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bontenten · 3 years

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The Choosing

Pairing: Daichi x f!reader (ft. Captain Squad <3 and Sakusa)

WC: 3.2k

Genre/Warnings: Crack/Bad Humor, Smut, Romance, Reverse Harem, Royalty AU!, mention or hints of size kink, exhibitionism, creampie, breeding kink, dick and ball worship, you’re perverted and gross

Summary: You are the Princess of the Kingdom of YoreNaym and you need to choose a husband.

Repost from my main because I say so. Lee... :gru: i miss u

Also, no beta we die like Daichi.

It’s a tradition carried through many, many generations that the daughters of nobility from the Kingdom of YoreNaym must choose a suitor from the eligible bachelors from the neighboring kingdoms. It’s a show of kinship to the other kingdoms and also a means of securing peace.

At some point, everyone’s sister’s cousin’s second uncle’s sworn brother’s adopted daughter’s nephew twice-removed will be related and connect back to the Kingdom of YoreNaym. In short, the blood of this kingdom’s daughters unite the lands. No incest, there’s enough genetic diversity, if you will. And because you are also a princess of this kingdom, it’s your turn. Yay.

While growing up, you hear the elders say that the youngsters should be grateful that they have the agency to at least pick a suitor. They spin their looms and cackle, reminiscing that, “Back in our days, we didn’t get to have a choice. Our elders appointed a spouse for us from whichever kingdom had a suitor. Unlike you girls who get to choose, ungrateful wenches…”

Does it really matter? It’s just the false pretense of choice, isn’t it? At the end of the day the selection of eligible bachelors are all chosen ahead of time, deemed worthy, and then after the initial picking, you are just allowed to pick. It doesn’t matter who you choose, any one of them will fit the criteria. Maybe you’ll just close your eyes and pick one randomly. Can you actually say, “I’ll choose my own hand and marry myself.”

That’s pretty brave, hell yea that’s a main character move right there. Speaking of which, who are the eligible bachelors you can choose from today? It’s practically your engagement day, yet you really haven’t been paying any attention at all.

“Hey,” you whisper, lifting the curtain of the palanquin. A maid quickly answers to your beckon.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Who are the candidates today again? You have a...list or brochure of sorts?”

“Just a moment, my lady, I’ll retrieve the scroll for you.”

You open the scroll and peruse the contents. Huh, all the neighboring kingdoms are going all out this year. There’s the Kingdoms of Nekoma, Inarizaki, Fukurodani, Aoba Johsai, Shiratorizawa...Wow, even Johzenji and Nohebi have candidates? Funny, all of these are all presenting their crown princes too. As they should, you are the most beloved princess of the Kingdom of YoreNaym, and the suitor you choose will bring you back as a blessing to his kingdom. It’s a total bummer that the Kingdom of Itachiyama isn’t participating this year. Sakusa’s crown prince succession is next year! You have heard so many swoon worthy stories about that princeling, even paid handsome amounts of money for paparazzi paintings of the beautiful man. No one will find out that the princess of YoreNaym actually hoards little pictures of Prince Sakusa in her panties drawers. It’s a shame you aren’t picking your husband next year.

There’s one more Kingdom on the list that surprises you. Kingdom of Karasuno, or more commonly referred to as the Kingdom of “Fallen Crows”. According to legends, they used to be quite a prosperous kingdom, but after a few generations of inept leadership, a drought, and poor trade economy...the Kingdom has mostly faded into obscurity. It’s been years since a suitor candidate has been offered. So who is it?

“Sawamura Daichi,” you whisper to yourself, “Interesting.”

The festival ground outdoors is especially grand. There are a huge number of tables prepared off to the side for guests. Trays of food, fruits and wine are provided for every single guest in attendance. You are led by the attendants to the temporary throne seat as the guest of honor. As you make your way to the throne, all the guests stand up to acknowledge your entrance. It’s so pressuring and a part of you wishes you can just dig a hole and bury yourself on the spot. You don’t even want to think about how many eyes are on you. They are all just jealous because, really. Take my word for it, I’m the narrator.

When you take a seat, the guests reseat themselves. A shaman comes to the center stage and bows to you.

“My lady, the time is auspicious, let us commence the Festival of Unity. At this time, I’ll be introducing the eligible bachelors from neighboring kingdoms near and far. They have passed the arduous tests and come as the best to offer in asking for your hand. Each of the suitors will present to you with a talent or skill, as to show you their excellence. After the demonstrations, you will be allowed to take your pick. Whereupon you will—”

“Okay, I get it! They will participate in a talent show, we clap, and I choose a husband, I got it!” You snap, cutting the shaman’s words off. Your patience is wearing thin.

A number of guests can be heard mumbling in the crowds, probably commenting on your behavior. Your eyes scan the guests, you can care less. Judgmental eyes, scheming eyes, lecherous eyes, disgusting eyes....Your gaze meeting with a pair of eyes that are absolutely blank. Wait, not blank as in emotionless. Non-judgemental? The opposite of unkind? Dare you say, polite? He gives you a smile and returns to taking a sip from his goblet. You scan his clothing up and down to look for his family crest. Black and orange. A crow. Karasuno.

Your thoughts are jumbled as an increasing amount of questions fill your mind. He? Karasuno? That Kingdom of Fallen Crows? You barely hear the shaman announce the first candidate.

“Bokuto Koutarou from Kingdom of Fukurodani.” Bokuto is a very large, very well built man. He is wearing his family crest of an owl across his back proudly. You can tell his chest is incredibly broad, the bulge of his big tiddies stretch the tight shirt he’s in. If you squint hard enough, you can maybe see the outline of his nipples through the training shirt, but maybe that’s just your perverted imagination too. Bokuto comes to the center stage and greets you.

“Hey! I’ll uh, demonstrate my strength to you, my lady.” He easily picks up a huge hunk of metal and lifts it with ease above his head. Damn beefiness, those arms of his. Seeing the bulges flex when he flexes has you dreaming of mouth along that delicious flesh. And when he pins you down under his massive body? Ooh, if this is the first demonstration, you’re excited to see the whole lineup today. Gasps and murmurs can be heard in the crowd. Bokuto grins and drops the load on the ground. You can almost feel the tremors beneath your feet. Truly, a herculean feat.

“Thank you, Bokuto, I have seen your demonstration and all those here are witnesses.”

Bokuto’s demonstration is a showy start of the competition for your hand. The shaman announces the next candidate. “Ushijima Wakatoshi from the Kingdom of Shiratorizawa.”

Ushijima walks up to the stage exuding the regal aura of nobility; a byproduct of his strict upbringing. The twin crests of an eagle decorate his shoulder pads. His expression is quite cold, but there’s a saying, “it’s always the quiet ones.” You lick your lips and study him some more.

“Greeting to the princess,” he says with a deep bow. “I also bring a demonstration of my martial prowess.” Ushijima takes off the bow and quiver of arrows from his back and nods at his attendant who then catapults three apples high up into the air. Everyone’s eyes follow the trajectory of the objects, squinting to see what’s happening. No way.

Ushijima draws the bow back and calmly shoots one arrow, perfectly spearing the three fruits along the shaft. The crowd bursts into cheers. You also find your tight grip on armrest loosening, the tension from the scene dissipating in a moment. Ushijima’s calmness, accuracy, decision-making...he would make a very suitable partner for sure. Co-workers of sorts, that is.

You know your marriage carries a lot of weight politically and the fate of the whole universe will rest on your decision. Maybe not the whole universe, but close enough. But, marital bliss is important too right? Is Ushijima the right choice? There are still many more candidates, it’ll be best not to make a rash decision. Your gaze wanders over back to the Karasuno prince who is clapping earnestly for Ushijima’s performance. He’s acknowledging a rival’s strength, you think to yourself. Well, that’s certainly a rare but admirable trait. A confident man, he is.

After Ushijima’s demonstration, Oikawa Tooru’s enchanting musical performance offers a much desired change of pace. The rhythm and melody from his zither carries both the energy of fortitude as well as a graceful spirit. Quite stunning, but just not quite the musical vibe you’re feeling at the moment. Bummer, maybe a different day, really. Could be friends?

Kuroo Tetsurou from the Kingdom of Nekoma offers a particularly memorable performance too. Kuroo comes to the center stage with a trough filled with flames. Everyone is at a loss as to what is going on. Kuroo flashes you a grin before taking out a few pouches containing some powders. In a poof, the flames burst alive with colors blending blues and purples. And moments later yellows and greens, even reds. No one has ever seen fire change color like so.

“Witchcraft!” someone gasps.

“No it must be alchemy. Dangerous craft,” another adds.

Kuroo bows to you. “My lady, this is called chemistry, a discipline of science.”

Kuroo’s smiles teeter on the edge of flirtations and you cannot deny that your heart flutters just slightly when you see his crooked grin. He’s intelligent, humorous, and attractive. Definitely also a contender. A union with him might be fun. And especially when you see Kuroo run a hand through his messy, black locks and give you a piercing gaze, you almost wonder if this is the feeling of chemistry. It feels like you are naked under his seductive, golden eyes, completely submitted to his will and absolutely drugged. And you fear that if he sends you another one of his grins, you’ll come untouched. Dangerous, send him off immediately.

“Thank you, Kuroo, I have seen your demonstration and all those here are witnesses.”

After Kuroo, many more candidates also come to the center stage for their demonstrations. Kita Shinsuke from the Kingdom of Inarizaki composes and recites poetry on the spot. His literary talents and mastery of public speech move a very large crowd of the literati officials. Kita is a charismatic leader and commands confidence. But he doesn’t seem to be the best fit. Your brain says ‘yes’, but your coochie just isn’t feeling it. The nerve signals say no.

Terushima Yuuji demonstrates a one-man comedy show, but his storytelling skills, although humorous, fall just a little short after Kita’s. Had Terushima been slotted for a different position, perhaps he would make a stronger impact.

Daishou Suguru. Interesting. But tongue itself will eventually get boring too.

A few more candidates demonstrate their talents to you. Most of them fail to impress you at all. Your blank expression is more than enough to make a few almost shit their pants or cry on the way they exit the stage. It’s really not their fault, you’re just a bit tired after seeing so many performances and demonstrations. You are just trying to find the best fit after all. It’s your duty and responsibility as the muthereffing princess of the Kingdom of YoreNaym.

“Sawamura Daichi from the Kingdom of Karasuno.”

The crowd is silent as Daichi stands up from his seat and makes his way to the center. His shoulder is relaxed and his head is held high. He doesn’t have the large build of Bokuto nor is he decked out in regal fabrics like Ushijima. His hair is simple and clean. His expression is polite and pleasant. Amongst the sea of beautiful and talented men, Daichi is like an ordinary seashell buried in the sand. But like how too many bites of dessert beckon the simplicity of water, Daichi’s humble presence makes him stand out in particular.

Daichi bows deeply. “I send my deepest regards to the princess. I am Sawamura Daichi from the Kingdom of Karasuno.”

“Please rise, Sawamura. What demonstration do you bring to me today?”

“My lady, I have nothing showy in particular. I only bring myself. And please feel free to call me Daichi.” You can feel his piercing gaze on you, confident and assertive. So he has some guts. It beckons you to submit, but you bite back. Grrrrr.

“Just yourself? That’s quite cocky of you Daichi. Others bring talents and demonstrations of qualities that make them fit as my suitor. What do you have to offer for me to choose you? Or is that something you are not looking for at all?”

“Karasuno,” Daichi begins, “Karasuno is a good kingdom. For many years long ago, our people have suffered greatly and we have gained a poor moniker. However, for the last few years, the kingdom has made significant progress and improvements. Alongside my brethren and officers of my court,” Daichi gestures to his entourage sitting off to the side, “We have come a long way. ”

“You tell me much about your home, Daichi, but what about you?”

Daichi pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. He is well aware of the pressures you are putting on him, testing his convictions to the limit. You are a princess after all, so it’s only natural that you test his qualifications. Diachi swallows his nerves and faces your confrontation head on.

“I come to tell you the truth, my lady. I cannot hide these facts about myself or my kingdom. I am truthful, honest, but I have an unshaken belief that my kingdom will prosper because I have my closest and trusted with me. Each of them have their talents and strengths. Karasuno is a band with a bit of everything, and we’re family.”

You inwardly sigh. It seems like Daichi won’t be completely living up your hopes. At first you thought that his confident yet humble demeanor must hide something. Something incredible, because he can sit back and freely applaud other men for their talents. Something remarkable because he doesn’t feel the need to jump out in front of others. Something big. Very big.

“I don’t doubt your family’s bond or strength, but I am here to choose a suitor, a husband in layman's terms. So, I suppose that—”

“Wait,” Daichi cries out, and gestures towards his Karasuno brethren.

A tangerine head jumps up and brings out a scroll. He skips a few steps towards you and passes the document over to the shaman who brings it to you.

“My resume, if you will, my lady. I have no other talents but what is shown there.”

You glance at Daichi, studying him closely. From his clenched fist, you can tell that even in this moment, he’s a bit shaken and nervous. You undo the ties on the scroll and unravel the contents.

All eyes are fixed on you, trying to decipher every microexpression you make. The slight widened eyes, the twitch of the brow. The slight part of the lips and the deep breathes from you trying to calm the invisible fire that’s building in your core. It’s big. If the resume is accurate, Daichi’s demeanor truly is hiding a beast. A massive, humongous, schlong. Finer than any specimen you have seen in banned pictorial books you read and hide under your massive princess bed.

The sheer size and girth of the XL 2d image is rendered in X-TRA fine detail. You brush a finger onto the parchment, tracing the lines depicting the veins running along the shaft. You gulp, rubbing your finger down what is drawn as a big, swollen tip that’s glistening. Artists these days are so detail-oriented, it looks as if precum is just dripping from the tip and shimmering. So realistic, you just want to take it all into your mouth. To gag or to choke. Neither are a question.

The balls, those massive balls that are the storehouses for an endless supply of fresh cum. Organics from the finest the kingdom has to offer. Precious jewels hanging at the base, ripe for your licking. It looks so juicy and plump and you want nothing more than to rub your cheeks, cooing at how cute they are.

You know it’s good. It better be good if the painting is depicting something this sumptuous. If this is the real deal, then you really have nailed the jackpot and secured a brilliant future for yourself. Marital bliss. Bedroom adventures. Bedroom adventures where he’ll fulfill every nightmarish fantasy you ever have. It’ll be hard at first, your cunt’s so tight and he’s so big! But it’s okay, you’ll take him like the royal princess you are because the Kingdom of YoreNaym raises whores and sluts only!

No scratch that. Coital activities can take place anywhere. Maybe you’ll cockwarm him while the two of you hear what the morning court has to say about the affairs of the kingdom. Maybe you’ll find yourself tumbling around in the garden after a cute game of hide and seek, skirt hiked up, as he fucks a grass stain into your back! Okay. That might not be the best idea. Perhaps just once. For novelty’s sake.

But hear me out, when you are sneaking into the kitchen for some snacks, he’ll pin you on the large baker’s table and just take you right there to fuck his babies into your womb. His cock pumping into you as the table creaks and shakes from his thunderous movements. He’ll fill you to the brim with copious amounts of his hot cum, heaps and heaps of them, just like the baker fills the buns with cream custard in the most obscene fashion ever. Watch your belly rise and bulge up like pastries in the oven. Oooh cummies.

You sigh and squirm in the seats as you continue examining the masterpiece of a dick. You feel your heartbeat racing wildly as if you are caught tinkling in the castle fountain. It’s unknown if you ever did that, by the way. Just saying, your memory is failing you just a tad. But oh gosh, you’re wet already. The slick pooling between your folds is just soaking through your princess panties; the ones in the drawer where you keep all your secret prince Sakusa drawings heehee. But Sakusa’s pretty face aside, you are now face to face with the most magnificent dick pic you’ll ever receive. Not really unsolicited, but damn work of art. Literally.

The crowd is silent when you clear your throat and roll up the scroll, taking extra care to not let anyone else touch your new precious treasure. You lean forward and perceive Daichi. Daichi gives you a cocky grin, showing his teeth. Slightly stained with the wine, but it’s just temporary. It doesn’t matter as long as the real deal is...well, real.

Daichi catches your eyes wandering to the outline of the bulge between his legs. The glorious dickprint that he’s casually showing to everyone present. It puts Herculean Bokuto to shame, Ushijima into a blushing mess. Kuroo nearly snorts his colored powders. Daishou’s tongue hangs out and dries. Oikawa is sent to the medics. Kita no longer waxes poetry about the weather. Terushima leaves the party early.

Daichi is smug and casually asks, “My lady, would you like to examine the goods? I am a pure man and would not carelessly offer tastes to anyone. But you are a princess of the Kingdom of YoreNaym. You can have a sampling before you commit. Satisfaction guaranteed.”

#haikyuu smut #hq smut #daichi smut #daichi x reader smut #daichi x reader #did y'all see kazooli's post on fetishizing fictional men and their fictional dicks and balls?#this is my answer #forever a princess of yorenaym #you can be too if you want #emi.freshtea #ch daichi #🍵.daichi

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fbfh · 3 years

Text

I think you've horribly misread the situation [shitty roommate pt 2] - leo x reader

wc: 2.3k

genre: contemporary drama, you're definitly going to get second hand embarrassment, cozy fluff

pairing: leo x reader, attempted isabella x leo

reader: gender neutral, they/them

requested: hell yeah

warnings: mild swearing, roommate tries to steal your man once again, mentions of various mainstream vampire media (twilight, the vampire diaries etc.), brief mention of castlevania (even though i haven't seen it yet lol), breif mention of videogames and assassins creed, very mild delusion (roommate is secretly convinced leo is a vampire that's in love with her), attempted age gap relationship (she's 17 and leo's 19, he shuts that down real fast), very bad poetry

summary: You and Leo are both looking foward to spending a long weekend together, and Leo is determined not to let anything interrupt it, even if it means turning down your roommate's attempts to seduce him in the kitchen.

a/n: absolutley no hate or shade or judgement to anyone who has the same or similar traits as isabella!!!!!! at her core she's annoying because she's the antagonist, not bc of any isolated trait or traits

also she's shitty cause she keeps trying to steal your boyfriend?????

Edit: I forgot to mention before, but this is a college au where you're both still demigods, so you went to camp and on quests and stuff together

This weekend is going to be all about recharging. Recharging from the ridiculous back to back closing and opening shifts at work, recharging from having to redo that stupid project twice because your professor couldn’t decide on a clear way to define the criteria, and recharging from Isabella having her townie friend Regan over almost non stop to “completely shake up her look” as she put it.

Between the constant presence of someone you’d barely consider an acquaintance and Big Time Rush’s self titled album blasting on repeat out of her giant airpod shaped speaker, it’s been harder than usual to get in some effective self care. You have no idea how many more times you can hear the phrase “I’m going for Jade West meets Elena Gilbert, with just a little Buffy Summers” before you lose your fucking mind.

Thankfully, the hard part is almost over. There’s some minor holiday tomorrow on friday, so you and Leo both have a three day weekend ahead of you, which you intend to spend entirely together. You planned ahead, frontloading homework, chores, errands, and everything you could think of to remove anything that isn’t cuddling or playing video games and watching netflix together from your horizon.

This includes going straight from work to the grocery store to stock the fridge and get any snacks you and Leo want. You had texted him a while ago asking for anything he was craving, and head into the store with a concrete list. After a while, you circle around some aisles, avoiding the check out.

“I feel like I’m forgetting something,” you muse, knowing it’s untrue, but hoping to trigger a memory anyway. You can’t put it off any longer, finally checking out and heading back to your apartment. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t avoiding Isabella just a little.

You know bringing in all these groceries would be way easier with Isabella and possibly Regan’s help, but you just don’t have the social energy to talk to anyone, much less her, right now. By some miracle, you bring everything in yourself, and hope to get it put away before you see Isabella.

You turn to the freezer, putting away the ice cream. When you turn back around, you’re suddenly met face to face with Isabella, who has opened one of the boxes and is picking at a pastry.

“Hey girlie,” she says, elongating the hey.

“Hey,” you reply lethargically, putting the last of the groceries away. She looks at the pastry in her hand like she’s just noticing it.

“Sorry, I can’t help it, I’m italian.” She smiles, endeared by her own behavior. You have no idea what being italian has to do with asking before you open a box of your roommate’s food, but this really isn’t out of character for her. She brings up the fact that she’s half italian more than Lele Pons blames her behavior on being latina.

She’s wearing sweatpants that say chaser on the leg in red and gold varsity font, and a tight tee shirt that says “it’s okay to love them both” with silhouettes of the male love interests from one of the vampire shows she always watches. You collect the plastic bags to put in recycling, and see a piece of paper on the counter.

It reads as follows:

Drowning in my mind

No one hears me cry

Who was I before society

Before society put me in a pink dress

And handed me blonde hair dye

And told me to lose ten pounds or be labeled a freak?

The happiest people cry the most

Let the lyrics be your story

But I’m not like the other skinny blonde pretty girls

I’m

Different

-b.g. xox

You hold back a sigh.

“I think this is yours.” you say, handing it to her.

“Oh, it’s just some of my poetry I left lying around, that’s so embarrassing.”

I know, you think, you do that all the time.

“Did you read it?” She asks, hopefully.

“Nope.”

“Thank god, that would have been so embarrassing. My poetry is something really… deep, and personal to me.”

“Uh huh. Hey, I’m going to be doing a lot of self care this weekend, so-”

“Oh!” she interjects, eerily similar to Phoebe Buffay - you guess she’s been watching friends again - “I wanted to ask… is Leo coming over later?” Her voice is riddled with subtext, the expression on her face a little too invested in your answer.

“Uh, yeah. I told you the other day we’re spending the weekend together…”

She cuts you off again, a sudden, intense look on her face.

“When will he be here?”

You check your phone, scrolling through your recent texts.

“By 7 at the latest.” It’s around 6:40 now.

“Oh my god, I have to change,” she rushes back to her room, presumably digging through her recent additions to her closet.

You’re frozen for a minute after the interaction, left with a furrowed brow and the beginnings of a headache. You blink, then choose to reschedule processing why she feels the need to change for your boyfriend to a more convenient time. That’s enough of that for today. You don’t care what else happens, you’re not talking to anyone besides Leo for at least the rest of the day. You retreat to your room to finally shower and change into something comfy. As you pass by Isabella’s room, you hear her talking to Regan.

“...There’s something almost… supernatural about him.”

You bite back a laugh.

“Do you think he’s a…” Regan begins, ending the sentence with something too quiet to hear, but you’d bet almost any organ she said vampire.

So close. So, so close, and yet… here you are.

Not much later, Leo texts you to let you know he’s here. You read his text, and run out to hug him in the living room before even typing a reply. He picks you up, and spins you around. The embrace is warm and fulfilling and familiar, and you wish it would last forever.

“Hi, Sparky.” you murmur into his neck.

“Estrella…” he says, rocking you back and forth gently and pressing a kiss into your jawline, “I missed you so much.” He punctuates the sentence with another kiss, this one to your lips, and you smile more genuinely than you have all day. You’re about to agree when you remember the good news you’ve been saving to tell him in person.

“Guess what I got on sale for like, half off,” you start, excitedly, continuing at his invested expression, “the Assassin’s Creed bundle I showed you!”

“No way,” he starts, and you nod.

“I’ll go get everything set up, drinks are in the kitchen!” He watches you retreat into your room, disbelieving how he could possibly get someone as perfect as you to fall for him. He’s not going to question his luck. He grabs a couple caffeinated sparkling ices, and meets you in your room, setting down his bag and grabbing some comfy clothes to change into.

As you both get settled in, you fill each other in on all the ridiculous shit you’ve been through this week. You finally conclude the bizarre - yet somehow standard - Isabella escapades.

“So I will be avoiding all contact as much as possible,” you laugh.

“Yeah, no shit,” he agrees, “Consider me your human buffer.” You thank him, hugging him again and pressing a kiss to his lips.

The next couple hours are spent cuddling and finishing season 4 of Castlevania. Both reeling from the season finale, you agree this is a good place to take a break, get some food, and decide what game you should start with. It’s already 10pm, which most people would consider too late for dinner, but you have all weekend to fuck up your sleep schedules.

“Let’s review,” Isabella says, holding up two red lipsticks. She turns to Regan. “Which one?”

“That one,” Regan says, pointing to the one on the left, then turns to her list, and continues. “Here’s what we know; we’ve never seen him eat, and he never seems tired. He’s really smart-”

“Almost too smart,” Isabella adds, selecting black rose dangle earrings from her jewelry. Regan agrees, and continues.

“He’s almost hypnotically attractive, and his smile is a little too dazzling.”

“There’s something… supernatural about him. Like he’s not… all human.”

Regan writes this down.

“Plus he’s always wearing black and red, and those flowy button up shirts? It’s all adding up, Ree. That dream that someone was outside my window, the ring, everything…” She says, referencing the black and red cocktail ring she’d found with her stuff when she’d first moved, “I’m not saying it’s definite, just that… there’s a chance.”

“What about…” Regan says hesitantly, nodding toward your room.

“Please,” she scoffs, “he’s only with them to get close to me, like Damon and Caroline. Edward couldn’t have just approached Bella out of the blue, he had to infiltrate her friend group first, to seem less suspicious. Not to sound mean or anything, but they really don’t seem like the type someone… like him… would choose.” her voice gets dreamy when she mentions him.

In spite of having seen most mainstream vampire media almost as many times as Isabella, Regan still considers her the expert on these things, and decides not to point out that Edward didn’t infiltrate Bella’s friend group. Maybe it comes up in one of the retellings she hasn’t read yet.

“So, what now?”

Isabella sets down her lipstick, and turns to her friend.

“I tell him.”

Regan’s eyes widen.

“You’re going to tell him you know?”

“No… not yet. It’s too soon, we don’t have enough evidence. I’m going to tell him I know he’s in love with me, then once he’s secure in our relationship... we’ll see where it goes.”

She stands up, assessing herself in the mirror. She chose her outfit carefully; short red dress with black roses and black mesh collar, black rose bracelet to match her earrings, snug faux leather jacket, and black stiletto ankle booties with a very skinny heel, the zipper on the outside gold, not silver. She fluffs her wavy hair and turns towards the door. She looks back one more time, holding onto the doorway.

“Wish me luck.”

Leo enters the kitchen, seeing Isabella already there, leaning against the counter seductively. She’s wearing an outfit and jewelry this late at night that makes Leo wonder if she’s going to an emo tea party. He puts the takeout in the microwave. She’s still staring at him.

“Uh… hey.”

She lets out a dainty giggle, looking him up and down.

“... Hi.”

At a loss for words, and really wanting the awkward silence to be over, he continues, “Did you need something?”

“What I need,” she walks closer to him, tracing her finger over his collar, “is you.”

What the fuck?

His brain seems to stall for a moment, and she uses this opportunity to continue.

“I know why you’re here. I know that you’re only using them to get closer to me. I know-”

“Woah-”

“That you’re in love with me.”

Okay, double what the fuck.

She takes his stunned silence as shyness, and steps closer, putting her arms around his shoulders.

“You don’t need to play so coy, I-”

This time she’s the one that gets cut off. He grabs her arms and gently steps away, trying to make it abundantly clear that he’s not into this.

“Woah, okay, slow down. First of all, you’re 17 and I’m turning 20 in a couple months, so that’s a hard no. Second, I don’t know where you got this idea, but I am not dating them to get closer to you. We’ve known each other since we were like, 15, and have been through everything together. I’ve only known you for a couple months. I love them. Probably more than I’ve loved anything ever. I thought that was pretty obvious.”

He doesn’t want to be mean, he really doesn’t, but he can tell from the look on her face that she still thinks this is all part of some game.

“So why don’t I ever see you eat? Why are you so smart, and always up at night? I know what you are.”

He has to physically hold back a laugh. He takes a step back, and places his hands on the counter.

“Isabella, I have adhd. And I’m literally an engineering student. Why wouldn’t I be smart and have a shitty sleep schedule?”

She starts to protest, and he pulls out the reheated take out from the microwave.

“And for the record, I do eat.”

Exiting the kitchen quickly and retreating back to your room, he hands you your food.

“I got the game set up!” you say excitedly.

“Nice!”

You take one look at his face and can tell something happened. He sees this, and continues.

“I just had a very… interesting interaction with Isabella,” before he finishes the sentence, your head is already in your hands. You let out a groan.

“What did she do?” you mutter from behind your hands.

He pulls you into his lap, rubbing your back.

“I’m not totally sure,” you laugh, “but I think she thinks I’m secretly in love with her…” you’re both laughing before he can even finish the sentence.

“No…” you laugh, “no fucking way…”

“Believe me, I put an end to that as soon as it started.”

“Oh, I do.”

He runs his hand over your back, and you’re quiet for a moment.

“You know,” he continues, “I think getting our own place has definitely moved up the priority list.”

You couldn’t agree more.

#leo valdez x reader #leo x reader #leo valdez #leo valdez imagine #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus x reader

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houseof-harry · 4 years

Note

I’m so h word but like gray being your neighbor and y’all just fuck when both your families are out of the house 🥴

okay listen, as a college student who still lives with her parents, this is a major topic of interest. we have what we call our home hoes, and gray is definitely yours.

You weren’t that close in high school, but you ran in similar friend groups. Every so often you’d be at a hang out together, nothing crazy. But it all begins one NYE, when all your friends have been at college for a semester and have gone a bit crazier than the occasional svedka shot you were all once familiar with.

Ever since that first night you slept together, you were each other’s home hoes. Now, this is technically not how home hoes work because there is supposed to be a selection to work with, but you and Gray honestly didn’t have any interest in fucking anyone. Not when you lived across the street from one another.

And it was getting easier now that your parents had started to trust you more. They were taking more weekend vacations to the mountains, or the beach, or wherever the fuck they’d go. They knew you wouldn’t be throwing any crazy parties and your siblings all had their own lives, too.

That’s why you and Gray started seeing each other more and more whenever you were home. It was easy logistically, and he met all of your criteria: he respected you, he was hot as fuck, and he could make you cum. Hard.

Which is what got you fucking antsy right now. He said he’d be over in five fifteen minutes ago. You were literally pacing your kitchen, watching his house from the window. You could see lights on, but no Grayson walking over here.

A whole twenty minutes later is when you finally see his shadow crossing his driveway, running across the street and up to your door. He’s about to knock when you swing the door open, your brow raised.

“Sorry, Mom asked what you needed so late. And then she got distracted and was telling me about how I need to do a bunch of shit tomorrow.” He steps right past you, taking his shoes off as you watch.

“You told your mom you were coming here?”

“Yeah, I mean she saw me trying to walk out the door at 11:30 at night.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“Thought we weren’t telling our parents about anything.” You cross your arms, watching him slide his jacket off.

“She thinks I’m here because your fucking sink is flooding, I don’t think she’ll ask any questions other than about your plumbing.”

You roll your eyes but feel your shoulders relax, knowing he gave her an excuse that could take some time.

“Now are you gonna let me inspect your plumbing? Or...” He’s got a shit eating grin on his face as he approaches you and finally takes in your attire for the first time. A tight tank top with (obviously) no bra, and booty shorts that he can also almost positively say are directly against your skin with nothing in between.

You scoff, your hands resting on his shoulders as he starts to guide you back towards your bedroom. “My plumbing? You really are starting to sound like a fucking 40 year old dad.”

“Wow, someones got a fucking attitude tonight. Guess I’m gonna have to fix that along with the sink.” He does his best to keep a straight face, but fails. He never fails to crack himself up, even if no one else is laughing.

You do your best to keep your own neutral look, your lips barely curling up for a second before you sit on your bed, looking up at him.

“What, guys at school not doing it for you know? Have I ruined it?” You can tell he’s trying to tease you, but he also wants a bit of an ego boost. Unfortunately, he knows he’s the best you’ve had before because you let it slip one time after he’d fucked you at the lake nearby. He never let you live it down.

And it’s kind of true, he has ruined it. You’ve slept with a handful of guys since you started fucking Grayson, and none of them have lived up to the way he can do it. Hell, none of them could even make you finish.

“Are you gonna fuck me or are you going to fix the fucking sink?”

You couldn’t see his reaction to your words because he was slipping his shirt over his head, but you knew he probably rolled his eyes.

“You really are a brat sometimes, anyone ever told you that?”

He doesn’t give you the chance to respond, however, because he's got a hand on your throat as he kisses you, pushing you back against the bed while doing so.

You moan into his mouth as soon as you feel his tongue against your, relishing in the way he tasted, the way he felt. Sometimes it felt like he could knock the wind out of you when he kissed you if he really wanted to.

All to soon his lips were leaving yours to drag along your jawline and down to your neck. There, he was able to begin sucking on the skin, his teeth grazing over you every so often. His hips were pressed hard against yours, your legs still hanging off the edge of the bed as he stood between them. His knees rested on the mattress right below your center, and he used the leverage he had on you push your body harder into the bed by your throat when you let out a moan.

“Who’s home?”

“No one, they’re all out with friends,” you assure him in reference to your siblings. Although it was never ideal to fuck him while they were there, sometimes you really couldn’t resist. Was better than with your parents home.

He lets out a grunt of approval, licking over what you assumed was a blossoming red spot on your neck before lifting his head to look at you.

“Gonna fuck the attitude outa you, then.”

The conviction in his voice made you realize how serious he was, and it went straight to your core.

“Bet you’re dying for it, too,” he chuckles, and before you know what's happening he’s letting go of your throat to take your shirt off.

You decide not to respond, wanting him to find out for himself when he gets your completely naked. You were never one to spoil a surprise.

He takes a moment to look over your chest, appreciating the swell of your breasts and the way they moved as you took in every breath. He’s sworn you have the best tits in the world, and although you don’t agree, you appreciate the sentiment. In moments like these, you really felt like he believed it.

He didn’t actually do anything with them, though, because he couldn’t wait to get in your pants. Hell, you’d both been teasing each other for an hour before he agreed to come over and fuck you, and you were both getting desperate at this point. So he made quick work of your bottoms and found his earlier assumption to be true, and thank god. He didn’t know what he would have done if there was going to be another barrier between him and your pussy.

He groans as he stands fully in front of you, grabbing your knees to lift them, your feet resting on the edge of your bed and your legs spread wide.

“Knew you were dying for my cock.” His lip is between his teeth as he eyes your dripping cunt that’s on full display for him.

“You caused the problem, now you have to fix it,” you whine, your patience wearing thin. After all, he was the one who fucking texted you when he saw your parents leave earlier in the day. And now he wanted to play games?

“Oh, babe, this is not a problem.” He drops his pants to the ground, running his hands down your thighs once he’s completely naked between your legs again.

“Come on Gray.” You know you sound desperate, and you hate it, but you can’t stand the ache between your legs. He’d been working you up too long, then making you wait almost a half hour for it. You question if his mom had ever even stopped him, or if he was just trying to get to you.

“You’re lucky I like when you beg, or else I’d be much fucking meaner.” He leans over you again and you can feel the skin of his thighs on your ass. You use the leverage of his legs there to lift your hips up, a pout on your lips.

He merely rolls his eyes, one hand resting by your head while the other came around your throat again. “Fucking brat.” You just smile at him because now you can finally feel his dick against you and it made your whole body tingle with excitement. “Well put my dick in if you’re so needy for it.”

You happily oblige, bringing a hand down to grab the base before pumping him a few times. His eyes fall closed at the feeling and you know if you keep doing this he’ll get more annoyed and tease you, so you decide to do as he says and guide his red, throbbing tip to your entrance. He was just as ready for this as you were.

Without warning, he slides completely into you until you could feel the hair above his cock against your clit. Your eyes roll back at the overwhelming pleasure of finally feeling full from him as his hand tightens on the side of your neck.

“Missed this pussy, fuck,” he admits.

“Missed your dick,” you huff.

“Can feel that,” he whimpers as you clench around him purposefully, willing him to move.

It works because he’s moving in and out fo you quickly and suddenly, shaking your whole bed with the force of his thrusts. You moan out loudly, pleasure shooting through your body from your center as he grunts above you.

Your breathing was harsh as your brain fogged up, every intake of air slightly restricted due to his hand. The blood that was trying to rush to your head from how good you felt was slowed by his grip and it was making you feel like you were on cloud nine.

“Grayson,” you moan, unable to hold back the filthy noises bubbling up from your throat. All you could hear was your own breathing, Grayson’s grunts, and the sound of your wetness from every thrust in and out of you.

“Can’t believe you give me attitude when I fuck you this good.”

You want to retaliate, but can’t find it within you as he changes the angle of his hips to grind into your better. He quickly is rubbing your walls in a way that makes your toes curl, your chest flushing red from how powerful the feeling is.

“That it? That the spot, babe?” His tone is cocky, and as much as you’d like to me annoyed by it, it’s so hot when he’s confident like that.

You nod the best you can with his fingers just under your chin, your eyes opening when he gives you a tight squeeze. He raising his brow, waiting to hear a verbal response.

“Yes oh my god, right there.” Your voice is hoarse as your mouth falls open, your hands going to his middle back to try and ground yourself a bit.

“Gonna let me see you cum?” He already knows the answer to his questions, but he likes to hear you say it. He brings his free hand to your clit, rubbing quick circles there.

“Yes holy shit,” you whine, your hips lifting to meet his thrusts as he continues to thrust, his hips stuttering at your new movement. He was close, too, you could tell.

He brings his face closer to yours, his fingers moving from under your jaw to hold your cheeks, keeping your mouth wide open. You watch him pucker his lips, his brow raising as if he’s daring you to stop him.

You stick your tongue out instead, and he groans. Soon enough he’s gathering his spit at the front of his mouth, letting it fall into you waiting one. As soon as you feel it touch your tongue you moan and you think it’s borderline pornographic.

You bring your tongue back into your mouth and he moves his hand back to your throat so you can close your mouth and swallow. He feels your throat constrict under his touch and can’t help the profanities that fall from his lips.

“Gonna cum Gray, please let me cum,” you beg, your orgasm fast approaching from all the ways he’s managed to make you feel good tonight.

“Yes baby, give it to me.”

That’s all you needed to hear, your orgasm ripping through you as you arch your back into him. Your thighs cramp from how tense your body is, but you can barely pay attention to it because this is one of the best orgasms he’s ever given you. You clench around his cock as you slowly start to come down, your breathing heavy as your thoughts are flooded with pleasure and bliss.

You hear him curse above you and much to your dissatisfaction, he pulls out of you, pumping his dick until his hot cum shoots across your abdomen. He stands as he finishes cumming, one hand resting on your knee as the other still holds the base of his cock.

“Glad I could help with the leaky faucet.”

#grayson dolan #grayson dolan smut #grayson dolan concept #grayson dolan blurb #dolan twins #dolan twins smut #dolan twins concept #dolan twins blurb

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narcissasdaffodil · 4 years

Text

Thank you so much for the tag @kiki-the-creator also tagging @ravenadottir

As usual, slight ramble below, but you should know what you’re in for by now, there’s a slight running commentary appearing occasionally. I’m not sure if anyone else tagged me in one of these though!

1) Name/Nickname? - Iris. My real name isn’t half as interesting, I’ve only told a selection of people that though.

2) Gender? - Female

3) Star sign? - Pisces sun, Aquarius moon, Virgo rising.

4) Height? - 5′7

5) Time? - 8:27pm

6) Birthday? - 22nd February 2001

7) Favorite bands? - ABBA, Arctic Monkeys, Vampire Weekend, The Fray, The Beatles, Simon & Garfunkel, Fleetwood Mac, TOTO (my taste in music is so random, jeez)

8) Favorite solo artists? - Hailee Steinfeld, Sabrina Carpenter, Lorde, Taylor Swift, Mat Kearney, Shawn Mendes, Mitski, Paul Simon, Dodie (yup, again, I’m a mishmash, but at the same time, I struggle picking favourites and shit, so had to hunt through my Spotify.)

9) Song stuck in your head? - Currently, alternates between Sweet Child O’Mine, Lily the Pink, Bright and a lot more! I went through a phase of replaying certain songs so I’ve memorised a lot.

10) Last movie? - All The Bright Places, yet again need complete silence to watch stuff and need to be focused enough. Both criteria are rarely met.

11) Last show? - Santa Clarita Diet, yes it was the same the last time I did one of these, problem? I’m in a really sarcastic mood currently and think I’m so funny, so yeah. But short answer, attention span is very messed up, most of the time can’t focus without floating off, so most of the time can’t be bothered watching stuff, and need subtitles on all TV, can’t always pick stuff up if there’s background music/extra noise or other people. Need complete silence to watch stuff, which is so rare that I just don’t, or look up spoilers so I know what’s happening.

12) When did you create this blog? - 19th Oct 2018 (That’s probably when I started being more active, did make it before then, but lurked for quite a bit x)

13) What do you post? - LITG, positivity and whatever the heck else I want to dump into the void.

14) Last thing you googled? - Anya Taylor-Joy fansite is my most recent Google.

15) Other blogs? - N/A

16) Do you get asks? - Yep, it’s mostly @kiki-the-creator @oneflewoverthecuckoos and @hyperspacial along with a couple of others. I don’t get many anons, and asks themselves are usually pretty rare if they’re not from my core group of askers!

17) Why you chose your url? - I had a Lauren Orlando fan account on Instagram in 2017, which went through a lot of name changes. That ended up being lovely.Laurennoelle, then bubblelaureno eventually. Then made another Instagram the same year, called that ultravxlet, then changed to laurelcstillo, then needed another switch, so bubblelaureno it was! Then I just changed nearly all my accs to the same user so I could keep track. Bubble came from the trend at the time of making all users something laureno in the fandom, so I thought of bubblelaureno.

18) Following? - 3362 (Yep, it’s a ridiculous amount, I know, nope I don’t keep up with everything!)

19) Followers? - 231, which is so much more than I expected, what the heck!

20) Average hours of sleep? - Eh. That varies between 4-8/9. Depending on depressive/anxious spirals, then my sleep amount rockets up.

21) Lucky number? - 22

22) Instruments? - Nope. Can’t even play the recorder, my fingers aren’t engineered for instruments, not having straight fingers means that’s not possible. I’ve tried it, but nope.

23) What are you wearing? - Lemon T-shirt, black jumper, black jeans. I’m pretty much the princess of darkness, or that’s the aesthetic I’m going for.

24) Dream job? - Librarian, or copy editor.

25) Dream trip? - Slightly stereotypical, but New York or Paris. I’ve also always wanted to go to Canada too.

26) Nationality? - Welsh

27) Favorite song? - Oh dear. I hate picking favourites, so have a few:

Heather: Conan Gray, Washing Machine Heart: Mitski, Long Story Short: Taylor Swift.

28) Last book read? - Exciting Times, got it for Christmas.

29) Top three fictional universes you‘d like to live in? - Harry Potter will always be a major one, can’t think of others at present.

30) Tagging? - @lucas-koh @bubblybabynailpolish @charlie-in-a-beanie @venueska

#tag games

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x0401x · 4 years

Text

Hoshiai no Sora Production Notes #03

Akane Kazuki answers questions asked by the fans!

← Previous || Raw || Index || Ko-fi

Q.: Between traditional Japanese, Western and Chinese cuisine, what’s Maki-kun’s specialty? Also, I would like to know if there’s any cuisine that he’s good at in particular.

A.: He can generally cook anything without having a particular specialty. The reason why he often made Chinese food in the cooking scenes of the series is that Chinese food can be made in a short span. For dishes that take up time, he makes and stores them on Saturdays, then uses them for his lunch boxes.

Q.: I want to know the hobbies of all the club members!

A.: Maki has an interest in astronomy, so astronomical observation. Touma likes dinosaurs and fossils. Rintarou collects cat goods. As for Nao, fishing. In Itsuki's case, I guess it would be horror-type shooting games or the like. I feel that his older sister, Namie, likes them indiscriminately and would join him. Taiyou plays with his father using his miniature cars, which are also his hobby. Tsubasa might not have a hobby that actually seems like a hobby. Shingo watches anime with his little sister.

Q.: I want to know the reason for everyone except Maki to have joined the soft tennis club!

A.: I guess the only one who joined it because he wanted to play soft tennis was Touma. Middle schoolers in general must join some club, and many of them join clubs that they pick due to having no other option. I think that the club members of Shijou Minami also ended up gathering there because each of them had no other place to go, but as they all carry wounds that do not show on the surface and have formed a relationship where they understand one another without saying anything, it has turned into their own little place to belong.

Q.: The production of not just the soft tennis scenes, but also daily life scenes where Maki cooks and everyone eats with relish in their own way, is rather sensible, to a surprising extent. With what kind of policy did you proceed on that?

A.: What is interesting in animation is not just showy action; there is also warmth, reality and sense of presence in simple dramas, so this time, I wanted to make an anime where these things would become its charm by being portrayed sensibly. The detailed play of the cooking and daily life scenes were interesting even for me when I watched them, so I think they turned out as something that the viewers can enjoy too. This is of a higher difficulty level than flashy action, but even worldwide, I believe it is something that can only be done with Japanese animation.

Q.: At the beginning of episode 2, when Touma helped Yuuta, he was described as someone to be feared, but what was the reason for that?

A.: Because he snaps easily. He must be famous for it.

Q.: What were the words that Nakao-kun threw at Itsuki-kun on episode 3?

A.: He chose cruel words and spoke them out. Sakurai also says it during the series, but his words were meant to show that they can hurt someone. However, that terminology unfortunately seems to be forbidden from being said on TV, so during the post-recording, we decided to mute it.

Q.: Who made the lemon honey pickles that were placed on those two benches at lunch in episode 11?

A.: It was Yuuta. Yuuta was also making drinks for everyone during practice, so I think he was providing modest support while nestling close to the feelings of the club members.

Q.: I want to know what the recordings are like!

A.: The number of people was so big they could not fit inside the booth, but I could feel an unanimous enthusiasm towards series from all of them. There were also many cast members who came to me with questions even about things that were not depicted in the animation in an attempt to understand the characters’ personalities. On the other hand, when the New Year’s issue was announced, we gathered in front of the TV and made merry, and we got along well.

Q.: I want to see the floor plan of everyone’s houses!!

A.: I believe this will be included in the setting reference book, although it is just a part of it, so please look forward to that. When making the rooms, we created them after deciding on the floor plans, having in mind the daily life style of each family. I had even the parts that were not animated be made in detail, so I think I gave the settings designer a hard time. *laughs*

Q.: Were there any references to actual players or games for the soft tennis parts, such as forms and play styles?

A.: We actually went to collect data at middle school competitions in Tokyo, and used references from the practice skills of middle schooler clubs such as the ones from Seimei Academy, as well as the Lucent Cup and other such tournaments that involve influential national athletes, including their different levels of prowess.

Q.: Do all the club members know that Touma-kun likes dinosaurs and Nao-kun likes fish?

A.: They do, somehow or other. I think boys their age have their hands full with their own matters, so they do not mind other people’s tastes that much.

Q.: What kind of practice do the soft tennis club members of Shijou Minami do on rainy days?

A.: We have depicted a little bit of this in the drama CD of the second volume, so please look forward to it.

Q.: About the incident that happened in the soft tennis club five years earlier, which Sakurai-sensei knows of. Does it have anything to do with Ryouma, who was the ace back then, and his pair, as well as little Touma and Maki? I am also concerned about the clover protection charm.

A.: The story of their past is one of the things I want to write about in the future. There are also hints in each of their lines, so please try to watch the main story again.

Q.: What was the intention behind not giving a title to each episode?

A.: “Hoshiai no Sora” was written through taking cuts of those children’s lives, so we did not make any conveniences for the developments of the stories from each episode. Therefore, our intention was that the first episode was the first story and the last episode was the last story, thus we did not give them titles.

Q.: I want to know in detail the reason why the Itsuse brothers started playing soft tennis, their family structure and their school lives! (Sorry if this has already been made public...)

A.: This is part of what I want to depict in episode 13 onwards.

Q.: Why did Itsuki only give pet names to Maki and Kanako? Is there any sort of specific criteria for Itsuki’s usage of pet names?

A.: Itsuki has actually given everyone a pet name in his mind. They are peculiar nicknames fitting of a cynic person like Itsuki. He merely does not voice them because he thinks the other person will get angry if he says it to their face.

Q.: Why does Tsubasa-kun wear a T-shirt that says “15”?

A.: It is 15 as in “fifteen years old”. He looks up to that age, or rather, he might just want to ride off on a stolen bike. *laughs* Tsubasa is still thirteen, though. Thirteen-year-olds think of fifteen-year-olds as grown-ups.

Q.: Everyone’s individualities show through in that scene from episode 2 where they are all running and I quite like it, but how did you decide on and animate the particularities in the way each of them runs?

A.: I drew a rough sketch of the characteristics in each of their running styles, then had them clean-copied by the animation director, Irie-san.

Q.: Who has the best grades amongst the characters? Also, who has the worst ones?

A.: Rintarou has the best grades regardless of subject. Since he is a hard worker, his grades are top-class in his school year. On the other hand, the biggest dummy is Shigo. I am thinking of including the anecdotes related to this in episode 13 onwards.

Q.: I have the impression that you write about “things that might not be commonplace, but are a part of commonplace daily life”, without making the issues that each character bears into something excessively tragic. If there was any point in the shooting where you planned this out, I would like you to tell us.

A.: I believe animation already has a special filter for the shooting just from the fact that it is hand-drawn. That’s why I thought that dropping the ostentatious performance and making pure animation art would suffice this time. Since we were handling sensitive contents, we did not do an unnecessarily exaggerated staging. This might not be as interesting if shot in the same way as live actions, but the portrayal as animation is in itself enough for the shooting. Shots where they are walking, for example, are already an incredibly special picture, so isn’t this the greatness of animation?

Q.: Are Yuuta-kun’s feelings for Touma romantic love? Or is he sitting on the fence between love and friendship? Maybe it is admiration?

A.: I think there’s a part of him deep inside that has not yet figured it out. Surprisingly enough, Maki is the one who seems to understand it accurately.

Q.: How did you choose the rackets of each club member? Please tell us about the rackets of Arashi, Joy, the Itsuse brothers and Ryouma as well.

A.: For the rackets that have models, I picked them after deciding on my images of the position and skills of each one. Rackets have their own levels and popularity in real life, so for that part, I referenced the information I received from each maker. For example, I selected a racket that is, just as Touma said, easy for beginners to use as Maki’s first racket.

Q.: Jizue-san’s music was impressive as there is a sense of transparency to it, but the environment sounds were rather effective in that scene right before getting to the EV at the end of episode 5, so it felt like an extention of daily life and the sense of tension came alive. What kind of points were you particular about when making it?

A.: Music and sound effects can convey what the dialogues and acting do not. Even if a character is laughing, they aren’t always truly smiling on the inside. On the other hand, it’s not like we are going to play dreary music just because they’re scared. We did not put music in that scene precisely in order to enhance the unease. If we put music in it, we end up restricting its image. What we wanted people to feel was not fear, but the anxiety of wondering if something was about to happen.

Q.: How did you do the paste-up of the rackets’ gut strings?

A.: We had it pasted during the shooting. There were so many materials to be pasted other than this, such as books and cloth bibs, that the photography staff screamed. There were also many parts that we ended up omitting in the main story. Speaking of gut strings, there were special scenes where we did them as animation instead of paste-ups. The scene where Maki’s racket was destroyed was also entirely hand-drawn.

Q.: What was the reason for the OP and ED being cut off in the last episode?

A.: To emphasize that episode 12 is not the end of the story. The story of those boys that exists inside me is not yet complete, and I have only depicted half of it. I wanted the viewers to feel that the story would continue after this, so I directed it that way.

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crystaljins · 5 years

Text

Good riddance.

Characters: Jimin x Reader

Word count: 2k

Synopsis: Is it too much to ask for a normal rooommate?

Jimin x reader. Roomates-to-lovers

Notes: The first of my requests to celebrate reaching 1000 followers! This is dedicated to my beloved queenie who always leaves the sweetest asks for me! She requested “Jimin + moving in to an apartment/college!au style “ And this mess of a fic is what she got, unfortunately. I’m not too fond of it myself- I’m battling some mean writer’s block! But the concept is cute, at least.

Warnings: None

“Thank goodness.” Taehyung says warmly through a mouthful of freshly baked cookie. Jimin reaches for a cookie too, savouring the soft, dough-y texture and the richness of the slightly-melted chocolate chips. He closes his eyes in contentment for a long moment. “I’m so glad your crazy roommate finally moved out.”

“She wasn’t crazy.” He says with a sigh. The apartment is clean and smells of freshly baked cookies. He can hear his new roommate humming cheerfully in the next room. After baking some cookies, he had decided he’d do some cleaning. Because cleaning is apparently a hobby for Jimin’s new, eerily perfect roommate. Life is good. No, it’s great. He can’t remember the last time he had a peaceful afternoon like this. “She did move out really quickly, though.”

And he’s glad of it. Good riddance. It’s about time fate cut him some slack! He’s had a string of increasingly bad roommates over the past year and his most recent one was the worst of them. It all started a year ago, when he discovered his roommate of three years had been sleeping with his girlfriend for almost the entire time they had lived together. Needless to say, he had required a new roommate as soon as possible. He lived in a nice apartment but it definitely required a two-person income to meet the rent demands and he wasn’t going to live with that lying jerk a moment longer. Only, finding a new roommate was easier said than done.

The first of his bad string of roommates had been Toby. Toby had been nice enough at first. He never left dirty dishes in the sink and he always checked first with Jimin before using the washing machine to make sure Jimin didn’t need to use it too. He had paid his rent on time too, which had been the priority. Post-graduate students don’t make a lot of money and Jimin didn’t have any income to spare if his roommate was late on paying rent.

The problem with Toby was Toby’s girlfriend. She was a nice girl in small doses. She smiled a lot and always made small talk with Jimin on the awkward occasions he was alone in the living room with her. But she and Toby fought a lot. Which isn’t a huge problem- every relationship has their communication bumps and hardships. But their fights weren’t normal fights. They would scream at each other at weird hours of the night and one time Toby’s girlfriend had gotten so mad she had taken a plate and thrown it against the wall. It had shattered to the point that super glue could do nothing for the plate. And it was a nice plate too! It was part of the set Jimin’s mother bought for him when he first moved to the city for his studies. Needless to say, Jimin had requested that Toby find another place to stay the next morning.

Of course, Toby was sorely missed in comparison to his next roommate, Bertha. The problem with Bertha was that she had a cat. As a disclaimer, Jimin loves cats. He thinks they are sweet and he’s always wanted a cat of his own. But Bertha’s cat was no ordinary cat. No, it was a demon, summoned from hell with a fetish for human toes and a propensity for leaving poo nuggets in inconvenient areas. Cats are supposed to naturally use litter trays! Why the demonspawn, or Mittens, as Bertha fondly called him, reviled the litter tray so deeply is a mystery for the ages. Needless to say, Jimin had tolerated that for as long as he could. But then Mittens had decided he would take a nice bite of Jimin’s big toe while he was napping on the couch one day and Jimin had ended up in hospital. Who knew cat bites were so dangerous? Bertha had offered to move out straight away and had also paid for Jimin’s hospital bills as long as he didn’t make her put her beloved demonspawn to sleep. She hasn’t contacted him since.

He wishes he could say that Bertha was the worst of his roommates but she wasn’t. There was Michael, who had a creepy taxidermy obsession. And Angela, who only washed her hair during the full moon. He doesn’t even want to say what Seungmin was like. There had been no end in sight to his string of bad roommates.

Then you came along. You actually hadn’t undergone Jimin’s usual selection process, which was his first mistake. He had developed pretty strict selection criteria after suffering through so many bad roommates. But you had managed to bypass all of that thanks to your older brother Yoongi. Yoongi is a nice, calm guy. He has helped Jimin a lot in the past, especially during the cheating-girlfriend fiasco. So when Yoongi had mentioned that his younger sister was moving to the city after changing degrees, Jimin had been quick to offer up the extra room in his apartment. By that stage, he had seen the worst of the worst when it came to crazy roommates- there was no way someone related to Yoongi could be any worse than the nutcases he had dealt with this far.

He should have been more careful. You really gave all the other roommate’s a run for their money. You would offer to make him dinner and then set the stove top on fire. His favourite shirt had been ruined in the evacuation. You were hopeless at doing the dishes- he’s had to buy at least three new sets of dinner plates since you moved in. You had broken the vacuum cleaner, clogged the shower drain, smashed a window… You were supposed to ease his financial burdens, not create them! And you just kept inserting yourself into his life- inviting yourself to movie nights, charming his friends so they invited you along to parties he attended. At least he could just go for a walk or meet up with friends when his other roommates grew to be too much- there was no escaping you, however.

Which is why he’s glad you moved out so suddenly! As far as roommates go, you were terrible, with all the annoying and frustrating habits to boot and since he didn’t have the heart to kick you out, it’s better that you left on your own. And without any warning so he didn’t have to stress about you moving out or anything horrible like that. Just… bam. He woke up and you were on the doorstep, bidding him an awkward farewell. He’s glad things ended up like this. His new roommate can cook, never sets the apartment on fire and offered to drive Jimin to work since his car broke down.

“I’m highkey glad she’s gone. She kept ruining our movie nights.” Taehyung continues. “If she made me watch Monster’s Inc. one more time…” Taehyung trails off and shudders at the recollection of your weird obsession with the movie. Taehyung whirls on Jimin. “But I did always wonder. Why did you give in to her?”

“What do you mean?” Jimin asks, reaching for another cookie. He’s going to start putting on weight with the way his new roommate feels a compulsion to feed him but honestly it would be worth it. Taehyung frowns and tilts his head at Jimin. It reminds Jimin of the way Taehyung’s dog looks when it comes across something new and puzzling.

“Well, you could have said no to her at any point.” Taehyung points out. “When she asked to tag along to our movie nights or when she insisted on cooking dinner or even when Yoongi first suggested she move in with you. The whole time, you could have refused. But you let her do it. You knew what the outcome would be and yet every time… you kept saying yes.”

Jimin goes silent at Taehyung’s surprisingly astute observation. The warm chocolate chip cookie, previously delightfully warm and delicious, now tastes like ash in his mouth.

“Would you like to know what really happened?” Taehyung asks, leaning forward with a sharpness to his eyes that wasn’t there before. Jimin shrinks slightly beneath the gaze of his oldest friend.

“N-nothing happened. We just decided to go our separate ways.” Jimin points out, internally cursing himself for his stutter. “It’s just cause she’s Yoongi’s sister. I felt obligated to be nice to her.”

“Cute.” Taehyung answers with a smile. “But also a blatant lie. Jimin, I know what you look like when you have a crush.”

Jimin’s not sure why he feels like his heart suddenly freezes in his chest. A… crush? On you?

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jimin answers with an uneasy laugh. “I don’t have a crush on her. Taehyung, she turned my uniform shirts pink a few weeks ago because she accidentally left her underwear in the wash.”

“Well, that’s a shame then.” Taehyung says with a dramatic sigh. “I guess her moving out because of her feelings for you was the right move then, huh?”

Jimin blinks a few times and it takes him a second to comprehend what Taehyung is saying.

“Feelings… for me? She moved out like that because… because she had feelings? For me?” Jimin questions and he wishes he didn’t sound so desperate and hopeful but he’s temporarily lost control over the emotions in his voice thanks to Taehyung’s shocking announcement. Taehyung grins widely.

“I thought you didn’t have a crush? Then you shouldn’t care about the real reason she moved out.” Taehyung says smugly and as much as Jimin loves Taehyung, he could honestly strangle him in that moment.

“Taehyung.” Jimin calls warningly and Taehyung actually breaks out in laughter.

“The night before she moved out, she was actually planning to confess to you.” Taehyung explains. Jimin swallows past the dryness in his throat as remembers the night in question.

You had been acting strange all day, a bit antsy, and every time Jimin stepped into the kitchen to make sure you hadn’t set any accidental fires, you had shooed him out.

Of course, true to your nature, the familiar smell of smoke had filled the apartment while Jimin was distracted taking a phone call with his landlord. Jimin, fully prepared for your kitchen mishaps, had rushed in with the fire extinguisher at the ready. Of course, the food you had tried to make had been inedible before it caught fire, but it entered new levels of inedible when covered in flame retardant. You had stared at the food with a weird look in your eyes and Jimin had helpfully suggested you order takeout.

The night had gone smoothly from there and the two of you had watched a movie. You’d bid him goodnight with a smile on your face and the next morning you were packed and ready to move out. Just like that. No warning. You had been smiling and having fun with him with no indication of what you were planning and then suddenly his apartment was empty and dark. And he was forced to admit a horrible truth to himself:

You’re not the worst roommate he’s ever had. No, you’re probably the best one. Not because you’re perfect or because you have no bad habits. But because you’re you. Full of energy and sincerity and affection and the day you moved out you accidentally broke Jimin’s heart. As pathetic and stupid as it is, he had liked you. A lot. And it hurt when you suddenly moved out like that, despite his attempts to pretend otherwise.

“As silly as it is, I think she moved out because you inadvertently rejected her that night.” Taehyung admits, shaking his head. “That’s what Yoongi thinks, at least. It’s the most words I’ve ever heard from him and they were all to insult you.”

Jimin winces, but he has more pressing matter than Yoongi being mad: You have feelings for him. Feelings. For him.

“Did you really say that she’s the biggest pain you’ve ever come across? While she was making you a nice dinner to confess her feelings?” Taehyung asks curiously. Jimin winces when he recalls that yes. He had said something along those lines while in hysterics following yet another fire-related incident. He was going to lose his deposit on the apartment at this rate.

“I… might have… said something along those lines.” Jimin finally admits. His jaw drops as he puts two and two together. Taehyung smiles widely. “Is... is that why she moved out? Because of some stupid panicked words I said while our apartment was on fire?”

“What are you going to do about it if that’s the case?” Taehyung asks. But Jimin is already on his feet and grabbing his coat. He’s out the door before Taehyung even completes his question.

Jimin’s new roommate pokes his head out the door.

“Was Jimin going somewhere?” He asks, glancing around curiously. “Did he not like the cookies?”

Taehyung shrugs and turns to Seokjin.

“He’s just going to have an important talk. Now, about your roommate situation…” He trails away and stares at Seokjin curiously and then warmly at the cookies.

“I have a spare room if, for some mysterious reason, you find yourself homeless in the next few days. I have a feeling you’ll need it.”

#btsboulangerie #jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #jimin fluff #park jimin #writing #1000followersdrabble

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jiminscaramel · 5 years

Text

pretty in pink | shownu [mx]

[GENRE] smut, fluff

[COUNT] 4k+

[PAIRING] fem. reader x Shownu

[WARNINGS] dom. Shownu, unprotected sex, public sex/sex in a public place, cream pie, oral (f. receiving), fingering, overstimulation, spanking, daddy kink, dirty talk, mirror play?, lingerie

[AU] sugar daddy au

[A/N] as requested by anon however it is completely self indulgent, I adore this concept and had so much fun writing it!

Shownu had been the one to suggest spending some quality time together, quietly and casually mentioning it over a dinner date slotted into his crammed schedule. It had come as a pleasant surprise, the mere thought of spending alone time with him, without the pressures of work or expectancy looming overhead, sounded almost too good to be true. In fact you half expected him to cancel last minute, even as you waited to be picked up, basking in the late afternoon sun.

His car pulls up outside, a flashy sports model that looks dangerously small and sounds deafeningly loud and waits for you to hop in. You smile excitedly and peck him on the cheek, admiring his less formal, casual attire to fit the weather. Always the gentleman, he asks how you are, how your day’s been, how your work is going and you happily provide answers, chatting away over the music.

You’d only known him for a year, casually dating at first in exchange for lavish gifts, holidays and covered bills. But something was different about Shownu; he seemed almost too genuine and too doting to fit the stereotypical sugar daddy role, drawing you in no longer with his money and promise of expensive things, but with his debonair and charm.

You pull up into one of the country’s most prestigious and luxury high streets, your eyes bulging with unrestrained excitement as you ogle all the flashy signs and colourful displays. He lets you have free reign and let’s you decide on where to go, completely indulging in your every wish. He never says no and instead prefers to hang back and watch your face light up, a small smile tugging at the corners of his usually stoic lips.

In more ways than one he’s grown incredibly fond of you and has made a conscious effort to spend more time together. Not just to fulfil a quota or to meet the criteria of a prior agreed contract, but to get to know you better. He now leaves trivial tasks in the hands of his assistant and cancels unimportant meetings all in the hope of putting that time to better use with you. It’s awfully telling, the way you look at him when you think he isn’t watching, accompanied by your bold advances and displays of affection in the past few months. A little nagging voice at the back of his mind warns him that it could just be his imagination, that it’s all act in order to gain a bigger allowance but the reason in his heart tells him otherwise.

He carries half of your bags on one arm and you on the other, your warm palm absently caressing his bicep. You struggle to hold your half of the load, their awkward shapes making them hard to carry.

“You should just give them to me, I don’t mind holding them,” Shownu suggests, tucking his sunglasses into his shirt, flashing his toned chest beneath the fabric.

“No,” you refuse, teetering awkwardly into the next shop, sighing when you’re met with the relieving blast of cool air. “You’re my man, not my slave. I’m more than capable.” You blush as you realise all too late your little slip up, fanning yourself even harder when he raises his eyebrows in playful question. “I mean–”

“I know what you meant, baby,” he laughs and follows you to the store concierge where you dump all your bags behind a screen, granting you a hassle-free shopping experience.

The store is lowly lit, black glossy floors and dark walls accentuating the gaudy and brilliant items on display. It’s empty at this time of day, giving you all the space and time you need to carefully pick something out. Shownu looks highly unbothered at being surrounded by lingerie – something many other supposed men you’d been with had freaked out about – and even picks out a few he likes for you to try on.

Having chosen your favourite picks, you clutch your little selection of knickers and tot over to the dressing room, Shownu hot on your heels.

“I should get you one of those,” he smirks, pointing to a discreet shelf stacked with sex toys. “For when you’re missing me.”

You swat his hand down and stare at him incredulously, the tips of your ears flaming hot. “No!” You whisper fiercely out of embarrassment, though there is a little truth to his suggestion. Often times you’ve been desperate; lonely in the small hours of the night with nothing but lewd thoughts and your fingers, Shownu’s name tumbling past your lips as you work yourself to release, wishing you had more. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea.

The store clerk leads you to the lavish dressing rooms, directing you to the biggest and most discreet. It only has one spacious stall, all dark woods and mahogany with gold accents, decorated with potted flowers and fairy lights. A plush loveseat is positioned opposite, allowing Shownu to rest his feet while you try on your picks. She leaves and shuts the door behind her, leaving just the two you alone.

“I like the yellow one,” Shownu suggests, spreading his legs wide as he sits back on the cushions. “Try that one on first.”

You shrug and disappear behind the heavy black curtain, laying out all the sets on the rail. The yellow one is quite eye catching, you think, deep mustard accented with a white trim. Your next pick is a cute pastel pink set with suspenders and stockings to match and the last one is a deep emerald and black cami suspender.

You shuffle around while you undress, your toes peeking out from the bottom of the stall. The bra is a size too small but the overall colour is extremely flattering. You twirl around in front of the wall mirror, admiring the way the colour makes your skin glow. “Nice choice,” you call out, smiling at your reflection.

“Do I get the pleasure of seeing?”

You push past the curtain, sudden shyness making you draw into yourself. Despite your brief time as a model and your arrangement with Shownu, you’re actually quite a diffident girl. You’d lacked the definite confidence your peers and competitors had and it had taken a while for you to get comfortable with him. It was never personal, never the fault of others, but rather a result of years of self-doubt and second guessing yourself. If anything, Shownu had brought out the best in you.

He hums in clear approval and motions for you to spin around to give him a full view. “You look gorgeous, baby. I love it.”

You’re suddenly aware of how intimate the setting is and the stark contrast between your near naked body and his fully clothed frame. You lean against the frame of the stall in a provocative way, his words boosting your confidence and making your heart flutter. His eyes darken and roam the planes of your body, his jaw drawing taught. A frisson of excitement ripples along your skin, your hair standing on end in response to his lingering gaze.

“I think you should try the others,” he clears his throat and sits forward, trying to hide his evident excitement growing beneath his jeans.

You nod in agreement and disappear once again behind the curtain to try on the cami suspender. It fits much better, tightly hugging your curves and accentuating your favourite features. You tug on the stockings and fasten the suspender clips to complete the look, stepping out more confidently this time.

A low groan sounds at the back of Shownu’s throat, his chest falling heavier with his laboured breathing. His eyes are hungry, almost starved and he shifts eagerly on the chair. “This one...”

“I like this one,” you smile, running your hands over the satin fabric and along your curves, drawing his attention to where you want it most. You saunter over to him, standing in between his legs, inviting his touch.

He almost looks relieved, his mouth hanging open in awe at your beauty. “Baby,” he whispers, his hands finding your waist, hurriedly tugging you down onto his lap. You sigh as his hands trail along your thighs, catching on the frills and lace, desperate to touch your skin. “You look so fucking good. I don’t think I can wait until we get home.”

His confession has your thighs tightening in anticipation, the mere thought of getting up to no good in a place where you can get caught is enough to make your core throb. Your breath catches in your throat, a little whine escaping as he presses kisses to the column of your neck, your back arching to offer him more skin. His calloused palm tugs at your garments, eager to remove the barrier between him and your skin.

“Shownu,” you sigh half-heartedly in poor effort to make him stop. But in all honestly, the whole situation is terrifyingly new and although it’s not usually something you’d go for, your curiosity – and arousal – get the better of you.

He pulls down one strap with his teeth, nipping along your shoulder and sucking marks into your skin you know will show up tomorrow. Your heart skips a beat at the intimate and personal action; you’d slept with Shownu a few times before so that was nothing new but he’d never... marked you. Things were usually pretty vanilla, straight to the point and satisfying each other’s needs. But you can’t deny that for the past few weeks and from the very moment you walked into the changing room, things had felt different. A static, heavy electricity that seemed to spark every time your gazes held, a thick tension that shrouded and guided the two of you into complete intimacy.

“Wait,” you breathe before he can get any further south. He looks up, pained and needy but also alert, afraid of making you feel uncomfortable. “Wait. I want to– to try the last one.” The heat from your core seems to bloom and spread across your body, your cheeks aflame.

He swallows what’s left of his composure and presses a kiss to your shoulder and you scuttle away into the changing room to rush in to try the final piece on. It’s by far your favourite, from the lace embellishments all the way down to the little crystal heart hanging on the underwire between the cups. It may be a typical, cliche colour, lumped in the same category as black and red lingerie, but it’s perfect in your eyes. Original.

You’re still adjusting your garments, making sure nothing is askew when the curtain opens in the reflection of the mirror. You spin around on your heel, ready to berate Shownu for ruining the surprise but the look in his eyes is dangerous.

His lips find yours before you can blink, crashing down into a hungry, open-mouthed kiss and his hands circle your waist, pulling you flush, so that there’s barely a sliver of space separating your bodies. Everything about him is desperate, as if he’s making up for lost time or making the most of what little time he has, you’re not sure. But something in your chest unravels, a familiar feeling of relief satiating your nerves. Of all the times you’d been intimate with Shownu, this already is by far the most special.

He pulls away, giving you both time to catch your breaths. “I couldn’t wait,” he pants, marvelling your figure in the new set. He moans once again in approval, his eyes never losing focus. “God, I want you. I want you so bad.”

“Then take me.” You lunge forward, capturing his lips once again, savouring his flavour on your tongue. He tastes of tobacco and cherry drops, the sweet tang coating your lips and seeping into your mouth. Your kisses are kittenish, almost impish; undoubtedly teasing yet curiously sating.

His hands discover a mind of their own and untangle themselves from your hair to explore the rest of your body, squeezing and pinching almost painfully in all the right places. You sigh into his mouth and press your body close once more, impatiently waiting for the next inevitable scene to unfold.

He pulls away again, this time abruptly and crouches down on his knees, his palms traversing your stockinged legs. He kisses a trail from the bottom of your thigh to your hips and finally to the apex of your thighs, growing dangerously close to your heat. The butterflies in your stomach silently rage, a flurry of excited wings turning your stomach in anticipation. You look down at him with needy eyes but you’re met with a dour, challenging stare, almost questioning your ability to handle him.

He grips your thigh and lifts your leg up, resting your foot on the cushioned seat, exposing your heat to him. You cover your face, ashamed of how deprived you are, almost embarrassed as you bare yourself to him. He mutters dirty nothings and compliments into your skin, his fingers drawing deliberate circles on your clothed clit. Your body jerks in response, limbs tightening and tensing out of your control.

“Shownu,” you whine, his name getting caught in your throat as another mewl tumbles past your lips.

He hushes you gently, in a way that almost feels as if he’s chiding you for being so impatient, before finally hooking his finger in your panties and pushing them to one side. The stuffy air of the changing stall hits your core, making you feel even more exposed and sends a shiver running down your spine.

“I need you to be quiet for me, kitten. You can’t let anyone out there know what a dirty little girl you’re being. Can you do that for me? Can you keep quiet for daddy?”

You nod silently, your lip held tightly between your teeth in a bid to stay silent. Though you don’t realise how much of a challenge it is until his tongue dives into your folds, making quick work of your clit. You gasp, a sharp intake of breath at the feeling as he eats you out like a man starved. Heat pools in your stomach and your legs begin to shake, and sensing you’re close, he slows down, slipping a finger into your entrance.

A moan escapes the confines of your tightly sealed mouth, loud enough to be heard, but it only eggs him on further, a second finger slipping in, his hand pumping in time to his laps. He moans against you, the vibrations sending magical sensations straight to your bundle of nerves, and your head falls back against the wall, your chest heaving with laboured breaths.

When he pulls away his mouth is glistening with your arousal, his pouty pink lips swollen and abused from the kissing before. “You taste so good, baby.” He whispers wantonly, his fingers maintaining their relentless pace. “So sweet, I can’t get enough.”

He swirls his tongue faster than before, fingers pumping furiously to bring you closer to the edge.

“Oh, fuck,” you curse, one hand tangled in his hair, fisting his locks awfully tight. Your other hand is tightly fisted in your mouth, teeth sinking into your supple flesh to stop any further sounds from escaping. The lewd squelching of his ministrations only serve to turn you on further, and with a final brush of your g-spot, you unravel all over his lips, a long drawn out whine filling the room.

You don’t know how it’s possible for you to get any wetter but it seems you do, a mixture of his spit and your slick dampening your inner thighs as he continues to work you past release. You squirm at the overstimulation, crying out with your hands pressing his head closer.

“Fuck, that was so hot,” he gets to his feet and presses a few sloppy kisses to your lips, your mouth opening to taste yourself on him. “But I want to see your pretty face when I make you cum. Take those off.”

He nods towards your soaked knickers and you don’t hesitate to step out of them; the less between you and him, the better.

He fumbles around with his zipper, fingers moving with practiced dexterity and his cock finally springs free, dribbles of precum leaking from the tip. You suck in a breath as he hoists both your legs around his waist, pinning your back to the wall and holding you by the thighs. You arms snake around his neck, tightening as you feel the head poke your entrance. Your thighs clench around him, prompting him to hurry.

“Please,” you plead, rutting your hips into his, trying to find his length.

“Please what? Use your words, kitten. Tell me what you want.” His hands grip your ass tightly, keeping you perched above the tip of his cock, his eyes locked onto yours, demanding you answer and voice your dirty desires out loud.

“I want you to fuck me, daddy, please,” and it’s almost pathetic, how desperate you sound, but you’re way beyond caring. Your head spins with ridiculous levels of lust and unfulfilled promises and you’re desperate to satiate every last one of them.

Without warning he lowers you onto his cock, his length sliding in and bottoms out inside you. Your mouth falls agape, a gasp rattling your rib cage. Shownu buries his head in your neck, suckling red splotches all over your skin, his teeth sinking in to bruise.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out as his hips start to thrust at a steady pace, your position against the wall allowing him direct access to your g-spot. “Oh my god,” your fingers find purchase in his locks in a desperate attempt to stay grounded, but Shownu has other ideas.

His breath is searing against your neck, muttering how pretty you look in pink, flustered and needy for his cock. Blessed with sizeable girth and length, he fills you up to the brim, each thrust more delicious than the last. His eyes are fixated on the sight below, staring in awe at the way he disappears inside you, the way you coat his length with your juices. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good. So tight, I can feel you squeezing around me.”

His hands knead at your supple flesh, squeezing tight before one hand flies up to knead at your breast through the lacy bra. His thumb flicks over your clothed nipple, eliciting a hushed gasp which he captures in his mouth. Your other hand grasps at the curtain, holding on for dear life as he pistons his hips relentlessly.

“Look at you, dirty little slut. So hungry for daddy’s cock,” he pants in your ear and grabs your jaw in his hand, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror.

To say you’re a mess would be an ultimate understatement but something about your dishevelled state only adds to the feeling in your gut. Shownu hoists you up even further, bouncing you on his length, so much so his grip on your thighs causes one of the stockings to rip. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remember the lingerie hasn’t even been bought yet and you feel ashamed of yourself for behaving in such a way, making a mess of such perfect garments.

He growls, low and sinister in his chest as his hips stutter. Your hands slide under his shirt, nails digging into his skin and silently begging him not to stop. Slowing inside you, he senses your discomfort, your thighs aching and burning with the position he’s holding you in. He lowers you to the floor and bends you over the seat in front of the mirror so that, not only can your see your own reflection, but his too.

You flinch as his hand comes down on your bare ass, the sound ringing through the stall, your eyes squeezing shut and anticipating the next strike. He spanks you again, groaning as he watches your skin bloom a pretty shade of rose. You clench around him in response, your skin stinging, his lips lifting into a wicked simper. “You like that?” His voice is low and deep, slow and sensual, evoking the deepest feelings of salacity within you.

You nod, too lost in the countless sensations to give a comprehensible answer. Though it doesn’t seem Shownu is too fond of your silence, his hand coming down against your ass again but with more conviction.

“Yes? Yes, what?” His hips move at a torturously slow pace, your own hips pushing back to try and meet his and fill you up.

“Yes daddy,” you choke back a sob, forgetting that anyone could walk in at any moment.

He struggles to hold back as he feels himself close to release but is determined to satisfy you first. He laces his hand in your hair and pulls your head back, your back arching perfectly, dipping and dimpling in all the right places. You have a clear view of the both of you, sweaty and slick with each other’s love, panting and heaving.

“Please,” you sob, your legs shaking as the familiar knot in your stomach tightens with tension. “Please let me cum. Please.”

“You’ve been so good for me, baby,” he sighs into your ear, his thrusts becoming sloppier. “You’ve taken daddy’s cock so well.”

His other hand snakes around to your bud, rubbing circles with his nimble fingers and your cries start to crescendo, getting higher and louder with each stroke.

He bites his lip, stifling his groans as he leans forward and looks you in the eyes through the reflection in the mirror. “Cum for me, baby.”

And his eyes never leave your face as your legs start to give way, your orgasm powerfully ripping through your body and making your walls flutter around his pulsing cock. Your eyes squeeze shut but not before you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; Shownu a sweaty mess, panting down your neck, benhind you.

“That’s my baby,” he praises while continuing to fuck you through your orgasm, your heat throbbing from the overstimulation but edging you a little closer to the promise of another. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, squeezing around me like that.”

And with a last, definite thrust and sinful, guttural groans he spills inside you, painting your walls with his seed. You watch as his face contorts into one of pain and mass effort, the relief of his release evident in the way his muscles relax.

“Shit,” he huffs under his breath, peppering the nape of your neck with kisses, reluctant to pull away. Still inside you he reaches over to grab your discarded underwear. “One more thing,” he whispers pulling away, fixing the panties and pulling them up. “Keep this on.”

“Shownu!” You exclaim, eyes widening in shock as his cum seeps from your entrance, soiling the cotton lining of the lace knickers. Your cheeks flush again, this time out of embarrassment. “I– I haven’t even chosen which one I want. And we haven’t even bought them yet–”

“I’m buying all three.” He states matter-of-factly, tucking himself back in and smirking at your stunned silence. He watches you carefully as you get dressed, removing the ruined stockings to replace them with another pair. “I want you to stay the night.” He blurts out avoiding your gaze, snapping the tag off to hand over to the clerk.

You bite back a smile and flutter your eyelids up at him, peering abashedly from beneath your eyelashes, a flurry of foreign feelings keeping your heart afloat. “I’d like that,” you mumble into your chest.

He quickly kisses your forehead, his thumb tracing over your lips before checking you both over to ensure you look as presentable as possible. You head over to the counter, absolutely mortified at the thought of having to interact with another living person, squirming in discomfort at the feeling between your legs, but it seems like the woman at the register is none the wiser. You place the sets on the counter, along with the empty hanger and Shownu slides the tag across, tapping it intently with his finger.

“Can I get another two of these, please?” He clears his throat and adjusts his collar once more, stealing a glance at you from the corner of his eye. “She looks pretty in pink.”

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greensaplinggrace · 4 years

Text

Barret Apocalypse AU Pt. 2

PART 1 | PART 2 of Prompt: “Hello! This is kind of out there but I was wondering if you could do a post apocolypse au? With tons of Barret but not very shippy. With lots of found family though! Thanks” ~ @eilesgiire

CAN BE FOUND HERE ON AO3

Three hours and seven houses after leaving camp, Barret still hasn’t found a single shelter even remotely suitable for living.

Most have been the victims of roaming Mobs, walls shredded and marked by the distinct silver shards of glass bombs, destroyed simply for the safety and seclusion of their locations, and the select few that haven’t been touched by the Mobs are overrun by the infected instead. One place is even reduced to shambles by what appears to be an earthquake, not even slightly inhabitable.

Every single time, the houses will look stable from a distance. Safe to explore and eventually settle in for the winter. And every time, they all turn out to be unusable and they all reveal themselves to be disappointing in some way. He’d headed out to look for any house worthy of a home, but not a single place he’s come across so far is even close to meeting his criteria.

It doesn’t have to be much, but it has to be enough.

He won’t settle for anything less when it comes to his little girl.

It hurts to even be separate from her for so long, but he has to do this. If he wants to keep their camp safe, but especially if he wants to keep her safe.

Barret only wants what's best for Marlene; it’s always been what he’s wanted. Beyond the bid for environmental change and the firm rise against corrupt policies. Underneath rebellions and uprisings and what the media had once called terrorism. Throughout all of it - the loud, brash call for freedom and challenging the winds of fate themselves - Barret’s interests have never strayed from Marlene.

Everything he does, he does for her. Keeping the world safe keeps Marlene safe, and providing for Marlene is all Barret has ever wanted to do since the first moment she settled in his arms.

Unfortunately, providing for Marlene means taking risks, and taking risks means leaving her.

Used to be, taking risks meant risking Marlene as well, but Tifa’s solid presence at his side has been a boon the likes of which Barret had never expected. Sent by the planet herself, Tifa had come into their lives not in a whirlwind but in a steady drive back to camp after the day she’d recovered - the day he’d thought she left for good - with a truck bed full of three years worth of supplies and four suitcases brimming with clothes and toys for Marlene.

She’s done nothing but prove her worth every day afterward, pulling her weight around camp and helping to ease the burden of responsibility just a bit. Just enough for him to feel like he’s finally getting somewhere - like he can finally do what he needs.

So now, Marlene is always safe. Tifa stays with her when Barret goes out. Or Barret stays with her when Tifa goes out. Leaving Marlene no longer means abandoning her, and taking care of her doesn’t mean putting her at risk, and recently the world has stopped looking as bleak as it once had. Filling instead with just the faintest, glimmering tinge of hope.

But no amount of hope can change the fact that they need a solid roof over their heads, and no amount of trust in Tifa can help Barret miss his daughter any less.

Hope certainly isn’t getting Barret any closer to finding salvageable shelter, either, and he’s just beginning to give up on the last of it when a woman’s scream rips through the silence of the forest.

Barret hits the brakes with a grating screech and skids over to the side of the road immediately. Eyes wide through the shade of his glasses as he peers intently out the smudged windows of his truck, attempting to gauge any sort of threat level. He’s reluctant to exit the car just yet in case it’s a trap, but if it is a call for help Barret can’t just sit idly by while someone suffers.

He searches for a time before he notices where the screams are coming from, but eventually he sees it. Just down a small pathway in the forest that opens up into a wide clearing sits a house. It’s a massive, immaculately pristine mansion practically crawling with the infected, but that isn’t what chills him to the bone.

Dawn has started to break out the first light of the next day, and the vivid red rays cast a gruesome pallor over the scene laid out before him.

Littered across the blood slick grasses of the clearing are dozens of bodies - possibly hundreds - skewered and piked and cut to pieces like cattle. He’s stumbled into a damned battlefield, Barret realizes, and there’s only one group savage enough to do something like this.

SOLDIERs.

Without another thought he’s out of the car and slamming the door closed behind him. Infected he can deal with. SOLDIERS he can put up a fight against. But whoever is in that mansion? He doubts they can do either, otherwise they’d already be out amidst the fallen.

He sees the group of SOLDIERS almost immediately when he reaches the dip at the end of the pathway, the whole of the clearing opening up before him like some sick wartime display. There’s a man sprawled across the ground right in front of him whose eyes have been burned clean out of his skull, mouth smeared with blood and chest caved in. Laying dead beside him is another person, a woman with her head half severed at the neck and legs bent at an impossible angle. Then another and another, extending out in front of him and beside him, leading into the trees and up to the mansions doors.

At a guess, Barret would say they’re guards, but most of them aren’t even whole enough to identify, either butchered by their aggressors or gnawed at by the crowd of zombies currently tearing at the walls of the mansion.

It’s a level of cruelty Barret has never seen before in his life, and he considers himself a strong man when it comes to violence, but even entering the clearing has his stomach turning at the mere sight of the blood, pooled in wet patches of mud and glinting off matted blades of grass. It’s a massacre.

Killing the sick fucks who did this wouldn’t be punishment enough.

The fact that they’re still here, though? That’s what really pisses him off. There’s only two that he can see, gathered nearer to Barret than the mansion and both looking down at something on the ground, weapons drawn and ready as if they’re not already surrounded by the bodies of their victims. One has red hair and the other has long, distinct silver hair that Barret would be able to recognize anywhere, based on the propaganda that had run rampant throughout Midgar before it’s collapse.

Which means the other must be Genesis.

The first time Barret finally gets to come face to face with the war criminals who have destroyed the lives of so many - who worked gladly for the company that destroyed Barret’s life - and it’s when the world has been overrun by knock-off zombies and mako addicted gangs. And to make matters that much more complicated, there’s only two of the five he knows to exist currently present.

Two people who did all of this.

Shinra really did create monsters.

The heat that burns through Barret’s veins is pure rage when he hears the screams in the mansion cut out in one last abrupt, terrified screech, still standing surrounded by the brutalized bodies of the dead, a horde of infected not even a few meters away and a sea of blood like the earth is bleeding. While these people - these murderers - just linger at the scene of their own crime and talk like this is a damned vacation and not a fucking massacre.

Without even thinking of the danger, Barret is whipping his gun into the air and preparing to fire, free hand clenched into a furious fist at his side and vicious words already at the tip of his tongue. Ready to finally do something for once - ready to fight back and take control -

Yet before he can so much as consider firing, a movement catches his eye. A shock of matted blonde hair that shifts between the only two men still standing. Pale, bloodied limbs struggling to gain traction against the soaked and unforgiving earth. The hacking cough that follows is enough to sober Barret like a bucket of ice cold water as he realizes that somebody is still alive. Pinned between two super soldiers and lying prone as Sephiroth’s sword descends for the final blow.

Barret’s heart hits the back of his throat.

“Hey!” he yells, starting forward as they turn to face him. He ignores the warning frowns that mar their faces, Sephiroth’s sword drawing back ever so slightly as if to attack him instead, and powers on with his gun raised. “Hey! Get the hell away from him!”

It’s Genesis that ends up facing him fully, snapping his sword to attention in one quick, smooth motion and pointing it directly at Barret. It forces him to stop dead in his tracks a good few feet away from them, but Barret’s close enough now to see the pallid state of their faces and Sephiroth’s unnaturally slitted pupils. He looks like a ghost of the pictures Barret had once seen, cracked at the edges and wild eyed, paler than the dead and hair askew like some tormented ghost.

He doesn’t look alive.

And Genesis isn’t much better. Barret never had the chance to get a glimpse of him the way most had been able to with Sephiroth, but he can take a wild fucking guess that the graying, unwashed hair and sallow complexion isn’t normal. Nor is the way he’s acting right now, sword extended in a threat as a twisted smirk graces his delicate features.

They’ve both gone completely off the deep end.

The blonde on the ground isn’t faring too well, either. They’ve done a number on him, kicked and beaten him until his skin is coated in bruises, hair caked in blood and clothes ripped. There’s a cut down his shirt that looks like it was made by the straight edge of a sword purely for the purpose of exposing skin, and Barret’s veins run cold in a different kind of fury at the sight.

It’s easier now than it had been even days ago to believe the rumors. That the SOLDIERs were the ones to start this apocalypse; that it was Shinra’s precious little lapdogs who let the world fall into chaos.

Gaia, Barret is endlessly grateful that Marlene and Tifa aren’t here to see this right now.

“I ain’t playing around,” he snaps, “back the fuck off before I shoot.”

“This isn’t any business of yours,” Sephiroth sighs, sounding as if he’s discussing the weather instead of some poor man’s life, and Barret has to unclench and clench his fist again to refrain from shooting that smug mug right off his face, “I suggest you move along.”

“It’s not going to happen, you twisted fuck.”

Sephiroth’s lips thin at that, his blade finally falling away from the blonde completely as he turns to face Barret alongside Genesis. He looks incandescently angry, eyes alight with a demented sort of fury that has Barret’s hair standing on end, but he doesn’t back down. SOLDIER or not, he’ll find a way to stop them.

“I ain’t gonna let you murder somebody right in front of me!” he protests heatedly, swinging his gun around to face Sephiroth when the other’s eyes narrow dangerously. “The hell is wrong with you?! He’s on the ground right now. He can’t even fight back. ”

“This is SOLDIER business.”

“Of course, that’s why it involved the eighty guard rotation of some rich fuck’s manor? Dead servants and a horde of zombies clawing at the doors of a building that doesn’t even belong to you? SOLDIER business, my ass.”

Sephiroth sucks in a sharp breath, grip tightening ever so slightly on the hilt of his blade, but Barret doesn’t waver an inch as those hateful eyes glare venomously.

“I don’t know you and I don’t care to,” Sephiroth hisses, “but if you continue to try my patience, you’ll soon become acquainted with my blade. This is your last warning.”

“To hell with your fuckin’ warnings. How ‘bout I don’t shoot you for murdering half a small town’s worth of people.”

It’s Genesis that reacts this time around, letting out a laugh as he weaves the tip of his sword through the air. “You think you could hurt us with that toy?” he scoffs, smirk rapidly turning into a mocking sneer, “you’re nothing compared to us. I could put my sword through you before you even got a single bullet out of that worthless pile of scrap.”

“Take your best shot, asshole!”

It happens in the blink of an eye. One moment Barret is standing his ground against two furious supersoldiers, Genesis baring his teeth and winding up in a snarling fury, sword moving so fast Barret can hardly see it cutting through the air as he prepares to meet his end. Then the next there’s a blur of movement and the screech of metal against metal, a massive buster sword reverberating just inches above Barret’s head with the force of Genesis’s blade.

Barret instantly recognizes the blonde hair.

“What the-?”

“Cloud! Enough.” Sephiroth’s own sword is extended now, pressing with careful precision into the pulse point of the blonde, and he does not look any happier than he had thirty seconds ago.

“You two know each other?” Barret’s beginning to suspect this person might not be another unfortunate guard from the mansion. He’s holding his sword level with Genesis - of all people - as if it’s nothing. The weight of his blade alone should have been enough to send him keeling over.

That’s when Barret notices the uniform - a SOLDIER’s uniform. It doesn’t look the same as a first class uniform, but it's definitely not a civilian’s outfit either.

Barret had been protecting a SOLDIER.

A rush of emotions floods him at that. Anger and confusion and frustration making him growl out a warning and direct his gun right back at Sephiroth.

“What is going on here?” he demands, “you’re standing in the middle of a massacre about to kill one of your own?!”

Sephiroth chuckles, tone lightening for the first time since Barret arrived. “Well, we’ve already killed the other.”

Dead silence.

Not even Genesis moves for a second, and the blonde’s arms start to shake beneath the pressure. Though the sword above him poses a massive threat, Barret can’t help the way his eyes are drawn like magnets to the dead body that had been right beside the blonde. The torn, blood soaked remains of a SOLDIER uniform tells him all he needs to know.

They killed him. One of their own. Just as they’d been about to kill the blonde. There truly is no end to Shinra’s cruelty. Even after the company’s demise its loyal soldiers gather to slaughter each other like cattle and destroy the lives of those only trying to get by. Even after Shinra has died the planet still burns, and the SOLDIERs are still the tools of its destruction.

Yet a SOLDIER had also been the one to save his life.

Cloud, Sephiroth had said.

His reflexes are slow, movements groggy, and Barret would bet his only remaining arm that the guy has at least a medium grade concussion. He’s already breaking under the strain of holding back a super soldier - already crumbling beneath an impossible weight. There’s no telling if he’d be able to run or keep up with the fight - no telling if he’s a good enough person to even try it...but he’d been a good enough one to save Barret’s life.

Barret’s determined to get him out of this in one piece.

The next moment is a blur of movement. The snap decision to fire, not at Sephiroth but at his blade, until the sword is ripping the man’s arm sideways and his expression is slackening in surprise. Barret doesn’t even take a moment to contemplate the true suicidal stupidity of attacking someone like Sephiroth before he’s charging forward, grabbing the blonde by the waist and using his gun to take the brunt of Genesis’s sword. It’s only for a second - only to garner enough time to pull the kid back and free him from the lock of blades - but it’s enough for Barret to holler as an electrifying pain numbs his gun arm. The shriek of tearing metal splits the air, accompanied by Genesis’s own noise of outrage, and Barret hauls the kid backwards and onto his shoulders without hesitation.

There’s a beat of tension as Sephiroth recovers his footing and Genesis regains his bearings, Barret staring right at two infuriated super soldiers through the sparks of his shredded arm.

Then the world is rushing back around him. Panic and noise and the need to get the hell out of there. To return home to his daughter.

So Barret takes the kid and he runs.

And hell, he doesn’t look back for anything.

——

Barret winds down several backroads as he makes his way back to camp, determined to shake any tail he might have now that he’s possibly angered some of the most powerful people in the world. He hadn’t seen them pursue him after he’d dumped himself and the kid in his truck and torn out of there like a bat out of hell, but there’s no telling what their kind has up their sleeves.

There’s no telling what the one in his truck has up his sleeve, either, and it’s damn ridiculous that Barret is risking any part of his life for a Shinra lapdog that might turn on them at any moment, but he can’t bring himself to abandon the guy. Can’t allow himself in good conscience to leave someone so clearly injured out to fend for themself, let alone someone who’d happened to save his life. Even if Barret had also happened to save theirs. Barret would say that makes them even, but he knows it’s more complicated than that - knows that ties of any sort of blood can lead people to do bad things. It's hard to break from that mold. Hard to choose something good over those you consider family.

Cloud turned on his people. That takes more than guts. Though Barret doesn’t know if 'more' is a bad thing or a good thing, considering it had led him to being a turncoat. No matter how justified it may have been.

He brings the blonde back to camp because it’s the right thing to do, and because apparently he’s made a habit of picking up strays. But it’s with a heavy heart and a host of fears, millions of horror scenarios playing out in his head. A swirling mass of dreadful scenes depicting Marlene and Tifa hurt and dying because of his actions - his family hunted now by people they have no hope of beating alone.

Scenes that follow him all the way home.

Yet when he pulls up to camp he doesn’t even think to let those worries show, and when he steps out of the car and slams the door shut behind him, there’s nothing on his face but a massive, beaming smile as he sets sights on his little girl. She squeals when she sees him, dashing forward in a mad scramble of flying cookware from the portable oven.

“Daddy!” she screams excitedly, “Daddy, you’re back!” She hits him with all the force of her tiny body and he laughs as he takes her up in his arm. The warmth and relief that fills him almost brings tears to his eyes, and he hugs her so tight to his chest that he can feel her breathing and alive against him.

“That’s right, angel! Safe and sound, just like I promised.”

She giggles against his neck, small fists rising to press at the nape of his neck in a hug. “Tifa and me were making you dinner!”

“Oh, is that so?” He chuckles, looking up to see Tifa standing a short distance away. She looks relaxed and happy, smiling with a languid sort of bliss as she watches the two of them.

Then her eyes drift down to his destroyed arm and the expression drops to one of pure panic, her gaze darting back up to his own with alarm.

He winces and shakes his head, silently telling her he’ll explain it all later. But he refuses to let go of Marlene right now - refuses to let her out of his sights - so he nods at the passenger seat of the truck, observing pensively as Tifa finally seems to catch his drift, circling around the car to check inside.

“Did you bring back anything fun, Daddy?” Marlene asks sweetly, leaning away to peer up at him with wide eyes. He hums for a moment to stall, hearing Tifa’s small gasp as she catches sight of the battered SOLDIER, and tries to keep his tone light when he answers.

“Not this time, baby. Had to focus on houses instead of stuff, remember?”

“Uh huh! You were house hunting!” She exclaims proudly, eyes crinkling with the force of her smile.

It’s impossible not to return one of his own, warm and loving as he moves them both away from the situation about to unfold, further into the camp. “That’s right! When did you get such a good memory?”

Marlene kicks her legs in the air with an offended sniff. “I always have a good memory. It’s you that forgets things. Like my necklace!” She pouts.

“Well, you’ve got me there,” he laughs, forcing his tone into something unworried as he turns to see Tifa haul the blonde from the car. She slams the door shut with enough force to make Marlene jump, and as she carries the blonde bridal style into the clearing he notices the dark shadow of horror in her eyes, lips tight and arms shaking as she stares down at him.

Marlene can’t help turning at the noise, and Barret has no power to stop her as she gets a look at their new guest. She gasps, mouth dropping open as she begins to squirm eagerly in his grasp. “Who’s that?! Is he another friend? Is he staying with us too, like Tifa?”

“I don’t know!” He keeps a hold of her as Tifa sets the blonde down on her own mattress, instantly digging around in her pack for supplies. Then turns his full attention on Marlene again, looking sternly into her pleading brown eyes until she stills enough to listen.

“We don’t know if he’s staying, yet,” he tells her honestly, voice gentle, “But we can’t bother him right now, okay? He’s hurt and he might be dangerous.”

“Dangerous how? Who is he?” It’s Tifa who speaks, although she doesn’t look back at him as she does so, and Barret sighs as he crouches to lower Marlene to the ground. She races over to them both before he can do anything, but he trusts that Tifa won’t let any harm come to Marlene.

“A fool, apparently,” Barret snorts with bitter self reproach, “and a turncoat too. ‘Less his friends were just…” he glances at Marlene, shocked and curious as she hides behind Tifa and peaks out at the blonde from around the woman’s shoulder. “...hurting him for the fun of it. They looked past the point of sanity, though, so who the hell knows.”

“A Cluster?” Tifa frets, “I thought they didn’t wander out this way.”

“They usually don’t. Stick to the roads and such. Don’t got time for the likes of backwoods campers. But this wasn’t a Cluster, it was worse.”

“Worse how?” She finally turns to look back at him, and the furrow between her brows makes his heart ache for her. He almost doesn’t want to say it, but -

“SOLDIERS.”

She freezes, expression going blank, and he knows nothing good can be going through her head right now.

“What?” She croaks breathlessly, “You brought a SOLDIER back here? Are you insane? ”

“What’s a soldier?” Marlene’s voice is small and afraid, and Barret swallows the conversation in an instant at her tone, falling to his knees and beckoning her over.

“It’s nothing, sweetheart. Come here.”

He sees Tifa drop the conversation as well, biting her lip to keep from speaking as she settles a comforting hand on Marlene’s shoulder. She forces herself to relax as she gives Marlene a warm smile, nudging her toward Barret, and after a few seconds Marlene begins to approach with tiny steps. She’s fidgeting, casting fervent looks back at the limp body next to Tifa.

“Is our new friend a bad guy?” she asks hesitantly, eventually working up the courage to speak as she gets closer.

Barret swallows thickly. “No, he’s not- not a bad guy. He saved my life.” Then, louder as he directs it to Tifa, “he saved my life.”

She sighs and nods, shoulders tense as she turns back to keep working on Cloud, and Barret leans forward the rest of the distance to sweep Marlene up again into a comforting hug. Like magic, though, she’s already moved on from the emotion of two seconds ago. Fear turned to a palpable interest as she hums curiously against him and vibrates with a new kind of energy.

“So he’s a hero?” She asks as he stands to take them to her tent.

“I suppose he is,” he admits reluctantly, holding back a scowl.

“Then why is he so hurt?”

He parts the flaps of her tent and carries her into the muted blue shadows, laying her gently down on her sleeping bag. She yawns widely, rubbing at her eyes and sniffing, but she doesn’t let up on the questioning gaze for one second.

Barret toys with his next words. “His old family...didn’t treat him very well.”

“But why?”

“What do you mean?”

“Families aren’t supposed to hurt each other. They’re supposed to take care of each other. Like you do with me.”

His gaze softens and he brushes a stray lock from her eyes, mulling over his next response. “I take care of you because I love you, and you’re my precious little girl.” She giggles when he leans down to smother her in a sloppy kiss, pushing his face away playfully. Then he leans back and sobers up, saying tenderly, “These people...they weren’t like us. They didn’t agree with him, sweetheart. I don’t know the whole story, but I know they tried to kick him out.”

“They wanted to abandon him?”

She sounds so sad, and Barret doesn’t know how to make it better. Doesn’t want to lie to her but doesn’t want to hurt her.

He exhales slowly and presses her back into her bag when she tries to rise. The heavy weight of his hands rests on her chest for a moment in solid comfort, and after a time her small fingers come up to rest atop his own. She pats at him solemnly like it’s him that needs the comforting, and he chokes back a laugh.

“We should keep him,” she says, “so he can know what a real family is.”

“We aren’t his family, sweetheart.”

“But you’re a Daddy. And you said that we should always help and protect people.”

“That’s-” He huffs in amusement and relents beneath the insistence of her hopeful eyes. “Very kind, Marlene. And very brave.”

Her smile is shy with the light pink in her cheeks, but her eyes sparkle victoriously. Barret doesn’t know how to tell her that the SOLDIER probably won’t be around come morning, if he even stays that long at all. So he turns his palm to catch her wrists between his fingers, bringing her hands up to lay a kiss on the back of each. Then he lowers them back down to kiss her goodnight as well, hushing her worries with a gentle touch to the forehead.

“I couldn't be more proud of you,” he says lowly, “my kind girl. You’ve grown up so well.”

“I think you’re the kindest, Daddy, for helping people even when they’re mean. I think you’re a hero, too. You and Auntie Tifa and…”

“His name is Cloud,” Barret admits, already regretting saying the words. And sure enough-

“And Uncle Cloud!”

“How about we wait until he’s awake to see if he wants to be called that, huh?” It’s a lot more rational than he wants it to be, but he can’t bear to snuff out the flickering light of hope Marlene’s found in the situation.

“Fine,” she pouts, before brightening excitedly, “and then he can tell us a story! About how he was the hero and saved you.”

Barret rolls his eyes and stands to leave. “I saved him too, you know.”

“Sure, Daddy.”

“Yeah, yeah...Goodnight, little bug.”

“Night night!” He exits the tent and zips up the flaps, and it’s only after he’s turned and made his halfway across the camp that he hears, “don’t let the bed bugs bite!” sound out behind him.

Barret chuckles fondly, wincing at a sudden sting of pain in his gun arm, and glances over at where Tifa’s working on the SOLDIER.

His smile drops almost instantly as he sees her leaning back on her heels, hands raised defensively against the harsh movements of her patient.

He’s awake, Barret thinks.

And acting exactly as Barret had feared, judging by the distress clear from across camp. He grits his teeth and storms over, hand already clenched into a fist.

“Hey!” Tifa jumps in surprise, turning to face him as he approaches, and Barret only faintly registers the lack of fear on her face before an infuriatingly cold voice is piercing the air.

“You can’t keep me here,” Cloud says, rising to sit up despite the obvious agony it brings him. He wraps an arm around his stomach, but the intensity of his glare doesn’t waver once.

Tifa worries at her lip as he moves, hands hovering over his battered body as if she doesn’t know where to place them. “You’re still injured, you can’t be up and about! Let me help you,” she practically begs, and Barret’s blood boils at the sound of it. What right does this kid have?

“Not interested.”

“Oh you can’t be serious!” Barret finally snaps, coming to a stomping halt right next to the both of them and scowling furiously down at the kid. “Drop the tough guy act and suck it up. You ain’t helpin’ no one with that attitude, least of all yourself.”

He opens his mouth to say more and falters almost violently when he catches sight of Cloud’s exposed upper body, teeth clacking shut as his eyes widen.

The kid’s shirt is cut right off of him now, with the tight black binder around his chest exposed for all to see. Yet what really horrifies Barret is the garish mass of bruises painting every inch of his skin. He’s coated in cuts and stab wounds, shaking with exhaustion and ribs stark against his thin body, with what looks like an actual bullet wound still red and seeping in his shoulder. Under the pale light of the moon, with blood and dirt washed away, he looks worse than he had sprawled out on that battlefield.

Barret’s stomach turns.

“Shit,” he breathes out before he can stop himself, “what the hell did they do to you?”

“A lot less than what they did to Zack!” His voice cracks and his teeth clench after he speaks, as if the words have spilled unwillingly from his mouth.

“The other SOLDIER?” The one they killed?

The words spark a fire in Cloud that has him whipping to attention so quickly Barret’s surprised he doesn’t keel over from the pain. “It ain’t any of your business!” he grinds out, voice desperate and guarded and hurt all at once, lashing out like an injured animal, “Stop treating me like I’m made of glass. Stop talking like you’re familiar with me. You don’t even know me.”

Tifa crosses her arms and raises her chin defiantly, unflinching in the face of Cloud’s anger, and meets his gaze head on when he turns to glare at her. Barret’s hit with another sense of profound respect for this woman, who doesn’t even blink at the unnatural glow of mako eyes in the night, upper body rising to match Cloud’s own harsh tension.

“You’re not being treated like glass! Your injuries are getting taken care of. Last I checked, there’s a hell of a difference.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Ya can’t take care of shit, soldier! Do you hear yourself?” Barret hisses, “do you see yourself? You wouldn’t make it a day out in the wild alone.”

Cloud works his jaw, the stubborn set of his shoulders unrelenting for just a second before his expression shifts, softening in surprise as his trembling body finally can’t take the stress anymore. Tifa reaches out just in time to catch him as he collapses, and the way his lashes flutter, eyes glazing over, speaks more about his wounds than whatever shit was spilling out of his mouth.

Barret snorts. “What a dumbass.”

“Barret!” Tifa scolds, lowering the kid with such a painful amount of gentleness that he’s half convinced the kid may have been onto something about being treated like glass.

“Look, he’s an asshole!” Barret defends, waving his gun arm at the kid in a momentary lapse of judgement that has it zinging with pain. He covers up a wince before Tifa can see it and continues on, growing tenser with each passing moment, voice heated with the pain and frustration of the day. “We’ve done nothing but help him and he’s acting like he doesn’t give a single shit. Dozens of people died today. I almost died! He almost died!”

“And his friend did die, so maybe cut him some slack.”

“That doesn’t excuse his shitty behavior.”

“It was one conversation, Barret! For a few minutes, while he was concussed and injured and barely coherent. He probably won’t even remember it in the morning.”

Barret grinds his teeth and quiets, because he knows she’s right. Know he’s overreacting but damn, everything about the kid had rubbed him the wrong way. “He’s a SOLDIER, Tifa.”

“One who apparently saved your life. One that you brought back with you, which tells me a bit more about what you really feel about this situation.”

“I just don’t trust him,” Barret says, “and I don’t like him.”

Tifa just shakes her head. “Go to sleep, Barret. You’ll want to apologize in the morning.”

“You said he wouldn’t remember the damn conversation anyway!” Barret huffs indignantly, the thought of apologizing makes his hackles rise like nothing else, and he’s thinking he may need to take Tifa’s advice, after all. That he should go to bed before he does something else he might regret.

Something- not something else- because there’s not anything else that he-

Dammit .

“Yeah,” he sighs, waving his hand as Tifa opens her mouth to keep fighting, “yeah, you’re right.”

He gives her a soft goodnight, feeling a bit better when she relaxes and sends him a reassuring smile before turning back to work on Cloud, and heads over to his own tent to settle in for the night.

He just needs some time to cool down - just needs to take a moment to himself so he can grieve the brutal loss of his prosthetic and the deaths of every single person he’d seen today. Needs to be able to reconcile with the horrifying levels of destruction he’d witnessed.

Once that’s done - once he’s had the time to settle down - he’ll apologize. Or find the guy some ice cream. He doesn’t know. But right now, just for the night, he needs to rest.

He goes to sleep with a calm mind that night, content and soothed by the knowledge that things turned out okay, with the firm resolution that he’ll get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow and lighten the air between him and the new guy.

Unfortunately, come morning, Tifa’s bedroll is empty. The top kicked aside and the buster sword missing from where it had been propped up against a tree.

Cloud is nowhere is sight.

And as Barret looks around in sleepy bewilderment, he realizes that neither is the truck.

“Mother fucker!”

#barret wallace #dad barret #soft barret #fanfiction #marlene wallace #tifa lockhart #cloud strife #protective barret #whump #ff7 #ffvii #remake #hurt comfort #cloud strife needs a hug #barret needs a hug #promptfills

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fanfictrashdump · 4 years

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Queening a Pawn, 16

Summary: During the Time Heist, Loki stole the Tesseract and escaped. He did not expect, however, to be pulled through a Time Loop that delivered him to a Midgard more than a decade older, wiser, and bitterer. Having just lived through his unsuccessful attack in New York, Loki must learn to live in Midgard after the defeat of Thanos (post-Endgame). The question is, who is Loki without a quest for a throne or total domination?

Pairings: Loki x OC

Delilah looked up from the mountain of paperwork her new assistant had just piled onto her desk when she heard someone come in. Dressed impeccably in white, Pepper Potts strode in with a friendly smile on her face and a manila folder in her hand.

The mess in her office made her suddenly self-conscious, and she tried to straighten out the papers into what might vaguely resemble neat piles. "Pepper! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I hope I didn't interrupt anything too important," she remarked, eyeing the mess of files on the desk with a weary smile. "I just wanted to run something by you."

"Oh, not at all," she fibbed, but rectified when Pepper made a face. "You're giving me a good excuse not to obsess over the shambles that is the Receiving department." Lilah gestured a chair across from her. "Take a seat. What's on your mind?"

The redhead sat down with a plop, crossing her legs as she leaned back. "Well, I was talking to Tony last night and he gave me a suggestion that I am tempted to pursue."

Delilah rolled her eyes. This was not the first time the computer generated Tony had demanded one of his ideas be brought to fruition. "What did Ghost In the Machine have to say, now? As long as it's not the Starburst pool, again, I'm open to suggestions."

Pepper laughed. "No, though he still claims it will work. It was about Loki."

Not sure whether or not she should be weary, Lilah opted for keeping her expression neutral and clasping her hands on the desk in a pose she had taken from Loki. "Oh, what about Loki?"

"Well, he was going on and on about how good Loki was with dealing with Morgan– you know that she's super headstrong, like her Dad– and how all the other kids in the academy love him."

"Right," Lilah agreed, suspicious.

"Tony suggested I make him a permanent fixture in the Academy."

Delilah blinked in confusion, tilting her head curiously at Pepper. "Loki? You want him to, what? Teach seven years-old's how to fight?"

Pepper waved away the comment with a chuckle. "Of course not. I thought he could be part of the after-school program. He can watch kids, make sure they do their homework, keep them busy until pick up."

"You want to leave agents' children with the man who tried to take over the world? And you think the agents will go for this?" Lilah shifted uncomfortably. Despite the generally positive opinion of Loki in the current climate, it was insane to think people would purposefully hand their kids to the demigod.

"Tony thinks they will."

Delilah bit her bottom lip in thought. "OK, let me preface this with saying that I love Tony and I love working for this company, please don't fire me–"

"OK?"

"–but Tony is a fancy computer program," she finished cautiously, but Pepper didn't look offended.

"But is he wrong?" Pepper leaned forward, leveling her gaze with Delilah's. "Hon, last week I did rounds and found him finger painting with six other kids," she offered as an example. "He snuck into an art class to finger paint."

Delilah's smile widened on its own accord, feeling a small little bubble of affection burst within her. Loki Odinson, child of Asgard, son of Laufey of Jotunheim, softest villain in the realm and expert finger painter. "So that's where all those portraits came from," she remarked, thinking back on the half dozen brightly colored papers hanging on Loki's walls, attached there by knives. "He does genuinely love those kids, but he hates being told what to do. I can try to talk him around–"

"He already said yes."

Lilah was flabbergasted. "What?"

"I talked to him this morning over coffee," Pepper explained. "He accepted before I had even gotten the full offer out."

Delilah frowned, more confused than she had been at the mere suggestion. "Then why did you need to consult me?"

"He has demands."

She groaned and Pepper laughed. "Of course he does. Lay it on me. Million dollar salary? Private jet? More knives, for some fucking reason?"

"No. He's working minimum wage," Pepper said, matter-of-factly.

"Minimum? And he agreed to this?"

"He was the one who demanded it. I was ready to offer him a decent wage, because kids are difficult, but he said whatever the minimum was, he'd take it. Instead, he wants us to invest the extra money."

"In…?"

"A scholarship." Pepper waited for the shock to fade from Delilah's face. "For students who were in some way affected by the attack in New York."

The answer made her insides twist, not unpleasantly just curious. "Did he give any reason?"

"Just that he knew how much of a difference a scholarship could make and then made puppy eyes." Pepper smiled knowingly. "Could I just tell you how exceedingly bad he has it for you?"

"Only if you tell him, too. He seems to not have gotten the memo," Delilah retorted, drily. "You need me to write up his paperwork, I assume."

"Yes, and I have the scholarship projections here for you, too," Pepper offered, sliding the manila folder across the desk. "I might have given it an extra little boost, but don't tell him."

Delilah flipped through the documents, glancing at the details of the scholarship and how selection would work. "This is excellently thought out."

"He was pretty adamant about the criteria and I agree with his selection process. He was astoundingly thoughtful of the demographic he thought was most deserving." Pepper sighed. "I didn't think Loki had it in him, but lo and behold."

"Yeah, he's… something else." Despite the lukewarm expression, there was a definite flutter in her stomach. "I'll set all these up and forward you signed copies by tomorrow."

Delilah sighed, waving goodbye to Pepper before contemplating her afternoon. After a moment or two, she told her assistant that she'd be back later and disappeared into the puzzle-like hallways of the compound. Lilah turned the corner towards the living quarters when she was pulled into a nearby closet with a hand over her mouth. Had it been the first time this happened to her, she would have been worried, but as it were, her initial response was to grasp the lapels of the charcoal button-up shirt and tug the person until her lips were firmly upon theirs.

Loki made a pleased noise in the back of his throat, slipping his fingers through the belt loops of her jeans to tug her closer. "Hello, darling," he whispered against the hollow of her throat before he placed an open mouthed kiss there.

"I love you, Lo," she said both abruptly and breathlessly, but the words tugged the corner of his mouth upwards, instantly.

Loki chuckled, skimming his mouth over her neck before stopping to press a kiss to her jaw. "I knew it was a good idea to steal you away," he quipped, easily, completely glossing over the fact that this was the first time she had ever said the words. He bent to kiss her proper, both his hands cupping her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. "I know you do, you fool. Just as I love you." He rested their foreheads together with a sigh. "I brought food and set up the chess board at mine. Would you like to join me for lunch?"

"Are you asking me out on a date? How very forward of you."

"Forward would be saying that I plan on putting you up on my table for dessert. Though, it is implied." He grinned impishly and tugged on her beltloops. "I hope these are quick to take off." He kissed the wide-eyed expression on her face away. "Too strong?"

"No, I just… I didn’t think I'd enjoy you saying that." Lilah said the words as she shuddered the sensation off.

"Mmm, shall we skip straight to dessert, then?" Loki leveled his gaze at her, brushing locks of hair out of her eyes. "Or do you want to discuss Pepper's offer for the next four hours like I know you want to?"

"No! I mean… I think it's great that you took the job." She replied with a little hesitation. Delilah could already see the protest brewing in his eyes the second she opened her mouth.

"But?" Loki asked, knowingly. "Out with it."

"I'm just overprotective and don't want to see you get hurt for doing a good deed."

"They're very small, I can probably drop-kick them into orbit–" He joked, mimicking punting a small child in the tight space.

"You know what I mean. Don't play with me."

He hummed deep in the back of his throat and twined his arms tightly around her. His lips found her crown in a tender display before he buried his face into her hair. "You are a truly extraordinary specimen." Delilah huffed and he made a show of kissing away her pout and nipping her bottom lip. "I mean it in the most respectful and complimentary of ways." When she did not respond, he squeezed her further. "I am deeply honored that you would think a wretch like me important enough to warrant your protection. I love you so dearly for it."

Delilah sighed, hugging him around his middle so tightly it made his ribs ache. "I don't like people messing with my stuff!"

"Your stuff? Am I all of a sudden your stuff?" Loki husked, rubbing lazy circles on her back.

"When have you not been my stuff?"

He held her arm's length away, wolfish grin twisting his lips. "By the Norns, where have you been all my life? Deliciously possessive, clever, and gorgeous? I've died and gone to Valhalla."

"And yet you only kiss me in dark janitor's closets."

"This and accepting impromptu job offers are the only way to catch you unawares." He nuzzled into her hair. "Plus, we've always done particularly well in the dark."

She hummed her agreement, her head resting against his chest where she tucked herself under his chin. "Pepper mentioned something else," Lilah started, tentatively. "About letting your bracelets off on a trial basis."

"And you didn't mention anything about already fitting a felon with counterfeit manacles, I assume?"

Delilah bit her lip, looking guiltily down at her shoes. "I didn't. I might need to switch them right before Pepper decides to grant you a leave. Is that OK?"

"Would it be OK for you to put on the manacles you meant to keep on me back on so that you can take them off again?" He chuckled. "You realize how mad that sounds?"

"I don't want to get us in trouble!"

"That'd be fine." Loki kissed her forehead. "Except I already told Pepper about the manacles, oh, six weeks ago. She was probably trying to get a rise out of you."

"Six…that's nearly the time you've… Seriously!?"

"I didn't trust myself around you, and I wanted security in case–" Delilah silenced him with a kiss. He chased her lips with a contented purr. "Dessert?" She nodded and he made quick work of opening the door and shoving them both down the hall, giggling like schoolchildren as they rushed towards Loki's flat.

#Loki #Loki MCU #Loki fanfic #MCU #Marvel #MCU fanfic #MCU fanfiction #Loki x oc #Loki x ofc #alternate timeline #time heist #fix it #in this house we sow chaos

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vergangenheit-nostalgisch-m · 4 years

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MEET THE MUSE POWER HOUR!!

━━ take a seat and REPOST this detailed little bio with criteria to introduce the world to your muse. no reblog karma or tagging ━ if you see this on your dash, feel free to partake in it!

☆ ━ B A S I C S .

NAME:: Gilen Friedrich Beilschmidt NICKNAME(S):: Gil AGE:: 23 (physically) GENDER:: Male NATIONALITY:: Prussian

☆ ━ A P P E A R A N C E .

EYE COLOR:: Pale blue HAIR COLOR:: Silver-gray HAIRSTYLE:: Usually, it’s just down. But he does sometimes tiw it up in a long ponytail or braid. Nothing much than those though. He’s pretty low-maintenance when it comes to his hair, despite how thick and long it is. But he does take good care of it. HEIGHT:: 5′9″ WEIGHT:: Around 130 lbs. BUILD:: Ectomorph with an overall slender/lean look with long arms and legs. Pale skin as well. TATTOO(S):: Black eagle wings on his upper back which extend from shoulder to shoulder & a sword going down his upper right arm. SCAR(S):: Oof... so many. He has a scar on his left cheek in the shape of a slanted line. This was the first scar he ever received. A jagged scar going down his left side representing the Battle of Zorndorf (August 25th 1758) against Russia. A deep scar starting below his collar bone and ends below his chest representing the Battle of Hochkirch during the Seven Years’ War (October 14th 1758). Two scars going down his right forearm representing the Battle of Jena-Auerstedt (October 14th 1806) — and its devastating defeat — against France. The scar representing Jena is a bit shorter than the one representing Auerstedt. Various faded bullet wound scars and scars from shrapnel all over his body. His biggest scar from shrapnel starts a bit on his left cheek, goes horizontally over the bridge of his nose, and end near the opposite side of his right cheek from his time as a medic during World War l and World War ll. A scar on the back of his neck representing Altona Bloody Sunday (July 17th 1932). A scar that starts on the right side of his front above his navel, stretching to the middle, representing the Evacuation of East Prussia (January 1945 - March 1945). A medium-sized x-shaped scar going over the middle of his chest represents his nation’s dissolution (February 25th 1947). PIERCING(S):: He has two piercings (black dolphin bites below his mouth and a black nose ring in his left nostril). PREFERRED FASHION:: His fashion sense consists of dark colors. He wears solid-colored shirts, band shirts, or flannels. As well as leather jackets or hoodies and jeans with combat boots or converse shoes. His fashion originated from the East German punk movement of the 1970’s/1980's. As for headwear, he normally wears beanies. He’s almost always wearing a silver chain necklace with an Iron Cross pendant. He has the tendency to tie his hair into ponytails using ribbons (blue or black) as well. His nails are usually painted black. TYPICALLY SMELLS LIKE:: Floral body wash/shampoo OTHER::

☆ ━ P E R S O N A L I T Y .

POSITIVE TRAITS:: allocentric || appreciative || calm || caring || challenging || charming || creative || compassionate || dramatic || efficient || focused || imaginative || liberal || loyal || neat || non-authoritarian || observant || witty || NEUTRAL TRAITS:: stubborn || perfectionist || sarcastic || confident || prideful || competitive || rash || unsentimental || artful || casual || complex || emotional || honest || outspoken || sensual || NEGATIVE TRAITS:: abrasive || argumentative || blunt || crass || cynical || egocentric || fatalistic || hesitant || indulgent || irritable || lazy || libidinous || meddlesome || moody || neurotic || passive || possessive || vague || LIKES:: 70′s, 80′s and 90′s rock. Playing either of his guitars or his flute. Cats. DISLIKES:: Loud, sudden noises. Pointless violence. Arguments. PHOBIAS / FEARS:: Phonophobia (fear of loud noises). His legacy as Prussia being forgotten, losing his loved ones, voices being raised at him. HABITS:: Fidgeting with whatever he has in his hands.

☆ ━ R E L A T I O N S H I P S .

SEXUAL ORIENTATION:: Demisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:: Panromantic RELATIONSHIP STATUS:: Single

☆ ━ H E A L T H .

CHRONIC CONDITIONS:: SM (selective mutism), GAD (generalized anxiety disorder), depression, PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder), autism. Left arm & right leg amputee. His body's weaker than most nations from Prussia's dissolution, so he has limited energy and sicknesses tend to last longer along with getting sick easier. Injuries also take longer to heal. He gets seasonal allergies as well whenever the seasons change. limited mobility in right arm and can’t use it for as long as he used to or do too much with it otherwise it’ll ache for a while. The same goes for his right shoulder and he can’t rotate his arm all the way around now. He still has some aches and pains if he moves a certain way now or if he moves too fast. He can’t run as far or for too long, either. ADDICTIONS:: N/A ALLERGIES:: N/A

☆ ━ H O M E .

PLACE OF RESIDENCE:: A two-story house he shares with his brother. METHOD OF TRANSPORTATION:: Bike or public transport. he does have a driver’s license, but considers driving too dangerous. PETS:: A fluffy white cat named Aiden & a raven named Schwartz.

☆ ━ W O R K && E D U C A T I O N.

JOB:: East Germany/Prussia/Kaliningrad Oblast representation & a job at a local record store in Berlin. SCHOOLING:: Self-taught in most school subjects, but no high school or college education. But he does have thoughts about getting a college education. SPOKEN LANGUAGES:: English, German (and Austrian German), French, Spanish, Italian, Hungarian, Polish, Lithuanian, Latvian, Russian, Ukrainian, Belarusian, Danish, Swedish, Old Prussian, Low Prussian (and the Plautdietsch dialect), German Sign Language, and American Sign Language. SKILLS:: Sword-fighting, archery, hand-to-hand combat, guitar & flute-playing .

☆ ━ R A N D O M .

QUIRKS:: He’s ambidextrous RELIGION:: Atheist THEME SONG(S):: East - Sleeping at Last

#[ ⚔️ 𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐆𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧 ⚔️ ]

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italynt · 4 years

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If you want a primer in regards to what’s going on in Italy, in terms of restarting the Serie A season, then here’s a good article to read.

Here’s an overview of everything that’s been going on from James Horncastle at The Athletic:

It’s now almost two months since Sassuolo striker Francesco Caputo celebrated his goal against Brescia by lifting up his jersey to reveal the message “Stay at Home” on a T-shirt underneath.

It feels like a long time ago, doesn’t it? So how close are we to football resuming in Serie A?

What is the situation in Italy now?

Last weekend, Italy’s Prime Minister Giuseppe Conte announced the government is ready to begin the next phase of easing the country back to normality. Aspects of lockdown will be relaxed on May 4 allowing 4.5 million people to go back to work. Citizens will have freedom of movement within their own region. Restaurants and bars will be able to deliver takeaway. Exercise in parks and even a dip in the sea is permitted as long as social-distancing guidelines are respected. But the new decree has not escaped criticism. Opposition parties think the government is still being too cautious. Some regions like the Veneto are breaking ranks and lifting measures earlier than others. Bishops are protesting the ban on public masses and football feels it is being unfairly treated.

Why does football feel victimised?

Well, individual athletes like swimmers, cyclists and sprinters can return to training next Monday. Team sports will have to wait at least until May 18 and only if the protocol passes muster with the government’s scientific committee. This has sparked controversy because footballers cannot even train on their own or at a distance from each other within the controlled environment of a deep-cleaned training facility. What they can do is go for a jog or a workout in the local park — where members of the public may be inclined to approach them in breach of social distancing rules. “So we’ll have Ciro Immobile and Edin Dzeko in Villa Borghese and Lorenzo Insigne on the Caracciolo boardwalk,” scoffed Lazio owner Claudio Lotito.

It doesn’t make any sense. Many of the clubs are exasperated. The players’ union (AIC) said in a statement it was “perplexed and surprised” by a decision it considers “illogical” and “discriminatory”. Serie A stopped earlier than the other top five leagues. It has more fixtures to fulfil and stands to lose £620 million if the season isn’t brought to a close. La Repubblica quoted Napoli’s president Aurelio De Laurentiis saying: “COVID-19 will end up making the middle and smaller clubs who live beyond their means disappear.” It’s not hard to see why the league and the Italian Football Federation (FIGC) are pushing hard to at least prepare their teams for any return. “I do not want to be Italian football’s gravedigger,” said Gabriele Gravina, the president of the FIGC.

But as with everything in Italy it is deeply political and the pushback has been considerable. Italy’s highest-profile female athlete, the swimmer Federica Pellegrini, said: “All I hear about is football and I’m disappointed by that, other sports exist too”. Similarly, the president of the Italian Olympic Committee (CONI) Giovanni Malago said: “Sport is not just and cannot only be Serie A football.”

The FIGC is an affiliate of CONI and football obtains more funding than any other sport. What Malago says matters. He believes football has muddled its response to the pandemic — “Gravina talks about July, August, September, October, even about splitting the league into two groups with play-offs and play-outs” — which further damages the game’s reputation. Ultimately, the decision lies with the government, but relations between the FIGC, Serie A and the minister of sport, Vincenzo Spadafora, have been tense.

Why are relations strained between Italy’s sporting bodies?

For a start, Spadafora hasn’t always toed the party line. In March, he sparked chaos at the Stadio Ennio Tardini, where Parma’s match at home to SPAL was due to go ahead in accordance with a government decree, which had been signed the night before. However, with players waiting in the tunnel, Spadafora announced the league needed to shut down with immediate effect. The game was delayed for an hour and 15 minutes while officials checked whether the order had been changed. It hadn’t and Parma-SPAL kicked off. “Instead of indulging in demagoguery, be consistent with the actions of your own government” came the reply from Serie A president Paolo Dal Pino.

It wasn’t pretty then and things aren’t any rosier now. Spadafora has called out club owners for using the media to influence opinion and force his hand. “We have to start safely,” he said on Tuesday. “Do you remember when the league didn’t want to stop? How many teams ended up in quarantine?” The answer is six. To avoid that happening again, the FIGC has drawn up a 47-page protocol document, seen by The Athletic, with the aim of protecting the players, coaches, referees and other members of staff from contagion.

How will they protect the players and everyone else?

The protocol document contains lots of advice from leaders in the medical field. In addition to the FIGC’s own 12-person scientific committee, the protocol has had substantial input from a task force comprising four experts in infectious diseases and virology. The protocol recommends squads should be selected three to four days before training resumes. The players and essential coaching staff in this group will then undergo an initial screening phase. This entails a visit to a clinic, a temperature check and an up-to-date medical history. Let’s pick a player at random. Say, Brescia’s Mario Balotelli: the FIGC wants to know if he’s travelled in the last two months and where to, whether or not he’s been in contact with anyone who has tested positive for the virus, and whether he’s showing any symptoms.

Depending on certain criteria, the group will be given two RT-PCR tests within 24 hours of each other and an antibody test. The expense and availability of testing — not to mention the morality of rolling them out for one category of society — remains a bone of contention. “The request on the players’ part is for football to resume only when every citizen can have a test,” Tommasi said. “There mustn’t be any fast-track for our industry.” As you might expect with a medical, there will be a resting ECG (to measure heart health), a spirometry (to measure breathing capacity), and blood and urine tests. The protocol is especially mindful of the latest medical advice on the damage left by COVID-19 and the therapies used to treat it on a person’s lungs and the heart. Even after screening is over, the group will have daily temperature checks and be constantly assessed for symptoms.

A permanent “ritiro” — a place for players and staff to live on-site — is also recommended. A number of clubs have dorms or even hotels adjoining their training grounds. When the Melia hotel closed in Milan as part of the lockdown measures, Christian Eriksen temporarily moved into Inter’s Appiano Gentile training ground. The problem is 11 of the 20 teams don’t have lodgings, so completely isolating the group isn’t possible across the board. However, the other nine clubs are meant to allocate players single, well-ventilated rooms where they will shower after their distancing-adapted training sessions.

Everyone in the group will be given behavioural guidelines to follow, ranging from washing hands to PPE for masseurs and physios. Treatment tables will be spaced out and time slots allocated to avoid congestion. If the enforcement of social distancing means there isn’t space in a team meeting, the preference is for a video conference instead. Food in the canteen will be self-service only.

As for training itself, the first week foresees individuals or small groups working out more than two metres apart before a gradual return to normality in week two and week three, with players running through patterns of play, set-pieces and playing small-sided games.

If someone does test positive, they are to be isolated immediately. Training will be suspended until the team and coaching staff receive the all-clear from two tests taken 24 hours apart and antibody tests will be repeated within five and seven days of each other. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the government’s scientific committee raised a red flag at this part of the protocol on the basis that, up until now, one positive test has been enough to send clubs into quarantine for a fortnight. This is a dilemma faced by all leagues hoping to finish the season.

Then there’s the not insignificant matter of away games and travel: it’s one thing limiting external contact within a training facility you own, it’s another thing doing it on the road. Fourteen of Serie A’s 20 clubs are located in areas that were defined “hotbeds” in Italy’s fight against the pandemic.

The outlook’s bleak then?

Gravina said: “In order to run zero risks, we’d have to wait for a vaccine. According to the scientists, that won’t be until spring 2021. We can’t just shut everything down waiting for that to happen.” Dialogue between the FIGC and the government’s scientific committee remains open, with Gravina vowing to modify the protocol in a renewed effort to at least obtain consent for teams to return to training on May 18.

Spadafora grows more pessimistic by the day, however. He talks about the road back to football getting tighter and tighter with only a “spiraglio” — the smallest of openings — left for it to happen. Gravina’s decision to align himself with UEFA and make August 3 the cut-off point for domestic competitions to finish puts Italian football on the clock. Serie A has proposed proroguing expiring contracts until after the season concludes. If the league returns to training in less than three weeks and games start from mid-June, that sounds like a good idea. But that’s a big if.

Spadafora has appealed to the leagues to come up with a Plan B. “I am starting to get the idea there will be a surprise over the next few days,” he told free-to-air TV channel La7. “Presidents could soon ask me to end the season now so they can prepare for the next one.” Brescia’s owner Massimo Cellino has repeatedly declared the season over. His counterparts at Torino and Sampdoria, Urbano Cairo and Massimo Ferrero, have both expressed scepticism plans to return — they fear finishing this season may compromise the next one.

What are the players doing in the meantime?

Well, Lazio’s Marco Parolo has been using his free time away from the training ground to protest that players should be allowed in the training ground. “All professional athletes should be treated the same,” he told the club’s official radio station. “I’m our athletes’ No 1 fan at the World Championships, and I’m all for them going back to training, but I think footballers should, too.”

For now though the players continue to work out at home.

“It’s difficult to expect a player to be able to maintain the necessary fitness to play in Serie A after a prolonged period of inactivity,” Sampdoria’s head of performance, Paolo Bertelli, tells The Athletic. “We’re trying to keep the fitness of our players to the highest standards as much as we possibly can.” Samp’s players have workout classes six days a week. “The sessions last between 65 and 80 minutes each depending on the player and the day of the week,” Bertelli says. “In addition to a warm-up, we do some free-weight exercises — some core, some jumps — hop on the exercise bike and work with the resistance bands. The players who have a running machine get a workout for that. It’s a bit different for the goalkeepers because we need to keep their explosiveness and strength.”

Roma’s goalkeeper Pau Lopez logs onto Roma’s bespoke platform to access all the material he needs for his day. “Every day the fitness coach sends us a customised workout plan that we have to follow to stay in shape,” the Spaniard tells The Athletic. “We weigh ourselves on a daily basis and send the info to the nutritionist. He keeps us posted, especially if there’s a problem. It’s all very well planned out.”

Manolo Zubiria, Roma’s chief global sporting officer, goes into more detail. “We set up a communication platform that allows the club’s directors and coaching staff to video conference with the players. It’s not just those in the first team either, but all levels, including our women’s team. Internal comms are fundamental. We want to give everyone as much support as possible in terms of info and assistance, whether it’s to do with fitness or nutrition. To that end, we are ensuring our players receive all the necessary material for home workouts. In terms of grocery shopping, we have also sorted a delivery service. We can’t predict what will happen in the coming weeks but our objective is for the lads to be in the best shape possible when training resumes.”

What’s the state of play in the table?

Juventus reclaimed top spot with their 2-0 win against Inter on March 8 and have a slender one-point lead over Lazio. Lotito is against the idea of play-offs to decide the top four — “Inter have eight points less than us (in third) and Atalanta have 14” — but he would be up for settling the title in a one-off game against the Old Lady, who, he points out, Lazio have already beaten on two occasions this season (in the league and the Super Cup). Atalanta occupy the last Champions League place and have a three-point advantage over Roma, plus a game in hand and a superior head-to-head record.

As for the Europa League, Milan are outside the top six but could still qualify through the Coppa Italia if they were to turn around a first-leg semi-final defeat to Juventus (without Zlatan Ibrahimovic and Theo Hernandez, who are suspended) and overcome either Inter or Napoli in the final. Down at the bottom, Brescia (10 points adrift of safety) and SPAL (seven) were already hanging by a thread, which is why, to some observers, it’d make sense for them to trade places with Crotone and Pippo Inzaghi’s Benevento, the two teams in the automatic promotion places in Serie B.

If that was the case, you’d have some sympathy for Inzaghi’s former Milan team-mate Alessandro Nesta. The former centre-back is now managing Frosinone, who were in second until the most recent round of fixtures, when Crotone took their spot.

But as one Serie A executive put it to The Athletic, if the season isn’t concluded on the pitch, there is “no right answer” to satisfy everyone’s definition of fairness.

#Long Post #Serie A #Serie A Femminile #Italy #Covid-19 #Scheduled

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