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beybladefanboy · 2 years

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I’m too negative toward Masters

So here’s a list of things Masters does right (from someone who hasn’t quite finished rewatching it yet so I apologize if I get some details wrong) that I can’t say about any of the other seasons:

-The Dark Tsubasa Arc

This is just an interesting exploration and development of an already great character. Also the way it’s resolved is the best message in the show and genuinely helpful for me personally.

-Hikaru’s arc

Yes, it sucks that one of the only prominent female bladers doesn’t battle anymore. I totally understand that. But I honestly like that Hikaru steps down from Beyblade. I like that they show that it’s okay to take a break or even just step away from something that was hurting you. Sometimes persevering isn’t always the best option and that’s a really mature theme, and a very different one for this show. And the moments where they show how traumatized she still is over what happened to her just hurt my heart every time I see them.

-Team Wild Fang

Yes, I’m biased to Kyoya. Him joining the world tournament from another team’s country just to crush Gingka in front of the entire world is completely in character and just a clever way to include him in this season. Nile and Demure are also both great characters. I like the camaraderie Kyoya and Nile have and just how sassy Nile is general. Demure isn’t traditionally tough but he’s strong in other ways, his keen sight and knowledge of beys, and I like how Kyoya recognized that and made him part of the team. Honestly their episodes in general are just really top tier. It’s the closest Gan Gan Galaxy ever comes to losing the World Championship in my eyes, with it being the only one to last for four battles rather than three and many of the team being injured in the struggle.

-The overlapping arcs of Da Xiang and Julian

Both of these characters were the leader of a renowned group expected to never fail. In the end, an important battle was left up to them and they lost. Their reputation cracked and the legacy of many before them was seemingly tainted because of them. The difference? Da Xiang was instantly surrounded by supportive friends and respectful rivals so he was able to learn to rise from the defeat and come back stronger. Julian was given another chance after his defeat but lost again and was humiliated in front of everyone, losing more and more until he felt he had nothing left to lose and joined Ziggurat. Then these two characters, who I never thought to connect before this, meet and Da Xiang shows just how much he’s grown over the course of the season, eventually making Julian grow in the same way as he inspires him to stand back up and continue for his team. I love the way their stories mirror each other and how Da Xiang was able to help Julian learn what he learned.

-The Tsubasa/Madoka moments

This is just the shipper in me but I gotta sprinkle some lighter stuff in to keep this list from being too depressing. Besides, this is almost exclusively a dynamic in Masters and definitely the start of it. I think these two really click and they have a lot of small cute moments in this season. They both have the maturity of people twice their age (most of the time in the case of Tsubasa) while the rest of their team is playing a game of pass the brain cell so it’s just entertaining to watch these two deal with that.

-Team Dungeon

I may not be a Masamune fan but he is absolutely important to Masters’ story, even before the second half. He’s a foil for Gingka and is slowly becoming more humbled and more of a team player through his experiences in the world tournament. Yet he still never lets go of his goal to be the “number 1 blader,” something that seems like just some selfish desire becomes a lot more potent with the introduction of Toby and Zeo, and the reveal that Masamune, Toby, and Zeo all promised they would become number 1 together. It doesn’t excuse Masamune’s more... abrasive moments throughout the season but it does give a reason that’s much deeper than simple arrogance. And this backstory makes the battle between Masamune and Zeo in the world championships downright tragic, with Zeo knowing Toby will die if he loses and thinking Masamune betrayed them while Masamune (who doesn’t even fully realize how bad Toby’s condition is at this point if I remember correctly) doesn’t understand why Zeo is mad at him and is just desperately trying to get through to his friend.

-The two Blader DJs

I have no analysis on this, I just think it’s funny. Their battle is funny and I like that they announce the America vs Japan battles together, each of them clearly having a bias toward their home team.

They’re also just really gay. We stan our gay nerd announcer bois.

-The shady stuff Team Starbreaker does

(Side note: Oh my gosh look at the way Jack is flipping his hair, that’s so cute)

This is probably the most... down to earth(?) of the villain plans in Beyblade because it’s all rooted in science, so it’s easier to believe something like it could happen in real life. A system that unnaturally brings out the hidden abilities of a person? I could see that technology existing one day and it freaks me out to think about how humans could and would abuse it, just as they do here. The way Jack and especially Damian were brainwashed also feels very real. It’s not fantasy brainwashing with some kind of magic or machine, it’s children, Damian especially, being groomed into believing their way is the best way so they never step out of line and do exactly what Ziggurat needs them to do. It��s horrifying. I also like the twist that Ziggurat was using the world tournament, everyone he brainwashed/manipulated, and the horrific technology he was already using just to complete an even more terrifying weapon. It’s a much more unique way to end the season than a simple Gingka vs Damian would’ve been. Speaking of which:

-Gingka isn’t the only one who saves the day

This is probably the biggest thing Masters has over both Fusion and Fury to me. You can argue that in both of those seasons, Gingka’s final battle was the only one that mattered. (I don’t necessarily agree with that notion but my point is that Gingka is the one given all of or at least most of the glory.) In Masters, there really isn’t one single person who saves the day. Nearly everyone had a final battle in Spiral City that helped them win the day: Da Xiang battling Julian, Tsubasa battling Jack, Kyoya battling Damian, Masamune and Gingka battling Faust, Ryuga taking down Spiral City itself and helping those two, Zeo murdering Ziggurat- wait, that’s what happened right? Yes, the final stopping the meltdown thing was just Gingka... at first, which would’ve been boring. But then low and behold:

*LOUD RYUGA FANBOY SCREAMING*

Ryuga and Gingka, two former enemies, work together to save the world and it’s one of my favourite moments in all three seasons. I love how weirdly helpful Ryuga is in this season. I love how the first season ends with two enemies battling with the world at stake and the second season ends with those same people, now no longer enemies working together to save the world. It’s like poetry. It rhymes, sorta. Then the third season ends with my heart being shattered to pieces but that’s for another time.

Conclusion: Masters is good, I’ve been giving it way too hard of a time over this past year. That’s due in part because of the way it and Fury are perceived and my own past with both these seasons. Yes, that’s petty of me, but hear me out.

(Slight Fury tangent, but it’s relevant)

When I first rewatched Fury, I was shocked it was good. Genuinely shocked, I remembered hating it, I remembered hating it and not caring that Ryuga, who is now a very personal character for me, died horribly. I feel I unfairly hated Fury when I was younger and didn’t give it a fair chance, a feeling I may have unintentionally projected onto other fans, without even realizing. I’ll start by saying that’s in no way my call to make. You honestly don’t even have to watch all of Fury to decide you’re not a fan of it. You gave it the chance you decided was fair, as did I.

Now that I do love Fury, I want to show it as much love as I can and that has lead to me making some... unfair comparisons between Masters and Fury. I still think they both have issues with underusing characters and yes, Masters does bother me more in that regard than Fury does but that’s my own bias toward the characters. Everyone has their own. I personally like Kenta more than Yu, Benkei, and Tsubasa, so Kenta’s almost complete absence in Masters stings way more to me than Yu, Benkei, and Tsubasa’s sidelining in Fury. And yes, I still take Fury’s new cast over Masters’s new cast. That’s just my preference, and I hope I haven’t given off an impression that you aren’t allowed to have your own preference. No one opinion means more than another and none of us can ever be fully “objective.” I’ve tried to be objective on these seasons, and it’s still full of bias because we are biased creatures. That’s not possible to avoid.

So I apologize if I ever came off as aggressive or gate-keeping towards opinions on Masters and Fury. It’s something I plan to fix going forward with this blog. There are completely valid reasons to love Masters and completely valid reasons to hate Fury. Honestly you can hate Fury solely because it’s weird and that’s a valid opinion. If anything, I’ve been looking back on my 15 year old opinion (that’s how old I was when I first saw it) with way too much scrutiny. My opinion back then was as valid as it is now, it’s just that my old opinion is one that I now really really disagree with and because it was me, there is a filter of shame over it, especially with the Ryuga thing.

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 3 years

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A/N: If there’s anything I learned from doing this, it’s that vampirerry is an utter WHORE. Good for him!!!! As for myself, I’m done with the semester and my term projects and finals left my singular brain cell fried, so this was a nice way to get back into writing again. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you to the anon that suggested it, this was super fun to do! :D

read you’re someone i just want around here

word count: 6k

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

Harry is very attentive when it comes to aftercare with Y/N. The sex they have is often rough and includes toys, degradation, and multiple rounds, so he believes aftercare is non-negotiable. Rough sex can be fun, but if it’s not followed by a lot of communication and post-performance support, it can take a hard emotional toll on a person. Even when intimacy isn’t meant to be inherently sentimental, there has to be a certain level of connection and etiquette surrounding it, or it could end badly for both parties involved. He always checks on her immediately after they finish, simply to gauge her headspace and how her body is responding, and after he’s made sure she’s alright, he goes into his usual routine of skin-to-skin contact and gentle coddling. Reassurance and praise is just as important afterwards as it is during, because it’s good to let a partner know that your appreciation runs deeper than just the physical need felt in the heat of the moment; everyone deserves to feel valued beyond their body.

Harry proceeds to clean Y/N up after every session, because it’s the least he can do since she’s usually the one getting the brunt of the work. He’ll fetch a clean towel dampened under warm water to wipe her clean, or he’ll offer to help give her a bath or a shower— whichever route she prefers. Harry dresses her, and changes the sheets if need be, and tucks her into bed to ensure she’s nice and comfortable. If it’s been a particularly intense session, he’ll go the kitchen and bring back a snack and a drink— a granola bar and a Gatorade, or some chips and her favorite juice, or if she’s feeling especially hungry, he’ll happily go out of his way to prepare her an actual meal— and he insists on feeding it to her bit by bit until she’s come to enough to handle it on her own. If she’s not hungry, he at least brings her a glass of water and urges her to drink it; better to be safe than sorry. After that, more cuddling is the status quo, which normally ends in Y/N falling asleep in his arms, and Harry has absolutely no problem with that at all.

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

Harry’s favorite body part of Y/N’s is probably her chest. Yes, he likes it for sexual reasons— obviously— but there are innocent reasons for his fascination, as well. He likes how responsive she gets when he touches her there— how he can get her going just by groping her the way she likes it, or by using his mouth to tongue across her nipples until she’s writhing in pleasure and whining for more. He loves leaving hickies all over her tits, probably more than she likes receiving them. It’s just so fucking hot seeing himself marked all over her, especially when she’s putting on a bra and he can see all of the dark bruises scattered across the cleavage spilling from the undergarment. Filth aside, he also enjoys loving all over her chest. Absentmindedly cupping them while they’re snuggling, nuzzling his head between them while they’re watching television, massaging them under her shirt with his large palms as she sits back against his chest, sipping a glass of wine and chatting away, unwinding after a long day. It’s a form of intimacy; it provides a type of closeness nothing else can.

As for his own favorite body part, it’s a tie between two different areas. He loves his thighs— they’re one of his most prominent features. They’re thick and meaty and sensitive, so they’re the perfect sweet spot to touch when he wants to get riled up. Given his previous response, it can be easily deduced that he likes to get hickies there, as well. The marks look great peeking out from under his briefs (for the short amount of time they last, anyways) and they make a great accessory to the large tigerhead tattoo along his left thigh. It’s artwork, really; a proper Picasso.

His other favorite body part...well, take a lucky guess. It’s likely not that far off— literally, considering it hangs right between his thighs.

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

Harry’s personal preference is cumming inside. He adores feeling the way Y/N tightens around him when he finally orgasms (she’s just so warm and soft and unbelievably tight; it’s like she was made for him), almost as much as he loves seeing her reaction. Her body will immediately start to wriggle and her back will arch as she releases broken little whimpers, clinging to his shoulders with her nails and begging him to fill her until he’s milked his worth. Hearing her ragged breathing and feeling her sweaty chest stutter against his is enough to do him in, but when she goes as far as to gnaw on his ear and whine a soft little, “Want it all, baby. Want you dripping out of me when we’re done.” Well, that’s enough to kill him all over again.

Of course, there are times when Harry likes seeing himself all over her, too. On her outstretched tongue, or smeared across her pretty face and plush lips (she looks particularly cute when it ends up all over her eyelashes), or streaked over the valley of her tits, or pooled at the center of her tummy. If he’d been taking her from behind, then he likes seeing it run down the backs of her thighs, or splattered across the dip of her spine. And if she’d been giving him a handjob, then seeing himself dribbling down her fingers is just as good. Why? Because those fingers usually end up in her mouth, which means he ends up all over her tongue, and so the cycle comes full circle. How poetic.

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

Did Harry suggest wearing a matching set of a vibrating cock ring and buzzing bullet to do grocery shopping once? Yes. Did he drop three glass jars of peach preserves by accident as a result, causing them to have to book it out of the bread aisle while trying to look as unsuspicious as possible, which failed horribly because they were literally hobbling like a crippled elderly couple? Also yes. Did they end up fucking in a Target fitting room? Definitely.

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

A lot of experience. Tons. Immense amounts. Insane amounts. Two hundred years of the same seven continents just means two hundred years worth of sex across every single one. And it gives you plenty of time to find the clitoris, as well as giving you a chance to learn the female anatomy like the back of your hand. That being said, Harry doesn’t doubt he could make Y/N cum with his wrists tied behind his back and a blindfold strapped to his face. In fact, he’s made her cum just by using his thigh, so that in itself is enough credibility to last him several more lifetimes. The toy chest in his closet and the fact that he’s well-endowed are bonuses— he knows more than enough tricks to keep her satisfied with just his tongue. Not to mention his fingers— they’re long for a reason.

F = Favorite position

Funny enough, Harry doesn’t have one. He’s spent so many decades cycling through every possible position in existence, it’s gotten to where he can’t pin-point a preference; all positions are unique, and they each have their own appeal. Reverse cowgirl is nice because he likes watching the way he stretches Y/N open with every plunge of her hips, and it also gives him the luxury of marking his rings across her ass in the process. Regular cowgirl is nice, too— having her chest bouncing in his face is nothing short of a divine miracle, in his opinion. Doggy style is a staple, and there’s always different add-ons he can apply to spice it up; for example, taking her from behind with her wrists tied to her ankles, or bending her over the kitchen counter with her face pressed into the marble, or fucking her against his glass wall with her hands and chest flushed to the cool surface as their breaths fog the floor-to-ceiling window.

Missionary is a tried and true option, and just like it’s prior counterpart, it can be enhanced with a variety of extra tricks. Bondage is a good condiment, against the wall is always a nice touch, spread-eagle never goes wrong, and just having her legs wrapped around his lower back is more than enough. However, he does have two favorite variations of the position. The first is when he mounts her legs onto his shoulders or along the inside of his elbows to open her up more, and then just ramming his hips down at a very specific angle that hits her g-spot just right, pounding her into the bed so hard she tears the sheets off the mattress. The second is a cowgirl-missionary hybrid: he sits back on his heels and uses the steep downward slope created by his thighs as elevation, pulling her ass onto his tilted lap and swinging her legs over either side of his hips. He gropes her waist with his palms and yanks her forward, bouncing her against his cock and watching her completely dismantle as he nudges all the right places with as much speed and force as she deems fit.

And then there’s fucking from the side, but that’s a whole other extensive conversation he doesn’t have time for.

Actually, maybe Harry will entertain it for a minute or so. He usually throws one of Y/N’s legs over his neck to get a deeper range, manhandling her roughly onto her side and yanking her closer to his body by her waist, grasping it with stern vigor and holding her down against the mattress, grunting out a gravelly, strict command along the lines of, “Stay fucking still.” He’ll drill into her at a brutal, consistent pace, staining his fingerprints along the curves of her torso and sponging damp kisses onto her ankle, smirking into her skin as he watches her fist at the duvet in a futile attempt at maintaining her bearings. It’s pretty evident that she can’t, though; the way her eyes lull around their sockets from his harsh stride does a terrible job at hiding her lack of self-control, alongside the fragmented curses she gasps out whenever he nudges her g-spot with the head of his cock.

“Oh, that was such a pretty noise. Did I hit that little spot you like?”

Her response will be begrudging, as always, which he thinks is ridiculously useless considering he can see her burying her face into the pillow to hide how her jaw drops open in sheer rapture. “No.”

“No?” The vampire leans forward, stretching her leg towards the headboard and preening at the garbled squeak that escapes her gritted teeth, plunging deeper as he lowers himself to her level. He knots her hair around his knuckles, tugging sharply until her face is tilted back enough to meet his fiery gaze. “Then why are you starting to shake?

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

It depends on the mood, honestly. There are definitely serious moments, but Harry enjoys the humorous ones just as much. He already adores making Y/N laugh and smile on a regular basis, and that desire only grows when he’s buried between her thighs, simply because she just looks so fucking cute laughing with her hair splayed around the pillows in a messy halo, her sounds of glee stuttering due to how sharply she’s jolting against the bed. He loves feeling her giggle into his mouth as he cracks sarcastic jokes and makes stupid witty comments that break the intensity in the air, especially because she’s usually clever enough to return them with some of her own. Then they both end up snickering like idiots as he tries to keep a solid pace, which eventually tapers to a messy, haphazard stride as their laughter drowns out their goal to the point where he has to take a genuine break to collect himself. There’s tons of examples— how could there not be? Sex is hardly ever perfect, so awkward moments are not only expected, but guaranteed. What better way to handle them than with a bit of humor?

There was an incident once where Harry accidentally knocked their foreheads together so hard, they both bruised (which he responded to with, “I’m pretty sure this isn’t what Cosmopolitan meant when they suggested matching couples tattoos.”). Another time, he got so into the moment he didn’t realize he was jack-hammering the top of her head into the backboard until she brought it to his attention (and made a comment saying it sounded like a sped up version of the beat to We Will Rock You). A bad case of the hiccups. Y/N burping right in his face halfway through his orgasm. A random leg cramp that made him think he was going to need amputation to survive. Accidentally rolling off the bed or couch onto the ground and nearly dislocating both of their spines in the process, getting his cross earring tangled in her hair and nearly ripping off his ear trying to get it out, and the unfortunate collapse of a pillow fort he’d spent over an hour building. He even sneezed in her face once, and when she instinctively went to shove him back, she wound up slamming her palm into his nose so hard he nearly passed out. Nose bleeds aren’t necessarily sexy, per se, but he just dug blindly through her nightstand until he found two new tampons somewhere in that black hole she calls a drawer, shoved them in his nostrils, and kept going. No one can ever accuse him of being unresourceful.

Queefing. Lots and lots of queefing, which he usually starts mimicking with his mouth, and then she responds to that by whining and telling him to cut it out, and then he takes to mocking her whining instead. It normally finishes with them laughing so hard that Harry’s cheeks hurt from smiling so big, but it’s a good type of pain. The best type of pain.

H = Hair (how do they groom?)

Harry likes keeping himself neat and orderly, but he doesn’t enjoy going bare, so trimming is his grooming preference. There’s just something so unappealing about a completely smooth dick— it looks like raw chicken and it’s fucking disgusting. He doesn’t have anything against a good bush, but it tends to get unruly and he’d rather not have to overcomplicate his shower routine. And honestly, he can’t trust himself because last time he had a full front yard going, he got shitfaced and tried to braid it on a dare. Keeping the hedges trimmed is the ideal landscaping option, and it just looks way hotter— a uniform dusting of hair is a good accessory and it just makes everything look more cohesive, given that he also fancies keeping his happy trail thick. It’s all about aesthetics, isn’t it?

I = Intimacy (the romantic aspect)

It’s no secret that Harry’s been somewhat detached from intimacy for the last two hundred years or so. Intimacy is reserved for genuine romance, and that’s something he hadn’t entertained since before the lightbulb was invented. But now that he has Y/N, intimacy has crawled its way back out from the deepest recesses of his subconscious, where it had been shoved into a bottomless pit with the rest of his trauma. He likes it— he likes opening up to her in any way he can, because sharing those obsolete parts of himself with someone again is more fulfilling than he ever imagined. He likes kissing her randomly when she’s halfway through a sentence, just to feel her words die off abruptly in her throat as she gives into his gentle gesture, a delicate smile spreading across her satin lips. He likes whispering sweet phrases of encouragement into her hair when they’re tangled amidst sweaty limbs and rumpled sheets, reminding her of how much he cares for her and how beautiful she looks when she’s so far gone and how she makes him feel like his entire body has been set alight. He likes sponging soft pecks across the stretch marks along her thighs and across the dimples on her belly, her skin candy and velvet on his tongue as she releases a watery sigh that lets him know he’s doing all the right things in all the right places. He just likes letting her know she's special to him, in any and every way he can.

Intimacy forges timeless bonds, and he reckons that assumption is unarguable, considering he knows a thing or two about eternity.

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

Harry likes to jack off, obviously. Who doesn’t? It’s why he has an entire section of his toy chest dedicated to self-pleasuring tools. Vibrating cock rings, an array of lubes that range from temperature-changing to sensation sensitivity, and a few pocket vags that get the job done whenever Y/N is out of commission (usually because of work). His favorite one is an electronic sleek black model that is made of a premium silicone material and has a variety of massage settings, suction strengths, and internal textures. It’s designed to make the session feel more real, and yes, it was expensive, but self-love is always worth the splurge.

The beauty of living on his own is that he can get off wherever and whenever he wants, without having to stress about someone interrupting an important step in his pampering routine. He usually does it in his room and on his bed, simply because Y/N’s pillow is close by and the experience is heightened when her scent is swimming around his hazy, bliss-drunken mind. If Harry is feeling particularly needy, he’ll ditch the toy all together and just hump one out against the mattress or cushion. If it’s a particularly restless day, he’ll take a toy downstairs and lazily play within himself on the couch while browsing through Netflix. Those instances usually average a few tamer orgasms rather than a single large one, but he’s not complaining; his stamina comes in unapologetic waves that stem from a never-ending supply, and he certainly has the time to kill. If Harry gets the sudden urge in the shower or while he’s relaxing in his jacuzzi, he won’t bother fetching a trinket; he’ll just stroke one out with his hand, using the cool metal of his trusty lionhead ring to tease the tip until he brings himself to orgasm. It turns out daylight crystals have more than one use.

There is one common factor amongst all these different choices, though: Y/N is present in every fantasy. And if the vampire is feeling especially bold, he’ll grab his phone and take a video of whatever he’s doing to himself, and then she’ll have a nice little gift waiting for her once she gets out of the café for the day. That usually leads to him receiving a present in return later that evening, and then he’s dialing her contact before the clip is even done playing, and then what he does during his alone time doesn’t require him being so alone anymore.

K = Kinks

Harry has tons— in fact, he has so many, he can’t really keep track. And he also has the sneaking suspicion that if he were to ever jot all of them down, he’d end up locked in some type of sex addict rehabilitation center. Bondage is a big one, so he’ll start there. He’s great with ropes, given that he learned his way around them ages ago. Chains are nice, but they can be a pain to set up without the right equipment; he’s thinking of getting a reinforced metal hook installed into his ceiling, like the one in his storage closet, which he uses to keep his punching bag secure. Handcuffs, obviously— velvet-lined, straight metal, fuzzy coverings, he’s got it all. Dominance, degradation, Daddy, Sir, choking, brat-taming, spanking, flogging, slapping— impact play in general, to be honest— spitting, wax, praise, begging, masochism, branding (mild stuff, no molten metal shit), collaring, discipline, dirty talk, edging, exhibitionism, face-fucking, face-sitting (with him on the receiving end), giving oral (is that a kink? It is now.) gagging (both the action and using the actual object itself), breeding (he hates that term but that’s the official name, unfortunately), teasing, voyeurism, role play, and… he thinks that’s it. Oh, and blood, but that doesn’t really count for apparent reasons.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Y/N’s couch is sacred, at this point. Their entire relationship started on that lumpy, worn excuse of a sofa, and it’s seen them through their progression from strangers to friends with benefits to lovers to more. It’s comfortable enough, the dark color hides any explicit stains, and the cushions always smell of her signature mixture of honey and lavender combined with Snuggle fabric softener. It’s finicky, but irreplaceable. His kitchen counter is a close second. It’s provided a lot, taken a lot, been through a lot— through a lot of Lysol wipes, to be specific. If it wasn’t marble, it likely would have been reduced to chunks and rubble by now, courtesy of his enhanced strength gripping the edges as he slams her against the smooth surface. The backseat of his Cadillac is consecrated, as well; there’s just so much erotic appeal to fucking in a car with rock music blaring in the background, muffling the obscene sounds of bodies connecting and a mixture of fever-pitch moans. The couch, the counter, and the Cadillac— the Unholy Trinity.

The jacuzzi is nice, too, but for the sake of his clever little “c” alliteration, he’ll leave that one as an implied token.

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

As much as Harry claims he likes full submission in bed, he can’t deny that he loves being challenged. Delivering punishment and coaxing out an orgasm is so much more satisfying when he has to fight for it; it’s so fucking hot watching his girlfriend try to best him in a power struggle, especially when she finally— and undeniably, since he always wins— caves under his will and winds up begging him for what he otherwise would have gifted her freely. That’s where the brat-taming kink comes into play. He likes it when she mouths off and makes snarky digs, and he enjoys it even more when he tries to set her in place and she amps her disobedience as a result. There’s nothing more attractive than a battle of wits with someone who is a perfect match in every way. And when she channels her attitude into physical gestures, it riles him up beyond compare. For example, when she smirks and rolls her eyes, despite the fact that there’s trails of tears staining her cheeks and mascara smeared all over her waterline? Christ, he could go feral.

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

No feet, no feces, no beastiality. There’s probably more, but those are the ones off the top of his head.

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

Receiving oral is great— he highly recommends it, solid ten out of ten— but giving it is so much better. Harry’s always been a giver, even when he was young and barely knew his way around a woman’s undergarments. The stereotypical expectation for a person who is beginning to explore their sexuality is that everything they do, they do for their own gain. It’s a selfish realization, yes, but it’s a primal type of selfishness that no one can truly be blamed for. It’s a simple concept: when you start having sex, you want as much personal benefit as possible. It’s only natural. But from the second Harry became sexually active, he came to find that providing release to his partner outweighed the bliss he could get from letting them pleasure him instead. It’s not direct pleasure, but rather cognitive, which more often than not translates itself physically. And when it comes to Y/N, that euphoria manifests tenfold.

Nothing compares to having his face buried between her legs as she tugs and yanks at his hair desperately, her chest heaving and jaw falling open as he uses his tongue to unravel her from the inside out. Spitting sloppily onto her folds and hearing the raw gasp of aroused shock that escapes her sore throat, which causes his swollen lips to spread into a dirty grin as he latches onto the sensitive bud at the thick of her core, fiddling with it until her legs are trembling uncontrollably around his sturdy shoulders. Watching her features go slack as he bobs his neck fervently between her thighs, swiping the bridge of his nose across her clit over and over until the entire bottom half of his face is drenched in her excitement. Fucking his tongue into her and feeling her buck against his jaw as she holds him in place with her fingers tangled in his curls, whimpering his name repeatedly in a voice so shattered, he could probably build a mosaic with the fractures. Feeling her drip down his chin and into the collar of his shirt, savoring how sweet she tastes as he pins her hips down against the bed and groans feverishly into her cunt, his ego idolizing the image of her so disheveled under his influence.

A measly blowjob is hardly any competition to that. Harry could very well cum just from eating Y/N out. In fact, he has, and that in itself is all the proof he needs.

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

This is one of those other factors that depends on the mood. If Harry has been waiting all day for it, his impatience bleeds into his rhythm, which means he settles for fast and hard. It means he settles for bending her over the back of his couch with one palm around her throat and his other fingers in her mouth, pounding into her with so much force, the sofa starts shifting across the ground. If Y/N has been teasing him endlessly for a decent amount of time, it’ll be rough and deep, but not fast; he’ll drag it out for as long as possible, just to make her regret acting like such a spoiled brat. That’s when he brings out the paddle, or the crop, or just manhandles her across his lap and spanks her until she’s apologizing profusely through her whines. If he’s in a soft, romantic headspace, it’ll be slow and sensual, with lots of gentle caresses, giggly kisses dusted across eager lips and droopy eyelids, and penetrating strokes that make his toes curl and tummy clench.

Pace is relative, but the message behind it is all the same: I want you more than anything, and I’m going to show you just how deeply I mean it.

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

Quickies are fun, Harry will admit. They’re filthy and messy, and they show just how far gone two people are for each other to the point where they can’t wait to feel one another at a later time; that they need to be together now, or they’ll go absolutely insane. Quickies are saved for when the urge strikes at random times. For when he’s out with Y/N at a park, sitting under the shade with his head in her lap as she combs his curls out of his eyes and thumbs over his chin affectionately, and the sun filters through the tree canopy just right to where it illuminates her lashes and the suppleness of her cheeks in a manner he deems ethereal. For when they’re at the mall, walking hand in hand and licking at ice cream cones as they survey the shops, and she reaches over to wipe a bit of Rocky Road off the corner of his mouth, replacing the stain with a soft stipple of her lips instead. For when they’re out eating dinner and playing footsie under the table like immature teenagers, and she’s trying to steal a French fry from his plate but he keeps fighting her off with his fork because, “I told you to order your own, but you wanted those disgusting potato skins instead!” And she’s laughing so brightly and unapologetically, giving him a look that so obviously tells him she can’t wait to get him alone, and nothing seems quite as flawless as that fraction in time, then and there and nowhere else.

These simple but memorable moments cause him to get love boners, which he jokingly refers to as “sniffy stiffies,” where “sniffy” has to do with being sentimental, and “stiffy”...well, that one is pretty self-explanatory, no? It always ends with them shagging in the car, or in the family bathroom of a diner, and in the case of the park, in an obscure area of the forest that lines the jogging trail.

Quickies are just that— fast, but meaningful nonetheless, because they come from a place of genuine emotion. They’re fleeting, but unforgettable. Sniffy stiffy quickies, if you will.

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

Taking risks is the norm in Harry’s life, especially when it comes to his sex habits. He’s proven time and time again that he has no problem riding along the seams of a dare and just barely making it out unscathed, so experimenting outside of the bedroom is just another day in the life. Fingering Y/N in a music room in an antique shop, getting road head during a two hour drive back to Los Angeles, ripping his girlfriend’s panties out from beneath her dress at one of California’s most prestigious restaurants— the list is endless, really. Harry likes to think he has a gift for coming up with inspirational quotes on the spot, so he’ll lend his expertise here and now: “A life without risks is a life that isn’t worth shit.” It even rhymes, so he knows sorority pledges will have a ball putting it in their Instagram bios. A bit of charity work for the bird-brained.

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

Endless stamina. Literally. Vampires don’t stay tired for long, so he could be ready to go again within seconds. And he can last long, as well; his stubbornness and pride depend on it, and he likes making his partner cum first as an ego boost. He can go as many rounds as Y/N can and more, though he won’t push it. He doesn’t want her to end up in the ER with a bruised cervix.

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

Harry could run a sex shop from his closet; Y/N doesn’t take the piss by calling him “Fifty Shades” for no reason. He uses them on himself, he uses them on her, and he got high once and tried to sword fight Y/N with a dildo, so it’s safe to say he definitely uses them quite a bit. If his Lovesense Lush 3 vibrator could talk, he’d be drawn and quartered for excessive debauchery.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Harry loves teasing, that’s no mystery. Winding people up is one of his most practiced skills, so of course that would channel into his intimate life. He’s mastered it, though it’s not like it’s hard. A drawn out blink here, or a feathery touch there. An inch of space between his and Y/N’s lips to establish some tension, or squeezing her inner thigh with his palm hard enough to draw a tiny squeak from her chest. Touching her through her clothes, or leaving a trail of wet kisses down her throat and stopping right at her cleavage. Biting the sensitive skin along the inside of her knee, or dragging the tip of his cold nose down the center of her twitching tummy. Lapping slowly at her nipples until they perk up, or sinking a single long digit inside her and keeping it there just to feel her clench around it needily. And once he gets a pattern going, teasing molds into edging, edging molds into begging, begging molds into praise, and before he knows it, he’s hit four of his kinks with one roll of the dice.

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

Harry is very vocal in bed, and he’s not ashamed of it. He knows for a fact that Y/N loves it, and if him being loud gets her worked up, then he’ll let his throat go out in the process. He’s noticed that in different situations, he has an arsenal of sounds for each. If he’s being rough and dominant, he tends to groan, grunt, and growl. If he’s being desperate and needy, he turns to whines and whimpers to communicate how he feels. If he’s too zoned into the moment to distinguish all his emotions, broken moans and stuttered mewls are his default. No matter the circumstance, they all take the same route: they start low and soft, and escalate in volume proportional to the intensity of the moment. So what if half the building is hearing him orgasm for the third time as he mocks his girlfriends sobbing pleads and calls her his “dirty fucking whore”? Let’s be honest, it’s probably the highlight of their week. He has a great voice— a sultry, deep baritone that compliments his English accent nicely— and anyone would be lucky to hear it spew the filth it does. He’s yet to get many complaints, so he doesn’t intend on stopping.

W = Wildcard (random headcanon)

An honesty hour moment seems interesting, so he’ll confess a few tales from his past. The first time Harry ever went down on a girl, it was against a tree in a garden and he nearly asphyxiated under all the layers of her gown. A couple of years later, he ended up getting oral from a reverend’s daughter against a tree, too, for the morbid irony and associated religious revenge. And to drive the point home, oral was only the beginning of what she gave him. His first decade as a vampire was definitely his pettiest.

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

It’s not uncommon knowledge that Harry’s well-endowed. He remembers how insecure he was the first time he had sex— a shocker, he knows; he was insecure?— and how he knew barely anything regarding sizing and how to use his assets accordingly. But it’s been ages since then, and now he definitely knows his way around his own body (let alone his partner’s), and he most certainly knows that he’s above average not only as a person in general, but when it comes to what’s in his trousers, as well. Harry won’t specify inches— he loves how speculation drives others mad— but it was big enough to give Y/N a decent pause the first time she pulled down his pants, and it’s big enough to leave her absolutely fucked every single time, without a single miss. If that’s not credibility at its finest, then he doesn’t know what is.

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

Harry’s sex drive is insatiable, to say the least. His vampirism combined with his narcissistic tendencies makes the ideal cocktail— cocktail— for the constant fuse that’s always burning under his skin. He’s ready to go at all times; Y/N just has to say the word and he’s pulling on a pair of sweatpants as he grabs his keys, hopping down his complex’s corridor toward the elevator on one foot as he tries to get his last shoe on the other. Lazy morning sex is probably his favorite; he’s come to find it’s when he’s most pent up, usually after a sleepless night of feeling Y/N’s body heat radiating through all of his cold limbs. It also sets a great tone for the rest of the day, and he just loves seeing Y/N wake up to him lying on his side with his temple resting on his fist, his elbow propped against the mattress as he poses the other on his hip in a theatrical diva stance. He’ll smile at her giddily with all his pearly teeth, dimples twitching as his lashes flutter dramatically, dirty intentions written clear all over his face (“Good morning, hon—” “Wanna have sex?” “Harry, it’s ten in the morning.” “Is that a yes? Because it’s not a no.” “I haven’t even brushed my teeth!” “That’s fine, I’m gonna stick my dick in there anyways.”)

All in all, his libido is insane, and he’s lucky that Y/N’s is up to par or else he would have worked her into an exhaustion-induced coma by now.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Harry just...doesn't. Maybe once every few weeks, but definitely more often now than before he had his girlfriend. Sleeping just comes way easier when he has someone he cares about resting beside him, their inherent warmth thawing the stiffness from his muscles and putting his racing mind at ease. He feels safe enough around Y/N to let his guard down— both literally and metaphorically— and that seems to help with his supernatural insomnia; it sedates that nocturnal hyper-instinct in his brain that demands he be aware at all times, muffling the animalistic part of him that has been manning the reins for the better half of the last two hundred years. He doesn’t need to be so on edge anymore when everything he needs is just an arm-length away. Especially when she’s usually willing to lend her chest as a pillow, and who is he to neglect her wishes.

#ysijwa #harry styles smut #vampire!harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x oc #harry styles x you #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles mature #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction

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dom--minnie · 3 years

Text

Three’s a Party

Summary: There aren’t supposed to be secrets in relationships. Unfortunately, Felix currently has three. One is let out with no problem. The second creates complications no one could have foreseen. The third, unknown to him, he isn’t the only one that holds the same secret.

Word count: 9.3k

Genre: fluff, smut, angst

Content: non-idol au, established reader and felix, gender-neutral afab reader, felix is nervous, chan is a bit of a dummy, felix wears skirts, threesome, switch! reader, switch! felix, dom! chan, mutual pining, slight lack of communication, threesome arrangement with kink and safeword discussions included, daddy kink, piv, protected sex, unprotected sex, MxM intimacy, (slight) size kink, (slight) strength kink, hand kink, finger sucking, praise kink, pet names, creampie, slight voyeurism and exhibitionism, accidental confessions, polyamory negotiations

Taglist: @solistired @hyunsluvv

a/n: I only technically lied about the release date. Yes, I said Saturday but I also said the 18th which is today for me still, so it’s fine! I hope I made the wait worth it for anyone interested and for everyone else, voila

Relationships aren't meant to have secrets. Felix technically has several but he keeps them under wraps. The most damning one... one that he would never reveal except under the direst of circumstances. The other ones are far less destructive but are arguably more embarrassing.

You live in blissful ignorance of all of these, at least for now. Until Felix decides he should tell you something, considering how often he thinks about them. So one day you walk into your shared bedroom with Felix he's wearing a short, blue skirt. Your face is neither positive nor negative and Felix spins, skirt flaring, staring downwards still.

"And what's the occasion here, darling?" You question.

Felix makes a confused noise in his throat and looks up to you just a little more.

"Why have I received such a beautiful gift today? You look amazing, Fe."

Felix leans forward to kiss your nose and giggles when your hands roam under the skirt and squeeze his cheeks.

"I've wanted to wear a skirt in the bedroom for a while, but wasn't really sure how you'd react."

"Awwww baby, never be worried about anything like this. I might be confused but I love you so I'll never react badly."

Your comforting words are genuine and Felix wonders how far they truly reach. Would you say the same if he wanted to have a threesome with one of his closest friends? Or said he had a crush on, was practically halfway in love with, said friend? It's not what tonight is about and the thoughts fade when your lips connect.

You're so, so gentle with him and Felix sinks into you. Felix's wandering hands spur your own and suddenly it's like you're horny teenagers again that can't get enough of each other. Your hand slips back under the skirt and the easy access is fun, especially if he plans to wear nothing under it like he is now. Easy access to start jerking him off, and you happily do so, keeping your mouth pressed against his.

Even with the anxiety Felix must have been imagining a number of situations with how hard he is in your hand. A sigh leaves his mouth as he rests his head on your shoulder. With one bite in your neck and only one sentence all of the power in the situation flows back to him.

"I want you to sit on my face and then ride me, doll."

Any stress you may have had is gone after that.

Similar situations happen several more times over the next few months. Felix either has a skirt on and is obviously wearing nothing under it. Or he changes into a skirt with nothing under it when it’s clear you’re going farther tonight. Each time you’re caught a little off guard by how truly pretty he is. Lee Felix is sunshine, rainbows, and starlight of course but it’s like the skirt gives him a little extra confidence to shine brighter for you.

So one hurdle down, only two more to go, great. Felix has never been so glad to have incognito mode with the number of phrases he googles related to 'how to bring up wanting a threesome with your significant other.'

It's honestly not that useful, as the so-called advice was generic things he could've gotten from anyone. 'Trust them and they'll trust you' or 'do it with someone you both trust' like thanks he knows all of this already.

Your next take-out dinner and movie night brings some strange behaviour from Felix. He's quiet where normally he'd be commenting on these extraordinarily stupid characters. When one of them completely ignores the obvious thing and Felix doesn't react in the slightest you know he's not paying attention at all.

He certainly pays attention when you stop the movie and straddle his lap. Your hands cup his face and your forehead rests on his while your eyes meet.

"What's on your mind, Pixie? Don't try to avoid it either, I know."

Your gentle compassion almost makes Felix want to spill everything. It all bubbles up to the tip of his tongue but then he thinks of the possible disgust or heartbreak and pushes most of it back down.

"You know how you said I don't have to be uncomfortable bringing up anything about... bedroom life?"

You giggle at the euphemism and how adorably shy Felix gets about it when not in the act. Regardless, a hum of assent vibrates your throat.

"I've been thinking about having a threesome." He blurts then squeezes his eyes shut, not allowing your reaction to reach his eyes.

The small boop your finger leaves on his nose leads him to open his eyes. Nothing about your expression is negative and you look at him as fondly as ever.

"Do you-"

"Chan."

A bright, fond laugh bubbles over your lips.

"Sorry love, you just answered so quickly. Sure, we both trust him. We can talk to him about it and... arrange a day."

Arrange sounds more formal than you intend but that's what it is. With the weight off of his mind, Felix is able to make fun of the new characters not seeing the plot right in front of them.

Chan knows this is a bad idea, he even cares that it's a bad idea, and yet he agrees. Backing out at any time is always an option, neither of you will be mad. It doesn't matter because he won't. Even if it hurts he will take the one chance he may ever get to screw around with both of his crushes.

There was no pretense of a normal hangout. You texted Chan that you wanted to talk about something. When you all sit down Felix ends up doing the talking about it since it was his idea in the first place. You both want to have a threesome with him.

It takes all of Chan's willpower not to coo at the blush that spreads across Felix’s face and ears. Also, a significant amount of brainpower to agree with the right amount of excitement. Not too little that you think he's unsure or doesn't want it wholeheartedly. But not too much that you are suspicious about any underlying feelings or motives he could have.

Really, you're just thinking about your boyfriend and how cute he is. Not anything against Chan but you love Felix with every cell in your body and it pours out of you often. He can see it from a mile away and doesn’t mind because he’d love to be doing the same thing. Looking at Felix with all the fondness in the world that lets each side know that everything’s going to be ok. But alas, a threesome will have to do for now. Or forever, honestly.

Then the fun part of it comes: interests. What does Chan have that he likes to do, and would like to do with you. Vice versa, what are you comfortable with and want to do with a sudden, if trusted, third-person present.

"I'm wearing a skirt," Felix says.

You smile at how easily he's able to say it, a stark contrast to before. You know that it will give the same confidence on the day of all of this as well. Surprise flits over Chan’s face but he just nods and doesn’t say anything more.

"I want to dominate both of you." Chan brings it up first, any type of power play and dynamics.

You and Felix look at each other then back at him and both nod excitedly. Chan already has strong leadership qualities, especially around all of the boys so really this makes sense. It will be very attractive for him to be giving you full orders and expecting them to be followed. Even thinking about it makes your brain work overtime and you have to physically shake yourself out of it.

"Felix and I… we'll just see how it works out. But we’ll both listen to you, for sure. Sound good?"

You have to check with Chan if he's going to be in charge of both of you. A quick look between both of you and then he nods.

A moment goes by and you look at Felix with a smirk on your face. He frantically shakes his head before you turn back to a visibly confused Chan.

"Felix over here has a strength kink. Wants someone to manhandle him a bit." You drawl and Felix doesn't even mock tackle you.

"Yeah, well you have a size kink! Wanting someone to look down at you and hands fitting around your limbs."

Felix sticks his tongue out at you as you feel your cheeks heat up to the temperature of the sun. Perhaps Chan fits you better than first anticipated. Strength and size in one, not to mention some other interests he slots right into.

"Any kinks you both have and aren't about to expose to me?"

You and Felix easily speak in unison.

"Praise and hands."

The moment you say that Chan reaches his hands out and lays them vertically so you can see the incredibly veiny backs. Imagining those fingers in any of your wet holes has you readjusting your legs and you can hear Felix do the same next to you.

Felix clears his throat in an obvious attempt to quickly move along from that.

"Anything you have in mind, Channie?"

The nickname is affectionate and if you didn't know better you'd think the tips of Chan's ears are flushed under his curls.

"Praise for me is good, no matter who’s giving or receiving it. I like nicknames or pet names, titles as well."

When it becomes clear Chan isn't elaborating you both lean forward in a clear gesture for him to continue.

"Ok. Baby, bunny, angel, beautiful. For myself? I dunno, choose some. Particular titles especially."

You all have flushed cheeks as this is becoming a reality, hearing Chan say these things out loud. Hopefully, you'll both be saying some of them as well. One title sticks in your mind and you’ll just have to test whether he’s into that or not.

"Safewords." You state and both men nod. "We use the colour system generally. Green, yellow, red.”

"Sure," Chan easily agrees. It only slightly surprises you that he knows, and has probably used that exact safeword system before.

You lean forward to rest your cheek on your palm.

"I mean... I think that's everything? We can have a phone call or hangout if there's anything else."

Okay but... when? When are we gonna do this?" Felix points out.

It had gotten lost in actually arranging but the goal of this was actually enacting it all so that fact was a bit important.

"Like 2 weeks from now?" Chan says.

You consider it, a fair amount of time to go but not too far either. Enough time to mentally prepare but not to freak out fully and leave the country. You look at Chan then Felix who voices his agreement.

"Alright then, Saturday in 2 weeks. Come over for dinner, Chan. We can ease into it that way."

You stand and Felix follows. Heading to the door you both give Chan a hug, Felix longer and tighter than yours as usual.

You step out and turn around to face Chan again.

"See you later, daddy." You wink.

Felix purposefully makes his voice lower and repeats the playful words. It's obvious he tries to hide it but Chan shivers at Felix's voice. You only knew to look because he has the same effect on you.

The two weeks pass entirely as normal. A couple hangouts with various groups of the guys and knowledge of the future threesome doesn't invade your mind. The day before you thought Felix would be visibly stressed already but he seems entirely fine.

He seems fine to you, but Felix is good at hiding his emotions if need be. And he is freaking the fuck out. There came some point where it really settled in that this was a plan, it was happening, and it was going to be tomorrow. From that point on it had hardly left his head. Hiding his feelings while fucking around with the man? Is that even possible for a Lee Felix? It doesn’t really matter because it’s already happening, so really something is going to happen and he is determined not to ruin it.

To calm himself down there’s a number of things he can do, yet he chooses the one that wouldn’t make sense to most people. Calling his best friend, the slight hyperactive squirrel man, Han Jisung. Jisung is adept at the two things that can bring Felix out of almost any type of nervous state, whether with genuine comfort, or with chaotic distraction.

Yet when he calls, Jisung seems to know something is different.

“Soooooo, what is up my dude? How have you been?” Jisung sings.

“Ah, just a bit nervous for no reason and I know you’re not doing anything.”

Jisung is silent for a couple moments longer than the normal, puzzling.

“You sure it’s nothing? You’ve been…. extra. The past week, especially.”

Felix goes over the last times they’ve hung out together, especially as a group of 9. There’s nothing out of the ordinary that he thinks Jisung may count as ‘extra’, whatever that even means.

“Extra what, Ji? What are you even talking about?” Felix laughs, assuming Jisung will too and they can just move on.

“You’ve been staring at Chan like way more than usual, dude. I thought it was ridiculous before, but now… he’s either denser than a brick or ignores it.”

Felix’s mouth drops open and he’s silent for nearly half a minute. Other people have noticed how often he stares at Chan? Jisung noticed how much he stares at Chan? This is an entire disaster. And if Chan ignores his stares, then what does that mean. Actually, no, if he goes too far down that route then he’s going to chicken out of all of your plans and he wouldn’t dare ruin it.

“Are you the only one who noticed?” Felix asks hesitantly, mouthing please in hopes that if someone else has noticed as well, that it’ll just go away.

“No… Jeongin and Seungmin are wayyyyy too observant for that, the little demons. Minho, too. I haven’t heard from the others but if I’ve noticed then…” Jisung trails off. He’s not the least observant in the group. That title goes to Felix and Chan themselves. But he and everyone else would put him low on the list, so if he knows then almost everyone else probably does too. Well, shit.

“I’ll only tell you if you promise with your whole heart not to tell anyone else.”

Felix’s heart is pounding and it thrums loudly in his ears. Is he really about to tell someone else about this? Jisung, no less.

“I’m concerned but yeah, of course. Unless it’s a crime.”

Felix forces out a laugh, and he knows Jisung can tell but neither of them comment on it.

“So… maybe I have a bit of crush on Chan. It’s fine, it’ll go away eventually and I can just move on, but for now. I have crush feelings.”

Jisung is silent and Felix has to check if he hung up at some point.

“So you stare at your ‘just crush’ like he put the moon up himself? Not believing that or a second. But I understand now, so whatever. You gonna tell them or…?”

Felix lets out a real laugh this time, then scoffs like Jisung’s proposed robbing a bank tomorrow.

“And have them break up with me? No thanks, I’ll just live with it.”

This time its Jisung scoffing so hard his throat will be sore.

“You’re an idiot. If they love you, and we both know they do, then it’ll be fine. Be honest about your feelings, it’ll only make you stronger.”

Felix considers it, turning the idea over in his mind. Inevitably, his mind turns to your possible reactions. His dreams come first, the ones where you somehow like Chan as well and Chan likes you both. Or the ones where you’re ok with it. Or any of the ones where Chan even likes him back. But of course, the more likely reality. Where you’re uncomfortable or disgusted. Or want to… nope.

“I’ll think about it. Thanks Ji.”

“Sure man, anytime. Popcorns going so I’m gonna dip. Good luck.”

Felix is left in the silence of the bedroom to ponder. They both know he won’t do it but the wonderful fantasies make it seem possible. Some wonderful fantasies can come true, somehow.

The stress explodes in the morning. Felix is out of bed when you wake up and when you exit the apartment is practically sparkling. From top to bottom, you’d believe this house had never been lived in if your pictures and souvenirs weren’t everywhere. There's also a wonderful cookie smell coming from the kitchen, and it draws you in. Whenever Felix bakes it floods through your apartment and makes it seem like a home. Cheesy, yes, but it’s really what he does to you.

Felix's back is to you when you come in the kitchen and you wrap your arms around his stomach. He lets out a small squeak of surprise before giggling, face lighting up at you being awake finally.

"You do know Chan's been here before right? You didn't have to do this."

Felix sighs and turns to face you, leaving a kiss on your forehead.

"I know I didn't have to. I'm just nervous and all this kept my mind off of it for a bit."

You coo at your adorable boyfriend and peck his pink, pouting lips.

"No matter what happens he's just Chan. You're still you, I'm still me. It'll be ok, Fe."

The sigh Felix lets out has a different meaning to you both. You assume it's clearing his mind and re-centreing himself. Really it’s thoughts of how, at the end of the day Chan is never just Chan for him, but this is reality and not his ideal world. He doesn’t get to have two attractive partners to come home to every day. The timer goes off behind him and the reminder makes the smell of cookies flood your nose and mind again.

"Join me on the couch when you're done, baby. I'm gonna work on some stuff for a bit."

The reminder of cookies existing every timer goes off is delightful, and really the only reason timers should exist ever. Most of the way through the batter, Felix dances into the living room and feeds you one, delightful as always. He’s beautiful like this. The lingering stress showing on his face from the morning is entirely gone. The blinds are finally open for a reason and sunlight reflects off your sunshine.

The day passes easily once it begins and Felix is done practically vibrating out of his skin. In the early afternoon, he even falls asleep with his head in your lap for a while. Looking at him is like looking at a sleeping kitten, curled up and peaceful.

It gets later, a bit darker and you pull up the recipe on your laptop. The kitchen barely fits 2 people but you and Felix work well enough together that there are few problems. It’s nice to just… coexist with someone else so peacefully and naturally. The door rings and you and Felix glance at each other, for just a bit too long before he patters away.

They both pop their heads around the corner and Chan joins you both, squishing the kitchen space even more. He gives you both soft kisses on your foreheads, smiling and greeting you quietly. As soon as he does you and Felix look at each other and nod, kissing his cheeks at the same time. His cheeks flare bright red and his eyes widen but he quickly recovers. Expression settling and laughing, even if his ears and cheeks don’t stop burning for quite a while. Then you notice the box, probably a dessert that you won't be getting to tonight. Or… you will get to dessert technically, it just won’t be any of the typical sugar.

It proceeds normally, you may even forget what your plans are for a minute. But as plates start getting emptier Felix is the first to tense up. Chan follows soon after but you manage to stay the calmest, at least on the outside.

Chan puts his hand on your knee first and you stand. Suddenly, Felix's grasp comes from your other side and tugs you towards him. He looks so… innocent that you just can't help but tangle your fingers together. At the same time, he tilts his head up towards you, waiting for a kiss. Your hands tangle in his hair and press your lips against his.

You both turn to Chan after and he's sitting up, completely straight and still. You round the table and he puts his hand on your hip. It doesn't escape your notice about how much of you it covers and you resist looking down to see it.

"Can we kiss you?" You ask, breath fanning across his lips.

He should say no. Say no, say no, saynosaynosay-

"Yes." He says with false ease.

You lean in and he lets you lead it, simply resting his hands on you. Felix comes up behind you and rests his head on your shoulder, watching.

Chan briefly bites your bottom lip but you pull away before too much happens in the kitchen. Before you can move Felix switches places with you and throws his weight against Chan. It's like he was prepared and his hands go around Felix's back. You take a good long look at them before playing with Felix's hair and taking your own turn to watch them.

"We should go to your bedroom." Chan pants out, eyes blown wide when he opens them.

"You heard him, baby boy. Follow him."

You giggle when Felix whines at the pet name.

"You're our baby boy tonight, aren't you?" You tease.

Chan feels something flare inside of him when you use such possessive words, especially "our" anything. In any other situation, he knows it would be "your" and it kills him. He wants so much more, but he cannot either of you entirely in the way he wants so much. It's not a controlling type, simply a statement. Felix is yours as you are his, and neither of you are Chan's.

The moment you reach the room the door is closed and you are pinned onto it. You watch Felix disappear to change but Chan makes sure your attention is back to him quickly. He kisses you again, but harder this time.

Felix feels like this is a dream. Maybe he's finally achieved lucid dreaming. Because he's standing in the bathroom changing his skirt and about to have a threesome with his significant other and best friend/crush. That can't be real. So he's ready to wake up and tell you about the totally wild dream he had. But not the feelings, because those are still very real.

He never wakes up. Instead, he pulls the skirt on and walks out to see you pinned against the door and Chan nipping at your neck.

When Felix appears your attention is immediately split between them. It goes back to Chan pretty quickly when he starts whispering in your ear.

"I certainly know what I want to do. First, I'll watch the 2 pretty kittens in front of me for a while. A pretty picture being painted right in front of me. I'll keep the rest to myself for now. Go kiss your pretty boyfriend and give me a show, alright sweetheart?"

He backs away slowly and you go to Felix, whispering in his ear as well.

"He's going to watch and wants a good show from us first. So let's give him one, huh?"

Felix throws his arms over your shoulders and nods. Before you can tug him in he looks at Chan who nods as well before pulling out your desk chair.

Your kiss with Felix is already heated and messy, the extra thoughts of an audience and pleasing that audience in mind. It moves faster than you normally would when in the bedroom. Though the tension of the whole day, and especially of the dinner may be enough to make up for that.

Your hands roam furiously around each other and each time your lips break apart you each let out a gasp before diving back in. Felix starts walking you towards the bed with slow steps and flips it around so you fall onto his lap. Before he can do anything you fall to the ground on your knees.

When you flip up his skirt and see nothing underneath you can hear Chan groan from his spot. Immediately you sink your mouth down, gagging just slightly as he hits the back of your mouth. Taking a second to breathe, you look up at Felix who already has his eyes closed. When you stop his eyes flutter back open and his hands go to your hair, resting there with no intention of pulling. You bob your head slowly, not taking him all the way in every time. A couple times you try to glance at Chan in the corner but he’s moved farther than what you can see. So, your attention is focused on Felix who’s very entertaining and responsive on his own.

It starts as low moans that tell you he’s feeling good but you’re already looking for the high whines that you know he gives out. You hollow your cheeks and swirl your tongue in that way you know he likes, and the low groans turn into higher moans. They’re quieter than normal and you can tell he’s holding back, which is understandable, but you want him to let go.

Your head gradually bobs faster and faster, with Felix’s moans getting higher and more frequent. With one particularly deep dip, he hits your throat and a loud whine breaks free. You do it again and again, letting Felix lose control. His hands twist in your hair, still not enough to cause any pain to you, but his hips stay still to let you set the pace. You know Felix is close and you both want it and are both ready to receive it, even so early in the night.

“No, no, little one. He’s not cumming yet.” Chan suddenly speaks, tone firm.

Felix whines and you make a disappointed noise and slow down, not giving him enough of anything anymore.

Felix pushes you off of him with a shuddering breath and a poorly concealed whine. After a moment of confusion, you switch places with him. He’s on his knees and starts peeling off your pants, with the noises of Chan shifting in the background. With every inch of skin that is revealed under your pants, he makes sure to kiss it, all the way down to your ankles. He pulls down your underwear after, with less reverence and more impatience this time.

Before he can dive in, as he so clearly wishes to, Chan clears his throat across the room.

“Felix.” Said man perks up and turns towards Chan, eager to please. “Turn them towards me and let me have a look, won’t you baby?”

You obediently don’t move and let Felix turn your body, spreading your legs as well. Even without looking down, you know that you’re soaked already. Chan’s groan confirms it and you shift impatiently. Felix waits though, until Chan nods, before turning you back and getting his mouth on you.

All things considered, he’s gentle but the build-up and tension makes each bit of pleasure like a shot of electricity through your body. He licks eagerly, tasting you and making you twitch. Your hands go his hair less nicely than his did before. You tug at the strands, which only makes him moan into you which makes your hips buck into his mouth. Each small sound from Chan makes you want to see and feel him but you wait, indulging in Felix as is.

Felix knows exactly how you want it and with every minute that passes your whines get louder and with each flick of his tongue your brain gets fuzzier. Chan is taking a relatively hands-off approach for now but even with his seemingly infinite patience, he must want more. It’s hard to focus on that when Felix is eagerly slurping at your wetness and making you want to ride his face. You test the waters by rolling your hips once, twice, three times. When neither man stops you, you roll them incessantly.

With no prior experience, Chan somehow seems to know exactly when to stop you from getting too close.

“Felix, stop.”

Felix eagerly obeys, and you whine loudly in disappointment. One look from Chan cuts you off and you resolve to not protest again when he finally walks over. He stands above both of you but looks down with fondness and not scorn.

“How should we do this, pretty pets?”

You don’t even look at Felix before boldly speaking to him, knowing it was mostly a rhetorical question.

“Fuck me! Please?” Your sudden boldness is tempered by the way that Chan looks at you and you dip your head down.

Felix visibly brightens once his fuzzy brain puzzles out that he’ll probably get to be back in your mouth. He’s the first one onto the bed and you follow, Chan coming up behind you. Your kiss with Felix is interrupted by Chan tugging your shirt over your head and shoulders. He pulls it off and you turn around to pull his own clothes off, bringing Felix over as well.

Chan laughs when you both eagerly tug at his own clothes, trying to pull everything off at once.

“Slow down little ones. You’ll get it all soon.”

You and Felix stop and stare when his shirt comes off and you are suddenly very aware of him. It isn’t that Chan hides how muscular he is, just that you didn’t pay too much attention to it before. Now, you’re certainly paying a lot of attention. It’s broken when Chan goes to Felix’s shirt and you’re as excited as usual to reveal what’s underneath.

Just the sight of them alone nearly has you drooling and your hands run over their bodies at the same time, hardly believing they’re both in front of you. There’s hardly a chance to admire them as they both want to see you as well and pull your shirt up, one hand on either side.

Chan’s hands get on you and dip lower, lower and all the way down to between your thighs. You shiver and watch his face, waiting for his next move. Felix’s hands go up, to your nipples. His warm hands on you makes you shiver but still, you watch Chan who just is not moving. It makes you want to whine and beg but you know, almost for sure, that he’d disapprove. So you wait. The light touches on your nipples makes you whimper and moan occasionally and Chan watches you.

With a slowness that makes you want to scream, he pushes one finger inside. Even the barest feeling of being full makes you shudder and sigh in relief. After a few thrusts of his fingers where he meets no resistance, he pushes a second one in. You make a high noise in your throat and lean back against Felix’s chest, who takes the easy opportunity to kiss along your neck and shoulder.

The sensitivity of being so close from Felix’s mouth is still there and it has you moaning louder than you normally would. One of your hands reaches out and grabs Chan’s hand that is laying on his thigh. He doesn’t stop you so you bring it to your mouth and suck on two of his fingers. Felix lifts his head and groans at the sight, Chan’s pretty hands in your beautiful mouth.

Both men seem to thoroughly enjoy just playing with and teasing you, and it feels so good that you honestly don’t want them to stop. But you’re also craving so much more. With reluctance, you pull Chan’s fingers out of your mouth and whine at him.

“Daddy, please!”

He raises an eyebrow at your insistent tone and pushes another finger into you. It makes your head fall back onto Felix’s shoulder but also increases the need of being filled by Chan right now.

“No~ need you to fill me up, please.”

He slams his fingers into you, hard and deep and it makes you gasp.

“Do these fingers not fill you enough? They just aren’t good enough for you.”

Felix behind you huffs then laughs, clearly caught between finding Chan’s teasing amusing or exasperating on your behalf.

“Don’t make me say it! You know what I want.”

Felix finally starts sucking marks on your shoulder and it makes you sigh happily, a good distraction for just a moment before Chan speaks again.

“I wanna hear you say it, sweetheart. I want to hear you beg.”

Chan’s tone makes even Felix gasp, his mouth disconnecting from you and a sudden, hot breath caressing your sensitive skin. You shiver from the many sensations on your body and the sudden addition of his clear order.

“Want… want your dick, please. Daddy, fuck me!”

After you’re done speaking Chan puts his fingers back in your mouth, letting you suck on them contentedly. If you’re going to get what you want you have to leave what you have and Chan pulls all of his fingers out of you at once. You know better than to whine so you hold it back, but your eyes screw shut in displeasure.

“All fours, doll. Come on now.” Chan coaxes, and Felix also sighs when he has to disconnect from you. Chan takes that time to get a condom, and when he turns he just admires you and Felix on the bed. A perfect picture, but one that he’s also involved in tonight.

You get on your hands and knees then just wait for them to touch you again. Felix knows he’s still a bit sensitive and waits for Chan to start. Chan with infinite patience that is now absolutely killing you. His hands are feeling you up, down your ass and thighs and back up again. When he notices how obviously impatient you both are he finally lines himself up with your entrance and pushes in.

It makes you sigh. The opening of your mouth prompts you to look up at Felix who smiles down at you. You push your neck out, wanting him in your mouth and he pets your head. His fingers lift your chin and make you look up at him again.

“Be good for us, baby. Make us feel good.”

You eagerly nod and he finally moves closer. Once the tip of his dick is in your mouth, you start swirling your tongue around it. The moment he thrusts in you open your mouth wider and let him use it. It doesn’t take Chan and Felix long, as close and in sync as they are, to set a rhythm where when one of them pushes in the other pulls out. Chan’s thrusts push you towards Felix so much that his cock is nearly always in your mouth fully.

At some point, you can feel the drool starting to drip down your chin and Felix coos while he wipes it away.

“So messy, baby! Drooling all down my cock.”

All you can do is hum in agreement and hope he hears it. Being absolutely ruined with him in your mouth is always a fun experience and having Chan behind you improves it quite a lot. Speaking of Chan. His hand has come around and two of his fingers are feverishly rubbing your clit. It makes the long-awaited pressure build-up and he groans when you clench around him.

“Such pretty pets in front of me. Wet holes dripping down our dicks and making everybody messy. You just can’t hold it in, can you little one? That’s ok, we know you’re enjoying it.”

Chan’s voice is raspy when he speaks and it bolsters your confidence to know how good he’s feeling, too. It’s not as if you can say or do much about it. Especially not when you can feel an orgasm building and he thrusts so hard to make you dizzy.

Felix broke back into high whines a minute or two ago. When he speaks, it’s strained and he can barely get more than a few words out at a time if he can think them at all.

“Gonna cum. I want you to- to swallow it. Holy fucking shit, your mouth is so good, honey.”

You open your eyes, when did they even close, to look up at Felix. Attempting to get across how good he feels and how badly you want it. His chest rises and falls with quick, harsh breaths. Chan is so good behind you, rubbing your clit in small circles and long length filling you up better than you dared to hope. Your own peak is building but can barely focus on that for now, no matter how badly you want to.

Felix hits your throat once then twice more and with a small cry and jerk of his hips he cums. His whole body quivers and trembles as his seed shoots down your throat. You cough on it for a moment but swallow it down. The convulsion of your mouth projects a high-pitched whine from his own.

The moment Felix leans back, and your mouth is still left open, Chan drives into you roughly. A noise of surprise that you barely recognize comes from you before you start moaning, feeling your own high so presently. With Felix no longer in front of you, Chan holds your hips and pulls you back, slapping against your skin even louder every time he thrusts in. The continued stimulation on your clit is almost overwhelming in its intensity.

Felix can see the grunts and groans leaving Chan’s mouth but can’t hear them due to your own keening moans. To everyone’s surprise, Chan cums before you do but doesn’t dare stop or slow down his pace, even when it overstimulates him. The movements of his hips are less fluid but it doesn’t make you feel any less pleasure. With each thrust, he had learned to hit nearly any spot you needed him to.

He’s left panting but is rewarded when you let out a gasp and something that sounded like ‘gonna cum’. Your whole body shivers when it washes over you and even still Chan thrusts which makes shake that much more intense. Eventually, he stops when it becomes far less pleasurable for himself, he has a limit, but still rubs circles on your clit. A distraction shows in the way of Felix who climbs onto his lap. The relief and pleasure are still coursing through you and you flop to your side, curling your legs up and inwards. You watch them kiss through blurry eyes and how Felix submits to him so readily.

“Lixie~ one more? Inside?” You pout.

Chan coos and runs a thumb over your puffed-out bottom lip. It’s always a bit of extra fun when you let Felix cum inside. It’s a bit messy which neither of you really wants to deal with afterwards. Tonight’s special so why not add an extra little bit of a reward for him?

Felix turns to you and gasps. When you don’t laugh it off, he moves in front of you.

“Can you ride me? If you’re not too tired, I mean, of course.”

The way he nearly spits out the words, like they just can’t come out fast enough is adorable. You prop yourself up on your hands and look at Chan over his shoulder, with wide eyes just barely seen by him.

“Go ahead, pets. I’ll join the show again in a bit.”

You giggle and nearly tackle Felix down by his shoulders. His hands go to your hips out of instinct but you sit on one of his thighs first. Sitting on his thigh, you nearly want to grind and ride on it, looking at Chan’s thighs makes you fully pout again. Those are some good thick ones that you’d love to sit on. Felix chuckles when sees what you’re staring at but tugs you forward by the hips to try and get you moving.

You make a noise of recognition and easily sit down fully on his dick. The familiar fullness makes you let out a small mewl.

“Does he feel good, kitty?”

“Mmh, yes. Really good, daddy.” Your voice is breathy, different from the fully voiced moans from when Chan was railing you before.

“Ride him then, doll.”

The order that you were actually waiting for comes and you bounce, slowly. Chan is intending to let you go at your own pace but when a fair amount of time passes, with a fair few whiny moans from Felix, he tsks.

“You can do better than that. Faster, harder. Make him feel good.”

You place both palms flat on Felix's chest and spread your fingers wide. Your thighs flex as you ride him and the slide makes you gasp. After you’ve set a steady pace for yourself you take your hand to your clit, starting a bit slowly but going quicker as the stimulation doesn’t quite satisfy you as you need it to. Felix watches you, enraptured. You try to look back whenever your eyes are open but it’s overwhelming and they swiftly screw shut again.

Felix is back to his low groans that you can nearly feel and it’s nearly unbearably unattractive. Chan thinks the same if the small noises he, unintentionally, lets out are any indication. He tries to mumble praises to you but more often it’s Chan who takes the lead.

“Such pretty little babies, putting on a good show. Only for daddy to see.” “You both look so cute and small. I’d be able to ruin you both so easily.”

His words and encouragement make you clench and Felix jerks his hips up into you more than once as well. It’s good and you want to keep going but soon your thighs are a bit sore and tired and you begin to slow down again, whining in disappointment.

“Looks like kitty can’t quite keep up anymore. Why don’t you do it instead, Lix?”

The familiar nickname used in such a different context makes Felix suck in a sharp breath and his eyes widen. He’d really like to get used to that but as it is he holds your hips and starts pumping. Felix just manages to hit different spots inside of you when he does it himself and he has you moaning loudly within a minute.

When you look back over at Chan he’s jerking himself off in time with Felix’s movements. He’s not sitting close enough for either of you to reach but his eyes flick all over both of you, taking it all in. Looking down at Felix, his eyes are completely closed but his mouth is open to let you hear his low moans. They get a bit louder and you can tell he’s getting close so you turn on the begging.

“Lixie, baby. Cum inside me, please. Want you to make it all messy and I wanna see it drip out.”

Felix grunts and starts cursing under his breath. In less than two minutes he spills inside you and the warm spurts of cum fill you up more. Your breath is heavy as you get closer again yourself. Chan finally joins you again, fingers replacing yours. Felix still jerks his hips into you as much as he can, but he’s too sensitive for too much of it. Still, Chan’s hand just works and you roll your hips into his hand to feel more. He barely has to do anything honestly. Still jerking himself off with the other hand you can tell he’s holding back by how tight his voice is.

“Use Lix and my hand to get yourself off, kitten. I’ll do it with you, too.”

Your mouth falls open and a long, loud moan comes out. Your second orgasm feels like an overflow of the senses, so much so that you barely even notice Chan spilling over yours and Felix’s legs. You come down with a shiver and your legs and fingers are left with the most shakiness.

“Up, sweetheart. We wanna see it drip.”

Felix’s voice is low and rough but not stern. You nod and slip off of him, laying down and letting them both see. It’s nothing you can see yourself but from both of their low noises, it’s very appreciated.

You’re all left panting, sweaty, and shaky. You stay on your back and throw your legs on top of Felix’s. Chan stands and shuffles off to find towels for you all first. It makes you recognize that you need water and you grumble and sigh before standing. Felix hears you and jumps up to get you on his back. Just as you get onto Felix’s back, Chan returns.

“Why don’t we dry ourselves off first, okay cuties?”

You both sit back on the bed and look up at Chan with wide eyes. He continues to take care of you both as best he can and it makes you even sleepier, eyes drooping occasionally. Felix keeps you awake with small jabs and pokes. Everything you all need is done and Chan has agreed to stay for the night. All the buses have stopped, Ubers seem sketchy, and any other arguments he may have are shot down. As well as the argument for him just sleeping on the couch. Felix wiggles himself in the middle and shoots a firm ‘cuddle me’ at Chan before snuggling happily down and going to sleep.

You and Chan share small glances of bewilderment before settling in as well. It’s hesitant but you can feel how Chan eventually moves in, centimetres at a time, to do something that could be considered as cuddling Felix, if you really want to stretch it. The bed is full but instead of feeling crowded you feel comforted, knowing two of your favourite people are the ones there with you.

Chan wakes first but doesn't move in a way that would indicate he's in anything but deep sleep. Once he's sure neither of you are awake he sits up and gazes at both peaceful, sleeping faces in front of him. You're both beautiful in the throes of passion but there is something about the peaceful light of day that pangs his heart differently.

Surreptitiously, under the blankets you and Felix hold hands but lay with eyes closed as you feel Chan looking, observing. He takes a heavy breath in that makes you want to sit up and ask, comfort him, but something about the stillness in the air stops you.

"Fuck," he curses lowly, but in a different way than the last night. "You're both so beautiful, I wish every morning could be like this."

You stay quiet, even if thoughts race through your mind, but sensitive Felix gasps, no matter how hard he tries to muffle it. Chan leans back against the wall to create as much distance as possible.

Felix sits up slowly and you follow a moment after. Chan lets out some nervous, forced chuckles. The confidence of yesterday has melted away, leaving the usual, shyer Chan sitting here instead.

"Channie?" He shudders. "What did you mean by that?"

He stutters and fumbles, trying not to lie but also keep feelings intact. Eventually, he just stops and freezes everything for a moment. Then before you can even think, he tries to leap off the large bed towards the door. Felix is fast and grabs one wrist while you rush to stand and grab the other to push him back down.

There is no fight, only an acceptance to sit back down.

"Channie, please." Felix chokes out the words and when you look at him he's on the verge of tears.

Why is unknown, but it's clear this is going to be a difficult conversation.

Chan sighs and runs a hand through his hair, flipping his head to look at both of you.

"I never thought this was going to happen, any of this. Last night, everything this morning. But whatever happens, don't let my words affect your relationship."

He looks at both of you separately to receive an agreement.

"I really like you both, romantically. Maybe even love but I've tried to avoid the thoughts. For obvious reasons."

In the silence of anticipation, Felix's tears had dried on his eyes but now they sit, teetering on the edge of his eyelids.

"Lix. Are you ok? You look like you're about to burst." You speak gently to Felix because he looks like a terrified little animal.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I was never going to tell you."

Your confusion only grows at his vague words and you can't see Chan from the way he's turned his head.

"I understand if you wanna break up with me. I'd probably want to if the roles were reversed."

A gentle hand on his knee prompts Felix to raise his head and look at you.

"It's ok, love. I'm sure we can work this out. Just tell me the whole story first."

"Chan and I have been best friends for so long, years before I thought about dating anyone. He's seen all my highs and lows. Then you came and changed that a lot and we started dating. But still, somewhere along the way I... I developed feelings for him."

Felix curls himself so small it seems impossible and leans away from both you and Chan. You sit in stunned shock and try to make sense of everything that just happened. When your eyes focus again Chan's eyes are flicking between you and Felix. Felix.

You mentally curse and lunge towards him, embracing him in a tight hug.

"Can you look at me, my love?" You coax gently.

He sobs harder at the loving, familiar pet name coming from your mouth but obliges. Somehow still the prettiest man you may have ever seen, but that's not important.

"It's ok." You say simply.

Felix looks at you in confusion, sobs still wracking his body periodically even as he tries to hold them back.

"Your feelings for Chan, they're ok."

You can hear the small, confused noise Chan makes from his spot behind you but mostly you hear the loud whimper of Felix in front of you.

"What? Are you joking? How are you ok with knowing your boyfriend has a crush on someone else. His best friend, as well. One of the people you're both closest to. And you're ok with that?"

The points Felix is making aren't completely out there. But there's something that flares up in your chest, something amazing, when Chan and Felix interact so tenderly. Their normal banter is what you expect but when it's quieter or later they get softer and so do you when looking at them.

"I am. I like that you two have an incredible dynamic completely separate with me. Of course, I love talking to you both as well. I can't explain it, but it's there. So yes, it's ok."

Felix launches himself onto your lap and buries his face in your chest. You focus on him, nuzzling your nose in his hair and rubbing his back. To the point where you almost get lost in your own world completely. Of course, almost is the key word.

Chan watches in envy as you both drift off into a comfortable affection and closeness. There was just a whole confession but he can’t help but feel like he doesn’t fit perfectly, not yet anyways. He wants to hold you like that, or Felix, or both. Maybe later, not today. Today he needs to go home and let you have a day to yourselves.

Chan is off the bed before you can even speak and you and Felix look at him, puzzled.

"Haha, um, I just don't to y'know intrude on your morning routine or anything. You don't need to get up I'll just go, yeah. We can talk more another time."

Your deadpan look to Chan somehow increases as he says 'intrude' and you're sure Felix has pulled out his sad kitty look.

"Chan. Bang Chan. Christopher Bang. Sit down." You order.

Felix laughs when he follows your order, almost dazedly, and sits back down to fiddle with his hands.

"Can I kiss you? For real this time." You ask, Felix moves off your lap in anticipation.

Chan looks up at you with his jaw hanging down. He nods then closes his mouth and clears his throat.

"Yes. Please."

You're half on his lap with your arms around his neck before he pulls you in. After a dizzying minute or so you pull away.

Felix would be mad you got to kiss Chan with feelings first if it wasn't so damn attractive. When neither of you moves he whines and does grabby hands in that general direction.

You move out of the way and watch as Chan goes to Felix without hesitation. Chan is wider and could probably cover Felix up entirely from the right angle. They're so soft. Chan's hands are barely touching Felix's waist and Felix's hands are moving up Chan's arms and shoulders. They’re beautiful. Absolutely stunning. When they pull away from each other your hands go to rest on each of their shoulders’ and you level Chan with a stern look.

“Just listen until I’m done. No interrupting. Just listen.”

He has the presence of mind to just look slightly sheepish and nod.

“Me and Felix have been dating for a while but that will make you no less of a valued or important member of this relationship. If we’re going to do this then we all need to communicate our feelings to each other. So, Chan. If we ever, ever, make you feel left out in any way, you need to tell one of us. That goes for all of us in any situation.”

You sit back but Felix catches you and pulls you into his side. Chan follows his lead and moves in front of you, putting his long arms to use and hugging both of you. You all sit in peace and adoration for a bit before stomachs begin to grumble a bit. Chan is the first to disentangle himself and the look of disbelief that crosses his face all over again is almost comical.

"You're... This is ok?"

You giggle at his still present disbelief. Hesitantly, you reach one hand towards him and he grabs it and moves toward you. While still making eye contact he gingerly presses his lips to the top of Felix's head.

"It's real, Channie. I promise." You giggle then whisper.

Chan pulls his hand back and looks at both of his palms in shock. You give him a few moments then he reaches his arms back around both of you as best he can and buries his face in Felix's shoulder.

"Thank you." He mumbles.

"Three's a party, not a crowd for us.” You reply, leaning on Felix as well.

Felix is the glue that binds you two together, and the one that got you here in the first place. For not the first time and not the last, you're happy to have met him.

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lucyintheskywithxanax · 3 years

Text

Get Me To Church, I’ve Done So Many Bad Things It Hurts

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: you guys, idk what this is. I only know it’s not what I initially planned. Title is from Sinéad O’Connor’s song “Take Me To Church”, which hijacked this story’s initial plot. It reminds me of Wilhemina, and it’s a very good song <3

Word count: ~ 5 400

Your brain no longer was a brain but fucking mush. Mush that stunk and made one want to throw up at first sight. You had not been able to get a good night’s sleep since you had been sent to Outpost 3 a few months ago. You were running on a few hours of rest snatched here and there and on the disgusting, weird food cubes. At this point, when someone talked to you, you would gap at them until your brain suddenly gave a start and registered their words. Your body felt twice its weight. It was hard to concentrate, hard to think.

Days went by looking exactly alike. You would get out of bed, meet the others, try to have a talk, listen to the same song over and over again. “Calling occupants of interplanetary, most extraordinary craft”. Stare at a book maybe, open it, stare at a page, fail to understand a single sentence. You would wait for time to pass. Complain with Coco or Andre or that guy whose name you couldn’t remember even though you had been living together for months now. One day, Coco and you decided to exercise by running up and down a staircase, but you didn’t last more than five minutes before you dropped on the floor, panting. You didn’t try again. You lacked the motivation.

Sit at the table, eat your cube. “Calling occupants of interplanetary, most extraordinary craft”. Go to bed. You were going crazy. You could no longer tell what was real and what was a figment of your imagination.

In truth, there was one thing at least you knew was real. The butterflies in your stomach every time Venable – freaking Venable, of all people – so much as walked into the room you were in.

It was terrible. Why her, why you, you did not know. The only thing you knew was that you were falling hard for her, for that sadistic, mean, scary woman.

In typical mush-brain fashion, you couldn’t string two sentences together when she would ask you a question and her dark eyes would bore into you. You would laugh stupidly or give one-word answers. You would trip over your own feet when you passed her in a corridor.

So, really, it wasn’t a surprise when you realized that she hated you even more than she seemed to hate the others. For starters, she never looked at you. When she did, her eyes were as cold as the North Pole. Icy winds and all that. And when she talked to you, her voice was always so condescending, so sarcastic, as if she knew you were the most idiotic idiot at the Outpost. She probably wondered every minute of every day why you had been chosen to survive. It was a mystery to you, too.

But then – but this was part of your imagination. It must be. There was no rational explanation. For the wistful look on her face you had caught a glimpse of, once, when you had turned and shot her a glance. She had been staring at you. Or for the faint blush that had risen to her cheeks when you had accidentally – accidentally? – brushed past her, way too close to her, on your hurried way to the bathroom. Or for that one time, that blissful, ethereal time – but that had been a dream, it must have been, you had passed out from exhaustion and dreamed – when she, coming out of her room, and you of yours, had paused with her hand on the doorknob, and raised her head, met your eyes, and smiled. Not her mocking, cruel smile. But a fond, almost shy smile. A genuine smile, reflected in her eyes. This you were sure you had dreamed. Were you?

You were falling for her. Love, intimacy, would make things more tolerable. You craved a strong, true connection with someone, and part of you was convinced you could have it with her.

In the past few evenings Venable had made a habit of joining you in the music room as you whiled the time away before bed. She wouldn’t say anything, merely sit and read a book. The first time she had done it, you and the others had exchanged half surprised, half worried looks. What was she doing? Studying you? Deciding which one of you she would cook for dinner? You didn’t know. Her presence had made you all uncomfortable at first, but now you were used to it. You ignored her, just as she ignored you.

She always, always sat facing you.

And you couldn’t help but steal glances at her. Marvel at the beauty and neatness of her. Your eyes would travel down her body and the butterflies in your stomach would go wild and your head fill with want. For. Her.

Her eyes never met yours, not even once.

One evening as you sat brooding and she sat reading facing you, and the others chatted about some boring things, and the music, the music went “Calling occupants of interplanetary, most extraordinary craft”, you abruptly jumped on your feet to stretch your upper body. The sudden movement surprised Venable, who looked up at you. You met her eyes and gave her a goofy smile. She scowled.

“In your mind you have capacities,” you heard yourself sing to the music.

“But do you, Y/N?” Venable sneered.

That shut you up. You straightened up and glared at her. “Do you have, like, a problem with me?” you asked in an annoyed voice.

“Do you mean apart from your obvious lack of brain cells?”

“Why are you always so mean?” you heard yourself whine.

“Oh, boo hoo,” Venable cooed. “Poor you. Look at you, standing among the few who have been allowed to survive the Apocalypse. Do you really think I should feel sorry for you?”

You considered that. “No,” you grumbled.

“No, Ms Venable.”

You didn’t know what came over you then. Probably it was a mix of exhaustion, anger, frustration and want. Your hands clenched into fists. In what was both the bravest and stupidest moment of your life, you retorted, “Bite me.”

Someone in the room gasped, and then chuckled. Venable’s eyes went wide with shock. Heat flooded your cheeks.

You were dead meat, you knew that. So really you couldn’t make things worse by adding: “I’m sorry. I meant, bite me, Ms Venable.”

Impressive. You were a genius. Gosh, you needed sleep.

You couldn’t meet Venable’s eyes. Instead you stared at Andre, who was gawping at you. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Coco give you a thumbs-up. You smiled shyly at her.

“Right,” you said. “Um. Goodnight.”

You hurried out of the room before someone could call you back. Your heart was beating too fast in your chest, but you couldn’t really understand why. You needed sleep.

You closed the door of your bedroom behind you and collapsed on your bed.

You couldn’t sleep.

It was always the same: you were exhausted all day, but the minute your head touched your pillow, your brain roared back into life. Someone in your head turned the light on. You were wide awake.

You groaned and turned on the bed. You didn’t have the slightest idea what time it was or how long you had lain under the sheet. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been a century. You turned again, forced yourself to close your eyes.

Bite me, Ms Venable. Damn it, you were such a fool when you were exhausted! You had survived the bloody Apocalypse and now you were about to die for something so, so stupid. Venable was probably plotting your death right now. She would order you out of the Outpost and condemn you to a horrible death among the repugnant creatures that haunted the nuclear winter outside. In your current state, you wouldn’t last a day. You’d trip over something and break your neck or get stabbed by the first hungry person you’d meet.

Fear clenched your stomach. You didn’t want to die. You didn’t feel like giving up on life yet. Even if the world as you had known it was gone, even if there was almost no hope of a bright, safe future. God, you wanted to live.

You sprang out of bed before you knew what you were doing and ran to the door. Locked it. Looked around the room for things to build a barricade with. The chair would do, and if you could move that huge chest of drawers –

You heard footsteps coming down the corridor towards you. And something else, unmistakable. The sound of a cane.

Shit. Your whole body froze with fear. Then your hand automatically reached for a decorative statuette close-by, that had sharp angles and that you could use as a weapon if need be. The footsteps grew louder and came to a halt at your door.

You waited, heart hammering in your chest. Venable must have a spare key, of course she must. You stared at the doorknob, expecting it to move, expecting the door to open, on Venable standing tall and threatening and radiating off anger and satisfaction. How so very beautiful she would look.

Nothing happened.

What was she doing? You couldn’t hear anything but the mad pounding of your heart. Had you imagined her footsteps? The sound of her cane? But you had been so sure –

One of your hands came up to press against the door. Fingers splayed out, palm pressing against the cold, hard surface. To try and feel her through the wood.

You waited. Your heartbeat was drumming against the wood. And it was slowing down, and your eyes were fluttering closed, for she was here – just behind the door, and you could almost see her, her eyes on the doorknob, the spare key in her hand, her lips slightly parted. It was as if your soul had connected with hers and now they were softly singing to each other.

There was a sound like a sigh. Before you knew it you had unlocked the door and opened it.

Venable stood in front of you with her left hand in the air, a few inches further to the left than yours had been. She met your eyes in surprise as her fingers curled up. She lowered her hand, and schooled her features.

You decided your safest option was to play it cool.

“I thought I heard a noise,” you said, assuming a casual expression.

“I was on my way to bed,” Venable answered. A pause. “I saw your light was on through the gap under your door.”

She didn’t sound particularly mad or threatening. Relief flooded your chest. Maybe she didn’t mean to kill you, after all. Maybe you’d been over-reacting.

Her eyes fell on the statuette you were still holding.

“What’s this?” she asked very slowly. Her eyes met yours again. They were dark, her eyes. The darkest eyes you had ever seen.

“What’s this?” she repeated, louder. You started.

“Oh, uh.” You raised the statuette to your chest and shrugged. Play it cool. “I don’t know why I’m holding this.” You tried to laugh. It came out nervous and foolish. “Must have been sleepwalking or something.”

Venable’s gaze was boring into you, piercing your skin, piercing your veins, piercing your bones. You felt too hot suddenly. You laughed again. Then it finally dawned on you.

“My light isn’t on,” you said.

You always kept one candle burning when you slept, but its light was very faint. There was no way Venable could have seen it from the lit corridor.

Her face didn’t change. “It’s not?” she said in a toneless voice.

You shook your head. “I’m afraid not.”

She straightened her shoulders, raised her chin. Her grip on her cane tightened just so.

“Were you planning on attacking someone with this?” she asked, nodding at the statuette.

“I’ve no idea what you mean,” you answered, holding her gaze.

“I cannot think of any other use you could have for it.”

“Well, maybe I was.”

“Has someone threatened you?”

You scoffed. Gave her a look as if to say the joke wasn’t good. She narrowed her eyes uncomprehendingly.

“Um, let’s see.” You folded your arms as you pretended to think. The statuette dug in your chest. “Maybe I’ve gone just a little bit too far with someone who’s quite obsessed with hierarchy.”

A small, incredulous laugh escaped her.

“You thought I was going to –“She didn’t finish her sentence, her laugh lingering on her lips as the incredulity reached her eyes.

“Well,” you retorted, leaning your hip against the doorframe, “you did have those two Greys shot the other day for making love.” You raised your eyebrows at her. “For breaking one of your rules. So excuse me if I’m not feeling particularly safe right now.”

The smile vanished from her face. She closed her mouth, stared at you. Your eyes shifted to her lips. Back up to her eyes. You licked your lips.

“I wouldn’t have you killed merely for being stupid,” she said after a short moment.

How were her cheekbones so sharp? Her eyes so dark? You swore whomever had made her was the most talented artist and the cruelest asshole in the whole goddamn universe. How many years it must have taken, how much sweat, how many skills, how much patience and love, to make her.

You cleared your throat. What had she just said? Called you stupid. Wouldn’t have you killed. Something like that. You couldn’t remember.

“My light wasn’t on,” you said mechanically, “so why did you stop at my door?”

If the question surprised or unsettled her, she didn’t show it.

“I thought it was on,” she answered without missing a beat. She paused. “You thought I was going to have you killed?”

“Um, maybe.”

Her eyes fell on the statuette again. When they met yours, you swore you saw something like sadness deep into the black. She blinked, and the sadness disappeared.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “You should go to bed.”

You realized you didn’t want her to go. What if you invited her to come in? What if you told her about your insomnia, and asked her to help you while the night away? Merely have a talk with her. Merely sit by her side, and watch her, and share secrets with her. Show her you weren’t as stupid as she must think you were. You could light dozens of candles and watch the light dance on her face. Have her relax, make her laugh. And maybe if things went well, at the break of dawn you could lay your head on her lap, and certainly then sleep would find you.

You assumed a nonchalant expression. “Well then, goodnight to you,” you said with a smile that hurt your mouth.

She nodded, turned and walked off.

You listened to her footsteps fade away. You let out a long, shaky breath, and closed your door.

For a very long time you stayed with your back against the door, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. The sadness you had seen in Venable’s eyes haunted you. You tried to think of something else. What you would do tomorrow. Boring. That summer holiday you had spent in Spain with your best-friend. Venable’s hair in the flickering light of the candles. Venable’s face. Venable’s eyes. How you absolutely adored the fact that she could stand up to anyone. Venable’s eyes. The sadness in her eyes.

You groaned. You had half a mind to bang your head on the door to knock yourself out and finally get some sleep. Perhaps you could go to Venable’s room and apologise. Tell her you hadn’t meant to question her authority. You’d like to see her again.

It was a stupid idea. Lack of sleep made you so, so stupid. She would be angry, would order you out, slam her door in your face, maybe hit you with her cane. You shouldn’t. You wouldn’t.

You tip-toed down the corridor till you reached her door. It was slightly ajar, which surprised you. Heart beating fast, you opened it just enough to peek into the room.

Venable was sitting on the floor by the dark fireplace, her head bent, her hands joined on her lap. What was she doing on the floor? Surely the position couldn’t be good for her back. Then you noticed that her lips were moving, forming silent words, as if she were praying. Her eyes were closed.

The flickering light from the candles threw shadows on her face. Patches of black and red and orange vacillating and oscillating. Touching her face, fleeing to the walls. You watched her in silence, at a loss for what to do or what to think. You heard her sniffle, saw her raise a hand to wipe her cheek.

There was something so fragile about the scene in front of you. To see this woman who was always so proud, and so strong, and so dominating, murmuring silent words to herself on the floor in the dead of night. Or maybe those words weren’t for herself. Maybe they were addressed to someone else, whoever would listen, whoever would take the time to stop and lend an ear. Was she asking for strength? For mercy? Salvation? Her back was leaning slightly forward just like the backs of worshippers you had seen in churches.

Her lips stopped moving for a moment. She opened her eyes to stare unseeingly at the wall in front of her. You saw her bite her lower lip, saw her take a shaky breath. The silent murmuring started again.

You scratched your arm nervously. You knew you should leave, and erase from your mind this private moment you had no right to witness. Part of you felt like a thief. But your legs seemed to be frozen. You could not move them.

So you watched her. At one point she coughed softly, and the next two words came out loud enough for you to hear them: “Let me...”

Was she praying? You didn’t think she was a religious person. Why should she be? She had helped bring on the Apocalypse and had not received so much as a word of complaint from God. You squinted at her in the dim light, your body instinctively leaning towards her, your hands coming up to grip at the doorframe. Your heart was pushing against your ribs as if it wished to burst free from your chest and wrap around her.

Venable paused, sighed, went on murmuring. Once again her words reached you. “…soothe and let it save me so she can think it acceptable to love me.”

Your clammy palm slipped on the doorframe, unbalancing you. You gasped in a breath. Venable’s head jerked to the side. Her eyes locked with yours.

You could have screamed. Surprise then anger then fear flashed across Venable’s face as you took a step back, your mouth opening and closing like a fish as you tried to find something to say but couldn’t come up with anything. For a moment there was only silence, and you and she holding each other’s gaze.

Venable’s face closed up. She stood up, supporting herself on her cane, so calm, so composed. It was impressive, the tight grip she kept on her emotions. Always so perfectly in control of herself.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in a firm voice.

“I –“you stuttered, “I – I’m sorry, I just – I, uh, saw your light was on.”

That was a risky answer, and you knew it. But today had been crazy, and any minute now Venable would unleash her wrath and it would destroy you. You had nothing left to lose. So you held her gaze, her inscrutable, unreadable gaze, admiring even now the flickers of candlelight that danced across the black.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you heard yourself say, your voice coming from far, far away. “I’ve not been able to sleep for quite a while. So I roam the corridors to try and distract myself, and I saw your light was on.” A pause. “What were you doing?”

Venable’s expression didn’t change. She took her time to answer, and you waited, waited for the inevitable anger, the inevitable punishment. You felt too distanced from yourself to be afraid.

“That is none of your business,” Venable said eventually. She turned away from you. “Go back to your room.”

That brought you back to yourself. Your soul crashed back into your body.

“Is that all?” you blurted out. “Go back to my room? Aren’t you going to, like,…” You didn’t finish your sentence, but she must have understood, because she turned to face you and shot you a somewhat outraged look.

“You seem so very certain I mean to hurt you,” she said sharply.

“Er, well.” You folded your arms on your chest and looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think. “In the last few hours I disrespected you and burst into your privacy. And, no offence, but you don’t strike me as a kitten kind of person.”

“Kitten?” she repeated.

“Yeah, you know.” You brought a nervous hand up to scratch your head. “Fluffy and cute, cuddly and helpless.”

She stared at you as if you were stupid. “Kittens scratch you for no reason.”

“Yeah, but...”You shook your head at yourself.”Never mind, don’t mind me. I’m too exhausted to think straight.”

Long seconds passed. None of you moved. You both held your ground, staring at each other. Waiting.

Your mouth opened again. “I don’t know whether I should run away from you or towards you.”

She didn’t react. Didn’t answer. She kept staring at you.

“I can’t sleep,” you repeated. “May I stay here and sleep with you?”

Her expression did shatter at that. She blinked in surprise, then in consternation.

“Uh, I mean, not like that,” you stammered. “I mean sleep as in actually sleep. Uh, get some shuteye.”

Venable let out another one of her small, incredulous laughs. “No, you may not,” she answered sharply.

“Right, of course. Stupid me.” You tried to laugh, ended up choking on your own spit.”Sorry. Uh, forget about all this.” You quickly turned to go.

“You need to get a grip on yourself,” came Venable’s voice. You stopped.

“Gosh, I know,” you breathed.”I’m sorry.” You waited. No reply came, so you started to walk away.

“I may have a few sleeping pills, if you think they can help,” Venable called after you.

You turned on your heel and rushed back into her room. “Yes, please, I’d be very grateful. Thank you.”

Venable nodded, walked into the ensuite bathroom. You heard the sound of a drawer opening, some fumbling, and then she was back into the room holding a small pill box.

She dropped one pill in your extended hand. “Try this tonight. I can give you more tomorrow if it works.”

“Thank you,” you breathed. Your fingers curled around the pill as her eyes bore into yours. You almost reached out to touch her cheek. Almost.

But then your breath hitched. For that was it, wasn’t it? Her punishment. Her revenge. You glanced down at the pill in your hand. Poison. It had to be.

You glanced back up at her, and your thoughts must have shown on your face, for her eyes momentarily glazed over with the same sadness as before.

“This is hydroxyzine,” she snapped.

“Right,” you mumbled. “Thanks.”

“Do you think some of my rules are too harsh?” she asked suddenly.

You blinked at her. “Well, I mean…” You paused a second, considering. You chose honesty.” Most of them are useful, I’ll give you that. But, Ms Venable, the copulation rule? People being shot for, what, loving each other? Finding comfort in each other?” You took one step towards her, growing irritated. “Those two Greys didn’t deserve death. They did nothing wrong. And what’s so bad about copulation, anyway? What’s so wrong with affection? Intimacy?”

You paused, waiting for her answer. Her eyes were very big and shining in the candlelight. They were different, now. It was that sadness again. She looked almost sad.

“Tell me, what’s wrong with this?” You reached out and laid the pad of your index on her right wrist. She tensed up, her hand tightening around the knob of her cane. Her eyes grew bigger still.

You swallowed, refusing to lower your gaze, as you slowly ran your finger down her hand, circled one of her knuckles, moved to the next. You could feel her shaking under your touch, her skin soft and hot.

“This never hurt anyone,” you said softly. Her brow tightened, just so. She made as if to withdraw her hand from your touch. Your finger stuttered, your eyes questioning hers. Well, maybe affection had hurt her. Undoubtedly it had. You could read it in her eyes.

You removed your hand, but she captured it in hers and brought it up close to her mouth.

“We cannot possibly take the risk of having to deal with a herd of babies, can we, Y/N?” she said very slowly. Her breath grazed your knuckles and sent a shiver down your spine. Her grip on your hand was strong.

“We can’t, Wilhemina,” you heard yourself say.

Wilhemina. How did you remember her Christian name? She had told it to you exactly once, on the day of your arrival at the Outpost. Months ago. And it wasn’t a very common name.

“But then again, Wilhemina,” you went on, “you and I would never have this problem.”

Venable brought your hand up to her mouth, her gaze burning into yours, and sank her teeth into your skin.

“Ow!” you yapped. “What the…”

She tightened her grip on your hand to hold it back. A smirk crept up her lips.

“Bite me,” she said, her mouth hot and damp against your skin. “That’s what you said. So, here.” She did let go of your hand, then. You held it protectively to your chest, smoothing it over your shirt. “Happy to oblige.” She turned away from you.

You watched her in consternation as she bent over her bed, apparently rearranging the pillows. Her teeth had left a row of white marks on your hand. A moment passed, until she straightened up and met your eyes.

“Well, goodnight,” she said, almost teasingly. And with that she sent you off.

“You’re still alive,” Coco said in surprise the morning after.

“You’re very observant,” you mumbled, slumping onto the chair next to her. You still felt a bit woolly because of the hydroxyzine. But at least you had slept.

“You’ve been observing our Earth”, sang the female voice from the radio.

“This song will drive me crazy,” you groaned. “Can’t we turn it off?”

“And we’d like to make a contact with you,” the voice retorted.

You straightened your shoulders as Venable walked into the room. Her gaze immediately fell on you. You held it, not sure what to think of the night before, her helping you, her biting you for God’s sake – mechanically you massaged the back of your hand where her teeth had sunk. And those words you had overhead. They had been addressed to someone else, but you couldn’t help but hope she had been talking about you.

You thought you saw something in her eyes, eagerness perhaps, as she walked towards you. She stopped in front of you and tapped her cane on the floor.

“Good-morning,” she said. You gave her a smile in answer, then lowered your eyes to study your nails. You could feel her gaze on your face.

“How did you sleep?” she went on in a casual voice that sounded just a tiny bit strained, as if she were uncomfortable or nervous.

You squinted at her, fighting back an amused smile. “I slept well, thank you.”

You were vaguely aware of the hush that had fallen upon the room. There was more to it, too, some sort of tension, expectant and apprehensive, a holding of one’s breath as one waits for something the nature of which one isn’t really certain of.

“We’ve been observing your Earth, and one night we’ll make a contact with you,” the robotic, distorted alien voice burst out.

“Good,” Venable answered. “I am glad to hear that.”

A pause. The pause stretched.

“Maybe now some of my brain cells will finally kick back into life, “you prompted.

Venable blinked. “We can only hope so,” she answered after a while.

The smile you had been holding back danced across your lips. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Coco shoot you a perplexed look, saw her contort her face as if to ask, “what the hell is happening?”

Venable’s cane tapped on the floor. “Everyone, please,” she called, “I have an announcement to make. Some good news for you all.”

Excited whispers filled the room. You straightened in your seat. Venable waited until she had everyone’s attention, and then spoke with pride in her voice. “To renew with tradition and entertain you, we will now have board games nights. Whist, backgammon, chess.”

Was she… actually trying to be nice? Giving you all something to look forward to? A bit of fun, to help pass the time? You almost gawked at her.

She’s trying, a voice whispered in your head. What was it she had said? Make it acceptable to love her. You were vaguely aware of the tears that sprang to your eyes.

“Excuse me,” Coco blurted out, “I thought you’d said ‘good news’, not ‘you’re now officially living in a shitty Jane Austen novel’.”

Venable glared at her. You caught just a flash of pain in her eyes.

“I think it’s a good idea,” you retorted before Venable had time to. “It’ll keep our minds distracted.”

“I don’t even know what whist and backgammon are,” said Andre. “And I’ve never played chess.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Venable sneered. “It will be the perfect opportunity to inject some knowledge into your vacuous brain.”

“Not as vacuous as that,” Andre retorted angrily, “seeing as you filled it with my boyfriend’s own brain.”

You had never seen Andre stand up to Venable before. Like the others, he had been too scared of her to dare contradict her. But now his voice was openly belligerent, his eyes shooting daggers at her, and his hands gripped the arms of his chair as if he were contemplating standing up. Something had changed, and it didn’t take you long to realize you were the cause. Or rather, Venable’s behavior to you. You had been insolent to her, and she had not punished you. She had not even verbally abused you.

“What will it take,” Venable enunciated, “for you to finally understand me when I say that I did not feed you Stu?”

“Then where is he?” Andre growled, jumping to his feet, “And what was in the fucking stew?”

“Alright, okay, calm down,” you spoke, rising too, and holding out a hand in front of Andre. “I’ll teach you chess, okay? I know chess, I can teach you. Just, relax, man. Gosh.”

Andre glared at you. You raised your eyebrows at him. For a minute he stayed still, hands clenched into fists, and then he let out a breath and moved back to his chair.

Coco threw her hands up in the air. “Board games nights it is,” she said sarcastically.

You turned to Venable. She was studying you, her expression strange, as if she could not quite decide between anger and gratefulness.

“Miss Y/L/N,” she said, her eyes locked with yours, “I do not need your help when it comes to dealing with idiots.”

You took your time to answer, to think of the right words to say. A smile crept up your lips again, and this time you let it.

And you knew everyone in the room would be able to hear you. But you didn’t care. Blame it on the hydroxyzine. Blame it on the freaking interplanetary and most extraordinary occupants. The world had ended. You were exhausted. And you were falling for her.

When you spoke, your voice was a singsong, as insolent as it had been the evening before. “Why, fuck me, Ms Venable. I know that.”

#ahs #ahs imagines #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable #wilhemina venable x reader #fics

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knockknockchicagopd · 3 years

Text

❛ WHO'S THE ALPHA? ❜

❚❙ REQUEST BY ANON: hi there💞 can i request where reader and antiono dawson are dating in secret and she's pregnant and now they getting it on with some smut in his office and her father hank catches them with some angst please

❚❙ ANTONIO DAWSON MASTERLIST.

❚❙ WORDS: about 1.9k

❚❙ NOTES: There's no smut because I couldn't imagine the situation of being caught in the act, also keeping in mind that reader is Hank's daughter. There's no way Antonio would take that kind of risk.

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted.

❚❙ GIF credits: to the author.

❚❙ Tag list: @melblacc @rebelwrites @skyofficialxx @sesamepancakes @scarletsoldierrr @mondefantastique @that-chick212 @enbyamaro @anotherfan07 @ocetevasgirl @sophie-writes @destynelseclipsa @jadakiss13. If you want to be added to my tag list, send me a message.

Since you knew this morning that you're pregnant, you haven't stopped thinking about how you are going to say it to Antonio. It's not a big deal, but it means that your father will know it too. And that's a real problem. But the happiness inside you doesn't let you worry now about that. It's been a long year hiding it from him and maybe it's a good way for him to discover it.

Honestly, you can't wait till coming to his house to tell him and, by the time it is, your father must be in your home already. So you decide to drive to the District. Antonio has to be there, since he hasn't text you yet. Leaving your car in the private parking, you walk in by the back door, going upstairs straight to the Intelligence Unit, passing away what they call the cage and the interview rooms. You can't contain the smile curving up your lips when you find your boyfriend very focused on something in his computer, writing down some kind of notes in a report. He doesn't even notice your presence, till you're in front of him.

“Voight left ten minutes ago”. He says, keeping up appearances just in case someone can hear you.

“We're alone”. You reply raising both eyebrows.

Leaning back on his chair to check both sides of his office, he drags his seat away from his desk enough for you to sit on his lap. Infected by your smile, Antonio can't help but draw the same gesture while placing an arm around your waist and his other hand on the back of your head. He's delighted to see you after a long day of paperwork and his ass stuck on his chair. Sometimes he doesn't know if it is worse to be there or to be in the street. But you're his reward, so he doesn't complain.

His lips find yours in a sigh, purring against them when he feels your warm wrapping him. The only thing he needs. His kisses are soft, slow, gentle. Just like his caresses. Just like him all the time. You found the most tender man you could ask for, and you thank God every day of your life. He takes care of you like no one else, with the most minimal details, without asking anything back. You two are made for each other, that's a fact.

“Antonio… baby, I have to tell you something”.

“Can't it wait?” He mumbles pecking your lips once and again, watching him bite his in the short meantime of meeting again.

“Yeah, actually for… like seven months, more or less”.

With his mouth on yours but not moving a single inch, he pulls himself away from you frowning confused. Your boyfriend doesn't last longer than two seconds to put his brain cells to work and connects the dots. His gesture changes from playful and joy to a big pout, as his eyes are filled up with tears.

“Dios mío”.

It's the first time you watch him crying since you know him, for more than eight years. You don't doubt cleaning the tears that fall down by his cheek, as his sobs become a little constant.

“Are you sure?” He asks with a broken tone of voice, tilting his head for a moment. You just nod in silence. “When did… you know?”

“This morning. I'm two months now… Are you… happy?”

“Of course I am, princesa”. Lively laughing, he urges you to stand up to do the same and push you into a tight hug between his arms.

Of course, it wasn't something you two planned. And of course, it wasn't something you two were expecting. But you have never felt this blissfulness in your life. You're in a rollercoaster of emotions right now, just like your boyfriend who doesn't know what to say, nor what to do more than to spread a bunch of kisses all around your face trying to transmit you every single thing he is feeling right now.

Since Laura left him, Antonio thought he would never be loved with so much intensity, and then, you clapped eyes on each other. You know him ever since practically, but that time was different. You had a rare day in the hospital and he had closed a two-months investigation satisfactory. But you were tired like never before, feeling vulnerable and with a mix of emotions roaming your bodies. You came to the District looking for your father, but he was gone to celebrate already, so he offered himself to drive you home. And it just simply happened.

One year after, you're expecting your first baby. And probably not the last.

“Making friends?”

The well known tone of voice of your father interrupts your moment. Your bodies are frozen against the other, putting distance between both slowly. Gulping and turning toward the sergeant, you watch him waving a hand waiting for an answer. The tip of his tongue licks his teeth, arching an eyebrow as his face hardens. You aren't able to say anything, looking at your boyfriend who seems more terrified than you, rubbing his forehead.

“Hm…”

Your father grabs his gun from the holster on his belt, taking the safety off. You know he's just pressuring you to talk, but you block his possible target by putting ahead of Antonio. Just in case.

“Dad… Dad, list—listen”.

“I'm listening, baby girl”. He scoffs, placing his hands crossed under his abdomen.

“We… Uh…” Your heart is racing so fast that you're afraid to collapse, until you feel one of Antonio's hands hold yours, placing himself by your side. “We're together… like… a couple”.

“You're not anymore. Go home and wait for me there”.

“Da—”.

“Don't make me say it twice, (Y/N)”.

“Go. We will talk later, I promise you”. Your boyfriend's whisper doesn't make you feel convinced, but you obey in silence not being another option.

With your arms around your abdomen and your hands trembling tangled on your own uniform, you leave the District looking back every two seconds. It's not like Hank controls your life, but this is a question of honor, and you trust in Antonio. You know they need to be alone to talk some sense into him. But you also know what is going to happen.

Two long hours sitting on your sofa, desperate with your phone between both fingers waiting for a call, a text, anything. You knew it wasn't a good idea to hide it from your father, but to be honest, you didn't know that Antonio and you could go that far. The baby wasn't something planned, it just happened. You haven't even had time to react, but you still have some hope. Hank would never forbid you to continue this relationship now that you're pregnant. Though you know it's not going to be easy for him to assimilate it.

When the lights of a big SUV illuminates the street and the facade of your house, you don't lose time getting up from your seat to run to the entrance, opening the door and waiting for your father to say something as he steps out of his car. He doesn't look happy, not at all. You've lied to him all this time and you're aware of how hurt his ego is right now. It's going to cost you more than a sorry to bring back his trust in you. Licking your bottom lip in silence, you can't help but go downstairs to meet him on his path.

Hank has his hands kept in the pocket of his jeans with a rough and disappointed gesture in his face. You aren't sure what to say, being just a couple steps away from him.

“Maybe Antonio tripped and broke his nose”. He just says with feigned innocence, causing you to arch an eyebrow and cross your arms on your chest. “He's in the Chicago Med. You should go”.

Your father is about to pass you away to the inside when you stop him by a hand on his chest, pushing him back to face you.

“You're still my favorite man on earth”. You mumble bowing your head down for a second, till he holds your hand to place a kiss on the back of it.

“That's why he isn't dead, princess”.

“Isn't it because I am pregnant, and he is the father?” Not trying to contain a soft grin, you grab his other hand to lace your fingers with his and place them on your belly, knowing it's going to work.

“His grandfather is more than enough”. Hank replies squinting at you, before tilting his head to press a kiss on your forehead.

Leaving the front of your house straight to your car, he waits for you outside till you abandon your neighborhood to take the highway and reach the hospital faster. You're ashamed, you can't lie, but if your father didn't have a single scratch means that Antonio didn't hit him back, which is good. He still knows who the alpha is. You can go against the world, but not against Hank Voight. That's a fact. Everybody in Chicago knows it.

Not caring too much about how you park your car, your legs move quicker to the Emergencies being received by Will, who is trying to not laugh pressing both lips against the other. Making you a sign with a silent congratulations, your eyes travel around the open doors till finding Antonio sitting on a stretcher with his head bowed down, swinging his feet.

Knocking on the white metallic frame, you stick your head out of it with a sweet smile on the corner of your lips. “Need a ride back home, inspector?”

“May I need a nurse too”.

His brown eyes have a shine that only appears in them when he sees you after a long, long day; when he's about to be hugged by you, kissed, touched, loved. Putting down from the stretcher, you help your boyfriend to wear his jacket and zip it up over his torso.

“You okay?” Feeling your cheeks burning because of the shame, you put both hands on his neck to take a look of his nose covered with a gauze.

“He just threatened me and punched me. Honestly, I thought he would bring me to a remote place to make me dig my own grave. I think it did quite well, don't you?”

Antonio's positivism makes you laugh, nodding with your chin. Holding your arms and taking them to his mouth, he kisses both with so much care and tenderness, before tilting his head to catch your lips between his. At first, it's weird and awkward for you to be kissen for him in public, after a year hiding it. But it only lasts a short second. You can't wait to stop containing your impulses for hugging him and holding his hand and calling him amor in front of all; not in front of your dad, obviously. You're too young to die.

#lemme know what you think in a comment! ⚡#chicago pd #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd x reader #antonio dawson #antonio dawson x reader #antonio dawson imagine

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vintage-writes · 3 years

Text

Come here, Captain Levi Ackermann x Reader

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Summary: Getting kidnapped by the Scout Regiment was not on today’s agenda. Levi Ackermann being the one to watch you was an unexpected turn of events. However, don’t be fooled, You’re still in charge.

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Oral (M. receiving) Fem!Dom!Reader, Sub!Levi, Corruption Kink (if you squint).

18+ ONLY

A/N: This was originally just supposed to be fun and then I decided to add some spice.

Word Count: 2 070

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The streets of Trost were quickly filling up with people. The crowds were letting loose a series of cheers and shouts, all jeering in excitement for the King’s generosity. His decision to open up the royal food supplies to Trost was like a saving grace to the starving.

Or rather, it’s excellent bribery. The king has been desperately trying to garner support from the lower class. This is most definitely due to the rising conflict within the government. Erwin Smith, Commander of the Scout Regiment, has been placed behind bars and will most definitely be executed. Whether or not that would be today or tomorrow, I’m sure they wouldn’t let me know.

Two days ago You approached the higher ups about the arrest of the Scout Regiment. They were uninterested in what You had to say, fully believing that the anomaly known as Eren Jaeger would be the end of humanity. Their fear is driving them forward and the Scouts were apparently plotting to harbour this secret titan power for themselves. You pointed out that that was ridiculous and was immediately slapped for my ‘insubordination’.

Whatever the case. You’re now patrolling around the Trost district. The watchful eyes of a few of your subordinates are keeping you in check as many apparently believe that you’re a step away from chasing after the scouts and pledging my loyalty. All information regarding the situation has been kept away from you, you feel as though you’re being locked up in a cell despite your freedom to walk down a street.

This is ridiculous. A General shouldn’t be monitored by a bunch of recruits. They’ve even confiscated your gun, leaving you vulnerable with nothing but a knife.

You adjust your jacket, the military police insignia sewn proudly onto the back. The Unicorn, the perfect creature for the biggest joke in the military.

Glancing behind your back, you notice that one of your ‘babysitters’ is currently occupying themselves with a lost child. A young boy was tugging on his pants while he awkwardly tried to pull him off.

Perfect.

You duck behind the nearest corner and dart into the alleyway. Your boots thudding gently on the pavement. The thrill of finally dodging the watchdogs was like a fresh breath of air. And then.

“Don’t move”

Of course you would run into the only dumbass in the world willing to rob an MP. A knife’s sharp edge presses at your throat. The hand that grasps it connects to a young boy with blond hair and sharp eyes. Although, despite the fiery look in his eyes your instincts tell you that he wouldn’t follow through with his threat. He quickly grabs a ball of fabric from his pocket and stuffs it into your mouth. You let out an indignant shout but it’s muffled by the cloth, however before You can grab the brat You hear another voice, this time from behind you.

“Lift up your arms.”

Behind you, a heavy metallic object nudges you slightly forward. A Rifle, no doubt.

You slowly raise your arms as you feel the presence shift forward and grab them. You expect him to tie them together but instead he hesitates. It feels as though he is unsure of himself. Instead he brings your arms behind your back and simply holds them.

Well this is certainly awkward.

“You’re coming with us.”, says the blonde in front of me.

You raise your eyebrows at this. Robbing an MP is certainly a bold move but kidnapping is a whole other ball game. Whoever these guys are, they’ve certainly got guts.

About an hour later You’re sitting in a remote part of Town in a stuffy warehouse. Luckily, you’re gagless as it appears no one here has anything to tie my hands together with. After the long faced asshole with a stupid hair cut tossed me into the corner you pulled out the gag and threw it at him. It smacked his head with a wet thud before rolling away. He let out a high pitched wail before vigorously rubbing at the spot, tossing insults at you like they were going out of fashion.

“Oi, Brat!” shouts a rather familiar voice. “Quiet down.”

In walks Captain Levi of the Survey Corps. The pieces begin to click together as you realize what’s going on. Despite the missing Wings of Freedom sigil on everyone’s back, you can tell that you’re looking at the Scout Regiment or more specifically, the Levi Squad.

Humanity’s strongest soldier is currently staring down at you, completely uninterested. You, on the other hand, are very interested to see him. Despite being a relatively strong soldier and Erwin’s right hand, he’s generally rarely seen around the Capital. His appearance has been described as plain but I disagree. His features are sharp and he’s incredibly lean and muscular. His dark eyes never miss a thing, an air of constant alertness surrounds him. He’s certainly the most attractive man you’ve seen by far.

You shift backwards a bit, your back now resting on the table. Two Glasses sit atop the wooden surface, completely empty. Levi notices the slight movement and turns to the two boys.

“Why isn’t she tied up?” he says, face remaining stoic.

“Because I’m not into rope”, You respond dryly.

He sends you a glare before ordering them away to find something suitable to keep you still. You roll your eyes at this before fixing them on Levi. He leans on the locked door, the only other exit besides a window barely small enough to crawl out of three meters above you. His eyes feigning disinterest but any soldier with a brain can tell that he’s watching very closely.

“So-”, You begin to say.

“Shut up.”

Excuse me?

“I thought I was here to answer questions?” you say instead. Why else would they go through all the trouble of kidnapping you?

His eyes study me and you can see he’s contemplating something.

“I figured Daddy’s little girl might have other uses.”

Ohhhh, You get it now, somehow Levi has figured out that one of the King’s dear advisors is your father. Little does he know, that man will likely rather leave me for dead. You couldn’t be a worse leverage. Although the phrase “Daddy’s little girl” coming from those lips have you smirking up at him. How very kinky, Captain.

“Well you know-”

“Quiet”

Oi. Let me speak.

“Captain”, You say with warning.

“General”, he retorts. His voice is surprisingly rough and low.

Who do you think is in charge here Captain? Despite what it may look like, You don’t think he has as much power in this situation as he thinks he does.

You shift forward preparing to stand up. You’re done being stuck in this stuffy place, you need to escape before everyone else comes back. Levi immediately straightens up in front of you. Despite his size, the amount of danger radiating off of him is immense and you don’t have a weapon on hand. The slow sinking feeling that maybe you’ve underestimated him begins to settle in.

“Sit back down. You’re not leaving.”

Reluctantly, you shift back into place. Maybe escaping right now isn’t the best option.

He begins again, this time his voice drops considerably deeper, "If you move one more time, I swear I’ll choke you until you pass out”

His eyes have turned to slits. Suddenly you feel as though you’ve made some kind of mistake. However, despite his pretty face staring angrily into your soul, you feel incredibly excited.

Leaning your head back, your eyes spot the two glasses sitting on the table. You tip your head to make eye contact with him. You hold his gaze. Warning signs flashing in his eyes as you turn your body to face the table. Eyes still locked on his own. You raise your right hand and sweep it across the table, knocking them onto the floor. The glass shatters instantly upon hitting the ground.

The look of surprise on his face sends your heart racing. Eyes widening as his face flushes red. You turn back to face him

“Alright”, You say.

You tilt your head back, looking down your nose at him. You brush your hair away from your neck and continue to stare intently at him.

“Come here, Captain”

He backs away a step. Excellent, you’ve caught him off guard.

“What’s wrong, Captain?” You taunt, “Are you not going to keep your word?”

He straightens up quickly and presses his lips together.

Good. Let him put his mask back on so You can rip it off again. You quickly straighten up and hop onto your feet. Slowly, step by step, you make your way forward, until you stop right in front of him. His eyes burn into yours.

You lift up one hand and bring it to his chin. He exhales sharply. You bring your lips to his ear. Gently breathing in his sweet musky scent.

“Are you not the one in charge here, Captain? Or have you finally remembered that I outrank you?” You breathe against him before moving your head back. His face has completely reddened.

With the hand still on his chin you gently tilt it upwards and apply pressure, effectively pushing him back into the wall.

“As a General, I don’t particularly like taking orders”, You say moving both hands to his shoulders before beginning an achingly slow descent. “I’d rather be the one giving them. Now stand still and be a good boy.”

Both hands finally reach the top of his pants and with a single finger begin to slowly trace the inside, moving across the inside until you reach his pants button. He jerks his hips towards you. He releases a sharp breath as you begin to unbutton each one before opening them. You run your hands back around to his waist and tug them downwards. They softly thump against the floor. You look into his eyes as you drop to your knees, he still hasn’t said or done anything to stop you. Excitement flares within you. The idea of having humanities strongest wrapped around your finger has heat flooding downwards.

You pull away the last layer of clothing separating you from his dick. His hand flies to the back of your head. Fingers tangling into your hair. You stare up at him. He doesn’t make a move to push you forward or away. The ball remains in your court as he simply stares down at you, licking his lips, breaths short and heavy.

“Levi”, You say gently, breath brushing against his member as he begins to squirm. You smirk, “Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”

You place a kiss to the inside of his thigh. Another slightly higher, and higher again. His hips buck forward.

“Stop moving”

He stills beneath your hands as you decide to finally grab onto his hardened member, dripping with precum. Slowly but surely, you pump him up and down as he sighs out. you lean forward and place another kiss at the base of his cock. You run your tongue from the base, to the underside and all the way to the top where you twirl your tongue around the head. The grunt that accompanies this action urges you on as you begin to suck deeply.

He Whines out, “Y/N”

You pause and he squirms some more. Hands gripping your hair harder.

“Yes?”

“Please”, he blurts out. “More”

“Do you want to cum?”

He nods vigorously. Good, let Y/N break him. You do your best to relax your throat and breathe deeply through your nose. With a slow push You push forward all the way to the hilt. He Gasps. He’s panting now.

“Please”, he breathes out. Mumbling over and over again. You pull back slightly and let your tongue swirl around the head again. You look up and make eye contact. Mouth hanging open, eyes wound shut. His lips let out moans and whines.

“Oh God!” He lets out before releasing in your mouth. You swallow everything before standing up again. You run your tongue over your lips before looking at him.

Pants pooled around his ankles, eyes glossy, mouth slightly open as his breathing begins to slow. His face is of pure ecstasy.

“So are you willing to listen to me now?” You smile at him gently. “Or do you want to take a minute?”

#aot #levi attack on titan #levi #ackermann #attack on titan #aot fic #levi smut #aot smut #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan smut #sub!levi #dom!reader #levi ackerman

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destiniesfic · 3 years

Photo

132 Hours, Chapter 5:

If I die out here alone, for nothing, I will feel so incredibly stupid.

Note: There is a content warning this chapter for a brief mention of past attempted sexual assault. The mention comes near the end of the chapter.

Read chapter 5 on AO3, or read below:

Despite the damp cool of the basement, I am warm when I finally blink my eyes open to the dim morning light. Cardan has curled up at my back.

Alpha blood tends to run hot, they say. It plays into the general myth that we are opposites in every way: alphas hot, omegas cold; alphas strong, omegas weak; alphas dominant, omegas submissive, and so on. Scientifically the hot-cold theory has a little backing, though we’re talking an average temperature difference of 0.2 to 0.5 degrees max. But with Cardan so close to me, practically radiating heat, I am almost inclined to believe it.

We’re not touching too much. He has sort of nestled his face into the juncture of my neck and shoulder, and if I hadn’t slept in my sweatshirt I could probably feel his eyelashes tickle my skin. His hand found the curve of my waist in the night. But that’s it. The rest of him is a few inches away, like even in sleep he finds it difficult to overcome his revulsion to me.

It’s almost comfortable, if I forget who I am and who he is. Not even what I am and what he is, because Madoc’s position means that if any handsome, eligible alpha bachelors deigned to outright marry an omega, as he had once married our mother, Taryn and I would be the best of the bunch—best-connected, best-educated, best-groomed. No, it’s that he is Cardan and I am Jude, and I have hated him ever since my body put itself at war with my brain, and he has hated me too, just because I was afforded some small amount of privilege without being born into it.

And still, I stay there for a minute, soaking up his warmth. Because I didn’t think I’d have this anytime soon. I didn’t think I’d get to wake up next to a boy cuddling me, not after what happened with Valerian and definitely not after what happened with Locke. And even though these are the worst circumstances, and this is the worst boy, there’s something perversely nice about it.

Or maybe I just like things that are bad for me.

I was thinking of seeing if girls were better when I got to college, but they don’t really explain how alpha-omega girl sex works in school and I am not about to ask Vivi. And now I don’t know if I’ll even make it to college, so maybe it’s not so bad if I steal a moment of peace.

But then the stink of mildew cuts through Cardan’s rich sweet-musky-boy scent and I am forcibly reminded of where we are and why, especially now of all times, I can’t afford to be soft. So I jam my elbow back into his side, and if I do it with maybe a little less force than I normally would, well, it’s not like he knows that.

Cardan awakens with a start. “Ow!” he says, rolling over onto his back and pressing a hand to his side. “What the hell!”

“You’re fine.” I sit up, take down my now grody ponytail, run my fingers through it and begin to put it up again, watching him out of the corner of my eye. “Today’s the day.”

Cardan scowls at me, rubbing his side.

“Do or die day,” I clarify, looping my elastic around another time. “In case you forgot.”

“I remember,” he huffs. “That mattress is terrible.”

“Well, maybe tonight you’ll get to sleep in your own bed. Or maybe we’ll be dead. Or we’ll be locked in this room again and you can sleep on the floor.”

“Such tempting options. However will I choose?”

I roll my shoulders, trying to work the kinks out of my muscles. “My guess is we’re going to be held up with the police for questioning for a long time. You might not have to. Maybe the choice will be made for you.”

“As always, Duarte, I do so admire your rosy outlook.” Cardan finger-combs his hair and sits up all the way, blinking at me. “I’m still worried about the third guy.”

I don’t tell him that I’d been thinking the same thing. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I say quietly. “We have two other bridges to cross first.”

Only a minute or so after I say it, there’s that knock on the door. I glance at Cardan, who needs to play the role of alpha today, and wait for him to speak, even though it sucks to defer to him. He takes his time about it, too, stretching his long legs, running his fingers through his hair once more, like he has all the time in the world, like the person on the other end of the door should be so lucky as to strangle him.

Just as I’m about to strangle him, he calls, “Yes?”

The door opens. The scarred man and his gun are there, along with, absurdly, a little paper Starbucks bag in his other hand. An upgrade. He looks at me and Cardan—we’re now both sitting on the mattress, even though we are a few feet apart—but if he has any comments he keeps them to himself. He shakes the bag like he’s trying to call in a wayward dog. “Breakfast.”

“Thanks,” I say, because it is my place to be deferential.

“No coffee?” Cardan asks.

I whip my head around to glare at him. The man grunts, “Didn’t know how you took it.” Disconcertingly, I can’t tell if he has a sense of humor or if he’s serious.

Airily, Cardan says, “Fine. Put it down wherever.”

The scarred man raises both his eyebrows, but he half-sets, half-drops the bag on the floor and backtracks through the door, closing it and leaving us alone. Cardan goes over to retrieve it and peers inside. “Okay, looks like sausage, egg, and cheddar and… turkey bacon?”

I hold out my hand. “Give me the turkey bacon.”

“Oh, thank god,” Cardan says, and this time he doesn’t take a bite out of it before he hands it to me.

“Not a fan of turkey bacon?”

He scowls. “It’s all healthy. Plus, it’s not like turkeys actually have a belly to cut bacon from. You have to grind it up and make it yourself.”

I snort, but am happy for his judgment if it means my breakfast escapes unscathed. It doesn’t surprise me that Cardan couldn’t care less about eating healthily. From what I know, he has a mostly liquid diet, and the liquid is mainly alcohol. Not that it matters much. He probably won’t be able to keep getting away with it after a few more years, but right now his body takes pretty much everything he consumes and uses it to build him more muscle.

I think of how hard I have to strength train for a fraction of what Cardan gains just by existing, and how some of the training shows, especially in my arms and back, but the rest is buried under a cozy layer of body fat, and I kind of want to strangle him again. Just one of the many downsides of being an omega.

Since I don’t have any fun facts about turkey bacon to contribute, we eat breakfast without speaking. We had agreed that it was important to get our strength up for whatever lies ahead, but I find it hard to chew and swallow, even though the sandwich is lukewarm. I end up offering the last half to Cardan, who takes it despite his complaints.

Then, once enough time has passed, he gives me a look, and I nod and stand, shaking my legs out. Instead of staying in my usual corner, I stand next to the door, tense, waiting. With one last glance at me, Cardan strides over and knocks.

We have a system with our captors now. They know that the knocking means we want out for one reason or another. They either call through the door to find out why or just open it right away. This time, the door simply opens. Cardan stays where he is and does not move to the back of the room.

“Hey,” he says. “It’s that time again.”

It’s the woman’s voice I hear, and I am privately thankful. “Okay, back up.”

“But I was hoping I could go first.”

“Back up.”

Cardan takes one step back. It’s now that she realizes that I’m not in my corner. Just a little further, I think. And she gives me the half-step I need.

“What’d you do with your friend?” she asks.

To answer that question, I grab her by her shirt and drag her into the cell.

Surprise is a legitimate advantage, but a fleeting one. Since she’s armed and I’m not, I need to move fast. I don’t have to think much about it. I jam my knee into her stomach; all of the air leaves her lungs in a startled gasp, and her grip loosens on the gun. I pry it from her hand with one of mine and use the other, still fisted into her shirt, to pull her further into the room—and let go.

It only takes a few seconds. I dart out. Cardan has already gone ahead, as I told him to, and I pull the door to behind me, quickly twisting the lock on the knob. That was phase one.

“Um, Jude,” says Cardan.

I turn, raising my stolen pistol in front of me before I do anything else, finger resting dangerously near the trigger. The scarred man stands on the other side of the table, his gun also raised. But instead of aiming it at Cardan, as we thought he would, he is pointing that barrel at me.

“This is a surprise,” he says.

Behind me, the doorknob rattles as the woman realizes I’ve locked her in.

“Let her out,” the man tells us, voice steady and slow.

“Or what?” I ask. Somehow, my voice doesn’t shake. “We’re both armed. Let us go and I won’t shoot you.”

“Do you even know how to use that thing?” he asks.

“What do you think?”

He cocks his head to look me over, evaluate my posture, my steady grip. “Huh,” he says, and then he moves to point his gun at Cardan instead. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cardan’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “I’ll only ask nicely one more time.”

I snort. “Sure. Do me the favor.”

The scarred man raises an eyebrow. Cardan whispers, “Jude?” like he isn’t sure whether or not I am playing a game. I am not sure either. I am intoxicated by the adrenaline pulsing through me.

“We’re not friends,” I clarify. “Shoot him if you want.”

Cardan gives me a panicked look.

“Of course, if you’ve promised to give him back alive, that’s going to cause some trouble.” My palm is sweaty. I shift my grip on the gun. The knob rattles again at my back, and I hear a soft curse, a hand slamming on the door. “It’s your call.”

The man’s lip curls into a kind of terrible smile. “All right, girl,” he says. “You go free. He stays. Leave the gun on the top step.”

I blink. “Really?”

“Final offer.”

I should go right away. Instead, I glance at Cardan, who has gone pale. But he looks at me again, and then, defying all my understanding of him, he whispers, “Go, Jude.”

So I do. Slowly, my entire body quivering with tension, I walk backwards up the stairs, keeping my pistol trained on the scarred man until the last possible moment. I try the knob at the top, and find it unlocked. It seems too easy, but with one last, stomach-churning glimpse of Cardan’s white face, I flee. But I don’t do everything. I do not give up the gun.

The house I step into has obviously long been abandoned—it was probably never even finished. Some of the walls have gaping holes in the plaster, the support beams visible; some were never plastered at all. There is no furniture to speak of. I don’t linger to take it in. I start running, through a hallway, in the direction of what might be the front door. When I find it, I tumble out into bright morning sunlight, and I keep going.

Immediately I know I am well and truly in the middle of nowhere. All around me is a field of overgrown grass. If there is a road, I cannot see or hear it. Still, I have to assume there was once a driveway that led somewhere, so I take off as fast as I can toward a distant line of trees. I do not wonder about Cardan. I do not wonder about anything.

For a minute it is just me, my feet flattening the dew-damp grass, my lungs straining with every breath. I am alone in a way that I haven’t been in days. Then there is a crack from behind me, and then I feel something rush past my face, just missing me. Startled, I drop the stolen pistol, which lands harmlessly in the grass and thankfully does not fire. I don’t stop running for it. Stopping is the last thing I should do, not when I am so close.

Still, my stomach drops. Without slowing too much, I glance over my shoulder back at the house. The second floor is half-intact, and I can kind of see through the wall—there might be a dark shape perched there. A man. The third man.

He’s a sniper.

I swear under my breath, and my panicked heart skips a beat. They chose this place on purpose. There’s no cover out here, giving them a clear view of whoever might be coming or going. Giving them time to move us in case the cavalry arrived. My only choices are to keep running until I am out of range, or stop, and go back. And I am not doing that.

If I die out here alone, for nothing, I will feel so incredibly stupid.

There’s another crack, now unmistakably the sound of a rifle being fired, and this time I feel when it hits—really more of a graze, but it still skims through my flesh about midway up my calf, leaving a tear in its wake. The strange thing is that, at first, being shot doesn’t hurt at all. It doesn’t feel like much of anything. It shouldn’t be enough to make me miss my step. I falter anyway, and when I bring my foot down I land on it wrong and roll my ankle. I drop with a cry into the grass, tears stinging the corner of my eyes.

But even then I keep going, crawling on my hands and knees through the long summer grass, blinking back my tears because I refuse to let myself cry. I don’t look at my ankle or my wound. It is only when I hear the grass crunching underfoot behind me, and a shadow falls over me, that I finally, finally stop moving forward.

I don’t stop fighting, though. The man—Cardan had described him as tall, and he was right—picks me up with some effort and, without a word, throws me over his shoulder like a sack of garbage. After adjusting me a little so my weight is more evenly distributed, he turns to carry me back to the house. All the time I am squirming, trying to kick, pounding at his back with my fists, screaming with the faint hope that someone might hear me. It isn’t enough to get the sniper to loosen his grip on my waist, but I do feel him wince in pain a couple of times, giving me some small, bitter satisfaction.

All I think is, I shouldn’t have dropped the gun.

Despair begins to set in as we reenter the unfinished house, as the sniper shoulders his way through the door to the basement and carries me down the stairs. Cardan is seated in a chair, rumpled but seemingly unharmed, his hands behind his back. Apparently, someone has bothered to tie him up or handcuff him this time. He sits forward when he sees me carried in. “Jude?”

“Are you sure he’s the alpha?” the sniper asks his companions. “He seems to have gone easy on you.” He deposits me into another chair, and the woman is there immediately to cuff my hands, threading the handcuff chain through the chair back so I am well and truly stuck. I see that some of my blood has soaked into the sniper’s black shirt and think, Good. My leg is starting to hurt now, in throbs, like a bad burn.

“You shot her?” Cardan asks, straining against his bonds.

“I’m fine,” I say, avoiding his gaze. I cannot believe he would do something as stupid as give himself up so I could go free. I look at my wounded calf, streaked red. There is an angry-looking tear there, but it could have been much worse. He didn’t hit bone. “It’s a graze.”

“Because he’s good at his job,” says the scarred man.

The sniper shakes his head and disappears into the room beyond the bathroom. He returns with a first aid kit and begins to stoop down next to me so he can clean my calf, but I raise my foot, threatening to kick him again.

“That’s enough,” the scarred man says. “Believe it or not, we don’t want to hurt you kids.”

“Not,” I mutter under my breath.

“Hurting you wasn’t part of the remit unless you misbehaved,” says the sniper. “Is that more believable?”

I scowl and hold out my leg so that he can clean the wound. Cardan’s eyes narrow. “We can’t just trust you,” he says, as a stinging antiseptic pad is applied to the torn skin and I flinch. “We don’t even know who you are. Give us something. Names. Something to call you.”

The scarred man and the woman look at each other. The woman says, “You can call me the Bomb. This is the Roach. That—” She points to the sniper. “Is the Ghost. You can figure out why for yourself.”

“You call yourself the Roach?” Cardan asks. “Wow. I mean, love yourself a little.”

To my surprise, the man grins. “Not my choice, but we don’t get to choose. How’s her leg?”

“The twisted ankle is going to give her the most trouble,” the Ghost replies. He presses a clean cotton pad to the wound and binds it in gauze. Then he starts on wrapping my ankle. He’s efficient; he’s done this before. “Although I’m guessing we don’t want her mobile anyway.”

“I wouldn’t mind if she taught me a couple of moves,” the Bomb says, rubbing her stomach. I wonder if I bruised her. “What was that, karate?”

“Krav maga,” I admit, glaring at the Ghost as he props my foot up on the nearest empty chair. Ignoring me, he stands and leaves to wash his hands. “I’ve been training since I was nine.”

The Roach lets out a low whistle. “Someone didn’t want you getting jumped.”

I turn my glare on him. “For all the good it did me.”

For reasons I don’t understand, the Roach grins and holds up his hands. “This? This is just a paperwork dispute. Once everything’s signed and sealed, we’ll turn you loose.”

“Lot of hassle for some paperwork,” Cardan remarks. “You could have just let Jude go if it isn’t that big of a deal.”

“I’m starting to see it,” the Bomb says to the Ghost. “Although, yeah, I could have sworn the girl was the alpha too for a second there.”

And if that isn’t absurd enough, Cardan leans toward me across the table and asks, “Did they teach you how to slip handcuffs in krav maga school?”

“Do you want to dislocate your thumbs?” the Ghost asks abruptly, reemerging from the bathroom.

I give Cardan a shrug and a nod—that is how to do it—and he shudders.

“Look, we know just about everything there is to know about this guy,” says the Roach, pulling out the last empty chair and sitting across from me. “But now I’m curious about you.”

I blink. “There’s not much to say.”

“He has quite a file on him,” says the Bomb, jerking her head to indicate Cardan, who pulls an innocent face. “But you were nowhere in it. We thought you were a bystander, a fling, or maybe his new girlfriend—”

“His what?” I squawk.

“But you’re way more interesting than that,” the Roach concludes. “Cardan told us this whole little escape plan was yours.”

The Ghost, for his part, leans against the wall, folds his arms over his chest, and says nothing. I decide I would like him best except for the part where he shot me.

“Why don’t you just let Cardan tell my life story, then?” I snap, angry at everything and everyone.

“Gladly,” Cardan says, looking a little too gleeful. “Jude Duarte was born with a chip on her shoulder. She’s glaring about ninety percent of the time and never lets her guard down, ever. As far as I know, she’s only gotten drunk once. She and her sister were the first omegas to graduate from our school, and Jude staged a coup by being named valedictorian, too, as if being first at just one thing wasn’t good enough. Our last semester, she gave a kid a black eye and got him expelled.”

“Why?” The Bomb asks. “What did he do?”

Cardan lapses into an embarrassed silence that I don’t really understand. Valerian had been his friend, once. Maybe still is. I say casually, “He tried to do what alphas always do,” like I don’t still feel the awful weight on top of me, the cheekbone cracking under my knuckles. “So I did what I had to.”

“They expel kids for that now?” asks the Roach. “Huh. Good on them.”

“Jude’s dad made a persuasive case,” Cardan says.

They exchange bemused glances. The Ghost asks, “Who’s her dad?”

Cardan and I look at each other across the table. They really don’t know.

“My adoptive father,” I clarify, because it matters. “He’s a lawyer. Uh, his last name’s Madoc?”

“Oh,” says the Roach. “Shit.”

#jurdan #judecardan #jude x cardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #tfota #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #the folk of the air #jurdan fanfic #mine: fic #fic: 132 hours

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lloydskywalkers · 4 years

Text

call the police and the fireman

I have zero explanation for this except that during the rare occasion of me working on my original novel, it occurred to me that out of all the dragon characteristics Lloyd could have, I’ve been short-changing him on of the coolest ones possible. Also @ninjawhoa did not talk me down so here’s Lloyd ignoring his one brain cell.

In his defense, Lloyd most certainly had not been trying to completely eviscerate the inside of his throat. That hadn’t been like, anywhere even remotely near the end goal. Was it something he'd wanted? No. Was it something he’d planned? Of course not, his plans aren’t that bad. Was it something he probably should have expected?

….well, maybe, but it’s too late now.

Way too late, Lloyd thinks to himself, as he finishes hiding the last specks of the incinerated fire alarm in the bathroom trash and immediately retreats to sticking his head beneath the running faucet again.

The thing is, though, smart as he normally is, Lloyd’s had it — well, he’s had it not so great, lately. It hasn’t been the easiest of times in his life, which is saying something, compared to the rest of it. So maybe he’d gotten a little too focused on the barest shred of good news he’d received during the entire thing, sue him.

You try being told you’ve actually been part-dragon your entire life, what would your first move be? And having grown up with dragons as a normal staple in his life, Lloyd’s had a whole lot of inspiration on that front.

In hindsight however, Lloyd thinks, as he tries not to cry over his poor, mutilated throat — he probably should’ve stuck with like, trying to give himself claws, or something. Or even the flying thing. The flying thing would’ve been way better.

The worst part is that it actually looked so stupid cool. Kai would lose his mind over how cool this is, and Lloyd can’t even show him, because he might lose his mind in an entirely different and much less enthusiastic way.

Lloyd tries for a tentative “hey guys”, and immediately doubles over in a bout of wheezing gasps, wishing he’d tried for the sweet bliss of unconsciousness-via-head-bashing instead.

Stuffing a towel in his mouth so the rest of the team doesn’t hear him hacking like a chronic smoker, Lloyd wonders 1) how long it’s going to take the green power to fix his throat, 2) how long he’s going to be able to get away with not speaking, and 3) how much of this he can blame on his great-grandmother before she vaporizes him.

He comes to the conclusion that he’s just gonna blame the whole thing on her.

******************************

Despite the circumstances they’d met under, Lloyd likes his great-grandmother. She’s pretty cool, as far as family members go, and he enjoys talking with her, even if ninety percent of their conversation ends up devoted to lecturing him about what “an absolute scumbag your great-grandfather was, child, truly the spawn of *garbled dragon curses*."

Actually, all their conversations tend to end that way, but Lloyd doesn’t mind too much. It’s kind of like if his great-grandparents has just divorced like normal people, instead of being otherworldly, immortal god-like beings who went to war with each other.

He hasn’t been talking to her for that long — it’d taken a lot of finagling the means of reaching the First Realm from his uncle, for one, and then he’d had to make sure he could get back home, of course. The whole thing ended up being pointless anyways, since his great-grandmother ended up coming to visit him, because he’s the only family member she hasn’t considered barbecuing at some point, apparently. (Yet.)

“—and you do look just like your father, back when he didn’t take after your thrice-cursed *garbled dragon cursing* of a great-grandfather,” she had said, inspecting him with her large eyes. “I was quite fond of him, you know. He was a true terror, as I’m sure you are. Or perhaps not, you have a sweeter look in your face. It’s the cheeks, I think, you’re not nearly as threatening as he ever looked.”

“Um, thank you,” Lloyd had awkwardly replied, as he’d had little to no reference point of whether or not she genuinely liked him at the time, and was being extra-cautious, because certain recent familial encounters had left him with the mindset that it was best to believe everyone related to him probably wanted to murder him.

Fortunately, his great-grandmother was not one of those types.

“I don’t know about the wings, little one,” she’d informed him as he’d dangled upside from her tail, eyeing him mournfully. “You seem to take too much after your mother’s side.”

Lloyd had been less than thrilled with that response, but he’d swallowed his disappointment the best he could.

“Now the teeth, though,” she’d said, her eyes gleaming. “Those, we can work with.”

That was how the fire-breathing had come to be in the first place — which, as you should note, was entirely his great-grandmother’s idea. She’d reasoned that since Lloyd not only appeared to have manifested most of his dragon characteristics in his mouth, but also had a direct connection to the element of fire, he might be able to both successfully breathe fire and survive the attempt.

“Wait, there’s a chance I wouldn’t survive?” Lloyd had asked, blinking.

“You’re exhaling fire through your little mortal throat, hatchling. Of course there’s a chance you wouldn’t survive. A very small one, mind you — I happen to like you a good deal, and it’d be a terrible shame if all I was left with in the world was the rest of your *garbled dragon cursing* family.”

She had also reasoned that since Lloyd seemed to have an excellent handle on both languages — even if Dragon did sound like butchered yowling in his accent, she bemoaned — perhaps there was a connection with the throat there. At any rate, they had both agreed that Lloyd would be far more likely to breathe fire from his throat than he would be sprouting wings anytime soon.

Lloyd had deliberately mentioned absolutely none of this to his team. If Kai ever learns that he’d been warned dying was an option and continued to try it anyways…

Well, it’s breathing fire. Lloyd’s staking his hopes on Kai being so impressed with how cool it is that he totally forgets about all about murdering his reckless little brother.

******************************

While his great-grandmother gives him all sorts of throat exercises he’s supposed to do — apparently the actual fire’s supposed to come from his chest, but the throat will take the worst of it — he doesn’t get the chance to actually test it out until a week or two later, when he’s walking home alone from the grocery late one night.

All he’s picked up is an extra-large bag of M&M’s and like, four things of cereal, so Lloyd’s in good spirits as he crosses one of the older alleyways. He’s also relaxed enough for the first time in about three months to let his guard down a bit, so it’s a real shame that he immediately gets jumped by thugs the second he does.

“Hands up, kid, nice and easy,” the biggest guy says, waving his gun at him. “We don’t want any trouble, just your money.”

Lloyd bites back a retort. Yeah, sure, they can have all fifty of his cents he’s got left. Lloyd’s a real billionaire here, in his training shorts and Zane’s old sweatshirt, who’s even teaching these guys how to pick targets—

“He said hands up, kid!” the second guy barks at him, his own gun leveling out somewhere wildly above Lloyd’s shoulder. “And drop the bags, too!”

That has Lloyd scowling. He spent the last of his junk food money on this, he’s not leaving it on the city streets, gross. He sighs, shifting his arms and beginning to call up his power, when an idea hits him. Lloyd’s mouth curves into a deliberate smirk.

“Hey kid, we said — hey, stop that creepy grinning, we’re pointing a gun at you—”

Lloyd just grins wider, opens his mouth, and breathes an explosion of streaming flame toward their faces.

If he were his father, Lloyd would call out something terribly impressive, like “may my hellfire vanquish you back to the eternal pit of misery you crawled out of, foolish scum” — but he’s not his father, so he’s been figuring he’ll end up saying something along the lines of “stop right there, sucker” because he was raised by a bunch of teenagers with the combined schooling level of mid-high school.

Unfortunately, all he ends up actually saying is a bunch of strangled screaming, because he’s currently forcing a miniature bonfire through his throat, and wow, he definitely did not calculate how much this was actually going to hurt—

It does the trick, at least. The thugs’ faces lose all their color faster than he can blink, and they jump back screaming in terror, dropping all their guns in their haste to escape.

Lloyd would be cackling like he hasn’t since he was about nine, but he’s too busy trying not die inhaling smoke through his scorched throat.

“Son of — hngh—”

Smoke is billowing out from between his teeth now, and Lloyd sucks in a strangled wheeze, his eyes tearing up as the smoke stings against them. He feels like he’s swallowed a blast from Kai, his throat hurts so bad, but it doesn’t feel deadly. He can already feel the buzz of green power doing it’s job, and the pathetic whining noises he’s making reassure him that his vocal chords are still there, even if it feels like he’s flambéed them.

“Worth it,” Lloyd croaks through his abused, raw throat, before collapsing on the street and nearly passing out.

******************************

The next morning is awful. If Lloyd hadn’t developed such a high pain tolerance as he has, he’d be in serious trouble right now.

Not that it makes it any better, he thinks to himself, trying not to whine as he accidentally swallows, his throat vengefully reminding him that he tried to charbroil it last night.

“Morning, Lloyd,” Cole says cheerfully. Lloyd gives him a weak smile in return, adding a little wave for flair, and hopes it’s enough.

“How would you like your eggs?” Zane asks him. Lloyd jerks a shoulder up in a shrug, trying to look as tired as he can. If he can convince them that he’s just exhausted, instead of slowly dying inside because he breathed fire through his throat last night—

“I want scrambled,” Jay says through a yawn, saving Lloyd from Zane’s quizzical gaze. “Make ‘em all scrambled, Zane, with that cheese you use.”

“A ‘please’ would be appreciated once in a while,” Zane mutters, but he’s already reaching for the fridge again.

Lloyd grits his teeth, trying desperately to ignore how much his mouth tastes like ash. Like, actual ash, which is disgusting. Lloyd’s never gonna be able to eat burnt marshmallows again, which is a true tragedy.

The price you pay for being a badass, Lloyd thinks to himself mournfully.

Kai comes in about then, still scrubbing at his eyes, yawning as he sits next to Lloyd. “Sleep alright?” he asks, words mangled through the yawn.

Lloyd nods, then tries to hide the wince that runs through him as his throat twinges. He’s apparently unsuccessful, because Kai narrows his eyes at him, suddenly looking much more awake.

“Hey, are you okay?” he says, sounding concerned. “Talk to me, bud."

Lloyd bites his lip. If Kai keeps asking, the others are gonna start looking over, and then that’ll be more suspicious. Maybe he can just tell him he’s got a cough? Yeah, he can do that. Just one small sentence, a few little words. He can handle that.

“I’m—ngh—”

Lloyd’s voices catches on the first word, squeaks like a broken recorder, and then coughs a burst of bright fire across the breakfast table.

A chorus of high-pitched screaming rings out across the breakfast room, Cole and Jay jumping back from the flames as Nya and Zane rush toward him, quickly putting out the fire that’s caught the wooden table. Kai’s dancing around Lloyd as he doubles over in hacking coughs, sounding two seconds from a panicked breakdown.

“—coughed up fire, that was fire, Lloyd what the FSM was that?!”

“M’a dragon,’member?” Lloyd wheezes, as he’s stared down by his family’s terrified faces. He coughs again, waving at the tiny puff of smoke that comes out, before giving them a shaky grin. “S’cool, right?”

He’s met with five blank stares.

“Oh dear,” Zane finally says, looking like he’s come to the conclusion that Lloyd is going to kill himself with this. Which is rude, Lloyd can’t be cool as heck if he’s dead.

“This is worse than the lightbulbs,” Cole says, faintly.

“Lloyd, how,” Nya breathes into her hands.

“Dude that’s sick!” Jay bursts out in excitement, immediately cementing his place as one of Lloyd’s favorite people ever. “You can breathe fire, what the heck!”

Kai shakes his head at him in awe, his voice reverent. “That’s so cool, that’s not eve—ennn oh my god he’s dying—!”

Kai’s excitement turns to a horrified shriek as Lloyd coughs up a mouthful of blood.

“S’okay,” Lloyd croaks, waving everyone off they crowd him, wiping at his mouth. “S’normal too. Throat’s just raw. It heals up after a bit.”

He’s met by five of the most unimpressed stares he’s seen all month.

“I’m making you a doctor’s appointment,” Zane sighs, tapping at his phone. “And you’re going over this with Sensei Wu.”

“And you’re not breathing fire anymore,” Cole scolds, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

“Without us,” Jay adds. Cole elbows him, and he scowls. “What? C’mon, this is super cool.”

“Jay,” Nya says, a warning in her voice.

Jay laughs nervously. “I mean, super dangerous, haha! Real, uh, really dangerous. You’re coughing up blood, that’s bad.”

Kai hovers by his shoulder, still looking torn between dreadful concern, overbearing overprotectiveness, and most importantly, an vicious kind of curiosity.

As Lloyd had hoped it would, curiosity wins out. “D’you think it’d work with me?” he finally asks him, a gleam in his eyes. “Since I can control fire, do you think I could breathe it too—”

“No,” Zane says, quickly.

“Absolutely not,” Nya says flatly. “Not a chance. Neither of you are going to try anything else with fire. If I catch you coughing up smoke, you’re both toast.”

Lloyd and Kai both nod dutifully.

“Of course,” Lloyd assures her, through a creaking rasp.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Kai echoes.

******************************

Nya storms out of the monastery at one a.m. that night to find both Kai and Lloyd in the middle of the training field, half the dummies burning down and both sprawled out on the ground. Lloyd is still hacking smoke up, having been responsible for the flames on the right side. Kai is on his hands and knees, his face pale and sweaty, responsible for the fires smoldering on the left. In terms of breathing fire, he’s only been able to trigger his gag relax about seven times, but in terms of enthusiasm, he’s contributed to the blaze on the whole by boosting Lloyd’s flames by eighty percent.

Nya spends about forty-five minutes alternating between yelling at them and dousing them with twin jets of water from her hands. Neither Kai or Lloyd mind getting sprayed by that point, but the yelling definitely doesn’t do wonders for the headaches they’ve both got from smoke inhalation.

******************************

After that fiasco, Lloyd is officially banned from breathing fire, influencing anyone else to try and breathe fire, or even mention breathing fire.

Lloyd declares that this is a prejudiced offense against him being half-dragon.

“You are a prejudiced offense against the entire health world on the whole,” Zane glares at him, tying off the last of the bandages he’s been wrapping around his throat. Lloyd makes a face at him. The bandages are overkill, and Zane knows it — all the damage is on the inside, anyways.

Next to them Nya is still chewing out Kai, who’s steadily chugging at the glass of water Cole forced on him. “I don’t care if you think you’re fireproof, and I don’t care if you—” she stabs an accusatory finger at Lloyd. “Have special elemental powers that’ll heal you eventually. If I so much as see a spark of fire from either of you, anywhere near your mouth, I’m going to super-soak you with the illegal water gun Jay built last summer.”

Kai and Lloyd pale in unison. Kai speaks up hesitantly, “Wouldn’t it just be easier if you hit us with your powers—”

“No,” Nya hisses, her eyes flashing murder. “Because it’s making a point. It’s the water gun of shame.”

Kai and Lloyd exchange commiseratory glances.

Cole and Jay don’t say much until Nya and Zane have wandered from the room, at which point they surge forward, eyes gleaming.

“Tell me you got video of it,” Jay whispers.

Kai grins. “Duh. Wait ’til you see what he did to the balance beams.”

******************************

After that, unfortunately, Lloyd really does have to stop breathing fire. Mostly because he’d like to be able to speak again without doubling over in wheezing coughs, but also because Nya’s legitimately terrifying with her water gun.

Also because Kai’s too scared of Nya as well, so Lloyd’s lost his claim to a bad influence.

Ah well, Lloyd mopes to himself. It’s a nice card to have up his sleeve in a pinch, he guesses, but clearly it was never meant to be a natural thing. He’s just too human. (Or too Oni — maybe that’s influencing it? He’ll have to ask his great-grandmother, next time she goes off on another rant about them.)

The important point is, he has every intention of not doing it again. Every intention.

But then he visits his father in prison again, because his dad’s chatty like that now, apparently. Which isn’t a terribly bad thing on its own, because Mr. Self-Proclaimed (or was it Harumi-proclaimed?) Emperor Garmadon has at least mellowed out a bit since the whole “wreck half the city in a rage” thing. And Lloyd’s been called here in person to check out the new security measures they put up, so he does have a good reason.

No, the breaking point comes when Lloyd’s trying to leave in peace, and his terrible dad of a father decides to make some snarky comment about how “boringly quiet you are today”, like Lloyd’s supposed to be his entertainment, or something.

Normally Lloyd would just ignore it and storm off, but his throat’s been killing him this whole time, and the vein in the upper right corner of his forehead is throbbing just a little too much. So instead of leaving, he whirls on his father, eyes flashing as he growls. Garmadon’s teeth bare, prepared to snap at him, and Lloyd opens his mouth to snap right back—

And promptly breathes a campfire’s worth of bright flames at him instead.

Lloyd claps a hand over his mouth in horror as the flames blossom out against the glass barrier, before doubling over in ragged coughs, smoke streaming through his fingers. A clamoring of alarms goes off, and that’s the only warning Lloyd gets before the emergency sprinklers come on, soaking both him and his father. At least they’ll hide the brimming tears from the smoke in his eyes, Lloyd thinks miserably, watching as his gi soaks through.

Garmadon is dead silent. He stares at him with wide eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open. He closes his mouth, blinking twice, his jaw working. Then, finally— “That is undeniably unfair,” he growls. “She taught you how to do that? I’ve been begging her since I was six.”

Despite the intense agony his throat is in, Lloyd beams. “It’s so cool, right?” he says, his voice sounding like a malfunctioning blender. “Totally awesome. No idea why she wouldn’t teach you. Must suck to be—”

Lloyd doesn’t get to gloat much more than that, because he starts wheezing again and the security guards come drag him out “for his own safety”, but for the look on his dad’s face?

So worth it.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #lloyd garmadon #kai smith #nya smith #the whole squad's there but mostly just lloyd #and his great grandma #the alternate title was 'lloyd's too hot (hot damn)' dont judge me #my fic

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juju-on-that-yeet · 3 years

Text

Recovery

Whumptober Day 31: Today’s Special: Torture Prompt: Experiment

Although the egos finally have Oliver back from Enigma Data, they’re forced to keep him in The Cell as he still has no memory of his old life or relationships. When memory backups fail, Bim offers his magic as one last hope. (cont. from “From Dusk till Dawn”)

Warnings: None (this is barely whump tbh, I took the prompt in a very not-torture direction sakjfhsdjfsdk)

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober Series)

Enjoy!

It’s still late at night when Dark, Wilford, and the Googles return to Ego Inc., so late it’s almost morning. But despite the hour, a few egos have stayed awake to see how the rescue mission went. The moment the leaders and Googles come through the door, the group rushes to them, eyes on Chrome, still supported by Plus, and on Oliver, still unconscious in Google’s arms.

Dr. Iplier is one of the egos who waited up, but he hangs back as the others approach the Googles. His main purpose was to make sure Dark and Wilford didn’t get maimed on the rescue mission, and after seeing them both no worse for wear, is much calmer than the other egos he’s been waiting with. He doesn’t leave, though, looking at Oliver and Chrome with some worry.

Yandereplier and Yancy are there, too, and Yandere nearly knocks Chrome over from the force of his tackle-hug. Yancy is calmer, but not by much, giving Chrome a forceful embrace of his own. Neither is deterred by Plus, who scolds them both to be careful. Chrome, though, reacts with only mild surprise, and makes no move to hug them back. His brows furrow, like he knows he should recognize the two people hugging him. Yandere notices the lack of response first.

“Aka-kun?” he asks, pulling away. He lifts his hands, cups Chrome’s cheek. He can feel the parts where Chrome’s skin has worn away from tears, feel the metal now at the surface. “You didn’t forget me, did you?”

“You…” Chrome murmurs, still thinking hard, “I don’t remember your name, and you don’t look familiar, but something…” He lifts a hand to cover one of Yandere’s. “Something feels right. You’re my friend, aren’t you?” He looks at Yancy. “You both are.”

It’s both everything Yandere and Yancy wanted to hear, and none of it. Chrome speaks the words in a faraway fashion, knowing what he says is true despite lacking the memories to back it up. That lack shows in his eyes, which still fail to flicker in recognition, still fail to capture Chrome’s normal personality and love for his friends. Yandere and Yancy both notice, Yandere especially.

“Yeah, I am,” Yandere manages, before bursting into bittersweet tears. Yancy doesn’t cry, but he looks like he wants to.

Meanwhile Bim, the final person who stayed up waiting, beelines for Oliver the moment Google steps through Ego Inc.’s threshold.

“Ollie,” Bim gasps, tears already in his eyes as he rushes to his side, reaching out a tentative hand to stroke his hair. “Oh sunshine, sunflower, I missed you so much–!”

He kisses Oliver’s cheeks over and over, free hand grabbing one of Oliver’s to hold. Google stands stoically, allowing Bim to fret and weep over Oliver. Bim completely ignores Google for a good minute, until he notices the charred spot on Oliver’s neck.

“Wh-what happened to his neck?” he asks Google, still sniffling.

“Plus used an Enigma Data taser to…incapacitate him,” Google says carefully. Seeing Bim’s shocked expression, he continues, “Oliver had no memory of myself or any of us. His only goal was to kill me, and he might have succeeded had Plus not stopped him.”

“Oh,” Bim mumbles, going quiet with thought.

One thing is clear, not just to Bim but to all the egos in the room: Just because Oliver and Chrome are back in Ego Inc., it doesn’t mean that this ordeal is over.

~~~

Less than a week later, Google is in the control room, staring at a set of screens. The data in them would take a human hours to read and days to fully analyze, but Google has practically memorized every line of code already. The data isn’t from a project, a piece of tech, a website, or even from his own coding.

It’s a snapshot of Oliver’s mind and all the data inside, every line down to the last character. But none of it is normal. His time with Enigma Data, all the ways they fiddled with his hardware and software, have mangled each line beyond recognition. It’s a wonder Oliver can still walk, or talk, or do anything at all without suffering catastrophic errors.

Chrome’s mind wasn’t nearly so complicated. It was in the process of being changed, but all he needed was a data backup to clean up the bad code and restore the memories he’d forgotten. He woke up after the backup with his full memory back, including the time he spent at Enigma Data after being taken. He remembers, still, how it felt to watch a lifetime of memories nearly slip through his hands like water, how it felt to look at his loved ones and barely recognize them, how it felt to see their grief and feel almost nothing. Despite how his experience has hurt him, his injuries are healed and his personality is restored, and he’s gone back to living his life as normal.

But Oliver is a different story.

The data backup didn’t work on him, which is why Google looked into Oliver’s data in the first place. He and his brothers tried to untangle the mess inside Oliver’s head, but it proved too huge even for them to tackle. It’s not just the software, not just the code that’s bad, but the hardware, too. Screws are missing, wires are crossed, plates and nodes have been removed and put back in the wrong places. Chrome had had a few hardware issues too, but nothing on this level, nothing so pervasive. Even if they could stand to wait the weeks it would take to get the missing parts Oliver needs, even if they could stand to spend months replacing all the broken parts and fixing the broken code, they can’t do it without risking Oliver’s death. His brain is a precarious Jenga puzzle; one wrong move and the whole thing will come crashing down. Infuriatingly, if Oliver were to die, if he came back afterwards, his mind would likely be perfectly fine once he woke (if he woke). That’s how returning from the dead works for egos; it would do no good if they came back still sporting the injury that killed them. Google, of course, refuses to entertain that thought, to consider the possibility of Oliver dying, and his brothers feel the same. They’ve gone so far to get Oliver back, and they aren’t giving up on him now.

But their options are shrinking by the day. Plus suggests they try reconnecting Oliver to the network before the backup, instead of after like they did with Chrome. That fails. Chrome suggests inserting only a few core memories, in hopes that they can help rebuild faulty neuron connections and allow the rest of the memories to be returned. That fails. Google pores over Oliver’s twisted data, looking for a way to fix it, as he and his brothers try to brainstorm other solutions. They all fail, and by now, even their superpowered intelligence is struggling to give them any more ideas. After days of working, thinking, and reading code 24/7, even while charging, the well is drying up, and Oliver remains out of reach.

Google finally closes out of the files, copied from the last time they had Oliver shut down on the workshop table, and leaves the control room to clear his head. He shouldn’t need to, being a genius android, but somehow he feels the need.

It figures that his feet lead him into Ego Inc.’s basement, where The Cell sits, where Oliver currently resides.

Google built The Cell himself a long time ago. Dark wanted a place to keep egos that were volatile, dangerous, at risk of hurting others or themselves. His own void works for short stints, but he felt that a place to keep an ego long-term was necessary as well. It’s been used rarely, but now, it’s where Oliver spends all his time. He was put there before he woke from being tased, and as much as Google hates to admit it, it was a good thing that he was. Because the moment he woke up, he tried to break free to finish what he started with Google and get back to Enigma Data. He can’t be trusted not to hurt the other egos or run away, so for now, Google’s little brother is stuck in this tiny prison.

When Google goes to him today, he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. He regards Google with a poisonous glare, but doesn’t bother standing. The mark on his neck is gone, having been fixed even before Google’s many injuries were addressed. He’s given up trying to brute-force his way out of his prison, and Google imagines that he’s going through a process similar to Google’s own. Just as Google’s spent these past days going through Oliver’s coding for ways to get him back to normal, Oliver must be puzzling over how to escape his imprisonment, going over every possible escape route, analyzing the inside of his room and looking for weak spots. They’ve each reached a block and are now at a stalemate, and neither know what their next move should be.

Google had known that taking Oliver home wouldn’t solve everything immediately, but he hadn’t known it would be this hard.

Despite being so embroiled in his thoughts, he still notices the sudden sound of footsteps descending the stairs to the basement. Just by the sound of the shoes (fancy dress shoes), he knows exactly who it is that’s come to see Oliver. He isn’t surprised when Bim approaches and comes to stand next to Google.

“Hey,” he says weakly. He can’t manage a smile in greeting, and Google doesn’t blame him. The bags under his eyes are pronounced, his face is pale, and his hair is rumpled instead of meticulously gelled back. He hardly looks at Google, staring at Oliver like he hopes to see recognition on his face. Instead, he receives nothing but Oliver’s cold, indifferent stare.

“Why are you down here?” Google asks Bim. “Nothing has changed, surely you know that.”

“I could say the same to you,” Bim says wryly, finally looking at Google.

“I’ve been staring at his code for hours now,” Google replies, “I needed to step away for a moment.”

“Is it helping?” Bim asks, only a little sarcastic.

“No,” Google answers. He pauses. “I knew it wouldn’t.”

“What else is left to do?” Bim asks him sadly, “I don’t know what you guys have tried, but you’ve tried a lot of things, right? So…”

Part of Google doesn’t want to tell Bim what's been plaguing his thoughts these past days, but he knows he owes something to Bim, that Bim deserves to know what’s happening. Google usually finds Bim pretty annoying, but despite that, Google can’t ignore how much Bim loves Oliver and how good he’s been to him since they got together. Bim should know, at least, how much Google and his brothers have tried.

“We have,” Google says, “Every method we thought of, we tried, and none of it has worked. The code and hardware are so damaged that they can’t accept the memory files, and the internal structure is too precarious to fix by hand. We’re brainstorming new things to try right now.”

A long pause as Bim thinks.

“What happens if you can’t fix him?” Bim asks.

“We will fix him,” Google says sharply, “We won’t stop trying until we do.”

“I’ve never seen it take you guys this long to solve a problem,” Bim mumbles, “Even when it was just you here, I’ve never seen you have to try this hard to fix something. If it’s this bad, maybe the only way to fix the code is to…” Bim sighs, shaky, and it takes him several long moments to give voice to his thoughts. “…is to give it the chance to fix itself.”

“No,” Google growls, stepping towards Bim threateningly, glaring down at him with bright, angry blue eyes. “That is not happening, and you’re lucky I don’t snap your neck for suggesting it.”

“Like you haven’t thought about it, too!” Bim counters, eyes blazing with his own anger. “You’re a super-smart android, there’s no way it never crosses your mind!”

“We’re not doing that, never in a million years,” Google mutters, voice steely.

“Then what will you do!?” Bim shouts, “What else is there?? If everything in his brain is twisted up too much to pull apart, then what–” He gasps, stopping short.

“What?” Google mutters.

“I just–” Bim says, suddenly so deep in thought that he cuts himself off again. “Maybe…pull apart…I thought of something. Something that could fix Oliver.”

“Hm,” Google says. He doubts Bim could’ve thought of anything that Google and his brothers haven’t already, but he decides to hear him out.

“I could fix Oliver!” Bim exclaims, “I could use my powers to put his brain back to normal!”

There’s a long pause. Bim stares at Google expectantly, grinning widely. Google stares back, unimpressed.

“That’s moronic.”

“Oh, come on, hear me out!” Bim whines, now frowning. “Look, my powers allow me to pull things apart and combine things together, right? Who’s to say I can’t pull apart all the twisted wires and stuff in Oliver’s head and put everything back together how it should be?”

“You don’t know the first thing about our mechanics,” Google snaps, “How would you know what pieces belong where?”

“I don’t have to know,” Bim says, “I just feel it. That’s what I do whenever Anti gets inside one of your heads.”

“That’s not the same,” Google mutters, “And every time you’ve tried to use your powers for something not related to Anti, it’s backfired completely. Didn’t you almost kill Eric trying to fix his broken arm? How can I trust you inside my brother’s head??”

“It is the same!” Bim protests, “Anti’s as technological as you guys are. Whenever he’s in there he makes himself a part of your brain. Yet I can always pull him out, because I can feel the difference, I can just feel what belongs and what doesn’t. This won’t be like Eric’s arm, I know it won’t.” He looks at Google, eyes bright and glimmering with emotion – and determination. “You know I love Oliver. You know I wouldn’t do this if I thought I would hurt him. I can fix this, I know it. And what other choice do we have? This is the only thing you haven’t tried. If I’m wrong you can say so, but you basically told me yourself that you’re out of ideas.” Bim sighs. “Let me do this. Let me help him.”

Google glares at Bim, though his mind churns with the possibility. He doesn’t trust Bim’s control over his powers, he fears what a single error on Bim’s part could do to Oliver. At the same time, he has to admit that Bim is right on one thing: they’re virtually out of options. There’s no ideas left but this. And if Bim is right about his description of dealing with Anti, then maybe fixing Oliver’s head isn’t so far removed. Maybe there’s a chance. Maybe it’s the only chance.

“…I need to discuss with the others,” Google finally says.

“So you’re on board?”

“I’m tentatively considering it. I’m not making any promises.”

“Good enough, I guess, coming from you.”

The whole time, the whole conversation, Oliver himself watches the pair through the walls of The Cell, silent and glowering.

~~~

Bim expects the younger Googles to push back against his suggestion, and while they do, they don’t protest as much as Bim thought they would. It turns out that they’re tired, too, their optimism has also run dry, and they’re willing to do anything at this point. That doesn’t mean they aren’t afraid, though. That doesn’t mean Google isn’t worried. Bim can see it clearly, despite how much they try to hide it under cool stoicism.

For one thing, they insist on being there when Bim goes into Oliver’s head, standing on one side of the room, eyes trained on Oliver’s still form on a workshop stretcher. They’ve shut him down to prevent him from trying to escape or hurt them, and it kills Bim to see him like this, knowing how little of his love is there now.

But Oliver’s not all gone. He’s in there somewhere, the memories are just waiting to be unlocked, and Bim is the one who will unlock them. His words to Google weren’t empty bravado, he knows he can do this. Oliver’s backed up memories, the ones from before his capture, sit in a deceptively tiny USB drive laid beside him on the stretcher. It’s a more powerful USB than any human could get their hands on, storing terabytes of data, Oliver’s every thought and experience. It’s only a copy, of course; Oliver’s memories are on the control room’s main supercomputer, too. But Bim can hardly believe it, that before him in this tiny object is everything that makes the man he loves who he is, and in turn, every detail of Bim’s relationship with Oliver, even the little things his own human mind has forgotten.

It’s all here, laid bare, ready for Bim to put together.

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, lays a hand on Oliver’s forehead, and begins.

At first, he can’t detect much at all. It’s harder to start when there’s nothing concrete to start from. With Anti’s takeovers, he can immediately pick out Anti’s unwanted presence among the neurons. With Eric’s arm, he could instantly find the break in the bone. The anomalies were obvious and clear. But Oliver’s mind right now is one huge anomaly, and for a few moments, Bim can hardly tell what’s what among the connections and wires and neurons that fill his mind’s eye, the vision his magic grants him.

But Bim doesn’t let himself get discouraged, and after a few moments, errors become clear. He can see twisted wires, see misfiring neurons, see the flaws in both hardware and software. And once he sees the flaws, he can start to fix them. He starts slow, untangling and straightening wires carefully, pulling together separated connections cautiously, aware that a wrong move could be disastrous. The Googles, as intelligent and meticulous as they are, could never have done this without tripping a wrong wire or nudging a faulty plate. As he works, he can see data alerts, the same things Oliver would see if he was awake. Bim can hardly comprehend them, but he doesn’t need to. He has his instincts and magic to guide him through the maze of Oliver’s mind.

The more Bim does, the easier it gets. He starts addressing multiple components at once, pulling apart twisted data and pulling together frayed edges, hitting his stride in Oliver’s mind. He finally moves on to the tougher fixes, the ones that are more than just wires. He unscrews and transfers the plates that are in the wrong spot and puts them where his instincts say they go. He pulls data chips out of cracks and slots them where they belong, pulling the unneeded cracks back together afterwards. The error message gets shorter and shorter, the listed problems become fewer and fewer. Bim has no idea how much time is passing, and he hardly cares. All he knows is that he’s getting closer.

Finally, there’s nothing more Bim can do. There’s parts of hardware that are beyond Bim’s ability to fix. Things like missing screws can’t be replaced; Bim can’t make them appear from thin air, and he of course can’t take them from elsewhere in Olvier’s head.

He can only hope that what he’s done so far is enough to make Oliver’s brain accept a memory backup.

He opens his eyes again for the first time in what could be minutes or hours. The three Googles stare at him expectantly, waiting for Bim’s word. Instead of speaking, Bim looks down at the USB, the little chip that contains his boyfriend. He picks it up with the hand not on Oliver’s forehead and shuts his eyes again, preparing to combine. Combine the contents of the USB with the mind in which they belong.

His eyes fly open again involuntarily, and he gasps. The Googles all startle, taking a step forward, but Bim shakes his head, signaling that he doesn’t need their help. The Googles stop, still wary, but Bim hardly notices.

His mind is being flooded with memory.

As he puts together the data on the USB and the near-empty storage space in Oliver’s mind, his own mind becomes the conduit through which each memory passes on its way to be combined. It’s too fast for Bim to keep track of, too advanced for his human mind to process. All the details of every memory, the details Oliver could see and feel and hear that Bim can’t, all of them wash over Bim as he directs the flow of memories into their proper place. Though he can’t perceive much of these memories, he can catch glimpses of details. What the sunset looked like to Oliver. What his favorite song sounded like to his advanced auditory system. The burst of joy that went through him whenever he saw one of his brothers. How Bim’s hand, the same one that rests on his forehead now, felt in his own. Bim could cry and laugh in equal parts at how these bits of Oliver’s memory make him feel, and maybe he would if he weren’t so focused on making sure each memory finds its proper place in Oliver’s mind.

After what could’ve been a hundred years or only a moment, the USB runs empty, and Bim has nothing more to combine, nothing more to separate, nothing more to fix. Aside from those tiny bits of hardware that the Googles will have to repair, Oliver is complete. At least, it appears that way. Bim won’t know, none of them will know, until Oliver wakes, if he wakes. He should, once Bim lets him go.

Bim blinks the lingering images of Oliver’s memory out of his eyes, lets the USB fall out of his hand onto the stretcher. He feels exhausted now, yet his hand still rests on Oliver’s forehead. He’s afraid of what will happen when he leaves Oliver’s mind. But everything felt right, everything he did felt good, it all worked out like he’d known it would. He can only hope he wasn’t deceived by his own overconfidence.

Carefully, shakily, Bim removes his hand from Oliver’s forehead. The other Googles peer closer from their spot across the room, expressions severe yet hopeful. The tension in the air is thick enough to choke.

After a moment, Oliver’s eyes open.

“Ollie,” Bim whispers, though he’s still too nervous to smile.

Oliver sits up, rubs his head with one hand. His face is confused, distant, but as seconds pass, it becomes more shocked, more anxious, more full of Oliver’s characteristic expressiveness.

“Ollie?” Bim repeats, questioning this time. Oliver looks at him.

“Bim?” he asks, voice shaky, eyes filling with tears.

“Yeah,” Bim whispers, already about to cry. He reaches out to touch Oliver’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I’m here, Ollie. You’re okay.”

Oliver’s face crumples, and he hugs Bim tight, so forcefully he lifts him a full foot off the ground. Bim hardly notices, letting his feet dangle as he hugs Oliver back, comforting him as he sobs with relief and guilt.

“I f-forgot everything,” Oliver wails, “I forgot about you–”

“It’s okay, sunshine,” Bim soothes, crying nearly as hard, “You’re okay, I love you–”

That’s when Bim hears the rapid footsteps of the Googles approaching. Oliver hears them too, and gently puts Bim down as his brothers swarm him, wrapping him up in a many-armed embrace. Bim steps back, wiping tears off his face and allowing the four brothers to reconnect. The other Googles don’t cry (maybe they would if Bim weren’t in the room), but emotion is still clear in their faces.

“Red,” Oliver gasps at the sight of Chrome, “Red, oh my god, I’m s-so sorry, I’m so so sorry–”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Chrome tells him, voice tight as he hugs Oliver.

“Blue, y-you too, I hurt you,” Oliver sobs, “I hurt you b-both, and Yancy and Y-Yandere, I’m sorry–”

“They’re fine, we all are,” Google murmurs into Oliver’s hair, “Chrome and I are okay, Yancy and Yandere are alive and well.” He kisses the top of Oliver’s head. “What matters now is that we have you back.”

“We missed you,” Plus whimpered, the Google closest to tears aside from Oliver. “We’re sorry it took us so long to find you.”

The conversation goes much the same way for a while, apology after apology being given and refuted by Oliver and the other Googles. Oliver stays sitting on the stretcher, surrounded by his brothers as they soothe him, and Bim stands apart, though he doesn’t mind it. He looks on with joy, relief, and more than a little pride knowing that this was his doing, that he was the one who was able to save Oliver.

At long last, this ordeal is finally behind them, and all is right in Ego Inc. again.

#markiplier fanfiction #bim trimmer #googleplier #google oliver #my writing #fanfic #markiplier #kristin says stuff #whumptober2020 #AT LONG LAST IS FUKKIN RIGHT #now i can get back to unravel 👀

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mammonslefttoe · 4 years

Text

One Brain Cell Theories: Chapter 17 & 18

There are a few things that may confirm my suspicions and the new chapters have reinforced it.

SPOILERS AHEAD, please click at your own risk and any input/more theories are welcome! I’m going to try and make this a series.

This is also a relatively long read so grab some snacks! We diving in boys!!

(This is one of my many theories. One day, I’ll be able to write down what’s happening in my head.)

TLDR; HUNNY we have to talk about the other human

A few things to remember before I dive in:

Solomon has a pact with Barbatos. Solomon has a ring of wisdom and is known to make a pact with larger and more powerful demons. We all know he lowkey wants a pact with Lucifer.

Lucifer told us not to trust Solomon in Chapter 2

There’s a possibility Barbatos has tried to poison us with tea, a Mandragora blend. Mandragora has the potential to be fatal, one of the most notable symptoms are hyperactivity and hallucinations.

When Barbatos sent us back in time, we found out he is extremely OP. He even has the power to look into the past and future.

Okay now onwards to the only viable explanation I can think of: Barbatos and Solomon are scheming a takeover. (or this really is a messed up “prove yourself” challenge from Diavolo)

Let’s begin to when shit started to get real.

A sorta shortened (?) recap of everything that has happened thus far, please feel free to skip if you don’t need it:

After almost confessing your love to Lucifer and dying in the process Belphie comes down the stairs and its the big reveal, everyone essentially gasps in shock. Beel, Belph, and MC run away to Luke’s joint only to get busted by Dia & Barbatos and they drag away Belphie to throw him in jail for treason (and its implied he gon’ die). Lost and afraid, Beel and MC run back to the House of Lamentation. There we have a really heartfelt scene with all the demon boys and we are determined to storm into Dia’s castle and solve the situation.

Arriving at Dia’s castle, the pair say they were expecting us. Lucifer stood up to Diavolo & he says please, LOUD AUDIENCE GASP. No matter how much we try to reason, the only way Belphie will be released is if MC goes back into the past alone and figure out who actually opening Belphie’s door. No reason is truly given to this. Diavolo explains that Barbatos has multiple abilities, some of this includes viewing the past & future and, most importantly, time travel.

As we continue to Barbatos’ room, he is super happy (and creepy) but gives us a very dire warning - do not interact with the past in any way or it will alternate the current timeline. This includes speaking to anyone or being involved in any type of action. If we want to come back to the present, we have to go through the same door that we end up entering through. Then off we go and we land in the middle of Mammon’s room with ALL OF THE BROTHERS sans Lucifer and Belphie. And things go haywire.

As we are running to go up to the attic, we are forced to hide in Lilith’s room, where we have a flashback (or hallucination) of playing hide and seek. Flashback Levi reminds us to go find Belphie. During this time, it is revealed that MC may have been the one to open Belphie’s door and tldr; Belphie kills MC.

As we lay dying, we are somehow saved by Lilith (our long lost aunt twice removed apparently) and we are outside of our own body...in another one. Dia and Barbatos stroll in saying they knew this would happen & Barbatos did us a favor and revived us using an alternate timeline MC (what). Everyone is pumped we have like 1/10,000,000 genes related to human Lillith and this is their closure.

Everything seems to be looking up and MC patches things up between Belphie and the other brothers. They throw her a joint party with Diavolo’s birthday party & give her the sweetest gifts. At the end of Chapter 18, Belphie creates a pact with MC.

This is all fine and dandy but...is it really?

A few things really popped out during these two recent chapters:

Belphie is by our side the entire two chapters. Whether this is supposed to signify a new start or something else, it isn’t entirely clear.

Beel and Belph are the only ones that text us during this time. Belphie texts us after every chapter moment.

Solomon runs into Belph and MC while shopping, randomly asking Belph if he plans on making a pact with MC. Then brazenly offers to make a pact with him instead. Belph refuses vehemently but looks at MC for a reaction. Solomon notices this.

As Belph gives us a gift of himself (lol same), he mentions how he’s doing this for us and not because of Lilith.

In the game itself, there’s a completely different game style. MC has more options to speak and the dialogue options have become more brazen. Almost as if...this is a different personality (or could signify MC is more comfortable with them in general). It felt off playing the last two chapters though, for me at least.

Now onwards to the theory: Solomon is our main antagonist.

In Chapter 2, we are formally introduced to Solomon, the other exchange student. Although the interaction is rushed, we can sense out two things: he’s insanely smart and he’s already comfortable around demons. As he runs off to class, MC runs into Lucifer and we learn a bit more about this mystery boy.

Apparently, Solomon is a wizard and has a ring of wisdom, which makes him incredibly dangerous. He has pacts with more than 70 demons (I think the exact number was 78 but I might be wrong). Among these demons are Asmodeus and Barbatos. At the end of Lucifer’s explanation, he adds that MC shouldn’t trust Solomon.

Historically and culturally, Solomon is most known as the “Wise King.” He is also regarded as a fantastical figure, someone who is known to have powers over both angels and demons.

“According to the Rabbinical literature, on account of his modest request for wisdom only, Solomon was rewarded with riches and an unprecedented glorious realm, which extended over the upper world inhabited by the angels and over the whole of the terrestrial globe with all its inhabitants, including all the beasts, fowl, and reptiles, as well as the demons and spirits. His control over the demons, spirits, and animals augmented his splendor, the demons bringing him precious stones, besides water from distant countries to irrigate his exotic plants. The beasts and fowl of their own accord entered the kitchen of Solomon's palace, so that they might be used as food for him, and extravagant meals for him were prepared daily by each of his 700 wives and 300 concubines, with the thought that perhaps the king would feast that day in her house.”

Additionally, he was given a ring, known as the “Seal of Solomon,” which gave him the ability to trap demons under his control.

A magic ring called the "Seal of Solomon" was supposedly given to Solomon and gave him power over demons or Jinn. The magical symbol said to have been on the Seal of Solomon which made it efficacious is often considered to be the Star of David. Asmodeus, king of demons, was one day, according to the classical Rabbis, captured by Benaiah (my note: Benaiah is a human, he was a soldier that helped Solomon rise to power) using the ring, and was forced to remain in Solomon's service. The Seal of Solomon, in some legends known as the Ring of Aandaleeb, was a highly sought after symbol of power. In several legends, different groups or individuals attempted to steal it or attain it in some manner.

And this is a potential plot in our story.

MC is, of course, the main protagonist of the story. We typically are. But there was never a clear antagonist. Or maybe he was playing along with our situation, a wolf in sheep's clothing?

We all know Levi’s strangely long anime names are a strange foreshadowing of the future. We have:

Though all titles seem to have a connection with our current plot, I’m going to focus on the first one, which seems to have the most implications regarding our current situation. I also have a sneaking suspicion that the second image with the two titles might be a backstory for Barbatos but that’s another story that I cannot fully prove yet. The third title also refers to a legend regarding Asmo and Solomon.

The first title seems...has quite obvious implications when recounting the events of chapters 15 - 18. Halfway through our journey, here we are, thrust into an alternate timeline, alone and scared but we end up making a pact with...our sixth demon? And this isn’t just a regular demon, this is one of the deadly sins. So now we have 6/7 demon brothers under our power, some of the most powerful demons in Devildom. It’s alarming how quickly MC is able to gain the trust of these demons, effectively creating pacts in the course of...maybe a few months?

What alarms me the most is how fast Belphie turned from, quite literally, killing us to making a pact with us in a course of 3 chapters. This brings me to my first suspicion in SoloBarb’s plot: This timeline is the only timeline where MC is able to make a pact with Belphie. All other timelines do not reflect this. This placement was 100% intentional from the start.

It is a known fact that Barbatos is able to view time and its events. It’s revealed this extends to alternate timelines when saving MC. If he is this powerful, wouldn’t he be able to simply look back in the past and find out who opened Belph’s door without the need for MC? This would be the easiest and most direct solution.

SIDENOTE: Keep in mind, part of the reason Barbatos could not stop the Belphie situation from happening is due to Diavolo’s restriction. Barbatos states that “Diavolo has forbidden him from using his powers freely.” HOWEVER, it then leads to the question: who really has the most control over Barbatos, Diavolo or Solomon? Traditionally, when pacts are made, it means that the demon is completely under the control of the individual but does it outweigh an authority figure? In my opinion, Solomon technically has the most power fo Barbatos. Solomon’s pact with Barbatos = a magically restrictive bond while Diavolo’s rule over Barbatos = a matter of respect of authority. There is no physically restrictive bond Diavolo has on Barbatos.

Also considering how cunning Solomon is, he could have easily manipulated Diavolo into this entire plan as well.

In addition, Solomon’s strangely direct question, asking Belphie if he was going to make a pact with MC, was alarming. It was as if he was proving his own theory: the demon brothers will make a pact with MC and never him. He seemed almost satisfied with this answer and didn’t seem to protest against it too much. Couple this with Solomon’s constant approval when MC makes pacts with the demon brothers during her stay, its...disconcerting.

Omg he even says “If you change your mind” what kind of creepy

If we consider all of this, it truly does seem as if Solomon is our potential antagonist. It seems to me that everything is pointing at him. He’s quiet enough for us to overlook and disregard as a side character, though he seems to have a certain unnerving edge to him. My god, the demons are even wary of him. If that wasn’t the biggest tip-off, idk what is.

Also physically, we have yet to hear his entire backstory in the game or have a chapter dedicated to him. So far, in terms of side characters, we have ample interaction with Diavolo and Luke (still waiting on Simeon) but no deep dives into Solomon and Barbatos. (Which means >.> we’ll get them in later chapters)

This brings me to the next question: so how is MC a chess piece in his plot?

Hey, remember that RANDOM moment Solomon lent out his power during Diavolo’s house party. AND NO ONE QUESTIONED IT. Honestly, what the hell was that all about?

In regards to this, why did he do this? Some answers include: he did it for shits and giggles, he wanted to test out the theory of us having powerful magic in our bloodline, or he wanted a test run. Yeah. You heard me. A test run.

Prior to this, MC was unable to truly summon a demon on their own. The most she could do was give out a pretty strong verbal command and the demon (Mammon lol) must carry it out. However, MC cannot fully utilize the pact’s potential due to her lack of innate magic ability.

This is both an affirmation and leverage for Solomon’s situation. On one end, it’s confirmed that MC has huge magic potential and can properly use it when needed. On the other end, this can be a bargaining tool for the future...

Which could lead to a large plot development: Once MC gains all seven pacts (c’mon, it is going to be impossible to not make a pact with Lucifer), what will they use it for?

MY PREDICTION: Solomon will attempt to manipulate MC into his control. Magic is powerful in this game but so are humans. A human was the reason Lilith was going to be punished by God. Solomon, a human, has power and control over 70+ demons. Belphegor was set on destroying only the human world. MC has pacts with the, arguably, the strongest demons in Devildom who are also formerly fallen angels.

From what I’ve seen so far, nothing is more powerful than a pact. And nothing is more powerful than human manipulation.

What will he use MC’s powers for? ...I have a sneaking feeling it might be to overthrow Diavolo based on Solomon’s cultural legend. Solomon famously has power over Asmo, the king of demons. Of course, we know the Asmo in our game is not the king but Diavolo is. Obey me! has a funny way of interpreting these legends in a unique way. Who knows if they split up Asmo into two different entities.

but who tf really knows what’s going on

BUT

I guess we’ll have to see what happens in later chapters. Of course, this is all really a far fetch theory but there seem to be so many underlying connections to Solomon in the game. I mean ffs, he’s the only other human here and he’s SOLOMON. The very character itself is so suspicious.

THIS ENTIRE THING COULD ALSO BE A MESSED UP CHALLENGE FROM DIAVOLO

OR SOME CRAZY HALLUCINATION CAUSED BY BARBATOS GIVING US THAT SUS TEA BLEND

But tbh who really knows what’s happening. The only confirmed thing is that we’re still on this alternate timeline (that MC totally messed up) and we haven’t returned to our OG timeline. lucifer please pick me up I’m scared

If you made it this far, you are SUCH A TROOP. I hope this actually has a consistent flow and it makes sense. If you have any questions or observations I didn’t include please feel free to message me! I’m open to discussion!

A big s/o to wikipedia for the quick info on Solomon (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solomon#Seal_of_Solomon) and a thank you to @the-orizon for the screenshots & amazing info! Love you!

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concussed-to-pieces · 3 years

Text

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Four

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Hey there my broskis! I figured I would start backing this up over here as well, cross-posting from my AO3. The chapters got somewhat restructured, so there may be some retreaded ground. Hopefully this will also give me a bit of incentive to actually finish this tale ;-;

Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Paladin Danse, pride of the Brotherhood of Steel, found himself incredibly nervous as he watched Backhand suit up for the first time. She gave him no real reason to be, of course, climbing into her power armor with veteran grace. She had forgone their jumpsuit in favor of her Vault suit so she was short a few of the securing clips, but it was her call. She did put on a hood though, stating that she wasn’t a fan of getting chunks of her hair ripped out by the helmet.

Danse barely hid his grin at the way she shook herself all over once she was in the suit, metal clanking loudly as pieces fell into place. “What do you think, Knight Vega?” He asked cautiously.

“I think I’m gonna’ have a lot of fun with this.” Backhand sounded like she was smiling.

Proctor Ingram sighed. “Yeah yeah, just try not to fuck up your actuators. Damn kids and your Prydwen jumps.”

Danse flipped his helmet and smoothly clicked it into place in his suit’s gorget, then blinked in confusion at the HUD. “Proctor, did you change the-”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry Danse. The yellow HUD makes me queasy.” Ingram apologized. Danse sighed, bringing up the internal options screen and readjusting the HUD color back to the warm amber he preferred. “Don’t be that way, Paladin, I have to look at a million of these helmets every day.”

“What? How do you change the…oh, I got it.” Backhand paused, obviously fiddling with the HUD in her own suit. “ Purple .” She said firmly.

Danse tried to mask his chuckle by clearing his throat, but the look Ingram shot him told him the attempt was unsuccessful. “Well, uh, I think it’s about time we begin our maneuvers.” He said hurriedly.

“You two take as long as you need. Bring Brandis back safe. Backhand, remember what I told you.” Ingram said sternly, saluting the two of them.

Backhand nodded solemnly, returning the salute. “Ad Victoriam, Proctor Ingram.” Danse saluted as well, curious about Ingram's mysterious statement.

Maxson hadn’t cleared them for vertibird transport to a general location. Danse could see why to an extent, the elder probably needed all the aerial support he could get while they sent out scouts to find more clues about the Institute. The reason Maxson had given was...still logical, but a little different.

“ With you on foot, there will be less warning for Brandis. ” Arthur had said in his briefing, arms behind his back as always. “ If he is alive, we don’t know what shape he’ll be in mentally. Use extreme caution. If you fear for your lives, do not hesitate to kill him .” He glared at Danse when he said that and Danse had swallowed hard.

Do not hesitate. Do not hesitate like you did with Cutler, Paladin.

Danse let Backhand set a pace she was comfortable with once they were on the ground and he followed her lead, the paladin silent as they marched. His thoughts churned and roiled, scratching to escape his head in a frenzy of uncertainty. He almost didn’t notice Backhand skipping , aside from how ridiculously loud her sabatons were on the remains of the road. “Knight Vega, what on earth .”

“ Finally! I’ve been trying to ask you something for five minutes. Figured I would opt for a different approach.” She laughed, knuckling his shoulder with her gauntlet. “After we find Paladin Brandis, I have-”

“ If we find Paladin Brandis.” Danse corrected her grimly.

Backhand paused, tilting her head to the side. “Sir?”

“I said, if we find Brandis. There’s no guarantee that he’s alive after all this time. It’s entirely possible that we’re simply on a remains retrieval detail.” Danse warned her.

Backhand shook her head after a moment. “Paladin, you really think I don’t know that? Damn.” She grumbled. “You’d rather find him alive, right? That’s the hope?” Danse nodded reluctantly. Brandis was an incredibly skilled survivalist, a respected squadron leader and free thinker of the highest caliber. He would be a phenomenal asset to the Brotherhood if…

If he was still alive.

“I apologize for my pessimistic outlook.” Danse said after a moment. “I have not had…exceptional luck when it comes to search and rescue details.”

“Hey, first time for everything.” He was almost positive that she was grinning at him under her helmet. “You’ve got me here. You can't say the homeland doesn't take care of their own; I’m practically the embodiment of a four-leaf clover.”

“We can hope.” Danse murmured, half to himself. “You certainly came through previously.”

“Maybe I’m your good luck charm.”

The notion that he had outlived his men because of luck left a bitter taste in Danse’s mouth and he fell silent once more. She at least seemed to understand not to poke him and simply carried on down the road at an easily-managed pace.

Danse couldn’t decide whether he personally wanted to find Brandis or not. On the one hand, of course he was a valuable asset. But on the other, Brandis had a penchant for… noticing things. Arthur had butted heads with the older man numerous times, usually over what Maxson labeled ‘ trivial issues ’.

And Danse still hadn’t forgotten the nasty rumors he’d heard about the real reason for Recon Squadron Artemis being sent to scout the Commonwealth…

“ Brandis overreaches, connects well with young recruits. The elder fears his influence. ”

“ Brandis was sent to die and you know it! ”

The atmosphere in the barracks had turned ugly fast when Arthur had dropped the tidbit that the Brotherhood lost contact with Squadron Artemis almost immediately upon their arrival in the Commonwealth.

Aspirants got into shouting matches; several scuffles broke out. Danse ended up wading through the midst of a pitched fistfight, throwing one knight over his shoulder and pinning the other beneath his arm momentarily.

“ This is behavior unbecoming of a soldier, knights! ” He had shouted over the ruckus. “ Stop the childish antics, use your brains and think! ” His voice carried in the cramped bunk room, and due to his massive height he was easily visible through the swirling hurricane of young men and women. “ Paladin Brandis would be ashamed of every one of you for losing sight of what is truly important in the Brotherhood! Your brothers and sisters are all you have in the world, you cannot set into them at the first sign of trouble! ”

“ Elder Maxson wanted Paladin Brandis to die! ” One brave scribe cried. “ That’s why he sent him! ”

“ He is the elder and you will show him the respect he deserves! ” Danse admonished the young man. “ I will not tolerate this insubordination! ”

“ You’re only on his side because you’re fucking him! ” The knight over his shoulder yelled furiously, beating his fists against Danse’s shoulder blade.

The entirety of the barracks went dead quiet and Danse was certain his face must have been an ungodly shade of purple from his insinuation. “ What did you just say, Knight? ”

The young man slowed to a stop, and then suddenly burst into tears. Danse set him down on his feet and the knight stood in front of him, his shoulders hunched. “ I ap-pologize, Palad-d-din Danse sir. ” He had hiccupped, saluting him without looking up.

“ Knight, you cannot lash out with harsh words or actions just because something isn’t going your way. ” Danse had known he was letting him off too easy, but the young knight was still weeping. “ You will go to Knight-Captain Cade in the morning. He is…far better at managing situations like these than I am. I fear I will do nothing but cause more damage. ”

“ Paladin Danse, have they told you anything about Paladin Brandis? Anything at all? ” A tiny squire had piped up from the door, her hair already braided for sleep.

Danse shook his head regretfully. “ All I know is what you’ve already been told. I have no other information at this time .”

“ Will…will you tell us if you learn anything new? ” She had continued hesitantly, glancing up at the aspirant holding her hand for confirmation. Murmuring rippled through the crowd, all eyes on Danse as he stood there silent, stoic. The knight's words echoed in his mind over and over, on his side, on his side...

“ You have my word as a Brotherhood paladin, Squire .”

It had been a simple thing to promise then. Almost negligibly simple. Danse shook his head, trying to disperse the memories. This rumination would get him nowhere. Thank goodness he had Knight Vega with him, at least she could keep an eye out for threats while he wandered down his proverbial Memory Lane.

Speaking of Knight Vega…

Danse swung his head around, perplexed. She had just been here, it wasn’t exactly like she could sneak in all that plating. He spotted her finally as he came over the next rise in the road. She appeared to be speaking to a civilian, the ragged-looking man gesturing wildly off to the side.

“…idea how many of them there are in the facility?” Backhand was asking.

“Usually we only see three to five, b-but sometimes there’s loads more! Hounds too! Please, General, if you can spare the men, we really need your help.” The man begged.

General? Danse thought with confusion. Why is he calling her General?

“Currently, we’re focusing our efforts on rebuilding Fort Independence…er, I mean, the Castle. We have mobile cells but they are few and far between. I will send word that-” Backhand was cut off by the man shaking his head rapidly.

“I knew it, I knew you would refuse! That’s how it always is! Say anything about super mutants and everyone pusses out!” The man shook his fist in Backhand’s impassive face. “I had hoped that you of all people would be able to help us, but I guess I was wrong.” He spat, “should have known better than to trust things would be alright with your group back on the playing field.”

Danse had heard enough, practically stomping down the road towards the man yelling at his charge. “Civilian, I suggest you watch your tone.” He uttered the words curtly, his eyes narrowed behind his visor.

The man huffed out a breath at him, obviously unimpressed. “So you have a bodyguard now, General?”

“Hardly.” Backhand replied dryly.

Danse got the feeling he had just been insulted, but he brushed it off. “Where is the nest of vermin?” He queried instead, making a considerable effort to try and keep his tone neutral. “You mentioned super mutants.”

“They’re in Weston. The pre-war water treatment plant. Are… you’re going to help?” The man asked uncertainly.

“There are other, more important matters that currently take priority, civilian. When we have the time, we will investigate. Now I would advise you to be on your way before I have to assist you in making the choice of departure.” Danse ordered, his laser rifle not quite at the ready, but high enough that to the untrained eye it would look like he was poised to strike.

The man grumbled something under his breath and then announced, “I'd better see you later, General. Oberland would be a good spot to spiff up, y'know, but it's so close to Weston no one will touch it.”

“Thank you, Rob. Hey, tell your wife I said hello. I hope your little one is doing well.” Backhand's face had gone strangely soft.

For some reason, the man's shoulders relaxed. “She is, she's doing really good. Her mom is teachin' her everything that she knows. She's wicked smart for her age.” He bragged.

“No doubt there. Take care of yourself, and tell people to steer clear until we can get to Weston.” Backhand gave the man a nod in reply to the tip of his hat. “Thanks for helping.” She said out of the corner of her mouth to Danse, who straightened up.

“I don’t recall doing anything helpful, Knight Vega.” He was startled when she knocked her pauldron against his own in a playful gesture.

“Rob loves to puff himself up and talk about how no one’s ever done anything for him ever. It’s harmless, but he’ll drag on for ages unless you nip it in the bud.” She grinned at him. “Thanks for going on the offensive and heading him off at the pass. Lots of people are like him out here. When the Minutemen disbanded, it meant that the simple people had to take the full load of raider assaults and super mutant attacks. Still plenty of distrust for me and my crew.”

“Your ‘crew’?” Danse echoed, thoroughly confused. Why did he call her General? What is she talking about?

Backhand just nodded, putting her helmet back on. “You want to take point? You were kind of spacing out back there, Paladin. Might help you get centered. Run down the list of objectives?” She suggested.

“I must be worse than I thought if you noticed my thousand-yard stare.” Danse realized it was a sarcastic quip the second after the words left his mouth, and he felt horribly awkward.

That is, until there was an undignified guffaw from the knight. She clunked her whole forearm against his own in a makeshift nudge, still snickering. “How incredibly rude of you, Paladin! I’ve got bad eyesight, but it’s still there. Kinda’. Didn’t need twenty-twenty to see that you were deep in thought.”

“Knight Vega, I appreciate your attention to detail. And…” Danse hesitated, biting his lip. “And thank you for… humoring my wandering mind.”

“I’m not humoring anything. You’ve been through a lot recently and you’ve had no breathing room at all. You’re allowed to have time to process.” When she put it like that ...

Danse made a noise of acknowledgement. Backhand cleared her throat, stepping aside and letting him go ahead of her.

…

Do me a favor and try to limit his time on board this rustbucket, okay? I don't know what's going on and it's not my place to ask. But Danse is a good man and he shouldn't be getting jerked around, Elder or no.

Ingram's words spurred Backhand to speak up. “Paladin Danse, sir?” When he turned to face her, she wished that he wasn’t wearing his helmet. “Sir, I meant what I said before.”

“What?”

“When I said I was available if you needed someone to talk to. I’m serious. It’ll all be off the record, just between us. The only person I report to is you.” Backhand said firmly.

“And the elder.” Danse reminded her, his voice soft.

“Nope.” Backhand grinned, trying to lighten his obviously bleak mood. “Just you. You might answer to the elder, but I don’t.”

“That’s tantamount to treason, Knight.”

“He’s not a sovereign , for--”

“Elder Maxson’s orders are law in this chapter of the Brotherhood, Knight Vega.” Danse sounded like he was repeating the words from memory, clearly used to defending the young elder. “I suggest you cease your needlessly-flippant flouting of Brotherhood practices.”

Backhand knew she was on thin ice. “Of course, sir. I apologize. Forgive me my misstep.” She saluted loosely. “My previous military experiences were a little more lax. When out on patrol we spoke to each other and our superiors as equals. It was common to poke fun at the higher-ups, as well.”

“I wouldn’t begrudge you a joke or two, but not at the expense of the elder.” Danse replied tersely. “He works exceptionally hard to keep everything in line and running smoothly. I will not tolerate any disrespect towards him.”

“Understood, Paladin.” Her suspicion only thickened at Danse’s rebuke. What is Maxson doing to him? Normally, soldiers gleefully took the opportunity to joke about their superiors. But Danse was acting like it was a cardinal sin to so much as tease about the young elder. No wonder Ingram had told her to take her time. Danse was obviously kept on an incredibly short leash. The longer he was away from Maxson, the better.

They continued down the road in silence for nearly an hour before Danse finally sighed heavily. “Knight Vega, I must apologize again. You were not raised in the Brotherhood, it’s not as if you would know any better. My shortness of temper is unrelated to you.”

“It’s okay. You’re worried about Brandis, right?” Backhand asked. “A little scared, a little hopeful?”

“For being a relic of a bygone age, you are remarkably perceptive.” Backhand sputtered a little at being called a relic but Danse carried on gravely, “I am concerned about the state Brandis may be in when we reach him. If he is mentally compromised…dealing with a man who was Brotherhood but has lost his senses is not a task I take lightly.” He turned to her. “The younger recruits love Brandis. He was a father figure to a multitude of them.”

“You promised them you would bring him back.” She realized. Danse didn’t reply immediately, instead focusing his attention to the road in front of them.

“I could not feasibly promise anything.” He muttered, quiet enough that she was unsure if she was supposed to hear him. “It was not within my power to promise.”

“But you did anyway. On that slim hope that Brandis was alive and in one piece.” Backhand’s heart ached as she thought of the paladin trying to decide what to tell a group of young recruits, a group of kids .

“…Yes, Knight. I did.” Danse admitted after a long pause. “My motivations are irrelevant. I lied to children, because I…I cannot see the little ones as soldiers. They begged for news of Brandis and I had nothing to offer them except my word as a paladin.”

“That’s okay.” Backhand said simply. “We’re going to find him.”

“I suppose we are.” Danse sounded a little surprised. His shoulders straightened up. “One way or another.”

The asphalt had dissolved into nothing a mile back, leaving the two of them to continue trekking through the wilderness on the remains of the flattened earth that was once a road. Backhand was used to the booby-trapped state of everything at this point, so she didn’t even bat an eyelash when she heard the warning beep of a landmine.

Danse on the other hand stopped dead, helmet swinging rapidly back and forth as he tried to locate the mine before it went off. “Wait, Knight Vega-!” He began as she knelt, trailing off when he realized that she had deactivated the landmine. “Oh.”

“Impromptu bomb squad.” Backhand replied by way of explanation, tucking the salvaged mine into her satchel. “I got pretty good at working in gauntlets.”

His worry was touching all the same, the paladin letting out an awkward chuckle. “Hell, maybe you are lucky.” He shifted his weight nervously, pauldrons clattering in the relative stillness. “I should have known better than to think Brandis would make it easy. There’s a reason that old codger lived through everything.”

“You can either think I'm lucky, or you can just attribute it to the Sarge's bandanna like I usually do.” Backhand grinned, flexing her fingers experimentally. “Keep your eyes open for more and point them out if you see ‘em. These gauntlets are way better than the ones in my old suit. The mines won’t know what hit them.”

“Affirmative, Knight Vega.”

With both of them on guard, their progress was slowed somewhat. But they found three more mines thanks to their diligence, and Backhand carefully deactivated every one before the timer ran out. She was so focused on scanning the ground that she almost walked into Danse’s back when the paladin stopped in the middle of the path. “Danse?” Inwardly, she cursed herself for not addressing him properly.

Danse didn’t even seem to notice though, his attention fixed on a bunker built into the side of the shallow valley they were in. “Recon bunker Theta…of course .” He hissed like he was talking to himself. “How could I have forgotten?”

“Is this the place?” Backhand asked, peering over his shoulder warily. The armored man nodded, already striding towards the door of the bunker.

“It must be.”

…

There was a terminal affixed to the outer concrete of the building and the paladin wasted little time painstakingly manipulating his huge gauntlets to press the correct keys on the keyboard. There was a loud clunk! when the lock on the door disengaged, but the door itself remained shut tight. Danse swore under his breath, firmly rapping his knuckles on the metal door. “Paladin Brandis!” He called. “Can you hear me, sir?”

“Paladin Danse? Are you sure you should-” Backhand started to ask, sounding nervous.

“ Quiet , Vega.” Danse ordered brusquely. To her credit, she immediately fell silent. He could still hear her shifting back and forth behind him though, and he wondered what on earth could have her so antsy. Surely it couldn’t be that she was worried about what Brandis might do? “ Paladin Brandis! If you’re in there-”

“Uh, D-Danse, I don’t think you should be so loud.”

“Vega, he will not hear me otherwise.” Danse, losing his limited patience, hammered his fist on the door. “ Brandis! ”

He heard a flurry of motion behind the door. “Who’s out there? How did you get that keycode? Never mind, never mind, just go away! I’m not letting you in here!”

Danse’s throat tightened at the elderly officer’s voice. “Paladin Brandis, sir! It’s me, Pal--"

In his distress over finding Brandis, Danse had forgotten to be wary of his surroundings. Heavy footsteps shook the ground and Backhand’s cry of surprise was the only warning he had, the paladin halfway through turning around when he was thrown against the door of the bunker by a thunderous blow from a behemoth’s improvised club. His shoulder protested violently at the rough treatment but Danse shrugged off the pain. He was so used to getting pummeled by the inside of his armor, he practically anticipated the bruises. He raised his head and got a good eyeful of the ugly brute inches from his face.

Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. There was a dull roaring in his ears, static pounding at his temples like a hammer while he stared at the creature and it stared right through him. Bloody spittle foamed around its mouth, eyes wide and pupils nothing but pinpricks. Nostrils flared to take in his scent.

This thing was once human . Danse felt sick to his stomach.

“ Paladin! ” Backhand yelled, firing a glancing shot off the beast’s shoulder that made it rear back. She was giving him time again, Danse realized dimly, his body refusing to cooperate as he remembered Dawes’ horrific death at the hands of a super mutant, remembered Cutler, Cutler like a punch to the face. And this mutant was a behemoth .

His laser rifle, unnamed as of yet, shook in one slack, trembling hand.

Backhand flanked the massive creature to end up back at his side, her pauldron clanking into his own. “Paladin!” She barked and Danse instantly straightened up, his grip snapping tight on his gun.

“Ma’am!”

“Attack the enemy, soldier!” She sounded almost like Krieg, all righteous authority and fury inches from detonation.

An order, an order. Danse felt his body refocus on the here and now, banishing the horrific images of Dawes’ demise for later contemplation. “Yes ma’am!” He replied automatically, pulling the trigger and spraying laser shots into the behemoth’s massive chest. Backhand slung Righteous Authority back out of the way to dangle from its strap, her shotgun in her hands now. Danse was so used to the comparatively quiet report of laser weaponry that he actually flinched when she fired the shotgun. The drum-fed gun bolted to life at her touch, heavy slugs making the behemoth pause.

“ Eat hot lead, freak! ” Backhand shouted over the weapon, her words punctuating her shots. Danse got the feeling that pairing her with a Fat Man would make her nigh unstoppable.

Behind him, he heard something swing open. The door to the bunker! Brandis! “Knight Vega, maintain this position!” He demanded, not bothering to look back.

“A paladin…?” Brandis’ voice had an unfamiliar tremor in it.

“ Now , Vega!” Danse snapped.

“Sir, yes sir!” Backhand replied quickly, sliding into place where he had been a second ago. Her power armor frame filled the doorway as well as his had, and Danse brandished his rifle. The behemoth brayed deafeningly loud, seeming perturbed that its prey refused to cooperate.

“Not today, you giant freak!” Danse announced firmly.

…

Backhand had barely caught a glimpse of a worn face with an unkempt beard peering around the side of the doorway before she moved herself in front of the opening. She braced her shotgun against her plating and continued to hammer away at the behemoth, shell after shell ripping the creature’s thick hide.

Danse kept up his own attack, a seemingly endless stream of mutant-related verbal abuse pouring from him in time with his laser shots. Backhand almost wished she could hear him clearer, certain that he was swearing a blue streak that could put Sergeant Cathan to shame.

That club swept low, knocked Danse’s legs out from beneath him. The paladin landed on his back with a grunt of pain and the behemoth (in a surprising show of intelligence) picked up one of the nearby boulders and dropped it onto Danse’s chest. Danse gritted out an infuriated curse and started struggling to lift the boulder, actuators in his armor shrieking under the strain when the behemoth started pushing down on the rock. Clearly it was either trying to crack Danse’s armor or crush the paladin inside it.

“Shut the door.” Backhand said calmly. There was the sound of fidgeting behind her. “It’s going to be alright. Just shut the door.”

At the loud clunk! of the door closing, the behemoth looked up from Danse. Backhand barely had a moment to inhale before she was snatched up by a massive hand, the creature roaring triumphantly.

“Knight Vega!” Danse shouted, the paladin still trying to shift the massive rock enough to get free.

Backhand squirmed desperately in the beast’s grip, arms pinned to her sides and her shotgun pointed towards the ground. Well kid, you gave it a good try . She pumped her trigger out of desperation, not sure if she even had any shells left, and blew a hole through the behemoth’s foot. The gargantuan mutant howled in pain, flinging her through the air when it toppled over. She hit the ground hard enough to lose consciousness briefly, her head slamming against the inside of the helmet.

When she blinked her eyes open again, all she could see was a power armor sabaton inches from her face. There was a muffled report to her right and super mutant skull fragments and brain tissue abruptly sprayed across her helmet visor. “ Tango down .” Danse snarled.

“Jesus.” Backhand muttered, her gauntlet clanking loudly against her helmet. “What a hit.”

“Are you injured, Knight?” Danse sounded like his teeth were clenched.

“Blacked out for a second is all. You alright?”

“That’s irrelevant. We need to see to Paladin Brandis.” Danse said sharply.

“It’s been so long since I’ve heard my name.” Said a quivering voice. “I imagine I’m hallucinating at this point. Going mad from seclusion.”

“It’s Danse, sir, Paladin Danse. Don’t you recognize me?” Danse asked, and Backhand was sure she wasn’t supposed to hear the uncertainty in his tone.

Danse pulled her to her feet and she took in the sight of the elderly man in badly-worn combat armor across from them. He was studying Danse hard, his eyes widening when Danse unfastened his helmet and took it off. “ Danse? You…is it really you?” Brandis asked, his voice still shaking. “Oh my God, is it true?”

“It’s me, sir.” Danse replied stiffly. “Knight Vega and I were tasked with reacquiring you. Elder Maxson-”

“Maxson? It’s his fault that I’m even…my squadron…” Brandis’ words grew disjointed, choked with emotion.

“ The elder believes that you are still a valuable asset to the war effort, Paladin Brandis.” If Danse had been stiff before, he was outright stony now.

Brandis, entertainingly, waved off Danse’s chastising attitude. “Yes yes, praise be to the elder. I suppose it’s you two that I ought to be thanking, though. After all, you’re the ones who risked life and limb to come find me.”

“It was Knight Vega’s first assignment as a member of the Brotherhood. She was honored beyond measure.”

“I don’t suppose she can talk , can she?” Brandis asked dryly. Backhand decided that she liked Brandis. “Why all this trouble for me, though? And so suddenly? I’ve been sending distress signals for years , Danse.”

“It was only through sheer luck and our acquisition of Knight Vega’s skillset that we even managed to signal the Brotherhood for support.” Danse replied curtly. “Over half of Recon Squad Gladius is dead, their lives claimed in the line of duty. Much like your own squadron.”

“Oh, Danse.” Brandis said helplessly. “It’s such a heavy burden to carry. Their lives…and Astlin , I know you were so fond of her.”

“She was a good soldier. Best marksman I ever knew.” Danse gritted out.

“I’ll bet she was an even better friend.” Backhand said tentatively.

“She died with honor.”

“I don’t doubt it.” What the hell was going on? Danse sounded livid , the set of his shoulders visibly tense even through the power armor. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“Danse, what does the Brotherhood even expect to get out of me? I’m too old, I’ve…I’ve been away for too long.” Brandis floundered.

“Elder Max-”

“ Fuck Arthur, Danse!” Brandis exploded. “I’m asking you . What do you believe that the Brotherhood can get out of me?”

“Intimate knowledge of the Commonwealth.” Danse snapped. “You’re a survivor, Brandis, and your skills could be indispensable to our troops.”

“There’s nothing I could teach that the locals couldn’t Danse, you and Maxson know that.”

“Yes, and you’re not a filthy local. You’re Brotherhood.”

“Am I?” Brandis mused, glancing towards Backhand. “And I’ll assume that Knight Vega is one of the so-called ‘ filthy locals ’?”

Danse paused, his hand still up in the air in the beginning of an irritated gesture. Backhand barely kept her snort in check. “Knight Vega is a…special case.” He said finally.

“Typical Brotherhood. You’re filthy, you’re garbage, you’re nothing . And then, you’re a special case if you’re useful. Sound familiar, Danse?” Brandis grumbled. “Sleep with one eye open, Vega. Maxson is a little boy in a much larger man’s battle coat.”

“Paladin!” Danse barked. “There is no need for this insubordinate behavior in front of my ward!”

Brandis drew himself up to his full height (which, next to Danse in full armor, wasn’t exactly intimidating ) and jabbed his index finger into the larger paladin’s breastplate. “Don’t you dare speak to me about insubordination, Danse.” He hissed, his green eyes snapping with fury. “My squadron is dead because of Arthur and you still want to play Lancelot?”

“The Brotherhood will honor their memory.” Danse intoned dully.

“I’ll honor your memory if you keep this up, you damn fool.” Brandis growled. “No, no , I won’t go back to that madman. Better that I stay in isolation.”

“I’m relatively certain that you staying here isn’t an option.” Backhand interjected. “Look, if the elder is as tricky as you say, he’s not going to let you live out your days in peace. You’re Brotherhood, or you were once, and you know too much. It was the same with the army.” Danse looked horrified and Backhand hurried to finish, sure that her opening wouldn’t last. “You should be as close to him as possible, if anything. Make it more difficult for him to do something shady by keeping an eye on him.”

“Knight Vega! ” Danse sputtered indignantly.

But Brandis was nodding his head, looking intently at her. “Take that helmet off, Vega. I make it a point to know my allies.”

“Yes sir.” Backhand undid the helm and pulled it over her head, tucking it under her arm as an afterthought. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

“You’re bleeding, Knight Vega.” Brandis pointed out after she saluted him and Danse fairly pounced on her, a huge finger looped through the pauldron on her shoulder jerking her around to face him. His gauntlet grazed her temple and she winced, grimacing when the metal returned brick-red.

“Just a scrape. I’ll be fine.” She insisted.

“I’m certain you will, Knight. How long have you been in Danse’s care?” Brandis asked genteelly.

“Ah, about t…two, three days?” Backhand answered cautiously.

“But Danse said that-”

“Knight Vega did not immediately accept the offer. I imagine that our ranks did not strike her as particularly impressive.” Danse cut Brandis off, his tone incredibly bitter.

“It wasn’t that. I had other obligations to deal with.” Backhand corrected him, trying to be gentle. “You guys were in a worse situation than most, but my responsibilities took me elsewhere.”

“True, I did not…I apologize, Knight Vega. That was unnecessarily harsh of me.” Danse admitted after a second.

“Be still my heart. You got him to apologize! Never thought I’d see the day.” Brandis said with a hint of faked bewilderment. Backhand decided to keep the fact that Danse had apologized to her three times in the same day to herself. “Alright Danse, I’ll return to that rustbucket . But only because Knight Vega makes an excellent point.”

“Shall I signal us a vertibird?” Danse asked, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.

“ Ha! And let Maxson get the drop on me? No, no, it’ll be better for me to show up on foot, alone. Provided you two have been discreet, this place will still serve its purpose as a fallback point. I’ll meander for a few days and then make my way…hmm.” Brandis’ eyes rested on Backhand.

“Can I loan you my suit for your journey if you won’t accept an escort?” Backhand offered, following his train of thought. “My combat armor is functional and on standby. May I loan him my power armor, Paladin Danse sir?” She knew she was spreading it on thick, but Danse was obviously a stickler for protocol. “He is a senior ranking officer, and I…I mean if I’m with you, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” It couldn’t hurt to flatter him a bit.

Danse’s face pinked up endearingly and he cleared his throat. “I don’t see why not. If you hope to arrive safely Brandis, this is the least we can do. I would prefer, of course, to accompany you sir. But it’s your decision.”

“How gracious of you to permit an old man his preferences.” Brandis replied dryly. Backhand couldn’t stifle her hiccup of laughter and Danse ‘ harrumph ’ed, obviously embarrassed by her behavior.

“Knight Vega and I will busy ourselves with other tasks in the Commonwealth until you make your return to the Brotherhood, Paladin.” Danse said sternly. “You realize that my knight cannot return without her armor and empty-handed.”

“Understood, Danse.”

Backhand fought the excited leap in her chest at the way Danse referred to her as ‘his’ knight, choosing instead to extract herself from her power armor and start strapping on her heavy combat gear. It’s only because he’s sponsoring you. Don’t be ridiculous , she scolded herself while she donned her breastplate and greaves.

“My thanks, Knight Vega. When you return, I’ll see that your armor is waiting in the bay for you.” Paladin Brandis promised, a heavy hand landing on her shoulder. “As well as a frazzled Maxson, if I play my cards right.” The old man grinned, his eyes still sad. “You two can help yourselves to anything in the bunker. I’ve collected some odds and ends over the years, so if you see something you need it’s yours.”

“Much obliged, sir.” Backhand said gratefully, struggling to recall what Preston had asked her to pick up in her travels. Well, we can always use more aluminum ...

Part Five

#fallout 4 #fallout four #paladin danse #paladin danse x sole survivor #paladin danse/sole survivor #paladin danse x f!sole #fallout #bethesda #video games #BOS #brotherhood of steel #enjoy!

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iggy-of-fans · 4 years

Text

Of Being a Ladybug 8

Okay my friends. Please put a comment on this post if you want to be tagged for this! That will be my tag list and when it’s full, that will be it. Please let me know!

MASTER LIST PREVIOUS

Cons of getting caught

< ( ^ ^ ) >

Bruce went for a quick shower. He wanted a few minutes to talk to Alfred before Maria joined them for lunch. As far as he had seen that Maria is a creative and tactical genius. Plans formed in her head faster than even he could keep up with and she was always a few steps ahead. But because she was so many steps ahead, she relied on that rather than getting physical with her opponent. Even Tim never pulled his punches. He admitted that he had been out smarted, but in cases like the Joker or Scarecrow, you also had to be physical.

Deciding to focus on schooling instead, Bruce walked out of his bathroom and picked up his cell phone to call Gotham Academy. Sure, she was a few credits short of graduating, but he’d found that formal schooling went a long way with kids. Being around others their age and immerse themselves into the drama of day to day life had broken many an outer shell. He understood why that wasn’t an option in London, what with Adrien Agreste living just a few blocks over and attending the school Maria would have been in too, but here there was no connection to stop her. A knock on his door stayed his hand.

“Master Bruce, a moment before lunch?” Alfred’s voice seeped through the door.

“Of course, come in. I wanted your opinion with Maria either way. I was going to call GA to have her enrolled, and maybe introduce her to ballet or modern dance to help her with her flexibility. And the costume… I think pink and white instead of pink and black, to make her stand out more. I am also concerned about how quiet she is. Her old files said she was class president and vocal against bullies. Maybe she will regain some of that with being in a classroom…” Bruce rambled off, dressing without looking at his clothes.

“About that, Mater Bruce,” Alfred finally interjected, “Miss Maria went out early this morning, as I am sure you noticed. She mentioned Gotham Library, and that is indeed where her tracker stayed, however I received a call from Mr. Fox, asking about why Maria was there and applying for work. Mr. Fox also seems to think that a formal classroom setting would put Maria more on edge.”

‘What…? Okay brain, back up and start over….’ So she wants to work, okay. He personally did not believe that anyone under 18 should need to work, as they should be focusing on being a child and on their schoolwork. He knew from personal experience that many kids in Gotham worked part time. But 14… was a bit young. He frowned. And formal schooling causing anxiety? Well, sure but she would need to grow out of that eventually… then again… Bruce remembered that there had been complaints of severe bullying in her profile, so maybe not then. And she was about to graduate too, anyways. Finish her High school from home and allow her to take university classes, just like Tim. And working would allow her to socialize outside, without attending school. He nodded. Okay.

“And the dancing?” He asked.

“I believe that would be an excellent conversation to have with Maria” Alfred smirked. Ah, of course. No making decisions without the child’s in put. He could do that.

“Best not to keep her waiting then, Alfred” Bruce placed his hand on Alfred’s shoulder and smiled at him as he passed to go downstairs.

< ( >< ) >

Alfred left the cave after thirty minutes to get started on making lunch. While the food was cooking, he chose to investigate Marinette Dupain-Cheng, rather than clean. He had, of course, read Maria’s file from Diana, but it seemed… incomplete. Maria was forcing herself to not be like Marinette, and that meant huge parts of her life and personality were missing. Alfred tapped his chin in thought as he saw her multiple school awards, extensive volunteer experience, and contests won. Hm. Marinette was passionate about the things she liked: sewing, crafting and creating, baking and helping. Hm. He looked at his oven, only used to roast potatoes and meat and occasionally to bake a cake. That might work. He decided on a whim to also go online and have a sewing machine, in hot pink, delivered to the manor. A welcome home present.

When he finished cooking and then cleaning, Alfred went upstairs to talk with Master Bruce. Surely they could come up with a schedule that would allow her the time and ability to socialize.

After their discussion, Bruce went ahead downstairs, while Alfred stayed back to knock on Maria’s door. No answer. He opened the door slightly to listen in case she was in the bath. Nothing. Peeking through the door, he noticed the sheets were crumpled slightly. Ah. Must be asleep.

Going downstairs he found Bruce reading the Newspaper, patiently waiting for Maria.

“I am afraid that Miss Maria will not be joining you for lunch. I believe she fell asleep after the gruelling training today.”

Bruce smiled and nodded, digging into his lunch and pulling a notebook out to take notes in. A to-do list.

< ( ^ ^ ) >

Bruce was vibrating as he led Maria into the dining room. He had believed that jetlag and training had been enough to knock her out until dinner. Imagine his surprise and worry when Maria was not in her room when they called her for dinner. And imagine his horror when he noticed her tracker having been ditched. He was about to launch the bat mobile when he recalled Maria looking for a job. He went to the computer and hacked the camera feed in the café. There she was, running back and forth from the coffee machines to the customers, a bright smile on her face. He sighed, his blood still thrumming in his years. He had left at 10 PM to make it on time for the 11 PM closing time. He was shocked when Krista, the owner of the café brushed off his offer to drive his own ward home. So she did not use his name to get the job.

When they reached the dining room, he pushed Maria down at the table with a cold plate left sitting there since 6 PM. His own was also untouched, worry churning his insides and making his appetite non-existent. He sighed, wiping his down his face with both hands. Maria wasn’t a Gothimite. She had no idea the troubles and dangers around every corner. She was new, and from what he understood from Lucius she was expecting this to be a temporary home for her, instead of permanent. It seemed despite his track record of permanently adopting strays, Maria felt like she was not welcome here.

He took a deep breath, “Maria, I realize that my not being here to greet you personally perhaps gave you the impression that you were here temporarily, but I want you to know that isn’t the case. You are here to stay as long as you like. This … I … Let this be your home Maria, as much as it has been for me. We cannot replace your parents, and I am not Diana, but we do want you to be comfortable here.”

He said this while looking at her bowed head. Her hands had been in her lap, but raised to her tear stained eyes. Bruce frowned. How many times has she had to cry so silently that no one even noticed she was crying. He stood from his chair and pulled her into his arms. How long has she had to be so strong? He let her cry herself out and put her to bed. She’d be starving by the morning, but she needed the rest. Walking from the room, he shut the door on a sigh.

“Master Bruce?” Alfred stood in the shadows of the hall.

“Clear my schedule for the morning. I think I’m needed here for the week” he whispered, before retiring to the cave.

Tag List

@sidd-hit-my-butt-ham @kuroko26 @northernbluetongue @chez-pezeater @luciferge @vixen-uchiha @bluerosette23 @mochinek0 @krunchy-tuna @treebrosha @geekydragonyt @vivilakitty @sassy-spocko @bluefiredemon-blog @mindfulmagics @thornangelic727 @xxmadamjinxx @thepeacetea @whomthefyck @lamestplaceintheworld @miraculous-ninja @mikantsume @unabashedbookworm @kandi-pie @2sunchild2 @redsparrow12 @shamefullove @cadencehood @yin-390 @tazanna-blythe @bb-basbusa @zazzlejazzle @fanfictionaddict13 @royalchaoticfangirl @god-is-dead-and-so-am-i @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @imanerddealwith @tinybrie @angelisalise @graduatedmelon @trickstermiraculous @ayuchan07 @thatrandomfandomsgirl @sweatyruinsstudentbored @chloe-bourgeois-is-big-gay @captainmac6 @rag1000 @cupcakesandkisses @crazylittlemunchkin @vivian077

#maribat #maridami #daminette #Of Being a Ladybug #Marinette deserves better #marinette dupain cheng #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #batman #Gotham #miraculous ladybug #paris rogues

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mammonslastbraincell · 4 years

Text

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣👏🏼𝔸𝕟𝕒𝕪𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕚𝕤👏🏼

Next up is!

Belphegor

I didn’t know who I wanted to talk about! I was gonna go in order, but after thinking about it I really really want to talk about Belphie. This whole fandom is either stanning Belphie or hating him for basically murdering MC (some are also really indifferent lmao)

Now I’m pretty indifferent to Belphie myself. I don’t hate him or love him, but I do enjoy his personality and how he’s portrayed as far as we see him. What I want to do is go through Belphie’s character and just talk about him as a whole and if he’s a misunderstood emo reject or some badly written character!

This is most likely going to be l o n g so I took the liberty of putting everything under the cut! ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Introduction to Belphegor, The Avatar of Sloth

Alright so like the rebel MC is she goes up the stairs (cause fuk u boomer Luci-) and finds no one other than Belphegor. Of course the player/MC isn’t aware this is Belphie (unless you’ve followed the devs/had more than one brain-cell)

Anyway so we run into mr. cow man and the first thing he says is

I knew you were the one person who’d be able to find me.

I find this strange along with Belphie calling MC’s name like he knows or is aware. Anyway we’re not getting all conspiracy theory! (yet 👀)

Assuming you asked the strange man who you just found in the attic who he was. He claims that he forgot himself a long time ago. He claims he’s also a human who’s been imprisoned by a demon and is stuck there. Belphegor goes on to tell you Lucifer locked him in there and MC has to help him out. Belphegor proceeds to let you know that the door is sealed with magic and the only way of escaping is for MC to get the consent of the other 6 brothers. Which is his fun way of saying MC has to make a pact with all of them and that they have to gain the brother’s trust.

And just like MC had made a deal that would change their life forever.

So taking in the event of when you meet Belphie apart we can grab a few things about his character right off the bat

Manipulative

Cunning

Knows more than he leads on

A n y w a y! That next night MC goes to the kitchen and Mammon has them eat Beel’s custard. Or at least a little bit. Beel comes in just in time tho and Mammon’s evil scheme is ruined and Beel basically almost attacks them but really just destroys the wall that connects the kitchen and MC’s room!

Of course Lucifer catches wind of this, gives them a three hour lecture and a jealous Mammon later MC is in Beel’s room for the time being until their room is fixed.

so a thing of note here is that when Lucifer assigned MC to sleep in Beel’s room all he said was Beel’s room instead of including Belphie almost blatantly pretending he doesn’t exist, but this is most likely MC doesn’t know him so it’s pointless to say Belphie’s name. I just thought I’d point it out to maybe show how bad Luci and Belphie’s relationship is here! So we get to Beel’s room and we see two beds. There are two options that pop up

- Go to the bed on the left - - Go to the bed on the right -

If you go to the bed on right immediately Beelzebub stops you and tells you to sleep in his bed while he’ll take the couch. Of course we only get one option and it’s

- why -

Because there are two beds Beelzebub you don’t have to sleep on the couch what??

But Beel informs us that the other bed belongs to his twin brother, Belphegor. Beelzebub is also kind enough to inform us where he is! If you’ve been paying attention there’s seven brothers but you only met six. So where’s the other one? Anyway back to Beel he tells us Belphegor is in the human world as an exchange student.

- You’ve got a twin brother? -

- He’s in the human world? -

As we know usuallypickingtheoptionsdon’tmattersoifIdon’ttalkaboutbothoptionsjustassumeitdidn’tmatter! So with picking he went to the human world Beelzebub explains that Belphie went to the human world along with a demon named Diaval(ApparentlythisisareftoanotherSWDgame🙄🙄 I just can’t believe they bought it, it sounds suspiciously close to Diavolo.) Beel then goes on to explain to us that Belphie had a falling out with Lucifer so he was “chosen” to go to the exchange program.

Sidenote: If you pick “You’ve got a twin brother?” All Beel will tell you is yeah but they don’t look alike at all

As Beel talks a bit more MC remembers their interaction with Belphie they’re immediately sus.

In the flashback you can see MC’s thought process as they think back to their interaction with belphie it was very suspicious that Belphie knew about the pacts with Mammon and Levi and being a human it’s also suspicious he would’ve just picked Beelzebub’s name and say he’s the best choice. Unless they were already close with one another. So to confirm their suspicions MC asks if they can see Belphegor. of course beelzebub agrees to it and takes MC to the portrait hall to show her what he looks like.

So with that MC goes back up to the attic.

We’re greeted with Belphie again asking us how’d it go. Obviously this was such a short time ago so maybe Belphie has already realized he’s been caught. So he asks us if we gained Beelzebub’s trust yet and without answering his question we have one of our own.

Are you Belphegor?

Belphegor responds saying we’re no fun. Admitting his defeat and that we figured him out. Belphegor goes on to introduce himself to us officially.

- You’re a liar! -

- Why did you lie to me? -

- I knew it... -

So we have three options this time. They all lead to Belphie calling us stupid..Trust me I checked 🙄 🙄

Belphie with all of these options never just calls the MC stupid you can almost tell there is some malice with humans in general as he calls all humans stupid and foolish. But with the “Why did you lie to me?” option Belphegor explains that it wasn’t lying it was just teasing seeing how he figured MC would catch on soon enough it wasn’t anything bad. With the “You’re a liar!” option Belphegor is confused but realizes MC meant when he told them he’s a human. He tells MC to call him a liar if they so wish but to remember something important.

Belphegor knows he can’t do anything about MC here so he just tells them to not be so stupid to trust demons so easily. I think Belphie doesn’t hate MC or maybe he does it’s never clear with the first interaction as it comes off very mockingly towards MC like he’s just having fun playing them as a fool. So he doesn’t give off the vibe that he wants to kill MC. He’s trapped so all he can do is get under their skin and make them scared. So it’s hard to tell if Belphegor is telling MC to be wary because he knows how demons can be and a human can get themselves killed easily or if he’s just trying to make them afraid. Either way he sees it as amusing I mean what else can he do trapped in an attic? I believe Belphie is doing both in a way where he wants to play MC and see how it goes. They already have two pacts albeit it’s Mammon and Levi, but that’s still a feat especially in that short amount of time so Belphie maybe curious and wants to see how this all plays out.

Anyway, Belphie assumes Beel told MC about him and that is proof enough that Beelzebub trusts us(Of course he most likely hopefully doesn’t know that we’re sharing a room) Belphegor continues with saying that all the brothers believe he went to the human world as an exchange student (we never ask him why he knows that or a lot of shit about what’s going on) Belphegor comments on how he’d loved to see the looks on their faces if they found out it was Lucifer who was keeping him locked in this filthy attic. But he laughs at the end like he finds it funny. Which brings me back to my point of I believe Belphie finds it amusing but also really frustrating he’s just waiting to see what will happen.

We can see Belphie’s thought process in the next thing he says

I lied you, sure. But Lucifer did lock me up here. That’s the truth.

Belphegor holds a grudge against Lucifer for locking him the attic. You can tell by the way he talks.

- Why don’t you get your brothers to help you? -

As an only option, we ask Belphegor and he tells us he would've done that a long time ago if he could. They’d freak out and confront Lucifer, leading to a war that could envelop the entire Devildom.

I’d like to find a peaceful resolution to all this. For Lucifer, for the devildom, and for the human world as well. Personally, I’d like to have a proper, face-to-face talk with Lucifer.

Sure we may have had a falling out, but really, it was only a little misunderstanding. If I could just talk with him, he’d realize that was the case.

I need to find some way to get out of here, find Lucifer, and have a talk with him. That’s all I want. And that’s the truth. You understand, right?

There’s a lot to unpack here.

I don’t think Belphie is lying. I will admit I never believed the “I want to settle things peaceful for all the three worlds.” But I do believe Belphie wants to settle things with Lucifer and go back to how they were. Belphie probably sees Lucifer as a big pushover and not how he was when they were in the Celestial Realm. Belphie sees from his point of view that it’s Lucifer’s fault and he did nothing to be locked in the attic so he keeps making sure you know it’s Lucifer’s fault. With the way he brings up Lucifer a lot and trying to make you side with him.

He’s just the nice brother that got locked up for nothing and his big meanie older brother did it uwu he’s a soft boy OwO.

The “You understand, right?” is most likely Belphie making sure you believe him.

Of course MC replies

You might still be lying to me.

Belphie says he’s not surprised it can’t be helped. He tells you he counts on you and if you ever come back to talk he’s waiting.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Belphegor, a free man

I don’t wanna touch on this too long cause this analysis is already LONG and I still got the timeline and the changed Belphie to touch on!

In lesson 14 you’ll remember Lucifer yelling at us cause we let that we saw Belphie slip. Well you’ll also remember coming out quickly and the last of them is yep

Belphie. Lucifer still hasn’t told the other brothers about Belphie being locked away anyway that doesn’t matter in this analysis as my focus is on Belphegor. So Belphegor is angry he comes out and most of his anger is directed at Lucider saying how he bets he didn’t expect him to come here after thinking he’s gotten rid of him.

So Belphie thinks Lucifer was just chucking him aside after what happened with Diavolo.

Alright fast foward to Diavolo arresting Belphie for treason and talk about what Belphegor did specifically. So Belphegor was ready to destroy all of humanity cause he hated this exchange program so much. Diavolo says that Belphegor always hated humans which is true. Replaying the game and paying most attention to Belphie and his words you can see he hates humans and thinks they’re all stupid. But why?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ A Different TimeLine

Now this is most of what I want to touch on!

So Diavolo has MC go back into the past to see who opens the door for him and lets him out. I’m not gonna go into the timeline mess it scares me and it would take me a WHILE and this is already long enough! 😂😅

So MC gets into the attic and we see Belphegor! y a y I g u ES s

So you get into the attic with cowman and he laughs weirdly and talks about how Lucifer and Diavolo would have never expected him escaping especially with the help of a human. He opens his arms to you for a hug.

- Hug Him - - Nu-uh I don’t think so! -

Either way these two options get the same results Belphegor fucking murders you 😂😂😂

But MC switches to a different time line and sees themselves dying in Mammon’s arms. MC pops out and before Belphie kills them a g a i n. MC tells him Lilith lived like Lucifer explained before.

I waited to talk about Lilith and why he hates humans cause I wanted to go over all his actions again.

Belphegor hates humans because of Lilith’s love interest who was sick and Lilith risked it all and that caused her death. He holds resentment to not just that man but all humans, but it hasn’t always been like this. Levi says numerous times that Belphie actually quite loved humans and their culture. Levi also explains he loved to hear what the humans did and the new stuff they had and collecting things humans have made. The Celestial War was probably a traumatizing one for the boys all having different effects on them and his happened to be a grudge he held for the man he sees as the reason Lilith is dead. To me with the grudge is this irrational way of thinking which is “All humans are bad” so he disconnected himself as much as he could from humans.

I don’t believe personally that Belphegor hates humans I think it was the impact of Lilith’s death and the reason she did something so reckless that got her killed that in specific is what he hates, but he can’t accept that in some way it’s Lilith’s fault as well. He takes all his frustration and lets it out on humans. I don’t think he’s a bad person just someone who’s scared of losing another person he loves. It’s not just a grudge to humans I believe he holds some resentment to Lucifer I believe he sees Lucifer as some pushover now especially since he stood up for Lilith in the war and now he’s basically sucking Diavolo’s dick and not standing up for them like when Belphegor was against the idea of the exchange program. He probably figured his brother would stand up for him, but he didn’t he just tossed him into the attic and left him there to rot. That’s probably how Belphie saw the situation not knowing Lucifer did it to actually protect him.

Anyway thank you for coming to my Ted Talk! ☆⌒(≧▽° )

This is the most I’ve ever written for a post and I love it! I decided to take a few days and work on something I really like and that’s analyzing characters. Sorry if it seems there isn’t much for Belphie we just don’t spend too much time with him and for the new timeline I dunno! It just doesn’t feel like the boys so I’ve decided that I wouldn’t do the new timeline!

This isn’t supposed to be taken too seriously just something I did out of fun! I hope you enjoyed reading and thank you so much if you did!! I know it’s alot! 🖤 🤍 🖤 🤍 🖤 🤍 🖤 🤍 🖤 🤍 🖤 🤍 🖤 🤍 🖤 🤍 🖤 🤍 🖤 🤍 🖤 🤍 🖤 🤍

#obey me belphegor #obey me! belphegor #obey me!#swd obey me #this took me like 5 days I-#I hope ya'll enjoy #I stopped playing Danganronpa to do this #Also finished two seasons of inuyasha while making this #obey me shall we date #obey me

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just-dreaming-marvel · 4 years

Text

ONE HUNDRED FOURTEEN - MY SECRET BOYFRIEND

LEGACY: A Tony Stark Daughter Story

MASTERLIST

< previous

Word Count: 1,800ish

Summary: Bailey and Steve spend some time together.

After a nice dinner with Nat, we said our goodbyes and promised to keep in touch better. Happy was ready and waiting to take me to our apartment in the city, that we only have stuck due to having to run Stark Industries. The rest of the week was pretty boring. Dealing with regular SI paper work as well as dealing with an overprotective father. Ever since the snap, Tony had been back to being the overprotective father. The constant phone calls and texts from him were enough to make someone crazy, but I knew that he was only doing it out of love. I had yet to tell him that I was going to take him up on his offer to inject nano bots in my brain, wanting to do it in person. Nat and I texted every day, just to make sure the other was okay. I hadn’t told Steve I was in town, really just needing to work on Stark Industries stuff.

It was Thursday night, my last night in the city before I went home, and was about to get ready for bed when the phone rang.

“FRIDAY?” I called the AI to attention as I put a glass of water to my mouth. “Who’s calling?”

“Captain Rogers, Miss,” FRIDAY responded.

I began to choke on the water running down my throat. “S-shoot,” I sputtered out. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to ask him Miss?"

“No! It was a joke… Um.. Just patch him through, FRI.”

“Okay Miss.”

Then before I knew it, I was hearing Steve’s voice. “Hello? Bailey? Are you there?”

“Hey, Steve. I’m here.”

“I just talked to Nat.” Dang it. “She told me that you were in town. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve just had a lot of paperwork and meetings. I didn’t want you over here if I was too busy. I thought it would be too boring for you.”

“You know that I don’t care how busy you are, I just want to spend time with you.”

“Yeah… I guess I was being really selfish, wasn’t I?”

“It’s okay. I forgive you.”

“Do you want to come over?”

“Well…”

“You’re already on your way, aren’t you?”

“I just walked onto the elevator.”

“I’ll see you soon then.”

“See you soon.”

“Captain Rogers has ended the call,” FRIDAY said.

“Let him all the way up, FRI,” I instructed. “And, you know the drill, keep this away from Dad.”

“Of course, Miss Stark."

I was finishing up putting away some paperwork when I heard the elevator open and footsteps heading my way. I was about to turn off the computer when I felt arms wrap around my waist from behind. I leaned into him and hummed in content. Steve kissed the side of my head.

“This is another reason I didn’t tell you I was in town,” I chuckled as I turned in his arms to face him and put my arms around his neck. I kissed him. “You are such a distraction.”

He smiled. “Well someone needs to be, or you’d work yourself to death.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Of course I am.”

He kissed me again. This time the kiss was longer, more passionate. When we pulled apart for breath, I was all smiles.

“What?” He smiled as he asked the small question.

“I just—“ I began giggling. “How did I get so lucky?”

Steve simply chuckled and shook his head. “You got lucky? I got lucky.” We began another heated make out session. “You want to take this some where else?” He asked when we finally broke apart.

All I could do was give a small nod before he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. I giggled as we made our way to the bedroom. After some fun, we fell asleep with Steve spooning me from behind. The happiness that I was feeling was quickly washed away by a dream. It had been months, maybe even a year since the last time I had a nightmare.

This one was about Thanos and Tony fighting on that planet in space. They were throwing punches left and right, and I couldn’t stop it. I was stuck on the Wakanda battle field, watching it through a vision. Tony went to stab him but instead, Thanos stabbed Tony in the heart. I screamed, both outside and inside the dream. My screaming woke Steve up. He quickly flipped me onto my back and put his hands on my face.

“Bailey, doll,” He said. “I need you to wake up for me. It’s not real. Wake up, B.”

He moved his hands from my face so that he could set them on my shoulders to be able to gently shake me. As he made contact, my dream changed and he was shown it as well. I was in a dark and dirty room, being beaten. I kept crying out in pain, both in the dream and out loud. Steve was fighting to get out of my head to force me to wake up. He couldn’t handle listening to me cry out in pain or watching me get hurt like that. When he finally realized that he needed to physically let go of me to break the connect, his hands shot off of my shoulders. I still wasn’t waking up though.

“FRIDAY,” he called out to the AI. “What do I do?”

“This is one of the worst ones on record, especially in the last few years… I think that waiting it out is the best option.”

Steve took a deep breath. “Wait it out? I don’t know if I can do that.”

“I could also call Mr. Stark.”

“No! No… She’d kill me. He’d kill me. We aren’t ready for that yet.”

Steve watched as I thrashed around, sweat on my brow and tears streaming from my closed eyes. He waited about ten minutes before trying again. His hands went to my shoulders and he began to gently shake them.

“Bailey,” he called for me. “Come on B, wake up.”

I shot up, struggling to breath, with frightened eyes. Steve went to hold me but, not realizing who he was, I quickly backed up to the wall. My breathing was ragged and the tears kept coming.

“It’s okay, B,” Steve calmly said, holding his hands up in surrender. “It’s just me…”

I looked at him through teary eyes, finally putting the pieces together. Steve was with me, in my bed. Steve saw part of my dream, my nightmare. I began crying harder, which I didn’t think was possible. I pulled my legs to my chest and hugged them close.

“I-I…. He…” I sobbed.

“Shh…” Steve slowly moved closer. “It’s okay. It wasn’t real. You’re safe.” He carefully put his arms around me and pulled me into his lap. “I’m here… You’re safe…” He placed a kiss on my hair line. “It’s okay… I’ve got you…”

Steve held me in his arms as I sobbed. I wasn’t ready to talk about the nightmare, and Steve understood that. He simply just held me until I passed out in his arms. Once he was sure I was out, he laid us down, keeping me tightly in his arms. He was hoping that keeping me in his arms would prevent another nightmare from happening, pleading with the universe for some form of relief for me. Steve struggled to fall back asleep. He was too busy watching me, making sure that I was okay. When morning came, I began to stir in his arms. As I woke up, the events of the night came back to me. I turned in Steve’s arms to face him. His eyes were closed but I knew he wasn’t asleep. I kissed his nose as I sighed.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Steve furrowed his brow as he opened his eyes. “For what?”

“For keeping you up most of the night… And for you having to witness a part of my nightmare.”

He shook his head and pulled me closer into him. “Don’t be… Do you want to talk about it?”

I took a deep breath. “H-he died… I watched Thanos kill him…”

“Who?”

“Dad… And then it disappeared and I was back in a HYDRA cell block getting beaten an-and raped… But… But you saw some of that.”

“You don’t need to worry. Thanos is dead and HYDRA can’t get you anymore… I won’t let anyone harm you like that again.”

I nodded against his chest. “Thank you. For staying…” I looked up at him.

“Always.” He answered, looking down at me and giving me a loving kiss on the lips. “Always.”

“I’m going to let Dad inject nano bots into my head.”

Steve pulled away a bit to be able to look at my face. “What?” He was utterly confused. “You— what?”

“He thinks that it will help with the nightmares and visions. And I want to try it. Especially after what just happened.”

“If you think it will work then I’m all for it. I really don’t like see you like that.” He let out a long deep breath. “It really scared me…”

“I’m sorry. Let’s hope it never happens again.” We sat there, holding each other in silence until I decided to speak up. “Promise me that you’ll never leave.” I snuggled into his chest more.

“Promise.” He took a deep breath. “I want to marry you, Bailey.”

“You do?” I looked up at him. We had touched the subject of marriage very little, especially because that meant that we’d have to talk to Tony.

He looked down with loving eyes that I would never forget. “I do. And I want to ask Tony for your hand.” I was open to interject when he put a finger on my lips. “I’m okay with waiting until you’re ready.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.” He kissed me before reaching over to the night stand and pulling out a ring box from the drawer. He opened the box and revealed a small silver ring that had a knot in it.

“I do have the engagement ring. But I’m waiting for the right time to pull out that box… So I thought that this would do. I know you really don’t like jewelry, so it’s very simple. We can get you a different one if you—“

“I love it, Steve.” He grabbed my right hand and the ring and then slid it on to my right hand ring finger. “Wrong hand.”

“I know.” He kissed my finger. “Just so your dad doesn’t suspect anything.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck. “I love you so much.” And I kissed him so hard. Things got real heated after that, but that remains between Steve and I.

next >

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