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snowhashiraamiya · 1 year ago

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IT'S TIME 😩❤️

Don't Cry

BangChan x F!Reader

TW: Bullying, Social Embarrassment, Anxiety

Setting/Prompt: Reader is socially embarrassed after a concert, but fakes her emotions and breaks down after the concert, alone in her room. Chan then finds her and comforts and reassures her.

Word Count: 1,710

Color Coded Text

⬇️

Felix

Hyunjin

BangChan

Rumors, Whispers about reader

Readers internal thoughts

"[Name]!"

"[Name]! Is it true you've considered a relationship with a fellow member of SKZ?"

"[Name] over here!"

"[Name]! Are you collabing with SKZ on a new single?"

"[Name], The company insists you distance yourself from performing, what is your opinion on this?"

"I heard she's in a relationship with their leader, Bangchan, how lucky is she."

"I'm more than sure he'll leave her eventually."

"That gives you a chance right?"

It was overwhelming, my heart was racing and it was like the world was spinning. Chan and the others were more than excited to have me perform with them. It was an amazing concert, although it's like I could hear all the whispers and rumors around me.

"I believe that's enough questions for now! Thank you stays for coming out tonight! We'll see you next time!"

I heard Felix speaking over the microphone, my heart was pounding and I waved goodbye to all of the fans before exiting the stage with SKZ and the staff. I could hear my heart in my ears, what if the rumors get out online? Sure Chan and I have been together for a few months, 6 to be exact. But we didn't think it would get out anywhere.

Chan watched you, He was sure there was something on your mind, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Perhaps he would speak to you about it later. As you walked next to Hyunjin, you two were chatting quietly. The group had decided on going to dinner, and you had been invited along.

Although you'd love to join them, your head was spinning. You couldn't think, even Hyunjin's voice sounded a little bit muffled in your ears. You had kindly denied the invite and made your way to your room. SKZ had 8 members. BangChan, Felix, Han, Changbin, Seungmin, Lee Know, I.N, and Hyunjin. You were just a back up, although people knew who you were.

Even if you weren't apart of the group directly, they still treated you like a fellow member regardless of your title. At that point, you were standing in front of your door before you realized that you had zoned out again.

You looked up and to your sides and then entered your room and shut the door immediately dropping your bag and laying on your bed. You hugged your pillow as tears prickled at your eyes. You loved him, and he loved you. But it still made your heart thump that people were starting to hint at the fact that you and Chan were more than friends.

You finally sat up in your bed and pulled off your shoes and stripped yourself of your clothing and made your way to the shower. It was exhausting, your career, your job, the shows, people. Overall you loved your life, but it was just so overwhelming at times.

After maybe 30 minutes in the shower, you quietly curled up in your bed with a book and you turned on a lamp and sat up. Even though you'd showered, ate something, and gotten into comfy clothing, your head still was filled with all of these what ifs.

"Y'know, we cry too sometimes, [Name], don't think your not allowed to. This kind of life sure can be overwhelming."

Hyunjin's voice trailed through your head. It was a conversation you two had been having earlier. He was right and you knew it. Chan would be by soon to check on you, when he did, you would only hope that you would have your emotions together before then.

****

It was fuzzy, okay, breathe. What can you hear? See? Taste? Smell? Feel? Deep breaths. It's probably just a dream, calm down. In for 4, out for 4. It's fine. This is fine.

Knock knock knock

"[Name]?"

Chan?

"Darling, can I come in?"

Yes, come in.

"Baby? Can you hear me? The door's locked I can't-"

What? Did I lock it? He has a key right?

"[Name], doll, I need you to open the door."

Please… come in, I can't.

"Hey, Felix, you got the keys to the dorm right?"

"Yeah Chan, which one do you need?"

"The one to [Name's] room."

Breathe… what can I see? Nothing. What can I hear? Chan, Felix, Keys.

Chan, Felix, Keys.

"Thanks man, I'll be at practice soon, I just need-"

"No it's fine Chan, stay with [Name] for now. It's no big deal."

"If- you insist. I know I need to stay with her."

"Relax Chris, stay with her."

Breathe, it's okay, breathe. He's here. Calm down.

"[Name], dear, I'm here. Just a second."

The door opens, and your eyes flutter, it's fuzzy still. It's okay. The ceiling looks blurry, was I crying? Yes? Yes. It's just tears, breathe.

"Doll, it's Chan, I'm here. Can you hear me?"

You nodded your head, you could hear his footsteps, and then heard his soft voice again, "Baby? Can I sit? Can you look at me?" You nodded and then felt the bed shift. Chan took a seat on your bed, he looked at you. You were shaking, and your eyes were filled with tears. He felt so bad that he wasn't here sooner.

He knew something had happened at the concert. But now he was here, and he was determined to help you through this panic episode.

"Baby?"

"Mmh?"

You slowly gained feeling in your body again, and you sat up to look at him. He looked tired, his hair fluffy and his hoodie frumpled slightly. He looked into your eyes and lifted his hand and caressed your cheek. "Big hug?"

Your face twisted in emotion and you tried not to cry, you could only nod your head. Chan immediately moved closer and wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to him and hugged you.

He rested his hand on your head and rubbed your hair while pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Talk to me baby, what's bothering you?" You shifted and snuggled your face into his hoodie, "Just… rumors. I thought it had gotten out about us…"

Chan just breathes as he listens to your worries, he thinks of the words to say to you. "I heard people whispering about me at the concert." you croaked out as you trembled in his arms. He rubbed your head and rocked back and forth.

"I understand your worries [Name], and although there isn't much I can say that you don't already know, what I can say is that I will be here with you through it all."

Chan looked down at you and kisses your forehead, "You're not gonna let them tear us apart?" You murmured. Chan's eyes softened and he presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

"Of course not darling, I assure you."

You looked up at him and he gave you a smile, "Breathe darling, do you remember our steps?" You nodded and snuggled up in his arms.

"Are you sleepy?"

You nodded once more, but Chan looked at you with a gentle smile, "Why don't you have a small snack before sleeping?" You pouted a bit and Chan just chuckled and boops your nose.

The two of you had a small snack before snuggling up in each other's arms again in your bed. He was so warm, you didn't want to let him go. Chan hugged you closer and pressed kiss after kiss to your forehead, he couldn't get enough of you.

You were beautiful, adorable, loving, amazing and more in his eyes. He wanted you to believe it. But he knew that it would take time for you to gain your self confidence back.

You eventually fell asleep in his arms as Chan continued to kiss your forehead over and over while snuggling you. Tomorrow would be all about you, he wanted to treat you tomorrow.

Maybe go out to eat, and even get your nails done, he knows you have been wanting to do that for a while. Chan loves to spoil you as much as he can, even if it's just with himself or things he purchases for you. To Chan, his love language is quality time and physical touch.

He loves it when you hold his hand, or hug him. Anything involving physical contact, it grounds him. It's true, this lifestyle can be difficult, but imagine it. If you two hadn't been accepted into the company, the two of you would've never met.

He's overfilled with joy that he made that decision. He has his son's, the other 7 members, and you. Nothing could make his life brighter. Except… he isn't able to livestream for STAY anymore. The company said he can't. Although he would love to.

Chan felt you shifting in your sleep so he started rubbed circles on the small of your back to keep you calm. Let you know he was still here with you. He continued to press soft kisses to your head and comfort you so you could sleep peacefully.

He continued to snuggle you and comfort you as you slept in his arms, he even started singing to you, "Youtiful." One of the group songs they had put together. It was your favorite, and he knew if you were dreaming, that song would keep you calm.

As the night continued, Chan felt himself growing more sleepy as the two of you were cuddled up in your bed, it was warm, it only made him more exhausted from the long day the two of you had.

Your bodies were tangled like two koala bears cuddling, your arms around his neck and rubbing his hair. It was a comfort method of yours. Him, his arms held you close and his lips pressed gently against your forehead.

In the morning Chan would make sure you'd have the best day, but for now, he cuddled you.

BangChan finally gave in to the exhaustion and while falling into a deep sleep, he held you against his chest in a big hug that he knows you love.

🐺❤️

I'm so excited to finally post this 🥺❤️

Chan is such a sweetheart, and if you aren't familiar with SKZ, I highly recommend checking them out. Truth is, Hyunjin is my bias, Felix is my bias wrecker, and Chan literally appeared out of nowhere and said "Yep I'm here now."

I'd consider him a tie with Hyunjin as my bias. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this fic I wrote for Channie, Felix's will be posted on Friday 👀

If you have any requests, remember my ask box is open!! ❤️❤️

Ily all sm, have a great rest of your day 💜

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nocanonhere · 1 year ago

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Happy Wyll's Week! Day 4/7

-There Is Hope Yet (SFW, but has more kissing): Tav (Aiya) cant help but tease Wyll about how big of a flirt he is. Anything to brighten the mood. (there is some angst here though) (centered around my Tav, Aiya. Elf-Dragon Sorceress)

He’s certainly attended more parties in the time frame of this journey than he would have expected.

They have a long way to go, but cleansing Moonrise Towers was the beginning of the road to victory. Jaheira encouraged them all, after their proper burials of the Harpers they’d lost, to have a drink and socialize. They were all to be allies from this point forward.

And here he is again, not participating.

The water sloshes against the docks quietly. He wonders just how much life is left in there; if anything of the aquatic variety survived this curse. He wonders how long it will be before the land heals. Halsin seems to have dropped a weight off his shoulders. He was practically glowing about having saved Thaniel and Oliver. Wyll has witnessed many things unheard of, but the personification of nature being present in those children was going to stand out in his mind forever.

They had been a step behind Gortash and Orin, and his father had been infected. What Wyll feared had arrived. With the Duke under mind control, the time clock for their necessary intervention had been cut by a third.

He has a drink in his hand, and another bottle set by his feet. He had hoped a little wine would ease the anxiety swirling in his stomach.

He had hoped for a lot of things. He knows he is the one always toting to never give up, because nothing was over till it was over. But now, he wonders if his opportunity to reconcile with his father had been decimated.

He hears steps, and is in a bad enough mood that he feels annoyed about having been disturbed. He just wants a few moment to himself. How hard can that be?

“Wyll,”

His annoyance evaporates and is replaced with something else. That feeling she generates in him every time they have a moment together.

Perhaps he doesn’t mind, if it’s her.

He turns around to greet her, plastering a half smile on his face for appearances. She doesn’t seem to be buying it.

She seems stiff, and when she’s at his side, he can see her hands pressing into her lower back.

She notices him watching, and shakes her head. “If we make it out of this, I know I’ll have to live with the life-long injuries I’ve gotten on this little trip. I swear I’ll never recover.”

He hums in agreement. “I’m certain I did something to my right shoulder that will haunt me terribly in ten years or so. Maybe less.”

“From this or from your Frontier days?”

“Both,” he shrugs.

It goes quiet then. He wasn’t really in the most festive of moods, and it didn’t want to bring anyone else down with him. He admires everyone so much, especially when they chose to celebrate in the darkness. Grief was forever, but true joy was temporary. It was important to create it where they could.

But he’s not feeling so chatty. And this doesn’t feel like one of their moments where they just sit and enjoy the silence.

“Wyll, I’m sorry.”

He snaps his head to the side then, not expecting that and not understanding what in the world she could be apologizing to him for.

“Whatever for?” he asks, crouching down to set down the wine bottle.

“That we couldn’t make it to your father in time,” she answers. Her hands are still on her back, but her head has fallen forward. She had taken her hair out of her standard braid, so the tresses were blocking her face.

Water droplets started hitting the dock, and for a moment, Wyll foolishly thought that rain had returned to the land, but quickly realized it was Aiya.

She was crying.

“Aiya,” he breathes. He’s a little unsure what to do, he’s never seen her quite like this. “You have nothing to apologize for. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

“I know, but” she strains. “I promised you we would save him.”

“And there may still be time yet,” he assures, walking over to her and gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

But that touch only seems to make her worse. She shuffles her shoulder and steps away, prompting Wyll to remove his hand. Something painful grips his throat for a moment, before he clears it.

“My apologies,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “I should have asked if that was okay.”

“No, Wyll. It’s fine. I just-

She lifts her head, and when her hair falls away, Wyll can see the moisture on her face, and the tears brimming in her eyes.

She begins to sniffle. “Sorry. I just don’t…like being touched when I’m upset. It makes me even more…upset.”

“Of course,” he nods gently. “I will make note of that and act accordingly in the future.”

She lifts her hands and wipes at her face, pressing her palms into her closed eyes hard enough to blur her vision.

The tears seemed to have stopped falling, but the sniffles are still there.

“Would you like to sit?” he offers, gesturing to the edge of the dock. She nods and gets closer to him, both of them sitting down and dangling their feet over the edge.

Oddly enough, he finds that the brooding feels better with company. More evidence giving weight to the age-old adage about misery.

Or maybe it’s less misery and more so that he’s just happy to have time with her, even if it isn’t as pleasant as their other shared moments. They had not touched or kissed since their dance, and he did not ask her why. He wondered, of course. But things had become incredibly busy and bloody once they had to defend the portal for Halsin the following day.

In the meantime, he hadn’t been able to find any items worth gifting. The flowers here were mainly things she used for ingredients, so he wasnt sure if those would suffice as a romantic gift. He thought about writing her something nice, a poem perhaps. But he wasn’t sure what to say just yet. He didn’t want to record one he already knew. He wanted to be original for her.

“So,” she begins, trying to make conversation to lighten the moment. “Any recommendations for places to visit in Baldurs Gate? Giving that it will be left standing.”

“Oh absolutely,” he answers, smiling. “I used to sneak off to…well, I probably wasn’t sneaking; my father probably knew. But I would go to a lounge in the lower city near the harbor. I would go with my friends Nasina and Yudi. Yudi’s dad was a high ranking Fist before he was forcibly retired. Him and my father still remained friends. And Nasina was the daughter of our seamstress, Kali.”

He sighed. “We were no more than sixteen, and Yudi was the one who started dragging me there anyway. But it was like a tavern, and the age ranges were close enough to ours. It mainly seemed to be younger students. But the barkeeper clocked our ages the second we sat at the bar, telling us to take these waters and go somewhere else.”

She laughs, and he smiles at the memory.

“It’s the music that I enjoyed the most. Some people would play and sing for fun. Some for coin. I ended up there on the stage more than once singing quite off key with my friends. Lots of good memories in that place. If it’s still standing, I would like to take you there. And this time, we can get a bit crocked.”

He looks at her, and it seems that she has calmed down some. “That sounds great,” she says. Then she cocks her head. “Did you have a lot of friends, before?”

“Truthfully, only a few friends. The rest of the nobles in my age group were acquaintances because of family and money. I may have been popular, but Yudi and Nasina were my crew.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. The popularity part. You’re quite the catch. And quite the flirt.”

“Hah,” he laughs. “That last bit isn’t exactly true.”

“Oh please,” she moans, rolling her head with it. “You have been the biggest flirt on this journey!”

“How so?”

She opens her mouth in shock. “How…how so? You’ve complimented literally everyone in this camp.”

“People should be appreciated.”

“Yeah, but when Lae’zel tried to make good on it, you backed out.”

He sits forward quickly. “She told you about that?”

“Of course she did,” she bubbles with laugher. “Don’t be upset with her. She didn’t mean anything by it. There are quite a few discrepancies between social conduct here and among the Githyanki. But then there’s Shadowheart. Who shot you down very quickly.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t making an attempt, exactly. She’s just…beautiful.”

“Then Karlach-

He interrupts her. “Now, even you know.”

She bites her bottom lip before laughing again. “Yes. Yeah, that one is completely understandable,” she says, staring off in the distance before snapping back to the moment.

“You called Halsin a thick hunk.”

“Was that a lie?”

“Then there was that comment about Astarion’s tongue.”

“Which you all took out of context.”

“You made that joke to Gale about his magical touch.”

“Now that was meant to be suggestive, yes,” he points.

“You’ll probably start complimenting Jaheira in a moment, since she’ll be joining us.”

“Have you seen her?”

“Wyll!” she laughs. “The point is, whether you mean to or not, many things that you say and do come off as flirtatious. And I refuse to believe teenage Wyll wasn’t making the ladies swoon with his words. Maybe some of the gentleman too.”

He doesn’t have a defense. Not at all. So he just banters. “You think you have all the answers, don’t you?”

“No,” she wheezes out, still full of giggles. “Tell me I’m wrong. How many did you recite poetry to?”

“A few.”

“Exactly, Wyll.”

He shakes his head. “But I truly wasn’t that bad. A few recitations here and there, and of course there were the dances, but there was someone in particular I was interested in at the time. And I was serious about showing her.”

“Ooooh,” she teases. “What’s her name?”

“Uh, well. It was Nasina.”

“And did Nasina know this?”

“Well, yes. We were together, after all.”

“Ah,” she says, nodding slowly. “You were going to omit that little fact.”

He grimaces. “I didn’t mean to. We were friends, over everything. And together only for a short amount of time before we resumed our friendship. ”

“Relax. I’m teasing,” she assures. “But that’s really cute.”

He looks at her, and shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m glad you find it so.”

She looks away, smile still on her face. He thinks he’d let her pick and prod at him all she wanted if it made her laugh.

“And what about you?” he asks. “I understanding Elven lifespans are measured differently, as are Dragonborns. But what was the equivalent of your teen years like?”

By the way her smile falters, he knows he asked the wrong question. He tries to regroup the moment quickly.

“Of course, you don’t have to answer.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” she sighs, shrugging. “But it was…hard, I suppose. I didn’t exactly get a proper coming-of-age experience. Or life, really. But I did have a few friends. I left quite some time ago, though. I haven’t kept up with anyone.”

He nods, ruminating on her words. He still knows so little about her. About her home, her family, her upbringing. But from the small things he’s gathered, like her aversion to talking about it, he supposes it’s not something she really wants to discuss.

When he thought of home, it was painful because he missed it. But it seems when she thought of hers, it was painful just because it was painful.

“And what about now?” he asks. “I mean, I know you weren’t in Baldur’s Gate when you were captured. But where you were, did you have friends there? Or any family?”

Or a partner, perhaps?

“Not really,” she says, not elaborating. “Sorry. It’s probably so rude to not really answer any of your questions when you freely answered mine.”

“That is not an issue,” he adds. “Although I do hope to learn you, in time.”

She looks at him in exasperation. “That. That right there.”

He looks the other way, sees nothing, then turns back to her. “What?”

“What you just said!” she points, then smiles. “You cannot just say things like that.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” he tries to convince. “Or, I didn’t mean it in a flirtatious way.”

His explanations only send her back to laughing.

“Gods,” she sighs. “This has been a day.”

He nods. “That it has. You should rest.”

“I should.”

It goes quiet again, and the expression on her face becomes curious.

“I should,” she says again, and Wyll notices her eyes flick down momentarily. He exhales.

“Now who’s being the flirt?” he asks.

She leans closer then, looking up at him. “I’ve been spending too much time around you, I suppose.”

They linger there, neither moving any closer. But Wyll feels the air charge, rolling with tension.

“May I kiss you?” she asks.

He doesn’t answer her verbally, but he does close the gap and press his lips to hers, gently.

They separate and do it again. Then again. Then again.

He wants to keep going, desperately. But the moment was boiling to a temperature he wasn’t braced to reach yet. He was still committed to working this process slowly.

There is a soft, searching look in her eyes. The same one she gave him after their first kiss, the night of their dance. He hates to pull away from her again, but it’s for the best.

“Would you like me to walk you back?”

“Oh, no. That’s okay,” she answers him quickly, agreeing to end the moment. “I’ve done enough this evening. First the crying, then the laughing. Then that.”

And when she’s to her feet, she sways just a bit.

“Aiya,” he begins, smile beginning to bloom on his face.

“It’s Karlach’s fault,” she says, confirming his suspicions. “She’s an enabler. I’m not drunk. Honestly. I think the exhaustion, plus the healing potions, then the wine was a bad trio. No, it absolutely was a bad trio.”

“You probably are just tired,” he stands, grabbing the two bottles he brought back with him. He’s going to return them to their storage because he no longer needs them for what he brought them out there for. The anxiety that had been eating him earlier had been blanketed with her presence, her jokes.

Her kisses.

“But knowing that you are under the influence, I will walk you back for safety purposes.”

“We have killed everything even remotely within this radius.”

“Just go with it,” he encourages, holding out his free arm for her to grab onto.

“My lady,” he nods.

They start walking back, footsteps cutting through the silence, and laughter ringing through the air.

#wyll ravengard #bg3 #bg3 wyll #wyll x tav #wyll'sweek #baldur's gate 3 #wyllweek #wyll x reader #baldurs gate wyll #from dec 1st to dec 7th #Wyll'sWeek #he's such a flirt #and he knows it #but also is just generally kind #and so the lines blur #he be saying anything though #some of the comments about other companions inspired by in game dialog

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444lpblue · 1 year ago

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Stardust Telepath #3 - Explosive Mechanic

Screenplay: RinRin Storyboard/Episode Direction: Shinichirou Ueda Animation Direction: Megumi Nagayama, Ryoutarou Takamura, Yuuta Masaki, Ken Mukaigawara Key Animation: Hiroyuki Shimizu, Megumi Nagayama, Maya Yoshida, Tatsuya Urano, Yuuta Masaki, Hiroshi Tanabe, Yousuke Sotoyama, Haruka Sakai, Manabu Kushibuchi, Takanori Suzuki, Satoshi Horisawa, Michitaka Yamamoto, Takahiro Ninagawa, Lilin Zhao, Haruki Ebisu, Yoshiko Nakamura, Kanoko Sakurai, Ryoutarou Takamura, Tetsuya Sunaga, Ken Mukaigawara, Junichi Hashimoto, Yuuichirou Kamura (Eyecatch: 街早智子)

I've wanted to talk about this show since I watched the first episode, but I couldn't find the time. Now we're at episode 3, and guess what? It's pretty great still. Kaori has been at the helm of the whole series at Studio Gokumi, showcasing the studio's in-house staff in a very strong way. Kaori's approach to adapting this series is fantastic; the show is very colorful, especially in its character designs. There are so many fun reactions and expressions that I just can't help but love. It's been a lot of fun so far, and Kaori's expressive and colorful direction is a great match for the series' character designer, Takahiro Sakai. You might have already seen his designs in Yuki Yuna is a Hero, or perhaps you've watched the recent Reborn as a Vending Machine, I Now Wander the Dungeon (I know I didn't). The designs are very flexible and simple, which works great with the more expressive moments. I mean, it's just so cute, and when combined with the color design, they really stand out to me as a big selling point of this anime.

The story itself is somewhat comparable to the recent Bocchi the Rock, if I had to mention something to compare, if you're a fan of shows dealing with social anxiety and featuring fun visuals, I would definitely recommend giving this a try.

Since the title does say this is a write-up on episode 3, I should probably start talking about episode 3. This is actually the first episode so far that Kaori didn't have a hand in from a boarding perspective, but the expressiveness and reactions were still present in this episode. While the usage of them and the colors weren't as bold as Kaori's usual style, I believe Shinichirou Ueda did a really good job, especially for the more serious or emotional moments of the episode.

Kaori relies on a lot of contrast or bright and simple elements over detailed backgrounds to make things pop. Every time they're a bit quirky or making a funny face, you'll notice it. Ueda's approach is a bit more cohesive, and I couldn't really find a word for it until I talked to my friend this morning, who mentioned that he noticed it, and he's absolutely right. Ueda takes a more environmental approach compared to Kaori, incorporating more variety in distance and layout size. For instance, he uses long empty halls to emphasize the distance Umika must cross to connect with Raimon. When Umika runs during the night, it's subtly matched by the soft stars in the sky. In contrast, Kaori might have been a bit more heavy-handed in how brightly the stars shine or how much they pop out. I think Ueda's approach is different in that he likes to make the entire scene a bit more unified in its look rather than having one element stand out more than the others. I like both Kaori and Ueda's styles very much, and I don't have a strong preference between the two. I just wanted to mention the differences I see in their approaches.

Returning to the production as a whole for a moment, I completely forgot to mention that, aside from the aesthetic direction and character designs, the show animates quite well. It's a very pleasing-looking show, at least to me. The production is very solid, and I think credit should be given to the talented in-house animators at Gokumi and the animation producer, Kenta Washikazi. He has only held this role for two shows prior to this one (Yuki Yuna is a Hero: The Great Mankai Chapter and Seton Academy), both of which also had solid production, so it's clear he knows what he's doing. He has brought on people like Kouta Sera, who appears to be fairly heavily involved in this show as a key animator so far, and he's extremely talented. For instance, he did the cut of Umiko floating up in the opening. It's a perfect mix of in-house staff and the talent Washikazi decided to bring on.

#Stardust telepath #hoshikuzu telepath #fall 2023 #anime 2023

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lycanlovingvampyre · 2 years ago

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MAG 197 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: Slow Tuesday at work.

BASIRA: "What’s down there?" JON: "I don’t know." BASIRA: "That makes a change." JON: "It’s… somewhere else." Yaaaay, somewhere else!!!

BASIRA: "Yes I do. You’re too close to this, and I need to make sure you aren’t going to do anything dumb. Situation like this, we can’t make rash assumptions. Right?" That is actually fair. Like I said many times, it's typical for Jon's character to perform poorly under stress. And sometimes he gets a bit impulsive.

ANNABELLE: "I thought you liked his voice?" MARTIN: "I do, when it’s his voice." Nawww...

MARTIN: "So why don’t you just tell me straight? It’s not like I’m going to run off. I’d only trip over my own feet and fall in, even if I tried." Martin already trying his usual charm to get what he wants^^

ANNABELLE: "Perhaps I was wrong about how well suited you are to us. I’m not sure you have the patience for The Web." That's the Lonely-influence. If we really go by the "The Lonely is a metaphor for depression" then it's only logical for Martin to have gotten irritable and short-tempered.

ANNABELLE: "A TV show. Reaching out into the homes of millions, giving the more vulnerable ones a subtle nudge towards terror. Probably something for children. It never went anywhere, of course. These things rarely do." Hmm, a bit stereotypical to assume children are the easiest people to manipulate, when there's a whole older generation out there, slowly withering away in front of the TV with almost no engagement and also no impulse to engage.

MARTIN: "Wait… Wait, hang on, is that him?" ANNABELLE: "Yes. I guess you’re better with the Web than we thought." MARTIN: "And – Wait, ha– No, uh… is that… Basira? He – He’s got Basira with him!" Web!Martin is back on the menu! xD

[MUFFLED AGITATION] [MUFFLED ANXIETY] [MUFFLED ANXIETY INCREASES TO MUFFLED TERROR] [MUFFLED SADNESS] [MUFFLED DEMAND FOR RELEASE] [MUFFLED POINT OF CONTENTION] [MUFFLED ATTEMPTED EXPLANATION, FOLLOWED BY MUFFLED SIGH AND MUFFLED AGREEMENT] [MUFFLED DOWNBEAT ACKNOWLEDGEMENT] [MUFFLED DISCOMFITED REALISATION] [MUFFLED DESPONDENCY] [MUFFLED WORRY] I love all of these...

ANNABELLE: "I didn’t. He came of his own free will." [MUFFLED POINT OF CONTENTION] JON: "'Free will,' she says, as we stand in the middle of her fucking web!" Ah, Jon is angry! I like it!

JON: "Martin, is this true?" [MUFFLED ATTEMPTED EXPLANATION, FOLLOWED BY MUFFLED SIGH AND MUFFLED AGREEMENT] BASIRA: "Told you." Why is Basira so set on both of them not really knowing each other? In MAG 177 she kind of mocks Martin for trusting Jon not to look into his head. And now she was like, what? "haha, told you your boyfriend wasn't kidnapped, he just left you"??? That conversation is not on tape right? I remember this “told you”, but there was no conversation in detail about this in MAG 195 or at the beginning of this one...

JON: "It’s inevitable." Well, now he's starting to sound like Agent Smith xD

ANNABELLE: "Of course. And knowing this, knowing for centuries you would eventually be trapped, doomed to starvation, what would you do?" [LONG CONSIDERED PAUSE] JON: "Plan an escape." Lesson 2: Plan your exit on the way in! (Me at every single social gathering XD)

ANNABELLE: "We found the one we believed most likely to bring about their manifestation. We marked him young, guided his path as best we could. And then, we took his voice." JON: "No…" Actually, right now Jon is taking this better that expected. He still sounds pissed, but not devastated. That'll come as soon as he had time to think about it... Also, I don't think Jon was the only one the Web prepared. In fact, it very much looks like it did a little experiment with Father Burroughs of MAG 19 and 20. They probably had a bunch of candidates but when it became clearer, that Jon could actually be the one closest to pull it off they started to focus more and more on him. After all, at first their influence was minimal, guided Martin to Prentiss. Only when that worked they delivered the lighter (and table) do take this further.

JON: "Because for the Fears to spread into these new worlds, they would need to leave ours, wouldn’t they?" Like he said in MAG 164, "If the Fears are removed".

JON: "Leaving us behind in the process, freeing our world at the cost of others." BASIRA: "What are you saying?" JON: "We can pass them our apocalypse." [MUFFLED DISCOMFITED REALISATION] ANNABELLE: "Nothing so extreme. In these new worlds they would exist as they used to in ours, lurking just beyond the threshold." JON: "Until someone is stupid enough to release them there, as well." ANNABELLE: "Perhaps. Even the Mother cannot see the future. Only try to shape it." JON: "And so they spread through realities like a disease!" Jon, who ultimately suffered all the guilt from this, gets what this means for others in an instant. It's a very understandable trauma response.

ANNABELLE: "Jon would lose much of himself, the parts of him that are The Eye. But he would survive. And perhaps more importantly, he would remain who he believes himself to be. And you would end the suffering of all those others who remain here." It's so interesting to get into interpretations what these parts that are The Eye are supposed to be. Where do they begin and where do they stop? Is it simply memories or even parts of his personality? Is it physical, like his literal eyesight? Is there a higher meaning to "who he believes himself to be"? Is it just subconscious or can he actively influence this, in either a positive or, for Jon most likely, a negative way? Like his self-perception. Is all this also the case when he gets separated from The Eye through, say, being literally cut "free"? So many possibilities! (For fan fictions! XD)

ANNABELLE: "Many years ago a draughtsman made an unfortunate and egregious error on certain city planning documents. As a result, an unusually large and dangerous gas main just happened to be constructed directly below the building you knew as the Magnus Institute, in a place where it would be protected by the tunnels of Robert Smirke, unchanged by the world’s reformation. You need only ignite it." God, I fucking love how all of this was constructed! And that’s just one part of it...

JON: "Ignite it?" ANNABELLE: "Indeed. And it just so happens that the perfect tool was once delivered to you as a token of appreciation. Though you really do need to learn to keep better care of it. Somehow it always seems to slip your mind, doesn’t it?" JON: "What?" BASIRA: "Jon, it’s that stupid lighter of yours." JON: [Indignant] "My what?" [JON PULLS THE GOLD LIGHTER WITH EMBOSSED SPIDERWEB FROM POCKET AND FLICKS IT OPEN] JON: "Oh? ... Oh." Funny story: So while I was listening to MAG 196 and 197 I was texting with my sister, who got me into TMA. I was simultaneously already doing a relisten with my spouse and already picked up on a few things during that, and so I was talking to my sis about foreshadowings. She mentioned like "all the spider references... the lighter!" and I was like "oh yeah, the lighter... Anyway the web table-" And my sis continues to talk about web-influences, Prentiss, Jon going for a cigarette because of the lighter, oliver banks... and I answer "What? Huh... Somehow I seemed to have overlooked a lot of spiders..." My sisters already laughing saying "It's so funny, cause it's the running gag" (and I had no idea about the lighter yet at this point in the conversation). She'd already went on about "You have a few similarities, afraid of spiders since childhood, prematurely greying hair, somehow you always seemed to know stuff about people and I have no idea where you got these from... now you forget the lighter. It's so funny cause there is no way you're doing this on purpose, that's all natural" and I again proceeded to change the topic XD Started talking about the writing xD We've had such a good laugh xD Just scrolled back in our chat log to re-read it, always funny to see. Shortly after this conversation I got to this part in the episode with the lighter and I then texted her "Ohh, now they need the lighter!!!" (And there will be another gag with the lighter! So, to be continued xD)

ANNABELLE: "I’ve played my part to its completion. You get to decide how I exit the stage." MARTIN: "Jon?" JON: "Go!" ANNABELLE: "Very well. We shall not see each other again, Archivist. But I eagerly await your decision." Another excellent choice for fanfic writers to use for Somewhere Else!

All in all the entire multiverse thing is great for fan content. Basically everything could exist in canon! Catboy Elias is real and he can hurt you! xD

@a-mag-a-day

#a-mag-a-day #mag 197 #tma #tma spoilers

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rutilation · 2 years ago

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*emerges from my sarcophagus*

Once again, I seem to have thoughts about the rock manga

About two and a half years ago, after reading chapter 84, I published my last essay on HnK, and felt a bit fatigued. About a week later, I saw on my dashboard that chapter 85 had been released. Knowing that Phos’s grisly mass-murder would greet me if I clicked the post, I closed the app and thought to myself: ‘I want to have a nice Christmas; I’ll look at this later.’ Christmas was indeed nice, there was much wine, ravioli, and spumoni to be had. I had brought over some Buccellato di Lucca, and for all the effort I had made to memorize the proper name, the appellation ‘Lucca bread’ was the one that stuck amongst my aunts, who were quite fond of it. I spent the rest of the evening making my usual clumsy attempts at socializing, and when I got tired of that, played with my aunt’s cats. All in all, it was a good day, and I felt quite refreshed by the end of it.

But, though I didn’t realize it yet, something in my brain had short-circuited. From then on, whenever I tried to so much as look at anything HnK related, I’d find myself consumed by feelings of panic and dread. It occurred me that I had perhaps burned out on my favorite trauma-simulator. Well, that was okay: I’d take a break, let the accumulated gunk flush itself out of my brain, and then hop right back in.

And then the plague happened (no more extended family gatherings or opportunities to make Lucca bread.) And then HnK went on hiatus. And then I finally graduated college. And then my dog died. And then I developed asthma. All throughout, I thought about HnK nearly every day. But whenever I asked myself if I was ready to start reading it again, my brain would always reply ‘nope. still cleaning out the mercury buildup.’

To this day, I don’t understand why this manga and this manga alone has ignited such particular mania in me. Why can’t I just be normal about it? There are certainly other works that I love more than HnK, but seemingly nothing aside from it has the power to turn me into one of Pavlov’s drooling dogs. Maybe Phos just hits different. That’s the best explanation I can come up with right now.

Anyway, this past May I saw that the hiatus was finally ending, and by that point, I was feeling quite impatient with my brain. At last, when I saw the magazine cover, my curiosity finally outweighed my anxiety, and with bleary eyes, I stumbled back onto my favorite suffer-train.

All of that is to say that my brain still has some of that gunk in it, so consider this less of a rigorous analysis and more a dump of two years’ worth of feelings that have been left unsaid. My hope is that, even if I can’t be normal about this story, I can at least convey this messiness in a coherent manner.

Having caught up, I find that I’m just as fascinated by the story as I’ve always been, but I no longer have the same dogged faith in it that I once did. And my issues with it boil down to how the role of the supporting cast has changed. (Phos, on the other hand, remains the character of all time even to this day.)

I would describe the first two-thirds of HnK as an intimate character drama set against the backdrop of an uncaring and alienating world. Both elements were paramount to its unique flavor, but when the most interesting path a character could take contradicted the oppressive atmosphere, it was the tone that yielded to the needs of characterization.

Over time, however, the story’s priorities have shifted, and while many of the individual steps were gradual, the difference between where we started and where we’ve ended up is stark. As it stands, I think my description has been turned on its head. The story is now about the uncaring and alienating atmosphere, and the characters exist in service of it.

This alteration to the alchemy of the story is one I struggle to grapple with. It hasn’t ruined it for me, per se. The ideas that HnK is tackling are still fascinating, and as I said before, Phos themselves is just as endearing and heartbreaking as they’ve always been. I still trust the story to forward interesting concepts, and that it has something to say. And clearly even the mass character assassination of the supporting cast is in service of the story’s themes about the pitfalls of both action and inaction, the need to be needed, and how society crushes underfoot those at its margins.

Y’know…

Something something Buddhist Deva realm, something something The Ones who Walk Away from Omelas, something something We Live in a Society…

But where does Peridot and Sphene trying to empathize with and give actionable advice to Phos and Cairngorm over dealing with grief and death fit into this? Or Antarc’s belief in acting with courage and testing one’s limits? Or the many silent panels dedicated to Kongou’s agony over his children’s suffering? Why did the gems on the moon feel no alarm and raise no objection when Phos told them they intended to kill everyone on earth? Why is Ghost’s reaction to learning that Lapis can’t be resurrected so blasé? Why does Kongou need to be treacherous when his well-established pattern of learned helplessness would have probably lead him down this path regardless? Even accounting for their arrested development and culture of complacency, why aren’t half the gems on the moon rioting over this situation—over the incalculable pain and trauma the Lunarians have wrought upon them? It should amount to more than just… Bort being kind of bummed while sitting alone in their jellyfish room.

And to be totally clear, I’m not just salty because I love Phos so much that I can’t stand to see them scorned by other characters. I like that people get tired of Phos’s shit, I like that their lives don’t revolve around them, I like that the story is brave enough to dig into emotions and experiences that aren’t satisfying and life-affirming, I like that Phos’s journey of “self-improvement” is deeply fraught and about as far from a power fantasy as one can get, and I love that Phos doesn’t have a goddamn harem.

But with the story having become so disinterested and dismissive of the inner lives of everyone who isn’t Phos, it ends up feeling like they’re the center of the universe regardless. And when we do spend time with the other characters, the narrative is practically screaming at us: “Look at how shallow and hypocritical they are! Aren’t you so disappointed in them?” And I don’t need that. I don’t need everyone else to be shallow for Phos to be profound, and Phos’s clumsy compassion captivates me even without everyone else being callous and apathetic. To the contrary, I think this story is at its most heartbreaking in the moments when I can empathize with everyone, and completely understand where they’re coming from. To be invested in these characters’ quest for happiness all while being saddled with the grim knowledge that happiness for one means misery for another is truly gut wrenching. But when the narrative seemingly wants its readership to dole out their sympathy in a zero-sum fashion, the vibes get a bit… rancid. As it is now, HnK has this bitter aftertaste of resentment and misanthropy that I do not care for in the least. And I really, truly hope this sour note in the story mellows out following the long break.

Circa 2018, I would have said that while Phos is unquestionably the star of the show, HnK has a strong supporting cast, with emotional and thought-provoking character arcs for its the major characters, and subtle glimmers that hint at a deeper profundity for its minor characters. Nowadays though, I really can’t—not at all. If you’re not Phos, then your characterization has been sacrificed at the altar of bad vibes.

Now that I’ve articulated my gripes, I’m going to set them aside for a moment to talk about my hopes for the ending of this story, now that one seems to be in sight. Despite my best efforts over the years, I have been unable to crawl into Ichikawa’s brain and divine her thought process. As such, think of this not so much as a prediction, but as, perhaps, fanfic. To me at least, both Phos praying everyone out of existence and Phos refusing to do so and dooming everyone to eternal unlife feel unsatisfying.

Who would have thought, when the profound Buddhist influence on the story first became apparent in those early chapters, that Phos becoming a bodhisattva with the power to save everyone’s souls would end up feeling like the most depraved and unfair path their life could take? There are a couple of reasons for this. For one thing, Phos’s life only became unbearable because of the machinations of someone who is endeavoring to make everyone else hate life as much as he does, (and the son of a bitch all but cackles as he relays this.) In my heart, what I want for Phos isn’t just for them to cut their losses and be put out of their misery—I want them to be happy. But hey, I’m just a silly mortal who, categorically, can’t be tortured in time prison, so what do I know? But, even putting my heartache for Phos aside, no one in this story, in my estimation at least, has earned nirvana. Most of the cast is allergic to introspection, or learning from their mistakes, or broadening their perspectives, and even the few who’ve matured past the preteen level aren’t particularly inclined to work on themselves. They are, to reuse my words from an earlier essay, about as enlightened as a cornflake, and they don’t deserve to reap salvation for themselves off of such ghoulish misery. Do not pass ‘Go.’ Do not collect $200.

At the same time, Phos abandoning everyone to their fate out of spite leans too much into that misanthropy I was crabbing about earlier in this essay. While it would be so very satisfying to see the look on Aechmea’s face when he realizes that all his 5D-chess maneuvers have backfired in the eleventh hour, I just… can’t derive any satisfaction from the thought of the gems getting their just desserts, because the path they traveled to get to this point was so littered with contrivances and shortcuts. All it would do is remind me of how vivid the cast once was, the story’s repudiation of their selfish inaction ringing hollow compared to my memory of those earlier, more nuanced characterizations.

With those out of the way, the option that most appeals to my sensibilities at this point is what I’m calling the Wolf’s Rain ending. Spoilers for a twenty year old anime, I guess. In that story, the characters inhabit a dying world, and are searching for a legendary Paradise with a capital P. At the end, after the entire cast has been picked off one by one, the main characters succeed in birthing Paradise out of the corpse of their dead world, but this paradise is seeded with the malcontent of the main villain, (his freaky eyeball falls onto a white flower and turns it purple. It’s really evocative; go watch Wolf’s Rain) and thus the world is reborn not as an eternal paradise, but as our world, warts and all. The last episode ends with the reincarnation of the main character poised to start his search for Paradise all over again as Stray plays over the credits. Did I mention that Yoko Kanno scored this anime? Watch it now.

Now that I’m done hard selling early digipaint anime, what I really want out of this is for Phos to decide that their idea of happiness does not accord with Aechmea’s and Kongou’s, that they want a shot at a fulfilling life, and that they’re not going to leave this world before learning and understanding all they can of it, and certainly not before experiencing genuine love unmarred by the need to be needed. And if none of that is possible in an empty world populated by hungry ghosts, then it will have to come out of a living, breathing world full of mortals. Thus, they use the power they’ve gained from Kongou not to annihilate the remnants of humanity, but to kick-start the cycle of life again, and in so doing, they reincarnate all the Lunarians as mortals. At last, biodiversity returns to the earth, and everyone’s been reborn as snail people to boot. Aechmea will probably crab about it and claim that Phos has doomed them all. “Why would you want to keep samsara going, you mint-flavored idiot?” Yadda yadda… and I won’t give a damn. Cue Stray over the end credits as Phos’s journey begins anew. It’s a punishment. It’s a gift. And most importantly, it gives me serotonin!

This manga still captivates and inspires me to write like nothing else before it, Phos still has my heart in vice grip, and Ichikawa’s aesthetic idiosyncrasies still delight me in their uniqueness—I feel like if I could borrow even a fraction of her brain cells for one day my artistic sensibilities would gain like thirty levels. But, with all that in mind…

This is no longer the same story I fell in love with back in 2017, it’s a different beast now, and while I still can’t quite put my finger on why HnK grabbed me so hard in the first place, I think I’ve gained some insight into why I burned out on it so hard: the more I tried to reconcile these two different stories that happen to share the same continuity, the more upset I made myself. If I want to keep engaging with this work, I need to mentally separate the stuff from before and after the Moon Super Hell Arc.

In addition to that, I probably won’t pick up where I left off and do an essay every month. Rather, I’ll simply write when the urge strikes me, whether that means thousands of words or one paragraph. But regardless of the change in format, I do intend to see this through to the end with no further nervous breakdowns.

With that all out of the way, here are some additional observations and speculations:

· The hottest topic in fandom at the moment seems to be “who’s going to choose to help Phos?” Or at least, “Who’s going to acknowledge that this situation is even somewhat unjust?” People seem to regard Cinnabar and Euclase as the most likely candidates, as they’re the two who are the most obviously perturbed by Phos’s situation. But, if you put a gun to my head and told me to name the gem that I think is most likely to go to bat for Phos, then I’d say I find Padparadscha’s quiet yet pointed disengagement from this garden of earthly delights to be more portentous. After all, measure twice and cut once is their guiding philosophy. Having said that, by this point we’ve cycled through a half-dozen characters who “actually” cared about Phos, and I’m kind of over it. If Ichikawa wants me to go back to being on tenterhooks waiting to see what choices the other characters make in regards to Phos, then the ball is now firmly in her court.

· I’ve also seen people wondering why Aechmea is so keen on turning all the remnants of humanity into Lunarians even though he believes their state of existence to be an abject curse. My two cents is that it’s a matter of manufacturing consent. Gems don’t want to die as badly as Lunarians, and the Admirabilis wish for death even less so. By coercing all those pesky mortals and mortal-adjacent rocks into becoming miserable space ghosts, everyone will, given a long enough time frame, share his goals and be completely onboard with both his means and his ends. No need to even be sneaky anymore! And won’t that be a load off his back.

· I feel like I finally get Euclase. One of my bugbears with them was that their newfound concern struck me as insincere because all the strife they claimed to be worried about had been unsubtly festering for many, many years by the time they got around to putting a band-aid on them. But I think the past dozen chapters have clarified their perspective. They are not just a purveyor of koolaid, but a drinker as well, I now understand. They believed that things like Cinnabar’s isolation, Kongou’s secrecy, Yellow’s slow deterioration, the Diamonds’ increasingly bitter relationship, going back on their word to Phos and helping to bury them, and so on and so forth, were all things that would sort themselves out with the passage of time. In their view, since time heals all wounds, and taking action introduces unpredictability and the possibility of making things worse, then the correct solution to any conflict is to wait until it fizzles out on its own. What they didn’t understand is that non-action isn’t a neutral option that allows one to opt out of the maddening uncertainty of life. It is a choice with consequences, and it can make a situation worse just as surely as one of Phos’s madcap whims. And indeed, they ended up paying the price for their misguided assumptions. While Euclase follows the same ideology as the rest of the gems, they’re the only one—aside from maybe Padparadscha—who engages with it through the eyes of an adult, rather than those of a child who’s simply drifting down the path of least-resistance. Unlike the rest of the supporting cast, I can confidently say that Euclase has only become more interesting and nuanced with time. Hopefully that continues to be the case.

· I also think it’s hilarious that Ichikawa herself personally reads my essays, saw me write that I think Euclase is shady but that I have faith in the other gems to act on their better instincts, and decided to do the exact opposite of that. Iconique. I do unironically love this story’s ability to make a clown out of me. Honk honk.

· With regard to what Aechmea and Kongou are implying when they say there’s a way to help Phos, I’m in the camp that they’ll try to resurrect their lost pieces as a Lunarian. It would mollify any lingering guilt the others have over Phos’s fate by assuring them that the Phos they threw under the bus isn’t the “real” one, and it would give the fandom what they want—a return to the sweet, innocent Phos they fell in love with—in the worst, most twisted context possible, and how could Ichikawa resist that? I don’t know how they could possibly get a hold of Phos’s legs and arms, but it wouldn’t be the first time the plot has bent itself into an unwieldy shape to make things easier for Aechmea. Gripes aside, if Ichikawa were to do something interesting with this hypothetical return of Baby!Phos, and use said plotline as more than just an opportunity to further twist the knife in, then I’m all for it.

· (What if Baby!Phos and Punished!Phos meet up at the end of the story, have a heart-to-heart, and by their powers combined, make my Wolf’s Rain ending real? That would be so sick.)

· I’ve written all I can about Cairngorm. The rest is up to you Ichikawa. They’re about three-fifths of a really interesting character, but if their arc progresses no further, and this is all there is, their story will wind up feeling pretty half-baked.

· I’ve been going back through my past writings, and I’ve noticed that a bunch of hyperlinks have either broken or no longer link to the proper page. I’ll get around to fixing that.

#houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous #I love that the only character who *does* get a harem has Soul Dementia #and thus no capacity to revel in their good fortune #It’s a moment of black comedy on par with Cinnabar’s night patrol rendered useless by union policy #almost as funny as Rutile becoming a therapist #this manga is a riot when it wants to be

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cherrykindness · 4 years ago

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let's make babies |

pairing: Harry Styles x Actress!Reader

summary: you and harry are doing a live on instagram, you've drunk a lot of wine and now the world knows that the future Mrs. Styles is ready to make babies.

warnings: mostly cute, but the title tells you what you need to know 🤪

"What is your favorite song from the Fine Line album?" Y/N read aloud, twirling in her right hand the second glass of wine of the evening, the one already halfway through. "Adore You and Watermelon Sugar, of course."

Harry giggled, rolling his eyes upon hearing his fiancée's statement.

"Y/N will always choose Adore You because it was obviously written for her." He accused. "She wouldn't give that answer under different circumstances."

The comments climbed up the screen continuously, most fans gushing about how cute Harry Styles and YN/LN could be while the other part was concerned with wringing even more information out of the slightly inebriated couple who had decided to do a surprise live one early Sunday morning.

As expected after being away for some time to begin filming Don't Worry, Darling in Southern California, Harry enjoyed a lazy weekend in the house he shared with his fiancée and her pets. The days were filled with late naps and relentless Netflix marathons, sublime and ethereal evenings, marked mostly by unexpected declarations and rounds of sex that used to last until the beams of light were shyly coming through the linen curtains. They were not a monotonous couple, so this order could easily be changed.

"Watermelon Sugar is nothing more than about my love for watermelons, don't get too creative." Harry replied to a fan while sporting a corner smile, the message standing out among the rest for its dozens of emojis and large print, questioning the singer about erotic content behind the lyrics of his latest hit. "I really don't know what you guys are talking about."

Y/N laughed, shaking her head before leaning it against her fiancé's chest, propped up on the soft white pillows that were spread practically all over the bed. The air conditioner was on at a minimal temperature and a light rain whipped on the panes of glass camouflaged by the cream-colored curtain, that being the projection of Y/N's favorite nights.

"You can tell them, I'm not shy." She joked, nudging her fiancé's waist.

"You know what it was written about and who it was written for." Harry replied, raising one of his eyebrows. "That's what matters."

It went without saying that much of Harry's newest album, as well as some of his earlier work, had been done in exclusive dedication to his future wife. Y/N had been the muse for a vast repertoire of romantic songs, and even though the singer preferred to keep the story behind his more explicit compositions a "secret", the relationship the two had shared for more than three years was already solid and known enough for the media and fans to distinguish hidden messages in small details.

"It's a song about what usually comes before the act of making babies." Y/N laughed as he pointed at the display. "Honestly, you guys are impossible."

"No, we make babies every day." Harry joked, making a funny motion with his eyebrows. "I would spend my entire career writing just about that."

"Harry!" The actress exclaimed incredulously, slapping her fiancé weakly on the chest. "Children might be watching this."

"You don't want to have babies with me?" He asked falsely offended, accepting the cup that Y/N offered him. "Because I want some babies with you."

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes as she watched the internet freak out at the dialogue that had suddenly emerged. Since the beginning of the quarantine, it was kind of inevitable that the couple of artists would not become the darlings of all social media; they were fervently active with photos, videos, and lives that depicted step by step daily life in isolation, gaining more and more followers and making the media more and more fascinated by the relationship they both shared.

The wedding was scheduled for the summer of next year and it was perhaps the most anticipated event in the tabloids. Bets about what the model of Y/N's dress would be and lists presuming who would be selected for the short list of guests stood out among countless news stories about the famous people influencing pop culture today.

The possible arrival of a Styles baby was an inevitable topic in interviews. Harry and Niall were the only members of the ex-boyband that had not become fathers yet, and because they had maintained a solid relationship and were seen as one of the most enviable couples during the last four years, Y/N and Harry had gotten used to all this openly asked questions. They didn't mind, they even had fun with the montages and all the anxiety that dominated the whole internet, often mentioning the fandoms' efforts to represent them as such "cool" parents in perfectly edited pictures.

"No, guys, I'm not pregnant." Y/N amusingly clarified the doubt of dozens of new comments. "Please don't believe so many controversial news stories that appear out there. I was on twitter last week and saw several people theorizing about a possible pregnancy, most of the arguments based on a website that used photos from the set of How to Get Away with Murder in the season where I was actually playing a pregnant woman as Laurel." She laughed. "It's so funny! I know you guys love to guess these things, but we won't hide something so special when it actually happen, I promise."

"Especially because Y/N can hide absolutely nothing from anyone." Harry accused, leaving his drink on the corner table before settling into a comfortable position for the two of them. "Anyone who's a Marvel fan knows that. That's one of her most characteristic quirks."

"They gave me a fake script for the last two movies." Y/N agreed, shaking his head. "For me and Tom."

"We agreed to keep the engagement a secret for a while. The plan was to travel to Holmes Chapel to break the news to my family in person, but guess who got a call at ten o'clock at night from an angry Anne because she learned of her son's engagement from an interview Y/N gave the next day?"

Y/N gave a guilty smile, winking gracefully at the camera. "It was all James' fault! I'm sure he already suspected something, those questions were very suspicious."

"Of course the questions were suspicious, babe. You literally said you had a secret that involved both of us but that you couldn't tell because it was important that our families knew first."

"I thought he would think about a pregnancy or something!" The actress defended herself, feeling very convincing in her intonation bordering on obviousness. "That's a mania I can't get rid of, it's in my genes."

"Did you all hear that? Further proof that you guys don't have to worry about guessing when Y/N's pregnancy will be, I'm sure our baby will make sure to tell you everything while still in the womb, mom's genes will make sure of that."

"You are so funny, Harry Styles." Y/N sarcastically stated, holding back a giggle as countless messages with laughing emojis were frantically up. "Yeah, I know I talk a lot and all, but you have annoying quirks too."

It was obvious that live would be news the next day. Although they were completely open about matters concerning their relationship, nothing seemed better than receiving so much exclusive information from a Harry and S/N drunk on expensive wine.

"You wake up in a bad mood and you're dangerously sexy, that should be illegal."

Harry laughed, holding his fiancée's waist a little tighter as he felt her tumble a little further to the side, getting closer and closer to the edge of the bed. Y/N was dangerously weak for drinks, and the singer knew that the actress' body was already near its limit.

"You're the only sexy person here, love." He declared with a corner smile, evidently finding the whole situation funny. "Do you want to go to sleep now?"

"No." Y/N shook her head. "Can we watch some movie? Can we watch Sweet Home?"

"Of course, love." He murmured, giving the woman a quick kiss on the forehead.

Even though Harry knew that his fiancée was unlikely to make it past the five-minute mark of the episode, he made sure to restart the korean series at exactly the scene where she had stopped, the first chapter still halfway through after Y/N realized that it would be impossible to watch such a macabre work without a drop of alcohol in her blood.

She had been so excited by the taste of Argentinian wine and the idea of updating her fans after a few weeks away, that she had forgotten the main purpose of the live. Harry and Y/N had been apart for a few days due to the new movie the Brit was shooting in North America, all happening in an unrestrictedly careful manner due to the restrictions caused by the pandemic.

He was slowly migrating towards acting and the future Mrs. Styles couldn't be prouder. Y/N had felt on cloud nine when Harry had given her the news of his upcoming job, but her only pronouncement on the subject had been a succinct post on instagram. Just a photo of the couple on a trip to Germany with a simple heart emoji didn't seem enough for the actress' exhibitionist soul, and coming to that conclusion was the main reason she decided to invite him, already relatively changed, for a live appearance. Y/N wanted to go on and on about how much she loved that man and work on that whole honeyed speech that would bring her (once again) the title of "cutest bride of all time," but of course Harry had to come home from his trip with his favorite red wine and poison her with those sweet caresses that took her out of orbit, turning the degree of alcohol content into the least of her problems.

"You're going to kiss Florence." Y/N exclaimed suddenly, as if only now realizing that her fiancé would share the screen with Florence Pugh, one of her closest friends in that industry. "Kiss on the mouth."

The MacBook was still open and hundreds of new comments were going up every second, but Harry didn't bother one bit to warn her about the possibility of her becoming a meme the next day. He was having too much fun with the situation to worry.

"Are you jealous?"

"Yes." She stated with a pout. "I am jealous, I just don't know if I'm more jealous of her or of you."

"But you kiss me every day, babe." Harry laughed. "And you've been kissing other people's men for almost ten years." He joked.

"But I only think about you, I already told you that."

Harry shook his head negatively at the camera, knowing he was sharing with the fans the funniest side of his fiancée.

"I know that, honey." He assured, lightly stroking the actress' back. "I think we'd better turn off the TV and go to sleep now, I'm sure you'll have a terrible headache tomorrow."

The brit planned to bid his audience goodbye and put an end to that recording, but Y/N was drunk and her sense of right and wrong had already gone to space. Harry should have been quicker, however, because his fiancée's speech would be cause for new tags and the only subject for the interviewers for at least the next few months.

"I don't want to sleep, how about we make babies?"

That's what Watermelon Sugar was all about, after all.

#harry styles imagine #imagine1d #imagine harry styles #harry x reader #harry styles x reader #fluffy imagine #harry fluff #actress reader

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jangofctts · 4 years ago

Text

Mirrored Heart (captain rex x fem!reader)

rated: 18+ explicit

word count: 5.6k

warnings: smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampies, fingering, blow jobs, clone space racism?

a/n: ANYWAY HERE IT IS. ive had this draft saved since like a year ago and just now finished it. anyway kwjrkejh here YALL GO. also thank you @jango-fettish FOR LETTING ME BORROW SYRENA

It's curious.

Well, you, as a whole are curious—completely outside the realm of what Rex considers normal. As far as senators go, that is.

You're grumpy for one—worse than Skywalker and far more snide than Kenobi—a near gargantuan task bordering impossible. Wit and cleverness come to you easier than breathing, but it's your unwavering kindness towards himself and his brothers that sticks out like a blaster burn against alabaster white walls.

He passed it off as a joke—some sort of mockery. Rex’s existence has been full of them. The past year it’s been made glaringly clear as to what the clones are to the people of the republic—tools. Mindless war machines dressed with flesh and bone, heart and sinew instead of durasteel and a circuitboard. Humanity has been skimmed over with excuses and debates over the hollow argument that clones were created for the sole purpose of war—nothing more. Ignorance is bliss when you are not the one fighting tooth and nail for petty skirmishes and the survival of your family.

Ithyea, your home monarchal planet, is a newer member of the Galatic Republic—one of the firsts to advocate for clone rights—cutting through each argument with the steel headed javelin of hope and determination. Controversial in the eyes of the galaxy but no less than true. Yet with controversy, comes chaos.

Wedged between Takodana and the Cerean Reach hyperspace lane—it’s an essential key to accessing more neutral space sectors without stepping on any toes. While the planet does mirror the size of a larger than average moon, there’s nothing but grandeur with the cutting edge advances in space travel and military innovations. An arts district too, one that’s presented multiple times for the Senate apparently. Rex has yet to see it. It’s an easy guess as to why Ithyea has gone under pointed attacks from the Separatists—it’d be foolish not to try.

And of course comes the intergalactic mess of politics. You are not Ithyea’s first senator. Or second…or third. Just in the last six months, three of your predecessors have been picked off—two disappearances and a suspicious poisoning sandwiched between them. Which sides these assassinations stem from is anybody’s guess—a mix of both perhaps—all to silence and stamp the voice of your people out.

Heavy are the shoulders that wear those abhorrent senatorial robes, and Maker did it take some convincing for another Ithyean to step to the chopping block. It’s just…no one thought it’d be you. The infamous captain of King Arrian Felian’s elite guard—trained in combat levels high enough to contend some of those within the ranks of the Jedi Order. When your name comes up in conversation, it certainly doesn’t scream diplomacy.

Rex is not surprised that you hold the current record of Ithyean senators for surviving the longest. Evading an astonishing two attempts on your life by the skin of your teeth. You were just downright lucky the third assassin missed their mark. Sure, the blade of Syrena Aster skimmed the right side of your cheek and left behind a nasty scar to remember her by, but kriff—even with your background and low levels of public presence, you’re a high priced target. Whoever placed an order with the Heretics, really wants to see you six feet under.

Rex hasn’t been given the full report on exactly who the Heretics are—a rag tag bunch of untrained Force users and skilled assassins from what he’s gathered—but regardless, this attack is just the beginning. Until the Senate and the Jedi are able to retract the price on your head, you’re stuck under protective custody. Usually ushered away into the Jedi Temple or tagging along with General Kenobi and Skywalker. Despondently, no matter the circumstances of your protection, it can’t shield you from the dreadful invitations to senatorial luncheons.

And yes, you tried to slip by for this one.

You don't brush elbows with other senator’s like many of the members in the Jedi Order and your own cohort do. In fact, you actively avoid even speaking to them unless necessary, let alone stand in the same room with seven of them. Odd for an elected official of diplomacy such as yourself to be so cold shouldered—Rex would think senators wanted to mingle.

It's curious because you're standing in plain sight and yet no one pays you any passing thought. General Kenobi and Skywalker hold the majority of their attentions, shoulders already taught with exasperation at keeping everyone from tearing out each other's throats for, kriffing five minutes. Yet you...you are completely at ease, leaning up against a stone pillar, observing the unfolding chaos from afar with a keen eye.

Before Rex realizes he's stepping towards your position, you glance over and dip your chin in greeting. The ghost of a smirk pulls at your normally grim facade—his heart skips. "Captain."

"Senator," he mimics, posting himself to your right. There’s still a thin, healing scab from the assassin’s blade that extends from the swell of your cheek to your ear. Ouch. “Enjoying the evening?"

You snort. "Hardly enjoying it, Rex."

Stars—you shouldn't be allowed to say his name. Your words are razor-sharp like a jagged vibroblade, meant to jab and pierce through armor—tear a person to pieces without having to lift a finger. Everything about you is rough, gritty, brutal, unbecoming of what a senator should be, but—

You mouth his name, purring out the singular syllable with such tenderness that it's like a punch to the gut.

It's hard to swallow and he needs to clear his throat—an embarrassing act on his part, but your attention has already returned back towards the meandering senators. "How d'you mean?"

"Well," you sigh, "let's just say smalltalk isn’t my strong suit."

"Aren't you senators s'pposed to like diplomacy n' such?"

Your thumb smoothes over your bottom lip in thought as you shrug. "Diplomacy? Sure. Politicians? Can’t say I like them. I just—"

You wave your hand around, gesturing vaguely to the crowd. "I just don't understand why they can't say what they mean. Telling someone to have a nice day shouldn't entail certain death, y'know?"

"Speaking from experience?" He teases, gently prying into that harder than beskar wall you've created for yourself. There's fissions in your foundation and he means to tear it down all for just a mere scrap of information.

Your eyes flick over, your lips curling into a vulpine grin. “Perhaps...Though, it was partially my fault, I have to admit.”

“You’ll have to tell me the story sometime, Senator.”

You nod. “Yes, one day—when there aren’t so many political ears jumping at the chance of gossip.”

A swell of laughter interrupts your chat, your attention gravitating to Obi-Wan—ever the charmer with the crowds. The end of your mouth pulls into a frown as you sigh and carefully scratch at your brow with the back of your thumb. Rex might be pulling at straws, but what he mistook as you being standoffish may just be your nerves. Socially awkward and flustered when speaking in such an intimate setting.

Rex’s first instinct is to reach out and place a hand over your shoulder in comfort, but he’s not sure how you’ll respond to the touch. Flip him over your shoulder probably—

Instead he forces himself to jumpstart the conversation—something to distract from your anxieties. “I hope you don’t mind me asking—“ His heart beat kicks up into a flurry of wild beats as you turn you head. “What uh..wh—did you want to become a senator?”

He likes it when you smile—like you’re letting him on some sort of coy secret. You shift your weight and shrug. “The king asked me personally. I’m flattered he thinks I’m clever enough—insulted he sends me to these abysmal gatherings like some sort of show pony.”

Rex chuckles. “Yeah, can’t say I like ‘em either.”

“Although…” Your thumb runs over your lip again, a sparkle of mischief igniting behind your eyes. “As a senator, I do get the occasional tidbit of gossip. Here, I’ll catch you up—“

The captain startles when you snatch his elbow and yank him closer. Maker he’s glad for his helmet because your lips brush against his earpiece as he leans down to reach your height.

“Look." You whisper, nodding casually in the direction of a particularly young senator with a shock of white hair. She's swathed in a pool of royal blue silk, much too large for her tiny frame, and all but hanging off Skywalker's arm with glittered nails filed into points. "That is Senator Ceci Paare of Corellia. She looks innocent, no?"

She does. Wide, crystalline green eyes stare up at the Jedi Knight as a pretty giggle escapes past her ruby painted lips. Skywalker grimaces.

"I quite like her," you continue with a sly grin. "Even if she does try to influence public opinion by an invitation to bed."

There's no time to process as you focus in on an older man. His hazy blue skin, ash white lips and vermillion green eyes cut an almost nightmarish profile, accentuated by mountains of black robes. Rex can’t recall what planet the senator represents. The senator holds his head stiffer than rebar to keep the ornate golden circlet from slipping off, his white lips curling in distaste as Orn Free Taa of Ryloth places a meaty hand over his slender shoulder.

"He is Lord Tal’en Sol Ra'ah. Cunning, but sympathetic to the pleasures of gambling."

It's a game to you—of perceptions and nuances only a trained eye can roll over. Rex expects nothing less. This sort of thing has been hammered into the very essence of your being since you were little—reading an enemy before they can strike. It works on politicians marvelously well.

Truth be told Rex should be paying more attention—but the closeness of your face to his helmet is maddening. His heart twists and coils as your bare hand skims along his gloved one—kriff. He’s not gonna make it before he bursts into a thousand little pieces.

Rex’s spell of lovesick yearning recedes as you swear under your breath. It was only a matter of time before someone approached your little corner.

"Oh, Maker save me," you hiss under your breath as a young Mirialan saunters over, the swatches of rich red and brilliant gold accentuate his violet skin like a bloody bruise. "Pretend you're speaking with me."

"I am speaking with you," Rex snorts.

Your hand waves in dismissal as your brows stitch together, hands balling into fists. Your jaw clenches as the senator in question puts on a dazzling smile. You look downright panicked. Rex has witnessed you face down numerous senators older than dirt and close to blowing away in the wind with plucky fervor, assassination attempts, being held captive, and you're frightened…by this?

This is too good.

Rex has half a mind to help you, wheel you away from your little predicament, but his intrigue with seeing your oh-so-solid resolve crumble is much too valuable and entertaining to pass up. He's going to remember this for years.

"Rex."

"Senator," he mimics, not at all frightened by your poisonous glare. "Some diplomacy might do you good."

You begin to snarl out a threat but are decidedly cut off by your object of horror planting himself before your hiding spot. You cower into the corner like a boxed in loth-cat. "Ah, my favorite Ithyean! I had begun to worry you would not make it, my dear friend."

"Senator Lin," you sigh. The smile you offer is tight and thin; a nervous one much in the same way one would be if presented with a box of toenails for a birthday gift. “How pleasant to see you."

Senator Lin’s deep violet lips part with an easy smile. He waves a hand in dismissal, his silver rings glinting in the warm lighting. "Please—call me Toluka. No need to bother with such formalities between companions."

Rex suddenly understands your trepidation with the Mirialan—he’s slimy. And, not to mention, not at all ashamed with the lecherous looks as his eyes sweep down your body. Rex clenches his teeth and folds his arms behind his back. He’s regretting not heeding your warning now…

Try as you might through brutal small talk and chilly answers, Senator Lin refuses to take the hint. A dark plume of venom green lashes through Rex’s chest as the Mirialan places a friendly hand over your shoulder. You grimace as Rex bristles and glares through the visor of his helmet.

Senator Lin’s lips pull into a gaudy smile as he glances at Rex and then at you.“My dear, don’t you know? It’s not worth wasting your time with a clone. After all, they’re all the same person. How boorish—come join us at the table.”

Your teeth bite into your cheek as your temper, like the silver of blade through the darkness, cuts through your steely irises. With poised nonchalance, you lift your hand and pinch Senator’s Lin’s fingers between your own and pry them off your shoulder. “Is that so?”

“Your campaign, valuable as it may be,” Lin continues, “is a useless endeavor. They are not our equals and never will be--you must know that."

Rex forces himself to remain calm—collected and certainly not imaging a thousand and one ways he’d like to see his fist breaking the fragile bones of the senator’s face.

"Fine buttons stitched upon your shoulders do not compel your worth, Senator,” the harshness of your words is a blow straight to Lin’s ego. His well-groomed brows furrow drastically as his tongue struggles to play catch up and find words to repair his shattered pride.

There’s no chance for Senator Lin to regain his footing as your snatch Rex’s wrist and sweep him out into the hall. Rex can feel your anger roll off of you in waves, frighting and holding the same caliber of roaring waves thundering against black, craggy rocks. It’s a miracle the night didn’t end with your hands wrapped around the senator’s throat or a blaster shot through the chest.

When you reach the lower halls of the cruise ship is when you release Rex’s wrist. You pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers and release a long, dramatic sigh.

"You are worth far more than that pompous ass," you say with enough edge to slice through a droideka's shields. "He has no right to say those things to you."

“It’s alright,” Rex soothes, placing a hand over your bristling shoulder. “I’ve heard worse.”

Your features scrunch up into a wince. “That...that doesn’t mean you have to suffer through more of it, Rex.”

Sighing, you run a hand through your hair and loosen the heavy outer robes strung around your shoulders. You shrug out of them and fold the thick swaths of fabric over you arm—revealing the under layers of your uniform. You toss the bundle of fabric to the floor with a disgusted grimace and sit on the cargo crate closest to your left.

“Really—it’s ok.” Rex assures again. “I—“

You hold up a hand and shake your head. His mouth snaps shut. “I won’t hear it. To me you are nothing short of perfect and I refuse to argue about it. Maker knows I already do that for a kriffing living.”

There’s a fragile lull in the hollow space—the distant chatter of voices and strange music collecting in the corners. You stand once again, toe to toe with the Captain and there it is again, that elated pitter patter of his heart thrumming through his veins. The nerves of being so close to you—you sweet face and not being able to touch you.

“Let me see your face.”

His hands come up to the edges of his helmet without hesitation, a hiss of hair escaping the seal once he pries it off. You smile and take a step closer until the only thing separating you and him is his helmet.

Rex’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into your hand you gingerly place over his jaw. “I wish the entire galaxy could see you through my eyes,” you whisper, the warmth of your soft palm radiating out and warming his entire body.

It’s a matchstick to kerosene—his helmet clatters to the ground and there’s only a second to spare as both hands move to cup his cheeks, dragging him into a mouthwatering kiss.

He hasn’t kissed many people—save for those rare times at 79’s, head swimming under the haze of one too many shots of Corellian fire whiskeys where he could barely distinguish his ass from his hand. Those drunken make-outs were nothing like this.

No—this…this is what a kiss should be like.

He dreams about you all the time—so constantly ravenous that all he can feel some days is pure ache. Every and all words that spin around his head starts with you and finishes with his pounding heart close to bursting free from his ribcage. Not in the same way a flood rips through an unsuspecting village—more like the brilliance of a thousand doves, marble white plumage thrashing free from their gilded cage. Your lips taste like the core of a newborn star—scorching and yet still so sweet upon the tongue the same way caramelized sugar sticks to the roof your mouth. You are his first and last everything.

There’s a certain kind of tragedy hidden beneath your tongue, fragile promises and the eggshell thin shards of hope stapled to the roof of your mouth. Rex will take it—seize any threadbare strand and run with it—spool it into the palm of his hand until you’re wound so tightly together it’ll be impossible to untangle.

Just when the dizziness sets in from elation and not enough air, you part and leave a sticky trail of warm kisses up his jaw. Rex groans and hugs you closer, you humid breath blooming across his skin. “Let me take care of you.”

The words on his tongue crumble to ash once he nods in agreement. Your kisses dip lower, not even stopping when the reach the edge of his chest plate. Stars, you’re…he never entertained the idea that your lips could look so divine in contrast to the battered plastoid. When you fold onto your knees his heart leaps to his mouth, a flare of arousal flashing through his groin.

You rest your chin over his codpiece and smile. “Do you like seeing me on my knees, sir?”

Rex huffs and studies at the opposing wall—

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Your fingers find the claps over his codpiece. “Can I take this off?”

Rex jerks his head in a yes but grabs your wrist. Not a rough hold—a tentative one as hesitation swirls in his eyes. “Don’t—don’t have t’ do this for me—“

You quirk a brow. “I want to because I like you, Rexy.”

A rosy blush blooms over his sharp cheekbones. The captain nods again.

The codpiece clatters to the ground and immediately you move your hand to palm him through his blacks. He grunts and squeezes his eyes shut. There we go.

Biting your lip, you pull down his blacks as far as the plastoid plating allows, greeted with the hard length of his cock, beautiful and flushed a rosy brown. Fuck—he’s thicker than you thought. You wrap your fingers around the base, delighted by Rex’s airy gasp as he throbs in your palm. A bead of liquid shines at the tip and just the sight of it makes your mouth water.

Moons—you should’ve done this sooner.

With a stuttering inhale, Rex trails his forefinger along your cheek and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. The pads of his fingertips skim lower and lightly pinch your chin between his forefinger and thumb. Your eyes lift to meet his. “You—you sure?”

You answer with a kiss over the dip of his navel, the skin searing hot under your lips. Rex curses and rolls his head back onto his shoulders when your palm slides up the length of his cock and then back down. Your grip is firm and tight as Rex slumps onto the crate, goosebumps rushing up his exposed flesh. Stars, when’s the last time he’s gotten release like this?

You lean forward and lick a languid line from the velvety skin of his balls all the way up to the tip. Rex’s hips jolt. You purse your lips and suckle at the head, dipping your tongue over the slit then down to trace the ridge of his frenulum all the while your hand rolls up and down his shaft. Rex tangles his fingers into your hair with a hiss. You open your jaw a bit wider and take him down a few inches into the wet heat of your mouth, feeling your lips stretch around his cock. You you drag the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft to make the thickness easier to swallow down, but he's still only halfway into your mouth when he hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck—" Rex moans as his hips strain to remain still. “S’good—such a good girl.”

You glance up, eyes devouring the attractive length of his clean shaven throat and the underside of his chin. Rex swallows and let’s out another little sound. You whine softly in return and slip a hand into your pants, pressing your fingertips against your throbbing clit as you start to carefully bob your head up and down. Yeah—your jaw already aches just from holding his cock in in your mouth but fuck it—it’s worth it.

Rex's chest heaves with exertion as he mindfully rocks his hips up, pushing and rolling his cock deeper into your mouth until his shaft is nearly seated all the way in. Ditching your own pleasure entirely, you swallow around him, forcing down the urge to gag and simply hold him here. Allowing him a moment to just enjoy the soft warmth of your mouth before launching into the main event.

Rex murmurs your name and strokes his thumb over your cheek. “You’re beautiful—so pretty like—like this..ah—”

You pointedly hollow your cheeks and suck, his flattery warming your chest with pride. You swallow around him another time, squeeze his shaft, your fist following your mouth as you lift up then back down to the base. You grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you pull halfway up and let Rex rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans of your name.

Soon enough he’s twitching in your mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as his head tips back onto his shoulders. The gloved hand sweetly cradling your cheek slips to the nape of your neck, tangling his fingers into you hair to anchor himself. He’s close—quiet gasps and broken curses tumbling out, hips unconsciously rocking into your mouth in search of release.

Rex whimpers your name, his leg jolting as you work your jaw wider and swallow him down, the dark curls tickling your nose once it brushes his groin. “Oh, fuck.”

You hum around him, delighting in the mumbled praises. Almost there…That’s it.

He’s dangling on the precipice—on tiny shove away from euphoria—

“Wait—“ Saliva dribbles down your chin when his cock pops out from your swollen lips, throbbing from the unintentional tease. “Maker—shit.”

If not for the gloves covering his hands, you’re sure they’d be turning white from how tightly he grips the edge of the crate. His eyes are squeezed shut, slightly bent forward as he falls away from the edge of his release. Rex sucks in a steadying breath, amber eyes meeting your confused ones.

“I don’t—can we—“ Rex’s eyes flit and focus on anything but you as he stutters and works up the courage to ask for what he wants. “Do we have time—“

You rolls your eyes and rest your cheek on his thigh. Silly man. “You wanna fuck me, Rexy?”

“Kriff, yes.”

You smile and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I don’t think they’ll miss us."

Rex doesn’t complain when you take his hands and yank him onto the grubby floor and over your senatorial robes. He props his back against the crate as you shuck off everything below the waste and clamber into his lap. His hands, warm even through the leather, land over the swell of your hips and wrench you closer until your front presses up against his chest plate.

The rough prickle of his stubble is, in all sense of the word, addictive. He tilts his head to kiss you, the slick touch of his tongue on your bottom lip adding jet fuel to the fire low in your belly. Rex groans and cups your jaw, holding your mouth open to dance his tongue along the length of yours. You whine and shudder as he purses his lips and lightly sucks on your tongue before you both part.

Rex drags his teeth over your bottom lip as you both pant for precious air. His dark lashes sweep up his cheeks when he looks at you. This close you bare witness to the dazzling color of his eyes—crystalized pearls of amber over the crackled bark of pine tree in the midmorning sun. Muted gold threaded through the brown like fine lace and the slow shimmer of the sun dappled through water. To think such a man like him is dredged through the bloodied mud of war is despicable.

You blink away the swell of tears prickling at your eyes and kiss him once more. Sighing, you whisper down, mouthing soft nibbles and teasing kisses over his jaw and down his neck. Rex squirms and rock his hips up, your cunt clenching around nothing. You need him.

“Rex,” you groan. You slide your hand between your bodies and grab at his thick length. Rex gasps into your mouth, long fingers clamping onto your waist in a death grip. “I want you.”

“I’m yours.”

Your nibble at his earlobe as you grind your hips against his length, the folds of your cunt teasingly out of reach. “Touch me, Captain.”

Rex tears off his vambraces and gloves, hand wedging between your thighs, touching the very tips of his fingers to your throbbing clit. You whine and clench your jaw—the pleasure is raw—sizzling electricity that crackles with the deadly promises of your pleasure. It’s as if you’ve had the breath knocked out of your lungs the second he bears down a bit more on your clit, drawing tentative circles, each completion sending a shockwave of tightly spooled ecstasy through each and every nerve. You nearly sob as his fingers slip away.

“So wet already,” Rex moans as you tip your head back when two of his fingers begin circle your dripping cunt. They’re thick and long and perfect. Your hips stutter as your cunt easily accepts his fingers, the heel of his palm slotting perfectly against your pussy to stimulate your clit.

Maker you’re seeing stars as Rex rocks his hand into you—the bend of his fingers the perfect angle to catch all the right places that make you tremble. He kisses your cheek and moans your name into your ear, all low and gravelly—

Your body seizes up tight as you soar, plummeting off the edge only to tumble so fast and so hard that tears prick the corner of your eyes. Rex peppers kisses over your cheeks and runs his free hand through your hair, purring praise and adoration as you shudder—your mouth parted in a silent cry as you cum and dissolve into his hands.

When you suck in a steadying breath and open your eyes, Rex is gazing upon you with starstruck eyes—pure adoration that makes your cheeks flare hotter than the surface of two mini suns. Your teeth catch your bottom lip. You’re not sure you deserve to be looked at like this…

However, you’re impatient and running on stolen seconds. As much as you’d like to just simply stare at him—there’s not enough time. Rex wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and slides the tip of himself through your soaking folds. Each stroke against your still throbbing clit makes you buckle into yourself, but the angle that your knees are propped over his hips means you're stuck here.

Rex pauses and cups your cheek. His thumb scrapes over your cheekbone. “You want this?”

You place your hand over his and turn your head to mouth a kiss over the lines of his palm. Oh, fuck yeah. Kind of him to ask as if hadn’t just cum over his fingers but—no. “I need you to fuck me, Rex. That’s an order.”

Rex huffs out a low chuckle and bumps the crown of his forehead against yours. “As you wish, Senator.”

Rex runs the blunt head of his cock through your folds again, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the hard plastoid as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and wiggle. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s in no small. You’ll feel him for days, you’re sure of it as your cunt swallows inch after inch.

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw his clenched tight as sweat beads at his blonde hairline—Stars above, he’s a sight, struggling not to loose control the second he’s buried inside of you. Desire tickles up your spine, tugging at the fabrics of your being until all you can focus on his how Rex isn’t moving. You shift your hips in tiny, almost imperceptible motions, and squeeze around him.

“Damn—“ A ragged moans slices through his words as your gentle rocking morphs into needy jolts. It’s easy to fuck yourself onto his cock like this, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. “Fuck, cyare, you’re tight.”

You smirk and grab at his sculpted shoulders—it’s the push he needs. Rex snarls your name, cups his hands under the globes of your ass and pulls you off his cock nearly all the way out only to slam back in. There’s no time to adjust before Rex sets a pace, fevered and rabid All pent up energy collecting over the weeks you’ve known each other. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what feels like ages.

You squeal in surprise as Rex pushes you onto your back and hoists your legs around his hips. Rex buries his nose into the crook of your neck and moans your name like a sweet prayer wrapped in honeycomb. Rex shifts his weight, widening his knees to sink deeper into your cunt—his stubble tickling your throat as his staggered exhales burn hot over your skin.

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, scorching through each and every veins with the catastrophic brilliance of an imploding star. Shit—

“So good t’me—so perfect,” he huffs into your ear. Rex turns his head and steals a kiss. “Feel fuckin’ good stretched around my cock."

You clench around him hard as Rex’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s barely any build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of devastating warmth that sweeps through your body, from your aching center down to your toes. It steals away all the air left in your lungs and leaves your clutching his arm and shuddering for a hold in your own reality—the steady warmth of his body that’s unburdened by armor a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.

His gentle, and pliant kisses morph into little pricks of his teeth over your neck and collar bone as his hips struggle to keep a definitive pattern. Rex’s curses string together and blur into nonsensical noises and loose tongue admittances that are comparable to moving inches from an imploding star.

“Where can—can I?”

You grab at his head and whine his name. “Anywhere—in me—you can cum in me.”

With a loving caress over back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, he reaches release. Rex’s moan is airy as his eyes slam shut and captures your mouth in a sizzling kiss. He’s twitching in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides and beginning to leak over your robes you lay over. Whatever.

Rex nips at your skin as the last dregs of pleasure jolt up your spine. Neither of you say a word as Rex’s hips come to a slow. Time trickles through your fingers like sand through an hourglass half empty but instead of rushing to dress, you choose to lie on the ground—two halves of a mess someone’s been meaning to clean up for the better part of a long while. You feel at home here—content as your fingers run up and down the back of his head, a bit irked by the armor still covering his back. You’re terrified of the months to come—but at least you have each other. After all, gardens will bloom and flourish with fresh blooded love and wild mistakes sculpted from passion forever if you believe hard enough…wont they?

#we out here #yeehaw #my writing #captain rex x reader #captain rex x you #ct-7567 #captai rex #clone x reader #clone trooper x reader #the clone wars #tcw #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #star wars #sw

1K notes · View notes

yoonpobs · 4 years ago

Text

bad boy good thing vii.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 4, 627

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

Despite being friends with three (well, now four) people on the football team—you didn’t fancy attending football games at all. It was highly unlike the usual scene you were comfortable with. It was loud, rowdy and people didn’t understand the concept of personal space when they’d shove and push others aside just to get a better glimpse of the players on the field.

Yet, you attended every single one of the football games—and you were a familiar enough face that the coach smiles at you when you hover outside the changing rooms; a simple request from the captain himself.

You’re a little shocked at yourself at the fact that you had no idea who Namjoon was prior to his introduction. He was the captain of the current football team, which apparently, throughout your college’s history—brought the most wins ever. And, he was also well-known that lecturers applauded him for his impeccable work-to-life balance.

Somehow, the divulgence of your own thoughts makes you frown. Because perhaps you were truly anti-social. You weren’t even acquainted with common school affairs in spite of being apart of the student council.

Maybe Jungkook was right.

You don’t dwell too much on your thoughts because you’re unable to, not when the door slams open and bodies of college men pour out with large shouts and their padded shoulders—looking very much prepared for their game.

The anxiety settles into the pit of your stomach when you realise you stick out like a sore thumb. The jeans and white top you were wearing was quite a typical outfit to wear to a game, with the addition of ironically—a baseball jacket. But when you were definitely smaller than the footballers; it was hard not to feel out of place.

Especially when they look you over before continuing out to the field. While you attended games before, you were never asked to meet in the changing rooms. Jimin and Taehyung knew well enough not to ask you, and Jungkook … well. You were always his dirty little secret, weren’t you?

And you see Jungkook first, grinning like a madman when another footballer brings him into a headlock and hollers something you assume is their hype-cheer.

It isn’t supposed to feel like this. Things were meant to have been settled, but the tight feeling in your chest when you look at him only reminds you that some things were hard to erase.

Before you can look away, Jungkook spots you—and he pushes the arms of his teammate off ever so slightly before turning to him and muttering a few words before he’s stalking towards you.

Your eyes widen, definitely not expecting him to pay you any mind.

“You’re here?” He furrows his brows.

You clear your throat, and you realise navigating a conversation with him after what’s transpired is much harder than you expected it to be. The fact that he was so casual about it when he left you with a kiss on your forehead makes you even more conflicted.

“I am.” You mumble. “I told you, remember?”

Jungkook blinks as if he remembers something, and his expression hardens ever so slightly before he’s schooling his features.

“Yeah.” He breathes. “I knew that. Just didn’t know you’d be … here.”

Here was probably referring to standing outside the changing rooms, and you can’t help but flush at the declaration.

“Um, yeah. Namjoon—” Before you can finish your sentence, you see the captain heading towards you with a large grin; looking over Jungkook for a brief moment.

“You’re here!” His words are exactly the same as Jungkook’s, but it evokes a different set of emotions in your chest.

You smile as sincerely as you can, which is proven difficult when you can feel Jungkook’s gaze on you.

“I am.” And you repeat the same thing you said to Jungkook. It feels odd, but you push the feelings aside. “Good luck, you.”

You offer a small punch to his shoulder, an awkward attempt at supporting him and you almost apologise but Namjoon smiles even wider.

His hand reaches out to your hair, gently patting it as he looks at you fondly. You don’t think anyone’s ever treated you so … tenderly before, not upfront and after one meeting at least. And you’re definitely flustered.

“Thank you. It means a lot that you’re here.” His dimples are on full show when he looks down at you with a kind gaze.

You clear your throat and look away, hoping the dim lights didn’t amplify the blush on your cheeks.

“Of course. We have that exhibition next to look forward to if all else goes South.” You grin cheekily up at him, words still soft.

You hope that your joke doesn’t rub him the wrong way, and it doesn’t because he snorts in response. All while Jungkook is silent.

“That’s a win itself, isn’t it?” He says smoothly, and your eyes widen at his blatant—or at least you think—flirting.

And before you can splutter a response, Jungkook is nudging Namjoon’s arm with his shoulder, the movement slightly rougher with his shoulder pads in place.

“We gotta go, Cap,” Jungkook says stiffly.

Namjoon doesn’t realise the hostility in his tone, but you do. And you frown ever so slightly, but you cover it up when Namjoon looks over at you with an apologetic expression.

“I’ll see you after the game?” He asks, eyes lighting up.

Your lips tilt upwards and you nod your head.

“Yeah.”

Namjoon jogs off first, not before grabbing his protective gear as Jungkook lingers ever so slightly, stuttering in his feet as you have the vision of his back towards you.

You’re about to head towards the bleachers, a spot that Namjoon purposefully reserved for you with help of his coach; but Jungkook turns around and his face is hesitant.

“Will you …” He swallows as you raise an eyebrow at his uncertainty. “Will you cheer for me?”

The question is odd, especially when you know that he’s aware that you were here for Namjoon. Usually, that would imply that you were rooting for him. But, you’ve never been able to say no to Jungkook. Not even when you want him to feel the same hurt you’ve felt.

“What friends are for, right?” You mumble, eyes darting to the ground for a second until you look back up at him again.

What you don’t say is that friends don’t do the things we did, or that there was no manual to teach you how to navigate the throes of your relationship after everything that’s happened. Nor do you tell Jungkook that you’re always cheering him on, but you can’t do it outwardly. Not tonight. Not for a while, too.

Jungkook’s face falls obscurely, but he forces a tight smile before grabbing his protective gear too.

“I’ll look for you,” Jungkook says.

Then he’s off, with a squeeze to your shoulder that leaves your heart feeling a lot heavier.

You ended up sitting next to the school photographer, who you now know as Yena. Prior to this, you’ve heard the student reporter club have a few intense individuals apart of them—word you heard from Yoongi, the President himself—and he was already as intimidating as one could get. But there was Yena, who essentially made people cower in fear when they’d make eye contact with her.

“What are you doing here?” Is the first thing she asks when you slide into your seat. Her tone isn’t condescending, neither was it purposely made to make you feel uncomfortable. Rather, she asked it in a rather bored tone—as if there were better things she could be doing.

“Um.” You squeak.

Yena rolls her eyes, “Relax. I’m not going to bite your head off despite my grotesque appearance. Ever heard of a conversation starter?”

You blink.

“You’re very pretty.” You say softly.

Yena narrows her eyes at you for what seems like forever as you clear your throat. Then, she snorts before patting you on the shoulder.

“I didn’t mean objectively ugly, sweetheart.”

The tilt of her lips make your ears flush and you never found yourself downright intimidated by someone, but there was something about her that made you want to listen to her.

“O-Oh.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re too nice, _____. Has anyone ever told you that?” She emphasises her point with a tilt of her head.

“N-Not really …” You mumble.

She sighs as she kicks her feet on top of the railings in front of her while her eyes follow the line of footballers that pour onto the field, already moving towards a group huddle.

Her camera is already in her hands when she snaps the shot like second nature, before plopping back into her seat.

“Well, you are. People are gonna eat you alive, you know?” She says pointedly.

You fiddle with your fingers before you find the courage to look at her.

“How did you know who I was?” You wonder out loud with furrowed brows.

Yena scoffs before turning to look at you with a blank expression. And it’s the worst part in you that makes you think that you’ve said something wrong.

“You’re kidding, right?” She deadpans. “Girl who made honours three years in a row? First female student council president? Lecturers pet? Curve-setter? The list goes on, really.”

You flush as you turn your head away.

“I didn’t mean …” You mutter.

She waves you off. “You don’t have to sound so guilty about it. You’re smart and you’re capable. Own it.” She shrugs.

You blink up at her with wide eyes, and for the first time; she properly looks at you and your surprised expression.

“Thank you.” You say softly.

When a whistle blows, the game has somehow started and you have half the mind to begin cheering like the rest of the crowd. But the awkward part of you remains rooted in position.

“So.” Yena leans in with a grin on her face. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

It’s … odd. Purely because you’ve never spoken to her before and you’ve briefly heard about her in passing when you communicate with Yoongi on pastoral affairs. And for someone to speak to you so freely and casually, like you’ve been friends for years—feels nice.

And it’s probably also because you didn’t have any girl friends that you could really trust. People on campus were … they were mean and they usually wanted something from you, whether it was to get to one of your friends or get insights on events so they’d get a boost on their reputation.

“Earth to _____?” She drawls.

You snap your head towards her and your ears turn red once again.

“There’s isn’t … any guy.” You confess.

Yena snorts as if she doesn’t believe you.

“Really now?” Her grin approaches a smile when she rests her chin on her palm. “You know not just anyone sits here, right?”

You shrug. “What about you? Who’s the lucky guy?”

She blinks, then leans back before kicking one leg across her other.

“Photographer pros. Or cons. Especially if you consider watching disgusting men sweat and chase after balls is something to be grateful for.” She rolls her eyes.

You laugh when she complains, and it’s likely the first time you’ve relaxed your shoulders around her.

“That does sound kind of gross.”

She nods her head as if to say right, before offering you a cheeky grin.

Then, her eyes zero onto the field, then back to your face—and eventually back to the field before she hops off her seat once again; waving her camera to signal you that she was going to carry out her duties.

You think Yena’s cool. A little intense, and kind of scary—but a nice person nevertheless. Maybe you were a blind optimist that saw the good in everyone, but there was something about her that you really liked. The kind of person you wish you could become.

The cheers get immensely louder, especially when you note that Jungkook’s scored a goal—his beaming expression displayed on the big screen while you hear girls and guys alike cheering his name.

It’s times like this where you’re reminded of how different you were from him. While he received praise and approval from the masses and was born to be loved by them. You were quite the opposite; the cheerer and the supporter but never quite the one receiving it.

His eyes skim the crowd, and you can see from the screen that his brows furrow ever so slightly. But he’s quick to return to his groove, fist-bumping a teammate along the way.

You sigh because even when you weren’t intentionally looking for him it’s like your heart only wants you to see what’s familiar. And funnily enough, the hurt is familiar too.

In the middle of it all, you try your best to smile—and throw in a small whoop on your own, hoping to blend in but be present enough to be heard.

Yena returns only when it’s half-time, her own body covered in sweat while she huffs, slapping a stray strand of hair away from her face.

“God. You’d think they’d slow down after fifteen minutes but nooo. They have to go flex on their fragile masculinities because they think growling and ripping off their shirts is peak alpha male character.” Yena mutters and it’s the first thing you hear from her.

You offer her a sympathetic smile before digging into your bag and pulling out a handkerchief, one that you always carry around.

“Here.” You smile at her toothily.

Yena eyes the fabric sceptically before looking at your face and back to the handkerchief.

“You sure?”

You nod your head, jutting out your hand once more to emphasise your point.

“Ah. I can see why Namjoon nabbed you up.” Yena coos, ruffling your hair as your eyes widen.

“H-How—?”

“How did I know? Well besides the fact that my job is to literally stick with the team and capture moments and make them look pretty—I’m nosey.” Yena shrugs and your face pales. “Oh, and I saw you guys at the changing room too.”

If she saw … that meant—

“Thought you were with the meathead Jeon for a moment.” Yena snorts.

Your eyes dart down to your lap, and Yena picks up on your silence immediately. But unlike the conventional person; despite her curiousity, she respected your privacy more. So she doesn’t, she just offers you a smile and a nudge to your shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” Yena assures, sighing as the voices of the footballers fill your area as they come up for refreshment. “He’s nice.” You weren’t sure who she was referring to so you just nod.

“Yena—pass me a bottle!” A boy calls, and you half expect her to do so, but instead, she delivers him one better—a middle finger.

“Get it your self you dickwad!” Yena calls back.

Your eyes widen when you turn your head to look at her, completely unbothered when the footballer shoots daggers at her nonchalant figure.

“Men. Think you always owe them something.” She scoffs.

You find yourself unconsciously nodding your head, and once again Yena recognises the gesture but doesn’t mention anything.

Instead, she turns towards you and levels you with a wide grin of her own.

“You’re cool. We should hang out.”

The declaration makes your eyes widen even more and you realise how much you’ve fumbled and made yourself look … stiff the entire time you were attempting to converse with Yena. But she seemed to be unbothered, and the thought makes you excited.

“We should?” You parrot with a squeak.

She nods and you’re still finding it hard to process the fact that she’d brought that up out of the blue.

You weren’t bad company. But you were … you.

“You’re like Ms Bona Fide.” Yena tuts. “People these days are either out to please or to receive.”

You furrow your brows.

“And I’m … not?” You say softly.

“You’re present.” Yena shrugs and throws you an easy-going smile.

God. She was so cool.

Namjoon scores the final goal.

You expect him to call the hangout off because, well, he’d closed the game and he was the captain. It was only normal that he’d want to celebrate.

So when Yena nudges your shoulders while your head is bent and focused on your mobile device, you slowly looked up with furrowed brows to see her cocking her head to the side with a knowing grin on her face.

And you see Namjoon, out of his gear and in a plain t-shirt and sweats while he waves at you.

You can’t help but gape at him.

“I see you’ve surrendered to good company instead of a zoo.” Yena greets Namjoon first with a snort.

Namjoon rolls his eyes, and you gauge that they’re at least well-acquainted. Acquainted enough that Namjoon subtly tries to flick her off, but you catch the gesture as soon as it comes.

“Promises are promises.” Namjoon shrugs as if he wasn’t aware that you were still gaping at him. Mouth open like a fish out of the water.

“Well—be nice, captain.” Yena whistles, throwing her camera into her bag and slinging it over her shoulder before she turns to look at you, a gentle nudge with her shoulder to yours as she levels you with an intentional look in her eyes.

“Don’t start any fights, Yena.” Namjoon gently chides, but his tone is joking.

Yena waves him off, then waves at you one last time, leaning down to whisper something into your ear that has you flushing.

“Tell me how it goes when we hang out.”

And she leaves you with a keen sense of excitement on the prospect of a new friend like her to look forward to hanging out with.

Namjoon looks over at you, and gently reaches for the tote bag you’ve slung over your shoulder as he tugs it off you with a soft pull.

“Let me.” His smile is all teeth and dimpled grins when you reluctantly let him take your bag from you.

“Thank you.” You murmur, eyes attempting to look at him but his gaze is so focused on yours that you find it difficult to make eye contact.

“We’ve got an exhibition to go to, don’t we?”

You nod your head enthusiastically as he chuckles, allowing you to lead the way as you find a little prep in your steps. It was nice. Having a friend like Namjoon.

“Captain’s not coming?” Yugyeom groans, ruffling his hair with a towel as the rest of the footballers filter out of the changing room.

Jimin snorts in response. “No. He’s got a date.” The emphasis on the word date is obvious in the immature sense, evoking wide eyes as responses.

“He bailed on us for some pussy?!” Yugyeom cries.

Jungkook has to clench his fists by his side when he hears how his teammate casually referred to you as just some pussy. You weren’t just … that.

“Watch your tone,” Jimin growls, and Jungkook’s thankful that Jimin was more of the confrontational type and didn’t allow shit like this to slide easily. Especially when it came to you. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about.”

Yugyeom’s eyes widened before gawking at the blonde boy.

“You mean Namjoon is going on a date with _____?” The rest of the footballers murmur in response, possibly out of confusion. “How did they—doesn’t she not … date?”

Jimin sighs, already ready with a response on the tip of his tongue but Jeonghan, the keeper interjects.

“Wait, I was under the impression that she and Jeon were a thing?”

At the mention of his name tangled with yours, Jungkook, who has been relatively silent throughout, freezes as his hands stop rummaging through his duffel bag while he tries to ignore the inquisitive stares he’s receiving from his teammates.

“W-What?” Jungkook stutters caught off guard.

Yugyeom narrows his eyes at the boy, while Jimin silently observes with an unreadable expression.

“Now that you mention it …” He trails off, head tilting upwards as if he was deep in thought. “I did always see the two of them alone with each other.”

Jungkook clears his throat as he lets out a nervous chuckle, his hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck.

“We’re friends,” Jungkook says stiffly and he hopes it’s believable, despite his hoarse voice. “Friends hang out.”

Jeonghan snorts. “Or she’s a two-timer.”

This time, Jungkook can’t keep his face neutral.

“Talk about her like that one more time and I’ll make sure you never speak again.” He growls to the other boy, whose eyes widen in response.

“I was kidding—” He raises his hands in defense but Jungkook is shoving the remainder of his belongings into his duffel bag before hauling it over his shoulder and storming out of the room, ears burning in both frustration and anger.

“You don’t joke about this type of shit,” Jungkook mutters under his breath right as he leaves the rest of the members brewing with confused expressions as they look at one another with concerned expressions.

Namjoon, as expected, is a museum enthusiast. That much you could assess when he was excitedly chirping about how much he appreciated all types of art, abstract, modern and contemporary and vintage—you name it and he could likely give you a break down of the nuances behind styles and techniques.

He is also great company. Namjoon is a comfortable line between involved and chivalrous, never pushing farther than what you were able to offer but engaging you in insightful discussions that you found yourself being intrigued by.

While you expected more … forward gestures, Namjoon is respectful and you’re surprised but not really. He was mannered encompassed into human form.

So, when the security guard informs you that the exhibition was over and that the two were the last guests in the hall—the two of you reluctantly had to bring your night to an end.

“That was fun,” Namjoon says once the two of you exit the hall, just two figures in the night who have thousands of words to say about the masterpieces you’ve witnessed.

“Honestly, I was already looking forward to it but seeing the pieces the art students curated in person was just another type of euphoria.” You confess.

Namjoon nods in agreement. “I totally agree. You can just tell that they’ve really dedicated all their free time to the work they’ve displayed.”

“Art is beautiful, isn’t it?” You mumble, eyes looking back to the museum as you grin up at Namjoon who’s already looking at you.

“Yeah.” He breathes, and the way he’s looking at you under the dim moonlight makes you irrevocably flustered. “Beautiful.”

You clear your throat as you shift on your heels, hoping the blush on your cheeks isn’t too apparent. The night was still wondrous, and you feel a type of comfort in Namjoon that you haven’t felt in a very long time. But there’s still a lingering thought in the substandard part of your mind that reminds you of doe-eyes and a bunny smile.

“Thank you for your time, Namjoon.” You say shy, fiddling with your thumbs.

When you find the courage to look at his face, he’s already beaming at you.

“No. Thank you.” He reassures. “I know you’re super busy so for you to find time out of your schedule to hang with a virtual stranger really means a lot to me.”

Your eyes widen, but then your face neutralises as you flush.

“I’m not that busy …” You mumble.

Namjoon chuckles. He doesn’t even snort or offer a sarcastic remark in response. He just acknowledges it with a kind smile and doesn’t comment further.

He’s different from what you’re used to. A challenge. A burst of rebellion that loved to roll remarks off his tongue.

You don’t want to think of him just yet.

“Regardless. You’re here. And I’m grateful.”

You nod your head lamely, clutching your bag into your chest (after relentlessly whining to Namjoon to allow you to hold it yourself when you felt a little useless).

“I should—I should head back.” You cock your thumb towards the direction of your apartment.

Immediately, Namjoon steps forward and is ready to head the same way you are.

“Let me walk you back.”

“I can’t possibly—”

“I’m not asking this time, ______.” He frowns.

You snap your lips shut. Though you did feel a little bad, it was late and the rational part of you knew that it was best if Namjoon walked you home.

“Okay.” You say softly.

Before you can begin walking, he tugs you by the elbow so gently, but firm enough for you to nearly stumble into his chest.

And he’s so tall, so you’re peering up at him with wide eyes as you gauge his nervous expression.

“I-I’m sorry if this is a little forward but—” Namjoon clears his throat. “W-Well I think—I really think you’re nice. And great. Like—good company, you know? So I’d r-really—I’d enjoy—”

You blink at him as he attempts to find his words.

“Namjoon.” You whisper gently, tugging the hem of his shirt.

At your gesture, his mind blanks but he remembers that you’re still looking up at him with a confused gaze.

“Okay. Fuck.” He whines as a giggle escapes your throat when he peers at you with an exasperated expression. “I’m not usually this much of a mess. You just make me nervous.”

“O-Oh.” You breathe, “I do?”

Namjoon sighs, rubbing his hands over his face.

“I don’t know if it was obvious but I’m kind of into you.” He says softly, rubbing his hand over his neck.

You don’t expect it, not at all. So you can only muster gawking at him at his sudden confession.

“And you don’t need to—you don’t need to say anything about it. We can pretend like I didn’t just confess to you. We can just be friends.” He rambles, eyes wide. “I just wanted to let you know … yeah. So I really hope we can still continue to hang out even though you might think I’m a creep and I really didn’t offer to walk you home because I had intentions. Really just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

You continue looking at Namjoon with wide eyes. Because you’ve never been on this end before. The one receiving the confession. You’ve never really given a confession either, and you try to suppress the bitter memories of the confession you tried to give Jungkook that wasn’t verbal but with your presence.

With you giving up certain parts of yourself for him so he could see you.

“Please say something.” Namjoon chuckles nervously.

“I—…” You choke. “I don’t know what to say.”

“We can pretend like I didn’t just say that.” He winces.

You shake your head. “No. No. It’s fine, Namjoon. Really.” You reassure him gently. “I really appreciate it … I just didn’t … expect it.” You finish lamely.

“You’re a very interesting person,” Namjoon tells you, lips twitching in an attempt to lighten the awkward atmosphere.

Interesting? You don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone call you interesting before. Not outright, at least.

“I’m really not.” You say sadly.

Namjoon furrows his brows but doesn’t reach out to you further, his hands still remaining limp by his sides.

“Hey.” His voice calls out. “You are. You’re definitely one of the most interesting people I’ve met in my life.”

You blink.

“T-Thank you.”

He waves you off, gesturing towards where you gestured towards earlier.

“Shall we?”

And somehow, Namjoon has a way of making everything feel easy. Like a temporary space for you to feel safe, to feel wanted.

So why doesn’t your heart flutter?

560 notes · View notes

shushiyuii · 3 years ago

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Subject T0M au

This is an Au I’ve had stockpiled for a while wkakdnknak. It’s going to multiple parts too, once I get to working on those. If you have any questions you’re welcome to ask!

I hope you guys enjoy it (Also gimme your fucking requests UwU /lh)

Warnings: Experimentation, injury? And Horror elements (It’s mainly fluff i promise :3)

Words: 3K

Document – T0MMY1NN1T

Assigned to: Doctor Wilbur Soot Watson

Description: Subject T0M was once a [REDACTED] by the name of [REDACTED] [REDACTED]. His age is of kin to an elder teen, probably around the age of [REDACTED] to [REDACTED].

The appearance of Subject T0M is like a human, they have blonde hair and pale skin. Their most common height is 6’3 on average but can change depending on the form. Their face, arms and legs are covered in a black substance of unknown origin, it mainly takes on half of their body and appears to be almost liquid.

Their face is completely black, the only thing apparent is their fangs like a wolf when they open their mouth to feed, multiple fangs, the only other feature on Subject T0M’s face is their light blue eyes that glow in the dark.

Subject T0M isn’t very intelligent, they have some semblance of human intelligence, understanding simple language and commands.

They’re quite approachable as well but Subject T0M is to be approached with caution, as they could be quite dangerous. If angered there’s no knowing what Subject T0M is capable of.

Their abilities consist of being able to manipulate the material of their body, being able to change shape and size, their favourite is to mimic those around them. It is not an exact copy; it is apparent that Subject T0M is themselves because the material of their body will still be there even if they changed forms.

They can also create weaponry and different things from their material but again not exact copies, they’re quite harmless usually.

Subject T0M is to be assigned to Rookie Doctor Wilbur Soot. Under the watch of Philza Watson.

Entry 01 – 02/09/20—

So today was my first-day researching Subject T0M, from what I can say so far is that they’re quite interesting but so far besides the examinations, they haven’t shown much behaviour. Only staring at me from a distance.

Also, I’m not used to this sort of thing like writing documents and reports, not my favourite thing in the world but it’s not the worst thing either. So, Subject T0M already has a lot of his abilities recorded, I’m just here to see if he develops any noteworthy changes and watch over the guy.

Currently, there is no change in behaviour, he just stares down at me at a distance, like I’m the most interesting thing he’s ever seen, perhaps that’s the case?

He seems so lonely in that containment cell, it’s just an empty white box surrounded by glass, perhaps at some point I could request an upgrade to higher-ups for the lil’ fella? That way he can have a more comfortable place. Rather than a highly lit, bland, cold box.

Entry 02 – 05/09/20—

So Today, Subject T0M did something quite interesting, it’s a drastic difference from the last few days by just staring at me through the windows of the cells.

You see, instead of just watching me from the other side of the office, as usual, it can get quite boring in the office once you finish the days' assignments of reports, schedules, contracts and more and having to watch this guy and do the usual routine gets quite boring so I decided to work on some personal things and bring my guitar, so I could work on my songs, practising the guitar and stuff.

So, I played some things, the next thing I know is that one moment I’m singing, the next in shock as I look over in disbelief. Subject T0M had moved over towards the window, his hands and face on the glass, dead staring me in my eyes, they were filled with curiosity and interest like an infant listening to music for the first time.

A way to describe it would be that Subject T0M seemed so much happier, but when I stopped, he looked almost disappointed, I stared at him in amazement for a moment and I started to play again, and his expression went back to being amazed.

My music seems to interest Subject T0M so perhaps I should do more research and experiments with different kinds of music to see which they prefer?

Not only that but it’s nice to have someone rather than my dad that enjoys my music. They’re almost my second biggest fan. I’m looking forward to seeing more of this kid.

Entry 03 – 06/09/20—

As of now, I have started the experimentation of music with Subject T0M, he seems to prefer rather upbeat, pop music and general music.

I also played him some songs from popular games, one of them being The Able Sister’s from Animal Crossing, he really seemed to enjoy that one.

Besides the experiments, I’ve started to talk to Subject T0M as it does get lonely here, plus he’s the only other guy here in the department. Although he doesn’t talk, he’s a great listener, nodding whenever I state my opinion and even trying to communicate verbally from time to time, even though he doesn’t seem to have the ability to speak.

And I’ve also seemed to have started a habit of calling Tom or Tommy, it suits him! He’s also been showing more personality, he seems more aggressive like a gremlin but not in a bad way, he’s just displaying more emotion it seems.

Entry 04 – 09/09/20—

So, the experiments and communication of Tommy have made significant progress. He’s become feistier and more vocal, he’s not aggressive in a physical sense, just annoyingly loud. He’s like a fucking child.

And today was another experiment with Tom, with the test subject being myself since it seems safe enough, so need to gather others or security over it.

I entered his containment cell, and the moment I did, Tommy showed no difference in behaviour, to begin with, just a somewhat surprised expression on his face. Probably because this was the first time, he had seen me so close.

I carefully approached at first but then a thought came to me. So far I’ve been treating him like a human so maybe treating him the same way now would have the same effects?

I sat down next to him and started talking to him as usual, and he slowly started to move closer to me, cautiously. He seemed almost nervous, but his focus was on me, rather than himself. I found it rather odd, maybe something is wrong?

Again, he tried talking back but of course, it sounded like a fucking crack pipe, so it didn’t quite work. But he was talking and for some reason, it just brought a smile to my face.

I felt like an older brother would be a way to describe it, I made a promise in my head to protect him. We even tried singing together, it was a lot of fun, I look forward to spending more time with him.

Entry 05 – 12/09/20—

The past couple of days have been a lot of fun with Tommy like I’ve gained a friend. You see, growing up I was always a bit lonely, I was social, but I never found myself clicking with anyone because nobody had the same interests as me, so I turned to focus more on my studies, science in fact like my father told me too. And look at me now!

I’m a training researcher in the same facility as my dad, as this place is one of a kind opportunity, so I guess I got pretty lucky. And it seems Tommy agrees maybe, he reminds me of well me, I don’t want him to be lonely like I was, maybe I could arrange a meeting between other monsters?

Entry 06 – 14/09/20—

Tommy and I have been bonding a lot more lately and I’ve also improved a lot myself with finishing work sooner and taking up more assignments.

Speaking of which my father said if I keep this up, I may get more recognition in the facility, maybe even a promotion which I’m happy about. I’ve sent in a request to the higher-ups to allow Tommy communication of other monsters to which I hope they approve.

Besides that, I was talking to Tommy as per usual and he displayed a different emotion, excitement. He seemed eager to show me something and when I asked, “What is it?”. His form changed to be slightly taller and more of his black substance covered his body but after a while, his form changed to be similar to my own, he tried copying me.

Like physically. It was quite surprising if I’m honest, my shocked expression to Tommy made him realise the situation and immediately changed back and tried to reassure me, I felt bad and tried to reassure him it was okay. It’s funny to look back on.

Entry 07 – 15/09/20—

I got approval from the higher-ups, probably getting special treatment since my dad is one of the higher-ups, others aren’t normally so lucky. Dad, or should I say Doctor Philza? He said we could have a meeting between Tommy and his subject, R4NB00 or as he says Ranboo.

Dad said that his subject Ranboo does need to socialise more since he appears to have symptoms of social anxiety so maybe this will do them both some good since they both seem to be around the same age. Like Tommy, Ranboo only socialises with him and another subject T3chn0, or the blade, blood god. He’s got quite a reputation around here.

Anyways, I’ll say what I know about Subject R4NB00 as of his report, so I know to look over it in case of emergency.

R4NB00 is a tall humanoid standing above 8 ft tall. They have a black and white fur coat, a thin fur coat to be described as silky. Their coat is black on one side and white on the other, their hair is the same but in the opposite way to his fur.

They have heterochromia in their eyes, one being green and the other a bright red. They also have horns of small height; they aren’t sharp and rather small so they wouldn’t hurt anybody with them. They also have a thin tail, with it being fluffy at the end.

Subject R4NB00 isn’t the biggest fan of the regular attire assigned to all subjects, they rather wear a tuxedo embedded with the facility’s logos. They are also timid, avoiding conflict whenever possible. They also can speak but prefer not to due to being shy, they will only communicate with a select few.

Their abilities consist of having the ability to teleport at will and communicate in an unknown language. They also have weaknesses being unable to touch the water and having a state of mind of when they aren’t in control of themselves, they talk in their unknown language in this state and teleport randomly, they are to be awoken as soon as possible unless they are in this state for a test.

Report 16/09/20-- - Meeting of Subject T0M and Subject R4NB00

Today was the meeting of Subject T0M and R4NB00. Both were properly secured successfully and safely in transportation cells with the required security of 5 guards each in each truck and successfully transported to the meeting facility without stress or failure.

Both researchers were safely secured behind the required monitoring window.

The meeting was rather successful between the two creatures. To begin with, when the two saw each other they both maintained distance, for Subject R4NB00 it was because they were anxious about meeting another creature and for Subject T0M, meeting somebody else rather than their researcher.

Subject T0M was the first to contact Subject R4NB00 by trying to communicate verbally with them, it was unsuccessful and resulted in Subject R4NB00 being confused. The two sat in silence for a moment longer until Subject T0M attempted another move of contact by cautiously approaching Subject R4NB00, which resulted in them backing up into a nearby wall and trying to get away from Subject T0M.

Subject T0M then backed off and changed their form to mimic R4NB00, this is theorised to be Subject T0M trying to either comfort or entertain Subject R4NB00, they then changed back into their regular form.

Despite being confused, Subject R4NB00 seemed to notice that Subject T0M meant no harm and then tried to approach subject T0M. Subject T0M did not move.

When Subject R4NB00 approached, there was approximately 1 meter between the two, Subject R4NB00 looked at the two researchers to look for approval to which he got from Doctor Philza via a thumbs up.

Subject T0M curious looked to where R4NB00 was looking and noticed the two researchers and made a noise of happiness towards his researcher, to which Doctor Soot responded with a smile and a thumbs up.

Both Subjects looked back at each other and sat down beside each other. Subject R4NB00 began to communicate with Subject T0M, Subject R4NB00 introduced themselves and made small communication, to which Subject T0M responded positively too, as they couldn’t communicate back. After that, the meeting was concluded.

After their meeting, when asked about the meeting by their researchers. Subject R4NB00 responded positively to seeing Subject T0M again and talked positively about them despite not being able to communicate.

Subject T0M appeared upset a few moments after the meeting, scratching at the windows of his cell, whining. When asked if he wished to see Subject R4NB00 again, he responded positively. Another meeting between the two has been arranged.

Entry 08 – 17/09/20—

Tommy seems to miss his new friend quite a bit but it’ll be a while before the next meeting between them as it has to be approved again and it’ll be a while.

Doing our normal routine keeps him happy for a while but if I leave him for more than 15 minutes he begins to whine again. I wasn’t quite sure what to do as I couldn’t keep him company all day.

On my lunch break I talked to my co-worker Doctor Puffy about the matter, she’s a smart gal and rather motherly, she reminds me of my mom at times. She suggested that I give Tommy a gift, like a plush bear to befriend so he wouldn’t feel so lonely while I was gone.

So, I quickly made my way to a store, it was rather odd to see myself, an adult in a toy aisle but I found a decent plush. It’s a Minecraft spider plushie. I gave Tommy the plushie and introduced him to the plush, when I asked him what he wanted to name the plush he responded with a sound, it honestly sounded like he said shroud, so I suggested it. He responded happily so I guess we now have Shroud the spider.

Now I’ve got the peril of getting medication for my father as he’s somehow gotten sick.

Incident Report #19283 – 18/09/20-- -

No staff or other creatures were harmed during the containment breach, minor damages to the building, broken walls and broken windows within the cell. All to be fixed within a minimum of 3 hours. Subject T3CHN0 was successfully contained in a holding cell as we interviewed him as to why he breached containment, to which he responded that “Nobody told me where Phil was.”.

Doctor Philza was then contacted to talk to Subject T3CHN0 to explain his current predicament of being sick, to which Subject T3CHN0 huffed in response and refused to cooperate with us further.

Subject T3CHN0 escaped containment in a rampage, the reasoning being as he was not informed of his researchers’ location, as Doctor Philza was sick for the past two days before the incident. Both researcher and creature are rather close with each other, as to why the Subject was upset.

Prior to the incident (recorded by security cameras), Both Subjects of Doctor Philza were speaking to each other about the current location of their researcher, both concluded that neither of them had any idea of where the Doctor was, both subjects ask their temporary carer as to where their researchers’ location was, to which the carer wouldn’t respond so Subject T3CHN0 decided to find his answers.

Subject T3CHN0 broke through his containment cell’s window and then proceeded to break through multiple walls trying to find his researcher.

(The document then goes into detail about what T3CHN0 did during his rampage before he was contained)

During the rampage, Subject T3CHN0 broke through the walls of Doctor Soot’s office and his creature, Subject T0M. As Subject T3CHN0 entered the office, Doctor Soot was frightened at the unexpected visitor as tried to get away from the approaching Subject T3CHN0, Doctor Soot demanded that he get away, to which T3CHN0 huffed in response.

Subject T0M took some time to register that his researcher was in danger, but when he heard he did, he sprang into the action of defending his researcher.

His form changed into one of being described as fearsome, they changed heights to one over 15 ft tall, his hands turned into claws, long sharp fangs became visible, a sharp tail and pair of horns after appeared with this form. (Doctor Soot has been requested to do further research into this form)

Subject T0M roared in warning towards the other, then proceeded to pounce through their containment cells window, shards of glass scattered throughout the room.

They then ran towards their researcher and in a crouched position, picked up his fallen researcher and held him close to his chest, growling furiously at T3CHN0.

The two Subjects stared at each other for a moment until T3CHN0 began to communicate verbally by asking where his researcher was, Doctor Soot was too much in a state of shock to respond.

Subject T0M held his researcher closer and tried to comfort him in a way of purring, even nuzzling his researcher for a response, to which Subject T3CHN0 left due to being impatient.

Subject T0M continued to hold onto his researcher and eventually Doctor Soot snapped out of his state to stare in awe of Subject T0M, When Subject T0M saw their researcher responding he made worried sounds to them, to which Doctor Soot responded with a laugh and said: “I’m fine buddy”.

Subject T3CHN0 was then contained shortly afterwards.

#mcyt g/t #mcytg/t #dsmp g/t #sizeshifter!tommy #tiny!ranboo #tiny!wilbur #giant!tommy #giant!techno #tiny!phil #Shushi's writings #Subject t0m au

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terrence-silver · 2 years ago

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Do you think Terry was ever self-conscious about his height? Yes it’s considered good for men to be tall but what if he thought he was TOO tall in his Twig days? That’s my headcanon. I think he probably hunched over a lot to seem less tall and be less noticeable. And then when he gained confidence he was proud to stand at his full height and use it to intimidate people. What do you think?

I think young Terry was teased for everything at one point.

I mean, he's this kid who was already born richer than god, so I imagine people found things to nitpick about him. His height. His curls. His lanky limbs. His bashful attitude. His slight social oddness and eagerness to make friends. His clumsiness. His odd, sheltered, haunted innocence verging on the occasional manipulation that might've weirded some people out. You name it. So, his self consciousness at being unusually tall compared to everyone in his age group was juxtaposed with his pride brimming underneath all of that, because his height was the first ever positive and outstanding trait about him he ever had where his body image was concerned. Possibly his eyes too. His borderline elfin features that he needed much longer time to grow to appreciate. Best thing of all, he was born with those physical characteristics and never had to train himself into them, or rather earn them, like he did his muscles through extensive, and even rigorous exercise. But, Terry was as innately happy about his height as he was often self conscious back in those days because he stood out and attracted unwanted attention, producing a complex, layered image. From one end, he understood it was envy. From another, he wished it wasn't always him who was maybe negatively in the limelight, sometimes gloating over people's jealousy, sometimes hating it and feeling internal anxiety over it because if his peers were jealous of something he had it would be more likely he'd be teased and avoided than he'd have a clear chance at making friends. Yet, still, sometimes he'd hunch deliberately (perhaps not to throw people off or seem threatening --- maybe to be more like them), and occasionally, he'd have a little flash of self love where he was so glad his genetics hit a full lottery in the department of height and then once he grew into himself literally and figuratively, in every other way as well. But, regardless of Terry's complicated relationship, initially, where his height is concerned, it was the first ever piece of him he truly coveted and that was with him from the very start.

#terry silver #terry silver twig #terry silver as a child #terry silver as a teenager #kk3 #cobra kai #terry silver headcanon #terry silver headcanons #character analysis

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aquilaofarkham · 4 years ago

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title: the little death rating: T+ word count: 2,409 summary: Two years after his fight with Death, Trevor’s injuries start catching up to him while Alucard realizes that humans are more fragile than he thought.

For @trevorsmellmont ❤️ Thank you so much for commissioning me!

READ HERE

There’s a sharp pain pooling beneath his right arm, coursing through his ribcage. Trevor ignores it just as he’s ignored all the other aches, jabs, and stings over the past two years. Two years of building something better, something sustainable to last far longer than its young, admittedly green founders. Countless days, weeks, and months erecting homes, gardens, and pens for those dumb gentle animals who think the entire townscape is their personal pasture. Not another mistake of allowing them to wander aimlessly straight into the castle. As if heifers need to learn how to craft medicine or conduct what’s being referred to as “electricity”.

The work will never be finished. Even on days like this when the sun burns hotter than any circle in hell. A few drops of warm salt-ridden sweat crawl past Trevor’s pressed lips and into his dry mouth. Pain and thick heat were never enough to stop him before—he tells himself this, barely certain of his own supportive thoughts (a new concept taking root in his mind). Take it slow, don’t push yourself, idiot. This cabin made from the earth will get built eventually. Another family will receive their forever home to fill with lots of babies. Old wounds beg to differ as Trevor’s arms begin to weaken, each movement slower than the last, struggling to keep up with Greta’s superior pace. She’s always known her way around a mallet.

Another bead of sweat gets caught in Trevor’s lashes, sparing his eyes from temporary discomfort. Though it wouldn’t have mattered as they’re already past any sort of respite. He looks for distraction but can only see the blurred shapes coming from a huddle of bodies, despite being a short distance from them. He knows it’s only Sypha and Alucard with the village children, which gives Trevor some relief.

There’s more comfort to be felt when he remembers that one of those little monsters is his own, nestled in Sypha’s lap then placed in Alucard’s gentle arms. She has a name far too long for any toddler to pronounce—Elizabeta Belnades Tepes Belmont—so what rolls off her developing tongue instead is simply “Liza”. She’s innocent now but once she leaves this little man-made paradise and ventures into a harsher world, she will take more after her mother and father. Grabbing whatever life offers with both fists, clawing and biting her way through every obstacle until her teeth are reddened with bloody meat. For the time being, they relish Liza’s soft cheeks, wispy hair, and the way she throws herself at whichever adult happens to be in her nearest vicinity. The other children are helping her socialize by playing games and embracing frivolity; a tactic Trevor remembers from his own upbringing, though with less games and even less frivolity.

“Think you can handle one or two more?”

Greta’s voice manages to cut through Trevor’s mental fog. Funny how she asks if he can “think” about anything especially at this suffocating moment. She must have noticed the way his lips curl into a happy doped up grin while observing his family and couldn’t help but inquire. As any close, loved and valued friend would.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“What’s wrong with looking a bit further into the future? Now that we all have one.”

“Looking is one thing, but seriously suggesting is something else completely. My… performance in certain areas isn’t as up to snuff as it used to be.”

As Trevor says this, things deteriorate and get a bit fuzzier from his eyesight down to his chest. Out of focus. Painful. He keeps talking, keeps ignoring the inevitable. Always ignoring what his own body screams for.

Greta wrinkles her nose at his statement. “There are children present, Belmont.”

“What? I’m referring to the house. I barely managed to get one wall up while you’re already on the fucking roof.”

“So dramatic. You three really do deserve each other. And you’re still young.”

“On the outside, maybe.”

She laughs at his lie, misinterpreting it as another piece of mild self-deprecatory banter he might never be able to live without. Greta says something else, perhaps her own personal jest to counter his, but Trevor cannot hear. Breath grows heavier, forcing out a raspy “it’s fine. It’s just my chest”. Barely able to tell if Greta actually said anything about his sudden condition. Or rather, not so sudden. No, this has been building over quite some time now. His muscles and bones screaming, begging for relief or death, and end to everything—whichever comes first. Feelings that only worsened over the years.

Trevor loses control over his legs, now practically boneless. The collision between his head and the ground is nothing compared to the inner war over his heart. Whether it will finally succumb. Greta immediately calls for help—he thinks without confidence, once again. Trevor can still hear voices, but not their exact words. Not Sypha when she demands to know what happened. Not Alucard when he begs for him to stay conscious. Not even Liza as she cries for her papa.

Then all the chaos in the world fades into slow darkness.

Alucard stands outside the closed bedchamber door, contemplating how often he’s touched Trevor’s body. Lithe fingertips have memorized every crevice, scar, soft and rough spots alike. Not just as a lover with wandering hands underneath blankets in the dead of night. Or a friend who holds him steady on both feet when he needs it. But as this family’s self-appointed physician.

Perhaps the prince of two worlds took after his father after all. “Polymath” is what Alucard used to describe Dracula and the very same word others have referred to him as, mostly in the realm of medicine. He knows more than anyone, little offence given towards the herb dispensers and leech farmers (only to be polite for his own townsfolk). Thus, through the anxieties and trembling hands, Alucard gave Trevor his diagnosis: heat exhaustion along with a muscle somewhere in his chest that decided to go rogue and strain itself.

The son of Tepes, the only local doctor worth trusting, and arguably the co-leader of their little prospering hamlet paces across the hall like Trevor did the day Liza was born. He’s on the other side of that closed door, resting. Bedridden from heat exhaustion and a fucking pulled muscle. It bothers Alucard. This shouldn’t have happened to someone who stood up to the personification of Death and pissed in his eye. A stupidly common and easily treatable inconvenience to the human body shouldn’t be the end of a fucking Belmont.

It shouldn’t—unless Trevor’s scars have anything to say about it. The ones on the inside and outside. Inside, unseen, and untreatable. There’s a harsh revelation to be found there; one which the prince has been purposefully avoiding up to this moment. Alucard can try as he wants, use the tools left behind by his father and mother as though it were their final death wish, but he might never tend to what pains Trevor on the inside. He’s a Belmont, undeniably so, but Belmonts are human despite the many recurring signs pointing to the contrary. Then there’s Sypha with her magic, but she’s human as well. Greta and Liza are still human. Humans are more susceptible to dying easy, little deaths even when they follow world-saving victories.

Where does this leave Alucard? Thoughts spiral down, down towards darker places the longer he nervously hovers outside the bedroom. He’s been known to awkwardly stumble into deflection, insisting he’s only half human whenever certain someones bring up this topic of necessary conversation. Meaning he might as well not be human at all. Not when the bodies of those he loves change so rapidly while his remains petrified. It’s only been two years, filled to the brim with countless hours he wouldn’t ever want to trade for the entire world. But the thought of one night as they nestle themselves into bed and Alucard touches either Trevor or Sypha’s chest only to feel an anomaly within their hearts. The earliest sign that time and age will eventually betray them as it does for all mortals—it could be the one thing to break him.

Alucard stops himself at the opportune moment, right before he starts thinking about his mother and father. Did Dracula ever contemplate Lisa’s mortality? Was the decision to never turn her easy or the hardest thing he forced upon his unstable, immortal conscience? Arms crossed over his chest like a protective cage, fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt until it hurts, Alucard swallows a bitter glob of spit and reaches for the doorknob. Sypha will have to accept the fact that he couldn’t wait for her. He quietly thanks her for the lessons she taught him. If he needs to talk about something—truly talk, no sarcastic wit or banter, just the raw emotions—Alucard no longer hesitates. He won’t, not as he enters the room and immediately sees Trevor still in bed, not quite altogether there. At least he can manage a decent smile and wave of his hand.

“Evening.”

“How does your chest feel?”

“Still a bit tight, but I’ve been taking deep breaths like the doctor ordered.”

The amount of strain heard in Trevor’s voice worries Alucard. Hopefully the Belmont has learned something from the recent past, so he won’t be stupid and suggest anything having to do with leaving bed or getting back to work.

“I think I should get up.”

“I think that’s a poor decision.”

“Are you saying that as my physician or because you’re letting that pretty little blonde head of yours get too worked up?”

No. Yes. Both? If only Trevor didn’t look up at him with those glassy eyes (can he still see him?) the colour of stained glass windows erected in cathedrals he felt so unwelcome inside. If only that smile, somehow both soft and shit-eating, wasn’t in place of a more serious expression. Then maybe Alucard could voice his concerns without being accused of acting overbearing—an accusation grounded in solid evidence but he’s not ready to admit that yet. Not out loud.

“Normal, healthy adults do not become bedridden after pulling a small muscle in their chest.”

“Belmonts aren’t normal… or healthy in my case.”

Alucard’s brow furrows. “I want to think you’re healthy—” I need to. “—that you’ll live long enough to see the children of this village have little ones of their own. Liza included.”

“God’s sake, she’s only two years old. You and Greta, always talking about looking one step too far into the future. Let her be a child before adulthood rears its ugly maw.”

“Try not to change the subject.”

Trevor lifts his head off the indent pressed into his sweat drenched pillow. “Alright. Fine. I feel much better. I won’t push myself and give my heart some more time to recover.”

No response coupled with broken eye contact; sure signs of Alucard’s reluctance to accept his rather weak assurance. The Belmont has no other choice.

“Come here. Sit.”

Another moment’s hesitation before Alucard complies. Feeling his weight upon the mattress, Trevor blindly reaches for his wrist until calloused fingers grip cool, unblemished skin.

“Now lie down. No, no. Not like that. Place your head right here.” He pats his chest and with a fleeting amount of guidance, Alucard’s cheek fits perfectly between his breasts. Two hands smooth over the dhampir’s curves before one before one rests on his silk smooth head and the other against the small of his back. Alucard lied about one thing: his own body can change in small yet noticeable ways. Without the need to fight for the lives of others, whether today or tomorrow, sharp edges turn softer. Trevor and Sypha have finally let themselves breathe as well, let go, and enjoy all of life’s pleasures.

“Hear that?” He asks Alucard.

“... It’s slow.”

“Slow and strong like it should be.”

Alucard wishes he could bottle up that heartbeat or place it in a box. Preferably a music box to listen to its soothing melody long after its original body and soul are both eventually gone from this world. Who knows? It might make things hurt a little bit less like when he redrew his parent’s portrait or built a much larger nursery where his own used to be. Not a lot, but Alucard could possibly live with just “a little”.

“Speaking of Greta…” The baritone of Trevor’s voice sends deep vibrations through his broad chest, tickling Alucard’s cheek. “She said something about more children.”

“More orphans joining us?”

“No, even though I know how much you love those damn orphans. She asked if we could handle one or two more.”

“What did you say?”

“I implied that she was taking after Sypha’s influence by being wonderfully insane.”

Alucard chuckles in agreement. That sounds like Greta. “You never know. It might be good for Liza if she has a younger sibling.”

With the sound of Sypha’s well timed arrival, he’s mercifully saved from Trevor’s lengthy speech about how patience is apparently a virtue and tirades about his “performance” or lack thereof. Greta reveals herself shortly afterwards with a still crying Liza in tow. So many bodies gathered around one inebriated individual, here for him and him alone. Trevor’s consoled yet exasperated expression directed at Greta in particular says “isn’t there someone more important you could be helping right now?”

Sypha is the first to voice her gratitude after fussing over her exhausting loved one. “I will never be able to thank you enough, Alucard.”

“I think the bed did most of the heavy lifting, love.”

Trevor is given an affectionate, somewhat caring glare in response but his focus is demanded elsewhere once he suddenly notices Liza jumping onto the bed. She snuggles herself between him and Alucard, wetting their shirts with her tears.

“Easy there, you little monster. Papa’s still a bit tender.” Not that she can understand or care.

There’s an aura of relief felt amongst everyone in the room—less with Alucard who smiles bittersweetly. It’s a truth he knew he had to acknowledge before it tore his heart open. Trevor and Sypha will die one day and he will have to bury them. He’ll bury Greta, he might even bury Liza. Not today thank all the gods, or tomorrow, not for the next few decades if fate is kind enough.

But the day will come. And it will be Alucard’s own little death.

#castlevania #castlevania spoilers #castlevania fanfiction #trevor belmont #alucard #alucard castlevania #sypha belnades #greta danesti #trephacard #trevorcard #my writing #*cvfic

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teamxdark · 3 years ago

Text

He’s Not Here

More masquerade content but what’s this at the end???

In the grand castle ballroom, surrounded by soft golden light and the countless nobles clad in shimmering fabric, King Arthur was so bored he could cry.

This wasn’t what this night should have been; it was a masquerade party, an opportunity to hide away his identity and mingle among the people 一 okay, the nobility, but he would take what he could get 一 like he was a person instead of a king. Finally he had a chance to dance around until his legs ached, to eat food without worrying about the repercussions to his image should he dare speak with his mouth full or use the wrong spoon, to hold conversations that weren’t about politics or finances or how he was doing the best-or-worst job looking after an entire kingdom with a myriad of people with different needs and opinions.

So how was it that, out of everyone in that room, he was stuck listening to some dull-voiced stag drone on and on about the rising price of grain?

“This is why pricing is tricky, you have to account for the pests before you ship it out and…”

Arthur fought the urge to dash away, but the instant he tried, he knew he would give himself away. His speed was renowned throughout the land, alongside his golden armor and brilliant blue spines. Those, at least, he had taken care of; Merlina had spent the better part of an hour adjusting his coloring to a warm orange and growing out his spines to disguise him beyond the limits of a simple mask. She had tried so hard to give him a chance to have a night off without people instantly worrying for his favor or trying to get something from him… only for him to be trapped all over again.

Arthur would have happily made an excuse to leave, if the stag would only let him get a single word in. His conversation “partner” seemed not to need to breathe, droning on and on in an endless monotone, offset by the cheerful music and bright lights and flashy costumes.

I’ll never be free of this.

“And now that the price is rising, it leaves me in a strange spot, you see. On the one hand, I sympathize with the people who cannot afford my wares, but on the other hand, it means more profit for myself and my own family.”

Chaos above, Arthur wished he hadn’t bumped into this man. His fingers tapped restlessly against his leg, mildly quelling the urge he had to just flee, to drop everything and everyone he had ever known and flee into the night and into the unknown.

“Not to mention, the cost of labor--”

“Mind if I cut in?”

Arthur’s head snapped over to the new voice, endlessly relieved at the interruption, though the stag continued to drone on, the odious voice still grating his ears even as the king faced the bold newcomer.

It was a tiger clad in elegant black clothing with silver accents, extending a hand out to him, and even though Arthur was eager to take it and be whisked away from this living nightmare, something about him made him take pause. His eyes took in the white fur streaked with blue, the slowly flicking tail that reminded him of Sir Percival 一 was it common among all cats? 一 and the eyes looking gently back at him.

He trusted those eyes. It was the look that they held, a look that reminded him of…

Arthur mentally slapped himself. He’s not here, he reminded himself as he finally took the hand offered to him.

“Yes, please.”

The tiger seemed to brighten just a fraction at his approval, and he led him away from the trappings of boring conversation to the dancefloor, and Arthur had to try hard not to think about how this felt like being rescued by a knight. Especially not…

He’s not here.

The king was jostled from his thoughts as his new partner started to fit him into a hold, and a brand new anxiety washed down upon him as he tried to remember how to reciprocate the hold. Dancing lessons had never been high on the list of priorities when it came to running a kingdom, and yet somehow Arthur was expected to be able to social dance like a pro when his days were filled from dawn to dusk with meetings and drafting decrees and submitting notices of approval until he passed out on his bed. Arthur swallowed, trying to remind himself that stumbling during a dance was still preferable to listening to that one-sided conversation…

...but his partner didn’t dance like a professional. Well… he did, there was no denying his grace and timing, but he didn’t dance like he expected Arthur to be one as well. The steps were simple, the turns basic, and Arthur’s mind swam in relief as he realized that, somehow, this stranger was leading him through steps that he had managed to pick up on through trial and error.

This chance encounter was proving to be everything he needed.

The stranger led him carefully around the floor, maneuvering slowly around other people rather than weaving expertly between them like so many other couples did. If Arthur closed his eyes, he could easily pretend that he was practicing his basic steps with his brother, or his friends, or his--

He’s not here.

And yet…

Yet it was so easy to picture it, even as the peals of laughter surrounded him and washed into his subconsciousness like a spark of delight for him to enjoy. The strong hold, the careful footwork, the calculated rhythm…

Lancelot…

Arthur’s eyes opened, and though he saw stripes they were the wrong ones, and the bittersweet feeling of missing someone dear to him almost caused him to heave a sigh.

He had it bad, and he knew it. His greatest knight and closest ally and dear friend… Sir Lancelot was beyond compare. From questing as youths to his coronation, and in every disaster thereafter, Lancelot had been there, his pillar of strength in a tumultuous world, always standing nearby to passionately defend him or to spare him a quiet gesture of support. Lancelot had protected him from danger, defended his honor, strived to keep his spirits up for years and years…

Arthur had never considered himself one for romance, but as years went by, Lancelot had claimed more and more of his thoughts, attention and affection until the knight unknowingly held the king’s heart firmly in his hands. Too many times to count had Arthur been struck by the urge to grasp his hands, to sing out the words in his heart to him, to draw him close and see if he could make such a powerful knight’s knees buckle below him with a kiss alone…

One song changed into the next, and Arthur, too swept up in his fantasy, didn’t let go of the stranger, didn’t notice the slight lull in their dance, and so the dream kept going.

Lancelot wasn’t there, but Arthur could lean into this stranger’s hold on him, follow his dance, focus on his attire, concentrate on the energy he exuded, energy that reminded him so strongly of his Lancelot, and Arthur’s mind could so easily turn his dream into something more substantial. An illusion for him to drown in, just like this masquerade offered.

The music kept swelling, the sweet notes tickling his ears and driving him even deeper into his dream like he was in a trance. He kept dancing with the man that reminded him so much of his beloved that a second dance turned into a third, and Arthur clung on to his dream, not even registering that it might seem strange until--

“I mean no offense, but surely there are others who would want to dance with you?”

Arthur blinked, and the dream shattered as the man in his arms shifted back into a stranger. The king’s feet stilled, his gaze dropping to his feet. Arthur had to fight back waves of embarrassment and disgust at himself before he could answer.

“Forgive me, but the way you dance…”

HE’S NOT HERE!

“...it reminds me of someone dear to me.”

“O-Oh.”

His companion seemed at a loss, and Arthur held back another sigh, counting the beats in his head before pulling him along for the next dance, leading him in a very basic, repetitive step around the floor.

“I apologize,” Arthur murmured, knowing that there wasn’t much he could do to salvage the situation. At this point, he could only offer his apologies and an explanation. “I know it’s not fair on you, to imagine you are someone else, but…”

A look of hurt passed over his dance partner’s face, and goodness, even that reminded him painfully of Lancelot.

“...but you remind me so much of him.”

Arthur’s eyes swept over his partner, taking in the paradoxical way that he looked completely unfamiliar and yet he still somehow managed to feel so much like his dear knight. Perhaps the dream hadn’t fled from him quite yet, because now Arthur’s yearning mind was searching for any and every chance to convince himself that this was, somehow, Lancelot whom he was dancing with.

“You dance like he does,” Arthur thought aloud, as his partner remained silent. “Careful and precise.”

Your movements… I know them like I know my own.

“Pardon my asking,” the stranger returned, “but why do you not dance with him tonight?”

Like a weight to his soul that would never truly leave, Arthur’s melancholy came back to embrace him. “Ah… he isn’t here.”

He’s not here he’s not here he’s not here--

“Or at least…”

Arthur looked into the stranger’s eyes, his desperation to go back to his dream nearly choking him with emotion as the tiger’s eyes widened at the sudden look directed at him.

“...I haven’t recognized him, yet.”

Arthur knew it was terrible to put such a fantasy on a stranger at a party, but he wanted so badly to believe that this man was Lancelot. Arthur wanted to believe the ludicrous ideas his mind was supplying him with, that somehow this was Lancelot in front of him, disguised beyond all normal means. The tiger in front of him appeared to fluster, his mouth parting as though wishing to speak, though no words came forth.

“You have stripes like he does, too,” Arthur murmured softly, thoughtfully, and yes, he truly was reaching for every last detail in his pathetic attempt to turn what he had in front of him into what he wanted to see.

“If it pleases you,” the tiger finally said as the third song changed into a fourth one, “I… am not opposed to you pretending that I am he.”

Arthur smiled at that, feeling suddenly hesitant at the idea, now that the stranger, as kind and helpful as he had been, had given him his consent to mentally transform him into someone else, to be a player in this dream of his. It was sad, and unfair, but Arthur knew sadness and injustice. He tried to battle it every day, slowly changing and updating laws as they became outdated, but everything went so slowly and people only kept crying out in pain and Arthur wanted just one day, just one, to take ahold of something that he wanted and to cherish it.

“Thank you,” Arthur whispered as he stepped further into the stranger’s hold, feeling warmth overtake him as he confessed his truth. “I have loved him for a great long time and… perhaps this is the closest I shall get to what I dream of.”

Because that was all this would ever be: a dream.

He’s not here.

Arthur’s eyes closed as his head dipped down to rest on the tiger’s shoulder, a soft smile spreading over his muzzle as he noticed that he was of a similar height to Lancelot, and the dream came back in full swing. Arthur’s arms wrapped around his partner, blocking out any consideration to the lack of spines on his back, and the king focused on his heartbeat as it hammered in and out of sync with the other’s.

“I understand the sentiment,” his partner whispered in response, and Arthur had to hold back what was either a laugh or a sob, morphing it into a hum on its way out.

You speak like him, too.

And so the king held his partner as tightly and tenderly as he would a lover, humming along to the song as the masquerade around him faded into nothing. There was nothing, nothing in his dream, but himself and his Lancelot as they spun around slowly.

He’s here. He’s here, I can feel it.

Arthur’s dream permeated his mind, overtaking his consciousness, and as the fourth song faded into oblivion, he finally let out the sigh he had been carrying all night.

“Lancelot…”

Two pairs of feet stilled as both parties realized what had just been said, and one final word jolted the king from his dream.

“A… Arthur?”

He was here all along.

#Smash speaks.#Arthurlot.#satbk #I DID IT I WROTE SOMETHING AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.#No editing we write and post and pass out.

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wrenhyperfixates · 4 years ago

Text

The Raven Haired Rebel

Chapter 1

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: After invading New York, it was decided that, as a punishment, Loki would work for SHIELD. Yeah, right. After escaping from their custody and stranded on Midgard, the God of Mischief decides to prove he’s the one thing no one ever thought he was: the good guy. Now a vigilante, Loki attempts to make amends for his past wrongdoings while also evading the Avengers, including their newest member. You. Brought in specially for the case, you notice more and more details about the prince’s story don’t add up. When you get the chance to turn him in, will you listen to your employers or your heart that believes Loki’s done nothing wrong? Chapter Summary: In which you plead Loki’s case. Chapter Warnings: none A/N: Besides this being a miniseries, all the chapters are pretty short too! Hope you enjoy all the same :)

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack @mythicalgarlicknot @what-a-flammable-heart @marvelouslovely @laurenandloki @fallinallinmendes @sophlubbwriting @mooncat163

RHR Tag List: @happygalaxymilkshake @electroma89 @stardust-walker @i-would-kneel-for-loki

Masterlist

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Swiping into Avengers Tower made you feel important, more so than swiping into a SHIELD base. You weren’t exactly sure why, though. Perhaps it was because SHIELD was a secret, and no one knew. Here, the passerby on the street looked on in awe. Or maybe it was because the Tower was so elite. Because so select few got to enter. But really, it probably wasn’t that you got to enter so much as why you got to enter.

True, since your first day on the job, word got around that you were the best in your field. Fast as lightning, you’d risen through the ranks to be Fury’s top tracker, a position all but secured when he brought you on for this case. A case, you knew, that intrigued you far more than it should have.

Just like everyone else had on that day a little over three months ago, you watched the TV with rapt attention as gods and superheroes made themselves known to the world. And, you supposed, supervillains too. Not that you’d told anyone, but something didn’t quite sit right with you in the weeks after when news anchors and colleagues alike were referring to the raven haired god as such.

For the next three days, you’d pored over books of Norse Mythology and a number of studies. Most of the latter coming from one Dr. Jane Foster, who you soon came to link with Thor. But even there you found a disconnect between the god of legends and the bloodied man on your screen. He never really did have malicious intent before. He was a trickster, yes, but he’d not even come close to doing something this drastic before! Ok, yes, there was his involvement in Ragnarök in the myths, but even for that you’d found multiple sources that could debunk it. Besides, it certainly didn’t seem like Asgard had even faced the end times yet.

Alas, you figured Thor knew his brother, and you had your own case to work on, so you let be the mystery that was Loki.

And then you were called into Fury’s office a week ago and asked to begin tracking the god. A bit too eagerly, you’d agreed to take the case. You’d dealt with villains before, truly evil people, and your search only further proved what deep down you already knew; Loki was not one. Everywhere you followed his trail, a mysterious savior was stopping bank robberies and saving people from burning buildings and runaway trains. Not to mention there were multiple descriptions of said savior using green magic. It seemed a wonder that the tracker in the case before you hadn’t noticed. Then again, people tend to only see what they want to.

Regardless, you made your way to the elevators, heading toward the conference room on one of the upper floors. You tapped your foot as it ascended, impatient to share your findings. As the lift stopped and you got out, you tugged on your leather jacket. It was ever so slightly too big, but it was on sale. Plus, you felt like it looked pretty cool, considering your job and all. Subconsciously, you puffed up your chest a bit too. Regardless of actual size, you felt like a petite little thing, stepping into a room of now renowned heroes. Strange, you thought, how so much could change in just three months.

“You know, I got to get me one of those,” said the man suddenly keeping pace next to you. You quickly identified him as Tony Stark.

“I... Pardon?” you replied, slightly startled.

“Your jacket,” he said, pointing at it. “I feel like the leather will match the whole rugged good-guy, vibe. Besides, I think Capsicle’s got one.”

You chuckled at that. “Maybe we should just make it the team uniform then.”

“Team, huh? So you must be that new tracker kid we’re working with.”

“I’d hardly call myself a kid,” you scoffed.

“When you get to be as rich as I am, you get to call everyone a kid,” Tony shrugged.

“I’m not exactly sure that’s how it works, but whatever you say, I guess,” you chuckled again.

“See, now if everyone would just adopt that mindset, we’d get stuff done a lot faster around here.” He quickly signed something that was brought up to him on a clipboard, never stopping. You wondered how long he could keep up like this before collapsing. “Besides, take it as a compliment. That last tracker was some fuddy-duddy old guy.”

“Fuddy-duddy?” you guffawed. “Maybe you’re the old one, after all.”

Tony feigned like he’d been struck in the heart. But before you could keep up the banter, you reached the conference room, and Steve was waving you inside.

“Stark,” he said with a nod. “Are you ready to begin or are you going to keep distracting our new teammate?”

“Aye aye, Captain,” he said with a little salute. “Reporting for duty.”

You mouthed a sorry as you followed Stark into the room. Even if the rest of them turned out to be hard-asses, at least Tony was fun. And having one ally was better than none, you figured. As you took your seat across from your new friend, you flipped through the file that had been left for you. It wasn’t really anything new, so you glanced at your teammates again. Nat and Clint both nodded at you, recognizing you from a couple other missions you’d interacted during. There wasn’t really any time to talk, however, before Captain Rogers was walking to the head of the long table.

“Alright, team. Before we get started, I think it’s worth mentioning we have a new member on the team,” Steve said, before welcoming you by name. “I think we’re all caught up on the situation here, so let’s dive right in. A new trend has shown up in the Tower’s data mining.”

“Data analysis,” Tony butt in. “It sounds more ethical that way.”

“Whatever you want to call it, the program showed that wherever Loki goes, there’s a spike in activity of an organization calling themselves AIM. At first glance they seem innocent, but after some digging, we’ve found they’re anything but. We’ve determined Loki is working with them, perhaps even masterminding some of their more underground projects. Agent? Can we assume you found the same things?”

“Uh, yeah, no. Actually, my data shows the opposite,” you cleared your throat. Standing, you slid the information from your tablet onto the room’s TV screen. “See, it seems that he’s actually doing good deeds. There are multiple accounts of a man fitting Loki’s description performing heroic works.”

“Ok, I’ll bite,” Tony said, leaning forward. “What about AIM then? You think it’s a coincidence.”

You bit your lip. “I’ll admit, I haven’t found anything about them yet. But... maybe, just maybe, Loki’s showing up where they are because he’s trying to stop them.”

“I am so sorry to interrupt, but that does not sound like the Loki I know at all,” Thor laughed. “A wonderful joke, though.”

Now you were getting mad. You shouldn’t be, but you saw something worth defending in Loki. A lot, actually. There was something about that look in his eye that you couldn’t quite read, but it was telling you something was wrong all the same.

“That’s not fair! Maybe you don’t know him as well as you thought. Look at this,” you said, swiping to show a side by side of Loki during and after the fight. “You can see it by the look on his face; something was seriously wrong during the battle. Plus, I’ve seen videos of him when he first came; he was not alright. Afflicted with severe anxiety and what looks like burn marks, I’d say. He needed help.”

“With all due respect,” Clint chimed in, “aren’t your a tracker, not a psychologist?”

“Yes, but as such I’ve been trained to look at all the details. Not just what’s convenient.”

“Listen,” Steve sighed before things got any more heated. “It’s a great theory and all, but you read Thor’s account of everything that happened before this. So, until we get some solid evidence proving otherwise, we’re going to have to stick with what we already know. We’ll put a pin in the AIM thing until you can take a look, though. Ok?”

“Ok,” you agreed, defeatedly taking your seat again.

You looked around the table. Natasha and Bruce, the only two who hadn’t said anything, both looked kind of pensive. Alright, maybe bewildered was the better word for Bruce. He was smart, no doubt about it, but you got the impression he wasn’t very good in social settings. Then there was Clint and Thor, both who seemed a little skeptical of you. At least Thor seemed to be considering his brother’s innocence at least a little. Steve was a bit more unreadable as he continued to prattle on about what you already “knew” for the case. And then there was Tony, who seemed more impressed than anything else. He, at least, had seemed to genuinely consider what you said. Perhaps he still was.

“The best way to solve this,” Steve closed his spiel, “is to bring him in. Agent, have you located him yet?”

You sighed. Deeply. It shouldn’t be this much of a struggle to present your findings. You’d had no trouble speaking on his behalf. Yet a part of you—an alarmingly large part, you realized—didn’t want to turn him in. But who were you to ignore direct orders?

“Yup,” you conceded, pulling up a map with a blinking red dot, marking Loki’s location.

“Well then, team,” Steve said to the group. “Let’s roll out.”

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afictionalwhore · 4 years ago

Text

Room for Two

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❀ AN: this is a gift for @lorlocks as a thank you for all her wonderful and beautiful art. Pls go check her out. She is amazing OTL

❀ TW: Shig being fluffy?

❀ WC: 2.6k

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It was in college that you met Shigaraki and the rest of the League. After a rough week of classes you wandered into the bar operated by the League. In your drunken state, you had confided your college girl woes to Kurogiri, who handed information about your quirk to Shigaraki. Later in the week, you found the leader of the League, along with Dabi, sitting on your worn couch. The two had planned to kidnap you, but after just a few minutes of talking, they were pleasantly surprised to find that you were more than willing to just go along with them.

Due to your quiet demeanor, you weren’t usually picked to go out on missions with the others, but your beloved leader deemed it dangerous enough to make use of your quirk. You didn’t have a dangerous quirk like Toga or Shig. It was the opposite. You could project a force field and protect those surrounding you from both physical attacks and objects and quirks like Aizawa and Shinsou’s. Your quirk, shield, was perfect for hero work. You were even recommended to UA in the sidekick program. But your social skills failed and you graduated without a job lined up and without friends.

This is how you ended up with Shig. You were scheduled to go on a small breakin mission the next morning with Shig as a test of your quirk before his planned attack on your alma mater. He wanted to make sure you could protect him in case anything went wrong.

You traveled far outside the usual vicinity of league activities so as not to arouse suspicion. Hours into your journey, as the sun began to set, your tire blew.

“Fucking dammit,” Shig said as he kicked the blown tire after you pointed out the screw lodged in it. Luckily, you had learned a few mechanics from your father. The man insisted you knew how to change a tire lest you fall helpless to a gang of villains on the side of the road. You shook your head, knowing his disapproval if he saw your current company now.

Shigaraki’s pacing and grumbling behind you made you more nervous than you’d have liked. You coughed while working, hoping to gain his attention. The lanky man continued his ways, wearing a hole in the dirt behind you. You coughed again, this time catching his attention.

“What’s the matter?” he scratched.

“Nothing, just. It’s getting late, and I think we should find a place for the night.”

“And? So?”

“Well, uh,” you stuttered. “There's a motel not far down the road. We passed it not long ago. Umm. Why don’t you get us a couple rooms for the night?”

The heavy padding of Shigaraki’s footsteps stopped behind you. You felt his staring on your back, and panicked for a moment. You tracked back through what you could have said to have upset him. Suggesting he walk alone back to a shady motel in the middle of nowhere could definitely have done it.

“You’re right,” you heard his rough, scratchy voice and felt yourself visibly relax.

“My, um,” you stumbled through your words, not expecting to get this far. “My wallet is in the console. You can get my card out and—”

“Tsch,” Shigaraki cut you off, “Are you stupid or something? Use your card with your name? They’ll trace back to you and expose us. It’s fine. I have cash.” A dry hand reached up to scratch at his neck.

There was the Shig you knew and loved. But he had a good point. You blushed as you bent back down to continue your work.

You relaxed as you heard Shigaraki’s footsteps recede. You were finally able to focus on the task at hand. You thought about your situation as you removed the hubcap. You had gone with Shigaraki and Dabi first to find meaning in your lonely life. The more time you spent with the league, you began to find your place in the world.

You never really had a place to fit in, and maybe that’s why you felt that you finally did fit in with the League of Villains. All of you, in some way, shape, or form, were outcasts of society and held a distaste for hero society. Even in the place you felt you fit best, you were still deemed an oddball. Shy and always blushing, you never really had much to say, opting to go along with what the others wanted.

It was safe to say that now you were in love with your boss. It was true that you initially went with the villainous pair back to the hideout because you wanted something more to your life, but you couldn’t deny your initial attraction to the pale, blue-haired man. He intrigued you, to say the least. But as you learned more about what exactly it was that made him tick, you found yourself falling for the man. You prayed your blush would go unnoticed every time his crimson eyes met yours.

Before you knew it, you had successfully replaced the flat tire with the spare. You made your way back toward the motel, slowly so as not to upset the spare you knew wouldn’t make it over forty. You slowly rolled the car into the decrepit parking lot, careful not to hit too many of the potholes littering the asphalt.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you heard the old receptionist say as you walked in through dusty glass doors. The jingle of a bell caused her to look up at you and away from Shigaraki. She glanced back towards the chatter of voices from the TV behind her, clearly more concerned about the soap opera in the background that she was missing due to her argument with your boss. “We only have the one room.”

Shigaraki turned to see you had made it, a hand pausing its scratching on the back of his neck. Behind you past the dirty glass doors sat your car in the lot. For a moment you thought you saw a flicker of relief in his bright red eyes. Your heart jumped at the thought of him thinking of you. You shoved the fluttering feeling back down and told yourself he was only relieved at your presence as a way to end his argument with the frumpy receptionist.

“Fine,” he sighed as he snatched the plastic key card from the woman. “We’ll take it. Save some money I guess.”

After stumbling awkwardly through the halls, you had finally found your room. It took three tries with the key card before you were actually in your room. It was everything you expected to be, judging from the looks of the exterior of the motel.

Yellowing, floral wallpaper that was as old as your grandparents decorated the room. The ceiling boasted a popcorn texture that you were sure contained enough asbestos to send the entirety of the League to the hospital. The carpet was a cream color, dingy with age and rough on your feet. There was a small ensuite, which you were thankful for, from which you could hear the gentle dripping off the shower. Against one wall was a TV that had to have been from the late 90s, high technology of its time now bought at a discount rate to furnish a sketchy motel. Perhaps the worst part of the setup was right across from the TV: a single bed in the middle of the room.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“Maybe there’s a pull-out? I’ve seen something like it on American TV,” you suggested, trying to alleviate the awkwardness that settled into the room.

“Don’t be stupid,” Shigaraki said. He walked towards the bed before flopping on top, shoes still on. The headboard was placed against a long wall, and the floral bedding looked as scratchy as your partner sounded. He dug through the bedside table, searching for a remote to the television.

You took your shoes off by the door before slipping your stockinged feet into the complementary slippers. They were once a soft yet vibrant pink, but now they boasted a dirty, pale gray with a hint of their former pink glory. You padded your way to the bed and sat stiffly on the edge of the bed as Shigaraki occupied the majority of the space on the bed. He looked bored, irritated even as he lazily searched the TV. After a few seconds, which felt like eternity to you, you stood and walked over to the bathroom.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you said, standing in front of the en suite while Shigaraki flipped through the few channels on the cable television. You stood for a moment, waiting to be acknowledged by the man.

“Well?” he said, eyes still glued to the faint blue glow of the screen. “Why are you just standing there? Go take a shower.”

“I just wanted to see if you wanted to go first or needed anything before I start,” you said, before turning to the bathroom and gently closing the door behind you.

You slipped on the rubber shower slippers, praying you wouldn’t get athlete’s foot or worse. On the near end of the bathroom, old towels rested on a shelf above the toilet. Across was the shower. After a moment of fiddling with the knobs, you managed to turn on the shower. The pressure was better than you had expected, and you thanked the heavens that you didn’t have to wait long for the hot spray. A hot shower was just what you needed to wash away your anxieties.

When you finished, you stepped out of the bathroom and slipped back into the sad pink slippers. Shigaraki was on the bed with a pizza.

“Figured you’d get hungry,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and helping himself to another slice.

You sat back down on the bed, staying in the corner you previously occupied before your shower.

“Thank you,” you said. You were thankful for the dull orangey lighting that hid your blush from Shigaraki’s scrutinizing red gaze.

The two of you ate in silence, watching whatever American drama Shigaraki had found. After a few hours, your exhaustion had caught up with you. Your yawning hadn’t gone unnoticed by Shigaraki.

“We should go to sleep now.” Shigaraki swung his lanky body off the bed to go turn off the lights.

“I could sleep on the floor, if you want,” you offered.

“No, it’s fine,” Shigaraki huffed. He clambered back onto the bed and refused to look at you as he pulled the blankets over him. “Just stay on your side.”

“Okay,” you sighed. “Goodnight, Shigaraki.”

“Goodnight,” came the rough reply you weren’t expecting.

Despite your heart pounding in your chest, loud enough that you swore Shigaraki could hear it as well, you drifted off with a smile on your face.

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Shigaraki never had a normal sleeping schedule. He was used to waking up at odd hours in the early morning while everyone else was asleep.

With a slight groan, Shigaraki stretched and turned to look at the cheap alarm clock on the bedside table on the other side of you. Electric red numbers stared back at his crimson eyes, reading 2:31. He looked at your dozing frame beside him, curled into the corner of the single bed in order to give him space. Slowly, so as not to disturb you, he slipped out of the bed. He was thankful for the rough carpet and not cold hard flooring as he padded his way to the cramped bathroom.

“Shit,” he whispered as he flicked on the lights. The buzzing of the fan echoed throughout the motel room. Shigaraki glanced over to your sleeping form to make sure he hadn’t disrupted you. Everything always seems too loud at two in the morning. But since you were asleep and he was trying to be quiet, everything felt truly too loud: the soft hum of the fluorescent bathroom lights, the irritating fan, the flushing of the toilet, the padding of his feet back across the dirty carpet, and the creak of the bed as he crawled back in beside you.

Shigaraki lay awake for some time, studying patterns in the horrendous popcorn ceiling like a child looking for shapes in the clouds. You lay fast asleep beside him. As Shigaraki listened to your gentle sleeping, he thought about what you meant to him. You had a valuable quirk for sure, and he was thankful for Kurogiri tipping him off about you. The truth was that he already knew of you. His eyes had been locked on you since the moment you walked into the bar, and when you went with him so willingly that fateful day, he thought he would melt on the spot.

Of course, Shigaraki had an image to uphold. He would die before admitting he had feelings for you. When you mentioned getting a motel, he couldn’t believe his luck. When there was only one room left, he thought he had to be in a dream. His fumbling with the key card was from his nervousness about sharing a room with you. He felt like a teenage boy trying and failing to impress you. His heart nearly leapt out of his throat when he saw the single bed in the motel room. When you stepped out of the bathroom wringing your hair out in a towel, head cocked adorably to the side, he thought he really had died earlier and gone to heaven, despite his actions on earth.

Shigaraki was terrified that you wouldn’t return his feelings. He was repulsive in his eyes. Who would want him with his scratchy voice, too high for a man in his opinion? His shaggy pale hair, rampant with dandruff? And his dry, flaking skin, that every lotion on earth never seemed to help? Looks aside, Shigaraki couldn’t take you out on dates. He couldn’t give you what you deserved. He couldn’t even hold your hand without risking your life. Shigaraki groaned as he dropped his face in his hands. Dabi would surely laugh at him if he could see him now.

A slight shaking of the bed broke him out of his thoughts. He turned to look at you as you continued to shiver. Shigaraki felt his heart swell as he took in your sleeping form. You were too good for him, having curled yourself onto the far side of the bed to give him enough room. You pushed the blankets off of yourself to keep him comfortable and warm.

Before he realized what he was doing, Shigaraki scooted himself closer to you. He pulled the blanket across him to cover your shivering form. It wasn’t until he had seen you relax that he was able to fall back into a dreamless sleep.

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The sun peeking through the gap in the curtains woke you up. The clock in front of you said it was only just past 7 A.M.

You hummed and tried to turn on your back, hoping to stretch your limbs, but something solid kept you from moving. You slowly opened your eyes, as though what you were hoping for would disappear if you opened them too quickly. It seemed too good to be true.

Curled into your back was the very object of your affections. His face was burrowed into his hair, and an arm was wrapped carefully around your waist. Even in sleep, he was careful not to touch you with all five fingers, instead curling his hand into a fist and tucking it underneath your bodies.

Gingerly, you tried to shift to relax your tensed muscles without disturbing Shigaraki.

“Stay,” you heard who was undeniably the man you were trying not to wake whisper. He nuzzled deeper into your hair and pressed his arm tighter against you.

“Okay,” you breathed, and relaxed against Shigaraki, a soft smile crossing your face, and fell back into a sweet sleep.

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#bnha shigaraki #shigaraki fluff #shigaraki x reader #a gift for you #i hope it’s ok #my beautiful humble queen #OTL

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