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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years ago

Text

Choke

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Virgil, Scott, Tracy Brothers

Can’t be bothered to come up with a neat title and summary for this right now, so calling it one of my drabbles even though it’s 2k words and longer than a bunch of my published fics, oops.

Was not what I had envisaged writing - I was actually poking through my inbox to look at prompts - but the idea stuck in my head and wanted writing, so I let it happen.

Sound was an important part of Virgil’s life. Strains of music, ivory piano keys, needle on vinyl. Machinery roaring, murmuring, humming along as oil stained his sleeves. His brothers, too many of them for silence to ever be an option, and even the quietest loud enough to fill his life.

He was familiar with so many sounds, could tell from the first vibrations what sort of attention it deserved, so when a throttled squeak sounded from next to him, he was moving before any of his other senses had registered the cause.

“Scott!” His brothers, all gathered around the table, added to the cacophony as they too scrambled to their feet, ingrained instincts pulling them towards their eldest brother like moths to a flame. Virgil was closest, and had moved first, so he was the one that won the dubious prize.

The throttled squeaking didn’t stop, somewhere on the wheezing scale, and hands were wrapped around his brother’s neck in an instinctual desperation Scott would never normally let show. Not if he had any real control over his actions.

They were first aid trained, and something like this was right in the heart of the basics, taught at school, let alone Rescue Scouts or on their professional courses. From the heaving of his brother’s shoulders, Scott still remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

It just wasn’t working.

“I’ve got you,” Virgil promised, muscles straining against flannel as he tugged the stool Scott was perched on backwards, away from the table. Dimly, he was aware of the others hovering in his periphery, not crowding the two of them but there if needed. “Let’s get you on your feet.”

Hands still around his own throat, body taut as he tried and failed to cough up whatever had jammed itself in his windpipe, Scott didn’t fight Virgil as he pulled him upright. Already, his lips were changing hue, gaining a tint of blue that suggested it wasn’t going to be as simple as just coughing up the obstruction.

At least they were all trained first responders.

Virgil nudged Scott until he was leaning forwards, at least partially propped up by Virgil’s own strength as his hand supported his brother’s chest. There was no point in standing on ceremony; Scott was still conscious enough to know what was going to happen. He gave a warning out of habit; almost before he finished speaking, his free hand was moving, the heel of his palm driving into Scott’s back.

No change. Scott was still scrabbling at his throat, his lips still changing colour.

Virgil did it again, and again when all he got was a strangled noise that was clearly Scott trying his best to dislodge the obstruction.

Two more hits continued to be useless, and out of the corner of his eye he saw his brothers moving away – dispersing to get more equipment, he vaguely registered with the little concentration he had to spare.

The next stage, then. He bundled Scott into a pseudo-embrace, biceps pinning him in place as his hands arranged themselves, palm over fist, just below his brother’s ribcage. This was going to hurt.

In and up, a fluid yet sharp moment that jarred the entirety of the body in his arms. He got a faint wheeze in response, still nowhere near good enough. Scott’s weight was increasing against him, and Virgil knew he didn’t have long before he passed out.

Another thrust, powerful enough to raise his taller brother onto his tiptoes momentarily, failed to dislodge the offending blockage, and Virgil started mentally running through the steps he’d have to take if this failed. Steps that Scott would hate with a passion.

He pulled back sharply again.

The noise it pulled from Scott’s lips was painful, but a relief all the same as something resembling a strangled cough was accompanied by a chunk of something black and charred dropping onto the table in front of them.

“Th-” his brother wheezed. He was trembling slightly, adrenaline coursing through his body, and Virgil immediately guided him down to the floor – less of a distance to fall if he lost his balance. Scott’s hand was back at his throat, but fingers massaged rings into the skin, rather than clutching desperately.

Virgil didn’t let go.

“Water?” John offered, face still pinched with worry as he carefully knelt down in front of Scott, plastic cup in hand. Scott’s hands were still trembling as they massaged his throat; if they needed a sign to tell them how shaken their big brother was, it was in the way John held the cup to his lips for him, tilting it just enough for a few drops at a time, and Scott accepted it.

Behind him, next to Virgil, who still had both his arms firmly wrapped around Scott for support, Gordon crouched down. A tanned hand ran lightly over the site of the back slaps, making its own tracks up and down and round and around in another gesture that was supposed to be comforting. Scott didn’t make any moves to pull away, so Virgil assumed it was giving him what he needed.

“Alan’s gone to get a scanner,” John explained after a moment. Scott gave a miniscule nod of acknowledgement as Virgil lightly rested a hand over his abdomen, hoping the thrusts to clear the obstruction hadn’t done any more damage, but knowing Scott would definitely be at least bruised. He hadn’t had the luxury of holding back his considerable strength. “How are you feeling?”

Slender fingers rested on Scott’s shoulder, not far from where Gordon was still rubbing his back lightly.

“’M okay,” Scott rasped, his own hands finally falling from his throat to rest in his lap. “Thanks, Virg.”

As though Virgil would have done nothing while his brother choked. “Don’t make it a habit,” he warned, and was rewarded with a slightly pained chuckle.

“Don’t plan to,” Scott promised.

“So, which part of Grandma’s cooking was it, anyway?” Gordon asked, leaning forwards a little as if he could make out the culprit if he squinted hard enough.

Scott gave a shrug, his whole body shifting. Virgil saw the warning for what it was and tightened his hold on his brother before he could try and clamber back to his feet. With John and Gordon both joining in as well, Scott’s bid for freedom was scuppered before it began.

“There’s no rush,” Virgil reminded him pointedly. “Stay put until Alan gets back with the scanner.”

Scott groaned, but surrendered. Against three brothers he had no chance, and they all knew it.

“He won’t be long,” John reminded him. “More water, Scott?” The plastic cup was offered again; this time Scott took hold of it with his own hands, no longer visibly trembling. John obediently let go, but his hands hovered in catching range as Scott took another drink.

Alan appeared just as he lowered the cup again, medscanner clutched in one hand. He looked openly relieved to see that Scott was breathing again, but still deployed it as soon as it was in range.

The light flickered over their brother, and a moment later a holographic representation of Scott was hovering in the air in front of them. Superficial bruising, it declared, but to Virgil’s great relief there was nothing more serious than that.

All in all, Scott had escaped more or less unscathed, and with the scan proving it, they had no reason to keep Scott pinned to the floor. Virgil still insisted on helping him to his feet again, to a fond eyeroll that said Scott was humouring him, and as a unit all of the brothers returned to the table.

None of them were particularly keen to continue eating dinner. The black lump sat innocently on the table, a reminder of what their grandmother’s cooking was capable of, and after a moment of staring at their half-finished plates they unanimously decided not to risk any more of it.

“Takeout?” Gordon suggested.

“Sounds good to me,” Virgil agreed, pushing the plate in front of him away. The rest of his brothers followed suit.

“I’ll go get pizza,” Scott volunteered, making his way to his feet. Virgil’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist before he could take a step – on Scott’s other side, Gordon had apparently had the same idea.

Opposite, John had already brought up a menu and started placing an order. “It’ll be ready for pickup in fifteen minutes,” he said. “It’s the usual place, Alan.”

Scott made a noise of affronted protest, but their youngest brother beamed and darted out of the kitchen with an “F.A.B!”

“Give yourself a bit longer to recover before you break the sound barrier,” Virgil told Scott, amused. His eldest brother huffed at him, but reluctantly conceded the point and sat back down again. “So, who’s clearing this up?”

John and Gordon looked at each other warily. For his part, Virgil pressed his shoulder against Scott’s, making it perfectly clear that he was needed on observation. Just in case. Neither of his other brothers seemed particularly pleased with the silent declaration, but didn’t argue. Instead, they sprung into a game of rock-paper-scissors.

John won, and settled back smugly where he sat, tablet seemingly taking up all of his attention as Gordon whined.

“It’s not so bad,” Scott told him. “Look, I’ll help.” He was halfway to standing by the time Gordon clutched at his shoulders and pushed him back down again.

“No, no,” he said. “It’s fine. You need to stay put, otherwise Virgil’ll get grumpy.” Virgil rolled his eyes; he wasn’t the only one that would protest, and they all knew it.

As Gordon started gathering up the abandoned plates, the blast shutters slid across, shutting out the retracting pool before the silver rocket launched into the sky.

Virgil saw the longing glance Scott sent his ‘bird as she rapidly vanished from sight and squeezed his shoulder.

“Food’ll be here soon,” he promised, knowing full well that that wasn’t the reason behind the look. They all got angsty whenever someone else took their ‘birds out instead, after all. “Try not to choke on it this time.”

Scott swatted at him as Gordon barked out a laugh.

“We’ll make sure to cut it up nice and small for you,” the aquanaut grinned. “After-”

In one swift motion, Scott scooped up the now-empty cup and hurled it at him. Gordon lunged to the side as it sailed past him.

“Hey!”

“Just helping you clear the table,” Scott said sunnily. His hand crept towards one of the plates and Gordon jolted forwards with another yelp to snatch it up first, even though they all knew Scott wouldn’t actually throw something breakable. Grandma would kill him if he did.

“I don’t need help from someone who couldn’t swallow his food properly,” Gordon retorted, ducking away from the swipe that comment earned him. “Why don’t you go sit by the pool for a few minutes? We’ve got half an hour until pizza.”

“Sounds good,” Virgil chipped in, taking hold of Scott’s elbow. “Let’s leave him to it.” Scott smirked in agreement and stood up, leading the way out through the once-again open shutters. Behind them, John muttered something about burning, and Virgil surmised that he wasn’t planning on becoming as crispy as whatever Scott had choked on.

Scott sprawled onto one of the loungers, and Virgil would have thought it nothing particularly out of the ordinary for the times Scott did use them, except for the hand that briefly rubbed at his throat again in passing.

It seemed to be a subconscious gesture rather than a point for concern, but Virgil pointed the scanner at him again, just to be on the safe side. Scott jumped as the light flickered over him again, and sighed when his eyes focused on the device.

“Didn’t you already do that?”

“No harm in checking twice,” Virgil pointed out. The result came back the same as before, to his relief.

Scott hummed at him, but didn’t dispute it. Then again, the result was in his favour, so he had no reason to. Content that his brother would be fine soon enough, Virgil let the conversation lapse into silence. In the kitchen, Gordon was grumbling about clearing up by himself, and every so often John sniped something in return. Normal sounds, at least when John was dirtside. Beside him, Scott was also silent, seemingly content to listen to their brothers without interrupting.

There really was no such thing as silence in their home. As long as it didn’t herald something worrying, Virgil wouldn’t have it any other way.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #drabbles #thunderwhump #thunderfluff #choke

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mandowh0re · 4 years ago

Note

Possible angsty prompt: sam and bucky are at a super market in New York and someone tries to rob it but oh no no no you got two avengers there so that ain't happening but low and behold peter shows up because robbery, but sam and bucky still really don't like Peter. Maybe Peter takes a bullet for one of them?

I like this!! I changed it up a bit but I tried not to deviate too far from what you asked for. Hope you like it!! xoxo

P.S. I added SteveTony in here bc I’m a slut for that ship and I like to add it whenever I can.

Steve exits the small medical room and walks over to the waiting room where both Bucky and Sam had been instructed to wait.

Not that they were planning to go anywhere. Not until they knew Peter was okay.

The duo looks up as Steve enters and takes a seat across from them, leaning on his knees and clasping his hands together. He’s quiet for a moment, looking down at the floor before looking back up at his friends.

“Peter is going to be fine. The bullet was less than an centimeter from his carotid artery, but he’ll be fine now.”

Both waiting men let go of their collective breaths, relaxing slightly with the knowledge that no. They didn’t get the kid killed.

“You’re lucky Tony refuses to leave Peter’s side, or this would be a lot louder.”

Neither Sam nor Bucky answer him.

Steve sighs, leaning back in his chair, “Tell me what happened.”

Three hours earlier

There’s a clap on Bucky’s shoulder, and Sam is lucky that the older man heard him coming beforehand.

“You about done, old man? We gotta head back soon.”

Bucky signs a paper and takes a small envelope from the teller, giving her a small smile as a thanks.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” Bucky claps Sam’s shoulder harder, just enough to make the man stumble.

“Jackass.” He mumbles.

There’s suddenly an onslaught of bullets being shot into the ceiling, forcing everyone to the ground.

“Get on the ground! Face down! Don’t move or we’ll shoot!” One of the perpetrators yells as they walk farther into the bank.

Bucky and Sam drop with everyone else, a plan already formulating in their heads. Luckily, they dropped behind an island counter and can quietly communicate without the gunmen seeing.

Sam has a gun, but is a lot less skilled with it than Bucky. So Sam’s main goal is distraction and keeping the guns away from civilians while Bucky takes each gunman down.

Just as they move into position to kick off their plan, a familiar voice rings out.

“There’s a lot less violent ways to take out a loan. You guys know that, right?”

The two men exchange glances.

“You’ve got to be shitting-“ Sam’s complaints are cut off as bullets begin to rain hellfire once again.

Bucky takes the distraction to stand and shoot, taking down two gunmen before a third one is shot with web fluid, pinning him to the ground.

“Oh hi Mister Barnes!” Spider-Man calls, flipping over a fourth and webbing him too.

“This isn’t Queens, kid. What are you doing here?” Sam asks, already moving to help any injured hostages.

“I was close enough and caught the call on the police scanner. I figured-“

“Get outta here kid, we have it handled.” Bucky says, shooting the fifth guy who had hidden when Spider-Man appeared.

“Hey! I took down two of these guys. I just wanted to help. I didn’t even know you were here.”

“Well we are. So you can go now.” Says Sam, who is now leading people out of the building.

Spider-Man huffs, but his spider sense tingles and he turns, his surroundings moving in slow motion as he sees one of the men that Bucky had shot down roll over and lift his gun, pointing it at Bucky who was turned away from him.

Without thinking, Peter grabs Bucky’s shirt and throwing the man behind him, moving in the way of the bullet.

Now

Steve runs a hand down his face.

“So Peter stepped in between you and a bullet?”

Bucky rubs his hands together, eyes downcast.

“Yeah.”

“After you told him to leave.” He asks, his eyes moving to Sam.

“Yeah.” Sam answers quietly.

Steve stands and grabs his chair, swinging it closer to his friends. He sits.

“You two are my best friends. But Tony is my husband now. And Peter, for all intents and purposes, is his kid. Can you guys please try to get along with the kid? I know he’s a hyper kid but he took a bullet for you. Maybe cut him some slack?”

Bucky nods, rubbing his own face, “Yeah.”

“We can do that.” Sam adds.

“Good,” Steve smiles, “I’d avoid Tony for the rest of the night though.”

The next morning

Peter is sipping on some apple juice, sitting up with the help of his hospital bed.

Tony had left a few minutes ago, saying that he needed to shower now that the kid wasn’t in critical condition.

There’s a knock at the door, and Peter turns his attention to it. His whole torso has to turn with him so he doesn’t pull at the still healing wound.

“Come in.”

Much to his surprise, Sam and Bucky walk into his room, Sam holding a red gift bag with blue tissue paper.

“Uh, hi?” Peter says, putting his juice box down on the table next to his bed, “What’s up?”

The two men look at each other as if they have no idea what to do. Sam speaks up first.

“We want to apologize for what happened yesterday.”

“Oh! Why? You didn’t shoot me.” Peter says.

Bucky shakes his head, “I was so distracted by the fact that you were there that I didn’t notice that the guy was still alive. If I had been paying attention-“

“It’s fine guys, really-“

“No it’s not,” Sam interjects, “We made a mistake that almost got you killed. And that’s on us.”

Peter’s eyes move from Bucky to Sam.

“I’m sorry, Peter.” Sam says.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky adds, “And we, uh, brought you a gift.”

Sam steps forward and hands the bag to Peter, who smirks.

“Spider-Man colors?”

“Man, shut up and open it.” Sam chuckles.

Peter smiles and removes the blue tissue paper, pulling out a black hoodie that is way too big for him. On the front it says ‘Falcon and Winter Soldier are my favorite Avengers’.

It’s obvious they got it at one of those venders that can make just about whatever you want on clothing.

Peter let’s out a laugh and lowers the shirt, “Thanks guys. I love it.”

“That’s not it.” Sam says, and both he and Bucky unzip their jackets to reveal they are wearing matching red t-shirts that say ‘Spider-Man is my favorite Avenger’.

Peter let’s out a guttural laugh, struggling to catch his breath. When he finally does, he slips on his sweatshirt with help from Bucky.

“I think this is the best present I’ve ever gotten.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “Eat it up, kid. Because we’re burning these once you get out of here.”

And that’s how Tony ends up with multiple copies of the three now friends making bunny ears behind each other’s heads, each wearing their corresponding shirts.

***

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#marvel #mcu #tony stark #iron man #peter parker #iron dad #spiderson #avengers #steve rogers #Bucky Barnes #Sam Wilson #the winter solider #falcon #angst #fluff #Peter Parker whump #toni writes #prompt

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mandolovian · 4 years ago

Text

2. kannida

part 2: five years in five bags

pairing: the mandalorian x f!reader

words: 2.8k+

warnings: some mentions of (minor character) death

summary: the mandalorian invites you onto the razor crest, and while you prepare for your first destination, he learns a little of your past

In a wartime hospital, all physicians were recommended to keep a medkit on them - in case the resource supply chain gets interrupted, in case there was a casualty outside, in case something happened. A standard issue kit came with a scanner unit, hypospray, some tools for treating wounds and setting broken bones, as well as basic medication. It was designed to be able to be used by anyone, but came to life in a physician’s hands.

Your scanner unit was outdated, and when you calibrated the machine on yourself, it proudly displayed a heart rate of 437 beats per standard minute. The medications had also long expired, and when you opened some of the vials, they hissed menacingly at you.

The entire medkit would need to be replaced. You weren’t particularly against using questionable medications for treating someone in a pinch, but this was pushing it a little. Felucia wouldn’t have the supplies you needed, and you idly wondered what the Mandalorian would say if you asked for a trip to Coruscant.

The Mandalorian. He had been far more considerate than you had expected him to be. His ship was large, rusted, and possibly in need of a physician itself, but he listened with quiet attentiveness when you wondered out loud whether some of the cabins in the hull could be made larger, and promised to knock out a wall between a cabin and supply closet before leaving Felucia. When you had begun to protest at the thought of the Razor Crest becoming even more structurally unstable, he promised to put in stabilising beams. The baby had been absolutely delighted at your presence in the Crest, and grabbed you with a tiny hand to drag you over to his cabin. Inside, the metal walls were decorated with notepad-paper drawings, some of green blobs and grey rectangles, others adorned with wobbly outlines of a three-fingered hand in red crayon.

He didn’t let you leave until he had traced your hand on a piece of paper too.

Your apartment was one of the few that were attached to the cantina - free rent in return for nightly work. The rudimentary floorplan was merely a square with a foldable divider in the middle, just big enough to accommodate one lonely bartender. On one side of the room, a rickety bed was pushed against the wall, and on the other side sat a metal desk decorated with a pot of wilting flowers. The window was a narrow rectangle that was carved into the wall and looked down into the alleyway below. It was barred with grills and no glass and, as a result, you had accumulated a healthy collection of blankets to keep you warm while sleeping through the day.

Home. Home. Was this a home? Could this be considered a home? Stripping away the blankets, the clothes, the books, could this room have been yours? Would that have been clear?

All your blankets and all the clothes you had ever owned fit neatly into two duffle bags, and your non-functional medkit joined them at the apartment doorway. One shoulder bag holding your datapad and books, and one backpack for your toiletries. Five years of living fit into five bags. It was oddly satisfying, and you cocked your head at the sight. Five bags.

Five bags.

At the hangar office, you were filled with ire at the sight of the reception droid again, but it was decidedly more polite to you now. Gone was the judgemental bristle in its stature - instead it stood up straight behind the desk, civilly taking down your details in the hangar logbook, secretarially tapping away at its keys.

‘...and what will be your return time from the hangar, sir?’ it asked.

You stared blankly at it. ‘Return time?’

‘Yes sir, you will be entering the hangar presently at 0823, what will be your return time?’

‘There won’t be a return time,’ you said. ‘I’ll be leaving with the Mandalorian on the Razor Crest today.’

The droid clattered some more, humming in burbles as it does. ‘Very well sir,’ it garbled. ‘Take the corridor to hangar nine please. Have a safe flight.’

You blinked blankly at the platitude. ‘Thank you,’ you tried, and you only received some beeps in return. You picked your backpack off the reception scanner and put it back on, and hauled the shoulder bag on with a huff. Trying not to tip over from the weight, you picked up the duffle bags and the medkit, and hobbled down the corridor.

At hangar nine, the side gangway of the Crest was open and inside, the figure of the Mandalorian was vaguely visible. The ship was humming, lowly vibrating, and the outside looked decidedly cleaner than it had when you had last seen it.

‘What do you think?’ said the Mandalorian as he walked down the gangway. He held out his hands for your duffle bags, and you handed them over gratefully. He shifted them to one hand while gesturing for your shoulder bag.

‘Did you wash the Crest?’ you asked. The baby poked his head out of the doorway and you waved your hand at him. He eagerly waved back, his ears fluttering upwards.

The Mandalorian shrugged, turning as he did so, and walked back up the ramp. ‘It needed a wash,’ he said. ‘Any opportunity for maintenance.’

Inside, the wall between the cabin and the supply closet had indeed been removed. The space now contained a fold-out cot against one wall, and a small shelf on the other. Against the wall at the foot of the bed was a stowaway desk, with the foot of the cot doubling as a seat. A little drawing of a hand was stuck on the wall above the desk, and you looked down to see the baby already staring at you.

‘He was insistent on the drawing,’ said the Mandalorian as he placed your duffle bags inside the cabin, just next to the cot.

Your cot. Your cabin.

You looked down. ‘Is that so?’ you asked the baby, and he grabbed onto your leg with a giggle. ‘It’s a fine artwork. Deserves to be placed in a gallery.’

The Mandalorian picked up the baby. He was tiny in his arms, bundled up in an oversized canvas robe against the beskar cuirass. He slapped his tiny hands against the helmet and knocked his forehead onto the visor.

‘Is it alright?’ he asked quietly.

‘It’s wonderful,’ you said, and you bowed your head a little.

The Mandalorian hummed under his breath. ‘I’ll let you settle in,’ he said. ‘Wheels up in fifteen. I’ll be in the cockpit.’

Watching the Mandalorian take off was like watching a dance recital.

The baby observed the show from his pod in the corner of the cockpit, and he watched in earnest: his eyes carefully and attentively following the yellow tips of his father’s gloves as he flipped notches methodically. The control board came to life, whirring comfortably as the Razor Crest stretched its legs and prepared for takeoff.

The Mandalorian was quiet and focused, and the holo-map hovering in front of him rotated slowly to show the glittering skyscrapers of Coruscant, sheer and diaphanous against the blinking console lights. With a quiet groan, the Crest yielded and rose into the air.

‘How long have you been in Felucia?’ he asked, after he had switched to autopilot. The baby was now hobbling on the cockpit floor, happily chewing on an empty blaster cartridge. The Crest continued to rise above the Felucian atmosphere.

You took a second to count in your head. ‘Five years,’ you said. ‘I was hopping between planets a little before that, but I’ve been in Felucia for five years.’

‘And working at that cantina for five years?’

You laughed a little at his skeptical tone. ‘The cantina came with the apartment,’ you explained, leaning your head back against the seat, stretching your legs out with a sigh. ‘The owner said he would give me free rent if I worked every night at the cantina. It wasn’t a bad deal.’

The Mandalorian gave a contemplative hum. ‘You don’t seem to own too many things for five years in Felucia.’

Outside, the green planet seemed like a child’s plaything, becoming smaller and smaller with every breath. You watched as each tree dissipated slowly, becoming a pinprick, and then indistinguishable with the others.

He wasn’t wrong. It was only five bags.

‘I didn’t need anything more,’ you said, crossing your legs onto the seat. The Mandalorian flicked some overheard switches, preparing the hyperdrive.

‘Didn’t need, or didn’t want?’

You glanced at the Mandalorian, who kept his visor firmly forward. The streaks of starlight shone off the beskar, and you blinked at the brightness.

‘Still figuring that out.’

‘What are you doing?’

It was five hours into the journey to Coruscant, with about eight hours to go. The Mandalorian seemed unable to keep to himself, and now leant against the frame of the doorway to the cabin with a hand resting casually against the blaster on his hip.

A holoprojection of an identicard hovered above your datapad in your hands. Your face on the identicard stared blankly as it rotated, your mouth set into a neutral yet slightly displeased line. A decidedly younger version of yourself; hair regimentally slicked back into a bun, clear of the light lines at the corners of your eyes, your chin raised a little defiantly.

‘I’m missing a lot of equipment,’ you said, looking up at the Mandalorian. He tilted his head; a silent invitation to continue.

‘You… lead an eventful life,’ you began with a sigh. ‘I’ve never been of medical service to a Mandalorian before, but I’ve treated plenty of soldiers. It’s never just the simple knife wound with you lot.’

A soft sound escaped the Mandalorian - a hum of agreement, perhaps.

‘Classically, soldiers - warriors - are at risk of much more debilitating injuries. Concussions, internal bleeding, organ damage, neurological dysfunction - and your armour poses a little bit of a conundrum for me.’

‘The beskar is an issue?’ he asked, affronted.

‘Not an issue,’ you said, staring squarely at his helmet. ‘A conundrum.’

‘Semantics.’

‘Different things,’ you countered. ‘I don’t have a problem with the beskar. It does, however, create a clinical problem. Simple medkit scanners won’t be able to penetrate the metal, and I have no equipment to keep track of your vitals, let alone to help treat you.’

You looked down at your medkit, sitting dismally at the doorway. ‘Besides,’ you added, ‘all the equipment I have is broken.’

You adjusted yourself to sit crosslegged on the cot, your back against the wall. The Mandalorian moves to take a seat at the edge of the cot, an arm's length away from you. He looked pointedly at the identicard, and you sighed again.

‘What I’m trying to say, is that we can’t rely on regular bacta spray and sutures.’ You waved your hand at the hologram. ‘In Coruscant, there’s a medical supply warehouse that caters directly to hospitals - powerful scanners, e-bacta shots, bone fixators - but obviously you need to be a hospital representative to make any purchases.’

‘And this is going to be a problem,’ said the Mandalorian with quiet comprehension.

You shook your head. ‘Not if I fix it,’ you said. ‘The issue is that I never renewed my physician’s registration, so I can’t use my own identicard. But I can fix that.’

A few taps on the datapad, and the identicard shimmered lightly, then began to shift. The lettering blinked and flashed, and the Mandalorian sat up straighter at the sight.

You turned the identicard to face the Mandalorian. ‘Hi,’ you said. ‘My name is Shari Haren, and I’m a nurse at Takodana Medical Facility.’

You could almost see the disbelief as the beskar helmet flicked between the flickering identicard and your face. ‘You changed the identicard,’ he whispered, his voice barely making it through the vocoder. ‘You changed your name. And your title. How the hell-’

‘It doesn’t matter how,’ you cut in. ‘It just matters that I can.’

The Mandalorian stared at the rotating identicard, and you could feel your heart rate increase, and the rush of blood in your ears became a little bit more obvious. The grip on your datapad tightened, and you had to avert your eyes from the darkness of his visor. This was a dangerous ability to share, and some silly, almost delusional voice in your head wondered whether he would throw you off the ship, right here, right in the middle of hyperspace.

That’s a little impossible, another voice countered. Can’t open ship doors in hyperspace.

He leaned forward across the cot, putting his weight on one hand while the other turned the shaky identicard to better see the hologram, flickering in its translucent blue sheet. ‘How accurate is this?’ he asked, tracing the letters of your fake name in the air.

‘The Coruscant security system works in levels,’ you explained as the Mandalorian moved back to his previous position. ‘Ten levels, eleven if you include civilian citizens. The warehouse requires level three access, and this identicard has level five access.’

‘Impressive.’

‘It’s handy.’

The Mandalorian tilted his helmet, and you tilted your own head in response. The praise sat low in your chest, and nudged your chin a little higher.

‘We’ll need to make a plan for this,’ he said, tapping his fingers absentmindedly against his knee. ‘An identicard might get you through the door, but it’s not going to be enough to get you all the way. Coruscant is crawling with bounty hunters, and we don’t need to draw attention to ourselves.’

He stood up, the beskar making soft clinking sounds as he did. ‘Get some sleep for now,’ he said as he walked out. ‘I’ll be in my quarters. Comm me if you need to.’

Your last placement as a student was at Kannida Hospital.

The planet was like nothing you had ever seen before - the most bewildering combination of the forests of Takodana and the skyscrapers of Coruscant. The people lived in the trees themselves, stretching endlessly into the misty atmosphere above. Precarious rope bridges connected the pseudo-skyscrapers to each other, a gossamer lattice of quiet traffic, faded against the humidity.

Most of the Kannida Hospital was underground - only the foyer and the entrance to the emergency department was visible from the surface. The levels spiraled dangerously close to the core of the planet, the corridors twisting and winding in disorientating coils. The hospital was the most well equipped of that of the whole star system, and had an impressive intensive care division - after all, it was a designated military hospital of the sector.

The Chief Medical General at the time was Nali Tia, a towering woman with an impressive military career in the Galactic Army, backed by decades of medical experience. She commandeered the intensive care division as if she was at a helm of a warship - her resounding voice calling across the hub, directing casualties to stages, coordinating the tens of levels of the hospital with intangible efficiency.

Once a month, General Tia held a seminar for the medical students - one hour long, not a minute to either side. The central auditorium of the hospital was always packed, with students sitting on the aisle steps, standing and jostling at the back, the air sticky and humid and filled with anticipatory reverence for the General.

You are all physicians first, she would say, her voice clear and sonorous, commanding attention. You are trained for the service of others, the pillar against which others lean on. It’s your duty, and you should all understand the sacrifice that follows this profession.

Every seminar was a performance - a grandstanding presentation of the knowledge the datapads could not teach. General Tia would showcase commonplace procedures, and then explain how each needed to be adjusted according to species, according to climate, according to environment. How a scanner unit and a clean knife could stabilise a collapsed lung if nothing else was available. The names of common medications in at least fifteen galactic languages. The ways to assess fractures hidden under layers of armour on a battlefield.

Seven years after your graduation, General Nali Tia was executed without trial for impersonating an Imperial Officer in an attempt to secure a shipment of ration supplies for Kannida. The planet had been under siege for months, and General Tia’s death was the catalyst that accelerated the Imperial invasion of Kannida. Within a week, eighteen of the twenty levels of the hospital had been shut down, and a third of the Kannida inhabitants had been massacred. With a blaster held to your head, you assumed the position of the Chief Medical General, and acquiesced to begin exclusively treating their Imperial stormtrooper casualties.

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tag list (please lmk if you’d like to be added/removed!): @mndalorians @kyjoraven @phoenixhalliwell @sparklingkeylimepie @the-wandering-pan-ace @awessomness @talesfromtheguild @justanotherblonde23

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helloprettybb · 5 years ago

Text

i don’t want to set the world on fire

The other Steve Rogers fic did surprisingly well. I have so many more ideas, so look out for those. Also, Peter Parker may come soon, but who knows. While writing this, I realized that I could probably write a part two, so would you all like that? Also, just warning you, I lowkey insult rock, but it’s only for the sake of the plot. Rock is great. I’m also writing a prequel for ‘i’ll be back’ which will be posted after this hopefully.

I have a plan to make this a series all inspired by old music. This first part is inspired by this song:

Warnings: almost rape

word count: 3.9k

“I didn’t mean to,” were the first words you uttered to the Avengers. Laying next to you was a man whose body was burnt to a crisp. Yet you, small and innocent-looking, were perfectly fine. Of course, they had some questions.

Your father was never in your life and your mother died from childbirth, so for most of your life, you were raised by your great aunt. Life was great, even normal, until she died when you were thirteen. Since you were a minor, you were placed in an orphanage while the house was up for rent. When you turned 18, you were allowed to move into her house. Although rather lonely, you were safe and inherited a decent amount of money. Still, you had a part-time job to stay financially stable.

You were walking up to your car when you noticed a piece of paper on your windshield. You knew what that meant so you quickly turned the other way but were too late. A man appeared out of nowhere and grabbed you. As much as you struggled, it was useless as he was much stronger than you. Before you could pull out your pepper spray, the man knocks you unconscious.

The first thing you see when you come to is a man hovering over you. He must have noticed you woke up because he cooed, “Don’t worry, I won’t take long,” You start to scream for help, but survey your surroundings and realize that you’re probably in the middle of nowhere.

You panic as the man starts to unzip your pants. You can feel a heat burning inside of you. It feels like a volcano was erupting from within, extremely hot, but not uncomfortable. All of a sudden, a blast of fire erupts from your hands and shoots through the roof. You’re so taken aback that you don’t even notice the man burning to death until his screams of agony cut through your train of thought. You pull back instantly but it’s too late. The man is dying before your eyes and you are stuck frozen. Your brain starts up again and you look for something to put the fire out. You find a blanket and eventually put out the fire, but he is already dead.

All you could do is cry at the fact that you just killed a man. You’re so caught up in your tears that you don’t even realize that all your clothes are burned off. Shivering, you try to think of what to do. Noticing a dark bag in the corner, you hesitantly touch it and hope that it doesn’t burn to a crisp. Luckily, nothing happens so you rummage through it to find anything. You pull out a long shirt and clean boxers. Before you could think of an exit plan, you are startled by a blast through the door.

You cower in fear as Iron Man flies and lands right in front of you. The rest of his team follow suit. They look at you, the burnt man and then back at you. Iron Man’s hand is glowing and pointed right at your face.

He towers over you, causing you to scoot back. He starts to say something when Captain America put up a hand and says, “She’s just a kid, Tony.” He squats down so that he’s eye level with you and asks, “Can you tell us what happened?”

You could barely talk since you were so nervous. Seeming to sense your fear, he removed his mask. You’ve seen him on television, but only as Captain America. But crouched in front of you, he didn’t seem like a superhero, but just an ordinary man. You rack your brain and finally remember his name: Steve Rogers.

“H-he was trying to attack me. I don’t know how it happened, but one moment he was on top of me and the next he was on fire. I tried to put it out, but he was already dead.” you stutter, still shocked beyond belief. You start to hyperventilate as your actions finally sink in. “I didn’t mean to, honest. I didn’t even know I could do that. You have to believe me!” you cry unprompted. Steve moves to touch you soothingly before you quickly scoot away.

“Please don’t touch me! I don’t want to kill you too.” you exclaim, scared of your own body. Steve’s eyes are filled with what looks like sympathy and he glances at Tony.

He speaks up, “She’s right, Cap.” You suddenly notice the scanner on his suit. “Her temperature is off the charts. How are you alive, kid?”

Before you could attempt to answer his question, Steve speaks up, “We have to take her to the lab. Banner will know what to do.” With no further questions, you are escorted toward their ship, careful not to touch anyone.

On the ship, you hear their muttered whispers and assume it’s about what they should do with you. After all, you’re just a stowaway. The ride feels like an eternity until the jet finally lands. The other Avenger separate, leaving you alone with Steve and Tony. They guide you inside the giant complex and you try not to gawk at the high ceilings and large staircases, but you’ve never been in a building this huge.

You are directed downstairs to a high-tech lab. Tony types on a keyboard and does a retinal scan before the door opens. A smallish, fidgety man is in there and greets Tony. When he notices you, he asks politely, “Who’s this?”

Realizing he never caught your name, Tony turns to you and asks in an almost comical way, “Who are you?” You say your name and Tony continues, “Anyway, she uh, has some special abilities.” Bruce quirks an eyebrow at his wording and does a biological scan. His eyes widen when he sees your vitals.

“You have a temperature of 160 degrees Celsius.” he explains. You watch as he interacts with the projected screen.

“She also burned a hole in the ceiling.” Steve states, purposely excluding the part about you killing someone.

“This may sound like a stupid question, but can I touch people without hurting them?” you ask hesitantly. You don’t want to live the rest of your life in constant fear.

Bruce pushes the screen down and responds, “Well, I’ll have to do some tests before I know for sure. But seeing as you’re clothes are still intact, I assume that you are safe.” Bruce walks over to his lab table and starts typing something on his computer. You feel Steve’s gaze as you fidget uncomfortably.

“We’ll do the tests tomorrow. Let her get some rest,” Steve’s voice booms above you. Bruce just nods as you, Tony, and Steve leave the lab. As the three of you walk up the stairs, Tony’s phone goes off.

He looks down and tells Steve, “It’s Pepper. Can you show Y/n to the residential area.” Steve nods and you two part ways with Tony. You’re silent as Steve guides you around the building and towards the elevator.

He presses the third button and you two stand in silence as the doors close. A familiar tune plays on the speakers. You smile after recognizing it. Steve catches your small grin and asks, “You know this song?”

“Uh, yeah. ‘Stop Pretending’ was one of my great aunt’s favorites. Personally, I prefer ‘I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire’” you comment lightly. Steve opens his mouth to say something when the doors open. He steps out and you follow him down the hall.

He stops in front of a door at the far end and says, “You can stay here for the time being. My room’s the first door on the left if you need anything,” Steve doesn’t know why he added that last part, but something about your wide, innocent eyes intrigued him and your affinity for old music sure didn’t hurt.

You open the door and start to walk in before turning around and tell, “Thank you, Steve.” He gives you a glowing smile before you close the door. You didn’t realize how tired you were until your head hit the pillow and you instantly fell asleep.

You’re woken up by a muted, yet pestering, alarm. “Miss Y/n, Dr. Banner requests your presence.” a disembodied voice says. You look at the clock and see that it’s nearly ten o’clock. You step into the elevator and expecting to hear smooth jazz music, are extremely caught off guard by the jarring rock music. Never a big fan of rock, you cringe slightly as the speakers blast the loud electric guitars and intense drums. Luckily you are spared when the elevator doors open to the living room. You see the Avengers, now in normal clothes, lounging on the couches.

They all get up and walk towards you. A man with only one arm goes to introduce himself, “I’m Bucky. Who are you?”

“I’m y/n.” you reply sheepishly, feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the new faces. You vaguely remember them from tv but an introduction helps. They go around and say their names. You remembered Natasha and Clint as Black Widow and Hawkeye but you didn’t know the man named Sam Wilson. You shake everyone’s hand and you mentally sigh in relief that you didn’t burn anyone.

They start a conversation with you and before you could respond a voice calls, “Y/n, aren’t you starting with Banner today?” You look over Natasha’s shoulder to see Steve. He’s wearing a fairly tight grey shirt and sweats that if you were in any other situation, would distract you greatly.

“Yeah, I was heading down there now.” you reply with a curt nod.

“I’ll walk you down.” he states, walking towards you. The others part so that Steve could get through. You follow him towards the stairs that lead to the lab.

“Sorry about them. They can be a little intense at first, but I promise they don’t bite.” Steve jokes and cracks a beautiful smile.

“No, it’s alright.” you reply with a smile to assure him, “They seem nice. I’m just not the best with people.” You realize how sad that sounded and it seems that he did too. It looks like he’s about to say something when the lab door opens.

“Y/n, come in.” Bruce insists. You and Steve walk in the lab and Bruce closes the door behind you. He leads you over to his work area and starts, “Before I test your abilities, I want to understand how your abilities work. I’ll do a couple blood tests, take some skin samples, and do a DNA test.” He pulls out a needle and you instantly stiffen.

Steve notices and you half-joke, “I’m not the biggest fan of needles.” You expect Steve to leave when Bruce starts preparing the needle, but he stays. The more you think of the needle, the less you can control your shaky hands. You close your eyes to try and block out the image of the needles piercing your skin.

You feel a panic attack coming when you feel a hand slipping into yours. You open your eyes and look down at Steve’s outstretched hand. Before you could say anything, you feel the needle prick. Almost out of instinct, you grab onto Steve’s large hand. His calm, blue eyes ease your tension and divert your attention from the blood. Steve starts lightly caressing your knuckles and you feel yourself warm up.

It’s a different type of warm than in the warehouse. It feels like a warm hearth spreading through your body. Your mind wanders

“Okay, I’ll have the results in a couple days.” Banner states, interrupting your thoughts. You look down and see a band-aid on your arm.

“It’s done already?” you ask, surprised that you actually did it without passing out.

“Yeah, you did it, doll.” Steve replies with his hand still wrapped around yours. Doll. You wonder if you were just imagining that, but you have to admit, that nickname made you feel a certain way.

You glance over at Banner who is dripping the blood into a tube. You start shaking again and start to feel the urge to throw up. Steve’s solid hand lightly squeezes yours and he asks Banner, “Does she need to do any more tests?”

“No, not today at least. It’ll take me a couple days to perform tests since I have Tony’s side project to work on. You’re free to go.” he replies.

Steve lets go of your hand and it immediately feels colder. You hop off the stool and follow Steve out of the lab. As you walk, your stomach grumbles and Steve asks, “When was the last time you’ve eaten?”

You think back to the past 24 hours and realize you haven’t eaten since that man abducted you. “Not since yesterday,” you reply.

Steve furrows his brow at that and states, “I’ll make you something.” Before you could protest, Steve walks into the kitchen and looks through the cabinets. “What would you like?” he asks politely.

“Um, anything. I’m not picky.” you respond, pulling out a stool from under the counter. Swinging your legs, you watch Steve as he begins to make you a sandwich. Something about Captain America making you a sandwich is so odd that you laugh to yourself.

You didn’t realize you actually laughed out loud until Steve looks up at you. “Sorry, I just think it’s funny that Captain America is cooking for me.” you explain. Steve responds with a small smile and light chuckle and continues cooking. When he’s done, he pulls out a plate and hands you your food.

You smile widely, surprised that he’s so nice and caring, “Thank you, I’m starving.” He hands you the plate and you sit on a stool by the counter. Steve stands on the other side, waiting for you to take your first bite. You moan with delight and mumble with food still in your mouth, “It’s delicious.” Steve smiles as you continue eating.

A comfortable silence forms around the two of you. When you finish, you wipe your mouth with a napkin and get up to put your plate in the dishwasher. “Hey, uh, thank you for not mentioning the guy dying.” you note awkwardly as you throw the napkin in the trash.

“Don’t mention it.” He replies, turning to face you and shooting a short smile. He sees you look down, presumably too ashamed to look him in the eye, “Hey,” he starts, drawing your attention, “If you ever need to talk, I’m here.” He adds an assuring smile that makes you melt a little.

“Thanks, Steve.” you convey before heading upstairs. You take the stairs to avoid the rock music and although it’s a tiring three flights, at least it’s quiet.

It’s not that you don’t like the Avengers, but being alone for nearly a decade gave you some certain habits. One distinct habit was eating alone, which you didn’t realize how odd it was until Natasha asked, “Hey, Y/n. Do you want to eat with us?”

You wanted to say yes, but your years of self-isolation made you reply, “Oh, uh, I’m just going to eat in my room. Thank you, though.” Steve gives you a brief wave before looking back at his crossword puzzle like a true old man.

Natasha watches you walk out and hums a short, “Hm.”

“What is it?” Bucky asks, eyes flitting over to Natasha who has a confused look on her face.

“I wonder why Y/n insists on eating alone.” she takes a bite of her food and thinks again, “Are we not inviting enough?”

Tony laughs and replies, “You’re about as inviting as the green guy.” Luckily Bruce is down at the lab or else he would have stared daggers at him.

Nat rolls her eyes and says, “Well, I showed her my knife collection and she seemed pretty entertained.” Tony, Bucky, and Natasha present multiple theories.

“Maybe she just likes her personal space.” Tony shrugs, proposing the most logical explanation.

“Yeah, I guess. But I don’t know, there has to be another-” Natasha starts before Wanda interrupts her.

“It’s because of her great aunt.” Everyone at the table turns to Wanda.

“How do you know that?” Bucky asks skeptically. Wanda rolls her eyes and simply points at her head. “Oh, yeah.”

Wanda continues, “After she died, Y/n was left alone and stayed that way for years.” She takes one last bite and adds, “I think she isn’t used to all this company.” Everyone seems to accept this answer and they take their last bites before picking up their plates.

Wanda remembers one last thing and states, “Oh, yeah, and because Steve held her hand.” Bucky wolf whistles and Natasha’s eyebrows shoot up.

Steve had been listening to the conversation, but after hearing his name, he speaks for the first time since dinner started. “Bruce was drawing her blood and she looked really nervous.” Steve explains with an eye roll. He walks away before they could bully him anymore.

Throughout the week, Banner performed a skin biopsy, MRI, and DNA test. While none of them were as bad as the blood test, you wished Steve had been with you for them. You knew he was busy, being Captain America and all. Occasionally, you’d see him around the Compound but you haven’t had a full conversation with him since that one time.

On your fifth day, you find yourself wandering the Compound yet again. It seems that no matter how many times you wander, you still find a new room to discover. You open a door on the first floor and see a vast ballroom. It isn’t the ballroom that catches your attention, but what lies in the corner.

A beautiful grand piano is tucked away next time a guitar, drums, and microphone. Strolling over, you remove the keyboard cover and press a key. The piano sings, sounding prettier than your great aunt’s old upright piano. Smiling to yourself, you sit on the bench and begin to play. You become so lost in the music that you don’t even hear the footsteps walking closer.

You come to the end of a song and a voice behind you asks, “You play?” You turn, even though you already knew who it was. Steve’s blue eyes are so intense that you falter a bit before responding.

“Yeah, or at least I used to. My great aunt taught me before she passed away.” you sigh and turn back to the piano. Steve sits beside you on the bench and you start a slow, pretty tune. “I haven’t played since.” you admit sadly.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, not knowing what to say at the moment.

You smile a little sadly and remark, “You would have loved her. She’d always have her record player on and it’d fill the house with The Ink Spots or Al Bowlly.”

As you reminisce, Steve studies you. With everything going on, he hasn’t had the chance to truly see you. You’re beautiful, but Steve already knew that. He noticed all the little imperfections that seemed to make you even more flawless. He can tell that you’re scared and he admires your calm disposition with all of this.

He focuses on your hands, elegant and graceful across the keys. You apologize a couple times for your mistakes, but Steve doesn’t hear them. Even if he did, he wouldn’t care. Everything about you seems effortless and beautiful. When he first met you, he thought you were just a kid, but now he couldn’t be more wrong. You didn’t look old, but you had a mature beauty and something about your essence tells Steve that you’ve seen things.

Your hands slow and Steve sees a sly smile spread across your face. When you start again, Steve recognizes the introduction. He matches your smile and asks, “I’m Beginning to See the Light?”

“Yes, it’s one of the first non-classical songs I learned.” you respond. Steve nods and you return your focus to the music. You get so lost in it that you don’t even realize that you’re singing quietly.

Your trance-like state is interrupted when Steve says lowly, “You have a beautiful singing voice.” You blush a little since no one except your great aunt has heard you sing.

“Thank you,” you respond, a little embarrassed. He already heard you sing so mind as well continue. A little louder, you sing, “Then you came and caused a spark. That’s a four-alarm fire now.” When the song ends, a sudden thought strike you.

“Why does the elevator only play jazz when you’re on it?” you ask curiously, trying to change the conversation.

He chuckles lightly and responds, “The elevator is programmed to play certain music for each of us. For guests, it plays Tony’s rock playlist.” You roll your eyes and close the fallboard.

“It was awful. How could anyone enjoying something that loud, especially in the morning?” you joke and Steve laughs.

“You’ll find out sooner or later that there’s a lot of things about Stark that can’t be explained.” Steve jests and you laugh.

“I’ve been avoiding the elevator ever since.” you admit and Steve chuckles.

F.R.I.D.A.Y breaks the conversation and announces, “Y/n, you’re test results are in. Dr. Banner requests your presence.” Trying to hide your disappointment, you get up and Steve follows suit. The two of you walk out of the ballroom.

At the top of the lab stairs, you tell Steve, “Well, I guess I better get going.”

“Yeah, see you later.” Steve says, giving a quick wave. You give him a final goodbye before heading down to the lab.

“You said that was the first time it happened?” Bruce asks and you nod in response. For the past half hour, Bruce explained the many discoveries he made. Turns out, not only could you produce fire, but your body can withstand such high temperatures that you could walk through fire.

He continues, “Well, it seems there was a stimulus that triggered your body to increase its temperature so high that you were able to produce fire.” You nod as he continues, “I think with proper training, you could learn to control and use your abilities.”

You raise your eyebrows in shock. Obviously, these new abilities would change your life, but you never thought you could actually achieve something with them. You ask, “Well, um, how do we go about this training?”

Bruce thinks a bit and responds, “I’ll ask the team and we’ll put something together.” Bruce turns to work on something else and you take that as your cue to leave.

You remember a distinct detail from when you used your abilities and ask, “Can you design a suit that doesn’t result in me being naked every time I set on fire?”

Bruce blushes a bit out of embarrassment and replies, “I’ll tell Tony.” You walk out of the lab and up the stairs. Too tired, you grit your teeth and decide to use the elevator.

Bracing yourself for heavy rock, you plug your ears. But when the elevator doors close and you don’t hear anything, you remove your fingers from your ears. You smile to yourself as the song ‘I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire’ starts playing.

#steve rogers #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel #marvel imagine #avengers #avengers imagines

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toocool2btrue · 5 years ago

Text

Good Intentions Gone Wrong...

Katie was at home, feeling quite miserable because she had caught a terrible flu and much to her annoyance. Lance along with the rest of her family had strictly insisted that she should take a few days off and rest. Lance had left for work with a heavy heart, not wanting to leave his ill wife alone but he had an important meeting that day and Katie was quite persistent, on him going to work.

"Go or else you are gonna spend the entire day fussing over me and make me go crazy." she had complained in a hoarse voice that morning but by afternoon, as Lance turned on his phone after the meeting. He smiled, finding ten missed calls from his beloved wife.

"How are you feeling?" he immediately questioned as Katie picked up the phone. There was a stubborn pause on her end before she spoke, "I am fine but try to come home early" she pleaded which was followed by a series of coughs.

"Miss me?" he teased, seizing the golden opportunity. He could imagine Katie rolling her eyes at the other end before she replied,

"Yes.. I do. Please just come home soon"

Lance's smile grew wider, "Do you regret kicking out your doting husband this morning?" he added. Pidge angrily sniffed from the other line, "You know what! Don't you dare come home tonight. Sleep at the Garrison today!" she threatened to which Lance nervously chuckled

"Easy there, Honey. I am coming. Do you want anything?" Lance asked, packing his stuff. There was a thoughtful pause from Pidge's side, "Well...."

Among the requests of getting more coffee, a big jar of peanut butter and chicken soup was the request of picking up her work tablet from her office. Lance knowing he was already in hot water couldn't protest much to the last one and so he dutifully made his way to Katie's office.

Despite them being married for 3 years now, Lance alongside Colleen wasn't allowed in Katie's lab or office. Despite his curiosity, he never argued much on this matter. Katie usually had a good reason behind her decisions and hence he silently accepted it.

"So what's the password? Is it my birthday?" Lance wondered as Katie snorted. "Sure..so that any random person who knows your birthday can hack into my office"

Lance pouted, "You are so unromantic.." he muttered to which Katie giggled in amusement.

"It's a pity but since you are now stuck with me so there is nothing we can do about it"

"So how do I get in then? Should I get Matt?" He questioned.

"No you don't need to get Matt. Just place your right hand on the scanner, the door will open. I added your fingerprints from the database in case of an emergency" she explained.

"Awww you do love me" he teased, his heart fluttering. "I thought it was quite obvious when I promised to spend the rest of my life with you. Let me tell you it's not an easy task at times" she shot back.

"Ha ha ha.." Lance laughed mockingly, rolling his eyes. "You should not be the one talking. If you had listened to me in the first place, you wouldn't have this cold"

Much to Lance's triumph, he had won this round as Katie muttered a quick whatever before ending the call.

When Lance entered Katie's office, he suddenly became well aware of the 'good reason' because of which he was forbidden from it. It looked like it had been hit by an earthquake or tornado or perhaps a disastrous combination of both. Everything was in complete disarray and Lance couldn't walk two steps without stepping over crumpled papers or tripping over discarded parts of prototypes.

Her table wasn't any better, it was scattered with various design sheets, important documents and in the very corner lay her work tablet. Lance carefully made his way towards the table and grabbed the tablet. He was about to make his way out of the disastrous office but his fingers itched, even though he had initially intended to go home to Pidge as soon as possible but his heavy conscious wasn't letting his feet move.

Lance placed the tablet in its original place again as he started to pick up things from the floor. Lance rolled up the sleeves of his Garrison uniform, it was going to be a lot of work but he smiled thinking it would be a nice surprise for Pidge to find a much cleaner office when she comes back to work.

__________________________

Lance was halfway done with the cleaning when Matt Holt arrived at his sister's office. Matt Holt was the only one who had full access to all of his sister's projects and even office so Lance wasn't quite surprised by the sudden visit but Matt surely was.

Matt casually sauntered into the office, partly surprised to find his brother in law still at work. His brows furrowed in confusion as he paused to survey the room and slowly a terrified look crept on his face as he was witnessing a crime scene rather than spring cleaning.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Matt cried out suddenly, grabbing the other man's attention. Lance blinked at him innocently, still holding onto files he had been busy arranging.

"What does it look like? This place was a mess and I thought I might clean it up a bit" he explained, not understanding the worried look on Matt's face.

Matt sighed, shaking his head sadly. "You know...I really liked you as a part of our family. It's truly sad that our time together has come to an end"

"Farewell, bro in law" Matt whispered, patting Lance's back. "What are you talking about?" Lance questioned, now feeling concerned as well.

"Pidge is going to kill you" Matt stated gravely.

"Why?" Lance questioned, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Because you messed up with her setting!" Matt cried out, wildly gesturing to the more organized office.

"What setting?! This place looked like it was hit by a natural disaster!" Lance defended himself to which Matt nodded in understanding.

"Sure to an ordinary eye it seems so but in reality everything was chaotically organized according to her. She could have easily picked out even a single piece of paper from this mess but now she won't be able to because you rearranged it all….she is definitely going to kill you" Matt repeated.

"She isn't going to kill me. She loves me" Lance stated, trying to assure himself.

"Yeah I thought so too till one day I tried to make her room more organized before she came back from science camp. Sometimes that day still haunts me in my dreams…" Matt whispered dramatically with a distant look in his eyes.

"But if you don't believe me. You can just call her and ask if it's alright that you cleaned up her office." Matt urged with a daring smirk gracing his face.

Lance gulped, taking out as his phone. "Uh..hey Honey. Just wanted to check up on you"

"Hey.." came Katie's tired reply. "Were you taking a nap? Did I disturb you?" he questioned, worriedly.

"No no you didn't disturb me" Katie assured softy before her voice rose dangerously high, "It's the neighbor's stupid dog! He has been barking so loudly for the past half an hour because of which I can't sleep and when I called her to complain about it. She started saying that Bae Bae is more obnoxious than her dog. That made my blood boil, how dare she compare Bae Bae to him. If only I could get out of bed, I would show her who she is messing with!" Katie growled angrily.

Katie coughed violently before continuing, "This is one of the worst days ever and that would be saying something since I was part of intergalactic war. I swear one more bad thing and I might just end up killing someone today"

Lance gulped briefly glancing at Matt before turning back to Katie, "Take it easy there Pidge, I am coming home and then we'll deal with the neighbor and her dog. Also any other snack you would like?"

"No, I am good. See you soon" Katie hung up. Lance placed the phone back in his pocket and turned towards Matt again looking slightly pale.

"Well then I'll start preparing for your funeral" Matt declared, heading towards the door but was immediately stopped by Lance.

"You have to help me. Aside from Katie you are the only one who comes here and would know where these things originally belonged" Lance pleaded.

Matt frowned, "Well I do have the general idea and perhaps we can wing the rest of it and pray that she doesn't notice it but-"

"But?" Lance cut him off.

"I have a very important meeting in two hours and I still have to complete my presentation for it.." Matt added moving towards the door yet again.

"No you can't leave!" Lance protested but Matt shrugged, "I am sorry dude but I really have to go.."

Lance sighed sadly taking a seat, he covered his face with his hands in defeat, "You know Matt. Don't share this with anyone but I always considered myself to be a lot to you than to my actual brothers. We have so many things in common and get to spend a lot of time together. I didn't get to do that with my actual older brothers and that's why I feel so lucky to have you and I always thought that when me and Katie would have our first kid. We would name him after you"

"You did?" Matt questioned. Lance cautiously removed one finger from his eyes to glance at his brother in law before nodding slowly.

"I did but I guess it's not going to be happening now…." he forlornly stated. "Anyway you should head back to work. I don't want to waste your anymore of your time"

"Screw the meeting! And let's get to work" Matt declared to which Lance laughed nervously, at this rate him and Katie would need to have triplets as their first borns.

The End

Will Katie ever find out?😏

Thanks for reading everyone. If you enjoyed the story. Please Reblog it and do mention your favorite part

#plance #Pidgance #plance domestic bliss #kinda sick fic #married plance #Katie Holt #Lance Serrano #Matt Holt #voltron legendary defender #crack fic?#Lance gets in to trouble #flirtyrobot #fluff #teasing #married couple banter

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toysoldiers-rwby · 4 years ago

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Deleted Scene. SYT CH. 10

Show Your Teeth

Characters: Fiona, Winter, May, Robyn, Joanna Rating: Explicit (tagged as thoorist) Tags: slice of life, sexual tension

First Draft of ch 10. I really liked it but it was too slow and diverted from the plot too much. uploading here for archive purposes cuz pc likes to eat files. unedited. I'm still peeved that I need to delete all my Marrow scenes :(

Read Show Your Teeth on on Ao3

Or Tumblr

angeldust: Stay out of trouble. angeldust: I’m playing up Robyn’s hero image for something after mid-terms. foxhot: geez. thnx snowflake :p angeldust: Fiona has better ideas about what you could do with that tongue. happywool: !!! angeldust: Hm… seems a visual aid is required.

May choked on her food and quickly hide her Scroll. She didn’t see much but she saw enough to turn her a deep shade of red. Her ears burned and heart was skipping beats. Marrow gave her a worried look, slowly patting her back.

“I told you it was spicy and not to inhale it,” He mumbled taking back his leftover curry. May tried not to make a scene, tried to remember that people were still filtering out from the lunch rush to return to class and tried to keep her death quiet as she swallowed her food.

“He’s did warn you,” Joanna grinned across from across the table. She fished around in her bag for a second. After all these months May knew it was an act. She saw Joanna’s eyes brows raised ever so slightly as she caught up with their group chat. Somehow the damn women kept a straight face and didn’t blush. Elm and Marrow didn’t notice the thick gulp caught in Joanna’s throat. May could practically feel it against her lips. But instead of getting caught in the memory, she focused on what Joanna was saying, “Here’s some water to calm you down.” She pulled her thermoflask from her back and set it in front of May.

“Asshole,” May growled, kicking Joanna under the table. There was only a rich laughter that only made May’s heart flip in a different way, pulling the soft throb between her legs to her chest. She did drink most of Joanna’s water and took a deep breaths afterwards, focusing back on their previous discussion. “As I was saying I agree with Joan. It’s bullshit how they expect us to turn in our assignments while we’re on missions.” She stabbed her fork into Marrow’s curry one last time, stealing a piece of meat and potatos.

“Yeah but Atlas’ has the best CTT Tower,” Elm crossed her arms and sighed. May ignore Marrow’s lingering eyes on the stretching fabric across Elm’s arms. Mostly because if she teased him, Joanna was going to get her back and certain… areas was already teased from Winter’s picture. “The only place with no signal are the mines so technically we don’t have an excuse.”

“Three hour debriefing, an hour of transport and two hours of fighting Grimm,” Marrow listed, tail betraying his calm voice and thrashing with fustration, “Isn’t study time.” He pushed curry around until a thought hit his head. It was cute how his tail flexed straight with realization before relaxing and swaying again, “How the hell is RMJT (Ramjet) keeping up?”

May blinked, struggling to keep her face blank as she shrugged, “I’m used to the bullshit pressure. Rich family, kid champion.” She said. As if Winter doesn’t carefully picks out their missions. As if Silvio didn’t hacks into their instructors accounts to give to them notes about the lessons they missed or a review sheet for pop quizzes. He offered to alter their grades but the Mantle Rats were too noble- “Ow! Fuck!” A sharp jerk and pull on her wrapped braid nearly threw May off her seat.

There was an annoyingly stupid gasp, Silvio passing by with a mountain of food that threaten to topple over, “Language, Ms. Marigold. Don’t let these uncultured Rats rub off on you!”

“I’ll shove the next HR shot in your eye you little fuck!”

Silvio stuck his tongue out. “The Schnee wants RMJT in her office, after you two finish your appitizers,” He said as he continued walking across the unspoken boundry between the students and offical military personal. May watched, massaging the dull burn away.

Clover helped the boy spread out food while Glade grabbed a plate and immediately started eating, nodding along to whatever Dr. Peitro was saying. Occasionally they’d had to set their utensils down, hands slowly going from sign to sign or just typing something out on their Scroll when the brightest mind in Atlas didn’t understand.

Her attention was drawn away when Marrow elbowed her, asking for help about something from their political and law class. May answered all the questions eyes only occasionally drifting to the little shit and Glade. With the highly maintain fade haircut cut and muscular build, the compression on their chest, they looked good. Healthy. They’re cheeks weren’t hallow even if their eyes…

Even if their eyes was still glowing that controlling eerie blue-

May took a deep breath, giving Marrow a weak apologetic smile and asked him to repeat the question again. Despite what Silvio said, Joanna and May took their time, both stealing some of Marrow’s curry and answering whatever questions he had. She counted the times her Scroll buzzed. On the third, fourth, then fifth buzz, all within seconds of each other, May and Joanna got up, giving the two Junior Ops a small smile.

“See you two for Conditioning?” Joanna asked.

“Of course!” Elm said with a large smile. " We’re beating our record today, Greenleaf!" Elm practically yelled, giving a big smile and even a bigger flex. Soon the women will need a new uniform, she could practically hear the seams rip.

“You say that every week…” Joanna mumbled a little tired. They took their time departing. If Winter was going to be a brat, they were going to be a tease.

The Specialist building was almost scary quiet. Empty, really. At first May hated it. It made her heart beat all to loud. Even Joanna must have heard it because she chuckled low and soft. May’s skin pricked, feeling a little too cold in the area where her partner liked to rest her hand. But Joanna didn’t, the red blinking lights and cameras in the hall stopping her. This was one of the most securied areas under the military’s control… which made May’s heart race a little faster and harder until her hand was shaking.

Joanna stepped close, laughing low and hot in her ear as her hand slowly wrapped around hers to steady her Scroll against the scanner. May tried not to tense and give the women any reaction, but she could feel the burning in her ears. There was a tiny yelp that would be hidden by the hissing doors on the security footage.

For some reason May expected to find Fiona seated on the desk, taking up the place where papers or a keyboard would be and demanding all of Winter’s and Robyn’s attention like the little brat she was.

Instead she got to see the picture Winter sent in person, with Robyn and Fiona corning the Specialist onto her own desk. The pair had worked that stupid uniform open a little more. Fiona didn’t leave Winter’s collarbone, only peeling back enought to give May and Joanna an angry glare for interrupting. Then she sank in those sharp teeth with renewed purpose.

Joanna hummed low and hot at the sight, helping May step into the room and locking the door closed. May’s heart beat moved a little lower. Fi and Robyn must have headed over right after Winter sent the picture. By now Winter was out of breath, eyes only slightly unfocused as the deep blush ran down and down, past her clevage bound in lingere and dusting her firm abs. A little lower were Fiona’s hands, restless and tugging a little at the belt and straps that circled her thighs- Ahem, thigh high boots.

Fiona had that look in her eyes. She was far to focused, breath too measured and ears fluttering in fustration- Suddenly May was in the changing room, months and months ago. When Winter first riled Fiona up to fuck Robyn, when May first felt Joanna’s strong hands on her chest. Her breath stuttered and she closed her eyes trying to control herself but Fiona’s sharp huff demanded her attention.

“These kinda look like harness, don’t you think?” Fiona asked, tugging at the belt and leathers again. Faux innocent voice, clipped with the slightest heat making everyone in the room shiver, even Joanna. May responded with a sharp breath. The low and starving that’s been ignored for months growing again.

If Winter had a response, it was lost against Robyn’s lips. The soft moan that had May’s blood boiling was not. Robyn groaned a little low and a little loud. She let got of Winter’s bottom lip and pulled back, satisfied. Fiona wasn’t and she made cute complaining noises as Robyn had to coax their girlfriend off Winter. It was a bit of a work, with how Winter laughed softly and enabled Fiona’s bratty behavior with soft kisses and lingering touches.

May licked her lips and watched, enjoying the rare sight of the three of them together. Joanna’s arms wrapped around her waist, heating up the cold spot that missed her. It wasn’t as bad as May thought it would be. Somehow… somehow they all made it work. Stealing little moments like this right in the middle Atlas’ most survaillanced buildings made everything bareable.

Joanna’s soft chuckle only added an innocent flavor to the heat in the air. “Sorry, but I just remembered that saying,” She murmered. “Sex is nice but have you tried fucking the system?”

“It wouldn’t be trying if you two came earlier!” Fiona growled under her breath. May took a long and slow breath, trying to keep calm. She grit her teeth as Joanna’s hip’s met her ass, hands rolling down from her waist to hips, thumbs snuggly catching on her belt.

“You three rats have no self control,” May growled under her breath. She didn’t look down. If she avoided her hardening dick it’ll soften… eventually. If her girlfriends stop teasing her.

“Sorry if your definition of control is toture!” Fiona looked ready to pounce on her, eyes below her waist. She was biting her lip and when Winter cleared her throat Fiona tensed, back ram rode straight as she glared at Winter.

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you four about,” She said. Every button closing her blose only made Fiona’s hands and ears twitch in fustration. Joanna laughed, leaving May and picking up their little lamb.

“I’ll calm her down, I’ve got years of practice with Robyn,” Joanna said. The former detective only rolled her eyes, walking pulled May and Winter to the other couch in her office. Any angry comments was silenced with her lips pressed against Fi.

“So? I’m guessing this involves whatever plan you have after mid-terms?” Robyn prodded. She stretched horizontally along the couch… placing her head in May’s lap. May stiffen, member throbbing hard. She didn’t know if she was thankful that Winter and Robyn ignored it or if she should curse them both out.

It’ll be so easy for Robyn to flip up her skirt, slide her out and-

“Kitten.”

“Stop calling me that,” May huffed looking away. her breath hitched, feeling Robyn’s rich laugh against the nearly dampening fabric of her skirt and panties. “I got… distracted.” She glared down at Robyn who looked far to smug as she licked her lips.

"We’re talking about Fiona pegging you, princess," Robyn said.

And suddenly May could only feel Robyn’s lips dragging down her length while Fiona claws into her hips from behind- May groaned, dropping her head back as her cock throbbed and the ache pulled her back to reality. She came too in time to see Fiona pull back from Fiona, her fustrated eyes on the tent of her skirt. She almost snarled, pulling Joanna down for a heated kiss. Joanna chuckled, holding Fi close and meeting it the frantic energy with a cooling slowness.

May gulped and looked back at Winter, refusing to give Robyn any attention even if the damn women played and lightly tugged on her wrapped braid. “What about it?” May asked, a little too breathlessly.

“You haven’t been prepping, have you?”

May grumbled and turned her head away. When Winter first suggested it, May venomly denied it. She was curious but it was anal. Then Winter held her down with Glyphs and explained all the cleaning and prep stuff. It wasn’t romantic, it was incredibly embarassing but it settled May’s anxieties. She tried to hold onto the calm feeling even as her palms felt a little to warm.

“Thought so… How about we relax that first time sharing rule?” Winter asked, reaching behind the couch and passing a sucpeiciously nondiscript box to Robyn.

“Are these the weighted ones?!” Robyn asked with a gasp. She sprang up, pulling one from the set and doing a close inspection of it. May’s face heated up and she avoided Winter’s slight grin. It wasn’t the usual teardrop shape that scared May, it was more of an angular topedo with a thin neck. It was definately bigger than Winter’s fingers and if it stretched-

May struggled to take a breath and she looked at the ceiling. She was reaching the point where it would take more than time to calm her down and faught against the throbbing that was fogging her head.

“Yes, they are the weighted, vibrating ones.” Winter said. Vi-brating… May took a deep breath, trying not to think about the pleasure rolling down her cock, the ghost sensations lingering at her thighs. Physical Conditioning was in 20 minutes and she’d like to be able to look at Elm and Marrow in the eyes. So instead May focuses on Winter’s voice, calm and collected, “But as I was saying, I wouldn’t mind if we bent the rules if it means you three can help May prep.”

“Really?!”

“You don’t need to sound so excited and happy!” May nearly yelled at her. That only caused Fiona’s grin to grow, and her ears to dance. Thankfully Joanna was laying on her, only a little propped up to give Fiona some wiggle room.

She used it to come a hand through Joanna’s hair, “So what can I do?” Fi asked. Far too excited. At least Joanna was able to kiss all that sexual fustration away. Otherwise May was sure Fi would be bending her over Winter’s desk- May groaned breath stuttering. It’s been far to long is her imagination was running this wild. Four girlfriends and she feels like a damn virgin again.

Winter and Robyn’s laugh helped a little. Gave her something innocent to focus on.

“No riding or oral,” Winter said. Fiona made sounds of protest and Winter quickly explained, “Glade said you probably have an oral fixation and you’d probably kill her.”

“What a snitch!” Fi growled under her breath. “You need to sneak them out again so I can-”

“What? Make out with them again?” May teased. Fiona huffed crossing her arms, her ears flicked once in annoyance and that only made everyone laugh. But talking about Glade… it cooled her blood. Guilt crawling into her chest as an uneasy silence took over. “How… how are they?”

“They’re eating the military’s budget,” Winter answered with a smug note. “Still haven’t talked and… actually,” Winter checked her Scroll. “Would you like to see them work in the lab?”

“Yes!” Fiona said trying to jump up and slamming her head into Joanna’s jaw. May listens to the soft apology and Joanna only laughs it off. The women takes hits from Elm’s hammer on a regular basis.

It takes a few minutes for May’s hard-on to fade. It was less the idle chatter and catch up and more of the bittersweetness of it. How talking to Winter was so rare now days. She grabs Winter’s hand, almost forgetting how cool it is and just holds it until she couldn’t stall anymore.

The trip to the Science Department was surprisingly short. It was close, incase of an emergency the best Hunters in the world would be there within minutes. But Winter takes each turn without looking, doesn’t need to with how much she escorts Glade around.

Winter’s clearance grants them all entrance beyond the lobby and slowly they felt the temprature rise. May sees Fiona’s ears twitch before her human hearing can make out feint pounding. Metal on metal, deep and evenly passed, almost mechanical.

The thick display glass muffles a lot of the noise, to the humans. Fiona grumbles and winces, eventually stealing both Robyn and May’s scarf to nestle her head into. Winter gives an apologetic smile and turns to the window again.

Silvio was sitting on the bench nearly half the room away, tapping away a Scroll. He was dressed in an Atlas uniform a size to big. They still haven’t found a lab coat that could fit the kid either. The top of Glade’s uniform was tucked into their belt. May recognize the binder, either borrowed from Winter or from the same company. Good even compression and with enough give to let Glade raise a heavy hammer high and to slam it back onto the glowing white hot meterial.

May watched closely as Glade paused. They straighten out, sweat rolling off the hard plans of muscles as they rolled their shoulder. The material didn’t bite uncomfortably into their armpits or shoulders. When Glade took deep breaths, the binder expanded easily. May relaxed a little. Until she saw the thread woven into the binder. It was slow, as if waking up or kindling a fire.

She didn’t notice it at first, the small embers passing Glade’s lips. They concentrated. with each deep breath, the embers grew a little bigger. The Dust infused tongue ring peeked out, gliding over their lips before their jaw clenched tight.

A sharp huff, a small plume of fire.

Another deep breath in and this time they finally got it, a tumbling wave of fire rolling from their lips and onto the metal. Fiona yelps, face flushed as if she was near that intense heat. The sound brings May out of a trance and she remembers to breath. Glade’s ears flicked towards the glass, fire dying into embers again and they push the dark safety glasses up, awkwardly trying to get it past their asthetic horns. They blinked and May’s stomach twist.

The only whites in their eyes was the pupils. Slowly their semblance calms down, the glowing blue shrinking and shrinking until it just colors their iris. What color was their eyes again?

Glade grins, ears wiggling happily as they set the white hot material aside and pulls off those huge tempered gloves. Their hands moves from sign to sign. Winter chuckles at it. Being the only one of the five that actually can hang around them to learn the language.

“They said to get your jaws off the floor.”

May huffs and she hears Fiona’s jaw snap close beside her. Silvio looks at the glass then taps at his Scroll. The door hisses open even when the scanner was glowing an angry red. Then the glass tints black.

Winter sighs in fustration quickly stepping inside, “Watts… we talked about tempering with Military property.”

“I’m not listening to sluts that fuck in the office,” Silvio scoffed rolling his eyes. Glade’s jaw dropped a silent gasp and giggle following as their goat ears flutter in delight- Sluts?!

“What did you just call us?!” May yelled at him. Silvio quickly bolts off the desk, hiding behind Glade’s musuclar frame and sticking his tongue out.

Glade tensed, ears flicking

“If you four want that Argus mission with Glade and Winter, I advice you not to touch me,” Silvio grins. May dropped her tense hands that was just a breath away from slapping him. “Good, can’t afford to ruin Robyn’s reputation.”

#Robyn Hill #Winter Schnee #rwby #rwby7 #May Marigold #Fiona Thyme #Joanna Greenleaf #Show Your Teeth #poly #wlw #very happy huntresses #thoorist #deleted scenes #fic

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alphawave-writes · 5 years ago

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World Records and recordings NSFW Sigma x Harold Winston

Synopsis: Harold Winston is sexually frustrated, but Siebren isn't interested in sex. Or at least, that's what Harold thinks, until he catches Siebren masturbating in his room. Read below or find it on AO3

I’ve also opened up a Sigrold discord server. If you wanna gush about space dads, join the crew!

It’s taken Harold a while to acknowledge the possibility that Dr. Siebren de Kuiper may not hold any sexual interest in him. To be fair, that shouldn’t surprise him. As far as he knows, Harold is Siebren’s first serious relationship in a long, long time. And since they’ve been together, Siebren has given no indication he’s interested in sex. No passing comment, no double entendre, no sultry words or secretive wink or lingering touch. Nothing.

Harold on the other hand is sexually interested in Siebren. Very interested, if interest is measured by the amount and intensity of wet dreams and lewd fantasies a single man can have. He’s not sure when his feelings had shifted from a warm, unconditional love to this overwhelming lust. All he knows is that he’s hyper aware of every little move Siebren makes now. He sees every lick of the lips, every flutter of the eyes, and his imagination runs wild, giving him a glimpse into an alternate reality where Siebren kisses him hotly in the mouth and bends him over a table and takes him then and there, for all of the Horizon staff to see.

Harold’s lost count of the amount of times he’s let the images fly before his eyes when he’s alone in bed. He’d stroke himself off, whimpering silently to the dust in the air, imagining all the ways Siebren can have him. Every time he finishes, he’s sated but unsatisfied. Every morning he stares at Siebren’s door, just opposite his bedroom, and lets out a sigh.

It’s not like Harold beats around the bush, oh no, he makes his intentions very clear. He’s hinted many times in front of Siebren what his preferences are. He did his fair share of nudges and winks, and when that didn’t work, he opted for a more direct approach.

In hindsight, lying naked on Siebren’s bed in a provocative pose was probably not his greatest decision. It’s almost an hour when Siebren finally arrives and once he realizes that Harold is there, naked and wanting, he just stares at him for a few seconds, eyes wide. Harold tries to smile seductively even as his nerves threaten to get the better of him, but Siebren does not say a thing. Siebren walks silently up to the bed, places his hands on Harold’s shoulders, kisses him gently on the forehead, and proceeds to fall asleep next to him.

“I’m sorry, Harold,” he says apologetically the next morning. He's still wearing yesterday's clothes, his bedhead making him look wild and gorgeous. “I do love you, do not be mistaken, it’s just…better that we don’t do this kind of thing. It’ll only ruin our relationship.”

Harold frowns. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t want to hurt you or your feelings.” He holds Harold close and rubs his back in a soothing manner, trailing kisses down Harold's chin. It’s Siebren's way of apologizing.

And it’s fine, Harold tells himself later that day. It’s fine that Siebren’s not attracted to him whatsoever. It’s totally fine that he’s the only one who masturbates to the thought of Siebren’s dick, big and red and full of veins, pressing into the cleft of his ass, sweet nothings whispered into his ear. It's definitely fine that he can get himself hard if he so much as thinks about Siebren for too long.

Oh, who is he kidding? It’s absolutely NOT fine. They need to discuss this properly. They need to. He wants to make his relationship with Siebren work.

For all intents and purposes, it is a rather typical day on Horizon One lunar base. Harold spends half the morning chasing after Specimen 28, and the other half of the morning doing the prep work for his latest experiment. In the afternoon he has lunch, chats with the other Horizon staff, and goes about his day.

He doesn’t see Siebren at all today, which is a bit of a relief. He needs the distraction away from him. After that fiasco, things have been more than a little awkward between the two of them. Siebren doesn’t smile easily at him, an almost distant expression upon his face whenever they make eye contact. Every time Harold tries to broach the topic of sex, Siebren changes the subject or just remains unusually quiet, or even just leave the room altogether. Harold can't account this for naïve innocence or embarrassment. Siebren's avoiding him.

Harold’s frustrated, but he refuses to be the one to start this conversation. Maybe he's being stubborn, but Siebren knows how he feels. He's supposed to be smart.

Harold stares at the open door to his lab and sighs. He almost expects Siebren to come in any moment now, but he's nowhere to be seen.

He'll have to talk to me sooner or later, Harold tells himself as he gets back into his work. He can't avoid me all day.

But then the hours tick on by and Harold is still alone. Dinner comes and goes and Siebren is still nowhere to be seen. It's not just Harold who notices his absence. Even the other scientists are concerned.

“It’s your job to find him,” Yoshida says. Today is their day to do the dishes. They’re the slowest dish washer on Horizon One, but they’re also the most thorough. No one ever finds a dirty spot on their cutlery when Yoshida does the washing.

Harold sighs. “Do I have to?”

“You’re the boyfriend,” Nevsky smirks. “Or is there trouble in paradise?”

It still sounds so weird hearing the word ‘boyfriend’ to describe himself. He never thought he’d be a boyfriend to anyone, let alone to be the boyfriend of a Dutch astrophysicist with horrific eating habits and a strange aversion to footwear. Then again, he never thought he’d be taking care of genetically enhanced gorillas on the moon. “Nothing a small chat cannot fix,” he smiles tersely.

“Wouldn’t have anything to do with this, would it?” Nevsky takes out a small, unopened bottle of lube from their lab coat. Harold’s eyes widen as he quickly snatches it away from Nevsky’s grasp, stuffing it into his own pockets.

His cheeks are crimson. Yoshida cackles loudly. The shit-eating grin Nevsky gives him is enough to make his stomach turn. “P-please tell me you didn’t snoop my room to get this.”

“It’s your fault for bringing Hammond in. He escaped his cage once again, and when we finally found him, he was chewing on the cap.” Nevsky smirks before adding, “I won’t report this to Lucheng, but maybe find a better place to hide this so the animals can’t get a hold of it. Just saying.”

Harold glances down at the bottle. Small bite marks could be seen near the top of the cap. “N-noted.”

“Hey, does that mean Harold will be the first man to have sex on the moon?” Yoshida asks.

“That’d be some world record,” Nevsky remarks. “Dr. Harold Winston, astrobiologist, zoologist. First man ever to have butt sex on the moon.”

“Doesn’t that mean Dr. de Kuiper also gets a world record?”

“They’ll both share a world record then. I mean, one of them has to perform it, and the other has to receive, right?” Nevsky turns to Harold and smirks. “No offense, Harold, but out of the two of you, you strike me as the bottom.”

“This is the part of the conversation where I go away and find Siebren and never talk to you guys again,” Harold cringes.

“Let me know how it goes,” Nevsky yells as Harold leaves the dining area. “Guinness will probably want all the details for your new world record.”

Harold checks Siebren’s lab, half expecting him to be distracted with his work, but he’s nowhere to be found. His lab is clean and well-kept, almost like he hasn’t been in it at all. To say it’s strange is an understatement. Siebren practically lives and breathes in his lab. He’s probably spent more time in this lab than he’s spent in his own bedroom, or any other part of the lunar base. Something must be wrong, Harold realizes. He’s got one other place to check.

Harold finds himself outside of Siebren’s private room, waiting by the door. He’s done his best to avoid even looking at Siebren’s door. After yesterday, it’s going to be so awkward. And it’s mostly his fault for making it awkward, he knows that, but one look at Siebren nowadays and his fantasies run wild. It’s easy to imagine Siebren’s large hands pinning him to the wall, his thrusts powerful and hard, a smug smirk drifting on top of his crimson face as he leaves Harold a shuddering mess.

He shakes his head, ignoring the heat rising up his cheeks. He doesn’t need this. Quick in and quick out. Tell Siebren he's missed dinner. Let him figure out why Harold’s frustrated in his own time.

Harold lets out a breath and presses his palm to the hand scanner. The door slides open.

As he suspects, Siebren is in his room, sitting at his desk. His back is facing Harold, hunched over and slumped as he gazes at the papers strewn across the hard surface. He’s got headphones on but the wires have since frayed slightly, some of the sound leaking. It’s faint, but Harold can just make out voices talking over a jazzy tune. A podcast, he thinks.

“Come on, Siebren, you spent all day in here?” Harold tuts silently. Siebren hasn’t noticed him at all. He’s too distracted with his podcast. A small smirk spreads across Harold’s face as an idea forms in his head.

He tiptoes forward, his steps as quiet as possible, ready to sneak up and surprise Siebren. A part of him tells him it’s petty revenge. The other part of him tells him it’s a way to alleviate some of his frustrations. The reason doesn’t matter. Before he can surprise Siebren proper, a loud shudder escapes his lips. The noise is lewd, desperate, a far cry from the strict properness of Siebren’s speech. It’s enough to make Harold stop in his tracks.

He's close enough to hear the words filtering from Siebren’s headphones. Two men are talking to each other in low, seductive tones. One has a deep yet weak voice. The other sounds a lot like Harold himself, only far more assertive and much more aroused.

“You’ll do as I say,” The Harold voice-alike breathes. There's heat and possessiveness in his tone.

“Y-yes,” the deep voiced man quivered.

“Yes, what, exactly?”

“Y-yes, master.”

“Good. Now, stay still for me. Don’t move one little bit.”

The noises that follow after are suggestive and revealing at the same time. There’s the loud noise of a zipper being pulled down, hushed moans and gasps, whispered compliments breathed in an erotic tone as the jazz gets louder, and then the wet noises of a man swallowing another’s cock.

Siebren lets his head fall onto his left arm, muffling his noises. Harold’s eyes trail down Siebren’s right arm, disappearing into his lap, moving up and down rhythmically. He should be mad, but a part of him is aroused by the sight of Siebren pleasuring himself to these voices, vulnerable and blushing.

Suddenly the door to Siebren’s room automatically closes with an audible swish. Siebren freezes in place, twisting his head slowly over his shoulder. His eyes are wide. His mouth is agape.

“S-siebren?”

He stops the recording, takes the headphones off his ears and quickly swivels his chair around to face the desk.

“Siebren,” Harold huffs.

He stomps his way forward and forcefully turns the chair to face him. Siebren averts his gaze, all of a sudden captivated with his empty bookshelf. His hands are folded over his crotch, his thick legs pressed together so tightly. Next to the pile of papers on Siebren’s desk is an empty plate, scraps of today’s breakfast coating the surface.

“Have you been in your room all day?” Harold admonishes.

Siebren scowls shamefully. “It…won’t calm down.”

“You…what?” Harold's eyebrows furrow.

“I-I don’t listen to this out of pleasure,” Siebren gestures at his headphones. “I just need to calm it down. Get on with my work. B-but my body does not heed my commands today.”

Harold gazes down to Siebren’s crotch and gulps. He can’t see anything with Siebren’s hands in the way, but he can see that his pants have been undone, pulled lower over his hips for easier access. Orange boxers peek over hip bones, slid down slightly to reveal a tuft of thick hair.

Harold takes a shaky breath in and out. He doesn’t know what to feel anymore. Laying naked on a bed doesn’t do anything for Siebren, but a few guys fucking on stereo do? But then one of those guys sounded an awful lot like him. He purses his lips and shakes the thought away. He’s got bigger problems. More immediate problems.

“How long has…it…not calmed down?” Harold asks slowly.

“P-probably just over an hour now.”

“Only an hour?”

“This is the fourth time today I’ve had this particular problem.” Siebren flushes. “It doesn’t stay away for long.”

“And why doesn’t it stay away?”

Siebren huffs, but he doesn’t reply. His crimson blush has reached down to his neck and hands. His jaw is clenched tight, his body squirms, a far cry from the confident and suave man that Harold knows. His dazed eyes give Harold the answer Siebren’s lips don’t speak. Harold wasn't the only one with the hyperactive imagination today, it seems.

Harold doesn’t stop looking at Siebren’s pants. He’s had fantasies like this. Siebren would be properly dressed, just unzipping his pants to unveil his thick cock peeking from his underwear. He would lead Harold down onto his knees, pulling his head forward into his CROTCH. Siebren will give him the simple but powerful command to “suck” and Harold would eagerly do as Siebren says, watching and waiting for Siebren’s cool façade to slowly break as he moans to the stars.

His throat feels so dry as he braces his hand on Siebren’s chair. He’s not sure what expression is on his face, but he knows it must be intense, because Siebren exhales noisily through his nostrils, the hot air caressing Harold’s cheek. He places his other hand over Siebren’s, their gazes connected.

“Let me help you.”

“N-no,” he whispers.

“Please,” Harold insists.

Siebren whines, but he puts up no resistance when Harold pushes his hands aside. He sucks in a breath as his cock springs upward, suddenly exposed to the cool air. Harold’s eyes are as big as balloons.

“Gosh,” he breathes, because really, what else can he say about a cock like this? Even considering Siebren’s height, it’s massive, bulging blood vessels lining up from the base of his cock all the way up to the red, glistening head. It’s almost straight, with a slight lean to the left, the length so long that if Siebren was shirtless, Harold thinks it goes past his bellybutton. It leaks eagerly, precum covering the surface in a wet sheen.

It’s not what Harold expects Siebren’s dick to look like. It’s so much bigger than he expected. It’s so much better than anything his brain could’ve conjured.

Before Harold can stop himself, his hand wraps around Siebren’s shaft.

“H-Harold,” Siebren hisses.

“You’re thick too.” His hand strokes upwards slowly, all the way up to the head. He never thought Siebren would react like this, a fist over his mouth, gaze averted, eyes half-lidded in pleasure. It’s a side of him Harold’s never seen before. The Siebren he knows is prim and proper, a haughty gentleman with a strict routine and stricter standards. It’s nothing like this Siebren, beautiful and blushing and vulnerable.

He wants more. He wants to see more.

Harold gets down on his knees and leans forward, inhaling deeply. The scent of Siebren’s dick is heavy and musky and a bit overwhelming but it’s Siebren’s scent, and that’s all that matters. He strokes just a bit faster, the pressure on his fingers just a bit harder. Siebren quivers from his touch, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He’s finally staring at him with those mesmerizing blue eyes, cloudy with desire. It's such an undeniably erotic expression, and Harold's the one to bring it to the surface.

“I-I don’t have any lube,” Siebren whimpers.

“I’ve smuggled some.”

“You, Dr. Harold Winston, smuggled lube onto a lunar base?” Siebren almost sounds impressed.

Harold smirks. “I’m prepared.”

Siebren splutters as he turns his head away. “W-well, I don’t have condoms.”

“We don’t need them.”

Siebren’s lips dip. He’s trying and failing to find another excuse, another reason to stop this. Siebren can’t say he doesn’t want this, because they both know he does. He leans back into his chair, legs spread to accommodate Harold, fists clenched at his side as Harold jerks him faster.

“Y-you don’t want this. Don’t want me,” Siebren says in a hoarse whisper. He moans softly as Harold’s other hand begin to caress his balls. “I-I’m too big. I would only hurt you.”

“Is that why you refused me earlier? Because you think I’ll break up with you because your dick is humongous?” Harold says incredulously.

Siebren blushes furiously. “When you put it like that…”

Harold can’t help but laugh quietly, if only to ease the tension building on Siebren’s shoulders. “Siebren, I’m already on my knees for you. And I’m old.” He licks a long, slow stripe up Siebren’s cock. “I don’t mind taking it as slow as we need to.”

His lips wrap eagerly around Siebren’s head. Above him, Siebren groans loudly. One hand plucks the glasses off his face and deposits them on the desk behind him. The other is on his head, fingers curling into his short brown locks. Siebren doesn’t pull or tug. His touch is soft and delicate, like he’s handling a porcelain doll that will break at any moment.

“Do you want this?” Harold whispers, nuzzling into Siebren’s groin. The pubic hairs tickle his nose. It takes all his effort to suppress a chuckle. “I’ll stop if you want me to. Won’t ever ask for sex if you don’t want it.”

“I…” Siebren finally turns his gaze down to Harold. His smile is small, shy, and utterly gorgeous. His hand sweeps down Harold’s skull. “I do want this, my love, just…slow, please.”

Harold smiles. He presses a soft kiss to the underside of Siebren’s cock. “I can do slow.”

Siebren shivers. “It didn’t seem like it earlier. You all but forced yourself on me.”

“Well, OK, maybe I wasn’t slow earlier, but I’ll go slow from now on.” I think I’ll need to with this monster, Harold thinks to himself.

“G-good.”

Harold feels the hand on the back of his head pull him forward. His lips are once more on the tip of Siebren’s dick, sucking lightly, making sure not to graze his teeth too harshly. The taste on his tongue is powerful, and not entirely pleasant, but Siebren’s groaning softly now, his hand ruffling Harold’s hair while the other one slides up his shirt, massaging slow circles over his nipple, and it’s all worth it.

When he thinks his jaw is relaxed enough, Harold presses further until he can feel Siebren’s dick on the back of his throat. Siebren moans, the vibrations running down to Harold’s open mouth, making him shudder. His pants feel so tight and his body feels so hot, but he’s got a job to do. He bops his head up and down slowly, settling on a controlled pace, dragging his tongue along every square inch of flesh it can reach.

“Good,” Siebren sighs. “V-very good.” There are other Dutch words mixed in as well that Harold doesn’t understand—synonyms for “good”, he guesses. He moans in response, and makes the mistake of gazing up into Siebren’s cool blue eyes. The look he gives Harold is heated and intense, like he plucked the stars out of the sky and placed them beneath his irises. It's so erotic. It's so unfair.

Harold feels himself getting hard with every second. The pressure is just too much. He palms himself slowly in full view of Siebren, a reasonably difficult job with a dick in his mouth but achievable. He groans lowly, uncoiling with the friction.

“Harold,” Siebren gasps. He’s close, and it’s obvious from the way he squirms with every little flick of Harold’s tongue. His hand is firm on Harold’s head now, holding it in place. “P-Please tell me you also smuggled condoms.”

Harold’s lips leave Siebren’s dick with a pop, a trail of saliva and precum hanging off his chin. “I-I do.” His gaze drops. “A-at least, I think I do. Why?”

“I don’t want our first time to end like this.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want…” Siebren trails off, his eyes sliding down Harold’s chest, resting at his hips. His eyes are cloudy. “I don’t know. Just as long as it’s you.”

“So you do want me?”

“Of course I do,” he breathes seductively.

Harold suppresses a gasp. There’s butterflies in his chest, flying in every direction, making him feel warm and fuzzy. His hand goes up to Siebren’s knee, rubbing slow circles. “I want you too. Preferably before the condoms expire.”

Siebren’s lips purse, his head suddenly lowers, and then he laughs, dispelling the tension in the air. Harold tries to pout, but it’s difficult not to smile when Siebren’s laughing so childishly like this, mouth wide and open, eyes scrunched in happiness. This is the Siebren he knows. This is the Siebren he loves.

Siebren pulls Harold up slowly so they’re both standing on their own two feet. His hand lowers down to Harold’s chin, caressing his jaw softly before kissing him passionately. It’s unlike any of their previous kisses. It’s warm and passionate, open-mouthed and wanting. His tongue spars with Harold’s eagerly, drawing out as many sounds as it can. The moans that leaves Harold’s throat are obscene, lewd.

“S-Sieb?” Harold breathes when their mouths drift away.

Siebren swipes his thumb over Harold's chin and brings it up to his tongue, licking slowly. He smacks his lips loudly, his face scrunched up. “Is that what I taste like?”

“You don’t know what you taste like?”

“You do?”

“Well, one of us is the weird one here,” Harold raises his eyebrows.

“I’m going to say it’s you, my love,” Siebren smirks.

“You’re the one who kissed me, knowing exactly where my mouth’s been.” Harold’s hand traces down Siebren’s shirt as he presses a kiss to Siebren’s neck. Electricity fizzles warmly on his lips, traveling down his spine. “Perhaps we should take this back to my room then?”

“I suppose we shall,” Siebren glances down at his still-hard dick and frowns. “Although perhaps I might need to take care of this.”

“Your jacket’s big enough to hide it.” He takes Siebren’s hand in his and leads him out of the room before Siebren can argue otherwise, giggling at the surprised yelp that spills out of Siebren’s mouth.

It’s a quick trip to Harold’s bedroom next door to get the condoms. Turns out the lube bottle wasn’t the only victim from Hammond’s ‘attack’. As he opens his bedside drawer, he notices that his box of condoms is also lightly chewed at the edge, though a quick inspection inside prove that the condoms within are unaffected. He breathes a sigh of relief. He doesn't want to give Siebren an excuse to stop this.

“Found them?” Siebren asks teasingly. He’s sitting down at the foot of Harold’s bed, smirking lightly as he rests backwards on his elbows. Harold laughs as he crosses the threshold to the bed and sits in Siebren’s lap. He’s pulled into a crushing kiss, full of teeth and tongue, textures and tastes and wonderful sounds. A hand reaches over his shoulder, pulling his lab coat down to his elbows.

God, they’re really going to do this. Siebren is going to strip his clothes off and pin him down to the bed and make love with him. Siebren actually wants him. This is really happening.

“Sieb,” Harold gasps. He barely has the necessary brain power to get the box of condoms and lube out of his coat pockets and place them on the bed. The rest of his thoughts are all on Siebren’s touch, Siebren’s love, Siebren’s everything.

“Let me do this,” he whispers. “It’s the least I can do.”

In a flurry of hand motions, Harold’s coat is gone. His turtleneck is next, Siebren guiding Harold’s arms up, pulling the fabric up and over his head. Siebren pauses for a second to admire his chest before his tongue latches onto Harold’s neck, sucking lightly. A shudder escapes Harold’s throat. Fingers move lower, fumbling at his zipper. Pants are slid down, and then underwear, thrown off in some direction behind his back.

Harold feels the sharp inhale on his neck, and then a nervous chuckle. Siebren palms his half-hard dick, rubbing softly. “Just as I thought. You are beautiful,” Siebren utters.

Harold blushes self-consciously. “So you have thought of me like this?”

“I have,” Siebren quietly admits. “Thought of you—thought of the both of us—in many different situations.” He smiles. “Not all of them were entirely innocent.”

Harold sweeps his hand over the stretch of belly peeking out from under Siebren’s shirt. His mind is swimming. Now that he knows Siebren feels the same way, the possibilities feel endless. “What are you thinking now?” Harold whispers.

“That I want you. That I want to please you.” Siebren kisses Harold's collarbone. “That I love you dearly.”

“So sappy,” Harold giggles as he pulls Siebren close for another kiss. “I love you too.”

Harold doesn’t have near the same amount of patience when it came to stripping Siebren, taking the pieces off one at a time and throwing them over his shoulder. He only gets a moment to admire Siebren’s broad, hairy chest and strong muscles and flushed cheeks. Siebren pulls him in and reverses their positions, Harold's back pressed to the mattress. Kisses and licks are exchanged eagerly. True to Siebren’s request, they’re passionate but slow, patient and wet and warm. Everything Harold wants and more.

Harold hears the sound of the lube bottle popping open before he sees it. It squelches deliciously as it oozes down Siebren’s fingers, covering them in a glistening sheen. Siebren's smile is soft yet shy.

“I must warn you, it’s been a long while since I’ve done this,” Siebren says.

“No offense, but I’d be surprised if it hasn’t been a long time for you, Sieb.”

Siebren just smirks as he spreads the lube over Harold’s puckered asshole. Harold hisses lowly. “That certainly keeps you quiet,” Siebren laughs.

Harold has a retort, but words don’t make much sense when he's got a finger in his ass, slowly working itself in and out. There’s the squelch of more lube, and suddenly there’s another finger, scissoring with the other, grazing over his prostate.

“E-easy, tiger,” Harold sighs.

“Be patient. I need to prepare you thoroughly.”

“Xīn gān, I think I’ll be finished by the time I’m prepared, at this rate.”

“Patience, mijn schatje,” Siebren insists.

There’s a third finger, and then a fourth, moving slowly, careful not to stimulate him too much and push him off the cliff. For a moment Harold thinks that maybe he’s bitten off more than he can chew. He already feels so full with four fingers, but Siebren’s cock is much thicker than that. It’s hard to relax when there’s a hand on his belly, pressing lightly into his pudgy flesh, distracting him.

But eventually those fingers slide out of him, and Harold groans loudly, feeling empty all of a sudden. There’s the slick slide of more lube down Siebren’s cock, and then the crinkle of the condom wrapper being torn. Harold watches with hooded eyes as Siebren puts the condom on slowly.

Harold smiles. “Ever been told you put on a condom sexily?”

“No,” Siebren blinks. “There’s a non-sexy way to do it?”

Harold chuckles. “Maybe I’ll show you one day.”

“I’d rather you not,” Siebren responds wryly. He squeezes Harold’s hips lightly. “Turn around for me.”

Harold gives a knowing smirk, but does as Siebren says. He’s flat on his stomach, his arms folded over the pillow. Siebren’s hand glides down from his ass to his thighs, tapping at them rhythmically. Harold slowly slides his legs wider until Siebren taps him to stop. Siebren hums indulgently, leaning down to kiss constellations on Harold’s back.

His cock rocks into the crack of Harold’s ass, slow and steady, a dizzying friction. Strangled noises escape Harold's throat. He's so sensitive all of a sudden, hyperaware of every little touch and sound. He's no longer aware of the four walls that surround his bedroom or the volume of his moans. The only thing in his universe is Siebren.

"Tell me when you're ready," Siebren whispers.

"G-gosh, Sieb," he pants.

"You haven't answered me."

"Sieb, I've been ready for weeks, please, don't make me wait any longer."

There's another slow kiss to the junction between his neck and shoulder. The lips pressed on his skin curl up into a smirk. "If you say so," he hums.

The tip presses against Harold's entrance before penetrating and he groans obscenely, grabbing a fistful of the pillow. Siebren’s hands are on his hips, rubbing circles with his thumbs, urging him to relax. It stings, and it definitely burns despite the liberal amounts of lube they’ve used, but the slide is good. Real good. Siebren's pace is measured and tempered, his arms surrounding Harold from both sides, hips rocking melodically. Harold almost wishes he could turn around just so he could see Siebren’s flushed face prickled with beads of sweat. It’d be beautiful, vulnerable. Absolutely breathtaking.

“You want this,” Siebren pants. It’s a statement, not a question, but it begs for an answer regardless.

“Y-yeah,” Harold manages. “For a while now.”

“Have you imagined this?”

Harold opens his mouth to respond but then Siebren thrusts at just the right angle and the stars begin to flicker behind his eyes. “Right there, r-right…yes, there.”

Siebren’s breath hitches, his hips momentarily losing their rhythm. “D-don’t stop talking,” he pleads.

Harold shouldn’t be completely surprised that his talking is turning Siebren on—he did just catch him moments ago getting off to some erotica podcast. But the fact that his voice alone can make Siebren lose his composure so easily sends a dark thrill up his spine.

“Imagined you…coming into my room once,” Harold admits. Siebren groans lewdly, making Harold chuckle lightly. “You’d tell me how much you wanted me, that you had to have me, and you’d lose all control. Rip my clothes off and order me around. Make me yours.”

"M-more," Siebren breathes.

"You'd order me to stay on all fours while you take me from behind. You'd be so brutal on me, but it would feel so good. You wouldn't hold back whatsoever. I'd be at your utter mercy and I would love every second of it."

Siebren does something in between a pant and a huff of laughter as he buries his nose into Harold’s shoulder. His chest is pressed into Harold’s back. Gravity pulls their bodies so close, leaving no square inch of their skin untouched. “I-I don’t think I’m the kind to order you around like that.” His pace is getting faster. His thrusts are pushing deeper. “D-don’t think I can last much longer either.”

It’s only then that Harold becomes aware of heat and density pooling in his groin, not unlike the death of a supergiant star. There’s no longer any semblance of tempo to Siebren’s hips, thrusting wildly one second, and then achingly slow the next. Siebren’s moaning now, the hot breath tickling the tip of his ears. He’s whispering of comet tails and the infinite realms of space, sweet nothings that mean nothing except for the two of them. The arms surrounding his figure are shaking, shaking fists gripping tightly onto the covers.

Harold’s hand reaches for Siebren’s, wrapping his fingers over and squeezing. At once, the arms stop shaking. Siebren exhales loudly, curling forward, thrusting harder. “M-Mijn Schatje, please.”

“Hold it together,” Harold pleads. “Just a bit longer. Want you inside. Want you inside me, Sieb.”

“Harold,” Siebren gasps.

“I’m so close. One more moment.”

He feels one of the arms move around him, and a hand turns his face to the side. Before he realises what's happening, Siebren’s mouth crashes into his, tongue flicking eagerly, hips gliding fluidly, pressing constantly at his prostate and it’s so much pleasure, almost too much pleasure. Within seconds, Harold’s muscles tense as a loud, long moan leaves his lips, swallowed by Siebren’s tongue. The supernova explodes in his veins, searing him with light from the inside, turning him into a shuddery mess.

Siebren groans loudly and soon he too is lost to the world, cumming soon after. He collapses on Harold’s back, pressing tightly, shivering violently. Harold closes his eyes, losing himself to the waves. The stars before him give way to nebulas, then galaxies, then the universe, and it’s beautiful and perfect.

It’s many minutes later after the supernova has faded that Harold feels Siebren shift above him, lifting himself off and up before collapsing by Harold’s side. He’s breathing heavily, cheeks and body flushed, tired but sated. He looks absolutely gorgeous like this, Harold thinks. He wouldn’t mind seeing Siebren like this a little bit more.

It’s a long while before Siebren realizes Harold is staring at him. His eyes droop down from Harold's face to his hand. Slowly, he reaches out for them, intertwining his fingers, squeezing gently.

“You did not regret this, did you?” Siebren asks quietly.

“Maybe tomorrow morning I will,” Harold teases, rubbing his backside for emphasis. Siebren just raises his eyebrows incredulously. Harold chuckles. “I’m kidding. No, I do not regret this.” Quieter, he adds, “You did wonderful.”

Siebren releases a breath. “Good,” he smiles before clearing his throat loudly. “You did…you did fine as well.”

“Just fine?” Harold laughs.

“OK, you did more than fine,” Siebren rolled his eyes, smiling softly. He nuzzles closer into Harold. “You were also wonderful.”

Harold smiles softly. Siebren’s compliments never fail to ignite the sparks in his chest. It's not enough for him to ask for another round, but it's enough to make him feel warm and blissful in the afterglow.

“Does that mean you want me?”

An embarrassed blush caresses his face as he pouts. "C-could you clarify?"

"We both know what I mean. The next step. You know..." he gestures at the empty space between their naked bodies. "This."

"I do," Siebren whispers. Suddenly, as if just catching himself, averts his gaze. He bites his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling. "S-sorry. About earlier, about me avoiding you. The last few times I got to this stage of a relationship I've...intimidated people with my size. I thought you would be the same. Clearly, I underestimated you."

"Clearly," Harold laughs. He snuggles closer into Siebren, lying his head under his chin. "So you don't mind if we do this from now on?"

"Do what, exactly?" His grin betrays the otherwise innocent tone in his question.

"Sex. Making love." Harold smirks. "Fucking."

"So crude," Siebren teases. He laughs softly as he envelopes Harold in his arms, pressing another slow kiss to his forehead. "Yes. I am ready. Although maybe not for the last one."

Harold smiles softly as he curls into Siebren's arms. There are so many things on his mind. He wants to know what Siebren likes and doesn't like during sex, if he has any kinks of his own, if perhaps they've got mutual fantasies that they want to try some time in the future. He wants to talk about it now so they are better prepared for next time, because he's sure next time will be even more spectacular than tonight, but Siebren is drifting away in his arms, already lulling off to sleep.

Harold smiles sleepily to himself as he stares at Siebren's sleeping form, brushing his hand over Siebren's warm cheek. Perhaps he can have that discussion some other day. He doesn't need to rush it. They're old men, with experience and time under their belt. As long as time is linear and the future is unwritten, they can go as slow as they want.

It’s late when they finally make their way to the breakroom for breakfast the next morning. Harold was in a mad scramble to find his glasses, only to realise he left them in Siebren’s room. Siebren himself was having an ethical dilemma on the proper disposal of used condoms in space, before admitting defeat and chucking it in his room’s sole bin. And then there was Siebren dressing and undressing and then re-dressing, which cost a bit of precious time. But they’re reasonably presentable, in fresh clothes, and best of all, they don’t look freshly fucked when they finally arrive in the kitchen.

It’s too easy for them to fall into familiar habits. Harold makes his way for the kitchen counter to make himself a sandwich while Siebren presses his tea order into the machine. “Make me a coffee,” he sleepily asks.

“Sure,” Siebren gruffly responds, tapping in Harold’s order. He's already memorised it long ago. The flat white is finished just as Harold plates up his PB&J sandwich. Siebren has already placed the drink near Harold’s usual seat, sipping his tea quietly in his own chair right beside Harold's.

Harold makes himself comfortable, sitting down and opening up the tablet he brought with himself and doing his daily sweep at the lunar colony’s integrity and the gorillas’ vitals. He bites into his sandwich, only aware in that moment of two eyes watching him. Siebren smiles softly at him, a knowing glint in his eyes. Harold can't stop the smile from spreading on his face as he takes a sip of coffee.

He barely glances up in time to see Yoshida and Nevsky approach them, smiling slyly. There’s the pop of a party popper, then the toot of a party pipe, performed by Yoshida and Nevsky respectively. Siebren jumps in his seat.

“Congratulations on your world record,” Yoshida laughs.

Siebren’s brows furrow in confusion. “What world record?”

“Oh no,” Harold murmurs.

From behind his back, Nevsky brings out two official looking documents. They’re both identical copies of the Guiness World Record certificate, with the original text whited out crudely, new text photoshopped on top. Nevsky hands one to Siebren, before sliding the other one to Harold.

On Harold’s certificate it reads ‘The world’s first butt sex on the moon was performed by Dr. Harold Winston (USA/China) and Dr. Siebren de Kuiper (The Netherlands) on Horizon One Lunar Colony.’

From the way Siebren’s face paled, Harold assumed his certificate read the same thing.

Yoshida and Nevsky are cackling like hyenas, tears of laughter streaming down their faces. Harold’s only saving grace is that none of the other scientists are here, though by the amplitude of the laughter, the others might be attracted to the noise sooner or later.

“O-oh god, they really did it. Look at how they’re blushing. Look,” Yoshida heaves.

“Who’s the bottom?” Nevsky asks.

“Probably Harold. Look at how he’s sitting.”

Harold winces, not necessarily because his ass is a little bit battered from last night, but because his dirty laundry has practically been aired out for all to see.

“You two,” Siebren growls.

“Oh my god, I have to tell Zhang and Flores,” Nevsky giggles.

“You have to tell us all the details,” Yoshida says to Harold and Siebren. “I mean, someone’s gotta tell Guinness about this world achievement.” Yoshida and Nevsky continue to laugh.

Siebren stands up slowly, glares at the two, and then picks up both certificates in his hands and rips them into shreds. Their laughter quickly dies.

Harold stands up with a carefully neutral expression. He gobbles his sandwich up and drinks the coffee in one go, wiping his lips of the excess.

“If anybody needs me, I’m going to throw myself out of airlock E-35," Harold emotionlessly.

Siebren takes a few seconds to glare evilly at Yoshida and Nevsky before turning to Harold. "I'll join you."

#Overwatch #Sigma #Siebren de kuiper #Harold Winston #Sigrold #I am ashamed of how proud I am of this smut fic #The word count is 6700 words!!!#I didn't make a podfic of this #The only way I'll be convinced to write a podfic of this is if I got commissioned #If you guys can support me by reblogging this that would be super appreciated

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marvelmadam08 · 5 years ago

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Stark Sitting

Peter and Harley make a discovery while watching Morgan.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, panic attacks, loss of a loved one, angst and swearing. Peter, Harley and Morgan fluff!! Endgame and Far From Home SPOILERS.

A/N: I feel that a lot of people forget about Harley he's like the middle child of all of Tony Stark's children. Also in honor of Spiderman staying in the MCU I thought everyone deserved a bit of Peter fluff (even if there’s a bit of angst).

~~~~~

"Don't let her eat a bunch of sweets, and she can't stay up past 10. I should be back before then but just in case I'm not-" Pepper runs through the rules for Peter once again

He watched Morgan 'feed' her doll a carrot, before she tried to hide it in the front pocket on her overalls.

"Don't play with your food sweetie." Pepper said without turning around

"Yes Mommy." Morgan took the carrot from her pocket

Peter wasn't entirely sure how he became the only one available to watch Morgan, but he was happy to spend time with her. He hadn't seen her since the funeral a few months ago. And after his identity was revealed, Peter was extremely limited for safe places where he wouldn't be harassed or arrested.

"You have my number and Happy's number in case anything goes wrong. And if something really goes wrong there's a bunker underneath the house and an Ironsuit, a direct line to Fury and a back up prototype for you, inside of it." Pepper sighed "Do I need to go through that again or did you get everything?"

"Yeah- yes, hundred percent." Peter nods "No need to worry."

A slightly impatient Happy stood in the doorway, waiting for Pepper to get in the car. Pepper went to give Morgan a kiss on her head then finally rushed out the door. Happy gave Peter a thumbs up, a hopeful smile on his face before turning to leave himself.

Peter clapped his hands together "Okay Morgan, what do you want to do tonight?"

Peter turned around to face an empty chair, carrots still unfinished and the doll laying on the table.

"Morgan?"

A scraping sound came from the kitchen, Peter ran in to find Morgan standing on a stool next to the refrigerator, half buried in the freezer.

"Hey what are you doing?" He grabbed her and sat her down on the floor

"Getting a juice pop." She moved from around him to climb on the stool again.

"You can't have a juice pop until you finish your carrots." Peter shut the freezer door right before she could reach it

Morgan pouts, stomping her small foot. Peter picked her up again, this time she slumped over, in attempts to put a bunch of dead weight on Peter but failed adorably.

"So what do you want to do after you finish eating?"

"Juice pop."

"Okay, after that?"

"Another juice pop."

"Maybe just one juice pop tonight."

Morgan didn't answer Peter that time, she just sulked in her seat, picking at her carrots on her plate, eventually eating enough of them for Peter to finally cave and give her a juice pop.

“Make sure you don’t leave any juice stains.” Peter warns her

“Yup.” Morgan sped out of the kitchen before Peter could stop her

“Morgan-” he was cut off by a knock at the kitchen door “FRIDAY, who’s at the door?”

“Open it and find out.” Harley said from the other side of the door

“It’s Harley Keener.” FRIDAY responds

“Thanks FRIDAY.”

Peter hadn’t seen Harley since the funeral either, they exchanged numbers though, especially since Harley mentioned checking out a few engineering schools in New York. Although with everything Peter had been through in the last few months, he hadn’t really reached out.

“Your aunt told me you were here. So I have to ambush you in the middle of the woods to get you to talk?” Harley stepped into the kitchen, pulling Peter in for a hug “How’s everything going?”

“It’s- I’ve had better days.” Peter admits "Morgan, Harley is here!"

There was no response from her.

"Morgan?" Harley tried "She might be hiding, that's a thing she does."

They scanned throughout the rooms on the first floor, Harley tried to keep Peter from panicking before he ran up to check the upstairs rooms.

"Is she up there?"

"If I say no, are you gonna freak out?"

"Yes."

"Then I plead the fifth." Harley sighed "Okay, stay calm, she can't be far. She's five."

"She's five and small, therefore easy to kidnap." Peter started to pace between the couch and the stairs "Pepper is gonna kill me, and then Happy is gonna kill me. And when I see Tony on the other side, he'll kill me."

"I'm calling the police." Harley pulled out his phone

Both of them were too wrapped up in looking for Morgan to notice her sneak back in living room and run for the freezer again.

"Yes, I need to report a missing child." Harley paused, before copying Peter and pacing opposite of him "Description? She's five years old, brown hair and eyes," he caught a glance of her standing on the stool digging around in the freezer, but continued to rant to the person on the phone. "Last seen wearing a pair of blue overalls and a pale yellow shirt, and white shoes- Morgan!"

"Morgan?" Peter turned "Morgan!"

"Yeah?" She asked, pushing her hair out of her face

Peter pulling her in to his arms. "You scared the hell out of me."

"That's a bad word. Hi Harley."

"Where were you?" Harley asked her

"Downstairs. Talking to Daddy." She replies nonchalantly

"What?"

"He wants a juice pop, he likes grape." Morgan wiggled free out of Peter's hold on her "C'mon."

They both followed her into the den, where the bookshelves had been moved, revealing a descending staircase. Morgan expertly moved through the dim and narrow space, leading the boys to a room at the bottom.

“This isn’t a Children of the Corn thing is it?” Harley whispered to Peter watching Morgan place her hand on the scanner next to the door

“I was thinking Fight Club.”

Harley and Peter followed Morgan inside the bunker Pepper mentioned earlier. Well it looked more like an apartment than a bunker. The ‘living room’ was almost identical to the one upstairs, but instead on the one television there were multiple, each watching different sections of the house. There was a kitchenette set up right across from it, and along the wall were different Ironsuits, including one for Pepper, Rhodey, Peter’s prototype spidey suit and Tony’s earlier designs for himself. Morgan sat down in front of Tony’s suit, a small bowl with a half melted juice pop sitting next to her along with a few hand made pictures and crayons.

“Hi Daddy. Peter and Harley are here. They lost me.”

“We didn’t lose you.” Peter corrects her

“Mommy says if you can’t find something, then it’s lost.” Morgan picked up a drawing and walked up to Tony’s suit “Look Daddy, it’s you and Auntie Nat.”

She stuck the paper on the glass in front of Tony’s suit. Peter and Harley examined the other pictures Morgan drew. There was one of Tony flying around holding Morgan in his hands. There were a few with Tony and Rhodey, fighting bad guys, flying in space, and one of them at a tea party. There was one of Tony, (younger) Steve, and Bucky with big smiles, and scars on their faces. And the last one was of Morgan, Pepper, and Tony with Rhodey, Happy, Peter, Harley and Nebula. And written in the bottom corner Morgan wrote ‘My Family’.

“These are really pretty Morgan.” Harley smiles at her

“Thank you, Daddy will like them when he comes back.”

Peter and Harley’s blood seem to run cold when she said that. They watched her settle back on the floor to draw another picture. Peter was the first one to speak up.

“What do you mean?”

“Mommy said Uncle Bruce brought everyone back after five years, and helped his friends. So Daddy will be back again in five years, and help everyone.” Morgan explained, looking Peter in the eye “Like with you.”

Harley took in a sharp breath, and Peter’s throat got tight. They weren’t sure how or if they should explain the truth about Tony’s death. Morgan happily drew another picture of Tony with Bruce, and they didn’t want to ruin her hope, but it would hurt more later; having built up five years of hoping and wishing.

“Morgan....” Harley sat down next to her, she looked at him with bright eyes, and he choked “I’m sure your Daddy is gonna love these pictures you made for him.”

Harley glanced back at Peter, he was halfway up the stairs.

“Okay Miss Morgan, finish this one here and then it’s bed time. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Harley followed after Peter and found him leaning against the wall for support, breathing harshly and tears running down his face. Seeing Peter now made Harley think of when Tony had his panic attack, hesitantly he placed a comforting hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“I don’t know what happened.” Peter gasped “I thought I was done with these damn attacks.”

“It’s okay-”

“No, it’s not Harley! I’m supposed to be a hero, I can’t save someone if I can’t breathe and I’m crying.” Peter ran his hands over his face “I let them down.”

“Who?”

“Everyone. I told my aunt I could handle this, I would stay safe and hidden. Now my face is on every news channel, she gets calls and threats about me constantly. My friends- my entire school has been under police and S.H.I.E.L.D surveillance. I can’t protect them anymore.” he sighed “And Morgan- she thinks her Dad is gonna come back and fix this. And I honestly wish he could.

Harley gave Peter’s shoulder a small squeeze “Did you know that Tony had anxiety? He had panic attacks when I would mention The Battle of New York to him.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah, when he would have them, he’d end up making something: gadgets, more Ironsuits, Morgan’s little clubhouse, your suits.” Harley tells him “And he saved the fucking world.”

Peter felt his heart swell at Harley’s last comment. “What about Morgan?”

“We’ll talk to Pepper about it. It’s not really our place to tell her.”

“I’m finished.” Morgan announced once she entered the room again. Her eyes landed on Peter’s tear stained face “What’s wrong Peter?”

“Nothing, I just-” he sighed, kneeling down to her level “I just miss your Dad.”

Morgan wiped away the tears on Peter’s face. “Cheeseburgers make me feel better.”

“Are you trying to get me to give you a cheeseburger?”

“No, but I would like one.” she scrunched her nose up

Peter glanced up at Harley, who shrugged. They both knew Pepper would kill them for spoiling Morgan with whatever she asked for, or Morgan could get a stomach ache from eating so much, but those brown eyes could convince Fury to give up his secrets.

“Cheeseburgers it is then.”

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escherenigmart · 5 years ago

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Inktober 2019 Retrospective

This is mostly for my own benefit. Fair warning, I slipped into “self assessment at work” mode, so the language is a bit odd. A reminder, I have no formal art training, but do have formal engineering training.

So read on if you want my thoughts on my own work. Or, y’know look away.

Summary

My goal was to “finish” Inktober, posting 31 fully inked drawings over the course of the month. A secondary goal was to use and practice with the shiny new Copic markers my dearly beloved, @godsdamnednamethieves, gifted me back in September.

I achieved both these objectives, and while there were some rough patches, and many nights where I stayed up far later then I should have, I’d say it went fairly well. It was helped that I took a week-long “staycation” in the middle of the month.

That said, there is clearly room for improvement in my art, time-management, and process. It is my next objective, moving forward, to incorporate what I have learned, about my self-discipline, art, and tools, into a stable plan that promotes growth.

Onto specific issues.

Tools

For Inktober 2019, I used three sketchbooks, Pilot’s “color eno” mechanical colored pencils, gummy erasers (I’ve had them so long I don’t know the brand), my Copic Multiliners, and my Copic Sketch markers.

Sketchbooks:

Adhesive pinding, flip-on-short edge. This was the book I started on, and has been my primary sketchbook this year. The pages were already tearing out infrequently, but once I got started in Inktober this accelerated and many pages tore out. Would not recommend.

Slightly yellow paper, bound with thread in smaller numbers. For Inktober I just used this to keep sketch ideas and play with layouts, and did not put any “final” illustrations in it. It lays flat on the scanner, and no pages have torn out. I’ve been very happy with this style of book, and plan to continue with this style for my future sketchbooks.

Hard-bound thick paper, thread-bound and glued to the hardback. About a week into October I ordered a new sketchbook, and ordered this one. Thick paper, holds the colored ink well, looks nice. Does not easily lay flat for scanning or drawing, though this was mitigated by leaving more margins.

The colored pencils worked well enough, though I quickly discovered that colored pencils and Copic markers do not play well together. This led to me refining my technique and relying less on detailed pencil sketches before I began inking. Need to order more light blue lead, as that is the color I go through fastest by far.

Multiliners are still a hit-and-miss. My 0.3 multi-liner from the B-2 pack had the nib fall out, and from what I can tell that style of marker/pen/whatever can not have the nib replaced. My 0.3 Multiliner SP wound up being my work horse pen, though I also used my 0.1 Multiliner for fine detail, and my 0.8 and 1.0 for borders and some lettering. Oddly, before my 0.3 multliner failed me for the last time, it was reliably giving narrower lines from the 0.3 multiliner SP. I don’t know if this was just a lead-up to the nib-failure, or if there’s a bigger difference between the SP and the pens from teh B-2 pack. But even beyond that, the SP feels nicer in my hand, and was more reliable. When I need new pens, I’ll probably bite the bullet and get more of the SP variety.

Copic Sketch markers. This was mostly a learning experience, figuring out what works, what doesn’t, how to use them, and so-on. Overall I’m very happy, but I’m still very bad at choosing colors. I repeatedly went to my husband to make color choices for me, often to great effect. So if you like my color choices, give him the credit. If you think my color choices are awful, give me the blame. A few things that bothered me were that I noticed some of my drawing picking up little splotches or dots far away from where I was working. This is particularly notable on the “Warrior of the Beach” picture. My theory is that either I’m getting ink on my hand, then transferring it to the page when I rest it, or that when I’m putting caps on/pulling caps off, I’m sending little droplets of ink flying.

A few of my markers gave me a little trouble, but I’m not sure if it’s just because I don’t know what I’m doing or because I really did use W1 and C1 that much. I need to get a small scale so I can see if they’re actually low on ink or if I’m just a noob.

Process

The days where I was most happy with my work was when I had an idea, toyed with layout in my sketchbook, and then redrew the whole thing. When I was least happy was often when I floundered about with no ideas, and then tried to draw something, anything, around 9 pm.

What this means (to me) is that I’m still relying too much on “inspiration” rather then discipline, which is a long-term problem.

Beyond that,taking the time/luxury of a full sketch (in a different book) to plan layout, workshopping text with the hubby, and splitting up inking from coloring (by hours or days) improved the quality of my work. Even still, some of the pieces I’m very happy with had little to no planning.

For example, “Ripe” was done with basically no planning. After deciding to do a dude doing pull-ups, I started on the text on the bottom with a ruler. About half-way through drawing the dude I decided to make it Dave. At some point I hit the “clever” idea of making it an immovable rod instead of a mundane pull-up bar. And then I cursed myself, because I came up with a better text layout, “Immovable Rod, Ripe Bod”, but it was too late to use it.

The Art Itself

The big part.

Some days I was very happy. Some days I floundered (can you guess which category my “pattern” piece falls into?). Overall though, I think I showed improvement, both in line-work and color-work, over the month. That said, “Mindless” and “Bait” still make me very happy.

I also realized that I strangely enjoy text. Whether it was using little banners, comic-style speech and narration boxes, borders and fancy fonts, it was a lot of fun and helped contextualize the pieces. Incorporating text is definitely something I want to continue to do.

Playing around with layouts, borders, framing was also unexpectedly fun. The later pieces where I restricted my “work area” with borders I think turned out much better for the limitation, with the framing devices often helping tell the story. In comparison, pieces like “Overgrown” or the early “freeze” and “build”, don’t have a firm ending, and felt lacking to me.

Flaws: hands, feet, and legs in general. And as much as I enjoyed playing with layouts and borders, I can’t use that as an excuse to not draw feet and more complicated leg positions. I clearly need to spend more time doing simple figure sketches, both whole-body and specific body parts.

Conclusion

Inktober was great, if time permits, I’ll probably do it again next year. But probably not the “full marathon”, dropping down to “half marathon” so I don’t stay up quite so late.

Also, I need to do a nicer illustration of Xanadeux. She’s only got that one panel. She needs more love.

#Retrospective

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ladymercytaylor · 6 years ago

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All In - Chapter 4 (Joe Mazzello x Reader)

A/N: HELLO! And we’re back again with part 4 of All In! Thank you so much for reading it and stay tuned for another chapter next week. Hope you like it! If you like it please reblog (it would make my little heart so happy <3) Looking for the last chapter? Find it HERE! Summary: You and Joe were in a blissful relationship for 4 years. It seemed as though everything was perfect. You’d moved in together and all of your friends were taking bets on when he’d finally put a ring on your finger. That is until it all fell apart. Now, 1 year on you’re thrown together at a mutual friend’s wedding and it changes everything between you.

Chapter 4 – 9 weeks

Things got considerably easier after talking to Joe. Well, not the crippling morning sickness that had you essentially glued to the bathroom floor both morning and night. But just knowing that you didn’t have to panic about his reaction did wonders to calm your nerves. He’d been utterly fantastic actually. More than you’d ever imagined. He was so respectful of your boundaries, not wanting to make you uncomfortable in any way. He’d even asked if he could touch your belly when you’d started to show a few weeks ago. It wasn’t a big change really, but Joe had noticed the new swell of your stomach when the two of you were lying on your couch the second Wednesday after you’d told him. It Joe’s idea to have a standing ‘date’ night once a week. Naturally, in typical Joe fashion that ‘one night a week’ had quickly descended into every Wednesday and at least one day on the weekend. You weren’t thrilled initially, weary about letting Joe back into your life. Every time you let your guard down images of that night in the kitchen would come screaming back in the most vivid way leaving you angry and hurt all over again. But deep down you knew it was best for the baby – so you agreed. “Can – I mean – do you mind?” he stammered, his cheeks flushing red as he realised what he’d asked for. “Of course. Feel away” you offered, stretching your legs out into his lap so that your tummy was readily available. Joe’s fingers twitched nervously as he reached out, his fingertips just grazing the fabric of your t-shirt. Sighing gently you pressed his hand down, splaying his fingers across your abdomen. A small gasp caught in Joe’s throat as he felt the roundness hidden under your top. He thought it would be softer, those memories of lying his head on your stomach as the two of you lay in bed on his favourite Sunday mornings. But the resistance under his palm had his heart fluttering in his chest for another reason. It was genuinely real to him now. Growing just a few inches from his skin was his baby – warm and safe with the love of his life. “How long until it’ll kick?” he whispered, not taking his eyes or hand off your abdomen. “Not for another 7 weeks at the earliest” Joe pouted momentarily, but it immediately softened into a warm smile. “That’s okay. I’m happy to wait” he looked up at you with such affection that your stomach clenched uncomfortably. The hand on your stomach was no longer comforting. Your skin burnt as if he’d placed a branding iron against it. “I’ve gotta go to the bathroom” you blurted out, withdrawing your legs and pulling yourself away from his hand as fast as you could. You didn’t even hear Joe ask if you were alright, you were too focussed on getting to the hallway and out of his line of sight. Tears prickled behind your eyelids. Leaning back against the closed bathroom door you tried to steady your breath. Everything was so familiar it was overwhelming. That tenderness in his gorgeous eyes as he looked at you. The way his fingers gently caressed your abdomen. You were mad at yourself. A whole year of building up every defence possible against Joe and here he was, smashing through them as if they were wafer. But you refused to give in to your nostalgia. He was here for the baby. Nothing else.

Anxiety gripped your nerves as you paced slowly in front of your OBGYN’s office. Joe hadn’t sounded 100% confident on the directions you’d messaged him the previous night, so you’d agreed to wait out the front to guide him if necessary. Your assistance was rendered unneeded when you saw a very familiar mop of auburn hair bouncing your way in the crowd of New York pedestrians. “See?” you laughed mockingly, pulling away from the slightly awkward hug Joe had initiated. “Told you it wasn’t that hard to find” “Well, you know me. I get lost looking for the kitchen” he chuckled, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Ready to go in?” you asked, nodding towards the white building. Joe sucked in a deep breath, his hands shaking slightly. For a moment you were worried he was going to back out and take off down the street. But the man in front of you steeled his nerves and stepped towards the large glass doors, grasping the bronze handle and opening it. “After you, milady” he grinned before dipping into a low bow. “Dork” you murmured, a soft smile on your lips as you walked passed him and into the sterile lobby.

“Miss L/N?” a nurse in purple scrubs called from the hallway and you felt your stomach clench uncomfortably. The acidic smell of antiseptic solution wasn’t helping one inch. “You ready?” Joe asked softly, rubbing his hands nervously on his dark jeans. “No” you admitted with a chuckle. Joe smiled encouragingly, offering you a hand. You gratefully took it, letting him lead you back into the practice. “Dr Mannix is ready for you” the assistant smiled, stopping in front of a white door with a small silver plaque gleaming at you. “Thank you” you smiled before stepping into the office. “Hi, Dr Mannix” “Hello, Y/N!” your OBGYN beamed from over the top of her thick black glasses. “So nice to see you again. And this must be dad!” she beamed, her blue eyes flickering to Joe who waved slightly nervously as he sat down next to you. “Joe. Nice to meet you” he murmured, knitting his fingers together in his lap. Dr Mannix’s face fell into a gentle smile. “You don’t need to be nervous, Joe. Y/N’s already filled me in on the situation and trust me, this isn’t the strangest case I’ve had” she smiled and Joe’s shoulders relaxed noticeably. “Are you sure?” “Promise” she smiled, pulling a manila folder out of the filing cabinet next to her pristine white desk. “I think the best one was two sets of twins that were both cheating on their twin with the other one” she chuckled. “No way” you murmured, jaw falling slack in shock while Joe stared at your doctor with wide eyes. “Alright I made that up” Dr Mannix admitted with a laugh, flipping the cover of the file open. “But don’t stress. I’m not here to play therapist, I’m just here to look after you and your baby” “I guess we can work with that” Joe sighed mockingly and you couldn’t help but punch him lightly in the arm. The older woman chuckled quietly before peering at the paperwork in front of her. “Okay, so your GP sent over all your initial test results so that’s perfect” she murmured more to herself as she read through the papers. “And from your info we know you’re about 9 weeks, so today we get to do your first ultrasound! Oh, that’s so exciting! And we’ll be able to give you your due date which is fun” she chirped. Your GP had told you that Dr Mannix was a very ‘friendly’ OBGYN but you didn’t imagine her to be quite so excited about your pregnancy. It was refreshing, given that the emotion this pregnancy had inspired most thus far was panic. “Before we get started with the scan, do either of you have any questions?” “I’ve already asked all my questions for now” you chuckled, turning to Joe. His eyes flickered between you and Dr Mannix with slightly wild fear. “Not yet” he stammered, fidgeting in the plastic chair. “Still…processing” “That’s perfectly fine” your doctor beamed, standing up from behind her desk. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty by the next appointment. Now, let’s see your baby”

Your heart began to race as you situated yourself on the white examination table. Joe immediately fell into the plastic seat next to it. “You nervous?” you asked softly, noticing the restless way his leg was bouncing up and down. “Just a little” he whispered, a shy smile on his face. “Never been to one of these before” “Well I find it endlessly comforting that you haven’t made a habit of knocking up ex-girlfriends in the past” you teased, twiddling your thumbs as Dr Mannix assembled the equipment a few feet away. “Maybe I just never got so kindly invited to the scans. I could have a hundreds of kids out there I never told you about” he sniffed indignantly. You snorted a derisive laugh, shaking your head at him. “Hundreds. Really?” “That hurts, Y/N. That really hurts” he glared playfully, but you were glad to notice that his leg had stopped bouncing. “Alright, guys. Let’s see this baby” Dr Mannix grinned, holding up a white device that looked unnervingly like a barcode scanner. You rolled up your shirt at her instruction. Blue gel was squirted against your exposed skin before she pressed the wand to your belly. “Okay, just a smidge of manoeuvring here” the doctor murmured mostly to herself as she gently twisted the device in her hand. The screen next to you showed nothing but black and white static and Joe felt his hands begin to sweat again. He’d been eagerly awaiting this ever since the day you’d told him about the baby. It was all well and good to get updates from you and watch your stomach slowly grow, but what he really wanted was to see it. To know that his baby was safe and healthy. “There we are!” Dr Mannix announced triumphantly, holding the ultrasound wand perfectly still against your skin. Gasps escaped both yours’s and Joe’s mouth as the image on the screen changed. Instead of blank static, there was a defined black oval in the middle of the monitor – and nestled inside of that was a small grey blob. “That’s your baby” she grinned, the lines in the corners of her eyes deepening. “Holy shit” Joe murmured, leaning forward on his elbows, his eyes fixed on the image in front of him. “That’s amazing” you added, tears prickling behind your eyes, “but it looks like a chicken nugget! It’s so silly!” you sobbed, a few tears streaking down your cheeks. Joe’s loud laugh echoed in the tiny room but it quickly died when he noticed your distress. “Of course it looks silly, sweets, it’s only 9 weeks old” he murmured gently, reaching out to grasp your hand tightly. You flinched slightly at the contact, but much to his relief didn’t pull away. “And I think a chicken nugget is kinda cool” he whispered conspiratorially, rousing a small smile from you. Sniffling quietly you grasped his hand tighter. “Do you want to hear the little nugget’s heartbeat?” Dr Mannix asked gently. Dabbing at your eyes with your free hand you nodded, noticing Joe squeeze your hand supportively. She tapped a few keys on the computer before a strange sound echoed all throughout the small exam room. A thumping ‘woosh’ echoed through the speakers. Now it was Joe’s turn for tears. You saw them slip silently down his slightly ruddy cheeks and squeezed his hand gently. His hazel eyes flickered to you for a moment and you were relieved to find nothing but unadulterated joy sparkling in them. “It’s a really cool chicken nugget” he whispered with a laugh and you grinned, tears still glittering in your own eyes. Dr Mannix waved the two of you goodbye half an hour later with hardcopies of the ultrasound photos and even more fliers than after the first appointment. “Do you have time for lunch?” Joe asked quickly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Your mind drifted to the mountain of patient files on your desk back at the office and you knew taking a long break wasn’t in your best interest. But then you saw the hopefulness shimmering in Joe’s hazel eyes. “Yeah, come on. I know a place around the corner”

“When is it okay to start telling people?” Joe asked, not taking his eyes off his coffee as he stirred the foam aimlessly. “Most people usually wait until after the first trimester is over, but we’re nearly there. You want to tell your family?” “And the boys, if that’s okay. Ben’s become irritatingly suspicious” he sighed, scrunching up his napkin. “As long as they’re sworn to secrecy I don’t mind” you smiled, putting your knife and fork together and leaning back in your seat. “You sure?” he asked, his eyes glittering with excitement. “Of course, I love those boys” you smiled, memories of those 3 insane men flooding your mind. Oh how you’d missed them. Joe had been so worried about signing on for such a long project, terrified that he wouldn’t get along with them. But then he’d found out Rami was going to be playing Freddie and that had just been the beginning of a string of very good luck. Ben had quickly become his best friend and Gwil had immediately slotted in as the older brother he’d never had. Keeping the news to himself had been killing him, but he didn’t want to do anything without your approval. “It’s actually really good timing. They’ll all be in town this weekend. Ben’s got a couple of auditions lined up and Rami and Gwil thought it’d be a good opportunity to turn it into a reunion” “Oh that so exciting!” you grinned, your chest aching slightly with jealousy. You’d only seen Ben once after the breakup and that was pure co-incidence at the wedding. Technically they were Joe’s friends first and you knew their loyalty would lie with him so you’d stepped away from any real kind of contact. Commenting on someone’s Instagram really wasn’t the same. “Did you maybe want to come to dinner with us on Saturday?” Joe suggested, his palms suddenly feeling very clammy. “I know they’ve missed you and seeing as we’re….talking again” he felt so silly reducing your current situation to ‘talking again’ but he really couldn’t find the right words for what you were. Ex’s having a baby together just sounded even worse. “Would you be alright with that?” “I just invited you, didn’t I?” he teased, his hazel eyes sparkling playfully. You rolled your eyes as his cheek but excitement fluttered in your chest. You’d never met a group of boys quite like the BoRhap cast before and you’d been desperate to see them again.

“So, I have news” Joe started, setting his beer down on the black coffee table. “Did you get that movie you were telling us about, Tennessee Dreaming or something wasn’t it?” Gwil asked, taking a sip of his drink. “So keen to watch you in a rom com” Ben chuckled from his spot on the windowsill as he wafted his cigarette smoke out the open window. “Tightly wound city boy meets country girl, yeah? Oh, do you think you’re going to have to ride a horse?” “Shut up, Ben. The man clearly has something important to say” Rami interrupted, gesturing to his paler than usual friend. “Finish that up and then he can tell us” Ben rolled his eyes, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking the dead butt out the window. Joe’s hands grew even clammier as his friend shut the window with a soft click before plopping down on the navy couch next to Gwil. “Okay, lay it on us” he sighed, clapping his hands in anticipation. Joe suddenly felt very nervous under 3 sets of watchful eyes. They’d all been around through the break up and loved you so much that trying to explain the situation was going to be an interesting ride to say the least. “Y/N’s pregnant” he murmured, his hazel eyes drifting to the carpet under his sneakers. “Holy shit” Gwil breathed out as Rami spat out the sip of beer he’d taken. Ben, however, stayed dangerously quiet. “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend” While Gwil was happy that you’d found someone, he couldn’t help but frown. He’d always hoped that you both find your way back to each other, but that didn’t seem to be the case. “She doesn’t” was Joe’s slightly choked response and Ben’s green eyes narrowed even further. “She told you about it? I didn’t know you were even talking” Rami murmured. That was when it clicked into place. “She told him because he’s the father” Ben interjected, folding his arms over his chest. “WHAT?!” “NO!” “Uh yeah” Joe sighed, rubbing his hands through his tousled hair. “When did that happen?” Rami asked, leaning forward in his armchair. “Sebastian Stan’s wedding” Ben interjected before Joe could even open his mouth. “I leave them alone for 5 minutes for a very cute bridesmaid and they have fucking one night stand” There was absolutely no hiding the anger in his voice. “Alright, alright. Calm down, mate” Gwil murmured gently in a vain attempt to placate his friend but it was no use. Joe prickled, his shoulders tensing dangerously. “What are you so fucking pissy about?” “Just the fact that you ripped that girl’s heart out a year ago and then go and be so fucking careless” he spat, cheeks reddening in anger. Rami swallowed nervously, his eyes flicking to Gwil who gave him a minute shrug. “We weren’t careless!” Joe shouted, a furious blush sweeping up his neck. “Defences…failed” he stammered awkwardly, his whole body feeling impossibly hot. “And what the fuck are you saying about ripping her heart out? I never told you what happened” “I called her cause I’m a good friend!” Ben shouted, the secret that he’d been holding onto for what felt like decades finally spilling from his lips. “And she told me everything, by the way. After the funeral, Joe? After the fucking funeral!?” “Alright, that’s enough!” Gwil shouted, his booming voice echoing around the living room. Both Joe and Ben shut their mouths, withdrawing into their seats in embarrassment. “Look, things have happened and this is where we’re at because of it” he murmured, his voice blessedly returning to its soft tone. “Yelling at each other isn’t going to change anything. And I’m sure Joe’s under enough pressure as it is” he added with a pointed glare at Ben who shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. A few moments passed where the only sounds that was heard was Joe and Ben’s laboured breaths. “Okay, is that settled then?” Gwil asked, his sapphire blue eyes darting between his two grumpy friends. Both boys nodded tensely, their gaze anywhere but each other. “Good. Now, what are you two going to do?” “We’re keeping it” Joe murmured. Despite the utter fury raging through his veins a small smile twisted his lip. He always smiled when he spoke of you. “Wow” Rami murmured, amazement clear on his face. “Joe Mazzello – father” “I am so glad you didn’t say daddy” Ben chuckled and Joe couldn’t help but grin. Gwil beamed as the tension dissolved from the group, taking a lazy swig of his drink again. “But you’re not getting back together” Rami asked and Joe shook his head, shoulders dropping slightly. “But you want to” “Of course I do. I wanted to before all this even happened” he sighed dejectedly, his face dropping into his hands. “I was going to ask her about it when he had coffee but she dropped that bomb on me instead. Funny enough I didn’t think the best thing to do was follow up ‘I’m pregnant’ with ‘Wanna go on a date?’” he muttered bitterly and Ben had to stifle a laugh behind his hand. “Well, all is not lost” Gwil stated brightly, setting down his empty bottle. “I’m sure you didn’t imagine being in this situation 3 months ago so who knows what might change” Joe tried not to roll his eyes. Gwil was only trying to help but sometimes his optimism was just ridiculous. “I’d love to believe you. But she’s still so upset with me. Won’t even let me try to apologise for – what was it – oh yeah, ripping her heart out” “Well don’t make a cock of yourself again and maybe it’ll be better this time” Ben muttered. Gwil braced himself for more yelling but the raised voices never came. “I won’t. I don’t have the luxury of that now. The baby’s more important than me fixing my mistakes” Joe murmured, dragging his hand down his face. “Wow, look at you all grown up” Gwil chuckled warmly. “Are we going to see her while we’re here?” Rami asked brightly, sitting up straighter in his seat. “She’s actually coming to dinner tomorrow night” Joe murmured and Rami grinned. “I wish Lucy could have come, but she’s in France at the moment” he started to ramble. Joe was more than grateful for the distraction, his eyes not leaving Rami as he gushed about his girlfriend’s latest project. And it was probably good that his attention was elsewhere as he missed a very concerned look shared between Gwil and Ben. TAGS! @sunflower-borhap-boys @blushingwueen @briarrose26 @mrsmazzello @escabell @yourealegendroger @sincereleygmg @zvzxs @dramatique-moi @borhapqueen92 @manuosorioh @deakyjohns

#joe mazzello #joe mazzello x reader #borhap cast x reader #borhap cast #bohemian rhapsody

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atinyidea · 5 years ago

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Glitch | Ateez Gang! AU | TWO

⟶ gang!au, hacker!au, love triangle? poly? female!original character

How curious it is, the fact that the police just gave a media conference, confirming ATZ’s involvement in Kyungri’s families newly-appointed murder, just as she sat down for her best friend, Jaehyeon, to be tattooed by one of the gang members?

⟶ glitch ml! main ml!

⟶ prologue | previous | next

⟶ note! @atinyluna @iis4d @untainted-memories!! if anyone wants to be on a tag list for this fic just let me know!

⟶ 2786 words

⟶ edited 08.03.2020

TWO: The Café, 14:38.

Saturday 25 October 2025,

“How much sleep have you had? You look like shit.” Lee Chaeyoung told her best friend as she strolled towards the table Kyungri sat at and placing a paper cup of coffee in front of her.

“Gee, thanks Chae,” Kyungri mumbled sarcastically but shot her friend a grateful look as she brought the cup to her lips. “Enough to live. Especially now I have this,” Kyungri paused to lift up the coffee, “you’re the best. Thank you.”

Chaeyoung beamed at Kyungri, pulling out the chair opposite her and sitting herself down at the table. Technically she was supposed to go right back to work, but Chaeyoung didn’t care. Her bright orange hair was tied back into two twin French braids, the colour complimenting her work uniform. It consisted of a teal polo shirt with the café’s logo embroidered into the sleeve tucked into a white tennis skirt which had to have at least seven pleats. A small apron of the same colour as her shirt wrapped around her tiny waist, its strings circling her waist twice before being tied in the back. Chaeyoung leant forward towards Kyungri, her head resting on her interlocked fingers, a worried look in her eyes as she stared at her friend. “Doesn’t look like it.”

Kyungri simply shrugged, her hair falling off of her shoulder. Today she wore her hair down, the soft black locks making little waves as they cascaded down her back. She never typically wore her hair down, much preferring to keep it tied back and out of her face. However, the day was colder than usual, so Kyungri decided she could do with the extra warmth and insulation. She wore a pale-yellow long-sleeved turtle neck jumper – that was a sized too big for her – underneath a black leather jacket that she hadn’t taken off yet. She paired it with a pair of black jeans and her favourite lace-up boots.

“You need to take care of yourself, Ri.” Chaeyoung sighed, leaning back in her chair and letting her hands fall to the table with a dull thud.

“What I need is to find these guys before I fall into utter insanity.”

“Still, no luck?”

Kyungri shook her head, taking a sip of her coffee before grimacing a little. “I just don’t get it! Other than that single police file your dad made there is no other trace of Jo Jowon or Choi Jongho that match the faces at all. It’s like they don’t exist!” Kyungri finished, realising she was flailing her hands around as she spoke. “It’s like the people in the pictures don’t exist. I’ve tried everything I can think of. Facial scanners on numerous lists of known people, facial reconstruction systems, several types of picture rendering and nothing! Not to mention all the standard ways to find someone and still nothing. It's like they fabricated out of thin air.”

“Maybe they really are ghosts. From the Ghost Gang as Jaehyeon calls them.” Chaeyoung giggled at the way Kyungri rolled her eyes. “Have you asked GM for help?”

The best thing about Lee Chaeyoung was that she was a loyal friend. She was good at keeping secrets and even better at learning them. Since Chaeyoung was the daughter of the head of police, she had grown up around the life of crime, always watching from behind a glass pane. She watched her father as he worked, mainly as he worked from home. When her parents got divorced, Chaeyoung wasn’t split in two like one would think. She went to live with her mother, happy to no longer be around a man who made his life murder. She was in her mid-teens when the divorce happened, around seven years ago, and she had sat on the bottom step of the stairs listening to her parents yell at each other. She would never forget the sound of the slap that resonated through the house, nor would she forget the silence that followed. Chaeyoung couldn’t say she hated her father, but she knew she opposed him quite a lot. Kyungri often wondered if that was why Chaeyoung had taken so well to what Kyungri did – especially when she hacked into the police station where Chaeyoung’s father worked. She used her parentage to the best of their abilities, especially since Soonchul seemed desperate for his daughter in his life. Chaeyoung often thought what she did to find out information from her father for Kyungri could be considered manipulative and wrong, but she never found herself caring.

Maybe she did hate her father after all.

Kyungri let out a small groan as she let her head fall forwards onto the cap of her coffee. “That’s where I’m on my way to next. He’s not going to let this go for at least a month.”

Noh Gongmyung, known as GM by Chaeyoung, was a weird person. Kyungri knew next to nothing about the man, but if there was one thing she did know was that she trusted him. It was strange, just how much she did trust the man who was ten years her senior, how they talked and laughed and worked together like they were best friends of the same age and not employer and employee. Gongmyung was the best hacker Kyungri had ever known, and she knew some cracking hackers. The man was like her father, her brother and best friend all in one. Which was weird.

Chaeyoung didn’t try to hide her giggles.

Before she could continue, the overhead bell above The Café’s entrance chimed, the two girls naturally bringing their attention towards the sound. In walked two familiar faces – well if familiar was the right word, Kyungri had only met them once. The two men stood at the door for a second before Yoosang took a step forward, speed walking over to the counter to where the manager was wiping down the marbled surface. His slightly pink hair was almost hidden underneath a plain black baseball cap, and his frame was drowned in an oversized fluffy denim jacket. However, Kyungri could still pick him out due to his unusual – and shockingly gorgeous – birthmark on his left cheekbone. She watched as the dark-haired tattooist clapped a hand on his Yoosang’s back shouting after him with the point of a finger-turned-thumbs-up, “you got this man!” His eyes traversed the interior of the café before they fell on the table Chaeyoung and Kyungri were sat at. In a flash, a friendly smile overcame his features as he turned his pointer finger toward them, well at Kyungri who watched as it turned into a little wave. Before she knew it, San was making his way towards the table. “Hey, stranger!”

“Oh, Hey! It’s the best tattooist Jaehyeon knows!” Kyungri grinned up at him. Spinning around to look at the men who stood next to their table, bright orange twin braids flying, Chaeyoung gasped a little too loudly at the sight of him.

“So you’re Choi Yusan then!” She exclaimed, sending a pointed finger his way.

“Just San is fine.”

“Jaehyeon won’t shut up about you.” Chaeyoung’s face dropped all emotion as she deadpanned at the red-haired man. Kyungri stifled a grin, if San was all Jaehyeon was talking about she couldn’t blame Chaeyoung for being annoyed.

San grinned at the waitress. “Must be me then,” he said, reaching behind him and dragging a chair to the table, sitting next to Kyungri. “Just San really is fine.” His face almost screwed up into a look of disgust before a charming smile swept over his features. “Yusan is my father’s name, and I’m not that old.” He sent the girls a small wink with a light chuckle.

Chaeyoung didn’t reply. Instead, her head cocked to the side slightly as she just stared at him with curious eyes. Or judgemental eyes, Kyungri could never tell.

San didn’t seem to care much.

He looked to Kyungri and pointed at her open laptop, a program running at eighty-seven per cent complete. “You ever off that thing?” He chortled with a singular raised brow.

Before she could reply, Chaeyoung cut her off with a small snort. “It’s practically her fifth limb,” she teased, looking over at Kyungri with a raised brow.

Kyungri rolled her eyes a playfully, looking to San with a small smile, “It’s my job.” At her words, San perked up. His back straightened a little jarringly as he turned his body to face Kyungri like he was making an effort not to appear overly excited.

“Your job?” His words were a little too enthusiastic, but, neither girl was really paying attention to his tone. “What do you do?”

Again, Chaeyoung spoke before Kyungri had the chance, “She’s a white cap hacker!” She emphasised, placing her hands down on the table, overlapping each other as she wiggled her eyebrows at San.

“White Hat.” Kyungri corrected with a small grimace.

“Same thing.”

“It’s really not.”

San let a laugh trickle through his lips, which went unnoticed, as he watched the two girls argue over such a small thing. If he hadn’t already known that they were very close friends, it wouldn’t’ve taken him long to figure out that the two girls were best friends. How Chaeyoung grin stretched wider every time she said the word ‘cap’ just because it would annoy Kyungri. How Kyungri’s lips were twitching, trying not to smile as she realised the ridiculousness of their argument. It reminded him of Yunho and Yeosang and how they could keep the same argument – over the smallest of things – going for hours. After a minute of looking back and forth between them, his gaze settled back to Pyo Kyungri – the girl he was tasked to find – and waited to gain her attention again.

When she finally did look back at him, her words stuttered in her mouth as she caught him looking at her. A small blush bloomed over her cheeks as she looked back to him to explain further. Like San didn’t know what a White Hat Hacker was… but she didn’t know that.

“I, like, hack security systems for companies to test if their security protocols are proficient. If they aren’t, then we get commissioned to create new, stronger, systems and servers to replace the weaker one.”

“She’s a proper genius!” Chaeyoung gushed, her hands flailing around before she leant forward towards San. Kyungri was beginning to wonder why all of her friends were the most dramatic people in the universe.

“I’m… I’m not a genius, Chae.” The blush on her cheeks was reddening by the second.

Chaeyoung didn't have it. She stuck her tongue out at Kyungri before rounding back to San to begin her little monologue.

“Our Ri is real smart! Real Smart Ri is what we call her!” – “You have never called me that.” – “She’s got a real high IQ, there a certificate framed in her aunt’s house and everything, so we know it’s real if you needed proof or anything!” – “Oh my God, can you not?” – “She’s real young too! Only twenty-one and already graduated from university!” – “I’m older than you.” – “I’m so proud.” Chaeyoung paused, lifting a hand to wipe away a fake tear from her eyes. She ignored all of Kyungri’s attempts to interrupt her, but San had caught all of them at watched her with an amused grin as she lifted her cup to take a swig of her coffee. “Say, San?” Chaeyoung resumed, a smirk overcoming her entire face, “You like smart girls?”

Kyungri choked on her drink. San’s eyes widened slightly as he turned his head to Chaeyoung, who just continued on as if nothing happened.

“She’s pretty too, don’t you think? Do you think she’s pretty?” Chaeyoung rested her head in her palms, her gaze lever leaving San. “She’s single too, there’d be no competition to win her over or anything.”

“Chae.” Kyungri gasped lightly, almost begging her to stop as her mouth hung open.

“Pretty, smart and single. She’s a triple threat right, everything you could need right. Do you like pretty smart girls? Pretty, smart girls? I reckon you’d look great together! I mean, you’re just sat next to each other, and I’m already being attacked by the visuals! Think of the children!”

Kyungri choked on thin air and stood, motioning to the little spill on her jumper and mumbling incoherent words about going to the bathroom to fix it, a small “Jesus Christ Chae” was the last thing heard before she disappeared. Anything to get away from that situation. San’s cheeks were rosy as Chaeyoung grinned at him, getting up from her chair as her name was shouted from the tills.

A lot of things happened in the next couple of minutes. Chaeyoung seemed to bounce away towards her boss – a big burly bald man who rarely smiled and had the deepest loud voice one had ever heard – like she wasn’t the least bit affected by the glint in his eyes as he shouted at her to teach the new guy the ropes. Once San was sure Kyungri was gone, and Chaeyoung’s back was turned he got to work, pulling out his own phone and dragging the laptop towards him slightly.

It took Kyungri less than three minutes to return back to the table. She didn’t notice that her laptop was not in the place she left it, off by a centimetre, as she took her place in her chair next to San who hadn’t moved. Instead, he was simply typing away on his phone. As she sat, San’s head popped up to meet her gaze with a small, slightly embarrassed smile. She returned it, biting the inside of her lip gently.

“I’m sorry about her. She can be…” Kyungri trailed off, searching for the words.

San chuckled, fingers tapping on the sides of his phone, “Don’t worry about it, my brother is the same… if not worse.” He grinned, thinking about Mingi grasped every opportunity to tease them at all costs. “Besides, she had a point anyway.”

Which of her ten thousand points was the one he was focusing on?

With another blush colouring her cheeks, Kyungri pretended she hadn’t heard him. “You have a brother?”

He nodded, laughing slightly. “I have ten brothers.” He replied with little hesitation, “and two sisters.” He added on as an afterthought. However, at the look on Kyungri’s face, he lost composure and burst into laughter.

“Oh, God!” She exclaimed.

“No! We’re not blood-related, we just all live together. Close enough to be family. I consider them family.” He continued through small bursts of laughter.

“I was about to express my condolences and congratulations towards your poor mother! Having to go through all that!”

“I can’t imagine my mother doing that more than once.” San dismissed as he called down. He turned his head to look out of the closest window. Kyungri took it as a sign to drop the topic. She let out a gentle sigh as she looked to her phone, noticing the time as a gasp fell from her lips. Packing up with speed, she shot San an apologetic look when he turned to face her again.

“I have to go, I’m late, and my boss will be waiting.”

San shook his head with a bright smile, “Well, don’t let me keep you.” His fingers played with his phone once again, turning it between them, “we wouldn’t want you in trouble, now would we?”

Giving him a quick but appreciative smile, Kyungri stood up from the chair and shoved her laptop bag on her shoulder. “See you around San.”

“She knows my name!” San yelled after her when she was halfway across the café.

“I don’t know him!” Kyungri shouted over her shoulder with a playful smile as she walked through the door. Watching her leave, San could feel his heart beating, pulse humming loudly beneath his skin. He chose to ignore it, a stupid grin settling over his lips.

Suddenly a hand holding a napkin was shoved in his face. He looked up to see Chaeyoung looking down at him the look on her face almost conveying disappointment. “You didn’t get her number, did you?” She let the napkin fall, gently laughing as she turned to clean a nearby table. San looked down to the napkin, at the line of numbers clumsily strung together and smiled for the millionth time that afternoon.

“Did you do it?” Yeosang’s voice asked him quietly. San nodded. “Did she notice?”

“Don’t think so,” San replied.

“Good work, man,” Yeosang smirked at him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Neither boy noticed a certain orange-haired waitress noting their words to relay to her best friend later.

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the-fiction-witch · 5 years ago

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The Med Head And The Raver P1

REAL LIFE: COUPLE: TBS X READER RATING: CUTE + KINDA FLIRTY WARNINGS (FOR WHOLE SERIES) : DRUG USE! SWEARING, MURDER.

"This is going to be our last meeting for a while isnt it y/n?" Miss Riverwood asks

"yeah" I sighed looking out to the rain battering the broken plastic window, the seals of the window so broken and dirty there were dead spiders and fruit flies that have been there since I was little, The walls painted a light blue, the cheap Ikea table with the same pamphlets and little plastic cups of water as ever with the tissue box perfectly in line with everything else on the desk, she sat across from me in the blue padded chair the same as mine, her green pencil skirt hugged her close, her tights had a ladder she had tried to fix with that olf clear nail polish trick but it hadn't worked, her white blouse done perfectly with a little spill of coffee o the collar, she held a notebook in her tanned, manicured hands with notes about me all tilted in a way she had tried to make so I couldn't read them, but I can. her hair up in a bun and she sighed as I pulled my hoodie tighter

"Your starting Univerity, it's a big-time, moving from home, away from family and friends" she encouraged

"My home is a crack den, my family are dicks and my friends are imaginary, I'll be fine" I explain

"You know y/n we had talked about maybe going back on the medicines just for the first few weeks-" she began

"I'm not going back on the fucking smiley pills!" I yelled

"Just for the first few weeks, I'm not saying you it will make it better but I am asking you to try," she says "We will have another appointment when you're settled," she says handing me the prescription so I sighed and took it grabbing my bag and leaving the little room heading out to the waiting room and office trying to head out

"Miss y/l/n! your prescription" the dispensary lady says as she had seen my slip so I sighed and handed it to her through the little free space in the window throwing my backpack on my shoulder a little better as she fixed it up for me sorting it all in a paper bag for me "follow the instructions, I'd recommend and timmer on your phone so you don't forget hun" she says

"Thanks" I forced a smile taking the bag and heading out shoving it in my backpack and heading down the rainy streets, passed people rushing on their lunch breaks to get their food or get back to work cars rushing past drenching my canvas shoes not that I minded, at least the cold is a feeling I guess. once I got into the dry busy shopping centre I went past the stupid shops all showing the bikinis and camping stuff getting changed by staff over to the fall jackets and scarves I went through the place and out to the bus station getting my key out my pocket and unlocking my big locker the only big one in the whole station that still locked, I checked the time and I had a little while, so I hopped across the street and got a bag of fries and a milkshake for a couple of quid sitting at the bay with my suitcase and backpack as I sipped my vaguely strawberry milkshake.

I sat there for half an hour when I got my paperwork out my bag as the white beaten up coach pulled up into the bay the door opened letting off a few older couples with suitcases

"You Miss y/l/n?" the man asked coming out in a suit and tie

"Yeah" I nodded

"Perfect," He says putting a scanner on my suitcase and loading it under the coach he tried to take my backpack but I moved it tighter "suit yourself, love," he shrugs scanning my paperwork "Seat 14 and 15 love, wifi passwords on the seat," He says

"Thanks" I forced a smile going in and finding my seats putting my backpack on the row and I sat next to the window instantly wrapping myself in my hoodie like a blanket and putting my headphone in as the coach pulled off and we began our long trip.

after a while of rainy fields and little villages I looked into the coach at other people, the driver busy with his driving, the man who did the paperwork on a tablet playing some sort of puzzle game, and an old couple taking pictures of everything outside the window, some lady with about six kids at the back all of them playing with yous and food, and someone who caught my attention. A Guy, he looked a little younger than me, or maybe older, it was hard to tell, he had a pair of beaten up almost ripping blue jeans, with some combat style boots, a bright yellow shirt for some band or show or movie or something like that, a very cosy looking aviators jacket a black leather on the outside and a fluffy blanket of something on the inside, he had his headphones in going in a bright white line from his ears to his pocket, his blonde and brown hair a mess where he leans on the seat Infront of him his back against the window and his feet on the seat to the isle, his brown eyes where a million miles away day dreaming about something, he had what seemed like dark spots around his eyes where he was clearly very tried, his mouth expressionless but graced with facial hair that clearly was still growing on and either needed a shave or a few more weeks, I noticed his foot slightly tapping he must have been doing it along with whatever he had playing in his headphones, I found this boy.... interesting, he was the closest to me compared with everyone else on the coach he shifted a little moving his jacket around him more but not doing It up crossing his arms over his chest, he glanced to me a moment and looked back to other things seeming disinterested in me. I got my bag getting milkshake having a quiet sip as it clearly says no food or drink when I put it away again he looked back at me a smirk on his face and one headphone out his ear "Quite the little rebel aren't you?" He smirked his voice sounded unusual a tawng of a accent, of somewhere in London I was sure. He was looking right at me but I was lost "Sorry?" I asked "I saw you" he smirked looking at my bag "don't worry, I won't tell on you" "Thanks" I answered "What brings you to the magic bus ride today?" He asked "Uni" I sighed "Ooooohhh... Uni girl" he smiled "going for sign in?" And I nodded "yeah me too" "It's a long way" I sighed "Yeah, I've been on this dam thing for eight hours, and I've got six more to go" he explained "How have you not like eaten or been to the bathroom?" I asked "Snacks on my bag and I piss in a bottle" he shrugs "Lovely" I sighed "Sorry, but that's the reality of the situation" he shrugs "can I have some of your milkshake?" He whispered "No!" I complain "What else you got in that battered old back pack then?" He asks sitting up more and leaning towards me "Some fries" I shrug "Ohhh can I have some fries?" He asks jumping over to sit with me "No!" I complain "Come on just a couple, I'm hungry" he whines "No! Their mine" I told him "Fine, your no fun" he complained now he was much closer I couldn't deny he was attractive he had a scent of leather, beer, smoke and mint tea, All around a nice scent for a boy. "Hey, you wanna fool around a little?" He smirked "What?" I asked very confusedly "You know... Have a little fun" he smirked "Ughh! Your discussing!" I complain pushing him away from me

"Fine whatever" He sighed "Got anything else in that bag?" he asked

"None of your business," I told him

"Fine," he sighed going back to his seat and leaning back looking around again, so I sat a while looking out the window trying not to pay attention to whatever that guy is doing I glanced at him and he smirked at me sticking his tongue out at me so I rolled my eyes and buried my head in my phone.

p2?

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enkelimagnus · 5 years ago

Photo

For the Shadowhunters WLW fic bingo, team red. Prompt: Space AU

Clary/Izzy

Read it on AO3

Companion Playlist (Turn off your Shuffle for this one please!)

This work will be multi-chaptered.

TW: Slavery, Authoritarian government

Izzy knocked back the glass full of cheap whiskey, and put it back down on the counter. Around her, the usual patrons were chatting, some were dancing drunkenly with the ladies employed by the owners to keep people who liked women interested.

The first few times she’d come here, she’d felt dirty about it. It had been a weird, seedy secret, and she’d refused to tell anyone, even her brother and partner, where she went to drink, sleep with someone, and forget the work and the situation.

One day, Alec had followed her. He’d ended up falling irrepressibly in love with the owner, a Warlock man called Magnus. Now, they didn’t keep their outings to the Rec private. Alec came there to see Magnus, and Izzy came there to drink.

The Rec was one of the few places where people didn’t stare at the earring that dangled under her left ear. She was grateful for that. She hated the looks when people realized she was Owned.

The earring was composed of a round part, fastened to her ear, and a tear-shaped, four-inch long dangling part. Both were made of a screen that could be made to display any symbol or color. Those who wore the earring were Owned. The earring’s purpose was to display their owner’s crest.

The only way to take it off would be to cut off her ear. And even if she did that, there would still be the chip, in the left side of her throat.

She waved at Magnus for another glass full of whiskey. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow, grabbing the bottle and filling the glass again.

“Drinking alone?” Magnus asked. She shot a look at him. There was some bright lavender purple crayon under his eyes, and he’d drawn a line in black paint down his lower lip and down his chin. As usual, the colors of his makeup matched his clothing. He wore fitted black pants, shirt and vest, the latter shining with light purple accents when the light hit the patterns correctly.

Izzy nodded. “Alec’s on a mission. Solo. He’s taken a bunch of extra warrants lately.” She said, looking at Magnus pointedly. “It’s like he’s trying to get a bunch of money together.”

Magnus shrugged. “He didn’t tell me about it. He’s a secretive man, your brother. Even to me.” He hummed, leaning his hip against the side of the bar, and watching her intently. “Where are you at? In your own quest to save up enough money to buy your freedom?”

Izzy licked her lips, looking back right in the man’s golden eyes for a few moments, before she took a sip of her drink. “Not close enough. But I won’t be taking all the warrants I can and exhausting myself.”

Magnus huffed a chuckle and nodded. “Well. In any case. The next rounds are on me.” He reached to cup her chin. “Don’t get yourself in too much of a situation. If you end up in a fight, I am gonna kick your ass.”

Izzy nodded, a smile on her lips. “I’ll probably let you, Magnus.”

The man let go of her chin and walked away, going to another awaiting customer. She heard him purr a ‘what will it be for you, gorgeous’, and smiled. She liked Magnus. He was fun. And he loved Alec maybe as much as she loved him.

Izzy shifted on the high stool she was sitting on, and let herself relax a little. She was still wearing her usual work clothes, boots, tight navy blue uniform, the holster with her phaser strapped to her thigh. She was comfortable in those. She only ever changed for specific missions.

A red-skinned EverArk settled on a stool next to her and she nodded at them. Upon closer inspection, Izzy found they had the white markings that indicated they were a male. Interesting. She smiled at him.

Music played loudly in the background, and Izzy found herself bobbing her head to the rhythm regularly. The EverArk ordered another drink for her. It was not her favorite, but it would do. She thanked him, and started drinking the gift she’d been given. It was very sweet, so sweet she had to swallow a wince.

EverArks always liked sweet drinks. She could never understand why. She still pretended she loved it though. It had been a while since the last time she’d had sex with an EverArk. They were surprisingly strong for their thin and brittle appearance.

She sipped on the sweet drink again, and tried to ignore the sweetness that seemed to completely burn her palate. The EverArk was still watching her. She could see the long red members that grew out of his scalp moving slightly with interest as she shifted.

“So what’s your name?” The EverArk asked.

“Izzy,” she replied. “Yours?”

“Resssin.”

Izzy almost wondered if she’d had sex with him before before she remembered that Resssin was one of the most common names in the EverArk culture. She’d personally met around eleven Ressins in her life. Twelve, if you counted this one.

“What do you do with that big phaser, Izzy?”

“I’m a bounty hunter. I work for the SHA.” She hummed, licking her lips and tasting more of the sweet cocktail.

“The Shadow Hunting Agency. Quite prestigious, for an Owned human girl.”

Izzy had a bit of a sigh. It always came back to the earring. “Whether I’m Owned or not is none of your business. They won’t care if you sample the merchandise.”

The EverArk pursed his lips. “I do care. I don’t fuck Owned ones, no matter how round and pretty they are. Next time, wear your hair up so people don’t think they’ve got themselves a good Free girl when you’re actually far from that.” He hissed, and stood up, walking away from her.

“Fuck off, asshole!” Izzy shouted after him, and went back to the whiskey she still had. “Magnus!” She called. “Another one!”

She hated wearing her hair up. With her hair down, dark and thick, she could conceal the earring as much as possible, and sometimes pass for a free woman.

Magnus walked back towards her and gave her another glass. “Asshole?”

“Got offended I didn’t show off my earring. Probably think he wasted a drink on me.” Izzy shrugged. “I’m tired. Do you still have rooms downstairs?”

Magnus nodded. “Yeah. You can crash here until Alec comes back with the ship, if you want.” He said, loudly because of the music that pulsed around them. “And Izzy? You’re far from a waste. Don’t listen to assholes.”

“Easy to say. You’re not the one with the glowing white earring.”

Magnus sighed and leaned forward. “Look at my left ear.” He said softly. She obeyed.

In the middle of the lobe, there was a very clear puncture mark, and a star-shaped scar around it. The same kind of scarring Izzy saw on freed people. Magnus had been Owned as well.

“Half of the people around here were once Owned, either by some wealthy ass-hat, or by the Clave themselves. Whoever thinks you’re worth less because of that earring doesn’t understand life in this part of the city. The EverArk probably came here wanting a thrill, and realized what he wanted was someone from the other side of the Wall.”

Izzy moved back, looking at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Magnus chuckled. “It’s not something I often advertise.” He explained. “You’re a great person, Izzy. And you’re beautiful. Being Owned does not change that.”

Izzy sighed softly. “Thank you. It means a lot.”

Magnus hummed. “I trust you and Alec will free yourselves. You’re smart, and you’re skilled, and you will get the money, but just do not feel lesser. They do not deserve your self-hatred.” He whispered.

The door of the bar was suddenly shoved open. It banged throughout the room. The laughter and chats died. Magnus tensed. Izzy tensed. Everyone looked at each other with fear in their eyes. Soldiers walked into the room.

Clave soldiers. They were covered in black from head to toe. They shouted “Papers! ID! Everyone.” Izzy stood still. She didn’t have either of those.

Magnus reached for his papers in his pocket. Izzy watched him from the corner of her eyes, standing as still as she possibly could. The soldiers went to every person. No one could run.

“We got an illegal!” One of them shouted and two soldiers walked towards the Seelie man, who begged and screamed and struggled but was arrested, chained, and sedated. They dragged him out of the bar. Whether or not the man was actually without papers wasn’t the point. He didn’t have them on him.

One of the soldiers reached the bar and started going through the people that sat there. One of them walked behind the bar to Magnus. He grabbed the papers out of his hands and looked over them. “Magnus Bane. Freed. Warlock. Man. Is this your establishment?”

“Yes.”

“Are there other levels?”

“Two. Downstairs,” Magnus said.

The soldier called for others and started walking down the stairs. Izzy had not been controlled. That was unusual. She was finally moving and turning around when she was suddenly face to face with a soldier.

Without asking, he grabbed her hair and pulled it out of the way, revealing her earring. “One Owned here, bring the reader.” He called out, and kept a grip on her hair, forcing her neck into a strained position and keeping her there forcefully. The man with the reader walked away from another Owned and towards her. He held the scanner to her throat.

Lightwood, Isabelle, #69AZ87 Property of the Clave Assigned to the SHA Status: Legal

“All good,” the man with the scanner said. The one who held her hair let go of her and took a step back. He didn’t apologize. They never did.

Izzy looked down. She stayed there with her head down and the headache that was forming, until they walked out of the downstairs area with another person. She didn’t watch them take them away. She only breathed again when the door slammed shut, and it was obvious they were gone.

The music still resounded in the complete silence. Izzy looked up towards Magnus. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“What was that about? Controls never happen around here,” Izzy asked, when the chatter started to come back tentatively to the bar.

“They have a fugitive.”

“A Clave fugitive? That’s impossible. Free or Owned?” she frowned.

“Free.”

Izzy decided that she didn’t need to know more. She was too tired anyway. She finished her drink and nodded at him. “I’ll take the room. I need to crash.”

Magnus took out a key with a little keyring with the number 6 written on it and threw it her way. “We’ll see later for payment.”

“You love me too much to make me pay,” Izzy called behind her as she started walking towards the staircase that led downstairs.

“I love money more than you!” Magnus replied.

She flipped him off lovingly before making her way downstairs. The stairs were relatively clean, and so was the corridor. Her room was on the -1 floor, and the door’s black paint was fraying slightly. She turned the knob and got in, closing and locking the door behind her.

The rooms were clean, for this kind of establishment. The bed could fit two to three people, the walls were bare, and the rest of the furniture rather sparse, but it was clean. She sighed softly, and undid her holster.

Izzy could hear someone showering in another room, as well as some screams of pleasure. The small, unframed mirror showed her her own face. She looked tired. There were dark circles under her eyes, her lipstick was gone, and her hair was starting to be a little less voluminous and a little greasier.

She grabbed a hair tie and pushed her hands through her hair to gather them in a ponytail. The earring seemed to glow brighter. She sighed softly and looked away. She should have gotten used to it, but it seemed to never happen. She laid down on the bed, still fully clothed, her phaser underneath the single pillow.

Izzy wondered what had happened to Magnus. How had he gotten Owned? How had he freed himself? Buying yourself out, or being freed by owners were the most common ways of becoming Freed, but Izzy had heard of a few that had managed to cut their earrings and extract their chips.

Izzy knew she would never be freed by her owner. She was owned by the Clave. The Clave didn’t have limited resources. The Clave didn’t have an emotional connection to her that would push them to free her. Her freedom would come only by her own hands. She would have to save money until she could match the unknown number the Clave asked for her.

She loathed them. The Clave had never been an organization she held in her heart, but since her parents’ death in the coup and her brother’s and her sudden change of freedom status, she just loathed them.

Izzy shifted on the bed, and closed her eyes. The woman in the next room did not stop screaming out indistinctive noises. She might not be able to fall asleep, if it continued like this.

Somehow, she did fall asleep.

Izzy was woken up by the noise of scuffling of feet and a door opening and closing violently. She stood up immediately, sensing a presence in the room. There was a cloaked shape on the floor. The shape was a person. Izzy stood up grabbing her phaser and pointing it at the person.

“Hands in the air,” Izzy ordered, voice loud. “Who the hell are you?”

The person seemed to struggle to put their hands up. Their hands were covered by gloves. They hushed her. “Please, don’t make any noise, I’m not supposed to be here.” They urged and Izzy frowned.

Izzy shook her head. “I asked you for your name.” She replied, keeping the phaser where she assumed the person’s head was. Cloaks could hide non-human anatomy, so she wasn’t exactly sure. “I am the one occupying this room, if you’re not supposed to be here, you should go to your own room.” She replied coldly.

“You don’t understand,” the person pleaded, getting back to their feet. “I’m in hiding.” They turned around to look at the door, before turning back to Izzy, something frantic in the way they moved.

The figure was rather small and even with the cloak on, Izzy could tell they were on the skinny side. Were they the fugitive Magnus had talked about? But why would Magnus be helping a Clave fugitive hide? Magnus always tried to stay out of trouble.

Izzy shook her head. “Take off your hood. I want to see your face.”

The person seemed to hesitate before they took off their hood. They had red hair, mid-length, messy and wavy. Izzy settled on their hazel eyes. They seemed human. Izzy wondered if she’d seen them before.

“Please, just… don’t tell anyone I’m here,” the human asked, looking at Izzy pleadingly. Their eyes seemed a bit bloodshot now that Izzy could see them more, and they were quite pale. “Is the door locked?”

Izzy sighed. She kept her phaser firmly aimed at the human before grabbing her key and slowly working her way around her. She reached the door and locked it, and put the key in one of her pockets.

“Here. I locked the door,” she said, pushing on the knob to show that it wasn’t opening. “Now, your turn. Who are you?”

The person sighed. They started moving, and Izzy shook her head. “None of that.” She hissed.

She didn’t trust this person. She didn’t know who they were and if they were the Clave fugitive, they could get Izzy into some very serious trouble. She did not want to be around Clave officials more than she had to. If they found her in the company of the fugitive, she would probably be taken to Alicante HQ and questioned about her involvement. Izzy shuddered.

“If you don’t answer my questions, I’m going to quick you out of this room. I don’t care who you’re hiding from, I’m not getting myself in trouble,” Izzy explained, voice firm.

The person sighed. They kept their hands up in the air, looking around the room quickly as if to make sure they were alone.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not keeping someone under the bed,” Izzy rolled her eyes. “Come on now. You got some explaining to do.”

The person swallowed visibly before nodding. “Clary Fray. Free. Human. Woman,” she explained. “Happy now?”

Clary Fray. That wasn’t a name she knew. Izzy nodded briefly. The woman seemed to relax at her nod. There was something about her Izzy didn’t know how to place. She was familiar. But she didn’t know any Clary Frays. There was no way she knew her.

“Are you armed, Fray?” Izzy asked.

“Two knives and an electrosword,” the woman replied.

Electrosword? That was a rather expensive weapon. That just added to the pile of strange things about her that Izzy was starting to compile. What kind of fugitive, even a Free human woman, could get their hands on an electrosword?

“Unarm yourself,” Izzy ordered. She saw the woman start to talk to contradict her. “Nothing will happen to you here, I have my phaser, the door is locked, and the Clave soldiers already controlled the bar.”

Clary Fray seemed to relax a little and slowly reached down to her belt. She slid the electrosword out and threw it on the bed, and grabbed the two knives out of their sheaths as well. Once that was done, Izzy breathed a little easier.

“So you’re the Clave fugitive they’re searching for,” she said, putting her phaser back in its holster, and putting the holster on again. “I’m curious.”

Fray nodded, moving to go sit on a chair. “That’s me. Sorry they controlled you because of me.”

Izzy shook her head. “It’s fine. We’re all relatively used to it. This part of the city is often raided by Clave soldiers wanting to fill some quotas.” She explained. She reached up and undid her ponytail. Fray had already seen the earring anyway, but she still didn’t feel comfortable having it on full display.

“I had no idea.”

Izzy pursed her lips. “You’re from the other side of the Wall,” she commented.

Yet another reason not to trust her. Clave fugitive, Free woman, with a familiar face, living in New Town, with a goddamn electrosword. Izzy had never even wielded one of those. She’d touched one before, at the beginning of her work with SHA, the weapon of one of her bounties, but it had been snatched from her hand immediately. That’s not a weapon for you.

“Don’t hold it against me?” Fray asked, her voice going a bit high with the question.

Izzy huffed. Of course she was going to hold it against her. New Town people just had no clue. She sat down on the edge of the bed, facing her.

“So how did you end up in my room?”

Fray sighed, licking her lips. “I knew I could get some help from Magnus, so I came here and he grabbed me, ushered my downstairs and basically threw me into the first room he found after telling me he’d come later.”

“Why the Hell would Magnus get involved with someone like you?” Izzy blurted out, looking at her. “He hates Clave people, and he hates New Town Clave officials even more.”

“First, I wasn’t an official,” Fray pointed out, standing up to pace a little. “Second, Magnus Bane is the one person anyone in the know would go to to reach the Rebellion. Don’t think I don’t know that fact just because I’m from New Town.”

Izzy opened her mouth and closed it again. Magnus Bane? Rebellion? She felt like her brain was running on empty suddenly. She felt like she couldn’t understand a word of what the woman was saying.

Magnus Bane stayed as far from the Clave and from any type of political action as possible. He disliked having Clave people in his bar, but he rarely kicked them out. He was just someone who never wanted to get into trouble.

Maybe she’d been wrong all this time. Maybe under the “head down and don’t make waves” exterior, Magnus was actually much more rebellious than she’d thought. Did Alec know about this? Or had Magnus really kept them all in the dark for months?

“You didn’t know?” Fray asked after a moment and Izzy shook her head.

“Of course I knew. Don’t be silly. Magnus is a good friend of mine.” She snapped, and stood up. “In any case, I guess you better wait for him here.”

Izzy grabbed the key out of her pocket, unlocked the door and threw it back over to the woman. “I’ll be upstairs.” She said, and walked out of the room.

She made her way quickly up the stairs and into the main part of the bar, that was starting to become less and less full. Magnus was standing behind the counter, washing some glasses and humming under his breath the song that was playing on the speakers.

Izzy walked briskly towards him, getting behind the counter as well and grabbing his arm. “I need to talk to you.”

Magnus turned, smiling at her. “Something wrong with the room?”

“Yeah, Magnus. It has a Clave fugitive in it, and said fugitive just told me you worked with the fucking Rebellion.” Izzy hissed, not talking too loud. She didn’t want trouble.

Magnus lost his smile immediately. “I’m guessing you want some explanations?” he asked, something somber in his eyes.

“Damn right.”

Magnus waved over at the other bartender to take over the bar and led Izzy gently towards his office. Izzy had never been in that part of the bar.

The room was a bit small and cramped, with a washed up couch in the corner, a small desk with stacks of papers and a knock-off HalO tablet, bookshelves filled to the brim and a coat rack that seemed to want to fall down under the wait of the clothing that hung on it.

Magnus closed the door behind her and leaned against the desk, sitting on the side of it. “Where do you want to start?”

Izzy licked her lips. “I don’t know. Does Alec know? How many other things are you hiding from us?”

“I’m not hiding anything from you, Izzy. I’m just not disclosing information that you do not need to know.” Magnus replied, crossing his arms. “And as for the other question, no. Alec doesn’t know.”

Izzy closed her fist and took a deep breath. “So you’re keeping him in the dark too. Good to know it’s not just your friends.”

Magnus sighed. “You make it seem as if it’s an easy decision. Neither Alec nor I can afford too much issues with the authorities, so I thought maybe keeping you and him away from the incredibly dangerous stuff I do.”

Izzy shook her head. “I can’t believe this. From you, of all people. I trust you, Magnus. At least I did before I learned that there’s a lot I don’t know about you. This, you being Freed…”

Magnus stood up. “I apologize for not telling everyone my rather painful life story, Isabelle.” He replied icily. “As for the Rebellion, I made the choice to keep you in the dark so I could protect you. Alec’s safety, your safety, those are important to me. And of course, the less people that know about what goes on when I’m not at the bar, the better.”

“And how does allowing a Clave fugitive to stay here make anyone safer?” Izzy snapped. “A Clave fugitive from New Town, with a fucking electrosword! That screams high-level Clave official!”

Izzy couldn’t help the wave of betrayal and anger that was washing over her. She knew it was selfish to expect that Magnus would have told her everything important about his life. He was allowed to be secretive, the same way Alec was to most people. He was allowed to want to keep the dirty parts of his past to himself. Being Freed meant having been Owned, and that came with its own load of prejudice, and she got that Magnus, a business owner, would keep that under wraps.

“I like you, Izzy. But we’re not close enough that I share every detail of my life and activities with you,” Magnus said, a bit softer. “I am helping Clary because it’s my role in the community, in the Rebellion. I act as a point of contact, I act as a broker, or an intermediary, between people who wish to escape the Clave’s influence, and the smugglers that work with the Rebellion.”

“But she…” She’s a Clave official. She can’t be trusted. She has a fucking electrosword.

Magnus looked at her. “I don’t care who she is, or was, or why she’s running. I don’t judge, and I don’t ask questions. Clary wants to escape the Clave. I’m helping her do just that. You don’t get a say in this, Izzy. This is my life. And by keeping Alec and you out of it, I’m protecting you.”

Izzy closed her mouth. He was right, and she knew it. She was still mad though. She was mad that she’d been mistaken about the nature of their friendship.

“Did Alec know about you being Freed?” She asked quietly.

“Yes. He did not tell you because it was not his story to tell,” Magnus replied, smiling a little at her. “I’m sorry, Izzy. But I promise I’m not keeping you in the dark because I just feel like it. You’ll learn more with time.”

So that was it then. A promise that she would learn things later, probably as she leveled up in friendship level. Magnus’ words seemed final and he watched her with a look that discouraged her from asking more. He’d already told her that he didn’t ask questions about where the people he helped came from. If she wanted information about Clary Fray, she’d have to get them herself.

Izzy nodded and turned around. She walked towards the door and pushed it open. The bar was almost deserted now. It was the early morning. She sighed a little, feeling the exhaustion again.

The door of the bar opened suddenly and she was startled. For a second, she thought that the Clave soldiers were back. It was only Alec though, tall and tired and walking home with some blood on his shoes. Kill warrants, she guessed. They rarely took those. They paid the best, especially when you took them as a solo mission. Alec was really pushing for money.

Alec had a soft smile at her. The earring looked strange on him. It didn’t suit him. It didn’t suit Izzy either, but it suited Alec even less. He came closer and engulfed her in a hug. She hugged him back. He smelled like the ship and sweat.

“You’re still awake?” Alec asked.

Izzy hesitated. She wanted to tell him about the woman in the room, about Magnus and the Rebellion but… Magnus was right. It was a dangerous secret. A secret she didn’t want Alec to have to bear too, not right now when it was so obvious he was struggling.

“Yes. I don’t sleep well outside of the ship,” she lied, and let go of him. “You look exhausted.”

Alec sighed. “This warrant wasn’t the easiest.”

“You could have asked for my help, you know?” Izzy whispered.

He shook his head. “It was a solo mission. Asking you to come and help would have made us lose money.” He explained, and kissed her forehead. “I’m gonna go get Magnus and go to bed. You should do the same.”

“Is she parked where she usually is?” Izzy would prefer going to sleep in the ship rather than having to share a room with the fugitive woman.

“She is, but she’s dirty as hell. You should sleep here.” Alec shrugged. “Magnus will give you a room.”

Izzy bit her lip. “I already have one.”

“Goodnight then,” Alec smiled, unaware of his sister’s annoyance. He gently tapped her shoulder before walking to the office and opening the door. Izzy heard him say ‘hey, baby’ in the soft voice he used only for Magnus, and heard Magnus’ enthusiastic reply.

As she walked past the office door, she caught a glance of the two of them, Magnus sitting on his desk, legs wrapped around Alec’s waist, as Alec’s hands roamed over his body and they exchanged passionate kisses.

Izzy rolled her eyes at them and walked downstairs, back to the room. She turned the knob but it was locked. Of course it was. She rolled her eyes again and knocked.

“It’s me. The one you woke up?” She called out, trying to be as quiet as possible but still be heard. After a few moments, the door opened. Izzy pushed past the woman and sighed softly. They would have to share a bed.

Clary Fray had taken off her cloak and taken a shower, her red hair was damp and looked darker. She stood next to the door, having locked it again, and watched Izzy curiously.

“‘I’m still wondering what your name is,” she said. “You forgot to introduce yourself earlier.”

“I didn’t forget,” Izzy replied. She hadn’t wanted her to know her name then. She still didn’t want to tell her, but if Fray was going to stick around for longer, she was going to have to introduce herself eventually.

“All I know is that you’re Owned. And you seem human.”

Izzy ground her teeth. Of course, the freedom status was the first thing people learned about her. Fucking earring. She hated that thing every day more and more.

“Too bad you don’t have a scanner on you. You’d have just read my chip,” Izzy mocked. “Unless you took it with you from New Town, along with your electrosword.”

Fray shrugged. “It’s a rather common feature on our HalOs.”

Izzy raised an eyebrow. So New Towners did have a common way to read chips of random Owned. She pursed her lips, going to lay down on the bed. It was still very comfortable. “So what? You just walk up to someone with an earring and check them?”

“Basically. That way you know if they belong where they are, and you know their owners if you want to buy them from them.”

The casualty with which she talked about Owned people like Izzy, about buying them from their owners and passing them from hand to hand made Izzy want to puke.

“I could check yours now if you wanted me to.” Fray’s voice was chillingly innocent.

“Why the FUCK would I want you to read my fucking chip, Fray?” Izzy snapped. “I’m still a fucking person, you just can ask me what you want to know.”

Fray seemed to think about that. “What if you don’t answer my questions?”

“Then you stay out of my fucking personal life.” Izzy replied. Clary Fray acted like she’d never been told that she shouldn't just read chips. It was obvious to Izzy that she’d spent her life surrounded by people who didn't really see the point in respecting Owned people's wishes and privacy.

The other woman became silent. Izzy shot a glance at her. She was attractive, for a New Towner. Usually, they were a little too… pristine for Izzy’s taste, as if they were just coming out of a box. Doll-like, almost inhuman, with perfect hair and perfect clothing.

Izzy remembered she used to be that way. She had perfect hair, straightened by her mother’s Owned, perfect clothing. Her nails were manicured, her makeup on point, her lips shiny. She stood straight, barely ever smiled, and when she did, she didn’t show teeth. She’d hated it, and had wished for more freedom.

Now that she thought about who she used to be, Izzy wanted to laugh at herself. She’d had no idea what it was like not to be free. She’d had no idea what people around her went through, and she hated that she’d been just like the woman that sat on the chair across the room, unaware of the feelings and anger of the Owned that surrounded her.

Izzy sat up on the bed, crossing her legs. “I know you’re used to doing what you want with Owned,” Izzy said, calmer now that she remembered that the other woman wasn’t as far from her as she initially felt. “You need to understand that the world outside of New Town doesn’t work that way.”

“How do you know what I’m used to doing?” Clary Fray replied, something a little more aggressive in her voice.

“Because my birth name is Isabelle Lightwood, and I was born in New Town.”

Izzy felt the energy shift as Clary opened her mouth to say something, and closed it again. She could see the woman trying to search for words, search for something to say.

“You’re going to offer me condoleances, and I will accept them, and then you’re going to stop thinking of me as Owned, you’re going to think of me as a New Towner,” Izzy explained. “I don’t want you to do that. I may have been one, but I’m not anymore, and I have no desire to go back.”

“Why?” The woman asked. There was curiosity in her tone, more than anything.

“Why are you running from the Clave?” Izzy countered. She was using the question both rhetorically and as a way to maybe get some information from the woman. Her circumstances were still mysterious.

Clary Fray swallowed and shifted. She was as thin as Izzy had guessed when they had first met, but there was a definite strength in her body. She was strong. Strong enough to wield an electrosword and two knives, Izzy reminded herself.

“I thought that there would be no questions asked.”

Izzy had a small chuckle. “Oh, that’s Magnus, not me. You’re gonna have to share a bed with me tonight, so unless you want to sleep on the floor without any of your weapons, I need to know if you’re going to murder me in my sleep.”

The woman grew silent. She licked her lips, her eyes going around the room, focusing on anything but Izzy. Izzy sighed. “You killed someone.”

Clary shifted again, obviously uncomfortable. “A few days ago, there was an explosion in the Circle Council Room,” she said. “That may have been me.”

Izzy opened her mouth. This tiny woman with such innocent eyes, who seemed to beg not to be given to the authorities, was responsible for one of the biggest terrorist attacks in the Clave’s recent history.

“That killed half of Valentine Morgenstern’s Council,” Izzy muttered.

Clary shrugged. “They had it coming.” Her following smile was far from innocent.

Holy Shit . That woman was not what Izzy had expected.

“I guess I can’t promise you that I am not a murderer,” she added, and Izzy’s brain was still trying to deal with the thing she’d just learned.

There had been too much new information today. It was just too much for her brain to deal with, this added to the rest of the revelations about the people that lived around her. She couldn’t deal with all of that in such little time.

“I think I need to go to bed,” Izzy muttered.

Clary stood up, and took off her shoes. She was slightly smaller without the heels, but not that much. Izzy watched her grab her cloak and walk towards the side of the bed that Izzy was not occupying. Izzy blinked, watching her.

The woman laid down by her side, and used the cloak as a blanket. “That way you get to sleep in the sheets, and you’re not afraid I’m going to cuddle you to death during the night,” Clary said.

Izzy sighed and kicked off her shoes, took off her holster and slid the phaser under the pillow again. She slid herself in between the sheets, still fully clothed, and shifted until she got into a comfortable position. She laid down, closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep.

Clary started to snore soon after. Izzy needed more time to fall asleep. After all, she had a very attractive terrorist in bed with her.

#clizzy #wlw #shadowhunters #malec #shwlwficbingo

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anoutrageousamountofwriting · 5 years ago

Text

Nothing Up My Sleeves (But Aces)

Back when Tied Up With Strings was still in the draft stages (and I was playing around with ideas), I wrote a concept for a Villain!Izuku who used magic tricks in place of a Quirk. It’s unlikely to ever see the light of day, so here’s what Chapter 1 would’ve looked like.

I think I vaguely planned for his villainous mentor to be Mr Compress? Dunno. I’m not much of a note maker. The Heist on Kunioka’s did make it’s way to TUWS, and I hope to use Nobusuma of the Night in something because I like the general concept of his Quirk.

*************************** At the tender age of four, a young boy’s dreams were already crashing down around him. Everyone was very clear. Very very clear. He didn’t have a Quirk. He couldn’t be a Hero. It didn’t matter that Izuku wanted to be a Hero more than anything in the world. It didn’t matter that he would do everything he could to be a Hero.

People without Quirks were not allowed to be Heroes. Those were the rules. And so, faced with the destruction of his dreams, a four year old boy has no other way to deal with it but to cry at the unfairness of it all.

So deep in his grief is he that he doesn’t notice the strange and unfamiliar figure approaching him until they speak. “What bothers you so, my good man?”

Startled out of his sobbing, he turns his head to look up at a tall, kindly-looking man. He was dressed in the fanciest clothes his little mind could fathom, like the kind of people who would be on TV shows. He even had one of those tall hats. “I… I don’t have… I don’t have a Quirk… so everyone says I can’t be a Hero...” He mumbles, sniffling a little and going to wipe his nose.

The man holds out a hand and flicks his wrist, revealing a silken handkerchief he offers to him. The simple, elegant little move has Izuku mesmerised. “My condolences,” the kind man says, although the boy isn’t sure what a condolence is or what it has to do with handkerchiefs.

He’s too busy being impressed with that simple sleight of hand to even care though. “... Cool…” He mumbles, eyes wide and amazed. He slowly looks up at the kind man with the brightest expression he’s had in days, his previous sorrow already pushed aside in favour of this new incredible thing.

The kind man smiles beatifically. “Would you like to see more tricks, my good man?”

He nods so hard his head feels like it’s going to fly off and cause an accident.

Kunioka’s Jewelry Boutique was a deceptively small store, built during the early days of the Meiji era and combining the principles of architecture of the both the East and West to create an elegant little store. But for all it’s deceptive size and modesty, Kunioka’s was the place for jewelry for the rich and selective. Every piece was commissioned and handmade by the master artisan that was Kunioka Takamaru, whose ‘Feathertouch’ Quirk could allow him to detect flaws and imperfections invisible to human eyes.

Of course, such incredibly valuable jewelry was well secured against intrepid thieves and thugs. External security was tight beyond belief - electronic locks bound to biometrics secured the entrances, and each door was guarded by a pair of guards at all times. Inside, security cameras tracked every move, and the slightest disturbance detected by the operators would cause them to trigger a call to a local Hero agency and the nearest police department. If, and this was a BIG if, you somehow got past the guards AND bypassed the cameras, then you’d have to deal with the third security measure. No jewelry was on display in Kunioka’s, because one did not browse. One made an appointment, and you had best come in with a design in mind because a master artisan of that level does not care for time wasters. So everything of value - money, jewels, what have you - was located in a safe.

The ‘Iron Mausoleum’ model Safe from OptiSecurity with extreme authentication. First, a ten digit code. Second, a fingerprint scan. Third, a retinal scan. Fourth, all of those things had to be done by two different people simultaneously. If you tried to burn or cut your way in, you’d be in for a tough time as well, as the cutting edge materials had been tested against not only the best tools money could buy, but some of the most powerful Quirks. It was rumoured that even one of All Might’s Smashes couldn’t do more than dent it. Inside was most of the money and jewels. Penetrating it was not impossible, but incredibly time consuming and resource intensive. When such a safe was breached, it was not done so onsite, but first stolen entirely using the aid of powerful Quirks - an unfortunate reality that no Safemaker has yet to overcome.

The last and final defense mechanism against thieves was the exclusive handmade quality of Kunioka’s jewelry itself. Moving such a hot, one of a kind product would be difficult for even the most experienced fences - fences experienced enough to know that even trying to move it could potentially risk their downfall, and thus, be wise enough to avoid it.

These security mechanisms, four pillars of nigh insurmountable difficulty, had forged a reputation for Kunioka’s as an impenetrable fortress from which no villain could pierce and escape.

Until now.

There is an essential weakness in any security mechanism, and that it is ultimately designed to be opened. No door can be locked forever - if you wanted that, you’d build a wall instead. All those locks, all those things, they were meant to keep out people who weren’t supposed to be there. So if you were supposed to be there…

The Guards snapped to attention when Kunioka Takemaru approached his store in the late hours of the night, the distinct pinched face of the elderly miser unmistakeable even now.

Both guards bowed immediately. “Kunioka-sama!” said the woman on the left, her long, lank hair curling in the wind of its own accord, “Forgive me for this impudence, but why have you returned here so late at night?”

The full force of Kunioka Takemaru’s glare was upon her, a look so powerful it was rumoured it was how he cut his diamonds. “Do not presume to question me! Open the door already!”

“Y-yes Kunioka-sama!” She whirled around and punched the keycode in, and allowed it to scan her retina. The door slid open with nary a sound, and the miser brushed through without a second’s pause, leaving the two guards deeply bowing to the air.

The second guard, a doll-like figure with skin just like fine china turned to look at the first. “... You, are in so much shit right now,” they mumbled.

“Don’t remind me,” she said quietly. Neither of them, with their heads lowered in a respectful bow, noticed the figure approaching behind them.

Until it was too late.

***************************

Within the store, Kunioka moved straight towards the backroom workshop and the safe. He glanced at the cameras cursorily, before sliding open the workshop door and stepping out of their view, pausing just at the safe. “Mizutami. Present yourself.”

In the center of the room was a still, stone pond. It’s presence lent an air of tranquility and reflection to the otherwise pragmatic workspace, the stone basin artful and natural compared to the soft tatami mat floors and paper walls (behind which there were a foot of steel). The surface rippled slightly, and a figure rose up out of the water, sleek and shiny, even in their finely tailored suit.

This was the secret fifth pillar of security in Kunioka’s Jewelry Boutique - Mizutami ‘the Kappa’, whose ‘Still Waters’ Quirk allowed him to hide in pools of water, provided they were not disturbed too much. “Kunioka-sama,” He said, silken voice as tranquil as the pond he rose out of, “It is a rare honour to greet you so late in the night.” His was a presence not even the other guards were aware of - but there were no cameras here in the backroom. Kunioka Takemaru was a genius of unparalleled talent, and to have the risk of someone witnessing his technique… or selling those videos to rivals? Unacceptable didn’t even begin to describe it.

“Has anyone been in here?” Kunioka muttered, glancing around.

“... No, Kunioka-sama. I have been watching as always. No intruders. Is something bothering you?”

Kunioka frowned quietly. “I… have had a bad feeling. A terrible feeling. Have you heard of Morgaine?”

“Morgaine?” Mizutami echoed, possibly the only person who could get away with repeating Kunioka’s words to himself. “I must ask… do you mean the thief?”

“Yes. Recently, there’s been a string of robberies, hasn’t there? High profile ones too. Kazuno’s lost that tiara she was making, and then Mikusoki’s was cleaned entirely of their diamonds. Nobody ever saw the thief either. They came in the morning, and found everything gone with only a name behind.”

Mizutami nodded, slipping out of the pond carefully. Despite having emerged from the water, there was not a drop on him. “I see. So Kunioka-sama was worried and came here?”

“Indeed. Let us open the safe, Mizutami, and be sure of it.” Amongst the employees at Kunioka’s Jewelry Boutique, any number of them could provide access codes for the verification side of the safe, but only Kunioka himself could provide the ‘master-level’ authentication needed to open it with their assistance.

Together, they assembled at the safe door. They punched in their codes in perfect synchronicity, pressed their index fingers against the scanners, and then leaned forward to allow their retinas to be scanned.

The door swung open silently, revealing a treasure trove of jewels and already made jewelry waiting for pickup.

“As expected, Kunioka-sama. There is no cause… for…” Mizutami’s eyes widened in alarm, and he glanced over to Kunioka who was already swaying on his feet. Everything was getting foggy, and his grip on his consciousness was growing slippery by the second. A drug? A gas…? But… when…

Mizutami the Kappa slumped on his feet, a fog overtaking his mind.

For a moment, nothing happened. And then a figure stepped through the door, humming thoughtfully to themselves. They were dressed in a dark blue cloak that reached just past their knees, hood drawn up to hide their hair and shadow their face - not that their face was revealed to begin with. A elaborate venetian mask, painted and crafted in an elegant style depicting a gently frowning face hid whatever was behind it. They stepped past the pair of swaying men, and casually began filling a small sack with the contents of the safe.

Gemstones of unparalleled quality, rings and necklaces of gold and silver, intricate earrings and breathtakingly beautiful tiaras - all of it vanished into their cloak. All that emerged from it was a single bone white business card, an artfully inscribed name the only thing on it - ‘Morgaine’. The figure placed it in the centre of the safe, and calmly moved both of the men out of the way of the safe door as they shut it.

“Kunioka-sama. You checked the safe, but found everything in order. You think it was silly of you to worry - your security is unparalleled of course,” They said in a smooth, robotic hush. The telltale sound of a voice changer.

Kunioka smirked slightly, eyes still unfocused and vacant. “Of course. No stupid thief could get past the Five Pillars,” He mumbled.

The figure turned to Mizutami. “You watched all night, and saw nothing. Kunioka-sama came in, and you told him as much. You checked the safe with Kunioka-sama, and you found everything in order as well.”

“... Kunioka-sama should not worry so much. That is what I am paid to do, after all,” the Kappa murmured.

“Yes. That’s true, isn’t it?” The figure added, calmly stepping past both of them. “You’re both going to have a calm talk about security matters - maybe beefing it up a little, because you can never be too careful. The phantom thief, Morgaine, is about, after all. But after say, twenty minutes, go home and have a rest Kunioka-sama. You’re going to have a big day tomorrow.”

And then the figure slipped out of the room, leaving them both to obey the suggestions.

The two front guards were still standing in a mindless haze, and the figure paused to give them some suggestions. And then when they turn around to leave, there’s another cloaked figure in front of them.

Well. It almost went off perfectly.

***************************

“You would be Morgaine, wouldn’t you?” rasped the cloaked figure, leering at them with a pale mouth full of gleaming teeth. “I, am Nobusuma.” He gave the thief a mocking bow, his own black cloak fluttering with the movement..

“The underground Pro Hero, ‘Nobusuma’. I’m honored you came out just for me.” Morgaine spread their cloak out just a bit, eyes narrowed behind the smoky lenses of their mask.

‘Nobusuma’ leered wider. “It was child’s play to predict you’d strike here, Morgaine. I must say, I’m surprised you succeeded as well as you did. A Hypnosis Quirk, is it? You seem to have everyone under your spell.”

“‘Spell’ is right,” said Morgaine, “This isn’t a Quirk. It’s ‘Magic’.” There was a mocking tone to their voice now, bordering on challenging. “So if you’re not careful you’ll fall under the ‘spell’ as well.”

“Ha!” Nobusuma cackled, “Call it whatever you want! But it won’t change a thing!” They rushed forward, goggles gleaming in the night as a hand clad in a fingerless glove reached out for him.

Fingerless gloves - so the power relied on contact? If it was skin contact, they were going to have a fun time trying. Morgaine was covered head to toe. They dodged and weaved artfully between the rapid jabs, nimbly avoiding contact with the fingers.

But then Nobusuma did something unexpected. He took a deep breath, and blew out a thick, black smoke from his mouth, engulfing Morgaine’s head in the cloud. “You fell for my trap!” He crowed, grinning madly, “My ‘Blackout’ doesn’t work through skin contact - but through gas! Once inhaled, you’ll lose all your senses. Sight, smell, touch… hearing. You can’t even hear me, can you? In that pitch blackness where you sense nothing, your concentration is invariably broken! No soul can withstand it!”

Morgaine stumbled around, eyes wide behind the lenses. “I… what?! I can’t hear! My… you… what did you do?!”

Nobusuma cackled, stalking forward. “Another upstart Villain brought down low.” He dodged a wild punch from the stumbling Morgaine and smoothly cuffed the outstretched arm with one part of a gleaming pair of handcuffs. “Pathetic, really. Such a predictable schedule, such a predictable tactic. Magic? Don’t make me laugh.” He pushed the still-fumbling Villain over to the nearby lamp post and cuffed their arm to that. “In the face of the absolute fear of the darkness… even the strongest villain cowers.”

Morgaine paused in their stumbling, tilting their masked face at Nobusuma. It was a gesture too pointed to be done in ignorance but… that was impossible wasn’t it? They breathed in the gas! “It’s kind of funny,” They said, rubbing their wrist with one hand, “Such a gloomy guy is a Hero?”

Nobusuma’s eyes bulged behind his goggles, going to reach out with one arm only to find that it was cuffed to the lamp post instead of Morgaine’s. “What? How?! It’s impossible! Even those with Extra-sensory Quirks are blinded by my ‘Blackout’! Complete deprivation of all the senses! There’s no way you could’ve escaped!” He seethed, “But no matter! Any Pro worth their salt has a backup!” He whipped his second arm out from under the cloak, holding… a bouquet of flowers? “My taser… how?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” the Villain replied, “If you weren’t careful, you’d fall under my ‘spell’ as well. This isn’t a Quirk. It’s ‘Magic’.” They reached into their cloak, and withdrew a handful of… sand? “Goodnight, Nobusuma of the Night. We will not meet again, I think.” And with a puff of their breath, the surprisingly smooth sand-dust rushed past Nobusuma’s face.

A sickly sweet scent filled the Hero’s nostrils, and he felt his eyelids grow heavy. “Damn it… beaten… by a rookie…” He mumbled, slumping down to the ground.

When he was found, hours later, he was stripped half naked with an inky black gothic ‘M’ drawn on his forehead.

***************************

The figure known as Morgaine stumbled into a dingy, badly lit bar and flounced onto a stool. They held up a gloved hand, and the bartender immediately started pouring them a drink - of juice. Apple Mango, to be specific.

“Bad day?” asked the Bartender, sliding the glass over to the thief. “You were supposed to have that big job today. Did it not go as planned?”

The thief caught the drink, swirling it around a little bit before covering the top with their hand. When they lifted it, a long, childish crazy straw was there, and they adjusted the mask slightly to slip the tip underneath and take a long draw. “No, no, Kurogiri-san. Went off pretty much perfectly actually.” With the mask no longer sealed against his skin, his voice came out naturally - soft, and youthful.

“Oh? I’m impressed. Please don’t take this in offense, but I wasn’t sure you could manage.”

Morgaine waved him off. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” He murmured, wiping his mouth under the mask. “Hitting Kunioka’s has to have been the hardest thing I’ve done so far. What a crazy old man.”

“You call him crazy, Morgaine-san, but the one who went to all that effort to bypass the security was you. Studying the guard schedules, the defences. Preparing a hypnotic gas. Going so far as to implanting suggestions in Kunioka’s mind so that he’d go check the safe in the middle of the night…”

The thief huffed again. “It’s not like I made the gas. All I did was exploit an old man’s moment of weakness.” He paused, swirling the straw around a little. “... and handcuff Nobusuma to a lamp post, I guess,” He added after a moment’s consideration.

“Nobusuma of the Night?” the bartender echoed, giving him an amused look. “That’s pretty impressive, Morgaine-san. Nobusuma’s record is quite impressive.”

“It was luck mostly,” Morgaine said, brushing off the praise easily, “Nobusuma’s Quirk is a gas; to protect myself against my own gas, I had Giran fit my mask with a filter. The idiot even explained what the gas was supposed to do to me. Faking it was easy.”

Kurogiri shook his head gently, black wisps moving with the movement. “You’re too modest, Morgaine-san,” He said quietly, wiping down the bartop. “Will you be sticking around much longer? Shigaraki is planning a venture, and he might request your expertise.”

Morgaine frowned at his juice - not that the bartender could see it behind the mask. “Since when does Shigaraki-kun ask for my expertise? I’m a thief.” Despite his attitude to his ‘exploits’, he was fairly fond of Shigaraki Tomura (or as he often referred to him in private, ‘Mr Handsy’). The two occasionally played video games together, but there was a certain… unsettling quality about him. Mostly the hands. If he was honest, it was almost entirely the hands. But Shigaraki mostly dealt with violent crimes, and Morgaine wasn’t really into violence. Sure, sometimes he engaged in it, but only when he thought it was necessary or the target deserved it.

“Mmm. I thought you might say something like that,” He said smoothly, polishing a glass to sparkling perfection. “But I have some information about the venture you might find interesting.”

He looked at Kurogiri for a few moments before sighing. “Alright, I’ll bite. Is he hitting up a Hero Convention? Because I don’t think any of those are happening soon.”

There’s a faint little chuckle out of the mist. “No. We’re targeting the Unforeseen Simulation Joint - a training ground for prospective Heroes to learn the arts of rescuing.” The gold eyes sharpened slightly. “U.A’s Class 1-A will be attending, and with them, the Symbol of Peace.”

Morgaine tapped his mask with a single finger, and then slowly pulled the mask up to the top of their head, coincidentally shifting the hood down. A pale, freckled face slowly revealed itself to the world, forest green eyes sparkling with a sense of mischief and mirth.

“I’ll be there with bells on,” said Midoriya Izuku, grinning a little with anticipation.

#penkind writes #bnha fic #bnha fanfic #villain izuku fanfic #villain izuku

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