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thanksbutno98 · 8 months ago

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Roses

John Price x wife!reader OC

Summary: John Price finds himself caught in a lie and tries to make it up to his wife.

Warning: Sexual themes, alludes to sexual acts, nsfw, swearing, talks of cheating, domestic arguments, not edited.

——————

John was just jogging down the stairs after a quick shower when the door bell to the Price family home was rung. He was dressed in blue jeans and a deep red long sleeve that you had just bought him. Taking the few extra steps from the bottom of the stairs to the front door, John swung it open wondering who was stopping by on this Saturday afternoon.

Upon opening the large wooden front door John’s eyebrows raised to see a delivery driver holding a vase with at least two dozen long stemmed red roses that had wisps of baby’s breath accenting them. The vase had an ornate design carved into the clear crystal, it looked to be expensive. John knew for a fact flowers like these cost a fortune, having spent more money than he’d like to admit on similar ones. The man looked unimpressed and ready to hand these over and be on his way.

“Delivery for-“ the man paused and looked at the clipboard in his hand.

“Y/N Price.” The look on the delivery drivers face made John wonder how much this guy truly hated his job.

“Uh, yeah. I can sign for it.” Still taken aback John signed the paper on the clipboard and then was handed the large vase of flowers. It was so large in fact John could barely see over it when he held it.

“Have a good one.” They were insincere words but John was too preoccupied to care.

Shutting the door, John quickly snagged the small white envelop to see who had sent you flowers. Maybe it was your father since your birthday was in the coming weeks. It could also be from work as you had just held a large event at the museum.

Opening up the small white card John didn’t realize he was invading your privacy. He was to consumed on who the hell was outshining him and sending you two dozen roses out of the blue. Inside, the note read:

‘Just a small thank you for everything’

It wasn’t signed. So John scoffed and then looked around the first floor to see if anyone else was witness to this confusing event, but then he remembered his kids were all out today. From the message John knew this wasn’t from your father, he always signed his name. If it was from work they too would have signed off in some way.

The first impression these roses gave John was a romantic gesture. But you weren’t the type to lead anyone on, you were perfectly friendly and a master at setting appropriate boundaries. You also would never cheat and if you did you deffinetly weren’t dumb enough to have your lover sending you flowers to your family home.

John stuck the note back where he found it and began his walk down the hall to the kitchen at the back of the house. He knew you were in there just from the smell of brownies baking in the oven and the light sound of your music filling the house. On the way he racked his brain trying to figure out who sent you flowers with such a cryptic message. Not signing off was John’s thing because who else would be sending you something so romantic and extravagant.

Stepping into the kitchen John saw you leaning against the counter and scrolling on your phone. You looked so pretty with your hair tied back and in your gym shorts and fitted baby blue t-shirt. The look that spread across your gorgeous features as you looked up at him had his chest puffing out with pride.

“Someone’s trying to get lucky tonight.” The words tumbled from your tongue. You were floored to see your burly military man walk in with the most beautiful flower arrangement you’d ever seen. It had your heart thumping loudly and skin tingling at such a romantic gesture. You couldn’t remember the last time John had done something so spontaneous.

Placing your phone down you were quick to take the vase from your husband and place it on the white marble of the kitchen island. You looked up at him with a mischievous grin and twinkle in your eyes.

Before John could reply that he hadn’t bought these for you he watched as you slowly lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. This was not what he was expecting but he couldn’t get himself to speak up as you unfastened his belt. With eyebrows raised and he still hadn’t spoken a word John’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as you showed him your appreciation.

——————

“Wow dad, what did you do to piss mom off?” Your son’s voice echoed from the kitchen.

John and you were currently snuggled up together on the couch watching jeopardy. He had you tucked under his left arm with your head on his chest. You both were laying flat, your leg throw over your husband’s waist with a blanket pulled over the both of you. You snickered as John rolled his eyes.

“Quite the apology.” Jj appeared in the living room and walked to the end of the couch so you could all see each other.

Your sixteen year old was dressed in gym clothes and drenched in sweat having probably just worked out. He was staring at you with an amused look waiting for you to spill whatever dumb stunt his father had pulled. Your children got a lot of satisfaction out of seeing their father in trouble with you.

“He got them for me just cuz.” You beamed feeling smug that your son’s assumption was wrong. Jj quirked an eyebrow and looked at his father who was purposefully ignoring him and watching tv. John smoothed down his mutton chops refusing to acknowledge Jj even after he cleared his throat.

“Old man’s just buttering you up before you find out whatever it is he’s done.” The joke had you giving your son an unimpressed look but finally had John responding.

“Oi, why can’t I just do something nice for your mother?” John snapped back.

Little did anyone know John was not the one to get you those flowers. In fact he had no clue who got them for you but he wasn’t opposed to reaping all the benefits for whoever the idiot was to not sign the damn card.

“Okay, they just seem like birthday or anniversary flowers. Or an ‘I fucked up, please forgive me’ bouquet. Which you’ve been known to buy.” Jj was snickering as he teased his father. John only grunted and turned the volume up on the tv. Choosing to not dignify what his son said with a response.

“Go shower and leave your father alone.” You waved Jj away who only rolled his eyes with a cheeky smirk. You placed a sweet kiss to John’s scruffy face and whispered to him not the listen to your son, and that you loved the flowers.

“Soak it up dad. Haven’t seen mum this smitten with you since- maybe ever.” Jj had to sneak in one last jab.

Out of the corner of his eye Jj saw something being hurled in his direction and he quickly skirted out of the living room and up the stairs. You and your son burst into laughter as John whipped a throw pillow in his direction. You were jostled off your husband’s chest as he bounded over the back of the couch and chased Jj up the stairs.

“Shit!” Jj yelled, his laughter ringing through the house as you heard him try and shut his bedroom door.

There was load stomping and shuffling from Jj’s room above you as you heard your son laughing uncontrollably. You just knew John had wrestled him to the floor and was now tickling him into submission.

“Say uncle!” John’s raspy voices boomed from upstairs.

Laying on the couch you enjoyed the sounds of your husband and son wrestling upstairs. John was laughing loudly while Jj’s voice reached an octave so high it sounded like he was squealing. The tussle ended with Jj yelling ‘uncle’ multiple times until John finally decided to let him go.

——————

“I mean it’s a grand statement dad. You sure you didn’t do anything?” Evelyn asked as she brought her spoon to her mouth.

The entire family was gathered at the kitchen table eating dinner together. John was at the head with Jj to his left and you to his right. Evelyn, your fourteen year old, was sat next to you and Lily, your eight year old, was across from her and next to Jj. The large vase of roses was sat in the middle of the table making it hard for everyone to see each other, but you didn’t care. You were happy to show off your fancy gift and you assumed your husband was eating it up.

The gorgeous red roses kept staring back at John as he narrowed his eyes at them and ate his dinner. No part of him felt guilty for taking the credit, but the gnawing question of who actually sent them scratched at the back of his mind. His kids were right, they were quite the gesture. They screamed ‘I love you’ and now John wanted to know what asshole had eyes for you.

“Could you pass the potato’s. Uh-“ Lily stammered as her and Evelyn danced around the flowers, each going the opposite way trying to get to the plate.

A polite knock rattled against the glass of your back door. It was opening before you could invite anyone in but you could all see it was Jj’s closest friend Oliver. Oliver was a polite boy who shared similar manners to your own son. He had pale skin with rutty cheeks, neatly styled brown hair, matching eyes, and a confident smile. You thought he was a sweet heart who could be overly polite and usually asked if you needed help with anything. John would say the boy was cheeky with a wandering eye.

“Oh- I’m sorry I thought you’d be done with dinner.” Oliver looked ready to retreat, clearly not wanting to be rude and interrupt your dinner.

“Nah, just finished. Ollie and I’ll be upstairs.” Jj was getting up from his seat with his empty plate, ready to wash it off and be on his way.

“You want something to eat, Ollie?” You asked ready to get up and serve him a plate.

“No thanks Mrs. Price. My mum cooked up a feast before I came.” Oliver was kicking off his shoes and hanging up his jacket at he spoke.

“I see the flowers are a lot nicer than I expected.” Oliver pointed quickly to the large vase of roses before shoving his hand back in his jean pocket.

“What?” You asked, spoon still in your mouth and words muffled.

“The flowers. They’re a thank you for helping me with that history essay. Ended up getting perfect marks thanks to you, Mrs. Price.” The blush was visible on Oliver’s face. He had one hand in his pocket while the other was rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“I didn’t realize they’d be so- much, I guess. Mum thought it was a sweet gesture and all.” He tacked on clearly feeling a bit caught out.

John had stiffened at the boys words. If anyone felt caught out it was him in this moment. John’s eyes slowly moved from his plate and to your face. Your eyes darted to him for only a second but he could see the rage in them if only briefly. Putting on a straight face John watched as you smiled politely, doing an impeccable job at hiding your true feelings.

“You bought my mum flowers?” Jj sounded in utter disbelief but also grossed out at his friend’s gesture. His face reflected his tone.

“You’re such an ass.” Evelyn snorted and started laughing at her father who was stone faced and staring at you intently, trying to gauge your reaction.

“What!? Oh my god, I didn’t mean to-“ Oliver thought Evelyn was talking to him and he quickly sputtered, waving his hands in front of him. His face was as red as the roses but you didn’t want him to feel bad for something you thought was a very sweet and thoughtful gesture.

“You’re fine Oliver, thank you. It’s actually the sweetest things anyone’s done for me in a while. It feels nice to be appreciated. I’m happy you did so well on your essay.” You interrupted him, giving him a sincere smile. Seeing how you were genuinely appreciative had the sixteen year old relaxing.

Your comments of this being ‘the sweetest thing anyone’s done for you in a while’ was not lost on John. He was a smart man and knew you were throwing a dig at him in what came across as a very sincere compliment to Oliver. The room was becoming hot and John could feel that he was beginning to sweat from the impending tongue lashing you were bound to give him.

“Yeah, of course. Thanks, again.” Oliver’s face was still crimson but the panic had left him.

“Ew, who buys their mates mum flowers.” Jj was shaking his head and motioning for Oliver to follow him. As they walked down the hall, it was clear Oliver thought no one could hear him as he spoke.

“Didn’t think they’d look like that! I just knew she liked roses wasn’t trying to get in ya mums pants.”

You had to place your face in your hands hearing your son’s friends response. Lily was quietly eyeing her father with an amused look while Evelyn was getting up from her spot, laughing uncontrollably.

“Lily, c’mon let’s go play the sims and let mum murder dad without witnesses.” The giggles didn’t stop there even when Evelyn tried to contain herself.

“You’re very mean for taking Ollie’s credit. That’s called stealing and we Price’s don’t steal.” Lily lectured her father as she scooted out of her seat and scurried over to the sink to put her plate away. Her sentiment was one John had hammered into each of his children, so he felt that he deserved the snarky words although it had him feeling doubly embarrassed.

John was staring at you who still had your face in your hands, also feeling embarrassed. The turn of event had your adrenaline pumping out of pure shock and anger. Holding a calm demeanor when you wanted to flip out at your husband had to be your super power. Only John could bring you to a point that yelling didn’t even feel like enough.

It hurt deeply to now know you’d been lied to all day about the origin of these flowers. Having thought your husband went out of his way to surprise you with something so extravagant and thoughtful had you feeling on top of the world, and now you were plummeting back down to earth. You had been all over him and he allowed you to be tricked into believing he was being thoughtful when in reality it was your son’s friend. You felt stupid in that moment. Stupid for feeling so appreciated when John didn’t even do anything.

“What kind of sixteen year old has enough money to buy those?” John awkwardly laughed, attempting to use humor as a way to diffuse the situation.

“Not sure, but at least he’s more appreciative of me helping him with an essay than my husband is for everything I do for him and our family.” The words came out cold as a numbness took over. You were so angry and hurt it left you calm and fully removed emotionally from your husband.

“The card wasn’t signed and what muppet doesn’t sign the bloody card. How was I suppose to know?” John wasn’t using logic or reason, he was just trying to get you to not be mad at him.

“I don’t know. Maybe the fact you didn’t buy them should’ve tipped you off?” You stood abruptly not bothering to look at John. He tried to reach for you as you left but you pulled your hand away.

“Clean the kitchen. I’m going to take a bath.” You ordered, not caring that your husband was left to clean up the mess.

——————

“Darling, don’t be mad at me.” John begged as he slipped out of his pajama pants then shirt to crawl into bed in nothing but his boxers.

You responded by giving him a sharp look from the corner of your eye. That seemed to be enough of a response as the mutton chopped man cringed. John had been steering clear of you, hoping some space would help you cool off. He knew he was an ass but really thought he’d get away with it. Now he was receiving the consequences of his actions and he didn’t like it one bit.

“You were so happy I didn’t have the heart to tell you they weren’t from me. You were so thankful, I just couldn’t get myself to speak up.” John tried to get you to soften by bringing up your very enthusiastic reaction from earlier.

“That blowjob was given under false pretenses!” You snapped back, clapping your book shut viciously for emphasis.

“I didn’t know you would assume they were from me and I couldn’t really interrupt you when you had my trousers around my ankles.” John tried to argue but you only fluffed your pillow with way too much vigor and rolled over with your back to him. John reached out and lightly touched your shoulder as he spoke.

“Darling-“

You had whipped around so fast it had the words catching in John’s throat. The look in your eyes had him feeling lucky his head was still attached to his shoulders.

“You owe me! And you owe me big time. The fact a sixteen year old is more romantic than my own husband is insulting.” You hissed.

“I can get you an even nicer bouquet of fl-“

“Couch, now!” The words were just under a shout and John put his hands up by his shoulders realizing he had poked the bear.

Quietly and without a word your husband slipped back into his pajamas and grabbed his pillow, then exited your bedroom. Shutting the door behind him John took a deep breath, feeling that he had been fortunate enough to escape that room with his life.

“So that apology bouquet in the works?” Jj’s voice echoed down the hall, a smug smirk plastered across his face. He was just exiting the bathroom with a towel around his waist and not missing the opportunity to tease his father.

“Yeah, right after I murder your friend.” John retorted.

——————

The sound of your bedroom door shutting stirred you from sleep. It felt too early to be waking up but you allowed your eyes to flutter open. Your room was still dark but you could see the sky beginning to lighten through your sheer curtains. Rolling on to your back something caught your attention out of the corner of your eye.

Glancing over to John’s side of the bed there was a massive oddly shaped object sitting in his spot. It was weirdly human shaped and scared the absolute shit out of you. You gasped and moved to get away from it, accidentally moving too far in your haste and falling straight out of bed with a loud thud. Keeping yourself hidden behind the side of the bed your arm reached up as you frantically felt around for the draw string of your lamp. Once the cool metal touched your finger tips you quickly pulled on it causing the light to flicker on and illuminate your bedroom. Slowly you peaked your head out from the side of the bed and sighed in relief.

Sitting in John’s spot was a giant teddy bear. It was one of those life sized ones that you see at children’s shops or as a prize at a carnival. It had dark brown fur and black button eyes. On top of its head was John’s signature hat, it had a heart shaped balloon tied to its left arm and in its lap was a regular looking bouquet of red roses.

“Fucking, apology bouquet.” You scoffed, finally standing up.

You were still mad at your husband but you had to admit this was pretty endearing. It also had you shaking your head that your children had clocked that their father tended to buy you flowers when he messed up. Taking a deep breath you inspected the bear and could appreciate how soft it was. You hated that it made you smile and had you softening up.

Changing into leggings and a t-shirt you went and got ready for the day. You kept catching a glimpse at the obnoxiously large bear and you couldn’t help but find it cute as time passed, it was definitely the hat that made it so lovable. You may have punched it a few times to blow off some steam but ended up laying on your bed and hugging it for a while before you went downstairs.

Once downstairs you were greeted by your family who was just setting out breakfast. It looked like a team effort to get everything cooked and set up but you didn’t have to do it for once so you weren’t complaining. You saw John gesturing to your kids about something but brushed it off as you went and poured yourself a cup of coffee.

“Thanks mum, for everything you do.” Lily was the first by your side.

She was smiling up at you and handing you a rose. Before you could say thank you Jj, who was taller than you now, was hugging you from behind and handing you a rose.

“Yeah thanks mum. For always cooking breakfast and everything else you do.” Your son gave you a tight squeeze and soon Evelyn was next to you and kissing your cheek.

“Thanks mum. I’m pretty sure you know you’re the best but even you need reminders too.” Evelyn hugged you around the middle.

“You three are so sweet.” You were blushing and smiling ear to ear having your children shower you with love. You brought all three of them into a big group hug.

John was the last to approach you. Standing taller than everyone, he bear hugged the lot of you. Lily was giggling and squealing that she was being squished while your teens groaned at how tight of a hug John had wrapped you all up in. After a moment you all dispersed and the kids went to the table to eat before the food got cold. John stayed next to you having you backed up against the counter so you couldn’t run away.

“So you’ve roped the kids into your little schmooze fest.” You asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Anything to show you I truly do appreciate you. I was a prick not telling you yesterday, I can’t deny that. But I have never in our marriage not appreciated everything you do for me and the kids. This ship would sink without you.” John spoke from the heart, one of his large hands cupping your cheek as his blue eyes bore into yours.

“Yeah?” You asked coyly.

“It’s you and me today. Whatever you want you’ve got me. Say the word and it’ll be done.” John was doing everything in his power to make up for his short comings.

“How about more ‘thank you’s’ and random loving gestures just because you can. Thats the stuff that matters to me not spoiling me after you’ve messed up.” You admitted which had John nodding solemnly.

“You’re right. You more than deserve that, I’ll step up my game.” His words had you smiling because it felt good to know he was listening to you. And one thing you never had to worry about with John was his follow through.

“Now, I want pancakes and I see none were made. Chop chop.” You laughed and playfully clapped your hands for your very loving and very handsome husband to get to work.

“Plain or chocolate chip?” John asked without missing a beat. Leaving you with a firm kiss to your lips he went to fish out the pancake mix from the pantry.

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erwinsmithsmissingleftarm · 1 year ago

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Smut alphabet for Levi Ackerman

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Do not let yourself influence by his cold and sarcastic nature. Whatever you had a rough and intense or slow and passionate sex session, he will care about you the same way: extra gentle.

First, he will bring your tired body to the bathroom to clean you up. While Levi wraps his arms around your waist, his lips leave tons of light kisses on your shoulder. He's going to mumble something about how did you like it, hoping he didn't went too harsh on you. Quickly changing the bed sheets, he puts you to sleep shortly afterward. Cold and stern in the outside, sweet and caring in the core.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Your boyfriend doesn't really have a favorite part of his own body. Like... he thinks its okay and normal, just like everybody else. But he cannot help but feel proud of his muscles, always cracking a smile whenever you compliment his abs, biceps or pecs. He found them useful when it comes to dominate you.

What about your body? I am pretty sure that if you ask him what he likes about your body, the first words that will come out would be ass or thighs. Which is not surprising after his constant pleas of getting his face squish by your thighs and to sleep on your ass like if it was the most comfortable pillow in the whole world. Levi always gives your butt a loving slap when he comes back home. It's his secret way of saying hi.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Levi likes to eat your cum, it's one of his favorite meal. This man is so hungry for your dripping wet pussy that he can spend hours liking it while you are sitting down on his face. He just loves the taste of your cum and hwo your juices run down his lips as he tries to lick it all. He doesn't even care about getting dirty anymore. This guy knows his priorities.

He also wants to see your body covered in his cum. Thighs, face, stomach, chest, hair... nothing is forgotten. He just looks down at you and has the biggest prideful smirk on his face at the sight of the mess he has made. He knows you are gonna kill him for putting sperm in your hair because it is hell no wash it so he enjoys it the longer he can.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Levi enjoys fucking you while your hands are tied. He never thought about enjoying slight BDSM but here he is, liking the fact that you can't touch him or squirm away. Also works if your eyes are covered, the adrenaline of not knowing what he is doing to you amplifying the pleasure you feel during sex. He will never really say it out loud, he prefers to keep it for himself even if he is almost sure that you enjoy it as much as he does. You probably already guessed that his favorite tool to tie you up with is his cravate did you?

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Levi might do some researches the day before you two do your first time to be sure that he will do everything right. When it time to do it, he takes out like a dozen of condoms because he didn't know which ones you prefers. Yeah, he might be a bit unsure for the first times but he does not assume, he just doesn't want to show you his insecurity.

Beside reading, he has 0 experience before he started dating you. I mean, it's canon that this man is a virgin (well, was) and is the most sexually frustrated. However, even if Levi doesn't have much experience, he manages to fuck you like a pro. This man is not only the Humanity's Strongest Solider for fighting...

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Levi doesn't really have a preference for a position. I mean, it's all depend of his mood. He is in a romantic mood? The missionary. He wants to fuck you good and dominate you? Doggy style. He wishes for slow but intense sex? Lotus position. He's lazy and just want to watch you fuck yourself on his dick? Cowgirl.

So, it all depends of how he is feeling, what is his mood, ect. But he does like to try new and weird positions that take him out of his comfort zone. You can come up to him and say you want to try the golden arch (this looks sexy asf) and he will say yes without even thinking twice, just because he likes to add spiciness in sex.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Levi being Levi, he will NEVER be goofy. This man is barely expressive in the daily life so for sex, it will be pretty difficult. He will not make jokes, excluding maybe “Cumming so much, you’re like a real fountain, princess.” with a smirk on his face. If he jokes, it will be very light and more seen as dirty talk. This man is 100% in every time you fuck so joking around? He doesn’t even think about it.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Levi hates everything that isn’t clean and dirty, and this include his own body. So… expect that this area will be super clean and shaved almost daily (yes, he’s a maniac, even for this.)

Maybe it’s a bit out of the subject but we are talking about hair here so for me it’s include the “normal” hair. About them, you know Levi tries to keep them the best groomed possible, but he secretly loves when you tug on them suddenly. Please, grip his hair and push his head down when he gives you a cunnilingus or pull them harshly when you get overstimulated after he made you cum for the 5th time. He will do anything to please you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Levi can be very romantic during love-making just like he can just fuck to fuck. His love and romanticisme are not very evident but it's the small attentions that matter for him. Taking care of you after, whispering praises into your ear, holding your hand... He won't really show that he's romantic but if you take a look at his actions... you will see it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Levi jack off a lot less often since he started to date and get intimate with you. He prefers skin too skin contact over his hand and imagination. Boy, he was a total virgin before he did his first time with you, so my man was the pro of jacking off (sounds so wrong writing this). I even think that Levi will prefer to wait to fuck you instead of jacking himself off.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Two words: authority kink. Listen to me, I know everybody says that Levi got this kink but you're this man's little brat and he is your superior who got control on you. Yes, you have to call him Captain Levi or else he will punish you. And yes, he will call you brat or bratty slut but don't worry, it is always affectionate. Levi likes to have control, who doesn't like it? So if you start to call him 'Captain' expect him to act like one.

Second kink would be degrading kink. Calling you a whore, slut, cum dumpster, whatever degrading nicknames you like. Tugging on your hair as he fucks you hard, making your back arching beautifully as he whispers bad bad words into your ear. But hey, once the love-making session is finished, he will immediately ask you if he wasn't too rough or anything because he truly loves and cares about you. Maybe he got the degrading kink but he will never hurt you on purpose. And I see you, anxious girls who are scared that he doesn't love you when he calls you names. You just have to tell him and he will stop. Your well-being is his number one priority and you should never feel insecure with him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Levi can do it anywhere, everywhere, any time, every time, you just have to ask. Bed? Basic but perfect. Kitchen table? He couldn’t wait anymore to devour you, you’re his meal. His office? The fear of being caught just makes it better. In the car? You’ve been too much of a brat and you need a punishment right now.

I think his favorite place to do it would be his office. He likes to see you trying to hold back your moans as he’s pounding inside you because the people outside the office could totally hear you. Or seeing your teary eyes as you are on your knees sucking his dick like a good little bitch under his desk. He even has the boldness to make phone calls, forcing you to keep it silent if you don't want everybdy knowing who's fucking you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Acting bratty is probably the biggest turn on. Levi is instantly turned on if you tries to ignore his commands. Why he likes it? Cause he can teach you how to be a good girl and listen to him. Grabbing your hair, making you look at him as he asks you to repeat what you said. A satisfied grin spreading on his lips as you apologize and beg him to fuck you.

Another thing that could make Levi turn wild would be you flirting on purpose with other people. God his expression turns mad when he sees you a bit too close for his liking with this guy. If you want a good punishment, Levi's jealousy is a very quick way to achieve it.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I don't see Levi doing anything that would imply other people like fucking directly in public or doing a threesome (you are his and only his). He won't also do something that could harm you too much like intense BDSM or anything about knifes or torture. He likes spiciness but this is a whole new level in which he doesn't want to be.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Levi likes both of them. I mean, if he had to choose, it would be impossible. How can he decide between eating your beautiful and perfect cunt and seeing and feeling you sliding his big cock down your throat, you tongue caressing all the sensitive spots?

I would say Levi has pretty good skills in everything (cough) which include pussy eating (COUGH). He would probably win the prize of the best tongue flicking at this point. He will keep your legs spread as you try desperately to close them, feeling his warm tongue licking the most intimate place of your body. “C’mon darling, don’t be so shy. I already saw everything that could be seen down here.”

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Levi is most of the time fast and rough, maybe it is like this that he proves his true love for you. When he fucks you real hard, be ready to not being to walk the next day. Often when he will be slow and sensual it will be to tease you and torture you slowly, when you can feel the heat between your thighs spreading more and faster. "What did you say? I didn't hear you. Slower?"

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He likes to have quickies time to times like in his office right before an important meeting. He likes the stress of running out of time where you are literally begging him to fuck you faster and harder. Levi approves quickies.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Levi likes pretty much risking new things and he is very open-minded when it's come to sex stuff (surprising but it's one of the rare topics that he is very collaborative with). He doesn't really have a limit and is chill with everything. As long as it makes you happy, he's ready for everything like stated in the previous letters.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Okay so... Levi is a total wild animal. Yeah, I know he's supposed to be close to his 40s but tell yourself that he is the Humanity's Strongest Soldier and can run kilometers without being tired so sex is like a little walk for him. He can easily fuck for 3 and more rounds and last 10 to 15 minutes in each before cumming. I'm telling you; this man is almost impossible to exhaust so be ready. But don't worry, I'm sure Levi will be pleased to give you a few practices ;)

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Levi would buy some toys to use on you, just to test this out for a night. Well... and he used them again and again. He just loves to see your body squirming as you're fucked by a vibrator. "Cumming and I didn't even touch you, damn." he would say with a smirk. Or he could also buy handcuffs but he prefers to use his cravate.

I don't think he would ever want to use a fleshlight because he thinks that your pussy is 100 times better than some fake sex toy. He lives to feel your skin on his. Plus, he rarely masturbates so it would be useless to have sex toys for himself.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This man loves to tease you. HE WANTS to hear your begging for him to fuck you faster, harder or whatever you want. He's gonna to slowlyyy move his hand down toward your private part, just to keep you waiting. He will take his time to kiss every little spot of your skin, leaving dark marks on your neck, shoulders and chest.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He won't be really loud even if he fucks you like an animal. Maybe some grunts, gasps and groans as he's thrusting into you deeply. He will also talk a lot but like... dirty talk. Pet names literally flowing down from his lips any time he can. When he will be cumming, he will only bite his lips to hold back the sounds, biting it so hard it started to bleed sometimes.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

When Levi is nervous about something, he will tend to be more impulsive, getting angry easier. He doesn't even realize that he repeats certain actions like passing his hand in his hair, replacing his cravate... so, if you see these movements, your darling boy is nervous. Maybe you could go and asks him what's wrong and try to calm him down? You are probably the only person he won't kill for asking him questions.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Even if Levi is short as hell (sorry but man he's 5'3), his cock is all the contrary. Oh boy, this man got the whole tool. I mean… He. Is. Big. As. Fuck. Not only long but also large. In short, that man got something that will surely satisfy you. His dick + his professionalism in sex makes him a real master. You can’t be disappointed cause that cock hit all the deepest part of your body at each thrust.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Levi has a very low sex drive. I mean, he's a grown man, he can pass many days without sex and not being sexually frustrated. He was a virgin for like 20 years so he's kinda used to a very low sex drive. But after many years with you, his sex drive will augment a bit, he will be in the average I guess? But he isn't a sex addict either who can't live a day without fucking.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It takes some time to Levi to fall asleep every day but after a long and tiring session of sex, he sleeps like a baby. It won’t take long for him to fall asleep, a few minutes after getting down from his high. But he will try to fall asleep after you, just to be sure you’re fine but… sometimes are harder than others. When he feels that he’s losing the battle, he will hug you tightly and caress your hair, trying desperately to make you sleep first (does it even work??)

#levi x reader smut #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman #levi aot #levi aot smut #levi smut #levi x reader #aot smut #attack on titan smut #levi ackerman x reader #smut alphabet

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queen-of-deans-booty · 4 months ago

Text

Not So Perfect Life

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~4k

Warnings: angst, fearing for your life, slight torture, fluff at the end

Summary: According to you, Sam lives a mundane life with his brother who is a very skilled mechanic. It doesn’t take long for his secrets to bubble to the top, threatening everything and everyone he loves.

Square Filled: zip ties for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: i pulled inspiration from a tiktok video! apparently, it's from a turkish tv series, but i am unsure of the name of it.

The empty lot next to your apartment has finally been bought, and one of your favorite stores has been built in its place. You make the most of your money by buying Barbie and Bratz dolls and transforming them into animated characters. You’ve taken an old Barbie doll and made her into Maleficent. Someone wanted you to make a doll version of themselves, so you did that with a Bratz doll. To make extra money, you work at a diner for two nights a week so that you can focus on your doll-making career most of the time.

Sam was supposed to meet you twenty minutes ago, but he’s still not here. You check the time on your phone and sigh silently before walking over to the doll section of the store. While you love transforming an already-made Barbie doll, you do enjoy starting from scratch. The store has different kinds of blank dolls that have nothing on them that you can do anything with.

You grab three of them and put them into your cart.

“I’m here!” You turn and see Sam jogging over to you. “I’m sorry I’m late. I was helping my brother.”

There is a splotch of blood on his cheek, and you frown when you see it.

“You have blood on your cheek.”

“Oh.” He quickly wipes it away. “Shave nick. I’m sorry I’m late.”

“I’m just glad you’re here now,” you smile. You walk to the fabric section and browse the different colors. “So, what did Dean need?”

“What?”

You look at him. “You said Dean needed help. With what?”

Sam opens and closes his mouth like a fish, suddenly nervous. “Oh, you know… His job.”

“You don’t know how to work on cars.”

“I know the basics.”

“So, you’re telling me your brother, the very skilled mechanic, needed help on a car he was working on so he asked you?” He nods. “Okay.”

Sam hates lying to you but what else is he going to tell you? You get everything you need to create at least a dozen more dolls and check out at the register.

“So, I was thinking while I make my dolls, we can have a movie night. What do you say? Care to spend the night?” When Sam doesn’t answer, you look at him to see him on his phone. “Sam?”

“Right, sorry, Y/N. You know I’d love to, but Dean needs me right now.”

“With another car?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I know I said I’d spend all day with you, but I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

He kisses you quickly before practically sprinting off. You trust Sam with your life but there’s something about him lately that has your red flag radar going off. He’s lying about something, but you don’t know what.

Sam promised to call but he never did. In fact, you go days without hearing from him. It’s Friday and you just got back from your diner job early so you can get a head start on your dolls. You put on The Nightmare Before Christmas before starting your Sally doll. Weaving the hair in is the most time-consuming of it all, so that’s what you start with.

Your phone rings and you smile when you see Sam’s name and picture pop up. He has his own life and you don’t ever want to be clingy and annoying, so you give him his space. You love him so much so those few days with no contact are like water under the bridge.

“Hey, baby,” you answer.

“Hey, are you busy this weekend?”

“I’m just making my dolls. Why?”

“I have some free time. Dean and I are heading to California for the weekend. Want to come with us? He has some business there, and I was thinking we could go to the beach. Just me and you, sunshine, seafood, and maybe a few kisses.”

“Wow, you know how to butter a girl up. When do you leave?”

“I can pick you up in a few hours.”

“I’ll pack. I’m so excited. I’ll see you soon.”

Forget Sally. You turn off the movie and run to your room to get packed. A few hours later, Sam knocks on your door while Dean waits in the car. You open the door and jump into Sam’s arms with a huge smile on your face.

“This is going to be a fun weekend,” you grin.

He kisses you a few seconds longer than usual. “Come on.”

He grabs your bags while you get into the backseat of the car, and you smile at Dean.

“Thank you for letting me come with you guys.”

“The more the merrier,” Dean says.

Sam gets into the back seat with you, and he pulls you close as Dean drives away. Dena turns the music up just to drown you two out so he doesn’t have to hear how gushy you two are going to be.

“So, I was thinking we could go at night when the sun is going down, and we’ll walk the entire pier and watch the sunset. I’ve been to this area before, and I know this seafood joint you’d love.”

“I already love it. Do you want to know what I’ve never done but want to try?”

“What is it?”

You lean in closer to whisper in his ear. Not that Dean can hear you anyway. “I’ve never had sex on a beach before.”

Sam laughs and runs his hand up and down your back. “I have. Sand gets everywhere, but you’re worth it.”

He slides his hand in your hair and kisses you, keeping it short and sweet for his brother. Since it’s night by the time you get to the hotel, you decide to have a chill night in with the brothers before planning stuff for tomorrow. They don’t have a lot of money which is why you and Sam don’t have your own room, but you’re happy regardless.

“Can we go to the beach today?” you ask over breakfast.

Sam and Dean look at each other and have some sort of secret conversation with their eyes. Dean waves as he sips his coffee.

“Go. You two have fun. I have some business to do. I’ll call you later.”

“Yay!”

You pack for an eventful day at the beach, having everything you need and more in your tote bag. However, you don’t get to use most of it because your fun-filled day at the beach isn’t anything like you expect it to be. At first, you took some time to tan and soak in the rays before you wanted to go swimming.

“Sam, let’s go swimming.”

“Give me one second.” He’s on the phone. “It’s Dean.”

You shrug and walk to the shore, shivering when the cold water washes over your feet. If you get it over with, you’re entire body will get used to the temperature instead of one part at a time. You run the rest of the way in and squeal when the chill seeps into your bones.

“Come on, Sam!”

Sam nods but doesn’t say anything in response. He continues to talk to his brother over the phone, and you look away with a sigh. It only takes one time before Sam gets caught in the current, and he spends most of his time with his nose in his phone, claiming he’s helping his brother with something.

Never have you ever felt like you were second best in this relationship, but there’s a first time for everything…

After a few hours of swimming by yourself, you get fed up. You walk over to Sam who just put his phone away, but the smile is lost on his face.

“I want to leave, Sam.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m good now. Dean can manage without me.”

“That’s good, but I’m done for today. Take me back.”

Sam sighs and packs up anyway, hating the way he makes you feel. He can see the disappointment in your eyes, and he hates that he put it there. If only you knew what he was really up to, you might be a bit more understanding. Still, he’d rather this than suck you into his toxic life.

“Y/N, I’m really sorry,” Sam says once you walk into the hotel room.

“I’m not mad, Sam, I just thought this was a vacation. If you need to work with Dean, I have no problem with that. I would have let you two come on your own.”

“I know, and it is a vacation.”

“Dean’s a mechanic. What kind of business does he have out here that he needs your help with?”

“It’s complicated.” You sigh and look away from him, but he cups your jaw and brings your gaze back to him. “We took care of everything today. Tomorrow, I am all yours. We can go to the beach again if you want, or we can go shopping or whatever you’re feeling up for. Okay?”

“Can we watch the sunrise on the pier?”

“Yes we can, and maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll show you how messy beach sex is.”

You can’t stay upset at him for too long. “Okay, deal.”

Sam leans down and kisses you, and you wrap your arms around his neck. Dean gets home late but you’re already fast asleep in your bed. You don’t know what wakes you up, but you open your eyes to see Sam and Dean dressed and standing by the table. They’re whispering and trying to be quiet, but you can hear every word they’re saying. Sam is keeping so many secrets from you, so you don’t move a muscle to make it look like you’re still sleeping.

“Are you sure the nest is out there?”

“Yes. I talked to the locals and that’s the only place they all singled out.”

“Okay. I have to be back before the sunrise. I promised Y/N we’d watch it at the beach.”

“I can’t promise that I’ll get you back before then, but we need to go now before someone else dies.”

Sam looks back at you before leaving with his brother. Okay, that’s not what a mechanic does. Are they worried someone is going to die? You have to find out what they’re up to. You quickly get changed and follow the brothers down to the parking garage where the Impala is, and you pull out your phone to call an Uber.

It takes five minutes for it to get to you but that’s not enough time for Sam and Dean to get far.

“I’ll pay you extra if you follow a Chevy Impala.”

You tell the driver where to go, and you’re able to catch up to them on the freeway. They head north, far more than you thought they would go. They end up in the woods, but the Uber driver is only willing to go so far.

You hand him a handful of twenties “Thank you for doing this.”

You get out and finish the rest of the trek on foot. You’re not sure where Sam and Dean went, but there’s only one thing in these parts. While on the drive, you looked up the history of the woods, and according to local legend, there is a cabin in the woods responsible for a bunch of paranormal activity. If Sam’s big secret is that he’s a ghost hunter, then you really overestimated him.

You push past the thick trees and bushes until you come to a clearing. A cabin with a lot of windows stands big and tall and the lights are on inside, allowing you to see everything inside. The cabin is a bit run down as it tends to do with age, but there are broken windows and doors from either vandalism or old age.

The Impala is off to the right so you know Sam and Dean are somewhere around here. You walk closer to the cabin and gasp when you see a man fly across the room. Sam walks in with a thick blade in his hands, and he rushes at the man like he’s pissed at him. He tackles the man to the ground but the man kicks your boyfriend off him easily. Sam stands and punches the man as hard as he can twice before bringing the blade down on him.

You’re shocked and horrified to see someone you love so much brutally murder another man without cause. Blood, bruises, and cuts adorn Sam’s face and arms, and Dean isn’t any better. He walks in holding the same kind of blade with just as many cuts on him.

“One of them smoked out before I could get to him,” Dean says.

“Great,” Sam sighs. He cracks his neck and just so happens to look out the broken door and right into your horrified eyes. “Shit.”

You turn and flee from the scene as fast as you can, ignoring the whips and stings from branches smacking you in the face. You reach the road and panic when you don’t see a single car, and you take out your phone to see if you can get a signal.

“Come on,” you freak.

Light shines in the distance, and you start running toward the headlights. The car doesn’t slow down when they see you, and they don’t care if you’re in need of their help. They zoom past you, and you yell out in frustration in fear. You look back to see if Sam or Dean are following you, but there is no one there.

Another set of headlights shines in the distance, and you wave your arms frantically. They slow down at your signs of distress, and you hop into the front seat without seeing who is behind the wheel.

“Thank you so much. Can you--”

You scream when you see Sam sitting next to you.

“Please, just let me explain.”

“Please don’t hurt me,” you cry.

“I won’t hurt you, Y/N. Just let me explain.”

His words aren’t connecting with you because all you can see is him killing that poor man. You try the door handle but he's locked it and engaged the child locks, and that causes you to cry more. Sam’s heart breaks at seeing you so terrified of him but this is necessary. He can’t bring you back to town and have you go to the authorities so he has no other choice but to take you back to the cabin where his brother is.

He parks outside of it and gets out, but you refuse to follow. Sam walks to the other side of the car and opens the passenger door.

“Come on, Y/N. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Sam reaches into the car and grabs your arm, and that’s when all hell breaks loose.

“No, please don’t! Please!” you cry. You fight to get away but Sam’s grip is tight. This is breaking his heart but it’s necessary. “Let me go! I won’t tell anyone. Please!”

“Y/N, would you stop fighting me?”

You fall to your knees as if that will prevent you from going inside the cabin, but Sam just picks you up instead. He brings you inside and sets you down, and you jump away from him and fall onto the dirty couch. Dean walks into the room when he hears you sob, and he sighs.

Sam walks off to the side with his brother while keeping you in his line of vision. He can’t have you running away.

“She doesn’t know what we do. She thinks you’re a mechanic.”

“Now is as good a time as any to tell her, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, if she’ll let me.” Sam walks over to you like you’re a wounded animal, and he sits on the coffee table. “Y/N, please…” He reaches out to touch you but you jerk away from him in fear. You jump to the other side of the couch and curl up into a ball. “I’m not a murderer, Y/N.”

You look around the cabin and see the bodies of the men they came here to kill.

“I’m on it,” Dean says.

“He’s not a mechanic, is he?” you mutter.

“No, he isn’t. Not professionally, at least. If you’d let me explain--”

“Please let me go, Sam,” you beg and cry. “I have a family and a little sister and parents who love me. Please let me go.”

“I’m not going to hurt you. Baby, you need to calm down.”

“Don’t call me that!” you yell.

Sam knows he’s not going to get anywhere if you’re like this so he decides to let you cool off and help Dean with the bodies. He stays within sight the entire time to make sure you don’t go anywhere, and it’s not like you can fight him off. He’s twice your size and three times stronger than you. Not to mention he has a brother who is similar in strength and size. You wouldn’t get far and they know it.

By the time the brothers are done, you’re already asleep on the couch. Sam sighs when he sees you. This is so not how he wanted to tell you about the supernatural. He wanted to take you on a date, probably in the Bunker, and ease you into it. Now you’re scared half to death and refuse to listen to him.

He brought in a blanket to take care of the last body not knowing that Dean had already done it. Instead, he drapes it over your body gently. You don’t stir and he should leave you alone. He should turn away and wait for you to wake up, but he can’t help himself. He runs the back of his fingers down your cheek. The slight movement is enough to wake you up, and you jerk away from him in fear.

“Dean is getting food and water for you.” You don’t answer him. Sam takes the food when Dean comes back, and he sets it in front of you. Your stomach is growling but you don’t move an inch. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out. Look, those men you saw were demons. They were monsters. I don’t hurt innocent people.”

“Like I’m going to believe a word you say,” you glare.

Sam sighs and rubs his hands together. “I love you, Y/N.”

Again, you don’t answer. The brothers can’t bring you back to town so they set up shop in the living room. They’re light sleepers so if you’re going to do something, you have to do it without making a single noise. An hour after Sam and Dean have fallen asleep, you decide to make your move.

Dean is sleeping on the other smaller couch but Sam is sleeping on the floor right next to your spot. You hook your legs on the back of the couch and slip off the back as quietly as you can. You tiptoe to the front door and open it, wincing when it creaks. You look back but Sam and Dean don’t move.

The first steps out of the cabin are slow and careful until you get to the treeline, and then you make a beeline for the road. You look back to see if they’re following you which they’re not. You turn back only to run right into a man’s chest. He reaches out to steady you so that you don’t fall on your ass.

“I wanted a Winchester,” the man’s eyes turn pitch black, “but you’ll do nicely.”

In the next second, you’re knocked unconscious. When you come to, the first thing you notice is the zip ties on your wrists. You’re tied to a chair that’s bolted to the concrete ground. Even if you can escape, you’re too weak to move. The man who took you, the one with black eyes, walks into the room and over to you.

“Please let me go,” you whisper.

“Good, you’re awake. I love hearing humans scream. Music to my ears.”

“Please don’t. I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go,” you beg.

The man doesn’t listen and grabs the back of your chair. He shoves his hand into your body and touches your soul, and you tip your head back and scream as loud as you can. He only takes three vials of your soul, but that’s enough to knock you out again. Your entire body aches when you wake up again, and there are two men in the room instead of one.

“I need more of her soul.”

“Stop being so fucking greedy. You’re using it too fast. Lucifer won’t like that. Plus, she’s Sam Winchester’s girlfriend. He won’t be too pleased if she dies too soon.” Both men walk over to another person that’s tied up. How have you not noticed him before? “This one is empty. Toss it and grab another one.”

The second man has no choice but to listen. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you let the darkness overcome you for a third time.

“Hey, Y/N, open your eyes. Come on, wake up.”

You moan tiredly and open your eyes to see Sam kneeling in front of you.

“Sam,” you whisper, barely audible.

“I’m right here, baby. I’m going to get you out of here.”

He takes out a knife to use on your zip ties, but you see someone enter the room… and it isn’t Dean.

“Sam, behind you.”

He stands and turns to face the man who took you.

“Looks like I scored the jackpot. I knew you’d come for her,” the man smirks.

“Yeah, you’re right. I did come for her, but it’s not going you be you who leaves this place alive.”

A fight breaks out between the man and Sam. He has the same kind of blade as he did in the cabin, and that’s apparently a weapon that hurts the man. Sam slices the man’s arm and punches him in the face. Without even touching him, the man uses some kind of power to shove Sam into the wall. Sam tries to move but he can’t, and the man laughs at his helplessness.

He doesn’t get enough time to gloat because Dean enters the room with a sharp knife. He flips the knife so he’s holding the blade, and he tosses it at the man. The blade sticks out of his back, and his entire body lights up orange and gold.

The man falls to the ground, dead, and Sam is released from his hold. Sam runs over to you and cuts the zip ties off, and he scoops you into his arms. You have no fight left in you. If Sam is going to kill you, then he should do it now before you gain your strength back.

Sam and Dean leave before Lucifer hears about this, and they take you to the Bunker knowing Castiel is going to be there to heal you. They didn’t keep you long enough to take a lot of your soul but it still takes a lot out of you.

When you wake up, you’re in some kind of infirmary. None that you’ve ever seen before. Sam is on the other side of the room whispering to Dean, and you make eye contact with Dean. The older brother clears his throat and gestures to you. Dean leaves the room and Sam walks over to you carefully. When you show no signs of freaking out, he sits on the edge of the bed.

Sam doesn’t go into a ton of detail so as to not overwhelm you, but he does explain about demons and a bit about their hunting lives.

“I never wanted to hurt you. This is why I didn’t tell you what I did.”

“You scared me,” you whisper.

“I know, and I am so sorry. I’d never do anything to hurt you. I love you so much.”

“I forgive you,” you sniffle. You saved me.”

Sam reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll always save you. I’ll answer any questions you have, but you should get some sleep right now.”

“Will you stay with me?”

“Of course.”

He kicks off his shoes and slides into the small bed with you, and you snuggle into his side. Despite him scaring you, Sam has always and will always feel like home to you. You feel safe enough to fall asleep in his arms like you’ve done so many times before.

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfic #sam winchester fic #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester angst #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fluff #supernatural angst

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thekeeperof-thefandoms · 1 year ago

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HAZBIN CHARACTERS IF YOU GOT A CAT

This is a follow up to my aninal lover post.

Alastor

Confused as to where you got an actual cat in Hell.

At least it's not a dog.

Will say he doesn't like cats and complain about it getting fur everywhere but constantly has the cat near him while he's boradcasting, idly petting it.

If the cat is a menace and knocks things over a lot, especially while he's broadcasting he's using his shadows to restrain it or throw it out.

He literally makes a shadow cage for it sometimes when it has zoomies and attacks his feet.

Is annoyed with you for laughing and calling it "baby jail".

The cat better be useful and actually hunt the pests around the hotel.

He's feeding it flesh as a treat guys. Just accept it.

Charlie

OMG YOU HAVE A CAT!!! AN ACTUAL CAT!

She wants your cat and Kiki to be best friends.

Buys all of the cat toys. Expensive multi level cat trees. She cooks for it.

If it's not a cuddler, she's willing to suffer dozens of scratches just to hold it.

Has dozens of nicknames for your cat and spoils it all the time with treats.

Vox

Prefers dogs probably, but won't complain about the cat because it's more practical for people who are as busy as you all are.

He's mildly annoyed by all the cat hair everywhere, especially if it gets in his wiring or joints. Is also annoyed because he generates heat and hums from his mechanical parts, so the little shit literally won't leave him alone. It's hard to be an intimidating Overlord when there's a ball of floof on your lap/chest, and it purrs really loud to match your humming.

He swears he doesn't enjoy it, and you can hear him scolding the cat like it's a child whenever it does something, it shouldn't. Also has a kennel/cat carrier made to put the child, he means cat, in timeout. Threatens to feed it to his sharks while he watches it bap the tank glass for hours.

Buys it little ties and suits with his colors and logo on it since the damn thing wants to be with him at all times. If the child (cat) wants to come to meetings it's gonna dress the part. The cat is literally your child with him he just refuses to acknowledge it.

Valentino

Let's go with him not being the type of guy to shoot a pet for being annoying.

At first, Valentino doesn't like it because he just isn't an animal person. Like I said before he likes the idea of them more than actually having one. He does get annoyed with cat hair on everything and the little shit knocking things over.

However, let's say this cat is very sweet and snuggly. I think overtime he'd get used to it and begin to enjoy petting it and snuggling it. Maybe you, him, and the cat, all cuddled up to watch a movie. It helps him relax, especially if the cat is purring. He's also the type to dress it up and take photos with it.

Overall, I definitely think it's still more your pet than his, but he doesn’t hate it, and it does help him a lot, and he enjoys seeing you happy.

Lucifer

Cat dad. Immediately commits to that being your first child together. Like Charlie he will suffer unholy amounts of scratches to pet and cuddle it. Buys it fancy clothes and collars. Cooks homemade food for it. That's how I view it going down no matter where or how you acquired the cat.

However,

Honestly, he's probably the only one where you suggest outright getting a pet and pick out the cat together. You didn't even know an actual normal cat was an option for a pet in Hell, but he surprises you by taking you to some fancy ass place where high ranking demons have collected things from the mortal world and sell them. Running an actual high class, well documented, and strictly maintained cat breeding business, is a cat demon, and you two spend days meeting different litters of kittens and interacting with them in various scenarios to get a feel for their personality.

You guys definitely get a snuggler, because Lucifer really needs as much extra love as he can get. He excitedly tells Charlie she and Kiki are big siblings now and posts dozens of pictures on day one of owning it. You guys have a family portrait with the cat, Charlie, Vaggie, Razzle, and Kiki.

Refers to it as his child when speaking and calls himself dad and you mom (regardless of gender. You're mom)

Alternatively, he's mom and you're the father. He thinks gender norms are bullshit anyway. He can be a mom, he can shapeshift. (Also ya know, he apparently birthed Charlie).

Charlie loves her new feline sibling and brings Kiki and Razzle over to play all the time. It helps her spend more time with her dad too.

Angel Dust

He's a pet mom too! Will bring Fat Nuggets with him to play with your cat.

You guys dress them up and do photo shoots with your cats. Angel has an entire social media account now dedicated just to your cat and Fat Nuggets and eventually the other Hotel Pets.

He likes that both your cat and Nuggets can tell when he's had a bad day, and therefore you can tell. He likes that you can just sit with him in quiet solidarity, or play music, or a podcast, or just talk shit to distract him. He loves Cherri, but her method of getting through stuff is kind of exhausting for him sometimes.

Your voice, a kitty purring (if only it was Husk), Nuggets nuzzling his floof, that's kind of all he needs right now.

Husk

He and the cat just stare at each other, sometimes for hours, just staring. The cat will make little chirps, and he'll do it back if he's not thinking about it.

If the cat hisses at him he hisses back.

Skippity baps. The cat started it, he swears, and he just bapped it back.

Both of them high and catnip with zoomies. So much shit gets knocked down. Alastor strictly forbids Husk to ever get near the stuff again afterwards.

Alternatively, he, Kiki, and your cat, sprawled in a patch of sunlight, and all purring as they doze.

#hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #vox x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel husk

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valentine-cafe · 3 months ago

Text

˖⁺. ﹙ the obscure shadow monster artist. ﹚: vinicio agresta moretti 781 .𖹭

. . . how many secrets can you keep? !! 🍒 : “ don't blink, your eyes won't see the light again when they open ”

꒰ verse ꒱ 781

꒰ species ꒱ enigma

꒰ ethnicity ꒱ italian

꒰ age ꒱ 26

꒰ gender ꒱ male

꒰ mbti ꒱ intj

꒰ alias ꒱ the obscure, the boogieman, demon wielder, shadow whisperer, Vini, Vinsharkio ( by his brother )

꒰ story ꒱

the etching of paper drowns out deep, dark pools of silence. half-hung eyes to the sketch with a dozen open wide behind him, watching like a dark void. a haunted artist, vinicio agresta caliari, otherwise known as the boogieman.

dead eyes to match his gripping pragmatism and dark, haunting charm with dry grins. one might often find him sketching in his free time. from beautiful intricacies to twisted imageries. art to emulate the artist — a beautifully haunting presence.

keep your fears to yourself, for even his silence holds weight. the quieter of the two in comparison to his brother. a thinker, a realist. but what happens when that sharp mind takes a dark turn?

a job in which he should protect humans, and yet they become his bane. humans fear anything different in any case, humans fear without knowledge or understanding. . . so why not give them a reason to fear?

but he cannot. he will not. he's sworn otherwise. his brother will never forgive him. but even with the light not too far off; he's beginning to care less about what people may think. oh, the lines of morality do love to blur.

꒰ appearance ꒱

long straight brown hair, that goes to his midback. he typically ties it up in a half bun or leaves it lose. he has bangs over the right side of his face. sometimes he wears hairpins.

dull forest green eyes, they’re often hooded and have long lashes. his eyes can go black if he is in use of his powers, he can manifest numerous eyes across the right side of his face and along the rest of his body.

has fair olive skin and his veins can go black

has sharp and masculine facial features, with a touch of elegance.

Vinicio stands at a height of 6’6” and has a sleeper build, though don’t let that decieve you, lean muscle hides beneath

Can manifest multiple elongated tongues

Is able to grow extra obscured shadow limbs, that are directly from beings of the abyss.

he can unhinge his jaw and can sport multiple fangs fangs

can manifest tentacles

he can allow the shadows that hang around him and off him to be visible to the mortal eye.

wears thin silver rings and wears silver bracelets

has a midline tongue piercing

has upper and lower lobe piercings.

he keeps his nails short and paints them black.

he wears lots of white and blacks and switches between dark academia and casual.

꒰ personality ꒱

he has a sort of haunting, beautifully dark presence. this also comes off as quite eerie and even intimidating.

Vinicio is a quiet and reserved man, teaming with dryness in both his expression and voice

he is quite refined and has a certain elegance to him.

when he speaks he is rather blunt, not being one to sugarcoat his words, this can also bleed into sarcasm. he can sometimes come off as a bit mean

he is rather mature, people might mistake him for humorless, but in actuality he has a sort of dry humor, that can at times also be quite dark.

he is rather pragmatic, which can also blend in with his humor at times. he is also quite logical in his thinking

has a sort of dark and forbidden charm to him.

very artistic, particularily in his numerous paper sketches, being creative with charcoals for the most part. although occasionally he does colour some of his works.

he is protective of those that he holds close

has a secret vindictive side to him that he has been trying to surpress for some time now.

quite literally does not have any fears whatsoever, and is rather blank towards scary and eerie or haunting imagries. he finds it amusing when people try to scare him.

꒰ with a lover ꒱

is protective over his lover, always making sure to check in with them when he is not around and keep an eye out for them when he is.

he has sketchbooks upon sketchbooks of drawings of you, he doesn’t show you all of them but he has shown you some.

hates everyone but you trope, extremely soft when it comes to you, even when his personality doesn’t seem to change much.

particularily enjoys when you play with his hair, running your hands through it and putting it into braided styles. at times he enjoys just putting his head in your lap and letting you do that.

is easily jealous and shows it a lot with his body language, will result with him putting his arm around you if it gets too much.

he wants his hands everywhere but he can’t really do that, so he’s always moving his hands all over you.

his shadows either act as puppies towards you or are highly eager for you romantically

very much enjoys late night cuddles with you in his bed, whether you both are silent or not.

is more talkative with you in comparison to how he is with most people.

teases you but in a way that throws you off every time because you least expect it. he can be quite the little shit about it.

will randomly kiss and cuddle up to you if he finds you asleep

acts of service is a big part of his love language, whether that be tying your shoelaces or helping you with grocery shopping.

꒰ strengths꒱

abyssal creatures: he is able to manifest and summon the obscure and monstrous beings of the abyss, and use them as familiars

body morphing: he can morph his body to the shape of the abyssal creatures’ limbs and abnormalities.

shadow manipulation: the ability to manifest and manipulate shadow.

soul surveying: he is able to see the true moral soul of a being.

꒰ weaknesses ꒱

light sensitivity: he has vision impairments in the light

abhorrent magic: the presence of abhorrent magic depending on the amount can spin his powers into chaos.

꒰ relationships ꒱

vespasiano agresta caliari: father

illaria moretti accardi: mother

pasquale agresta moretti: older twin brother

flora agresta moretti: younger sister

alessia agresta calirari: grandma

rainel: grandfather

valerio agresta caliari: uncle

albertino agresta caliari: uncle

pietro agresta caliari: uncle

mercutio agresta caliari: uncle

alessio arias: cousin

lorenzo agresta arias: cousin

azzurra agresta d'ambrosio: cousin

elenore agresta angelis: cousin

daria lascăr: best friend, ex girlfriend

꒰ extra ꒱

he works for a specialised group that handle supernatural and natural emergencies whether that be combative or interlectual.

he speaks italian and english and a little bit of romanian

he has a good relationship with his father, though not always the best with his mother

most of his free-time he likes to draw

his favourite pastry is cannoli

he plays video games sometimes whenever he needs a break from art, specifically fps. he somtimes plays stardew valley with daria

he likes to collect watches

he is a cat person, he wants a cat.

he had a lot of hamsters growing up.

#﹙ tea time. ﹚: vinicio 781 𖹭 ݁#monster boyfriend #teratophillia #monster fucker #demon x reader #terato #monster x reader #oc x reader #monster oc #x reader #reader insert #original character x reader #artist x reader #vinicio 781 #asterism

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sevasey51 · 4 days ago

Note

Y/N was in the middle of a flare that was worse than usual but still manageable. On weekend that Y/N is working Connor took an extra call and Ava got called in. Since both of them were there anyways they decided to go up to maternity to check on her. For once in months the board had barely any patients and more nurses than they knew what to do with so everyone was just sitting around chatting enjoying a nice weekend. Except everyone was feral and relaxed at the same time. Food and snacks all over the place, a couple girls dressing up the doll they have for small demos for med students, card games, online shopping for concert season and upcoming vacations, girls doing each others hair and a new nurse learning how to do IVs on another nurse. Not mention the day before someone had the bright idea to bring a blender to make flurries. That was earlier in the day but the blender was still sitting on the counter. 😂

Feral and Fine

I’m going to try and get fee out just to tide you guys over whilst I’m still not well hopefully you guys love these and thank you for all the kind messages 🫶🏻

Summary: It’s rare for a maternity floor to be quiet. But today? The patient board is practically empty, the staff is overstocked, and for once—nothing’s on fire. Connor and Ava, both on call, head upstairs to check on Y/N, who’s mid-way through a rough but manageable flare. What they walk into isn’t a unit in crisis—it’s a sleepover with scrubs. Between doll makeovers, concert-planning, IV practice on each other, and the remnants of someone’s flurry-blender experiment, the unit is pure chaos. And Connor? He absolutely lives for it.

It was just past 1:00 p.m. when Connor leaned back from the nurses’ station in the ED and glanced at Ava, who was rereading an abdominal CT with her brow furrowed.

“Board’s clear,” he said casually.

“Unnervingly clear,” she murmured. “Even radiology’s slow.”

Connor arched a brow. “Wanna check on maternity?”

Ava didn’t even look up. “I thought you were going up there regardless to check on her.”

“I was. Thought you’d enjoy the chaos.”

Ava finally cracked a smile. “Lead the way, Doctor Rhodes.”

The elevator opened to a symphony of music, chatter, and what suspiciously sounded like a blender.

Connor glanced at Ava. She deadpanned, “This is either going to be magical… or mildly OSHA-violating.”

The maternity floor was buzzing—but not with patients. The board had three active names. Three. And twelve nurses on staff.

It looked like a chaotic girls’ retreat collided with a hospital.

Snacks were everywhere—crackers, cookies, something that might have once been hummus. Half a dozen nurses lounged in the nurses’ station, one giving the demo baby a full makeover complete with baby glitter Crocs and a onesie that said Born to Slay.

A few were deep into a game of Uno, while others stood by the whiteboard online shopping for concert tickets.

Two younger nurses were attempting an IV start—on each other.

“Okay, I’ve got flashback!”

“That’s a vein, not a dartboard—ease up, Olympic Javelin!”

And in the middle of it all, perched on the low couch with a heating pad across her abdomen and a water bottle clutched in both hands, was Y/N.

Hair tied up, hoodie on, legs tucked under her. Watching it all like she was the queen of the madness. Her cheeks were a little flushed, telltale signs of her flare still visible—but she was smiling.

Connor softened instantly.

Ava leaned in. “This looks like a teenage slumber party… at a Level 3 OB unit.”

“They’re feral,” Y/N muttered dryly, spotting them. “But relaxed. It’s weirdly comforting.”

Connor came over and kissed the top of her head. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Cramping like hell, but stable. Heating pad’s doing work.”

Ava scanned the room. “Tell me you didn’t eat something from that,” she said, gesturing toward the blender still sitting on the counter.

“Oh no,” Y/N said. “That was for flurries yesterday. Bad decision. Sugar crash by 4 p.m. We all regretted it.”

One of the nurses looked up from her laptop. “We’ve been ranking concert outfits for this summer. You’re going to that 5SOS show, right, Y/N?”

Connor blinked. “Since when?”

“She’s going with Sophie,” Ava said immediately. “I heard about it weeks ago.”

Connor turned to Y/N, who just shrugged. “Didn’t think it’d survive triage between the cramping, the nausea, and your spreadsheet schedule.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m offended.”

Another nurse called out, “Hey Y/N, which Harry era is this outfit giving?” and held up a sequined tank top.

Y/N laughed—an honest, full sound—and that’s when Connor finally exhaled.

Her pain was still there, sure. But her eyes were bright, her voice was strong, and she was in her element.

Safe. Cared for. Among her people.

Later, when Ava and Connor rode the elevator back down, she glanced sideways.

“You’re weirdly fond of them,” she said.

“They keep her alive,” he replied simply. “And apparently… fashionable.”

Ava smirked. “You gonna try and stop the concert trip?”

Connor shook his head. “Nope. But I am packing her emergency concert med kit myself.”

#fluff #connor rhodes #connor rhodes x reader #connor rhodes imagine #yn halstead #chicago med #connor rhodes x halstead reader #sevasey51 #ava bekker

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triscribeaucollection · 2 years ago

Text

Can’t Breathe In

(SO. What if, way back during Infinity War, the group on Titan fighting Thanos managed to get the gauntlet away from him? Say, for example, Peter yoinks just a tad harder at the right moment, pulling it and the four already-retrieved Stones off. There’s still the problem of keeping them away from the purple bastard, so Strange opens up a portal back to Earth, tosses the kid, the gauntlet, and the Eye of Agamotto through for good measure, before he and Tony and the Guardians do their level best to put Thanos down for good.

One thing leads to another, all roads converge in Wakanda, and there ends up being a knock-down drag-out free-for-all fight between the present Avengers and the remaining Children of Thanos for six Infinity Stones in one room (Shuri having just enough time to cut Vision free of the Mind Stone before shit hits the fan).

Stuff is exploding, containers are breaking, half a dozen all-powerful artifacts tied to the foundations of Existence are flying through the air, and a certain Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Doofus manages to grab two at once.

Things get... interesting, after that.)

---

Peter is so screwed.

Even if he survives, even if he manages to change enough things to save the day for everybody else, he is so screwed, because he did the one thing Doctor Strange explicitly said not to and at this point it’s definitely going to kill him.

Just. Slowly. Because that’s Parker Luck for you.

Panting through the pain, Peter manages to finish scrawling out the last of his future-notes, doubled up at the very bottom of the page. Then he promptly drops the pencil and grasps at his head, whining faintly.

Some of it’s definitely a residual after-effect of accidentally grabbing two Infinity Stones at once and super accidentally activating them. The rest is a miserable combination of adjusting to no longer having his powers, adjusting to once again having asthma, and of course the bout of bronchitis his thirteen year old body happened to be dealing with when Peter’s sixteen year old mind got dropped into it.

Zero out of five stars, do not recommend.

A hand knocks on his bedroom door, and Peter barely bites back an instinctive whimper. “Y-yeah?”

“You okay in there, kiddo?”

And there’s the other thing. Ben is still alive.

Ben is alive, May isn’t a widow, and Peter really needs to make sure they both stay that way.

But he also needs to warn Mister Stark about everything that’s coming.

“I- I guess,” Peter says miserably, and it’s enough to make his uncle open the door and step inside. The kid’s heart stutters just at the sight of him: familiar concerned expression, rumpled well-worn clothes, brown hair that’s only just started to turn gray around the ears.

“Well, you must be feeling a little better, at least,” Ben mutters, glancing between Peter at his desk and the abandoned bed. “I’m ducking out to run a couple errands, kiddo, shouldn’t be gone too long. Want anything?”

He takes as deep a breath as he can manage at the moment. “Actually- yeah. Could you drop off a letter for me?”

Ben raises an eyebrow, mouth quirking up a little at one corner. “A letter?”

“Mmhm.” Peter reorganizes his papers real quick, then folds the four sheets in half before taping them closed. On top goes a post-it note, and one final scribble: for FRIDAY or Happy Hogan, please.

...after a moment’s consideration, ‘please’ gets underlined an extra time.

Ben’s second eyebrow has risen as well by the time Peter turns back, holding out the makeshift envelope. “Where am I taking this, kiddo?”

“Manhattan. Stark Tower.” He can see the startled blink, and hurries to go on, “It’s really important, Ben, please. If I could take it my- myself-” His lungs choose that moment to induce a coughing fit, and Peter practically doubles over as his whole body shakes.

One of Ben’s large hands settles between his shoulder blades, rubbing up and down until Peter can breathe again. “Okay, buddy,” his uncle murmurs, gently tugging the papers free of his grasping fingers. “Okay. Stark Tower. I can do that. Might take me an extra hour, though- are you going to be okay by yourself?”

Rather than speak and irritate his poor throat, Peter raises a thumb’s up.

Ben grins, just slightly, and ruffles his hair. “Go on back to bed, then. I’ll top off your water cup and head out.” A+ plan. Truly phenomenal. Peter drags himself out of the wobbly desk chair and shuffles over, dragging the same blanket he’d brought along with him in the first place. Toppling over onto his old mattress is easy; so is making an unintelligible noise of gratitude when Ben sets down a refilled plastic cup. And from there, Peter slowly... drifts... off.......

...only to lurch back upright in a panic, mere minutes later, because he addressed the notes to Friday.

FRIDAY, the AI who doesn’t exist yet. Instead of JARVIS, the one who does.

Several curse words drop from his mouth, as Peter scrambles to try and find his- his phone. Which he does not have yet. Because it was a Congrats On Starting High School present after he turned fourteen. Because of course.

Nothing for it, then. As miserable as he feels, Peter needs to get dressed, go after Ben, and swap out the incorrect post-it for a properly addressed one.

When asked, he will very much blame his current fever and illness to explain why he didn’t go out into the living room, and use the landline they still possess at this point in time to call his uncle and fix the error. But that’s later, and this is now, and Peter fumbles for his jeans and a mostly clean t-shirt.

---

Ben Parker would like to claim he isn’t a terribly gullible person. Nor a distrusting one, either. But this feels like a delicate balance between the two, as he takes the subway to cross from Queens over to Manhattan, and then walks a couple blocks to a particular nigh-infamous building. ‘Stark Tower’, ‘Avengers Tower’, either way, the gleaming structure easily attracts attention, even when you aren’t a rubber-necking tourist.

The sheaf of papers crinkles in his back pocket.

If Peter weren’t so sick, Ben probably wouldn’t be humoring him like this. Then again, if Peter weren’t sick, he’d more than likely have found a way to sneak off to Stark Tower himself to deliver the mysterious letter. Taking a deep breath, Ben steps through glass doors, and does his best not to hunch his shoulders or otherwise look nervous around so many people in business attire.

Even so, his thrift store outfit and old leather boots draw at least a few stares.

The young woman at the desk he goes up to at least smiles welcomingly, and Ben does his best to return the expression. “Hi there. This is going to sound weird, and I apologize in advance, but my kid’s sick and begged me to drop off a letter for him.”

“A letter for whom, sir?”

“Ah-” Ben pulls the folded papers from his pocket, miraculously managing to avoid losing the post-it note on top. “-Friday or Happy Hogan? He wrote down both their names, but I’m afraid I don’t know who either is.”

The woman’s face does something complicated when she sees the taped letter, but thankfully doesn’t laugh or scoff. “Well... Mister Hogan is Mister Stark’s head of security, but I’m afraid I haven’t heard of anyone named Friday who works here.” Something chimes on her computer screen, and she glances away to tap a quick reply.

Ben can’t help but blink. “Security? Huh. I would’ve figured a scientist or something...” Well, to be completely honest, he figured a feverish Peter would write directly to Tony Stark, considering how many Iron Man posters occupy the kid’s bedroom walls. But a security man just makes no sense at all.

“Pardon me, but what was your name, sir?”

“Parker. Ben Parker. Uh, like I said, I’m really just humoring my kid while he isn’t feeling well - I understand if you can’t actually get this to Mister Hogan-”

“On the contrary, sir,” a British voice says out of nowhere, making Ben jump. “I have already taken the liberty of summoning the appropriate individual to meet with you.”

He stares at the young woman, who looks startled but not nearly as confused. “That was Jarvis,” she quickly explains, “Mister Stark’s AI. Jarvis runs most of the building’s automatic functions, but- he doesn’t usually speak to guests without prompting.”

An uneasy feeling creeps up the back of Ben’s neck.

‘Jarvis’ doesn’t talk again, and the young woman directs him to wait by the end of the welcome desk for whoever’s coming down to meet him. It’s awkward, to be sure, especially as more people idly glance in his direction.

But then an elevator dings, and Ben turns, and shock overwrites literally everything else.

“Mister Parker?” Tony Stark asks, walking briskly towards him. Behind his glasses, the man’s eyes dart to either side of where Ben is standing, and they flicker slightly with something he would almost call disappointment. “Hi, welcome, sorry to startle you, but we’d better have this conversation in private. Jarvis said you’ve got a letter?” Wordlessly, Ben holds it up. Stark huffs, quickly plucking it from his fingers, but doesn’t bother to do anything besides tucking it into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. Then he claps a hand on Ben’s shoulder, and steers him straight into the waiting elevator. “How’s Peter?”

The shock is still going strong. That’s the only explanation for why he blurts out the single word response, “Sick.”

Stark’s head snaps around. “Sick? With what? How bad is it?”

“Bronchitis,” Ben barely manages to say, most of his brain power currently occupied trying to reconcile the fact that Tony-Iron-Man-Stark apparently knows his nephew. “Not- not too bad, this time. How do you-?”

“J, you downloaded the kid’s medical files, right?” Stark asks the open air.

“Yes, Sir,” the same disembodied voice as early rings out. “This would be Peter Parker’s fourth bout with bronchitis in the past three years. Records indicate he is taking appropriately prescribed medication and has been home from school for the past two days.”

“Good, that’s good.” Still, Stark’s expression is twisted unpleasantly, and Ben can only stare in a sort of detached fascination. “Double check that our pharmaceuticals division doesn’t have anything better for him, J.”

“Of course, Sir. I also need to inform you that we have received confirmation from Prince T’Challa of Wakanda, and reassurance that his family is taking the necessary precautions.”

“About time Pink Panther got back to us. Anything from Fury and our super-duper wonder spies?”

“They have yet to emerge from the secondary conference room. Mister Barton’s only communication at this point has been to request another round of takeout and coffee, as it looks to be, and I quote, ‘a long-ass day on top of a long-ass night’, Sir.”

Stark snorts. “Got it. Approve whatever he and Nat want. Anyone in the lounge?”

“Negative.”

“Right, take us there, then.” Sighing, the celebrity finally turns to actually face Ben. For a long moment, he only stares. “It’s different, seeing you in person. Good different. Peter actually say anything about the letter?”

“...no,” Ben manages to answer. “No, and I don’t- no offense intended, Mister Stark, but what the hell is going on?”

“Tony, please.” A flash of genuine pain crosses Stark’s face, before he returns to the bland observing expression. “And none taken. I’ve had a lot of people ask me that question since two this morning.”

The unease returns, this time in Ben’s stomach. At 2am, he and May were woken up by Peter shouting in his room - a fever dream turned nightmare, or so they assumed.

He doesn’t particularly care for the coincidence.

“So tell me, Ben Parker: do you believe in time travel?”

---

Peter is so, so screwed.

He left the apartment without his key. Without his shoes. And the longer he attempts to keep shuffling down the city sidewalk only in his socks, overwhelmed by noises and smells and the bright sun overhead, the more it becomes abundantly clear:

He messed up.

Majorly messed up. On top of his other major screw-up, and the more he tries to squint at street signs without the glasses he also forgot at the apartment, the more his head pounds and his nose runs and his chest hurts.

Eventually it’s just- too much. Peter coughs weakly into his elbow, and scoots into the first alley he can find.

---

Once, not so long ago, Ben didn’t think aliens or superheroes existed outside of books and movies. Time travel isn’t that far a leap in comparison.

But the more Stark keeps talking, the less Ben takes in, overwhelmed by a couple of things the celebrity breezed over, which stand out all the more for his lack of emphasis. First and foremost: Tony Stark cares about Peter. Knows him. Likes him. Invites him on weekend visits to work on personal projects. Illegally hacks medical databases to double check that the boy is getting appropriate medication for his current illness. Ben might actually laugh if it weren’t for the second thing:

He’s going to die.

Stark doesn’t outright say that, of course, but he tip-toes around the fact that he knows Peter well enough to care about him, and he knows May well enough to be wary of lying to her, but today is the first time he’s ever laid eyes on a living, breathing Ben.

Peter is going to be a superhero. May is going to be a widow. Peter caused some kind of magical accident that sent the Avengers back in time three years. May is going to be a widow. Peter apparently wrote out four pages of notes about incoming disasters for nothing, because Stark and his teammates have been scrambling for the past ten hours to prevent all of it and more.

May is going to be a widow.

Eventually, Stark must realize Ben’s only absorbing every fourth sentence or so, because he abruptly finds himself pushed down into a sleek leather chair, glass tumbler in hand. He doesn’t bother to check exactly what kind of alcohol he’s been given; it burns going down, and that’s good enough to restore some clarity to his overwhelmed mind.

First thing’s first. “Peter has superpowers?”

“He will. Probably. We know when and how he gets them, at this point it’s just a matter of making sure he’s in the right place at the right time. If he still wants- I mean, I’ll be honest, I’d probably sleep a little better knowing the kid isn’t swinging around Queens stopping muggers in the middle of the night, but I also know there’s only a point oh two chance he’ll willingly avoid becoming Spider-man again.”

Ben nods, swallowing down his initial reaction to that word-vomit. “Okay. Okay- next question.”

“Shoot.”

“How do I die?”

Stark promptly winces. “...alright, poor choice of words on my part. Look, Ben- can I call you Ben?” He nods. “Thanks- look. I don’t know all the details, but Peter definitely will, and between the two of us I can guarantee you won’t this time. Hell, I’ll get you a nano-tech bulletproof vest if I have to, but we’re going to make damn sure you live to a ripe old age no matter how many burned casseroles May tries to fix for dinner. Alright?”

Something in the back of Ben’s mind whispers that it can’t possibly be that simple, but he’s willing to take the other man’s words at face value for the moment. “Alright.”

“Sir? Captains Wilson and Rogers have returned, with two guests.”

“Hot damn. Okay, Ben- just hang tight for a minute, I need to say hi to Ruby Tuesday and her delinquent brother, and then we’ll see about getting Peter up here, yeah?” Ben doesn’t have a chance to respond before Stark is up and moving, heading for the elevator just as it slides open.

Captain Rogers is apparently that Captain Rogers, and Ben’s eyes widen so much he half-wonders if they might actually fall out of his face.

Steve-Captain-America-Rogers steps out of the elevator, face tired but triumphant, dressed in civilian clothes rather than his iconic uniform. That’s definitely The Shield slung across his back, though.

Behind him comes another man, dark-skinned with short hair, rolling his eyes as he finishes saying something to the people behind him. Both young, on the thin side - the girl’s hair is long and dark, the boy’s shifting from a similar color to silvery-white in a way that doesn’t look like a dye job. He’s nervous; she’s relaxed. Stark approaches them with stiff shoulders and a careful smile.

“Tony,” the girl says warmly, and half the tension drops away from Stark’s frame.

“Wanda,” he replies, stopping short of arm’s reach. “You’re okay?”

“I will be. I have Pietro again.” She reaches out, and catches the boy’s hand where he meets her halfway. “Ultron?”

“Shut down for good. Never even got the chance to wake up and cause trouble.”

The girl lets out a low, shaky sigh, squeezing her eyes shut as she nods. “Good. That is- very good. Vision?”

“We’ve got him. Sort of- no body for him to land in like the rest of us, obviously, but Cho’s putting one together, and there’s a copy of his consciousness tucked in with Jarvis right now.”

“One moment please, Miss Maximoff,” the AI says. A moment later, what sounds like the exact same voice speaks again, but with a great deal more emotion. “Hello, Wanda.”

“Viz,” she replies, a smile slowly spreading across her face. “You are alright?”

“I am much better, now that you’re here.”

Well didn’t that sound adorably sappy. Some small sound must escape Ben’s mouth, because a moment later the girl, Wanda, is looking right at him with a frown. “Who is this?”

“Ben Parker,” Stark promptly answers, shifting in place to make a sweeping gesture. “Better known as Spider-man’s uncle. He came to drop off some notes from the kid, who apparently didn’t realize we all got swept back in time thanks to his stunt with the Mind and Time Stones. Speaking of whom- Jarvis, have we got eyes on Underoos yet?”

“Yes, Sir. But I am afraid Peter Parker is not in his Queens apartment.”

Like a storm blowing out a candle, Stark’s face turns immediately grim. “Beg pardon?”

“Facial recognition picked him up eight blocks from his home building, moving slowly. Approximately nine minutes and thirty-four seconds ago, he entered an alleyway without any available security cameras. To my knowledge he has not yet emerged.”

Ben couldn’t say when exactly he got to his feet, but he suddenly finds himself standing next to Stark, hands clenched to keep from shaking. The other man meets his panicked gaze, and a flicker of understanding passes between them. “Show us, J.”

A holographic screen pops up. Footage plays. Ben barely pays any attention to Captain America stepping closer, too focused on the little figure helpfully highlighted by Jarvis.

(Peter isn’t even wearing shoes.)

“What, did he feel the need for a Delmar sandwich?” Stark grumbles, before the image zooms in. It becomes abruptly clear that Peter isn’t feeling suddenly better - his face is tight with desperation, mouth open to breathe, and every few steps he pauses to lean against a wall, eyes screwed shut. Ben feels a vice grip squeeze his heart, especially when his nephew staggers between two buildings, disappearing with his head down, arms tucked in close.

“Yeah, he’s not doing so hot,” the other man beside Captain America states.

“Understatement of the year, Wilson. Alright, everything else is on pause, I need to go get him-”

“I am faster.”

They all turn to stare at the boy still standing halfway behind Wanda. Even she looks surprised. “Pietro?”

He shrugs, a small nonchalant twitch, belied by the concern in his eyes. “I am faster. Show me a map from here to there, and I can pick him up without attracting attention.”

Ben glances at Stark. The celebrity offers back a flat smile, face carefully blank. “I mean, he’s not wrong. Speedy Gonzales here could probably run to the other end of Long Island and back in a couple of minutes.” There’s a moment’s hesitation, and then- “Your call, Mister Parker. He’s- your kid. First and foremost.”

...after a long, painful moment, Ben turns back towards Pietro. “Please.”

---

It feels like his life is just one big mistake after another.

Arguing with his uncle, distracting him at exactly the wrong moment, and paying for it with a funeral. Ignoring Mister Stark’s orders, almost causing all those people on the ferry to die. Not pushing harder to get a message through to Happy, almost allowing the plane to be stolen.

Grabbing the first two Infinity Stones to go flying past his face, in a room full of aliens trying to steal them and Avengers trying to protect them. Peter can still feel the burning in his hands, like catching a pair of electrified cables except dialed up to eleven, and every time he tries to take a deep breath it just gets worse. Not even the spider bite had caused him to hurt this much.

Wind whistles, short and sharp. A train going by- or maybe just a single car? No, wait, that didn’t make any sense-

“You are Peter, yes?”

Slowly, agonizingly, he manages to peel one eye partly open, and squints at the guy crouching in front of him. Familiar, but- not in the way that meant Peter had seen him somewhere before. “Y-yeah?”

“I am Pietro Maximoff,” the guy says. “Tony Stark and your uncle are upset you left home.”

Ah.

Well. On the one hand, Ben clearly made it to the Tower. On the other, Peter’s probably going to be in a lot of trouble for this. On the third- on a metaphorical third hand, Peter hurts. He can’t even bring himself to say so to this guy, Pietro- Maximoff, does that mean he’s related to Wanda- and instead whines, hands pressing tighter against his head.

“I am going to take you to them,” Pietro goes on. Peter lets his eye squeeze shut again, and jerks his head in a short, shallow nod. Hands carefully drag him out from his hiding place between two dumpsters, and then he’s being picked up, cradled close like a much younger kid. Normally he’d protest, insist that he’s sixteen- or thirteen- but honestly, Peter can’t bring himself to care.

There’s a distinct lurch, and a thousand sounds bombard his ears, horns and voices and wheels turning and doors opening and it’s way WAY too much too many too soon-

-and he checks out.

---

Ben doesn’t quite stare at his watch the entire time Pietro’s gone, but it’s a near thing. Steve Rogers takes a moment to introduce himself, along with Sam Wilson and Wanda Maximoff, but thankfully none of the Avengers try to force any strained small talk. Stark barely makes a sound at all - he keeps on staring at the blue-tinted holographic screens, eyes glued to the replaying clip of Peter stumbling into that alleyway.

It’s a relief when Pietro blurs back into existence in front of them, Ben’s actual physical nephew held securely in his arms.

But only for a split second.

Because Peter looks awful.

In the time since Ben left their family’s apartment, his kid has somehow managed to slide from pale to almost ghostly white, tremors wracking his entire body. He doesn’t react to Ben or Stark calling his name, eyes screwed shut and fists pressed hard against both ears, breathes coming short and shallow.

“Jarvis, vitals,” Stark orders, gesturing for Pietro to set his burden down on the nearest sofa. Peter whines when the young man lets go, but Ben slides right in, one hand carding through his nephew’s hair while the other presses flat against his scrawny chest. He doesn’t pay attention to whatever the AI relates to Stark; there’s just Peter, and his ragged breathing, and his pounding heart.

“Okay, kiddo,” Ben murmurs, soft but hopefully loud enough for the kid to hear. “We can make it through this, and you’re going to get better, if only so I can ground you until you’re eighteen.”

Peter’s next breath comes out more like a huff than a gasp, and one corner of his mouth turns up, just slightly.

“Only eighteen?” Stark leans a little over Ben’s shoulder, not quite intruding though it’s pretty clear he’d like to. “I’d make it twenty-five, at least.”

“M- Mis’er S’ark-”

“Hey, kid. Fancy seeing you here, when you should be tucked up at home in a nice warm bed. What’s the idea, huh, giving me and your poor uncle a matching pair of heart attacks?”

Peter coughs weakly, eyes still closed. “Wrote- wrong. Fuh-friday, not- Jarvis.”

Ben sees Stark stiffen in the corner of his eye, and holds back a sigh. “Friday’s the name of another AI?”

“Back-up for Jarvis,” Stark mutters. “I would’ve switched to her in a few days, if we were still following the original timeline.”

That manages to make Peter’s face scrunch up with confusion. “-what?”

“We all came back in time, kid. Whatever the hell you did with those Stones, they picked up every Avenger plus a few bonus people and tossed our minds back to the good old days before we’d even heard of Thanos. Possibly those Guardian idiots too, but we haven’t been able to make contact with them yet.”

“Oh,” Peter croaks, finally cracking his eyes open. “Good?”

Rather than answer, Stark sucks in a startled breath, and Ben feels his stomach swoop unpleasantly. From the abrupt silence behind them, where the others had been murmuring amongst themselves, he figures everybody’s equally stunned.

Peter’s eyes are glowing.

The kid just stares upward for a moment, obviously aware something’s wrong. “...Mister Stark? I don’t- feel so good.”

To Be Continued...

#marvel #avengers infinity war #fix-it fic #peter parker #ben parker #tony stark #irondad's gonna have a hard time in this one #I haven't figured out the happy ending yet hence my cliffhanger there #but I'm sure Peter will be fiiine. Eventually.#wip

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bubblebuttgamez · 11 months ago

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Dragon Age: Veilguard | The Ultimate Preview Summary ▪️Coming to PS5, Xbox Series X and PC in Fall 2024 ▪️Consoles: Quality and Performance modes (60FPS) ▪️Photo mode is confirmed ▪️Fully offline single player, no EA account linking, no micro-transactions' ▪️Play as a human, elf, dwarf, or Qunari ▪️Choose your backstory, 6 factions to choose from when you create your character, all with "deep roots in Thedas": Antivan Crows, Grey Wardens, Shadow Dragons, Veil Jumpers, Lords of Fortune, The Mourne Watch ▪️Each faction offers 3 distinct buffs each, like being able to hold an extra potion or do extra damage against certain enemies, and the odd reference in dialogue ▪️You can customize your Inquisitor from Dragon Age: Inquisition in the character creator and "make a few key decisions that will impact how The Veilguard begins" ▪️There are some "killer cameos" from past games that show up ▪️Warrior Class: Use a sword and shield or two handed weapon to send enemies flying ▪️Rogue Class: Utilizes quick movement and reflexes. You can wield a bow or dual swords with "powerful, precise strikes for lethal damage" ▪️Mage Class: Use magic to incinerate, freeze, electrocute and crush. Some cast from afar, while others prefer close quarters combat ▪️Each class also has 3 sub-specializations, such as duelist, saboteur, or veil ranger for the Rogue ▪️Classes also have unique 'resource system's, for example, the Rogue has "momentum", which builds up as you land consecutive hits, and each will always have a ranged option ▪️One Rogue momentum attack is a "hip fire" option we saw for the Rogue's bow, letting you pop off arrows from the waist ▪️Another momentum attack for the Warrior lets you lob your shield at enemies ▪️Quests are more handcrafted and mission based, curated with alternate paths, secrets to discover and optional content ▪️There are also open ended explorable areas ▪️Party size of 3 during combat, ala Mass Effect ▪️Combat is focused on real-time action, dodge, parry, counter, "sophisticated animation canceling and branching", using risk-reward charge attacks designed to break enemy armor layers ▪️Enemies have elemental weaknesses and resistances, and you can chain together elemental combos for extra damage ▪️One example is a squadmate using a gravity well attack to suck enemies in, another slowing them down, and the player then unleashing a big AOE attack ▪️You don't take direct control of companions like past Dragon Age games, but you can still pause and issues ability commands for you and your allies ▪️There is a hub area for the player like Skyhold and the Normandy, called The Lighthouse ▪️Companions can eventually start romancing other characters if you opt not to romance them Each companion also has unique missions tied to them that play into the larger story ▪️Nudity confirmed - romance scenes can get "a little spicy" ▪️"Incredibly deep" character creator: 5 categories including: Lineage, Appearance, Class, Faction, Playstyle ▪️Players can also choose different body sizes and shapes ▪️Dozens of hairstyles to choose from, with "individual strands of hair rendered separately and reacting quite remarkably to in-game physics", pulled from EA Sports ▪️Character creator lets you adjust the lighting so you can be sure your character looks good ▪️The team wanted to balance the look of the game with both light and darkness. "When everything is dark, nothing really feels dark. For this one, we really wanted to build that contrast again." ▪️Skill tree is "vast", you can also set up specific companions with certain kits, from tackling specific enemy types to being more of a supporting healer or flexible all-rounders ▪️There are tarot cards you go through during the character creation process that will let you choose decisions from past games to implement into Veilguard ▪️The team teases you may lose some characters during the story

#dragon age #dragon age: the veilguard #vg: dragon age: the veilguard #series: dragon age #developer: bioware #updates #updates: dragon age #updates: 2024 #updates: dragon age: the veilguard #updates: bioware

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sabraeal · 10 months ago

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If the Mind Is Willing, Chapter 6

[Read on AO3]

Written for @claudeng80, who has been waiting longer than a month now for this birthday fic, and who has indeed beta'd this birthday fic as well, for we long ago passed the point where we pretend with each other that our final drafts are our first drafts. And though she cannot and will never see those first drafts because that is a layer of vulnerability on par with peeling off my skin to show off my bones, she can at least see my seconds drafts. Where she will then promptly tell me that I am missing a crucial word in a sentence, and maybe I should consider a comma or maybe a whole ass period, or possibly learn to spell words the way the god or at least the Oxford Dictionary intended. Because that is what friendship is all about 🤣

The problem is: it feels like too much.

The suitcase had been a given, of course; Chizuru only had the one, a gift from Father on her twelfth birthday, meant to be used on the single vacation he’d set aside time to take her on. Even after six years, the flower decals still looked like they’d been applied yesterday, pink a vibrant cherry blossom, only the dint on one corner to serve as proof it had ever been used. Disney World might have only lasted two days before a work emergency had them hopping the next flight back home, but at least the Orlando baggage carousel had left its mark. It’d been a happy reminder of better days when she’d been living out of it for those few weeks, unsure of where she would land— or whether she ever would.

It’s only— she hadn’t thought it would be full. Chizuru wouldn’t call herself a light packer by any means, but the event’s only three days, at a hotel that is possibly twenty minutes door-to-door, at least when school’s in session. It hardly seems like the sort of thing that calls for a suitcase filled to the brim. Above the brim even, if she were gutsy enough to take Kimigiku’s costume out of the garment bag— which she isn’t. It’d been heart-pounding enough putting Sen’s paper-wrapped kimono in there, let alone something with parts and pieces and things that could very easily scatter under her bed skirt and be lost for eternity.

Which brought her tally to one suitcase (over laden), one garment bag (to be treated with care), and the small travel pack she’d slung over her chest (overstuffed), gone over a half dozen times each, pared down to the barest bones, and still, still—

She can’t possibly take up this much space. Even in Shinpachi’s Range Rover, it’s too much. Maybe if she tried again, this time—?

3:15, her lock screen reads, a little snowflake sitting beside the 33°F below. Haah, with a four o’clock check in, there’s no chance of her whittling her luggage past the basics. Not unless she want to be late, and if she’s late, then—

Then everyone will be waiting for her. All of them clustered at the bottom of the stairs, watching the time tick down as she tries to decide if she really needs an extra pair of underwear or another package of hair ties. Just the thought threatens to have her break out in a full-body rash.

With a steeling breath, she adjusts her travel pack and rolls out to the hallway. A proposition that would be easier if not for the wall-to-wall carpets in the hall, but Chizuru manages to steer her suitcase competently enough, drawing up to the stairs with enough confidence to survive the six sets of eyes sure to turn her way—

Only to find two instead. Not waiting on her either— no, Yamazaki’s got his head bent close to Hajime, hands shaking with emphasis as he hisses, “I don’t care if he’s done hours before anyone else, I’m not getting in a car with him.”

“I was not insinuating that I would make you,” Hajime intones with weary patience. “I merely wanted to mention the likelihood of Souji being the first of our companions to finish with his preparations.”

“And I’m telling you that I’m not—”

It’s not on purpose; between fight or flight, Chizuru’s legs have chosen freeze, and she’s perfectly resigned to stand statue-still up here, silent and just out of sight. But her suitcase chooses to make it known to everyone in the major metropolitan area that one of its wheels is not perfectly situated on the landing. It tilts, the aggrieved wheel letting out a plaintive squeak— and that’s all it takes for Hajime’s eyes to narrow, slanting up to the top step.

“Good afternoon, Yukimura,” he says, oddly pointed. “It seems you are ready to head to the hotel.”

“Ah…” Her suitcase clunks down the next step with her, wheels spinning. “Yes. I just, um…”

Have to survive these stairs, she swallows down, gritting out a smile instead. She tries to lift her case and garment bag all together, but—

“Yukimura.” Long, well-clipped fingers wrap around the side handle, quite literally taking the weight out her hands. “Would it be alright if I handled this for you?”

“Oh.” Yamazaki’s not a tall man, not by any measure, but in the dim light of the stairway, he looms, and it— it flusters her, free hand fluttering uselessly between them. “I-I can’t possibly ask you to—”

“You’re not.” Hajime hovers at the bottom of the banister, a strange sort of lightness in his voice. If Chizuru didn’t know better she might call it…bubbly. “He is.”

“O-oh.” She stares down at the hand still clenched around a handle, willing each finger to release knuckle by knuckle, so slow it feels like someone else’s hand entirely. “Then…thank you, I guess.”

Yamazaki spares her a nod and a terse, “No problem,” right before he lifts her suitcase and—

And rams it right into the floral wallpaper.

“Nice,” Hajime hums, appreciative.

Yamazaki’s still flushed when he glares down, snapping, “I don’t see you helping.”

“And get between you and serving hime-sama?” Hajime’s not one to smirk— honestly, he’s not much on smiling either, save by millimeters— but a corner of his mouth trembles as Yamazaki tromps down the last few stairs, stormy as one of their winter squalls. “I would never.”

His jaw doesn’t so much open as fall, working, as if he needed a good running start to get his next words out. Chizuru simply slips around his side, asking brightly, “Have you been waiting long?”

“We were just discussing who we thought would be next in finishing their preparations,” Hajime tells her, not really answering her question. Experience tells her that means ‘a long time.’ “Although Shinpachi could fit the seven of us in his vehicle, we would more comfortably divide into three and four amongst two cars, and since I have a perfectly serviceable sedan”— Chizuru’s confusion must show her face, since one look at her has him hauling to a stop, coughing to clear his throat— “I mean to say, we were waiting for our third.”

“Oh.” She blinks, glancing between the two of them. “I guess that’s me?”

“So it seems.” There it is, that tremble at the corner of Hajime’s mouth, threatening to curl. For a moment, she’s certain it will, but he turns his head away, casting a speculative look down the hall. “Should we wait to take on another passenger, or—?”

“Better not risk it.” Hajime half-turns toward Yamazaki, disappointment palpable, and he adds, “Oh come on, Nagakura has the bigger car.”

“That doesn’t mean we should—”

Whatever Hajime means to say is lost in the tangle of boy and bag clattering down the stairs, the struggle so loud Chizuru’s ears still ring even after it’s over.

“Oh hey,” Heisuke says, cheerfully emerging from the tumble. “You guys haven’t left?”

Yamazaki blinks. “Not…yet…”

“We were just discussing if we should wait,” Hajime says. “Since Shinpachi’s vehicle might be preferable to the remaining passengers.”

“Nah, those guys are gonna take forever to get ready. Sano has a whole bag just for his freaking hair! And not only that, but him and Shinpachi have been fighting for the last ten minutes over who owns this styling gel or whatever, which like, who cares? But still” — Heisuke stops to catch his breath— “You got room for one more?”

Yamazaki and Hajime exchange looks. Just what exactly they’re saying, Chizuru can’t even begin to guess.

“Well,” Hajime hums, bemused. “That does handle one problem.”

“Fine.” Yamazaki sighs, hefting a bag over his shoulder. “Let’s just go already.”

Despite all her fretting, her suitcase fits easily into the back of Hajime’s Elantra, slotting into the last spot in the trunk with little more than a twist and a lift. It helps that all Heisuke has is a duffel, crammed into the corner with all the care of a dirty sock being returned to the hamper.

“Don’t you have costume parts in there?” Yamazaki manages around a grimace; one that only deepens at Heisuke’s shrug.

“It’s fine.” He gives the bag one last good shove, wedging it firmly against the side. “I just threw it together. And Sano says he’s gonna bring all the sticks or whatever—”

“They’re boffers,” Hajime interjects, “technically.”

“Yeah, that.” Heisuke claps him on the back. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. Hotels have those iron thingies, don’t they?”

Both eyebrows hitch up to Hajime’s hairline. “You know how to use an iron?”

Heisuke’s face crumples in confusion. “Well, no. But how hard can it be?”

Plenty is the answer, though Chizuru’s in no mind to give it, not when she’s preoccupied with trying to hang her garment bag on the hook over the window. Yamazaki and Hajime had made it look easy, but hers just keeps sitting wrong, taking up too much space and—

“You can take the front.”

She blinks up, half spilled out of the back seat, right up into Yamazaki’s concerned frown. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, if you wanted. It’s probably, er, nicer than having to share the back with—” his gazes darts over her head, to where Hajime patiently coaches Heisuke in the proper way to treat his personal items— “anyone.”

Her hands fly up, waving between them. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly! I can’t have you sit back here with my bag in your way.”

“We have bags back there too,” he reminds her, leaving the ‘and we’re definitely making Heisuke deal with it’ unspoken. “It’s only fair for me to make the offer.”

“Ah, I suppose…” She runs her fingers down the seam of her garment bag, considering. “But really, I’ll be fine. I’m sure Hajime would prefer to have you as his copilot!”

His mouth furrows, the perfect counterpoint to the storm brewing on his brow. “Yukimura—”

“All done!” Heisuke bursts onto the bench seat beside her, quivering with the same energy as a dog wagging his tail. “We gonna get this show on the road soon?”

Yamazaki’s mouth pulls too thin for a sigh to slip through; instead it all rushes out of his nose, coming to an abrupt halt when he glances down at her. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to change seats?”

“Hey! What’s up with this thing?” There’s not a lot of Heisuke, but what there is stretches across the seat, reaching out to give her garment bag one good tug. It’s like magic— one minute it’s shoving a shoulder across her seat, and the next it’s tucked into the handle, laying flat against where the door would be. “There, all set.”

He settles back, utterly nonchalant, as if he didn’t realize he’d done anything exceptional at all. Chizuru fails to stifle a laugh.

“Yes,” she says, giving Yamazaki one of her brightest smiles. “I think I'll get along just fine.”

“Woah? This is the place?” Heisuke jabs a finger toward the glass doors beneath the portico, duffel slung over his shoulder. “You sure?”

“Of course it is.” Yamazaki steps into the revolving door, suitcase clattering at his heels. “Haven’t you seen the campus hotel before?”

“Well, like, not up close,” he admits, following him through. “But this is nice. Like nice-nice. Are you sure they’re gonna give us discounts on a place this swanky?”

Chizuru has to admit, she’s thinking the same. From the outside, it didn’t seem like anything much— just another brutalist building squatting on campus, only with better parking access— but on the inside…

“Is this marble?” she murmurs faintly, nervously mincing across the floor. A hundred dollars for the weekend seemed like a steal when she’d thought it’d have the same level of amenities as a Holiday Inn Express. Now it’s practically highway robbery. “And the chandeliers…?”

“Satsuma Estates has been very kind to our organization since it started,” Saito informs them as he emerges from the door, his own suitcase coming to rest at his heels. “Most of their meeting spaces are influenced by traditional Japanese aesthetics, which meets our standards for a desirable location, and on their part, we are regular, respectful customers who—”

“We hold our biggest events during the part of the fiscal year where there isn’t much in the way of guests.” Yamazaki’s mouth slants, almost sly. “Spending New Year’s Eve on an empty campus in the middle of nowhere isn’t exactly on anyone’s bucket list.”

“So we get to have this place all to ourselves?” Heisuke eyes a vase that could have been just as at home in the Forbidden Palace as it was in a hotel lobby. “And they don’t have a problem with us running around in our costumes? I mean, with the swords and everything?”

“Boffers,” Hajime reminds him at the same time Yamazaki sighs, “They’re just foam.”

There’s a look that passes between them; a weary one, at least for Yamazaki’s part, though Hajime…well, Chizuru could hardly pretend to be an expert on the minute changes that marked a shift in his moods. But if she had to hazard a guess, she might say…amused.

“The more regular players typically bring foam or rubber replicas, with little intention to use them outside of aesthetic accuracy.” Hajime nods his chin toward a plastic pipe leaning against the front desk, both ends thickly padded and wrapped in what looked like duct tape. “New ones or the more…martially oriented roles usually elect to use boffers. Regardless, any weapon paraphernalia is inspected and registered at check-in.”

“They are also not allowed to be drawn outside the designated bounds of a scene,” Yamazaki adds, not a little stern as he surveys the crowd. “Personal combat sequences usually require advanced warning as well, since they have to prepare an area especially to accommodate—”

“Hold up. ‘Personal combat sequences?’”

“Duels,” Hajime clarifies.

Heisuke’s eyes pulse wide. “Duels? Really? We can have one of those?”

“As honor demands.”

“Woah.” There’s a new level of respect in Heisuke’s eyes as he scans the room. “And everyone follows the rules?”

“Yes,” Hajime says as Yamazaki grunts, “Mostly.”

Another look slings between them, though this time Chizuru doesn’t mistake the censure in Hajime’s stare.

“They say we’re better behaved than a regular convention,” Yamazaki allows, begrudgingly. “Or at least, we smell better.”

Heisuke blinks. “Smell better?”

He huffs out something in the neighborhood of a laugh. “You don’t want to know.”

“Should we get in line?” Chizuru eyes the crush creeping toward the front desk, barely contained by the black tape borders. “It seems like there’s already a bit of a wait to get through…”

“Jeez! That’s a lot of people!” Heisuke startles, like he’s only just noticed. “I thought this was supposed to be small?”

“Our usual group is around twenty to thirty members.” Hajime casts a speculative look over the lobby. “But for our weekend events, it can easily double.”

“Dude, this is definitely more than double—”

“Why don’t we check into the event first?” Yamazaki juts his chin toward the hall past the lobby, tightening his grip on his bags. “If everyone’s out here, then there can’t be much of a line there.”

Heisuke’s mouth clicks shut with a shrug. “Sounds like as good a plan as any.”

The event’s check-in is down the hall from the real one, just inside the first exhibit hall they come across— nearly empty, just like Yamazaki said, the number of people loitering around denser behind the tables than in front of them. For the two boys who are best known as the only ones in the roommate agreement who possess some sense of caution, there’s no hesitation, no moment for them to take in the currents of the room and pick the best course— both beeline straight for one of the tables, lining up with all the ease of habit. Chizuru follows after them, not on their heels, like Heisuke, but taking in the size of the room, in how there’s a few people clinging to the corners, their conversations hushed but curious as they pass.

There’s a mountain of a man in front of them, made larger for how the seams of his button down strain at the shoulders to contain his hunch, and she can’t shake the feeling that it’s familiar. Especially when he stands, unfurling head and shoulders taller than all of them and—

“Yamazaki.” The man doesn’t so much speak as rumble, like far away thunder, turning to them with a warm smile. “I see you did bring your friends after all.”

“M-Mr Shimada,” Chizuru gasps, heat flooding her cheeks. “I didn’t even—?”

Recognize you, she nearly says, but he’s wearing the same button down and slacks he does behind his desk, looking every inch like the professor he is. Or at least, will be, once he’s made the jump from adjunct.

Think you’d be here is more accurate, but the longer she considers the idea, the less improbable it seems. He’s a history professor after all— the kind that keeps replica swords mounted on his office wall, right above the pictures of his wife and kids. An active kendo instructor at the campus gym too, plus a dozen other martial arts she can only half remember the syllables of. She’d already seen him do demonstrations with live steel at the freshman orientation fair, dressed up in a kimono and hakama. And when she thinks about it like that, it’s honestly more surprising that he’s the only one from the department here.

A chill shivers up her spine. He’s the only member of the department she sees. That doesn’t mean he’s the only one in attendance. Her eyes skitter out over the hall, searching for stiff shoulders or the lingering scent of Marlboro—

“He’s brought quite a few friends this time.”

Chizuru startles, but it’s not an expletive that’s been dragged over gravel— no, it’s the reedy voice of the man behind the table, a wide smile pulled across a face as dainty and delicate as a doll’s. And yet when those large eyes fix on her— not the same shocking green of Souji’s, but something softer, mossier, more natural— there’s no innocence behind them, just the ceaseless churning of a great machine.

“Though I see not all of them have made it yet.” He rises, half out of his seat and hand outstretched. “I take it this is…?”

A narrow set of shoulders steps between them. “Heisuke!”

The man blinks, impossibly long eyelashes batting against porcelain pale cheeks, but his smile doesn’t lose any of its shine. “Ah, yes, of course, Heisuke. How nice that you’ve decided to join us. I’m Keisuke Ootori, one of the game masters.”

“Thanks for having me,” Heisuke says, so easy, and— and it would be nice to be like that, to be so confident of being welcome that pleasantries don’t turn oddly personal; that saying hello doesn’t come off as desperate. “It’s my first time doing this whole LARP thing!”

“You don’t say.” Keisuke’s mild gaze slants toward Yamazaki, mouth hitched at a corner. “Well, any friend of Hajime and Susumu’s is a friend of ours.”

“Su…Susu…?” Heisuke blinks, rolling his eyes to stare at Yamazaki. “…Mu..?”

“Don’t start.”

“Now, you were playing…?” A finger runs down the binder in front of him, stopping with a victorious tap. “Matsu Yoshitora, the beastmaster.”

“He’s lion clan!” Heisuke leans over the table, practically quivering without a tail to wag. “Because that’s my fursona.”

“Oh.” There it is again, that little wobble at the corner of his mouth, that dart of his eyes to where Yamazaki stands, hands clapped over his face. “Isn’t that nice.”

“I don’t know him,” Yamazaki says through his fingers, ears blazing bright red. “He just followed us in.”

“What Heisuke means,” Hajime interjects with beatific levels of patience, “it that the lion is his favorite animal. At least out of the options presented in the player’s guide.”

“Ah, I see.” Teeth peek through his smile when the game master turns back to Heisuke, fingers knitted over his binder. “You know, one of our other players has a whole functioning tengu suit. I think you might get along.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Yamazaki grumbles, but it’s too late, Heisuke’s already nodding his head, saying, “I have no idea what that is, but it sounds cool.”

“It sure is. Technically impressive too. Now, if you have weapons”—his hand sweeps out toward the table cozened up to his, and the girl behind it— “Marie can take care of their registration.”

“They’re not here yet,” Heisuke hurries to tell him— and as an afterthought, her. “They’re in the other car.”

“If you can describe it, we can get the process started.” The girl— Marie— smiles, but it doesn’t have the same warmth as Keisuke’s. It’s perfunctory, precise, and certainly satisfies Heisuke, since he slides right over and starts trying to gesture dimensions. But still, Chizuru can’t quite shake the feeling that there’s something cold beneath that polite smile, something pointed about the way her eyes avoid anything past the midline of the tables—

“Now, you”— Keisuke’s angles sharpen, teeth flashing behind his smile— “must be Hime-sama.”

Conversation careens to a halt, even the restless murmurs from the corners of the room pressed into silence.

“Ah…um…yes.” Chizuru shuffles a hesitant step closer. “Chizuru. I mean, I’m Chizuru”— he only smiles wider at her blush— “I’m playing Doji Kaoru.”

“Ah, a pleasure to meet you, Chizuru.” He presses a gallant hand to his chest, a sparkle lurking in the corners of his eyes. “And Kaoru. We’ve been waiting a long time to do something with Hime-sama…”

“O-oh! Really?” Her stomach knots itself before hurtling to her throat, bile sour on the back of her tongue. “I’m sorry— it must be so much trouble to— I can always play someone else if it’s going to ruin—”

“On the contrary, Chizuru! You saved us quite a bit of trouble. Especially poor Marie here.” He jerks a thumb toward where she sits, studiously ignoring their conversation. “But on that note— once we’ve wrapped up with check-in, I’d like to talk to the three of you.”

“U-us?” Every hair stands on end. “Are we in…in trouble?”

She could pass out just considering it. Her name’s barely gotten crossed off the list, and already she’s being called in to the principal’s office to explain herself. If only—

“No, no, not at all. In fact, the opposite”— he laughs as he leans in, lowering his voice to a stage whisper— “we’d like you to raise a little trouble.”

“O-oh.” She clasps her fingers to keep them from trembling. “Okay? I guess.”

“We’ll discuss it in a bit.” He settles back, tilting his chin toward the table next to him. “Now if you have any weapons to register, you can—”

“I don’t.”

His words grind to a halt. “You…don’t?”

“No.” She blinks, fingers clenching painfully tight. “Is that…bad?”

“No, no.” He shakes his head, the warmth still radiating from his smile— but there’s a sharpness to it too. An edge an unwary finger could cut itself on. “That’s perfect.”

“Hey, Shinpachi! Sano!” Heisuke bolts like a dog let off his leash as they round the corner to the lobby. There’s more than a few people that stand head-and-shoulders above this crowd, but no-one besides Harada shines bright apple red under the light, hair so glossy and soft Chizuru wonders just what he uses for conditioner. “Look! I got this cool bracelet.”

His wrist thrusts out right under their noses, fluorescent green so close their eyes nearly cross just trying to look, but Shinpachi just pushes it out to a visible distance and grins. “Sweet, bro! Where do I get myself one of these babies?”

“Around the corner.” Heisuke puffs out his chest, free hand hooking onto his hip. “There’s a girl handing them out. Look, Chizuru’s got one too, and—”

“Do they really think I’m going wear that?” Souji doesn’t so much arrive as appear, gone one moment and holding her wrist the next, like the neighborhood cat that only winds itself around her ankles when she’s throwing out old chicken bones. One finger slips beneath the pink band, tugging like he hopes it’ll give. “I’d rather cut my wrist off.”

“If you’re not having fun,” Yamazaki sniffs, “you can just go home.”

Souji’s sneer hones to a point. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, nerd.”

Yamazaki’s jaw works, breath so heavy Chizuru’s half worried it might steam, but before he can manage to marshal anything beyond ‘you—’ Hajime replied, “Yes, the bracelet is required. It marks us out as participants in the event, as well as informs security at a glance that any weapons on our person have been registered and approved by the game masters.”

“Wow, really?” Shinpachi blinks, prodding at Heisuke’s band. “Is there some sort of chip in there or something? RFID or whatever?”

“Er, no.” Yamazaki scratches at the back of his neck. “It’s just the color. Green means he’s only got one registered.”

“Blue is two,” Hajime offers, flashing his own wrist. “As I wear both tachi and tanto.”

“Oh!” Chizuru blinks down at her pink band. “What about mine?”

“You do not possess any weaponry,” he tells her, tone taking a surprised lilt. “Either visible or concealed.”

“What?” Yamazaki catches her wrist up in one hand, long fingers feather-light across her pulse, and he blinks at the band like he’s never seen a red paler than fire engine. “You didn’t bring anything?”

“I…” hadn’t known that would be an option. “Is that bad?”

“Ah, no.” His eyes meet hers, pulling wide before his fingers flinch, both hands and gaze skittering away from her. “Just…unorthodox, maybe.”

“I just thought…Kaoru is a courtier.” She shies beneath a shrug, cheeks flushed. “That means that she would put more weight on her words rather than, er…”

Hajime nods. “A good character choice, Yukimura. One that may also have complicated consequences, depending on the sort of story the game masters would like to tell.”

“Oh.” Her throat squeezes, the first prickle of tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry.” A hand falls gently onto her shoulder, fingers tightening in the barest squeeze when she dares to glance up. Yamazaki may not be one for smiles either, but there’s a faint one clinging to the corners of his mouth now, both amused and— and something else. Fond, maybe. “You’re with us, Yukimura. Experienced players live for complications.”

It’s warm where his hand presses to her, even through her coat, and her tongue tangles trying to find the right word, to find the compromise between thank you and I’m sorry, but—

But Souji saunters right up between them, flicking the band at Yamazaki’s wrist. “Hey, if all these colors are supposed to have some meaning or whatever, what’s with the lame ass purple?”

Yamazaki snatches his hand off her shoulder, cradling it against his chest. “What if you just—?”

“It means that he keeps up to the event maximum,” Hajime informs him mildly. “Concealed.”

Harada frowns, considering the band. “And just how many is that?”

“Five.”

“Woah!” Shinpachi takes a half step back, Heisuke quick to follow suit. “That, uh….that’s pretty impressive. Do a, uh…lot of people do that, or…?”

“No, it’s special dispensation,” Hajime clarifies casually. “Only a handful of players ever display the responsibility and mastery of play to earn the right.”

“No way!” Heisuke suddenly no longer shrinks from but stretches toward Yamazaki, an eager grin tugging at his lips. “Dude, are you like, really cool?”

Souji sniffs. “Only if hell has frozen over.”

For once, Yamazaki doesn’t rise to his bait, merely shaking his head. “No, no. It’s really not that big a deal—”

“Uh-huh.” Harada crosses his arms, one corner of his mouth curling toward a smirk. “And just how many people have a band like yours?”

He hesitates— too long, since Hajime is quick to offer, “Three.”

Yamazaki flushes under the sudden spurt of attention turned his way. “Saito would have one too, if he wanted it! It’s just— shinobi carry knives!”

“Lots of ‘em, apparently,” Shinpachi mutters, impressed.

"That's not--!"

“Ah, hey, Chizuru…” Harada turns to her with a sheepish look, rubbing at the back of his neck. “You know, the bunch of us already checked in here, so uh, why don’t you guys go on up?”

“M-me?” She blinks, on hand resting against her chest. “B-but…”

It’s habit to turn to Yamazaki, to leave space for him to air his own thoughts, his own opinions drawn from forethought and experience, but—

But he’s too busy stumbling under the hand Shinpachi claps to his back, looking like he’d like the carpet to swallow him whole.

“Ah!” Her fingers squeeze tight. “Um, yes. Sure. I’ll…get on that.”

The line’s smaller than it was when they first arrived; no longer a crush of people and garment bags and boffers, but a more subdued queue. It’s in no way quick— it moves along, but there’s time to idle between their forays forward, Heisuke pressing Hajime about clans and combat and conspiracies while Yamazaki surreptitiously checks his phone. Never for long, just a click on and off of the screen, like he’s waiting for something, and—

“Next, please.”

“Yukimura,” Hajime intones, utterly serious. “It is your turn.”

She jolts up from her suitcase, eyeing the open desk. “O-oh! Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you all from—?”

“Next customer, please!” another clerk calls from further down as the cluster of people in front of her walk away, polite smile already tacked in place. “Please approach the desk when you’re ready to check in!”

“That’s us,” Yamazaki says, skirting his suitcase wide as he steps around her. “We’ll wait for you when you’re done.”

“Don’t look at me,” Heisuke says, even as she does. “I’m just here for the company. Sano and Shinpachi already handled my room.”

“A-alright.” Hand wrapped tight around her suitcase handle, she rolls forward, knees barely trembling. “H-hello. I have a reservation?”

The receptionist smiles down at her. “Can I have your name?”

“Chizuru Yukimura?” She rises onto her toes, neck craned to watch the woman key her name into their computer, as if that might somehow help her find it. “I should have a single—?”

“Single…? Oh, hm.” The receptionist sits back in her hips, stymied. “I’m actually seeing one of our queen suites?”

A chill races down her spine. “Ah, no, but I— it definitely was supposed to be a single.”

At least it was when she booked it; it was the only thing she could afford, even with the discount. And even then—

“Oh! I see.” A couple clacks across the keyboard brightens the receptionist’s smile by a couple of watts. “It seems you’ve been given a free upgrade to one of our deluxe suites!”

Nothing good comes for free, Father’s voice blares in her ear, they only want to hide a cost you would hesitate pay. Her stomach twists, cold seeping up her throat. “F-free? I don’t have to, er, sign up for anything, or…?”

The receptionist relaxes with clear relief. Chizuru wishes she could do the same. “Yes, completely for free, at no extra charge!”

It’s impossible to swallow past the lump in her throat. “W-why? Did I do something…?”

“It doesn’t say on the reservation.” Her shoulders offer up a scant shrug under her blazer. “We must have run out of single rooms.”

“But…” It’s worse this way, she wants to say, the words clawing in her throat. Because I didn’t earn it. “I…”

“Yukimura.” Yamazaki steps up beside her, furrowed brows already aimed over the counter. “Is everything all right?”

“A-ah, yes!” Chizuru drops her heels, shuffling back from the counter. “It was just…something with the room…?”

“Ms Yukimura received a free upgrade to her reservation,” the receptionist replies cheerily. “Give me one moment, I’ll activate your key.”

“Free upgrade?” He blinks down at her. “Is there something wrong, or—?”

“No!” It’s ridiculous how much of a scene she’s making— anyone else would have just received it with a smile, happy to have gotten the extra mile out of their money, but here she is, half faint, making a mountain out of a molehill. “It’s fine, really.”

The corners of his mouth bite deeper into his cheeks, unconvinced. “Are you sure? One of us could always—?”

“Here you go, ma’am— 1204.” The receptionist hands over a small envelope, two keys nestled inside. With one glance at Yamazaki, her smile slants, angle all-too knowing. “Enjoy your stay. Next customer, please?”

He frowns, knuckles blanching where they grip his bag. “Yukimura—”

“It’s fine!” Her teeth grit down in a smile. “Really, it is. Let’s just get settled in.”

The elevator doors ding in distress as Harada wraps his whole hand around one side of them, refusing to let them slide shut. “Are you sure you don’t want one of us to come with you? It’s not that far out of the way.”

It’s four floors at least— her twelve to their eight— and with how the halls stretch across this landing, the lobby central to the rest of the rooms, it’s impossible to say how far of a hike. “No no, it’s fine. I can handle finding it myself.”

“We’re not worried about your sense of direction, Chizu.” Shinpachi crosses his arms over his chest, forbidding. “But what if someone gets weird with you while you’re wandering around up there?”

“Of course that’s your problem with all this,” Souji snorts, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Chizuru gets an upgrade and suddenly you’re all acting like there’s lions trying to split the lame gazelle from the herd. What’s the problem, think someone’s going to make eyes at her getting ice if she doesn’t have at least three of you to scare ‘em off?”

“This is serious,” Shinpachi spits. “There’s a lot of people in this place right now—”

“A serious waste of my time.” With a desultory wave of his fingers, Souji stalks off down the hall, calling over his shoulder, “Chizuru’s already said she’s fine. Call me when it’s time to eat.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Harada hums, his too-kind eyes looming over her. “If you don’t feel comfortable, it’s fine for one of us to—”

“No, I’m okay, really.” Chizuru lets her mouth pull wide, hoping her smile is more confident than she is. “You guys need to get your stuff settled. We can meet up later for dinner.”

Harada hesitates, struggling against another distressed ding. “I don’t know…”

“You have your phone, don’t you?” Yamazaki drags his glare from Souji’s back to where she stands, softening. “You’ll call if you need to?”

“Ah, yes!” It takes a moment to fish her phone from her bag, opening and closing zippers as Harada slowly, by inches, loses his struggle against the doors. “Right here!”

She waves it, lock screen bright in the car, and Harada loosens his grip. “As long as you’re sure…”

“I’m sure.” The words echo behind closed doors, her stomach rolling as the elevator lurches upward. She glances down at her screen, just in time to see it flash 20% at the corner before going black. “I think.”

It’s the toots that startle her as she creeps down the hall, suitcase wheels rattling across the close-textured carpet, the loudest noise she’s heard since the elevator doors closed behind her. Her grip tightens around her garment bag, weight shifting back on her heels, ready to turn tail and run, but—

But it’s her. The tooting, that is. Or rather, her phone. Embarrassing how long it takes her to think of it, really, but she does, slipping it right out of the pocket she’d tucked it into. 15% it reads now, but that’s not what draws her attention, not when there’s a notification with Sen’s smiling face beaming beside it. did you make it?

The breath rushes from her lungs, half-sigh, half-laugh. Two steps away. Thanks for asking.

It takes an improbable amount of minutes to manage those two-steps, however. Maybe Harada could have made it in one— or Shinpachi, even— baggage all happily come to heel, card in hand, but Chizuru has to trip over hers first, juggling garment bag and suitcase and half-unzipped travel pack until she realizes she can just put her phone away to free up that critical hand. Even still, there’s rustling and shuffling to trade one flat slip of plastic for another, the envelope half bobbling out of her hands before she manages to prise one of those little cards free.

And then, with a wave of her hand— well, a couple of waves, trying to figure out just how to place the card before she just presses it to the pad at the handle— she’s in. Except—

Except it’s not a bedroom. No, it’s a small living area, couch and TV and a half-wall of a kitchenette, a few chairs scattered around. Chizuru toes off her shoes, parking her suitcase neatly beside them, and peers into the next nearest door— bathroom, the glass enclosed shower tucked into one corner and a huge tub beside it, big enough to fit at least three of her inside without touching. She pads her way across, tiles cold even through her socks, and opens the other door, leading out into—

The bedroom, finally. The queen suite with what has to be the largest queen she’s ever seen.

Her fingers fumble her phone from its pocket, flicking past the lock screen straight to the camera—

Only for, anyone swallow their tongues yet?🤭 to flash right across the top of the screen.

There’s no costumes tonight, only a dinner! Tomorrow will be our first opportunity to be in character Though I don’t think anyone will be swallowing their tongues when I’m dressed as a boy 😅

Chizuru clicks back through to the camera, tapping the screen to focus, but—

“Are those leaves?” She blinks, first at the screen, and then, as she lowers it, the bed covers. Which, as she suspected, is littered with…some sort of nature. She steps close, pinching one velvety piece of detritus between her fingers and murmurs, “Petals?”

Well, she can’t have that.

boo have some confidence!!! you look super cute in that jinbei i bet *someone’s* heart will flutter at the very least

Her neck swivels, this way and that, trying to find someplace— anyplace— where it’s safe to put down her phone, hopefully close to hand, and— ah, there it is, the bedside table. She sets it down, turning back to the bed with a shake of her head. To think, in a hotel as nice as this one, they had just let someone track in half the outside with them.

It takes her a moment to find the trash can hidden beneath the table, but after that, it’s just a matter of goading all the plant stuff off the cover and into it. A bit more work than she thought she’d be putting into settling it, but it’s worth it to have a clean place to sit when Sen asks, is your room nice?

Very!!! I reserved a single, but it seems they had run out of them, so they gave me a free upgrade 😱 The room’s huge! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bed this big!

With a proud grin tugging at her lips, Chizuru takes a quick picture of her newly cleaned covers and sends it off.

omg LOOK at that 😱😱 a real princess bed for hime-sama

Ah, she hadn’t thought of that. Her heels hook around the bed frame, knees cradled up against her chest, and— and Yamazaki might find that funny too, wouldn’t he? Hime-sama having her own palatial accommodations. It’s nothing to flick open his thread and attach the picture, thumb hovering over send—

the only question is who is going to warm hime-sama’s bed 😏

Heat floods her cheeks. What do you mean?

i hear what happens in feudal japan stays in feudal japan you have any idea who you’d like to share with 😏😏😏

I thought princesses didn’t have to share beds

😩 you’re killing me

It’s not new, being teased like this— about this even, not when she lives in a house with six men and a solid half of them only begrudgingly allow themselves to be clothed. But Sen won’t be placated with a blush and stuttered denial— no, once she gets a whiff of romance, she doesn’t know how to give up until she’s got it clenched between her teeth. And unless she wants to pick out one of the guys as her, er, target, well…

It’s funny though! When I got here there was stuff all over the bed

Distraction is the only way out.

stuff?? like…fluids??? gross 🤮 pls tell me you called housekeeping

No, no fluids thankfully! Just some leaf stuff I handled it myself! It took me a while, but I finally got all those little petals off 💪

leaf stuff? petals??

A knock startles her, enough that she finally sees 8% hovering in the corner, her screen flicking over into power saver mode.

“One minute!” she calls out, rummaging through her bag until her fingers catch on the charger cord, tugging it out—

And half of her travel bag. The knock comes again, no more insistent, but Chizuru’s sure it sounds impatient.

“Ah, just another minute, I just have to”— miss the outlet at least twice before she gets it seated— “do this—”

Her screen lights up, the charging icon taking the place of the percentage, and it immediately toots with, where are you staying again?

She has just enough time to dash off, Satsuma Estates, before the knock comes again, and she yelps, “Coming!”

She hurries over, nearly tripping on the corner of her suitcase, but she gets the door open.

“Good evening, Chizuru,” Hajime says, once she does. “It’s time for dinner.”

#yamachi #hakuouki #my fic #modern au #college au #if the mind is willing #LARP au #okay this chapter was not as MUCH unlimited OC works as anticipated #mainly because Chizuru's anxiety alone managed to triple my word count #so uhhhhhhh good for her i guess #but next time should be yamazaki POV. with LORE. and OCs #huzzah

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cliff-and-the-kid · 4 months ago

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Get to know the mun

Answer the questions for your RP partners to know you better - you can always skip a question if it’s too personal!

Name: Tri

Height: Five feet, four inches, just a smidge shorter than my mother >B(

Language: English, a little Spanish

Nationality: Texan American (look, the USA is really several dozen countries in a trench coat, and even Texas is really five states in their own smaller trench coat, it's stupid but it matters)

Current Time: not quite 2:50pm (I have been awake for going on fifteen hours)

Favorite Season: Spring! Best weather and my birthday month!

Favorite Scent: Petrichor. Love to stand in the back doorway and smell/listen to thunderstorms when they hit

Favorite Color: Turquoise - I hated this question for years, as I felt constantly torn between blue and green, until somewhere in high school I hit upon the idea of combining them :3

Favorite Animal: domesticated rabbit (dutch short-hair specifically, I used to raise them, lovely bunnies)

Favorite Fictional Character: ...can I provide an abbreviated list? Ahsoka Tano, Peter Parker, Cass Cain, Brienne of Tarth, Murderbot, Gimli Son of Gloin...

Normal amount of sleep: Maybe 7ish hours on a work night, I'll sleep in an extra couple on Sundays

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate? Hot Chocolate. Not for lack of trying with different teas, mind you

Number of blankets you sleep with: in summer, with our house's lack of reliable A/C, a single top sheet if that. In winter, I have been known to pile on sheets, two fleece blankets, comforter, and quilt

Dogs or cats: Yes.

Dream Trip: I did a four thousand mile round trip from Texas up to Massachusetts five years ago, visiting family and internet friends; my dream trip is a repeat+extension, touring more of the country I haven't seen before, plus a detour up into Canada to visit a writing friend of mine in person and pet her dogs. If I could time it to hit some comic conventions in big cities that would be even better, I've never managed to pull that off before

Dream Job: Published author. I've got one self-published novel, but there are many, many, many more projects waiting in the wings, books and comics and games of various formats... If I ever get off the ground with a professional agent/editor, my highest fantasy is to be the next Initial-Known author, JRRT, GRRM, etc etc. I've already one middle initial R, I'll add a second if that's what it takes!

Reason for my URL: Throwing Cliffjumper and Sierra together started in a fan fic I posted to AO3, which then received a sequel several years later. I tied the pair together in a series titled Cliff and the Kid, which seemed like a good handle to use when I decided to roleplay as the two doofuses over here

Favorite style to write: Longer prose, coin flip for present or past tense, lots of cliffhangers if I'm doing something multi-chaptered. Hurt/Comfort is my bread and butter; can't really enjoy the good fluff unless it's balanced against delicious angst >:3

Random Fact: I am a naturally-inclined night owl who works an early bird job. I suffer.

(Stolen from @solusprime)

#munday

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kallie-den · 2 years ago

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Renewable Energy: Trend Setting

Malacanthe is a high-powered businesswoman succubus who hopes that her newly-brainwashed perma-virgin will be the perfect accessory to show up her social rival, Juiblexia, at brunch. But when Juiblexia has a perma-virgin of her own, the only thing left to do is to publicly settle the question: who's virgin is the most pathetic?

Another followup to Renewable Energy, set a little further along after Ziratha's invention has just begun to take off

If you enjoy my work and are looking for more, or you want to support me, I strongly encourage you to check out my Patreon! I write erotica full-time, which means I need your patronage to keep creating, and my Patrons also get benefits like early access to my stories, extra stories, and the ability to vote on what I write next! So, if that sounds good to you, head over and join the couple hundred patrons I already have :)

---

Malacanthe checked her expensive watch impatiently; as always, Juiblexia was late. ‘Fashionably late’, in her terminology, although Malacanthe firmly believed there was nothing fashionable about tardiness. Every time they met up, Malacanthe was tempted to arrive even later, just to show her ‘friend’ what it felt like to be kept waiting for a change. The main reason she didn’t was that she sensed Juiblexia would delight in seeing her sink to the other succubus’s level.

It was always like that with her. Juiblexia had an infuriating way of taking everything in stride and turning everything to her advantage - but not this time. This time, Malacanthe held the trump card that was sure to put her friend in her place once and for all.

“Hana,” she called expectantly. “Come here.”

The shorter human accompanying her hurried to obey. It wasn’t like she could stray far, not with Malacanthe holding the leash that was tied to her wrist. Malacanthe immediately started fussing over the trans girl, making sure every last hair on her head was in place and smoothing out her long, tasteful skirt. A smile came to Malacanthe’s face, especially once her refined, demonic senses started to pick up on the surge of arousal coming from her new pet.

Hana was something special. A perma-virgin.

It was the very newest thing. A succubus named Ziratha - a genius, clearly - had created a device called a Transcranial Magical Stimulation Unit, a kind of helmet that could regress a normal human into a perma-virgin - someone permanently arrested in a state of total, inescapable virginity as far as their sexual skills, mores, and energy output were concerned.

The result was nothing short of miraculous. Before, sexual energy had been a declining, non-renewable resource. Virgins, the tastiest and most nourishing meals, had to be taken sparingly. Now, virgin energy could be harvested endlessly and infinitely from just a single partner. Thanks to all that energy, Malacanthe had become a vastly magnified version of her former self; tall, looming, and lithe, with elegant, spiraling horns and a tail that had split in two halfway down its length. She looked and felt better than ever.

But that wasn’t the best part. The best part was that, as of yet, the Transcranial Magical Stimulation Unit hadn’t reached market. It was still navigating a few regulatory obstacles, and as a result, the only devices out there were a few dozen testing units. The technology was still so new that most people hadn’t heard of it, and those few units were fantastically expensive and all but impossible to get a hold of.

But Malacanthe had managed it.

Her Transcranial Magical Stimulation Unit had cost a fortune, but thanks to her position as the CEO of a large and prestigious company, Malacanthe could afford it. She was absolutely sure that this was the next big thing, and that she was so far ahead of the curve that it was sure to make Juiblexia green with envy. Malacanthe was still seething from their last brunch friend-date, when the socialite had one-upped her brand-new tail sheathe from Christian Dior’s latest range with a one-of-a-kind, custom-made set of horn adornments from Louis Vuitton. The embarrassment!

But now, at long last, she was going to get one over on her friend. That was why Malacanthe was so impatient. She simply couldn’t wait to see the look Hana was going to put on Juiblexia’s face.

“Oh, hi darling! I do hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

Malacanthe turned at the sound of her friend’s voice, plastering an insincere smile on her face. “Juiblexia! So good to see you! Not at all - in fact, I only just arrived.”

Once she caught sight of her friend, Malacanthe’s smile wavered by just a hair. Juiblexia looked good. Too good.

She was taller. Almost as tall as Malacanthe, which made her at least eight feet. Juiblexia had always been decidedly Rubenesque, but her weight and softness seemed to have grown even more than her height, leaving her with a jaw-droppingly voluptuous figure that radiated magnificence and presence. The kinked bull horns on her head had become similarly huge, and her tail was a thick pillar of alluring, demonic flesh. As usual, Juiblexia was wearing a long, flowing, sheer, low-cut dress that accentuated all her best assets and showed off a tasteful but daring amount of pink-tinted skin.

She looked like a queen, and it was making Malacanthe furious.

“Darling, you look wonderful!” Juiblexia exclaimed. A broad smile was on her face, but it was just a little too tight. “But, who’s your cute little friend? You should have warned me!”

Malacanthe’s confidence was starting to return. She could tell Juiblexia was displeased.

“Hardly a friend,” she replied. “More of a pet, you see. She’s lovely, and so well-trained, even if I do need to keep her on a leash. I wouldn’t want her to wander off. Some people might even be tempted to try and poach her kind.”

“Her kind?” Juiblexia tilted her head, affecting a casual curiosity Malacanthe could tell was feigned. “Whatever do you mean, darling?”

A smirk came to Malacanthe’s face. This was her moment. “A perma-virgin. I suppose you must not have heard of them yet. I know the circles you move in can be so old-fashioned. But they’re to die for, I can promise you. You really must get one - well, as soon as you can, anyway.”

Juiblexia was an old-money socialite, and proud of it. Her family was the richest of the rich. The kind of people who had never truly worked a day in their lives, and were proud of it. Malacanthe despised them. She knew they loved looking down their noses at “nouveau riche” succubi like her - almost as much as they loved bragging about which circle of hell their families were originally from. But they had money and they had influence, and so Malacanthe’s role as CEO often required her to rub shoulders with them and suck up to them. It was how she and Juiblexia had met.

“Such kind advice!” Juiblexia exclaimed. “But there’s really no need. Simone, come! Stop hiding, you silly girl.”

It was only then that Malacanthe noticed the leash tucked around Juiblexia’s wrist. As the other succubus tugged on it, her heart sank. And a moment later, Juiblexia’s very own perma-virgin emerged into view.

Simone had an athletic body and a genuine varsity team jacket, but none of the confidence that usually went with them. She had been completely hiding behind Juiblexia’s large, plush body, and now that she was in the spotlight, she had adopted a deer-in-headlights expression that Malacanthe had learned was the perma-virgin trademark. The presence of two such enhanced succubi was making her arousal flare, and she began to cling to Juiblexia’s side for comfort.

Suddenly, Juiblexia’s remarkable glow-up made perfect sense. Malacanthe was seething with rage at having her victory stolen, and the only consolation was knowing that Juiblexia was almost certainly just as mad. There was only one thing she could do to save face: try not to let her disappointment show.

“Wow!” she cooed. “She’s lovely. But…” Her curiosity got the better of her, she couldn’t help it. “How did you get a Transcranial Magical Stimulation Unit?”

“Oh, dearest Mommy knows all the right people,” Juiblexia replied disdainfully. “And… you? I suppose you had to pay for it.”

“That’s usually how people get things,” Malacanthe shot back. “With their own money, in fact. It’s much nicer than having to rely on your family name to get you everything. You should try it!”

“Malacanthe! You’re so funny, as always.” The two of them laughed like it was nothing more than a friendly joke. Then, Juiblexia bent down to peer at Hana. “And yours is… well, she’s so you, darling.”

Malacanthe took that as a compliment, even though she knew it wasn’t meant as one. In fact, she’d selected Hana to be her pet precisely because the two of them were such a good match. Hana was an exceptionally bright, hard-working, ambitious college student who’d won a summer internship at Malacanthe’s company. After Malacanthe had seduced her and persuaded her to try the Transcranial Magical Stimulation Unit, her demeanor had changed a little - but in Malacanthe’s eyes, she was perfect.

Naturally, she’d co-ordinated both of their outfits. Even at a friendly brunch, Malacanthe liked to dress formal. She was wearing a tailored blazer with matching pants and a white shirt, open at the collar. She’d dressed Hana up in a pretty, white blouse and a long, gray, pleated skirt. Along with her glasses and her ponytail, it made her look wonderfully demure. Perfect, for the preppy college student.

“Thank you,” Malacanthe replied gracefully, before gesturing to a nearby restaurant. “Shall we head inside?”

The two of them were standing directly in front of Apolline’s, the city’s finest and most exclusive bakery-cum-restaurant. It was particularly popular amongst succubi and getting a reservation there usually took months, but Malacanthe had been able to secure one for herself and Juiblexia within the week. A server was immediately there to greet them at the door, and mimosas were already waiting for them at their usual table - a cute little diner-style booth, right by the window.

No one asked about Hana or Simone. Their leashes - Hana’s tied around her wrist, Simone’s around her neck - made their status more than clear.

Happily, Apolline’s permitted pets.

Once they were seated, each succubus-human pair opposite the other, an unhappy silence descended on the group, punctuated only by the occasional sound of Juiblexia slurping at her mimosa. Both Hana and Simone looked woefully uncomfortable, and were clearly trying to look anywhere except at the two statuesque succubi next to them. Simply looking at a woman could be difficult for perma-virgins; looking at a sex demon who had been enhanced by an unending flood of unholy vitality was beyond overwhelming. Malacanthe, meanwhile, was still stewing with frustration at Juiblexia for having stolen her thunder, and she could sense that the feeling was mutual.

“Hana?” Simone said suddenly, in a hushed voice, like she was hoping the succubi wouldn’t hear. “I-is that… that’s really you, right?”

Hana didn’t reply. She turned her head aside haughtily, but her cheeks were tinged with color.

“Wow,” Simone breathed, undissuaded. “You too. That’s really something.”

It was hard to tell if she was appalled or amused. Or both.

“Oh my!” Juiblexia purred, turning to her pet. “What’s this? Do you two know each other?”

Simone immediately shrank into herself as she felt the weight of Juiblexia’s attention on her. But it wasn’t fear that made her recoil. It was arousal.

“Hana?” Malacanthe gave Hana’s leash a gentle but insistent tug. She was just as curious as Juiblexia. “Is this true?”

Hana immediately blushed and looked down under the table, and nodded.

“Well, well, well!” Juiblexia seemed delighted by the new development. “What a surprise! Malacanthe, darling, I know they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but you really could have gone a little further afield.”

Malacanthe started grinding her teeth. “Where did you find yours?”

“At the college,” Juiblexia replied smugly. “Simone’s quite something, you know. A real varsity girl. Ace of the women’s soccer team. She was so confident, and so eager to brag about adding a succubus like myself to her already-impressive tally. In bed, she was so very cocky, and up for anything. Until… well, you know.” She winked. “And you?”

“Hana’s also a student. She applied for a summer internship at my company. Her résumé caught my eye at once.” Malacanthe’s competitive urge immediately roused itself. She couldn’t resist bragging. “She’s a top student. Truly exceptional. A shoo-in for valedictorian. She worked very hard, and she was so flattered by my attention. So, of course, I had to make her mine.”

“I’m sure!” Juiblexia let out a rambunctious laugh that made her whole body jiggle, and the table along with it. She turned to Simone. “So, bauble, spill it! What’s the story?”

Simone blushed very deeply, especially when Juiblexia reached over and started patting her on the head no differently from how she might have petted a beloved puppy, messing up Simone’s radiant, blonde hair in the process.

“I… we… um…” she spluttered. Watching her struggle like this, Malacanthe found it impossible to picture her as the cocky college athlete she’d been before Ziratha’s device had worked its magic. “We… know each other from, um, college.”

“Oh? Are you friends?” Juiblexia tittered. “How cute!”

“No!” Hana cried, her voice tense. “With her? Please.”

She seemed to regret her outburst when both Juiblexia and Malacanthe immediately rounded on her.

“Exes, then?” Malacanthe probed, eyes alight with curiosity.

“N-n-no!” Hana protested, cheeks burning.

“Then… rivals?” Juiblexia speculated. The looks on the humans’ faces seemed to confirm that. “Wonderful! Prep versus jock. A tale as old as time.”

“Tell me more,” Malacanthe demanded of her pet. “Now, Hana.”

“S-she…” Hana’s cheeks were burning and she was rubbing her legs together beneath her skirt, uncomfortably aware of Malacanthe’s closeness. “S-she brings the school into disrepute! All that f-flirting and s-s-s-sleeping around with other girls! As the r-representative of the varsity team, she should act more responsibly.”

“That’s so dumb!” Simone exclaimed. She looked utterly mortified at the mention of her promiscuity. “L-little miss perfect student wants college to be nothing more than classes and tests. Some of us actually want to live. Maybe you should try going out and g-getting l… la… um… having fun for a change.”

The two humans glared fiercely at each other, even as they squirmed and blushed with superhuman levels of arousal and embarrassment. A smile played across Malacanthe’s face. It was a little like watching two puppies yap at each other.

“Ladies!” At that moment, a young, diminutive, succubus waitress appeared at their booth. “Can I take your orders?”

At once, her nostrils started to flare and she stared at Hana and Simone with barely-disguised lust in her eyes. Malacanthe wasn’t surprised. Any succubus could smell a normal virgin at ten paces, and these weren’t just normal virgins. Their energy was at peak potency, constantly elevated by shame and arousal. Being around Juiblexia and Malacanthe certainly wasn’t helping matters. Especially now, the two succubi exuded powerful auras of lust and desire, and the perma-virgins were as ill-equipped to handle it as possible.

“I’ll have a selection of the house pastries,” Malacanthe said. She gestured to Hana, who opened her mouth, but Malacanthe spoke for her. “Nothing for her. She’s watching her figure.”

Hana looked faintly disappointed but didn’t argue.

“The same for me,” Juiblexia told the waitress. “Only, make it a deluxe selection. Oh, and Simone here will have a set of macarons and a Danish.”

Simone looked surprised and tugged nervously at Juiblexia’s sleeve. “B-but,” she whispered. “C-couch said I’m supposed to… I mean, with the big game coming up…”

“Nonsense!” Juiblexia scoffed merrily. “My bauble deserves a special treat.”

She started petting Simone again, which was more than enough to silence her.

“Of course. That’ll be ready shortly.” The waitress nodded and headed back to the kitchen, although not without a parting look of longing at the two perma-virgins.

That was one of the reasons Malacanthe kept Hana on a leash, and she presumed it was the same for Juiblexia and Simone. The last thing either of them wanted was for another succubus to try and steal their precious perma-virgins away.

“You know, you should really give her something,” Juiblexia complained, glancing at Hana. “Her figure is just fine. If you ask me, she could use a little extra meat.”

She licked her lips. Hana quivered like she was about to cream herself.

“Then it’s a good thing I didn’t,” Malacanthe retorted tersely. “I’ve no wish to spoil her. Perhaps you should think about that.”

Juiblexia just shrugged. “I’m thinking of you, darling. If nothing else, she’ll need some energy if you want to be able to enjoy her properly.”

She filled the word ‘enjoy’ with enough sultry lust to make both humans at the table shiver and squirm.

“Thank you. But you needn’t be concerned.” A thin smile came to Malacanthe’s face. She reached over and rested a hand on the back of Hana’s neck, massaging her. Hana let out a squeak. “My Hana is perfectly enjoyable. Always. You wouldn’t believe how good she is. Unlike some, I know how to get my girls performing properly.”

She looked pointedly across at Juiblexia. Hana, meanwhile, looked like she was about to explode. She was looking down, an expression of utmost shame on her face, and couldn’t stop tugging frantically at her skirt.

“Oh I’d believe it,” Juiblexia purred, taking another sip from her mimosa. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure she’s… adequate. But, darling, you’ve never had quite the right eye for taste. Forgive me for saying so. It’s what comes from a rough upbringing, I suppose. Take it from me: a girl like Simone is so much better.”

Simone had been looking faintly amused at Hana’s plight. For her, it was clearly satisfying to see the uptight valedictorian squirm and be spoken about in such vulgar terms. When attention shifted back to her, though, she started spluttering and choking. Her face lit up briefly with smug pride at Juiblexia’s praise, but it soon turned, becoming far more embarrassed and uncertain as she blushed.

She might have been a stud before, but she was a virgin now.

“I’m surprised, Juiblexia,” Malacanthe retorted. “Even for you, that’s cliché. The big, popular, athletic girl? It’s been done already. Her type has always been popular amongst succubi. You should try updating your fashion a little. Broaden your horizons. Get a little more experimental. You wouldn’t want to be left behind.”

She was hoping to deflate Juiblexia a little, but the other succubus just puffed herself up even further.

“Darling! I thought you’d know better than to judge a book by its cover,” she scolded. “My Simone is very special.”

“Sure.” Malacanthe rolled her eyes. Juiblexia was nothing but hot air. She was sure of it. “But she’s got nothing on my Hana.”

“Hmm.” Juiblexia’s eyes flashed suddenly. “Would you care to put that to the test?”

“What do you mean?” Malacanthe asked guardedly.

Juiblexia licked her lips again. “A friendly competition.”

“I’m game,” Malacanthe replied at once. A competition was perfect. She’d take any chance she got to put Juiblexia in her place. “What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s keep it simple,” Juiblexia proposed. “Whoever can get the most out of their perma-virgin wins. The most energy. The greatest nourishment. The richest, most delightful flavor. I’m sure you get the picture.”

“You’re on.” Malancathe was grinning. She couldn’t wait. She was going to make Juiblexia realize that fawning over sports players was beyond passé. “Allow me to demonstrate Hana’s most admirable qualities.”

Before her pet could brace herself, Malacanthe leaned over and wrapped a hand around Hana’s head to cradle her and prevent her from pulling away. Then, she put her lips to the poor perma-virgin’s neck and started to kiss her. Her kisses were long, languid, and hungry; she took her time drawing her tongue in slow strokes across Hana’s skin, peeling away the student’s high collar and drooling a little on her pretty blouse. Malacanthe’s tongue seemed impossibly long, and as she unfolded it further and further out of her mouth, she started coiling it, serpentine, around Hana’s neck.

The effect her affections had on the human was dramatic and immediate. Hana was trying as hard as she possibly could to remain dignified and unmoved - and it wasn’t working. She stared determinedly at a single point underneath the table as her cheeks turned a deep, furious red and she started to quiver. The poor girl was gripping the folds of her skirt so hard her knuckles had turned white; she seemed to be trying to smooth out the garment, but with little success. A distinctive bulge was already forming a tent beneath the fabric.

Peering over the table, Juiblexia licked her lips again as she noted that Hana was already rock hard.

“So that’s your preferred flavor?” the curvy succubus asked. “Darling, I approve! Trans girls make for so much fun.”

Malacanthe allowed herself a smug smile. “Indeed. But that wasn’t all I meant when I said Hana was special. You’ll see.” She kissed Hana again, but this time sucked hard enough to leave a bright red mark. “I just need to get her worked up properly first.”

As Malacanthe gave her the hickey, Hana sat up completely straight and rigid, like she was being struck by lightning. She was struggling not to pant.

Neither of the succubi needed to look at her to know how painfully aroused she was, though. They could sense it. The raw, untapped, sexual energy within her was blazing like a beacon. Her alluring virgin-scent poured out of her, so dense and heavy it was like a fog. Neither Malacanthe nor Juiblexia were wanting for nourishment, but Hana’s arousal was making each of them ravenous. And they weren’t the only ones; some of Apolline’s other succubus patrons were already turning to look, expressions of undisguised envy on their faces.

“Well, don’t think I’ll let you get too much of a head start,” Juiblexia commented. “Come here, Simone.”

Simone already looked decidedly uncomfortable with what was going on on the opposite side of the table. She was red in the face and shivered, and when Juiblexia called her name, she flinched, but nonetheless obediently pulled closer to the statuesque succubus.

“A succubus getting a girl all worked up from a kiss doesn’t strike me as very impressive, darling,” Juiblexia commented, throwing one of her big arms across Simone’s shoulder. ��Watch and learn.”

With a big, theatrical gesture, she reached down and stroked a few of her fingertips along Simone’s hip.

Malacanthe wasn’t expecting much. Simone was wearing jeans, after all. She was shocked, then, when the jock girl immediately exploded into motion, squirming and thrashing madly like she was already in the throes of orgasm. Staccato moans filled the air as Simone was wracked with pleasure, and after a few moments, she turned to cling tightly to Juiblexia, taking paradoxical comfort in the succubus who was tormenting her.

Juiblexia let out a satisfied purr at the look on Malacanthe’s face.

“Hyper-sensitivity,” she explained proudly. “With the right education, everything is sexual. And our sweet little things are so poorly-equipped to handle that, aren’t they? You add to that a little sensory deprivation here, a little over-stimulation there, and… well. I think the results speak for themselves.”

Despite herself, Malacanthe was impressed. She could feel the rich glow of Simone’s arousal, and even though Juiblexia had already stopped caressing her thigh, the human’s moans were only slowly dying away. Clearly, Juiblexia had been experimenting with her Transcranial Magical Stimulation Unit. Extracting so much with so little was quite the feat.

Not that she would ever tell that to Juiblexia.

“Perhaps,” Malacanthe sniffed. “But we’re only just beginning. Hana, let me-“

“Excuse me,” came a nervous voice. “Um… I have your orders.”

Both Malacanthe and Juiblexia turned to see the waitress from earlier standing next to their table, pushing a cart that was stacked high with rich, fancy pastries. At first she simply looked awkward, but after a few moments in close proximity to two pent-up virgins she started drooling lustfully.

“Thank you?” Juiblexia prompted.

“R-right,” the succubus waitress said nervously. “Here you go.”

She started handing out various plates, all the while throwing wanton glances at Hana and Simone, both of whom looked like they desperately hoped the ground beneath them was about to open up and swallow them. The word ‘mortified’ was wholly inadequate, and they only looked more pained as the waitress started to sweat visibly from sheer need.

“W-will there be anything else?” she asked in a pained voice.

“No, thank you,” Malacanthe said stiffly.

“Then, enjoy your, um, food.”

The waitress left the table, although as she walked away she looked over her shoulder longingly a few times. Juiblexia preened, apparently enjoying the envy, whilst Malacanthe growled. Hana belonged to her, and her alone.

“You see?” Juiblexia taunted. “Everyone admires my Simone.”

That instantly lit a fire under Malacanthe. “Don’t be foolish,” she shot back. “She was obviously looking at my Hana. Who wouldn’t?”

“I’m simply not sure what there is to look at, darling.” Juiblexia’s face was drawn into a crafty, poisonous smirk. “Uptight schoolgirl getting a little too hot and bothered? We’ve all seen it.”

“Not like this.” Now it was Malacanthe’s turn to smirk. “Just wait and see. All it takes is pushing the right buttons. You’re not the only one who’s been doing a little experimenting.”

She turned to Hana. Now, the trans girl was truly sweating. She kept shaking her head and throwing nervous glances across to Simone. Clearly, she didn’t want her rival to see this. But Malacanthe wasn’t inclined to be merciful. Not when she needed to show off.

“Hana,” Malacanthe cooed. “I need you inside me.”

Immediately, Hana shuddered. Her back arched, and a wet moan escaped from her lips. The tent in her skirt twitched.

“Don’t you need to be inside me too?” Malacanthe’s voice, usually so stiff and stern, became breathy and shockingly seductive. “I can tell you do.”

Hana whimpered. The tent in her skirt kept growing, and her hips were starting to move, like she was inadvertently thrusting against the fabric of her own clothes. Her eyes were starting to turn wild and roll back into her own head.

“You’re so big,” Malacanthe whispered, putting her mouth near Hana’s ear and letting her long tongue drool out of her mouth. “So… so virile.”

Another whimper, louder and more strained than the last. Hana opened her mouth but no words came out, only drool.

“It’s been days since we last fucked.” Hana twitched, visibly uncomfortable with the curse word. “I bet your balls are so full. Throbbing. Churning. I can’t stop thinking about it. About how much you could fill me up right now.”

“N-n-n-noooo,” Hana protested, shaking her head from side to side. The proud, morally-upright valedictorian was coming apart at the seams. There was nothing dignified about her now.

“Yes,” Malacanthe teased. She reached down and let a few of her fingertips play in the air over Hana’s bulge. “I need it, Hana. I need you to breed me.”

At the word ‘breed’, Hana gave up holding back. She moaned long and loud, her drool forming into froth at her lips, and the wild, twitching motion of her head turned from shaking into nodding.

“Breed me,” Malacanthe urged. “Knock me up. Pump me full of your cum, Hana. I need to feel you filling me up. Don’t you need it too? Don’t you need to get my belly nice and full?”

“Yes!” Hana panted. Her cheeks were still burning with shame but, stoked by Malacanthe’s words, her desperation was enough to overcome it. She had a virgin’s overeagerness. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!”

Malacanthe turned to glance pointedly at Juiblexia. The other succubus looked, despite herself, hungry and faintly envious. It was easy to see why. To the keen, supernatural senses of a succubus, Hana was lit up like a lighthouse, impossibly aroused and impossibly ripe for feeding on.

Victory.

Usually, people assumed that a virgin with a succubus was like a mouse caught in a trap. And usually, they were right. Most virgins were passive and uncertain, and most succubi were active and predatory. Malacanthe, though, had a taste for something different. She liked her pets to do the work for her. And she had found that, with the right conditioning and the right encouragement, it was entirely possible to turn a blushing virgin into a rutting beast.

That was the other reason she’d chosen Hana: the latent breeding kink she’d been able to pick up on.

And now, thanks to Ziratha’s invention and her own skill, it wasn’t latent at all. By teasing the right fantasies, she could get Hana so worked up that she was about to have a mind-breaking orgasm - all without even touching her.

“So,” Malacanthe said to Juiblexia, smirking, while Hana tugged at her arm and bucked her hips into the air. “Ready to concede defeat?”

“Hardly.” Now it was Juiblexia who sounded terse. “We’re just warming up, after all. Simone, dear.”

“H-huh?”

The aroused jock girl perked up at the sound of her name being called. She had seemed all but hypnotized by the sight of what Malacanthe was doing to Hana, squirming from both discomfort and fascination in equal measure. Simone turned to look up at Juiblexia, and immediately started to let out shrill, wordless protests when Juiblexia put her hands on Simone’s waist, lifted her bodily into the air, and set her back down in the plump succubus’s warm, inviting lap.

“C-c’mon,” she pleaded weakly “N-n-not in front of h-her, can’t- ah!”

She broke off into pitiful moaning when Juiblexia completely blew past her protests and started running her hands all over Simone’s body.

Juiblexia wasn’t groping, exactly. She didn’t need to. Even the lightest possible touches across Simone’s body, through her clothes, were enough to reduce the perma-virginized girl to a trembling, drooling, moaning mess. There was something almost juvenile about it; Juiblexia’s touch was like the heavy petting teens gave each other when they were playing seven minutes in heaven and were too nervous to truly reach for second base.

From the look on Juiblexia’s face, it was clear that seeing someone who had been so strong, so proud, so sexually confident, brought to the point of orgasm by something so innocent was at least half the pleasure.

"You might be able to get your pet virgin drooling with just a few words,” Juiblexia purred. “But look what I can do to mine with just… this.”

With ease, she pried Simone’s legs apart and then, after pointedly holding up a single finger, dragged it along Simone’s sensitive inner thigh.

This touch, so much more intimate than simple petting, made Simone go wild. She thrashed like mad, limbs splaying apart and flailing so violently she might have tipped over the table if not for Juiblexia effortlessly restraining her. The expression on the jock girl’s face transcended pleasure and became pained again, like she was completely, unbearably overwhelmed by what she was feeling. A stain formed of her wetness began to seep through the front of her jeans, attesting to the thunderous orgasms tearing through Simone.

Within moments, the whole of Apolline’s was filled with the heady scent of Simone’s arousal.

“So,” Juiblexia said, looking up at Malacanthe with a grin on her face. “Would you like to concede, darling?”

Malacanthe glared at her furiously. She would never, ever give in to Juiblexia - and besides, her hunger was only growing. She plastered a seductive smile, full of sinister promise, over her frown and turned to Hana.

“Hana?” she cooed, in a simpering voice. “Won’t you come and knock me up?”

The perma-virgin’s eyes flashed with untempered lust, before she glanced nervously around the room. “B-but… um… aren’t we….”

“Hana,” Malacanthe interrupted, injecting as much lust and need into her voice as possible. “Come fuck a baby into me.”

That was all it took to completely break the hopeless perma-virgin.

“P-p-please!” Hana cried, suddenly pawing at Malacanthe. An awed expression came to her face, like she couldn’t believe her luck.

“Here,” Malacanthe instructed, smirking. “Now.”

She reached down and unbuttoned her pants. Immediately, Hana started to clamber on top of her, tearing clumsily at her own skirt. Uncontrolled arousal made her so uncoordinated she couldn’t seem to remove her clothes, and was tearing up in frustration before Malacanthe reached out to help her. Once she was naked, all eyes were on Hana’s hard, proud, dripping cock. She was blushing and trembling furiously with overwhelming shame, but her need was greater, especially when Malacanthe pulled her panties aside to expose her pussy and propped each of her legs up on the table on either side of her pet.

With a pitiful, humiliated squeak, Hana thrust forward and entered her owner.

Watching on the other side of the table, Juiblexia wasn’t about to be outdone. She started unceremoniously stripping Simone without giving the overwhelmed virgin even a moment to recover. Simone whined in protest, but she was far, far too weak to stop the voluptuous succubus from removing her varsity jacket, then her jeans, and then her tank top.

But she stopped there, leaving Simone in her sports bra and matching boxers. Unlike Malacanthe, Juiblexia wasn’t interested in sex. In fact, she had firmly resolved that, after her rebirth as a blushing perma-virgin, Simone should remain as pure and virginal as possible.

She just wanted to show off what bare, skin-to-skin contact would do to her.

Sure enough, as soon as Simone felt Juiblexia’s bare skin against hers, she came explosively. Her boxers were already hopelessly soaked through, but now her wetness started dripping from her thighs, soaking Juiblexia’s lap and forming a wet, sticky puddle on the floor underneath. Simone started screaming her moans in a voice so loud and so needy it filled the entire restaurant and made every head turn. After a few seconds she ran out of breath, but she kept arching her back and throwing back her head, screaming wordless bliss with a ridiculous, pleasure-drunk expression on her face.

And all simply because Juiblexia had been stroking down her side, and running a hand over her bare arm.

“P-p-p-please!” Simone howled, after finding the strength to take a breath. “I’m not… ngghhh… I’m not r-ready yettt…”

“For a little heavy petting?” Juiblexia mocked, resting a hand on Simone’s belly to make her squirm. “Aren’t you just precious?”

Meanwhile, opposite them, Malacanthe and Hana had progressed far beyond heavy petting. Malacanthe was leaning back, legs up and apart, whilst Hana mounted the much larger succubus. Hana was unbelievably red in the face and was rutting into Malacanthe with quick, eager, clumsy, desperate strokes, all of her proud, stiff composure now hopelessly lost. All she was thinking about was how badly she needed to pump her load into Malacanthe.

And Malacanthe, drinking greedily from the perma-virgin’s energy, looked prouder and stronger than ever.

"Harder,” she said to Hana in a lover’s whisper. “More. Fill me up. Knock me up.”

Hana was already cumming, but one orgasm wasn’t nearly enough for the pent-up perma-virgin. She just kept going, pumping more and more of her load into Malacanthe with each thrust, eyes rolled back into her skull from the impossible, overwhelming pleasure of multiple orgasms, each one riding on the next, her brain now hard-wired so that she couldn’t possible acclimate herself to it.

“I love you!” Hana babbled, a broad, goofy, addled grin spreading across her face. “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

Malacanthe didn’t say it back, but she did smile fondly at her pet. She loved seeing Hana reduced to this.

Simone was just as ruined; even Malacanthe couldn’t deny that. The jock girl was rolling her hips now, rubbing herself on nothing but her own boxers, and the motion made it look, more than anything, like she was simply trying to snuggle deeper into Juiblexia’s lap. Juiblexia’s hands were still all over her and they were slowly becoming more possessive and more intrusive, but they still did nothing more than trace the swell of her breasts and tease the hem of her boxers.

Juiblexia was determined to give her once-cocky pet no more than the barest taste of real, mature sex.

It might not have been sex, but Juiblexia was nourished by it all the same. Her face was flush and her eyes were shining, and Malacanthe could sense her drawing energy from her pet. It was difficult for her not to envy the exquisite flavor she was surely getting from Simone, even as she could tell Juiblexia was coveting Hana’s.

Which begged a question:

“How do we decide who wins?” Malacanthe asked, in a voice punctuated by breathy pants every time Hana thrust into her.

“We…” Juiblexia frowned. “Ah. Perhaps I overlooked something, darling.”

The two of them shared an awkward look before they were again interrupted. Not by the waitress, but by someone who was clearly more senior. It was the manager. Another succubus, she was dressed smartly, and wore a displeased look on her face.

“Ladies,” she said stiffly. “We here at Apolline’s aim to curate a permissive and lively atmosphere, and allow our patrons to enjoy pleasures beyond simply our baking.” Her frown deepened when she noticed the pastries that had been brought to the table earlier, still untouched. “Nonetheless, we have received a few comments about the level of noise coming fr-“

Her words died in her throat once she caught Hana and Simone’s scents from up close.

The polite, managerial stiffness in her demeanor vanished in a single moment. She started leaning forward, a ravenous look on her face. A red blush strained her cheeks, and drool fell from her lips to stain her immaculate uniform. Her stomach growled with hunger.

Malacanthe and Juiblexia exchanged another look.

“Our apologies,” Malacanthe said smoothly. Hana was still plowing into her with all her overeager energy. “Actually, we just need you to settle something for us.”

“Yes,” Juiblexia put in. “The two of us were having a friendly little contest, and it seems we’re in need of a judge. So, darling: which one of our little pets here do you think makes for the best, tastiest, most nourishing meal?”

The manager nodded, stupefied by the overwhelming outpour of sexual energy happening around the table. She looked first at Hana, then at Simone, and then back again. Finally, after long moments of contemplation, she shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she said. Her voice sounded wet. “I can’t pick. They’re both perfect.”

Malacanthe blinked. A draw? She hadn’t considered that. Normally, she would never accept anything less than complete victory over Juiblexia, but Hana’s exertions were putting her in a good mood. Perhaps, just this once, she could make her peace with it.

“I just have one question,” the manager added, unable to hold back. She pointed at each of the mind-broken perma-virgins in turn. “How did you get these girls?”

Juiblexia and Malacanthe exchanged one last look, and prepared to spread the good word.

—

I would like to express my gratitude for the generosity of all those who support me on Patreon, and to give a special thanks to the following patrons in particular for their exceptional support:

Artemis, Chloe, J, Secret Subject, Kathryn, Lucy, Dex, orangesya, Red, dmtph, Ember, MegatronTarantulas, Vanessa, Matt, Jeremy, Mattilda, Emily, William, ntad, Flluffie, Silgon, The Flock, ourladyoflilacs, Luna, Abigail, steb, Hypnogirl_Stephanie_, nicholas, Sue, Alan_, mintyasleep, Noelle, Lavender, Madness, Michael, Tasteful Ardour, Michael, Matthew, Full Blown Marxism, Anonymous, GrillFan65, Huge_Nerd, ZephanyZephZeph, Tram345, 8947jts, Chris, Breadloaf, Kyle, Emma, Jack the Monkey, Paul, Willow, Shadows exile, Drone 8315, Matthew, Alex, Madness, Sam, Selina, Daniel, Bubble_Butt, Francesca, WhyamIhere, John, Sarah, Crittergang, Setcab, Erin, Elysium, Bacon Man, Flintnsteal, Arik, John, bluaph, Kyle, Morriel, Jack the Monkey, Sola, NewtypeWoman, Envy, hellenberg, shoktherapy, L, Jim, Black Star, Kay, Michael, John, Praxis Memetics LLC, Frank, William, Christopher, Charlotte, Faun, Riley, Brinn, Brendon, B, Jackson, Kyle, Dennis, Nandi, Sanya, David, Morder, Myles_EXVS, Jade, Skylar, Foridin, gabbermoth, Jennifer, Selina, Violet, Slifer274, paxDulcetGirl, Roxxie, Hal, Phoenix, Ivy, Jim, Michael, Joseph, June, Yaoups, Peter, Paige, Sophie, imaencuru, Thomas, Liz, naivetynkohan, Ada, EepyTimeTea, nitin, Sebastian, ds2coffin, Yaoups, SuperJellyFrogEx, Utumnon, Bacon Man, J, ohgreatratqueen, Daedalus, Maxence, VVH, JFritz, Queenfisher, night, Basic dev

Finally, thank you again to GrillFan65 for commissioning this story!

#renewableenergy #story

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practically-an-x-man · 1 year ago

Text

This has been sitting in my Google Docs practically since Stranger Things s4 came out, and I've done nothing with it since then (haven't had time with my other WIPs), so here you go! It only about half of the first chapter, but it went down well on the page.

Anyway, I'll write the full thing eventually and I'm sure I'll make some changes to it, but I felt like posting this first bit since I felt pretty good about it.

Pairing: future Eddie Munson (and maybe Steve Harrington?) x OC

Words: 2.5k, unfinished first chapter

____

Tutoring.

As if it wasn't embarrassing enough to be held back for two extra years, now the school had decided to take matters into their own hands.

In a word: humiliating. And that wasn't a term he used lightly. Eddie typically renounced shame as an overrated and generally useless emotion, but this was taking it a step too far.

Every Tuesday and Thursday after school, sitting in the library as some geeky kid with perfect grades and no will to live tried to accomplish what dozens of professional teachers had failed to do. They all did it the same way: long-winded lectures, going page-by-page through the books, then most of them eventually just giving up and sliding Eddie the class notes. And they all wore that small stupid half-smile… smirk… thing. That blend of trying-to-be-friendly mixed with oh-you-poor-thing and a little bit of thank-God-I'm-not-like-him. And a little bit of fear. Always a little fear of Eddie the Freak.

He was no stranger to this. It wasn't the first time the school had tried this. This was… Tutor Number Five? Six? The first one this year. And all the other ones were off to college to become doctors and lawyers and other professional-people, and Eddie was left in the dust.

His best record: three months. Three months of the library-lectures, dutifully plodding on in search of that just-passing D+, and then his tutor - a tall ginger girl with more freckles than she had hairs on her head - just stopped showing up. Oh well.

His worst? Nine-point-five days. Some squirrely-looking kid with glasses and a reddish-purple scar across his cheek. Eddie didn't even remember his name, he was gone that quick. He figured he must have spooked the kid somehow, because he ran off in the middle of the session. Hence the point-five.

Really, it wasn't that bad at first. Annoying, sure, but it was clear they all just saw him as any other kid in need of tutoring. The indifference was relieving, if a little dry.

Three years in, though, he'd built a reputation for himself. He didn't mind having a reputation… when he was on his own turf. Or even neutral ground, the lunchroom or the courtyard. But the library was their turf. Geekville. Population… not Eddie. Which just made him feel like he was swimming with the sharks.

This particular shark was small. A lemon shark, maybe. A dogfish at best, ready to gnaw at his ankles. She was even smaller than Dustin, though it was hard to tell with most of her figure hidden behind the table and the stack of books on top of it. Her hair was somewhere between dark blonde and light brown, tied back out of her face in a braid. She was lacking the expected glasses-and-braces, though he could see the Badge of Geekville painted all over her Purdue University sweater. Early Decision, he guessed. Maybe even graduating early. She'd be out of his hair soon, then.

"Ashley Kinzler," his counselor had said, "I think you'll like her. The two of you share a few common interests."

Yeah, right. he thought back.

Ashley Kinzler looked up as he approached, and flashed him a smile that was, of course, all straight white teeth. Maybe he wasn't so wrong about the braces, then. She must have had them at some point. Her top lip seemed to disappear when she smiled. Her bottom lip wasn't swayed quite so easily.

It wasn't the usual sort of smile he got. At the very least, he didn't see any pity-the-lost-cause or fear-the-Freak in there. That was a start.

"Ashley, right?" he guessed as he climbed into the chair across from her.

"Edward." she deadpanned in response, that smile falling, and Eddie blinked. She had gray eyes. Stony gray eyes, not a hint of laughter, and she said his name (full name, no less) with the same tone as the principal whenever he caught Eddie skipping class.

Jesus H. Christ. This was going to be some fresh Hell if this was how she was going to-

Ashley Kinzler broke out in laughter so suddenly it made Eddie's head spin. He blinked again.

"I'm kidding!" she laughed, sticking out a hand, "Only my dad calls me Ashley. It's just Ash."

Just Ash. The girl who, within five seconds of meeting him, pulled the rug out from under him (and usually that was Eddie's job). Whose gray eyes, eyes the same color as… well, ash, were now gleaming with humor. Eddie relaxed. He liked this one. For now, at least.

"Got it." he said, baring her a toothy grin of his own and shaking her offered hand, "Nice to meet you, Just Ash. I'm Just Eddie."

She laughed again, apparently ignoring the way it made a few disdainful heads turn in their direction. Maybe she wasn't quite as meek as her teeny-tiny dogfish body would imply.

His counselor's voice echoed in his head again.

"She's got a four-point-oh GPA and has taken half the AP classes at Hawkins. If anyone can help you, it's her."

"So, um," Ash stammered, tapping her nails on the desk a little nervously. She had on black nail polish. All black, all ten fingers. Eddie found that a little interesting. He would have expected… purple, maybe. Or blue, like a soft blue? Not black. That seemed a little too intense compared with the rest of her.

"Should we get started?" she asked finally, drawing his eyes back up to her face.

"Sure."

Sooner we get started, sooner we get this over with. Sooner I can go work on setting up tomorrow's Hellfire session.

"Alright," Ash said, "Three strikes."

Eddie's brow crinkled, but he recovered quickly.

"It's gonna take a lot more than three strikes to get me through pre-calc." he replied with a grin, "Can I interest you instead in a game of bowling? Y'know, where strikes are a good thing?"

"No, no, that's-" Ash cut herself off with a breathy chuckle, "That's not what I mean. It's a game- well, sorta. It's how I start all my tutoring sessions. But we don't have to do it, if you don't want to."

"I like games." Eddie said, leaning forward across the table, "Hit me."

"Okay… here's how it works. We take turns. You say something you think is true about me, I say something I think is true about you. Every time you get something wrong, you get a strike. First to three strikes loses."

Ash gave him a challenging grin, "But I always win."

"Oh yeah?"

She shrugged, eyes still gleaming. "People make more assumptions about me than you think."

"Straight A's." he said, tilting his chin at her. Ash gave a singular nod.

"Metalhead." she returned, an equally easy assumption.

"You're in band." he guessed. Another nod.

"Percussion." she answered, "And… you play guitar." She gestured at his hands, and Eddie realized he had been picking at the calluses on his fingertips.

"I'm making this too easy, aren't I?" he said, dropping his hands into his lap with a grin. Then he tilted his chin towards her, "You're going to Purdue."

"Strike one." Ash responded, a conspiratorial smile twitching at her lips. She tugged at the sleeves of her sweater, "This was my mother's."

Her gray eyes flicked over his figure, lips pursed as she hunted for some sort of clue.

"That lunchbox," she said, gesturing to the black tin box by his elbow, "That lunchbox doesn't contain food, let's put it that way."

"How'd you-"

"I pay attention." she responded vaguely, "But don't worry." She pinched her fingers and drew them across her mouth, "My lips are sealed."

Eddie pressed his lips together, but nodded.

"You're going to work in crime. A lawyer or a detective or something." He didn't have much evidence for that one (well, except for everything about this conversation), but he had a hunch.

And sure enough, Ash nodded.

"The last book you read was for school." she guessed.

"Nope." Eddie replied, popping the "p" for dramatic effect, "Strike one."

The second Monster Manual was sitting in his backpack as they spoke. Not exactly fine literature, but it definitely wasn't for school.

"You're probably into Cyndi Lauper or Fleetwood Mac." he countered.

"Strike two." Ash replied, then shrugged, "They're not bad, but not really my kind of thing."

"What is your kind of thing?"

"That's not the game." she pointed out, flashing him a cheeky grin. "Did your dad teach you guitar?"

"No. My uncle." he responded, careful to keep his tone from sounding guarded. She meant it as a harmless question. So he just tilted his head and smirked at her. "Strike two for you."

"You are a tough nut to crack, Eddie Munson."

"And you… have never done anything stronger than Tylenol."

Ash frowned at that one, as if it were a hard question to answer. After a long moment, she nodded.

"I'll give you that one. Hospitals don't count."

"Hospitals?" he repeated. Ash shot him a warning look, gray eyes going stormy. Eddie decided it was probably best to back off.

After a moment, the storm clouds gave way to clear skies again, and her eyes flicked over his shirt. Ash smiled, as if she'd just cracked some great code.

"You got the Hellfire Club thing from X-Men." she said, "Which means you… are more of a nerd than you let on."

"Not bad." he admitted, glancing down at the stylized demon on his shirt. He looked back at Ash, drumming his fingers on the table as he thought through his next play. "And you have a sister, don't you?" He thought he’d seen her before, here or there, and sometimes she was accompanied by a girl a few years younger.

"Stepsister. I'll count it." she responded, "You don't. You're an only child."

He nodded.

"Dog person?"

"Yeah. You haven't cut your hair since middle school."

"Yeah. Neither have you."

"Cheap. But you're right." Ash shrugged, "English is your best subject.”

“What, did they show you my grade records?” Eddie challenged, leaning back in his seat, “That’s cheating, you know.”

“Nope. Those are confidential.” she countered effortlessly, “I can just tell. You like telling stories. You like being a part of the stories. Which means English is probably your best."

His eyebrows must have lifted straight to his hairline, but he nodded.

"You’re good.” he huffed, competitive annoyance sparking through him. Eddie chewed his lip, dark eyes flicking over her as he tried to pick out another clue. She was still picking at the hem of her sweater, fiddling with a loose thread. It was her mother’s, she’d said. And she had a stepsister, which meant one of her parents had gotten remarried at some point. He was willing to bet it was her father.

And just like that, he had his guess.

“I'm sorry you lost your mom."

"Damn, Munson," she muttered, "Though I guess I set that one up, didn't I?"

"Just a little." he admitted, though he felt a pang of guilt for having guessed correctly. Was the game usually this intense when she played it with other people?

"You like making people laugh." Ash guessed a moment later, looking at him with those inscrutable gray eyes. It was like she was looking straight into his mind and plucking out all the thoughts that sat there. The next time he put a wizard into his Hellfire campaign, he was sure he’d give the wizard the same sharp, all-seeing gray eyes.

"Who doesn't?" he pointed out, remembering at once what she’d said.

"But I mean, you'd do anything for the sake of a joke. Like standing on lunch tables." Ash replied. He couldn't exactly argue with that.

"Yeah, alright."

The game seemed to be moving into tougher territory, past the east and obvious assumptions and moving into more difficult realms. And he wanted to give her a hardball.

"You… have had a crush on the same guy for years, but you won't ask him out because you're afraid of rejection. And he's probably on the basketball team."

And Ash laughed.

"Hell no! Those guys are assholes." she blurted, shaking her head, "Strike three, Munson. I told you I always win."

"I guess we'll have to have a rematch."

Despite the game, he still didn't know all that much about her. But, maybe even because of the game, he was curious.

“I suppose we will.” Ash agreed, shooting him a warm smile, “But another time.” She drummed her fingers on the table, and Eddie found himself wondering once again at that black nail polish. He was sure it didn’t mean anything. She probably just liked black. Enough people did. But he had a hunch.

“So,” she started, sliding a notebook off her massive stack of books and flipping it open, “Tell me about your day. Any day. What do you like to do?”

“Aren’t we supposed to be doing pre-calc?”

She pressed her lips together for a long moment, debating how to respond. Her fingers were tapping on the table again, and Eddie could have sworn the rhythm sounded like a few of the drum fills in For Whom the Bell Tolls.

“We could, if you really wanted to get it over with,” she finally said, “But I don’t think you’d retain much. I don’t mean that in a rude way- not at all. But it seems like that’s not your kind of learning, and it’s not really my kind of teaching either. I think this’ll go a lot better if I know a little more about you.”

He found it a little funny, how quickly she could switch from tutor-mode to what sounded like genuine friendly conversation, then back to tutor-mode just as quickly. He still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of her.

“I could start, if you want.” she blurted a moment later, “If that’s more comfortable.” She didn’t give him a chance to decide, just leaned back in her seat and smiled.

“Hi, I’m Ash Kinzler. I’m nineteen years old, and I’m a senior. I grew up in Muncie, and my family moved to Hawkins two years ago. It’s me, my dad, my stepmom and stepsister, and our dog. Her name’s Layla. The dog, I mean. My stepsister’s name is Isabelle. Let’s see… I’ve played percussion since I was in sixth grade… tried out for All-State once but didn’t make it past the district level. I’d love to be in a band sometime- like, a real band, not a school band. I like music and horror novels and word puzzles, and I’m planning to study law in college.”

“Wait, you’re nineteen?” Eddie asked, so focused on that part that’s he barely heard the rest, “But-”

“Yup.” Ash replied, apparently reading his mind, “Long story short - very short - I ended up in the hospital and had to re-do my freshman year once I got back. Don’t ask, because you’re not getting anything else. Your turn.”

He didn’t miss how cagy she’d gotten at the mention of the hospital.

____

[And that's all I've got of it so far, didn't even finish the first chapter, but I really enjoyed the energy of it. Definitely need to go back and give it a little more attention once I have the chance.]

#my writing #my ocs #ash kinzler #unposted ideas #wip #my wips #stranger things #stranger things s4 #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson

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mageofspacemultiverse · 2 years ago

Text

The Comedian - Split Ends

WORD COUNT: 1,592

SUMMARY: Trajes tries to make arrangements, but a roadblock prompts a self-care visit to a place of comfort and a meeting with an old friend. Mentions of Ashter Faurux from @memurfevur (Story begins under the cut)

“Missus Kalzir, I--“

“-DIctIr Kalzir. And, as I instructed befIre, I can’t even begin to think why any If this is my prIblem. NI means n|, even in y|ur kind’s language.”

The waiting room was abustle. Wrigglers hissed and nursed their bruised mandibular sockets with invasive grey tongues. Whimpers rose from some chairs in clouds. Trajes’ attention only loosely included them in his universe, though he was more than protected from view by transparent glass that housed the reception booth.

“I admit, it’d be more cramped on room than I first thought, but--“

He would have normally shrugged such derisive remarks away, but the two beefy biceps strangling both his armpits made the motion difficult. “I can promise you--. I sent my references to Mister Ianoni three days ago--! I’ve never had a problem with this before, I have plenty of references--! Name one--! You, Tiny Timmie, ask me a hospital in the--!“

“C’mon, little guy, let’s go.” One of the lugs murmured between pastrami wheezes.

“Wait--! Wait, okay, just--!” Trajes wriggled a little in the air as he was hoisted up. “I can send a follow-up, that’s fine--! But you at least remember the other thing I asked for, right--?”

“And that’s an|ther thing with y|u.” The Cerulean glowered, arms crossing over her surgical gown. “It’s bad en|ugh t| have a l|ne cullbait like y|u l||se in the |perating r||m-“

“-Theatre--!”

“-but what use d| y|u even have f|r a bag |f hair??”

Trajes’ eyebrows lifted in surprise beneath his mask, as if the mystery was obvious to her. “Well I’m not doing anything weird with it, I promise! Besides, it’s not like your patients need it anymore, it’s practically running off their heads--!”

“Can you just--? Please get it--? Please--?”

“Dunk--? Your--...your hospital has a swimming pool--??” As Trajes was carried down the hallway, he beamed. “That’s great material, why didn’t you tell me earlier--??”

Dr. Kalzir simply shook her head with disapproval and vanished around the corner.

======

They did not, in fact, have a swimming pool in the hospital. Apparently take a swim had meant Trajes getting stuffed down a small rectangular chute on the other side of the hallway that led thirty stories down in claustrophobic darkness. Trajes bumped and fell through the duct yelping with dismay for 45 seconds, waiting to hear the splat of his bones on the pavement, but instead he was met with the cushy embrace of at least four dozen black garbage bags of used medical equipment. The Pyrite rubbed his elbows, scraped from contact with the metal, and smoothed out his hair.

“Well……that’s one way to make an exit--!” Despite the heart-dropping plunge his humour quickly returned, and he popped forward on his knee, quickly adjusting to avoid the puncture of an errant syringe needle poking from a biowaste container, and peeped from the dumpster’s skyward opening.

He was on the side of the tall building, and as he remembered…yup! His cherry-red bike of 3 sweeps was still propped against the adjacent wall, waving him out.

But before that…the doctor’s words spawned a thought, and he looked back to the bags and quickly began glancing through the bundles of refuse, giving a rough feel through the contents. Diapers, diapers, dressing gowns, face masks, IV bags.

Seconds turned to minutes, but there was no luck. Sourness puckered at his lips, and the stink clung to him just as much as the shame did. He…hadn’t done it. He’d failed. Failed again.

Failure, failure...failure...f-failure...his chest started to feel tight, arms quaking. C'mon, keep it together, this is nothing, this is...

A buzzing from his pocket, though, distracted him just as the first traces of a tear started to fill an eye.

32-02

& <( Did the doctor cooperate?)

Well, shit, he was hoping for a moment’s notice before she tried to pry. Sometimes, it felt like she knew exactly when he needed her advice; maybe that was a power she’d never told him? Or there was a security camera in the garbage chute…

32-02

If cooperate you mean a) say no to everything and b) make me never want to go skydiving for the rest of my existence--…

then yeah, it went swimmingly--. I was so excited to see the pool too--. 8(

32-02

& <( The resident must still be dodging his shift for bucket smuggling. It sounds like you’ve been through an ordeal. Does it hurt your feelings?)

32-02

It feels--…

I just don’t feel good--.

32-02

& <( Leave it in my hands, Trajes. I’ll straighten this out for you. Do you want a milkshake? I can transfer you some credit.)

Trajes clambered over the edge, avoiding twisting his ankle on the low slope in the guttered alcove. The thought gave him some peace. Tomorrow, the mean lady would not be so mean; he knew how Superego went about her business by now.

32-02

I want to go be with Zaldes right now--.

32-02

& <( Are you positive? Don’t be afraid to message your brother either though.)

& <( If you’re sure, send my best wishes to their spirit. I’ll let you know about the show tomorrow)

32-02

Yeah--.

Trajes lodged his flip phone back into his pocket, and grabbed his handle-bars, gripping the rubber tighter than he needed.

======

He’d grabbed the last ziplock of hair from his hive before making the short cycle down across the familiar path. Through the graveyard, past the whole in the chain link fence. Dodge the poison ivy whacking at your bangs and try not to spill your lunch for the five minutes of jerking up and down on bump rocky dirt.

Planted between autumn leaves was the tree stump where Zaldes was buried. This had once been desolate not so long ago: the arborists had made the area look much better than the desolation that once tattooed its sickly vertebrae. In the heart of the stump, Trajes placed his offering with the many others.

“Hey--! Hey, Zaldes--!” He cooed, like waking him from a nap, his fingers knitted and eyelids weary. “How’re ya, buddy pally chummy--? I hope you aren’t too lonely--…

“Anyways, look--…I know it’s been two weeks this time, so you’ve probably been wondering how I’m doing--! And, well, I’m--…” He sniffed, grinning and looking up past the treeline. “I’m doing super--! You know, I--…I met my brother—!”

He clapped to the silent audience. “I met him, finally, like I said I would, and he--…doesn’t outright hate me, I think--! That was kind of a given, you know how my energy is, my natural charm and wit, but I was really afraid at first, you know--?

“Buuuut he saw my show, oh yeaa--! The other day, actually, and he said he enjoyed it--! Not his sense of humour, but he saw the merit--! Yeah, oh, he’s a gamer, and he wears muscle shirts, and has lots of quads, and a fluffy mohawk--! You’d appreciate him, he’s really stand-up, honest and caring, not low self-esteem whatsoever, not a trace--. What else, what else--? Superego's doing great--...uumm--...

Trajes paused, feeling like he could sense the appreciation from the soil. His arms fell to his side as he looked down. The seconds ticked and locked by, tip of tongue in between teeth.

“I miss you--………I know I--…say that, every time, but I--…do miss you, still, Zaldes--…wish I could hear you being proud of me, you know--? Wish I could know everything is going to be okay--. I’m not a wriggler anymore, I can take care of myself, but--…just--...it'd be nice--...”

………

.........

Are you even there? His thoughts poked at the endothelium of his skull, lips pursing. Am I even talking to you right now?

........

The moment of self-reflection passed though as his lips puckered, and Trajes clenched his fists and forced a smile. “Sorry, sorry--! Don’t worry, I shouldn’t ask you for so much, you’re already so busy in the afterlife--! Getting five trolls for every quad, drinking Cruel-Aid in a jacuzzi, telling tall tales to every ear that hears--! Ohahahaha, you rascal bastard, don’t ever stop, stay wild for me, alright--? I’ll hold you to it--! And I promise, next time, I'll bring you some of that cobbler from Chacho's--! I know you've been wanting it--!!”

Bubbly as ever, Trajes clicked his fingers and winked, then grabbed his bike and left the sacred place to the mnemonics of chirp-beast song and the peeking eyes of the moons. His latest donation of hair shifted in the wind as he rang his dingy bicycle bell and headed hive.

#trajes #trajesfaurux #mageofspacemultiverse #homestuck oc #homestuck drabble #fantroll oc

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