your hospital bag.

“Well, because once we get to the hospital, Aria could take a while to come out so we might be there for a while,” you told her.

“And Mommy and Aria will have stay in the hospital for a few days after she comes too,” Jungkook added.

“For a long time?” Ava asked softly and you could hear the worry in her voice so you looked up and shook your head while giving her a small smile.

“Not long at all,” you promised her. “Just long enough for them to make sure that me and Aria are ok.”

“Ohh,” Ava drawled out as she nodded her head. “And then she can come home?”

“And then she can come home,” Jungkook chuckled. “You’re gonna get to come see her in the hospital after she gets here too, though.”

“Really?” She asked in awe.

“Of course,” you nodded as you sat down on the bed next to her. “I can’t go too long without my kisses and cuddles from my Ava,” you smiled as you leaned over and blew raspberries against her cheek, which made her squeal loudly.

“Are you ready to meet your sister Angel?” Jungkook asked as he sat down on the other side of Ava.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “She can wear the dress that we got her!”

“It’ll be a little while before she can fit it though Ave,” you said with a laugh and Ava immediately pouted.

“Oh. Can I still be your helper?” She asked hopefully and both you and Jungkook nodded your heads.

“Of course,” Jungkook told her. “And I think Aria will like her big sister taking care of her,” he added, which made Ava grin widely and you smiled at how great he was with her and you couldn’t wait to see him with another daughter.

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makeste · 5 years ago

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BnHA Chapter 269: LAID HIM OUT LIKE A BROCHURE

Previously on BnHA: Endeavor, Mic, and Aizawa finally caught up with Crust and Miruko after 19 years to help deal with the High End Noumus. Aizawa used his quirk on them, but Girl Noumu was able to get away and shoot acid at them all, and that one bone-tentacle-y Noumu was also able to attack Mirko with his quirk. Speaking of Mirko, she spent most of the chapter kicking away at Tomura’s Noumutank like those guys with the battering ram in Beauty and the Beast. Or maybe just kicking it one time very, very slowly while we cut back and forth from the scene. It was hard to tell. But either way, she didn’t quite manage to shatter it and instead just left it all cracked and leaking. Anyway so everyone keeps saying that if Tomura escapes that would be Very Bad, and I’m inclined to agree, especially since Aizawa and Mic are looking all serious and vengeful, and I’m really going to need them to not die, ever.

Today on BnHA: Endeavor helpfully and terrifyingly cauterizes Mirko’s wounds while Aizawa holds off the Noumu with his quirk and buys time for Mic to go after Ujiko and Tomura. Mic and our new optician friend Exress race down the corridor and Mic immediately uses his quirk to shatter Noumuraki’s tank, which is the fastest and most efficient action we have seen in this entire arc so far. Mic then CORDIALLY INTRODUCES UJIKO’S FACE TO HIS FIST, which caused me to have an awakening, but unfortunately the same can’t be said for Tomura, who’s now lying on the ground very much not awake and seemingly dead. So I guess that’s it, guys. Looks like Dabi is the main villain now. Good for you Dabi, those are some pretty big britches to fill. No that wasn’t a crack about your height. God you’re sensitive. And so now we get to wait another two weeks! You know what, let’s just focus on the part where Ujiko got flattened like a paper bag.

so this is the chapter that was originally scheduled to be released on Kacchan’s birthday, but what are the odds he’s not even in it. how do you all think the traffic light trio is doing. this has been the world’s longest evacuation. or do you think they already finished a long time ago and are just hanging out now and being all “can’t wait to hear back from everyone else, I’m sure they’re all fine and dandy.” which would be funny, you see, because everyone else actually isn’t fine and dandy at all! do you get it. ahaha jokes

anyway so this chapter is titled “the three of us”, so I’m guessing there’s more Aizawa/Mic/Shirakumo angst on the horizon! so you’re just going to keep on assaulting my battered heart then, Horikoshi. cool. coolcoolcoolcoolcool

HEY NOW

HORIKOSHI WE TALKED ABOUT THIS. I WILL LAUNCH YOU INTO SPACE

fffff -- okay well whatever!! it’s a manga!! she’ll be fine! they have manga science! Recovery Girl can heal her legs and her side and everything else, and get her a nice new robot arm, and she’ll have a cool scar on her ear. happy thoughts happy thoughts

FFDFSF

IS HE TALKING TO ME OR HER. I FEEL LIKE HE’S TALKING TO ME. don’t worry Endeavor I will look away for this part

lol excuse me what now

5 minutes?? by whose reckoning, exactly?? jesus christ. I bet if he turned his flames off we’d learn that he has grown a whole new actual beard. Endeavor. civilizations have risen and fallen. okay you know what, new theory, Ujiko’s basement lair is somehow running on Narnia time

OH MY FEELS HE SAYS HE OWES HER A DEBT AFTER KYUSHU. referring of course to when she showed up out of the blue to save his ass from Dabi. anyways though how nice of him to express his gratitude by setting all of her wounds on fire

I guess we can stand down from red alert now though since Mirko is clearly going to be just fine

somehow she has more calm while getting her horrific injuries cauterized than I do when trying to decide whether or not to sell electronic turnips in a video game

wuh oh

WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT HE’S A BARREL OF LAUGHS. actually no that’s a lie, you definitely would have had and did have more fun while fighting Mirko

also, this angle of Endeavor’s face, though

AWAKE! AVAST!! HOLD TIGHT YOUR BUNS! IF BUNS YOU DO HOLD DEAR

god damn it as per usual I have no idea what is going on in action panels even when I stare at them intensely for a full minute or more

I don’t even remember how many Noumus are left at this point now. who’s that sunfish-looking one on the right near Mic?? is he a new one?? is that Crust jumping around in the middle, or is he the one standing near the sunfish Noumu? who is it that’s firing that laser or whatnot in the middle?? did this big Noumu in the foreground on the left just get decapitated??

honestly it seems like they almost have things under control at long last. Aizawa and Mic should just head after Ujiko is already and leave the rest of them to it

so Mirko is now giving them all the details about Tomura and how he’s currently chilling out floating in his sensory deprivation tank

and she’s all DON’T LET SHIGARAKI WAKE UP as if she wasn’t the one trying to smash the capsule open in the previous chapter?? or did she assume he would just sleep through all that lol

also the High Ends have apparently still not completely woken up themselves yet. guess we should be grateful

WELL HELLO

if Aizawa Shouta ever cuts his hair I will declare a national day of mourning

anyways though, reinforcements! about fucking time

did anyone else immediately blink right after reading that last sentence, and then feel a profound gratitude for being able to blink freely at will. holy shit. blinking is so great

what happens if he has to sneeze?? oh my god. and what the fuck why is this a one-man show anyway, where the hell is your husband

okay there he is

“I’m here, too,” says Vision Hero: Exress. and so he is. so what kind of quirk do you have, then, x-ray vision? really hope not, no offense. just don’t see how that would exactly be useful right now. or maybe it’s laser vision, in which case yeah okay we can work with that. you heard the man, go on ahead then

this motherfucker is still alive?!

I really cannot express enough just how steep of a cliff Endeavor has fallen off of in this arc. he has not done a single useful thing aside from the cauterizing. so now it’s up to Eyeballs Hero: Sees Real Good to hopefully somehow oneshot this guy whom the number one hero barely managed to scratch

OH MY GOD AN ACTUAL PLOT TWIST

CRUST ACTUALLY DID SOMETHING. took me a minute to realize he was shouting “go” in that speech bubble, as opposed to randomly screeching out his age, 60

Mic and Aizawa are so hot but I’m feeling such impending doom right now

-- oh no. oh fuck. I just realized -- why are they splitting them up?? sir that’s his emotional support hero

ffff for reals though I feel like Mic doesn’t have the same plot protection as Shouta. and I also feel like this is a very stupid decision in general, and that the guy who can cancel out quirks should be included in the group of people rushing in to capture the scary big bad whose quirk is an insta-kill. but what do I know, I’m just a regular person who didn’t go to hero school and get their hero MBA so MAYBE I’M WRONG. but am I

oh shit oh shit oh shit

not really clear on what Mic is doing here since he should in theory just be running like a normal person, but I can’t complain much about the dynamic pose. and meanwhile Ujiko has finally snapped to the fact that he should have woken Tomura up a good half hour ago!

and on top of all that, it sounds like they didn’t destroy all of their supervillain research data either, so if he does manage to escape we could be right back to square one before long. good thing they definitely positively won’t let him escape!!

OH MY GOD THIS SHIT IS FINALLY HAPPENING AHHHHHH

MIC’S VOICE IS SO POWERFUL IT INSTANTLY SHATTERED THE GLASS WHICH EVEN MIRKO’S NOUMU-DECAPITATING RABBIT LEGS COULD NOT BREAK, OH MY BISCUITS, WE STAN AN ICON AND A LEGEND

DID HE MANAGE TO STOP HIM BEFORE HE ACTIVATED THE WAKEUP SEQUENCE OR WHATEVER THE FUCK? IF YES WHAT IS EVEN GOING TO HAPPEN NOW, WILL TOMURA JUST CURL UP IN A LITTLE BALL AND CONTINUE TO SLUMBER PEACEFULLY WITH HIS HAIR ALL WET. HE’LL CATCH A COLD

BUT FOR REAL THOUGH OBVIOUSLY HE IS GOING TO WAKE UP AHHHHHHHH

nghhh everything’s shattering all dramatically and in slow motion

swear to god if this chapter ends with Tomura opening his eyes while we cut to another two week break, I will... ... ...well I guess I’m about to find out though because that’s exactly what’s going to happen isn’t it

(ETA: if you can sleep through Present Mic’s attack you can really sleep through anything huh.)

lol but first

sploosh. down he goes. timber. still a sleepy boi. I take a nap right here

LORD, MIC IS ABOUT TO RIP UJIKO A NEW ONE AND I’VE NEVER FELT SO ALIVE?!

CUE HORIKOSHI CUTTING TO SOME MORE FLASHBACKS OF OBORO TO MAKE US ALL SAD. THAT’S RIGHT, I KNOW ALL OF YOUR TRICKS! BRING IT

1) the fuck is he doing, 2) is this the first time we’ve seen Aizawa call Mic by his name??, and 3) WHAT DID I TELL YOU THOUGH

MY HEART IS A STONE! I FEEL NOTHING! YOU CAN’T HURT ME SO GIVE IT UP. please give it up sob

OH NO

UNDONE BY AIZAWA’S SOFT EXPRESSION AND WISTFUL EYES NOOOO I lied I am not a stone at all I am a big squishy marshmallow of feels oh fuck

OH WOW

DON’T EVER LOOK BACK. ON THE WORLD CLOSING IN!! BE ON THE ATTACK. WITH YOUR WIIIIINGS ON THE WIIIND

he straight up ENDED HIS LIFE. holy shit. 4/24/2020. the day I was sexually attracted to Present Mic

anyways now back to your regularly scheduled sad feelings at the reminder of the fact that yep, Ujiko and all of his fucked up experimenting absolutely did make Aizawa cry. not that I’m saying that’s a crime of even greater magnitude than all his other crimes of kidnapping and torture and research using human children. I absolutely am not saying that. just implying it. in a joking manner. semi-joking. partially. kind of

(ETA: also, belated shout out to the fact that his excuse for doing it was so he could verify that it wasn’t another clone. and since it’s Present Mic, there’s a 74% chance he screamed out “CLONE CHECK!” in English too, which, bless.)

I know there’s a particular side of fandom that largely thinks that all heroes are Garbage Scum, but I mean, look at this scene though of Gazerbeam crouching down to gingerly check Tomura’s vitals. idk, I thought this was surprisingly gentle

I should probably be more concerned about that statement, but truth be told, I’m much more anxious about Gazerbeam going the way of his namesake shortly henceforth. please be careful please I know he looks all floppy and wounded and surprisingly vulnerable --

-- okay, very surprisingly vulnerable --

I really do have a thing for the hair covering the eyes huh. I’m learning things about myself!

but still! he could basically just blink at you at this point and you would turn to dust, Gazerbeam. DUST. ASHES. DEBRIS SCATTERED TO THE WINDS

wow apparently that space tube was doing a lot more than I thought

mhmm. sure. Horikoshi. dude, I can see you sitting there shaking with barely suppressed laughter. did you really think this would get us to let our guards down. are we a joke to you. did you think we would just be all “oh gosh I guess he really is dead then, wow, what a twist”

oh!! the reinforcements!!

did you hear that guys. it’s done. the heroes won and Tomura is dead and it’s really over just like that. what a positive ending for everyone. except Tomura I guess

I’ve said before that U.A. needs to add a course about tempting fate to their curriculum, and I stand by that. this is absurd. it’s like y’all want to die

oh look at that Endeavor finally killed one

was that really so hard. could you not have done that earlier

-- GODDAMN IT ARE YOU REALLY DOING THIS AGAIN

“what if... I dragged it out so much that the dragging-out was the cliffhanger?” that’s some galaxy brain you got there dude. let’s just end the chapter on that WHY NOT

anyway. so there you have it guys. just look how dead he is. that’s the smile of someone who is absolutely, certainly, one hundred percent dead. look at him, all at peace. definitely not gonna finally wake up two weeks from now and properly introduce himself to our new friend Gazerbeam and my new we’re-just-trying-something-out-and-taking-it-slow-and-we’ll-see-where-it-goes boyfriend Present Mic!

lol I can’t lie, these last couple chapters have tested my patience a bit! fortunately this chapter had many saving graces in the form of Mirko, Aizawa, Mic, and for reals though Gazerbeam whom I genuinely did grow attached to almost immediately for reasons beyond my grasping. but I’m starting to get an inkling that Horikoshi is just incapable of pacing himself well whenever the story moves to a basement. or maybe I’m just cranky on account of being holed up in lockdown since time immemorial and only getting my new BnHA fix every other week! maybe, that could be it. maybe. ah well. at least Present Mic punched Ujiko in the fucking face

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realtacuardach · 5 years ago

Text

Acts of Bravery

Entry 4 for Obiyuki Bingo - Medical Drama AU

...

Zen leaned against the counter as he watched Shirayuki grind at her medicines with a pestle. “Isn’t that a little old school?”

The pharmacist looked up from her work. “Better get off of there before Garrack sees you.” Zen smiled sheepishly and pushed himself away; lead surgeon or not, no one messed with the director of pharmacy. “And it might be old school, but if I’ve got the spare time, I like using it. It makes our ointments and medicines more potent.”

“Always working, even in your spare time,” Zen shook his head grinning. “No wonder my brother says I need to learn from you.”

“Really? I didn’t think he was too wild about me.”

“No, he wasn’t too wild about us dating - big brother’s snobbish.” Zen shrugged. “He never had anything but respect for your skills.”

Shirayuki flushed. “Well, thanks. I think.” She busied herself with the pestle.

Zen reached up to the ceiling, and she could hear his shoulders pop. “I’m taking advantage of the rest while I can. i know the medevac went out not too long ago, so it’s a matter of time before I get paged back in there.”

Right on cue, his phone began vibrating and buzzing on his hip. He undid the clasp holding the phone in place and looked at the screen. His face went pale.

Shirayuki felt her blood run cold. For as dramatic as Zen could get off the clock. While on shift, he was as cool and unflappable as they come. For him to have any sort of visceral reaction was out of character and concerning. “What is it?”

“Medevac’s coming in; the OR just got radioed by Torou.”

“Is it bad?”

“Kids having to get to the hospital by helicopter is never good, but his injuries aren’t too bad.” Zen continued in a level tone. “The other injuries, though -”

“What other injuries?”

The look in Zen’s eyes as they met hers made her heart stop. “It’s not good, Shirayuki.” He sighed, and his voice just barely wavered. “It’s Obi.”

“Obi?”

...

The day had started out so normally - with their colleagues in the hospital cafeteria struggling awake to be alert and ready for the upcoming shift. Shirayuki was rubbing her eyes and yawning as Obi was reaching the end of another story.

“And I leapt out of the window, just out of reach of the flames, and made it to the helicopter in the nick of time!”

Shirayuki turned to Torou, who watched Obi’s storytelling with a resigned detachment. “The window?”

“Don’t ask me,” Torou shrugged, her large earrings clinking softly against her shoulders. “He went inside through the window too, even though there was a perfectly serviceable door not far away.”

“You want me to give the fire more oxygen, Torou?” Obi asked. “The window was open and available, and I saw an injured person. It made sense.”

“Whatever, rogue,” Torou snorted, examining her manicure, “you just like living dangerously.”

“How,” Mitsuhide asked, “did you get the patient through the window? I didn’t see a scratch on him when I assessed him.”

Torou rolled her eyes. “Because we carried him out through the door.”

Mitsuhide groaned and turned back to his perfectly portioned, well-balanced breakfast. Kiki raised an eyebrow over her plain bagel and dark roast. “Can’t do anything the easy way, can you?”

“Nope,” Obi replied cheerfully, taking a big bite of his bacon, “that’s why I don’t fly the helicopter.”

“You don’t fly the helicopter,” Torou countered, slight fire in her eyes, “because you’d crash in two seconds, rogue.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “I leave the fancy flying to you - lets me get to jump through windows and be all heroic.”

Zen rolled his eyes. “Just try not to get yourself or our patents killed being a hero.”

Shirayuki snorted into her granola and fruit at Obi’s affronted look. “Boss,” he lay a hand on his heart dramatically, “I would never -”

“Don’t worry, boss,” Torou interjected, “I’m also there to keep him in line.”

...

Shirayuki had managed to smother her impulses towards worrying until she and Obi were in the locker room. “Did you really need to go through the window?”

“It made sense at the time, Miss,” Obi closed the locker and looked at her seriously. “I didn’t know if it would be safe to go through the door, and when I saw someone unconscious, the first thing I had to do was check on them.”

That made sense, but Shirayuki still felt uneasy. It must have shown on her face, because Obi took a step forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m always safe, Miss.”

Shirayuki didn’t say anything, but her eyes strayed to where the pale lines of long-healed scars gleamed past the sleeves of his shirt and above his eye.

“I know my limits.”

Shirayuki sighed. He was good at what he did, despite his bravado there was no doubt about that. But she spent as much time worrying about his stunts as she did being impressed by them. And by his bravery. Maybe she could be brave, too. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped.

Obi looked puzzled. “Miss?”

Do you maybe want to go to dinner with me? She sighed. Not brave enough yet. “Just be safe, please?”

He grinned at her, making her wish she was braver. “Cross my heart,” he promised, “I’ll always come back to you.” He coughed and blushed, turning away just as Shirayuki to hide the own hopeful burning in her cheeks.

...

Shirayuki was a seasoned professional, and had seen her fair share of blood and injury, even as far removed as the pharmacy was from the OR. But it was with trembling legs that she stepped outside after she could no longer force herself to focus on her medicines. She took a deep breath of air, and felt it burn her lungs as she shut her eyes. There had been so much blood...

“Head wounds always bleed a lot,” she muttered, continuing the mantra that had kept her from storming the OR or breaking down crying. “It might not be as bad as it looked.”

“Here’s hoping.”

Shirayuki gasped and turned to face the source of the sound. Torou sat at one of the picnic tables, a lit cigarette smoldering between her fingers. As Shirayuki looked over, she brought it to her lips and took a deep drag on it. “Hey, Red.”

“What happened?” Shirayuki asked, rushing over to where she sat.

“Kid was hurt.” Deep drag. “Got himself stuck up a tree. Crying, scared.” Another drag. “I know we should have landed, but that damn fool swore to me that he could make it. I believed him too.” She let out a laugh that sounded like she was close to becoming unravelled. Shirayuki noted her hair, normally somehow contained in its chaos, was in disarray. “Two damn fools. Climbed that tree like a monkey, got the kid to laugh and let go of the trunk. The limb could hold one, but not two. Next thing I knew, he was throwing the kid through the open hatch. And then he was gone.”

She sniffed. “He hit a lot of branches on the way down, so that hopefully slowed him down.” She took another drag, and looked to where Shirayuki was staring at her cigarette. “I know, I know, these are going to kill me one of these days.”

Shirayuki didn’t launch until her typical lecture on the addictiveness of nicotine. She simply reached out a hand. “Give me one, please.”

Torou drew back in surprise. “No chance, Red. Obi would never forgive me if I got you hooked on this stuff.”

Shirayuki had to swallow hard. Torou never referred to Obi by his name, just by a myriad of colorful and occasionally bizarre nicknames. And she never cried, but neither woman could ignore the tears building up in her eyes

The redhead reached forward to place a comforting hand on the pilot’s shoulder, and she was so upset she allowed it.

“He’ll be okay, Torou.”

“Yeah,” she sniffed roughly.

Shirayuki bit her lip. He has to be.

...

She settled back in the uncomfortable chair and stared at where Obi was resting in the hospital bed. It hurt to see him lying so still, when he was usually by energetic and full of life. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest, and the reassuring beeps of the monitor showed he was alive.

Boldness and desperation made her reach forward to take his hand in hers, to feel the warmth and pulse beneath her fingers. Please wake up.

His face was mottled with bruises, his head wrapped snugly with bandages, and the stark white of the casts stuck out beneath his hospital gown. She shuddered and began rubbing her thumb against the back of his hand, whether to comfort him or herself she wasn’t sure.

“I wish I had been in there,” she whispered, “I wish I could have been more help.”

It had been all hands on deck to care for the injured. The child fortunately only suffered a wrist fracture and skilled knees from being flung into the medevac. Obi had taken much longer, and the faces of her friends had been grim when they came out.

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Zen had said with an expression that looked painfully like the one he wore when passing bad news to grieving loved ones. “It was touch and go for a while. But it’s up to him now.

Why did I have to be a pharmacist? She thought bitterly. I could have been in there. I could have helped instead of just waiting and feeling helpless.

A tear dropped. “I’m so useless.”

“Don’t...say...that.”

Shirayuki jumped at the slight pressure on her palm. “Obi?”

“Don’t ever,” he opened his eyes blearily, “ever say that. You could never be useless.”

She held back from hugging him with an effort. “You’re alive!”

He tried to strike a pose in the bed, but winced and coughed. “Mostly.”

Shirayuki could have said a lot of things right then.

Don’t ever do that again, you idiot.

So did, You nearly scared me to death.

And, I love you.

Instead, she settled for - “Do you want to go out for dinner with me? Once you feel better?”

Obi looked puzzled, and then inordinately pleased. His grip tightened almost painfully, but Shirayuki didn’t care. “Yes.”

#obiyukibingo2020 #obiyuki #medical drama au #these two are so obvious #bless their hearts #torou is through with everyone's nonsense #for those counting #we're 4 for 4 on window entrances for this bingo #I might finish maybe!#thanks for reading

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dzamie-oc · 5 years ago

Text

Smaugust 05 - Sea

A man meets up with an online friend of his to explore the uncharted parts of the sea. I mean, that's what "hic sunt dracones" means on old maps, so that must be what they're doing, right?

Cedric looked up from the picture he had printed out. He looked again, just to be certain he had the right guy. The sailor he had sought out was, in fact, right there. Rough-looking, stocky, and sporting a face with an impressive beard and the scars from a lifetime of battling the weather, the sea, and even his boat herself. Still, from his chats with the man, Cedric knew him to be kind at heart. Despite that, he was slightly nervous as he approached.

"Hey. Zilch, is it? I'm Cedric." He offered his hand out, and Zilch took it in his meaty paw and heartily shook with such spirit that it left Cedric a little sore.

"Aye, Cedric, I'm glad yer coming along!" Zilch said in exactly the loud, booming voice the younger man had guessed he'd have. It was warm and strong, and Cedric figured he could hear it half a mile off it the sailor so wanted. "Have ye looked over the itener- itinor- our planned route yet?"

Cedric smiled. "Of course, damn near first thing I did." He turned over the picture of Zilch he'd brought along to show a map. Hand-drawn, but the land was very accurate, and it noted the currents likely to show up in that time of year. And, one more, curious, feature. "Though, I've gotta ask. Mapmakers of old used to do that whole, 'hic sunt dracones,' thing because it was uncharted territory. It's... no longer uncharted. I looked up a satellite photo; aside from some rocks, it seems just like any other darker patch of sea."

Zilch beamed at him. "A scholar through and through, my lad. But, tell me, what does hic sunt dracones mean in English?"

This earned him an odd look from the younger man. "It means, 'here be dragons,' or 'here there be...' but that was generally also an excuse for the cartographer to doodle some-"

"Aye," the sailor cut him off, jabbing a thick finger right where the words were written, "and there, there be dragons."

Cedric's smile grew into a small chuckle as he shook his head as playful as he figured Zilch was being. "Okay, so we're going whalewatching. That's fair enough, but why not just say that?"

"I say we'll see dragons, and we'll see dragons." He walked towards his boat and beckoned Cedric on. "Now come on, lad, at worst you'll get to see the beautiful ocean and talk about Mage And Demon Queen with me in person rather than through a screen!"

"Fair, can't argue with that." Folding up the paper and stowing it in his pocket, Cedric nodded and stepped onto the boat. It was a rather small sailboat with a motor in case of no wind. Could probably take along four men, though outside of rough weather, Cedric had no doubt Zilch captained it just fine all by himself. The boat rocked with the light waves lapping at the pier, and Cedric found himself leaning on the railing a bit harder than he thought he'd need.

Zilch, who was busy unwinding the rope anchoring the boat to the dock, gave him a glance and a nod. "Yer sea legs'll come in, don't ye mind. Can just take a wee bit if yer not used to her like I am." He coiled up the rope on the deck, then secured it so it wouldn't slide all over, and started raising the main sail. "So," he said, as his powerful, seafaring muscles made easy work of the task, "ye got any questions about the dragons afore we get to see them? Or are we getting to the weeb stuff early?"

Cedric looked around, seeing if there was anything he could help with. "Eh, I still think you're pulling my leg on that, so I'll have to think of stuff to throw at you along the way. But in the meantime..." he said, pausing to mime pushing a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose before resuming in a nasally voice, "um, ackshually, the word 'weeaboo' refers specifically as a derogatory of 'otaku,' and as such does not apply to a work of art as truthfully deserving of proper respec-" He had to stop as a grin split his face, and he and Zilch shared a laugh at the joke.

"Well, if the wind is good," the sailor said, letting some rope out to catch said wind, "ye've got a couple hours for that. So, did ye see snek waifu save Generic Isekai Dude in the recent episode?"

"Oh, did I ever. I was surprised she could deflect Vel's bolts, seeing as..."

---

"Okay, I thought of a question."

"Aye?"

"Really broad one, but no teasing on how long it took for me to mention it."

Zilch shrugged. "Ye had more important matters on yer mind. Like lamia in stockings."

Cedric assumed a mock-regal pose. "A true gentleman's interest, to be sure."

His friend smiled and wagged a finger at him, saying, "och, them's fighting words. Call me a gentleman one more time, see what happens."

Cedric opened his mouth and inhaled, as though about to do just that, then shook his head. "Ah, but really. So, the dragons. What do they look like?"

"Oh, there are so many of them, lad. Blue, red, brown, green, and in all shapes and sizes. A lot of them spiky, some of them... less so. My favorites be probably this family - least, I assume they're family - of real sleek, black and white beasties. The leaders are an elegant blue-white, almost ethereal girl. Well, I think she's a girl. They haven't corrected me on it. Anyway, this white lass, and then her mate, black as the night sky, with gorgeous green eyes. And then there's the rest, kids and grandkids, I reckon, all black and white in areas. I see them the most."

"Never corrected you?" Cedric asked, still skeptical."

"Well, only time they set me on fire was when one of them sneezed, so either I'm right, or... well, they probably can't speak English." Zilch shrugged. "I don't know a thing about what goes on between a dragon's legs-"

"Malori, hopefully," Cedric interjected.

"In more fanfics than ye could shake a stick at, aye," the man agreed, "but I mean in real life. Not that I particularly look, mind ye."

A thick mist washed over the boat. It was easy enough for the two men to see each other, but Zilch immediately trimmed the sails and watched carefully off the bow for incoming rocks. "We're getting close now. If we're lucky, we'll catch 'em flapping aboot to enjoy the air outside of their hole."

"They do that?"

"Well, mostly the family. I see the black one the most. Occasionally there's a spiky blue dragon, or a red two-legged one... what's the name, wyvern. But aye, it's generally just the black and white fellers."

Cedric squinted through the mist, trying to see whatever Zilch thought was a dragon. "You seem pretty familiar and, uh, normalized isn't quite the right word, but... used to them? Yeah. Surprised you haven't named any."

Zilch spun the wheel to dodge a water-worn rock, then readjuste to keep his bearing. "Oh, I have, but I'd lose ye if I just started saying stuff like, 'I was watching a couple of The Dragon Torches sunbathe the other day when a Pinchicken started yelling at them' or 'a Loud Fucker kept harrassing me last week so I left early.' So, colors." He pondered for a moment, then added, "oh, but I do think I figured out the big black one's name. Said it after he showed a trick he does when being all friendly, and he responded real well to it."

"Pinchicken, huh? That sounds kinda funny." It's not that Cedric had stopped being skeptical, but at the least, he could enjoy his friend's thoroughness with the whole dragon thing. "Too bad of all this fog, gonna be hard to see a dolphin, let alone a mythological creature. So, what'd you name the bl-"

He was interrupted by a loud THUMP! on the deck behind them. Cedric and Zilch grabbed for the railing to avoid falling over, and the sailor, naturally, recovered faster, walking towards the sound. Cedric turned, and his eyes grew wide.

Standing on the deck was a sleek, black, scaly figure, easily fifteen, maybe twenty-five feet in length. It stood on stubby, lizard-like legs with leathery, bat-like wings on its back as it looked around. It spotted Cedric, then Zilch, and turned its broad head back and forth before deciding to approach the sailor. Cedric was so caught up in seeing an actual, living, flying dragon, that he barely registered that Zilch was about half a second from touching a wild animal. But before he could voice his concern, Zilch placed his hand on the creature's snout, and it pressed its head against him, burbling and crooning softly.

"Ah, hello again, Toothless."

#dragon #writing #smaugust #smaugust 2020 #how to train your dragon #toothless #night fury #text #writers on tumblr

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nobody-knose--archive · 4 years ago

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well i got home a lot earlier than i thought i would today, which i’m happy for seeing as the place was filled to the brim with people not wearing masks. like this place is normally decently busy this time of year but it was packed to the goddam brim today for some reason. anyway! i took pictures of the place for reference, and whenever i get around to carving the pumpkins we picked out i’ll share pics of that as well. this is lowkey going to be an advertisement for the place because if you ever visit the central valley you really should come around here, especially if you are/have kids it’s amazing. starting from the top.

[image description: a picture of a creek bluff. in the foreground are some ground brush cast in shadow. in the middle ground is some long yellow grasses in patchy sunlight taking up the space where a creek would run if there was rain around here (california). slightly up the hill is a small footbrigde connecting a path that goes from left to right along the side of the bluff. just behind it in the background is the side of a small hill that’s covered in the same long yellow grass from before, and the sky is clear and blue where at the top of the bluff. scattered throughout are oak trees, some small and young, and a few that are old, tall, & mighty. end image description.]

y’all are so lucky i managed to get pictures without people there were so damn many. my older brother was freaking out the entire time about catching corona (he’s nd but he’s in denial about it) and ive decided that for the sake of this post & onwards i’ll be referring to my older brother as Idon & my younger brother as Dr. Lion given that those are dumb unused nicknames we have for each other and it’s easier than referring to them as my older & younger brother all the time. anyway the whole area is set up in this lil creekbed area and normally when it’s winter & it’s not hot n stuff (twas decently hot today, tshirt shorts & no jacket weather in the sun) there’s a bit of water that runs through it. the rest of the time it’s dry and people will walk straight to it to get to the bluffside trail that features a handful of small attractions like a tiny castle, tunnel, metal slide, & other things that appeal to all the children that can fit in them. this place is basically the hotspot for any and all children in this county youve just gotta come here some time it’s so damn fun. there’s even a swinging rope bridge over the creek that leads to the bluffside trail that’s raised way up in the air and is an honestly harrowing experience for every kid who goes across it i could talk about this place for hours. i havent even brought up the train line that goes around the tree farm & things at the top of the bluff. anyway

[image description: a picture of a pumpkin patch, taken from behind a few stalks of corn. the field is full of pumpkin plants with their large, green leaves extended into the air, though there’s no pumpkins visible. there are various flowers i believe to be carnations dotted throughout the patch, in shades of light pink, magenta, orange, and red, and a few stalks of corn also grow in the patch. in the distance a field of corn that doubles as a small maze grows off to the right, and lining the background is a row of large trees that grow along the creekbed behind them. the sky is bright blue & clear from the upper left part of the picture it can be seen in. end image description]

so one attraction of this place (one thing that gives it such an appeal to people who want aesthetic pictures for instagram & whatnot) is that they always set up little pumpkin people all over the place, taking various poses. when i say pumpkin people i mean basically scarecrows, clothing stuffed with straw & posed doing things, but with pumpkins for heads. most of them are out of the way enough that people cant mess with them but can take pictures like i did here. oh can you not see it? well let me just zoom in for you-

[image description: a zoomed in picture of the scene described above. clearly shown is a scarecrow-type figure with a pumpkin for a head standing up in the field. it’s wearing a rather nondescript grey shirt, blue jeans, and a floppy brown farmer’s hat. it’s surrounded by pumpkin plants, carnations, & corn stalks, with a corn field to the back & more large trees casting shadows to the back, as indicated above. there are also some large leaves from corn plants directly in front of the camera where it’s taking the picture, taking up a large chunk of the picture. end image description]

here it is! this is the only one i took a picture of because it was the only one i could possibly find the time to capture without it being swarmed by other people. i was really lucky to take these pictures without anyone in the background here it’s honestly hard to tell from what i’m showing but there was an obscene amount of people there, hence why we barely spent 1.5 hours there. i suspect idon’s unending stream of complaints and fretting and honest request to tell every member of our extended family that we’d have to quarantine for the next 2 weeks got us out a bit faster than we wouldve otherwise done but eh. that stuff’s especially ironic considering dr lion’s going back to physical school starting this week but hey what can ya do. we wore our masks. homemade by my mother because she had nothing better to do the first few weeks of quarantine and now i’m just rambling about my home life. moving on

[image description: a picture of a string of lightbulbs, focused on one in particular that’s completely shattered. behind, various trees, oaks being the only ones i can name, fill up almost the entire background. blue sky can be seen through the branches of a tree to the upper right portion of the picture. for the most part only the lightbubs & the tree closest to it, taking up the rightmost portion of the photo, are illuminated by the sun. end image description]

this is making me realize i didnt take many good pictures. i only took this one because ive got a story behind it but hey i’ll be coming back this winter to pick out a pine tree probably bc they double as a pine tree farm as well as a pumpkin patch and general creekbluff attraction so i can get some better pictures of the area when there’s less people. hopefully. anyway you see how that lightbulb’s broken? well i being the lil aspiring biologist i am saw a bone lying in the dirt next to our car when we were leaving and immediately picked it up. it was picked clean, almost certainly by ants or something, and i was kinda hoping it was the product of some owl because there are a lot of those in the area around the creek, but my family decided twas but the product of some other family’s picnic there. what it was doing in the parking lot i’d love to know, but i couldnt bring it with me (”that’s disgusting” it’s picked clean dirty & dusty lying in the dirt i guarantee it’s not got anyone’s dna on it any more but that of the chicken it came from) so i take a step closer to the treeline to throw it away. and then of course where does it go after i release it from my hand but directly into one of the lightbulbs hanging up by a string all along the outside of the parking lot. whoopsy. so of course i take a picture as soon as i’m done explaining it to my family & freaking out about doing actual damage to this beloved creek pumpkin patch/pine tree farm. then we have a brief argument on whether to tell the staff about it (there’s actual broken glass what else can we do) and so we drive up to the guy sitting there watching people leave, giving directions, our mom rolls down the window, and i, on the opposite side of the car from him, barely get out a proclamation along the lines of “there’s a broken lightbulb down in the parking lot with glass on the ground” he says “ok sure” and we leave. it takes me like 5 minutes to calm down from that which i dont get because we do a whole expedition up to the top of the bluff to see the construction theyre doing to the train line that theyve been working on for years & we dont even get out of the car to walk around because a. social distancing we already took off our masks & they have to be tied on it’s too much work to put it back on and b. the sheer number of cars there was menacing so we just sorta drove around and glanced down the side of the bluff to the best of our abilities. god that’s a damn paragraph. it’s been an hour. <3 i guess

#describing images this detailed is a bit challenging but not boring/annoying i think it was a rewarding experience #tis i #i sure as hell didnt intend to spend nearly an hour writing up an account of what happened the moment i got home but that's what happened #i hope y'all enjoy cause i sure did #admittedly unspecific dialogue

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a-queer-seminarian · 5 years ago

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preaching during Holy Week is really rough....and this is before i figure out how to address the whole pandemic thing!

i’m trying to find an interpretation of the Palm Sunday story (particularly as told in Matthew 21:1-11) that, like, vibes with me. that makes contextual sense of what happens in it without being 1) horribly antisemitic and 2) not so skeptical about whether it “really historically happened” that i cause congregants who don’t like that kind of take to stop listening ya know?

so anyway here’s a bit from one article (or sermon?) i found that is maybe helpful? questions i have about it are below the quote:

“Passover was a problem for Rome. To not allow Passover to be celebrated would probably cost more, via a general civil uprising, than it was worth. Yet the festival was a celebration of escape from Egypt which always seemed on the edges of a rebellion against Rome. It was not hard to imagine that all that innocent asking of questions by the children: Why is this night different from all other nights? On all other nights, we eat either unleavened or leavened bread, but tonight we eat only unleavened bread? On all other nights, we eat all kinds of vegetables, but tonight, we eat only bitter herbs? and so on, was a thinly veiled reference to events that it was hoped would one day involve an escape from Rome, and, hopefully, something not too far distant from the drowning of Caesar's armies. So to keep things under control, extra troops would be sent into Jerusalem for the duration. They would march in from the west, probably from Caesarea Maritima, and make a great show of military might with war horses and columns of marching troops while entering the city, in an effort to dampen the enthusiasm of any Jewish activists. The story from Rome was that it had conquered the world. Resistance was useless. Jesus appears to have carried out something between a seriously seditious piece of street theatre and what we Australians would see as an hilarious piss-take of the "powers that be." In recent Australian history we see such an act in the Chaser's Breach of APEC restricted zone, which had half the country laughing themselves silly and the government furious. While Pilate and Herod had their "ring of steel" clamping down on the city, Jesus was on the other side of the city at the Mount of Olives, which is significant in biblical history as the place where the Lord's feet would stand when the enemies who had come against Jerusalem were finally driven out. (see Zechariah 14:1-19) Jesus made his own entry down the hill and over into Jerusalem mounted on a donkey and its foal. This is not some bizarre circus trick. It echoes the text of Zechariah 9. The triumphant king who comes in peace rides a donkey. Hebrew poetry uses a technique called a hendiadys where one noun is echoed by another for emphasis. “So humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey…” (Zechariah 9:9) is not talking about two animals but emphasizing the fact of the donkey over the warhorse that one would expect of a hostile king. The next lines make this clear: “He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the warhorse from Jerusalem; and the battle-bow shall be cut off, and he shall command peace to the nations.” There is some confusion about why Matthew, almost certainly a Jew, tells the story as though Jesus somehow needed to have two animals to fulfill the prophecy and ride both of them. (The original story in Mark has only one animal.) Some suggest this is a literary device to emphasise that the prophecy is thoroughly fulfilled; eg, Petty, but I think there is a proto-Australian attitude on show here! The centurions coming into Rome all had their remounts— their spare horse in case the main mount went lame— up at the back of the column in the care of their batman. You don't look half so magnificent if you have an un-mounted horse tethered behind you. But Jesus tows his own remount. And it's only a foal! It's likely that any Roman soldier watching this has no idea of the cultural referencing that's going on. But the people who are coming in with Jesus clearly see a single raised middle digit, and may have taken it further than Jesus desired. (It specifically says that it is the crowd travelling with him which makes all the fuss, not the people in Jerusalem.) They put their clothes down on the road, which is a sign of acknowledging royalty. A clear reference to this is in 2 Kings 9:13. "Then hurriedly they all took their cloaks and spread them for him on the bare steps; and they blew the trumpet, and proclaimed, ‘Jehu is king.’" If we read for the context of this quotation we see that Jehu has just been anointed king by one of Elisha's emissaries—a junior prophet—although the current king is still alive and on the throne! This is a coup. Jehu then rides off, pretending still to be loyal, and kills both the king of Israel—who is the son of Jezebel—and the king of Judah. ...”

Questions i have:

So yeah i think if i’m reading this right it’s saying that Jesus’s “stunt” with the donkeys, with people shouting hosanna and alluding to a coup, was likely viewed as a threat by the Roman military occupying and marching around Jerusalem. If any Jewish leaders had a problem with it, it was probably out of fear that Jesus’ stunt would hurt them all, if Rome decided to retaliate.

Is that a proper reading of this article? And is it like...accurate sounding?

And does it seem...i don’t know...like what i’m looking for for my sermon? Is focusing on the threat Jesus posed to Rome rather than his intra-community conflict with other Jewish leaders a good direction to go with this? Or is there still antisemitism lurking in this take?

Also, I still am very much wary of how, like, the Passion story goes that after this hosanna stuff “all the people” “turn on” Jesus -- these people shouting hosanna today are going to join the crowds that demand his death tomorrow. All the people Jesus has helped turn on him (or at least don’t stick up for him). I just don’t know how to handle that part of the story -- partially because i question the “historical truth” of a lot of all this, and mostly because of the violent consequences of this take for Jewish communities across the centuries.

idk if any of this is coherent haha but if anyone has thoughts....i am all ears

#sermon writing #palm sunday #notes #readings #spring 2020 #log

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rorykillmore · 5 years ago

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so today is @tailsthesales and as a birthday fic he requested a piece fitting tails into a transformers au! so. i gave it my best shot. imagining tails & co as autobots was actually EXTREMELY fun. this is idw-verse (fitting, i figure,) aaaand takes place directly after the dark cybertron arc where shockwave has almost destroyed all of reality, just for a point of reference.

so happy birthday, giz!!! i know we are all experiencing some rocky times right now, but i hope you manage to enjoy it. <3 you have been such a consistently warm and engaging presence in my life in all the time we’ve been friends and co-admins, and i endlessly appreciate how quick you are to support my ideas and encourage my writing. hopefully this fic serves to do the same for yours, because i can’t WAIT to see more of tails in the future!!

“Ha. Sonic? Slow down? The war may be over, the universe may have almost ended, and Megatron may be an Autobot, but some things still are never gonna change.”

“Alright, alright, alright. Head count. Everyone sit down for a head count.” Rodimus raises his voice to be heard over the crowds, and seems... honestly, rather taken aback when people actually listen. “...Okay, one: wasn’t expecting that to work. Two: there are way too many of you to actually count, so nevermind.”

Tails actually hears Knuckles snort. “And this is what happens when you slap ‘Prime’ on the end of your name and call yourself a leader.”

“Hey, come on, cut him some slack,” Sonic says, astoundingly cheerful for someone who is presently laid out on a portable operating slab. But then, he’s always been unflinching about putting his life in Tails’ hands. “He did just help save the universe.”

“We all did,” Knuckles grumbles.

“I don’t see too much damage,” Tails reports, trying to distract them both with some good news. “That Ammonite’s shot totally missed your transformation cog, which is great! This coulda got ugly.”

“Have I told you lately how much I love your bedside manner?” Sonic chuckles, looking up at him. “But thanks, Tails. Close me up and lets get back out there! I’m sure there’s a lot of injured Autobots who could still use our help.”

The three of them - as Ratchet, the medic Tails looks up to most, once said - make quite a team. Sonic is a racer-turned-Autobot-frontliner who likes to play the hero nearly as often as Rodimus does (Tails supposes that might be why he’s so quick to defend him), Knuckles is an ex-Wrecker who joined up with them during his quest to lead a life with less... well, wreckage (not that they always avoid it), and Tails himself is a helicopter bot and a medic who just recently completed his training. Together, they form Team Sonic (after some mild debate between Sonic and Knuckles -- which Tails had stayed out of, because he just didn’t think “Team Tails” had the same ring to it), and they’ve stuck together since even after the war officially ended.

Tails definitely isn’t complaining. They’re stronger together -- and war or no war, the universe still needs their help!

...As recently evidenced by, uh, Shockwave trying to destroy it. Thank Primus they all got out of that one okay, Sonic’s minor interior injuries aside.

He closes Sonic up once everything is back in working order, and predictably, the former racer is back on his feet in an instant. Tails has never exactly known him to be the patient type.

“Try and take it easy for a little while, just in case,” he warns gently regardless.

Knuckles barks out a laugh. “Ha. Sonic? Slow down? The war may be over, the universe may have almost ended, and Megatron may be an Autobot, but some things still are never gonna change.”

“Megatron is a... what?” Tails turns to him, optics bright with disbelief, certain he must have misheard. Even Sonic stops dead in his tracks, waiting for the punchline.

Knuckles shrugs, almost uncomfortably. “Just a rumor that’s going around.”

Tails has to admit, it’s not a very plausible rumor. The feared leader of the Decepticons? The guy with the body count in the billions? An Autobot?

Sonic crosses his arms. “Unbelievable. People will say anything.”

“Everyone here accounted for?” Ultra Magnus’s voice booms above them as his rounds finally bring him to their group. Tails straightens up instinctively and gives Magnus a quick salute for good measure, since, well. That’s the kind of thing Magnus appreciates.

“Yes sir! Sonic had a gunshot wound, but it wasn’t serious.”

“Tails patched me right up, as per usual,” Sonic asserts, giving Tails a quick, confident smile that has Tails beaming back at him.

Ultra Magnus seems satisfied by that report. “Very good. Listen,” He pauses, turning to scrutinize Tails specifically, and Tails goes still. “Optimus wants to speak to you.”

There’s a moment of silence as the three of them take that in.

“Prime?” Knuckles finally and impulsively blurts out.

Ultra Magnus gives him a deadpan look in response. “Do you know another Optimus?”

None of them do, of course, but Tails can’t help but share in Knuckles’ confusion. Why would Optimus Prime want to speak to him? If there’s a de facto leader of their little team, it’s Sonic, after all.

But when he turns to meet his friend’s gaze, Sonic is staring somberly but encouragingly back at him, and Tails takes heart in his silent show of support. He turns back to Magnus carefully. “Er, sure, Ultra Magnus. Sure thing. Um -- now?”

“Whenever you have a moment.” Ultra Magnus ticks their names off on his datapad and starts to move on. Then he pauses, glancing shortly over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t keep him waiting.”

Tails is pretty sure Magnus didn’t mean for that to sound as ominous as it did. A good sixty percent of what comes out of Magnus’ mouth is, notoriously, unintentionally ominous just by virtue of him having absolutely no sense of humor (not that Tails would ever say that to his face). He looks back at his friends again. Knuckles shrugs, and Sonic gives him a thumbs up.

“You guys’ll be okay?” Tails still asks just to make sure.

“Golden,” Sonic assures him. “Go on and see what the big guy wants. We’ll wait for you.”

Tails takes heart in knowing he doesn’t have to question that for a second.

When he finds Optimus, though, he looks more... harrowed, somehow, than Tails expected. Maybe it’s just that Tails is used to him looking so unshakable, though comparatively, Optimus still looks a lot less shaken than the rest of them. It makes Tails wonder what really did happen with Megatron.

Then again... the battle hadn’t been easy on any of them. It’s not a stretch to say that there’s probably not an unshaken ‘bot among them.

“Sir?” Tails greets, standing to respectful attention none the less. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, Tails. Thank you for lending me a few moments of your time. I know you must want to be with your team right now.” Optimus pauses, and Tails tries not to waver under his scrutiny. “Are they all alright?”

“We’ve had worse scrapes, sir!” Tails assures him, and then winces a little, because that makes all the lives that have just been lost seem horribly trivial. “ -- I just mean! We were lucky, this time. Sonic got shot, but I patched him right up.”

Optimus nods slowly. “Ratchet tells me he commends you on your medical skill.”

It takes a second for that to sink in. “Commends -- ?” Tails stumbles over his own words. Ratchet? The Ratchet? The Autobots’ most famous and accomplished medic? If-Tails-Had-A-Hero-Besides-Sonic-Himself Ratchet?

“Oh,” is all he ends up saying,and he winces immediately and tries to amend: “Wow. That’s... quite an honor, sir.”

“Well, he isn’t one to give out easy praise.” Optimus’ tone sounds a little warmer now. “Which is why I had... hoped to ask you for a favor.”

Name it, Tails wants to say, whatever you need! But, he reminds himself, that’s not exactly his call to make. Sonic is the de facto leader of their team, and even if Tails was to act individually, he... wouldn’t want to do it without consulting his friends. Still. To even be asked, by Optimus Prime no less, is...

It’s...

“What is it?” Tails asks, focused and somber.

Optimus barely hesitates, in a way most ‘bots wouldn’t recognize, in a way Tails only just manages to catch. “The war may be over. Shockwave may be gone, and the threat he posed along with him, but... I fear there are dangerous days yet to come.”

It’s not exactly reassuring. Tails represses the urge to shift his weight nervously. Is there some lingering threat Optimus is still worried about... ?

“Will you stay here on Cybertron?” Optimus finishes his request finally. “At least for the duration of Megatron’s trial?”

“Megatron is -- going on trial?” Tails blurts out before he can stop himself. Again, he thinks back to Knuckles’ rumor.

“He says he plans on pleading guilty. If that proves true... it won’t be a long one.”

The list of Megatron’s crimes is so immeasurably extensive that Tails understands the worry of the alternative. To contest each and every charge could take years.

And, after all, it’s Megatron. It’s not unreasonable to wonder if he has something else up his sleeve.

“But want to account for every possibility, in the meantime,” Tails provides, nodding to himself.

“At the very least, some of the Decepticons won’t stand for it. Ratchet wants as many medics on standby as possible. And... I wanted to request you specifically.”

Tails’ spark feels like it’s fizzling in his chest. “...Why?”

“Because you’ve held onto your kindness, all this time,” Optimus replies heavily. “And I think we’re about to need a lot of that.”

It should make Tails swell with pride. But for a moment, it only makes him sad. What will become of them now, their kind, who have only ever known war with one another for millions and millions of years?

But whatever the future holds, Optimus needs him today. Resolutely, Tails answers, “I’ll have to ask my team. I dunno what the plan was, as far as staying on Cybertron goes, but... if Sonic thinks we’re needed here, I’m sure he won’t say no.”

“Thank you. Even just for considering the request,” Optimus’ gratitude is resolute, and Tails can’t help but smile in response. “You know where to find me, whenever you’ve made your decision.”

“We won’t keep you waiting long,” Tails promises, and giving him a wave, turns to make his way back to his friends. In a way, maybe it’s a good thing they already have another mission ahead of them. Primus knows none of them have ever been the type to stand still.

#fic #also: tails is a medic because i figured that'd be a good translation of his mechanic skills #if he were. you know. a robot. who works on other robots.

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