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ohheyitsokay · 3 years

Note

Omg I'm SO sorry!!! I'm the soulmates pain AU anon, I was completely aware you were the one with the milestone!! I saw the post through Molly's rb and I was almost completely sure I had opened your blog to send you the ask but alas, the Tumblr app can never give you any certainties. That long-ass message was completely dedicated to you, I still can't quite grasp how I managed to send it to scribbledghost 🙄🙄🙄 Sorry!!! Congrats again, I love you!!!!

for reference a Din Djarin x reader soulmate request where your soulmate feels your injuries and pain

hello, dear heart!

I wanted to say, before anything else, thank you. I've reread your words multiple times since you sent this, confirming they were to me, and they really mean the world to me. thank you so, so much! anyway, your idea is fantastic, I had a lot of fun with this one! I hope you like seeing what I did with your already wonderful thoughts 💕

ps it's well documented that I'm a big fan of sprawling thoughts, so please never apologize for sharing them!

warnings: mentions canon-typical injuries, a bunch of fluff. at least enough for a couple of throw pillows

soulmate requests / follower celebration

There's a short burn on his forearm when he wakes.

Din stares at it, wondering at the dull ache, trying to place the injury from yesterday's adventure when it hits him. Hot and golden warmth, flooding through his chest, thawing his flesh against the cold filtered air.

It's one of yours.

A burn, on his forearm.

And selfishly, indulgently, he pauses for a moment, mind slipping away from duty and expectations to dwell in the daydream of his soulmate.

First, his mind creates an image of a blurry mandalorian caretaker, gently moving around a kitchen in the covert. You stir a pot, tapping the spoon on the side before setting it down. Hearing distant calls, you turn too quickly and oh - a sliver of burn along your arm.

Din wants to help, wants to pull you away from the domestic .... danger, and he rushes forward. Your helmet turns to him and he almost sees it - before his mind can no longer produce the answers he aches for late at night.

The second image is of you, in armor as gleaming as his own, in a thick, unrecognizable forest. The hairs on his neck are at full attention, already subconsciously wanting to shout - but you don't need his help. You're breathtaking in all versions of his daydream - but watching you fight with practiced ease punches the air from his lungs. For a moment he feels self-conscious of his awkward maneuvers and slapdash fighting but then his mind pulls him back. You're protecting someone, or else you wouldn't have messed up - you never do, injuries from you are too rare - but you shove them behind you, shooting an enemy over your shoulder before your helmet snaps back. There are so many - you're surrounded - and a hot, sharp blaster bolt grazes your forearm before your fury is truly unleashed.

He runs his fingers over the burn, almost giddy at the possibilities.

Mandalorians are few and far between, but he's grateful he has a soulmate, and even more thankful you've kept yourself out of harm's way almost entirely, since you'd been connected.

As he dons his layers, the shine of his armor reflects bruises and scrapes littered across the expanse of his skin. His own, from his journey, and one beautiful little burn from his soulmate.

And then they're covered, and the armor is tied securely in place, and he leaves his daydreams in the room as the ship door slides unceremoniously shut.

You hiss at the burn, clutching your arm.

Great. Just what you needed - another injury to add to your impressive collection.

At least my soulmate gets a gift from me this time. You roll your eyes.

The vendor next to your stall is a sweet lady, already apologizing for her steaming pots and pans and offering you compensation.

The credits would be nice, but you could hardly justify taking anything, especially since it was your soulmate's fault your body was riddled with aches and pains in the first place.

Waving your hand, you accept her counter offer - a bowl of her perfect broth and noodles - before retreating. You sell cloth, from beautiful dyed lengths tucked away to sturdy, unstainable blacks, and it was days like today that you thanked your stars for that choice.

There's a thick pile in the middle that you perch on, sinking into the folds as your body cries at you, and you sigh over your soup in relief. The burden of waking to webbing bruises and sprawling scrapes and the more-than-occasional broken bone is eased by your stall - sitting and haggling until the sun goes down. That is, unless there's drama in the market, as it seems there is today.

In the distance you hear shouts, more than those of vendors selling meat on sticks to passing warriors and merchants - the taunts of drunkards.

Someone is coming, and you almost laugh when you see his form in the distance, because he's trying and failing to be inconspicuous. It's impossible, with his gleaming armor, but still he ducks into shadowy spots, forgetting - or maybe ignoring - their inhabitants.

"A Mandalorian has graced our market," your neighbor remarks dryly. They were respected, but it was well known that chaos followed them. You share a look, both wishing you were wealthy enough to conpletely pack up shop. If anything, a logical person would put away most of the stock and hunker down for a few hours. Weighing the odds was difficult: if you were lucky, the chaos wouldn't bother your business, and shoppers might be drawn out, hoping for entertainment and spending as they waited. If you weren't, a wayward burst of plasma or blaster fire would destroy your whole month's stock.

You looked at him again, the Mandalorian kneeling down the street. His form was... almost handsome, formidable but careful. He was light on his feet, seemingly with gentleness on his mind, and it drew you in like a moth to flame. You decided to stay, and hope for the best, your curiosity pulsing like your bruises.

And you were lucky, that day, because he ducked away not a moment later, taking the exciment with him.

Until, he came back the next day, this time on the prowl, stalking up and down the edge of Dicer's Row, one hand on his blaster and the other atop a bulky, wriggling bag. This time, you ventured to stand, folding and refolding your displays as you watched him through your lashes.

And then he made his move, and you sighed, feigning a yawn to cover your disappointment from your neighbor's knowing smile. She shouldn't be wiggling her eyebrows over the box wall between you - honestly his type were more annoying than anything. A crash from the alley confirmed it: there was no way a guy like that cared about his soulmate. The gentleness from before was surely a trick of the light.

Your whole side lit up with pain, the impact of something hard against your whole side and you groaned, settling into your mound again. Any curiosity or attraction was snuffed under your annoyance and pain, and your mood soured like fruit left unpicked on the tree.

Selfish, you thought, glaring as a chicken ran squawking from the commotion. What a jerk.

The next day, you tried to maintain the sentiment, huffing as he wandered the stalls.

Why does he keep coming back?

You'd have thought his time here was over when he'd dragged that lowlife out of town yesterday. But here he was, buying a crock of soup at the stall next to you, and ignoring her comments about how he couldn't eat it with his helmet on.

She had warmed to him, since he'd put money in her pocket, chattering in a way that kept him stuck for long moments.

It struck you as strange - he almost seemed too awkward to leave, like her returned generosity actually meant something to him. A man like him... surely could've just walked away.

But he stayed for awhile, nodding and looking at the spoons she carved in her free time, and you almost thought he was looking at you, too. Then he ducked his head and planted himself in front of you, and certainly he was.

For all the years you'd spent weaving words to sell your fabrics and goods, you'd never been so speechless. The Mandalorian was large, sharp, shining edges and bulky canvas packs tied to his shoulders - he seemed out of place, filling your whole stall, shuffling as he loomed over you.

He asked for soft brown things - children's clothes.

"Of course, I - I mean, yes, just over here -" you tripped over your words, caught completely off guard by the shape of him, the feel of him just an arms width away, and his request. You stumbled from your seat, nearly toppling in your hurry and his gloved hand wrapped around your arm, catching you.

"You're injured," he stated not really asking. It was... overwhelmingly intimate, him knowing, and acknowledging it, like he cared.

"Yeah, my..." you swallowed, trying not to get lost in the dark glass inches from your face. "My self-centered soulmate keeps getting himself nearly killed."

Even with your heart thumping in your chest, you couldn't keep the bite from your words, bitterness having collected over years of nursing injuries that were consequences of someone else's actions. He didn't let go of you for a moment, his helmet pulling back and tilting, like he was startled.

Then he was cautious, unbearably so, releasing his grip like a child freeing a captured creature when it was time. The topic was dropped, and he made his purchase quickly, but before he left, he paused. The Mandalorian's gloved hand ghosted over your cheek, slowly moving a hair back into it's place, and if you hadn't known better, it was almost an apology.

And then, thick cape swirling in the dust, tiny clothes in tow, he swept away, leaving you along with your whole body alight with a foreign longing.

Din felt as though he'd been stabbed.

Hot, hot feelings poured through his chest, spreading fast as fire as he desperately tried to sort through them.

You - you were incredible, fragile and bruised, with the most stunning, determined eyes he had ever seen. Not a Mandalorian, and you had a ... a soulmate, a fucker who left your skin littered with marks, burdening you with ...

He felt panicked, shocked, and guilty, just as he had when you'd told him. It had never occred to him that his soulmate might be there... out there, constantly burdened by his recklessness. His body screamed for attention, something he so often ignored, but this time, he was almost deafened by it.

His feet, legs, arms, chest, heart - all of them wanted him to return to you, in your little fabric stall. To... what? Truly, he hadn't the slightest idea, so his mind won out, shaking a little to try to reign in the muscles that he'd taught to obey him.

He couldn't go to you.

But, he couldn't stay away.

He was back in the market, and this time, he wasn't being subtle about staring at you.

Tall and ... slow, he waded through the crowds, making his was towards you like he was following a careful path.

"Can I help you?" You stood, moving almost involuntarily towards him. "Was there something wrong with my -" he was already shaking his head, hands reaching to make you shush.

Waiting, an irrational part of your mind wished he would touch you again, would place his big hands on your skin and sooth the aches that haunted your life. It was unfair, but you didn't stop it, couldn't if you tried.

Carefully, he slid a single finger to your arm, pushing up your sleeve to reveal the little burn you'd gotten.

He was being gentle. It made you want to stomp your feet, jealously welling up in your heart like bile, bitter and hot. How could it be, that someone so powerful had learned so quickly, wanted to, and he wasn't - he wasn't even your -

Then he moved again, pushing up his own sleeve and your thoughts tumbled over each other. It was intimate, even more than before, desperately trusting, as his skin near glowed in the morning light. And there was a burn on his skin, hairs singled like they'd met the edge of a pot of boiling broth.

You wanted to punch him. This man has spent years tossing his body around like he had one one spare, making your own as brittle as bread crust and - you wanted to kiss him. This man had learned after a single day, the impact of his actions, and had been nothing but kind.

The forehead of his helmet pressed into yours, and the two sides of your mind compromised.

Later, words would come - they had to.

But now, your eyes closed, and you sighed. He had the rest of your life to make it up to you - and he would, you were sure.

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @horton-hears-a-honk @saradika @zinzinina

#din djarin x reader #soulmate requests #anonymous and elle #elle only posts soulmate rqs at weird hours thats the rule

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raleighcarrera · 3 years

Text

scorch

the wayhaven chronicles | mason x mc (kira langford)

the power goes out. things go bump in the night.

for @hotwayhavensummer day 5 (temperature) 💕

tags: @zigtheeortega ; @choicesarehard ; @brightpinkpeppercorn ; @montjoy ; @octobereighth ; @pixeljazzy

~2.8k words | E (18+)

the first thing she’s aware of is how blisteringly hot it is in her bedroom. mason’s arm slung over her bare waist feels like she’s leaning it against the stove, and there’s sweat pooling at the small of her back where she’s kicked the sheets off to the floor.

the second thing she’s aware of is mason’s nose, which is pressed firmly into the back of her neck, and the low, pleased rumble deep in his chest when he asks, “why does it feel so nice in here?”

then she realizes what’s making him so happy: the room is shrouded in darkness, completely pitch black. even the tiny digital clock on her television isn’t blinking.

kira groans, shrugging her boyfriend off where he’s hanging over her back like a ton of bricks. “the power is out.”

mason falls back against the mattress heavily -- so heavily she knows he’s doing it on purpose, like a dick, because she can’t even push him an inch when he doesn’t want to be moved -- sighing up at the ceiling. “again? what is that, the twelfth time this month?”

“third,” she corrects absentmindedly, sitting up until the sheets fall limply around her waist. god, she is sweating. “i hope it’s not citywide this time.”

it’s been an unseasonably hot summer in wayhaven. the rolling blackouts have been ridiculous, and even when the electric company has managed to keep her power on, she’s still spent many nights listening to her air conditioning units splutter as they struggled to keep her apartment cool against the climbing temperatures and stifling humidity outside.

during the last blackout, she’d spent a week responding to bullshit calls all over the city until the lights had finally come back on; mrs. braverson on spruce street had bumped into a bookshelf and twisted her ankle, the smythe’s over by the park realized their ‘missing’ cat had been up in the attic all along.

so that was something she wasn’t exactly keen on repeating.

“shouldn’t they be better at this?” mason asks, the angle of his face illuminating briefly as the lighter in his hand flicks to ignite the cigarette balanced between his lips. “it doesn’t seem that complicated to me.”

kira elbows him in the arm with a huff. “window --” she starts to direct, but he’s already rolling out of bed, walking naked to said window and shoving it up to lean his head outside. her eyes slide down his bare back and come to rest on mason’s ass, now barely able to be made out through the darkness with the moonlight coming in from the curtain he’s shoved aside. “you’re shameless,” she laughs. “if that nosy old lady across the way gets even a glimpse of your dick, she’s going to have a heart attack.”

“i’m willing to go back to smoking in bed at any time.” mason’s voice filters over his shoulder low and lazily, the words a slow rumble that make her sigh when she sits up to peel the tiny cotton bralette she’d been wearing off.

dropping the damp fabric on the floor by the bed, her underwear’s quick to follow, and she kicks at the sheets until they pool by her feet. “not gonna happen.”

mason twists around to stare at her, barely visible through the darkness except for the glowing butt of the cigarette between his lips, which part in an appreciative smirk until she can see a row of straight, grinning teeth. the expression on his face says plenty without him even opening his mouth.

kira rolls her eyes. “what time is it?”

“fuck if i know,” mason responds, leaning out the window to blow smoke into the air.

she rubs at her eyes, then, with great effort, leans over to grope for her cell phone on the floor by the bed.

“up a bit,” mason remarks unhelpfully from across the room, and even as she pushes onto her knees, wiggling for his benefit, she twists her arm around to flip him the bird while she searches.

his laugh makes her smile to herself as the screen of her phone lights up, half under the bed. 3:23 AM.

kira groans, shifting to stretch back out on the mattress again. “i have to get up in two hours.”

mason flicks his fingers and what’s left of his cigarette drops to the street below. his elbow braces on the wall beside his head. “no point in going back to sleep, then.”

his eyebrows arch invitingly. the look on his face is one she’d recognize anytime, anywhere.

he makes it often enough.

but she laughs, and then he smiles back at her, and her chest feels as warm as the rest of her, but not in the sticky, sweaty gross way -- more in the once unfamiliar but rapidly becoming routine way, the way that’s distinctly mason-shaped.

in the blink of an eye, he’s back in bed with her, the springs under her mattress creaking when he pounces, holding himself carefully over her body.

his skin is blazing, and even with the window left open it’s still uncomfortably warm in the room; she twists futilely under mason’s chest to try to tie her long hair up with the elastic on her wrist while his hands slide down the curves of her waist to her thighs.

“hang on,” she says, through a laugh that’s interrupted by a hitching breath when his hands make their way between her legs, pushing them apart slowly. “it is literally so hot, my hair --”

“who knew you were so delicate,” he snorts, thumbs digging into the insides of her thighs as he nudges her legs wider and wider, “mason, my hair, mason, the smoke, mason, it’s hot.”

“shut the fuck up,” kira snarks back, finally twisting her hair into a ponytail and securing it out of her face, reaching out to fan her fingers over his shoulders as soon as they’re free. “you’re the last one who should be calling anyone else delicate, mr. it’s-too-bright-in-here, everyone-we-know-is-too-loud, the-food-at-the-bakery-smells-too-good.”

mason’s head ducks, and the stubble on his chin scrapes across her hip. “fine,” he smirks, “we’re both annoying, is that what you want to hear?”

“doesn’t hurt,” she murmurs, lifting one hand to his hair to push her fingers through. “anyway, since you’re down there...”

“but i’m the shameless one.” mason’s eyes raise to look up at her, and kira pushes onto her elbows to commit the sight of him to memory, even though the position is one they’ve been in plenty, before.

it’s not exactly something she’ll ever be tired of.

she smirks, nudging his forehead down. mason goes, with only a laugh under his breath, his cheek giving a slow drag of sandpaper across the inside of her thigh when he moves. kira shivers despite the heat in the room and instantly regrets it -- she can practically feel mason’s smug smile even as he lowers his head.

just as she opens her mouth to tell him off, she can feel his thumbs dip between her thighs, another chuckle ghosting over her in an exhale when he finds her wet. “sweet dreams, i guess?”

her foot kicks out blindly in retaliation, colliding solidly with something that might be mason’s thigh or side or back. his hand wraps around her knee, pinning it flat to the mattress. “c’mon, sweetheart,” he cajoles, “play nice.”

“you’re a bastard,” she returns, not helping her case much.

as expected, mason pulls back until she can see the flash of his eyes and the crooked tilt of his indulgent smile. “that so?” he drawls, the words slow and syrupy-sweet where they’re dragged out between her legs. “want me to let you get back to sleep, then?”

kira can feel her face pull into something that she means to be a scowl but is certain comes across as more of a pout. “nothing is ever easy with you,” she complains, squirming a little on the sheets where they’re bunched up under her, still admittedly sweaty from the lack of air conditioning. “i have to beg you every time i want you to --”

“oh my god, alright,” mason laughs, cutting her off with a shake of his head. his own hair is damp where he lifts his free hand to swipe it out of his eyes. “jesus christ, i forgot how cranky you get without your eight hours.”

with that, he lowers his head again, and she sighs at the first brush of his tongue against her, her back arching up off the bed. the sheets stick to her skin and come with her before slowly falling back to the mattress so she can ball a fist in them.

mason’s touch is teasing, featherlight and gentle. kira resists the urge to roll her eyes; they both know it’s not out of any innate goodness he has, but rather an arrogance he’s always possessed, a deep-seated knowledge that he can elicit a reaction from her that leaves her screaming the walls down and thrashing in bed.

asshole.

her legs spread wider on the mattress and mason’s hands immediately move to hold her still, his strength as thrilling as ever even while his palms blaze hot on her thighs, burning her skin.

kira can hear herself moan, unnaturally loud in the otherwise silent stillness of the room. mason is quiet where he’s kneeling before her, and, other than the sound of her breathing, there’s only mild shifting in the sheets that’s interrupted by the way she breathlessly groans out a curse of his name.

but it’s obviously what he’s been waiting for; mason redoubles his efforts and his face disappears from view entirely, the bridge of his nose brushing over where she’s sensitive and wet so his tongue can push deeper, a warning graze of teeth and stubble replaced by the pillowy softness of his lips on her clit before she can do much more than jerk her hips back with a gasp.

“fuck,” she says emphatically, her eyes screwing shut tight. the entire room is hazy and warm around her, blood rushing in her ears. mason’s movements are the opposite of a distraction from the stifling heat of the room -- the fire of his mouth and the brand of his fingertips digging into her skin feels like it’s burning her alive from the inside out, but she’s helpless to do anything other than give herself over to it, her heels digging into mason’s back where her legs have wound around him.

his fingers dip in to bring her effortlessly to an edge, the combination of the practiced movements of his mouth combined with the blunt nudge of his knuckles leaving her trembling against him, one hand tight in his hair while the other pulls the sheets out of shape.

the apartment, and wayhaven, in the middle of the night, continue to embarrass her with their silence. her hips thrash in his hold while her moans grow louder and louder, until she’s just there -- just enough for mason to pull back with an eyebrow quirked curiously.

“please,” she begs immediately, both knowing it’s what he wants to hear and desperate for the push over the edge he’s withholding.

a sliver of light from the moon through the window reflects off his face where it’s obscenely shiny on his chin and cheeks. mason lifts his head and grins sharply at her, his eyes knowing. “please what, sweetheart?”

“please finish,” kira gasps, “i’m so close, i need you to -- please, mason.”

something about the late hour has evidently made him feel generous. if she had a better grasp on her remaining brain function she might make a note to do this more often -- she knows he spends much of the time she’s asleep simply staring at the ceiling beside her or pacing the length of the apartment -- but, as it is, she can do little more than hold on while he methodically takes her apart in just the way she’d been hoping for.

her ears ring when she comes, breath hitching in the darkness before her head tips back with a moan, his name on her lips in a garbled sound that transforms into a too-loud-for-this-hour fuck that ultimately finishes on a slow, content sigh.

her body is still dripping with sweat, and mason looks so messy himself, when he pushes up onto his forearms, that she wonders what a sight she must be. she can feel her face grow impossibly warmer at the thought.

kira stares at him as he sucks his own fingers into his mouth slowly, licking his lips lasciviously when he’s done. what a strange person, she thinks, and then, when her heart gives a funny little twist at the look on his face, thumping extra fast in her chest, she realizes it’s something they have in common.

“alright?” mason asks quietly, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

she nods, reaching out for him clumsily. there’s a softness in his gaze as he shifts to move closer, and the smile playing at his lips makes the scorching heat consuming her settle into something more akin to the dull warmth she usually feels when mason’s around.

one big hand moves the sloppy strands of hair spilling from her ponytail out of her face none-too gently, lips suddenly claiming hers in an overager, biting kiss. kira can taste herself on his tongue and realizes it’s impossible to be anything but pleased when she considers how tightly mason is holding her.

she still fights him, playfully, because she’ll probably never stop, and they roll around on the bed until finally resting at the very edge of the mattress, mason spooned up tightly behind her while his arms snake around her torso.

his breath is hotter than the rest of the room at the base of her throat, his lips dragging along the juncture that leads to her shoulder. kira tilts her head back against him, relaxing in his hold.

he’s hard when he presses his hips against her ass, rocking forward deliberately.

“what time is it now?” she asks lazily, thoughts drifting to the day ahead of her. there were sure to be plenty of annoyances waiting for her when she finally made it to the station. at this rate, she was sure to be late.

“four?” mason guesses, the word a low grunt against the back of her neck. “plenty of time before your alarm.”

she nods, stretching out as best as she can with the way he’s draped around her again, their positions a perfect mirror of the way she’d woken up. her back arches, and the low, pained noise mason makes under his breath when she shifts against him re-energizes her completely, leaving her grinning into the darkness of her bedroom.

“yeah,” kira hums, reaching back around over her shoulder to pet at mason’s hair. “can we at least move into the shower, though? i’m going to pass out if i don’t cool off.”

mason heaves a long, self-suffering sigh. she purses her lips to hold back a laugh, tapping her fingers onto his bicep while she waits for him to come around.

it doesn’t take too long.

“fine,” he mutters, “only because i don’t want to deal with felix if you get heatstroke.”

“i don’t think you can actually get heatstroke out of the sun,” she returns, leaning forward to press a brief kiss to the damp skin of mason’s wrist. his fingertips trail tenderly over her cheek when she pulls away. “but thanks.”

the mattress bounces when he jumps to his feet. his dick swings with the movement and kira snorts as she moves to follow him, barely balanced on the floor before her boyfriend hoists her into his arms to carry her blindly through the dark apartment.

“jesus,” kira laughs, grabbing onto his arm for purchase while their sweaty skin slides together, “warn a girl, next time.”

“now you’re asking for too much.” her ass hits the bathroom counter and she squints through the vaguely distinguishable shadows in the room, barely able to make out mason starting the water in her shower.

she jumps at the sudden sound of his voice, low near her ear. “come here,” he says, hands guiding her down and across the few steps on the tile it’ll take to cross the room. “i’ve got you.”

the words are soothing -- nearly as soothing as the water that patters down onto her flushed skin when they both step inside the shower stall, soaking her through.

it’s a relief to let her hair down and have it pushed out of the way by the spray -- a relief to finally feel cool again, a relief to actually shiver when the water gets too cold.

a relief, because the kisses that trail across her back, down her neck and over her arms again and again and again, keep her perfectly warm while the two of them work together to fight the new chill and steam up the room.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc mason #mason twc #mason x detective #myfic #long post #ns*w #hotwayhavensummer

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backtothestart02 · 3 years

Text

Just Best Friends - 8/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Sorry for the wait! Hope you enjoy!

This full chap is dedicated to the lovely Nora on twitter. Hope you enjoy this, girl!

...

Chapter 8 -

The next afternoon when the clock hit 12 o’clock, Iris found herself drumming her fingers on her desk, debating what she was going to do during her lunch hour. Mason had gone out. Linda was eating her little home-packed lunch at her desk, but that wasn’t exactly an invitation for her to go over and attempt a chit-chat either. She could go visit her dad at CCPD or she could visit…

Pulling out her phone from her purse, she immediately texted the person most present on her mind. It was a few minutes before he responded back, not by texting back but by strolling through the front door of CCPN and heading straight for her desk.

“Hey, Iris!” he said cheerfully.

“Hey,” she said, unable to keep the smile from spreading across her face.

“So, you wanted to do lunch?” he asked, hopefully.

She bit her bottom lip as she stood up to approach him.

“Actually, I was hoping for something else that hit a little closer to home.”

His brows furrowed. “Oh?”

She grabbed a hold of his arm and pulled him back outside, so they could be a little more private.

“STAR Labs,” she said, as soon as they were out of earshot of passersby.

Barry blinked. “You want me to…give you a tour?”

“No, no, no.” She shook her head, stifling a laugh. “I want to be there when you do your…. you know,” she lowered her voice. “Flash stuff.”

“Oh!” His eyes widened. “I see.”

She frowned. “Unless you don’t…want me there?”

“No, no, no!” he reassured. “It’s not that. Not that at all. I’ve dreamed of the day you’d be on the coms, helping me in the field.”

She got giddy hearing that spill from his mouth.

“’Kay, good.”

“It’s just…unexpected.” He cleared his throat. “But come on.” He held out his hand. “I’ll get you there in a Flash.” He winked.

Taking a deep breath, she forced her butterflies to get them under control. She gave Barry her hand, and within seconds they were inside STAR Labs with Cisco, Caitlin, and Dr. Wells staring at them.

“Hello, Barry…and, and Iris.” Cisco blinked, then turned to glare at Barry. “I didn’t know we were bringing in visitors.”

“Iris isn’t a visitor,” Barry declared. “Not anymore.” He spared a glance at her twinkling eyes. “She’s going to be part of team Flash.”

She practically bounced up onto her toes.

“When I can be,” she clarified. “I do have a job, obviously.”

“As a reporter,” Caitlin stated.

“Right, yes.”

But Barry saw right through Caitlin’s mask.

“She can be trusted, Cait. I wouldn’t bring her in here if she couldn’t.”

“Oh, does that mean Linda can’t be trusted?” Cisco asked, amused.

Iris, for one, was dumbfounded. What did Linda have to do with any of this? She turned to look at Barry.

“What is he talking about, Barry?”

“Nothing! Nothing. He’s talking about nothing.”

Before she could question him further, Dr. Wells wheeled himself towards her and held out his hand to shake hers. Reluctantly, she shook it.

“Hello, Ms. West. I’m happy you’ll be joining us. We were all waiting for the day Barry would finally let you in on his little secret.”

After shaking his hand, Iris looked over at Barry who was avoiding her gaze.

“Yes, so was I.”

“Cisco!” Barry declared, walking over to him. “Any crime activity? Anything that the Flash can help out with?”

“No, not at the-” An alarm suddenly went off. “Then again…”

Caitlin was closer, so she went over to the monitor to see what was the matter.

“Bank robbery on 5th and Oak. Better run, Ba-”

But he was gone before she could finish her sentence. Excitement running through Iris’ veins, she circled around the desk to see what Cisco and Caitlin were looking at.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“Right there,” Caitlin said, pointing to a moving dot on the monitor.

“Oh, my God, this is so exciting.” She bounced again. “Get him, Barry.”

“Working on it, Iris,” Barry said back, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Cisco and Caitlin shared an amused look.

“There’s a microphone right there,” Cisco pointed out. “He can hear whatever you’re saying.”

“Oh.”

She felt chills race up her spine. Anything?

A million dirty phrases filtered through her mind, and she had to fight to squash each and every one of them. They were in the presence of others after all, and he was not her boyfriend.

“Got ‘em,” Barry said before she could think of anything else. “I’m just going to wait for the police to show up, and then I’ll be back.”

“A job well done. Nice work, Mr. Allen,” Dr. Wells said into his own pair of coms. Then he wheeled himself out of the room.

It was about 10 minutes before Barry returned, but it sent all their hair and papers flying when he did. He was smiling from ear to ear. His eyes were bright and happy. It was contagious, at least for Iris.

Cisco high-fived him on his way in.

“Nice job, Barry,” Caitlin said, and he smiled at her.

Iris was rounding the desk already, and she jumped into his arms, making him hug her tightly. Cisco and Caitlin shared another look but said nothing.

“That was amazing, Barry.” Slowly he set her down, but she still clung to his arms, and he held her close. “So, so cool. Thank you for bringing me here.”

“Of course.” He could not stop smiling.

Eventually, he took a step back and changed his clothes in a flash. Before Iris knew it, his Flash suit was hanging up on display on the other side of the room, and Barry was back in the clothes he’d worn when they first arrived.

“Now you want to grab lunch?” he asked, hopeful. “I can flash us to Big Belly Burger, so it won’t take so long.”

Iris giggled infectiously.

“Okay. I mean, if you’re not needed here?”

Barry glanced over at Cisco.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Flash is off-duty…for now.”

“Great!” Barry said cheerfully. “Come on, let’s go.”

He held out his arm for her to loop hers through, which she did, and they practically skipped out of the cortex down the hall.

“Bring us back some food!” Cisco called out, and Caitlin leaned towards him.

“It’ll probably be a while.”

Cisco sighed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know…”

…

The next afternoon, just as Iris was shutting down her computer and turning to leave, she came face to face with Barry smiling ear to ear, a beautiful long stem rose between his fingers that displayed a vibrant reddish orange. As soon as her eyes met his, he extended it out to her. Gingerly, she took it and sniffed at its fragrance, feeling happiness rushing through her at the beautiful scent.

“For me?” she asked, tipping her head up after a moment.

He nodded. “For you.”

She stood up, everything inside of her urging her to tip her head up again, but this time so he could kiss her.

Her only problem was the thought likely hadn’t even occurred to him. He was just being a sweet friend. Because she had a boyfriend, and they had just really become friends again.

She pushed the thought aside and gave him a quirky smile instead.

“You know, it took guts for you to give me this.”

His brows furrowed.

“It did?”

“Uh-huh.” She closed the distance between them, and she swore she could hear him catch his breath. “I mean, after how I reacted to the last bunch.”

“Oh.” He chuckled nervously. “Right. Well, we’re good now, so I thought I’d give it another go.” He paused. “We are good, right?”

She rolled her eyes and bit her bottom lip, suppressing the flirtatious giggle that was demanding to get out.

“Oh, yeah, we’re good.”

“Can I walk you home?”

Her heart flipped inside her chest. Then a thought occurred to her.

“Actually…” He frowned. “I mean, yes, of course.” He smiled, relieved.

“But?”

“No buts,” she assured. “I just had an idea that I thought I might pass by you.”

He took a step back so she could work her way around her desk, and they walked toward the exit.

“Shoot,” he said, as they passed through the doors.

“Well…” She looped her arm through his. “I was thinking…movie night.”

Barry’s eyes lit up, his insides unbelievably excited.

“That’s a great idea. Should we have it at Joe’s or-”

“How about my place,” she suggested. “Well, mine and Eddie’s,” she amended.

He frowned.

“Is that a good idea? I mean, with Eddie gone? Won’t he feel…”

She rolled her eyes.

“Eddie’s not coming back till tomorrow, and we’ve talked about entertaining guests in the past, so.”

“Wait, guests? As in plural?” Barry asked, his spirits plummeting.

“Yeah.” She bounced a little as they walked down the block. “I was thinking you could invite Cisco and Caitlin over, even Dr. Wells if he wants to come.”

“Oh, I see.”

He tried his best not to sound disappointed. After all, a whole night alone with just him and Iris was probably not a good idea. It was how she’d ended up cheating in the first place.

He wanted to avoid her giving in to temptation again.

Right?

She seemed to have caught onto his tone anyway though.

“Oh, you didn’t think…”

“No, no, of course not.” He forced a smile. “I’ll text them right away. I’m sure they’ll say yes. They’re always up for a movie. Well, except for Dr. Wells. He doesn’t seem to go anywhere besides STAR Labs and his house.” He frowned. “He seems to like it that way for some reason.”

“Oh, that’s alright. And hey, you and I can have a movie night just us next weekend. How does that sound? At my dad’s place that time, so we’re not overly bothersome to Eddie.”

She giggled profusely, but Barry knew her idea was for the best. Eddie would probably feel like a third wheel again and get mad again. Then again, maybe he should make sure Joe was home for that event, if they ended up going through with it. It would be good to have a third party…just in case.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

He pulled out his phone and texted Cisco, Caitlin, and Wells the idea. Within a couple minutes he got the expected responses. Yes from Cisco and Caitlin, and a ‘not this time’ from Dr. Wells.

“Wells says thanks but he can’t,” he told Iris.

“As you suspected.” She rolled her eyes. “And the other two?” she asked hopeful. “I reeeally want them to like me.”

Barry frowned and looked at her.

“They like you. Why would you think they don’t like you?”

She shrugged.

“It’s just a feeling I got, like they didn’t want me around or wished I wasn’t there, or something.”

“Nah, they’re just not used to anyone else being around. It’s been just the four of us for so long, and Joe of course. But I wouldn’t worry about it. Cisco will like you as soon as you say the word ‘snacks’ tonight, and Caitlin…well, admittedly she’s a harder nut to crack, but if Cisco likes you, so will she. I really wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Does that mean they said yes?” she asked, spinning on her feet slightly as she walked.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, they said yes.” He chuckled. She was so damn cute when she was excited.

“Awesome! So then, maybe you can flash us there? So we can get ready quicker? I want to be ready in ti-”

Before she could finish her sentence, they were there in front of her apartment door, and she had to fight to catch her breath.

“I will never get used to that.” She laughed.

“Sorry.” He blushed slightly. “Maybe I should have-”

“No, no, don’t apologize.” She pulled her key out of her purse. “I liked it.” She winked.

Barry felt his face get warm but followed her into the apartment. He’d never been there before, so he let his eyes trace the surroundings. The living room was a good size, and so was the kitchen. He decided not to think about the bedroom, given what likely went on there when Iris and Eddie were in the mood, but the place was nice. He could see why Iris said yes to living there when Eddie asked.

“It’s nice, your place.”

“Hmm?” She looked up at him after setting her purse down. “Oh, thanks. The décor left must to be desired when I first moved in, so all those homey touches are all me.”

Barry smiled when he looked at her.

“That’s very you.”

She laughed and tucked a curl behind her ear.

“I’m gonna go get changed, then we can get stuff arranged, find some snacks, pick the movie. Sound good?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Take your time.”

“Great.”

She turned then, looking back over her shoulder a few times to smile at him before opening the half-closed door to her bedroom and stepping inside. Barry could hear her digging through her drawers, searching for a comfortable yet cute outfit for when the others arrived. He heard the clothes land on the bed and whoosh of her shrugging out of her sweater. Then there was silence, and he knew she was really undressing. As in, taking her dress off, maybe switching into a more comfortable bra…

He shook himself out of the images that conjured up and walked across the room. He had to get her out of his head. No matter how much he wanted her to break up with Eddie and be with him, right now it just wasn’t on her agenda. He had to accept that and not…fantasize about her every waking second.

But, without her there before him, he struggled to find something to do. He tossed a pillow from one side of the couch to another and adjusted a folded blanket on one of the chairs before proceeding to pop his mouth and lick his lips. He just barely held back from starting to hum.

Breaking through his thoughts was Iris’ labored breathing that he couldn’t help but hear. Then came some huffing, a groan of frustration and an actual foot stomp. It concerned and amused him almost simultaneously.

He leaned his body in the direction of the door even though it was only open a crack and offered his help.

“Everything okay in there?”

The complaining noises ceased.

“Uh, yeah, I just…the zipper is stuck.”

A million scenarios suddenly poured out into his consciousness. He had to fight to breathe at the image of her half-dressed, her hair draped over her shoulder as she looked up at him with those deep brown eyes of hers and asked him to undress her.

Help unzip her rather.

He tried to squash the image, but he couldn’t. Despite himself he caved to the desire, convincing himself he was just being a good friend by even offering.

“Need any help?”

The silence that followed made him regret everything, but he walked toward the door anyway, pausing briefly to smooth down his shirt, and gingerly opened the door. She turned her head over her shoulder, just as he’d imagined she would, and he swallowed at the sight of her. He forced himself to squash every compliment in the book that was suddenly at the forefront of his mind.

After all, she was struggling.

“I mean, if you wouldn’t mind?” she asked pathetically.

He breathed a sigh of relief and approached her easily.

“No, of course not.”

Licking his lips, he came to a stop and moved her long locks over her left shoulder. He saw her visibly shiver as his fingertips brushed her bare skin and stilled.

“Is this weird?” she asked, just as he was about to ask her the logical question – if she was cold.

He shook himself free of the spell she always put him under when they were this close.

“Why would it be weird?” he asked, focusing intently on the state of the jeopardized zipper. “We’re just best friends,” he continued. “You’re with Eddie. I know that.”

“No, I know, but uh…you’re still in love with me, right?”

His breath was stolen from his again. Suddenly his fingers wouldn’t move.

How did she keep doing this to him?

“Right,” he forced himself to say. “But I don’t see how tha-”

“And I’m intensely attracted to you now, remember?”

He felt his pants starts to tighten. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

“Right.”

She took a tiny step forward, and his hands fell to his sides.

“You probably shouldn’t be touching me. Or…at least not skin to skin.”

She turned to face him, and the view from the front was even more devastating to the state of his heart. And pants.

“Got it.” A thought occurred to him. “But uh…how will you get your dress off then?”

That particular problem clearly hadn’t dawned on her. She sighed, and her shoulders slumped.

“I guess I’ll just wear it forever.”

A sudden grin turned into a chuckle, and Barry approached her again.

“I have an idea.”

“What?” Her nose scrunched up.

“I’ll use my super speed,” he said, warming to the idea immediately. “It’ll be really fast! Are those the clothes you want to wear?”

He gestured to what was spread out on the bed, and she turned to look before looking back at him.

“Well, yeah, bu-”

“It’s okay. It’ll be great! I did it with Caitlin once. She didn’t feel a thing. I didn’t see a thing. It was great!”

He was so excited now, Iris couldn’t help but feel some of his energy pour onto her. She also couldn’t deny the little green monster that was cropping up inside her.

“You did it with Caitlin?” she asked, hoping none of that green would spill out of her.

Barry didn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah,” he said. “She got drunk, so I took her home. She needed help undressing, and-” He stopped suddenly, flushing a bright red. “Wow, this sounds way more inappropriate than it was.”

But Iris wasn’t listening. Barry and Caitlin were already making out in her head, their clothes falling to the wayside, and she couldn’t stand it. Barry’s worried tone was the only thing that freed her from the horrifying vision.

Her eyes widened, and she stepped forward.

“No, it’s okay. I get it. You were just being a good friend. It’s fine. Go ahead.” She nodded.

“Yeah?” he asked, hopeful.

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

He took a breath, and gestured for her to turn back around, which she did with a smile. Then using his super speed, he successfully, freed and realigned the zipper, after which he undressed her and redressed her into the clothes she had laid out.

“There you go! All done.”

Iris peeked beneath her shirt and looked over at him.

“You changed my bra. I didn’t lay out a new one.”

He froze.

“I didn’t see anything, I swear!” He held his hands open in surrender.

Is he hyperventilating? She wondered.

“I just…I thought you might want something a little more comfortable for movie night.” He laughed nervously.

She smiled suddenly and placed her hand on his arm.

“It’s okay, Barry.”

“Yeah?”

She giggled.

“Yeah. Come on, let’s get everything set up.”

She tipped her head toward the doorway, and he followed her into the living room, breathing a sigh of relief after closing the bedroom door behind them.

…

As predicted, minus some brief awkwardness when Cisco and Caitlin arrived together, as soon as Iris displayed an array of snacks to Cisco on the countertop, Cisco dove in full force and gathered as much as he could put on the plates Iris had set out. His behavior made Caitlin actually laugh, and she smiled at Iris as she moved to grab her own plate.

“Thanks for inviting us, Iris. This was a great idea.”

She met Barry’s eyes at the compliment. He sent her a wink, which sent chills spreading through her body again.

“Thanks, Caitlin. I thought it would be fun.”

“Although, you know…” Barry started, a teasing lilt to his voice. “It was actually me that invited you both.”

Cisco rolled his eyes and plopped down in one of the comfy chairs.

“I’m sorry,” Caitlin said sarcastically. “Thank you, Barry.”

She took the other chair and popped some popcorn into her mouth, while Barry grinned.

“You’re forgiven,” he said, and took a seat on the couch.

“So, what are we watching?” Cisco asked, pointing out the blank screen.

“Well…” Iris approached it. “I thought… - and I hope you don’t mind Caitlin, but uh… I grabbed Star Wars?” She held up A New Hope to show them all.

Cisco’s jaw dropped. He immediately looked at Barry.

“Did you put her up to this?”

Barry held up his hands in defense.

“I had nothing to do with it. I’m as surprised as you are.”

Caitlin laughed.

“What made you choose that one, Iris?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It’s technically the original.”

“It is the original,” Cisco deadpanned.

“It’s true.” Barry grabbed his snack plate.

Iris laughed.

“Barry’s always making references I don’t understand. I thought it’d be cool to see where it all comes from.”

“You know, Cisco is always making references too,” Caitlin pointed out. “I’ve always shot down his attempts to get me to watch though.”

“Yes. Yes, you have.” Cisco narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mi-” Iris started, worried.

“No, no, don’t even worry about it. It was inevitable.” Caitlin chuckled. “Go ahead. I’m ready.”

Iris smiled, relieved.

“Great.”

She turned on the TV, pushed in the DVD, and pressed play, immediately plopping on the couch next to Barry, snuggling close and laying her head on his chest as the movie began. Caitlin took notice at first and looked over at Cisco, but he was already absorbed into the movie, so she abandoned her observations to watch the movie too.

As the movie continued, Barry unconsciously wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She started to eat off his plate about half an hour into the movie, and his jaw dropped when he reached for something himself and found all his snacks had been consumed and she’d been chewing the last one. His chest rumbled due to his quiet chuckle, and she looked up at him.

She mouthed ‘what’, and he shrugged slightly then glanced down at his empty plate before looking back up at her. She appeared to be embarrassed, so to hide that, she swung her legs down and snatched the plate out of his hand to go refill it in the kitchen with more snacks. He checked her out the whole way there, watching her hips sway of their own volition and the perfect round cheeks of her ass in those snug sweatpants. He shifted in his seat slightly when she turned around and headed back over to him.

“There,” she whispered, handing him the plate. “Happy?”

“Always,” he whispered back before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She was the first to grab some finger food from his plate. He just made sure to get a few in before he started watching the movie again.

With just half an hour left of the movie to go, Iris had shifted to practically on top of Barry with how tense she’d gotten as the action started to really pick up in the back half of the movie. Barry seemed completely unaware, his grip on her only tightening when he thought she might actually fall off of him. There was no chance of that though, not with her pressing herself so much into him and ducking her head into his sweater when she thought she couldn’t take what might happen next.

In the midst of it all, neither of them, and not Cisco or Caitlin either, heard the key in the lock turn again or a certain someone walk through the door before he spoke himself into existence and had Iris turning her head.

“Iris.”

“Eddie.”

Horror zipped through her until she talked herself down with the pep talk that what she was doing was completely innocent and fine. She untangled her hand from Barry’s and walked over to Eddie, placing a quick peck on his surprised lips.

“You’re home early.”

“An earlier flight came in, so I thought I’d take it.”

“Oh.” She licked her lips before turning on the charm. “Well, that’s great.” She rubbed her hand down his arm. “I’m so glad your home.”

He looked at her strangely.

“We’re having a movie night. I hope you don’t mind?” She bit her lip.

“No,” he said instantly. “No, of course not. You…you have fun.”

“You should join us!” she encouraged, but his immediate sigh told her that was not on the menu.

“Uh…I’m actually kind of tired. I was thinking a shower and then bed, if you don’t mind.”

She frowned but accepted it.

“Okay, yeah. You must be exhausted. I’m sure jet lag is setting in.”

“Right.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“You’ll come in later, yeah?”

“Of course.”

His smile was forced, even she could sense it.

“Enjoy your movie then.” He shifted his gaze to their guests. “Good seeing you all.” He waved before heading towards the bedroom with his suitcase in hand.

“You too!” they all sang out in a chorus before looking back at the TV screen.

Iris frowned, wondering if she should do something, but Barry calling out to her shifted her focus entirely.

“You okay?” he asked when she didn’t immediately move.

She shook off her girlfriend duties before climbing back onto the couch beside him.

“Yeah, totally. Let’s see how this thing ends.”

She smiled and looped her arm through his, tucking her legs under her again and focusing entirely on the movie and her guests until they all left.

…

With Eddie presumably asleep, Barry had flashed all the snacks away after Caitlin and Cisco left, thanking Iris for her hospitality on their way out. Caitlin admitted to still not understanding all the references to which Cisco just encouraged them to have another movie night to watch the next one. It made the girls laugh and Barry shrug helplessly when Cisco looked to him for support.

Barry lingered a little while, even after he had everything put away. It took him a while to say goodbye to Iris, mostly because he wasn’t sure how things would proceed with them now that Eddie was back. He didn’t say it, but Iris caught on with how he kept coming up with reasons to stay. She didn’t know how to reassure him that everything would be okay though, so eventually she just pointed out the time and how she should probably go and he took note of it, hugging her close before eventually leaving.

The apartment was silent once more. One by one, Iris turned off the lights, sighing to herself as she finally approached the bedroom. To her surprise, when she opened it, the light on Eddie’s side of the bed was on and he was propped up against his pillow, looking at his phone.

“You’re awake,” she said, coming to a stop.

He set his phone on the bedside table and looked up at her.

“I thought I’d wait up for you.”

She crossed the room to pull her pajamas out of a drawer.

“If I’d known, I wouldn’t have taken so long,” she said by way of apology.

Eddie shook it off with ease.

“Don’t worry about it. You were having fun with your friends, and I said I was going to bed.”

“Maybe next time you’ll join us,” she suggested as she changed clothes, facing away from him.

“Maybe,” he said, watching her and trying not to wonder too hard why she was seeking privacy.

Once dressed, she walked over to the bed and pulled back the blanket on her side. She tucked herself in, but before she could think to lay down and get herself comfortable, Eddie broached the subject she’d hoped he’d forgotten about. At least for tonight.

“So, have you thought about us?”

She opted for confusion.

“What do you mean?”

He turned toward her.

“Well, I was gone for a week, Iris. And I didn’t call you or text at all during that time.”

“I know that.” She frowned. “I figured you wanted space.”

“I did,” he said, and her chest tightened. “But I also wanted to give you the time and space you needed to sort things out.”

She nodded, accepting that.

“So…” he continued. “Did you sort things out?”

“I made up with Barry,” she said.

“Obviously.”

“Obviously.” She forced a laugh.

“And your dad?” He tilted his head.

She sighed. “Not yet. One step at a time though, right?”

“Right.” He pursed his lips. “And us?”

“What about us?” She hedged cautiously.

“Are we good?” he asked. “Or do you think we should start going to therapy? Or break up?”

Her breath was stolen from her.

This was the moment.

She could end it all right here. She could tell him she’d cheated, that she’d realized she was in love with Barry, that she wanted to be with Barry. She could tell him she was so, so sorry, and that she’d understand completely if he never wanted to talk to or see her again.

Because she did want to be with Barry. And tonight she’d gotten confirmation that he was still in love with her. He’d probably take her in a heartbeat if she went to his door tonight.

Maybe. Maybe. If he wasn’t too wounded by how she’d rejected him time and time again. She deserved to be rejected by him if he felt like it, to have to fight for him the way he’d repeatedly fought for her, to be alone, with nobody for a while, because of how she’d crushed his fragile, beautiful heart.

She gulped.

“Iris?”

She fixed her eyes on Eddie’s and knew she wasn’t going to do it. Not tonight at any rate. She couldn’t face what was bound to be a blow up if she told Eddie everything. She couldn’t take the uncertainty of whether or not Barry would take her should she confess how she was feeling to him. She couldn’t break yet another heart with Eddie looking at her now, so vulnerable and so hopeful for what she had to say. She did still care about him, and she loved him. Even if from the way she’d felt when he walked in the door told her loud and clear that she was no longer in love with him.

So, she softened her features and cupped his face, taking the easy way out. For now.

“I think we’re okay, Eddie.”

He sighed in relief and wrapped his fingers around hers.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “I think you were right about it being about Barry. Once we made things right, everything seemed to fall into place.” Literally. “I don’t think we need therapy either. I think moving forward we’ll be okay.”

“I’m so glad to hear you say that. I was so worried.” He laughed a little nervously.

“No need to be.” She hesitated before saying, “I love you.”

A small smile spread across her lips, and she leaned forward, kissing just the corner of his lips before turning away and getting settled on her side of the bed. He frowned, somewhat surprised by her actions and the direction in which she was choosing to sleep.

“Good night, Eddie. I’m glad you’re home.”

He told himself it was nothing. That he was overthinking things.

He turned off his light and adjusted his pillow. He debated curling his body around hers, but something about that didn’t feel right suddenly. He turned the other way and got himself comfortable, as the thought that something wasn’t right continued to gnaw at him.

“Good night, Iris,” he lifted his head up to say. “I love you.”

She didn’t say anything in return, and he heard a gentle snore coming from her side of the bed a few seconds later.

He laid his head back down onto his pillow and pushed the nagging thought away.

It’s probably nothing.

But it nagged at him still.

#westallen #westallen fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #just best friends #chapter 8

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remmushound · 3 years

Text

@brightlotusmoon @errorfreak88 Part 3 of my bay/rise crossover.

Leonardo didn't know where he was, and frankly he wasn’t sure he cared. He was more concerned about not knowing where April and Splinter and Donatello and Raphael were. His brothers— his family! He had reached out to them, felt his fingers brush against Splinters, and then they were being pulled apart again. Pulled away from each other. Then Leonardo was flying out of the rift, clinging with all his might to the only one he had managed to protect. Michelangelo. He landed hard, skipping across metal with solid thuds like a rock on water as he clung to the box turtle’s shell, his baby brother still hiding within. The bouncing eventually turned into a slide that brought Leonardo to crash against a wall. Pain shot through his extremities, but it only made him hold on to Michelangelo even tighter.

The minute they stopped, Michelangelo popped out his shell with a sharp yipe, his arms shooting out and wrapping around Leonardo to cling to him like a security blanket. Leonardo couldn’t help but smile and rubbed the younger mutants head in a comforting motion.

“It’s okay, hermano. Just a little bit of a bumpy ride.”

Michelangelo whimpered and his nose went back into his shell.

“Oh come on! Don’t be like that!”

Michelangelo pulled his arms and legs back in as well.

“Awww, come on~” Leonardo pushed himself away from the wall to lean over Michelangelo and peek into the shell as his shadowed face. “You know you wanna come out!”

“Where is out?” Michelangelo asked, his voice carrying a strange echo.

“Er…” Leonardo looked around. He didn't recognize the place, a giant metal ball with a spiraling floor design and a high ceiling, a blinking light at the top of it. He hummed and narrowed his eyes at the luring draw of the light, but didn't acknowledge it Past that. “Pokeball?”

“What? No we’re not!”

“Well how you gonna know if you don’t come out?”

Leonardo smirked and leaned back to give Michelangelo enough space to emerge. Michelangelo peeked his nose out once more.

“That’s it! Just a little more!” Leonardo encouraged.

Michelangelo’s full head poked out, and his neck too so he could look around at their surroundings. “Woah. This is so cool!”

“Cool isn’t exactly the word I’d use.” Leonardo whistled and stood up, reaching for his sword naturally. It was nowhere on his body.

“Hey uh— you don’t happen to have your yoyo, do you Miguel?”

“Um…” Michelangelo reached to his belt and frowned. “No. It’s gone somewhere… do you have your swords?”

“No.”

The structure gave a powerful groan and Michelangelo yelped, attaching himself to Leonardo’s side like glue. “It’s spooky here…”

Leonardo would be lying if he said that a similar anxiety hadn’t grown in his gut the moment they entered this strange place. Cold, dark, mechanical— everything Donatello loved, except without the eccentric nature. But he couldn’t be scared now. He has Michelangelo to look after, and right now his baby brother needed him.

“Hey hey hey, don’t get soft on me now!” Leonardo beamed, leaning down to Michelangelo’s level. “We just escaped the mother-freaking Shredder and you’re scared of a dingy little metal ball?”

“It’s not very little, Leo…”

Leonardo scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. “Potato potahto! Tomato tomatoh! Shredder, Giant Metal Ball of Doom! What’s the difference?”

Michelangelo didn't answer.

“The only one I can think of is that Shredder was waaaay scarier!”

“Oh really?”

Both turtles froze at the new voice. Leonardo gently placed his brother down, keeping an arm still wrapped around him to keep them both close.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” The new voice laughed in a mocking, wheezing tone, “Turn around.”

Leonardo could see no other option other than to obey. He gave Michelangelo a reassuring pat and held his brother just a little tighter before turning to face whoever it was that had called out to them.

The creature was big, a body near as broad as Raphael’s carapace and a shape that was loosely spherical. It’s entire body gleamed with a layer of slime that oozed out from folds on the sides of it’s head, and every so often a tentacle would reach up to gather the accumulating mucus and spread it throughout its body to keep itself moist. There was a crown on its head, a ridge higher than the rest of its body that slightly resembled the crown of certain dinosaurs. Leonardo could almost swear that whatever it was, was the brain of some massive creature, escaped from its body to do whatever it is that giant, tentacle-having brains do.

“Well?” The creature stroked feelers on it’s face, what could pass as lips parting to reveal tiny, dolphin-like teeth.

Leonardo only allowed himself enough time to blink before he forced his smile to come back and meet the strangers smirk. “Well what?”

The creature lunged forward, supported by pipes that extended out from the misproportioned battle suit, bringing it within inches of touching Leonardo. “Aren’t you scared?”

“Scared of what? A chewed up wad of bubble gum that gained sentience?”

It growled and one of its tentacles came down upon Leonardo, covering him in the thick, viscous coating of it’s body.

“Oh I’m sorry! Did I get some slime on you?”

Leonardo didn't flinch. He reached out a hand and poked the creature on the nose. “It is not slime, it is mucus!”

It growled and swatted Leonardo before pulling back again closer to its suit. “Who said you could touch me with your foul, disease-ridden hands?!”

“Hey hey hey!” Leonardo threw his hands up in surrender, “I bathe regularly! It’s Raphael you gotta look out for.”

“You think you’re funny, do you?” It squinted its eye at Leonardo.

“I think I’m adorable. Don’t you?” Leonardo put his hands under his chin and batted his eyes.

“I think you’re an obnoxious freak of nature.” It tried to draw forth a violent reaction, but Leonardo remained cool.

“Eh, aren’t we all?” Leonardo shrugged, “But this obnoxious freak of nature has a name. Do you?”

The creature seemed to consider Leonardo’s question for a moment before saying, “It’s Krang.”

Leonardo snickered.

“What?” Krang snapped, almost defensively, “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry— sorry!” Leonardo almost keeled over laughing.

“What’s so funny— what’s so funny, it’s just my name!”

“It’s just— ahahaha— did your mom hate you or something?”

Michelangelo started to finally get in on the laughing, and soon both brothers were almost falling over.

“I chose my own name— the Queen doesn’t have time to name all of us!” Krang defended, grunting as its features scrunched up.

“So you’re saying you have a face not even a mother could love?” Leonardo smirked, recovering from his laughter at will. “Man, that is depressing!”

“ENOUGH!” Krang shot two wired pipes forward to grab Michelangelo and Leonardo, squeezing them harshly. “Now you listen here, little turtles! I am not in the mood for games.” It’s eyes glanced between the brothers in an almost alien way, “And if all you’re going to do is play with me, then I’m going to put you away in my toybox.”

“Sounds fun!” Michelangelo piped.

“Fun?” Krang shifted to look at Michelangelo.

“Yeah! In a big box with a whole bunch of other people, having slumber parties every night!” Michelangelo hummed and sighed.

“Well, I’m glad you’re going to enjoy yourself. It’s an extended stay.”

Krang shifted slightly, its armor suit slow and topheavy, and at the press of a button on the suit the floor began to open up and reveal a spiraling display case. Rows upon rows of small, frozen containers. A thick layer of frosty smoke escaped through the opening and filtered out through vents. Krang hung the two brothers over the drop and loosened his grip just to feel the fear of his prisoners. Looking down into the endless abyss of bodies distorted by frost and age, Leonardo felt a sense of vertigo overtake him. It seemed Krang latched onto the fear almost immediately, judging by the evil expression on its face.

“Not so eager to visit the other toys now, are you?” Krang laughed and pulled Michelangelo and Leonardo back over solid ground, putting them down as the ground closed once more. “Now maybe you’ll play nicely.”

“Where are my brothers?” Leonardo demanded, “My family?”

“They’re fine. They were spit out somewhere or other. Does it really matter?”

“Yes.” Leonardo snarled.

“Hmm…” Krang rubbed their folds in concentration, “Then why don’t we make a deal, little turtle?”

“What kinda deal?” Leonardo returned to hugging his brother as Michelangelo cowered against him.

“I didn't just call you here to chat.”

“Well you’re sure doing a lot of talking anyway.” Leonardo grumbled under his breath.

“I brought you here for a far more important reason.” It folded its tentacles over its mouth.

“Care to share with the class?”

Krang huffed. “You have something that interests me— or more like had. You see, a year ago today I tried to take over the earth.”

Leonardo laughed. “Didn't do a good job— you didn't even make the news! I’m sure I would know if there was a broadcast about a giant brain in a robot suit tried to take over the planet.”

“Not your earth. A different earth.”

“There’s more than one?” Michelangelo asked.

“Oh, there is a plethora of earths, all slightly different from the last! But yours… intrigues me. It’s one of the more recent ones, and the use of your ‘mystic magic’ caught my attention.” Krang circled Leonardo like a cat with a mouse, “The way you teleport around with such ease, even without a beacon to guide you~”

“Spit it out, Gellatinous, I haven’t got all day.”

“You’re very impatient for someone whose at the mercy of one far smarter.”

“Eh, I can handle Donnie, but that has nothing to do with this.” Leonardo snarked off, “What do you want?”

“I have you, and I have your family, and I have your sword.”

“Great. And what does that have to do with the price of jelly doughnuts?”

“I want you to show me how to use the magic you possess, and afterwards I will let you and your brothers go back on your merry way!”

“I thought you were all knowing or whatever.”

“I never claimed that. I too need to learn like every creature does.”

“How do we know you’re not lying about letting us go?” Michelangelo pouted, sticking out his lip.

“Do I look like the lying type to you?”

“Yes.” Michelangelo and Leonardo said as one.

“Mm. Clever boys. Well, the answer is that you don’t know. But you don’t really have many choices either.”

“Mm. Fair.” Leonardo shrugged. “Whatchu need me to show you?”

“How to activate the rift that you’ve seemed to master.” Krang tapped its tentacles together.

“Oh that’s easy! You just take the sword and go woosh woosh,” Leonardo made vague gesture, “Then it goes all whoooooo whaaaaa bwaaaaa!” He made a motion of a rift opening. “Then you go all ‘take me so and so’ and badda bing badda boom, you’re done! That work?” Leonardo clicked his tongue and wink.

“What.” Krang narrowed his eyes.

“Well, you take the pointy part and go whish woosh, then slish slash, hundred yard dash, and you’re in Paris!”

“I— I don’t understand what you’re saying!”

“Well you take the thing and do the thing so it makes a thing then you go through the thing and bam: the thing is done! Take a break and get yourself a pizza for your hard work.”

“You’re getting on my nerves.”

“Exactly how many nerves does a brain have anyway?”

“I’M NOT A BRAIN I’M AN UTROM!”

“A who-trom?” Michelangelo tilted his head.

“AN UTROM!”

“You-tron?” Leonardo asked with a smirk.

“GRRR— just show me how to do it!” Krang pulled Leonardo’s sword out of thin air and dropped it into Leonardo’s hands. “And don’t think you can outsmart me!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, K-Pop.” Leonardo took the sword and pointed it, dragging it to make a circle. His face illuminated the glow and he smiled.

“Yes!” Krang cheered, smilingly widely and holding out its tentacles to Leonardo. “Give it to me!”

“Yeeeeah, no.” Leonardo stared a moment and then winked before stepping through the blue and disappearing along with the mystic portal.

“NO!” Krang launched himself forward and grabbed at the space where the turtles had once been, “GET BACK HERE!”

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt au #rise leo #rise mikey #bayverse krang

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scullysexual · 3 years

Text

pirate au fic; i’ll tell you a tale of a pirate queen (5/ )

A tale of a Pirate Queen.

@today-in-fic

- - -

Chapter Five: Here A Man Be Free

The last few men filter through the entrance to the cave, spreading themselves out in the small area. Fifty, Dana counted, of the 300 that mull about the island, only fifty want to continue piracy. Spender keeps watch for any snitches who could’ve followed them here.

“You all know why we’re here,” Mulder asks. He stands near the back of the cave holding the pardon in his hands. “This pardon says we’ll be able to live free if we turn ourselves in but we know that’s not true. We turn ourselves in, when will we ever be allowed, trusted enough, to sail again?” She watches his eyes scan the faces of the men sat listening to him. “When will the likes of Frog, Elias, and Jacko be considered equal in the eyes of white men and gods again?” A murmur begins to rise, mutterings to the person sat next to them. Mulder looks down at the pardon and hops down from the bench he stands upon. “This pardon says all men will be free but what they don’t understand is that here, a man be free. Free from the hierarchy of a naval service, where a man is whipped if he so much as mutters a word, dares to disagree. Free to take as much or little as we want.” A stir begins to form, the mutters and murmurs etch higher and higher as men begin to shout their agreement towards Mulder.

“How many of you have risked your lives on the sea and received nothing but a pitiful handful of coppers?”

The men shout back, banging their hands on the rocks.

“Because that is what you’re asking for when you sign this.” He holds the paper up and points at it. “You’re asking for the whips, for the chains, for the poverty if this is what you agree with.”

All fifty men rise, shouting and yelling in encouragement. Adrenaline courses through Dana as she finds herself swept up in it. She looks towards Mulder who stands there looking pleased with himself. He catches her eye and she smiles.

The cries die down and a slow clap makes its way through the cave. Dana turns towards the noise as the men part and a man she has yet to meet makes his way through the crowd.

“Impressive speech Mulder,” the man says. “How long did it take you to come up with that?”

Mulder sighs. “What do you want, Krycek?”

“Just having a look,” Krycek says. His eyes scan the crew. “An interesting bunch you’ve got here, Mulder. A black man, a psycho,” his eyes finally land on Dana, the look of disgust clouding them. “And a woman.” Dana clenches her fist, staring him down. Krycek smiles and looks back towards Mulder. “Fitting for the disgraced son of a plantation owner.”

“You come to join us?” asks Mulder.

“I don’t think I fit in much,” Krycek answers. “Besides, I haven’t decided if I’m gonna accept the pardon or not yet.”

“Skinner just made you a captain,” says Spender. “Like hell you’re going to accept it.”

“Well, when I decide, I won’t let you know.” Krycek turns away, walking out of the cave.

“Will he tell anyone?” Dana asks. She didn’t trust this Krycek and Spender not stopping his entering worried her.

“No,” says Mulder. “He’s got no love for the British anymore than we do.” He shakes his head. “He won’t say anything.” He shuffles forwards, rising his voice to address the crew. “This is the plan. Tomorrow, Scully will go back to the tavern, be part of the welcoming committee and will sign the pardon on our behalf. It will give us more time to figure a way out of here.” He turns to Dana. “If anyone asks, the rest of us have gone out to sea, you’re not sure when we’ll be back.” Dana nods, it was easy enough. “I want you to report back anything you hear, okay. Anything.”

“Okay,” she agrees.

“The rest of us will camp out here until we know it’s safe to leave,” he addresses back to the men.

“Do you think this will work?” she asks him. It’s not to undermine him, her hope depends on it.

“It won’t be easy but once we’re away from here, we should be okay.”

Dana smiles, hoping that was the case.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Colton is an idiot. Ambitious, smug, carrying an air of arrogance and “I’m better than you” around him. The lower end of the ranking, Dana imagines he volunteered for this job, thinking he was doing somebody a favour. All he’s doing is shovelling the shit in the Navy’s eyes.

She signed the pardon, scribbled her signature on behalf of herself and Mulder’s crew. In three days time, they were to board The Angel and go back to England or, alternatively, they could live on here.

She does as Mulder told her. Sits in the tavern and listens to the conversations around her- one she learns are rumours that Krycek plans to take a ship called The Outlaw as the ships in their harbour would become property of the British. She keeps note of what is important and what isn’t, keeping her ears trained on Colton and Skinner, mostly, who sit on the furthest table in the room.

“There are still people yet to have signed the pardon,” she hears Colton say.

“Look,” says Skinner. “Those who want to sign it, sign it. I can’t make them.”

Colton hums. “One of these people who have yet to sign it is Aleksandr Krycek. He was your Right-Hand-Man, was he not?”

“He was,” answers Skinner.

“And you can’t account for his whereabouts?”

“I made him a Captain,” Skinner explains. “He commands his own ships now, his own crew. If he hasn’t signed the pardon, that’s his reasons.”

Dana tucks that one away; Krycek made his decision.

“Well, I doubt you’ll mind looking for him then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Those who don’t sign the pardon are to be caught and hanged, Mr Skinner.”

“You expect me to become your bounty hunter?”

“The Navy would appreciate it greatly.”

Colton’s footsteps retreat from the table, Dana watches him walk past. He takes no notice of her.

This was interesting.

She downs her drink in one gulp and scurries out of the tavern towards Mulder in his cave.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“Krycek has gone. I overheard someone say he was planning on stealing a ship called The Outlaw, that all our ships would become property of the British.”

“Makes sense,” says Elias. “Take our ships, we can’t sail anywhere.”

Mulder nods.

“There’s more, too. Colton’s turned Skinner into some pirate bounty hunter. He’s instructed him to go after Krycek and his crew.”

“Traitor!” yells Spender, he kicks the rocks on the ground.

“And once they realise we’re not here, he’ll be instructed to go after us, too,” Mulder states.

Dana nods. Her father told her tales about Walter Skinner, how he was one of the best navigators. There was no out-sailing him.

“We’ll have to leave sooner,” says Mulder.

“How?” Elias asks. “There’s no ships left.”

An idea hits Dana. It might be suicide but it was worth ago.

“What if we took The Outlaw?”

“Steal from Krycek?” Elias laughs, shocked. “That’s the last thing you want to do.”

“It wouldn’t be stealing if we claimed it first,” Dana explains, her eyes on Mulder. “We’ll fight him for it.”

“Krycek isn’t some little amateur sailor, you stupid bitch,” shouts Spender. He stands close to her, peering down at her. “In first sailed with the Imperial Russian Navy. There’s a reason Skinner chose him as his Right-Hand.”

“Alright, back off,” commands Elias, standing between Spender and Dana, creating a wedge.

Spender steps back. “She wants to get us killed,” cries Spender, pointing his finger at Dana.

Dana goes to say something but she’s cut off by Mulder.

“I don’t see you suggesting anything, Spender.” Spender backs down. “It’s worth a shot.” He says, nodding.

Dana smiles gleefully at Spender.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

The ship sits at the bottom of the harbour. Not a soul in sight, it was easy pickings. Something about it didn’t feel right to Dana.

“If Krycek is really gone, why hasn’t he already taken it?” she asks Elias.

“Nobody knows why Krycek does anything,” says Elias. “Get untying.”

Dana nervously looks around. Her stomach twists and turns. Something was wrong about this. She might not know Krycek every well but something told her he wouldn’t just abandon his ship like this, not while knowing they were still on the island. The others, however, seem not to care. She shakes her head, puts it down to worrying about getting caught by the British and sets on untying the rope.

The moment her hands touch the rope, however, there’s a cry from Elias. She turns as he slips and his dragged into the sea by something.

She goes to shout, to alert the others, but they’re under attack, too. Some pulled beneath the pier, others with shadows holding a knife to their necks.

“You really thought it would be that easy, Mulder,” comes Krycek’s voice. He moves from the shadows, a smile across his face.

“You already have a ship Krycek,” Mulder tells him. “Why do you need this one?”

“It’s bigger, better.” He smacks the side of it. “But I am willing to fight you for it.”

The smile doesn’t leave Krycek’s face. Already, he thinks he’s won.

Mulder nods his head, not letting any fear show. “Deal.”

Krycek just smiles some more. “You win, you get the ship. I win, I get the ship and…” his eyes fall to Dana. “her.”

Dana’s stomach drops as she looks at Mulder. She catches the worry in his eye, a reminder that he isn’t a fighter.

.:.:.:.:.:.

She tries not to let her worry show. Soon as she notices her fingers tangling together, she rips them apart, even going as far to sit on her hands.

Mulder wasn’t a fighter. He avoided it as much as he could but now her life depended on him winning. Dana hoped that wasn’t too much to bear.

“I can fight him for you,” she suggests but Mulder shakes his head.

“That would be cowardly. Especially if I was to get a girl to fight for me.” He smiles. “I’ll be okay, Dana. I’ll try my best.”

She nods, knowing he will. “Will he kill you?”

“No. It’s just who gives up first.” They see Krycek ready. “The others will fight. Your going will be the last thing that happens, okay.”

Dana nods again, believing him, believing in his crew.

His lips press against hers. “I love you,” he confesses.

Dana smiles, pushes at him slightly. “Go on.”

She watches him walk away, her arms crossing over her body.

“He’s been in fights before Scully,” says Elias, soaked through yet recovered from his dip in the sea. “He’ll be okay.”

She uncrosses her arms, allowing her fingers to tangle together as she watches. A clanging of swords, near misses from both of them. Mulder tries to keep up but Krycek is too quick, the edge of his sword scrapes Mulder’s side and Krycek knocks him to the ground.

Dana holds her breath, praying for Mulder to get up, her hand subconsciously falling to her stomach.

Beside her, Elias is whispering his own mantra yet Mulder does not get up. He lays on the ground, his hand covered with blood.

“You’re just not good enough Mulder,” Dana hears Krycek say. He turns around, the victor. He’s won the ship and Dana.

“He’s gotta get past us,” says Elias, determined.

Dana smiles, trying to find comfort in that. She doesn’t tell him that the others don’t care for her.

“Or maybe not.” Elias nudges her. “Look.”

Dana looks to see a dagger pierce Krycek’s calf. The other man falls to the ground as Mulder stands up. The tables have turned and it’s them who have won the shop.

She runs to him, gathering him up in her arms. He falls against her, hissing at the pain in his side.

“Let’s get you inside,” she tells him, helping him towards the ship.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Once on board, she helps him with his clothes. The cut is long and nasty. He hisses and winces when she moves the skin.

“Is it bad?” he asks not wanting to look at it.

Dana smiles at him. “You’ll live,” she says. “It’ll scar, though.”

Mulder shrugs. “What’s another scar?”

Dana smiles slightly. She busies herself getting pieces of cloth and bunching them together to press against his side.

“You seem distracted,” he says.

One look into his eyes and Dana knows she can’t keep her thoughts to herself anymore. She drops the cloth and sighs, turning around to sit beside him on the bed.

“You won’t be mad when I tell you?” she asks, looking at her hands, pressing her thumb into her palm.

She waits for him to comment, to offer in this quip or joke. When one doesn’t come, she exhales, her eyes trained above her on the ceiling.

“Mulder…” A shaky breath falls from her lips. The internal struggle of whether to tell him or not. But he’s looking at her expectantly, it’s clear she has something to say.

“You can tell me, Dana.”

And she can. She knows she can.

“Okay,” she says, nodding, believing him. “I…I think I’m pregnant.”

Shock floods his face, then confusion, then awe.

“You’re…” he starts then shakes his head. “How can you be sure?”

She shrugs, unsure herself. “I just…know?” she offers as answers.

He jumps up, the pain in his side forgotten, smiling. Then the smile fades.

“Shit Dana,” he says. “We’re about to go…the men….”

Dana stands, ready to protest.

“They don’t have to know. Not yet.” She grabs his arms. “I’m not even showing yet. Please, don’t leave me behind.”

“Dana, it’s dangerous. This life is dangerous. If something was to happen to you, or…”

“It won’t,” she tells him. “We’re just looking for more crew, right?”

“Right.”

“Then you need me until then. Once I start showing, then you can drop me off somewhere. But until then, I stay here.”

His eyes trained on her stomach, she can see him thinking it over. Finally he nods then laughs.

“A baby…” he says in awe.

Dana finds herself laughing, too. At the absurdity of it all.

Mulder kisses her. Once then twice then once again and Dana laughs some more. She was home. And she was free.

#the x files #the x-files #txffic #xfiles fanfiction #pirate au #historical au #alternative universe #xfiles alternative universe #multichapter fic #18th century #mature #scullysexualwrites

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songfell-ut · 3 years

Text

Happy birthday to:

@venelona! I set out to prove that I could do a gift on time, and even if time zones have come between us, it’s totally the 4th right now for me, dammit. So here you go, stolen directly from your conversation on @lailosh‘s server and based of course on these comics.

(Omfg, I told my daughter I was happy I finished a birthday gift on time and now she’s nattering to her class on Zoom about how today is her mom’s friend’s birthday and the teacher is asking if we’re doing anything)

Anyway

The bedroom was quiet. Not too quiet—the air conditioner hummed and traffic noises filtered in from the busy street outside, as usual. It was just the quiet of an early-evening bedroom with no one in it yet, sleeping or playing on their phone or doing you-know-what…

…Not that the room’s usual occupant ever did much know-what. In fact, she never did any of it. He definitely would’ve noticed. He noticed everything.

For example, he knew the moment the sun’s last rays finally died out and warm, sweet darkness began sinking into the room, pooling under her bed and creating the ideal space for someone – something – like him to emerge.

Nightmare permitted himself a tiny grin, letting his tentacles writhe in anticipation. He’d been resting and gathering his power for over a month, building enough strength to invade the waking world. Let her think he’d grown tired of trying to reach her again after…after that, her shocking indecency, showing him all that soft warm naked skin and touching him with no he had to focus

Yes. She probably thought she’d won and driven him off with her horrible wiles! Well, what would she say when he came for her—no, when he completely platonically attacked her in her own world, where she thought she was safe? There was nowhere to run from him in her nightmares, but she could always wake up. Here, though…

Nightmare took the magical equivalent of a deep breath, running his tentacles along the barrier between his world and the reality inhabited by humans. It was a delicate process, but he used the barest touch of power to find the barrier’s weak spot, nudge the folds of subspace aside and insert his tentacles one at a why did this feel so inappropriate time, until he was through!

The space under her bed was…not spacious. In fact, if he hadn’t been so viscous, Nightmare could well have found himself stuck. It was enough to make him contemplate giving up and slipping back into his own world, where an eldritch being could stretch properly and not think terrible, untoward things from something as innocuous as penetrating into her wo—

No! As a being of infinite cosmic horror who fed on the suffering of lesser creatures, Nightmare had no intention of backing out now…not the least because he couldn’t back up any further without hitting the wall. What kind of pathetically undersized dwelling was this?

At least he knew her routine, and that she’d be in here soon enough: she was doing the dishes, and then it was time for her shower. Should he strike while she was rummaging in her closet for her favorite cotton robe, the one with the stupid pink flowers? Or lie in wait until she came in afterward, threw her towel off, and eventually got into her pajamas? …Assuming she bothered wearing any. He never watched that part, no matter how much he…well…

Nightmare squeezed his eye shut. Things would be different after tonight, he vowed. Once he’d given her another glimpse of real terror, she’d never taunt him again! He would unleash his most hideous abominations upon his not-scantily-clad victim, and her fear would make him strong enough to finally see—

—a set of dainty black paws wandering in through the half-open door. The skeletal creature froze, slipping a little further back under the bed. Since when did Frisk have a damned cat? And where was it going?! Surely the beast wasn’t stupid enough to approach him?

The cat took a few hesitant steps, then stopped and growled under its breath, tail lashing. Good! Let it make all the noise it wanted. If it got close enough to grab, he’d—

Nightmare was so busy thinking of ways to make the cat sorry for existing that he didn’t notice one of his tentacles eagerly creeping out from under the bed, reaching to grab the little animal…until the cat’s paw went whapwhapwhap and smacked him with needle-sharp claws. “Oww!” he snarled. “You…!”

The kitchen was just down the hall; to his alarm, Frisk had turned the water off. “Nero?” she called. Her footsteps drifted toward the bedroom, and Nightmare crammed himself back against the wall. “Ne—geez!” she yelped as the cat came rocketing out of her room. “What’s wrong with you?” the young woman demanded, her voice trailing after him. “Come back here and answer me, you little…!”

That was too close. Nightmare breathed a sigh of relief, and considered reaching across the room to shut the door; his powers of telekinesis had all but vanished as his…other talents developed. But no, she was an intelligent young lady, and she’d wonder why it was suddenly closed. Besides, the substance coating his limbs would leave telltale greenish-black traces. He just had to hope she wouldn’t notice the flecks of it on the carpet that had been whacked off—that had been forcibly removed by the cat clawing his tentacle.

So the skeletal abomination settled himself to wait, very patiently, as befitted a creature of his age and magical stature. He was always happy to pass the time devising new tortures to inflict upon his victims. Frisk never failed to disappoint him, provided she had clothes on, and once he’d had his way with—once he was finished platonically terrorizing her, she’d never say any ridiculous things about naked or marriage ever again!

Only a minute later, Frisk came back down the hall. “I know, Mom,” she was saying, presumably on the phone. The hall light came on; Nightmare steeled himself for the bedroom light, but to his intense relief, she went to the bathroom instead. “Yeah, I’m gonna go to bed early tonight. I’ve got new contacts, and they’re giving me a headache.” There was a rummage through her medicine cabinet, then some vaguely cloth-sounding noises. “Of course Nero’s doing fine. He just got his wet food, and…he’s already heading to the litter box again. Goody.” Sigh. “Are you guys having fun on your amazing cruise that you wouldn’t take me on?”

Ah. That explained the cat’s presence. And it was also excellent nightmare fuel: he could make her see her parents out on the ocean, having a wonderful time until, say, the walls of the ship split open and grew teeth to begin devouring the passengers, or some kind of disease started spreading that made people turn inside out…Frisk was always susceptible to body horror. Oh, yes, he knew how he could take advantage of her. …Platonically!

“Thanks, Mom,” she said loudly, breaking in on his definitely-not-filthy thoughts. “Have fun. Love you.” He heard her set something down in the kitchen, then sigh, padding back down the hall.

Nightmare settled down to wait again, only to flinch at the sound of sudden, rapid footsteps: Frisk burst into her room and leapt onto her bed with a little “Whee!” The mattress flattened beneath her weight, mashing into his skull; he cursed silently in the tongues of a thousand mortal worlds as Frisk flopped onto her back. “Oh, man, what a day,” she muttered. “Stupid contacts.” Yawn. “Don’t care about the shower, do it in the mornin’…”

That was…remarkably cute, Nightmare thought, then tried to un-think it as she rolled onto her side, relieving some of the pressure. If only they were in his realm! Her mind would be an open book, and he could effortlessly seize her subconscious and steer it in any direction he chose. In this world, he had to wait till her breathing slowed, then grip the carpet and glide out from under the bed on a layer of the noxious stuff coating his body.

Once his torso was free, he silently eased his legs out and rose to his knees. His tentacles quivered with eagerness as he started to turn toward the b—

“Gotcha!”

…If Nightmare had had any friends, and one of them had asked him the likelihood of his next victim not just taking him by surprise, but grabbing him by the neck with rubber kitchen gloves? He would have laughed, and then killed them, because they were clearly insane and he didn’t have any friends.

But by all that was unholy, his theoretical dead friend was not insane. Instead of giving Frisk a (perfectly chaste) glimpse into her own personal Hell, Nightmare found himself being scruffed like an indignant kitten and hauled toward the light switch; instead of latching onto her and ripping her flesh from her bones, his tentacles had just enough time to form a protective seal over his eye before the room was flooded with foul, searing light.

“Oh my God, shut up!” Frisk shouted over his wails of pain. “It’s just one lightbulb!” She shouldered the door open and began dragging him down the hall. “You’re not melting or anything! But if you want to, go for it—it’d probably be an improvement!”

“How dare you!” The eldritch skeleton flailed with both arms and kicked at random, to no avail. “Release me now!”

“Why?” she snapped. Nightmare made another series of agonized noises as she pulled him all the way into the brightly lit bathroom. “I’m not letting you go till you apologize and we get everything cleaned up!” She slammed the door shut and locked it for emphasis. “Got it?!”

He still couldn’t bring himself to uncover his eye. “How? How did you know—”

“The cat had a bunch of gross slime all over his paw! Who do I know that gets gunk everywhere and smells like a hot dumpster? Gee, let me think!” Frisk still had an iron grip on his neck, fingers digging between the vertebrae. With her other rubber-gloved hand, she banged open the linen closet and began pulling things out, piling them on the toilet lid. “I had to scrub it off him so he wouldn’t eat it and die or something. So then I thought to myself, Wow, Self! I already had to wash one dumb thing I didn’t want here! Why not go for a double?”

The implication hit him as she yanked a knob and started the shower full-blast. “You wouldn’t dare,” he hissed.

Frisk stopped dead. For a moment, Nightmare entertained hopes of mustering enough strength to break loose and reach the light switch. When one tentacle eased free, though, she pivoted until he was fully facing the vanity lights, holding firm as he writhed in agony. It felt like miniature suns burning into his slime and bone…

…but only for a moment. The next thing he knew, Frisk had turned him away again, leaning over to shield him from the light. “Believe it or not, I don’t like hurting you,” she said severely. “But you’re in my world now, literally, and you’re not Mr. Big Scary Hentai Monster. You’re more like a vampire in a crappy horror game—all I have to do is turn the lights on. So, you’d better behave. Got it?” Her grip somehow tightened. “Here we go. Hold your breath!”

Nightmare didn’t have time to request any further details, because she was already ripping back the shower curtain and stepping into the tub with him, holding him under the water as she pulled the curtain shut. “There! I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” she said cheerfully, patting his topmost tentacle. “Doesn’t that feel nice?”

It did not feel nice. The hot water felt like…like…it was bad and he hated it. Yes. It was terrible, and not oddly pleasant or soothing once he got used to it, not at all like being massaged by a thousand tiny hands. In fact, he hated it so much that he relaxed, telling himself he was tricking her into dropping her guard.

Behind him, Frisk hummed in satisfaction and reached out of the curtain. Nightmare’s tentacles began to loosen almost imperceptibly, but constricted again as the human tapped on them. “Hold still. I don’t even know if this stuff hurts when it gets in your eyes…well, eye. But like I said, I don’t get off on torturing people.” Something – probably a bottle – made a sploot sound as she squeezed it. “You just smell really bad.”

Nightmare couldn’t help flinching at the first cold, rough touch of the shower loofa. “I do not ‘get off’ on it,” he informed her. “I can’t help what I am, can I?”

“Hmmm. Yeah,” she said absently. “Yeah, you absolutely can. At least, you can control what you do.” A strange floral scent filled the room as she began a brisk, gentle scrub-down, removing most of his protective slime; he unconsciously folded his legs to sit forward more comfortably, letting her angle the showerhead so that more water streamed over him. “Would you die if you went too long without scaring the crap out of someone?”

The skeletal monster had to suppress a shudder as her fingers slipped between two of the tentacles. No one had touched him like this in…ever, or at least as far back as he could remember. “Probably,” he muttered, telling himself to calm down. It was perfectly innocent, just a wretched human daring to lay hands on him, earning the most terrible punishment imaginable— “Would you die if you went for too long without eating?” he added.

Scrub. Scrub. “Well, duh. But if I want a burger, I don’t sneak into the cow’s house to taunt it first.”

Nightmare did shudder this time as her hand glided over the same spot over and over again, leaving a very sensitive layer of ectoplasmic flesh. His tentacles were stirring with interest, and the more firmly he told them to stop it, the more they all wanted to be washed. One was actually angling itself to let her rub it harder. “I…fine! Just hurry it up.”

“Aww, see? It’s not so bad,” she chirped. The tentacle stretched luxuriously, and Nightmare fought to keep another one from rising to demand the same treatment. “At this rate, you’ll be nice and clean in just a few hours!”

Hours?! He did his best to open his eye, raising one hand to protect him from the light. “You’re joking. Right?” She made an indifferent noise, and he tried to grab at the loofa with his other hand. “Let me do it, then!”

“Nope,” said Frisk, giving the shower curtain a threatening nudge with her elbow; he twitched as the light flickered around its edge. “Just relax, okay? Let your loving wife take care of you~”

He felt his entire skull flush bright green. “You are not my wife!”

The human made a pouty sound. “How can you say that, honey? After all we’ve been through together!” The scrubbing intensified. “I know you wanted more romance. Is that why you came all the way here to see me?” The scrubbing paused. “How did you get into the real world, anyway?” she asked, much more seriously.

Nightmare willed more of his tentacles to peel themselves off his skull, and to behave themselves. “With magic. Don’t waste my time with stupid questions.” The light was just a bit dimmer in here through the shower curtain – enough for the pain to start receding – and he needed to adjust to it; no point formulating an escape plan if he couldn’t see what he was doing.

Frisk slowly removed her grip from around his neck. “Okay, then. I see how it is.” She heaved a sigh, then picked up the bottle again.

This was his chance—Frisk was distracted, with both hands occupied, and his vision was clear. Nightmare grinned in silent malice, flexing his bony fingers as they lay in his lap. Most of his power was still depleted from entering this world, but he had more physical strength in one tentacle than ten mortal men. And this was one slim, soft, pliant young woman! He could take her—he could overpower her with virtually no effort!

It would be ridiculously simple: turn around, grab her, and force her to turn the lights off, for starters. Then they could talk about how she had treated him like a misbehaving cat, and—

She chose that moment to drop the body wash and make him jump. “Crap! Sorry,” Frisk said.

The monster made what he hoped was an agreeable noise and picked up the bottle, which was pretty slippery. “Here,” he murmured. “If you’re going to—”

Without warning, Nightmare sprang to his feet and whirled around, backing the startled human against the shower wall. “Now,” he snarled, “you daaaaaaaaaaaaaugh”

Frisk watched, disbelieving, as the dripping-wet monstrosity jerked backward, arms flung up to shield his eye, as though she had turned a spotlight on him and also thrown some holy water. “I was wondering if you’d noticed,” she remarked. “Did you think I was actually talking with my mom that whole time? I just didn’t want you to know I was taking my clothes off.”

“Why?!” he nearly shrieked. “Why would you do that?”

“‘Cause I didn’t want them to get gunked up! That stuff doesn’t look like it washes out. You’d better help me get it off the carpet, by the way.” Frisk chuckled, and that teasing note crept back into her voice, the one he’d heard so many times in his own nightmares: “If I lose my security deposit, it’ll be your fault. How do you plan to compensate me for that, I wonder~”

Nightmare couldn’t speak; he just emitted a stream of “Y-y-y-y-y—”

“Yyyes, I’m naked,” she agreed, retrieving the bottle. Almost against his will, Nightmare’s eye cracked open in time to watch her set down the loofa, peel the gloves off, goop some body wash onto her hand, and begin blithely rubbing it over her skin. “No offense, but I don’t want you all over me yet.”

The monster’s eye bulged so hard that Frisk snorted. “I meant this, dummy!” She indicated the slimy loofa, and leered at him. “What did you think I meant?”

It was tempting to throw himself out of the shower and hope for death’s sweet embrace, but to his steadily increasing horror, the skeleton couldn’t move his feet. As his gaze swept unwillingly up and down her body, the way her skin glistened as her hands squeezed and stroked it, Nightmare’s desire to grab her shifted…and his tentacles agreed.

Frisk was opening her mouth to say something when one appendage snaked up and began petting her shoulder, which was somehow even warmer and smoother than it looked. “Whoa,” she remarked, looking from it to him and back with wide eyes. To his dismay, her mouth quirked a little. “What happened to romance, Nightmare? Didn’t you want to dance in the moonlight, eat Peking duck, or whatever?”

“I’m n-not—” Nightmare tugged at the errant tentacle, first with his hand, then his magic. To his very dismay, Frisk was reaching up to poke at it, giggling as it brushed her cheek. “What’s wrong with you?” he demanded of the world at large.

As if mocking him, another tentacle lurched at the young woman, making him stagger forward till he had to catch himself with his hands on either side of her. Frozen in place, Nightmare unwillingly watched a few errant suds trickle down her neck, sliding merrily off her collarbone and along the side of her breast before continuing to the brave new worlds beyond—

“Um,” said Frisk, still sounding more amused than perturbed. Her eyes met his, then flicked to her left meaningfully.

Aaaand of course another tentacle had slid around her wrist and along her arm. “Oh, my,” she said, bemused. Nightmare’s soul did a backflip as the young woman moved forward, the tentacles drawing her closer, till her breasts were nearly touching his soaking-wet jacket. “Are you actually coming on to me, or—eep!”

That was probably due to yet another tentacle worming around behind her and running up and down her back, eliciting a little moan. The skeleton wanted desperately to wrench himself free, or at least tell her to be quiet, but…

Frisk was flushed, her breath coming quick and shallow. Nightmare watched her hands come up to rest on his ribcage, picking off bits of slime. “What now?” she murmured.

Nightmare wanted to tell her that she’d won, and please go put on clothes now so he could leave and never come back. He also wanted to tell her that this wasn’t how he’d envisioned their next encounter, or that young women in his day knew better than to trap extradimensional beings in the shower with them; he wanted to be very stern about doing this kind of thing the right way, because she deserved the right way, not…this.

He wanted to stop himself as his fingers rose to brush her damp hair off her face and his skull drooped to rest on her bare shoulder…but he didn’t.

He didn’t want to give up and let his tentacles wind around Frisk to pull her against him, or to put his arms around her, encasing her entire body. But he did.

“Nightmare?” Frisk whispered.

It wasn’t romantic. But if she didn’t care—

Nightmare summoned his scant reserves of magic, and raised his hand long enough to snap his fingers.

The lights went out.

Not long afterward – just a few days after her parents got back and collected Nero, with only a few inquiries as to what that smell was – Frisk went on a shopping trip that raised several eyebrows: she bought several shower curtain liners, a dozen bottles each of Amber Sunrise and Moonlit Jasmine body wash, every single Stain Stick on the shelf, and a steam cleaner.

If that wasn’t strange enough, her neighbors soon started complaining about odd noises in the middle of the night, and at least one of them made rude remarks about how she had to be hoarding trash or something. When the landlord came in for an inspection, though, all he saw was a scrupulously clean apartment with a faint, lingering odor that he couldn’t identify.

It was hard not to see a heap of folded plastic in the corner of her room, but there were no bloodstains – or recent unsolved murders that he knew of – and anything else she chose to use it for was none of his business; Frisk accepted his admonishment to keep it down, whatever it was, and promised to maintain her new cleaning schedule.

Her neighbors didn’t hear much of anything after that. There was nowhere to run from him in her nightmares, but that was fine—she was in no hurry to wake up. After all, she wasn’t the one who’d been caught, was she?

#happy berfdeh #fluff #it was a choice between spicy and punctual #i know what i need to work on and spice ain't the problem

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chipper9906 · 3 years

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Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 5: Old Friends Made Anew

<- - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 6,344

Overall Word Count: 48,317 (In Progress)

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (5/?)

Chapter Preview:

Coming from the unbearable heat of whatever desert-type planet they had come from and walking into the almost tropical level of heat of this new place was downright pleasant. Loki blinked in surprise as they stepped out onto more sand, though it was also combined with the refreshing breeze blowing in from the ocean that crashed down around his feet. The water was crystal clear up close, but the more it stretched out, the more it took on the vivid turquoise colors of the beaches he had seen in those jet-ski magazines on Mobius’s desk.

“Quite the Time-Loop…” Loki whirls around in place, taking in the sight of people lounging around on bed-like chairs. Most had drinks in hands, others were passed out asleep and only half under the cover of the straw umbrellas overhead, their other half more than likely burning away as they cooked in the day’s heat. “Better than being kicked in a rather sensitive area over and over again, that’s for sure…”

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* * *

On his first shift, Loki lets Sylvie sleep for a little bit longer than their agreed shift times.

He isn’t too sure how, but Sylvie somehow seems to know that he was waking her up a couple of hours into what should have been her shift. It was almost funny watching her try to decide whether to express her gratitude for his thoughtfulness or be annoyed that he had let her sleep in when they had clearly agreed to set shift times.

The second time he wakes her up for her shift, he tries to do so with the morning kiss that he had promised (with try being the keyword here). It had been quite early in the morning, judging by the faint light that had started to filter in through the ceiling and partly illuminate the cave. Loki summarized that, with that small amount of light, that Sylvie would be able to recognize it was him when she woke up and hold herself back enough not to stab him immediately on sight.

He was mostly right. It had started well enough – running the back of his hand softly down her face as she began to stir and tucking a few wry strands of hair behind her ear. He waited until she was mostly awake, just seconds away from transitioning into that deep sleep to a groggy awareness, before leaning across her and pressing a feather-light kiss to her lips.

For a few seconds, Loki thought it had been a success. Of course, that thought flew straight out of his head the moment he felt her body go tense under his. It was remarkable how quickly she had snatched her sword up from her side, and he could at least appreciate the feel of the blade pressing against his side instead of in his side.

“Oh,” Sylvie breathed in surprise as recognition filtered in through drowsy eyes, the sharp pinch of the blade end against his side quickly disappearing as she drops her weapon. “Gods, did I…?”

“Nope, completely stab free,” Loki assures her.

“I did warn you…”

“And I said I’d still take the risk,” Loki countered with a cocky grin.

Sylvie wanted to wipe that grin off his face as he hovered over her, and she did so by grabbing hold of collar of his dress shirt and yanking him down. Loki was barely able to catch himself, hands spread out on either side of Sylvie as she surged up to claim his lips with her own.

She could still feel his smile against her mouth, though this one was less of the typical arrogance he displayed and more of… of contentedness. Dare she say ‘happiness’, even? Whatever it was, she found she didn’t mind it – even if it did make it a little awkward to kiss him.

It was almost surprising that nothing of note occurs during their watches: no more giant lizards set on peeling away the meat from their bones, no unruly citizens that didn’t appreciate their presence on this planet, no brown and orange-clad TVA workers materializing from thin air and whisking them away.

Some might call Loki stupid for making an attempt to kiss Sylvie awake for the second time. If he’s being honest with himself, he did feel a little nervous as he leaned down, trying to resist the urge to push her sword out of reach; not that it would do any good since she’s apparently a natural at conjuring and would probably have a dagger materialized and plunged into his chest before he knows it.

But this time, it seemed that Sylvie was expecting it – or, maybe, she really was starting to break out of the habit of attacking anyone that touched her whilst coming out of such a vulnerable state. There is a split second where she goes from ‘sleeping still’ to ‘unnaturally and very much alert’ still – which is the moment his nerves hit their peak – but Loki’s then pleasantly surprised by the way she seems to relax into his hold, pushing up into the kiss rather than forcefully pushing him away as he had expected.

“Good morning,” Loki rumbles in greeting as they separate, drinking in the sleepy smile she gives him in response.

“Well, we weren’t killed in the night, so I think I can agree with it being a ‘good morning’,”

Loki narrowed his eyes playfully at her. “Oh? And it being a ‘good morning’ has nothing to do with my method of waking you?”

“Hmm… I suppose it helped a little…”

Sylvie suppressed a grin at the roll of his eyes, pushing up and away from her with an overly-exasperated sounding huff. Loki offered out a hand to her once he was settled, helping to pull her up into a sitting position.

“How was your sleep?” Loki asks once she’s sat up, holding out a flask of water that he had collected shortly before waking her.

“Surprisingly well,” Sylvie takes the flask with a thankful smile, the early morning sun already starting to bake the cave. “–Considering I had a bunch of little rocks stabbing me in the back.”

“You should have said something,” Loki says, waiting for the moment she takes a deep pull from the flask before continuing. “I would have been more than happy to act as your personal pillow once again.”

To his disappointment, she does not spit out the water all over himself like he had the night before. She does give a slight pause though, arching up a brow at him as she continues to drink from the canteen.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” She returns once she pulls the flask away from her mouth, holding out the flask for him to take back and take a drink himself.

Loki looks down to the flask in his hands, fingers tapping against the metal as he thinks. “So… we survived the night.”

“Somehow,” Sylvie added.

“Guess that means we can assume this isn’t an apocalypse? And that we’re somehow off the TVA’s radar?”

Sylvie sighed softly, resting the back of her head against the wall behind her. “Assume? Yes, but we can’t know for sure. There’s a chance that… that maybe…”

“That what?” Loki pries, sensing her reluctance to speak what was on her mind.

“You’ve seen the TVA first hand, perhaps even more than I have. You’ve seen the intricacies of how they work, of how dedicated they are to ensuring the timeline goes the way He Who Remains had decided it needs to go.”

“I suppose so, yes,” Loki agreed slowly, wondering where Sylvie was going with this.

“What’s the one reason why the TVA wouldn’t be interfering with a branch?” Sylvie asks. “The one reason they don’t get involved?”

“An Apocalypse?” Loki guesses, and Sylvie shakes her head ‘no’ at him.

“An Apocalypse isn’t a branch. They’re not interfering there because there’s nothing to happen that would affect the timeline.”

“Then… what-,”

“The only time they don’t interfere-,” Sylvie continues. “-Is because there’s nothing to interfere with. Because we’re abiding by the timeline.”

“But… there’s no one controlling the timeline anymore,” Loki points out.

“How do we know that?” Sylvie stresses. “You want to know the last thing ‘He Who Remains’ said to me? He said ‘See you soon’. He told us he’d be right back in that office, didn’t he? How do we know some other version of him isn’t already up there, waiting for us to go find him again and… start all this shit over again.”

“I… I suppose it’s a possibility,” Loki reluctantly agrees. “But, from what He was describing of the other variants of Him… I imagine it’s Him that’s going to be tracking down us.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It means we’re not living by the story that He’s written so… a little, I’d hope?”

That did make Sylvie feel a little better, actually. Not enough to overpower the paranoia that an endless amount of variants of a man that controlled infinite universes could be personally hunting them down, but still – a little better was better than nothing.

“Either way, we’ve got a Hel of a fight ahead of us,” Sylvie points out the obvious.

“Unless we keep hiding like this…?” Loki jokes – or at least, Sylvie assumes he’s joking.

Sylvie exhales sharply from her nose, shaking her head side to side. “I’ve been running my whole life. I’m done running, Loki.”

“Okay then,” Loki says, apparently on board with whatever it is that Sylvie wants to do. “So… what’s the plan?”

“We’re going to do the only other thing I know how to do,” Sylvie answers. “We’re going to fight.”

“Oh, no -- I get that,” Loki got out in a rush. “I meant more what’s the plan for today? Are we going to stay on this Hel-Hole and try to find some kind of power source for your TemPad?”

“Only if it comes to it,” Sylvie didn’t quite fancy the idea of trudging through all that sand and potentially facing even more pissed-off wildlife. She rotated her wrist so the surface of the TemPad was facing up towards her, running a finger along it to wake it up. “Never thought I’d be saying this, but… I suppose we should see if there’s enough juice left in this thing to get us back to the TVA…”

“-Wait, hang on a second,” Loki reaches out a hand to stop her from activating anything on the TemPad. Sylvie pauses, looking up to him with her brows raised in surprise. “How will we know which TVA it’ll take us to?”

“We won’t,” Sylvie answers grimly. “If things go south quickly, then we can just grab another TemPad and get the Hel out of there. At least with one of the TVA’s TemPads, I know how to use them and how to charge them -- and that they can even be charged.”

“And then what? Sylvie, we need the TVA’s help with this, whether we like it or not. They’ll know more about what’s going on out there than we do. We need to know how to use that TemPad properly: how to jump between multiverses; how to select specific timelines to travel to. Otherwise… we’ll end up lost in a web of universes.”

“Then… then I don’t know,” Sylvie admitted defeat. “We can’t just keep jumping between TVA’s, hoping that the next will be ours, or at least better than the one before. But we also can’t just go up to whoever at whatever TVA we end up in and demand they tell us all they know. Magic doesn’t work in the TVA, remember? So, enchanting is off the table. Really, we’ll be lucky we aren’t surrounded and with a collar around our necks the second we step in there…”

“Or… come face to face with another version of Him…” Loki says, grimacing at the thought.

Then, an idea springs to mind. Loki straightens up as the realization hits him, turning to Sylvie. “Almost sounds like… we could use a guide?”

Sylvie frowns at him. “A guide?”

“Of course!” Loki exclaims. “Someone who’s familiar with the TVA perhaps? Someone who knows their way around the place, knows what files to find, holds some information that could be of use to us?”

“Well, yeah, that’d be great,” Sylvie says, frown still etched onto her face. “But there’s no one in the TVA that would help us.”

“What if they’re not in the TVA?” Loki counters with an excited smile. “At least, not right at this moment.”

Sylvie’s narrowed-eyed look of suspicion grows. “….Such as who…?”

“Well…” Loki trails off, glancing down to the TemPad on Sylvie’s hand, and then back up to her. “You think there’s enough juice in that thing to re-open a time-loop?”

* * *

Sylvie was right: Mobius’s time-loop was nice.

Which… kind of explained why they were here, he supposed. It was kind of comforting knowing that, despite they weren’t the same Mobius’s, they seemed to share the same type of desires. And, if this was the good memory Sylvie had recreated in a Time-Loop for him, then… perhaps he was more like his Mobius than he thought. Perhaps… they had a good chance of swaying this Mobius over to their side.

That was enough for Sylvie’s eyes to freeze in place from where they were scanning across this unknown environment, slowly turning to Loki with a questioning look. “I’m not sure if I even want to ask…”

Loki could only shrug. “It’s not a good day when you lose count of the number of times someone’s kneed you in the crotch…”

Even Sylvie had to wince at that.

Loki placed his hands on his hips as he peered out to the bay they found themselves in, searching the crowds of people both in the ocean and on the beach itself for a familiar gray hair and mustache combo. Even in what was only a re-construction of an actual time – more of a memory, really – the two of them still gained a few curious looks. This was to be expected, of course, being the only two people dressed like they didn’t belong: one looking like he had just come from the office, and the other looking like she had just returned from battle.

“Do you remember where he was last time?” Loki asks Sylvie, wading through the shallow water and out onto mostly dry land where she stood. “I’m saying this under the assumption you didn’t just shove him through the Time-Door and slam it closed behind you, of course.”

“I couldn’t exactly hang about in here,” Sylvie retorted. “I was working on getting you out of the TVA, remember?

“So… you did shove him through the Time-Door and slam it closed behind you?”

“No,” Sylvie all but groaned. “I told you already, I had to enchant him to keep him calm. It sort of… placated him, I think. Helped remind him that he actually enjoyed the life taken from him. At least, enough so that he would forget about the TVA for a little while and just… re-live his memories. But I don’t know how long that would have lasted. The effects of enchantments don’t last forever…”

That… was better than so many other outcomes, Loki thought.

“In that case, I can’t imagine he’ll be too thrilled to see us again…” Loki said, now more on the lookout for a very disgruntled, ‘could possibly throw a punch on sight if they’re not careful’ mustached man. “Is there any chance he could have escaped? Maybe there’s some kind of… escape hatch of some sorts that we don’t know about?”

“Uh… I’m gonna guess no,” Sylvie had her eyes fixated on something in the distance, which Loki – who was still busy searching the closer vicinity – did not notice.

“And why’s that-,” Loki begins to ask, but stops talking when Sylvie grabs at his arm for his attention, pointing out to a section of the bay not too far ahead.

“Because Mobius is right there… and… Loki, I don’t think he’s alone.”

Sylvie was right. As they trekked across the beach and closer to Mobius, ignoring the stares of the cautious but, thankfully, fake beach-goers, they could clearly make out that it wasn’t just Mobius sat upon the jet-ski that they had spotted him ripping around the bay.

“Now you see, you want to be a little bit less trigger happy with the throttle there.”

A part of Loki didn’t want to approach Mobius anymore. Even Sylvie seemed to hesitate, her long strides turning shorter and sluggish just as his do the closer they get. The jet-ski had been brought to a standstill, bobbing away on the peaceful waves near the shore. Seeing Mobius without his usual suit and tie get-up was jarring enough, so seeing him in only a pair of swim-shorts was quite the sight. Mobius had his body craned around a young boy that sat in front of him on the jet-ski, pointing out various instruments of the vehicle as he – presumably – was giving the child some driving tips.

“Trust me kiddo, I get the need for speed same as you do,” Mobius said with a gleaming grin, patting the boy on his shoulder. “But I think it’d be best we avoid giving your mom a heart attack if we take off like that again.”

Loki wanted to sink into the sand. He wanted an astronomically large tidal wave to appear out of nowhere and swallow him up. Mobius did have a family. A family. And he had had that taken away from him. Somewhere out there is his Mobius, trying to turn the TVA around, trying to do the right thing, and he doesn't even know.

The two of them probably looked incredibly suspicious – just stood there in the sand, dressed in clothes that definitely were not beach appropriate, watching a father and son live out one of their fondest memories. Luckily, Mobius hadn’t noticed them just yet, his focus solely on his son who rolled his eyes at his father just as every child who thinks they know better than their parents does.

“What if I take us out slowly around the corner of the bay, then once we’re out of sight from mom I can really open her up?”

Mobius laughed heartily at his son’s enthusiasm, giving his son’s shoulders a playful shake when he pouted at his father's reaction.

“Well, for one… I think us being out of her sight would give her even more of a heart attack,” Mobius said. “And secondly… you know better than I do that your mother has eyes in the back of her head. Really, there’s no such thing as ‘out of sight.'"

“That’s the right answer.”

Both Loki and Sylvie looked over to the woman who had seemingly appeared from within the crowded beach, walking over to the edge of the beach and stopping just before the incoming waves would reach her feet. She looked to be around the same age as Mobius, although her black hair had streaks of gray running through it instead of being fully gray as Mobius’s was. Her face looked kind, ingrained with laughter lines that hinted at a well-loved life.

“How many others do you think are out there?” Sylvie got out through gritted teeth, the heat in her voice taking Loki by surprise.

“How many of what?”

“Families ripped apart by Him,” Sylvie answered, her face scrunched up in disgust. “People who, just like us, took one wrong step – as decided by Him – and were just… whisked away from their lives, brainwashed, and forced to work for the group that had kidnapped them in the first place. And their families?”

Sylvie laughs a humorless laugh, gesturing with a lazy flick of her hand to Mobius and his family. “Nothing more than memories now. His real family were… well, they were just another meal for Alioth, I suppose.”

“Until you changed that,” Loki said softly, tearing his eyes away from Mobius and down to Sylvie next to him. “Somewhere out there… there’s a variant of Mobius that was never taken from his family. Infinite variants, even.”

“And what of this variants family?” Sylvie asks, gesturing to Mobius with a flick of her chin. “And what of our Mobius? What I did doesn’t change their fate.”

“No, but at least now they have the opportunity to make a difference,” Loki stressed his words, the back of his hand lightly brushing against hers in an attempt at comfort. “They can help us to make sure no other variants of themselves have to go through what they went through.”

“...Dad?” The sound of the young boy's fear-filled voice snapped their attention back. It seemed that Mobius’s son had been the first to spot them, his eyes fixated on the two mysterious strangers who had been watching them. “Dad, who is that?”

The moment Mobius’s eyes landed on them, it was like he changed into a different person completely. Gone was the carefree and laid-back father. Gone was the happy-looking family man spending a day at the beach. His entire demeanor hardened, eyes cold and calculated as he stared at them. He could no longer pretend that this Time-Loop was his life. Now, he was faced with the reminder of why he was here in the first place.

“Get over to your mom real quick, would you?” Mobius instructed his son, but he kept his gaze solely on them. “I need to talk with… some people from work.”

Mobius’s son looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but knew better. He slid down from the jet-ski in a hurry, wading through the shallow water as fast as his little legs would carry him over to his mother. It was only once the young boy had safely reached his mother’s side – who briskly pulled him out of sight – that Mobius moved from the jet-ski. He slowly slid down from the vehicle, keeping a hand on its seat as he stands silently, waiting for them to come to him.

Loki and Sylvie exchange nervous glances, unsure as to whether this was going to be an actual talk, or more… the kind of talking you do with clashes of steel and the spilling of blood. Then again, it wasn’t exactly like Mobius was able to hide a weapon when he’s clad in only a pair of swim-shorts…

Loki and Sylvie both nod at each other in silent understanding, choosing not to pull out their weapons and potentially freak out the people around them – even if they were nothing more than memories. They both slowly advance towards Mobius, who continues to stare them down, understandably cautious of their approach.

“Mobius…” Loki says his name conservatively in greeting.

Mobius’s eyes flick between Loki and Sylvie, landing on the both of them for a few seconds each before settling on Loki. “Loki.”

“You remember my name?”

“Not every day I have someone in a TVA uniform come up to me in a blind panic, tell me they don’t actually work for the TVA, tries to get me to turn against my people, and then disappears around the same time I find myself kidnapped and placed in a Time-Loop.”

Loki and Sylvie look to one another again, a movement that – surprisingly – get’s Mobius to groan in annoyance.

“And here I was thinking what happened with you two was just two random different events. Should have known you were both involved with one another,” Mobius sighs, glancing back to where his family had disappeared into the sea of people. “So… what now? You here to kill me?”

“No,” Loki answered, voice pitched up in surprise that Mobius would think that. “No, nothing like that, Mobius. We just… we want to talk.”

“About what?”

“About the TVA,” Sylvie said, garnering Mobius’s attention.

Mobius narrowed his eyes at her, head tilted to the side as he looked her up and down. “And… who are you, exactly? I didn’t quite get your name before you–” Mobius bent his arm, mimicking a choking motion. “–put me in a choke-hold and violated my privacy by digging around in my memories.”

Sylvie at least had enough kindness to look ashamed at her actions. “My name is Sylvie.”

“Sylvie…” Mobius repeated her name, dropping his arm back down. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of you.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Loki piped up. “Sylvie is, uh… well, technically she’s me. Another variant of me, anyway. And if what you said about me not being on your files was true, then… Sylvie wouldn’t be, either.”

“Hang on, what?” Sylvie spluttered, wheeling around to face Loki. “We don’t exist in this timeline?”

“I guess not?” Loki said, sounding unsure. “Either that, or we haven’t done anything in this timeline to become variants.”

“Wow…” Mobius interjected, staring out blankly into the distance. “I knew that whatever had happened to make the sacred timeline erupt like that would be bad but… I don’t even want to think about the shambles it must be in right now…”

“Believe me, you don’t even know the half of it,” Sylvie grumbled.

“Mobius, you…” Loki begins, the corner of his mouth pulling into an uncomfortable grimace. “I don’t get it. You’re a variant-,”

“I’m aware,” Mobius stated dryly.

“Already told him, Loki,” Sylvie reminded him.

“But… now you know that your TVA isn’t the only TVA,” Loki pointed out. “Your timeline isn’t even the sacred timeline. Hel, mine and Sylvie’s timeline weren’t the sacred timeline, either. We just sort of… found our way onto it.”

Mobius cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at them. “And… how did that happen?”

“Well… you, actually,” Loki said. “You – the version of you we know – was trying to track Sylvie down. I had been brought in by the TVA for, um… you know what, it’s not important. You stopped me from being reset. You thought that the best person to track down me would be… me.”

Mobius huffed out a breath of laughter at that, crossing his arms against his chest. “I’m assuming the other me was right?”

“Well, I did find her,” Loki said, voice full of pride as he jabbed a thumb in Sylvie’s direction. “And… well, it’s…”

“I have an idea,” Sylvie suddenly whispered in realization. “We could try telling you what happened, but I doubt you’ll believe us.”

Mobius shrugged his shoulders in a way that said that would be exactly the case.

“Alright, fine,” Sylvie said, and before either Mobius or Loki knew what she was doing, she grabbed hold of Loki’s arm before stepping forward and grabbing Mobius’s.

Loki didn’t even know that enchantment could work this way. Instead of searching through Mobius’s memories, she was scrounging through both hers and his and, like a reel of film, she let them play. All three of them watched as the series of events that had led them here flitted by: Loki crash landing in the deserts of Mongolia and swiftly being apprehended by the TVA, and coming face to face with Mobius for the first time as he saves him from being reset –

– Sylvie burning the TVA workers to a crisp in the fields of the past and snatching the reset charges left behind –

– Loki and Mobius discovering Sylvie’s hiding trick within the Apocalypses of the Universe; the first time Loki sets eyes on the other version of himself as she playfully waves at him before stepping through the Time-Door –

– The two of them running through Lamentis, just trying to survive an event that no living being is supposed to survive; the moment that a nexus event Mobius had never seen before spikes on the monitor, as two of the same beings reach out for one another –

– Loki pleading with Mobius with everything he’s got to believe him, that Mobius had been taken from his life just as everyone else in the TVA had –

– The brief moment it seemed they may have a chance before Mobius was pruned before Loki’s very eyes, losing one of the few friends he’s ever had in his entire life –

– Watching in horror as the decapitated head of a Time-Keeper falls to their feet, realizing that the all-knowing Time-Keepers were nothing more than robots being used for show to keep the workers of the TVA in line. Then, that small yet significant moment where Loki dared to take a leap he never thought he would make, only to feel his body disintegrate as Renslayer’s pruning stick is pressed against this heart –

– Sylvie, not long after, shoving that very same pruning stick into her heart, joining him in the Void. The briefest of glimpses she got of the Citadel as she grabbed hold of a part of Alioth, before being reunited with the man she had spent her life running away from. All three of them, accompanied by a few peculiar Loki variants, hatching a plan to bring down the TVA once more –

– A tender goodbye shared between a rapidly formed yet strong bond between the three; a hand stuck out in an attempt of a goodbye that was deemed not enough by Loki, who couldn’t bear to let the other man leave without a word of thanks, both spoken aloud and with the gesture of arms wrapped around one another –

– Stepping through into that Citadel that sat on the edge of time, the two of them being offered what was once all they ever wanted. Then finally, finally, meeting the man responsible for it all. Listening as he regaled his life story, trying valiantly to defend his actions to two people whose actions he had wronged –

– Loki’s hand on her shoulder, trying desperately to pull her back as she advanced towards He Who Remains with sword in hand. Loki’s heart-filled attempt to get Sylvie to stop before all hell breaks loose, and they find themselves fighting the one person they never truly want to hurt. Then, knowing what she knows, Sylvie chooses to let herself enjoy the briefest of moments where Loki made her feel like she could be okay before shoving him through that Time-Door –

– The emptiness Sylvie felt inside as she plunged her sword into He Who Remains’s chest, feeling no sense of the satisfaction she thought she’d feel as the light left his eyes. That emptiness being replaced by complete and utter regret as she watched the timeline ripping itself apart, already imagining all the other versions of Him forming into existence as she dropped to the ground –

– Loki’s similar feeling of emptiness as he sat within the TVA, the shock steadily giving away to the aching pain in his chest, now knowing what it felt like to be on the other side of a Loki betrayal. That pain only becoming infinitely worse as he finds the friend he was looking for, only to be slapped with the realization that whilst the man in front of him may have bore the same face as the man he knows, he was now nothing more than a stranger to him –

Mobius gasped as he was wrenched out from the memories, nearly falling over his jet-ski as he stumbled back and away from the two of them. Loki instinctively reached out a hand to help steady him, but stopped himself, unsure as to how this Mobius might react. Mobius’s face was scrunched in pain, holding a hand up to his head as the images of what he had seen remained burned in his memory.

“I know it’s a lot,” Sylvie said apologetically. “But it’s important. I… we needed you to see.”

“I… I don’t understand…” Mobius mumbled, his eyes rapidly moving side to side as he was lost in his thoughts. “Why… why wouldn’t He tell us? He… he told us our jobs were important, that we were protecting the entirety of time, but… we didn’t know we were protecting it from Him.”

“Do you see now?” Loki asks, taking a risk and stepping closer to Mobius. “Your leader… he isn’t the only one of him out there now, and if we don’t do something, then… there will be nothing left but death and suffering.”

Mobius swallowed harshly, giving a small nod of his head as he struggled to get his thoughts under control. “I… I don’t even know what to do, now… Everything I thought I knew, it’s… it’s…”

“It’s never how you think it is,” Sylvie finishes for him. “But you can help us, Mobius. Help us find a way to make things right.”

“How?” Mobius asked, forcing his head up to look to Sylvie. “I’m just an analyst-,”

“Precisely!” Loki cut him off. “You know more about the inner workings of the TVA and the timelines than we do. If you don’t want to get involved, that’s fine. All we’re asking is for some information from you. Give us a chance to find some people that can help, and fix this whole mess.”

Mobius sighed, running a shaking hand through his hair. “I… I suppose that might be possible… What kind of information are we talking about here?”

“For starters-,” Sylvie brought up her hand, showing Mobius the TemPad wrapped around it. “-Any information you have on this thing would be good.”

“His TemPad…” Mobius uttered in amazement, looking moments away from reaching out for it before thinking better of his actions.

“His?” Loki asks. “Does your version of ‘He Who Remains’ have one of these, too?”

“That he does…” Mobius confirms, looking almost transfixed by the TemPad. “I’ve never actually been able to see it up close myself – having never met Him face to face – but… I know of it. Not much, I have to warn you. Although… there might be some files on it stored away within the TVA…"

“He keeps files about it?” Sylvie asked.

“It’s His pride and joy,” Mobius answered with a short chuckle. “While we’re left slumming it with the older versions, he’s the only one that gets to use the ‘new and improved’ model.”

“Huh… guess your version of ‘He Who Remains’ is kind of similar to the one we know,” Sylvie noted, running a finger across the TemPad.

“I wouldn’t know,” Mobius said with a shrug of his shoulders. “He’s just sort of… there. An imposing leader. A…”

“A threat?” Sylvie guessed. “Something to keep you in line?”

Mobius paused, pondering over her answer for a moment. “Kind of. Someone to respect, but also… someone to fear.”

Mobius twisted his neck around, looking around to the crowd of people that were still around them. He turned back to them, flicking his head for them to follow as he moves away from the jet-ski, making his way onto the shore. Loki and Sylvie obediently follow, keeping on Mobius’s heels as he carves a path through the name-less beach-goers.

“I don’t think I can do much for you,” Mobius said over his shoulder as they pushed through to a less densely populated area of the beach. “I’m… I’m not much of a fighter; I wasn’t trained for that. I know how to find information that would be of use to me, and apply it effectively. That’s what I’m good at.”

“And that’s all we’re asking of you,” Loki said. “We could really use a guide through the TVA.”

Mobius came to a stop with a heavy sigh, spinning around on the spot to face them. “I hope you realize what you’re asking of me here. The TVA it’s… it’s all I know. They’re my family-,”

“No, they’re your family,” Sylvie insisted, pointing back to the crowd of people they had walked away from. “And I know there’s nothing we can do to bring them back. But the person who did this to you, who took you away from your family? He’s still out there.”

“I know,” Mobius said gently, eyes glazed over as he looked to where Sylvie had been pointing. “I thought that… that the ends justified the means. I knew that I was doing to other people what had been done to me, but… He… He was so assuring, you know? He made us believe there was truly no other way.”

“He’s a very convincing man,” Loki agreed, glancing over to Sylvie with an awkward wince. “But we’re going to find a way to stop him. There has to be a way for the multi-verse to exist in peace. We just need to remove the dictator – every version of Him.

Mobius nodded at that, taking in a deep breath through his nose. “Okay then,” He said, shortly before spinning back around and walking away from them.

Loki and Sylvie looked at each other, eyebrows raised in surprise as Mobius continued to just walk away from them. “Wait -- where are you going?” Loki called out, unsure whether they were supposed to follow.

“Well, I’m not just gonna rock back up to the TVA in swimming trunks, am I?” Mobius called back with a grin, walking backward to face them as he gestured down at himself. “And, uh… whilst you’re technically in uniform, you should probably clean up all the sweat, and dirt, and… and is that blood?”

“It’s been a rough few days…” Loki grumbled. “It’s been a rough damn existence.”

“Isn’t that the truth…” Sylvie added.

“Oh, and you-,” Mobius said, clicking his fingers as he pointed to Sylvie. “Not saying that I don’t admire the armor set, but uh… you might want to think about wearing something else if we’re going to blend in.”

Loki turned to Sylvie with a knowing grin, enjoying the apprehensive look on her face just a little bit more than he should. “Guess it’s time to see if we can conjure you’re a new outfit.”

Next Chapter - - - >

#sylki #sylki fanfiction #sylki fanfic #pro sylki #loki//sylvie #lovedagger #enchantricks

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musingmycelium · 4 years

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Sanguine Desire.... 2! the full version

[ao3] 🍋 Full version of the wip i posted earlier!

Somehow Marsaili expected his hands to be softer. Delicate as they looked, used to holding wine glasses and ink quills and not much else. A dagger leaves callouses, they suppose, but even the pads of his fingers are rough where they slip off the tunic Marsaili wears under their armor. Rough and tender, two unexpected things though really what should Marsaili expect about Astarion.

Dusty moonlight filters in through the tent flap Marsaili left partially tied, the top strings dangling down to reveal the partially full moon. Silvery darkness. It falls on Astarion’s pale skin and practically glows, glints in all his curls and reflects like a devil in his eyes. Smirking bastard. “Admiring the view? Can’t say I blame you.”

Oh insufferable. Grinning crookedly Marsaili spreads their hands over Astarion’s shoulders, moves up towards his neck and Astarion bends forward to meet them halfway. For all his hands may be rough his lips are as soft as Marsaili wondered. Even if his kiss is anything but. Tastes like wine, rich and dark as blood, like the poison he favors on his blades. His teeth catch at Marsaili’s lip and draw them open with a sigh. Hands wandering. Exploring.

Heart-racing and really they’ve only just begun. Astarion pulls away from their lips only to trail a line of kisses from the corner of their mouth to their jaw. Soft chuckles in their ear, teeth brushing their skin. Sharp teeth. Sighing shakily Marsaili raises one of their hands to his hair and bunches their fingers in his loose curls. Tilts their head back and invites him lower.

Invitation accepted as Astarion slides his attention to their neck. Lowers the both of them to Marsaili’s bedroll, Marsaili spreading their legs to accommodate Astarion between them. Nails digging into his scalp and he pauses.

“If you’re about to make a quip about savoring wine slowly-” Cut off by laughter Marsaili tries, unsuccessfully, to glare at the top of Astarion’s hair.

“Darling I would never.” He places another kiss to their neck, a slow press of lips against their pulse. “I just need to restrain myself.”

Wraps a leg around his waist, “If you need permission, ask. What did you say earlier about not coming over to talk?”

“Permission what a funny word.” His words ghost over their skin, hovering in the silver air between them.

Marsaili spreads their hand wide over the back of his skull, breathing the night air deeply to cool off enough to think clearly. “Astarion you have two options, spit out whatever is eating at you or get to eating me already.” Pressing their hips up to his to bring home their point, out of all things they didn’t expect a chatty lover should really have been on the list.

“You do have a way with words don’t you.” Chuckling, kisses with teeth barely hidden behind soft lips. “And you don’t even know what they mean.”

Alright, enough. Marsaili moves to sit up but Astarion’s hand on their chest stops them. “I didn’t want to tell you this because I’m not sure… How you’ll react.” His fingers rest in the valley of between their breasts, calluses on tender skin. “But. It was going to come up anyway. I’m too weak for it not to. Do you trust me?”

Air stilling with Marsaili’s breathing.

“Please.” Fingertips pressing gently. “I need you to trust me.”

In the moonlight Astarion is beautiful, open in ways Marsaili doesn’t see in the daylight. With his head bowed and eyes averted he almost looks like he could be praying. A thing of darkness awaiting judgement.

“I’ve already made you beg for me once tonight Astarion,” Marsaili raises a hand to his, folding their fingers around his palm and lifting it to press a kiss to his knuckles. “I won’t make you do it again.”

Only waiting long enough for Astarion to meet their gaze, coy smile dragging at Marsaili’s lips. “At least not tonight.”

The cocky smirk returns to Astarion’s lips and Marsaili wants to kiss it off. “I haven’t even told you why to trust me yet.”

“Whatever it is I think I can agree to it with you sitting so kindly between my legs.” Marsaili nudges him with a knee and raises an eyebrow at him.

“It is funny to bring up the phrase eating you. There are so many ways I could do so.” Before Astarion can get any further Marsaili nudges him again except this time with quite a bit more force behind their knobby knee. “Ouch okay fine. Fine. It’s blood. I’m talking about blood.”

Blood. Marsaili laughs, they should have known. “You’re a fucking vampire? Is that why you nearly died crossing the river?”

This time Astarion is the one kneeing them in the gut. “It wasn’t funny and yes. I just need a little taste, I swear.”

Shaking their head with the last of their laughter, smile yet stretching their face. “Why didn’t you ask sooner if you felt so bad?” Marsaili tilts their head, exposing their neck for the second time tonight, “Take what you need. I don’t mind.”

Don’t mind at all, not with Astarion and his rough hands and tender teeth. Quite the opposite, really, if they’re going to be honest with each other.

“I- Really?” Almost dumbfounded, like he can’t believe what Marsaili is offering.

Tugs on his hand, pulling him back where they were not minutes before. Marsaili lays down on the bedroll with Astarion hovering over them, “Really.”

It doesn’t take them saying it twice for Astarion to lower his head. Gently Marsaili returns their hands to his hair, cradling Astarion’s head in the crook of their neck. Carefully Astarion places a hand around the other side of Marsaili’s neck and breathes in deeply. Teeth scraping softly.

And then he bites.

Icy pinpricks dig into their flesh and Marsaili gasps, chilly pain washing into feverish pleasure with Astarion’s lips moving on their skin. Blood singing, leaving, Marsaili twists their fingers in Astarion’s hair with a breathy sigh. It’s an intimate thing, it would be even without their hips canting together in rhythm with Marsaili’s racing heart, a gut deep feeling of connection. Their blood on Astarion’s tongue sweeping over the bite marks on their neck.

Silver moonlight on curly white hair, Astarion’s weight pins Marsaili with only the freedom to writhe under his hands. His grip on their neck is velvet covered steel, tender and unforgiving, his other hand roams down their side following the line of their curves and Marsaili melts under him.

Whispers in the dark, Astarion’s name on their lips and his lips sucking a bruise on their throat. Marsaili digs their nails in his hair, clutching Astarion to them as if they needed to keep him close. Heart throbbing in their chest, each beat fading sweetly into the next. It doesn’t even hurt, not anymore, just a soothing stream of life flowing from them into him.

Life. Marsaili’s grip on Astarion’s hair loosens, the sigh of his name turning from breathy to breathless. No longer a plea, now a question. “Astarion, Ah-Astarion?”

A weak sound even in the quiet space between lovers. Astarion’s hand on their neck doesn’t relent and neither do his lips.

“Astarion” Weaker, softer. “ Please. ” Their hand falls. Fingers landing spread on Astarion’s back unable to do more than feel the raised scars and smooth skin under them. It still doesn't hurt. Not even when they’re dying.

It’s a better way to go than the mindflayer tadpole.

Astarion shudders at their touch. His fingers relax, their iron grip softening to a caress, his lips leaving Marsaili’s neck with a gentle kiss. “Marsaili,” another kiss in the hollow between their collar bones, “Darling,” another on the corner of their mouth. “You are intoxicating.”

Laughing with what little air they can catch, “And here I thought you said you didn’t like that wine.” Marsaili curls their fingers, pressing so slightly against his back. They hadn’t been mistaken in their weakness a moment ago, there were scars there. Long, thin ones, cut deeply and healed poorly.

Astarion pulls back just out of range, Marsaili’s hands fall as cool air replaces heat, and in the slivers of moonlight crossing his face Marsaili can make out the thick drop of blood on the edge of his lip. Without thinking they reach out and wipe it off with their thumb, taking it into their mouth. Not thinking until Astarion makes a noise like he’s been gutted and Marsaili raises their gaze from his lips to find his eyes blown wide in the darkness.

A coy smile spreads across Marsaili’s lips, metallic blood on their tongue. Their blood. “Hm, a bit bitter for my tastes.”

Dipping his head back to the curve of their jaw, words breathed over sensitive skin, “And here I found you quite sweet.” His hands cup around their neck, slide down to their shoulders, “Though I have yet to find many things sweeter than what is given freely.”

Marsaili hums under his attention, coming alive under his hands, no strength returning to their limbs just yet but they don’t need it here. Only the trust they already gave alongside their blood.

Exploring touches linger in the curve under their ribs and Astarion brings his lips back to their skin following paths traced by finger tips. Delicate things, sweet things. Marsaili’s hand finds its way back to Astarion’s hair while the other curls into the fur of their bedroll, no guidance, no control, just touch as he makes his way lower.

Nips at the raised line of their hip bone. “If I may, I recall saying something about the many ways I could devour you.”

If they didn’t know any better Marsaili would think they’re floating. A weightless pleasure overtakes them, fills their head with nothing except the feeling of Astarion’s skin on theirs. “I may not be up for anything… Strenuous.”

“Are you alright darling?” Astarion retreats instantly, allowing cool air to swirl between them.

Ah, that wasn’t exactly what they wanted. “I’m fine, nothing I haven’t experienced after a few too many drinks, I just.” Marsaili pauses, cards their fingers softly through Astarion’s hair down to cup his cheek, stretching a bit more than is comfortable but it's worth it when he slips his head to the side and kisses their palm. “I just wouldn’t expect too much from me tonight.”

“Oh, my dear,” Astarion’s smirk returns in full force and he tilts his head further into their hand. “I do believe I owe you for the gift you’ve given me. If you’ll allow me.”

Well Marsaili isn’t about to argue with him. Their smile starts in their chest but spreads to their lips, the corners of their eyes and the crinkle of their nose. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“It will be.”

Astarion may not be warm to the touch but the whisper of his promise sends heat racing up Marsaili’s spine. It matches the sparks in their blood and the glint in Astarion’s eyes as returns his attention to Marsaili’s hips.

Small bites to sensitive skin, fingers circling their clit. Marsaili doesn’t whimper but the noise they do make is close. They dig their nails into Astarion’s scalp for a second time, catch their breath as their lungs catch fire. A dangerous thing to trust something so beautiful.

Teasing touches, close but not close enough. Fingertips on the inside of their thigh and lips at the junction of their hip. Toying with his food. Marsaili laughs under their breath at the thought, whines at Astarion’s answering nip. Flames under their skin all entirely at his mercy. But trust is a funny thing, given like permission and held like a promise.

And Astarion doesn’t seem to have much patience for teasing. Not tonight. His fingers press at their entrance, slide inside and make room for his tongue. Marsaili moans outright, the noise slipping from their lips to the night and the open tent flap, oh he truly meant to devour them.

Marsaili lifts their legs and locks their ankles around Astarion’s waist, their thighs bracketing his ears. Hair still tangled in their hand. They shiver with every twist of his fingers, flick of his tongue. Gives themselves twice over. Lets Astarion take his time and open them slowly, sweetly. At his own pace and pleasure.

Building the pyre inside Marsaili’s chest, a fire hot enough to burn them both.

Astarion pulls away only when Marsaili’s hips twitch with anticipation, wet heat on his smile when he looks up at them. Loosens their legs to prop himself up enough to line himself up with their entrance. Hovering over Marsaili like he did when the night began, a thing of darkness and blood and desire.

Kisses them in the same breath. Fire ignites under Marsaili’s skin and flows through their veins, ebbs and sparks with the drag of Astarion’s hips as he pulls back and thrusts again. His lips on theirs stealing the air from their lungs. Tasting them as he promised.

Marsaili can taste it both. Their blood. Their desire . Lingering sweetness on Astarion’s lips and copper between his teeth. Their darkness shared in the night together. Savored as softly as he promised.

Moonlight and kisses, Astarion finds Marsaili’s free hand bunched around fur and slips his fingers between theirs. Doesn’t break their kiss. Breathes into it instead, murmurs Marsaili’s name like an offering. A chatty lover and a tender one. Mismatched hands and touch. Astarion rolls his hips against theirs and Marsaili groans.

If they were floating earlier they could be drowning now. Each thrust of Astarion’s hips sends a wave of pleasure washing over them, every bite at their lip, squeeze of his fingers in theirs. All together overwhelming, not enough. So close and barely there.

Pleasure as he promised.

Marsaili falls off the edge without they were standing on it. Gasps into Astarion’s kiss and jerks their hips. Catching him by surprise too but the low chuckle against Marsaili’s lips isn’t a surprise in the slightest. He pulls out, finding his own release in hot ropes across Marsaili’s stomach. Breaks their kiss only to press one to Marsaili’s cheek.

“You truly are a wonder.” Astarion’s voice is soft and butterflies take flight in Marsaili’s chest. Fluttering pests. But.

They let Astarion clean them up, if they had been tired from the blood loss before its back with a vengeance countered only in part by the warm haze of please. Exhaustion pulls at their eyelids in a contented kind of way, trance will be exceptionally easy to fall into tonight. Marsaili catches Astarion’s wrist when he’s finished, tangles their fingers together and sighs.

“In the morning, can I ask you a few things?” Night may be a place where words are whispered but Marsaili’s thoughts are thoroughly wrecked. Come sunrise, the questions they’re still forming will be clearer, easier to ask.

Astarion raises an eyebrow, “In the morning?”

Blinking, “Yes?” Realization seeps in through the fog in their head and Marsaili lowers their gaze slightly. Drops his hand. “You… Would you like to stay, tonight?”

If he doesn’t Marsaili won’t force him. A cold bedroll is nothing they haven’t experienced before. Just, perhaps not as deeply. They keep their eyes on the empty air of the tent, not trusting the expression they could give away. It’s entirely his decision.

Astarion’s fingers cup their cheek. “I think I would.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #lemon #so uhm #sexy vampires am i right #>;3 #marsaili #my writing

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macgyvermedical · 4 years

Text

Why N95s Work for Medical Professionals, But Not For You:

First, I just want to point out there that this is take #2 because tumblr ate the first one and I’m pissed. The first one was really good, but now I don’t have 3 hours to dedicate to this one, so screw it. This is the speedrun. I’m gonna try to do it in an hour. If it doesn’t make a ton of sense, that’s probably why.

You may have come across someone on social media pointing out “why do medical professionals ‘need’ N95s specifically if we’ve all been told they’re no more effective than surgical masks/cloth masks? Isn’t that a bit of a double standard?”

The short answer is that N95s are really helpful and really important if they fit, are worn correctly, are worn in environments where they actually need to be worn, and are worn with other equally important pieces of PPE (how medical professionals wear them), but they don’t do as much for you personally if all of these conditions aren’t met, and you can ultimately accomplish close to the same thing (not getting sick) if everyone wears a cloth mask and washes their hands in public.

Let me explain:

1- N95s that aren’t fitted don’t do the N95 thing:

N95s are masks* with filters that can stop 95% of airborne particles 0.3 microns in size or larger. There are a lot of sizes, brands, and models to choose from. In order for them to actually do this level of filtering, there has to be a near-perfect seal around the outside of the mask, which forces the air through the filter (which would otherwise be a path of most resistance).

To be sure the air is actually going through the filter, the mask needs to be professionally “fit tested” (see link for more on the actual process, which is pretty extensive). It’s not uncommon for people to have to try two or three different kinds/sizes of masks during a fit test before they find one that actually fits their face. Others have a face shape that just can’t ever get a good enough seal, no matter what mask they try. If you’ve never been fit tested, the mask you’re wearing probably isn’t a whole lot more effective than a surgical mask or cloth mask- good for stopping droplets of other people’s saliva from hitting your mouth and nose, and from your saliva droplets from hitting other people (still really good things, obviously, but nothing that actually requires an N95-rated filter).

2- You genuinely don’t need an N95 to protect you in a community environment, but we actually do in a hospital environment:

The good news is you, as someone in the grocery store, is not in a situation where you need all the real protection a fit-tested N95 can give you. A truly fit-tested and properly worn N95 is designed to stop you from breathing infectious, aerosolized particles, which is a whole lot of overkill in most situations. Aerosolized particles are particles of (usually saliva in this context) that are so tiny and light that they can hang in the air and get breathed in even after an infected person leaves the area (unlike the larger saliva droplets that tend to fell out of the air pretty quickly).

Someone with covid-19 does not naturally shed aerosolized particles full of virus. They would have to actually do something to artificially aerosolize that infectious saliva. Something like:

An aerosol (nebulizer) breathing treatment

Artificial respiration/intubation/mechanical ventilation/CPR

Using a BiPAP or CPAP machine

Suctioning a tracheostomy

Notice that these things should not be happening at the grocery store, and if for some reason they are, it would be pretty easy to avoid that aisle. But those things happen a lot in a hospital, and a lot of times the medical professionals involved can’t avoid being in the area where they’re happening, which is why they do, unlike you, need a fitted N95 mask.

3- Yes, we do follow all these same guidelines in a hospital setting:

In a hospital setting we’re not just wearing N95s willy-nilly. We wear cloth masks when we’re not in patient rooms to prevent ourselves from spreading the virus! We wear surgical masks (or sometimes non-fitted N95s depending on the number of surgical masks we have) when we go into patient rooms for things other than aerosolized procedures (they can be worn a lot longer than surgical masks in situations where we’re running out of all PPE). We essentially only wear our one personal, assigned, fitted N95 in situations where we absolutely have to, or when its in the best interest of making what we have last as long as possible (its better for the masks to continuously wear them than to take them off and put them back on a bunch of times).

4- In summary

In summary, medical professionals are wearing professionally fitted N95s in environments where they are likely to need the protection that only N95s can provide. Similarly, people who aren’t working in hospitals right now both will likely not be in a situation where they actually need an N95, and if they’re wearing one, they’re probably not wearing it correctly anyway. That’s why you’ve probably heard both sides of that argument.

Hopefully that decreased some anxiety for people.

*Yeah, I know they’re actually called respirators, I’m using the colloquial “mask” in this post because that’s a different discussion and I’m on a time crunch.

#covid-19 #transmission

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kbstories · 4 years

Text

impression//expression

“It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day, he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone.”

(Or: Being friends with Bakugou Katsuki is anything but a linear experience. Kirishima Eijirou would have it no other way.)

Tags: Kirishima POV, Developing Friendships, Domestic Fluff, Bakusquad, An Extended Scene About The Joys And Pains of Dyeing Hair

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. No additional content warnings apply. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.

***

⚡💖⛰️🎸📼

You have added Best Bakubro 💣💥!

You have changed the name from “⚡💖⛰️🎸📼” to “⚡💖💣⛰️🎸📼”!

hehehe we’re all set (sent 12:10)

welcome baku!! 💪🏻 (sent 12:10)

God 💡: 👀 (received 12:11)

Simply Mina: 👀👀 (received 12:11)

MT Tape: 👀 (received 12:11)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: shitty hair (received 12:13)

you promised!!! (sent 12:13)

no take backs 👀 (sent 12:13)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: fuck (received 12:13)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: okay two things (received 12:13)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: one i’m muting this so @ me or fuck off (received 12:14)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: two give me your names (received 12:14)

God 💡: wait srsly?? (received 12:15)

God 💡: c’mon bro it’s been months :( (received 12:15)

Simply Mina: yea wth blasty that’s so cold :(( (received 12:15)

MT Tape: answer the people explosion man @Best Bakubro 💣💥 (received 12:17)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: fine you’re staying random numbers then (received 12:18)

God 💡: OH (received 12:18)

God 💡: kaminari denki here!! (received 12:18)

MT Tape: this is sero 🙏🏻 (received 12:18)

Simply Mina: mina!!! (received 12:19)

Simply Mina: @Guitar Hero is kyoka 💖 (received 12:19)

Best Bakubro 💣💥

who? (received 12:19)

jirou!! (sent 12:19)

? (received 12:19)

🔌 (sent 12:20)

ah (received 12:20)

⚡💖💣⛰️🎸📼

Best Bakubro 💣💥: k (received 12:20)

God 💡: anyways (received 12:22)

God 💡: this is the best day of my life (received 12:22)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: shut it jolteon (received 12:22)

God 💡: dude i didn’t even @ u asdfkjsfk (received 12:22)

God 💡: wait omg is that an upgrade?? (received 12:23)

God 💡: did i get upgraded from pikachu to jolteon omg omg (received 12:23)

MT Tape: DIBS ON UMBREON (received 12:23)

MT Tape: we’re picking eeveelutions right? (received 12:23)

!!!! pls pls flareon pls!!! (sent 12:24)

Simply Mina: espeon or sylveon (received 12:24)

Simply Mina: espeon or sylveon??? (received 12:25)

Simply Mina: GUYS (received 12:25)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: this is a nightmare (received 12:25)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: and wtf espeon of course (received 12:26)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: better stats and none of that affection shit (received 12:26)

Simply Mina: the council has spoken (received 12:26)

what about flareon??? (sent 12:27)

plsplspls (sent 12:27)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: kirishima (received 12:27)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: it’s red. (received 12:28)

HELL YEAH ❤️ (sent 12:28)

Guitar Hero: hi what the HELL are you guys spamming about (received 12:30)

Guitar Hero: oh hey bakugou (received 12:30)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: plugs you’re glaceon (received 12:31)

Guitar Hero: i’m cool with that (received 12:31)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: good (received 12:31)

MT Tape: ok kiri i think i get it now (received 12:34)

MT Tape: putting every decision thru the baku filter is so much more fun (received 12:34)

right??? (sent 12:34)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: don’t fucking start (received 12:35)

Simply Mina: too late <3 (received 12:35)

God 💡: our trap card activated the moment you stepped into this chat man (received 12:36)

MT Tape: Bakugou Katsuki has been designated Chief Executive Brain (CEB) of the squad, effective immediately. (received 12:36)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: i’m leaving (received 12:37)

:( (sent 12:37)

MT Tape: … 👀 (received 12:40)

MT Tape: he ain’t leaving huh? (received 12:44)

God 💡: kiri’s puppy eyes once again confirmed as world’s strongest force (received 12:45)

Simply Mina: it’s kiri so we’re all safe tho <3 (received 12:45)

<3 (sent 12:45)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: for the record i hate all of you (received 12:46)

⚡💖💣⛰️🎸📼

Simply Mina: hey hey blasty (received 14:48)

Simply Mina: which eeveelution are you? (received 14:48)

Simply Mina: @Best Bakubro 💣💥 (received 14:50)

God 💡: 👀👀 (received 14:50)

👀 (sent 14:50)

MT Tape: 👀 (received 14:51)

Guitar Hero: ^ what they said (received 14:53)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: eevee, duh (received 14:56)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: i don’t need a type advantage to win (received 14:56)

😭 bro so manly (sent 14:56)

also (sent 14:57)

You have changed the name from “⚡💖💣⛰️🎸📼” to “🦊 Eevee Squad 🦊”!

Best Bakubro 💣💥: fucking fantastic. can we shut up now? (received 15:00)

Best Bakubro 💣💥

see? told u it’s fun 💪🏻 (sent 15:01)

i guess (received 15:02)

like i said u can just ignore the chat if ur not feeling it (sent 15:10)

they’re cool, they won’t mind (sent 15:10)

+ i’ll text u stuff directly if it’s important (sent 15:12)

kiri (received 15:12)

ok ok hhh just saying (sent 15:12)

i know (received 15:13)

you got that shit for ectoplasm yet? (received 15:17)

ummm (sent 15:17)

fucking knew it (received 15:17)

you coming or what? (received 15:22)

!!! o7 (sent 15:22)

Bakugou is staring.

Eyes on the page, Kirishima tries to focus on the function he’s been struggling to get for fifteen minutes now. Something about tangents and right angles? No, cotangents, which is different from a non-cotangent tangent because–

Bakugou has stopped writing a while ago, the fabric-covered pen resting loosely in his hand, his head propped up on a fist.

–the cosine does… something with the sine of X. Division? Maybe? X pops up in a bunch of places, actually, and Kirishima longs for the days math still featured numbers and not whatever nonsense this cos-sin-tan stuff is–

Bakugou is staring right at him, has been for ages now and Kirishima can’t help it. He looks up, only to catch Bakugou looking away, and huffs a nervous chuckle.

“Bro, c’mon. What’s up? Is there something on my face ‘cause you’ve been–”

“It’s black.” There’s a pensive twist to Bakugou’s brow. He breezes through the part of the problem Kirishima’s stuck on like it’s nothing, scribbled down in permanent ink like the monster he is. “Your natural haircolor. It’s black, right?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Kirishima picks his head up from where he’s slumped across Bakugou’s desk, the bean bag he’s sitting on shifting under his butt. Since when does Bakugou care about his hair? It hasn’t been black for over a year, anyways, so what does that have to do with…

“Wait, why do you–”

Bakugou’s eyes wander back to him, landing on Kirishima’s hair for barely a second but it’s enough. With a mortified noise, Kirishima slaps both his hands over his forehead – or more specifically, his roots.

Because Kirishima completely forgot he’s overdue on a redye for a good week and styled his hair as he usually does: gel evenly spread into carefully towel-dried strands, quirk on until it dries, done. He hadn’t looked into a mirror before heading to class or he would’ve seen his tips straying from cherry red to berry pink.

And that jet-black line where it’s growing back out. The roots that are the bane of Kirishima’s existence and that Bakugou saw.

Kirishima groans, curling into himself until his head hits wood with a dull donk. “How bad is it? Don’t spare me, bro, I need to know.”

That rhymes, the part of his brain not burning in the hellfire of shame chimes in. Kirishima firmly tells it to shut up.

“Your hair?”, Bakugou asks from an unknown realm beyond the bit of desk Kirishima’s staring at, a beat late. Probably to treat him to a glare he can’t see.

Kirishima rubs his forehead across his math homework in a miserable nod.

“It’s not more or less shitty than usual, Shitty Hair.” Bakugou scoffs. “What’s the big deal?”

“Oh, nothing”, Kirishima shrugs, his voice a fake-cheerful mumble, “Just that I’ve been walking around like this all day. A whole ass day. Kill me, now.”

“Nah. Wasn’t the idea to ‘die like a man in chivalrous battle’?”

Kirishima shoots him a dirty look. Bakugou doesn’t even bat an eye; he flashes his teeth in a bright smile and knocks his fists against each other, whispering “manly” under his breath and okay, why does Bakugou have to be good at everything, including impersonating Kirishima?

“I hate you”, grumbles Kirishima. Bakugou breaks character to cackle, only stopping after Kirishima balls up his pitiful attempt at math to throw it at his head. Bull’s eye, right on the forehead.

“Oi! That’s your homework, moron.”

“You started it”, Kirishima points at him with his pencil. His notepad is pulled closer with a deep, long sigh. “Now I gotta do this stuff again and stress about my hair. Amazing.”

Ah, the God-help-me eyeroll. It’s been a while. “Just go fucking dye it and come back if it bothers you so much. Can’t be that hard.”

“Says the blond guy”, Kirishima huffs. “Dude, do you even know how long getting rid of this” – a gesture to his roots – “takes? Black hair is a pain to bleach. Literally.”

Bakugou considers his hair with a frown. “…How long are we talking here? Like, an hour?”

A laugh, louder than Kirishima intends. “Try three. Sometimes more, it depends.”

“Three hours?!”

“Or more.”

A little smug, Kirishima watches disbelief bloom on Bakugou’s face. When it comes to this, destroying the innocence of the uninitiated is the only joy he’s got. There’s really nothing fun about sitting through those hours every six weeks, give or take – just plain, boring routine. At least he isn’t anxious about making mistakes anymore, not like his first few times.

It’s definitely worth it, though. Kirishima loves his red hair.

“And it, what. It hurts?”

Bakugou is still processing it seems, a hand going to his own hair. (It looks so soft, that even light color Kirishima has envied since the beginning of time. Such a nice base for any type of dye, especially bright ones or pastels.)

Kirishima scrunches his nose. “The developer does, yeah. Anything over 9% makes your scalp burn like crazy so I stick to 9% and do multiple rounds. I can’t go light enough for the red I want, otherwise.”

“And then the dye?”

“Then you dye it, yeah. Roots first, then the lengths in small strands, let it sit for twenty more minutes or so, rinse it out and then you’re done.”

It’s weird to explain things that have become totally obvious to him step by step, but Bakugou looks strangely fascinated by what he’s hearing. He does likes things to be more complicated than simple in basically any regard, Kirishima muses with a private snicker. Perhaps it’s not that surprising, after all.

“I use pure red on everything but you can mix colors, too, there’s a whole science behind that. And if you decide ‘Hey, I haven’t suffered enough!’, you can do individual highlights as well. But that’s a production all in itself! Ask Kami, he does some wild things to get that lightning bolt just right.”

Bakugou slowly shakes his head. “You people are crazy. That can’t be worth it.” He squints at Kirishima, hums to himself and starts nodding, instead. Vaguely terrified of what’s brewing in that brain of his, Kirishima waits for him to finish thinking.

“Let’s do it.”

There it is, a suitably terrible idea. Also: What?

“Color or highlights?” Kirishima sputters. “Wait, you or me? Bro, I can live with my own mistakes but dyeing your hair is too much pressure. Like, I’ll do it if you really want me to but, um–”

“Color. And you, obviously. Who of us is freaking out about hair, huh? Sure as fuck ain’t me.”

I’m not freaking out about it, Kirishima wants to say. Okay, he had been freaking out a little. Maybe. Not anymore, not with the mental image of Bakugou with Riot-red hair sort of making his braincells implode.

It’s impossible to imagine. Kirishima tries to anyways, fails, shakes his head. Focus!

“But…”

He draws a blank. Actually, Bakugou helping him with his hair does sound kind of fun. Until his patience inevitably runs out and he explodes the pot of dye, or something. Which could be hilarious, too.

“…Homework?”

(Not that he particularly wants to go back to puzzling over non-tangent cotangents – Ectoplasm always seems to know when he didn’t do the thing, though, and Kirishima hates disappointing his teachers more than he does the variable X.)

Bakugou sparks off in his direction. “We got three hours. 'nuff said.” He snatches up the math book they were sharing, Kirishima’s notepad and even the pencil out of his hand, and is out the room before Kirishima has fully registered they’re doing this.

“Shitty Hair!”

Kirishima jumps to his feet.

“Coming!”

“This is so damn messy. How’s your bathroom not stained to hell already?”

Coming up on their third round over his bathroom sink, Kirishima feels little sleepy as he blinks up at Bakugou. That expression of intense concentration hasn’t budged all three rounds, Bakugou’s hands steady yet gentle where they’re starting to dab red dye over freshly bleached roots.

There’s a dot of crimson on his cheek already. After forcing gloves on Bakugou and explaining to him how red pigment is the hardest to wash out – on clothes, skin, hair, wherever it lands – Kirishima isn’t inclined to point it out to him just yet.

“I asked admin about it. They said everything in our rooms is practically indestructible, including the sinks.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah, right? They thought of everything, it seems.”

Bakugou continues. Kirishima dozes.

“Your hair is dry as fuck, by the way.”

Kirishima shrugs with his eyes closed, following the nudge to turn his head so Bakugou can get to the back. This is so much more comfortable than doing it by himself.

“Can’t be helped, man. The dye by itself is fine, actually, it’s the bleach that’s causes most of the damage. Oh well, with the gel it’s hard as concrete, anyways.”

“Mhmm. You’ll go bald by the time we’re outta here.”

“Hey!”

“Bald Hero: Red Riot”, Bakugou muses out loud, easily evading the kick Kirishima blindly aims at his shin. “Stop it, you’re gonna fuck up my hard work here.”

He’s smiling though, Kirishima can tell. It’s all in his voice, roughness replaced by warmth when it’s the two of them in Kirishima’s tiny bathroom.

“Stop dissing my hair, then. Besides, I know your secret.”

This Kirishima wants to see. He opens one eye and yup, Bakugou’s brows are doing the thing where they twitch and pull together. Not exactly a frown, more caught off guard than anything. Bakugou’s lips press shut, stubbornly silent as he brushes dye on every inch of Kirishima's hair.

Then: “I’m done. What am I s’posed to do with this shit?”

Kirishima glances at the pot Bakugou holds out to him. There’s still some of the thick liquid left.

“Just pour it on top. Can’t hurt and it’s better than throwing it away.”

Bakugou does exactly that. He tosses the empty pot and the thoroughly stained brush into the sink. Kirishima helps him wrap his hair in cellophane and a towel to reduce the possible mess, relocating to the closed lid of his toilet so Bakugou can take off the gloves and wash his hands.

“Okay, I’ll fucking bite. What secret?”

Lingering on the tension between them, Kirishima grins with all the confidence in the world. “That you like my hair.”

Bakugou barks a laugh. “After I went all Van Gogh on it? You better believe it’s good.”

“Nope, I mean before that”, Kirishima challenges.

“Proof?”, Bakugou shoots back without hesitation.

“Oh, I can give you proof.” Kirishima’s arms cross over the ratty shirt he always wears for this, its fabric dotted and streaked in interlacing shades of red. “One, it’s the first thing you noticed about me, hence ‘Shitty Hair’. Two, you were distracted by my roots growing in so you pay attention to how it looks–”

“I don’t–”

“–and three, you just spent hours dyeing it for me.”

Bakugou’s mouth snaps shut. He growls in his throat, grabbing an additional towel and drying his hands. Kirishima wasn’t aware those are actions that can be done aggressively but hey, he’s learning something new every day.

“Maybe”, Bakugou finally concedes. The towel is thrown in Kirishima’s face when all he does is smile. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Bakugou’s cheeks are dusted pink. Still, Kirishima shows the guy some mercy: Bakugou spent all afternoon fixing both his hair and his math homework, after all.

“Hey, Baku?”

“… What?”

“Thanks, man. You’re a good friend, you know that?”

Somehow, that makes Bakugou look even more flustered. “Whatever, Shitty Hair.”

Because Bakugou is Bakugou, namely a man who doesn’t know when or how to quit, he sticks around until Kirishima can rinse out the dye. He emerges from the shower feeling fully restored, a towel wrapped around his waist and his shirt draped over his shoulder.

“And that’s how you do it.”

Bakugou throws him a look from his sprawl on Kirishima’s bed, manga in hand. His gaze flicks to his hair immediately; his lips twist upwards, obviously satisfied.

“Told ya, it ain’t hard.”

Kirishima chuckles, shakes his head. “You’re so full of shit, dude.”

Now that the hair situation is under control for a few weeks, he realizes how hungry he is. The evening has barely begun, too, which means there’s time for a movie before Bakugou’s ridiculous sleep schedule comes a-knocking, either taking him out or making him cranky. Each scenario has about a fifty-fifty chance of happening.

“Hey, you wanna–”

Out of nowhere, his door bursts open to reveal one Kaminari Denki, out of breath and clutching a very familiar book to his chest.

“Kiri! Please tell me you guys figured out the–”

His eyes fall first on the splattered shirt on Kirishima’s shoulder, the trails of watery red dripping from his hair to his naked chest – and then on Bakugou, hands stained a faint red despite the gloves, that smear of color on his cheek Kirishima forgot to tell him about still very much there.

“Is that blood? What happened? Oh my–” Kaminari gasps. “Did you kill somebody?! Oh fuck, we have to hide the bo–”

“Kami”, Kirishima tries between bouts of laughter, “No, what the hell!”

A familiar cackle behind him does absolutely nothing to help their case.

>>Chapter 8.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #kiribaku #bnha fanfiction #tumblr will 100% kill the formatting #this fic is also on AO3!! (again the format......)#anyhow final stop in fluff land before we dive into more angst next time :3c #my stuff

41 notes · View notes

straymackerel · 4 years

Note

Hey! Would you like to write something for mori and his female s/o with bondage? A scenario would be amazing! Maybe was sie trying to tease him the whole day!

➽─{uwu i would love to ~ the doctor is in ❤️☠️}─❥

warning(s): nsfw, bdsm, oral (receiving)

You’re restless, hungry, agitated on the lookout for slick black hair and white wrist-length gloves. A group of young mafiosos pass you, all eyes cautiously averted. Pleased, you relish in your hastily planned attire: one of Mori’s white button-ups, and not much else underneath. If anyone was caught leering at the boss’s plaything, they would surely be punished––though the word “punishment” barely even begins to describe it.

Sighing as you round another dead end, you ponder your options. Either wait in Mori’s office, or try the room you saved for last. It’s the one place you’d normally have the good sense to steer clear of, but your desperation is reaching new heights. Waiting is simply out of the question. You make a beeline for the main meeting room, as you’ve passed it dozens of times by now.

Oversized walnut doors loom over you as you stand outside of your final destination. The voices inside are dampened, but not muted; the room is soundproofed, but not completely. When you reach out to grab the handle, the heft of the door resists your pull as if asking, “are you sure about this?” You prop it open anyway, just wide enough to slip through, grazing the polished wood as you enter.

Inside, a pack of mobsters surround a long rectangular table, at the end of which your lover eyes you calmly––but is that a hint of a disapproval you see? Many heads turn towards you, but few linger. The most daring of the group shoot quizzical looks at Mori, but his expression reveals little to nothing. Back bathed in sunlight, face hidden in shadow, he continues to lead the discussion as if nothing peculiar is happening. A professional as always. Your visit is largely ignored.

You maintain your gaze as he talks shop, but you bore instantly. Twirling your hair and nibbling your lips from across the room hardly evokes the reaction you came to spark. Though he never takes his eyes off of you, he otherwise acts as if you aren’t there. No choice but to get closer.

Grabbing the nearest chair, you walk Mori’s way as his eyes narrow, still focused on you. Your gait is as unwavering as you can manage in front of a criminal syndicate. Some of the executive board shift uncomfortably in their seats, and as you near the windows, Mori realizes why. You prop your chair up next to him, leaning into his ear:

“I just thought you should know that I’m dripping wet.”

The boss of the Port Mafia is the very last to get a clear view of your bare thighs, their innermost surfaces gleaming in nature’s lube. He simply nods his head, trying his best to maintain the illusion of control––but when you sit yourself down, putting your hands on his legs, he immediately cuts his losses.

“We’ll stop here for today. This meeting is adjourned until further notice,” his voice booms, teetering on the edge of annoyance. Good; you want him just as worked up as you are.

As the last of the Mafia members filter out, not so heedless as to glance back, Mori turns to face you. Hands fumbling with his clothes, he folds his trench coat over his chair and slips something out of its pockets. Its metallic glint threatens to blind you with natural light. When your senses adjust, you realize it’s a pair of handcuffs, but not before a loud clinking reaches your ears. Your hands––they’re locked together now, cuffs fastened shut behind your back.

“Rintaro?” you protest, but your voice falls upon deaf ears. He hoists you up by the waist and sets you on the meeting table, eyes undressing your already scantily dressed form. You smirk. “You like?”

“I like?” he says back, mockingly. “Such a disobedient, troublesome girl like you? I wonder about that.” Gloved fingers unbutton your (well, his) shirt, but your restraints prevent the garment from completely coming off. Starched fabric bunches at your wrists. The chains jingle behind you as you test your strength against the stainless steel, but not unnoticed by your lover.

Mori’s voice drops a notch: “I swiped them off of a police officer this morning. He was getting in the way of a business transaction, making my job very… difficult.” A certain iciness laces his words, sending shivers down your spine. “Perfect for a slut who doesn’t know her place, no?”

Hands awkwardly positioned, you struggle to keep yourself upright under his smoldering gaze. You’ve barely gotten comfortable when he starts to go down on you.

A small yelp escapes you as Mori greets your clit, spreading the wide of his tongue across it. His tongue flicks upwards as one, two fingers slide past your drenched slit, and you’re quick to realize that he hasn’t even bothered to take off his gloves. The silky fabric introduces an effortless glide to each Mori’s slow, drawn-out dips into your pulsing pussy. His fingers rock back and forth inside of you, continuously curling towards your g-spot with leisure.

Just when you’re getting used to the rhythm, Mori’s tongue begins to rub circles upon your swollen clit. Your legs buckle beneath you when he pushes them back for easy access. It’s hard not to quiver under his hold, but it’s even harder not to let your voice out. Soft mewls overflow into melting moans. His methodical motions almost get you shaking when he suddenly stops, and you can’t help but whine in response.

The gloves come off, soaked through and through, and he moves to loosen his tie next. Your anticipation grows almost tangible as more and more clothing comes off, but he stops at his belt buckle, flashing a wicked smile at you.

“Now, now, don’t be like that. You wanna know what I do to loud and impatient girls?” Before you have a chance to answer, your lips are forced open, a thick cloth slipping between your teeth. His red scarf stuffs your mouth, restricting your breathing somewhat. You are virtually silenced, unable to speak properly. Muffled noises substitute your every word, something that obviously brings great pleasure to the sadistic doctor.

“I make them take responsibility,” he continues, edge in his tone. He releases his bulging cock from black trousers, stroking it to your wide-eyed form. “It’s all your fault. Just look what you’ve done to me.” His free hand flutters at your waist, tracing your curves. You’re pulled from the table and bent over it, the cold metal cuffs cutting into your skin, certain to leave red marks. You feel the scarf tighten, pressing against your cheeks.

“If you want me to stop, you’ll have to scream.” Mori pauses to admire his handiwork, perhaps a beat too long.

“I wonder what sorts of sounds you’ll make when I use you..?”

sources:

link i

link ii

link iii

#bsd scenario #mori ougai #bsd x reader #bsd smut #bsd fanfic #bungou stray dogs smut #bsd x reader smut #mori ogai #mori bsd #mori ougai x reader #mori ogai x reader

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redqueen-hypothesis · 3 years

Text

yearning ➳ kiro (mlqc)

➳ PAIRING: reader x kiro (mlqc)

➳ WORD COUNT: 1818

➳ GENRE: slight angst, fluff

➳ SYNOPSIS: you miss kiro

➳ REMARKS: i forgot i can’t w r i t e... here have some word vomit

yearning /ˈjəːnɪŋ/ (noun): a feeling of intense longing for something.

Yearning shows itself in the way that everything reminds you of him.

You’re walking along the street on your way to work, footsteps hurried as you type out a message to Anna, instructing her what documents to prepare for you so that work can start smoothly when you arrive at the office. A little out of breath from how quickly you’re walking, you’re about to cross an intersection when the bright rays of the morning sun catch your eye.

It’s a beautiful shade of soft orange today, its gentle light dappled as it filters through the leaves of the trees planted along the roadside. The warmth seeps through your skin, down to your very bones - just like Kiro.

The moment only lasts for a brief second, the lights turn green, and you pull out your phone to snap a picture of the early dawn before continuing on your way across the road. While you continue down your way to work, you post the picture on Moments, captioning it with ‘I’m waiting for you to come back, Kiro!”

In the cafe, waiting in line to buy coffee for yourself and your colleagues, you find yourself pondering what to buy as you glance over the chalkboard menu. There are all sorts of treats for offer, and while you already have a drink that you would normally get, you see one of Kiro’s favorites illustrated with chalk in a rainbow of eye catching colours.

Caramel macchiato. Without much thinking, you get it together with the rest of your drinks. You can’t remember how many times you’ve snuck this specific drink into Kiro’s trailer as an encouragement for him while he’s filming, and recall the sweetness of his smile, the way his azure eyes light up when he sees you at the door, clearer than a summer sky devoid of clouds.

As you sip at the drink on your way to work, the sweetness spreading over your tongue, you hope your smile is bright enough to make up for the absence of his.

Work is a tiring affair - it leaves you exhausted, boneless like a wrung out cloth, and you’re slumped over your desk counting down the minutes down to sending Victor your monthly financial report. While you’ve learned to navigate the CEO’s tongue and of the softness it is capable of - barbed as it may be - you’ve still never quite gotten over the nerves that handing up a report entails. Perhaps it’s the perfectionist in you that demands only the best that you can offer, but if Victor finds a mistake with a piece of work you’ve reviewed so many times, you’d feel awful about yourself and your capabilities.

Victor informs you of three typos and a mix up of values between revenue and expenditure barely ten minutes later. You groan and curl up in your office chair, too discouraged to review the report. Victor has extended the deadline for the submission of the revised edition, but you can’t quite find the energy to look over the same words all over again when they’re practically swimming off the page.

“I want to call Kiro.” You mumble absentmindedly into the stack of papers on your desk. That cheerful smile of his, just imagining it gives you the tiniest bit of energy. You desperately want to hear his voice, listen to his encouraging words as he tells you not to worry. You want to come to work the next day and find a bag of chips in your favourite flavour, left at your desk by an anonymous sender whose identity you already know. Your desire translates into a something unbelievably simple, and yet so deep you can feel its ache in your chest with each breath you take.

You want Kiro.

On your way home from work, you spot a bunch of sunflowers outside of the florist’s, bright yellow and fresh. You look at it for a second, and before you know it, you’re walking out of the shop with a bouquet of sunflowers in hand.

Flowers that always chase after the light of the sun.

You press your lips to the petals, and your mouth curls up in a sad smile. “I’ll have to make do with these till you get back, Kiro.”

Yearning shows itself in the way you can’t sleep without him at your side.

You lie awake in the middle of the night, seemingly unable to fall asleep. You’ve tried to, listening to white noise, trying to tire yourself out before bed, but none of them seem to have the same effect as the sound of Kiro’s soft breathing next to your ear, and the warmth of his arms wrapped around you.

A sigh leaves your lips as you roll onto your back, gazing up at the darkness of your ceiling. The bed feels too big without him, and you look longingly at the small brown teddy bear sitting on the pillow Kiro’s head usually occupies.

He’d given that to you after winning it from a carnival the two of you had gone to together, his hood pulled over his head to hide his bright blond hair and a mask drawn over his face to remain as your Kiro, not Kiro the superstar. Still, neither had been able to hide the sheer warmth that Kiro exuded, as if he were the sun itself.

Kiro had managed to shoot all four targets at a game stall (you were still in disbelief, you’d played it moments before and had become convinced that the game was rigged) and had won the teddy bear as a prize. Right after that, however, he’d plopped it into your arms with a big grin, hoping that it would give you as much comfort as he did in his absence.

Now when you look at it, its glass eyes stare back at you mournfully, as if it were Kiro himself wishing he could be by your side. You reach out to tug it against your chest, squeezing it softly, hoping the affection in your touch could somehow reach him, wherever he is.

“He said to wait for him to come back.” You murmur to the teddy bear, stroking a finger over the stitches in its ears. “I promised him I would.”

You fall asleep to the softness of the teddy bear held close, seeking him out even in your dreams.

Yearning shows itself in the way that your heart feels like it’s torn without him.

It’s been a month of radio silence from him.

Every day, you send messages and pictures of things that invariably remind you of him, from a cat napping in a sunny spot or a new flavor of a packet of chips being released. And yet he replies to none of them, not a single call or text to at least let you know he’s doing fine.

Your heart is fraying at the edges, pained and torn without him. It’s like he’d taken a piece of it when he’d left, and you want to kiss away the distance between the two of you, fold that map edge over edge until your heart is back where it belongs - next to his.

He told you to wait, and you have promised, but waiting hurt. You thought you could, thought you were strong enough to do it, but you realise the truth now: that you’re not strong enough to do it alone.

Loneliness tugs at your heartstrings, unraveling you quietly when you watch couples from your window walking along the street hand in hand, smiles the very picture of bliss. A month ago, you and Kiro had looked like that, and you can’t help the pain that takes root in your chest, sprouting into poisonous ivies that strangle the air from your lungs - you feel suffocated.

In that moment, you curse how much you love him, the pain that it brings. Would it have been better for you to never have known him, to never have met him? Would you exchange all your precious memories if it meant that you could get rid of this agonizing longing in your chest?

Unable to answer the question, you move to grab a glass of water from the kitchen, only to see the vase of sunflowers sitting at your windowsill. You’d bought new ones from the florist weekly, to make up for the absence of brightness in your home. And yet, these sunflowers are starting to wilt as well, their heads drooping. You touch it gently with a finger and one of petals go fluttering to the ground.

“I’ll wait till the last petal falls.” You murmur quietly to yourself.

And yearning is how love shows itself - absence makes the heart grow fonder.

You pick the sunflower stems from your vase, holding them together tightly in your hand. The last petal has fallen, and it’s time to let go. It had clung on stubbornly, one last shred of hope, but in the end it had still lost to the relentless flow of time.

Moving to throw the stems in the trash, you hesitate - and in that moment, the doorbell rings.

A little bemused, you move to the door of your apartment, stems still tucked firmly in your hand.

“Hello, how can I help you-”

He stands outside your door with a smile. His blond hair is a little disheveled and he looks thinner than you’ve ever seen him, dark circles under his eyes and a weary slant to his mouth, and his smile is still the brightest thing you’ve ever seen.

It’s your Kiro.

“Sorry I’m late-” He doesn’t manage to finish his words before you’ve thrown yourself into his chest, sobbing at the sight of him, at the warmth of him. Your yearning makes itself known in the tears that soak into the fabric of his shirt, and his arms come up to wrap around you, pulling you flush against him until you can feel the steady ba-dump of his heartbeat.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Miss Chips.” His voice is hoarse.

You don’t need to apologise, you want to tell him but words would fail you right in this moment, so you only bury your face into his shoulder and hold him as tightly as you can. You must be squeezing him hard enough to suffocate, but the laughter you feel as his cheek rests against your hair tells you he doesn’t mind.

“Were you sad waiting for me?” He whispers gently, and the memory of it all vanishes like a nightmare in the morning light. Just a bad dream.

So you shake your head and pull him down into a kiss proper, feeling the softness of his lips on yours, the warmth of his mouth, and you don’t even notice the sunflowers dropping to the ground as he returns your affections tenfold.

Leave them be.

You don’t need them anymore.

#mlqc #mlqc fanfic #mlqc kiro #kiro #kiro zhou #mr love queen's choice #mr love kiro

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countessofbiscuit · 4 years

Note

For the ask thing: N, T, W for tcw :)

ヽ(゜∇゜)ノ

N: Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom.

An appreciation for how massive the GAR really is — even if you subscribe to the ridiculously low-balled canonical size of the army, Fives has no reason to be chummy with everyone, ffs. If Anakin and Obi-Wan weren’t attached at the hip, Rex and Cody would hardly ever lay eyes on each other because there is such a disparity in rank (which should indicate a wildly different brief, but lol, this is TCW, where a marshal commander leads from the trenches and a mere captain has a seat at the strategy table). Obviously, this is just a personal gripe: I don’t actually care how people choose to approach the GAR in their stories, this is all about having fun … *I* just have more fun reading fics that are somewhat grounded in realities.

Mating cycles/heats — idk it just seems to me that this fandom with a plethora of alien species to play with doesn’t explore reproductive diversity and weirdness enough.

Tolerance of clonecest (or whatever the hell you wanna call it, I use that term as shorthand; whether or not clone-on-clone maps onto IRL incest taboos is an essay for another day) — it’s just … it’s interesting to me that folks are more squicked by the possibility that two identical walking war crimes may frot because they have no one else and find some small measure of comfort in each other than, idk, the brutal realities of their lives where death, mutilation, and maiming are omnipresent — and this pervasive idea that clones are the Goodest Bois just out there wearing flower crowns and frying only droids all day makes me : \ This isn’t an exhortation for people to just ‘get over’ their squicks, but I do believe in examining them.

T: Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending?

Headcanon: Cody is not a born-again Mando nor does he have any time for whatever watered-down Mandalorian bullshit filtered down from the Spec Ops wing.

Question this headcanon first sought to answer: Why doesn’t Cody wear a kama?

Id-scratching Justification: He loves this thighs.

Plausible Justification: He likes his legs to be unencumbered for roundhouse kicks.

Solid Justification I’ve adopted from kaasknot: He earned his advanced-recon stripes in ARF not ARC school.

My Meta Justification: The line clones do not adopt Mandalorian culture or language wholesale.

I can’t even qualify this with “call me a RepComm snob, but …” because there’s even LESS foundation for the clones-are-vode idea in the new canon. From where would they have imbibed it? Outside the brief nod to Fenn Rau’s pilot instructor days on Kamino, new canon has not given us any reason to believe the line clones had Mandalorian trainers. And even if you discount new canon’s Jango-is-not-a-Mandalorian heresy, Kamino would not be at pains to emphasize their products’ connection to a culture so perennially at odds with their client (the Jedi/Republic).

Upon deployment, really almost anything goes; but to say that clone culture wouldn’t hold up pretty firm in the face of other galactic cultures is a little demeaning, and however much people absorb in their search for identity, why would the clones have immediately glomped onto Mandalorian concepts? Why not Corellian? Or Kuatian? Or Chandrillan? Or hells, even Force traditions? Someone may have pointed out to the odd clone, “hey, y’all were made in the image of a notorious Mandalorian!” and set some wheels turning, and sure, Boil was resourceful enough to do his own homework and decide that he quite liked the precepts of a certain group of Mandalorian paramilitary extremists and wanted to slap their sigil on his helmet, but there’d be such a diversity of osmotic experiences in an army of millions/billions spread out across a galaxy that I simply cannot buy the idea that the clones all woke up one fine day thinking of themselves as Mando or Mando-adjacent.

Setting aside new canon, which I find deathly dull, I prefer RepComm, with its assertion that many of the RCs are born-again Mandos after their sergeants (indeed, the Republic almost has a fifth-columnist problem in Spec Ops with the True Mando influence of the Nulls and certain Alpha ARCs), but the average line trooper view of that mentality is “y'all are a fucking cult.”

The line troops would identify firstly as brothers and soldiers of the Republic, and they would’ve had close to 0 touchpoints with the Prime Clone. In fact, many might resent the connection, especially deeper into deployment (“What has Mandalore ever done for me? They're a bunch of loose cannons — if they aren't refusing to lend a hand, they're actively leading Sep militias for pay. Fuck the lot of them,” etc. etc.). It would have required a shitton of cultural and linguistic leakage from the Spec Ops wing for the bulk of the line troopers to know even more than a handful of words in Mando’a at the time of Geonosis. (I can believe swear words would’ve been adopted hella fast, if only to fill a vacuum.)

But again, the army is not a monolith, and I am fully on board with the idea that some Alpha ARCs made it their mission to teach Vode An to every unit they came across and the sheer epicness made it wildly popular, and that they spread certain words and concepts (vod, shebs, di’kut, Manda, oya, kara, kandosii, etc.) like a rash. Or a company or two got teamed with a Mando sergeant and two squads of RCs for a month and were belting out “Coruscant'a aden mhi” by the end of it. Or a division found itself with an Alpha-ARC XO when their Jedi General's CC got popped two weeks after Geonosis and Alpha-89 wouldn’t rest until every trooper knew Dha Werda Verda by heart and backwards. Just … show me the work — why should I accept that Bly speaks fluent Mando’a in the bedroom? WHY? Invest me in your clone-culture worldbuilding!

ANYWAY, to bring this back round to my die-on-this-hill headcanon about Cody … he doesn’t like kamas or feel compelled to wear one. Setting aside fun Cody-was-an-Alpha-trained-spec-ops-intern-for-a-month-and-hated-it backstories aside, I just don’t think the dude had the time of day for all that the Manda are watching us warrior brethren, hold your buy’ce high vode, one tribe one dream osik. His identity is wrapped up in overseeing the Third Army and serving as General Kenobi’s right-hand man; on balance (if we’re trying to be realistic, see: above), Cody interacts more with natborn officers and Jedi and fellow CCs than your average ground pounder trooper, and Obi-Wan and Republic officers certainly aren’t going to wax lyrical about Mandalore anytime soon. Obviously, Marshal Fucking Commander Cody is well within his rights to read whatever he wants and talk to whomever he wants and adopt whatever beliefs and language he wants. He has all the resources at this fingertips and clearance that would probably make a lot of natborn admins in REPINT weep. But I don’t personally see him going Mando, though it amuses him to watch Rex try :p The minute Cody earnestly starts using Mando’a in a fic, I’m usually out.

W - A trope which you are virtually certain to hate in any fandom.

Hmm. I spent a good hour’s walk thinking about this and came up blank. Hate is a strong word anyway, and if it’s well-written, I can be sold on anything. But, I can almost guarantee I will never click on ABO unless it’s been recc’d or written by a friend. Not because I have any moral objection, just that it doesn’t interest me and good characterization is often lost to the mandatory ABO dynamics.

… on the flip side, I will ALWAYS click on Fuck-or-Die :D

#felt like essaying i guess #commander cody #clone troopers #GAR #clonecest #asks

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spacesnail3000 · 4 years

Text

Brooklyn’s Sweetheart Chapter 18: I Got an Eight-Ball of Yey!

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Chapter Summary: Ahh, the typical college experience: alcohol and drug abuse, handymen turned sugar daddies, and the inescapable mounting pressure to succeed as the semester progresses.

Word Count: 4,336

Warnings: Language, drinking, drug use

A/N: Hello dear readers, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I have been having so much fun writing America Chavez, Kate Bishop, and Kamala Khan, all of whom I love dearly in the comics. I think this chapter is a lot of fun and I hope you guys do too. Btw I don't condone any of the things being done in this chapter ;)

ALSO: I’ve discovered that the formatting is so weird on mobile?? It doesn’t show any of my line breaks? I want to fix it but HOW??? Why is mobile like this????

Masterlist

There was a storm cloud above her head when she entered the apartment several days later and slammed the door. When she threw herself down on the couch next to Kamala, her roommates all exchanged a look before turning their attention to her.

“How was swim practice?” Kate asked tentatively. The other girl’s hair was still wet and she was still wearing her swimsuit, only a pair of tiny spandex athletic shorts covering her.

“Ugh.”

Wanda grimaced. “How was the interview?”

Her whine was cut off as she tossed her arm over her face dramatically. “Mmmfh—”

“That bad?”

She let out a pitiful moan before falling silent.

Kamala reached out and pet her hair gently. “There, there. It’ll be okay.”

She had already had three interviews and none of them had gone well. The last one had ended when she couldn’t give a good answer as to why she would be the best candidate for the position. Utilities were due soon and she had no food of her own in the pantry. Wanda had been taking pity on her and sharing her ramen packets. On top of that, her swim coach wanted her to focus more on her breaststroke rather than freestyle, which was her preferred technique, and she already had three readings due for her classes that she was nowhere close to completing.

“I know this isn’t really helpful,” Wanda said tentatively, “But Bucky’s in your room.”

Her back straightened immediately and she shot off the couch. “What?” she nearly shouted. “Why?”

“He’s putting up shelves.”

“He wasn’t supposed to do that until next weekend!”

Rushing down the hall, she threw open her bedroom door and of course, there was Bucky, drill in hand, multiple shelves already hung up around the room. He paused when he saw her, eyes errantly raking down her figure before snapping right back up to her face.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, face heating up with anger and embarrassment at the way he was looking at her.

“Uh,” he nodded to the half-drilled shelf above his head. “Shelves?”

How the hell could Bucky act as if nothing was amiss?

“You weren’t supposed to come until next weekend!”

“Well I had time today, and I wanted to take some measurements of the kitchen, too.”

“The kitchen?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna put up some shelves in there, too. You guys don’t even have an island—I was thinking of building one, and I needed to measure the area. This place has almost no storage space, but—”

“Shut up!” she cried. “You can’t just come over like this without telling me!”

Bucky frowned and put down the drill, approaching her with his hands raised. “Whoa, doll, calm down. I just wanted to help out.”

“We don’t need help!”

“I know, but listen.” He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, and she thought about shying away, but his palms were so warm, and he was looking right into her eyes with that earnest blue gaze, and then he started talking in that deep, husky voice, tone so soft that it melted her. “I feel real bad about everything that’s happened. And I just want to do something that’ll make your life easier. You see?”

He motioned around to the shelves he had already put up, and that’s when she got a good look at them. There were some hung up low above her bed that she could use as a bedside table. A long line of shelves and cabinets hung along the wall to the side, some with hooks, some with rods, so she could hang up her clothes. On the opposite wall there was a larger shelf down low positioned as a makeshift desk, her desk chair already tucked underneath, and above it, more cabinets and shelves.

“And I knew you were gonna need a place to study,” Bucky was saying, “So you can use this one as a desk. There should be plenty of space up here for your books,” he ran his hand along the cabinets above. “And I was considering building you something else, maybe something with drawers that you can use as a dresser, maybe something that slides under your bed—but I didn’t know how much space would be left.”

She looked around again, then walked to the little desk and ran her hand across it. The wood was smooth and glossy, a warm color that didn’t detract too much light from the room. They all matched, so she knew he really did make them all himself. She recalled that his grandfather was a carpenter. Bucky must have learned a few things before he passed away.

“I also brought you something,” he said, startling her out of her thoughts.

“What?”

“A little housewarming gift.” From out of nowhere, he pulled out a small potted plant, a succulent in a soft green color with stubby little protrusions. “They’re called Baby Toes.”

She frowned at the small plant that did indeed look like the toes of an infant. It was all too much at once—the shelves, the plant, the kindness in his eyes.

“Please say something, doll.”

Realizing that he was still holding the plant out to her with a worried expression on his face, his vulnerability hitting her straight in the heart, she looked back up at him, eyes shining a little bit. She chewed on her lip, then gave him a small smile; she was a little ashamed at her anger at him before. Her voice was soft as she took the small plant, “Thank you, Bucky.”

“You like it?” he asked hopefully. “And the shelves?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“I’m glad.”

He hid his triumphant grin from her as he finished putting up the last of the shelves, and he didn’t say anything about how she placed the plant on the shelf underneath her window and opened the blinds for the sun to reach through.

Once he was done, they went into the main room where he took measurements for shelves for the kitchen and living room. He was all business, barely speaking to any of the girls as they chattered amongst themselves.

Once he was done, he said, “I’ll be back in a few days to put them up.” Y/N walked him out and stood in the hallway to say goodbye to him.

“Thanks again, Bucky,” she said, still slightly chagrinned at her previous treatment of him. “The shelves are really nice, and helpful, and the plant is really cute.”

“Of course, doll.” The sincere smile on his face was the honest one he would always give when he felt his heart swell with love for her, the same smile he gave her on the night of her birthday when he told her she was beautiful. “I’d do anything for you.”

Her face heated up again, this time from the way her heart fluttered in her chest. Bucky pulled her in for a hug, lingering for a moment before bidding her goodbye again.

The next time she saw Bucky was a few days later, Friday afternoon.

She was back from class and she didn’t have swim practice, which was a relief because her muscles were aching terribly from the last week of training and drills meant to whip her back into shape. Her immediate plan was to take a hot bath and work on the 30-page required reading about Mesopotamia for her history course; then she would perhaps consider letting Wanda drag her to the house party that she had been talking about all week.

But then Bucky was in the kitchen, the shrill buzz of his drill working the shelves into the wall combined with the fact that he was shirtless disrupting every single rational thought she almost had.

Kamala and Wanda were perched on the couch, eyes raking over the muscles and tattoos covering his back and arms. America and Kate—who had literally not had eyes for anyone but each other since they had all moved in together—were the only ones who noticed the girl in the doorway, whose mind was also shorting out by the sight of Bucky half-naked.

“Hey,” America greeted her. “How was class?”

“Uh.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Um.”

“Good talk.”

Bucky was alerted to her presence then, and he turned around and sent that bright smile at her. “Hey, darling. How was class?”

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

Kate made quite an unbecoming snort at this, but Bucky seemed to ignore it. “I think your AC’s broken,” he answered, his tanned wrist coming up to wipe sweat from his forehead. “Was gonna take a look at it once I finish with these shelves.”

“Oh.”

“Can’t you feel how hot it is in here?” America asked pointedly.

Well, she had chalked up the heat to the blush that was surely spread far and wide over her body at the sight of Bucky’s tattoos, ones she had once fantasized running her hands and lips over in the throes of passion—

“I have homework to do!”

With that, she hurried to her room, shutting herself away and sitting at her desk with the intent of doing her readings. However, she stared at the words in her textbook and didn’t take in a single word about the ancient language of the Sumerians or the legacy of the Akkadian Empire or the significance of the Epic of Gilgamesh for the better part of an hour.

Instead, she listened through the walls as Bucky and her roommates chatted, as he finished up putting a bunch of shelves in their apartment, and as he somehow magically got the AC unit working after fiddling with the filter or something for five minutes.

When a light knock came on her door and Bucky let himself into her room, he was thankfully wearing a shirt, and his hair was pulled into a little bun at the nape of his neck. “Hey, doll,” he greeted her. “Wanted to check in on you.”

Now that she didn’t have to see so much of his skin, she could think. “Hi.” Yet somehow that’s all she managed to say.

Bucky walked around, looking at the shirts and dresses she had hung up on the racks, the books and pictures she had placed on the shelves, and the succulent on her windowsill. Then he wandered back over to her and glanced over the desk, half of which held her beauty products, and the other half held her laptop and study materials.

“I have something for you.”

Her eyes grew wider and she frowned. “Bucky, you can’t keep bringing me stuff.” It harkened back to when her father would “apologize” for his cruelty with shiny gifts and meaningless gestures.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said honestly, “But I saw it in a shop and it reminded me of you.” Kneeling in front of her, he fished a little velvet bag out of his jeans, handing it to her and looking at her expectantly.

She sighed and pulled it open, then dumped the contents of the bag onto her open palm. It was a small bracelet made of intertwined white string, a line of tiny rose quartz beads woven in the middle.

“Bucky,” she tried to protest, pushing it towards him. “You shouldn’t have—”

“Sweetheart, just take the bracelet,” he laughed. “Barely cost me anything.”

Well, it wasn’t extravagant like her father would always go for. It was just a simple gesture… practically meaningless. Right?

“Help me put it on?”

He grinned and obliged, big fingers fumbling with tying the tiny strings around her thin wrist. “There,” he said once he finally tightened the knot. “Perfect.” He looked into her eyes as he said the word and his intense stare made her feel hot all over.

Looking back at her reading, she tapped her highlighter on the pages of her book. “So,” she said. “You fixed the AC?”

“Yep,” he answered. “And took measurements for an island in the kitchen. I’m gonna measure underneath your bed now, too. I’ll make you some little drawers you can pull out and put clothes in.”

“Oh—okay—” she said, watching as he stood and pulled a tape measure from his pocket. He was quick, writing the numbers down on a little notepad, sticking his pencil behind his ear. When he finished, he turned and saw her watching.

Holding her gaze, he stalked towards her, towering above her in her desk chair. Goosebumps raised over her arms at his predatory gaze, like he was stalking his prey—or playing with it.

“What’re you reading?” he asked, leaning down over her shoulder to get a good look at her papers. “Mesopotamia, huh?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her mouth dry. This close, she could smell him, tobacco and cologne, a little bit of sweat. It threw her back to the first night he took her, when he was so sweet, and to the night they punished her so horribly, her ass stinging as she rode his cock. He was so warm against her shoulder, and she felt like she was vibrating.

He pulled back to look at her face, still very close. “You’re so smart.”

“I—” Why did she always feel so warm inside when he complimented her?

Then he was gone, standing up and away from her. “Listen, I have to get going. I’ll be back in a few days once I’m done with the island and the drawers. Alright?”

“Okay.” She was still in a sort of daze from their proximity, from his compliments, his body heat.

“You need anything, just call me.”

“Okay.”

She walked him out and he pulled her into a big hug just outside the front door, placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

“See you later.”

When she came back into the house, she collapsed on the couch.

“Why do you look like that?” Kate asked. She and America were in the kitchen filling up the shelves with everything that had been sitting on the counters for the past week while Kamala and Wanda sat at the kitchen table doing homework.

“Like what?”

“Sad,” Wanda answered. “You look sad.”

She huffed. “I’m not sad. I’m just… I don’t know. Wanda, why do I miss him so much?”

“Who, Bucky?”

“Yes, Bucky!”

Kamala answered, “Because he’s a total sweetheart. Seriously—why did you even break up?”

Y/N looked at Wanda and they shared a glance. “It’s complicated.” She hadn’t even told Wanda the entire story—just that they were somehow involved in her father’s murder and that she couldn’t live with them anymore. She had barely told Wanda the extent of her relationship with Steve and Bucky—only that she had kissed both of them, and they both seemed to like her.

“Listen, it’s totally normal to miss an ex after a breakup,” Wanda said.

America added, “But not so normal for your ex to come in and do a bunch of nice things for you afterwards.”

“Well he clearly wants back into your pants,” Kate said. “Otherwise he wouldn’t be doing all this.”

It hurt to think that Bucky’s motivations were simply to get her back. “Can’t he be doing nice things just for the sake of being nice?”

“No,” the girls all said together.

“But we don’t really know the circumstances of your breakup,” Kamala pointed out. She was ever the optimist. “I believe that people can change, and I believe in second chances. Maybe this is that.”

“Ugh, don’t give her ideas,” America groaned. “Girl, you need to move on from him.”

“Hey, you agreed with me earlier when I said how swoon-worthy Bucky is.”

“Kamala, he’s a hot guy who comes over to our house and builds us shelves for our kitchen. How can I not swoon a little?”

“Ugh, guys,” Y/N groaned. “Not helping!”

Wanda stood and sat by her friend, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. “I have just the thing to cheer you up. A little rager in Greenwich Village is the perfect remedy to a broken heart!” She wiggled her fingers around in her face, as if it was a magic trick that could cure her gloom.

“I don’t know if that’s really the case, Wan,” America said, skepticism written on her face as she tutted.

“You’re right. Copious amounts of drugs and alcohol are the real cure. Time to break out the Tito’s!”

The month of September carried on in much the same fashion. Between the rigor of her classes and her grueling swim practices, she somehow managed to get a part-time job as a waitress, barely getting fifteen hours a week. Bucky would stop by every week or so to repair something or put up furniture that he built himself, and he would always bring little gifts.

An embossed leather journal for her to take notes in; a vintage art piece he hung up on her wall; a new set of nice markers to draw with.

“I hope you’re still drawing,” he said one day. “You’re a great artist.”

He’d shower her with compliments, encourage her when she struggled with her many obligations, and never stopped offering to fix up things around the house.

Between class, homework, swim, work, and Bucky, she went out with Wanda and the girls regularly. She found out that she loved vodka, hated tequila (after a particularly monstrous hangover), and was intrigued by the party drugs she seemed to see everywhere, but too nervous to take them.

It was all a good distraction from her inner turmoil, her heart aching whenever she thought of Bucky.

He had always been her friend, she had always cherished the connection they had, and it seemed like it was all thrown away in a matter of a few days. It hurt to think about and all she wanted was for things to be like they used to be.

Kamala said she was mourning the loss of a relationship and it was normal to feel this way. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

Ultimately, she missed Bucky. She missed Bucky with so much of her heart, it hurt. She got so excited whenever he stopped by, her heart beating a race in her chest, although she wouldn’t show it. Secretly, she looked forward to each visit, and had occasionally asked him over for repairs every so often.

The shower head really had needed replacing, and the lock on her window really had been jammed. If she got to see Bucky while he fixed it, then maybe it didn’t bother her so much.

Sometimes she did wonder if she was playing into his trap—and then she would look at him, joking about something, eyes lit up whenever he looked at her, and she knew he wasn’t the type to try and manipulate her like that. Truthfully, she had always felt safe around Bucky, aside from those few specific instances all those weeks ago. But he had always kept her safe, secure.

She was being paranoid. That was all.

And then there was Steve, who Bucky mentioned a few times in passing, but never brought up more than that. She thought about Steve sometimes, about the man he used to be, and the man he had turned into.

She missed him, too—only the soft parts, though. The man who held her in bed in the morning and ran his fingers across her skin. The man who bought her pretty trinkets just for her delight. But that man seemed to be lost to rage and violence.

Or maybe they were the same man the whole time and she never realized. How had she missed how dark and angry Steve had become, but more than that, how had she failed to do anything to help him, to prevent him from falling down a hole so dark and deep that he could never crawl out?

She thought of him when she sketched in her notebook, whenever she broke out her watercolor paints and used the techniques he showed her over the summer.

One day, Kate looked over her shoulder as she painted at the kitchen table and asked, “Aw, you’re painting your sugar daddy? Who’s that guy next to him?”

“Ugh, Bucky’s not my sugar daddy.”

Wanda peaked across the table at the drawing. “That’s her other boyfriend.”

“Steve is not my boyfriend!” The vehemence in her voice shocked the other girls.

“Woah, fine, okay. He’s her sugar daddy’s boyfriend.”

“Oh my God, he is not!”

Then a knock sounded on the door, startling them out of their teasing. Kamala stood from the couch to answer it, announcing, “It’s Bucky!” even though they could all see the front door from the kitchen.

Bucky entered the apartment with one of their kitchen chairs which he had taken to repair a few days ago when it broke. “I’ve got the chair,” he said, “Fixed the leg and sanded it down a little, too.”

“Oh, Bucky, our hero,” Wanda teased as he set the chair next to her at the table.

“We really should pay you for being our own personal handyman,” Kate added.

He grinned at them. “I would never charge you ladies—it’s my pleasure.” Then he turned to the third girl at the table, running his hand over her shoulder. “How’s it going, doll?”

“Fine,” she answered, a little shorter than usual on account of her friends’ insinuations just before his arrival.

“What’re you working on?” He leaned over her, pressing the weight of his hand into her shoulder, and a soft grin slowly grew over his face as the photo. “That looks real nice, sweetheart.”

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly, shoving the paper away from herself, embarrassed. “I really should be working on homework.”

He pulled away from her, a sly grin stretching his mouth. “Whatever you say. Hey, what’re you doing on Friday night?”

“Homework,” she answered automatically. “Uh—probably.”

He chuckled at her and asked, “Could you spare a couple hours away from homework and come to dinner with me?”

She was silent for a moment, then stuttered. “Uh—”

“She’d love to!” Wanda interjected. “Pick her up at 6! We’ll make sure she’s ready.” Wanda received a sharp glare from her friend, but she ignored it.

“Great, thanks, Wanda,” Bucky said, beaming at her before turning his smile back on the girl who stole his heart. “Dress nice, I’m taking you someplace fancy. Oh, before I forget—” He fished around in his pants pocket before pulling out a small rectangular box. “I want you to wear this. Okay?” She took it hesitantly and nodded. “Good, I’ll see you Friday, sweetheart.” He bent down to give her a kiss on the top of her head before heading out the door.

Once he was gone, Y/N turned to Wanda. “What the hell?” she exclaimed. “Why would you do that!”

Wanda scoffed. “Listen, you’ve been dancing around him all month.”

“For a reason!”

“Not a good one! He’s proven that he’s a nice person! He gives you gifts! He fixes our shitty apartment! He calls you sweetheart! And you’re crazy about him, we can all see it!”

“You know what he did, Wanda!”

“What did he even do?” America asked. “You never told us.”

Y/N sighed and looked pointedly at Wanda, who shrugged and answered, “You guys really don’t want to know. Anyways, you don’t have to fall in love with him! But I’ve been trying to hook you up for the last month and you refuse to go on any dates! You’ve been way too uptight, so you need to have some fun—and get laid.”

At the insinuation that she would have sex with Bucky, she choked on her own spit. “I’m not going to have sex with him!”

“But he’s your sugar daddy, he gives you gifts for sex!” Kate said.

“That’s prostitution, Kate,” America scoffed. “But what’s in the box?”

She had almost forgotten about the box laying on the table next to her paintbrush. She opened it carefully and tries to suppress a smile. It was a thin gold chain with a dainty ruby pendant at the end, simple and sweet.

“What were you saying about Bucky not being your sugar daddy?” America asked dryly.

Kate helped her clasp the necklace together. The pendant fell just below the dip of her collarbone. Wanda grinned, “You need to date this boy or I will.”

Kamala protested, “Hey, you already have a girlfriend. Leave some hotties for the rest of us!”

Y/N sighed and took the necklace off, shoving it back in the box. “Well, it’s too bad, because I’m too busy to date him anyways.”

“Speaking of which, don’t you have a shift in like, a half an hour?” Kamala asked, pointing to the clock on the stove.

“Yes, I do. Thanks for reminding me.”

America snorted. “Yeah, you need all the hours you can get. Utilities are due on the first of the month.”

“Ugh, I know, but they only scheduled me for one shift this week. I’ll figure it out.”

She went to get ready and Wanda followed her into her room. “You know, if you need more money, I can get you a shift at the Widow’s Web.”

Y/N frowned, grabbing her nametag from her desk. “I don’t know…”

“C’mon, upstairs is just waitressing, and now that Natasha’s Manhattan location is open, it’s a shorter train ride.”

“Maybe,” Y/N shrugged. “I’ll think about it. I gotta go, though. I’ll see you later.”

The rest of the week passed in a blur. A 6-page essay on the contributing factors to the Collapse of the Bronze Age; a chemistry exam that she got a C- on; an art project due for her drawing class. A visit to the athletic department’s physical therapist to look at her shoulder, which had been hurting since she started switching up her stroke style. One 4-hour shift at the diner. Not enough money in her bank account for bills, so she had to take out of her savings. Again.

“Well if you take a few shifts at the Widow’s Web, you’ll earn back that money in no time,” Wanda said with a bright smile as she shuffled through the dresses Y/N owned. It was Friday evening and Bucky would be around to pick her up in a half hour. Her hair and makeup were done, all courtesy of Wanda. The ruby necklace was already sitting in place on her neck.

“I know,” she sighed. “With the way I’m burning through my savings, I won’t have enough money to make it to senior year.”

“Ooh!” Wanda squealed, pulling a swathe of dark fabric from a hanger. “This is perfect!”

“It’s a little revealing…”

“Uh, yeah. Duh. Put it on!”

With a sigh, Y/N pulled the dress on over her undergarments. The shin-length dress was a deep navy blue with delicate white flowers spotting the fabric, thin straps and a deep V-neck revealing much of her chest. She looked in the mirror with a frown. “I don’t know… It shows my bra!”

“Take your bra off, then. C’mon, this is probably the least revealing thing you’ve worn all semester, especially considering some of the things I manage to get you in for parties!”

It was true; Wanda was partial to miniskirts and crop tops, and whenever Y/N allowed her to dress her up like a little doll, that was often the result. “Fine,” she grunted, pulling off her bra and then adjusting the straps of the dress. Her sigh of exasperation was cut short by a knock on the door.

“He’s here!” Wanda squealed, running out to get it.

“He’s early!”

“Put on your shoes!” Wanda yelled back at her.

She huffed but obliged, buckling up the strappy heels that paired with the dress. As she heard Wanda answer the door, she completed her outfit with a simple gold bracelet, stud earrings, and a spritz of a floral perfume.

Then she walked into the living room, and her greeting to Bucky died out in a gasp as she saw who stood in the living room instead of her date, her stomach twisting up and turning sour. “Steve, what?”

He smiled, pink lips surrounded by a full golden beard that hadn’t been there before. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, crossing her arms across her chest, shy at the way his eyes dragged across her form.

“Bucky was called away for something by Tony,” he answered. “Buck didn’t want to have to cancel on you, so he sent me instead.”

She was frozen for a moment, voice stopped in her throat by something sticky and unpleasant, but then she blurted out what every molecule in her body was screaming. “No.”

He raised his eyebrows. “No?”

“No,” she repeated, voice stronger now. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Steve. Get out.”

“Honey—”

“No! I’m serious, Steve, get out, right now. I’m not going on a date with you.”

Hurt flashed across his face, lips forming a pout in an impressive display of manipulative emotion. She could feel all of her roommates’ eyes on her. He said her name, softly, almost a whisper, and it almost worked, almost made her heart jump back on board with him.

But her resolve held strong, even as her skin itched at the memory of his touch.

“Our neighbor is a cop, Steve,” she said, pointing in the general direction of the apartment next to them. “Get out. Now. I’m not playing your game anymore.”

Pressing his lips together, he let out a long sigh. “Fine,” he replied, not clipped or short like he had been in the past, but gentle and accepting. “Have a good night, darling.”

And then he left, just like that.

It was silent in the apartment, only the sound of Steve’s footsteps growing quieter at he went down the hall.

Then, finally, America broke the silence. “Damn,” she said. “He must’ve really fucked up to get that treatment from you.”

“I’m going to bed.”

And with that, she retreated back to her room, locking the door behind her, hiding underneath a blanket, and ignoring every time her roommates tried to check on her.

She tried to tell herself that her heart hurt because Bucky had bailed on their date. But she couldn’t help but regret not going with Steve, wondering where he would’ve taken her, what they would’ve talked about, and if it would’ve been anything like how things used to be, so long ago.

Half of her felt justified in her reaction to him, angry that he had the gall to show up and expect her to go out with him, just like that, no apology, nothing. The other half of her felt so bad, and guilty, and it kept replaying the look of hurt on his face at her rejection, his defeat as he left the apartment. And more than that, he had actually respected her wishes, and he left. That had to count for something, right? Maybe he wasn’t all bad.

These conflicting emotions warred inside her for the better part of the next week. It didn’t help that Bucky didn’t come by or text her that entire week, and that made her so confused, like she had done something wrong and now he was mad at her for it.

Was he mad? Was he mad that she rejected Steve? Should she have texted him during the week instead? (Not that she hadn’t drafted about 57 messages to him and then deleted them before sending a single word).

Why was all of this so fucking complicated?

So her turmoil continued throughout another four discussion assignments for each of her classes, one shift at work, and five grueling swim practices in a row, until that Friday, when she came home and cried so hard in the shower that her roommates looked at her with pity in their eyes when they came out.

“Listen,” Wanda said her name and took her shoulders, forcing her to make eye contact despite her puffy red eyes. “You need to come out with us and have fun. And get super drunk and fuck someone else. Forget about Bucky and Steve. They’re old news.”

America piped up then, an enthusiastic, “Hey I got an eight-ball of yey! That’ll make you feel better!”

And at that point, she was so fucking tired of feeling sad, and feeling guilty, and feeling angry, and feeling conflicted over the stupid boys in her life.

“You know what, you’re right. Let’s go out tonight!”

It took one shot of Tito’s to get her into the silk minidress Wanda picked out, another to get her out of the apartment and to the club they picked downtown (courtesy of a fake ID provided to her by Kate), and an entire margarita to get her into the bathroom of the bar with a line of coke in front of her, awaiting her nose.

“Okay, cut that in half, America, she can’t snort that whole thing!” Wanda said, regulating the line America laid out for her. They had already both had their turns.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Y/N asked, uncertainty in her tone.

America rolled her eyes. “Dude, it’s cocaine. Do you wanna be safe, or do you wanna forget about Buck-nasty and Steve Buscemi?”

“Oh my fucking God,” Wanda snorted, “But she’s right, just do the line. We’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”

“We do this all the time,” Kate reassured her.

“Uh, I don’t,” Kamala pointed out, ever the more conservative partier of the group.

Y/N looked at herself in the mirror, then rolled her eyes. “Whatever, fuck it.” It burned her nostrils going in and when she brought her head up, she thought her nose was bleeding, but there was no blood, and it was numb all the way into her sinuses and down her throat. “Holy shit!”

Every cell and atom in her body was charged and alert, like she had chugged six cups of coffee all at once or injected it into her veins. Her hands were shaking, but she barely registered that as euphoria and elation swept through her. Skin tingling, shivering, a smile swept over her face.

“How do you feel?” Wanda asked as Kate snorted the rest of the powder on the counter.

Y/N giggled and threw her arms up. “Oh my God!” She gasped, “Let’s go dance!”

Throughout the night, they hopped around to a few different clubs across the city, and they danced and drank and she took whatever drugs Wanda gave her, including more cocaine and a little purple pill that she slipped in her mouth and made her feel sososo good. Suddenly, she couldn’t even think about anything but the beat of the music shaking her bones and making tsunamis in her blood and the way her skin felt so soft and smooth, and how nice it felt when the people around her danced against her body.

The lights twirled in her eyes and on her skin and they almost tickled against her skin, so funny that she laughed and laughed until her stomach cramped and someone pushed another drink into her hand. Tequila burned her lips and she didn’t mind it as much as she normally did especially with the fresh burst of the lime that Wanda shoved between her lips when she almost gagged.

She lost track of time, and places, and people. All she knew was the bass in her skull and the bodies against her, dancing to the rhythm like a séance or a ritual or something almost spiritual.

Denim pants against her legs, and someone’s mesh crop top on her palms, and long silky hair gliding against her bare arms, and soft lips on her neck, and sticky lip gloss stains left on her skin. Hands, hands everywhere, pushing up her dress, touching her through the silk, and God, the feeling of her own silk dress on her skin felt so good, she just had to rub her own belly and sides and hips for the feeling—

And heat, so much heat, rising up her chest and suffocating her brain. She couldn’t get a breath of fresh air, she was breathing through a plastic bag, and she turned to the person she thought was Wanda and gasped, “I’m gonna go outside for a second!”

After she made her way through the bodies and out the doors, the fresh air felt so clean on her face, and she broke out in goosebumps as the sweat covering her body evaporated into the brisk October air.

Wait—wait, wait, wait a second. She knew the bridge in front of the club. And what did that familiar street sign say? Or was she hallucinating from the copious amounts of drugs she took?

Were they in Brooklyn? She didn’t even remember taking the subway!

The streetlights and cars swam in her vision, twisting and twirling like the fucking Tilt-A-Whirl at Coney Island, which definitely wasn’t as fun as Bucky insisted it was, and this felt exactly like that.

She turned and leaned her hands on her knees and panted like she had just swam a 100-meter race with her shitty breaststroke.

“You okay, girl?” The voice was deep, maybe the bouncer, she wasn’t sure, all she could see was the concrete and her toenails painted blue, poking out through her heels.

But she managed a reply, her words slurred around the numbness of her tongue, “Yeah! Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m great, yeah.”

“Uh—”

And then, very casually, she face-planted into the brick wall beside her.

201 notes · View notes

olivenight17 · 4 years

Text

Fluffvember Day 13 Part 2- Soulmate

Hello! I’m here to bring fluff and a wonderful sunshine boi! It uh... it got sad, I’m not gonna lie. It’s not total angst, everyone’s okay in the end. It’s just a little bit sad lol, I’m sorry! My mind ran before I could stop it. And hey @literally-just-mirio-headcanons I know you love Mirio, so have this! I’m sorry I made him sad lol

And, I’m not sure if this soulmate au actually exists, but I thought this up in my own head. This is my original soulmate au, where you can see the emotions your soulmate is feeling and it changes as their emotions at that point in time do. It affects how you see the world as you can only see the world in the various tones of whatever emotion your soulmate is feeling. You can tell when you’ve met them because they’re the only ones not affected by it, they’ll be the only ones who look normal and not in the same colors as the emotions. Also, if the soulmate is dead or unconscious, the world reverts back to how human sight and colors usually work. Hopefully that makes sense 😅

Also, I should probably put this here WARNING: This contains some manga spoilers about Mirio, so if you’d like to stay manga spoiled free, I’m afraid this won’t be quite for you.

Well, have fun you guys! Gotta say I like how this turned out, hopefully you do too.

———————————————————————

Mirio x Reader “Soulmate”

For a majority of your life, you had always seen the world in yellow hues. It was as if someone had put a filter over your eyes and the color was everywhere you looked. There was an occasion or two where the world turned blue or red, sometimes even gray, but it always seemed to leave as quickly as it came. In those moments, you created your own happiness, hoping to put some yellow back into your soulmate’s life.

It was comforting, having that sign of happiness in your life. However silent it was, it encouraged you to push through tough times and even helped you figure out your goal to help people. That goal started with UA. You took a deep breath as you walked through the school. The world around you was practically glowing with golden colors, and you couldn’t help but grin, apparently both you and your soulmate were having a good day. Peering down at your schedule, you checked one last time which classroom you were headed to first, looking up in confusion when the yellow was so bright you could barely read the words on the paper. Then, warm hands clasped around your shoulders.

Before you stood a blond haired boy with bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile. You felt your jaw drop in shock. You could see him in full colors, his figure not being filtered in yellow like your surroundings.

“Hey there! You’re my soulmate! Wow, you’re way prettier than I imagined. Not to say that I didn’t think you wouldn’t be pretty, because I did! You’re just more beautiful actually seeing you…” He started to ramble, but you weren’t quite getting everything, still coming to grips with the fact you had finally met him. This was the person giving you so much energy and support these past few years without even knowing it. Eventually, he paused and tilted his head with a smile. “Well, everything around you is starting to go white, so your mind’s either going blank because this is kinda surprising or you’re showing me how much of an angel you really are.” He gave you a lopsided grin as you felt heat spread across your cheeks like a wildfire.

On top of being energetic and happy, he was apparently also charming.

Trying to clear your head, you stuck out your hand. “Well, I don’t give out answers like that until I know your name. I’m (Y/N), it’s nice to meet you.”

He took your hand, shaking it gently but eagerly. “The name’s Mirio, it’s nice to meet you too.” His eyes trailed down to the schedule you still had in your other hand and he was quick to take out his own. “Hey, which classes do you have, maybe we have some together!” You switched schedules, only to find you had just about every class together, save for homeroom and math. “Darn, I was hoping to get to know you more on the way to homeroom, but I’m in the opposite direction. Oh well, I’ll see you in English though!”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his enthusiasm as you both began splitting off. “Don’t keep me waiting!” You called out, waving as he turned to face you.

“I can’t make you wait more than I already have.” He joked with a wink before disappearing around the corner.

The days seemed to fly the more time you spent with Mirio, only three years had passed and yet it felt like you had known him your whole life. Hanging out with him and the rest of the big three, goofing off with him, it all felt right. It was like everything finally clicked into place being with him, knowing you treasured him as much as he treasured you.

You hummed quietly as you thought about it, dropping some ramen noodles into your cart. Mirio had been on a lot of patrols lately and he said something about a secret mission he was handling. Though you were curious, you didn’t want to get him in trouble talking about something he shouldn’t be, which resulted in the surprise dinner you were making him when he got back tonight. It was a small reward for working so hard. Just as you dropped the last item in your cart, the world switched from yellow to a somber red. Mirio was probably getting ready to fight or save someone.

Thinking nothing of the change in his emotions, you went to the checkout area and began pulling out your money to pay.

“That’ll be $36.78, ma’am.”

“Alright, here it all-” Your body froze as the world changed color once again. Everything around you flashed a bright white before black overtook your surroundings, it was so dark you were sure you had gone blind. You dropped the cash you were holding, something was wrong. Something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” The cashier leaned towards you cautiously as you blinked.

Quickly, you collected yourself and managed to find the money, putting it on the counter. “I’m fine, I’m sorry. I just remembered something.” You told her briskly.

She nodded at you and the second she handed you the bags, you were out of the store, fishing around in your pocket for your phone. You pressed call at least five times and each time you were left with no answer. Panic was already bubbling inside of you, twisting and churning your gut. Nejire and Tamaki said they hadn’t seen him and you were at your ropes end when you saw a tv through a store window. There was a bunch of rubble where the reporter was standing, then you saw the headline. “Young Hero in Training ‘Lemillion’ Injured.”

Your blood turned to ice, and you were forgetting how to breathe. Glancing over the subtitles, you caught the name of the hospital and took off running. You pushed the doors open, frantically looking around to see if you could find him, fighting against the nurses urging you to sit down. “No, my boyfriend, he’s here, he got injured. His name’s Mirio Togata, his hero name is Lemillion, where did you put him? I need to see him!” You shouted at them, desperately trying to wrench your arms out of their grasp. “Get off of me, I need to see him! He has to be alive, I...I can’t see his emotions.” The realization all but slapped you in the face as you looked around. The world looked...normal. There wasn’t a strong color presence, it all looked ordinary. Bile began to rise in your throat.

The strength in your body left you and you all but collapsed into the nurses arms as they dragged you to a chair. You gripped onto one of them. “Can you at least tell me he’s alive?” You rasped, blinking back the tears that were trying to fall.

The nurse gave you a pitying look. “The last I saw, he was in surgery. We’ll tell you if anything happens.” After that, the nurse was gone.

There was a cold emptiness that stayed with you as you waited, sitting in that chair for hours as you hoped and prayed that he would be alright, that he’d be alive. Scenarios circled in your mind to save you from the despair that was threatening to crash over your head to drown you. Walking in the park with Mirio, going to get ice cream, laughing at all of the ridiculous faces he made to get you to smile. You were so lost in your own head, you barely registered the nurse in front of you, or the gray tones that were overtaking your vision. Slowly, you looked up at her. She had a smile on her face. “Mr. Togata is out of surgery, he’s resting well in room 203, you can visit him if you’d like.” Practically jumping out of your seat, you thanked her as you began to look for the room, but she caught your arm. “There’s one more thing you should know… he got hit with a bullet, this bullet had special properties and he no longer has his quirk.” She explained, letting go of you.

Stiffly, you nodded, before going to find him. When you found the room you were looking for, you stepped in, finding Mirio’s figure facing away from you, hunched over in a sitting position on the bed. “Mirio…?”

He turned to you, face almost completely covered in bandages, as well as the rest of his body, but he still had a smile on his face. “Hey, Sunshine.” He chuckled weakly, barely getting the words out before you rushed towards him, hugging him as tightly as you could. “Woah, it’s okay. I’m okay.” His arms wrapped around you, finally settling your frazzled nerves.

“I was so scared, you were passed out, I couldn’t see your emotions. I-I thought you were…” You trailed off, sniffling as you buried your head into his shoulder.

“I know, but I’m not. Everything’s fine, I’ll be in tip top shape in no time.” He tried to reassure you, but you could hear the emptiness in his words and the heavy gray that surrounded you suddenly became more prominent.

Taking a deep breath, you started thinking of happy things. Puppies playing in the park, the prank Nejire had pulled on Mirio last week, every good memory you could think of flooded into your head all at once. You were almost starting to giggle about it. “Sunshine, what are you doing?” Mirio asked and you pulled back to look at him with a smile.

You took his hands and you squeezed them, rubbing your thumbs along the skin in a comforting manner. “Mirio, before I even met you, you made me happy. Even on my darkest days, when I wanted to curl up into my bed and stop existing, your feelings of happiness kept me going. Even though all you could do was give me the color yellow, you gave me hope that things could be better and encouraged me. You gave me happiness when I couldn’t even muster any for myself.” Your eyes met his as you continued. “So, I think it’s only fair that I repay the favor. I know what happened, and I know it’s going to take some time to come to terms with this. I’ll be your support until then. You won’t go through this alone.”

You leaned your forehead against his, and kissed the tip of his nose. There was still a shaky smile on his lips and his eyes looked misty before he leaned in, capturing your lips with his. You happily complied, placing your hands on either side of his face. Eventually, he pulled back and brought you into a tight hug, clutching onto you like a lifeline and burying his head in the crook of your neck. You rubbed his back gently.

“You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay…”

#bnha #mha #fluffvember #fluff #bnha x reader #mirio #mirio togata #mirio x reader #mirio togata x reader #bnha mirio #bnha mirio x reader #minor angst #manga spoilers #soulmate #soulmate au

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