#he can become a little bit bad. as a treat. just a teeny tiny bit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zara-renata · 3 months ago

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Datura Tea, or how all you want is to get some sleep

You're suffering from insomnia due to untreated PTSD (probably, I don't know, I'm not a doctor or a therapist) from your family getting, well, exploded, and the longer this goes on, the sloppier you become in combat and just existing, and a bad idea is born (let's go to the club alone, drink enough to finally get drowsy and then go home and finaaaaally sleep it off). Zayne treats some of your injuries, Mephisto does Sylus's stalker bidding, and guess who appears at the club right before you're about to probably violate the Hunter's Association code of conduct on an idiot who has a hard time taking no for an answer? Spoiler alert: he can't sing but he can dance, even if he chooses to dance to the music he'd rather be hearing than the music actually being played.

Second person POV, gender neutral MC/reader second person POV, a teeny tiny bit of Sylus POV at the end CWs: insomnia, trauma, grievous bodily injury, hospital environment, shots/needles/stitches, self-destructive behavior, MC may have issues regarding self-worth, MC refuses to get proper treatment, poor life choices, stalking (by Sylus), unwelcome boundary pushing by a non-main character, dubiously welcome boundary pushing (by Sylus), (irresponsible) alcohol use, everyone's thirsty for MC and MC is oblivious because this is a self-insert gacha game and no I will not be taking any criticism on this point at this time.

ao3 link here

Just as you had hoped before agreeing to Sylus’s deal that allows him to make use of your flat as a safe house if necessary, things have returned to normal. Well, as normal as they can be ever since your world was blown apart. It has been weeks, and you haven’t heard from him at all. At first, in the days following Sylus's little... visit, you sometimes find yourself thinking that you see a larger than normal crow amidst the swaying trees on your way home at twilight. Or you'll catch the reflection of two uncannily similar looking men in the shop window you just passed, but when you turn around, all you see is the blur of a faceless crowd.

You tell yourself that you're imagining things.

But then you stumble into your flat one night, wounded, again, but not so badly that you need to go to Akso Hospital, and stop short. You stand very still, clutching the hilt of one of the blades strapped to your back, and listen. Something feels off. Did you line your various pairs of footwear in a neat little row along the wall of your foyer recently? You can't remember doing so, but you've been doing a lot of things on autopilot recently. You wait, but nothing stirs in the gloom of your place as the automatic light shuts off due to how still you're standing.

Nothing. Just silence, and an aching feeling of absence that you refuse to think about too hard.

You tell yourself that you're imagining things.

Nothing. Just silence, and an aching feeling of absence that you refuse to think about too hard.

Just as you had hoped. Of course. Although you don’t know him well, you learned enough during the few days by his side to know that Sylus’s moods and interest were mercurial at best. You knew from the moment that Kieran and Luke offered you advice from a psychology book about how people who have everything often need constant challenges and the unobtainable dangled in front of them to keep their interest: Sylus would soon become bored with whatever game he thought he was playing with you, and your life would return to its peaceful… new-normal. And that’s good. That’s what you want. You are not equipped to handle a presence like him in your life. You’re a law-abiding, predictable, simple hunter, just trying not to leave the world worse than you found it, one day at a time. You shake your head, and hang your weapons on the wall rack, next to the coat hooks, and unlace your boots, relieve yourself of your blood-soaked pants and ripped shirt, and step into your flat wearing nothing but your underwear. Free, at last. You turn to head to your fridge for a pack of something frozen to place on the bruises that are only just beginning to bloom along the side of your face, only to freeze yourself, again. Your heart kicks wildly in your chest as you take in the looming mass in the middle of your kitchen, before you realize--

On your kitchen island stands a huge black and red pot, filled with a riot of white flowers, their edges ringed with a faint lavender color. You hesitantly reach out and run your finger along the deadly looking little points dotted along the petals' edges. You don't know shit about flowers, but these look threatening, somehow, in their savage beauty.

Maybe this is a prank. As your partner and closest neighbor, Xavier has access to your place. And Tara has your spare key, since Xavier is out of town so often on his little secretive, certainly not having anything to do with Lumiere escapades. Maybe this is their idea of cheering you up?

But you're not convinced. These flowers look like a warning. You quickly try to summon a list of people who might want to make you uncomfortable, or even frighten you, enemies you've made or hell, beaten at the claw machine? But no one comes to mind. Sylus had said that Sherman wasn't acting alone when... well. He wasn't acting alone, so maybe these flowers come from them, trying to tell you that they'll eventually finish the job. But if they knew where you were, and still wanted to take you out, they could have left a ... bomb instead of a pot of frighteningly gorgeous plants to accomplish their goal. You shudder.

There's no card. No message. Just the cryptic message of the flowers themselves. For fuck's sake, you're tired. Something about the flowers makes you paranoid, so you carefully run your hands through the leaves and stems to see if there is some sort of hidden surveillance equipment, but you fail to find anything. Giving up, you lift the heavy pot with a grunt and place it on your indoor balcony, shutting the door. Now if there is some sort of camera or audio recording device, all they'll see is your hazy outline through your glass balcony door. You can't help yourself: you make a rude gesture at the door, just in case there really is a hidden camera in there. You finish your trek to the freezer, slap a bag of something frozen past its due date onto your face, and spend the rest of the night tossing and turning in your bed before another dawn rises.

As the days turn into weeks, and another day has passed where you're wincing as you open your front door, worried that he'll be on the other side, only to find it empty, with none of your clutter undisturbed, you finally decide to put Sylus out of your mind for good. He helped you when you needed it the most, and you repaid his dubious generosity when you patched him up at your place. So you push the thought of him down deep, down with all of the other things you can’t bear to think about these days, and life goes on. You water the mystery flowers from time to time, at the same time you water the rest of your plants, and resign yourself to not figuring out who sent them anytime soon.

You can’t sleep, again.

You’ve been trying it all: running on the treadmill until you’re on the brink of vomiting, the harsh lights of the deserted Hunter’s Association fitness center making you squint. All you’ve gotten for your efforts is a headache threatening to add itself to your list of complaints at midnight, 2 AM, 3 AM, 4 AM, until you’re still awake and your morning alarm is sounding from your hunter’s watch.

Squeezing in extra full body supersets with the kettlebell, sweat pouring down your back, soaking through the hair at your temples and dripping onto the mats. Your muscles are not getting any stronger, and you’re sure as hell getting more fatigued, but the sleep won’t come as you limp into your bedroom every night.

Camomile tea with honey, warm milk, cold milk, rooibos tea without honey, fennel tea (you gag a little, and decide that you’re absolutely done trusting Moments recommendations when it comes to tea that aids sleep) before slipping under your tangled duvet, only to have to get up to pee an hour later, with no drowsiness in sight.

Every time you try to meditate and take deep, calming breaths, the memories come. And you can’t. You can’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Once, you even ask Zayne if he can prescribe you something to help.

"No."

"No? You haven't even asked what I'm asking for help with!"

"No."

You look down at your boots, wondering how far your pride will allow you to push him. You don't really want to tell him, exposing all of your messy insides and issues for him to clinically judge, to file away under this diagnosis or that and dismiss as he moves on to the next patient, for him to see you at your absolute lowest when you've never even seen him break a sweat. Something about that idea makes you want to cry.

"Ok." You smile brightly, or at least try. It probably comes across as more of a grimace, but you are trying. "I'll get going, sorry to bother you!" you chirp, and then cringe internally. Why did you apologize? He's your doctor, if you can't even handle asking him for help with this, even if he says no, you might as well switch physicians. It's fine. This is fine. You are fine.

You're about to turn the handle of his office door when his even voice stops you from behind. "What you need isn't pharmaceuticals. It's therapy. You need to talk to—"

But you can't. Talk. You can't imagine thinking the thoughts, let alone getting the words out. You can't, not yet.

"It's just sleep, Doctor Zayne. I'll just drink some fennel tea," you lie, give him a little salute, and escape.

So now you’re on the brink of doing something you’d previously rather have had your teeth pulled than experience: going to a crowded club, getting shit-faced, and hoping the dancing and alcohol will knock you out for a solid 24 hours. But Tara has already turned down your invitation, putting her hand on yours and saying with excruciating gentleness that she doesn’t think that’s what you need right now, which you can’t stand—the kindness, the knowing looks, the unspoken questions from everyone in your life who knows what happened, and are watching you like a ticking time—

Bomb.

You shake your head. You can’t.

And Xavier has been out of the office a lot lately, and from the mail piling up on his foyer floor whenever you nosily peek through his mail slot, probably out of town as well. So he’s not an option to invite after Tara turns you down.

You already know that Rafayel is out of the country on an exhibition tour, so you don’t even bother calling him. Talking to him usually does cheer you up, but you don’t need to be cheered up, dammit, you need to sleep.

You don’t even consider Zayne. First, he's your doctor and probably thinks spending time with you outside of the hospital would feel like a punishment for the sins of a past life. Also, imagining him, neon lights of a cheesy nightclub reflected off of his elegant glasses, indignantly pressed on all sides by unwashed, sweaty bodies, dancing—your brain short circuits even trying to imagine it.

There’s no one else you would trust being drunk around who you can ask to go with you. But the idea of getting drunk, alone, in your silent flat, makes you want to gag worse than the fennel tea.

As you slip on a comfortable pair of tights under a stretchy pair of shorts, and a soft, loose top—off the shoulder so that you look like you made some effort (you refuse to wear anything that can’t also double as athletic wear, because who the hell knows when you’ll get an alert on your watch), you tell yourself that you’ll be fine. You’ll drink enough to get tipsy, enough to make you drowsy, you’ll wear yourself out on the dance floor, and then you’ll go home again. And sleep. You don’t need anyone else for this. Of course it would be nice to be able to let off steam with a friend, but these same friends have been walking on eggshells around you for months, so it’s probably better this way. No awkwardness, no judgment, no gentle attempts to convince you that you need—

You’ve just slipped your boots on when you hunter’s watch goes off. A wanderer is within minutes of your flat’s location. You gaze at your weapon rack, which hangs next to your coat rack in your foyer, and hesitate. These days, you grit your teeth at the sound of gunshots at the practice range, loud in your ears even through your noise cancelling headset. Still too loud. Still too much like a bomb. You use your blades as much as you can, only unholstering your pistols when absolutely unavoidable. You grab two swords and your holsters, and sprint out the door.

You manage to avoid unholstering your pistols during the battle. However, blades require close quarter combat, which means you’re getting hurt more often. And the insomnia means that your reflexes are slower than they’ve ever been. So after you successfully defend a group of tourists from the wanderer, while unsuccessfully defending yourself against the death throes of a bladed tail that flays open your back, you find yourself back in Zayne’s office, again.

Lately, you feel like you see the inside of Akso Hospital more than the inside of your own flat.

You try desperately to avoid having to go, when at all possible. You take care of yourself, when the injuries are in places you can reach. Teeth sinking into your ever-dwindling supply of bandage rolls, the pain is sharp and demands your entire focus, so your thoughts are unable to drift elsewhere, to flit to the places you can’t go in your mind yet, not yet, you can’t—

But there are some wounds, like the one you just got, that you can’t reach, contorting yourself in front of the bathroom mirror, your heavy, tired arms unable to finagle some disinfectant and a bandage over the torn skin. So here you are, again. To put it mildly, Zayne is not happy. He delicately, efficiently, dabs disinfectant onto the latest laceration on your back in frigid silence. You can almost taste the disapproval wafting from him.

It stings, badly, but the pain is dull amongst the cacophony of other aches and healing wounds on your exhausted, battered body. You don’t even have the energy to wince with each point of contact between the cotton and your gaping flesh.

“You don’t have to fix me up yourself every time, you know,” you try to break the ice. “I’m sure you have other patients with urgent complaints more in line with your specialty. You only know about this time because Greyson ratted me out.”

“I am your primary care physician, as well a cardiac surgeon. I am responsible for signing your fitness for duty certificates. Greyson knows this, and acted accordingly,” Zayne clips out. His office falls silent again, and you focus on the flowers you gifted him sitting near one of his office windows, as he prepares to slip the needle containing the local anaesthetic under your skin in preparation of the stitches you need. You try, as you always do without success, to figure out why he keeps them in here. When you first saw them, they reminded you of the color of the little seals he had made you when you were children. That you had interpreted as a threat. So you gave them to him on a whim, and was shocked to find them in his office the next time you visited. You wonder if he waters them himself, or if he lets the hospital’s horticulturist do it. He’s probably too busy to keep track of such trivial things. You decide that you should thank the lady you’ve seen watering plants in Akso’s hallways with a fruit basket or something for her extra effort. Out of the corner of your eye, a couple black birds flap their wings as if startled, half hidden in the fluttering leaves of the trees in the courtyard that Zayne’s office overlooks. You’re about to look for what startled them when—

The shot is worse than the disinfectant, but the painful prick is quickly over. A welcome numbness spreads under your skin, and you desperately wish it came in pill form for—well, everything else that’s wrong with you.

All you feel is a distant tug and release, but your muscles are locked tight as you let the delicate petals fill your vision, as you try not to think about anything at all, as you’ve done for months now. You’re grateful for the silence, for Zayne’s steady hands and breath. You’re grateful for his care, even though you hate that you need it. You don’t want to be another burden to him, when he has so many heavy burdens already. In this too, you have failed, as you failed—

You can’t. You can’t—

Almost as if he has just felt the way your body has stiffened even further under his competent hands, Zayne interrupts your spiral as he, light as a snowflake, finally lays the bandage over your neatly stitched wound and secures the adhesive sides. He sits back with a sigh and just gazes at your bare back in silence.

You can’t bring yourself to move yet. You’re just so tired. But you know you have to. You don’t want to worry him, you know he has other, more important matters to attend. You gingerly lean back and let your shirt, which had been scrunched up under your armpits and around your shoulders while Zayne worked, slide down your back as you heave yourself to your feet.

You don’t want to turn and see whatever non-expression Zayne has on his face—you want to get out of here, from under these too-bright lights and his tangible concern, but you owe him the courtesy of looking him in the eye as you express a gratitude that can never be fully conveyed in words. So you do turn, but find him leaning back on his desk, his hazel eyes fixed on the same flowers you had just been staring at.

You open your mouth to thank him, to say your goodbyes to get the hell out of here, when he cuts you off with a voice softer than you’ve ever heard from him.

“You know that you cannot continue like this,” he murmurs, eyes still on the flowers.

You take in the sharp line of his nose, the severe set of his lips. The bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows draws your eyes down the contour of his throat, and it hurts you a little, what a beautiful man he has turned into. For a moment you are jerked back in time, the profile of a serious little boy with softer cheeks but the same hazel eyes overlaying itself atop the view in front of you. When he turns to look at you again the vision dissipates, and you suppress the pain—the only thing you’re good at these days. You steel yourself for whatever lecture he is about to lay into you, convinced that the gentleness in his voice is just his exhaustion at having to deal with you, again, when the shrill ring of his mobile rips apart the quiet in his office.

His frown deepens, but he doesn’t move to answer his phone. It continues to ring between the two of you.

“Better get that, Doctor Zayne,” you nod toward it, flooded with the relief that you might escape from his cold admonishment unscathed, this time.

His jaw clenches, and the knuckles of his hands are white where they clutch the desk, but after another ring he finally reaches into his white coat pocket and lifts the phone to his ear.

“This is Doctor Zayne,” he answers with his customary calm, despite the disappointment you’re pretty sure he’s feeling at the interruption of his flaying you open in ways that the wanderer failed.

You plaster the biggest smile on your face that you can muster, exploiting his inability to say anything as he listens to the other person on the line, and wiggle your fingers in a small wave. Before he can react, you’ve slipped through his office door, and you’re practically sprinting down the hallway to get the hell out of there before he can come after you.

Zayne pinches the bridge of his nose, glaring at his office door as if it’s the door’s fault for depriving him of the chance to tell you that he will refuse to sign any future medical certificates until you listen to him and get the help you so clearly, desperately need, that he needs you to get so that he can sleep at night without being afraid that his worst nightmares will manifest every time you enter his hospital. As he sighs, and prepares himself to handle the next emergency, he does not notice the fluttering birds outside his window, nor the jewel-eyed crow that disturbed them, taking flight from the trees in which they were perched.

***

It’s not too late. You’re exhausted, and hurt, but you’ve been patched up, and the idea of your empty, ineffectual bed fills you with anxiety. Your mission is still a go. So you stop briefly at home to dump your weapons, only retaining a small knife strapped under a black armband along your forearm, throw on a different loose, soft shirt since your other one was shredded and not in a way that looks cute for the club, and head out again. You know a place you’ve been to before with Tara and some other colleagues on an 'optional' but heavily implied as mandatory ‘team-building’ night that ended with a lot of vomit, an inter-office breakup, and a lot of stern glares from your captain the following week. You are deeply hoping that this place can give you what you need tonight.

You look up and cringe at the glaring neon sign: THE BOOM BOOM ROOM. Ok, so this place isn’t exactly classy. But you’re not looking for classy. You’re looking for affordable booze, overwhelming beats, and a late enough closing time not to get kicked out before you exhaust yourself to the extent required by this mission of yours. You’re relieved that the line moves swiftly, and the bouncer waves you in without a second look. Apparently you don’t look as horrifying as you feel, and the knife is discretely hidden under the band on your arm. And suddenly you’re inside.

You’re met with a wall of sound and smells, the bass vibrating in your chest, the floor sticky with what you hope is only spilled beer, and the crowd is surging. You close your eyes once and just soak it in for a moment, letting the mindless life that the place is bursting with wash over you. Then you slip through writhing bodies to reach the bar and order your first drink. You don’t actually want to get shit-faced, since you’re alone. But you do want to have enough to feel the pleasant numbness of alcohol burning its way through your veins, to get drowsy. You order a shot to start and a high-percentage beer to clutch while you dance so you don’t have to wait at the bar again.

It works, for awhile. You let the music fill you, you let the warmth of the shot spread through you limbs. The presence of other, anonymous people, who know nothing about you nor what you’ve been through, relieves some of the loneliness that you refuse to admit has been plaguing you ever since your grandmother and Caleb … Ever since you lost them.

And then you feel someone sidle a little closer to you than comfortable, and you open your eyes to find some guy looking intently at you with a hopeful smile on his face. He leans even closer to you to be heard over the beat as he shouts “Hey! Wanna dance?” into your ear, making you wince.

You shake your head, closing your eyes again, dismissing him. But he doesn’t seem to get the hint, because you feel a hand at your elbow, and hear his voice again: “Why not? You’re not with anyone, right?”

You open your eyes again, and gently, but firmly remove his hand from your elbow with your other hand. “Nah man, I’m just here to relax. I bet someone else would be happy to dance with you though.” You shoot him a tired thumbs up and try to shift away, but he somehow manages to keep pace in front of you, and he’s opening his mouth to say something else, and you’re repeating to yourself I’m a Hunter’s Association role model even when I’m off the clock, I will NOT remove his jaw from his skull, I will NOT remove his jaw from his skull… When suddenly you feel heat envelop your back and someone’s huge hands are gripping your hips—instinct kicks in, you’re convinced that this asshole isn’t alone and his buddy has managed to flank you, and the knife is out of your armband and at a big, warm throat before you realize you’ve spun in his grip, and a pair of bright red, amused eyes are looking down into your face.

“Come now, is that any way to greet your boyfriend, kitten?” Sylus smiles indulgently down at you, hands still on your hips.

“The fuck, Sylus?” you breathe, unable to move, your brain scrambled from trying to reconcile the club’s beat, the aching absence that you’ve been trying so hard to ignore, and the man finally filling it again, right in front of you for the first time since he left your flat’s foyer in a mess of blood and feathers.

Sylus lifts a hand from your hip and runs one long finger over the blunt edge of the knife, gently lowering it from where you are still holding it in shock against his throat. One droplet of blood, flashing like a jewel under the club’s lights, beads from where you pressed a little too hard, and begins to slip down the path of his carotid artery. You barely restrain yourself from launching yourself at his neck and running your tongue along his skin to counter the droplet’s descent—aaand at this highly intrusive thought, you want to punch yourself in the face, and tell yourself firmly that it’s the alcohol. You haven’t had alcohol in months. Your tolerance is basically non-existent at this point, you cannot be blamed for whatever the hell that urge just was.

“I see your professional greeting has not improved any since our last encounter, sweetheart,” he laughs, sounding genuinely pleased despite his complaint, thankfully oblivious to the insane thoughts inflicting themselves on your brain. His gaze flicks from you to the aggressive guy still gaping at the two of you. “I suggest you listen to what my partner has clearly communicated to you, if you would like to leave this... establishment, with all of the limbs with which you entered it,” he sniffs, clearly unimpressed with both the venue and the limbs in question. The guy’s eyes widen a little more, which you didn’t think possible, before he just nods his head so fast it looks like it will detach itself from his spine and pushes away from you through the crowd.

“I think you frightened him,” Sylus tsks, shaking his head. “Another poor service review for the Association’s feedback form, kitten. I’m worried about your performance review this year.”

“Perhaps I should bring them your head to compensate for my poor customer service. That would guarantee a raise instead of an admonishment,” you snap, still feeling violent from your inexplicable impulse to slobber all over this smug asshole’s throat.

Sylus’s eyes, impossibly, light up even more in response to your threat. “Oh, I would love to see you try to take my head,” he almost growls, smiling so wide you can see his crooked canines.

It’s the alcohol. It’s the alcohol. There is absolutely no innuendo to be found in what he has just said. You lift your hand to slap that thought right out of your head, but Sylus catches it in one of his own and tightens his other grip on your hip.

“You’ve already done quite enough damage to one of my favorite acquisitions tonight,” he says, running his thumb gently from your wrist to your palm. For a brief moment, all you can do is stare up into his face, ensnared by the softness in his usually sharp eyes, the slight crease between his eyebrows, the hair that you had told yourself for weeks could not possibly be as soft, as pretty, with the sheen and color of a pearl, as you remember it being.

Ok, someone must have spiked your drink. This is not happening. You cannot handle whatever game he is trying to play right now. “What are you even doing here?” you ask, in a desperate attempt to divert this conversation’s track before a trainwreck happens that leaves you in more pieces than you’re currently in. "And boyfriend? You're my boyfriend now?"

"Well, this is sudden, but how could I say no to such an elegantly worded proposition?" he gasps, eyes widening in mock surprise.

"Sylus," you warn.

"Yes, my better half?"

"Stop messing with me. Why did you tell that idiot that you're my boyfriend?" You need to know. You don't know why, but you need his answer almost as much as you need sleep right now.

"Unfortunately we live in a patriarchy where having a big, bad boyfriend apparently garners more respect than a clear 'no'," he shrugs. "I considered removing his hand from the rest of him and choking him with it, but thought that might make you mad." You roll your eyes, and he narrows his own. "I was trying to help you, but it appears my aid was unnecessary. I'm almost positive I saw him soil himself when you stabbed me." He smiles in a way that almost looks proud.

"I did not stab you," you insist, even though you can still see the thin line of blood disappearing under the color of his black shirt. You decide not to point it out. He'll discover it when he looks in a mirror later. Considering how self-satisfied he is, probably an activity he spends a lot of time doing. "Why are you here, again?" you repeat, shaking your head.

“A little birdie told me that a certain feral kitten had gotten injured again, and I am finally in a position to do something about it after business kept me away far longer than I had planned,” he answers. Still holding your hip and hand, he gently pulls you a little closer and begins to slowly sway with you, completely ignoring the fast paced, thumping beat of the current track the DJ is spinning.

“Mephisto?” Once again, you’re on the back foot. You are a highly skilled hunter, trained to have sharp senses and to be able to notice when you’re being surveilled.

He leans down, rounding his broad shoulders so he’s close enough to your ear for you to hear him hum his affirmation, leisurely sliding his hand from your hip to span the width of the small of your back to better guide you out of the path of other dancers, his large palm making you feel … safe.

“I haven’t seen him. At all,” you admit, suddenly feeling so tired and out of your depth. So terribly lacking, even at this, a most basic skill of your job.

“No surprise, considering how little you’ve been sleeping,” he says, and then grunts softly as you’re pushed closer into him by someone behind you making their way through the crowd. He’s so warm, so solid, and from this distance, he’s all you can see. Again, just like during the auction’s dance. How are you even here again? You resist the urge to rest your head against his chest like you did that night, as he forestalled the growing panic, as he showed you more kindness than you’ve been shown, or shown yourself, in months. In the months since… you can’t. You can’t, you can’t you can’t—

“You were a little distracted at your doctor’s office, too,” Sylus’s voice cuts through the thunder in your head, and it takes a beat for you to realize what he’s saying.

“You had Mephisto spy on my doctor’s visit?” you almost bellow, or rather, actually bellow, as the people around you shift and give you sideways glances. You try to jerk out of his hold, but only succeed in dragging the two of you a little to the side on the dance floor.

“I instructed him to confirm that you were actually getting proper treatment this time,” Sylus says, unruffled by your continued squirming to escape his arms. “Cease, you’re going to pull your stitches.”

“The stitches you only know about because you’re a creepy stalker!”

“Creepy?” he laughs. “What a strange way of saying handsome, protective, and resourceful.”

“Now I’m worried about your hearing,” you seethe. “That appointment was private!”

“Not private enough for our good doctor’s tastes, I’d wager."

“What does that mean?”

He levels you look with a look that you cannot begin to decipher. After a moment, he shakes his head, the earrings you just notice that he’s wearing flashing under the spinning lights. Is this asshole actually wearing ruby earrings to bring out his eyes? “You cannot possibly be this naïve,” he scoffs, but without conviction. Like he’s talking to himself.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you’re not allowed to spy on me during private moments like that,” you insist, giving up trying to get away from him since he has the reach and agility of an octopus, apparently.

“Excellent, then I’m allowed to spy on you during other moments. I’m glad we’ve cleared that up,” he declares solemnly. “Please pay Mephisto no mind if you happen to notice him in the future, and for heaven’s sake, do not feed him. He is not a pet—he is a subordinate and should be treated as such.”

You make the fastest decision of your life in compiling a list of possible crow snacks as Sylus resumes gently swaying your bodies, and it’s after pistachios as the 7th item on your Mephisto treat list that you realize he has danced the two of you to the edge of the dance floor, and that you have failed to object to him stalking you through his cantankerous mechanical crow.

“Silence is not consent, Sylus!” you try, only to be met with a pitying moue twisting his wide mouth.

“A deal’s a deal, sweetheart. Come, it’s getting late, and I know you are very tired. Let me take you home,” he commands. "You can show me how well you've been taking care of my little gift in my absence."

"Gift?" You're so lost. You stop, not taking another step until he starts making sense.

"The flowers I had Luke and Kieran deliver to your place."

"Flowers..." You wrack your foggy brain, startled at the scowl that is scrunching Sylus's beautiful face.

"Oh, you receive so many bouquets on a regular basis that they just blur together?" He takes a step forward, closing the distance between you again, but his hand slips away from yours until just your pinkies are linked. "I promise to redouble my efforts to make mine stand out from the crowd, then." Inexplicably, he lifts your linked pinkies to his lips for a kiss-the word tender drifts through your exhausted mind. His lips are unbearably soft.

You snort. "I never receive bouquets..." and then it hits you. The doom flowers.

"You sent me the pot of death threats?"

"Death threats?" he blinks, and it's the first time you think you've ever seen him at a loss for words. But he recovers quickly. "You mean the subtle and elegant form of self-defense to comfort and protect you in my absence?"

"Wut."

"I sent you a very generous supply of datura flowers. They're not only visually appealing, but also highly poisonous. You can use them to poison any unwanted guests you happen to find in your home if your more conventional weapons aren't practical for the occasion," he explains, eyes lighting up again.

"Sylus, you sent me a pot of deadly plants with no note or message. I thought someone was trying to convey a message, message. Like, a warning to watch my back."

His face does something complicated then: flickering from surprise to something like pride, but then he just stares at you, sanguine eyes drifting along your face and down to where his hand is linked with yours for a long moment. "It seems I underestimated your cynicism about other people," he says finally. "And while I always enjoy the proof of our kindred spirits, I would rather you didn't have to live a life where you have to be suspicious of something so banal as a gift of flowers." You are blindsided by the gentle sincerity in his words, and you're trying to hold back the tears that are burning your eyes out of nowhere, when he looks at your face again, brightening. "Now that I'm here, let me taking care of being the paranoid one." His gaze sharpens on your tear-filled eyes, and he cocks his head. Runs his middle finger from the corner of your mouth to just under your left eye, gathering the moisture there that is threatening to overflow. "Sweetheart, tears of gratitude are unnecessary. If you're really thankful, then let me take you home, and just try to refrain from offering me any datura tea when we get there, hmm?" He lifts his finger to his lips and flicks his tongue out to lick, and you are convinced you are hallucinating when his nostrils flair, as if he's savoring whatever he tastes in your tears.

As is becoming routine with Sylus, you feel like you're in a fever dream, watching him from a great distance: he's ahead of you somewhere, already at his next destination, pulling you along in his slipstream like a bird in flight, when you're not even sure you know how to fly. The only thing you are able to process at the moment is that if you don't say anything, you'll be right back where you started: staring at the streetlights spilling across your ceiling, exhausted in an empty bed, with no sleep in sight.

“No,” you blurt out. “I don’t want to go home. Please. You’re welcome to go, but I came here on a mission, and I am going to fucking complete it even if it kills me.”

He considers you for a moment, before asking, “And what mission is that?”

You look away, unwilling to meet his eyes now. You don’t want to admit that you’re so fucking tired you can hardly see straight, shoot straight, think straight, but every time you close your eyes, the memories come and you can’t you can’t you can’t and you haven’t slept properly in months.

“I see,” is all he says, and he pulls you along, your hand firmly wrapped in his, and you’re too tired to ask what, exactly, he sees. You let him lead you into the cool night, the bright night lights of Linkon City drowning out the stars above. He tosses you a helmet, and unlike the first time he put you on his motorcycle, he lifts you in his arms to plop you on the seat behind his.

“I’ll have Luke and Kieran pick up your bike and have it back to you before you need it tomorrow,” he says before you can even think to ask about it. “Hold on tight, and don’t go falling asleep on me. I won’t scrape you off the pavement if you fall off my ride.”

And just as he knew you would, you do the exact opposite of what he ordered, because you’re his contrary, ever wilful, feral kitten who refuses to do as its told. You wrap your arms around his solid waist, rest your helmeted head against his broad back, and fall promptly asleep. He relishes the feel of your arms still wrapped tightly around him, but the scarlet-ink tendrils of his evol keep you secured against his back in case your hold loosens as you sink deeper into sleep.

He snorts when you begin to snore through the helmet's comms.

He sighs, feeling content for the first time in weeks. It has taken much longer than he anticipated to clean up all the of messes that Sherman and his backers made while he was gone. Mephisto has been reporting to him daily regarding how you were doing, and Kieran and Luke have been on standby in case you needed them. But even sleep-deprived and determined to take care of your own problems by yourself to the point of self-destruction, you have handled what has come your way with competence, so their help has never been absolutely necessary. But Sylus can see just how close to the breaking point you are. Now that things have finally settled in the N109 zone, he intends to begin a new game, and it starts with him flourishing the trump card of his current hand: your invitation to let him use your place as a safe house whenever the ‘need’ arises.

He revs the engine, just for fun, smiles to himself, and rides through the rest of the night, until the sun comes up.

Later, when you wake up alone in your own bed, stretching lazily in the soft sunlight filtering through your gauzy curtains, you realize it’s the best night’s sleep you can ever remember having. You turn your head and find a black feather on the pillow next to you. You flick it gently, and try not to think too deeply about anything at all.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #fanfiction #my fanfic #this one got away from me and ended up being wildly longer than intended #self-indulgent comfort for suffering from sleepless nights #sylus x reader #l&ds sylus

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platoniclokiimagines · 3 years ago

Note

All the Avengers a lil iffy with Loki after IW, but Loki meets Jane, and Valkyrie again and they fucking sprint to him and squish him in a hug and everyone’s confused cause... dangerous murderer Loki is getting hugged, and having his hair pulled by Bruce and just... ugh??? Fluffy stuff. Making dinner together. Group cuddles. Helping Bruce with his dumb science stuff. Ugh. Please

WC: 1417

Rating: G

TW: none

A/N: Each idea you posed made me So happy that I couldn’t just pick one to focus on so this is just a hypercut of each of these moments fleshed out a teeny tiny little bit. Also this is just a Complete AU in which the snap Did happen but afterwards was just Different mostly because I don’t want to deal with having to figure out the logistics of my own au l o l. But I hope you enjoy it~

It was shortly after the events of the Decimation that youjoined what was left of the Avengers. The team was in all but rags aftereverything that had happened, and you, left with no one else to go to with yourpowers, had sought out the Compound and pled your case, and since they’d beeneffectively cut in half in number, they’d let you stick around withoutquestion.

The first few days afterward had been the hardest. Everyonewas still in shock, and in various stages of mourning what had happened whilealso worrying about the unknowns. Tony, Strange, and Peter and the rest of theGuardians were in space, and no one had any way to contact them to see if theywere okay, so no one knew who, if any of them, were alive.

You weren’t the only one that had joined up with the group.A lot of old friends of some of the Avengers had sought them out, as well,seeking something familiar in the chaos the world had turned into. Thisincluded people like Jane Foster and Erik Selvig, and a bunch of other peopleyou’d never heard of before anything had happened. And once the refugee shipshad managed to make it to earth, Valkyrie was around, as well, doing what shecould to try to drag Thor out of his guilt-spawned depression.

Everyone was just trying.

But no one expectedthe day that Loki appeared out of thin air in the middle of the living room.

It had taken everyone a second to realize what they were looking at, when it happened. Loki didn’tquite look like the Loki they knew, or the one you had seen on the televisionall those years ago when the Chitauri had attacked New York. Loki looked sick,and weak. Their clothes were tattered, they looked like they hadn’t seen thelight of days in weeks, and they hadthe most horrible black and purple bruises around their throat.

It had taken a solid minute of staring before people startedreacting, the entire group split between looking surprised to see them andlooking ready to fight them.

“…we thought you were dead.” Steve was the first to speak,voice calm, but demeanor showing that he was ready to punch Loki, if necessary,and most of the original Avengers that were left looked the same, save forThor, who looked like he wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating.

But before anyone else could say or do anything, Loki wasall but tackled by Valkyrie, so forcefully that they gave a startled little “oof”in response.

“You’re a right idiot, you know that?” Val’s annoyedresponse was betrayed by the waver in her voice, and the way she practicallyclung to Loki.

No sooner did she let go of them enough to give them spaceto breathe than did Loki become engulfed in another hug, this time from, of allthe people you expected would want to hug Loki, Jane Foster.

“You’re still a jerk for whatever happened on Svartalfheim,but I’m glad to see you back.”

Loki managed a weak, raspy little huff of a laugh. “Iseverything everyone says going to be preceded by something mean, then?”

“Well, I’m justhappy to see you,” Bruce stated as he approached Loki, and rather than offer ahug, he just smiled, and awkwardly tugged Loki’s hair in a gesture you couldonly assume was meant to be affectionate. “You look like you’ve seen betterdays. And could use a nice bath.”

Loki laughed again, a little more genuinely, though stillstrained. “…and a doctor, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Well, I’m not that kind of doctor, but I’ll see what I cando.”

Bruce stepped back a bit, then, and nodded, but in the nextsecond, Loki had been lifted from the ground in what looked like an absolutelyspine-crushing hug from Thor, who was somehow both laughing and sobbinguncontrollably.

He didn’t say anything, but really, he didn’t need to, andeveryone just watched in silence, with varying levels of confusion at thesudden and strange turn of events.

“…several of the people in thisroom have some explaining to do right about now,” Nat finally declared, and forthe first time, in a long time, everyone in the room laughed.

~~~~~~~~~~

It took several months for Loki to make the closest to afull recovery that they could. While everything physically had been healed,mentally Loki was still extremely troubled, and their vocal chords had sufferedpretty extensive damage from being crushed by Thanos, resulting in a change oftheir voice that really only went noticed by those that had been closest tothem.

But every day, they were healing.

You and Loki had become fast friends. You had always feltlike an outsider with the rest of the team, and it was obvious Loki felt thesame, and the two of you had found solace in your shared distance from thegroup, and the two of you did almost everything together that you could manage.

This included, much to the eternal excitement of the rest ofthe team, cooking together.

You’d helped Loki learn to cook as a way to cope morehealthily with some of their self-deprecating thoughts and tendencies, hopingthat, with having something to do for others, it might help Loki feel betterabout themself sometimes, and it had really worked a treat. Loki just had a wayin the kitchen that even you couldn’t match, despite teaching them everythingyou knew, and the two of you working together was just a different kind of magic.

Everyone always lovedwhen it was your turn to make dinner for the group, as the two of you were, asdeclared by the rest of the team, simply the best cooks out of the entirety ofthem all, and thus that meant dinner would always be better.

And you had to admit, it felt good to be gassed up all nightwhile you were both in the kitchen, and everyone else was excitedly setting thetable and pouring drinks and getting ready to eat.

And you knew that Loki, though they never showed it,secretly enjoyed the positive attention, as well.

It was just niceto be appreciated and wanted around, something you knew Loki had neverexperienced much of.

You hoped it would last for along time.

~~~~~~~~~~

One afternoon, when you and Loki had intended to spend sometime in the training room to work on freshening up the both of your trainingskills, you’d realized you had no idea where Loki was at all.

After checking all of Loki’s normal hiding places, youfinally checked Thor’s room, only to find quite the sight.

While you’d expected, at the very least, Thor and maybe Loki, if you were lucky, you foundnot only them, but Val and Bruce as well, all four of them absolutely cuddledup together on the floor, and all four of them fast asleep.

You didn’t have the heart towake them up, and a nap didn’t sound so bad to yourself, either, so rather thantry to wake Loki and wrestle the group apart, you just settled yourselfcomfortably in the middle of the cuddle puddle, and let the warmth of thedogpile lull you to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Another time, you went looking for Loki and were completely surprisedto find them sitting in Bruce’s lab, writing down notes as the two of themworked on an equation that Bruce had written on a whiteboard.

“So, if we look at it from this perspective… Take thatnumber instead of that one, and see where that gets us with the isotopecompound.” Bruce hadn’t even noticed you as he was talking, too busy watchingLoki scribble something down.

“The effectivity rate nearly doubles entirely-”

“Giving us exactly the reaction that we want!”

You had absolutely no idea what on earth they were talking about, but you didn’t have the heart tointerrupt them, so you just stood in the doorway and watched them geek out overwhatever it was that had them so excited, taking the moment to be grateful forhow long Loki had come in the short time since they had arrived at theCompound.

They had been through so much, and had suffered even more,but here they were, making friends and having fun, and being appreciated by theothers.

You couldn’t have been more proud.

#Loki imagine #platonic Loki imagine #Loki #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Odinson #Loki x reader #platonic!Loki x reader #anonymous #ask #answered #fluff #this is Soft #I'm Soft #feat. Bruce #feat. Thor #feat. Jane Foster #feat. Valkyrie

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clickbait-official · 3 years ago

Text

mbc

from @artwitch28's headcannons

masterlist

tw: implied/referenced abuse, depressive themes, and transphobia

---

Endeavor was a stuck up little bitch.

Not that a lot of people knew.

Oh well. He’ll get his revenge one day.

Touya sighs, setting his keys on the counter.

“Keigo! I’m home!”

The house was big- airy, if that was a word. Birdboy hated closed spaces. Touya couldn’t blame him, either; he couldn’t stand anything that looked like his “training” room.

There was a thunk upstairs as Keigo ran down to greet him.

“How was work? How was Dad?” He asks.

“Dad”, Atsuhiro Sako, was Touya’s adopted dad. They worked together under their agency, the League of Heroes. The League of Heroes were made up of heroes who were told they were villains, or considered outcasts.

“It was alright, Big sis Magne started asking people if they wanted interns.” Touya responds to his fiance.

Keigo comes up behind him, hugging him and wrapping his wings around Touya.

“Hmmm. Did you look for an intern, dove? You could get your brother~”

“I didn’t think about it, no. But there’s Toga already. Did you?”

Touya can feel Keigo smile into his shoulder.

“There’s one with a bird quirk.”

“Oh, I see.” Touya smirks.

His stomach rumbles as he does.

“Aww, does my little birdie need some food?” Keigo says, a twinkle in his eye. “I’ll go get you some.”

He grabs his hand and leads him to the kitchen.

They look through the fridge, then the freezer.

“Chinken nuggets?” Keigo asks, after a beat of silence.

“You did not just reference that, again.”

And Keigo laughs, loud and clear. Touya thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever heard.

God, he’s in deep, isn’t he?

They sit together at the counter while they wait for the food to cook. They don’t talk for a bit, just enjoying each other’s company.

“Speaking of Shoto, how’s the family? Rumi’s been talking ‘bout Fuyumi a lot.” Keigo says, taking the pan out of the oven.

“Oh my goodness- remember that crusty kid I was talking to you about? He’s dating Natsuo.” Touya deadpans, and Keigo bursts into giggles.

“God, he could do so much better! And he chose the crustiest kid on this side of Japan!” He rants, Keigo staring from across the table.

“Hana’ll kill you for that.”

Touya sighs again, knowing that he was right. “Yeah, I know. I still don’t know why Natsuo chose her crusty brother, but he’s happy. And it gets him out of the house, too.”

Keigo nods. “Away from Endeavor.”

“Away from Endeavor.”

They sit for a while in silence at that. Touya knows Keigo used to idolize Endeavor, and he knows why.

God, out of all people, couldn’t Keigo have a good childhood?

At least he’s not hurting now.

The sun has fallen, and they’re laying on their bed.

The moonlight filters through the curtains. Keigo’s been asleep for a while now.

The slightest breeze drifts into the room.

If we lived in a harsher world, we’d be so much more cruel.

Oh, what a beautiful night to be alive with you.

---

Touya brings Keigo into the agency. He’d been curious about how it worked- the League was unprecedented.

Touya hoped he’d want to join too. He wouldn’t mind his soon-to-be husband patrolling with him.

Hero work is a dangerous game to play, after all.

The League of Heroes’s building is not very intimidating. It’s survived thunderstorms, 52 mental breakdowns (not by the same person), and now the prank the entire League is in on.

It’s time for the hero charts.

Showtime.

It had taken so much bribing, from the poor intern that worked for one of the higher ups, to one of the higher ups themselves.

Touya could only hope it was worth it.

Oh, it was worth it.

On live television, in front of nearly the entire world, Enji Todoroki, known as Endeavor, had gotten massively pranked.

First, it was the glitter. Then, the water balloons and the rainbow slime. After that, it was the chicken and the three fire extinguishers.

And of course, copious amounts of cheese.

And it was all filmed. It was all broadcasted to a live audience.

Oh- and everyone knew who did it.

But there was no evidence.

God, Touya loved trashing Endeavwhore (and that’s an insult to sex workers).

It was the night after when Twice suggested something Touya had never thought of before.

The night was young, fireflies just beginning to come out. They were on the balcony, drinking and catching up like family would.

“Hey,” He said, “Why don’t you sue him? Get your bro outta that place and over here.”

Twice was a genius.

Twice was a goddamn genius.

Headlines were all over the place. “Endeavor gets sued?” “Enji Todoroki- an abusive piece of shit?” “Endeavor loses custody!”

God, the journalists were having a fucking field day with this. Touya can’t blame them, though.

The day was beautiful. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming, and little kids were running around outside. Keigo was sitting next to him, listening to his music. Touya finished up some paperwork to finally, finally get his siblings out from under Endeavor.

Thankfully, there was enough evidence to prove he was at least neglectful. People could finally see just how much of an asshole he was, and how high his civilian casualty and endangerment rates are.

There was one teeny, tiny, thing.

The Commission.

The only reason Endeavor was still in the top ten is because of that fucking Commission.

God, he hated the Commission. The things they did to Keigo, the scars that still remain on his psyche.

Fuck the Commission.

It just- It made him so angry. The way Toga and Spinner were treated, how Twice wasn’t able to get help until he became a hero- God, he hated it.

And he didn’t even know how bad it was! He was sheltered from Quirkist attitudes. Well, as sheltered as you can be, living with Endeavor as a dad.

He only knew a little bit of how much they had suffered under this system. He knew there was something more to how Twice always stayed in his hero costume, or how Magne avoided that one part of town. How Toga stared at that one schoolyard for a little too long before walking away.

And he hated it. So, so much.

Fuck the Commission.

---

It’s Touya’s first free day. The hecticness of moving all of his sibling’s stuff into their house was crazy. Who knew that keeping a house was so hard? Not him, that’s who.

So, like any rational person, he goes out to catch up with a close friend.

He had met her during his time at U.A. Her name was Hana Shimura. They bonded through their shitty parents. She was the older sister of the crusty fuck, Tenko.

Why did Natsuo decide to date him? He'll never know.

Somehow or another, the conversation went from how their days went to when Tenko got his quirk.

“Yeah, he decayed the dog! Thankfully he froze up after, so I got Mom. If he didn’t freeze up, I’d be dead.”

The way she had said it- so casually...She probably was terrified at the time.

“There was a UA student that helped him, too. Oboro? I think that was his name...Anyway, Oboro really helped him! He’s kinda a father to him, if I’m being honest.” She went on, telling Touya how proud of Tenko she was.

How he had become a search and rescue hero, which he already knew, and using his quirk he had helped so many people! Because he can decay the debris trapping civilians and rescue them!

They walk down the street, still talking about their siblings and generally how life was going.

They were gonna meet up with Twice. There was a new restaurant that he noticed during his patrols.

Touya heard it was pretty good from Fuyumi and Rumi.

It looked pretty nice, too. He’d walked by it a few times.

“So how is Twice, anyway? I don’t hear much from him these days.” Hana says, pushing open the door to the restaurant.

“Guess you’ll find out, huh?”

Twice is sitting at an empty table in a corner. He was smart enough to change out of his hero costume, just like Touya and Hana.

He lifts his head as they get closer to the table.

“Hey guys! How’ve you been!” He greets them as they sit down.

“Good, good. We were talking about my brother, Tenko.” Hana says. Touya nods in agreement.

“And also how he got to be a hero, too.”

“Did I ever tell ya how I got to be a hero?” Twice asks them, barely containing a smile.

He never told them, well, not Touya.

Turns out, when he was having trouble with his Quirk, one of his doubles went and got a hero license. At the time he was barely of the streets, so he became a hero, joining up with Mr. Compress and Magne to create the League of Heroes.

Because why not? It kept him off the streets and he could help people like him.

A win-win for Twice.

Touya hated how his weird uncle was treated before he became a hero.

Because he was a person, like anyone else. Just a person.

So why was he treated so differently? Why didn’t people help him when he needed it?

God, Touya was so tired.

---

It’s late one night. Touya is alone with his adopted father.

“Dad, why’d you decide to be a hero?” He asks out of the blue.

Atsuhiro’s eyes mist over, and Touya worries for him. Touya’s told him all about the horrific shit he’s gone through, and he can’t help but wonder if he had gone through something horrible too.

Atsuhiro takes out a silver locket, and gently pries it open. He points at the picture inside.

“Look! It’s them…My perfect little family... That’s them! There’s my little girl, and the most beautiful person to ever exist. There they are…”

It’s silent for a moment, the only thing one could hear were the cicadas far away from here.

Touya opens his mouth, “What...What happened to them?”

“A hero. He didn’t care for protocol. He killed- He killed them! And no one believed me…” Atsuhiro trails off, looking down at the floor.

Touya can’t help but feel sorrow, too. He could’ve had a mom, another sister...

He really needs to stop adopting people.

He can’t imagine the pain Mr. Compress must’ve been in. To lose a lover, a child? Oh, it must hurt- so, so much. To lose what was essentially a part of you?

Oh, it hurts to even imagine.

“...They’re really pretty, Dad.”

“They...were both so beautiful in this picture. Toga reminds me of her, y’know? They are both so pretty, so grown-up, and have that same sense of humor…”

Touya’s not sure to who he’s referring to, but nods anyway.

Who’s he to question grieving old men?

“And the days fly by so fast now, I can’t help but feel as though I’m supposed to be insulted by it. But I can’t bring myself to care anymore…It hurts, Touya, it hurts. Sometimes...I can hardly bring myself out of bed...I feel like a ghost…”

It’s silent for a moment, before Touya speaks.

“Dad, I think you need to get help. This isn’t normal. And…I think they’d want you to be happy too, Dad. Don’t you deserve to be happy, too?”

“...I don’t know.”

“You don’t...know?”

“I don’t think I am. But...I want you to be happy. And Tenko, and Hana, and Twice, and Magne...But it’s so tiring, being happy. And I don’t know what to do!”

His sobs seem to echo through the building.

“Come on, Dad. Let’s get you help. You can get some rest.”

He leads Sako back to his house, Atsuhiro being half-asleep by the time they get home.

Mr. Compress takes the spare bedroom, and falls asleep as soon as he hits the pillow. Keigo notices Touya, and walks over to him.

“Heya dove~ How was your day?”

“Worrying. Dad...Dad needs some help. He’s got some shit going on...He’s so tired, Kei. We need to get him therapy or something.”

“Oh, baby…” Keigo whispers, but Touya is too tired to hear.

He falls asleep in his fiance’s arms, safe and sound.

---

The house is abuzz with activity when Touya wakes up. Keigo’s laughter echoes around the place, filling the air with a sense of home.

What a beautiful way to wake up.

Touya gets dressed and walks downstairs. Keigo’s in the kitchen, talking amicably with his sister, Fuyumi. Dad was smiling fondly at the sight, picking at his food. Natsuo was talking on the phone with someone, blushing a little.

Keigo turns towards him, and oh, he was so handsome.

“Good morning, dovely~”

Unbelievable. It was too early for puns.

“Ugh, no. Don’t ever make puns this early. Dad, you doing okay?”

Atsuhiro looks over at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“I’m doing just fine, sonny boy~”

“God, it’s too early for this shit. Keigo, get me some coffee, will you?”

“Language!” Fuyumi scolds.

Eventually the coffee is made, and tables cleaned. Breakfast is done.

Keigo helps set up an appointment with Fuyumi. She’s a part time therapist, part time substitute teacher.

Touya takes a deep breath. One day, Dad will be okay. He’ll be alright.

Time for work.

It’s a beautiful, sunny day when Touya goes on patrol again. This time with Magne and the new intern, Toga.

He already knew somewhat what the girls had gone through.

“Good morning, Magne, Toga.” He greeted them.

“Good morning!” Toga says, and then they go off.

Touya’s stuck in his thoughts as they walk to a coffee house while on break. He listens in as he reaches for the door.

“Yeah, my parents threw me out cause they didn’t think I was a girl.”

“My parents threw me out, too! I had to run away, they didn’t like my quirk very much...I got lucky, and Mom became my mom! That’s how I became a hero! How did you, big sis Magne?”

“Mr. Compress saved me from one of those fucking creeps. He let me stay with him for a while, and helped me get back on my feet. I decided to be a hero then, to help people like me.”

They sit down at one of the tables, still talking about their lives. Touya takes a bite of his muffin.

Ah, life was alright, if just for a little while.

--- requests & asks are open! (request em here) ---

@kirililbb

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ornamental-coral · 4 years ago

Note

Do you have houses combos you love besides Snake Bird ?

Hi sorry it’s take me so long to get to you ‘nonnie human you. I promise if anyone sends me questions, I will get to them eventually! It just takes a while for me thinking about them, researching about them (doing Birdy Bird things with even a one-sentence question...), forgetting I have a sort-hat-chats centered tumblr account (which is... can sort of a Bird thing but also a me thing), and then coming back so we are here (there. somewhere)

I myself am a Snake-Bird. I think I’m pretty neat. Birds are usually very good at entertaining themselves. I think. And I’m lucky I like myself enough because I spend a lot of time with me haha.

I’m a little in love with a remarkable amount of Lion primaries, Snake secondaries and Bird primaries (especially with a Snake secondary to make them extra hard to hold onto *rolls eyes) and apparently I love writing Badger Primaries? I guess I find the challenge of building an “ideal” society that is willing to address the current failings of our timeline a worthwhile challenge and my ink-children rise from the ether to meet me.

I’ve expanded below bar because this is actually a really interesting concept to me - how does a particular house combination react to the others. Below is just my meandering through how specifically My Snake Primary Bird secondary might react on a surface level to the other house types. This doesn’t mean I’m right. There are as many ways of acting within the house system as there are human beings and keep in mind, this is all in good fun.

____________________

Lions

The Idealism of the Lion Primary is something that I find admirable. I posted a more extended musing on the position of Snake Birds within media here. I think the Snake in me understands that when you pick up a person the way Snakes do, you pick up a lot of their wants and regrets too. Snakes pick up People, so that means the whole package. A Lion with a worthy cause can be a very attractive thing to a Snake, who will follow and support them in a very specific kind of way.

With Double Lions, and Lion Snakes there’s that urge to run after them with a fire-extinguisher in one hand and a big stick in the other - one to put out the fires a Double Lion inevitably lights and the Lion Snake may try purposefully to stoke, and the other to beat off anyone who dares to tell your Lion that they cannot Be A Lion. That’s something only the Snake can do, and that’s only because no matter what the Snake says, the Lion is still Their Person warts and all and the Snake Bird knows damn well what they were getting into, or at least thought they did.

Lion Birds house-match secondaries with Snake Birds but can have explosively different moral codes, largely because they method match. I personally find some Lion Bird characters a little grating because as the audience, I feel I’m getting the same information as the Lion, but as a Snake I have a little too much self-preservation to imagine myself doing anything much about it - at least not the way a majority of Lion Bird characters act - or I come to different conclusion. I also hate conspiracy theories because they require leaps of logic the my Bird model typically just can’t tolerate but the felt-house Lion will participate in. However, Lion Birds can also be the hard-boiled PIs, the Best-at-their-Job secret agents (hi Agent Coulson), the one who has Seen the World and Still Believes It Can Be Saved. So that’s admirable and fun.

Lion Badgers are sweet but my Snake Bird goes “fires, fires everywhere”. And like, not the kind your Lion Snake might think is funny when the Snake Bird tries to put them out. Think Steve Rodgers. MCU Steve has a really strong Snake Performance though when it comes to Bucky which MY Snake finds really confusing because it is So Strong I’d be willing to be money he would have at least tried to find a better way to get rid of the Tesseract if Bucky hadn’t fallen from that train and been declared KIA. I think that particular type of Snake performance also confuses Tony, which is part of why Civil War was the way it was.

But yeah, a fire that a Lion Badger wants to light? it’s not going to go out. For a Snake, having that as Your Person means you either really ride or die for them - and might actually literally have to die, or you are keeping them from burning themselves out before they accomplish whatever they’re doing. For a Snake Bird? this is alarming as hell and it’s a fight between the Secondaries to make sure the Lion takes care of themselves as part of the Lion’s “hard work” Badger, if they’re your person.

Birds

Bird primaries will “build” the people they love into the way they see the world. As a Snake, I think this is just really appealing to me? Snakes are loyal, and older Snakes have the life experience to realize that - painful as it is - this loyalty will not always be reciprocated in the way you hope for (this is the stereotypical bone of contention between Lions, Badgers and Snakes. Lions are focused on their cause and if the Snake’s protective instincts get in the way of that, that causes problems It also hurts when a Lion’s mission supersedes their affection for their Snake people. Badgers’ concerns are for their communities and the split of attention can drive the individually focused Snake crazy). If you get built into the Bird’s world, that always felt like something special and something that took hard work, which made it all the more valuable.

My Snake Birds also likes to imagine it’s equipped to learn to the things that a Bird variety believes in and address those things. It’s the kind of relationship that has the potential to go very wrong, and I do realize that. I think Snake Birds have the tendency to want to be everything for Their Person (or people) and our powers of observation mean that we take it a little personally when we’ve missed something. I’m tempted to call Kaz Brekker of Six of Crows a Snake Bird and it drives him to distraction that he can’t be everything, everywhere, all at once to the handful of a people he truly and deeply cares about.

The Bird Snake in particular house matches in a way that can be particularly challenging and attractive to a Snake Bird? A Snake Bird’s tool is, well, the Bird, and the whole persona can feel ridiculously pleased by being able to “pin down” the Bird Snake, which does not necessarily lend itself to being pinned. There’s also this strong urge to understand the Bird Snake.

So there’s the Snake secondary who delights in finding new ways to be, and a Bird Secondary delights in learning new things. The discovery element in that relationship can, as long as the Bird Secondary is not stifled by the Snake Primary’s concern, actually be really rewarding. Birds, and Bird Snakes in particular are also often really unique. They think differently, act differently, can be off putting to certain types of house combinations because their moral code can come off is so blue-orange, and is Built on top of that. Snakes take great pride in being very “this is my Person and their brand of weirdness is just another thing I love about them. And on top of that, I Know them.” with their people in any situation, and if a Snake can eventually prove to their Bird Primary that that feeling is unwavering, that’s a relationship that becomes central to both Snake and Bird.

That isn’t to say Birds can’t go dark, but usually they learn to be that way given Birds are evidence-gatherers. Unfortunately, this means I love them too because people of my generation and all generations before and hence have a thing for characters with trauma (see Loki, greasy prince extraordinaire). It’s -- it’s never not been a thing. Take a look at freaking Gilgamesh, which is the oldest things that we know of, look at Enkidu, and tell me he wasn’t your favorite. Gilgamesh is kind an arschloch of highest proportions. As a more palatable example of this Bird-villain thing, I sort of suspect Bucky Barnes is a Bird of some flavor. If he killed one person as the Winter Soldier, he’d feel bad but probably admit it was the brain washing - but he did it dozens of times. He wonders what does this say about him? He is possibly a Badger, but even pre-winter-soldier he doesn’t seem to care on as wide a scale as a Badger typically does. Steve is Built into the fabric of his world, and he doesn’t react to Steve’s death the way I expect a Snake to either. Maybe a really Old Seasoned Snake and I mean technically he’s old? but the cryogenics thing sort of means he’s not old enough to just let it go. He also doesn’t follow the boy from Brooklyn for reasons I would expect from a fellow Snake but I guess the new show might give more insight on that once I actually watch it.

Badgers

Okay, I like writing Badgers. [Leans back on chaise lounge] this probably has something to do with my mother.

Really though. I model Badger because my mother, although I love her and I’m really lucky to have her, is a teeny tiny bit horrified by Snake tendencies and drilled into me the morality that it is okay and it is above all Good to care about other people (for other Snakes, read Yes Even Strangers). To be fair, the prioritizing that Snakes do (which can get as focused as ”My people first, even if someone else far away is in trouble and I am acutely aware of it”) can seem pretty horrific to a Badger. They don’t necessarily get how you could believe everyone is a person and just... not care. And it’s hard to convince a Badger (for whom not acting can = they are not worth it) that you know exactly what you’re doing but are also aware that if you try to help everyone your head will explode because you can’t keep that many People up there. It’s why Snakes have their rings of caring.

But the result is that for me, Badgers are usually the ones left standing at the end of the story. If they’re done dirty, I like to try and fix it.

I don’t like how media treats Badger primaries generally though? There’s often something “goofy” or the Badger is treated as soft in a really unpalatable way. I mean, and to be fair this directly comes from the way a Snake can sort of be flummoxed with the way Badgers just do things for strangers, yes Badgers irl may be considered gentle. On an individual level, they are often the hearts and hearths of groups and homes. But there’s this weird place where The State is supposed to be a Badger-shaped institution, so that uneasy balance comes out in weird ways.

I don’t remember who said it, but the difference with Badgers and Snakes is that, with a Snake, you start out at Zero. You’re human, but you’re not the Snake’s human, so I will treat you like a human, but there are My People above you. And with a Badger, you sort of start out at like 85-100%? At least this is my perception. Badgers need-base and that off-balances Snakes.

A Snake with a Badger in my opinion needs to be “eyes open” in a different way than even a Snake with a Bird does, because the Snake needs to understand that the Badger is going to look and act similar - until they don’t, and then the Snake needs to be able to put aside the part of them that was attracted to the mirrored morality and actually work with the Badger to figure out what the Snake needs and how the Snake can in turn support the Badger.

Anyways though, I’m writing a thing where a Badger Bird-modeling-Badger is the last woman standing, committed to fixing a broken type of organization that her Snake, Bird, and Lion companions are Tired of. Lady Badger is nothing if not resilient. I’m writing another thing where a really really Burnt Badger man gets a safe place to learn to be part of a community that is meant to be mutually protective again (he dies because this is a fan work and that’s what happened in cannon, and this is arguably because he’s still unburning at that stage and doesn’t Have a proper community, but I hope to show him having at least Some happy times because in the sh**show show he didn’t have any at all). I’ve got a slightly less developed thing where a number of Badger performing princes learn to work together to fix their kingdom and unbury the history that created it.

Aaand It’s nearing midnight, I have clearly lost the thread of the thread or whatever

Goodniiight to all my houses. Love you all even if I didn’t write about you here.

-Ornamental

#ornamental answers #ask answered #snake primary #bird secondary #House interactions #lion primary #Bird Primary #badger primary #wip sorts #late night posts #sortinghatchats

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palettepainter · 4 years ago

Note

I’ve got post vaccine (moderna gang) shivers so I need to express fluff headcanons to spread good vibes

When Ecto was planning to propose, he had to keep it so hush hush because Higari can easily find things out. He didn’t tell anyone but higaris mother and his own parents. He was very happy that Higari was actually surprised with the proposal. Higari wears the rings on a necklace- his quirk doesn’t exactly make wedding rings easy to find.

As much as Higari prefers being a support hero, search and rescue jobs that go smoothly it’s very rewarding. He often checks up on those he’s managed to rescue, keeps in touch with some too. There’s this lovely older woman who he rescued from a crumbling retirement home who sends him baked goods every holiday. He visits her every month for tea.

When Ecto is sick, Higari cares for him easily. Even when Ecto acts like he isn’t sick. He’ll make him soup, make sure he’s resting, cold compress on his forehead. As stubborn as he is, ecto appreciates it.

Higaris favorite memory with his dad is digging around in the yard with him. Since they had the same quirks, it worked out. He showed him how to carve tunnels without the ground crumbling, or just played around in the dirt. There’s a picture of Higari when he was three, covered in dirt with his head peaking out of a hole. His dad was grinning, sitting near by like he was cheering him on. Sometimes, especially on days where thinking about his dad is hard, he’ll tell Ecto stories.

As someone who also got shivers after getting a vaccine I know the feeling, how you’re doing well!

Ecto proposing, Yes! I love the idea of Ecto proposing to Higari, and his rugged flirting smirking self just crumbles in the face of Ecto holding a ring to him. Ecto’s eyes are so full of love and he has such a soft grin on his face that Higari can’t help but tearing up, he tries to think of something flirty to say back, but he just can’t. He’s overwhelmed - probably ended up tackling Ecto in a hug with a big kiss, which threw Ecto off guard, thinking at first maybe he’d overwhelmed Higari when he started crying.

Higari wearing is around his neck, also yes. Higari’s wedding ring is the only thing that he will spend careful hours cleaning and polishing at the end of each day to make sure it stays in good condition, wears is around UA proudly - though I imagine for interviews outside of UA or when he’s called out for hero work he leaves it at home in a special box on his dresser or safely tucks it away in a drawer in the design studio, as much as he loves wearing the rink around his neck he dreads the thought of loosing it in a rescue, or having some nosy reports pester him for answers if they catch sight of it.

With Higari’s gear I’m a firm believer he’d be a great rescue hero in say like natural disasters or if a building collapsed. With his giant robotic suit and his know how on construction he could easily map a safe route to evacuate citizens from an unstable building, or quickly find a way to clean up after a land slide. Need to move a giant tree? No problem he’ll move it no prob. Citizen can’t move because they’re leg hurts? He can carry em out to safety. Kids they rescued are bored while they’re waiting for parents to pick them up? Higari tolerates them clambering about on his hero suit like it’s a jungle gym

Anything with Higari caring for Ecto or vise versa is so wholesome! In my NGAU I imagine Higari prolly knows all the tricks to help when someone is sick, he grew up in a big house with tones of little siblings, as kids they got sick a lot with how often they played in the garden and mud, they’ve all got very strong immune systems so it’s rare Higari or his siblings get sick - but Higari still knows all the tricks to help nursing someone back to health. He remembers to give Ecto some medicine, make him some soup, hot water bottle if he’d cold, flannel if he’s too hot and plenty of liquids. A teenie tiny part of Ecto might even enjoy all the attention, appreciating Higari’s concern. Too bad Higari is too stubborn to actually treat himself when he’s sick, with how little he gets sick he doesn’t take it all that seriously - thankfully Ecto is a patient man with many clones, so is willing to drag Higari back to bed if needed XD

And the last one with his dad...

Anon: Are you trying to make me cry-

In my NGAU Powerloader’s dad was all over him, spoiled Higari so so much. Spent many lazy afternoons slacking off work when the missus wasn’t looking to play around with Higari (bragged for like a week straight that he got his quirk, proud dad moment). Higari’s mother came out into the garden to see how the boys where doing, she finds her husband and toddler son covered head to toe in dirt and mud. She gets angry at them, insisting the two need a bath if they want to have dinner. Toddler Higari hated baths from the day he was born apparently, and it’s only until dear old papa gives him a bath is he willing to get clean. His dad puts bubbles in Higari’s hair, and Higari splashes bubbles onto his dads beard, who then makes a silly face to make Higari laugh. Too bad only one hour after tea the two got dirty again-

The first time Higari used his quirk was when he was outside with his dad. His dad was working on fixing up the shed, Higari sitting in a small play pen outside with some toys while his dad stood close by, able to work while also keeping an eye on Higari. Higari, bored of playing with his building blocks, begins to drag his little hands at the ground, and before he knows it he’s tunneling his way to freedome beyond the bounds of his baby playpen. This kind of scneario probably ensued:

Kaigo (PL’s dad): Phew *picks up tool box and turns around* Alright sweetpea, time to go back insi- *freezes when he sees the playpen is empty, and no baby in sight* W-WHAT?! *drops tool box, and rapidly looks around* Uh- H-Higari?! Sweetpea?! Where’d you go?? Come to dad, this isn’t funny! *rushes around a bit*

Higari: *tunnles his way up to the surface in his mothers flowerbed, a small pile of dirt with a flower sticking out the top sitting on his head*

Kaigo: *searching in the bushes* H-Higari?! Higari! Where are you?! *mumbles* Shit I took my eyes off him for two minutes! Where the hell could he-

Higari: BAPA!

Kaigo: *jumps and whirls around*..*heaves and sigh and rushes over* Oh thank god! *scoops him into his arms for a hug* You stupid lil’ ankle biter! Don’t you ever do that again! *holds him out at arms length* How in the world did you even get out??

Higari: *sneezes from the dirt, making the flower fall off his head*

Kaigo:..Wait. Did..D-Did you, DIG your way out?!

Higari: *incoherent baby noises*

Kaigo;...Ooooh you are in SO much trouble young man, you know how many years off my life you just took? Huh?...*scowls as Higari giggles* Oh so you think this is FUNNY?-

Higari: *grabs his nose* BA!

Kaigo:............*sighs* You’re damn lucky you’re cute, you know that?...Uh, how about we DON’T tell your Ma about this, okay?

Ever since then his dad had to watch him like a hawk, one minute Higari was sitting playing with his toys, the next he was trying to dig his way to the other side of the world. When he was old enough his dad did give him some lessons in how to dig safely so the ground wouldn’t become unstable. I imagine Higari may have madea few tunnels as a kid that where too close to the surface, and his very unsuspecting mum and dad would just sink into the ground collapsing an old tunnel Higari made. And Higari having pictures?? YES. His mum probably has a whole stash of pictures of Higari as a baby playing outside with his dad and her. Including the embarrassing photos, the kind of photos Higari would never want Ecto to see, but his mum showed him anyway.

Now I wanna write angst with Powerloader and his dad aaaaa-

#Powerloader #Powerloader family #MHA #Headcannons #Higari

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rainbowshawn · 5 years ago

Text

Polished

(not my gif)

A/N: this was supposed to be pure fluff but got side tracked somewhere along the way. first time writing smut, feedback is appreciated 💓

Summary: teaching your boyfriend how to paint nails sounds innocent enough, right?

Warnings: fluffy smut, language, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks)

Word count: 2.9k

____________________________________________

The strong smell of nail polish filled up your cozy room as you dragged the brush gently over each finger tip. Next to you was your boyfriend, comfortably curled up as you balanced an old magazine on your knee to keep your hand steady. His eyes watched you contently, as he was fighting off sleep.

You hold your hand up, eyes squinting at the red color that adorns your nails. A frustrated grunt escapes you as you grab your nail polish remover and a cotton pad. The sleepy boy’s head pops up in confusion.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“My nails look stupid” you grumbled, a frustrated look decorating your face.

“Why do you think that?” he frowns.

“The color looks bad on me.”

Shawn couldn’t help the giggle that slipped out of his mouth when he saw your frazzled expression. You shot him a glare, “not funny” causing him to giggle even more. Until an idea popped into his head,

“Do you want me to paint them?” he says with a childlike grin and an excited glint in his eyes.

“Shawn, you don’t know how to paint nails”

“So! You can teach me, let me try” he pushes “pleeeeeeease”

He presses his hands in a pleading pose as he pushes his bottom lip out, giving you the eyes. Those sweet, puppy dog eyes that you fall for every time. He knows that’s your weakness and you could never say no. It’s his super power, really. He prides himself on how many times that trick has worked on you. Like his idea to skinny dip on your trip to greece last summer. You were completely opposed to it until that look came onto his face. Next thing you knew, you two were holding each other’s naked bodies in the water as your lips met in a heated kiss. He insisted it was his magic trick.

You contemplate the idea for a moment and quickly give in to his request. You grab your box of nail polishes and place them on the bed between the two of you. His eyes go wide as he takes in the amount of bottles that filled the box.

“Go on rockstar, help me pick a color”

He props himself up on his elbow as he eagerly starts to sift through them, looking at all the different colors. “Who needs all this nail polish?” He holds up a bright sparkly teal, eyeing it intently before making a disapproving face at the bottle. He goes through this process a few times before finally settling on a pretty, dusty pink.

“Does this look good to you?” he looks to you for approval.

A smile spreads across your face as you think of his dedication to finding the perfect color for you. You nod your head in approval “if you like it, I like it”

“I doooo” he says, shifting to sit in front of you.

He wiggles forward until his knees touch yours. He eagerly grabs both your hands and tugs them forward onto his knees.

“Woah, bubba, one at a time” you laugh

“Sorry, getting a little ahead of myself. Just excited to treat you good” he mumbled as he focused on getting the top of the nail polish off. You coo’d and grabbed his face in your hands, tugging him forward to place a few sweet kisses on his pink lips.

“Okay, okay” he snickered out between kisses “now show me what to do, woman”

You began explaining the process to him as you demonstrated on one finger. He seemed to be pretty confident and began to paint. You laughed as you felt his grip on your finger tighten.

“you don’t gotta put me in a death grip, bubs. I’m not going anywhere”

His focus didn’t shift but he did let up on the grip. His tongue poked out of his mouth in concentration as he painted across your nails. He stopped a few times to correct any polish that touched your skin by gently scraping it off with his own nail. He appreciated your patience with him. He always did. You swear the smile never fell off your face as you eyed him.

“so tiny” he whispered, mostly to himself. He was amazed at the size of your and in his. Shawn had always insisted that you were, in his words ‘teeny tiny’, but you both know he’s really just big. You revelled in his larger stature. Always feeling safe in his arms no matter where you were.

He finished up your first hand, pulling it up to his face to check over his work. He bowed his head down to place a kiss to your knuckles, “next hand, sweetheart”

While he painted your other hand, you observed his work. Honestly, you were impressed to say the least. The pink polish looked smooth, clean, and it really complimented your skin tone. You looked at him in amazement, “baby you’re actually super good!”

“liyah used to make me paint her nails when we were little, I remember it a little bit.”

Your heart swelled at the thought of a tiny shawn holding his baby sisters hand and painting her little nails, making her feel special. The thought of him with a little girl in the future was all that could come to your mind in that moment.

“You’re gonna be such a good dad...” you whispered

“I hope so,” he replied, a smile making its way onto his face “that’s all I want, really.”

He sat up a little straighter as he finished up his work on your nails.

“I feel like we’d have a little girl. Dunno why but I just know. God, I can’t wait to have tea parties and let her put clips in my hair.” he giggled.

You sighed at the thought, only imagining that sight in front of you. He was such a loving boy, never afraid to show his affection to those he loved. You see the way he treats his sister and you just know he would treat his children the same. Especially a little girl. He’d without a doubt be wrapped around her little finger.

“I cant wait either, that little girl is gonna have the best nails ever.” you smiled “these look amazing babe!”

“I think I should reconsider my career choices, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

He leaned forward to place a kiss to your nose. You watched him in confusion as he moves to sit on the floor next to your bed, grabbing the bottle of polish on his way down.

“What are you doing?”

“Painting your toes,” he simply stated “they have to match.”

All you could do was look at him in disbelief as he pulled your cold feet down to his level. He noticed your icy toes and began to rub them to warm them up. His warm fingers working magic on the arches of both your feet. He alternated between the two, kissing your calves as he continued. He looked up at you as he kissed your bare legs, sighing deeply as he noticed you bite your lip.

He kept rubbing your cold skin as he moved onto his knees, raising himself to kiss up your thigh. You gasped as he nipped at your inner thigh a little bit. You parted your legs a little more, willing him to go further. He switched legs and grabbed your other soft foot in his hand as he repeated his loving treatment.

“mmm shawn I thought you were gonna paint my toes” you muttered, breathlessly.

He didn’t stop kissing you for a second “I’ll get to it, just wanna love on my girl for a little bit”

And really, who were you to deny that? He reached a hand up to press into your chest, gently pushing you to lay back. Your hands found their way into his unruly curls, tugging gently as his kisses got closer and closer to your aching core.

His kisses spread to your tummy, leaving slightly wet patches behind as he started to lightly suck on the skin dressing your hipbones. Soft hums continued to roll out of your chest. You felt your tummy fluttering in anticipation from his soft lips. You lifted your head up to see him completely focused on loving on you. He just wanted you to feel good today.

His warm, big hands that were rubbing your hips and thighs moved to your panties, fingers hooking onto the sides. “Is this okay?” he asks. You eagerly nod your head yes and hum in approval.

Once he drags the material off your legs, he lifts them by your knees to spread you open for him. He bites his lip at the sight of your dripping center. He drops his head to nip at the crease between your leg and where you needed him the most. You groan, “don’t tease..... please baby” arching your back at the feeling.

Suddenly you feel his tongue slide into your wet folds. He groans at the pleasure of making you feel good, becoming very aware of the aching in his pants. He palms himself through his boxers as he focuses on his lips against you. His tongue slips up and down your clit quickly, making you moan lightly. His lips suck your clit into his mouth applying perfect pressure as his tongue continues to work against you. You can’t process the bliss you feel, overwhelmed by the feeling and the wet sounds coming from the act.

You arch your back and gasp as he grazes his teeth against you lightly. “taste so good baby,” he says lowly, “I could do this all day.”

You groan in response as his fingers come up to push into you, the slight stretch was enough to have you reeling.

“oh fuck, don’t stop” you grunt as he picks up his pace. His mouth sucking so perfectly, making your stomach flip and walls tighten. You go completely silent, breath hitching as you feel your orgasm begin to come to a head. And as you get to that ledge, you’re quickly tugged off before you can fall. Shawn quickly removes his fingers and his sweet mouth from your center. You groan at the loss.

“Not so fast, baby, need you to cum on my cock. Think you can do that for me?”

At this point you’re too far gone to do anything but whimper and nod your head. He stands up and strips you of your top, moaning at the sight of your bare chest laid out in front of him. “So beautiful... can’t believe you’re mine” he breathes, pressing a gentle kiss between your breasts. Shawn never failed to make you feel beautiful, loved, and worthy. You frequently felt like your heart would burst at any moment if he looked at you so affectionately for too long. Now was no exception, as you shyly giggled and covered your breasts with your hands, turning your red face away from him.

Placing his hand on yours, he tugged your hands away from yourself, “don’t hide, honey, wanna see you...” he looks at you with those eyes again and you’re a goner. His hands trail up your sides sending shivers through your body. Once his hands get up high enough he palms your breasts in those big hands of his and cranes his head back as his presses his still clothed dick into your sensitive mound. You buck your hips up to get more friction but he presses you back down and stops you.

His mouth meets yours in a heated kiss as his continues to knead your breasts. Your tongues dance together as he lays into you a bit more, rubbing his cock against you. He grinds his hips into you as he rolls your nipples in his fingers, further teasing you. You get lost as the friction distracts you, mouth falling open as he tries to continue the heated kiss.

He tugs his boxers down just enough to free his painfully hard cock. He continues to grind into you, moaning at the feeling of your wetness on him.

“Fuck babygirl, I can’t wait to be inside you” he groans into your neck as he sucks and kisses there. He pushes his black boxers the rest of the way down, kicking them onto the floor.

“Give it to me shawn, I cant wait anymore” you beg. He can’t deny you, he’s just as fucked for you as you are for him. He slides his thick cock up and down your wet folds a little bit, making sure you’re ready for him. He slowly pushes in watching your face to make sure you’re comfortable. His brows furrow as he focuses on going slow to let you adjust to his size. He swears he’ll never get over the feeling of being inside of you. Often saying he thinks that’s what heaven feels like.

Your mouth drops open as he slips in, a breathless grunt leaving your chest. His length is stretching you out causing a comfortable burn. His lips meet yours as he tries to distract you from the slight pain. He hopes you can feel the love he feels radiating off of his body in waves. Sometimes he swears he doesn’t know what to do with all of it.

He waits until you tell him he can move and once you give him the green light, he’s off. His thrusts slowly increase as he leans over you. He kisses you the best he can while moving at a good pace for you. He brushes some hair from your face as he looks so lovingly into your eyes. His length drags in and out of you so well you’re seeing stars.

“Faster, Shawn I need more,” you moan into his ear “so good to me”

He pulls your knees up and spreads you nice and wide in front of him as he starts to rail into you at an even quicker speed. You didn’t think he could get any deeper but this position proved you wrong. You think you can feel him in every part of you. The feeling is intoxicating and the only thing you can think about is him, him, him. Your mouth fell open as your walls started to tighten around him.

His hand coming up to play with your clit hurdled you towards the edge. “love you so fucking much.... you don’t know what you do to me” he breathed into your ear as his speed never faltered “gonna make you feel so good”

“you do, you do, baby, you always do” you groaned quickly, eyes screwing shut as your orgasm began to creep up on you again. The feeling of your tight and warm walls was pushing him further and further towards the edge. You looked up at his moving figure, moaning as you saw him watching his length disappear into your dripping pussy. His face was completely blissed out, lost in loving you. His low moans filled your ears as you took shallow breaths.

His hips slammed into yours, angling a bit to reach that one special spot better. Your back arched immediately at the contact and your walls began to pulse around him. Your moans got louder and louder for him, a sound he would never in his whole life get tired of hearing.

“Come on babygirl, thats right” he moaned “cum on this cock, you feel like fucking heaven.”

That was all it took for you to come crashing down in waves. Your back arched as little screams left your lips, his lips coming down to catch the sounds in his mouth. Your eyes rolled back into your head as you felt his thrusts continue, fucking you through your orgasm. He continued in search of his own release until his movements become erratic.

“Gonna cum, you make me feel so fucking good” he moans. All it takes is a few more thrusts and he’s spilling into you, breathing heavily into your ear. You feel his his cock twitch and warmth spill inside you and moan at the delicious feeling. His body falls limply into you, his length still in you. Hips still rolling slowly, fucking his cum deeper into you.

You both took time coming down, pressing kisses against your bare skin. Your hands searched each other eagerly, not wanting to lose contact. Eventually Shawn pulls out slowly and rolls off next to you.

“That was amazing....”

“as usual,” you say as you lay next to him, laying your head on his chest and tracing patterns onto his slightly sweaty tummy “so good to me.”

You’re both so sleepy from your high, you forget about your toenails. His hand traces up your bare spine as he kisses your hair softly.

“love you so much,” he mutters listening to your breathing.

“I love you too Shawn. so so so much.”

“I meant what I said earlier. I cant wait til I have a little version of our love running around.”

All you can do is hum at the thought, smiling to yourself as your eyes start to close slowly. Finding that safety you loved so much in his arms. You feel so content in this moment. Your thoughts running wild with your love for him. You both don’t know what to do with it all.

Your breathing gets deeper and deeper as you both fall asleep in each other’s arms. Both feeling full to the brim in love.

“I didn’t forget about your toes by the way.”

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes fanfic #masterlist

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ahmedmootaz · 4 years ago

Text

To Find A Blot

Hello, dear Tumblr folk! How are you doing? Fine as always, I hope. I had made a story predicting (or trying to predict) the events of tomorrow’s episode of Ducktales as a reply to a request. Unfortunately, Tumblr decided that the original post endangered public safety, so here I am, posting it again.

I would like to ask for everyone’s thoughts! Whether they be comments or critiques, I want your feedback! I like long comments, so write away! I hope you like this little piece of mine.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551864

And for anyone who prefers a direct Read More button, here it is! Unfortunately, italics do not copy from Archive Of Our Own, however, I think it should be obvious where they were. So, once more, leave your thoughts, and until next time, see ya’!

It was a dark, cold night in the Forest Of...whatever. Lena couldn't care less about what its name was. It was damp, awful, cold, and filled with monsters. No wonder Magica would hide here; it was basically her dream home. Maybe it was a mirror, too. She trudged with her friends, Violet and Webby, who'd oh-so-kindly volunteered to help her on this mad quest of hers. She was going mad, that's what, and they were both ready to go mad with her. She really was lucky when it came to friends.

They kept trudging in silence, not wanting to reflect on the series of what must've been unfortunate events to lead them to searching for Magica DeSpell in the dark, cold night in the middle of a swamp. An ugly swamp, too...though, now that she thought about it, there weren't really 'pretty' swamps, so it wasn't like Magica chose a bad one; they were all bad.

Despite telling herself several times how she was over this, how she had no issues whatsoever about what they were doing right now and that it was for the greater good, she found herself contemplating any other choice. Just what, exactly, led them to this point?!

...Well, they all knew. It was a rhetorical question. An angry rhetorical question. Leave it to the McDucks to be attacked by a literal video-game monster that crawled out of the screen and treating it like another boring day. Which...yeah, it kinda was for them, but she'd gotten used to the calmer household she moved in. It wasn't like that was the biggest thing that happened today, either, it was more like...the appetizer, even though that wasn't really a correct statement, since it was like eating a whole roast duck only to be told it was an appetizer.

Still, it wasn't the tentacle-monster which they took down that led to this situation. It was the fact that Gladstone...Gladner? Something along those lines, showed up. Apparently, he was the boys' uncle, which made him someone she didn't know. Not that it mattered anyway, he came in, crying about how his luck left him forever before weeping on her arm, which was conveniently next to him. Her sleeve was never going to return to regular levels of salt after this.

It took a while before Scrooge managed to calm him down. It seemed like his luck...which was a thing she didn't know about, had left him. Normally, she was told, they would've chalked it up to some paranormal mystery and had to excuse themselves and send her home, but it went further then that...Almost everyone in Duckburg was losing their abilities.

They didn't really believe it at first, but when Scrooge's monetary abilities started going blank, the alarms blared loudly enough in everyone's minds. It wasn't just him, too; Gyro was losing his intelligence, so was Huey, Mrs.Beakly lost a good portion of her Agent skills, and Dewey lost the ability to Dewey, whatever the heck he meant by that.

It only left her and the rest of Team Magic to fend for themselves and figure out what was draining their powers. There was one teeny-tiny problem, however:

How would they do that? Webby was an amazing fighter, but their enemy, a certain Phantom Blot that Violet heard about, didn't leave a trace, much less a body to fight, and despite Violet's best efforts, nothing came out of her investigations to find where he hid, which left Lena to do the job. One issue, however: She couldn't.

She was a brilliant sorceress, or so she bragged, but there was still much she needed to learn before casting detection spells. And they, she theorized, didn't have that time. Violet was an amazing step-sister and a scarily fast learner, but even she came up empty-handed when it came to learning anything about that power. That left one magic user in Duckburg she knew. Ugh.

She shivered at the memory, snapping out of her mind due to some whimpering from Gladstone. He said he needed to find his luck or else he was a goner. She thought he was exaggerating at first, but then a boat nearly fell on him. 4 Kilometres away from sea. He promised he'd do them anything if she let him accompany them on this treacherous journey while the rest of the gang tried investigating using their own ways, and the agreed. How bad could he be, anyways?

-"U-Um...Lena? I don't know how to tell you this...but I...I hate swamps. I don't think I know how to walk in them. It was always my luck helping me out. I'm cold, scared, and humiliated."...well, not too bad, but he just wouldn't shut up! And while he seemed to amuse Webby and Violet, he was just getting on her nerves.

-"Well, nobody here likes swamp, either! And you've been listing the things your luck did for you for two hours now, is there anything you can do on your own, Mr.Gladstone?", she shot back, irked.

He used to argue and bicker with her, but as his luck kept worsening throughout the day (How on earth does one get mauled by a bear, an alligator, and then receive a speeding ticket because the alligator's death-roll was too fast??), he mostly stuck to paranoia to help himself. She couldn't help but feel bad for him, despite how much he annoyed her.

-"W-Well...I used to breathe well on my own...I could also walk...I think...", he mumbled, his voice a broken mess compared to his arrogant and proud tone, or so she was told by Webby. "A-And...I think I might need to learn how to go to the bathroom in the swamp.", he added, his exhaustion overpowering his embarrassment.

-"Pffft, don't worry about it, Gladstone! The entire swamp is your bathroom! You're basically the King of the swamp!", and there it was, the perky, energetic voice that was trying to keep Gladstone away from depression this entire trip.

-"Oh, quit with the lies! I am nothing without my luck!", he cried, seeming on the verge of tears for the...seventeenth time today? Lena couldn't remember. "B-But...It wasn't my choice! My luck was always there for me! Like...Like a-a stick! Something to lean on my entire life and now it is gone!", he lamented, slouching as his footsteps got a bit slower. For the sake of all them, Lena hoped he regained any of his luck soon.

-"Well, it is true; any being born with a condition, abnormal or not, that aids him throughout his life without any major work done from the part of the being will eventually get used to this condition, which could explain why you're taking this particular misadventure hard, Mr.Gladstone.", Violet bumped in their chat, checking the notepad on which they brainstormed the possible locations of Magica. "Still, I'd advise you to remain positive, as I sense we may be able to fix these conditions.", she added, giving him a small, encouraging smile which he didn't notice.

-"Yeah, probs.", the teenage witch agreed after she felt a nudge from the Vanderquack. Anything to cheer up her friend's friends' uncle. "Hey Vi, are we close or not?", she asked, trying to ignore the eye-roll from her shorter friend.

-"Well, I don't have a particularly detailed map, though I imagine that Magica would mark her camp with a particular sign; an X on the ground, perhaps, or perhaps we must deduce it from the surrounding environment-"

-"Or she might've carved her face on the bottom of an ancient tree!", the cheerful duck happily announced as they entered a clearing with a small dirt road that led to the mouth of Magica DeSpell. A wooden carving of her, anyway.

It was just as Webby said, large, reeking of pride and arrogance, and yet...oddly well done. The details were really nice and actually looked like Magica. If she had to give her 'aunt' something, it had to be that she apparently didn't suck at something in her life. Really though, wood carving, of all things? Was she a carpenter before becoming an evil, awful witch? Is she talented? She didn't have her magic...maybe she had someone else with her.

-"Alright, so, is everyone prepared to meet my homicidal aunt?", the tallest duckling asked with fake happiness, receiving a nod form everyone but Gladstone, who emitted something of a sniff. Webby readied the axe she brought with her, patting the kitten at the top while Violet tightened her garlic necklace, while Gladstone...he stood there, steadying his back a bit. "Mr.Gladstone?"

-"Ah, forget about it, whatever she does to me, it can't be worse than having an anvil hit me from ten-meters.", he steadied his tone, managing to make it more bitter than desperate. Well, at least he wasn't going to cry when they see her.

She looked back at the tree's base, blocking out the various memories that gave her the urge to blast the door, and knocked. Harshly. Hey, she was going to give herself something. She felt both Webby and Violet's hands on her shoulders, and she anticipated the door opening. Now or never...they were going to convince her, and somehow, she didn't think it was going to be too easy.

Her mind raced, imagining all the awful things she could be plotting right now. She heard garlic was harmful to magic users, something she didn't know too much about, but was apparently true, as she figured out when her magical powers suddenly dimmed as she touched some garlic. Still, Magica could hit them form a distance...and what about that axe? Was going physical the ideal plan? Was-

CRASH!

The quartet of ducks yelled, jumping back before they realized the door didn't even open. It was something from the inside. Someone, to be exact. A couple of curses came through the door as a metallic sound came through as well.

-"Bloody Hell! Who comes in this hour of the night, in this swamp, to this tree?! I don't even pay bills!", the angry yelling of her not-really-aunt came through. Yep, that was about the attitude she expected. "If you're the Magical Supplies Shop, I'm sorry, but if you couldn't tell, I lost my powers after following a wonderful plan of mine. I cannot pay you in whatever things you want. Now go away before I shoot you!", she answered with a sickeningly sweet tone. Even her voice brought Lena awful memories and forced her to frown.

-"You can do this, Lena. You faced her down before. She can't do anything to you.", Violet squeezed her shoulder, giving her a determined smile. Lena shot one back, before taking a step closer to the door.

-"Hey, this is Lena...Your...", she sighed, bringing a hand to her temple. "Niece?", she finished, awaiting a sick laughter or an undignified scowl at her for attempting to break free from being a shadow. Sorry-not-sorry, Magica. For moment, there was silence. Then there was laughter. Hysterical laughter. So much laughter Lena felt scared.

-"Ooooh, good one, person-who-is-trying-to-fool-me! I don't have a niece! My brother is dead and my sister cannot keep a worm alive! Now scram before my patience runs out!", she thundered from behind the door, leaving the ducklings and Gladstone in shock.

-"She has a brother?", Lena repeated with incredulity, looking at her two friends and Gladstone.

-"I don't know! How should I know? I thought she didn't have family!", Violet answered with equal confusion, shrugging.

-"I mean, technically she doesn't have a brother anymore.", Gladstone chimed in, his voice devoid of any enthusiasm. "Who's this woman anyway? And why does she sound like she woke up on the wrong side of the bed?", he asked, raising his voice a tad too much.

-"The wrong side of the bed?!", came the war-cry from behind the door, only leaving a moment before a couple of locks unlocked and it swung outwards, revealing Magica DeSpell . With a shotgun. Oh, well this was just lovely, wasn't it? "Alright, that does it, I will put more holes than you than there is in...swiss...cheese...", her speech slurred, looking at the three ducklings in front of her house.

The silence remained for a moment, with no one doing anything. Webby brandished her weapon, Violet made a threatening expression, and Lena ignited a spark in her hand. And Gladstone stood there, trying to take all this in. That moment gave Lena enough time to admire Magica's hut; a three-room lodging, more aptly. It was basically a sink, a gas-cooker, and some drawers, a wardrobe, and a bookshelf, all locally-made, apparently. There was also a toilet and a bath in the background. It was a pretty sorry place to live in, but it seemed functional enough.

-"Hi, Aunt Magica.", Lena greeted, gritting her teeth and delivering the widest, fakest smile she could possibly give. "I almost forgot how you looked! We haven't seen each other in such a long time. What a shame.", she continued, trying her best to remain calm and to look the elder sorceress in the eyes. Said sorceress was now surveying the ducks surrounding her, measuring her chances and keeping her hands on the shotgun's trigger.

-"Get out. Now!", the cape-wearing duck yelled, looking dangerously close to a rage-fit. "All three of you. Now!"

-"Three? Hello? I may have lost my luck, but I am certainly not invisible, lady!", Gladstone announced with an undignified tone. He got a glare that shut him up. "Yeah, sure, okay, talk with the people who really matter. Why wouldn't you?", he grumbled bitterly.

-"Listen, as much as we'd love to, we can't really do that.", the younger sorceress laid her hand on her waist, looking both bored and uncaring. At least, she hoped she did. The last thing she needed was for the awful, horrible duck in front of her to sense any weakness, something she assumed she excelled at.

-"Besides, we're already outside! Your evil mind trick won't work on us!", Webby boasted, swinging her axe a bit for intimidation purposes. They didn't seem to work all too well, but at the very least, they made Magica's shotgun point at her just a tiny bit. Was that a victory?...Probably not.

-"Fine then, get away from me! From this place! The last thing I need is to spend my night with a bunch of McDucks.", the gun-wielder practically screamed, her veins starting to bulge from the anger. Her voice was laced with venom dripping off of every word. It was honestly both terrifying and admirable how much hate she poured into every word.

-"I told you we can't.", Lena repeated calmly, trying to avoid a fight she saw she was coming.

And then, just as she hoped things would calm down, a loud, roaring BANG! filled the swamp. Every single member of her group jumped, looking frightened as they searched around for wounded. There were none, only four ducks staring at each other. She'd tricked them. And she didn't even have her magic. Lena frowned and turned her face back to her shadow's origin. Her...uh...creator? She was her shadow, did shadows have creators? Maybe a caster was a better term? As much as she hated it, 'Aunt Magica' rolled off the tongue far better than 'Caster Magica'.

-"Are you searching for fight? Because I'm not certain your chances would be very high with the four of us.", Violet spoke for her step-sister. Her new room-mate at this point, but Lena still appreciated the gesture with all of her heart. It appeared Magica actually fired a shot, even if it was only a warning shot. Everyone tried to make good on that statement, looking as threatening as they could. Even Gladstone lifted his fists, adding a grand total of 4% to how threatening they were.

-"Maybe you are! Why can't you get away from me? What do you want? I don't have any more plans for the moment, I didn't do anything illegal for the last month, and you're taking my books from my cold, dead, hands!", the former-Sorceress Of The Shadows barked back defiantly, still pointing at them with her gun. "I don't care if you kill me! I'll take at least two of you down before I-"

-"Could you shut up?!", Lena cried out, her eye twitching and doing everything she could to not attack Magica. "We're here because...because...", she couldn't say it. She couldn't bring herself to ask her for help.

-"...You want to buy something?", her 'aunt' guessed, gun still pointing at her head, but apparently curious.

-"No."

-"You want to brag?"

-"...No.", okay, maybe they did, but they couldn't do that. Not now, anyway.

-"Are we here to rent the room?", Gladstone chimed in, scratching his head. Lena was certain Violet explained to him on the way here...but he apparently forgot.

-"I NEED YOUR HELP!", there, she spat it. She couldn't believe she said it, covering her face afterwards. She felt Violet's hand pat her and heard Webby saying something along the lines of 'There, there'.

-"...I'm sorry? Is this...Listen, it's the middle of September, the swamp is humid as all Hell and I'm trying to set up a fan, if you're just here to brag,", she said before adding 'as you McDucks do.' under her breath, "Then you can come sometime else, these garments aren't exactly fun to wear when the humidity is 85% today so-"

-"No, we need the help. But you'd better watch your back, you witch, because if you try to betray us, I'll shove this axe right down your head!", Webby warned threateningly, patting the kitten once more. Magica actually remained silent and judged what she said, and Lena decided it was time to uncover her face again.

-"And why would you need my help?", the witch repeated, lowering her weapon. Lena could just feel smugness radiating off of her, and she hated it with every molecule of her being.

-"There's a thief in town. He's stealing everyone's abilities. Everything about them. He's stealing it. He calls himself the Phantom Blot.", Violet answered, looking rather impatient with Magica, who smiled with a hum.

-"And why should that concern me?", she smugly inquired and...well, she wasn't wrong. Lena hated that she wasn't wrong.

-"The Phantom Blot hates magic and its users. He wants to eradicate the both of them and you, if I remember correctly, are a witch, yes?", the hummingbird explained, gaining a bit more of a reaction this time: A chuckle. They really couldn't find anyone else, huh?

-"Listen, Purple, if you can remember so well, then you might as well remember that Lena over there stole all of my power. I'm in no danger of this Phantom Blot.", she shot back, a taunting smile on her beak and crossing her arms.

-"Alright, listen up you freak, maybe you don't realize this, but he doesn't know that you don't have your powers. All he knows is that you were the single biggest magical spell to hit this town less than a year ago. I'd say you're still on his hit list.", not taking any more of this back-and-forth, the younger sorceress quipped, closing her hands together and trying a smirk of her own to counter the furious frown and growl her 'aunt' gave her.

-"And you're still on our hit list, you monster! So don't try to even think about doing anything funny!", Webby added, giving her best-friends a reassuring smile, though a somewhat threatening one.

-"I don't think I care about that too much."...she didn't? Oh. Well. There goes the entire base of their plans. "My family isn't here, neither is my home, I don't have my powers, I struggle to eat half-decent food, and I can't even make any new plans after that piece of-", she stopped herself, "Sorry, after Glomgold took everything I had monetarily. In other words, life isn't looking too great for me.", she finished indifferently, though a bit sad and bitter. Huh. That's...really odd. Bitter yes, but sad? Lena wouldn't have ever expected that from her.

-"Tough luck, lady. There's a great pharmacy that sells anti-depressants on the next corner. You know. If you're like me and lost all the joy your life ever had.", the former-luckiest duck in the world suggested darkly, pointing a thumb somewhere. "Look, I don't know you, you don't know me, but please just do me a favour, alright? I need your help. Magic or whatever I just...I just need my luck back. I need my life back. Can you please help us for the good of your heart?", he got down on his knees and begged, not showing too much emotion, but just enough to almost make you forget his bitterness a moment ago. Almost.

-"...Yeah, listen, the 'good of my heart' doesn't really exist, and even if it did, then I won't be giving it to you of all people.", well...Lena couldn't say she wouldn't say something similar to some duck she barely even knew. Unlike Magica, however, she'd actually accept. Probably. "But it seems Scrooge's thinking isn't there quite yet for all of you.", she stated, almost with disappointment, as she brought two fingers to her temple. "My life at this point is in danger...but that's not really what's motivating me here. What do I have to gain?", ah, straight to the point, are we?

-"What, keeping your life isn't enough for you?", her former-shadow snarked back, utilizing the opportunity to show no respect whatsoever. Ah, that felt good. It didn't feel good to see her nemesis laugh at her, however, as if she knew something she didn't.

-"Now, I may be misunderstanding this, but you don't have much time, yes? Phantom Bolt or whatever is already striking. Both of our lives are endangered, and if it means taking you out...well, I don't need to say much, eh?", oh, how Lena hated the smugness in her voice. They'd accounted for this, but she just wanted to punch her in her stupid beak so much!

-"Fine, does this make you any more inclined?", the younger witch pulled out a purple gem, dangling it from her finger and immediately making Magica's pupils widen.

-"My Sumerian Amulet!", she yelled, throwing herself on Lena, though not with so much force the latter wasn't able to repel her. Indeed, all the younger duckling had to do was raise a hand as her 'aunt' tried grabbing the amulet that was dangling so close to her.

-"There, feeling a bit more excited now?", the intelligent, sharp voice of Violet observed. "We know how much this means to you. Maybe you could even regain your magic with it, yes? This is as much as we're going to offer, so if you don't want it..."

-"...Fine!", came the near-instant response. Magica was biting her lower beak, looking majorly conflicted. "Alright, you have some of ol' Scroogie in you. You want my help? Fine. Fine, no really. How about we seal the deal, then? I help you with whatever it is you want to beat the Phantom Blot, you give me back my Sumerian Amulet, and we all try to kill each other sometime later, affaire conclue?", she extended a fingerless-ly gloved hand, looking all-too-gleeful about all of this. Lena knew the amulet was powerful, but the way Magica accepted their offer...it gave her second thoughts about giving her the amulet.

-"It means 'deal?', Mr.Gladstone.", she heard her step-sister tell the triplets' uncle. Apparently, he wasn't too fond of Magica's new terminology...but then again, neither was Lena. "Though I must wonder how you know of French, Magica.", the short hummingbird muttered as she extended a hand alongside the other three ducks.

-"I have some Savoyard cousins. You're not the only ones with a family here.", came the dry answer.

It took a moment of hesitation, with everyone almost certain that the other side will pull out at the last second. Then, suddenly, Webby's hand went forward and shook, or rather, grabbed Magica's. Violet soon followed, and Gladstone did as they did. That only left Lena, who stared at Magica. If she shakes this hand...she'll take orders from her again. She'll give her the amulet that will make her able to hurt her again. She didn't want to do this...but she had to. Not only for herself, but for her friends. For everyone who depended on her, she took a breath and forced her hand to shake with Magica's. It was...huh. Wow. Her fingers were tiny compared to Lena. How did she never notice?

-"Lovely. Now, you're trying to go after this Phantom Whatever, yes?", the cape-drapped witch asked, looking a bit more enthusiastic. She received a nod from everyone, Gladstone included. "Very well, I can make you an elixir to poison him, though it's going to take some-"

-"Woah woah woah, we're trying to defend ourselves here! Not everyone is a murderer like you!", Lena objected, waving her arms frantically just as her 'aunt' was going to enter her hut. She earned a disapproving stare. She hated them.

-"He's going to kill you, Lena. You're being naïve if you think showing kindness is going to change someone who's bent on murdering you.", the sorceress mocked, resting her hand on her hip. "Besides, why come here in the first place if you're all such big fans of Gandhi?"

-"We want you to teach Lena spell.", Webby replied, her axe still unsheathed, though it only gained an unimpressed look as her enemy got used to it. "We can defeat the Phantom Blot without resorting to your methods, and you'll see that yourself!", she proudly continued, lifting the axe a little higher.

-"A spell?", Magica repeated, mystified. "You...You want me to teach you a spell?! To be back where I belong? To rejoin my magical destiny-", oh, come on. Couldn't she stay clam for five minutes? Why was she acting like a hyperactive child all of sudden? That wasn't how she was supposed to act!

-"Yes, yes, all of that. Now if you could just-"

-"Ooooh, it feels good to be back!", deciding that two could play at the interruptions game, she ignored her 'niece' as she wrapped her cloak around her, covering her beak and moving her fingers for dramatic effect.

-"You are exhausting to be around, you know that?", Lena quipped, glaring at the far-too-gleeful duck in front of her.

-"I try. Now, what spell do you exactly want?"

-"We were thinking about trying a spell to locate the Phantom Blot.", Violet explained, and Lena couldn't help but notice Magica tilted her head just a teeny tiny bit. "We want to know where he is, and if possible, bring him to us.", she clarified, her dignified tone not wavering.

-"You seem worried, witch. Are you worried because you're trying to play us and now you can't?", Webby interrogated with her 'detective accent', looking suspicious to Magica's current indescribable expression.

-"No, it's not that, it's just...Locating people and things is more of a Teleporter thing...", she answered, almost begrudgingly.

-"Welp, we came to the wrong person. I told you! We needed a teleporter, we have a witch. And we made a deal. This is just fan-tastic.", ever the positive one, Lena ranted as she started walking around, waving her arms, exasperated.

-"Of course it would be you to not know magic-branches, Lena.", her 'aunt' scolded, noticing Webby's sudden axe-swing and trying to ignore the obvious threat. "Teleporting is magic. Just a branch of it. I'm more talented in the spells branch and the alchemy branch, alongside shadow-manipulation, of course. Teleporting...well, I can help you. I tried learning it, after all.", she boasted, mumbling the last part to herself more than to the ducklings surrounding her.

-"Branches, huh...And how can we know you're not just messing with us? You could be saying absolute mallarcky!", the seater-wearing duck accused, earning an undignified huff from the older sorceress.

-"I said I tried learning it, and not without some success.", she claimed, hoping to satisfy Lena's questions and just get closer to getting the darn amulet. She didn't. "Listen, my brother was a pretty good Teleporter. I'll tell you what he told me, alright?", she explained further, noticeably uncomfortable with what she was saying.

-"How come I never heard of him if he's so go-"

-"Because you've never spent more than two months in Europe, you brat! Don't you dare talk about the King Of Napoli like that!", she screamed, looking more threatening by the second. A full-blown beatdown was about to ensue if it wasn't for Gladstone, of all people.

-"Hey...I remember that name...He stole my car when I was on a trip in Europe! And my newly-won crown which I won in Barbaria!", he recounted, looking far-too-happy for what he was saying.

-"Bavaria.", Violet corrected.

-"Whatever, he just teleported in my car and stole it after throwing me out! And he had someone else with him, too!", the former-luck king continued, still looking inexplicably happy. "I never thanked him for his service! Some old lady saw the accident and thought I needed help, so she gave me one of her luxury jets to console me! Told me nobody was safe from the King Of Napopi.", he finished, a smile on his face. "That was before the whole...unlucky thing...", and now he was going to be depressed again.

-"See? Now just listen to what I tell you and you should be fine!", the elder duck ordered, apparently unable to sense the internal moment of struggle Lena had before she obeyed, taking a step forward.

-"Yes...Magica.", she muttered under her breath, standing in front of her arch nemesis' cold stare. Her friends were there to protect her. There was nothing to fear. Nothing to fear at all. This was just a forced training session. She was going to get through this.

-"I'd appreciate it if you call me Miss Magica.", and yet it didn't seem like her momentary teacher was willing to make this easy for the both of them. Holding her sly smile, she straightened her back and looked at her forced-apprentice for a second. "Let your magic run through you. Teleportation is a complex art, and all its branches need a constant flow of magic through one's self. Location is no different, let the magic run through your body.", she stated, trying to throw her cloak in a dramatic way.

-"Okay so...like this?", the tallest duckling asked, holding her right arm in front of her and sensing the tingling sensation of magic as it coursed through her. She came to control it after a multitude of attempts, so this wasn't much of a trial. "Oh, and since I might as well milk you for whatever you're worth, can I change this colour? I hate this purple.", she wondered, noting that she didn't get any reply before forcing her vocal cords to add "Miss Magica?"

-"Hmm, well, I don't know, the colour of one's magic is determined by both their will and their chosen Branch of Magic, I had to go through lots of training to change my magic's colour, and since this is my magic,", she pointed at the flame-like purple shape that surrounded her 'niece', "It's going to take a lot of time for you to change it back. But it's no special technique. Some can immediately change it, others cannot. It comes eventually.", she continued indifferently, paying attention to the magic that was radiating off of Lena.

-"Don't talk to Lena like that!", the Vanderquack reaffirmed her stance on Magica as she exchanged glares with the now-dysfunctional sorceress.

-"Webs, it's fine. I can deal with her.", her best-friend answered, turning her attention back to her teacher. Oh, how she hated that she had to refer to her as that! Nevertheless, she was surprised she actually got an answer. She expected some insults and nothing else, but it seemed that once they had a deal...she worked with it. It was...unnerving.

-"When it comes to searching for something, you must see it with your blind eye. You must both wish for it, see it in your mind, and release enough magical surges to clear the way for you. Only then will you sense where what you search for lies. For example, I have a red neckerchief in my house with a raven on it in my home. Try sensing where it is.", the DeSpell explained emotionlessly, guiding Lena a bit closer to her home.

She closed her eyes, as she was told, and tried seeing the neckerchief. Red...raven...yep, pretty plain alright. And yet...she tried releasing energy as she was told, but the only thing that was getting released was a bunch of aimless magical balls that deflated on the ground. She couldn't sense anything. She had the image in her brain, but she couldn't really...get 'it', if that made any sense.

-"Not good. As expected, you cannot properly use my magic. Perhaps you need to be more emotionally motivated to feel the 'click'?", of course it would be like Magica to benefit off this situation. Of course. Well, at least she was partially right. Lena grunted as a response, not wanting to give her trainer any more satisfaction than necessary. "Then we must up the risks a bit.", the elder sorceress claimed moving a bit to where her friends stood.

-"Listen here, Magica! Lena's trying her best, and we have no need for you! If you ever- Hey! My...bow...", in an instant, there was a 'splash'. The eldest of the ducklings turned around to see Webby without her iconic bow staring into the stagnant water of the swamp, shocked and furious at the same time. "That was a gift from my grandma!", she yelled back.

-"Oh, quit it, you want to help your oh-so-precious friends, yes? Then let me teach!", the witch shot coldly, evading an axe swing with relative ease, watching as the energetic duckling gritted her beak; they had no one to trust but her. "Now, Lena, this swamp is filled with alligators and all sorts of nasty creatures. If we don't find Debby's bow in five minutes, it might as well be gone forever. If you can find where I threw it, I'll go get it myself. Sounds good?", too good. Especially that last part. In fact, only that last part, since Lena had little faith that she could succeed.

When everyone around her went silent, the young witch turned her head to Webby. She looked distraught. Closing her eyes once more, she faced the swamp and tried sensing for the bow. Pink, small, and plain. It was a rather noticeable part of Webby. Something that clearly meant a lot for her. If she could find it...Then she'd have helped her friends. She saw it...she willed it...and she started releasing magical sparks. For a moment, just like last time, they merely deflated.

Then, all of a sudden...she felt 'it'. A guiding feeling...like an arm on her shoulders. It made her open her eyes, but she could still see the bow. She saw it. She felt it. It was pulsing...the pulsing pushed her to where it came from:...Away from the water? It was behind her. But the only thing behind her was...she turned around to look at Magica, who had a detestably smug expression on her face as she showed Lena her fingerless-ly gloved left hand. The glove had a small bulge near the wrist.

-"Seems as if I was correct.", was all she said. Lena didn't growl or frown this time. She had no reason to. It slightly angered her to agree with her 'aunt', but as far as correctness went, there wasn't much to critique here. "I learnt this little trick as a little girl. It can help you in a tough spot.", she added as she removed it from under her glove, throwing it into her student's hand. "There, I made good on my promise, right?"

...She did?...Well, yes, she did teach her. Lena thought that she didn't mention some things, such as the formula or how much energy one should dedicate, but in the end, those details were all discovered by her apprentice with no need for more external help. She, should she follow the instructions correctly, was now technically able to find the Phantom Blot.

Then why did she feel something wrong? She felt as if something wasn't quite...right, to put it simply. She expected a bigger fight with Magica. Harsher treatment. Little to no emotions, but it was just...meh. Nothing too big. She stared again the the elder witch. She was smiling. It was a smug smile alright, but it was a smile. It wasn't something she expected to see of Magica. Perhaps as a result of her disdain for her 'aunt' she, too, came to see her as incapable of being a person.

-"I guess so...", she murmured, knowing exactly where her former-teacher at this point was going. She prepared her amulet, not wishing to give it away. "Her name is Webby, by the way.", she added, not getting a response

-"I told you my brother was a good teacher.", her fifteen-minute trainer mumbled, more to herself than to anyone else, and Lena felt awkward. She stared back at her friends.

-"I...uh. Sorry about him. Dying. I guess.", she whispered but it caught the attention of Magica, and she looked positively shocked. "Don't look so shocked. Respect the dead and all that.", that came out wrong. So wrong. If she meant to disrespect him, she couldn't have done worse.

-"Heh...listen, sometimes faking death is a bit easier with magic on your side. If you're willing to share a bit more than the amulet, then maybe I can tell you about him.", she smiled again, though this was one of her more typical smiles, if still an actual smile. Huh. Curious

But just as the newly trained sorceress was about to say something, a 'zap' echoed in the swamp. There was light for a moment, and Magica had to jump to avoid the bolt that zapped a part of her hair and neck. Everyone turned in a split second to see a black-clothed figure with green eyes and a metallic glove on his right hand.

-"And I was just about to pick this four-leaved clover, too...", was the only sentence uttered for a solid minute. And by Gladstone of all people.

The Phantom Blot looked menacing. Pure, undiluted, unadulterated intimidation radiated off of his clothed figure. From afar, you wouldn't be blamed if you thought he was a medieval executioner. The metallic glove on his hand looked more electronic than medieval on closer inspection, but that didn't matter too much. His eyes, fully green by some method, conveyed little emotions, but there's something Lena sensed from him: Hatred.

-"Finally...", his clunky, distorted and terrifying voice announced, his footsteps calculated and his eyes focused. "It seems my searching has led me to the most vile of beings, at last.", he added, closing his fist.

-"The most vile of beings? Listen, I heard some nasty things about ducks, but come on man-", Gladstone tried countering, only to receive a bolt that knocked him over, making him grunt.

-"Not you, you imbecile! These WITCHES!", he cried, hatred drenching his words as he advanced. He most certainly had an accent...But Lena couldn't just pin-point it...though she thought she heard it sometime in the past...

-"These what now?", Magica repeated, apparently offended.

-"WITCHES!", he repeated, not slowing his advance as the group of ducks slowly backed off. "You come in with your magic, destroy cities with your undeserved power, and you...you're never satisfied! You always want more! You never leave something to the people who work for their power!", he ranted shooting a couple of bolts that forced the group the yell and retreat further to Magica's hut.

-"Oh. Witches. I think I still hate you, but a little less than when I thought you said-"

-"It would just be like you to show up now, huh?!", back to interrupting Magica, it was Lena who couldn't keep it in her head anymore. "I spend an hour with Magica to learn how to find you and you just show up like that?! Couldn't you have came in a little early?! Do you have any idea what kind of deal we made?!", she complained, ranting at him, and forcing him to do a double take on her words.

-"Not only are you a witch, but you are a sore loser. I could make my nonna's pasta with that much salt!", he mocked, doing a small laugh that almost sounded dead...like, the whole laughing part was there, but there was no spirit behind it. Just a sick, twisted glee.

-"Hey, hold it there for a minute, you're italian?", Magica asked, flabbergasted. Ah. Right. Sometimes Magica lost control of her British accent in front of Lena. Now she remembered. But really? This was the thing she asked about? Why would that matt-

-"Indeed, and my heart shall always remain there! It is why I find great pleasure and cleaning Napoli of your filth!", he growled, firing another shot which she barely avoided but backing her into the tree where her hut was located.

-"Oooh, you're digging your own grave here, you Blot! I am a proud Neapolitan, and the mere name is much more than wherever you're from!", she challenged, pointing an accusing finger as the other ducks stared at each other. They didn't know what exactly was unfolding in front of them, but it couldn't have been anything good.

-"Don't you dare insult Genova, you wretch!", he shot back, almost losing his nerves for a second before calming down. "No. I am much better than losing my nerves to a fiend like you! Prepare for justice!", he suddenly declared, and the speed of it made Magica unable to dodge the bolt he fired, punching her into Gladstone, who tried hiding behind her, and throwing the both of them into the trunk of her tree. She fell down with a hard 'crack', leaving Gladstone in a duck-shaped impression.

-"Wh-Why me...?!", he lamented before falling. The sorceress tried getting up but she limped.

-"Magica!", Lena yelled. Why did she yell? Why could she possibly yell?...Because if she dies, he's going after them. Definitely. She ran, trying to raise a shield to protect her from another, more frightening zap that would've hit her. Heck, even then, it shattered Lena's shield. Crud, this guy really isn't messing around anymore. But then a pink figure shined behind the Phantom. Yes! Webby was doing it!

-"How's this for justice!", she cried from behind him as she jumped, but he was good. Too good. He managed to spin his entire figure, raise his mechanical weapon and take a fighting pose at once, stopping his assailant's hit. Oh. This guy wasn't going to be any fun, was he?

-"You...Hah! It wasn't enough!", he bragged, pulling the battle-axe from his glove as his previous wielder suffered from the vibrations of hitting a metal. One powerful grab and swing from his glove sent Webby back to her friends, face in the dirt, and with no weapon.

-"What kind of justice are you hoping to achieve?!", cried Violet, hoping to buy them some time. It didn't work, and he only accelerated his assault, firing multiple electrical charges or whatever these were, forcing the ducks to separate.

-"Justice is not my primary concern, hummingbird. I am a criminal, after all, but if I can do my job and rid the world of this evil, then I shall take the initiative!", he calmly replied, not paying any attention to the fact that most of them were getting zapped or were running in terror. "But enough playing around, I do not wish to fail now!", he stopped, preparing what seemed to be a worse, more powerful form of his weapon.

-"Lena, do you think we can take him on?", Violet asked, trying to get them regroup.

-"Nope."

-"Webby, do you have any more weapons?", she turned to the Vanderquack, trying to assume to role of the leader.

-"Don't really think they're going to affect him.", she answered pulling out a few knives that looked like toothpicks comapred to her axe.

-"Mr.Gladstone-"

-"Don't have my luck; can't do anything.", came the reply.

-"...Magica?", she asked her voice a bit desperate.

-"My shotgun has one more round in it.", she declared, pointing it at their attacker, who finished upgrading himself and was about to shoot once again. "We're going to die, aren't we?"

-"Probably.", Lena answered her, watching the black-wearing man as he began shooting at them again.

Well. Nothing else to do but to face the music, as they say. Whoever 'they' is. And whatever that meant. And whatever that had to do with their situation. Oh, give her a break. She didn't have time to think about this fight of theirs. Magic versus one very wronged, apparently, and angry man and his technology. The fight of the century.

The Phantom versus The Sorceress. Time to see how long they can stay alive.

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #magica de spell #phantom blot #webby vanderquack #violet sabrewing #lena de spell #fanfiction #my writing #head-canons

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werejusttouchingeachother · 5 years ago

Text

PARIS 2017 [September 29th, 12:47AM]

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 T/W: mild cursing? Words: 4579

“Have you been here before?”

Baekhyun’s voice sounds clearer in the cool Parisian night, clearer than you’d heard it before. Maybe it’s because it’s the first time you’re actually paying attention solely to the man beside you and just allowing your feet to carry you mindlessly around the city whose streets had been committed to memory but his words sound crisp and melodic.

You’d always liked his voice. Although you listened to EXO’s songs a lot and maybe had a slight liking towards Sehun—he was cute and you loved his husky but smooth raps—you’d always appreciated Baekhyun’s vocals, especially the bridges with his high-notes.

However, you never expected to hear this voice so close.

And especially not to moan in your ear in a dark room as he laid on top of you.

Your brain momentarily crashed like the pages of an internet browser as the memory of what happened earlier today resurfaced and you cleared your throat involuntarily, realising simultaneously that he was waiting for you answer.

Shit. What had he asked? Oh, right, if you’ve been here before.

“What, Paris?” You asked, looking around for the first time since you stepped out of the hotel and nodding. “Yeah, quite a bit. It is the fashion central, after all. Even before the boutique, I used to visit to research and learn. I was an apprentice here for a while.”

“Did you study designing then?” Baekhyun asked curiously, moving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

You hesitate, not knowing what exactly to say and how much of it you could say. Several veteran designers in the industry still considered you a ‘rookie’ and a ‘newbie’ but you’d been around for more than a couple of years and it was enough to have several interviewers ask you the same question that Baekhyun had just asked and still have you momentarily pause the exact same way.

Baekhyun shoots you a glance at your silence and you clear your throat again, answering, “Not... exactly. My parents weren't exactly supportive of me so I was forced to attend medical school. I’d been failing because I busied myself with a lot of work on the side to make money so I could drop out and pursue what I actually wanted.”

You’re regretting the words as soon as they’ve left your mouth, already wondering if you’ve said too much. Especially since this was your first actual conversation and a small teeny tiny part of you didn’t want it to be the last which is why you were worried if you’d scared him away already with your sob story of how you went from rags to… well, designer.

Baekhyun nods, his eyebrows furrowed more in an expression of concern rather than awkwardness at hearing something quite personal as he slowly says, “I guess it worked then?”

You laugh at his hopeful tone, replying, “In the most chaotic way, yeah, I think so. The medical school kicked me out because of my grades and low attendance and that lead to my parents kicking me out of the house so I just took all the money I had and worked multiple jobs that would all help me pay to reach my goal and as hellish as that was, it worked out in the end.”

You trail off and notice that Baekhyun is staring at you intently. You can see the question in his eyes, the question that he's hesitant to ask but you cheerfully brush it off, forcing yourself to sound happier as you continue, "But hey, I’m in Paris right now and I’m wearing clothes that I created and so is that man over there.”

Baekhyun doesn’t look away from your face even when you point at the gentleman across the street who is sporting a jacket from your last year’s fall collection. You smile slightly, still feeling your heart swell up with pride at the sight despite it being a common occurrence now due to your brand’s popularity and you mumble, “I have a boutique three blocks away from here—in Paris—and I just finished my own runway—again, in Paris—so, I guess it’s not all bad.”

He smiles, his cheeks puffing slightly as he nods in agreement. “Fruits of success. It’s worth it.”

You can feel him hesitate as he starts to ask something but you cut him off again before he can even ask it by questioning, “What about you? Idol life is treating you well, I suppose, since you can branch out and explore designing now?”

His smile turned wry at that, broad shoulders raising slightly in a half-shrug. “I mean, I guess so. I’ve always been interested in fashion so this is a great opportunity. I’m honestly pretty excited for it.”

You grin genuinely at that, unable to stop yourself at how adorable he looked when he said that, his eyes becoming little crescent moons at how he smiles. “I’m excited for you too, Baekhyun.”

He raises an eyebrow at that, looking like he didn’t believe you in the slightest. “Oh really?”

“What’s that tone supposed to mean?” You ask defensively, stopping to look at him. “I am!”

“Even after everything I said?” Baekhyun turns to face you completely, brown eyes focused on yours. As much as you loved the grey lenses from the show earlier, you found that you could breathe easier when these were gazing at you.

“You apologised,” you rolled your eyes. “I've let it go so why haven't you?”

“Cause I feel like you haven't and you're just pretending," he replies wryly. At your incredulous look, he scoffs, “Oh, come on. You and I both know that you’ve been holding what I said against me all this time.”

He pauses before he suddenly smirks, eyes glinting in a way that has you apprehending what he’s going to say next before he even says it. "Well. At least, you were until you were literally up against me—”

“Hey!” You shout, pointing to an area behind Baekhyun where you could see a bright red board. “Does that board read ‘Little Seoul’? Oh my god, THAT’S TTEOKBOKKI!”

You don’t wait for him to turn as you run past him, certain that your entire face was flushed brighter than the board that you were running to. You hurriedly skipped down the few brick steps and approached the small stall with the petite brunette who smiled welcomingly at you.

“Hello,” you greeted politely, smiling at her and trying to calm your pounding heart. The woman’s gaze riveted behind you and you stilled slightly, quickly pointing to the tteokbokki.

“Do you want one?” You asked Baekhyun without looking at him, feeling his arm brush against yours as he stood beside you.

“Sure,” he chuckled softly, his tone filled with amusement. You peer at the menu board on the side of the truck with faked interest in an attempt to avoid talking to him and even without glancing at him, you knew he was gazing at you with that teasing lilt to his lips that had taken an almost permanent place on his face when around you.

You take the two small plates that she hands to you, the bottom warm and comforting against your cool palm as you give one to Baekhyun.

“God, it’s been so long since I’ve had this,” you mutter as you bite into the saucy rice cake. You make a sound of happiness at that back of your throat as the spiciness hits your tongue, bursting with flavour. He hasn’t bitten into his yet, your words causing him to furrow his eyebrows in confusion as he asks, “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been craving tteokbokki for almost a month now,” you explain, licking the sauce off your lips as you chew it happily, loving the fat spongy texture and swallowing before continuing, “Either I never have time to go out to have it myself or when I do, it’s late and the Korean restaurants are closed.”

Like now.

You frown in realisation and glance up at the smiling woman as you switch to French and ask, “How long are you open?”

She pauses for a moment, as if not expecting you to speak French and quickly replies, making your eyes widen as you glanced down at the street.

“She said that there was a Korean food fest going on over here,” you translate, looking around and seeing a few food trucks at the farthest end of the street although they were closed. “Apparently today was the last day and this is open only for a couple more hours. I guess that makes us pretty lucky, huh?”

You turn to him and notice him staring at you. “What?” You ask.

“You know French?” Baekhyun asks, his tteokbokki untouched.

“Oh. I mean,” you shrugged nonchalantly. “Kind of, I guess? I’ve been here for a while so I know the basics. Enough to get by but not fluent, though.”

“Something is better than nothing,” he mutters, grabbing the chopsticks and finally digging into the food.

You stare at him, confused about his tone and just start to ask him about it when he raises his head and looks at you. "So? What's the deal? Missing Korean food?”

You nod, swallowing what’s in your mouth to answer him. “It’s been a while since I've been back in Korea so yeah, I haven’t eaten it for a long time. You know what I miss most? This. Street food open at 3AM. Drinking soju in public without being fined for it."

"Wi-Fi,” Baekhyun interjects drily and you groan in agreement, nodding profusely.

“Why don’t you come back then?” He asks curiously, biting into the rice cake. “A vacation couldn’t hurt, right?”

You don’t respond, taking time to slowly eat the tteokbokki as you stall answering his question but he doesn’t catch on as he prods further, “Wait, Korea wasn’t mentioned in your website. Do you have an outlet there?”

You shake your head, still chewing and he continues, “You should! It’s a shame that you don’t have it there yet.”

You stay silent as you figure out what to reply, wondering what to filter out and Baekhyun catches the shift in the atmosphere as he lowers the plate, turning to face you more fully, waiting silently for you to answer.

Hesitating, you finally say lowly, “I have a lot of bad memories in Korea. Whether it was home or school or just… my parents.”

You trail off quietly towards the end, swallowing the words that were threatening to leave your mouth: ‘Korea suffocates me. I can never stay too long there without being reminded of my bedroom where I was locked for days, forced to look at anatomical charts and medical textbooks. How my only happiness when growing up was looking up at the sky and imagining skyscrapers and the Eiffel tower—how that helped me breathe better but then I’d blink and see cherry blossoms and I’d feel suffocated again.’

You don’t realise you were spaced out and just staring down at your plate until you felt sauce smear on your lips. You raised your head to see Baekhyun holding out a tteokbokki slice on his chopstick in front of your mouth, nodding at you to eat it. You blink, shaking yourself out of your slight trance and wrap your lips around the bit that he fed you, chewing it with a small smile.

“You know,” he says, pulling his chopstick back to his own plate as he thinks. “That’s more of a reason to start one. You should flaunt your success. Prove that it wasn’t such a bad decision to follow your own dreams, after all.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you mutter softly, thinking about what he said. The atmosphere is slightly terse with the shift in conversation and you want to kick yourself in the face for bringing up your shitty past and ruining the mood when Baekhyun suddenly starts talking about how the tteokbokki tastes surprisingly better than the ones he had in Korea. He then tells you how he usually refrains from eating so late into the night—or technically, morning—since it makes his face bloat and he even puffs his cheeks to demonstrate to you exactly how bad it can get but you’re giggling at how round and mochi his face is, teasing him about how it isn’t that bad of a look and that he looks almost like a chipmunk stuffing his cheeks for the winter.

Even though you would never openly admit it, after that breakfast buffet at the hotel, you’d went back to your room and searched up a lot on Byun Baekhyun. Unsurprisingly, everything that the internet gave you was information on EXO’s Baekhyun and even though you forcefully suppressed smiling and laughing at his silly antics and contagious smile in almost every interview—he wasn’t called the crackhead clown of the group for nothing—you had wondered whether it was just an image created by the agency, or just a persona he maintained in front of the cameras.

Strolling with Baekhyun on this chilly night in the streets of Paris, however, had quickly opened your eyes to how wrong your assumption was. He was the easiest person to hold a conversation with, someone who surprised you with how hard he got you laughing and who never gave your thoughts a chance to be led astray. The whole time that you’d spent dressing at the hotel, you were worried about how the night would go—whether it’d be awkward, whether you two would just end up arguing again, whether you would regret agreeing to go out with him, whether Seoyeon’s warning would end up scaring you into overthinking and chickening out before you could wander very far.

But you’d been pleasantly surprised by how the night was going.

In fact, you lost track of time.

And despite living a hectic life where that was a common occurrence, never had time been lost while strolling leisurely across the streets of your most favourite city in the entire world.

Perhaps one of the most magical things about Paris was the way the city seemed to change at night, an almost magical mist entering the air as the lights began to sparkle brighter—making you feel similar to the way that you did when you drank too much French wine, almost deliriously gleeful. Your heart raced every time you looked up, never tiring of seeing the beautiful skyline as you breathed in the cool air. Paris always made you feel the same way you did when you’d first seen it, immortal in its immaculate beauty, in the way that it made you feel like no time had passed since that first breath you took of the city. Even the most cynical person would begin to hope here, would feel the tug in their heartstrings.

It was the city of love and even if one didn’t find someone under these skies, they would leave while unknowingly carrying a piece of Paris in their heart.

You lead Baekhyun to the Eiffel tower, watched his eyes sparkle with the reflection of the lights shining brightly in the night as the two of you stood at a distance with a perfect view—one that wasn’t too crowded by tourists. He didn’t stop talking then either, exclaiming, “Wah, it’s really so pretty,” over and over again until you were rolling your eyes, grabbing him by his sleeve as you tugged him down 31st Avenue, along the alleys that the other tourist guides wouldn’t ever care to show but were your personal favourites—you excitedly babbled about the history and architecture of the pretty bricked-road streets, talking about how you’d wandered aimlessly for months as an apprentice when you first came to Paris with hardly any money and just a head full of dreams.

Baekhyun is keenly paying attention, his dark eyes always on you and a little smile on his face as he watches you almost stumble over your words in your rush to tell him everything about the quirky vintage stores that had the cutest tees, recommending him to visit it during the day when it’s open and that he could use it as inspiration. He’s quick to grab your waist and pull you aside when someone speeds past you on their cycle in that narrow alley, his hand lingering a little longer than necessary as he gazes down at you before letting go.

Now you’re sitting on the roof of a building that faced the Seine, both your legs hanging off the edge and you’d expected Baekhyun to be more concerned about the fact that you’d taken him to a restricted area that definitely wasn’t for loitering around and could definitely get the two of you in trouble if the security caught you but he’s only too content to follow your lead and sit beside you to listen as you pointed out your favourite fancy restaurant, your favourite café, the corner where your favourite street performers—Lucetta, who played the guitar and her brother Noah who sang along with it every Saturday and Sunday night.

You learn things about him that you didn’t read off the internet: Baekhyun tells you how he misses his members whenever he’s out doing a solo project or promotion, how passionate he’s been about singing from when he was a child, how much he loves and misses his mom who still babies him especially since they don’t meet as frequently as they’d like to, how Europe always makes his heart ache because of all the people walking their dogs which reminds him of Mongryong, how he hates it when anyone feels left out and how he gets easily concerned over people.

“Like you, tonight,” Baekhyun cites as an example. “I’m actually surprised you’re still… upright. Especially when all you’ve had tonight is, what, coffee from the morning and that tteokbokki?”

You nod sheepishly and he shakes his head at you. “You really shouldn’t do something like that. It’s really bad for your health. You work with models every day, shouldn’t you be setting better examples?”

“I know, I know,” you respond weakly, sighing as you pick at the hem of your shirt. “I’ll… eat better.”

“And I should believe you, why?” His tone is slightly mocking and you can’t help yourself as you turn to him a small grin of your own, muttering, “Well, because of the two of us, I’m the one who doesn’t lie to people’s faces.”

Baekhyun groaned loudly, smacking his palm tiredly over his face as he says, “I’m going to jump, I swear I am—or I should just push you off.”

You’re laughing at his tone as his hand comes to your arm playfully, threatening to push you off and you place your hand over his to shove him off instead but his hand loosens around your arm, fingers splaying beneath your own. Your eyes are immediately on your hand hovering over his, reminding you of the power room with the switches.

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks with the sudden thought and your body stills in a way that you’re certain he noticed. You’re not even sure if you’re breathing as you feel his slender fingers on your arm, his touch searing into your skin even through the thick fabric of your jacket.

You slowly lift your eyes from his hand to his face only to realise that he’s already gazing at you.

It’s the same gaze. The one from the power room, the one from the hallway at the hotel, the one he gave you in your room, the one he gave you as you bought tteokbokki.

You can’t believe you were such a fool to think his natural chocolate eyes were less lethal than the grey lenses from the fashion show—not with this gaze.

And you were willing to bet that his eyes could be any colour under the damn sun but that gaze would still get you in trouble, regardless.

You can feel his warm breath hit your mouth, his pouty lips parted in a way that made it quite difficult to look away from them. The warmth and the electricity in the air crackling around you was such a contrast to the chilly breeze and you didn’t realise that the both of you had been leaning in until the tip of his nose met yours halfway.

A loud horn blares through the air suddenly, startling both of you.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, your heart in your throat as you whip your head around to see a familiar boat on the Seine approaching the shore. You can faintly feel his lips on your cheek, having met with it by your sudden movement. It’s the softest, gentlest butterfly touch and you’re not even sure if you only imagined it. You definitely feel Baekhyun’s sigh against your face as he turns to follow your gaze but your eyebrows are furrowed as you stare at the familiar boat.

“Wait, is that…,” You trail off as you try to read the name but you already know that it’s Gemini from the red and blue colours.

And Gemini reaches shore at…

You hurriedly pull your phone out from your jacket and your eyes widen as you loudly exclaim, “Oh my God, its 4AM!”

Baekhyun doesn’t seem too bothered, staring at the approaching boat with a distant look in his eyes, lost in thought. You stand up and tug his shoulder to pull him up, Baekhyun slowly following your lead with a sigh.

“You have a schedule, you know,” you remind him as you quietly climb over the chain barriers that signalled the rooftop as a restricted area.

“Yeah, so do you,” Baekhyun retorted childishly, making you roll your eyes with a smile at his tone as the two of you hurriedly walk out of the building and sneakily stride past the sleeping security.

You both stand on the pavement, facing the main road as you pat your coat down for your wallet. With a growing trepidation, you glance over at Baekhyun and give him a nervous smile. He raises an eyebrow in question and you ask, “You don’t happen to have any money on you, do you?”

His eyebrows furrow in confusion as he searches his own pockets, muttering curses when he came up empty.

“I thought you could afford meals for both of us,” you said wryly and his eyes widened as he held his hands out.

“I can!” He exclaimed. “I left my wallet back at the hotel. Shit. Wait. Who paid for the tteokbokki?”

“Me,” you replied, checking your phone. “I just had a few euros in my pocket, I forgot to take my wallet too.”

“I’m so sorry, I’ll pay you back at—”

“Don’t be stupid, you’ll do no such thing—wait,” you muttered as you scrolled through your contacts. “I guess we were both so excited that we just forgot to take money for dinner or even have the dinner.”

“Oh. You’re right. Do you want to have dinner?”

“What? No. Its 4AM, you have a schedule, are you not listening to me? Also, we have no money.”

Baekhyun blinks, glancing around. “How far are we from the hotel?”

“About two hours away, walking distance,” you say, giving him a guilty smile when his wide eyes turn to you. You raise your phone at him, trying to reassure him as you exclaim, “Its fine! Don’t worry, I’ll just call Seoyeon and ask her to pick us up.”

Baekhyun’s shoulders tense at that. You’re checking your phone as he repeats, “Seoyeon? Your assistant?”

“The short green-haired girl who is always with me,” you nod, giving him a small smile. “She’s more than an assistant, actually—she’s more like family. We met when I came here as an apprentice and she was studying at a business school. We became really close and she just decided that she wanted to help create my empire alongside me. She’s seen me at my worst and helped me reach my best so yeah, definitely more than just an assistant.”

Baekhyun stayed silent as you sent her texts asking if she was asleep before finally asking, “Wouldn’t she be mad if you called her so late?”

“Not really, its fine, we just planned to get brunch tomorrow so maybe we could postpone it and—”

“Not that,” Baekhyun interrupts. “Wouldn’t she be mad that you didn’t listen to her?”

You stop, your finger freezing over the call icon on her contact. You raised your head, staring at him in confusion.

He couldn't possibly...

“I kind of overheard your conversation in your dressing room,” Baekhyun confesses softly, eyes carefully watching your reaction.

Oh god, he did he did he did.

Your eyes are wide with the growing panic and Baekhyun immediately raises his hands in an effort to either reassure you or defend himself, you weren’t sure. “I didn’t mean to, I swear, I wasn't eavesdropping. I came by to talk to you and then I heard her say my name and I just... happened to hear. Yeah.”

You’re quiet, scrambling for a response, wondering how much he heard as he says, “She’s not wrong, you know?”

You raise your eyebrow at his words, pausing before you ask, “What do you mean?”

“Everything she said. You getting hurt. The risks and all of it.” He hesitated before continuing, “After the power room, I was going to apologise and ask you out to dinner anyway. Then, I heard this conversation and I thought against it. I thought it was best to leave. But… but something wouldn’t let me. I wanted to ask you. And I decided that if you refused or came up with a stupid excuse or even just bluntly denied, I would stop. I wouldn’t approach you at all after that, I’d tell Hyungnim I got your help and return to Korea tomorrow on the first flight back without ever crossing paths again. But then at the hotel, you... you hesitated too. You wanted to refuse me, I could see it in your eyes but something stopped you too. So here we are.”

You’re at a loss for words as you stare at him, taken aback what he just said. You don’t know what to make of what he had just revealed but all you can focus on is the incredible sense of relief rushing through you at the realisation that it wasn’t just you who felt this way—the uncertainty, the fear of regretting this, the fear of making a mistake.

The two of you are silent as you stare at each other, the cold Parisian wind blowing hard around you and filling the silence between you.

Your voice is husky as you ask, “What does this mean then? This. Us.”

“I think I just wanted to see where the night would go.”

“So did I.” You hesitate. “What do you think?”

“I think... I think that I want more nights like these. Or mornings. See where those go too. I don't want to go back.” Baekhyun pauses before he smiles. “Also I kind of really do need your help with Privé, I don’t know what I'm doing anymore and Hyungnim said I can't release something completely monochrome.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you press ‘call’ and hold the phone up to your ear, saying, “Screw Hyungnim, if you want monochrome, we’ll do monochrome.”

#bbh-net #exosnet #exo fic #mshm baekfic #baekhyun fanfic #exo baekhyun #byun baekhyun #fluff #romance #smut #angst #idol!au #chapter 4 #mshm 4 #paris #that's it for today #will update masterlist in a bit

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ghost-chance · 4 years ago

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Fanfiction Recommendation: “Fat. Beautiful. Tasty. Ravenous” by MoofyKitten

Title: Fat. Beautiful. Tasty. Ravenous Author: MoofyKitten on AO3/FFN/Wattpad Fandom: BNHA/My Hero Academia Rating: M/MA for a reason. (Detailed sex in over half the posted chapters. Perv away only if you’re of age!) Pairing(s): Fat Gum [Toyomitsu Taishirou] / OFC Found on: AO3

Deets Expect some light spoilers and a mini-rant.

I am an unrepentant fanfiction addict; this is no secret. There are fics I read to wind down after a rough day, fics I read to put myself to sleep in hopes of pleasant dreams, and fics I read to tear my hear into teeny tiny fragments then build it back again better than before. THEN there are fics that don’t fit the mold – the kind that I become so invested in that I physically cannot put off reading that update. THIS, my lovelies, is one of THOSE fics, and it’s earned that place from the early chapters. This story has almost everything I need from a fanfiction, and I have a feeling the rest is just around the corner.

Let’s get the basics out of the way.

The Spelling, grammar, and punctuation are all excellent – I have yet to notice a single error, so either the author and her betas are a force to be reckoned with or I’m just getting so sucked into the story an elephant could sit on me and I’d never notice. The formatting is effective and easy to follow, and the chapters have all been of a nice meaty length, perfect for plowing through in a single sitting only to realize you missed a meal and it’s time for bed and your brain is hopelessly lost in ship-land daydreaming about what’s up next. ...wait, that’s just me? My bad.

Syntax – This one requires an entire section of its own. The fact that I’m having to actually think about how well the author’s varying their syntax says they’re effing nailing it. If a story’s syntax is at all static or the sentence even the slightest bit predictable, it’s easy enough for me to recall it because I’m mentally rearranging the bits that irk or don’t impress me as I read. I can’t even get through a bleepin’ news article or an online recipe without itching to push what I’m reading up to the standards my professors held. It sounds harsh, I know, but please take my word for it when I say I’m not criticizing anyone. Suffice it to say, if my classes did anything, they made editing so instinctive I can’t turn it off. Confession: I have never found myself rearranging a single phrase in this masterpiece. Arguing with the characters? Encouraging the characters? Begging, pleading, and berating the characters for breaking my heart time and time again by stopping just short of the sugary fluff I can just smell right around the corner? Oh, Hell yes. I’ve done all of that and more, but I’ve never found myself with the urge to grab my red pen and strike out or scooch even a single word.

Something that strikes me about this story above others I’ve given the same rating (Spoiler: there are VERY FEW!) is the sheer variety of the scenes and environments. Sounds silly? Probably, but romances often develop a certain amount of location stagnation, and I know from personal experience how difficult it can be to bust through those patterns. (I mean, the majority of “A New Lease on Life” takes place in the Lair in some room, most commonly a bedroom, the lab, or the kitchen.) This story takes the couple off of familiar and ‘safe’ turf like homes and offices and drags them through countless other places without regard for their sense of comfort. Each scene feels real and multi-dimensional and directly or indirectly influences the characters’ behavior and reactions. It’s awesome. That’s a sign the author has done her people-watching!

Now, about that OC. I’ll readily admit, in the first chapter, I had my reservations. At first glance she seemed shallow, obsessed with appearances and her own view of the world, and – strange as it may sound – too skinny and too attractive. Yes, there’s some personal bias involved there, but the majority was practical rather than emotional. BUT! Because the writer of this story is the same who unleashed the beautiful Kacchako torment Hot-Headed upon me without a single breath of remorse, I gave Aiko a chance. Sure enough, my first impressions were entirely incorrect. The things that bothered me about Aiko? They all had explanation or purpose, and she’s turned out to be a pretty well-fleshed out character...pun intended. As the story progresses we’re seeing sides of her that I hoped for but didn’t expect and each chapter leaves me wondering what we’ll learn next.

Romantic connection. First word: “OOFTA.” The second word, I’d spell out, but it’s a shrill, wordless, begging whine that I cannot translate into English for the life of me. This pairing starts without any sort of romantic connection; it skips straight to the shenanigans and leaves hope that the snugglebunnies will follow eventually. Friends…if you’ve read any of my writing before, you’ll know that I. LIVE. For. The. FLUFF. The awkward mush, the sweaty palms, the am-I-gonna-barf-or-do-I-have-a-crush, the absolutely tooth-rotting sweetness capable of sending a reader headlong into diabetes with a dopey grin and heart eyes - they’re my crack and I love them. This story started with no fluff but it’s been slowly developing in the background. It’s an entirely new situation for me! I feel like I’ve gotten used to eating my dessert first then digging into an equally sweet dinner without a moment to cleanse my palate. This story? It’s like gorging on smoky, meaty St. Louie barbecue for weeks on end with literally just a smear of something sweet as an afterthought. Mind. Frackin’. BLOWN. It turns out I’m more masochistic as a reader than I ever suspected.

Another relationship I want to cover is the building friendship between Aiko and Fat Gum – because nope, she has not managed to mentally connect the half-starved Taishiro she’s climbing like a tree with the big-and-beautiful Fat Gum who owns the agency. Yep. She thinks she’s boning Fat’s beefy little brother. It’d be funny if my heart wasn’t whining for fluff. While frustrating to fluff-starved readers, Aiko not knowing the beefcake and the brother are one and the same provides an intriguing and natural way for her to build an actual relationship with him. This means none of the fetishistic bullarkey rampant in other stories pairing plus-sized male characters with OCs.

What sort of fetishistic bullarkey am I talking about? To name a handful: I love you so lose weight. I love you because you’re big. I’m fat too so it’s okay if we’re together. Blatant fat-fetish disguised as romance. Fat character’s life absolutely revolves around food and it’s gross/nvm it’s okay. Lastly, OC’s only chance at being loved by fat character is feeding them. Maybe to thin folks those don’t sound negative but to those of us who fit the description? NOPE. These don’t make healthy relationships. Using these can turn a well-meaning pairing toxic and frankly, it tends to piss off those of us who – GASP! - accept ourselves no matter our size. These...tropes, let’s call them, have made me hesitant to even try fiction involving plus sized male characters because I’ve been let down so many times. Finding plus sized female characters is easy, especially OCs, but appreciation for the chonky bois isn’t nearly as common. They need love too, dammit!

Ahem. Rant over.

As mentioned before, I ain’t seen any of that crap in this story. This author is treating Fat Gum like she would any other character instead of focusing on the fat. I wish with all my heart that more authors were capable of (and willing to) do the same with Fat Gum, and with other plus sized male characters. I can’t even put into words how much it means to me that she’s doing such a fantastic job portraying a character type that so many writers bungle without ever realizing it. I’ve needed this story my entire life and never realized it wasn’t there; I shudder to think of how long I might have been waiting for it if this author never found the inspiration to do so.

If I don’t shut up now, I fear I never will. I love this story that much. Moving on.

Warnings

Explicit sexual content – do NOT read this around your family unless you have a stronger will than I and can do so without creeping them out. (According to my husband, when I read smut I “look like a demented vulture staring down at a half-flattened ‘possum waiting for it to take its last breath,” complete with hunched shoulders and heavy breathing. Flattering, I know.) The smut scenes, while not my usual cuppa tea, wreck. My brain? Broke. Chapter four’s budding romance? It’s goin’ on my headstone ‘cuz I’m dead.

There are mentions of human trafficking and the future may include more about it. Slut-shaming comes up a few times because men are assholes and asshole exes are the ultimate assholes. Situational fat-shaming and lack of body confidence come up as Aiko comes to recognize Fat Gum for who he is instead of what he is; on the other end of the tag, Fat is also doing a lot of it to himself even when it isn’t spelled out. You can see it behind some of his reasoning in his POV chapters and since the writer is kickass at portraying thoughts and feelings without ever breaking out of restricted POV, you can also see hints in other chapters. That said, if the shaming was really bad without any redeeming purpose, I’d have noped my way right out’a that fic and never looked back. It has a purpose, and it’s not that bad. Give it a chance.

Recommendation level

This story lacks purple prose and excessive fluff, and I haven’t seen any signs of the pop culture, literary, and music references I love so dearly, but the rating remains the same:

Ten. Out. of. Farking. TEN!

YES! I’ve finally found another 10/10!!! A quick reminder for anyone who’s managed to not see my other reading recc posts, I don’t even need both hands to count off all the 10/10s I’ve read. Congratulations, Ms. MoofyKitten – your story rocks my world and I have an addiction I do not care to shake!

#fanfiction recommendation #BNHA #My Hero Academia #body postivity #Fat Gum #mature fanfiction #Plus size guys need love too #this story is KILLING ME #and I'm loving every minute of it because I'm weird like that #i stayed up for this

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chimchimcheerios · 5 years ago

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Ahoy my dudes it is finally time to make my contribution to the trash pile for @trashmenofmarvel ‘s 2K challenge!

Title: The Girl and her Sailor

Summary: James is a mess and Elizabeth knows it, yet it doesn’t stop her from hoping. They have a talk aboard the Pearl somewhere during Dead Man’s Chest.

Pairing: a bit of Elizabeth/James and a teeny tiny hint of Jack/James

Warnings: mentions of drowning, alcoholism, angst, nightmares

Words: 4k and a little

Prompt: „You shouldn’t put your faith in me. In the end you will only be disappointed.”

Sorry in advance for any typos, I wanted to get this little thing posted before Uni work swallows me whole lol Find it on my AO3!

The Pearl had become quieter and quieter as the sun slowly sunk into the horizon and when the music ceased and most of the sailors had retired to their bunks in a drunken stupor, James Norrington was the only one left on deck. Not even Gibbs who usually made sure everything was in order at this hour was anywhere to be seen. And James was glad about that, he did like the sailor surprisingly much but he couldn't stand his pearls of wisdom right now. He was leaning over the railing, a bottle of rum in his hands and listening to the faint sounds of the ocean beneath them.

It was a clear and peaceful night, barely any clouds to be seen and wherever he looked there was water, no land in sight. He was staring at the cold darkness, thinking about what the sea was capable of and not even the moonlight reflecting on the gentle waves could ease that dreadful feeling growing inside of him by the second. His mind was filled with images of sailors screaming, of dark waves swallowing them whole, of falling, of the cold darkness around him, filling his lungs till he couldn't breathe anymore, not knowing where up and down was. James sighed and raised the bottle to his lips, the taste of warm and stale rum filling his mouth. He had learned to love that burning sensation down his throat, a familiar, almost comforting feeling these days.

He didn't notice Elizabeth approaching. James was too lost in thoughts and memories and only when she went to stand beside him, making her presence known, he turned to face her. Despite the men's attire she was wearing, she still bore striking resemblance to the Elizabeth he knew and it was beyond him how anybody could have possibly mistaken her for a man even with her hair tied together. At least her voice should have given her away. And perhaps she looked even more like herself, dressed in these clothes and maybe he knew her too well to judge her disguise.

She did not say a single word at first, only looked at him and her gaze felt like it was burning right through him. Perhaps with distaste, maybe it was pity, he couldn't tell anymore. And he stayed quiet as well, turning away again till the silence between them became too much to bear and the faint sound of the calm ocean beneath them made him more uneasy than he would have liked to admit. He was a sailor, he should love the sea as a woman, not fear her! And maybe he did after all, maybe he loved the sea still despite everything she had done to him, despite knowing what she was capable of and what incredible power lay within her. He couldn't hate her, never. The sea was calling him, had been since he could remember and he was to honor her call every second of his life. "What do you want?" he finally asked the young woman besides him, not turning away from the reflection of the moon in the cold darkness.

Elizabeth stayed quiet a little bit longer as if she didn't quite know herself why she found herself on deck alone with him at this hour. Had he not made it clear that he wanted to be alone? Had he not scared her away with his biting remarks? “I want some company.” she informed him at last, her voice soft and quiet. A little glance to his side told him that she had not shifted her focus away from him. He raised an eyebrow and turned his head completely to look at her.

“Well I do not.” he muttered. There had been a time where he would have given anything for her to willingly enjoy his company just like she had when she was a child and he barely a man but these times were gone now. It felt like an eternity ago even if it had not been. So much had happened, too much. And it would be a lie if he were to say he didn't love her anymore. Not unlike the sea he would never truly be able to hate her, in a way Elizabeth Swann did remind him of the sea, the power that lay within her. She was wild and stubborn and unpredictable. But Elizabeth had made it inescapably clear that her heart already belonged to the poor blacksmith turned pirate instead. It's why she was here to begin with, to find the man she loved and it wasn't him. It never would be, he had accepted it by now.

James hated that she got to see him like this. He hated that she saw a side of him he had intended to hide forever, a side of him that was weak and hurt and so very unlike the man he had once been. So very unlike Commodore Norrington. He hated that she saw him fall victim to his own pride and that she witnessed him going down the same path so many other good men had before him. Not that he was a good man, he really was the anything but that and he looked down, twirling the bottle in his hand, watching the dreaded liquid move around inside of it. His facade had crumbled and maybe it was time to pay for his sins now. "Got all the company I need."

Elizabeth let out a slow breath but didn't say anything about it, yet it was almost as if he could feel her disapproval. What he didn't expect was to feel a hand on his shoulder just moments later. Her hand, comforting him as well as she could. It was a gesture he had not expected, especially not after he had let his frustration out on her earlier that day. They had been friends before, they had grown apart before but they had never been the people to show physical affection besides the occasional hug. But then again, it was usually Elizabeth who had hugged him first. Suddenly he felt quite overwhelmed, not unlike back when he had made his proposal and it backfired so dramatically. It had been a while since anybody had gotten even remotely close to him and shown him any sympathy whatsoever. Tortuga was not a friendly place, not even the women who sold their services were though he had befriended two of them, bonding over their shared dislike for Captain Jack Sparrow. But besides that the last months had been filled with drunken bar fights and trouble, it all became a blur in his mind. Naturally James had tried to distance himself the minute he first set foot aboard the Pearl alongside Elizabeth. It was bad enough that she had to find him in a pigsty even if he appreciated that she had come for him to make sure he was alright. Instead of trying to be better for her though, he had continued his attempt to numb all possible feelings with enough rum to compete with Sparrow or else he feared he'd go mad with guilt.

“James…” she sighed but stopped talking for a bit again, staring into the ocean just like he had. “Why are you out here alone?”

“Well, it had been my intention to be alone and empty this very bottle in my hand till I fall asleep at last.” he explained halfheartedly and lifted the bottle to his lips once more. His gaze wandered towards the water again but he could hear the loud, exaggerated sigh Elizabeth let out. "Someone just had to ruin those lovely evening plans for me."

But just like the Elizabeth he knew and the Elizabeth who knew him more than he'd like her to, she looked right through him. To be honest though, he hadn't really put an effort in sounding confident in his statement anyway. “I think the opposite is the case.” she told him and sounded rather sure of herself. And she was right, he wanted anything but to be alone. He'd been mostly alone for a long time now and had pushed away those who tried to get any closer. In face he was still doing it or else he wouldn't have treated Elizabeth like he had. But he couldn't tell her that now, could he? He couldn't let his facade crumble even more than it had already. Rather unexpectedly she reached out for his face, gently turning it so he finally looked directly at her and when their eyes met he couldn't lie anymore.

“I couldn’t sleep… I can’t sleep.” James admitted to her at last. Of course he didn't tell her why, didn't tell her about the nightmares that haunted him. It wasn't something he talked about, not when he had been a mere child and not now either but then again, who would have listened anyway? His father certainly hadn't back then, told him to man up but judging from what Lawrence Norrington had spat in his face all those years ago, he had figured his father did not care about him all that much. And when he'd been old enough to have friends to confide in, the nightmares rarely happened anymore and he was to stubborn to admit any weaknesses to them whatsoever.

Her hand remained on his face and he was almost sure there was worry in her eyes. “Do you wish to talk about it?”

James reached up, rough hands pushing Elizabeth's gentle fingers away. He wasn't as gentle as she had been, she was resisting at first and when the only thing reminding him of her hand was the lingering warmth on his face, he looked down after considering his options. "No." And she seemed to have accepted the answer.

"Well, I am here," she began, turning around and leaning back, resting her elbows on the railing now. "because I need your help, James. I know I can trust you and you're the only person on this ship who can help me."

James furrowed his brows but didn't say anything about it. Perhaps if he ignored her she would go away? Whatever she needed his help with - most likely it was about dear William - he wasn't fit to be of use for her and he had no idea how she couldn't possibly see that. It stung, felt like a stab in the gut that she still believed the man who he once was to be there while he knew better than anybody else that he wasn't. But he couldn't help her, not even if he wanted to and both of them would be bound for disappointment in the long run. He was a penniless drunk now, a man who had willingly joined a pirate crew and his glorious days were long gone. The Commodore was nothing but a distant memory but yet it seemed like Elizabeth refused to believe that. She saw something that wasn't there, blinded by hope and desperation for the man she loved so dearly.

But against what he had hoped, she stayed and as annoying as it was, he appreciated it for some reason. She'd always been the stubborn kind and probably always would be. Sometimes it did her good, sometimes it didn't but it was his Elizabeth nonetheless and he couldn't help but smile a little bit. He was getting tired, it had been an exhausting day and Sparrow had made sure to make him work especially hard. It was funny though how the captain seemed to assume he didn't know what it meant to work on a ship, what it meant to work hard in the burning Caribbean heat or to scrub the deck endlessly. James Norrington was no stranger to manual labor, he had started somewhere too. He wasn't born a high ranking navy officer, he had worked hard for it and especially Sparrow should know that if only the captain could put his childish jealousy behind him for once!

So James turned away from the water and slowly sat down on the blackened wood, leaning back against the railing with an exhausted sigh. Sometimes he thought he could almost feel the Pearl as if she were alive and it made him understand a little better why Sparrow liked her so very much. The Pearl truly was a magnificent ship, if only she wasn't in the hands of a pirate but then again he supposed she belonged to Jack and he belonged to her. With Sparrow, he corrected in his mind. He wouldn't fall for it again, wouldn't let himself get closer and think fondly of the goddamn pirate captain who ruined his life! He rubbed his eyes and patted the floor besides him, an invitation for Elizabeth to sit down too.

She did, hesitantly so at first but it was almost as if she knew that he needed her company a little bit longer even if it didn't last. He had missed her. James took a deep breath and drank from his bottle again as if that would somehow help with what he was about to admit to her. He didn't know why he did it, he never had the intention to rub it into her face how far he had fallen. “Every time I try to fall asleep it feels like I’m drowning.”

“So you would rather drown yourself in a different manner?” she asked drily, her big eyes staring at him innocently in the faint light of a lantern.

“Elizabeth, don’t.”

“Why not? You think me naïve? You think I don’t understand how harsh the world can be?”

And something bitter inside of him wanted to tell her that he indeed thought so, he wanted to spit into her face that she knew absolutely nothing of his pain and that her efforts were completely and utterly useless. He let it slip past his lips before he had the chance to properly think about it, his emotions winning over rationality. "Yes."

Elizabeth's eyes widened as she stood up to leave and he immediately realized his mistake. He had carelessly offended the only person who did not seem to hate him just yet. But he couldn't let her leave, he hadn't truly meant it and he reached for her hand, looking at her with hopeful, almost pleading eyes. And only when she sat down again, he let go of her hand as if he'd been worried she'd leave for good now. Had she truly wanted to leave, he would have let her. "My apologies, I should not have..."

This time it was Elizabeth to remain silent, to ignore him. She didn't even acknowledge his apology at all.

"They're back." he blurted out, gripping the bottle in his hands till his knuckles turned white. Elizabeth was among the few people he'd ever told about what happened to him as a child and the nightmares that only ceased a few years later. Elizabeth had still been a child herself then, telling him about bad dreams she kept having so he told her about those he had when he was a kid in attempt to make her feel better. He doubted she remembered it but at the time she had been overly happy that a man like him had been a kid scared by dreams once too. She had hugged him and told him how glad she was that it meant she wasn't weak. James couldn't blame her for not remembering, in fact he barely remembered it himself had it not been for the hurricane stirring up things long forgotten. And Elizabeth looked at him with complete and utter confusion on her face. "The nightmares. You won't remember, I told you when you were a mere child."

"Oh." Against his expectations her eyes actually widened with realization. "They never told me the full story of what happened before you left. Of course there's been talk but you know Port Royal. Rumors spread like wildfire and in all honesty I was busy with other things... wedding preparations, a useless effort in retrospect."

"I made a mistake, a horrible mistake and it didn't just cost me my ship and my commission. It cost lives of good men." He brought the bottle to his lips again, ignoring the shame because what did it matter now anyway? It helped, it took the pain away and he could finally feel the warmth from inside and the exhausted numbness spreading over him like a blanket. And the world started to spin a little but he was used to that feeling by now and he laughed bitterly. "Even the best men, even the strongest ship cannot win against the ruthless power of the sea. I was greedy for honor and the satisfaction of catching Sparrow at last. I had become reckless, thought I was above her but the hurricane took everything and I was reminded again that in the eyes of the sea, we are nothing but ants. We couldn't win. Funny, honor was the first thing I lost."

Elizabeth didn't quite acknowledge what he had said. She took his hand instead, squeezing it tightly and it felt entirely more comforting than any words could have ever been. He couldn't tell if she was feeling sorry for him or if it was sadness he saw in her eyes. At the very least she wasn't angry at him, didn't openly blame him and he was glad about that. “You don’t look well.” she noted, a slight worried undertone in her voice and she reached out to gently brush the strands of hair that were falling in his face away.

“Charming as ever.” he said, a voice dripping with sarcasm and rolled his eyes dismissively.

"Don't be silly James, you know what I mean. I'm just... worried." She admitted as she tried to brush away a particularly stubborn strand of hair that just kept falling back till she gave up and let it be.

He'd always told himself that under all the grime and mud, there was still some of himself left but the truth was that whenever he tried to comb his fingers through his hair, he was surprised at how long it had gotten and got stuck halfway through. The truth was that he couldn't remember when his beard had grown either and that his clothes - or what was left of them for that matter - hang much more loosely on his body than they had before. The truth was that there were bags under his tired eyes, that his face was flushed and that he bore more scars than he had before his venture into the foul place that was Tortuga. The truth was that he had been in denial.

"Don't be. I did it to myself, it's my fault I-" but James didn't get to finish his sentence.

"Oh would you stop it!" Elizabeth exclaimed, more annoyed than worried now and straightened her back. "We've all had bad things happen to us but it's in the past now so could you please stop wallowing in your own self-pity because I need you James. I need the James Norrington I grew up with, the James Norrington I admired once. I need his help." And for a brief moment she didn't look like the strong, put together woman she was growing into but a girl, alone on an adventure and worried for love of her life.

James wanted to defend himself but he knew deep down that she was right. Or perhaps he was too drunk to think clearly by now, who knew. But what he knew for sure was that he didn't have the energy to fight with this woman and he didn't really want to either. "I know you're hurt Elizabeth. I know they took away the man you love but don't think you're the first person to be heartbroken before. And Elizabeth?" He offered her his bottle but she shook her head. "I trust you will find him again because this his how the story is supposed to go and I can assure you that I am not a part of it."

"But what if you are a part of it?" She asked him and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I will find him with your help! You saved me once and you can help me now because you are the only person aboard this ship I can truly trust." Her voice had become more and more desperate as she spoke to him.

"You shouldn't put your faith in me. In the end you will only be disappointed." he told her more calmly than he thought he would. And the words felt heavy as he spoke them, as they fought their way out of his mouth and it made him feel sick to say but it was true. Perhaps there was a time where he would have helped her right away but now he knew that he wouldn't, that he couldn't. She was strong enough to do it on her own and she didn't need the help of a penniless deckhand who drowned his sorrows in rum or whatever he lay his hands on. James reached up, his free hand finding it's way into her soft hair as he tried to comfort her. "You always did it, saw me as something I am not. A good man."

A few moments passed, maybe it were just a few seconds, maybe it was several minutes, he couldn't quite tell. He was more focused on staying awake and keeping the sickness he was beginning to feel at bay.

"There was a little girl once." she began and her voice sounded almost choked. He didn't dare to look, was sure he wouldn't be able to handle it if she were to cry. "She didn't have a lot of friends, especially none that shared her interests but adventures and pirates were deemed unsuitable topics for a little girl anyway. Not that it stopped her from dreaming. One day she met a young man, a friend of her father and he was so determined and brave, she was taken aback. He was terrific sailor and she'd beg him for stories of his travels whenever he came to visit."

"Stop." he whispered, a pained expression on his face but she continued as if nothing had happened.

"And when her father wasn't listening, the sailor told her stories that made her eyes widen with fascination and she listened. Sometimes he'd bring her little presents, sometimes he smuggled books about pirates in for her to read. He taught her how to ride a horse like a gentleman because she just wouldn't stop begging. He was her friend, her only friend."

The story had brought a little smile to his face, made him feel warm inside like no amount of drink ever could despite the pain it had caused him as well. Sometimes he forgot about all those little things, her childhood he had played such an important role in back in London and later in Port Royal. It all seemed so distant and so very far away but it was good to know she remembered. It was good that she had made him remember. Elizabeth then hesitantly reached for the bottle James was still holding, gently trying to take it from his hands but he didn’t want to let it go. His fingers remained close and she pried them open one by one and set it aside, looking at him with that sad glimmer in her eyes. “I know that he’s still there.”

“He’s not.”

"Liar."

And she turned his face towards her, their eyes meeting in the dark on a god forsaken pirate vessel. This wasn't how the story was supposed to go, it never had been. He was confused more than anything when she leaned in closer and closer and maybe it was the alcohol impairing his judgement but he kissed right back when she placed her soft lips on his no matter how improper it was. It was only a brief kiss, didn't last very long and when she pulled away, she hastily stood up and hurried away, back to where she had come from but not before looking back one last time. "The girl missed the sailor a lot. Maybe for a little while she even loved him back and she meant it then and she means it now. Her sailor is a fine man."

With that she was gone again and James was left sitting on deck in the middle of the night, all alone with only the rest of his rum keeping him company and he wondered if it all had been a dream or a hallucination after all. If only her taste didn't linger. It ripped open old wounds and he tried to flush it away as he downed what was left in his bottle and staggered back inside as well and fell asleep at last. He didn't dream that night or at the very least he couldn’t remember.

#trashman2kchallenge #fanfic #one shot #james norrington #pirates of the caribbean #potc

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marinaaniseed · 5 years ago

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Dark ‘n’ Stormy, Pt: 10

Summary: Asgardian v. Pizza buffet A.K.A. The Stuffing Chapter.

There’s a teeny, tiny bit of important plot before we get to that point. I’ve tried to very clearly flag the point of no return, so nobody get their undies in a twist if you continue and don’t like what you read.

Length: 6.7k-ish. Much like our hero, I may have overdone it this chapter...

Notes: The slices of pizza are of a size that works for you. If you’ve seen Bad Times at the El Royale, one of the scenes may seem somewhat familiar to you. My unending thanks go to @nobzob for encouraging me and for beta-reading this. Also, I made a deal with @thors-soft-cheeks that I would write this chapter, so hopefully it meets your expectations :)

Warnings: Eh the usual. Kinky food stuff, smut, drinking, swearing, brief mention of periods and babies, mental health wonkiness, Asgardian politics.

That summer was scorching.

“It’s as hot as hell out there,” you proclaimed one afternoon, collapsing onto the settee, sweat running down your face.

“But Hel isn’t hot,” Thor observed, his head tilted to the side in confusion like an overgrown Labrador puppy. Geri and Freki mirrored his pose from where they lay on the floor.

“What do you mean it’s not hot? Isn’t it supposed to be full of fire? To burn the sinners? That’s what they taught us at school.”

“Ah, is this from one of your Midgard stories?”

“No,” you said indignantly, before softening. “Well, I suppose so. But a lot of people take them very seriously.”

“Hel is on Niflheim. It is full of cold, mist, and ice. It is where my father imprisoned my sister. You mean it’s as hot as Muspelheim outside, yes?”

“Which one is Muspelheim again?” You’d tried to follow Thor’s explanations of the universe, had even tried to learn the Asgardian language with him. You weren’t stupid, but you were no Jane Foster, either. It was hard to unlearn many of the things that you thought were facts.

“The one where I was captured by Surtur,” Thor explained, wincing a little at the memory of how Asgard had been destroyed.

“The fire demon guy?”

“That’s the one,” Thor said, wandering off to the kitchen to grab you a drink of water. Handing you the glass, he sat down next to you, removing some of the strands of hair that had stuck to your face with sweat.

“How’re you feeling about tomorrow?” you asked, once you’d finished gulping down the water, giving yourself brainfreeze in the process.

“Quite nervous,” he admitted. “And you?”

“Nervous for you, I suppose.”

Tomorrow was the anniversary of New Asgard’s founding, and a day of celebrations were planned. Traditional tournaments and games, feasting, drinking, dancing. But it was also to be the day when the results of the vote would be announced.

After the census, there had been a consultation. Every adult Asgardian had been asked their thoughts on how they wished to be governed. These answers were collated, and a vote held. Every option was there and the Asgardians had to rank them in preference. If none of the options received over 50% of the vote, then the least popular one would be eliminated, and those who had voted for that option would have their second preference counted. On it would continue until an option received the requisite amount of interest. It wasn’t a perfect system, but you all hoped it would lead to an outcome that most people were vaguely in favour of.

Thor and Brunnhilde had agreed, both publically, and privately to honour the result, whatever it was. You worried for them both. There were plenty of outcomes that neither of them particularly desired. Some of Thor’s friends, visiting New Asgard for the celebrations, had kindly agreed to count the votes, as neutral outsider.

Thor was doing a lot better, although he still had days where he wobbled. Taking responsibility for some of the smaller things, especially the animals, had given him more purpose. You didn’t want it all to be undone by the result.

“Perhaps we should go out for dinner tonight,” you mused after a while, your hand resting on Thor’s. “We could walk into Tønsberg, get away from everything.”

“Yes, that could be good.”

STOP HERE IF YOU ONLY WANTED THE PLOT NECESSARY BITS. IF YOU CONTINUE AND THEN BITCH ABOUT THE KINKY SHIT, THAT’S ON YOU. I WARNED YOU.

Thor had been working on his anxiety, venturing a little further each day with the dogs, or riding on one of the horses. He regularly made it into Tønsberg now. There was one restaurant in particular that had caught his eye. A place where you can eat as much pizza, sour cream and salad as you want. He wondered just much pizza he could eat.

That was the thing that he’d noticed, now that food was becoming a pleasure again, not a means to distract from his feelings. He enjoyed eating. Not just in the way that most people enjoyed tasting something delicious. There was something erotic about it, the cocktail of pleasure and pain as he pushed his stomach to its limits. Yes, he definitely wanted to find out how much pizza he could eat. He’d even heard they did dessert pizzas now, although he wasn’t sure if the restaurant did those, or even if he’d like them.

It’d probably be like how you’d described deep-fried Mars bar and ice cream to him: They took a bunch of things I love and turned it into something I hate.

Thor wondered if you enjoyed watching him eat, helping him to eat. He hoped you did, suspected you did. You always made a little too much, brought back an extra little treat, ordered too much then shared, or more accurately, gave it to him. He’d seen the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. Sometimes he’d push out his stomach a little more or pretend to scratch an itch, moving the hem of his top up to rub the flesh he knew you wanted to touch. It was worth it for your reaction, every time. Widening eyes, rosier cheeks, a smile that told him how much you loved him. Then, of course, there had been the feast. You kneading and feeding him at the table.

Yes, you definitely enjoyed it.

For a long time, he’d felt like his fat gut was something to be ashamed of, that made him unworthy of the affections of another. And maybe you were the only one, maybe you were a cosmic anomaly. That didn’t seem right, but even if you were, of all the trillions that existed, now, in the past, or in the future, you were here in the right place, at the right time, to love him.

That felt good. It felt different. And he realised that what he had known in the past was lust, awe, fear. It was far better to be loved than to be feared, though anyone sensible would still exercise caution.

It hadn’t been easy, to accept this version of himself - when you spend over a millenia with roughly the same body, it takes a while to adjust. It’d be a fine day indeed when a person was judged on what they did, not what they looked like. But for now he would settle for having someone not be repulsed by his body, but actually attracted to it.

Your insistence on touching him was uncomfortable at first. It chafed at the edges of his esteem and confidence. But now it was familiar, something he welcomed, something he sought. His hand would move yours to his stomach when you were sat together, holding it there. He always asked if you wanted to join him in the bathroom, to lather him up, and gently apply lotions. The majority of the time, he fell asleep as the little spoon, you holding onto him as though he was the most precious thing in your life. Even though they woke him up, he found your sleep twitches endearing, the way your fingers tried to press and grab his hairy tummy as it rounded out in front of him.

In fact, the only time he really got to be the big spoon was during your period. He had, in his defence, offered to use his powers to rid you of the inconvenience, but you liked the reassurance of knowing that you weren’t pregnant. You had, however, allowed him to ease some of the side-effects. During that time, you practically begged him to hold you, to be the big spoon. I like it when you press your stomach into the small of my back, you told him, it’s like a warm, squishy cushion to ease my pain. He didn’t like that you were in pain but was glad to be of help. He hoped his fingers resting on your abdomen soothed the cramps he knew you felt, but kept to yourself. Perhaps one day his fingers would rest there and bring comfort to his unborn child?

***

You’d taught him how to use Google, and he’d looked up when the restaurant was least likely to be busy. Being in crowded places was getting easier, but Thor still preferred to avoid them. Most Norwegians tended to eat earlier, so the restaurant was fairly quiet when you arrived just after 9pm.

Sliding across the dark brown leather seating of the booth, you began looking at the drinks menu.

“Why does friend Hulk get his own drink and I do not?” Thor queried, pointing at a brandy cocktail. Looking at the little picture printed in the menu, you can see why they’d named the green drink after Banner’s alter ego.

“Well, it’s not named after you but I think this is pretty close,” you countered, indicating the Dark ‘n’ Stormy.

“I am not dark.”

“No, no you are not. But you do like your storms,” you said, with a smile. “Or there’s this one,” you added, showing him the Angel Face.

“You flatter me far too much, my love,” Thor said, taking your hand in his. “This one is you,” he decided, pointing at the Flirtini.

“Very good,” you laughed. “Any other cocktail matches you can see?”

“This one, the Red Russian. That is Agent Romanoff. The Brooklyn, that is Captain Rogers. Long Island Iced Tea is Stark.”

“I understand the first one, but not the other two?”

“Those are the names of the places where they are from.”

“Ah, I see. I thought this was more appropriate for Steve Rogers,” you said, showing him the Old Fashioned. Thor laughed, long and hard at that one. It startled the few other people in the restaurant with you, but you didn’t mind. Thor had been so stressed lately, you’re just pleased to hear him laugh again, to see him relax a little. You decided to up the ante a little bit and earn your match with the Flirtini.

“So, bear,” you said softly, so he had to cock his head towards you to hear you. “I was thinking after the dinner, we could try these three,” you smirked, spreading the fingers of your free hand to point at the Sex on the Beach, Slow Comfortable Screw Against the Wall, and the Screaming Orgasm.

“Only three?” he grinned. “I think this one is relevant to your interests,” he said, moving the hand he held underneath his shirt while gesturing to the Hairy Navel. That earned a laugh from you, not as loud as Thor’s but just as mirthful.

A quiet, but pointed cough from the end of the table drew your attention to your server. His name badge said ‘Tor’ and you wondered if he realised who your dinner companion was.

“Can I get you any drinks?” he asked.

“A Flirtini for me, please,” you answered.

“And a Dark ‘n’ Stormy for me,” Thor added. “Tell me, how does this pizza buffet work?”

“Well, there is a pizza bar over there, behind me,” Tor said, gesturing. “You just take a plate and serve yourself, you can have as much pizza, salad and sour cream as you like for 134 kroner. It’s only our most popular pizzas but there’s something for everyone.”

“And there is no limit to the amount you can have?” Thor clarified, and that was when you realised why you were here.

“No, we just ask that people don’t take more than they can eat. Oh, and the kitchen closes at 10:30 so that we can close at 11. So yeah, go right ahead and I’ll bring your drinks over to you in a few minutes.”

With that, Tor turned on his heel and went to the bar.

“I see why we’re here,” you smirked at your lover as you made your way over to the pizza. “You’ve got your work cut out though,” you added, showing him your watch.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Thor said, beginning to think this was a bad idea.

“You want to see how much pizza you can eat. A lot more than I can, that’s for sure.”

You moved along the pizza bar, assessing your options, looking at the little signs in front of each of the cheesy wheels. Cheese and tomato, ham and pepperoni, ham and mushroom, spicy chicken, Thai chicken, beef and béarnaise, meat feast, chorizo and Ventricina, cauli truffle, vegetarian, beef and onion, BBQ chicken, Parma and truffle. If this was just the most popular ones, you were intrigued to see just how extensive the full menu was. You shoveled a couple of the more interesting slices onto your plate, added some sour cream to dip the crusts in, and grabbed a token amount of salad.

Both you and the drinks were at the table long before Thor. He had a plate in each hand, with a mountain of pizza on each. It was a wonder he hadn’t lost any slices.

“I wanted to try them all, so I got two slices of each,” he said, by way of explanation, your shocked expression not as subtle as you’d hoped.

“Did you get any sour cream?”

“Oh yes. I put some on every slice before I stacked them up.”

You wondered how he was going to taste the different flavours if they were all slathered in sour cream. It didn’t matter, as long as Thor was happy, that was the important thing. Your plate was empty but you were content to drink and watch the man next to you munching away on his stack of slices. You’d seen competitive eaters, inhaling their food, they could barely be tasting it. Thor wasn’t slow but you could tell he was savouring each slice. A purr when his tongue met a salty slice of pepperoni, a moan as hot mozzarella melted in his mouth, a satisfied smile as he bit into a portion heavy with sour cream. The textures, aromas, the heat of the jalapeños combined with the cooling richness of the dairy. He was focused on what he was eating, enjoying it as more than just sustenance. He was making love to his senses.

Your cheeks were warm, and it wasn’t just a flush from the alcohol. No, you were enjoying watching Thor enjoying his meal. It felt wrong, it felt dirty, voyeuristic, even, to feel aroused by this. You had to wonder, did pizza really taste that good to him, or was it something more?

Chancing a glance at Thor’s lap, you could see his erection pushing up against his underbelly, and being pushed away by the soft swell of his belly. Thor was so engrossed in his food that he didn’t notice your wandering hand until your fingers danced over the prominent bulge.

“Enjoying yourself?” you asked, an eyebrow arched teasingly.

“Ye-yeah,” he responded, stopping with a slice partway to his mouth. You took his other hand and moved it to your mouth, sucking his index finger while maintaining eye contact.

“What about now?” you asked once you’d released him.

“You’re making this a lot harder.”

“What, this?” you replied, applying more pressure to his crotch.

“Yes, no.” It was fun to watch Thor when he got flustered like this, torn between his desire to maintain decorum and his more carnal desires. “You’re making it a lot harder to focus on enjoying my pizza,” he finally managed.

“Ah, I see. Well, it must be quite cold now,” you said, eyeing the last few slices. “I’ll get us some more.”

Thor was glad for the respite. Between you and the food, he was extremely turned on. If it weren’t so public, he’d ask you to do something about the erection he was sporting. For now, though, he settled for undoing his trousers, giving both his tummy and his cock a bit more room.

“They just brought out a new, cheese and tomato, I thought you’d like to enjoy it while it’s hot,” you said, sliding a plate with five slices in front of him, the cheese bubbling slightly.

“That’s half the pizza,” Thor noted with a frown.

“You snooze, you lose. I wanted the best for my big man. I think you’ll enjoy it a lot more when it’s fresh and hot,” you said, touching his tummy under his shirt. “You wanted to see how much pizza you can eat, and I want to help. I’ll get you a few slices at a time so that it doesn’t go cold. You can tell me when to stop. Oh, I brought you some sour cream to dip the crusts in and I ordered some more drinks. It must be thirsty work eating all that pizza.”

The feel of your fingers pressing into his still pliable flesh, as you ate your slices, spurred him on even more.

“Y/N, there’s something I need to explain…” he started.

“Shh. You eat your pizza. I think I know what it is.” Thor looked at you confused but shoveled another slice into his mouth. “You’re enjoying your food, I know you are. It’s just like at the feast. It’s arousing you, I like it.”

“You do? Even though it’s weird, even if I get fatter?”

“Shh, shh. Let me bring you another plate, do you have a preference? I’ll tell you exactly what I think when I get back.”

“Um, may I have some more of the Thai Chicken please?”

“Certainly.”

Thor fiddled with the hem of his top and gulped hard on his drink, terrified about what you might say. It was one thing you enjoying his larger body, but you might have a very different opinion about him enjoying eating and actually enjoying his size. He enjoyed the size difference between you, he felt powerful, owning his space, and if he was honest, he was beginning to really enjoy his softness, how sensitive he now was in places.

One of his original two plates was slid back in front of him, with two slices of Thai chicken and three of ham and mushroom on it.

“There were only two slices left, so I thought I’d bring you something else as well,” you said by way of explanation. Tucking his hair behind his ear, you brought your lips close and began to tell him your answer.

“What you do is up to you, it’s your body. I’m just happy to see you happy, to see you enjoying yourself. However, if you’re happy like this, if you enjoy your food and maybe get a bit bigger, I’m certainly not going to complain. Not just because that would be rude, but because I’d enjoy it. I mean, you know how much I enjoy this tummy of yours.” Your hand returned to its previous position, to emphasise your point. “I definitely wouldn’t be upset if there was more of it for me to admire and play with.”

You moved back a smidge, to see how Thor was taking it. He was trying to remain calm, to eat his pizza, but his heated cheeks and heavier breathing let you know he was enjoying your words.

“Well, you know how much I enjoy it when you press your weight down on me, I think that’d be more fun with a bit more weight behind it. Or how about when you take me from behind, think about all that extra power to pound into me with. Think about how small I’ll look in the mirror when I take you into my mouth. I like the thought of your bigger belly bouncing on top of me, jiggling beneath me, or just being extra cushioning for me to cuddle into. My big, strong, soft, sex god.”

Thor trembled next to you, trying to resist the urge to throw you on the table and fuck you right there. He was on his penultimate slice, so you took one of the empty plates back to the pizza station. You could sense the stares from the people who’d noticed your frequent trips but, fuck ‘em. It was an all-you-can-eat buffet, and that’s exactly what you, or more accurately, Thor, were doing.

“Beef and béarnaise, for my beefy bear,” you said, sliding the plate in front of the blushing god. Nobody had touched that pizza since you’d got him the cheese and tomato, so didn’t feel bad bringing him the remaining eight slices. You left him in comparative peace for this plate, gently rubbing his belly and checking out the restaurant’s menu on your phone.

“How’re you feeling?” you asked as he neared the end of this particular round.

“I’m feeling pretty tired, it’s a bit of a struggle, but it feels so good. How much longer do we have?”

“35 minutes. You’re doing really well,” you encouraged. He was starting to feel full, less doughy under your fingertips. The buttons on his shirt were certainly running into difficulties and you feared their relationship with the soft, denim garment would be short-lived. You were curious as to why Thor had chosen a slim fit shirt in the first place but chose not to comment. It was a pleasure to see all of his soft curves on display outside of the bedroom.

“I think I can manage some more. What were you looking at on your phone?”

“Oh,” it was your turn to blush. “The restaurant has its nutritional info online, I was seeing which pizzas were the most calorific, just in case you wanted a little push.”

In truth, Thor didn’t know exactly what calorific meant, but he could tell this was something that interested you. You’d eagerly accepted his little (ok, big) kink, he could indulge yours.

“Well, why don’t you bring me some. I always like to push myself,” he said, adjusting his position so that his stomach no longer pressed into the edge of the table but rested upon it instead, a generous slither of flesh revealed where his shirt failed to cover him. “Maybe another of those stormy drinks as well, please.”

You almost tripped over yourself in your hurry to bring more food and drink to your full-bodied lover, rich and satisfying, to be enjoyed slowly like a fine Shiraz. Thor laughed a little at your eagerness, it was endearing how you wanted to please him, to take care of him. He hoped you took care of yourself with the same enthusiasm.

Three slices of ham and pepperoni, and five slices of Parma and truffle made their way back with you. Shortly thereafter, Tor dropped off another Flirtini for you and a pitcher of Dark ‘n’ Stormy.

“I wanted to make sure you were well hydrated,” was your answer to Thor’s look of surprise. Admittedly, the cocktail probably wasn’t that hydrating, but Thor had asked for it, so you just made sure that he had enough. You sipped on your drink, watching him battle on, determined to beat the pizza. It was a very different opponent to one he’d find on the battlefield, but Thor had set himself this challenge and he wasn’t going to back down. The staff were watching you nervously, concerned you’d make them wait all night, but you would be gone at eleven, no problem. As Thor began to slow down, you noticed him glancing between your phone and the remainder of the pizza.

“What is it? Are you ok? You can stop if you want, it’s ok,” you worried at him.

“No, no. I can do this. Can you get me what is left? You might need to help me eat them, but I can do it,” he insisted, chest heaving as he panted through the last slice.

Dutifully, you went to gather up what was left, balancing them carefully on two plates. You weren’t entirely sure how you would help him eat them, but he was single-minded in his task, and there was nothing you’d be able to do to stop him. Once Thor had set his mind to something, he was hard to reason with. You either had to get out of the way or hold on tight until he was done.

The pitcher was balanced on top of his taut tummy, shirt stretched dangerously tight around it, as Thor sipped his cocktail through a straw.

“Is that all that is left?”

“Is that all?” you asked incredulously. “I’ve got you three each of the chorizo, BBQ chicken, and cauliflower, two slices of vegetarian and meat feast, and four of the beef onion. That’d be more than enough for most people, are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely. I’m not most people. Asgardians are known for their feasting.” The pitcher was set back down with a thud.

You couldn’t really argue with that.

The first few slices went down well, but then he really began to struggle, gulping down his drink to try to rid his mouth of the cloying cheesiness. Your fingers traced over the swell of his tummy, trying to soothe him.

“That’s good, that helps. Feed me?” he pleaded.

“Ok, you make yourself comfortable and I’ll help.”

You stacked up two slices of the same flavour, bringing them his mouth, and chewed through them, less thoughtfully than before, as he massaged his aching tummy. He was a sweaty, gassy mess, with cheese and sauce stuck in his beard, but he was very pleased with himself when he finally finished the last slice.

“Are you impressed?”

“Very. You managed 69 slices,” you giggled.

“What is funny about that?”

You leaned in and whispered it into his ear. That wasn’t something you’d tried yet, and tonight certainly wasn’t the night for it, but it was definitely something to try another time.

“Finish your drink, I’ll go pay,” you told the full and flustered thunder god.

He was more than happy to finish the pitcher, he needed something to help him cool down. He hadn’t known there was a name for what you’d described, but he definitely liked the sound of it.

***

In the end, it wasn’t the buttons, but the fabric itself that capitulated. After you’d settled up, you’d found Thor sitting awkwardly with this arms across his waist, cheeks flushed fuchsia.

“Are you alright?” you asked, concerned that the pizza had, in fact, beaten Thor.

“My shirt…” he mumbled, moving a hand to show the gaping hole to the side of the placket, allowing a sizable chunk of flesh to be on show.

“Ah...hug me from behind as we leave, I can cover you,” you suggested. It was a slightly awkward exit, Thor pressing into your back. You thanked the staff and eventually made it into the street. “Perhaps we should take a taxi, get you back home quicker?”

Thor mumbled his agreement. It was a fairly quiet evening, so ordering one was pretty straight forward. Ever the gentleman, Thor went to open the door for you.

“Oh, love, could you hold my bag for me, please?” you said with a pointed look at his torso.

Never had he been gladder to hold something in his life. A shield would’ve been preferable, would’ve covered more, but he had to work with what he had.

***

Safely home, Thor was glad to unbutton his shirt, breathing a sigh of relief. He was lucky his jeans were almost painted on otherwise, he might’ve lost them on the journey, stomach spilling out of them.

“Hey, Y/N. Do we have anything sweet?” he called from the kitchen, where he was feeding and fussing the dogs. It was pretty tricky to bend down to their bowls, but he just about managed it.

“Erm yeah. I baked a couple of cakes for tomorrow, why?”

When you got no response, you decided to put some music on, content to let Thor do his own thing. Some Deep Purple while you slumped on the settee, letting Loki slither over you.

It was the second song, Hush, when Thor reappeared, dancing into view with a plate in hand, generous slice of cake on top, and a fork in the other, swaying along to the music. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. The dogs were dancing around his feet, trying to join in, and even the snake seemed to be eyeing him up as he moved remarkably gracefully towards you, swinging his wide hips in time to the music, stomach bouncing along in front of your face. Your mouth didn’t know whether to go dry or to salivate everywhere at the sight before you.

He eased himself down next to you, abused cushion sinking beneath his weight.

“I fancied something sweet after all that pizza,” he said. “This is an excellent cake, my love, you’re very talented.”

“It wasn’t exactly meant for you, but I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” you answered, a little sad that the honey cake you’d worked so hard on was now missing a decent wedge.

“There’s still another cake, it’s fine,” he replied with a smile. “Asgard will still get to sample your handiwork.”

“Can I get you anything to drink with that?”

“Maybe some milk?”

Milk? What about a milkshake, you wondered to yourself. Thor clearly was intent on pushing himself to his absolute limit, so why not help him further?

He gave you a slightly reproachful look when you approached with the biggest glass you could find, filled with your concoction. Thor had wondered why you hadn’t taken so long, having finished his cake, and what you were using the blender for. Now he knew.

You’d blended together whole milk, peanut butter cup ice cream, a generous dash of bourbon, chocolate chips, and chocolate syrup. It was topped with whipped cream peak coated in chocolate sprinkles. A metal straw poked out the top.

“Thank you,” he said, accepting the monstrosity. You hadn’t made him a full-on freakshake, but there was certainly a lot to take in. Thor sipped it cautiously, he didn’t want to get brainfreeze, balancing the glass on top of his over-full belly. You curled up next to him, careful not to jostle or apply too much pressure, kissing the flesh that jutted past the open fabric of his shirt, rubbing gentle circles into his swollen gut.

“You did this on purpose,” he observed around the half-way mark.

“You wanted milk, you wanted something sweet, you wanted to push yourself. I’m just helping you get what you want,” you replied with a grin. “You don’t have to finish it, but it’d be a shame to waste it.”

That was what spurred him on to finish, even though his body was pleading for him to stop. He really enjoyed how full he felt but this was definitely the last thing he was going to have.

“I love how big and round you are,” you commented, fingers delicately tracing over the mound of his stomach. “I can’t wait to get you to bed.”

Thor’s cock, which had never become less than half-hard, immediately sprang back to life. He gulped down the remains of the shake, a horny, panting mess.

“I absolutely cannot eat another thing,” he gasped.

“Oh, very good. I am impressed. Rest here a moment.” You took the glass, the cake plate, and fork to the kitchen, before grabbing a flannel from the bathroom.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, mucky pup,” you said, tenderly wiping away the worst of what was caked around Thor’s mouth and in his facial hair. “How’re you doing?” you asked, cupping a soft cheek in your hand.

“I think I would like to lie down for a bit, I’m quite tired,” he admitted. You couldn’t blame him, just watching was tiring enough. You stood up and offered him a hand. Thor didn’t really need you to pull him up, he was more than strong enough to do it himself, but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

“Go get comfy, I’ll do the washing up, let the dogs out, and join you in a bit,” you told him, groping his bum as he shuffled past. “Hey Thor,” you added.

“Yes, my love?”

“If Captain America has America’s ass, do you have Asgard’s ass?”

“I think we could find a smaller one to represent us as a people,” he noted, blushing a little.

“Aww, but I like this one. It’s so shapely and round.”

Thor rolled his eyes with a grin and lumbered off to the bedroom, keen to free himself from his clothes.

***

When you eventually joined Thor in the bedroom, you were surprised to find him still awake, albeit barely. His clothes were in a messy pile to one side, but that barely registered, because sprawled on top of the duvet was a very aroused, naked thunder god. He’d unbraided his hair so that it fanned out behind him on the pillow like a halo. One arm was behind his head, the other rested on his rounded tummy.

“I thought you were tired?” you queried, looking down at the dozy Asgardian. “I was expecting you to be asleep, not putting on a show.”

“Well, I was hoping you would take care of me, give my belly a little rub,” he replied with a grin.

“Only your belly needs taking care of?”

“Ok, maybe some other bits of me might like some attention.”

You rummaged around in the bedside table until you found your dry oil spray. Pumping it liberally, you made sure Thor’s belly was well coated before you settled down with your head on his chest, kissing and licking a nipple, while your hand smoothed over his stomach. Gently rubbing and kneading, you took your time, worshipping your way down to the soft underbelly where he was most sensitive. You avoided touching his cock for as long as possible, but it was hard to ignore, the head nodding against the underside of his rounded abdomen.

“Ah,” he hissed as you brushed against his erection. “I would much prefer it if you used your mouth for this part.”

Giving his tummy one last circular rub, you rolled away from Thor and moved to the very end of the bed, positioning yourself by his feet. You took one foot into your hand and began to knead it, pleased to see that the pumice was working. Thor writhed in your grasp, desperate for you to give his cock attention, but you wanted to string things out. You kissed your way from his ankle to his thigh, ignoring his erection, before massaging his other foot and repeating your journey up that sizable leg.

“My love, please,” he begged.

“Please, what?” you asked, knowing he couldn’t see you smirking.

“Please give me some release.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Please...pleasure me, with your mouth.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that?” It was mean to torment Thor, yes, but also worth it to hear the increasing desperation in his voice.

“Please, I’m begging you, please. Please could you just suck my cock,” he whined.

“Oh! You mean like this?”

There was a strangled cry, then, oh fuck, yes, repeated above you as you took him into your mouth. You started slowly, licking and flicking your tongue around his head before gradually moving further down. Propped up on your elbows, you massaged the tops and sides of his packed gut, head gently butting into his underbelly, nose nudging into his soft hair as you moved up and down his length. You knew he wouldn’t last long, had seen how excited he already was, but it was still a surprise how quickly you felt his thighs trembling beneath you. His cum was thick, almost as thick as the milkshake you’d made him, and you swallowed it down. Making sure to clean him with your tongue, Thor gave an involuntary shudder, his cock now far too sensitive.

You pulled away, content to fall asleep next to the exhausted Asgardian, chest panting and stomach heaving from the exertion.

“My love?” Thor managed to huff out.

“Mmm?”

“I have one more request.”

“And want is that?”

“I want to taste you.”

You shuffled up the bed to kiss him, pressing into his sticky, soft, pink, marshmallow lips. His facial hair tickled as you deepened the kiss, but you didn’t mind. Drawing back, you took the time to admire Thor’s face. He looked happy, content. His smile was warm, his eyes sparkled, his brow was less creased, more carefree.

“That wasn’t quite what I meant,” he admitted, hurrying to add, “not that it was bad! It’s just I wanted to, uh, eat you. Eat you out.”

“I thought you couldn’t eat another thing?” you teased.

“For you, I will always make an exception. None of the wonderous tastes to cross my lips this night shall compare to yours.”

You suspected that might not strictly be true, but you didn’t have the heart to tell Thor that.

“I fear I may not be able to move from this position. You shall have to sit on me,” Thor sighed with mock melodrama.

“I think I can agree to that,” you grinned. After all, it wasn’t every day a god invited you to sit on their face. You straddled Thor and held onto the headboard, lowering yourself slowly, making sure to support the majority of your weight with your knees. Thor began to lick you, slow and languid strokes of his tongue like you were the sweetest dessert, made only for him. You slowly began grinding your hips back and forth, trying to get him where you wanted him. After the way you’d teased him, it was only payback that he make you wait, but you were eager for more.

Now that he’d had his release, Thor was far more interested in taking his time. A powerful hand moved up to grab your left hip, keeping you in place, while the other hand reached up to massage your breast, pinching your hardened nipple. Thor could feel himself getting hard again. How could he not, when everything was you? All he could taste, all he could smell, the feel of your thighs against his soft cheeks. The overwhelmed, urgent little noises you made, and when he looked up, your breasts bouncing above him, that blissed-out, happy look on your face. All of it was for him, only for him. He was the only one who got to see you like this, to make you feel like this.

And he fucking loved it.

When you came it was hard, insistent and drenching. It was like turning his face to the heavens during a thunderstorm of his own creation. Thor definitely preferred this position. His height, in fact, his size in general, meant lying down between your thighs wasn’t the easiest position. But this. This was good. His lips on yours, lovingly kissing. And if he was honest, he liked how it made you the one in charge. Every roll and slide of your hips let him know how much you enjoyed what he was doing, there was no second-guessing here. He was your plaything, your means to carnal bliss, and he couldn’t give you enough.

You’d tried to be restrained during your first orgasm, biting into your arm, but the second one had you positively screaming. The dogs were alarmed, barking and scratching at the bedroom door, but it didn’t matter. Thor released his hold on you and you slid off to the side, face-planting into the pillow.

“I did a good job, yes?” he inquired.

“Mmm, yes. Thank you. Sleep now,” you said, as much to him as the pillow.

“I’ll be right back, my love,” he said heaving himself up. “I must reassure the dogs...and perhaps wash my face.”

***

Geri and Freki soon calmed once they realised all was well. Thor washed his face thoroughly and returned to the bedroom, setting a pitcher of water and glass on the bedside table. He’d opened all the windows, yet it was still absurdly hot. Not that you seemed to notice. You’d rolled and wrapped the duvet around you like a burrito, one leg hanging out. Thor climbed in beside you, careful not to disturb you. No need to spoon you, you’d find your way to him soon enough. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever had such a thoroughly satisfying night. Not that he’d be able to enjoy nights like this too often, he didn’t want them to lose their wonder, but it seemed a fitting way to spend it, to indulge himself, on what might be his last night of reprieve before the burdens of a king were his to bear once more.

@morganhoran1671 @innerpaperexpertcloud

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lizstaysinneverland · 5 years ago

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FFXV Popband!AU Headcanons

I actually had started a fanfic of this started a few years ago when FFXV first came out but I know I’ll never finish it, so I thought why not make it into a headcanon post. I originally went with a boyband but I kinda didn’t think anyone of the boys would be a drummer. Also, please see the end notes for more information.

This is a bit long so I put it under “read more”.

Prompto is the lead singer of the band. He has the sweet flower boy image. Is the one with the most stage fright but once the music turns on, he just forgets about him being on stage and gets really into it. He is super shy when meeting his fans but they love him even more for that. He gets scolded by Luna and Ardyn a lot because he tends to reveal too much in interviews but he can’t help it, he just gets so excited and wants to share what they are working on and how they live and so forth.

Noctis is the backup singer and guitarist. He has the brooding pretty boy image. But he is actually just as nervous (but hides it way better than Prompto) when he meets his fans and is super sweet and kind to them. He lets the others do the talking in interviews, Luna is trying to motivate him to become more proactive but to no avail. He actually trains a lot by himself and puts a lot of effort into every performance. Sometimes clashes with Gladiolus due to Noctis sometimes rather childish attitude and laziness.

Ignis is the keyboardist and songwriter. He has the cold prince image. He also functions as the intermediator whenever Luna isn’t there to stop the fights. He always knows what to say to the fans and is super happy for the love they receive by their fans, that’s why fan meetings are one of his favourite things about this job. He is usually the one calming the others down in interviews when they get too excited and he always has a perfect answer to everything. Despite his usual stoic and sometimes rather calculating demeanor, his songs are full of emotion, he can express his feelings the best in his writings.

Gladiolus is the bassist. He has the bad boy image. His temperament gets him in trouble with paparazzi's sometimes, much to Gentiana’s annoyance. He’s very flirty with his fangirls but treats them with respect, so even if the magazine call him a “fuckboy” his fans don’t cease to fangirl over him and melt whenever he smiles at them. He is quite smart and knows how to talk his way out of uncomfortable interview questions. He usually practices with the whole band, practicing alone makes him bored after a short time and he feels he improves faster when he hears himself out of tune with the other members.

Cindy is the drummer. She initially wasn’t part of the band when they were still a garage band, but their drummer left after a feud. They were on the verge of signing the contract with the Izunia Music Group record label, so they needed a drummer. Cindy has been a childhood friend of Prompto and Noctis so they kinda roped her into it last minute. But she actually enjoys it and it allows her to spend a lot of money on cars, so whenever she doesn’t practice with the band she is fixing old cars and pimps them up into really cool cars or helps out her grandad at his car repair shop. She has a very big fanbase despite “just” being the drummer. She’s the one who is mostly active on social media.

Iris is the stylist of the band. She is always super hyper and gushing about how great they look with her clothing choices. She also hypes the members up before the big show, to help them feel confident on stage. She always manages to find the perfect clothing for any kind of event, be it the Music Awards or some themed event. They never look bad. Iris also introduces the members to all the memes and newest inside jokes in the band fandom. As she is the sister of Gladiolus, she tags along to the events and such as well and makes sure they look good all night.

Lunafreya is the manager. Despite her quite young age she is one of the best. She helps the band members relax before any major performance and makes sure they are always hydrated and giving their best. She tries to fulfill the wishes of the members, but in turn she expects a lot from them. She might usually be gentle but if anyone of the band pisses her off because they think it’s okay to be lazy or don’t reflect on their behavior or break the rules, she will scold them quite harshly. She has an exceptional organizational talent and that shows in how she schedules everything and makes things work despite all odds.

Ardyn is the CEO of the Izunia Music Group. While the band members won’t see him often, if he does come by to check on things, absolutely everyone is on edge because you don’t piss off THE Ardyn Izunia and you certainly don’t make mistakes. He loves his little charm aka Lunafreya for her hardworking nature and finding the band and making them into popstars. He lets her do most of the management but if she can’t handle something (there can be quite some annoying and snobbish business partners) he will handle it and she can be sure everything will work. He makes the impossible possible. He is the creepy dude that you don’t expect to be rich because of his poor fashion taste but is somehow really charming and attracts a lot of people.

Ravus is the director for the music videos and he is such a perfectionist to the point that he will make them do a scene again because Noctis face should have been turned to the side a teeny tiny bit more, like by 5 degrees. Ravus often tends to bicker with Noctis and Ravus as he feels like they don’t take his commands seriously. Much to Lunafreya’s and Ignis’ annoyance. But you can bet that the music video will turn out incredible well, almost like an art masterpiece. Ravus is quite creative and that shows in all his work.

Gentiana is the head of the marketing department at Izunia Music Group and works a lot with Lunafreya to make sure she promotes the bands correctly. Sometimes she even stops by when Noctis & others are in the middle of a photoshoot or music video shoot just to see how she can implement things into their marketing campaign. She never actually tells them how she promotes the band, so they usually are surprised when they suddenly find their face plastered on a bus or see a commercial of them on TV. But they are never disappointed. She knows what she is doing and enjoys gushing to Lunafreya about all her ideas.

Aranea is the photographer. She seemed a bit harsh at first so they dreaded doing photoshoots with her but once they warmed up to her after they did a good job, they realized she’s just a hard worker and wants the models to be amazed by the photos she took. She can easily lose track of time when she is concentrated on taking pictures of her models and seems to have an endless amount of ideas. But she lets the band members run wild with their own imagination as well, so she can get authentic photos of them for special fan events.

End notes:

JFC finally finished it, this has been on my draft for a long time because I always forgot about it or had no time to sit down and write it all.

I know this isn’t as realistic as it could be, but I didn’t want it to be too realistic, to me it was more fun making them be THE music band everyone wants and so some characters might come off as “Mary Sue” like and some jobs might not be exactly the same as in real life. I apologize for that.

I took a bit of inspiration from Korean bands.

I did choose to use Ardyn Izunia instead of Lucis Caelum because I didn’t wanted them to be related in this fanfic as I didn’t plan to make him appear often.

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sexysilverstrider · 6 years ago

Text

Tormented Desire

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @jejecchi !!! hope you enjoy pain <3

He wondered what it’s like to be close to him. “Faa-san.” His voiced lulled a singsong tune. Standing behind the focused Astral, Belial leaned forward. “Oh Faa-saaaan.” “What.” The Astral snapped, voice a sharp clip yet filled with anger that he was disturbed from his studies. This never bothered the Primal. “You should be happy to know that I’ve taken out the trash.” Both hands waved casually in front of him, next to the shorter being who refused to turn his head. “It was a bit rough, but I am so satisfied now!” Glee chirped in the hollow study room. “Did you purposely let me do that because I like things rough? You shouldn’t have, Faa-san.” A smile crept up those beautiful lips. Lucilius never returned them. Ever.

“Ensure the other failed experiment is terminated tomorrow.” He continued scribbling, the tip of the quill now echoing in the room. “If it starts to show force, ends it immediately before you rip it apart.” Shivers ran down the Primal’s spine. “Oh, how I do love your dirty talk, Faa-san.” Ignorance was once again his response. Belial was used to it. He was used to this cold behaviour, to this icy attitude. He shouldn’t expect much, shouldn’t anticipate much, but a part of him – a teeny, tiny part of him – vainly hoped for sign of attention. Crimson eyes glanced at the Astral’s lap. He wondered what it’s like to lay his head on them. A twinge of nerves – fear, was it fear? – shook his body, sent prickles down the back of his neck.”Faa-san,” he called again, voice still seeped with devious neediness. As expected, Lucilius didn’t reply, eyes ever glued to the papers that sprawled messily on his desk. Belial wished the Astral would be the mess on the desk instead. “Faa-san…” Tone slowed, evened slightly to catch his attention. The sound of scribbling still continued, now edging him a bit to know that the quill got more attention than him. “Oi, Faa-san—” “What.” Lucilius then snapped, his free hand slammed once on the table. His gaze however never fell on the Primal; ego and annoyance glued his position from head to toe. Belial would take it. A slight pang that he could only guess was heartbreak hit his heart, but he would take it. “I did something dirty for you, you know.” White teeth gleamed maliciously under the sun’s brilliant rays. “Don’t I at least get a reward for being a good boy?” One foot stepped closer until his hip gently bumped the table. “For once, being obedient isn’t so bad, and I even cleaned by hands in case you want me to warm up that lithe body of yours.” His smirk ever devilish. His tone ever husky. Belial only gazed at the silent Astral. His eyes remained hopeful, focused. “Go away, Belial.” His heart remained cracked, twisted. “Aww, come on, Faa-san—” “Go away.” Hatred seethed between tightly clenched teeth. “Before I decide to terminate you instead.” Belial didn’t realize that his hand had stilled as he tried to reach for him. Without waiting for a response, Lucilius continued writing. Dark irises were focused, too focused, at the writings mostly he could understand. Pale lips pursed tight, then relaxed to a straight line as his attention drifted back to his findings. Not a sound peeped from the Primal. Slim fingers held perfectly still. Then seconds, long, ticking seconds, echoed in the room before he slowly curled them into a fist. Silence still hummed from him. The smile he wore slowly faded to a frown – the tiniest frown that no one could ever realize except Lucilius. …Assuming he would ever look at him. The twitch only lingered in seconds, however, before the bittersweet smile curled each corner of his red lips. “Fine, fine. Faa-san doesn’t feel like fooling around today.” The chuckle was forced and heavy. “Maybe tonight? Or next time?” Not a single reaction. “Next time it is.” He expected this. To be ignored. To be dismissed completely. All the things that made Belial love him unconditionally. So focused. So stiff. Lucilius was perfect and beautiful like this, Belial wondered what it’s like to see him break into a moaning, panting mess. The tiny pain in his heart shook him back to reality. Crimson eyes stared at his lap again. Knowing full well that he wouldn’t be treated to anything today, Belial finally slid a few steps back. The signature smile curled spitefully, he himself basking in the ignorance that now clawed his heart. Without a word, Belial gave a single bow and walked towards the door. The sound of Lucilius writing still hummed like a song. The hollow beat of Belial’s footsteps accompanied suit. He hated that quill. After the silent slide of his body out the room, Belial closed the door behind him. He wondered what it’s like to be his and his alone. --- He wonders what it’s like to be close to her. “Singularity.” His voice lulls a singsong tune. Standing beside the focused Skydweller, Belial leans forward. “Oh Singularityyy.” Feeling that someone was close along with hearing the sound of her many nicknames purring in her left ear, Djeeta turns her head. “Oh, Belial!” Surprise gleams in her glorious brown eyes. A smile instinctively tugs the edges of her pretty pink lips. This bothers the Primal a bit. Still, his smile ever loyal on his face, Belial dramatically stretches one hand to the side. “You should be happy to know that I’ve taken care of those naughty monsters.” The smile curls into a cocky grin. “It wasn’t satisfying, though. They broke so easily the moment I started to show force. One even had its legs spread far too apart, it ripped its body into two.” A sign slipped between his laughter. The corners of his eyes twitch just slightly when he hears her laugh. What an annoying sound. “Thank you, Belial.” Honesty hums in the air. “Those monsters weren’t that hard, but it did hurt the villagers that we passed by yesterday.” The book that she was reading now placed on her lap, Djeeta taps her lower lip with one finger. “Let’s just hope we got every last of them.” Crimson eyes dart to those luscious lips. “I assure you, every single one of them are broken to a point where they can never move again.” The laugh cracks around them. “They were too soft too. Makes me wish for something harder…” Tone lulls huskily as eyes remain fixed on her tiny pout. “Bigger…” Unaware of the lustful gaze he gives her, Djeeta merely gives a shrug. “Oh well.” She caught his perverted remarks; she just chose to ignore it. He knows she knows what he means. “Thanks again.” Head turned in his direction, her smile flashes even brighter. His heart feels heavy all of a sudden. “Anything to satisfy you, Singularity.” Every single reaction bothers him. Every single reaction that doesn’t involve her ignoring him brings a squeeze to his once cold dead heart. Belial watches as the Captain continues her reading, probably assuming that he has done talking to her for day. He technically is. He just doesn’t want to be. He isn’t used to this. He isn’t used to this cheerful, receptive attitude. He shouldn’t expect much, shouldn’t anticipate much, but a part of him – a teeny, tiny part of him – vainly wonders if he deserves such an attention. He wonders if he could deserve more. Crimson eyes dart to the book in her hands – how he envies that book. Sharp, silent gaze lowers to her chest, her stomach, then to her stretched legs, and finally, her lap. He finds it annoying that anxiety pricks his heart. “Hey, Singularity…” His voice is a master of deceit, for it perfectly masks the bundle of nerves that starts to compile from within. He waits for a reaction, and a reaction she gives when she lowers her book and willingly looks at him. Willingly. Curiously. Patiently. Everything he never knew he could get. “I did something dirty for you, you know.” He wants more. A single eyebrow arches on her forehead. Though verbal response is void, Belial knows she is patiently waiting for his next words. More… “I basically obeyed your orders like a good little boy.” One foot slides closer. “The least you can do is…oh, I don’t know, give me a reward?” Devilish grin curls wider. This time, silence becomes his answer. He’s supposed to be used to this. He should’ve expected this sort of reaction from the start. And yet, as crimson eyes gleam in hidden desperation and grin slowly fades to a teasing smile, Belial huffs out a bittersweet chuckle before adds, “Maybe next time the—” He stops when he witnesses her placing the book by her side. Her head lowers. Strands of blonde hair cascades down to vainly hide the emotion that now burns each cheek. Pink lips purse slightly, tightly, then pops to a single breath. The atmosphere around them seems intense, yet neither move too much in fear that this moment might shatter like glass. “Sit.” Shoulders actually flinch to hear her voice. “Hmm?” “Sit, Belial.” Her voice was firm yet gentle. Sharp but soft. It sends shivers up the back of his neck. Curiosity hovers in his head, Belial plops a seat next to her. Like a cat being adorably obedient to his master, he tilts his head slightly. She still isn’t looking at him. She is, however, moving one hand towards him. Curious. Then confused. And before Belial could ask of her actions, Plop. The next thing he knows, his head has landed on something soft. The air around them intensifies to a hundred. For the first time in his 2000 years of living, Belial was stumped stupid. Minutes feel like hours. Hours feel like days. And it isn’t until he hears her voice that he is finally slammed back to the world he despised living it. Head snaps to the side. Dumbfounded gaze fallen to the silently sheepish Captain above him. “What…?” she finally mutters, denying the foolish thing she has ever done today. “You said you wanted a reward. And unless you can prove me wrong, you’ve been eyeing my lap for a few long seconds while I was reading.” Ah, so she realized. “S-So anyways…” She keeps talking, keeps masking her blush in vain, “I figured that it’s a nice sunny day and I’m cozy here and we’re both out here alone…” Astrals, she should shut up soon. “And uh…y-you…did say that you did good job….which, you did.” Okay, she’s going to shut up. Just not now. “You did great. You’ve been nothing but helpful all these years. You proved yourself to be a trustful member of the crew. I’m so proud of you, you know. Super proud.” She should really keep her hands to herself too, “And I—I’m so happy to have you with me…” because before she knows it, slender fingers have caressed his deep dark hair. Finally, silence stitches her mouth. But she is too late, for both of them now remain stiff-silent at her words and actions. He gapes at her. She refuses to return his baffled stare. Here it comes, she agonizes. He’s going to give some perverted comments and I either have the choice to deafen it out or push his head away. The latter seems tempting. But the feel of his surprisingly soft hair provides to be the better temptress. So Djeeta opts to just close her eyes, to just drown out any unnecessary verbal abuse he was ready to give her— “Thank you, Djeeta…” Brown eyes feel like they are about to pop out. Is she deaf now? She is pretty sure she is deaf now. Unless she heard him wrong, unless the man on her lap isn’t actually the Belial, Djeeta could swear he had said— Finally she looks at him. He isn’t looking at her anymore. He doesn’t say a word. Is he asleep? He sounded like he was mumbling. His head faces forward, body unmoving as he lies on his right side. Concern scratches the lines on her face, so Djeeta carefully leans forward to get a better look. His eyes are closed. His breathing is even. Ah, so he really is tired. The smile that quivered ever so harshly minutes ago finally breaks free. Heat burns in each cheek. Heartbeat echoes a bit too loudly in her chest. He looks so peaceful. Her back straightened against a wall, Djeeta breathes out a sigh of relief. Jeez… She wonders how she manages to survive all these years, what with her reckless and spontaneous attitude and all. Amusement tickles her throat. Warmth seeps into her suddenly hot neck. Her palm falls gently into his thick hair again. “Sweet dreams, Belial…” Fingers trace along the curve of his left ear. Hearing his breathing as a sign of a reply, Djeeta giggles quietly before reaching out for her book. --- Hours passed by quickly before the sun decides to set. And it was those long hours that kept Belial awake and tortured. “And I—I’m so happy to have you with me…” He feels tired. So tired. Those words ring true in his ears, in his mind, in his aching heart. Though Belial has tricked her into thinking he had fallen asleep, the Primal wished could trick himself into thinking this was never real. But it is. It is. And he hates that he’s both distraught and exhilarated by it. He feels her left hand on his shoulder. He feels her right hand on his head. Belial ponders when exactly she decided to lull into slumber. The book she was reading had plopped by her side. The sounds of her giggles and hums are now replaced with calm breathing. He wonders if he deserves all of this. “And I—I’m so happy to have you with me…” Carefully, silently, he sits up. Her hands drop by her side. He hates that he misses her touch already. “And I—I’m so happy to have you with me…” Dull, crimson eyes stare at the woman next to him. She seems so peaceful, so calm. Everything about her radiates the sun, the moon, the life that walks on this earth. And she notices him. She accepts him. For all of his flaws and sins, she accepts him. “And I—I’m so happy to have you with me…” Fingers clench tightly against the wooden tile. A broken gaze emptily stares at her, at her face, at her closed eyes, at her nose. At her lips. They were slightly apart. Each lip looks plump, looks inviting, and Belial holds back a growl that beckons to escape his throat. She is helpless in front of him. There isn’t a single weapon in sight. Belial could take her right now. He could put his hands around her neck and choke her if he wants to. Although she is known for her incredible strength, the Primal knows it will be too late before she could stop him from ending her. Both hands move to her direction. Expression is void from the fallen angel. Not a peep. Not a sound. A smile he is so often seen with is gone, instead replaced with a thin line of sheer apathy. His hands move to her. Closer. And closer. She is all his. He will soon be free from this emotional turmoil. Closer…and closer… He can finally have his revenge. He can finally hear that delightful choke that will happily push him into an orgasm. So his arms stretch towards her, closer to her. He can end this. He can finally have what he wants. He can finally…finally… “And I—I’m so happy to have you with me…” Her skin is finally felt by his fingers. Her neck. Her shoulders. Her body. Under the orange hue that colours the calm sky, a slow groan fills in the heavy silence. Both arms remain tight around her shoulders. Both arms shake pitifully as he tries to tighten his embrace. Chin rested on her right shoulder, Belial shakes his head slowly. Crimson eyes regain its mortality – or something akin to whatever he is feeling right now. Deep breaths are in and out…and in…and out. He stares at nothing in particular, for his vision is now filled with her. Her smile. Her laugh. Her kindness. Her strength. Her. The vision is slowly starting to blur. Belial blinks once, then nuzzles weakly into her neck once he feels something sickly warm down his cheeks. Out of reflex, Djeeta shifts closer in his arms. This only encourages him to tighten his hug. He doesn’t want to let go. Not yet. Not ever. “And I—I’m so happy to have you with me…” “I love…you…” The single confession lulls so weakly, so faintly, drowned in the sea of his tears, “my saviour…” He wonders what it’s like to be hers and hers completely. END

#Belial #Djeeta #Granblue Fantasy #Belidjeeta #Djeebeli #Jejecchi #fafar writes #at this point ill just dump my fics here instead of my writing blog lmao #happy bday jeje!!!#honestly i hope u have a great bday #and i love you #heres to many more years of our friendship!!#filled w otps n angst :3c

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shreddedparchment · 6 years ago

Text

You’re My Mission Pt.03

You Shouldn’t Have Fallen

9/22/2018

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,834

Masterpost

Warnings: Language (this reader has a foul mouth!), feels, also I am not responsible for any squealing that comes as a result of reading this chapter! 😉

A/N: Omg, this is a little chapter but I love it. It was such a treat to explore the reader’s friendships with some of the other cadets which I hope I’ll get to do more of in future. I might be churning these out fast and some of them may be small because of how many tiny little scenes I have playing out in my head. I’m genuinely enjoying my time with Bucky and I gotta thank @mdgrdians for sending me the ask that inspired this fic. As always, I hope you enjoy it and if you feel like reblogging, thank you so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

1st gif credit {x} I reversed it.

You’re tired, dirty, and emotionally exhausted. Not only are you sore in your muscles, but your heart is aching because of your parents. You miss them. So much.

Even the dazzling night sky above cannot distract from your aches and pains.

Knowing that they’re never going to call you just to ask about your day is unbearable. Your mother will never brush your hair and your father will never tease you about being single ever again.

“My little girl's too good for the shlubs her age anyway.” He would add proudly.

Even though the night is pleasantly cool, you stop several times on your way back to your hut compound because you need to collect yourself.

You’re so tired of crying. And yet your eyes pool with tears so you stop, clutch your chest, and urge yourself to move past the ache.

Your heart is also weak because Sergeant Barnes opened up a new confusing can of worms today.

As you limp your way home you lift your hands to look at the half-ass job of wrapping them you did earlier during training. The blood has stopped flowing but its crusted over, dirty with soil, grass, and teeny tiny rocks that you can feel but can’t see.

You squeeze them, relishing in the pain because this pain, pain from a physical wound, is bearable compared to the other.

And what the hell had Sergeant Barnes been playing at acting all concerned about your wounded hands when he’d never showed even the smallest bit of interest before?

As you reach the compound, you can hear your hut mates sitting outside, laughing, having dinner. Relaxing. You feel like you don’t even know what that word means anymore. You’re worn so thin that you feel like a shell of the once happy woman you once used to be.

You stop at the outer wall’s open doorway and let the sounds of your hut mates’ ease soothe your raw soul. You remember laughing, really laughing. Having fun. Joking. How long has it been since you really laughed?

When you’d laughed at Sergeant Barnes earlier today it was in hysterics and mostly sarcastic. Like you would ever stop cursing because it wasn’t what ladies do? Silly.

You lean against the doorway, shutting your eyes as the smell of the pap en vleis wafts towards you making your stomach growl. You’ve eaten a few figs today but nothing more substantial and you’re starving. Not seriously starving. You’ve gone without food before, so you know what it feels like not to eat for several days because you simply can’t afford to. This is starving because your developing muscles are demanding you give them the calories to harden and grow.

Unable to resist the smell any longer you limp into the circle of huts. Aman is the first to see you and he quickly waves you over.

“Y/N, come. Hurry. Before Joshua eats all of the food. I’ve saved you some porridge too. Come.” He smiles wide, his smile bright and welcoming. It transforms his already handsome face into a shocking and pleasant attention grabber. The female cadets sitting around the fire stare at him.

It feels like a warm hug, his smile. He scoots over but takes your wrists when you reach him. He looks at your hands as you sit down.

“Aman, my friend, you’re my hero.” You pull your hands out of his gentle grip and reach for the bowl of porridge. With a spoon balanced carefully between your thumb and index finger so that you don’t have to curl your hand to hold it, you begin to eat.

“Y/N, what has happened to your hands? Did you hurt yourself?” Aman’s smile is replaced by a sincere look of shock and concern.

“I fell while I was running.” You look at your hands between bites and shrug. “I’m okay.”

“Sergeant Barnes did not let you go to the infirmary? You should have had these bandaged properly. Wait here.” He frowns and jumps up from his spot. He disappears into the shared supply hut, leaving you to enjoy your pap en vleis. You inhale it.

When he returns a few minutes later, you’re already finished eating. “Did you not eat, either?”

Joshua, an olive-skinned boy with stunning hazel eyes and a carefully shaved head is so young looking you suspected he was way too young to be a soldier when you first met him. He has been watching you eat with a look of utter confusion.

“I didn’t get the chance.” You admit. Too busy training.

“Here, give me your hands.” Aman balances the bandages and ointment on his legs and holds out his hands, waiting for you to give them up.

You do, placing your hands in his, palms up. He carefully begins to unwrap your sloppy rushed first-aid and you wince as the bandage pulls at your cuts.

“These look terrible. Did Sergeant Barnes really not let you go to the infirmary?” He demands, upset this time.

“I didn’t ask to go.” You shrug again.

“He should have made you go. How will you hold a gun with palms like these?” His accent makes his angry voice sound so pleasing that you sigh and smile.

“Aman, you’re the best.” Now that you’re fed, you blink at him sleepily, slouching with your exhaustion.

You watch him as he carefully uses a small sterile towel to clean the remaining dirt, rocks, and blood from your cuts. He sucks in with his teeth as he reaches a spot with a large chunk of skin about the size of a coke bottle cap pulled back exposing a bit of the pink tissue underneath.

You lean against Aman’s left arm and watch as he works on your hands, both of you facing the gently roaring fire.

“Does this hurt?” He asks, pulling the skin back to look at the flesh underneath.

You shake your head. You don’t feel it anymore. “No. Are they really that bad?”

“I’ll have to cut this piece of skin off so that it does not pull at the tear anymore.” He reaches for a small pair of scissors and carefully cuts along the edge of the skin still attached to your palm. He throws the removed piece into the fire and quickly applies ointment to the scrape.

Leaning against Aman, the gentle touches to your hands, the smell of the food, the warmth of the fire, and the pleasant sound of happy conversation makes you sleepy and you start to drift off.

“She’s exhausted. I wonder what he has her doing? How can he neglect her health like this? Should we not report him to King T’Challa? Or the princess perhaps? She has lots of contact with Sergeant Barnes. Maybe she could ask him to be more considerate of Y/N?” Joshua asks in hushed and fervent tones.

“Do not put your nose where it is not wanted, Joshua. If Y/N wants our help, then she will ask for it. We do not want to overstep.” Then he sighs. “But I admit, I’d like to get my hands on that Sergeant Barnes. It seems like the more time she spends with him the more exhausted she becomes. She keeps coming back looking worse than when she leaves.”

“Do you think he’s being abusive on purpose?”

“I don’t-”

A sudden clearing of a throat quiets the conversation. You were listening to it but with your eyes closed and more asleep than awake, you aren’t really retaining it. What you do notice is the way that everyone is suddenly silent. There’s a shuffling of feet and Aman holds your shoulders with careful hands, pushing you away from him as he gets to his feet. Still, his hand finds the back of your head. He supports its weight as he rises, careful so that you don’t fall over. You groan and sit up a little straighter. You glance down at your hands all nicely bandaged with stark white gauze and tape.

“Thanks, Aman.” You say sleepily. You look up at him because he doesn’t reply. He’s standing at attention now that you’re supporting yourself.

You look to where his eyes are trained, the compound doorway, and find Sergeant Barnes standing just inside. He looks unsure of himself as he looks from cadet to cadet then turns his eyes on you.

As you get to your feet, your suddenly alert eyes take in as much of him as you can. He’s still wearing his training outfit, a pair of black fatigue pants and a simple dark grey t-shirt that fits him snugly around the chest and loose around the waist. Had you forgotten to do something? His hands are clenched into fists. His metal hand is especially tight. You find his face, meeting his hesitant blue-eyed stare with your own equally confused gaze.

“Sergeant Barnes? What are you doing here?” You hesitate for a moment, nervous for some reason. Maybe it’s because he’s never come to your compound before? All the other cadets are standing at attention and it’s not until this moment that you realize how relaxed your interactions with Sergeant Barnes are despite the obvious annoyed tension you and he always seem to share.

He licks his lips, opening his mouth, hesitating again as he gives the other cadets another look. “At ease.” He tells them, and they relax. They don’t sit, but they shift from leg to leg, unsure of how to be around him. You decide to spare them and carefully move around Joshua and another female cadet and approach Sergeant Barnes before simply grabbing his metal forearm with your injured hand and yanking him back out of the hut compound.

As you pass a tangle of bush you release his arm and trust that he’ll follow you. You glance back at him to make sure and as you do, you see him swing his metal arm towards the row of bush as you pass it. You narrow your eyes at the movement because it looks weird and not part of his natural walking arm swing. When you’ve put a good amount of distance between the two of you and the huts you stop and turn to face him.

“What?” You ask, nervous, as you pull your hands up to carefully massage your wrists with your fingers. “Did I forget to do something? Can’t I just do it in the morning? I’m really tired.”

“Who was that cadet who did your bandages?” He’s scowling again, all of the uncertainty he had displayed around your compound mates gone.

“My banda-? Aman. Why?” You watch him turn away from you to glance towards the compound. When he speaks, he doesn’t look at you.

“You have the morning off tomorrow. Rest up while you can. We start your hand to hand training tomorrow afternoon.” He turns back to you, his expression serious.

“Hand to hand? How am I supposed to fight hand to hand when my hands are like this?” You complain, your exhaustion giving you little patience for his craziness. You wave your hands at him. Can’t he see your wrapped-up hands?

“You shouldn’t have fallen.” He retorts.

“I didn’t fall on purpose, jerk. My legs gave out on me.”

“Fine, we’re working your core tomorrow then. West field, by 1300. Not a minute later, cadet.” He fixes you with a stern gaze, daring you to be late.

“1300? That’s one o’clock, right?” You’re still not a hundred percent comfortable with military time. Anything after 1200 is hard to remember. Even 1300 which is literally only one hour after noon. You should know that one easily. Stupid.

“Seriously?” He gripes at you, annoyed that you still don’t know your military time by heart. He huffs and walks around you without really answering your question.

“You could have just called to tell me that!” You shout after him. You watch his wide back retreat up the hill towards who knows where. You know he has a hut somewhere by one of the lakes but you’re not sure which one or where. “Ass.”

As you move back towards the compound you suddenly remember the strange swing of his arm as he’d followed you out to talk. You freeze, instinct taking over. Quickly, like you’ve got ants in your pants, you carefully sift through the thorny bush, avoiding the spikes as much as you can. Aman had just been nice enough to fix you up, you didn’t want to ruin his beautiful work.

You’re not sure exactly where it was he’d swung his arm, so you walk very slowly back towards the compound hunched over, looking, stopping, and then carefully pushing the brush aside to see if there was anything there.

You were about to give up when a strange brightness catches your eyes. You move as close as possible to the brush and carefully, slowly squat down.

“Ow, ow, ow, fuck, ow.” Your legs are so sore already, you can just imagine the pain you’ll feel tomorrow. Will you even be able to walk?

Biting your lip, you push the brush aside with your left hand so that you can reach in as far as possible with your right hand. You lean in so far that you feel a barb poke your shoulder. A grimace contorts your expression at the pain but you don’t physically wince, unwilling to give up. Finally, your hand closes around a box about the size of a tube of lipstick. You pull your hand back quickly, careful not to scratch yourself on your way out. When you’re free of the bush you open your fist and in it is a brushed silver box. It’s cardboard but it has that slightly shiny sheen to it.

You turn it over and over, looking for a label but there isn’t one. Holding it between your thumb and index finger, like you had your spoon, you place the pinky side of your hands on your knees and use your weak arms to push yourself back up onto your feet.

“Ow, ow, ow, fuck!” You groan in pain as you stand up straight and feel your lower back begin to cramp as you take your first few steps.

When you walk back into the compound, Joshua and Aman look up from their spots around the fire.

“He’s so large. How did he get muscles that big?” A female cadet is asking as she disappears into a shared hut with a second female cadet.

“What did Sergeant Barnes want?” Aman asks, unashamed of his prying.

“He uh, just wanted to tell me that I have the morning off. Guess I get to sleep in.” You smile. You hold up your hands so that he can look at them. “And thanks for the first aid, Aman, really.”

“He came all the way down here to tell you that you had the morning off? Couldn’t he have called?” He asks, looking to Joshua, as confused as you felt.

You force a laugh, “Yeah, right?” And move towards your hut.

Once inside you place the small cardboard box on your bed by your pillow and instead of opening it, you gather some clothes and head for the shared shower. It takes some skill to bathe without getting your palms all wet, but you manage it somehow, using your forearms to work the soap into your hair. Clean, fresh, and dressed in your sleeping shorts, you hurry back through the chilly night and into your warmed hut.

Ready for bed, you sit your butt down slowly and struggle to work your way back because of how much your legs are hating you. You’re panting when your back finally hits the wall and you stop moving, tired from the effort of trying to get comfortable sitting. But you can’t lay yourself down yet. Your eyes wander over to the silver box. You stare at it, wondering what it is. You’re not sure you want to find out. Maybe he dropped it accidentally? Maybe he dropped it intentionally? What if it was something weird? Something you weren’t meant to see? There was a reason he intentionally dropped it. What if it was important? You could give it back to him and he’d be so glad to have it back if he’d dropped it unintentionally.

Unable to take the suspense any longer you reach out for it. “Ooow.” You complain, stretching your muscles to reach.

You turn the box over in your wounded hands, weighing it, wondering what it might be.

“Don’t open it.” You tell yourself, and really consider throwing it across the room.

Instead your fingers grab hold of one end of the box while your other hand folds the cardboard back over the opening.

You sigh quietly as you get a glimpse of what’s in the box. With a confusing barrage of butterflies in your stomach, you tilt it over your open hand and watch as a small tube of antibiotic cream tumbles into your open palm.

@bionic-buckyb @mdgrdians @ulired @biawol @markusstraya @queenof-wakanda @slice-of-thunder @clockworkherondale @shonaldo @lilulo-12 @dsakita @just-trying-to-survive-marvel @coldfacedwarf @zoey-odinson-stark @animegirlgeeky @paetonsfandom @caramelsunrise @until-theend-oftheline @a-n-gela @dirtylittlelamb @moonlessnight14 @el-dibidibidordo @marymooonlastrage @calliope-musings

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