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nephilim-problems · 3 years

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Hi guys! This is a new fic I came up with where the reader is Barry Allen's ex-wife and she moves to Virgina and becomes a part of the BAU. It's basically a cross over between The Arrowverse and Criminal minds. Let me know if you want more 🥰

I had been working at the BAU for 3 years and I felt like I was in a family but what type of person keeps secrets for their family? Everyone is the answer but I felt guilty for hiding a whole half of my life, and my slight crush on my boss. I mean it was only a slight crush I found him very attractive but he of course was my boss and he would never go over that professional barrier. I tapped my pen against my desk, feeling like I had read the same line on the same report 7 or 8 times. This job was great except for the paperwork. The paperwork was always the most boring part.

“Guys we have a case,” J.J said walking into the bullpen.

I looked up and saw Hotch wasn’t in his office and Rossi wasn’t either. They were probably already at the round table. Morgan came around my side as I push my chair in.

“He’s probably already at the table sweetheart,” Morgan said putting his hand on the small of my back. “We should probably head there too.”

“Yeah we should,” I sighed letting him lead me away.

“There goes my weekend,” Prentiss said taking a seat next to Rossi.

“You had plans this weekend?” Morgan asked sincerely as we sat down. “I stopped making plans years ago.”

“I still like to try,” She smiled.

“We wanted to take Henry to the zoo this weekend but I guess Will will have to go alone,” J.J said, sending a text I guessed to her boyfriend.

“I actually didn’t have plans so,” Reid replied, making me chuckle.

“I wanted to go check out that new restaurant down the street, but I guess there’s always when we get back,” I laughed as Garcia set a case file in front of me.

“Happy friday my darling profilers you are going to central city, Missouri, 3 women found dead all dumped by the side of the road going into the city. All 3 showed signs of torture and rape and then there is this, which is why the central city police is calling us in,” Garcia spoke but all eyes wen wide after we saw the pictures.

“He removed their tongue,” J.J said looking disgusted. “That’s new.”

“Actually this is the second time we have seen this. The last time was when Holis Walker killed 4 people in order to promote his book,” Reid replied.

"So rage maybe?" I said. "Maybe these women mean something to him."

"He shows remorse with the way he dumps the body," Morgan replied. "But he's so angry when he kills them."

"Either Way we have 2 days to find this girl alive. Wheels up in 30," Hotch said, collecting his case files and bolting out of the room.

I started to collect mine when Penelope, Emily, and J.J sat around me. They had left all their stuff on the table where they were sitting and they were all staring at me.

"So when are you going to tell Hotch you have a crush on him?" Emily asked, staring into me.

"I-I don't have a crush on Hotch," I chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "He's my boss, that would be completely wrong."

"You think you can hide that from some profilers?" J.J asked, smiling at me.

"I am not hiding anything," I laughed when suddenly I saw Morgan coming up behind Penelope.

"Baby girl, why are you picking on her," Morgan asked, setting his hands on her shoulders.

"Oh we're just teasing little miss (Y/N/N) about her crush on hotch," Emily said causing everyone to laugh.

"And I just said I didn't have a crush on Hotch," I said standing up.

"Sweetheart we all know, its okay," Morgan laughed, making me uncomfortably shuffle towards the door.

"I definitely do not have a thing for Hotch," I replied walking towards the door. "I have to get my go bag before anyone else starts in om my supposed crush on hotch."

I heard laughter from behind me but ignored it and ran to grab my bag. I quickly scooped the bag up and ran to meet the team.

Soon we were sitting on the jet discussing the case when the pilot announced we would be landing in 10 minutes. That was Hotch's que to start handing everyone a job.

"Rossi, you and agent Prentiss head to the abduction site, Reid, you and Agent Allen head to the dump site, J.J, Morgan, and I will head to the police department," Hotch finished then Morgan cut in.

"Reid and I were actually hoping to head to the police department," he said and Reid looked suspiciously at him then turned back.

"I wanted to start the geological profile," Reid smirked unconvincingly.

"Okay I will go with Rossi, Prentiss, you head to the crime scene," Hotch replied, sighing and looking over the file.

"Actually, sir, I would like to go to the abduction site if that's okay with you," Emily smiled.

"I'll go to the dump site then. We will meet back at the station when we're done,"Hotch replied.

The rest of the team smiled at each other before looking at me. I rolled my eyes at them and crossed my legs. They were absolutely right though, I did have a massive crush on Hotch. It started as just thinking he was hot and wanting to feel him thrust into me then I found the comforting side of him. I had gotten kidnapped while on a case Morgan joked it was a "rite of passage". It wasn't terrible. He had cut me a bit but when the team had broken open the door to his house it startled him enough for me to wiggle out of my restraints and attack him. Eventually I had to stab him just as Hotch broke in. He doted over me for weeks making sure I was okay and that he was always there if I needed to talk. It was very cute and it made my feelings for him grow more intense; however I was going to deny it until I was blue in the face. Even if it was no use because I was lying to a group of profilers.

It was an uncomfortable ride to the dump site. I was trying to focus on the file in front of me but it was unbearably hot in the humid Missouri weather and for some horrible reason the a/c wasn't working. I was closer to using the file as a fan than actually looking it at. Hotch had taken his jacket off and loosened his tie which had me on edge. It looked as hot as I felt. I couldn't take my eyes off him but I didn't want him to see me.

Soon the car was stopping and I was hopping out thankful to be out of the car but somehow it was hotter outside.

"Hotch I can see the body was from here," I said standing on the other side of the car.

"So he wasn't trying to hide her," he replied.

I followed him down off the street and across the crime scene tape.

"He has to have stayed here awhile. Posing on the victim, her hair is brushed, and her fingernails are painted. But he could be seen from the road," I said, throwing my hands in the pockets of my pants.

"So he doesn't stand out," Hotch replied.

"Or he parked his car and hid himself from view."

"Then the car was plain enough not to raise alarm."

"We're in Central City Hotch. I lived here for a bit, the locals are helpful. If they saw a car parked here at night they'd probably stop to ask what's wrong."

Hotch actually looked a bit stumped for the first time since I had started working at the bau.

"Then he has to have a van or truck," Hotch said.

"That's big enough to conceal her and him but something you wouldn't stop on the side of the road to help," I said stepping around the scene. "What about city or park trucks?"

"They're large enough to block traffic from seeing him," Hotch paused. "Let's head to the station to meet with J.J, Reid, and Morgan. Hopefully Reid has something with the geographical profile."

With those words Hotch was off with a phone to his ear I assume to Garcia. I followed close behind and slid in the car with him and we took off to the station. It wasn't far. We talked about the heat mainly and Central City. When we pulled up to the station I got queezy. This meant I'd have to see Joe and Barry again. It was a life I was hoping would never clash with this one.

Hotch parked and we walked up the steps to the central city police station. It looked just as I remembered it, beautiful. J.J came fast approaching and stopped in front of Hotch.

"Hotch, Captain Singh may have brought us in but the officers aren't cooperating. Detective Joe West was the officer assigned to this case." J.J said, stopping us in our tracks.

"Is he cooperating?" Hotch replied.

"For the most part yeah," J.J said tapping her thighs which she only did when she was frustrated.

"They won't cooperate because of the flash," I piped up and they all looked at me confused.

"Who is the flash?" J.J asked.

"He's a vigilante from Central City. The U.S government has kept a handle on any information about him to keep from a vigilante crisis," Hotch replied.

"If central city has the flash, why are we being called in?" J.J asked.

"The flash is good at catching people but he isn't a detective. He can't find these women like we can," I replied.

"I don't care about the flash right now, the only thing we should be focused on is finding this girl in the next 40 hours," Hotch said walking by J.J and into the bullpen.

I followed and saw Joe talking to Reid and Morgan in a small glass room on the other side of the bullpen. I basically ran over and opened the door so excited to see Joe again. Then I saw Barry standing with them.

"(Y/N)," Joe called out.

"Joe," I smiled as he grabbed me into a large hug.

"It's so good to see you," he said, squeezing me tightly.

"It's so good to see you too," I smiled, parting from the hug and pulling Barry in. I hadn’t realized how much I missed his hugs.

"It's been awhile (Y/N/N)," Barry said and I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Yeah, I've missed you Bares," I said, wrapping my arms around his waist.

"I missed you too," Barry mumbled as I pulled away.

"You guys know each other?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah, I was in college and I lived with Joe, Barry, Wally, and Iris," I said feeling a bit happier.

"Barry has been helping us with the forensic side of things," Reid replied.

"How far did you get with the geographical profile?" I asked

"Not very far," Reid said, making his nervous smile.

"Don't tell Hotch that," I smirked and patted him on the shoulder.

"We're thinking male, white, late 20s early 30s, sexual sadist," Morgan said, throwing the file down.

"Hotch and I think he might work for the city or parks. He's got a truck that gives him enough privacy to pose the victim and brush her hair," I said. "And the only thing we could think of was city and park vehicles."

"I already called Garcia to check for white males in their late 20s early 30s that have access to city or park vehicles," Hotch said standing over me.

"That's almost anyone," Joe replied. "Anyone who works for the city, parks and recreation, police, or even just rich CEOs who donate."

"Can you get me a list of all those people?" Hotch asked.

"Yeah," Joe replied and started walking. "Barry, I'm going to need your help."

"Coming Joe," Barry replied. "(Y/N/N) you s-should come by for dinner. Iris would love to see you."

"I'll make time for it Barry," I smiled and squeezed his arm as he left.

"Sweetheart, why didn't you tell us you were from here?" Morgan asked.

"I'm not from here," I laughed trying to brush him off. "Iris, Barry, and I went to college together. We've kept in contact the best we can but things have happened."

"Oh yeah what things?" Morgan laughed as Emily and Rossi came in.

"The victim put up a huge struggle," Emily said and I silently cheered. "She threw anything within reach at him. We found bullet holes in the walls. We think she had a gun."

Suddenly Morgan pulled out his phone.

"Hey baby girl it's Morgan," he said and we all knew he was calling Garcia. "I'm going to put you on speaker."

"Hey Garcia, did Alyssa Smith have a gun registered to her?" Emily asked, putting her hands on the table.

"Yes she did own a gun. She also had a hunting license," Garcia replied.

"Did any of the other 3 victims?" Hotch asked, setting his hand on the lower of my back. It sent chills down my spine as I tried to focus.

"Yes, all 3 victims had gun licenses and hunting licenses," Garcia replied.

"Thanks baby girl," Morgan said.

"Anything for you my love," Garcia replied as Morgan hung up the phone.

"You know, cases where victims have and use guns scare the shit out of me," I said, taking a step back and feeling slightly sad when Hotch took his hand off of me.

"Thats our only pattern," Reid sighed.

"I don't know if you've noticed but central city isn't exactly a hunting gun owning town. Most people don't own a gun unless you work in law enforcement," I replied.

"Detective West said law enforcement was on our list of people who had access to the vehicles we are looking for," Hotch said. "Get Garcia on the phone. I'm going to see if I can check on that list."

"I'm going to talk to Barry and see if he has any contacts who saw anything," I said, starting to walk towards the door.

"J.J make sure this doesn't get leaked to the press," Hotch said following. "Agent Allen, I need to talk to you."

"Uh, yes sir," I said walking out and standing on the side.

#aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #david rossi #hotch x y/n #barry allen x reader #arrowverse #the flash #barry allen #au #crossover

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breakyeol · 3 years

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— SQUIRM, BABY.

You don’t like Doh Kyungsoo. Especially not when he’s got his fingers buried knuckle deep inside of you and your seeing stars —goddamn stars!— but can’t make a sound unless you want the entire library to know exactly what he’s doing to you under the table.

┗ Pairing: Tutor!Kyungsoo x Reader

Genre: college au, tutor au, enemies w benefits au, smut

Words: 4.7k

Rating: 18+

Warnings: strong language, sexual acts in a public setting, fingering

A/N; tomorrow is going to be my 1 year anniversary as an EXO-L!! oh my goodness that feels so crazy, time really flies. so here is a little present from me to you, enjoy lovelies!!

“These are all wrong,” Kyungsoo mutters blankly, “start over.”

A loud groan is ripped from your throat, the sound earning you more than a few sideways glares from the surrounding tables but you can’t really bring yourself to care. You’ve been here for two hours, studying one of the most intolerable subjects in the world: Calculus. The mere mention of its name made you shiver in disgust.

To be blunt, you’d always been shit at math. Numbers and equations were never your strong suit, not in high school and definitely not now with the added complexities of derivatives and differential equations (neither of which made even the slightest bit of sense to you). You much preferred the gentleness of literature and history to the strict logic and rules of mathematics and science. Unfortunately for you, the latter subjects were just as vital a part of your education, and opting out of them was not an option.

“Can’t we take a break?” You almost whine the question, pressing your fingers into your throbbing temples. “My brain feels like it’s going to explode.”

“No.”

You scowl at the bluntness of his rejection. “I’m paying you.” You point out, stabbing a finger into his bicep for emphasis. “Shouldn’t I have a say in when we take a break?”

He rolls his eyes, swatting your hand away and shoving the paper back in your direction. “I’m giving you your money’s worth. Do it again.”

You let out a noisy huff of air, slouching over dramatically in the stiff plastic chair until your chin is pressed against the cold table. “I hope you know I am deeply regretting some of my life decisions right about now.” You grumble, shooting him an icy glare that you hope conveys the absolute loathing you feel for both him and the set of problems laid before you.

“I thought that was a daily thing for you.”

Scoffing, you bury your mouth in the thick sleeve of your hoodie. “Your face is a daily thing for me.”

He doesn’t even bother to look at you, though you could almost feel the intensity of his deadpan. “I think that was the shittiest comeback I’ve ever heard.”

“Your face is the shittiest comeback I’ve ever heard.”

“You do realize that that makes absolutely no sense.”

“Your fa—”

“Shut up and do your work.”

He either doesn’t hear or consciously chooses to ignore the colorful array of curses you grumble spitefully in his direction, though simultaneously resigning yourself to the fact that you won’t be able to put off your work inevitably. Kyungsoo was a stickler for proper time management. If he had an agenda set in place for your tutoring session (which he always did), then you better believe he’d be checking off each item within its designated time frame. And if you don’t cooperate— well then, your best bet is to pray that there isn’t a mechanical pencil within his reach.

He might not always be able to reach the top shelf, but Kyungsoo had ways of getting what he wanted. Usually, that chilling glare was enough to get those around him to bend to his will. He could be a scary little shit when he wanted to be. You’ll admit, even you had been the tiniest bit intimidated when you first met him. He was quiet, reserved, strict in manner, but also the dangerous unpredictable type, you gathered that much quickly enough. Maybe that’s why the two of you didn’t get on too well.

Where he was cool and standoffish, “a man of few words” some might say, you were more vocal about your opinions, social by nature, always eager to meet new people and make new connections. You had a tendency to speak loudly when excited and talk with your hands when passionate about a subject. That was something most people learned about you very quickly. Unfortunately, upon your first official meeting at a party in your freshman year with your mutual friends, Kyungsoo had no idea just how emphatic you could be until you’d knocked his drink clean out of his hand and spilled it down the front of his brand new shirt.

It was an accident, of course. You’d apologized profusely and he’d accepted it (albeit somewhat begrudgingly), but that was probably the first of many missteps in your... unique relationship.

With such conflicting personalities, it was understandable that you got into frequent arguments about one thing or another. Petty disagreements would often grow into something larger than they really needed to be. Mostly because despite having such contrasting personalities, you shared the trait of innate stubbornness, neither of you willing to admit when you were wrong. It was easy to argue with him, and you liked when you proved him wrong. You liked the way his brows furrowed and his cheeks flushed. You liked the way he glared, the way his lips pouted. You like the challenge he presented you with every time he opened his mouth. Above, you loved to win. Especially when it was against him.

So you pushed, and he pushed right back. And before you knew it, you found yourself a proper ‘frenemy’, though you aren’t sure that that’s quite the right word to describe whatever it was you two were.

But that’s just how the two of you are, how you’d always been. If you were being honest, riling him, seeing that usually so stoic, so controlled expression crack when you pushed just the right buttons— it was fun. You thoroughly enjoyed fucking with him, discovering new and creative ways to get under his skin. And you knew he got just as much satisfaction from doing the same to you, rendering you speechless with witty comebacks, flustering you with his sharp tongue and impressive rebukes.

So really, was it such a terrible thing?

Not to mention, a number of not-so-terrible things occurred as a result of one of your many arguments, such as hiring him as your calculus tutor. One that started out with you claiming he would probably be the shittiest teacher to ever exist (which seemed a valid argument at the time considering how short tempered and impatient he could be *cough* with you *cough*) to which he rebutted with the claim that he could “teach a goldfish advanced calculus” if he set his mind to it, and considering that you “had an IQ equivalent to one”, he could without a doubt teach you. His words, obviously.

It just so happened that you had a calculus exam coming up that next week, so to prove his point, he tutored you for the three days preceding said test. Even though you loathe being proven wrong, you ended up getting one of the highest scores you’d ever gotten on a math test in your entire academic career.

Putting your pride aside, you made the suggestion that he continue to tutor you. He only agreed when you offered him green in exchange for his troubles and admitted that he was right (it took a few extra hours to convince yourself that your grades should be held above your ego before you could bring yourself to verbally admit defeat).

And now here you are, not flunking out of calculus. You’d consider that worthy of the bruise to your pride, even if only by a small margin.

“Kyungsoo, why’d you mark this one wrong?” You frown at the large red X marking problem two as incorrect. You’d been glaring at your scribbled work for almost two minutes, running over the problem in your head, but you couldn’t seem to figure out where he thought you’d gone wrong. It looks right enough to you.

Kyungsoo shifts over to get a better look, his arms pressing against yours in the process and you are briefly stunned by the sudden, unexpected closeness, wholly unable to stop yourself from noticing the faint, woody scent of his aftershave that caresses your senses. Fuck. You can’t tell if you hate or love the fact that he smelled so good. Partly love it because good hygiene is always something to admire in a man (even if that man was Doh Kyungsoo), partly hate it because dammit it’s Doh Kyungsoo and you loathe finding anything that has to do with him attractive. Plus, it’s distracting. You’re here trying to learn and he has the audacity to go around smelling like pine trees and fresh moss after a rainfall. Unfair.

“Right here.”

The scowl you don’t realize you’re wearing immediately drops away as the low baritone of his voice thrums through the cavity of your ribcage and you lean forward to see exactly what he’s pointing at.

“You multiplied straight through instead of distributing.” He explains further upon seeing the uncertainty on your face. A few seconds of further inspection and you finally see what he’s talking about.

“Fuck,” you hiss, “I’m so stupid.”

“It’s an easy mistake to make.” He reassures.

“Yeah, but I should know that by now, I should’ve—” you turn your head, only to nearly choke on air as you discover that any space that once existed between the two of you has virtually disappeared, “... seen it.”

He’s close, so close that you can feel the cool rush of his breath against your skin as he exhales, goosebumps bristling across your arms in response. He’s close. Too close. You can’t think straight, can’t even breathe. The moment that surrounds you feels fragile, like even the slightest disruption would rupture it completely.

Frozen, you can only swallow around the sudden dryness of your mouth as your treacherous eyes drop to trace the plush line of his lips. Who even has lips like that? They’re just so big and so pink, that dark, kissable kind of pink that every girl just wishes her lips could be. You, included. They look soft, and you can’t help but to wonder if they’d still taste like the strawberry bubblegum he’d been chewing on at the beginning of your tutoring session.

“Careful, ___.” The sound of Kyungsoo’s voice, raspier than you recall it being before and laced in a faintly taunting pitch, is enough to break you from your trance and, once freed, you whip your head around fast enough to give yourself whiplash.

“Fuck off.” You cough, jaw clenching as you attempt to drag your mind out from the gutter and back onto the calculus problems you have yet to correct. But for whatever reason your brain refuses to cooperate, instead filling your head with images of his pretty mouth and everything it could be doing instead of rambling on about something as uninteresting as calculus. Damnit.

No doubt seeing the distress written clearly across your face, Kyungsoo chuckles, the sound low and smooth where it drips from his lips, and a familiar heat blossoms in the pit of your stomach.

You can feel his eyes on you now, every cell of your being suddenly hyperaware of his presence beside you. The pressure of his knee where it nudges against yours, the teasing curl of his lips as he watches you struggle to focus, the warmth of his palm caressing up your thigh, the— wait what?

Your gaze whips down, breath hitching at the sight of Kyungsoo’s hand gently gripping the lagging clad flesh just above your knee. It’s another few seconds before you’re able to find your voice again.

“W– What’re you—?”

“Focus.” He cuts you off smoothly, fingers soothing over the inside of your leg, squeezing gently. When you don’t look away from him, he smirks, jerking his chin forward in a manner you can only interpret as challenging. There’s a familiar glint in his eye, a dangerous glint that doesn’t fail to provoke your competitive side. You know that look well. He’s challenging you.

And you don’t back down from a challenge.

Especially not from Doh Kyungsoo.

Determination flairs up inside of you, your jaw clenching as you strike him with a single, heated glare that read plain and simple ‘you. are. on.’ before honing all your attention onto the worksheet in front of you. It’s not too difficult to focus at first, to disregard the tingles that erupt across your skin where his hot touch sears into it. You manage to find and correct your error in one of the problems (impressive for you even if Kyungsoo wasn’t feeling your leg up under the table).

But whatever pride you find in doing so is quickly quelled when his hand suddenly shifts higher, and you feel the faintest pressure against your heat. It’s a sensation that robs you of your ability to breathe entirely for a handful of seconds, and you can’t stop the shiver that ripples down your spine.

This, you see, is one of the more recent developments in your oh-so complicated relationship with Doh Kyungsoo. Yet another that began with a disagreement at a party, over something you can’t even remember anymore thanks to the haze of alcohol that clouded both your minds at the time, that spiraled way out of proportion. You remember yelling at him, insulting him, stabbing your finger into his chest, feeling the sting of his lethal glare. God, he’d looked so pissed off, and you just fed off of it, fed off the rage and the frustration that festered like lava in those dark brown eyes. The angrier he got, the harder you pushed, until he finally snapped.

You’re still not sure what you expected to happen. What you expected him to do. But you sure as hell hadn’t anticipated him grabbing you by the throat and pulling you into one of the hottest, most mind numbing kisses you’d ever experienced.

Next thing you remember is being in a bed. Whose bed it was, isn’t important. What is important, however, is the fact that that night you had the best sex of your entire life with the man you thought you couldn’t stand.

Hate sex with Doh Kyungsoo opened your eyes to a whole new world of mind boggling pleasure that you’d never experienced before. Pleasure that no other person had ever been able to give you. God, the things he did to you. No one had ever touched you like that before. It was like he knew all the places on your body that made you unravel. He honestly ruined all other men for you that night because none have even come close to comparing. Which was beyond frustrating especially considering that, at the time, you thought it was a one time thing.

The morning after you both pretended that nothing happened. In the two weeks following as well, neither one of you mentioned it. You tried to erase the memory from your brain, tried to go back to normal, but it was hard considering every time you needed some sexual release (which was more often than you care to admit), it was his hands, his mouth, his cock that you imagined while you touched yourself. You replayed his moans in your head, his deep, rasping voice growling your name, and fuck, you never came harder.

But it was still nothing compared to the real thing.

As time passed you only grew more and more frustrated. Worst of all, you could tell he was feeling it too. It was obvious in the way he looked at you, with fire burning in eyes, in the way he spoke to you, with a pitch of something hot and wanting in his voice, in the way he lost his cool far quicker and far more often than he had in the past, your arguments fiercer and more frequent than they’d ever been. The tension between the two of you was palpable, thick enough to be cut with a knife. It got to the point where even your most oblivious of friends started noticing it as well, though they knew better than to voice their curiosity.

The second time it happened, you were both sober and, somehow, it was even better than you remembered. The pleasure was more intense, more overwhelming, a feeling you can’t even put into words. Then it kept happening. Late at night when he’d show up unannounced at your door. Early in the morning when you had an important exam later in the day and you needed some pre-test de-stressing. Between classes in the back seat of his car just because you could. At parties when your friends were too shit faced to notice the two of you slipping into an unoccupied bedroom.

Just sex. That’s what you both agreed to when it became blatantly obvious that your little ‘arrangement’ wouldn’t be coming to an end any time soon. No strings. Just sex. Just really, really good sex.

And that was perfectly fine by you.

Exhaling shakily through your nose, you try to block out the feeling of his thumb as it begins to caress gently up and down your clothed core, suddenly very grateful for the layers of fabric that separate you from his intoxicating touch. But it’s a gratitude that’s short lived. Just as you manage to adjust and scribble down a correction, he cups his hand over your mound and squeezes. A gasp escapes you, and you try to cover up the sound with a series of short coughs, the sting embarrassment intertwining with the warmth of pleasure as a few eyes briefly glance in your direction.

“You’re such an asshole.” You hiss under your breath, thighs tightening around his hand, locking it in place.

He throws you a lopsided grin, brows lifting and you don’t miss the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I’ve been called worse.” What he means is you’ve called him worse.

Your lips part, but any intelligible words die on the tip of your tongue as he grinds the heel of his palm down, directly against your clit. Your head drops, eyes squeezing shut, teeth locking down firmly on your lower lip in order to silence the soft moan that threatens to break free.

“F- fuck.”

You hear him coo tauntingly beside you at your slip, the tips of his skilled fingers easily locating your entrance and prodding experimentally. At this point, you don’t doubt he can feel the fabric of your leggings growing hot and wet with your arousal.

Despite being used to the quick effect he had on your body, you can help but to feel the slightest twinge of shame at how he was able to rile you up this much with little more than a few well-placed strokes of his fingers. But fuck, it felt so good. You’d already been feeling somewhat deprived since you’d both been so busy this past week with exams and projects and what not. This is the first time you’re spending time with him since almost a week ago.

And you are in need of a fix.

“You look like you’re having a bit of trouble on that problem. Do you need my help?” Kyungsoo leans into you, his face right up next to yours, and you have to resist the sudden urge to kiss him right then in there in front of everyone in the stupid library.

Instead, you grit out an unconvincing, “I’m fine,” and force yourself to stay focused on the dizzying mess of numbers and letters on the worksheet in front of you and not on the delicious warmth of his hand where it is applying just the right amount of pressure to keep you teetering between pleasure and the insatiable need for more.

“You sure?” There’s a certain lightness to his voice that tells you he is thoroughly enjoying watching you struggle. Sadistic bastard.

“Positive.”

And just like that, he’s gone. You almost gasp as a rush of cold air fills the places he had been, and you can’t help the frown that tugs at the corners of your lips, disappointment and irritation coloring your features before you can reel them in. From the corner of your eye, you chance a glance in his direction. The smug, knowing little smirk staining his lips sends a wave of heat pulsing into your cheeks, and you grit your teeth in frustration.

“So what, you’re just going to stop?” You whisper sharply, not making any attempt whatsoever to hide your annoyance.

A look of feigned innocence overcomes his features. “You said you didn’t need my help.”

You grit your teeth, glaring at him as hard as you can manage with how incredibly turned on you are. But he remains unfazed.

“If you want my help,” he continues, voice dropping an entire octave, “you’re going to have to ask for it... nicely.”

Nice wasn’t a word in your vocabulary when Kyungsoo was involved.

Seeing the resistance you are still putting up, he feathers his fingers over your thigh, tracing slow designs across the thin, black fabric. You swallow, unable to look away as they trail dangerously higher, teasing closer to where you both knew you wanted them most.

“You do want it, don’t you?”

Fuck, you want it so bad.

You know that he knows you want it. It’s just the getting yourself to actually say it out loud part that proves to be a challenge. But that’s exactly what he wants you to do, he wants to hear you say it, wants to see you cast aside your stubborn pride and beg for it. Beg for him.

Lifting your eyes, you glance unsurely around the library. It isn’t overly crowded anymore since most of the other students have begun to trickle out as late afternoon approaches. Plus, the table you were seated at was tucked into the far back corner of the room, secluded and out of the way. But still, your nerves buzzed at the thought of someone seeing. Though maybe — just maybe — there was a buzz of something else as well. Excitement, perhaps?

Grip tightening around your pencil, you chewed on the corner of your lip, refusing to meet Kyungsoo’s penetrating gaze as you let out a soft murmur. “...ease.”

He leans closer, mirth shimmering in his eyes. “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

Groaning, you shoot him a scowl, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Please help me, asshole.”

Laughter bubbles at his lips, the genuine kind that makes his cheeks lift and his nose wrinkle. You like it when he laughs like that. Makes him look a lot less like a serial killer.

Sinking his teeth into the pillowy flesh of his lower lip to stifle his laughter, he shoots you a lazy grin, “that’s all you had to say.”

Next thing you know, his hand is slipping beneath the elastic of your leggings and into the soft cotton confines of your underwear. Your mouth fell open, a sharp inhale filling your lungs with cold air as his fingers slid through your slick folds.

“I knew you were wet but shit.” He hisses, thick brows furrowing at the feeling of your heavy arousal coating the length of his digits. “I must say, I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be,” you breathe, eyes fluttering, “even Chanyeol can get me this— ngh!”

Without warning, he plunges his middle finger inside of you, and the remainder of your sentence pitches into a strangled moan. One look at his face, jaw clenched, nostrils flared, lips down turned, tells you he isn’t all too pleased at the mention of another man’s name, especially when he’s the one buried knuckle deep in your greedy cunt.

A hazy smirk curls onto your lips and you let out a low hum of pleasure, walls squeezing around him. “You’re sexy when you’re mad.”

“Is that why you enjoy pissing me off so much?” He questions, tone biting and low, and you shutter involuntarily as he rolls the pad of his thumb harshly over your aching clit.

“Partly.” You admit, somewhat breathless. “But you’re also just a really fun person to piss off.”

He chuckles dryly in response, though the sound lacks any genuine amusement. “You are such a brat, you know that?” He emphasizes the word by stretching you around a second finger, and you have to drop your pencil in favor of clasping your hand over your mouth, unable to swallow down the soft whimpers that tremble up your throat.

“You love it.” You manage to get out before you’re forced to bite into the tender flesh of your palm to muffle a desperate cry when the slow thrusts of his digits suddenly picks up speed. Your thighs squeeze around his hand, hips jerking up to grind your throbbing clit against the heel of his palm. Electricity ricochets through your veins, and you feel that distinctive tightening in the pit of your stomach. Kyungsoo also feels the way you throb and clench around him, and makes sure to grind down hard against your swollen clit.

Heat immediately spreads through your core, the intensity of the pleasure becoming more than you can handle. “Oh god, Kyungsoo.” Your voice comes out louder than you intended, and you quickly duck your head, doing your best to make it seem like you’re focusing on your work and not the fingers drilling relentlessly into your g-spot, praying to god that no one had seen the blissed out expression on your face. Still, you can’t help the quiet whine that escapes you when his ministrations slow.

“Are you trying to get us caught?” He asks in less than a whisper, breath hot against the shell of your ear. “Ever hear of subtlety?”

“Ever hear of suck my dick?” You snap back without missing a beat, only to jolt as his fingers curl inside of you, pressing directly against that sensitive bundle of nerves. Every muscle in your body tenses, and fuck you’re so close you can almost taste it. Frantically, you thrust your hips, desperately trying to fuck yourself down on his digits.

“Sit still.” He growls, and you quiver when he sinks his teeth into the lobe of your ear, obeying only because you really don’t want to get banned from the campus library if someone happened to catch on.

“Soo— fuck,” the force with which you bite into your lip is nearly about to break the skin, but you can’t be bothered by the pain, not with how quickly your orgasm was approaching. Sensing as much, Kyungsoo goes the extra mile of drawing hard, fast figure eights over your clit with his thumb while simultaneously thrusting his fingers into you so fast that you swear you can almost hear it.

All at once fire roars through your veins, euphoria consuming you as your high crashes over you. Your walls spasm around his digits, painting them with your release.

He doesn’t withdraw from you until you go slack, thighs spreading, body slumping back in your chair, eyes fluttering as a hazy, blissed out smile touches your lips. You can only watch through hooded lids as he brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, sighing in amazement as he sucks them clean. There’s a twinge of arousal in your core as he moans softly at the taste of you on his tongue, a downright lethal sound that somehow manages to rouse your positively spent pussy.

This man is going to be the absolute death of you one of these days.

“Fuck.” You chuckle airily, heady gaze flickered over him lazily, only to do a double take when you notice something standing upright beneath the zipper of his jeans. The corners of your lips twirled into a mirthful grin, eyebrows raising slowly.

“Need some help with that?”

“Yes.” He answers shamelessly and without hesitation, grunting softly as he adjusts himself in the tight confines of his jeans to make the raging hard-on he’s sporting somewhat less obvious. “But not here.”

“I figured. So... your car or mine?”

“Didn’t you just get a new one with reclining seats?” He questions, running the tip of his tongue over the seam of his lip at the mere implication.

You strike him with a wicked grin, already beginning to shove your things into your bag. “I did indeed.”

“Then what are we— wait.”

“What?”

“You didn’t finish correcting the worksheet yet.” He points out, drumming his fingers across the paper that had completely slipped your mind.

You pull a face, pausing in the act of gathering your belongings long enough to cross your arms pointedly over your chest. “No offense, Kyungsoo, sweetheart, but I’d much rather suck your dick than do one more of those stupid fucking calc problems.”

His brows leap to his hairline, and he offers a single nod of acceptance, in no position to argue with such a valid point.

“Noted.”

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anonniemousefics · 3 years

Note

Can we please get more tfota scenes from cardan's pov? Maybe something from qon this time 🙈

Happy New Year! ♥️🥂

It’s so great you guys are enjoying these Cardan POV pieces! This one sort of follows His Monstrous Bride and this other little continuation -- it’s taken from Chapter 18 of The Queen of Nothing when Jude and Cardan talk about her exile before meeting with the Living Council.

I don’t have a title for it -- let’s just call it His Monstrous Bride Part II. lol

(Also a shameless plug for my ongoing fic The Nine Terrifying Moons, which will feature a Cardan POV chapter coming soon. Wheeeee!)

-----------------------------------------------

Cardan is well versed at hiding his emotions, but it doesn’t hurt to look the part. And the day that his High Queen is finally awakening, once again restored to Elfhame, is a day to dress for a very specific kind of battle. Jude has ignored him for months – now he must be unignorable. He has gold along his cheekbones and caps like gold knives at the tips of his ears. Jude likes knives after all.

He’s flanked by his guards at her door. (Their door? He’s unused to sharing.) The Living Council means to interrupt her convalescence, and he’ll have none of it. He’s there to make sure she is fit and ready, and he doesn’t have to do more than that, he tells himself. His envoy is at his sides at all times now, and still, in this moment, some part of him wishes there were more of them. Wishes he could shrink back from what may lie ahead.

“Your Highness?” His guards are waiting for him to do something. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been hesitating.

It’s just… it’s been months of endless rejection, though he knows now she never received his letters, but still…he’s not sure he can take one more. And his heart is still cracked and raw from her most recent brush with death.

He steels himself. And knocks at the door.

It’s Oak who answers with an innocent smile, which is something of a relief. With Oak around, Jude’s less likely to become stabby.

Although, at least if she’s stabbing him, she’s no longer ignoring him. And Cardan really can’t stand one more minute of being ignored by Jude Duarte.

She’s there now, and the sight of her standing catches him right in the chest. The last time he’d clapped eyes on her, she was bleeding all over his spider-silk sheets. He’d cleaned her blood with his own two hands, but now she’s upright and clear-eyed, dressed in a foreboding black number with silver at her collar and cuffs. Her auburn hair has been braided like a crown, and with smoky traces of rose around her eyes, she looks deadly and formidable once more.

It’s such a welcome sight. He has never been so thrilled to see her. And that’s such a treacherous and terrifying notion, since he thinks it’s very likely she’s might smack him in the near future if he can’t navigate the mess of crossed wires between them.

The thrill lasts only a moment, because then his stomach gives a lurch. He’s just realized that all of her sisters are there, too. And they’re all staring at him. And he’s been staring right back.

Suddenly, Cardan’s on the verge of breaking into a cold sweat.

“Walk with me,” he finally tells Jude, eager to get away from so many Duarte eyes.

“Of course.” Jude’s brown eyes in particular seem uncharacteristically wide and confused.

Vivienne catches Jude’s hand before she can join him.

“You’re not well enough,” she objects. As if Cardan can’t take care of her. As if he hadn’t cleaned up her blood himself.

“The Living Council is eager to speak with her,” he says instead. Jude should be proud of how he’s learned to curb his tongue in her absence.

“The only danger anyone has ever been in at a Council meeting is of being bored to death,” Jude is reassuring her family, before stepping away, the guards folding in around them.

Cardan offers her his arm – he wants to keep her close, and he wants Vivienne to take note. It is different now, and he wants them all to see. Jude is cared for here.

He wants to take his time with her at his arm as they swap neutral business about the Roach, about the Bomb, about Madoc, but he can hardly even look at her. His head is full of visions of those nights he wrote to her again and again, outright begging in the end, and then lying awake, alone, certain his agony would be never-ending. Gods above, he’d even written once that his heart was hers, buried with her in the soil of the mortal world -- and she’d sent no reply. And though he knows now it’s because she hadn’t even received it, he’s still completely unsure of how to act.

It’s extremely unsettling how normal Jude seems in this moment. As if no time has passed at all.

And there are still so many eyes on them. Courtiers bobbing their heads as they pass. The guards just an arm’s length away. This is no place to try to sort through what he had written to her, what she needed to know. So maybe he just won’t, he thinks. Maybe it can just be like this for an eternity and he can go back to drinking away his feelings after this Council meeting. Maybe this is the most he should hope for.

But then, Jude says: “I need to talk to you.”

And his heart plummets to his guts. He’s not sure he can keep the dread off his face.

“It won’t take long,” Jude says, which is maybe worse. It means it’s simple: she wants to end their marriage. She wants to return to the mortal world. Of course she does.

But then, she says: “Whatever your scheme is, whatever you are planning to hold over me, you might as well tell me now, before we’re in front of the whole Council. Make your threats. Do your worst.”

What? What the bleeding skies is she talking about? This is such a mess he’s made. And it is, perhaps, the first mess he’s ever truly cared to clean up.

Cardan turns them away toward a corridor to the outdoors.

“Yes,” he agrees. “We do need to talk.”

He steers them for the royal rose garden, where he knows the guards will stop at the gate and leave them alone. He has only a few steps down a path of shimmering quartz stairs among the roses to decide exactly what parts of his heart he’s willing to reveal today. What exactly won’t hurt so terribly much should she throw it all back in his face.

“I assume you weren’t actually trying to shoot me,” he says, choosing first the obvious and easiest. “Since the note was in your handwriting.”

“Madoc sent the Ghost--” Jude starts, but then stops. Softens. “I thought that there was going to be an attempt on your life.”

This does not mean that she cares for you, he has to remind himself. He still doesn’t want to look at her. The memory of perceived rejection is still too strong, still too bitter.

But he’s not going to live with the regrets he’d drowned in when she’d nearly died. He tries to choose his next words carefully.

“It was terrifying,” he admits, feigning interest in a nearby bush of jet black roses, “watching you fall. I mean, you’re generally terrifying, but I am unused to fearing for you.” He swallows back the memories, threatening the periphery of his mind. “And then I was furious. I am not sure I have ever been that angry before.”

“Mortals are fragile,” Jude shrugs him off. She doesn’t get it.

“Not you,” he sighs. “You never break.”

There. Can that be enough? He’s made it fairly obvious now, hasn’t he? Surely she gets it now – he doesn’t want her to die, he doesn’t want to see her hurt. Witnessing it was the worst thing he’s ever seen. Because he cares for her.

If he has to spell it out, it might kill him. So, he just waits for what she has to say to that.

Jude’s looking at the roses, too, when he glances at her, her thick lashes lowered.

“When I came here, pretending to be Taryn, you said you’d sent me messages,” she says, and oh, please, gods, not this. “You seemed surprised I hadn’t gotten any. What was in them?”

Cardan wants to vomit. No, he needs to vomit. If his nervous stomach would cooperate and vomit everywhere, he could still get away from this with a shred of dignity.

He clasps his hands behind his back so she can’t see how they shake, his smile telling the lies that the rest of him can’t. That he is cool and unaffected, not at all hopelessly in love with the mortal girl in front of him.

“Pleading, mostly.” He tries to say it like it’s a joke. “Beseeching you to come back. Several indiscreet promises.” Maybe that little bit of tantalizing will flatter her.

It doesn’t. Actually, he’s not sure Jude can be flattered. She closes her eyes shut in no small amount of frustration.

“Stop playing games,” she growls. “You sent me into exile.”

“Yes. That.” Right, of course she doesn’t love that he’s beating around the bush. If only he could help it. He’s so goddamn nervous. “I can’t stop thinking about what you said to me, before Madoc took you. About it being a trick. You meant marrying you, making you queen, sending you to the mortal world, all of it, didn’t you?”

The glare she throws him is so very Jude, though he loves it less when it’s directed at him.

“Of course it was a trick,” she seethes. “Wasn’t that what you said in return?”

Well, this is rich.

“But that’s what you do. You trick people.” Though Cardan’s starting to realize just how wrong he’s been about the things Jude enjoys. “I thought you’d admire me a little for it, that I could trick you. I thought you’d be angry, of course, but not quite like this.”

“What?” Jude looks like she could unhinge her jaw and swallow him whole. He might even deserve it.

He needs to put an end to this nightmare. There’s still a miniscule chance she’ll find some part of it amusing.

“Let me remind you that I didn’t know you’d murdered my brother, the ambassador to the Undersea, until that very morning,” he points out. Surely, the context will help his case. “My plans were made in haste. And perhaps I was a little annoyed. I thought it would pacify Queen Orlagh, at least until all promises were finalized in the treaty. By the time you guessed the answer, the negotiations would be over.”

But Jude’s face is unchanged. He isn’t seriously this good at trickery, is he?

“Think of it,” he presses, hoping she’ll follow along. “I exile Jude Duarte to the mortal world. Until and unless she is pardoned by the crown.” Any minute now. Any minute.

“Pardoned by the crown,” he repeats to her blank stare. Right, so, this game isn’t funny anymore.

“Meaning by the King of Faerie. Or its queen,” he explains, watching her eyes grow wider, wilder. “You could have returned anytime you wanted.”

When he’d first envisioned her figuring out the riddle, he’d expected probably a punch in the arm, maybe she would have even drawn her blade again. That would have been delightful. He’d thought about trembling beneath her again, about that searing look she got in her eye just before devouring his lips. That would have been – gods. He might have considered letting her murder more of his brothers to have that again.

But what is happening now is decidedly the opposite. Jude’s breath is quickening, her face flushing, and in the air between them, Cardan feels a rift cracking wider. He hasn’t played a trick – he’s done something horrible.

When Jude begins to back away from him, he thinks back to what it felt like to find Nicasia with Locke. What Jude’s face is doing now – that is what his heart had done then. She is recoiling from him. Jude Duarte is recoiling from him, because he has hurt her.

He honestly had not thought it was possible. He honestly had not thought himself capable. He honestly had not thought she cared enough.

She whirls then and marches away from him, and he has never hated himself more. Stop her, he thinks, but he’s still stunned. If he’d known she cared…

Stop her!

He runs after her. She has to know he wouldn’t have done it if he’d known. She has to know he will fight to keep her now that he knows. But when he seizes her arm, she hauls around and slaps him, hard enough to turn his face.

It’s not the worst hit he’s taken, not by a long shot, but its sting is entirely different. There’s something fiery in her eyes, and, for the first time, he’s aware that he is not the only one who has been in agony these long months. Oh, he would undo it all now if he could. He would pull her in and kiss her over and over until they both stopped hurting.

Except she still looks murderous. Getting close to her face is probably not a good idea if he doesn’t want to be bitten. (He does kind of want to be bitten, just…in a very different scenario.)

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, carefully, and his hand finds hers. To his great surprise, she lets their fingers lace together, and his heart seizes with a wild hope. It does not mean she loves you, he thinks. He fumbles. “No, it’s not that, not exactly. I didn’t think I could hurt you. And I never thought you would be afraid of me.”

“And did you like it?” Jude asks, narrowing her eyes.

His cheek is hot from the slap of her hand, and now with shame. Because how is he supposed to answer that? He didn’t hate being more powerful for once. He didn’t hate being the one with the answer to the riddle.

“Well, I was hurt.” He’s hesitated too long, and now Jude’s pressing on. “And yes, you scare me.”

Cardan finds himself taking in her full face then, the one that has always seemed so defiant and fearless and headstrong.

“You’ve always scared me,” Jude is saying, and this is what almost undoes him. She repeats it, telling him again and again each moment she had been afraid of him, and with each one, his mind bursts a little more. This doesn’t seem real. “And I am scared of you now,” she concludes, that defiant gleam in her eye til the end.

Cardan is speechless. And Cardan’s never speechless.

There was a time when he enjoyed playing a villain in her heroic story line, but she wasn’t supposed to be truly afraid of him. She was supposed to vanquish him and make him beg for her kindness. (And he would now. He really would.)

(Maybe he will.)

“You despised me,” Jude reminds him, because he does need reminding. He’s not sure now if he ever really did. “When you said you wanted me, it felt like the world had turned upside down. But sending me into exile, that made sense. That was an entirely right-side-up Cardan move. And I hated myself for not seeing it coming. And I hate myself for not seeing what you’re going to do to me next.”

At that, Cardan closes his eyes. Hopelessness is threatening to overtake him. Fear has created this monster before him, the one who irrevocably holds his heart. Is it possible to unmake such a curse? He’s certainly been unable to find a cure for his own fear, lifelong coward that he is.

When she’d first returned and his heart was freshly cracked, he’d thought back to a fairy story about a boy cursed with a heart of stone and the monster he took as his bride. It had been patience and fearlessness that had won over the monster in the end – something the boy had managed only because of his stony heart.

So, Cardan thinks of stones then. Of pulling together all his cracked and raw edges. Of being impenetrable and solid and fearless. He thinks of doing what needs to be done. He needs her, for so many things, and she must know that. Perhaps it is folly to wish for anything more than simply averting a crisis.

But he can’t manage it if he’s looking at her. He releases her hand and turns away.

“I can see why you thought what you did,” he says at last. “I suppose I am not an easy person to trust. And maybe I ought not to be trusted, but let me say this: I trust you.”

Patience. Fearlessness. Deep breath.

“You may recall that I did not want to be High King. And that you did not consult me before plopping this crown on my head. You may further recollect that Balekin didn’t want me to keep the title and that the Living Council never took a real shine to me.

“There was a prophecy given when I was born. Usually Baphen is uselessly vague, but in this case, he made it clear that should I rule, I would make a very poor king.” It hurts more than he thought it would to say it out loud. “The destruction of the crown, the ruination of the throne – a lot of dramatic language.”

He has to be cavalier about it; it stings too much otherwise. It’s been the bane of his existence, this prophecy. It is the reason his entire childhood was filled with nothing but dismissal and cruelty. It’s the very, very low standard he’s spent his whole life trying not to meet. The best his family had ever hoped for from him was his complete and utter disappearance – and he’d failed to do even that.

He turns back to Jude. Patience. Fearlessness. He has so much more to say. He has so much more he wants to be than this. Deep breath.

“When you forced me into working for the Court of Shadows, I never thought of the things I could do – frightening people, charming people – as talents, no less ones that might be valuable. But you did. You showed me how to use them to be useful. I never minded being a minor villain, but it’s possible I might have grown into something else, a High King as monstrous as Dain. And if I did – if I fulfilled that prophecy, I ought to be stopped. And I believe that you would stop me.”

Jude sputters at that, blinking hard.

“Stop you?” she echoes. “Sure. If you’re a huge jerk and a threat to Elfhame, I’ll pop your head right off.”

“Good.” And he means it. To die by Jude’s hand would be a dream. “That’s one reason I didn’t want to believe you’d joined up with Madoc. The other is that I want you here by my side,” and just for good measure, just in case she still isn’t getting it: “As my queen.”

But he can’t read the expression on Jude’s face when he says it – if it brings her joy, if it brings her more distress. He’s not sure what else he could have said to make it any more clear. And now her silence is threatening to eat him alive. This reeks of the beginnings of yet another rejection.

He smiles at her, instinctively, a last ditch effort to make this even slightly less awkward.

“But now that you’re High Queen and back in charge, I won’t be doing anything of consequence anyway,” he promises. “If I destroy the crown and ruin the throne, it will only be through neglect.”

He wants her to smile back. To roll her eyes at him and act like she isn’t amused when she so clearly is. He’s missed that, oh, how he’s missed that.

He gets all that and more when she blurts out a laugh.

“So that’s your excuse for not doing any of the work?” She quirks an eyebrow, and it makes his heart swell. They’re smiling together again. He’d needed that, too, more than he’d realized. “You must be draped in decadence at all times because if you aren’t kept busy, you might fulfill some half-baked prophecy.”

“Exactly,” he says. Exactly… It’s more true than he wants it to be. His smile fades. And Jude is looking more tired than he’s comfortable with. He hopes he has not pushed her too hard. He touches her arm, gently, not thinking. Her gaze catches his, soft and warm. He finds himself leaning in…

“Would you like me to inform the Council that you will see them another time?” he asks. “It will be a novelty to have me make your excuses.”

But Jude is stalwart and determined as ever. He expected nothing less.

He pulls back. She does not need him. Not like he needs her.

“No, I’m ready,” she says.

How he wishes he could say the same.

-----------

Tagging: @yellowavocadopit, @dagypsygirl, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @booklover-sleeplover, @mwejh, @courtofjurdan, @faeriequeenofwest, @sugawsites, @loveyourselfsolid, @owl0y0s, @feelinglikecleopatra, @akaloto, @charrise, @persephxnecoven, @raging-bisexual-alert, @rteme, @nahthanks, @addies-invisible-life, @elorcanislife, @snusbandxknifewife, @poeticbrownmermaid, @duarteegreenbriar, @thefolkofthefic, @alittledribbledrabble, @carmensworld17, @annejulianneh111, @amandlas, @elriel4life, @idk-what-name-to-use, @thewickedkings, @juliazato, @woodsbeyond1, @booksmusicandgoodvibes,

#jurdan #the folk of the air #tfota #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jude x cardan #cardan pov #fanfic #fanfiction #jurdan fanfic #jurdan fanfiction

154 notes · View notes

starshine583 · 3 years

Note

could you do A for the soul mate thing with felinette?

(Sorry it took me so long to reply! I’m still trying to keep up with my schedule for the “New Girl on the Block” fic, but rest assured that I’m totally writing all of the requests for this when I can! The next one I’m going to be working on is V for Daminette. I hope you enjoy the snippet and thank you for the ask!!)

If someone had the choice between technical immortality and certain death, it should be safe to assume that that person would accept the former. Technical immortal was the only logical option, after all. No one wanted to die. And yet, people chose death everyday. In fact, they were obsessed with it, because certain death guaranteed one thing that immortality couldn’t: a soulmate.

When a person turns eighteen, their aging process freezes due to some strange magic that scientists still can’t explain. From then on, that person will remain eighteen until they find their soulmate, specifically until they touch their soulmate directly with bare skin. Once their soulmate is found, they will begin aging as usual, as if they’d never become temporarily immortal in the first place. Some people speculate that this gives the two soulmates a chance to grow old together.

Felix, personally, believed that it gave him a chance to harbor an unlimited life span free of charge. Who needs a soulmate when you can explore all of the things in the world that are normally hindered by the aging process? There were too many things that he wanted to accomplish for him to worry about something as fickle as love or relationships.

One of those things happened to be building up the fashion empire that he had inherited.

It was hard to gain the respect that he deserved at first considering his physical appearance made him seem like a child, but once people found out that he was in his late twenties, it made things much easier. Now, three years has passed since his accepting the role of acting CEO, and the company’s success rate has been steadily rising until their profits were through the roof. He’s quite proud of it, if he’s being honest.

Felix straightened the papers on his desk and set them to the side, catching the glimpse of his golden wrist watch as he did so. The little hand pointed towards one in the morning, telling him that he’d spent another late night at the office. He didn’t mind, though. These were the things that needed to be done for his company to excel.

However, he also needed sleep for the company to excel, and this seemed like a good stopping point if ever he saw one, so Felix stood from his rolling chair to begin gathering his things to leave.

“Hey, Sir, are you up there?” A voice crackled across the intercom. Felix paused his preparations to smile at it. It was the unmistakable voice of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, his personal secretary for the last two years (and his close friend for the last year and a half). They always happened to work late on the same nights, didn’t they?

He pressed the glowing red button on the intercom. “You know I am. What do you need?”

“I’m working on another piece for a fashion show. I want your input.”

Felix chuckled. How many of her pieces had he given his input on now?

“I’ll be down there in a second.”

“You’re the best!”

Felix set his stuff back on the desk and moved towards the door to his office. He hesitated briefly when he spotted his black, leather gloves on the edge of his desk- he made a point to wear them constantly, along with a number of other pieces of clothing, so he could avoid direct skin contact with others. No sense in taking any chances -but decided to leave them alone for once. Marinette should be the only other person in the office, anyway. It wouldn’t make a difference.

He took an elevator down to the second floor, where most of his top designers worked, and walked over to the desk that had its lamp turned on. He’d know which desk was hers either way- could probably find it in his sleep at this point -but it was a nice give away.

Marinette was crouched on the floor when he got there, stabbing a needle into some material that was draped across a mannequin. Her eyes were narrowed with concentration, and her tongue was poking out of her lips as it always did when she was working hard. Felix held back a snort at the endearing sight and glanced around her desk while he waited for her to notice his presence.

When she first joined his company, she was a budding fashion designer, someone who had been gaining a bit of fame for working with Gabriel Agreste, Jagged Stone, Aubrey Bourgeois, and many other note-worthy people. Apparently, she thought it was time to build a business of her own, and therefore, applied for the job as his personal secretary in an effort to gain experience on how a business should be run before actually starting anything.

The notion admittedly impressed Felix. People rarely thought to find personal experience in running a business before actually starting one. They normally just took a class and hoped that it paid off. Someone with that kind of rational thinking was someone he knew he wanted in his company, though, so he agreed to hire her, even if she would still be working independently on personal commissions.

Now that two years had passed, she would probably be leaving any minute now to become her own boss. It might be in a week, or in a few months, perhaps even a year, but he found himself dreading it no matter how long she continued to work for him. He’d grown quite accustomed to having her in his life, be it getting lunch together or going over the morning schedule or giving each other advice on their work. The quiet moments they shared made work life a little more enjoyable and made those rare nights of loneliness from refusing a soulmate a little more tolerable too.

“Oh, Felix!”

Felix’s eyes dragged back down to Marinette, who was staring up at him with wide eyes.

“When did you get down here?”

A small smile crossed his lips. “You know how it used to be one in the morning?”

Marinette tisked, picking up on his light-hearted tone. “Oh, whatever. If you don’t want to get stuck waiting then tell me when you get here. Now, come look at this and tell me what you think.”

She stood up and moved away from the mannequin, then gestured for Felix to step closer, which he gladly obliged to do. The outfit hanging on the mannequin was a dress that appeared to have several layers and a few frills. It seemed to be made out of silk on the inside, and on the inside was another material that had an antique, flower pattern. The way the materials were sown together, though, and the things she must have added to the flower pattern, didn’t give off the impression of it being old or outdated. It was a mix between old and new that created a unique combination.

“I think it looks fine.” He said after studying it.

Marinette groaned. “Fine doesn’t help me, Felix. What does it strike you as? Stunning? Charming? Old-Fashioned? I know you have more descriptive terms than ‘fine’ in that word bank brain of yours.”

Felix laughed. “Work bank brain?”

“You know what I mean.”

He does.

“Alright, Alright.” He knelt down next to the outfit again. “Might I inquire about your purpose for this garment?”

“See, there are fancy words you use all the time.” She remarked teasingly, even though she often used the same words herself. “I’m trying to create a modern Victorian type of style for my next show.”

Felix hummed. “Can I see the sketches?”

“Oh, yeah, they’re right over here.”

The pair moved back to Marinette’s desk, and she sat down in her rolling chair to slide a paper towards him. Felix leaned towards Marinette, placing his palms on the desk for balance.

“So, if you look at- oh!” Marinette had just started explaining her original thoughts for the design, when their hands brushed against each other. She drew her hand back immediately, surprise reflecting in her bluebell eyes.

“You’re not wearing any gloves.”

“Ah.” Felix drew his hands back as well. “No, I’m not. I figured they were a waste of time tonight, since it’s only us here.”

“Oh..” Marinette said. “I don’t think I’ve ever touched your bare skin before.. N-not that I’m keeping track or anything! Wow, that sounded so weird-”

Felix, being used to her ramblings by now, only chuckled. “It’s alright. I don’t think we’ve ever touched like that either.”

In fact, he knew they hadn’t, because he does keep track of who he does and doesn’t touch with his bare skin. So far, he’s managed to maintain a low count of five or so, but he supposed adding one more to the list didn’t hurt.

“Anyway, I like the way it looks. The colors combine nicely, and I can certainly see where you’re coming from with the modern, yet old-fashioned design. I’m sure people will enjoy them, especially for costume parties.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Marinette smiled. “Thanks for your help.”

“Of course. I’m actually on my way out the door, but don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything else.”

“You know I won’t.”

Felix laughed and pushed himself off of the desk to begin making his way back to the elevator. “Make sure you leave soon too.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will.. Eventually.”

Felix threw her a playful glare over his shoulder. “I’m not kidding, Dupain-Cheng. If I see bags under those eyes tomorrow, you’re going to be fired until you get a proper night’s sleep.”

“Thank goodness for make-up then.” She joked back.

Felix rolled his eyes and bid her farewell as he entered the elevator, and her soft call of “Goodnight, Boss” managed to reach him right before the doors slid closed.

The next morning began as any other morning. Felix woke up to his blaring alarm clock, forced himself out of bed, and started the brew for his morning coffee. He then dragged himself over to the bathroom to get ready for the day, starting with his hair.

The mirror provided a picture of his sluggish figure as he combed his platinum blond locks to the side. His hair didn’t seem to care to cooperate that morning though, because his cowlick was refusing to lay aside as they were told. No matter how many times he combed over it, the chaotic locks refused to budge.

Felix huffed and leaned closer to the mirror, but before he could continue furiously coming his hair, something caught his attention.

At the front of his bangs, dangling loosely to the side of his face, was a single, grey hair.

Felix frowned, moving even closer to the mirror to get a better. It was definitely a grey hair, but why on earth would he have one? People at the age of eighteen didn’t get grey hairs, and he’d never gotten one before. The only reason he could possibly get a grey hair out of the blue like this was if-

Felix froze, his eyes blowing wide. No.. no, it couldn’t be. There’s no way he found his soulmate. It was impossible. The aging process only started when he touched them directly, skin to skin, and he’d been horribly precise not to do so with anyone under any circumstances.

Well.. anyone except..

A knock came from the front door.

Although his mind was racing for answers, Felix pulled himself together enough to throw on a robe and go answer the door.

Imagine his surprise when he found none other than Marinette standing right outside.

She looked up at him, her figure tense, and a certain anxiety painted her features. He wanted to ask what she was doing there, or why she hadn’t called to tell him that she was coming, but all he could do was stare. Perhaps it was because a part of him already knew why she’d come to visit him. She was the only person he’s touched directly in the last year, the only person who could have caused his hair to change.

Slowly, Marinette held up a strand of her hair. It was hard to make out, being a single strand, but Felix didn’t need to see it know it was grey too.

They stared at each other, both floored by the discovery, but then Felix almost had to laugh. Because of course it was her. Of course the person who he had come to know and adore and yearn to be around daily would be his soulmate. He should have known that soulmates would find each other eventually, whether they had “Soulmate Magic” to guide them or not.

Before he could say anything, Marinette let out a grieved sigh and buried her face in her hands.

“Oh, Felix, I.. I’m so sorry!”

For a moment, Felix stalled, and worry started to set in. She’s sorry? Why would she be sorry?

“What do you mean?”

Marinette looked up from her hands. “I know you didn’t want to find your soulmate and start aging. I should have noticed your ungloved and been more careful, but I just wasn’t thinking, and-”

Felix blinked as she continued rambling. This girl was apologizing to him because she accidentally found out that they were soulmates. She wasn’t thinking about how much she’d wanted to find her soulmate- because he knew that she did -or that she would have gone without a soulmate for the rest of her life had she not made the discovery. No, she was thinking about him and what he had wanted, just as she always did.

“Marinette.” He said, taking her by the shoulders. “Marinette, stop.”

The ravenette paused, glancing up at him with her beautiful, concerned eyes, and he felt himself smile.

“If anyone had to be stuck as my soulmate.. I can’t express how delighted I am that it’s you.”

A wonderful blush tinted her cheeks. “R-Really? But I thought- what about being immortal?”

Felix chuckled, and he reached out to cup her cheek. “Immortality’s a small price to pay to have you.. if you’ll have me too, that is.”

Marinette exhaled, looking completely baffled, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss.

“Yes.” She breathed, a shining smile coming to her features. “Yes, of course I’ll have you.”

Felix couldn’t help grinning as well, and as he pressed another kiss to her lips, he wondered how it could have taken him so long to realize what the soulmate magic was really all about. It wasn’t a choice between immortality or death, but rather a choice between immortality and life. All of the things he’d been searching for- fame, fortune, glory -and the experiences he’d been chasing meant nothing without Marinette by his side. She was the one who made him feel truly alive, and he never wanted to live without her again.

(Send me a letter and I’ll write a thing!)

#asks #Felinette #Soulmate AUs

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wildmagicplant · 3 years

Text

Lan Jingyi doesn't know what he's going to do. He knows he's not a sect heir or a first disciple or the best student in the Cloud Recesses, but he is a perfectly capable cultivator. He has led a night hunt, he has accompanied Wei-qianbei on essential journeys for Hanguang-jun, and he can beat Jin Ling six times out of ten when they spar. So, the sensation he feels now—complete helplessness—has been unfamiliar to him for a long time.

It's the middle of the night. For all that Lan Jingyi has a tendency to stretch or ignore certain of the Lan rules, he generally keeps the proper hours by habit. Everything is unfamiliar under the clouded dark sky, the paths that Lan Jingyi can walk with his eyes closed suddenly new and strange. He had woken, and he hadn't known why for a moment. But then he heard something outside, the noise of someone walking none too carefully down the paths, and Lan Jingyi was curious by nature and untrusting by recent experience, and so he threw on an outer robe and slipped out of his rooms.

There had been a person in dark robes striding between the buildings, and for a second, Lan Jingyi thought it was Wei-qianbei, but that thought passed quickly. This person was stiffer in bearing and seemed unfamiliar with the Cloud Recesses. They were also carrying a sword, unsheathed and at the ready. Lan Jingyi had not thought to grab his own sword when he followed the noise. He'd been expecting a young disciple sneaking around, or maybe someone returning from a night hunt, or even someone taking a walk to find peace from troubling dreams. How did this person get through the wards?

Lan Jingyi had followed the intruder silently, hoping that he could figure out where they were headed, or maybe even come up with a plan to stop them. They had made it nearly all the way across the Cloud Recesses, and Lan Jingyi still hadn't thought of anything, the fear of what they might do and the determination not to let them get away keeping him moving regardless. Suddenly, the figure had paused, looking around. Before Lan Jingyi could panic, they'd turned decisively down the small path between two of the buildings, and Lan Jingyi had waited a moment before darting after them.

The intruder had been waiting for him, and now here he is, a sword pointed at his throat as an unfamiliar woman stares coldly at him.

"What do you want?" Lan Jingyi asks. Maybe he can keep her talking long enough that someone will notice them. Then again, who would be awake to hear?

The expression on the woman's face doesn't change. "I want a lot of things, little Lan," she says. "Right now, I want to know how you found me, and then maybe, if you're cooperative, you can lead me where I want to go."

His first instinct is to laugh at her, but he manages to restrain himself. Lan Jingyi has no interest in dying, and he's fairly certain that is exactly what laughing right now would lead to. He can't completely help himself, though, and he says, "If you'd come in the daytime, there would be plenty of people who could show you to where you wished."

"Well, I'm here now," she says brusquely. "How did you find me?"

Should he try to bluff? Give the impression that others might also find her? It depends on how much she knows of the Lan sect, probably. She seems to be looking for something, and she knew a way in, which suggests at least knowledge of the basic workings of the Cloud Recesses. She also clearly doesn't know where she's going, so it's doubtful she's ever been here before.

"I heard you," Lan Jingyi says, and waits to see how she takes it.

The woman only raises an eyebrow. "I thought all you Lans were supposed to be asleep now," she says.

She hasn't tried to kill him yet, so Lan Jingyi lets himself relax ever so slightly. "I'm a light sleeper," he says, with a little of his usual cheer.

It doesn't seem to deter her. "Will anyone else come sneaking after me?"

Lan Jingyi shrugs. He has honestly no idea. The woman's eyes narrow.

"Well, in that case, why don't you lead me to my destination, and then I can be gone before any other light sleepers hear me."

"Where are you trying to go?" he asks.

The woman smiles for the first time, and a chill runs down Lan Jingyi's spine. It reminds him of Yi City. "The library, little Lan."

He had wondered if that was her goal. There isn't much that someone would have heard of to steal from the Cloud Recesses that wasn't in the library. At least she isn't here to kill someone, which Lan Jingyi had also wondered about. He doesn't want to know what she's looking for, or what she'll do once she reaches the library.

"I'm sure I could give you directions and then be on my way," he says, mind racing. How can he get backup? Sizhui is away, traveling, and the Jingshi is too far away to reach in time. They are in a section of the Cloud Recesses mostly populated by buildings used during the day, so reaching anywhere with other people will be difficult. If he had his sword he'd fly, but if he had his sword, he could fight her, too.

Shaking her head, she says, "And let you run off for help? No, you'll lead me yourself," and lunges. She's quick, and Lan Jingyi doesn't have a chance to do anything besides yelp before the woman is behind him, her sword held across his throat. "Go on," she says in his ear. "Take me to the library. And if you make any more noise, I'll cut out your tongue."

Fuck. Lan Jingyi starts walking toward the library, trying desperately to find a way out of this. Maybe once they're at the library, he can get away from her? But what if she's not trying to steal from them, what if she wants to destroy the library? He can't take that chance, can he?

Before Lan Jingyi can start to formulate a plan, someone speaks from behind them.

"Let him go."

The woman spins, keeping her sword at Lan Jingyi's throat and her other hand at his back, and she isn't careful about it. The sword cuts into the side of his neck. It doesn't hurt much, he's had worse, but he can feel blood start to well up.

At first, Lan Jingyi thinks it's Hanguang-jun who'd spoken, having heard the low, forceful voice. He sees a tall figure in white, the bright gleam of a sword, an imposing shape in the night. How could he have gotten here so quickly, Lan Jingyi thinks, the Jingshi isn't anywhere near here. And then his eyes pick out a few more details, and he thinks he can be forgiven for his mistake. Lan Jingyi hasn't seen Zewu-jun in nearly a year, and he's never seen him this stone-faced.

"No," the woman growls, gripping the back of Lan Jingyi's robes tighter. "Stay back, or I'll kill him."

Zewu-jun's face doesn't even twitch. "Why have you invaded the Cloud Recesses and threatened one of our own?"

The woman laughs, and Lan Jingyi tries hard not to flinch away. It's a loud, mirthless sound, right in his ear. She says, "Who are you to demand answers from me?" If he weren't being held as a hostage, Lan Jingyi would gape at her. Surely she can tell that Zewu-jun is an inner sect member even if she doesn't know precisely who he is.

"Irrelevant," Zewu-jun says, and even now that Lan Jingyi has realized who it is, he still has a moment of confusion. Zewu-jun has never sounded so much like his brother. "Tell me why you're here, quickly. I don't wish to disturb anyone else."

"She was going to the library," Lan Jingyi burst out. The woman pushes her sword against his neck. He thinks he can feel more blood.

Zewu-jun takes a step closer. "Thank you, Lan Jingyi," he says. "That will not be allowed to happen. I have protected the texts of the Lan sect before. No one will ever touch them without permission again."

"Who's going to stop me?" the woman challenges.

Lan Jingyi thinks he sees a slight twist to Zewu-jun's mouth before he moves, swiftly throwing a talisman at them. He's moving too quickly for Lan Jingyi to see clearly, but he feels the woman freeze and himself gently pushed away. By the time the woman has unfrozen, Lan Jingyi is on the ground out of her reach, and Zewu-jun is in front of her, sword at the ready.

The woman grunts, swinging her sword at Zewu-jun. He brings Shuoyue up effortlessly, blocking her strike and forcing her sword to the side. She's not bad, Lan Jingyi realizes. The woman doesn't use any style he's seen before, which fits with the rogue cultivator theory he's been building, but she moves quickly and her blade is steady. She must be a cultivator because the sword she uses clearly has spiritual energy behind it, but she sticks close to the ground, barely using her energy for anything besides the control of the sword.

They trade blows for a few moments, the woman fierce and aggressive, Zewu-jun striking efficiently at every opening she leaves. It's clear to Lan Jingyi that she will tire long before he does. He's never seen Zewu-jun truly fight before, and it's incredible. There are similarities to how Hanguang-jun fights, but Hanguang-jun tends to start out strong, overwhelming opponents with power they can't hope to match with the aim of ending any fights quickly and permanently. It seems that Zewu-jun waits, biding his time with perfectly executed maneuvers (Lan Jingyi thinks, with a sort of distantly hysterical humor, that he should take notes) until he can strike out.

It doesn't take long for that point to come. The woman backs away panting.

"Why are you here?" Zewu-jun asks again. He's not even out of breath.

The woman spits a bit of blood onto the ground. "Fuck you," she snarls, and lunges forward again. Zewu-jun doesn't even block, just leaps to the side, avoiding her strike. She's definitely losing her control.

"Did you come to steal from our library or to damage it?" is Zewu-jun's next question, delivered alongside a quick stab toward her arm that she barely jumps out of the way of.

"Steal, of course," she says breathlessly. "You won't stop me," she boasts. Lan Jingyi rolls his eyes. Doesn't she realize she's losing? The woman continues, "I've already managed to sneak in once, I'll do it again. Next time I'll just kill anyone who gets in my way."

Zewu-jun's back is to Lan Jingyi, so he can't see what expression is on Zewu-jun's face. Something changes in his posture, though, and he goes on the offensive, leaping toward her with a long slice of Shuoyue. It hits her shoulder as she tries to sidestep him.

"You will not," he snaps. The woman brings her sword up again, aiming for his neck, but Zewu-jun blocks it with his sword's sheath. She tries to kick him, but he pivots forcefully, negating her blow and bringing his sheath down to hit the back of her knee. She staggers to the ground.

Shuoyue glints as Zewu-jun brings it up to her throat. "Tell me how you got in," he says, his voice steady.

The woman glares up at him and pulls her arm back to swing her sword once more. Before she even has it off the ground, her sword goes flying as Shuoyue sweeps through the air and lodges in her hand. She screams.

"I asked you several questions which you have refused to answer," Zewu-jun says, returning the tip of his blade to her throat. "You have threatened one of my disciples, the security of our home, and the most sacred possessions we have. You cannot possibly believe you will be allowed to walk free."

"You all think you're so special," she sneers, but Lan Jingyi sees her swallow and her eyes dart around. "Plenty of you still died just like everyone else during the Sunshot Campaign. All those pretty jade pendants had to go somewhere, and some of them made their way to people who're happy to sell them. It's not hard to get a hold of one."

"I see," Zewu-jun's voice has gone even colder, and Lan Jingyi is starting to fear what exactly he might do. This isn't what Lan Jingyi is used to from him. Zewu-jun was never stern, not like Hanguang-jun or xiansheng. "We will look into this. Thank you for this information." He steps back, and the woman kneels there for a moment, her hand bleeding sluggishly. Before she can move, Zewu-jun slashes his hand through the air and a glowing binding appears around her. She falls to the ground awkwardly. "You will be shown before the Lan elders in the morning. They will pass judgement." Zewu-jun turns away from the woman struggling on the ground.

Lan Jingyi can't help but stare at him. When Zewu-jun comes to him, he kneels down. "Are you okay?" he asks, helping Lan Jingyi up.

"Yeah, I'm… fine. Are… how did you know to come out?" Lan Jingyi sneaks a glance at the woman, face-down on the path. "Are you… okay?"

Zewu-jun smiles for the first time that night, but it's faint and tired looking. "I'm alright. I wasn't asleep, and I heard you." They're not far from the Hanshi, Lan Jingyi realizes now.

"I'm sorry you had to come out of seclusion for me," Lan Jingyi says.

"Don't apologize for that," Zewu-jun says, shaking his head. "I would be a poor sect leader if I allowed one of our disciples to be harmed within our own walls."

Lan Jingyi looks back at the woman again. "Should we… do something with her?"

The night is still very dark, but he can see Zewu-jun's face go cold again. "I suppose we should. I find myself disinclined to show mercy to those who try to violate the safety of the Cloud Recesses." He sighs, and Lan Jingyi remembers, in a slow trickle of half-forgotten lessons, the stories of Zewu-jun saving ancient texts from the burning of the Cloud Recesses.

"We could always leave her by the wall of discipline," he says, determinedly cheerful. "She did break a whole lot of rules."

Zewu-jun looks at him and smiles again, this time a little more genuine. "It's certainly tempting. It would likely be better if we were to leave her in a warded guest chamber, though. That way we'll know exactly where our visitor is."

Lan Jingyi huffs. "I suppose," he says, sounding as petulant as he can muster. It usually works to cheer Sizhui up, so he figures it will probably work on Zewu-jun. "You're not going to make me copy rules for this, are you?" He's not actually worried, but the normality feels necessary at the moment.

"No, I think we can overlook this once, since your actions led to the prevention of something that could have been very bad." Zewu-jun walks over to the woman and places a talisman on her head. She slumps suddenly, and Lan Jingyi thinks he hears snoring. The binding disappears, and Zewu-jun motions him over. They get her propped up between the two of them and start walking toward the guest quarters.

"Can I just say," Lan Jingyi starts, trying not to sound too delighted. It would be improper but also… "That was so cool," he gushes.

At that, Zewu-jun even laughs a little. Lan Jingyi smiles to himself. He may not be the best disciple in the Cloud Recesses, but he can stop a thief, and more importantly, he can make people happy every once in a while. That's probably good enough.

#mdzs #the untamed #lan jingyi #mo dao zu shi #this is post canon! do not ask me any other questions i did not think about simply anything else #yes i am avoiding tagging another cahracter #its for the MYSTERY #thats why this isnt going on ao3 lol #thanks to remi for enabling me #my stuff

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costellos · 4 years

Note

HI i LOVE ur "____ realizing they fell in love" series thing AND idk if you've done stardust crusaders but if you haven't i'd love to request that pretty pls luv u Aaa c:

I haven’t done the Crusaders yet!! today is your lucky day. 🥰 ty for supporting this series and I hope you enjoy this one!

BUCCI GANG | LA SQUADRA

tw: general violence, stabbing

❥ ┋ ❝ stardust crusaders realizing that they’re in love!

joseph joestar.

Joseph falls in love with you after you put yourself in danger.

the first thing you need to know about Joseph Joestar is that there’s always something up his sleeve. the second, that he prizes his family above all else. only one of those applied when you sacrificed yourself for his sake.

it happens during a stand battle. Hermit Purple is more of a defensive stand, with its ability to disarm and capture enemies. your stand works best offensively. as such, you make quite the pair when you encounter two of DIO’s subordinates in India.

but while Joseph was distracted, using Hermit Purple to wrap one of the goons in its violet vines, the other came barreling behind Joseph. he sees a glint in the henchwoman’s eyes, a look that tells him that she’s ready to kill. he knows you see it too. and that’s why he’s crying at you to get away.

it only took a moment. yet in that moment did you save Joseph, push the henchwoman back, and find a kukri in your side. it’s the one time that Joseph didn’t have anything up his sleeve, and one of many that he could feel his heart drop.

you didn’t have to defend him. he had already lived his life, and at that point, he had accepted he could die at any moment. he knew exactly what he was getting into when it came to DIO. and he was starting to wish that he hadn’t gotten you involved, too.

he knocks both of the goons out, leaving them in the alley. you’re not quite sure what happens next. all you can feel is Joseph holding you in his arms, frantically looking for help in the streets of Kolkata. he’s screaming. crying maybe? you lose consciousness soon after.

Joseph would visit you in your hospital room once you came to. he makes quite the scene, pushing doctors aside and slamming your door open. at first glance you think that he's mad, with his gritted teeth and clasped fists. he stops for a moment, studying your face. and it’s here that you realize he isn’t mad — no, his face quickly melts to concern, his lip quivering as he wraps you into a tight hug. ↳ “come here.” his voice is shaky. he sounds breathless, as if he ran here as soon as he got word that you woke up. “what the hell were you thinking? don’t go throwing yourself at anyone for my sake! you talk to me in battle, okay?” alright, maybe he’s a little mad. he’s trying to say his words as gently as he can, though. “we need you, [Name].” and it’s true: the team does need you. but he of all people needs you most. he’s already losing one child. he can’t bear the thought of losing another.

muhammad avdol.

Avdol falls in love with you when he sees how patient you are.

he's a mentor above all else. Avdol’s career depends on guiding others to their destinies, leading them to something that he cannot posses. he’s never particularly minded. like all things, he just thinks that is his own destiny. he knows that fate can’t be changed.

it’s part of the reason why Avdol’s given up on Iggy. the dog is hopeless, fighting for his own wants and needs. he doesn’t care about the team or DIO or why he’s in Egypt. hence, aside from giving him coffee gum when Avdol needs him, the fortune teller leaves him alone.

then he sees you interacting with Iggy. “it’s hopeless,” Avdol tells you. but you look up at him and shake your head, asking him to just give you some time. Iggy will come around, you promise.

Avdol chuckles. “if you say so.”

despite his doubts, he keeps a close eye on you. you keep at it. you’re trying to get the dog’s trust, offering pets and belly rubs during moments of peace. Iggy seems disinterested.

in time, Avdol watches as you realize that Iggy hates being treated like a dog. you share your food with him and talk with him, even if he can’t understand what you have to say. one day, while driving through Egypt, Avdol peers into the rear view mirror and sees you asleep with Iggy on your lap.

the Boston terrier follows you everywhere now. he trots beside you and barks at whoever gets too close to you (much to Polnareff’s chagrin). Avdol can’t help but find this amusing.

well he’d be damned. you really did it. Avdol always thought of him as a good judge of character, and you proved him wrong. not that he minds; Iggy’s cooperation will make this mission much less difficult. it’s just that your unyielding patience and dedication is... well. it’s quite nice with all the other interesting characters on this trip.

Avdol approaches you while you’re reading in the hotel lobby. as always, Iggy is at your feet. he’s fast asleep, thankfully. the fortune teller tries to be quiet so as not to wake him. ↳ “I apologize.” he takes the armchair across from yours, resting his cheek on his fist, an amused smile on his lips. “you’re a lot more patient than I gave you credit for.” maybe Avdol had unknowingly guided you to Iggy. maybe it was fate that Iggy would be brought here, only to be loved by you. “I admire that of you. though I suppose there’s a lot I admire about you, hm?” fate can’t be changed. he knew that. but maybe it was fate that like Iggy, Avdol was brought here to be with you.

jotaro kujo.

Jotaro falls in love with you after you call him out.

he hates showing his true colors. that kind of vulnerability is something that he’s never gotten accustomed to, nor does he think that he ever will. it’s part of the reason why he dislikes displaying more emotion than what’s necessary. a slight twinge of his lip or brow can show enough of what he’s thinking. any more than that is a waste of energy. they get the gist, he tells himself.

you proved him wrong when you lost a game of checkers. it’s a humid day in Cairo and during a rare moment of peace, you and Jotaro opt to play a friendly game of checkers with some locals. though the word “friendly” is subjective. if either of you won, 2500 Egyptian pounds would be yours.

it’s your turn. the game is a close call. although it can be over within the next two turns, you can’t tell what your opponent’s next move would be. thankfully, Jotaro is standing behind him, giving you cues for your next move.

...yet because you misunderstand his cue, you watch as you promptly lose any pieces that you had left. your opponent takes your pieces and the 2500 Egyptian pounds with it.

“what the hell was that?” Jotaro is angry. you are too. after losing the game, you collected your things and began to head back to the hotel, with Jotaro at your heels. “I was nodding my head! that was your cue to move left.”

you stop in your tracks. “that wasn’t you nodding! you just moved your head down! how was I supposed to know?”

he clicks his tongue in response. a beat, and then finally, “you’re really damn annoying, you know that?”

“yeah, and you’re an asshole.”

Jotaro’s been called many things. sweetie, honey, the hottest guy at school, but asshole? that’s a first. while he won’t admit it, the name stings. it sounds foreign coming from you. he didn’t think he had upset you that much.

he lets the day pass, partly for you, mostly for him. he needs to gather his thoughts. it’s the first time anyone had called him out for his behavior. moreover, Jotaro hates the fact that you may know him better than he does himself. what else do you know about him? did you know that you could upset him this much? ...when did you start to occupy this much space in his head?

so at sundown the next day, you get a knock on your hotel room from Jotaro Kujo himself. you try to close it, but he sticks his foot between the door and the frame before you can. ↳ “look, I’m sorry, alright?” he’s refusing to look at you. “I just... really wanted to win. I pushed that on you. and...” he sighs. "I’m sorry.” he’s apologizing through gritted teeth, yet apologizing nonetheless. it’s the right thing to do and he doesn’t want to lose a friend to his pride. especially one who calls him out on his bullshit. despite everything, you just smile and unfold your arms, telling him that you forgive him. and for a brief moment, he feels a weight lift off his shoulders. although Jotaro Kujo hates being vulnerable, he would hate losing you more.

noriaki kakyoin.

Kakyoin falls in love with you while eating breakfast together.

he’s never had any real friends. any attempts to share facts about himself, whether about his stand or his interests, would be met with scorn. it wasn’t until he had breakfast with you — one tiny moment in a trip filled with wacky happenings — that led him to believe that maybe the world wasn’t so lonely.

it’s 7 AM. normally at this time Mr. Joestar and Avdol are off running errands or planning something privately. Kakyoin turns beside him to find Jotaro and Polnareff fast asleep. he wonders where you’d be at this hour, yet when he enters the dining room, he quickly finds the answer to his question.

"good morning,” he says, taking the seat from across you. his voice is gentle though far more awake than you’d expect for seven in the morning. you greet him as enthusiastically as you can muster, flashing a toothy grin. but upon realizing that you were still chewing your food, you quickly turn away and wave your hand, apologizing for the scene. Kakyoin laughs in return.

the conversation itself is rather tame. you ask about his life, what Japan is like, if he misses his parents. Kakyoin answers all of this truthfully, because... well. no one else has ever taken the time to ask. it feels odd to be interviewed. though not uncomfortable.

and you take genuine interest in what he has to say, too. you ask follow up questions and give real, emotional responses. while you sympathize with him, you don’t pretend to know what he’s gone through.

you didn’t have to engage with him. sure, you’re the only ones awake right now, but he didn’t expect you to be so real with him. Polnareff never takes anything Kakyoin says seriously. Jotaro doesn’t even pretend to care. Mr. Joestar and Avdol have their own things to worry about. it feels... nice to be considered.

needless to say, Kakyoin feels his heart sink when the others wake up. is that too selfish? should he be disappointed in himself for wanting to spend more time with you?

yet even with them there, with Polnareff hogging the conversation and Jotaro being his usual cool self, you try to keep Kakyoin involved. you refuse to let him fade in the background.

he stops you as everyone starts to clean up and go on with their days. ↳ “we should do this more often.” he’s trying to keep it casual. “ah, if you’re up this early again, I mean. I really enjoyed our conversation. it’s a lot more productive when Polnareff’s not awake.” now it’s your turn to laugh in response. you agree, saying that you enjoyed your time with him, too. at this, Kakyoin could feel his cheeks start to burn. right here, right at this moment with you, did Noriaki Kakyoin feel that he wasn’t so alone.

jean pierre polnareff.

Polnareff falls in love with you when he hears you humming to yourself.

although he would never admit it, he’s lost. what he’s looking for he’s not quite sure. vengeance? honor? it’s something he’s constantly asking himself. behind those dumb jokes and loud laughs is someone who just wants to find himself.

to be honest, he’s always fancied you. it was pretty obvious from the start. the way he looked at you, how his hands were always at your hip, guiding you away from the others. he just thought it was another crush until he heard you humming to yourself.

it’s such a simple happenstance. he didn’t mean to walk in on you. yet there you are, standing on the roof of their hotel, hanging everyone’s laundry to dry. you look so at peace here, with your eyelids low and your fingers at work with one of Polnareff’s shirts. you’re handling it so gently despite it not being your own laundry.

it’s in that moment that he realizes what he wants to do. Sherry’s murderer is dead. she can finally be at peace. Avdol has been found, affirming that he didn’t die for Polnareff’s sake. and here you are, humming a song that he doesn’t know but appearing so content.

while he may not know who he is, he does know that he wants to make you that happy everyday.

Polnareff takes this as his cue to approach you. you bend down to reach into your laundry basket, and when you come back up, the Frenchman is there. he’s not pulling any dumb moves, though. he’s much quieter here.

he follows your lead, reaching into the basket for one of his pants, then comes back up to hang them. you return his actions with a smile, a wordless indication of thanks, and continue to work. that song you were humming returns once more, and Polnareff swears that he can feel his heartbeat pounding in his fingertips.

you and Polnareff continue to work like this until the laundry basket is empty. it’s the first time he doesn’t say anything for 10 minutes, at least that you’ve noticed. what you don’t notice that he’s trying to avoid staring, sneaking quick glances as you focus on the task at hand.

when all is said and done, you stretch your arms far above your head, cuing a satisfying pop from your back. you thank Polnareff for helping you and begin heading back to your room. however, he’s quick to stop you. ↳ “hey, wait!” yikes. did that sound too much? “err- let me know if you need any help. I’m always here for you, [Name].” he sounds defeated in that last sentence. he can tell. he wonders if you can, too. but when you grin and tuck your hair behind your ear, telling him that you’d keep him in your thoughts, Polnareff can’t help but feel his heart swell. did he make you happy here?

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

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Title: Valued Possessions

Word Count: 1.9k

Pairing: Trainer!Izuku/Dragon-Shifter!Reader

Synopsis: Izuku’s rather fond of his newest find, an exotic Dragon-Shifter set to join his ever-growing collection of beasts and monsters. It’s a shame he has to break you in before he can expect you to fall in line.

TW: Violence, Abuse of Power, Kidnapping, Dehumanization, and Captivity.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a dragon.”

His voice is smooth, unaffected, an ongoing drawl as practiced as the nonchalant smile that tugs at the corners of his lips. It’s been there since you arrived, since his obnoxious, noisy lackeys pulled you out of a cage with iron bars, a muzzle locked over your mouth and shackles around your wrists and ankles, the broken remains of four identical restraints laid at your feet. Izuku, as he insists you call him, saw fit to do away with the muzzle, but you couldn’t be thankful, not when he makes it so clear he’d prefer you keep quiet. You’d already had to endure his humming while he wound your chains around the stone pillar you were currently kneeling in front of, a solitary structure in the center of the cavernous tent he seemed to call home. If an off-tune melody is your reward for cooperation, you have no desire to find out what misbehavior will earn.

Silently, you make plans to tear out his tongue, then his vocal cords, and if you’re feeling generous, his lungs. Anything he could use to get on your nerves.

“Dragons are such wondrous creatures.” He’s behind you, now, his light footsteps only made softer by the bare earth that makes up his floor. It’s just soil and grass, but it’s biting into your knees nonetheless, wedging itself between your scales and doing nothing to aid the steady, pulsing ache in your calves, tight knots of pressure and tension you couldn’t shake out. You need to stand, to stretch, and while you’re all-but sure Izuku can sense your discomfort, you know you won’t be permitted to move until you’re ready to beg for it. Needless cruelty is a staple of humanity, and he’s given you no reason to think him any better than than the rest of his kin. “I used to have a few friends like you - halfbreeds. Half human, half reptile.” Izuku pauses, letting out a disgruntled huff. His own, personal, unpleasant joke. “Although, Kacchan could hardly be called anything but a nuisance.”

You narrow your eyes, speaking under your breath. “You’re one to talk.”

If he hears you, he doesn’t deem the comment worthy of indulgence. Rather, Izuku takes the opportunity to edge closer, the fabric of his thick gloves rustling before falling away completely, his bare fingertips soon brushing against the unprotected, fleshy skin of your shoulder-blade, just above the base of your wing. Automatically, you jerk away, balling your hands into fists and curling into yourself, but Izuku only laughs, the sound breathy and arrogant. The laugh of a man watching his skittish pet shy away from his touch, too simple-minded to realize that it can only run to the end of its leash. “You’re prettier than Kacchan. Fewer scars, duller talons... your scales are a nice color, too,” He says. Then, as if you don’t already know, he adds “They match your eyes.”

You don’t respond, biting the edge of your tongue, but Izuku is already preoccupied. Idly, his attention shifts towards the nape of your neck, his fingers dancing over the patch of scales that protect the top of your spine. He follows the shape, where it narrows and dips, guarding only what’s necessary before trickling to a stop completely, only to pick up again below your knees. With a discontented, throaty noise, he stabs his thumb violently into small of your back, his unoccupied hand clamping around your shoulder as you cry out, more out of shock than pain. Whatever he’s searching for, he doesn’t find, something he makes apparent with an unsatisfied purse of his lips. “No tail.”

You grit your teeth, but it fails to quell your anger. “Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed,” You spit, raising your voice before you can make yourself regret the action. “I thought you had eyes--”

Izuku doesn’t care for that. Before you can find a proper end to your insult, something flat and sharp bites into your skin, the vulnerable tissue of the back of your thigh. There’s an eruption of flame beneath your skin, but it fades quickly, leaving a scalding, lasting pain in its wake. One that burnt more than it should’ve. One that hurt more than you’d care to admit. A whip, you realize, just in time for the second blow. You don’t remember when he picked it up, but you don’t particularly care, either. A weapon is a weapon, and the fact that he has the gull to turn one against you at all is enough to make your broiling hate boil over.

“That’s not the kind of language you’re going to use with me,” He coos, his voice nothing short of benign, as if he hadn’t just struck you for no other reason than his own perceived superiority. “We’re friends, are we not? There’s no reason to take that tone with me, not when you and I want the same thing.” Slow, deep circles are pushed into the dip of your shoulder, Izuku’s half-hearted attempt to comfort you. It does little to erase the furious red streaks now decorating your skin. “You want to survive, and I want to see you flourish. If I have to hurt you, it’s only because you’ve done something to warrant discipline.”

“It’s because you’re a sadist,” You grunt, flexing your claws, testing the strength of your chains. They hold true, rattling under their own weight at the slightest shift, reassuring you that you wouldn’t be able to escape them, not without giving Izuku time to do something much worse than inflict a momentary pain. “If you didn’t enjoy this, you wouldn’t--”

Another strike forces your breath to hitch, colliding with your shoulder and seeping onto your chest. Your scales distance the pain, but that only means it lingers, carving out a place in your memory before it began to fade. You don’t cry out, for fear that any sound of displeasure will earn another blow.

Izuku doesn’t bother with a warning when he takes up one of your wings, instead, tearing it away from your back until the appendage is stretched to its full length. It flutters, attempting to tuck back into a position more in tune with its twin, but Izuku’s grip is firm, keeping it in place as he idly runs a finger down a prominent ridge, following the shape from the bend of your wing until it disappears into leathery sinew. You shudder, and Izuku pretends not to notice. “Beautiful wings,” He notes. “It’s a good pair. If I cut them off and sell them to the highest bidder, I’d make a small fortune. Enough to fund your upkeep, and a little extra... It’d only be fair, wouldn’t it?”

It’s involuntary. You don’t say anything, you’re smart enough to bite your tongue and keep quiet, but there’s a twitch, a delayed effort to keep yourself docile, and that’s enough for Izuku. With a light chuckle and a step back, his foot implants itself in your spine, knocking you forward, your chest crashing haphazardly into the stone pillar. The edge collides with your chest, slotting itself between your ribs and refusing to move until a bruise is blooming across your diaphragm. You scream, the noise high-pitched and cut short by your own pride, but Izuku doesn’t pull back. If anything, more of his weight comes to rest on you, the sole of his boot making itself at home on your skin. Taking pleasure in doing so, at that.

“You’re mine,” He growls, the declaration a ridicule in itself. “I paid for you, I brought you here, and now, you belong to me. You’re a monster, and I am the loving, caring hand that’s going to make sure you don’t stumble into another trap or get skinned for your hide. I’m doing you a favor, and you will be thankful for it.” He grinds his heel down, driving a small, pathetic whine from somewhere deep in your throat. Tiny, insignificant, and exactly what Izuku’s looking for. “You’re going to be happy, and I’m going to take very, very good care of you. We’ll work hand in hand as master and pet, and you’ll enjoy every minute of it.”

“I’m not an animal.” It takes more restraint that it should not to hiss the words, not to make a fact into a warning. If you hadn’t been captured, restrained and collared like an unruly mutt, you would’ve strung him to the nearest tree branch with his own intestines hours ago, and you would’ve done so with joy. It’s a difficult feat not to let that impact the way you speak. “I’m not human, but I’m not a monster, either. I’m not mindless.” You swallow dryly, remaining quiet for a moment, but Izuku fails to cut in. It’s a relief, and yet, his silence is enough to make you shrink into yourself, your confidence unshaken but suppressed. “You can’t treat me as if I am, not if you expect me to be grateful.”

A second passes, and you begin to hold your breath. But, Izuku’s eventual response comes without malice. “Yes, I can.”

It’s all you can do to remember how to talk. “What?”

“I can.” He pulls away, the pressure falling away from your back, but you don’t move, staying slouched over the pillar as if it was a lifeline, rather than a hindrance. Slowly, he circles to face you, and for the first time, you can see him clearly. His attire, all well-worn tunics and clothes made to guard against creatures much more imposing than yourself, his pale skin, littered with scars from his neckline to his wrists, and his eyes, dark and foreboding and so terrible, focused on you and unwilling to center on everything else, even when you manage to rip yourself away. Your head bows before you can summon your courage, but Izuku’s quick to correct your posture, his fingers soon rooted in your hair, wrenching you upward and forcing you to meet his gaze. He’s done giving you a choice, if he was ever willing to. “And I will. You might’ve been something before, but now, you’re one of my beasts, and I intend to train you appropriately. You’ll be grateful for my generosity, or I’ll make you act like you are. Regardless of how much I have to shave away to reach the golden, obedient core I know you have.”

Instinctually, you bare your teeth, but the gesture is feeble, much too little and far too late. Izuku only smiles as he leans forward, pushing a quick, chaste kiss into your forehead. You’d say it seems apologetic, but his broad, remorseless grin crushes your hope before it can start to take shape. “Be thankful,” He says, standing to his full height.

Somehow, he seems so much taller than he was, seconds ago.

“I might be the only person who sees you as human enough to warrant such thorough efforts.”

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lazuliquetzal · 3 years

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Don't Take It Personally, Asshole!

@snowlikestardust

BY POPULAR REQUEST: This is a (cleaned up) version of an early draft of CH11 of AA Batteries, which is in Akira’s POV instead of Miyuki’s! You’ll probably recognize a lot of turns of phrase because I’m unoriginal and like, 80% of what I cut gets recycled. This scene got cut up and Frankensteined a LOT into later chapters haha.

So this takes place during the Yakushi practice match, right after Eijun throws wild and Miyuki talks to Kataoka about his inability to throw to the inside.

“Akira.” Akira stiffens and turns his gaze away from the mound. Coach is standing on the sidelines, and he makes a ‘come here’ gesture. Akira jogs over. He tries to ignore the flicker of hope in his chest, but he can’t stop the way his heart is pounding out of control, leaving him barely able to hear. “Coach,” Akira dips his head in respect and clenches his jaw. His eyes fix upon the ground below. “Can you fix this?” ‘This’ being the obvious — the fact that Eijun can’t throw to the inside. He looks back to the mound. Eijun is stiff and pale, his left hand clenching and unclenching in unconscious denial. He looks a little scared, yes, but mostly, he looks confused. And — this is the important thing — he hasn’t given up. This Eijun won’t shuffle back to the dugout, defeated. This Eijun will go down kicking and screaming. Eijun still wants to pitch. Maybe he can’t pitch. But he wants to. Yeah, Akira thinks. I’ll take those odds.

He looks back at the coach and nods his head.

Kataoka breaks his gaze and looks to the outfield. “Asou!”

Their left fielder jogs in, mouth pulled into a firm line.

“Miyuki, you’re playing left field. Akira, you’re in.”

You’re in.

The words echo around Akira’s brain. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

While Kataoka sorts out the substitution with the umpires, Akira exhales. He drops down onto the bench and adjusts the straps on his leg guards, making sure they’re not too tight or too loose. Beside him, Furuya hovers, eyes narrowed.

Are you going to be okay?

Akira nods.

The truth is: he’d thought about the Inajitsu thing for a long time. And after the initial anger and grief and shame, he’d come to the following conclusion:

Coach Kataoka was right. Akira probably would not have survived that inning.

It wasn’t nerves. Akira had never been nervous in his life.

(Okay, he had been nervous, of course he had. But not for a baseball game.)

And it wasn’t lack of skill or experience, though that probably played a big role in the coach’s decision.

(Okay, definitely played a big role in the coach’s decision. Let’s be honest: Akira was not the best catcher in the dugout that day.)

The truth is this: Akira was scared, too.

For good or ill, better or worse, Eijun and Akira have always fed off each other like a chemical reaction. If Eijun got excited, Akira got excited. If Akira got competitive, Eijun got competitive. Having them play while they were both out of their minds would not have ended well.

Today is a different story.

He’s not going to lie: it is weird seeing Eijun unable to pitch to the inside. It’s practically unthinkable. Eijun and Akira lived and died by the inside pitch. It pretty much defined their entire middle school career.

But right now? Akira’s not scared. And as long as he can hold onto that, he can fix this.

Kataoka gestures for him to get out on the field, and Akira steps out of the dugout.

“Do your best,” Miyuki says, from behind him.

Akira resists the urge to roll his eyes. As if I’d do anything less.

They split off: Miyuki to the outfield, and Akira to the mound. He jogs up to where Eijun is standing. When he arrives, he stops just an arm’s length away from his brother.

Eijun stares at him for a moment, and Akira stares back.

“Hey,” Akira says. “What sign does Miyuki-senpai use for the cutter kai?”

Eijun blinks, caught off guard by the question. He shakes his head and answers the question. “Ah, he uses a ‘four,’” he says, and he makes the sign with his hand.

“Cool,” Akira says. “I’m gonna use a seven.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

Eijun makes a face. “You’re doing this just to be annoying, aren’t you.”

“Yep.”

“And even if I argue, you’re going to use it anyway.”

“Absolutely.”

“I hate you so much.”

“Great,” Akira says, in the flat voice that he knows Eijun finds irritating. “Good talk.”

He steps away and turns to the rest of the field. “So, uh, they’re probably gonna get a lot of hits,” Akira yells out. “Like, a lot. Sorry about the workout. Thanks for your cooperation.”

“You’re saying it wrong!” Eijun hisses at him. “And they are not gonna get a lot of hits!”

“I dunno, Ei,” Akira says, rolling his eyes. “You’re not exactly on top of your game, are you?”

“I’ll kick your ass if you make bad calls.”

“So shake them.” Akira glares at Eijun, daring him.

Eijun agitatedly waves his arms around. “You know I — ugh! Shut up! Get off my mound!”

Akira waves good-bye, as annoyingly as he can, and he walks down to home plate. He sketches a quick bow to the batter and the umpire, and then he crouches down.

The game resumes.

Akira takes a quick look around, the way Chris-senpai taught him to. The runners are at ease, barely paying attention to him. The guy on first base looks especially relaxed.

Hm. He’s never done a pickoff before. That would be pretty cool.

Akira turns his attention back to the mound, and he’s about to make a call —

And then he frowns.

He wants to tell Eijun to throw to the inside. And he knows, by the expression on his brother’s face, that it’s what Eijun wants to do, too.

But there’s something else in Eijun’s gaze. His eyes keep darting around — not to the runners, but to the batter.

Akira glances over at Todoroki Raichi. Yakushi’s monster first-year, a batter who can crush an ace in a single hit. Logic says to be careful; logic says to keep their guard up against the best batter in West Tokyo.

Well, fuck that, Akira decides. If Eijun really can’t pitch to the inside, then every batter might as well be Todoroki Raichi. It’s like middle school all over again.

He spreads his arms wide.

Eijun blinks.

Ignore him, Eijun. Just pitch whatever.

You’re joking, right?

Akira smirks. What, you think I can’t catch it?

Eijun sticks his tongue out — petty and dramatic as always. Akira rolls his eyes, and he knows that his brother can see it because he rolls his eyes back.

Eijun throws the ball.

It's instinctual, at this point, to move his feet and stretch his arm, catching the ball before it can fly out of reach. It slams into the back of his mitt, his vision tunnels — and before his brain can catch up with his body, he chucks the ball down to first base.

Wait, shit —

Thankfully, Zono-senpai catches the ball and tags out the runner. Pickoff.

"Out," says the umpire, looking just as surprised as Akira feels.

Holy crap! Akira thinks, in the safety of his own mind. That actually worked?

Zono tosses the ball back to Eijun, and then sends Akira a fiercely enraged expression.

Akira winces and ducks his head. He can hear Chris-senpai’s voice in his mind: baseball is a team sport.

Oops.

But they got the out, so at least he didn’t fuck up his very first play in the game.

Akira looks back to Eijun. Judging by the wild course of his last pitch, he’s still overly aware of the batter.

Akira spreads his arms, again.

Eijun grits his teeth. He steps onto the rubber and winds up.

It comes. Low. It hits dirt, and Akira stops it. Then he tosses it back.

Throw what you want.

“Are you leading me, or not?” Eijun yells, finally cracking.

“Depends!” Akira yells back.

Eijun crosses his arms. On what?

Akira mimes the motion of a ball hitting him in the face, and then flaps his hand around.

Eijun stares at him incredulously. Excuse me?

It’s a valid concern!

Eijun groans in frustration. I’m not gonna hit you in the face!

Aw, you do care! Akira grins and fires off a sarcastic thumbs up, just rile up his brother a little bit more.

It works, because Eijun’s eyes flash, bubbling up with barely contained fury.

Get mad. It’s better than being scared.

Eijun steps back onto the rubber and tightens his grip on the ball, daring Akira to make the call.

Akira places his mitt. Fastball to the outside.

Eijun throws. Todoroki swings. Foul.

Akira barely registers the hit — as soon as he realized it was a foul, he’d already started planning the next move. Another outside pitch, again, but a four-seamer this time.

Eijun throws.

Foul.

Okay, Akira thinks. He looks back at his brother and studies his expression.

He still looks annoyed and irritated. And even better — he’s not looking at Todoroki Raichi anymore.

Good.

He makes the call. And Eijun follows.

It’s like déjà vu, Akira thinks, as the ball makes its way toward him. A fastball to the inside corner, a sight he’s seen thousands of times. The batter tenses, squares his hips, and swings the bat.

Clang.

Like lightning, a sudden stab of oh shit flashes across Akira’s chest. That was a good hit — firm and loud and solid.

Oops, Akira thinks, as Todoroki takes off running and the runners start trickling in. In retrospect? It was probably obvious that they were gunning for an inside pitch. Most batters are pretty comfortable with the gambler’s fallacy —

Someone clicks their tongue, and Akira blinks, crashing back into the present. Eijun’s glaring at him, again.

Deal with that later, dumbass.

Akira rolls his eyes, but Eijun’s right. Unfortunately.

They’re in the middle of a game right now. He can reflect upon his baseball sins at two in the morning.

The moment the next batter steps up to the plate, Akira calls for another inside pitch. And Eijun delivers.

The ball slams into the back of his mitt, and it’s like a gear clicking into place. How long has it been since he caught for his brother outside of mandatory practice? How long has it been since they formed a battery on the field?

The familiar sensation doesn’t wipe away the anger, but it does drown it out. Who needs feelings? They have baseball.

“Nice pitch,” Akira calls out, and he tosses the ball back to the mound. Truce?

Eijun receives the toss. He nods and straightens his back. Truce.

The rest of their play time blurs by after that.

#lazuli writes #this is hilarious to me because eijun and akira are just so stupidly insular with their chaos #they don't even notice that everyone else is terrified #the twins are like: i'm angy >:(( and miyuki is like WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING #aa batteries dna #daiya no ace

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transpoettryinghisbest · 3 years

Text

(This is set in an AU where Diego never got poisoned. As usual it doesn’t have a title cos I suck at titles lol. Trigger warnings are in the tags.)

White has her cornered against the window. I have to do something. But I'm frozen to the spot, I can't move. Before I can even think what to do, the knife is inside her. She gasps. Looks down, then back up. With what I can only describe as incredulity in her eyes. He pulls the knife out and steps back as she stumbles to the ground. I want to cry out, but I have no voice, nothing. I watch Mia gently touch where he'd stabbed her and watch the blood drip off her hand.

“I'm terribly sorry about this, Miss Fey,” White says. “But I thank you for your cooperation, and your sacrifice.”

She says nothing, just glares at him.

The next thing I know, he's gone. White walks straight out the door without seeing me. I feel my skin burn as I watch him go, I want to follow him, and stab him with his own damn knife. But I can't. Not now. Mia starts to call for help, and with my body finally back in my control, I run to her.

“Diego?”

“I'm here, Kitten, I'm right here.” I kneel in front of her.

“Diego…the file. I gave…White the file.”

Her breathing is laboured and it's obviously difficult for her to talk.

“Shh, don't worry about that now,” I tell her.

“He…wanted to keep me…quiet.” She shuts her eyes. “It hurts.”

“I know it does. Here, let me see?”

I gently move her arms away from being wrapped around herself. There's a deep gaping wound in her stomach.

“God…” I groan. “I'll…I'll call an ambulance.”

“No!” As I get up, she grabs my wrist and clings to it tightly. “No, please…don't go. Don't leave me.”

“But…”

“There's…no time. Please.”

“Okay. Alright, I won't leave.”

I very gently hold her against me. Her nails grip tightly into my flesh as she keeps making little whining sounds of pain. I feel like I've been stabbed too. There's nothing I can do. Nothing I can say, either. I just gently rub circles into her back, the same way I always do when she's upset.

“Diego…”

I shush her. “Don't talk, you'll make it hurt more.”

“Diego, I need…to ask you for something,” she says, pulling back to look at me. “It's… about my sister.”

“Maya?”

“Please…take care of her…when I'm gone. You know my…family can be… complicated. Just please…make sure nothing…happens.”

“I promise.”

“Thank you.”

She touches her lips to mine.

I want to beg her not to leave me. But I know that wouldn't change anything. There's nothing to say. I can't even tell her that everything will be okay. Because it won't. I can't save her. I just hold on to her. My throat feels tight, but I won't let myself cry, not yet.

She stops trembling. I didn't even know she was trembling until she suddenly stops. Then she goes limp, falling against me. I know what it means. But I don't want to know. I keep holding onto her, just wanting to stay in that moment forever. Because my alternative is a future without her, and right now that's something I just can't face. I don't know if I'll ever be able to. I stay in that position, motionless until I feel tears sliding down my face, and I know it's over.

I anticipated the sadness and the hurt, what I hadn't expected was this deep rage that's growing inside me. I guess I hadn't noticed it until now, not since I watched White walk out that door.

My happiness has been ripped away from me. And for what? Some kind of political scheme? Did he not see Mia as a person when he decided to kill her? Just a whistle-blower on his crimes? Or did he just not care? Why should I care? It doesn't matter the reason, either way, she's gone now.

I punch the wall next to her. It's the only thing I can do. The pain in my knuckles gives me a slight distraction from the despair. I punch the wall again, but my energy is fading. I don't have the strength, not even to be angry. Not when it feels like a hole has been torn open inside me.

I glance back at Mia. She looks almost like she's asleep - her eyes are closed lightly. I touch her cheek, almost expecting that to wake her up. Her skin is cold. I want to say something to her, even though I know she won't hear. But I have nothing to say.

There's a knock at the door. It startles me, and I whip around instinctively to look.

Then, a voice.

“Sis, are you there?”

My stomach drops. It's Maya. Here for our dinner outing, she doesn't know any of this. I'll have to tell her. But I've barely come to grips with it myself.

“J-just a second,” I call, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. My voice is shaky, but hopefully she doesn't notice.

When I open the door, Maya lights up with a big grin.

“Hi! You must be Mr Armando, Mia's told me a lot about you.” Her face falls. “Are… you okay?”

For a moment, I think about lying to her. Keeping her safe in her ignorance from the tragedy that's occurred. But I can't. I know I can't. And Mia wouldn't want me to. I have to tell her. Though it'll crush her innocent little glow.

“Maya…”

“What is it? Did something happen?”

“You should come in.”

She follows me inside. I take a seat on the couch, but she remains standing, looking around as if searching for someone. I gesture for her to sit beside me and she does.

“It's…about your sister,” I say.

“Is she okay? What happened to her?”

I close my eyes. The words are right there, on my tongue, why are they so hard to get out? I can feel Maya watching me, waiting in terrified suspense. How can I tell her? I can barely face the facts myself.

She touches my arm gently. “You're scaring me. Please just tell me.”

I swallow. “A man broke into her office a little while ago. He had a knife. I should've done something.”

Maya says nothing. I can't watch her reaction.

“He killed her. She's gone.”

I glance across and Maya has her head in her hands.

“It's not true,” she mumbles, her voice thick with tears. “It can't be…”

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I… It was my job to protect her. It's my fault.”

Maya doesn't respond. She just pulls her knees up and cries harder into her lap. We sit together on that sofa in silence for what feels like eternity, wondering if our aching hearts will ever heal.

When she finally quietens down, she peers at me with those big teary eyes of hers.

“Mr Armando? I…I want to see her. Is she here?”

“I don't know if that's a good idea.”

I don't want the kid to get nightmares, this has been traumatic enough for her. But does she need to see Mia's body to be able to accept it? Will it help her to properly say goodbye? I don't know.

Either way, I don't get a choice in the matter. Maya jumps up from where she's sitting and runs into the other section of the office before I can stop her.

I hear her halt in her tracks. I expect a scream but instead she lets out more of a shocked sob.

“No…” she whimpers. “Sis…”

When I get there, Maya is seemingly trying to shake Mia awake. But when that fails, she just curls up in her lap.

“It's not fair,” she mumbles.

“No, it's not.”

I open my arms and she hugs me, burying her damp face in my chest.

“Maya, listen to me,” I say. “Your sister loved you so much. And she asked me to take care of you. So that's what I'm going to do. I know I can't replace her, but I'll do whatever I can to keep you safe.”

#ace attorney #ace attorney fanfiction #fanfiction #mia fey #diego armando #ace attorney godot #maya fey #miego #tw death #tw blood #tw stab mention #tw stabbing

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naivesilver · 3 years

Note

Top five Pinocchio moments, go!! Be as long winded as you want you know i’m here to listen babey

* cracks knuckles * OH BOY, HERE WE GO

Since you specified I could go on for as long as I wanted, you're going to get the the extremely detailed version of whatever opinion I discover to have while I type this, as is apparently the case every time I answer a Pinocchio ask

Let's go, then!

(Under the cut because it got EVEN LONGER than I'd expected ajsdgfg)

1) Pinocchio's first night in the world

This is the scene that stuck with me the most when I was a kid and first read the book. There's something deeply haunting about the way Collodi describes hunger, and the stormy weather and gloomy atmosphere really set the mood when it comes to picturing this kid (who is fundamentally an asshole but also a scared little boy who's been alive for less than 24 hours) trying to navigate the world on his own.

Also, I've always been intrigued by the concept of him burning his feet and what comes after. Not only because it seems a cruel way to start one's life, but because the fact that part of his body can be ruined and replaced as easily as that...It's kind of mindboggling, isn't it? Pinocchio feels pain in an on-and-off way throughout the entire way, when he's being strangled and caught in a trap and not when he's being stabbed, but I'd wager having one's feet burned should rank above all that, right? Instead he sleeps through it, and doesn't even flinch at having new limbs attached to his body. And 8yo me already wanted to know if the feet would feel foreign to him, since they came from an entirely different piece of wood.

I dunno, I really wish I could poke Carlo himself awake and demand an answer sometimes.

2) The Land of Toys and what led to it

This might sound like an obvious choice, given how vocal I am about my love for Lampwick as a character, but I have been doing some thinking about it and I have even more reasons to mention it.

Sure, Lampwick is an huge explanation of why I would pick it - jackass boy is extremely lovable from the very first second, and his relationship with Pinocchio is both sweet and tragic at the same time. They're friends! Lampwick is his closest friends despite everything! I'm tearing up just thinking about it!

But also, the Land of Toys as a whole. I recently finally put my finger on why the Disney version of it left a bitter aftertaste on my tongue, and it's because they missed the entire point of it, as they did with basically every other aspect of the movie (except Figaro, Figaro can stay).

The Land is supposed to be an eerie, Neverland-esque place where children go to escape responsibilities. Lampwick and Pinocchio spent all their time eating their fill and having parties, making friends with everyone, not breaking down stuff. Pleasure Island was all about doing "adult", forbidden things, but it's hardly believable that a XIX century boy, on the cusp of being considered grown enough to take on grown-up duties and harder labor, would want to accelerate the process - they would hope to stay children a little bit longer, and pay the price for it.

I just wish this aspect was talked about more often, alright.

3) Pinocchio throwing a hammer at the Cricket

Y'all know how it is. So cathartic - I have never reached a high level of self-satisfaction comparable to that, except maybe when the disaster that was GOT season 7 rolled in and we were blessed with the hilarious "how do you answer these charges...Lord Baelish" scene, which had me hollering for weeks.

The Cricket is an asshole. He deserved it, and he didn't even fucking die for all that trouble. Let's move on.

4) Eugene's demise (and follow-up Fairy bullshit)

Okay listen. Listen. This sequence is infuriating. Your father has been lost at sea, some kids tell you the creature who took him could be close, you end up getting framed for (presumed) murder, nearly caught by police, almost fried like a fish, and your mother leaves you half naked with a foot embedded in a door all night and tells you it's your last chance at being on your best behavior??? And nobody says shit about it??? It's frankly ridiculous.

But Pinocchio's tolerance for pain comes into the picture again, and poor Eugene gets bludgeoned over the head for character development, and once I had a discussion with someone over the fact that while Pinocchio's nose grows when he rejects the fisherman's insults over himself, it stays the same when he says that he rubbed against a wall to turn so white, so the hypothesis could be made that the lying thing only works when he's saying good things about himself. That concept still lives rent free in my head, because it opens the door to SO MANY angsty threads of thought.

Also this scene validates my need to dump the Fairy in the river near my house, so. Way to ruin a child's life, bastard.

And on this thread...

5) The Fairy blatantly lying about her health (and failing in her attempt to make me worry for her)

We're towards the end of the book, and yet this woman won't relent on her idiocy. Isn't it wonderful when a mother sends someone to tell her son that she's on the brink of death, but it's just a test for him to prove his worth? Truly heartwarming /s.

But honestly, the point of this choice is that when I first read the book, not only was I really puzzled about this scene, but also the old Italian of the original story unintentionally makes it very funny. You see, the Fairy is supposed to be lying in an hospital bed (HA, I fucking wish), but the way it's worded makes it sound like she's "at the bottom" of an hospital bed, which has always brought to my mind the picture of this woman looking very small at the bottom of a bed that's as deep as a well. Very little has stuck with me as vividly as this image has, fifteen years and counting.

+ Bonus: Japanese-German cartoon Pinocchio being an ADHD icon

This doesn't count as it's not in the book proper, but in the Piccolino No Bouken show (my beloved) Pinocchio is homeschooled by the Fairy in her house in the woods instead of going to school which has inspired my own Lampwick fic on the matter, and there is a scene where this poor idiot is trying to sit through his schoolwork and not only his brain won't cooperate, but his legs start moving on their own and forcing him to run up and down instead. When I tell you that little undiagnosed neurodivergent me had an epiphany on that day...So many adaptations could NEVER.

Also the PNB Fairy is literally one of the worst versions I have ever seen, but I digress.

#freenklin-labby #ask meme #pinocchio #back to my bullshit as usual #ngl I probably have a list of adaptation scenes that live rent free in my mind as well #or a worst fairy ranking #I could go on all day #well not now bc I am so tired I can't even be sure this is correct english #but tomorrow

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intoanothermind · 4 years

Text

Library - Dylan O’Brien

Word Count: 1.370

- Dylan O’Brien x reader

Synopsis: What happens when you meet a mysterious guy in the library you own?

Masterlist

----

Once again I had trouble getting the book I wanted from the shelf. I wasn't short - far from it - but my 5’8 didn't seem enough to reach the last shelf. As I was about to snort and give up reading, I saw an arm running past me and grabbing the desired book. I smiled, turning to D, as he'd asked to call him.

The way I met him was a little unusual.

I fled from Portland at the age of 16, in the biggest act of madness and courage after one of the worst beating I took from my drunk dad. I arrived in Los Angeles completely lost and was welcomed by Mrs. Jones, a kind widow who took me as the daughter she never had. A year later, she passed away, leaving her little bustling bookstore for me to take care of. Two months later, a hooded boy appeared who seemed to be on the run. He asked for shelter for a few hours and we talked all the time until he had to go. I thought I would never see him again, but since then he has kept up the routine of coming to the small bookstore and spending a few hours of his day with me.

Unfortunately, over the course of seven months, I fell in love with the boy I don't know the name of and didn't even see his face.

“Always popping up at the most unexpected times, aren’t we?!” I joked, and I almost felt euphoric to see the shadow of a smile on his lips.

“I need to help my favourite shorty.” He replied, putting the book in my hands.

“I'm not that short, you have to admit it.” I muttered, approaching him and squinting.

“It looks short enough for me.” He ruffled my curls, making me slightly irritated.

I glared at him, but something about him seemed familiar. The late afternoon glow didn't cooperate, but the few traces of his jaw poked my mind like silent curiosity.

“Sometimes I feel like I know you, D.” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

He looked uneasy, lowering his hood further to keep me from seeing his face.

“Anh... Are you going to read this book again?!” He asked, obviously nervous and trying to cover it up.

I shook my head out of the trance and watched the book The Death Cure he had put in my hands.

I shrugged. “I never get tired of this series.”

“Don't you prefer the movie?” He asked, and I could almost hear an amused tone in his voice.

“As much as I love books, don't ask me to choose between them and Dylan O'Brien. The reading will always lose in that case.” I said, walking over to the nearest table and sitting down.

D sat opposite me, frantically wiggling his fingers, and I realized he was extremely nervous.

“D, is everything alright?” I asked, holding his hands in an impulsive and automatic gesture. He seemed to relax at my touch, which made me smile.

“What do you really think about this actor, Y/N? What would be your reaction to meeting him?”

“How so?!”

“Is it just fan love or something?”

I blushed, releasing his hand so he wouldn't notice my fingers shaking.

“I thought it wasn't something else until I felt different with another boy.”

He looked angry, and I realized what I said. I held his wrist as he threatened to leave and prevented him from getting up.

“It's you, D.” I murmured, feeling his gaze on me. “Although I don't know who you are, you changed my life. Unfortunately, I still feel confused.”

I was startled when I felt his fingers caress my cheek, but I didn't back down.

“You won't have to be like this.” He said, and my heart skipped a beat at his caring tone.

“What do you mean?” I frowned, confused.

“I mean it's time for you to know who I am.”

My heartbeat quickened and I only realized that I had risen when I saw his face when I heard the thud of the chair slumped behind me.

“My God.” I muttered, putting my hand over my mouth.

Dylan O'Brien was standing in front of me.

“Calm down, Y/N, I can...” he began to say, but I just wanted to know one thing.

“Why?”

“When I came in that day, I realized you needed a friend and I didn't want my identity to get in the way.”

Although my fan side wanted to jump on him, I stepped back, as if I'd been stabbed.

“Don’t you trust me?!” I felt outraged.

“No, no, no. Is not it.” He came quickly to my side of the table, holding my face and wiping away the tears I didn't even realize were falling. “But I didn't know at first if you were a fan or not, and I wanted to be your friend.”

“And why tell me now?” I asked, trying not to freak out as I realized what was really going on.

“It seems that I fell in love with my fan, owner of this bookstore.”

Seeing his features and his beauty marks that I watched so much on television, videos and photos, I just had the reaction of jumping into his arms and holding him as tightly as I could.

“Was that a fan hug, friendly hug or...?” He asked, laughing.

“I think all three of them.” I said, feeling him hold me tighter against him.

His scent flooded my senses and his warmth warmed me. I could stay forever in that hug and wouldn't complain. I slowly separated from him, watching his hazel eyes that I had dreamed of seeing personally. I bit my lower lip on impulse, and winced as his eyes followed my movement. When I least expected it, I felt his lips crash against mine. I lost my senses when his tongue invaded my mouth and touched mine. I had so much time that I didn't go out with anyone I didn't even remember what it was like to kiss, so I let him guide me. His hands came down to my waist and as he squeezed me tighter, breaking any space between our bodies. I wrapped my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss further. I felt him shiver as I lightly scratched the back of his neck and ended up breaking the kiss by smiling over his lips.

“Forgive me.” He whispered against my lips. “I want to do it the right way. Do you want to go out with me, Y/N?” He asked, and I thanked him for holding me around the waist and keeping me on my feet.

I smiled at him, unable to believe it. “Of course I do.”

Dylan hugged me once more and I snuggled against his chest.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you before.” He muttered, and I shivered as I felt his breath against the back of my neck.

“I wanted to be mad at you, but I just can't.”

He laughed, and I felt his body vibrate against mine. “Good then.”

I turned away from him, a little embarrassed.

“Can I... be a fan for a moment and ask for a picture with you?”

Dylan laughed audibly but nodded. I grinned as he hugged me from behind so I could snap the picture. He turned to face me soon after, keeping his hands on my hips.

“I'll pick you up here tonight at eight, sounds good?”

I nodded, smiling. Dylan stole one more kiss before he left.

And I couldn't stop thinking that the feeling of already knowing D was because I really did.

And I was already in love with him.

#dylan o'brien #dylan o'brien fanfiction #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan o'brien x reader

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much-obliged-timothy · 4 years

Text

Whumptober #16

Midnighter and Apollo - #16 - Hallucinations

I had like no time to write this how I really wanted to, or proofread it, I am so sorry alkdjlsa

“Come on, guys, you have to know this is a waste of time,” Midnighter said as he was dragged along.

“Shut it,” one of his captors said, stabbing a knife into his shoulder.

Midnighter winced. “You know, ‘shut it’ was good enough. No need to stab me. Can I speak to your manager?”

He was irritated but unsurprised to be stabbed in the other shoulder. Man, these guys weren’t even the fun kind of banter villains.

He and Apollo had been called out to a job, courtesy of Spyral. The villains were some group Midnighter had never heard of, and appeared to have been expecting them. They’d promptly distracted Apollo and managed to inject Midnighter with something that left him partially paralyzed, whisking him away before Apollo could notice.

They kept injecting him frequently, apparently aware of his quick recovery abilities. Midnighter was more annoyed than anything, though.

He’d get out of this eventually. His body was already starting to adjust to whatever they kept injecting him with, recovering from it a little faster each time. It was just a matter of patience now, for the moment he could catch them off guard and strike.

He and Apollo had a dinner reservation tonight. He wasn’t letting some lame villains spoil his evening.

He waited patiently as they took him to a room and bound his arms and legs securely. It’d be easy enough to slip once he could feel all his limbs again, despite how cautious they were being. He’d been in worse situations.

By now, Apollo was probably tearing about the streets looking for him to yell at him. Midnighter mentally sighed as he imagined the lecture he was going to get over this.

“Ah, the Midnighter,” a woman said, entering the room. A sleek mask covered her face, a symbol on it that Midnighter didn’t recognize.

“New to the villain business? No clue who you are,” Midnighter informed her.

She stepped closer to him, a few lackeys filing in behind her. “Oh, no. Henry told me all about you. I knew him. I always thought you sounded like a fascinating science experiment.”

Midnighter tensed the slightest. “Well, it certainly didn’t end well for him. Sure you want to try your luck?”

“You don’t scare me, Midnighter,” she said, gesturing to her men.

They swarmed him, and Midnighter tried to struggle away. His body was still uncooperative, though, and they managed to stick tubes into him.

His breathing hitched the slightest as he thought of the horrific experiments Henry used to carry out on him. Making him the perfect killer, the perfect weapon. Agony and blood and screams, all of it worth it to Henry and anguish to Midnighter.

He shook himself. He’d get out of this. He had a dinner date to keep.

The woman knelt before him, reaching out and cupping his cheek in her hand. She pulled his mask off, dropping it into his lap.

“Sweet dreams, Midnighter,” she said. “We’ll talk again when you’re more...cooperative.”

Midnighter opened his mouth to reply, but his tongue suddenly felt too heavy, his vision blurring. He closed his eyes to shake it off, but when he opened them, there was no one there.

Where was he? He looked around the unfamiliar room, and stood up. His limbs weren’t cooperating, and he staggered, catching himself on the wall.

“Midnighter?”

He lifted his head, his thoughts fuzzy. “Apollo?”

Apollo came into the room, relief on his face. “Midnighter. Finally. Are you okay?”

He pressed a hand to his head. “I think so. Just...foggy.”

He looked back to Apollo, and had the stirrings of dread in his gut. Like he’d been here before. Like he’d been in this exact situation.

“M? What’s wrong?” Apollo put a hand to his arm, but he was so numb, he couldn’t even feel the touch.

“I...don’t know. We need to get out of here, Apollo,” he said. He knew that much. Whatever was happening, he had to get Apollo out of here.

“Come on. You don’t look so good. Let’s get out of here,” Apollo said, leading him towards the door. “I killed most of the guards on my way in, I think. We should still be careful, though. You don’t look up to fighting shape.”

“No, I’m fine,” Midnighter said, despite how detached and disoriented he felt. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I always do, M,” Apollo said quietly. “Let’s hurry. Okay?”

“Sure,” he said, stumbling after Apollo.

Apollo moved slowly, guiding him down hallways he barely even registered. It was quiet in the building, and he thought they might’ve passed dead bodies, but the details flickered away from his mind as soon as he took his eyes away from the sights.

“Here,” Apollo said, pointing to a door. “The exit is just through this room here.”

That dread stirred again. Midnighter reached a hand out to stop him.

“Wait, Andrew, don’t-”

Too late. Apollo pushed the door open.

They were waiting inside, armed. Before Apollo could react, one of them leapt out from behind the door and drove a blade into his gut.

“Apollo!” Midnighter cried, trying to catch him as he fell. His clumsy hands missed, and Apollo fell to his knees, hands pressed to his badly bleeding wound. No, no, he was going to-

Midnighter would protect him. He had to.

He stepped in front of Apollo, readying himself. He could do this. He’d take them all out, sluggish as he was. Apollo would be fine if he could just get them out of here.

But he couldn’t see their movements.

They came at him, weapons in hand, masks covering their faces. And Midnighter couldn’t read their moves.

Two grabbed him and held him still while the rest rushed Apollo. Midnighter tried to struggle, horror surging through him.

“Stay away from him!” he yelled.

“M, help,” Apollo choked out, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth as they drove another blade into his gut.

“Get the hell off him!” Midnighter snarled, struggling.

For all his strength, for every advantage he had, he could not break free. They stabbed Apollo again, and he cried out, a heart-wrenching noise.

“M!” he yelled, hitting the ground hard, blood pooling beneath him, staining his white costume. “M, help me!”

“Stop,” Midnighter practically begged, because he knew, he knew he wouldn’t make it in time, he knew he wouldn’t be strong enough.

He’d been here before. He’d seen Apollo die. He knew he wasn’t going to be enough to save him. He knew.

“Please, M, please!” Apollo reached out for him, and Midnighter couldn’t even lift his hand to reach back. There was so much blood.

Apollo cried out with each wound they inflicted on him, slow and meticulous. And all the while, he begged for Midnighter’s help, desperate eyes finding Midnighter.

Because he trusted Midnighter to save him. And Midnighter was going to fail him.

Just like he had before.

Just like he always did.

“Midnighter!”

It was Midnighter’s turn to cry out as something was torn from his flesh, his head flaring with a sharp pain. His eyes snapped open, that image of Apollo bloodied and dying overlaying the fuzzy scene before him.

“M, help me!” Apollo’s voice rang in his ears.

“Get off him,” Midnighter said weakly, his voice hoarse. “Get the hell off of him.”

“M, look at me. Look at me.”

Apollo’s voice was there, but he couldn’t focus on it, not over Apollo’s screams. It was a dizzying duality, and he closed his eyes, pressing his hands over his ears. He was going crazy.

There was a pressure on his back, barely noticeable. He lashed out with struggling limbs, and someone caught his arm.

“Just me,” Apollo’s voice said, at the same time it screamed in pain. Midnighter flinched. “Oh, Christ, M, what did they do to you?”

“Don’t hurt him,” Midnighter managed as that bloodied image flashed before his eyes again.

“Midnighter, it’s me. It’s Andrew,” Apollo said. “I came for you. Spyral is here with me. You’re okay.”

“Apollo,” a familiar voice said. Tiger? Midnighter thought it might be Tiger. “We’ve got her here.”

“What the hell did you do to him?” Apollo snarled.

Midnighter’s vision cleared just enough to see the woman from before, her mask taken from her. She just gave a smug grin, and then his vision flashed back to Apollo dying.

“Do you know what he’s been seeing for the last six hours while you searched for him? He’s been seeing you dying, over and over again. He stands there helplessly while he watches you die. Maybe you caught me, but not before I broke Henry’s favorite toy. He would’ve made a wonderful weapon. A damn shame one of my men talked,” she said.

“Hallucinations,” Tiger said after a moment, his voice much closer. “They were injecting him with this to make him hallucinate. It looks like she’d engineered it so it would mix with his fight computer. She was controlling his hallucinations and mixing them with his memories.”

“Six hours of that.” Warmth engulfed Midnighter’s side. “Son of a bitch. M, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”

“It won’t wear off for a while,” Tiger warned. “We should take him in to observe him until it’s out of his system. This isn’t over.”

Midnighter grasped blindly at the warmth. Apollo. It was Apollo. Hugging him, even as he died before Midnighter’s eyes.

“Dinner,” Midnighter choked out. “We had...reservations…”

Apollo let out a strangled laugh. “We’ll reschedule. Oh, hell. Hell. M. I can’t...I’m here. I’m here, and I’m okay, and you’re going to be okay.”

They were stabbing him again. Midnighter didn’t know what was reality and what was in his head. He gripped Apollo tighter.

“Stop,” he pleaded. “Stop hurting him.”

“Shhh. Sh. I’m here. We’re both okay.” Something pressed against his hair. Apollo. Alive.

Alive beside him. Dying before him.

It was all too much.

Midnighter let out an anguished scream, pressing his hands to his ears again. The warmth grew as Apollo held him closer, tighter. Muffled words trying to penetrate his ears, but the screams were there, too.

“I’m here til the end,” Apollo said, pulling Midnighter’s arms down. “It’ll be over soon, M. Christ. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, M, I’m here, it’s okay, we’re okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t here before. I’m sorry this happened. I’ve got you now. I swear I’ve got you now.”

His words were reassuring in Midnighter’s ears, but his heart tore to pieces as, before him, Apollo gave in to his stab wounds and the brilliant light left his eyes.

Midnighter sucked in a deep breath, and screamed.

#midnighter and apollo #midnighter #apollo dc #whumptober2020 #no. 16 #hallucinations #fic #dc midnighter #jtdoeswhumptober #My writing #my post

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bonesaldente · 4 years

Text

Caliginous I Darth Maul x Reader

Chapter 10: The Capture

read this on ao3

last chapter

warnings: violence

words: 3000+

-----------

“It’s truly disappointing.”

Your ears are ringing and your eyelids still feel too heavy to lift, but that exaggerated sigh can only belong to one person.

“Such a waste of potential, Y/N. And what for? You could have had a bright future with us, you were one of our best. But now…”

You flinch as a wave of electricity is sent through your body, starting at your wrist that are tied up over your head. Slowly, you force your eyes to open and assess the situation.

The room you’re in is only dimly lit, but you can still see Magnus’ face, and it hurts. It hurts to see the man you were so close to considering a father figure watch as you writhe in pain with such indifference on his face.

Somebody else is standing next to him, wearing a mask. Magnus gives them a signal with his right hand, and they approach you with loud footsteps, pulling out a long knife.

As soon as you attempt to move your lower body, somehow try to kick him, you feel thorns boring into the skin on your legs, followed by the sensation of warm blood running down on them.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t try that.” Magnus states dryly. “Though, it might be better than what we have planned for you, my dear.” He laughs out. “Who knows?”

You gasp as the masked person slashes at your side, creating a cut from just below your armpit to the small of your back, the pain sending tears to your eyes.

“Magnus,” your voice comes out raspy and broken. How long have you been unconscious? “If I die here,” a violent cough interrupts you, and as your muscles contract against your will, the thorns bore even deeper into your skin. “If I die here, everything I know will be shared with the public. I … I made sure of that.”

He hums quietly. “I believe that, you are not stupid, I know that. But you know what?”

You are getting a bad feeling in your stomach.

“It won’t make any difference to you. Because you will be dead, won’t you? You may have exposed part of this organization, but for what? Your short existence will be over.”

He takes to circling around you, hands clasped behind his back in a very business-like manner.

“You overestimate your importance, little Y/N.” Little. It’s worse than a stab wound to your chest, the surge of pain you are feeling. It’s what he used to address you as when you had just joined the guild, when you were only a lost little child, when he was one of the few people, if not the only person, who looked out for you. How could this be the same man?

“The information you hold is important, yes, but not critical to our existence. A leak is inconvenient, but not unaccounted for. You can’t even begin to understand the inner workings of our organization, child.”

It’s too hard to look into his face, so instead you choose to focus your blurry gaze on the wall behind him, the small gap between the door and the wall. You try to look through it, but the masked man is blocking your view.

You wince as more electricity sends your body into spasms, taking a few seconds to regain your breath before you ask the one question that’s been on your mind.

“What about… him?”

“You mean the Sith that is the reason you left?” He does not seem pleased anymore. “It won’t matter to you anymore.”

He didn’t say they caught him. How would they even do that? They probably just shocked him the same way they did you, and then abandoned him. Even the Concinnity wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill a Sith apprentice and risk the wrath of the Sith master - whoever that was.

“We do have one offer to make to you, and I advice you accept this sign of our graciousness. We offer you your life back, to work for us once again - in exchange for the location of the data chip that I am sure you used to document all your knowledge of us.”

They want you to go back to being one of their servants, doing the dirty work while they try to control every aspect of your life.

‘We offer you your life back,’

Was it really a life, though?

At first it seems you are left with no choice: Either, they kill you, or they force you back into their service - It is good bargaining on their part, considering you came here thinking you would hold the cards for once.

There is one flaw in their equation, however. They must have assumed that Maul would just leave you here, avoid the hassle of rescuing you, because it would be impractical. They think you are just a pawn in his quest, but you know better. You’ve seen the emotion behind those pools of yellow, you know he will come to you, if only he knew where to find you.

If only you knew.

Maybe if the masked guy would move just a tiny bit, you’d be able to catch a glimpse of what lies beyond the walls around you.

Just… provoke him.

Collecting your last bit of bravery, you tilt your head back, then throw it forward, spitting at the man’s feet.

Enraged, he lifts the knife and charges at you, moving from his spot in front of the door, allowing you to see - for the fraction of a second - the wooden floor in the hallway.

You bite your tongue to suppress a cry when he drags the knife up the entirety of your arm, followed by a slap in your face. You press your eyes closed and picture the wooden floor again, its reddish tone, the brick walls… and suddenly you know exactly where you are.

Faintly, you hear Magnus’ voice; “That’ll be enough for today, knock her out”

Panickedly, you try to focus on your thoughts, thinking one name.

‘Maul’

You don’t await a response, instead trying to conjure up the image of the cantina in your mind, praying to whatever force there was that Maul could see your thoughts.

A searing pain makes you cry out as the electricity passes through your body once again and you fall back into darkness.

You have lost track of time. Have a few hours passed, or has it been days? You are hungry, is all you know. Are they planning on feeding you, or will they kill you before it gets to that point?

The last time you saw Magnus, he was asking you to reconsider, to give them the location and accept their offer, which still brings a cynical feeling of joy to your heart; If they are giving you so many chances to still cooperate, they must truly be desperate, meaning your knowledge of the guild is far more significant than Magnus originally let on.

Right now, you are alone. They probably haven’t realized you are conscious again, because if they did, you are sure they would already be pestering you again, trying to change your mind through torture; a pathetic concept, designed for the weak-minded.

Your mind wanders to Maul. You haven’t heard his voice inside your head, but that doesn’t have to mean he hasn’t heard you. You have jumped to the conclusion that projecting one’s thoughts must be a harder feat than to read others’ minds: Maybe it is a desperate little string of hope, but it is all you have at the moment, and you don’t intend on letting go of it.

He will come.

You repeat the thought in your head until it becomes a kind of mantra, something to distract you from the agonizing pain every single one of your nerve strings is emitting.

Your eyelids are drooping shut with exhaustion, the feeling in your hands long gone. There must be blood all over you, but the sparse lighting inside the room doesn’t allow for you to see. Maybe, you don’t even want to know.

The door opens with a creak and your head shoots up.

“This is your last chance.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate any further.

“You know my answer.” Your voice sounds horrible from the lack of hydration. You haven’t been given water in, well, at least ten hours, you guess, maybe a day, or longer.

“Then this has come to an end.” He turns his head to the hooded man that accompanies him. “Finish her.”

You can’t fight the tears that now well up in your eyes at the realization that this is how it’s ending - as a prisoner of the ones who have controlled your life for as long as you remember, waiting for a man to rescue you who has yet to show up. What a cruel, cruel fate. Is this truly what you deserve?

The hooded man steps up to you, hand at the handle of a knife. He is going to slit your throat, the Concinnity signature move, if you want to call it that. They said it was the most elegant way to kill, the least barbaric. Ironic, given your treatment.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, your last one, waiting for him to do it, to get it over with.

A startled gasp followed by the hum of a lightsaber makes you open your eyes again. The man is slumped forward, blood spluttering from a wound through his torso, while Magnus is pushed against the wall by an invisible force that originates from the outstretched hand of…

Maul.

The sudden sense of relief is mixed with a feeling of absolute adoration, such a pure and unmatched emotion that for a moment, you don’t feel the pain, or the cold.

He darts to you, cutting through the shackles that have been holding you up by your wrists, catching you as you tumble to the ground. He wastes no time in taking off the barbed wire that’s tied around your legs with one hand, while using the other to stabilize your weary body.

“You’re hurt,” he states, quietly, worriedly.

“Good... observation” Your words are slurred, your lips refusing to follow the orders your brain gives them.

“What are we doing about him?” He gestures to Magnus who is still pressed against the wall.

“We… we need him,” you mumble, “to call off the bounty hunters.”

“Ah, yes.” He gently moves you to sit with your back against the wall, before walking over to the wheezing man.

You can’t see exactly what he is doing, but his voice adopts a new, different tone, as he speaks to him. It’s almost hypnotic.

“You will call off the bounty hunters and everyone else you have sent out to get her. You will leave Y/N alone and never interact with, mention, or even think about her again.”

All you hear in response is an agreeing array of words. It seems to satisfy the zabrak, and he is immediately back by your side, lifting you up in his arms, your head resting against his chest.

You must have passed out in his arms. When you wake up in a bed, a real bed, you have absolutely no recollection of how you ended up there, all you know is you feel surprisingly… good?

The constant pain in your legs is gone, just like the injury on your side. The bruises the electro shocks must have caused are still there, but they seem faint - you must have been in a bacta tank, it is the only explanation for your condition.

Which brings you back to the real question: Where are you?

The room is small, and sparsely decorated. It looks like a room in a medical center; designed to be at least somewhat comforting, but still reminding you that you’re only here because something went very wrong.

The door flies open and Maul enters, though at first you can hardly tell it’s him - he is wearing a long coat, and his hood is pulled down so far, anyone unfamiliar with him would not be able to make out his face.

His voice is quiet when he speaks up, still a few feet away from your bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Did you... did you bring me here?” The question is stupid, of course he did, but your mind is still in a state of confusion.

“Yes. Your injuries… they were to severe to be treated on the ship.”

“Where are we?” Your briefly relaxed state of mind is replaced by worry.

“Still on Kessel.” He lifts his hand when he sees your eyes widen. “Do not worry. You are safe.”

His eyes roam over your form before he continues. “Do you feel strong enough to leave yet?”

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed to get up, only now noticing you are no longer in your own attire, but in a loose white shirt and white shorts. A medic must have taken your clothes off to treat your wounds.

You don’t miss the way Maul’s eyes linger on the freshly exposed skin of your legs for a little longer than the rest of your body, a flush of red creeping onto your face.

You stand up, cautiously moving your arms and legs, cracking your neck and finally stretching your arms above your head.

“I feel good. Let me change into my clothes before we leave though.”

You walk over to a chair in the corner where you spotted your clothes, neatly folded up into a small stack.

You turn around, to see that Maul is still standing in the room.

“Would you mind, uh” You awkwardly point to the door, red making its way on your face again. “I mean you don’t have to-”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” He is lucky. With his skin tone, it’s impossible to tell if he is blushing or not.

The door shuts behind him and you quickly change out of the hospital attire, inspecting the almost entirely healed wounds. Bacta is truly a magnificent invention.

You open the door again and see Maul slouched against the wall. He looks unusually tired, you have never seen him in a state like this.

“Are you okay?”

He seems surprised at the question, making you wonder if that is a question he isn’t asked very often.

Hesitantly, he answers. “Yes. Let’s just leave.”

He is quiet on the way back to the ship, more so than he usually is. Tension hangs in the air, though you can’t quite identify its source.

“Tell me.” You order as you lean against the wall of the cockpit while the ship takes off. “You are unwell. What’s the matter?” Cautiously, you tug at his hood to pull it down from his head in an attempt to get a better look at his face.

He closes his eyes before muttering: “Just… lack sleep”

Oh. That makes sense. He probably didn’t sleep while you were captured, and then you were in the medical center-

“Then go, I can watch over this for a while.”

He focuses his gaze back on you, frowning. “You dislike flying.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s on autopilot anyways.”

He doesn’t seem completely satisfied, but eventually gives in with a quiet sigh, getting up from the pilot’s seat and moving past you to the lift, his steps lacking the determination and confidence they usually hold.

The way your heart clenches slightly is a reminder of how much you care. Maybe your emotions for him lie deeper than you thought - more than curiosity, more than just attraction.

Your heart thuds against your ribcage as your mind wanders.

Are you in love with the zabrak?

Space is… calm. The silence is accompanied only by the occasional beeping sounds from the control panel and the soft hum of the engine. It gives you the opportunity to finally think. Reflect. Plan.

What do you want from the future?

You don’t really know. You’ve never had the option of deciding on much of your life before, so it seems like the world suddenly holds endless possibilities for you. Well, technically, you still don’t really have that many choices: Despite his … kindness, and whatever it is that goes beyond that, the original foundation your partnership is built on is you not being able to reveal their identities by either working with them or … dieing.

You would like to say you mind. You would like to feel like a victim of yet another controlling figure in your life, but if you’re being honest, you like this.

So what do you really want?

All you can think of is to keep things the way they are right now. Side by side with Maul, doing jobs for his master, keeping up a relationship between the two of you - if he wants, that is. You don’t really know about the nature of his feelings, you realize. And his master too: Would he even allow such a thing? You know the Jedi don’t allow attachments, but since the Sith are basically the opposite of what the Jedi stand for, maybe…

You decide to head downstairs, telling yourself it’s to go to the refresher, but knowing deep down that you are just trying to catch a glimpse of the sleeping zabrak.

The doors open with the familiar hiss. Immediately, you stare to your right, where you know Maul’s sleeping compartment is, and your heart skips a beat.

The zabrak looks so utterly at peace, his head rolled to the side, lips parted and one hand on his stomach, the other dangling over the edge of the bed frame. You hold your breath as you listen to him slowly inhale and exhale, breathe in, breathe out.

An unfamiliar tingling sensation spreads through your insides, and you want nothing more than to gently caress his beautifully adorned face, maybe trace the lines that span across it, follow the slight curve of his horns…

You force yourself to snap out of it and rush to the refresher, careful to not make any noise to disturb his sleep as you shut the door. It would be downright shameful to disrupt this rare display of peace.

_________

next chapter

_________

sorry that updates are coming out kinda slow, but I’m always trying to have at least the next one or two chapters written out before posting. I am officially on break now, which means I have a little more time on my hands.

Hope you enjoyed :)

@princessayveke @spaghetti-666

#darth maul #maul #darth maul x reader #maul x reader #star wars x reader #star wars fanfiction #sith

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izzielizzie · 3 years

Note

Addy/Keely fic for Helicopter by Maisie Peters?

i was genuinely screaming when i got this ask because tbh this is a perfect song for them since i’ve always thought of addy as constantly taking risks/doing something stupid and keely is just like ??? and if this seems mildly unhinged it’s because I haven’t slept in over a day i’m running on coffee, also half of the weird things addy does in this have been attempted by my boyfriend so he’s the crazy one not me

Babe, without me, you are just so defenseless

For motorbikes and girls who might try break your heart

When Keely heard Addy had gotten a motorcycle to match Nate she nearly had a heart attack.

"You want to drive a motorcycle?" she had asked incredulously.

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?" Addy had responded, the picture of innocence. As if she hadn't nearly gotten run over by a shopping cart the day before.

"Addy! No offence but you're not exactly the most coordinated person in the world," Keely had said, gently grasping Addy's hand in hers.

"Pshaw," Addy had said, literally waving her hand in the air as if dismissing the fear. Keely didn't know if she was supposed to laugh or cry.

Now, as Keely clings to Addy as they drive her motorcycle to Nate’s apartment to show him, and Addy nearly swerves as she turns to tell Keely about the last girl who nearly broke her heart.

“Addy watch out!” Keely screams as Addy straightens.

“Whoops. Sorry!” she calls over her shoulder, wavering again. Keely leans her helmeted head on Addy’s back. This is going to be a long drive.

So I'm pretty sure that I should make you breakfast

“Breakfast time!” Addy calls the next morning, jumping on the couch where they had falling asleep after their movie night and pulling Keely out of a deep sleep.

“What did you make?”

Addy hesitates for a moment before answering: “Pancakes!”

“Great,” Keely responds, following Addy out of the room, passing the kitchen on her way to the bathroom. She glances into the kitchen and does a double take. “Addy! What did you do?”

Keely steps into the kitchen, her mouth hanging open. The counter is covered with flour and egg shells are scattered on the floor. A pool of milk is steadily dripping onto the floor.

“Addy what did you do?” Keely repeats in shock.

Addy peers into the room, resting her head on Keely’s shoulder. “Oh I was playing music and was kind of in the zone. Also the pancakes burned.”

“So why did you tell me you made breakfast?” Keely turns to see Addy’s puppy eyes.

“Fine, I’ll make you pancakes.”

And then I should never leave the front seat of your car

Keely is still gripping the handle of Addy’s car when she pulls up in front of Keely’s parents’ house. Addy had been jamming out to Britney Spears for the entirety of the ride, scaring Keely.

“Are you going anywhere after you drop me off?” Keely asks.

“Yeah to Contigo. Why?”

“I think I’ll stay here, make sure you don’t do something stupid.” Keely re-buckles herself.

You are important so of course it maddens me

When you're nonchalant about your own mortality

“Why are you always so worried about me?” Addy asks as she merges back on the road smoothly.

“Because you don’t seem to care that half the stuff you do is going to get you killed!”

“No they’re not,” Addy says. “When have I even done anything stupid?” Keely opens her answer, but Addy cuts her off. “You know what, don’t answer that.”

As Addy turns to look Keely, she nearly swerves onto the sidewalk. “Watch out!” Keely nearly screams. Addy straightens the car, a look of hurt on her face. Keely doesn’t yell. Not normally. Keely sighs and laces her fingers with Addy’s free hand - something that normally Keely would insist against.

“Sorry Adds. It’s just you’re so casual about this stuff and I really love you. I can’t deal with you getting yourself killed because you wanted to see what Cooper’s head looked like from the top by climbing a wall.”

Addy snorts. “That was pretty epic.”

“You could have just asked him to bend down,” Keely says, ignoring her.

“Yeah but it was epic,” Addy insists as she parks across the street from Contigo. Keely shakes her head at her.

Please be more careful when you cross the road

They’re about to step onto the street when a car comes flying, and Keely pulls Addy back into her.

“Whoa are you okay?” Keely asks.

“Yeah, I’m good. But I bet I could have jumped onto that car like they do in action movies.”

You're a perfect arrangement of rickety bones

They’re about to start walking again when Addy’s knee pops. Keely looks at her sideways.

“Right. Defiantly could have jumped onto a moving car,” she says. Addy snorts as she takes Keely’s hand in hers.

So forgive me

If I hover close

Addy is finally settling into the swing of things at Contigo when she turns to head to the kitchen and crashes into Keely.

“Keely! What?”

“Sorry! I’m sorry. I just need to make sure you weren’t going to spill those nachos on yourself.”

I'm a helicopter

'Cause I love you so

“You’re like the girlfriend version of helicopter parents.” Addy is torn between adoration and annoyance.

“Only because I love you.”

“I know,” Addy says with a smile, leaning forward to kiss her.

Oh, bear with me

Darling, you should know

“That tray isn’t too heavy though?” Keely asks as Addy emerges from the kitchen.

I'm a helicopter

'Cause I love you so

“I’m fine, helicopter.”

“Love you!” Keely calls, her cheeks creasing into a smile.

Addy sticks her tongue out over her shoulder.

It's not interfering if you can't be trusted

To treasure that heart like I do

“Are you sure Addy isn’t going to go insane with your interfering?” Luis asks, following Addy out of the kitchen.

“Luis. It’s not interfering if she can’t be trusted to take care of herself like I can.”

Luis raises his eyebrows at her.

“Come on you’re really telling me you never take away Maeve’s coffee when she’s had too much?”

“Touché,” Luis says, nudging his shoulder against hers.

Your sense of danger is antique and rusted

And mine's laser sharp, oh, when it comes to you

“So would it be dangerous if I tried to untie myself from chains upside down like a magician?” Addy asks casually as they lay in bed one night.

“Yes!” Keely says firmly.

“Okay great so I’m not taking Nate up on that dare.”

“No, no you’re not. Also care to explain to me why I had to pick you up from the hospital because you had M&Ms in your nose?”

“Not really,” Addy says.

“Was it a bet?”

“No! Possibly... yes.”

Keely sighs and pulls Addy closer, running her hands through her short hair. “Next time you try to do something stupid, check in with me first okay?”

“Deal,” Addy mumbles sleepily into Keely’s shoulder.

When you wait for a train, don't cross the yellow line

“Don’t cross that line,” Keely says, pulling her back. They’re at the train station.

“Helicopter,” Addy mumbles under her breath as she snuggles Keely.

Don't run with scissors, and don't text and drive

“Addy! Are you running and holding scissors?” Keely asks as she enters Maeve and Bronwyn’s living room.

“Yes. I’m trying to make this poster making thing efficient.”

“By getting yourself stabbed to death?”

“No! By making sure Cooper has great posters.”

“Blood doesn’t make for good poster decorations,” Keely says dryly as she pulls the scissors out of her girlfriend’s hand and handing them to Kris.

“Okay fine, can I have my phone back?”

Keely fishes a hand in her purse. “Yes sorry.” She hands the phone back.

“Let me guess,” Addy says, talking over Keely. “Don’t text and drive?”

“You got it,” Keely says with a grin.

Call me the minute you get to your dad's

I'll be worried all night and I won't wanna ask

Addy hugs Keely tightly at the airport. Addy’s going to Chicago to visit her dad, and she’s getting anxious.

“I love you,” she says into Keely’s hair.

“I love you more,” Keely insists, wrapping her arms around Addy’s waist.

“I’ll call you when I get there.”

“Because you’ll miss me?”

“Because I don’t want you to worry.”

“Yeah,” Keely says, pulling away and putting her hands on Addy’s shoulders, studying her face. “You’ll miss me.”

So forgive me

If I hover close

“How was the trip?” Keely asks a week later, as she stands at the airport parking lot in front of her car.

“Good!”

“Was your dad okay? Your stepmom? Your stepbrother?”

I'm a helicopter

'Cause I love you so

“Gosh girl, chill with the questions. You know I don’t like them.” Addy slams the passenger door shut, trying to forget how much she liked building tours with her seven year old brother.

“I know. But I also know that deep down you do.”

Oh, bear with me

Darling, you should know

“What are you, a psychic?” Addy asks, never able to stay mad at the girl she adores so much.

“Nah, just your girlfriend.”

I'm a helicopter

Addy grins and pulls Keely in for a kiss. “Even better... helicopter.”

#the amount of time my phone autocorrected addy to andy was insane #addy prentiss #keely (oou)#addy/keely #one of us is lying #one of us is next #i apologize for typos i am very tired #izzielizzie's fics

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avengerscompound · 4 years

Text

The Tower: The Queen of Asgard - 29

The Tower: The Queen of Asgard An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing: Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 3055

Warnings: Talk of sex

Synopsis: The twins are now three and while the Avengers know that Clint and Thor are the biological father’s none of them know or care which blond, blue-eyed baby is related to which man. When Riley gets the power to control wind and it becomes evident that she is the heir to the Asgardian throne, Elly, Steve, Thor, and Tony take the twins to Asgard to train her.

Not every Asgardian is happy with their king’s choice of consort, nor the impurity of the heir’s blood. While others expect Thor to make things more official. What’s clear is, the role of Queen of Asgard is not easily filled.

Author’s Note: Written with @fanficwriter013 who is never going to get off that train.

Chapter 29: Henhalda

Sometime in the early morning some people came into Thor’s room and told us it was time to separate. We all went to our respective rooms. I woke the next morning to Clarke shaking me gently. I groaned and rubbed my eyes.

“Well, you look blitzed,” she teased.

“Mmm…” I grumbled sitting up. “Did you have fun?”

“Oh, yes,” she said grinning. “Here I have breakfast for you. Eat and I’ll tell you all about it.”

As I ate breakfast she regaled me with the story of the small orgy she and Jax ended up having that included Hill, Coulson, Carol, Happy, and a bunch of the Asgardians including Sif and Hogun. She said they’d taken it to Sif’s rooms and that the other’s had all gone to bed not long after us. It sounded pretty wild even for my standards, and I was glad she had fun.

I was just finishing up with my breakfast when Loki let herself in without knocking. “Hurry it up. You reek of sex and you need to bathe before Henhalda starts properly.” She barked.

I saluted her and shoved the last piece of my food into my mouth. She shook her head and left the room, closing the door behind her.

“It’s funny because as much as Loki particularly likes anyone, she likes me. But also, I annoy the shit out of her,” I said getting up.

“Does Loki like anyone?” Clarke joked.

“She has people that go from tolerate to love. She just expresses her love differently.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Through sarcasm?”

“That and only stabbing non-fatally,” I joked. “Alright. I better go bathe then. See you in a bit.”

I went and bathed and came back to my room in a robe. Clarke had been joined by Katveil and they were talking about the party while Katveil set up her brushes and inks.

“Good morning, Elly!” The way Katveil said my name was like a little kid who had just been told they can use a curse word. A little scared they might get in trouble but excited to try the word on their tongue. “Are you excited about tomorrow?”

“So excited. I never let myself want this before now. And now I am getting it, it’s one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.” I said taking off my robe.

“I’m so happy for you all,” she said. “Get comfortable. We are going to be here for a long time.”

I tied my hair up and lay down on my stomach and Katveil began to carefully fill in the linework she had done yesterday.

“So reflecting… do I just close my eyes and think about them?” I asked.

“We could ask you questions if that will help,” Katveil said.

“Okay, yes. That could work.” I agreed.

“Hmm… okay then,” Katveil said. “Do you have a favorite?”

I thought about the question seriously. The answer was always automatically no, but there was more to it than just yes or no. “No. But it’s different with all of them and some feel like they are more mine than others. Like Sam and Clint are like my best friends and I love being around them. Like all the time. Whereas Bruce and Tony challenge me, they push a lot, but I am very protective of them and I feel like they are mine. They don’t belong to the others the way they belong to me. But while they are mine, I feel like I am Natasha’s.”

“Huh,” Katveil said. “I haven’t really been in a relationship. So I don’t really have anything to compare that to.”

“Well, you have all the time in the world. I didn’t understand it until I was in the middle of it. And not just the polyamory stuff. But just being in love in general,” I explained.

“Oh?” Katveil asked.

“Oh yeah,” I said, smiling to myself. “Before them, I didn’t think I was the relationship type. I didn’t understand love. I didn’t understand romance. I didn’t even really trust people.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” Clarke teased.

“Well, it’s true,” I snarked. “I only started up with Nat because I knew she dated other people and I couldn’t get hurt if it never got serious.”

“Huh,” Katveil said. She stopped painting for a moment and then quickly went back to it like she’d just realized what she was supposed to be doing.

“You should see this thing, Blue,” Clarke said.

“I wish that I could,” I said. “But I can tell you, being painted on feels amazing.”

“Then I’m doing my job well,” Katveil said.

“I bet Hulk is enjoying it.” I hummed, imagining him lying down and being painted on.

“Is he the Hulk?” Katveil asked.

“I think so. Bruce was having a lot of trouble handling it,” I said. “It’s a shame though, it’s so relaxing.”

“I am sure they are working with him nicely,” Katveil said.

I chuckled. “If they weren’t we’d know about it.”

Clarke cracked up. “Yeah, that would draw some attention.”

Katveil chuckled and the three of us fell into mostly silence. I relaxed, letting the brush strokes on my back ease me into a light doze.

“So…” Katveil said after a little while. “Before you said the feelings were different with each of them?”

“Yes. It’s just as much, but for each of them it feels different,” I explained. “Like with Wanda. She’s really soft and caring and she makes me feel nurtured and nurturing. I want to be quiet with her and cuddle and hold each other. With Tony, I have to keep my jealousy in check because I get a little possessive of him. He was very hurt when I met him and it’s almost like I don’t trust anyone else not to hurt him again. Natasha, it feels super white-hot most of the time, but I also know when I’m at my weakest she’ll be there to wrap me up and make me feel protected.”

“I guess that makes sense. Different people need different things,” she mused.

“Exactly. Just like that,” I said.

“Tell me about each one,” she said.

I thought about it for a moment. “I love how Bruce can be soft and shy and gently and then rough and commanding and it's me that brings though out of him. I like geeking out about biology with him. I love it when he starts talking about things and I can't even understand what he's talking about anymore.

“And with Natasha, I love how loyal she is. How protective. How wild she can get and how bossy. I love how well she reads us and can always tell exactly what we need even when we don't know it. I love that with me, she lets herself be vulnerable and afraid and she knows I don't judge her for it.”

“That’s cute,” Katveil said affectionately.

“Okay... so Clint is a big dork. I love that about him. How funny he is. How loving. How he is so good at getting people into the headspace that they can do the things they need to do. I love how up for everything he is. Even when he's doubting himself. I love that he's so so smart but he pretends he's not so people don't have their expectations of him too high. I also love that with me, he pushes boundaries he's sometimes too scared to because he trusts me so much,” I explained.

“Tony I love how smart he is, and how funny. I love watching him work and when he gets all hyper-focused on something. I love how quickly we fell even after he'd been hurt so badly. I love how much he trusts me even when he didn't know me. How even when he's so scared he doesn't know what to do, what he wants more than anything is for us to be okay and to be provided for. I love how even though he could take us to expensive restaurants all the time, he'd rather eat burgers and pizza. I love how he tells me he loves me, even when he's not using the words.”

“How does that work?” Katveil asked.

“You just have to listen to him. If you listen you can hear it,” I said.

“Okay, who’s next?” She asked.

“Alright, so Sam. Sam is somehow both the coolest and sweetest person ever. I love how he just deals with shit. It almost doesn't matter what it is. I love how open he is to people. How caring. How he just wants to help people, whether it be the superhero stuff, or just to have them feel better when they're struggling with things. I love how playful he is with me. How he teases me. I love how free he is with his affection and that he'll come to me when he's feeling very cuddly because he knows I'm always down for cuddles,” I answered. “I love how Steve is this paradox. How he's so loving and understanding and caring, but how he's also such a huge fucking dumb ass. I love how passionate he is about things that are important to him. How he really backs up the things he believes in. I love how he adapts to things. I love that he sees the best in people. That he encourages the best in them. I love that he always has his heart open. I love that he will talk to me about how he's feeling even when he won't talk to anyone else because I have no expectations of how he should be and he knows that.”

“A paradox,” Katveil repeated almost to herself.

“Bucky is such a caring and soft boy. He always puts everyone ahead of himself. He had so much bad stuff happen to him, and he blames himself so much for it. I love that he'll let himself relax with us. He can't always do it, but it's more and more every day and now it's so rare to see the tense and worried Bucky. Even though he's often that with other people. I love how loving he is. How he is slow to open his heart but when it's open you're his person. I love his sense of humor. How he teases people and banters with them. I love how he always stops to pet dogs. Clint does that too actually. It's super cute. I love how when you become Bucky’s person, he's this huge flirt.” I continued. “Wanda is my sweet soft cuddly one. She is probably the most powerful one. Even compared to Thor. But she's also so soft and so fragile. I love how nothing has made her hard. She just loves. So fiercely. I love how when I'm in bed she'll just crawl into my arms and snuggle in. I love how she's not scared of her powers. She loves them and she shows them off. I love how she's quick to reassure people. I love how much of a mother she is. You know those people who are just kinda moms? But at the same time, she's just this cute little innocent thing. I love how she just comes into my room after I finished work and curls up on my bed like a cat to talk to me while I change. I love how she's willing to need people. She doesn't see that as a weakness.”

“Aww, curls up like a cat. That’s cute,” Katveil said.

“Yes, it’s very cute. She’s my cute bean,” I hummed.

“Was that all of them?” She asked.

“You’re forgetting the reason why I’m here,” I chuckled.

She made a small squeak sound and shook her head. “Yes, the king.”

“That's him,” I teased. “You know I had been with Nat for about a year before I even met Thor. I'd heard so much about him. They used to tease me for having a crush on him when really, I think they were projecting. They loved him so much. From what I hear, he's the one that convinced them that they could all be together if that's what they wanted.”

“Yes, that’s what he does,” Katveil agreed. “He inspires.”

“Oh yeah. He definitely does. And he's there where you need him. I met him because we were attacked. They took Wanda, Bucky, and Clint. They were toying with us. I called out to Heimdall to send him to help and the others laughed at me. But he came.”

Katveil gave a small nod. “It must have been necessary.”

“Oh yeah. It was. But that's what he's like. If you need him, he's there. I love how selfless he is. How good he makes people feel about themselves. I love how when he makes you feel like the most important person in the universe when he's with you.”

“So it is like you are each a brick in a foundation,” Katveil said.

“Yeah. Exactly. That is a perfect way to put it,” I agreed.

She smiled and put her paintbrushes down. “Guess what?” She said.

“Finished my back?” I asked.

“I have,” she confirmed. “It needs time to dry fully. So I will go and have them bring lunch in. Just relax a bit longer.”

“Thank you, Kat,” I said.

She headed out into the living room and I looked over at Clarke. “How does it look?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” Clarke said. “Storytelling worked into it too. Well, I think.”

“Wow. Can’t wait to see it,” I said.

Katveil returned and I propped myself up on my elbows and ate the plate that was given to me. Occasionally she would touch my back gently and look at her fingers like she was testing how dry it was.

I finished my plate and Clarke took it and put it aside. “When you’re ready,” Katveil said.

“It’s dry?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “You are safe to move.”

I rolled over and sat up grabbing a glass of water and taking a long drink. “Maybe I should pee first.”

Katveil giggled. “Yes, that’s a good idea.”

I stood up. “Did you eat?”

“Did I eat?” She asked.

“Yes. Did you?” I repeated.

“The queen asks about my well being.” She said sounding shocked.

“Kat, I thought you said we were friends.” I scolded.

“Right, sorry.” She said, shaking her head. “I did eat, yes. Go… pee.”

I chuckled and grabbed the robe and went to the bathroom. When I came back I lay down and this time instead of doing the coloring, she began to fill in one of the blank spaces she had left for our symbols.

“What do you expect from the union?” Katveil asked as she did the intricate line work.

“I mean, I have been told we get our lives extended and powers. I’m glad that means that the others won’t have to face watching us grow old and die. But I think even if that wasn’t the case I’d be excited. I’m excited I get to have this thing where we get up and say to everyone, these are our people and we commit ourselves to each other.”

“So … claiming them?” Katveil asked.

“No. Not that. But not hiding and not being ashamed. Acknowledging them,” I said. “On Earth … Midgard… We were secret for so long because of the stigma of polyamory, that it is nice we get to have this. We can’t even have our relationship formally recognized there. If Tony were to die he could say we get his things, but there would be no guarantee that we’d get them.”

Katveil shook her head. “Midgard needs to stop being so repressed.”

“No argument from me,” Clarke laughed.

Katveil continued to work through the afternoon. The symbols for each person were all placed low around my hips and the insides of my thighs. Each done in that style that resembled a nordic mandella. Steve’s resembled a shield with a quill and inkwell tipped over on it. As she colored it the ink showed as bleeding colors that represented each of us into the shield. Blended into the shield was the rune Tỷr. Bucky’s was a wolf with what looked like an entire galaxy of stars in its eyes. The rune blended into it was eihwaz. Tony’s was half arc reactor, half-atom with the rune fehu. Bruce was a coin, that appeared to be in motion. On one side was the trefoil, the other side a green teddy bear. The rune that was worked into it was Ur. Clint had what looked like a cup of coffee and two arrows that were laid out into the shape of the rune nauðr, over a chevron. Natasha had her black widow symbol with a long-stemmed rose, complete with thorns. Her rune was algiz. Sam’s symbol was a feather that blended out into falcons taking flight, along with his wedged symbol and the rune raihdo. Wanda was the curved M of her logo with the rune ansus on a bleeding heart orchid. Thor’s was Mjolnir with sparks that came off her and connected with everyone else’s symbol. On the handle of Mjolnir was the rune thuisaz.

As Katveil colored, the images seemed to come to life, almost like a kind of magic ran through them. The colors seemed to be part of the story. In some places, they were bright primary colors. In others washed out watercolors. Some were metallic and shimmered in the light A thread of gold seemed to run through the whole scene connecting each part like it was a story, but while something I could vaguely understand, others I wasn’t sure about.

By the end, I was covered neck down in the artwork. Even on the soles of my feet and the palms of my hands. Katveil wished me well for the wedding and said she would be in the crowd and I spent the rest of the night with Clarke. The kids came in to see me for a little while and we played games and ate dessert. They were then taken to see Bruce so he could read them their bedtime story.

When I went to sleep I was buzzing with excitement. Tomorrow was the day my life was going to change forever and I couldn’t wait.

// NEXT

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