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nincompoopydoo · 3 years

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DEBRIS AND MISERY

CURIOUS MINDS THINK ALIKE ; PART 5 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.1k SUMMARY: Through guessing games and walking on eggshells, it’s you and Loki that dance the strange choreography of two curious minds trying to figure out the other. A/N: Slow moving chapter! If any of you speak Norwegian and know that sentence is wrong, please tell me! I took a risk, not sure if it's worth it. Anyways, I promise there’s more stuff coming in the next chapters. Tell me anything about this chapter, what you love, what you hate. Enjoy xo gif from this gifset by@marvelheroes WARNINGS: Swearing? More paperwork. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

The narration of Miss Minutes accompanying the grainy animated graphics of a training video on how, why, and when a branch of a timeline is reset seems to be the source of Loki’s absentmindedness. If he is typically referred to as outrageously and mostly unnecessarily communicative, it is his mind that beats his mouth—the tumult of his thoughts is loud and overwhelming like the people who amass at taverns every evening to drink themselves silly whilst singing jolly drinking songs until the wee hours of the morning. Except, his thoughts are far from jolly. He, mastermind of language and a silver-tongue, has no words of any language to describe the complexity of his mind with accuracy.

Kraftig regn som faller i en fossende elv.

Like heavy rain falling on a cascading river. Water from the sky on water streaming through the ground—thunderous raindrops from above against the river that strikes every rock of every winding turn.

Those were the words of his mother.

Maybe, that’s how his mind should be described.

It’s the mechanical creaks of spinning wheels against the polished floor that pulls him out of his thoughts and finds that he had been staring blankly at a page of men riding jet skis of a magazine he'd nipped from the stack of junk on Mobius’ desk for the last minute or hour. A second or a day? He isn’t sure.

Time works differently at the TVA.

“Hey Casey,” he hears you chime, the cart squeaks as it pulls to a halt. “Do you have a paperweight or something I could use?”

There’s a sound of rummaging as the clerk searches the drawers. Loki restrains the urge to look.

“Uh, yeah...Here.”

“Thanks.”

Probably an infinity stone.

The clerk then wheels by, pushing the evidence cart as he casts a cautious glance his way.

Right. He did threaten to gut him like a fish earlier on although the threat was not as deadly as he intended but proved to be surprisingly effective. Yet, Casey is probably the type to be afraid of his own shadow, he would comply with any sort of threat even if it isn't death.

Pathetic. But amusing.

The training video continues to play in the background, and Miss Minutes’ stupidly charming and cheery voice is starting to sound like gibberish to him. At this rate, it’s white noise to him—attention elsewhere but somewhat listening to a certain extent. He loves multi-tasking and isn’t afraid to admit he’s great at it though it likely plays a huge factor in contributing to the uproar of his brain. It’s why he doesn’t get any sleep for most nights.

There’s just...so much to think about.

And now, it’s filled with the reminder of how you met another version of him. Somewhere. Sometime. An inferior Loki, obviously.

Suddenly, the jet ski magazine becomes less interesting, his mind fleeting.

Discreetly, he spins in his swivel chair and sees you through inked writings and diagrams on the glass partition of your cubicle. Your coat’s discarded, and you have your sleeves rolled up, looking less formal, less tense than before. Yet, still as fierce with that constant scowl of your brows. He watches you bring your fingers to scratch the left side of your cheek and notices a vague resemblance of a fading scar.

He hadn’t seen that before.

The glowing orange hue of the soul stone sits idly on top of a stack of papers beside you.

Loki makes some sort of contemptuous noise in his mind at the sight.

The TVA is a strange place. The thought of a cosmic organization that overlooks all of the time doesn’t make it any less weird and neither do the uniforms—dull color combinations and collars that never seem to end. And the Time-Keepers, well, he isn’t sure what to make of that. Things are a little too straightforward, too simple for handling such a complex matter of the universe—Time. It doesn't make sense.

You spark his curiosity. You had a connection with him. Another Loki trusted you to a certain extent. He wonders what makes you so special, that Mobius was willing to try everything to convince you to help.

He also wonders what your name is.

The clearing of his throat comes off as a sudden and disruptive sound that resonates clearly through the somewhat silent environment of the office floor. A subtle way to gaining your attention although it's proving ineffective. You continue to flip through documents, scribbling notes on a notepad.

He wheels his chair closer to you. For a moment, he catches sight of a white mug amongst the mess. It says, 'Rocket scientist at work.' There’s no way a person as intimidating as you have that kind of mug.

He clears his throat once more.

Still nothing. It’s like he doesn't exist to you.

Then, he notes your vague attempt to fight down a growing smile.

Oh. Oh. You—

Hm.

He scooches closer and taps on the glass partition a little too aggressively.

“I know you can hear me.”

His tone comes out in a sing-song manner. Finally, your eyes turn up to meet his. They are different from when you first saw him emerged into the hallway. Less angry and shocked. Now, you just look unimpressed.

Loki somehow thinks it’s a great idea to charm his way to you.

A grin finds his way to his lips, curving widely with oozing allure.

Or so he thinks.

“Pardon me, but I believe we haven’t properly met and I didn’t catch your name earlier on.”

You don’t say anything, only blink in response.

Tough crowd.

Loki shifts in his seat.

“...What is your name?”

He articulates his words with care, and he doesn’t know why he finds it a need to tread lightly around you. Like with a touch, you will transform into a fiery beast from his childhood nightmares and eat him alive.

You and Mobius are polar opposites—personality-wise. It’s a wonder how the two of you get along.

Do you scare him? No. Definitely not.

Do you intimidate him? Perhaps. But, he will never admit it.

Maybe it’s the way you’re gazing at him with that constant, deafening deadpan look.

Then, you finally give him an answer.

“Agent.”

And with that, you're back to scribbling notes on a notepad.

Agent.

Loki scoffs silently to himself.

Well, that turned out to be completely pointless.

He turns his back to you, returning to scanning through Mobius' jet ski magazine within his grasp.

Loki doesn’t see how you’re now staring at the back of his figure, tapping your pen against the notepad absentmindedly.

Curious minds think alike.

You needed a change of scenery.

With all the noise of the muffling narration of the training videos from Mobius’ desk, you began to feel like you forgot how to do your job. The only job you were created for. The disturbance seems to be putting your brain into a frenzy and it’s preventing you from getting your head straight on report protocols. Trying to think of better words to describe the things you’ve seen on Sakaar that weren’t words that meant trash and didn’t end up sounding unintentionally sexual, is where you draw the line.

Times are hard for the variant turned analyst.

The archives are serene amid your solitude. Extensive tables hidden between shelves of identical-looking binders that expanded throughout the hundreds of floors of the building. The spot that overlooks the three looming statues of the Time-Keepers is your favorite. The occasional swish of a passing elevator calms your nerves from all the frustration and pressure ever since you were released from your arrest. You’re just happy to be somewhere familiar although it’s not home.

Although all distractions are gone, you manage to find new ones as you gaze at the glowing ‘357’ signage from across the building as you decide to let your thoughts run for just a little while. You feel like you’re looking through foggy glasses and your brain feels like it’s about to shut down any moment.

Dream away the pain, then.

Then, you hear a voice from afar. Two voices. It’s Mobius; you’ll recognize that quintessential Texan accent anywhere from the times he would rave about a new jet ski magazine he’d found on a mission...something along those lines.

Much to your chagrin, you also hear Loki with that irritatingly posh accent of his.

You should probably move somewhere else. Run and hide before you're being pulled even more into this mess because you know Mobius is trying to get you to spend as much time with the variant turned analyst to gain trust.

You’re still not sure how it’s helping with his case. Loki has better trust in Mobius than you as far as you’re concerned.

Before you could even gather the mess of your files, the two men you’ve been trying to escape are already by the desk you’re sitting at. You suddenly notice the stack of files on the other end of the desk, not remembering seeing the archivist putting that there.

Crap.

“Let me park ya at this desk and don’t be afraid to really lean into this work...”

You look like a deer caught in the headlights, signaling to Mobius that you really don’t want to share a desk with Loki. He continues to speak to him, ignoring your silent plea. Then, he gestures to the seat across from you.

There’s still time to leave.

Mobius addresses you with the stretch of his pointer finger.

“You, keep an eye on him. I’m gonna get a snack.”

Well, too late.

With a turn of a heel, you and Loki watch him walk away and pass neverending shelves of the archives. Once again, the two of you are left alone in the silence and the white noise of the TVA.

You meet each other's eyes at the same time, struck with the thought that you and he will probably be seeing each other a lot until the Loki variant is arrested. Plus, you’re tired of giving him the cold shoulder although you believe he deserves it.

This is a different Loki. The one who’s still power-hungry. The one who still wants to rule.

Time to start fresh.

You notice he now wears a jacket, a color somewhere between green, grey, and brown with a striking image of the TVA’s official badge above his chest. The lapels of his jacket jut out in an attempt to replicate his sense of pride and confidence.

He must have been on a trip with Mobius to the Renaissance Faire in Wisconsin, 1985. Oh, how you would kill to tag along. Everyone who knows you knows about your obsession with Earth’s music pop culture, specifically the 1980s. It explains the cassettes you have lying around. Your apartment has more of it.

Unfortunately, you're grounded. That's reality.

Thus, you decide that Loki deserves a second chance because he’s also somehow looking at you for some kind of approval. You’re starting to wonder if this is the same Loki that was tapping aggressively on your cubicle earlier on.

With an open palm, you gesture to the empty seat surrounded by stacks of binders and folders. It's the first time he has experienced some kind of acknowledgment of his presence that you weren’t ranting or screaming about. Oddly calm. Oddly inviting. Momentarily, he shifts in his stance, eyes darting between a fading figure of Mobius rounding the corner and to the seat, across from you.

The air is tense. However, still breathable.

Loki slides into the seat, legs shifting under the desk as it brushes against your by accident. You shoot him a pointed look, and he responds with a coy expression, blinking at you innocently. It’s mischievous.

Classic Loki.

You turn back to your case file, ignoring the way his gaze seems to burn holes into the side of your face for a fleeting moment before flipping a binder open from the stack to his left.

You snore when you sleep.

Loki wouldn’t describe it as a snore; it's more of a wheeze. Soft and subtle but it’s there, cutting through the ambiance of the archives, drifting and resonating in his ears. Through turning pages, uttering words to himself for his amusement, and having an irritating lady shush him for that, he realized how it became a lot quieter. The grazing sound of pen furiously scribbling words onto the yellow notepad has stopped.

Then, he hears it. Your pathetic snores. Your cheek is unceremoniously pressed against the back of your hand while the other holds the orange pen that’s still pinned down on the paper, mid-scrawl. The tip of the ballpoint pen sits idly, halfway through the curved stroke of the last letter of the word, ‘debris.’ He cranes his neck, face tilting in an attempt to read the chicken scratchings of your handwriting.

0132: L1190 hauls me through the time door and I miserably land on Sakaar, the planet of wastelands and debris.

You are quite...miserable. In a comical way. And he knows how much you hated your time on Sakaar—Mobius warned him of your apparent irritation in reminiscent of being stranded and then having to resume paperwork immediately. He wonders if he, too, is the reason for another boiling rage.

Apparently, you were pardoned on behalf of not only Mobius but the Time-Keepers as well.

You, an agent, are recognized by the holy and almighty Time-Keepers.

You, an agent, who sleeps with your mouth agape.

The statues of the TVA’s creators loom over him like they’re watching his every step. Every movement. Every lingering thought. Right now, he has the urge to uncover, perhaps deduce, the holes within this whole mess. In a carefully calculated and discrete movement, he reaches to prod you on the forearm. You don’t move.

He prods you again.

You still don’t move.

Now, Loki is trying to chat up the archivist who watches him through narrowed eyes, glasses framing the austere and rigid structure of her face, in favor of files that turn out to be classified.

Classified, classified, classified. Only able to gain access to his own file.

His journey from the desk proved to be useless and unproductive although the much-needed stretch somehow made it a little worthwhile.

When he returns, you're surprisingly still asleep, brow twitching and lips still parted.

Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on him?

The pen you held has now left your grasp, rolled over to his stack of binders. He notices the words inscribed on it, ‘Mars is there, waiting to be reached.'

Through your fury and chaos, he knows there’s a part of you that feels, a part of you that loves. And you love everything about the Midgardians’ space program. It's shown in the way you cling to collected memorabilia.

There are dark circles that adorn your shut eyes, barely hidden under your lashes. You’re exhausted, fractured.

Loki is having a difficult time trying to suppress how he likes the way the frizz of your hair glows against the glowing table lamps from the desk behind you. You’re raw, flaws presented on a silver platter for everyone to see. Maybe, that’s the reason why you entice him the way you do.

He’s staring. Right. Back to work.

Loki returns to running through neverending case files, engrossed in the pixelated monochrome images that accompany the monospace typeface of endless reports.

Then, he sees it.

‘Destruction of Asgard’ in big, bold, and red letters. It glares at him sharply, images of his once divine home of Asgard, crumbling at the feet of Surtur. Buildings, people, engulfed in the flames of the fire demon. The prophecy of the end, Ragnarok—it was meant to be.

His home, it still was. Although an untrue Asgardian.

He knows how it ends. He knows he dies. He wishes his true self, the one on the Sacred Timeline, could have done more.

He doesn’t realize the forming tears that linger. He doesn’t realize that in the sense of premonition, you’ve awakened. He doesn’t realize that even with sleepy eyes, you notice the grief that glints in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

With three words, you’ve struck him with those eyes that seemed all-knowing. You see through the facade he has created, sealing the true nature of what is truly a child that is afraid of his destiny and to lose all he had ever known. His mother, father, and brother. His people. You see through it all.

You know that face. You’d seen it on Sakaar when he sat at the doorstep of your makeshift home, watching the splintered moon drift through the star-lit sky. You’d seen it in yourself through the dusty reflection of the screen of the tempad.

He longs for home. He longs for family.

For a moment, Loki sees Frigga in your eyes.

Then, his world shifts, hauling him back to reality. It’s you who’s across his way, not his mother. Loki blinks, partly to get his head straight with the excuse to blink away the sting in his eye. He shifts in his seat, rolling his neck and squares his shoulders.

“Yes. I’m alright. It’s just...”

Trailing off, he clears his throat. You follow his gaze and from your spot, you catch sight of those deafening crimson letters. Maybe, it was the spur of the moment. You blame your drowsy state, but there’s a growing warmth that spreads across your chest from the pit of your stomach. It’s subtle, a spark, but evident. Before you know it, you’re uttering words that leave your lips faster than your brain could perceive.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t know when was the last time you said those words and meant it. Loki doesn’t know when was the last time he’d ever heard those words addressed to him, spoken from the lips of a stranger. Until now.

You mean it. He sees it in the curve of your brows.

Loki swallows, nodding curtly. For the first time, he has nothing to say. And as quickly as the moment comes, he brushes it off and so do you. Whatever is reminiscent of a residing unknown feeling, bubbling within, has disappeared.

He sees your hand reach for the pen and for a while, he thinks you’re about to reach for his arm.

But no, you’re back to scrawling notes on the paper and he’s back to studying useless documents.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall back into your normal antics as you find yourself chasing after Loki, who abruptly left the desk with wide eyes.

Curious minds think alike. Mostly.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x you #loki imagine #loki laufeyson imagine #loki series #sylvie #mobius x reader

69 notes · View notes

paellaplease · 3 years

Note

HAII!! if it hasnt been done yet, could you do revali x reader with basorexia? maybe reader really wants to give him a kiss but she really cant since,, yknow she has lips and he has a fuckin beak so she just decides to give him a lil smooch on the cheek? idk that was just an idea i had in mind, u dont have to write it!

22. basorexia - the overwhelming desire to kiss.

pairing: revali x reader summary: revali spirits you away to enjoy the new years eve festivities.

In the darkness of your room, you awoke to the sound of a soft tapping on your window. Twisting in the mess of blankets and pillows, you pushed aside the papers and textbooks that had accumulated at the foot of the bed, noticing only then that the candle at your desk had long since extinguished.

Head pounding, you rubbed at your tired eyes, feeling heavy. How long had you been asleep?

The tapping grew more insistent, forcing you to get up. Grumbling, you allowed yourself a second to stretch, ignoring how your room felt like water sloshing in a glass.

"Yeah, yeah. Hold on!" You said, hobbling to the window. Brushing the mess of hair from your eyes, you pulled the curtains away and roughly pushed it open.

The culprit hovered outside, eyes bright and smug. Revali looked very much at home though he was floating at a dizzying distance away from the ground. In the sleepy haze, he looked like a painting of some myth you had read before, with the late night sky as his backdrop and the outline of your window as his frame.

"Took you long enough."

"Apologies. I thought some tree branches were hitting the glass."

The Rito made a show of turning in the air. "Funny, I don't see any nearby trees."

"I know," you sighed, disappointed.

Revali rolled his eyes and poked his head through the window, feathers brushing past your cheek as he ignored your personal space in favour of scoping out your room. The stiff turn of his neck as he looked around reminded you of the curious and confused little birds that landed on the sill from time to time.

"Quite a dreary home you have here." Gesturing to the overall darkness, he pointed to your stack of scattered papers. "You shouldn't study without proper lighting, it's bad for your eyes."

"I was asleep."

"Why, I'm surprised. And here I thought you were one of the festive many who choose to stay awake at an ungodly hour in order to count down the remaining seconds of the year."

"Well," you shrugged, not wanting to meet his eyes. "Not like it's anything special. New year, same shit. What difference would a countdown do?"

Biting down on your tongue, you stopped yourself from saying anymore. The cold breeze sifted past the light shirt you were wearing, making you shiver.

He was right, normally you were one of those people who stayed up, excitedly watching the hands of the clocktower tick til they reached midnight. You enjoyed the energy of being in a collective crowd, waiting with bated breath for the first inhale and exhale you would take into the brand new year.

The final month on the Hylian calendar brought a sense of relief and a hope for new beginnings. Usually today of all days you were at your happiest, jumping at the prospect of celebrating along with the rest of the kingdom and yet…

That sinking weight clawed at your chest again, forcing you to clamp down on it once more.

You grimaced. There it was; that bitter feeling. Hylia. How annoying. It twisted in your brain like an angry snake, pulling down your mood and enthusiasm along with it.

Last year you wanted to cheer and dance until the morning light. Now all you felt like was staring at the wall. Or falling asleep.

You blinked, turning back to the window to see Revali patiently waiting for you to continue. Feeling your face warm, you hustled your brain to get a move on. A coherent thought would be great right about…now!

"Hey have you ever wondered why they don't grow trees on this side of the castle? It's not fair the more expensive quarters get all the pretty greenery. I mean, non-noble guests still need that sweet oxygen everyone keeps raving about, you get me?" Shut up brain, that's enough. I said a coherent thought. C o h e r e n t.

Stars in his wings, Revali shook his head but answered anyway. "I agree, it's hardly fair. Also go change into something warm, we need to get you outside."

"What? Why?"

Something in the Rito's expression clued you in to the fact that he wasn't in the mood to play stupid. You've been sitting in the dark for the past few days and it didn't take a private investigator to know it was playing tricks with your head. "Fine, but when I say we go back--we go back, got it?"

He huffed, turning around to give you some privacy. "I promise on my honour."

The brightly lit lanterns of the town square made you squint as you shuffled closer to your guide, the sound of the city loud in your ears.

Though less prominent, the twisting feeling in your gut continued, making you more hyper-alert than usual to the world around you. Adjusting the sleeves of your coat, you followed Revali past the streets, the Rito expertly navigating through the sea of people.

Somewhere along the way he had taken your hand, and you told yourself it was a good way for you both to stick together. Wouldn't want you getting lost and spending the final minutes of the year playing an elaborate game of hide and seek after all. He was a great friend like that. Nevermind that everytime you would hold his wing a little tighter to remind yourself that he was there, he would always squeeze back.

You needed a distraction.

Just focus on everything that's not him.

The night was alive with the sound of music. It didn't matter if you partied with an alcoholic drink in hand, or a glass of milk, everyone in Hyrule was filled with an addictive buzz that came with an event that only happened once a year. Vendors with bright smiles called out from their stalls, the smell of freshly baked sweets or the sizzle of a barbecue beckoning you to take a closer look. To your left, a group of friends raised their hands in the air, loudly welcoming a Goron that had turned up late but regardless had finally arrived.

The archer followed your line of sight, guessing the question bouncing in your head. "Daruk is in Eldin, probably rattling Death Mountain with that story again about the Moblin camp and the barrel of explosives."

"I love that story."

"Of course you would."

"Sorry about your feathers though."

"Whatever, they grew back."

"How about the one's on your--"

"Anyway," he interjected quickly, playfully nudging you to the side and glowering at your laughter. "We've been told to 'take a break'. The other Champions have chosen to spend this day with their families and loved ones. We are planning to regroup and continue preparations in the days following."

"How about you?"

"I already said it."

Your cheeks coloured at the implications of his words, mind replaying the previous sentence. Families and loved ones. Families and loved ones. He didn't even hesitate. You both were not related. So that left you with...

"Woah!" Digging your heels into the dirt, you abruptly paused your brisk walk and saved yourself from colliding with the archer's back.

Stopping at one of the stalls, Revali held two fingers up. You glanced up at him questioningly but he refused to give anything away, expression relaxed. The vendor returned quickly, the Rito thanking them quietly and placing the payment on the bright yellow table cloth along with a large tip in their jar.

He turned around, dropping a square shaped pastry into your hands. It was some kind of rice cake, with a fluffy exterior and a golden baked surface that smelled of butter and felt warm like the sun.

Taking a bite, you smiled at the hints of coconut that were hidden in its sweet flavour. The sticky treat was familiar somehow. "Is this so luck sticks to you in the new year?"

Revali scoffed, though failed to hide his own smile behind the cake held in his wing. "You said the same thing when we first met. You need new material."

"Says the baron of bird puns."

"I am the king." He punctuated the statement by biting into his own rice cake. Offering his wing, he gently took your hand once more, turning back to step again into the busy promenade.

Following him, you noticed that the crowds ever so slowly began to thin. A lantern lit hill was coming up. The grassy expanse was dotted with a few people, though it was blessingly not as populous as the town square. "I should be the one that's surprised. Thought you hated crowds unless their attentions were all on you."

"It's tolerable so long as I am with good company."

The both of you walked up the hill with an unspoken agreement to make it to the top. Taking a seat on the grass, you allowed yourself to breathe, chest heaving from the small burst of exercise after days of being sedentary.

The twinkling lights of Castle Town stretched out before you. Gazing at it, you could imagine all the untold stories hidden in the glowing little pockets of the alleys and in the hushed whispers behind closed doors. Funny how in a city so full of people, one can feel so alone.

Revali was the first to speak, breaking you from your thoughts. "I think I can understand now. Looking at it from this distance, it really can feel like nothing much has changed."

You continued to stare at the lights, trying to focus on a certain string in an attempt to ground yourself. "Yeah. Sometimes it feels like though the world continues to spin, I'm remaining completely still. Just stagnant."

Frowning, you ran your hands through the grass, feeling the dirt shift under your fingers. You could feel your frustrations building, bubbling up to the surface with no way of dragging them back down.

"And the challenges just get worse every year. How am I going to face those old problems and these new ones if I'm still the same lost person I was back then?"

Your voice echoed at the last sentence, making you hide your head in embarrassment. That was loud.

Some strangers relaxing on the hill turned around to flash you an annoyed glare, before quickly returning to their picnics after spotting the Great Eagle Bow on your friend's back.

"I'm so sorry." You wanted more than anything then to dig a hole and hibernate preferrably for the next hundred years or so. "I'm yelling, that isn't like me. I'm so so--"

"There's nothing to be sorry about. You needed to say it." He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. There was a serious element to it that made it a little hard to breathe. "There is one part of that I don't agree with, however."

"What is it?"

"That entire section about you, how did you put it, stagnanting." He twisted a wing in the air, thinking on his words before pointing a feather directly at your face. "You're fully capable of enacting the change you want to see in yourself."

You felt a little dizzy now. But another kind of dizzy, one very different from the vertigo you felt waking up in the darkness of your room.

"And who said you were exactly the same as you were back then? You've changed. In a good way. You're stronger and more capable of things I'm sure the person you were two years ago or even less couldn't even fathom doing."

Turning to face you, Revali gave you his full attention, compelling you to do the same as the cadence of his speech joined the steady rhythm of your own beating heart. From the back of your mind, you could barely register the sound of people gathering together, their voices floating into the cold night air.

'Ten!'

"It's difficult to see your own progress from a distance."

'Nine!'

"So take my advice and start looking at yourself up close for once."

'Eight!'

He had that expression on his face, one that said he was thinking too hard about something. It was like watching him try to pull the planets together with just a piece of string. His brows were furrowed so deep that your fingers wished to run over his feathers and smoothe the worried creases.

'Seven!'

You slowly reached out to him, giving him enough time to back away. Revali stilled as your hands traced up the nape of his neck, leaning in as his pulse thrummed underneath the soft pads of your fingertips.

'Six!'

He opened his beak the moment you reached his face. You paused, half expecting him to tell you to let go and pretend like it never happened.

Instead, he called out your name.

'Five!'

He said your name again, though quieter now. It was enough to tug at the invisible force drawing you two together. Enough so that the polite distance nervously enforced by the both of you gradually began to dissipate, trailing away like a ribbon of smoke as you both leaned in closer.

'Four!'

"May I--," He cleared his throat, eyes darting away for a second before they were back on you again. Bright green in the lantern light. Emeralds in the desert sand.

'Three!'

"May I kiss you?"

"Yes."

'Two!'

"Your way or mine?" You couldn't help but joke. Revali smiled, exhaling a soft joyful laugh before pressing his forehead to yours.

'One!'

'Happy New Year!'

An earth-shaking boom rattled your ears, but all you could think of in that moment was Revali and the feel of his feathers against your skin; the utter elation of being so close to someone you deeply cared for and that cared just as deeply for you.

In the dazzling light you lifted your head from his, both your eyes meeting for a brief moment. Hands moving, you gently angled his face with a steady hand, feeling then the soft, butterfly light brush of his wings on your waist.

Closing your eyes again, you leaned in to press your lips against his beak, the blush on your face warmer than any fever or furnace. The Rito's soft sigh was barely audible as you trailed your kisses upwards, stopping at the red circle on his cheek.

Revali laughed again as you turned his face to press a kiss to the identical red mark on the other side. "You're very thorough."

"You deserve it." You beamed. "And this is just the beginning, just you wait at the end of the countdown I'll--"

"Actually my dear," he grinned, pointing to the sky.

"Huh?"

Above you were the vibrant colours of the firework display. It was beautiful and awe-inspiring, but a confirmation that you were definitely minutes in to the new year.

"Oh," you said, before shaking your head with a smile. "It's fine, we got 12 more months to prepare ourselves for the next one."

Revali nodded, pulling you closer so he could press your foreheads together again.

"Indeed," he grinned. "Now will you finish your sentence? What exactly were you going to do at the end of the countdown?"

fin.

#revali x reader #revali #botw #revali botw #prompt fic #more taggs later #i wrote this entirely on my phone so apologies for any errors #been thinking about this for a long time #also very late but happy new years #paella writes

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hyperfixationtimego · 2 years

Note

For the talentswap au can you talk about Makoto?? I'm so curious about his clairvoyance! And Chihiro too 👀

OH OH ALSO TOKO/JILL PLEASE

Anyway you always have galaxy brain thoughts feel free to answer whichever ones you like! <3

YES YES YES ABSOLUTELY!!! I have so many thoughts about ALL OF THEM I would LOVE to talk about these mfs

ALSO THANK YOU THAT MEANS A LOT!!! I am so very honored and excited to have people that like my stuff?? eeueueuegege it makes me so happy!!!!!

Okay okay so first things first!!!

Makoto Naegi - the Ultimate Clairvoyant

- He’s always been a little different from others, able to sense just before things go wrong, or guess what someone’s thinking right before they say it. It’s a talent, for certain, but he doesn’t like to think of it that way. To him, it’s just something that makes him weird and different; something he tries to downplay whenever he can. Unfortunately for him but VERY fortunately for us, Hope’s Peak knows exactly how talented he is.

- his important person is still Komaru! They’ve got a typical sibling relationship, teasing and arguing with each other and whatnot, but Makoto wouldn’t trade her for the world. She’s one of the only people in Makoto’s life that he trusts when she tells him that his clairvoyance is what makes him special, not what makes him a freak! She admires him so very much that she’s even tried learning how to read minds on her own! (She always fails, of course, but it means so much to Makoto that Komaru would go to such great lengths to be like him!)

- his secret is still that he wet the bed until fifth grade because honestly it’s just so ridiculous and i couldn’t think of a good replacement. his initial reaction is still “who would ever kill someone over secrets like these?” But his clairvoyance makes him immediately understand that he is in a bit of a different boat than everyone else when it comes to their secrets

- some extra stuff is that he usually figures out who the culprit is either before or during the trial, but never says anything because he’s worried he’s misinterpreting/just flat out wrong

- chapter three is a bitch to me specifically because it involves him recognizing what Leon was trying to do and THEN recognizing that Leon is ACTING all mad and scared and stuff and isn’t really trying to get away with the crime at all. It breaks Makoto’s heart because what the fuck :)

- um um um Celeste usually comes up to him once a body has been discovered and she’s like “yo. who did it” and he just gives her these weird garbled nonsense words that even he doesn’t understand yet but that supposedly point to the killer

Chihiro Fujisaki - the Ultimate Affluent Progeny

- first of all she’s trans because I say so and she’s not ashamed or closeted or anything she’s literally just trans <3

- second of all she is simply a spoiled little rich girl!!! I LOVE HER CHARACTER SO MUCH IN THIS AU ACTUALLY BECAUSE. UNLIKE TOGAMI SHE’S NOT ACTIVELY TRYING TO ANTAGONIZE ANYONE. she is simply like “I don’t like this game :( we shouldn’t sentence anyone to death because that is like killing them ourselves :( we should all die together and stand up to monokuma :)” what’s actually happening is that she doesn’t quite understand what she’s saying!! It hasn’t quite registered yet that death is actually on the table for everyone, and that’s what makes her carefree attitude abt the voting so dangerous! Especially when she starts getting people on her side!

- her important person is her father!!! She’s Taichi’s special little princess, and he wants the world to know it!! He spoils her rotten and thinks she’s the sweetest thing in the whole world!!

- her secret is that her family business is completely amoral and utilizes slavery and unethical business practices in order to stay ahead of the competition. Because. You know. They’re capitalists.

- just to hammer it home how out of touch with reality she is, she proudly announces this “secret” to the rest of the cast as if it’s not big deal.

- I would like it on record that she is not bad, just very very sheltered. Her heart is good; she genuinely loves and cares about her “friends” and wants to see them succeed, she just doesn’t understand that not everyone thinks the same way she does.

- Togami LOVES HER /p

- like he is just “oh my god this adorable child is telling me to kill myself and everyone else for the sake of one person yes I approve wholeheartedly” WRITING PRODIGY TOGAMI IS A DIPSHIT I LOVE HIM

- he gets so offended whenever Celeste DARES to disagree with Chihiro like he straight up goes into one of those bullet time battle minigames at one point

- Celeste is three seconds away from punting Chihiro across the room at all times btw

- JILL SLAPS HER AT ONE POINT I THINK. I FORGET IF IT’S JILL OR TOKO BUT IT’S ONE OF THEM

Toko Fukawa (& Genocide Jill) - The Ultimate Swimming Pro

- there are other alters but Toko and Jill are the two that front the most. Toko is a host and Jill is a protector

- Toko is the one with the title of ultimate swimming pro, not Jill. Some of the other alters have created fake “ultimates” to call themselves, hence why Jill considers herself the “ultimate murderous fiend.”

- Jill has never murdered anyone, btw. I’ve seen this headcanon before, I’m not sure where, but she was formed when the system saw a news report about a killer named “genocide Jack” when it was very young. Jill went by Jack for a good long while, but she’s actually trans and considers Jack to be her deadname

- I KNOW WE’RE TALKIJG ABOUT THE TALENTSWAP AND NOT GENERAL HEADCSNONS BUT LIKE. I HAVE TO GET THESE OFF MY CHEST

- Jill is just an edgy protector who threatens people as a defense mechanism. She’s loud and brash because she knows it disconcerts people enough to bide time for the system to escape the situation if need be. While she may seem reckless, she actually chooses her words very carefully so as not to escalate a situation beyond what is reasonably within her control.

- OKAY BACK TO SWIMMER TOKO

- so basically. after sustaining the trauma of her childhood, and after the alters have formed (Toko Fukawa is the legal name of the system and also the name of the host) Toko found her passion and safety in swimming. She discovered that it relaxed her and even helped with keeping her grounded a lot of the time! It’s something she tries to do everyday; it’s a coping skill that means a lot to her!!

- toko’s important “person” is still Kameko! She just loves things that other people consider to be “ugly” 🥺 to her, Kameko is one of the prettiest things in the world!!

- the secret is that Toko once poisoned an opponent of hers with laxatives in order to win a swim meet 😶 she does not feel bad about it KSHSMSND

- TOKO AND HINA (ult martial artist) POG!!!! they are fwiends 🥰👉👈

- I REMEMBER NOW

- JILL SLAPS CHIHIRO BECAUSE IT’S A FIGHT OR FLIGHT THING. Chihiro is talking some mad shit and it triggers Jill into fronting. When Jill can’t handle the situation like she normally does, she feels cornered and ends up slapping Fujisaki in the face

#danganronpa #talentswap #og talentswap #talentswap au #trigger happy havoc #dr thh #Makoto naegi #Chihiro fujisaki #Toko Fukawa #genocide Jill #genocider syo #distant-screaming #ask box

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wandering-travesty · 3 years

Text

Call Me By Your Name

You weren’t sleezy. That was just a word idiots used to try and pull you down to their level. Yes, your hair was slicked back. Yes, your eyeshadow was dark as the night. Yes, your suit jacket barely covered your chest. Yes, your nails were painted black and sharp as daggers. But, no, you weren’t sleezy. You were dressed for your job. What was your job? Well, that was a bit more complicated….

“I need you to get close to him.” Erwin said coolly, stubble covered chin resting on his strong hands.

“I’m sorry?” You asked, genuinely hoping you had too much wax lodged in your ear canals.

“You heard him.” You met the glare of the midget standing behind your boss.

“Okay, smartass, I did. But you can’t be serious, boss! He’s beyond dangerous. Shouldn’t someone like,” you gestured in Levi’s direction, “one of the Ackermans take care of this? I’m not discounting myself or anything, but fucking with a Yeager is basically a suicide mission.” You were actually shocked Erwin asked you to do something so important. More so, dangerous. You weren’t exaggerating when you said it was a death sentence. You’d lost enough comrades to know that.

“Listen, he’s the key to taking down the Marlian Syndicate.” You knew that, but still, this seemed out of left field. “The Ackermans are strong, yes, but they lack a certain…”

“They’re not ready to whore themselves out. Just say that, Smith.” You understood now. The Ackermans were cold blooded killers ready to strike at any moment. However, they were awkward and completely inept at things like lust and heated and frankly revolting rendezvous. That was how he wanted you to get information for him.

Erwin wanted you to fuck the leader of the Marlian Syndicate.

“I wouldn’t use that wording exactly, but your assumption is correct.” Levi couldn’t seem to meet your gaze, but Erwin continued to stare straight into your soul. He was the leader of La Peste Eldienne (The Eldian Plague) for a reason. Strong, debonair, charming, and slightly insane. He could down a beer in one swig, sip a martini all night long, or abstain from alcohol completely. Whatever he needed to do, he did. He murdered, sent the idiotic young and the hopeless old to their deaths just the same, and could absolutely wine and dine a stranger until their clothes practically flew off their body if it was for the cause. You needed to be like that. Especially at a time like this.

“I’ll do it. And I��ll do it well.” You assured your boss and his partner. Yeah, this would be easy. You could go low as the scum you were about to completely fuck over. You had been climbing up the ranks as of late, so this would be easy as pie.

Before going on your little date: you made a mental note of the main players you would have to deal with. The list you had went something like this:

Porco Galliard: Complete idiot. All brawn, no brain. Basically a bouncer with a fancier jacket and a higher salary. No worries about him doing anything funny.

Pieck Finger: The sweet little thing they kept around for good reason. Part of you wished you had to deal with her instead. She was witty and had a surprising amount of control over the shipments of cocaine and ammunition that went on about the city. Her pretty face and calm demeanor hid her true genius. She was one of the more concerning figures at tonight’s gig, but also one of the one’s more willing to hear you out before killing you.

Colt Grice: Basically a smarter but weaker version of Galliard. He was really only part of the Syndicate to learn from the best and become a great mafioso one day. You had high hopes for him, despite yourself.

Bertholdt Hoover: A freakishly tall mix of the last three members of the gang. So sweaty and shaky he wasn’t allowed to handle guns under any circumstance. That told you all you needed to know about his threat level.

Annie Leonhardt: Tiny, quiet ball of rage and skill. Could murder you in an instant, but would only do so if ordered. Not a concern unless someone else found you out, or you didn’t like being glared at all night.

Reiner Braun: His personality changed with the passing minutes. Could be calm and almost kind, or could snap your neck like a twig in his giant ass hand. He was a wildcard, and a dangerous one. Though he was obsessed with following orders and being the perfect little soldier boy, so you didn’t need to worry about him if no one told him to start shooting.

Yelena: Even more freakishly tall than Hoover. Also freakishly obsessed with the gang leader and his “master plan”, whatever the hell that was. Maybe you would find out tonight. Anyways, she would only do anything if you threatened the boss in any way. If you did your job right, that wouldn’t be an issue.

Eren Yeager: Easily the most brash and idiotic member of the gang. His problem was that he was trigger happy. In this business, trigger happy meant dozens of dead innocents piled up on the club floor in an instant. You had to be careful around him. Unlike most of the others, he would kill you without thinking.

And the top dog. The man of the hour. The man you had to seduce:

Zeke Yeager: Think Erwin but with more wit and charm. Not to mention more of a sadistic mindset. His favorite game was cat and mouse, seeing how long it took before he had a good excuse to have someone drawn and quartered. His expertise was slow torture that the victim didn’t even really know was happening before the barrel of the gun was already pointed to their temple. And you had to fuck him so stupid he leaked confidential information.

The only other issue with Zeke was his habit of sleeping around. Yes, he was a tramp by most standards. A harlot with exotic tastes. You had heard stories of him seducing women and men alike, and god only knew what they did once he succeeded. What that meant for you was he would be hard to impress.

So, you were here to beat him at his own game. And if you were found out, his younger brother would most likely shoot you on the spot. That was, if one of the others did it first. Or even worse, Zeke decided to be a tried and true asshole and torture you to death. The options were endless, and you hated them all.

So there you sat, ass perched on a bar stool, sipping on a gin rickey and waiting for your opportunity. The room smelled strongly of tobacco, rum, and cinnamon. At least you would die surrounded by what you loved, you thought, laughing grimly to yourself. Men and women danced to slow songs you faintly recognized. The air buzzed with haughty laughter and upper class small talk. You barely had any idea how to interact with high society shitheads as high and mighty as the ones Yeager surrounded himself with. You weren’t often sent out to jobs like this. You were like Levi, born in the slums and never taught how to properly behave. You knew what you had to, much like your knowledge of the goings on of La Peste Eldienne. You knew your gang traded drugs, ammunition, and whatever else was a hot commodity at the time, but nothing other than that. You were actually quite glad to know nothing, since that made you a pretty unimportant person to rival gangs. Not as many death threats and kidnapping attempts came your way, unlike the ones Erwin, Hange, and Levi got every day. You were quickly pulled out of your thoughts on the gang hierarchy.

“Excuse me, miss. The boss wants to chat with ya’ real quick.” A man with greasy hair and green, catlike eyes softly gripped your shoulder. Considering what you knew of Galliard, you figured that grip wouldn’t be soft for much longer if you didn’t do as he suggested.

“Oh, alright. Did he happen to mention why?” You were genuinely curious. Porco didn’t offer you any solid answer, but there was a reasonable explanation.

Zeke wanted to get his rocks off. Parties could be interesting, with the right people, of course. The right people hadn’t happened to show up that night. You, on the other hand, seemed interesting. To be frank, you were gorgeous. Even from a distance, he could tell there was something behind your eyes that spelled trouble. He loved people like you. Vicious, cunning, witty, all hidden behind an uninterested and bored demeanor. Those were the people he wanted around him. The best examples were Pieck, and surprisingly, Levi. They seemed to be completely different people than the ones hiding behind their eyes, and Zeke loved to see how long it took to break them down. Well, he was a bit kinder to Pieck, but you and Ackerman got the rough treatment.

“Zeke, what the hell’re you doin’?” Eren pulled him out of his rather disgusting thoughts of…things better left unsaid.

“I’m going to talk to a woman, Eren. What does it seem like I’m doing?” Zeke had a sharp tongue and quick wit, which he didn’t spare even his brother from.

“I get that, but why that one? She seems…shady t’me. I wouldn’t let ‘er get too close, y’know?”

“Eren, please be rational.” Zeke held a palm out in front of Eren, as if to physically stop his train of thought. “You and Yelena will shoot at the first sign of danger, so inviting this lovely woman to join us for a harmless chat isn’t a danger in the slightest.” Zeke reassured his brother, neglecting to tell him his true intentions. He was sure that would just make him more upset and skittish, which was dangerous for everyone there.

“’Kay, boss. Got the dame ya’ asked for.” Porco trudged to the brothers’ secluded table with you in tow. He had kept one hand on your shoulder and the other right above your ass. The two main reasons being: one, he didn’t want someone so seemingly important to escape his grip, and two, you had a nice ass.

“Ah, thank you Galliard…you can let her go now.” He gave Porco a knowing smirk. He let you go immediately and walked away, cheeks slightly reddened. Zeke didn’t want someone else touching his new toy.

“I’m sorry if this comes off as rude, but did you need something from me? That man made me leave my gin at the bar and I would like to finish it at some point.” Oh, Zeke was going to love you. You weren’t flighty or scared in the slightest. He knew you had seen some serious shit. Not to mention how you cared more about your alcohol than a dangerous mafia boss and his younger brother ordering you over to their table. You were attractive and relatable. What a catch.

“My apologies, Galliard tends to be a bit, how do you say, brutish. Feel free to order something new and sit down with us.” He gave you a smile that told you it wasn’t a suggestion. This guy was already just as bad as everyone had told you. He hailed a waiter over to the table. You knew that wasn’t some kind gesture, rather a show of how much power he had over everyone there. His long, thick fingers and suave smile also showed you how easily swayed you could be by dashing looks and raw power.

He held himself like a king but talked like a philosopher. At the same time, he was down to earth yet still slightly condescending. You never knew where you stood with him, and he liked it that way. His flaxen hair was parted down the middle, and unlike most of the men there along with yourself with their hair hardened with pomade, it was fluffy and moved as he gestured wildly when he spoke. He tended to talk with his hands, once again drawing attention to just how attractive they were. His face was indescribably beautiful. His eyes were like stormy oceans cascading with passion and intrigue. His lips looked soft and plush with a wonderful roseate hue. His beard was well groomed and framed his sharp jaw perfectly. His gold rimmed glasses had a habit of hiding his eyes when thrown into direct light, which often happened with how he talked with his whole body. The way he constantly made direct eye contact with you had you lost in a daze of desire and fear. Was this all some sick ploy to get you to slip up and get everyone you loved killed along with yourself? Or was he seriously that interested in you?

Eren was quiet most of the time, unless Zeke spoke to him. He didn’t like you. You were too similar to Zeke for his tastes.

“Say, Eren, could you pass me a smoke?”

“Oh, so you do have vices. See, you never ordered a drink for yourself, so I assumed you were a man above pleasures of the flesh.” You flashed a toothy grin at him, signaling that it was just playful banter. You two were both rather good at that.

“My dear, the more you get to know me, the better you will understand just how enthralled with earthly pleasures I am.” He winked, and it sent you to the moon with want. How could a man be so gorgeous, charming, dangerous, and sadistic all at the same time? And why did you have to deal with it? You needed him out of his right mind, but it seemed like that could never happen. Whether it came from alcohol, drugs, or sex. You planned to use a mixture of all three. As you continued your playful jabs and taunts at each other, you found your opportunity to seal the deal. One sniff of the white stuff and he was putty in your hands.

“Now you know, Mr. Yeager, gin isn’t my only vice.” You kept your usual sly tone.

“Oh really? That is quite the interesting thing to say.” He matched your energy perfectly. This was too good.

“Have you ever happened to try, well, what do they call it these days? Well, I tend to call it blow. Snow, stardust, snort, sugar, crack, whichever you prefer, I suppose.” Oh, how brave of you to mention your own trade to your top competitor.

“Why, yes, I have indeed partook in snorting blow. Is there any reason as to why you’re asking me that right now, darling?” You wished he would stop with the pet names. Or rather, you wished you would stop loving them so much. It felt dirty to enjoy your enemy’s company to this extent.

“Well, I was wondering if you might like to sneak off and try some of my personal mix.” You leaned in close, covering the side of you mouth with your hand. Eren wasn’t a bad kid or anything, but he’d mess with your plan, and you couldn’t have that. Especially not with his slippery ass trigger finger.

“Your own personal mix, eh? Don’t tell me you’re involved in the trade, now.” He leaned in just shy of touching your lips. “That wouldn’t be very good for either of us, sweetheart.” That’s it, you were fucking this man if it was part of your plan or not. The entire thing could go south, and you’d still want this man’s dick in your mouth. You didn’t really care anymore. He was too hot to handle, and you were this close to cracking under the pressure. Zeke was right, you were fun to play with.

“Not at all, I just happen to know the right people.” You grinned at him, knowing you technically weren’t lying. It was your own little inside joke, or so you thought.

The next thing you knew you were in Zeke’s penthouse, smashed up against the wall with a hand around your neck. By all accounts, this is what you wanted, but it was also quite the opposite.

“Dearest, I find it insulting that you think I would fall for that pitiful act.” He had you figured out from the moment you walked in. Zeke Yeager never forgot a pretty face. He’d wanted to have you naked in his bed for months, and here you were, all helpless and needy. You were adorable, thinking you could get whatever you wanted from him.

“Smith was a fool to send anyone, let alone a little minx like you.” You hated how good being insulted by this bitch felt. How did he make it so that your panties got wetter every time he called you a different synonym for whore? It was so awful and so amazing.

“I’m the slut, yet you’re the one actively trying to fuck me? Do I have that right?” You quipped the best you could from under the pressure of his strong hand.

“Alright then, we’re both sluts. But the difference between us is that I admit it, yet you pretend to be this perfect little princess in order to fuck powerful men like me.” His grip on your neck tightened as if to add injury to insult.

“Don’t insult me,” you had to catch your breath between each word, “I fuck men ten times more powerful than you.” But, god was it worth it. You figured he might slap you or otherwise reprimand you, but no, the bastard just smiled wide. What a fucking asshole.

“Maybe to you.” He widened his cheshire grin. “Maybe you think Erwin’s more powerful. That he has a bigger cock and sucking it will get you further in life.” He pushed you further into the wall. “Or maybe letting Ackerman smack your ass will earn you some cash. Or having Zacharius sniff around your cunt instead of your neck will rise you up the ranks, hmm?” You just grimaced at him, knowing none of it was true. “Or maybe,” he let out a chuckle, “letting Zoe do whatever the hell they’re into will get you more coke and gin.” He was mocking you, ruthlessly, with no signs of stopping, and without letting you get a word in. You were starting to see black spots in your line of vision.

“Well, fucking with me will get you much more, angel.” He finally let your neck go, letting you fall to the ground, left to look up at the devil in front of you.

“You fucking suck.” You glared at him, not necessarily trying to hide how much you were enjoying this. As it happened, you weren’t some innocent angel. No, you weren’t a sadistic maniac like Zeke, but you knew what you wanted, and it wasn’t necessarily vanilla. As if reading your earlier thoughts, he bent down to your place on the floor.

He slapped you, and it wasn’t gentle.

“You’re a sloppy whore on your best days, now get up and strip.” Well if worst came to worst, you could say that you got him where you wanted him…just not exactly how you wanted him, or with a guarantee you would get what you wanted out of him. Honestly, you felt kind of flattered by his attention and apparent need to fuck you.

“God, do I have to do everything for you, sweetheart?” Apparently you had been standing around catching your breath too long for his liking. He had made quick work of his own jacket, shirt, and dress pants, leaving him in a black pair of boxers. You hated admitting how magnificent he looked. He was muscular, but not in the same way someone like Reiner or Erwin was. Every single limb on him was lengthy and wiry, thus the bruise marks forming on your neck. While on the subject of length, from what you could see, it applied to his cock as much as it did his other appendages. If it looked that good through the black fabric, you couldn’t even dream of what it would look like out in the open, slapping against his defined v-line and abs.

You hadn’t even noticed him getting closer to you, completely forgetting about his earlier demand turned complaint.

“Not only are you a harlot, you’re a useless one, as well.” He came close enough for you to smell the hints of smoke, pine, and black tea that wafted off of him. He started playing with the collar of your shirt. “But damn if you aren’t a pretty one…” He said that more to himself than you, clearly not being comfortable complimenting you. He saw you as a toy, a pawn in his game of chess he was playing with the rest of the world.

You decided that would be your last deep thought as he began to undress you. Nimbly moving his fingers down each button of your dress shirt, until it came completely undone and bore your chest to him. You were by no means flat, which seemed to entertain the man in front of you.

“I knew you’d be the perfect slut for me.” He groped your breasts through your bra, hands greedy with the clear goal of making you yearn for him. “Perfect tits, soft skin, pretty face, nice ass, strong will. Yeah, you’ll be fun to break.” He gave you one of his signature smirks, making you want to crush his windpipe and deepthroat his dick at the same time.

You shrugged your top off your shoulders and let him snake his arms around your chest to undo your bra and expose your tits to the cool air of the room. He didn’t waste time kissing your filthy mouth, and instead skipped straight to your sensitive neck. He slowly dragged his soft lips down your throat, kissing his way over to both sides and under your jaw. He licked and sucked at any area that made you gasp or let out some embarrassing little noise you tried to desperately to hide. He hated how you hid, he needed you to need him, to want him at a level beyond human comprehension. He wanted to destroy you, do break you down to your most animalistic and pitiful form. You were strong, that was for damn sure, but he wanted to fix that.

He took all this into account as he began nipping at the tops of your breasts. He moved from one to the other with no clear pattern. He dragged his tongue down to your right nipple, only touching the tip of his tongue to it, making you shiver in anticipation and let out a small whine. Yes, that was the progress he wanted to see from you. He swirled his tongue around it, slowly making his way to the center, harshly sucking it into his mouth. He pulled his sinful mouth away from you, leaving a trail of saliva connecting him to you. He quickly made his way to your other nipple, doing the same and driving you just as wild.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to make more noise, darling.” He teased, sounding genuinely annoyed with you.

“Well, maybe if you did a better job, I would be louder.” You had discovered your talent of keeping up with his smart mouth, and you used it to your advantage. You wanted to rile him up; to get a rise out of him. As previously stated, you didn’t want a vanilla little love making session, you wanted to fuck.

“Alright then, if you’re so keen on keeping quiet,” he put his rough hands on your bare shoulders, pushing you back onto the ground, this time on your knees, “how about I stuff that mouth?” You hated how good he was at turning you on.

He pulled his dick out right in front of your face, letting it lay on his toned abs, just as you had envisioned it. It was easily 10 inches long, 5 inches thick, with a slight upturn that could drive you insane if it hit the right spots, which it would. It was flushed pink and dripping pre-cum; it was pretty.

“Well, are you just going to gawk at it or are you going to make yourself useful, slut?” The sweet pet names were out the window, swiftly replaced with the most debasing insults he could think of. To avoid any more of his smart ass remarks, you took his thick cock in your hands. You slowly stroked it, taking in exactly how big it was. You moved your plush lips closer, giving it a few small kitten licks to test the waters. You kissed the head and gave longer licks up the side, earning a grunt or two from the man above you. As you began to swirl your tongue around his tip, his strong hand came down and pushed on the back of your head. It wasn’t gentle, forcing you to take him down your throat. Considering his size, it was no shock that you choked on it at first, but he kept his hand on your hair, forcing you to stay on him.

“That’s it, sweetheart, keep that dirty mouth on fat cock.” Tears starting pooling in your eyes as you struggled to breath around his length. “Aww, are you actually crying?” He cooed, taking sick pleasure in mocking you. “How pathetic of you, darling.” His words send shockwaves of shame and pleasure down to your core. You abhorred how badly you needed him inside of you. As he let out a low moan, he pulled you off his cock, tugging your hair just enough to make you even wetter.

“Alright, angel. I’m not a big fan of blowjobs, so we’ll leave it at that.” You coughed a little as he bent down to your heaving form.

“Really? That’s a shock.” That was your genuine reaction. You were far too fucked out to be a smart ass at this point.

“Yeah, you’re not the first to make that observation.” Much to your surprise, he picked you up bridal style, barely breaking a sweat in the process of getting you to his bedroom. Though the lights were on, you couldn’t take in many details, your cock drunk state making it difficult to process anything other than the warm, bare skin of the monster you tried so hard to vanquish.

“Now, lets get these cute little panties off, hmm?” You had forgotten him taking off your pants in the heat of the moment. His menacing figure loomed overtop of you, slowly sinking down to your thighs. He placed licks and kisses all over them, leaving a few bite marks along with them. You moaned louder than before, feeling too blissed out to care about your pride. You felt large, tepid fingers hooking themselves between your legs and into your panties. He pulled them to the side, wanting to really take you in. Despite his lust for power and dominance, he much preferred giving head to receiving it, especially when it came to women and their soft, tender pussies. You were no exception to this rule.

“Goddamn you’re fucking wet.” You looked up at you, making you lean your head back to avoid his gaze. “You must like me more than you care to admit, sweetie.” Just after saying this, he ran one long finger up your dripping slit, coating his fingertip in your slick. He looked at it shimmering in the low light of the room, grinning before taking it into his mouth and tasting what your cunt had to offer.

“You taste like heaven. Surprising, considering what a nasty girl you are.” Unlike you, he could keep that smartass act up for hours on end, no matter how lost in your sex he was. He landed a chaste kiss to your throbbing heat before flattening his tongue to lick a fat stripe up the middle. He began to devour you, making the lewdest noises you had ever heard in the process. You felt amazing, and disgusting, and just about every other emotion you had ever felt in your life. He was a god at eating your pussy, feeling no remorse in having his lips and beard dripping with your juices. To hell with the burn marks he left on your thighs and the burning sense of guilt you had for moaning so loud and creaming all over the face of your greatest enemy. Shame and guilt were for foolish children with no place in the world, Zeke wanted to enjoy every last second of destroying you.

As he continued to lick and suck at your most sensitive spots, you began to feel your stomach tighten, signaling your closeness. Zeke noticed as well, taking note of your erupting moans and groans and tugs at his silky hair. He moaned on your clit, the vibrations sending you over the edge. You came all over his face, arching your back of the soft sheets and making you scream his name. He kept his lips attached to your clit as you came down from your high, keeping you ensnared in his trap of bliss.

“God, you moan like a fucking whore, you know that?” The way he insulted you felt disgustingly good, especially coming from such a obnoxiously handsome man.

“And you eat pussy like a god.” The veil of hatred came off in one foul swoop. You couldn’t hold back how you truly felt about Zeke Yeager. You were in love with the way he treated you, and spoke to you, and ate you, and soon enough, fucked you. He was so damn good, and you just hated to love and loved to hate him.

“Oh, do I now?” He let out a low chuckle, taking pride in how helpless and stupid he had made you. “Does that make me your god, pet?” It wasn’t a real question. He knew the answer, and he loved that answer: yes.

“Now, how about I partake in some earthly pleasures and fuck your brains out, sweetheart?” He questioned, moving his arms up to rest on both sides of your head. His face was right above yours, lips hovering over your breathless, panting ones.

“Yes, please.” Your eyebrows scrunched together as you grew impatient and needy as all hell. Zeke had a sinister idea. God was a nice term, but he could think of a better one.

“How about you beg daddy for it?” He was such a disgusting pervert, and he relished in it. You mustered all the strength you could in order to speak.

“Please fuck my pussy, daddy.” That was all he needed to push himself inside your tight heat. Your walls clenched as he thrusted balls deep inside of you, not caring if you needed to adjust or not. Luckily, you didn’t, despite his size.

“Fuck yes, angel. You’re so goddamn tight.” He thrusted into you with reckless abandon, using you more than making love to you, which is exactly what you both wanted. Your walls clenched and throbbed as he brought you to orgasm once again.

“Cumming all over my cock, sweetheart? Such a dirty whore.” He teased, continuing his motions, hitting your g-spot over and over again without much issue. His dick was perfect, reaching every inch of you that made you scream out in pleasure and overstimulated bliss. All of this for a few bags of cocaine and bullets. You weren’t even thinking of that as he pounded into you, getting rougher and sloppier than before. He was getting close to his own high just as you were about to reach your third. No one had ever made you feel like this. You never wanted to let him go. Fuck everyone you cared about, this was too damn good to throw away.

“Where do you want my cum, slut?” He asked seconds before climaxing.

“Wherever you want it, daddy.” That was exactly what he wanted to hear. You had been molded into the perfect toy for him, even if it was just for the moment. He had debased and perverted you, like putty in his hands. You thought you could just waltz in there and take what you wanted from him. But no, instead you were writhing around on his bed with his fat cock filling up your pussy while you screamed for your daddy. You were filthy, slutty perfection. He quickly pulled out of you and shot his cum on your stomach and chest. Noticing you were still squirming around, he pushed his thumb to your clit and rubbed circles as two of his fingers entered you and hit your sweet spot.

“Come on, slutty girl, cum for daddy.” This time felt different than the others. You were completely out of your mind with pleasure and lust, and he was hitting just the right spots. You came around his fingers, squirting your juices and ruining his sheets. As if he could sense it, he had moved his face down just in time for it to reach his mouth, coating yet another layer of your cum on his beard. He licked his lips, savoring you taste and the blissed out, fuck drunk look on your face. He wished he could keep you like this forever. No, he would make sure to keep you like this forever. You were going to be his for the rest of time, no matter what it took. Even if he had to play the long game and pretend you had a choice in the matter.

“Well, sweetheart, I’m afraid you have to go home empty handed. I’m sure those tarts will just pat you on the head and congratulate you for trying your best. That’s why they’ll never surpass me, and that’s why you will come crawling back to me.” You couldn’t respond, too disappointed and drained to say a word.

“I have a shower that I recommend you use.” He looked down at you, your eyes hazy and barely focused on him. You were completely exposed to him. You looked beautiful. “In an act of civility, I’ll let you sleep here tonight. On a different bed, of course, considering the damage you’ve done.” You laughed at that, and he followed suite.

“You know Zeke, for a monster, you’re not too bad.” You looked at him, admiration clear in your eyes.

“You’re not too unbearable either.”

#aot smut #snk smut #zeke yeager smut #zeke jeager x reader #zeke yeager x reader #zeke jeager smut #tw: drug use #tw: alcohol

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lucyintheskywithxanax · 3 years

Text

Fangs

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: so this piece can either be read as a oneshot or as a sort of sequel to “Get Me To Church”, but in a different style. Basically I got obsessed with the idea that the Outpost residents could stand up to Wilhemina and question her rules and you guys, the POTENTIAL FOR ANGST. As always, English isn’t my first language, so expect a few weird sentences. x

Word count: ~ 8 200

It started small. One morning Venable smiled at you for no reason and Coco saw it. Coco raised her eyebrows teasingly at you and poked your shoulder. Innocent, playful, amused.

You didn’t understand that smile at first, for it was so unlike Venable. It didn’t go with the rest of her. She was all sharp angles that scratched and made the skin bleed, rough edges, snarky comments, bites and claws. Not kind smiles shared in corridors. So you wondered, and Coco raised her eyebrows.

You couldn’t forget it, her smile. It haunted you, followed you like your shadow. It had been beautiful. You wanted so badly to see it again. So you tried making jokes when you knew she could hear them. Not-so-very-clever jokes, corny jokes, that made Andre and Kyle laugh but left Venable’s face completely blank. You stared at the floor and pinched your arm.

Then one evening when you were so, so bored, Andre and you danced to that silly song that played every day over and over like the reminder of a curse. He dipped you, and you laughed, and met Venable’s eyes. Her face was upside-down, but you saw it. That smile again. You recognized it at once because it bore none of her usual coldness and sarcasm. It was genuine. It was fond. It made your heart swell.

Probably there were a few surprised glances shared between the others. Maybe Coco raised her eyebrows again. You did a clumsy pirouette and took a bow as the song came to an end.

One morning Venable told you you looked good today. No sarcasm. No mockery. As if she genuinely meant it. Kyle was nearby, and he heard her. Perhaps he even saw the softness in her eyes. Perhaps he didn’t. But he heard her, and that was enough.

They were whispering when you walked into the music room. Coco gestured for you to sit next to her. She leaned over your shoulder and whispered into your ear, “Watch out, Y/N. We think she’s into you.” Gallant nodded solemnly and said, “Good luck. Scream if you need help. We’re a team. In this together. ”

The day after that was when things really did change. You snapped at Venable in front of the others. Actually snapped at her, questioned her rule about copulation, said the two Greys she had had shot for loving each other had not deserved death. Coco and Gallant looked truly impressed. They also stared at you as if it were the last time they were seeing you alive.

You wondered that night whether you had given up on life the day the world ended. You waited for someone to come get you and shoot a bullet through your brain or throw you out of the Outpost. Nothing happened. So the next morning when you sat down for breakfast, the others fell silent. They stared at you. You stared at them. None of you really understood why you were still here. Then Gallant’s mouth opened, just a bit, as if he had realized something. He was about to speak when Venable walked into the room and announced you would now have board games nights. For fun.

That was her first mistake. Part of you knew it, even then, but that part was obliterated by the tidal wave of joy and hope and love that swelled inside you and crashed all over your heart, sprinkling fragments of light and fragments of shining blue everywhere.

Andre snapped at her. Rose to his feet to confront her. No one had done it before but you, and you had gotten away with it. So why not him?

Something quaked slightly when Andre rose. You told yourself it was the ground. You knew you were wrong.

All Venable had to do was stand her ground and scowl for Andre to relent. He took a step back and lowered his head in defeat. And you saw the spark of victory in Venable’s eyes, saw the satisfaction and pride. You admired her. You feared her.

Later that day you made small talk with her. Just to get to know her better. What did she like? What did she dream of? were questions you tried to smuggle in. You assumed a nonchalant expression and pretended to study your nails. You almost forgot what she had done to the two Greys when you met her eyes and sank into the black. It was black spattered with light, like stars in the night sky.

At one point you reached out with the intention of playfully poking her shoulder. But your hand froze midway, and you pursed your lips, pretended you had meant to sweep the dust off the arm of your chair.

“I do believe we should vote for our leader,” Gallant said one evening. “Aren’t we still a democracy?”

“I’m not sure we are,” Andre sneered.

“What the hell you guys, we’re not,” Coco stated.

“Well, as I said, we should vote for our leader,” Gallant repeated.

The idea wasn’t mentioned again for a few days, but it hid in the silence and the shade and never disappeared.

And you saw them scowl at Venable’s back. You heard them whisper to each other when she wasn’t there. Again, the ground quaked.

Late one evening, you were startled by a knock on your door. You were in your pajamas, and your hair was still wet from the shower, but you figured it must be Coco visiting you out of boredom. She was your friend, and you didn’t mind not looking your best with her.

It wasn’t Coco. It was Venable.

There was a very, very awkward moment as she ran her eyes up and down your body and you tried hard not to blush.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said eventually. Her face was completely blank.

“You’re not bothering me,” you mumbled. “I wasn’t doing anything at all.”

You couldn’t read her. You couldn’t see through her façade. Was she amused? Nervous? You shifted your weight from one foot to the other and folded your arms on your chest.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

Your mouth fell open. What kind of question was that? Never in your time at the Outpost – months that had felt like years – had she ever taken the time or the trouble to ask any of the residents how they were doing. And now – first there had been her smile. Then the board games nights, trying to keep you all entertained. And that question.

Was she actually… trying to be nice?

Silence stretched as you processed her words, until she snapped defensively, “What?”

“Oh, uh.” You fumbled for the right words to say. “Fine, I’m doing fine.” You tried to laugh. “I mean, I’m very bored. Like, all the time. But everyone is. Except you, I guess,” you added uneasily. “Because you’re so busy running the place. And all that.”

“Is there anything you can think of that could help you pass the time?” she asked.

A make-out session would be nice, said a voice in your head. You glanced at her lips.

“Well,” you said,” I’ve run out of things to read. I did pack a few books before coming here, but not enough as it turns out.”

“I can help you with that. I’ve got quite a few of my own.”A pause. “You can borrow some. They’re in my room.”

“In your room?” you heard yourself repeat.

Venable nodded. You glanced at her lips again. When you met her eyes, you thought maybe they were a bit darker than before.

“Ok,” you breathed.

It was her second mistake, even though you didn’t realize it at the time. For Gallant saw you. Barefoot and in your pajamas, walking into Venable’s room. He saw how her hand almost brushed your back but didn’t, as if she were too afraid to touch. He saw her close the door behind you.

Venable lent you two books you had not yet read. You held them to your chest as if they were a treasure, not so much because of the escape they promised you, but because they were hers. Her fingers had touched those pages, her eyes had read those words. You opened one book and buried your nose in it, hoping her perfume had lingered on the paper.

You spent the next day reading and ignoring the other residents. Your head was buzzing with words by the time you made your way back to your room, so you didn’t see Venable coming from the other end of the corridor until she stopped mere inches from you.

Her gaze locked with yours. You were vaguely aware of the smile that bloomed on your face – a grin, really, that you could feel tugging at the corner of your lips. The world around you vanished. Venable titled her head on the side, and her mouth twisted as if she were holding back a smile of her own.

For a long moment none of you spoke. You just stood staring at each other as if waiting for something to happen, until Venable’s smile spilled on her lips and you thought you saw a faint blush adorn her cheeks. But maybe it was just the candlelight.

“Hey,” you finally blurted out. You brought a hand up to your hair nervously. “Uh, I wanted to tell you – to thank you, really. For the books.”

Venable gave you a nod. “You’re welcome.”

“And also for the board games nights. They’re really fun. They help making those dreadful evenings, well, a bit less dreadful. Everyone loves them.” That was a lie. Coco and Andre hated board games nights, even more so as they had been Venable’s idea. Kyle and Ash didn’t care much for them, either. But they meant the world to you. They were the proof that somewhere deep behind the cruelty and the sarcasm, kindness lay shy and hesitant in Venable’s soul.

Silence, as you racked your brain for something else to say. You didn’t want her to go just yet.

“Uh, you know,” you eventually spoke, “I was thinking, if you want to borrow some of my own books while I have yours, well, I wouldn’t mind.”

Was this a stupid offer? It sounded stupid to you. You lowered your gaze, biting the inside of your cheek.

“I’d love that,” Venable answered. You looked up at her. She smiled, fond and kind. You melted.

“Okay, great, uh, okay,” you laughed nervously. “Okay.” A pause. “Uh, if you’d follow me?”

You led the way to your room and fumbled with your key for a while. As Venable walked in, you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. Your room wasn’t near as neat and tidy as hers. Clothes that had been carelessly taken off lay like dead bodies on the floor. Your bed wasn’t made.

Venable’s eyes scanned the room, but she refrained from making any comment. As she sat down on your bed, though, she automatically reached out to rearrange your pillows.

“You sure love to keep things in order,” you teased.

Venable hummed. “Order’s the only reason why we were able to make progress as a species. There’s nothing more valuable. That, and control. If you cannot control other people, they’ll destroy you.”

You frowned as you considered her words. “I’m not sure I agree with that.”

“Well, think it over. People are essentially rabid dogs. Loosen your grip on them and they’ll jump on you and tear off your throat.” There was no hesitation in her voice, no room for doubt. She looked up at you as if she thought she had just entrusted you with some secret universal truth, and she expected you to behave accordingly.

“I’m not sure I agree with that, either,” you replied.

She narrowed her eyes at you.”Well then, you’re a fool.”

You shrugged. “Maybe I am. Or maybe one day you’ll allow yourself to trust someone, and you’ll realize trust and kindness are more efficient than control.”

You opened your wardrobe to avoid meeting her gaze. You could still feel it, though, leaving marks like burns on your face. Your books were in a suitcase in the bottom of the wardrobe. You picked it up and set it on the bed.

“Here,” you said, still avoiding Venable’s eyes. “Make your choice.”

You sat down on the bed, keeping a safe distance between her and you. You let a moment pass before you dared glancing up at her. She was busy studying your books, not paying you the slightest attention. So you relaxed, and stared at her.

You wondered what she would look like in the sun. Would her eyes be of a lighter brown, her hair a brighter red? You wanted to see her against the blinding flickers of light on the sea waves, and what she looked like when she was staring up at the stars, or when she was lost in a storm with the wind messing up with her hair, her eyes bright, her cheeks red.

She glanced sideways, met your eyes. You immediately lowered your head and cleared your throat.

“You should take this one,” you said, nodding at the book she was holding – you had no idea which one it was. “It’s very good.”

“Oh, it is,” she answered – was that laughter you could hear in her voice? “The main character, what is he again, a surfer? And the descriptions of the sea are the most beautiful I’ve ever read.”

“I know, right? Unparalleled. So very poetic.”

Venable bit down on a smile as she raised the book to show you its cover. The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter. You almost burst out laughing.

“A surfer,” Venable smiled, shaking her head.

“Ok, you got me.” You turned your head away from her to hide your reddening cheeks. “I had no idea which book you were talking about.”

“Um. Seems you were staring at something else.”

Why was the room suddenly so hot? Had a demon just barged in and brought with him fires from Hell? Your face was burning.

“I actually really like it,” you said to change the subject. “The book, I mean.”

You risked another glance at her. She was flipping through the book, a dreamy smile on her face. It was the first time you were seeing her so relaxed. She looked almost at peace. And younger, freer and wiser, as if she had finally set down a heavy burden. Was this what she looked like when her walls were down?

You wanted to see her with her hair down and no make-up on.

She found a passage you had highlighted, read it, blinked, read it again out loud. “The way I need you is a loneliness I cannot bear.” Her eyes met yours. “Who knew you were such a romantic,” she teased. Your eyes flicked to her lips.

She picked up another book – Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse – and flipped through it until she found another highlighted passage. “With stars in her eyes and veils in her hair, with cyclamen and wild violets…“She paused to glance to you. You leaned towards her. “Stepping through fields of flowers,” she read on, “and taking to the breast buds that had broken and lambs that had fallen; with the stars in her eyes and the wind in her hair.” Her voice had become a mere whisper. She ran her finger down the page, a gentle caress, as if it were a lover.

After a moment she cleared her throat. “I think I’ll take this one,” she said.

“Very good choice,” you whispered.

She turned her head to look at you. And perhaps it was the wild violets. Perhaps it was her face, or how big her eyes were, as if they wished to suck up the whole world and you with it and perhaps you were a bit too eager to lose yourself in their depths. You leaned in, dropped a kiss on her lips like a flower.

It was short, merely a peck. It ended before you even knew it had begun. It lasted forever, made the stars fall from the sky, the oceans sweep over land. It irremediably shattered your heart and made it whole again.

You had absolutely no idea how Venable would react. You were half expecting a slap in the face. But instead she gripped your wrist and planted a sweet kiss on your lips. Like payback. It stole all the air from your lungs.

She pulled away, made as if to lean in again; hesitated, as one about to dive into the ocean from a cliff pulls up short at the very last second. Craving the fall, but too afraid the impact would hurt too much.

You chased after her with a “Trust me” falling from your lips, but she tilted her head away from you.

Venable let go of your wrist and sat up. She closed the book. One of her hands came up to play with her earring.

You drew in a shaky breath to try and clear your head. Your heart had gone mad and your body felt like it was about to dissolve into liquid and spill down the bed to form a pool of rosewater at her feet.

“Thank you,” Venable said, lifting the book. “I’ll take this one.”

You smiled. “Try not to fall too hard for Mrs Ramsay.”

She hummed absentmindedly. Hand tugging at her earring. You held your breath.

“I should go,” she said eventually. She grabbed her cane and stood up.

At the door she paused. “I, uh,” she said. Her eyes when they found yours were hopeful. “Thank you,” she repeated. “For the book.”

You nodded, and grinned at her.

“Watch out, here comes the dragon,” Coco whispered as Venable entered the music room.

Everyone looked up at her, but you were the only one who dared meet her eyes. She gave you a small smile and walked towards Coco.

When she spoke, her voice was more amiable than you had ever heard it, but there was a strain to it, too, as if she were unable to fully hide her contempt. “How have you been adjusting to your new life at the Outpost?” she asked Coco.

That drew everyone’s attention. You frowned in surprise.

Coco stared at her. “Are you considering a new career as a therapist?” she retorted.

“It is part of my job to make sure everyone here is doing as well as they can,” Venable replied in the same amiable voice.

“Terrible,” Coco blurted out, “it’s been terrible. I’m starving to death, I’m so bored I’m losing all my wits, and if I don’t get to lie in the sun very soon my complexion will turn grey.” She paused to take a breath. “But you know what would make me happy? To wear normal clothes. And don’t you have more of that meat you cooked for us once? Oh and for the love of God, why don’t you let me orgasm one more time before I die?” Her voice oscillated between anger and sarcasm. When she stopped talking, her eyes widened a bit, as if she couldn’t quite believe her own boldness.

“None of those things are negotiable,” Venable answered, most of her amiability gone now.

Andre let out a mirthless laugh. “What a surprise,” he said bitterly.

“Those rules were made to ensure your survival,” Venable snapped.

In former days, her snapping would have been enough to drain the fight out of Andre. In former days, Venable only had had to glare for protest to die down. She was a born tyrant, Kyle had said once. Naturally gifted to instill fear in others.

But things were different now. She had been willing to show kindness. She had smiled at you and her smile had been genuine. She had loosened her grip, just slightly.

“Bullshit,” Andre growled. He stood up.

Something flicked across Venable’s face you had never seen before. Something that looked exactly like fear. Andre saw it.

He took a step towards her and raised his voice.”I think those rules are bullshit. And I think you know it. Why should we follow them if you don’t? Gallant saw you,” he spat out. ”He saw you open your door to your little pet the other night.”

For a moment there was only silence. You leaned back into your seat, trying to make yourself as small as possible. And then Venable raised her left hand and slapped Andre in the face. Hard. The sound echoed off the walls.

Andre stumbled back and deflated. But he had set an example, and the others were only too eager to pick up the torch. As a line of soldiers advances when the first has succumbed, Ash spoke out.

“Why don’t you come to my room and spend the night, Kyle?” she said, proud and confident.

“Now you guys, wait a minute,” you heard yourself say, “we didn’t –“

“I’d be delighted,” Kyle cut you off. He grabbed Ash’s hand and bent to kiss her knuckles.

“Andre, my bed’s all yours,” Gallant said in a singsong.

Coco let out a loud laugh. “Party night!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. “Let’s all be disgusting sinners tonight!”

Venable tapped her cane on the floor. Loud. Threatening. Coco stiffened and fell silent. And Venable almost smiled, because she still had so much power over them, so much control, and she would be damned before she let it slip through her fingers –

Gallant charged at Venable with his hands clenched into fists as if he meant to hit her. He had almost reached her when he changed his mind, stopped dead in his tracks, and scurried away from her. But his voice thundered, “What are you gonna do, uh? Shoot me? I’m royalty! I’m wearing fucking purple, babydoll!” He opened his arms and grinned like a mad man. “And anyway we outnumber you, bitch! Don’t you ever fucking forget that!”

And with that he left the room.

The others scowled at Venable for a few seconds before they, too, one by one, got up and left. Coco stopped in the doorway and turned. “Come on, Y/N,” she called.

You met Venable’s eyes. They were as unreadable as ever. You waited, hoping for something, some emotion, that would give you a reason to stay. But she merely glared at you, standing tall and confident as if nothing had happened. Just the way she had looked when she had sentenced those two Greys to death.

You lowered your gaze, stood up, and followed Coco out of the room.

“What the hell just happened?” Coco laughed nervously.

Gallant was jumping up and down like an excited child. “The end of an era!” he exclaimed triumphantly.

You stared at them. They were your friends. You were a team, in this together. Coco draped an arm around your shoulders and grinned at you.

“Man, that felt good,” you heard Gallant said. He shook his head and shoulders as a dog does to get dry.

A team, you reminded yourself. You were in this together. You gave Coco’s hand a squeeze.

“We’re going to hold an election.”

Venable raised her eyebrows contemptuously.”An election?” she repeated, as if it were the most ludicrous thing she had ever heard.

Gallant nodded. “A vote. To choose who will lead us.”

Venable let out a short, incredulous laugh. Her eyes went from one face to the other. “Excuse-me,” she scoffed, “you must have gone mad, or else I didn’t hear you correctly.”

“We’re holding an election,” Gallant enunciated, “to choose who will lead us.”

Venable’s face hardened. “No you’re not,” she said.

“Try us,” Gallant growled.

“And how exactly are you going to run this place without knowing anything about the Cooperative’s plans?”Venable sneered.

“We’ll figure things out. We’ll be better at it than you ever were.”

“My work here has been more than excellent,” Venable snapped. “It’s the only reason why you’re still alive.”

“Tell that to Stu,” Andre interrupted. “And to those two poor Greys you killed.”

Venable’s eyes flicked to you, almost questioningly, as if she were asking for advice. You were too ashamed to hold her gaze. You stared down at the floor.

When Venable spoke again, her voice dripped with the same strained amiability she had used when addressing Coco the day before. “If you’d like, I could go over my reasons for such a punishment.”

Andre let out a low growl, baring his teeth. Venable didn’t flinch, didn’t let out the slightest sign of alarm; but you did, because you knew what she was doing, and you knew it would fail. You were the one who’d told her to try. Be kind. Trust in other people’s kindness.

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you had time to let out more than one word, Andre barked at Venable. “We will hold an election. Tomorrow, in this very room. And you will be held accountable for the three people you ruthlessly murdered.”

“Soon to be four, you can count on that,” Venable spat back.

She was brave, you had to give her that. She glared right into Andre’s eyes as he yelled at her and frothed at the mouth, and Coco and Gallant and the others closed in on her like a pack of wolves. She didn’t blink, didn’t falter, didn’t seem the least bit scared. She simply waited for their wrath to subside, for the jaws to slacken and the muscles to relax.

It did subside. It always does. Andre stood panting at a loss for words, and Venable tapped her cane on the floor.

“Is your pitiful tantrum over?” she gibed. She took a step forward, and he leaned away from her.”Now you hear me out. There will be no election. You wouldn’t last a day without my management and deep down in that useless, childish brain of yours you know it.” Venable smirked. “Now back off.”

Andre hesitated, clenched his teeth, took a few steps back. Venable’s eyes swept the room contemptuously. Her gaze lingered on your face a second too long. Those were the same eyes that had smiled at you and sparkled with stars and softened at the mention of cyclamen and wild violets. Now they were pitch black and so frighteningly cold.

Contradictory feelings were waging war on each other in your head. Too many successive victories and defeats, Guilt crowned winner and the second after stabbed to death by Anger who was immediately dethroned by Love, betrayed by Fear banished by Regret with the help of Guilt murdered by – it was too much. You could have banged your head on the walls and painted them red with your blood.

You prayed for numbness. You walked down a corridor, up a staircase, down another corridor, completely oblivious to your surroundings. Andre and the other residents would not relent, you were certain of that. But neither would Venable, and she had half a dozen armed minions under her control. But what if the Purples asked the Greys for help? A few words and promises exchanged behind a closed door would be enough to constitute an army. Guns wouldn’t matter, then. As Gallant had said, Venable and the guards would be greatly outnumbered and easily overthrown.

And what were you to do? You didn’t like Venable’s rules, didn’t think they were fair but you had seen her. Caught a glimpse of her and loved what you had seen and knew you would never tire of it just as you’d never tire of sunsets. There wasn’t a single universe in which you’d be okay with her getting hurt.

Someone grabbed your shoulder and shoved you against the wall. You winced in pain, tried to push them away, but an elbow dug into your collarbone and kept you in place.

“Why, hello there,” Venable hissed in your face.

“What the –“

“Are you and your little friends having fun?” She gave you another shove, and your shoulders slammed into the wall.

“You’re hurting me!” you cried out.

“Good,” Venable snarled, but her grip on you loosened.

You met her eyes, shivered at the anger you saw burning in them. Fear washed over you, but was soon replaced by something else, something much worse – guilt.

“Look,” you mumbled, “I –“

“I expect you to answer me when I ask you a question,” Venable growled. “Are you and your friends having fun?”

You fumbled for words, tears springing to your eyes. “I’m not – I didn’t –“

“You didn’t what?” she snapped, cruelty ringing loud in her voice. “Think? Meant for anything bad to happen? Aren’t you the most feeble-minded moron I ever had the displeasure to meet!”

She waited for an answer, but you couldn’t give her one. Your tongue was too thick, your mouth too dry.

“Damn it Y/N this is all your fault!” Venable cried. And this time there was no cruelty. This time you heard her voice waver, and saw the fear spill into her eyes.

It felt like the floor had vanished from under your feet. Without Venable’s grip on your shirt you would have collapsed.

“I know,” you whispered brokenly, tears dropping from your eyes. “I’m so sor –“

“Oh, Ms Venable,” she mocked in a high-pitched voice, “you should really try and be kind. Oh, Ms Venable, trust me Ms Venable.” She gave you another push, but it was weak. “Well I fucking did and you walked out of that room with them!”

Her voice broke. It seemed to surprise her, for she recoiled and winced. And then her emotions were back under control, eyes hard and cold, voice colder still.

“As it turned out I was right,” she snapped. “Show kindness and the dogs come barking.”

You shook your head, let out a sob. Please no. You hadn’t wanted any of this, hadn’t meant to hurt her, to put her in danger. You’d encouraged her to put down her sharpest sword, her largest shield – and she had been willing to try, only to see her efforts backfire and blow up in her face. And you – you had walked away. You had left her to deal with the aftermath. You had irremediably broken the hope that’d shone in her eyes the day you had dropped a kiss on her lips.

You had no idea how to make things right again. And why on Earth was she even taking the trouble to talk to you? Why hadn’t she had you shot yet, made sure to get rid of you for good? Why had she ever smiled at you?

You wanted to hug her. To wrap her up in your arms nice and tight, kiss her cheek, promise her you’d keep her safe. You would wish it with all you had so it would have to come true. She would hear the honesty and the love in your voice and everything would be alright.

You couldn’t see very well through your tears, but it seemed to you her arm twitched, as if she wanted to reach out, as if she, too, was craving touch. She bit her lip, and looked away, and her eyes were too watery so you lifted your hand to stroke her cheek. Her breath hitched and she batted your hand away, her fingers slamming into yours.

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, a quaver in her voice; her eyes looking everywhere but at you, her shoulders bending, and you tried to reach out again so she gave you another shove, and another, and another until she let out a noise like an angry, broken cry, leaned in and pressed her forehead against your chest.

She gave in for three seconds, maybe five. Then she sighed and pulled back, and you were left with only a memory of her warmth and scent, your hand up where her head had been but your fingers threading through nothing but air.

You tried to sleep that night but couldn’t. At one point you dozed off, and when you opened your eyes next your body was covered with sweat and your heart was beating too fast. You tried reading one of the books Venable had lent you. Five minutes later you were curled up in a tight ball and crying your eyes out.

The morning after you met with the other residents in the music room. Gallant was in a very good mood. Ash and Kyle were exchanging suggestive glances. You thought maybe Coco told you a story about something that had happened to her in her youth. Maybe you had half a food cube for breakfast. Then at one point Gallant raised both his arms and said something about voting. He had barely finished talking when Venable sauntered into the room and someone gasped, and then someone else shouted in alarm and you didn’t understand why until you saw the gun in Venable’s hand.

And her eyes were piercing, and her face was completely blank, and her hand wasn’t shaking when she pointed the gun at Gallant’s head.

But that’s not what happened. It couldn’t be, could it? Rewind.

Coco had stopped in the doorway and called after you. You had pretended not to hear. When she had called again, you’d stood up and planted yourself defiantly beside Venable. And Coco hadn’t even looked that surprised.

That night Venable had kissed you again, longer, bolder, giggling into your mouth. You had seen her with her hair down and no make-up on. In the morning she had counted the freckles on your shoulders. And you two had lain in bed staring into each other’s eyes, that beautiful, fond smile of hers creeping up her lips over and over again.

Better, so much better. Please, rewind.

Venable – Wilhemina now, Mina, darling – had made peace with the other residents. She had agreed to make some of her rules more flexible, and they had renounced holding the election. Coco had given you a pat on the shoulder, for she was your friend. You were a team, in this together. Venable had reached out for your hand, laced your fingers together.

The colours drained from Gallant’s face. He took a step back and held out his hands.

“What the fuck is going on?” Coco cried out. She made to scurry away, but she bumped against a chair and grabbed hold of your arm to steady herself. Her grip brought you back to the present.

“Wow wow wow, hold on,” Andre shouted.

“Ms Venable”, you heard yourself say.

She didn’t seem to hear any of you.

“Ms Venable,” you repeated. (Wilhemina, Mina, darling)

Venable blinked and looked at you, her gaze surprisingly calm and confident. You held out your hands and took one step towards her. “Please,” you begged – your hands were shaking – “please, put the gun down.”

Venable redirected her attention to Gallant. He whimpered, and Venable smirked.

“Ms Venable, put the gun down,” you tried again. She ignored you. “Wilhemina, please.”

Her eyes met yours, and you saw part of her resolve falter, but then her face hardened again as if to say, If I do, what then? This, is not a gun but the last rope tying me to safety. This is me holding control back before it runs away and hides where I can’t reach it. Would a shipwrecked sailor puncture their own lifebuoy to drown in the sea? And pray, she asked you, what do I have to lose if I pull the trigger? It’d be nothing compared to what would happen if I don’t. Safety would be ripped from me, safety not only from physical harm but also and most importantly from prying eyes and sneering mouths, from judgment, pity, disappointment and mockery. Pray, what do I have to lose if I pull the trigger?

Me, you answered boldly. You’d lose me. Maybe it’s not good enough a reason, maybe I’m just being pretentious, but you’d lose me and away with me would walk love, and care, and recovery. And I am sorry. I am crawling at your feet pouring apologies. I am braiding promises and dreams into your hair. I am smearing words of devotion on your mouth and saving the truest, the most rapturous of them – I adore you – to be whispered to your heart so it can mend itself. Tell me, darling, can I be enough?

Wilhemina’s arm was shaking. Stone-faced and afraid, she looked at Gallant, saw the hope in his eyes and the anger behind the hope that promised he would be cruel. Her aim lowered from his head to his chest. Gallant’s shoulders straightened. Two seconds passed, and Wilhemina’s eyes veiled over as she put the gun down.

It seemed everyone in the room released their breaths at the exact same moment. Coco’s grip on your arm loosened. The room itself grew brighter.

For a moment Gallant was too stunned to react. Then something like a smirk but uglier twisted his face and he ran his eyes up and down Wilhemina’s body. You saw her stiffen.

She raised her eyebrows arrogantly. “Consider this your lucky day,” she snapped.

Gallant scoffed. Before he had time to move, you planted yourself protectively in front of Wilhemina – she was holding a gun, you were completely defenseless, but at that moment you would have taken a hundred bullets for her without a second thought –, clenched your fists and glared.

“Back off, Gallant,” you warned.

Gallant frowned at you. “We’re getting rid of her, Y/N.”

“Like hell you are.” You took a step forward, casting angry glances at everyone. “Ms Venable’s the only one here who can run this place. We know nothing about nothing. All we do is whine and laze around while she makes sure we have something to eat every day. Everyone else is dead. All the other Outposts have been overrun. Have you ever asked yourself why we’re still safe and alive?”

You paused to take a few short, angry breaths. Coco, Kyle and Ash lowered their eyes and stared at the ground, but Gallant and Andre still looked mad. “Please, guys. Think this over.” Another pause. Gallant’s gaze softened. “We’re all in this together,” you tried. “The only way we can survive is if we stick together.”

“She fucking killed Stu,” Andre barked. “She’ll pay for that.”

“Stu was contaminated,” you retorted. “His very existence threatened ours.”

“Bullshit,” Andre growled, baring his teeth. ”And deep down, Y/N, you know it. She’ll kill us all if we don’t take action first.”

“And we’ll die without her anyway,” you countered.

It went on for what felt like forever. Andre and you, snarling arguments at each other and you thought it would never end. But there was too much at stake, so you pushed on and on rephrasing the same ideas until Kyle lay his hand on Andre’s arm. Then it was him and you against Andre, who eventually deflated and backed off with a mean, angry look in his eyes like a wounded predator.

You turned to Venable. She had not uttered a single word since she had lowered the gun. Her face was inscrutable. Now she made a few snide comments and left the room. You gave Kyle a grateful smile and hurried after her. Damn the others and what they would think of your behaviour. Let them talk. Let them natter and speculate.

Venable walked down the corridor as if she owned the place, hips swaying to the rhythm of her cane. You followed on her heels, now and then glancing down nervously at the gun still in her hand. The candlelight glinted off it.

To your surprise, Venable headed to her bedroom. She opened the door, turned, and looked down on you haughtily. “And what do you think you’re doing?” she asked imperiously.

That threw you off for a second. You straightened up and studied her face. “May I come in with you?”

Venable’s face was unreadable. You had no idea what was going on in her head. Silence stretched for so long, her gaze so intimidating that you were about to give up and avert your eyes, when she stepped aside to let you in.

You pretended to look about the room as Venable put the gun away in the drawer of her bedside table and sat on the bed. You shot her a sideways glance, noticed her hands were shaking. She was staring straight ahead of her, eyes hard and brooding. You bit your lip, trying to think of something to say. “And I thought it was boring here,” is what came out of your mouth.

Who could blame you, really? People use humor as a shield all the time.

“That’s because you’re a hopeless moron,” Venable snapped. She sounded a bit breathless. You cast her a worried look.

“I,” you started, but then you fell silent. You didn’t know what to add after that.

Venable grabbed her cane to stand up, but her hands were shaking so badly now she dropped it. Her next breath came out with a wheeze.

“Wilhemina,” you called worriedly.

She held out one hand. “Don’t,” she panted.

She tried to stand up without her cane, almost made it; her face contorted with pain as her legs buckled and she fell back on the bed. You ran to her.

“Don’t,” she hissed again, arms twisting to avoid touching you.

“Alright, take a deep breath –“

“I said don’t!” Her right hand slammed into your chest to push you away, but then her fingers clutched your shirt to keep you close. She heaved for breath, her eyes meeting yours in alarm.

“Hey,” you tried. You laid a comforting hand on her arm. “It’s okay, you’re okay. I won’t let them hurt you.”

A breath out, painful and short. Her eyes were wide with fear.

“I won’t,” you repeated, almost a growl.

Wilhemina’s free hand shot up to her chest. “I can’t –“she gasped, fingers tugging at her lace collar as if it were trying to strangle her. “Please, I can’t –“

She was losing control. Entirely. Not only of the situation but also of her body, her oldest, worst enemy. And you saw the terror in her eyes, felt her fingers clutch your shirt so tightly you thought she would tear it.

“Please I –“she repeated, voice small and breaking.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you.” Your fingers wrapped around her wrist, thumb rubbing circles to try and ground her. Gently, you pushed her hand against your chest. “Can you feel it rise and fall? Can you breathe with me, darling?” Her shoulders relaxed slightly at the last word, so you said it again, staring into her eyes as you tried to give her a smile. “Just like that, darling. You’re doing so well.”

She sucked in a breath, let it out shakily. You whispered words of encouragement as she copied your breathing, your thumb still rubbing circles on the back of her hand. Her eyes were wide, silently asking for help, seeking reassurances that she would be alright, that this pain would not last. That she would get to hold the reins again and be safe.

When she interlaced her fingers with yours you smiled again, and this time it reached your eyes. “There you go,” you congratulated her. She gave you a smile in return, small but true.”Take one last deep breath for me?”

She did, shoulders rising, gaze softening. You brought her hand up to your mouth and kissed her knuckles.

“God,” she whispered with a shiver, “I hated that.”

You laughed softly. “It’s called freaking out,” you teased. “It happens to most people.”

She rolled her eyes at you and poked your arm. For a moment she gazed at you dreamily, then she sat up, and smoothed her hands over her skirt.

“I already miss giving orders,” she said. Her voice was playful, but you heard worry in it, too.

You hummed, considered her words. “Well, I’m here if you need someone to boss around.”

You almost regretted your words when you saw the malice in her eyes and the smirk that slowly crept up her mouth. But all she did was bite her lower lip, glance down at your mouth and whisper, “Kiss me.”

You kissed her cheek, soft and hot, to promise her tenderness. You kissed her eyelid, fluttering closed, to promise her protection. And at last you kissed her lips, home, to seal the promise of love.

When you pulled away, her eyes had that same peaceful, relaxed quality you had first caught a glimpse of when she had sat in your room and flipped through your books. It softened her whole face, pastel colours of a summer sunset succeeding to the vivid white and yellow of the afternoon. You grinned at her, drunk with love.

“Kiss me again,” she breathed, voice barely audible, eyes half-lidded. You eagerly obliged, dipping your lips in hers, the sweetest, most intoxicating of liquors. It burnt its way to your heart and lit up your whole body with desire.

“I think,” she whispered into your mouth, as her hands slid up your waist, “I think I might amend one of my rules.”

You groaned and sucked gently on her lower lip to taste her. “Please,” you rasped.

“I meant the one about the dress code,” she smiled. You scoffed. Banter seemed so easy and natural to her behind closed doors, and you loved that about her.

One of your hands came up to stroke her hair. Your fingers found a hair pin, tapped on it wistfully.

You pulled away just enough to look her in the eye. “Can I…“you whispered. She raised an eyebrow, not quite catching your meaning. Your finger tapped on the hair pin again. She did understand, then. For a moment she looked uncertain, and almost shy, but then she nodded.

Reverently you pulled on the pin and buried your hand in her hair, combing your fingers through it to pull it free. Your other hand came up to remove the bumpits on top of her head. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders and back, rough and fiery red just like the rest of her, ends perfectly trimmed somehow even though she had been living at the Outpost for months. You twisted a strand around your finger, stared at her in awe.

She tried to hold back a smile, failed; her eyes were bright, and the softest of pinks was blooming on her cheeks. “You’re so beautiful,” you breathed.

She raised her eyebrows doubtfully. “You are,” you insisted, cupping her face. “You look like the sunset. Red and purple and pink.”

“Pink?” she questioned.

With a smirk you poked her cheek. “Um, yes. You’re blushing.”

Her brow furrowed. “I’m not.”

“I’m afraid you are,” you chuckled.

“I’m not.” She bit her lip. “Kiss me again,” she ordered.

You pulled on her hair, hard, and planted open-mouthed kisses up her neck. You felt her throat vibrate as a moan escaped her.

“Easy now,” she hissed, raking down her nails down your back, a glorious sting.”Don’t get too bold.”

In lieu of an answer you sucked on the soft clammy skin just below her jaw and smirked as she shivered against you. “I’d never dare, Ms Venable.”

She groaned and unceremoniously pushed you onto the bed. You stared up at her, hungry and predatory, and opened your legs. Her eyes flared. She sucked in a breath, stroke her hands up your thighs. Her nails dug into your skin where your legs met your hips. “Kiss me,” she ordered.

You bit down on a smile. “No,” you whispered, meaning to tease her just a bit, to give her the opportunity to exercise her authority and to show her control was still well within her grasp.

Her thumbs were massaging the inside of your upper thighs. You were soaked, burning, and entirely too ravenous for her. “Kiss me,” she repeated.

You brought a hand up to her cheek and gently stroked it. “No,” you taunted.

Her eyes flared again. She slapped your stomach. Your hips bucked, your teeth sinking into your lower lip. “I said, kiss me.” A low growl, so ferocious and threatening you would’ve felt uneasy if it hadn’t been for the fond, grateful expression in her eyes. But you frowned slightly, and she noticed, and smirked.

And she was beautiful, cheeks flushed, red hair tousled and the skin of her neck and shoulders adorned with your love marks.

She lunged at you, tongue darting out, to lick up your throat, wet and hot and entirely too enticing. You squirmed under her, your fingers burying in her hair as she nipped the skin along your jaw.

“I’ll say it one more time,” she growled into your skin. She raised her head to meet your eyes, her teeth grazing your skin. “Kiss me.” Categorical, peremptory. So fierce the very ground quaked. You gazed at her in awe.

A smile. A finger slipping under her chin, pulling her to you. A kiss on her lips.

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

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solastia · 3 years

Text

The Dragon’s Lair - 7

- SEOKJIN’S POV -

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x F!Reader (although she’s kinda OC now huh?)

A/N: Kinda on the short side, I apologize. But I wanted us to get a quick peek into Jin’s side of things and where his mind is. Any guesses on who his mate might be? ;)

*****

He wasn’t sure what had woken him up. The house was silent beyond Namjoon’s snores that he could hear coming through the old walls. He waited a few seconds to see if he could hear anything else or catch a scent, but it was all clear. There was just something pricking at his mind - something making his instincts go wild. He’d blame the fact that he was in a new house but this wasn’t a new feeling.

It had begun when his ride here had traveled past the sea. He’d gotten a whiff of fresh ocean air and his fur had instantly bristled up. His claws had lengthened involuntarily and he’d had to exercise every scrap of self-control he possessed so he wouldn’t leap out of the moving vehicle and run full-shift towards whatever that scent had been.

Seokjin groans and cracks open his eyes, still heavy with sleep. He might as well take a trip to the bathroom while he was already awake. He yawns and forces himself out of the comfy bed, scratching his belly sleepily. Even now, the scent was clear to him. There had been the smell of the ocean, yes, but...something else. Something other like him.

The realistic part of Seokjin’s brain said maybe his exotic side had simply found a scent it liked and that’s that. But when he allowed himself to be more fanciful, like now when it was three am and he was still half asleep, he listened to the Sphinx screaming, “mate, mate, MATE!,” and he didn’t hate the idea.

He’d been alone for so very long that it sounded like a dream. A fairytale ending for his Cinderella story.

Not that Namjoon was any sort of evil stepsister, nor his mate that exuded naivety and goodness from every pore. If anything, he knew that he was particularly blessed to have Heechul hyung looking out for him and talking this human into taking him in. He would have dealt with having to be in the shelter again, but quite honestly he was too old to do well there. He was a grown Sphinx used to independence and being at the top of his hierarchy.

He finishes in the bathroom and sighs heartily, deciding sleep was going to be impossible now. Might as well help himself to the kitchen. He shuffled quietly there and peeked inside the fridge, horrified once again by the contents. How have these two been keeping alive? The fridge only contained very basic ingredients like eggs and milk, a bottle of soy sauce, and not a single vegetable in sight.

He settles for making a couple of fried eggs, using them to top off the bowl of instant rice he pilfered from the cupboards. He gives it all a splash of soy sauce so it’s not completely flavorless and sits at the kitchen table, eating his little meal slowly.

It always seemed like nights were harder for some reason. Like the dark vastness of the sky reminded him of how empty his life had become - of how much he missed his parents.

He’d seriously lucked out when the two had walked into the shelter all those years ago. He’d been a bit older than the usual desired age for hybrid adoptions so he hadn’t expected much when Heechul had escorted the couple towards the exotic section. He’d stayed in his corner of the room playing his video game, but he’d kept an eye on them as they smiled and shook hands with all the desperate little ones crowding them. They seemed genuinely nice, with smiles that lit up their eyes and the man always making his wife laugh.

When they finally got close enough, Seokjin greedily scented the air, thinking if he ever had someone pick him he hoped they smelled as good as these two. The man - though obviously old for a human - smelled strong and healthy. Faint hints of cigar smoke and old books clung to him almost as much as his mate’s scent did. And his mate - the wife - smelled exactly how Seokjin had always thought a mother would. A light hint of expensive perfume couldn’t cloud the endorphins that were coming off of her in waves from being surrounded by the little ones. She was older too - perhaps younger than her husband by no more than a handful of years - but she too seemed to be in good health. She smelled so comforting to Seokjin that he stopped paying attention to his game and let his little avatar get killed three times in a row as he glued his eyes on the woman.

Heechul actually herded the pair towards him and he set down his controller and bowed formally, wanting to make a good impression despite the fact that he knew they would never pick him. He’d thought they’d merely shake his hand and move on, but the man had kept asking him questions about his hobbies and what he wanted to do when he grew up. The woman kept staring at him with her hand held to her chest like she’d been shocked by something.

It wasn’t until a half-hour later when Heechul had called him into his office with the pair that he realized she’d decided she wanted him. A mere few minutes and she’d decided she was his mother and no one else’s. “You’re so handsome I fell in love at first sight, my Jinnie,” she’d always say.

He’d had nineteen wonderful years with them before pneumonia took them both within days of each other. Nineteen years filled with happiness and laughter with two of the most loving people he’d ever met. He missed his routines with them - the fishing every weekend with his dad, cooking with his mom, the Sundays all three of them would sit around with face masks and watch movies.

When they’d passed away, his heart had broken. He’d known it was inevitable - they were both getting old and frail - but he’d thought he’d have just a little more time with them. After the funeral, he waited with bated breath for someone to storm in and drag him off to be put down somewhere. When nothing had happened, he’d grown steadily more careless, often forgetting he wasn’t supposed to be on his own with the big house and vast wealth. He’d carried on with his life like he knew his parents would have wanted him to. He kept going to med school since his dad had pulled so many strings to let him attend, he tried going on dates that never went anywhere, he hung out with his friends whenever he had the time. Life went on.

Trying to stop the robber had been stupid of him - he knew that now. He should have just let the man get away and then never reported him so he’d be left alone...but once he spied his mother’s favorite pearls in the man’s hand he’d lost his shit. He’d fully shifted, letting his wings out and knocking over a couple of vases with their width, and his nails expanded until finally he’d roared and the robber had screamed and thrown the nearest item at his head in his rush to escape. Unfortunately, that item had been his mother’s bird statue that was made entirely of gold, so he’d been knocked out cold. His friend had found him after he hadn’t shown up to their gaming session and called the police and an ambulance, where they took his blood and found out that he was a hybrid with deceased owners and proceeded to shove him in the nearest pound while they contacted his mother’s very distant cousin.

He’d never even gotten to meet this so-called cousin before the fat lawyer that smelled like fried chicken rushed him out of his own home, making him leave behind even the belongings that were his. He had no idea what use the cousin had for his manga or video game collection. Let alone the used sports jerseys or his hamper full of dirty clothes.

Thankfully Heechul existed and he’d been able to contact his old caregiver before he was sent to the state center. He knew that place was a death sentence. And now here he was, in a strange home with barely anything besides his small suitcase. He missed his dad. He missed his mom. He missed feeling loved and hopeful for the future. He missed the way his dad always knew what to do. He missed the way his mom would brush his mane and groom his feathers while she sang.

Seokjin cleared his throat and swiped at his suddenly wet cheek. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying. He shook his head and went to the sink to wash his dishes, heading back to his room when he finished for another sleepless night.

****

Life in the ‘Dragon’s Lair’ (as he’d taken to calling it, despite said dragon’s constant eye-rolling) began to take on a new normal the longer he was there. Days began to blend into each other as he struggled to adjust himself to his new reality, but Namjoon and his mate were a great help.

Luckily, his tuition had been prepaid by his father and the cousin had no way of taking his education away from him, so he still took his classes - albeit mostly online because he wanted to stay in his room most of the time.

Money was thankfully of no immediate issue. There was more money in the book than he’d felt comfortable sharing with anyone, enough that he could still go years without a job if he needed to. He also knew that if he needed it, he could always ask Heechul for help, although the other would make him work in the cafe for it. He might do it anyway just for something to do.

Namjoon and his mate were simply wonderful. His old friend had grown up into a great person who was sweet and intelligent, good to the people he cared about, and strong in ways that he probably wasn’t even aware of. His mate Star was just as good. She was funny and kind, with just enough sass to be interesting. And they were both sickeningly in love with each other to the point that Seokjin had to leave the house quite often to get some peace. Not that it upset him - he was incredibly happy for Namjoon. It just sometimes emphasizes how alone he was.

But yes, Star was great. There was just...something about her. Something that drew him to her. Not in a sexual or attraction kind of way...more like - primal. Like the animal side of him saw her as a protector. Which, he supposed she kinda was since she was housing exotic hybrids, but still. He couldn’t figure it out. He was certain she was completely human, but sometimes underneath the frankly nauseating amount of reptile musk that she was constantly covered with, he could catch hints of the forest in her natural scent. Sure, there was a forest nearby, but why would the scent cling to her like that? There was something there and luckily for him, there was nothing he enjoyed more than a good riddle.

Beyond that, there was still one other pressing issue. His mate.

He knew they were out there. He knew he’d caught their scent. When he’d passed the sea he’d been certain they were there. He just needed to find them. He didn’t want them to be alone too.

“Jin, we’re about to head to the mall. Do you want to come shopping with us? The weather’s clearing up and I promised Namjoon we’d go to the ocean,” Star asked with a bright smile as he exited his room.

“The ocean?” he responded, his brain halting for a second. Fate was working her magic, was she?

“Yeah, he’s been wanting to go for a while but it’s been too cold. I thought we’d rent a small beach house and spend the weekend. So you’ll need swim trunks and towels, stuff like that. If you’d rather stay here, that’s fine too. It’s up to you.”

“No,” he rushed, feeling his ears go red with embarrassment as he let his eagerness show. “It’s fine. I’d love to go.”

“Great!” Star grinned, threading an arm with his as she leads him out to the yard. “We’ll have so much fun!”

He nods silently, his nose trying in vain to catch that salty scent on the air again.

I’m coming. Just wait for me.

#bts #the dragon's lair #solastia #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #hybrid au #hybrid!au #hybrid!bts #hybrid!namjoon #hybrid!seokjin #dragon!au #sphinx #bts au

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marvelwritings · 3 years

Text

Can't tell me there's no point in trying

Summary: Peter travels back in time, get's a concussion and Tony takes care of him, even though in his mind, Peter has been blipped for three years.

In hindsight, the exact memory of when they started researching how to travel back to the past is lost on him. It’s just that he had been so devastated, after Tony’s death, that his emotions had reached through to the only person that somewhat knew what he was going through. Peter didn’t want to compare Wanda’s situation with his, after all, Wanda was the one that was forced to choose between the love of her life and saving the universe, but the weight of their grief was the same none the less.

Wanda had approached him while he was out on patrol, and though there was not set plan, Peter was willing to try anything to get Tony back. They started of their plan by seeking help from Doctor Strange, and when that hadn’t worked, Peter had snuck in and stole -borrowed as he preferred to call it- a few books that might have been helpful for their goal. Between going to school, patrolling, putting up a front for his friends and aunt -and as of late Happy-, and searching endlessly for a scrape of hope, Peter had worked himself to the bone. It would all be worth it though, if their plan came to fruition.

It hadn’t worked the first time, nor the second time, and neither did the third. Failed enough times that Peter’s heart sunk into his stomach, and that he carefully tried to convince Wanda to try something else. The spell was eerily straightforward with very little need for ingredients, nothing more then saying two sentences and having a personal item of the person they strived to reach, and if they hadn’t managed to work it out in three attempts, Peter assumed, though the idea rendered him dejected, it would never work.

Until he went out on patrol again that night. One moment he was excitedly talking to Karen, animatedly retelling the story of how he managed to stop a bank robbery, as it the AI hadn’t witnessed it, and the next he tried to shoot out a spiderweb to building so he could swing over, only for the web to hit nothing but air.

‘Ow, wow’, Peter floundered, trying his best to reach something and prevent himself from slamming on the ground -again-, but he failed. He banged into a tree at full speed, colliding head first and tumbling down while hitting every branch possible. That was the first sign that should have tipped Peter off. There were no trees in the middle of Queens. Under normal circumstances, he would have considered that, but the heavy impact is not working well in his favor.

Landing on the ground on his stomach with a hard thud, his body, and specifically his ribs, screamed in agony, and he rips the mask off without considering his predicament. Anyone could walk by and see the face beneath the mask. Still, Peter can’t breath with the way his ribs object, but at least without the mask it’s fresh air he inhales.

He turns around and struggles to get on his back. His hand instinctively slide over his stomach, protecting the hurting area. Come to think of it, every area on his body hurts. Peter knows the logistics of cracked ribs, and savvies that even with the aid of super healing, it’s not going to repair in a few minutes times.

He inhales as a small as he possibly can, despite knowing he shouldn’t, and braces himself for running back to May’s and his appartement. He can’t stay here, where anyone could walk up to him and attack him while he’s down. He laughs incredible, at least aunt May, and Tony of he was still here, would be proud of him for calling it a day.

When he blinks his eyes open though, he’s met with nothing but grass and green for miles, and a blurry vision that tells him he has a concussion. While trying to sit up, his visions spins like he’s a part of a rollercoaster, and his stomach turns uncomfortably.

‘Oh no,’ Peter moans, ‘aunt May is gonna kill me.’ It’s the only thing he can say before he has to swallow back bile and decides it’s best to be quiet from now on. He struggles to his feet, stumbling a few times before successfully finding his footing in the grass.

His vision does not clear, but he forces himself to take a few steps in any direction anyway. Wondering if seeing all these trees are because of his concussion, Peter freezes when he hears tiny footsteps approaching the opening his still currently residing in. It’s accompanied by children’s crying, the hairs on his arm standing up at the sound. Perhaps it’s a trap, but Peter has never done well ignoring a child ever since meeting his baby sister.

‘Hello?’ he calls out tentatively, squeezing his eyes shut firmly to clear it, but it doesn’t help.

‘Hi’, an adorable voice answers back to him, a head peeks out from behind a bunch, as if the child is equally as curious about Peter as Peter is about her. He can only notice she does this because blurring colors that inch closer little by little. The girl sniffles, ‘I hurt my foot.’

Peter is out of his depth here. He’s only ever impressed children by swinging them around in the sky, but his body will not allow that right now. Instead he tries to focus on what he would do if Morgan was the one that was hurt. Adopting a tone only Morgan has ever heard from him, Peter crouches down on his knees. His ribs creak in dismay, but he ignores it firmly. Someone needs him right now.

‘Oh that’s not good. Does it hurt a lot?’ Peter himself cannot assess the damage.

‘No I guess not’, the girls splutters, pulling up her foot to show Peter.

‘Okay, that’s great. Do you live for away from here? I bet that if I take you back home, your parents will give you a lollipop because you were so brave.’

‘Oh’, the child cries out in wonder, pain in her foot forgotten completely at the mentions of dessert. Peter can’t help but smirk a little, bribery works on Morgan every time too. ‘I’ll show you, but you have to carry me okay?’

Peter can’t think of a worse activity for his injured body to sustain right now, but he’s not about to let a kid down.

‘It’s a deal, lead the way and hop on up.’ His tone is cheerful, even though he has to bite back pained groans by biting his lip.

The girl shows no hesitation and follows his lead immediately, giggling in delight.

‘So, do you want to play a game on the way over?’

They end up playing I spy with my little eye, which Peter loses every time, and not only because he can’t see straight at the moment. The girl, being clearly very young, is a spitfire, which is good because it means Peter doesn’t have to talk during the trip.

It gets increasingly harder to carry her the longer he has to endure the pain, but he knows that salvation is near when the girl, points to a brown blob in the distance. ‘That’s it, there it is. Put me down, I want to get my lollie now.’

Peter obligates, and watches as she runs without any regard for her painful foot, smiling to himself. He hears the door of the house open, and a male cadence calling out and sounding so joyful he must not have noticed Peter yet. He can only imagine the weird sight that must be, to see a stranger bringing home your daughter, but Peter can’t move away yet. His body has stopped listening to his commands.

‘Daddy, daddy, can I have a lollipop, Peter said I could if I was brave, and I was! He said so himself.’

Peter assumes she points to him, and his smiles weakly, although he’s having trouble even finding the strength to do that. Once he walks a little further, he should rest for a bit, close his eyes for the briefest amount of time. Before it get’s to that point though, Peter hears a glass mug being dropped on the ground. The sounds is piercing in contrast between the quiet forest and the intrusion, but that’s not the weirdest thing.

‘Peter?’ That same cadence exclaims, the voice breaking of the syllable. It’s strange, because for the briefest moment Peter’s mind flashing the name Tony at him, but the man is long gone.

Peter just about handles frowning at the direction, a weird knowingness to the exclamation, like the man somehow knows who Peter is.

‘How do you-?’ The sentence is cut short when a wave of nausea slams into Peter again, and he can’t keep himself upright this time. His knees buckle, his eyes roll into the back of his head, and the ground nearly welcomes him with open arm. Before he can collide with it again however, in such speed Peter can’t phantom the man being fast enough, he instead lands between the mans arms. All the strength has left his body, and Peter can do nothing but let his head roll onto the man’s shoulder.

‘Pepper’, he screams, so shut up it comes across as hoars, pulling Peter even closer to him than thought possible. ‘You’re okay kid, you’re okay. I promise you’ll be okay.’

---

Peter comes too slowly, groggily, as if moving through solaces. The logical part of his brain, of which there is much, screams at him to panic. He doesn’t know where he is, he can only vaguely remember the events leading up to his current situation, and he can’t ensure his safety or anyone else’s furthermore, but the smaller part of his brain soothes him.

Tells him everything is fine and he’s safe. It’s rare that Peter feels that way. Even at home with May in their appartement, there’s a constant need to be alert. Peter snaps awake from every little sound, his body turning rigid from the forceful transition between sleeping and waking up, even if the cause was only a door creaking.

It doesn’t make any sense for Peter to be this tranquillized right now, or any other time for that matter. He groans, pained, fluttering his eyes open to find himself in a dark room with the windows drawn. His eyesight is still blurry, his head is still pounding beneath his skin, and because there’s no acute danger to be detected- his spider senses tell him so, though he hasn’t learned to trust them completely yet- he allows his eyelids to droop closed again.

A warm, calloused hand strikes through his hair softly, while a thumb strikes out the frowning lines that pain flashes put on Peter’s forehead. Peter realizes with a startle that his not alone, and that must mean his Peter tingle has failed him, but can’t force himself to push the hand away. It’s nice to experience a loving touch after so many rough handlings, and the memories of lab days with Tony, car rides with Happy, building Lego with Ned and cuddling with MJ render him immobile. He longs so fiercely to feel safe, to be safe, that he leans into the touch like a cat being petted.

‘It’s okay Pete, just go back to sleep.’ A rough voice rumbles from besides Peter. All the rest he previously had, flies out of the window, as his entire body fill up with adrenaline. That voice belongs to a man that’s long gone, a man that sacrificed himself to save Peter and paid the ultimate price for it. That voice can only originate from a ghost.

Peter practically jumps up, opening his eyes and looking in the direction where the voice came from, but he miscalculated how fast his concussion would go away. He stumbles, faceplanting into the body that held Tony’s voice, and was only held up by the grace of the other man. Again, there were bouts of pain, but not only from his physical ailments.

The fire that Peter imagines to be inside of him, the one that destroys everyone else around him but leaves him, unfortunately intact, burns up from the remnants of his heart. He’s tried very hard to move on from Tony’s death in the past few months, and he had almost convinced himself that he was over it. That would be a flat out lie though, and Peter Parker doesn’t lie. The agony of the situation had just been shoved to the back of his mind, while Peter took on so much so he wouldn’t have to touch upon it, to prod in it. It peeked out every once in a while, when Happy would tell May about his life and an anecdote with Tony would be told, or when a poster with Iron man on it drew his attention, but it’s easier to pretend to be okay then to deal with the truth.

‘Hey Peter, I’m glad to see you too, but don’t get too excited now bud.’ Tony laughs, but the tone with which he says it sounds grief stricken, with the barest hint of hope coating the edges. He lowers Peter back down into the bed, and Peter has to bite back a sob at how comfortable the sheet caresses his skin, and how gentle it is on his wounds.

He shakes his head vehemently, trying to clear it and be able to think logically. He wants so badly that Tony is actually here, but there isn’t any way for that to be true, unless.. Peter gasps, memories piercing through the fog in his head. Unless Wanda managed to do what they set out to do. And that would mean that It’s no weird fever dream. Peter’s hand clench up in Tony’s shirt, pulling him down so Peter can meet him in the middle and hug him. He still can’t see the expression on Tony’s face, but he prepares to be rejected, and can’t find it in himself to care. Even if Tony pushes him away after barely a brief second, at least Peter still did something he had set out to do for months now.

That doesn’t happen. Instead, Tony grabs him even tighter, a gentle hand cupping the back of Peter’s head as he curves his body around him.

‘Tony’, Peter whispers, the first tears starting to track a path on his cheeks. ‘Tony.’ Sobs are building up in the back of his throat, unable to be contained for much longer, and as they escape, Tony doesn’t scold him, or tells Peter to stop, but he starts to rock the both of them.

Peter can’t be sure, but he thinks he feels splatters of Tony’s tears on his shoulders as well.

‘Morgan’, Peter says nonsensical after a while, sobs are still heaving his body, but he’s had experience pulling himself together in need before, and right now he needs to know Morgan is safe.

‘Is she okay?’ he asks Tony, with a clumsy tongue. The crying has made his weak and aching body even more exhausted, the rocks reminding him of babies being cradled and normally he wouldn’t want to be seen as a baby, but he doesn’t care right now. He just want to enjoy being around Tony again.

‘Morgan?’ Tony laughs, sniffling quietly like he’s refusing to let Peter knows his been crying too. ‘She fine, she’s probably playing in the barn again even though Pepper tells her she’s not allowed. She’s a bit of a menace, just like you Pete.’

At that, Peter sobs turn into heaves, his entire body shaking with the force of them. All the grief of the past few months, the guilt that Peter has carried knowing it’s all his fault, is all coming to a head now. It’s his fault that Tony’s dead, it’s his fault Morgan has to grow up without a father, and it’s his fault the world doesn’t have Iron man to protect them anymore. He’s tried to so hard to make it right, but how can he? How can he ever be the person Tony was, when he’s just Peter Parker.

‘Kiddo, please calm down, you’re gonna make yourself sick’, Tony soothes despairingly. He lowers peter again but stays close, his hand going back to striking Peter’s hair. ‘You’re okay, I promise you, I won’t let anything else happen to you.’ Tony is getting chocked up again, but this time he doesn’t try to hide it. ‘Not again.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry’, Peter whispers, his voice wrecked by the amount of crying he has done. He wants to talk to Tony, explain what happened, spend time with him and beg for his forgiveness, but Tony shushes him, and he’s asleep before he can argue.

----

The next time Peter struggles to consciousness, he senses their presence; Morgan, Pepper and Tony, and he knows without a sliver of doubt that its them. He shakes with the knowledge. The room he’s in, his room as Pepper had told him upon visiting for the first time, is scattered with spiderman toys, and even a few posters on to wall to complete the image. The sight is ridiculous, but Peter laughs at it all the same. He tries to keep the smile on his face, but melancholy isn’t easily beat.

At the very least his concussion seems to have gone away since waking up a first time, and all that’s left to remind him he took a fall is a vague pounding in his head, and the nausea. It’s not as bad as before, and Peter takes the reprieve with greedy hands.

The hustling and bustling of the family, alive and well, downstairs is crustal clear to Peter’s advanced hearing. It’s strange, being back in the lake house without it seeming so bleak. After they defeated Thanos, and Mister Stark died, Peter’s mind helpfully supplies, he had only been here twice. Pepper tried her best to come back, to give Morgan a home away from the home they owned in the city, but too much had reminded of the husband she was forced to burry, so they moved fairly quickly.

So it unusually to see it the way it was supposed to be. Lived in, with Morgan’s giggling and Pepper’s pretend scolding voice, with mister Stark chuckling quietly to himself, a perfect little family. It’s supposed to emit a warm, honey affection bleeding through every crack, and it’s a shame it isn’t anymore.

‘Morguna, go play with your toys for a second, I need to talk to your mom about something very important.’ Spying on Tony leaves a bad taste in Peter’s mouth, but he can’t help it. He’s been so devoid of any scraps connecting him to Mister Stark, that he’s willing to forgo manners.

‘Is it a surprise?’ Morgan asks, mirth in her voice. She’s so much younger than Peter ever remembers her being, because he’d never got to witness her at that age. His heart clenches, the hurt still so fresh.

‘You know what little miss, as a matter of fact it is, so you better scoot, or we might not be able to get in time.’

Morgan squeals in delight, and Peter hears her little footsteps sprinting outside. Peter smiles, he knew Tony would be a good dad someday. The downstairs is quiet for longer than normal, and Peter suddenly turns worried that Pepper and Tony caught him.

Then, Pepper speaks up again. ‘You can’t keep spoiling her you know. She’ll turn into a monester by the time she hits fourteen.’

‘She’s fine,’ Tony placates. Peter visualizes Tony pressing a kiss to the top of Pepper’s head, the only weakness the woman has, which he takes great advantages of. The issue seems to be settled, the playful disagreement put to rest.

Peter ponders over what to do next. He’s so extremely awkward, and despite hoping for an opportunity like this one, he has no idea what to say to Tony.

‘Oh Tony, is it really him?’ Peter freezes, so caught of guard by the heartache in Pepper’s words. She sounds both optimistic and demoralized, as though she has had her hopes up for so long she can’t risk it again.

‘It is Pep. I know it is, I saw it in his eyes.’

‘But how?’ Pepper questions extensively. ‘He was blipped, just like so many people. None of the others have come back.’

‘I don’t have all the answers Pepper, God knows I wish I had. All I know is that my kids back, do I need to question why?’

Hearing, outright hearing mister Stark say Peter is his kid, has Peter tearing up, something sharp sticking at his ribs and feeble heart. It hurts just as much as he longs to overhear it again.

‘He might be able to bring the others back. Tony, I get why you don’t want to hear this, but he could be the key to helping millions.’

‘He has to be nothing but healthy alright? Maybe he can help, maybe he can’t, but all I’m sure of is that I’m never,’ Tony’s voice sinks lower and even more venomous then before,’ putting him in the line of fire again.’

I’m okay, Peter thinks, needing to scream it to Mister Stark’s face that he didn’t do anything. It wasn’t up to anyone, just like it wasn’t up to anyone to save Tony either.

‘I’m sorry’, Tony utters, sounding defeated and, honestly, old. ‘I’m sorry, but I just got him back, and I can’t, I can’t lose him again.’

‘It seems like the first step in ensuring it never does it to go up and talk to him. Go to him Tony, say what you couldn’t say three years ago. And’, Pepper swallows thickly. ‘Tell him we all love him.’

Peter’s grateful he won’t be forced to initiate the first move by walking downstairs.

‘Underroos, I’m coming up so you better not be sleeping anymore.’ The flawless transition between vulnerable and slipping into his role a cool role model is staggering, but it doesn’t surprise Peter in the slightest anymore. He’s spend too much time with Tony for that to be the case.

He doesn’t know what to do with his body, how he’s supposed to respond to seeing Tony in person again? Part of him wants to lung at his mentor, while the other part hisses at him to act like a normal human being. Peter ends up sitting down on the bed, standing in front of the door, hiding behind the closet and finally back to bed in the span of however long it takes Tony to reach the room.

By that point, Peter is too distracted by the glimmer of his past to overthink the encounter. He remembers the lego set as if it just happened. It was the first bout of Peter’s interests that Tony listened to wholeheartedly. After the battle with Thanos, it had slipped Peter’s mind completely. He had no idea Mister Stark had this thing in his home.

‘I asked May if I could take it with me, when I moved out here’, Tony says with melancholy, taking a seat by Peter on the bed, but leaving a considerable distance. He’s not looking at the lego set at all, instead dividing his full attention on Peter. Swiftly his eyes roam Peters face and posture, sucking in all the little details Tony hadn’t been able to discern about him after a while.

‘There’s so many of that stuff in her apartment, but this one was the most fun to put together, because it’s the death star you know? It has all this detail and it took forever to make but that’s all good, cause there’s so much detail and-’

‘Pete’, Tony sounds chocked up, like the façade he was forcing himself to wear is already slipping. Peter hasn’t even said anything yet. ‘God kid, where the hell di you come from? I’ve tried everything but I-‘, he takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. Peter has only witnessed mister Stark crying once, so it’s a shock that it occurs again. ‘I didn’t know how.’

‘Mister Stark-’, Peter stops, cutting his own sentence off. Is he even supposed to say anything? Is he supposed to blab the secrets of the future. His Spidey scenes are distinctively ordering him not too, but Peter itches to all the same. ‘I don’t think I’m supposed to say,’ he settles on, ‘with the butterfly effect and all.’

‘The butterfly effect? Kid what in the world are you talking about?’

‘You know, like in the movie, where he can travel back in the past but it always alters things for the worst?’

‘Yeah, I’ve seen the movie’, Tony asserts, almost deadpans. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

‘Just- just please trust me Mister Stark’, Peter pleads, hands beginning to tremble with the need to reach out for reassurance. The memories of the one complete hug Tony had ever given him sparking a longing in him. ‘Do you trust me?’

‘Of course’, Mister Stark firmly agrees.

‘Then don’t ask me how,’ even to his own ears the desperation is tangible, ‘please.’

Tony clasps his hand on Peters shoulder, a ground weight to which Peters never endings zing in relief. Before he can stop himself, he’s crumpled in, his head on Tony’s shoulder while his hands twist in the back of mister Stark’s shirt. The reciprocation is immediate.

‘I’ve missed you’, He chokes out, feeling rather annoyed at himself that all he seems to be doing is crying. His time here is limited, he can sense it, the hunch that time is of the essence and he doesn’t posses much of it, and he refuses to waste it on more tears.

‘Me too, Pete, more than you know.’

‘I think I have a pretty good clue’, Peter laughs bitterly, it’s not the same really. He’s only been missing mister Stark for a few months, the man in front of him has been missing him for three and will need to miss him for two more years. The buzzing in the back of his head grows louder. Another stroke of Parker luck, he spend most of the time he had with mister Stark unconscious.

Whatever, he can’t change it now, but he has a few more things to say before he needs to leave.

‘Tony’, he begins, using Mister Starks first name to ensure he understands how important this is. He pulls away, just enough to be able to look Tony directly in the eyes, but what he sees there is nothing short of panic. His hand tighten, softly guiding him back but Peter resists.

‘Please don’t tell me you have to go again.’ It seems that despite Peter intent, Tony savvies more than he’d like. Peter smiles bitter.

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘What?’

‘What happened on Titan, when he blipped all of us, me, that’s not on you mister Stark.’ Peter repeats patiently, watching as Tony’s face hardens.

‘Peter-‘

‘It’s not. You couldn’t have protected me any more then you did. I’m sorry it turns out the way it did, but I need you to know it’s not on you.’

‘I should have done more.’ Tony insist, raising his voice a few octaves. Downstairs, Morgan asks Pepper why her dad is so close to yelling. ‘I should’ve, you were my kid Peter, are my kid, and I failed.’

‘You didn’t fail’, Peter yells back just as loudly, he stands up from the bed, subconsciously trying to appear taller so he has more say in the situation. ‘Because if you already failed then what did I do? I’m still here and you-‘, he cuts himself off once again, almost spilling all the secrets.

Tony approach him like he’s an animal that needs to be handled with care. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about, but I’m a grown man Pete, I can take care of myself.’

‘But I-‘

‘Ah, ah, ah, not talking back, I’m the adult here. Zip it kid. How about this, we’re both not to blame alright?’

Peter isn’t convinced Tony believes that, but it’s still a weight of his shoulders to have said it to Mister Stark, maybe, in the future, when he pins the blame on himself once more, he’ll think about this moment. He nods.

‘I have to go now Mister Stark’, The words tumble out of his mouth before he realizes that it’s the truth. Whatever is going to happen next won’t wait much longer.

Peter walks over to the window and opens it, ready to swing out after saying goodbye. He can’t go and see Pepper and Morgan, it’ll upset them as much as it’ll upset him. He’ll see them back in his time.

‘Wait,’ Tony screams, as I Peter was going to leave without a goodbye. The embrace he pulls Peter in is heavier this time, loaded with the upcoming goodbye’s. It’s still nice though, and Peter enjoys every second of it. Tony presses a kiss to Peter’s temple then holds it there when he asks; ‘How long do I have to wait before I see you again.’

Peter swallows painfully and considers lying to make Tony feel better but, ‘two years’, he eventually confesses, figuring that he can at least give that little piece of information.

Mister Stark simply hums, but Peter notices his tears nonetheless. With one last, solid squeeze, Peter wiggles out of the embrace and tries to stall his own tears. It would hurts less if he could go back to find Mister Stark there, if only he had a way to warm Tony.

He’s pretty sure he can’t go into too much detail but; ‘Mister Stark, when it happens, please hold on. I can’t lose you either.’

‘Okay Pete,’ Tony assures, his hands shaking with the urge to drag his kid back, safe in his arms. ‘After this is all over, we’re going to hold a movie night okay? With pizza.’

‘And Star Wars?’ Peter asks hopefully. Mister Stark laughs, his eyes wet. The smile is all Peter demands before he jumps out the window, not waiting for an answer. He prays that he’s done enough without messing anything up. He hopes.

---

When Peter makes it back to his own time, his phone pings with a message.

It reads; ‘Hey kid, still up for a movie night?’ send by Tony Stark.

#peter parker #tony stark #pepper stark #morgan stark #spiderman #peter parker imagine #tony stark imagine #spiderman imagine #post avengers endgame #happy ending #nobody dies #irondad #spider son #hurt/comfort #hurt peter parker #protective tony stark #marvel imagine #marvel #the avengers

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kaaytea · 4 years

Text

Kuroo Tetsurou x reader

Summary: You've been avoiding him all week, and now he's starting to question what exactly you're doing when you pull Yaku into rooms with you.

Warnings: angst, cheating?, Lil fluff at the end as a treat

A/n: ITS KUROOS BIRTHDAY!!!! Kuroo is the captain of my favorite team and was one of my first favorite characters! I hope I did him justice with this lil fic also I apologize for the angst 😔

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

Why were you avoiding him?! And on his birthday never the less!!

The whole day whenever you spotted him you'd skitter off without a second look behind you.

It was kind of annoying actually.

You hadn't said a word to him today besides your good morning text. For the first time in a long time, Kuroo was feeling kinda lonely. The past few weeks you had been slowly spending less and less time with him; this week had been the worse so far, he's only talked to you face to face about three times.

Kuroo stepped into the classroom, eyes scanning the groups of faces for you. Maybe you'd want to talk a bit before you had to go to your class like usual? He spotted you by the front of the room pointing at paper that was spread out on Kai's desk, Yaku and Kai listening intently to what you were saying.

Unfortunately, Kai noticed him walking over to the small group and nudged your arm. You looked up from the paper and froze when your eyes met with his. In a split second, you hurriedly snatched the paper from the desk shoving it into your bag then grabbed Yaku's hand and dragged him out of the classroom.

Kuroo sighed inwardly.

You sure had been spending a lot of time with Yaku these past few weeks; you seemed to almost always be around him, grabbing onto his hand, pulling him into different rooms...Whispering to him....in the halls......

Wait a minute

You couldn't actually be...

The two of you weren't.....You'd never.....Yaku wouldn't... Right?

Then why was there this awful feeling twisting in his chest, a feeling that only got heavier as he thought back on how weird you had been acting the past few weeks, like you were hiding something from him.

Kuroo felt like he was gonna throw up. Has he really been that blind? Were you actually cheating on him right under his nose, and with one of his teammates?

He sat down at his desk completely ignoring Kai's gentle greetings.

He felt numb. He also felt completely and utterly stupid.

Did Kai know? He was the one to tip you off that he was in the room. Now that he thought about it Fukunaga did something similar earlier in the week.

Did everyone know but him?

The rest of the day went by slowly. It felt like he was trapped in a pool of molasses, slowly and painfully trudging through, only to be pulled back in by his sticky thoughts and doubts.

By the time practice came around he was exhausted, emotionally and physically.

He was so out of it, he almost didn't hear Coach Nekomata wish him happy birthday with a cheery smile and a soft pat on the back.

"You're acting weird"

Kuroo glanced up at Kenma from his spot on the bench.

"What do you mean by that?"

Kenma sighed and shuffled over to sit next to him, "You keep spacing out," he mumbled softly, "you're playing stiffly and you've been avoiding Yaku like the plague."

He really can't fool Kenma, huh? I guess growing up together played a part in that.

Kuroo sighed, he unconsciously started to ring the towel in his hands. He didn't want to admit it out loud, his body started to burn from the build-up of thoughts and emotions throughout the day.

"I think (y/n)'s cheating on me," Kuroo's stomach twisted sickly at saying that sentence out loud.

"Why's that?"

"They've been avoiding me all week, they've also started being very friendly with Yaku."

Kenma almost burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation, quickly masking it with a cough.

"I don't think they'd ever cheat on you, they probably have an explanation for their behavior," Kenma said, he silently pulled out his Switch already booting up a game.

Kuroo frowned at the gym floor. He hated feeling like this.... He felt lost and hurt, a dull ache pierced his heart when his thoughts drifted to you.

Just as he was about to go help clean up the gym, Nekomata called out to him.

"Go deliver these papers to the principal for me, the directors wanted a copy of the tournament schedule."

Kuroo only nodded and made his way out of the building, at least he got out of cleaning up the gym today.

When he arrived back at the gym all of the lights were off.

That's odd....usually, there are a few people who hang back and work on solo drills.

He stepped into the dark building, searching blindly for the light switch. At this point by he just wanted to go home and sleep, it hadn't been that great of a birthday anyway.

He flipped on the lights only to be startled by the sound of a confetti popper.

Kuroo turned around, the entire team was stood in the middle of the gym with you in the front holding a cake with a bright smile.

What?

"Happy birthday Tetsurou!!"

You handed the cake to Kai, who went off with Fukunaga to cut it, and launched yourself at him trapping him in a tight hug.

"Surprised?"

He looked down at you, his brain was still catching up with the fact that you were actually interacting with him, "...yes?"

"Ah! I’m so glad I don't have to keep a secret anymore! That was so long!" Lev shrieked.

You turned to Lev with a baffled look, "What do you mean long! I literally just told you what we were doing yesterday."

You started bantering with Lev but your conversation blurred out as something clicked in Kuroo's brain.

Yesterday?

"How long have you been planning this?"

You turned away from Lev and looked up at him, "A few weeks, Kai and Yaku helped a bunch though!"

Oh.....well that explains a lot.

Kuroo let out a sigh of relief and pulled you into his chest, you looked at him with a worried expression, "Are you ok Tetsu?"

He chuckled slightly. Could he consider himself ok if he spent the entire day thinking you had been cheating on him only to find out you were just planning a surprise party?

He got his answer as he looked into your eyes, they sparkled with love whenever you were near him and the genuine concern on your face made his heart clench.

"I'm great, (y/n)" he smiled at you then proceeded to press kisses all over your face causing you to giggle at his actions.

There was a gagging noise heard behind you causing the both of you to look in the direction of the sound.

The gagging came from Yaku with a slightly disgusted Kenma standing next to him, their faces scrunched up at your display of affection.

"We get it you're both sickeningly cute but please for our sake save the sappy stuff for later"

"You think I'm cute Yakkun?"

"Don't push your luck!"

<< ---------------------------------------------------- >>

Kuroo enjoyed the small party with the team but he was even happier now that he got to spend alone time with you. The second the both of you got back to his house he was pulling you to his room so he could cuddle you to death. After the absolute rollercoaster of emotions he went through today he needs to just hold you close to further convince himself that you wouldn't ever leave.

"Tetsurou?" you piped up from your position lying against his chest, your hand continued to twist and twirl locks of his messy hair.

"Hmm?"

"Are you sure you're ok? Nothing happened today right?"

He didn't have the heart to lie to you, so he came clean. He told you about this morning where he made the silly assumption that you were cheating on him and how your behavior fit in with everything.

"Oh Tetsu, I'm so sorry! I didn't even realize what everything could have looked like from your perspective," you pulled yourself closer to him, tucking your face into his chest, "I'd never cheat on you, ok? And I don't plan on leaving you any time soon.... you're too important to me."

What you said was barely above a whisper but those words rang loudly in Kuroo's heart.

His eyes burned slightly with unshed tears as he pressed his face to the top of your head.

"I wouldn't dream of leaving you either, (y/n)."

#Kuroo Tetsurō #kuroo testuro #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro scenarios #kuroo imagine #kuroo tetsuro fanfiction #kuroo tetsuro oneshot #kuroo oneshot #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu fanfiction

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zet-sway · 3 years

Text

@the-wip-project day 35:

I don't know what today's question is but I gotta write a wall of text about what happened last night because holy shit

I was on the verge of falling asleep and, like I usually do, I decided to hunt for some spicy fanfics to read on my phone. I found one.

All my posts are long but this one is real fucking long. CW for touching on dub-con and injury mentioned in the type of context it probably shouldn't be.

It's time for me to admit that not only am I a oneshot writer, I'm also a oneshot reader. I am drawn to short fanfics. If I click on a chaptered fic, it's (usually) because it's rated E for smut and I'll go in with every intention of skimming it for the spicy bits. I'm not proud of this. I've avoided saying this for years because I don't want to disappoint people who work hard on their very long and well thought out chaptered stories. I have a short attention span, and I know what I want.

But anyway, last night I clicked on a fic with 5 chapters and some amount of words, around 30k? Long, by my standards, but I was tired and I just wanted something to read while I dozed off.

This particular fic hooked me in, though. I still skimmed it, but the writing was so unique in a way that made me writhe with writer's envy and admiration. Whoever wrote this had their own language - nothing borrowed - their own vision.

I guess I should tell the good people who read my posts (ya'll, seriously, thank you) that the fic in topic is called Fault Lines by Recidiva on AO3. I would link to it but uhhhh I may be using my work PC for "extracurricular purposes" right this moment ^^; so maybe when I get home I'll remember to add it.

I skimmed it - like I said above - for the spicy parts. It generally follows the plot of Bioware's canon. Thane begins as possessive and manipulative, likely uncomfortably close to dub-con for a lot of people. He kisses her and knows full well that his kiss will make her willing but intoxicated, and how he will use that to fulfil himself. But as the story progresses, he falls in love. Their relationship is what I'll call "edgy." Both of them are renegades. There's a scene where they get down in the shuttle after a fight and they're both still injured and it borders on downright unrealistic but fuck it, it's fanfic and I bought it. However their relationship develops a certain heart-wrenching tenderness. She asks him what Siha means over and over again, and eventually tells him she thinks "bitch" when he says it. But in that moment they have a playful banter, he knows full well she's probably already looked it up on the extranet, and they fall into bed together. The smut is mind-boggling.

By the time it gets to Shepard's arrest, he's taken up a place on Earth and visits her, breaks into her house arrest. There's a scene where they see each other for the first time in a while, she tells him how much she's missed his mouth and how it's not right how bad she wants him, and wants him bad enough to smother him with affection. She says something to the effect of "if you're looking to die, I'd volunteer to be the cause," implying that her lust is powerful enough to endanger his life. And it was at this moment I realized I fucked up.

It's established that I live in my own headcanon and I'm not burdened with considering the end of Thane's life as part of my fics. And the suspension of disbelief was such that I forgot he doesn't make it. So at this moment in the fic, chapter 4 out of 5, I realized "Oh shit this isn't going to have a happy ending." I skipped to the end right away, I wanted to confirm my fears.

In their final exchange, she asks him to lie to her - something that's repeated in other chapters of the story. I forget what he says, I was reading desperately, but he asks her in return to tell him something true. She kisses him and tells him she loves him, and he breathes his last breath with the lingering tingle of their kiss to carry him to the other side.

I was so entrenched in the depth of their relationship up to that point. The level of fathomless love the author conveyed, unlike anything I've ever managed to write before, but more realistic to my own understanding of love as I've experienced it. Not because they're renegades, but just the selflessness with which they feel, communicate, banter, and make love.

When I read that last paragraph, something inside me broke. That sounds dramatic but that's honestly how I would describe it. It felt like waking up from a night terror, when you bolt up in bed from a dream so bad you immediately get up even if it's 4am because nothing feels real and you're so terrified you have to get up and do something - literally anything to take your mind off it, to ease you back into reality. I put my phone down and stared into the darkness of my bedroom and told myself "it's just a fanfic, no need to get upset." And then I started to cry and I didn't stop for 30 minutes.

My husband was downstairs watching Bohemian Rhapsody and I went down there and wrapped myself around him so tight and cried. Bless this man, from the bottom of my heart - bless him - for his unfathomable kindness. I felt like a fucking fool because I was crying over fanfiction but he paused his movie and just listened while I tried to articulate how it wasn't exactly about the character death, or the characters at all, it was just the writing and how it wormed into my brain so convincingly. I felt the loss like it was my own loss. I am terrified of losing my husband. So many feelings coalesced and I realized one day I may be in that situation, kissing the man I love goodbye for the last time, never to hold him again. I'm at work right now and I'm tearing up because it's so hard.

I tip my hat to the author, but I genuinely wished I hadn't read that fanfic. And isn't it kind of funny after that grandstand I took yesterday about not wanting to write the pain of loss and grief, that I ended up reading it instead and probably fucking myself up just as badly, if not worse, than if I had tried to write it myself?

It gets worse, too. Because it got me thinking about my own writing, and how I could never hope to achieve what that author did. So I sat there crying out my painfeelings while simultaneously feeling like a shit writer and like nothing I put out matters. I got up from the couch, sat down at my PC and picked up where I left off in the Omega DLC in ME3 because video games are great for taking the mind off things. It didn't exactly help with the intensity I'd hoped for, but I managed to fall asleep, by 3am.

Fast forward to this morning. I dragged my sorry ass out of bed 4 hours later and drove to work. By some fucking miracle, no one is here right now except our field director. And I'm stewing in how this one fic really fucked me up bad, reconsidering everything. I feel like I've been put in my place.

So what changed?

Yesterday I posted about how I'm struggling to write a plotline. I know what happens, but I'm not interested in the little bits that tie it together. I want to write the romance. I think there's a way to write the plot and the romance at the same time, but it's damn hard.

I started doing this because I wanted to grow my skills as a writer, and I knew it might be more than I could chew. I'm at that moment now where I'm about ready to give up.

Even if I felt like a shit writer last night (and still kinda do this morning), I know that the stuff I've put out has value. We can't all write these epically tragic smut-romance-renegades-to-lovers tales, we'd all be sad all the damn time. There's a time and a place and - I would argue - even a need for lighterhearted fic out there. There are really no rules. I'm confident in what I know how to do.

But the plot. Fuck it, man. I think maybe I'm trying too hard to be something I'm not. I'm trying really hard to write like other people. I may have mentioned before that I saw a post about how many artists spend their time pining for the skills of others, thinking "wow, when I can draw like that, I'll have made it as an artist." That same post cautioned against this, basically saying you already have your own unique style, it's just harder to see through the lens of your own eyeballs. It's fine to challenge yourself but try to acknowledge what you do that sets you apart already. I feel like I have that something - maybe not to the extent that I wish, but I have something.

So what's the point of the plot? Why do I need to tell my readers how I cured Keprals? I'm asking myself important questions here. I like to think I've come up with ideas that no one else has, but as I said above, I don't read a lot of chaptered fics. I very well may have come to the same ideas as other writers and I'm not even aware of it. I don't know if my ideas are unique but I still arrived at them all by myself.

The challenge here - the thing I'm struggling so much with - is how to put them together with the same elegance of my fellow writers. I'm looking at you, shrios fam (yeah I'm calling you that, yall know who you are). I know I can write words, but it's like I have a bunch of pieces from completely different jigsaw puzzles and I'm struggling to make a new picture out of them. I struggle with the transitions between them.

The point here is I have to find my own way. And I have to stop taking myself so seriously. In fact this level of "seriousness" is one of the things that got me into so much angst over World of Warcraft over the last two years. At least I know how to recognize it.

I have to find my own way. I have my own things that are worth sharing. The author I read last night had a language all their own, and I have a language all my own too. Their wordplay was actually more choppy than I would ever write. I've talked before about how I'm scared of starting too many sentences with pronouns, how I maybe write too many run-on sentences, whatever. This author did that with reckless abandon. It worked for them. So if they can make that shit work, I can make my own shit work.

I have to find my own way.

My most current WIP is Thane and Shepard's first time. I've been working on it pretty nonchalantly because I hadn't intended to publish it until I built up to it. It takes place further into my timeline, and it would probably ruin the point of a slow burn if I put it out there now. There are some really memorably moments in this WIP, and there are other moments that need to be smoothed over as well. I never knew what I'd really imagined for their first time but I think I've mostly developed something that's unique in its own right, and I think will be fun for people to read.

I'm just so fucking torn over what to do with it. I feel guilty for working on it. I should be writing "other shit" leading up to it but I don't fucking want to. I actually wrote probably 2-3k words this weekend, which is a pretty staggering amount by my standards. Some of it was for this smutty WIP and some was for something I just threw together, Thane observing Shepard on Horizon and the emotional toll it takes on her. He's seeing her humanity. I don't know if it's worth it to continue but I wrote a lot of it and the words are more precise than usual for a draft, I don't know. I have so much fucking insecurity. Fuck dude. I want to write this longfic, but I don't want to write it. I want to skim to the spicy bits like I always do.

I am wracked with insecurity, of my own making. I know what I can do but I feel compelled to see this idea through. Somehow I have to find my own way.

TLDR I feel like if I don't publish something soon I'm going to burst and I don't even know what the fuck to work on first and fjslfjsojoiejrj

I would be really down for, like, a bunch of hugs and a bowl of ice cream shared over memes and fanservice.

#this post is EXTREMELY fucking long send help #ITT: i read something that probably changed my brain chemistry for a few hours and it's painful #zet vs 100days #i'm just glad to get this off my chest good lord #anyway if people want to send me links to their favorite shrios fluff i would welcome it

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