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waywardstation · 1 year ago

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Bucket

Phione Akari AU

Ingo needs a bucket to carry his small passenger around in. Zisu helps him find one.

I got an ask for this AU once wondering where Ingo got the bucket to carry Akari around everywhere. Instead of answering it, I wrote a little segment about it... sorry it took so long to get it out!

OR read here on AO3!

AND check out the Phione Akari AU masterpost!

Enjoy!

————

“Ingo?”

“Miss Zisu! Ah, hello-”

“What are you doing back here?”

When Zisu had heard something going through things behind the dojo, she had expected to peek around the corner and find one of the village kids rooting around in the supplies, or perhaps one of those pesky wild bidoof that liked to sneak into the village, not her coworker.

“Well,” Ingo, knee-deep in a pile of various boxes and tools, sounded a bit out of breath — how long had he been going through stuff back here? “I’m searching for a bucket. I could have sworn I’d seen a spare one back here before, but I can’t seem to find it. We have one, correct?”

“Yes,” Zisu replied slowly, watching Ingo resume searching. Her poor friend had been very stressed ever since Akari had gone missing (understandably so, of course), and she found herself beginning to worry about him and question some of the things he was doing lately. This didn’t exactly help. “Here, get out of there and I’ll get it for you. What do you need it for?”

“The professor suggested it this morning to help keep Passenger hydrated, when I inquired him about their species.” Ingo explained, taking Zisu’s hand when she extended it out to him. Pulling him out of the mess of boxes, Zisu let Ingo dust himself off as she stepped in to take his place. “See, I’ve realized Passenger dries out rather quickly in the sun, and I often have to make frequent stops by streams and ponds to keep them properly maintained. Professor Laventon noted how dependent they are on an aquatic environment, and so I figured if we had an extra bucket…”

“You still have that little friend latched onto you?”

“Indeed!” Ingo tugged the flap of his coat collar to the side, revealing the little blue Pokémon she’d expected to see. With big sad eyes and a droopy demeanor as it clung to the hood of Ingo’s tunic, it did seem quite discouraged at the moment. Very dehydrated, it seemed.

That Pokémon – or ‘Passenger’, as Ingo had started calling them – was one of the few things that Zisu had been questioning most lately, regarding Ingo and the things he did. The little Pokémon was a mystery to her; extremely temperamental and touchy with everyone it seemed, the behavior of fervently clinging to Ingo and refusing to leave him seemed quite contradictory, all things considered.

It was as if the fragile little thing was frustrated with or frantic around everyone, but didn’t want to lose their attention or be left alone. It was strange, to say the least.

And Ingo was actually entertaining this tiring behavior, having given it a name to refer to it with and everything. And now he was getting a little carrying container for it! No wonder it acted so entitled, always squeaking at him and hitting him with its flippers. The only reason Zisu didn’t question it more directly was because it seemed like in a way, Ingo was channeling a lot of his stress over Akari into caring for it.

She could see it. She could see that there was some sort of placebo in caring for this Pokémon when he couldn’t help Akari. But if managing the mannerless creature helped him cope right now and kept him going, Zisu would leave it alone.

She knew he blamed himself for not going with Akari that day, after all.

At least at the moment, the Pokémon seemed more complacent just hanging out of his hood. Maybe it had even worn itself out with all these tiresome things it was apt to do.

“Laventon still doesn’t know where it came from?” Zisu kept the conversation going as she opened one of the boxes. A bucket should be in here…

“He has noted within the time he’s been here, the species seems to congregate in small groups along the coastlands’ shoreline in the warmer months. He speculates there’s a migratory pattern.” A sentence that only surprised Zisu, seeing as how the days were only growing colder and shorter now.

“So? Why is it here now then?”

“The professor hypothesized that perhaps a storm separated it, maybe even carried it all the way inland. Or that its group simply abandoned it.” Ingo reiterated what he could remember. “But he is still very unsure.”

Both were quite grim and lonely options; Zisu found herself now feeling a little empathetic for the creature as she pulled a heavy bag of cleaning tools out of one of the boxes. And there, just underneath-

“Aha! Found it!” Triumphantly, Zisu yanked the coveted treasure out and held it up for Ingo to see; a wooden bucket. A bit dusty, but sturdy and useful all the same. Holding the bucket secure in her hands by its sides as she stepped out of the pile, she held it out for Ingo to take. “One creature container, just for you!”

“Thank you, I greatly appreciate it Miss Zisu,” Ingo received the bucket in both arms, hugging it closely. It seemed the prospect of a new transportation method somewhat interested Passenger as well, as the little Pokémon perked up a little to half-heartedly inspect it.

Looking over the bucket, Ingo genuinely seemed appreciative just as he had said, but there was still a sort of emptiness, as if the accomplishment was minimal.

He was so tired, and yet his thoughts were already moving elsewhere, onto the next step. Zisu wanted to do nothing more than grab him by the shoulders, drag him to the Wallflower, and make sure he got a hot, filling meal in him, all the while reassuring him things would truly be alright before making sure he could get a fulfilling, restful sleep.

But she knew that all of that would only stress him out right now, horribly so. He was clearly getting ready to go out and look for Akari again, and had only come by for a bucket to make sure he didn’t have to stop searching so frequently just for Passenger’s sake.

“Well,” Ingo cleared his throat, appearing a little self-conscious over how obvious it was that he just wanted to leave now. He tucked the bucket away under one of his arms, awkwardly adjusting his cap by the brim with the other. “I should depart now. Thank you again. I will, ah, most likely see you again within the next few days.”

Zisu looked upon him with a certain sadness. Sighing, she opened her arms. “Ingo, come here.”

Ingo moved as requested after a moment of hesitation, and Zisu pulled him the rest of the way into a hug. Wrapping her arms around him, she felt his one free arm hug back around her as he slumped into her shoulder.

“It’ll be alright.” She spoke against his neck. He smelled like sweat and stress. “Akari is fine. That kid is so strong; you’ll find her, or she’ll find you, and she’ll come back.”

Ingo sniffed, his words rather quiet. “Thank you.”

“It’s not your fault that this happened, ok?”

Despite the million things he wanted to say that Zisu could practically feel roiling under his rib cage against her, Ingo simply released a cracked sigh into her shoulder instead. She squeezed him tighter as if it would keep him together a little longer, before letting him go. Ingo was looking down as she moved away, but Zisu noticed Passenger was staring at her with those same sad, reserved eyes.

Putting on a big smile, Zisu did her best to encourage her friend. “Now, good luck out there! If anyone is going to find Akari, it’s going to be you. I know when you come back, you’ll have her with you.”

“I do hope so.” Ingo’s eyes squinted in indication of a small, reassuring smile in return as he turned to head back around the dojo and leave, bucket in hand. “I am very much looking forward to that as well; thank you.”

And with that, he walked through the gates of the training grounds, not to be seen again for four days.

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stolen-pen-name23 · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! Could you do 7 or 21 of the angst prompts for Obi Wan and Ahsoka please?

Hi! Thank you for the prompt (from these prompts)!! And yes, I can do both actually! Here ya go:

---

“You are so stupid.”

The words are dry — at least, Ahsoka hopes they are dry enough to hide the very real fear lingering behind them.

“Thanks,” Obi-Wan says between clenched teeth, obviously not hearing the full emotion behind Ahsoka’s sentiment. He is sitting across from her in the co-pilot’s chair — a bundle of bloodstained robes and tightened shoulders as he breathes through the pain. She shoots him another glare while she digs through the medkit, searching for a set of tweezers.

“Going after a bounty hunter who was carrying a slugthrower,” Ahsoka mutters. “What were you thinking?”

“Well, I—”

“No, don’t answer that,” Ahsoka says, raising her hand. “I already have the answer. You weren’t thinking.”

“Now hold on,” Obi-Wan pants. “We couldn’t let them capture the senator now, could we? We had a mission.”

“Yeah, and you made me stay behind and guard the other senators.”

“It was a very important task,” he says defensively.

“You made me their babysitter because you knew that going after Bane was dangerous. You knew and you went anyway.”

“To be fair,” Obi-Wan says, “he’s never used slugthrowers before.”

“And so what? You didn’t think he’d actually use it on you?”

“I was cautiously optimistic.”

“Look where that got you,” Ahsoka says, shaking her head. She continues rifling through the medkit until she finally finds a set of tweezers and a small scalpel. Obi-Wan eyes both items warily.

“I need to get a better look at the wound before I do anything,” Ahsoka says, trying to keep him calm, despite her current anger at him.

“Alright,” he nods, looking like he’s trying to reassure himself.

Ahsoka cuts through the fabric of his tunics and his undershirts and pulls them away. Underneath, a circular wound mars Obi-Wan’s skin. His muscles are tight, instinctively clenching in a vain attempt to ward off the pain.

“Hmmm.”

“What?” Obi-Wan asks.

“I have good news and bad news.”

“Do share.”

“The bad news is the bullet didn’t go all the way through. The good news is that it looks like it didn’t go too deep, so it shouldn’t be too hard for me to get it out. I won’t be needing this.” She sets the scalpel aside.

“Well, as long as there’s good news,” Obi-Wan sighs. “Though I suppose there was never a silver lining without a dark cloud behind it.”

“No, I suppose not,” Ahsoka says, offering him a sympathetic smile. “I need to get this out. You’ll get an infection if I don’t.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan says, resigned. “Let’s just get on with it then.”

Ahsoka takes a deep breath and relies on the Force to steady her hand. She presses the tweezers into the wound. A harsh breath escapes Obi-Wan’s lips, but he does not cry out. Ahsoka takes that as a sign to keep going. She pinches the bullet between the tweezers, but she slips and digs the metal deeper into the torn-up flesh.

Obi-Wan gasps and pulls away from Ahsoka.

“Sorry!” Ahsoka exclaims.

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan pants, blinking back tears that had pooled in his eyes on reflex. “Just keep going.”

Ahsoka nods and goes back in with the tweezers, but Obi-Wan flinches back. Ahsoka tries again, and he recoils to the side.

“Stop that. Hold still,” Ahsoka says, exasperated.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m just not used to this kind of wound”

“Yeah well… that’s what happens when you go after a bounty hunter who is openly wielding a slugthrower.”

“Alright, I get it,” Obi-Wan says, deflating slightly.

“I don’t think you do,” Ahsoka grimaces. “Now for real this time. Stay still.”

Obi-Wan nods tightly, while Ahsoka hones back in on the wound. She gets the tweezers around the bullet once more, and this time, they don’t slip. Slowly, she maneuvers the bullet out of Obi-Wan’s flesh until it clatters on the floor with a metallic ringing sound.

Ahsoka stares, frozen in place as the wound bleeds openly. Obi-Wan’s blood runs down his side now that there is no bullet to dam up its path.

“Oh,” Ahsoka says dumbly. “I always forget that slugthrower wounds don’t cauterize.”

“Yes, well, they don’t,” Obi-Wan says. Ahsoka glares at him. “Go get a needle and thread, I’ll put pressure on it.”

Ahsoka hands him a semi-clean rag and he presses it to his stomach. His breaths become a little more ragged.

“Hang in there Master,” Ahsoka says as she finds a sewing kit. She measures out a length of thread and cuts it. The eye of the needle is tiny and she struggles to get the thread to go through it.

“Maybe we should have prepared the needle before we took out the bullet,” Obi-Wan observes dryly.

“Why didn’t you tell me to do that?” Ahsoka asks, her voice going higher in pitch as she desperately tries to thread the needle.

“I was preoccupied, you know, with being shot.”

“That is your own kriffing fault and you know it,” Ahsoka retaliates.

Ahsoka calls on the Force to steady her hand once again. Finally, the thread obeys her commands and pushes through the eye of the needle. With deft fingers, she ties it off.

“Ready?”

From his tight nod, it is clear that Obi-Wan is not ready, but he knows as well as she does that there is little time for hesitation.

“Alright,” Ahsoka says, trying to keep her voice sure and even. “I’ll be quick.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan says.

Ahsoka is true to her word. She finishes the stitches in a manner of a few minutes. By the end of it, Obi-Wan is pale and sweating, but gratitude shines in his eyes.

“Done,” Ahsoka says after she ties off the end of the thread.

“Thank you Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan says. “I’ll be sure to come to you the next time I’m shot.”

“You’re impossible. Absolutely impossible. You know that right?”

“Well, Anakin is actually—”

“I’m not talking about Anakin, I’m talking about you,” Ahsoka huffs, suddenly feeling irked by Obi-Wan’s casualness. Now that he has been stitched back together, she has time to feel the anger starting to flood her bloodstream.

“Ahsoka…”

“Everyone thinks Anakin is the reckless one, and maybe he is, but when he’s not around to be the reckless one… Well, it’s like you don’t care if you live or you die.”

Obi-Wan looks down at his bloodstained hands. “Of course I care.”

She stops messing with the medkit and looks Obi-Wan dead in the eyes. “Then why are you always so reckless huh? Do you ever think about what would happen if something happened to you?”

“Life would go on without me, Ahsoka. If it’s the will of the Force…”

“Do not bring ‘the will of the Force’ into this. I’m talking about when you pull stunts like this.”

Obi-Wan is silent — the smooth-talking negotiator finally at a loss for words.

“Master,” Ahsoka says quietly. “If you died… I would be devastated.”

“Ahsoka…”

She doesn’t let him continue. “My feelings aside, think about Anakin. Do you know what would happen to him if he lost you? I can’t watch him go through that for a second time.”

Obi-Wan pales and Ahsoka isn’t sure if it’s from the blood loss or the words she is mercilessly volleying at him. She continues anyway.

“It would almost be worse than losing you. I know how to let go, but he… I don’t know what he would do if he lost you. He can’t… that can’t happen again.”

“I want to tell you it won’t.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t,” he says, his jaw tight with either pain or sorrow. Perhaps both.

“Please, just…”

“No. I will not make you a promise I can’t keep. Not while we’re in a war. Not ever.”

“Then promise me something else,” Ahsoka insists, grabbing his hand in hers and looking him directly in his ocean blue eyes.

He looks at her wearily. “What?”

“Promise you’ll stop being so reckless,”

“What did I just say about making promises I can’t keep?” Obi-Wan grins. Ahsoka lightly smacks his shoulder.

“Promise me you’ll try then!” Ahsoka amends.

“I’ll try,” he laughs. “I promise.”

Slowly, Obi-Wan stands up but has to steady himself on a leather handle affixed to the ceiling.

“I would love to continue this conversation,” Obi-Wan says, his voice starting to slur ever so slightly. “But I think I need to lie down. Or throw up. Or both.”

Ahsoka grimaces and hands him a canteen. “Drink,” she says. “You need to stay hydrated.”

“Need to lie down,” he repeats.

“Drink, and then you can lie down.”

Obi-Wan nods and takes a few sips from the offered canteen. He passes it back to her before curling up on a small bunk just outside of the cockpit. A slight shiver racks his frame and Ahsoka grabs a blanket and lays it over him. He hums in contentment.

“Are you going to be okay until we get to the temple?” Ahsoka asks nervously.

“Yes. The adrenaline’s just wearing off and the blood loss is catching up with me. I’ll be okay.” Ahsoka stares at him a moment longer. “I promise,” Obi-Wan adds on.

“You better keep that one.”

“I will.” A pause. “I am sorry,” he says. “I didn’t want to scare you. And I didn’t want to get shot.”

“I know,” Ahsoka says. “Just get some rest. We’ll be home soon.”

#my writing #tw blood #tw gunshot wound #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #thanks for the prompt!

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etherealeeknow · 4 years ago

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vocal lesson

• rated m for mature, slight angst

• pairing: vocal coach!seungmin x fem!reader

• wc: 2.3k (confession: writing long fics isn’t my forte)

• tw: underlying toxic relationship, masturbation (m), grinding, groping, unprotected vaginal sex, explicit language, creampie- i think that’s all, please do tell me if you find more c:

• note: i have a love hate relationship with this fic. i have a few goals i’d like to achieve from this fic and whether or not i’ll succeed is based on your feedbacks 🥺 so please don’t hesitate to drop them! also, enjoy!

• tag list: @es-kay-zee @formidxble @bobateastay @vogueinnie @sailorhyunjinz // leave a comment, dm, or an ask to be tagged! thank you ♡

—

seungmin despises the way his heart dropped when he sees your name flashing on his phone screen instead of you flashing upon his eyes. by this time, he’s fully aware that a chatty girl like you isn’t the type to text. in fact, you only do it on one occasion, which is when you’d like to cancel the class. just like what he has expected, the text says you won’t be able to make it that day and that you’re sorry; but he knows you’re not sorry. he knows you’re doing this on purpose—to torture him—and it’s working perfectly.

honestly, the suffocating pain in his chest isn’t because he has been losing sleep, tossing and turning in his king size bed for hours over the thought of you being all dolled up in the baby blue dress he has gifted you; neither is it because he missed his favorite orchestra playback this morning just so he could find the most perfect white shirt out of his collection of other white shirts just so he can appear pleasant for you, but because you’ve been cancelling the lesson for three times in a row. if your mother ever finds out about this, she would definitely fire him. to prevent that from happening, seungmin has been silencing your maids with credits, but he knows too well they’d soon go for more if you keep this up.

fiddling with the handkerchief that you had purposely left for him a few weeks back, seungmin gloomily shoves it into his pocket before dragging himself to the grand piano to warm his throat up. the first few notes started off slow and stable according to the piano keys, but with constant fear running on his mind, his fingers slipped and pressed the wrong one. the awry sound makes him cringe and shuts his eyes in annoyance. he hates it, mistakes, he hates it to the fullest, yet he has managed to keep up with it all this time just because he adores you more than anything, even when your cracked voice sometimes haunts him at night. see, seungmin’s giving his all to you,

but why are you doing this to me? where are you? i miss you.

“heh, pathetic,” he mutters to himself as he slowly lies down onto the piano bench, facing the chandelier which lights would usually illuminate you when sitting on the same bench while waiting for him to get to the music room, running your delicate fingers along the black and white wood. your side profile’s exactly like a goddess—breathtaking.

sighing over the imagery of you, he begins unbuckling his belt; eyes closing momentarily when he slips a hand into his unbuttoned pants and starts palming his clothed member. three weeks. it’s been three weeks since he last got off, since he last felt your touch, and he’s been trying his best to hold back because he believes you’ll eventually come around. he believes you won’t leave him just like that, yet you aren’t here again today, and he’s dying to release his pent-out frustration.

a heavy sigh escapes his lips when he takes out his dick, the tip leaking from precum and it makes him let out another sigh when he begins pumping it; another one follows, then another one, and it carries on as seungmin’s hand goes faster by each second. even in the peak of his pleasure, all he can think of is you. oh, how heavenly it would’ve been to have both your soft hand and pretty lips around him instead. his free hand is quick to slip into his pocket, snatching your handkerchief. despite only briefly smothering himself with it, your lingering scent alone is enough to make his head spin. with the sateen now wrapping around his throbbing cock, it feels as if you’re there, skin to skin with him.

“fuck!” he hisses, but eyes widening right away over his own volume as he quickly raises his head to check on the slightly opened door.

he’s so close and pausing in the middle just to lock the damned door would ruin everything. should he just bet on his luck today? it’s not like any of his well trained maids would rudely barge into his music room, right? but who knows?

screw it.

his back automatically arches when he feels the increasing tension in his pelvis, and it pushes him to fasten his hand move—pumping his dick rapidly to release. with eyes rolling to the back of his head, seungmin begins chanting your name desperately and that’s your last straw. the moment seungmin ejaculates is the moment you slam the door open and run towards him. the poor guy who’s barely riding out his high jumps on the bench as he sits up.

“y/n—”

“shut up,” you cut him off and crash both of your lips and body together, causing him to fall back down onto the bench, and creating a somewhat deafening screech on the floor, but it’s nothing compared to his loud moan in between the kiss.

the feeling of you straddling his lap instantly makes him hard again; the feeling of his warm hands running wild all over you and the stickiness on your inner thigh coming from your ruined handkerchief has you wetting your already damped panties—the effect of rubbing yourself when peeping on his little show. as the kiss deepens, so does your hunger for each other. of course, there’s no way you’ve gotten over what he did, and he’s surely still upset for being ghosted too, but for now, lust is winning. one squeeze on your thigh is all it needs for you to throw your baby blue dress across the room.

“you’re always so hot when you do that,” says the now naked seungmin who gets back onto the same position, looking at you with his half lidded eyes as his arms stretch out to fondle your breasts, his favorite part.

“the only time you’d compliment me is when we have sex,” you scoff before going back down on him, slowly yet easily pushing his cock inside of you, and both of you grunt in unison.

“y/n, ah— shit! i told you it’s because i know you can do better.”

snorting, you call him a liar before grinding mindlessly, movement starting off slow just like how your breathy moans starting off low. as much as seungmin enjoys being taken care of, patience doesn’t exist in his dictionary today. his hands leave your chest for your hips, guiding you to slip in and out of him at a faster pace. but that’s still not enough—he needs more. in a blink of an eye, you go from being on top of him to under him. seungmin bangs you down loudly on the grand piano, your buttcheeks and hands hitting the keys and filling the entire room with jumbled notes while you yourself are filled by him to the fullest, right at your g-spot.

“seung— fuck!”

“louder,” he commands while thrusting into you, hips moving in a rhythm, and strong hands bringing your legs up to rest on his shoulders before holding onto your ass, supporting you from slipping down—multitasking is indeed his second best talent besides singing.

“what’s the p— point?” you breathe out, trying your best to sound coherent while maintaining eye contact, “so you’ll compliment karina instead again? pat her on the head and caress her cheek again?”

“you know i only did that to motivate you.”

“bullshit.”

if seungmin has to name anything you can do best, it’ll definitely be your ability to drive him crazy—disobeying him. again, he believes he has been going all in, keeping up with your lack of talent and bullshit for the past half a year; the way you’d fight, then fuck him, and fight again only to fuck him again, and the cycle continues. whenever he tries to talk things out, be it about your vocal lesson or your tangled relationship, you wouldn’t give a damn. today, that has to change.

“and i’m the one to blame? karina always listens to me,” he replies, slowing his thrust as he can feel your walls clenching around him even more and more.

“faste—“

“i said louder, y/n. tear your mouth wide open,” he grunts, thrusting into you so strongly that you jump and land back on the piano, creating such messy harmonies.

“seungmin, faster!” you yelp, voice raspy yet a little louder this time with your hands finding their way on his shoulders, and it makes him sneer as he leans in to kiss you, biting your lower lip before he lets go, and stop dead on track.

“hoarse voice, dry lips. don’t i always tell you to stay hydrated?”

you find it unfair. seungmin’s energy doesn’t make sense. the fact that he still has the power to put up with fucking while carrying you even after his solo session is unfair. and the way he has the audacity to give you a vocal lesson in the middle of everything, then stopping just because you aren’t complying is way too cruel, but perhaps, this is what you deserve.

“i’ll never cancel our lessons again. i’ll— i’m sorry. i will really listen to you,” you beg desperately, almost sobbing as you grind on him, refusing to let the tingling sensation on your core die down.

seungmin shakes his head. he knows you too well. normally, seeing you surrender like this softens him and makes him think that perhaps, he’s being way too demanding, or maybe, he should be even more understanding.

“that’s not what i asked for, love.” is what he says before resuming, putting all the remaining pressure he has left to snap his dick deeper into you.

that’s when his name falls out of your lips ever so gracefully, followed by endless ah’s, jaw hanging open. this is the loudest and clearest you’ve ever been—no holding back, no hitching breaths, no cracking—pure perfection.

seungmin doesn’t even need to ask for more because you’re already repeating it on your own.

“fuck yes. just like that. such a good girl,” he grunts right beside your ear, picking up his pace.

it only takes a few moments till you feel the familiar knot in your abdomen coming back along with him twitching inside of you, and this time, you make sure to hold onto him so tight, afraid he’d pull the same stunt again.

“shit— please let me cum. please cum with me, come inside me, please, please, please,” you blabber, voice turns husky once more, but seungmin couldn’t care less, there’s always another chance for another vocal lesson. right now, all he wants is to,

“cum.”

the two of you reach together. name chanting, legs shaking, fingers digging, and body fluids mixing into each other—drenching not only your lower bodies, but also the extravagant bösendorfer piano seungmin shipped all the way from austria. but that’s another thing to worry about. right now, he can barely keep his eyes open while you can barely feel your stiff spread legs across his shoulders. once he’s made sure you’re over your high, seungmin gently pulls out and lets you down. he sits himself first on the bench before pulling you by the waist to seat you on his lap, and the two of you let silence take over for a little while.

“i know you’ve been bribing my maids,” you start off, “they have a big pay, but it’s impossible for their designer bags to double up in just a week, you know,” you continue while pushing his damp hair aside, revealing the remaining half of his sweaty forehead.

“they were gonna snitch on you to your mom,” he replies, pausing in the middle to mirror your action, pushing strands of hair to the back of your ear before averting his gaze back on your eyes.

even with your smudged eye makeup and cracked lipstick, you’re still as shining, dilating his pupil.

“and?”

“and she’s gonna fire me.”

“isn’t that what i should worry about? you’re a world winning award soprano. there are hundreds of talented people waiting in line to be your students. money isn’t the problem. plus, i know you hate my voice. i also never listen to you, never call you sir, and am ninety nine percent horny throughout our lessons. in short, i’m a bratty and disrespectful pain in the ass.”

your punchline makes him snort and he can’t help but to pull you into a hug, closing the already small space in between so he can indulge in your body heat and feel your chest beating calmly alongside his.

but what happened to changing things? don’t you wanna be in charge? you can’t just let her have everything she wants.

despite hearing the faint voices in his head, mocking him for having the weakest heart for you, seungmin doesn’t care. for all he knows, he was a train wreck earlier this day; he surely didn’t expect he would go from reminiscing the memory of you under the chandelier to it actually coming true.

“this is real, you’re here.”

“it is. i am.”

“and you’re gonna—“ pausing, he breaks the hug to cup your cheeks, “you have to stay.”

“what for? for you? for the vocal lessons? for… what?” you question, unconsciously tilting your head as you place a hand over his, slightly squeezing it, hoping he wouldn’t let go.

silence.

“i might be a bitch, but i’m not dumb. it isn’t about money and it isn’t about sex either. so what is it, seungmin?” you ask, eyes searching for an answer before adding, “i bring no good to you.”

you’re right. his best friends have said the same thing. they can’t seem to wrap their heads around how a collected person like him can break so easily over a random, spoiled, daddy’s little princess. it doesn’t make sense, he knows—i know. he’s been trying to figure it out, only to meet the same dead end.

“i’m a mistake.”

yes—yes you are, and seungmin hates it, mistakes, he hates it to the fullest, yet he has managed to keep up with it all this time just because,

“you’re the only mistake in my life that i can take, y/n.”

—

gen’s masterlist

#gen writes #seungmin #stray kids #skz #seungmin smut #stray kids smut #seungmin angst #stray kids angst #stray kids fics #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids blurbs #stray kids drabbles #stray kids masterlist

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imaginarydesires · 4 years ago

Text

Pedro Pascal

Character Preferences

Kinks ♡

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, elements of BDSM

Notes: gender-neutral! I hope you heathens enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. <3

❥ Dave York

Sadism. After a long day of work, he loves to take his anger out on you - and he loves how much you want him to take his anger out on you. He'll lay you over his lap and make you count how many spanks you get. He doesn't stop until you're bruised. Then he'll fuck you until you have tears streaming down your face. He loves the next day, too, when you send him texts complaining about how hard it is to sit down.

❥ Din Djarin

Cockwarming. He spent most of his life touch-starved, so he loves to have as much contact with you as possible. And what makes you closer to someone than literally being inside of them?

Breeding. This is the Way. The thought of you pregnant with his child is almost enough to make him cum right there and then. It's well known Mandalorian's are expected to pass down the Way of Mandalore - and that's what he thinks about every time he fills you with his cum.

❥ Ezra Prospect

Edging & Overstimulation. He loves to take his time with you and worship you the way you deserve to be worshipped. He wants to have complete control over you and be in charge of how many times and when you finish. He'll edge you over and over again until you're a whimpering mess, desperately begging him for release. And then he'll make you cum over and over again until you're crying and begging him to stop. He wants you to feel completely ruined by the time he is done with you. Another reason this is his favorite is because he loves how needy you are when he finishes shattering you. He is the absolute best at aftercare. He'll hydrate you and kiss you sweetly as you cling to his side needing the tender affection.

❥ Frankie “Catfish” Morales

Thigh Riding. When you just straddle him and grind against him until you finish, he is almost as much of a mess as you are. He has to try not to dampen his jeans just from watching you.

Praise. He loves being told how good he is for you. It adds to his motivation and just makes him feel so damn good about himself. He becomes confident and will do anything he can to make you continue to praise him. If you tell him he's big and filling you perfectly, he's trying to find another position to stretch you even more. If you tell him you love his mouth, he's digging his tongue in deeper.

❥ Jack "Whiskey" Daniel

Bondage. Specifically with a lasso, of course. Not his work one because he doesn't want it accidently going electric, but one very similar. He loves tying you up in general, but the reason he wants it to be with a lasso is because he loves the way you stare at his when in public. During missions or at Statesman's meetings, if he pulls out his lasso, he knows you're thinking about your hands being wrapped in it and it drives him crazy. Especially when you awkwardly shift in your seat, rubbing your thighs together to create any amount of friction to help sedate your heat. No one else may know why you're so flustered, but he takes full advantage of your moment of weakness. He'll play with the rope in his hands, kneading it into knots the same way he would if he had your wrists bounded. Everyone may think he's absentmindedly fidgeting, but you know he's thinking the same thoughts you are.

Whip. For the exact same reason as the lasso, except with the whip he also loves to watch you struggle to maintain composure as you sit on your sore ass the next day.

❥ Javier Peña

Biting. It's like a natural instinct to him. When he's fucking you, he just wants to bite into you and leave little love marks anywhere he can. He loves the way you naturally expose your neck to him and how your instantly moan more when he bites down on you.

He's really not that kinky - sorry

❥ Marcus Moreno

DDLG. He is well past just a simple daddy kink. He wants to be called daddy all of the time. He loves to call you his little girl/boy. He wants to take care of you. He loves when you ask him for things with your little puppy dog eyes, or when you get obnoxiously needy for him and practically beg him to touch you. And don't even get me started on how much he loves when you wear thigh-high socks and a short skirt.

❥ Max Phillips

Biting. An obvious one perhaps, but the feeling of feeding while finishing is a completely different level of orgasmic, for both parties involved. If you consent, you'll have bite marks everywhere by the time he is finished with you.

Blood. Another obvious. He loves the way you look when your skin is stained crimson, especially knowing he is the cause of it. (And I'm not going into details but... period blood. That's all I'm saying.)

Primal. He assumed it was a side effect of becoming a vampire - a literal predator - but he loves primal play. He loves when you try to run or hide from him because he knows he'll find you, and when he does, you're his for the taking. "Baby, I know you're here. I can hear your heart beat. Fuck -- I can smell your arousal, you dirty little slut. I'm going to find you, and when I do, I'm going to taste you in every sense of the word."

❥ Maxwell Lord

Voyeurism / Exhibitionism. Fucking on his desk? Sign him the fuck up. Letting everyone in the room over listen to your pretty moans as he fucks you into oblivion? Sign him the fuck up. He wants people to know you're his, and he wants people to know you are getting fucked good. When there's people around, he's rougher, faster, harder - he's anything that will make you scream out his name. He even loves making you wear toys in public that he controls so he can watch you try to contain your orgasms.

Sadism. Spanking is his favorite past time. There are days he'll look for things he can punish you for, just so he can bend you over his desk and strike your ass until it's bright red. He loves you being completely at his will, eagerly awaiting the next hit. He'll make your ass nice and sore and then spend the rest of the day gently rubbing it at any chance he gets.

❥ Oberyn Martell

Voyeurism / Exhibitionism. He is very open with his sexuality, and he loves when you are, too. If you sit in his lap and kiss his neck while he's busy, he will lose his fucking mind. Especially if you ignore the stares of others while you tease him. If you straddle him and ride his thigh, not caring about other eyes on you as you whisper in his ear how badly you need him. You are guaranteed an immediate reaction, and you are guaranteed to cum multiple times. He also loves watching you with others, specifically Ellaria. He is perfectly content sitting in the corner of the room stroking himself while you and Ellaria fuck.

Pegging / Bottoming. The hardest you had ever seen him cum was when you and Ellaria decided to top him. He was a whining, begging mess, and he loved every second of it.

❥ Pero Tovar

Degradation. He's rough - physically and with his tongue. He is calling you every name in the book as he pounds into you. You are usually his "little whore" or "filthy slut" - but once he can see tears well in your eyes, he'll be sweeter - praising and degrading you at the same time. "You take my cock so well, hermosa. You're my good whore, aren't you? So fucking desperate for me like a perfect little slut."

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vesuvianmess · 4 years ago

Photo

Popsicles?

Art by @jilljoycearts Drexxel is @vesuvianmess Vell is @deathbyarcana

A short fic recounting how these two met, pulled (with some edits) directly from a currently running roleplay.

Quick Warning: Contains mentions of stalking and harassment

"You are very welcome, have a good rest of your day!" He waved the group off with a smile. "Hiya, what can I get you?" He asked another.

Flitting back and forth from group to group, he greeted every single person with a genuine smile. There was nothing more satisfying than seeing others light up with joy. He’d taken up working at the bakery part time to help with some expenses of running his own shop. And he had to admit, the smell of fresh baked bread may have influenced that choice. The job was never boring as the market was always flooded with people, locals and travelers alike, all looking for something. Still, he only worked with Selasi during the mornings and early afternoons. When he’d had his fill, he would return home to open the doors to his own little business.

But today, he had something a little different in mind. Instead of selling little animal pelts, herbs, bits, and bobbles, he was in and out again in a flash. Having changed into something much more comfortable for the heat, he pulled a wheeled cart behind him to the town square. Near the fountain, he’d found the perfect spot and pulled the cover off the cart. It would take him a little time to set everything up, but once it was done, he noticed people already beginning to gather around. Some faces he'd seen many, many times before. Others, much more new. Taking a seat on an overturned wooden bucket, he twirled a pair of drumsticks between his fingers.

“Hello Vesuvia, I’m bringing you a special late afternoon show! Now then," he sat up a little, the line of his back straightening. "For those of you new to my show, we have fun here! Here's how this goes!" making a grand sweeping gesture to the gathered crowd, he continued on. "You may request a song but there is no guarantee I will play it. I will not tolerate pushing, shoving, or otherwise harmful activity during my shows. And, as always, tips are appreciated but not required, come stay for awhile and feel the beat of the sound! I'm Drexxel Volkov, and may luck be forever in your favor!"

It started with a small metallic chime, a shortstop of little taps on the rims of the set. But before long the square was alight with the beating of drums. His whole body moved in time with each beat almost as if he were dancing along to his own song. Small children bounced and tugged at their parents' sleeves, urging them to get closer. New comers stood with delighted expressions, some even getting a little antsy standing in one place, others giving way to bouncing their bodies to the rhythm.

There was nothing better than this, looking out into the crowd as he thrummed away the minutes, flipping the sticks and singing along even though nobody could hear him over the heartbeat he'd created.

The crowd was thick as usual but new faces stuck out easy to him. Even with the prick of sweat beginning to roll down his forehead, he was able to focus enough to make everyone feel included in his performance. One face in particular he stopped at for more than a split second. A taller man with vivid blue hair, dark skin, and a sort of shaken demeanor. He looked….out of place perhaps amid the crowd, like he could bolt at any moment. Drexel found himself stealing glances at the man throughout his show, a dizzying knot of butterflies in his gut as he saw the man start to meld into the hum around him. The thrill of the performance carried him through like a tidal wave crashing against the shore, his fiery passion shining through clear as day. Every movement felt natural, every breath felt like a whole new beginning. Drexxel never came from a background that favored this sort of thing, rather it was something he'd picked up on his own time. He had the extra energy to spare and needed an outlet to help with it. Besides, he always did like seeing people smile and what better way to do that then get them moving?

Into the second song now and he felt a wave of static run through him. Someone in the crowd was a magician. He could feel it. Even through the loud beating of drums and the crashing of cymbals the low electrical humming filled his body. He was sure of it. But was this magician able to sense him as well? That he did not know. He wasn’t sure precisely where the feeling was coming from, but he was determined to draw it out. With it toying at his mind, he decided it was time to show off just a little more. After all, using magic was a good way to lure out another magician.

Drexxel simply waited as he beat along in time to find the perfect moment to really show off his moves. Normally he would have saved this bit for later in the evening, but he just had to do it now. After feeling that little pang of magic, he knew he had to show whoever was producing it, that they weren't the only one with fancy magic at their fingertips. Just a moment longer....

When the final chorus of the song hit, he let it loose. His drumsticks sparked and crackled to life, enveloped in searing hot flames. With his sticks now burning with intense heat, he slammed away at his drums with more grandeur and energy than before. With each hit fire roared from the contact point, creating a dazzling display of towers of fire in varying sizes. If anything were to draw this other magician out, it would be this.

By the end of the show, much to his dismay, this fellow kin had not revealed themselves. It was a bit of a shame really, he would have loved to have someone join in his performance. What a dazzling display that would have been. He could only imagine what kind of magic would have complimented his own.

"Thank you all for joining me this afternoon!" He gave a bow, his hair falling a bit loose from his bun. "It's a hot one out today so make sure to stay hydrated and get some good food in your belly!"

He stood and lifted his arms over his head in a long stretch before using the rad cloth tied to his side to wipe away the sweat that cling to his skin. The show was over, but people still lingered in the area, some tossing coins into an open bowl near the drum set, others approaching Drexxel with questions. He was small for his age of twenty-five, standing at mere chest (or just below) level with most other adult’s that spoke with him. He had a thin, but decently sturdy frame with most of his strength apparent in his legs. Most people would know him for a scar that ran along his right cheek. Whenever asked about it he would simply tell them he didn’t remember where it came from but knew he’d had it most of his life.

The town square was still bustling with people as he began to pack up his things. Above it all though, he could hear footsteps approaching him. He paused a moment then spun on his heel to come face to face with a regular to his shows. The man was leagues taller than himself and had a strange look to his eyes. He was holding a piece of paper, crumpled and damp with sweat in his hands. Drexxel heard the man speak but didn’t quite catch the words.

“I’m sorry?” He responded back, urging the man to repeat himself. When he did, a chill ran down his spine. “...Go out with me. Dinner.” He pushed the paper into Drexxel’s hands. “You’re so pretty.”

The smaller pulled the note apart just enough to read it. In shaken scrawl it read:

‘Don’t make a scene. I’ve been planning this. You and I belong together.’

He’d seen this sort of thing before in books and screenplays. Some secret admirer gets too confident and goes after someone who isn’t interested and it becomes a problem. Problem being a kind way to put it. Harassment was a better word for it. Bold of him to make the attempt in broad daylight, let alone a busy square. In the kindest way possible, Drexel looked up at the man and spoke.

“I’d love to, but I have plans this evening. Another show I mean.”

He felt the prickle of magic in the air again, but it wasn’t coming from the man in front of him. The magician was still in the area.

"Excuse me, I'm talking to you." the man's voice broke him from his thoughts. "I'll be picking you up this evening."

Drexxel's brow furrowed, the energy around him shifting like hissing smoke trying to catch on damp wood.

"I'm really sorry, I mean it." He offered a sincerely looking apologetic smile. "But I really must be getting home." He made a move to leave but was stopped when the man caught his wrist.

"You're not going anywhere short-stack."

This....could be bad. As much as the crowd had dissipated, there were still people lingering about. Too much of a risk to cause a scene. But every fiber of Drexxel's being was telling him to flee. He needed an out. In the most...nonchalant way possible, he attempted to wriggle his wrist free.

"Your performance really spoke to me Drexxy. It's like you were composing a symphony just for me." As he was caught in his own little moment, Drexxel pulled his wrist free. But it only lasted a second.

He felt a pull against his skin before he heard a small snap. The man had missed when reaching for Drexxel's wrist and instead caught the beaded double bracelet on his wrist. Beads had gone flying haphazardly in every direction, landing on the stones below like pellets. In that moment he felt the pull of magic much closer than before. This other magician was close. Very close.

Drexxel was unfortunately used to people approaching him with much more....fervor than he anticipated. However, this particular instance was something else. He'd never had someone so adamant on taking him home. If this were to go on for a moment longer, he was sure to lose his composer. He may be a pretty upbeat guy but he also had a notoriously short fuse.

That hissing aura was rapidly kindling itself from a crackling campfire to a firestorm. When his bracelet snapped, he felt something in him switch. Rage bubbled up under his skin like pot boiling over on a stove set too high. His fist clenched and a growl escaped him.

But then, out of nowhere, everything around him stopped. He was about to throw a fiery punch but stopped short when he saw another man between him and his new 'friend'. It was the man he saw in the crowd! He said he was there to help just now. But what was he doing here and how did he…

"How--?" Then it hit him like a hard slap to the face. "So you're the magician I was picking up on!" His anger flickered back to amusement and joy. "I knew I wasn't imagining it! Oh! The helping thing, yes."

Drexxel offered the newest stranger a warm, bright smile. Without hesitation, he grabbed his hand and shook it furiously.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Drexxel! What do you say we blow this popsicle stand and get somewhere far away from this creep?"

The other man seemed to freeze up, like he expected a much worse response. His whole arm wobbled when Drexxel shook it. His eyes were wide and his lips parted in shock. It took him a minute to process what the smaller man had said to him.

“Oh, I…that is….popcicles?” The man felt his face go hot, blood rushing to his cheeks. He was sure the smaller man would mistake him for a tomato.

Drexxel watched him curiously. It was like watching the gears of a clock turning, the way this man seemed to be having an inner monologue with himself about whether or not he’d made the right call to get involved. He could feel how shaken up the man was, his hand trembling. Not very good at keeping his cool was he? Finally he spoke again.

“It’s localized. My….my magic…it…I mean I…no, it. It will wear off when we get a distance away. He could follow? I- who, well…popsicles?”

Drexxel had always been good at making new friends and getting people to laugh and smile. He was small, yes, but he made up for his size with seemingly boundless energy. It was nearly impossible to not like the guy. But, he could tell, he kind of took this one by surprise. But it wasn't the first time someone had responded this way. Not often he got to see someone turn that red before though!

Whoever this new guy was, Drexxel had never seen his face in Vesuvia before. And he’dbeen in the city for quite some time now. It'd been since he was about nineteen. He knew almost every face in Vesuvia, even if a good handful of them were only in passing. But this one, this one he wanted to know more about. Consider his interest piqued.

When time came back and this new magician struggled to make a clear sentence, it was all Drexxel could do to hold in a laugh. Localized magic though, not sure he'd heard of that one before. He completely skipped over the popsicle schtick.

"Localized huh? Hey, think you could use your magic with mine? I'm thinking....a wall of fire!" He still hadn't let go of the stranger's hand. "I could put a wall of fire around him, just tall enough to trip him up of course. You could stop time around it until we get far enough away that your....localization wears off!" Mossy green eyes brimmed with excitement. He gave the hand in his a squeeze.

"I bet we'll make a great team!"

He could see the man trying to process the words coming out of Drexxel’s mouth. He’ll admit, he was a bit of a fast talker when he was excited.

“Wall of fire…” He repeated Drexxel’s words, more to himself than the other, considering the idea. Not terribly flawed, he thought. A quick fix but not long lasting. “Worth…worth a shot.” an unsteady voice. “Wait - a team?” Vell had barely gotten the words out before the air thrummed with magical energy and, just as promised, fire sprung to life around the note wielding creep. If the situation weren’t as it was, he might have taken time to admire the flames.

"That's what I said isn't it? A team!" He mused, giving this new friend a wink.

When time did in fact stop around his flames, the passion in his eyes burned that much brighter. He beamed at this new stranger.

"Talk about a cool party trick. Come on, let's get out of here." Still gripping that hand, he took off. Hopefully this new friend could keep up with him.

They took off out of the square, rushing past pedestrians and shopping stalls in a race to escape the area. Drexxel had taken the lead, ducking and diving under obstacles like it was as easy as breathing. He felt his new found companion trip up a few times but he managed to keep up the pace. He was new to Vesuvia and hadn’t the slightest idea where the two of them were headed. Drexxel looked back to check on his new friend at just the wrong moment. The edge of his sandal caught on uneven stone, sending him tumbling into an unattended fruit cart, scattering oranges along the alley. He’d never let go of this new companion’s hand, and in turn, the two of them fell together. The other man now had him pinned, a leg on either side of him.

“I-- We-- uh…” The stranger fought to find the right words, feeling like a tea kettle ready to whistle. “We fell.”

Drexxel could feel his own face burning a bright shade. He would have been able to laugh it off if it weren’t for his immediate attraction to this man. Impulse guiding him, he offered the man a toying smirk. “You know, I think this might be fate.” He winked. “And I don’t even know your name.”

“M-my name?” The other man stuttered.

He tried to stand, pulling on Drexxel’s hands to pull him up as well, only to lose his footing. He fell back onto the stone, the smaller of the two now sitting perched on his abdomen. The look in his eyes was….entrancing. Intoxicating even. He couldn’t look away. “I’m Vell.”

“Vell…” Drexxel liked the way the name felt when he said it. He let his hands drift to the other man’s chest, watching him with bright eager eyes.

Now, what was that saying about playing with fire?

#the arcana #fan apprentice #apprentice vell #apprentice drexxel #jilljoycearts #straight from roleplay #fanfic #ficlet #my writing #vexxel

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kinkyacademia · 5 years ago

Text

Alternating Alpha

Anonymous asked: Maybe some angsty omegaverse stuff where Alpha!Twice accidentally either hurts or scares his omega? (I hope for a scenario, but I don’t mind headcanons if that would be easier for you)

Oooo this request did not age well, but hey, I still adore Twice and I can definitely try not to cry while writing this.

After writing this, I’ve realized I really don’t understand Omegaverse as much as I thought I did. However, that’s why I said I’d write for it: So I can understand it better. I added an under the cut for the NSFW parts.

-Mod Pasta🍜🍝

Warnings: Omegaverse, dubcon, alpha instincts, weird wolf shit

You were warned when you first came into the League’s compound; the Alphas would be terrifying. They’re Villains after all and they don’t care about the social standards of the world. They will do all the things Alphas were told not to do and the Omegas likewise. When you, an Omega, joined the League, you quickly fell in love with Bubaigawara.

Despite his problems, all he wanted was to make his friends happy. When he courted you, he courted you hard! Flowers, notes, little touches and even baring his teeth when other Alphas like Dabi were around you; you fell for each other quickly. He was the sweetest Alpha during heats, being a bit older than most in the League and a little more experienced.

But when his ruts came around, he shut you out the first couple of times. He would later tell you that it was for your own good, that he would crush you; he would hurt you and he didn’t want to do that. However, you were his Omega and he was there for you during your heats; why should his ruts be any different? Your body was made to take an Alpha, you would manage.

So, after a couple months of being together, you managed to convince a delirious Jin to let you into the room. The first thing you noticed was his head half-hazardously wrapped in gauze in order to “keep himself together”; his mask missing. He was covered in sweat and his room smelled like it too. His scent was everywhere and the smell of it was intoxicating for you. He was standing a couple feet away from you, his shoulder hunched up and his eyes diverted to the floor while he panted. He looked like he was desperately attempting to hold himself back.

“Jin…” You whispered, seeing his sorry state. You had brought a bottle of water for the mostly naked man and you reached out to give it to him. His eyes snapped up to it instantly, surprising you. He snatched it away but not without grabbing your wrist and turning it over. You yelped out in surprise as he pulled you forwards, pressing his nose into the scent gland at your wrist.

“You smell… so good… horrible… amazing…” His mind fought him and you had to remind the poor man to drink. He took a deep breath, then opened the bottle and downed half of it. He threw the rest of the bottle on the bed, before turning to look back at you. “I should hold back, I want to break you, no I want to make love- fuck you-” He groaned, looking away from you. You cooed softly to your Alpha, whispering your declarations of love to him.

You reached out for his shoulder lovingly but when your finger grazed it, he legitimately growled as deep as a wolf and you recoiled out in surprise at how warm he was. You didn’t think it was humanly possible for someone to be that temperature and survive. “Jin, are you okay?”

“Sweet.” Was all he said before he seemed to snap. He lunged forward and grabbed you roughly, throwing you onto his bed. His roughness was nothing like his usual on and off tousling during your heat. He was always kind, considerate and never wanting to hurt or push you.

Right now, he was an Alpha, plain and simple. As an Omega, it was odd but satisfying to have him all over you, pulling you about and telling you what to do. Your clothes were quickly discarded and he sunk inside of you from behind like a fuse bomb. His nails sunk into your hips and you hadn’t exactly realized what position you were in as the haze of lust took over your senses. You were on your side but he was strong enough to roll around a bit, staying inside of you. His grunts and feral noises drowned out the sounds of your whimpers and you felt like you were being used like a toy.

You were made to take this though and you wanted to help him in any way you could. Although you definitely like this kind of help; it was the kind that gave you both pleasure in the process. Since it was his first orgasm with an Omega during his rut, it shook him. Your own came and went, although you were tired from it, he continued on. When he came again, he slowed down; his dick swollen inside of you. A few minutes passed as your pants subsided and you departed each other for a second in order to clean up, hydrate, eat some chips and relax. When you came back into the room, having avoided everyone you could out of shame; his eyes had changed a bit.

Perhaps he had shifted when you were done but his eyes were softer. He got up, still buckass nude and grabbed your hand, gently leading you back to the bed. “Are you alright? You’re fine.”

“Yeah, just a bit rattled is all. I hope you’re okay.” You smiled, pressing a kiss to his lips and straddling him as he sat back on his bed. He leaned back and you went with him, putting your hands down next to his head in order to hold yourself up.

“So much better now that you’re here, Omegas make everything better.” He chewed on the inside of his mouth, hardly holding back a smile. He leaned in for a kiss, one thing led to another and he was back inside of you. It was a lot slower this time and more sensual, with less clawing and more touching instead.

His hands roamed your body while he thrust up into you, sated after your last round. Now that his body recognized there was an Omega in the room with him, it was less desperate to breed and more nudging him on.

Not all parts of him wanted to lose that feeling though. Some personality in his head wanted the satisfaction of fucking you senseless, spurred on needlessly by his wild instincts of an Alpha. As you made love with Jin, his eyes widened for a split second, so quick that you barely caught it before his mouth yanked away from your own, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you down. He rolled you over, pushing you down and diving in to bite his bond mark that he made a while ago. You shouted out of surprise, half from pleasure the rest in pain and you quickly tried to calm him down. “Jin- JIN!”

“SHUT UP! Shut up, shut up, shut up!” He shouted, holding you in place while he ravaged your body. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this to you before but this time there was pain that came with his harshness. There was no warning, no preparation and no build-up. Your body hadn’t had time to produce enough slick in order to lubricate an Alphas dick, he was fucking you raw and it hurt!

“Jin, stop!” You shouted, hoping that you could break through the haze you knew your Alpha was in; one cause by his overpowering instincts. You tried to push him away from you but alas your Alpha was too strong and he wasn’t budging. “SNAP OUT OF IT! Jin, please? You need to fight those Alpha instincts!”

By this point the pain was growing, tears pricking at your eyes as your voice carried across the compound. His nails were sunk deep into your skin and his teeth remained lodged into the mark he had given to you. You could tell that Jin had lost himself to his Alpha instincts and that knowledge alone had fear seeping into your system, drenching the air and drowning out all smells of arousal. You feared him losing himself further to his instincts, the more violent side of him gaining control and not understanding what he was doing; not all Alphas could always control themselves.

Suddenly there was a banging at the door. “Hey! What’s going on in there?” You weren’t focused on who was on the other side of the door but there was something else that went through your head at that moment. Jin had taken precautionary measures when he had met you, teaching you how to deal with him should something like this ever occur when he was around you. You moved your legs about quickly, sliding them up under Jin enough to push him off and out of you, scrambling away and towards the door before unlocking it right as your Alpha shuffled towards you. His fingers grazed your arm but you flung the door open and scrambled out, flinging yourself against the wall.

You could smell the Alphas before seeing them. Two strong scents that quickly overpowered that of Jin’s rut smell, slamming some sense back into your Alpha. You watched as his eyes focused back in and he snapped out of his craze, backing away from the door with wide eyes. “I’m – I’m sorry…”

Your eyes flicked up as Jin’s form was hidden from view and were met with the back of one man in particular. Jin had told you if he ever lost himself to his instincts you should seek out one Alpha above all others, his scent alone was the only thing capable of suppressing Jin’s more sadistic and primally driven urges.

“You’re on your own.” Dabi growled as he stood in front of you like a shield, taking off his coat instantly and throwing it over the top of you. Toga’s more delicate touch aided you in getting to your feet and she led you off down the hallway, gently stroking your arm while saying nothing to you. She brought you over to her room, the scent of a different Alpha started to mask the scent of Jin’s overpowering rut scent.

“The shower’s in there.” She pointed to her small personal bathroom and you thanked her twice over before quickly washing off the blood, sweat and other bodily fluids that coated you. Once you got out, she handed you one of her shirts and a pair of shorts to wear but she imagined underwear from another Alpha would probably just set Jin off again.

You knew that he wouldn’t mind, he had just been overpowered by his instincts in that moment but if you had to be truthful with yourself; he had scared the hell out of you. When you got back into the bedroom, Dabi was sitting on Toga’s bed while she sat in a frilly chair. Her room definitely didn’t scream that an Alpha lived in it but the smell sure did; boy was the smell strong! Dabi glanced you up and down before giving an approving nod. “You look fucked up.”

“Maybe a little but it’s nothing that won’t heal.” You sighed. “I’m sorry you had to…”

“It’s fine. Not your fault he’s insane.” He shrugged. Toga giggled as she flipped her bangs out of her face.

“I can’t exactly relate; I love to rip my lovers apart. You don’t love like I do though and you didn’t exactly enjoy that last little bit.” She referenced to her door and you chewed on the inside of your cheek as you shuffled to sit next to Dabi, the scent of a calmer Alpha finally settling your nerves completely. You were only worried about what state Jin would be in now after this and how long it would take to build back up the affection the two of you had manifested already.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen him lose himself like that to his instincts, he’d told me all about it and everything. His personality just shifted so fast, I didn’t expect it and it scared me a little there.” You admitted and the two Alphas just nodded in understanding. Toga started to kick her feet out, looking bored of the conversation.

“Crazy bastard, probably didn’t mean to scare yah.” Dabi added and you agreed. You stayed in Togas room for a bit, then tried to give Dabi his jacked back. He demanded that you wash it first though, which was understandable given you’d been covered in another Alphas seed when he’d draped it over you.

Bubaigawara wouldn’t respond or open the door until his rut was over. You could smell it the moment it was and even then, he waited for a few more hours. When you came back around and knocked on his door, hopeful, you were delighted to hear a small “Hey” from the other side.

“Hey, Jin! Can I come in?” You smiled and heard a small shuffling on the other side before a masked Jn shakily opened the door a crack.

“I don’t know if that’s a great idea… Come on in!” He swallowed hard and you leaned into the door a bit, staring up into his mask with kind eyes.

“I know you didn’t mean to scare me Jin, I forgive you. If you’d meant to scare me, you would never have taught me how to handle that sort of thing happening to you, now would you?” You whispered and slowly he opened his door. He had scrubbed his room down, it smelled more like vinegar than himself now. You guess he probably hated being able to smell the fear he had instilled into his own Omega.

“Don’t downplay, I hurt you (F/N), I’m a horrible person, kill me.” He grumbled, not closing his door this time; probably something Dabi had instructed him to do while with you. It also gave you the impression that he didn’t trust himself anymore either; this wasn’t good. You took a step toward him but he tensed up and you waited.

“Shh, Jin. I’m okay, see?” You pulled the collar of your shirt aside to show the healing cuts and bruises. “Nothing I haven’t got from fighting heroes before.”

“I’m so sorry, I’m never sorry.” His breath shook. “I should have been paying better attention than I was.” You nodded in agreeance with him, taking another tentative step into his space and placing a hand on his arm for comfort.

“You should have, but we all slip up. It’s what makes us humans. I’m still your Omega, I don’t hate you, Jin.” You waited until he looked up at you finally, his expression still downcast. “You know it was your instincts but you also know that it was wrong and that’s what is important.”

“Thank you.” His voice was nothing short of a hoarse whisper. You sighed, reaching up to push his mask up so you could place a ginger kiss upon his lips. He barely kissed you back. You pressed your lips together, letting his mask fall back down and wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. One of his hands very gently laid on your waist, too afraid to do much else with you now.

“I still trust you, Alpha.” You whispered, pulling him closer for a hug.

“Thank you so much, I swear I’ll never do it again, please…” He had to steady his voice. “Please leave me be in ruts, I never want to hurt you, hurt you again.”

“I knew what I was signing up for being mated to a villain.” You nuzzled into him, covering yourself with his calming scent. “We’ll see where the road takes us.”

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whiteheartlight · 4 years ago

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Image ID: one of my fave Tahu moments is when he’s confessing to Gali about tricking them into the capsules and she’s described as his “dearest friend.” if you’re willing, could you write a post of Tahu’s relationships with all the Nuva as you interpret it? Also, I always found it funny how the Nuva learned all these lessons with hydration (work together, etc) and immediately messed them all up on Mata Nui. End ID.

got a great request from Fish so yes here are some things I love about Tahu’s relationships with his siblings!! okay you guys know I’m a little talkative so I’ll just go one-by-one and reblog as I write more hahaha.

Kopaka and Tahu

I talk about this all the time but honestly the fact that they hated each other so much at first but then learned to be not only teammates but friends and even leader and right-hand man together is genuinely so amazing and something I really really love about their relationship

also they’re funny as hell together even before they become friends. like they hate each other so passionately. Tahu’s such a living temper tantrum about him (literally jealous of Kopaka from the first time they meet) and Kopaka’s just so irritated 24/7 (just walks the fuck away when Tahu’s annoying him in the first book). their interactions are really funny but also reveal a lot about their characters from the start, which is really important. and even when they hate each other, they have each other’s backs!

that moment in their training where Tahu almost makes Kopaka smile because he thinks to pretend to surrender, and Kopaka can’t help but be a little impressed by him. and that moment where Tahu’s just in awe that Kopaka found the Bohrok cave!! they’re honestly both very aware of each other’s strengths and weaknesses - probably part of the reason they work so well together by the end of the story.

I know we joke about Kopaka thinking it’s funny to freeze Tahu when he’s corrupted by the Rahkshi, but his “sorry, brother” is very soft and genuine and he does not for a SECOND mock Tahu’s corruption or snark at him while he’s ill. He helps cure Tahu without hesitation, does whatever Gali asks of him to look after him, and looks after Gali and Lewa like a leader would while Tahu is down - and then fucks off again without explanation to avoid emotional discussions, hahaha. asshole, i love him

Kopaka also protects and reassures Tahu’s Matoran the moment they’re in danger! not that he would let them get hurt, but he’s even affectionate with Takua and Jaller (pat pat). I’m sure they would both honor their duty to protect each other’s homes and Matoran without hesitation

the fact that Kopaka does, in fact, eventually let Tahu lead him is like... okay not to be dramatic, but that’s a beautiful show of trust and forgiveness. Kopaka totally lays down his pride for the good of the team because he sees the good in Tahu and he’s come to trust that Tahu will, in turn, respect his independence and care for their siblings. and Tahu, likewise, sees all the good in Kopaka and trusts him as his deputy, leaving him in charge of Lewa and Pohatu. the bond between them is very deep and they trust each other so much now.

and in fact Kopaka laying down his pride to let Tahu lead is something that happens from the very beginning, when they’re still with Hydraxon!! Kopaka wants to tell the others that they’re going to be in the Toa capsules, but he lets Tahu make the decision - and even stops Lewa from asking questions about it!!! Kopaka has a strong sense of duty, and that duty tells him to respect that this person was chosen as his leader even when he doesn’t like it. that faith in the Great Spirit’s plan eventually leads him to see that Tahu is in fact a great Toa and his leader, and that he was able to earn that respect from his Ice Toa must honestly be a huge source of pride and confidence for Tahu as well as a motivator to never lose that respect and always respect Kopaka in return.

that moment!! where Kopaka!! falls and burns his leg in the lava and Tahu is the one who grabs him and helps him back up!! like yes they would all help each other if they were about to get hurt, but imagine - this is perhaps the worst Kopaka’s ever been hurt, he’s been burned twice now and is probably choking on smoke inhalation, he’s exhausted without his mask and from passing out, and in this moment of agony and fear his Fire Toa stops and comes back and heaves him to his feet and drags him to safety before any more harm can come to him. they! have! each other’s! backs! and they know that!

also that moment where Kopaka walks straight through Tahu’s wall of fire and Tahu is just stunned by this and gets this moment where he sees just how deadly his brother could be when he’s truly angry, to the point that Tahu tells the others to stop Kopaka from hurting the Matoran. it’s that acknowledgement of each other’s weaknesses and strengths again, and the way you protect your brother when he’s not himself. they’re like two natural disasters who see each other for the power they have and learn to balance each other out.

when they have to start a fire together even though they’ve both lost their elemental powers... Idk that just makes me laugh hahaha. Gali’s just watching her idiots trying to solve their problems. I love her

(okay I know even I have talked a lot about their arguing but honestly?? honestly?? let me level with you: they really don’t fight that much after the first couple months hahaha. everyone gets after Tahu for being an aggressive jerk but he mellows out and learns to respect Kopaka and the others pretty quickly and even in the beginning he can be very affectionate at times. honestly I don’t think their fighting was ever as bad as some of the Toa Metru fighting, so try to be a little gentler on Tahu!!)

that moment when Tahu’s so happy to see Kopaka and Lewa and Pohatu come down from the sky to help the Mistika... that’s LOVE BABY he LOVES HIS TEAM AND HIS RIGHT HAND AND IS PROUD TO LEAD THEM DON’T FIGHT ME ON THIS

when Tahu and Kopaka talk about Lesovikk and Karzahni, Tahu isn’t bossy at all and really respects Kopaka’s concerns, listens to him, and lets him do what he feels he needs to do. it’s pretty clear that the contention between them is gone and they don’t have any issues letting each other be independent

some headcanons!!!

I bet they love to spar/play-fight together and both know each other’s fighting styles REALLY well. it’s scary when they fight because they both go wild, knowing each other’s limits, so it can look like a real fight

at this point, Kopaka just has to give Tahu a LOOK and he knows exactly what it is that’s annoying him. Recently, they’ve been exchanging a lot of looks as they try to play politician with stubborn Agori.... but it cheers Tahu up knowing that at the end of the day, Kopaka’s just as annoyed as he is and always has his back

I like to think that a Fire Toa choosing an Ice Toa as his right-hand man is REALLY unconventional and even looked down on by some. people doubt that they can work together or that a Fire Toa and Ice Toa aren’t supposed to get along that well, as it requires compromise on their natures, which are supposed to clash. but Kopaka is not ashamed to stand at Tahu’s side and Tahu knows no one could direct and support him quite the way Kopaka can.

I bet they do still fight sometimes, but they work so much harder at actually having productive fights and calling each other out when they’re messing up without making personal attacks on them or not being constructive about it. they hate having to do this, so most of the time they just try to be really direct and then just accept each other’s criticism. “you’re being a dick right now” “okay, fine, I’ll tone it down!!” or “you’re wrong about this battle plan” “well, show me what you would do, asshole.” honestly, they’ve gotten pretty chill about insulting each other casually. it’s almost affectionate at this point. they have to stop themselves from swearing at each other in official meetings

I wonder if Tahu’s kind of worried about Kopaka after the Last Battle... it’s canon that Kopaka’s really exhausted and questioning a lot of things, but it’s never really explained what lead up to that. is he hurt? is he grieving? is he just going through it right now and under a lot of stress? Tahu can tell that’s something’s wrong, but he doesn’t know what - and despite all their progress, emotional conversations are still weird to them. he’s just hoping Kopaka will be back from that Red Star soon - concerns aside, he needs his deputy’s help dealing with everything that’s going on!!

the two of them are perhaps the most homesick for Mata Nui. it’s partly because they’re being asked to take on so much responsibility now. they’re both kind of longing for the days when they were just allowed to be Toa of small koros on an island that they loved. they don’t talk about that. but sometimes they see it reflected in each other’s eyes when Kopaka is looking off at the faraway snow of the mountains or Tahu finally has a few minutes to sit down with his Matoran and just know that his people are safe.

both also so protective together... if anyone ever messes with their brothers they’re going to be so ticked off, just fuming with anger... I say brothers cause Gali can handle herself and they both know it hahaha

Tahu just. he just really really knows that Kopaka has his back. no matter how complicated things get. Kopaka’s support is unchanging. Kopaka is one of the only constants in his life and he really needs that. at the same time, this could eventually cause some problems for Kopaka if he began to internalize that role and began to feel that he would be letting Tahu down by expressing his own fears or doubts or needs. like I said, he’s very duty-bound - he’ll need to learn not to put his duty and his role before his own health

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catgrump · 4 years ago

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Hi! If it’s alright with you, could I request a Byakuya x Clumsy!Reader? Thanks in advance!

Another chance to write Byakuya? Yes please 👀

Every time I get a vague prompt, I end up filling in A LOT of blanks, so I hope y’all don’t mind.

This time, Reader is the Utlimate Figure Skater! (This is also uh Non Despair AU)

TW: Hospitals, Injuries

🌻🌻🌻

You’re having trouble remembering what happened

You remember being on the ice

You remember the gold shimmering outfit you chose for your competition reflecting spots onto your skin

You remember starting the routine

And then you don’t remember anything

Suddenly you’re laying down in a...

You look around. There’s a TV playing some movie you’ve never seen in front of you under some cabinets and a sink. There’s a window to your right showcasing the cityscape at night. There’s a small table beside you with an oversized bouquet of red and white roses sitting in a vase.

And then you realize you’re no longer wearing the skintight itchy sequins of your competition outfit— you’re wearing a hospital gown, laying in a hospital bed. What happened?

Panicking, you continue looking around the room. Where are your parents? Is there a way to call a doctor or a nurse? And then you gasp.

Byakuya is sitting in one of those armchairs with wooden arms and legs from the 80s, arms folded across his chest, asleep

Too much is going through your head right now to think about courtesy— you’re the one in the hospital after all— and you call out his name

He woke up with a start, and an expression on his face you’ve never seen from him before: fear.

“Y/N, thank god.” He clutched a hand to his chest in relief

He stood up with more purpose and direction than you’ve ever seen from him, and stood at the side of your bed, gingerly taking your hand.

“Byakuya, what happened? Why am I here?”

You try to stand up, and feel immense pain in your leg. You wince, shut your eyes tight and go back to your resting position. You’re not going to try that again.

“Well, obviously you’re injured,” He scoffed, but his thumb was making brush strokes against your palm

He continued, “No one knows exactly what happened, but it looks like you misstepped on the ice and passed out. They were waiting for you to wake up before taking any further steps, but they suspect something may be broken.”

He met your eyes, and your heart quickened its beat. You haven’t felt these butterflies since the first time he kissed you.

“This is really unusual for you, Y/N,” he was mad? But he also looked concerned? This is the face he makes when he’s irritated with something, but you haven’t seen him act like this before, and you’ve been together for almost half a year now, “You trip going up the stairs, down the stairs, you fall out of bed, you lose your balance just standing up... but when you’re on the ice, you’re... poetry in motion. I would never expect this from you.”

You don’t expect this from yourself, either. He’s right. You’re like a fish on dry land when you’re in your standard loafers— you can barely walk in a straight line. But when you’re in blades... you’re home. Did you really make a mistake?

“You need to walk me through what happened, Y/N,” he demanded, “You need to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

“I... I don’t remember,” you tell him what does come to mind: the moments before you blacked out.

He laces his fingers between yours as he asks you more questions. “What did you eat today?”

You had three meals, and tell him what they were

“You did stretch and warmup before going out, correct?”

You nod your head in confirmation

“What about water? You stayed hydrated today, yes?”

You purse your lips. You were kind of rushing around all day and didn’t have time to sit and enjoy your meals, so drinking water was put on the back burner.

He groaned and let go of your hand, crossing toward the the other side of the bed, where the oversized bouquet lived

He revealed a pitcher of water and a cup were behind it, and poured a glass while he lectured you, “Y/N, I cannot believe you would be so foolish. Amateurish. Makes me sick.”

He handed you the glass of water, and you compulsively took a sip. “You’re right,” you sighed, and looked toward your lap

Byakuya followed with a sigh of his own. You felt his lips on the top of your head, and he took your hand again. “Well, the past is the past. You’ve learned from your mistake. And... perhaps I was a little harsh just then.”

He gave your hand a squeeze and went back to the chair he fell asleep in earlier.

There was a silence lingering between you two. You looked to him, hoping for a sign of what he was thinking, but he was staring out the window. He surprised you when he finally spoke again, “I’m sorry I didn’t get to see the performance. I know how hard you work.”

“No, it’s alright,” you reply to his profile, the city lights reflecting in the frames of his glasses, “There’ll be more competitions once my leg heals, right?”

He brought his gaze back to you... and smiled. For the first time today, you saw the smile that made you fall (figuratively. You don’t need anyone’s help to fall literally).

“And, um, I hope you like roses,” he smirked.

Still taking requests!

Tip jar available on Ko-fi 💛

#danganronpa #danganronpa fanfiction #danganronpa byakuya #byakuya x reader #byakuya togami #danganronpa fic #danganronpa oneshot

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yourlocalquing · 4 years ago

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Hi Kat! For your follower event could I maybe request a fic about Marx taking care of a sick fem!reader, please?💕

FINALLY FINISHED!! I'M SO HAPPY FOR MY FIRST REQUEST HERE! HAVE IT, WITH WOVE, FRIEN🥺❤️

"It all feels better now."

Marx Francois x fem!reader.

That morning you woke up still dazed by that bad flu you had caught. You squint your eyes open and see the light of the sun showering your face. That makes you frown and try to shift on your bed. Ah, damn...

You hum disappointed to the thought of losing another day at your job in the Wizard King's offices. You were from the start very excited to acquire it, and it was your first week in it. At least he stood generously and gave you headquarters in the Royal Capital. It is a great and comfortable little corner for you, way better than your old place in the Common Realm.

You also think of the amazing people you have met there since the first days of work. They are all so kind and fun to be around. But have a special soft spot for the Wizard King's aide, Marx Francois. He looks very cute and his character makes everyone feel welcome - most of the times, as you think of him stressed when WK Julius and his chaotic Magic Knight Captains start troubles. You can't blame him on that, that's for sure.

All these thoughts brought a chuckle on your lips. But they were soon interrupted by a talk outside your chamber that caught your attention. "Marx, you should totally go and see her! She's been feeling awful for at least two days now, I think she needs your support!"

"Ah, King Julius, it's not that I don't want to go, but it's probably a bit of a stretch to personally visit her... I might bother her... And, besides... What the hell will she think of me..."

"Ah, come on, Marx! I have gotten the hint since day one! You like her, am I right?"

"... Well...."

"Hey... Just go see her, will you? She also has gotten quite close to you... I'm sure she'll appreciate your visit."

"If you insist..."

"I'm sure she'll welcome you, Marx! Don't hesitate!"

"I think... I should give it a try...."

You carefully tried to listen, since the talk seemed to be about you, and you felt butterflies in your stomach with what you heard. So, Marx indeed liked you. You had noticed since the first three days that a spark was there between you two.

But still, it was too early to be sure about everything, and you hadn't gotten to know him that much... Nevertheless, all you had felt about him is that he is indeed a kind soul. It was always visible in his eyes, and of course, his smile that you have gotten to see quite a few times...

Your heart clenches to the anticipation of your door getting knocked by him, and you manage to sit up on your bed, to get ready to open it. You also wrap a scarf around your mouth and nose, because you'd never want him to catch that awful cold as well.

Then, you hear it, that door knock. You gulp and try to stand, even though you feel the fever warning you.

You act like you have no idea who is it, and ask. "Hello?"

"Eh, hi, (Y/N), it's m- me, Marx... You know... I just wanted to check if you're alright... Can I, like, enter?"

"Yeah, of course... Just, be careful, don't go too close to me..." You managed to say with a sore throat, and opened the door.

Behind the door you see a shy but smiling Marx, his hands are behind his back in an embarrassed way. His light blue hair are shining with the light of the morning sun that comes from your window. His brown eyes are also in contact with the sunlight, and it makes them have a beautiful amber shine.

His smile that makes you feel carefree ceases soon though, when he sees you suddenly feeling weak on your feet.

"Ooh..." You grab your warm head, as you feel dazed by the fever.

"Oh, god, (Y/N), are you alright?!" His voice sounds very worried, and the next moment, you find yourself caught by two rather strong arms, you didn't really expect to be that strong...

Your head feels to light to think about that, but you sure don't blush only because of fever.

"Please, let me carry you to your bed..." He proposes, and before you can say that you're alright and that you can walk by yourself, you feel your feet elevated from the ground.

You subconsciously wrap an arm around his neck and cling to him while trembling, as he carries you, and places you gently on your bed. He offers you some water. "You should really stay hydrated when cold, (Y/N)." He calmly advices.

You take the glass and drink from it, obviously feeling better with the pleasantly cold water.

"Here, let me check on your temperature, you really seem worriedly warm..." He told you with obvious worry shaped in his elegant frown.

"Ah, it's really alright, I can do it on my own, you see, it's better not to catch my illness as well..." You obviously sound timid, and quiet.

The next second, you feel a gentle palm on top of your head, and wince. "Don't even say that... I always feel the need to take care of a good... Friend..." You're sure you could hear a small sigh between good and friend, even though your hearing was a bit impaired by the flu.

That made you be a bit braver than usually. "I perhaps.... Overheard a talk... Before..."

"O- oh.... Yeah... I guess...." You turn your head and see him covering his mouth. "I'm sorry, I probably have to do some of the WK's papers, I'm sure he neglected them again."

Marx stood up to leave, possibly in a hurry, but you grab his hand on impulse. "Wait!" You cough. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... You can stay... I think I also have some feelings for you..." Your heart almost broke from racing at that moment. You are not sure, but you saw beads of tears on the corners of his sharp eyes.

He turns to you and grabs your shoulders. He's smiling but his lips are twitching. "I'll bring... A thermometer!" His voice cracks and walks to the door. "Some painkillers as well, stay here... Oh, wait, you can't go anywhere, silly me... Be right back!"

With that, he leaves with a hurry, and you can hear his shoes hitting the floor as he runs, to Owen's possibly. You sigh and put a hand on your chest, feeling way better and relieved. You anticipate the next moments, where he'll be again next to you and spend time together... Perhaps also sharing the news and having some tea... It all feels better now...

~fin~

#black clover #katrin writes #fic requests #marx francois #marx x reader #my fics #black clover fanfiction #julius novachrono #event requests #friends #mel💙#thanks for dropping the req💖

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monsterlovinghours · 5 years ago

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yes hello could i get (1) beetlejuice in heat to go? musical beetlejuice going through like a blood red moon and it’s just h e a t time please and thank you i love the work you provide to the people

okay so heads up? it’s soft momther hours over here. i am incapable of being feral right now, so behold the softest heat fic anyone has ever written. sorry if that isn’t quite what you were looking for.

“You...it’s...what?”

He rolled his eyes, still perched like a strange bird in the rafters of your attic, the place he could be as far from you as possible without actually going outside the house. Obviously, you had heard him, and you knew you had heard him correctly, but regardless, you needed to hear it again.

“Heat, babes. I’m going into a heat. Started like,” he cocked his arm and consulted the six or so watches he had strapped to his wrist, “twenty minutes ago. So I need you to go, lock the attic behind you, and just...ignore any noises you might hear up here, okay? It’s gonna be a rough few days.”

You didn’t think he was joking. He already seemed to be sweating, his limbs shaking, a strange glow in his cheeks as if he were flushed and feverish. All experience told you that biologically speaking, he shouldn’t be having anything resembling a heat. But, you reminded yourself, he wasn’t human. The biology you knew meant exactly nothing in regards to him. Still, you imagined by the way his pupils were blown and the noticeable bulge between his thighs, his heat remained true to the definition you knew. Something about the concept, the primal, animalistic urge of it all sent a tremulous frisson of heat through your body, and despite his warning, you didn’t leave the attic.

“Would you...maybe like some company?” His brows arched, but he didn’t say anything, and you asked without thinking, “Have you ever had someone to get through your heat with? Does it help?”

“Yeah,” he answered in a low voice. “It helps, but...babe, I don’t think you want that. Trust me, I know the thought of banging me for days sounds appealing, but it’s no walk in the park.”

“I can handle it, Beej, just let me have ten minutes between rounds to hydrate and-”

“No, no baby, you don’t get it.” He sighed, sliding off the rafter and landing on his feet, only wobbling a little bit. “You’re not built to handle this. You’re...y’know, alive. You’re more fragile than you think you are, and I…” Beetlejuice sighed, scratching the back of his head and looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the world than here, doing anything but having this conversation. “I don’t have a whole lot of control when I’m like this. I’m barely holding it together talking to you now.” Now that you were listening, you could hear the strain in his voice, as if he were fighting to keep his tone level. “I could hurt you. Like, really hurt you.”

“You won’t-”

“Baby.” His tone was low, solemn, almost authoritative. “I’m not talking about pulling your hair too hard or leaving some bruises. I’m a demon. You forget it sometimes because I don’t act like it around you, but I’m dangerous. I’m what you’d call the next step on the food chain, and you could end up-” His sentence cut off, as if he couldn’t give voice to the possibility of him losing control with you. “I can’t take that risk, no matter how much I would love to fuck you through the floorboards right now.”

You took a deep breath, taking in everything he had told you. True, you did tend to forget his demonic nature at times, because he craved your softness, indulged in it, basked in all the cuddles and kisses and lovely things he had never experienced before, Even in the bedroom, when he bit into your skin and his sharp nails left red furrows down your thighs, it was balanced with sweet words and passionate kisses. But deep down, you knew who he was, who he tried to hide from you, that part of himself he kept locked away for fear you would be revolted by it, by him. You wanted him to know that beyond the lust and the idea of being fucked within an inch of your life, you loved and accepted even the darkest parts of himself, the parts he’d deemed unloveable. Slowly, you moved closer, noting the slight twitch in his stance, as if wanting to take a step back but not quite able to bring himself to do so. Your fingertips brushed his cheek, and he pulled in a shuddering breath.

“I’m not scared, Bug. I know the risk, and if it was just fucking, I’d take your advice and leave. But listen to me.” His dark eyes were pinned to yours, his hair violet, fading to magenta, with an unnerving shock of blue above his brow. “I love you, sweetheart. Okay? And because I love you, I want to be here for you; if having someone with you during your heat will shorten it or make it easier to bear, then I’ll take that risk. We’ll put some safeguards in place, we’ll establish a routine so I don’t get too tired and you don’t get too deep inside your own head, but we can make this work, baby. Just...please, let me be here for you, okay?”

He was quiet for a few moments, just listening to your breathing, your heartbeat, and you wondered if maybe you were wrong to press the issue. Then, he lifted a hand to curl over yours, pressing your warm palm to his cheek as he nuzzled into it. “Okay. I hate how fucking soft you’ve made me, but okay.”

Quickly, you two had a conversation about safe words and non-verbal signals, agreeing on signs for “keep going,” “slow down,” “I need a break,” or “stop.” Once agreed upon, he took your chin in his hand and lifted your eyes to his. “One last thing before we do this,” he rasped. “If I lose it, if you give a safe word and I don’t stop…” He paused, a pained look flickering across his face before he continued. “You need to say my name three times.”

Your brow furrowed. “But...won’t that banish you?”

“Yeah, babes, that’s the idea.”

Something icy coiled in your middle, and you shook your head. You had promised him so many times that you would never say his name more than once, that you would never send him away. How many times had he woken you up in the middle of the night near tears because he’d convinced himself you would banish him in the morning? “Beej, no, I can’t, I promised I’d never-”

“It’s okay, this is different. I’d rather be in the Netherworld myself than accidentally send you there.” The corner of his mouth curled up, but it was humorless. “Just...send me away, wait a couple days, then call me back.” For the briefest moment, you saw the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes, and you realized how much trust he was putting in you to summon him back, how hard it was for him to accept the risk that you might not. Your hands cupped his cheeks, stroking over the slightly glowing fever-patches, and smiled.

“Okay, Beej. Cross my heart.”

He sighed, relieved, then that sheen in eyes was gone, replaced by the dull shine of feral need. “Now that we got the logistics out of the way, babes, you have exactly five seconds to get naked before I rip ‘em offa you.”

You grinned. “I only need four.”

It started slower than you expected, mostly in part because you assumed he was still holding himself back. Perhaps he didn’t want to tire you out too early. Once you were naked, there were hands all over you, more than just the two he normally sported, some attached to human arms, some sprouting from the ends of striped appendages that curled around your middle. He pulled you close, the tiniest slices of amber visible around the dark, vacuous pupils. Beetlejuice dragged you into a dark corner of the attic, and you shivered at the parallel of a predator bringing its meal back to its den. There were old blankets and stained cushions piled there, and you wondered how long he’d had this little nest set up for only a moment before he descended on you. His kisses were enthusiastic, but no more so than usual. So far, so good, you thought.

Then, you began to notice not only were there multiple sets of hands on you, but it seemed multiple mouths as well, wrapped around your nipples, cool tongues stroking along your skin. You reached for where you thought his head was, grateful to find the familiar texture of his hair between your fingers, and a grating sound rumbled to life at the touch, a sound that was both growl and purr. Something squirming and prehensile probed experimentally at your entrance, a pleased trill leaving him when your hips canted up toward it, and then it slid deep, curling inside. You weren’t sure if it was one of his appendages, a striped tongue, or his cock, but the pleasure of having him invade your body quickly erased any curiosity you might have had. As he was reduced to his most basic, primal form, so too were you, a moaning collection of nerve endings surrounding a molten core of pure need.

The first six hours were slow, comparatively gentle to what would follow, more or less the foreplay round of the marathon the two of you were about to endure. When the timer on your phone went off and you gave the signal to stop, panting and trembling and sheened with sweat, the multiple limbs retreated into his body, and a more or less human-looking Beetlejuice sat before in his nest. He helped you downstairs to take a quick shower, brought you water and a snack and let you rest while he paced, the surface of his need barely scratched. You set your bottle of water down and eyed him, a satisfied little smile on your face.

“You know, this might be more comfortable if we moved to the bedroom.”

Almost immediately, he shook his head. “Huh-uh. Don’t wanna break your bed, sweetcheeks.”

You laughed softly, oddly touched by his consideration. “Alright, if you say so.”

When your thirty minute break was up, he all but bum rushed you back upstairs, wrapped you up so tight in his darkness, like a fly caught in a spider’s web, and you began to quickly understand why he had such fears about breaking you. His teeth sank into the back of your neck as he turned you over on all fours, slamming into you so hard it knocked the breath out of your lungs. Something cold and wet curled around the front to tease you, stroking and circling, coaxing a steady stream of orgasms out of you as he growled and hissed in the dark, the only light the glow of his eyes. His disembodied voice floated around you, sometimes snarling wordlessly, sometimes praising your body, your resilience, sometimes spewing mindless filth, and sometimes murmuring in a language not meant for human tongues. He drew blood, healed the split skin, only to wound it again, fucking you open without mercy or restriction. He knew you were his in every way, in every way he wanted you to be. His warm hole to rut, fuck, and spill into. His lover, to pleasure and tease. His love, to hold and cherish.

At the end of it all, his heat reduced to a mere thirty-six hours instead of a full week, you were utterly spent, weak as a kitten, hardly able to string two coherent words together. Lucky for you both that you were working from home now, because you definitely weren’t going to be able to get up for at least a day. He laid you out on the ripped remains of his little attic nest and licked you clean as best he could, taking extra care to be gentle, before gathering your limp form in his arms and carrying you back down to your bed. You were asleep before he finished descending the attic stairs, and stayed so for at least eighteen hours. He didn’t leave your side for an instant, curled up and purring in the bed beside you.

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #tw: heat #sorry its not as feral as you were probably hoping but #*gestures vaguely*#there you go i guess

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velkynkarma · 5 years ago

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merry april fools day! what about a whump fic where Allura and Coran end up taking care of a bundle of sick humans in their paladins (plus whichever else of the humans are present on the Castle at the time)

You got it! This exists in a miraculous AU where Shiro didn’t die/disappear into the void, Keith still stays at the Castle, and the Castle still exists, because I Can. Also Kosmo is here for some reason, even though it doesn’t technically line up with any timeline. It’s silly sickfic, who cares about timelines, amirite?

———

Allura stares down at the box of recipe cards in her hands and wonders, not for the first time, how she got into this mess.

Well, she knows how, in the broad sense, at least. The team had liberated another planet to join the Voltron Coalition, and had taken part in a wonderful celebration the Kazenites had thrown in thanks. It had been a very nice party, actually. The food was positively divine, and the entertainment had been enjoyable. There had even been a parade, which had cheered Lance in particular immensely. Everyone had fun.

But the next day, everyone—well, almost everyone—had been bedridden, complaining of illness. And the symptoms were positively disgusting. Elevated temperature, mucus-filled noses that made breathing difficult, aches and soreness all over, harsh, wet coughs, and the...expunging of their innards.

The discovery had been frankly revolting.

But Allura was fine. Even Coran, who was an older Altean gentleman, and more prone to some illnesses, remained equally unaffected. They aren’t sure what the cause is—food that humans couldn’t handle, or perhaps a local pathogen on Kazenar—but it seemed only those from Earth had been affected.

It at least meant they weren’t helpless. Allura could wormhole them away if they ran into significant Galra opposition, or handle a smaller force with Coran’s assistance, between the Castle and the Blue Lions. But it did leave the two of them with five humans to care for—a daunting prospect at the best of times.

“Chicken soup,” she murmurs, repeating the phrase Hunk had given her. “Chicken soup…” She frowns. “What exactly is a chicken, and why would one make soup out of it?”

She wonders if it’s anything like the ‘cow,’ Kaltenecker. Perhaps they extract a liquid substance from these ‘chickens’ to consume as a health food.

The thought alone makes her feel sick to her stomach. She certainly hopes she won’t need to extract chicken-liquid. She will do it for her friends, if she absolutely must, but she does not look forward to the prospect.

It truly is a pity that whatever this illness is, is resistant to both her healing abilities learned through alchemy, and the healing pods. Those were the first things they’d tried, when they’d realized the situation was serious.

Unfortunately, the box of recipe cards Hunk had directed her to yields no answers. She had found the box in the kitchen easily enough. But the handwriting on each of the cards, presumably belonging to Hunk, is in a language she doesn’t recognize. She assumes this is some variant of Earthese, but she’s not familiar enough with the characters to be able to decode any of it.

She sighs in frustration, and sets the box on the counter, staring at the cards. Sadly, willing them to become legible doesn’t change anything.

“Why must it be chicken soup?” she mutters. “And why me?”

Well...she knows the answers to those questions too, really. Coran had already tried to make a big batch of terskargal for the paladins, the moment he and Allura had discovered they were all sick. The scent brought back fond memories of old dinners, cozy mornings indoors during the cool season on Altea, and moments of comfort when she had been sick ten thousand years ago.

Unfortunately, the humans had not taken to it so kindly. Shiro had reacted the most politely, in that he had simply said, “No thank you, really,” but his face had turned an interesting shade of green that Allura hadn’t thought non-camouflage based humans capable of. Lance and Pidge had been forced to suppress gags that had threatened to bring up whatever else might be in their stomachs. Hunk had thrown up, and asked why one would ever feed something that smelled so revolting to an ill person. Keith, by far the least affected of the group, had still threatened to throw his bowlful of terskargal out the nearest airlock.

Needless to say, it had not gone over well for a number of reasons. Allura is a little offended that something so comforting to her and her culture could be rejected so blatantly out of hand. But then again, they do also drink cow secretion and think it is delicious. Human taste simply cannot be accounted for.

But it did mean the humans blatantly refused to eat anything prepared by Coran, and they did need nutrients while they were ill. Which meant Allura had been recruited for cooking some variant of human food, in addition to her other caretaking tasks. Coran had instead adjusted to laundering fresh bedding for the humans, and working in the infirmary to synthesize a medicinal cure their bodies could actually process safely.

There is just one problem: Allura is not a terribly skilled cook.

In her defense, cooking was never considered to be a necessary skill-set for an Altean princess. By her tutors’ own words, she had excelled in acceptable subjects—history, military tactics, diplomacy, dance, crystal engineering, etiquette, piloting, energy manipulation, and advanced weapons training in multiple disciplines. Cooking had never been one of those important duties. As a princess, she was expected to have cooks for that.

Still, her friends are sickly, and she would like them to feel better. Sometimes, that means learning something new to heal, even if it is a monumental or difficult task. She will attempt to make this chicken soup, or die trying.

Even if it does mean milking a chicken.

She shudders.

She’ll have to interpret the cards, though, before she can do anything. Pidge had a working knowledge of both the Earth language and Altean. But Pidge was also—if Plachu’s recent mental message was accurate—finally dozing after emptying the contents of her stomach into a bucket for the third time in the last varga. Allura doesn’t have the heart to wake her, not until she has some working chicken soup to offer.

So she does the next best thing, and heads to the lounge to bother Keith instead.

Of the five humans, Keith’s illness is comparatively minor. Which is to say that he’s not throwing up as often as the others, and can maintain a coherent conversation without spinning off into delirious ramblings or passing out. Allura suspects his Galra heritage is giving him some degree of resistance to the illness, whatever it is.

It means Keith has also been her and Coran’s on-call expert any time they need to ask a question about human physiology, or their requirements while ill. After the fifth time they’d knocked on his door to inquire about how much hydration was strictly necessary or which remedies were most common on Earth, he’d finally rolled out of bed and muttered, “I’m just gonna sleep on the couch in the lounge. Less walking for you.”

It had, admittedly, made things a little easier for her and Coran in the long run. So there was that.

Allura finds him in the same spot as before in the lounge, sprawled out lengthwise on one of the couches. Coran had supplied him with several extra pillows and blankets, along with the things they’d so far discovered were important for human health when ill: a pouch of water, and a metal basin for when they inevitably threw it up. Allura is thankful to see that the pouch of water is three-quarters gone, and the basin is completely empty. Cleaning those out is...not an entertaining process.

It’s hard to tell if Keith is awake or not, as his head is currently sandwiched between two pillows. A light blanket covers him. So does Kosmo, who is sprawled out at full cosmic wolf length along the couch, wedged against the couch back and half on top of Keith. His long muzzle rests on Keith’s chest and his nose is buried in what is presumably a comforting fashion in the crook of Keith’s neck, just under the edge of the topmost pillow.

Allura can’t even begin to imagine how any of that is comfortable, but to each their own, she supposes.

Kosmo’s ears flick up as she approaches, and the wolf’s gleaming yellow eyes roll to the side to watch her enter the room. “Is he awake?” she whispers.

Kosmo snuffs, and flicks one ear.

She’s not really sure what she expected, really. They’ve had enough evidence to indicate the cosmic wolf is at least as intelligent as the average human being, but communication is not one of his strengths.

She sighs, but approaches slowly and gently nudges Keith’s shoulder. A congested, muffled snort sounds under the pillow, and then one of Keith’s arms slowly raises to peel it back. He stares blearily at Allura. “What’s wrong now?” he mutters, after a long moment.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” she apologizes. “However, Hunk has instructed me to make chicken soup. I’m not sure how to go about doing so, as the cards with the instructions aren’t in Altean.” And then, before she can lose the nerve to ask, “It won’t require me to milk a chicken, will it?”

Keith stares at her blankly for so long that Allura is afraid he’s grown as ill as the others. She’s been reliably informed that when human body temperature surpases a certain level of internal heat, human brain function can become unreliable. She’s already witnessed it in a few instances and can attest that it’s real.

She’s about to feel Keith’s forehead—this is also, she’s been informed, a reliable way to measure human temperature without an instrument on hand—when he shakes his head. “No. No...milking chickens. Ew.”

That offers at least some relief. Allura lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Can you find the card for me?” Allura asks, offering him the box of recipe cards. “And translate it? I will do the rest.”

Keith grumbles under his breath, but dutifully starts to sit up after a moment. Kosmo helps by poofing off of his chest, and reappearing behind him, giving him a large cosmic wolf to help him sit upright against. “Alright. Fine.”

“Thank you,” Allura says gratefully. “I really did not wish to disturb your rest, but I did not see any other option.”

“S’fine,” Keith mutters, as he painstakingly opens the box of recipe cards, and starts flicking through them. It takes him longer than it should, which is a mark of the illness’ effect on him; Keith is normally quite dexterous and quick. The way he squints at each of the cards is certainly far from normal, too. “How’s everyone else doing?”

“Let me check.” Allura closes her eyes, and reaches out with her mental connection to her mice companions.

Keeping track of five human beings had proven a difficult task, especially with all of them ill to varying states, and with Allura and Coran required to perform multiple duties. To that end, Allura had come up with an alternative solution: assigning each of her mice friends to one of the paladins. With a mouse stationed in each room, the humans could be monitored consistently. If the mice thought there was a health concern, Allura could focus on that paladin immediately.

Keith was the exception, stationed in the lounge. But he had Kosmo, and Allura figured the cosmic wolf would be intelligent enough to hunt her or Coran down in the event his master took a turn for the worse.

The check in with the mice yields results fairly quickly. Chuchule reports Shiro sleeping fitfully and waking repeatedly from bad dreams. They will need to find something to settle him so he can actually begin to rest and recover.

Platt shares that Hunk is out of water again, which means Allura will need to stop by soon to replenish the fresh water packs. It is imperative the paladins stay as hydrated as possible or risk becoming sicker.

Chulatt is of the opinion that Lance’s temperature has risen, which has been a problem with their sharpshooter all day. Allura will need to prepare another cold compress to try and help bring his temperature down again.

Plachu reports no change from when Allura had checked in five doboshes ago. Pidge at least is thankfully still sleeping, although the basin she had been vomiting into will need to be cleaned out again. Allura can’t help but sigh.

Honestly. Human illness makes no sense. The slipperies make sense. Stomach parasites make sense. Quintessence weakness makes sense. Randomly becoming unable to breathe easily, overheating, and vomiting for this long, because of visiting a planet? Absurd.

“The same as before,” Allura says, as Keith stops slowly flicking through the cards to give her his best attempt at an inquisitive look. “After you find the card and translate it for me, I will bring them new supplies, and then begin cooking.”

Keith nods slowly, and goes back to his task.

It takes him about five doboshes, but towards the back of the box he finally selects one card and tugs it out. “This one,” he says, and reads out loud, “ ‘Mama Hunk’s Homemade Chicken Soup Recipe, space-ified.’”

“Excellent!” Allura claps her hands together once, and regrets it immediately when Keith winces at the noise. “I’m sorry, she says, contrite. “Please...just translate the instructions for me, and I will do the rest.”

She brings up a holographic screen linked to the Castle’s main database. Whatever she types up here she can easily reach back in the kitchen. She waits expectantly as Keith squints at the card, skimming it once.

“Ingredients’re listed first,” he says finally. “One cup of rice or rice equivalent—”

Allura’s heart immediately sinks. “Wait. What?”

Keith blinks at her, then slowly looks back to the card. “One cup of rice or—”

“No, no, I heard you,” Allura says, a little helpless. “But...a cup? As in, a drinking cup, full of a food item? And what is rice?”

Keith stares at her for a long moment. He blinks slowly, and Allura can almost hear his brain trying to process. Finally, he says, “This isn’t going to go as easy as you thought, huh.”

Humans. She is great friends with them, she respects them for their adaptability and survival skills and potential to learn and create so much.

But often, they simply make no sense.

———-

Allura is forced to take a detour from that poor attempt at decoding chicken soup to deal with her patients.

She makes her rounds with the paladins, dragging a hovering tray with her piled with supplies. She plies them with fresh water and herbal teas and little crackers and cajoles them to at least try them, checks everyone’s temperatures (higher than they should be, but not too dangerous), and cleans out the basins. The last is a truly vile task, but a princess should never expect her people to do something she wouldn’t do herself, no matter how abhorrent.

Some are better patients than others. Shiro wearily thanks her for her assistance and does his best to insist she doesn’t need to focus on him, which she politely disregards. Hunk is asleep by the time she arrives, somewhat thankfully, so he doesn’t have to hear what a debacle the chicken soup fiasco is. Pidge is mostly just happy to have the smell of her basin gone. Lance is possibly the worst; it takes Allura a full five doboshes to convince him to let her assist with a new cold compress and to measure his temperature, as he is, in his own words, “too ugly and gross to even look at right now.”

By the time that exhausting task is done and she returns to the kitchen, Keith is there.

He’s bundled up in one of his blankets and sitting haphazardly at one of the stools adjacent to the counter, with a pillow on said counter and his head flopped on the pillow. Kosmo sits dutifully by his side, attentive just in case his chosen human decides to pass out and collapse to the floor.

“I can help you figure out the soup,” he mumbles into the pillow. He sounds half asleep, but his grayish eyes manage to meet Allura’s as she stares at him, bewildered. “Never made it, but I know what it’s supposed to look like. Kinda. It’ll...it’ll look different with space ingredients, but. Yeah.”

This is one of the most talkative moments she’s ever heard out of Keith, and yet simultaneously one of his more jumbled sentences. Still, Allura is impressed.

Impressed, but not so sure this is a good idea. “You should be resting,” she chastises.

“Shiro and the others need the soup,” Keith argues. It’s less heated than his usual arguments to search for or protect Shiro and the others, but this is probably due to the fatigue and the fact that his stuffed nose makes him sound a bit distorted. “It makes you feel better. And you don’t have medicine yet, so we need the soup.”

Allura sighs. “I would be grateful for your help,” she admits. “But if you strain yourself too much, I will forcibly drag you back to the couch, if need be.”

“I’ve got a teleporting wolf,” Keith argues, a little petulantly. That is highly unusual, but probably another sign of illness. “I can come back.”

By the way Kosmo flattens his ears and half closes his eyes—an approximate summation of an annoyed expression if Allura has ever seen one—she has a feeling Kosmo will not be compliant with that particular rebellious attempt. She smiles understandingly at him.

“Alright,” Allura says. “Let’s try this again.”

Keith manages to explain, in between sniffles and coughs, that ‘cups’—along with ‘teaspoons’ and ‘tablespoons’—are a measurement system for dry and wet goods from one large country on Earth that Hunk hails from. Allura at least knows not to dump an entire drinking cup of food items into the pot she’s procured, but that doesn’t help her know what to actually measure.

Hunk has saved her in this regard, though. Keith produces a second card from the box. “Found this when I looked through again,” he mumbles. “S’got measurement translations. Like doboshes to minutes. But for food.”

That does help. Allura learns very quickly that it’s two quarzaks to a cup, a tablespoon is three quarters of a sestent, and a teaspoon is half of a glurzark, and after that everything makes a lot more sense. She finds the measuring materials that Coran had pulled out for the terskargal earlier, and from there it’s mostly a matter of translating Hunk’s bizarre recipe into sensible measurements.

Knowing what foods to use is a little trickier. But Keith eventually spots a large piece of paper taped to the fridge, and when Allura brings it to him, it’s a list of food equivalents for easy reference. She now understands, for example, that ‘rice’ is an Earth food, but that Hunk has determined it’s comparable to boiled teslak grain.

After that, it’s just a matter of properly parsing the ingredients, chopping them into smaller pieces, and carefully measuring. That part is simple by comparison. It’s a lot like rudimentary alchemy, and she had always enjoyed her father’s early alchemy books.

In the end, the pot on the stove bubbles merrily with some Earth concoction. It doesn’t smell as comforting as Coran’s terskargal, but it’s not unpleasant, and there was—thankfully—no need to milk any chickens, as Keith had promised. The chicken, as it turned out, was the shredded and boiled meat of the creature on their homeworld. Although it had been replaced with alkecha bird in this case, which Hunk had determined had a similar nutrition content.

Kieth dozes against the counter, face mashed into his pillow, with Kosmo’s muzzle resting gently on his knee. He hasn’t been needed for the last half a varga, now that Allura has an understanding of what she’s doing, but now is the moment of truth. She ladles some of the soup into a bowl, and nudges Keith’s shoulder gently. “I believe it’s done. Would you give it a try?”

Keith blinks awake. Allura places the bowl and spoon on the table. Keith gives it an experimental stuffy sniff before scooping up some of the vegetables, broth, and shredded blue meat, blowing to cool it, and giving it a try.

“Well?”

He considers. “Think it’s okay,” he says, after a moment. “Had to tell with my nose stuffed. It’s not that other stuff Coran tried to feed us, though—”

“—terskargal,” Allura supplies helpfully.

“—so I think the others could stomach it,” Keith finishes.

It’s not exactly glowing praise, but Allura will take it. “Thank you for your help,” she says, smiling. “I’ll leave the bowl for you—please try to eat it, and then go lay down again. Kosmo—make sure he does both of those things. We want him to feel better, too.”

Kosmo takes his muzzle off of Keith’s knee and offers her a flick of the ears and an almost human nod. Keith mutters to himself tiredly, but pulls the bowl closer to eat.

Allura fills several more bowls and sets them on a hovering tray, along with more water and other supplies the team might need. The mice haven’t reported anything alarming, but it never hurts to be proactively prepared. She leaves one of the bowls on the floor for Kosmo, who gives her an appreciative wuff of thanks before sticking his nose in it, and then pulls the tray after her to the paladin’s quarters.

Hunk is the first stop, for the real test of her cooking capabilities. Allura knocks and lets herself in at Hunk’s weak acknowledgement, and smiles sympathetically at the human flopped uncomfortably in bed. “I used your recipe and created some of that chicken soup of yours,” Allura says. “Would you like to try it?”

Hunk’s eyes light up. “Do I!” he says. “Mama Hunk’s recipe is good for the stomach. Keeps you fed and from throwing it up again.” And based on how wan he looks, he certainly needs the nutrients. All of them do—they’ve been throwing up all quintent. Keeping down even a little bit will do them all wonders.

“It’s my first time cooking it,” Allura says, as she sets one of the bowls and a glass of water on a smaller floating tray. “You’ll have to let me know what you think.”

She helps Hunk sit up, propping him with several pillows. Hunk is not at his strongest, but he does manage to take a spoonful of soup, blowing it on it carefully before trying. He swallows, considers, and finally says, “For your first time, it’s not too bad. Way better than that other stuff Coran gave us.”

That does seem to be the general opinion. Why, Allura will never understand. Terskargal has got to be better than this.

“I’m glad it is acceptable,” Allura says, smiling, and keeping her true thoughts to herself. “Will you be okay to eat while I deliver the rest to the others?”

“Sure,” Hunk says. “They should definitely all get some.” He sniffles uncomfortably, but then helps himself to another spoonful of soup. “It’ll definitely help everyone feel better. Good healthy stuff in here.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Allura says. “I’ll be back to collect your dishes in a little bit.”

The next varga is a busy one, as Allura delivers the rest of the soup, helps everyone sit up and get acclimated, and supervises in the cases where her patients are a little too wobbly or disoriented to be left with a hot bowl of liquids alone. The mice, thank the ancients, are invaluable in monitoring the process, keeping her updated on everyone’s status as she rotates room to room. By the time she’s finished making sure everyone has eaten and hydrated, collected the dirty dishes, refilled on water, cleaned out basins again, and made a mental note of which paladins’ sweat-dampened sheets need to be changed by Coran (something that does make sense to her as an Altean), she’s exhausted.

Keith, at least, is no trouble. She swings through the lounge to check on him, on her way back with the dirty dishes. He’s sound asleep again on the couch, with Kosmo once more stretched out atop him, nose snuggled into Keith’s neck. His empty bowl has been left neatly in the sink, and Kosmo’s is out of the way on the floor, licked clean.

Allura wearily collects the dishes and sets them into the automated cleaner. The rest of the soup is still kept warm on the stove, ready if anyone else needs it. She’ll need to check in soon with Coran on his progress, but for now, everyone is as cared for as can be, at least for the moment.

Really, caretaking is so much work. Especially with five humans to look after. She has much more appreciation for her mother, and for Coran, and the servants of ten thousand years ago. But she’s proud of herself, too, for being able to handle it all. Who would have thought looking after five sick paladins would be more exhausting than an entire Voltron battle?

At least she’d done it, and everyone had looked marginally better after the soup. No one can ever say she wouldn’t do anything for her friends. And she hadn’t even been required to milk a chicken.

Thank the ancients for small favors.

#Velkynkarma writes #Voltron #Allura #Keith #Hunk #Kosmo #space mice #the rest are there too but just kinda mentioned #sickfic #April Fools 2020 #Anonymous

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lu-undy · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 50 - SBT

Here it is!

Mundy frowned at Lucien.

"What d'you mean 'non' ?" He asked. "I'll get the bloke as soon as I can get out of here."

"Look at you." Lucien raised Mundy's arms and the Aussie hissed out of pain. His muscles were still sore. "Bruises, bruises and oh? Bruises! Your skin has patches of purple everywhere…"

"Yeah, well, I'll just wait for them to go away and I'll get him."

"Mundy, they caught you, beat you up, chained you to a wall and drugged you."

"Yeah but I'm still here so I won't give up."

Lucien rolled up his eyes and frowned. He started to be annoyed.

"They had in mind to kill you and throw your corpse in the sewers, Mundy! How much clearer do I need to make this?! You are not returning there on your own like that!"

Mundy frowned, he removed his hand off of Lucien's.

"What's it gotta do to you? Let me go and do my thing!"

"Non, Mundy! They caught you once, they will catch you again! You lost the element of surprise! You actually made us lose the element of surprise! You made it harder for the both of us to do it now!"

"Are you angry at me now cause I tried to do it myself and not get your sorry arse killed?!" Mundy exclaimed.

"I then risked both of our lives getting us out of the trouble that you" Lucien put his index on Mundy's chest, "got yourself into!"

"I never asked for your bloody heroics!"

"What was I supposed to do?! Leave you to die?"

"What difference does it make to you - argh!" Mundy put his hands on his head.

Lucien sighed and left the room. The Doctor came to Mundy's side not a minute later.

"So, you have woken up?"

"Yeah…"

"Anything hurting?"

"My head, Doc', it's almost like a hungover but even worse…"

"You will need to hydrate plenty for your body to get rid of the drugs you've been fed. And here, for the headache, but don't take these pills on an empty stomach. And as for your bruises, I rubbed some cream on them last night. You're welcome to do it again, four times a day max, until the pain goes away. The tube is on your night table."

"Can I go back home?"

"Are you in a hurry?"

"Kind of."

"Mundy…"

The Doctor came closer to his patient and sighed.

"What?" The Aussie asked.

"He stayed with you all night. He actually carried you in here and took care of you, maybe more than I did." The Doctor nodded in the direction of the window through which they both could see Lucien leaning on the nearby lamp post and smoking.

Mundy sighed.

"What d'you want me to do? I can't trust him. It's always the same with him, you think you understand him and poof, walk backwards for a mile cause turns out he played you like a damn fiddle!"

"Mundy, look at your bed." The Doctor said, and Mundy looked down.

"What about it?"

"Look at the beds."

Now it struck Mundy. The beds were stuck to each other.

"And didn't you notice his red eyes?" The Doctor asked.

"He stayed up late?"

"No… No, he cr-"

Lucien entered the room and the Doctor changed his sentence.

"Do you have any memory of what happened yesterday?" He asked as Lucien stood in front of the mirror to button up his shirt.

"No, not really… I had the wildest dreams though…" Mundy answered.

"Like what?" The Doctor questioned.

"I dreamt I was in a bathtub and someone was washin' me. I couldn't see their face. But they talked and talked endlessly… They had a nice voice. It was a bloke's voice, though I couldn't understand anything they said…"

Lucien stopped closing his shirt and stared through the window, his back still to Mundy and the Doctor.

"Anything else?"

"Y-n-no… I mean… Nothin'..."

Lucien raised an eyebrow. He knew Mundy had lied.

"In that case, I'll leave you two. Other patients call for me."

"Thanks, Doc'."

And the Doctor left. Lucien waited for the door to shut completely before breaking the tense silence.

"Where did the lie start and where did it end?" He asked.

"What?" Mundy asked.

"You remember more than what you said."

Mundy sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Come on. What else do you remember, let us hear it." Lucien came back on his bed and Mundy sat up.

"I remember you helped me walk out of Duchemin's place…"

"Hm-mh."

Mundy frowned to try and wring more out of his memory.

"And uh - huh?!" He gasped. "What about the girls?! My van?!"

"Don't worry. I found them and they are safe with Maurice."

"Oh, thank God for that…" Mundy sighed in relief.

"You are welcome, although… I was quite surprised at first to find half a dozen teenage girls in your van, I must admit."

"The sick bastard was usin' them. They're kids goddamn it!"

"I know. They will be transferred to the right kind of authorities as soon as possible. It is perhaps already done." Lucien answered.

"Oh, ok… Sounds good for them… and awfully posh."

"You know me." Lucien smiled.

Mundy raised his eyes over to Lucien.

"I don't." He answered and the Frenchman's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Everytime I think I know you, you come up with lies that were hidden right under my nose and blow them up my face. I know nothin' about you, mate. You might as well be a sheila dressed as a bloke, who works as a baker and I wouldn't have a clue…" He crossed his arms on his chest.

"Mundy-"

"No. Don't make this any harder and just shut up. I'm tired, my head burns and I've heard enough lies from you." Mundy turned to come off of his bed. He went to the pile of clothes that the Doctor had placed there for him and started to get dressed.

"Mundy?"

The Aussie stopped buckling his belt and sighed. He was giving him his back.

"What now?"

"Do you remember the bet?" Lucien asked and saw Mundy's shoulders sink.

"The what?"

"You heard me. And you know what I am talking about."

Mundy sighed.

"You won your bet. I can honour my part of it whenever you feel ready for it." Lucien said.

"I'd never do it." Mundy answered.

"Why?"

"Does it bother just me that you like a bloke but do… stuff that you should do to him to me?"

"Non. Because I am doing it to him."

"Well then that just went from a bit weird to complete madness…! And how do you think they'd react if they knew that what you do to them, you do to me too?" Mundy asked.

"You mean, if they knew about my feelings for them?" Lucien asked.

"Yeah, that, and all those things you do to me…" Mundy removed his medical robe and continued dressing up.

"I took your advice, Mundy, and I told him. I told him what I held in my heart for him."

"And?"

"He didn't listen, or maybe he couldn't hear." Lucien lowered his head. He picked his socks and garters off the floor and got dressed. "I think he didn't even understand what I was saying."

"What d'you mean? How did he not understand? Did you say it in French and he doesn't speak it or something?"

"I said it in French and…"

"In English, I guess?" Mundy was buttoning the polo shirt that the Doctor lent him.

"In tears."

"What?"

"I cried, Mundy. My eyes still hurt from it now as I speak to you."

"Does he understand French though?"

"Mundy, if I were to tell you things as strong as that, don't you think the language matters little?" Lucien asked.

"Guess so…" The Aussie frowned. "But God knows you're so hard to follow. Just be clear with him."

"I shall." Lucien put on his jacket and went to the door.

"Also," Mundy interrupted him and Lucien stopped. "Since when d'you follow anyone's advice, let alone mine?"

The Frenchman opened the door and answered.

"Since I fell for him."

He left the room.

And that was the last Mundy saw of Lucien for days. Mundy needed to take a break off of everything. So he decided to stay for a few days at the lake. He spent his time hunting, swimming and taking care of his equipment. Over that week, his wounds slowly disappeared and his skin became clear again, if a bit more tanned by the sun.

Lucien's proposition stuck to his mind. The bet. It wasn't a dream then? Hm. Weird.

Of course, Mundy wanted to go and enjoy some dinner with the Frenchman. But what about that man he loved? He had told him about his feelings but he apparently didn't get the hint, hm? And even without that, with all the hand holding and leaning on his shoulder that Lucien did to Mundy, the guy still didn't get it? How slow and dumb he was!

If Lucien was to do all that with Mundy, the Aussie thought that surely he would understand, especially if the Frenchman had said it. What would it look like, eh? Lucien admitting his feelings?

Mundy started imagining it, his imagination ran wild.

Surely Lucien wouldn't trip over his own words and blush ridiculously. Nah, the bloke had experience in those things and he is confident in himself. But given how soft Lucien could be, Mundy imagined that he would hold that man's hand, look into his eyes with his own ice blue eyes and just say it as honestly as he could, in French.

"Je t'aime."

[I love you.]

The snob would surely say it over some dinner with some wine that costs more than Mundy's van twice…

The Aussie smiled to himself.

Yeah, and he would be wearing one of those other custom-made suits that also cost more than all of Mundy's clothes combined, ha!

One thing was for sure, Mundy knew Lucien was so suave, so elegant and refined that there was no way it would look like the disaster Mundy would make out of the situation. If the Aussie was asked to do it, he would blush so hard, his entire body would be trembling and sweating bullets bigger than his rifle's. In the end, he would probably pass out before the words make it out of his mouth. A disaster, an utter chain of unfortunate events rolling into one another, down a steep hill.

"Crikey…"

Mundy had been driving as he had thought about all that. The van parked on an almost empty parking lot, he exited it and went through the black wrought-iron gate and into that God forsaken place.

He walked through the narrow alleys made of rectangular grey concrete tiles, trying to pay attention to his feet and not walk on anything he shouldn't. Every step he took cost him dearly, as he remembered the last time he had taken those steps. Ten years ago, he looked at his boots the same way as he was now but could hardly see his boots that his mother had bought for him. The tears blurred his vision and his mind refused to see anything anyway.

Those steps felt like he was walking barefoot on sizzling, burning coal, glowing in orange between the flames that devoured it. Now, the fire had died, the coal was ashes and he was wearing a pair of boots he had freshly bought after the incident at Duchemin's.

Mundy sighed when he stopped in front of the two tombstones. He knelt down and removed his hat. He could hardly see the names through the thick vines. So he decided to clean everything up, and he did it with shame. He shouldn't have let his parent's place of rest get into this mess, it was horrendously disrespectful.

"I'm sorry Mum… Dad, I'm sorry, I just… Mum, I couldn't, I just couldn't."

He cleared the tombstones until they were clean and he could read the names on them.

"Michael John Turner"

"Caroline Mary Turner, born Clark"

He sat down cross-legged.

"Hey Mum and Dad… I… I'm sorry I've never come to visit… Ah, bugger, I should've brought flowers, shouldn't I? I'm sure you'd tell me off for that, Mum. I'm sorry."

He took a deep breath and removed his glasses too. He put them on the ground next to the hat.

"Yeah, I uh… I kept your glasses and your hat, Dad. They're old things now, especially the hat. But I'm takin' care of them and I'd never let go of them."

He tried smiling but it didn't feel right to grin at two slabs of stone while pretending he could see his parents' faces.

"I uh… I guess you've been watchin' me from up above. And yes, Dad, I took my rifle again, I know you don't like it but the bloke who did that to you, he's here. I'll use my rifle for one last time on him. I promise it'll be the last time."

Mundy could see his father lowering his head and shaking it in disappointment.

"I-I know, Dad, I know what you think about it."

Mundy turned his head to look at his mother. She was looking at him with sympathetic eyes.

"I uh… Since you've been watchin' me from up above, uh… I guess you know that… Well, there's something I need to tell you. Dad, I could never say that to you if you were alive, but you both need to know it."

He took a deep breath.

"Y'know how you've always been pushin' me to find a sheila, settle down and all? Well, uh, I could do that, yeah but… I uh, I also like blokes…" Mundy screwed his eyes shut to not see his parents' reaction, the shock, the surprise, the disgust maybe. "And right now, there's… There's this one guy who… I mean you get it, right?"

He dared open his eyes and looked at his mother.

"M-mum, I… I love him. I love him and I don't know what to do. He's head over heels for another bloke and - ugh… I don't know… He promised me a dinner date b-but he fancies someone else… I-I don't know what to do! Please, Mum, tell me. Tell me what I should do and I'll do it."

Mundy implored with his pleading eyes but of course, the cold hard engraving of his mother's name on the stone did not answer.

"Son?"

Mundy's ears pricked up and he looked behind him. There was an old lady.

"Are you alright, here? All grown up and strong, but still asking for Mum's advice eh?" Her voice was thin and fragile.

"Y-yeah." Mundy picked up his glasses and hat off of the floor and stood up.

"Pardon me, son, but I heard what you said to your parents."

"Ah, uh… Sorry I was a bit loud… I thought I was alone here, I didn't really pay attention…"

The old lady took his hand in her bony one and looked up at him.

"Come down here, my poor eyes can't see you properly."

Mundy was indeed very tall compared to the old woman. He obeyed and went down on one knee.

"Sorry, Ma'am."

"It's alright, ah… Handsome man you are too, eh?" She pulled on one of his cheeks and he blushed. "You know, for your… problem. If you like the bloke, go for it. Each opportunity to find someone who likes you back is rare and it doesn't get better with time."

"Y-yeah but he told me he liked someone else, I can't do that to that other bloke. If I go and get dinner with him, that means that he can do that to me too. He can go and have dinner with another half a dozen people!"

"It's true. But there is no time to lose asking yourself those questions, son. Besides, do you know that other man?"

"No, just that the guy I like told him that he liked him but he didn't understand, or didn't hear, I don't know, it's not very clear…"

"If he is indecisive, it's all the better for you. Go, son, and I'm sure he will see you are deserving and worthy of his attention more than anyone else." She answered.

"How can you know that?"

"Look at you. And look at them." She pointed her cane at the tombstones of Mundy's parents. "They have been here for ten years and you still remember them. You still come and talk to them, you ask them for their advice. Ah, I wish my kids would do that to me. You are a good man, son, there's no doubt about that. But I can see it in those eyes of yours…" She squinted and got her face closer to Mundy's and held his chin. "You are heartbroken. There is no time in life for that."

Mundy sighed.

"Yeah… Guess you're right."

"Does he know that you love him?"

"H-he might… I'm not… I'm not very good at hidin' it… I…"

She chuckled and the lines on her face all radiated under her smile.

"I can see that, eh." She tapped his shoulder. "Now, go."

"Thanks, Ma'am." Mundy stood up and went back to his van.

He drove to an open field and parked there.

Mundy glanced at his watch. Time to get ready. He changed into his three-piece, beige suit, tied his hair back into a ponytail and drove to town.

He knew it was probably the worst idea he could have now. It was contradictory and didn't make sense with what he told Lucien. But his heart had cried too loud and he didn't want to miss any of it: Mundy was en route to the Queen Victoria.

Yes, his head was screaming at him to not do it, it would wreck his heart even harder. Seeing the object of all his desires on stage, impeccably dressed, his fair eyes glimmering under the spotlight like the most precious of diamonds…

"Ugh…" And it had started already. The warm coil in his stomach. Now, even just the thought of the Frenchman made Mundy's body react. It was exquisite agony, the joy of seeing him projected against his closed eyelids each time he blinked, and yet the heartbreak to know that that alluring silhouette would only ever be vapor between Mundy's hands. He would never hold it tangibly…

The Aussie parked the van and pulled the handbrake before taking a deep breath. Ok, he would have his dessert, watch Lucien sing and then get back to his van and drive off. He wouldn't go backstage. Attending the show was dangerous enough for his heart, no need to go and find him afterwards and maybe stumble upon him and his… lover?

Mundy shook his head and jumped out of the van to let the cold air of the night slap him across the face.

He made it in and soon was seated in the dimly lit dining area. The waiter brought him his chocolate dessert and coffee without him even asking. But Mundy couldn't care less because he hadn't dressed up, done his hair and driven all the way from the middle of the desert for that.

The whole show was slow, so slow when Mundy was waiting for the final song. He wished people didn't take that much time to applaud after each piece…!

But finally it arrived. It happened.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! The man you have been waiting for tonight, the great Lulu!"

The curtains rolled open under the applause and Mundy's heart swelled at the sight of Lucien. Gosh, how the hell did he manage to always look like that? It's like they took him from the magazines or from TV. He looked too good to be real but Mundy didn't care if he saw him truly or with the eyes of love. He removed his glasses to see him better, and not under the yellow filter behind which he too often hid.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for honouring me with your presence."

God damn that French accent…

"Tonight, I would like to sing the issue our hearts know all too well… When you live love like a song and you want to make it last, regardless of any hurt it might induce, because the burning that your heart feels when you see them puts out any little bit of hurt. When you try to play your cards in the best way, when you try to make it last with someone with whom your head knows it is dangerous to be… But your heart," Lucien tapped his black vest with the velvet cashmere motifs. "Your heart needs that presence, that smile, those eyes…"

Lucien raised his eyes to his audience and foolish Mundy thought that he was looking straight at him.

"Here is to you, whom my mind needs to see constantly."

{To the readers, the song is "How do you keep the music playing" as sung by Frank Sinatra}

"How do you keep the music playing?

How do you make it last?

How do you keep the song from fading

Too fast?"

Mundy raised an eyebrow. Lucien was singing in English?

"How do you lose yourself to someone

And never lose your way?

How do you not run out of new things

To say?"

And he wasn't playing the piano. No, he was walking on the stage, the microphone in his hand, his face and his body meaning the words that his beautifully thin lips said aloud, for everyone to hear. He closed his eyes to focus on his vibrato. But then opened them fast and Mundy could almost see his feline pupils retracting from the intensity of the spotlight.

"I know the way I feel for you is now or never

The more I love, the more that I'm afraid

That in your eyes I may not see forever,

forever"

He finished his sentence with his head lowered and his face distraught.

"If we can be the best of lovers"

He raised his head to Mundy. Oui, Lucien was singing to this one man, no one else.

"Yet be the best of friends"

He stared at him intensely. No spotlight was bright enough to blind him. And even if it was, Lucien could still see him with the eyes of the heart, those who feel.

"If we can try with every day to make it better as it grows

With any luck than I suppose

The music never ends"

He inhaled deeply and sharply before bursting out singing loudly, moving the microphone away from his lips, his eyes screwed shut as tears rolled down his cheeks. Lucien was singing a cry for help. He had gone too far with his lies and half-truths and had lost the man for whom he would gladly surrender himself. He opened his arm in front of him, clenching his gloved fist as she sang and cried.

"I know the way I feel for you is now or never!

The more I love, the more that I'm afraid!

That in your eyes I may not see forever!

forever!"

Lucien slowly moved his clenched fist to his chest and opened his eyes. He blinked a few times and with it, more tears rolled down his slender cheeks. He waited for the orchestra to conclude before bowing to the audience who applauded him loudly.

Mundy stood gaping at the outstanding performance that the Frenchman offered. Not only was he a sight to behold, his hair flying above him as he walked the stage, his long and slim, gloved fingers brushing the air poetically. Argh! Mundy wished he could be that air, under Lucien's fingers!

The lights came back on in the dining area and when Mundy emerged of his daydream, Lucien had exited the stage. He collected his hat and glasses and stood up.

"You haven't finished your dessert. In fact, you haven't touched it."

The French accent that spoke behind him sawed Mundy's heart in halves.

"Did my performance cut your appetite?"

Mundy turned and saw Lucien sitting at his table, opposite the seat Mundy himself had been occupying.

"Please?"

Lucien gestured to Mundy to resume his seat.

#tf2 spy #tf2 sniper #sniperspy #SBT

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rikumorimachisgirl · 5 years ago

Note

Hi! Supposing MC and her boyfriend are trying to get pregnant. How do you think each of them (if they are her boyfriend), is going to react when she says she wants to do the deed right at that time?

Hello! This ask had me imagining so many different scenarios, but stuck with this one. I've had such a busy Sunday and wanted to end the day on a light note, so let's get on with the reaction of these four gorgeous guys. I hope this lives up to your expectations…

Victor

When you first brought up the idea of having a baby, the twenty-eight-year-old CEO thought it was such an easy task, even Goldman could do it - NOT THAT HE WILL EVER LET HIM… but six months and sixty various Kamasutra positions later, you were still not pregnant. Each month you'd get your period, he felt less and less confident that his swimmers were not competent enough.

You consult a specialist and were given a kit to use to test when your fertility was at its peak. The specialist said that you need to do the deed within 24 hours before you ovulate because that increases the chances of getting pregnant. Easy right? Except, you've got irregular cycles.

Victor waits patiently for your call, day in and day out, all while maintaining a good diet, staying hydrated, working out (for more stamina), and reading up articles on the best position to get your girl pregnant (or something to that effect) in various Men's Health magazine.

Since you hadn't given him "The Call", he decided to bury himself at work, randomly auditing his company's account receivables against expenditures. He's gone through tons of ledgers and reports since he came to work that day, he hadn't noticed he had fallen asleep on his desk. Then at exactly one in the morning, he woke up to the sound of his mobile ringing. He picked it up and saw 50 missed calls and 100 messages all coming from you. Flustered, he called you back right away.

"It's about time you called, Victor. Do you know you kept me waiting for so long? Where were you? " you didn't bother concealing your anger the moment you heard him on the other line.

"You're getting braver, " he would reply, sounding slightly annoyed at having been told off right after waking up. "That's quite a mouth you have on you."

"My mouth would have been ON you if you'd picked up sooner. My test shows I'm fertile and that we've got another 18 hours to get busy or we try again next month. You've got ten minutes to get here."

Victor straightens up as soon as you ended the call. He phones a sleepy Goldman and orders him to cancel his appointments that day, adding, "don't call me, I'll call you."

And he freezes time to get to your place and spend what seemed like an endless 18 hours completing all the positions in the Kamasutra, in the hopes that one of them will get you pregnant.

A month later, you test positive and he's changed his reading material from Men's Health to Parenting weekly.

Lucien

It was a warm and sunny Saturday morning when you had visited his apartment armed with his favorite cream puffs and his favorite tea. The neuroscientist almost choked on the cream puff you lovingly made for him when you told him you wanted to have a baby together, but immediately recovered and processed your emotions. In the end, he agreed to do this the right way - complete with menstrual charts, an eating plan, and a list of vitamins and supplements you need to take to get your body ready to carry his baby for the next nine months.

Every month, during your fertile window, he'd turn his apartment into a spa of sorts to help you relax - he'd give you a massage, and make sweet and gentle love to you the whole night through. Unfortunately, after six months of trying, he hasn't succeeded in his quest to get you pregnant, and he starts doubting himself.

After consulting with a specialist (and your lover actually went through all the tests he needed to take), it was clear that you were both perfectly healthy. His colleague, a psychiatrist, advised you both to spice up your sex life.

Lucien was working on a medical journal entry supporting the study that the brain is wired to procrastinate and hasn't been home in the last three days. You were down to your last twenty-four hours before ovulation, and you desperately needed to get laid. Fast. Taking matters into your own hands, you visited him in his research center and saw him typing like a madman on his laptop, with a few cans of energy drink on his desk.

He looked up the moment you stepped in, and you locked eyes briefly. "What are you doing here?"

"It's late and you haven't been home in three days, Lucien, " you said, pouting. When he explained that it shouldn't bother you by now since there had been times in the past that he hasn't gone home, you held up your hand to silence him and said, "We've got less than 24 hours to get pregnant. Are you up to the challenge or not?"

Your words sank in immediately, and you see his eyes flicker and turn dark. Downing his energy drink, he tossed the empty can aside and stalked you like a predator locking down his prey.

That evening, you did the deed in every possible surface in his office, and you were so loud, he knew he had to bribe the guard the next day not to spill the beans. After all, that night was an exception, you were never gonna fuck in his lab again.

A month later, you came to him straight from your doctor's appointment and showed him the ultrasound picture of your little bean. And on that very day, he made a mental note to bribe the guard again, because there was no way in hell he wasn't going to keep his hands off you.

Kiro

You were chilling out with Kiro at the studio just before his new album launched when you both started talking about the future. When you said you wanted to start a family early, the blond superstar was more than happy to comply. Too happy in fact, that he insisted you start trying right at that very instant - inside the soundproof studio, with an unlocked door separating you both from Savin and his staff.

Since Kiro had to go on his worldwide album tour, your plans had been put on hold. He was more disappointed than you were when you got your period the following month.

He wanted to start a family so badly, he went behind your back and spoke with Anna about the possibility of you taking a brief vacation to join him on the Japan leg of his tour. Having gotten the necessary approvals, he flies you to Tokyo and you arrive an hour before his concert.

Not having seen you in weeks, he corners you backstage and leads you to his dressing room. "I missed you, Miss Chips, " he said as he peppered you with kisses.

"I missed you too, " you replied.

"Is that all you have to say to me after not seeing you for weeks?"

You smiled at him and whispered, "I'm fertile." To which he responded smugly, "That's great… because I'm horny. But we gotta keep it quiet in here or they'll hear."

While his concert front act was performing and the audience were having fun banging their heads to the music, your twenty-two-year-old boyfriend was busy banging you against the wall.

He performed exceptionally well that night (in his concert and in private), and a month and a half later, he penned a new song dedicated to your baby.

Gavin

Gavin had just arrived at his place after a long day when he saw you pacing back and forth in his living room. When he asked you what was wrong, you fidget nervously and tell him that you had actually been thinking a lot about having a baby. Immediately, the Police Officer stared at you with his jaw hanging and it took him several minutes to process what you had just said. You were so scared he would reject your idea, but all that was going through his mind was the excitement of fucking you bare and how Minor would react if he gave him the boxes of condoms he kept in his apartment.

Gavin's missions kept him away most of the time. The two of you would have quickies in between missions, but of course, those weren't enough to get you pregnant. As you track your fertile window month over month, you start to see a correlation between your ovulation and depression especially when Gavin wasn't around during those days.

As expected, Gavin had been sent on a mission again, five days before your ovulation, and you once again get into a state of depression. You were down to your last twenty-four hours of being fertile, and your boyfriend was nowhere near you. Sighing, you tell yourself this was just not meant to be and that perhaps you should just break up. Lo and behold, your phone rings and you see Gavin's name on the screen.

"Hey, babe. You don't sound too good. Are you okay?" He would ask.

"No, I'm not, " you would respond and add, "You said you wanted to have a family with me but you're always away. For the past six months, you've been missing in action when my fertile window opens. Like today, for instance - today's my most fertile day, and you're not here. I don't think I can do this anymore. I want to break up -"

You were cut short by the sound of the glass in the window shattering. And there, inside your apartment, among the shards of glass, stood your boyfriend in full uniform. The sight made you lose your breath because he was so hot.

"Gavin -"

He walked towards you with a purpose and each step he took made your heart best faster and faster. "I'm sorry about the glass, I'll replace that later, " he said. "But right now, I need to convince you not to break up with me and I've got twenty-four hours to give you what you want."

A lamp, a few vases, and a couple of plates joined the shards of glass of the floor in the wake of your passionate reunion. A month later, he requested to take some time off duty to spoil you and what he hopes would be a little version of you, growing inside you.

(I hope these made sense... These were visuals I used to come up with each hc)

#anon asks #answered #mr love queen's choice #mr love queens choice fic #mr love headcanon #mr love lucien #mr love kiro #mr love gavin #mr love victor #mlqc headcannon #mlqc fic #mlqc kiro #mlqc gavin #mlqc victor #mlqc lucien

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swhurtcomfort · 5 years ago

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Hey! I love your writing! You're so good at creating the perfect balance of hurt and comfort and how each character properly reacts to being sick/hurt. If your prompt are open, keep going. If they're not, just ignore this bit. Anakin!whump is my absolute favorite, and you do it so well. If I may, can I request a whatever length you desire on Anakin having a high fever in the field (whether it's from sickness or infection is up to you) and Obi-Wan taking care of him

“Do you really think we are getting anywhere with these people, Master?” Anakin asked, slouching back in his saddle. “If they’re really going to join the Republic, they’ll have to send representatives to Coruscant—and they’re gonna find out that the rest of the galaxy is full of big, scary speeders.”

“Jedi do not mock other peoples,” Obi-Wan corrected him. “We have been invited here to negotiate, the least we can do is respect the lands that they hold sacred.”

Anakin sighed petulantly. His guapa craned its head down to snatch a mouthful of the tall weeds and he responded by giving the rein a sharp jerk. The beasts had been lent to them by a local congressman, because aircraft and motorized vehicles were forbidden to cross this particular stretch of moorland.

“All I’m saying is that we could be there by now,” he huffed.

“I know,” Obi-Wan conceded. They were both already saddle-sore from two days’ ride.

“This could’ve taken an hour instead of three days, if it weren’t for the stupid—”

“Padawan.” Obi-Wan shifted in his saddle and looked askance over his shoulder. “What has gotten into you today?”

Anakin ducked his head at the reprimand. Obi-Wan rarely called him that anymore, he was entering his third year as a senior padawan, and would be a knight candidate soon—if Obi-Wan ever decided to recommend him for the trials. But he realized that the way he was acting wasn’t exactly demonstrating his maturity.

“I’m sorry, Master,” Anakin said. “I’m just a little out of sorts.”

“And why is that?”

Anakin shrugged.

Obi-Wan turned around again to raise an eyebrow at him.

“My head just hurts,” he admitted. He pulled his guapa’s nose up from the weeds again.

Obi-Wan nodded in understanding.

“We still have a long way to go,” Obi-Wan said after a pause. He unclipped the canteen from the saddlebag that held his bedroll, and passed it over. “You should stay hydrated so it doesn’t get worse.”

Anakin accepted the canteen and took a drink, thankful that he hadn’t received a lecture.

They rode until the sun was low in the sky, then stopped to let the guapas drink from a small brook. Anakin slid off like a sack of potatoes.

“How’s your headache?” Obi-Wan asked, offering him a hand to steady himself, which he ignored.

“Ugh,” Anakin reported. He got to his feet and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

“I’m going to stretch my legs for a bit,” Obi-Wan said.

“Whatever.” Anakin sat down to rest against scraggly tree.

Obi-Wan frowned in acknowledgement and left to wander further up the path, coaxing the stiffness from his limbs. When he returned, Anakin was resting his forehead on his knees.

“I found—”

“Could you possibly speak a little quieter?” Anakin groaned. He lifted his face from his knees, and Obi-Wan’s frown deepened. He was quite pale, with fevered blotches high on his cheeks.

“Are you coming down with something?” Obi-Wan asked, whispering for the sake of Anakin’s throbbing head.

Anakin ignored the question.

“There is a decent clearing up ahead,” Obi-Wan continued. “Why don’t we just make camp here?”

“There’s at least another hour of daylight,” said Anakin.

“Even so. We have plenty of time tomorrow to make up for it,” he said. “We should take the opportunity for some extra rest, we’ll need our strength for the last leg of the journey.”

Anakin got the sense that the decision had been made for his benefit, but he was too tired to act indignant. While Obi-Wan untacked the animals and hobbled them so they wouldn’t wander too far from the campsite as they grazed, Anakin just laid out his bedroll and curled up on it. Obi-Wan woke him once he had a fire going for dinner, but Anakin grumbled something about not being hungry and rolled back over.

The morning came too soon. Anakin was shivering in his sleep and clutching at the blankets. Obi-Wan woke him with a hand in his brow.

“Oh dear,” Obi-Wan whispered. His suspicion from the night before was confirmed - Anakin was burning up. “Come on, Anakin, we’ve slept in already.”

Anakin made an unhappy sound and pulled the sleeping bag up over his face. “I’m sure you feel dreadful,” Obi-Wan agreed. “But I’m sure you also want to sleep in a real bed tonight. And perhaps when we get to town, we can get some medicine for this flu you seem to be nursing.”

“’s just a headache,” Anakin protested.

“And a raging fever,” Obi-Wan countered. “We can wait a little while, you can eat something and take a painkiller. But then let’s go.” He tugged at the sleeping bag.

“Ow,” Anakin whined, squeezing his eyes shut against the daylight. Then a slightly more panicky, “Owww.”

Obi-Wan’s heart thudded in his chest. “What is it?”

“I can’t turn my head,” Anakin whispered. He inhaled and exhaled quickly “Why can’t I turn my head?”

Obi-Wan crouched down closer to his side. “Are you sure you don’t just have a crick in it from the way you slept? Can you try to straighten it out?”

Anakin moved his chin a fraction, but could go no further. “Ow,” he whimpered as he struggled.

“Alright, stop trying, it’s alright.” It occurred to Obi-Wan that this might be something more serious than a cold or flu.

“Can’t we just stay? Even just half the day?”

Obi-Wan almost said yes. They had enough supplies, certainly. He knew the ride would be a miserable one for Anakin in this state. But the illness had come on so quickly, and without warning. And it seemed like the pain and stiffness were spreading downwards from his head to his shoulders.

“Anakin,” he said apologetically. “I don’t want to be stranded out here if you get worse. I think we may need to get to a medcenter.”

Anakin was frightened—he tried to shield it, but Obi-Wan could tell. Awkwardly he got to his feet, working hard to avoid jostling his stiff neck.

He let Obi-Wan do most of the packing up and saddling the guapas. When he was finished, he handed Anakin the reins to his mount. Anakin took them, and shoved a foot into the stirrup. He tried to swing his other leg over, but his knee gave out beneath him.

“Alright?”

“Yeah,” Anakin grunted as he made another attempt, this one even less successful than the first. “Give me a boost?”

Obi-Wan moved in behind him as Anakin put his foot in the stirrup for the third time. Obi-Wan placed a hand near Anakin’s elbow to steady him.

Anakin nearly kicked Obi-Wan in the face as he swung up onto the animal’s back with a little too much momentum, and barely stopped himself from slipping down off the other side.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Anakin nodded as he swayed and nearly toppled over again. He was holding the reins slack and gripping the saddle with both hands for balance. “I’m trying,” he bit out.

He wasn’t going to manage it. That was clear. Obi-Wan stood silently for a moment, weighing their options.

“Sit tight there, Anakin,” he finally said when he made up his mind. “I’ve got an idea.”

Obi-Wan unloaded Anakin’s share of the gear and baggage from the saddle, and secured it all on the other guapa’s back. Then he brought the reins forward over the animal’s head, and gave them to Anakin to hold.

“Now take your foot out of the stirrup,” he instructed.

He put his own foot where Anakin’s had been and swung up behind him. The saddle was barely big enough for both of them, but at least this way he could keep Anakin from falling off. The guapas nickered to each other uneasily, and Obi-Wan gave the one carrying them an apologetic pat and clucked his tongue at them. Obi-Wan took the other guapa’s reins out of Anakin’s hands so they could lead her along behind.

It was hard, unforgiving terrain, and Anakin couldn’t help but cry out whenever the guapa stepped over a rock or made a jolting movement. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if he was imagining things, or if Anakin was getting sicker as the hours plodded by.

“Are you okay?”

Anakin shrugged. He reached for the canteen and took another sip of water. He was still keeping a death grip on the horn of the saddle, and he’d been slouching further and further forward, still holding his shoulders rigid.

“Has your neck loosened up at all?”

“No,” Anakin said softly. “It feels really hot, and stiff.”

Obi-Wan thought privately that this was sounding less and less like the flu. He was grateful he had made the call to keep pressing on towards civilization.

“If you need to lean on me, it’s alright,” Obi-Wan suggested.

Anakin took him up on the offer, and shifted his weight backwards into Obi-Wan. His hands were cold and clammy, but Obi-Wan was pretty sure his fever had gotten higher.

“Your heartbeat is so fast,” Anakin observed from his position with his head resting on Obi-Wan’s chest.

“I’m worried about you,” Obi-Wan admitted.

Anakin’s groans of discomfort grew more and more frequent. Obi-Wan wondered if he was getting delirious. He urged the poor guapas to walk a little faster.

They rode into the town and to a farm belonging to a relative of the congressman’s, where they handed the beasts off to a stablehand. Anakin needed to be lifted off of the guapa’s back. He was drenched in cold sweat.

The local officials had sent a speeder to bring them to the next city over where the negotiations would be taking place, but Obi-Wan directed the driver to the nearest clinic instead. Anakin managed to stumble into the building without losing his feet, but once he was offered a bed he collapsed down onto it gratefully, breathing heavily. Obi-Wan sat with his hands in his sleeves while they waited to be seen.

A doctor pushed past the curtain and immediately began examining Anakin. “When did the symptoms start?” she asked without looking up. She placed the end of her stethoscope beneath the neckline of his tunic, pausing to listen.

“He started complaining of a headache about twenty-four hours ago,” said Obi-Wan softly. “Anakin—?”

Anakin gave the tiniest nod of confirmation. “Around then.”

“It all came on so fast,” Obi-Wan tried to say, but he was cut off.

“But no other flulike symptoms?” the doctor asked, now placing a thermometer in Anakin’s ear. “No cough, congestion, sneezing or anything?”

“No,” Anakin mouthed but no sound accompanied it. His hand found Obi-Wan’s on the railing of the bed.

The doctor called her assistant into the room and rattled off a long, incomprehensible string of orders. The sinking feeling in Obi-Wan’s stomach grew.

“Anakin, we’re going to give you some IV fluids and a mild pain reliever for now, but we need to admit you to the medcenter upstairs and run some tests.”

Anakin was looking too exhausted to advocate for himself, so Obi-Wan stepped in. “What kinds of tests?”

“Are you the legal guardian?” she asked without acknowledging the question. “If you’d be willing to come with me and take care of some of his intake paperwork, they can get started right away.”

Reluctantly Obi-Wan left Anakin in the hands of the assistant and a medical droid. He signed the documents he was given distractedly. “What kind of,” Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “Tests are they doing?”

The doctor met his eyes with a serious frown. “They’re going to draw blood and do some scans of his skull and his spinal cord, and we’re also going to do something called a spinal tap, if you’re familiar with that, to draw a sample of cerebrospinal fluid.”

Obi-Wan heard his own heart pounding erratically in his throat, and remembered Anakin’s comment about it earlier. He swallowed. “So you must think he has meningitis?”

A sharp nod. “We’ll know for sure soon.”

“But…but he’s been vaccinated. I made sure of that, years ago.” Obi-Wan had to make a concentrated effort not to tap his fingers on the desk nervously.

“The vaccine very effective, but only against certain strains of bacteria. A lot of things can cause meningitis. But in healthy young adults, it usually isn’t fatal.”

Obi-Wan got the sense that she intended the statement to be comforting, but it wasn’t in the slightest.

Obi-Wan finished the datapads and followed the doctor to another part of the medcenter where Anakin had been moved. The lights inside were dimmed. The assistant met them at the door, reporting that all had gone well.

“Is he awake?” Obi-Wan interrupted to ask.

“Sure,” the assistant said. “We did the procedure under local anesthetic, just to numb the area on his back.”

“Run those right now,” the doctor said, gesturing to the vials in her hands. “These things progress quickly.”

Anakin was curled up on his side within. Obi-Wan took a seat beside him wordlessly. Anakin blinked at him, but kept the silence. Obi-Wan reached out and freed an unruly lock of hair from beneath the nasal cannula, and tucked it behind Anakin’s ear.

Half an hour later, the doctor returned and announced, “Blood culture and imaging results came back. We’re not going to waste time waiting for the rest; the sooner we start antibiotics, the better chance he’s got.”

“It’s definitely meningitis, then?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Diagnosis is actually meningoencephalitis, which is a fancy way of saying that both the meninges and the brain are inflamed. The spinal tap results will give us a better idea of what bacteria is causing it, but a broad-spectrum antibiotic is better than nothing.”

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered. Anakin didn’t look particularly awake, with his eyes glazed over.

“I’m also going to give him an anticonvulsant, otherwise I’m worried he’s going to seize at this point.”

Obi-Wan looked up at her, startled.

“The first 24 to 48 hours are often critical. That’s why we’re starting treatment now instead of in several hours when he have all the test results. We’re doing everything we can to give him an edge on this thing,” she reassured him.

Obi-Wan nodded, unsure of what to say.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked in a low voice. For a moment Obi-Wan thought he might be regaining some alertness.

“We’re in a medcenter, Anakin.” Obi-Wan took his hand and squeezed it. “You’re very ill.”

Anakin returned the squeeze, but he still looked confused, whimpering deliriously.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan whispered back. “I know.”

The threat that Anakin could seize, or crash, or have a serious complication at any moment hung over Obi-Wan like a dark cloud. It was hard to believe that a day and a half ago, they’d been riding across the moor with no inkling that anything was wrong. He thought of where they would be if he had let Anakin try to sleep it off at their campsite, and he shuddered.

At some point in the night, they switched out Anakin’s antibiotics for a more targeted cocktail for the specific bacteria he was fighting. Anakin alternated between feverish mumbling and sleeping quietly. While he slept, Obi-Wan tried to sleep, but he couldn’t honestly say he caught more than brief snatches of rest.

“Hey,”

Obi-Wan was closing his eyes, resting his chin in his hand while his elbow balanced on the arm of the chair. The hoarse voice startled him.

“Hi,” Obi-Wan replied. Anakin’s eyes were clearer than before.

It was morning already. “Well, you made it through the night,” Obi-Wan remarked. “That’s a good sign.”

Anakin laughed, and Obi-Wan forced a smile. It hadn’t altogether been a joke, but if Anakin didn’t realize how dire the situation had been then there was no need to discuss that right now.

“How are you feeling?”

“Still hurts,” Anakin admitted.

Obi-Wan nodded in sympathy.

“Are we still going to the city?”

“I think you’re going to be laid up here for a few days at least. Don’t worry about it right now, just focus on getting better.”

Anakin nodded. Obi-Wan thought he saw his bottom lip wobble.

“I think they will postpone the membership negotiations until we can be there. If not, I’m sure the Council will send another team,” Obi-Wan continued.

Anakin raised his eyebrows, unguarded surprise replacing the sadness on his face. “You’re not going?”

“No,” said Obi-Wan, as if it should have been obvious.

“You’re going to stay?”

The look on Anakin’s face before suddenly made sense. “Of course,” he promised.

“I mean, I’m almost a knight now, I didn’t know if—”

“Anakin, I’ll always take care of you.” It was a reckless thing to promise, especially for two people in such a dangerous line of work. Obi-Wan promised it anyway. “That will never stop being my job. Of course I’ll stay.”

#anakin #obi-wan #hurt/comfort #fever #illness #@bloodyfeverdreams #dos equis voice: I don't always fill prompts #But when I do they come out 2000 words longer than expected

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