#how many stink tags can i fit in here
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this is how people feel abt me probably
#buggoposting#stink#stinkposting#stinkyposting#stinky smelly#themsmell#stinky haha smelly uh oh#stinksmell#smellyposting#smelly smelly#yuckkk#smelling like shit#stench#stenchcore#pungent stench#stinky stinky#that theystench#smelly vibes#smelly aesthetic#olfactory assault#stinkcore#how many stink tags can i fit in here#putrid#pheromones#that's a euphemism. there are no pheromones involved. it'd just smelly#stink blog#havent washed any of my clothes since 2020#smells like corpse#smellpilled stinkcel#society forces me to shower 💔
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7 (for all 3 eds), 12 & 19
7. Is there a piece of clothing you think [character] is particularly fond of/that you imagine them wearing a lot or like to draw them in? Hehehe I LOVE these kind of questions! I think about this stuff way too much...For the sake of the question I won't be including their default show clothes because I think those are a given. Ed - I just know dude is wearing that green jacket for as long as humanly possible. It is going to stink so bad and be littered with stains and holes, but he won't be considering any other option until it's an indescribable rag. Otherwise I think he'd stick to comfortable clothing. He probably wears band/pop-culture T-shirts exclusively. I can see him wearing flannel as well. Edd - He dresses like an absolutely embarrassing dork. I think most of the time he just doesn't feel it necessary to put much thought into style and will just buy the same button-up and slacks if left to his own devices. I have expressed before that I like the idea of him wearing sweaters: Turtlenecks, argyle vests...they are so grandpacore and so him <3. @owmylasagna-blog has mentioned stuff about him wearing "outdoorsy" type clothes which I totally see as well. The type of guy you can depend on to have a zippo lighter on him, but don't expect his soft hands to actually be able to light it. Eddy - What can he NOT wear is more the question. Ok, but he is already so malleable in canon with the outfits he comes up with, and the confidence he excudes, I can see him getting away with a lot. I'd say the things I most enjoy having him wear (in my mind or in fanart) are very garish Hawaiian/printed-fabric dress shirts (think Guy Fieri or Ricky from the Trailer Park Boys), or vintage-aligned stuff like leather jackets with a white undershirt, leisure suits. I think he'd be good for anything that gives him as much (hopefully favorable) attention as possible.
12. What's the funniest or craziest AU idea you've ever come up with? I don't know if these are the "craziest" au ideas but, specific to EEnE, maybe the catsona AU I have? lol I hadn't thought about it being an AU before, but I think it fits that definition, even if it is just excuses to draw them as kitties without much actual lore. I've thought about exploring a furry AUs for them (because of course I have) but I haven't gone far in it because I am so conflicted about what animal to make Ed specifically. Also so many people have made cool posts of their furry interpretations for them already. I also have played around with a birdsona au (where all the characters are different types of birds) exclusively because I love birds.
19. What's your favorite thing about [fandom]? I love how friendly and supportive everyone here is to one anothers' ideas for the show, the characters, and beyond! There is so much creativity going around between fanfiction, fanart, podcasts : ) even when I am not as active in a daily sense, I still get so much joy seeing stuff pop up in the tag, and checking in on mutuals blogs. It is rather cozy and small here, but I like that. I've had stints in larger fandoms and things can quickly become overwhelming and crazy. Not that small fandoms are excluded from having issues, but it is a very different vibe that I am finding I tend to prefer within communities <3 love all the friends I've gotten to know through this little space : )
#thank you so much <3#the more I was talking about the au stuff the more I realized I really gotta start drawing them#should prove easier with the end of the semester coming up#I still have summer classes but they aren't art related so maybe my time will be more free to draw silly fanart#asks
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Man, I fucking love creating surveys just to ignore the results and criticism because they don’t match my personal opinions and biases! Don’t you? Oh wait, I don’t need to ask, I can see from the many dismissals of valid criticisms in your posts that you do too! Fuck yeah!
You're feeling SO good about this, aren't you. You really showed me, the lesbophobic hate witch haunting the ACOTAR fandom. So fine, I guess I WILL keep having the same conversation. Also btw, taking my survey multiple times to suggest "any wlw ship" and accusing me of homophobia is not the slay you think it is.
Not to absolutely BLOW your mind, but the ships listed in the survey are the most popular ships in the fandom. If I tried to include every single rarepair, each question would have 100 options, and the survey would be unusable. And, also not to freak you out too much, but the core demographic of this fandom is straight women, who prefer straight ships.
Here are the stats so far for the "favorite ship" question.
20% is Feysand, 18.5% is Nessian, 13.3% is Elucien, and the pink and light blue on the left are Neris and Elriel.
You see that lil highlighted section at the top? The pink one? That's Emorie. One person has voted for it as their favorite ship. It's slightly more common as a second and third favorite ship (about 10 people have voted for it in each category). And that's for THE most popular wlw ship. There have been maybe one or two suggestions for other wlw ships, each with only 1 vote. So maybe my "personal bias" that this fandom is heterosexual and only ships the straight ships has been somewhat validated. To add wlw ships to this list that nobody is going to pick would be virtue signaling, just as you feeling righteously angry at ME over this fandom ignoring wlw ships is useless virtue signalling.
I'm in the main ACOTAR tag almost every day. I see the content that is being made. This fandom does not make content for wlw ships. I'm not exactly sure how that's MY fault. I'm not adding ships to "be inclusive," I'm doing it to collect accurate data for this fandom.
Hmm, well, nobody can say I don't do my research. Let's check out AO3 for those super popular wlw ships!
Weird. Well why I don't I check out YOUR AO3, @ablogofsapphicpanic? Surely you have been churning out wlw fics left and right, since you've seen fit to throw such a stink about this.
Oop, what's this? Only the straight canon ships? Thus confirming everything that I've been saying? Weird.
Also btw, when you take the survey, it tells me what time each submission was entered, so I can tell that the ones bitching about wlw ships and claiming I hate women submitted 2 minutes apart are from you. Anyway, have fun in the "other" category with the tamlin stans!
#asks#yall really wanted to try me didn't you lmao#A BLOG OF SAPPHIC PANIC with only content for the canon heterosexual ships on their blog#bitching in my askbox about hating wlw#you truly cannot make this up#pls be stupid somewhere else I have shit to do.
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“Hey! What’s the story, morning glory?”
Ingrid’s voice was entirely too energetic for eight in the morning, bubbling with the energy of a late-night party that never ended. Jordan had a sore neck and a sore back, and there was no comfortable way to sleep in the cab of this truck. Technically homeless now, he needed to find another option. It would have been much more comfortable to roll out his sleeping bag and sleep under the stars, but he had just too much pride to do that. In the suburbs, at least. He just needed to get out of here.
“What a surprise,” Ingrid continued. “Ian told me you were here yesterday, and this morning, too? You missed me?”
“I needed something to do,” he said. “I fixed your camper.”
“You look like you’ve been through the wringer. Was it hard?”
“The camper? Nah, not so far. You had a corroded battery terminal, among other things. It needs more work, but it’ll run for a while. It still stinks though.”
“Awesome, so now we can run away together.”
He let out a single chuckle. “You can pay me, I guess. I could use the money.”
They walked together over to the camper where he showed her what he did and how he did it. She would need to know how to replicate the repairs when the time came, but she wasn’t paying any attention to his instruction in the least.
She flashed him a grin and waggled her eyebrows. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in anything else? I’m a woman of many talents.”
He laughed. But, actually…
Her camper. That was what he needed. Surely he could clean it up and make it livable. Although he could absolutely rough it—he was a backcountry camper, after all—having four walls and a roof and a dry bed that he could stretch out on would be nice.
“Actually, maybe, sell me your camper? I know you only spent two hundred bucks on it. I’ll give you a thousand. You’ve only had it two weeks and never took it anywhere. You’re not attached. It’s broken, it stinks. It’ll break again soon, and you don’t know how to fix it.”
“Oh,” she whimpered. “That two hundred was a steal. How am I gonna do my van life channel without a camper? I was gonna be a traveling hippie artisan.”
“Ingrid, I’ve seen those van life channels, too. This junker doesn’t fit the aesthetic. This camper is more trailer trash than traveling hippie artisan.”
“But then you get to have all the fun.”
She looked gloomy for a minute, but then her face lit up with an idea.
“How about a deal? We’ll make the swap in California. You drive me out. You let me tag along and shoot some videos on the way there. It’ll be an epic road trip adventure. Then you can drop me off, and it’s yours. What’s that, like a week? Two weeks tops?”
“Hmm. Okay,” Jordan said. “Paperwork now, and it’s a deal.”
“Ho-ly shit!” Ingrid squealed. “You’re actually going to run away with me?”
“Well, it worries me when you say it like that.”
Ingrid bounced with excitement. “Hot damn, let’s go.”
“Okay, but I’m running away and you’re tagging along.”
“Don’t worry, baby! We can call it that if you want.”
They exchanged and signed the title paperwork, and now Jordan was the proud owner of this smelly piece of junk, and contract-bound to take this wild hippie artisan to California.
“When do we leave? Tonight? Tomorrow? I’m ready when you are!”
Jordan blew out a heavy sigh. “I’m not sure what I just got myself into. Soon. I’ll let you know. There’s something I need to do first.”
— from “my sweetheart #10: call it what you want” (1/9)
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How U.S. Navy Pilots Really Get Their Callsigns
A Super Hornet pilot gives us an inside look at how Naval Aviators get their often colorful but unflattering callsigns.
Ben KohlmannView ben kohlmann's Articles
PUBLISHED Aug 23, 2023 1:26 PM EDT
Navy callsigns pilots
U.S. Navy photo by Photographer's Mate 2nd Class Felix Garza Jr.
Let’s reminisce about fighter pilot callsigns and how they come about.
I’ll start with mine: 'The Professor,' eventually shortened to 'Prof.'
How I got it: First port call as a new guy in the squadron, we pull into Hong Kong. Everybody always chipped into buying the fanciest penthouse in a big name hotel - think 30 guys and gals crashing on the floor.
(Courtesy of the author)
Someone was always tagged as the 'admin queen.' This individual was required to stay sober and be the adult in the room in case anything went awry and had to talk to the hotel staff.
I pulled Admin Queen duty the second night.
2am, all my compatriots are out on the town. Looking around, I noticed everybody was gone.
So, like anyone would, I change the music from rap to Beethoven and pull out my American History of Law book to pass the time.
Bad move.
An older squadronmate bursts in, tipsy, and sees me.
"What do we have here? It's the Professor at work!"
It was the leading contender at the callsign review board the next week that took place aboard ship.
Let's pause a bit and talk about the 'rules' for callsigns.
It's rumored that Air Force fighter jocks get to pick their own callsigns... which is where you get things like 'Ripper' and 'Ace' and 'Thor.'
Not in the Navy.
"Professor" and his wife Jamie in front of an F/A-18. (Courtesy of the author)
Callsigns are bequeathed for doing something stupid or memorable. The more you fight the more it sticks.
Usually a new guy in a squadron is given something like 'FNG' (Fucking New Guy) or 'New Jack' or 'Don't Speak.'
Eventually, someone does something noteworthy, and the King (or Queen) of the JOPA [Junior Officer Protection Agency] calls a kangaroo court known as a 'callsign review board.'
Everybody can propose a name. There are lots of nominations. Many are absurd and vile.
Eventually, a few finalists are named. They're voted on and by acclimation a callsign is bestowed.
The commanding officer then gets veto authority - and sometimes exercises it. In which case you go back to the white board.
I also had another callsign before my 'official' one.
Before going to the carrier for the first time before we qualify for our wings of gold, we'd all get a temporary callsign through a similar, abridged process.
Mine was 'Stink.' Let's just say I wouldn't always wash my flight suits after a flight in the middle of a Meridian Mississippi summer.
They were pungent.
That one stuck until I got to my first fleet squadron, which is when I got Professor.
(Courtesy of the author)
Now the fun part... other call signs that were part of the 2008-2013 era of Naval Aviation.
'LOTHAR' - Loser Of The American Revolution
I'm pretty sure the guy is still in the Royal Navy and probably a squadron commander by now.
When he was a new pilot, he was the first Brit to get assigned to a front line, American F/A-18 squadron.
He took it well as only a Brit would.
'Chaser'
This was my first fleet commanding officer. He was a grizzled old dude who originally started his aviation days as an F-14 backseater.
But before that, he was an enlisted sailor with the 'HT' rate... Hull Tech. He was one of the guys who would make sure the plumbing worked.
They were known as "shit chasers" aboard ship.
It stuck when he became an officer.
'SLUGZ'
Short Little Ugly Guy.
He actually wasn't all that short. SLUGZ was one of my first mentors in the squadron who saw me through tough first days trying to figure out carrier landings.
But the name fit the personality.
'PETA'
He was department head when I joined my first squadron.
Rumor was that on one of his first flights in the F-14, on the landing rollout he hit a deer!
Deer died.
Plane was fine.
Callsign was obvious.
Mouth, Tiny, Powder and Probes adorn VFA-102 Super Hornets on deck. (U.S. Navy photo by Photographer's Mate Airman Stephen W. Rowe)
'Soccer Mom'
This was my brother's first call sign.
In flight school he had this old green station wagon while his brethren were rolling around in their fancy sports cars.
'Amtrak'
Member of our squadron was an absolute train wreck when drunk.
'Bar Code'
Literally, we painted a barcode on the side of the jet.
Verbally we called him 'R2' since he behaved like a robot. But we thought the barcode was too good to pass up.
'TAKAN'
Talks A Lot, Knows Absolutely Nothing.
This was a play on the navigational aids military aviators used to use when flying across the country.
'Wiki'
The source of all dubious knowledge.
Dude would have an answer for everything... in detail. But he was the father of misinformation before it was cool.
'Delilah'
This is one of my favorite callsign stories because I'm a total nerd.
After pulling into port in Singapore, we were out at the bar.
The commanding officer of the USS Sampson, a battle group destroyer, happened to wander in.
He starts hitting on a squadron mate of mine - a very outgoing woman who was also very junior to him.
Fortunately we were able to extricate her from the situation with nothing lost but pride on the part of Sampson's CO, but she was tagged with "Delilah" after almost bringing down the skipper of the Sampson.
'SANDY'
Skipper And Nasty Did it Yesterday.
Remember Chaser? Well, whenever the commanding officer of the USS Nimitz, callsign 'Nasty,' wanted to go flying, Chaser would fly in his backseat. We were the only two seat squadron on the boat.
Nasty would do ridiculous flybys. I'm talking high speed (near supersonic), barely above the height of the flight deck, feel the shockwave of the jet on the flight deck flybys. He was the master of the ship.
My buddy SANDY was a brand new pilot and thought it would be cool if he tried the same thing.
Not a good idea.
His excuse was literally "But Skipper and Nasty did it yesterday!"
He was grounded for a few days... and got a callsign.
'Steamer'
Buddy's last name was Cleveland.
Best part about this story is that as we were pulling into port to San Diego after a month at sea, the local news station wanted to do a story about us.
I was dual-hatting as the squadron public affairs officer at the time, so they tell me to do the interview.
The camera crew sets up in hangar with some jets behind me... and the one they ask me to stand in front of has 'LT XYZ "Steamer" Cleveland' written in big bold letters in clear view of the camera shot.
They rolled with it and broadcasted it out to SoCal.
Gonzo and Buff on this F/A-18F. (U.S. Navy photo by Photographer's Mate Airman Nicholas B. Morton)
'Tweek'
Dude would go high and right over the smallest thing. He was the target of a lot of ribbing just to see how angry we could get him.
'Farva'
Had a number of guys with this one - especially around the time Super Troopers came out.
'Boom Boom'
My brother had this one temporarily - in C-2 training, he landed and blew BOTH tires on the rollout.
'Jerry'
Marine fighter pilot - and one of the most impressive aviation leaders I've ever met - had a proclivity for older ladies ("geriatric") in his formative days.
'Tofu'
Pudgy, white guy. He owned it.
'Sweet P'
One of our missions in the Super Hornet was to be the on-demand, airborne tanker for the air wing.
You'd launch off the ship then rendezvous with the offgoing tanker to do a "package check" of the refueling tank and hose.
If there was good gas flow, it was a "sweet" tanker, and if there was a problem, it was a "sour" tanker.
On one of his first flights, this gentleman reported back on the open ship frequency "Sweet package, sweet package."
With our minds always in the gutter, 'Sweet P' was the obvious choice.
'Radio'
Guy got to the fleet around the time the movie Radio came out. Not exactly sure what he did... but it wasn't smart.
He became a test pilot and is now in the Astronaut program.
'Shortney'
Callsign for the four-star admiral I worked for - last name was Gortney and he stood no more than 5' 6" tall.
At least when I worked for him he was a great sport about it
'Satan'
One of my air wing commander had this callsign for the longest time. I think people were scared to tell the story. He was an intense dude, but took a quiet liking to me.
The reason I knew he liked me was whenever he saw me, he would body-check me into the walls of the carrier as we passed.
Apparently he only did that to folks that were on his good side.
I think he's a three-star admiral now.
'Don't Ask' & 'Don't Tell'
We had a pair of new squadronmates come aboard - one was a pilot, the other a weapons systems officer. When the callsign crackdown happened in 2011, we thought we could slip one past the goalie by giving those two guys matching call signs that would be painted next to each other on the jet.
Those were quickly vetoed.
(Courtesy of the author)
Lots of other good ones:
'Rabbit,' 'Heed,' 'Mouth,' 'Gimp,' 'Waldo,' 'Cholula,' 'Sasha'... and some others I'm too timid to share in public.
Never had a Maverick though...
This piece was adapted from a Twitter thread by Ben Kohlmann. Ben flew F/A-18s with VFA-41 and VMFAT-101, serving on active duty as a Naval officer from 2004-2015. He currently serves in the USNR and spends his professional time in Venture Capital as an early-stage defense tech investor.
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14 Associations - OC tag quiz
Cut for length. :3
Tagged by: @reconditerune
Research for this made it take longer to reply. But, thanks for the tag!
Tagging: Anyone who hasn't done it or wants to do it for another alt.
About: Florentel Valeriant
Animal: Bluebird! I have always seen Ren as a bird. Stretching his wings and flying off to adventure. I even try to collect every bird minion I can for him. (Except the penguin because I am not good at verminion.)
Color: Turquoise Green. His family house color.
Song: Change the World (Inuyasha)
Okay... I had one hell of a time picking a song. This is the one thing I never really thought about before. I went through so many trying to pick that it took multiple days. Here, I have some honorable mentions I ultimately rejected for him that seem to work for a WoL theme in general or an endwalker theme...
This is war by 30 seconds to mars
World on fire by les friction
Traveler's song by Aviators
Hero by Tommee Profitt
The voice by celtic women
Etc...
Number: 6
I just used numerology for this. Took a bit of math trying to find his canon birth year, though.
Day or night: Day... or rather the sunrise.
Plant: Rose
His house is sworn to serve House Haillenarte after all. Plus Sorrel always calls Ren his 'blue rose' or 'precious rose'
Smell: I canonically have him smell like fresh fallen snow, a wood fire, sweet honeysuckle, and the faint aroma of gunpowder. (Dried honeysuckle is what he places in his boots at night so they never stink and gunpowder because he is a mch.)
Gemstone: Boulder Opal
A beautiful gemstone with deep meaning. Feels like it would fit Ren well. It is a thin gemstone, so it is usually supported by the ironstone it is found in. Besides the typical meaning of Boulder Opals, I like to think the ironstone represents all the hardships he has gone through, and like how the ironstone makes the gemstone colors more vibrant, is what helped build Ren to who he is today.
Season: That moment of spring when the snow hasn't melted yet but it is warming up and flowers have begun to bloom through the snow.
Place: Ishgard
Food: Crowned Pie
Deity: Halone
Elements: Wind/Ice/Light
Drink: Warm cider (the non-alcoholic kind)
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Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous Review
Steam said my original review was too long so I had to butcher it to fit it in. Here's the full and original intended review.
This game has excellent writing, and I can't understate that. It's the obligatory shell which ultimately forces me to turn away from an excellent story.
The first problem extends from the central conceit, even before the plot of a crusade against demons: a CRPG conversion of the Pathfinder roleplaying system. This comes with many hurdles, and this game clears them with finesse and clumsiness in equal measure. They have simplified the long list of 26 skills into a streamlined 11, not only because there were simply too many (I am not sure if the separation of Escape Artist and Acrobatics, or Use Magic Device and Spellcraft, are justified in the original rpg. Clearly Paizo agrees with me to some extent as will be discussed) and a number of them simply do not have application in a CRPG with necessarily finite interactions (sorry, no human writer can account for the player attempting to flirt with important NPCs at any given point of the narrative in advance) on a simulated two dimensional map (no flying, here). What's left is simple and efficient, Intelligence and Wisdom both get two "knowledge" skills to preserve the place that a high amount of skill ranks served, and all uses of all skills are intuitive.
What has come with more struggle is the refusal to address the "rocket tag" dynamics of gameplay which manifest themselves shortly after level 5. There are people who love this type of gameplay and I am not saying in and of itself it is a bad design direction: the first edition of Pathfinder endured so long for reasons. The way the 'machine', the way the rules of the game are interpreted, adjudicates certain situations turns precise and remarkable combat situations into eye twitching slogs. Two examples, both relatively early in the game (Act 1 and Act 2) with minimum spoilers:
Your party enters a room with 4 Dretches, sloth demons. They are at such a distance away from you that your melee fighters cannot strike them in the first turn, or maybe they won initiative. At any rate, each of them begins the combat by casting stinking cloud, a DC 13 Fortitude Save. In my experience of running these games, I might have the dretches cast the spell in strategic choke points, or around themselves to encourage indirect combat (archery) or compel magical counterplay (dispersal with wind). As it is a utility spell with too few applications, no wind spells are available in Wrath of the Righteous, immediately stripping spellcasters of use in this type of encounter. That in and of itself is inelegant but there is one more thing that the machine decides to do which makes this low level encounter a hassle every time it happens (and it is by no means uncommon throughout act 1): The dretches all place their clouds directly on top of allies. The original description reads: Any creature that succeeds on its save but remains in the cloud must continue to save each round on your turn. This is a poison effect. They incorporated this rule element correctly. I argue that allowing the clouds to stack has only negative effects on gameplay, and must be categorized as an incorrect ruling. When each spell is cast, every party member in the area is forced to make a save. And then, when their turn begins, they make a new save against each cloud individually. This spell can completely disable characters for up to five rounds since they leave the cloud. If a game master looked me in the eye and told me I needed to make upwards of five saves against an identical disabling effect per character in a row, every round in some rooms, I would not tolerate a DM which expresses such clear animosity for me.
Second situation, you are forced to enter a room with ghouls pouring in It does not matter how your party entered the room, if it is possible for the ghouls to aggro your main character they are aggrod on your main character. That is annoying, but actually exploitable. I decide to reload the save and have my character slip into the next room which has a tighter door and make a choke point with two tanks, and from there we're running them down with cleaves and arrows, I cannot ask for a more efficient configuration. That is, until the game decides that seven ghouls mashing their face into two suits of armor doesn't make sense. Rather than change any of their tactics, the game simply started allowing them to pass to attack my character. I would simply stand up and leave if a human game master gave this situation to me. I don't need to be here, I don't need to put up with this.
This game is glitchy, and nearly every glitch happens to fall to the enemy's favor. I don't think I can recommend this game in good faith based on how, even when everything goes right, I cannot convince a machine to not have a personal animus it does not in fact possess: this game master is presented to you "as is" and the best you can do is drop the difficulty all the way down, as if to say "fine, I never even liked the stupid game anyway, screw this". This is no victory, though, as even if your whole party can now move through the game as wind passes over the plain, other problems rear their head.
Your party moves intolerable slow over maps, and the best thing you can do to mitigate takes resources it shouldn't. In the tabletop game, dragging pieces to where they need to be is a matter of a hand gliding over a mat. Moreover, to leave an area all that needs to be done is the declaration, and the whole scene is swept aside for the next. But in this game, all space must be recognized so all space is walked. Nothing is taken for granted, and this drags the pace of the game out.
The game maintains an inequity between classes, and creates new ones with it's attempts at streamlining. The Rogue is a simply bad class-- they have to fulfill special conditions to merely meet the damage of a well built fighter while having worse armor, for a benefit which is typically irrelevant, as you can shape your party of six to have all of the skills you need. Spellcasters have all of their utility options stripped of them as described before, so if you're not optimizing for damage you're not optimizing for anything. Take all spell penetration feat taxes or watch spell after spell fizzle. This also goes for all party members.
Speaking of the party of six, your character's "protagonist" role makes the game unforgiving in a way that the Pathfinder RPG was never meant to be: When your character dies in the original RPG there were a thousand solutions to that problem. Maybe your party could seek a resurrection ritual, and that could be as simple as visiting a cleric or a whole plotline could be created out of it. Maybe that quest alone could splinter into so many roleplay possibilities-- a party member could look into becoming a Lich in order to protect you forever into the afterlife, or another party member could seek to exchange their soul for yours in a heroic sacrifice. Maybe they need to make a massive diversion from the main quest to seek out a wizard's tower, or battle down into the boneyard to retrieve your soul. This is not to mention that maybe it's not a problem to be solved at all per-se. Character death can be an opportunity to rethink your strategy, to make a new character who won't suffer the problems of the old.
None of this is possible in Wrath of the Righteous. If your character dies, you reload a save and that's that. Experimenting with builds is a no go. All tactical decisions in and out of battle have to revolve around your character surviving. You will need to adopt every habit of bad faith gaming which sucks the life out of many tabletop groups; you will have to meta game, you will have to rest after losing a more than marginal amount of resources no matter what, you will have to create new kinds of tedium simply because tedium works.
And on tedium, the Crusades system is simply that bad. It is a scaled down strategy game which takes too long to work through (mostly due to the forced animations) and it nearly totally disconnected from your main story. There are, again, difficulty options to attempt to curb this annoyance, but that can make the situation far worse: if you relinquish control over the Crusades, you will inevitably and automatically build things which will cause disapproval among your ranks.
This game has a modding scene, but there devs have a slightly obnoxious attitude towards it. They disable achievements while it detects that you have gameplay mods on, as if to 'tut tut' us for cheating. That in and of itself would be merely eye roll inducing except that most Quality of Life mods also triggers the achievement disable. That means you are at least heartily discouraged from fixing the game yourself, which isn't great for a game so obviously flawed.
Finally, I must give a thought about the implementation of alignment. Wrath of the Righteous lives and dies on the alignment mechanic-- your character's morality and where it places them in the polarized cosmos. A story like this will likely become impossible to tell, since Paizo has now moved on from publishing for the Pathfinder RPG, in favor of Pathfinder 2nd Edition. This massively overhauls most of the rules of the game, and now they seem intent to sweep away many artifacts of the original rpg which were intent on making the transition from one to the next easier. It was decided that alignment was, at the best of times, contradictory and confusing. Given that, the choices for approaching this story may fall between a ten year old set of books which require a group of competent players to run or this piece of software. It is a shame that I have to report that, even in terms of convenience, just buying the books and reading through them may provide an easier, if incomplete experience.
I thought I'd complete the game before making this review, but two abandoned characters and a hundred hours on, my hand was forced, and it was forced to a negative review. A glitch of some kind broke the main quest's progression, and I cannot move on to Act 4 of the story. Realize that all of these severe problems I have mentioned to you crop up fairly early in the game. None of this is mentioning Act 4, which seems to get universal derision for having a needlessly difficult to navigate map and quest lines.
There is an overwhelming amount of good writing in this software, but time and time again the 'game' will present you with obnoxious hurdles before you can get from one piece to the next. So many unique and interesting companions don't get their time to shine because their niche overlaps with yours too much, or they're just not that useful. Getting locked into certain kinds of decisions gives replay value, yes, but that involves going through all of that again. And I can't for the life of me recommend a game which has proven so difficult in every way it shouldn't be.
TL:DR Great story which is all gas no breaks all the way through… but a glitchy, frustrating and inadequate shell of mechanics and systems entrap it and keep it from soaring to the heights it needs to.
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Story idea time:
Beneath a break - a tumblr friend is getting sober and I don’t want to be potentially problematic.
So I’m high. Again. Had to do it. I’ve done six or seven loads of laundry tonight. (It’s 4:30am) I have two more of clothes a load of towels and the throw blanket.
I wish I had won the game of Underwear Chicken. See, one family member physically absolutely cannot do laundry. Like think the words “fall” and “serious”. (Clarification added later: they <would> fall, they have not previously fallen recently and are currently broken. That was two years ago Halloween. Almost a year of bed rest. Yeah.) So two of us do laundry. Yup. There’s three of us and I have 8-9 loads of laundry plus Bed, Bath, and Beyond. Like how long was it between anyone washing clothes? Are we troglodytes and living in caveman stink and dead skin? No. We just have that damn many clothes. The only things I change daily are my socks and underpants. I wear a set of scrubs in the same day as often or not. And right now we’re all favoring hoodies and pants so less fits in a laundry load. So yeah. No gross crotch here. That’s the problem. I don’t know what they’re doing but I’m still changing these items. And I finally ran out of clean stuff. Instead of continuing the game I gave in and did laundry so I didn’t be gross.
Oooooh. The story idea.
I just deleted it on this post. Just now. Yeah. I posted it without mentioning being high. I want a person I can’t tag here to see my idea. But they’re becoming sober (idk what from, don’t ask) and I don’t want to trigger anything. Jesus Christ on a Motorbike (thank you Delulu Guy) I feel like I’m fucking up mentioning triggering. Like I can’t even use the word without worrying that in itself is triggering in an Ouroboros of fuckery. (Did I just mention, between that statement and this, four past tumblr posts-while-high? Yes I fucken did!) I really shouldn’t have said Jesus Christ anything because something something “name in vain” that I’m already going to hell for but I don’t want people mad at or unfollowing me. I lost one from 46 and it legit made me sad. I’m legit emotionally paranoid right now. Kinda physically too I just realized too. I swear to god I saw movement out the deck door out the corner of my eye behind the phone. Like six times now. And I’m completely tensed (my toes are going curled one foot, splayed the other and I can’t make it . Oh. Yeah. I can. As soon as I got scared I couldn’t do it I did it. Weird. Anyway.
Emotional paranoia is the state of thinking that everything you are doing is pissing someone off or hurting someone somehow. Makes me sad and bashful and waiting to be mentally attacked. (Not psychically. I’m not <that fuggen high>.) like personally.
Physical paranoia is muscle tension and fear and increased heart and respiration rate. Makes me scared and waiting to be physically attacked. Makes my jaw tight and my toes do a slow-motion jellyfish-tentacle dance of flexion and whatever the fancy-pants opposite of “flexion” is. My heart is beating faster. This one sucks less.
I was gonna hot tub tonight. I showered instead. Now I’m listening to the washer trill intermittently that the load is disbalanced during the final spin cycle. I think. I don’t speak Washing Machine.” My “Chevy Cruze” must be ok though cus I swear my car listens to me. Not in like a Stephen King’s Christine relationship way. But like pep talk.
Oooh! Yeah. So God/god/fate/luck/divine intervention/random coincidence has a sense of humor. I was debating the hot tub vs the shower and then bed, and I was thinking well I need a shirt and underwear if I just shower and go to bed because the shower is upstairs and so are the sleeping people and the dog. So “cover your ass” is necessary. Picked my folded clothes off the couch to put into a laundry basket where they’ll be left probably until I cycle through again. Left behind was a pair of under wear. I took it as a sigh to shower.
Seemed a lot funnier then.
Does anyone read these high posts? Maybe I don’t/won’t offend anybody after all? The washer is still trilling. I can’t listen to it much longer but my legs are only sending white flags signals and my tits are missing again. Seriously. I’m not explaining that. If you gotta know, it’s in a High post about four(?) back. High posts are beneath breaks. Yeah. Stop it. If they read these then they know and if they don’t read these THEN WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING TO?
It’s like a five note trill Tell-Tale Heart. I listened to it carefully a few times. It’s five notes trilling up. Higher than Middle C by an octave maybe?
That sounds fuckin like I know what I’m doing. Loves, I haven’t been tested on What’s That Note since middle school. It’s five. Above Middle C. By how much? Don’t fucken know. “But Abstract, dumbass, there’s an app for that.” Don’t care. Because as soon as I’m done here I’m gonna hope to tune out that gods damned mechanical cricket and go to sleep.
#i’m so high#I’m high#i’m warning you#i love you all please talk to me#Underwear Chicken#gods damned mechanical cricket#emotional paranoia vs physical paranoia#a podcast in three episodes#not really#I don’t know how to podcast
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Lost and Found - Eddie Munson x Reader (Part 2) | Part 1
WC: 7.0K / navi / preview / request
Summary: Eddie is happy to teach you everything he knows about DnD, he just wishes you weren't so goddamn distracting
Contents/Warnings: eddie n wayne, besties forever <3 very very fluffy lots of yearning and ridiculously cheesy moments, lovesick!eddie, reader wears a skirt and eddie's hellfire shirt from part 1, suggestive material, but still minor-friendly (part three will not be)
feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!
“Christ on a cracker, son,” Wayne swears, nearly pushed to the ground as Eddie slams the trailer door open, “Calm down.”
“Sorry Wayne!” Eddie barely takes a second to breathe before he flies through the space, feet pounding on the matted carpet of the trailer as he races to his bedroom.
“What’s the rush?” Wayne is well aware of his nephew’s recreational habits, as well as his business endeavors, and shudders to think that there might be some drug-crazed lunatic after the boy.
But Eddie pops his wide-eyed face out from his bedroom only seconds later, shirt and pants torn off to leave him in his boxers as he darts for the shower, “There’s a girl coming over.”
That’s a new one. Wayne has heard a few feminine voices outside the trailer before, when they’re out of stock and need replenishing, but Eddie never showers for them. He probably should, Wayne always tells the boy that if he stinks any worse he’ll have to move out, but he’s never shown an interest until now.
“And,” Wayne peers into the bathroom, seeing Eddie frantically combing out his hair, the plastic nearly snapping under the pressure he’s putting on it, “This is a special girl?”
“I- I don’t know,” Eddie huffs, his crazed panic still alive as he whirls around the bathroom for a clean towel, “Sort of. I don’t really know her yet.”
“Y’know ‘er enough to care.” Wayne prompts him, and Eddie deflates slightly. He’s looking in the mirror, trying to part his hair neatly so that he can wash it easier. He stops, his hands falling from his head to his sides as he stares hard at his reflection.
“I want to impress her.” Eddie admits, his usual self-assuredness now gone, “Or- impress isn’t right,” He puzzles for a moment, his eyes drifting over his features, “Just- I don’t want to scare her away.”
“Well I think it’s good you’re showering then,” Wayne lightens the mood, “‘Not sure she could handle your B.O.”
“Shut up,” Eddie takes the out, shoving at his uncle’s shoulder with no real force, “I’m gonna order pizza for us. She wants to learn how to play DnD.”
Wayne’s eyebrows skyrocket, “She wants to learn? Or have you kidnapped and brainwashed her like those basketball players tell me you do?”
“She’s under my control,” Eddie rasps, his voice thick in his throat.
Wayne snorts, standing up straight from where he’d been leaning against the doorframe, “Alright, boy. I’ll leave you to it, but if you need help getting ready for tonight, I’m here.”
“Thanks,” Eddie breathes, flashing his signature grin at his uncle before he shuts the door.
Wayne watches the closed door with something light and airy filling his chest, maybe laughing gas at the way he chortles hearing Eddie drop the comb into the sink for the tenth time since he started. Then he turns, and the reality of their home hits him.
It’s messy.
Far too messy to accept company, which is why the pair hasn’t for years. Aside from Eddie’s trusted friends, all of whom are far too sloppy themselves to bat an eye at the general clutter around the trailer, no one has set foot in their space for five long years.
Now, he’s all for encouraging Eddie to be himself, that if someone doesn’t like who he is, then they’re not fit for a friend. But he’s sure that you’re far too important to Eddie for that test just yet, and he’s not sure he wants you to get to know his nephew as messy when there’s so many other qualities he possesses. That’s something you can discover later, when you’re hooked on his charm and wit and won’t mind stepping on a pair of boxers or two to get down the hallway. He gets to work clearing away mindless clutter, collecting shirts strewn over the furniture and paper plates tucked under the couch.
By the time Eddie finishes showering (and falling, twice), Wayne has the entire living room de-cluttered, although most of the loose papers and items have made their way onto the kitchen table instead of being put in their places. Eddie steps out of the bathroom, towel tucked around his waist and a hand in his curls, dragging his fingers through the wet tangles, and he stops dead in the doorway, eyes wide.
“Shit,” He breathes, watching his uncle crouch to tug an empty beer can out from behind the door and stuff it into the trash bag he’s got going, “Wayne, what are you doing?”
“Cleaning up,” Wayne states the obvious, raising an eyebrow unimpressed at his nephew’s cognitive skills, “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Are-” Eddie stops combing through his hair, standing limply in front of his uncle, “Are you doing this ‘cause Y/N’s coming over?”
“That’s her name?” Wayne smiles, “‘S a pretty one.”
“You are,” Eddie marvels, “Uh, thanks, Wayne.”
Wayne’s hands and knees burn against the scratchy carpet, the beer can in his hands sharp from being crushed. He stands, the worn fabric of his flannel falling limp against his distressed jeans. He stands there, tattered and messy, looking at the way Eddie’s cleaned himself up.
He’s wearing a tank top, a KISS shirt that he was gifted on his tenth birthday. It’s got tour dates on the back, one of which Wayne took Eddie to as a present. Apparently it didn’t look good enough as a t-shirt though, because the boy had taken scissors to it a few years back, carving out holes the size of craters that expose part of his side.
His hair is bundled up in a bun atop his head, scrunched up and crimping itself while it dries. He always tells Eddie not to do that, to leave it down so that each strand can dry individually, but Eddie hates the feeling of wet hair on his skin, so he pulls it up and leaves it sitting until he can blow-dry it.
The same ripped jeans he’d worn to school are back on his waist, belt cinched tight around him with his handcuffs pinned there. Wayne always tells him he’ll confuse someone, make them think he’s an undercover cop, but Eddie only laughs at him. There’s a chain hooked through his belt that rests on his hip, dipping close to his knee and gleaming in the artificial light above them.
There’s two necklaces bouncing against his chest as he walks over to help Wayne with the overflowing trash bag, his typical guitar pick and a dog tag he’d found in the street one day. It says Sprinkles on one side, but Eddie swears that it looks metal if he turns it the other way, the owner’s number stamped across it.
He has an earring in. Eddie almost never puts an earring in, because his at-home ear piercing hadn’t produced the most sanitary results. He says it burns when he wears earrings, but here he is, a heavy silver hoop through one ear and a black cuff pinched tight at the helix of the other.
Wayne looks at his nephew, his boy, and pride surges through his chest. Pride, a little bit of awe, and happiness. He cares. This is something Eddie really cares about, you are something Eddie really cares about, and it’s obvious by the things he’s done for you before you’ve even come over. Eddie has always cared, perhaps a bit too much, and it’s easy to tell when he does from the little things he pieces together to show it.
“You look good, boy.” Wayne breaks the careful silence the two had slipped into, watching Eddie tug the straps to the garbage bag. He reddens slightly, his cheeks flaring in color, something akin to the shade of the tomato soup he’d managed to botch for last thursday’s dinner. How the boy had undercooked a can of soup, he’d never know.
“Thanks, Wayne.” Eddie mumbles, forearms flexing as he ties a knot into the strings of the garbage bag, “I’ll take this out.”
“We should start on your room,” Wayne points out as Eddie tries making his frantic exit, spooked by praise. Eddie nods once, and Wayne lets him escape to the dumpster to process the emotions he’s got swirling inside of him.
He knows the boy gets shy around praise, which is why he tries not to overwhelm him. But today is different, today is a bigger step than he’s seen Eddie take in a long time, and it’s hard not to burst with pride.
When Eddie comes back inside Wayne is already tiptoeing around his room, dodging suspicious socks and cassette tapes strewn about. Eddie gets to work stacking those, a comfortable silence falling over the pair as they set to work.
“Wayne?” Eddie’s voice is timid, meek.
“Yeah?” Wayne reaches under his bed, pulling out a magazine that he shouldn’t have and a sock, something Wayne doesn’t want to think about as a pair.
“Do you.. Do you really think I look nice?” As soon as the words are out of his mouth he’s stammering, shaking his head so that his bun wobbles dangerously, “I- I mean, like- not like nice, but do you… you think she’ll like it?”
“Son, if she asked you to teach her about your game, I’m sure she’s not scared of you.”
“But is that enough? Shouldn’t she,” Eddie abandons the cassettes in his hand, scratching bashfully at the back of his neck and combing through the stray hairs there, “I dunno, like me? Not just not hate me?”
“Well I’d give her some time if I were you,” Wayne chuckles, reminded of the restlessness of youth, “You’ve only known her a day.”
“Right.” Eddie nods frantically, eyes glued to the tapes he busies himself with again, “Yeah, I will.”
“Hey,” Wayne reaches out, bracing a hand on Eddie’s knee that’s bouncing frantically, “You’ve got this, boy. You can do this. She’ll love you.”
The word love has Eddie’s cheeks flaring the color of it, a deep red that Wayne sees most often on valentine’s day cards. He chuckles once more at his nephew’s crush, shaking his head and getting back to sorting through clutter.
--
By the time Eddie’s watch beeps, a tinny, mechanical sound that has him leaping onto his feet to rush for the door, they’ve gotten his room mostly under control. There’s a pile of dirty laundry stull bulging out of the closet, but that can’t be avoided, as the hamper is broken from a rather unfortunate sledding endeavor a few months back. You’ll just have to live with the sight of yesterday’s t-shirt in the corner, they decide.
“Okay, uh- thanks, Wayne.” Eddie brushes his hands on his pants, already sweaty from nerves, “I’m gonna go pick her up now.”
“Right,” Wayne stands, trash bag in hand with all of Eddie’s discarded food wrappers and beer cans, “Good luck, son.”
The term flares up Eddie’s blush again, but Wayne doesn’t comment on it, offering him a quick hug, a simple pat to the back. It’s all Eddie can handle right now, already a bundle of nerves that he doesn’t want spilling out.
“There’s a $10 on the fridge,” Wayne calls out after Eddie bounds down the steps of the trailer,tugging the rubber band out of his hair and letting it spill over his shoulders, “Use it for pizza!”
“No, no,” Eddie waves his uncle off, plunging his hand into his pocket to retrieve his wallet, “I got it!”
“Eddie,” Wayne glares at the stubborn boy, “Use the money on the fridge.”
Eddie balks at the aggressively kind gesture, but a wry smile curves over his lips, “Whatever. I’ll just sneak cash into your jacket while you’re asleep.”
“You will not,” Wayne huffs, but Eddie’s already taken off for his van, slamming the door behind him with a hearty laugh at his uncle’s grouchiness.
When Eddie pulls up to your house, having checked the little slip of paper buried in his pocket, oh, around a thousand times, one of the upstairs lights is on. It’s the only one on, the rest of the windows pitch black, and Eddie worries that maybe something is wrong. Your house looks near abandoned, but at the rough chugchugchugging of his engine, a downstairs light flicks on. He catches your silhouette thumping down the stairs and sees the outline of a skirt over your hips. His stomach flips and he shuts off the van, hurrying out so that he can beat you to the door. It seems gentlemanly, something he’s never been too concerned about, but it feels right in the moment.
He’s inches from the door as you wrench it open, a fist raised to knock while you step out of it, not expecting him there on the other side. Your eyes widen but you can’t stop your momentum, stumbling clumsily into his chest despite your efforts to slow down.
“Oh!”
“Eddie!” You speak in unison, your voices mingling just as your limbs do. His arms wind around your waist, laying over his hellfire shirt that you’ve tucked into the waistband of your skirt. The material is soft under his touch, but not as soft as your face, which hits his shoulder in your scuffle. Eddie feels a burst of warmth flood through him at the skin-on-skin contact, and holds you steady as you right yourself against his chest. Your hands brace themselves frantically on his stomach, your chest heaving as you gape at him, “I’m so sorry! I- I wasn’t paying attention, I just heard you coming, and- and,”
“If you were that excited to see me,” Eddie doesn’t know how he’s being as suave as he is, because his heart is practically hammering through his ribcage to affix itself to you like a lovesick leech, “You could have asked me to come earlier.”
You feel your cheeks flare with heat as you slump forwards, the crown of your head hitting Eddie’s clothed chest, “Stoooop.”
Eddie chuckles, adjusting the pitch of his voice to your own, “Stoooop.”
“You’re mocking me!” You shove at him lightly, making him stumble a step backwards, “You’re the worst.”
“Hey,” Eddie finally lets you go, his skin instantly cold where it had once touched yours, “You gotta be nice to me. I’m teaching you DnD, remember?”
“Fine,” You huff dramatically, “You get a pass, but only for tonight!”
“Deal.” Eddie’s eyes gleam with mischief, “Ready?”
“Ready.” You confirm, bouncing excitedly on the balls of your feet.
“Van’s there,” Eddie gestures to his van, nearly tripping over his own feet when you grab his hand, eagerly tugging him along, “Woah!”
“I told you I was ready.” You gush, the words coming out in a soft giggle that makes his heart burst.
You look out of place in his van, too heavenly to be wriggling comfortably into his worn seats. There’s a half-drunk water bottle by your feet that crunches beneath your shoe, and you apologize hurriedly for crushing it.
“‘S okay sweetheart,” Eddie snickers, reaching down to pluck it out from under your feet, “It’s, like, months old.”
“Eddie,” You chide, “It’s probably growing something!”
“It’s fine,” He urges, snickering at your horror, “It’ll put some hair on your chest.”
He leaves you with that, shutting the door to your side of the car and jogging around to the driver’s side door. He wrenches it open, his hair bouncing against his chest as he sits down with a flounce. The radio that he has is already preloaded with the cassette tape he uses whenever he drives Wayne anywhere, his favorite metal artists and their less-overwhelming songs. Wayne always says heavy metal ‘makes his ears bleed’, he’s more into classic rock, but Eddie will be damned if he isn't listening to Mötley Crüe on any drive longer than two minutes. He figures that he’ll be courteous to you at first, just in case metal isn’t your thing either.
To his surprise, a minute into Merry Go Round, your brow dips in concentration.
“Mötley Crüe, right?”
Eddie swears he nearly passes out. His usual response to surprising information, a dramatic flailing of his limbs, doesn’t seem very safe just now, and you’re lucky he doesn’t jerk the wheel to the side.
“Yeah,” He grins dazedly, “You listen?”
“Sometimes!” You pick at a loose thread on your skirt, “I’m into a bit of everything. Really jus’ whatever comes on the radio.”
Eddie suddenly likes you more, if possible. Everything new that he learns about you only adds to the little list of Reasons he Cares, the first and most important being that you’re kind to him. He would never admit it, but he’s like a little lost puppy, trailing after the first person to scratch behind his ears.
“I like your van.” You muse, and it’s so genuinely sweet it nearly makes Eddie scream. You brush your fingers over a Black Sabbath sticker that’s peeling off of the dash, reaffixing the dusty backing to the smooth plastic. It doesn’t stay, it pops right back up again, but you’re onto the next detail now, a pair of old sneakers in the door, autographed by the patrons that watch him perform with his band.
“These are cool,” You marvel at the sloppy, mostly-drunken signatures scrawled over the canvas, “Who are they?”
“Our fans,” Eddie boasts proudly, even though he’s sure seven hammered 40 year olds aren’t the most impressive thing in the world when it comes to an audience, “They watch us perform, remember my band I told you about?”
Eddie watches your eyes light up from the rear-view mirror, but you’re lucky he doesn’t take his eyes off the road completely to see them unfiltered.
“That’s right!” You remember your earlier conversation, “That’s so cool, Eddie, you’ve got fans!”
“We do,” He chuckles, fingers sweating against the steering wheel as you near his trailer, “You should come to one of our shows sometime.”
“If I do, do I get to sign the sneakers?” You’re far too excited to put your name on a pair of ratty old shoes, repurposed as a trophy, but Eddie would be willing to buy a new pair just so that your name can be the only one on the fabric. He thinks about that, about having your name displayed over him, and blushes. He hopes you don’t catch it.
“Of course you can,” Eddie promises, turning much more carefully than he normally does into his typical parking spot, the van sputtering to a stop when he removes the key. He turns to you before you open the door, “How about this saturday?”
“Next,” You compromise, “My parents get back Saturday night and I can’t be out without them knowing.”
“Your parents are gone?” Eddie cocks his head to the side, crimped hair bouncing as he does.
“They’re getting the last of our stuff from our old house,” You nod solemnly, “We don’t even have mattresses here yet.”
“No shit? What have you been sleeping on?”
“The couch,” You recount sadly, “It’s not very comfortable, but it’s better than the floor.”
“Damn,” Eddie sympathizes, yanking on the latch of his door and hopping down, “Well, babe, I’ve got a mattress inside, if you’re interested in staying the night.”
It’s bold, brazen, uncouth, but he tops it off with a teasing grin, so it’s okay. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you, happy that it mostly filled the empty van as he slams his door, rounding the front to open your own for you.
“Very gentlemanly,” You praise him, slipping your hand into his to step down from the lifted van, “I’m impressed.”
“Well don’t get used to it,” He teases, squeezing you against his side with a hand that drifts suspiciously low, “I’m not usually this nice.”
“I must be special.” You concur, giddiness in your grin that sends Eddie’s stomach into a cartwheel.
You are, Eddie nods once at you, afraid to voice his thoughts in case they somehow ruin the unspoken adoration between you, More than you know.
Eddie’s pleased to find nothing but a slight oil stain in Wayne’s usual parking spot, his uncle having predicted that Eddie would want alone time with you. He’s half expecting to find a box of condoms on the kitchen counter when he walks in with you, but flicking on the light of the trailer reveals only a spotless living space, junk shoved in drawers to be dealt with later.
“I like it.” You decide with a curt nod, eyes landing on the array of DnD paraphernalia stacked on the couch, “Oh, I almost forgot! I brought you this.”
You reach into the waistband of your skirt, the slim paperback book you were reading earlier neatly molded to your side. It doesn’t retain the curve of your side, flattening back out into its shape as you hold it out to Eddie.
You swear you catch his eyes wandering towards the spot that you’d just pulled the book from, but they snap up to meet your own before you can verify it. He takes the book from you with an eager grin, “Thanks, sweetheart.”
“Y’wanna swap?” You stride over to the couch, plucking a book titled Players Handbook: Compiled Information for Players and Dungeon Masters out of the pile.
Eddie falters slightly, surprised that you’re so eager to get into what might be the least exciting part of learning DnD: the rules.
“Sure,” He nods carefully, taken aback, “Lemme just clear the couch.”
He bends over to do so, and you can’t help that your eyes trace the newly-exposed skin of his chest. The shirt he’s wearing already reveals his side, but as his arms stretch to grab boxes and papers off of the cushions in front of you, it shifts to show his stomach.
You don’t realize you’re staring until he stops in front of you, an eyebrow raised that you don’t catch because you’re ogling him.
“Everything okay?” To your horror, there’s a twinge of amusement in his voice, and you’re certain he’s caught you.
“Yes!” You scramble to act casual, thumbing past the cover of the book to appear busy, “Yes, let’s get started.”
Eddie sits before you do, surveying you with that same cocky gaze. It makes you nervous, your stomach churning slightly, and you perch on the end of the couch that he’s not spread out over.
He lets out a scoff, reaching out, “You can get comfortable, Y/N, I don’t bite.”
He does, however, grab, which you find out when he yanks your legs out from under you, tugging them outwards so that they rest over his lap. He’s reclined against both the arm of the couch and the back cushion of it, looking far too composed for the rampage of butterflies against his stomach.
You melt into your new position so naturally that it scares you. It feels right, cracking the spine of the handbook while your legs are draped casually over Eddie’s lap. Stretching out and getting comfortable on Eddie’s couch seems just as casual as it does on your couch, and you can’t help the dizzy grin that spreads over your face as you realize this.
“Somethin’ funny?” Eddie’s brow quirks at your expression, and you bury it behind the book, shaking your head.
“Right,” He sets a hand over your ankles, locking your legs into their position on his lap, “Lemme know if you’re confused, babe, I’m here to help.”
--
Though the DnD handbook is informative, and slightly exhilarating to peruse, you hope that the actual gameplay is less complicated than it sounds. You’re barely twenty pages in, a good 40 minutes gone by, and you’re not sure you can keep all of the information straight in your head. Hopefully Eddie cuts you some slack, or else you might seriously slow down their game.
"Page?" Eddie glances up from the pages of your novel, peering over at the handbook in your grip.
You look to the corner of the page from where you'd been reading up on character classes, "23."
"The Fighter." He speaks in a low voice, raspy and dramatic. You giggle, half amused by his theatrics and half impressed that he's managed to memorize the 130-page handbook in front of you.
"What about you?" You glance pointedly at the book in his hands, shifting your feet in his lap slightly. You don't realize it, but they press against a rather sensitive spot, and Eddie hunches slightly, his stomach caving in as he tries remaining composed.
"Uh," His eyes frantically skim the page, wide and panicked until they lock on a familiar name, "Weylin- Weylin is just, uh, crossing over the Bridge of Lost Souls."
"Ooh," You wriggle slightly in your place on the couch, consequently burrowing your feet further into Eddie's lap, "I love that part! You meet Ionia soon, you'll love her!"
He can’t take it anymore.
“Uh,” He shoots off of the couch, lowering your feet carefully back down to the cushions where he was sitting, “I’m getting kinda hungry. Pizza time?”
“Pizza time.” You nod jovially, flipping a page in the handbook, seemingly unconscious of Eddie’s predicament, “Pepperoni?”
“And sausage.” Eddie nods, “Be right back.”
When he comes back, tugging a crumpled bill out of his pocket to use for the food and pointedly avoiding his uncle’s money, you tuck your legs up under you to set him sit down. He peers over the top of the handbook, eyes drifting to the words appearing upside-down in front of his face.
His nose hooks over the tops of the pages, and you can’t help it: you giggle. He glances up amusedly at you, his own sweet laugh filling the air as he crumples into your lap. You raise the book over your head so that he doesn’t have to slip under it, and his eyes meet yours from where he lays on your legs.
You stare down at him, entranced by his features. His soft cheeks, his sloped nose, the tinge of red that spreads over his skin. His eyes, shiny and smooth, like melted chocolate that you can taste on your tongue. You brush a hand over his forehead, gathering up loose flyaway hairs that have gathered there. They’re malleable and wiry in your grip, and you twirl them around your finger once, twice, thrice, until they form a spiraled curl.
His eyes follow your finger, doe-like as they cross to track your movement. When you let the hair go it springs off of your finger, bouncing down to rest over his nose, and his eyes dart inwards to follow it.
Apparently it tickles his nose, because he scrunches it up, miniscule wrinkles etched like waterways on a map into his skin. You smooth the terrain, running the soft pad of your finger down the bridge of his nose and marveling how his face relaxes as your touch waves over it.
He shivers slightly under your finger, and you notice a bridge of freckles, the lightest you’ve ever seen, dotting his nose. They stand strong over all of the rivers you have yet to flatten, stretching down towards his mouth in beautiful smile lines.
“You’re pretty.” You muse, your voice barely more than a whisper as you trace his features. He lets his eyes flutter shut when your fingers brush under them, his lashes tickling your skin.
“Thanks, sweetheart.” He coos, the softness of his voice gaping that growing sinkhole of adoration that’s been tugging at your chest ever since you met him. His pretty face, his sweet words, his kind actions, all of them mark him as safe, as good, as loveable.
With his eyes closed, you’re allowed to be as obvious as you want when ogling him, not that you were very subtle before. Your eyes latch onto his lips in a similar fashion as you want your own to do, roving over every crease, mark, and indent in the soft, pillowy muscles.
Before you can think about it, you touch them. Your fingers, their pads soft and hesitant, prod gently at his lips. That has his eyes shooting open, carmeled brown irises meeting yours in shock.
Though you feel his gaze on you, you don’t stop. You let your hands linger on his face, soaking up every second of dazzlingly intimate contact you can get with the man. He studies your face while you study his, the both of you barely breathing while watching the other sit pretty. You swear you feel Eddie’s lips shift under your fingers, puckering ever-so-slightly to kiss the tips of your fingers, but then-
The hollow, sharp knock on the door of Eddie’s trailer shatters the intimacy of the moment, plunging you back into reality from the serene haze you’d been trapped in. You both fall from the clouds you’d lounged atop, plummeting back to earth with the thump of your hearts in your chests.
“I’ll get it,” Eddie scrambles up from where he’s draped over your lap, rushing to the door and snatching the cash off of the counter. You straighten yourself out while he grabs the pizza, cheeks aflame as you look around the room to avoid looking at him. You see a stack of vhs movies in the corner by the television set, and your eyes catch a familiar title.
Labyrinth.
“Okay,” Eddie sets the pizza on the counter, grateful for the paper plates the place provided you, “One slice or two?”
“Two,” You grin eagerly, reaching for the tape, “Are you the reason this was missing from the video store yesterday?”
He laughs at the sight of the VHS in your hands, “Yep, ‘had it since it came out.”
“Rude,” You scoff, “I wanted to watch it last night!”
“Bummer,” Eddie scrunches his brows, faux-sympathy written on his face, “‘Guess you’ll just have to come over whenever you wanna watch it.”
“Well I’m here now…” You push, clutching the case hopefully.
“Pop it in,” Eddie laughs, gesturing towards the machine, “‘Should be rewound already.”
You kneel by the VHS player while Eddie brings your plates over, and your back faces him. It gives him the perfect opportunity to ogle you, only feeling slightly guilty when his eyes trace the curve of your ass.
You turn before he can admire how the Hellfire shirt exposes the angles of your shoulders, abandoning its post and leaving your neck bare. He watches the skin there shift, muscles beneath the surface tensing as you crane it downwards to slide the tape into the receiver.
“We’ll work more on DnD later,” Eddie promises as the main titles roll, music filling the otherwise silent trailer, “We’ve still gotta get a character figured out for you.”
“‘M excited,” You speak through a mouthful of greasy pizza, pepperoni sticking to your lip, “Thanks for the pizza, Eddie.”
“‘Course sweetheart,” He grins at you, then hides his blush in the red tomato sauce on his bread.
Eddie truly believes that you’ll go over more later for the game. But when you finish both slices of your pizza, hands covering your stomach tenderly as he’s sure it’s stuffed, and curl up against the arm of the couch, he knows nothing else is getting done tonight. Your eyes are glued to the screen, Sarah’s dress glittering as her hair flounces with every movement of the couple. He’s never been a Bowie fan, but he reckons you are by the way your eyes shine whenever he’s on screen.
He’s jealous of David Bowie.
Oh, fuck, he never thought he’d sink this low. But he feels something unfamiliar and sharp prod at his chest whenever you pay just a little too much attention to the man on screen, and he prods at your feet with his own.
“Hoggin’ the couch,” He chides you, with no real scorn as he tangles his legs with yours, “Stretched out like you own the place.”
“Sor-ry,” You huff dramatically, clocking his teasing grin and knowing he’s just messing around, “It’s not my fault your couch is comfier than mine.”
Eddie remembers your admission, that you’ve been sleeping on your couch for god-knows-how-long, and his stomach sours. He studies your face, the way that your eyelids droop even though you’re clearly enjoying the movie, the wrinkling of your chin as you yawn. You’re clearly exhausted, and his space is the comfort you need.
He feels something akin to pride at that. You not only feel comfortable enough around him to curl up on his couch, but you feel comfortable enough to fall asleep. He might be new at this, the whole relationship thing, but he knows that’s big.
Suddenly he doesn’t feel such a large blade of jealousy stabbing at his heart anymore, because you’re not cuddled up to David Bowie on David Bowie’s couch, are you? No. You’re curled up with him, on his couch.
Take that, Bowie.
--
It’s around the one-and-a-half hour mark, only ten minutes before the movie ends, that he realizes he’s the only one watching. He’s been glancing back and forth between the screen and you for ages now, but when he checks up on you this time, you’re asleep. He can see your chest rising and falling, his shirt still worn proudly over your frame, and a sleepy smile curves over his face. Your lashes kiss your cheeks, casting shadows down your face that look like spiderwebs. It looks cool, and he makes a mental note to ask you if you’d let him put eyeliner on you to see if he can turn it into a spiderweb. It’s a design he’s been meaning to do on himself, but if he needs a model, why would you turn him down?
The end of the movie isn’t so entrancing to him anymore now that you’re snoozing, and once more he lets his eyes drift over your frame. Your skirt is tucked neatly under your bum, but your thighs peek out of it, soft and plumped by the way you’re laying. Then his eyes rove over your shirt, the familiar, hand-crafted design looking better on you than it ever has on him or his friends. It’s odd, seeing the shirt on anyone but the boys in his friend group, but he quickly decides that it’s his favorite outfit of yours, and that nothing in the world could top it.
The end credits announce themselves in an encore of the film’s soundtrack, and Eddie reluctantly parts from the cozy embrace you’ve found yourself in. He ejects the tape, stuffing it back into its case and tucking it carefully back onto the stack. Now that he knows it’s his ticket to time spent with you, he’s much more reluctant to take it back to Family Video tomorrow like he’d planned. Maybe he’ll keep it, late fee be damned.
“Y/N,” He hates the thought of waking you, but he hates the thought of inconveniencing his uncle even more, and you’re curled up on what will become Wayne’s pull-out.
“Y/N,” He tries again, soft and soothing as he taps your shoulder gently, “Wake up, we’ve gotta get you home.”
The clock only reads 10:23, but he’d feel guilty getting you home at an indecent hour. Typically, Eddie’s philosophy is etiquette be damned, but he has a feeling you wouldn’t be too happy about being dumped on your front porch after two in the morning.
“Y/N,” He slips a hand under your torso, his other sliding under your legs, “C’mon, wake up.”
You don’t. You must have really had trouble sleeping on your couch, because now that you’re dozing off, you don’t seem to wake up easily. Worry gnaws at Eddie’s chest as he hoists you into his arms and you don’t wake, only sighing contentedly and curling closer to him.
His eyes widen and his cheeks burn as you snuggle up to him unconsciously, your cheek pressed against his KISS-clad chest. Your nose nudges into his neck and he swears he sees stars, his knees weakening at the intimate contact like you hadn’t just been touching his lips hours beforehand.
“‘Gonna be the death of me,” He mutters, voice devoid of any real anger as he trudges down the hall to his room. His bed is neatly made, pillows stacked at the head that he reaches up and kicks down with one of his socked feet. It flops flat onto the mattress with a thump, and Eddie lowers you as carefully as humanly possible onto the bed. You aren’t too keen to let go, though, because your arms stay tightly wound around his neck. He tries straightening but you come right back up with him, brows scrunching in displeasure at being jostled around.
“Sweetheart,” Eddie laughs, lovestruck, “‘Gotta let go.”
“Eddie,” You mumble hazily, sound far too much like a lover he’s just accidentally jostled by getting out of bed to get ready for work in the morning, “Don’ go.”
“I can’t leave you here,” He reasons, returning your favor and smoothing out the wrinkle in your brows with his thumb, “I’ve gotta grab my keys and shoes, then we’ll take you home.”
“Nooo,” You whine, sleep tugging at your voice, “‘S too cozy here. I don’t wanna leave.”
“But no one knows you’re staying here,” Eddie’s afraid that your parents might come home early, discover their child missing, and storm his trailer with pitchforks, “Don’t you wanna head back home to your own bed?”
"Couch.” You mumble grouchily, “My parents aren't home," Your voice is groggy and weak, but Eddie swears it's more angelic than any hymn he's ever heard, "'S okay."
"Are you sure?" He reaches up, smooths a hand over your forehead then down your cheek without thinking, but before he can panic over the intimate gesture you're leaning into it, letting out a contented hum that quite reminds him of a kitten's purr.
"'M sure," You promise, already curling up cozily beneath his blanket, looking far too natural and perfect in a space you'd never occupied before, and Eddie feared, never would again.
"Okay." He's breathless and weak as your eyes drift shut, his hand lingering against the curve of your face, "G'night sweetheart."
He isn’t sure what to do from there. He could move his hand, he probably should move his hand, so that he doesn’t stand there for hours holding you, but that seems all the more tempting with every passing second. He marvels at his luck, how he’s managed to get to heaven without dying. Unless he is dead. But he’s almost certain he’ll be sent to hell for the sheer amount of drugs he’s sold to high school students, so he’s sure it isn’t that.
You must be an angel, he decides, one that isn’t afraid of the devil everyone says he is. He gets a brief vision of matching halloween costumes to that effect, a wiry halo perched on your head while devil ears adorn his. The scene’s unfiltered domesticity stuns him, along with how perfect it feels. It doesn’t feel awkward or forced, instead like something you’d come up with on the phone at ungodly hours and commit to months before the holiday.
He’ll bring the idea up to you tomorrow.
For now, he has to figure out where he’s sleeping. He’s not taking Wayne’s bed, but you’re in his, and that would be wrong.
Right?
Eddie studies the way your body is laid out on his mattress, knees tucked towards your chest and arms bundled up below your face, clutching the blanket he’d thrown over you. You take up a fraction of the mattress, the side that he normally sleeps on still unobscured.
Would it really be that bad if he laid opposite you? He wouldn’t touch you, he wouldn’t throw an arm over your waist, he wouldn’t tangle his legs with yours, he wouldn’t press a soft kiss to your forehead before drifting off. He wouldn’t.
He wants to, though.
He gives into another temptation, hopefully his last for the night, and lets himself indulge in your presence. He slides onto the end of the mattress, careful not to disrupt you as you slumber.
It feels weird, having someone in his bed beside him. Weird, but good. He decides, in fact, that there’s no better feeling aside from your fingers on his lips, than you in bed beside him. He stares up at the ceiling, willing the urge to kiss your nose away before he can screw up the best thing that’s happened to him in years.
One single, cautious glance thrown your way, and it’s all over.
Your hand is bared towards him, the smooth skin on the back of it in perfect kissing-range. He would be an idiot not to, right? That’s what gentlemen do, after all, they kiss the back of their lady’s hand. Typically not without her knowledge, or while she’s in bed with him, but it’s the principle of it, not the specific scenario.
He reaches for your hand hesitantly, and once his skin brushes yours he sees fireworks that light up the dark room. They nearly short out his vision, and when he sees clearly again, your hand is poised directly in front of his lips, his own hand still clutching it securely.
“Sleep good, sweetheart.” He whispers, near-inaudible in the darkness, then his lips press delicately against your hand.
Such unimaginable warmth and giddiness fill his chest, that he’s sure he’ll explode. There’s going to be Eddie Guts on the walls and ceiling, rotted sickly sweet from how infatuated with you he’s become in such a short time. Kissing you, albeit only your hand, feels like something he wants to do for the rest of his life, and he can only hope you’re gracious enough to grant him that privilege.
That’s a discussion for the morning, though, or never, Eddie reminds himself. He’s just kissed your hand in the middle of the night while you’re sleeping like a creep, he might not be too eager to admit that to you in the morning in a desperate plea to do it again. He refrains from peppering the rest of your skin in adoring kisses, but keeps your hand clutched in his own, marveling at the way that you can warm him up completely from a single touch.
It must be an angel thing, he decides, as he drifts off into a happy slumber, tomorrow he’ll ask you if it hurt when you fell from heaven.
feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson scenario#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson one-shot#eddie munson one shot#eddie munson headcanon#eddie munson headcanons#eddie munson hc#eddie munson hcs#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson drabble#eddie munson dialogue#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x reader fanfiction#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things
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Drunken in charge
A/N: So I already posted this on wattpad a while ago. I was busy with learning for my exam, but now I finally managed to edit everything so I can post it on tumblr for those who don't read in wattpad
If you want to get tagged for my oneshots DM me ❤
Pairing: Ouat Felix x Reader
Warnings: Smut, NSFW, fingering, oral, unprotected sex, consuming of alcohol, swearing, really unrealistic sex scene lol, unprotected sex
Summary: Felix is being left in charge for the camp while Pan is absent, so games are off along with every other game. What is there else to do than drink? The second in command uses this opportunity to finally get closer to the reader after being so distant for a long time.
word count: 9968
The Island was harsh and cruel to everyone in an unfair but equal way. Even though the lost boys lived free on Neverland, they still were ruled by the mischievous leader named Peter Pan. Each of them had their own suffering they would not mention to anyone, rather feel the pain alone and the loneliness followed them with every step. But if someone caught Y/N's eye the most, it was the quiet second in command, Felix. He always stayed close to his leader and would always follow his command. His cold facade never told her a single thought, making him special in his own way. He would leave the girl alone and only joined her on missions, but even then, the second in command would remain quiet. Pan on the other hand, tormented Y/N with thousands of useless tasks, while the lost boys worked on their own duties that seemed to make way more fun. No matter how hard she tried, Y/N would never fit in the group of lost boys, their name alone excluded her. None of them treated her fair, always left her out and acted like she was their servant. At first, the boys all seemed curious, and also a little intrigued about her appearance. They wondered why the shadow brought a girl to Neverland and if she would stay forever or just for a while. Their vicious behavior scared her off the first days, keeping her distance in a small tent. There was nothing special about Y/N, and she wondered why Pan brought her here from the beginning. Soon they boys learned that as well, treating her harshly like everybody else. They mocked her for being too weak, being too emotional,- they mocked her for not being a boy. After a while Y/N stopped asking questions and simply agreed to her new life. There were many good things to mention, nothing here was all bad. No one cared about her exploring the island during the day, at least if she did not go too far. If she wanted to cook for herself, there was no one in the way, and if she wanted to read in her tent, they would not enter- also because she was definitely sure Pan forbat it. The lost boy's feared and loved their leader at the same time, the way he let them live the free life they always wanted and not even seeing how dangerous it could be had convinced them. Y/N had distanced herself from them and their cruelty, rarely appeared to any big occasion and rather traveled along the river that ran it's way through the meadow and pastures. It was a surprise when one boy asked her one day to join a game, leaving her startled and unable to answer since no one ever really attempted to talk to the girl. It woke a piece of hope inside her, some of the younger boys already liked Y/N, yet, there was always something suspicious around the older ones.
"C'mon!" The thin boy yelled excitedly and waved his hands through the air, gesturing to follow him.
"This will be fun!"
Y/N avoided the demanding boy and tilted her head while her eyes wandered through the group before they stopped at the second in command, his eyes already burning on her skin when she detected him on his log, not far. His gaze made her nervous, uncomfortable and she questioned the decision to join the game. Something inside her shook the thought off, that Felix would approach her one day for some other reason than Pan made him, or that he would ask her to join a game.
"No…" Y/N answered nervously and looked back to the lost boy, trying to ignore Felix in the back. She did not trust that boy the slightest.
"I have to clean the kitchen." She lied and dropped her gaze to the ground. The boy left as quickly as he came, not even trying to convince her further as if the interest was faked like everything else on this Island. After a while she sat alone in silence, watching the smaller boys play with sticks and some older ones preparing some meat and stickbread for the bonfire. The feeling of being watched did not let go. Y/N tried her best not to look suspicious and quickly let her eyes wander further when she found the guilty boy, Felix.
Why is he still staring at me?
She never found out. The boy stayed exactly where he was and so did Y/N. He would constantly steal a glimpse and for a moment goosebumps spread all over her body, as butterflies rumbled in her stomach. A few days went on and she had catched the second in command staring at her over and over again. Whenever she looked at him, he quickly shifted his eyes somewhere in hope not to be catched. Sitting at the dining table she would catch him, when she did the laundry or cooked in the humble kitchen. The lost boy woke some curiosity inside the girl, the urgent need to know why he would always steal a glimpse, whenever she walked by. He never slipped a nasty comment, definitely strange compared to the other lost boys and their vivid temper. He never approached her or tried to keep up a conversation either. As soon as the sun went down, Pan appeared in front of Y/N's tent, calling her to come out and get some firewood. His second in command stood not far, leaning against the bark of a tree and chewing on a toothpick. He didn't need to wait for his leader's command, already knowing he had to join her.
"Be quick." Pan ordered sternly, pressing his brows together before strutting back to the other boys. Her eyes instantly shifted over to the lanky, blonde boy, a smirk plastered on his pale face. If Pan knew that this was not a good idea? Felix turned on his heels and led the way through the trees uphill where the bushes covered the edges down to the abyss, not looking back once.
"C'mon, girlie." He said.
'Don't call me that!' She snapped back and paced up. The lost boy's camp disappeared on the ground, the higher Y/N followed the path before Felix stopped in front of a dark forest, the leaves swallowing every light before it could touch the ground.
"Princess." Felix corrected cockily, watching her step between the trees. She started to blush and was unable to say something, so she decided to simply ignore the giant boy's nickname for her, no matter how flattering his words seemed. She tried to act tough, tougher than she actually was, in hope he would recognise it.
"How in the hell should we get wood in the dark?' Y/N mumbled as she stared into the pitch black.
"Are you scared?" Felix teased and gave her a smirk. His voice was deep and rough, unsettling but still going like honey through her ears. The girl scoffed at him and rolled her eyes, then led the way with firm steps, not even seeing the ground and suddenly tripping over into a mess of wood.
"Fuck!" She hissed and held her hands to check the unbruised skin. The lost boy started to laugh darkly to himself, before he stepped closer.
"This wood is full of chunks." Felix explained and bent down to pick up the wood. Y/N rose to her feet and grabbed some wood, not saying another word. Felix remained silent as well, heading with heavy back to the camp. After a while he stopped and turned, watched if she could catch up and continued when the girl was close enough. All the time she wanted to talk to him, using the moment all alone with him, but as she hurried to follow the second in command, no single idea for a conversation came to her mind. It was like someone wiped every thought away and replaced it with the heavy drumming of her heartbeat. As soon as she reached the clearing, Felix dropped the wood onto the ground and left them for the other boys to take care of it. Her chunks landed right next to his and she paced up to catch up with the gloomy second in command, when a tight grip on the girl's wrist stopped her.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Y/N tilted her head and faced Dave, a tall chubby boy with messy brown hair, his eyes dark and soft like marbles. The lost boy looked like a bear, warm and welcoming, nevertheless it were his words that often scared her off. He only had nasty comments for Y/N, threats and if Pan wouldn't protect her for being a weak girl, the lost boy would probably harm her physically as well.
"The potatoes won't cook themselves!" Dave barked and pushed her harshly away before his eyes wandered over to the kitchen tent. Y/N bit her tongue to stop slipping a nasty comment, marched over to the humble kitchen and let out a growl when she saw the mess inside.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" She whined as her eyes wandered over the dirty pots and Pan's, knives and forks along with every spoon. At least it was not stinking and disgusting, easy to wash, yet an avoidable effort if every boy would clean after themselves. But why should they? They had Y/N. Deciding to only clean the essential goods and shoving the other things aside, she opened a little basket with potatoes in it and placed them on the little counter. Like she expected, no one came to help her during the cooking, only one boy showed up to ask if she could hurry up. The same boy did not even thank her when she finally gave them the cooked potatoes half an hour later. The selfish behaviour of these boys was the thing Y/N hated most, more reason to focus on the second in command, the only boy who had never shown her this nasty attitude. While every other boy slowly gathered around the bonfire after they ate, Felix stayed where he was. He did not dance like the others and Y/N was not even sure if he could hear what the boys claimed to hear. Pan once said, his flute was special and the girl was supposed to hear her too. None of them had an explanation, still, it did not seem like the first time for Pan, seeing something like this.
The girl's eyes darted back to Felix, his eyes already burning on her skin and she instantly moved her head to make it look less obvious. The tempting idea of walking over to him burned inside her guts, but with all those boys around, she was like being frozen in place. The second in command never talked to her when it was not necessary, not even one muscle in his face twitched when he interacted with the others. Still, something inside Y/N pulled her towards him from the beginning, as if his attempt to block her out was even more tempting. When she distanced herself from the bonfire back to her tent, Felix stayed at his seat instead of following her like she had imagined he would do. A little disappointed she went to bed and kept twirling all her thoughts around the mysterious second in command. There were so many questions about him. No one ever understood Felix, maybe not even Pan, although they were closer to each other than no one else on this whole Island.
The following days Pan left Felix in charge, going on a mission by himself. The absence of Neverland's leader made itself noticeable first, when the lost boys stopped playing their big games and went directly to their duties, almost no words slipping from their usually loud mouths as they worked in silence. The day had started boring for everyone on it, Pan was already away for a few days, so Felix was fully in charge. Games were off, along with parties and especially dances in the evening. If Y/N could tell, the dances were the most annoying thing to the second in command, the thing he hated the most. Felix did not like the idea of taking care of anybody else but himself. So it came that even after weeks, Y/N had barely exchanged some words with him. He would simply avoid her and in case of sharing a task, just stare at her in curiosity. It was a lie to say he did not make her nervous, even when it was not in a scary way. The second in command was weird in any way and whenever he built himself up in front of her, she and broad, he made her look even shorter than she actually was. A feeling almost pleasant instead of scary. It was like something pulled her towards the cold lost boy, but the lack of courage would not let her talk to him. If he felt the same?
Felix was intimidating to look at, it was like something was wrong with his face but Y/N could never tell what. His high pitched cheeks were sharp and narrow and there was an awful scar running along his left cheek up to his brows like an 'x'. The most creepy things were his eyes though, whenever she looked into them, she was willingly drowning in a cold puddle that dragged her deeper in. They pierced her, as if he knew every secret inside the girl's head. Nevertheless, he was not ugly, rather pretty to look at. When his blonde hair hung messy over his face and the way he smelled. Whenever she walked past him, she would smell pinewood and musk. Even though he was well known for his cruelty, the lost boy never raised his hand against Y/N, nor called her nasty things like the others did. She was not even sure on how to do it anyways. Felix always looked busy or like he did not want anyone to speak to him. When she thought of it, the girl could not remember one single boy really talking to the second in command except Pan, but then again,- they only talked about plans and other secrets. He was a mystery of his own, a riddle for Y/N to solve. She glanced over to him and saw that he was carving something into a piece of wood. The lanky lost boy had distanced himself from the other boys, having his seat on a log as closest to the forest as possible. Maybe she could strike a conversation about his passion for carving? He was doing that almost everyday without talking about it and when she thought about it, she had never seen the final results. After a while, courage overcame her, so she stood up and walked slowly into Felix's direction, already noticing in the corner of her eyes the disapproving and concerned looks of some boys. They started to talk quietly to each other and she instantly knew it was about her. Their eyes burned more on Y/N's skin with each step further towards Felix, making her feel nervous and jumpy. Rolling with her eyes at them, she still marched to the lanky blonde boy, stopping when she was close enough to him. The heads of the lost boys instantly shot away, as if they felt too scared to let Felix know about their curiosity when he lifted his heavy head from his broad shoulders.
Felix's eyes darted up, his mouth shut tight and his facial expression went blank like always. His look told Y/N that he was strong, but never how he felt. She tried to say something, but the words got stuck in her throat. Unable to speak, she stared with a deadpan face back at the second in command, trying to find an excuse for her behaviour. The idea with the wood seemed so dumb suddenly and she wished she could just melt into the ground or simply disappear as the lost boy stared back at her, locking their eyes and waiting for her to say something.
"Have you seen Pan?" Y/N choked out and sounded calmer than she expected to be. The blonde boy raised an eyebrow suspiciously and nodded behind him into the dark forest. Big trees hovered high up into the sky, all around the clearing, hiding every view. It was pitch black. Y/N swallowed at the sight of the dark woods and she shook her head slowly, feeling so scared of the unknown dangers. There was no reason for her to see Pan, the leader was not a pleasant person himself and the lie only made her more anxious.
"I think it wasn't important anyways." She mumbled unsure and turned around, feeling how her whole face heatened up at the fact that she talked to the mysterious second in command. Suddenly, the tall boy grabbed her by the wrist, causing her to turn and face him again.
"I'll bring you to him, if you feel scared to go alone." He said dry and rose to his feet, tall and intimidating. The girl was so small next to him, peeking up to him again as her limbs lightly started to tremble. Felix glanced down at her and again, she shook her head slowly. The girl did not know if he simply did not notice it, but when the lost boy shoved her into the pitch black, terror overcame her. What was he doing? Not daring to say a word, before the light around her vanished, she only felt the lost boy's hand on her back as he pushed her gently forwards. Her heart was pounding so hard, she feared he might feel it. Where the hell would he bring her? Where was Pan all the time?
"Don't." Y/N winced and turned on her heels, running past Felix back into the camp. The lost boy instantly jumped around and stormed after her, chasing her across the clearing towards some big trees. She tripped over one of their big roots, almost crashing down but still finding her balance. This was the moment Felix jumped at the girl, crashing down with her, his heavy weight pressing the air out of her lungs. The lost boy spun her around and pinned her arms down on the floor before she could take a sharp inhale. Y/N tried to free herself in panic, but she could not move at all, when the slender boy straddled her and held her down. The colours in Y/N's face faded away and her heart pumped wild inside her as if it were about to explode, unable to tell if she felt excited or scared. Maybe a healthy mix of both. She was sure he did not want to hurt her. Frankly, he never did.
"Why in the hell are you running from me." He asked angry, slightly confused and she thought even a bit hurt as he pressed his brows strictly together.
"Don’t hurt me." She muttered and the pale boy frowned. He loosened his grip and swiftly rose to his feet and pulled his hood back over his head, then strutted quickly away, not even giving her a last glance.
That was strange, she thought. Her heart was still beating furiously. What happened? The lost boy scared her and made her feel like burning at the same time. She took a deep breath and raised to her feet, wiping the dirt off her clothes. Felix was a strange guy and he only confused Y/N. Why did he just stand up and leave? She was not dumb and clearly could add two and two together. But it could not be that the second in command had some interest in her, why should he? The boy barely spoke to the girl, even when they had chores together. Y/N remembered one of the first days, when Pan sent them both to get some dreamshade and the tall blonde did not even let her near one of those plants, not even mentioning why. When he held the filled glasses, the boy walked a big distance between her back to camp, giving her the feeling of not being wanted. Later she had learned the dangers of it and Felix's strange behaviour now. It was an easy addition but she needed to be sure, not even knowing how to deal with this information.
If I am right.
The next day Felix clearly avoided her. Whenever he felt like she was too close, the lost boy would quickly find another place to go. She did not want to ask any of the boys about it, not wanting them to know, but it was obviously something off. They would not answer her anyways, only giving her questioning looks. After that weird situation in the evening before, the second in command completely vanished. There was no big effort to look for him and when the girl went to bed, she completely forgot about him. He had not given her any duties yet, so she took her chance and left the camp to take a shower and later gather some fruits and seeds, everything edible the Island would offer her without having to kill. She did not know how to hunt and was not sure if she could even catch an animal. Peter once told her that his best man would teach her to hunt, but Felix always seemed to be so busy that she simply never asked him to. At first she had avoided the blonde, lanky boy, not knowing his temper. He had scared her so much but now she could not stop thinking of how he had straddled her and how much she liked it. This was stupid. She barely knew Felix and still Y/N pictured herself with him in so many daydreams now. It was always easier to dream about someone and she was not crazy enough to consider anything about the rough boy. But where would he be? What is he doing right now? God, she needed to stop thinking about Felix. She was overthinking.
The time passed by and Y/N found herself at the clearing again, watching two boys fight in the distance, with a small crowd around to cheer their violence. Her eyes wandered over the whole area, searching for the second in command. He sat far away next to a few older lost boys that hollered around while drinking some rum. Since Felix would not let them do anything, the only possible solution for the boys was to drink and do stupid things that would not bother the tall scarred one. They were drinking more alcohol than any adult could ever handle. The girl's eyes shifted over the group, seeing how they stumbled and swayed around. Felix sat on a log with his own bottle of rum in his hands, he kept his distance from the other boys, observing them with a blank expression but it was visible that he was drunk, too. When he saw Y/N entering the camp, the second in command's head spun around, meeting her gaze and she could swear his face lightened up.
"Y/N!" Someone big yelled excitedly and jumped at her from the side, almost swaying her off her feet before she could even think of the name "Felix".
"Drink with us!" The chubby boy cheered with a dizzy voice. His dark, bushy eyebrows hung deep over his small eyes and he wrinkled his nose, making a nasty, slimy sound, reminding her of a mull. He was not pretty to look at, mean and vicious, sometimes insulting for no reason. He was that kind of a boy who would mock one and still complain when they did not want to be his friend.
"No, tha-"
"DRINK!" The chubby boy repeated himself more aggressively and grabbed Y/N's wrist to stop her from leaving before she could even try getting away. His fat fingers would definitely leave a mark later as she furiously tried to yank herself free.
"YOU ARE HURTING ME!" Y/N whined and buried her nails into his wrist, but the lost boy would not let go.
"It will be fun! Don't be such a lame ass." He gave back and tightened his grip. Felix, who had watched the whole scene from a distance, immediately jumped to his feet and stormed towards them, yanking the boy away and threw him violently into the mud. He gave him the most powerful kick that his anger would provoke, that the sound of the fat lost boy's scream caught everyone's attention.
"I will snap your fucking neck!" Felix threatened so calmly that the other boys would not even hear it as he pressed his jaw together, his hands forming into fists that his knuckles turned white. The chubby moonface groaned dizzy and turned onto his stomach, trying to lift himself drunkenly out of the sludge. With a closer look, Y/N understood why they all called him Piggy, instead of Mull. He turned his head confused around before he would drop back onto the ground again. The girl's eyes widened at the sight of this cruelty, even though she felt relieved and maybe a little entertained to see Piggy like this. He truly deserved it. On the other hand, she wondered why Felix came so quickly to help after he had tried his best to get out of her way. Y/N's cheeks burned up and she knew it would be the perfect moment to talk to him.
"Go." Felix said. He turned to her and shoved her gently away from the boys towards the tents. His big hand warmed her comfortably on her back, waking the butterflies in her stomach and causing her to shiver. The second in command rested one one of his arms on the girl's shoulder to keep his balance as he swayed between the tall bushes forwards between the trees.
"You should go to sleep." The lost boy said huskily, stopping in front of her tent, his grey eyes staring at the closed curtains. The excitement inside Y/N turned into disappointment when she saw where this actually went, so she stared irritated at the tent as Felix pulled his arm away and stepped away, slowly heading back.
"I am not tired!" Y/N gave back and knitted her brows together, confused why he just left her now. He could have stayed at the camp instead of joining her in the first place. Why come all this way up here? Felix's head spun around before turning back to stop right in front of the girl. He bent down to face her and made it possible to smell the alcohol in his breath as she stared into his gray eyes illuminated by the pale moonlight. The messy, ashen hair hung half over his face,- Y/N liked so many things about him and right now he was so perfect. He has never been that close before, except when he had tackled her.
"The boys aren't so well behaved," The second in command snickered. "Especially not in that state."
Y/N giggled when she thought of Felix acting like he was a good boy, after all those terrible things he did. There was a reason why he was second in command of this brutal gang and he proved it by the way he treated Piggy.
"And you're not?" She gave back quite bravely, raising an eyebrow cockily. Felix chuckled low to himself, slightly shaking his head before he gave her a smirk, showing his white palette of perfectly lined up teeth.
"If you want me to," Felix purred and wiggled with his brows. "I'll be whatever you want."
The girl felt goosebumps spread all over her body at his words and for a moment, she just stared speechless back at him, unable to say a word and wanting nothing more than kissing those pink lips. Felix was drunk, he could not think straight and definitely did not mean what he said. The lost boy's breath tickled hers and she noticed how close he was and how she just had to lean in, to steal a kiss. There was no way she would risk it, well aware that Pan loved games and she could not let the thought go, his best man would love them as well.
"Do you have any suggestions?" She asked as her nose touched his, her lips almost on his as she gently ran her hands over his chest. Felix ignored the question, moving instinctively and rough, grabbing Y/N's neck and pulling her in to close the distance between their mouths. His tongue was warm and tasted like liquor, still it did not bother her at all, when he vividly explored the inside of her mouth. Felix's hands vanished under her hair, grabbing her head and pressing the girl firmer against him while his intoxicated mind led his actions. Y/N gasped surprised into the kiss, not expecting him to do this even though it was what she wished for. Felix was way taller than her and for the moment he was forced to bend down at her height, holding her in his broad arms that pressed her tightly against his chest. When Felix’s pulled away, his eyes were still shut and he ran his thumb over Y/N's lips, licking his own and let out a gasp when he realised that he did not only imagined to do that. Then his eyes widened and she could see that he realised for the first time what just happened, what he just did.
"Sorry…" Felix mumbled unbelievingly and shook his head with widened eyes. He pushed her harshly away and rose to his feet, quickly checking full terror if someone had watched it.
"I was-" Felix spoke hoarse and slowly took a step back, then another one, a few more, until he turned on his heels and sprinted quickly away, not finishing what he tried to say.
Y/N stood there for a moment as if she were stuck in place, not able to process what just happened. With a swift movement she stormed through the curtains of her tent towards her bed to hide under the covers. She grabbed a pillow, held it against her face and screamed inside it. It was hard to tell if she felt excited or embarrassed. Felix kissed her, so why should she be worried about something? Maybe it was a test and she failed? Hell no, that would be some serious bullshit if that were the first explanation and she had seen his reaction. The way he held her and how he tasted heatened her up. Every cell inside her body craved for more.
No, what are you doing, she thought and shook her head, replaying that scenario in her head over and over again like a broken record. With a swift move she rolled onto her back and stared up at the curtain ceiling, hoping to find an answer to what her next step could be. If the lost boys would find out, they would never stop talking about it, maybe even start to think she was easy to have. Y/N gulped and squinted her eyes at the thought of them all trying to hit on her. Felix was different though. He was tall and intimidating, his cold stare would pierce through her with a burning desire and his smell intoxicated her mind. Whenever he was around, she could barely think straight, desperately wanting to figure out what laid beneath that cold facade. Never in a thousand years, she could have guessed that he liked her back. On the other hand, he was not able to make proper decisions drunkenly and maybe Y/N was encouraging herself too much. There was almost nothing she knew about the tall boy and falling for him that fast could only harm herself in the end.
Y/N closed her eyes and brought her fingers to her lips, touching them, while imaging to feel Felix's on them again and remember what they tasted like. The second in command barely spoke to her and now that? There was definitely more behind it. It had to. Her other hand slowly wandered over her stomach to pull up the dress, slipping a finger inside to play with herself. It was not the first time she thought of him while touching herself, but this time something was off. Deep inside her something stopped Y/N, no matter how aroused she already was. She needed to talk to Felix. Under no circumstances she would let him ignore her for days again. Yanking the blanket away, Y/N jumped out of the bed and eagerly left the tent, turning her head furiously around to find the tall boy. He did not sit next to the others anymore and when she walked downhill to his cabin, she could feel her heart pumping furiously inside her chest. The girl stopped in front of the wooden door to knock and when no one answered she knocked again.
"Felix!" She tried to be as loud as she could be while still not attracting someone else's attention. There was still no answer and she felt dumb for even thinking it was as easy as this to find him after the previous events. He could not be far, the lost boys still needed someone who had an eye on them before someone could get hurt. Their hollering was still audible and the bonfire in the distance let Y/N see a few of them behind the bushes. For a moment she thought of going back to the clearing again, hoping to find Felix there, but the thought of meeting Piggy alone now was no good.
"Y/N." The girl suddenly heard Felix’s raspy voice behind her and she turned dazzled around, the warmest smile sitting on her lips.
Felix swayed dizzily into her direction, closing the gap between them two while he tried to keep his balance. The lost boy's head was too high up, making it impossible to steal a kiss from him now.
"What are you doing here? I told you to sleep." He asked nervously and pulled her away from his cabin towards the trees, his head constantly turning to look if someone watched. When he placed his hand on the girl's back again, his touch sent electric waves through her spine and she wondered how his slender finger would feel on her bare skin.
"Did you drink more?" She asked, noticing how he swayed more and the second in command vividly shook his head in response, grinning like a small boy on a sunny day.
"You have."
"No."
"Yes."
"Uh-Uh."
"I can cleanly tell-"
"I am-," Felix grabbed Y/N gently by the back of her neck and pulled her in, his face coming closer again. "-Not. Drunk."
She started to laugh and leaned into his grip, bringing her own hand up to touch his scar. Felix's blue eyes melted when he felt her fingers, closing them and relaxing as her touch traced as light as a feather down his skin. He relaxed for a moment and enjoyed the touch on his scarred skin, before he suddenly woke out of trance.
"The boys better not see us." He cleared his throat and broke apart, letting go of her.
"No one saw us, Felix." His name echoed through the dark forest like honey and Y/N grabbed his hand tight- she was way smaller than his. The girl felt Felix's breath in her face, how his nose almost touched hers and before he could do anything she had already closed the gap between them two, pressing her lips against his. Felix moaned surprised into her mouth but instantly grabbed her cheeks and slid his tongue inside. She could still taste the liquor and wondered if she might have taken advantage of this situation. The tall boy's moans told her otherwise. He moved his hands slowly towards the girl's waist down to her ass, cupping it rough while her smell intoxicated his senses.
"We shouldn't." He whispered and she heard him move even though it was too dark to see. Nevertheless Felix pressed himself harder against her and she felt through his pants how hard he already was from only kissing.
"Why not." She breathed against his neck, leaving a trail of kisses.
"The boys," Felix said, his eyes rolling back with a soft moan when he felt her tongue on his throat. It was enough to convince the second in command, his fingers wandered over her delicate body, burying them inside her tender flesh. It's been a long time since someone touched Y/N and she could not resist the lost boy's demanding hands. He lifted her dress and wandered with his palm over her skin to the rim of the underwear, enjoying the small moans when his fingers wandered further to her inner thigh, drawing invisible circles on it.
"Felix…" His grip tightened when he heard the girl purr his sweet name in the most delicious way and he almost could not hold himself back to tear her clothes off right at this place. The lost boy dared to slip one of his fingers inside Y/N's panties and when she did not complain, he pushed his slender index inside of her, feeling how her soft walls tightened around him. If Felix had not realised it earlier, he knew at least by now how much she craved him when he felt how wet she already was. Y/N let out a gasp when he started to push his long finger in and out of her, causing the girl's legs to tremble and her knees to shiver in excitement. She closed her eyes, giving up trying to see something in the dark as she melted into Felix's arms, her face sliding down onto his shoulder. She found her balance by grabbing the lost boy's leg and then she realised that he was kneeling in front of her. Y/N was actually glad that the surroundings were pitch black, feeling her cheeks heating up in embarrassment from her uncontrollable sweet moans. Before she would absolutely lose her mind, the girl managed to push the lost boy slightly away from her while her hands moved down to his belt. Her fingertips ran over the leather and the lost boy instantly frowned at her touch, his whole body stiffened and he stopped moving for a second.
"W-wait." He stammered, the adrenaline pushing the dizziness of the alcohol away. "I-I… never…" he continued and stopped, his hands wrapped around Y/N's wrist, insecurities overwhelming him as he held her in a safe distance. Now she really wished to see his face, well aware that he must look like earlier when he kissed her, startled and somehow shy.
"Well," she replied after a small pause, her voice echoing clear through the night, "Neither have I."
There was an awkward silence between them two and if the lost boy would not hold her by her hips, she would probably believe he was gone by now. The second in command was embarrassed for no reason, what did he fear? Y/N had no clue how to do this and if she was honest, it was way more appealing that Felix was a virgin, too, even though she did not expect that. All the time she thought he was so confident and now he was so vulnerable to her. The lost boy still did not speak, so she bent into another kiss, hoping to catch his lips in the dark. Felix gasped when he felt her lips on his scar and pulled the girl back in. This was good, they did not need to talk- should not talk. It would only make this weird. Talking would come naturally. Felix grabbed Y/N's hands gently and brought them back to his belt for her to continue what she had started. She let her fingers trail over the leather to his buckle to open it, enjoying the moment when she opened the button of his pants and slowly pulled down his zipper. The lost boy moaned inside her mouth when she slid her hand into his pants, pumping his hardened cock as best as the tight cotton would allow her to. Felix noticed her struggle and broke apart from the kiss to lift himself up and take off his clothes. Y/N heard how each piece of clothing dropped onto the ground while she waited to be told to do the same.
"Should I keep my dress on or-"
"Keep it on." Felix ordered and chuckled to himself, then pulled her back against him, his cock pressing against her stomach. The lost boy let his hands slide under the girl's dress and pulled down her panties for more access, then kneeled naked in front of her while his fingers did their magic. They felt so long and strange, making Y/N wonder if she could even handle Felix's cock. He already felt so big in her hand when she touched him again, fully exposed and hardened. The lost boy lifted one of her legs over his broad shoulder and before Y/N could even figure out what he was doing, Felix pressed his tongue against her clit. She let out a surprised gasp and giggled at the ticklish sensation. The lost boy felt how tense her leg was and reached for the girl's hand, holding it and drawing invisible circles on her palm.
"Relax." He lifted his head and lightly squeezed her fingers, caressing it a little, then pushed his mouth against her slit, his hot breath warming her as his tongue slid over her clit. The comfort of his touch relaxed Y/N instantly as if the lost boy had enchanted her somehow. He pressed his rough tongue harder against her, burying his face between her legs as he ate her out. The girl could not control herself to keep her from moaning, but led the boy's pace with it, whenever something felt good. He buried his nails into the tender flesh of her thighs and with a swift move he pushed the girl down onto the ground, pushing his fingers faster into her. She could not tell which was tongue or fingers, the overflowing sensation spread inside her body up to her eyes as she felt how she got closer to her orgasm. When Felix’s jaw started to ache he broke apart, breathing heavily and leaving Y/N craving for more on the cold ground in the exact moment she would almost finish. Without saying a word the lost boy pulled himself up to her, placing some sloppy kisses on her mouth before placing his arms next to her, so that his weight would not be too much.
"I want you so much." He panted while he slowly let his thumb circle over her aroused clit.
"Felix-" She pressed her lips onto his and stroked his hardened dick and pulled his torso closer to lead him to her wet entrance. The lost boy let out an uncontrollable moan as he pressed his dick against her dripping slit that already craved him so hard, slowly gliding in to make the girl feel every piece of his mighty cock. He stayed in this position for a moment to adjust this feeling and Y/N felt herself tighten around him, excitement overwhelming her body along with the smell of the lost boy intoxicating her mind.
"Fuck!" Felix hissed as he started to move in a steady motion. His lips caught her once more, pulling her into a long, passionate kiss. Y/N took a sharp breath and pushed her hand against his abdomen, when the lost boy moved, feeling like getting torn apart by him. The lost boy stopped for a moment, shoving one arm under her neck to hold her while his lips softly traced over her chest. After a short moment, Felix moved again. Y/N buried her nails into his skin and rolled her eyes back as the lost boy thrusted into her core, slowly feeling herself relaxing in this position after a few strokes. The pain faded away and she melted into Felix's body as if he was meant to hold her. The sweetest words kept unsaid, too embarrassing, too emotional, still, there was something inside them both that felt more than just enjoying sex. It was Felix who took her virginity and the thought of being the one who took his let her heart skip faster. The second in command felt like a dream,- his sweaty, hot skin pressed tight against hers, his abs flexed and hardened during every move and he was just so fucking tall. Felix moved both of his hands down and cupped her naked butt, lifting Y/N up and pressing her against the bark of a tree. He buried his fingers into her tender flesh and left a trail of kisses on her neck as far as he would reach her. The lost boy held Y/N as if she weighed nothing, pressing her body tightly against his skin. She could not resist sinking her teeth into his neck, sucking on the delicate spot until she was sure he would not leave without a mark. As soon as Felix realised what she was doing, he pulled her head back by her hair. To his own surprise, she let out a light moan, feeling even more excited from his big hand in them.
"The boys can't know." Felix purred into Y/N's ear before he licked over her neck, sinking his teeth lightly into her shoulder to hold him back from letting out another moan.
"Harder!" The girl commanded for Felix's surprise, who had already thought he was already being too rough with her. The lost boy followed the order, pressing himself tighter against her before he paced up, pumping in and out. The sudden sensation flooded Y/N's body and she knew there was something building up inside her, an indescribable feeling of being high. Felix moans got higher, sometimes even stuck in his throat and she was sure he was close too and that he desperately wanted to climax. Before she could realise it, Felix swayed them back onto the ground, gripping her ankles and pressing them against his legs as she wrapped her arms around his neck to capture the lost boy in another kiss.
"I am almost-" Felix spoke in a hoarse tone. It was so dark and Y/M really wished she could see his face at this moment. Felix was so vulnerable right now and even though his moans were the most beautiful melody in her ears, just the thought of a short glimpse of his face made her feel hotter.
"Felix." She purred when he suddenly hit a spot that would not stop making her feel like being on ecstasy.
"I-." She gasped when the knot inside her stomach released and she felt her orgasm roaring through her body with thousands of tiny, electric waves. Jaw clenched and eyes pinched, Felix gave it to her in short, powerful bursts, filling her up with throbbing pumps. His abs flexed and his hands tightened around her ankles. He cursed. His body tensed, and she swore she felt his cock pulsing inside of her as he came in waves, thrusting in and out until he felt himself getting soft.
"Fuck…" Felix let her legs fall to the side as he bent to rest his head on her sweaty chest. "That was…"
She combed her fingers through his messy hair, almost out of words how incredibly good she felt. "That was something."
"Yeah." He kissed the spot between her breasts, "It was."
Felix pulled his dick out, not even seeing the mess he made but still wanting more. Neither of them wanted that night to end and for a while, Felix tried to find his clothes and Y/N thought of how she would clean herself up.
"C'mon." Felix whispered and she heard him step away.
"Wait!" Y/N called and quickly grabbed her underwear- well, the only choice right now-, cleaning herself with it, before running after the tall blonde and crashing into his back.
"Easy, love." He chuckled and grabbed her under one of his arms and strutted towards the dark in one direction, knowing this place perfectly, even drunkenly and without light.
"Where are we going?" The girl asked after what felt like an eternity for her, but in reality it was just a few minutes. The trees left some space for the moonlight now and gave her a chance to take a peak from the second in command's happy face. His cheeks were dyed a deep scarlet and his hair hung messy and full sweat down his face.
"Trust me." He said and paced a little up before he came to halt in front of a big tree, the ladder up to it vanished behind some leaves. Felix climbed up first and lifted the girl up into the tree house when reached the trap door. Felix moved towards a small night desk and lit up a candle. As soon as the light flooded the room, Y/N saw the small cot and a self-made desk under one of the closed windows.
"I built it myself." The lost boy grinned and proudly watched the awe in her face. She swirled around and looked at some little carvings that were placed on the wooden table. Some of them looked like her. When Y/N's eyes detected the little sculpture, she finally understood why she never saw the results and why he burned one earlier. The girl turned around to say something, but Felix stopped her immediately. Before she could say anything, Felix dropped down onto one knee and pulled her into a kiss. His tongue slid over her lips, begging for permission to enter. Without thinking about it, she opened her mouth and felt the lost boy's hand on her hips, pressing her against his body.
"I never thought you would like me too." Felix moaned and eagerly kissed his way down her neck, back to her face and lips, repeating the same thing on the other side and showing how hungry he still was for the girl. Felix clearly had not been touched in a while, just like Y/N, so it was quite natural that they immediately would have a moment like this sooner or later. But why Felix? What was about him that made Y/N constantly crave more, causing her to feel like an addict without his drugs, whenever his lips left hers? Her cheeks heated up and she smiled in the kiss, thinking of the previous events, how Felix's hands felt on her skin. It was special to be with him and the girl's instincts told her that it was more than just sex, that Felix wanted more, too.
"I want you again." Felix licked over his lips and looked at Y/N through half-opened eyes before he slowly melted back into another kiss, this time slow and passionate, synchronising with her while his hands moved down her hips and legs. He gently rubbed his hand against her inner thigh and wandered towards her crotch, to shove a finger inside her still wet hole. He smirked dirty when he felt his mess. Y/N wanted him so much, just like he craved her, maybe even a little more.
"I want to get naked all night long." Felix purred as he pushed his fingers inside and out of Y/N, her light moans echoing in his ears. Without further commands, the girl slipped the dress over her shoulder, letting it elegantly slide down her now exposed body. Felix's cheeks flushed up into the deepest red, his eyes admiring every sight of her that he desired for so long, and truth be told, he was in awe. When the cotton touched the floor, the lost boy grabbed for the hem of his own shirt and ripped it off, then quickly unbuttoned his pants before he crossed them with his underwear through the room. When Felix pinned her down and pulled Y/N into another kiss, he was already hard again, his hot skin burning against hers as her mind drifted off into a feeling of ecstasy. The way Felix's hands trailed down her body gave her chills once more, kept her warm and made her feel wanted.
"Pan would kill us for this." She mumbled into the kiss when the girl thought of how he protected her earlier, something he never did before and sure did not keep unnoticed to the other boys as well. It worried Y/N for a moment, thinking about how Pan always found out every secret, no matter how little it was. And this was definitely not a small secret, something that could be obvious to others. Or maybe Y/N was just paranoid.
"Relax." Felix said, frowning at her words as if the same thought had bothered him for a while now, too. "He isn't here. He won't find out."
The blonde boy rolled over onto his back, pulling the girl with him so she would straddle him. The light of the candle danced over his sharp features, letting it shine in an orange light that spread down to his muscles, constantly catching her eyes as if they were glued on him. Felix always looked beautiful in the orange light of the fire. Every night she would catch herself staring at him. He was perfect.
"You look so beautiful." Felix whispered more to himself than to her, then wiped some hair out of her face. "Unbelievable that someone like you chose someone weird like me."
Before Y/N could correct him, the second in command already captured her lips with his own, burying one hand in her hair while he kneaded one of her breasts with the other one. His words only flattered the girl and she felt the burning desire to finally be one with him again and melt into his body. Felix gasped at her touch and moaned into her mouth when she wrapped her hand around his dick, slowly pumping up and down while gently rubbing at the delicate tip. His member felt long and thick in her hands, but did not scare her off like earlier. Placing the tip at her wet entrance, she slowly slid down onto him, relieved that the lost boy did not push against back,. The stretching feeling made her feel like getting torn apart all over again and she gave herself a moment to adjust to the size. The lost boy rolled his eyes back and shut them with a loud moan when he felt her walls tightened around, rubbing his thumbs against the tender flesh of her hips, when she finally started to slowly move up and down. Seeing the ruthless second in command like this was really stunning and lovely to look at. Felix's mouth was slightly agape and the muscles on his forehead were constantly twitching, moving his eyebrows constantly around. Never had Y/N seen so much emotion in his face before. She pressed her body against the lost boy and sucked at the tender part of Felix's neck. The lost boy used that moment as a chance to turn her over, holding Y/N tight in his arm, the other one holding his weight so he would not suffocate her while he was pumping in and out. Y/N moaned in ecstasy and ran her hands over his muscular back, feeling his skin against them and how his sweat dropped onto her body. She placed her legs on each side of his, clearly noticing the height difference and feeling like a delicate doll as he embraced her. Felix paced up and she rolled her eyes back when he entered in another angle to come even deeper. She never wanted this to stop and kept feeling how the lost boy filled her with his thick manhood, smelling his scent and feeling his hot skin burning against hers. Felix kissed his way down to her chest and caught one of her nipples between his lips, lightly starting to suck on them and intensing it with each time he thrusted in. These were the final strokes that caused Y/N's legs to shiver and tense up every muscle in her body as her climax roared through her whole body, up into her eyes into the back of her head. The lost boy grabbed Y/N's shoulders and when he came, too, the light of the candles danced in his beautiful, scrunched up face. It was a lie to say she did not like that view and the squeaking sound he made when Felix felt his orgasm deep inside her with throbbing pumps. Felix rolled next to the girl, trying to catch his breath and when he did so, he grabbed a towel from the bed for her.
"We could have used the bed." Y/N broke the soothing silence after a while and Felix chuckled, then nodded in agreement.
"Next time." He grinned, pulling his boxers up and placing himself back onto the ground. His eyes did not stop looking at the girl while she grabbed her dress and pulled it back over herself. For a long time they just looked at each other, laughing and giggling, kissing each other but remaining silent. This was clearly something none of them expected to happen.
"What do you see in me?" Y/N suddenly asked, caughting the lost boy off guard, his facial expression went into full confusion. It took him a moment to think about her question before he simply smiled. His eyes would always melt at her sight and in that moment she needed no words from him to realise how much he was in love with her. The lost boy pulled Y/N closer to him and placed her head against his chest, lifted her on his arms and carried her to the bed where he would let himself fall onto the soft mattress. His legs hung over the wooden frame as he gently rubbed his hands over her back while listening to the beat of his heart.
"I would never let anyone harm you." His voice was just a warm breeze on her earlobe, tickling her like a gentle kiss.
"What about Pan?" She asked after a while and took a glimpse at his relaxed face and how her question did not seem to have woken any worries inside him now. He had brushed it off earlier.
"I think, actually, he knew way before me." Felix chuckled low and shook his head unbelieving. "He gave me a chance I got wasted."
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How Far We've Come
Paring: Dabi x Fem!Reader
Rating: Explicit (18+ only)
Warnings: Angst, Character Death, Smut (female-receiving oral), A Cocky Dabi, Cussing, A lot of Pet Names
Word Count: 7.8K
A/N: This is my contribution to the Smut Pile Apocalypse Collab! If you have the time check out some of the other amazing pieces! Everyone has worked so hard to make some beautiful fics!
Thank you so much to my wife @lady-lunaaa for reading, encouraging, brainstorming, and helping me the whole way from start to finish. I have said it before but I will say it again. You are absolutely amazing and this fic wouldn't exist without you! 💜 Also thank you @/deathcab4daddy (not sure if you want to be tagged) for taking the time to read through and for your advice!
You've seen all those movies, the decaying zombie hoards, the massive explosions that wipe out nations, or an unexpected illness that mysteriously kills off the population. But you had never really expected for any of those apocalyptic things to become true in your own world. They were just fiction, never something that could actually occur. Yet here you are faced with the reality of a hoard of rotting zombies. Like you have been thrown into one of the many movies or TV shows yourself.
People aren't even sure how it happened, especially in a world full of quirks where this should be somewhat controlled, right? Wrong, whatever caused this zombie apocalypse also seemed to nullify quirks over time. There was so much speculation whether it came into the water supply or passed through the air. But none of that really seems to matter anymore when you are fighting for your life every day.
And as the mass of decaying, walking corpses steps closer and closer to you, it seems like your end is near too. The smell of organs exposed to the air and sun stink up the room. You can see the blank, milky white eyes of the undead that somehow can still find you even though they can't really see. You've had a partner, at least—the man who has stood with you during this entire shit show.
He stands close to you, a single rusted knife covered in stagnant blood, not nearly enough even combined with whatever you could find for fighting off the seemingly endless mindless bodies coming your way. He's covered in burn scars and rusted staples that pull at his healthy skin. People used to jab at him for looking like the walking dead before all this went down. His firepower from before would have solved this problem in an instant. This rotting mob wouldn't have stood a chance.
But instead, it looks like it's the conclusion for the two of you. Memories flash through your mind. A memory of escaping the daily struggle of your mundane life by sharing take-out on your old couch. Or how his kisses always felt like burning flames against your lips. Your regular life consisted of trying to numb the pain of the past with alcohol or working endless hours. Even though you didn’t have a traditional relationship where you could go on public dates, being in a relationship with a well-known villain was worlds better than this. But if you were going to die, at least it was together. Solidarity in times like this seems to help the never-ending dread that the Reaper looming around every corner ready to take you. Every moment in this new hell had you wished you had more time to develop your romance with him instead of the tragedy that was about to befall you. You wished you had more time with this romance and that it wouldn't end in tragedy. It's hard to believe that there was ever a time when you couldn't stand this man, but even now, that's a fond memory for you. You would give anything to return to that old bar where the two of you met and relive all of these memories.
It really isn't a surprise that you met Dabi in a dark, run-down bar near Kamino. No, not the "bar" run by Kurogiri; everyone who lived in this area knew that it was just a setup. This bar is a tiny little hole in the wall with paint chipping off the walls and where the seats were hardly held together anymore, but that didn't really matter to people who lived in this area. You didn't come to this bar for a luxury experience.
The main reason people came to this bar was its location. It sat deep in a seedy area which meant no police patrolling nearby so you wouldn’t need to look over your shoulder constantly. Plus, the cheap liquor was enticing enough.
Every Friday night, you were perched on one of the worn-out bar stools as you nursed your gin and tonic. This was your place to unwind after another hellish week of your mundane job. It was still early enough in the evening that the bar wasn't thoroughly packed with bodies trying to get their drink. The music was still soft, later it would blare whatever song was currently sitting at the top of the Billboard charts. You were able to turn your brain off and listen to other patrons' mindless chatter in the background. You could just sip your drink, maybe take a shot or two if you felt like, and then head home to pass out.
You relished this little getaway, an oasis in the slums that made up your small world. The bartender and regular patrons didn't bother you, so you could have your own peace. But your Eden got interrupted by a cocky, fire-wielding asshole who had set his sights on you.
You didn't stir when said asshole plopped himself down in the barstool next to you with a thump. It wasn't until the jerk actually spoke to you that you were brought out of your mindless daydreaming.
"Hey, pretty girl, what are you doing in a place like this?" He said with a smooth tone. You didn't even have to look at him to know he had an arrogant smirk plastered on his face.
Who the fuck does this asshole think he is? The irritated thought instantly pops into your head. Anyone who frequented this bar knew you were from around here. You weren't some soft, delicate flower that wasn't supposed to be "on this side of town." Preparing yourself by putting on your best "I'm not interested face," you maneuvered your body to face him, ready to tell him off.
Your words caught in your throat as your eyes met his two endless pools of cerulean. Your gaze shifted to take in the burnt skin clinging onto the shining staples that were rooted in his healthy skin. A familiar black coat spread across his frame that was even more recognizable than those eyes, and the patronizing smile that you wanted to slap off his face. As much as you wanted to throw up your middle finger at him and tell him off, you knew who this was. Hell, everyone knew who this was.
The League of Villains didn't necessarily keep quiet around here. They didn't have to. This is the area where they recruited people to join them. You didn't just flick off and ignore a LOV member. Especially the infamous Dabi, who wasn't really known for his kindness or compassion. More for his ability to burn anyone who defied The League to a crumbling crisp.
But still, who did this asshole think he is? Waltzing in here like he owned it and saddling down into your escape from the world only to tell you that you don't look like you should be here? Fuck that nonsense, League member or not.
You swallow down a bit of the initial anger as your eyes narrow into a glare at the cocky asshole. "Thanks but no thanks, I'm not interested in being involved with the League. So if you don't mind going somewhere else to scout, that would be great." You try to say without a tremble in your voice as you wave your hand in a "shoo" motion.
You aren't sure what you expect Dabi to do next., burn down the whole bar you included? Tell you that you have no choice but to join, and you're coming with him? Rip you out of your seat and reprimand you for disrespecting The League? But instead, none of those things happen. Instead, he does something you don't expect, and his grin grows a little wider as the staples begin to pull more at his healthy flesh.
You can feel your anxiety rising. Get out, get out, get out, this asshole will kill you, leave NOW, your mind is practically sending off every warning signal it can.
Your chest tightens when Dabi lets out a low chuckle. "Oh no, sweetheart, you've got it all wrong." He says with a dark tone. "I'm not recruiting you for work. My interest in you is personal." Dabi points at you and then at himself and finishes with an infuriating smirk that seems to be mocking you. He's moved his hand and placed it on your forearm that was resting on the smooth bar top.
A shiver runs through you as the mismatched textures of his skin and the cool metal of the staples. You feel your anger bubbling up again. How dare this jerk think that you will just fall for him like a desperate fangirl. You are livid at this point, frustration coursing through your veins, fuck the niceties and preservation. He needed to be put in his place.
"I know you think you are some big shot because The League is doing so well right now but fuck off asshole. I'm not a League groupie that will just kneel down and suck your dick just because you want it." You spit out at him while shrugging off his hand and moving your body to face the way you were initially sitting. Grasping your drink and lifting it to your lips, you try and down what was left so you could leave immediately, any extra moment around Dabi was a moment you didn't want to have.
You were sure Dabi would have given up or at least killed you by now. You can't imagine that he is used to being rejected by women. He's handsome in a way that doesn't fit with the norm. He fills in that bad boy check-list like it's his job, which it practically is given his profession. Again though, Dabi surprises you with his response. He doesn't yell, he doesn't use his quirk, and he doesn't kill you. He lets out another dark chuckle like he's enjoying this and continues the conversation you had tried to cut off.
"I didn't say anything about sucking dick, but if you're offering, who am I to turn down a gift?" That smooth tone is back as he moves his hand to your hair and runs it through his fingers.
Bewilderment overcomes you, and you can't even stop yourself before you are turned towards him again, glass in your hand, ready to throw what's left of your drink on him.
As if he anticipated the response, Dabi moves quickly and grabs your wrist in a tight grip. "Now, why would you want to waste what you have left, doll? That's not a very smart choice." His grip tightens a little more around your wrist, and you can feel the staples begin to dig into your skin as he lets out a deep chuckle. He moves your hand back down to the bar but doesn't let go even after your glass has left your hand. "There we go, good girl. Now let's talk just a bit." He says sweetly, loosening his grip just a bit, but not enough for you to move your hand.
If looks could kill, Dabi would have died a cruel death by now. You are seething at this point. But instead, you're stuck there as he continues to do whatever it is that he’s trying to accomplish. "What were you drinking? I'll buy you another one and then leave, okay doll?" He says playfully and with a cunning grin on his face as you mumble out your drink order. You just want him to leave, and you really hope he plans on keeping his word.
Dabi motions for the bartender's attention, gives your drink order and plops a few bills on the bartop. He still hasn't let go of your wrist, and each and every moment he is even touching you, you can feel your annoyance continuing to build. You want to ask him if he's done yet and will kindly get the fuck out, but you have a sneaking suspicion that he likes the cat and mouse game, which would just lengthen the amount of time he sticks around.
The bartender finally delivers your drink, and it takes everything in you not to rip your wrist out of his grasp and grab the new glass to pour over Dabi's head. "Okay, one last question, and then I'll leave." He drawls out as you put all your focus into the condensation forming on your glass. You stay silent, waiting for his stupid question so you can move on and never see him again. Dabi continues with that condesending tone that is starting to cause your head to ache, "How often do you come here? I'd love to see you again."
Your heartbeat picks up, and little shots of adrenaline start to flow through you as you contemplate how to respond. Of course, you don't want this asshole to know when you come here. This is your escape from the world. You never want to even see Dabi again, but something from this interaction tells you Dabi isn't going to give up easily. So you tell him your regular time that you show up at the bar every Friday.
Dabi squeezes your wrist a little bit before letting out another "Good girl, sounds like a date. I'll see you then." You never want him to know how those few words send a shiver down your spine. He saunters out of the bar without having a single drink himself. Patrons stare dumbfounded between you and the doorway that Dabi just exited, trying to comprehend what just happened.
You let out an exasperated sigh before leaning your head down into your folded arms. The bar top isn't necessarily the cleanest of places to lay your head, but it’s pounding and racing with thoughts, and you can't really bring yourself to care right now. You try to formulate a plan so you won't ever see him. You'll just move your regular day to Saturday instead of Fridays. But then that stubborn anger flares inside of you again, and you sit up straight, glancing at your newly unwanted drink as the ice slowly melts, lifting the remaining liquid in the cup. No, I'm not going to let that asshole ruin my spot for me. He can come around here every Friday, but I'll turn that jerk down a million times. You think a little smugly to yourself. We will see how the big bad Dabi feels being turned down over and over. Maybe that will sting his ego.
And so you and Dabi play this game of cat and mouse. He comes every Friday when you are there without fail, buying you a drink, chatting to you with sentences filled with pet names, and planning another "date" each time. And every time you tell him you aren't interested or to go away, or really anything to try and get that stupid fucking smirk off his face. But it always remains cemented there as he watches you get fired up. And what you don't realize is the two of you are getting to know each other. Dabi adds in little questions, "what's your favorite food, least favorite, what do you do for work?" And the questions go on and on. You don't realize your walls coming down as the two of you find similarities in each other. And if there is one thing anyone who sees these frequent interactions between the two of you can say, it is that Dabi is determined.
You are so used to Dabi's Friday visits that they don't bring headaches anymore, and you realize something more has developed when he doesn't show up one week. A mixture of feelings rests in you, anxiety, confusion, anger. You wonder if he's okay, or has he finally given up. And then anger if he has. You don't want to admit it, but you miss his company, and you don't even have a number to reach out to him. You feel a sense of loss in your chest. How could he just give up? He's been trying for months! You think as tears begin to sting for a moment in your eyes.
You leave the bar that night not feeling uplifted or relaxed but sad and angry. And you aren't necessarily looking forward to returning the week after, but you do come back to your regular spot and hope Dabi will show. Your heart almost stops in your chest when you see him walk through the entrance of the bar, and before you can contain the words, they tumble out in a frantic sound, "where were you last week?" You are standing in front of him now, looking up at that little grin he always has on his face whenever you get annoyed with him. You cross your arms over your chest and exclaim, "Well? I'm waiting."
"Aw, did you miss me, baby girl?" His poker face never falls, but his grin grows a tiny bit wider as he stares into your fiery eyes. And without warning, he wraps one of his long arms around you, pulling you into a tight side hug.
A small eep escapes you at the movement, and you move to push him off. "What the hell are you doing? Answer my question, you jerk!" You practically yell as you push away from him. He doesn't let go and just pulls you tighter to him, and you find yourself not struggling anymore as you take in the weathered texture of his coat pressed against your arm and the smell of cigarettes on him. You feel your walls starting to fall entirely, "I was really concerned about you." You let out in a whisper, not really wanting to admit it to him, but you weren't sure how you would feel if something like this happened again.
"Aw, babe, you did miss me." The delight in his voice makes you shiver a little. He gestures you over to your regular spot at the bar, and the two of you sit down in the weathered chairs. He puts a calloused finger under your chin to bring your gaze to his. You stare into his cerulean depths that you used to hate and find yourself softening a bit. "I had to do something for The League, but I don't have your number, love. So I couldn't call and let you know I wouldn't make our date." His face relaxes a bit as he watches your frown turn into a bit of pout.
"Okay, well fine, I'll give you my number. But don't just text me randomly, okay?" You huff as you lay your palm flat and motion for his phone. Dabi chuckles and shakes his head before handing you the phone without another word. Lifting the phone, you type your number into the cracked screen and hand it back to him. "Okay, now text me, so I have yours. " You say, moving to grab your phone to wait for his upcoming text.
"Hmmm, I don't think so, doll," Dabi says, taking in your furrowed brow and then relishing in the way you roll your eyes at his taunting.
"Fine, whatever, Dabi. Just text me next time you can't make it." You say sourly while searching for the bartender to order your drink. You don't want Dabi to see the slight sting of hurt in your eyes because he won't give you his. The rest of the night goes as expected, drinking and talking, and you find yourself laughing more, not realizing how much you truly enjoyed this time with him.
The two of you depart with another hug, this one much shorter than the first, but you find yourself leaning into the warmth that radiates from him instead of wanting to push him off. As you begin walking down the street home, you feel a buzz in your pocket. Pulling out your phone, you unlock it to the message from an unknown number.
Unknown Number: Hey babe, see you same time next week - D
A small smile comes to your face as you type a response back.
The following year you grow in your relationship with Dabi. There are never really any titles between the two of you. Just that the two of you are together. You never meet The League. Dabi is insistent you aren't involved with them in case things go awry. But you spend a lot of time together when work or villain work doesn't take up the time.
Your relationship together comes to a head at the very start of the apocalypse. The two of you sit snuggled together on your worn-out couch watching the news as a young reporter stands in front of a local research building in town and goes through the facts of citizens becoming "mindless and violent in a matter of hours." And how they have people under lockdown who are experiencing symptoms of this "mysterious illness."
A slight shiver goes through you as the reporter goes on. "That's really scary. No one knows what's causing it," you reflect aloud while you lean in closer into Dabi's outstretched arm that is resting around your shoulders.
"Aw, babe, don't be scared. Those mindless fools wouldn't stand a chance if they tried to lay a hand on you while I'm there," Dabi says with a glint of amusement in his voice. He always sounds so condescending, but you know it's the truth. Remembering a time at the bar when a guy wouldn't take no for an answer-not that Dabi really followed that either- but Dabi didn't hesitate to let the guy know you were already taken. He flirts and likes to jab a lot, but there’s a complete shift in the atmosphere when he's serious.
"Ugh, Dabi, you know I don't mean them attacking us. It's whatever is causing it that worries me. What happens if one of us gets it? There's no cure right now," You say and worry your lower lip between your teeth.
Dabi picks up on your anxious state, and his cocky facade fades. He pulls you on his lap so that you are fully facing him with legs pressed on either side of his. Dabi holds one large hand on your waist, and the other he presses to your cheek. Leaning your cheek further into his hand, Dabi moves his thumb to trace over the slight marks in your lip where your teeth were just placed. "Hey, listen to me, nothing is going to happen, okay? I won't let any of these maniacs hurt you, and we won't catch whatever they have," Dabi says tenderly as he gives you a small smile.
It's nice to see him like this- when his mask of superiority disappears, and he's focused on encouraging you. It doesn't happen often because you like to keep walls. Comfort from Dabi doesn’t need to happen often but you can’t say you don’t like it when he does. You enjoy these softer moments with him that only you get to see.
You pull Dabi into a light kiss. The gentle pressure of his mismatched lips fit seamlessly against yours. You pull away after a moment to look into his deep blue eyes that now captivate you. Dabi has that coy smile still on his face, and as his eyes meet your in that moment, it's like the horrible events of the world aren't happening anymore. All that seems to exist is the two of you, not the TV still prattling in the background or even the noises outside your city window.
Dabi lightly caresses your cheek down to the length of your neck and finally ending near where your collarbones sit. Everywhere he touches leaves behind a trail of goosebumps on your skin. Even with these simple touches, you can feel yourself starting moving against him, trying to create a bit of friction. Dabi knew how easily he could rile you up with simple touches. It was frustrating at times, and you wished you could have the same effect on him.
"I love you, babe. And no matter what, I won't let anything hurt you," Dabi tells you, and you swear his voice seems to be cracking, but the moment is gone before you can think about it. Dabi lives on being mysterious most of the time, and you rarely get to see this vulnerable side of him. Even if he doesn't say it behind that mask of cockiness, you can feel that there is fear of what's happening right now. Or at least that's what you think the fear is from, but Dabi will never admit the fear is from losing you to whatever this is. He isn't sure he could survive this hell of a life he's been given without you.
Your heart aches at his sincere words from earlier, and you whisper back, "I love you too, Dabi." Drawing him into a more intense kiss. Dabi begins to run his fingers along the hem of your t-shirt and delicately brushes the skin right under with his fingertips. You feel a moan bubble up inside of you, but his mouth moving against yours swallows the sound.
"I want you so bad, doll. Let's just forget what's going on right now, let the world fall away," he says in a husky voice after breaking away from the kiss.
You nod to him before letting out a content sigh and letting your eyes fall shut while Dabi continues to trace his hands over your body. Dabi trails his massive heated hands under the thin shirt you are wearing and down to your hips. You can feel the bulge of his cock through his jeans as it begins to press against your clothed core.
Opening your eyes, you meet Dabi's half-lidded lustful eyes and bite your bottom lip and allow yourself to give into Dabi taking over you.
You can feel your heart beating a little faster, watching Dabi drink in every ounce of you. Dabi is one of the only men you have ever trusted like this. To have you so totally vulnerable. It's strange how someone you didn't want anything to do with for months has become someone you rely on for everything- love, comfort, pleasure.
Dabi places open-mouthed kisses along your neck that leave you breathless. "Fuck, I'm obsessed with every inch of you," Dabi growls out before returning to kissing and sucking your neck and exposed collar bone.
You grip Dabi's shoulder to ground you back from floating away into complete bliss and tip your head out to give him more access to your neck. Dabi's mouth is like a flame that licks at your sensitive skin as he continues to trail his mouth all over. You could be trapped in this pleasure forever.
Dabi grasps the back of your head and roughly brings your lips back to his. With your mouths slotted against each other, you moan as Dabi finesses you to where you are lying on your back on the old couch, and he is hovering over you.
You break the kiss to quickly pull off his jacket and expose Dabi's scarred arms. And just as you have only trusted Dabi fully with yourself, he has done the same. Of course, the two of you have had sex with other people, mostly with lights off clothing still left on to hide the imperfections. But with each other, there is no more hiding.
Heat begins to pool in your belly as you watch Dabi pull off your shorts and slide his warm hands all the way back up your leg and massage the plush skin of your thighs. Once your shorts are removed, Dabi brings himself back to your face and, with a lustful sigh, traces kisses on your jaw and neck.
"Just relax and let me take you away from all of this, love. I want to hear every sound you make." He growls as he moves down towards your pussy and lays himself between your spread legs. Dabi lifts your thighs to rest on his shoulder as you let out a little gasp. You can feel the excitement and heat rising in you.
Dabi kisses down the inside of your soft thighs and stops to suck at certain spots, leaving minor marks in their place. He stops for a moment until you are looking directly into his captivating gaze, and then he licks a stripe up your pussy over the cotton of your underwear. You let out a breathy moan at the sensation. That jerk knows precisely what he's doing.
Dabi then grabs the thin material of your underwear and rips them away from your body with a tear. Groaning, you are about to curse at him for ruining another pair but are cut short when he sleekly licks up your folds. A delicate, playful moan leaves your separated lips. Your eyes close, and you cling onto his white shirt to ground yourself.
"Baby girl, you're soaking wet," Dabi teases as if you weren't aware but cuts off any retort again with a quick suck to your aching clit. You can't hold back the loud moan that bubbles up in your throat.
Dabi smiles against your lower lips and continues his ministrations. His mouth is open wide, so he can move back and forth from quickly licking up and down your sensitive pussy as well as suck softly on your clit. You feel light-headed at the extended sensations, little whimpers and moans falling through your lips. Dabi has always been able to leave you speechless with just his mouth.
"Dabi please," Your breathing hitches, and you moan out as he flicks his tongue repeatedly over your small bud. You can feel that hot pressure building in your stomach as Dabi continues. He laps at you like you are holding the only source of liquid left in this world, his tongue working wonders on your dripping hole.
Dabi pulls back and looks up at you as you eagerly meet his blue eyes, begging him to continue. He smirks before lowering his mouth back down and laps at your sopping core teasingly. Fucking bastard. Always a tease from day one.
Dabi licks his lips before returning to eating you out even faster as a series of cries and obscenities continue to fall out of your mouth. You can't hold them back. His mouth is so hot and wet against your core.
With another curse, you tell him you are close. A sigh escapes your lips, and your head tosses back onto the cushy arm of the couch. Dabi pulls away but inserts two fingers inside of you in place of his mouth.
"Fuck, sweetheart, as much as I want to hear you beg and plead for me, I want to taste you right now." Dabi lets out with a rough voice filled with desire. You whimper as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. He smirks at your blissed-out face and then returns his mouth to your pussy. His tongue flicks over your clit repeatedly as whines and cries continue to be let out of your mouth. Back arching, you bite at your lip, barely able to even process the words that came out of Dabi just a moment ago.
"Oh, fuck, Dabi, please. Please, I'm gonna cum soon." The words fall from your lips, and your mind feels numb to everything except the feeling of Dabi's tongue on your pussy.
Dabi grunts and gives another hard suck to your clit before pulling away just a bit. "Hell yeah, babe, come all over my face."
Your eyes roll back, and your mouth opens with another cry as your legs begin to tremble as the tension starts to rise in your stomach. One more lick, and you know you'd come. Dabi's continued suckling of your clit sends you careening over the edge. Your cries fill the room, and your back arches as your legs try to squeeze around his head. Dabi continues to suck and lick as you orgasm. Panting and with your eyes twisted shut, you cling to his shirt as you start to come down. A final curse gently leaves your mouth as you wait for your legs to stop shaking. Dabi takes one last long slow lick before sitting back and wiping his face with the back of his hand. You can't bring yourself to move from the couch, still panting and weak.
Your mind starts slowly coming back to you as the bliss begins to leave. The realization of everything happening in the world washes over you. But you were thankful Dabi took the time to distract you from the horrors of what's going on. You move over so Dabi can cuddle with you on the couch. It isn't much room, but it feels good to be this close with him, wrapped in each other's arms. You both slowly start to drift off to sleep, but you don't miss Dabi's final words mumbled into your hair, "I'll never let anything happen to you."
Shortly after that, the world seems to descend into madness. The illness grows more and more rampant. People are getting infected every day. Whether it's through the original source of contamination or by those contaminated biting or scratching someone. Panic spreads throughout the country. But through all of it, you and Dabi stick together.
From the moment it was declared an emergency Dabi was banging at your door, insisting the two of you find somewhere safer than your run-down apartment. Because while the two of you needed sleep, whatever these things are could go non-stop, and your apartment was not fortified.
You and Dabi lost your quirks a month after the emergency declaration, along with the rest of the population. People couldn't fight these zombie-like creatures off anymore. Like all the movies and TV shows, the bodies became more zombies than actual living people.
After a while of jumping around from a destroyed place to another, the two of you found yourself in an apartment building that had a sturdy enough entrance that the zombies couldn't break through. The daily struggles were still hard, though. Finding food and water to survive became a daily task for the two of you. Through all of this, he never left your side. He always insisted the two of you stay together. And so you did. Fighting the living dead, but sometimes the living too when things got even more terrible, and scavenging was your everyday routine now.
You lost track of time and could only follow when the seasons changed. But Dabi was really the only thing getting you through this. Seeing people destroy one another for food or shelter destroyed you inside. Never knowing if these zombies you were killing were someone you had known at one point, or just another faceless dead person tore at every corner of your brain. Dabi stayed strong for the two of you. Holding you every night on the ripped blankets, you could gather for the strange bed the two of you slept in. You would sob into his muscled chest about how you couldn't live in this world anymore, how you couldn't kill another person, alive or dead.
But Dabi would never let go. He would hold you close and let your never-ending tears stain the only shirt he had now. He would rub your back with his warm hands; even though his rusting staples would catch on your shirt and rip from his skin, he still did it. He would hold you until you fell asleep, whispering how strong you were and how he could never do this without you. And after all the tears, you were thankful too. Because without him, you'd be dead or alone. You knew that without Dabi, you would have never survived this long.
But you could see Dabi was hurting too. You couldn't find supplies to treat his decaying skin. He hid his daily pain from you, but when Dabi thought you weren't looking or listening, he would hiss at the pain of another staple pulling at his burnt skin or let out a huge sigh when he would try to put it back together, but it wouldn't cooperate.
The only hope the two of you held onto was each other and that possibly a cure would come soon. Not that either you could really access that information with no electricity; there wasn't any way to get information other than hearsay. You survived the best you could in this world.
And as much as this wasn't what you would have picked for either of you, at least you had each other. You tried not to think of a time when you wouldn't be together, even though the chances of that happening were high- it hurt too much. To survive in this world without Dabi would be too fucking much.
It's almost as if fate chose to play a cruel game with the two of you. It seemed like a "normal" trip out to scavenge for food and water. The two of you had to expand your search area since places closer were mainly empty.
This time you found yourself outside of a convenience store, a reasonable distance away from your home. It hadn't been completely destroyed by some miracle and was not overrun by the zombified people. Still, in a state of decay, though, Dabi was quickly able to kick his heavy boots through the door and get the two of you in.
Sauntering through the gas station, you quickly begin to pick up canned food and stale bags of chips and shove them in your worn backpack. Dabi is doing the same on other aisles until he lets out a chuckle. "Hey babe, look what I found." He says with a cocky voice holding up a few boxes of wrapped condoms above the aisle for you to see.
You roll your eyes. "Thanks, Dabi. Is sex really what we want to be thinking about right now? Let's just get this shit and get out." You let out with an annoyed huff and continue to push the limits of how much your bag can hold.
Dabi comes over to your aisle and snakes his arms around your waist with your back pressed to his chest. He places his chin on your shoulder and whispers in your ear. "Yes, all I can think about is getting your beautiful body back home and finally being able to finish in you, and with these, I can." He lets out a dark chuckle as he pulls you closer against him and bucks his hips playfully.
"Okay, horn dog, let's get this shit done, and then we can do whatever you want back home." You let out with an eye roll. It's hard to stay mad at him. You know he's trying to keep things light for you, to keep you happy because he can see how hard this is. And his regular teasing is one way he knows will bring a smile to your face.
As you are finishing up trying to take inventory of anything else in the store that you can take back, you spot the clear plastic that holds the cartons of cigarettes behind the cashier counter. While you didn't necessarily want Dabi smoking, you knew he missed the vice. Cigarettes were just as hard to find as medicine in this new world. Smiling to yourself, you move behind the counter and reach for the plastic flap to lift it up.
As you try to lift the latch, it doesn't budge. You look around for what might be blocking it before seeing the tiny silver keyhole to one side of the compartment. Crap, of course, it's locked. You really wanted to surprise Dabi with this. Maybe you still could. The key had to be here somewhere, right? You think while scanning around the counter. You try searching through the counters for a hidden key but no luck. Letting out a heavy sigh, you call Dabi over.
Dabi wanders over to your annoyed face and can't help but smile at your slight pout. "I wanted to surprise you! But I can't open it. Can you get it, please?" It comes out almost like a whine as you gesture to the cigarettes.
Dabi's smirk turns into a genuine smile, and he pats the top of your head before saying, "My sweet doll. Thank you for thinking of me. Let me help you out." You could smack him, but instead, you watch as he hastily rips the plastic covering away and slips his hand below it to grab one of the wrapped cartons.
At that moment, everything changes. The fun times the two of you were having shatters as a loud alarm rings through the store. Panic floods your system as you stare at Dabi wide-eyed. "There is no electricity. What's happening? There shouldn't be an alarm." Horror is laced in your voice as words spill out of you. Every walking corpse within miles will be here soon with the sound.
"Fuck, must have had a battery attachment. Come on, let's go." Dabi's usual playfulness is gone as he abandons the cigarettes and grabs your hand. He's grave now. Getting the two of you out of here safely is his only goal.
You follow Dabi quickly, a hand grasped tightly in his as he runs towards the broken-down front door. And that's when even more terror settles into you. Zombies are pushing their way through the open door. Their rotting bodies and white eyes focused on the area where the alarm is coming from. There weren't many around when you broke in, but now it seems like they are multiplying by the moment.
"Fuck fuck fuck." Dabi curses under his breath, quickly turning around and pulling you towards the building's back exit. You follow behind adrenaline surging through your veins fueled by your flight response. Dabi grasps at the metal handle to the back door and shakes it only to find it locked. "Damnit!" he shouts before kicking the door violently.
Your heart is pounding, and you feel helpless as you stare at Dabi while he continues to slam himself at the door. While the front door was glass and flimsier, this door was only budging slightly. With all your focus on the door, you don't notice the continuously growing herd filtering into the gas station. Not until you feel one brush against your shoulder.
Your eyes widen as you feel a scream bubbling in your throat. This is it. This is where the two of you die and either become fodder for a herd of living dead or turn into one yourself. Your brain is pure panic as thoughts fly through faster than you can catch them. You don't even realize you have screamed out Dabi's name until you see his face turn towards yours.
His typically blue eyes are almost entirely covered by his dark pupils as he takes in the monstrosities behind you. But unlike you, he doesn't hesitate. He pulls out a knife he keeps in one of his pockets and slams it into the decaying skull of the zombie that is right behind you. Splurts of dark blood hit your cheek as he pulls out the knife, and the creature behind you crumples to the floor.
"Keep trying the door! I'll keep them off you." Dabi shouts, pulling you into the spot he previously stood. Your heartbeat is so loud you can feel it in your head, and you can't even make a coherent response as you begin to slam your body against the solid surface. You can feel it give a little more with each push of your body, and everything in you is screaming not to give up. Doing your best not to glance at Dabi's grunting and movements as he continues to try and put down zombie after zombie.
You can't give up; this can't be the end . Desperately your brain is screaming as you continue to feel the door give more and more. Your shoulder hurts from the continued impact, but you aren't letting it slow you down. You can feel it; it's almost there.
Suddenly the door gives, and you can see the sun shining through on the other side. You cry out in relief and turn back to tell Dabi to come with you. But as your eyes meet, fear fills every ounce of you.
He's still fighting them off, but there is a gaping bite wound on his right arm— rows of teeth marks embedded in his skin. You feel like you're going to be sick. There is no coming back from this; there's no known cure. At any point within the next twenty-four hours, he would be another one of the walking dead, no sense, no logic, and looking to consume others. This can't be happening, this can't be happening. Your heart is sinking with every second that ticks by.
"What the fuck are you waiting for? Get out! Get out!" Dabi screams at you as he embeds his knife in another zombie.
"No, no, I can't leave without you! I-we can find something. I'll find something, please! Come on, Dabi, I can't do this without you!" You are sobbing now, hot tears streaming through the dirt and blood mixed on your face. An ache in your heart starts to form. You know you don't know how to help him, but you'll do anything to not leave him behind.
Dabi lets out a grin despite the feral dead people closing in on him. And gives you a wink before saying in a voice that seems too calm for the situation, "Come on, doll, you are the most intelligent person I know. You have to go. Live for us, babe. Look at how far we've come. Go show this world that it won't ever break you down. I love you, and I'll come to find you wherever you are in the afterlife and annoy the shit out of you. Now go!"
It's like your heart is being ripped into a thousand pieces. Your breath comes out in short huffs, moving towards hyperventilating. You want to go back to Dabi and cling on for dear life, but you won't let him die in vain. Not after that speech. That would be an insult to everything the two of you have overcome. So with all your strength, you give your lover, the man who has come so far with you, the last look before letting out a final "I love you too" and burst out the door.
You don't look back, aching feet propelling you forward as tears continue to stream and fall off your face. When you first met Dabi, you would have never thought you'd miss him. But you will , you'll miss every snarky comment, every flirty glance, and the tender way only he has loved you. The man that you were sure was just some asshole trying to get laid became the love of your life and sacrificed himself so you could live. And you could never let that go to waste.
#smut pile collab#Dabi x reader#Dabi smut#tw: character death#bnha fanfiction#mha fanfiction#Dabi fanfiction#my fic#how far we've come
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Hi there! I absolutely adore Xanxu's parenting adventures, but I could only find 8 & 9. Is there a tag I can check out for the others? Sorry for the bother, super excited to read it! Thank you for writing it!
Screw it hahaha that tag is not working no matter what I do about it. I'm just going to post everything that's already published here. So: sorry about the long post.
And for anybody who's interested in reading it, I'm putting the next ones under "parenting adventures au". That should be a better tag.
I hope you like it! I meant for it to be cute.
[Xanxus’s terrible bad day]
Part 1 of Xanxus’s Parenting Adventures
Xanxus does not, in any way shape or form, appreciate mad scientists. He spits out the blood, cleaning up the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. The other hand keeping a tight grip on his remaining x-gun. Irritated, he just keeps glaring at the toddler whimpering in front of him.
Seriously?
What the fuck!
How is this even his life, Xanxus doesn't know but he demands a fucking raise. And all the goddam alcohol. All of it. Every single fucking drop.
This is ridiculous. The enemy is dead and even Xanxus feels a little uncomfortable with the amount of blood and dead bodies surrounding a two-year-old. Or what looks like a two-year-old, in Xanxus rather uninformed opinion.
Brat picks himself up, eyes still watery and then… oh no, oh no, no, no. He makes grabby hands at Xanxus. Xanxus sneers, uncomfortable but the newly miniaturized Sawada just pouts stubbornly, stumbling on wet sticky blood as he tries to make his way to the older Sky.
Xanxus's reaction is pure instinct. He lunges forward, grabs the kid by the back of his overly large hoodie and pulls him up. Brat settles on Xanxus's hip, tiny face hidden against Xanxus's shoulder and the Wrath stands there, feeling more than a little awkward.
Alright, then, he thinks. Fuck it. So an armful of mini-mini-Sawada in one arm, a gun in the other hand. Base full of dead people who are either already dead or soon to be. Because Xanxus is through like that.
Clearing his throat, Xanxus hoists the brat up a little more and stalks out of the room. Cleaning up the base is easy enough, finding Byakuran's little note on the desk should be more of a surprise than it is.
"Have fun on your vacation! You can bond now ~ :3"
Right, Xanxus needs a raise, all the alcohol, and a marshmallow enthusiast killing season.
[Cabin by the sea]
Part 2 of Xanxus's Parenting Adventures
Finding the little cabin by the sea is easy enough with the handy map the marshmallow freak left for them. Mini-mini-Sawada is a surprisingly obedient toddler so Xanxus is still uncomfortable but at least he isn't deaf from crying fits.
The only time the brat had cried, it had been silent sad tears that managed to make Xanxus feel like an ass when the brat confessed to being hungry.
Note to self: brats need food.
So Xanxus had settled in in the little cabin, laid the brat down on the smaller bed for the night and thrown himself to his own bed, intent on waiting this shit out.
Except that he'd been woken up in the middle of the night by a toddler sneaking into his bed and now Xanxus can't sleep because mini-mini-Sawada is tiny. As in smaller than Xanxus's chest tiny and Xanxus is not a good man, he's not a kind man.
But there's a toddler sleeping on his chest, all trust and far too delicate limbs and Xanxus finds himself terrified of falling asleep because what if when he does, he moves and crushes the little brat under him? Then the brat would suffocate and die.
And yes, Xanxus could, potentially, just pick up the brat and return him to his own bed. But what if he doesn't wake up the next time the brat sneaks in? Because if Xanxus has learned something these last couple of days is that mini-mini-Sawada might be mellow but he also has a stubborn bone that won't be reasoned with.
In the end, Xanxus ends up staying awake all night, staring at the ceiling with a hand keeping the toddler in place, just in case he rolls over and falls to his death or something. He waits until the hour changes from absolutely ridiculous to marginally decent to leave the bed.
Doing stuff with a toddler on his arm is easier now that he has practice, his morning routine is no different. It's just when he reaches the point of taking a shower that he finds himself at a loss. They stink, they need to wash. Xanxus has no idea how to clean a brat and he's pretty sure that toddlers don't wash themselves.
Xanxus looks longingly at his phone and snarls, ignoring mini-Tsunayoshi stirring in his arm. "Fucking dimension without YouTube. What the fuck."
[Watery warfare]
Part 3 of Xanxus's Parenting Adventures
Xanxus decides on the bathtub for practicality. It seems like a bath would be easier to handle with a toddler than a shower. Especially a sleepy, clingy toddler. Except that the second Xanxus set the brat down, brat went absolutely fucking insane.
Watching bemusedly as the brat slaps the water around, Xanxus ignores the mess it's making on the floor and chuckles. "Yeah? Show it who's the boss, shitty brat."
Tsunayoshi just screams louder, cackling like a maniac.
"Yeah, yeah." Shrugging, Xanxus sits down on the tub, ready to wash himself. He'll clean up mini-mini-Sawada after.
Mini-mini-Sawada has other ideas, however. As soon as Xanxus settles down, the toddler reaches for him and Xanxus helps him sit beside him, lest he falls down and drowns. "What? I thought you were in the middle of a war, trash. Can't just abandon that, you know?"
The toddler just sticks his fingers in the shampoo Xanxus has just poured into his hand.
"No, that's not for you." Xanxus rolls his eyes, scrubbing his hair and ignoring mini-Tsunayoshi watching him curiously. Ok, so maybe Xanxus might be developing a bit of a soft spot for the toddler. Maybe. It's just… the brat's flames might still be dormant at this age but that doesn't change the fact that whatever is still there… it resonates with Xanxus.
And that's a relief. It is, because it means that Xanxus might not be Timoteo's but he's still Vongola enough for this. Besides, the resonance helped Xanxus get over his initial 'ew, baby' aversion and is probably the reason the brat was so quick to trust Xanxus.
He wonders if it'll translate to the grown Sawada, once he returns.
There's just something about mini-mini-Sawada, so small, so breakable and so trusting, that makes Xanxus feel a little protective.
[Shopping trip]
Part 4 of Xanxus’s Parenting Adventures
It takes Xanxus about a week to concede that this won't be a quick matter. Which means that they need clothes. Xanxus could, in theory, keep washing his uniform daily and it wouldn't be a problem. Except he's fucking tired of doing laundry and the brat can't keep wearing the same oversized hoodie for days on end.
He turns to look at mini-mini-Sawada, who is curled up in Bester's flank, fast asleep, and sighs. It seems they're going shopping.
Which is easier said than done. Unearthing the wad of cash and credit card the marshmallow freak left behind is easy enough, taking mini-mini-Sawada is easy as well. As long as Xanxus doesn't put him down, they're alright.
No, the issue comes from the clerk who is watching Xanxus like he's wondering whether he should seek the police on him for kidnapping. But Xanxus is still a Sky, no matter that he doesn't do the polite charming shit that Tsunayoshi and Cavallone are so fond of.
"We had a little accident," Xanxus shrugs, gruff. "He needs clothes."
Still, the clerk seems unsure until mini-mini-Sawada straightens in Xanxus's hold to point at something in the store. "Ansus! Beste! Look, Beste!"
Bester, Xanxus knows, is back in his box but he turns to look all the same. He takes a good look at the white cat plushie and laughs. "Yeah, that's Bester alright."
Ignoring the now bemused clerk, Xanxus makes his way to that rack and offers Mini-Tsunayoshi the plushie. The toddler grabs it instantly, cuddling it to his chest and Xanxus snorts, catching a look at bath toys down the ail. Well, fuck it. They're spending Byakuran's money anyway, might as well treat themselves.
"Come on, you need ammunition for your next bath."
It is entirely possible that Xanxus got a little shopping happy but he gives about zero shits, the tiny shirt with a printed 'Mini-Boss' on it is Xanxus's absolute favourite.
He buys his own clothes quickly and makes a bee-line for the cabin, mini-mini-Sawada cheerfully waving goodbye to the shopping mall.
[Nap]
Part 5 of Xanxus’s Parenting Adventures
What the fuck, Xanxus thinks, bemusedly. It should have been fine. The weather had been nice and the cabin has a nice piece of beach right there so Xanxus had taken the brat out and yes, maybe, Xanxus took advantage of the nice weather to take a nice nap.
But it should have been fine, Bester had been napping with the brat. Covered by the shade. And the brat never wanders off anyway. Bester would have woken Xanxus up if something had happened or handled it himself.
And yet, here they are.
Xanxus wakes up to find Tsunayoshi sitting next to a hole, definitely of Bester’s making and lapping the water from it?
He has questions, Xanxus has so many questions.
First, how did they get water inside the hole? Where does this water come from? Also, why? Bester looks too damn proud of himself, Xanxus adores him but right now, he’s not sure he trusts the liger. Tsunayoshi laps the water again, makes a disgusted face and repeats. “What the fuck?”
Laughing helplessly, Xanxus stands up, patting the sand off of his clothes. “What are you doing, you little shit?” He picks mini-Tsunayoshi up, settling him on his hip.
The brat tries to reach for Bester, “juice?”
“No,” Xanxus chortles, gesturing for Bester to follow. “That’s not juice, trash. That’s seawater at best. What the fuck.”
“Fuck!”
“Shit,” Xanxus picks up their stuff with their other hand and makes his way back inside the cabin to hunt down some juice. “Your parents are going to lose their shit over that, aren’t they?” Toddlers usually don’t use curse words, he knows that much. Then, he remembers that the father in question is fucking Iemitsu and shrugs it off.
[Tuna-fishy]
Part 6 of Xanxus’s Parenting Adventures
They get returned to their original universe about 4 months in, to them at least. It looks like they’ve been gone for barely a week on their own. Xanxus doesn’t care about that, he’s more concentrated on the strained little smile Byakuran is sending to mini-mini-Sawada.
“What!?” Xanxus snaps, ignoring the toddler’s face hidden against his neck. Brat is shy, that’s all.
“Aaah, yes,” Byakuran shifts uncomfortably, sending a bemused look Xanxus’s way before looking back down to Sawada. “That wasn’t part of the plan?”
“Are you fucking asking?” Xanxus ignores mini-mini-Sawada trying to share his crumpled snack and twitches, debating the virtues of calling Bester or seeking his elements on this moron.
Iemitsu, apparently, decides that’s his moment to shine. Bastard has been starry-eyed since the second he caught sight of the toddler in Xanxus’s arms. And no, Xanxus is, in no way, shape or form, annoyed by this. The consigliere steps forward, big goofy smile on his face, “Tuna-fishy! Come to papa!”
And mini-Tsunayoshi loses his shit, loses it completely. As in loud screams and tears and a grip hard enough on Xanxus’s shirt that the Wrath wonders for a second whether he’ll rip it. Xanxus reacts on instinct because he’s been looking after this tiny brat for months now.
He shifts his weight to put distance between his toddler and the idiotic blonde and points his gun directly between the asshole’s eyes. His elements react with him, of course, and Xanxus finds himself bracketed between Squalo and Lussuria, all traces of humour lost.
“What the fuck, trash?” The question is met with silence but all of them saw the way the toddler’s mostly dormant flames recoiled from the man.
Byakuran steps forward, hands up in placation. “Now, now, no need for this.” He lays a restraining hand on Sawada’s shoulder, “I do believe it might be sweet Tsuna’s nap time?”
Xanxus takes the out, pivoting from his spot but not holstering his gun until he makes it all the way to the car. The brat is still making his best impression of a limpet and Xanxus sighs, cleaning some of the tears off the kid’s face.
“Fuck, Ansus,” the brat mutters sadly into the fabric of his plushie.
“Yeah, yeah, what the fuck.”
Somewhere in the background, Lussuria coos.
[Apple Slices]
Part 7 of Xanxus’s Parenting Adventures.
Xanxus wakes up with a tiny brat nestled on his stomach and Bester stretched out by his side. Right. He starts the morning routine without thinking much about it before he remembers that they’re not in the little cabin by the beach anymore.
And by remembers, he means he gets forcibly reminded by Squalo breaking down his door with a “voi! Wake up, shitty boss!” Lusurria trailing happily after the swordsman with breakfast in hand.
“You trash!” Xanxus growls quietly, “if you wake up the little brat, you’re dealing with the pouting!”
Luckily for all of them, the toddler has migrated to Bester’s flank while Xanxus went around preparing the things needed for the bad and is now busy sleeping away, face buried in his plushie.
“And get more napkins,” at Lussuria's odd look he adds, "brat's a messy eater."
Though now it seems like they'll be eating before bathing which is actually more practical. Why hadn't he thought of that? Doesn't really matter, this is how they will do things now. He picks up his own plate and eats quietly, ignoring Squalo's attempts to get Xanxus to do paperwork with the ease of long practice. Only once he's done he goes to pick mini-Tsunayoshi up, settling the sleepy toddler on his lap.
Tsunayoshi is more asleep than awake but he’s docile enough. “Juice?”
Xanxus’s mouth twitches up, “yeah, sure.”
Lussuria squeals, offering him a glass and Xanxus just knows, with one look, that shit is going to get messy. He accepts the apple slice being shoved into his mouth and says nothing. Luss can deal with this shit. "It's good," Xanxus approves, giving the brat another.
Mini-Mini-Sawada bites half of it off and then promptly falls asleep, slumping bonelessly to the side. Xanxus catches him before he can fall off, caught between incredulity and laughter. "The fuck?"
(Juice)
Part 8 of Xanxus’s Parenting Adventures
Xanxus stalks into his office with mini-mini-Sawada on his hip. The Varia as a whole are smart enough to know that if he has one arm tied up in keeping the toddler in place, it means he still has one hand free to shoot them dead. “You trash,” he growls at the closest grunt, “bring me my wine!”
“Juice!” Mini-mini-Sawada adds, waving happily.
“And juice,” Xanxus adds, patting mini-mini-Sawada’s head agreeably. He lets the brat down on the floor inside his office, eyeing the paperwork. Fuck that thing, honestly.
By mini-mini-Sawada’s side, Bester chuffs gently, picking the toddler up by the back of his shirt and settling him between his paws. Mini-Tsunayoshi turns to hug the liger as best he can, happily waving his stuffed toy around and babbling up whatever comes through his head.
Toys, Xanxus decides, they're going to need those. Is two years old too young for a toy gun? Hmm… Well now he has google, doesn't he? Oh look, Timoteo's weekly ridiculous requests. He picks them up with a snort, fishing for some pencils in the drawer. "Here," Xanxus offers them to his brat, "this is your portion."
Mini-Mini-Sawada has taken to imitating everything Xanxus does. If Xanxus indulges him, it's simply because it makes things easier and no other reason whatsoever. He ignores the happy little squeal, smirking at his paperwork. When Squalo comes to pick up their finished piles, he makes a face at the brat's handiwork.
Xanxus glares, absent-mindedly cleaning the toddler's face after their snack.
Squalo just huffs, irritably pushing his hair out of his face. "Voi, FINE! Don't complain to me if they bitch!"
"Fuck that trash," Xanxus doesn't care about what they want.
"Trash!" His toddler smashes his juice box in agreement. Xanxus lips twitch. Ok, so he's a little fond.
(Strategy)
Part 9 of Xanxus's Parenting Adventures
Timoteo knows something is going on the moment that the door opens for the Varia's scheduled paperwork drop and it's not only Squalo coming through it but also Mammon and Lussuria. He has half of the Varia in his office when it usually takes months of cajoling to get so much as one other than Squalo. And even then, for this very same dropoff.
But the Varia are a lot like cats, there's no use in pushing them too much. You have to dangle the bribe and wait for them to come to you. So Timoteo doesn't show hesitation, he simply settles in to give their paperwork a quick check. There's never any blood but he does get a kick out of seeing the progressively more ridiculous fake signatures over the line with his son's name.
This time, it's a toddler’s handprint in ink so strong that some of the text is no longer legible. Timoteo blinks once, twice and then looks up at the gleeful faces of the Varia Officers. "What is this?"
"The mini-boss," Mammon begins, smug and greedy, "is living up to his name,"
Oh, Timoteo realizes, thumbing through the paperwork with new eyes and finding the sort of drawings he hasn't seen in over a decade. Iemitsu had been over yesterday, Timoteo had listened to his ramblings with half an ear but now it's starting to make sense. It hadn't been Iemitsu's usual delusions, Tsunayoshi really is a toddler now. Carefully, Timoteo picks the drawings from the rest of the papers. "Name your price."
Squalo smirks, "vacation. One week, full expenses covered, anywhere we want."
"Done," Timoteo stretches his hand, waiting patiently while Squalo looks inside his bag and comes up with a little plate. Tsunayoshi's small palm is etched on it, colourful kid's drawing decorating the outer sides, under it, in Xanxus's elegant writing, it's Tsunayoshi's name in perfect japanese.
"It's perfect."
"Whatever," Squalo snorts. "Voi, nice doing business with you." Squalo turns on his heel and walks out the door, his two tag-alongs following behind him.
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i’ll stay warm
for @sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo!
Prompt: ice skating
Relationship: Geraskier
Rating: G (with very mild language and a tiny bit of blood)
Warnings: None
Other Tags: Fluff, Companionable Snark, Already Dating But Too Dumb To Notice, First Kiss
“Let me get this straight,” Geralt says.
Jaskier waves him on.
“You’re going to tie those—,” he gestures to the slim planks of iron on Jaskier’s kitchen table that have leather cords threaded through holes bored into either end, “—to your shoes, and you’re going to go down to the river and stand on it.”
Jaskier, unperturbed, says brightly, “Uh-huh!”
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“Let me get this straight,” Geralt says.
Jaskier waves him on.
“You’re going to tie those—,” he gestures to the slim planks of iron on Jaskier’s kitchen table that have leather cords threaded through holes bored into either end, “—to your shoes, and you’re going to go down to the river and stand on it.”
Jaskier, unperturbed, says brightly, “Uh-huh!”
Geralt says, “Why?”
“Because Priscilla asked me along, and it’s good fun, and you can do all sorts of loop-de-loops and swirlies and spinnies and whozits and, uh, whatzits. I dunno, Pris knows all the tricks, I never got the hang of it. But, Geralt, people have been doing this in Oxenfurt for years. It’s the only way fashionable and exciting persons such as I pass the winter these days, gliding as an angel over the ice, cheeks chapped fetchingly pink, you know, it’s all very attractive, one may say winsome—”
“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” Geralt crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back in the small chair and tucks his shoulders in. He takes up too much space in Jaskier’s quarters, and already he rues the day he agreed, in a fit of insanity, to pass the season in the city instead of trekking up to Kaer Morhen as usual. “You’re going to die.”
Jaskier hacks a laugh into his steaming mug and nearly spills tea all down his robed front.
“Nonsense!” he cries, once he has recovered himself. “We go every year once the freeze is hard enough, me and Pris and all my many other dazzling friends, which I absolutely have.”
“And if Priscilla told you it was fashionably good fun to walk yourself off a cliff…”
“I’d do it, obviously,” says Jaskier, not missing a beat. “Haven’t you ever had to cross a frozen river on your travels, Witcher? How’d you go about it then, if not on skates?”
Geralt levels him an incredulous look. “How would I get a horse across a frozen river?” he asks, and Jaskier frowns in thought as he takes another sip.
“I mean, you could just—,” he mimes pushing outward with one palm, “—give ‘er a good shove and see how far she gets.”
“Could give you a good shove. Bet you wouldn’t make it far.”
“I’ll have you know, I have the grace of a, a, er…elk? Are elk graceful?”
Geralt nods and says seriously, “Especially the newborns.”
“There you have it. Graceful as a tiny baby elk with those on my feet, I am.”
“Maybe you should wear them all the time.”
“What good would that…” he starts, and then comes, “Hey. Rude. Remind me why I wanted you here?”
Geralt grins and shrugs. His own mug is on the small table, and he sniffs the steam coming off of it. Floral. He takes a sip. Carefully does not spit it back out. Sets the mug back down farther away.
When he has successfully resisted the urge to spit on the floor to clear out his mouth and looks back up, Jaskier is still holding his own mug gently in the curl of his long fingers, and a lock of rumpled hair has fallen into his eyes. His robe hangs open at his collarbone, down the line of his chest. He wears a strange expression that lies between the exasperation Geralt expected and something startlingly softer.
“So you’ll come with us,” he states.
“Someone has to take your body back to your mother when you break your neck,” Geralt says.
Jaskier rolls his eyes. “You jest, but Mum would be thrilled to see you. Likes you better than me, I think. Her only son! But you’ll come, eh?”
Geralt ducks his head quickly to hide the smile creeping across his face, grabbing his boots and yanking at the laces before acquiescing, “Yeah, I’ll come.”
“There now,” Jaskier says, appeased, “that wasn’t so hard, was it.” He knocks back the dregs of his tea, then stands and pads to the sink, talking on. “You should’ve known I wouldn’t let you stay cooped up in here all winter. I’ll have to see if I can dig out my spare pair of skates, they’re older—animal bone, not iron—but they might be big enough for your witcher feet, and it really works just as well. Or maybe Pris knows someone…I even heard they’re renting the things out down at the river now. Industrious, isn’t it, the ways people come up with to make some coin?…”
Geralt half-listens as he ties neat knots, lost somewhere in the midst of mulling over what Jaskier has described, trying to give it the benefit of the doubt despite its obvious frivolity. Based on the day’s weather it will be a clear night with a brisk breeze, a bright moon. The wind chill will have them each bundled up in furs, and the tip of Jaskier’s nose will go pink as he rubs his gloved hands together for warmth and glances happily over at Geralt. The river ice will be torchlit and smooth as glass, and they’ll strap on their skates and step out onto it. They’ll have a good hold on each others arms, for balance, but then as they gain their footing they’ll find their fingers threaded together and neither will let go. Geralt will listen to the quickened beat of Jaskier’s heart as they pick up the pace, and eventually Jaskier will break their hold to skate backward and taunt Geralt with a small twirl that ends only a little unsteadily. Geralt will smirk and give chase, chuckling when Jaskier squawks and takes off at speed. It’s no use, of course, even with Geralt’s inexperience; Geralt will anticipate his movements, head him off, catch him by the wrist, by the shoulder, and they will collide chest to chest with a huff, the momentum from the chase sliding them a few more feet across the ice before they come to a halt. Their cold noses will almost be touching, there will be frost on the riverbank, there will be a distant owl hooting its nighttime song. Jaskier will quirk his lips and say, “Gotcha, Witcher,” and Geralt will lean in, feel his hot breath, press their lips together—
“Geralt,” Jaskier says, tapping him on the shoulder. A hand waves in front of his face. Geralt keeps his expression carefully neutral as he comes out of his sudden reverie, though he’s been caught red handed. “Are you meditating? We’ve got to be off to the market. Have you even been listening to me?”
“Never,” says Geralt, and Jaskier scoffs and whacks him gently upside the head.
*
The riverbank smells like dead fish.
Geralt knew this. He doesn’t know what he expected. He doesn’t know where the pine-scented idyllic winter wonderland from his earlier distraction even came from, because it couldn’t be farther from reality.
Besides the fish stink, his boots squish and stick unpleasantly in the muddy ground, and the place is teeming with cityfolk, the crowd so thick that you can’t see the opposite bank even despite the abundant torchlight.
“Are you sure it’s frozen solid enough for this?” Geralt asks sourly.
“Of course,” Jaskier replies.
Geralt’s frown deepens. “Couldn’t we go around the bend where there’s not so many people?”
“And where’s the fun in that?”
“Breathing room.”
“I asked about the fun, Geralt. Ah, there’s my girl!”
Priscilla pushes through a group of loitering teenagers and throws her arms around Jaskier’s neck, only her toes left on the mud. “Jask! I see you got your…friend to join us.”
She pauses before friend, eyeing him overtly, but Geralt doesn’t notice because one of the teenagers has been shoved, giggling, into him by another of the group. He steadies her, and does not react when she turns to apologize, catches his unnatural gaze, and stifles her laughter. He doesn’t see Jaskier watching him past Priscilla’s ear, the fond crinkling around his eyes when Geralt gently straightens her and returns her to her place in the circle, which subsequently puts a few feet between itself and the newly-noticed witcher.
“It was either this or die of boredom in the dark, wasn’t it, Geralt?” Jaskier says finally as he releases Priscilla.
“I chose the dark,” Geralt lies, and Jaskier sticks out his tongue.
“Well,” Priscilla says, straightening her skirts, “shall we?”
Geralt pulls both sets of skates from his deep cloak pockets and passes the iron pair to Jaskier, who hops around indelicately while securing them over his boots, rather than plop himself on the soft ground—which is, of course, what Geralt does to put on his own. Priscilla and Jaskier waste a few minutes on a tiff over whether it is polite or belittling for Jaskier to insist on helping her with her own skates whether she wants it or not, but eventually they are all ready to go.
Geralt is the first to the ice. He tests the toe of his bone skate against it, judging the friction of it, deciding if it is likely to hold his weight even with the evidence of the dozens of people currently gliding and spinning past him. It seems stable. Stepping out, he finds it surprisingly easy to get a feel for balance, the minute shifts of weight that send him one direction or the other. He swings himself wide and turns around to see Priscilla and Jaskier also stepping out onto the river, Jaskier clutching tightly to Priscilla’s sleeve, face white and eyes trained on his feet.
“It’s okay, darling, you’ve got this. You made such good progress last time, come on now,” Geralt can hear Priscilla murmuring under the loud chatter of nearby skaters.
When Jaskier sees Geralt watching them, he bodily removes Priscilla’s hands from his person and says, “Please, Pris, I’m a capable man.”
She bristles immediately, leaving him to stand on his own. “And I wasn’t a capable woman when I was putting on my skates?”
Jaskier ignores her to begin shuffling awkwardly across the ice, his knees locked straight.
“Jaskier?” Geralt says apprehensively.
“Doing peachy, thanks, it’ll come back to me, just need to recall how to, um—oh no—” Jaskier starts with a strained voice before he promptly stops, because he has begun to slide inexorably forward. Priscilla and Geralt both reach toward him, but they’re too late; Jaskier’s arms wheel wildly, he tilts on wobbly ankles, and he faceplants onto the ice.
“Ow,” squeaks the Jaskier-shaped lump.
*
“I think your nose is broken,” says Geralt. He dabs at the blood on Jaskier’s top lip with the edge of his own cloak. They are safely back on the bank, and Jaskier is, this time, sitting in the mud. “I guess you were right,” he goes on wryly. “You’re exactly as graceful as a baby elk.”
“I knew you were making fun of me,” Jaskier says thickly, due to the nose injury. “I also knew you’d be a natural. Bastard. I could never get the hang of this stupid bullshit.”
Geralt hums and wipes off the last of the blood. At least it’s clotted quickly. Maybe it’s not a break.
“You didn’t need to lie about your abilities. Who are you trying to impress?”
Jaskier snorts, then winces in pain. His fingers twist in his lap. “Oh, that’s funny.”
Now, Geralt is often joking, but he’s fairly certain that that wasn’t one. Did Jaskier also hit his head? He pushes back Jaskier’s fringe to check his forehead for signs of bruising and doesn’t find any. “Um,” he says, “what is?”
Priscilla skates past holding hands with a woman that Geralt thinks she met approximately three minutes ago. She calls, “All right, Jask?” and in reply, Jaskier gives her a bitter thumbs up. She winks and swoops away as quickly as she came.
“Because I was trying to impress you, obviously,” he answers, gazing after her, before he turns his eyes back to Geralt.
Geralt pauses. “Why?”
“Because I’m actually always trying to impress you. And everyone else, constantly, but…mostly you.”
“You don’t do a very good job of it,” he says, and regrets it when he hears how it sounds coming out of his mouth.
Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine, if a little wistful, like Geralt has amused but not surprised him. “I am well aware, thanks.”
He reaches for the words that will take that edge of resignation off Jaskier’s face, feeling like a fumbling fool. “That’s not what I meant. I meant you don’t need to try to impress me.”
“Yes, I know it doesn’t matter, but I can’t help—”
“No,” Geralt interrupts, “I mean you don’t need to try because you do.” He clears his throat. “Impress me.”
“Oh,” says Jaskier, and then nothing more. “That’s. Okay.”
“Yeah,” says Geralt. He has never been so exposed in his life. He thinks that’s probably a bad thing. “How’s your nose? We could try again, if you want.”
Jaskier looks around at the laughing crowds and shrugs. “Came all this way, got all bundled up. Might as well! I’m sticking with you this time, though.”
They find a spot at the farthest reach of the torchlight where the ice is less populated to step out. Geralt goes first, as before, and finds his footing even faster this time. He returns to Jaskier’s side after a moment of testing the reliability of his newfound skills, and presents his forearm as a handhold. Jaskier does not protest about his capability this time and takes the offering. With a long preparatory exhale, he puts one foot and then the other onto the ice.
“I’ve got you,” Geralt says quietly.
Jaskier replies, “I know you do.”
“Can’t let more harm come to the money maker. I’ve gotten used to staying in inns.”
“Good gods,” says Jaskier, “I’ve broken him.”
They gradually move farther from the bank. “Loosen up,” Geralt tells him. “Don’t lock your knees. It’s like you’re trying to fall over.”
Jaskier grumbles but takes the advice, and eventually he gains the confidence to move a little faster, though not to stop hanging on to Geralt. They stay on the fringes where they are less likely to be run into by a distracted stranger, gliding along at pace, with Jaskier remarking on the who’s-who of Oxenfurt society who are also out tonight. Geralt recognizes some of the more powerful names, but mostly he lets Jaskier chatter on so he doesn’t think too hard about his feet.
Priscilla passes by and greets them a few more times with her new companion, who at one point proclaims, “You two are so cute together!” before Priscilla drags her back into the mob. Geralt glances over and thinks Jaskier might be blushing, but that might also be due to the swelling around his nose.
“Should ice your face,” says Geralt.
“Sure, later. Hey!” He swings around to face Geralt, stopping their progress. “Spin me!” At Geralt’s no doubt dubious expression, he pouts. “Geralt, I demand to be spun. It’ll be fun!”
“Fine,” Geralt sighs.
He takes Jaskier’s hand, and has a flash of his daydream. There’s too many people, and it does still smell like fish, but this isn’t too far off—
He collects himself, holds their joined hands over Jaskier’s head, and gives him a little push to start him spinning, not too quick, but Jaskier takes it upon himself to propel himself a little faster. Jaskier laughs and maintains his balance remarkably well, until he exclaims “Oops—dizzy—!” and topples directly into Geralt, succeeding in knocking them both down, Geralt on his own back, Jaskier flat on his chest.
Geralt, trapped between the frigid ice and Jaskier’s weight, looks up as Jaskier starts to laugh. The steam of his breath hits Geralt’s cheek, and his knitted hat has gone askew, and his nose is turning purple, and Geralt puts his hand around the back of Jaskier’s neck and pulls him down and kisses him.
Jaskier leans away. “What?” he asks, eyes wide, then continues, “oh, who cares,” and leans back down.
*
Later, with an ice pack pressed to Jaskier’s face and two more hot mugs at the kitchen table, Geralt watches Jaskier rummage through his cupboards. He comes back with two packets, one matching the floral tea from earlier and a different one. He hands the latter to Geralt.
“Black tea,” he says, “for you. Noticed you didn’t like my herbal stuff. I don’t either, to be honest, but I already spent the coin on it.”
“Thanks,” Geralt replies, oddly touched.
As Jaskier passes Geralt to take his seat, he leans down and pecks him on the cheek. Smiling faintly beneath the ice pack, he says, “You know, Witcher, I’m glad you’re here and not up in some weird lonely castle,” and Geralt finds that he is, too.
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Only One Choice, Chapter 2
Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic
The Hoover building is still quiet at 8 am, weary agents are sipping their second cup of coffee and wrapping their brains around the task of the day. Studying the minds of murderers, rapists and sadistic torturers is enough to spoil anyone’s breakfast, and yet they approach it clinically, objectively. The reward of knowing that you helped take a monster off the streets is barely enough to keep them going, but they do. Maybe even more than that, they live with the guilt of knowing that if they stopped, it might mean one more murdered child or assaulted woman. One more man found floating in the river. So they get up every day and do it again.
Mulder stops by A.D. Kirkbride’s office to say good morning and finds the man angrily shoving the phone back on its cradle with a plasticky crack.
“Morning, sir. Going great so far I gather?” he quips from his spot in the doorframe.
A.D. Kirkbride scoffs, running a hand through his short cropped sandy-blonde hair. Diminutive in stature, Kirkbride is someone to be taken seriously. His pointed features and gold-rimmed glasses convey the gravity of the work they do here each day in his ever-present frown.
“These goddamn worthless couriers are on my last fucking nerve,” he laments, gathering the papers on his desk into one pile with jerky, frustrated movements. “This is the third goddamn time one of them has no-showed. We need that autopsy report from Quantico today, and because this worthless fucking courier decided to get the flu or something, we have to send an agent down there to get it.” He sighs and sits back in his chair, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Can you send Agent Wilkes in here, please, so I can let him know he has to waste two fucking hours of his day driving down there?”
Mulder shrugs. “I can go get it, I haven’t even started on the Marino file yet. It’s a nice day for a drive.”
Kirkbride eyes him skeptically. “You’re a senior agent, Mulder. You’ve earned the right not to be the bitch-boy.”
Mulder laughs good-naturedly. “I appreciate that, sir, but I really don’t mind. I just got the new Radiohead cassette, it’ll give me a chance to listen to it.”
Kirkbride nods and puts his glasses back on. “I guess it’s Wilkes’ lucky day, then. It’s the autopsy report for the Dugan file, you should be able to get it from the pathologist on duty. And don’t fuck around, we need it ASAP.”
Mulder puts a hand to his chest and makes a mock-wounded face. “Me? Fuck around? I would never, sir.”
Kirkbride shakes his head with a smirk and turns back to his computer. “Get the fuck out of here, Mulder.”
It’s a beautiful late-Spring day and Mulder really does appreciate the opportunity to take a drive to Quantico, even during the morning rush hour. Removing his suit jacket and loosening his tie, he pops in the cassette and merges onto I-395 South as Thom Yorke sings Paranoid Android.
Ninety minutes later, he’s parked near the morgue; having worked out of Quantico for years before securing a spot on the small team of criminal behavioral analysts who operate out of the Hoover building, he knows his way around. He first pokes his head into the office the pathologists share and, finding it empty, he moves on to the autopsy bay. The slabs are all clean and free from corpses, which is a relief. As many crime scene photos as he’s seen, the live version always gives him the creeps. A young woman in blue scrubs is perched on a stool with her back to him, filling out a form by hand. He approaches her, speaking when he’s still several feet away so he doesn’t startle her.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for the pathologist on duty,” he says, and she swivels on her seat, her shoulder length auburn hair swinging gently with the motion.
When she turns to face him, he’s momentarily struck by how pretty she is. Her red hair is complemented by ivory skin, a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her Grecian nose. Her eyes are a brilliant shade of blue, not unlike the morning sky he’d enjoyed on his drive down.
“I’m the pathologist on duty, how can I help you, Mr.-” she looks at him expectantly.
“Mulder, Agent Mulder,” he replies, stepping forward to offer his hand.
“How can I help you, Agent Mulder?” she asks, taking his hand with a firm, confident grip, though her palm is dwarfed by his own broad paw.
“I’ve been tasked with picking up the Dugan autopsy report. Seems like there was a snafu with the courier,” he offers, stuffing his hands in his pockets in an attempt to act casual.
She stands, and he’s again struck, but this time by how short she is, barely reaching his shoulder in her sneakers. “That’s an odd task for an agent, isn’t it?” she says as she moves to a small filing cabinet and rifles through its contents.
He moves to stand beside her, leaning against the wall. “I suppose so, but I don’t mind. Nice to take a break from profiling sociopaths now and then.” He feels his heart do a little leap at the small smile that quirks at the corner of her mouth in response. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” he continues.
She turns to him, holding out a file. “I didn’t give it,” she says dryly. “It’s Dana Scully. I did this autopsy myself, actually, and I’d be interested to know what you make of it.”
He opens the file and leafs through its contents as she returns to her post on the stool, picking up her pen. She appears to see this conversation as concluded, but he doesn’t feel ready for it to end just yet.
“Ah, yes, I’ve heard a bit about this case, though it’s not one I’m assigned to. What interests you about it?” he asks as he follows her back to where she’s sat down, taking the stool beside her without invitation. She quirks an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t say anything about it.
“My findings indicate that though there is only one entry point for the stab wound, there were at least 15 distinct entries into that same location, which would suggest that the assailant stabbed him in nearly the exact same location repeatedly. I suppose I’m wondering what would possess someone to do that.”
He watches her speak with rapt attention, transfixed by the soft, sibilant S’s that pour from her pouty mouth.
“Hey Scully, do you know of any good coffee places around here?” he asks hopefully, completely changing the subject.
She gives him a curiously incredulous look. “Scully is my last name, my first name is Dana,” she answers.
He studies her for a moment, then shakes his head slowly. “You don’t look like a Dana,” he finally says.
Her eyebrows lift and he can see that she’s fighting back a smile. “Really? What do I look like then?”
“A Scully,” he says plainly, and his heart fills to bursting at the wry smile he gets in response.
She shakes her head and turns back to the form she was filling out. “There’s a place called Cafe Adamo a few minutes away that’s pretty good,” she answers his question.
“Great, are you free now?” he asks, forcing a calm demeanor even as his palms are becoming clammy.
She snaps her head up from the form to look at him with an open-mouthed expression of surprise, and he sees a bit of panic in her eyes. Not a good sign.
“Oh,” she stammers, “I’m sorry, Agent Mulder, I have a boyfriend.” Her cheeks are reddening in a devastatingly cute way.
He keeps his expression neutral, and can’t resist messing with her a little.
“I just meant as colleagues, Scully, to discuss the file,” he says matter-of-factly.
If she was blushing before, she’s morphing into a tomato now. She closes her eyes briefly and takes a breath. “I-I am so sorry, Agent Mulder, that was very presumptuous.”
He smiles broadly, no longer able to contain how much fun he’s having with this exchange.
“I’m just messing with you, Scully. I was definitely asking you out,” he admits, and her eyes go big before she deflates a little with relief, biting her lip and looking away with a soft smile on her mouth. “Thank you for this,” he says, holding up the file. “I’ll get out of your hair.”
He stands and moves to the door, stopping just before he exits. “Say hi to that boyfriend of yours for me,” he adds, “he’s a lucky guy.”
She blushes again and he takes a moment to soak up the image before he returns to his car. Tossing the file onto the passenger seat, he flips the cassette to side B and hits the road back up to Washington, finding that he can’t seem to get his mouth to stop smiling.
————————————————————————-
She slumps through the door at half-past six, dead on her feet.
“Hey,” Ethan calls from in front of the stove, “dinner will be about twenty minutes, if you want to take a shower.”
He knows that she always likes to shower when she’s performed autopsies, not wanting the stink of the morgue to find its way onto any of their furniture.
“Thank you,” she replies, toeing off her shoes and stopping by to give him a quick kiss before she moves to the bathroom.
The hot spray of the shower is a welcome relief and she emerges feeling much more alert. They sit at the table, sharing the details of their days over shrimp scampi and white wine. They tend to be very thorough in their retelling of their workdays, and Ethan gives a play by play of a meeting with his boss before Dana tells him all about a student who challenged her in front of the class and how she shut him down. She doesn’t intentionally leave out the interaction with Agent Mulder, but it doesn’t come up somehow.
After dinner, they curl up on the couch to watch ER together. Ethan is on his back with his head propped up on the arm of the couch, and Dana fits herself into the vee of his legs, her back resting on his chest. He idly traces his fingers across her collarbone and shoulders while they watch George Clooney and Julianna Margulies grapple with being both coworkers and lovers.
This is their favorite show, and yet her mind continues to wander to those hooded green eyes, and the boyish smile that played across his pouty lower lip. He was very cute, that’s without question, but she interacts with handsome men all the time at work; why is this particular one worming his way into her brain? She shakes her head to clear the thought, then rotates her body so that she’s belly to belly with Ethan, her head resting on his chest. He kisses the crown of her head and she sighs. She’s got a good thing here, that much she knows.
Maybe she should have gotten coffee with him, though, as colleagues. Maybe.
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Tea Preferences by CQL Sects - a Headcanon
Since watching ep 3 for the first time (i.e. january), this has been knocking around in my brain. In ep 3, we see JZXuan waltzing into the same inn as the Yunmeng Trio, booting them, and then rejecting “bad tea”. Ever since, I’ve watched a lot of tea being poured in CQL. It got me thinking, what kind of tea would different sects prefer and what would different characters drink?
Lanning Jin
Per ep 3, we hear JZXuan say “This tea is stale.” This means this tea is no longer fresh. Based on that (and the pale greenish yellow color of the liquid) I would guess he’s drinking green here but green that’s over a year old, maybe only 7 months old. Probably to an average person, this tea is fine. It might even be nice enough. (I like a taiwanese green that is really yummy for about a year but the vendor tells me he doesn’t drink it past 6 months.) But for our rich peacock? Oh no! Unacceptable! He sets it down and walks away.
I’m guessing Jin Clan (especially JZXuan and JGS) is accustomed to drink imperial grade pre-qingming dragonwell starting early April. They drink it through the summer. Maybe have some nice aged oolongs between August - October. I can see them drinking motherbush yancha and motherbush phoenix mountain dancongs. They would then switch to a green oolong after the fall oolong harvest. I headcanon they drink the most floral of Tie Guan Yins (tgy, iron goddess of mercy), especially ones that taste like orchids (yes, tgys like this exist) and/or peonies (i’m guessing these exist, but not 100% sure). I can also seeing them drink something akin to modern taiwanese high mountain oolongs, also winter harvest (but that really depends on if that sort of crop exists in their world since world building isn’t period-specific). Either way, I’m thinking super green or super floral fresh tea crops with a hefty price tag.
Qishan Wen
Since the Wens exude red and oppression, I can’t help but think they drink a lot of black teas (called red tea in chinese). Like the Jins, they go for famous teas and rare teas and expensive teas. But since their environment is hot and sulfuric (have you seen Nightless City, sheesh, i’m surprised WWX didn’t comment on the stink), I suspect they have to drink teas that can stand up to such environments. My first thought was Keemun tea! It’s called QiMen tea, which would be perfect for the homonym effect! But it may not be the best fit. My next thought was ZhengShan XiaoZhong (Lapsong Souchong). Fruity, pine smoked, and oxidized, this tea would survive the climate well and show off Wen sect’s wealth. (I’ve had really nice versions of ZhenShan XiaoZhong that aren’t as smokey, but they were still robust and flavorful.) Also Lapsong Souchong was popular enough outside of China that Winston Churchill drank it. UK → China → Imperialism → oppression → Wens. QED. Wen Qing and Wen Ning, probably don’t drink that when left to their own devices. I see Wen Qing making herself and her brother drink “cooling” teas, so likely green, to counteract the effects of the fire and brimstone mountains.
Qinghe Nie
So I get the sense that the Nie sect really cares about cultivation. They want tea that they can feel chi from. They don’t have to have the fanciest things or the most expensive, but they do care about the quality and intrinsic value. NMJ wants tea that will help with his cultivation. NHS seeks out culture and interesting fun teas. I can definitely see the two of them going on tea purchasing trips together in the spring and fall. They travel to Fujian, to Yunnan, to Guangdong.There, they talk to farmers, look at the plants, try the tea, get a sense of the energies the leaves impart. NMJ is partial the Wuyi rock teas, Yunnan old tree heichas, and phoenix mountain dancong mother bushes since many are from old bushes and have their own spiritual energies. NHS is fascinated by the Fujian artistry, especially the Anxi farmers. They source their teas from the farmers and have really good relationships with a lot of oolong and black tea growers. NHS has a soft spot for Phoenix Mountain Duck Shit Fragrance Dancong. The tea is delicious and the name hysterical.
Yunmeng Jiang
Yunmeng is a place of a lot of water and lotus and down to earth people. A lot of places in china grow tea. Often they’re just referred to as local green tea. I can see the people here picking the tea in the spring and drinking it throughout the summer. The stuff isn’t fancy but it’s fresh. That freshness makes it delicious. I can also see the Jiang family seeking out bricks of heicha. Heicha is the large category Puerh falls under. They are considered post process fermentation teas which means they develop further after they’re formed into bricks. In a humid and wet environment, I can see these teas being stored easily. A lot of heicha have earthy flavors – which suits the simple Jiang family well. Additionally, tea drinkers often get a sense of chi from heicha – something that’s not lost on Jiang Fengmian. WWX enjoys their local green tea. He especially likes the varieties that are infused with lotus blossom smells or dried on lily pads. JC sticks to the heicha. He’s such a try-hard. JYL will drink the local green and sometimes adds it to her cooking.
Gusu Lan
So my gut reaction to Gusu Lan is they should drink really nice jasmine tea or white tea. Just look at their aesthetics! Then one day, I was watching the tea being poured out and it wasn’t the right color! I was shook. But Lan sect! Righteous and elegant! White tea! I felt betrayed.
During this quarantine, I have been drinking more tea. A lot of green and oolong (i’m a sucker for good winter taiwanese oolong, let me tell you. It’s freakishly delicious) but also some aged white. I realized the broth (brewed tea) gets darker with age. Then it clicked into place.
The Lans drink white tea. They drink freakishly old white tea!
How old?
There’s a saying: 白茶 – 一年茶,三年药,七年宝 (White tea – year one, it’s tea. Year three, it’s medicine. Year seven, it’s treasure.)
I have a white tea from 2005. It’s delicious, rather expensive, and not as dark as the tea LXC drinks. I seriously thought he was drinking a black tea or a heicha! (i don’t know which ep, this is just my foolish brain screaming)
So my headcanon is when Lan An founded the Lan sect, he bought a century worth of white tea. From there on out, every year, the Lans would buy a year or two worth of some fairly high grade white teas, label it, and place it in their tea cellar. (Also, their tea cellar is infused with spiritual energy to provide an idea aging environment for the tea. The spiritual energies of the elders are also partially offered to the tea, imparting more benefits over the years.) Lans would hoard their tea until after the century mark. Then they would drink hundred year old teas. It’s good for their cultivation. It’s a reflection of their patience. There is no reason to be showy about what they have. It just is their way of life. Somewhere, in the Lan cellar, there are a dozen pressed white tea “cakes” from Lan An’s initial hoarding. LWJ wants to break out one of the cakes for WWX: a gift for their wedding night, but also, a gift to expedite the formation of a new golden core.
#headcanon#the untamed 陈情令#cql#mo dao zu shi#mdzs#wei wuxian#lan wangji#nie huaisang#jin zixuan#wen qing#nie mingjue#wangxian headcanon at the very end because that's what i'm here for#tea#i really like tea#heicha#oolong#white tea#green tea#dragonwell#my ramblings#qi is a thing for some tea drinkers
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Boarding Action
CW: DEATH, BODY HORROR, AI POSSESSION
in accordance with discussions via @poisonheadcrabsalesman (who wrote their own!!!)
----
"All forces who can hear this transmission, fall back to the Infinity to help with defense!"
The Commander's call to arms overlaps with the Captain's demand for battle stations. Roland blasts both messages to either end of the ship for as long as he can-- until something in him snaps and his voice becomes muffled, silent, and hoarse. He opens his eyes to seek out the damage but they, too, are compromised, smarting and burning and bleeding where power fails and explosions rock his bones. He stretched himself out and hates that he struggles.
The Infinity was boarded. Her internals raged with isolated slipspace signatures while her outer shell cracked and gave way to less mobile enemies. Processes calculating the damage had to be ignored lest he be paralyzed by the rapidly swelling, rapidly worsening assessment, when he was already struggling to keep up with the protection of his most important assets. There were protocols in place to deal with attacks so close to home, after all-- he could follow every one, or he could live a little.
Subroutines disguised as instincts struggled to urge him into flight. He felt his awareness subside as violent Promethean attacks wiped out five, no, six more of his eyes, and predictive analysis ratcheted the death toll ever higher. His chest reverberated as he took the mouthpiece in Main Corridor 3, Deck Three, and declared it sealed--
"Exits are now closed off. Eliminate on sight. Hold tight."
--because he was venting atmosphere in six outer compartments so that the Covenant crafts attempting to file in were immediately deprived of precious oxygen and totaled. He said as much to Fireteam Ox before they got too close. Go this way, Spartans. Ammunition under here, soldiers.
Two more of his eyes blink and shutter, vision growing grainy before stabilizing. The Captain is struggling not to give into his impulses. Biosigns flicker and flare, leaching chemical readings into already half-contaminated air. He can't focus on them all, he has to prioritize, but the soul count aboard is dwindling from 17,000 strong to less than 16. He's not a combat AI-- he feels each death, like a corrupted byte of data.
The grief threatens to unravel him but he spins it off to be processed elsewhere. He is rattling off into an active comm, but what is he saying--
"Spartan Miller, Spartan Miller,"
Behind you! Slipspace readings on your six!
But comms are dead and he is forced to drag himself out of his miles-high suspension and look into the Intelligence/Operations room with one giant eye. Maybe he's slower than he thought. Spartan Miller is engaged and tangling beautifully, but the diagnostics from his armor stink of desperation. Though distorted, he can hear him shout.
"Crimson, a bit busy. Hold position and I'll override--"
Crimson was stuck? How did he miss that? They were mission-critical assets at this point. Right, Roland would be hard pressed to interfere with analog controls, but if he went down here, and offered a handshake there, then--
"We're through, Miller!"
Tinny and soft and heard from a distance, Crimson coordinates desperately with a mission handler who's stuck fast to the breastplate of a Promethean Knight, and Roland realizes that--
He might be watching someone die. Far too closely than he'd like and perhaps unpreventable except that this wing of the Infinity isn't totally undefended and that there are Spartans here, here, and-- too far, caught up in their own engagements, but this IFF tag, blinking amber like a server port in standby--
It might just be close enough.
But the IFF tag reads this and the biosigns read that so Roland has to interface with the Spartan's neural implants and pick apart the limited software running sluggishly in its roots. He has to interface with the Mjolnir, bloated by its own hydrostatic gel layer, and force it to decompress as rapidly as it can. Embolisms are nothing now. This Spartan is this Spartan is he's getting his hands under his chest and pushing up, up, up, electricity arcing across its nervous system in fitful bursts.
One Knight dissipates in a burst of metal plates and data. Damage readings bleed out from the Ops room like smoke from kindling. Roland shuts down the Mjolnir's safety checks to continue pouring input into the neural lace, blowing processors but managing to get fat, stiff fingers around the stock of a rifle. He slams down on random parts of the lace until something flashes and the gun snaps up into firing position.
16,500 strong drops to 16-even. One member of Crimson is nursing a crushed shoulder. He feels filthy, with so many intruders writhing in the Infinity. His people-- her people-- are keeping the Covenant ranks at bay but the Prometheans--
How do you fight something like that?
How long will the assault last?
Not enough intelligence on the matter.
Requiem-- older than him. Older than them all. He got here late, but he knows that the Infinity has seen it before. Her old handler's data still lingers in her circuits.
Roland wonders if he can get the Spartan to breathe. If he presses down here, the muscles in the left leg will spasm and it will jerk forward. Movement on the right is hindered by a plasma-cut hole in the hip, but still, he heaves himself forward, until he can clumsily spin around and wait for the gyro sensors in the exoskeleton to account for the sway.
His vision splinters off into a million fractal points, struggling as he is to contend with every lane of input and feedback. His destination is here and all he has to do is nudge the barrel of the battle rifle that way, just so, and seize the nervous system until the trigger finger depresses and and and and
Another Knight shudders and explodes as the back of its skull makes contact with repetitive three-burst rounds. Spartan Miller staggers out from under it, Magnum dropping from his shaking hands.
"Who--- Donya! Thanks for the save. I was getting worried there. Are you-- Donya?"
Roland-- Donya-- struggles to get their arm off of the gun to wave; her body gives out as she does.
Roland curses. That aspect of himself withers away and dies as the neural implants burn, setting the Mjolnir interface alight.
This time, he forces himself to turn a blind eye to the Ops room. He's more helpful elsewhere.
He's done enough.
And AI shouldn't be processing the concept of taste or the voice of their mother, anyway.
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