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romana-after-dark · 4 months ago

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Our Gentle Sins: 18 Part 1 (Before)

Thank you so so so much to @plasticbabies for making this beautiful header!!!! we finally have a good one!

Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader

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Chapter summary: Past. You want to be clean of Logan

Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religious trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

EXTRA WARNING: Self harm via burning shower, graphically trying to get clean from Logan (putting things inside you that shouldn't be to the point of extreme pain for the sake of clensing)

2k words

AN: Gang I just decided to put the BEFORE out, then that way the AFTER i can focus on telling a full story. It's gonna be longer and since this is already 2k, which is about how long a normal chapter is for me, i decided just to split it. After this, we have AFTER, then one more chapter thats more of an epiloge.

Before

How are you supposed to behave around someone who just raped you? Someone who, an hour ago was inside you as you dissociated staring at the ceiling? Someone who now lies half naked in your bed, dick still sticky against your thighs.

You just wanted him gone, wanted him away from you but his arm locked tightly around your middle as he snored behind you. What a luxury it is to be able to sleep right now. Logan had apologized profusely during and after, but how bad could he truly feel if he fell asleep while you continued to cry in his arms? The axe forgets, but the tree remembers.

You needed to get away. “Logan.” You shake his thigh and he jolts awake beside you; for a moment you fear his claws might come out, but they don’t.

Logan nuzzles his face against you, a tenderness you tried to detach from the man who’d betrayed you. “Hm?”

“It’s um… it’s almost dinner. We were going to eat with Remy, remember?”

“Oh…” Logan sits up, brown hair sticking up widely every which way and there’s a domesticity to him. You bet he feels like he is waking up next to his girl after a nice afternoon fuck and nap; you feel like you’re going to throw up. “Can’t you tell me another time?” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m tired.”

You should be afraid of him. You should be meek and shy and complacent, but this was not your first rodeo. Incredulous, you turn to him and scoff as you stand, your dress fluttering down around your calves. “Oh, I’m sorry, does sexual abuse really take it out of you?”

Logan’s face fall at that, looking akin to a kicked puppy. “That’s not- I’m sorry! I love you, dolly, you know I love y-”

“I hate you!” You grab a pillow, slamming it on his face. You’d have slapped him, but you’ve had enough of the touch of his skin to last a lifetime. “I hate you for doing this to me!”

“I love you! All I wanted was you!” Still on the bed, Logan sits up on his knees. “I’m giving you what you wanted, baby doll, I’m giving you a family.”

You freeze, eyes going wide as you become acutely aware of the wetness between your thighs, his spend dripping down.

“I HATE YOU!” You shout at him, pointing to his stupid baffled face. “When I get out, you had better be gone or I will start screaming for Remy.” You slammed the door to the bathroom in his face.

In the shower, you can hear him gathering his things, the jingle of his belt pulled over his hips and you gag at the memory of his dick inside you. Still, a more pressing issue took your attention and forced you into a panic. Logically, you knew soap wasn’t supposed to go in your vagina, but that was merely a distant thought as you wet a puffy round loofah and lather it up with soap. Sticking it inside you wasn’t difficult, but greatly uncomfortable with how sore you were. Scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing inside you, you want every trace of him gone, you want his seed out of you, you cannot have this baby! You can’t leave a single particle inside you to infect you the way Mark had. You wouldn’t be that person again, you wouldn’t make the mansion subject to the horrors that lived inside you the way you had the others.

You had to become pure.

The water burned, but you deserved you. You turned it hotter until it was near scalding. Purify, purity, purify. Kill the evil on the outside and the inside in the burning water. Don’t cry. You don’t deserve to cry, this is not the time for tears. You don’t deserve to feel sad. This was your punishment for what you did to everyone in that house, wasn’t it? You didn’t deserve the good you thought you had with Logan, you didn’t deserve love. You deserved the fire rippling down your skin and the burning inside your cunt until you caught sight of blood.

It was too hot, your body beginning to over heat but you didn’t feel clean. You felt dirty beyond belief, like you’d never feel clean again. Naked, you stumble out of the still-running shower and riffle through your medicine cabinet until you find what you're looking for. The hand sanitizer squeezes easily onto your fingers, and the last thing you remember before blacking out was screaming in pain.

You never thought you’d be someone who’d die in an alley.

You were respectable. Your family was middle class, you were told to look down on the homeless. Lazy. Entitled. Addicts. You never realized how easy it was too fall.

Your money had taken you as far as you could get north, but you didn’t ration for food. Or water.

“Save me” You cry out in your mind, and maybe a little from your mouth. “God help me. Deliver me from nowhere. Deliver me from this. I’m not ready to die. I don’t want to die a sinner. Give me a chance, God, please, I’ll do whatever you want… just don’t send me to hell… I’m so afraid.” These words, in some fashion or another, repeated for 2 days. For the most part, all you did was lay in the dirt and piss of the concrete. The days were sweltering but at least that made the night bearable. Not like you could sleep anyway, you just laid there and prayed behind the dumpster for God to save you.

“Gambit, I need you, it’s urgent.”

When Remy arrived in Charles’s office, he looked in pain, sitting at his desk and holding his head. “What’s hap’n’n?” Charles often got vision that crippled him, but he wasn’t sure what he was needed for.

“There’s a- girl, she needs us.”

“A mutant?”

“No.”

Now this was odd. Remy didn’t have any issue with humans, generally. He didn’t hold the same suspicions as Scott, even if he wasn’t as forgiving as Kurt was.

“Since when do de X-men handle non-mutant tings?”

Charles just shakes his head. “She’s in terrible pain, Gambit. Terrible. Crying out for help so loud I can’t hardly hear anything else. Please, I need you to bring her here, see what we can do.” he handed remy the address, saying he’d help guide him to you once he arrived. “Bring food and water…” Charles mumbles into his hands. “I fear she’s dying.”

You thought he was the devil at first, his eyes black and red, so you begin to scream.

However, as soon as he started talking, you felt… at peace.

“Easy there, little pistache.” he says, kneeling beside you and holding out water. “I am not here to hurt you. My name is Remy Lebeau, I’m here to help you, if you’ll let me.”

He was so careful around you, giving you the food and water you devoured so quickly and not saying a word. He didn’t speak until you had finished.

“What do you want?” You ask, still side-eyeing him. “I’m not- I’m not a hooker.”

Remy looks so confused at that. “Does everyone who treats you kindly want that from you, Cheri?”

“They want something.”

“Not me, I promise.” He holds out a hand. “Just let me help you.”

You couldn’t walk, exhaustion tearing at your bones. What surprised you was when he asked to carry you. Asking was unheard of. It wasn’t sex, so why did it matter? He asked you. He waited until you said yes. He asked to touch you… His car was parked on the street, and before you knew it you were driving through the gates of the X mansion, starting a new life.

You wake in Remy’s arms. You knew it’s him by the same, the little-bit-too-strong cologne you’d come to love.

“Remy?”

The speed running slowed, Remy looking down at you with wide eyes and relief. His brown hair, oddly out of a ponytail, fell around you. “Pistache! Thank God, what de ‘ell ‘appened?”

You wondered if you should just… tell him. It’s Remy, after all… but before you can think, he opens the door to a bright while room Hank dropping down from somewhere unseen.

You try to explain you’re fine, that you just fell in the shower, but Hank insists on a full body scan.

“It seems you overheated, my dear.”

You take the out. It was probably true, anyway. “Oh, yeah, the shower was really hot, I guess. Can I-” When you move to sit up, Hank’s hand holds you down by your shoulder. It takes everything in you not to begin panicking.

“Just a minute, it seems you-”

Remy pipes up. “Hank, take your hand off da girl.” His voice is soft. Hank would never hurt anyone, a gentle giant, but he could get preoccupied with his work.

“Oh!” He looks embarrassed. “Apologies, you know how I get so caught up- well, never mind. It seems pain sensors are going off in your pubic area. Are you experiences vaginal-”

“HANK!” Remy is more assertive this time.

Hank sets down his pad, hands on his hips. “Remy, I'm afraid I can hardly be at fault for being technical here. She’s having pain, I’m her doctor.”

A silent exchange was held between the two men. You stare at the ceiling, because this happens enough you don’t need to see it to know what’s happening. Remy is protective over your dignity, but you’ve seen Emma, Logan and Jean give similar looks to people. Hank did your medical exam when you first came. You hated doctors, but at that point Remy had to carry you from the car to the medbay, and you were to catatonic to resist.

You remember hearing Hank say something about your stress levels being off the charts. You supposed your body held onto the fear even if your mind was numb.

Remy, Charles, and Hank all knew what happened to you. Charles had met you in the med bay not long after arrival, though you could hardly look at him. You’d refused to let Remy leave, so he got to hear about the evidence of repeated breaking in your arms and the bruising on your ribs from the last time Mark kicked you bloody. He got to hear of the all the permanent damage to your body.

Maybe that’s why you always were so open with Remy? There was nothing to hide, really… Until now.

“I have a UTI” You mumble, embarrassed. You loved Hank, he was sweet, but he’s not who you wanted to see right now. You didn’t want to see anyone.

Hank insisted on putting you on a short IV drip while you rested, just so you weren’t further at risk with dehydration and heat exhaustion. He set you up in the med bed, and left you be.

“Want me to stay, pistache?” He knew how doctors offices made me feel. He knew why. Remy new everything until now.

You shake your head. “Nuh-uh… just wanna rest…”

He looks at you in a funny sort of way. “You alright? You seem… off today. I’m not sure you want t’be alone right now.”

Your anger flared up again. “I’m not going to FUCKING kill mself Remy!”

This startled him. You never yelled at Remy, you never even snapped at him, but he took it instride, pulling up a chair. “I don’t care what you do, if you need to cry or scream or what. I’ll turn da chair around if you want me too, won’t talk. But I ain’t leaving you alone right now. Ain’t never gonna leave you alone, pistache.”

In his arms, you finally cry.

I went way harder than I meant to with the shower scene im sorry ;-;

TW THE AFTER OF MY RAPE idk if this is tmi but idk if ive ever talked about this part.

When I was raped i just remember graphically wanting his off of and out of me. He also fell asleep in my dorm bed and I was so in shock i was like?? what do? With no where to go. I went to the living area and slept in and out of sleep for a few hours until it was time to go to my 8 am class.

For some reason after everything that happened to me i just remember the fucking humiliation having to wake my rapist up in MY BED as he's naked still and sweaty and i shake his shoulders and tell him he's gotta get up because i need to go to class. Why does that stick with me so badly?

Then i got to work with him for a month before i dropped out of college.

Something triggered me yesterday so i guess it came out in my writing.

ANYWAY

enough trauma dumping to yall.

LOGAN WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOUUUUU

Be sure to follow @cosmic-kid-in-motion ill start transfering my works over there soon

I dont have a poll idea today sooooo

guesses how we end???

@multiversed-daydreamer @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @del-ightfulling @miraclesabound @hindi-si-ikay @samsamsantos @madamerubrum @shybluebirdninja a @hornystan @rogueinmymind @accountforreading123 @yawnetu @princessanglophile @and-claudia a @new-genesis100 @teaganthemorningstar @oldloganslittleslut @zaggprincess2 @bugsinmyeyez @groundclueless @cosmolight @nonamevenus

#logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #fem reader #wolverine smut #logan x reader #fem!reader #f!reader

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indigosunsetao3 · 11 months ago

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Chapter 2

Waging war over the trash bins.

AO3 (Full list of tags/warnings. Please check them.) Masterlist 3.6k Words

Chapters 1 | 2 | 3

“Damn it,” Celeste muttered as she came around the bend to her cottage. Standing on the road was her elderly neighbor, who had nothing better to do than to police the neighborhood. Street really, they weren’t in a community. There certainly was no governing body about how your house had to look. So this woman had decided it was her job to make sure everything looked prim and proper for the birds and deer.

Plastering a fake smile on her face, Celeste turned slowly into her driveway and watched as the woman hobbled down the gravel a bit. She wasn’t going to risk Celeste just running into the house to avoid her, which she was contemplating as she undid her seatbelt. The woman was waving at her with an equally forced smile, reaching out to rest her hand on the trunk to block Celeste from getting far unless she bowled her over. Still an option.

With a groan, Celeste let her seatbelt whack against the door before opening it and stepping out. She knew exactly what this was about, her eyes snapping up to where the bins should have been at the edge of her drive. She hadn’t brought them back in once again. By the time she remembered, trash day was only two days away. Why risk missing the pickup when she was so close?

But they weren’t there. Had the woman gone through with her empty threats finally?

��Good evening, Mrs. Nettles,” Celeste said as she bent back down and grabbed her purse and phone out of her car. “Something I can help you with?”

“Oh, dear, I know you are terribly busy,” the woman started as she gave Celeste a once over. Her black apron was covered in powdered sugar, she had spilled coffee down her front, and errant receipts were sticking out of the front pockets. “But you are aware it’s Wednesday, right?”

“Is it?” Celeste asked, playing into the woman’s obvious dig at her. “Working all these hours, I just…lose track of the days.” A lie. Celeste was well aware of what day it was. Especially now that she was coming up on a year, the days ticking away so quickly as if they were mocking her.

“I’m sure. I hear you come and go at all hours,” the woman started. “Even in my old age, the slightest noise wakes me from a dead sleep. I guess my hearing is still intact,” she laughed. It wasn’t a joke; it was another dig at Celeste. She apparently slammed her doors shut too loudly or played her music a little too loud for the woman’s liking.

“Is there something you need?” Celeste asked as she shut her car door and made a show of finding her house key on her car keys. She had so many things on the keyring: old broken chains, keys to things she didn’t own anymore, a frayed lanyard, and a long empty bottle of hand sanitizer. All the while, she looked around casually for her stupid bins to see if they had fallen in a ditch or were across the street in the bushes.

“Well, it is Wednesday, and rubbish pickup is on Fridays,” the woman said as she gestured behind her vaguely. “Your bins had been at the road since last week.”

“Ah, yeah,” Celeste answered with a small shrug, catching on the word had. This miserable woman did have them taken. “It’s been a rainy week, and I forgot about them. Coming and going all the time, working doubles,” she trailed off as movement caught her eye. A man was walking around the corner of her house, and she stiffened, turning her heel to glare at him. Who the hell was he, and why was he on her property?

“Can I help you?” Celeste snapped as she eyed him up and down. “You do know this private property.”

“Celeste,” Mrs. Nettles interfered, sounding scandalized at Celeste’s tone. “This is John, your new neighbor,” she introduced as John walked up to stand near them.

This man was different from the man she had seen last week in the sling. Maybe this was the person that would be renovating the place. He seemed rugged enough for the role: well-worn jeans, beat-up work boots, and solidly built. Aside from seeing lights on inside the cottage every night, and even in the early mornings when she was leaving at four in the morning, she had not physically seen anyone in days. They kept to themselves, and she did the same thing. Something Mrs. Nettles could learn.

“I stopped by his place to remind him about trash day. I didn’t realize his poor roommate just had surgery and couldn’t manage it,” Mrs. Nettles continued with a simpering tone that she never gave Celeste. “But he graciously offered to grab your bins for you while he was at it.”

Probably because Mrs. Nettles was bitching about her bins to him to garner sympathy, Celeste thought. And to manipulate him into helping her.

“I can handle my bins just fine,” Celeste answered as she looked over at John, eyes scanning up at the sizeable height difference between him and the older woman who looked like she was itching to take his elbow.

“But dear, you don’t. They are always at the road; when it’s windy, they blow all over. One was already knocked over when John grabbed them for you.” Mrs. Nettles praised as if he had just saved a child from a burning building. Celeste felt her eyes roll before she could stop them. The woman noticed.

“If you don’t start keeping up with them, I will have to call the town.” Mrs. Nettles said with a cold finality as she did, in fact, grab John’s elbow. Acting as if he were going to protect her from Celeste, whose eyes had widened with disbelief.

John shifted his feet a bit and glanced back toward his cottage. He clearly regretted letting this older woman rope him in to help. When Mrs. Nettles grabbed his elbow, he closed his eyes a beat too long for a blink and inhaled. Celeste could tell he was too polite to shake the woman off, but he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“I’ll bring my bins in when I remember to bring them in,” Celeste snapped at the woman. If this old bitty wanted to have a fight, they were going to fight. “There isn’t a rule for how long they sit at the road,” she gestured angrily at the road so her keys jingled in her hands. “I can leave them out there all year round if I want. I can get three more and leave them all out there. Just for you to stare at them.” She was seething and was being obnoxious on purpose, but God, it felt good to just let some of the pent-up emotion out.

Mrs. Nettles mouthed at her like a fish out of water, eyes darting to John to back her up, but Celeste turned around and headed to her cottage. She stamped angrily to the door and shoved it open hard, not bothering to lift it as it scraped the stone entryway. Samson was waiting at the door, and she scooped him up before kicking it shut hard behind her.

“Nosey old bat,” Celeste groused, perhaps an octave too loud, as she flung her purse onto the bench in the entryway.

She wished she had the time and energy to worry about what her neighbors were doing, patrol the road, note everything out of place, and harass people for not following her made-up rules. Did it look better when bins weren’t on the road? Sure. Were the cottages prettier when the landscaping was kept up? Definitely. Did Celeste have the energy to do all that or care about it? Not in the least.

Celeste paced the living room for a bit, glancing out the big picture window to see John walk Mrs. Nettles back to her house. She narrowed her eyes, watching them go. The lead glass was too warped for them to see her glaring, but she could see them slowly walking down the road.

Mrs. Nettles had lived in her cottage with her late husband, Al, their whole married lives. Celeste’s husband grew up with them every summer and winter holiday. He said they had been just as fussy then as she was now, always worried about what everything looked like. He used to joke that they were concerned the royals would parade through town and condemn them for a flower out of place. Or would be disappointed that they weren’t following all the ‘royal rules’ about rubbish bins.

It used to be a joke between Celeste and him, the royal curb police, but now it was just an annoyance. There was no one to roll her eyes with and laugh about it over dinner or to leave to fend for themselves as the other listened with a grin as they hid around the back of the house. Instead, she was stuck with the meddling woman who took it upon herself to pester everyone on the street.

Mrs. Nettles wasn’t friendly, she wasn’t pleasant. She was mean in her own backhanded way and was on a personal crusade against Celeste. All the neighbors knew how she was and did their best to avoid her. Many would go back inside the house when they saw her coming or just make their lawns magazine-worthy so she’d leave them alone. John was fresh meat and didn’t know just how petty the woman was. He’d learn soon enough; they all eventually saw the nasty, manipulative side of her and grew tired of it.

When Samson wriggled hard enough to ask to be let down, Celeste set him on the floor and followed him to the kitchen. He sat at the back door and looked pointedly back at her, asking to go outside. He had behaved that day and hadn’t tried to get out; it was the least she could. With a sigh, she opened the back door for him to scamper out, and she spotted the bins. They were propped up against the side of her detached garage, and a vicious flare of anger went through her.

Fuck Mrs. Nettles and her stupid rules.

Walking outside, Celeste grabbed the two bins, tilted them onto the wheels, then began walking back to the end of the driveway. They bumped into one another and caught the back of her heels, making her curse; she usually brought them up one at a time. But she had come this far, and she was pissed enough that she was going to be stubborn about it. So she dragged them jerkily over the gravel, muttering under her breath until she got to the edge of the drive.

She set them out prominently around the overgrown bush and stepped back to look at her work. The bright blue recycling bin stood out perfectly against the still half-dead landscaping. Celeste stepped forward and dragged the black bin a little more prominently when she snapped her head up. John was making his way back from Mrs. Nettles' house, and he eyed her as he walked, a smirk on his face.

“Antagonizing her isn’t going to get her to let up,” John said as he got a bit closer, stopping a few feet away.

“I hope it festers,” Celeste answered smugly as she wiped her hands absently on her apron. “I hope it drives her absolutely mad when she sees them out here again. And when she calls the town, and they tell her there is nothing they can do about it, I know she’ll have a little tantrum. I only wish I could see it.”

“I take it you two don’t exchange Christmas cards,” John answered. He glanced up the road toward the woman’s house before back to Celeste.

“Hardly. She’s been a thorn in everyone’s side for years,” Celeste answered before twisting to look at John’s cottage. “She’s just playing nice with you right now, hoping you’ll clean the place up. She’s been whining about the state of that cottage to anyone that will listen for a long while.”

“She’s going to be waiting,” John answered as he spotted Kyle walk out the front door, looking to see what was taking him so long. “I leave for work tomorrow, and Kyle isn’t exactly fit to be doing anything.”

“Tell him to just ignore her,” Celeste started, “avoid her, actually. Better for everyone.”

“He’s too nice for all that,” John answered as Kyle walked out to the car and leaned against the hood, watching them talk. “But I’ll give him a warning.”

“Being nice isn’t always the answer,” Celeste answered.

Before John could respond, she headed back to her cottage, abruptly ending the conversation. She had enough for the afternoon and was honestly afraid that the woman would pop out from behind the tree line to start up another fight. For acting so frail, she was spritely. And while Celeste wanted to antagonize her, she wasn’t ready to start arguing just yet.

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“Making friends?” Kyle asked as John walked back over, cutting through the thin tree line that dotted the property between their cottage and neighbor. He had watched the old woman corner John and didn’t do a damn thing to help him. He just smirked and gave him a snarky little wave as John glared at him when the woman practically dragged him along.

“Don’t start,” Price replied as he patted his pants down for the car keys. They weren’t there.

“Here,” Kyle answered as he held out the keys with his good hand, the keyring looped around a finger. He grinned a bit as John took them from him, his hand brushing over his and lingering a fraction too long to be completely casual. “What’s the neighbor's name?” He tacked on as he walked to the passenger's side and opened the door.

“Celeste,” John answered as he watched Kyle and waited patiently for him to buckle himself in. He knew helping him would be easier, but Kyle felt infantile enough as it was. “She’s looking to start a war with the self-imposed street police,” his voice was exasperated, but the slight twitch of his lips gave away the amusement.

“I thought we were coming here to avoid war,” Kyle stated as he finally got the seatbelt in place and twisted back with a huff.

“I highly doubt either of them are going to be lobbing tear gas over their fence,” John replied, his gaze lingering on where Celeste’s backdoor had opened again. He hesitated as he twiddled the wheel and watched her walk out across her lawn, her little orange cat on her heels, headed toward her dock.

“If we have to pick sides, I’m taking the old lady,” Kyle answered as he peered at John, then followed his eyeline toward Celeste. She was headed back out to that dock for the third night in a row. Kyle had spotted her the evening before, sitting in the light rain before she finally gave up as a downpour chased her inside. “Probably has some tricks up her sleeve from the Second World War,” he smirked.

“Don’t count Celeste out just yet,” John answered as he watched her a moment longer. She sat in the left chair as she always did and set a bottle of wine on the small table. The right chair remained empty; not even her cat jumped into it.

“Are you going to pick up another stray?” Kyle asked teasingly as John finally pulled out of the driveway, hand deftly shifting gears. “Johnny and Simon were territorial enough when you brought me home.”

“Should have left all three if you out in the rain,” John answered as Kyle laughed and settled back further into his leather seat.

They spent a good while in town. Kyle had found a small home goods store to pick up new sheets for the bed he had ordered, which was set to arrive in a few days. After spending one night on the twin bed and waking up with a spring lodged in his back, he had deemed it uninhabitable. Next, they made a quick stop at the liquor store to stock up on the "good stuff," as John put it. John only drank beer if there were no other options, dismissing it as ‘piss water’ until someone found him a decent Scotch.

Their final stop was the grocer, where they stocked up on more than just beer and prepackaged food to fill the fridge. John had groused over Kyle’s lack of proper food while he was supposed to be recovering, masking his concern for Kyle’s well-being with worry about the team being down a man. Kyle grinned to himself for the rest of the trip, glancing occasionally at John, who seemed to avoid eye contact at all costs. The dance they had been performing for a while was picking up tempo.

“Who knew the whole town would shut down at nine,” Kyle muttered as he shifted the styrofoam containers on his lap. They had planned on eating a proper meal in a restaurant, but everything was closing down for the evening. The waitress had given them a withering look when they asked for a table at eight-thirty and offered them takeaway instead.

“I’m sure it will change in the summer,” John answered as he flicked the high beams off. The mist on the road was thick, and the light was just reflecting back at him as he tried to navigate the winding roads.

Kyle didn’t answer as he popped open the lid of his box and reached in for a chip, but John cut his eyes over to him. They were supposed to sit and eat together, none of this rush shit that they did out in the field. Kyle quickly shut the lid and held his hand up in a surrender gesture, letting the boxes continue to warm his legs.

“She’s still out there,” John said a moment later as the car lights swung over Celeste’s property when they pulled in. He wasn’t exactly looking for her, but his eyes wandered in that direction nonetheless.

“She’s out there late most nights,” Kyle answered as he looked as well.

Neither of them grabbed their seatbelts, and John let the car run as they watched. Celeste didn’t react to the lights or the sound of the car, not even peering over her shoulder. John contemplated getting out to check on her when he saw her shift. It was subtle, but he saw her hand reach to the side before curling back in again. Grabbing her bottle of wine.

“Does she sleep out there?” John asked when he finally cut the engine and climbed out. He went for the groceries in the trunk while Kyle juggled the food, hipping his door shut.

“No, I keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn’t fall in the lake,” Kyle answered. He caught the look John gave him. It was a curious one, perhaps a little too knowing, before he returned to gathering the bags. “She wanders inside, eventually.”

“Now who’s looking for strays,” John taunted as he followed Kyle into the cottage.

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Celeste rose from her chair, groaning as she stretched her stiff back and legs, her butt having gone numb some time ago. She stumbled slightly as she grabbed her blanket and the empty bottle of wine, catching herself on the back of the chair she had just left. The water had been calm that evening, with a mist dancing across the surface, shifting gently with the breeze. A few boats had drifted by, moving lazily, and Celeste had watched them come and go with a slightly vacant expression.

The lake was her sanctuary, a place where she could escape and let nature envelop her, becoming just another blip on the shore. On particularly tough evenings, when her thoughts refused to quiet, she brought wine along. Lately, she found she needed wine most nights. The approaching anniversary was making it increasingly difficult to silence her mind. That evening had been especially hard; she’d downed a whole bottle in one sitting without even getting up to eat.

Throwing her blanket over her shoulder, she carefully made her way down the dock, Samson trotting beside her and mewling for his dinner. She twirled the empty wine bottle between her fingers as she walked when a sound drew her attention. Glancing to the side, she spotted two figures on their back porch, small embers glowing in the dark as they smoked. Shit, she thought. Had they seen her stumble? She hoped they would dismiss it as the dock rocking with the movement of the lake.

She watched the figures for a few more seconds as she walked, concentrating on placing one foot carefully in front of the other to avoid tripping again. Her head was swimming, and she fumbled with the door handle twice before finally getting it open and slipping inside. The bright kitchen light made her flinch, so she quickly turned it off, relying on the dim light above the stove to feed Samson. She wasn’t hungry and didn’t think she could stomach anything anyway; just the thought of food made her feel ill.

The idea of climbing the steep stairs to bed was daunting. So, instead, she wandered to the couch and collapsed into it. Five am was going to come quickly, and as she drifted to sleep in her stupor, Celeste knew she was going to be pissed at herself when she woke up. A full bottle of wine on an empty stomach, paired with a poor night’s sleep, would result in a miserable hangover; her second one that week.

#poly tf141 #poly141 #polyamory #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #call of duty #cod #my fic #original female character #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #john price #Lifeline

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bittybeanie · 10 days ago

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Heavy Handed ch. 1 (Stanford Pines x Reader)

y'all it's my first multi-chapter fic sweet moses. (really it's a one shot that got out of hand). it's about 80% done and i started to realize it would probably be better to split it up, so i'm trying something new. i hope you enjoy!

"But then there’s Stanford. He seems to be doing his best to relax into a neutral state but his expression is too pinched to be convincing, his shoulders pulled back at too sharp an angle, his hands jammed a little too far down in his pockets. And he is so, so handsome."

content notes: post canon, gender neutral reader ("repair guy" and "handyman" are used but in a gender neutral way i promise), one mention of a scar (my man does not practice lab safety), nothing explicit but you can definitely tell i have a thing for Hands, this fic will be Spicy as of chapter 5 so Proceed with Caution

word count (this chapter): 958

read on ao3 || next chapter

You should have been prepared for the Pines family’s arrival. The second Soos figured out you were sticking around for the summer, he had a presentation ready to go, including a play-by-play reenactment of something he called Weirdmageddon and a multi-hour rundown of the backstory and quirks of each family member, to a level you’re not sure you should have seen without at least meeting them.

“When Mabel sees you, dude, brace yourself. Her hugs are mad powerful, and she gets stronger every time I see her. Dipper is insanely sweaty, but if he shakes your hand you absolutely can not wipe your hands off on your clothes, no matter how bad you want to. It doesn’t go away. Ask me how I know, dude. Mr. Pi- wait, no, I mean Stan, the Stanley Stan, is the founder, and he might, like, yell at you and stuff? But he’s nice on the inside, just give him time. And then, so, don’t freak out when you see him, but the first Stan, the real Stanford, totally has, like, twelve fingers, dude. He’s got a spooky lab with all sorts of sciencey stuff, and sometimes he forgets that the junk outside of it is, like, cheap and breakable, so you might be working overtime. Haha, sorry, dude!”

There was a lot of backtracking and there were a couple diagrams that you didn’t fully understand - something about a gun-sword and a sea monster - but you’re pretty sure you can remember enough to not make a fool of yourself.

And, sure enough, Soos is right on every count. Even with the warning, you totally underestimate Mabel’s hugging power, and she bowls you over with a leap and a loud screech and an “OMG you must be the new Soos! Well, Soos is still Soos, obviously, but you know what I mean! That must mean you’re good at fixing things! Is there anything you can’t fix?” Dipper comes in right behind her, clearly unfazed by the fact that you got toppled by a 13 year old, and introduces himself while Mabel is settling in on the floor beside you. His hand is damp, and it takes a lot of effort to not visibly cringe before you manage to sneakily wipe your hand on the underside of the tablecloth dangling next to your face. Mabel points a camera, flash and all, directly at you, and you’re only guessing through the sparkles in your vision that the person lifting her and her scrapbook off the floor with a gruff “Mabel, sweetie, take it easy on the repair guy, huh?” is Stanley. It’s not your best first impression, but they seem to like you well enough.

But then there’s Stanford.

While everybody else was clearly aware of the fact that you exist, Stanford seems less certain you’re supposed to be there. He hovers awkwardly in the doorway, glancing between your face and some distant point behind you. You can almost see the gears in his head turning, orienting himself to the setting, taking the rest of his family’s reactions to you into account, running calculations to decide how friendly he should be. He seems to be doing his best to relax into a neutral state but his expression is too pinched to be convincing, his shoulders pulled back at too sharp an angle, his hands jammed a little too far down in his pockets.

And he is so, so handsome.

“You’re Stanford, right?” As you pull yourself to your feet, you tip your head toward the sound of cans opening behind you. “He’s Stanley?”

“Just Ford is fine.” When he clears his throat, his arm twitches, his hand sliding ever so slightly out of his pocket before he shoves it back down. “But, yes.”

“Got it.” You dig through your memory of Soos’ presentation for a conversation topic that isn’t the hands he’s so obviously trying to hide from you. “I, um- I hear you set a lot of things on fire.”

That startles a laugh out of him. You find yourself surprised by how delighted you are to hear it. It lowers his shoulders for him, and suddenly the neck of his sweater looks that much nicer along his jaw. “Yes, I suppose that’s true, now that you mention it. No need to worry, though, it’s all within controlled circumstances.” Then, quieter, “Except for that one time.”

“Well, I stocked up on extinguishers when I heard you were coming so if there’s a second time, just holler.” You start toward the door out to the gift shop, trying not to laugh when Ford stumbles out of the way like he’s been jabbed from the side. You wave as you turn out of the room, sparing a glance at the table where the kids have started throwing piles of their belongings. Stan practically shoos you, both kids wave back with fitting levels of enthusiasm, and Ford…

Ford lifts one hand from his pocket and lets it hang in the air beside him, only the slightest tilt of his wrist signaling it as a wave. The light from the strangely bright bulb overhead silhouettes it in a soft glow, accentuates the way his palm curls, shows off the wide, square tips of his fingers, the sharp angle where his thumb meets his wrist, the jut of bone and the ridge of a scar that disappears into the ribbed sleeve of his turtleneck. You’re sure that you’ve been staring for far too long but you can’t tear your eyes away, and you’re not sure that making eye contact would be any better at this point.

So you keep staring, systematically filing away every detail you can, and you silently hope that you won’t run into the door frame.

#stanford pines x reader #ford pines x reader #ford pines x you #stanford pines x you #reader insert #AHHHH posting multi chap is so scary #this is the most self indulgent thing i've posted so far #i think each fic just gets more and more tailored for specifically me #but i hope you enjoy anyway #my writing

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within-your-eyes-if · 2 years ago

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Update 9/21

Hello everyone!

I've definitely had a period of complete dissatisfaction no matter what I wrote (including all the lovely asks I've received). It hurt my soul sometimes. It stressed me out a lot and weighed me down heavily. But I've been crawling out of the mindset (your loving words and support a huge help) and I finally feel more satisfied with what I have.

I made quite a few revisions, additions, and corrections. I expanded on a few things, especially the fights and the knightly order that Gabriel and Lee are a part of. I did away with some stuff or just redid it. I overlooked some details and have corrected them accordingly. I can't tell if it's a lot or feels like a lot because I've done it all gradually over the past two months.

Other things to note:

Tongue piercings added.

MC is less opinionated regarding the baron (There was a reason, but I decided to go a different direction in this area. Regardless, it won't really matter until Ch3).

New option on the initial character customization page (Where you choose your pronouns. (This new option won't come into play until Ch3+, but I just want you to be aware of it).

No more being dragged around. You utilize the walking stick more. The changes were slight adjustments to the text, but it's worth mentioning, even if it feels small.

Skipping Ly's explicit scene now gives a non-descriptive overview. I feel like some parts within the explicit stuff added a bit of character-building. But I repeat: they are non-descriptive (for those who prefer it this way ♥).

Declining the job actually lets you say no.

No personality check at dinner. No personality checks ever.

There are a few other things I changed and added spread throughout both chapters, but I'd say they're relatively minor, or I want you to discover them for yourself.

Anyway, I think that's all. I still don't want to give a date for Ch3 because I'm trying to take my time and make sure I'm happy with it. I don't want a repeat of the turmoil I've put myself through, which is entirely my fault. Regardless, I can look at these two chapters and feel more content with them and now peaceably move on to finishing Part 1 of Chapter 3. A lot is going on in this chapter and my personal life, so I have 100% decided to break the chapter into two parts (I said before I wasn't sure).

Thank you for reading this and my story! Have an awesome day!

Demo Link

Word Count: 110,596 (Excluding Codex)

#within your eyes if #interactive fiction #text based adventure #text based game #work in progress #wye progress update

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toiletwipes · 2 years ago

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Whenever I'm Alone (With You) | clinic!wilbur

MOUTH SO SWEETLY TELLING LIES — PART TWO

5k words. / [Two months after the festival you're left in the dust of what to do with yourself when you've been ghosted by a really cute guy. Depression hits and it's not a good mix.] [watch out for self-deprecation, slight suicidal ideation, kind of an unhealthy relationship brewing out of pain]

Part 1 — Masterlist

fic title from Lovesong by The Cure but the chapter title is from Cut by The Cure

thank you @drop-of-void for proof-reading!! and i'm tagging some lovely folks now. @sleeby-anon @loversj0y @struggling-with-delia @l0veb0mb1ng @boiled-onionrings

xxxx

After the first month, it’d been easy to slip into the same old routine. Wake up too early, stare at the wall until your alarm goes off, manage either the longest shower ever or brush your teeth, then go to work and come home exhausted. Maybe eat. Stare at the wall a little more, go to bed. Music was optional.

And Seff wasn’t having it after the second.

“If men do this to you, then they don’t deserve you.” You grunted, listening to him ramble as you sat on the couch, arms feeling like noodles as you fold towels that sat on your bed a little too long, with Seff mopping your floor, the rugs rolled up and against the wall. The room smelt like fabuloso. “I’m serious. They don’t get to have a great night, express that they want to get to know you more, exchange numbers and then do jackshit with it.” He stops mopping, opting to lean against the length of it, eyes staring straight at you. You don’t make contact.

“Well it’s not up to me what they do, remember?” It’s hard not to be mean about this, you’re all too aware that when men do this, it’s not your fault. (...Entirely.)

“Vividly.” He says, before finishing up the last corner and putting the mop back in the bucket and putting it off by the laundry room. When he joins you, you’re halfway done. He helps you with the rest of the towels, getting you off the couch and forcing you to tuck the towels into the cabinets. When you get back almost ten minutes later, you find the living room fan turned on high and the floor drying faster, Seff himself back on the couch with gummy candy. He offers some to you when you join him on the couch. You dig a hand into the bag and pop them into your mouth, chewing on them as you let the cleanliness of the place wash over you.

“Doing anything feels like I’m moving through- through a thick goo, like tar. And I can’t get out of it.” The words come out only a smidge louder than a whisper but it was so loud between the two of you. Seff doesn’t say anything. So you continue. “It wasn’t… just him. It was all of those guys. Like, how could all of them have one night and change their mind so fast, like it wasn’t real for any of them.” But it was him. He was the last straw. He made the choice to come up to you and spend the last of the festival with you, it was him that wanted your number. It was all him and then- and then- tears prick your eyes again.

And it was him again, ghosting you, just like the others. They were so different from each other, how could they all do the same thing? There had to be a reason and the only logical one is that it was you. They regretted what they did, what they said, and they regret you.

You feel the hazy feeling wash over you, the tar-like substance coating your limbs and mind as Seff hums, wrapping an arm around you. He knew you so well, you wondered why he stayed. “They’re jackasses, don’t forget that, no matter how nice they were or how they smiled at you, they decided that being a coward was easier, it had nothing to do with you.” You nod, not really listening… but still, it’s a little nice to hear the words. Even if they didn’t stick like they should’ve.

He rubs your shoulder, offering you more candy and letting it sit in his lap when you decline. “Here, let’s finish up cleaning and then you hop in the shower. Vick wants you over for dinner tonight, she’s making your favorite, okay?” You nod, Vick was always so nice and sweet to you, snarky towards her husband. And on good days it didn’t hurt to be around them, to see them in love like crazy people.

“How’d you do it?” You don’t recognize the words coming out of your mouth, foreign and sickly tasting. He hums, sighing as he breathes out while he looks around the apartment.

“How’d I do what?” He asks.

“How’d you know it was her, I mean, you guys moved so fast, how did you- just- how?” Words failed you and you wanted answers but even on autopilot, you’re unsure of what you want to know. Of what you want to hear.

Silence grows as he mulls over the answer. Then he starts standing, getting you up on your feet with him, speaking as he pushes you to the shower, “I’ll tell you when you’re done, how about that?” He smiles as you reach the middle of the tiled bathroom floor, turning to him helplessly as you shiver.

He’s about to close the door when you stop him, reaching out with a hand. He stands there, unmoving, eyes moving up to meet yours and you gulp.

“Thanks.”

He smiles and he shuts the door with a click.

You undress, making no attempts to look at the mirror as you step into the shower, closing the curtains. The water hits your scalp and you try to picture your ails being washed away with the oils in your hair. You try to follow your old routine as best as you can but when thirty minutes pass and all you have to show for it is clean hair and nothing else, you turn the shower off. You’ll take a win where you can. You don’t entirely know it’s been thirty minutes to be fair, but when the water turns from hot to cold you can take the hint it’s time to get out.

Getting dressed and drying your hair with a shirt, you exit your room to find Seff on the couch, finishing the bag of gummy candy off. The corner of your lips twitch up as you toss the shirt at his head, snorting when he shouts and somehow falls onto the ground. “And after all that I’ve done for you!” He says as he wrenches the shirt off his head, throwing it right back at you. “I’ve rolled the rugs out AND I’ve got your bag and keys, and this is the thanks I get?!” A small smile plays on your face, wrapping your arm around his neck in a limp headlock as he continues to mumble about how unfair it was.

“Come on, you big baby, let’s get you back home to Vick,” and at the mention of his wife, he perks right up, handing your things over as he rushes to the door. You follow after him but as you lock the bottom lock, you hear a banging on your window. Your head snaps to the living room, just barely catching the dimmed blue sky of the night, nothing to be seen in the glass. You’d check it out but then you hear Seff call for your name. Turning away, you finish locking your door, following your best friend down the stairs and breathing in and out as your thoughts try to race ahead of you. Despite the genuine fear of a burglar… you couldn’t be bothered to worry too hard about it. One, there wasn’t a thing you could do now, pulling the seat belt over you as Seff started the engine. Two, and you’re sure it’s a bad thought but your mental health has never been known to be particularly okay, but you almost hope there’s somebody waiting for you. Whether they’d kill you immediately or to kidnap you, you’re clueless to which you want more, both are fine options. Maybe torture. Maybe you’d come out of this haze your mind seems to be stuck in.

You hardly notice the car parking, only when the door unlocks and you, automatically, take your seat belt off, opening the door and watching with blinking eyes as Vick, the beautiful woman she is, finds the two of you and hugs both at the same time. It’s a nice hug. Her soap smells nice. Makes you feel sleepy again.

Dinner is filled with laughs and despite your small fears, she doesn’t bring up Wilbur and she doesn’t bring up anybody and she doesn’t say that you deserve better. She just finds ways to make you laugh, make you gasp with the drama she’s heard, helps you with setting the table as Seff finishes off the toasted bread.

Wine is poured in your glass and Vick’s, juice for Seff. You quirk an eyebrow at him and he raises both in return, “what?” he asks as he lifts the fancy glass to his nose, swirling the liquid and then smelling it, with a satisfied nod.

“Pregnant?” He hangs his head in shame as Vick snorts, getting the salt and pepper from the kitchen.

“We wanted to be sure it was hers,” he sends a wink your way before beaming at Vick, accepting the bowl being passed for bread.

The night passes fast and before you can soak the warmth and happiness in for the long run, Seff is already dropping you off, double-checking that you’ll be okay for the weekend. “We’ll be at her mom’s place and you know her mom, middle of nowhere. No signal and—” you cut him off with a tight hug. He doesn’t say anything else until you let go. Until you’re sure the wine isn’t the only thing warm in your chest and belly. You’re slow to pull away but when you do, you walk backwards into your apartment, hand tight around the doorknob. The fear from before is back and though you know he has to leave, you wished he would stay. But that would mean asking. And you can’t ask that of him, not when he’s done so much for you already.

“See you when you get back.” He nods, tight-lipped.

“See you.” He starts the walk back to his car when you call out to him.

The words choke up in your throat but you manage to force them out, tasting bitter like vomit, “love you, be safe.” He parrots it back and tears blur your vision as you wave, watching as he disappears down the steps and then out of sight when his car drives away.

You swallow the lump in your throat, hoping you wouldn’t throw up on the floor after he mopped it, the fear of a familiar pit in your stomach as the door closes behind you. It’s quiet.

Way too quiet.

You turn your TV on, just loud enough to cover the ringing silence in your ears as you sit on the couch, not daring to check your bedroom or the kitchen for any intruders. You’re not sure what you want to find.

Head falling to your lap, phone open, your hand trembles as you press the icon for Wilbur’s contact. Despite him not answering before, you kept texting him and everyday it would stay on delivered, nothing would change. It felt maddening. Lonely. Desperate. You start typing a message out, speaking as your fingers moved, “Seff came over… helped clean and everything. I don’t know… where I’d be without… him.” Tears dripped onto your cheeks as you felt stupid and pathetic and- and- you couldn’t breathe, not around the sobs that escaped your mouth, covering it with one hand as you sent the message. He was just a guy and he only spent one night with you. It wasn’t even that special- you weren’t that special- why would he ever think-

It’s hard to focus but when the tears stop falling and you can breathe, at least through your mouth, you wipe the snot off with your sleeve.

Burglar be damned, you walk into the kitchen, tearing a paper towel off the roll and blowing your nose. It’s loud and it’s warm when you pull it away, groaning at the sight. “Fucking hell,” you mumble, tossing it into the trash.

The floor is cold beneath your feet walking back to the couch and when you sniff, you catch a whiff of that fabuloso again, pressing a hand to your forehead as you reach down to grab your phone. Your breath catches in your throat.

They’re- the messages- they’re not delivered anymore. He’s opened them. Thousands of emotions run through you in the matter of seconds. Air lodges itself in your throat, leaving you dizzy and unable to breathe as you think about it. Shame, humiliation. He’s seeing this pathetic, sad and lonely person vomit in his messages. Shock. Did he- did he lose his phone? Briefly angry, why couldn’t he just open it that night why did he have to wait till now? Staring down the phone screen, you can hardly recognize your thumb pressing on the call button. Without question, the cold press against your ear brings you to the moment, your mind clears of the haze as you’re forced to think, in milliseconds of a game plan. You thought of one over the last two months, wondered what you’d say to him, given the chance, but with your self-deprecating ass it was hard to think at all right now. Taking him back so quickly definitely was wrong, as was assuming he wanted you at all. Oh what to say?

As the call goes through and rings, hearing a vibrating noise outside the window you stiffen up. The one where you heard a noise from-

And the phone picks up, the vibration stops and all you can hear is the distant city noises, and perhaps the quietest panting you’ve heard. You approach the window, holding both hands at your phone, clutching as you whisper, “Wilbur?” Turning around until your back meets the wall beside it, you try to see if looking out would do anything. It doesn’t. It’s just as dark as it is inside of your living room, the only thing disturbing that inky blanket of darkness is your TV. You’re almost scared to turn it off. “Wilbur, what- are you there?” You didn’t know if you meant in general or right outside your fucking window but you can only imagine the answer when you see a phone drop onto the fire escape, a body falling to its knees, you can barely make out the silhouette. You drop your own phone when a hand smacks against the glass, dragging down as it smacks again and again. The shake in your hands makes it hard for you to flip the locks and you slide it up, just barely asking the question: just what in the hell are you doing??

But the hand falls off and a head of fluffy brown hair sticks in and he falls in with as much grace as a limp noodle, groaning all the way. You move him enough only to reach out and grab his phone, looking around to make sure nobody caught him sneaking in. You hope that in the case they do, they assume you’re only sneaking in a boyfriend— even if the assumption hurts to ache for.

“Fuck, Wilbur, what happened to you?” You hiss as you close the window, crouching as you help him sit against the wall, trying to look over him as his head rolls back. His eyes stare up at the ceiling as you look back at the window, catching sight of the red tint dragging down in the shape of his hand. Picking his wrist up, you do see the drying blood coating his skin. Your chest coils tight, thinking the worst of the worst. You try asking him what happened, where’s he hurt before his eyes drift down and find you, his face softening and a deep sigh rattles out of him, interrupted by a hiss and an attempt to press against his ribs. You need to call the ambulance, hell, take him to the hospital yourself but the way he’s sitting on your floor, already adjusting himself seems a little too… relaxed. As one can be relaxed when, no doubt, pain is at the forefront of your mind. “Wilbur, say something,” you beg with gritted teeth. You need a reason to not kick him out, to not pull him into your arms and kiss the wounds away no matter how tempting and how useless it would be. “Say something before I kill you myself.” And then he passes out.

You groan out in frustration, having caught his head in a panic when his body slumped over again and making a dive for the tile. “I cannot be doing this, Seff will kill me-” and then the sudden reminder, of oh yes, as of right now, you cannot call him. Despite more than likely being in the city together, you didn’t want him worrying over you again. You cannot keep doing that to him, he has a life of his own, Vick needs her husband and they’re going to visit her mom— and in your panic, a minute has passed and his head is still in your hand. You, out of nerves, started carding your free fingers through his hair, finding it… wet. You sniff close to his head and nearly groan again, yeah, his hair is wet with sweat.

You push his head back and reach around him, mumbling to yourself about how you should do it. Picking him up by the waist doesn’t do you any favors, neither does pulling on his arms. Bad idea in the first place. Sighing, you make a note to apologize later if he doesn’t die on you when you drag him to your room. It’s no question that he lies on your bed- after a towel has been laid out for him. If he’s bleeding, you don't want too big of a stain. You had considered leaving him on the floor… but then you couldn’t do it.

You check his arms, pushing his sleeves up and finding none of that. You check his head, nothing bleeding there. You take his shoes off but… that’s about all you do besides getting the first aid kit and setting it next to you, along with water and painkillers. If he was bleeding in the legs or chest or hell, even his feet, you needed him awake for that. And despite him literally being on your fire escape, which raises all sorts of questions mind you, you couldn’t undress him. You couldn’t.

After a few minutes, you shake his shoulder, giving his face a few smacks when he wakes up with a jolt, looking around until he finds you and then he groans, clutching at his side again, eyes shut tight. Then he tries to sit up. “Hey slow down there,” you say, holding onto his shoulder when it seemed he would stand up.

“Please, I should-” he swallows and you despise yourself for looking at his throat move, “I should go.”

“You shouldn’t be moving at all, now where’s the blood?” You speak fast, hoping to hide the shake in your voice if you were mean about it. He tried to fight you on it but when you pushed on his chest, stepping between his legs, he couldn’t move, head flung back as he tried to reel the grunts of pain in, trying to be quiet. “If you needed the hospital- or- or a clinic, you should’ve gone there first. But you didn’t, so you’re gonna tell me what’s hurting so I can help you.” He lays limp on your bed, unable to look at you as his mouth dropped open and snapped shut several times. “If you don’t tell me where it hurts, I’m going to stab you and then stitch you up myself and then throw you out my window so fucking- say something.”

It’s silent. Until it wasn’t. “Everywhere,” he rasped, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “It hurts everywhere. I can’t-” he gasps, hand coming up to where your own still processes, in the middle of his chest and over yours“-think.” You retract your hand immediately, backing up as you give him space. Space for yourself.

“Is there anything bleeding?” You ask and when he shakes his head, you think back to the clear blood on his hands, on your window. It doesn’t add up but taking it with a generous fistful of salt, you want to scream. “Okay- okay. Fuck.”

In the end, you have him sit up, half-apologizing for the pain and the other of you lets him have it, he can handle it just this once. He could’ve called, he could’ve texted, anything, but no, he had to wait until he was literally too hurt to move.

“Did you break anything?” You ask, digging through the first-aid kit while you waited for him to take his shirt off, “because with the way you’re bitching about these bruises—”

“—bitching?” He cuts you off, shirt halfway over his head.

“— yes, bitching, you’re not bleeding, if anything was broken you would’ve, surely, gone to a clinic. A healer, just, fucking anybody. No, you had to come to me.” You say, pulling out the self-adherent wrap and opening it up, unable to fault yourself in finding a battered, bare-chested Wilbur on your bed and losing your voice for it. The hair on his chest that leads down his stomach that leads further down into his pants… you breathe in as he himself is quiet. Starting at his ribs, you have him hold it down as you begin wrapping it around his torso, dedicated to ignoring the heat of his skin, how close you are to him. How you have to stand with one leg between his and lean into his space.

With each go-around, you make sure it’s not too tight, just enough to keep pressure and when you tape it down, you have him lay back down, gathering the first-aid kit to put on the nightstand. Heading into the kitchen for an ice-pack. In the middle of making one in a ziploc bag, you wonder what the fuck you’re doing. You’re patching up a guy who fell into your living room after having ghosted you for two months.

You want to be mad at yourself, you want to punish yourself so badly for letting him in so easily.

“Listen, I just wanted to say—” he says when you walk in and you couldn’t help yourself, you chucked it at the bed and snatched the throw blanket on your dresser, ignoring any other attempts at conversation.

“Get some rest, don’t call for me unless that bag is melted.” You say over your shoulder, closing your bedroom door shut and you can’t help the pathetic slide down against it. Tears try to fall but you wipe them furiously. He does not get to wander in and fuck everything up. For goodness’ sake, you’ve just mopped.

Setting up camp on your couch, you lie down with the knowledge that yeah your neck will be shit in the morning, but you don’t care. You don’t care. It won’t matter in the morning because in the morning, he’ll be okay enough to get up and stand somewhat straight and maybe without help and he’ll insist on leaving. That’s just how it’ll go. He’ll say he never meant to end up on your fire escape and in the morning, he’ll apologize for taking up your bed. Because that’s just how it’ll go. And then he’ll go. And you’ll never see him again.

That’s how it’s going to be. It’ll never be anything more. You sniffle, can’t even stop crying for a night. How fucking useless. You bury your head into the throw pillow and shiver under the thin blanket. It’ll be over soon. It’ll be over and he’ll be gone and you can pretend that you never intended on letting someone murder you. You can pretend that you’re normal and pretend everything is okay. Breathing out, you let sleep fall over you.

You rub the ache in your neck, grimacing as you flip another pancake, successfully burning it. It goes onto a stack of burnt pancakes. Turning off the stove, you don’t even pull butter or the syrup out of the fridge. Maybe your bitterness will fade away with time… maybe you’ll be able to look back in time and say, it’s okay. It just wasn’t meant to be. For right now, you get to be petty and serve your bruised guest burnt food.

Opening your bedroom door, you halt in your footsteps; finding him fast asleep. The ice-pack is nowhere to be found. A sigh falls out of your mouth, the sound of the plate that knocks against the dresser is almost as loud as your defeat. You take the blanket you’d slept with and drape it over him, tucking the edges under him. The idiot slept on top of the cover. Standing up straight, you look at him. This is the first time you’ve seen him in two months, and you feel hopeless. He looks so peaceful, so handsome, so pretty, so helpless you can’t help but want to stay. But he’s hurt you. No matter what he has to say.

You breathe in deep before turning to leave and you would’ve made it out the door had he not reached out for you, grasping your wrist with cold fingers. You shiver under his touch as his head falls to the side, his hair falling into his closed eyes. “What you do to me is cruel,” you whisper, sliding down to the floor and letting him hold your wrist. You don’t know how much I regret meeting you and you don’t know how much I cherish meeting you at all.

It takes twenty minutes for him to wake up, two minutes after that for him to let go. You stand up, throwing a new shirt at him. This one happened to be completely oversized and old for you, perfect for him. “Get dressed and eat, I’m either taking you to a hospital or a healer you know, fifteen minutes.” You don’t give yourself time to loiter in the room, you don’t give him time to explain himself. (You know that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mean to ghost you but let’s be real, you’re you. And he’s Wilbur. The math isn’t adding up. He just wasn’t that interested.)

About ten minutes after you walk out of your room, he stumbles out, gripping onto the walls and he groans with his mouth closed. You don’t let him see your flustered face at the sound, just walking out and letting him follow you to the stairs. You pull one of his arms over your shoulders and make a point not to talk to him, even when he tries to get you to let go. Saying all about how he can walk on his own and stairs are no problem… you couldn’t resist it though, he was pretty insistent that he’d be okay and maybe you’re still upset. You let go and watch as he falls down one step, catching him before he scraped himself up even more.

“And you said you had it under control.” You mutter and you can see he wants to say more but you send him a look that has him clenching his jaw again.

“Look, you don’t need to take me to a hospital.” He begins after the two of you are settled in your car.

“So you know a healer?” You turn to him, giving him a blank stare.

“Well- maybe- I-” he stumbles over his words as you start the engine.

“You have very limited options right now. Either I take you to someone who will help you or I will dump your ass on the front step of the nearest doctor. Pick one.” His jaw sets and you make it a point to stare ahead as he gives you directions.

In no time, you find yourself in front of an apartment building, helping him get out of the car and into the lobby. You barely helped him into the elevator before turning to leave, watching as he leaned against the elevator doors. He stumbled over his words again.

“I couldn’t text you. I wanted to, so badly.” He says, with the wettest eyes known to man.

“So you’re telling me, you saw I was texting, couldn’t respond for some mysterious reason and you expect me to tell you it’s okay?”

“I’m not saying it was.”

“Two months, Wilbur, you left me alone for two months.” You say, throwing it out there and he wants to say more, you can see it so clearly. You can see he wants to say why, wants to tell you everything. His big, sad eyes stare you down, tears close to falling. You look behind you, holding onto the elevator doors as you lean closer into the enclosed space. “And we’re only talking because you showed up at my window, bruised to hell and back with someone’s blood on your hands. Talk to me when you’re healed. Because yeah, I have questions. And if you can’t answer them when you’ve healed up, just go back to ignoring me. It worked perfectly fine for the both of us, didn’t it?” You don’t know why you said any of that, bitterness and hurt chokes you up, your words coming out stilted or too fast. Because no way in any version of reality were you okay. You wanted the truth. You wanted to know exactly what went wrong that night for him to ignore you.

And if he’s being honest with you right now, you’re not sure what to make of it.

But you’ve said your piece and the first tear falls down his cheek. So you lean in, palm smacking the button for the doors to close. You don’t wait a second before turning around and heading back to your car. Breaking down right in front of it.

You were so far from being okay, so, so fucking far.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x y/n #c: wilbur #c: wilbur soot #eggplicit #<- i go a little nuts at the thought of chest hair my bad #and stomach hair..... a happy.. happy trail sjghsghs #ANYWAYS!#c: clinicbur #au: clinic #c: sirenbur #gender neutral reader

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psychic-poet777 · 1 month ago

Text

Common Side Effects Season 2

This is a fan fiction of the show Common Side Effects. Both the cover art and the story are by me. But the characters belong to Adult Swim. It picks up exactly where season 1 leaves off, and sticks with the cannon. It's a drama/romance/comedy. Yes, I am aware they are making a real season 2. But I loved the first season so much and I just couldn't wait to see more so I made my own continuation. If you enjoy it, please leave a like and a comment! If you want to read the rest of this story, go to my Wattpad (link in my bio.)

Chapter 1 - Hostage Situation

Cecily stood in front of a big screen in a dimly lit room. She clicked a button on the remote she was holding and a neon blue mushroom appeared on the screen. “This is the blue devil, it’s a schedule 1 drug. It’s more deadly than fentanyl. Anyone found with any on their person or in their system gets a life sentence. No parole.”

Harrington looked around the room at the other FBI agents. None of them seemed to question the dubious and unscientific claims. Cecily continued talking. But her words were overshadowed by the existential crisis in Harrington’s head. “Am I getting paid to hunt down an innocent man? Am I just another cog in the machine, grinding up people to meet arrest quotas? Am I the problem? Or are they right and did I just poison my best friend?”

Cecily clicked the button and a picture of Marshall and Francis appeared on the screen. “This is Marshall Cuso and Francis Applewhite. They’re the ones who brought the blue devil here and started growing it.” Click. “This is the town of Averasboro, North Carolina. Their water supply was intentionally contaminated with the mushrooms. And they’re the ones who did it.” She said as she clicked back to the picture of Marshall and Francis.

“Wait, I saw Marshall leaving town before the water supply got contaminated. There were tons of people at the crime scene too.” Harrington replied.

Cecily glared at her. “You mean to tell me you let him get away twice?”

“Wait no I told-“

“This debriefing is over. Harrington, come see me in my office.”

Harrington started to sweat. Nothing scared her. Except Cecily and her habit of making anyone who disagreed with her a wanted criminal. “You wanted to talk?” She said, trying to sound as casual as possible as she sat down in front of Cecily’s desk.

Cecily closed the door and walked up to her, looming over her. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“What?”

“Your best friend gets shot right in the lung, survives, and now you’re defending the mushroom guy.”

“Okay if you have beef with me then do something about it. But leave Copano out of this. He doesn’t work for you anymore.”

“Oh I will leave him out of it, if you can get the two most dangerous criminals behind bars. Otherwise Your friend is getting a court mandated blood test. When he’s positive for the mushroom, both of you are going to be locked up forever.”

Harrington’s heart palpitated. She had a choice. Abandon her morals and be under this dictator’s thumb forever, or see the only person she truly cared about be imprisoned just because she valued his life more than the law. She decided to throw her morals to the wind.

Meanwhile in Joshua Tree National Park, CA

Francis half listened as Marshall went on a tangent about soil pH and phytonutrients. “So you can’t simply grow them with your garden variety fertilizer, you need tortoise dung.”

“Marshall”

“But the good news is Zayne knows where to get more-”

“Marshall!”

“What?”

“We can talk about tortoise dung tomorrow. We both just drove from the east coast to California in like two days. We need to take a break. Let’s check this place out.” She held up a brochure for the park they were at and pointed to a section about a hot spring.

“That’s actually not a bad idea. I think I need to take a beat. I’m still hallucinating a little, unless there’s actually a weird little guy sitting on your head.”

“You’re definitely hallucinating.” She laughed, “come on.” She took his hand and they started climbing down the rock formations to the hot spring.

They couldn’t have picked a better time of day to make the half mile trek to the hot spring, the orange sun was setting in the distance and a few crepuscular critters were out and about. When they arrived at the edge of the water, Marshall scanned the surroundings. He felt uneasy despite the complete lack of people and commotion, he couldn’t place why though.

“Alright I’ll get in but I’m not taking my clothes off, I already have an arson I don’t need to add an indecency to the list.” He said as he stepped into the water.

Francis rolled her eyes. “There’s nobody here, but suit yourself.” She dropped her shirt on a rock and followed him in.

He stared off into the distance “How are we even going to do this? I wasn’t able to get any of the mushrooms before I escaped. Hildy’s got them. She’s probably not even using them to help people. God I bet she’s using them to try to control people like MKUltra except instead of the CIA it’s just one crazy old lady and her goons.”

“She got raided by the FBI, she’s probably in jail. And anyways you‘ll figure it out, I mean you figured out how to bring the dead back to life.”

He took a deep breath and looked at her. “You’re probably right, I should try to take my mind off it.”

“Exactly, you spend so much time trying to help everybody else. Why not focus on what you want for a night?”

“You know what, I think I will.” He moved closer and slid his hand around her waist. She leaned in to kiss him. But the instant before their lips could touch, the sound of an engine revving interrupted them.

Harrington drove down the highway on her motorcycle. She looked around at the sandy landscape of Joshua Tree. There was nobody around except for some lizards and cacti. Perfect. No witnesses. She pulled into the RV park where Marshall was staying. There were a few other campers there, but people were either inside or away. She tried the handle on the door, it didn’t budge. She picked up a rock, smashed the window and climbed through. The lights were off and the camper was unoccupied except for the one signal resident who was illuminated by a heat lamp. “Sorry buddy, nothing personal, it’s just business.” She said as she extended her hands to pick up the tortoise. A catchy song snapped her out of the moment. It was her best friend’s ring tone. She put the tortoise down and answered immediately.

“Copano? Oh my god I’m so glad to hear from you, are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay, you know that, you’re the one who-”

“Hey hey I didn’t do anything.”

“Chill, I was going to say you’re the one who called for help when I got shot. I know how phones work, I’m a detective too dummy.”

“Right.” She sighed with relief. “But how are you feeling, are you having any um after effects? From being shot I mean.”

“Hm. I have been seeing some weird stuff, almost like there’s a whole other world that’s been here all along, but I’m the only one who can see it.”

“Okay so you’re basically how you always are.”

“Hah, yeah pretty much. Oh you know who came to visit me when I was in the hospital? My ex wife and the kids.”

“Oh that’s great.”

“What the hell are you doing here!?” Marshall shouted as he opened the door. Francis arrived at the door just a few seconds after, looking just as shocked as he did.

Harrington hung up the phone, grabbed Socrates and put her pistol to his shell. “Don’t move.” She said coldly.

#common side effects #marshall x frances #common side effects fan art #common side effects fan fic

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thesoulforgeorder · 3 months ago

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hi salt. before i even start with my ask, i want to give a big apology. the following will be feedback for the same scene i already sent in feedback in a previous ask: the first scene in chapter 1; the one where MC can decide to help the other students. believe me, i feel really bad for once again criticizing/nitpicking the same scene again, especially since you listened to my previous feedback and rewrote the scene. i can imagine, how bad it feels, to be criticized again for the same scene. disclaimer: as you may noticed, i tried to use "feedback" instead of "critique", because to me "critique" sounds too harsh. im writing all this in good faith, not with the intentions to bash the author with mean comments or to talk the game/story down. also all of this are my personal opinion/feeling. obviously not all of you agree with this

so, i will list 2 bullet points with reasons, why i dont like the way, how the scene handles the distribution of the skill points. in the end i have a suggestion, how i would improve it.

first i want to say, that i really liked the new rewrite of the soldier-option. i previously mentioned that this choice made MC look quite selfish, which now is not the case anymore. in the context of the new text, it also makes sense, that MC only gets +2 in leadership. they still encourage the other students, but dont make additional efforts, which would make people say "that is a great leader". it would be perfect, would this choice not increase the soldier [lets stick with] personality as well. especially with the knowledge, that the folkshero option increases the leadership skill by +5, the soldier-option kinda conveys the message, that a soldier-MC is a worse leader than the folkshero-MC. i dont mind choices, which increases the same stat in a different amount. they cause the player to think a moment and think about the consequences of the choice: if i decide to help others VS help myself first, the people will probably have different opinions on my leader skills [+5 VS +3]. but this isnt the case here. instead you can boil down the decision to: folkshero = good leader//soldier = bad/worse leader. which leads me to my second point. the fact that in this particular scene, i cant roleplay the character like i want to. yes, i am aware that you, as the author cant include every single possible option, that would be impossible. also people might say, that "its only a single scene, it isnt that bad.". yeah, i agree. its only a single scene and this is probably only a me problem, since i chose the combination of soldier-high leadership. still, it doesnt feel right to make the decision between +2 leadership/+soldier OR +5 leadership but folkshero increase. in addition to that, i myself questioned my own decision of playing this type of character, even so, it was a decision made outside of the game.

anyways, now that i described the problems i have, i also made 2 suggestions for those:

1.) this idea (i think) needs the least amount of work to make it possible. the only problem is, you would need to rewrite the rewrite of the scene (atleast a bit). for this idea, we keep the folkshero options as they are and only on the flavourtext after choosing one of the soldier options (and changing the +2 to +5 leadership). the main difference between the folkshero and soldier option will be how MC acts as a leader. as a folkshero, they help the others first and only when all of them are safe, they plan to get to safety as well. so in my opinion the soldier option should be kinda the opposite of this. at the same time, it should include that a "soldier-MC is always evaluating and weighing options". thats why i propose the following:

MC looks around, counting how many other students are nearby/evaluate how many are strong enough/have drones with them (depending on which choice the player picked)/then MC slips into the leader role and orders the others to split into smaller groups with atleast one strong person/"drone expert" and explains the plan/scene continues as existing. ==> in this case the folkshero and soldier option are different, especially in their leading style (helping others first VS being efficient/evaluating/… AND i believe in this case it makes sense to give the soldier option +5 leadership as well.

2.) this idea will include the "new" type of choice encountered during the soultrial part. if you decide to give the failed student water, you are prompted with another choice right after: why do you do this? i really like this type of choice and thats why i think you could implement it in this scene. it would probably take more work with rewrites and coding:

there are 2 options: help the others with a)strenght or b)gagdets; depending on the choice you increae combat or tactics by +5/after a short flavourtext the next choice appears: why do you decided to help them? a)because they needed help or b) out of comradeship; depending of the choice it would increase either folkshero or soldier +5/then you describe how MC helps the others and once clicking on the link leading to the next page, you gain +5 leadership.

2 more things i want to mention in terms of the suggestions: 1) no matter what suggestion you choose (if any), i think adding a low leadership option (+2)or even a +0 leadership option could be good. maybe there are people, who wants to play a MC, who doesnt have any desires to be a leader. 2) in case of suggestion 1 you can see, that a folkshero MC and a soldier MC have different styles of leadership. maybe you can add a variable, which remembers, what style MC has. this would only come in play if MC has a high stat in the fitting personality (so soldier leading stlye only "activates" when MC has a higher soldier stat than folkshero stat and vice versa). this variable could come in play in flavour texts (e.g. MC and friends are discussing a strategy to attack; folkshero MC would mention the civilians and offers a plan how to save them/soldier MC would offer a more direct plan, but not without casualties) or could play a role in the epilogue; it could be used to showcase, which part of the population likes MC as a leader. i imagine a soldier MC is more loved by those in the protected city and less by those, who were sacrificed for the greater good VS a folkshero is probably more loved by those they saved and less by those who lost family members, because MC decided to save all people.

at the end i once again want to give an big apology for nagging on the same scene twice. thank you for reading.

Hey blook, thanks for the feedback. I've read through everything and you've made some good points.

I don't plan on going back to chapter one until I have finished chapter two so while I am really keen to implement some of these changes, I will only focus on it once I have finished part two. I have made a document with all the feedback I've received and I copy and pasted this entire ask into that so I can make sure to address it later.

Thank you for taking the time to write this and I really do appreciate it.

Hope you're having a great day!

#interactive fiction #the soulforge order #twine #if wip #twine wip #tsfo asks

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 11 months ago

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The Man From Y.I.L.I.N.G.

Chapter 1: "First Impressions Are Tough"

I have it on very good authority that you don't need to have seen Guy Ritchie's The Man From U.N.C.L.E. to enjoy this fic, but I'll leave the decision up to y'all 😉 Have fun!

--//--

YUNPING CITY INTERNAL BORDER – CHECKPOINT 168A [RED LIGHT DISTRICT]

1967

Getting into East Yunping City is far from the most difficult entry Jin Guangyao has ever accomplished in his professional career. The barriers around the heart of the city are thick and threatening — barbed wire, minefields sandwiched between banks of patrolled concrete walls three feet thick, and soldiers with dogs and guns posted at every checkpoint slashed between the walls, narrow gaps of supposedly safe passage. His cab driver pulls to a stop as close as he can to the barrier without finding himself staring down the barrel of a gun, and Jin Guangyao thanks him as he pops the door.

No one pays him any mind as he strides across the dirt road to the bored-looking soldier manning the checkpoint itself, ensconced inside a concrete bunker of a kiosk. The counter is covered in travel papers and assorted confiscated goods waiting to be retrieved and dispersed amongst the soldiers looking to entertain themselves with a bit of contraband. Jin Guangyao’s fingers itch to snag a few inconspicuous objects, a familiar urge that he tamps down with a friendly smile at the stone-faced man rummaging through his hardtop leather suitcase and checking his face against his identification. The easiest lies to sell are the ones that are true, and so Jin Guangyao takes back his utterly legitimate Yunping citizen I.D. with another friendly smile. He waits for the soldier to decide that there’s nothing worth taking from his case of clothing and ephemera left over from his latest travels, looking for all the world like any semi-important East Yunping citizen returning home from a business trip (only the important ones are allowed to leave, after all, as only the important ones would be able to be pressured into returning).

“Go on then, Mr Meng,” the man grunts and shuts the case again with the sharp click of the clasps returning to their place. Jin Guangyao slides the case towards himself and, in the reflection of a delicately enameled compact mirror perched on a shelf behind the soldier, he catches a glimpse of dark eyes under the brim of a wool flatcap, but when he turns to head through the checkpoint with his case in hand he’s apparently already been deemed too boring to continue watching.

Jin Guangyao’s path is not as direct as it could be as he makes his way past the walls and into the grim maze of East Yunping City. When he was a boy, it had seemed so vibrantly alive, full of light and music late into every evening and beautiful women flitting to and fro in their shimmering silks and satins, giggling as men chased after them with wicked grins on their faces. The sound of others drinking and laughing until dawn had been his constant nighttime companions until he’d left it all behind at 15. (By then, though, he’d long been aware of the sorts of things the people around him were doing to escape from their miserable lives for a few pleasure-soaked hours, and the sound of their laughter had since lost all of its charm.)

Now, the streets are grey, dim with the lingering ghosts of privation and rationing; faded posters cling to dingy walls that haven’t seen a fresh coat of paint since years before the war, and everyone’s drab, sturdy clothes are visibly much-mended when they pass him on either side. Jin Guangyao doesn’t spare them more of his attention than he must to make sure he isn’t being followed. He sticks out like a sore thumb now, gone too long and dressed too finely in his pressed suit and black leather wingtips to be anything but an outsider amongst the people he’d grown up with, but he still knows these streets like the back of his hand.

It takes the better part of the afternoon to finally reach his destination, only arriving after a few switchbacks and stops for tea in one shop and a pastry in another to give himself a few chances to people-watch…and pick up the revolver he’ll need from a particularly helpful waiter at the second spot he pops into. He tucks the innocuous little paper bag into his case before he continues on his way, out of the red light district and deeper into the more residential areas.

Yunping Music Academy is far from prestigious — in fact it’s damn near non-functional and likely a year or two away from being shut down entirely — but Jin Guangyao knows that’s precisely why his latest mark has chosen to dedicate the past couple of years of his career to it.

He steps inside just as the exhausted secretary is snapping her case shut for the night, and a polite inquiry in the local dialect that thankfully still feels right on his tongue gets him a tired nod in the right direction. An equally polite thank you earns him a tiny hint of a smile before he turns to stride deeper into the building.

“Lan Xichen,” he calls in greeting when he enters the orchestra hall. Said latest mark is currently nothing more than a pair of legs (a long pair of legs) sticking out from under a beat up old piano, and to Lan Xichen’s credit he barely twitches when his name is called so unexpectedly in the echoing space.

“I will be with you in just a moment!”

Jin Guangyao reckons he can spare another moment or two after he’d spent so long ensuring he’d be difficult to follow, and so he makes himself at home behind what he presumes is Lan Xichen’s desk in the corner of the hall beneath a row of windows in need of a good scrubbing. He flicks up the corners of a few pages strewn across the desk for a bit of a snoop but finds nothing more interesting than a few sheafs of sheet music of the sort that schoolchildren are capable of playing and a well-loved cotton cloth bearing only a few crumbs from Lan Xichen’s lunch.

There’s a loud wood-against-metal thunk from beneath the piano and then Lan Xichen is shimmying out from beneath the instrument as genteelly as one can do so, a little dusty and rumpled around the edges but bright-eyed as he looks up at Jin Guangyao with polite suspicion.

“Pardon me, I was not anticipating company this evening,” he says as he gets to his feet and dusts himself off with a few firm pats at his trousers and shirtsleeves, “though you do not look like any of my students’ parents.”

“Heavens forbid,” Jin Guangyao agrees with a dimpling smile. “I’m here for a different sort of business altogether; I’ll do us both a favor and get straight to the point.”

“You men who look important are always in such a rush,” Lan Xichen replies with a smile of his own that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he reaches for a cardigan to pull over his shoulders once he’s dusted himself off enough. “Are you an important man?”

Jin Guangyao raises an eyebrow at the other and says, a bit too flippantly, “Well, I can get you over the Wall. Is that important enough for you?”

“Less important than you might think, Mr…?”

“Meng.” Jin Guangyao ignores the way his mother’s name — his own childhood name — wants to stick in the back of his throat.

“Ah. Well, Mr Meng, I promise you I have no interest in getting into trouble, which is all that I believe our conversation is likely to bring. So if you’ll excuse me –”

“I came to have a friendly chat about your brother,” Jin Guangyao cuts in. “Certainly Lan Wangji is worth a bit of trouble, especially if I can promise to get you back out of it again, hm?”

Jin Guangyao settles a little more comfortably in Lan Xichen’s chair with a flash of satisfaction when, halfway through turning away from him, the man freezes save for a twitch of his fingers where his hand is resting on the lid of the piano.

“What about my brother?”

“Rumor has it that he’s decided to align himself with some rather…unsavory characters.”

“That does not sound very friendly, Mr Meng.”

Jin Guangyao actually smiles at that, a real one, startled out of him by the sly look Lan Xichen shoots him over his shoulder.

Lan Xichen inhales deeply and seems to center himself a bit. His hands skim along the top of the piano when he reaches for a dusting cloth to begin meticulously attending to polishing the keys, even kneeling down to eye-level with them to better clean between each one with the edge of the handkerchief. It’s far more attention than the piano likely requires, but Jin Guangyao will allow him the chance to distract himself a bit from an uncomfortable conversation.

“I regret to say you’ve wasted your time. Whatever Wangji has done or whomever he is with now, I haven’t spoken to him in a year, and I have not actually seen him with my own eyes in three.”

“Fortunately for you, I know a little of his whereabouts. He’s been working for the Jin organization’s research department on something of a…probationary period. He’s very cooperative, when he wants to be. His ability to gather information and put it to good use is almost unmatched.”

“ ‘Almost’? If I know my brother at all, he would be anxious to understand who it is that can best him in your estimation to earn him an ‘almost’,” Lan Xichen retorts. Jin Guangyao offers up an obligatory chuckle and unlatches his case where it’s resting on the desk.

“And I would be happy to inform him, though something tells me we’re both already well aware of who his better may be.” Jin Guangyao withdraws a stiff card photograph from its spot on top of his slightly-rumpled stack of shirts. It’s monochrome, a little blurred around the edges, but easy enough to make out the subjects of. He’s just about to shut the case again when he catches sight of something that definitely isn’t his — a hollow little blob of clear glass, no bigger than a coin and stuffed full of a tangled nest of wires. Two thin metal pins jut out from the bottom, and he would be willing to bet a month’s allowance that they’re a microphone and a short-distance radio transmitter. There is, in his mind’s eye, the flash of a piercingly dark gaze over his shoulder, and a soldier’s too-thorough hands pawing through his belongings — not searching, then, but planting. He focuses again on the task at hand with a renewed sense of urgency that he takes pains not to reveal. With a little readjustment of his mental timer already ticking down, his priorities rearrange themselves neatly into a new configuration — time for plan B.

“This photo was taken just a few days ago, in Yiling,” he says with only a quick beat missed in the conversation at hand. Lan Xichen steps closer and takes a moment to study the figures in the proffered photo: in the foreground, a man in black is the only figure in focus but he’s facing away from the camera. Half-visible over the figure’s shoulder, dressed entirely in white, is Lan Wangji in side profile, his elegant features startlingly similar to the man currently standing in front of Jin Guangyao even when partially obscured by the man in black. The pair are surrounded by others, two young men, one soft and one stern, and a severe-looking woman, all of them dressed head-to-toe in black and standing at military attention around the car Lan Wangji and his companion are about to enter.

“Which is meant to be my brother?” Lan Xichen jokes. Jin Guangyao offers him a little chuckle in reward for playing along.

“Funny. Your brother is one of the most well-informed men in the country, one of the brightest minds in the Jin organization. If his information falls into the wrong hands, it could be catastrophic. Things could get a bit…messy. And I know you Lans have such a reputation for fastidiousness, righteousness, all those sorts of things. Surely you don’t want to see him be responsible for the end of the world?”

“As I said, Mr Meng,” Lan Xichen sighs as he returns to his instrument and folds up his dusting cloth into a neat little square, scooping a tiny bit of wax out of a palm-sized tin with the corner of it to begin polishing the lid of the piano, “none of this is my business. We have been unfortunately separated for years, why do you think I can help you find my brother?”

“I don’t.” Jin Guangyao shrugs and leans back to cross one leg over the other like they have all the time in the world. “I believe you know someone who can.” He reaches into his suitcase for another photo on slightly cheaper paper, the edges of it already dog-eared and the cheap ink crackling in webs across the surface, though the damage can’t hide the sternly handsome features of the subject. Lan Xichen sighs and turns his head enough to look at the photo Jin Guangyao holds up between his first two fingers. “Your father’s brother, Lan Qiren. He raised you and Lan Wangji until you were forced to escape Gusu with you and your brother in tow. I can’t imagine that such a doting uncle who has worried for his nephews’ safety from afar for over a decade and a half doesn’t know where they’ve both settled down, even if they’d both like to hide from..prying eyes.” Jin Guangyao stands with a twitch at the hem of his suit jacket to straighten it — and subtly drops the planted bug from his case into the cold remnants of a cup of tea perched on the corner of Lan Xichen’s desk with a satisfying plop and the accompanying fizzle of ruined electronics.

Now that he can be confident they’re truly alone, Jin Guangyao allows a bit of genuine sincerity to creep into his voice as he adds, “I don’t think your brother has done anything wrong, Mr Lan. I think he’s been kidnapped and forced into unsavory circumstances and is simply doing his best to survive until help comes, so I’d like to help him. Why don’t you help me?”

Lan Xichen blinks down at him when Jin Guangyao comes to a stop in front of him, and it’s clear that he’s wavering even if he thinks he’s hiding it well. “Help you with what exactly, Mr Meng?”

“Ah. See, I’d like to have the time to sit and chat about it, perhaps over tea or…dinner?” Lan Xichen’s eyes widen ever so slightly and his ears turn a faint shade of pink that Jin Guangyao finds absurdly nice. “But,” he reminds himself and tells Lan Xichen, “I’m afraid we don’t have the time.” A gesture of his hand out the bank of windows behind Lan Xichen coaxes the man into turning around to see what Jin Guangyao is 98% certain will be there — a man with dark, hard eyes waiting nearly out of sight, perhaps with a crony or two to help him capture them. Or, rather, Lan Xichen. He’s probably got instructions to kill Jin Guangyao the moment an opportunity presents itself. Most people do, after all.

He could swear he sees Lan Xichen blanch slightly in the sallow glow of the single street lamp out in the alley and takes that to mean his assumption was correct.

“If I had things my way, believe me I would take all the time in the world to gently convince you that coming away with me to a lovely upscale little hotel in West Yunping is precisely what you ought to do with your night, we’d have dinner, get to know one another properly — but I don’t believe our friend out there would agree with me. As I’m pretty sure our friend is from Qishan, I think he would rather string you up from a pipe and remove your nails one at a time with a pair of rusty pliers, judging what I know of the Wen style of interrogation. Ah, that’s what I needed,” Jin Guangyao cuts himself off as he spots a map of East Yunping pinned to an announcement board at the other end of the bank of windows, nearly hidden below posters of concert notices stretching back at least two years. He crosses the room to glance over the map, the crisp road lines and cluttered blocks of buildings imprinting themselves as indelibly as a photograph in his mind the moment he studies it. By the time he’s turned around to face Lan Xichen again he’s already begun plotting their escape through the mental map, bold red lines marking the most ideal route to get them to where Mo Xuanyu will be waiting with their transportation.

“Ah..you wouldn’t happen to have a car, would you?” Jin Guangyao asks with a sweet smile up at Lan Xichen, who still appears to be in the deliberation stage that they very much do not have the time for.

Lan Xichen sucks in a deep breath, glances out the window again just in time to see the Wens begin moving in, and he nods as he snatches a set of keys off the desk. “Come with me.”

... -.-. . -. . / -... .-. . .- -.-

EAST YUNPING CITY – MUSIC ACADEMY SERVICE ENTRANCE

The car is a little thing, barely just big enough for four (so long as two of the four are child-sized), but Jin Guangyao lays down flat on his back in the back seat anyway, the high point of his bent knees carefully kept lower than the windows with the rest of him while Lan Xichen maneuvers his much lankier limbs into the front seat to start it up with a few coughs and sputters before the engine turns over. They rumble their way into the alley through the back gate of the school grounds, past where the Wen agents had set themselves up to watch, and Jin Guangyao decides that in situations such as this it’s always best to take necessary precautions.

“Could you pass me the paper bag from my case please?” he asks from his perch when they creak to a stop at the first traffic light on their route, a block and a half away from the academy.

Lan Xichen doesn’t take his eyes off the road as he reaches into the passenger seat and flicks open the latches, and when he reaches over the top of the bench seat to pass him the bag his hand is remarkably steady for a schoolteacher-turned-armed-getaway-driver.

“Are they still following us?” Jin Guangyao asks as he begins to unroll the bag and check over the contents as quietly as he can.

“He is.”

Under the chugging of their engine, there’s the distinct sound of another car coasting to a stop directly beside them, on the passenger side. Jin Guangyao uses one foot to slowly turn the crank on the back passenger window until the pane is turned sideways enough to give him room to aim — better to have one less barrier for this, should it come to what he’s certain it will.

“Is he looking at us? You can just hum.”

“..Mn.”

“Only one hand on the steering wheel?”

“...Mhm.”

Jin Guangyao can’t help but sigh a little — so predictable, these Wens. Whatever happened to nice, peaceful negotiation? He screws the accompanying silencer onto the barrel of his shiny new pistol with a deft flick of his wrist.

“When you hear something that sounds like a gunshot, drive,” he instructs calmly, and waits until he feels the car shift a bit with Lan Xichen preparing to hit the gas before he sits up straight and takes aim, firing off two rapid shots into the car idling next to them with a shattering of glass and the sound of a muffled curse before Lan Xichen shoves the car into gear and tears off down the street with a squeal of the tires.

“Did you just kill him?” Lan Xichen asks, sounding decently alarmed as he cranks the engine through its gears towards top speed.

“Sadly, no. Let’s hope he doesn’t drive as quickly as he moves, shall we?”

Jin Guangyao’s attempt at levity is punctuated by the glare of headlights through the back window rapidly growing brighter and Lan Xichen’s hands tightening grimly on the steering wheel as he reports, “Unfortunately it would seem that he does.”

“Mn. Take a right up here, please,” Jin Guangyao requests when their tail is riding their bumper so closely the headlights disappear again behind it and the interior of the car darkens again. Lan Xichen does as requested — as does the Wen agent, swinging onto the street in tandem with them like a waltz, albeit one that’s rather more dangerous and at a much higher speed than is traditional. “And now an immediate left, if you don’t mind.”

Lan Xichen’s teeth must be clenched as hard as they can be judging by the hard cut of his jaw as they careen left under a streetlight, the glare of it slicing through the car for only a second before they’re beyond it with the Wen agent keeping pace with them neck-and-neck now, rather than behind. Jin Guangyao has the strangest urge to wave when he glances over and locks eyes with their pursuer for the briefest of moments before Lan Xichen yanks on the handbrake and sends them into a well-controlled tailspin that becomes a sharp left onto a residential side street.

The maneuver — that their new friend, of course, copies flawlessly — leaves them careening past a large pile of construction debris that effectively traps the Wen agent in a perfect gap between the piles of concrete rubble, and Jin Guangyao means it 100% when he says, “Nicely done,” while they disappear around a bend, leaving their hanger-on behind.

“Thank you. Hold on, please,” Lan Xichen replies just as politely as Jin Guangyao had instructed his turns. Jin Guangyao does as he’s asked — fingers curled around the handle just above the window — with no small amount of bemusement while Lan Xichen gives the brake another loud crank and whips them sideways again with a squeal of the tires into a particularly neat parallel parking job between two larger vehicles against the curb. He twists the keys with a sharp flick of his wrist and the headlights finish dimming a mere heartbeat before a new set of high-beams light up the street only to pass them by at a crawl. In the muted glow of a street lamp halfway down the lane, Jin Guangyao can just make out the bold profile of their new friend as he slinks past.

He ducks down to lay flat on the seat again, Lan Xichen doing the same up front, and they lapse into silence as the puttering of the engine fades down the street past their parking spot.

“Is he gone?”

“Somehow, I highly doubt it,” Jin Guangyao sighs and sits up again for a quick look around. He takes stock of his mental maps, both the snapshot he’d taken of the one in Lan Xichen’s practice hall as well as his own more on-the-ground understanding from the days when this was his stomping ground. A flash of red in the side mirror catches his eye and he purses his lips, deep in thought.

Hm. Maybe it’s time for plan C. Not as clean as he’d usually like to be, but that’s the way life goes sometimes, he supposes. It’s why he has a plan C in the first place.

Lan Xichen sits up then as well, cautious, and waits for him to come to a decision.

“Reverse down the sidewalk when I tell you to and drive once around the block. I’ll meet you back here.”

Lan Xichen looks…dubious at best, but when he faces forward again with that tension back in his jaw Jin Guangyao knows it’s impossible not to notice the telltale red glow of tail lights growing closer in his side mirror, their overly-suspicious friend reversing back down the way he’d come, so really what choice has he got? Jin Guangyao raises an eyebrow at him as if to say, ‘See? May as well listen to me’ before he slips out of the car, now idling quietly, to hide in the hulking shadows of the utility truck parked behind them and wave to Lan Xichen when he hears the crunch of tires slowly approaching. He stays well out of the way to give Lan Xichen room to execute his instructions rather smoothly — another neat piece of work in which he pulls up over the curb and reverses away at a crawl just as their Wen friend pulls up level with the spot they’d been in only moments before. Jin Guangyao cocks his gun, the click hardly audible over the rumbling of the other man’s engine.

Jin Guangyao is not very well liked by his employer. That is, he knows, to be expected when said employer is Jin Guangshan who — on top of being notorious for not liking anyone much at all save for the prostitutes he hires nearly every night — is not exactly known to be kind to any bastard children he accidentally produces with said prostitutes. Still, despite his father’s wishes, there exists far too much evidence (in very official government records across multiple continents and everything, lucky him!) that his unwanted and terribly inconvenient bastard son is one of the most efficient and fiendishly clever men in the entire world of organized crime. No matter how much Jin Guangshan may hate it, there is no one better for difficult extractions like this than Jin Guangyao.

It’s with this thought at the forefront of his mind that Jin Guangyao steps out of his hiding spot the moment the Wen agent cranks his car into drive again to follow Lan Xichen’s retreating shadow down the street, his silhouette thrown onto the buildings he passes by the street lamp at the end of the lane. Jin Guangyao steps into the middle of the asphalt, spreads his feet shoulder-width apart, and with a couple easy squeezes of his finger he fires off two shots through the rear window, aiming straight for the dark silhouette of the Wen agent’s head, backlit strongly enough to be a laughably easy target.

The car veers abruptly and crashes on a small mound of more construction debris. Jin Guangyao stays where he is, his face half-lit and half-hidden in shadow, to watch the car for any sign of movement. He’s a crack shot and he never misses the same target twice, but he’s already getting the sense that this man is something…new. Something unlike anything he’s faced before.

-... .-. . .- -.-

Lying down flat in the front seat of his car to once again avoid getting shot through the back of the head like this guy so clearly wants to do, Nie Mingjue reflects on what he’d been told during his briefing for this mission.

“This bastard is not like your typical opponents,” Wen Ruohan tells him, the fat cigar between his fingers curling lazy drifts of smoke that dance in the glow of the projector. The only thing Nie Mingjue can pay attention to is big, dark eyes and a smile punctuated either side by dimples like parentheses, unmoving on the slide fed in front of the lamp.

“Meng Yao left Yunping City at 15 years old to head for America with a group of traveling artists, forged citizenship papers and all. From there he entered military service at 17 and managed to get himself stationed in Europe, where he then stayed behind after the War as part of the occupying force.” The light flickers brighter and then dims as a fresh image is slid into place, this one of the same man helping to disperse what looks like food rations to children out of the back of an American military jeep with a ragtag group of other men, none of them white and all of them dressed in American uniforms. “Like all the Jins, he’s got a head for money and how to make the most of it, and it wasn’t long before he figured out the real money post-war was in the black market — stealing and selling priceless art and antiquities.” Another flicker, another image of Meng Yao and a different group of men all standing on the steps of what seems to be a museum, each of them looking smug in their own ways as they pose with paintings even Nie Mingjue can recognize as the work of famous Western masters.

“He’s an extremely methodical man; while in Europe he taught himself several languages, and his heists became increasingly more high-profile as he secured a reputation for himself as the best art thief in the world. His genius made headlines all over Europe, eventually catching the attention of enough authorities that four different countries created a team of their most elite forces just to take him down. And even then, they only managed it because they got lucky.”

The quick flickering between microfilms of newspaper headlines (in an array of Western languages accompanying photos of looted vaults standing open and empty walls where there are no paintings left to accompany their labels) stops abruptly on an upside down mugshot, the identification placard held up in the center and black height bars with the accompanying numbers distinctive enough to recognize on sight. Nie Mingjue nearly snickers at how far up they don’t go, obvious even in reverse.

“The story caught the attention of the CIA, who realized—”

“Ah – Apologies, xiandu,” Wen Zhuliu murmurs as he quickly tugs the slide out and flips it right-side up at Wen Ruohan’s warning glare. Nie Mingjue fights hard not to roll his eyes — does he really need to know all of this? Meng Yao isn’t even his mark, he’s just an annoying fly that needs swatting.

“—who realized that prodigious talents like his would only be wasted in jail.”

Alright fine, so this Meng Yao guy is ‘special’. They all are, or else they wouldn’t be international spies for the most powerful men in China. And he’s a criminal — what else is new? It’s not like Nie Mingjue ever feels guilty for killing people in this line of work, they’ve all got a skeleton or two or twenty in their closets and the people he kills probably deserved it anyway. He doesn’t really need convincing, but there’s not really much he can do but let Wen Ruohan continue his little demonstration. The monster has always been such a fan of dramatics, and it’s not as if he doesn’t have Nie Mingjue’s balls in a tight enough vice grip to force him to play along anyway.

Meng Yao’s smirking face — haughty even under arrest — seems to be laughing at him from the screen, a challenge in his wide, dark eyes.

Nie Mingjue’s patience gets the better of him, and he shifts in his seat to jab a finger at the screen. “So is he CIA or Jin, then?” Irrational as it may be, he hates to feel like Meng Yao is laughing at him from a photograph and he’s keen to move on. Wen Ruohan shoots him a warning glance before looking back up at the projected image of the biggest obstacle to reaching his new mark.

“The Americans were hours away from striking a deal with him — his freedom in exchange for doing their dirty work — when he suddenly disappeared from right under everyone’s noses, gone without a trace, like he’d never existed. He showed up a few months later at a Jin-hosted summit in Lanling at Jin Guangshan’s right hand. New name, new position so high up the Jins’ gilded ladder that he’s become untouchable, which basically means he’s got free license to do whatever he pleases in the service of his father’s interests. Since that day, Jin Guangyao has been their most successful and prolific agent.”

Yeah. Nie Mingjue can see that now.

-... .-. . .- -.-

There’s no movement from the Wen’s car as Jin Guangyao takes a few steps back and lowers the gun back to his side, only to be nearly run over by Lan Xichen pulling his car to a screeching stop mere inches away from his calves.

“Do you mind?” he asks the man with a wave at the whitewall tire that nearly grazed his leg, and Lan Xichen simply shrugs with a not-so-apologetic smile.

“Apologies, Mr Meng. I didn’t quite see you there.”

“Ah I see, how remiss of me to not be wearing something fashionably reflective,” Jin Guangyao replies sweetly as he reaches for the handle on the rear passenger side door. “Did you at least see —”

Jin Guangyao looks up sharply at a bang from down the street and nearly swears aloud at the sight of the Wen agent having kicked the banged-up door of his car clean off in order to clamber out of it, looking far too hale and hearty for Jin Guangyao’s tastes. He swings himself into the back seat at the same moment Lan Xichen jerks into drive and peels off down the lane, his heart hammering in his chest at the unexpected return of their not-so-little friend.

What a cockroach, Jin Guangyao grumbles to himself in the privacy of his own mind; it’s been a long time since someone he’s gone up against has managed to surprise him, and he can’t really say that he’s ever been very fond of surprises.

There’s another loud bang, an unmuffled gunshot this time he thinks, and with a deafening scrape there are sparks flying from their rear tire and the car lurches under Lan Xichen’s hands as he struggles to keep their path straight with the newly-exposed rim dragging at the asphalt with an earsplitting grind. Jin Guangyao finds himself wondering almost idly what sort of road conditions Lan Xichen has found himself contending with prior to this trial by fire that have left him so deftly able to manage driving through a labyrinthine, residential construction zone without a rear tire, and feels a bit of respect for the man tip one corner of his mouth up.

“You may wish to look out your window,” Lan Xichen says tightly when they should be well on their way to safety. Despite his hatred for surprises, Jin Guangyao finds himself on the verge of laughing at the absurdity of how thoroughly wrong this whole endeavor has managed to go.

“You cannot possibly be serious,” he manages, but Lan Xichen doesn’t deign to reply as he manhandles the car with grim determination. He is, of course, completely serious, and Jin Guangyao watches with bemused incredulity (what else can he possibly do?) as the Wen agent runs full tilt towards the car, gaining precious ground with each freakishly long stride. He hadn’t heard that Wen Ruohan was dabbling in genetic modification, but he can’t help but feel that this man must have been created in a lab somewhere, there’s no way this is a natural human being.

Lan Xichen whips around a bend in the road; the Wen agent cuts across the corner they’d rounded and somehow gains enough ground to actually grab onto the rear hatch, teeth clenched and eyes burning as he glares straight at Jin Guangyao through the back window.

“He’s…trying to stop the car,” he feels compelled to inform Lan Xichen as he feels the car jerk and begin to slow in response to the boulder they’re now attempting to tow through the back alleys of Yunping. Something tells him Lan Xichen’s zippy little car was never built for such heavy lifting.

“So it would seem, and it happens to be working. Would you like to take another shot at him, Mr Meng?” Lan Xichen asks with the politest sarcasm Jin Guangyao has ever heard.

He can’t stop staring up at the circus sideshow clinging to their bumper with gritted teeth and fire in his eyes as he muses, “Somehow, it just doesn’t seem like the right thing to do.”

It’s a moot point anyway, as it turns out, as the next moment there’s a tremendous screech of metal and the car jolts ahead with a burst of speed (and gains more quickly) while their new monstrous friend is left stumbling in their wake clinging to the rear hatch of the car, ripped off with his bare hands. He chucks it at them for good measure before he begins chasing again, the sheet of metal clattering to the pavement a few feet behind them a sailing moment later. But they’re racing away too quickly now even for him to keep up with, so Jin Guangyao puts the man out of his mind to focus once again on orienting them along the route in his mental map.

“Ah — left just ahead and then an immediate right, please, Mr Lan.”

The tires screech, sparks flying off the rim of their flat, and Jin Guangyao braces himself against the door as Lan Xichen complies. It takes roughly 5 seconds after the right turn before Lan Xichen yelps, as if startled, “This road doesn’t go anywhere!”

“It’s going where we want, don’t worry.”

“It’s getting narrower,” Lan Xichen adds, as if Jin Guangyao can’t see that, the old buildings jostling in towards the alley they’re careening down.

“All part of the plan,” he says smoothly — a single heartbeat before they grind to a screeching halt, caught suspended midair over a short flight of stairs tightly sandwiched between two redbrick apartment blocks.

“A wonderful plan.” Lan Xichen takes a deep breath in deeply enough for Jin Guangyao to see it in his shoulders before he gestures forward through the windshield at the spotlit walls and razor wire fences straight ahead of them. “Now we only have to cross two 20-foot walls and a minefield.”

“Which, if you’ll recall, I did tell you I can do for you.”

Jin Guangyao stands to lean forward over the front seat and across Lan Xichen to turn the crank of his window for him, since they really do need to be moving quickly but Lan Xichen still seems a bit stuck on the whole ‘caught between a rock and a hard place’ concept. Bless him, he doesn’t know yet that Jin Guangyao can not only get in anywhere, but also out.

In the same blithe tone of voice he’s used for the rest of their directions so far, Jin Guangyao instructs, “Take a left through the window,” once he’s leaned back out of Lan Xichen’s personal space (practically his lap, really, had the front seat not been in the way). Lan Xichen takes entirely too long to blink and most likely blush before he manages to clamber his absurdly long limbs out of the car and into the window of whatever unfortunate soul just had to hear them collide with their wall. Jin Guangyao is a gentleman and so he very pointedly does not admire the view when only Lan Xichen’s hips and long legs are left inside the car.

-... .-. . .- -.-

Over the sound of wailing sirens, Nie Mingjue barks, “Qishan Wen, out of my way!” at the soldiers that pour out of a pair of border police cars, clearly in pursuit of both parties but having just caught him purely on luck.

The soldier in front of him barks something back at him in the Yunping dialect, and though the words are generally unfamiliar there are really only so many ways to say ‘put your hands up and don’t move’ that he’s pretty sure he’s got the right of it. Doesn’t mean he’s going to do it.

“I said out of my way!” The soldier barks the same thing at him again, so Nie Mingjue adds, “I’m running out of time!” as if that’ll persuade them into backing off. He readjusts his grip on his pocket-sized pistol to attempt to hide it from sight in his palm, but then he hears radio chatter from one of the squad cars, in thickly-accented Mandarin:

All units come in! Giant carrying a firearm in lower East side —

Time to go!

Nie Mingjue doesn’t bother waiting for them to decide that he’s fine, actually, not a threat at all to them with his gun in his hand, and instead takes it upon himself to throat punch the one closest to him in the effort of speeding this along. Snagging the gun off the downed soldier’s hip is child’s play while the man is busy clutching at his throat, and using the butt of it to pistol-whip the next two that lunge for him across their cheeks hard enough to knock them out is equally straightforward. The last man standing in his way gives up easily when Nie Mingjue holds the barrel of the 9mm to his forehead, which is sensible of him. Nie Mingjue pauses just long enough to snag a radio transmitter off one of the men currently writhing on the ground before he takes off at a dead run again, heading straight for the alley his prey had disappeared down.

-... .-. . .- -.-

In the moments between Lan Xichen disappearing into the apartment and Jin Guangyao climbing across the small gap between car and windowsill to join him, he catches a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye to find their Wen friend running at him full-tilt from the end of the alley. He’s a persistent bastard anyway, Jin Guangyao has to give it to him. He swings into the apartment and takes a quick second to get his bearings and twitch his jacket down flat again before he waves Lan Xichen out of the small utility space they’ve found themselves in into the rest of the apartment.

“We’re headed for the roof, Mr Lan,” he informs his companion while they skulk as quickly as possible around the edge of a sitting room and into a short front hallway. Jin Guangyao’s fingers fly over the locks to open the door to the stairwell and he waves Lan Xichen out ahead of him with a little hint of a bow to be extra polite about it, and he thinks he sees something like a smile on Lan Xichen’s face as the man slips out past him.

Jin Guangyao is glad that Lan Xichen’s legs are so long as he eats up ground quickly, striding up two stairs at a time while Jin Guangyao keeps pace beside him in their tight spiral upwards. The apartment door clatters open again behind them with an echoing bang off the wall, but Jin Guangyao just smirks as the roof hatch comes into view straight ahead of them.

-... .-. . .- -.-

Getting into the apartment building is easy enough, considering his prey left him such a convenient way to enter precisely where they had. Nie Mingjue jumps high enough to use what remains of the back bumper to haul himself on top of the car stuck suspended between the two buildings (he wonders whose bright idea that was) and slides down into the window they’d foolishly left open behind themselves. He’s out of the apartment again in a flash, the pounding footsteps overhead telling him that his suspicion that they wouldn’t simply hide in the apartment unit itself to wait for him to pass them by was correct. He begins the chase again, taking the stairs three at a time with ease to attempt to close the gap of their head start before they can reach the roof.

-... .-. . .- -.-

“What exactly are we doing up here?”

Jin Guangyao drops the roof hatch shut behind them and slides a convenient steel rod through the loops where a lock should be.

“We are looking for Agent Mo,” Jin Guangyao informs him simply as he steps up to the edge of the roof and pulls a slender flashlight from his pocket to click through the agreed upon signal at the unmarked military transport truck reversed right up to the West Yunping side of the wall. “Step back please, Mr Lan,” Jin Guangyao requests just as the relative quiet around breaks with staccato clanging on the hatch behind them. Damn that asshole’s quick, but it hardly matters now as a grappling hook comes sailing over the tight group of about half a dozen nestled chimneys in front of them and catches neatly in the seam between two, the sturdy metal cable between the hook and the interior of the truck pulling taut.

-... .-. . .- -.-

Nie Mingjue shoots the offending locked hatch a few times (mostly to vent his frustration, though there’s also the slight chance that it might actually do something to force it open). When that doesn’t work for either intended purpose, he grabs the stolen radio off his shoulder and snaps into it, “I’m the one who just knocked your men out. Get to the wall, someone’s making an escape — but don’t shoot the teacher!”

He glances to the side at a hint of movement only to find an older woman already in her nightdress trying to hide behind her door while still keeping a wary eye on him, and Nie Mingjue hurries to keep her from shutting the door.

“Excuse me auntie, I just need your back door,” he tells her as politely as he can before he barges his way into her home to head straight for the fire escape.

-... .-. . .- -.-

Jin Guangyao fiddles with the sturdy canvas strap and attached carabiner on his belt, connecting the clip easily to the zipline so kindly provided to them by Mo Xuanyu. He’s just gotten it secured when he hears a thud and he spots the Wen agent hauling himself over the edge of the roof.

“Hug me,” he tells Lan Xichen with so much authority that the man doesn’t so much as pause to question him, he simply wraps his lanky limbs around Jin Guangyao from the front and curls up tight to hide his face in his shoulder when Jin Guangyao leaps off the edge of the building.

-... .-. . .- -.-

Nie Mingjue curses under his breath and practically rips off his leather bomber jacket to sling it over the zipline and hold on tightly to the sleeves, only hesitating for the briefest moment before he jumps off the building to follow the other two across the no-man’s-land between the walls now swarming with soldiers and barking dogs responding to his call.

-... .-. . .- -.-

“A-Yu! Reverse!!” Jin Guangyao shouts the second they’re clear of the West Yunping side’s barbed wire with a mere two inches to spare. They stumble a bit upon landing in the back of the moving truck, but Jin Guangyao keeps his feet and manages to lean into Lan Xichen hard enough to help him do the same. He turns at the last moment to watch with satisfaction as the line goes too slack to function anymore, sagging under the Wen agent’s weight to ensure he drifts pathetically to a stop in the middle of no-man’s-land, completely unable to clear the top of the wall even if he tried. He feels Lan Xichen wilt against his side as Jin Guangyao meets their pursuer’s furious eyes and pulls the pin that will release the rest of the line from the crank it had been spooled around.

The Wen drops down out of sight behind the Wall.

Jin Guangyao turns his attention to tending to Lan Xichen, getting him seated safely in the back of the transport truck as Mo Xuanyu pulls away to take them to Jin Guangyao’s nearest safehouse.

Lan Xichen looks up at him in awe. Jin Guangyao does his best not to preen under the attention.

“Who are you?” he finally asks, and Jin Guangyao simply smiles at him.

“Nobody all that interesting,” he lies. “Just the delivery man.”

Lan Xichen looks a bit taken aback, but he says nothing else so Jin Guangyao goes to check on Mo Xuanyu as his brother drives them expertly through quiet streets. Their father will be here to pick up his ‘package’ in the morning, Jin Guangyao just has to cart around his bookish companion for another 12 hours or so. Perhaps feed him. He can do that much at least, and then he’ll be more than happy to leave Yunping City behind again for another decade at least, if he can manage it.

#The Untamed Fanfic #3zun #The Man From Y.I.L.I.N.G.#Jin Guangyao #Lan Xichen #Nie Mingjue

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headfullofpresley · 2 years ago

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Word count: 7,1K

Series summary: Elvis has worked hard to become the successful adult movie director that he is today and all that hard work is paying off by how well the public reacts to his work and how much money is coming into his bank account, despite the fact that porn is still very much illegal. Working in the adult industry is not something you saw yourself doing despite coming from a place where it always has been out in the open, but you soon find yourself swept up and away by a certain American director and right into the heart of the porn industry. The only question that remains is... will you sink, or will you swim?

Chapter summary: Elvis shows you around on set and despite your doubts about the adult industry being the right place for you, you decide to be a big girl and take part in a scene. Things don't go too well all because of that pesky virginity of yours and the ever so charming director makes you an offer you can't (and won't) refuse.

Warnings: porn director!Elvis, AU, strong language, the porn industry, sexual innuendos and all that, reader is kind of eager to lose her V-card, smut; fingering, oral (f. receiving), vaginal penetration, unprotected sex.

A/N: hi hello! honestly, i'm not too proud of this chapter woooops and i just wanted to get the smut over and done with bc... i wanna get to the angst 👀- i have ideas for this series, y'all. it won't be a very long one the way i have it planned now but like i said before it'll have heavier themes in it and y'all already know i'm a sucker for angst. so i hope you guys will stick around until the end and i hope y'all still enjoy this chapter nonetheless! 💗

read chapter 1 here | want to be added to the taglist? just ask!

You’d never been on a movie set a day in your life.

While most of the movies that were playing in theaters in your country were imported all the way from the States, the Netherlands had some passionated local directors and actors as well. You belonged to neither groups and therefor, you had never set foot on a movie set.

Let alone an adult movie set.

The set Elvis had rented out for some of the indoor scenes was located ten minutes out of the city center. You recognized the abandoned factory from the outside and the state of it made an eerie feeling crawl up your spine. Maybe you shouldn’t have come here in the first place. Maybe this had all been a mistake.

But before you could turn yourself and your bike around and leave this crazy, impulsive idea of yours behind, you heard a heavy door open and slam shut again, followed by a booming, amused sounding man.

The American.

“You’re not leavin’ so soon, are ya?”

You clenched your steerring wheel in your hands and looked up at the raven haired man, suddenly were very aware of that you didn’t really know him. You were growing more nervous, though were still trying not to show it, but it was like this man was a goddamn mind reader – at least, when it came to you.

He saw right through you.

A cigarette dangling on the corner of his lower lip, he stepped forward to you (you didn’t miss how he only had to take three steps, because he was perfectly tall) and put his hands on the steerring wheel of your bike. As you looked up into his eyes, he looked down straight into yours – the playful grin that was settled on his face, making his eyes gleam with a hint of mischief, made your heart do a sommersault in your chest.

He really was gorgeous, yet that still didn’t take the nerves that were swirling through the pit of your stomach away. If anything, it only made you more nervous.

“Who said anything about leaving? I just need to put my bike somewhere,” you quickly said, trying to sound as playful as you could and not like you were a scared little bird.

Which honestly, you weren’t. You wouldn’t think of yourself that way- virgin or not, you truly couldn’t turn back now. While you hadn’t set foot inside the building yet, and technically could still get the hell out of dodge, your brain was telling you you were already in too deep.

Elvis nodded as he took a drag from his cigarette, that grin that made his eyes twinkle still planted on his face, and he watched you put your bike against the wall near the door he just came out of. He didn’t comment on the fact that you didn’t lock it or whatsoever and you had just made up an excuse on the whim, you were trying to leave, but he was glad you decided not to. Flicking his cigarette away, he blew out some smoke from the corner of his mouth and nodded his head toward the door as he strided over to it, pushing it open for you to go inside first.

You did and immediately you wanted to turn back around.

The old factory was as old and torn down on the inside as it was on the outside. Now maybe if you were a veteran pornstar, this would’ve been fine- you would have been a professional and would know what to do. But you weren’t and you were beginning to doubt if you were made for this kind of life.

Was this even something you wanted?

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” The director next to you spoke up as he noticed the way you were looking around as if you had just arrived in hell itself. The way your name rolled off his tongue so casually yet comforting had goosebumps rising on the back of your neck. “I ain’t gonna let you do anythin’ you don’t want, ya hear? ‘M just gonna show you around a little,”

You looked at him and although he looked like the kind of man that could get anyone to do anything he wanted to with a snap of his fingers, the little smile he was now giving you seemed sincere. Perhaps you were reading this stranger all wrong, but you trusted him.

It wasn’t like you had much to lose.

He held out his hand for you and you breathed out a deep sigh, laughing a little at the whole situation as you took his hand. He squeezed it softly as he laced your fingers together and gently tugged you further along inside the building, following the hushed voices that echoed through the big, grim space.

Camera’s and light equipments were planted in one corner, all facing and following the male actor that had a female co-star pressed against the wall, her skirt pulled up to her waist as he was pulling out soft, erotic moans from her as he had three fingers shoved inside of her.

The sight made your heart skip a beat- you didn’t know whether it was in excitement, or because you were still so goddamn nervous.

“I thought you lost the actress?” you whispered to Elvis who was still standing next to you, looking up at him. You had no idea how the film industry worked- but was he lying to you already? Why did he even offer you the position if there was a perfectly fine girl over there getting fingered?

And why in the hell did you accept?

Elvis looked away from the scene and grinned, his arms folded loosely against his chest as his blue eyes bored into yours. His voice sounded even deeper as he whispered back to you.

“I did. She’s just a stand-in,” he said, pointing to one of the camera’s. “See that? She’s only getting filmed from the waist down. I’m hopin’ that you’ll be the one on that camera soon enough,”

You stopped your eyes from widening and looked back at him, muffling a soft chuckle in the palm of your hand before you ran it through your hair. You looked around the set once more- even though the girl was just a stand-in, she looked like she was genuinely enjoying herself. Everyone seemed professional and completely focused on doing a good job on what they came here to do. Perhaps it was your virgin mind that was a little flushed at the sight before you, but part of you wanted this despite the nerves and doubts that lingered in the back of your mind too.

You wanted out of the usual routine of normal and dull life in Amsterdam. You wanted more than waiting tables and getting smacked on the ass by men that could’ve been your father or even grandfather.

You wanted more out of life.

And you were always determined to get what you wanted. Virginity and inexperience be damned.

“Well, I asked you before,” you grinned at him, spilling the words before you’d swallow them. “When do I start?”

Everyone Elvis worked with was very nice. They weren’t weird, oversexed maniacs like some people often made a crowd like this seem like. They were normal people that just happened to have a job that was slightly different from others to put bread on the table and get by.

They made you feel comfortable, as if you were among a big group of friends.

And before you knew it, you were put in a similar outfit the stand-in girl, which went by the name of Tiffany, was wearing before. The production was bigger than you expected because the make-up you had so carefully put on yourself this morning was wiped off and redone by a make-up lady who was taking advice from Elvis himself.

Apparently, he liked the lead actress to have a heavier, dark eye make-up look and when she was done and you saw yourself in the mirror, you almost didn’t recognize yourself.

You liked it.

Maybe this way, you could put your true self in the background and develop a new character in front of the camera. A character that was, according to Elvis, supposed to be innocent and naive and looking for the attention of the guy she was head over heels for, which would be Tommy, the lead actor, and would do anything to get it. You don’t even remember his character’s name, because everything was going so fast.

One minute you were standing around talking and getting familiar to Tommy, and the next you were in the same position you saw Tiffany in earlier on camera.

Back pressed against the wall, skirt up to your waist and Tommy’s hand slipping into your panties.

Now as he caressed his fingertips through your folds, you winced softly and Elvis immediately called to stop filming. Tommy took his head out of your neck and his hand out of your panties, keeping his voice low as if nobody else was allowed to hear this.

“You’re as dry as a cork,”

In any other situation, maybe you would’ve laughed at his comment, but right now you were mortified. You had touched yourself before, obviously, but you’d never experienced this before. When doing it yourself, you had no issues producing the much needed moisture. But it was as if your body was shutting down due to your nerves and when Elvis walked over to the two of you, you figured this would be the end of it.

He’d ‘fire’ you and you could go home and continue on with your boring ol’ life. And maybe that was for the best.

“What’s goin’ on, honey?” He asked as he placed a hand on the wall next to your head, Tommy standing on the other side of you. These two handsome men made you realize there would probably be plenty of girls, beginning actresses in the adult industry, that wanted to be in your spot. From what Tiffany told you as she helped you get into your little clothing that was needed for the scene, Tommy Sands was a big name in porn.

“Nothing! Nothing.. truly. I just need some time getting used to all the camera’s and stuff, I think,” you lied, flashing him the sweetest smile you could muster. You had no idea why you were trying so hard to make this work, or perhaps you did- not only were you stubborn by nature and always felt the need to prove yourself to mostly… yourself, you also knew you needed money.

You were without a job and you still had an apartment to pay rent for every month.

Elvis squinted his eyes a little at you, as if he could see right through you. If he did, he didn’t comment on it.

“Best thing to do is to just relax and pretend the camera’s ain’t here. It’s just you and Tommy,” he smiled at you and you looked at Tommy, who was wearing the same friendly smile as he nodded his head. Elvis continued when you looked back at him. “Think you can do that?”

You inhaled a sharp breath of air and nodded, not knowing if you actually could, but you had to try. Elvis grinned and very softly pinched your cheek. “Atta girl,” with that, he turned around and walked back to his spot next to the camera man.

Your heart was leaping pathetically in your chest and it wasn’t because Tommy Sands’ lips were back in your neck.

Brown eyes, sandy blonde hair, plumb pink lips and a perfectly gorgeous Colgate smile- Tommy Sands sure was a looker.

You figured if he wouldn’t be in porn, he could easily be the kind of idol nations worldwide swooned over. Yet, he wasn’t doing much for you.

The lube that was there to help you along with the scene only did the trick for a few minutes but every time Tommy’s long fingers were prodding at your entrance, you panicked and Elvis roared out a “cut!”. You were stressing yourself out, thinking that Elvis was annoyed at you for being what you figured was difficult, but he just assured you with that sweet smile and those twinkling blue eyes every time.

You wished he could take Tommy’s place.

Still, you didn’t give up and finally, with enough lube to last a lifetime, Tommy managed to slip one finger inside of you. You were supposed to moan for the camera as if you were thoroughly enjoying this, but truth was, it felt uncomfortable. And it was showing.

Elvis stopped filming once more and Tommy walked away to the side to bum a cigarette off of someone.

“I’m so sorry, Elvis. I didn’t know this would happen, but I’m sure if we try it again, I’ll be fine and-“

“Honey, did’ya ever do this before?”

“Having sex in front of a camera?”

“No, not that. Jus’ having sex.” With that infamous grin on his face, he looked down at you as if he caught you right in the middle of the act.

Which he had. You were busted, but you wouldn’t go down so easily.

You snorted as you folded your arms, letting out a soft playful scoff to add to your theatrics. “What? Ofcourse I have. I had sex plenty of times with plenty of people,”

Elvis knew that wasn’t true. He’d been in this industry long enough to know that you’d never been touched by a man in your entire life and while that wasn’t a problem for him, he knew losing your virginity on camera wasn’t an ideal situation. And despite the lead character’s innocent-like personality, he did not want this for you.

Leaning in a little closer to you, he looked into your eyes and trapped you against the wall as his hand once more came up to be placed against the concrete next to your head. “Y/N, listen to me,” he whispered lowly, the seriousness in his voice making your heart go wild against your ribcage. “Ain’t nothing wrong with being a virgin, I still want you as my lead actress, but I jus’ wish you would’ve told me. I told you when you got here that I don’t want you doin’ nothing you don’t want and I don’t believe you’d want to pop your cherry in a movie for the whole world to see. I don’t want that for you.”

You bit your tongue as you looked up at him, not even realizing you were holding your breath until it came out in a deep sigh and a breathless laugh. You felt a little foolish.

“You’re right, I should’ve told you,” you agreed, pulling your skirt down. “I guess that sums up my porn career,”

He laughed and shook his head a little, putting his knuckles on his hips as he was still hovering over you. “Didn’t ya hear what I jus’ said? I still want you in this movie. You ain’t goin’ anywhere,”

He didn’t know what it was about you, but he was intrigued and he found himself unable to let you walk out of here. You had been so sassy and confident when he first met you at the café but he knew that was only because you needed to survive in that God awful place. Something told him that deep down inside, there was a girl hidden that had so much to offer to the world and he had decided right then and there that it was his duty to help you.

He wanted to give you the world and he wanted to give the world you.

“I know a lot of people can fake an orgasm, but virginity is not something you can easily hide in a movie like this, Elvis,” you pointed out sarcastically, though he could see by the little grin on your face that the comment was still lighthearted.

“You got that right, honey, but it is something I can help you with,”

The words came out before he could stop himself. Elvis Presley never slept with an actress, no matter how many offers he had gotten. He was purely professional and it was also because he didn’t like the fact that he had seen them get fucked on camera and then had to do the fucking himself. But with you, he found himself thinking what it would be like to be in Tommy’s shoes.

How it would feel like to pop that little cherry of yours.

And you… well, you agreed.

To you, your virginity was only a nuisance. It was stopping you from making the money you needed and living the life you wanted to life. You wanted to get rid off this pesky little thing and if such a fine looking man like Director Presley was offering himself up for the job, you’d be a fool to turn him down.

So you didn’t.

“I guess if it has to happen, it’s now or never. Besides, you’re not such a bad candidate,”

Elvis laughed at your comment, rolling his eyes as he gently bumped your chin with his knuckles.

“You got that right, kid,”

He was a perfect gentleman though- you spend the rest of the afternoon talking on the balcony of his hotel room, enjoying some last rays of sun before the moon would take its place. Elvis told you about his life and you told him about yours. You trusted this silly American for whatever reason and it just felt right. You learned how passionate Elvis was about his work and that he wasn’t just in it to see people screw on camera- he was a storyteller and he assured you that the sex scenes in his movies weren’t just two people going at it like rabbits. There were emotions in there, there was a story to be told. This was one of the things that made him so big in the industry, because his movies didn’t only cater to men. It drew women in just as much; because it captured women in a light that told the public, “Look here, women like to have sex. They love to make love and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.”

Filming was cut short for the rest of the day, which the crew and cast were happy about as they all went back to their hotel to get ready and explore more of Amsterdam. You were being swooped away by Elvis to his hotel and although the topic of him taking your virginity wasn’t spoken about between the two of you anymore, you knew it was lingering on the horizon.

Sure, it got backlash from the male viewers sometimes too, as they’d complain scenes would be too “soft”, but Elvis didn’t give a damn.

He was happy with his work, and so were plenty of other people that praised him for it.

In return to Elvis’ honesty and pretty much life story, you told him yours which was far less interesting. You were alone in the big city because your parents passed when you were younger- you were raised by an aunt in a neighboring small town but as soon as you started working and saved up enough money, you went back to Amsterdam and started a life of your own. Or at least, you tried to. Jobs were hard to come by these days but you ‘lucked’ out and got hired at the café, which made just enough to afford rent. By no means were you living a luxury life or even a comfortable one at that because you were working until your feet were numb only to make ends meet. And then Elvis Presley wandered in, promising you the life of luxury you’d daydream about and offering you to let your pretty little feet rest.

Perhaps there was a reason you and him met, after all.

As the sun went down, Elvis ordered room service while you took a shower and washed off the make-up that you were still wearing from the shoot. Not bothered by your bare face, you walked back into the spacious bedroom after drying your hair and putting it up in a high ponytail, towel wrapped around your body.

Elvis looked up as he sat on the edge of the bed, raising an eyebrow as he took a deep, long drag from his cigarette. His oceanic eyes followed your every move as you walked closer to him, taking him by surprise when you slowly dropped the towel to a puddle by your feet- he did his damnest to hide that surprise though and a grin curled the corner of his mouth instead.

“You don’t wanna eat first?”

You shook your head as you took one more step forward, standing in between his slightly parted legs. Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, you took a drag from it and Elvis watched you for several seconds before his hands settled on your hips.

Above all, he was a man. And here you were, standing right in front of his nose butt naked. No way in hell he wasn’t going to respond.

No words had to be spoken as he ran his hands up your sides, making you giggle softly at the ticklish feeling. You quickly discarded the cigarette in the ash tray on the bedside table before you put your hands on his shoulders, while his hands were moving to gently cup your breasts. He looked up at you and as soon as you looked down at him and gave him a little smile, he took it as consent and suddenly wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer as his mouth was latched onto your breasts right that second.

He kissed them gently but there was a certain kind of determination hidden in his actions and you felt it as he swirled his tongue around one of your nipples, teeth sinking into the sensitive bud very lightly. Your body reacted instantly and where you had lacked in arousal earlier today, you were sure that wouldn’t be an issue tonight.

Not with this man.

He groaned softly against your skin as he felt your nails running through his hair, caressing along his scalp, and just like yours, his body responded. Before you knew it, he had you on your back on the soft, luscious bed. Your heart was hammering in your chest as his marshmallow lips were kissing their way down your stomach and to your inner thighs, being everywhere except the spot you wanted them most.

The whole ordeal barely started and you didn’t have anything or anyone to compared it to, but you already felt like you were in Heaven.

The small gasp that came from you as he slipped his fingers through your folds caused Elvis to grin and he propped one elbow in the mattress as he was laying on his stomach, face hovering above your pussy, looking up at you. He held his fingertips up, spreading them to show you the string of slick that was connecting to the two digits.

“Maybe Tommy just wasn’t doin’ it for ya, huh?” He smirked and you bit your lip as you watched him pop his fingers into his mouth, sucking your wetness off of them. A whole new wave of arousal washed over you and Elvis could see it in your eyes. Even if you had a response ready for him, he didn’t give you time to give it because as soon as he leaned his head down and you felt his tongue lick through your folds, flicking against your clit, a moan that you didn’t know you were holding in filled the room.

Tommy Sands was the last damn person on your mind- the only one you could think about was the raven haired director with the gorgeous blue eyes that was currently giving you the heavenly experience of being eaten out.

And he was good at it- damn, was he good. He knew just the right thing to do. He definitely used those pillowy, soft lips to his advantage and it worked wonders on all of your senses that were on high alert.

His arms came around your thighs to hold them spread, his long lashes caressing his cheekbones as his eyes were closed while he was moaning lowly right into your folds, sending a vibrating tingle through your bones. You could barely keep still, arching your back and hiding your face as you put your arms over it. You didn’t know what you were hiding from, you didn’t know why you were trying to get away from him when the feeling got a little too intense sometimes, but the man in between your legs wasn’t having it.

He pulled you right back, closer to his face again, and put his arm across your lower abdomen to trap you against the bed. You could feel him smirking as he looked up at you while his tongue was slithering through your slick before it flicked against your clit at an ungodly speed. You propped your elbows into the bed and looked down at him, moaning and squealing as if you had lost all control of your own body. You found yourself simply unable to keep quiet and Elvis encouraged this by moving his hand that was on your thigh lower to prod a finger at your entrance.

He could feel you tense up immediately and he pulled his head back in his neck a little, licking his lips.

“Relax, honey,” he whispered with a deep, raspy voice, sweet smile planted on his face. “Ain’t nothin’ to it. Just gotta prepare you for somethin’ bigger,”

The thought of that something bigger was already making you want to jump out of your skin, in the best way possible.

You watched as Elvis planted a soft kiss on your inner thigh as his other hand came down across your lower abdomen to let his thumb rub your clit, very slowly and gently. He collected some of your slick on the middle finger of his other hand and looked up at you as he slowly pushes it inside of you. The feeling was foreign and strange, but it didn’t make you nor was it as uncomfortable as earlier today when Tommy tried it. You didn’t know whether that was because of Tommy himself, the camera’s, the fact that you had never experienced it before or all things at once, but right now you couldn’t get yourself to worry about it. Because Elvis had managed to easily snuck in a finger knuckle deep and when he pulled it back until the tip of his finger lingered inside of you before pushing it back in all the way, something of a gasp and moan combined tore through your throat. You willingly spread your legs further as he slowly fingered you, getting you ready for what was to come, and he grinned.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised as he shot you a wink, which made you grip onto the sheets as your elbows were still pressed into the mattress, keeping yourself up because you wouldn’t miss a sight like this for the world.

Elvis’ finger started to pick up pace after a little while and when he was distracting you by switching between sucking on your clit and rolling his tongue against it in waves, he added another finger. You threw your head back as you arched your back a little and squealed softly as your toes curled- it was like your walls molded perfectly around his digits the longer he kept them inside of you and you had grown used to the feeling of his fingers pleasuring the hell out of you.

When he fingered you at a steady but comfortable pace, his tongue still latched onto your clit, you knew your orgasm was nearing. The only person who ever made you cum was you but you quickly realized that when it was done by a man, a man who knew what he was doing, it felt so much more intense. And so, so much better.

“Elvis!” you squealed as you reached a hand out to tangle your fingers in his hair, your hips trying to move along to the rhythm of his fingers which turned out to be rather difficult because his large hand was placed on your lower abdomen to keep you down. “I’m g-gonna.. gonna.. c-cum- oh fuck!”

He grinned smugly right against your clit but his actions never faltered. He didn’t pull back from your clit until you moaned loudly and he felt your muscles clenching visciously around his fingers and your thighs tremble. He pushed his two fingers inside of you, keeping them there for a bit as he looked at your facial expressions- now that was a sight he didn’t want to miss. As your hand came out of his hair and down the side of his face, he kissed the palm of your hand and grinned, slowly pulling his fingers out of you before he once more licked them clean.

“Startin’ to think I gotta change the cast of the movie to jus’ you and me,” he joked as he licked his lips and crawled up to hover above you. The necklace he wore with a large silver cross attached to the chain dangled in your face and you let out a breathless laugh, looking up at him with stars in your eyes.

Although, they might as well be hearts.

“If you want to capture a true, authentic female orgasm on film, you might as well,” you mused, catching the cross between your thumb and index finger as it swung back and forth. You looked at the diamonds adorning the piece of jewelry and ran your thumb across it, looking back at him with a smile. Elvis grinned and leaned down, softly pressing his lips against yours.

As he slipped his tongue inside your mouth, you could taste yourself and it only made you want him more. Just as you let go off the cross pendant and moved your fingers to the buttons of his shirt, there was a loud knock on the door and a voice announcing room service had arrived. You told them in Dutch to leave it at the door and Elvis raised an eyebrow at you as he laughed when he heard the person on the other side of the door walking away.

The last thing on your mind was food and if you were feeling any kind of hunger, it was for the man above you.

And it seemed Elvis felt the exact same way.

Within the span of seconds, Elvis’ shirt was flung across the room by your doing and you had never seen a man pull down his slacks as fast as you saw the director doing it now. You realised he wasn’t wearing any underwear at all and the sight of his cock springing free in all its glory for you to admire caused a wildfire to spread throughout your chest. You’d never been this turned on in your life, but at the same time your nerves were slowly but surely crawling their way back into your veins. As Elvis situated himself in between your legs, letting the weight of his cock resr against your folds and placing his hands on either side of your head, he could see the realisation of the situation in your eyes.

“Sure ya wanna do this, honey?” He whispered as he pressed a kiss on the corner of your mouth, the feeling of your hands gripping onto his upper arms sending a shiver down his spine, as well as the feeling of both your intimate parts connecting this way. “I don’t want ya doing any-“

“I’m sure,” you interrupted him, your voice coming out breathless already. Just the feeling of him being this close to you was already making you nearly lose your mind. You realised that losing your virginity was not something you just did and although you wanted to get rid of it, you’d always imagined it to be with someone you were actually in a relationship with. Someone you actually knew inside and out, but then again, your life never went the way you planned it.

And as you saw Elvis smile down at you as he placed one of his hands on the side of your face, his thumb caressing your cheekbone, you figured this wasn’t such a bad deal. Perhaps it wasn’t the way you imagined it, but maybe it was going to turn out even better.

You weren’t in a relationship with him, but for some reason you felt there was some sort of emotional connection. Whether it was a platonic or love connection, you hadn’t figured that out yet, you wanted this with him. They say you'll never forget your first time and as you looked up into his eyes when he gently caressed the tip of his cock through your folds and over your clit, you doubted the possibility of forgetting Elvis Presley even existed.

“Jus’ hold onto me,” he whispered as you gasped when he circled the tip of his cock against your clit, your nails softly digging into his flesh as you were still holding onto his arms. “I’ll be real gentle,”

You nodded your head, looking up at him in awe and not bothered one second by his necklace that once more softly swung against your chin. Elvis moved his hand down to wrap it around his length, situating himself at your entrance- looking back up at you, he couldn’t stop the small grin from breaking through on his features. The fact that you were digging your nails in deeper didn’t bother him and he slowly pushed inside of you, taking all the time you needed for him to bottom out and when he finally did, that grin was wiped right off his face.

The way you were so incredibly tight around him had him curse under his breath and he placed his forearms next to your head, fingertips caressing through your hair as he put a little more weight on you. He looked down into your eyes as he gasped softly, gently pressing his forehead against yours as you squeezed your eyes shut. He could feel your walls fluttering around him repeatedly and your thighs trembling as you had them wrapped around his waist. He shushed you softly, trying to distract you from the sting by planting soft, open mouthed kisses all over your face.

“Relax, baby, relax,” he cooed. “Ain’t gonna feel good if you don’t.”

You opened your eyes to look at him again and when he noticed a stray tear roll down your cheek, he quickly wiped it away as he frowned in concern. Worry filled his chest.

“Shit- I didn’t mean to cry,” you quickly turned your head and wiped some more tears that you couldn’t hold back away. You felt like an absolute idiot- when you first met Elvis, you had seemed so confident and like you knew what you were doing, but here you were, crying about losing your virginity.

Compared to a man like him, you suddenly felt small.

Inexperienced.

Which was the truth, but still- you hated this feeling.

“Hey, hey,” he gently grabbed your chin with his thumb and index finger, turning your head back to look at him. He smiled down at you and pecked your lips. “'S okay to cry, Y/N. This ain’t nothin’, just… as long as you tell me if it hurts or if ya wanna stop, alright?”

You let out a little laugh as you wiped a last tear away and nodded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He leaned down more and hid his face in your neck as his fingers were back in your hair to soothingly caress your scalp while whispering sweet nothings in your ear. As you gave him the green light to move, he pulled his face out of your neck as he pulled his hips back as well, slowly thrusting forward. You gasped as you held onto him for dear life, the sting was still very much there but the longer he was thrusting into you, the more the pain turned into pleasure.

Slowly but surely your body was starting to relax underneath him and he was pulling more and more moans out of you that didn’t sound so panicky anymore. You were starting to enjoy yourself and obviously, this didn’t go unnoticed by Elvis.

Raising himself a little by putting his flat hands next to your head on the pillow again, his thrusts gained pace as low grunts rolled off his tongue, a grin curling back on his face.

“Feel good now, baby?”

You bit your lip as you looked at him, your eyes a little more sultry this time as your ankles hooked together behind his back, nodding frantically. You were unable to keep yourself quiet just like you experienced when he was eating you out and you didn’t even care if the people in the neighboring rooms heard you.

“Y-Yes! God, Elvis- it feels s-so good,” you groaned, your mind spinning with the sound of his skin connecting to yours as he thrusted into you, the melody of his deep moans and grunts being one that you wanted to play over and over again. He smirked and crashed his lips against yours, kissing you hungrily as one hand came down to grab onto your thigh. As he rolled you around and you were suddenly on top of him, you looked down at him and admired the way his raven hair was messy and adorable, yet still so manly at the same time.

The cross pendant attached to the long necklace was resting on his chest which you found yourself obsessed with to run your hands up on, feeling his chest hair tickle under your fingertips. He grabbed onto your hips and slowly made you move onto him- all you knew to do was follow your instinct. He had no complaints as you kept your hands placed on his chest while thrusting yourself onto him, picking up the pace every few seconds. Elvis’ moans got a little louder and he moved his hands up, squeezing your breasts in his big hands.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he smirked as he sunk his teeth into his lower lip and moved his hands back to your hips to guide your moves again, licking his lips at the sight of your breasts bouncing along with your thrusts. He made you go even faster, knowing that you were feeling the same kind of pleasure as him because of the sound of your moans. “There’s a little fire cracker hidden inside ya, ain’t there?”

You laughed softly as you grabbed onto his forearms, throwing your head back as you moaned while concentrating on moving your hips which was a lot easier because he was helping you with it. Perhaps he was right and your wild side was awakened, but you figured that was exactly what was needed. For your future career, and all.

Your second orgasm was even more intense than the first one. Elvis had sat up and wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you pressed tightly against his chest as you went through it- you nearly choked him out as your arms were wrapped around his neck, your fingers tangled firmly in his locks. He grunted in your neck as your thighs trembled and your muscles clenched around him so tight that it had him spilling over the edge as well. Before he did, he quickly lifted you off of him and playfully threw you on the bed which made you squeal softly, sitting on his knees as he quickly jerked himself off the rest of the way, spurts of warm seed landing on your lower abdomen. You were still moaning despite the fact that he wasn’t even inside of you anymore, riding high on the post orgasm bliss. Elvis groaned lowly as his hips stuttered forward in his fist a few times before he let himself fall down on the bed next to you, both of you easily and comfortably slipping in the afterglow portion of things as you looked up at the ceiling, catching your breath.

“God, I need a cigarette after that,” you breathed out, laughing as you pushed some loose strands of hair out of your face, your ponytail an absolute mess right now.

Elvis thought it looked adorable.

“You and me both, kid,” he chuckled, slowly sitting up and swiping his pack of cigarettes from the bedside table, putting two in his mouth at the same time. He lit them and handed one to you, which you gratefully took before you took a long drag from it. You exhaled the smoke up to the ceiling and then turned your head to look at him as he laid on his side next to you, leaning his head in the palm of his hand. “How was it?”

“It was… amazing,” you grinned at him, rolling onto your side as well to have a better look at him. You rolled the cigarette that was in between your fingers along the rim of the glass ash tray that he put in between you before taking another drag. “I guess losing my virginity to a porn director is one for the books,”

He laughed at the grin on your face and blew out some smoke, shaking his head a little at the way your playful nature was showing once again. He liked that about you.

“As long as you credit me for giving you your first and second orgasm in your little book, all’s fine with me,” he joked back as he shot you a wink and kissed your cheek before rolling onto his back and taking a long drag from his cigarette. You laughed and nodded- obviously it was all jokes. There wasn’t going to be any book, ever.

Your life simply wasn’t interesting enough for that. Neither did you figure it ever would be.

“How about that room service?” He asked as he killed his cigarette in the ash tray when he smoked most of it. Before he could get up, you stopped him and got up from the bed. Fishing his shirt from the floor, you put it on and grinned at him.

“I’ll get it,”

“Atta girl,” he smirked as he playfully smacked your butt before you walked over to the door.

The thought of stepping out of a world where your butt was smacked on the daily and stepping into another one where the same thing was happening made you giggle.

The universe surely bends you in funny ways, but you’d take that kind of attention from Elvis Presley over any other man any day.

taglist: @notstefaniepresley @powerofelvis @breadsquash @generoustreemystic @ab4eva @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @ellie-24 @dollksj @webbedwebs @re3kin @wivette @eliseinmemphis @18lkpeters @rosepresley @ccab @whatstruthgottodowithit @dkayfixates @lettersfromvenus @elvisalltheway101 @that-hotdog @robinismywife @jaqueline19997 @raginginkedslut @joshuntildawn13

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purefandomonium · 1 year ago

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It's The Thought That Counts-Chapter 1

***Monday Night***

Vince had said his favorite food was lemons. Not lemon meringue pie or lemonade or lemon cake. Just... raw lemons. Rody was no chef—hell, he couldn't boil water without starting a fire. He was unfit and unqualified to be telling someone such as Vincent Charbonneau how to eat. The man obviously ate well enough to stay alive, so Rody really shouldn't have felt so obligated to stick his nose into Vince's lifestyle choices.

As he removes the fourth failed baking attempt from the oven, all smoldering char and dust, Rody starts seriously contemplating his. He lets out a tired groan as he sets the ruined baking sheet aside to let it cool so he can dump the contents into the trash with all the rest. Maybe he should just save up and buy something from a local bakery.

The thought is dispelled immediately. The whole point would be lost if he just went out and bought the chef dessert. No. He needs to make it himself. He has to surprise Vince with something special. He wants to show the chef his appreciation with a homecooked meal. It's the least he can do, after being given the job and fancy leftovers at the end of each shift. Even if they were a bit on the bitter side. So he flips back to the start of the recipe and gathers up the necessary ingredients once more.

***Wednesday***

Rody can barely hide his irritation anymore. It's not terribly obvious to the customers, but by the end of the day any pretense of friendliness has been drained from him and he's been a tad snippy to the cooks and even Vince himself on occasion. He's stayed up late every night trying to get the hang of this whole baking thing. Cooking isn't worth it; he tried it after screwing up countless baking attempts and after two close calls with a pan fire he decided it would be best not to work with open flame.

He wants to tear his own hair out. He's bought a bunch of cook books and supplies, learned how to use a mixer, and has put so much time and effort into this and he still can't get it right. The lack of sleep and immense frustration is really starting to catch up to him. Maybe he can pry Vince for alternative recipe ideas and try those. They might be easier than baking lemon-flavored dishes. Or maybe he should just buy a basket of lemons and slap a bow and a 'thank you' note on it.

Ugh. No, he can't do that either. He's already spent the money on the kitchen utensils and books, he might as well make the most of them. He just needs more practice, more time to get this right.

***Friday Afternoon***

Vince still can't bring himself to question Rody about his strange behavior as of late. Whatever has the waiter so high strung, it's clear he's taking it to the grave. The most he can be bothered to do is shrug and remind him he should be working when the questions become a bit too personal. So long as it doesn't affect his ability to do his job, Rody can stress about it all he wants. Even if Vince feels a little uncomfortable seeing the youthful man so restless and tired.

Locked in his office, the chef hums as he goes over this month's budget. He hates this, really he should just hire an accountant. If it weren't for his stubbornness, he'd have found one already. However, he's nothing if not meticulous, which is why the moment he sees something odd with inventory he's lighting a cigarette and cursing.

***After Closing***

"Lamoree."

Rody yelps and spins around to see his boss standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed and frown looking a little deeper than usual. Unease bubbles up. "Uh, yeah?"

His voice is firm. "I need to speak with you about something."

Painfully aware of the time and bummed he can't head straight home after a long day, Rody nods and follows the chef. He's quick to realize they're the only two left in the restaurant; all of the cooks must've rushed out as soon as the last customer of the day paid. He can't blame them, both he and Vince were especially short-tempered today. If his stiff strides are anything to go by, whatever's got him so irritated is still present.

"Um... What did you wanna talk about?" Rody says as they stop at the prep counter. Several papers are laid out atop it. There are a lot of numbers and hard to read scribbles that must be Vince's writing. If this is supposed to mean something to him, Rody doesn't get it.

Vince takes note of the blank look Rody gives the papers. Uncrossing his arms, he points to one. "This is the budget for this month. I was going over it and the estimated inventory costs when I noticed something."

"...Ok?"

"It seems we've been going through certain ingredients faster than anticipated."

"Well, it has been pretty busy lately." What is he getting at? Does he expect him to help budget? Rody glances at Vince and decides that, no, that is not the face of someone looking to give a promotion.

Vince pinches the bridge of his nose and tries not to sigh too loudly. "None of the dishes this week have featured lemons, copious amounts of sugar or," he checks one of the papers, "almonds. Those are for next week's menu. As you know, we make everything fresh here. There's also quite a bit of flour missing. More than expected. It seems someone has been 'borrowing' ingredients..."

Rody hopes the heat in his face doesn't turn his cheeks too red. Awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding Vince's intense glare, he stammers, "O-oh... Funny that... M-maybe it went bad and one of the cooks... threw it out and ordered more?"

"Lamoree..."

"Or-or maybe it was rats! Yeah... We should, uh, call an exterminator."

Vince has to resist the urge to slap the idiot. The annoyance makes him momentarily choke on his words. "Y... You're not seriously going to stand there and suggest that my restaurant is full of rats and old food."

Oh... Shit. There's no way he's going to come out of this unscathed and still employed. The words begin pouring out before he can make them coherent.

Vince brings up a hand to silence Rody's panicked backpedaling. "Since it isn't obvious enough, I'm asking you about this because one of the cooks saw you shuffle off with eight pounds of lemons this past Monday. I noticed the weird discrepancy with the supplies and costs and asked around." Nevermind how in the hell he'd managed to ride his bike all the way home like that, or how or when he smuggled everything else out. It would've been more impressive if Vince weren't so annoyed at the blatant theft. Does the fool have no shame?

"I can explain!" Rody blurts out.

"I'm listening." He leans back on an adjacent counter and waits for the explanation he's sure will get the idiot fired.

Rody's face feels like the sun. "Ah... Well, it's kind of stupid now that I think..."

"Keep in mind your job is riding on this," Vince supplies, lighting the proverbial fire beneath him. He's almost amused at the way Rody sputters and trips over his own words. Almost. The faint smile vanishes in an instant.

Rody sucks in a deep breath, halts his wild thoughts, and says, "It was for a surprise for you." It's hardly above a whisper. When Vince lifts a brow and leans in with an ear turned to him, Rody curses the universe at having to repeat himself. He forces his voice to be a little louder this time. "I was trying to make something for you. Like you always do for me?" His ears are burning now. He has half a mind to drown himself in the nearby sink.

Vince blinks. Once. Twice. "I... beg your pardon?" Rody wanted to prepare something for him? He can't even remember the last time someone wished him a happy birthday, let alone made something for him. Not that he cares; no, it's just... The fact that Rody would go through all the trouble. Still...

The awkward squeal he lets out isn't much of a reply, but the poor waiter can hardly save his words from the embarrassment. "Do I really need to say it again?" he manages, hugging his arms tightly across his chest. "I just... thought that I could return the favor. I know you're a chef and all and you don't need me to cook for you and you probably do just fine on your own and-"

"But why lemons?" The look Rody gives him make his chest feel funny.

"...You said they were your favorite."

Oh.

Oh...

OH.

That... well, it did make more sense but... Ok, it was still stealing. He should... He should... Well he should definitely not be feeling...

Why does Rody have to look at him like that?

Fuck.

Cursing, Vince throws a hand over his face at the ridiculousness of it all. He hates the way hope blossoms in his chest. "Let me get this straight," he begins, the appendage still covering his features. "You stole ingredients from the kitchen to take home, all so you could cook something for me?"

"...Yes?"

"Lamoree..." The sigh isn't angry or indignant, only mildly disappointed. Like a parent annoyed their child jumped into the mud because they thought it would be a fun idea. Somewhere beneath that, however, is a small twinge of endearment.

"I'm sorry! Please don't fire me! I promise I'll stop. It was stupid anyway, I can't cook to save my life."

Vince removes his hand to meet Rody's nervous gaze. "What did you try making?"

"I-huh?"

"Forgive me for being curious as to what one could do with eight entire pounds of lemons in the span of a single week."

"Well, burn them mostly..." Rody rubs his arm as he recalls the many molten piles of former food he's pulled out of his oven these past several days.

Vince shakes his head. "You really are something."

"Man, cooking is hard! And baking too! You have to mix everything a certain way or it just ends up gross. Not to mention lemon pies. So many steps to make sure it turns out right..."

A small chuckle comes from the chef as he shakes his head again. "It usually helps to follow the steps, you know." Knowing Rody, he likely skipped a few key parts of the process due to his impatience. 'What's the harm?' he probably thought.

"Ugh... Well you don't have to worry about me stealing anymore ingredients," Rody says with a small groan.

"No. It seems not."

The two stand across from each other, one with an unreadable expression and the other slowly growing worried.

"Wait... Are you gonna...?"

Vince thinks about it, sighs, and pushes himself off the counter. "I'm not going to fire you, Rody," he says to the other man's wide-eyed terror. "I think whatever state you left your apartment in is punishment enough."

It did smell like burnt lemons and sugar in there. He's pretty sure it's seeped into some of his clothes by now.

"However... I do have one condition in exchange for your employment." He lets himself smirk at the waiter's bewilderment.

"...What's that?" Rody questions the sudden look of mischief.

"I'd like to see something by Tuesday next week." His smirk turns into a rare smile at Rody's shocked expression.

"I... I mean, I can try?" Vince... isn't mad at him? Looking back, eight pounds of lemons, a large bag of almonds and several bags of sugar and flour smuggled out of the restaurant probably is a lot of money. And yet, Vince isn't just letting him stay; he also wants Rody to bring something in for him?"

"I think it's the least you can do after you raided the supplies, no?"

"You're not gonna be upset if it's terrible?" While he hasn't made a successful batch of anything as of yet, he can at least say he's gotten better with his failed attempts. Tuesday is a bit of a stretch but maybe he can pull a rabbit out of the hat.

Vince shakes his head. "Just... don't steal anymore ingredients, got it?'

"Yes sir!" He turns to leave.

"Lamoree?" He waits for the waiter to face him once more. "Perhaps try cookies this time. I think you'll find they're much simpler than a pie, especially with your inexperience in the kitchen." He watches Rody nod before exiting through the back door. His mind drifts back to the lemons and he imagines the young fool pedaling down the street, bicycle swaying awkwardly as he tries to keep his balance. Vince supposes he is fit enough to manage.

...The idiot.

***Tuesday Morning***

"Hey, Vince?"

Vince jumps at the sudden call, dropping the chair with a thud. He lets out an annoyed grunt in response and goes to pick it up before positioning it at the table. He'd been too lost in his thoughts to hear the door. "You're awfully early today," he says as he turns to face the waiter. He quirks a brow and glances at the small aluminum tray he's holding.

Rody chuckles uncomfortably and lifts the tray. "You wanted me to bring something, remember?" He tries to settle the shakiness in his arms so the contents stop rattling. "They're lemon cookies. You were right; it was a way easier recipe to follow once I found one." He swallows the lump in his throat as Vince approaches. "They're not the best," he blurts as a hand reaches for the foil covering them. "They're still a little burnt. And I didn't really know how much lemon you liked but I added more than the recipe called for so you could maybe taste it more."

Silencing the rest of his nervous rambling, Vincent lifts the foil off and inspects the cookies. A dozen of them are stacked neatly in the tray. On the top they look completely fine. As he picks one up, however, the bottom is an almost-black that suggests too dark a baking sheet and far too much time in the oven. Still, the consistency is fine and as he takes a bite there's the faintest tingle on his tongue. He can't tell what it tastes like but knows it's lemon because that's the only thing that's ever given him the sensation. Burnt bottom aside, the cookie is chewy and somehow the perfect level of moisture.

To think, the young waiter did all this for him.

If Rody has to stand here and wait for Vincent's thoughts a second longer, he thinks he might explode. Watching him swallow the final bite, he speaks. "Well? How is it?"

For the first time in a long while, Vince smiles warmly. "It's good, Lamoree. A little burnt, but you did very well otherwise. I'm impressed. You did this all by yourself?" Something like happiness fills his chest.

He stands a little taller at the praise. "Yeah! I bought some cookbooks and just kept trying different things. I went through a lot of failed attempts though." And a couple ruined baking sheets.

"That's to be expected. Nobody learns anything overnight and practice makes perfect." The smile doesn't fade as he grabs another treat. This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for him.

"So?" A confused hum is his answer. "The cookies, can you taste them?" He highly doubts that his miserable baking is enough to spark Vince's long-dead tastebuds, but part of him hopes it's true. He's never seen the chef actually smile before and his heart buzzes at the fact that he was the cause.

Ah, right. The entire reason to all of this. Vince's good mood deflates a bit as he contemplates how to break the news to Rody. The waiter is just so proud of himself that he feels bad about having to crush his joy. He takes his time finishing the rest of the cookie. "...Actually..." He buys himself a couple more seconds as he swallows the last bite. "I almost can. It's not entirely there but... I can discern there's something compared to the nothingness I usually get." Perhaps he doesn't need to be fully honest. As Rody's face lights up with glee, he can feel his own face grow warm.

"Really?! You mean it?"

"Yes, Rody, it seems not all hope is lost on your baking skills." A startled grunt escapes him as Rody hugs him tightly. He'd been so quick to set the tray aside and close what little distance there was that Vince had no time to react. By the time his brain catches up to what's happening, the waiter's already releasing him and gushing with excitement.

"I'm so happy you like them! I'm gonna keep practicing until I make something perfect! I'll bring in all my good attempts and maybe you can even put one on the menu!" He pauses as his brain processes what he just said. "I mean... If that's ok? I'll be buying my own ingredients, of course." He hopes he didn't upset the chef again. The look he's giving him is... indescribable.

Vince spends several seconds staring at Rody before realizing he has to respond. The gears churn as he formulates his reply. "I'd be fine with that," is the best he can come up with. Rody seems to take it fine, if a little more subdued than before. Still, he wants to see the excitement decorating his features once more. Even if it's for a moment.

Rody says nothing as Vince picks up the tray of cookies, letting him walk away. He's glad he likes them.

"I'll tell you what, Rody," Vince says as he carries the tray to his office. "If you keep practicing in the kitchen, I'll let you take a few ingredients here and there." For half a second, he debates teaching the newbie baker/cook himself. The thought of working alongside him, helping him, is alluring. But he's not so foolish as to think it would work out.

He's thankful his back is turned so that the blush remains hidden. It seems Rody isn't the only idiot present today.

"Seriously?" To say he's stunned would be an understatement. He can't believe Vince is being so generous about it, and all because of some cookies? He can't help but wonder if there isn't more to it, but the thought is easily dismissed. Surely, Vince isn't... doesn't...

Nah. He's just happy to have something he can taste for once.

"If you've got time to stand there like a lost puppy then you have time to help get things ready," Vince says to the statue that is the waiter.

Rody snaps out of his thoughts and it's only now that he realizes they're the only two in the restaurant. They had another ten minutes before the cooks shuffled in and another thirty before opening. He should take the time to help get things in order and plan out the seating arrangements, should they get hit with more big parties like the last couple of days. The garbage probably needed to go out too; he'd forgotten last shift.

***

Vince spends most of the day in his office, no doubt gorging on cookies, while Rody spends his time between customers deciding what he should bake next.

Despite the not insignificant amount of ingredients missing, Vincent is quite happy Rody went through the trouble. If it were anyone else, he'd have half a mind to pin them to the wall with knives. But Rody isn't just anybody and the gesture is as sweet as he's sure the cookies are.

He can't wait to see what else his waiter brings.

#this goofy scenario wouldn't leave me alone so I wrote a fic for it #it's also on ao3 under the same name #dead plate #fanfic #my writing #ao3

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lucilucinha · 11 days ago

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New Bnha fanfic with Kimetsu, focusing on Katsuki!

I'm new here on Tumblr, I was recommended here to post my fics! I have accounts in several places. Wattpad, Ao3, and several others!

Comments, ratings, hearts and reactions are very welcome!

Chapter 1 - Fourteen days

The air in Principal Nezu's office felt thin, heavy. The only sound that broke the tense silence was the almost incessant scratching of Nezu's pen as he signed papers, which seemed to multiply more with each signature. Then, the stillness was broken by knocking on the door, impatient, irregular, unmistakably explosive.

Nezu lifted his small head from the documents, a cunning glint in his animal eyes. He didn't need to ask who it was. "Mister Bakugou! Come in!" His voice was gentle, almost cheerful, a sharp contrast to the storm outside.

The door burst open, revealing Katsuki Bakugou. His fists were wrapped in thick bandages, stained dark red in several spots – dried blood – a witness to either a recent fight or desperate training. His gaze swept the room, settling on Nezu with barely concealed contempt. "Tsk... Where should I sit, rat?"

Great, I already hate being here. Stuck in this room with this weird rat and that damn Aizawa staring at me.

Leaning against the wall of the office, looking tired and almost dead as always, was Aizawa Shouta. He didn't say anything at first, just inclined his head slightly towards the empty chair in front of the principal's desk. Bakugou snorted, but walked over and slumped into the chair, stiffly, deliberately avoiding meeting his teacher's exhausted but piercing gaze. I don't need his pity. I don't need anyone's pity... Katsuki repeated this constantly, hoping that somehow it would stick in his mind.

Nezu let out a barely audible sigh. Under normal circumstances, Bakugou's rudeness would have warranted an immediate reprimand. But the conditions were far from normal. The principal decided to overlook it for now. "Mister Bakugou, I assume you are aware of what you are doing here? Is that correct?"

Katsuki merely grunted, a low, raspy sound in his throat, but nodded stiffly. Nezu interpreted it as a 'yes.' "Excellent... Then I will be direct. The head teachers and I, after a long consideration of recent events and your... current condition... have decided that you should be expelled, Katsuki Bakugou."

A deathly silence descended upon the office. The word 'expulsion' hung in the air like a death sentence, heavy, cold, irrevocable. Aizawa and Nezu exchanged a fleeting glance, both braced for the inevitable explosion – screaming, threats – maybe even an overturned table.

But Bakugou surprised them. No explosion came. Instead, after a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, a hoarse sound emerged from his throat. It wasn't a scream, but a low growl, almost... hesitant? Broken? "A month." His voice was rough, forced. "That's all I ask."

Shit. Kicked out?

No... they can't do that.

They can't.

I need time, just a little time.

Aizawa raised an eyebrow, curiosity replacing the anticipation of confrontation on his normally apathetic countenance. "A month? A month for what, Bakugou? You understand there is no going back. After what he did... his quirk is gone. There's nothing we can do about it. After All For O-"

"SHUT UP!" The name was the trigger. Bakugou stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He slammed his bandaged fist down on Nezu's desk hard enough to make the principal's teacup clink dangerously. His face was flushed, his eyes wide and bright, anger, yes, an incandescent fury, but there was something else there, a suspicious wetness, a raw vulnerability he was fighting desperately to hide.

That name... That damn name!

Don't you dare say his name in front of me!

It was him... he took everything from me!

All I cared about...

—Everything that mattered to the people around him.

Nezu, unmoved, picked up his cup and took a calm sip of tea. "Mr. Bakugou... I admire your tenacity. Your willpower is undeniable. But I have serious doubts about your ability to succeed in this career, at the level you aspire to, without your Quirk." He set the cup down gently on the table. "What do you think, Aizawa? You are the teacher in charge of his class. I will leave this final decision in your hands."

Aizawa pushed himself off the wall, his gaze fixed on Bakugou. He studied him for a long moment, searching for any sign of doubt, any wavering beneath the fury and pain. He searched for the usual empty arrogance, but found something different. A desperate, almost feral determination. He saw no hesitation in those red eyes, only a stubborn refusal to give up. He is broken, but not defeated. He has lost his quirk, but not his fighting spirit. But that alone is not enough... or enough? "Two weeks, Bakugou." Aizawa's voice was firm, with no room for negotiation. "You have exactly fourteen days to prove that even without a Quirk, you still belong here. That you can still be a hero."

A sigh escaped Bakugou's lips, a sound almost of strained relief. Two weeks? Shit, I asked for a month... but it's better than nothing. It's a chance, I'll take it. He forced his lips into a copy of his usual arrogant smile, though it looked more like a grimace. "Humph, great! I knew you wouldn't have the courage to expel one of your best students just because of a little detail."

Aizawa suppressed a sigh of his own. Problem child to the end. "Bakugou, this isn't a joke. You've lost your individuality. Do you understand the gravity of this? The power that defined your fighting style, your very identity as a hero in training... it's gone. You can't just do the same things as before, no matter how much you want to." He needs to understand that this changes everything. It's not just a 'little detail'.

"I'LL FIND A WAY!" Bakugou retorted, his voice rising in volume again, the arrogant facade returning in full force.

I have to find a way.

There is no other option.

—Ah! There is another option, yes.

—You know what it is.

Aizawa stepped forward, closing the distance between them until he was standing right in front of the boy, invading his personal space, forcing Bakugou to meet his gaze. The height difference was clear. "How? How are you going to do this, Bakugou? Tell me." His voice was low, but filled with intensity. "Explain."

Katsuki was taken aback by the teacher's proximity and intensity. He opened his mouth to respond, to spew some bravado, some empty promise... but the words wouldn't come. He tried, but his throat felt closed. The truth was, he had no idea.

Shit, what do I say...?

I don't know how I'm going to do this!

How? With what? Grenades? Knives?

What a shitty joke...

"Come on Bakugou, tell me," Aizawa insisted, his voice rising a little, more incisive, breaking the tense silence. "What are you going to do?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" The scream burst from him, raw, desperate, without the usual arrogance. His patience was exhausted, the mask completely slipped. His breathing was fast and shallow, the control he had prized so much unraveling in real time. "I... I don't know what I'm going to do." he repeated, his voice shaking now, lower. "But I'll find a way! I always do... I always have." The last sentence was a barely audible whisper, sounding more like a fragile prayer than his usual confident statement. The arrogance shattered, revealing the fear and uncertainty that Bakugou never showed to anyone.

I've never said anything like that, not even to Shitty Hair or Raccoon Eyes... those... idiots. He had those two, Kirishima and Mina, who he considered... close. As close as Katsuki Bakugou would allow anyone to get, which wasn't very. His nature was to keep to himself. But not even to them would he admit something like that, so directly and in such a vulnerable way.

How pathetic...

Aizawa let out a long, tired sigh. This conversation was going to be as difficult as he had anticipated. But then again, this was Bakugou. Nothing with him was easy.

"Well, it seems we have a decision..." Nezu interjected, his soft voice cutting through the tension. It was time to end this before tempers flared again. "You have exactly fourteen days from tomorrow, Mister Bakugou, to prove to us that you can continue being a hero in training without your quirk. At the end of that time, you will undergo a practical test."

Before Bakugou could even ask the question, Nezu continued. "And before you ask, the test will be a simulated combat. You against Aizawa. One on one. We don't expect you to defeat a seasoned pro hero like him, especially in your condition. However, we do expect to see significant progress, adaptation, and most of all, proof that you still have the potential and determination necessary to walk this path. The least we expect is impressive results if you want to remain at U.A."

Katsuki just nodded, his jaw clenched. Arguing would be stupid right now. He was arrogant, not stupid. Silence and acceptance were his only bargaining chips at the moment. Fourteen days... just fourteen days. Against Aizawa. Shit. But I can do it... I have to. The phrase repeated itself in his mind, a desperate mantra to convince himself.

"Great, Mr. Bakugou." Nezu said, exchanging a quick, meaningful look with Aizawa. He got the subliminal message, I hope. "Aizawa will come to your residence tomorrow to deliver a document formalizing this... provisional agreement." He gestured toward the door. "For now, you are dismissed, Mr. Bakugou. Good luck."

Bakugou nodded again, feeling strangely drained. The adrenaline rush of anger and fear was leaving him empty. Taking in the reality of it all... it was overwhelming. As he turned and walked stiffly toward the door, he felt a hand rest briefly on his shoulder. It was Aizawa.

Surprised, Katsuki stopped and looked back. His eyes met Aizawa's for a few intense seconds. And for an instant, Bakugou almost swore he saw the corners of his teacher's lips curve into a tiny, almost imperceptible smile. A silent acknowledgement, perhaps? A 'Good luck' said in the Aizawa way? The surprise genuinely hit him. Before walking out the door, almost without thinking, he muttered something so low that only Aizawa could hear. "Thank you..." Katsuki walked out the door and began walking quickly after, intending to get out of his teacher's field of vision as soon as possible.

Why did I say that?

—Because you're an idiot.

I'm Katsuki Bakugou, damn it! I don't thank anyone...

So why did I feel the need to say this?

Why would I... Oh, fuck that shit.

The walk to the U.A exit felt longer than usual. The afternoon sun was shining on Bakugou's face, but he barely felt the heat. He felt lost. No. He was lost. Completely lost.

Fourteen days. What the hell can I do in fourteen days to make up for a fucking quirk I've used my entire life? Hand-to-hand combat training? Sure, he could step that up. Learn how to use weapons? Maybe support equipment? But what for? Even if I impress Aizawa and the mouse... I'll still be a useless powerless person. Forever. The thought was a black hole in his mind.

As soon as he passed through the imposing gates of U.A, he headed straight for the nearest subway station. Bakugou wanted to get home as quickly as possible. He needed silence, he needed to organize the chaotic avalanche of thoughts in his head. He needed a plan, as impossible as it seemed to have one at the moment. Fortunately, the subway was relatively empty, outside of rush hour. He plopped down on the first empty seat he found, leaning his head against the cold window.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket out of habit and frowned when he saw the screen light up with notifications.

Seriously? Who the hell...?

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

You have 16 new notifications

Bakusquad (Members: You, Shitty Hair, Pink Alien, Pikachu, Duct Tape, Headphone Head) - 13 new notifications

Shitty nerd - 3 new notifications

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Hmm? What does that shitty Deku want now? He could even understand the other idiots – Kirishima, Mina, Sero, Kaminari, and Jirou – who, for some bizarre reason, insisted on hanging around with him. But Deku? That damn nerd is a fucking masochist. I'll beat him up, curse, to humble, I try to push him away with all my might, and he always comes crawling back, five times worse.

Anyway, he was going to ignore Deku, as usual. Katsuki opened the "Bakusquad" group chat.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Bakusquad - Unseen Messages

Shitty Hair: Hey Kats, how was it with Director Nezu?

Duct Tape: He must still be in the middle of this "meeting" man, let's leave him alone for now, you know how Bakugou is, he's definitely not in the best mood after... That.

Pink Alien: Sero! We agreed on this before, no talking about it for now, it's still too recent. We have to support Blasty now, not keep reminiscing about it.

Duct Tape: Sorry D:

Pikachu: Hahhahaha, first time I wasn't the one getting the lecture!

Headphone Head: You don't have much moral authority to say that, Kaminari... How many times has your brain fried this week? Seven?

Pikachu: Hey! It wasn't that many times... It was 5 at most!

Shitty Hair: Guys, let's get back to the topic at hand here? Kats need our support today...

Pink Alien: YES! I don't know when you'll see this, Blasty, but we're here for you!

Duct Tape: Yeah man, you can count on us!

Headphone Head: Just call and we'll show up.

Pikachu: If you need anything, just ask, we're here to help!

Shitty Hair: You have friends Kats, don't forget that :D

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Katsuki stared at the messages, a strange feeling forming in his stomach.Friends? What the fuck is this? He always had followers, people who admired and feared him, no... friends. Why were these idiots sending this? They would gain nothing from it. The most logical thing was to assume he would be kicked out and move forward with that in mind, maybe they would finally change the name of this group to "Kirisquad" or "Minasquad". It was the most realistic. There was no reason for them to continue with this charade, pretending that they cared... about him.

Who in their right mind would want to be my friend?

I'm Katsuki Bakugou, damn it.

The rabid animal of the class.

The guy who needed a muzzle to receive a fucking gold medal.

An involuntary tremor ran through his arms as he remembered that day. The Sports Festival. He hated every second of that ceremony. That medal was trash. Half-and-Half didn't fight hard, he held back shamelessly.

It's an insult that he fought while holding on like that!

Was I the villain for not wanting that damn medal?

And the muzzle... that damn muzzle.

As if I were a dangerous dog that needed to be restrained....

He wasn't an animal. He just didn't want a prize for an empty, humiliating, undeserved victory.

Bakugou shook his head hard, trying to push away the bitter memories. He had to answer those idiots.They... looked like sincere. For some reason incomprehensible to him.

Maybe... maybe they really do care?

—There are stupid people for everything, right?

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Bakusquad - New posts

You: I'm on the subway going home now.

You: And the rat gave me 14 days to prove that I can still stay at U.A even without my powers. At the end, I'll have to take a fighting test against Aizawa-sensei, and if I can impress him, I'll stay in that shitty U.A. If I don't impress him... well, you guys have a brain, so use it to find out what happens to me if I fail.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

As soon as the last message was sent, "typing" indicators appeared under the names of almost everyone in the group.

Shitty Hair is typing...

AlienRosa is typing...

Duct Tape is typing...

Headphone Head is typing...

Pikachu is typing...

Oh, shit. No.

Katsuki definitely didn't have the energy or patience for an interrogation or a group pity session right now. He needed silence. Peace.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

You: I need to think, I'm going to turn off my phone for a while. Don't ask me stupid questions, I won't answer.

You: And yes Pikachu, this last line is exclusive to you.

Pikachu: D:

Pikachu: Hey! I'm not that stupid! You guys only say that because you're all some kind of super genius with your powers or something...

Shitty Hair: Sorry man, but it's not exactly that difficult to be better than you academically speaking.

Headphone Head: Exactly, didn't you come in 20th place in the semester test?

Pink Alien: Yeah! You're not very bright, Pikachu!

Pikachu: You can't talk too much about me Mina! You also ranked very low!

Pink Alien: ...Huh! Touche!

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Bakugou turned off his phone's screen before more messages arrived, putting it in his pocket. He leaned his head against the window again, closing his eyes.So much to think about...The main thing was: what the hell was he going to do? He didn't have a plan. He had no idea how to start.

I need to get stronger.

Faster.

Smarter in the fight.

Maybe... equipment?

Aizawa fights without depending so much on his quirk... he wears those bands.

—Did you really compare yourself to the depressed Aizawa?

Bakugou's mind began to race, searching for fragments of ideas and remote possibilities.

Fighting techniques... maybe something ancient, not relying on raw power?

Shit, where do I start?

Fourteen days. The clock was ticking. And Bakugou had no idea what to do.

A lot was going through Bakugou's head at that moment, he needed time to think, plan, to train. But that was all he didn't have at that moment, he was limited to two measly weeks. Fourteen days. Katsuki had his whole life to train and fight with his power... His old power. And now, Aizawa wants him to prove that he can fight without them? In such a short time? That's impossible!

Damn Aizawa...

After what seemed like an eternity, Bakugou felt the subway finally stop. On purpose, he took a subway line that stopped a little far from his house. Walking helped him think. And he needed this time walking alone. His mind needed it.

As soon as the subway door opened, Katsuki stood up and walked through it. He began walking along the same old path. He saw people walking, going about their lives – salespeople, office workers, construction workers, teachers – ordinary workers, people who theoretically he should become responsible for protecting, for looking out for. Normally, he would see all these people as extras, people who didn't know, who didn't have the ability to defend themselves, and who needed heroes to do the hard work. Now, walking among them, it's like... he's in that middle now.

Damn... this is not my place!

I am a hero.

I should be in U.A. We new dorms with those little shits.

No... here, in this environment.

Katsuki repeated this like a mantra.

—Do you really believe these words?

—Tsk... pathetic.

Bakugou felt naked – exposed, vulnerable – in the middle of all those people. Walking among them, among the... extras. With every step he took through the streets, he felt the eyes on him, some recognized his U.A. uniform. Others recognized him because of his performance at the Sports Festival. No one spoke to him, there were only curious looks and whispers. Damn you... What are you looking at? Mind your own business, you idiots! He gave a stern look to all those who looked at him. At least he still had that, because those who saw this stopped looking immediately.

As he left the shopping area, the number of people quickly decreased, along with the noise and all the accumulated stimuli of the mercantile environment. This helped his mind to calm down, and prepare for the inevitable conversation that would come... with his parents. His mother, in fact. Since she separated from Masaru, things had been even more stable between the two of them – Katsuki and Mitsuki – as much as possible with the Bakugou, obviously. But, she was still the same old hag as always, so the conversation would be as easy as expected.

Arriving at the door of his residence, he sighs before entering. He opens the door without thinking much more about it. And he can already hear the old witch screaming from the room. "Katsuki? I heard the door opening. IS THAT YOU, BRAT?!" Mitsuki screamed – especially the last sentence – from the other side of the house, from his room possibly.

"IT'S ME, OLD WITCH! WHO ELSE COULD IT BE?!" Katsuki shouted from the living room, closing the door behind him. He sat down on the couch soon after, finally breathing a little. Looking at the television in front of him, turned off, he could see his reflection in it, he looked... The same as always, but those who knew him, those who lived with him frequently, would be able to see the small differences. His eyes were redder than usual, he was more unstable, more volatile, talking less.

Katsuki sat there, staring at his own reflection. Thoughts and thoughts invaded his mind. What would he do? He had what to do? I've been wondering about this shit all day, and I can't find a single solution...

Is there really anything to be done?

A few minutes after he sat down, Mitsuki arrived and saw him there. She didn't say anything, just stared at her son, her eyes blank as she stared at her own reflection on the television. Katsuki saw her coming, but didn't say anything, didn't even react. He was too caught up in his own mind to pay attention to anything else. Mitsuki sat down next to his son, also staring at the reflection – now of the two of them – on the television.

They really are very similar, Mitsuki can see that more easily now. She always saw it, but now it was much more... obvious. She can imagine herself in that situation, lost, finished... Dead. She is the mother of this proud boy, she knows that if it were up to him, they would never talk about this situation. And honestly? She would prefer it that way. Talking about it would be like admitting that this is real, that it is not a dream, a nightmare. It is real.

But, it's not a question of wanting to. It will be uncomfortable for both of them, but they need to talk about it, whether they like it or not. And Mitsuki is aware of this, so she takes the first step. "So... what did they say?"

One, two, three, four, five... seconds passed, and nothing. No response. Katsuki barely blinked as he stared at his own reflection, and after ten minutes of this silence, Mitsuki was considering going back up to his room, and letting his son have some peace he must need after the recent events. But as that thought came to his mind, Katsuki finally said something, without taking his eyes off his reflection.

"Two weeks... they gave me miserable two weeks." Katsuki spoke bluntly, his voice much lower than usual now. It was almost... melancholic?

Mitsuki was also surprised by this. She never saw Katsuki in front of her was always the proud, victorious Katsuki, the one who wasn't afraid of anything and solved everything with an explosion. But this one in front of her... this Katsuki was different. He was trapped in his own world, his hands tightly clutching his shorts as he stared straight ahead. And that was all she could make out for now. "For what? Two weeks for what?"

"To... to prove that I can still be a hero, that I'm still worthy of being at U.A." Katsuki speaks as his foot taps against the floor in an irregular rhythm, too low to be annoying, but loud enough to hear the misfortune in his mind. "From what I understand, Aizawa, my old teacher, is coming here tomorrow. To... make it official everything, something like that. They're going to bring a document or some shit like that."

Mitsuki was ready to curse that school as much as possible, but one word in what Katsuki said made her freeze for a moment... Old. Did that kid say 'old teacher'? Don't tell me... No. "Kid... YOU'RE NOT THINKING OF QUITTING, ARE YOU?!" She says as she abruptly stands up from the couch, her eyes fixed on her son.

Katsuki paused for a second, his eyes wide. "Huh?!" He said as he also began to stare at his mother – turning his head for the first time in the conversation – but without standing up. Yet. "Give up? OF COURSE NOT, OLD WITCH! WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THAT?!" He spoke, trying to convince himself more than anything by saying that he would not give up.

"I know you better than you know yourself, I know when you're in doubt." Mitsuki speaks as he crosses his arms, his gaze sharper than ever now.

Katsuki wanted to defend himself and say that the old witch was seeing things where nothing existed, but... he couldn't do that. He is many things, a liar is not one of them. So... he stays silent, without saying anything. Also, he had what to say? How could someone like him talk about this? He was made for fighting, action, beatings and explosions! Not for feelings. He knows how to deal with villains, fights, training, and everything involving physical things. But feelings? Katsuki didn't deal with feelings, he exploded them. It turns out that exploding is no longer an option for him.

"Come on! Tell me! Are you really going to give up-" Before Mitsuki could continue, Katsuki stood up. Quickly. One step and he was already face to face with his mother.

"And what should I do?!" The voice came out in a scream, his throat burning. He gritted his teeth. Katsuki could feel his jaw trembling with... Anger? Confusion? Fear? He couldn't identify it, maybe it was all three at the same time. "Is that what you wanted to hear? Huh?! I don't know what to do, old hag. I. Don't. Know." Katsuki shouted as he looked directly into his mother's eyes, he had been holding this in for a long time, he needed to say it out loud, at least once.

Mitsuki looked at her son with wide eyes. She had seen Katsuki in many situations, in all of them actually. She is his mother, after all! But...That? She had never seen this before. Never in such a free and honest way at least. He had always been proud, and would rather suffer than release his feelings and express them in a minimally healthy way. His way of expressing himself was to train, fight, strive to be the best, to be in first place in the future. Mitsuki couldn't say anything seeing this, she just remained silent. She could feel in her heart that Katsuki still had more to say.Very more.

"I-I... I lo-" Katsuki tried to say the word, but he couldn't get it out properly. He never admitted defeat. Never, never, never.

Screw this.

I'm gonna say this shit right now.

"I-I... I lost my powers. Everything that made me strong. Special." Katsuki tried to stop himself from saying all this, but he couldn't anymore. He started this, and now he needed to finish it.

"Can you understand this shit, you old hag?! I don'tI am more special. I am... just another one." His voice wavers at the end. Low. Like he's falling apart from the inside out. He no longer has the strength to hold it all in. "Everything I was... everything... was built around my powers." He breathes heavily. "How am I supposed to live without this...? How am I supposed to look in the mirror and still recognize myself...?"

Mitsuki didn't have an answer for that. Not an answer that would make her son happy. For a moment, she could see... tears in his eyes? Was he holding back tears? Her Katsuki? This is... new, very new. She never thought she would see him cry after... of that. But that was a long time ago, years in fact. Things may have changed... things definitely have changed. Mitsuki can see the sparkle in his son's eyes better now. Small. That sparkle that comes before the fall.

"Without my explosions... what's left of me? Tell me, old woman. Tell me... who am I without my powers?" He squeezes his eyes shut, as if that will stop the water pooling there. A shaky breath escapes. Shit... I won't cry, I refuse to do that. "That's what I am now... a nothing. A useless person. A... De-" He swallows the word, but it's already been thought. It's already been felt. Deku. He was about to call himself Deku.

The comparison hits him harder than a punch in the gut. Thinking about it now, Katsuki realizes that thingsreallyinvented themselves. Before, he was at the top, he had the best power, he had a guaranteed future, his life made, he had everything. And Deku was down there, he was the useless little shit who had nothing, he was the one who had no individuality, who had no usefulness to the world. Now, everything has turned upside down. And the worst part... he can't hate this. Not really. Katsuki can't say he doesn't deserve this. He does.

Katsuki is not an idiot. He knows that what he did was wrong, he always knew that. To be completely honest, he didn't care much for Deku, at least at first. He had a lot of anger bottled up, and a lot of others issues to resolve. And Deku was the unfortunate one who had the misfortune to awaken all his insecurities, he just appeared in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that was enough for Katsuki to do what he did. Over and over again.

Deku...

He is everything I never was.

—I'm glad you know that.

Deku had a heart of gold, he would jump into danger to save whoever it was, he didn't care about people's pasts, he focused on save them, and nothing else. Katsuki knew that no matter who was trapped in the slime villain, Deku would help anyway, he would run even without powers regardless of who was there. He was a real hero, he may – still – not have the posture of a hero, he may not speak like a hero, but he has the actions of a hero. And that's already much more than Katsuki could ever dream of being.

Before Katsuki could get into dangerous thoughts and sink completely, he felt it. What? He opens his eyes, and sees something he never thought he would see. One arm, then the other. Hugging his body tightly. His mother was hugging him.

"Never again!" Mother's voice trembles, repressed, suffocated. "Don't ever say that again, you stupid brat..." Mitsuki says as tears begin to fall from her eyes, which were now closed. Her hug is too tight, desperate. As if her son would disappear if she let go.

Katsuki was inches away from crying. This was unexpected, much more than anything he could have expected for this particular conversation. But, he was holding it together, and he will continue to do so, he will not cry, no matter what. He will not let these damn tears win, not yesterday, not today, and not in the futu-

—?!

"You're Katsuki Bakugou. You... you're my son! And that... that's more than enough for you to be the most special person in the world to me. No matter what path you choose, whether you stay at this damn U.A or not, it doesn't matter. You Always will be my son! And that is all you need to be... don't forget that... kid."

The last sentence was a key turning inside him. He closes his eyes. One, two tears. Then many, and finally... he gives in. Katsuki hugs his mother back, weakly at first, then tightly, the same strength as hers... as his mother's. He cries, for the first time in many years. It's not just because of his powers, it's because of everything. For the past, for the guilt, for the anger... for still being loved even after... all of this. Without thinking much now, he buries his face in his mother's shoulder, squeezing his eyes even tighter. "I... I don't deserve all this love." He says between sobs, unable to hold it in anymore. "I don't deserve..."

Mitsuki places her hand on the back of her son's head, in his hair, pressing it against her shoulder lightly. "I'm your mother, you don't need to deserve my love, you'll always have it, accept it... son. Regardless of what happened or will happen, I will always love you, Always"

This seems to break Katsuki even more, because he tightens his hold on her. The sobs become louder, longer, and the tears flow more freely. And so they stay, together. Embraced, more united than ever. The last time they had a moment like this was... so many years ago. Katsuki was still a child back then.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

"Mom..." Little Katsuki, still a child, spoke as large, voluminous tears fell from his eyes and wet the floor. "Am I really a... monster?" He asked as he held a small letter in his hands. A letter that he never managed to deliver to the person who was supposed to receive it.

Mitsuki ran to hug him, kneeling on the floor to be at his height. "No! You're not a monster, my son." She hugged him tightly, leaving no room for questions. "Don't worry..." Mitsuki looked at the open door behind Katsuki, and in front of her. She had things to solve. Many. "I'll solve this, my son. You're not a monster because of this... you never would be."

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Mitsuki shook her head a little, she can't think about the past right now. She has to focus on the now, the present. She has a scared son in front of her, and she needs to devote all her attention to that now, not to old memories.

A few minutes passed, and they didn't move or say anything. They just stood there, together, still and holding each other. The sobbing had slowed down considerably by this point. They had both cried more than they ever had before. They had never been the kind of mother and son who were super close before, even though they were so similar, so this was something very recent. But, it was definitely a good thing.

Then, breaking the comfortable silence, Katsuki says something softly and with a slightly hoarse voice. "Thank you..." Soon, before Mitsuki could realize, she feels her son's body resting on top of hers. She was surprised by the extra weight on top of herself, but she didn't scold him for it, she just sat down slowly on the couch, with Katsuki now on top of her. He lay down on the couch completely, with his head now comfortably on his mother's lap.

Mitsuki relaxes a little at this, and murmurs something to her son, who was almost falling asleep now. "Sleep, son. You'll need it..." She begins to smooth his hair with her hand, very lightly, as if trying to give him a feeling of comfort through her touch. With his eyes already closed and drowsy, Katsuki quickly falls asleep.

Now, Mitsuki could see her son's chest rising and falling, inflating and deflating in a calm, steady rhythm. His heavy but calm breathing told her that Katsuki had finally fallen asleep. She stood there for a moment, just watching him in silence. It had been years since she had seen him like this, so vulnerable, so calm. Even when he was little, Katsuki had always been so he was restless, full of energy, always wanting to prove something to the world... or to himself.

Mitsuki ran her eyes over his face. His eyelids swollen with tears, his eyelashes still damp, his expression serene, almost childish. Katsuki, lying on her lap. He seemed so far from the explosive boy everyone knew, or thought they knew. She lightly touched his cheek with the back of her fingers, as if trying to confirm that it was real. It was... strange, trying to reconcile this Katsuki who had always been so strong and closed off, now allowing himself to rest in her arms.

But while it was weird, it was also... good, very good. Mitsuki felt like she had re-established a connection with her son. A connection they had long since lost. Mother and son, getting closer again. She missed that, actually, much more than she would be willing to admit.

A small sigh escaped her lips. She didn't know if it was relief or pain, maybe both. Mitsuki felt her eyes sting again, but she held back the tears. She didn't want to cry anymore. At least not now. All she wanted at that moment was to keep that image in her memory. Katsuki asleep, safe, welcomed.

She leaned down a little, lowering her face to his hair and placing a light kiss there. "My boy..." She murmured, her voice restrained. Her heart ached seeing her boy in that state, but there was something comforting about that scene. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she could actually protect her son, not from the battles outside, after all Mitsuki is not a fighter in the physical sense of the word. But, she could protect her son from the misfortunes of his own mind, help him overcome... everything.

Mitsuki was also minutes away from falling asleep right there, but suddenly.Ding dong.The doorbell rings. Seriously...? Who could be here at this time?! It's practically night... I hope this noise doesn't wake Katsuki up. Mitsuki thinks as she carefully lifts her son's head with her hand. She stands up, grabbing a pillow that was nearby and carefully placing it just below her son's head, leaving him supported by it. Katsuki sleeps there on the couch.

Once off the couch, Mitsuki goes to the door, but doesn't open it. She first wants to know who was there. "Who is it?" She asks, her voice loud enough for whoever was there get hear, but quietly enough not to wake your child.

"It is from U.A, my name is Shouta Aizawa. I'm Katsuki Bakugou's main teacher. I came to talk to his guardian." Mitsuki's eyes widened slightly upon hearing this. U.A? But Katsuki told me they would only come tomorrow... What is he doing here? Her gaze immediately turned harder, suspicious. Wanting answers, and with a frown on her face now visible, she opens the door, revealing the hero behind it.

Aizawa was dressed as usual – the dark uniform, the sash loosely wrapped around his neck – and his tired look was also present. At first glance, he seemed the same as always. But something there... was different. His eyes, even half covered by his unkempt hair, betrayed a greater tiredness than usual. A type of exhaustion that was not only physical.

"What are you doing here? My son told me you wouldn't be back until tomorrow with the paperwork." Mitsuki's voice was firm, full of suspicion. She crossed her arms and tried to give him her usual sharp look, which usually made a lot of people uncomfortable. Aizawa didn't seem to react much, but he noticed. Her eyes were red, visibly red, from the recent tears. Aizawa noticed this, and chose not to comment.

"Given the situation, we... have sped things up." Aizawa held up a black folder in his hand in a calm gesture. "Here are the documents formalizing the agreement we made with your son earlier. May I come in to discuss it?"

Mitsuki looked the man up and down with her eyes. From head to toe, without hiding it. There was something in his manner that made her uneasy. That look, that tired posture, that lack of reaction... Mitsuki didn't trust him. And Aizawa knew it.

And how could Aizawa blame her? U.A. had failed her son. They had let the League kidnap him, they had failed to protect him. And in the end, it had resulted in her son coming home broken and powerless. How could she ever trust him again? How could she look at Aizawa – at anyone at U.A. – without feeling angry? Aizawa held her gaze. He didn't defend himself. Because, in part, she was right about that. She is judging me. She has that right.

"Humph. Come in and follow me." Mitsuki replied, making room in the doorway. Her tone was harsh but controlled. She wasn't shouting – yet – but there was tension in every word. Aizawa entered with a barely perceptible nod and closed the door behind him. "Let's go to the kitchen, the living room is occupied at the moment." Mitsuki said, waving him to follow.

Without waiting for an answer, Mitsuki began walking through the house, and Aizawa followed her silently. Her feet touched the floor firmly. Her shoulders, which had been low after crying with her son, were now raised and tense. She was on guard, completely alert. And Aizawa felt it. Every step he took behind her seemed to be entering hostile territory. There were no shouts, no accusations... but the judgment was there. Alive, pulsing, and silent.

As soon as they arrived in the classroom, the first thing Aizawa focused his gaze on was Katsuki. His angry, irritated, and explosive student... who was apparently sleeping peacefully. He noticed the dried tears on his face, the almost childish expression in his sleep, and all of this combined with Mitsuki's red eyes. They were... crying? The Bakugou...? Crying? Aizawa's eyes widened at this, he wasn't expecting this. His mother crying? Yeah, that was understandable. But Katsuki? The Katsuki who he did you know? No. Not that.

"Is he... okay?" Aizawa asks hesitantly, turning his head slightly towards Mitsuki, who was also looking at Katsuki as soon as he entered the room.

"My son was captured by villains, nearly lost his life, lost his powers, and now he has accepted an impossible deal to continue in his so 'renowned' college" Mitsuki emphasized the imaginary quotation marks around the word renowned, gesturing with her hands. She had truly lost faith in U.A. "How do you think he is? Sir?" Mitsuki's voice came out harsh, rough, and scratchy.

"...Sorry for asking that." Aizawa really doesn't want to try to defend himself against this. If he were completely honest, he thinks Nezu deserves to hear those words too. But right now, the one representing U.A is him, so he has to put up with it, he has to deal with it.

Mitsuki sighs hearing this, she wants to scream, to curse, to completely destroy the spirit of this tired man in front of her. But no, she can't, for her son's sake she has to remain peaceful in this conversation... as much as possible for a Bakugou, of course. She gestures for Aizawa to follow, the kitchen was just ahead. The difference in space between the living room and the kitchen was not both, but, it should ensure that they can sit down and have a conversation without the risk of waking Katsuki.

A few seconds later, they are in the kitchen. Mitsuki goes to the refrigerator and takes out a bottle of water, pouring herself a glass of water. She doesn't get anything for Aizawa, and sits in the chair at the end of the dining table. Aizawa decides to sit at the other end, keeping the respectful distance – on his part – between them.

Mitsuki doesn't allow this to become silence, and immediately asks: "Show me and explain the document, I won't sign anything without reading it first."

"Here it is." Aizawa tosses the folder onto the table, leaving it next to Mitsuki. As she opens the folder and takes the pages, he decides to explain everything verbally as well. "The deal is as follows. Fourteen days from now – starting tomorrow – your son and I will have a test battle, me against him. We will have the other top teachers – and heroes – of U.A as our audience." As he speaks, Mitsuki reads the document in her hands, occasionally taking a sip or two from her glass of water. "The outcome will depend on how well he does in this fight. If he manages to impress the others and me, he will remain at U.A. If not, he will be officially expelled."

After he finished speaking, Mitsuki continued reading the document, wanting to know every single detail. Aizawa could see her scanning every inch of the paper, every possible corner. "I assume that the use of equipment will be allowed, correct? To compensate for the lack of individuality." She had already read the part of the document that spoke about this, but she wanted to know directly from him.

"Yes, the use of any extra equipment will be permitted."

Mitsuki sighs at this. Well, at least that. She still found this whole test impossible to pass. But at least they weren't completely insane, and they would let Katsuki use extra equipment and gadgets.

"As long as the equipment is not lethal to me or your son. Anything that is not lethal will be allowed." Aizawa finishes the sentence, wanting to make clear the limits of what will be allowed to be brought into battle.

Lethality?! And what would be more lethal than a quirk? It doesn't make sense that they would allow other students' quirks in these tests, but block lethal equipment. With that in mind, Mitsuki's hands tightened a little on the paper in her hands. She was holding herself back from crumpling that paper. She wanted to externalize those thoughts, those feelings. She wanted to be able to scream, curse and say how extremely unfair all of this was to her son.

Mitsuki remains silent as she listens to this, and decides to continue reading the document, taking another sip of water. Finally, she reaches the last part, seeing the line where her signature would go. She stays there for a while, just observing and thinking about everything. She thought a lot about whether she should sign it or not, she didn't think U.A deserved her son after all this, but... Mitsuki knew that this was what Katsuki wanted, he wanted to stay at this school, he wanted to be a hero and be like All Might, that's what he always wanted. And she won't be the one to end that dream, she promised to support her son, and that's what she'll do.

Without thinking much more, she picks up a pen that was nearby and signs the document. The way she picks up the pen is heavy, impatient, signing quickly and without a hint of delicacy or formality. Then she takes the paper, puts it in the folder, and throws it again to the side of the table where Aizawa is.

"There you go, you can go now." Mitsuki says bluntly, as he stands up to leave his now empty glass of water in the sink.

Aizawa takes one of the papers he had in his briefcase and leaves it on the table before standing up. Mitsuki recognizes that specific paper. It was the paper that told the rules of the agreement, and what Katsuki could or could not take into battle. "You can keep this paper, we just need to get the signature."

"Good, now, feel free to leave." Mitsuki spoke without even looking the man in the eye. She was washing the glass, and giving more importance to the object than to Aizawa now.

Aizawa lets out a sigh at this. There hasn't been any screaming or physical violence since he entered this house, so in a way everything was resolved peacefully, without anyone getting hurt. And normally he would consider this a victory. But, all this hostility in the environment, the harshness in Mitsuki's voice, all this... tension. This situation is managing to go from bad to worse at an impressive speed.

"U.A, we – I – are very sorry for what happened.We hope that-" Before Aizawa could continue speaking, a crack could be heard from where Mitsuki was. The glass cup. Mitsuki broke the cup she was washing with her hands, and when she turned to face Aizawa, he could see the veins almost popping out on her face. Whatever it was, it left her very more irritated than before.

Mitsuki walked with heavy steps towards Aizawa, closing the distance between them considerably, invading his much-prized personal space. "Listen here, you miserable third-rate hero." Mitsuki's voice came out like venom, sharp and full of hatred stuck in her throat. But at the same time, it was low and somewhat restrained. She wasn't shouting, but her voice was still firm and resolute. "Stop pretending to care about me.my son."

Mitsuki's gaze sharpens more than ever at this. Her eyes lock onto Aizawa's, unblinking for a second. Her jaw trembles slightly and her fists clench with impressive force, turning her fingertips white from how tightly she's clenching them. "You don't care about my son, let's make that very clear. You're not here because you care about him, and you're not here to apologize to him for U.A's failure to protect him. You're here because of a document, because of a piece of paper." With that, Mitsuki moves even closer to Aizawa, to speak directly into his ear now. "That's why, I repeat. No pretend you care about myboy."

Aizawa is an experienced hero, he has faced many villains in his life, and has come face to face with many that would make most heroes run away in fear. Therefore, he does not scare easily, he no was startled by what his student's mother said. He held her gaze, also without blinking once, absorbing each word. It was clear that he didn't let it affect him. But anyone who knew him would know. His gaze fell a little more as he listened to all that, and his general posture seemed more tense now. I care, ma'am. Very much, about all my students, including your son. Aizawa wished he could say that, but he knew when he had to back down, and the mother in front of him didn't look like she would accept what he had to say.

"Get out. Get out of my house now!" Mitsuki emphasized the last word, taking advantage of the fact that he was speaking just a few centimeters from the man's ear to raise his already naturally loud voice a little.

Aizawa didn't try to fight it, he just turned and started walking towards the door. Mitsuki follows him closely, wanting to ensure his exit. Once at the door, Aizawa turns to whisper something before leaving. "Tell him thatI wished goo-" Mitsuki doesn't give him time to say anything else, and just slams the door in the poor guy's face.

With that, Mitsuki lets out a loud sigh, finally managing to relax a little. His shoulders drop and become less tense, as if a giant stone had been lifted out from her back. She returns to the living room, and sees her son there, sleeping peacefully. Pleased with the sight she is seeing, Mitsuki takes a blanket and covers her son. Slightly approaching him, she speaks softly to him. "Sleep well." And places a light kiss on his hair, as she had done before.

Katsuki felt his vision slowly returning. And instinctively, he ran his fingers over his eyes, feeling... eye gunk? What the hell is this? It's not that this wasn't common, but in this amount? This wouldn't happen unless... Oh, shit. Katsuki then begins to remember everything that happened, the 'conversation', the outburst, the crying, the tears, the words of affection... Immediately, he feels his face redden and heat up.

Did that... really happen?!

—Unfortunately.

...

Deep down, he hoped it had all been a dream. A dream too good to be true... the part where his mother appears at least. But now, he can remember everything, every detail.

My mother... acting like that?

But why?

—Are you stupid?

Katsuki knew why. His mother loved him, and always will. Now, he was aware of that. However, he still couldn't understand why someone would be like that to him, even if it was... his mother.

Already tired of lying down, Katsuki grabs the cover and throws it aside, sitting on the couch, facing the small table that was there. Looking around the room, everything seemed to be normal... It was dawn – maybe one or two in the morning – and Katsuki could tell by the moon outside, the darkness, and the absolute silence that hung over everything. And that's good, he likes the silence, he needs it after the day he had.

On the table in the living room in front of the sofa, Katsuki also sees two papers, a larger one that looks like a document, and a smaller one, on which he recognizes his mother's handwriting. Taking his mother's, he quickly reads what is written.

— �� — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

"Your teacher came here earlier, he brought the documents about the battle test you will do in two weeks against him. The rules are all on the paper, kid, read this damn thing carefully!!! If you need anything I will be upstairs working"

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

HUM?! Did Aizawa come here earlier?

But he said he was coming tomorrow... what a weird shit.

Katsuki tried not to think about it too much, and immediately focused his attention on the other paper. He picked it up with considerable care, this was the document with all the rules he had to follow, he wouldn't lose it. Then, he began to read it from beginning to end, every part.

Overall, the rules were everything one would expect. They were no different from the normal rules he was normally required to follow when he had training at U.A. The location of the fight was also one he remembered. The central square of U.A huh? I remember that. That's where we fought the teachers before that shitty camp. But, one rule caught his attention. Non-lethal equipment allowed? He gave special focus to this part. Apparently, any and all equipment that is not lethal in nature can be used.

So, I couldn't use a katana, but I could use a wooden katana?

Tsk... what a boring shit.

—Every day more hypocritical. How I like it!

The non-lethal equipment part was shit, but at least he could use equipment. That's better than nothing, and that was also the last rule in the document. Humph... so that's it? It seems like the same rules as the training against teachers. At least Katsuki already knew what to expect. He knows how Aizawa fights, and he knows the environment they'll be fighting in, he has to use that to his advantage.

Putting the paper back on the table, Katsuki gets up from the couch – stretching slightly – he wants to take advantage of the early morning to go out for a bit, walking in this silence and darkness always helped him put things in order. But, before that, he needs to check on something... his mother. He knew her, and knew that he probably stayed working late after he fell asleep on... her lap.

Tsk...! I still can't believe that shit happened.

—There are two of us.

He grabbed the blanket from the couch and put it on his back, walking to her room on the other side of the house. Opening the door, he saw what he suspected, his mother was sitting in the chair in front of a small table, where her laptop was open on some strange fashion app that Katsuki couldn't recognize. Mitsuki had her head on her arms, face down, sleeping right there on the table, you could even see a little drool escaping from her mouth.

Seeing this, Katsuki sighed heavily. He didn't like it when his mother worked so late. For all he knew, she was doing some freelance fashion clothing to earn some extra money on top of her work. They don't necessarily need it, but it helps them not spend the month in the red. After she separated, they had to move house – to a considerably smaller one – in a worse place, but with much lower rent too.

I guess that's the price we had to pay in the end to stop living with that piece of shit. Masaru cheated on Mitsuki over a year ago, with some secretary from what he knows. Katsuki doesn't really care who it is, he'll hate the woman – or man, you never know – just the same. At first it was... complicated. The divorce process was tough, and living alone with him and his mother in the house, after having been used to having his father there for so long. But they managed to get used to it, and today they are even more mentally stable than before because of it. They have been slowly getting closer since the day they found out about the betrayal. It wasn't very noticeable, but today it proved to be... useful. They - son and mother - had a good time there.

The absolute downside to all of this? Money. Masaru earned considerably more than Mitsuki from his job. And when Masaru finally left their lives over a year ago, their income dropped by more than half. They had to move out of their old house – the one near the Midoriyas – and into a much smaller one in a worse neighborhood, and they had to cut their living costs considerably. The house was not roomy, but compared to the old one? It was absolutely worse, it had only one floor, no basement or attic. A single bathroom, two bedrooms, a kitchen and a living room. Something very basic for two people.

Katsuki even sold a lot of his stuff when they first moved, to help his mother. Nowadays, his room has a lot less All Might stuff, for example, he sold a lot of his dolls. And... shit, he didn't want to remember the former number one hero now.

All Might... he lost his power, because I was too weak and couldn't escape that shitty League.

What the hell!

Shit, shit, shit!

—It turned masochistic now is it?

Katsuki shook his head repeatedly, he couldn't just wallow in guilt now.

Focusing his mind on the present and his attention on his mother again, he turned off the laptop, closing it. He grabbed the blanket from his back to cover Mitsuki. Katsuki slightly adjusted the blanket so that it wasn't covering her head, but the rest of her body. He carefully adjusted the blanket, making sure she didn't get too hot either, since she was sitting in a chair, not lying on the bed.

After finishing, he steps back a little, looking at the result. His mother there, sleeping peacefully after working so hard... he needs to say something, even if she can't hear him now. "..." But what to say? He wanted to help his mother... but how? "I'll help you, mom, I swear." Katsuki said, placing his hand lightly on her back, as if he wanted to support her after everything she did for him. Everyone knows, he never calls Mitsuki mom most of the time, not even when they're alone. But now? He couldn't call her 'Old hag' after what happened, not today.

He left the room without making a sound, closing the door with a click fast. And walking to the living room. First, he stops by his room to get a coat, after all it must be cold outside, and he doesn't want to catch a cold this fateful week. Then he takes a piece of paper and quickly writes that he is going out, and so his mother doesn't wait for him to come back. I'm going to stick this on the fridge, she should see it when she wakes up. Sticking the paper to the fridge, he heads towards the door, opening and closing it behind him.

The second he steps outside, he feels the wind in his hair, his fingers, and his entire body. His lips immediately dry up, and instinctively his body curls up in on itself.

Shit! How cold is this?

We are still far from the doom of winter!

—Be thankful! Maybe the wind will be able to blow your sins away.

—Look at the bright side.

It is common knowledge that Katsuki did not like the cold. But, this was largely due to his old power. He needed to sweat to use his explosions at full power, and the cold didn't help with that, on the contrary, it made everything worse. In other words, he was weaker in the winter. Before. Nowadays, that wouldn't make much of a difference.

He starts walking down the street, without any specific goal. Katsuki just needed to... walk. Make his body move, have time to think about everything that will happen. Okay... I can use gear then, right? But what the heck would I use?! I've never needed gear outside of my old gloves. That's true, any and all equipment he used revolved around his power, without the explosions, it all became useless. I don't know how to use any weapons... and I feel like going into this fight barehanded and only any martial art won't work, not with Aizawa. He looks around the street as he thinks, trying to see if anything catches his eye, maybe some inspiration, anything. But nothing.

Tsk! What the fuck... how am I supposed to do this?

Just two weeks is too little time.

—I think it's a lot, you know. But did anyone ask for my opinion? I don't think so.

Katsuki thinks as he walks down the street, which, because of the early morning, is incredibly empty. He actually finds it a bit strange, yes, it must be around two in the morning now. But there is usually at least somebody at this time, besides him, it shouldn't be so empty... Katsuki walks a little further now with this in mind, until he is next to an alley of pure darkness, he can't see even a hand in front of him. He looks a little at the alley, and soon starts walking forward, ignoring that pile of darkness.

But before he could move on... "GRRR!" Katsuki immediately turned towards the alley, getting into his old fighting stance out of pure instinct and muscle memory.

What the hell is this?!

Does that sound like a... growl? Maybe a dog?

—...

Katsuki isn't stupid, he won't risk drawing attention from whatever is there, especially in his current state. Slowly, he starts to back away, wanting to get out of the radius of whatever is there.

But things were never going to be that easy for Katsuki to solve. Just as the boy slowly started to back away, something jumped in front of him, coming from the alley. Now, Katsuki could clearly see who was making that noise, and fucking shit. He had never seen anything like it before in his life. The creature – or monster, Katsuki didn't really know what to call it – had two sharp horns right where someone's eyelashes would be. Its eyes were deep black, both the pupil and the rest. He couldn't see the rest of its body properly, but he was sure the monster had claws too. But that wasn't what impressed Katsuki, what impressed him was the blood, the animal was covered in blood everywhere, especially in its mouth. And it was missing one of its arms, which was... Regenerating?! What the hell is this? He knew that there were very strong healing quirks, but at this level? "What the f—"

Before he could say or do anything. "CRUNCH!" The creature launched itself at Katsuki at an abysmal speed, its teeth sinking into his collarbone with a wet, repulsive sound. Tearing apart all the flesh and muscle there.

Katsuki froze. No muscle responded. He tried to scream, but the monster's hand was already covering his mouth. Cold. Wet. Strong too much.

"Well, well! Look what we have here...!" His mouth was salivating, and opening slightly, Katsuki could see his sharp teeth from here. "It's been a while since I devoured such young meat!"

The monster speaks as it begins to push Katsuki into the alley, covering his mouth the entire way. The – former – student hero even manages to find some courage to struggle and try to escape, but the monster – that was definitely not an animal – was much stronger, and managed to restrain him without any difficulty.

"You're persistent, kid, I like that!" The monster says this as he slowly brings his mouth closer to his collarbone again. "But... what if I do this!" He starts biting Katsuki's collarbone again, now devouring the flesh. His teeth go deeper and deeper. At this point, Bakugou believed he would pass out or die from the pain.

Is this how I'll die?

Without being able to be a hero?

Without being able to apologize to that... little shit.

Without... being able to help my mother?

In the background, you can hear light footsteps running towards them, a Katana in hand. "AHHHHH! What the delicious!" The monster speaks as he tastes Katsuki's flesh, who was about to pass out from so much pain now. "Ah... I want MORE!"

—....

—Pathetic.

—Giving up so easily?

—That power took courage with it when it left that body, apparently.

Before the monster could continue devouring, Katsuki could see in the background... fire? The head of the thing devouring him was suddenly cut off. A katana... of fire? That generates fire? Before he could think about it any further, he felt his mind going blank, was he... fainting? Or dying? Katsuki couldn't tell.

Just before he blacks out, he sees the monster disintegrating into thin air? And the... person who saved him – it was a woman, Katsuki could tell – coming running toward him? "Hey! Kid! Can you hear me?!"

Katsuki fainted.

Final Notes:

So, I have to make a few things clear here. First, the updates for this fic. I'm going to keep updating 1 to 2 chapters per week. With a minimum of 5000 words each. Tip: always expect a chapter. I'm going to need to be really excited to have the energy and time to do two in one week lol.

I haven't written in a long time, so I'm still getting used to... all of this. In other words, some things might change later on, I'm also studying a lot about writing, so things might(and will, I hope) get better from now on.

I have two chapters ready already, counting this one, and I'm writing the third one right now that I'm releasing this(May 25th). As you've noticed, I like BIG chapters. I can't always promise 10000+ chapters, but I guarantee that I'll keep them all at 5000+.

Another thing, I mentioned that this will be a crossover between My Hero Academia and Demon Slayer. However, there are some caveats to all of this. First: I'm going to change a LOT of things about the power system, and I'm going to follow a completely different path from Kimetsu, and add a lot of things that come from my own little head. This will all be explained more in the second chapter, the whole basis is still the same as Kimetsu, so don't worry.

I don't think I need to explain that there will be original characters of mine here, right? I think it's pretty obvious T-T. And, in general, my Katsuki will also be a tyiiiic OC. As you can see, I changed his personality a little here, and he will evolve over time.

In these first chapters, Bnha's characters may seem a little faded, but over time they will appear A LOT more, I promise - I'll try at least kskskskks. Remember that the story is centered on Katsuki, so right-

And, I'll try to reduce the length of the paragraphs in the next chapters, just to let you know... sometimes I think I made these TOO long lol. Anyway, I welcome opinions on-

And another thing: The romance won't be the focus of this fic, and it takes a long time to start.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Have a good week, everyone, and a good day :D

Edit(July 5th): I'm the creator of this fic, and I'm translating my own fic that I originally wrote in Brazilian Portuguese.

I'm not VERY good at English. And it took me a LONG time to translate this chapter. And I also accept help, if you English speakers want to give me some advice.

Like, I'll do my best to translate, but it really takes me a LONG time to do it. I think I can guess about... 3-4 days to translate a chapter, for now. As I get better and get used to it, this may improve, but for now this is it.

Thank you to you who are reading this! I appreciate it SO MUCH <3

(EXTRA NOTE. 02/07: I'm new on Tumblr, so I still don't know how things work here… I accept tips to make the fic reach more people! If you want, you can look on your favorite fic site, I'll probably have posted it there… I'll post simultaneously on Wattpad, AO3, Quotev, and Royal Road.

THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who reads this far! I'll carry you in my heart! )

#bakugou katsuki #boku no hero academia #demon slayer #fanfic #fanfiction #kimetsu no yaiba #ao3 fanfic #wattpad #ao3 author

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mikaela-granger · 9 months ago

Text

The Long Wait Chapter 23

Woman in Black Part 2 (Sean’s and Lorelei’s POV)

Fandom: Grimm

Pairing: Sean Renard/OFC

The Long Wait Masterlist

A/N: This is the last chapter of Part 1, or as I have taken to calling it Season 1. I have already started working on Season 2. First chapter of that will be uploaded tomorrow or even sometime today. Thank you to those of you who have stuck with it so far. Season 2 will see a shift in Sean and Lorelei’s relationship, especially as Lorelei and Nick find out about Sean’s true nature. What Grimm season 2 moments do you want to see included? Let me know in the comments.

***Sean’s POV***

It was a rare day when Sean was able to head home early. Although there were active cases, he knew he could trust his people to work without him hovering. As he headed to his car, he pulled out his phone, deciding to invite Lorelei over for dinner. He hadn’t seen her much lately, despite living in the same building. They were both busy people. He had seen her in the elevator several times, getting the chance to meet her new dog, Molly. However, no prolonged one on one time. It was annoying him, being so close yet so far. By the time he reached his car, Lorelei had responded affirmatively. A smile crossed his face as he climbed in. He knew his housekeeper would have just restocked the kitchen; he would surprise his soulmate with a home-cooked meal.

To his surprise, he ran into his soulmate leaving the parking garage in their apartment building. “Hey, fancy running into you here.” She joked, a big smile on her face as she approached him.

Sean smiled at her, feeling his heart warm at the sight of her. “Indeed.”

“I’m just going to take Molly for a walk, have a shower, and then I’ll be right up. Should I bring anything?”

Sean shook his head. “Take your time. And just your charming personality.”

Lorelei laughed as they stepped into the elevator. “I don’t think Nick would agree with you about that.” She commented.

“Yes, well, you are his annoying younger sister.” He joked, pressing the buttons for both their floors.

They went their separate ways and Sean continued to his apartment, still contemplating what to cook. He should have the ingredients for spaghetti. His plans were changed when he entered his apartment to see it had been trashed. Quickly, he withdrew his gun and slowly entered, sweeping the area quickly. He placed his phone down on the side table and entered the living area. Sean spun around to face the kitchen and paused as he saw a pair of feet sticking out from behind the kitchen island. Dread filled his gut, as he cautiously moved forward. He stared in surprise as he recognised the person. He knelt beside the body. It was his housekeeper. “Oh no, Patty.”

Just then his phone started ringing. He looked towards it, as someone stepped in his line of sight. He heard a roar, before he was attacked and knocked out. His last thought was hoping Lorelei took Molly for an extra-long walk.

When he came to, the sun had set. Sean was in pain and had a hard time focusing. Sean shifted slightly and realised his hands were bound. He became aware of someone in front of him. They seemed to be asking him something, however he couldn’t hear properly or move. It didn’t take long for Sean’s vision and hearing to clear up. There was a man standing in front of him. Asian, Sean wasn’t one percent sure which part. And he was asking him where the coins were. The man continued beating him, even after Sean gave in and told him he longer had them. Apparently, Farley Kolt didn’t have the coins either. The man grabbed a large knife from Sean’s kitchen and walked towards him, asking him again where the coins were. Just as he went to slit Sean’s throat, there was a knock at his front door. For a moment, Sean felt his stomach drop, praying it wasn’t Lorelei. Immediately, he felt relief when he heard it was Sergeant Wu. The man went and peered out through the peephole. Sean couldn’t quite make out what was happening outside the door; the man returned to his side mentioning something about it being his lucky day and then everything went black.

When he came to, Burkhardt and Griffin were there. He was seen to by medical personal and his apartment was filled with police. Once he felt well enough, he started to fill them in on what had happened.

“He wanted the coins that were stolen from the jeweller.” He was explaining to Nick. “I told him that Farley Kolt had them and he said that he found Kolt in Los Angeles, spent three days with him, and was sure he didn’t.” Sean paused to press an ice pack to his cheek. “You might want to check with LAPD if Kolt’s body has been found. I doubt he left him alive. If he didn’t end up with the coins, who did?”

“Maybe he got rid of them before this guy caught up with him.” Burkhardt suggested.

Griffin piped in. “I don’t think this guy thought so, that’s why he’s here in Portland. He had photos of all of us. Me, Nick, you Captain, and even Nick’s sister.”

Sean froze slightly and glanced at Burkhardt, who had tensed up at the mention of his sister. “He had photos of Lorelei as well?”

Burkhardt nodded and Griffin continued. “They were taken by a private investigator from New York. His body was found this morning at a downtown hotel.”

“Yeah, and we found a camera in the trunk of a rental car, downloaded the photos. That’s why we came after you.” Burkhardt explained.

“Lucky for me. He had no intention of leaving me alive.” Sean said, glancing at Burkhardt. “Is Lorelei, ok? He didn’t visit her first?”

Burkhardt shook his head. “No, she’s at her place. Officer DeMarco is with her. Wu says they met her at the elevator as she was heading out.”

Sean felt relieved. She was safe. He was grateful Wu had arrived before Lorelei made her way up. He had no doubt that if Lorelei was on his list, this man would have grabbed her had she shown up at his door.

“You get a good look at him?” Griffin asked.

“Yeah. Asian, mid-forties.” Sean told him before looking toward Burkhardt. “He had a tattoo on the side of his head.” Sean gestured to his temple.

Burkhardt glanced up at Griffin. “Sounds like the picture of the guy up in New York.” Griffin said.

“What picture?” Sean asked in confusion.

“Akira Kimura.” Burkhardt answered.

“Who is he?”

Before Burkhardt or Griffin could answer, Wu approached them. “Uh, Baby Burkhardt is on her way up. DeMarco tried to hold her off as long as he could, but…she wants to know what is going on and to check on the Captain.”

Sean felt a warm feeling fill his chest; his soulmate was concerned about him. Burkhardt, however, sighed in exasperation and stood up. “I’ll get rid of her Cap.”

“No, its fine. Let her in. She’s just being a good neighbour. And she also may still be a target.” Sean assured him, even though he wasn’t fond of the idea of his soulmate seeing him in such a state. However, he needed to see with his own eyes that she was ok. Furthermore, there may still be a chance that this Kimura could still go after her.

Burkhardt nodded before walking toward the door. “Hey, what the hell is going on?” Sean heard Lorelei say.

“Well, you’d know if you answered your damn phone.” Was Burkhardt’s reply.

“I left it at home charging when I took Molly for a walk.”

And there she was, Sean’s soulmate. He had to work hard to keep the smile off his face, the one that was meant only for her. She looked beautiful, although her face was filled with concern. Her long dark hair was tied in a low bun, and she was wearing a light blue sundress. He hadn’t seen her in a dress before. Had she dressed up for him? For their dinner? He internally cursed this Kimura. Tonight, may have been a turning point in his relationship with Lorelei and it had been ruined. Not only had he ruined their date and threatened Sean, but he was also a threat to Lorelei. He was going to kill him.

Lorelei’s gaze fell on Sean and her eyes widened as she took in his appearance. “Oh my god, are you ok Captain Renard?” she asked, taking a step closer to him. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but it seemed like Lorelei was trying to stop herself from running to him.

Sean offered her a smile, not his usual, he did have an image to maintain. “I’ve been better, but I am ok. Thank you for your concern, Lorelei.”

Biting her lip, she turned to her brother for answers. He and Griffin began filling her in on what had happened, the threat Kimura posed to all of them, including her. “But why me? I don’t know anything about these coins.”

“He might try to get to me through you.” Burkhardt told her. “It might be a good idea for you to stay somewhere else tonight.”

“This place is crawling with cops. Do you really think he’ll come back? Besides, where would I stay? If he does come after me, whoever I’m with is at risk. He killed Captain Renard’s housekeeper and attacked two police officers.” Lorelei pointed out. “I’ll just stay at home. You were going to have officers watching me anyway.”

It was decided Lorelei would stay in her own home with two officers. Officer DeMarco and Officer Chen escorted Lorelei back downstairs and would be staying with her overnight. With his soulmate safe for now, Sean cleaned himself up and got changed, heading back to the station with Griffin and Burkhardt. He was determined to catch this guy.

“Yeah. That’s the same guy.” Sean said, looking at the picture provided by Burkhardt. “Akira Kimura.”

“He was somehow connected to my case at Roth and Flynn.” Hank told him.

“The guys who came for the coins.” Sean stated and Burkhardt confirmed. “God knows those coins aren’t healthy to be around.”

They entered his office. “We did a little more digging and found out Kimura is tied to a secret organisation called the Dragon’s Tongue. It was founded in 1901, connected to the Japanese Imperial Army.” Burkhardt explained.

“It went underground after the Japanese defeat in World War Two.” Griffin continued.

“But it appears the organisation has resurfaced with ties to the Yakuza.” Burkhardt added.

“We got a report that Kimura was identified by state police in Hamburg, Germany three months ago. Now he’s here.” Griffin finished up.

“I want you to tear this town apart and find this son of a bitch.” He told the pair. They both nodded and left his office. Sean looked down into the face of the man who had attacked him, who was a threat to his soulmate. The only person Sean cared for, apart from his mother.

***Lorelei’s POV***

When Lorelei returned to her apartment, escorts in tow she decided to order a couple of pizzas, figuring she might as well feed her guests. Ben and Lucy, she had gotten their given names from them because she wasn’t going to keep calling them Officers DeMarco and Chen, had tried to tell her not to worry, but she insisted. Once the three had eaten, Lorelei decided to retreat to her room for the night but told her guests to make themselves at home. Molly followed her in; however, Daisy had decided that Lucy’s lap was the best spot for a nap.

Lorelei moved around her room, changing into something more comfortable before settling on her bed, Molly curled up next to her. She had her laptop playing a documentary in the background. If she was honest with herself, the whole situation had her worried. This guy had broken into a police captain’s home, killed his housekeeper, beaten him, and knocked out a cop. When Lorelei had first seen Sean, it had taken everything in her not to run to him and take him in her arms. Seeing him looking so vulnerable…it did something to her. She wanted to be out there, tracking this guy down. Not only had he hurt someone she cared for deeply, but he may have been involved in the death of her parents. However, she couldn’t do anything, not with her protectors outside. There was no way to sneak out. And she had no doubt her brother would want her to sit this one out.

Lorelei sighed, absent mindedly running her hand up and down Molly’s furry back. She heard the chime of her phone, indicating she had received a message. It was Monroe, checking in on her. Nick had filled him in, and they were currently looking for a way to apprehend Kimura. Nick wanted to question Kimura about their parents. After replying, Lorelei decided to message Sean and check in on him. He confirmed he was alright and still at the precinct. Putting her phone down, Lorelei laid down and tried to focus on the documentary. There wasn’t much she could do right now. Hopefully tomorrow she could move around without her guards. She made note to contact her supervisor in the morning; she didn’t think she would be able to focus on work.

Lorelei jumped as her phone went off. She sat up, feeling groggy. She must have fallen asleep. Glancing at her beside clock she saw it was just after midnight. With a slight groan, she reached over and grabbed her phone off the nightstand. It was Monroe. She answered it, and Monroe started talking straight away. His words were a bit jumbled. Something about Juliette, hospital, a cat, Adalind Schade, and the spice shop. After getting him to slow down, she finally understood that Juliette was unconscious in the hospital. Apparently, she got scratched by a cat that Adalind had brought it. He and Nick had the cat in question and were on their way to the spice shop to figure out what Adalind had done to Juliette. Lorelei told Monroe that she would meet them at the spice shop.

She got up and quickly got dressed. Molly was dead to the world, dreaming about whatever it was that dogs dreamt about. Lorelei slipped her phone into her pocket as she walked to the door. Then froze. There was no way she was getting out of this apartment without the police officers in her living room finding out. She groaned in frustration debating what to do. Lorelei couldn’t exactly stroll out her front door. Moving quickly and quietly, she tiptoed out toward her living room. The TV was on. Lucy was where Lorelei had left her, Daisy still in her lap and Ben was watching the TV, clearly trying to stay awake. No way to slip by without him noticing. She went back to her room, trying to come up with another solution. Climbing out the window was not an option. There was a vent, but she wasn’t sure where it came out. She suddenly remembered something she had bought from the spice shop. A powder that according to Rosalee acted as a powerful sedative. Lorelei thought it might come in handy one day. She quickly checked her bag and yep, there it was. Digging it out, she kept it in her hand as she made her way back toward the living room. She dug a handful out of the pouch and approach the resting officers. Ben glanced up; however, she quickly blew the powder in his direction. She watched as it settled over the pair. It worked fast, Ben was out before he knew what hit him.

After checking their pulses, and Daisy’s as well, Lorelei left.

Lorelei arrived at the spice shop, both surprised and a little grateful that Nick had already left. She wasn’t sure how he would feel if he knew that not only did, she slip protective custody but also drugged his fellow officers. Rosalee was mixing up something, hoping to knock the aggressive cat out. It was currently in a carrier on a bench in the side room.

“How’d you get out?” Monroe asked. “I thought you had two cops hanging out at your place.”

Lorelei bit her lip and glanced sheepishly at the floor. “I may have…sort of…drugged them.”

Monroe and Rosalee looked at her in surprise. “With what?”

She looked at Rosalee. “You know that powerful sedative I bought from here?”

A look of understanding crossed Rosalee’s face as she continued mixing the ingredients she needed. “They should be fine. They’ll be awake in a couple of hours.” She said, referring to the officers.

Lorelei walked over and peered into the carrier, jumping back when the cat screeched and threw itself against the carrier door. “Wow, that is one angry kitty.”

Monroe chuckled. “It certainly is. Although we aren’t sure if it’s the effects of whatever Adalind did to it or, you know, how the cat is.”

“You’re sure this is going to knock that feline out?” Monroe asked, returning to the side room, a steaming pot in hand.

Rosalee followed him in. “It won’t knock it out, it will paralyse it for about 30 minutes. That should give us enough to check its claws and saliva.” She answered, placing the mortar and pestle down on the table. Lorelei joined them. “Ok, lift the cover.” She said, referring to the cover they had placed over the carrier. Monroe did so, while Rosalee added the final ingredients to the steaming pot before sliding it to sit beside the carrier. They quickly dropped the cover, allowing the steam from the pot to do its work.

THE END OF SEASON 1 – STAY TUNED FOR SEASON 2 – CHAPTER 1 NOW AVAILABLE

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