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lokis-little-fawn · 3 years ago

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Paging Doctor Laufeyson

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Read Part Two Here

Paring: Dark!Therapist!Loki x Fem!Reader

Word count: 4k

Summary: Your therapist Doctor Laufeyson had always been easy on the eye but sternly professional. Will he help you discover your darkest desires?

Warnings: SMUT (ONLY READ IF YOU ARE 18+) non con, unprotected sex, male masturbation, dark af Loki, abuse of authority

Inspired by the amazing fic written by @yagurlrosie which you can read here!

“I don’t know Doctor Laufeyson, I’ve been with him for five years and it feels like the spark we had is gone” you say, well aware that the end of your session is looming. You’d been visiting Doctor Loki Laufeyson for the last few months, your life had become overwhelming and your romantic relationship had been waining for some time.

“You say the spark is gone, can you elaborate?” He questions, a fountain pen held between his dexterous fingers and a open black notebook placed in his lap.

“We don’t do anything exciting anymore, every day is the same and.. um.. I’m also bored in the bedroom department” you say, the last part of your sentence being muttered off quietly. Doctor Laufeyson’s free hand now placed in a fist placed just under his nose while looking at you intensely, his first covering his thin beautiful lips as he waits for you to continue.

“It’s just so bland, I’d love him to try something different, anything different. I want to feel desired and sexy and empowered. I just want more” you say, feeling more and more guilty as the words slip from your mouth, your face flushed slightly, Doctor Laufeyson writing a few notes in his book.

“Thank you for opening up about that Y/N, I know that must have been difficult” he replies, just as a gentle toned alarm goes off.

“Ah, that must be our time. I’ll see you the same time next week Miss Y/L/N” he states as you collect your things and say your goodbyes. Doctor Laufeyson walks you safely from his home office and to the separate front door that is only used for clients, making your way through it you get into your car and make your way home.

A few days later you’ve been preparing for a party, you and your best friend have been planning it for a while. You hadn’t really had a birthday party since you were a child and because of this, you were going all out. You’d spend the afternoon getting ready together and just before guests were about to arrive you both realised that although you had brought a lot of alcohol, you definitely hadn’t brought enough. You’d already had a few drinks by the time you decided you needed to go out and buy more.

Leaving your fully decorated flat that you shared with your partner, you both strut down the street as if the world was your runway. You’d both dressed up to the absolute nines, all eyes were on you and you drank in the moment. You knew that this feeling was mostly because you were together, you always had the most fun with your best friend and it was as if your excited energy bounced off each other. You wore a tightly fitted, pastel pink draped dress that had rhinestone details on the thin straps, this pared with some light pink heels. Your hair curled in a vintage style and your makeup done immaculately. Your best friend wore almost the same outfit only shorter and black, her hair pulled up in a slick stylish ponytail.

“Okay so we need more snacks, ice and most importantly more vodka” she says reading from the list she’d written on her phone as she grabbed a trolley. Entering the supermarket you felt very overdressed even though you had gone to one of the fancier options in town.

“I’ll get the snacks and ice, you grab the drinks?” She asks, you nod in reply as you make your way down one of the well lit isles. Grabbing two bottles of Grey Goose you make your way back down to find your friend, looking down at your feet making sure you didn’t trip in your heels you accidentally collide with a tall well dressed man.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry!” You say immediately as you step away from him before you’ve even looked up, his arm immediately darting out to catch your hand before you can fall.

“Your apology is unnecessary Miss Y/L/N” you hear the deep familiar voice say as you steady yourself, your other hand wrapped around his strong arm.

“Mr Laufeyson, what a coincidence!” You say with a bold smile. You feel his gaze travel down your body before snapping back up to meet your face.

“It’s my birthday, I’m just grabbing a few things before people arrive” you continue as you let go of his arm. He looks as he does in your usual sessions, the dark suit he always wears is usually complimented by a jacket. But now the jacket is draped carefully over the handlebars of his food filled trolly, his shirt fitting perfectly, outlining his immaculate physique and bulging pectorals.

“Well that explains your beautiful appearance Miss Y/L/N” he says stepping towards you with an almost lust filled tone before he steps back and readjusts himself. His face immediately spread with worry, knowing he has overstepped his professional boundaries although still certain that he meant what he said. Your face lighting up at his words, a smile spread across your flushed cheeks. Just as he goes to speak again he is interrupted by your intruding best friend.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere! I’ve got everything on the list, you ready to go?” She asks, your eye contact with the stunning doctor uninterrupted.

“Who’s this?” She asks, scanning him up and down, a cheeky undertone to her voice.

“This is Doctor Laufeyson, my therapist I’ve told you about, Doctor this is my best friend Y/B/F’s/N” you reply introducing them.

“It was great to see you Doctor Laufeyson, we should really get going” you say blushing as you shuffle on your feet preparing to walk on your pointed shoes.

“A pleasure as always Miss Y/L/N” he says politely as you smile and begin to walk away.

“Enjoy your meat, I know I would!” Your friend says to him and winks provocatively, pointing to something in his cart, as you slap her on the arm gently.

“That’s just disrespectful, you don’t even know the man!” You say a few meters away from him, you hear his dark chuckle behind you as you walk away.

Doctor Laufeyson continued his day as usual, his mind filled with thoughts of his encounter with you. He had tried to push the thoughts down a few times knowing that it was wrong to be thinking so deeply into your meeting, but it was of no use. By the end of the night he had been consistently thinking of you for the majority of his day as he sat at his wooden desk in his office, reading through your typed up notes from your last session. Pouring himself a large helping of red wine into an elegant crystal glass he takes a sip, his mind replaying watching you walk away. Your form fitting dress clinging to every curve, your nipples hardening in the cool air of the supermarket while you talked to him, almost visible through the thin fabric of your dress.

His imagination running away from him as he starts to envision you coming to his office dressed like that or better yet, naked. He pictures fucking you over his desk, for-filling your every kinky craving, making you feel sexy and desired just as you wished.

In the dimly lit office, as his fantasy drowned out any ill feeling he previously had he feels himself hardening within the constraints of his suit trousers, the sensation only fanning the flames of his desire for you. Palming himself through the dark fabric of his trousers he can already feel a wet patch forming, his pre cum seeping through the expensive fabric.

His wandering hands hastily unclasping the buttons of his trousers he pulls his length free from its constraints, quickly springing free and leaving a trail of liquid on his now untucked shirt. Once free his hand works it’s way down his thick shaft, his thumb rolls over the tip spreading his pre cum over the head of his cock.

Sliding his hand down again his heart rate increases as a stifled moan escapes his lips, his eyes scanning the page in front of him picking out words you’d previously said that fuel his fantasy. His free hand gripping down on his thigh imagining you placed on your knees under his desk, your mouth wrapped around his length as he thrusts into your throat.

The noises he imagines you making flooding his head, the moans you’d try and hold in as he slips his length inside you for the first time, the way your tight entrance would grip down on him. His pace increasing on his length he feels his climax building, his free hand now gripping around his balls harshly trying to prolong the inevitable. Picturing your climax pushes him over the edge, his pleasure flooding over him as his hot liquid spills from his tip. His grunts echoing off the walls of his office as he orgasms, the hot ropes of cum coating his chest, mostly settling on the black tie he still wears around his neck.

After cleaning himself up he gulps down the last of his wine and makes his way to bed. He had expected to feel worry, guilt even, but now he still felt nothing but desire. The want to please you, to feel your breath on his neck as he fucks you. As he falls asleep his mind is still filled with thoughts of you, playing over his next move as he slips into slumber.

The remainder of the week dragged by slowly for both of you. Your party was amazing but you had spent most of your week thinking about the way he had called you ‘beautiful’, the way he looked in his shirt and the way his strong hand gripped around your wrist. Loki had also thought about you as a client and otherwise. Almost every night since your encounter he had rehearsed what he’d say to you in his head, he was absolutely certain of what he wanted and he knew he was about to break the golden rule, never ever sleep with a client.

As Wednesday rolled around you made your way to his office, you were happily his last client of the day.

“Miss Y/L/N, welcome” he says as he gestures for you to come inside, you hang your coat up on the coat rack and place your bag on the floor next to your chair. Today you had decided on wearing something that vaguely matched the dress you’d worn on your last encounter with him, a much more casual fitted dress and heeled boots.

“So, how was your week?” He asks formally as he sits in his chair, grabbing his fountain pen and notebook as usual.

“It was fine, my party went well. I’m sorry if I overstepped the last time I saw you Doctor Laufeyson, I didn’t mean to” you say shyly as you blush, heat flooding your cheeks.

“Please, call me Loki. And do not worry yourself, I’m merely concerned about you. Tell me, did you reignite the spark between you and your partner?” He asks as his fist returns to his upper lip as always, serious as ever. You feel your blush growing at his asking for you to use his first name.

“No, if anything it’s been worse. Ive been thinking about what I want and.. this isn’t it” you say, your vulnerability overwhelms you as you feel tears begin to pool in your eyes.

“And what is it that you want?” He asks, his long legs spread open, his note book resting on one thigh as he readjusts himself in his chair.

“Uhm, I.. I don’t know..” your mind suddenly flustered, you knew exactly what you wanted right up until the moment you walked into his office. Now all you feel is uneasy, his piercing blue gaze roaming over your body without a hint of concealment as you shift uncomfortably in your place.

“Would you like to explore that further with me Y/N? To discover what it is that you truly desire?” He asks, his words laced with a tone you can’t quite place, but whatever it is it’s something you’d never heard from him before.

“Uh, yes. I think so” Your reply sounding almost like a question rather than a certain statement.

“Then come here, let me help you” he says as his large hand pats his thigh, a sign for you to come and sit with him. His request is much more of a demand as his previously blue eyes are now blown almost entirely black with lust.

You walk tentatively over to him, the short distance between you feeling like a mile as you will your feet to carry you. As you reach him you slowly sit yourself down in his lap, perched on one of his thighs, your legs pressed tightly together as they hang over his. With one large hand be snaps his notebook closed causing you to jump, placing the notebook and pen onto the floor beside his chair. As soon as his hands are free’d he snakes one arm around your waist, pulling you in closer. Your side now pressed firmly against his chest your hands reach out to steady yourself on his chest, your knee now almost touching the inside of his upper thigh as you feel the heat radiating from his body.

“Be a good girl and undo my tie for me wouldn’t you?” He asks as his other hand gathers your fitted skirt, his fingers grazing up your inner thigh softly.

“Uhm.. D..Doctor Laufeyson.. I’m not so sure about this..” you say, every request he makes making you feel more uneasy by the second.

“Don’t you trust me darling? I am a trained professional after all, I’m only doing what I think is best for you. I assure you” the seriousness now returned to his voice, his movement stilling for a second waiting for you to either comply or run. The uneasy feeling you previously felt now seeping into him as he is once again reminded of the professional nature of your relationship and the boundaries he is swiftly breaking.

This thought crosses his mind for only a moment as you reach up and begin to loosen his tie before pulling it from around his neck. You hold the tie up to him waiting for another command.

“Drop it, now undo my shirt” he demands, his voice still serious as his fingers once again begin to move up your thigh.

Your uncertain hands undo the buttons on his shirt, each one popping open to reveal more of his toned chest. You can feel your wetness gathering as his fingers move, every strategic movement accumulating in your rapidly growing arousal.

“Good girl, now kiss me” he growls, his hand on around your waist travelling up to the back of your neck, gripping you and holding you in place. You realise that every move he has you making, although instructed by him, has ultimately been your decision. In his position of power over you, you know that he is taking advantage of your vulnerability, but god does it feel good to surrender your control to him.

You lean in to kiss him, placing a light peck onto his lips, the grip on your neck tightens as he pulls you down further to him. Within seconds his lips are on yours, his tongue exploring your mouth, desperate for you almost as if he’d never been touched. His free hand leaving your thigh now darting to your chest, diving under the soft fabric of your dress as he grasps your breast. His thumb flicking over your rapidly hardening bud, he moans into your kiss. His sound vibrating through your core, you can almost feel your sensitive nub between your legs throb for attention.

Both of your moans now echoing around the room he pulls your dress over your head, the fabric hitting the floor as he drops it. His eyes taking in your semi nude form for the first time his fingers digging into your sensitive skin as his mind runs away with all of the sinful things he wishes to do to you.

Without direction your hands travel down the length of his torso to the belt around his waist, his eyes darting back to your face as a wicked smile spreads across his lips. Unbuckling the belt you make quick work of the buttons on his trousers, quickly pushing your hand underneath the fabric of his waistband as his length springs free into your grip.

“What a quick leaner you are little one” he growls villainously. In his mind he imagined taking you for hours, teasing you with his cock in your mouth, but now in the moment he wants nothing more than to sheath himself inside of your wet velvet walls.

Pushing the crotch your panties to the side he lifts you to straddle him, your face pressed against his in a never ending kiss as he runs his cock through your sensitive folds.

“Your so wet for me, is this what you wanted all this time sweet thing? For your Doctor to fix you by fucking you?” He asks, the words coming out as more of a statement of his feelings rather than a confirmation of your own. Never the less he is right, you’ve fantasised about this all week and now as you nod in reply you can only pray he keeps touching you.

With another villainous smile he thrusts himself up inside of you, quickly starting to move giving you no time to adjust to the intrusion. Your hands now placed on his shoulders you almost scream into his kiss as your nails dig into his skin, the sensation of being speared on his cock overwhelming you.

You slowly begin to move with him, riding his length on top of him, your mutual moans vibrating through you bodies as if electricity ran rampant through your veins. Your clit rubbing against his lower abdomen as you grind yourself down onto him. His grip on your hips tightening as you feel your walls begin to grip him at the first flutter of your growing orgasm.

With this Loki lifts you both from the chair and places you onto his desk, his length still buried inside of you. Placing you down his arm swipes away most of the contents of the desk, the few remaining items rocking as he thrusts into you.

Your orgasm quickly building teetering on the edge of ecstasy as he moves within you, he can feel your walls gripping him tightly.

“Cum for me sweet thing, cum on my cock” he demands as his hand leaves your hip and begins to circle your throbbing bud. With minimal effort your orgasm is pulled from you, the feeling washing over your body as you cry out his name, desperate for any shred of affection he is willing to give you. His lips meet yours once again as you ride out the after shocks of your climax on his length, now over sensitive each movement is amplified, your wetness squelching with every thrust.

His pace quickly increases, determined to ride out his own high within you as he had fantasised.

“Fuck, you feel extraordinary wrapped around me sweet thing, you have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of this. It’s so much better when it’s real” he grunts into your ear, chanting the last line as if it were a prayer. The thought of him fantasising about you filling you with both arousal and terror. How long had he been thinking of you like this? Had it impacted how he treated you before? You had so many questions circling in your mind but right now they were all background noise as you felt your second climax building in his frenzied assault on your heat.

His thrusts grow sloppier and more desperate, you feel his length twitching inside you desperate for release as he once again begins to circle your clit.

“I’m going to cum inside you little one, you feel too good to pull out” he growls as you feel yourself tighten around him again, your pulsating walls drawing him in further.

With a final frenzied thrust he cums within you, coating your walls with his liquid. The feeling draws your second climax from you, orgasming together as he rides out the last of his high within you, making sure every last drop of his seed is planted firmly within you.

After regaining your breaths for a while he pulls you into his chair, placing you on top of him.

“So, was that what you wanted pet?” He asks once more, he promised he’d help you work out whatever you desired and with that promise he absolutely delivered.

“I think that was exactly what I wanted Doctor Laufeyson” you say kissing him softly on the cheek.

“Please darling, call me Loki” he requests again, making you feel at home in his arms as his hand traces down your spine.

“Thank you.. Loki” you reply sweetly.

“Now let’s get you cleaned up darling” he says as he carries you off through the door you’d never entered, into his private home. He ran you a bath and brushed the knots from your hair making you feel surprisingly relaxed considering you’d just fucked your therapist. As the night went on you curled up in his bed falling asleep in his arms, uncertain of how long this would last for but certain of one thing, you definitely knew what you wanted now.

-Alternate ending-

“I think that was exactly what I wanted Doctor Laufeyson” you say kissing him softly on the cheek.

“Do you think we could try roll play again? Maybe next time I can play Doctor and you can be the patient?” You question your lover, your playful tone making you giggle into your kiss.

“Whatever you want darling, you know I’d do anything for you, even create this illusion of a Midgardian office that you love so much” he replies jokingly, gesturing to your surroundings.

“Shut up, I saw it in a film and I always wanted to fuck a doctor.. but I had to end up with a god apparently, I guess I’ll just have to settle for what I’m given” you reply in a playful tone as his hand traces down your spine.

“Thank you.. Loki” you reply sweetly.

“Now let’s get you cleaned up darling” he says as he carries you off through the door Into his familiar chambers. He ran you a bath and brushed the knots from your hair making you feel surprisingly relaxed considering all the things he’d so recently done to your body. As the night went on you curled up in bed falling asleep in his arms, the world drowned out around you as you fade away, your head pressed into his chest with promises of next time whispered into your ear.

Tag list: @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @vbecker10 @virtualstrawberrydinosaur @lokiprompts @cryingismyonlyhobby

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1kook · 4 years ago

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ZOOM CALL

⇢ meeting one

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

⇢ series masterlist

summary: In a sea of black screens and faceless names, there’s one smiley boy that beams back at you through the dimly lit screen of your laptop, a tiny Jeon Jungkook (he/him) tacked to the corner of his window. genre: fluff, slice of life, smut (tags tba) warnings: jk is a ditzy lil nerdy sweetheart, college crushes, social distancing -_-, use of the zoom app, 1kook Builds a Healthy Relationship (Version 2.0) ratings: M (18+) wc: 3.2k

notes: well. here we are. as always i have to thank common sense (coincidentally named rumu @kigurumu ) for reading this over and pointing out little details <3 after much deliberation, i have decided to post our beloved zoom jk (see origin story here) in the form of short ‘drabbles’ depicting diff zoom calls with this being The Beginning™️ so please... bare with me </3 ty to all the nice ppl who have been excited for this, luv u very much 🥺

There are times in human history where words captivate their audience; times when single words or phrases wrap around the listener, melt into their bones and radiate warmth from within. But rarely does one word manage such an impact, rarely is it as revered and as cherished as the word cancelled is to most college students.

Class is cancelled, group meetings are cancelled, the stupidly big semester final project was cancelled. You could cancel nearly anything, and in most cases, it would be beautiful. Cancelled meant more time to sleep in the morning, an afternoon free of pesky project partners, a pleasant reprieve from having to socialize with anyone. It was a glorious word with heavenly connotations that brought tears of joy to your eyes whenever you saw it appear in an email preview.

Except this one.

Spring Semester 2021: On-Campus Classes CANCELLED — Social Distance Measures as per State Regula…

Your last semester as a student in university… online? You couldn’t believe it. All these years of studying rigorously, cramming for exams, attaining a near perfect GPA— just to sit in your bedroom and stare at your computer screen for the last 15 weeks of classes? Had your friends not been there to mope with you, you’re certain a part of you would have gone on a rampage and cursed every bacteria known to mankind for doing this to you.

It was your last year, you whined in private (never in public; your friends had always considered you the mature one, the studious friend who kept everyone in order), yet here you were, setting up your desk for your last ever first day of classes with quite possibly the biggest pout on your face.

Zoom, your school had raved in an email a few weeks into the break, the desktop application that will keep us united in these trying times! As if, you huffed, giving the stupid application permission to connect to your computer’s camera and audio systems. What even was proper Zoom etiquette? Did you have to enter the meeting and greet every student cheerfully? You had always said hi to your classmates before, but something about saying it over a computer mic felt awkward.

The feeling doubled when you finally entered the meeting, only to be met with a sea of black screens save for your professor, who seemed to be clicking around his computer in a rather confused fashion. This was going to suck, you thought bitterly.

You had entered the room ten minutes earlier because, well, you always showed up to class a few minutes earlier than the scheduled meeting time. But was there any point to doing that here? Usually, the time before class was spent making small talk with said classmates, discussing the readings or the assignments, talking mindlessly about whatever came to mind. But something in your gut said it would be weird to do that now.

So you sit in silence for the next ten minutes, nervously tapping your pen against your desk as you wait for the professor to launch into whatever introductory monologue he had planned. You toy with your phone, scrolling through your twitter feed only to see a brigade of tweets from students all over the nation suffering the same fate as you. It was a trending topic.

Two minutes before the class starts, you hear the tell-tale ping of someone entering the meeting. You wave it off just like you have your other 41 classmates thus far, but then there’s the clearing of a throat, and a sweet, “good morning” filtering through your speakers. Lifting your head from the hunched over position you had assumed while glancing at your phone, you’re startled by the sudden handsome face that appears before you.

In a sea of black screens and faceless names, there’s one smiley boy that beams back at you through the dimly lit screen of your laptop, a tiny Jeon Jungkook (he/him) tacked to the corner of his window.

He’s nothing short of a dreamboat, soft and doughy cheeks that catch the hue of the screen light, highlighting his cheekbones in a faint blue color. Imploring doe eyes blinking widely at the screen as he clicks around, narrating his confusion in a low mumble (mic still on, how cute). Dark hair— was it brown? black? the pixelated screen made it hard to tell —messily pushed away from his face.

And his voice, oh his voice. It matches his gentle appearance perfectly. A soft snort. “Am I the only one here?” he says, thin lips pulled to the side in a bashful grin.

The professor laughs with him. “No, but you are the only one with your camera on,” he responds.

You’re not sure if it’s the professor’s teasing jab at literally everyone else or the need to support the cutie who smiles softly at screen, but suddenly, a handful of windows come to life. Your classmates fill up the screen, dressed in an array of styles with bedrooms (and, on the rare occasion, dorm rooms) to match. You nibble at your bottom lip, finger hovering over the button that will expose your appearance to the rest of your classmates

Eventually, the wordless peer pressure, the need to be a good student, and the supportive face of Jeon Jungkook (he/him) have you inhaling sharply before dutifully clicking the camera on. Your face appears on screen, nearly lost in the now overwhelming sea of faces. You’re one of the last ones to turn your camera on, both pages of your zoom meeting participant windows filled with the contrasting images of your classmates joining from their bedrooms. The professor claps in delight, and finally dives into the mandatory first day of classes spiel.

Syllabuses, group work, asynchronous lectures. You’ve heard these words all before, have practically memorized this class’s syllabus like the back of your hand. The pros of being an overachiever. The cons are, however, that you think every question your classmates ask is stupid. Read the syllabus, you want to scream. But it’s the first day of class. You don’t even know who your assigned study group partners (as mentioned in the syllabus) are and you certainly don’t want them to dislike you so soon. They can do that after the third meeting, but not today.

You’re not entirely surprised when your attention drifts away from the professor and the endless sea of stupid questions he’s left to answer. Even when you realize you’ve stopped paying attention, you don’t bother forcing yourself to tune back in. No, instead your focus drifts across the windows of faces.

Some of your classmates are as bored as you, glaring at the screen with disinterest, or glancing off to the side probably at their phones. So you start looking at their rooms, analyzing their decorations and posters as if you’re a professional critic on some house design show.

Jeon Jungkook (he/him) is in a rather plain dorm room. Plain light gray walls— or maybe it’s white —free of decoration. He’s sitting at the provided desk, just like you. The only reason you focus on that is because there’s a multitude of your classmates lazily sprawled across their beds, slumped over a couch. Hardly anyone is sitting at attention like you. Well, except for Jeon Jungkook (he/him). He’s practically exposing the entirety of his living accommodation with the way his camera is set up.

Above eye level, reaching just below his chest, with the room all laid out before you. A neat twin bed, sheets meticulously made. It almost looks like the decorative set at a furniture store with the way the comforter and variety of pillows are placed. He doesn’t seem to be in the crappy dorms you remember, which leaves you wondering where exactly he’s been assigned. You know certain sports clubs get fancier dormitories. Anyway, there’s a door off the side of the bed, a black guitar standing in the corner just behind it. You wonder what’s behind the camera, if maybe his desk is as organized as the rest of his room. Maybe his closet is his weakness, you muse, imagining poor Jeon Jungkook (he/him) with a tornado of a closet. But the thought doesn’t make that much sense, so you discard it quickly.

Anyway, his dorm room. It’s neat and orderly, makes you tilt your head curiously as he swivels from side to side before you. As for himself, he’s dressed in a plain white sweater, hoodie strings perfectly even. His hair has long since fallen over his forehead, but he’s pushed it over this time in a fluffy side part. He was adorably soft.

He’s paying attention to the professor like he genuinely treasures every word that comes off his tongue, nodding along understandingly. He’s even got a pencil in hand, leaning forward every few seconds to scribble something down hurriedly. Not like this is all on the syllabus or anything, you think.

But as soon as the thought crosses your mind, it’s dispelled just as fast. He’s only trying to be a good student, you scold yourself, feeling oddly mean for wanting to make fun of this sweet boy. Especially when he raises his hand a second later and asks the first good question of the day. Something about the grading scale for group projects and how much is determined by the group members themselves. You’re not too sure, the words get a little fuzzy when he starts speaking and his pink lips pull down into an endearing pout.

A couple minutes later and your professor finally wraps up the questions, telling everyone to email him if any other questions arise throughout the semester. Just as you’re sighing in relief, he utters those dreaded words: “Ice-breakers!” he exclaims, and the whole class grimaces, much to his amusement. He says something about feeling the excitement through the screen, but then changes gears. “Since it’s a little hard to talk to your neighbor, I’m going to test out the Breakout Rooms and see how that works, okay guys?”

You frown. Breakout Rooms? What on earth was that? Like most of your classmates, this is pretty much your first rodeo with the Zoom application. He was sending you all into small groups, where? The answer presents itself a few seconds later, a message box appearing on your screen.

The host is inviting you to join a Breakout Room: Group 4

Your professor is still chattering in the background when you nervously accept the invitation, his voice suddenly cut off as your computer jumps to a new loading screen. It takes a while before you’re suddenly dumped into a new room. And then you’re staring at your own face, blown up on your own screen in a rather uncomfortable way. Jeez, did you really look like this?

As soon as you get to picking at your appearance, your mirrored reflection jumps to the side, once, then twice more to fit the three new guests in your room. Silence fills your bedroom as you and your classmates all stare at each other nervously for a couple seconds, unsure of what to say. This was, after all, your first meeting.

Just as you’ve gathered all your courage to click your microphone on, the screen jumps around once more and suddenly Jeon Jungkook (he/him) is in your Breakout Room. Immediately, his surprised face melts into the most reassuring grin you’ve ever seen, and he’s practically jumping forward to turn his mic on.

“Good morning, everyone,” he says, smooth and low. It’s like the awkward tension melts away under the pressure of his pretty smile, your classmates responding back with polite hellos and good mornings to him. You barely get yours in before Jeon Jungkook (he/him) starts talking again. “So… how are you guys?”

His words, sweet and caring as they are, send the five of you into a rather mindless conversation. Talking about nothing really, just whatever comes to mind about the class, about the semester, about the remote learning. Then Jungkook— “just Jungkook is fine!” he tells the other four of you with that same too pure look on his face after someone refers to him by his whole name —starts talking about some movie he had seen on Netflix the other day, something his friend recommended to him. Truthfully, you have zero interest in the type of plot he is describing, and you can tell some of the other people in your group don’t either. But he’s absorbed in his storytelling, features lit up as he details every last plot point of the film like his life depends on it. There’s a wordless agreement to let him ramble on.

By the time Jungkook has finished his novella recapture of whatever movie he was talking about, a green message bubble appears at the top of your screen. It’s a message from your professor, who is telling you the small group meeting will end in a few more minutes.

“Aw, that sucks,” Jungkook laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. And then, “oh! We haven’t answered our icebreaker question yet!”

Ah, yes. The reason for this small group was to get to know each other, not for Jungkook to recount an entire two hour movie for you all. “Oh, right,” you agree, probably the first words you’ve said in the past five minutes. You navigate to the chat box, where your professor had hastily dumped the question before sending you all off. “What’s one thing you miss most about being on campus?” you read aloud, glancing back at the screen.

Your group mates are all in various states of blissful comfort, the gaps of their nervousness smoothed over by Jungkook’s bubbly personality, and the hesitation they’d shown at the beginning is practically gone. Someone steps forward and says something about the campus dining hall. Jungkook laughs, loud and airy, claps his hands all cute too. Someone else says the library because it was a good place to study. There’s a lull and you jump in quickly. “I think I’ll miss the couches by the gym in the student center the most,” you confess, though you doubt anyone knows which ones you mean. They were a set of brightly colored couches tucked into a cranny behind the Starbucks just outside the campus gym, avidly avoided by the gym rats who were determined to ignore the sugary drinks and snacks.

Apparently, the hiding spot isn’t as secretive as you thought. “Oh, the ones by the Starbucks?” Jungkook exclaims, excitedly looking at his screen. You have this fluttery feeling that he’s looking at you for the first time. You nod, and he quite positively beams. “I love those!”

“Yeah, I spend a lot of time there,” you say, though it’s a little stilted because you’re not exactly sure how you’re supposed to react to Jungkook’s enthusiasm. Though his outgoing personality cloaks you in comfort, his pretty smile has your heartbeat acting a little funny.

Jungkook’s got these huge eyes, blinking owlishly at you. “Really? So do I!” And then you both seem to have the same realization. His head tilts to the side cutely, an amused smile on his face, “I’ve never seen you there.”

“I’ve never seen you there,” you shoot back, a little snarkier than necessary, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice. His smile turns goofy.

“Woah,” he says in a rather dreamy tone, “isn’t that so cool? We spent so much time in the same place, but never crossed paths before,” he babbles. He’s stopped looking at his computer, leaning back in a sort of dazed manner with this sparkly look to his eyes, much to everyone’s amusement. Except yours, because frankly, it sounds a little bit like he’s describing— “fate!” he says suddenly, like it’s truly an aha! moment. He pauses, taps his finger against his chin. “Or anti-fate? I’m not sure. But it’s like— we could’ve met so many times before and we didn’t.” Doe eyes return to the screen, flickering around until they presumably land on you again. “What do you think, __?”

And he’s just so cute, makes the rigid shield around your chest soften for the slightest moment as you nod meekly. “Uhh, yeah. Fate,” you agree, and then get to hear him laugh and giggle for about three seconds before you’re suddenly thrown back into the larger Zoom meeting.

Weirdly flustered, you hurriedly click your microphone back off, and nearly contemplate the camera too. But then the professor is asking you all to share what you talked about and you’re resigning yourself to a few more minutes of screen time while the class wraps up. By the looks of it, not everyone had as an enjoyable time as you did. Part of you is thankful you didn’t get stuck in an awkward small group. The other part recognizes wholeheartedly that it’s all thanks to one smiley boy at the bottom of your screen.

“And group 4?” the professor asks, and you blink yourself back into attention. Before you can unmute yourself and answer for your group, Jungkook is beating you to it.

“We talked about a lot of things,” Jungkook answers cheerfully. From your view, you get a front row seat to the sheer power of Jungkook’s magnetic personality, watching as all your listless classmates suddenly snap back from their daydreams to zero in on whatever Jungkook is saying. He fills in the professor about what you talked about, from the movies to the couches, and you feel weirdly mushy when his eyes flicker across the screen before settling with a soft smile.

He can’t possibly be looking at me, you tell yourself. Your hand jerks forward to turn the camera off, but in your haste, end up knocking down the water bottle on your desk. You scramble to straighten it, thanking the universe for the fact you actually remembered to screw on the cap. You glance back at the screen, and nearly die when you catch sight of a giggly Jungkook, smile hidden behind an adorable sweater paw as he laughs at something on screen. Oh no, was he looking at me? you panic.

“Alright, everyone,” your professor says in that “I’m about to wrap this class up” voice. Too close to the screen, voice a little too loud. “Good meeting today, I’ll see you all again on Wednesday. Stay safe.”

“Bye!” Jungkook sings sweetly, and everyone else follows as they all bid adieu to the professor. Still a little frazzled from the possibility that Jungkook may have watched you flail around like a total loser, you take a second longer to turn your mic on. Your classmates quickly leave the meeting, leaving only a few stragglers until the very end.

Surprisingly, Jungkook is here too, brown eyes focused on the screen. You unmute yourself. “Um,” you stammer, eyes unwillingly flickering over to Jungkook who smiles at the sound of your voice. “Goodbye. Thank you,” you rush out, and then quickly leave the meeting as well.

With the meeting over, you’re left staring at the home page of the Zoom app, heart beating a little too fast to be normal. Your face feels warm, and your fingers tremble from some unfamiliar, giddy feeling in your chest. You exhale slowly, hand coming up to rub at your chin as if that will somehow explain the weird excitement from your Zoom meeting. Maybe it was just adrenaline, or nervousness, you try to convince yourself. After all, the first day of classes is always nerve-wracking.

Except when you navigate to your class page and begin to mindlessly scroll through the class roster, there’s a weird stutter to your heartbeat when you catch sight of that Jeon Jungkook (he/him) that appears halfway down the list.

#bangtanhq #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jjk♡#jjk fic #bts smut #bts fic #mine

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miekasa · 4 years ago

Text

daylight’s wasting (you better kiss me)

↯ pairing: eren jaeger x reader

↯ genre and warnings: college au, fluff, someone please be gentle with this boy i’m begging you, jean and eren pretending they don’t give a fuck about each other whilst actually being best bros for the win

↯ word count: 2k

↯ summary: based off of that reddit post about some guy talking about his girlfriend washing his hair for the first time + hoping it fills a request for someone asking for reader playing with eren’s hair for the first time :’)

↯ notes: this is cross-posted and edited slightly from another blog in a completely separate fandom, so if you’ve seen it before, no you didn’t </2

Jean can’t say that he immediately noticed a pep in Eren’s step when the green-eyed boy met him in the library, but what he does notice is the stupid, dopey looking grin and starry-eyed gaze in his eyes that he’s sporting while he’s not doing his part for their project. And while Jean considers himself relatively attractive, he knows for sure Eren isn’t shy about making it known that he doesn’t; so the brunette doubts the literal heart eyes Eren has are for him.

“Eren? Eren, bro, are you good?” Jean calls, a dark eyebrow raised above his left eye. Eren barely registers the calls of his name, and it takes Jean waving his hands in front of the shorter’s face for him to wake from his trance, looking up at Jean with that same, longing smile (that’s, admittedly, starting to creep him the fuck out).

“Yeah,” Eren sighs, something reminiscent of a lovelorn cartoon prince, as he rests his elbow atop his notebook and his chin the palm of his hand, “I’m good.”

Jean looks at him, skeptical and confused. He shifts in his seat, but Eren’s eyes don’t follow—he just stares ahead, lost in thought and completely unaware of everything around him. He looks like a lovesick little bitch if you ask Jean. Or completely sloshed.

Slowly, Jean leads forward, eyebrows pinched, looking for streaks of red in Eren’s eyes, “Are you stoned right now?”

“What?” Eren pulls back, almost offended, “No, I’m not high—Jean, what the fuck?”

Jean simply shrugs, leaning back into his seat, “I dunno. Yesterday you were so stressed about your acrobatic salt cycle samples—”

“—Acetylsalicylic acid. It’s basically Asprin, and I wasn’t stressed, they just weren’t crystallizing the they way they’re supposed to—”

“I don’t fucking care. But now you look mellow as hell,” Jean cuts him off, “Just thought maybe you rolled a good one before coming here or something. Not that I’m judging, of course. But you’re much more of a lightweight than you think, so try not to go—”

“‘M not a fucking lightweight,” Eren groans, “You and Reiner are just heavy bodied.”

“Just admit you can’t hold your shit, Jaeger.”

“I’m not admitting shit. Mikasa makes strong drinks, that’s all.”

Jean grits his teeth at Eren’s stubborn antics, but lets it go. It’s not like the conversation was going anywhere, anyways. “If you’re not baked, then what’s got your head in the clouds?”

Eren shifts in his seat now, pulling his hand off the table, and into his lap. Jean’s suspicious eyebrow is quirked again, and that slightly creeped-out feeling is back when he spots Eren’s ears going red.

Jesus Christ, he just asked a simple question.

“Not that I care,” Jean tacks on, feigning disinterest, “But if it’s gonna keep you from doing your half of the project, just spill it already so we can get this shit over with.”

Eren rolls his eyes, but that blush is still there. He looks like he contemplates waving it off for a minute, before he sighs. “(Y/N) and I showered together yesterday,” he finally blurts.

Jean blinks. “Oh. So you got laid—”

“—No, no, it wasn’t like that!” Eren corrects him, the red on his ears spreading to his cheeks slowly, with every word that spills out of his mouth. Eren stutters, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, “She just… She washed my hair.”

Eren sighs, flustered and frustrated, and annoyed that he looks like this in front of Jean’s horse-faced ass of all people; but he knows, that no matter how much shit Jean talks, he can rely on him. For better or (often times) for worse.

And Jean, for as hotheaded as he can get, and for as much as Eren annoys the shit of out him, knows how to read a room; and in this moment, he can see that Eren is actually coming to him with genuine emotions, other than masked anger and abrasiveness. So, the both of them concede; pull back from their usual pointed commentary, and listen to what the other has to say.

“Ah,” Jean comments, lamely; an embarrassed blush of his own growing on his face at his stupidity. The two sit in silence for a moment, before Jean speaks up again, “It’s, uh… It’s nice, right?”

Eren’s eyes snap to him, wide. He almost completely forgot that Jean’s in a committed relationship, too. The two don’t often go to each other for relationship advice, or… relationship venting, but Eren makes a mental note that maybe, just maybe, he should.

“Yeah,” Eren admits, “I don’t, uh, I don’t know how to explain it. It was just—”

“Relaxing?”

“Yeah. Like all the bullshit from school just melted away all of a sudden,” Eren confesses, “All she fucking did was wash my hair and hum for, like, five minutes, but I feel like… I don’t know. Good.”

Jean hums, acknowledging Eren’s words and mulling them over. “Loved,” he chimes in with an awkward cough, “Pretty sure that’s the word you’re looking for, Jaeger.”

Eren chokes on air, his eyes darting around the room. So, yeah, it’s still a little awkward, talking with Jean of all people about his relationship, and love, and all that gushy stuff; but, even Eren can admit, it’s comforting to know that someone knows what he’s feeling—even if that someone is Jean.

“You should tell her. Girls like that shit, when you tell em what you’re thinking, you know?” Jean comments, picking up his pen to resume scribbling in his notebook. He sounds nonchalant, but from the redness on his face, Eren can tell he’s just as flustered, and probably thinking about his own girlfriend. “Besides, you’ve been together for a long ass time now. Don’t know what you’re waiting for at this point.”

“Yeah,” Eren coughs, pretending to resume his own homework, “Yeah, I think I will.”

“Good,” Jean nods, “Now will you fucking paste your paragraph in the Google Doc so I can rewrite it and make it coherent.”

“Fuck you, it’s coherent as is.”

“As if. I’ve read your shit before, and it sounds like it was written by six year old on meth. You science majors can’t write to save your life.”

“Tough talk from someone who can’t do basic addition.”

“Derivatives and shit aren’t basic addition, they were created by a man who died a virgin. Tells me everything I need to know about them and you.”

Three days later, Eren finds himself alone in your off-campus apartment, laying on your bed, stomach to the mattress, while he tries to convince himself to study for his upcoming biology exam. He finds looking around your room to be much more interesting, though, and takes the time to notice things he hadn’t before.

There’s a small strip of images of the two of your in a clear mason jar on your nightstand—the newest addition to your collection—from the photo booth at the ice-skating rink you went to last week. Eren doesn’t know why you insist on going to every photo booth you come across, but who is he to deny you the pictures.

When he looks to your closet, he isn’t surprised to see two of his hoodies, one of his warm-up soccer uniforms, and last season’s hockey jersey hanging up. What does surprise him, is the way they’re all hung up next to each other, like they have their own little section amongst your clothing; like they were reserved, special almost. He bets they’re all probably washed and clean, too; because you take care of his things like that.

He thinks about how he has a few pairs of sweatpants and pajamas—hell, even a pair of slacks and a button-down from one of your fancier dates—all tucked away in his very own drawer in your dresser. The bucket hats thats you claim are oh-so ugly still have their own place in your room, hanging next to your belts. Even his psychology textbook sits on your desk, clearly set aside for him and taken care of, but still integrated amongst your other belongings.

You seem to be the only person who thinks Eren and all his baggage can have a place in your life. You seem to always have space for things to fit in, no matter how stupid, or ugly, or tattered they are; no matter how emotional, or lost, or impulsive he is. Nothing is out of place here, himself included.

Lost in his thoughts, Eren doesn’t register the sound of your front door opening, or your footsteps growing louder. In fact, he doesn’t register that you’re home at all, until you come padding into your bedroom, shaking your backpack off of your shoulders and setting it next to his on the ground.

“Hey, baby,” you greet him, almost offhandedly, as you place your coffee down on your desk. He doesn’t mind—actually the element of practiced casualness in your tone brings a kind of warmth to him, and makes his stomach flutter.

“Hey,” he smiles, a stupidly fond look in his eye as his watched you shimmy your jacket off of your shoulders.

Eren sits himself upwards, shifting so that his long legs dangle off the edge of your bed as he watching your silhouette move throughout your bedroom. When you’re finished removing all your layers and jewelry, you finally look to him, greeting him a second time as you walk towards him and your bed.

Eren cages you in when you reach him, his ankles wrapped on top of each other as he secures you standing between his legs. He wraps his arms loosely around your waist, while your fingers crawl up the nape of his neck.

“Your hair’s dry,” you hum, your fingers raking through his brown locks as if to make your point, “You didn’t shower yet?”

Eren shakes his head lightly, craning his neck forwards to tuck the cold tip of his nose into your collar. He holds you a little tighter when you smooth his hair down, one of your hands resting against the back of his neck, and lightly scraping at the hairs near his nape.

“How come?” you question innocently, “I thought your classes ended a few hours ago—did your lab go late again? You should tell your TA you have a life outside of trying to culture bacteria in a dish, you know.”

Eren chuckles lightly, but feels the concern in your voice tug heavily at his heart strings. You seem to really hate his lab TA.

“Wasn’t him this time,” Eren mumbles against your skin, “Was waiting for you.”

“Yeah? That gonna be a regular thing, now?”

“Wouldn’t mind,” Eren confesses, words barely audible as he buries his face into your neck. He tries tickle you with his eyelashes, shift the heat towards you, but you move out of reach too quickly; your hands on his shoulders, forcing him to sit upright.

He has to look up you, just slightly, and he hopes he doesn’t look like a complete blushing idiot. If he does, you don’t seem to mind, if the way you cup his face between your hands is any indication.

“Well then, come on. I bought two new loofahs yesterday.”

Eren follows you to the bathroom with a smile, borderline giggling with excitement all the way to the shower. When it comes down to it, he relishes in the feeling of your fingertips against his scalp, suds of shampoo cascading down his neck as you find amusement in coiling his hair into a bubbly mohawk.

It’s so mundane, so simple, yet overwhelmingly intimate the way you’re taking care of him—the way you always take care of him. It fills Eren to the brim with emotions he can’t even begin to convey with words.

And when you’ve had you’re fun, and made sure his hair is throughly clean and smells like apples, you take your body wash on the ball of his (his! his very own!) loofah, and scrub away at his back, down his shoulders, across his torso; and Eren can’t stop the tears from falling.

He realizes his must look bizzare, to be standing the middle of your shower, crying like a baby with soap and suds all over his body, but he can’t help himself.

“Eren? Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he assures you, hiccuping between his words and sniffling away any more tears that threaten to fall. You don’t seem convinced, and once again, Eren feels his heart swell at just the sheer thought at you’d hold even an ounce of concern for him the way you do.

“You’re crying, Eren,” you point out, voice soft, but clearly concerned, as you reach your hands up to cup his face again, “Did I hurt you? What’s wr—”

Eren cuts you off by wrapping you in a hug, hoping—praying—you know that you could never hurt him. The two of you spend nearly five whole minutes like that, your arms wrapped around each other’s middles, with warm water pouring over your naked skin. Eren can feel you pressing shallow kisses into his chest, and he feels his heart physically swell every time your lips make contact with his skin.

It’s on the fifth, quiet press of your lips that Eren knows he can’t hold it in anymore; pulls away from your embrace to look you in your eyes.

“I love you,” he finally confesses, with wet hair stuck to his forehead, and teary eyes. It’s hardly a picture perfect moment, but Eren can’t bring himself to care; he needs you to know.

But, of course, you already did. “I know, Eren,” you say with a smile, kissing his chin, and then on the tips of your toes, his lips, “And I love you more.”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #eren x reader #eren x you #eren smut #eren fluff #aot imagines #snk imagines #levi x reader #jean x reader

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twoidiotwriters1 · 2 years ago

Text

Copycat: Agent Zero —(Marvel Fem!Oc)

A/N: If I make you cringe with some of my choices I apologize but not so much bc I did say all my fics are written first and foremost to please me lmao -Danny

Words: 1,833

Phase Four Masterlist

Previous chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘(Wish I Didn’t Have To) Lie’ -by Catie Turner ft. JORDY

ii: M.O.U.S.E.

Cat was welcomed by none other than Maria Hill. She smiled at the woman and the agent eyed her with a look of satisfaction.

"Right on time."

"Were you expecting me to arrive in pajamas and with a hangover?"

Hill adopted a more serious expression as she guided her to one of the elevators.

"Well, you're twenty-one—"

"Twenty-two," Cat squinted. "I think. Sorry, I spent three years in space and sometimes I get confused... but I'm pretty sure I'm over twenty, anyway."

Hill handed her a pad and pointed at it. "Well, you know S.H.I.E.L.D will welcome you with open arms, but an agent does far more work than an Avenger."

They entered the elevator, it was completely empty so Cat changed the subject to the part she was most interested in.

"If I'm honest, I'd love to be busy for a while, it's not like I have anything else going on. I do hope the pay's decent, I got a few bills to settle."

The older agent looked at her with no discernable emotion, but her voice was a little softer once she spoke. "How are the others?"

By "others" Cat assumed she meant the remaining heroes: Barton, Banner, Thor... She knew Wanda was somewhere upstate, but her guilt didn't allow her to build a meaningful friendship with the redhead.

"You're worried about us? I didn't take you for the motherly kind, Hill."

The agent shook her head. "You've grown, but you haven't changed."

The doors of the elevator opened, and Fury was directly outside, waiting for them.

"Agent," he greeted, "been a while."

"You and your theatrics," Cat grinned. "How long have you been standing there waiting so you could make an entrance?"

He raised a brow. "Watch your mouth, kid, you can't talk to your boss like that."

"Oh, so I'm hired? I don't remember signing any papers..."

"Talking about papers..." Fury guided her through the hall with Hill walking behind them. "Tony's will has been read and delivered for the most part, with the exception of your part as well as Peter Parker's."

She'd been expecting to hear his name at some point, yet the mention caused her stomach to drop.

"Tony died months ago," Cat frowned.

"We are not a law firm, delivering wills isn't our job. The only reason why we're the ones calling is that Mrs. Potts told us you weren't answering her calls."

"I thought she was trying to make me visit," Cat mumbled, "I'm not up for it."

Fury didn't bother to ask why, instead, he continued explaining what they'd been doing all those months. "We've been trying to catch up. Now that we got a decent hang of things, we can finally move onward."

"You guys would've caught up way faster with me on your team," she pointed out, "but your pride stopped you from admitting you needed the help of your youngest trainee."

Fury stopped in front of a door that had his name with the word "Director" under it. He walked in, Cat moved forward and looked around: The office was nothing out of the ordinary, with a desk and chairs, as well as two file cabinets in the corner of the room. All the wide windows, displaying a breathtaking sight of the city, only got a silent five-second glance. She walked directly to a chair and sat down waiting for the others to join her.

"I thought you'd pick a fancier setting," Cat said shortly.

"You don't like the new premises?"

"They're okay."

Fury scoffed. "You go to space once and suddenly nothing pleases you."

"I never said that," she smiled. "Let's circle back to Tony, alright? What do I have to sign?"

Hill took the pad from her hands and typed a few things in, a copy of the papers was shown to her, and she read it quickly.

"Sweet," Cat looked up. "How are you guys supposed to give an A.I. to me? Is it in a pen drive or something?"

Fury opened a drawer and pulled out two small packages: One was a case, and the other was a small square box. Fury pushed the latter forward, Cat looked inside.

"A... watch?" She tilted her head. "Now wait— Well, it's something..."

"And this..." Fury grabbed the other case and stared at it. "We know Parker is a friend of yours. Any idea as to why Tony left this for him?"

Cat raised a brow. "You're telling me you don't know?"

Fury looked at her. "Just making sure."

The girl put her watch —or earpiece, whatever it was— back in the box.

"Are you going to hire me as an agent?"

"Is that what you want?"

"It's what I'm best at."

He grabbed a file from the table and handed it to her. "Why don't you start with this, then?"

Cat barely skimmed through the first few paragraphs when she realized the file was about her, of her time as New York's most deadly vigilante. The girl placed the papers back on the smooth surface with a heartless expression.

"Yeah, I might know who that is..."

"You can't do that again if you're going to work for us," Fury supported both hands on the table. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir," she looked at him without any remorse. "I was keeping the city safe, that was all."

"We're back, so there's no need for that now," he pushed the file toward her again, "read it well, take it home with you if you must. Think of all the damage you caused while you were 'keeping the city safe'. I will only hire you if I'm sure you can follow our rules to a T."

Cat grabbed the file and her A.I. She wanted to ask about Peter, were they going to try and hire him too? She didn't want to make Fury think she cared.

Cat stood outside the building for a second too long, before she could walk away a man spoke in a rather excited voice.

"Cat!" Happy was carrying a few boxes like the one she had in her arms. "I've been trying to call you for days!"

"Hey," she smiled awkwardly, "sorry, I've been busy. I don't know, I felt like I was only going to waste your time."

The man frowned. "I was the one calling."

"No yeah, but... when I was younger you'd call to see if I was at Peter's, to know if I needed something," they walked into the building, "I keep telling myself 'he's just calling out of habit, it's better if you don't pick up'..."

Happy stopped so she had to as well. "Cat, being your caretaker is one of the best things that's ever happened to me. I already lost a friend, don't take this away from me too."

She gave him a tired smile, trying not to drop the box she was holding. "If I didn't have my hands full, I'd hug you."

"I know, that's why I'm saying it now," he chuckled, "we're too awkward for that, don't you think?"

Cat laughed. "Maybe. But that was a sweet thing to say, man. Thank you. But I can assure you it's been a few years since trouble's all I've been able to cause—"

"About time!" May received them in the hall, Cat almost dropped her stuff and ran out of the building.

"May," she said stupidly. "Hi. All good?"

"Oh," Cat realized then the warm welcoming had been directed at Happy, May hadn't noticed her until then. "Hi, C— As good as it can be."

"Is the landlord giving you problems? He used to get along with P.J. just fine..."

"Everything's good, thank you again for letting us borrow it for a while. You should drop by someday," May tried to tempt her, "we can order pizza, talk about what you've been up to..."

Cat lifted her box to hide her face. "I have these old clothes I want to give away."

"And I brought these too," Happy showed his own boxes. "Where should we put them?"

The woman walked them to a wide room with several large tables. Cat was looking around to make sure no familiar set of brown curls would show up unannounced.

"He's in school."

She turned to look at the woman as she emptied her box. "Sorry?"

"Peter," May clarified, "he's at school. He had to restart his year."

"Oh," Cat blinked. "How is... he doing?"

Cat mentally scolded herself at the pause, she didn't want people to think she cared about him, and yet her body and mind continued to betray her.

"He's getting through," May smiled a little, "I'm just happy he gets enough sleep."

"Of course," she figured that it didn't matter much whether she cared or not, she was already talking to his aunt, "but is he okay?"

There was no use in pretending in front of the woman, she'd seen her fall in love with Peter, and she'd been a sort of surrogate mother at some point in her life. She couldn't lie to her. May's eyes twinkled, Cat wondered why on earth wasn't she angry at her.

"He's getting through," May repeated, "you should talk to him, he misses you."

She gulped, shaking her head a little and looking down at the clothes she was folding. "I'm about to start a new job and I'm... I don't think I'll be around."

"What?" Happy came out from behind a pile of containers to look at her with concern. "Where are you going?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D might hire me," she said, voice kinda quiet, "I've been waiting for a while."

"So soon?"

She couldn't help but smile. "Don't you mean so late? They were supposed to take me when I turned twenty-one! I got all the freedom and crazy experiences I wanted, I'm ready."

Happy didn't know what to say, and Cat wasn't sure she wanted to hear it. She patted his shoulder lightly, then promised May she would be there next week with more donations. May looked down at the men's clothes she'd brought and realized it was all Pietro's.

"Are you sure..?"

"I have no use for it," she tried to smile, "I'll keep a few things, but I'm sure he'd like his clothes to be put to use. I'm doing what he wanted... I think."

As soon as she left, the young woman searched inside her pockets and pulled out the earpiece. She turned left and stood alone in the middle of an alley. There, she put the artifact in her ear and looked down at the crumbled-up piece of paper in her hand.

Let no one stop you, Kitkat. You're the best of us.

Take care, T.S.

P.S. Say Mouse.

"Alright," she took a deep breath, "Mouse!"

The tech quickly spread over her mouth, nose, and ears. It became half a mask, of a different color than the usual palettes Tony used in her old suits, a tone of greyish-white. Her eyes weren't covered by it now that they were no longer sensitive, it reminded her of the old facemask the winter soldier used to wear.

"Stand by for biometric scan," replied a mannish voice in her ear.

"Oh shit," she muttered, jumping a little, "wait— is that Dylan O'Brien's voice?"

"Biometric scan accepted."

"It is!" She gasped. "Mouse?"

"Hello, Copycat. I'm Mouse. Tony created me to be your assistant."

"He made you for me?"

"Yes," the voice replied, "Mouse stands for 'My official and useful server for emancipation'."

She smiled a little. "Let's get out of here, Mouse."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@ieatpanicattacksforlunch @jesuswasnotawhiteman @siriuslysirius1107 @greengarsstuff @itsyagirl01 @23victoria @espressopatronum454 @jkthinkstoomuch

#twoidiots writing #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #copycat fic

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candycityy · 3 years ago

Text

Some (established relationship) Rivetra birthday crack/fluff, ft. awkward!Levi, because I can.

Levi sucks at giving gifts.

Maybe it's just the fact that he's awkward as fuck, but the notion of having to find something nice for another person fills him with equal parts dread and exhaustion. Honestly, how would he know what they'd want, anyway? He'd much rather just shove a couple of coins in their direction and call it a day.

The whole concept of gifts had been a culture shock to him, after leaving the Underground—not that he didn't understand what it meant to get someone something, but just the whole song and dance about it, of how every even remotely special occasion called for a gift of some sort. The first time he'd heard of it, a squadmate was asking him to contribute something to Erwin's promotion hamper, and he'd almost snorted, assuming it was a joke; the fucker had just been promoted to Commander of the Survey Corps, honestly, wasn't that gift enough?

Fortunately, his squad knows better than to ask him to contribute things; they just ask for money whenever they're doing a group gift, which he's happy enough to part with. And with matters outside the squad, well...he still doesn't really get why people thing he's so fucking terrifying, but in this, at least, he's happy to be excluded.

Well, until now. Unlike him, Petra actually does enjoy gifts; she's one of those crazy people who likes giving them, who handwrites cards and wraps presents in nice paper and glittery ribbons (another thing he doesn't get. He's supposed to spend time and money on wrapping paper that's just going to get torn into shreds?) and somehow, considering how they're dating and all, he doubts she'd be content with his usual fare of a few coins and a curt happy birthday over breakfast.

He briefly considers staging a training accident; surely, she wouldn't expect a gift from him if he were in the med bay recovering from a debilitating but non-life-threatening injury?

"Aha," Hanji says, briefly pausing in her monologue about Titan reproduction (he hadn't been listening in the slightest, but that's never been a deterrent) to point her spoon dangerously close to his face. "I recognise that look. You're thinking again, aren't you."

"None of your business." He pokes morosely at his dinner, and misses. The tines of his fork strike the porcelain with a rather unpleasant metallic screech that makes them both wince.

"It's not a good look on you, you know," she comments, shovelling a fragment of potato into her mouth as Levi watches with barely veiled disgust. "Thinking. You're much better off playing the role of the macho action hero, all brawn and no brain—"

"I will stab you with this butter knife," he threatens, with a kind of despondent savagery. The woman just leans on her elbow and waits, perfectly unruffled.

He chews, swallows, and after a long pause, finally admits, "Petra's birthday is coming up."

"And you're thinking about what to get her?" Hanji smirks. "Sweet."

"I'm thinking about why surface-dwellers have so much time and energy to bother with stupid things like gifts," he grumbles, spearing a chunk of broccoli with more aggression than strictly necessary.

"Well, they're a welcome distraction from the terrors of daily life, don't you think?" She pushes her goggles up her nose with a kind of practiced impatience, and continues, "I think...Petra probably would want something heartfelt. You know, something you wouldn't give to anyone else."

"I wouldn't give anyone anything, from the start."

"You know what I mean." Hanji rolls her eyes. "The gift's gotta make her feel special. Maybe something with a sort of significance, or meaning, or...oh! Something handmade? How good are you with handicrafts?" She eyes him, looking rather less hopeful than he'd like. It rankles him.

"I'm pretty good at carving," he snaps. Hanji brightens.

"Ooh. Wood?"

"Flesh." He shovels the rest of the stew into his mouth, ignoring her snort of indignation, and stands up. "Don't choke on your food, Four-Eyes."

In his time in the Underground, he'd learnt precisely two things about food: one, to defend it with your life, and two, if you chuck a bunch of ingredients into a pot and apply heat, you can call it a casserole, which is a fancy-sounding name for something that barely counts as a dish at all.

Furlan, being unable to cook for his life, had been put on permanent ingredient-gathering duty (read: theft) instead. Isabel, on the other hand, had an irritating tendency to get distracted, disappear off to fuck-knows-where with the food still on the stove, and promptly forget all about it. By the process of elimination, Levi had took over most of the cooking.

Being easy, flexible, and requiring very little attention, casserole had quickly become his signature dish. And yeah, he wouldn't call himself good by any means, but as far as he's concerned, no-one'd ever gotten food poisoning from a dish he'd made, which he counts a win.

Still, he figures that not poisoning anyone is a pretty low bar to set for a birthday dinner for his girlfriend.

For the eleventh time since entering the store, Levi wonders if he should just forget it. Get her some bauble or trinket, that glittery shit that girls always like. But against his will, Hanji's irritating voice drones in his head: something heartfelt. Something you wouldn't give to anyone else.

Levi scowls darkly at a shelf of cheese. "What the fuck's the difference between cheddar and mozzarella, anyway?" he mutters to himself, before giving up and shoving both into his basket.

He continues wandering through the store, grabbing whatever he thinks will go well together. He barely glances at the price tags as he goes, too distracted by his thoughts—does she like chickpeas? Or was it lentils? Are those different?

(Of course, he pays for his inattention dearly, when the cashier coolly informs him of his total and he almost chokes. Well, he really should've known; the storekeeper in the Underground always did seem to loathe them with an aggressive vengeance.)

Carrots—potatoes—beef. Levi measures out the ingredients carefully and scoops them into the pot, eyeing the stew bubbling cheerfully over on the stove, and allows himself a brief moment of smugness.

He's outdone himself, even if he says so himself. Everything's been planned, down to the last detail. In the morning, he'd presented Petra with a new fountain pen, a perfect decoy gift, especially since she'd mentioned earlier how she'd been needing one. He hadn't missed the flash of disappointment in her eyes—shitty Four-Eyes had been right for once, he supposes—but she'd schooled her expression into one of appropriate delight quickly enough, and exclaimed over it as necessary, and he'd known she'd fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

He's even timed this whole dinner thing perfectly, getting the guys to keep her back for a bit after training (which they'd agreed to, albeit with some snickering) so he could prep for the meal. She'd be in the showers now, he guesses; and now, with the brick oven all heated up and the dish nicely in place, he probably has about twenty, thirty minutes before the next step of the plan, when he'll go to retrieve her from her room under some pretense or another, lead her to the dining hall, and—

"Levi? What's going on?" Petra rubs her eyes, strolling into the room and and sniffing the air curiously. "Are you—are you cooking?"

What the fuck.

"Petra." He tries his best to block the stove, desperately searching for a way out. "You're back early. This is, uh...an experiment. For Hanji. It could blow up any second, so off you go now."

Petra does not oblige. Her eyes narrow, and she tries to peek around him. "Your experiment is stew?"

"It's not stew, it's...Titan bait," he improvises wildly, making her brows lift in disbelief. "Seriously, Petra. Go away." His eyes dart to the wall clock; he needs about fifteen more minutes, at least. "Didn't Eld...didn't the guys ask you to stay for a bit?"

She shrugs, still craning her neck to try to see the contents of the kitchen counter. There's a hint of a grin on her face now. "Auruo was bragging again about something-or-the-other, and bit his tongue, and I slipped away in the commotion. Levi, is that cake?"

"I told you, it's Titan bait. Now get out, that's an order." He tries to keep his tone cold and steely, a feat which is proving much more challenging than usual with his very pretty, very annoying girlfriend standing on tiptoe, trying her best to peek over his shoulder.

Judging by her expression of keen amusement, he fails quite spectacularly.

"Levi," his irrepressible subordinate goes, her eyes gleaming, "your cake—sorry, Titan bait—says 'Happy Birthday, Petra'."

With a frustrated exhale, he gives up trying to block her, and slumps back to the kitchen counter. Petra waits, tapping her foot, still looking thoroughly amused. Her hair is still damp from the showers, he notices. But despite the fact that she has a towel around her neck and is dressed in a ratty old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants—her standard evening attire—his breath catches in his throat. She's beautiful.

"Okay, fine," he grumbles, tearing his gaze away. "I'm cooking. It's for you. Happy birthday. You're still a brat."

She laughs, and the sound makes his lips pull into a reluctant smile, too. "I never took you for the domestic type, captain," she teases, leaning into him and winding her arms around his back. "Stew? But didn't you already give me a gift, though?"

"Casserole," he corrects. "It sounds fancier. And that was a decoy—this was supposed to be a surprise. I mean, I thought...since it's the first time you're having a birthday, well. With us, like. Together." He clears his throat, and silently wills himself not to do anything stupid and embarrassing, like—Walls forbid—blush. "Remind me to have a talk with Auruo, will you."

"Well, count me surprised," she says, leaning in and grinning up at him.

He rolls his eyes.

"Anyway. Since you're here so early," he goes, gazing at her with a look of utmost seriousness, "here. You can help to chop the onions."

Petra blinks, indignant. "Seriously?"

"Nah, I'm kidding. That's for ruining my surprise, you brat."

"...Levi?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Happy birthday, Petra."

#rivetra #levi x petra #attack on titan #levi ackerman #petra ral #aot fanfiction #candycity writes

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twstarchives · 4 years ago

Text

Make the Most Out of Life

Card: Dorm Uniform - SSR Characters: Ace, Cater, Riddle, Deuce, Rook, Heartslabyul students

Chapter 1

—HEARTSLABYUL DORM - LOUNGE—

Ace: Cater-senpai, put the card you picked back into the deck and I’ll shuffle it well.

Now that they’re all mixed up, I’ll guess which one your card is. Hm~...

The card you picked… is a five of diamonds!

Cater: Ehh~! Wow! How did you know~?!

Ace: Hehe, I used mind-reading magic on you. …Just kidding.

This is a magic trick using the “key card” principle.

It’s one of the most basic card tricks to be able to guess which card your spectator picked.

Anyone can do it if they learn the trick. Well, I also think you kinda need to be good with your hands to do it.

Cater: You said that was really basic, right? So can you do any other tricks, Ace-chan?

Ace: Hm, aside from cards, I can do a few kinds of table magic using cups and coins and things.

Cater: Really? Show me how to do an easy one! Maybe something that could impress the ladies at parties~☆

Ace: Sure! ...Well, that’s what I want to say. But I can’t just show you one for free.

Cater: There’s the catch~ Ace-chan, you’re actually pretty underhanded.

Ace: Well, yeah. You gotta make the most out of life.

How about you take over hedgehog care duty for me one time?

Then I’ll teach you two card tricks and one cup trick, as detailed as I can ♪

Riddle: You two. You look awfully excited for some reason. Have you finished your homework yet?

It’ll be off with your head if you’re just messing around instead of doing your work.

Ace: Oh, Dorm Leader! Perfect timing.

Could you pick one of these cards?

Riddle: Hah? What is this all of a sudden?

Ace: C’mon, just go with it. Give us five minutes of your time.

A little recreation is important for students to bond more. Right?

Riddle: Honestly… I suppose. …Alright. I’ve picked a card.

Cater: Riddle-kun, let me see which one you picked. ...King of hearts, huh?

Riddle: And what was the purpose of doing this?

Ace: Now I’m going to guess which card you picked.

Riddle: Oh, I see. You’re practicing clairvoyance magic.

Cater: Mm~ This is a little bit different.

It’s a magic trick. Ace-chan’s really good at them.

Riddle: A magic trick? Hmm… I’ve never seen one before.

Ace: Put your card back on top of the deck. Then I’ll shuffle it really well.

…Hey, Dorm Leader. Don’t look away; watch my hands carefully.

Now that the whole deck is shuffled, I’ll let you hold onto it.

Riddle: Okay…

Ace: I’m going to snap my fingers and focus on the cards. And then…

The one you picked will appear inside my jacket’s inner pocket!

Make sure to tightly hold onto the cards with both your hands so they don’t escape.

Riddle: …I don’t believe these cards have magic cast on them. How would they escape my hold?

Ace: C’mon, just go with it. …Ready? One, two, three!

Riddle: …Nothing happened.

Ace: Heheh! You’d think!

But inside my inner pocket… Look! One of the cards got away from you!

Riddle: !

Ace: This card is… the king of hearts! This is the one you picked, right?

Riddle: Yes. That’s correct.

Cater: Amazing! That’s way more advanced than the trick you showed me earlier.

Riddle: And… he didn’t use magic to take that card from my hands?

Ace: Nope! It’s just a trick.

Riddle: How does this work? And how did you know which card I chose? At what point did it get inside your pocket?

Cater: Ahaha! Riddle-kun, now you’re so invested in it~

Ace: I reacted the same way when my big brother first showed me this trick.

Riddle: Oh? I didn’t know you had a brother.

Ace: I never talked about him with you? He’s a Night Raven College grad.

And he was in Heartslabyul!

There’s not a lot to do for fun when you’re living in a dorm.

So he just played around with playing cards to kill time, and ended up building his magic repertoire.

Cater: So your brother taught you magic tricks?

Ace: Sorta… He didn’t just nicely teach me how to do them or anything.

It was more like, I watched him do them over and over again and learned by copying him.

Cater: I get it. So you’re the “skill stealer” type.

You’re super good at remembering things, huh, Ace-chan? And you’re a quick thinker.

Ace: I guess ♪ For most things, I can copy them after watching them a few times.

Unlike a certain clumsy goody-two-shoes, I’m pretty advanced.

Riddle: Since you’re so proud of your memorization skills, why don’t you show us?

By memorizing the rules of the Queen of Hearts and the timeline of magic history.

Ace: Gegh… That’s a whole different story! I suck at memorizing facts!

Riddle: Next week, the freshmen have a magic history quiz, don’t they? Deuce told me about it.

If you get any red marks, you won’t be having a seat at our Unbirthday Party next weekend.

Ace: Man… I thought I could distract you with a magic trick, but we’re back to talking about school…

Cater: Distractions don’t work against Riddle-kun, Ace-chan.

Riddle: Ace, what is your answer?

Ace: Yes, Dorm Leader!

Chapter 2

—HEARTSLABYUL DORM - HALLWAY—

Ace: Hm hm hmm~♪ Hm hm hmm~♪

Deuce: You look like you’re in a good mood, Ace. You’re humming to yourself.

Ace: Well, you know~ Today’s the Unbirthday Party.

They’re serving way fancier food than they normally do, and our demon dorm leader isn’t going to nag us if we don’t do our homework...

It puts me in a humming mood.

Heartslabyul Student A: Haha, you’re right. But we also have to focus on getting ready for it.

Ace: The freshmen are in charge of setting up for the croquet match and painting the roses, right?

Deuce: Yeah. First we should feed the flamingos and hedgehogs and clean their pens.

Ace: Okay, I’ll go take care of the hedgehogs.

Deuce: Then I’ll take the flamingos. When we’re done, let’s meet up in the rose maze.

—HEARTSLABYUL DORM - LOUNGE—

Ace: Alright, time to hurry up and take care of the hedgehogs.

C’mere, food!

Here, your water!

Cleanup next...

‘Kay, I’m done.

Heartslabyul Student A: Ohh, there, there, widdle hedgehogs. Make sure you woll as hawd as you can for the croquet game today, okay~?

Hedgehogs: Chee chee!

Ace: Egh, that’s weirding me out. Quit baby-talking to the hedgehogs.

Heartslabyul Student A: Oh! S-Sorry, force of habit... This is how I talk to my cat at home.

Ace: Hedgehogs don’t understand human language. Isn’t it pointless to talk to them?

I mean, you can’t communicate with animals unless you use their specific animal language anyway.

Heartslabyul Student B: But the dorm leader talks to them with human language all the time.

Heartslabyul Student A: Yeah. Well, he doesn’t use baby-talk like me, but still.

Heartslabyul Student B: Even if animals don’t understand your words, you can still get across how much you care for them.

Heartslabyul Student A: Yeah! The dorm leader even said, “It’s important to have good communication with your hedgehog and flamingo in croquet.”

“You should regularly take care of them to build up mutual trust.”

Heartslabyul Student B: I often see the dorm leader taking care of the hedgehogs even when he’s not on duty.

Ace: Our demon dorm leader really does that? Hmm.

That’s great he’s got a little kindness in him, but why doesn’t he ever show it to us students?

Heartslabyul Students: A-Ahaha...

Ace: Anyway, are you guys almost done cleaning? Next we gotta go paint the roses.

Heartslabyul Student A: Oh. I’m going to throw out the trash from cleaning those pens, so you can go on ahead.

Heartslabyul Student B: I’ll help you take it out. Ace, could you lock up the hedgehog cages?

Ace: Okay~♪

—HEARTSLABYUL DORM - ROSE MAZE—

Ace: (Alright. Now we have to hurry and paint the roses...)

(The dorm leader won’t see the back of the trees. So maybe I can just focus more on the places he can see.)

Riddle: Everyone!!

Deuce & Ace: Yes! Dorm Leader!

Riddle: Have you seen the hedgehogs anywhere near here?

Deuce: I haven’t... Did something happen?

Riddle: Every single one of them has disappeared from their cage.

Ace: Huh?!

Riddle: Whoever was in charge of taking care of them must’ve forgotten to lock it... Find the perpetrator! It’ll be off with their head!!

Ace: (No way, seriously?! The last person to lock the cages... was me...)

D-Dorm Leader! Shouldn’t our first priority be to find the hedgehogs?

Riddle: O-Oh... That’s true.

Hedgehogs are extremely cautious. It’ll be very difficult to track them down if they dug holes to hide in.

...What will I do if we never find them...?

Deuce: D-Don’t worry. We can find them... No, we will find them!

Ace: It hasn’t been that long since they disappeared, right?

Deuce: I’ll look around the croquet field!

Ace: I’ll try the other side of the dorm.

Riddle: I’m counting on you.

—HEARTSLABYUL DORM—

Ace: Crap... Is this my fault? No, I made sure to lock the cages... Didn’t I?

........

I don’t know! I wasn’t paying attention when I did it; I can’t remember...

If the dorm leader tries to figure out who the perpetrator was, he’ll find out I was in charge of locking the cages. And then...

Riddle: OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!

Ace: ...*shivers*

I-I have to find all the hedgehogs before Dorm Leader Riddle does!

Chapter 3

—HEARTSLABYUL DORM—

Ace: I-I have to find all the hedgehogs before Dorm Leader Riddle does!

...Or so I thought, but... where would the hedgehogs even be hiding?

I’ll search online using my phone... uhh, what does it say?

Hedgehogs are related to moles... They dig tunnel-like holes to nest in... Gegh!

So that’s what the dorm leader meant when he said they could dig holes to hide in!

They have timid temperaments... So maybe they ran somewhere without a lot of people. I’ll go try the woods.

—HEARTSLABYUL DORM - WOODS—

Ace: HEY!! ...Wait, would I put them even more on guard if I yell?

I remember at my friend’s house, their dog would come running at them the second it heard the sound of its food dish...

Well, I did bring some food. I’ll try making noise with the dish.

(Clatter clatter...) (Rustling!)

Ace: Ah!

Hedgehog: Chee chee!

Ace: That worked! I can’t believe the hedgehogs came out. I’m an absolute genius.

Now I have to catch it... Ah!

Hedgehog: Chee! Chee chee!!

Ace: Hey! Don’t run away!

Agh... It ran back into its hole in the ground! It’s so tiny, like a rabbit hole. I can’t even fit my arm in there...

Maybe if I gently poke it with a tree branch...

Hedgehog: Hiss~! Hiss!!

Ace: Oh no, it’s angry now. And it went further in!

C’mon, guys... Please? I’ll lose my head if I don’t get you to come back. And besides...

Riddle: ...What will I do if we never find them...?

Ace: Dorm Leader Riddle is really worried about you. He really loves you guys, you know?

So please, come back...

(They don’t understand human language. There’s no point in telling them this...)

(Rustling!)

Rook: You appear to be in trouble, Monsieur!

Ace: AGHH?!

Y-You scared me! Don’t start yelling out of nowhere! Anyway, who are you?!

What’s someone from another dorm doing at Heartslabyul?!

Rook: Hahaha, apologies for frightening you.

I’ve actually been behind you ever since you set foot into the woods. Perhaps I hid myself too well?

I’m the vice dorm leader of Pomefiore, Rook Hunt.

I had a reason for coming to Heartslabyul, but I’ve finished what I needed to.

I just thought I’d take the chance to watch the wildlife while I’m here, so I was in the middle of a stroll.

Ace: O-Oh, I see.

Rook: But then I encountered you—bent down on the ground, plagued by a grim resolve just screaming “Le miserable!”

Ace: So you saw everything... That’s embarrassing.

Well, I guess I don’t need to explain anything. I’m really busy right now, so could you go somewhere else?

Rook: Are you sure? I was hoping I could assist you with capturing those animals...

Ace: What?! Do you have any ideas?

Rook: Why don’t you try coercing them with animal language? Hedgehogs should be able to understand mole-speak.

Ace: You think I can speak an obscure language like mole-speak?!

You don’t even learn that unless you major in Animal Languages in university, let alone in high school!

Rook: I know a fair amount of mole-speak. I’ll teach you, so try to coerce them.

Ace: If you can speak it, please just do it yourself...

Rook: Non, non, Monsieur Heart. They’re very sensitive creatures.

Suppose I did get across to them—I’m still a stranger to them. They wouldn’t come out of their burrows for me.

Ace: (The party starts at 3PM. And it’s already a little after 2... Ahh, man...)

...Okay. I’ll do it!

I’ll try to learn mole-speak in one go.

Rook: Excellent spirit! Now, listen closely to how I pronounce them, and watch the way my mouth moves...

Chee chee! Jee jee chee! (Don’t be scared. I won’t do anything to you.)

Ace: (...He didn’t move his lips at all. That sound came from his teeth and tongue, like he was making a tsk! sound.)

——Alright, I memorized it. “Chee chee! Jee jee chee!” (Don’t be scared. I won’t do anything to you.)

How was that? Did I say it?

Rook: Marvelous! That pronunciation was truly wonderful. You really are capable of learning in one go.

Ace: I might forget it right after, so hurry and tell me what to say next!

Rook: Oui, the next phrase is...

Ace: Jee jeejee! Chee cheechee chee! (Come out. Everyone’s worried.)

Hedgehogs: ...Chee... cheechee.

(Rustling!)

Ace: I-It worked! The hedgehogs are coming out of the hole!

Rook: Oh, fantastic!

They could feel your passion in the words you spoke, Monsieur Heart!

Ace: One, two, three... Good, they’re all here.

Hah... Now I won’t be losing my head...

Um, Rook-senpai... right? Thanks a lot for your help!

Rook: Of course. Roi des Roses truly does have a fine servant.

—HEARTSLABYUL DORM—

Riddle: It’s already been two hours since the hedgehogs escaped... and we haven’t found a single one.

Ace: Dorm Leader~! Dorm Leader Riddle~!

Riddle: Ah...!

Ace: The hedgehogs were there! I found them all!

Riddle: Thank goodness...! You guys aren’t hurt anywhere, are you?!

Ace: They’re all safe. Ow, ow, hey! Don’t climb on my head!

Riddle: Hehe, they seem to like you very much.

I’m so glad you found them... Thank you, Ace.

Ace: ...Hah. I wish he’d smile more like he’s doing now instead of always being nagging and angry.

Riddle: Hm? Did you say something?

Ace: Oh, just that... something like this is no problem if I’m doing it for you!

‘Cause I ace everything!

#ace trappola #personal story #dorm uniform

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magioftheseas · 3 years ago

Text

Sonia & Yasuke

Summary: Sonia Nevermind’s FTEs in the SDR2 Protagonist Matsuda Yasuke AU. FUCK YES. A slightly divergent take on the originals.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Language. Brief discussions of cults and kidnapping.

Notes: Sonia was neck and neck with Tanaka for the poll and I was going to do hers soon anyway, so I just went ahead. Sometimes, life just shakes out that way. I really do love Sonia so much. The bias is strongest for Sonia, so I really hope I did her justice. Only the best for our kween. (Btw, the formatting for this couldn’t fully carry through so some stylistic choices on Ao3 are absent here.)

Read this fic among others HERE

Main story is HERE

Commission? Donate?

He supposed he had been in an antsier mood than usual. In one hand, he read his manga. In the other, he played with and twirled around a pen. He’s practiced enough that he doesn’t need to look. It’s just something for his other hand to do. Something that would, ideally, work off some jitters.

He had almost been too worked up to read. Unfortunately, he’s still having a hard time trying to get into the book. He can’t tell if it’s because the story is dragging itself or because he’s just not in the right headspace. What a nuisance.

He catches the pen between his knuckles, tapping the end against the table. A surprised gasp. A round of applause. Matsuda glances over his book to meet the beaming face of a certain princess. Even in a hotel this cafeteria this tacky, she shone like a precious jewel.

What a nuisance. Except—

“So impressive, Matsuda-san!” she squealed. “You truly have fury skillz, yo!”

I guess of all the people here, she’s the most tolerable.

“Impressive, huh,” he mused. “I could probably twirl a scalpel, too.”

“Ooh!” Sonia clasped her hands. “Matsuda-san! Will you perform?!”

“No.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to risk cutting my fingers just to show off. I’ll twirl the pen some more.”

“Oh, I understand...” Quieting, Sonia still watched him twirl with intent eyes. It’s like he’s center stage at an opera house. Sonia hums and her fingers even twitch along. “Matsuda-san, such talented fingers... I truly do applaud you.”

Matsuda flipped the pen, catching it before it fell to the ground. Sonia let out another gasp and clapped some more, giggling.

“Bravo, bravo!”

Jeez. She’s so likable that it’s sickening.

It’s almost like he wouldn’t have a choice in the matter should the two of them become friends.

I guess...there are worse relationships to be forced into. Even if I already have a headache.

Still, the mood couldn’t help but be lightened whenever Sonia laughed. Scary.

His fingers were a bit aching, and holding a cold drink alleviated some of the stinging. Sonia, ever the prim and proper young lady with her mouth shut, simply sipped tea from across the table. The picture of elegance. Even in a cafeteria this tacky.

But it’s not like any location short of the azure sky and sapphire ocean could do someone like her justice.

“This island truly is sublime,” Sonia hummed. “The weather is always so serene, and the ocean is as blue as it is endless! Truly! It’s a perfect resort, wouldn’t you say, Matsuda-san?”

“I don’t know if I’d go as far as to say perfect,” he replied. “There’s a little too much fucking walking. I’m not big on sweating.”

Even if big hospitals had fancier equipment, I still hated having to rush back and forth.

“To be more contained can have its benefits,” Sonia agreed good-naturedly. “Still, I must say I am quite happy with what we have.”

Matsuda hummed right back.

Happy...

“Situation could be better,” he said. “Would really fucking love if we weren’t being held hostage by a homicidal fucking bear.”

“Indeed,” Sonia agreed solemnly. “Quite regrettable.”

Matsuda waited for her to continue, but she merely took another elegant sip. Still the picture of calm. Sonia’s eyes do flicker open and it’s then that Matsuda takes notice of the color. They’re a clear, soft green. It’s a unique shade. One he thinks he’s only seen in...

“As long as no murders take place, everything will be alright,” Sonia spoke with conviction. “What happens next...will depend on our own inclinations and choices.”

I shouldn’t compare them too much.

“That’s a reductive way of looking at it,” he said. “Even if we have the resolve, I don’t doubt that our hands are going to be forced.”

Sonia slammed her cup onto the table. It cracked just the slightest bit.

“Then, we should cooperate with one another so that we can return home as quickly as we can,” she said sunnily. “Matsuda-san, I trust you to tell me any ideas you may come up with. I shall do what I can.”

“Well...” Matsuda directed his stare towards one of the security cameras. “We’d first have to come up with something to do about those.”

“If we simply shattered them, we would get punished severely,” Sonia recalled, lamenting as she did. “We would have to act... And perhaps...”

She dropped into lower mumbles that Matsuda couldn’t make out. Perhaps out of precaution, in case they were being recorded. Matsuda watches her sink deeper and deeper into thought.

Even she can’t be serene and optimistic all the time. She’s still managing better than anyone else here.

“Do you understand, Matsuda-san?” she asked, tone serious. “Or must I repeat myself?”

“If you did, it’d have to be a little louder, so it’d be better if you could write it down discretely and pass it to me later,” he said, sighing. “It’s a little too risky discussing anything out in the open.”

Sonia clapped with glee.

“A handsome remark! This is why I know I can rely on your intelligence and wit, Matsuda-san.” She gave a few nods of approval. “It might be better for our moral to chat amiably for now.” With a dazzling smile, she then inquired, “Is there anything you’d like to ask of me?”

Matsuda blinked at her.

“Not really.” I am curious about one thing. Given the circumstances, it’s best to hold off on that. “What about you?”

“There is something! That I AM quite curious about!” Sonia exclaimed, suddenly excited. “Who has captured your heart? And who do you plan to settle on?!”

Matsuda stared.

“...?”

His head tilted in confusion, so Sonia went on to explain.

“This situation—it is similar to The Summer Story of Seven Men and Seven Women, wouldn’t you say?! The standard practice, then, is to start wavering and swapping partners!”

“The...J-drama?” he asked, no less confused but Sonia was more incited regardless.

“No just the J-drama, the legendary J-drama! The original trendsetter! Starting with an upbeat tone... Before shifting to surprisingly serious!” she swooned. “I couldn’t believe my eyes, and yet I couldn’t look away! Momoko’s feelings...! Wow, so intense!”

“Uh-huh...” Matsuda’s eyes rolled back. “Well... I’m not sleeping with anyone on this stupid fucking island, so it’s not going to be that similar. That, and there are more guys here than girls to begin with...”

“That is true!” Sonia gasped. “Someone will have to be unlucky! I wonder... Who it will be...?”

Didn’t I just say I wasn’t going to...? Not to mention some of the guys flat-out wouldn’t be interested. Although I don’t think that’ll keep someone from being unlucky, huh...

It looked like he wouldn’t get in another word in edgewise.

This still isn’t going to fix the declining birthrate.

At least Sonia seemed to be having a hella time theorizing. Matsuda just let her...do that.

“I managed to find a couple of books on Novoselic,” he said, setting the stack of books on the table before a sparkly-eyed Sonia. “Since we don’t have the internet, this was the best I could scrounge up and even then I don’t know if they’re all that accurate.”

“Oh, Matsuda-san, I would have told you anything you needed to know!” She does take one of the books. “That said, I recognize this author. You can trust them! Oh, but this one...” She takes another, frowning. “If I recall... No. You should not trust this one at all. In fact, I would burn every copy of this book.”

“I could kind of tell from the tone,” Matsuda hummed, setting it apart and pushing it far away. Sonia’s frown was still a deep mar on her face. “So, these books are accurate?”

“As I have said, Matsuda-san, I do not mind telling you about my country,” she said, smiling again. “Or! Is this courting? I’m afraid I will have to sadly decline, much as this feels like something out of a J-drama...”

She says while looking disappointed in herself...

“It’s more that I thought you should know what other people are writing about your country,” he said. He paused. “Ah, I guess that was pretty presumptuous of me.”

“Not at all!” Sonia shook her head. “Awareness and control of the media are essential! Not to mention you have informed me of quite the pressed issue! I will have to take care of it when I return...is what a responsible, attentive ruler would say.” She sighed. “Sadly, I will have to inform others and hope for the best.”

She has said in the past that she’s more of a figurehead than a leader.

“That’s a part of being young,” he remarked. “Don’t let it get you down too much. Just prepare for the future to the best of your ability.”

Sonia does giggle at that.

“Matsuda-san... Sometimes, you remind me of the male lead in a J-drama.”

“No comment.”

She laughs again. “In my humblest opinion, the best J-dramas are the ones aimed at women between the ages of 20 to 34. Just before Japan’s economic bubble burst! You would not believe how many times I have seen I Will Arrest Your Eyes! Why, when I first arrived in Japan, the first thing I did was run across the Spain-zaka!”

As fascinating as that all is, what gets my attention is...

“Hold it. Were you calling me mature or were you suggesting that I speak like an old man?”

“You certainly do have a worldly weariness to you, Matsuda-san,” Sonia went on to sigh. “Broody and broken down by life... While it would be attractive on the screen, it is worrisome and exhausting in person.” She perked right back up. “But have no fear! For a fairly dreamy maniac will someday come into your life! And the two of you can partake in the ritual entrapped within the blizzard!”

“I hate the cold,” is Matsuda’s only reply to whatever the fuck all of that was.

“Then when will you cuddle under a blanket in the nude?!” Sonia gasped, aghast. “Will you do so at a different temperature?! Is the blizzard not necessary after all?!”

“First off, you’re referring to a cliché rather than a ritual,” Matsuda said, waving his hand. “Shouldn’t the fact that it was happening during a damn blizzard tipped you off? Not every couple is going to go to the fucking mountains.”

“So...” Sonia quieted. “It is not like the Makango?”

The Makango? Matsuda remembered. Ah, the Makango.

“We don’t have anything like that as far as I’m aware,” he said. “Mind you, I’m...not aware of much...”

Thinking about this gives me a headache. Actually, it really, really fucking hurts right now.

“I see...” Sonia pursed her lips. “So peculiar. Oh!” She blinked, realizing. “Matsuda-san, you look pale.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing his forehead with a wince. “I think... I’m gonna check out.”

“You should check out what’s wrong with you!” she exclaimed. “Do better for yourself, Matsuda-san!”

“...right.”

On that note, there wasn’t anything else to do but stumble out.

It’s another calm day at the library. Sonia, however, snaps up immediately when Matsuda walks inside. It’s scary how alert the princess is, but that was probably a good thing considering her situation. Matsuda sighed, waving and taking in how she lit up and eagerly saluted him.

He also takes notice of the book that Sonia had been reading. The cover—looks quite gruesome.

“How are you feeling?” Sonia asked kindly. “You are not in pain, yes? Matsuda-san?”

“I’m doing fine,” he said, stretching as he makes his way over. “I’ve been dealing with headache after headache since I got here, so I’ve gotten used to them.”

“I see,” Sonia murmured, downcast and sympathetic. “I will trust you to your own mechanics.”

“Devices,” Matsuda corrected without thinking as he seated himself. “Anyway, I’ll be reading. Don’t mind me.”

He does pull out a manga he brought with him—the library was just a better environment for reading than the cafeteria hence him making the trip. He cracks it open, but he doesn’t get very long to enjoy it. He gets maybe five minutes before there’s a nudge at his side.

He ignores it, but Sonia elbows him with enough force that he nearly yelps. With a now throbbing side, his gaze drops to see a folded-up piece of paper tucked between Sonia’s delicate fingers. Her nails are perfectly manicured yet polished to give off the illusion of natural beauty.

Hm.

He takes the paper, unfolding it and—

What do you know about the occult?

Sonia is feigning innocence. She’s scarily good at it. If not for the flicker of her intense stare to his, he wouldn’t have suspected a thing. That...and his side still...stings. Seriously the princess had a bony fucking elbow.

“Princess. What the hell is this?”

“Shush!” she ordered and he dutifully shut his mouth without a second thought. Sonia looked around discretely, lowering her voice as she leaned in to whisper into his ear. “Any information you have on cults would also be appreciated, Matsuda-san.”

No, seriously, what the fuck?

He does try to make sense of it. If Sonia felt the need to convey these questions inconspicuously, then, maybe—?

He takes out a pen and writes down his response. He hands it under the table for Sonia to read.

Do you think our kidnappers are part of a cult?

“Oh!” Sonia gasped. “I never thought of that! What a fascinating theory!”

Guuuuuuess not.

“If it just interests you, you don’t have to be so fucking secretive,” he griped. “Just ask me outright like a normal fucking person.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized quickly. “I truly didn’t think the way I was conducting myself was...regal. They pass notes like so in the dramas. Is that not normal behavior, Matsuda-san?”

Oh.

“I...no, actually...” Matsuda shrugged helplessly. “I...guess that is in fact a way high schoolers communicate sometimes...”

I haven’t gone to a normal high school...or a normal middle school for that matter.

“It is quite—unheard of if not prohibited for a princess to have such interests,” Sonia sighed. “But even if it is forbidden, my heart still longs for more when it comes to the subject of Freemasonry! Oh, but it’s purely academic!” She looks quite serious as she insists, “I could never dream of conspiring against the government.”

“A lot of people do find that stuff interesting,” Matsuda said. Sonia lit up only to deflate when he added, “I don’t think it’s that deep.”

“No?” Her head tilted. “You think it...kiddy?”

“In a way,” he admitted. “Cultism comes about through societal failings and instability. Political turmoil, lack of education, paranoia, peer pressure... People long for a sense of community by nature and they’re drawn to a charismatic figure who knows how to prey on the insecure and vulnerable. People just want someone else to tell them what to do, what to think, like fucking children and obviously, obviously, they get taken advantage of by the worst fucking types...”

Sonia’s eyes were wide.

“Oh! Matsuda-san, have you been in a cult before?!”

Matsuda immediately jolted. For some reason, he broke into a sweat. For another, his head hurt so much that he wanted to shut down then and there.

“...Matsuda-san?”

He needed to grip his hand and will them to stop shaking.

“...I... No.” He shook his head firmly, digging his nails into his arm, would’ve raked them through the flesh if not for the sleeve of his coat. “It’s, uh, just something I read one time.”

“You are looking quite pale,” Sonia remarked worriedly. “I apologize, Matsuda-san. I—think we should drop the subject for now. I do not wish to cause you untoward pain any longer.”

She draws back from him as if he’s too fragile to be near. It’s seriously annoying, especially when not only does Sonia look stricken with guilt, she also looks lonely.

“I...” He swallowed. “While I don’t think much of it, I do think it’s important to understand. It isn’t productive to just...dismiss it wholesale.”

Sonia does perk up.

“I agree,” she says, albeit tentative as she does. “To dismiss a different sense of values due to ignorance is foolish. Such ignorance leads to bloodshed. And—it is important for a member of the royal to expand one’s knowledge.”

He nods.

“I just...” He wants to bite his tongue clean off. “I guess it’s a sore subject for me...”

But w̴̟̹̠͐̿̋ḧ̶̟́y̷̘͓͛?

“I understand.” Sonia nodded back. “I apologize.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “Just...do what you can to guide your people right.”

With that, he gets up.

“Sorry,” he said, acting on autopilot now. “I need to go.”

He doesn’t look back.

“Oh, Matsuda-san!”

As usual, Sonia looked delighted to see him.

“What a pleasant surprise!” she exclaimed, every word dripping with sincerity. “Come, come! Sit with me! There is much I wish to discuss with you!”

“Yeah?” The closer he comes, the more she can see her stack of books. Quite a few of them have been shoved away, but the other titles—there actually seemed to be a couple of romance novels and recognizable manga. “What about...?”

Those are titles that have been adapted into TV dramas.

“The friendship between men and women as depicted in Turn On The Heart,” she explained. “If you do not know that title, then will a different J-drama suffice? Perhaps one of these?”

She offers one of the manga. Her intentions are clear, and he truly appreciates the gesture—but he’s read that title. It was one of the worst fucking things he ever skipped through. The love interest in it was just scary. And he was a spoiled rich brat. Urgh.

But the princess really isn’t that bad. She’s really trying to get along with me. Not a lot of people have done that unless they wanted in my pants or something.

He’s not so fucking full of himself that he’d assumed a goddamn princess would be interested. That, and he’s conscientious of that shit to begin with. Sonia was just friendly, not flirty.

“I do mostly read manga,” he said. “I guess I could recommend a title or two that’s been adapted?”

I haven’t watched a lot of dramas actually. I’ve had them going on in the background, but that’s...

His sharp eyes do notice the titles that Sonia had pushed away. They were various studies on cults throughout history. And an anthology on ghost stories.

“Matsuda-san.” When Sonia spoke, her tone was low. She stood up and bowed, making him jump. “I wish to sincerely apologize from the bottom of my heart! If I could, I’d throw myself at your feet! Alas, it’s improper for a princess...! I’m so fucking sorry!”

“Wow.” He didn’t even know how to respond. “If this is about what happened last time, it’s fine. It’s water under the bridge. I...”

I actually—don’t remember what happened. I ended up taking a lot more pills than I should’ve.

“Still!” Sonia exclaimed, shaking her head. “I asked you a very inappropriate question! It was quite uncouth! Thus—I wish to make out with you for it!”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, meaning it figuratively and literally. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?!” Sonia’s frown deepened. “I... Despite my status, here I would like to be equals, Matsuda-san. Is that not possible?”

Equals, huh.

“When I came to Japan, I thought I could be considered a normal girl,” she said, and it sounded like a confession. “Perhaps...that had been...immature of me.”

It is immature, Matsuda agreed with as he bit his tongue. It’s beyond fucking immature. Even if you learn the language and go along with trends, you live in a fucking castle, Sonia. That’s not normal at all. Normal people are one bad fucking month away from losing everything they care about. It’ll take more than a damn month for a monarchy to topple. Especially one that’s absolute.

“If you insist so much, can I ask you a question?” He studied the way she perked up. How annoyingly eager she was to hear it. And how he—“It’s not going to be a pleasant one.”

“As long as it is about my personal inclinations or government secrets, I am willing to speak about it,” she told him, smiling sweetly.

She really was so painfully sweet sometimes.

Ä̷̮̖͇́̅̅͝ ̷̬̎̽c̴̨̛̥̳̙̔̈̊ͅo̵͕̤͠ṃ̵̻̒ͅp̸̭͕̽͝l̸͍͈͎̀è̶̛̝̫̒͗͝t̸̗͒̂̐e̴̛̳͔̾͐ ̵̧̼̐ô̸̞͇̖͋̽̀́ͅp̵͉̘͗̅̍͝p̴̖̙͑̊̒̆o̸̧͙̹̘̠͂s̴͈̀̕ị̶͇̅͛͝t̶͉͊e̴̲͈̩̫͠ ̴͔̺͔̙͗́̓̓̋f̶̺͂̚͘r̴̛̘̾͝o̶͍̭̯̖͐̐̓͛m̶̳͑̋—̷̱̘̩͙͓̇͒̏̋̉

“This isn’t your first time being kidnapped.”

It hadn’t been a question, despite himself. But a statement. A statement that drained all that sweetness from Sonia’s face, leaving behind calm stoicism. She looks so at ease and unshakeable that Matsuda could draw several conclusions if he wanted to.

But it seems tacky to make assumptions about what were traumatic experiences, regardless of those involved.

“I’ve read up on your country and there were reports of the royal family being abducted by insurgents,” he said, keeping his voice level. “It hadn’t mentioned those affected by name...but you were among them, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Sonia spoke as if she were untouchable. “I was.”

“No wonder you’re so damn calm about all this,” Matsuda went to remark. “It’s not your first time. And...quite fucking frankly, this is literally the Bahamas of hostage situations.”

“Haha, I do not think we are in the Bahamas, Matsuda-san,” she replied, casual—but still with that flaring distance. “I believe we are in the middle of the Pacific, rather.”

...hah.

“That’s not important,” he snapped. “What was important was... Clearing the air, so to speak.”

“I see.” Sonia agreed with him like he’d kill her if she didn’t. “Then, have I been to your satisfaction, Matsuda-san?”

Matsuda stared at her. He reached out, and she didn’t even flinch. Not even when he snapped his fingers in front of her. Impressive, honestly.

She’s completely shut down.

“Do you want to talk about dramas? I kind of enjoyed Hana-Kimi.”

Sonia blinked, and it was like nothing happened at all. Especially with how she went back to smiling as she always did, dazzlingly open and amicable.

“I haven’t heard of it! Please tell me all about it!”

“If I remember correctly there were like, four adaptations, the first Taiwanese and the most recent a K-drama, actually, so...”

The two of them chat lightly like this for a while. Like a normal pair of high schoolers.

“Greetings, Matsuda-san! I have read the illustrious Hana-Kimi! And! I enjoyed it!”

“Good to hear...”

“There is much I wish to discuss about it!” Sonia exclaimed, but there was something strange. Her smile was so wide it looked strained. She was wearing more makeup than usual, especially on her cheeks and around the eyes. “I would also like to hear more recommendations, so...”

“Rough night?” Matsuda asked, and Sonia shut her mouth.

For a second, Sonia looked lost before she gave a weak laugh.

“Ahaha, I should’ve known that Matsuda-san would not be fooled. You’re quite sharp, after all. It’s one of the reasons I admire you.”

“Did you want me to pretend nothing was wrong?” Matsuda huffed. “I’d rather you not have to force yourself around me. With how shitty my attitude is, I’d be a hypocrite if I expected everyone on their best behavior....especially in this situation.”

“Truth be told, I do not mind it,” Sonia murmured. “In a way... I find it refreshing. Around Matsuda-san, I can just scream at the top of my lungs—Jesus Fucking Christ Bastard Of A Fuckity Fuck Bitch! And you wouldn’t bat a tongue-lash!” She took a deep breath. “That said...if we are to discuss further. I’d prefer we do so in my cottage.”

“Fine by me,” was Matsuda’s immediate response. That was all there was to it.

Without another word, he followed Sonia to her cottage. She led him inside, and the interior was so fancy that he felt like he’d be stoned if he didn’t remove his shoes right away.

Polished floors, elegant rugs, ivory silk sheets, and plush furniture—even a damn chandelier hanging about them... It at least looked like the inside of a high-end hotel suite. Even the way plants were arranged from the ones hanging from the wall to the potted plant in the corner and the vase on the table by a wide-screen television felt so prestigious and artful.

“Would you like a seat?” Sonia asked, indicating a loveseat that definitely costed more than he could get selling his ass on the street for a week. He sits down on it anyway. It’s annoying supple, and he can’t help but relax. Sonia is giggling at him, “I apologize for any messes. I am still getting a handle on cleaning as it were. And the shower.”

The rug had been a little damp under his feet. She must’ve accidentally flooded the floor. He should probably help her wash it so that it didn’t contract mold, but... There were more pressing matters.

Sonia clearly wanted to speak to him, but she was just standing there. Fidgeting and wavering.

“Nightmare?” he guessed. “Homesickness?”

“Both,” Sonia replied, chuckling a little. “As well as—that conversation we had earlier...weighing on my mind...”

Matsuda clicked his tongue but said nothing. Gave Sonia the time to take a deep breath.

“Back then, I was not permitted to show fear for my people’s sakes,” she recounted. “I was, after all, a princess before a person. But here... I do not know what I should do. Must I wait in silence for rescue? Shall I allow myself to scream and cry?” She was fidgeting. No, she was trying to distract herself from how badly her hands were shaking. “Say, Matsuda-san... You are...quite intelligent. And you never—you do not sweet talk. Tell me...what I should do.”

Matsuda stared at her. She kept her head bowed.

“Fuck if I know.” Matsuda sighed loudly. “Like holy shit, why you think I’ll know what to do? That’s illogical as fuck. You’re just being a coward by forcing someone else to make the decisions, princess.”

“I am aware,” she whispered.

“I’m not Togami,” he said. “I’m not going to seize control and tell everyone that it’s going to be fine. I’m...”

...not going to lie about that shit.

“I thought not.” Sonia laughs again. It’s almost an ugly sound. Scratchy and unbalanced, completely unbefitting and yet—perfect in this situation. “Matsuda-san, you may have the signals of a legendary hero... But, in reality, your scowling face is too remarkable.”

...

What the fuck did that even mean?

“The legendary hero of legend,” Sonia reiterated with the utmost seriousness. “The only fault with that—is your face, Matsuda-san! It’s not just remarkable, it’s beautiful!”

What the FUCK is she talking about?

“I would still like to take you with me to my kingdom, once we escape from here,” Sonia went on. “Even if you are not a destined one, you would make for a wonderful advisor and companion. I wish to continue our conversations—and even if it is cowardly, I also wish to look towards you in times of need.”

What the fuck is going on?!

“I...” He’s confused. He’s so hopelessly confused. And yet... And yet... “I heard the medical practice in your country is nothing to sneeze at...so I can’t deny being interested.”

“Splendid! Then—let us continue working together, Matsuda-san!” Sonia clapped her hands. Another dazzling smile, an even more radiant laugh. Just like that, she was back at peak princess. “Ho, ho, hey!”

“Hey, hey, ho...”

Despite that, there’s a lot unsaid. We haven’t really talked, either. We’re just pushing on with forced optimism, filling our heads with empty reassurances and promises in the hope that it’ll be enough to carry us through.

It could very well be. In a situation like this, keeping ahold of one’s morale was pretty fucking prudent. Even if he and Sonia knew shit all about how to lead, they had no choice but to keep stumbling and scrambling. Hoping for the best.

Sometimes... That’s all we really need.

#sdr2 #sonia nevermind #yasuke matsuda #matsuda yasuke #dr0 #Magi fics #Protag Matsun

16 notes · View notes

hazbincalifornia · 4 years ago

Text

Shirt

Chapter 17: The morning after chapter 16′s snuggle-times.

Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!

Warnings: Mpreg, mentions of masturbation but nothing descriptive

Ao3 link

The alarm blared some terrible pop-punk abomination with too many synthesizers as Blitzo groaned, fumbling around some fuzzy thing to slam his fist into the clock and feeling more than hearing it crack. Damned cheap plastic. He stretched with a yawn, smacking his lips before realizing that there was a feather stuck to his tongue.

“Gah!” He jolted back upon realizing that Stolas was laying on his bed, eyes open and the edges of his beak curled in a bemused expression.

“Good morning.”

“Nearly gave me a-” Blitzo cleared his throat before taking a deep breath. “Right. Why are you still here?”

“You called me over, remember?” Stolas lazily reached over to the bedside table, plucking up his phone and waving it. “You wanted help sleeping, and I helped. You were snoozing like a baby when I woke up a bit ago, all snuggled against me like a little stuffed toy…”

Blitzo’s tail curled idly around the pillow, lifting it up so he could pick fluff out of the tear in the side. “Right. Well, whatever it was, it worked. I at least stayed asleep until the alarm went off- aaaaaand you’re touching me again.”

Stolas’s hands had found their way to Blitzo’s gut, fingers pressing the fabric down so it contoured more obviously around the baby bump. “It’s just… oh, I’m so excited! It will be wonderful getting to see another child grow up, and seeing you playing with them! You seem fond of treating your hellhound above her station, aren’t you? You’ll do well with a normal child too!”

“‘Uh… huh.” Blitzo said, only half-listening and trying not to drift off again as Stolas massaged his fingers over the sensitive skin. Stolas didn’t seem to notice the pause, and Blitzo’s middle glowed red and warm as he started using magic. “Hey, don’t mutate them in there, I’m counting on them not ripping straight out from under my abs.”

“I’m just checking on them… I can’t tell any specifics, but they seem to be healthy enough, and I think I can sense a long tail. No telling what kind it would be, though, so that doesn’t tell us much considering we both have one, does it?” He gave a little hooty laugh before glancing over at the now-cracked clock. “I must be going, there’s plenty to do- Stella is going on a vacation soon, and we need to have things settled back at the mansion before she does.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Blitzo waved a hand, brushing feathers off his shirt. “Go ahead, do whatever boring rich-boy shit you normally do when you aren’t calling me up.”

“I’ll be seeing you soon,” Stolas said, pecking a kiss on Blitzo’s forehead before he pulled his shirt off.

“Uh, you leaving typically means you’ll be getting less naked, not more,” Blitzo pointed out. Stolas simply hummed as he rummaged around in his duffel bag, extracting a neatly-folded collared shirt that looked far fancier than the one he’d slept over in.

“Those were my casual clothes, silly. I didn’t want to get anything important dirty. Shouldn’t you be getting dressed as well? I assume you have things to do yourself.”

“Of course I do!” Blitzo hurried over to his closet, pulling his own shirt over his head. Stolas whistled as the now-bare muscles flexed, and Blitzo rummaged through his closet. “While you’re here, I need some cash for new clothes. You saw how I ran out of shit the other day, and I can’t work when everything’s suddenly a crop top. I mean, I could rock it if I did some crafting to make them look like that on purpose, but you get my drift.”

“I might have some in here, I wasn’t sure if I would need any on the ride home,” Stolas replied, unzipping one side and pulling out a seed packet and a small book. A second pocket contained a condom and a pair of scissors, but the third had a small wad of cash. “Would this be enough?”

“Probably. I haven’t outgrown all of my pants yet, I mostly need shirts,” Blitzo said as Stolas set the money down on the bedside table after extracting a few bills. “Do you just carry around giant hunks of dough like that?”

“I’ve needed it a few times, and it pays to be prepared.” Stolas shrugged. “Anyway, I must be off. Good luck at work.”

“You too,” Blitzo said, resigning himself to just sitting back behind his desk for the briefing and picking something that matched his skin so it wouldn’t be as obvious. M&M wouldn't make jokes if they knew what was good for them.

By the time he turned around, Stolas had disappeared along with his duffel bag, but he’d left his shirt behind. Maybe he was just used to servants picking up after him, ugh. Well, Blitzo wasn’t going to deal with that right now. It looked soft, though, and he idly rubbed his fingers over the fabric, wishing he had something similar in his size. It felt just as nice as it had last night. Smelled nice too- waitwhatwhywashesmellingit?

The imp only realized he was sniffing the shirt when it was pressed up against his face. He balled it up and chucked it across the room, groaning as he pressed his legs together to hide a rising problem. Fuck. This was a problem for later-Blitzo, he had to be at work in half an hour. He could just jerk off when he got there. The chair was a better angle for it anyway.

The TV was on when Blitzo made his way to the kitchen- some commercial about a new erotica store down the street. Loona was on her phone and halfway through a cup of coffee, and Blitzo glared at her for daring to be able to consume as much caffeine as she wanted before filling a cup with cold water and splashing it directly on his face.

“Have fun?”

“We just fell asleep. He didn’t try any shit, at least,” Blitzo said, grabbing a toaster pastry and popping it into the toaster.

“Huh.” She shrugged, going back to her phone, and Blitzo resisted the urge to grind his thighs together.

It was going to be a very long day.

__________________

“And then, and then Tommy got into a fight with Anna, and I couldn’t let that stand-”

Geez, the bitch never shut up, did she? Blitzo’s fingertips drummed on his desk as he watched the client pace around in circles. Her head looked like a megaphone, and satan, her voice was blaring out like one. The story probably would have been entertaining any other day- it had involved cooking meth and moonshine, a police raid, two trips to the psych ward, and the CPS getting involved- but her voice was a lot more annoying in person than it had been over texts. It had a deep accent, but he couldn’t tell exactly where it was from.

(Plus she’d already been waiting when he arrived, so he hadn’t been able to rub one out, and it was warm as fuck in there because the A/C must have broken again, sweat dripping down his back and making his underwear stick directly to his ass.)

“Anyway, I need you to take out Tommy, Kate, and Elodie Jenkins, and then Alex, Alex Jr, Sloth, and Amy Brigby. Do not kill the kids, but if little Joey in particular gets caught in the crossfire I can’t say I’ll be up crying about it.” She turned and Blitzo jolted back to attention- his elbows had settled on the desk, chin in his hands. “Hey, were you even listening to me?”

“What? Sure, sure, you want us knocking off Tommy and Katie and Ellie and the Alexes and… Sluth? The hell kind of name is that?”

Her hands curled into fists, and she stomped her foot hard enough to rattle the bobbleheads on his desk. “Sloth! It was a nickname- are you gonna take the job or not?”

“We’ll take it, just write them down with descriptions. When there’s multiple targets, especially when they’re close to each other, we want to make sure we don’t take the wrong ones,” Blitzo said, tossing over a notepad and pen. She narrowed her eyes at him before scribbling them down.

“There.”

“Works for me. We’ll get right on it, then.”

She stuck out her hand to shake, and Blitzo rolled his eyes before standing up to lean over the desk. Her eyes darted down and he reached for her, squeezing the fingers hard enough to hear a crack.

“Ow! What the fuck, asshole?”

“I said, we’ll get right on it.”

“Are you- you’re a skinny bitch, what’s with the gut? You an alcoholic or something?”

Blitzo had to resist the urge to see if the button on her neck could actually switch her voice off. “Is that any of your goddamn business?” He shot back.

“It is if it keeps you from carrying out the hit for me!” She snapped her hand away, and Blitzo snarled.

“It won’t. We can still all perform our jobs just fine, and we’ll bring back their heads on a pike if you want, got it?” His lip curled up. “And I’m not fat!”

“No need to be so moody about it. I’ve got the cash, just tell me they’re dead. I wanna sock Sloth a good one when he ends up down here.”

“I’m not moody either.”

“Just do the fucking job and you'll get your money, I didn't think this would be so hard." She rubbed her hand on the way out and gave a growl that doubled over on itself with static-y feedback. When the door clicked shut, Blitzo collapsed back into his chair, scrubbing at his warm cheeks.

He needed a drink, but was going to have to satisfy himself with a leftover doughnut stuffed in his horse-toy drawer. Joy. At least he’d have fifteen minutes to jerk off before his other employees got here- right now, he'd take what he could get as a feather fluttered down from his shirt when he stuffed a hand down his pants.

#one time #shadow writes stuff #helluva boss #using main tag again bc fuck you #helluva mpreg #daddy blitzo

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satananon · 4 years ago

Text

Satan McWrath Private Investigator (Part One)

It was a dark night as I sat in my office, a glass of whiskey in my hand, and only the light from the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling to cast a dim glow across the small cramped office. Times were hard and business was slow, I hadn’t seen a case in weeks; so you can imagine my surprise when you walked through my door.

It was obvious that you weren’t from this side of town; your expensive clothes and designer shades not the typical garb of the rough gang that frequented my neck of the woods. You made your way further into my office and I could tell just by the way you walked, you were gonna be trouble, trouble that I didn’t have the time for.

“I’m closed,” I barked gruffly, taking a swig from my glass before setting it down and leaning back in my chair.

“Please,’ you begged, desperation obvious in your tone as you wring your hands. “I don’t know where else to turn. Everyone else laughed in my face.”

“And what makes you think that I will react any differently?” My eyes wander down to the gold band that gleams on your ring finger and roll my eyes. “Listen, I don’t handle marriage squabbles so if you are looking for someone to track your cheating spouse, you’re better off heading over to Mephistopheles’ agency. It might cost you your soul but he always holds up his side of the deal.”

“It isn’t like that.” I hear the sound of your shoes on the wood floor as you move towards my desk. “It’s been a week, Mr. McWrath. A whole week and I haven’t heard so much a peep. Our marriage isn’t like that, something is wrong.”

Whirling my chair around, prepared to dismiss you further when I get a look at your face as you pull the sunglasses from your eyes and shove them into the pocket of your tailored coat. You have eyes that shine in the darkness of the room and a face so sweet that it could charm the knickers right off a nun.

“Please, Mr. McWrath. Everyone else thinks I am crazy but I know my love wouldn’t do me like that. They wouldn’t just up and leave”

I pull my eyes from your face as I pick up my glass and take a swig, contemplating my next move.

“You’d be better suited at one of the fancier agencies downtown.” Pushing the glass across the desk, I retrieve my notebook from the top left-hand drawer and flip it open to a blank page. “I am not gonna hold your hand and tell you that everything is alright. I deal in truths and facts, no matter how hard they are to swallow.

You let a breath of relief, “Oh thank you Mr. McWrath, thank you so much.”

“Call me Satan,” I remark offhandedly as I pick up a pen and poise myself to write. “Now, tell me about the last time you saw your partner.”

I watch as you ease yourself into the chair and sit gracefully, hands folded in your lap.

“Like I said before, it has been about a week since we last spoke. A quick phone call, letting me know that work was running late and not to wait up. I didn’t think much of it, I spend a lot of evenings home alone you see, but when I woke up the next morning alone, I knew something was wrong.”

There was a slight hitch in your voice as you continued and I pulled my handkerchief from my pocket and handed it to you.

“Thank you,” you sniffed, blotting your eyes. “I called everyone, but no one had heard anything. I went to the police but they brushed me off saying people leave their spouses and all time and that maybe I should look for a good divorce lawyer. But it’s not like that Mr. McWrath, I am telling you. We had a good life together, there is no reason to leave and I can feel it in my bones that something is wrong.”

I nod, scribbling down notes as I take your story in. I wasn’t gonna say it aloud just yet but this seemed like a pretty open and close case. A lover jilted for a new fling. I’m sure a little digging will stir up some proof and I can be back to relaxing by Friday.

“Alright, I’ll take your case, but I expect the retainer up front and when I get to the bottom of this, you accept the news even if it isn’t what you want to hear, you got it?” I close the notebook and tuck it into my pocket.

“Yes, of course, Mr. McWrath, I just need answers.”

“It’s Satan, please,” I chide as I push out of my chair and walk to the door, opening it for you. “We will start first thing in the morning. Meet me outside at 10 am and we will hit the ground running.”

You stood up quickly, brushing the wrinkles from your clothes, and gave me a thankful nod as you slide the sunglasses back up over your nose. Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out an envelope and pressed it into my hand as you walked past.

“Thank you again, I can’t tell you how much I appreciated this. I’ll be back in the morning.” You walked out the door and I watched you leave, your gait the most eloquent thing to grace these halls in a long time.

As you turn the corner and leave my sight, I push the door shut. I stride back to my desk and throw myself into the chair, taking a moment to pull a bottle of whiskey from the floor and refill my glass. I tip it back draining it, the warm liquid burning my throat on the way down. A bloody bleeding heart, that’s what I was becoming these days, taking a case for the first set of pretty eyes that cried in my general direction.

I rip open the top of the envelope dumping it out to find a large stack of cash. My eyebrows rising as I began to count; it was triple my retainer with a little extra. It appeared that you were willing to do whatever it takes to get your love back and lucky for you, you just happen to come to the best damn detective in town.

#obey me shall we date #obey me satan #obey me fanfic #obey me au #swd obey me #private eye

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queen-of-deans-booty · 4 years ago

Text

Hammer of the Gods: Part One

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,484

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

The storm came out of nowhere. One minute it was perfect and everything was alright until the rain started pouring down like it was going out of style. Sam and Dean sat up front like always, but you’re in the back laying down. You’re trying to go to sleep, but it’s hard when you’re having a nightmare. Dean’s still giving you the ice-cold shoulder, and it’s reflecting onto your dreams. Most nights are dreamless, but then you’ll get the ones of your dead child asking you why you threw her away.

The only way you’re ever going to move on from this is if Dean forgives you. And he’s not exactly making it easy for you. You toss and turn as much as you can on the back seat and let out a soft moan.

“Dean,” Sam whispers.

“What?” he snaps, focusing his eyes on the road.

They both hear you suffering back there, and the younger brother took charge to speak about it first.

“It’s been weeks, Dean. When are you going to forgive her?”

“Never… Soon… I don’t know. I can’t forgive something like this so easily. We don’t work anymore. I want it to, but how can it when she’s keeping things from me now?”

“Okay, when are you going to talk to her about it? You’re still avoiding her like the plague.”

“Soon… I don’t know.”

“The only way you’ll move on is if you talk about it and work it out. Yeah, she made a mistake, but you two have been through so much together.”

“That’s the point, Sammy. We’ve been through too much, and she decides to hide it from me? What does that tell you? Am I not father material? Does she not want a kid with me?”

“You know that’s not it.”

“Then why’d she hide it?”

“She was scared.”

“Not good enough,” he shakes his head and ends the conversation. The rain pours harder, and Dean knows he has to get off the road unless he wants to crash. “Find somewhere to stay. We can’t keep driving.”

“Fine,” Sam sighs and takes out his phone.

Even with all the rain, the phone has great service, and he finds a four-star hotel out in the middle of nowhere. It’s suspicious, but Dean doesn’t question a bed and food for the night. It’s about two miles from where Dean is, and he rushes safely over to the hotel. He parks crookedly and gets out, not bothering to wake you. Sam sighs and looks back to see your eyes open.

“We’re stopping for the night.”

“Yeah, I heard,” you sighed and got up.

The rain is coming down so fast that by the time you three enter the hotel, you’re soaked to the bone. The inside of the place looks fancier than you’ve ever had it be. There are a lot of guests roaming around, some at the bar, and others in the dining hall where they’re eating. Two people are at the front desk ready to check in. Every chair is crisp white, chandeliers hang from the ceiling with style, and the colors match the vibe of the hotel: a mixture of light and dark purple and white.

“Whew. Nice digs, for once,” Dean scoffs and heads over to the front desk when the couple leave.

You and Sam follow behind closely, but the man named Chad doesn’t look up from the computer screen. He types fast on the keyboard, faster than you’ve ever seen anyone type. Your eyes narrow in suspicion, but the brothers don’t notice.

“Busy night,” Dean comments.

Chad promptly stops and looks at Dean with a smile.

“Any port in a storm, I guess,” he chuckles and pulls out a clipboard with papers attached to it. “If you could just fill this out, please.”

“Yeah,” he nods and takes the pen to sign.

“Sir, I think,” Chad trails off, motioning to his own neck while looking at Dean’s. He pulls out a tissue seemingly from nowhere and hands it to him. “Shaving nick there.”

“Oh, thanks,” he mumbles and dabs the area to see blood on the tissue.

That’s weird, Dean didn’t shave this morning or as of late. This place is skeevy. Why would such a nice place be out in the middle of nowhere?

“Your key.”

“Hey, you wouldn't happen to have a coffee shop, would you?” Dean asks after he takes the key.

“Buffet. All you can eat. Best pie in the tri-state area.”

“You don't say?” he grins and heads off.

You and Chad stare at each other long enough for Sam to tug at your arm. There is something not right about him, but it’s either too late or you’re too tired to figure it out. You and Sam follow Dean into the dining hall and take a seat. He comes back with a piece of pie and some coffee. Sam’s phone dings, and he checks it without looking at his brother. You sit with your arms crossed, obviously in no mood to eat. The nightmares you’ve been having are brutal, especially when you’ve been sleeping on the couch at every motel. Dean won’t let you sleep next to him anymore, and Sam is too big to fit two people on his bed.

“Sam, unpucker, man. Eat something.”

“We should hit the road, Dean.”

“In this storm?”

“He’s right, Dean. It’s biblical. It’s fucking Noah’s ark out there, and you’re eating pie.”

“How many hours of sleep did you two get this week? Three? Four? Bobby's got his feelers out, okay? We have talked with every hoodoo man and root woman in 12 states.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not giving up,” Sam declares.

“Nobody's giving up. Especially me. We're gonna find a way to beat the devil, okay? Soon. I can feel it. We will find Cas, and we'll find Adam. But you two are no good to me burnt out.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Sam sighs and gets up to get something to eat.

“Eat something,” Dean orders.

“Not hungry,” you shrug.

“Grow the fuck up and eat something, okay? Otherwise, you’re not on the team anymore.”

“You’re kicking me off the team for not eating? Need I remind you that I’m the one with the fucking witch powers here. Uh, how many times have I saved your ass because of it?” you glare at him.

“Yeah, those same powers that took away our child.”

“Hi, Kettle?” you say with your hand up to your ear in the shape of a phone. “It’s Dean, you’re black.”

“Very mature,” he rolls his eyes.

“Will you two stop it?” Sam hisses when he comes back. “Y/N, he’s right, you need to eat something.”

“No, he’s not. What he is right about is us not working anymore,” you say with tears in your eyes. One leaks down your cheek as you get up. “I’m getting my own room for the night.”

“Y/N,” Sam sighs as you walk away. He looks at Dean with a bitch face because Dean is acting like a bitch now. It’s been weeks and he’s still treating you like you’ve killed his mother. “Dean.”

“What? She needs to eat.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he sighs.

“Why aren’t you bothering her? She’s the one who needs to apologize.”

“She has, Dean. Like a thousand times. You just don’t want to hear it,” he says and gets up.

“Oh, so now you’re siding with her?” he exclaims just a bit loudly.

A few heads turn, but the majority of the people in the room stick to their own business.

“I’m not siding with anyone, but right now, you’re not looking so good. What she did was wrong, yes, but she’s trying to make it right. You’re not even putting in the effort.”

“Whatever,” Dean scoffs and turns back around.

Sam joins you back at the front desk, and when you smell his cologne, you turn to face him.

“They don’t have any more rooms left,” you sigh.

“I’m sorry about him—”

“No offense, Sam, but it doesn’t mean shit coming from you. I don’t know what else to do.”

“You can take my bed tonight. I’ll take the couch,” he offers.

“No, you won’t fit. I’ll be fine,” you shrug.

Just then there is a small sting coming from your neck, and you wince at the pain. You put your finger to the spot and pull away to see blood.

“Oh my, you’re bleeding. Here, have a tissue,” Chad offers and hands you a tissue.

“Thanks,” you trail off, looking at him weirdly.

He chuckles nervously and turns around to help another customer. You dab the area with the tissue until no more blood comes out. Your magic heals up the wound quickly, and it’s gone just like that.

“Come on, let’s get to our rooms and settle in for the night.”

“Okay,” you whisper and follow Sam to the stairs.

Dean is trailing behind, but you don’t look at him once. You understand that what you did hurt him, but he’s taking this too far. It’s one thing to treat you this way, but it’s another to treat you this way without talking to you about it. If only you can get him to sit down and talk about this, then maybe you two can start the healing process.

You approach your room and hear giggling come from down the hall. There is the couple that was at the front desk before you and the brothers. They are kissing and undressing their jackets, showing off that they are very much in love. Seeing them only reminds you that you and Dean are not. You look away hastily and open the door, tossing your bag onto the couch. Sam enters, but Dean shoves his way in and marvels at the place.

It’s very nice, two beds with plush bedding, chocolates on the pillows, Casa Erotica 13 on demand, and everything else to make the place likeable. Is it just you or is this place trying too hard to keep their customers from leaving?

“Wow. Look at this. We're like Rockefellers,” Dean chuckles until he spots the chocolates. “Chocolates! You want yours?”

“Knock yourself out,” Sam answers with a scoff.

“What?”

“This place is the middle of nowhere!” you blurt. “Why would this place look this nice on a deserted highway?”

No one has a chance to answer because the woman next door moans pleasurably. Great, not only will you be sharing this room with Dean, you have two lovers next door. The bed starts to thump on the other side of it, and you and the brothers just stand there awkwardly and wait until either it’s done or something happens. The woman moans once more followed by a loud thump. This thump, however, is more than a bed thumping against a wall. It’s a big enough thump to cause the brick wall to shift and a few bricks to fall out of place. It’s a big enough thump to almost knock the LCD flat screen television off the wall.

“Well that’s not good,” you comment.

Looks are exchanged, and you waste no time rushing out of your room and to the other room with the brothers. The door is unlocked, so you wretch it open to find the room empty. The lights are off, there are no bags to indicate someone was here, and there is no mess. The only thing that is out of place is the bed because the sheets are messed up.

“What the hell?” you mutter and search the apartment.

“Hello?” Dean calls out, and his brother repeats him a few seconds later.

You walk closer to the bed, but you step on something hard. You wince at the sharp pain and move your foot to see a large engagement ring on the floor. You pick it up and show the brothers what you found.

“Something’s not right,” you sigh.

“The front desk should know what’s going on,” Sam declares and leads the way back to the front desk where Chad is.

“Hi, have you seen the couple that are joined at the lips? They are staying in the room next to ours,” you ask him.

He looks at his computer, clicks on a few things, and smiles at you.

“Mr. and Mrs. Logan—the honeymooners? They checked out. Is something the matter?”

“They checked out?” Sam repeats.

“Mm-hmm. Mm, just now.”

“Really? It sort of seemed like they were,” Sam chuckles, “in the middle of something.”

“It’s very weird for honeymooners to check out without this,” you say and hold up the ring.

“Oh, dear. I'll just put that right in the lost and found. Don't you worry,” Chad smiles and takes the ring. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“What’s going on here?” you glare at Chad.

“What do you mean?”

“That couple were in their room, and a loud thump occurs prior to their disappearance. A loud enough thump to knock some bricks out of the brick wall. Don’t tell me they checked out because I know that’s not true. Where are they?”

“I’m not sure I can answer that. They checked out,” Chad gulps.

“Come on, thank you for your time,” Sam smiles at Chad who smiles right back.

“I’m onto you,” you whisper just as Sam pulls you away from the front desk.

“Alright, well, I'll scope out the joint, and you two keep an eye on Norman Bates over here. I mean, one night off. Is that too much to ask?” Dean scoffs and leaves on his own.

Of course, he isn’t going to want you to come with him even though you used to do everything together.

“Something isn’t right,” you whisper to Sam as you leave.

You find a spot that allows you to watch Chad without him knowing you’re doing so.

“We’ll figure it out,” Sam says optimistically.

It seems like all night has passed before Chad is on the move. He leaves his spot at the front desk when there are no more customers left at his desk. There are others chatting about, but your eyes stay locked on Chad. You and Sam leave your post and follow Chad with enough distance to hide if he turns around and catches you. He walks through different hallways as if he’s trying to lose you two, and it’s working. You round a corner only to see vending machines and nothing else. Where did he go?

“Ow,” Sam hisses.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m bleeding,” he says and touches the spot with his finger. There is a small cut that you and Dean got earlier.

“How did that get there?” you ask and inspect it.

You heal the wound by swiping your thumb over it and letting your magic dip inside.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, Chad is gone. We should find Dean.”

“Yeah, good idea,” he nods.

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zarcake-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Finals and Cuddles

Ok! Here’s a commission for the wonderful and kind @fatedeniedhope. It was another fun piece to work on, and I hope everyone enjoys it.

The study material in front of you doesn’t make sense anymore. You’ve been looking at your notes, homework pages, tests, a few textbooks, and your computer all day. As helpful as old tests and homework pages are, the textbook does not give you all the answers. So, you go to the internet in search of help. A few online videos usually clear everything up. Usually.

But you’ve been doing this all day. And your eyes hurt. The table your sitting at is a mess of papers, opened books, and pens. There’s a crumb filled plate in front of you. It was half a sandwich you had earlier. Honestly, that's the only thing you've eaten today. An empty cup of coffee is next to the plate. You’ve had more than you usually have during the day. The need to stay awake and focused overshadows your usual caffeine tolerance.

Your fingers hurt from all the writing. And there’s a slight pinch in your wrist from the constant typing you’ve done. Your hands are just so sore. When you think about it, your entire body hurts.

Luckily, you aren’t alone. Gabe is sitting next to you, holding a stack of flashcards in his hands. He’s been testing you for the last hour. While he doesn’t know the subject you’re studying, he does know how to test you with flashcards. He’s been very helpful, maybe a bit distracting since he is shirtless, but still very helpful.

He's been helping you since late afternoon. He got home from running errands and tried getting you to take a break with him, but you refused. So, he showered and again, offered you food. While his bare upper body was enticing, you still denied his offer. Like any good long-time boyfriend, he offered to help you study instead.

Gabe sat up straight and stretched his back. “Babe, why don’t we take a break? Get something to eat, then you can get back on this?”

You glance at your phone and frown. Shit, it’s dinner time. Your stomach growls at the realization, but you can’t stop. Not yet. You need to pass every class this semester. So, food can wait, studying can’t.

You shake your head. “No, can’t.”

“Babe.”

“Gabe. I need to pass. I’ll eat later.”

“Babe, you’ve been doing this all day. The only reason you’ve eaten or drunk anything other than coffee was because of me. You need a break.”

“Gabe, I appreciate you taking care of me and helping me. But I really, really need to continue studying. I don’t deserve a break, not yet.”

“Don’t deserve a break? Babe, you started doing this at eight this morning, and you haven’t taken a break since. You need to rest your eyes and eat something other than snacks.”

“I need to study.”

“You also need to eat. Come on, I’ll make us something great to eat.”

“Gabe, if you’re hungry, go eat. I need to finish studying.”

You turn away from Gabe and open a textbook up. The words on the page blur, but you rub your eyes and continue trying to read. Gabe lets out a sigh and sets the cards on the table. You hear the chair move and he walks away towards the kitchen.

You feel a bit bad. Gabe was just looking out for you, he always does, but you can’t stop now. There’s so much you’re still unsure about. And you have so many questions. Finals are only like two weeks away, and you still have a handful of projects due before then. So not only do you need to study, but you also need to finish actual work.

Everyone always seems excited about the end of the semester, but you hate it. Everything is due at the same time. It’s like every professor decided to say fuck you to their students by having everything due within like days of each other. While the professors apologize and say “We’re busy too,” it’s not the same. Sure, they’re busy grading, but it feels like you and every other student are busy trying to survive. A bad grade this semester can ruin you.

So, the threat and fear of failure stop you from taking a break. Even Gabe offering to cook for you can’t get you to leave the study material behind. But he is a great cook. And his food always tastes wonderful. Honestly, every time you eat Gabe’s food you feel so much better. But, no. No. You can’t eat, not now. You need to study.

You turn back to the textbook and continue to read. From where you’re sitting, you can hear Gabe moving around in the kitchen behind you. The clinking of pans on the stovetop and the faint sound of chopping, followed by the sizzle of something cooking reaches you. Music begins to play; you recognize Gabe’s cooking playlist. It’s nothing too crazy, but nothing too boring. Perfect for cooking, he always said.

The sounds and music aren’t distracting, they’re calming. You might be stressed, tired, and a little hungry (not that you are going to admit that), but hearing Gabe in the kitchen makes you feel so warm inside. It’s a type of domesticity that makes you feel safe and loved. You love him so much, and having him in your shared home makes you so happy. Honestly, if he asked you to marry him right now you would say yes. Well, maybe not immediately because you are trying to study.

The smell of cooked food gets your attention. Your stomach rumbles loudly, and the words on the page don’t make sense anymore. You look towards the kitchen and see Gabe. His bareback is a wonderful sight to see at any time of the day. His jeans make his butt look amazing. You can tell he's wearing an apron. After the bacon grease incident, he learned not to cook shirtless.

“You gonna come eat?” Gabe asked.

You scowl at his back and let out a huff. You want to say no, but God does his food smell good. So very good. Fuck it, you think. I can take a break to eat.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” you mumbled.

Gabe turns and places a prepared plate on the counter for you. He smirks when you take a seat and begin to eat. By the time he turns around with his own plate, half of your food is gone. You meet his amused gaze but don’t say anything. You know he won’t say “I told you so” but he’ll give you a look that gets the message across. Stupid, handsome man.

“Thanks for the food,” you said.

He swallows and takes your hand. “You’re welcome. Anything for you, babe.”

“Flatterer.”

“I am good at flattery. How’s your studying going by the way?”

You shrug. “Alright, I guess. I keep thinking I’m going to fail, and then I’m going to have to retake a class and I’ll be screwed basically.”

“If you fail a class, it won’t be that bad. You can retake it, and sure it will be on your transcript, but it won’t be that bad.”

“I’m not worried about that, well, I guess I am. But if I have to retake a class then I’m going to fall behind. And I don’t want to do that.”

“Hey, nothing wrong with that. Life and education aren’t a race. You might have plans, but something happens that messes with them. That happens with everyone. It’s happened to me.”

You wipe your face. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“If I fail, will you be disappointed in me?”

“Oh, baby girl, no. Never. I’ll never be disappointed in you. And if you pass or fail this semester, I will always be proud of you. I love you, no matter what happens with your schooling. If you decide to take a few semesters off, then I’ll support you. If you decide to drop out completely, I’ll be here. Change your major? I’m here. I love you, and your school and career choices will not change that.”

You nod and sniff, trying to fight the tears in your eyes. Gabe pulls you in for a big, comforting hug. You melt at his touch and cling to his body. His chest is so broad and his arms are so big. His skin is so warm and he smells so good. He’s home, you think.

“Why don’t we clean up here, then I can continue helping you study. How does that sound?” Gabe asked.

You nod and wipe your face. Gabe kisses your lips and gathers the dirty dishes. He begins to wash, then hands you the wet dish to dry. You’re both quiet, the only sounds are the running water and the music coming from the speaker.

The playlist ends. Gabe dries his hand and reaches for his phone. You finish drying the pan and place it in a cupboard. The music comes back on, and you instantly recognize the song. Ignoring the chills along your skin, you look over your shoulder at Gabe. The apron he was wearing is placed on the counter next to his phone. He’s smirking at you and holds his hand out for you to take.

I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream

You smile and take his hand. Gabe doesn’t care that your hand is damp or that you’re still dressed in your pajamas. But he isn’t dressed any fancier, not while he’s shirtless and in those old jeans that hang off his hips. His hair is slightly messy and his facial hair needs a trim, but you don’t care. He’s so handsome.

The hand you take is soft and warm. His large hand on your waist sends tingles throughout your body. Pressed against his bare chest, you can’t help but blush. Gabe smiles down at you and begins to lead. It’s not really dancing, just swaying back and forth, but that doesn’t matter. His skin is warm beneath your hands, and his body is so firm.

“I love this song. It’s almost haunting, kind of scary.”

Gabe smiles and nods. “It is. But I guess love can be scary, you know? Especially if you wish someone will love you again.”

You nod and rest your head against his chest. The arm around your waist tightens and he pulls you closer. He smells so good, like his body wash and his natural manly scent. Delicious, you think.

The song continues, and Gabe begins to sing along. His voice, so low and deep, matches perfectly with Lana Del Rey. The music is haunting, and Gabe’s voice adds to that aspect. If you were to hear this song in a dark house or a dark forest, you might just cry out of fear. But in your kitchen, in the arms of the man you love, you aren’t afraid.

You’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream

As the song ends, Gabe dips you low. If it was anyone else, you might have worried about being dropped. But Gabe would never drop you, not with those thick arms that you love so much. He presses a soft kiss to your lips, not caring that you still taste faintly of the food he just made.

Gabe helps you stand and gives you a cheeky grin. He leans down and gives you another kiss, this one is deeper than the first kiss but just as sweet. Another Disney song begins to play, but you’re not focused on it.

“You feeling better?” Gabe asked.

You think for a moment. The pressure of passing your finals is still there, but at the moment, you feel good. There’s warm food in your stomach, you share a home with the love of your life, and you’re happy. The stress of school won’t go away until the semester is over, but until then, you have all the support you need in the world.

“Yeah, I am. I am feeling better. Thank you.”

“Anytime, sweetheart. Want to get back to studying?”

“Yeah, I need to. Let’s get the kitchen cleaned up first.”

Once the kitchen is cleaned, Gabe continues helping you study. But studying with Gabe isn’t as stressful as it was before. Every time you get a question or term correct; Gabe gives you a kiss. His praises make you blush and smile. If you get something wrong, Gabe makes a note and gives you a pat on the shoulder, a promise that you’ll get it right next time. When you finally get something correct, he gives you a huge smile and gives you another kiss.

When you yawn for the millionth time in five minutes, Gabe sets the cards down. It was late evening by then, and your eyes were burning. Even with the break, you took earlier, you need a full night’s sleep and a chance to let your frazzled mind rest.

“Ok, babe. I think we should call it a night,” Gabe said.

“Yeah, I think you're right.” You yawn again and wipe the tears from your eyes.

Gabe helps you stack the papers into piles and organize the table. “I think you got these tests babe.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“You answered almost all these questions right the first time. And then the second time I quizzed you, baby girl, you got everything right. You got this.”

You look down at the stack of papers in your hand and frown. “I hope.”

“Babe?”

“I’m just… I’m just scared that when I get the test, I’m going to fucking flop. And then I’m going to cry because I’m gonna be nothing but a big failure.”

Gabe grasps your shoulders and turns you to him. “Baby girl, that’s not true. You will not forget everything when the test day comes. Trust me. And even if you do, you won’t be a failure. You will never be a failure.”

You nod and let Gabe pull you in for a hug. His hands run up and down your back. He hums softly, his fingers dig into the spots along your spine. It feels good, so very good, that you can’t help but moan. Gabe chuckles, his laugh echoes loudly in his chest. When he pulls his hands away, you whine at the loss.

“Relax, baby girl. How about this? You continue cleaning up this table, and I’ll go run you a warm bath with one of those bath bombs you love. And when you’re done, I’ll rub you down. That sound good?”

You smile and nod. Gabe leaves you to finish cleaning up. When all your stuff is put away, and everything is organized, you head to the bathroom.

Gabe is inside, testing the water. He smiles at you and drops a pink bath bomb into the water. He helps you undress. The feel of his fingers along your skin sends chills down your body, but Gabe’s hands don’t linger. He simply helps you into the bath and helps pin up your hair. The water is so warm, and it smells amazing.

“You want to join me?” you asked.

Gabe shakes his head. “No, this is for you. Plus, both of us don’t really fit.”

You laugh at the memory he’s referencing. After moving in together, Gabe and you tried to fit in the bathtub, but it was much too small. The moment ended with Gabe pouting and you laughing on the bathroom floor.

You spend an hour soaking in the hot water. Gabe comes in and out, checking on you and bringing you water. He'll sit and tell you about his day and what he wants to do tomorrow. When the water cools, and your fingertips are turning to prunes, Gabe wraps a towel around you. He dries you off and carries you to your shared room.

The room is dim, but there are a few lit candles scattered around the room. You give Gabe a look, but he just looks away slightly embarrassed.

“Just wanted to set the mood.”

“What kind of mood?”

“A massage mood, my love.”

You smile and give him a kiss on the cheek. Gabe smiles and sets you down. He helps you into a pair of comfy panties then motions for you to lay down on your stomach. When you’re comfortable on the bed, Gabe begins his massage. His fingers are gentle as they work out the knots in your upper back. He’s gentle, making sure not to push too hard and cause you any pain.

You wake sometime later. You’re beneath the blankets and the room is barely lit. The candles are out, but there's a lamp on behind you. When you look over your shoulder, Gabe is sitting up in bed reading a book. When he notices you moving, he turns to you and smiles.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Feeling ok?”

You shake your head. “Head hurts.”

“I know.”

Gabe closes his book and settles in bed. He motions for you to scoot closer to him. You lay your head on his chest, his heartbeat echoes in your ears. When you’re comfortable and already half asleep, Gabe turns off the lamp next to his side of the bed. The room is dark, the only light comes from street lights outside.

One of his hands settles against your upper back, his fingers trail along your bare skin. You shiver at the feeling, but you don't move. His other hand begins to play with your hair, gently pulling the strands and rubbing your scalp. It feels good. In fact, every time he touches you, you feel good. Everything about Gabe makes you feel good.

With finals coming, the next few weeks will be so very stressful. There will be a few moments where you might want to give up, you might cry and scream, but you have Gabe. No matter how stressful or demanding life might be, you know Gabe will be there with you. Rain and shine, Gabe will always be by your side.

It’s with that thought you fall asleep.

#gabriel reyes x reader #reaper x reader #gabriel reyes #reaper #overwatch fanfic

112 notes · View notes

thiswasinevitableid · 5 years ago

Note

#5 Sternclay please? SFW or NSFW, doesn't matter to me. Thank you!

I went NSFW, minor CW for light D/S and a brief mention of suicide.

5 Should I update my outfit again? I think they like my new boots but the cape didn’t get the reaction I was hoping for

“Okay, I want your honest opinion.” Barclay turns towards the communication screen.

On the screen, Indrid Cold raises an eyebrow, “My honest, unvarnished opinion?”

“Yeah.”

His friend throws his silver haired head back and cackles, the kind of supervillain laugh that makes Barclay jealous, “Oh, oh my friend, that is the most absurd get up I have ever seen on any hero, villain, anit-hero, supermodel, or psuedovillain.”

Barclay sags, “that’s kinda what I figured.”

“I mean, the tight black tank-top? The black pants? Those boots, goodness, did you get rid of your modified hiking boots?”

“No. Pretty sure he liked those.” He mumbles.

“Ah haaah.” Indrid tents his fingers, leaning forward with a grin, “still pining for your man in black, I see.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Barclay, I doubt changing your outfit is going to bring him over to your point of view. And what happened to the trans-pride patterned flannel top you got for the last time? I recall you being proud of how it flattered your physique?”

“He didn’t even mention it.”

“Wasn’t he chasing you off government property at the time?”

“So? He’s commented on things like that before. Uggggh.” Barclay slumps down in his command chair, “How did you get the Ranger to move things to the next level?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

Barclay stares him down. Indrid stares right back.

Finally, his friend sighs, “My wires got crossed during a fight and I kissed him instead of headbutting him. Not one of my prouder moments. Though it has decreased the number of fights in my life and increased the number of orgasms.”

“Don’t think that’ll work. No offense to the Ranger, but Agent X is all business. I try kissing him, he’ll taze me or some shit.”

“Well then, you’ll have to get creative. Perhaps...oh drat, he’s early.”

Barclay’s about to ask who when a crash echoes offscreen.

“We should catch up again soon, Barclay.” As the feed goes dark, Indrid turns and shouts, “You green-clad nuisance, I just had that door fixed!”

Barclay shuts off his end of the communication, stands and stretches as he regards the security feeds from his cameras scattered through the woods. Being fifty miles from the nearest town was supposed to make him feel safer; lately it makes him the frustrating combo of lonely and paranoid.

Then again, does it really count as paranoia if Agent X is always on his tail? The man is intelligent, and has government resources behind him. If he wants to find Barclay, Barclay has a bad feeling he’ll be found.

Worse, he suspects he wouldn’t mind being found.

That’s part of why he’d called Indrid. Yes, he wanted feedback on his new look, but Indrid is one of the few people he trusts to understand his situation. They each chose cryptid aliases (Mothman and Bigfoot). They fell into villainy through similar channels; Indrid from being chased out of towns with (usually figurative) pitchforks one too many times when he was just trying to help, Barclay because he’d learned to survive mostly on his own and grown tired of seeing certain kinds of evil rewarded while things that didn’t even count as evil were harshly punished. But Indrid also understood what it meant to get a crush on the very person who was hunting you.

He knows the affection is one-sided. Agent X is the put-together, cultured, cosmopolitan; Barclay is not (were you to ask his friends, they would argue that being tidy, well-read, and widely traveled shakes out to the same thing).

The elevator ride from his underground hideout to the main cabin is brief. Another ding in his villainy score is that he really loves his rustic, cozy home, and only uses his fancier tech for work. What’s the point of a suite in some skyscraper? You can’t even have a proper back porch.

Maybe he should start a fire in the fireplace, or read that stack of food magazines he has squirreled away. He could reheat dinner too, homemade green onion pancakes and bao for one.

In any case, he’s not going to get anything serious done tonight, as he doesn’t really scheme in the way his fellow villains do. His actions are a tad more impulsive, in response to the government or certain corporations doing corrupt shit. Besides, the forecast calls for a snowstorm, and he’d rather not get stranded in the woods.

After settling on the couch he picks up the top magazine, a travel issue.

Twenty romantic getaways off the beaten path

Hmmmm, would Agent X like the beach? Or is he more of a mountains guy?

He should read a different article

8 recipes to cook for a special someone

What the fuck, this is supposed to be the travel issue, not the valentines day issue.

After sorting through the pile, he grabs the Halloween issue from last year and heads upstairs. He needs to sleep, only partially because sleep might keep him from daydreaming about his arch-nemisis.

The black boots come off and he sets them in his closet. Hops onto the bed and stretches out.

Somewhere in the middle of a fascinating article on cast iron pans, he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, his arms are trapped above his head and someone else is reading his magazine.

“I’d been meaning to read this issue. Their writing is always excellent.” Agent X looks up, smiling mildly.

“Glad I could help. Now help me back by untying me.”

Agent X sighs, “You know very well I can’t do that.”

“So what, you break in here just to read my shit?”

“Of course not. Actually, I didn’t choose to come this time.” he stands, producing a slender, silver device from his sleeve, “In fact, I’m being reassigned.”

“Wait, how the fuck is that even a thing? You’re a ‘hero’ you pick your enemies.”

“No, I’m a government agent. And they’ve decided that you are not nearly a large enough threat for me to keep chasing you. Never mind that I devoted years of my life to the endeavor.” Barclay finds the bitterness oddly flattering. As the agent talks, Barclay moves his hands; there’s a reason he taught his security AI ASL. The mirror behind his enemy flickers to life, showing him a video feed of the Snowspeeder Agent X used to get there.

“They were going to assign me to chase The Mothman, but his nemesis is….very territorial and they decided that was not a wise move.”

Barclay can’t help snorting out a laugh.

“This isn’t funny.”

“Trust me, that bit’s hilariou-oh shit” he registers the solemn look on Agent X’s face, “Are you supposed to fucking kill me?”

The tricky thing about a nemesis who wears glorified sunglasses is that it makes his face hard to read most times, but right now he looks horrified.

“No. I, I was allowed to decide how best to handle you as a threat, and I do not believe you’re that dangerous. So I’m just going to install a tracking chip in your spine and be on my way.”

“Like hell you are.” Barclay curls in defensively, signs “destroy.” In the mirror, the snowspeeder silently explodes.

“Barclay, please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Don’t fucking tag me like some wild animal then.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

Barclay growls, “That’s been your line for three fucking years. You’ve got choices, agent, we all do.”

“You’re right. And you could have chosen something other than a life of crime.”

“Don’t act like you know what I choices I was given. And don’t come any closer with that thing.”

Agent X takes a half step before Barclays feet connect with his chest, sending him clattering into the dresser and the tracker pen under the bed.

“Shoulda tied those too agent!” With all his might he yanks on the cuffs snapping the wrung of the headboard.

“Is this really how you want our last interaction to go?” Agent X stands, nightstick coming free from his belt.

“Nope.” Barclay charges him, the agent sliding gracefully out of is path. Just as they pass, Barclay spins, cuffs connecting with the agents hand.

They glow green, accepting the fingerprint.

“Damn it.” The Agent turns on a dime, launching at him.

“Three years, agent, I know your gadgets as well as you do. Sorry about the speeder.”

He points at the mirror and Agent X glances away momentarily to look.

“Shit.”

“Yep. Have fun getting back on foot. If you stop fighting, I can loan you a snow-cat.”

Agent X turns the stun function of his nightstick on in response.

“C’mon really?!” Barclay growls, pounces before the agent has a chance to react, and hurls him into the mirror.

It shatters, and the agent falls, crumpled and clutching his arm, to the ground. Barclay straddles him, pinning him on his stomach, immaculate black suit ripped in the back.

“Okay, let’s try this again: You’re going to stop attacking me, break that tracker thing in half, and then I’ll give you the keys to something that can get you out of here.”

“I can’t, I cannot fail this mission.”

Barclay does his best, wicked smirk, “In that case, I get one more thing for all the trouble you’ve caused.”

With that, he rips off Agent X’s mask and goggles.

The face beneath them is better than he ever envisioned: sharp cheekbones, blue eyes, movie star handsome in every way.

His gaze is unflinching, enraged, and when his fingers curl minutely Barclay grabs his hand and pries it open.

In the center is white, cylindrical pill.

“Is this...fuck, is this a suicide pill?”

“Yes. Now give it back.”

“Not a fucking chance.” He stands, crosses to the window and chucks the pill out into the night, “Christ, agent, do you really think I’m going to torture you?”

When he turns back, arms crossed, the veneer of Agent X’s expression cracks, and he presses his face into the floor with a shuddering gasp.

“It’s p-protocol. If, if my identity is compromised.”

He wants to be moved by the tears in that voice, but he’s still pretty pissed.

“You’d swallow a pill for them, just like that. Shit, they really do brainwash you guys.”

“It’s not that.” The agent raises his head, spits out blood, “I still have family. If an enemy knows who I am, they could go after them for leverage. Ending my own life keeps the people I love safe.”

The fight goes out of him and he sighs, “Look, I’m not gonna go after your family, I promise. I won’t share your identity either; I know you’ve probably figured out the identities of people I care about and haven’t ratted them out. Consider this a thank you for that.”

“They’ll terminate me anyway.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“That’s protocol.”

“Fuck protocol.”

The agent giggles, the sound increasingly hysterical, “I’m quite the triple threat; in one move I lose my job, my safety, and my purpose. I guess I live on your floor now.”

“I’m not gonna make you live on my floor.”

“Your holding cell, then.”

“Uhhhh” Barclay rubs his arm, “I don’t have one. It’s not like anyone besides you has ever tried to infiltrate here.”

“Please tell me you have a guest room.” The agent is still hiccuping laughs.

“Yeah. I can fix it up real quick for you.”

Agent X sits up, wincing, “You’re really letting me stay?”

“I mean, yeah? No way I’m sending you back to people who we know will kill you. I know you think I’m a villain, but I don’t really want people getting hurt. And I respect you as an adversary, not to mention I actually kind of like you, Agent X.”

“Joseph.” The agent slowly drags himself up onto the bed. “It’s just Joseph now. Joseph Stern.”

“Don’t seem like there’s much ‘just’ to you, Mr. Overachiever.”

Joseph tries flipping him off, only to flinch when he moves his arm.

“Good lord, I thought that wasn’t a real mirror, why is there so much glass in my skin?”

“Uh, you know how when you drop a cell phone and the screen kinda-splinters and you can get bits of it in your fingers? That’s basically what happened to your back. Uh, sorry.”

“It was in self defense.”

“Will you let me help? I got lots of first aid stuff.”

Joseph nods and Barclay hurries into the bathroom to grab one of the two dozen med kits scattered around the house.

“On your stomach.”

The other man rolls over, and Barclay gets to work on his back. Joseph remains stoic the entire time, until Barclay begins dousing the cuts with disinfectant, at which point he hisses.

“I know, I hate this shit too. Dunno why people are always inventing new torture devices and interrogation techniques, this’d do the trick on most people I know.”

“Very true. It’s alright, pain is deserved when you fuck up as royally as I did tonight.”

“Hey, none of that, okay?” Barclay says gently, easing the tatters of Josephs shirt off, “That pain isn’t a punishment, it’s something I’m doing to keep you safe and so you can heal. You don’t deserve to be hurt, Joseph. And I’m sorry for all the times you ended up that way because we fought. I know it comes with the territory, but that doesn’t mean I can’t apologize.”

Silence as he finishes bandaging that well-developed back, and as he cleans up the debris from the fight and the aftermath.

“In that case” Joseph murmurs, “ I’m sorry too. For, well, for any time during the last three years where I hurt you.”

“Apology accepted.” Barclay sits down on the bed, facing his guest, who turns his head to smile weakly at him.

“What happens now?”

“No clue. I can heat up some dinner, and there’s lots of books here, and some movies. Even got a couple of video games for when friends visit. Or you can sleep, if you want.”

Joseph gives him a curious look, “I meant to ask, is this what you wear at home all the time?”

Barclay blushes, “No, uh, I was just trying out a new costume. Usually wear, like, my flannel shirts and stuff.”

Joseph cautiously rolls onto his side for a better look. A prolonged, hungry, better look.

“What do you think?” Barclay keeps his eyes fixed on the headboard and not on the lines of muscle on Josephs stomach.

“I think you look like you should be cruising the Folsom Street Fair looking for some gym bunny who’ll call you sir.”

“Is that a...good thing?”

“Yes.”

When he meets those blue eyes, their pupils are wide.

Barclay chuckles, “You gonna call me, ‘sir, babe?”

“Only if you want me to.”

The bed dips as shifts to be next to Stern, “Nah, but I’ve been dying to fuck you since the Pipeline Incident.”

“Lord, Barclay, that was a year ago. But the answer is yes.” Stern tries to sit up, but Barclay rests a hand on his shoulder, kissing his cheek.

“I just patched you up, babe, so how’s about we keep this simple for tonight?”

“Oh, okay, uh, how should we?” Stern is blushing, head dipping in slight deference, and it’s the most gratifying goddamn thing Barclay has ever seen.

“Get those pants off, lay on your stomach, and put your ass in the air.” He sits back so Stern can obey, which he does as quickly as possible.

“Good boy.” Barclay rumbles, sitting behind him, “Shit, all that superhero training makes for an amazing ass.” He rubs it possessively, Stern moaning softly at the touch.

“Thank you.”

“Think it’ll look even better with my handprints on it?” The question is breezy as he drags a nail along the right cheek, waiting for Sterns permission.

“Yes.” Stern whispers into the pillows.

Barclay swats the right side, “What was that?”

“Yes!” Stern cries out, wiggling his hips in response.

“Much better.” He hits four more times, two for each side, Stern yelping with delight at each one.

“Now, let’s get one thing straight,” He grabs Sterns hips, pulls his ass against his crotch, grinding slowly, the pants for his definitely not for work anymore outfit just tight enough to give excellent friction from the movement, “I get the feeling you get off on a little pain. And I sure as hell like watching you squirm from it. And” he smacks his left side, for fun, “I bet you think you deserve this.”

Five slaps, fast and with more force behind them.

“Yes, yes, Barclay, please.”

“You’re right, you do. But not because you deserve to be hurt, or to suffer. You deserve to feel good, Joseph. And the second this stops feeling good and you start using it as punishment, I stop doing it. We clear?”

“Crystal.” Stern whimpers at the next slap, and Barclay bends forward to loving kiss a line up his throat and nuzzle his cheek.

“Good boy. You okay to touch yourself--hah, that answers that.” He laughs as Sterns right hand disappears beneath him and his mouth parts in a moan.

“Fuck, Barclay, I, I’ve, nhhnn, I’ve wanted this so long.”

“Me too babe. God, Joseph, you got any idea how fucking incredible you are?” He finds an angle that lets him continue rutting against his ass and kissing his neck and face without touching his injuries.

“No, perhaps you can say more?” Stern grins

Barclay growls, delivers a particularly hard slap, “Oughta make you stop jerking off since you’re fishing for compliments but, fuck, babe, you look so goddamn hot when you’re moaning and twisting around under me, shit, I love hearing your voice, and your smile makes me forget my fucking name and fuck, fuck, yeah, ohyeah.” He tugs Stern close as he comes, keeps pouring out increasingly jumbled praise as Stern tenses in his arms and comes across the covers with the most erotic sound Barclay has ever had the good luck to hear.

“Lord almighty I needed that.”

Barclay chuckles, guides them both down into a comfortable cuddle, “Glad I could help. You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Okay, lemme rinse off and I can make us dinner.”

By the time he’s out of the shower Stern has stripped and remade the bed with clean covers, and takes his hand as they head downstairs. Barclay reheats the leftovers and makes them tea while Stern reads to him about fifty of the best new restaurants in the west.

The next morning, the FBI’s villain control division receives word that Agent X has been killed in the line of duty.

Three weeks later, they learn that Bigfoot has a new partner: the man in black.

#sternclay #agent stern/barclay #TAZ Amnesty #superhero au

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buckybabybaby · 5 years ago

Text

Mr Hollywood (Chapter 9)

Summary: Bucky Barnes, an underpaid teaching assistant in a small English village, dreams of a movie career back in his home country of America. He finally gets the break he's always wanted, and if it wasn't for you, his best friend, he wouldn't have been able to take it.

But is that fact enough to save your friendship when it's tested by the pressures of Hollywood?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Word count: 2089

Chapter summary: The summer fête is upon you! And Bucky returns again.

Warnings: a little bit mpre angst...

Previous: Chapter 8

Mr Hollywood Masterlist | Main Masterlist

*****

The day of the fête dawns bright and breezy. Perfect conditions, you couldn't really ask for more given the time of year, but that doesn’t stop the scowl forming on your face as you make the short walk to school. Going in to work on a Saturday always feels somewhat wrong, and that uneasy feeling is multiplied ten times knowing who's going to be there.

It's been a tough week, hiding how you actually feel about Bucky returning when the children are besides themselves, excited to welcome back such a star. Everyone remembers how inseparable the two of you were when he worked here, and as far as they know, nothings changed, so there's been a few awkward conversations in the past days where you've not known if your fake excitement has been believable. Only Peggy knows the truth. Edwin has his suspicions, you know, after witnessing your less than enthusiastic reactions to the prospect of your supposed best friend visiting, and he'd patted your hand gently when you'd slumped next to him in the staff room one lunchtime.

“Coming back home helps people realise what they've missed,” He'd said cryptically, leaving you to your sandwiches. A tiny flicker of hope had flared at his words, one you'd quickly push down. Edwin hadn't heard Bucky that day, didn't know how vicious he'd been, or the cruel look in his eye as he'd broken your heart. Your colleagues kindness is appreciated, but at this point there doesn't seem any chance of saving what you had.

*****

Reaching the school, you breathe evenly to keep yourself calm. Somebody’s got hold of a cardboard cut-out of Bucky's character, whatever his name may be, and it's currently resting in the entrance hall alongside the crates of bric-a-brac and sweets for the tombola stand you're tending.

Just looking at his picture makes you feel sick. It doesn't help that his face has almost the same look on it as last time you saw him, that piercing glower sending a shiver through you. From what you've overheard the programme he's in is a sort of comedy drama, based around comic book characters, which explains his metal arm and combat gear, and the dramatic, side on pose, that you would have teased him about in better times.

Peggy brushes past you, breaking your staring match with the two dimensional image of Bucky as she grabs a box. You also pick one up, following her out to the table where a Year Three is carefully arranging the prizes on your stall. It takes a while to organise all the items neatly, and you get so sucked into a conversation with your little helper, Edwin's oldest daughter, Isabella, that you nearly forget why you were dreading this day.

A laugh, so recognisable, floats across the playground in your direction and you drop the saucer you're holding. Thankfully it doesn't shatter, and you turn your head subtly to look over, breath hitching as you catch sight of him, flanked by the head teacher and too many students to count. Isabella clearly wishes to join them, and you let her go, needing a little time alone to process his presence.

Your hands are visibly trembling. If you thought you felt ill earlier it's nothing compared to now, you haven’t prepared yourself to actually be within eyesight of Bucky again, and you sag, taking a seat before your legs give out. Peggy passes by, spots the source of your terror, and squeezes your shoulder comfortingly.

“I'm okay.” You smile through your lie, staring over at the growing group of children wanting attention from Hollywood's newest heartthrob. Bucky runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tick of his you remember well, and you notice that the length of his waves is much shorter than in all the promotional pictures and videos.

“I didn't even spot that. Must be a wig.” Peggy muses, thinking along the same line as you. “Why don't you ask?” She looks at you expectantly, remaining confident that you and Bucky can sort out your differences.

Glaring, you choose not to reply. You're still annoyed at her for letting this come to be, even though you know it's not her fault. Realising you're not in the mood to hear her thoughts, she part ways silently to attend to her own duties, leaving you alone to spy on Bucky from a distance.

He appears to be being as friendly and patience with the children as he always was. Watching him smile as they congregate around his feet, he looks so far away from the man who caused you so much pain just a couple of weeks ago.

The student given the honour of showing him around starts to lead him towards your side of the field and you panic and do the one thing you can, slipping off your chair and under your stall, pulling the billowing tablecloth back in front of your body. Keeping quiet, you wait in the shadows feeling like a coward. The group roams by the cave you've made for yourself, and you breathe again, reassured that he's going to be busy officially opening the fête in a couple of minutes. Taking a second to make sure he's long gone, the last thing you expect is anyone to find you.

“Why are you hiding?”

Jumping in shock, you hit your head on the bottom of the table as you're greeted by the face of Isabella again. She's observing you with a slight frown, crouching down to sit opposite you. Rubbing the sore spot at the top of your head, you think of how to excuse your strange behaviour.

“Is it because Mr Barnes is someone else's best friend now?” She asks bluntly before you have a chance to explain yourself. “Or was he mean to you?”

You laugh in surprise, shaking your head at her forwardness. She's spot on somehow, and then you remember meeting her mother and it's obvious where she gets it from.

“He wasn't mean to me. Look.” Shoving a postcard in your face, you take it from her. It's the same picture of the two characters that has been everywhere for the last month, this one scribbled across with a black pen, a rushed copy of Bucky's signature. Not the one he uses for official paperwork, you can see, rather just the first half in a fancier script, and with a smiley face at the end.

The sight brings a lump to your throat.

“That's lovely, Isabella.”

“We always thought you'd get married to him,” She whispers conspiratorially.

Biting your tongue to stop yourself swearing in front of a seven year old, and a pupil, you struggle to find the right thing to say.

“Oh really. And who's 'we'?”

“Everyone. Even Daddy.”

Blinking, stunned, you diffuse the situation quickly, rising from under the table and brushing yourself down as you help her up too.

“I've just had an idea. Wouldn't your parents like to see your signed poster? Look, there they are,” You point her in their direction, “Why don't you go show them?”

She skips off happily and you rest your weight on the edge of the table, overwhelmed. How you were unaware of everyone's gossip about your relationship with Bucky, you don't know, and it must be bad if even the younger children are involved.

Pressing your fingers into your temple, you sigh, longing for this day to be done with.

There's a shuffling in the deserted vegetable patch at the back of your stand, probably another teacher taking a break from the mayhem of the day, and you pay them no mind until they come to a stop behind you.

“Y/N.”

Closing your eyes, you don't need to turn around to know who it is. The universe just doesn't want to give you a break today. When you continue to face away from him, he squeezes between your tent and the next until he's standing directly in front of you.

“Hello.” Bucky offers you a small smile and you gawk at his nerve.

What is he trying to achieve here? Hasn't he hurt you enough? There's nothing you want to say to him, not here, not like this, so controlling your expression you coolly meet his gaze.

“James.”

He winces at the name. You haven't called him that for years, he only allows close friends and family to address him as Bucky, and it became apparent you'd be one of his closest very early on.

Despite your attitude, he pushes on. “Can I talk to you?”

“I think you've done quite enough talking,” You mutter under your breath. He hears, evident from the shock flashing over his face, and you feel a jolt of spiteful joy at the way he takes half a step back.

There's currently no one looking to buy a ticket for your tombola, which you use to your advantage. “Got to get a drink, sorry!” You call over your shoulder, keeping up the pretence of still being on good terms, for the sake of the students.

Bucky moves to pursue you with a desperate cry of your name that you ignore, escaping as he's once again mobbed by his new fans.

*****

Later, as you pack up your stall, it's apparent Bucky doesn't want to talk to you that urgently, as there's no sign of him now the crowds have gone. You don't know if you feel relieved or disappointed. You'd sent Isabella back to her father, mostly to let her enjoy her weekend, but also because you don't think you'd survive another round of her questioning. For a seven year old, she is remarkably perceptive, and her age means she still lacks the social graces to know when to stop.

You've made quite a bit from your sales, the amount in the cash tin picks your mood up, and as a treat for surviving being in the same location as Bucky you buy the biggest cake you can from the catering stand. Today has been exhausting and you crave a little solitude to unwind.

*****

That night, you can't sleep again. The winds picked up during the evening, throwing branches from the small tree in the front garden against your bedroom window, but that's not the sole reason you're awake. Your mind hasn't stopped racing since your interaction with Bucky. Why did he have to come back and confuse your feelings further? Your head hurts, and not from the bump earlier, the swirling emotions preventing you from relaxing enough to get any rest.

Admitting defeat, you sit up and stare at the wall. The clock on your bedside table reads two forty seven, and you decide that that is an excellent time to go for a walk down the lane. Sliding your feet into the easiest shoes you can, your gardening wellies, you pull on your coat and pick up your keys, quietly opening and relocking your front door as you embrace the fresh air. Wandering with no particular destination in mind, you find yourself pausing in front of the school. The pass-code is entered into the side gate before you can really think about it, and you slowly crunch along the gravel path up to the adventure play area.

That's when you see them. Your blood runs cold as you freeze, cursing yourself for not bringing your phone with you, the figure sitting on the swings resembling something out of those horror movies you've always avoided. Assessing your surroundings, you consider the option of blending into the bushes nearby until the stranger has left.

Then they move and you nearly cry in relief that it's not a serial killer out to get stupid teachers breaking into school in the middle of the night. There's no mistaking that hair, even in the artificial orange glow of the street lights, and your heart rate remains at the same frantic pace as a new fear over takes you.

You could walk away, pretend you haven't seen him, and just get on with your life knowing you won't have to talk him ever again if you wish. Or you could confront him, and maybe get some answers to your many questions. The second options wins, even though the thought of your warm, safe bed, that doesn't hate you, is very tempting, you know you won't feel right until you've had it out with him.

Pulling your coat tighter around your front, shaking not just from the cold, you approach Bucky, preparing yourself for a conversation you probably won't like.

*****

A/n: Bucky answers for his behaviour next chapter, promise!

Chapter 10

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #buckybabybaby #Mr Hollywood

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