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filthforfriends · 2 years

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First Warning

DILFiano CW: morally grey age gap and power dynamics

Word count: 2.5k

This is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted in my life. Those were your thoughts while choking down your first shot of Malibu. Icarus’ room may have been on the far end of the house, but they were still being too loud.

“Take another shot,” Elliot cheered. You did a hybrid of shushing them and gagging. Moxy and Icarus were laying on the floor cackling. Being the most sober of the group is never awesome, but seems to always be the position you find yourself in. Today was the last day of high school for seniors, with graduation only two and a half weeks away. Celebration had started as soon as you got in Elliot’s back seat, taking a dab that made you sure of impending death for an hour afterwards.

“C’mon, do another,” Icarus hiccupped. It seemed the three of them had some super human capacity in terms of THC consumption. The whole group was cross faded, except you, who’d refused to smoke anymore. After that shot of coconut flavored poison you were about to refuse alcohol too.

“No! You can’t make me drink that shit,” you protested, trying to get the sickly sweet taste out of your mouth. “Ugh! Do we have anything else?” Icarus handed you a cranberry chaser.

“Just steal some of the cheap stuff from the liquor cupboard! They won’t notice anyway.”

“Are you sure they’re asleep?” In another house you wouldn’t dare, but the Davids had given you the occasional glass of wine with dinner. Plus their place was huge, so the master bedroom was somewhat out of hearing range from the kitchen.

“Yeah, yeah! They were having a talk, so they’ve been in their room all night.” She put dramatic air quotes up, rolling her eyes. There had been some vague references to separation, but they hadn’t officially broken the news. They didn’t need to, it was apparent to anyone familiar with divroce.

“Okay, I will be back -” you almost trip, trying to stand up.

“Look at y/n, about to break the rules,” Moxy teased.

“Yeah, yeah, you need water anyway, dumbass.”

“And you're the best!”

“Thank you, y/n!” You shush them before opening the door and stepping out into the hall. The house is dark, but you tiptoe to the kitchen just the same, not wanting to wake Alexander, Icarus’ younger brother. Carefully, you turn the open bottles so you can see the label, and google the price. Selecting the cheapest one, you set it down on their granite countertop as lightly as possible. One ceramic mug knocks against the other when you reach blindly into the cupboard. After wincing, you pour a tiny amount into a Maneskin coffee cup and tag swig.

It's awful, truly terrible, somehow too sweet and too sour. Is this what red wine is supposed to taste like? Only after forcing yourself to swallow did you realize it had probably gone bad. You hear a chuckle and freeze, not as if that’s going to help at this point.

“Pretty terrible right?” Damiano is shirtless in plaid pajama pants, standing on the threshold of the kitchen.

“Shit I’m so, so sorry Dami.” That’s what Chiara calls him. “Sorry, Damiano. I - fuck - I mean sorry. It’ll never happen again.” You feel your heart stop and your body go cold, like you’re made of stone.

“At least you drank the cheap stuff,” he shrugs. You realize he’s not angry, in fact he's wearing a wry grin. Immediately, the tether from that day in the hall pulls so hard your chest hurts.

“What happens when you drink wine that’s gone bad? Not that I don’t deserve it.” He chuckles again, and this time you can see the way laughter moves his body. His chest rumbles, and he takes a few short breaths from his stomach. The black ink drilled into his olive skin draws your gaze to a dozen different places at once. Dami had covered himself with art, even though his body was art, in its own right.

“It’s not spoiled. Icarus stole from the bottle and filled it back up with grape juice.” He pushes off the counter from his hip, walking towards you. “My daughter thinks I’m a fucking idiot,” he rolls his eyes, plafully. “When I heard you, I was hoping she’d come to learn her lesson.”

“Shit, I woke you up too.”

“No, no, I was already awake. Couldn’t sleep,” he dismissed. A shadow crossed over his face, and you must be an open book, because he sees your concern like the words were written across your forehead. “You seem much more sober than I expected.”

“Really?”

“Well, when Icarus dragged you through the door it looked like you were on a different planet. At 3 p.m.” The visual of Dami watching you being pulled across his foyer with your pupils blown out, only 70% conscious made you burst out laughing. He took a couple quick steps towards you.

“Shh, shh, shh.” For a moment, his upheld finger brushed your lips as he signaled you to be quiet. From that place of origin, fire ripped through your veins, and the meeting of your bodies felt inevitable. When your eyes connected for half a second, you saw a barely contained hunger. There was some monster he was trying to tame inside him, determined to be decent. It was the most exciting thing you’d ever felt in your life. Better than winning competitions, and awards, or your acceptance letter to Dartmouth, because there was nothing clean and shiny about it. You wanted Damiano like an addict wanted heroin.

“Chiara’s asleep,” he whispered. You went ice cold, and the fear of waking Damiano’s wife must have been so prominent on your face that it was comical. He was bent over laughing, in near silence, and somehow you ended up joining him, leaning against the kitchen counter as your ribcage shook. His eyes were crinkled, and the smile lines reminded you of all the years he’d stayed youthful, rather than his age. Dami had more youth in him than any teenager you’d met. He was overflowing with life, but that somehow had become so stifled, that a sour expression on your face had his eyes welling up with repressed joy.

“Christ, I haven’t laughed that hard in weeks,” he wiped his eyes. When he raised his arm, you spotted the irritated skin around a fresh ink. It was two figures in ankle deep water, bent forward as if they were walking into the wind.

“Who are they?” His face crumpled in confusion, but you reached forward to his arm, fingerings brushing the outer edges of the tattoo. You almost couldn’t believe that your skin was touching his, your hand trembled. He didn’t brush you off, just rotated his arm so the tattoo was easier to see.

“It’s Deucalion and Pyrrha. They’re mortals.” He pauses, and you realize he hasn’t had to explain this one before. You’ve caught him off guard, and this has an equalizing effect that you revel in. The air becomes laden with something compelling and unspeakable. You don’t dare look him in the eyes, lest his gaze tell you to take a step back.

“Greek mythology right?”

“Yeah, but also biblical. Deucalion is the equivalent of Noah.” Looking closer, you see that the characters are carrying something.

“What are they holding?”

“Stones. After the arc, Deucalion and his wife Pyrrha are told by Hermes to throw stones over their shoulders as they walk. The stones turned into people. It’s how they repopulate the earth after the flood.” His fingers brush yours as he points to Pyrrha, and you let your hand fall from his arm.

“He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone at her,” you recite, finally making eye contact. He nods minutely, then turns back towards his arm before the tension can build. “So is it a contradiction?”

“Very good,” he praises, but without the tone of a teacher. You feel warm everywhere. “Even though we’re not supposed to throw the first stone, doing so rebuilds humanity. There is no world without judgment.”

“Life isn’t as simple as a bible quote. Y’know I’ve been making this case for years.” Brushing it off with cynicism feels wrong. “It’s about life’s inherent complexity. It’s not something you would have gotten when you were younger?” At my age.

“Definitely not, I was an idealist,” he sighs. Some memory makes him perceptibly wince. His routine must be full of landmines that pain him with regret.

“Only adults get tattoos about how the world is full of hypocrites,” you quip, then immediately regret your words. “Sorry, that was -”

“Don’t worry,” he smiles. Dami walks across the kitchen towards the open liquor cabinet. “You’re good company.” It's a saving grace that his back is turned, so he doesn’t see how much these words affect you. Good company: he spoke to you like an adult. You were 18, but it was stupid to expect him to see you that way. And yet, here you were laughing in his kitchen, talking religious philosophy, while his wife was asleep in their bedroom. You should feel guilty, but you don’t. Not even as your eyes memorize every line his body makes.

He reaches to the top shelf with a smal, endearing groan as he retrieves a bottle. From behind the liquor, Damiano pulls a stout wine bottle. You can tell it’s expensive with the amount of expertise put into the design. The label is embossed in gold.

“I hide it from vulture children,” he grins, oh so charming. The sphinx on his side is stretched over his rib cage when Dami reaches above the wine glasses to the crystal, and pulls out two flutes. One for each of you. He’s letting you in on a secret and that burns between your legs.

“Now that you’ve had to suffer through Icarus’ concoction, I think you should taste some good wine.” He uncorks it and pours each of you a glass, looking over his shoulder at you. “You don’t have to try it if you don’t want to.” You unfreeze, finally, moving across the kitchen towards him. Dami speaks with a casual confidence that you envy.

“Oh, I do,” you assure. Leaning against the counter, Damiano hands you heavy glass. “I’ve never drank from crystal,” you confess. This seems to please him.

“To your future.” You expect one of his megawatt smiles, but his face is serious, a genuine toast to you. The wine flutes clink and you follow Damiano as he smells the liquid before drinking it.

“Slow down. Explore all the sensations” he coaches. “Appearance, smell, taste, feel.” There's something dangerously sensual about his words.

“Feel?” you squeak.

“Does it burn going down?”

“No. It’s smooth…and it's lush.” You smell it again, swirl it around in your mouth, before swallowing.

“Lush,” he ponders. “That's an excellent way to put it. You’d enjoy wine tasting, I think.” Then take me. I’ll go anywhere you want, do anything. My body is ripe for the taking, tissue all but overflowing with sweet juice to coat your tongue. Meanly, you thought of Chiara’s body after two kids and a couple decades. Your breasts are perkier, skin taut. How many years since Dami had touched a body so unsoiled?

“You think I’d like it?” you prompt, craving the timbre of his voice, which was far richer than the wine.

“I do,” he looks at you slyly while taking a sip. “Just don’t swish it around like mouthwash.” The blush burns at the tips of your ears, but there's that full smile, so perfect you don’t care that it came at your expense. Wanting to hide your embarrassment, you turn towards the counter and study the bottle. It's what you imagine a woman taken to wine tastings would do. Golden ribbon ran through the branches of a tree and you trace the indentation of the label with your index finger.

“That's the oldest tree in the orchard,” Dami explained. He stood right behind you, deconstructing the design, but all you could focus on was his proximity. His radiant heat reached your skin, his smell nearly imperceptible, unlike that time you brought Icarus home. Your body yearned for the stench of his sweat. Dami’s breath hit the back of your neck as he spoke in hushed tones, and you steeled yourself.

Turning around, your nose nearly brushed Dami’s from proximity. He didn’t jump backward, but looked back at you, surprised. It was like electricity lay between your two bodies, and would only let you move forward, never back. No one could invade this little bubble, not even real doubt. This time you let your eyes wander to his shapely lips, remembering how he had gazed at yours. You looked back to his eyes; the shock had worn off, and they were hooded, gazing languidly at you. Forcing bravery, you leaned forward infinitesimally and crossed some invisible boundary. Damiano jumped back like the electricity had shocked him.

“No, no,” he chastised. At first his voice was shaky, then stern. “This can’t happen, you can’t be attracted to me.” You should be horrified, but barely concealed under Dami’s discouraging tone was hysteria.

“But, I am,” you answer, feigning calm.

“No, this is all part of sexual discovery. You’re becoming a woman. When you’re young people have chemistry who shouldn’t.” He’s rattling off justifications like he wants to convince himself. Dami runs his hands through his hair compulsively, until it's greasy from the sweat on his palms. “It’s animal, we can’t help it. This will pass, it happens far less when you’re an adult.”

“So when was the last time this happened for you?”

“I – that doesn’t matter.” He takes two strides to the sink and rinses his face in cold water. He skittish, and internally he’s punishing himself.

“You said ‘we.’” you persist. If Dami tells you that you’re another silly teenage girl with a crush, you’ll drop it. “Who was the last person you had an animal attraction to?” He sighs, gripping the edge of the sink, and shaking his head.

“You’re too smart for your own good.” The moonlight through the kitchen window illuminates the gray in his hair. The wine has stained his lips red, but also his teeth. Why can’t something be beautiful without others being ugly? Why do you have to be young and Damiano to be old? Why does the equilibrium of the universe leave everything bruised?

“What does that mean?”

“Y/n, we can’t ever talk about this again.” His hand waves swiftly, like the blade of an executioner. Little does Damiano know that you’d love to be his secret, dirty thing, thrown scraps occasionally to keep it alive. You’d be debased for him.

“Why?”

“Why?” he sneers, tone venomous. It’s a stupid question, but you didn’t expect so much bitterness in his answer. Biting his lip, Damiano shakes his head rapidly, in disbelief. Staring at the ceiling, he lets out a pained sigh, finally leveling his gaze with you again. It was the first time he’d beg with his eyes.

“Okay,” you let him off the hook. Somehow, he looks more pained, like even then Dami knew there was no fending this off. He gives a decisive, final nod, and in the one gesture decades catch up to him. The failed marriage, two kids, mortgage payments, and credit card financing. A slant of moonlight hits him as he turns and leaves the kitchen. The gray of his hair is the same shade as the blade of a knife.

Notes: a reminder that I'm always writing characters that are not me or representative of me, but an extra bonus reminder since I'm pretending to be an 18 year old in love with her friends dad. this part in the series turned out to be a fic, but other parts will vary in length. thank you for reading!

Notice: tags aren’t consistently working so I’d really appreciate reblogs!

@gr8rainbowpunk @homesicam @hiraetheral @l0standn0tf0und @iosonoarina @teenyweenynightghost @elvirabelle @8iunie @immrbrightsideeee @idyllicbutterfly @ilwiwbysmv @superchrystaldrug @que--sera--sera @theimpossiblehologramtree @blackberryblossom @weareoddlydrawn @asianhawkeye @butkutee @iamtashaquinn @maneslut @maneskintifoso @little-moonbeam-666 @obiw4n @minnietmouse @thatonebraziliangirl @bohemianrainbow @xweirdxsceletton @daisy0gf @boyswillbeexecutied @stardustingold @damoriaa @teacosea @whore4damia @ohdamiano @wasteddoubts

#damiano david #maneskin #måneskin #damiano #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david imagine #damiano david x reader #damiano maneskin #maneskin fanfiction #maneskin imagine #maneskin x reader #DILFiano

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pale-silver-comb · 4 years

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So I know absolutely nothing about Leverage except what I've been seeing you post lately and I have to admit you're making it look tempting to watch! Can I ask what are some of your favorite things about the show/reasons you would suggest people watch it? And is there really a poly relationship that is canon?

Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay. I am going to do my best not to just “asdfghkjl” at you and answer coherently.

In a nutshell, Leverage is about 5 people. 4 are criminals (Parker, Hardison, Eliot and Sophie) with different and unique skill-sets and 1 is an ex-insurance investigator (Nate) who, at one point or another in his career, has tracked down (or at least attempted to) the other 4. The whole show is essentially: man reluctantly reforms 4 criminals to use their criminal powers for good and 4 criminals move into man’s life and stubbornly refuse to leave because, goddammit, now they have morals.

I’ve got a lot of favourite things about the show but the main ones are as follows:

1. Found family. And I’m not talking about loners who come together to fight crime and happen to co-exist to the point where they realise they happen to have found themselves a family. I mean, Nate and Sophie are the Drunk Uncle and Wine Aunt who somehow become Mom and Dad to 3 beautiful criminal children. Mom and Dad love their criminal babies and the kids love them (as well as each other, but we’ll come to that in a moment). You get amazing family moments such as: Mom and Dad packing the kids lunch before sending them out to kick corporate greed’s ass; Mom and Dad giving the kids ridiculously expensive and personal Christmas presents causing their most Grumpy Kid to go very very quiet and soft as he runs off to gleefully play with his new murder toy; the kids interrupting Mom and Dad’s big Movie Style Kiss to ask if they can please keep their new underground layer and huffing and puffing when Dad tells them no.

2. Found family: the OT3 edition. To answer your question, the OT3 is indeed canon, confirmed by the creator. Now, usually, “confirmed by the creator” infuriates me because most of the time it’s a way for a creator to be seen as “progressive” without doing anything to actually be progressive. That isn’t the case here. The OT3 are built up carefully and while it is obvious the creators didn’t originally intend for all 3 of them to become a relationship in the romantic sense, by mid-season 5 we are given a very clear picture of where Parker, Hardison and Eliot are heading in their relationship. There aren’t any kisses at the end to signal this but there are solid marriage vows in not only one but two episodes. (And by marriage vows I mean literal equivalents of marriage vows: “for better or worse” and “’til death do us part”. I’m not even exaggerating). The OT3 also doesn’t need explicit romantic narratives to convey how much they love each other. Their love is laced through the whole show, from the way they teach each other things to the way they respond to each other and work as a unit. The way they fiercely protect and admire each other. Like someone once said, if you need characters to kiss or say I love you to let the audience know they love each other, you are writing them wrong.

Aside from that, each of the parings in the OT3 are just. Gah. They are so well done, with friendship being the solid basis for them all. The creators never expect the audience to assume anything about them or fill in the gaps. They give us their relationships on screen and reference many things off-screen to show us how these relationships continue to build in between episodes.

Hardison and Parker are a canon couple and date in the show: it’s approached slowly and they are so goddamned sweet. They are basically every fluffy slow-burn trope with a healthy dash of mutual pining in the mix. They are basically that quote “love is patient, love is kind”. (I would like to add their romance never becomes the focus of the show or overrides the importance of any other relationship they have with the other characters, especially Eliot.)

Hardison and Eliot are the Old Married Couple and from day one are already bickering and looking at each other/making comments that are found in every UST fic ever (not to mention Hardison has a very good knack for making Eliot grin like a little kid, when usually he’s basically an Angry Little Chef Man). They argue, they play, and love each other plain as day.

Parker and Eliot are more subtle but every bit as wonderful. They have an unspoken connection and understand each other on a level no-one else can. Parker and Eliot are not good with giving themselves over to affection for different reasons (and Hardison plays a central role in helping them realise it’s okay to want it and have it- that boy has endless patience) but there is something so beautiful in the way the two of them come together on their own and develop their own special bond that works for them. Parker and Eliot are that trope where the characters don’t need to speak to understand each other perfectly. They just do. Their love language is a lot of the time non-verbal but speaks volumes. (Parker also likes to annoy the hell out of Eliot and Eliot....just.....lets...her. Because he’s soft. The softest, grumpiest boy.)

I could go into so much depth for each pairing and their dynamics as a 3 but that's for another post.

3. Subverting stereotypes. There is the occasional hiccup in the show regarding stereotypes but ultimately, Leverage gets an A+ when it comes to writing characters and making them 3 dimensional people who are not defined by certain characteristics or events. Nate could so easily fall into the White Man Pain trope where he uses the trauma of losing his kid as a reason as to why he is entitled to act like a dick. Nate is a dick but he doesn’t use his pain to excuse it and I appreciate that. Hardison is a black man who is soft and nurturing. Easily the most empathetic and patient of the group. He’s nerdy, an actual genius, and has the biggest heart of all the characters. Nate is maybe the glue but Hardison is definitely the heart. Media’s usual aggressive, amongst other, racist stereotypes can fuck right off. Parker is canonically autistic (I am sure this was confirmed by one of the creators) and she is not defined by it. It’s not written as some kind of singular personality trait. It’s part of what makes up Parker but it’s only one facet of who she is and not once is her actions, thoughts or feelings treated like a joke. Sometimes people don’t understand why she does and says the things she does but it’s met with patience and fondness over the course of the show. Equally, it’s not met with over-caution. Parker is just Parker. No-one tries to change her. The other nice thing is Hardison, who always makes sure Parker knows she’s amazing because of who she is and not in spite of it. Finally, Sophie is in her 40s. She’s not treated like she’s past her prime. Ever. She’s sexy, smart and never is she pitted against or compared to Parker (who is younger) for anything. Sophie is amazing and there’s never even a conversation of “I may be older but I am still *insert adjective typically associated with younger women here*”. Sophie is possibly the first female character I’ve ever seen who isn’t just unapologetic about her age but has never had to apologise for her age. It’s a non-issue and that’s that. The women on the show are written so well, right down to secondary characters and it’s beyond refreshing.

4.) It’s just fun. The show has a “monster of the week” type format. Except instead of a ghoul or a ghost, the monster is some corrupt wealthy and powerful individual or organisation. The show draws on real-life individuals to do this and therefore closely parallels real-life people and events. It addresses important political, economical, social and environmental issues while at the same time remaining fun and light-hearted. The characters constantly get the chance to play dress up and by GOD do they have fun with it. You get to watch Eliot beat up bad guys in the most delightful of ways, usually after a witty non-sequitur and with a weapon you’d never think could be a weapon. The dialogue and back and forth between the characters is everything. And finally - my favourite thing- the team can never resist striking a dramatic pose after they’ve taken down the bad guy, making sure the bad guy sees them. I mean, they COULD just walk away, satisfied they’ve taken the person down, but nope. They gotta be dramatic bitches 24/7 and pose like they are models for every single month of this year’s Criminal Calendar.

5.) Competence Porn. So. Much. Competence Porn.

Honestly, I could list a thousand reasons for why Leverage is amazing but to list them would to be spoiling so many amazing moments you’d get to discover for the first time on your own if you do choose to watch it. It’s the kind of show you can watch with an eagle-eye and sink your teeth into. But it’s also the kind of show if, you would prefer, put on in the background for something entertaining while you do something else. Each episode is about the job at hand but it’s made up of so many moments between the characters that show how much the creators and writers care about them. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll do whatever it is you do when something Soft and Wonderful happens that makes your heart melt. I am so beyond grateful for Leverage. It’s everything I always wanted in a show. Nearly every show I’ve watched in the past 10 years has disappointed me in some way, usually either because the writers run out of steam or characters who I love are treated poorly or given some kind of unnecessary “shock value” arc. Leverage doesn’t do that. Leverage is what it says on the bottle. Fandom isn’t something I joined because I needed canon fix-its. Fandom only enhances and celebrates an already excellent canon.

#leverage #leverage ot3 #parker #alec hardison #eliot spencer #sophie devereaux #nate ford #talk leverage to me

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yanderenightmare · 4 years

Note

ooooooooooohhhhhhh bully!bakugo pleaseeeeee feed me! like I don't know if you do underage things like school, but you can keep it sfw

yandere bully ! BAKUGO KATSUKI

goodiebag WARNINGS: abuse, anxiety, bullying, paranoia, NONCON elements, stalking, manipulation, profanity, anger issues, arson mentions, trauma

TIP-JAR

PART TWO

IN CASE OF FIRE: PUSH ALARM

In many ways, Bakugo was her morning alarm clock.

A shrill shriek of a sound she wanted nothing more but to ignore and rake at her ears until she grew deaf. An impact, taking a toll on her whole day. Something to regret. And something to dread the next morning.

Something that follows her, haunts her, hunts her in the hours she’s without it and blares like sirens or howls from some great monster when it’s caught her.

Alarm clocks can’t push her to the ground though, that’s where Bakugo deviates.

And he’s always pushing. Toppling her books with a flick of his wrist. Pushing and squeezing and pulling at her like a rag doll. Pushing her into the wall. Pushing screams to come bursting from her lungs. Pushing tears to well up in her eyes. Pushing her sanity.

And now, pushing his knee in between the space of her thighs. Grinding her up against the wall in the barren hall of an empty school. Pushing and digging callous fingers into her thin uniform. Messaging the tender ticklish flesh of her midriff and keeping her in place. Pushing and seizing her breaths with his wicked grin. Teeth sharp and deadly and way too close to her neck.

“Let go!” She screamed. And the echo that reverberated throughout the hallway should have sent every packed classroom to flood the tight space.

But it was a field-day, which meant no classes and everyone outside enjoying the sun.

Except for her and Bakugo.

Cocking his chin in impish humour. He grinned too widely for it to be excused for mere casual bullying.

“Or what?” He coaxed. His breath fanning over cheeks. Wafting into her nose, making her entire face contort. “You’ll tell on me?”

He manipulated his voice to sound childish and whiny. Pouting at her. Yet the sheer maroon look of sadistic thrill was hard to put any mask over.

“Ha? You think this school is gonna give two shits worth a damn about some fucking nerd like you over their top student?”

He was too wrapped up in his frenzy to pay the weak fists banging on his chest any mind. Barely even registering them before they relented. Turning soft and careful, defeated upon his words, as they dragged sloppily down his stomach. Stopping where he’d hiked her skirt up around her hips.

She looked down. The realisation of her situation settling.

Not settling like an explosion, but like dust after the fact. Just like it did every time Bakugo trapped her in a corner.

She didn’t know why she even bothered fighting anymore, knowing how she always gives up.

Her breath hitched and hiccupping as she forced herself to bargain with her bully.

“What do you want, Bakugou?” It was more of a sniffle than a sentence. Meek and feeble and delicious.

But it was wrong in its essence.

“Katsuki.” He growled. His nose touching hers briefly, making her screw her eyes shut in pure crippling fear.

Another thing an alarm clock couldn’t. Come to think of it, perhaps he was rather the sound of bones breaking, or clothes tearing. His laughter like gunshots, and every move he made an explosion that left the ears bleeding and ringing.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you for you to get it through your thick skull. It’s Katsuki.”

His grip on her waist tightened. And she was sure his claws would rip yet another one of her thin white shirts.

The disgusting instruction left her baffled each time. How he would force her to call him by his given name as though they were good friends as opposed to predator and prey.

“Say it.”

His features were blank in expectancy. Cold despite his fingertips warming.

“Come on! Fucking say it!” Spit flew as he barked his command as he pushed her just a smidge further into the wall.

Her whole body shook. Kept in place by the hold he had on her, but still trembling violently like a leaf caught in a storm.

“Katsuki...”

It was barely audible, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was rather overcome with satisfaction instead.

“Good.” He seemed subdued.

Calming down as his fingers relented their building fire. Cooling yet nowhere near comfortable.

“Good girl.”

It was close to a purr of some sorts and it made her stomach fold and topple in on itself, as he stroked a stray curl from out of her face. The action only resulting in even more locks of hair falling before her eyes as she shook her head as a means to swat his hand away. Where her own hands were too busy in their position on his chest, in a means to keep him at bay. But it was of little use as his face closed in on hers.

Leaning, towering, suffocating.

“Baku-”

Fear of what it looked as though he was about to do crippled the notion of it being ridiculous. But the protest was weak, even as her nails dug into the hardness of his chest.

Her voice overpowered by his, despite it being only a ragged whisper.

“Kiss me.”

Her suspicions where answered, but it only aided in her dread.

“Ba-”

She shifted her head to the side to avoid him. Panic consuming her.

But his large encompassing hand was quick in finding her cheek. Cupping it in its callous palm and forcing her to face him yet again.

“Are you deaf? I said kiss me!” He roared. The sound once again blaring like thunder from the gods in her ears.

However, despite his lips coming to attack her and the threat of his sharp fangs that could easily bruise her, she continued to push at him. Trying to pry him off her and run like the prey he had made it clear that she was.

“No.”

It surprised him to say the least.

Small, weak protests he could brush of with a shrug was nothing he wasn’t used to, but firm acts of retaliation was new.

Granted, he’d never tried kissing her. Always settling for feeling her ample supple flesh in his hands and seeing that sweet look on her face. Feeling his pants grow tight and jacking of in the school showers when no one was there to see him in the downright pathetic state.

“No?”

His brow quirked. His mouth a firm line until it once again sprung into his signature smirk.

“How about this? Kiss me and I’ll stop.”

Her eyes softened at that. Growing large. And he swore he could see her ears draw back.

There was no doubt she was surprised, intrigued, tempted.

“That’s right.” He drawled.

His thumb rubbed across her bottom lip and she was too consumed by his offer to mind.

“I’ll stop following you around, pushing you, calling you names. I’ll stop it all.”

He drew closer, to her ear. Lips ghosting her temple. Relishing the moment when he felt her shiver because of it.

“And all I ask in return is a little kiss.”

Pulling away, he looked content at first, but soon his features turned malicious once again.

“But... if you refuse... I’ll tell everyone about what a little slut you are. About how you love sucking my cock like a good little cumdumpster.”

She looked horrified at that. Her tears finally spilling over.

“But I-” She stuttered but he paid her no mind.

Already knowing whatever she was about to say.

“Who’s gonna believe you? It’s my word against yours. What are people gonna think? Huh? You think you’ll have any friends left after I run that rumour? Nah... you’ll have no one... and by that time, you’re gonna be begging me to kiss you.” His voice was frenzied.

And it must have purely because he was so lost in that craze, that he didn’t notice her leg coming to kick him in the groin.

She was thoroughly disgusted. Mostly with him, but also with herself to even having considered demeaning herself like that.

“Fuck you.”

His hold relented at the assault. And despite it being a mere temporary act, one he soon recovered from, it was enough for her to start sprinting.

“Fuck me?” He had to laugh.

And she was right. The noise really did sound like gunshots being fired at her as she ran for her life.

“That’s what the whole school’s gonna think you did come tomorrow!”

Falling onto the floor. His arms and legs spread like a starfish he couldn’t stop cackling, as though mad. Excited and thrilled, even with the stinging pain still spurring in his ball-sack. Heck, maybe even because of it.

This was fun. This was very fun.

His voice mellowed down.

“I’m gonna get you… one way or the other…”

Good thing he knows where she lives.

Good thing she didn’t live too far away.

Good thing she hadn’t kissed him.

Good thing he wasn’t forced to become a liar when continuing to force her to do as he wished.

Good thing there was plenty of broom-closets in the school.

Good thing she couldn’t do shit to stop him.

TIP-JAR

PART TWO

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hivesfics · 3 years

Text

pierce through me, eren x reader

Cross posted to ao3 under “dickshapedclouds”

Warnings: semi public, strangers, nipple piercings, oral fem and male receiving, photo taking, eren is very cocky

You couldn't believe you let Sasha talk you into this. A drunken conversation about wanting a new piercing turned into her demanding you get your nipples pierced. You knew it was because she liked living vicariously through you and she secretly wanted nipple piercings, but was too scared to get them.

"So you're going today right? Right? Can I come with?"

"Fucking hell, Sash. Yes I'm going today, no you cannot come with me." You groan, exasperated.

"Oh c'mon, I've seen your tits plenty of times." Sasha grins, grabbing the aforementioned part of your body and squeezing before releasing.

You swat playfully at her and roll your eyes, pushing her aside.

"I don't care, I'd rather you not see me cry when I get a needle shoved through my nipples."

"You've literally gotten snot in my hair from crying once." She groans, throwing her head back and stomping like a child.

"If I get you donuts after my appointment will you shut up?"

"I- yes."

"Thank god. I've got to go or else I'll be late. You can see them after I get home."

"Deal." Sasha grins, slapping you on the back as you exit your shared apartment.

It doesn't take but 10 minutes to arrive at the joint tattoo and piercing studio. You can't help the nervous, but giddy feeling inside of you.

This wasn't your first piercing, you had multiple. But with each new one you couldn't help being excited.

"Back again, get a life." Jean, the secretary, teases.

"Shut your mouth, is Levi still in?"

"Nah, but we've got a new piercer here. Let me get him."

He stands from the front desk and makes his way to the back. There's some shouting and a few moments later Jean returns with a male.

Hes covered in piercings and tattoos, brunette hair pulled into a messy bun. You can't help but flush at the fact that someone so attractive will be seeing and touching your breasts.

Even if it was in a professional manner.

"This is Eren, he's a little asshole." Jean rolls his eyes.

"Shove it up your ass, horseface. Nipple appointment, right?" Eren insults Jean before turning to you.

"Uh- y-yeah."

"Awesome, let's go back and I'll get everything sterilized and set up."

The giddy feeling has now dipped more into anxious territory. You follow Eren to the back, taking a seat on the piercing chair.

"If you wanna go ahead and take your shirt off you can, or you can wait until everything is sterilized since it's a little chilly back here."

You sit in comfortable silence until he asks you again to remove your shirt after he's gloved up and has everything prepared.

You do so obediently, folding it and setting it aside. Breasts now standing proud, nipples pebbling from the cool air.

"After I mark you can lay down, alright?"

"Alright."

Its so odd to have someone you're not fucking so close up and personal with your chest. You can feel his warm breath against your skin and it causes goosebumps to rise on your body.

"That look good?"

"Yeah, looks great." You smile and lay back.

"Great." He takes the set of forceps and as gently as possible clamps them onto your left nipple.

"You'll feel a pinch, I want you to breathe in nice and deep for me." Eren says as he prepares to push the needle through.

As soon as you breathe in, he pushes it through.

"Oh, fuck!" You hiss, clenching your jaw.

"Sorry." Eren laughs, moving quickly to your right breast.

Although your nipple is hard, he flicks it. Sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine. His eyes flitting to yours before pressing the clamp around it.

"Again, deep breath in, sweetheart."

And God does that send an ache between your legs. You inhale, filling your lungs completely.

Expecting the pain, it doesn't hurt as much as the first. But you still hiss, jaw clenched tight.

"Good girl." He says at your breathing.

Eren takes note, cleaning you up quickly before taking his gloves off. He massages the joints of your jaw, making your mouth drop open slightly.

"You did so good." He smiles, tongue flitting over his lips.

You see the glint of a tongue piercing and wonder how it'd feel against your skin.

"You've got the prettiest tits I've seen." He says lowly, placing his thumb underneath and forefinger on either side of your breasts.

"If you weren't so fucking hot you'd have a bloody nose." You breathe, a moment of bravery, you grip his jaw and pull him down for a kiss.

"God I wanna put my mouth on them." Eren groans, showing restraint as to not hinder the healing process.

"Suppose I'll have to see you again when they're all healed." You grin, hand gripping his hair as you press your lips to his again.

He clambers into the piercing chair with you, knee between your legs. His hands gripping your waist.

"Can I eat you out? Please?"

"Since you asked so nicely." You coo, reaching between where he's pressed against you to unbutton your pants.

"Lay back, sweetheart."

Eren shimmies down, his feet hanging off the edge of the long seat. He grabs the waist of your pants and tugs them down with your panties.

"Oh fuck." He groans, taking in the princess Diana piercing that goes through the hood of your clit.

"Pretty isn't it?" You grin.

"Levi do this? That bastard got to see this gorgeous fuckin' cunt?"

"Jealous?"

Eren glares up at you before diving in, tongue dipping into your hole. Nose nudging at your sensitive clit.

You gasp, tangling your hands in his hair again, pulling him closer to your cunt.

He groans against you, vibrations sending a jolt up your spine. Heat filling your body.

Afraid to get his piercing caught on yours, he avoids touching his tongue to your clit. Instead opting to nose at it, and rub his thumb over it.

"Feel s'good!" You moan, rocking down against his face.

You could feel him smirk against you at your desperation. You grip his hair tighter, basically riding his face with how you cant your hips up.

He's licking at you like a man starved, eyes focused on your face as he feasts. He dips both thumbs into your cunt, spreading it open, pushing back against your hands so he can spit.

"Such a desperate thing." He coos teasingly, face soaked.

"If you don't get your mouth back on me I swea I'll- ah! Hhmf! Fuck!" You hiccup, head thrown back as he fucks you with his tongue.

One hand still tangled in his hair, the other pressed to your mouth. Your teeth biting into your knuckles to muffle your sounds.

You feel that familiar knot in your stomach, heat pooling heavily.

"Im- fuck- I'm cumming- gonna cum!" You moan, thighs squeezing tight around his head as you ride out your high.

Hips jerking as you ride his face.

Eren pulls away with a filthy grin, licking his lips before wiping his face with the back of his hand.

"Let me return the favor." You pant, releasing your hold on him.

You make quick work of pulling his pants down, and pulling his cock out of his boxers.

"Fuck- you're pierced here too?" You gasp, licking over your lips as you trail your fingers over the three piercings down the shaft.

"Pretty, huh?" He takes your words, smirking down at you.

"Bastard." You quip, licking a hot stripe from the base to the crown.

Tongue dipping into the slit, tasting the pre that has beaded there. It causes Eren to moan and you can't help but clench your thighs at the gorgeous sound.

You love when men moan for you, you love drawing out the pretty sounds they make. And Eren is no exception, his moans get high and breathy.

You kiss the barbell of the piercings before taking the length of his cock into your throat in one go. Eyes trained on his face like his were on yours.

"Holy fuck- that's so good-" he rasps, fisting a hand into your hair.

Not to push and pull your head, but simply to ground himself.

"Where's the cocky bastard who just ate me out, hm?" You say once your mouth is free of him.

He glares at you, gripping the side of your jaw to make your mouth open before feeding his cock into your mouth.

"Such a damn brat, this what you want?" He groans as he uses your throat.

You can feel the piercings drag against your throat, in deep and then back to your tongue. Your cunt weeps with arousal in response to how he uses you.

"Gonna use that cunt next, cum all over that pretty clit. You're gonna be mine- my little cum dump." He groans.

You whine around his cock, looking up at him with watery eyes. It nearly makes him blow his load, dick twitching in your throat.

He holds himself there, grinning at the way your throat contracts around him, how you gag.

"Mm that's right, choke on me. Good girl." He pulls out of your mouth, giving you a moment to breathe.

A mixture of spit and precum connecting your lips to the length of him. You pant heavily, tongue lolled out of your mouth.

Eren shoves himself back down your throat, holding the sides of your head as he thrusts his hips. Tip of his cock kissing the back of your throat with each thrust.

"So fuckin' pretty." He groans, pulling out to jerk himself off over your face.

You keep your tongue out, eyes trained on his. Waiting patiently for him to cum over your face.

His hand grips your hair, tilting your head as he spills over your face and tongue.

"Fuck. Fuck- can I take your picture?"

You nod, making sure none of his cum drips from your face to your breasts. He's quick to grab his phone and open the camera, snapping a few photos.

"Now lay back and let me fuck that pussy."

You grin and settle back, spreading your legs for him.

"Good girl."

#AoT #aot eren #aot smut #eren yeager #eren yeager x reader #x reader #eren aot #piercings #attack on titan

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mxvladdy · 3 years

Note

Hello! I love your writing and I may have a prompt, if it strikes your fancy. I'm aware it might not be entirely lore-friendly a request, but I love relationship shenanigans in Obey Me, so I got to ask: how do you think Luci, Diavolo, Satan and Beel would help their anxious SO adjust when MC begins demonstrating mad prowess in witchcraft right after they first spend the night together? Sex, power and pacts seem to go hand-in-hand in related media, but no one really planned for it in their case!

Awww thankie and sorry for the long wait! I’m glad you like my writing! I hope you like this! It gave me big thirst lmaooo

Lucifer

Mmmm you smell of him in the morning. He positively oozes from your every pore. Rich and spicy, like amber and freshly turned earth.

Good. Let it be known to all that you were claimed. Thoroughly.

He put his daily routine on hold for you this morning. He was weak to your pouting.

He’ll stay in bed for a little bit to indulge you. But duty calls and work waits for no demon

Neither of you really pay attention to how hard you are clinging to him when he tries to extract himself to get dressed

You both just kind of chalk it up to neither of you want to part

The day goes on as usual for him, meetings, paperwork, meetings, punishing Mammon, meetings

But the whole time something was nagging at him. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. He just felt like he forgot something important

But that’s impossible-

The wall explodes out behind him cutting Lucifer off mid-sentence. The rubble and great ball of flames miss him and Diavolo by mere inches only because of the latter’s quick reflexes. “Are you alright my friend?” Diavolo asks golden eyes alight with surprise. Lucifer could feel the prince’s defensive magic prickling his skin in response to the pungent magic wafting out of the hole.

“Of course-” Lucifer steps back, straightening his jacket’s lapels, the near-miss ruffles his feathers. Both men step closer to the hole. His hackles raise. The power emanating from the crater was far too familiar. Someone dares to use his magical signatures without permission. Snarling into the abyss he marches forward. He ignores Diavolo’s calls to wait and strides through the hole. His wings flare up from his back along with his temper. He walks through each wave of magic that washes over him. With each destroyed wall he steps through more and more of his demonic form comes forth till he is more beast than man. Strolling through the final hole he stops. His red eyes sweep across the scene in front of him. As the seconds' tick by his mood morphs from rage to shock, then to a sense of blinding pride.

“Well-” He crosses his arms and smirks. He turns his gaze to the epicenter of the damage.

“Luci, I am so so sorry.” You mutter aghast behind your fingers. “I-I don’t know what happened.” You were never the best student in any of the practical classes. The teachers made exceptions for you and your lack of magical prowess. In this class, the teacher always paired you up with Solomon or Luke so they could help you prepare the necessary spells and runes. But you felt so different today, stronger and sharper. Damn near unstoppable even. Just the thought of someone else doing your work made something deep inside you seethe. You didn’t need help, you’ve seen and heard the incantations a thousand times before- it wouldn’t hurt to try…Well, let’s rephrase that, it didn’t hurt you to try.

The classroom was totaled. Dust, rubble, and burning pages all float around you like a post-apocalyptic snowstorm. Soot from your uncontrolled spell blacked your clothes and skin, next to you Solomon stands rigid in shock white brows disappearing into his hairline. Quietly you lick your thumb and forefinger and put out the small blue flame singeing his bangs. “Thanks.” He spits out around a mouthful of ash and grit.

Lucifer coughs to draw all eyes back to him. He takes inventory of the room, making sure all the other students scattered about were still breathing. Satisfied he beckons to you with a finger. “Come.” You jump into motion, scrambling up and over the rubble to grab his outstretched hand.

“Lucifer.” He cuts you off.

“Not here,” He smiles warmly rubbing at some soot staining the tip of your nose. “Come let’s get you cleaned up.”

_____________

“Should I be worried?” You ask, stepping out of Lucifer’s private showers wrapped in one of his sinfully soft towels. “I’m not going to blow stuff up on a whim now, right?” You plop down on his bedroom’s couch. Lucifer hums noncommittally by his liquor cabinet.

“I doubt it. How do you feel?” He takes a seat beside you handing you a glass and grabbing your legs to drape them over his. You take a swig from the glass, the heat of the liquor getting rid of the lingering shock from class. How did you feel?

Your bones hum with some unknown energy and there was a fire coursing through your veins. “I feel like I could take on the world. Like I dominate half of the Devildom.” Lucifer’s smile was nothing short of smug.

“Good.” He sips his drink.

“Good?” You lean forward expectantly.

Lucifer strokes your cheek coming in to inhale your fresh scent. The commingling of his and your own was beyond arousing. “There is more than one way to seal and strengthen a pact, my beloved.” He pulls you into a chastened kiss, feeling your cheeks heat with a dawning realization of what he meant. “You have now given yourself to me in both body and soul. The- bonus perks were inevitable.” He parts from you, reaching for his glass.

“Will it go away?” You honestly didn’t know if you could handle any more curveballs down here.

Lucifer laughs swirling the dredges of his drink before downing it in one go. “Ideally no- but over time if it isn’t reinforced it will weaken and disappear on its own.”

“Reinforced?” The heat of your drink seems to dip lower down your body. Your demon scoffs giving you a knowing look.

He drags you onto his lap. “Are you truly satisfied with just a night with me αγαπούλα μου?” A gloved finger tugs at the hem of your towel. “If I had my way I would keep you full and drunk on my power for all eternity.” He captures you in a searing kiss draping you over the cushions of his couch, his eyes turning predatory. “Do not worry about the side effects.” He purrs caging you in. “We have all the time in the world to get you accustomed to them.”

Diavolo

He knew. This bitch knew before he ever got you in his bed-chamber. Just think of the entertainment value~

So when he sweeps you up into his quarters for the night day weekend, he just forgets to mention it to you

He is curious about how his magic will affect a human of celestial descent. Will it show up all at once? Or over a long period of time? He hopes that your blood doesn’t cancel out his claim on you

He watches you like a hawk for a while- and nothing…

Hmm. Perhaps it just didn’t take the first time? No matter, try-try-try again as the saying goes. He certainly doesn’t see you complaining

But as the week passes he slowly puts it on his backburner as his work begins to pile up again

You on the other hand are having a time. One day you are fine and dandy and the next you can read and write in languages you’ve never even heard of.

Then you started seeing some frankly crazy shit. Had the ghost at the house always been this active?

The last straw for you was accidentally freezing half of the house’s rose garden with a sneeze. To say you are panicked is an understatement

Frazzled you run to the only mage you could (kinda) trust

“It’s not funny!” You hiss frantically staring bewildered at your friend. Your look of panic just makes him laugh harder. “Stop seriously Solomon! Gods, what did I do?” You scrub at your face hard. If you made yet another freaking pact with a demon you were going to lose it. Seven idiots were enough for several lifetimes.

Solomon howls at this, drawing curious and rude looks from the surrounding tables of the tea house. You swat at his shoulder hissing like a cat. “Sorry- sorry” He hiccups. “Your turn of phrase was just so fitting.” He collects himself by taking a sip of his tea. “Tell me, what have you been doing of late?” He smirks around the rim of his cup.

You squint at him not getting it. His keen eyes drift down to land on the garden of purple and blue bruises littering your neck. You slap a hand over your hickeys. He smiles leaning over conspiratorially. “What’s it like to sleep with a God? The perks are amazing no?”

You shook your head. “I-what perks?”

“Oh~ Loverboy didn’t warn you of certain side-effects?” The mage leans back in his chair. He was going to have a great time today. ___________

Unbelievable. You march up the walkway to the palace, your mind absolutely reeling. Did he know about this? Of course, he did-how could he not! Did he just forget? No- Diavolo was many things, smart, cunning, conniving, but never forgetful. You knew him well and knew he had to be on the lookout for “side effects” as Solomon put it.

Fine, two can play at this game.

“Ah! Mio Giglio! How are you?” Dia glances up from his mountainous amount of paperwork when you throw open his office door. He rises in one fluid motion to scoop you up in a tight hug. Now that you know what to look for, you hone into the way he holds you. His large hands run down your back and sides possessively, he clings to you rubbing his bulking frame on you like a cat marking you. He leans in close to rub the bridge of his strong nose up and down your clavicle and neck. You feel his hot breath on your skin when he exhales. How had you not noticed this?

“Good, and you?” You smile into the fabric of his shirt. Carefully you wrap your arms around his solid waist. You hug him lightly so as to not give away your little surprise.

“Better with you here.” He chuckles stepping back to return to his desk. You follow closely behind waiting for the perfect time to strike. “What have you been up to?” He asks innocently, going to sit back down. “I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

You hum nonchalantly coming up behind him to rub at his tense shoulders. “Nothing much.” He nods closing his eyes as your fingers dig into sore muscles. “Usual school week, made some new friends...Went shopping with Asmo and Luke this morning. Bought you some treats, hidden from Barbatos of course.” You drop a quick peck on his cheek. Diavolo smiles sinking lower into his chair. He hopped it was something with lemon or orange, they were in season now. Barbatos had been on the warpath with his sugar and carb intake of late. “Then I had tea with Solomon and he filled me in on some very interesting facts.” You kiss his hairline.

“Mmmm?”

You pull away from his warmth to come around to straddle his lap while he is distracted. He jerks at your sudden weight on his lap but relaxes almost immediately. He opens a golden eye, not even realizing he had closed them. Your demeanor shifts when his gaze is fully set on you, all sweet innocence gone. A cheshire grin spreads across your face. “Funny you should ask if I’m feeling ok. I have been feeling a bit off of late.”

Diavolo tenses. “Are you well?” He tries to reach for you, his arms coming off the armrests of his desk chair. You strike like a viper, your small hands wrap and lock around his thick wrists pinning them to the chair. His eyes bulge in shock. You watch coyly as his biceps bulge under his clothes. He tries to break free for a few minutes before settling back. “I see-”

Leaning in you brush your lips across his ears, heart racing with excitement. “You forgot to mention quite a few things, Dia.” The low purr he emits shakes both of you.

“My apologies.” He admits. “You know I love a good show. Shame I missed it.” He throws you a rogue smile. “Forgive me?”

You slide closer until you rested chest to chest, legs wrapping around his to pin him down further. His purr drops down an octave. Locking eyes with him you remove a hand from his wrist daring him to move. He doesn’t. You move slowly and deliberately resting your hand on his strong neck. His reaction was instantaneous. His pupils dilate, and the gold of his irises turn molten. You start to feel his magic seep out, you match it, giddy with excitement that you could. “Only if you work for it.” You smirk.

Diavolo nods readily, licking at his dry lips in anticipation. He was more than ready to atone.

Satan

He is a good noodle and has the decency to tell you what will happen beforehand

It’s only polite to give you a heads up before he breaks your headboard

You both are curious about how it will affect you. He at least is excited to teach you some practical magic

Plus the idea of you pranking Lucifer with magic? Sublime.

He smells it blossoming under your skin while you sleep.

It’s sharp and minty with a smoky finish. Then the power hits him like a brick to the face. He is in awe.

It’s like an electrifying feedback loop that just energizes and excites him and you feel it too. He’ll lose himself in you and your body again, hyped up on the headiness of it all.

Once he has *cough* cleared his head *cough* he takes you out to try out your newly found powers. He has so many things he wants to teach you.

Satan kneels beside you nodding his head in approval at your chalk markings. Your lines weren’t exactly steady, he could see how your hand shook as you copied his paperwork but you followed it dutifully. He finds your nervousness adorable as if he would let anything bad happen to you. At his go-ahead, you get to your feet. Turning your palms down towards your summoning circle you recite your spell and watch in amazement as your runes glow bright green underneath you. In a flash of blinding lights and smoke, you sense the pull of the creature emerging from your rune work. Delighted you look down at your handy work.

“Congratulations my darling, exceptionally done.” He grins proudly from his perch by his bookshelf.

You bend down and pick up the little critter. “What is it?” It looked like a blob of flan but firmer. Its squishy form shivers in your palm when you poked it. Its body giving way under your gentle poke. It was dark green but lightened to an electric green at its base. It was surprisingly warm.

You feel Satan coming up behind you to rest his chin on your shoulder. “It looks to be a lesser familiar, not bad for your first time summoning ever.” The jelly wiggles at his praise even though you couldn’t find any discernible features on its smooth little body. You turn it this way and that in your hand, even though it didn’t have eyes you could sense it was sizing you up to.

“What can it do?” You raise a brow at your companion. His arms circle your waist, his grin turning mischievous.

“Let's find out.”

________

Your lungs burn, each breath coming hard and sharp while you run. The sound of your pounding feet was swallowed up by the rush of foot traffic around you. Satan drags you behind him ushering you both around the throng of students. “Quickly!” He looks over his shoulder and flashes you a brilliant smile. “The further away from his office we are the less likely he could blame us.”

You laugh breathlessly along with him.

________

“What Belphie say?” You lean onto Satan’s shoulder to peek at his phone. The two of you sit, crowding in on each other's space underneath a desk in one of the unused classrooms.

“It’s glorious. Everything is covered. He says it looks like magic won’t remove it either!” He cackles showing you his screen. Belphie sent him a selfie. He is grinning devilishly from ear to ear throwing you both a peace sign through the screen. In the background, you could clearly see a very irate Lucifer. His face was red with fury and his clothes covered in green goo. His office was wrecked. Your little jelly did a number on it, you hadn’t expected it to expand as large as it did. Your familiar popping on the edge of Lucifer’s desk wasn’t intended either, but totally worth it. “Think you can summon another?” Satan asks, darkening his screen. You shake your head, whatever power you had earlier today had been drained after your little stunt.

Satan nods in understanding. “Shame- imagine what one of your jellies could do to Diavolo’s office.”

“Satan-”

He chuckles wrapping an arm around your back. He plants a loud kiss onto your forehead. “Alright-alright. Perhaps after a bit of a rest and recharge?”

You poke his leg playfully and laugh. “If you wanted to have sex again you could just ask.”

He dips low and kisses you. “Well then- if you are up for another round of delinquency…”

Beelzebub

Sweet baby didn’t know-

Well, he knew about it. Lucifer had given everyone “the talk” about it a couple of millennia ago.

He never really thought about it before you because he didn’t sleep with humans often (Him so big, human so smol if he isn’t paying attention it could be...bad)

So when you drag him into your room he just doesn’t think about it. You are both so oblivious

He doesn’t think about the shift in your scent, your kisses were just as sweet as always. If there was a peppery aftertaste to your kiss he chalks it up to something you had for breakfast

He doesn’t think anything of it when you practically drag him from your bed to shower together before school

He doesn’t think about it when at lunch your appetite starts to rival his

He starts to think about it during P.E. when your dodge ball puts a demon down for the rest of class

He definitely notices when you pin him down to steal his sandwich during your picnic date

Now he’s freaking out, whether it's because you are showing inhuman strength or the fact that you stole his food who knows

You nab yet another one of his sandwiches and start munching away with a hum of happiness. “Hey, babe.” He rumbles beneath you. “You feeling alright?” He wraps his large hands around your waist. Your weight was warm and comfortable over his prone form. He had whisked you away for an afternoon picnic, something to spend more time with you alone. After last night he craved being around you more than anything. He had packed enough food for him in mind. But it looks like it wouldn’t be enough. Odd. Beel rests his head back on the thick blanket protecting you both from the slightly damp grass underneath.

“Hmm?” You swallow down a mouthful of ruben. “Yeah! Famished though.” You lean back on his strong hip and swipe your finger around your mouth to brush off some crumbs. You reach for the other half of his sandwich to devour but pauses when you catch Beel’s kicked puppy look. With a huff of amusement, you offer the other half to him letting him chomp down with a fanged smile in thanks.

He chews in silence, watching you pick up a bowl of fresh fruit. Hmmm… He runs his rough palms up and down your thighs and hips ignoring your squirming and giggles when he runs over the thin skin of your sides. He squeezes you lightly. Huh- Your muscles were firmer than this morning, now that he was looking closer he could see that your frame was a bit sturdier too. Still his perfectly lovable and squishy human but more solid around the edges. In a last-ditch effort to figure out what has changed, he reaches out for his pact mark.

He jerks forward, upsetting your position on his lap, causing you to tumble backward, fruit flying everywhere. “Beel!” You shriek. He shushes you, squeezing your cheeks between warm hands.

“I forgot.”

“You forgot?” You repeat. “What dessert? I’m pretty sure the fruit was part of it...but I mean. If you want grassy cantaloupe it’s all yours.” You eye the remains of the seasonal fruit laying around you and then at the basket. You were pretty sure you saw some pastries at the bottom of it too.

“We had sex.” He blurts out bluntly, and quite loudly.

Your face heats. “Yes, thank you for the reminder.” You push him off sitting up on your elbows. “Please, why don’t you yell it out for all the wildlife to hear too.”

Beelzebub shakes his head groaning. “No-I forgot to warn you about our pact.”

Ahh-oh. You eye him wearily. If he was stressing you were stressing, it wasn’t like him to get so bent out of shape. “Ok-is it, like bad?” What were you going to die? That would be a big thing to just forget. “How about you fill me in big guy.” You listen enraptured while he jerkily explains how you have strengthened your bond exponentially without even realizing it. Magic, super strength, the appetite, all because you jumped his bones.

Nice.

It sounded so cool- but then overwhelming all at the same time. Was it permanent? What if you lost control and actually hurt someone for real.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think about it-I just. You felt so good.” He wilts. “I should have been more careful- this is the first time I’ve done this.”

“Beel-”

“I swear.” He bulldozes over you. “I didn’t mean to keep this from you.”

You cut him off, combing your fingers through his hair soothingly. “I believe you, Beel.” You smile reassuringly. “It’s not like it’s gonna hurt me...right?” He thinks about it for a minute then grunts, shaking his head. You grin brighter stretching out your arms. “And I get some cool powers right?”

He nods again. “For a bit yes.”

You get up off the ground excitedly. “Right then! You’ll show me the ropes right? I’ve never done anything magical before!” You look at your palms as if fire or sparks were going to fly out of them. Beel rises to his feet too.

“You sure? I doubt I will be as good of a mentor as Lucifer or even Belphie.” He looks around the large grove of trees and sprawling grassy acreage around you both. You both were far away from the populated areas of the mountain pass and town. He could practice with you freely and without worrying about damaging anything important. “Not the date I promised, but if you really want me to show you some stuff…” He offers you a shy smile. He did have a few cool tricks he could show you. You nod already rolling up your sleeves. Well- if this was what you really wanted then he would be glad to show you.

#obey me #obey me fan fic #request!#obey me luficer #obey me diavolo #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub

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onihitokuchi · 3 years

Text

Ab ovo. (I. U.)

A/N: Thank you again, dear anon, for the request! I took the chance to choose one of the prompts from the list myself. I hope everything is to your satisfaction!

(Takes place in an AU where the Uchiha massacre never happened and Itachi stayed in the village.)

(I don´t own Naruto nor the characters in this story except for my own characters.)

Prompt: #24 - "It wasn't your fault."

Words: 1.306

TW: other than slight angst, none

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･.･ﾟ: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆:*⋆.*･ﾟ⋆*･:*⋆.*:･ﾟ: .⋆:*

"You know...", the child showed an almost toothless smile, "We should be friends!"

A second passed before the other child erupted in a fit of giggles at the same time as it tried to answer.

"I- I-", it tried to catch its breath while it wiped its laugh-teared eyes with the back of the sleeve - sticky food stains visible on it.

"I just- I just wanted to say the same.", the child managed to finally speak properly, with only a few hiccups between the words.

And with that small statement, both children blew up with laughter, as if it has been the most hilarious thing the two of them have ever heard.

The pair would spend the rest of the afternoon playing together, as if they had known each other all along - all the while bickering back and forth, about who had the idea of being friends first.

Their mothers, both sitting on the same bench only inches apart, shook their heads as they watched their children interact with each other. The two older women greeted each other, small smiles appearing on their two faces. Both happily accepting that they would have to meet more often from now on.

A relieved sigh escaped one of the two mothers. She was happy that her child finally seemed to make friends with others and open up more.

"It has been always hard for her to talk to other kids", she thought.

A high-pitched screech interrupted her thought process. Every parent and child on the playground turned their heads toward the child in question.

One of the little girls tried to draw her mother´s attention to her with a thrilling scream, blabbering brightly about how she had made a new friend.

The woman waved to her daughter, just as excited as her.

She could only imagine the trouble the two little girls would start together; Not knowing that the other parent next to her just had the same thought.

- - -

It did not make sense to her.

Did I do something wrong?

Did I forgot something important?

Did I say something wrong?

These were the thoughts that had clouded the young woman´s mind every minute the last few days.

It simply made no sense.

Her sleep-deprived eyes fixed on the wall opposite her bed as her grim thoughts were flooding her tired mind. New teardrops found their way down the woman's blotchy cheeks, flowing over the almost dried tear streaks that were still apparent.

She chuckled bitterly. I haven´t even felt this awful when I first got my heart broken.

No, this was no pain that could be compared to any heartache a man could inflict. It was unbelievable for the woman, that her friend - her best friend, she had considered - would bring such agony to her.

The click of the front door, indicating someone had entered, interrupted her unrestrained thoughts. The woman´s head turned to look at the alarm clock on the side table. 3 pm, it read.

A wave of shame overcame her. Itachi had asked her in the morning, if she´d like to come and help him train.

It's such beautiful weather, he had said to her with a small smile. But she had declined his request nonetheless, reasoning that she had some things to take care of.

And in the end, she had not left her bed for the whole day.

"Love?", Itachi poked his head through the doorway to the bedroom. His dark hair was always a mess after his training - sticking in every direction, and some stray hairs clinging to his sweaty forehead.

The smile that had at first graced the man´s face dropped in an instant as he saw the condition his lover was in; Her eyes were red, looking like she had been crying for some time now, and it seemed as if she had not moved from their shared bed for the entire day.

It had of course come to his attention, that she had something on her mind that had haunted her for the last week. He had asked her if something was on her mind - if she wanted to talk. But she only shrugged his concerns away, showing him her unwillingness of sharing her concerns.

Without another thought, Itachi walked over and sat next to her on the bed. His hand reached for one of hers.

"Tell me... What happened?", he questioned quietly as his other hand put a few of her stray hairs behind her ear.

Her lip was quivering slightly at his words. She could not even think about telling Itachi about how her friend seemed to distance herself from her. How her friend had told her, that she would not want to meet with her anymore or how her friend talked her down in front of her other friends.

Pathetic, she had thought. He would only think that I´m naive and childish for being so miserably about something like this.

But apparently, this small gesture of comfort Itachi had given her, was enough for the woman to break down completely.

Itachi was in utter disbelief after the woman had told him everything that her friend had done to her.

How she had left her waiting for her, at the café they always meet at. How she hasn´t talked to her for the past days, and every time she tried to speak with her friend she had just walked away without another word.

He thought, that this must be a joke. A cruel joke.

He knew her friend, and he knew how long they knew each other and how close they are. - Were.

So, with the crying woman now in his arms, he tried the only thing that he knew could make her feel at least a little bit better.

He whispered loving words to her. He held her close, rubbing her back while doing so. He tried to tell her, that this sometimes happens; Friendships have an ending sometimes, he told her. He only heard a little whimper coming from the woman in response.

After some time, the two found themselves laying arm in arm in the bed. Both still disheveled, her from the bad day she had and him from his hour-long training before. But neither seemed to care, as both enjoyed the body contact and silence between them.

Itachi had expected her to sleep - her breathing was low and even - but just before he had the chance to get out of the bed, a small voice stopped him.

"Is it -", her breath got caught for a second. "Is it my fault?", she turned her head towards his, her teary eyes glistening in the afternoon sun.

Hearing this, seeing her like this, broke Itachi´s heart. Anger bubbled up inside of him. How could anybody do this to someone? His hand found the side of her face, leading her head closer to his.

Their noses were almost touching as Itachi spoke softly to her. "My love...", he wiped his thumbs under her eyes, erasing the new tears that flowed down the woman´s cheeks. "Believe me... It wasn´t your fault." He closed the space until their lips touched briefly before separating again.

Itachi knew, that hearing this from him, would not be enough for the woman to believe it. But he hoped that this would at least help her for the start. Help her, in overcoming the sorrow and the insecurities the ending of the friendship had brought her.

Help her, to heal...

- - -

"We will be friends forever, right?", the child looked over to her friend that sat next to her on the grass.

The other child picked something from the ground before gazing back. "Of course.", it smiled brightly, holding out a small daisy for her friend to take. "Forever!"

#naruto oneshot #naruto #itachi uchiha #uchiha itachi #itachi uchiha x reader #itachi oneshot #itachi x reader #uchiha itachi x reader #naruto angst #naruto prompts

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trashytummiez · 3 years

Text

Bubbly Bottle Caps

I got this idea from @squidbiscuit‘s latest drawing of James after drinking way too much soda. I love bois who get really bloated and burpy from soda like that and the jiggly belly on James was just too much to ignore. >///<;

"EEEEEEEEI!!! What marvelous luck!!” James squealed in his posh accent. The Team Rocket scoundrel and his partner in crime, Jessie, made out like the bandits they were with this latest snag. While Jessie and Meowth were busy gawking at the cargo they may have some luck selling off to some of their other Team Rocket associates, James had his eyes on the real prize.

About a dozen rare, imported glass soda bottles. No. Seriously.

His eyes practically turned to hearts when he leaned down and observed the sparkling bottle caps atop each one. They were all rare, unique from one another, and sparkled almost as much as James’ excited, glassy eyes.

“Marvelous! Simply maaaaarvelous!!” James exclaimed in his flamboyant tone of voice. “My Bottle Cap collection’s about to get sooooo much sparklier!!” James cheered in a voice much more higher pitched than usual. He got very excited when it came to his bottle cap collection. It was sometimes hard to tell if it was sad or kind of adorable.

He immediately unscrewed the cap to one soda. Then, he brought the cap mere inches from his eyeballs. He observed its every inch, admiring its perfect form with the same attention and adoration one would convey admiring a diamond.

To James, there was no difference between the two.

He eagerly set the bottle cap into his pocket then grabbed the next bottle. But before he could twist the prized cap off, he stopped and looked down at the first drink he disregarded for the cap. The young, blue-haired villain picked up the bottle and looked it over. He carefully sniffed at the fizzing top.

It was a crisp vanilla cream soda, which happened to be James’ favorite brand of soda. Not only that, but even though they were on the clock and wanted to get the goods in and out as soon as possible, James wasn’t one to waste anything. Least of all delicious, creamy-tasting and crisp soda.

Against his better judgement, James brought the soda bottle to his lips and began to drink the bottle. It quickly dawned on him that if he was going to get his caps and deal with the soda in a non-wasteful manner, he’d need to hurry it up. So, the young villain went from drinking his soda to downright chugging it. His throat bobbed while he slugged his bottle down. It was a genuine shame to have to rush through the drink, but it was easy to chug, simply because it tasted so unbelievably good.

He finished it in impressive time, huffing but then smacking his lips at the flavor. “Mmmm, sweet as pie!” James said happily. Then, he grabbed another bottle and popped off the cap. Once again, he was gawking like a giant nerd at the beautiful cap and how great it would look with some of the others. Then, he pocketed the cap and, like the first bottle, decided to guzzle it down.

Two bottles down, James burped into his fist then grabbed his third bottle. But when he popped the cap off, his stomach gurgled loudly, making him feel a little uncomfortable. He paused and rubbed his black-clad stomach gently from under his white Team Rocket Uniform. Burping again under his breath, James huffed. He had an appetite and had been known for overindulging a bit too often, both he and Jessie alike were known for that, but he wasn’t used to chugging so much soda at once. His gurgling stomach told him that this wasn’t a good idea. But that stubborn side of him that both loved the taste of this particular soda and hated wasting food or drink alike won out.

So, he pocketed his third bottle cap and guzzled the drink down. He would’ve paced himself, but he didn’t want to leave Jessie or Meowth waiting or for them to stick around longer than they needed. Lord knows they’ve had egg on their face far too many times to wanna deal with another blunder when things were actually going well with this latest scheme.

Especially with these glorious bottle caps on the line.

After downing his third bottle, James couldn’t help but let out a large burp, definitely a lot bigger than he was expecting. He covered his mouth and blushed after. He took a moment to place a hand on his stomach when it grumbled again. It was starting to feel bloated, and definitely heavier than usual.

James whined nervously down at his burgeoning middle. He felt up his stomach, and the way it sort of jostled around on account of that added soda bloat. He hiccuped from the jostle and blushingly covered his mouth. “Curse my innocuous and totally awesome hobbies,” James complained. But then again, he was already a fourth of the way done. Getting through the rest couldn’t have been that bad, right?

Wrong.

The more those bottles began to add up, the worse that poor, oddly dashing crook began to feel. His usually thin stomach turned into a pretty sizable potbelly that stretched out his black undershirt and gurgled intensely. James was looking miserable when he downed his sixth bottle. His eyes were clenched shut and each gulp caused him to strain slightly.

Almost immediately after setting his empty bottle down besides the others, a huge burp exited James mouth and actually lasted a few seconds. James groggily patted his belly, causing it to slosh and gurgle some more. “Ungh, too much soda,” James whimpered, weakly rubbing his bloated belly while it gurgled intensely.

He looked down at his stomach and blushed in an embarrassed manner. His stomach was getting so big from all that soda swilling around inside of him.

BWWWOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRPPP!!!!!

And James was burping so much that he lost any right to call himself the one with good manners within their little gang. James yet again covered his mouth and blushed embarrassingly. All that soda in his gut was making him incredibly gassy.

No hobby in the universe was worth this much torture.

Except bottle cap collecting unfortunately.

So, James popped the bottle cap off and pocketed it without even taking a second to admire the new addition to his collection. And he tortuously drank that seventh bottle. His stomach groaned unpleasantly from the extra soda, but he was committed to enjoying both the new caps and all that soda, even if it killed him.

He really hoped it wouldn’t though.

BBBUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRROOOOOORRRRPPPP!!!!!!!!

Another giant, gassy burp signified another bottle drained. James was so full that he had to sit himself down onto the ground and lean back just to ease some of the pressure off of his stomach. James lazily grabbed another bottle, not even bothering to try and hold in yet another massive burp that forced its way out of his mouth. He blushed a little because they were so loud, but he was too full and too groggy to even excuse himself anymore.

Instead, he just carelessly tossed that damn bottle cap into his pocket and drank. The gulps got louder, as did all of the noises bubbling from James’ heavy and round stomach. It hurt, but it didn’t deter James at this point.

It should have. Like several bottles ago. But somehow, he powered on through. The empty glass bottles just kept on littering the floor beside James, who punctuated the completion of each soda bottle with a massive, sometimes even painful-sounding burp.

BBBBEEEEEEEEEELLLLLUUUUUURRRRRCH!!!!!!

James was gassier than he’d ever been in his whole life. And that wasn’t a compliment.

But the pain and embarrassment would be worth it in the end. Or at least it would after a long nap and a lot of pepto bismol.

Finally, the bloated young man finished all twelve bottles and had a pocket full of beautiful, brand new and rare bottle caps to add to his collection.

BBBBBRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!

It wasn’t worth it.

James lazily slumped back on the floor. His pants had long been undone because his belly had grown so massively bloated from twelve bottles of soda chugged in rapid succession it James almost looked pregnant. His beer belly stuck out so much that his undershirt rode up and revealed his bare round belly for all to see. The dazed and exhausted James gently pat his stomach. He was so full of soda that it actually jiggled and sloshed from the pat. All James could do was groan and whimper while rubbing his round, sloshing belly weakly.

“...Unnngh...too...much...soda...” James whined, burping wetly and whimpering some more. He looked and sounded like he wanted to cry.

“...What in da hell?” Meowth’s low, street-level voice called out to James.

James yelped nervously when Meowth and Jessie approached their soda-filled companion with bags of loot in Jessie’s arms and a single bag in Meowth’s.

“James, what on earth happened here?” Jessie asked, lightly kicking James’ massive belly with her foot.

It sloshed and jostled with an immense gurgle that followed. James’ eyes widened and his cheeks puffed out. And before he could even entertain the idea of holding back what was coming...

BBBWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

James let out the loudest, queasiest burp he’d ever uttered in his life. It was so intense that the bottles besides him actually rattled, as did his soda-filled stomach. Both Jessie and Meowth flinched, but immediately looked at each other and had the same thought.

“Bottle caps.”

James let out a tiny burp and flopped onto his back whimpering. His huge gut swayed like a fleshy wave from all that soda sloshing around inside of him.

“...Nrgh...I...don’t ever...ever...ever...want to see another soda for as long as I live...” James whined and even went a little green at the mere thought of drinking any more soda.

“Well, that’s too bad, becauuuuse...” Jessie grinned eagerly and held up one of the bags of loot which rattled in a dreadfully familiar fashion. “Imported sodas! The cream-flavored kind!”

“They ain’t worth squat but boy d’they taste great!” Meowth exclaimed.

...James proceeded to cry right there on the spot.

#pokemon #james #jessie and james #team rocket #meowth #burping #bloating #soda chug #belly kink #beer belly #bottle caps #indigestion #nausea #carbonation #gassy #drinking

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fragileizywriting · 3 years

Text

New fic is out for this AU!

pairing: Cat!Marinette / Ladybug!Adrien (Lady Noire / Misterbug) word count: 3,247 chapter: 1/1 rating: G summary: “You make me feel safe and wanted.” “You are wanted, little kitty.” “You know what I meant.” “I meant by me. You are wanted by me— and I know you know that— but I want to repeat it anyway. I always want you to be happy here.” AO3 | Start AU Here | Previous Fic in AU

“Kitty?”

“My mom.” It’s all Lady Noire can reply through all of her sniffles. She curls up tighter into a ball on the couch, pinching her eyes shut to the point it hurts, curling up her arms and legs and tail and head so that she becomes a single black smudge on the couch. A stain. Just simply a stain. “My mom. Always my mom. It was my mom again.”

Her head hurts. It’s foggy and full of cotton, so stuffy from everything. She’s grateful for the shade in his room that gets darker and darker as the minutes tick by, casting the space in total darkness, so that way he doesn’t have to see how miserable she is.

It must be horrible to have to live with an east-facing window. Her plants would love it. Her eyes, though, not so much.

She grabs for a decorative couch pillow above her head, swiping it and hiding her face, giving her even a bit of reprieve from the light.

Adrien sits down in front of her on the couch. She hears the noise of his pajama pants crinkling as he sits cross-legged on the rug underneath the coffee table, hears how he drums his fingers on his thighs, and hears how slow and steady his heartbeat is. He’s always so steady. Always so firm and anchoring to her. Even if the world continues in its attempt to rock her boat and tip her over and submerge her. Adrien always holds on for her when she’s too tired and too scared and too lonely to do so. “I’m sorry, kitty.”

“Her idea of comforting me is by telling me to be stronger. Whatever it is.”

He pauses. “Do you… do you want to talk about it?”

“It— it doesn’t matter. What I was upset about in the beginning is gone— I’m more upset at my mom now. Tell me how your day was first.” Because it’s always better to ask first about others than talk about her own problems. She doesn’t want to think about it for so long. If there’s any chance of forgetting about it, even for a little while, she’ll be happy.

And Adrien knows this. He knows this, because he knows her, and knows that her changing the subject is a cry for help. A flag upside down, calling out in distress. She’s sinking. It hurts. She’s injured. It shows. The silence is enough to make her remember the turbulent storms that made her cry in the first place, causing her to coil tighter, causing her to coil smaller, all in an attempt to get rid of the noise in her head.

He puts his hand on her head.

The hand at her scalp is soothing, and still damp from the shower— her lashes flutter when he gets a purr out of her, even if it’s a little watery. “My day was okay.”

“What did you do today?”

“I had school,” he shrugs a bit, jostling the hand that pets the soft parts of her ears. She knows about school. She’d spent the entire day boring a giant hole at the back of his head, chewing on her tongue like it was personally causing her grief, doing her utmost best like she always does to not accidentally tell Adrien that she’s the superhero that vaults through his bedroom window every afternoon. “Nothing, really. No extracurriculars for me today, either.”

She knows that, too.

She’d asked him at school.

He’d managed to stammer out a whole sentence to her today. To Marinette today.

He doesn’t have a problem talking to Lady Noire. But Marinette is an obstacle that he genuinely can’t conquer, no matter how many times she tries.

“I just came home and did homework and went to take a shower and suddenly…”

“And suddenly I’m here crying into your couch. I’m sorry,” she tries to fill in the gaps when he struggles on what to say next. “I’m always showing up with some kind of problem, aren’t I?”

“I don’t mind. You know I don’t. I love taking care of you— you’re my best friend. You know that, right?”

She does. Of course she does. That’s why it hurts so much.

“Some hero of Paris I am, huh?” Oh, she sounds bitter. “Showing up at a civilian’s house crying about personal life?”

“Hey,” he whispers, with something stern in his voice. “Stop that. Don’t talk like that— that’s not nice to yourself. You know you’re allowed to have problems outside of fighting Hawkmoth.”

And that’s it, really. That’s what gets another round of tears to freefall down her cheeks, but they come out sideways because she’s laying on her side— she can’t feel the tears track down on her black hexleather mask, but she knows she’s crying. She knows there are tears sloping across the bridge of her nose and joining with the tear pattern from her other eye, because she can feel how wet the whisps of her baby hairs feel against her ear when the tears finally get there. “I wish I didn’t have this.”

“Oh, kitty— I’m so sorry—”

“My mom just wants what’s best for me,” she feels herself get smaller and smaller, hiccuping hard enough for her to jump. Will she disappear? She wants to. Can she? Will Adrien let her? Probably not. He has a habit of wanting her to be happy, even when she wants to do nothing but disappear forever. “But we get into arguments about what that is all the time.”

“I know.”

“How I should be trying harder in school.”

“Yeah.”

“How I should”—she pauses, trying to think of something, anything, to fill in the gaps—“be trying harder to balance my civilian life and superhero duties.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, kitty.”

“How I need to be better. How I need to stop crying. How I need to do everything except what I’m doing now, because it isn’t enough.”

“Kitty…”

“She wants me to succeed, but instead of comforting me, she keeps adding more stress onto my shoulders by telling me how I should be dealing with my problems instead. And it hurts. And it’s painful. And I’m lonely. And I can’t do anything about it.”

“You have something you can do. You can stay right here with me. You can stay right here until it feels better. All of it. Everything.”

“It’s hard being a superhero,” she whispers. What an understatement of a lifetime. What does she choose to talk about first? What does she pick to say? “I don’t know how Mister Bug does it without breaking down.”

“Maybe he does. Maybe he struggles just as much as you do.”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine that. Do you think he’s okay?”

“Well, he’s just a human. Just like you are. He has problems too, doesn’t he?”

“I can’t picture Mister Bug having problems. I should ask him.”

“I don’t think you need to,” Adrien shrugs. “I think he already knows how much you care about him.”

“Then, should I be going to him and telling him what’s wrong? Do you think he’s upset, knowing that I choose to talk to someone else about my problems?”

“I think he’s happy that you have someone you trust,” he whispers, damp fingers tracing the shell of her hexleather ears. She can’t feel it like her normal skin, because it’s a magical suit, but the little triangles at the top of her head twitch as if they’re sensitive to touch. “I think it makes him feel content, knowing that you go to someone you like and talk about your issues instead of bottling them up.”

“Love,” she corrects. “Everyone knows that I love you.”

“Love,” he repeats back to her with a smile. “Right. Yes. I think it makes him feel good, knowing you go to talk to someone you love about your problems.”

“The whole world knows, you know. Even Hawkmoth knows that you’re my best friend. People talk about it on social media all the time. We’re a pair. We’re a duo. We’re a matching set.”

If only people knew just how close the two of them actually are. Selfies taken on the street when either of them finds each other, pretending to act like simply a celebrity finding another celebrity on the streets of Paris, instead of being two best friends.

“We’re a team,” he whispers.

“Team shark.”

“Exactly,” he talks even softer. “We’re a team, little kitty. You and me.”

“Because no jaw is too strong,” she replies.

“No smile is too full of teeth,” oh, there’s a smile in his voice.

“And no mouth is too wide to keep me away from you. Never. No Akuma. No Lady Noire’s mother. No stupid photoshoots that they pencil you in at the last minute. No world-ending apocalypse that Mister Bug and I have to fix every month. Nothing will keep me from you.” They settle into a silence that is only partially filled with her sniffles and the occasional wipe of her mask with the back of her hand. It’s a shame she can’t feel his fingers on her back, following the lines of her spine like she knows he’s doing— but it’s the sacrifice she pays up in order to stay protected from Akuma battles.

“Nothing will keep me from you, either. No nightmares, no Akuma, no fangirls that drive me crazy.”

She listens to the silence, opening her eyes to the darkening room, watching the sky outside his floor-to-ceiling windows start to orange and purple. It’s such a pretty sight, watching those clouds drift lazily by as Paris turns into a sight reminiscent of a dream. No wonder he doesn’t draw the curtains closed. Or maybe he just wants his room accessible to her at all times. “You know, sunshine, my uncle said that if I bottle up too many emotions I might start to break things.”

His eyes look like stars, looking at her in alarm and worry. “Like, you’re going to get violent?”

“No! No. Never. Not really. You know I wouldn’t.”

“Oh. Wait, then I don’t understand what you mean.”

“It wouldn’t be my choice. It would be just like a misfire of my powers.”

“A misfire?”

“It’s kind of like a protection, or a last-resort. When I’m so stressed out that my body just goes into self-preservation, making sure that it’s impossible to take my miraculous ring in case I’m indisposed.”

“Oh. I never knew this.”

“It’s to stop me from getting Akumatized.” As if the explanation makes this any better. “But it’s still not a good thing. Self-preservation is a pretty selfish thing to happen.”

“What”—she watches him lick his lips, as if he’s trying to choose his next words carefully—“what does it look like?”

“How do I explain this— it’s kind of like— uhm. Do you remember that movie we watched?”

“We watch many movies together,” he snorts, scrunching his nose into something silly when she cracks a smile.

“Come on. The one with the wizard.”

“Do you know how little that narrows it down?”

“The one with the demon.”

“Oh boy. Remind me not to join any charades groups with you— we’d lose every round.” The two of them snicker at each other.

“Okay, it’s the one where the woman who falls in love with—” she pauses. “A guy.”

“Wait a minute. What were you going to say?”

“Just some guy.”

He narrows his eyes. “Some guy you really like.”

“He’s okay.”

“What’s his name?”

She twiddles her thumbs. “Howl.”

Recognition sparks in those beautiful emerald green eyes of his. “Oh. Oh. The love of your life, yes. I’m aware.”

“He’s not—”

“Yes he is.”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t bother lying, little kitty. I know why you love rewatching the movie with me, you little gremlin.”

“The music,” she argues, feeling her cheeks heat under her domino mask. “The atmosphere. The flowers—”

“The magician boys,” Adrien grins. “Howl especially. Admit it. You have a thing for blondes.”

“I— I do not. Anyway,” she tries her hardest not to grin back. If only he knew. If only he knew that she’s not thinking of Mister Bug when he says that. “Shut up. Stop looking at me. Stop it.”

“Am I right? Am I?”

“You’re harassing me.”

“It’s not harassment, it’s endearingly interrogating.”

“I’m moving on! I’m moving on from this topic!” She paws at him when his mouth twitches hard, trying to keep his laughter out. “Do you remember when Howl got so upset that his hair changed color?”

“And there was goo coming off the walls?”

“Yeah! Exactly! The room was shifting super weird and goo was dripping everywhere? Something similar happens with the black cat miraculous when they’re super upset.”

“Similar? Or do you actually make goo?”

“Just similar. I’m not a gooer.”

“Are you sure?”

“I promise, I’m goo free.”

“How free of goo are you?”

“Pretty gooless.”

“I don’t want to see you all gooey,” he ducks his head, smiling at her with a quirk of his mouth like he always does when he’s teasing. “I don’t ever want to see that happen. Ever. And it’s not going to happen, because you and I are a team, and team members don’t turn into goopy sludge.”

Does he know how much that means to her? To hear the words out loud that he doesn’t ever want to see her get to the breaking point where her miraculous powers start to drain and create vacuums in the air around her? That he’s willing to do whatever it takes to make sure that she never gets to the stage where she breaks windows and concrete and whatever surface it is she’s standing on— whatever object she’s holding?

Her smile is so watery.

So, so watery.

“What? The concept of a jelly Lady Noire too strange for you?”

“Anything that isn’t my kitty in her normal and natural form is too strange for me,” he shares a smile with her, those beautiful green eyes looking at hers. “But don’t worry. If it ever gets to that point where you’re a gelatin, I’ll love you. Even when you’re gooey.”

“Gross.”

“And oozy.”

“Ew.”

“And goopy.”

“Ugh. Why do I sound so disgusting?”

“I’ll love you even if you’ve turned into a slime.”

“Watch out, Hawkmoth. Slime Noire is here. Even though I don’t actually turn into slime physically, I am emotionally. Try taking my miraculous now.” They share laughter hard enough to hurt in the spaces between her ribs. His laughter soothes an itch that is somewhere next to her heart— it’s a warm and gentle balm. She loves him. She loves him so much.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he tells her when she finally picks up her head from the couch, wiping at her eyes, smiling down at him. He has to crane his head up to look at her from where he is, sitting on the rug, but it doesn’t look like he minds it. “I’m glad you showed up, kitty. It’s lonely without you here.”

“I like coming here.” As if she even has to admit it. As if he doesn’t know. The only reason why she doesn’t stay permanently in this room is because of all the plants she’s populated her room with. And, of course, the whole problem that Adrien doesn’t know her secret identity. Hard to take a shower in a hexleather suit. It’s not like she would be able to move in and be able to use the bathroom. “You make me feel safe and wanted.”

“You are wanted.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I meant by me. You are wanted by me— and I know you know that— but I want to repeat it anyway. I always want you to be happy here.”

“You already make me feel happy. Always.” Oh, she can feel how her cheeks stain harder underneath her hexleather mask. “I know your house is quiet, but— when I’m here with you— it doesn’t feel so overwhelming. Being in my house makes everything so loud. So many cousins asking me to help them. So many aunts and uncles begging me to cover their shifts or go do errands. And my mom—”

Well.

“You don’t have to do any of that here.” He lifts his arms up, offering himself for a hug when she cuts herself off and starts to think about it all over again. She slips off the couch quick enough to startle him, planting a knee at the side of his hip and another between his legs and crushing his broad shoulders into a hug. His fingers find a way through her braid, just like always, massaging a certain spot on her scalp that makes her eyes role and see stars. “You don’t have to do anything. I want you here.”

“You’re just trying to make sure I don’t turn into Goopy Noire.”

“Maybe I like the idea of being able to save the citizens of Paris from a sludge,” he laughs so warmly into her shoulder. “Being a superhero of my own. Who knows. Or maybe I really do care about you, kitty.”

“What a weirdo.” Oh— her voice is cracking.

He doesn’t mention it. “God, I know. Caring about my best friend is so stupid these days.”

“Yeah. Who does that?”

“People who love one another.”

“Wait. Are you admitting you like me?”

“Don’t tell anyone. No one will hire me for modeling gigs if they found out about my secret.”

“You know what? Just because of that, you’ll be the first one to get consumed by my goo.” She dissolves into laughter so hard that the both of them tumble backwards on the rug from how much the both of them shake, grinning at each other like the idiots they are, snickering and poking fun at each other.

“Ew,” Adrien manages to say at some point during their laughter. “That sounds disgusting.”

“It’s the price to pay.”

“What price? What am I paying for?”

“No idea. But it’s the price you’re going to have to pay,” she wheezes out between snorts, peeling away from their hug just enough to make eye contact.

He can’t see her as well as she can see him. It’s dark now, and it’s way too dark for human eyes to see in his room. She can see him in perfect clarity, of course, because her miraculous allows her to see in the dark as if it were still daytime— so she gives herself the luxury of looking at him without him pulling a face or teasing her.

Just a little snippet.

Just a little indulgence.

Just a little moment that is hers that she won’t share with anyone else.

And yet, it’s as if he knows what she’s thinking about anyway, like he can read her face in this much darkness. His thumb rubs circles on her domino mask, wiping away her tears and her worries and her problems with that smile he only gives her. It’s not his Agreste smile. It’s Adrien’s smile. Toothy and stupid and silly and his— he’s not self conscious about himself in front of her. He never is. “You’re important to me, little kitty.”

“You’re important to me too, Charming,” she wiggles her toes in her boots before tackling him into another hug that makes her feel all warm and fuzzy. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Always. Every day. Gooey or not.”

AO3 | Start AU Here | Previous Fic in AU

#sharks and sugar extras #fragileizysasfic #fragileizyadrienette #ladrien #ladrien fanfic #cat!marinette #lady noire #kwami swap

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i-will-physically-fight-you · 4 years

Text

As Long as the Forest Stands Tall, I’ll Be With You

Title: As Long As The Forest Stands Tall, I’ll Be With You

Summary: Humans come to Logan’s tree in all sorts of shapes and sizes. They ask for good crops, to find true love and to strike riches beyond their wildest dreams. Rarely, however, does a child stand beneath his tree, shivering and hiccuping in the bitter cold of winter.

Pairings: Familial Analogical, Background Platonic Logicality and Familial Intruroyality

Word-Count: 2.6-k

Warnings: Human Sacrifice, Death Mention, Body Horror, Morally Gray Logan, Angst with a Happy Ending

This fic is inspired by an anon ask sent to me awhile back that I just now finished. It’s also the Cryptid Logan fic that won the poll of next published wip, so hope y’all all enjoy :)

A human child stands at the base of his tree, shivering and hiccuping in the bitter cold of winter. Indeed, the child’s stick arms hugs its frame in a poor attempt to stay warm. The child does not have a coat, and its threadbare stockings could hardly count as shoes.

Logan finds himself mystified by the sight.

Humans came to his tree, in all sorts of shapes and sizes. They asked for good crops, to find true love and to strike riches beyond their wildest dreams. He granted them all, as long as they left an appropriate gift in its place. Things like books and knowledge he favored most of all, but he often did not turn away a cow or two if it was all they had to offer.

However a child? Rarely do children come seeking his help. Adolescents do not have the same worries as their often self-absorbed older counterparts. The few children that have come his way in decades past asked for things for others. The appearance of the child is enough to wake him fully from his winter rest.

“Hello.” He speaks, the wind carrying his message, through the dead tree branches and over the mounds of snow below.

He forms at the base of his tree, in a shape familiar yet alien to a human’s eye. Centuries of practicing shapeshifting and he still has not perfected a form that does not send a human’s flight-or-fight’s reflexes into overdrive. Humans are innately good picking up on minuscule anomalies. If it is not the nose this time, then it is the ears he has gotten wrong. Too pointy, too many. He’s certain this time he has the right amount of body parts.

The child leaps in the air at his greeting. They turn to face him, trembling even more. He does not think it is from the cold.

“H-hello.” The child returns the greeting, dipping their head in reverence.

“What is your name, child?” He asks, “and what do you seek?”

The child makes a weird, muffled noise. Their head is still lowered, facing away from Logan’s searching gaze.

“My name is Virgil, I--I’ve come to seek an end to this harsh winter. That you--you bring about a prosperous out-pour of crops this Spring.” The child speaks, slow and stilted. Like words firmly pressed into their mouth by someone else and not a genuine request from the child himself.

A flash of anger passes through Logan. If humans think by sending out a sapling their chances will double, they are wrong. Logan values knowledge and wisdom, not emotional manipulation.

Logan hums in acknowledgement of Virgil’s words, “I see. And what shall you offer in payment?”

“Myself.”

“What?” Logan asks, for he is sure he misunderstood the child.

“I--it’s--Chief Habrok said as an orphan I’m not good for much else and that this is the highest honor I could bring to the village. So I offer myself as a sacrifice.” Virgil looks up at him, glistening tears half-frozen to his cheeks. So much of both fear and determination radiates from the small being.

Logan’s ire has kindled to a raging forest-fire. This is worse than simply thinking Logan would be softer to a child’s pleas than an adult’s. Humans have bargained with him using livestock but one of their own young? A child that has lost so much already? It is revolting. All around them, the forest creaks, branches shifting not from the blizzard’s winds but of their own volition. Virgil flinches.

He reaches down, softly cusping Virgil’s chin with a hand to direct the child’s attention towards himself.

“I will take you far away from here. Somewhere you’ll be safe and loved for as long as this tree stands tall. Okay?”

“And my village--you’ll take care of them?” Virgil asks, confusion and doubt swirling around him. Much like the fierce snowfall sweeping through the forest.

Logan’s lips twitches. “You have my word that they’ll be taken care of.”

“O-okay.” Virgil agrees, voice soft and small.

Logan drops his hand away, holding it out by his side. “Take my hand.”

Most would hesitate touching the hand of a spirit. They’d fear to be swept away, to never see the light of day again. The fear is very much present within the child. But again so is that firm, resolute determination. Virgil’s tiny hand shoots forward, latching onto Logan’s larger one with a startlingly strong grip. The wind picks up as the trees shake themselves from their foundations, their roots. They stretch, relishing the freedom of movement.

“Close your eyes.” Logan murmurs. It’s his only warning before he calls forth to the forest. Logan is not this one tree like the humans believe. He is all of them. He is the whole forest. Each of them are perfectly formed clones connected by the same root system.

He integrates Virgil’s soul into the system, careful to keep the child’s individuality intact. Somewhere in the bidding snowstorm, a young three-foot sapling sprouts bright green leaves much like the tree the two stand under. Certain of his work, he withdraws. He underestimates the drain of his powers, because he nearly collapses to the ground.

“You!” Virgil gasps, staring at Logan with bulging eyes. Logan looks at himself, no longer ambiguously human in appearance. Ah, yes. He’s quite forgotten how frightening his true form can be for humans. It is a shimmery indigo blue that is almost translucent. He has a multitude of eyes and just as many limbs. His hair is mossy, with bits of berries and flowers poking out of it. His eyes are a pupiless navy blue with whirling black rings.

“You look different as well,” Logan says, pointing out that the child’s form has taken on a glowing purple hue. Hmm, purple. Unusual color for a spirit. He still looks much like a human aside from the color. Give it enough time, however, and the child’s appearance will shift to reflect his newfound nature.

“Am I dead?” The child blurts out.

“Not in the slightest.” Logan reassures. The child does not look reassured despite this, “Now come, I know someone who will take good care of you.”

“B-but I thought, you’d--” The child stutters, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Oh no, I’m terrible with children. I promise that you will be quite safe with him.” Logan says, blinking out the dizzying nausea. He frowns in distaste. Maintaining a physical presence is annoying and draining. This is why he seldoms ventures out to the physical realm if he can help it.

“Now shall we?” Logan asks, shouting over the blizzard at this point. Virgil huddles closer, burying his head into Logan’s robes, away from the roaring blizzard. Logan’s robes become wet with tears. Logan places a tentative hand on the child’s back. \

Then he pulls both of them away--their physical forms dissolving completely. They reappear in a dwelling in the depths of the astral realm. A calamity of voices greets them. A kind, older one overlaid by two energetic young ones.

“--you two shouldn’t go off without permiss--”

“Logey, Logey!” The two young voices say in unison, as a set of green and red blurs come dashing towards Logan’s direction. The green one looks human enough except for their bottom half made up of swishing, swirling tentacles. The red one sports shimmery see-through wings and insectoid eyes.

The child presses closer to Logan, his heart rate accelerating by a substantial amount. In response, Logan draws his limbs around to shield Virgil while holding one hand out in warning. He supposes new faces, especially inhuman ones, is frightening for the young child.

“Remus, Roman,” He says, breathing labored, “I ask we forgo the usual hug-tackle just this once.”

The saplings stop short, their faces flashing with confusion. One of them opens his mouth to protest, but a blue pair of hands with talon-like nails rest on each of their shoulders.

“Logan, what’s going on?” Patton asks, “shouldn’t you be slumbering still?”

Logan doesn’t answer him at first. He glances down, craning his neck towards Virgil. “Would you like to meet my friend?” He whispers lowly. Virgil tightens his grip on Logan’s robes but nods. Satisfied, Logan draws his limbs back, revealing the child to Patton and the saplings. Twin gasps erupt from Remus and Roman.

“This is Virgil.” Logan informs them, “Virgil, this is Patton and his sons--”

“I’m Remus and this is Stinky!” Remus says, thrusting his thumb towards his brother.

“No I’m NOT! My name’s Roman!” Roman shrieks, his indignation however is quickly forgotten as he holds out a hand towards Virgil, “Hey you want to play knights and dragons? You and I can be the knights!”

“No fair! I want him to be a dragon with me!” Remus stomps his foot. Roman glares back and it seemed like the two were on the verge of a wrestling match when a tentative voice speaks up.

“Can I...can I be a dragon knight?”

Remus and Roman stare at Virgil, who mostly hidden himself behind Logan at this point. Just a purple tuft of hair and eyes are visible.

“That’s...that’d be cool!” The twins say in unison. It’s times like then that Logan is reminded they were once one; Romulus. Once a highly respected river spirit until humans’ actions caused him to split and reform anew.

“Why don’t you three go along and play in the fort? Logan and I have some things to discuss.” Patton suggests, smiling brightly. Too bright. Logan withholds a shudder.

Remus and Roman don’t protest, too excited at the prospect of a new playmate. Roman extends a hand towards Virgil, who looks up at Logan in askance.

“Well, go on.” Logan raises an eyebrow, “it is alright.”

Virgil takes Roman’s hand and the three are gone in a blink of an eye. So has Patton’s smile.

“Logan--what have you done?”

“What do you mean?” Logan deflects, gritting his teeth. He extends a few limbs, looking for something to steady himself with. A warm pair of arms steady him, guiding him to a chair. Trust Patton to help even in the midst of being upset.

“Don’t. Not right now. Virgil--he is a part of you, I can sense it. But he isn’t--”

“The human village near my forest sent him as a sacrifice.”

Patton almost lets go of him, “You didn’t!”

“Of course not,” Logan rolls his eyes as he sits down in the chair with a grunt, “but I couldn’t send him back there or leave him completely alone to die. Humans can’t survive our realm, you know this. Integrating his soul as a part of me was the only option.”

“And the village?”

“I’ve taken care to make sure they get what they justifiably deserve.” Logan answers, closing his eyes as he shares a vision with Patton.

For a fleeting second, he sees flashes of the forest marching among the white visage of a raging blizzard. Flickers of drab buildings caught in gnarled branches being torn apart. A hundred voices screaming in terror.

He opens his eyes and sees Patton again. The air spirit regards him with raised eyebrows and a small frown tugging at his lips. Not quite approval, nor disapproval.

“You plan to look after Virgil, then?”

“No, of course not,” Logan says, “I thought that was rather obvious. You are good with saplings--I am not. Besides you are always saying how it’d be nice to have around a peer Roman’s and Remus’ age for their benefits.”

As to prove his point, several delighted laughter echoes from the children in the distance. Logan smirks, satisfied. He rises from his chair, desperate to return to his winter slumber, when Patton pushes him back into it. He is embarrassed that it was more of a gentle shove than anything else.

“Logan, you can’t just--you have a responsibility to Virgil! He is of you now, if you leave--it’ll be detrimental to both of you. Remember when Romul--when Remus and Roman first came into being, if separated it caused them--”

“This is different. I made sure to account for that,” Logan snaps, “Please Patton, could you at least watch over him until--”

Logan stops abruptly as a pain burrows into him. After centuries of existence, Logan has experienced pain, both great and minimal. But he was not prepared for this type of pain. The aching, spluttering kind. He could not breathe. It was like he was drowning and being burned alive at the same time. But it isn’t oxygen he needs. It’s something else. And every second he isn’t reunited with this something, the pain only continues to worsen.

“Dad! Dad!”

“Something’s wrong--”

“I didn’t hit him!”

“--hurt--”

Something is deposited onto his lap. A shaking, quivering Virgil. Who Logan had promised would be safe here. Not writhing in pain. Logan gathers his limbs around the child tightly. A low rumble like trees creaking in the wind emanates from Logan. A lullaby that forest spirits know well. A human might find it frightening. It does not frighten Virgil. He can feel the child relaxing in his hold, cries quietening. Virgil is not human anymore, after all. The pain ebbs away but still Logan’s focus remains on Virgil.

“Are you alright now?” Logan asks.

Virgil nods, hesitating. “I’m sorry.”

Logan’s many eyes blink in confusion. He looks over to Patton and the twins, who he’d almost forgotten. Patton’s lips are pressed firmly together in a signature “I told you so” move. He is missing his usual gleam in his eyes, however. His gaze darts between Logan and Virgil before landing solidly on Logan. It doesn’t take him long to decipher what that means.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Logan asks Virgil.

“I did something bad--didn’t I? And you punished me so that’s why I--”

“No,” Logan cuts in, causing the child to jolt, “you did not do anything wrong. I should be apologizing to you. I inadvertently caused harm to you when I promised safety.”

“You mean it?” Virgil asks, his little eyes squinting up at Logan. There’s so much wariness and mistrust in those eyes. Too much for a child as young as Virgil.

“I do. I apologize for causing further harm to befall you. While it hadn’t been my intention, it still hurt you and so I take responsibility for it.” Logan tells him, bowing his head. It is a serious matter when spirits break a promise. He cannot blame the young sapling if he chooses to not to accept his apology. Especially after the hurt Virgil has already endured in his short lifespan.

Logan is as old as the forest. He has seen many things and knows twice that of things in the world. Still, nothing quite prepares him for Virgil’s response.

“Okay,” The child says, and then, “promise you won’t leave me?”

He raises his head to look at Virgil. Doubt still dances in those little eyes, but so does hope. Logan wants to laugh. What a stubborn, brave thing to have. He’s still willing to trust Logan even though he’d broken his promise not even a hour after making it. It’s illogical, foolish yet heartwarming all the same.

“As long as the forest stands tall, I will be with you.” Logan promises, a much more serious oath than the first.

Then a small smile graces Virgil’s face and oh! Oh, for all his infinite wisdom, Logan does not know how to raise a sapling. How could he, when he had no mother tree? No one to nurture and nourish him as a young, vulnerable sapling? But he knows Virgil already has him wrapped around his roots. That upon sensing the child at his tree, his fate at once had been sealed.

For once not knowing something does not agitate him. In fact, as he wraps a limb over the child in a loose embrace, he thinks he does not mind it.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #kat writes

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shit-posts-and-fanfictions · 3 years

Text

Fandom: SCP

Rating: Angst/ Mature

Readers Gender: n/a, third-person

Present Characters: Dr. Bright, SCP-590 (TJ)

Trigger Warnings: Depression, attempted suicide, amnesia, forced mental disability, cursing, death by cutting, heavy derealization and depersonalization.

Notes: I been thinkin' about this a lot and my hand just happened to slip on the post button. Summed up, Dr. Bright has the day off and uses it to visit and spend time with his brother.

This is a suicide fic, please don't read if this could affect you negatively

At first, there was light, not welcoming, but all the same as it had been every morning; the only exception for today, being that he didn't have work. It was such a seldom occasion to have even a day to himself like this, sitting up and stretching before collecting clothing for the day and trudging into the bathroom.

He simply used a hand to clear a spot in the fog of the mirror examining his face wondering if his little brother would even recognize him- TJ was happy enough to have the company, but whether or not he had the mental capacity to understand who it was visiting him Jack was unsure... Dressing and not even bothering to put anything away as he left for the day.

~~~

The halls seemed longer than usual. Twisting in ways they should, curling in on itself and stretching to infinite lengths. Was there a breach? No, there were no alarms, no breaches or codes being called, and his fellow researchers walked the lengthy corridor just fine. Speaking of, he smiled half whimsically at them watching his odd behavior. Just Bright being Bright before he continued on his way to SCP-590's TJ's cell.

Jack was hesitant a moment before letting the door slide open and stepping inside the cell, the door falling shut as soon as he walked in. He watched his brother in the corner scribbling absentmindedly on paper humming a broken tune he'd made up himself; Jack glimpsed over the cell walls, taking in any new pictures hung up for display.

He called for his brother, "Tj..." Too quiet. "TJ." Cringing at how out of place his voice felt. Or his host's voice- tucking his amulet under his shirt to protect the younger boy from accidentally touching the object before greeting him with open arms after finally catching his attention. Tj looked at him with squinted eyes, tongue brushing his bottom lip thoughtfully before grinning "hello!" He slurred, racing over to happily accept the embrace. Jack giving a weak smile and humming softly "what're you drawing this time?" Letting his brother tug him along to the table he'd previously been sitting at.

They'd sat for a good few hours, Jack listening to his slurred speech and often not understanding what was stated, but going with it anyway. He'd done this- TJ could hold a conversation so well, but now his vocabulary was limited to basic words and phrases. Being so secluded to himself didn't help his vocabulary either... but nonetheless, Jack sat and listened to every butchered and mispronounced word he had to say, nodding along, laughing, and overall just having a good brother bonding. Sticking around for lunch and eventually leaving when he couldnt hold himself together anymore. Patting his brother on the head while he gave a disappointed pout "you come back?" He hummed, looking up to the stranger before him. "Of course i will, i always do" his brother still seeming upset "last man say that-" and Jack frowned. He said that, Jack said that. He had always been there- of course TJ couldn't understand anymore... turning abruptly and leaving as quickly as he could.

He waited for the door to shut behind him completely before letting his body give out and collapsing against the cold metal. His legs buckled and he slid against the door to the floor slowly allowing sobs to rack through his chest, hiccuping between breaths trying to focus on anything- anything at all to calm his racing thoughts. But everything his blurred vision took in only reminded him more of what pained him. He did this- he had done this to his brother. Ruined his life right alongside his own; Oh why couldn't he just die?

When Jack had finally found the strength to stand, he stumbled to the bathroom, knocking his shoulder on the door frame and catching his balance on the counter. He needed a shower. His skin His host's skin felt uncomfortable. looking down at their hands felt wrong, mind spinning slightly out how unfamiliar he felt to himself. His hair, his eyes, his face, the sound of his own labored breathing was all wrong. He didn't even feel in control of himself anymore, watching from the back of his head mindlessly as they fumbled around the corner, momentarily staring at the razor he had used to shave his stubble this morning. His pinky poking at it thoughtfully, watching it move away from him before reaching for it entirely; Grasping it tightly before making his way to the tub and yanking the shower curtains out of the way only successfully riping them from the rod. Eventually, he settled into the cold porcelain-enameled steel, reaching forward to plug the basin and turn on the water. Cold, Hot, he didn't care. Clothes and all getting soaked as the water rose into his shoes, against his shins, and pooling against his stomach. He half hazardly pulled his tie loose from how hard breathing became, leaning back into the water till the liquid crept up his neck. He inhaled, staring at the ceiling, and for a moment felt blissfully in control.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been laying here, eventually craning his head to watch the water pour over the rim of the tub. His right hand still fiddling with the razor. He'd killed himself a few different ways. Today though, this felt right. Using his teeth to pull up the sleeve of his left arm, moving to trace the razor's blade against his skin, barely breaking the surface and leaving irritated lines in its wake. Eventually though, he pushed harder into the flesh, breaking skin and admiring the blood that dripped down his elbow and painted the water. Back and forth and back and forth, drawing lines deeper and deeper into the skin. He could tell when he hit an artery, shuddering in pain but continuing anyway. Jack only stopped when his vision blurred and his head spun wildly, losing grip on the razor and letting it sink into the tainted water, his arms dropping to his sides. He chuckled quietly, letting his head lull back while he fought the sudden exhaustion he felt. He tried keeping focus on the lights above his sink, watching them swarm between the original four, then eight, then four, then two, then as they blurred together as one and went dark. Letting himself momentarily slip into death's arms and rest at last.

~~~

At first, there was light, not welcoming, not like how it was described in near-death experience stories- It was painfully artificial, forcing Jack to close his eyes, moving to roll over as he recalled recent events with a sullen look. His senses were still coming back to him, blinking till his eyes focused enough, clenching hands till feeling came back to the unfamiliar skin, wading out the numb ringing in his ears till he could hear the vent above him hurdling cold air across the bed. He grimaced tasting nicotine on his new host's tongue, eventually pushing himself up to look around the room and sighing before starting the next day as he always had.

#scp #scp foundation #scp 590 #scp TJ bright #tj bright #jack bright #dr jack bright #scp dr bright #dr bright #angst #angst fic #scp bright #im sorry #im writing an apology fic rn #im so sorry

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bananaofswifts · 3 years

Text

B+

By : Katie Moulton

The Lowdown: “For years I asked, pleaded for a chance to own my work,” Taylor Swift wrote in a 2019 social media post after her longtime label, Big Machine, sold her master recordings without her consent. Swift had been unable to gain control of her first six albums through contract negotiations, and then Scooter Braun, who’d demonstrated public enmity with the singer-songwriter, was collecting the checks. (Braun’s company has since sold the masters to Shamrock Holdings for $300 million.) What’s one of the world’s brightest superstars and the preeminent pop poet of a generation to do?

The answer: Do it all again.

Swift has begun to re-record her back catalog, and the first release is Fearless (Taylor’s Version) from 2008. (For the Swiftian numerologists, with the new version of Fearless released on 4/9, Swift now owns 4 out of her 9 albums.) This pop-country juggernaut, her second album, was the most awarded in the history of country music, sweeping up honors from Album of the Year at the Grammys to Best Female Video at the MTV Music Awards. (Her VMA acceptance speech was notoriously interrupted by Kanye West, marking one small step for that Moonman, one giant leap for petty celebrity scandals.) Taylor’s Version includes new recordings of all 19 original tracks from the “Platinum Edition,” plus six never-before-released songs “from the vault.”

It also creates a soundalike alternative for both discerning fans and industries (from advertising to radio) to decide which album they play and license – the one owned by an investment firm or the one owned by the artist herself. In that way, Swift is asking (if not pressuring) us to choose. She’s also playing chess. For the critical listener, the questions are: How closely can Swift recreate beloved songs recorded 13 years ago (13 = big number in Swiftian lore)? How might she reimagine or even improve these songs? And how does one analyze an album when the album is also a chess move?

The Good: Damn, this album holds up – not only to the hype of its initial release, but despite that, beyond that. At the time of the initial release, the public was hung up on the figure Swift struck as a precocious ingenue in boots and ballgown, swinging an acoustic guitar with a knowing twinkle in her omg! expression. And Fearless still evokes that moment, but it emerges as a classic account of youthful romance, drama, and fantasy. “Love Story” remains a touchstone of Swift’s lyrical quirks and worldview but continues to stand out as a universally appealing pop song. (Put it on the next Voyager golden record, beam it into space.)

Swift has never been shy about mining her diaries and blowing up the most fleeting of feelings into emotional epics, but one can imagine the trepidation of a 31-year-old singing songs which are not only written by a teenager but so deeply ensconced in teenagehood. What cringe awaited us! These re-recordings, however, mostly escape cringe by playing it straight and allowing us, as the best songs do, to fill in the spaces. For example, much of the charm of bittersweet ballad “Fifteen” was the precocity of its delivery by an 18-year-old who perceived herself to be already so distant from adolescent innocence, but who still clearly felt its hurt so sharply. Now sung by “Pretty Grown Up” Taylor, the song conveys a different pathos: the knowledge not only of her own coming of age, but a protectiveness over the millions – multiple micro-generations – of fans she has witnessed come of age alongside and behind her.

But this is knowledge the listener brings to the listening, not a change that’s made explicit in the re-recordings. The arrangements remain faithful to the original, with plenty of heart-plucking banjo and cinematic fiddle, which belies both Swift’s confidence in the catalog and her honoring of fans’ commitment to these songs.

The most noticeable difference is Swift’s vocal ability, which has been deeply strengthened and expanded as an instrument, both by age and her force of will. Her command as a singer means that the high-flying hiccups and breaks and urgency of the original recording are gone. When she recreates these youthful flourishes – the twangy pronunciation of “Fee-uhr-less,” the laugh in “Hey Stephen” – the longtime listener recognizes them as recreations. But Swift’s fuller, smoother vocals on rage-romp “Tell Me Why” (hold that grudge, girl!) and “The Way I Loved You” (stay high on that drama, Tay!) inject these B-sides with new life.

The Bad: There is so much content in the Swift universe, and apparently in her bottomless Vault, that it can be (to quote “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together”), exhausting. We could do without any of the “dance” remixes of songs like “Love Story”, for example. The six “From the Vault” tracks are solid, but it’s obvious why they didn’t make the final album cuts. The vibey electronic atmospherics of “Don’t You” and “Bye Bye Baby” sound like they come from a later era than Fearless. (The Vault exception might be upbeat breakup song “Mr. Perfectly Fine”, which resurrects Swift’s delightfully petty side. By the way, did she have to pay RuPaul for using the line “Sashay away”?)

While the fealty to the original recordings is understandable and even admirable, I wonder if there are missed opportunities for further reimagining of this collection. For example, could Swift re-order her at-times confounding tracklists for future releases or choose different singles to showcase previously overlooked songs?

The Verdict: There’s a chance that, based on the success of this release, Swift reaches a deal with the current holder of her masters and won’t re-record her entire back catalog. This is probably just the latest interesting thing she’s done in music and business, but it’s worth our consideration since it’s been undertaken with such care and could pave the way for other artists.

Swift has always been a masterful writer of short fictions, able to swell a small feeling or moment to contain an era, a relationship, a universe (a skill she continued to develop on folklore and evermore by drawing even more overtly from literature and film). Yet, this project of re-recording her catalog requires her to become a memoirist: re-examining her former selves and reinhabiting her former voice. It’s an opportunity to demonstrate the time-tested strength of the original music, but there was also an opportunity to re-evaluate previous positions and experiences, to reveal what they meant in the longer run. But Swift seems to resist passing judgment on her younger self. Instead, Fearless (Taylor’s Version) states boldly, simply and perhaps, generously, that this is a story still worth telling – and a fight worth fighting.

Essential Tracks: “Love Story”, “You Belong with Me”, and “Tell Me Why”

#taylor swift #review #fearless

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sickstarlight · 3 years

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fic inspired by a prompt from one of my generators, with additional inspiration from a post @rachthecool made! (reposted to add the tags I forgot, sorry <<;;)

3.8k of nausea-induced neuroticism and blame misplaced on OCD, warning for implied emet*phobia / general anxiety about illness.

—

He feels it first like, like an itch, like an itch he can’t reach, like the itch that creeps back in to the back of his head until he can’t ignore it, can’t ignore it anymore. And he, well, he manages it the same way, of course, because he stops being - reasonable, stops thinking clearly when it gets too strong, and he simply can’t afford that now, can’t afford to lose his focus. He’s very busy, there’s no time to let a thing like that get in the way, not now, especially not now, when he’s getting so close. So close!

It’s not so bad, anyways, when he can focus on his work. When he can devote his attention to it. Makes it easier, to ignore it, push it aside for a time. Not fight it! Never fight it, no, that’s how it gets him, if he fights it, well, he’s already lost. But set it aside, that he can do, for a while, when something else has his attention. As long as his work’s not interrupted.

But this, now, this is something different - quite different. Setting it aside, that’s supposed to work, supposed to let him get on with things for a time, but it doesn’t seem to help. Something’s wrong, terribly, terribly wrong, and it, well, it’s like it’s eating him alive, pulling at all the threads of his thoughts until they unravel. His focus, that crisp bright ray of focus that’s supposed to keep it at bay, it just isn’t there, today, isn’t there at all. Scattered, like reflections on the water, stirred up by the wind.

He shuts his eyes, presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, his thumbs against his temples, as he takes in a breath and lets it out. That’s better, that should be... better, but it’s still there, still pulling at the edges of him: something’s wrong, out of place. He checks his desk, the pens and pencils laid out all in order, the notebooks marked and stacked just where he needs them. Not neat like people think it ought to be, but then, people often seem to miss the obvious patterns in things, don’t seem to understand the math - and the math is always flawless. Always flawless! The mathematician might err, of course, even he’s only human, but the math itself is perfect.

And it’s not his desk that’s misaligned, no, though he touches each notebook and writing utensil just to be sure, just to be on the safe side, adjusts them each minutely and confirm they’re laid out exactly as they should be. Precise. Mathematical. It’s something else that’s wrong, that’s ever so slightly, well, displaced.

Back to work, he’s got to get back to work, but he’s started thinking about it now, about all the dozen things that could be wrong, and the itch won’t go away, and, well, now he’s got to be sure. Got to be sure. If he could only focus maybe he’d put it aside, but he can’t now, not today, so there’s nothing for it.

He turns away from his desk and crosses the room, opens the blinds and closes them again. Opens them and closes them again. Again. Again. Satisfied that they’re fully closed, everything in order, he checks all the lights as well, one by one, runs the tips of his fingers along the edges of the shelves along the wall as he makes sure his books and files are all in order. Everything’s as it should be, as it should be, good. Good.

But why, then - why the itch. Why the feeling of wrongness that makes his spine crawl and his shoulders draw in too tense. Why the nagging sense that something isn’t right. His mind drifts briefly to the thought of what might be wrong in the kitchen, or the bedroom, or the foyer - but he tears his thoughts away from all that. No time for that, no, no, he can’t think about that.

It’s not real, he tells himself, gritting his teeth. It’s not, it’s not real, it’s not real or, at least, not measurable, not perceptible. Not something he can change or fix, despite the inexorable need to do something. He closes his eyes again, presses his fingertips to his temples. Wasting time, he’s wasting time now, and he’s too close for that, much too close. Got to snap himself out of it.

He takes a breath. Lets it out again. With one hand, he reaches into his pockets for his cigarettes, counts how many left in the pack, eleven, good, that’s good, and pulls one out carefully. He puts it between his teeth, flicks his lighter a few times before letting it catch to light the end. Inhales, and holds his breath. And holds it. And holds it.

When he exhales, his head is spinning, but it feels - clearer, yes. Clearer. Sharp. Focused. He takes another drag and sits back down, adjusting his chair into its place, into its proper place. It’s still there behind his eyes, the unfamiliar itch that he can’t place, but it’s dulled now, dulled enough that he can think. Back to work, he tells himself, can’t solve a problem he can’t see, now, can he, so he ought to work on something he can.

For a while, it works well enough; as it often does the cigarette helps soothe the itch, keeps it from getting, well, overwhelming, from getting too hard to ignore. Something else to focus on, help clear his head of all the meaningless distractions.

But even before he’s finished he feels it creeping back in, prickling at the back of his neck and clawing at his spine. That’s not supposed to happen, not yet. It’s supposed to, supposed to help, supposed to keep the feeling at bay for longer - an hour, sometimes two if he’s lucky, if he’s focused on his work. Shouldn’t come back yet, why, he’s still smoking his cigarette, it can’t come back now.

He rubs his temples with one hand, takes the cigarette out of his mouth to sip his coffee in the hope that it’ll help, but it’s gone cold, gone cold and stale in the time he’s been working.

For a few minutes longer, he tries to keep working. Tries to keep working. There’s so much to do still, he can’t let it get in the way. Can’t let it get in the way. But if it’s coming back already while he’s still got a cigarette in his mouth, it only gets worse after he snuffs it out. Not so bad as it was before, no, not quite so bad, but it begins to eat at his focus again, drowning out his thoughts with the persistent nagging feeling that something is wrong until he can barely think clearly.

Perhaps stepping away for a moment, just for a moment, will help, he finally decides, and lays down his pen. Just a moment to clear his head, yes. With a sigh, he downs the rest of his cold cup of coffee and gets to his feet to pour himself another in the kitchen.

The taste of copper suddenly coats his tongue, cutting through the lingering traces of smoke in his mouth, and deep in his gut he feels something lurch unpleasantly as the room seems to spin.

No, no, no, he can’t - he can’t be - can’t happen, he can’t let it happen, can’t be careless enough to let himself—

He hiccups and a mouthful of, well, coffee, mostly coffee spills onto his desk and as he catches his breath he has a brief glimmer of, of clarity, just enough to push his notebooks aside; they fall to the floor in disarray but he doesn’t, he doesn’t have it in him to care. The tight choked feeling in his throat is all that seems to matter, the only thing left that matters.

“No,” he whispers, “no, no, please, no.” He hopes the sound of his voice will ground him but it doesn’t seem to help. “No, please, no, I don’t - want—“

He breaks off as his throat closes up, his stomach heaving, making him gag. He’s going to be sick again, isn’t he, doesn’t matter how much he doesn’t want to be, how much he can’t be sick, not now, not now. He closes his hands and opens them, raises one almost to his mouth before thinking better of it. Another painful lurch of his stomach makes him gag again, and then retch, before vomiting another stream of coffee and acid up onto his desk.

What a mess, he’s got to, got to do something about the mess, can’t just leave it pooled there on the polished surface, but he feels as if he can’t move, as if he’s stuck somehow, stuck frozen in place. It shouldn’t be difficult, why, it shouldn’t be much different than if he’d just, just knocked over his cup of coffee, that’s really all it is, just coffee, except for the smell of it - and of course there’s the way the cream’s started to, to spoil, to curdle - and the sight of it thickening’s enough to make him gag again, choking on the foul taste at the back of his throat. He’s - he’s got to - got to - leave, he’s got to leave now, before he’s sick again and makes it even worse.

Stumbling slightly he runs for the bathroom, has to press one hand to his mouth halfway there when he gags and nearly vomits in the hall, only barely manages to swallow back the burning in his throat. He drops to his knees without the time to turn on the light and wraps an arm around himself. Can’t, can’t stop shaking, bent double over the toilet and fighting to choke back the contents of his stomach as heaves wrack his body - but it’s, it’s, well it’s simply no use at all. The itch that’s been nagging at him for hours has made itself at home now on the back of his tongue, and the best thing, the best, the only thing he can do is dislodge it.

He whimpers, and sounds pitiful even to himself as he gags and retches weakly over the water, a thin stream of liquid spilling over his lip. Helpless to stop it, entirely helpless, but knowing’s not enough, just not enough to keep himself from fighting it either. He hates it, hates it, hates being helpless, having no control, having anything he can’t control let alone himself.

Another heave makes him pitch forward, shuddering as his stomach forces up more of its contents. At least he’s barely eaten today, and it’s all liquid, well, mostly liquid, just coffee and cream, nothing else in him to expel. Even that, why, after a long few minutes - he can’t tell how long, can’t keep track, nothing to measure except his own ragged breathing - even that trickles off to nearly nothing, until he’s only gagging, just shaking and gagging uselessly.

With a groan he spits into the water and slumps back against the wall, eyes screwed shut, waiting for his heartbeat to settle. He digs into his pocket and pulls out another cigarette. It’ll calm him down, maybe it’ll calm him down, and if not it’ll at least get the sick taste out of his mouth.

His hands won’t stop shaking as he fumbles with his lighter; the first time he tries to get a spark it goes out, and he curses under his breath as he starts over, click click click click click click click before it catches on the second try.

The first drag makes him cough when the smoke hits the back of his throat, still raw, raw and ragged from retching and heaving trying to empty his stomach. He grabs the cigarette out of his mouth quickly as he hunches over the toilet again, but there’s nothing, simply nothing left in him to bring up. He sits back again, slouches against the wall and puts his cigarette back between his teeth.

There’s still the mess, all that awful mess he’s got to deal with, and only worse now, now, now that he’s let it sit all this time. Terrible, terrible, the thought of it, makes his stomach turn again; he sucks in a deep breath, smoke burning in his chest, and lets it out slowly through his teeth. Terrible thought, but what’s to be done about it now? He’ll have to see to it, sooner or later. Once he’s finished his cigarette, yes, once he’s finished this cigarette he’ll go and clean it up.

He stays curled there on the floor after he snuffs the cigarette out against the tile though, for a few minutes longer, just needs a few minutes longer to rest, when he’s only just gotten finished emptying everything from his stomach. His head feels heavy and the room’s spinning faintly around him, even now that the prickle of nausea has faded. Just a few minutes longer, he thinks, taking a breath to steady himself and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, pressing them in until he sees stars.

Okay, he tells himself, okay, okay. Get up, up up up, it’ll only be worse the longer he waits. Up and into the kitchen for a cloth, and then back to the studio to deal with the mess, nothing else to be done about it. With an effort, he pulls himself back to his feet and stumbles out into the hall, reeling a little as his vision blurs.

First the kitchen, where he doesn’t bother turning a light on, just fumbles blindly in the drawer for a dish towel. He checks the corners of it before running it under the tap, makes sure it’s soaked through, soaked all the way through and then grabs another, dry, as well. Checks the tap twice to make sure it won’t drip, checks the stove just in case, and then again for good measure. Good, good good good, everything in order.

He lingers for a moment longer in the kitchen, and considers turning the lights on to examine it more thoroughly, examine every corner in depth - but he’s wasting time again, wasting time, looking for excuses to delay. It’ll only be worse, only be worse the longer he puts it off. He’d best just get this over with.

Gritting his teeth, he ducks into the hall again and heads back to the studio. There’s a foul smell that hits him as soon as he’s in the door, harsh and acidic, and it nearly makes him want to vomit again, but at least he’s sure, well, relatively sure he can’t, so there’s no need to worry. No need to worry. No need to worry.

Still, his throat is tight as he stumbles over to his desk, and it makes his breath catch in his throat. Get it over with. He drapes the cloths in his hand over the back of his chair and leans down to grab the waste paper basket under the desk. Up close, the smell is so strong it makes even his empty stomach churn, and he has to swallow hard to clear the lump from his throat so he can breathe. Just have to get it over with.

He rests one hand gingerly on the clean edge of the desk to steady himself for a moment before he grabs the dry cloth, holding the wastebin up against the desk to contain the mess as he mops it up. He’s not yet half finished cleaning the surface of his desk when it overwhelms him, completely overwhelms him, though he’s not sure if it’s the smell or the feeling of it soaking into the dishcloth under his palm; he has to brace himself against the desk again to lean over the bin, retching harshly but bringing up nothing of substance. His eyes are watering, making his vision swim, and he scrubs at his face with the back of one hand.

He’s just pulled himself together enough to try and finish cleaning up when he hears someone at the door, someone knocking at the door. He freezes. Can’t answer, not now, can’t let anyone see this mess though why someone’s come to visit is far beyond him—

“Royce?” That’s Grant, it’s Grant calling from outside as he knocks on the door again.

Shit. Had he sent a message to say he was coming? Had they had some plan to meet that Royce had forgotten? He can’t remember, can’t remember, been too caught up in his work all day to think of anything else, and it doesn’t matter now, no, what matters is that Grant is here and goodness knows he can’t let Grant see this.

“Royce!” Grant calls more loudly, hammering harder on the door. “Royce Bracket, I know you’re in there.”

For his part Royce wishes he wasn’t, in fact, wishes very much that he was not in here, that he was more or less anywhere other than here, but there’s nothing he can do about that now. He takes a deep breath to steady himself and sets his jaw, one hand clutching the edge of the wastebin tightly as he hurries to finish cleaning up his desk. The urge to gag again threatens to overpower him, but he’s got to finish this, got to get this cleaned up before Grant sees, so he swallows hard against it and keeps wiping the pool of sick into the bin.

“Royce?” Grant calls from behind him, much too close. “What are you - ah, hell.”

He turns quickly, trying to keep himself angled between the desk and the doorway to hide the awful sight from Grant, but the movement makes his head spin and he has to double over the bin again, with a weak gag that comes out more like a strangled sob.

“You damned idiot,” Grant says quietly, crossing from the doorway to put a hand on his shoulder. “What have you gone and done to yourself now?”

“I think, ah,” he manages, his voice hoarse and trembling. “Think I’m not well.” He swallows hard, trying to clear the lump in his throat again, and adds, more quietly, “Not... really very well at all, actually.”

“I can see that,” Grant says, not unkindly. “You look awful. When’s the last time you slept?”

“I, ah,” he falters. “I’ve been, well.”

“Mm,” Grant replies, arching an eyebrow. “I thought as much.” He glances at the desk, and Royce wants to disappear into the floor. If Grant’s grip on his shoulder wasn’t so tight, he might collapse, might just collapse right here. “Have you even eaten today?”

“Not, not much since....” he begins, frowning. “Since, ah...” Now that he thinks about it, he’s not sure the last time he ate even was today, technically speaking, in the usual sense. Certainly more recently than he’s slept, but that’s little use, little use as a measure at the moment.

“Get something to eat and then get to bed,” Grant tells him. “You look ready to drop.”

He groans, swaying on his feet as his stomach lurches unpleasantly. “No, I can’t, don’t think I could, ah, could eat much, not at the moment,” he manages weakly, and swallows hard, trying to keep his breathing steady.

“Bed, then,” Grant says firmly, steering him towards the hall. “You need to sleep, Royce, you’re going to kill yourself like this.”

“But I,” he protests. “I’m, I’m busy, Grant, busy busy busy, I’ve got too much work to do—“

“And it’ll be here when you’re up again,” Grant points out, pushing him gently out the door. “You’re in no fit state to work now, though. Go, and I’ll make sure you have some ginger tonic when you’ve slept, and something light to eat.”

“I have to, well, have to clean up this mess,” Royce insists, but he doesn’t have the strength, doesn’t even have the strength to dig in his heels as Grant marches him down the hall. “All this mess, I can’t just...”

“If it’s so damned important, I’ll see to it myself,” Grant says. “You’ll have to get your papers back in order yourself, I’m afraid, but you can do that after you’ve slept.” He stops pressing forward outside the door to the bedroom, his grip on Royce’s shoulder loosening slightly. “Bed, Royce,” he says. “Now.”

If he were to be totally honest, why, if he were to say anything about it at all, Royce would have to admit it’s relief, more than anything, quite incredible relief he feels as he stumbles into his room, his knees simply giving out from underneath him as he reaches the bed. His head is still spinning, still spinning even now that he’s no longer standing, but it’s better than being on his feet. As much as he might like to argue, would still very much like to argue in fact, it seems his body, fueled mostly by coffee before he’d thrown all of it up, has sided with Grant in this particular debate, and even as he struggles to crawl under the covers he finds it’s getting hard to keep his eyes open.

He thinks Grant says something, looking into the room from the doorway, but he can’t make out what it is, can’t make it out at all, and everything’s gone dark before he has the chance to ask.

It’s dark by the time he wakes, sometime late that night, and his head feels clearer than it has in days, and when he turns on the light by his bedside it’s to see a plate of soda crackers and a bottle of ginger tonic on the nightstand, just as Grant had promised. He manages a smile, pushing himself upright, and reaches for the tonic with one hand.

When neither a few sips of tonic nor a handful of crackers makes his stomach try to revolt, he rubs at his eyes with one hand and stumbles to his feet. It seems Grant’s already gone, gone home once he was asleep, but there’s a message waiting for him, reading Hope you’re feeling better when you’re up. Cleaned up in the study; I don’t know how you organize your things but I tried to at least make them tidy. Call if there’s anything you need. -Grant.

It’s true, when he looks into the study, that all his things are still out of place - but the notebooks, pens, and papers he’d scattered on the floor in his earlier panic are stacked and lined up neatly at the edge of his desk. To his surprise he’s still relieved, even glad about the attempt to help, even as he sits down to rearrange them, put them all back in their places, all in their proper places.

He’ll have to say thank you later, he promises himself, once he’s caught up with his work. As much as he’d resented Grant’s unexpected appearance at the time, now that he’s back on his feet he can’t deny he’s grateful for the help.

#emeto fic #sickfic #emetophilia #illumivomi #is that tag ok to use for fic too or is us mostly art? ;; lmk if I shouldn’t be using it...#transicktor #emeto #sorry for posting this twice I rushed and forgot tags ^^;;

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professorsnape394 · 3 years

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The Potions Master’s Apprentice

Chapter Nine: Letters, Lovers and Loyalties

A/N: This is the ninth part to my fanfiction ‘The Potions Master’s Apprentice (Severus Snape x OC)’. Chapters 1-16 can be found already uploaded on Wattpad under the same name. Feel free to leave requests in my inbox for anything Snape related you want me to write. Leave a comment below if you wish to be added to my tag list.

Pairing: Severus Snape x OC (Dumbledore’s Granddaughter)

Summary: A talented young witch is employed as an apprentice professor at Hogwarts, but who will she be working under? Severus Snape is not best pleased with his new responsibility of taking on an apprentice, however she is relentless to create a friendship between them. Will she be successful? Or might the friendship just go a little two far? With the eyes of her grandfather constantly watching over them, an attempt at a relationship might not be in the cards for Aria Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

Word Count: 2185

Warnings: n/a

Credits to Gif Creator

Yet another letter dropped into the lap of Aria Dumbledore as she sat absentmindedly sketching. Dropping her quill back into the small pot of ink which balanced on the arm of her chair, a small sigh escaped her lips. She had been expecting another to arrive any day now.

Aria allowed herself a small glance in the direction of her desk where the ever growing pile of unopened letter sat gathering dust. Disregarding her drawing, Aria traveled to her desk, fingers fumbling with the edge of the envelope. Admittedly, Aria's mind had been focused on that small pile of letters the past few days, and consequently the man who sent them. She couldn't bring herself to reply to his constant inquiries, but she had considered there was no harm in opening a few of them. She longed to hear from him, though she had been in denial for so long now she wasn't sure what to expect from his most recent letters.

Waiting no longer she ripped the paper from its wax seal, her eyes quickly scanning every word on the page.

My dear Aria, Though I know you say you cannot reply to my letters, I write them all with the hope that you will find the time in your busy schedule to at least read them. As always things are quiet here without you. Too quiet. I miss your voice. I miss hearing you sing to yourself in the shower thinking no one can hear you, I miss hearing you hum as you wander aimlessly through the house, I miss watching you draw as I pose for you, but most importantly I miss holding you in my arms. I long for the end of the school year when we will be reunited and I will have nothing to miss except maybe writing these letters. I long for a response to my letters, my darling. I simply must know that you miss me as I miss you. In the mean time I will continue to write to you to keep myself distracted from everything terrible happening in the world, by simply thinking of you. All my love, S.

Aria couldn't help but feel a great pang of guilt in the pit of her stomach for ignoring the letters, but she couldn't bare the thought of reading them, while she was still coming to terms with how she felt when she decided to leave for Hogwarts. She knew immediately she would not be able to maintain a long distance relationship with him. Though he was the first man she had ever loved she had been too cowardly to confess her feelings for him in person, let alone on a piece of parchment. She knew she was a pathetic coward from the moment he told her he loved her and she could not find it in her to return the favour. Her cowardice was more than proven the day she left for Hogwarts. Aria had planned to break up with him, to avoid further heartbreak down the line. But she could not even find the courage to do that.

Instead she was living in denial. In her mind they had broken up, and refused to face up to whatever she was truly feeling until it was absolutely necessary. Her plan had been to distract herself as much as possible, suppress her feelings and just forget about the situation completely. And to be totally honest her plan had been working for her, with the exception of a few off days such as today. However when it came time to wake up and face the music she had no idea what her plan would be then.

Leaving the letter open on her desk she took a stroll around the grounds of Hogwarts to clear her mind. The time to figure out all of her problems was not now. She was still a young, carefree woman and she didn't want the burden of guilt stopping her from living her life however she so wished.

Arias walk led her to the village of Hogsmeade, and after working up a light sweat, the young professor opted to pop into the Three Broomsticks to quench her thirst.

Unsurprisingly for a late Tuesday evening the place was barren. Besides for a drunken wizard practically falling off his bar stood, a crazy witch whispering to herself and two well dressed men, sitting out of place in a side booth, the place was completely deserted. Planning to only stay for a pumpkin juice Aria took a seat at the bar and begun chatting to the same barmaid who had served her and Severus all those weeks ago.

"Busy night?" Aria joked, rolling her eyes at the drunk to her right.

The woman laughed in return, handing over a glass of pumpkin juice. "This is pretty much the standard, at this time." She shrugged, polishing off a perfectly clean glass, to keep herself busy. "That one over there doesn't even order anything, but its not worth the hassle kicking her out." She gestured to the old hag in the corner, her perfectly polished nails glistening in the dim bar light.

"I wish I could say I felt sorry for you, but a break away from the chaos that is Hogwarts is a slight relief." Aria sighed. She was still not used to being around so many people all the time having spent the past few years alone, besides her mother, she often needed time alone to breathe.

"Oh, then you must be new. I've had my fair share of lonely professors spend an evening behind my bar, and I usually remember who's spilled their whole life story to me. Though you do look familiar, what do you teach?" She finished up with her glasses, leaning her elbows on the bar to get a closer look at the younger woman, her breasts practically falling out her blouse.

"I'm just an apprentice for now. I'm the new Potions Mistress." Aria smiled, taking a small sip of her drink.

"Oh yes, now I remember. You came here with that Severus. He's not unfamiliar with our whiskey selection, if you know what I mean." Both women rolled their eyes in unison. "He doesn't seem to talk much though, I can't say I know anything about him. I must admit I was surprised to see him with a gorgeous young witch like yourself."

"You weren't the only one." Aria scoffed, finishing off her pumpkin juice.

"Well it makes a little bit more sense now." She laughed, a set of pristine pearly teeth emerging from her red glossy lips.

It seemed Aria was not the only one who had been admiring the woman's beauty, and almost right on cue the drunk decided to look a little bit more lively, demanding another pint. Reluctantly the barmaid obliged, shooting Aria an apologetic look.

Aria couldn't help but notice the gruff looking man practically throw himself over the bar in order to get a good gawk at the barmaids behind. The slightly older woman seemed unfazed by the mans actions, in-fact Aria wasn't entirely unsure she wasn't enjoying the attention. Choosing not to interrupt as neither party seemed to object to the altercation, Aria kept her mouth shut.

That was until the man's attention turned to her. The barmaid disappeared from view, presumably to refill the barrel the drunk had practically drowned himself in. "Haven't seen you around here before." He started harmlessly, though Aria did not miss the way his eyes seemed to scan the whole of her body.

"Just moved into Hogwarts, haven't seen much of Hogsmeade." Aria admitted, but made the conscious decision to turn away from him, hoping not to engage in any further conversation.

"You a friend of Ros'" He asked, intrigued, while downing a good half of his pint.

"Not really, no." Aria shrugged. "I didn't even know her name until just now."

"Rosalind Rookwood." He edged his seat closer to Arias. "Fantastic barmaid, though I wouldn't say it was her best profession." He winked.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Aria turned her nose up at the man, just praying he would leave her alone.

"Well, you know, bein' a barmaids fine an all, but it doesn't always pay the bills. Miss Rookwood's got her fair share of stories to tell, and not all of them her own." He laughed, the potent stench of his alcoholic breath suffocating Aria as he leaned in closer, wrapping a heavy arm around her shoulders. "If it turns out teaching isn't for you, just know you'll have a loyal customer in me." He hiccuped, his free arm, reaching down to stroke the woman's exposed thigh.

Instinctively Aria gripped onto his wrist, forcing it off of her. "What the hell do you think you are doing!?" Aria exclaimed, pushing the man away from her. "Don't you dare lay your hands on me again."

The drunk showed no sign of guilt or remorse, he simply chuckled to himself, revealing a shocking lack of teeth. Disgusted, Aria made to move but found herself cornered against the bar.

Fortunately the altercation had caused enough disruption to alert the two men having a casual evening drink. Instantly one rushed over to her aid, stupefying the old man. The second man followed suit and made it his business to remove the frozen figure from the bar.

"Are you alright?" The first man asked, his brow furrowing with worry.

"I'm fine, thank you for stepping in." Aria smiled, brushing herself down, as though she was riding herself from the drunks disgusting touch.

The man returned a boyish grin, his eyes bright blue and full of kindness. Aria had never seen anyone like him. His presence was almost cartoon like, with positivity radiating from him. Aria couldn't help but let out a nervous laugh, her smile growing just by looking at him. His energy was contagious.

"Is... is there anything I can do to thank you?" She tried your shake herself back to reality though remained entranced by him.

"Nothing at all. I'm just glad I was here to help." He extended a hand, almost nervously, introducing himself. "Alexander Turner, pleasure to meet you."

"You too." Aria blushed, unable to break eye contact with the man, and was now incredibly aware of how dumbfounded she must look. "I'm Aria" She stuttered, the sound of his friend retuning sending her back to reality. "I apologise for staring, but I just can't seem to take my eyes off you, you have an enchanting aura about you. I'm sorry if I may seem a little strange."

"There's no need to apologise, I get it all the time." He laughed, though not arrogantly, it was sweet and innocent. "My mother's a Veela." He added, almost embarrassedly, upon noticing the slightly look of confusion appearing on Arias face.

The couple shared an awkward smile, both at a loss for words.

Alexander's friend passed by the pair silently, slapping him encouragingly on the shoulder before disappearing behind the bar, Rosalind following closely behind.

Aria noted the difference in both attitude and appearance in the two men, finally able to distinguish between the two. The friend was tall and broad shouldered, his hair messy though not long. He gave off a sort of American football, "bro", fratbroy vibe. In other words kind of arrogant and full of himself. Clearly he saw himself as the one in control. Alexander on the other hand was more slim, but not skinny. Tall but not lanky. Innocent but not naive. His clothes appeared similar to his friends but presented more neatly and well put together. She assumed he felt sorry for his friend, knowing his Veela parentage would gain him lots of female attention, and in return Alexander simply allowed himself to get pushed around to boost his friends ego.

With a roll of his eyes Alexander practically confirmed her theory and Aria couldn't stop herself from laughing once more.

Knowing that while Rosalind and 'Braydon'; as he turned out to be, would not be returning any time soon, Aria and Alexander chose to occupy one of the booths and get to know a little bit about each other, where Alex truly confirmed all of Aria's suspicions.

Upon Braydon's return, he flashed his rather large biceps, kissing each one in turn as he flexed them, before letting out a hearty growl, presumably this was a display of male dominance among his kind. His kind being; douchebags.

With another roll of her eyes Aria bid farewell to the men, thanking Alexander once more for his heroic rescue.

"How about a date?" Alex called nervously as Aria had just about reached the door.

"I'm sorry?" She replies, caught off guard.

"A date, here, with me. What do you say?" Aria shook her head unable to look away from that damn charming smile of his.

"I'll agree to a few drinks." She clarified. "Just send me an owl, you know where I'll be." And with that she disappeared once more down the path to Hogwarts, the grey sky above all the while threatening to rain down on her.

Taglist: @ayamenimthiriel @lizlil

#severus snape #severus snape fanfiction #severus snape one shot #severus snape imagine #severus snape x reader #severus x reader #severus x oc #severus x y/n #Harry Potter #harry potter and the goblet of fire #harry potter fanfiction #alan rickman #dumbledore #dumbledores granddaughter #potions master #potions masters apprentice #Severus Snape smut #severus snape fluff

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katsukikitten · 4 years

Text

A/N look if you didnt even tear up. All I'm saying is I didnt do my job right.

Part 1 ××× Part 2 ×× Part 3

Bakugou sits at the long table in the dining room in his usual spot, Mei and Haru nod his way as others begin to file in.

The children look a tad older than usual as they sit a bit straighter this year, Uncle Sozen seems to have aged over night as he sits to Bakugou's left. He offers a wide smile to which Bakugou returns.

"DADDY!! DADDY!" A shrill voice rings out, little feet slapping harshly against the hard wood as a little girl slams down into his lap. Ash blonde hair dutifully braided but coming loose from all of the horse play skillfully climbs onto his legs.

She looks up at him with wide eyes that mirror your eye color. His heart melts as he smooths down some of her hair.

"Where's your brother?" He asks softly before a young boy comes rushing in. Feet falling hard enough to shake the dishes at the table. Your hair and his burning ember eyes greet him with a shit eating grin.

Neither could be older than six or seven.

"Told you I'd find you!" He brings up a bright palm to slap his older sister only for his wrist to be grabbed by you. Leveling him with a glare the child shrinks away. Trying to hide behind both his sister and father. Bakugou looks up at you, your fierce gaze, your glowing features and swollen belly. His heart melts, pooling in his stomach and threatening to dip lower still. He swallows thickly adding his own sharp voice to the mix.

"Sit and behave." The children cling to Uncle Sozen or Aunt Mai. Climbing into their laps eager to be spoiled once more. Summer crickets echo into the dining hall before they are drowned out by both the thunder of the approaching summer storm and the roar of the dining table.

Dinner goes on without a hitch. Happy conversation as Sobo takes it all in. She sits stick straight, her once silver hair long since turned moon white and adorned in her normal plain kimono. When dinner is over, everyone begins to clear the table, excited for tomorrow's birthday and celebration that is bound to take place. Bakugou goes to what has become his normal duty, standing by Sobo to help her up and back to her study. He knows she wants to see the moon flowers bloom.

He is gentle with her now fragile stature, never able to forget how easily she wielded an old weapon on his first dinner at this estate. The thought makes him smile as they enter her study. He settles her onto her cushion, about to leave to finish clearing the table. But she doesn't let go so Bakugou sinks into the cushion beside her, the summer storm faded as quickly as it came and as the clouds clear the closed tight buds slowly begin to unravel, mirrored moonlight nestled on delicate petals. Silence envelops the two as they stare at the beautiful metaphor that is the moon flower. Her grip tightens on his strong bicep.

"Thank you for humoring this old woman." Sobo breaks the silence causing scarlet eyes to slide to his elder.

Except she no longer looks old, instead she looks young. As she did in the picture with All Might. Hair as dark as night and adorned in her crane kimono. Bakugou swallows thickly.

"I'm glad you've made up your mind, mago."She smiles, squeezing tighter and somehow this feels more like a good bye than anything else.

He doesn't like the feeling, he goes to open his mouth to ask what she means but lightning suddenly strikes outside.

The thunder comes as the sound of the sliding door to your room. Bakugou lifts a palm glowing hot as an ember aimed at the figure who dared to enter in the early hours of the morning.

Mei stands in the doorway disheveled as you slowly rise, you hold eye contact with Mei's watery eyes and just…know.

You jump to your feet, throwing off the blanket as you rummage in your bag for any sort of clothing. Mismatched as you shove your body in the fabric as you head for the door. Sprinting down the hall as if called on a mission. Bakugou rises, noticing Mei's tear stained cheeks, questions are plastered all over his tired features.

"Its...Sobo…" A hiccup leaves Mei's frame reminding Bakugou just how small and young she was, "She's...she's."

"I'm glad you made up your mind, mago."

It clicks as her voice echoes in his head from the dream, soles of his feet burning as he runs aimlessly through the estate until he finally finds where people are gathered.

There was not a single dry eye as he huffs.

"Where's…" He asks but Aunt Mai just points, clinging to Uncle Sozen who seems to be frozen in time. Bakugou slowly walks towards you as you sit with wide eyes. Clasping onto Sobo's cool hands.

When he sinks down next to you is when he realizes that you're shaking.

He fights his gut, to reach out for you, to pull him to you so you can cry to your heart's content but instead you look to great Oba.

"I'll help sort her things. Please allow me a shower first." You say monotone, eyes glazed over and Bakugou isn't sure which would be worse. You unfeeling and cold or you crying until you were sick.

Either way his heart was sure to split in two. Your eyes come back to Sobo. You lean in close, pressing a soft kiss to her fast cooling cheek.

"I'm sorry we lied. Bakugou is barely my roommate Sobo." You whisper so lowly that even Katuski strains to hear you.

You rise, trying to walk calmly out of the room. Telling yourself over and over that this was just a mission or worse yet just a nightmare and to allow yourself to feel an ounce of fear or grief would be your downfall.

"Its all Uncle Shoji's fault! If he hadn't come and riled Sobo up or hadn't made that damned drug Sozen would have felt her vitals weaken." Haru yells, tears falling in fat droplets as he slides a forearm over his face. You snap then, yelling as you reach for the first thing you can grab, a book that you hurl at your cousin as you scream.

"SHE HAD AN ARRYTHMIA! WE CAN'T BLAME SHOJI FOR ALL OF OUR FAMILY'S FUCK UPS."

The book hits Haku square in his face, a letter flutters from the yellowed pages before it slams onto the ground.

All eyes watch the letter that's addressed in big bold letters.

To my family.

Eagerly you swoop for the letter, snatching onto the parchment and last tangible thing from your grandmother. You rise to your feet, eyes frantic as you look around the room.

Bakugou knows that face, you're about to make a bad decision and before he can stop you you've set a harsh pace to follow.

He rises and gives chase as does half of the younger generation. But none of them can keep up.

No one but Bakugou, which you had expected.

It would be more than easy enough to lose him in this house.

Or maybe it wouldn't be so easy. With each turn he comes closer but you can't be caught yet.

Whatever it is your grandmother has to say you know you have to read it first, but most importantly, alone.

You want the chance to say goodbye and to grieve in private.

You plan to lose him in the secret room in your grandmother's study rushing into it with just enough time to disappear.

But suddenly you cannot, too overwhelmed by the sight of her favorite little room, decorated with all of her accomplishments but more importantly her family. Memories over lapping one another as you stand frozen. Bakugou bursts into the room, skin popping with heated explosions as he grabs for you. Grip gentle on your wrist.

"We should go back." His voice is feather soft, as if he's scared you'll break and it makes you angry.

It makes you sad.

Because he's right, you will break. Now there was no one to look forward to seeing in your favorite season, no one to celebrate summer with.

No one to lose horribly at Go to, no one to teach you the art of a deal and no one to explain the beauty in the world no matter how small and insignificant it seemed.

Fat tears fall down your face as you cry like you never have before. Like you hadn't since you were a child. A small whine comes from your throat that has Bakugou's heart imploding, his brows furrowed as he reaches for your other wrist. Trying so hard to support you without making you feel weak. You push yourself into him, clutching at his shirt as his burning sugar and firework smell tingles your nose, summer incarnate. He wraps his arms around you tightly, pushing you closer to him in an attempt to hold you together as best he can as you fall apart in his arms.

"What are we gon..gonna do Katsuki?" You sob, shoving your face deeper into his chest, "H..How are we gon..gonna live without Sobo?"

Bakugou's eyes sting from your defeat, staring out into the background as he thinks of anything he can say or do to help you, all he draws is a blank. He was the worst at shit like this!

Movement catches his eye, a crane flies across the sky, his eyes fall to that damn plant noticing one final bloom persisting through the harsh morning sun.

"We aren't." He says, thinking of his dream, "She's always with us."

His words bring you comfort, resolve forcing your back stick straight as you look him in the face. That odd magnetism between the two of you returns. Licking your lips you do the unthinkable, following your gut as you stand on your tippy toes to softly press your lips to his.

"Thank you." A whisper, before stepping past him to face your family head on.

The ash blonde stands in the study for a moment, reliving the feeling of your lips against his. Of the electricity that surged through his body harder than any shot Denki had ever taken at him before.

The tips of his fingers brush over his lips, the bloom finally closing and he feels as if he sees a smile.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

He returns just in time to see the family all gathered around, you having finally settled the bunch. Breaking the wax seal of the letter. Eyes rimmed red, the ink blurring beneath your gaze but you needed to be okay, you needed to be strong. Someone was meant to read the letter outloud and today that someone was you.

“To my loving family, if you’ve found this letter then I know what you all are going through. But I do not want you to shed tears over this little old woman. I have lived a long and wonderful life. Blessed with each of my children, and their children’s children. I want you all to celebrate my life and more importantly celebrate our family. As this is all we have and should treasure above all else. Life is hard enough as it is on our own so we must not forget where we come from and who truly supports our love and our dreams. Surely there is no pain worse than hunger and loneliness, so eat with each other often to ease your troubles. One day Shoji will come back into our lives and I may not be around when that happens but when he does please welcome him back with open arms as we all can lose our way from time to time. Let him join you all at the dinner table and help him to remember what family, what our family, is all about. Make sure that he eats as I am sure he will be hungry and I know he will be lonely. Help him ease his pains, help guide him back onto the right path in life. I end this letter to remind you all how much I care and love for each and every one of you. Good things will come as does the crane that flies over the bloomed lotus.

With all of my love, forever and for always I give to you,

Sobo.”

Silence settles over the large estate with nothing more than sniffles and sobs echoing down the hall. Bakugou places his hand on your back, surprisingly having a hard time keeping his own eyes from watering.

In such a short time he had made a friend, he made family.

His skin burns through your shirt as tears fall from your cheeks, like a movie star. Eyes clouded, nose a bit red but eyes set hard.

"Sobo was right. Family is all we have and we can all become misguided. I…." You look to the blonde, squaring your shoulders, "I lied. Bakugou is not my fiance. He isn't even my boyfriend. I lied for Sobo, thinking that this would make her happy. But now…now we must make things right."

You pull an outdated iPhone from your pocket.

"I found it after Shoji left. Maybe we can contact him and when he comes back…" Your voice is hard and yet threatening to crack all at once. Eyes roaming over your large family.

"We will eat." Great Oba says, "Ladies, if you would prepare the food for celebration. I will retire to her study and call friends and family. We will lay Sobo to rest when the sun sleeps and the moon rises."

Everyone nods, wiping tears and comforting their children as they move to their duty. You give Bakugou a sympathetic look before rushing off to call uncle Shoji.

Bakugou suddenly finds himself a bit aimless once again before the sharp bite of a matriarch's voice rings out.

"Bakugou, you will come with me." Great Oba turns while Katsuki follows without question.

A certain item weight extra heavy in his pants pocket.

×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&

"Fuck!" Shoji growls for the thousandth time, unable to pack his things and leave the near by hotel. Finally he rises forcing himself to gather various items that he has half a mind to leave.

Fresh tears pricking his eyes as he wishes that old bag would just….would just fucking love him. He knows he's the black sheep, the unwanted baby but still.

He still is trying to live up to the image Sobo had of him. His phone rings and he answers it with a snobbish attitude, crying long gone from his voice.

"What do you know, Princess figured out my random passcode. I knew you were smart but why are you so damn persistent I'm not coming bac… "

"Just shut the fuck up." You cut him off, sounding like Sobo with your harsh tone but you with your cussing. He runs his hands through his hair.

"Sobi is gone Shoji. You need to come back. You need to say goodbye."

"She...she what?! That old hag is immortal."

"Watch your tongue." A startled chilll runs down his spine before you add your own flair to Sobo's best threat, "Or I will have to watch it for you by taking it for myself."

"And before you start your bullshit pity party we want you here. We need you here. You're family. You need to eat with us. Laugh with us…" Your voice threatens to crack, "Cry with us Shoji. Find your way back home….please."

Nothingness stretches on between the two of you before you sigh. Hoping he will prove you and everyone else wrong. That he is not a lost cause.

"We lie her to rest tonight. Under the watch of the full moon near the lake."

You hang up the phone, crushing it in your hand by accident as salt water streams down your face.

×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&

The hot head has never found himself in so many uncomfortable and vulnerable spots during this trip than he has in his entire lifetime.

He sits across from Great Oba-san who really only wanted him around to keep any eye on him. A war rages in himself, over the game of Go, over his dream and more so over these new blossoming feelings he has for you.

Was this going to be worth a few bowls of spicy ramen?

He fucking thought not. Sobo's voice echoes in his head as the small object burns a hole in his pocket.

Better to return it now before they think him a thief.

He withdrawals the stunning single set diamond ring that is surrounded by a ring of off tiny circular onyx. The diamond the moon suspended in the dark night of the onyx.

A breathtaking piece truly, he sets it atop the paper work Great Oba is sorting. Her facial expression seems to change in slow motion as it adjusts to her rapidly changing emotions.

"How did you…?"

"I couldnt sleep and she called me in to hustle me over a game of Go. She said she knew that she...that we lied." Bakugou continues to tell her about the game and dream. All the while Oba stares with wide eyes, fixated on the ring waiting for him to finish. Her face sets hard, her eyes a mixture of emotion.

"Bakugou, you know what you must do." As if it's a mission, a task. He thinks he must leave immediately. He goes to stand.

"No. Sit." Controlled rage, pushing the ring back towards the young man, "You must propose now. No one has had Sobo's full blessing like this before."

He stares at her hard, shocked even before he growls out.

"We aren't even dating!"

"In my time, in Sobo's time we didn't know our husbands name until we were wed." She continues to sort, filing things away avoiding taking the ring. He sucks his teeth, dumbfounded.

"We dont even like each other!" His forearms pop with his mouth and temper. Great Oba rolls her eyed.

"That's debatable. I've never seen someone so quick to break down her walls before. Besides only a man would have stayed during this family crises. A boy would have left on the first night." Bakugou mulls it over, the dream, was it just that or had he really pictured himself here. In this house.

In this estate year after year as it ebbs and flows of faces with your family.

Here with you?

His heart races and slows all at once, his palms sweat as his feet tingle to move. He inhales deeply trying to collect his thoughts and calm his thoughts.

"What if she says no?" His main worry, his only worry now being rejection. Still unsure if this is his future but it was true if given the opportunity to lay down his life to ensure yours he would do it.

No hesitation, no doubt to keep you smiling. To ensure you become your own matriarch to protect this house and Sobo's spirit.

"She wont say no. That ring isn't just any ring. That ring was passed down from our mother and from her mother." She swallows thickly, the thought of most her family having now passed pangs her heart but Oba must go on with big shoes to fill.

Her elder sister a force of nature.

Suddenly Bakugou stands, rage mixed in his scarlet eyes.

"Then it ain't fucking right for me to have this! I can't have this!"

"But. You. Will." Her tongue a knife. Ripping him to ribbons and all he can see is another version of you. Another strong willed woman, another force to be reckoned with.

"Besides, I know she will not. Once she sees that ring she will know. Sobo was a great judge of character despite being quirkless. I heard my son Sozen tell the story but only partially. My sister's husband was a great man who sadly was inflicted with a disease, Alzheimer's hit him hard in his old age. And an in home nurse took advantage of that. She looked much like s younger version it my sister, taking him to casinos and pretending to be his wife. She spent the family fortune, she thought a child would secure her wealth but she had tapped the well dry. When she realized that, she left Shoji on the front step, dirty and naked as if he were garbage."

Bakugou slumps back onto the amethyst cushion from the weight of the story, still worry is written all along his face. Great Oba sighs.

"At the end of the day, it is my niece's choice and if she says no at least you can say you tried. You honored Sobo's wish with an attempt and she'd be more than happy with that." Great Oba smiles and he can see a ghost of Sobo's wide, wild smile in her.

He swallows thickly, gently grabbing the ring. He turns it over and over in his hands.

This was crazy.

This was stupid.

This was crazy fucking stupid.

But maybe his fate in love was meant to be crazy fucking stupid.

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