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katsukikitten · 4 years ago

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Time spent with Todoroki.

Warnings: This is a Pro Hero aged up AU, think late twenties. Adult themes such as sex are to follow. Please enjoy

Shoto was by far your favorite sugar daddy. He showered you in lavish gifts and gave you the pipe often. He checked your bank account and made sure it never fell below a certain amount and paraded you around town like the Princess you were. But most importantly he was stoic. Doing nothing more than wiping you up with a warm rag once the two of you were finished, never clinging to you with desperate hands like many other sugar daddies had. Hoping their money would make you giddy and buy your love. Maybe it would have, had you not already run out of love for people. Your heart broken one too many times by a long term relationship causing you to vow that money was your only love.

People were just too disappointing.

Your contracts with Shoto were medium in length, anywhere between three to five months mostly because he likes to keep his "options open." Which filled you with pure lust for him, knowing you could get away with your kinks without worrying over some man falling for you.

Still, it was difficult for the Pro hero not to fall for you, at first he had no interest in love. Having sworn it off mostly for fear of failure thanks to his dysfunctional family. It was the main reason he started looking into sugar baby websites, he saw your profile picture and your bolded No strings attached. He liked the idea of that, loved it really and yet, he became tangled in you after the renewal of your second contract. He tried to suppress the warm feeling in his chest, he found it difficult more times than not.

Especially now, with you on your knees with his guicci jacket spread out on the tile of the bathroom floor as your lipstick clad lips wrap around his cock. Your cheeks hollowed and your eyes looking up at him with enchanting lust. He fists your hair shoving you further on his cock. Your eyes water as you gag softly and Todoroki is just thankful your makeup is waterproof.

The sight and the sounds make him groan while your manicured nails dig into his bare thigh. You rub your thighs for friction, moaning around his cock, it's enough to send Shoto over the edge. Hot ropes of cum hit the back of your throat as his grip on your styled hair tightens.

"Fuck Princess…." He moans bucking into your mouth, sharp eyes look down at you. Seeing a powerful man come undone for you is enough to keep you content for now.

"Sir will take care of you after the gala okay?" His cheeks are still a little red as he runs his hand over your hair. Lifting you off the floor before fixing himself. He gives you a light spin, making sure nothing scuffed your gorgeous designer dress before he exits the stall. Pushing back his long hair while you retouch your lipstick with a knowing smirk.

The two of you waltz back to the party, sans his jacket, abandoning the designer garment without a second thought. The price of it was barely a drop in his bucket. It could have been half of his bucket for all he cared, his mind always swimming with thoughts of you. He places his hand on the small of your back as he guides you back to the table, dinner half forgotten once your hand wandered towards his crotch for a tease.

"F...find the bar okay?' Izuku asks as you take your seat, your sly hand going for your wine. Uraraka blushes when you give her a wink.

"Just fine." Shoto says sipping his whisky.

"So who's won awards so far?" You ask with gleaming eyes, Izuku smiles.

"Kaachan for most villains caught. Kirishima for the safest feeling hero, myself for rescue ratio." He holds up his small little trophy, "And you, Shouto, for most mysterious."

"What about the rankings? Did we miss that?"

"No they are about to announce it!" Uraraka exclaims, eyes glittering with excitement and wine. Her chestnut eyes slide over to her emerald eye date, hoping for the best for him.

The announcer steps to the stage, his sapphire blue suit catching everyone's eye as he takes the center.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it has been a night filled with congratulations and cheer but now is the moment you've been waiting for, tonight we will reveal the top three heroes. Voted in by a strenuous board appointed by the fans, we finally present the BIG THREE!"

Some tables erupt in cheers while the host takes his dramatic pause, when the sound dies down the host brandishes the golden envelope.

As he announces your hand wanders again, playing with your favorite toy, Shouto's face gives way nothing as the host drags out the awards. Explaining how long the winner's speeches should be. Soon Shouto cannot ignore your hands creeping on his clothed cock that throbs beneath your fingers. He knows he can't wait through what's bound to be a half an hour. He rises excusing himself dragging you with him before you're being cornered against a wall in some random closet.

"So impatient, princess." He bites out, kissing your throat, sliding down to your exposed collar bone while his hand ventures between your thighs. Calloused pads circling your puffy clit as you let out a loud moan that's swallowed by the cheering of the gala room. Impatient himself he undoes his pants, stroking himself with his free hand while you cum on his fingers.

After the coil in your stomach snaps for a third time he's satisfied, kissing you as he aligns the tip of his dick to your quivering entrance.

"Fuck, Shouto. Fuck me please, sir!" You beg, making his head spin, alcohol mingling in the small dark space.

"Be patient kitten. Sir will fuck you right baby." He grunts, sheathing himself into your soaking core. You cry out, clawing at his back through his shirt. The smell of biting cold hair mingling with the hearty smoke of a bonfire engulfs you as you press your face into his chest. He lifts both of your legs, strong hands grabbing onto thick thighs as he fucks into you with a deadly pace. Slapping skin and lewd wet sounds echo back to the two of you, encouraging his pistoning hips.

"Listen to those sounds Princess, your pussy sounds so pretty." He bites at your ear as you endlessly moan and whimper into his chest. Cunt clenching as he drives over your spongy spot, the head of his cock going deeper with each thrust. Soon it all becomes too much, your vision spots panting as you cry out in ecstasy, body ridged and arching to meet him.

"Cumming on my cock already?" He coos, fucking you through your next orgasim as your legs shake around him. Toes pointed in your red bottoms as you attempt to hold onto him for dear life.

"S..sir! You cry out, "I'm gonna...nnngghhh."

He ruts into you, pressing you further into the wall as he frees up one hand to play with your throbbing clit. Rubbing harsh circles as he loses focus on his precise thrusts that turn sloppy. His eyes too focused on you as you cum, milking his cock. Your eyes flutter, desperately attempting to hold eye contact as one hand palms your breast and the other scratches at the skin at the nape of his neck. Your tongue lulls out just a bit as your mouth makes a sinful O shape, a few tears of over stimulation fall down your cheeks as he continues to fuck into your wet cunt. The sight makes him explode into you, warm spurts of cum causing you to whimper and clench in delight as he ruts until he is done. He sets his sweaty forehead against yours, panting as words claw up his throat.

"I love..." He whispers, catching himself just in time, "Your tight cunt."

He kisses you, hoping you don't think anything more of it.

After a few minutes, and Shouto's cock softens, he withdraws. Wiping you up with a wipe from your purse as the two of you check the other for fluids. A drunken cat smile plastered on your lips as you reapply your lipstick, wiping away the stains on his dark grey shirt and collar.

The two of you step into the hall just in time as the doors start to open. Quickly and calmly you grab for your pack of cigarettes, your normal alabi, placing the stick in your mouth. Shouto, much like a gentleman, lights it as you inhale to keep the tip a burning ember. Gently blowing the smoke over his clothes, careful to avoid his face as you waft the burning stick around yourself as if it were an incense. Knowing good and well the smell of smoke always hides the salty smell of sex. Quickly you extinguish it on an ice cube that Todoroki provides, you toss the cube in the closet and the half of a smoke into your burkin slamming it shut just as a small group of sidekicks approach.

"Shouto! Wow! I can't believe it was a three way tie this year! Congrats to you, Deku and Dynamight!" They drunkenly cheer, "It's crazy how that happened."

"You're so secretive, your manager accepted the award on your behalf even though you were here tonight!"

A stream of people dot on your date as you cling to his muscular arm while you harbor a secret of your own. Cum dribbles between your thighs as you think of his sweaty head against yours. It feels good to be a Pro hero sugar baby.

"You staying the night again?" Shouto asks as he presses a cold water bottle to your palm, your body covered in a sheen of post sex sweat from a week's worth of fun. You give him a small smile as you sit up, tits bouncing as you readjust entirely. You can feel his icy hot gaze as it rakes over your body, feeling the goose flesh prick along your skin as it does with the threat of an oncoming summer storm.

"I wanna discuss the renewal of our contract. Plus we have a final date per the expiring one." He says as he rises, heading towards the luxurious ensuite to start a shower for you both.

"Hmmm guess I could. How much longer do we have left?" You never really paid attention to this things, always being satisfied with whatever Shouto gave you.

"Two weeks." He returns back from the bathroom, grabbing his wallet from his bedside table. Pulling out his onyx black card, he places it in your hand. His eyes holding yours, you give a devilish grin.

"Sir has a lot of paperwork for the agency to do today. Buy a dress I want to fuck you in and anything else you want to match okay baby girl?" He leans down to give your forehead a kiss while you giggle. Unable to hide the giddy that bubbles beneath your skin, you wrap your arms around him.

"Thank you sir!" You exclaim, pepper his cheeks with kisses as you pull back, "Do I get to pick the date again?"

"Mmhmm." He encourages, running his hand up your bare bare as you squeal with delight. You rush to the bathroom before he slowly follows behind. While under the hot stream the two of you make out for far too long, tongues fighting as the two of you exchange laughs before you add a playful statement that stays with the two toned hair man as he sits in his boring home office.

"I'm going to get a dress so classy and sinful you'll fuck me on the spot!"

His eyes wander to the photo on his desk, the one of your first date. The one you insisted the two of you take after a month of late booty calls since he paid for the "girlfriend" package. The two of you are bundled in warm coats, you cling to his firey side as you laugh and he just barely smirks.

Looking back he thinks this is when he started to fall for you. You had never been ice skating before and insisted on going while the two of you were in NYC for important PR interviews for the cold and mysterious hero. Because that's what people did in the movies while in NYC, put on their skates at the Rockefeller rink to glide along the ice beneath the sparkling lights of the giant Christmas tree. It was busy, he opted for no skates, as he did better without but he helped you lace yours. Being ginger for the first time in his life as he helped you onto the ice, after demanding a moment of independence you had fallen straight onto your ass. Giving Shouto second hand embarrassment but instead of yelling, crying out or giving up, you laughed. Genuinely laughed as you reached for his steady hand, captivating the whole rink for a moment. It felt like magic had washed over the ice, as snow slowly danced into your hair and the colorful lights danced across your eyes. Just like that the spell was broken with a flash of light. A stranger approached to give you a small tip on how to skate and the polaroid he had taken. You thanked them with a smile placing the photo into your coat pocket leaning into Shoto to share a secret.

"Now we have our first 'date' immortalized!" You had giggled, gliding across the ice as if you were ethereal, hands outstretched for Shoto to join you.

He wonders how you're doing at the shops. He occasionally gets a text or two from you. Sexy pictures of you in the changing room as you obviously buy lingerie as well.

He fists his cock enough times he gets no work done and by the time he convinces himself enough is enough you come home.

Wearing that damned devilish smirk.

And so another week passes in the four walls of his bedroom. Your bank account as stuffed as your pussy as you bounce on his heating and cooling cock.

"Fuck, baby fuck." Is all Todoroki can say as you chase your own high. His blunt nails clawing at your thighs as your tits bounce. Your mouth opens into that gorgeous O as you seek out that delicious friction on your clit. The coil in your stomach snaps as your humping becomes erratic and sloppy but still enough for your tight cunt to spasm wonderfully over Todoroki. So nice is the sight, sound and smell of you that Todoroki pumps his hips up into you twice before he paints your velvety walls, his eyes focused on you.

"Fuck." He presses his sweaty head into the silk of his pillow case. Two toned hair clinging to his forehead. You lean over and kiss his cheek.

"Thanks for the ride Pro hero." You wink before you dismount. Stretching towards the sky once your feet hit the warmed hardwoods, you begin to make your way towards the bathroom. Phone in hand.

"I wanted to talk about extending your contract." Todoroki says, staring after you, "At dinner tonight."

"It expired tonight right?" You say, looking over your shoulder while your phone lights up with an alert, "No need for dinner."

"What do you mean?" He calls to you as you start the shower.

"I mean, I think we should let the contract expire. Keep things fresh you know? Keep our options open?"

He jumps to his feet and begs the urgency to die in his step. Calmly with somber steps making his way to the ensuite. He finds you already in the shower, water washes away the smell of sweat. The smell of him as your phone glares up at him. He taps the screen and your recent notifications wave at him as he stares down.

Reading one of them in horror.

Todoroki isn't sure why he feels this way as he looks at your phone on his vanity. As if the world fell from beneath his feet. His throat burns as he stares at the illuminated glass, spiraling as steam clouds his vision that begins to blur. He knew what he signed up for, he wanted this.

This detached, heart hidden exchange in hopes of choking down the loneliness

But he never expected that when this ended it would feel as if his heart had been ripped out, stepped on and crushed beneath the heel of one of your red bottomed shoes.

"Come on aren't you joining me for our last shower iced cutie?"

"Uh yes I'm coming." He steps into the shower as the push alert on your phone burns into his brain.

"Kirishima Eijirou has put in an offer."

#todoroki x reader #todoroki sugar daddy #bnha au #aged up au

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scary-lasagna · 4 years ago

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Hi there! Can I get a toby and Ben (separate) comforting a s/I who has anger issues? Like the smallest things can set them off and they'll like chuck a glass cup at the wall. But in specific comfort them for breaking their fingers after punching a metal door....not based on real events ...of course

yOU brOkE YOuR fINGiES??? Are you okay???

Toby

Toby was coming come from work when it happened, and he was so excited to wave at you through the window. Y’know, Toby things like pressing his face against the glass to make you laugh, or show you a shiny rock he found at work.

You were facing away from him, right by the garage door that’s visible from the curtains.

You tried breathing, counting, envisioning some bullshit animals that could help you calm down. but you couldn’t you just fucking couldn't.

A fireball wrapped your internal organs in tight ribbons of flames, your diaphragm caved in and the injection of fire thrust into your veins. Your sweaty palms shook and finally blinked against the metal door to the garage.

“baABABEYY!!!”

Tobias Rogers cannot feel pain, but even he knows that did not feel very pretty, because your hand no longer looked very pretty.

Your fingers were already swollen and a bit bruised with blotches of blue and black that resembled spilling ink on watercolor.

Your boyfriend grabbed a few loose ice cube from the freezer and wrapped them in a nearby decorative towel, “Hey,” His tone carried worry and pity, “It’s okay.” With a cautious hand, Toby placed the cold towel on your swollen fingers.

You were still shaking; punching the door helped, but now you had to worry about possibly broken fingers and a boyfriend that was on the edge of tears by seeing you in both physical and emotional pain like this.

“I’m right here.” His soft lips felt warm against your iced bruising, “We’ll work through this together, one step at a time.” You sighed and nodded, as you started to feel the buzzing of your anger distinguish. “Let’s go cuddle and talk about it.”

“Shouldn’t I go to the ER first?”

“O h. Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Ben

“Babe, did you just pull a Kyle?” Ben paused the FPS game on the living room console, and turned towards the metal door in the next room over.

When he didn’t get a response, he decided to investigate, and casually drifted through the wall to find his upset s/o.

He thought you just fisted the wall, or maybe even kicked the wall trim.

But no.

You decided the metal fucking door was the best option to obliterate your fingers on.

Ben screamed, you screamed, it was a mess.

He panicked and threw peas at you and started calling Jack, and he thought you broke your entire hand by the way it was swelling up and flecked with bruises.

He was glitching the entire time, and you eventually gave up trying to tell him to chill out and sat on the couch with your thawing peas.

Ben finally grasped his bearings, and turned to you with another bag of frozen veggies. “Jack said he’ll be here in a little bit.” He gulped and pressed the cold compress on your hand.

Ben didn’t say another word. His lips held a purse, and his jawline kept a steady clench that looked slightly painful.

It was your turn to stay quiet, and you refused to meet his eyes. What would he think of you now? That you were dangerous?

“Whenever you’re really angry like that, I want you to come to me.” Ben placed his cool hand over your non-broken one, “You can scream, riot, fucking beat the hell out of stupid pillows, and I’ll help you through it. How fucking dare those pillows, y’know? Sitting around and shit.”

You managed a small smirk, “How rude of them.”

Ben kissed your swollen hand, his cool lips soothed more than the ice did. “Let’s just breathe for a little bit. Everything will be okay.”

#toby #ben #creepypasta #creepypasta imagines #creepypasta headcanon #anger

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full-hd-sun · 4 years ago

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Play with Fire(18+ story Donghyuck/Mark)

Pairing:

Mark/Donghyuck

Warnings and genres:

PWP, Kinks, Sensory Deprivation, Temperature play, Love bites, Shibari, Some Explicit Language

Summary:

- You wanted to see me? - suddenly says Haechan, leaning against the door, which frightened Mark.

It seems to him that the younger one specially send him to Hong Kong with his words, actions, body, and with his endless love, which fills in all the air in older one lungs, so that Mark breathes only with him.

- You wanted to see me? - suddenly says Haechan, leaning against the door which frightened Mark.

He thinks the younger one specially sends him to Hong Kong with his words, actions, body, and with his endless love, which fills all the air in his lungs so that the older one breathes only with him.

He has only towel on his body, exposing the pelvic bones, which in the moon's light look especially alluring. Mark can also pick up a subtle lavender scent that is intertwined with coffee notes.

- Ah. I wanted not only to see you, kitten. - and it works on the maknae, like a kind of trigger: he goes inside room, closes the door behind him, slowly kneels down and crawls to the hyung’s bed like a graceful cat. Mark need not see his eyes, but he feels how predatory his “sun “looks at him. He crawls to the bed, runs his fingertips over the knuckles of aristocratic hands, climbing onto the bed and not taking his eyes off the elder. Mark closes his eyes, intertwining their fingers, and reaches for a kiss, but Haechan’s palm, which resting on his chest, stopped him.

- Hyung, today I want to try something new ... - with these words, he takes off his towel, sitting on the hyung, and pulls out a few ice cubes from the bag was on the nightstand.

- What are you going to… - Mark doesn’t have time to ask when Donghyuck puts an ice piece in his mouth and, with a predatory smile, approached the elder’s lips, covering them with his own. The Canadian immediately felt a pleasant chill on his lips. His lips are dry and thin, but he knows how to use them so that, even with some of their faults, he can drive maknae to delirium tremens. He opens his mouth wider, allowing the kiss to deepen, catching a shudder from Haechan’s cold tongue. Suddenly, something cold applies to Mark’s nipples, and he wants to pull away, but Hae holds him with a steel grip.

Haechan runs a cube along the halos of one nipple, then the other, and rises to the neck, and with his fingertips he finds the pulsating vein and runs the rest of the ice over it. The ice melts from Mark’s already heated body, so it forces him to break the kiss to lick off the rest of the water. But that would be too easy, so he decides that it would be beautiful if the hyung’s neck was covered with rosebuds. Having licked off the water, he ceases to be tender, and presses his teeth and sucks the skin, leaving beautiful, burgundy-colored buds on the dark skin, which tomorrow will bloom with scarlet, purple, crimson roses.

Mark’s hands tremble in the iron grip of Donghyuck’s fingers as he rolls him onto the cold sheets and lifts his head with his fingers, prying his chin, revealing a view of the chic neck. He reaches for the nightstand, which has a thick blindfold on it. Mark finds it hard to breathe. As soon as a person loses one sense, all the others are active. Haechan blindfolded his hyung, which sharpens his hearing to the maximum, feels his blood running through his veins, hears his own heart beating wildly, how his maknae breathes, and every breath he takes is a loss of control for Mark-ie.

- If it will be painful - just tell me, - the younger whispers in his ear, tying a bandage and running his cold tongue along the conch of his ear, slightly biting the lobe at the end. With his whispers, he sends billions of signals per millisecond, forcing his body to work in a more frantic rhythm. Don runs his hand over his chest, and Min, because of inability to see, literally feels every joint and knuckle of his graceful hand.

- Oh.. Okay, - Mark by touch searches for Haechan, bumping into his hips, gently placing his hands on them and with his fingertips leading to the top. His skin is too velvety to be real.

- No, no, babe. Today I’m on top. - Haechan stops any attempts to seize power from the elder. - Shall we try shibari? I know several nodes. Yuta-hyung kindly agreed to teach them.

From the very tiny, at first glance, bag, Donghyuck pulls out a not quite small rope. He lowers the elder to the floor and sits him on his knees. The first thing Lee-junior does is tie his hands, leaving no chance of getting out. Then he puts the rope on his chest and makes the first cross, he made three more such crosses for sure. Then two loops appear on the neck which confuses Mark a little, but he does not show it, because he likes everything so far and he frankly enjoys what is happening. Meanwhile, the rope moved to the back, then pulled over the thin waistline, and then Haechan made some last knots on the hips.

He walked away to look at his “work of art” and take a picture, because when else would he have time to be on top. With a satisfied smile, Haechan walked over to Mark and roughly grabbed him by the knots on his chest.

- Mark. Explain to me why you spend so much time with Yuta-hyung? Hmm? I mean nothing to you anymore? Bastard... - with these words, Mark got a resounding slap in the face, because he deserved it, and Mark Lee was even more turned on when Donghyuck was so rude.

- It’s time to fuck you, so you can remember who you belong to forever.- he puts his hand on the place of impact, and lightly touched his lips somewhere to the back of his head.

Haechan pushed Mark to the floor, spreading his legs apart as far as the rope would allow. He wanted to fuck Minhyun roughly, but at the last moment he took pity and turned him over, putting him on his knees, which parted from excitement and operas on his chest to stretch.

- Mark-iiiee... You like everything, right? Say something.

The answer was an unrestrained groan of pain mixed with pleasure rolling slowly, his lungs refuse to take in air, which makes it unrealistic to breathe.

- I want you to see me take you, so I will untie the bandage. But not all at once, but for now, enjoy stretching. And yes, you won’t end until I say ... - after these words, he fastened the ring on the elder’s penis, and Mark whined in displeasure.

Haechan smeared lubricant on his palm and entered the first icy finger inside. He entered unexpectedly with little difficulty, as if Mark had already played with himself before. The second followed the first finger. It makes sense, isn’t it? When there were already three fingers in the body of Mark, he himself sat on them.

- Mark-ie, I think you’re ready. - Haechan takes out his fingers, lubricates his penis and puts it to Minhyun’s hole with a characteristic and stupid squelch. Keeping his promise, Donghyuck unties the ribbon in front of his eyes, and right there in the mirror opposite, Mark observes a rather interesting picture: he lies with his chest on the floor, all tied up and with red cheeks.

At such a sight, Mark’s dick jerked, and he groaned, asking for more than frightening Donghyuck a little, because while he was stretching him, he was practically silent, like a partisan, and now suddenly he spoke.

In one movement, Haechan entered the pliable body and immediately picked up a quick pace. Mark moaned at the top of his voice, not afraid that someone might hear them.

- Look in the mirror. - sounded like an order. Mark must obey if he wants to cum. - You moan like a real whore. Can it be more melodic or what?

- I’m not Beethoven or Bach for you to moan more melodic, - Mark squeezed out through groans, to which Haechan just grinned.

After a while, Lee-junior felt a quick discharge and squeezed harder on the loops around Minhyun’s neck, from which he choked. Maknae admires how beautifully the rope digs into this delicate dark skin, enjoys this perfection. Mark gasps for air like a fish, bite his already bleeding lips into the meat, tries to twitch his hips so that the younger finally remembers that besides physical satisfaction, he must still somehow breathe. Senior Lee heard only a quiet “Cum ... “and felt that he finally removed this stupid ring from his cock. Then Donghyuck dig his teeth into his shoulder, and Mark felt something warm inside him ...

The guys were just lying on the floor, trying to decide on such a bold act as going to the shower.

- It was unforgettable ... Now, untie me, everything is numb.

With the last of his strength, Haechan got up and untied the knots from the rope.

- Once again, If I see you with Yuta-hyung - I will fuck so freaking hard that you cannot sit for a month.

- Okay, so I need to be with him more often.

- Sounds like a good plan.

#nct #nct fic #nct smut #markhyuck #pwp #nctpwp #nct 127 #nct dream #fiction #writing

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wing-dingy · 4 years ago

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Hey there! So I said I was half tempted to post some mk fanfics, so i did *nervous jazz hands*

Basically just some subscorp, fluff with very little plot, basically Hanzo has a restless night and decides to drop by the Lin Kuei temple for some comfort in his lover, Kuai Liang. Also includes Hanzo feeding Kuai, because Kuai is such a workaholoic that when he has time to eat he forgets to. I’m a sucker for lovers taking care of each other 🥺😭 like literally the file name for this fic was “oops all fluff” lmao

Oh, and a few puns because back when I rped as Kuai, I had this whole thing going on where he makes more puns than he should be allowed to and i got too attached to it as a hc lol

well hope y’all enjoy cuz all i want is some gotdamn happy subscorp

Kuai Liang took a deep sigh as he laid back in the snow. Far past midnight, many of the students fast asleep, but not the Grandmaster himself. No, instead he was laying in the snow, bare of any clothes save for his briefs. His clothes were neatly folded in a pile by him as he laid, now closing his eyes. The thoughts were vanishing, nothing but emptiness in his mind. It was a new form of meditation he had picked up, becoming one with the snow. It was always when the ice began to coat his body as he let go of himself and his grip on the world that he knew he had succeeded in his meditation session.

Sometime into his meditation, he heard in the distance the sounds of snow crunching. Someone was approaching. He opened his eyes and sat up to prepare himself for a potential visitor. But when he looked around, he saw nobody, only the footsteps. Perhaps just a student wondering, looking for something to do to tire themselves out. He laid back down, then closed his eyes after a few thoughtful blinks. And there they were again, the footsteps, snow crunching and packing under the weight of somebody approaching near. Next he heard the slow scraping of metal, and that was when he rolled over and stood up to face his visitor.

“Your hearing hasn’t failed you quite yet,” Hanzo teased as he sheathed his katana. He was without his armor, just casual clothes as it was late, but he still carried his weapons on him, just in case. “But still, that was too close.”

Kuai smiled sweetly as he faced Hanzo. “Hearing is one of the most important senses. These ears will never fail me. But I felt my timing was amusingly dramatic no?” The cryomancer stepped forward to Hanzo, arms open. Of course Hanzo opened his arms and they united in a tight hug, cold and warmth meeting, fulfilling the temperatures each other craved. “It is wonderful to see you again, Hanzo. But why are you here? It is quite late.”

“I was having another restless night, I wanted to see you...” Hanzo let go of Kuai just slightly, just enough to see his face while still holding him. “Why were you laying in the snow? Is your cryomancy not enough to keep you cool?”

“I was meditating.” Kuai answered. "You are free to try it with me, if you're interested."

Hanzo looked down at the snow, then back up at Kuai. "I worry I may melt the snow."

"You are quite hot, you make even me melt." Kuai winked at him, causing Hanzo to blush lightly.

"Is that another pun of yours?"

Kuai had an awful cheeky smile. "Perhaps.” The cryomancer let go of Hanzo to retrieve his clothes he left on the ground and began to at least put on the pants. Sweat pants, just to emphasize it was the Grandmaster’s leisurely hours.

“You can still meditate if you please,” Hanzo offered.

“And what would the fun be in having to pretend you’re not here with me? I would much rather spend time with you.” Kuai took a hold of Hanzo’s hand, once again the cold meeting hot, and out in the snow it caused a subtle steam from their strong hands holding each other. Then Kuai gently pulled Hanzo guiding him towards the doors. “Come inside with me, I will prepare you some tea.”

“Perhaps I can make you some food, too.”

“You needn’t, Hanzo. Not if it is making you go out of your way.”

“I want to feed you, my snowflake. I know you forget to eat sometimes when you get so caught up between work and your own personal time.”

“A fair point.”

“When was the last time you had eaten?” Although it sounded like Hanzo was scolding Kuai, he really wasn’t. He wasn’t mad at all with Kuai, it was just his worry for Kuai’s well being coming out in how he naturally expresses it.

“Lunch time, about… 6 hours ago.”

“Do you not feel hungry?”

“I suppose I do now that you mention it. I suppose I can’t ever say no to your cooking, I do enjoy it.”

“Good,” Hanzo huffed.

Inside the temple was much warmer, something the Grandmaster always made sure of every night for his students. While he was a cryomancer himself, and he understood some of his students were also cryomancers, there were plenty that were not. The nightfall’s cold would be far too bothersome if they tried to endure it in their sleep, and a warrior without proper rest is a vulnerable one. It was even warm enough for Hanzo to notice, giving him a cozy vibe, which he didn’t mind at all given he tends to like it warmer… Except for when holding Kuai.

Kuai took Hanzo around to the temple’s large kitchen, and let go of his hand just to begin preparing to boil the water for their tea. In the meanwhile, Hanzo looked around at the options of foods to work with for him and his lover. Something meaty, of course, since there were tons of meat stored and ready for cooking. Much of the Lin Kuei’s diet consisted of meat, it was easiest to obtain, as animals were more abundant than anything agricultural. What they did have besides meat was always received by the Special Forces to help them maintain at least some semblance of a balanced diet. Very nice of them.

“What do you plan on making, Hanzo?” Kuai asked.

“I am thinking of kushiyaki. It should be quick enough to prepare,” Hanzo answered as he began to pull some meat, labeled ‘game’, out of the fridge.

Kuai loved hearing Hanzo’s Japanese. He could literally just be listing various foods in their Japanese names and Kuai would be head over heels for his lover’s mother tongue. “What is kushiyaki, dear?”

“Kushiyaki is like the yakitori, except that it can include non-poultry meats on it. Usually it is only meat on it, but I suppose some vegetables would benefit us.” It probably didn’t count as kushiyaki then, rather than a regular grilled kebab.

“Would you like some help preparing the meat?” Kuai asked, already drawing a knife from a drawer. “I can hardly cook, but I am quite skilled in cutting.”

Hanzo nodded. “I would appreciate that.”

And together they chopped the meat into cubes and rectangles. They cut off enough for five skewers, part of Hanzo’s plan. Of course, this was unnoticed by Kuai Liang until Hanzo had already flavoured and spiced them and began to put them on the skewers. “Hanzo, we may have to make another one to even the amount.”

“No, my love. I am only going to have one, maybe two. I want you to eat the rest so you are eating enough.”

“Hanzo,” Kuai muttered as he felt the love and care from his love. “Are you sure?”

“I am.” Hanzo set down some bell peppers and carrots on the counter in front of Kuai’s cutting board. “Now please, help me chop the vegetables. You seem to have quite an abundance of peppers.”

Kuai took a few peppers, and with a new knife began to cut them. “General Blade warned us the harvest would be plentiful that shipment.”

“You do know if you ever need produce, I can supply you with some, right? My temple has a garden with plenty of vegetables.”

“Indeed, but I do not want to take from your supply for ours.”

“Our clans are allies, Kuai. We must help each other.”

“I cannot disagree with that, but I do want you to take care of your clan.”

“Just as I take care of you?” Hanzo teased as he leaned in to kiss Kuai’s cheek, then continued on to set up the grilling process of their food.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Despite how deadpan his tone was, he was very clearly joking. “But of yourself, what made you so restless tonight?”

Hanzo closed his eyes for a moment and sighed deeply. “Nightmares, I suppose.”

Kuai frowned with deep sorrow for Hanzo. “I am sorry to hear that.” He knew that they both suffered deeply from trauma, from all the fighting, protecting Earthrealm, their past feud, their own hardships through life and death as revenant and wraith, and their losses through time. They really had gone through it all, and then some. Nightmares were just a side effect of the trauma, one they both suffered from, sometimes together. “Did you need to talk about it?”

Hanzo thought about talking about it, but shook his head. “Not this time, thank you.”

“Very well then.” Kuai gave Hanzo a tight hug from behind and sighed. “Regardless, I am always happy to be here to help you, and I am glad you have come over here for comfort. I will always welcome you here, my love.”

“Thank you, my snowflake…” Hanzo did straighten himself from his vulnerable position, and instead began to help Kuai put the meat and vegetables onto the skewers so they could grill them.

“I almost dare to ask if you can cook those yourself, but alas you had already set up the grill.”

“You seem to have an affinity for my hellfires cooking your food.”

Kuai smiled. “It leaves a taste of love.”

“You are a sap.” But of course, it was one of the traits Hanzo loved about Kuai.

As their food cooked, the tea had successfully boiled. Kuai began to place the chamomile tea bags in, to turn it into tea. That was when a horrible pun came to mind. “Hanzo, how do you make holy water?”

“I would not know.”

“You boil the hell out of it.” That cheeky smirk again that showed the self-proclaimed pun-master was proud of another crack of a joke. Of course, it was always adorable, the way Kuai actually thought these puns were humorous.

Typically Hanzo didn’t like puns, they were cheesy and cheap, but Kuai was the only person allowed to make puns. He shook his head with a small touch of a smile. “You are adorable, Kuai.”

“I take pride in being the only one allowed to make puns around you.”

“Good. Though I still would not have thought of you to be the one to make such jokes.”

“Cage may have had a slight influence.” Kuai Liang gently touched along Hanzo’s forearm with his cold finger tips. “It’s easy to make puns when you’re as cool as I am.”

Hanzo huffed a small snicker. “You are certainly cooler than Johnny Cage, I will give you that. ”

“How generous of you, Hanzo.”

“I can say plenty more nice things about you, my dear snowflake.”

“And I, about you.” While the chamomile tea was finishing boiling into the water, Kuai grabbed a lemon from the fridge to chop it in half. A strong squeeze poured lemon juice right out of the lemon and into the tea kettle where it boiled into the tea, then back into the fridge it went when it was no longer of use. Next was the honey, which he had to retrieve from a jar within the pantry. As he set the jar down, he looked over at Hanzo. “You know,” Already Hnazo knew a pun was about to come, it was that damn set up. “I’m not sure if honey is needed in this, since you’re already ‘sweet’ enough.”

Okay, that pun may have got Hanzo blushing lightly again. “Yes… Well… Not as sweet as you.” Oh Hanzo, bashful at sweet praises, just as he had been with his wife a very long time ago. He tried to carry on, returning to the task at hand. He took the skewers off the grill and set them down onto a plate. With the tea finishing just in time, Kuai poured them both a cup, and the settled at one of the kitchen’s islands to consume.

Together they ate and drank their teas, discussing their lives and what they had been up to. Kuai had plenty of new stories about his dragons, and the ghosts he’d been noticing at the temple. Hanzo spoke of his students, the gardens’ new blooms, and a new training regiment he had started. But what they both had in common was missing each other. Kuai could fly over on his dragon any time, Hanzo could hellport any time, but alas it was about their scheduling. They missed each other deeply, they missed each other’s quips, touches, shared pain and healing and comfort, each other’s languages of love. All of it. They were both Grandmasters of their own clans just wanting to forget about the world to be with each other.

Which eventually led Hanzo and Kuai in front of the door of the Grandmaster's bedroom. Initially it had just been to walk him there, and Hanzo had planned on leaving to return to his own temple, but Kuai pulled Hanzo in as he entered his room. "You should stay the night here, Hanzo. I think the both of us could use a night together."

"I should return to my temple, I do not want to be leaving my students without word of where I am."

"My dear, they know of our love, and they know you have slept here before. They will take the hint in the morning when you return."

"I suppose. I just worry if something is going to happen while I am gone."

Now Kuai realized what Hanzo's nightmares were about, what caused his restlessness. He was having nightmares of losing his clan once again. He was having those traumatic memories of losing them before. Kuai Liang sighed. "I will not force you to stay here or there. But I promise you, they will be okay. I understand your fears, as a Grandmaster myself. When I leave, I get worried my clan will be attacked and slain. We worry because we care, and we care for them as deeply as we should be. But alongside care, we must provide them with trust. We must be able to trust that they can fight for themselves and protect each other, should they be attacked. I know your students will be safe, because they have been taught by the greatest warrior I have ever fought in my whole life. Nobody compares to you, Hanzo.” Hanzo reflected on Kuai’s words. Funny, he felt the same way, that Kuai was his toughest opponent, so surely the Lin Kuei must be great, too. “And as well, Hanzo, I’m unsure if you noticed but one of my students is at your temple for the night. We’re not the only ones visiting each other. Should anything go wrong, I’m more than certain she’d come home to alert us.”

“I was unaware of your student staying at my temple. That does help to know, I suppose... But you are correct in your words, I need to give them trust that they can protect themselves.” Hanzo looked at Kuai’s large bed, noticing one more blanket on the bed than before, and a rather thick one, too. A significant difference that warmed his heart. It meant Kuai was seeking warmth in his sleep, attempting to reach the same warmth of the pyromancer. “It seems I should sleep with you tonight anyway,” He noted as he lifted the blanket.

“I find myself sleeping better with a bit of warmth, it reminds me of you,” Kuai confessed as he sat down on his own bed.

“I find myself needing at least a fan on when I sleep,” Hanzo also confessed. “The cold grounds me when I start to get too nervous.”

“We truly do complete each other.”

Hanzo began to start taking off his own clothes, as well as leaving behind his weapons all onto a neat pile on the floor close to the bed, so Hanzo may retrieve them in the morning. Then he got in bed with Kuai, and as he got comfortable Kuai was already holding him, admiring the natural warmth of Hanzo rather than the blanket.

“Do you feel well enough to sleep again, Hanzo?” Kauai asked.

Hanzo nodded. “I think I do.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Kauai closed his eyes with a sigh, and started to feel himself drift to sleep. “Sleep well, Hanzo. Wake me up if you need anything, I won’t mind.”

“And I hope you sleep well, too.” Hanzo hesitantly closed his own eyes. And together, in each other’s arms, in each other’s elements, they both fell asleep together.

#mortal kombat #subscorp #kuai liang #scorpion #sub zero #aaaaa my first time posting fanfic here 😳😬#posting fanfics to try to work up my courage tho lets fucking gooo #also i dont apologize for any hcs or portrayals except yes i do dont kill me

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pocket-void · 4 years ago

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Table for Two

A/N: Hi! This the first fanfic I’ve written for literally anything! (I’m an on and off writer in general tho) I’m hoping to write a collection of unconnected short stories currently called Smaller Sides to Life, that focuses on small/short moments in time during specific events. I’d be so grateful for any comment or feedback, but honestly I just hope you enjoy it first and foremost! >///<

Pairing: Logicality Words: 2468 Content: Human AU? A lot of descriptions of anxious waiting, so I guess it’s got a lil angst. Happy ending! (Please tell me if I need to mention anything I am very unfamiliar with how this works ;///;) Summary: Logan grows ever more anxious as he waits for his date, who, at this point, he isn’t even sure is coming.

If you wanna read my google doc for this instead you’re free to. (I like Cambria font u///u) I have an Ao3 but I am currently not using it.

Logan was alone, sitting comfortably at a table for two in the back of a halfway decent food establishment, silently watching as the ice cubes in his water shifted and tapped against the glass while they melted with each passing second. Well, “comfortably” was a lie, of course. There was absolutely nothing comforting about being in such a place on his own, with only the dim flickering candles on the table to keep him company. He didn’t really know what the worst part of the whole thing even was. Was it the ever encroaching chatter that surrounded him? The sickeningly sweet music that played in the background? The blank, unflinching cold stone wall in front of him? Or perhaps, it was the still empty seat that sat mockingly at the other side of the table.

Indeed, Logan was unhappy, uncomfortable, and alone.

The nervous tapping of his foot was practically synonymous with the pattering rain against the windows. The typically majestic city view now nothing more than an amorphous glob of glowing lights amidst the water droplets and fog. He couldn’t help but repeatedly switch between checking his watch and frantically clicking his pen, occasionally scribbling down a loose nonsensical thought or two onto his little notepad. The action barely made a difference in soothing his racing mind, but he had to do something to distract himself. He’d do practically anything to ease the agony that was continuously settling in his heart with each passing minute. The absolute dread hanging over him like an impending guillotine.

This was foolish. Logan sighed. Surely he was overreacting. There must’ve been a reason. He thought to himself, but it was no use. Not a single thing he told himself could possibly make the immensely slow sinking weight forming at the pit of his stomach go away. Not. A single. Thing. For someone who typically prided himself on being able to, and rather efficiently mind you, keep his calm in the most stressful of situations, this was quite distressing to say the least.

He’s simply running late. He reasons to himself. It happens. You know that. Well, of course he did. There were practically an infinite amount of possibilities that could’ve delayed the arrival of the person he was waiting for, and most of them were not inherently related to Logan’s personal character. That was the most logical conclusion, anyway. Did that thought comfort him any though? No.

It’s been an hour, Logan. You must be joking if you still think he’s coming. Another thought tore through his mind. Well, he may not have been joking, but he was well aware of how ridiculous it must’ve seemed. Just him, sitting alone at a table for two, growing ever more and more desperate by the second. To hold on to even a sliver of hope must’ve seemed utterly utterly foolish. Every pitying glance by the passing waiter refilling his cup only served to make him feel even more miserable. He wished desperately, in that moment, that he could just disappear; he hoped he could shrink down in size so small that he wouldn’t have to be seen anymore. He wanted to completely collapse in on himself and crumple up like the pathetic scraps of paper he’d been unconsciously tearing out of his notes. He wanted the world to just fade to black, and for him to simply drift away into an endless void, away from everything. Away from this. Maybe then he’d be free from the dreaded weight that sat heavily upon his shoulders. He didn’t think his heart could even beat this fast, but there it was, hammering in his chest like a hyperactive hummingbird.

He hated it.

He’s not coming, Logan. That thought instantly sank itself into the depths of his soul. He felt a lump begin to form in the back of his throat; it was almost nauseating. He’s not coming because he doesn’t want to see you. Another thought that dug itself into his mind. He felt his teeth harshly grind against each other as his jaws clenched, begging himself to hold back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. He didn’t even give you a call. The world suddenly seemed to freeze. A quiet realization sent an absolutely disparaging chill down his spine. You didn’t even get the courtesy of knowing you’ve been rejected. He let out a weak shaky breath before finally lowering his face into his hands, completely defeated. This was beyond pathetic, honestly. How unbecoming of him to be this way. He wasn’t coming. He already fully knew how illogical it was to remain in his seat. Yet, a part of himself still refused to let him throw what remained of that practically shattered hope away.

And so, the clock kept ticking still...

Logan wasn’t really sure how long it’s been at this point. Everything had begun to slowly meld together in his mind. Beyond the disappointment and despair was just the dull aching pain of rejection in his chest, not to mention the utterly dry and bitter taste in his mouth. He berated himself for being this pathetic about the whole thing, and a coward who couldn’t even muster up enough courage to stand up and go home. It was frustrating, because he knew better than this. It was both impractical and nonsensical to keep waiting. But he felt weak, and his two feet remained firmly stuck to the floor as if they were made of solid, immovable lead. The waiters have collectively decided to leave him alone at this point, which he had considered a small blessing. He didn’t want to bother pretending to smile or claim that everything was ok anymore; the energy was long depleted by now.

Logan let out yet another shaky breath, wrapping his arms around him and hugging himself tight, trying as he might to figuratively and literally “get a grip” on reality. What was he even waiting for? Why had he been so eagerly anticipating sitting at this table just a few hours before leaving work? What was the point? What was he doing? He still had tasks to do! There were still piles upon piles of work that had to be done at his desk but no, he was here. He was here, sitting alone, and doing nothing. Logan glanced down at his watch yet again, but its face was unreadable. His eyes blurry and unclear even as he rubbed the tears away, adjusted his glasses, and squinted. The only message it managed to send was just how much time he was wasting away by remaining where he currently was. Nobody was coming. His grip tightened, nails practically clawing at the sleeves of his suit. Never in his life had he felt so betrayed by something that originally had a perfect and fitting place within his schedule. What had he done wrong? Where did he make a mistake?

The gentle laughter and casual chattering of the surrounding atmosphere were like needles in his back as he felt himself curl inwards. The sweet and decidedly romantic music that served as the loving backdrop for what was to be a pleasant evening for patrons was now mocking and decadent. It sounded almost like a distant echo, far far away. Something that he was always in the vicinity of, but will never truly be able to enjoy; a happiness he cannot obtain. He was trapped. He was trapped here, in a dim corner of a restaurant, with a lukewarm cup of water, weakly flickering candles, a cold unflinching wall, the pitter patter of rain, the incessant (and mildly imaginary) ticking of his watch, crumpled up scraps of note paper, sickening chatter, unappealing music, a dry bitter taste in his mouth, an unnerving feeling of cold sweat, a dizzying headache, a fast racing heart, a barely registering breath, a lump in his throat, and clearly watering eyes.

All at a half empty table for two.

He hated it.

He ended up sitting there for so long that he felt drained, empty. His eyes now only slightly stung when opened, but he kept them closed while he leaned against one arm against the table. By now he had, at the very least, managed to catch his breath. He felt so tired. Logan took a deep breath and glanced down at his watch yet again. It had only honestly been an hour and a half, not that much time at all in the grand scheme of things. And yet here he was, feeling like he had been stationary for several years. Perhaps it was finally time to go. He shifted his aching body to finally attempt to escape from this prison, but a hurried rush of footsteps instantly made him freeze up yet again.

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

“Oh my goodness god, you’re still here!”

Logan jolted at the sound of the sweet, silvery voice that rang out, very obviously filled with concern. He turned towards the person who hastily ran up to him, the cold hands cupped around his face immediately snapping him awake from his previous haze.

“I can’t believe you waited for me for this long!! Have you been here the whole time?? I’m- Oh my god I’m so so sorry Logan I-”

He honestly couldn’t even process what he was seeing, much less feeling. A man stood in front of him now, frantically gesturing and apologizing, and absolutely soaked to the core. Logan could very much feel the gazes of dozens of patrons on them now, but it didn’t matter. All he could do was stare with wide eyes at his date, whose suit was completely muddied and shoes absolutely ruined by the rain. He blinked a few times as he tried to understand what the man was even saying as he kept pausing and stuttering while constantly sweeping his matted and wet light brown hair out of his eyes. Seeing him there, standing in front of him, was enough to make Logan feel his heart slowly begin to beat once again.

“God, Logan, I know you must be mad at me, I’m- How could I possibly ever make this up to you? Oh god, oh dear, I can’t believe I did this to you! I’m just so sor-”

“Patton…” Logan finally managed, taking one of Patton’s cold hands into his and finally stopping his rambling. He took a silent moment to just quietly immerse himself into the other’s sparkling and visibly apologetic blue eyes. A beautiful and comforting sight for his literally sore ones. He felt something start to bubble up inside of him, and it began to slowly rise in his chest. A warm, fluttering feeling that rose, higher and higher, until a soft laugh finally slips from his lips. Patton’s expression instantly lightens at the sound, and Logan could feel the once soul crushing weight that surrounded him finally melt away. He gives Patton’s hand a light squeeze, an absolutely relieved smile now upon his face. “Patton. It’s ok.”

There wasn’t a single moment’s hesitation when Patton sprang forwards to wrap Logan in the tightest hug he could possibly manage. Despite the water that slowly seeped into Logan’s own clothes, and the hug being admittedly cold on account of Patton being completely drenched, he had never felt his heart swell with so much warmth in his entire life. They stayed locked in each other's embrace until Patton remembered his current condition and quickly backed off with yet another series of apologetic bows.

“Dear lord, now look what I’ve done. I went ahead and ruined your clothes too!” He giggled, trying his best to wipe away the water with a napkin to barely any success.

Logan just couldn’t help but smile at the clumsy yet adorable gesture. “Don’t worry about it. It’s clearly not as bad as whatever happened to you.” He pointed out. “Say, whatever did happen to you anyways? You weren’t answering any of my calls and I...I thought you weren’t going to…” He paused for a moment before opting to take a long sip out of his cup instead before shrugging. “You know.” He murmured, his body unintentionally stiffening at the insinuation.

Patton looked crushed at the thought, which he was unfortunately terribly aware of. He embarrassingly rubbed at the back of his neck and lowered his head. “I-I know, and I really am so sorry Logan. I...I didn’t expect you to still be here either. And I couldn’t even tell you! Oh geez… After making you wait so long, you probably honestly should have just-”

“It’s ok, Patton.” Logan reassured with a nod, voice barely a whisper. He gently lifted one of Patton’s hands and brushed his lips against the man’s knuckles. “What’s important is that you’re here. That’s enough.” He felt a small bit of pride as he watched Patton’s face flush at the unexpected gesture.

The man quickly took the hand back with a laugh before settling down in the seat across from Logan. At last, filling the space that completed the whole picture.

“Still, the fact that I made you wait that long is terribly unreasonable. So just please let me-”

Logan chuckled, gesturing towards a leaf that was still stuck in his date’s hair, to which the other quickly pulled out with a flustered huff.

“Logan, I’m trying to apologize here!”

“You already have.” He stated, quickly dismissing the concern with a smile. The other clearly had no defense against him doing that, to which Logan was fully aware of. The smile then curled into a satisfied smirk upon his silence. “So, are you going to tell me?”

Patton blinked in response. “O-Oh! Right! You aren’t going to believe this, but-”

And as Patton energetically attempted to recall his unfortunate run-in with the storm while trying to rescue a cat from a tree, forgetting he’s allergic to them, slipping up and falling out of said tree, missing the bus, and losing his phone in the entire process, Logan simply sat comfortably across from him, fully content to listen to his story. It was ridiculous, it was nonsensical, and it was of course, entirely hilarious, but he enjoyed every word that came out of the mouth of the sweet and adorable man that now accompanied him. Patton’s rain stained glasses, half dried and now puffing up hair, and his freckled smile, completely lit up the once dim and lifeless corner of the restaurant they sat in. Nothing could have detracted from that moment in time. Not the rain, not the stares, and certainly not how the time just seemed to fly by, even during the comfortable silence that sat between them while they both enjoyed their meals. Logan wouldn’t have missed any of it for the world.

Here at this table for two.

#I did it!#I'm lowkey much more nervous about posting writing than I am posting art #But this was nice to write so I'm glad I finished it #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #mock writes #logan sanders #ts logan #patton sanders #ts patton #logicality #Smaller Sides to Life

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theraputicwritings · 4 years ago

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Poker Faces & Mistletoe Kisses

A/N: Wow! Two stories in two nights! I am officially on a roll! I wasn’t planning to write a Christmas story, but I got a lovely anonymous request to write a Secret Santa story. So without further ado, enjoy!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 1,686

Warnings: None really except for some almost cotton candy sweet fluff

Request: Hey, could you do a Spence request? Since your masculinity one was sooooo gooooood. It's Christmas at the FBI, and the team has done Secret Santa and you got Spence, your best friend. Presents are exchanged at Rossi's mansion, and you end up being under the mistletoe with Spence when he asks you out on a date. 🎅

“One thing even a poker face cannot hide is love.”

― Tapan Ghosh

“Alright my lovely crime-fighting superheroes! Gather around the Christmas tree! It is time to open our Secret Santa gifts! And this year we’re adding a fun little twist!”

Penelope Garcia couldn’t have been more excited for the annual BAU Christmas party and it was infectious. You’d only been going for two years, but they were amazingly fun. It helped that the BAU team was such a tight-knit group, but they were also just a lot of fun. It was a good distraction from the otherwise dark world that tended to surround the team weekly.

Everyone slowly made their way to where Rossi had set up the beautiful Christmas tree. (You were fairly positive he had paid for it to be set up, but you weren’t complaining.) The room was cozy and warm, exactly how Christmas should be. It smelled like a mix of mulled wine, apple cider, and the Italian spices Rossi always used to make his traditional Italian Christmas meal.

You carefully balanced your cocktail on one knee as Spencer sat on one side of you and Derek on the other. It was the perfect you sandwich on pretty boy bread and you couldn’t have been more pleased with your couch buddies.

You smiled to yourself as you noticed that Spencer was particularly close to you. It was how you normally sat next to each other. Whether it was on the seats in the jets or each other’s couches during your bi-weekly Doctor Who marathon. It made the cozy atmosphere that much more cozy knowing he was sitting close to you.

“So what’s the twist this year, Baby Mama?” Derek asked a flirty smirk on his lips. “I know it’s going to be fun if it came out of your beautiful mind.”

Penelope practically bounced with each movement as she paced in front of the group who had all sat down on various couches, chairs, and floor cushions.

“It is going to be more fun than bingo night at the Rotary Club. Which is quite fun if you believe it or not,” she quirked. “So, the rules are each person will be presented with their Secret Santa gift. Once it’s been open, everyone will try to guess who’s gift it is. If the group is right, the gifted drinks. If the group is wrong, then the group drinks. Makes sense?”

Everyone nodded in response so she turned and started to rummage through the pile of gifts under the tree.

“First up is none other than Boy Genius, Dr. Spencer Reid himself! Here you go.”

Carefully she placed in front of him a small Christmas stocking and everyone leaned in to see what was in the gift. An awkward and shy smile crawled across Spencer’s lips as he removed the tissue paper and pulled out a deck of poker cards and a tie wrapped in ribbon.

“Oh wow, poker cards! I’m guessing someone wants to try their hand at besting me,” he remarked. You could tell he wasn’t nearly as excited for the gift but was doing his best to hide his lack of enthusiasm. Everyone else however had already started profiling the gifts to guess who they were from.

“Both gifts have a certain whimsy, playful quality to them,” Emily said as she looked up at Penelope.

“Yeah, but the cards look vintage. Maybe even antique. Some thought was definitely put into them,” Morgan added on, reaching across you to grab the box. It did look vintage and you looked over his shoulder in interest.

After a few more seconds of everyone deducing who could have given the gifts, the conclusion had been made that they were from Rossi.

“Nope,” the older man said, popping the “p” and taking a sip of his scotch.

“Well, then who gifted them?” JJ asked, looking around as everyone took a sip from their drinks.

Everyone that is… except you.

When they realized it was you who had gifted the poker cards, everyone looked shocked and it didn’t surprise you. Traditionally you were ah-mazing at giving gifts. It was your love language and you had a knack for giving thoughtful and personal gifts. A tie and a box of poker cards didn’t seem like you. Especially after last year when you’d personally made Rossi a leather-bound book full of the recipes he’d taught you that year.

After shrugging it off, everyone wondered if maybe it had just been a fluke and continued with the game. You knew better though. You had an ace up your sleeve that you planned to play later that night.

Not too long after, everyone had been given their gifts and everyone was starting to get tipsy. You weren’t too bad yet but the vodka in your drink was starting to give you the type of warm fuzzies you generally avoided. After graciously thanking JJ for the beautiful pair of boots she’d given you, you quietly stood up and escaped to the kitchen for a glass of water.

While you were helping yourself to the iced water and a few cubes of fancy cheesy you felt someone behind you. Turning, you discovered it was exactly who you thought it would be.

“Hey, Spencer.”

Spencer smiled and walked up to you so you two were close.

“Hey. What are you doing in here?”

You shrugged and held up the glass with water in it.

“Just hydrating. Trying not to get too drunk.”

Spencer nodded before starting, “Actually drinking water doesn't prevent a hangover. In fact, studies have concluded, the only way to prevent a hangover is to drink less alcohol.”

He finished his little factoid with a quirky smile and it made butterflies erupt in your stomach. You didn’t know why, but sometimes you felt like you were the only one who actually enjoyed it when Spencer quoted one of the many facts that he knew off the top of his head. His intelligence and passion for knowledge and learning made him uniquely him and you loved it about him.

“Well, it’s a little late on the drinking-less-bit, but staying hydrated during a party has never hurt someone,” you responded with a shrug.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you popped another cheese cube into your mouth.

“You know, I’m kinda surprised at your Secret Santa gift. It’s not what I expected a gift from you to be like.”

Spencer’s face turned red and you hoped your poker face hid the laugh you were failing to suppress.

“That’s because it’s only part of the gift, Spencer.”

“There’s more?” Spencer asked, raising his eyebrows.

Nodding, you put your glass down and took his hand. “Here, come with me.”

With your best sneaky, flirty smile, you slowly led him out the backdoor and to a spot you’d scouted when you’d first arrived at the party. Rossi’s property was massive, but you’d taken notice of the invasive plant covering a tree near the garden and knew it was the perfect location. Christmas lights had been strung throughout the yard and it held for quite the romantic ambiance.

Once you’d gotten settled under the tree, you turned to Spencer, pleased to see he was oblivious to what the two of you were standing under.

This was it. This was the moment you’d been planning on. You were going to reveal to Spencer your feelings. There were some anxieties about if he didn’t like you back, but you were confident Spencer reciprocated those feelings. His poker face wasn’t nearly as good when it came to relationships.

“That deck of cards is more than just your typical poker set. Yes, they’re vintage, but they’re more than that too. Open the box and see for yourself.”

Spencer tilted his head in confusion as he pulled the box out of his jacket pocket. Carefully he pulled the lid off of the tin box and read what you had written on the first card.

“52 Reasons Why I Love Spencer Reid.”

His head popped up and his eyes went from confused to bewildered to shocked to pleased to uncomfortable in a matter of seconds. It was a whirlwind for you to watch and try to interpret his emotions.

“You love me?” he asked as he took the cards out of the box. Slowly, he shifted through the cards which listed the various reasons why you had started to fall in love with Spencer over the two years that you had been working together.

“I think I do. Yeah. I don’t know if I actually know what love is, Spencer, but the feelings I have for you are more than just attraction.”

When you didn’t get a response, you started to panic.

“I’m sorry. It’s a stupid and unprofessional gift. I shouldn’t have done all this… especially if it’s going to ruin our friendship. I just needed to tell you how I feel and—“

You were cut off by a pair of lips pressing into yours. You could feel yourself practically melt but as soon as they were there, they were gone.

You opened your eyes and looked up at Spencer.

“I think I have feelings for you too, Y/N. I have for a while now, and I’ve wanted to ask you out on a date, but I didn’t want to ruin our friendship if you didn’t feel the same way,” Spencer explained as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

His hand came to rest on your shoulder and you hoped the smile on your face was cute and didn’t feel as big and goofy as it felt.

“So you like my gift then?” You asked hopefully.

Spencer chuckled as he nodded. “I do.”

“That’s good then. Otherwise, I would have felt awkward placing us under a tree full of mistletoe.”

Eyes wide, Spencer tilted his head up to confirm that what you said was true. Sure enough, the parasitic plants were covering the tree. Some of the branches were low enough to be right over your heads.

“Well, I guess we should kiss again?” Spencer suggested as he stepped closer to you and leaned in.

“I guess we should,” you agreed before pressing your lips into his.

“She was in the only place she wanted to be right now.

She was home.” Tilly Tennant

#theraputic writings #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid x you #reader insert #fluff #derek morgan #penelope garcia #imagines #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfiction #anonymous request #christmas #poker #mistletoe

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sineala · 4 years ago

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Captain America Corps

[This is a repost from my Patreon.] An extra review for everyone this month! I wasn't actually planning to write a review of Captain America Corps, but, then, I wasn't planning to love it as much as I did, either. Surprise! This has been the Book Club selection on the 616 Steve/Tony Discord server for the entirety of September, and it took me all month to get around to reading it, and when I finished reading it on Marvel Unlimited I immediately ran to the internet and ordered myself a copy of the trade paperback, because I needed one of my very own to cuddle. This review contains spoilers for the entirety of the series, so leave now if you don't want to know them. (It also contains a few pictures of elements that you may wish to avoid if you are sensitive to body horror in fiction.)

Captain America Corps is a five-issue miniseries written by Roger Stern, whom you may remember from such classics as his Avengers run featuring the Under Siege arc and his short but extremely memorable Cap run with John Byrne. The art here is by Phillipe Briones, who I don't think I've seen in any other book, but it's nice enough, I suppose. Anyway, it was published in 2011 and is also set then (well, sort of) -- so Bucky is still Captain America (though not for much longer) and Steve is Commander Rogers. (It is still available in trade paperback but it is technically out of print, so you should act now if you want a paper copy.) The best way I can describe my feelings about this book is thus: you know how David Michelinie's 1979 Avengers novel I read and reviewed a few months ago, The Man Who Stole Tomorrow, had an amazing premise -- Kang the Conqueror freezes Steve again and takes him to the future and the Avengers have to go time-traveling to get him back -- but it completely flubbed the actual execution of said premise? Well, Captain America Corps is a lot like that, but it absolutely, perfectly nails it. The premise isn't exactly the same, but it is definitely Peak Comics in the best zany madcap way, and the more you know about canon, the more your familiarity will be rewarded. Captain America is being kidnapped. But not just one Captain America -- Captains America across the multiverse are being stolen, and history is changing around their disappearances. A cosmic entity by the name of Tath Ki has made it his business to right these wrongs, and so to do this he kidnaps some more Captains America of his own. He ends up with a team of five: the Captain America of 1941 (Steve Rogers), USAgent (John Walker, from a small but unspecified number of years prior to 2011), the Captain America of 2011 (Bucky Barnes), American Dream (Shannon Carter, from the MC2 universe), and Commander A (Kiyoshi Morales, from several centuries in the future). So you can see already that this is going to be fun. All the Caps, in my opinion, are very well-characterized -- Steve is painfully earnest and a little inexperienced; Bucky is cynical, jaded, and he kind of can't believe that 40s Steve is looking up to him, which is really sweet; and John Walker is, of course, a complete asshole. I wanted to punch him in his stupid face multiple times, so clearly his characterization is perfect. I can't speak to Shannon's characterization because I've never read MC2, and Kiyoshi is new as of this book, but he is also excellent. So, obviously, because this is a Captain America book, there is a terrible dystopian future for them to fight -- and to show them what's at stake, Tath Ki drops them right in the middle of Dystopian Times Square, and they all get rounded up and imprisoned, whereupon they promptly stage a prison break for the various superheroes (Sam Wilson, Luke Cage, Peter Parker...) that they meet, before Tath Ki brings them back to his home base talk about it, now that he's convinced them that this is a future they have to stop.

(The law enforcement of the dystopian future includes several Americops and the Ameridroid. Remember those guys from the Cap comics? I sure do! Whee!) Tath Ki explains the situation here on this Earth, because obviously there has been some divergence. And the divergence point is this: the Avengers never found Captain America in the ice in Avengers #4. Two new women -- Broad-Stripe and Bright Star (why, yes, those are deeply unsubtle code names) -- ended up on the team instead, but, well... the Avengers just didn't work without Steve, and right when they ought to have founded the Kooky Quartet in Avengers #16, they disbanded instead. All because they'd never met Captain America. Thor went back to Asgard. Hank ended up in a psych ward. Tony died during heart surgery. (Don't worry, I'm coming back to this point later. So is the comic.) So the Caps split up to go see what they can find out about the remaining Avengers. Jan is hanging out with Sue Storm but has been warned about Kiyoshi and Shannon by the villain, and she kicks them out. Steve and Bucky break Hank out of the psych ward. And Tath Ki takes John Walker to Tony's tomb... to find that Tony's brain is missing from his body. Uh-oh. That's never a good sign.

And, oh, yes, Broad-Stripe and Bright Star are the villains of this series. And, what's more, Broad-Stripe is actually Superia, whom you will remember from the infamously terrible Cap arc The Superia Stratagem. It was really bad. It was really, really bad. But reading this has now retroactively made reading that worth it. Anyway, they're the ones who have been kidnapping all the Caps, and the Cap Corps here teams up with the local resistance force (yes, of course there's a resistance) to fight their way to the villains' headquarters. And do you know who else is at the villains' headquarters? It's Tony! I mean, it's Tony's brain. In a jar. Alive. And conscious. (And his eyeballs. I don't know why or how he still has his eyes. I'm trying not to think about that.)

The fact that Tony is now a brain in a jar is what the #book-club channel has been shrieking about with horrified glee for an entire month. If you like sad Tonys, there is no sadder Tony than this. You cannot make a sadder Tony than this. He is a brain in a jar. It's like everything about his favorite transhumanism, gone wrong. He's been there for years. He has never known Steve Rogers, and doesn't that just break your heart? He's suicidal. He begs the villain to finally kill him. He begs Hank to kill him, whether or not the good guys win. His life -- or undeath, or whatever it is -- is so awful that death is, for him, the happy ending. (We already know, canonically, that Tonys who never meet Steve are the saddest Tonys. Fantastic Four: Dark Reign #2, the issue that famously gave us Earth-3490, also gave us a look at Earth-1735, in which Steve is found very late in the superheroing game and Tony has clearly spent all the time in which they should have been Avengers together instead drinking his life away.) Sad Brain Jar Tony fills the good guys who find him -- Hank, Bucky, and Kiyoshi -- in on the villains' backstory and plans, which is basically that Superia has been stealing all the Captains America and has joined up with AIM and gotten herself a Cosmic Cube to shove them all into, and I'm sure we all guessed that that was happening because what even is a good Cap plot without a Cosmic Cube? Anyway, 1940s Steve doesn't meet Tony personally, as far as I can tell, but he does get to hear about him being alive over the comms, at least -- although it wouldn't mean much to him then, because at this point he doesn't know Tony. So all the Caps and Tath Ki and the villains end up falling into the Cosmic Cube along with the rest of the Caps that Superia stole, who are already in there. Steve merges with one of his other self, which breaks the Cube, and the alternate dystopian reality basically... vanishes from existence as everyone goes home. And Sad Brain Jar Tony is finally at peace. *sniff* Due to the mysteries of time-travel, Bucky and the two Caps after him -- Shannon and Kiyoshi -- remember what happened, but the two from before -- 1941 Steve and John Walker -- don't seem to. Except when Bucky meets up with his Steve, the Commander Rogers of 2011, it's clear that Bucky's return triggered something and Steve is starting to remember everything. Then Bucky decides to go turn himself in and face justice for the Winter Soldier's crimes. We get a brief look at Kiyoshi's time, where he's helping christen a new aircraft carrier named after Steve. And that's it. So obviously this is a completely wild plot in the way that comics are the best at, and what I really want most in life now is fic where 2011 Commander Rogers -- who we know is not the best at having feelings where Tony is concerned, because his current reaction to Tony is to scream at him about his feelings, in the snow, surrounded by all of their friends -- has to deal with the fact that he remembers being in a world where Tony is a sad brain in a jar and it all happened because he wasn't there to save him. Heroic Age-era (early Avengers v4) is one of my favorite flavors of Steve/Tony angst, as they work out how to have a friendship again (and are so bad at it that it involves a lot of very public screaming fights), and this just piles the angst right on top. (Yeah, guess what's on my WIP list now.) Objectively, it's not a perfect comic -- it's kind of a mess, but it's a mess in that glorious comics way that comics are so good at. I suspect if you're not here for the Steve/Tony you won't like it as much, but if you are... well, please enjoy pondering Sad Brain Jar Tony in his dystopian, Steve-less future.

#posts i actually wrote

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bellesque · 4 years ago

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Sweet Dreams (Loki x Reader) Chapter 5: Smell

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 // Read on AO3.

Spotify playlist here.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.4K woooo

Warning/Tags: Incubus Loki, Sex Pollen (sort of—surprise!!!), Dom/Sub Dynamics, Fingering, Hand Jobs, Bondage/Rope Bunny, Spanking, Dirty Talk, Edging/Orgasm Delay, slight Exhibitionist Kink, lil sprinklings of Cock Worship and Cum Facials, it’s filthy don’t tell me we’re surprised

A/N: This took a completely different direction than what I was planning during the early stages. Like it’s not even that centered around smell anymore but we’re gonna roll with it okay

Tag List: @shiningloki @imnotrevealingmyname @wolfsmom1 @hanyasnape @lukeyirwy @toozmanykids (Tag List is currently open! If you’d like to be a part of it, let me know!)

THE SILK TIES aren’t by your pillow or above your head where you expect them to be. Just like the previous night, they’re folded on your nightstand when you wake up.

It’s still too early for your brain to process how exactly they ended up there, so instead of falling into the rabbit hole of hypothesizing just what kind of magic Loki has, you swing your body over the side of the bed and make for the bathroom. Not even two steps forward, your muscles ache with the evidence that you finally got what you hoped for—or at least, something close to it. You haven’t exactly been fucked yet.

But ah, the sweet soreness. The greatest tangible reminder of a mind-blowing night. Last night. Touch.

Loki’s touch.

As you get into the shower, you replay the events of last night. Each drop of water that slides down your body is a reminder of the cold, melted ice cube that swirled around your breasts. Even the sigh that echoes in the bathroom is a reminder of your breathy pleas.

Your folds begin to slicken, and it’s not from the water.

You’re tempted to stay in this morning. Take a warm shower only to burrow back under the covers. It’s not that you’re tired—work on Fridays is always a little more relaxed, and everyone’s allowed to come in anytime as long as it’s before noon. You’ve sometimes taken advantage of that but you much prefer it if they let you out early.

Still, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go back to bed.

What are the odds Loki would make an appearance?

You’ll lose momentum, the rational part of you counters. There’s a manuscript that’s sitting on your desk, desperate to be chucked into the “Done” pile. You just have two more chapters to go.

It’s just two chapters, the more physical part of you rebuts in turn. You can finish it in the afternoon, no sweat. Today, this morning, right now, the more important thing is Loki.

The smarter part of you flares up again, with a very good question armed and ready: but what if he doesn’t come?

You remember the time you slept like a baby through the night, wearing fucking lingerie for Loki, only for him to revisit you a week later. You’ve gotten stood up before, but even in your dreams? It’s embarrassing if it happens to you a second time.

You’re on autopilot, however, when you clamber back into bed and pull the duvet up to your chin. Thoughts of Loki and all his wicked words and ways fill every crevice of your mind. Emotions coupled with arousal crash over you, and with a shaky exhale your hand travels down between your legs.

The steady rhythm of your fingers, however, do not send you into orgasm—you drift back into sleep.

“Kitten?”

Your eyes snap open. In the hazy morning light that peeks through your curtains, you find Loki sitting cross-legged on the ottoman by the door.

Loki… here? Are you dreaming, or—wait, that wouldn’t—

Your brain hurts.

It’s so strange, seeing him here like this. Not cloaked in darkness, not illuminated by the moonlight—he’s an unfamiliar presence, almost otherworldly. A jarring image that sticks out from the normalcy and utter mundaneness of your room.

He cocks his head, lip curling in amusement as he regards you with wandering eyes. Uncrossing his long legs and leaving them spread open, he leans against the wall lazily.

“My, my, sweet. This is a pleasant surprise. A summons, at this hour.”

With a wave of his hand, the duvet falls away from you. Your heart leaps into your throat when you realize your hand is still buried between your legs. Loki’s eyebrows raise, the shock on his face equally as clear as his delight.

“A very pleasant surprise indeed.”

You’ve already pulled your hand away, but the mortification lingers in your system. Not for long though. The weight of the reality of Loki’s presence sinks in and your heart rate slows to normal.

“Summons?” You yawn, sitting upright to see him better. His pronounced features are more defined, crisper and clearer. He’s even more stunning like this. Breathtaking.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

The simplicity of his statement jolts you awake. Or at least, as fully awake as you can be in this state.

He is here. At a time that isn’t in the wee, ungodly hours of the night. There’s fucking light outside, and even though he never said there were rules as to when he’d appear, you half expect him to spontaneously combust.

“I’d ask if I’m dreaming, but I don’t think the answer would be very helpful,” you mumble.

Loki lets out an amused huff, his green eyes twinkling at you. There’s something that looks eerily close to fondness in those eyes. A quiet undercurrent that you’re in no mood to analyze right now.

Yeah, the more time that passes with him in the room—dominant, unimposing, sexy—just makes you horny.

You’re not sure what takes over you when you slide off the bed, placing one foot in front of the other until you’re standing in front of Loki in your rather sheer nighttime ensemble. If you have him here, now, in the light of day, you want to burn this image before you into your brain. Commit every slope of his face, every fleck in his eyes, each line in his lips to memory.

“You’re a smart woman,” Loki tells you, one hand extending out to stroke your forearm. “You’ll figure it out.”

“Hmm.” You plant your knees on either side of him and sink your ass onto his lap. “Maybe later.”

The hand that was around your forearm slithers to cup your ass, closing the distance between you. His cock strains against his black pants and impulsively your eyes flick downwards to where your crotches meet.

You realize you haven’t seen it. Not yet, at least. You’ve felt how big he is, how strong and unyielding of a force of its own it is. How must it look? Feel against your naked skin, in your hand that’s tiny in comparison? How must it taste?

Oh. Oh, shit, just the idea of it makes your mouth water. Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, swirling and sucking and hollowing your cheeks until he cums.

Fuck, his fucking cum.

While your gaze has been lingering on his erection for definitely more than a few good seconds, Loki’s hands are rubbing the sides of your ass in hypnotic circles. “What’s going on in that dirty little mind of yours, sweet?”

Cock cock cock cock cock. That’s what’s going on in your mind.

“I want to see you,” you say instead, pressing your cunt against his erection. “Please, Loki, l—”

“Now where did this confidence come from?” Loki’s tone shifts, his expression hardening along with something else. As if it were even possible. “You are a cock slut. My little cock slut. Do you want me to take you right now? Right here?” His strong forearm hooks behind your waist, knocking the air out of you and sending a shudder down your spine. “I am a patient man, and I had hoped you would be patient as well.”

Arousal, thick and hot, simmers in your belly. There’s something about now that makes you think this is more a game than anything else. One that you’re definitely willing to play.

“Please, it’s been so long.” Your voice comes out like a plea. An impertinent whine. “Please—just fuck me already.”

Loki exhales hard, tightening his grip around you, his pants practically about to burst at the seams. He stares into your eyes, tongue tracing the tips of his teeth before he brings your face close to his and hisses one harsh yet titillating word: “No.”

He holds you. Just like that, your bodies meshed together, separated by clothes, your breaths mingling as you hover millimeters away from him. You could kiss him. Rake your hands in his hair. He could slide his hands over your ass over and over. But Loki doesn’t do anything, which somehow—some-fucking-how—makes you want to be petulant.

With your eyes locked in a challenging gaze, you begin to rotate your hips on his twitching cock.

You watch his eyes widen minutely, pupils dilating, and the muscle in his jaw jumps. A small sense of victory sparks in you at his reaction, but you can’t relish the satisfaction because Loki’s lifting you off his lap, turning you around lightning fast as if you weigh nothing, so you’re straddling him with your butt to his crotch.

Maybe, you think as your breathing hitches when you realize you’re fucking naked, maybe this is your victory. This is what you wanted all along.

Loki snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you to his strong chest with an audible thump. His breathing comes heavy and labored by your ear while his hand claws at your breast. “When I say no,” he growls, pinching and rolling your nipple over and over, your juices beginning to leak onto his pants, “it means no. You cannot out-seduce me. Not yet.”

His hand glides down your abdomen until one finger swipes against your slit. Fuck, it makes you dizzy. You spread your knees wider, your neck falling back against his shoulder, as you flatten yourself so his fingers can reach inside you.

“Look at you. At this. You’re so fucking wet.” He shoves the pad of his finger against your clit roughly, and you nearly arch away from him at the sudden stimulation. But Loki has you in a hold of steel, unable to move even an inch away from him.

It vaguely registers that this is the first time you’ve heard him curse. Fuck, you think with a fresh rush of arousal, you want him to curse again.

“To the floor,” Loki commands, emphasizing his words with a firm push forward.

“What?”

“I’m sure you heard me the first time, sweet. To the floor.”

Loki holds your thighs as you bend forward, until your arms are braced against the soft gray rug. The upper half of your body hangs off Loki’s legs and slopes towards the floor, where your spine curves gently as your face and chest press into the rug. The thread tickles your breasts and goosebumps prick up on the skin surrounding it, spidering out and making you shiver. This is so new, so erotic in its novelty, that you don’t think it can get better.

But it does. Loki shifts your bottom higher, and your clit pulses painfully against his hard length. He brings your knees further apart, spreading you, until there’s a whisper of cool air against your blistering heat.

“Do you think you can tell me what to do?” He roughly grabs the meat of your ass, molding it against his hand and letting it bounce when he takes his hand way. “Tell me when to fuck you?”

You know it’s coming before it even happens. It’s like you’re in sync, in a spontaneous dance you both know the next steps to.

A loud and sharp smack fills the room, the familiar vibrations in this new angle causing you to contort your face as you hold back your moan. Loki can see your ass and your sopping cunt from where he sits, all on perfect display for his enjoyment. He deals another blow to your other ass cheek and then rubs his hand over the mounds of flesh with barely restrained strength.

“I decide.” He traces the swollen lips of your cunt, and you begin to writhe and whimper as he teases you ever so agonizingly with the tip of his finger. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, only to sharply mewl when Loki punctuates your response with another slap.

“Good. So you can scream, whine, beg me all you want, but you will take what I give you, when I give it to you. Let me make that crystal clear, sweet.”

Oh, it is. You really want to grind down on him—up, whatever direction—the logistics don’t matter as long as your cunt connects to his cock. He spreads your cheeks away and then towards your back, digging his fingernails into your soft flesh before he releases and smacks your bottom again, your toes curling.

“You will follow my orders when I give them, and you will not disobey me.”

There’s a polarizing debate that’s happening between your mind and your cunt right now: you’ve been pretty submissive up to now, and an obedient one at that. Maybe it’s because Loki’s here at a time that isn’t usual that makes you think that the rules don’t apply—or at least, there’s some leeway—but you want to deviate. Just a little. Just to see how far he’ll go.

Fuck, how horny are you?

Your dilemma of whether to grind or not is taken away from you, which, in the foggy depths of your mind you’re not sure if that’s a relief or a disappointment.

But Loki plunges two fingers knuckle-deep inside you without warning, leaving you with no coherent thoughts and a simple, broken, “Fuck!”

He curls his fingers around your warmth, hooking around to hit your G-spot as he pumps in a sinful rhythm that’s got you moaning his name into the rug. The friction on your breasts makes you wetter and you present your ass to him like a humble offering.

“This glorious pussy,” Loki mutters, hips flexing to grind into your clit for a torturous split second. He pumps faster and deeper, the sounds of your sex obscenely filling the room. Your fingers claw at the rug as your hips stutter skyward, trying to meet the rhythm of his fingers thrust for thrust.

“And my little cock slut.”

“Fuck, Loki, please—”

He slaps your ass crudely, fingers still wrecking you from the inside out, and you cry out in a muffled whine. Sweet mercy, that felt fucking good.

“No.”

He somehow manages to go even deeper at this angle, hitting spots you didn’t even know were there let alone would make you cry and beg hoarsely, all the while brushing against your clit with the base of his fingers. It’s like pure magic and sex and lust and before you know it, you’re climbing into orgasm.

Loki pulls his fingers out of you with a growl, grabbing your hips and pulling your torso back up and against him. The abrupt shift has you stuttering forward, nearly losing balance, but Loki holds you securely.

With a searing kiss to the side of your neck, he spreads his knees so you spread even further, your ankles automatically anchoring around his hips. He pushes your pelvis out, shoves his hand back between your legs from behind you, and gives you a single order in your ear that melts you.

“Ride.”

Sinking onto his fingers, you do as you’re told, a sigh expelled from your lungs. You gyrate your hips, clenching your floor muscles, all the while trying not to moan and beg and curse all at the same time. Loki lets you do most, if not all of the work. A steady rhythm builds inside you, and then he takes you by surprise and brings a hand to the front of your mound, slipping inside the soft flesh and making contact with the nerves under the hood of your clit.

“Loki!” you rasp when his hands work in tandem. The hand in front of you works on your clit in steady, controlled circles and the one behind you strokes right into your G-spot. It’s a simmering pot of heat and pleasure, your body warming up as it prepares for orgasm.

“Faster,” he commands, curling both his fingers around your weeping cunt. Your eyes roll back and you reach behind to grip his hair.

Your mouth falls open as you increase your tempo, your legs beginning to falter and shake. Loki’s practically holding you up, the forearm behind you now slick with your juices from your rigorous riding. He plants an open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of your shoulder, a sharp little nip to the skin, and he’s upping his pace while you bounce on top of him.

“L—Loki,” you pant, eyes lidded and vision hazy while the sensations burn white hot and seem to expand inside you, “Loki, I—”

“Cum,” he coaxes, sucking on your skin. “Do it for me.”

Your thighs shake with the tide of orgasm, and soon you’re quivering and babbling as your walls clench around Loki’s fingers, your cum seeping down and onto the crotch of his pants. Loki pulls you through your pleasure with dirty nothings and a slowed pace. You ride out your high lazily, sated and sweaty and out of breath. Your knees hurt from being bent for so long; you’re so tired you don’t think you can move. He places your feet flat on the ground and you remove your vicelike grip from his hair, limbs shaking like a leaf.

You didn’t expect a quickie like this, if you could even call it that. You fall limp on his lap, shifting so you’re more comfortable, and Loki tips your chin towards him and kisses you hungrily while your walls flutter post-release. His tongue swipes against the seam of your lips, his hands skimming over the sides of your hips.

You can feel your cum still on his fingers, which he paints your skin with, and arousal surges through like a bullet.

“You are amazing.”

The compliment catches you entirely off-guard. It’s as if he wasn’t just playing your body like an instrument in a filthy concert hall. Still, warmth floods your chest and you sleepily look up at him.

“I don’t know where this is coming from, but I’m sure you know you’re fucking phenomenal.”

Loki’s chest shakes with laughter, and then without another word he’s hooking an arm under your knee, the other around your back, and he carries you back to bed.

“Glorious woman.” He pauses when he pulls the duvet over your still naked body. “Might have to do something about that, however.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, kitten. Just go to sleep.”

You notice the succinct kiss he presses to your hairline before your consciousness slips completely from you.

You’re an idiot.

It’s not that you mind that you were late for work. Other than a clipped, “Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” from your boss, work was fine. You finished everything you were supposed to, which was a feat considering you came and left for work horny and thinking of Loki.

But still, you’re an idiot.

Not because your mind was elsewhere than at the office. Having Loki in your room during the day was an opportunity to really look at him. Memorize him. Something tells you that you’re not going to have an opportunity like that again, and you wasted it.

Well, not really. But this morning went in a completely different direction than what you initially planned.

You should have just sat in bed staring at him. Admired his beauty from afar. But somehow, you just gravitated towards him like it was instinct pulling you to.

Damn it, you just wanted to see him up close.

Still, this morning was incredibly hot—so you’re not beating yourself up over it too much.

You’ll see him again tonight. And if you don’t, well, he did say you summoned him. Even without you knowing. Maybe you could do it again.

Your mind churns with questions and thoughts as your hands fiddle with the silk ties he left. When you agreed to this, you didn’t think you would be obsessing over it the way you are now. You thought it’d be mindless sex, not something you’d be thinking about every waking moment now. How does it work? Summons? Who is he? Will you ever see him in the light of day?

You don’t mean to fall asleep on the couch with the TV in the background, but you do.

Something tickles your ankles.

You jerk your foot in an attempt to swat it away. Maybe it’s a fly.

Or not. The sensation returns, and while you try to ignore it your mind is already beginning to wake up.

You don’t expect to see Loki on the far side of your couch, your legs sprawled over his lap, his hands tracing delicate, arbitrary patterns over the bone of your ankle and eyes glued to the TV that’s still on.

“Late night television is awful. I pity the humans who are awake at this hour and have no good viewing selections.” He swivels his head to face you, an amused expression donning his features. “Why are you sleeping here, pet?”

You sit up and attempt to pull your legs closer to you, only Loki’s grip tells you that you shouldn’t. His lips curve in a gentle smile and you recall why you fell asleep here in the first place. Even illuminated by the unflattering light of your TV, Loki is beautiful. Without a doubt, he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

“Just fell asleep without meaning to.” You stretch your arms above your head, top riding up and exposing your skin. You note the way Loki’s eyes travel from yours down to your navel, and heat bubbles in your core.

“It’s not very comfortable here,” he murmurs, setting your feet on the floor so he can climb on top of you with ease. “Or are you developing a taste for uncomfortable positions?”

His lips latch onto your neck while the memory of you this morning, ass up and face down, flashes behind your eyelids. The heat that started in your core rockets down into your cunt.

Loki sucks a bruising kiss into your skin, and he pulls away to admire the way your skin flushes red. “Come, sweet. Your bed is far more comfortable than this lumpy thing.”

You follow him into the bedroom, him strutting in front of you as if it’s just as much his place as it is yours. He stops in the middle, whirling round to face you with an expectant eyebrow quirked.

“I took the liberty,” he says, a note of pride in his tone.

Your face scrunches up in confusion. “Of?”

“Replacing that terrible excuse for a bouquet with something more tasteful.”

Your eyes dart to the corner where you had put the flowers Jacob gave you and sure enough, the vase and its contents are gone. Granted, they were singed and charred and really mostly dying, but part of you feels bad and maybe even a little guilty. It ebbs away somewhat, however, when you can see that Loki’s put something so downright beautiful in its place.

There’s a single flower in a glass that looks like it came straight out of Beauty and the Beast. It glimmers in the pale moonlight, and maybe you’re tired, but you swear it looks like it’s pulsing.

You’ve never seen a flower with so many hues and shades, or one that looks like it’s glittering, like this one.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe, bending forward to marvel over it up close. Your hand makes to lift the cover, but Loki stops you.

“I’m glad you like it, sweet, but I don’t think you should open that. Not yet, at least.”

“Why?” you immediately ask, head snapping up to meet his eyes.

He gives you a secretive, sly smirk. “I don’t think you’re ready for it yet. Now. Get on the bed, sweet.”

Shooting one last lingering look to the flower, you do as you’re told. Once you lie down, legs splayed open wide, Loki’s gaze settles thoughtfully on your nightstand. “I’m quite sure I left something right here, pet.”

“I think it’s on the couch,” you recall. “Can’t you—”

“No magic tonight, I’m afraid I drained my energy procuring my gift for you, which is why I need you to cum tonight so I can replenish myself.”

Well. If you weren’t wet before, you sure are now.

Loki leaves the room to fetch the silk ties, presumably to restrain you once again, and your blood pumps in excitement. He’s left you alone.

And you know you should listen to Loki, but after today’s events, there’s a huge part of you that just wants to be rebellious.

What did he mean, you’re not ready? It can’t possibly be anything you can’t handle. Your eyes flit back to the glass on the corner table.

It’s just a flower.

As quickly and quietly as you can, you slink off the bed and towards it, eyes trained on your bedroom door just in case he comes back and you get caught.

Do you want to get caught?

Gingerly, you lift the glass, peeking under it just to see what the glittering particles are. A strong, sweet smell instantly invades your nostrils, and you set the glass back down soundlessly.

His footsteps draw closer and you fling yourself onto the bed, spreading your legs like you were earlier and raising your hands above your head like an obedient child.

“Very good,” Loki purrs, sitting on the edge of the mattress as he ties one wrist to the headboard. “Such a good kitten.” His mouth closes over yours, tongues mingling, and you feel the air shift and your head throbs twice.

Wow, what a kiss it must be for it to extract such a reaction from your body.

With your eyes still closed, he wraps the ever-so-familiar silk around your eyes. It’s… did he put some kind of perfume on it?

“Did you put something on the blindfold?” you ask as he double checks the tightness around your other wrist.

“Yes, sweet. What does it smell like?”

You lick your lips, mouth going dry. It’s getting hotter, and your heartbeat’s speeding up. “Something sweet,” you answer. “Like vanilla. And a little bit of cinnamon?”

“Very good,” Loki praises, his hand traveling down your naked body. Your clit throbs and your walls clench. And you… you just want to be filled to the brim with his cum.

“How do I reward you for every correct answer, sweet?”

“Your cock.”

Okay, that—that was not what you were intending to say. Sure, you’re thinking it, but you weren’t planning to blurt it out loud so shamelessly. It’s like your mind and body are out of sync, your urges taking precedence and leading your mind that follows a beat too late.

Loki lets out an entertained, short laugh. “Eager little one today. You will get it. In time.”

He spreads your legs further apart and settles between them. You can feel your slick seeping out of your slit and onto the bed, wetter than ever. Fuck, what’s happening? It’s like you weren’t horny before, but you were—but it pales in comparison to the state you’re in now.

His nose bumps against your soft flesh, and you lift your hips off the bed and promptly rub against his snout.

It’s like you can’t help yourself. Loki has to fight a little to push your hips back onto the mattress, and your lower half falls with a soft thump. You’re breathing heavily and your body—fuck, it feels like it’s on fire. Wherever Loki touches, he leaves fire in its wake. And there’s something in the air—something musky, masculine, smelling like pure sex—

You just know it’s Loki’s arousal.

And hell, does it turn you on. Breaks the scale, if there ever was one. It’s a thick, potent smell that fills your lungs and makes you lightheaded.

He’s tired. Drained of his magic, and he needs you to fill him back up again. And you… you have all this sudden, pent up energy you didn’t know you had…

“Untie me,” you demand. Your voice is husky and your throat is dry, but it doesn’t sink in because you feel like your entire being is just Loki’s arousal and nothing else.

His hand stiffens over your thigh. “Sweet, didn’t we agree—”

“Untie me,” you repeat. You leave no room for discussion. “Even just one hand. You don’t have to do anything.”

There’s a pause where you spread your legs even wider. You lick your lips, heat flooding your cheeks and your cunt.

“Y-you can just watch me.”

You can feel Loki’s exhale fan your wetness, and it makes you shudder in anticipation.

Before he can protest, you continue, “I know you need me to cum so you get your energy. You—you can just take over when I’m about to…”

You don’t finish your sentence. Loki’s untying you with one hand, and then with the gentlest hold around your wrist he guides it downwards. “It appears you’ve disobeyed me. Well, consider it your lucky day that I am in no mood to scold you.” He rests it against your stomach, stroking a finger over the center of it.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs after a while. “While I have the perfect view.”

At his words, you clench. Slowly you bring your fingers to your cunt and trace over your swollen flesh. An echo of Loki’s own ministrations this morning. Only you don’t have as much patience as he does, and so you plunge your finger inside your warmth without any resistance.

Masturbation is not something foreign to you. But the knowledge that Loki’s head is still between your legs, with an unfiltered and clear view to your movements, has your body swimming to orgasm faster than ever. Your fingers fall into a familiar rhythm, dipping into the dependable spots and nerves that have consistently gotten you to orgasm before. Perhaps the eroticism of this exhibition—in front of Loki, no less—ignites an intensity within you that makes it seem like these spots aren’t familiar at all.

His fingers. His lips. His cock. You imagine them all inside you, on your clit, everywhere—it spurs you on, your fingers flying faster, your walls tightening as you race towards orgasm—

Loki gently pulls your hand away, and while you expect to be filled by his instead… there’s nothing. A frustrated huff is expelled from your lungs and Loki only brushes his fingertips against your sides.

“Release? So quickly?” He tuts playfully. “The gift I brought must be more potent than I’d imagined.”

“Please.” It’s a word you’ve been repeating so many times today. At this point, it feels natural spilling from your lips. “Please, I need to cum—you need me to—”

“You will cum when I say so,” he cuts in with a dominant finality that sends tiny sparks along the insides of your legs. “And I say… not yet.”

You let out a quiet whimper. You’ve never wanted to cum and hold it off at the same time as much as you do right now. And fuck—Loki’s tying the silk around your ankle and an urgency surges through you. You know what he’s doing. The smell gets even stronger now too, that musky, addictive aroma—you want to bask in it from the source—

You’re vaguely aware of the silk tie slipping away from your wrist and making its way to your other ankle. Loki’s strong hands run a delicate trail along your body and all you want is his cock ramming into you with his hand wrapped around your neck.

“Touch yourself,” he commands as soon as your ankles are tied to each corner of the bedframe. Your hole is gaping wide—it feels that way, since you’re aware of every breath Loki takes and exhales because of his proximity to you. “And do not cum unless I say so.”

Fuck—that’s what scares you. You’re so fucking turned on that you fear even just one stroke, you’d be a goner. But would punishment from Loki because you came really be all that bad? You’re not sure if you want to test him just yet.

And there’s a new smell in the air, mingling with the heady masculinity of Loki’s arousal. It’s a bit fruity, perhaps even reminiscent of the tanginess of an orange.

It’s yours.

“Touch yourself, sweet, or I’m going to have to leave you like this all night.”

Without further encouragement, your fingers dive back into your folds and your body relaxes with a sigh. Your hips gyrate over your hands as you root yourself in the fact that Loki’s watching you. He needs to see just how turned on you are, how he’s the one who does this to you.

“Use both your hands,” he instructs. “Go deeper. And massage your clit slower. Slower.”

You do as he tells you, alternating your long strokes with circular motions, and fuck, is it agony. It takes a whole lot of self-control not to buck your hips like a madwoman, so you bite down on your bottom lip. Heat prickles over your entire body and briefly you wonder how long you’re going to go like this and if you’re going to cum from this at all.

“Now focus on your clit,” he says after a while. “Shorter. Faster. Harder. How you want it, kitten, as fast as you can go…”

Finally, you think, fingers speeding up and your orgasm gaining momentum. It doesn’t take long for it to build, begin to crest—

“Hands off.”

No—not the words you wanted to hear. Begrudgingly you force away your hands from your swollen sex, slick with your own juice, and wait. You wait for his next instruction, as patient as you can be as a woman chasing orgasm, and then Loki finally says the magic words.

“Go on.”

It continues like this for a while. For how long exactly, you don’t know. Time has blurred and it’s only differentiated by moments of languid strokes and furious pumping, moments of pause that feel like forever, and then back again. He draws you close to orgasm, then away like it’s forbidden fruit, until you’re certain the minute Loki puts even just one finger on you, you’ll come undone.

Your fingers work hard at your cunt, coated in your warm slick, until Loki finally, finally lets you grow taut with the tension of building release. It’s strong, you can feel it. You’re already so sensitive and even if your muscles are growing strained, your need for release is overpowering enough that you don’t mind it in the least.

Loki rips your hand away, shoves his fingers inside you in perfect sync, and you cry out in ecstasy. Your fingers can only do so much, but Loki—he’s pure magic, pure sex that nothing could ever compare or replace him.

His thumb flicks over your clit harshly and your walls clench against his fingers. And the air—oh fuck, it’s the intoxicating smell of his arousal—you just want to rip off his clothes, suck him dry—

In some inexplicable way, Loki manages to leave you teetering on the edge of orgasm. Just between that space of cumming and winding down. So close, yet so far. Your breath comes in shallow pants while your hips rotate to meet him. He has to let you cum, you remind yourself. He has to.

Before you can gasp it out, Loki says, “No.”

Fuck, how many times are you going to hear that today? Your clit is pulsing, your walls fluttering in a sporadic rhythm as you hang in the ripping limbo of trying to hold in your release and let it go at the same time. It drives you mad, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes from the guttural need that needs satiating.

A wave of Loki’s arousal wafts fresh and heated towards you. Your mouth hangs open while his thick arousal hangs in the atmosphere, dizzying and fueling your need to have your fill from the source.

And then without warning, Loki plunges his fingers into you knuckle-deep, moving fast against your clit at the same time while knocking your G-spot over and over until your mouth hangs open, no sound coming out—your back arches off the bed with the overpowering, all-consuming need for release—

“Cum.”

The single syllable he utters has you unwound, undone—little white dots explode before your eyelids while your body convulses with the soul-stealing release he’s bestowed upon you. Toes curling, body tense, you’ve never experienced anything as blissfully shattering as this. Every nerve ending in your system has sizzled out, sensitive to the lightest gust of air.

Loki lets you ride out your orgasm on his fingers that continue to coax out your release. With the blood pumping in your ears, you can vaguely register the sounds Loki’s making. He’s muttering to himself, whispering—and once the pounding recedes from your ears you can make out a few lines.

“Yes, sweet, cum… cum all over my fingers, that’s it, you sweet girl… this perfect cunt, so warm—the way my cock—inside, yes, more…”

You clench tightly, and make a risky decision. One you clearly have no foresight to.

You sit up, and while the quick change in position has your cunt convulsing in stimulation, you ignore it. You’re still horny, yes. It’s as if that buildup to your seismic orgasm wasn’t enough, and while you would love another (or three more), there’s something else you want.

His cock.

Sitting up like this, you can smell his arousal coming from somewhere near the floor. Which, your lustful brain calculates, makes sense because his lower half should be sprawled across the floor.

Some kind of strangled noise comes from the back of your throat, and your hands reach out to fist, well—whatever you can reach. You can’t exactly see.

Your hands actually land in his hair, and your nails dig into his scalp. Loki makes a deep, throaty noise, satisfying you.

“Kiss me.”

Loki doesn’t chastise you or tell you no—instead the mattress creaks with his weight. He pins you down, his tongue delving into your mouth which you welcome instantly. The aroma of his arousal fires you up into a frenzy, especially when you feel his hard length pushes against your swollen clit.

Your hand boldly moves to squeeze his ass, bring him closer to you. Yes, having your arms in a full range of motion is better. Sure, you can’t see or close your legs, but you can touch him. Smell him. Loki bites down on your lip, groaning softly when you tug on his hair and pull him against you by the ass again.

Touch him.

Your brain is on autopilot. Like it’s got a mission it needs to see through to the end, regardless of whatever obstacles are to come its way. While Loki’s taking this opportunity to moan against your neck, telling you how he would just love to fuck you right here, right now, your hand moves from his ass, down the side of his hip, and to the front of his pants.

Loki freezes.

Whether it’s good or bad, you don’t care. You take this opportunity to palm the bulge you’ve felt, a soundless sigh escaping your lips. Your fingers grip around the outline, from what you think is base to tip, and a trickle of your juices flows out of you when you feel him shudder.

It’s all the encouragement you need. You slide your hand over the hard bulge once before your fingers dip underneath the waistband of his pants. Your breathing shallows when the tip of your finger comes in contact with a bead of wetness.

The strong, potent smell of Loki envelops you, and while it feels like you’re already bathing in him and his essence it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. You want more.

Loki hovers above you while you slip his pants down, his breath warming your neck. Licking your lips in anticipation, you finally lay your hands on the prize you’ve been dreaming and drooling about.

Your fingers wrap around his shaft, and as crazy as you sound, you might actually cum from just holding it.

Blood beats searing hot in your veins, your arousals mingling and fueling the other’s. You pump his shaft, once, twice—and you’re distantly aware that you’re speaking now.

“Need to,” you breathe, “t-to smell it. Up close, just—oh Loki, please, I need your cock on my face, just let me—”

Somehow this state you’re in has Loki speechless. You’re begging, though assertive at the same time. Loki lets you lead him until you’re lying down on your back, and he straddles your face, his thick cock hovering just inches from you.

Oh, fucking hell.

Your fingers skim the column of his shaft, savoring the feel of his hard length. You can’t see it yet, but you’d like to imagine how it looks before you do. Your fingers bump against the ridge around the head; veins that traverse his cock bounce against your touch; you trace a finger down the slit of him, collecting precum and trailing it over his frenulum.

Loki bucks his hips against your hands, hissing.

“What are you doing, pet?”

Tentatively, you bring your nose to the base of him and inhale deeply. Your cunt flutters in response and your mind deigns to feed you an image of his cock inside you, stretching you—maybe even wrecking your throat.

A wanton thrill shoots through you, and you drag your closed lips along his cock and then part your lips, salivating as you draw closer to him—

“No.” Loki pulls your hair gently, stopping you. Only it’s almost… reluctant. Like it’s more for himself than for you. Breathing hard, he continues, “Not tonight. Touching, just touching is… is enough.”

You settle for dragging your nose along the underside of his cock, inhaling the sweet, sweet scent of victory. “Alright.”

And then somehow you’re talking again. “I just love your cock,” you whisper mindlessly. “So thick… hard… I just want you, Loki. You can put your cock in my mouth… my pussy needs you a little more though…”

His cock twitches at your statement, and you hum against his groin, smile blooming on your lips. You pull your head away and your hand closes around him. You begin stroking, fisting his cock and twisting your wrist as you get closer to the head and loosening your grip when you get to the base. Soon he’s rutting his hips into your hand, and you relish the way you can feel him tense. All because of your touch. There’s a surge of pride at this new dynamic unlocked.

And his cock—it’s even better than you imagined. You tell him how you love his cock, you’d have it anywhere, anytime, whenever he wants—and Loki’s hips grow more frantic in his movements. You cup his balls, fondling him, and Loki fists your hair roughly, rasping out, “Hold still. But keep going on my cock. Faster. Harder.”

You and Loki work together to reach his orgasm, and soon you can feel his balls slapping against your hands and his movements go stunted, his cock tightening—the incoming smell makes you even dizzier, and you angle your head upward—

White hot ropes of cum splatter onto your face. Your forehead, your cheeks, your chin. Some of it dribbles down onto your chest and you have to fight yourself not to scoop some up and shove it into your cunt.

Loki groans all while he cums, until he’s running his fingers through your hair and tells you absently, “Sweet, glorious woman. An absolute sex kitten.”

His fingers swipe at his cum on your face, and then you realize it isn’t arbitrary—he’s pooling it together for you to eat it. Eagerly you open your mouth, sucking on his finger coated with his cum. Once your face is mostly clean, your tongue darts out the corner of your mouth to collect a drop you missed. No cum should go to waste.

Your heart practically leaps into your throat when you feel his tongue flatten against your sternum, collecting cum that’s dripped down your chest in a straight line going up to your face, and then he kisses you

His taste mingles with his seed, and you relish how delicious he is. You sigh into his mouth and are about to wrap your legs around his waist, only you’re brutally reminded that your legs are tied up.

You hope you wake up like this.

Your hands go to his still-hard cock, and Loki’s surprised, “Already?” has you giggling as you start pumping him again.

When is the next time you’re going to have all this energy after all?

#sweet dreams #by belle #should have just titled this chapter COCK #loki smut #smut #loki x you #loki x reader #loki x y/n #incubus loki #loki fanfiction #loki imagine #reader insert #FINALLY I CAN GET TO WORK ON THOSE REQUESTS

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yeoldontknow · 5 years ago

Text

All Quiet

Author’s Note: wahooo! another chanvember event in the books! this is yet another personal journey for me. i call this: an ode to single living lmao. i hope you enjoy! Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: angst; romance; fluff; au Summary: After your breakup, Chanyeol moves out of the house you shared together. It’s fine, until it absolutely isn’t. Over time, you start to miss him - miss him in places and ways you never thought you would. Eventually, you realize you miss home, too - even though you never actually left. Rating: R (just being safe? there’s really nothing awful in here, but some pretty adult themes rear their head) Warnings: mentions of anxiety; dark thoughts in a depressive episode; brief mentions of death (no major characters); heavy angst; a bug in a room (if youre afraid of bugs i suppose); men in bars who dont know when to shut up lmao Word Count: 8K look mom i did it

It’s not like he would have helped in this situation.

You tell yourself this while you breathe, rather erratically, in the center of your kitchen attempting to ease yourself back to a state of calm. In one hand, you clutch the cold handle of your Swiffer while, in the other, you wield the can of raid as though it is a weapon. Chest tight and gaze unwavering, it’s hard to tell when small inconveniences such as this started to insight a deep, slow panic, paralyzing you with fear, leaving room for little else.

A brief walk through your memory clearly reminds you that, months ago, you would not have responded quite so viscerally - truly, you probably would have laughed, an exasperated sound dripping with disdain for the season or the city or the poor construction of your apartment.

If a lightbulb burst, you would change it with little complaint, standing precariously on your step stool; when the fire alarm started beeping, even after you’d changed the battery, you constructed a tower of books to remove it, calling yourself resourceful; when the popcorn machine erupted into flames, an electric fire sparking in the center of its hot dome, you unplugged it and laughed and laughed, glad to be alive.

And if you saw a bug, you would handle it - he liked to call it handling, as though it was difficult, as though it was painful, as though something like this could be considered a threat that required strategy and an iron will. You’d always laughed when he did that, all six feet of him cowering behind your small frame, desperately seeking shelter and shielded by the mystery of your majestic stoicism.

No. Chanyeol would not have helped. In cases like this, he was worse than afraid, endearingly useless, but at least then, you think, you had someone to protect. Someone who was not you. Someone who needed you.

For a long while, you stand still, impassive and frozen, not because of the insect flying around your bedroom but because you think it odd that this is what makes you miss him. For the first time in a long time, you want him here, a thing you never thought you’d crave. Not after everything, and certainly not after...after.

The first time this happened, he was a mess, a disaster - a gentle description given the way he flailed himself off the couch and bumped bruises into his knees from the coffee table. It was the fastest you’d seen him move in ages, across the room in a flash and yelling, stressed beyond reason, before you even had a chance to lower the screen of your laptop.

You laughed then, the sight of his flailing limbs a form of divine entertainment, endearing in its chaos, bemused and bewildered by the speed of his movements. Words left him, reduced him to vague wails of anguished contempt as he pointed, rather vaguely, in the direction of what he had seen. Even with his extended hand as a general marker of location, you struggled to see what he saw, expecting something more, something large and unwieldy, and something unspeakable.

In the end, it was small, a tiny thing you would have missed if you had not been so carefully looking. A spider. A house spider. An insect you had grown to expect both within and beyond domestic spaces.

For him, you were brave. Would you have been brave for yourself? It does not matter, not really. You were comfortable, rolling your eyes as you went to grab the dust pan. It was nothing - you told him it was nothing as you walked past him, catching hold of his fingers as he latched onto your hand for support. Even then, you felt you’d never find this annoying, something about watching someone so imposing and so large crumble, so dramatically, was humorous, special.

Now, you realize it was not humor. It was never humor. It was need.

In the end, the thing you relished most, always with him, was the way he made you feel needed. Wanted. Chanyeol needed you then, at least as badly as you felt, and knew, you needed him. In those moments - in that moment - your love for him finally felt fair, a balance to the improbable scale of need versus want.

Without him, the house is empty. In moments of fear, there is no yelling, no flailing - no display of panic to return to later and laugh about or through, your own expression of panic shock. Lately, you’re slow to react, calm and careful, gentle movements out of the room and a silent exclamation of disgust. More than anything, now, you are aware of the all encompassing quiet - the way you never really let anyone know you need help, not even yourself.

Now, standing in the kitchen, the silence envelopes you, enough to convince yourself there isn’t a problem at all. With the bedroom door shut, you can almost pretend the light isn’t actually on, that nothing is there, that you meant to cook a meal rather than fight a war, distracted and alarmed by something out of the corner of your eye. Now, you can almost pretend it was the quiet that scared you, and little else.

Now, without anyone to need you, you can almost pretend you don’t even need yourself.

Almost.

Closing your eyes, you take in a deep breath, existing within the feeling of lack and the feeling of loneliness, the realization that there is nothing here except you and this thing and only one can stay.

You open your eyes. You grip the handle.

Your steps to the bedroom are quiet, but, at least they are steps.

Even before you settle on the barstool, you can tell he will come talk to you.

Thursday night and you've been drawn out, head empty and focus dulled as you walk toward the bitter sting of cold gin. You're not really looking for conversation, mostly just looking for noise, the cacophonous hum of others, indistinguishable voices serving to remind you the world is peopled even, if they aren't your people.

He sees you as you walk in, eyes catching your vacant scan of the room and demanding your attention. For a moment you’re grateful for the reminder that this is a place where you need to be aware and astute, ready to leave or ready to stay, and, conversely, aware that neither option is ideal.

The point is that he sees you and makes sure that you see him, deftly reminding you that eclipses are always known even if they aren't truly witnessed.

He’s new to the bar, your regular haunt with a broken card reader on the jukebox and the barely there space between the tables. The brown liquor in his cup has put confidence in his spine and false hope in his roaming eyes, a smirk pulling at his lips as he looks and looks and looks, waiting for his voice to be heard. Helen slides you a Gin and Tonic, your usual, offering a welcoming smile before glancing sidelong with a grimace as the heat of his sudden proximity radiates into your shoulder.

Even before you settle on the barstool, he's ready.

‘They make ‘em strong here,’ he says with a smile, regarding your glass with an expression of feigned interest.

The gravel in his voice is uncomfortable, an itch at the back of your throat that you swallow three times to alleviate, lips pulling into a sneer, scorning the upturned pretentiousness of his syllables. His shoulders roll back to puff out his chest and your thighs tighten around the seat, heels anchoring onto the support bar at the base of the stool, perched and ready to depart. Offering him a curt nod, you study the military edges of his short haircut, deciding, almost immediately, that you will not be here long.

At this, you smile, aware that people on barstools rarely are.

A smile he mistakes as an invitation.

Pride cascades over his features and settles in the dark corners beneath his cheek bones, cutting shapes into his expression you wish did not exist. As he settles on the stool next to yours, your stomach drops, the light putting a foreboding glimmer in his eyes, the kind that makes you want to scoff, and to mutter this fucking guy.

Offering him a once over, a look he reads as interest, smiling wider and feeling encouraged, you confirm he is relatively harmless. Even standing, he’s slightly shorter than you, already balding, soft in all the ways Chanyeol was not, and different enough to make you think it would be might to forget, at least for a little while.

But he rests his arms on the bar top, still smiling and still feeling like he's tasting the precipice of control, proud that it’s barely seven and celebrating like he’s already found his moment. The new position offers you a glimpse of the hidden strength nestling in the grooves of his knuckles, muscles in the forearm that disappear under his rolled sleeves, and you remember to be careful. Now, you remember that trust is earned, not worn, and so you lean back, pulling out of his orbit just enough to remember you aren't looking for a game tonight, and he cannot make you play.

Emboldened by your silence, he begins to tell you a story, the kind that meanders over ice cubes, breath and lies hot enough to put condensation on the glass. He talks about boxing, a topic you know next to nothing about but enough about men to know it's a tactic, a subject they know you can't argue with because you don't have enough details. But you can always hear it, the gaps in the spaces between the words - Russia, a boat, a large sum of money, the rehearsed pauses and the smile that doesn't seem to fade. Words and more words, demanding that you feel impressed and that you feel special.

He chose to tell you this story. Aren't you so lucky?

It's when he talks about a scar on his arm that your mind wanders, rather your heart wanders. Thursday's gin was meant to be an escape, but instead you miss Chanyeol and the almost spectacular way he could talk shit - because that's what this is. Shit. Endless nonsense to make you feel interested or curious enough to give him a number, a blowjob, another drink, something that reminds him he's valid and not entirely worthless.

Chanyeol talked shit as a hobby, without any desire to receive and mostly as a means of satire. But even in jest, he was still entertaining, captivating, the best storyteller you ever knew.

On your first date with Chanyeol, he was nervous, shy. He smiled a lot and laughed in all the right places, kept his eyes on you like he was watching the dawn - but then, you never really thought of that night as your first date.

The night you met, it wasn't that he saved you from a disastrous conversation with a man and his friends and their over eager hands. Rather, he enticed you away, a paradoxically nervous glint in his eye that said he was unsure you wanted his help while protective enough to remind you he was watching, and that you weren't alone.

Someone, you can't remember who because immediately after Chanyeol spoke they stopped mattering, and, for years, no one else ever mattered again, had mentioned the time they went skydiving in Australia, their malfunctioning parachute, and the way they almost passed out, so close to the ground.

Several pairs of eyes walked over your skin, waiting for your reaction, your gasp of shock and concern, the euphoria of a near death experience so similar to the ecstasy of orgasm bleeding into a hum of interest. With their eyes on you, you knew it was a trick, and you cocked an eyebrow of polite derision, looking past them for an exit. They did not move, just nodded and continued. You felt Chanyeol behind you, isolated from the circle that had formed but still at the bar, still a body that gave way to a malformed shape that meant he had to be included, regardless.

'I once almost got a tattoo when I was in Australia.'

He announced this information like he'd been asked, as though the attention had belonged to him the entire night, the deep thunder of his voice cutting through the deluge of unwanted contact.

Brow furrowed in confusion, you turned to look at him, placed a protective hand over your drink, just in case, and cocked a wary eyebrow at him. He smiled, warm and inviting, but only at you. His eyes wandered over the thick gaits of the others, skeptical and cautious before the expression disappeared altogether, resting his head on his hand as he leaned casually against the bar.

'Yeah, it was wild,’ he explained, sounding bored. 'The tattoo gun was shaped like an alligator claw, but I think that's because I was under a boardwalk and I'd lost a bet while drunk.'

Behind you, someone snorted, annoyed. 'That's not true.'

Chanyeol shrugged, nonchalant. 'It was a lucky thing I got sober. Always been kind of afraid of the sea, you know? Love the beach, hate the waves. Anyway, you know that feeling that you're being watched? Like something is lurking behind the corner, watching you, unfurling its claws and waiting for you to turn around, fixing its cold stare on your skin. And you know, right? You just know that if you turn, you'll see it - because you have to, even if you don't want to, just to prove. yourself correct? That you're not crazy?'

'What are you talking about, man?' came another voice, generic and empty of the music Chanyeol naturally carried.

Even as you watched him speak, you knew it was a lie, a jab at all the bullshit tossed around between men who felt like they had something to prove. Even as he spoke, tone dry and words quick, you knew he found the bravado of hyper-masculinity just as amusing as you.

'I'm talking about that space of time between knowing something is wrong and knowing something is fucked up,’ he continued, feigning a passion that made you press your lips together to keep from laughing. ‘That sliver of difference in between. It's fragile there - like, if you look at this napkin and you only look at the napkin, you can almost believe something is lurking behind it and it wants you. It wants to break you. That's the fucked up thing lurking in the distance, the kind of threat that feels good enough to see even if you don't want to.'

'Fuck you,’ someone spat. ‘You're drunk.'

'Anyway,’ he carried on, unaffected as though he hadn’t heard anyone at all. ‘That's why I was under the boardwalk and also why I left. Also, you really don't want to get a tattoo somewhere that smells like a cross between dry fish and burned butter. This guy on the boardwalk was making popcorn at his stall and all I could imagine was the yellow paint as the butter, just five too many pumps and it sticks on your arm long enough that you feel greasy forever.'

Everyone knew it was a lie, but that didn't matter. You really didn't care that it had been so obviously fake, fake enough that you laughed at the insanity of it. All that mattered was that he smiled through it, used words and details so obviously, ridiculously untrue that you believed he was naturally funny, and unafraid to be utterly silly, childlike and bold in all the ways you were not.

The rest of the night, you watched him, watched him watch you, without any hope your expectation, simply glad that you were smiling.

He was always like that, creating magic from nothing, holding the world in a story, his hands, his brown eyes and your brown liquor. Chanyeol was always like that, making the world spark just because he could.

'And I went down hard, you know?'

The guy is still talking, talking about boxing and Russia or maybe neither of those things anymore, but. your drink has melted down into cold water, the memory of gin only lingering on your teeth. He keeps talking like he means every word, like it's important that he survived whatever match he was in, no cushion on his fists and his hands still hurt. It's not fun, it's not creative, it's just angry.

Glancing down at the wet rimmed paper of your napkin, you frown. Thursday brought you here to be alone, not to share another night and another story with Chanyeol, even if it's only in memory. Even if, more than anything, you want to share this with him - want to hear what he'd have to say about Russia and boxing, and how many boat jokes he could fill in between.

‘Sorry,’ you interrupt abruptly. Hand in your pocket, you pull out your wallet and leave a ten dollar bill. ‘I forgot to change my tampon.’

Leaving the stool is a liberation, a relief that eases the tension in your shoulders. You don't bother another glance at the man whose gaze of disgust lingers at your back. Pushing through the door, you smile.

You were always good at talking shit, too.

Hell, you learned from the best.

Home is a lie society likes to sell to the lonely, the needy, and the unsuspecting.

You tell yourself this - or rather, this thought grips you, holds tight and refuses to leave - as you sit on your couch, the couch you bought from someone else, just to be rid of him, anxious and alone and utterly, completely overwhelmed. The world sells the concept of home - a location, a place, a thing that delivers comfort as though it was never someone who held you, touched, loved you. Home, they will tell you, is a plaque on the wall where your heart should be, a picture frame of smiling faces and, most of all, shelter.

Society tells you home is a thing that does not leave.

Your home left months ago, left you with a roof, some walls, and a TV too wide for the stand. Biting your lip, you watch as it teeters at the edges, secure but unstable, a memory of the fragility of the things people like to build together. Outside, a car honks. A bus passes. The noise of the world comes in through the loose seal of your closed window and you hear the way life exists, entirely separate from you.

Work was too much - too much and conversely not enough. All of you, down to the very base of your soul, craves the stimulation of a challenge or a conversation full of passion, words shared and knowledge exchanged, something new and something hard, something that fights back. You've been numbed into silence and acceptance, things that never sat well against your skin, leaving you drained of the all things that make you you.

Tonight, you miss the laughter, the way he'd always talk and make you laugh, even against your will. Tonight, you realize you miss him, miss the way he held you, nurtured you, comforted you, even against your will - even before you realize you miss him at all. Your dinner, a frozen pizza, usually so warm and inviting, sits on your coffee table, untouched and uneaten.

He would have hated this.

Years into your relationship, he adopted the habit of kissing at your fingers with an erotic smile as he pressed them against his lips, praising the way they smelled of garlic. With your fingers at his lips, he said you smelled of magic and creation, a kitchen witch that had possessed his heart. Always, he'd approach you from behind, wrap his arms around your waist and watch you cook - studying the care and the gentleness and the way you unfurl when surrounded by food, bringing it to life.

Tonight, your meal is lonely. And Chanyeol always knew something was wrong when you didn't want to cook, having learned the aggression and the disheartened angst that came with putting something in the oven, a meal that existed without love. Nights like this, he would cook for you instead, making you laugh and making you smile - making something.

Without him, you wonder what you've made since.

You certainly haven't made a home. When you keep still, while not altogether keeping calm, you let your mind wander to the empty expanse of the future, an extension of this moment that seems to bleed onward into eternity. Nothing is here. No one pays enough attention to your light footsteps, coming and going of you too erratic to truly form a pattern. When you are sick, it is just you. When you are hurt, it is just you. And when you die, likely, it will be just you - found only when the smell seems to linger.

Glancing around the walls, you remember the act of picking your apartment together, the eager way he suggested you move in - with fire on his lips and light in his eyes - and the unfathomable way the broker's fees seemed to unmake you, broken instead. Defeated, you told him you wanted him to do it, that one more call and one more unfulfilled wish would convince you to stay in your own apartment until time had healed the wounds of your pride.

Sometimes, you think you made a home in the way he came alive with excitement, delighted to do something, to be in control and in command, not out of greed but out of the pleasure of being alive with you. In just under a week, he'd found the apartment, always so much more optimistic and prepared for the battle of negotiation than you ever had been. When he called, his words came fast, almost negotiating you into being convinced, announcing, victoriously, that he'd found it.

By the time you arrived, he wasn't calling it home, he wasn't calling it good - he was calling it ours.

Pushing through the door, one look at his face, at the jovial delight and the urge to make something igniting his soul, you decided quickly it would be, if only because he decided to share something with you, anything at all. The kitchen lacked a dishwasher, but with his hands at your hips and his lips at your neck, the enthusiasm he poured into your veins assured you that he'd help - you would not be alone.

He'd do the dishes, he'd kiss your hands, wear the tight, yellow gloves to keep his skin soft, and let the smell of soap and passion replace the stoicism of mechanized convenience.

Somehow, the tangibility of him felt better, more real. Special, because it was him.

Neither of you wanted to admit it, but the first night in the space was uncomfortable, sharing a new bed rather than a bed, feeling lost and feeling unsure. You missed your apartment, the way it was yours, something that belonged to just you; he missed the freedom of coming home or not coming home at all, unattached and unfettered. Between the sheets, you were scared to let your skin touch, wondering if you had rushed into romance beyond rushing into real estate.

Chanyeol was always more brave than you were - not confident, not assured, just courageous, curling over your body to pull you to his chest, demanding your closeness. He stole your lips the same way he stole your breath, kissing and kissing until you believed all that ever mattered was your complete and total possession of his heart.

'It will be okay,' he said, hope still lingering in his voice, turned then into a vice rather than a virtue. 'I promise it will be better in the morning.'

'Maybe it will be better when we paint,' you mused, unsure a morning could make anything really better, the sunlight only serving to remind you of all the ways you could never make a space feel full.

That morning, you woke to the smell of pancakes, sugar and butter and Chanyeol, fresh from a shower, the steam still lingering in the en suite bathroom.

You walked out into the kitchen and saw him, hair a mess and old boxers worn to a state of tattered, faded grey. He made one pancake at a time, the fry pan too small for such large circles, all your useful kitchen supplies still residing in unmarked boxes. Leaning on the frame, you watched him, the long line of his spine, the way the sun caught his skin, the gold of it making the universe shimmer, he your Midas, as he looked at you and smiled. The trust in his eyes taught you to believe - that it is not the lungs that breathe, but the soul; that you could float if you wanted to, but it was choice that kept you rooted to the earth, the choice to be next to him.

That home was a place that smelled like him, always and forever.

When he looked away, the edge of it all turned, felt yourself hanging on the lack of words, the nausea that lingered in between, ready for this - that chilling moment when there was nothing left to say. You'd found home and found Chanyeol, a new space without anything that spoke of yours, and the emptiness learning to take hold.

But it never came, just shifted. Into his skin and his kisses, and the way he brought you pleasure even when he wasn't touching you. Always, you would hear him.

You could always count on him for words.

Reaching over to the coffee table, you flip over your phone, pressing the home button to illuminate the screen. Some texts, a few emails, no sound. His name doesn’t show up - you weren’t expecting it to, but the lack of it hurts, years and years flashing through your mind when his name was the first on your screen, his picture the first you saw.

Now, it’s the moon. Now, you want to call him, to fill the gap with anything, even if it’s anger.

You could always count on him for words.

Now, alone, trapped in the marrow of absence, you find yourself wondering.

Can you count on yourself?

You start to sing. It sounds empty.

But, at least now, there is sound, even if it is hollow.

Fifteen hours into your drive, with only thirty more from home, the flat tire defeats you. Something about this torn rubber breaks you in a way that harsh words and colds stares never could, a shame pressed upon your shoulders that makes you feel despondent and ignorant.

Standing on the side of the road, you eye the flat with an empty stare, willing it to fix itself. Images run through your mind, the memory of greasy hands and sore backs from kneeling at such an odd angle - the rain, the mud, the cell phone light, and the way the sky opened up to gift you the stars. Once upon a time, you knew how to do this - someone taught you when you were sixteen; someone showed you when you were twenty-eight, and so you know the knowledge exists within you. You've done this before.

But then, the memories turn, and you realize those experiences weren't yours, they were shared. It was always him turning the jack, him pulling at the bolts, always Chanyeol.

Tipping your head back, you close your eyes and release a hissed sigh through your clenched teeth. The road on either side is empty, unusual for a stretch so close to the city, your decision to go home on a weeknight nowhere close to a holiday leaving you abandoned. Above you, the bruising of the sky as it turns to night seems to haunt you, the moon taking on a gleam of deceit, one that says your failure is being watched with keen interest. Not an hour before, you had marveled at this purple and pink and golden shade, smiled to yourself at the luxury of witnessing the beauty that comes from simplicity.

An hour ago, you were glad and finally learning how to feel it - learning how to feel okay with being alone.

Now, the world around you is quiet, empty of life apart from the crows that wander over the yellow lines, hungry and searching and waiting. Chanyeol's voice resonates in your ear, whispered words from a conversation long ago.

'The most difficult jobs are the most rewarding,' he said, showing you how to fix an air conditioning vent. 'We have to earn our independence.'

You need him.

The feeling of it hits you in the center of your chest, weighing you down as you turn and bring yourself to the ground, back resting against your car. This is no longer a missing, this is need. You're too dark, too serious, too frustrated, too proud to see the humor or the joy in this situation. Once, you thought maybe you were, that you could be, but that person left with him, the ghost of that shell holding his hand tightly as he walked out the door.

His contact information looks strange without the heart and puppy emojis on either side, somehow off-center and wrong. For a while, you stare at his name until the letters start to become unrecognizable, until you think his name has been spelled wrong since the moment you changed it, unsure you know how to read it at all. Your finger hesitates over the call button as though it lingers over his skin, like he can feel you through the glass and choosing to let your souls touch means choosing to let yourself get hurt again.

Looking up, you realize the sky has started to darken and, now, you don't really have the choice to be selfish.

Chanyeol answers on what must be the first ring, his voice confused and sluggish in contrast to his quick response. ‘Hello?’

He still sounds like honey. He still sounds like power. He still sounds like yours.

The deep richness of his voice pulls the air from your lungs and puts wetness in your eyes, and you bite your lip to keep your voice stable. ‘Chanyeol.’

‘What’s wrong?’ He was always too aware, too observant, to hide from, seeing straight through to your heart like it was his to bare. ‘Are you okay?’

Six months into dating, your grandmother passed away and, for some reason, it was understood that he would go with you to the funeral. The bitterness of the news hurt, but the knowledge that he was the first person you chose to call, that he had become the thing you needed more than you needed silence and space to grieve, cut through the dull ache of loss and replaced it, just partially, with change. It was understood, then, that this was something more serious than dating, than exclusive interest, than sex and the morning, sometimes even the night, after. Calling him meant you were making space for him, allowing him the room and the opportunity to ache with you.

Even then, so early into your relationship, he heard your voice and he knew.

Tonight, he uses the same tone, the same speed of recognition and care, and you exhale thickly, the heat of your tears lingering on your cheeks. How strange, you think, to feel truly seen.

‘I’m okay,' you lie.

‘No, you’re not,' he presses, stern and adamant. 'What happened?’

Releasing a bitter laugh, you look down between your legs, sheepish. This should not hurt as much as death and grief, but then that's precisely what this is. For months, you've been mourning the loss of him.

‘I got a flat tire,' you murmur.

Chanyeol releases a sigh of relief, and when he speaks you can hear the smirk that pulls at his lips. ‘Where are you?’

Picturing that smile puts the sun in your chest, and immediately you regret calling him. How stupid, you think, to just want to see him smile. ‘Don’t come. I can do it myself.’

‘Where are you,' he repeats, this time not as a question.

Raising your gaze, you stare at the mile marker, the last sliver of dying light illuminating the numbers. Still, you don't speak, waiting for this mistake to pass, finding you luxuriate in the sound of his even breathing.

But Chanyeol speaks first, voice soft and gentle, sweet in all the ways that made your heart learn to crave him. ‘Please let me help you.’

And without hesitation, you reply. ‘I’m at mile marker 67 on I-95 North.'

You hear him gathering his keys, the metallic jingle making your chest lurch, haunted by the sound of his keys at the apartment door.

‘I’ll be there soon,' he says, hanging up before you can protest.

The white light of his Mercedes headlights put a halo around his head as he approaches, not twenty minutes later in a pair of sweatpants and your favourite hoodie. On sight, you grimace, wondering if he wore this on purpose, to remind or tease you, forcing you to recall all the times he ran his hands over your skin, hidden under the cloth, cupping your breasts and whispering into your neck I love it when when when you wear this.

But then, you remember that this was his favourite hoodie, too, the one he wore when he needed comfort the most.

In this light, all you can see are the tips of his ears, comically pronounced thanks to his backwards cap, and his smile, warm and affectionate and understanding.

He says nothing as he takes the jack from your hand, your grip on the metal tight enough to be a lifeline, his own strong fingers easing it from your grasp with a tenderness he used to reserve for your spine. Your fingers touch as he does this, the electric current of contact running up your arm and making you shiver, still there, ever present, refusing to vanish no matter the distance of time or geography. Chanyeol keeps still, jaw set and arms tense, a sign he felt it too but refuses to give himself away, more obvious just from his concentrated effort.

Nudging at your shoulder, he guides you closer to the hood as he settles on the ground, getting to work without complaint. You keep your eyes on him as he moves, on his hands and the barely there curve of his ass beneath his oversized sweats - two sizes too big for his lean frame and still not large enough for one of your thighs. With him in such close proximity, your heart starts to race again, like it always did, your brow furrowing in the recollection that this was always your heart rate. With Chanyeol, you always felt excited, enthralled, awake - hands warm and blood hot, teetering on the prospect of a fever that only his touch could keep at bay.

With him so close, you remember the constant state of craving that seemed to consume you, the love in your spirit suddenly dusted off - not dead, just dormant - and reminding how it really feels to need someone. Crossing your arms over your chest, you swallow thickly, hoping to combat the lump that's settled in your throat.

To your chagrin, he changes it in less than five minutes, surely some kind of record, carrying the flat to your trunk as though it is weightless.

Staring straight ahead, you look out at the field, the sparse trees, the new dark sky, and sigh. ‘Don’t you realize what a problem this is?’

‘What is?’ he questions, the slam of your trunk echoing over his words. He comes to stand beside you, leaning against your car with his hands in his pockets. 'That you can’t change a tire? Trust me, I’m deeply aware. What would you have done if I wasn’t here?’

‘No -' Shaking your head, your protest comes quickly, without thought, only to cut yourself off, realizing he's partially correct. ‘I mean, yeah true, but I meant that you’re still the first person I call in a crisis. When I need someone, I’m calling you.’

Your gaze lingers on the softness of his cheeks before you find the small freckle on the bridge of his nose, so trained to look for it even without the light to put it on display. Biting your lip, you sigh, refusing to let yourself get distracted. ‘You’re still my emergency contact.’

Dropping his chin to his chest, Chanyeol regards his feet for a moment, pensive as he takes in your words. With a hum, musical and rich, a sound that belongs solely to him, he looks at you once more, resolute. ‘I don’t see that as a problem. You should think about why you still want to call me. Really,' he presses, 'think about why you still trust me.’

‘Yes, exactly!’ you exclaim. ‘I still trust you even after you left me!’

A hollow laugh bursts from his chest as his eyes go wide, regarding you defiantly. ‘You were never careful with blame or accusations,' he mumbles, shaking his head as he looks everywhere but your face.

You scoff. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Turning his gaze back to you, the heat and ferocity of his expression makes you step back, just a bit, startled by the intensity. ‘You really want to talk about this here? Now?’

Refusing to back down, just like always, just like you always couldn't with him, you roll your shoulders back, standing tall. ‘We’re alone, aren’t we? I struggle to see the difference between here and home. The location and setting for our arguments was never an issue.'

‘Fine,' he bites out, impassioned and embittered. 'Yes. I left, but you didn’t give me much of a choice.' Angling himself towards you, he pulls his hand from his pocket and presses his fingers to his chest, emphatic. 'I left, but I still love you.’

‘Jesus, Chanyeol,' you chuckle, looking past him into the shadows, feeling bereft. It hurts to see him so wounded, just as visceral and difficult as it always was, likely always will be.

‘What?' he snaps. 'Too uncomfortable for you? Too honest?’

Mimicking his pose, you turn to face him, matching his intensity. ‘No,' you sneer, aware that the sound is cruel. Immediately, you grimace, backpedaling from brutality of your tone, never really able to be hurtful with him. At least, not intentionally. ‘I just struggle to understand why you’d leave if you still love me. Why didn’t you try to make it work? I loved you with all of me.’

Chanyeol's expression morphs from one of combative disbelief to one of pained dejection, all at once appearing lost and small and so like the boy you promised to never let go of.

‘You never let me love you,' he tries, an urgency tucked between his words that makes your heart sink. 'It always caused you pain to let me in, like loving me hurt you.’

Tears burn at your eyes in the wake of his words, the house of cards you'd constructed out of your memories together neither collapsing nor tearing, simply changing from red to blue, taking a new shape and a new colour, his perception casting shadows over the world you'd built.

The words you said, when you were happy and in love and it was easy, collide with the words you yelled, when you were hurt and jealous and scared, and all you can remember, on either end, was a love you felt into your bones - a love that always made you feel like you were breaking. Loving Chanyeol, from the moment you met him until the moment you watched him leave felt like learning to love an earthquake, breaking yourself open to fit him inside. In love, the tectonic shift of your soul was merely collateral for way he made you feel - everything, all the beauty and the horror of it, everything more visceral than you'd ever experienced it before.

In love, he found you scared, aware that if it ever ended, there would be nothing left of you, all the good parts of your heart shattering to a raw, sharp edge of sorrow.

‘Because it always ends like this, Chanyeol!’ Even as you speak, you know you’re pleading with him, but for what you cannot be sure. Forgiveness? Maybe. Understanding? You never had to ask. Perhaps, you think, just for him to tell you he was scared, too. ‘It always ends in pain!’

Unable to stop himself, moved beyond any semblance of control, he steps closer to you with both hands outstretched, making to cup your face, to make you listen, before he remembers himself, dropping them awkwardly to your arms. He grips your biceps, touch gentle and eyes wide, searching your face, bold and, just like always, courageous.

‘But it wasn’t hurting in the moment!’ he exclaims, his grip tightening on your arms before he loosens, eyes dropping to his hands hold you. ‘You rushed us here,’ he finishes, tone soft.

‘Every time…’ Your words drift into nothingness as your close your eyes, recalling every argument, the hours you spent awake or alone, afraid of losing him and afraid of losing yourself. Chest tight, your breath comes in shallow inhales, your hands coming to rest over his, the warmth in his skin helping you ground. ‘It felt like you were asking for my soul.’

‘Did you ever think maybe,’ he begins, gentle and kind, inching closer still as he pulls you to him, his affection a gravitational pull drawing you to him. ‘You already had mine? It would have balanced us out.’

Opening your eyes, you cast him a pained expression, knowing, down to his core, he was always too independent to love you the way he said he did. ‘That’s too much.’ You shake your head, weakly protesting his words. ‘What about you? Sometimes you wouldn’t come home until dawn, needing the space, and I got that -’

He cuts you off. ‘You are the only person who gets that, and you know it.’

‘Let me finish,’ you press, falling back into the ease of softness you always provided him, feeling like, finally, you are home. ‘We are both too independent to give one another our souls. That’s too much of your heart for one person to hold.’

Without hesitation, he pulls you directly to his chest, moving his hands away from yours and to your face, emphatic and devastatingly present.

‘You aren’t listening, my love,’ he murmurs. ‘I found myself in you. I had myself and I had you,’ he explains, smiling as though he understands a secret you can only just touch, tangentially and at arm’s length.

He keeps smiling even as he finishes speaking, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. The intimacy of it sends your hands to his chest, ready to push him away but halting upon contact, feeling his heart beat like thunder against his sternum.

‘Chanyeol…’ you mumble, a protest that splinters on impact.

He lets one hand walk down your face, your neck, lowering to the small of your back as he tucks you against him, protective and nurturing. Forehead unmoved and nose touching yours, he smirks. ‘Stop me,’ he challenges, knowing, even now, even when you’re not really his, you will not.

Sliding your arms around his chest, you let yourself hold him, aware, even as your heart begins to adorn itself in feathers, that this is a bad idea. ‘Chemistry was never our problem. You know that.’

‘I know,’ he agrees, a million words living and dying between you both, all unspoken while still understood, his thumb gliding gingerly over your cheekbone. ‘And you know I’m a glutton.’

‘One day,’ you whisper, leaning up into the warm cascade of his breath over your lips, mouth and soul suddenly ravenous for him, ‘you’re going to love someone more than me.’

‘Don’t tell me what to do.’ This close, his words are embers of a dying breath, and your eyes flutter short, ready to kiss their ashes. ‘And I know,’ he continues, quieter still, ‘you will never love anyone as much as you love me.’

The familiar fog of his adoration clouds your mind, limbs heavy and skin tightening, parched and longing for his touch, your words jumbled together into a single breath. ‘Were bad at this, Chanyeol. You know it.’

‘You’re learning it.’ Chanyeol doesn’t need further explanation to know you mean love - learning to love and live and crumble beneath the wait of yearning for another person. ‘Me? I’m great at loving you, and shit at it with anyone else.’

Unable to hold back any longer, your mouths come together in a kiss that makes your hands fist into his hoodie, pulling at his shoulder blades. Chanyeol hums into your mouth, slanting over your lips with a possessive growl, hard and deep as he runs his tongue over your bottom lip. Whimpering, you open for him, never truly able to deny him access to the things he craves most, always offering him more and more, satisfied only when you have your fill of one another.

It’s almost innocent the way he kisses you first with his soul and then with his mouth, tongue sliding against yours as a reminder that he means it - rough enough and powerful enough to make it clear he was not moving on, never wanting to move on, waiting for you three steps ahead. It’s not innocent, the way he moans into you, hands needy and fingers rough, pressing into your back to ground you, possess you, swallowing your breath and demanding you never leave again.

When you separate, his pupils are dilated, lips pink and swollen as he struggles to come down. The tips of your fingers starting to tingle, head empty and heart full.

‘Where do we go from here?’ he manages, the delicate hopefulness of his words much like crystal in a storm.

Closing your eyes, you let the burn of his optimism eclipse against your skin, illuminating the deep navy of the sky in a way the sun never could. It’s rare, you know, for people like you to have second chances - to kiss the sun twice and come away unharmed, wearing only your callous, self-inflicted wounds. It’s rare to be let in, and only now, watching Chanyeol breathe into the totality of his fear, do you realize you let him in long before you accepted that you did.

And with a smile, you reach up, cupping his cheek and feeling your blood race at the way he nuzzles into your touch. Sometimes, you think, it’s easy. Other times, it’s a torment. And that, you realize, is the only way to make a life.

‘How about we start with home?’

#chanyeol x reader #exosnet #kpopwonderlandtag #chanyeol angst #chanyeol fluff #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol romance #chanyeol fanfiction #exo au #chanyeol au #exo angst #exo fluff #exo romance #exo scenario #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #park chanyeol

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teffyjeffy · 4 years ago

Text

Fabric Tears (Part 1)

SKIP TO PART 2

SKIP TO PART 3

NEXT CHAPTER (Coming Soon to the Mystery Shack!)

ONCE UPON A TIME...

TABLE OF CONTENTS

It was a quiet night in Gravity Falls.

...okay, no it wasn't.

Owls were hooting, bats were shrieking, cults were chanting, the usual stuff.

Most of the townsfolk on the other hand were sound asleep, oblivious to the eerie noises surrounding them outside their living spaces. They took no notice of the gnomes scrounging for food. Of the black cats hissing a warning. Of the wind howling at the moon.

Because of this obliviousness, nobody noticed the pitter patter of a lone critter stumbling down the road, malnourished and shivering from the snow that stuck to it like soot. The critter scuffled down the streets blindly, letting out small ragged huffs of air. Eventually the critter had no strength left. It crawled its way to the nearest shelter it could find. Luck was on its side apparently, as there was a giant spot up ahead. It had lights that could keep the creature warm, and an overhead structure to keep it sheltered. But food... it needed food...

The animal's blurry senses could not pick up any source of food, so it moped along, hoping to at least find a good place to rest.

Then... it saw something in the distance... a large structure, lights shining all around it, inside and out. The obscured figure rushed over to find a way inside. But it's depleted strength made it impossible to find a way in. Feeling sleep overcome themself quickly, the creature huddled over to the softest thing it could feel, and huddled up against it for warmth. Oh... there was food too... it managed to get a few nibbles in before drifting to sleep

It would resume its hunt for other food tomorrow night...

GravityTale

Everybody at the Mystery Shack was dead.

Figuratively, of course.

The Mystery Shack was finally ready to open to the public. But as the last slab of wood was hammered into the ceiling of the gift shop, and the last exhibit burnt in the Tim incident was finally replaced, the whole crew came to a realization.

After all of that work, the last thing anybody wanted to do was spend the day dealing with the mad rush that always comes with the reopening of a popular store.

"All in favor of not opening the shack today, say aye," announced Wendy from her usual spot in the gift shop.

"Aye," replied human and monster alike, except for Sans, who was out cold.

And so that was that. Today was immediately established as a take-it-easy day.

It appeared that Mabel missed the memo.

"What do you mean 'No?'" she griped at Dipper, who was refusing to get out of bed to play with her.

"I mean the phrase that is usually uttered in order to express disagreement, disapproval, and a whole lot of other words that start with 'dis-' that I am way too tired to recite right now," mumbled Dipper in his bed. "And violently shaking my bed is not going to help you change my mind. So cut it out."

Mabel paced around the room, her hands up in exasperation. "It's a sunny winter wonderland outside, and you're telling me I'm the only one eager to get out there and enjoy it?!"

"That's precisely what I'm telling you," Dipper groaned in his pillow. "With all the stress of fixing the shack, and nothing around to fuel me but coffee and Pitt Cola that I'm tired of drinking, I feel like I'm at Death's door. Like, Death has a welcome mat out for me and everything. Maybe he's even making tea."

"Not with your current attitude he wouldn't," grumbled Mabel. "He'd just give you more coffee and Pitt Cola."

"Then let me sleep! The more you keep me awake, the more cranky I'll get from it!" argued Dipper.

But Mabel was quick to shoot back. "If I let you fall asleep now, you're just gonna wake up in the middle of the night while I'm asleep! That's no fun, Dipper! Stop being such a Mr. No-Fun!"

Dipper simply grumbled back at her. "Just drop it Mabel. I'm tired. I'm only getting out of this bed if a future-me teleports in here and demands that I do so."

A second went by. Two seconds. Three seconds. No time machines materialized in the kids' bedroom.

"I rest my case," said Dipper, before pulling the covers over his head. Any further attempts to get him out of bed were futile.

Mabel frowned. "The next time we have a snowball fight, your team is going to get an automatic penalty."

But Dipper was already fast asleep.

Mabel huffed, opening the door to exit the bedroom.

WHAM!

Only to collide right into Frisk.

The collision sent both kids to the ground, landing on their bottoms somewhat painfully.

"Owwwwww," Mabel muttered, before looking up and seeing who it was. "Oh! Hey Frisk!"

"Hi Mabel," greeted Frisk, rubbing their forehead as they stood back up with Mabel's help. "Sorry about that. I should have knocked..."

"Don't worry about it~! I've collided with Dipper's forehead so many times in my life, I barely feel a thing now!" she said while beaming with pride.

"That's... good I suppose," said Frisk with a gentle chuckle of embarrassment.

"So watcha up to?" asked Mabel, causing Frisk to stumble a second, still not used to how quickly Mabel could change subjects.

"I'm um... pretending to look for my dress-up cowboy lasso," said Frisk, looking back with a hint of annoyance towards the stars that lead down to the first floor. "Dad insists it must be somewhere in this shack, but I am almost certain that it was gone before my family and I entered the Mystery Shack for the first time."

"Huh," said Mabel, putting a hand to her chin and looking upwards at nothing. "Perhaps some gnomes snatched it while you weren't looking?"

"That seems very possible, albeit unlikely," said Frisk, ending the topic by tilting their head to see Dipper's slumbering figure and asking, "He still isn't up?"

"Nope," growled Mabel. "He's insistent that he won't change his mind later, either. Ugh, and I had a bunch of winter activities planned for today!"

"Well that's a shame," said Frisk. "But then again, when it came to maintaining order in the shack for the past couple of days, Dipper did do the most work out of all of us."

"Like what?" asked Mabel.

"Well..."

"Papyrus, what are you doing?! Spaghetti is not meant to be baked at that temperature! Grunkle Stan, where do we keep the fire extinguisher again?!"

"No Mettaton, I cannot listen to your historical life of glamour right now, I need to put out another fire in the museum! Now hand over the hose, and stop pouring it all over yourself! And while we're on the subject, how come you don't rust or short circuit by doing that?!"

"Undyne! It's a washing machine! It's not going to hurt you or anyone else, so just put the spear away! Wwwwwwhoawhoawhoa WHOA HEY DON'T AIM IT AT ME!!!"

"Napstablook, I appreciate it, but I don't think that you are capable of helping me move this piece of furniture. No no no don't cry! I wasn't trying to bring you down, I mean you're LITERALLY incapable of- oh! H-hey Mettaton! Hoo boy... you look like you're ready to kill me..."

"Yeeeeaaaaaahhhh I guess you're right," concluded Mabel.

"I really am sorry that my family can be a handful sometimes," said Frisk somewhat embarrassed.

"Nawwwwww it's alright! It's a lot of fun!" said Mabel, patting Frisk on the back.

"I am pleased you feel that way, but I have a feeling that Dipper would disagree with you," said Frisk in a joking manner.

"Well that's because he would rather suffer from his lack of energy instead of taking some time to drink some Mabel Juice. If he did, he would never complain about being too tired ever again!" countered Mabel, speaking as if she was a superhero addressing a nation.

Frisk laughed. "You know, you keep bringing that drink up. But for a drink that you're always talking about, I don't believe I have had a chance to try it."

Stars twinkled in Mabel's eyes. "Well then let's put a stop to that! TO THE KITCHEN!"

Before Frisk could agree or disagree, Mabel was pulling them down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Mabel pulled out a seat for Frisk, who calmly sat down. After that, Mabel darted for the fridge and cupboards, snatching an unidentifiable liquid, some ice cubes, and a whole lot of sugar. She didn't bother to shut any of the cupboards as she went over to grab a couple of measuring pitchers and measure out more sugar than actual liquid. After that, Mabel poured the sugar and juice into a giant mixing bowl and rushed off to hunt down the other ingredients. All the while, Mabel was eagerly explaining the process to Frisk.

It was during this excited chatter that Frisk observed Mabel open another cupboard and take out a box of... crayons?

"Ummmmmm," said Frisk.

"No interrupting!" hollered Mabel in an off-key sing songy voice, dumping the (yep, those were definitely) crayons into the mixture. "Never disrupt Master Juice Mixer Mabel when she is guiding her newest pupil through the process!"

"I um..." Frisk paused for a second before pushing through "I l-like my drinks without crayons. I er... I don't like the way they taste."

Mabel paused. After an awkward amount of time passed, she looked down at the now-empty box of crayons that was floating at the top of her brew. Her gaze eventually trailed down further, to spot the aforementioned crayons that had sunk to the bottom of the bowl. Frisk still did not know what made Mabel tick, but their guess was that Mabel would simply tell them that the recipe calls for food coloring. As such, Frisk was ready to give her some alternative solutions. Such as using normal food coloring.

So it was a little surprising for Frisk to see Mabel's smile become a concerned frown.

"...was I responsible for this?" asked Mabel.

"...I believe you were," replied Frisk awkwardly.

"That's.... pfft, yeah, those crayons are not supposed to be in there. Heh wow, how did I manage get so sidetracked...?" concluded Mabel, dumping the bowl and starting over, her face a little more pink than before.

Well that was... weird. Now the mood of the whole room felt... extremely awkward. It was the same uncomfortable atmosphere that Frisk experienced when they forgot to get hot dogs for Dipper and Monster Kid, during the Bike Romp Race...

Frisk concluded that desperate measures were necessary in order to bring the mood back into a state of normalcy.

It was time to unleash... the puns.

"It's fine Mabel. I'm sure the fruit juice will come out just fine, as long as you concentrate on doing your best~"

Mabel had to halt the process of making the drink just so she could keep a straight face. This sudden pun-attack could not go unpunished, of course. So she retaliated. Hard.

"Ha!" said Mabel, standing up in a pompous stance, her left hand on her hip and her right hand open and hovering a few centimetres in front of her mouth in mock laughter. "A stranger waltzes in and has the gall to coach me on how I concoct my signature drink? You clearly are not one of my staff! You mean to overthrow me! I Vitamin-C right through your pathetic scheme~!"

Frisk snorted. "Why no, what ever gave you that idea~? I beg of you to take a step back and recon-Cider my intentions!"

"How dare you!" reprimanded Mabel, giggles no longer able to be withheld. "I will hear no more from you! Cease this attack, or face Juicetice!"

"Okay! I sugarrender! I sugarrender!" hollered Frisk, holding their hands up in a mock-yielding before flopping down on the table in a fit of laughter, while Mabel was sprawled on the floor cackling.

"That's another swift and powerful victory for me!" said Mabel when she finally regained composure. "Just wait till I tell Undyne!"

"She'll be quite impressed, I'm sure," said Frisk, playfully. "Careful though, she might challenge you to a fight if you boast too much."

After a few minutes, the questionable drink was ready for serving. Mabel grabbed a few translucent mugs and poured out the Mabel Juice, allowing her own glass to have just a little more of the drink than Frisk's. Frisk thanked Mabel as she gave them their drink, despite how uneasy Frisk felt about the whole situation.

"You ready to give your body a giant wake up call?" said Mabel excitedly.

"No time like the present..." said Frisk nervously.

Frisk took a decent sip of the concoction while Mabel downed hers in just a couple of gulps.

"SO!!!" barked Mabel, slamming her fists on the table and almost spilling the startled Frisk's drink. "What do ya think? It's good, right?"

The lack of crayons definitely helped, thought Frisk.

"Very energizing," spoke Frisk.

Frisk felt that their answer was peasant enough, so they grew a little concerned when Mabel's response was with a slightly slacked jaw accompanied by absolute silence.

"M-Mabel? You oka-?"

"eeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!" screamed Mabel, leaping out of her seat and running around the kitchen. "FRISK LIKES MY DRINK!!! FRISK LIKES MY DRIIIIIIIINK!!!"

Frisk couldn't help but laugh at the spectacle before them. "I guess so!"

At that point, Stan decided to step in.

"Alright ya trouble makers, I'm gonna have to confiscate these for the time being," said Stanley, carefully yanking the drinks out of the kids' hands and returning them to the mixing bowl, which he put in the fridge. "You're gonna have to wait till tomorrow to finish the rest."

"Awwwwww why?" pouted Mabel.

"Because as we all have established, today is a take-it-easy day," explained Stan, before calling outside. "Right Soos?"

"That's right, Mr. Pines!" answered Soos with a thumbs up. "All dudes within the Mystery Shack are being subjected to a 24 hour stress free environment with no exceptions. I cannot stress this enough. Oh wait, heh, guess that defeats the purpose. Wow, this is harder than I thought..."

"You see?" said Stan, returning his focus to the kids. "You gotta understand, we've all had a giant string of eventful days. New faces, bedding arrangements, the Mystery Shack getting destroyed again, me training for a bike competition and winning it- you folks seeing the pattern here yet?" A single nod from both children was all the man needed. "We've all been running on adrenaline for a good long while now, and we're starting to feel the aftermath of it. So just this once, you're going to have to lower the energy, Mabel. Or at least the volume of it."

"C'monnnnnnnnnnn" guffawed Mabel, one hand giving a wrist flick while the other hand rested on Frisk's shoulder. "It's not like there's other folks here that are as anti-Mabel-Energy as Dipper is today."

It wasn't like she was lying. She saw energetic faces all around the place. Papyrus was as attentive as always, sitting in one of the four living room chairs (since Soos had finally gotten around to adding more seats to the shack from the storage room to accommodate for the monsters) and he seemed to be... knitting. Asgore didn't appear to be exhausted either; the only sigh he gave was one of contentment as he sat on the back porch couch and took in the scent of pine covered in snow. Napstablook was never capable of falling asleep, and as he fazed into the living room, he seemed to have a face that suggested that he felt lucky that ghosts never feel tired. Mettaton had just replenished his battery, so he could be heard loudly singing from the basement. Sans was snoring in the attic, but it's not like Mabel had to worry about waking him up. Stanford was studying in his lab, and it was located deep enough underground that no chaos on the surface floor could distract him, not unless the chaos was catastrophic. So honestly, where was the harm?

Stan shook his head with a slight frown. "I dunno about that, sweet cheeks," he said with a grumble, pointing to the gift shop.

Frisk followed Stan's gaze and scanned the gift shop as well. They then turned back to look at Mabel, their face emanating concern. "He's right, Mabel."

Now Mabel was curious. She peered over to the gift shop to see what kind of fuss was happening over there.

What she found were Toriel and Wendy, who appeared to be having a normal conversation. But Mabel was a dowsing rod when it came to cheerfulness. And boy oh boy were Toriel and Wendy devoid of it.

Toriel seemed especially distant. She still greeted anybody who passed by with a cordial "Hello," and she always gave nods and similar minuscule movements in response to whatever Wendy was talking about. But the Goat Mom's usual cheer and open personality was disturbingly lacking today.

Wendy, while not looking as troubled as Toriel seemed to be, appeared miserably drained. Her complexion was paler than usual, her hair wasn't as brushed, and the bags under her eyes looked heavier than... heavy stuff.

"Whoa," managed Mabel, looking back to Stan and Frisk.

"So yeah," said Stan, "Let's try to keep the noise down, eh kiddos? For their sake if not my own?" He added, ruffling Mabel's hair.

"Of course, Mr. Stanley," said Frisk with a nod of understanding, before adding a little more quietly, "Are Mabel and I still allowed to play?"

"Huh," said Stan with a huff. "Looks like someone's trying to find a loophole in my instructions."

Frisk blanched slightly. "Well sir I-"

"I like your style, kid. We'll make a shady businessperson out of you yet!" declared Stanley, hefting Frisk up to give them a noogie. Frisk, having grown accustomed to Undyne's noogies, found Stan's to actually be ticklish.

"Sure, go on and play! Knock yourselves out!" said Stan, setting a softly laughing Frisk back down in their seat. "This is considered a 'me day' after all!"

"Can it really be called a 'me day' when all of us are expected to relax today?" asked Mabel slyly. "Sounds more like an 'everyone day' to me!"

"Mabel, sweetie, I already have my snot nosed smart-alec of a brother criticizing me on my grammar. I don't need my bubbly grand niece chastising me on my word choices. Besides, calling it an 'everyone day' makes you sound like Karl Marx. And we all know what that lead to."

"I dunnooooo," said Mabel, looking off to the side and giving a comical shrug, which gave Frisk a small chuckle. "'Mabel Marx' has a nice ring to it~!"

"Yeah well so does 'Stanley Stalin,' but you don't see me changing my name to that, do ya?" countered Stanley.

"Good point," said Mabel with a nod, before walking up to Frisk, gripping their arm, and pulling them out of their seat. "Welp, I'mma go play with Frisk now! C'mon Frisk! Let's see what Undyne and Alphys are doing! I wanna tell them about my drink!"

"O-okay!" said Frisk, slightly startled but not putting up a fight as they were guided away from the kitchen. "S-see you later, Mr. Stanley!"

"Play nice now!" said Stanley. "Oh, and hey! It'd be best if you left my brother alone for the time being, alright?! He’s trying to coax some info out of that weirdo Tim, and I have a feeling it isn’t going so well! The runt chucked a globe at me just for startling him!"

"Got it!" Mabel hollered, while Frisk simply gave the man an 'OK' sign. Then they both darted off.

Under his breath, Stanley muttered, "That man really needs to cool his jets sometimes..."

"Is This Action Of Globe Throwing A Habit Of Yours?" asked the metal head of Tim. "If It Is, I Must Urge You To Drop This Habit As It Is Unhealthy To Maintaining Strong Relationships To Friends and Family."

"Argh!" groaned Stanford, pounding his hands on the desk in front of him and darting his head to glare at the talking scrap metal. "No, it is not a habit, and if you would stop freaking out every time I say 'proph-' ... I mean, every time I say that word, I may not feel so inclined to throw things! So why can't you just cooperate?!"

"Sir, This Is No Mere Bug That I Can Just Erase. It Is Elusive As Much As It Is Exclusive. But If It Makes You Feel Better, I Am Able To Bring Up Other Methods Of Destruction Without Being Overpowered By The Error That You Identify As 'Insanity.'"

"That's not going to help me much, Tim. But I suppose it gives you credibility. Alright fine, go ahead," said Stanford, tapping his foot impatiently.

"As You Wish," said Tim. "Storms. Solar Explosion. Volcanoes. Tidal Waves. War. Meteors-"

"Okay that's enough," said Stanford, holding up a finger to halt Tim's explanation. "You made your point."

"Perhaps We Should Save This Conversation For Another Time. Maybe Then, I Will Have Figured How To Delete This Malicious Program. Perhaps With A Proper Wipe Of My Memory Banks, I May-"

"No no no hold on. Your memory of this pro-... omen is important. I just need to find away to coax it out of you without triggering the bug."

Stanford took a long deep breath. "Now then. Let's start from the top again. A couple weeks back, my grand nephew presented me with this black journal that he found. At the end of the first page, it appears to speak of what seems like a proph- let me rephrase that-"

"Stop Thinking About Not Saying 'Prophecy.'"

"Tim, I'm not a helpless buffoon. I can keep myself from saying- wait, how come you have no problem saying 'prophecy?!' Oh shoot-"

"THE ANOMALY WILL DOOM ALL." shrieked Tim, eyes glowing red while sirens blared throughout the lab. "IF THE DOOR STAYS LOCKED, ALL IS LOST! LOST!! LOOOOOOOOSSSSST!!!"

"Sigh... Nice going, Stanford..." cussed the scientist to himself, reaching for his ray gun once again to shut the screaming contraption up.

Mabel was just finishing up explaining her drink, with Frisk alongside her, to Undyne and Alphys in the museum when the shack quivered for a second.

"Whoa, did you feel that Alphys?" said Undyne, standing up straight "Something caused the floor to violently rumble. Another attack? Would people get mad if I said I wanted that to happen?"

"Th-they probably wouldn't get mad at you Undyne," responded Alphys, having also felt the rumble. "B-but I reeeeaally hope we aren't getting attacked again. Stanley would s-surely make us leave if the shack were to be destroyed a second time. Especially after we had j-just finished fixing it."

"No worries, ladies!" chirped Mabel, "It's probably Grunkle Ford. Grunkle Stan said that he's been toying with Tim's head and that the results were leaving him um..."

"Frustrated?" tried Frisk.

"Yeah, frustrated!" said a smiling Mabel. "Grunkle Ford tends to get a little explosive-happy when he's frustrated. But only while working in his lab."

"Why is he trying to get information from the head of a murderous AI? Doesn't that sound a little counterproductive?" questioned Undyne with slight exasperation.

"Y-yes, it is quite improbable that Tim will be willing or able to t-tell us anything," said Alphys, her hands marginally fidgeting. "B-but unfortunately, Tim is the only lead we have to find out if this a-anomaly is simply a glitch in the AI's system or is actually a real-life threat."

"Hm. You have a fair point there babe," said Undyne, satisfied with Alphys's answer. "Well, if that anomaly exists, it better stop existing reeeeaaal soon, or it's gonna have to say hello to my fists! And then it'll immediately have to say goodbye to my fists! BECAUSE I WILL KILL IT! WITH MY FISTS! NNNNNNNGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"U-undyne, please lower your voice," said Alphys in nervous hushed tones. "Some of our friends are trying to n-nap."

"Pfft. Lower my voice? You know I can't just do that," said Undyne, folding her arms almost in a grumpy pout.

Mabel looked to Frisk. "I connect with this woman on a spiritual level."

Alphys fidgeted with her hands. "W-w-well then how about we go outside for a walk? O-or a run if you prefer? That way you can shout all you want without bothering anybody in the shack?" suggested Alphys, her own cheeks beginning to turn pink.

Frisk caught this and smirked at Undyne. "Undyne, I believe you are being asked out on a date~"

"M-maybe," timidly admitted Alphys, looking down to the ground, smiling despite her embarrassment.

Undyne blushed as well, her normally huge toothy grin shrinking down to a tiny nervous smile, almost cat-like. "No fair Alphys, you know I can't say no when it comes to going on a date with you..."

Alphys shyly chuckled. "It's my ultimate t-trap card."

"Oooh, maybe we'll encounter the anomaly while we're outside!" said Undyne to Alphys, the former's fists clenching in excitement. "And then you can watch me bash its skull in!"

"I fear for the survival of the anomaly's skull," said Frisk, making Mabel giggle.

"W-well if we stumble across it, I'll leave it to you, Undyne" said Alphys, a smile on her face.

"Shall we?" said Undyne, extending her hand with a grin.

"S-sure," said Alphys, taking Undyne's hand bashfully.

Without warning, Undyne flung Alphys onto her shoulders, and they charged out of the exhibit room and out the front door.

"Are they always like this?" asked Mabel to Frisk. "Please tell me the answer is yes."

"The answer is yes," confirmed Frisk, their classic stoic expression never leaving them.

"I have no idea if you are being sincere or just parroting what I said," said Mabel bluntly.

"And thus, I have created the one mystery that shall never ever be solved by either of the Pines Twins," said Frisk, a tiny smirk showing on their face.

"If Dipper was here, he would smack you for that remark," teased Mabel.

"He can try~" said Frisk, the smirk becoming a smile.

Papyrus had just finished putting his knitting needles and scarf away in the small lamp cabinet next to him in order to take a quick break, when he noticed a very peculiar occurrence happening right in front of him.

Toriel had unplugged the television from the wall and was getting ready to pick it up from the floor.

"UM, QUEEN TORIEL?" said Papyrus, cocking his head. "MIGHT I ASK WHAT YOU ARE DOING?"

"What I am doing is none of your concern. And please stop calling me 'Queen' Toriel," said Toriel, in a very harsh, un-Toriel-like tone.

"THE WEIGHT OF THAT TELEVISION SEEMS TO BE AGGRAVATING YOU, MISS TORIEL," incorrectly deduced Papyrus. "NOT TO FEAR, FOR I AM TRAINED IN THE ARTS OF LIFTING TV'S! GENTLY SETTING THEM DOWN, ON THE OTHER HAND, TENDS TO BE MESSY. BECAUSE MY ARMS FALL OFF."

Toriel's took in a very strained inhale of breath, before she released her tension with a deep sigh. "I do not need any help lifting this television, thank you Papyrus. But if you would be so kind as to not look into this matter any further, I would greatly appreciate it."

"OF COURSE, MADAM!" bellowed Papyrus with a hearty salute. The salute then slowly descended as Papyrus's face expressed confusion. "UM... WHAT MATTER ARE WE EVEN TALKING ABOUT?"

"Nothing Papyrus, nothing," said Toriel with a half hearted chuckle as she resumed carrying the heavy television out of the living room.

Mabel and Frisk tiptoed through the gift shop, not wanting to bother a cranky Wendy who was venting to Napstabook. The ghost was, to his credit, listening very attentively.

"Then Undyne says that I should look them all in the eye and yell 'If any of you have a problem with that, I'll suplex you into a mountain!' Which, I mean, I appreciate her willing to help, but nothing she ever suggests to me is a good idea when put into practice. It's frustrating, you know?"

"I'm sorry to hear that................" mumbled Napstablook sincerely. "I would offer you my own advice, but I'm sure you'll only find it worse than Undyne's...................."

"Napstablook, you absolute sugarcube, all I need is your listening ear right now."

"I technically don't have ears......................"

As soon as Mabel had both of her feet on the living room carpet, she bounded right up to the still-confused Papyrus.

"Hey there Pappy Man!" said Mabel, using her inside voice but vigorously waving hello to make up for it.

"HM?" said Papyrus, Mabel's greeting shaking him out of his stupor. "OH! GREETINGS, MABEL! HAVE YOU ALSO COME TO TAKE A PIECE OF FURNITURE? IF SO, I WILL GLADLY HELP YOU CARRY IT!"

It took a second for the baffled Mabel to realize the TV was missing. "Huh. I was wondering why this room seemed a little roomier than usual..."

"We do not require any furniture, thank you Papyrus," said Frisk, having caught up to Mabel. "May we ask who it was that took the television?"

"I WOULD LOVE TO!" exclaimed Papyrus. "HOWEVER, I WAS ASKED TO NOT LOOK ANY FURTHER INTO THE MATTER!"

"Oh..." said Frisk, hiding their disappointment. "And... who asked you to not do that? Is it somebody we know?"

"OH YES, IT IS SOMEONE YOU KNOW VERY WELL!" said Papyrus with a single solid nod.

"So, not a burglar then?" said Mabel, almost bummed out that there wouldn't be an opportunity to chase a robber down the streets of Gravity Falls. On her list of things to do when she was the only energetic person in the room, chasing a robber was number four. Numbers three, two, and one were classified.

"CORRECT, HUMAN MABEL! MISS TORIEL IS MANY THINGS, BUT A BURGLAR IS NOT ONE OF THOSE THINGS," said Papyrus proudly, before realizing his mistake two seconds later. "NYOO HOO HOO!!! I PROMISED HER I WOULD NOT LOOK FURTHER INTO THE MATTER, BUT I CANNOT HELP IT! WHAT IS SHE PLANNING TO USE THE TELEVISION FOR?!"

"Mother took the TV?" said Frisk, perplexed by the answer inadvertently given to them by Papyrus. "But why would-"

Frisk's eyebrows rose up in sudden understanding, and they went uncomfortably silent for a few seconds, much to the curiosity of Mabel, and Papyrus to a lesser extent.

"Thank you Papyrus. I appreciate your honesty," said Frisk, ending the subject before anybody could say anything. Just as quickly, Frisk started up a new conversation, having now noticed the knitting needles poking out of the lamp cabinet. "Papyrus, are you knitting something?"

Papyrus beamed, all too eager to talk about what he was currently working on. He opened the lamp cabinet to bring the needles and scarf out and showcase them to the two kids. "INDEED I AM, HUMAN! MISS TORIEL HAD BROUGHT THE IDEA UP TO ME AFTER TASTING MY LATEST (AND DARE I SAY GREATEST) SPAGHETTI DISH! I'M SUPPOSING SHE BELIEVED THAT I HAD ACHIEVED THE MAXIMUM LEVEL OF CULINARY PERFECTION, BECAUSE SHE WAS VERY INSISTENT THAT I PERHAPS MOVE ON TO A NEW HOBBY!"

The kids were pretty certain that Toriel's reasons for doing this were different than from what Papyrus believed them to be.

"SO I DECIDED THAT IF I HAD MASTERED SPAGHETTI AS AN EDIBLE DISH, PERHAPS I COULD MASTER THE ART OF SPAGHETTI THROUGH A DIFFERENT CREATIVE OUTLET!"

Frisk and Mabel realized that the primary colors of the scarf that Papyrus was knitting were faded orange and vibrant red.

"You're making a scarf that looks like spaghetti?!" asked Mabel, her eyes brimming with total awe.

"YOU GOT IT!" said Papyrus excitedly. "I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL REVOLUTIONIZE THE FASHION INDUSTRY WITH MY AMAZING SPAGHETTI SCARF!!!"

"Ooh! OOH!" said a bouncing Mabel, a super awesome amazing idea spawning in her head. "Can you knit Teddy bears?! Do you charge for them? What do you require? I'll give you the money from my Brother's secret stash! I'll give you every single one of my friendship wristbands! I'll give you the schematics for the Human Sized Hamster Ball." pleaded Mabel, getting right up to Papyrus's ear-socket to intensely whisper the last part.

"OF COURSE I CAN KNIT TEDDY BEARS, LITTLE MABEL! UNFORTUNATELY I HAVE YET TO MAKE ONE THAT IS RECOGNIZED AS A TEDDY BEAR BY EVERYBODY ELSE. THEY USUALLY MISTAKE THEM FOR OTHER OBJECTS. LIKE A PILE OF LEAVES, FOR EXAMPLE. OR A SMASHED CAKE. OR TRAMPLED FLOWERS. SANS ONCE MISTOOK ONE OF MY KNITTED TEDDY BEARS FOR THIS VERY PECULIAR RESIDUE THAT SPAWNS WHEN A HUMAN 'DRINKS' TOO MUCH... BUT HE ASSURED ME THAT HIS EYES WERE STILL BLURRY FROM JUST WAKING UP AND THAT HE WAS CERTAIN THAT IT WOULD LOOK A LOT BETTER IF HE WAS FULLY AWAKE. WHICH IS WEIRD BECAUSE HE MOST CERTAINLY HAS NO EYES... WHICH LEADS ME TO BELIEVE THAT HE WAS LYING TO ME... WHY WOULD HE FEEL THE NEED TO LIE ABOUT HIS OPINION OF ONE'S ART? ISN'T ART SUPPOSED TO BE OPEN TO THE VIEWER'S INTERPRETATION? THAT'S WHAT UNDYNE TOLD ME ONCE, AFTER SHE HAD ALMOST SET ONE OF FRISK'S DRAWINGS ON FIRE BECAUSE THEY MADE HER FACE LOOK SILLY..."

"Did Undyne really try to do that?" asked Mabel to Frisk, in surprise.

"She did try," confirmed Frisk, with a stoic-faced nod. "She failed though. She left my drawing alone. She used to tell me it was because she wanted to come up with a better punishment for the drawing. But quite recently, she admitted that she caught a glimpse of how upset I was and decided not to go through with torching the drawing I made."

"Can I see the drawing?" asked Mabel sweetly.

"No," answered Frisk, maintaining their emotionless expression flawlessly. "Undyne's face is too weird. You may develop the urge to light my drawing on fire."

"Nawwwwwwww, no I wouldn't!" said Mabel, jokingly rolling her eyes as she smiled brightly. "I'd put it in my scrapbook!"

"I cannot risk it," said Frisk, clearly joking.

"You cannot hide from Mabel Piiiiiines! No secret is safe from herrrrrrrr! She knows all, and whatever she doesn't know about, she leaaarrrnnns aboooooouuuuut!" said Mabel, moaning and wiggling her outstretched hands like a cliche ghost from any old Saturday morning cartoon.

"That sounds like a massive invasion of privacy," pointed out Frisk.

"No secret is saaaaaaaaafffeeeeee~!" wailed Mabel, completely ignoring Frisk.

"ACTUALLY, WHILE WE ARE STILL ON THE TOPIC OF TEDDY BEARS," chirped up Papyrus, "I BELIEVE THAT THE LAST TIME I SAW KING ASGORE, HE WAS HOLDING WHAT LOOKED LIKE A TEDDY BEAR IN HIS HANDS. HE DIDN'T LOOK TOO EXCITED ABOUT IT THOUGH... PERHAPS HE HAS FORGOTTEN WHAT A TEDDY BEAR LOOKS LIKE?"

"Well then perhaps we shall visit him next?" Frisk asked Mabel.

"Well duh! Of course we are!" said the very excited Mabel, taking Frisk's arm. "Have fun with the knitting, Papyrus!"

"WILL DO!" hollered Papyrus, waving enthusiastically as Mabel and Frisk made their way to the back porch to meet up with Asgore.

Asgore wouldn't say that the object in his hands disturbed him, but he would not say that it didn't unsettle him either.

The Teddy bear that he currently hand in his hands had seen better days. Its dark plum fur was damp from snow and crusty from dirt. There was also a substantial amount of stuffing that was missing from it, but no matter how hard Asgore investigated, he could not find a single tear in the stuffed animal's stitching.

"Strange..." muttered Asgore, for perhaps the fifth time since discovering the stuffed toy curled up next to the tattered couch.

Did it belong to Mabel? Asgore wanted to say yes, but then again, Mabel was a girl who treated stuffed animals like her own children, surely she would not let a Teddy bear become so void of stuffing. And she had a knack for keeping track of her items. If this bear belonged to her, it never would have ended up abandoned outside in the first place...

Maybe the lack of stuffing meant it belonged to Undyne? No, of course not, don't be silly Asgore. Undyne was ferocious, yes, but she is not one to use her own stuffed animal for training practice. And if she did, the Teddy bear would be in tatters...

Maybe Frisk? No, once again. Of the many toys that they had brought up to the surface after their journey in the underground, a Teddy bear was never in Frisk's box. And besides, Frisk is as kind to stuffed animals as Mabel is.

Asgore continued to list off possible owners of the strange toy, and all of them resulted in a no. He was so preoccupied with figuring out this mystery that he never saw Mabel sneaking up on him to scare him. Or so she thought.

Instead, Asgore startled her by jerking his head in her direction, a joyful smile on his face.

"Why howdy Mabel! Trying to give this old soul a scare, are you? I apologize, it will take more than that to catch me by surprise."

"Awwwwww man! Why do you have to be so cool, Goat Dad?!" complimented a pouting Mabel.

Asgore responded with a boisterous laugh, reaching out to scratch Mabel's head with a big warm fluffy paw. "I don't know if I see myself as 'cool'. Just 'prepared.'"

"What are you doing out here, Dad?" asked Frisk, joining Mabel. "I find you sitting on this couch more often than I find you inside. Aren't you cold?"

"Not at all, child!" laughed Asgore. "Winter on the surface is a wonderland compared to the underground. As for what I am currently doing out here..."

Then Asgore held up the malnourished looking Teddy bear for the children to see.

"I found this small toy nestled up next to the couch. I have no idea where it came from or who it may belong to. Would either of you have an idea?"

Frisk took the stuffed animal to inspect it more thoroughly. As they did so, a frown slowly developed on their face.

"There's something about this bear that I don't like..." commented Frisk.

Mabel peaked behind Frisk's shoulders, since Frisk appeared to be too focused on the item to hand it over to her. As she inspected it, her expression turned quizzical.

"It's probably because this poor Teddy is absolutely filthy!" remarked Mabel. "He needs a bath, pronto!"

"Well yes, but that's not what I meant-" Frisk attempted to interject, but the blink of an eye, the Teddy bear was gone from their hands and into Mabel's hands.

"Just look at the poor guy!” said Mabel. “He looks miserable!"

"Are you sure that it's the dirt that's making the Teddy bear look miserable, and not the facial thread itself?" replied Frisk after a few seconds of silence.

They weren't far off. Looking at the toy's face, the stitches and threads definitely gave the Teddy bear a forlorn expression.

"Okay so maybe the designer of this bear hated their job and wanted to let the whole world know," said Mabel, rolling her eyes. "But a clean bear is a happy bear, even if their stitched face does not reflect it!"

"Let her wash the bear Frisk," kindly advised Asgore. "It's best that we have it nice and clean in case its owner shows up to the shack looking for it."

Frisk pouted for a second before conceding with a nod of their head. "Yes Dad."

"Very good," beamed Asgore. He ended the issue by patting Frisk on the head, which managed to coax a smile out of the young ambassador.

"Great! Meet you at the laundry room!" squealed Mabel, darting back inside the house with bear in hand, not feeling the need to drag Frisk with her this time.

This gave Frisk a chance to get up on the couch and sit next to their father. They looked up at him, their stoic expression showing a hint of concern.

"Um... Dad? Mother hasn’t been looking too well..."

"I know, Frisk," said Asgore, his voice low and somber. "As much as it hurts though, we need to leave her be. It's what she wants."

"But is she like this every year? Isn’t that unhealthy for her?" asked Frisk with growing concern.

Asgore gave a long sigh, sinking into the couch despite his sitting position remaining rigid. "That is probably the case, my child. But you know how bad I am at making the right call when it comes to those who are in distress.”

Frisk looked down, not knowing how to reply to that. Instead, they slumped off of the couch, walking over to the back door leading back inside the shack. They turned to Asgore, looking ready to say one last thing, but debating whether or not it will have any effect. Finally, they spoke.

"Then I will."

And they opened the door and walked back inside.

The king let out a downtrodden sigh, unaware of the miniature hole in the side of the couch that appeared to have been bitten into recently.

"And those are the steps involved!" finished Mabel.

"My my! Such a complex system~! Even though I'm sure I could come up with a much better one~ Alas, you beat me to the punch~ I envy you, little Mabel~! " Mabel had decided to chat with Mettaton, who was in his EX model, while waiting for the loud drying machine to finish drying off the Teddy bear. The discussion had started with Mabel's plans for fixing the Teddy bear, and eventually evolved into discussing an interesting monster from the Underground, named Woshua.

"So wait," said Mabel, "The reason you guys didn't have washing machines in the underground was because you had somebody who was basically their own washing machine? That's wild!"

"Indeed!" confirmed the charming robot. "He was not a fan of it though. At first, the poor fellow was very cross with being one of the very few sources of cleanliness in the underground. And even though they loved to clean, and eventually grew used to their new role in the underground, it was only a matter of time before they began to grow tired of it. Burnout is never to be taken lightly, darling. Remember that~"

"Oh believe me, I'm aware," said Mabel with a wearied huff of laughter. "I've been trying to teach my brother that lesson for the last five years. Actually, for the last forever."

"Oh yes~ The boy gags at the mere thought of taking a break," chuckled Mettaton, before deciding to change the subject. "So, you said that Asgore found this beaten up stuffed toy next to the couch outside? And nobody has seen it prior to today? Sounds like the perfect premise for a B-list horror flick~"

"You mean a flick where the animation is stop-motion and the monsters are made of clay?"

"Well I wouldn't stoop to such shallow effects if I was directing that kind of movie. But yes~"

"Would I be the leading costume designer?!"

"You would splatter bright and loud colors on every single costume, for every single lead and ensemble member, and completely ruin the common color palette of horror movies," said Mettaton. "Of course you would be my leading costume designer~" he added with a smile of delight.

Just then, the dryer emitted a small *ding!* and the machine grew silent.

"Allow me~" said Mettaton, extending his arms to fetch the toy from the dryer without ever having to shift from where he was standing, eyes closed and a glamorous smirk donning his face, like he just finished juggling ten knives flawlessly.

Mabel giggled, rolling her eyes in a teasing manner, and took the bear from the proud robot's hand. "If I could be as glamorous as you are, I don't think my body would be able to handle it. My spirit would break free from this physical vessel and ascend to Glamour Heaven."

"Of course it would! Which is why I, a ghost in the vessel of a robot, am the only one capable of reaching such heights! Although... doing so would mean losing contact with my friends and family, so... I'm going to hold off on that for a while."

"Awwww that's really sweet of you to think of them!" said Mabel, squeezing her bear and swinging it from side to side while keeping it close to her chest.

"Thank you Mabel," said Mettaton, giving the young girl the most genuine smile she had ever seen from him.

Mabel beamed back, and lifted the bear to give it a proper look now that it had been cleaned.

Except for the sullen expression that remained on the toy's face, the bear looked much better. Its fur was radiant and smooth, and its cute beady eyes almost shined. The bear was still somewhat raggedy due to its lack of stuffing, but Mabel decided that she would address that on a later date. Knitting was one thing, but sewing a bear back up was a different beast. A beast she could easily vanquish, but the only weapon in her current arsenal that could slay the beast with was the Mystery Shack's old sewing machine. And that thing was loud. And given the typical luck of the twins, it was probably haunted too.

"I hope this new companion of yours does not spark envy from your pet pig," joked Mettaton, bringing Mabel back to reality.

"Naaah, Waddles is very understanding! Besides, he's lately been very occupied by playing around with Frisk's dog."

"Frisk doesn't own a dog though..."

Suddenly the door for the washing machine burst open, revealing a pig and a Samoyed dog, both sopping wet and smiling. They leaped out of the device, shook themselves clean, yipped and oinked with supposed satisfaction, and trotted out of the laundry room.

"Oh!" exclaimed Mettaton in understanding. "That dog!"

"Yeah, that's the fluff-ruff that I was talking about!" said Mabel, not appearing to be phased by the fact that both the puppy and Waddles managed to get inside an active washing machine and survive. She did know however that there was no collar around the puppy's neck.

"Yeah, he's a curious fellow," admitted Mettaton. "I don't think anybody I know has ownership of that particular puppy. Actually, he has this look in his eyes, like he believes he owns us."

"What, you think we are dealing with a possible puppy dog uprising?!" said Mabel, seeming more excited by the idea than intimidated by it.

"That would be headline-worthy indeed~ Don't let your guard down, my little maple leaf~" joked Mettaton, using the nickname that he had established for Mabel.

"Oh stop," replied Mabel, playfully elbowing Mettaton's leg, since that was as high as her elbow could reach.

"I should probably get going," continued Mabel. "Don't wish to keep you from your singing! Sounds great by the way! The next time I host a karaoke night, remind me to invite you!"

"No need to invite me! I am more than happy to crash your party~" proudly proclaimed Mettaton, which Mabel guessed was his way of expressing gratitude for being invited. "Now run along, darling~!"

When Frisk found Mabel again, it was in the parlor room. She was in a rocking chair, rocking back and forth excitedly, her arms extended forward and wiggling the bear in her hands.

"And I’m gonna call you Mr. SnuggleLots, and you'll be the honorary guest at my next tea party, and I'll introduce you to Waddles, ooh, OOH! And also I'm gonna find a way to get more stuffing for you so you can be all plushy again!! GO ME!!!"

"Hello again, Mabel," greeted Frisk.

"Frisk!" exclaimed an excited Mabel, her face lighting up when she saw them. She sprung out of the rocking chair, shoving the Teddy bear into Frisk's field of vision so it was the only thing that they could see. "Look at this sparkling clean little cub! Isn't he the cuuuuuuutest thing ever!?"

"I admit that he looks a little better now that he is clean," admitted Frisk, "but I'm still unnerved by how abandoned he looks."

"One step at a time, Frisko," soothed Mabel, patting Frisk on their shoulder. "I am going to put Mr. SnuggleLots through Mabel's Rehabiliteddy Program™!"

"Mabel's Rehabiliteddy Program™?" repeated Frisk, subconsciously surprised by their own curiosity. "What is that?"

"A list of steps I've made for abandoned Teddy bears that I find. I would have told you about this earlier if you joined me in the laundry room, but it's okay; I'm telling you now!"

"So what are the daily steps?"

"Day one is washing the bear. Day two is feeding the bear. Day three is a tea party for the bear. For Mr. SnuggleLots, I may need to add a fourth day for emergency surgery to take care of his unsatisfactory level of stuffing."

"Or to locate the owner of the bear," responded Frisk.

Hearing that, a thought crossed Mabel's mind.

"Yeah, but, here's the thing," said Mabel, beginning to lightly pace in a circle, "What if this bear has no owner?"

"What gave you that idea, Mabel?" asked Frisk, tilting their head and raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Mettaton and I encountered the white dog again. You know, the one that I saw in the cave full of ice crystals? Ooo that reminds me I still want to make a charm necklace with the crystal that you gave me BUT ANYWAY-! That dog? He had no owner!"

"So you believe we are dealing with a stray Teddy bear?" deduced Frisk, having followed Mabel's line of thinking after deciding that explaining the difference between stuffed animals and pets to her would be futile.

"I'm not saying we are," corrected Mabel, lightly poking Frisk in the center of their chest. "But I'm saying we could be."

"I see," said Frisk.

"So, if need be, day five will be dedicated to finding a home for this little tyke if we can't locate his original owner!" concluded Mabel, squishing the bear one more time before setting it down on the rocking chair. It said in a sitting position for a few seconds before the insufficient amount of stuffing caused it to slump over. "Day four will definitely be for stuffing him up again though."

"That sounds like a plan," concurred Frisk. "I have one more question though."

"Ask away!" said Mabel, folding her arms and taking a proud stance.

"Is there any downside to doing more than one step on the same day?" proposed Frisk.

"Not really..." said Mabel, beginning to gently pace in a circle as she contemplated Frisk's question. "It depends on how the bear is feeling. I can just tell from the fur and the face if they wish to speed up the process or not. But for Mr. SnuggleLots..." she glances to the slouched form of the thin bear, "I believe taking our time is crucial. As much as I don't wish to spread it out, it is better in the long run. Malnourished creatures can easily get sick if you try to take care of them all at once."

"You learned that from Dipper, didn't you?" said Frisk with a knowing smirk.

Mabel blushed slightly. "Yeah..." she admitted, "...but I'm the one who puts his knowledge to good use!" she added, regaining her honor.

"Well that's good," said Frisk, the smirk becoming a smile. Then they walked over to the bear and picked it up. "We should probably get this guy to our bedroom."

The rest of the day went by relatively quickly. Frisk and Mabel enjoyed dinner with the rest of the crew, though Dipper was absent, and Sans as well, strangely. All the while, Mr. SnuggleLots was sitting pretty and piper atop the nightstand that separated Dipper's bed from Mabel's. When Frisk and Mabel returned to the bedroom, Dipper was still fast asleep.

"Wanna draw a mustache on him???" asked Mabel with a devilish grin.

"It's best we don't test him," said Frisk, before adding with a sly smirk "Another time perhaps~"

Mabel giggled once more before stifling a yawn. "Goodnight Frisk."

"Goodnight Mabel," replied Frisk, sleeping into their sleeping bag.

Then the lights went off.

Just as Mabel suspected, the middle of the night had Dipper suddenly turning in his bed. But it wasn't because of how royally messed up his atomic clock was.

It was in fact because his face was being blasted with hot air that smelled like dog breath.

“mmmmf… mmmno… no I don’t need anymore candy… mm? chocolate taffy? Mmmmmy favorrriiiite…"

Then there was an audible "huff" and Dipper was wide awake.

"Wha...?"

And there, atop of Dipper's chest, face hovering over his...

Was a plum furred, hungry bear. One that was very much alive. And Drooling.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"

PART 2

SKIP TO PART 3

NEXT CHAPTER (Coming Soon to the Mystery Shack!)

ONCE UPON A TIME...

TABLE OF CONTENTS

#gravitytale #gravity falls #undertale #underfalls #surprise!#I forgot I used to post these to tumblr in parts #and I definitely thought this was enough for a part one #hope you enjoyed!

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anxiouslowercase · 4 years ago

Text

sweet escape

fandom: dc comics warning: none? just young adults heavily making out at some point. also it’s 5k summary: it's not that Cassie needs to get away from her friends per se, but if the opportunity presents itself for her to sneak out and meet the guy she's heavily falling for... well, she's going to take it. After all, it's not every day they casually coincide under the same roof at the exact same time - better make the best of it while she can. notes: everyone is of age (they’re in their twenties.) jay and cassie are not a couple, but rather kinda testing the waters and seeing what happens. yes we do love rarepairs in this house. and as always, massive thank you to @achinghcarts for being the best beta <3 ao3 link

Cassie fidgets with the phone in her hands, glancing at the time and, most importantly, at the notification bar atop the screen. It has been flicking alive repeatedly in the last hour or so, her messaging app the sole responsible of it. Not that this is something particularly unpleasant; oh no, on the contrary. Though linked to her rather restless state, the back-and-forth of texts in which she's been participating has done nothing but send occasional tickles to her stomach and put a dumb smile on her face that she's been doing her best to bite down. Which, yes it is kind of unbecoming because she's not fifteen anymore, but at the same time, how could something that makes her so giddy be something bad?

So no, it's not that she wanted that to stop. If anything, she just wanted things to escalate in some way, which in this particular case meant actually seeing the person she kept trying to flirt with via text. (Though whether such flirting was in any way successful is something Cassie cannot tell for sure yet - as much as she'd like to.) And one would think that, considering right now they are both under the same (enormous) roof, that wouldn't exactly be a problem - yet as she glances up at the three loud boys yelling at each other over who was very clearly cheating at Mario Kart, she can't be all that sure.

Though, of course, she can always try.

"Hey, Tim?" There's a sound quite similar to a hum or a grunt, and the girl figures that's an acknowledgement of sorts. "I'm gonna go get some water, I'll be right back."

"Bathroom's not that bad," Bart interjects quickly yet casually, eyes still trained to the screen in front of him.

"Y-yeah, but," she stands up from the bed, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. "I could use some ice cubes."

"If you're not back in forty minutes we'll send a search party." She resists the urge to smack the robin's head in passing, deciding instead to stealthy leave the room, conjuring up the most casual air to her step.

It all changes when she's in the hallway.

It's hard to say if nervous is the right word to describe her feelings. Her breath has picked up a small notch, and the steps she takes along the corridor are a bit unsure, but they do remain consistent; she is moving forward with this. The thing is, though, that Cassandra Sandsmark has never been exactly smooth, so it honestly beats her what is the best possible way to tell your boyfriend-that-is-not-boyfriend that you have ditched your friends to see him for a bit without exactly sounding desperate. Cause that she knows she isn't. Even if she actually chose her clothes carefully and tried to put a bit of make up on and definitely attempted to tame her curls before showing up at Wayne Manor today - that doesn't have to mean she's desperate.

Right?

No, of course not. Which is why she also can't just ask the guy to show up and meet her. It has to be a bit more casual than that, more natural - like yes she wants to see him but also no, she wouldn't just impose herself on him. Plus, Cissie always said you had to let boys believe they were the ones constantly scheming, that they were the ones in control. So he should believe he wanted her. She turns down another random corridor, her head too occupied in its thoughts to properly identify it. Maybe casually show up somewhere he could be? Pass by, expect him to notice her? Then maybe he'd think he is luring her away and--

Oh, who's she kidding - this is ridiculous.

Jason is not some boy, and they're not playing any kind of games with each other; they promised that much, for crying out loud! She is being not just desperate but also a freaking idiot for having left her friends when at no point there was any indication that the guy who isn't even her boyfriend, by the way, wanted to be with her now besides the flirty remarks that, frankly, she couldn't even guarantee were all that because she is the most incompetent flirt who's ever been on this Earth. And that's definitely counting Bart. And Tim. Hera, her aunt Aphrodite is probably ashamed.

And if that weren't enough, now she's Hermes knows where in freaking Wayne Manor, with no idea where Tim's room is, feeling too mortified and embarrassed to let her friends know. Which of course just means she's gonna have to keep wandering along the hallways, hoping that--

"Hey, Goldie." She barely manages to stop herself before awkwardly bumping into something that is very much not a wall. "Come here often?"

Hera, if you can hear her, please don't let Kon be monitoring her heartbeat right now. Because right there, in all his handsome glory, stands Jason Todd and, honestly, his smirk is doing things to her. Things as in almost sending her into cardiac arrest because she was very much caught off guard, or completely knocking the breath out of her. Oh, and let's not forget the already getting old leaving her totally speechless kind of thing. So yes, Cassie is not alright and therefore does not need her friends to be aware of such thing at any point soon. What she does need, however, is to say something, because as attractive as the man's smile is, there's only so much he'll make it last before surely look at her gaping self weird. So she takes a breath and-

"Hey," is the only thing she manages to croak out. Literally, the only one before her mind goes completely blank once again. Talk about appealing and attractive, huh? And here she'd thought her texts had been a failure.

Surprisingly though, either due to an altered state of mind, or because he got some kind of kick of seeing her struggle with the most basic functions, Jason does not leave or even look displeased. Instead, he reduces even further the distance between them, one of his hands coming to rest against the wall next to her head with an air of casualness that Cassie wouldn't have been able to emulate even in her best days. Heat creeps up her ears.

"Hey," he repeats, as if she hadn't made a fool of herself. "Looking for something?"

You. All my life, maybe, somehow.

"Uhm. Maybe?" Okay. Alright, that wasn't that bad, right? Could've been much worse, really.

He seems to think something similar, if the smirk turning wider on his lips is anything to go by. Lips that she could've sworn she was not staring at, honestly, but by Hera, now that she's looking into his eyes again, is he... Is he closer?

"Did you find it?" No, yeah, she's definitely trapped against the wall now, suffocating warmth spreading all over her face and heart hammering against her ribcage so bad it almost hurts. And yet she can't find it in her to move an inch; on the contrary, there's definitely a part of her that wants the distance between them to be even smaller. Or not to exist at all, that works too.

"M-maybe..." Her voice is barely over a whisper, and it's a pathetic display of self control, but honestly right now Cassie's only thoughts are about how she's sure she can feel Jason's fingertips almost brushing at her waist and Holy Hera why won't he just grab her already?

"Cool." His voice is low, the vibrations of it crashing against the skin on her neck, mixing with his breath and sending a pleasurable shiver down her spine. Her eyes flutter, and she almost unconsciously tilts her head to the side, inviting him to go ahead and kiss her, nibble, mark her.

... Okay, maybe that was a bit too much. Maybe she actually is a bit desperate. Especially considering they're in the middle of a hallway in freaking Batman's house and anyone could walk past any minute and this could be so embarrassing and why can't she find it in her to care about any of that right now?

Fingers brush gently against her knuckles, and it's only then that she notices not only how tight they were closed, but also how they were somehow gripping almost viciously at Jason's shirt. Oh Hera.

Her fist unclenches immediately, as if she had been holding something hot, yet as she brings her hand to cradle it at her chest she's well aware that she is the one burning in embarrassment. Even without any way to see herself, Cassie just knows that her whole face is crimson red, and her heart is again beating furiously, drumming deafeningly in her ears (or had it never actually stopped?) Her breath also feels a bit ragged, but shamefully enough she can't exactly tell from what that comes.

"S-sorry, I..." She closes her eyes for a second, swallowing and taking a deep breath to kind of put herself together because, honestly, she doubts she's helping her case and making a good impression right now.

But surprising her yet again, Jason does not make fun of her obvious eagerness, nor does he push her away. Instead, he gently looks for her restrained hand and just takes it, holding it for barely a second before softly lace their fingers together. It does not help her sudden inability to think clearly, let alone talk. Things don't necessarily improve when he presses that hand against the wall - some of her thoughts do seem to return, but not exactly the ones she could voice in some random hallway.

"So, what's your alibi? How much time you have?"

"Uh... Ice cubes," she replies after a second, closing her eyes to try and clear her head a bit - those of the Red Hood were not to be underestimated. Thugs really don't know how lucky they are not to have to see them each night. Or maybe she is the lucky one, despite her obvious helplessness? "Tim said half an hour. Before they send the search party." He snorts.

"That little shit." Cassie blinks a couple of times, brow furrowed ever so slightly in confusion - how was that a problem? Isn't half an hour plenty of time? What are they doing anyways?

Jason looks back at her, a slightly mischievous smile on his face and it's only then that she realizes she said that last bit out loud and Hera when will she be able to stop blushing and embarrassing herself?

"Well, it's a lot less fun if I tell you," he says, leaning over to, in her humble opinion, very seductively brush the tip of his nose along her neck. For a second, she's actually worried her knees will buckle. "Come with me?" And of course, what's she gonna do but nod, compliant and utterly freaking weak.

Shameful.

To say that she knows or registers where he's taking her or the halls and rooms they pass would be a big fat lie because, to be fair, there's very little that she can think of when Jason holds her hand, or when he pulls her close against him in a turn. Which, yes, it's silly and there's no way in hell she's ever confessing to anyone how much of a teen she felt like doing this. But she does. And she chuckles, because at least to herself she can admit how much she likes this guy. And that's a lot.

"Nice to see you're in a good mood," he mentions, coming to a slow stop in front of a set of wide wooden doors. The demigoddess manages to get a good hold of herself to offer a small shrug, her hand gently tugging at his (despite her being the one to step closer.)

"How could I not? Good things are happening." His smile, though it looks much like his usual cocky smirk, has a certain softness to it this time, she thinks, and it makes warmth bloom on her chest. Hera, she really wants to kiss him.

But before she can even try to do anything, he turns to open one of the doors and silently guide her into probably one of the most magnificent rooms she's ever seen - the library.

"And this is just getting started, Goldie."

Jason had definitely told her about this particular room at the Manor, even with a bit more detail than Tim ever had - it was just plain easy to tell who spent the most time here. Neither of them had been shy in commenting the dimensions of the place or the overall poshness of it, yet whatever mental image she'd previously held of it did not do it justice.

The place was just massive - several tall wooden bookshelves were meticulously placed in the space, all of them filled to the brim with books of every size and dimension, with different spines showing a wide array of colors and materials. There was a reading section, properly equipped with tables, lamps, notebooks and what looked like very sturdy, very comfortable chairs, as well as a... Cozier section, furnished with a couple of armchairs, a love seat, some fluffy-looking pillows and an enormous beanbag with a mess of blankets on it. Cassie knew immediately whose spot that was.

"Make yourself comfortable," Jason says behind her, hand ghosting over her lower back. "I'll go pick up what I wanna show you." And with that she's left standing in front of the furniture, willpower focused on not turning around to see where the guy was going.

Her feet move cautiously towards the love seat, floor barely creaking below her steps. The cushions are just as silent and about the softest, mushiest she's ever sat on. In fact, right away Cassie all but sinks into it, finding it softer and far more comfortable than any mattress she's ever slept on. Out of habit more than anything else, she grabs one of the smaller pillows and puts it on her lap, fingers gently playing with the nice, velvet fabric; it takes her a double take to notice she's drawing hearts. Weak.

"I see you've wisely avoided Timmy's favourite seat." She turns around after a little jump, chuckle easily escaping her lips.

"Well, I've heard it's no good to disrupt a bird's nest." They both lean against the back of the couch - Jason resting his forearms on it, a small smile showing; he gives her chin a quick yet gentle touch.

"Smart girl."

Cassie almost expected him to jump over the back of the love seat to sit on it - it was the kind of thing she was used to, after all, with Kon and Bart. However, he calmly walks around it and takes his place next to her like a civilized person. It's not something she should find herself swooning over, really, but alas, here she is. At least she does manage to not snuggle up against him despite her first instinct which, hey, see? Not desperate.

She gives him a smile, wide and warm, yet slightly timid. He returns it, and though there is no shyness in his, there's again that hint of softness in it, a tiny purse of lips as if he were about to say something, as if he wanted to let some words out. But instead, she finds that they come from his eyes, that it's his gaze that speaks volumes, except she's not versed well enough to understand it. Her head tilts, just barely.

"What?" It's a whisper, gentle so as not to disturb the atmosphere, not to break the spell that's set in the room between them. Yet, it seems that's loud enough to snap him out of his daydream, and he shakes his head making that lovely white streak of hair dangle for a second; she glances at it.

"Nothing. - got something for you," he adds quickly, straightening up a little. She mirrors him, intrigued, yet finding it hard to look anywhere away from his eyes, which is why it isn't until he looks down that she follows his gaze and sees what he's handing her; she gasps, quietly.

In his hands, there is a breathtaking book. Its cover is a rich, dark blue embellished with small, beautiful stars of what seems like actual gold blooming from the spine all across to the other side. In the middle, the bottom half of what she can only imagine is a gorgeous woman wrapped in a chiton interrupts the starry scene. There are silver letters spelling the title over it, and she doesn't even notice her fingers are tracing them until she spots them. A bit embarrassed, she retracts, but Jason presses the book swiftly in her direction.

"I know you're really into history," he starts, and maybe if she weren't so enraptured by the volume now in her hands, she'd notice he isn't exactly looking at her. Not like before. "And myths. And that Greek makes up for... A big part of you." They both chuckle, and Cassie lets her index move along the lines of the garment in the cover. "So - women of ancient Greece, their forgotten stories, their relevance..." He trails off and she looks up, a wide grin on her lips.

"This sounds... Amazing. I had never heard of this book. I'm- wow. Wow, this..." Eloquent as always, huh?

"You should have it. Read it." The guy gives the cover a small tap, and she giggles. Ridiculous. "I think you're gonna like it."

"Like it? Jay, I already adore it, I--" she shakes her head, hands carefully caressing the spine of the volume. "It sounds so good, like... They just literally found everything I like and compiled it all together!" A laugh escapes her mouth, and she misses the way his lips twitch, his head tilt. "I'm gonna start it right away and... Hera, I mean, this goes without saying but I'm gonna take extremely good care of it, okay, nothing will happen to it," she says, solemnly, hugging the copy tight. "And I'm sorry, I'll just right off apologize in advance because I'm sure I'm going to ramble about this to you so much and I genuinely can't wait to--" but the words, the idea dies on lips that aren't even her own. They're thinner and a bit more chapped and hot.

It's kind of a paradox, how Jason kisses. It's urgent yet slow, deliberate but careless, in a way. It's rough and exciting, but at the same time gentle and comfortable. It's unique, just like the man himself is, and soon enough Cassie is perfectly lost in feelings and sensations, her previous speech forgotten in favor of basking in touches, grips and caresses. She can feel his fingers tangling on the mess of curls at her nape, just as her hand takes a fistful of his shirt to pull him closer again and... Wasn't she holding a book just now?

But the thought is wiped away when Jason's fingertips dig into the flesh of her waist, and his lips suck a delightful trail along her jaw. If she didn't know any better, she'd find something almost territorial in the gesture. But she's too busy focusing on keeping herself quiet to dwell on the idea too much, and her head still cocks to the side either way, baring her neck even if his mouth chooses to go a bit further up. A shiver travels down her spine as his breath tickles her earlobe.

"You look really pretty when you're excited, you knew that?" In normal circumstances, she probably would've blushed. Now, however, a hum is the only form of acknowledgement she provides, hands tugging him closer with just a bit of super strength. Not that he resists too much, really.

Their lips clash together once again and it feels good, and she really tries hard not to vocalize that in any way because that would sound a bit desperate, right? And yeah, like - okay, she is kinda wishing he'll kiss her deeper, especially when both his hands press against the low of her back. But it's not like she can just go ahead and say it. She gently parts her lips instead, reaching out to cup his cheek, his neck, kinda wishing he'd get her hint. And Hera, he does.

His grip tightens a bit, just enough for her back to naturally arch towards him and elicit the faintest sigh from her lips when she feels his broad chest against herself. She doesn't consider this to be too bad of a thing, if the speeding up of their kiss is anything to go by.

She does however feel his hands splaying out further up her back but... More towards its sides? And there's now a sudden loss where the warmth of his body used to be just now, and a part of Cassie wants to protest at this new development, but then there's more pressure against his mouth and it's nice, but... How is that even happening? And her brow goes ahead and furrows a little in confusion, until there's a brush of velvet against her arm and oh, she's leaning back. She's leaning back and he's right on her and Hera she should not, they should not be doing this in the Wayne's library.

Which is actually a valid thought, and something the young heroine could try and voice out, but the rational side of her brain is barely operative at best by the time her back lands against the cushions, and it just shuts down completely when Jason's lips start moving towards her throat. Guy's too good of a kisser, to the point of unfairness, really, and she wants to kind of tease him about it, playfully try and banter about him having too much power, but totally unexpectedly (though in retrospective maybe she should have expected it) he manages to find that sweet spot below her ear where jaw and neck converge and the only sound she manages is a breathless gasp.

There's a fraction of a second in which everything is quiet, as if paused, and Cassie can hear her accelerated heart hitting her rib cage arrhythmically as she fruitlessly tries and processes what just happened, tries to keep still and clear the sudden fog in her head. But then there's a gentle, tentative suck on that very same spot and there's just heat and her fingers dig against Jason's neck all but imploring him to repeat the action and suddenly it's like time has been resumed to its normal speed.

Her head tilts to the side to give his mouth free reign while one of her hands tangles in his dark locks as a means to provide just the smallest directions that, fairly speaking, he doesn't even need because he's easily turning her into goo by himself just fine. So her other hand moves to grab his shoulder, to caress his back and keep him grounded against her while her leg unconsciously moves to try wrap around one of his and they really shouldn't be doing this in the Wayne's library.

And maybe some deity from above seems to agree with that annoying part of Cassie's consciousness, for before she miserably fails to bite back a whimper, there's a loud buzzing sound. By her ear, she could've sworn Jason lets out something akin a growl and it should've not set her stomach on fire.

"Yours or mine?" He asks a bit husky and that really isn't much better. She stares at him half a second, trying to remember how does one even talk.

"Neither," is what she ends up managing to breath out, immediately cupping his face and bringing him in for a kiss. He doesn't actually protest.

She ends up finding out that sucking onto Jason's upper lip makes his grip on her tighten in that deliciously nice way that, she muses, could only feel better were his fingers directly against her skin instead of over annoying fabric, but she forces herself not to dwell too much on the thought, for it is definitely not the best moment to do so. Though being fair, it's not like she can focus on something even remotely rational - right now, the only thing she can feel is Jason Todd and you know what? She actually does not mind one bit. Not when she can feel the whole of him envelop her, when he can so easily raise goosebumps and warmth in her like it's no big deal, when he somehow knows exactly which patch of skin to graze his teeth against, when he doesn't manage to fully hold in the groans that she--

Buzz.

She knows it's hers by the way it annoyingly drills at her side, and she doubts there has been any other time in which she's been so tempted to just throw her phone across the city. In fact, she kinda even considers it right before the weight previously pinning her down lifts. It feels disappointing.

"Go ahead," Jason mumbles, and she should actually give him credit for even mustering a smile, no matter how little.

"I'm sorry, I..." She shakes her head as she sits up, picking up the device in the process. Though she can't quite bring herself to look at him in the eye just yet, she does find some comfort in him not moving away and staying sat right beside her still.

Tim's name is the one flashing on her screen, for the first time tonight, and she can't repress her annoyed huff. Better be something important.

» if you're done sucking my brother's face, kon's asking about u

» ABORT » ABORT » HE'S MENTIONED JAY TOO CAREFULLY

Oh, come on.

She's about to hit the reply button when another text buzzes through.

» get back here unless you want to deal with him there

She really wants to shove the stupid thing away. And maybe punch Conner. Actually scratch that maybe, she does - how come she doesn't have to worry about her mother throwing a fit but she has to deal with him? How's that fair, after everything!?

Gentle fingers bring her back to reality, her shoulders slumping as she leans into the touch almost automatically.

"Want me to walk you back?" She sighs, scrunching her nose a little.

"I don't wanna further... Ruin your night with a stupid argument." His snort actually makes her smile, even if weakly.

"As if Superkid had that power." But his expression softens, and he brushes a rebel curl behind her ear. "Come on, I know a shortcut to get to Timbo's room."

And, just as expected, Jason does not lie and she makes it to the family wing basically in record time. Which, in her opinion, is already reason enough to spend a few extra minutes with the guy; most importantly to voice out the thoughts that were nagging on the back of her mind as they walked through the halls.

"Hope this wasn't... Too bad of an interruption of your night." Her tone is shy but sincere, and the amusement on Jason's expression is far too gentle to bother her.

"Goldie, no offense, but if I hadn't wanted you to find me, you wouldn't have." And that... Makes a lot of sense for a bat, now that she thinks about it. But it also means that... "I'm glad you swung by to say hi." Her cheeks redden.

"Well. It was my pleasure." Way too literally, at that. Something that he seems to pick up on, for he smirks.

"Oh, mine as well." And though the kiss that punctuates the statement is nothing less than amazing, Cassie can't help but feel is a bit too short and just a further reason why making the last couple of turns up to Tim's bedroom seem harder.

But she manages, and when she opens the door she can immediately see Robin's posture drop in relief. Ridiculous.

"We were about to send a search party for you." Conner is the first to speak, his blue eyes dancing between her and the screen in front, where they're still playing Mario Kart. She pretends to believe his joking tone.

"It's a big house. I took a wrong turn once."

"Oh, bad choices, who'd have thought?" That part is muttered, but even without superhearing Cassie manages to catch it. She frowns, but his friend is conveniently not looking at her. Coward. "Where's your glass?"

"Why would I want to litter Tim's room, more than it already is?" The aforementioned boy protests, though it could've also been at Bart sabotaging his race. "Just drank my water, had my ice cubes, left the glass there and came back."

Her tone is sharper, an attempt to just cut the stupid conversation there because, honestly, she's not in the mood for this. She even starts walking towards the bed with every intention of just lying there until morning when she sees, in the corner of her eye, the kryptionian's gaze falling to the book she's carefully carrying on one hand. Shit, right!

"Oh, by the way Tim," she starts, doing her best to sound nonchalant. "Found the library on my way, hope you don't mind I went ahead and got that book you mentioned the other day." Conner frowns, dubious as he glances back at his best friend, possibly checking his reaction. Not that this is in any way a problem, for he doesn't even look away from the screen as he shrugs.

"As long as you didn't touch my stuff." Cassie allows herself to sigh in relief, internally. On the outside, though, she rolls her eyes, walking to Superboy's side.

"No, bird boy, I didn't touch your nest. But you need better organization skills."

"I have a perfectly good system going on, thank y-YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

Bart full on laughs out loud as he wins first place, shoving a handful of sweet popcorn into his mouth. Or, well, what's left of a handful after being hit by a pillow-projectile from Tim. This exchange seems to be reassuring enough for Conner, whose shoulders relax, tension leaving his face too. And though Cassie is still annoyed at his attitude and his childish ways, she can't help but smile a little and poke one of his cheeks.

"Stop being so grumpy," she jokes in a whisper, and it even seems to amuse the guy! Though she should've seen something was coming when there was no grin on his lips but a smile instead.

She didn't, though, and so she ends up yelping when he picks her up, a mix of ttk and super strength making sure she had no way to escape before he sat on the bed again, this time with Wonder Girl on his crossed legs. Before she can emit any sound of protest, the book is gone from her hands and a controller is pressed onto them instead, a new game loading on the screen.

"You're good in Rainbow Road, right?" His arms wrap loosely around her waist, his chin resting on her left shoulder.

"Kinda decent, yeah, but--"

"Kick Bart's ass for me? I've been humiliated one too many times." She snorts.

"You do know no one beats Bart, right?" In cue, the youngest member of their group lets out his take at a villainous laugh. On her ear, Conner groans.

"Fine, Tim then. Please?"

Truth is, Cassie doesn't really want to play, she wasn't thinking of it. Her plan was to lie in bed, get started on the book, and possibly go back to texting Jason with updates on it if he was still in the mood to talk to her. But seeing as there was no easy way to get out of there (and quite literally at that,) she gives up and lets out a big, exaggerated sigh.

"Alright, fine. But if I win you owe me." The only answer she gets is a peck on her cheek before the weight of Conner's head sets back on her shoulder, but it seems enough to alleviate the previously building tension and allow them to resume what this was suppose to be from the start - just a chill night in.

Besides, later, when she's back in her own room and a folded piece of paper falls down from the tenth chapter in the book, Cassie's definitely gonna be glad she didn't risk the note getting lost somewhere in Tim's bedroom. Worse, somewhere near Kon.

(This, however, did not cancel out the annoyance she felt when his friend grunted that *she needs a new perfume* after taking a breath near her neck.)

#jason todd #cassie sandsmark #red hood #wonder girl #jaycassie #it's rarepair hours again !!#kon is an overprotective friend #and he isn't jay's biggest fan rn #(but he'll come around. eventually)#tim is weirded out but reluctantly okay #bart is just focused on winning mario kart #jaycassie is a nerd couple-to-be #and they recommend each other books

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ncisjes · 4 years ago

Text

I’d find you in every lifetime

Based off this beautiful gifset by @everythingismadefromdreams and this drabble by @mcgeekle where Ziva is prosecuting a case the team worked. Kudos to them both for creating this amazing AU I am having so much fun writing in. Also a huge thank you to @mcgeekle for letting me continue this.

@benditlikepress @rareshbones

Read on AO3//FF

Take Your Time

Sipping her second drink of the night, she sits at the bar alone watching what feels like the same old news on ZNN. Being stood up was a rare occurrence for her, but this time she really could not fault the man. In the past two weeks they had agreed to get drinks after work on three separate occasions, and all three times she had bailed to work late.

The Simmons case was moving along on schedule, but it was still too early to tell how the jury was leaning. Her opening argument was flawless, but the expert witnesses had not fared as well as she had hoped under the scrutiny of the defendants defense team. Their one hundred thousand dollar an hour retainer was clearly paying off for their client.

Regardless of whatever lead the defense had, she was still determined as ever to win this case. Being new to DC, she needed to establish herself as a capable prosecutor. Her track record here had a much slower start than in New York, but that was mostly suffering through learning the quirks of the system and the judges preferences. She always knew the legal field was cutthroat, but D.C. gave New York a run for its money.

Luckily for her, the jury had yet to hear from the investigators whose findings built her entire case. She had planned to call Leroy Jethro Gibbs as her first witness, but as life would have it an emergency case had popped up keeping him and his team from attending the hearing.

Though it had been a month since she had seen him, she had to admit she found herself thinking about Special Agent DiNozzo quite a lot lately. While his delivery could have been better, his charm was what intrigued her to invite him back to her office to try his luck again at asking her out once the hearing had concluded. There was just something about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Wondering what he would be doing on a Friday night like tonight, she imagined him sweet talking his way into some unsuspecting co-ed’s bed for the night.

Taking a long slow sip of her drink, she scans the room in hopes of finding someone to take home herself. Her eyes begin sizing up each prospect, noting their features and what she would like to do with them. Her gaze locks on a brunette that is all legs with grayish brown eyes which jogs her memory of a night a few months back. She cannot remember the woman’s name, but the curl of her tongue is still very vivid in Ziva’s mind. Seeing her arm wrapped around the blonde sitting next to her, Ziva continues to scour the room in hopes of repeating the ecstasy her mind just recalled.

Her search comes up empty as everyone in the bar has seemingly paired off. She’s about to signal for her tab and call it a night when she spots him out of the corner of her eye. He’s leaning over the bar talking to the blonde bartender who’s name always escapes Ziva. She laughs and leans over the counter, not only matching Tony’s stance but giving him a much better view down her shirt, Ziva is sure. Her fingers play with the condensation on her glass as she waits for him to notice her. He doesn’t disappoint, leaving the bartender without a second glance a few moments later and hastily making his way to her.

“Ziva David. Fancy finding you here.” Tony leans on the stool next to her.

“Hello Special Agent DiNozzo.”

“I see you’ve forgotten my name all ready.” He fakes offense.

“It is a lawyer thing. We have to be proper in court and it transcends into our personal lives.”

“Deflecting really doesn’t help your case here counselor.”

“I have not forgotten your name, Tony, and I see you have not forgotten your charm.”

“So you do find me charming.”

“I would not go that far.” She smirks.

“So what’s a girl like you doing here alone on a Friday night?”

“Who says I am alone?”

“This seat is pushed too far in for someone to have just gone to the bathroom. Unless of course you’re waiting for someone, but judging by your empty drink and the condensation collecting on it you’ve been waiting for quite a while. Our hot shot lawyer from New York couldn’t have been stood up, now could she?” Returning the victorious smirk she had given him moments before.

“Putting your investigative skills to use on your off time?”

“Only if it means I can sit down here.”

“I do not think that is a good idea.” She cautions him, her eyes going from playful to serious.

“Ah come on, who is going to see us? There’s none of you legal types in here. Plus I’m not your witness. Gibbs is.”

“But you are still a part of his team which makes-”

He waves his hand to shush her, causing her to balk at him.

“One drink.” He holds up his pointer finger as if to make it concrete that they’re only going to have a single cocktail. Somehow she finds herself relenting.

Taking his seat, Tony waves to the bartender he just abandoned to call her over. Arms crossed over her chest she stares back at him, not moving a muscle. He winks and makes the come hither motion with his finger, hoping that all can be forgotten with a really good tip on his tab. She scoffs, throwing the towel she is holding to the ground and walks through the swinging door to the back.

“Guess we won’t be served by her any time soon.” Tony comments, shifting his body towards Ziva. Before she can respond the other bartender approaches.

“Hey, sorry about that. Heidi can take things a little too personal sometimes. I’m Jack. What can I get you?”

“Scotch on the rocks for me and for-”

“I will have another mojito, Jack, thank you.” Ziva answers, effectively cutting Tony off.

“Sure thing.” Jack smiles and winks at her as he saunters off, causing Tony’s jealousy to spike for some unknown reason.

“So, you come here often?” Tony asks, drawing Ziva’s attention back to him.

“Is that what you really wanted to ask me? Generic pick up lines usually work to get girls to take you home with them?”

“I didn’t know that offer was on the table.” He leers at her, grabbing an ice cube from her drink and popping it into his mouth.

“No I do not come here often, and no it is not on the table.” She glares at him.

Jack arrives with their drinks, breaking the small amount of tension that had built up. Tony pays in cash and raises his glass to Ziva.

“To future offers. May they be successful and enjoyable for us both.” He gives her a big toothy grin before touching his glass to hers and taking a swig; his eyes never leaving hers.

Ziva is the first one to break and look away, muttering something under her breath in Hebrew but still finding herself smiling before taking a long drink.

“So tell me, how does the rising star of Mossad find herself practicing law in America?”

“I see you have done your research.”

“It is what I do for a living.”

“Not well enough clearly or you would know the answer. How did one make the jump from Baltimore P.D. to N.C.I.S. with such subpar skills?”

“Answering my question with a question? Deflecting won’t work with me. I use the same tactic all the time on the job. Nice to know you’re doing your own research on me too though.” He winks at her as he takes another sip of his drink.

“For the case-”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night. Now my question?”

Their gazes lock and the power struggle begins between them, sizing the the other up, their pupils dilating and contracting with each breath. Finally giving in, Ziva breaks away to look at the bar door closing before her eyes settle on the ice in her drink, her hand fidgeting with the straw.

“After serving in the Israeli army I joined Mossad at my own volition. I advanced quickly through the ranks, earning awards for my exemplary skills and talents. I had just become a handler when I decided to leave and come to America.”

“What made you do that?”

“My brother.”

Tony stares at her intently but does not push the subject. He can sense she is having difficulty discussing this. She takes a long swig of her drink before continuing.

“He cautioned me about promoting any higher, said I did not know what I was getting myself into or who I was really working for. As a handler, I was given more access and told more secrets, but I still had some plausible deniability in the big picture of how Mossad operates. It was not until he was killed three months later that I realized he was right.”

Tony’s eyes study her body language as she tells him the bits and pieces of what seems like a much longer and much more painful story than what she is letting on. He doesn’t push the subject, instead letting the silence fall comfortably between them.

“You did not ask me.” She comments after a few moments pass and the drinks lessen in their glasses.

“What's that?”

“The one question everyone wants to know; how he died.”

He doesn’t meet her eyes as he finishes his drink.

“I figured if you wanted to share you would.”

She twirls the last of her mojito in her glass, watching the clear liquid dance through the crystal ice cubes. Pausing as if she is really considering divulging the information.

“He killed a member of the secret service, Special Agent Caitlyn Todd. He was killed shortly after by what was reported as a terrorist bombing but really was Mossad cleaning up their mess.”

Tony’s whole body tenses, not only because he knew Special Agent Todd but because he remembered the bombing that occurred following her death. The reports played for days on ZNN of the horrific injuries people had suffered caused by excessive shrapnel intended to inflict the most pain. The death toll seemed to climb by the second.

“After his death I was obsessed with getting revenge. I had already lost a sister to a Hamas bombing and to have my brother taken from me the same way… I was determined to bring whoever took him from me forward. When I found out it was ordered by my own director… I could no longer remain loyal to an organization that operated that way.”

Grabbing her glass, she drains the last of her drink before slamming it back on the bar nearly causing it to shatter.

“I decided to come to America to bring justice for those who could not get justice for themselves.”

Her eyes are downcast as her fingers play with the condensation on her glass once again. Tony takes a moment to collect himself before tentatively reaching to touch her shoulder.

“Hey, I’m sorry for your loss, and I’m glad you’re here.”

She gives him a shy smile, leaning into his touch. They stare at each other for a few moments before Tony breaks the contact.

“Worked a case with Kate Todd. She was a good Agent.”

Ziva’s eyes widen in shock, not only because he knew her but that they both were affected by the same event.

“I am sorry for your loss.”

“No, I’m sorry to end your night on such a downer. Didn’t mean to bring up such painful memories.”

“It is alright. I did not mind spending it with you.”

The words fall out of her mouth before she realizes what she’s said. Luckily she is saved by a man interrupting them.

“Hey, Tony, sorry to bother you.” He leans on the bar beside him.

“No worries McInterruptus. Ziva David, this is Timothy McGee, the other and less attractive member of Team Gibbs.”

Ziva smiles at the glare he gives Tony before extending her hand.

“It is nice to put a face to the name. I read your report in the Simmons case on how the device’s design was flawed and ultimately caused his death. I was amazed by the immense detail you used and then I found out you have a degree in Biomedical Engineering from Johns Hopkins and a degree in Computer Forensics from MIT. Very impressive.”

“Oh, you’re the prosecutor Tony wouldn’t shut up about and the boss wished he would have sent me to check up on instead.”

Ziva laughs as Tony strikes McGee across the chest.

“Quiet McTattletale.”

“One in the same.” Ziva adds, still laughing.

“Well it’s very nice to meet you Ziva. Tony I hate to steal you away but Abby had too much to drink and is in the bathroom puking. Jardine is in there with her but she’s probably cleaning every surface. We’re probably going to have to carry her out.”

“I told you to watch her Probie.”

“Yeah, you try taking her drink away when she’s ranting about people who say they’re vegetarians but eat chicken.”

“Good point.”

Tony stands to leave, pushing in the chair as he does. He stops to turn to Ziva before walking away.

“Don’t move, I’ll walk you out.”

She doesn’t understand why she listens.

A few moments later Tony and McGee emerge from the back of the bar with Abby between them, each of her arms slung over their shoulders. Ziva sees a woman exit quickly from behind them, clutching her bag tightly to her as if not to touch anything. The group stops in front of her as Abby begins to babble.

“Who’s this? Tony, she's pretty. You’re very pretty.”

“Not now, Abs.”

Tony motions for Ziva to follow them and she grabs her briefcase from the bottom of the bar before walking behind them.

There is a cab waiting outside and McGee drops Abby’s arm to open the door before getting in on the opposite side. Tony struggles to keep Abby upright as she goes limp in his arms. Ziva comes up from behind to grab her other side and help get her into the car. She settles in the backseat with her head in McGee’s lap.

“Tony did you get her number? Get her number!” Abby calls out as Tony moves to close the door.

“We have her number Abby.”

“It was nice meeting you!” McGee yells out to Ziva.

Tony finally shuts the door, letting out a loud breath, his hand wiping over his face.

“Sorry about that.”

“It is quite alright. It is nice to see people taking care of other people.”

“Do you want to share a cab?”

“No, I actually live right down there.” She points to a grey building a little ways down the street.

“Oh so you do come here often.”

They both laugh at the implication.

“Well I guess this is goodnight then.”

“Yes, goodnight Tony.”

“Goodnight.”

He extends his hand and she meets him in the middle. The touch lingers for a little while too long, sparking electricity in them both. After several moments, Ziva finally breaks away, turning on her heel to walk away. He watches her walk until she makes it to her building, his eyes enjoying the way her legs strut in her tight pencil skirt. She pauses to wave to him before unlocking the door and going in. Tony turns to heads home, feeling excited for the first time in his career to attend court.

#TIVA #TIVA fanfic #Ziva David #Tony DiNozzo #AU #yes this will be continued #my wiritng #SCREAMING BECAUSE THIS IS FINALLY DONE

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indiavolowetrust · 4 years ago

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Carajillo

SUMMARY: Some things are truly set in stone. After the tension arises in the Devildom and Celestial Realm, the human is called back to attend a summit.

TW: Mention of Rape

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

BARBATOS: september 21st, 5:21 a.m.

It is a rather simple process. The coffee beans only take thirty-two seconds to grind, the water requires five to ten minutes to boil, and the coffee requires four minutes and eleven seconds to steep. It is seven seconds to fetch a glass, twelve seconds to place the cubes of ice from the ice box into the glass, and one minute to pour the liqueur into the glass. Once the coffee has finished steeping in the french press, it takes twenty-two seconds to finish the process of pouring the coffee into the glass.

I know this. I know each and every ingredient to make carajillo, as she had called it. I have memorized every possible method of brewing and melding the properties of the cocktail together, and I have recorded every possible outcome from each process. I know the exact measurements of each ingredient, the most viable temperature for the cocktail, and the notes present in the drink.

I know these things, and yet I still manage to make too much each time.

It is a side effect of her death, I would imagine. Six hundred and sixteen days have passed since the time of her expiration. Fourteen thousand and seven hundred eighty-four hours. Eight hundred eighty-seven thousand forty minutes. It is also known as a total of fifty-three million, two hundred twenty-two thousand, and four hundred seconds -- most of which I have used to silently mourn. Half of which I have used to berate myself, the incessant questions plaguing me in all hours of the night.

How long had she known of her fate? How long had she suffered? I ask myself. Had I tried one more time -- effectively placing us in the eighty-seventh cycle of the events -- would she have lived?

Worse, I wonder if she detests me for committing such acts on her. With her.

The outcomes had carried the same characteristics throughout the course of the cycles, albeit with small variations. A strangling by the stairs, the marks around her neck black and blue from the force of the assault. A stabbing outside of her own room, her hands still pressed to the wound as she had tried to get help. A deadly fall from the top of the stairs, her body crumpled in a broken pile at the bottom. The forced ingestion of poison, the evidence of a struggle seen in the aftermath. Then I had found her body stuffed into a chest in a storage closet, a trail of blood leading to the gruesome scene, and something inside me had snapped.

But there is no benefit to contemplating the consequences of my actions now. All the anguish and sorrow in the world would not bring her back. The regret would leave my heart heavy for the next millenia, and then I would have to forget. I would force myself to forget, regardless of circumstances. I had been lucky to avoid a revelation on Lord Diavolo’s part, to avoid the punishment that would surely come with using my abilities in such a manner. A millennia would be enough to mourn the loss.

I take the glass with me to a seating area by the window. While the diminutive nature of the kitchen forces a rather unconventional use of the space, I find the set up to be rather charming. Cozy, as one would call it. The seating area has been nearly built into the window, allowing its user to overlook a portion of the labyrinthine garden, and the table has been graciously donated to the space as an afterthought. I begin to raise the glass to my lips.

“Isn’t it a little early to be drinking something like that?” asks a voice.

Her voice.

But it can’t be her, I realize with a start. She’s --

Maria slips into the space across from me, playfully drumming her fingers against the table. “It’s a shame you didn’t wait for me,” she teases, a smile pulling at her lips. Her eyes flicker briefly to the cocktail in front of me. “I would have loved to have tried it together for the first time.”

What are you doing here? I want to ask, staring unabashedly at what must be a figment of my own imagination. Why are you here? How did you get here? Is this some cruel part of my mind playing tricks on me?

“You’re dead,” I manage.

“I am.”

I lower the glass back onto the table, not quite trusting myself not to drop it. “Are you --”

“Real?” she finishes for me. Maria reaches over and traces her small fingers against the back of my hands, pressing lightly, and the contact is as solid as it had been when she was alive. Albeit much colder. “Of course I am. Does that answer your question?”

“Not quite,” I respond, struggling to control the tone of my voice. “I would like -- no, I need more answers.”

Maria is quiet for a moment, regarding me -- and then she sighs, sinking into herself. “I was lost for a long time. A really, really long time. I don’t know if it was because I died down here or because I wasn’t allowed up there for -- for doing that, but I couldn’t remember who I was. I didn’t know where I was.” She presses a hand to her face, as if she were trying to subconsciously suppress a painful memory. “But then someone called me by my name, and I remembered. Ended up here. I think it was you, now that I think about it.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Well, time doesn’t really work that way when you’re dead,” she says, reading my meaning. Her finger idles with the edge of the glass. “It’s -- it’s harder to think when you’re dead. To keep time stick-straight and linear.”

Silence settles between us. The light of the false moon almost filters through her form, the composition shifting between that of a translucent nature and one that appears more solid. Dark, unruly curls frame the soft angles of her face, making her appear almost pitiful, and her frail shoulders are visible at times through the phantom blouse. Revealing the olive tone of her skin beneath. My eyes begin to trail her form, and I study the shape, looking for any indication that this apparition before me is not the human I had foolishly come to cherish. That this is only part of some horrible, conjured image. I find no such sign. Her dark gaze meets mine briefly, holding it for a moment -- but she looks away quickly, biting her lip.

Despite everything that I have seen of her, I feel inclined to be ashamed.

“Where will you go?” I say, attempting to distract both her and myself from the blunder. “It isn’t uncommon for spirits to wander to such a deep level of the Devildom, but you can’t stay here.”

She blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“They’ll eat you alive here. Devour you. Tear you apart. In limbo, where you were before, nothing lives or dies -- but such rules do not apply here.” I level my gaze with hers, trying to suppress the emotion in my voice. “If you perish a second time, there will be nothing of you left.”

“And if I don’t want to leave?” she ventures.

I pause, wordless. Unsure of how to answer. She should hate me. She should detest me with every fiber of her being, given the things that I have done to her. I had taken her innocence in every way possible. I had forced her through the ordeal again and again, unable to fathom the consequences such traumatic experiences could have on her psyche. I had used her for my own selfish means, simply believing that keeping her alive would make the both of us happy. I could not accept the reality of her death, rejecting the very idea -- and in turn I had brought unimaginable suffering onto one I had come to cherish. One I had truly, hopelessly come to love, twisting the concept just as a demon would.

“I’m sorry.” I cannot bring myself to look at her, the guilt swallowing my conscience. “I --”

“The Celestial Realm is on the brink of war,” she says, her voice suddenly on the other side of the room. I lift my head to see that she is making carajillo with the leftover coffee and the liqueur I have left on the counter. Her rough measurements are evident in the color and aroma of the cocktail. “While I may have avoided becoming a martyr, it appears that a coup d’etat has already been staged. If little action is taken, Lord Diavolo will have a much more significant disaster on his hands. That’s why I came here.”

To be corrupted, I realize, gazing upon her ethereal form. She came to me to be corrupted into a demon.

Her eyes are sharp. Determined. “Will you?”

Even death has not changed her. She is still that bullheaded, stubborn mule of a human. Difficult, as always. Hopelessly infuriating. Willing to use the sheer force of her will to deny death its cold clutches. I find myself almost smiling at the fact, a mixture of both trapped grief and inexorable joy coming to the surface. The silent forgiveness is nothing short of jarring, the unspoken words speaking at a greater volume. Maria smiles back, lifting her glass in a strange sort of truce. I move to stand by her side, meeting the edge of her glass with mine, and take the first sip of the drink together with her.

It will take a millennia to truly beg for her forgiveness. A millennia to atone for the acts I had committed, the suffering I had inflicted upon her. And then it will take a millennia more to earn all that I had needlessly thrown to the fire. War or not, conflict or ceasefire, I find that I am completely willing to do so. I would prostrate myself before her for the end of time, if she so desired.

I find that the taste is truly all that she had said. Deeper than the blackest night. Warmer than a summer’s day. Sweeter than the parting kiss of a lover. Unforgettable in every manner possible.

END

#obey me #obey me barbatos #obey me oc #obey me shall we date #obey me fanfic #fanfic #writing #obey me oc x barbatos #tw rape #tw rape mention

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arabellaaaas · 4 years ago

Text

Favourite Worst Nightmare

Part 5: Only ones who know

|An Alex Turner x Arabella Davis fanfiction series|

Description: When two broken hearted meet, they try and hide their past. This is a story about two young adults whose pasts won't let them find happiness again in each other's arms right away.

Word count: 3.1k

A/N: CREDITS TO THE GIF OWNER. So I have been missing for a bit, but I am back again!! I am still stuck on writing chapters ahead, but at least I have content to post. Tell me if you want to be tagged!!! Have a nice day ❤

Taggs: @imagine-that-100 @bettyschwallocksyee

With her legs up on the steel railing and the breeze going through her black hair, she was listening to her friend's ceaseless comments and remarks as she was taking the smoke from her small roll of organic tobacco into her mouth. She knew that Bree won't stop too soon, so she decided on looking at people passing by, analyzing them, giving each one a life prompt. The lassie did not even get the chance to end the whole story that she was telling. Her companion cut her right off before she could explain to her everything she was now mad about. But, of course, Bree's stubbornness had to make a comeback. The city meant a lot to Arabella for some reason. She believes that the city loves her in ways no person ever has. It listens to her fierce footsteps, the clicking of her shoes against its dirty pavements early on a Monday morning. It sees her smile ear to ear when she sees the windows on its huge buildings reflect the orange glow of the afternoon sun. It hears her satisfied sigh in winter as the first sip of the coffee she is taking out with her to smoke warms her thought. It celebrates with her when she is on top of the world and cries for her when life gets hard. The city sees and hears and feels every moment of every day of her life. The city understands.

"Are you even hearing what I am telling you here?" that was the sign that she was finally done expressing her angriness, or at least she took a small break. She heard everything. She did not even know how to make her understand that the man she was talking about was not on the edge of falling in love with her. "I am hearing it loud and clear. But are you hearing me when I say that it has been a week since we met and he only called me when he was high, or drunk, or something?" And with that, Arabella stopped Bree from almost losing her breath and voice as she was madly explaining non-sense to her friend. Bree did not want to admit that the woman next to her was right for once. Actually, there have been multiple occasions when Arabella was right, just that she could not understand why.

"I do hear that. But think about it, A", she stopped for a second so she can also light up her cigarette and take a cloud of smoke out of it and then went off again with her explanations: "Maybe he is going through something and he just wants you by his side. Because he wants you by his side" she accentuated the word "want" as if it was the last time she could say it. Arabella was already done with this, but she kept her calm since she loved her so much. Why was Bree so furious talking about Alexander? She did not even know him. Arabella was already used to this because she was expecting something like this, it looked like something he would do. This was the reason she was so impassive about this. She knew he is not the type of man to stay close to one woman only, at least he cannot do it this fast as he met her maybe three weeks ago. So why bother about the fact that he was kind of ghosting her and only remembering her when he was not sober? It was fine with her, but not by her friend. "He already told me he is not the one to find love in a flash, neither he is looking for that. Which I understand, 'cause I am not either." Arabella explained herself, pressing the cigar end on the bottom of the ashtray. She grabbed her glass filled with whiskey and took a sip, letting out a sight afterwords. Arabella swirled the whiskey in his glass, listening to the chinking of the ice cubes and breathing in the not so fresh air. Ever since she worked as a bartender years ago, she had a thing for whiskey. She also liked other strong drinks and a lot of other soft ones, but whiskey was her favorite choice. Maybe it was because of the mellow amber color of it or the uncomparable taste of it. Anywho, she loved it. It brought back a lot of memories of all kinds, good or bad.

"But what if this time is different? Have you thought about that?" Bree asks, looking to her right where Arabella was sitting. Bree was the kind of girl that women loved to hate. She was an adult as of her age, but so young that she still had the exuberance of youth. She had that movie star look, not overly tall and willowy, but more like an action star. Her muscle definition was perfect and she walked with the confidence of someone a decade older. She wasn't just flawless in her bone structure, her skin was like silk over a glass and she radiated an intelligent beauty. At least that is how Arabella saw her.

"Could you be kind and tell me why the fuck are you so obsessed about him liking me? I don't want to be with him anyway. If you want him, go on, I will give you his number."

"I am just trying to justify why he is someone who could potentially be your boyfriend. And a good one." she knew Bree was trying to make her get over her ex which was pretty hard to acquire. He was a big part of her life and helped her go through a lot. He was there when she moved and when she got a new job. Basically, he wined his way into her affections so he can use her as much as he wants. She was naive, she could not leave him when she first found out about what he was doing. She felt like the world was breaking right under her feet and she was going to fall deep into a deep hole with no end. Everything felt cold, nothing made sense anymore back then. Her head was full of thoughts and emotions that she could not show. She acted tough, but she was breaking inside. Everything came unexpectedly, the devastation was absolute, her emotional home leveled, torn apart. She cried for weeks every night as she was drinking the same drink she now has in her glass. Her body felt numb, she had bruises everywhere on her body, she was dehydrated from all the crying and screaming. She did not eat for days as she always made excuses in front of everyone for her lack of taste. She was always thinking of him and she could not believe he would leave her after everything she's done for him. She just wanted to disappear in the night and never see the light again. It was rough.

"Why would I want him?" Bree demanded and Arabella could tell by her tone that she was offended by her question.

"Because you keep asking me about him when you don't even know him. And why are you offended? He is a really pretty guy, it's not like I told you about someone you wouldn't like" Arabella quickly grabbed her glass and took it to her mouth to hide the grin she had on her face as she said the last few words.

"I have a boyfriend, unlike you" she snapped back, angrily putting the cigar in her mouth and breathing in the smoke while throwing her friend a deadly look. Only if eyes could kill...

"Yeah, for how long?"

___________

"Come on, Henders! It's fun, right?" the man with sunglasses said as he was moving his body on the music, not seeing a thing happening around him. Once again, Alex was not sober. For the past week or so he kept on getting drunk or high and regretting it the next day. Miles and Matthew were looking at each other, then at him, and then back to each other. They did not know what to do to help him get back to normal. It was not the first time they would see him drunk, it's just that they did not ever see him drink so much just "because he felt like it" in a whole week. Something was happening to him but he denied the accusations and told his friends to "fuck off" as he was singing along in gibberish. Matt and Miles knew about Arabella and they thought something might happen with her. He was always talking about how he should call her and talk to her and listen to her but hardly did it as Miles confiscated his phone.

Alex continued to swing around and pretend that he knows what is going on in the room. He was dizzy and could barely see anything. His vision was blurred and the sunglasses did not help at all. He could not feel his body anymore and everything he was hearing was funny for him. Under the influence of alcohol, everything seems like fun. Conversations which under usual circumstances would be dull, become either fun to hear either way too depressing for him. In the past week, he felt how his life was getting out of control. He was always thinking about his past and people that left him or searching for reasons why everyone left him behind, especially her. He was there for her always. He tried to help her with absolutely everything. He tried to make her feel like a princess and have everything she wanted. He always thought of her good instead of his own good. He never said no to any stupid idea she ever had or any trip she wanted. Nothing made sense in his head. Where there was the love, the light, the laughter was an aching hollowness. When he found out about his girl cheating on him, he drove to her apartment, not even knowing what will happen. Thankfully, the man she cheating with was not there. He opened her front door without knocking or anything and she ran over to the door with a huge smile on her face. When her happy eyes met his tired ones, her smile instantly faded. She was not happy to see him, her boyfriend, she was expecting someone else to show up. He looked down at her, staring at his own reflection he could see in her dark eyes. At that particular moment, Alexander realized the fool he was. In his head, he could hear Jamie's voice that warned him about his supposedly "girlfriend". Warnings that he ignored for almost six months, before finding out that he was actually right.

He did not think of everything that happened two years back in a long time and he was not sure why he was thinking about it now. But it was taking over him completely. He forgot his worth and he felt like jumping off a cliff sometimes. That's why he chose to drown his thoughts and sadness in alcohol for a little while. He is good with self-control, but he just did not want to use that ability of his then.

"No, it's mot fun, Alex. Why are you forcing yourself to drink this much? Did something happen with that chick you've been talking about?" Matthew asks him, watching him with worried eyes. Matthew has been Alex's friend since elementary school and usually, he was the first one to find out what was happening in his head. Probably the only one too. But this time he did not want to communicate, nor answer questions. "Don't call her that! She is not just a chick" Alex's drunk voice spoke with a wave of slight anger in his tone. Miles's head immediately turned over to meet Matt's wide eyes. "Did he just say that she is not just a chick?" Miles whispered so that the dizzy man could not hear. Matt just nodded with his head and they both turned over again to Alex. He was trying his best to light his cigarette, which after multiple failures he succeeded. He was acting like a child, he probably forgot the remark he just made. Matthew was in shock. Alexander Turner, the man that swore he won't find someone else after the whole Thea episode that lasted a long time, was admitting that Arabella was not "just a chick".

"What do you mean she is not just a chick?" Miles popped the question, following every more that the man was doing.

"All I am saying is that she is not just a chick" Turner repeated himself, quickly grabbing his phone from Miles. He turned around and as fast as he could, he searched for Arabella's name in his contacts and tried to write her a message. It was hard to understand what he was saying there, leaving the girl confused as she and her friend tried to guess the gibberish he just typed.

A small grin appeared on Matthew's face. "Is she your girlfriend?" he asks, and Alex's denies with a head shake with a huge idiot smile on his face. He was just like a child.

"Are you two just shagging?" Miles also asked and he got the same answer. They kept on asking him questions about what is between the two and Turner responded with the same gesture, still dancing and drinking. He was always checking his phone and smiling when he saw notifications coming his way. He felt like jumping around and singing, but he knew he couldn't jump because he will definitely fall and break something, a bone, or something around his apartment. He looked down at his phone and hardly read the message Arabella sent him. In a second, his mood switched from happiness to the polar opposite, sadness.

"Why is she asking me if I am drunk again?" he raised his head, looking at his friends with puppy eyes as if his feeling were hurt by her message. "Maybe because you are and because you can only type gibberish?" Matt asked him rhetorically but he didn't seem to deduce that.

As he typed back a whiny response, he violently sat down on the floor. He let out a sigh, running his hands through his messy hair that he didn't even bother to style earlier that morning. He was sick of the feeling of alcohol by now, but it was too late to go back. All he could feel was the smoke of the wrinkled toxic stick had a slow creeping stench. Could there be any more lame symbol of the era of addiction over true moral choice than the cigarette? He still thinks that smoking is his worst habit, but he still doesn't want to quit.

"So what are you two then?" Matthew asks again, noticing the sudden change of character. He did not even know how to respond. He was, for now, feeling miserable. His friends were looking at him with pity in their eyes and the only woman he actually got close to in the last two years is asking him if he is fine, when he was feeling all this because of some mad lady he was madly in love with years ago. He did not know why he felt this way after all this time when he moved on, but he was repeating himself that it was not fair.

"I don't know, man." he lied with a fake smirk exposed on his tired face, looking at both his mates with a fake pride he just built on the spot to help him get out of the situation he was in. "I've been feeling kind of foolish since she came around and replaced the peace and quiet for acrobatic blood. She does what the night does to the day".

Both Miles and Matt looked at him as if he was insane, whenge was just drunk over his head. His ears were making an uncomfortable sound which was the only thing he could hear. It was awful for him. He wasn't even aware of what he was saying.

"I mean-" he stoped mid-sentence to catch a breath and take one more sip from one bottle he just found next to him. "She's like a thunderstorm, you know?" he then continued, started to feel his tongue swirling in his mouth, making it hard for him to speak properly. Not that he has been doing it. "She's thunderstorms" he laughed, looking down, over to his phone. His sight was confusing, it was getting more blurred than before. His head was heavy, his nose was hurting for some unknown reason, and not to talk about how harsh the sound he was hearing was.

"What happened, Alex? Do you want to talk?"

Was the last message he could see before blacking out.

His head felt heavy, everything in front of his eyes was pitch black and he could only hear voices that felt like they were kilometers away from him. Matthew and Miles jumped from the couch and lifted up Turner and placed him on the couch. Matthew tried to wake him up by softly slapping his face and it was looking like it was not working. Miles brought a glass of cold water to sprinkle over his face, but still no reaction. After a few more tries and half an hour of panic as Alex was not waking up, he finally did. He was looking around him, trying to realize what happened. When he finally comprehended, he felt like slapping himself. He got up and thanked his mates for taking care of him and then begged them to leave him. At first, they disagreed, of course. The man just blacked out and now he wanted to be alone. Alex was losing his patience and they could tell that by looking at his face. It got all darken and cold, when an hour ago he was dancing and laughing.

When they finally left, he took the coldest shower he'd ever taken. His only wish at the moment was for his skin to freeze and break in million pieces as he would be looking at them. He got dressed up and went back to his living room. It was a mess, and the fault was no one's but his. Everything was out of place and the only thing he could smell was the smoke from the cigarettes he was smoking. He opened a window and on his way back to start cleaning a tiny bit, he found his phone and remembered the message he received right before passing out.

"I am now. Please excuse me for tonight. I would fancy if you would forget every strange message I've sent"

He wanted to apologize even more, but then his image would be ruined. "Not that it wasn't already. " he thought. He sat down on his settee and started contemplating what he had done.

"You're the same miserable guy, Turner" he sighed.

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