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hyperions-strap · 4 years

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Jack VS His Chair.

Summary: Jack is 6 months pregnant, and it seems his office just isn't suitable for him anymore. His luxurious chair doesn't give him the support his aching sore back needs.

💝 Link for AO3 💝

Note: Feel free to send me other prompts for omega!Jack here on Tumblr!

Jack isn’t known for his patience on the best of days, but when carrying around a 3 pound developing baby (give or take) on his hips, influencing his mood and needs 24/7, it’s safe to say his patience is nonexistent. He can still do his job perfectly well, but there’s just more obstacles now. More nuisances that catch his attention, distract his focus, and cause him to act out.

Meetings are slow today, which should be a good thing, but all it means is Jack gets to spend more time sitting behind his desk, filtering between finance reports, and marketing contracts, and submissions for new weapons that can utilize the latest strain of Slag to its best ability. On most days that’s not too bad - a little boring, but all in all, harmless - but since entering his third trimester, he hates sitting at his desk.

Jack generally can’t sit anywhere for too long, less he faces the wrath of his backache getting unbearable. Sometimes the agony moves through his bones and cramps his limbs, or his chest, or his neck. It’s like his back commands the troops to torture his muscles. In most cases the only cure is a back massage, courtesy of his lover's fingers, but that's not an option currently. Rhys is at Atlas for a few hours, busy schmoozing some benefactors willing to fund his latest string of cryo sniper rifles. This means Jack has to begrudgingly power through the pain.

3 more months, give or take. That's how long he has left of suffering before the demon spawn draining his life will be in his arms. In theory, 3 months isn't a very long amount of time, but time moves so painstakingly slow when pregnant. He tries to remind himself the reward at the end is worth the pain, but then one of his hellish symptoms kicks in with a wrath.

His keyboard rattles as he types feverishly, until a strong, searing pain shoots up his spine. He sucks in sharply and holds his breath, freezing. The pain burns at his vertebrae, almost like it's being squeezed by hands caught on fire, determined to make his bones crack. He exhales heavily and leans back in his lavish office chair. He rests a hand on top of his round belly.

"Give daddy a break, will you, princess?" He tries to bargain with his unborn child, but there's no change in his state. The pain doesn't subside, and neither does his irritation. He rubs down his belly, sighing, looking down at his bloated midsection in disappointment. "You know your life is in my hands, right? You really shouldn't be pissing me off."

Silence.

Not that he'd expected a verbal response. He groans under his breath, hiking himself up and leaning over the desk. He pushes a button on his phone and waits patiently, drumming his fingers on his desk.

"This is Rhys Strongfork, CEO of Atlas corporation, how can I help you?"

He sounds so self righteous and smug, Jack can't help but snicker. "Hay, kitten, how's my favourite rival doing?" He leans back in his seat again. He places a hand on the small of his back and pushes his palm deep into his flesh, hoping to subside the pain. It's miniscule, may as well be nothing.

He hears a light cluttering as Rhys fusses over nick-nacks on his desk. "I should be the one checking in on you. How's our little girl?"

Jack rolls his eyes and sighs. "She's fine. I'm peachy too, thanks for asking."

"I was about to ask how you were too, don't get jealous."

Jack hates the smug, amused tone in his voice. "You could at least ask about me first, since I'm the one lugging around the brat." He rubs the underside of his belly. As usual, a strip of skin peaks free from the confines of his stretched sweater. Rhys has bought him a plethora of clothes to fit his ever growing form, but Jack still insists on wearing his faithful Hyperion sweater. The material is beyond stretched out now, it's working tirelessly to keep him modest, but it can't work miracles. A 6 month pregnant omega bump is too powerful for its cotton.

He hears further rustling on Rhys' end of the phone. He digs the heel of his palm into the side of his belly and holds his breath. A dull pain ricochets from his back round to his abdomen. He manages to distribute the pain and ease the intensity, but little can be done about his back.

"You know I've got baby brain, Jack. Nothing but babies - baby, baby, baby-- it's a curse!"

"Yeah, well you better force me back to front and center. I'm the one doing the hard work, not her."

Rhys laughs softly. "How are you, Jack?" He asks sincerely, though amused. Jack is happy to know no matter what, he's still the one happily in charge of their relationship. Though social standards try to determine the alpha is in charge, especially when their omega is pregnant preparing to deliver, Jack and Rhys don't at all abide by those rules. They never have, and Jack most certainly never will. If Rhys were like other alphas, hot headed and stubborn, determined to dominate him like a foolish brute, Jack would have never agreed to having his baby. He'd been strict about the dynamics of their relationship, and determined to make sure his status as an omega was respected. Jack didn't have shame in his title - in fact, he wore it with pride.

He absentmindedly rubs his belly and exhales as the pain in his back momentarily subsides. "I'm alright, pumpkin. Craving something greasy."

"You sound wound up."

Jack snickers. "Do I? Probably being surrounded by knuckleheads." He laughs again, but the movement makes his back seizes up again, making him yelp embarrassingly. He clutches at the point of pain, and grinds his teeth as it shoots up through his spine like electricity following a circuit. He curses under his breath when he hears Rhys' distressed worries calling for him over the line. "Still here, don't worry."

"Are you okay?! What was that noise?!"

"That noise was me!" With great difficulty, Jack pushes himself out of his luxurious golden chair, arching his back and pushing into the point of discomfort with both his hands before taking one away to cup the base of his belly. Moving is starting to become more difficult by himself, much to his displeasure. Some days he needs Rhys to physically hoist him out of bed. He glares at his chair and begins walking around his desk in circles. "I'm fine though, don't fret."

"Jack, you're 6 months pregnant. All I do is worry." Rhys is moving around more now, changing scenes by the sounds of things as wind brushes by and external chatter fills the void. "I'm coming to see you."

"What?! Oh geez, that's not necessary--"

"When you're carrying around our baby, it's always necessary."

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose. He hates being fussed over, and that's all that happens these days. "No, really, it's not! It's just my damn back playing up!" He hears what he assumes to be Rhys stopping in his tracks. "The baby is fine and dandy though, kicking my bladder and making me the size of a whale. It's the office chair, makes me feel like someones ripping out my spine. I should start bringing a pillow from home."

"Why not buy a more comfortable chair? Don't they sell maternity chairs for working omegas?" Rhys' question is innocent enough, but it makes Jack irritated nevertheless. It's like admitting he's weak, that the chair has bested him. He doesn't realise he's growling until Rhys starts laughing. "It's probably more comfortable than the one you have anyway. Remember when we tried to have sex in it after the office party last year? I almost broke my leg."

Jack chuckles. "That's because you're too freakin' long! Those string beans you call legs weren't made for tight spaces." Jack looks down at the sphere supporting his hips, kneading his brows as he thinks. "Those omega special chairs are a scam though, it's to make possessive alphas like you spend your hard earned money and stroke your ego!"

"The reviews look pretty good to me."

"I don't give a rat's ass what the reviews are like." Jack yells back. He moves to sit back at his desk, but as if the cushions are made of spikes, he immediately yells out in pain and grips the wood of the desk for dear life. He curses so loud an echo reverberates around the office. He tries to power through, scooting forward, only to bump his belly off the desk edge and hurt himself that way. "Jesus fucking Christ, I'm going to airlock whoever made this desk just for inconveniencing me!"

Suddenly there's a knock at his office door. He frowns, looking at it before pressing a button to open the door. Rhys walks in with a smug smile, hanging up the comm he had with Jack.

"What, how did--"

"I took a fast travel. Come on, I'm taking you chair shopping."

Jack grumbles in annoyance, but after a tender back massage and belly rub, he gives in with little fight.

#rhack #rhack fic #Handsome Jack #Rhys Strongfork #Borderlands #tales from the borderlands #tftbl #rhack abo #rhack mpreg #mpreg

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swishandflickwit · 6 years

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Shirbert — An Interlude in the Rain 1/1

Summary: Strange things happen in the rain... but even better things can happen in the sunshine.

Words: 1.9k

Ratings: General Audiences

Warnings: Anne of the Island spoiler-y

AN: Because everyone deserves a declaration of love beneath the rain a la Pride and Prejudice (2005) style at least once in their life, am I right?

Musical inspiation: Look After You by The Fray

Also on: ff.net | AO3

Other writings

Anne had been reading in the park when it happened.

She hadn’t seen it coming, no one had, really—the sky a glistening spread of light azure, the wind hot, the sun high and bearing down it’s full resplendence with not a cloud in sight.

At least it was… until this!

A torrential downpour.

By the time Anne noticed the rapid darkening of the heavens—so engrossed was she in her book—the deluge was upon her and the pavilion full of bodies who were of the like mind to seek refuge beneath it.

So she was running, running, searching for a safe haven when—

“Anne!”

Gilbert Blythe ran up to her, his coat hanging over his head by his arms, of which he included her when he reached her side.

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert!” he exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing out here in the middle of the rain?”

Anne’s arms flailed as she gestured wildly towards the dome teeming with people. “It’s full!”

Upon observation of their surroundings, he jerked his chin at the nearest pine tree. “It will have to do!”

Indeed, for the rainfall poured in earnest now, making far-sighted visibility downright nonexistent. And so they made for the trees with haste but not before Gilbert cloaked her head with his jacket. Were it another time, Anne would have been incensed by the action. As it was, she was too upset with the state of her book, and her clothes, to pay it any mind.

She was bemoaning at their drenched condition when they reached the cover of the canopy.

“I was so close to the end too!” she wailed. “Are unknown endings or unfinished chronicles forever to be my fate?”

Gilbert chuckled. “I’ll buy you a new book.”

“You most certainly will not!” Anne looked at him askew. “I can pay for my own books, thank you very much and—and, oh, why are you laughing? ”

Anne stomped her foot. He laughed that much harder.

“You—you look ridiculous!”

“Says the one who looks like a drowned rat!”

(In the interest of fair storytelling, they both looked ridiculous, pale and doused as they were)

Gilbert could not stop laughing and eventually, Anne softened, marveling at the absurdity of the situation till she too, joined at his chortles.

Eventually, their giggles faded, but not before Gilbert arranged his jacket carefully about her person, removing it from her head and settling it about her shoulders. Then, he took a hand to her braids, arraying them gently away from her face.

Anne felt herself hold her breath when his knuckles brushed her cheek.

And stayed there.

“You’re so cold,” he whispered. Never mind that so was he, bereft of a coat and his breath an icy whisper of air with every sigh he exhaled. His knuckles lingered there, and when she did not pull away, he grew bold—sliding them to the sharp angle of her jaw, down to the soft skin of her neck in a caress so tender, so excruciating in its slowness, that she found herself tilting her neck to receive more of his attention.

Anne felt her skin heat, Gilbert’s eyes ashen, molten pools of longing that traced the path of her flush. For once, she wasn’t of the mind to look away.

She dropped her book, paying no heed to the mud that spattered the edge of her skirt on impact. She forgot it, and the rain, for the world had narrowed to him, her and the point in which they touched.

Her blood felt like gunpowder in her veins, ready to ignite at any moment—at any contact.

But he remained unhurried, his motions precise with the intent to leave her wanting, she was sure. After all.

He always knew how to drive her mad.

He withdrew then and she made a mewling noise that would have been louder, had she not bit her lip to restrain herself. Gilbert gulped. His gaze felt like a living touch on her body, grazing her lips, her neck, and her chest—rising and falling with every hitch and gasp she emitted—before reclaiming her unflinching stare.

“May I?”

May I what, she wondered for a curt instant before casting that thought aside in quick succession. He could have asked her to bring the sun back, impossible it may have been, and still she would have agreed. She would do anything he asked, so long as he continued to place his hands on her.

So she nodded, and was rewarded when he took both her hands and cupped them in his.

“Let me warm you up,” he murmured against the skin of her open palms, his voice silken with igneous desire. The rainfall grew stronger and louder, an ornery backdrop to this strange yet ethereal abeyance. He stepped closer till her back hit the trunk of the tree, then closer still, so that he would be heard and there was no mistaking his request. “Won’t you let me warm you up, sweet, sweet, Anne?”

“Yes,” she answered with a childish, excitable eagerness. “Yes.”

She watched with baited breath as he rubbed gently at her hands before he brought them close to his mouth. Then…

He blew on them.

His breath was light... gentle and cool. Except the rain was even cooler and so it barely grazed her skin. But she felt it, she felt him , and he was everywhere . He felt embedded into her blood, her bones. He was seared into her skin and sunken into her sinew. He became the voice in her head and the very beat of her heart. He was ingrained into her soul.

“Anne,” he sighed. How did he do that? No one ever said her name the way Gilbert had, imbued with so much meaning—like it was both a question and an answer, a sin and a prayer.

“Yes,” she languished, her hands waking from a stupor and creeping up his arms before settling onto his chest. His were on her waist now, beneath his jacket, hot in a way that had nothing to do with the cloth and everything to do with the lack of distance between them. She had no recollection how they wound their way there, but found she didn’t mind at all.

For she could feel the throb of his heart, strong and oh, so, swift—an exact echo of her own. Gilbert’s body was atop hers, every hard line pressed against her downy curves till they were a rippling extension of one other, pulled by an inexplicable gravity that demanded he sink into her embrace. He felt divine.

He felt right.

Yet... though his touch was a most rapturous experience, she craved more.

She wanted to taste.

“Anne, Anne…” he hummed, his hand gliding up her spine. How she wanted to melt into him. His hooded eyes bore into hers, and she had never felt more connected to him. He tilted his head and she followed, her lips touching at the hollow of his throat just as his found their way into the crown of her head. He breathed her in, and how she smelled of flowers and sunshine and all the goodness the world had to offer.

“Yes,” she murmured against his skin, a smile branding itself onto her mouth.

Anne’s hands were in his hair. How strange, she wondered, how had they gotten there? It was as if Gilbert was familiar to her as her own body, that they seemed to know their way around and she knew exactly where to stroke or kiss, so that she may illicit in him the most delicious sounds.

He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, the bridge of her nose. Her face was a map and her lips the destination. She felt like a powder keg, was there ever such a thing as cold? For no one was trembling now, at least not from the frigid wind. He traced a path to her mouth, leaving a trail of fire in his wake and she felt ready to explode by the time he reached her jaw… the corner of her mouth.

Except it wasn’t her that was alight.

There was a flash of lightning, followed closely by a clap of thunder, and whatever bubble that encased them, or spell that bewitched them, it had broken.

“I’m with Roy,” she blurted, unsure of who she was reminding, him or her. Shame filled her that she needed reminding at all and with more conviction, she repeated, “I’m with Roy.”

With heavy hands and an even heavier heart, she untangled herself from his embrace, though not far enough that Gilbert completely loosened his hold on her waist.

“You have to let me go,” she uttered though her eyes were wide with misery.

His hold on her grew that much tighter and for a moment, her heart soared. But he did as she bid him, and stepped back.

Guilt weighed heavy on her chest.

He said nothing in return, merely asked that he see her safely home. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, for once. She knew that if she did, her words would unravel her, her thoughts unwinding like a fallen spool of thread, every emotion bare, every insecurity to be picked apart.

(Not that Gilbert would do that to her. She was terribly confused but in her heart of hearts, she knew that much)

But Gilbert was her friend, and she was promised to another. Royal Gardner was the Ideal Man of her childhood, the one of her dreams. He checked every item off her list. He was everything a prince ought to be—he was her knight in shining armor.

(So why was Gilbert always the one to save her?)

No matter. They would reach Patty’s Place, she would say her goodbyes and it would be as if it never happened at all.

So she did, almost mechanical in her actions even, and she was home free.

That was, until Gilbert stopped her, a hand to her wrist. It slid down to her hand. He raised them to his lips and though they were nowhere near as close as they were beneath the pine trees, she felt it once more—that unflinching, indecipherable line that connected them and fused their souls.

He kissed her knuckles, each one, and held her gaze the entire time. Not even the storm could dim their silver brightness, nor extinguish their hungering fire.

“I understand that you are with another, but you must know. There is no other one for me. There never will be another. It’s you, Anne.”

He stole her breath.

“It’s you.”

Upon entering Patty’s Place, she was stopped by Philippa, who cried at her appearance.

“Anne!” she scolded, as she fetched a towel from the kitchen and patted her friend down, who shivered but remained otherwise unmoved. “You’re going to catch your death in those clothes, you’re drenched! And—whose coat is this?”

She looked to Anne for answers, Phil’s face a picture in confusion when she saw her own stunned expression.

“Anne?” she prompted. “What’s the matter? Why, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“Oh Phil,” Anne whispered, for it wasn’t a ghost Anne saw but something very, very real. “I think I’ve made a terrible mistake... a most grievous error!”

“What do you mean?” Phil urged in desperate tones for she genuinely worried now.

Anne, however, did not hear her. For she saw that she had made a horrible mistake—but which?

Was it in being with Roy?

Or not being with Gilbert?

Outside, the rain stopped.

She ran out the door, the sun blinding and effulgent, though Anne didn't stop to think about that.

After all, she had a coat to return... a wrong to right.

Fate could wait, she was determined. Anne had her own story, and it was hardly unfinished.

It had only begun.

AN: I come up with weird things when I'm sick lol. Come say hi to me! ;)

#shirbert #aogg #awae #shirbert ff #aogg ff #awae ff #shirbert fan fiction #shirbert au #shirbert fluff #ust #anne of the island spoilers #sort of #swishandflickwit ff

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sincereiyleah · 6 years

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Popping Dilemmas (Shyan)

A/N Something else I was working on should have been uploaded today, but due to the horrendous storm, I was unable to finish it. Worry not though! I found this little fic I wrote up about a month or so ago, I don’t know if I ever posted it on Tumblr, but it’s cute and fluffy. So why not?

Enjoy!

It was late at night, Ryan can tell that much for sure, the twenty-six-year-old just threw on whatever was the closest to him at the point and walked out the door. He only had one place in mind, a store.

He didn't care which store, he was just in a desperate need for one. Urging something he ran out of a few days ago.

The night was quiet, animals of the night scattering around under the moonlight. Ryan's mind was still elsewhere as he walked down the street, hands in his hoodie's pockets, and eyes staring blankly at the ground below him.

He wanted a calm night tonight, he spent his free day finishing up assignments and now he just wanted to relax his mind. The night's air was fresh, cool, against his exposed face and neck, not too heavy.

Before he knew it, his hand was pushing open a glass door and Ryan entered a small corner store. Quickly he made his way down to the aisle which had his cravings stocked. Seeing it on the shelf, he gave himself a small smile as he walked over to it; eyes trained on the item.

He didn't notice the other person coming up with the said item as well, reaching for it the same time Ryan did. The touch of someone else's skin shocked Ryan back to reality along with the taller man. Their hands still placed on the item, it was the last of its kind on the shelf and the only kind Ryan tolerates.

A plain butter and salt popcorn box.

Only now did the blush that threatened to form came to life, covering Ryan's cheeks as the man staring down at him; hands still clasped.

"Looks like we have a popping dilemma," The man said, followed by a soft chuckle.

Ryan let out a nervous laugh of his own because of fuck, this guy was hot. Even through bleary, sleep driven eyes, and horrible corner shop lightening; the man's feature was kindly complimented.

"I don't know about you buddy, but butter and salt popcorn happen to be my favorite." Ryan finds himself saying, weirdly feeling comfortable with the guy. In a good way.

The guy in question smiles, barely showing any teeth as his thumb pressed against the back of Ryan's hand. "It also happens to be the only box of popcorn this place sells." He retaliated.

Ryan chewed his lower lip, his lips forming into a cheeky smile, yeah, he definitely felt comfortable in this guy's presence already. "Well, it also just happens I placed my hand on this delicious box first," Ryan smirked at the man's surprised expression, his eyebrow raising.

"Is that so? Well, it'll be a bummer having to binge watch classic horrors without any popcorn." He inquired, sending a smirk right back to the shorter male.

Ryan only flushed a bit more, seeing as the man's thumb was now rubbing soft circles on the back of his hand. "It would, wouldn't it? Perhaps I and my popcorn can accompany you?" Ryan said with emphasis.

The guy gave a thoughtful hum, "I think me and my classic horrors would approve of such action." and with that, he released the popcorn box, and, to Ryan's dismay, his hand. Ryan was surprised at how he craved for the man's calloused touch again. As if the mystery man read his mind, he offered out his hand, "Shane." he said.

Ryan picked the popcorn box up and shook Shane's hand, "Ryan." he shot back. Taking advantage of the silence to fully appreciate Shane's appearance. He was tall, as he already established, he had black rimmed glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose, and a trimmed down scruff. His hair was messily pushed to the side as his plaid checkered shirt and blue jeans were crinkled.

"Well Ryan, you know I'm inviting you and your popcorn to my house, how do I not know you're a serial killer?" Shane asked, pulling his hand away and dropping it to his side.

"Because my popcorn is at stake, and what about you? Huh? What if you just want to kill me for free popcorn?" Ryan accused, smiling widely. He bet he looks like the only dork right now.

Shane's eyes quickly looked Ryan up and down and then stepped closer to him, "Because," Shane started, his eyes now locking with Ryan's. "you're too cute to kill."

With that, Ryan's blush that had dimmed throughout their talk came back in full force. Ryan's teeth caught his lower lip, trapping it as he let out a soft wheeze. "Wait for me?" He asked, waving the box of popcorn he was going to pay for, Shane nodded.

"Always."

Ryan turned before Shane could see his face grow anymore red, walking up to the cash register; and if he felt a pair of eyes on his backside, well, that was a plus.

The walk to Shane's house was a short one, the man not living far from Ryan himself. Once they did get inside, Ryan felt a wave of nervousness overcome him, it's just some popcorn and movies with a cool stranger. That's all.

However, Ryan's anxiety quickly dissipated as Shane smiled at him and guided him to the couch. "I'll make the popcorn, the movies are all in that stand right there," Shane motioned towards a black metal stand, it had four shelves which was packed with different movies and even video games. "Beer?" He then questioned, Ryan was never the one to pass up a free beer.

"I would love to crack open a cold one with you," Ryan found himself answering, blushing at his own comment. Shane only seemed even more amused than before, chuckling as he nodded.

"What a special boy I am," Shane concluded, walking to his kitchen before Ryan even had time to process what he said.

Quickly shaking his head, Ryan looked over the movie titles, picking out a few of his favorites and even ones he didn't even hear of before. By the time Ryan was done, three rounds of popping went off and Shane walked back in with a big bowl of popcorn, like the ones a baker would use for their cake batter, and a pack of beers.

Shane glanced over at the movies Ryan had picked and gave an appreciative hum, "What a taste," he said, Ryan truly tried to stick with the classics. "Cabin Fever, Texas Chainsaw, Halloween, Friday the 13th, Elm Street, Shinning..., Poltergeist? The Exorcist?" Shane looked up at Ryan slightly confused.

"What? They're classics!" Ryan defended.

"And unrealistic," Shane argued back.

"So is a guy killing you in your dreams but Freddy is still praised."

Shane laughed and nodded, "Guess you're right on that one, so... Cabin Fever first?" Ryan nodded, sitting on the couch and grabbing a handful of popcorn. To think, all because he had run out a few days ago on popcorn and craved it led him to meet Shane.

Shane popped into the movie and sat close to Ryan, not as close as Ryan would have wanted, but close enough. Shane passed him a beer, he thanked him as he cracked the lid open and took a sip.

Who knew acting scared would get you a handsome guy to hold you?

It was the most comfortable Ryan's been in some time, his feet were propped up and curled back as he laid against Shane's chest, his arm across his torso. Shane's chin rested on top of Ryan's head as his arm was slung around Ryan's waist, holding him close.

Ryan was on his third beer and most of the popcorn was gone at this point. It was probably around two at night and the two were already in their fourth movie. Already seeing his fill of teenage couples dead on screen and cheesy lines, Ryan had got up to put in Poltergeist, bending down and placing the disc in; he turned to see Shane staring. They may have consumed probably too many beers and popcorn to be completely honest, but the way Shane still invited Ryan right next to him, made Ryan feel a little giddily on the inside. Shane, he came to find out, was rather the gentlemen, making sure everything was consensual, not even daring to do something out of Ryan's comfort zone even though they were cuddled close up together.

Shane's eyes flicked up towards Ryan's, "Poltergeist?" he chuckled, Ryan rolled his eyes and sat back curled back around the taller male. "I just don't see the appeal." He concluded, wrapping his arm back around Ryan's waist.

"It's a classic and pretty scary if anything." Ryan hummed as he laid his head on Shane's heart.

"Ghost doesn't exist."

"The set was haunted though!" Ryan told. "The little girl, she died weeks after the movie aired and reports on other weird shit that took place during the film too."

Shane shook his head, "It was a coincidence that she died, very sad, but purely coincidental."

Ryan pouted, but nevertheless, stayed quiet as they watched the movie.

It was near the end where Ryan really started jumping, whimpering softly as he grabbed onto the closest thing there at the moment, (which was Shane's shirt). He talked to the characters as if they were in the room with him and hid his face whenever the suspense would get too suffocating.

Shane held him close through all of it, he even made jokes and whispered soft encouragement when Ryan became too scared. It wasn't just the movie itself that scared Ryan, but the possibility. Maybe not a poltergeist per se, but evil spirits and demons, yeah, that sent shivers.

However, it was over for Ryan when Diane was dragged onto the ceiling, screams of her were too scary to even think about happening it to himself. That's when Shane cupped his cheek, his large hand fitting perfectly against Ryan's jaw, Shane tilted Ryan's head up and smiled down at him. "It's okay, I'm right here, I'll protect you."

Shane's words washed over Ryan, giving him a new feeling of relief and happiness. Ryan smiled, blushing under Shane's palm. The T.V sounded distant, the world became almost nonexistent. Ryan never focused this much on one thing- on one person before. It worried but also excited him. Staring into Shane's eyes as the elder stared back.

And just like back at the store, Shane's thumb made soft circles on his skin. Ryan doesn't know how much time passed, nor did he really care.

Shane's eyes flickered from Ryan's eyes, down to his lips, making the slightest of indications as he leaned in partway; giving Ryan a chance to back away. But Ryan knows more than anything that he's really craving.

Not the popcorn nor the cheesy horror movies.

But a kiss on the lips from Shane.

It was weird, Ryan thought at first, almost felt like a bad hookup that would only last a night; and Ryan didn't want that. But he's sure neither does Shane, so he takes it.

He pushed himself forwards and catches a kiss on Shane's lips.

It was better than Ryan expected, it was slow, sensual, it wasn't rushed at all. It was caring and passionate. And that's what it all was.

Shane was the first to pull back, his hand now resting on Ryan's thigh. There was a slight pant from his breathing, "Ryan?" he asked softly.

"Mhm?"

"How about tomorrow night I take you out for popcorn and a movie?" Shane said with a smile.

Ryan grinned, looking up at him, "And drinks afterward?" he insisted more than asked.

"Yes," Shane chuckles, "and drinks, as well for food, afterward," he promised.

"Then I think I'm free tomorrow night," Ryan concluded.

"Delightful."

A/N Fluffy, right? It’s very fast paced but I kinda liked it.

#shyan #shyan fic #skeptic believer #buzzfeed unsolved #bfu unsolved #fanfiction #fluff

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insomniac-arrest · 6 years

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How to Kiss a Girl (and Prepare for the End of the World)

fandom/pairing: adventure time/bubbline

genre: soft apocalyptica

words: 3k

summary: reincarnation fic where iterations of Marceline and PB are alive pre-mushroom bomb and do what they can in the meantime

warning: death

Step 1: Home Intrusion

She snuck out the window that time, not because she had to, she just liked to imagine her dad’s face if he saw her scaling six floors worth of fire escape.

It wasn’t really that impressive, and she knew he never saw it anyway.

She scaled the six floors worth of fire escape and promised herself this is the time she was going back, The Final Countdown on running away.

She sits on the 59th underpass for a few hours, popping bubblegum and thinking about smoking again- it didn’t always agree with her but bubblegum only went so far.

She slung her guitar case higher on her shoulder and then headed down the main highway toward the suburbs. She might as well do something.

It was called Candy Street, which was just as ridiculous as it sounded, and she kicked a can to the 6th house- at the end of the cul de sac and gave it a hearty knock.

“Hey,” She called and gave the door another rap, “Bon-Bon.”

She stared up at the gray city sky and waited for the anticipated shuffling from inside.

“Bon!” She yells for a final effect.

The door finally creaked open and a weary looking girl in a disheveled white coat blinks at her, “What?” “Jesus, where’s Peppermint? You look like you haven’t showered in a week.” She blinks at her again, “I’m busy.” She opens her arms and grins, “You want to feed a runaway or what?” Bonnie groans and massages the bridge of her nose, she steps aside, “Again? Really?” Marceline shrugs and walks into the damp house, after all these years Marceline hadn’t figured out how Bonnie convinced her parents to let her live alone.

She whistles as she walks inside, “Seriously, where is Peppy? This place is a mess.” She puts her hands in her pockets and turns back to Bonnie who was closing the door.

She turns around with her hands on her hips, “I sent him away for the week so I wouldn’t have any distractions.” She seemed annoyed.

Marceline studied her face, “Is it science fair season again? What’s up?” Bonnie shook her head and took her by the elbow, “I do need a test subject though.” Marceline scowled, “Sandwich! Then you can prod and poke at all my bits.” Bonnie gave a half-smile, “Parabola. And a sandwich? You serious this time?” Marceline led herself into Bonnie’s kitchen, “As serious as the grave. I’m a drop-dead runaway this time.” She says as she puts her hand over her heart and tried not to smile.

“Pfft,” Bonnie opened her fridge with a disbelieving look, “Right, right, you live on the edge. Softie.”

“Why don’t you come over here and see how soft I am?” She flexed her (nonexistent) arm muscles and Bonnie rolled her eyes.

“We’ll see how long this lasts.” She mutters and takes out some expiration-dateless mayonnaise. She took out some questionable looking bologna and seemed able to make a sandwich as Marceline jumped onto a stool and swung her feet. Normally, she would offer to help, but Bonnie was very particular about all parts of this process.

Bonnie carefully stacked the ingredients and Marceline for once tried not to bother her as her little pink tongue stuck out in concentration. It was like a prima ballerina during her Big Moment. If the moment was a sandwich and she was a hyper-precise nerd.

“Mmmmm,” Bonnie hums and then exacts a piece of bread on the top, “There! Done. You’re welcome.” She stuck her chest and handed it to her, “Viola, runaway-abating nutrients.” Marceline snickered and held herself back from flicking her in the nose, “You are the bomb B.” She took the sandwich, “We should just get married and I’ll move into your crawlspace.” Bonnie’s face went a pink at that statement. They did have some things to talk about.

“Well, I need you well-fed for my tests,” She clapped her hands together, “And how do you feel about radiation poisoning?”

“Uhhh,” A piece of baloney hung out of her mouth after her first bite. “Bad? I think that’s a definitely bad.”

Bonnie tapped her chin and gestured for her to keep eating, “Alright. I’ll factor that in.” She took out a notepad from her waistband and jotted something down.

“A'ight.” Marceline eyes her slowly and then tries to savor the sandwich, despite some ambiguous freshness of some of the contents it was delicious. “But if you mess up my good jacket, I’m putting it on your bill.” She points to her red leather jacket- the good one.

Bonnie raises her eyebrows flatly, “Oh no no, your tab to me is much longer anyway.” “No!” She says with her mouthful, Bonnie laughs.

“My car.” She says with her hands on her hips.

Marceline lets a little laugh herself, “Okay. I see your point. But if I am about to ruin this jacket to radiation poison or somethun, give a girl something cool to be buried in.” “You should be fine...If all my calculations are correct.” She says slowly and itches her temple.

Marceline takes a last enormous bite of her sandwich and swallows it painfully, “Show me what’s up then Pink. What’s this years science fair?” Bonnie’s mouth became a hard-straight line, a little dent of worry formed on her brow. She gave low hum from her throat, it could almost be a growl.

“It’s, hmm,” Bonnie stroked her chin, “Come into the next room with me. I can explain it better.” Marceline eyebrows skyrocketed, “Whoa. The serious zone. The frown district. You never let me in your lab.” Marceline wobbled off the chair and watched Bonnie’s back.

“And yet you always go in there anyway.” She says with an unamused glance.

Marceline picked at her ear, “It’s the place to find you. Come on, I want to go into the doom dome.” Bonnie rolled her eyes and gestured at her, “Now. I don’t want you to say I’m overreacting, because, pfft, no, we all know it’s real.” Marceline blinked into the dim lights as they made into the huge side room, it was drafty and could almost feel her nose turn in on itself from the chemical smell. Bonnie turned on the fluorescents and Marceline rubbed at her sensitive eyes.

“Ugh,” She almost tripped on the first beacon on the floor before Bonnie catches her.

“These are just the calculations. The dome is in the next room.” Marceline rubbed at her eyes some more and then found herself staring at a wall’s worth of chicken-scratch calculations on a chalkboard. Her mouth falls open, “Bonnie,” She gulps, “What is this?” She watches her friend scratch her wrist, her brown eyes scanning the room. “It’s what it looks like Marcy.” She gestured to a metal hatch on the other side of the room, “Surviving the bomb.” Marceline’s eyes squinted at her, “Is this….about the apocalypse forum I made us join in 6th grade? Because that was only for a joke, Bonnie,” Her eyes softened, “What is this.” Bonnie sighed and her shoulders released, “They made it. The mushroom cloud bomb.” Marceline frowns, “We’ve had bombs before…” “You don’t understand.” Bonnie shook her head and a few bubblegum-pink hairs drifted in front of her face. “It’s real this time. I’ve seen the news, I,” She opened her mouth and closed, “It’s inevitable.”

Marceline's frown deepened and she got closer to her friend in order to hold her arm, “And here all I wanted to do was come over, eat your food and then maybe make out a little bit.” Her voice came out wooden, even to her. “And here you are trying to save the world.” Bonnie turned on her with a sad smile, “I’m not sure even I could do that.” She breathed in through her nose, “The mushroom bomb could blow off one fifth of our planet. It could ruin everything.” Marceline squeezed her arm, shifting uncomfortably in place. “Come on Bon,” She says weakly, “They say they have it under control.” Bonnie leaned back into her, “I hope so.” She says softly and closed her eyes, “I really hope so.” She didn’t believe her.

Marceline let Bonnie go, the other girl shaking her head as if to throw off the cobwebs and tying her hair back up more tightly, “Alright. I just need someone to sit in the capsule so I can measure human vitals within while I tinker with the amount of punishment this thing can take.” Bonnie says with That Look in her eye.

Marceline made a face, wrinkling her nose and exaggerating her features, “Before or after more food and makeouts?” “Remember my car?” She asks dully.

“Yeah?” “Then get in the capsule.” Marceline sighs and hangs her arms, she really had done a number on her car. She gets in the capsule.

They spend the rest of the day prodding Marceline and trying to put dents in the cast-iron dome of survival. Bonnie has a determined look in her pursed lips and Marceline doesn’t have the heart to ask too many questions.

Bonnie let’s her sleep on her couch, though the other girl doesn’t go to sleep herself and Marceline spends a restless night on the fine leather cushions. She slips away in the morning before sunrise, maybe she didn’t want to think about the end the world as much as she put on.

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

Step 2: Buy her Oranges

Marceline was taking a very long walk. A walk to be remembered if you will. For a moment, she considered just keep going and never turn back, like some traveling starving artist. She could do all three of those things.

But her feet turned back toward Candy Street dipped behind the miles of city suburbs, trailing back to the large white house with all the windows boarded up to keep the sun out.

The door was open this time when she walks in and she can hear someone murmuring to themselves in the kitchen, Marceline heaves a deep sigh.

Bonnie was in front of the sink, mixing vials as her hair looked like it was ready to fall out. Marceline watched the light slash a strip across her nose and her eyes flash behind thick goggles. They stare at each other for a long moment.

“Problems?” She finally offers.

Bonnie shakes her head, “I’m going to the store in a moment.” She puts down her beakers, they seemed to be a dull grey in the light. “Come with?” Marceline raised her eyebrows, “You sure? We’ll be in public and everything.” Bonnie rolled her eyes, “Pep does all the shopping, so it’s been… awhile.” Marceline lets out a laugh and puts her guitar case down, “oh my God, you don’t know how to buy food.” She scowled at her, “I absolutely know how to buy food.” She crosses her arms across her chest, “You’re fired. Nevermind.”

“Fired?” She laughs again.

“Fired.”

Marceline put a hand around her shoulder, “You know how I got my last job back the first time?” “The one where you scarred all those kids with hand puppets? Sure.” Marceline winked, “I rehired myself the next day, let’s go.” She feels the prickle of Bonnie’s skin as they touch, it had been awhile. The other girl gathers her things and follows her dutifully out anyway.

“We only need a few things.” She was muttering again but Marceline was stretching in the clouded lowlights of the afternoon sun. “Milk, butter…”

“Jack and booze.” She glances over at her, “Those are the same thing.” “Jack and strippers.” She pushes on her shoulder, “Come on.” Bonnie was giggling, like she had never been 13 and found out the end of your elbow was called a ‘wenis’ and started cracking up. Like she had spent forever in that crowded empty house.

Marceline frowns up at the sky, “how’s the doom machine?” Bonnie shook her head, “As good as it gets.” She was squinting up, “I just need to make a protein drip so people can get nutrients in there.” “Gross.” Marceline says as she wrinkled her nose. “At least install netflix.” Bonnie hummed at that and wrote something down, Marceline just shook her head. They took Candy Street to Gingerbread Road and faced the nearest corner store with conviction. It had a sales sign in the corner window and no broken door hinges, so that was good.

They enter the cool insides and shiver a little bit, like entering a haunted walmart on its worst days. Marceline’s eyes drag over the quiet aisles, the water bottle section had already been ransacked and people were still buying as many canned goods as possible. They didn’t have any soup for miles.

Of course, there were the holdouts. The people running shops that still got shipments and old guys who said they had seen worse buying Times Magazine at the front. Life churned on like it still believed in itself.

They wander over to the produce section just as Bonnie glanced at her again.

“You should talk to your dad,” She picked up an egg carton and started inspecting them like they were on an oval-shaped diamond heist.

Marceline scoffs, “Yeah. Right.” “I’m serious,” she seems to find a satisfactory egg combination and put it in her cart. “You may regret it otherwise.”

Marceline blows air out of her nose, “he’s an ass. I’m not suddenly having some heartfelt father-daughter talk with him.” She kicks the closest fruit stand.

Bonnie start to pile her basket brimming with apples and oranges, “I’m just saying,” she clucks, “it might be good to air it all out.” “Yeah, sure, thanks for being a non-existent dead beat for seventeen years. I’ll write you in the afterlife.” She waved her hand in the air and turned to maybe stomp off somewhere.

Bonnie put a hand on her shoulder, “it’s alright.” She sounded like she was trying to soothe a spooked horse. “I’m sure he knows.” Marceline hung her head for a second, she started to pick up some stray cucumbers and toss them in with the others moodily.

“You talk to your folks?” Her mouth was still a hard line. “Yeah.” Bonnie smoothed her hair down. “They’re in some bunker.”

The look on Bonnie’s face told Marceline that the other girl did not think that bunker would work. Marceline sighs, “you really think this going to go down?” She frowns, “that this it?” She looks around, it was still a shop and still a city and some teenage boy was still trying to hit on the cashier while shuffling his feet at the front.

Bonnie shrugs and turns away, “you know what I think.”

They meander through the store, picking up whatever was left and making their way to the registers.

Marceline takes her wallet from her as they go, “watch the master at work.” Marceline teases, flapping the wallet in the air, trying to buoy their mood again.

“Oh please.”

“A shiny plastic card,” she slips it into the slot, “right in there. Bullseye. It’s like I was born to buy you oranges.” Bonnie flicks her, “This is why you were fired.” “And rehired.” They gather up all their perishable foods that hadn’t been picked over and hold hands on the way home. Her hand was dry and chemical stained, but it felt tangible and real right then.

Bonnie said she was still too busy to meet her in the backroom, even after Marceline added a ‘if you know what I mean’ at the end. Marceline shrugs and takes the long way home. She leaves a note for her dad on the fridge: find somewhere safe.

Sometimes she wished she had torn it up instead.

-----------

Step Three: Night Cap

It happened in the middle of the night, the streets had been empty for hours and she hears the first wheeze of a voice on the other end.

She hadn’t been sleeping, but she hadn’t been not sleeping either. Her phone buzzes obnoxiously, like it wanted to shake itself off her bedside table to freedom. She hears a shaking breath on the other side, she swings her feet off the bed, “I’m coming.” She yanks on her 3-day old jeans and starts down the stairs like a normal person this time. Even if she doesn’t take the fire escape, she imagined it was still cool.

She found someone’s bike deserted on their lawn and pedals all the way across town and through the stream of traffic that honked and beeped at her as she went.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not even moving!” She gets a couple pointed words in her direction and ends up swerving through the moonlight traffic toward the cul de sac.

She doesn’t bother to knock as she enters the house again and takes the stairs two at a time. “Bonnie?” She listens carefully and treads her familiar path to her room, “Bonnibel.”

“Here,” she hears a faint voice and opens the door, the silver light fills the room as Bonnie had ripped those boards off the windows it seemed.

She was sitting on her bed with a black wrap around her arm and she held something up. Marceline quirked an eyebrow up, she was measuring her blood pressure.

She runs a hand through her hair and sits down on the bed across from her, “hey.”

“Hey.” She says softly back and goes back to check the numbers on the gauge.

Marceline tips her head to the side, “want a smoke?” She gives me a decided Look, “this is the impression you get from this?”

“You’re stressed,” she gives a half-smile, “anymore worked up and may start to form wrinkles.” They both chuckle to themselves at that, she looks back up, “it’ll ruin your teeth.” She almost goes to roll her eyes, “there goes my beauty pageant career.” She says flatly.

She snorts, “oh, fudge off.” I cackle softly, “fudge? Really?” Her cheeks heat up, visibly tinted in the light, “you know we had...rules in my house.”

Marceline sighs and reaches over to take her hand, “fine. You can have all the fudge you like.” Bonnie looked ready to bite her. “I don’t even think it would ruin you beauty pageant chances.”

“I’ll build a catheter on stage for the talent portion,” she says dryly and rubs at her nose. She takes off the armband.

Marceline leans over and their breaths mix, “I’d vote for you.” She shyly tries to take her hand, her heart now thumping loudly in her throat, “I think you’re the prettiest girl left.”

“Left?” They both wince at that.

“Left, or right, of the entire solar system,” Marceline tries to salvage it with a mischievous look.

“Don’t be cheesy,” she laughs and Marceline makes a kissy face at her.

“Come on,” she brushes her pink strands of hair back, “I won’t tell anyone.”

She reached over and held the back of her head, “like you didn’t brag about it on the school news bulletin board the first time.”

She puffs her cheeks out, “there was a lot to brag about.” “Shut up,” she leans over and the kiss is slow and damp, her cheeks were slightly wet and the moonlight hit the bed like an air raid spotlight.

Her mouth is honey sweet, she was very particular about dental hygiene and Marceline’s thoughts slowed and halted as she drew her closer.

She leans her back in the bed and they kiss for a long long moment before curling up around each other.

The wind whistles through the broken window boards and she closes her eyes. A machine beeps below, but so does the rest of the world.

------

Step 4: Try to be Okay

“Maybe I’ll see you again,” she held her hand tightly, eyes watering. They said you’d be able to smell it before anything else, acidic with a cloying burn.

They were caught outside, she guessed that’s how it always is. Paces away from your own home after trying to get bandages, without warning or time to tie your shoelaces or make a funny face.

Bonnie squeezes her hand back, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” “It’s not your fault,” she says it gently, throatily, rolling over on the ground to face her. “It could never be.” “I didn’t-” “You did.” She kisses her cheek.

Bonnie kisses her back, “Meet me again.” She can only nod, “Whenever you want.”

“Meet me again.” They close their eyes and the slow-moving toxic fog envelops the world around them.

#bubbline #adventure time #Princess Bubblegum #marceline #bubbline fic #warning: death

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ndragoon · 3 years

Text

Tonight's just one of those nights where my minds just grating me like a cheesegrater.

In the usual vein of things, I'm assuming nobody is actually reading these.

But I just feel like trash today, feeling real self-hating and dysmorphic overall.

I don't HATE my belly, sometimes I actually like it, but times like this make me really hate it more than my worst enemy. If it wasn't as big as it is, I wouldn't have to worry about all this run around, all the glares, and the constant remarks. I'd be able to find clothes that fit, that don't also cost $60+ for a single shirt.

I hate my flabby thighs. If I'm undressing around someone I have to wear boxer-briefs to make my thighs more pleasant to look like. When I wear briefs to stop my sac from chafing in the back, my thighs mushroom out and have these weird flabby ridges where the leg holes are. This weird ridge is the only reason I hate them, because I'm otherwise really thickly built in my legs and finding jeans that fit are nigh impossible because of my muscles and bones alone.

My hands are terrible. Short fingers and weird bends in my pinky and pointer fingers. Both pointers curve inward and both pinkies have weird zigzags. They are also as steady as a shaken bowl of jello.

My back and butt area are lumpy and misshapen. It's bulgy and pointy at the top, and isn't round at all. It's ugly and I never take side or rear pictures of myself for that reason unless I have clothes on. It's impossible to even use smaller toys because my sphincter is full of scar tissue, much less take an average or larger penis.

Talking about my junk is also an obvious bit but let me split this in two. My sac from behind when I bend over looks like a grapefruit was photoshopped in its place. From the front while standing, my sac is always hanging relatively low and it doesn't do that shriveled thing where it pulls everything up inside me anymore, even if it's cold. Both of my testicles started out fairly large and I used to get compliments on them, but they started to shrink during the time when my drive dipped and now they are nonexistent. They are so small and soft I can just barely tell they are there, even though I can still fully feel the tubes that connect behind them. They constantly ache and feeling for them isn't always successful because they are now small enough that my sac is empty half the time now.

And my penis, what is considered the most important part of their body for most men. Except mine has always been numb to pleasure for my entire life. Even when I watched enough porn as a young teen to shoot my load hands-free, I still never felt any pleasure from it. Tried many hand and finger placements, tried a fleshlight, vibrator, rubbing it with a rough towel (left SO MUCH blood), even tried bare-heading it both lubed and not (and this just ended up leaving me with a blistered feeling head that hurts to wash or touch for a week). I tried things with two people and still nothing. One used their mouth and tongue and he might as well have been licking my arm. The other used his hand, but just went ham on the bare head and left me in pain for the next week where just pulling the foreskin back caused so much pain.

And it's just SO SMALL. It used to at least have the head stick out while I was standing, but after it started shrinking it now stays buried unless I make an effort to uncover it. Even pre-shrinking, it was too small for me to top. Not for lack of trying, of course. Already had one ex leave me because it is too small, and the other refused to even acknowledge it until he felt like he had to, and even that was spiteful because he wanted something bigger.

This foreskin is just...something else. It's a thick and spongy tube. When I was young, I used to think that I was left alone. But once I was informed that they did circumcise me as an infant. So then, I used to think that they partially circumcised me. But there were naked pictures of me as a baby where you could see that they very much so DID fully circumcise me, exposed head and all with a swollen ring from where it was healing...so now I'm stuck without my frenars band or frenulum. Pulling it back all the way doesn't have a bridge on the bottom, just a smooth surface through the cleft underneath the head. It's even got an uneven cut line that used to be incredibly obvious when my foreskin was partially pulled back, so if I did have a longer penis, I'd be stuck with a drastically angled shaft. But it's otherwise just a numb tube of flesh that covers the head almost all the time, the only thing it feels is when I use the wrong soap to make it inflamed or when I stretch it out too much.

I guess most of my resentment of myself comes from this useless penis of mine. Always listening to everyone go on and on and on about this oh-so-wonderful part of existence that everyone is supposed to enjoy and seek out to the point that it's worth destroying your relationship over. All of these guys going on about how they are just so excited to get home and jerk it because it's so amazing that it's worthy enough to be a hobby, and that it's amazing enough to go at it even when they aren't horny because it's just so nice. And I'm stuck not being able to feel anything, being stuck taking all this time every time the drive kicks in just to attempt to avoid that awful congested feeling that'll follow if I don't, which usually kicks in even if I haven't had an erection or feel that mood for hours at that point.

Sometimes I wish I could just remove it all and get it over with. No more leaky penis, no more numb foreskin, no more balls (or remnants thereof) to get squished, crushed, or otherwise compressed or struck, no more sac to dip in toilet water, and no more briefs that don't have enough of a bridge underneath to cover the world's worst water balloon that I call my scrotum.

I'm sorry for anyone who did read this. I'm sorry that you had to go through this at your own expense.

#Personal #Medical #Not medical #Whiny

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foxesandferrets · 6 years

Text

Baby Fever

@ainu, Claudia and I were talking about Kagehina and cats, and thus this silly thing was born. Thanks for always giving me inspiration, I love you guys <3

(Cat name by Ainu)

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

Kageyama wasn’t sure how he ended up there, with the smell of way too many animals in much too small a space filling his nostrils as Hinata looked around the room with wonder in his eyes. Except, he did know. He knew exactly how it happened, he was just baffled at how he let it get this far.

It had been several nights ago, when Hinata stretched across the couch and plopped his head in Kageyama’s lap, forcing him to move the sports magazine he was reading out of the way so he could pout up at him. The pout was met with a frown, which made a smile tug at Hinata’s lips, but he pushed it away.

“Tobiooooo,” he whined, adding puppy dog eyes to the expression.

“Your head is digging into my hip,” he answered, pretending to be uninterested.

“Oh, sorry.” Hinata scooted down, resting his head on the soft part of Kageyama’s thigh before looking back up. “Tobiooooo! I want a baby.”

Kageyama froze, going rigid as his face turned red hot. “You what?”

“I want a baby,” Hinata repeated, his pout spreading into a wide grin. “A cute chubby one that we can dress up in tiny volleyball clothes and spoil rotten. What do you think?”

“Shou,” Kageyama sputtered, suddenly feeling like some huge responsibility was weighing on his shoulders. A baby? He could barely take care of himself, and his mom still made monthly trips to make sure their fridge was full and the two of them hadn’t been crushed under a tower of unwashed clothes. “We...we aren’t even married. We can barely afford rent. You’re still in school. I work at a gym!”

“But I really want one,” he continued, rolling toward Kageyama to bury his face in his stomach. “Won’t our love be enough to support us?”

“Not when we need diapers and baby food and doctor's visits and cribs and,” Kageyama paused, stress crashing over him about how he would manage to provide for his dumb boyfriend and their nonexistent child. “We can’t. There’s no way. Shou we’re only 25 for fuck’s sake.”

“Fine, no baby,” Hinata mumbled against his shirt. “I’ll just wallow in sadness until the day I can love a tiny human and teach them all of my volleyball wisdom. But until then I’ll need something to fill the void in my heart. I think a kitten will do the job.”

Kageyama sighed a breath of relief. A kitten he could do. A kitten is manageable. And kibble and litter are much less expensive than formula and baby clothes.

“Fine.” He absentmindedly let his hand fall down to Hinata’s hair, running his fingers through that fiery orange that never burns. “We can go to a shelter this weekend.”

“Great!” Hinata rolled back over, beaming up at Kageyama as he pulled his phone from his pocket. “Look at this cute food and water bowl set I found, it has little fish on the sides. And this cat tree! It’s three levels, and there are feathers hanging from the top and a built in scratching post! And-,”

“Wait a minute,” Kageyama said, realization dawning on him. “You never wanted a baby, did you? You wanted a kitten all along and knew I’d say no.”

“No take backs, you already said yes!”

“You little bastard.”

Hinata blew a kiss upwards, but Kageyama just glared, not wanting to accept his defeat but knowing he’d lost. “I learned it from some boring show about marketing my mom was watching when I visited. It’s called door in the face technique. You start with something big, knowing it’ll get turned down, and then you give your real offer and they’re more likely to say yes. And it worked!”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t get used to it, I’m onto you now,” he mumbled, reaching for his magazine.

“Sure, babe. Whatever you say.”

Hinata had spent the rest of the night picking out collars and toys for the kitten and shoving his phone in Kageyama’s face to gush about how cute they were. Eventually he had to wrestle the phone away to keep him from spending their food budget on a pink and gold self cleaning litter box.

On the drive to the shelter saturday morning Hinata was practically bouncing out of his seat, which wasn’t that much more distracting than his usual fidgeting, but enough to make Kageyama worry it was a driving hazard. As soon as the car was parked Hinata flew out, bounding up the concrete steps and through the shelter door. Kageyama followed, making sure to lock the car and taking the steps at a slower pace, and met up with Hinata behind a door that said plainly: ‘Cat Room.’

“There’s so many!” Hinata looked around amidst the roaring meows, frozen in place as he tried to choose where to start. He settled on the loudest one, a little black kitten with white sock paws that was practically screaming through the bars of his cage. Kageyama wondered how so much noise could come out of such a small creature. Hinata reached a hand out to the kitten, sticking his fingers through the bars despite the clear ‘Do not put hands in cage’ sign hanging above it, and quickly drew it back as the kitten latched on with clawed sock paws and shoved it into his mouth made of razors.

“Ow! Bad kitty!” Hinata frowned down at the thin line of blood forming on his finger. “Tobio! He cut me.”

“Read the sign, dumbass,” Kageyama answered, pointing at the paper. “They put that there for a reason. Cats are evil.”

“They are not!” Hinata gasped, looking offended. “They’re sweet little angels.”

“They’re killing machines, urged on by their anger over the fact that they’re too small to kill a human.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Hinata said, turning back to the cages but keeping his fingers to himself. “He’s just grumpy because he thinks animals don’t like him.”

That was true, but Kageyama wouldn’t admit it out loud. He never had a pet growing up, and every time he’d been introduced to a friend’s pet they seemed nonchalant towards him, usually ignoring him and going about their business. He even tried to approach stray cats around town that he had seen other’s feed, but they always flattened their ears and ran away. He wasn’t sure what he did wrong, or if it was just some presence he had that scared animals off, but he’d given up on trying to make them like him years ago.

Unsure of what he planned to achieve, he walked up to one of the cages, staring down at an older tabby with a soft face and sagging belly that showed she’d had multiple litters of kittens. Thinking of her stuck in there, all alone and without her babies, tugged at Kageyama’s heartstrings. He let out an exhale before nervously lifting his hand to the bars where she could sniff at his fingers but he could pull back quickly if she went on the attack. She was careful not to touch him with her nose as she smelled him curiously, and for a moment Kageyama thought she might actually let him pet her, but before he could attempt it she turned, sticking her tail straight up in the air as she made her way to the very back of the cage and flopped down.

“Oh, whatever,” he mumbled, sticking his tongue out at the cat and feeling dumb for acting so childish. “I didn’t want to pet you anyway.”

He sulked back toward the door, resting his back against the frame and shoving his hands in his pockets. He figured he might as well just wait for Hinata to pick, it’d be his cat anyway. It wouldn’t want anything to do with Kageyama.

He watched as Hinata darted around the room, cooing and clucking his tongue at different cats, all of which came up to the bars to greet him. Some let him gently rub their heads and some attempted to chew his fingers off, but all of them interacted with him somehow. Even the momma tabby came back to the bars when Hinata peered in at her, and Kageyama tried to ignore the sad bit of jealousy that climbed up his throat as she rubbed her cheek across his outstretched finger.

This is fine, he thought, as long as it makes Hinata happy I don’t need the cat to like me too.

Hinata knelt before one of the cages close to the floor, saying something about “what a pretty baby” to a disgruntled looking ball of gray fluff inside, and just above his head, Kageyama locked eyes with a pair of round blue eyes. The cat just stared at him, sitting patiently as if daring him to come over and talk to it. So he did. What did he have to lose?

The cat, a tiny orange thing with thick downy fur, sat just far enough away from the bars that Kageyama’s fingers couldn’t reach it, watching silently as he tried. It cocked its head to the side, as if it was interested in him but not quite sure if he was safe.

“Oh, that’s a pretty one,” Hinata said beside him, startling Kageyama as he quickly pulled his hand back. “Here kitty kitty.”

The cat immediately perked up when Hinata appeared, letting out a soft mew and pressing her face against the bars. Hinata rubbed his finger on the bridge of her nose and she started to purr.

“I think she likes you,” Kageyama said, checking the tag on her cage for the gender.

“Isn't she gorgeous, Tobio?” Hinata asked, rubbing at her chin as she flopped down and rolled over, stretching her paws out past the cage bars. “Look, she has your eyes!”

As if on cue the cat looked up at him, blue meeting blue. Kageyama ignored the sudden bit of affection he felt for the kitten, knowing it would only hurt him later. “Yeah, well, she has your hair,” he said, watching as the cat meowed loudly at Hinata, standing back up and trying to force her face through the bars to get closer to him and almost getting stuck. “And your stupidity.”

“Then it’s destiny!” Hinata turned, grabbing Kageyama’s hand and smiling wide. “She’s part me and part you. She’s our baby!”

“Don’t say weird shit, Shou,” Kageyama chided, looking back at the cat who paused her escape attempts to stare at him again. “It’s just a cat.”

“A perfect cat,” he continued. “Let’s take her home.”

“Are you sure that’s the one you want?”

Again with perfect timing, the cat reached out and latched a claw into Hinata’s shirt, meowing sadly at him as if she was afraid he’d leave her. He gently removed her claw and held her paw in his hand. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Kageyama called for an employee who came to transfer the cat into a cardboard travel box. As soon as the cage door was open the cat practically leapt at Hinata, landing in his arms as he frantically tried not to drop her. It took a full five minutes to get her off of Hinata and into the box, meowing loudly in protest the entire time.

She continued to yell at them until they were in the car and Hinata impatiently opened the box.

“Hey, dumbass! Don’t open that in here!” Kageyama called, thoughts of cats running under brake pedals and cars spinning out in fiery death spirals flashing in his mind.

“Don’t worry, she’ll behave. Won’t you?” The cat hopped easily out of the box and onto Hinata’s shoulder, nuzzling his neck and making him giggle. “Ah, your nose is cold!”

“Just keep a grip on her.”

“What’re we gonna call her, Tobio?”

Kageyama thought of all the cat names he knew, which wasn’t many.

“Uh, Fluffy? Whiskers? Those are cat names, yeah?”

“Boo,” Hinata pouted. “Those are so boring. She needs a unique name. Something super cool, like Spike!”

“Why would you name her Spike? Tosses are better.”

“You want to name the cat Toss?”

“Sure, why not.”

“Because it sounds ridiculous, that’s why not,” Hinata told him, moving the box to the floorboard and moving the cat to his lap where she curled up and purred loudly. “Besides, if we’re gonna name her after something you do why don’t we just call her Leaving-Wet-Towels-On-The-Bathroom-Floor?”

“Well if we name her after stuff you do we can call just her Coercing-My-Boyfriend-Into-Buying-Me-A-Kitten.”

“Let’s name her after something we both love,” Hinata said, waving away the faux argument. “What’s something you love?”

“You.”

“Oh, shut up, this is serious,” Hinata said, trying to play off the way the answer made his cheeks tinge pink. Kageyama smiled to himself. Hinata was so cute when he was caught off guard.

“Fine. Uh, volleyball, milk, those little oddly shaped m&ms that end up in the bag sometimes and are way more candy shell than chocolate.”

“Those are terrible names,” Hinata giggled, his hand moving softly over the lightly dozing kitten.

“My turn. I love spiking, but you already shot that one down, eating cookie dough, when you get to the subway really early and the seats are still cold and it feels like the world is still sleeping.”

“Shou, you can’t name a cat after a feeling. Think of one word things.”

“Okay, okay. I love meatbuns.”

“Me too,” Kageyama said, turning to look at Hinata and raising an eyebrow as if to ask ‘is that it?’

“Nikupan,” Hinata said, smiling down at the cat. “We can all her Niku for short.”

“Well, it’s unique.”

“Then it’s perfect. We’re gonna take such good care of you, Niku.”

***

As Kageyama expected, Niku could not care less about him. He tried for a while, buying her special treats and toys and giving them to her when Hinata wasn’t home, but she always ignored him and eventually he gave up. She slept in their bed but always curled up near Hinata’s feet where Kageyama couldn’t reach her. And when Hinata was home she was glued to his side. They were inseparable, and even though it hurt him a little he was just glad that Niku made Hinata happy.

Though, she didn’t just love Hinata. When their friends and family came over she warmed up quickly to them too. Everyone was enamored with her, laughing as she played with bits of string or meowed loudly at them, demanding to be picked up.

But that was all fine, Kageyama decided. They didn’t have to get along. He’d leave her alone, and she’d keep on avoiding him, and everything would be fine.

That is, until Hinata went to visit his mom and sister for a weekend, and Kageyama couldn’t take off of work to accompany him, leaving him and Niku home alone for two days. It was longer than they’d ever spent together without Hinata, and Kageyama would be lying if he said he wasn’t afraid of how it would go.

The first day was fine. He didn’t see her at all, no tuft of orange fur sticking out from under the couch or flash of fire as she disappeared around a corner. The only way he knew she was even there was the steadily emptying food bowl in the kitchen. That night he rolled over in his sleep, reaching for Hinata and instead getting a handful of cat, eyes flying open to find Niku perched precariously on the edge of the bed where she probably thought Kageyama couldn’t reach her. She was gone faster than he could pull his hand back, retreating out of the room and down the hall, clearly betrayed by his audacity.

The next morning was the same. No sign of Niku anywhere. Kageyama sighed, filling her food and water bowls, and left for work.

That evening, Kageyama’s heart sank as he unlocked the door and stepped into the kitchen, his eyes immediately falling to Niku’s food bowl, which was completely untouched.

“Oh no,” he whispered, immediately pulling open cabinets and hoping she got herself stuck somewhere in the house. “Kitty kitty! Niku, kitty, where are you?” He crawled around the house, searching under every piece of furniture and in every nook and cranny he could think of. Normally he would feel like an idiot crawling around and meowing, but all he could see was a little orange kitten in the belly of some wild animal and Hinata telling him how much he hated him for letting his best friend get out.

The only place left to to check was the bedroom, but by that point Kageyama’s heart was in his stomach, and it sank even further when he saw the little hole ripped in the screen of the window above the dresser. “Oh shit,” he breathed, running to the window and looking out. All he saw was the alley between their building and the one beside it, shadows growing across it as the sun began to set, and a rather large stray dog sniffing around a dumpster. He knew he’d never be able to find her without Hinata’s help, and Hinata would be furious and probably break up with him when he found out.

“Niku?” He yelled, making an old woman walking by the mouth of the alley stop at stare at him, but he didn’t care.There was a high pitched meow from below, so soft he almost missed it, sending a rush of adrenaline through his veins. “Niku!”

The meow caught the attention of the stray dog, causing it to rush over and start barking at the dumpster and pawing beneath it, sniffing and snarling.

“Hey! Leave her alone you dumbass dog!” The dog paid no attention to Kageyama, too occupied by the kitten cries that were coming from the dumpster. Suddenly remembering that his legs worked, Kageyama turned and sprinted from the bedroom and back out the front door. He took the stairs three at a time, praying that he’d make it in time to save Niku, and it wasn’t until he skid to a stop halfway down the alley that he realized he had no idea how to scare the dog off.

From this angle he could see the little orange cat under the dumpster backed up against the building, the dog’s paws inches away from her. She was puffed up twice her size and hissing as intimidatingly as she could, but the dog was unphased.

“Dammit,” Kageyama hissed, searching the ground for something he could use to scare the dog. His eyes landed on a rusted metal baking tray and the broken handle of a baseball bat, which he scooped up and continued running toward the dog.

“Hey dumbass!” He yelled, banging the bat against the tray as hard as he could. The sound reverberated between the buildings, making the dog stop to look up at him. “Go eat someone else’s cat!” As he got closer the dog’s eyes went wide, the sound growing bigger and louder, and it turned to scamper back the way it came.

Without hesitating Kageyama dropped to his knees beside the dumpster, calling out to Niku. He figured she wouldn’t budge, and he’d have to stay in that alley with her until Hinata got home and could coax her out, but the second those fearful blue eyes met his he was bombarded by a ball of fluff. Her claws dug through his shirt and into his chest, but he didn’t care. She was safe.

“It’s okay, little kitty,” he whispered, standing up and clutching her to his chest as she shivered. “You’re safe now.”

Niku stayed latched to him as they made their way back to the apartment, and still wouldn’t let go as Kageyama shut the heavy window. He tried to get her to eat but she would just meow in protest until he picked her back up. Finally, he gave up and went to bed, letting her curl up and sleep on his chest, and, for the first time, Kageyama felt Niku purr.

Kageyama woke up late that night to the sound of Hinata’s keys in the door. He tried to creep silently into the bedroom, but froze when Kageyama flipped on the lamp.

“Hey, did I wake y-,” he froze, eyes going wide as he saw the ball of orange sleeping soundly on Kageyama’s chest. “Tobio! She likes you!”

“Shhh, don’t wake her. As soon as she sees you she’ll forget all about me again,” Kageyama smiled, gently petting Niku.

Hinata kicked off his shoes and changed his clothes before crawling into bed beside the pair. He laid his head on Kageyama’s shoulder, letting their fingers intertwine in the cat’s fur. “Looks like you guys had quite a weekend. What’d you get up to?”

“Let’s just say we had an adventure.”

“Boo, Tobio, no fair,” Hinata pouted.

“I saved her from a hungry dog that tried to swallow her whole.”

Hinata snorted. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say. If you don’t want to tell me your cat charming secrets it’s fine.”

Hinata snuggled closer and Kageyama switched the lamp off, letting himself fall back asleep. Before it came, in that space between waking and sleeping that both exists and doesn’t, he figured he was happy with his little family, and after years of waiting, he was glad that Niku was the first animal to accept him, just like Hinata was the first boy to love him. Finally, everything in his life felt perfect.

***

Niku was slightly inspired by my wild kitty Ian, who is constantly causing trouble but is just too cute to stay mad at. You can find more of my cat pics here, or follow me on instagram!

#kagehina #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuuwriters #haikyuu!!#mari writes

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easkyrah · 7 years

Text

Elorcan Possessive Billionaire AU part 1

Summary: Elide wants out of Morath CO. Lorcan wants in.

rob·ber bar·on [noun]

a person who has become rich through ruthless and unscrupulous business practices (originally with reference to prominent US businessmen in the late 19th century)

Three Years Ago

Las Vegas, Nevada, United States

Elide hummed as she flipped through the stacks of paperwork, filing them into the respective cabinets. With brutal efficiency, she re-organized all of her uncle’s loose papers and re-wrote all of his scribbles of writing other business mergers deigned to look over.

“Elide! My coffee!” Her Uncle Vernon roared into the intercom, thick syllables rasping out. The machine’s blaring grated against her ear drums at it whirred off. Slamming the last cabinet shut, she locked up, and headed towards the kitchen. Not only was she the secretary, but the kitchen staff as well—and the event coordinator, personal relations specialist, and treasurer.

Because she was Vernon’s only employee; everyone knew his ruthless practices: With low wages, long business hours, and little respite, Morath Company frequented as the one of the business that still practiced brutal techniques, not only through the use of vertical and horizontal integration, but also through the filled corruption of scandals and feuds. No one dared to work for him save herself—ruined and crippled and chained to her Uncle.

Until she turned eighteen years old, she could not legally walk away from her guardian. When that long-awaited time came, she knew Vernon would have finally found a way to hold her permanently within his grasp. The wait drew anticipation within her, a source of murky hope. Unclear her future may be, but it had to be better than to slave away.

She hummed softly to herself, swaying on her feet as best as she could. By the time she had delicately carried the cup of steaming coffee into Vernon’s office, he had moved on into requesting an apple fritter, declaring he’d slash half of her pay for being too slow. Again.

Elide had merely bit her lip, and wobbled out of the office.

Maybe if he had hired more employees, Vernon Company would ruin more smoothly. Maybe if he had increased her pay, she would have more motivation to work harder. Maybe if he hadn’t chained her into his office when she first worked there, she wouldn’t move so slow.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Never affirmatives, always questioning.

Always dreaming for the future, always living in the nightmare.

Vernon had slapped a new assignment on her desk by the time she returned her little work room. Elide inhaled sharply through her nose as Vernon instructed her to organize his latest dealing with the EPA in convincing them to grant them permission to build an oil well near the Mississippi. She wanted to say no and protest the outright disgust that the risk of the oil spill and build up of a harmful infrastructure for the environment was not a potential investment—especially as a distributary channel.

But she had learned the hard way to keep her mouth shut. It was the only way to prolong the pain. To bite her tongue was to save skin, but drive her mind into pieces. What she could eat, wear, love—all aspects restricted to her Uncle, her last living family tie. Of all strung love, the sneers had snipped away the strings of bent loyalty. Only time remained as her closure.

Her fingers traced the outline of her calendar, nails tapping the date of her eighteenth birthday.

Soon.

Smoothing down her business skirt, she scheduled a phone conference with the EPA and placed that vapid smile onto her face. A blank face for the future clean slate.

She was Elide Lochan, and she would find a way out of this prison, coming in all shapes and sizes conjured by the metal at her ankle and bars in her mind.

Until then, she would play with Vernon.

Los Angeles, California

“Dammit!” Rowan cursed. “How did we lose this rutting business deal with the EPA? Our policies ally with their every move.” The desk splintered from impact with his fist.

Fenrhys threw his hands up in the air. “Why—how—are we losing our connections all to the horrid Morath Company?”

“Stop bloody shouting!” Gavriel shouted, pulling the roots of his hair. “We need this to work. So stick your nose back in the desk and breathe.”

Vaughan pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled his full cup of herb tea in one swallow. The others either paced around the room in hopes of releasing their anger while the others stormed out. The anger radiated within the room, a broken instrument victim of the feats of reckless runned reactions.

“Does it look like I give a flying fuck?” Lorcan snarled. “Maeve is blackmailing us again. If we don’t get this deal, she’ll rip apart our company for sure.” The duty to hang onto the shred of their independence hung volatile among them.

Fenrhys slammed his head against the desk rather violently, again and again, until the noise created a short cacophony. Gavriel grabbed his shirt’s collar and tossed him against the wall. “Stop acting like a child.”

“Obviously they have a mastermind in there,” Rowan said, ignoring his companions, and the rumblings of complaints. “Someone with the brains and words. The persuasion and the manipulation.”

“Someone with more hold than Maeve,” Lorcan mused.

“Impossible,” Gavriel snapped, ignoring Fenrhys’s sulking. “Maeve has been controlling us for the past damned ten years. You can’t get more powerful than that.”

Vaughan rolled his eyes. “You’re acting like we’re at the top of the hierarchy.”

Fenrhys narrowed his eyes at him, rubbing his jaw. “Who’s side are you on?”

“It doesn’t matter. We need to start searching through Morath’s database and narrow down the selection of employees and see who we’re going to kidnap. Use him to our advances. Bribe him to stay quiet. Then release him if his heart still beats.” Lorcan stalked towards the computers and flipped on all the switches, feeling the familiar humming of electricity under his fingertips. His dark eyes flickered to the lines of codes, full of simplicity past the facade of complexity.

“Kidnap?” Gavriel demanded, rising from his worn seat.

Lorcan slowly turned towards his cadre, sparing them a feral glance. “Did I stutter?”

Rowan swore, and strode next to the whirring computer. “If Maeve finds out the prisoner we capture, she’ll wire him. Transform him. Manipulate him.”

“You’re going along with this?” Gavriel scowled. “Break a plethora of laws, so cross another?”

Lorcan tensed, his fingers flying across the keyboard, clacking away lines of code. Stiffness coated every inch of him, but he merely growled lowly in warning.

Vaughan shook his head, ignoring the amber-eyed male seething. “Maeve won’t find out. Not if she sees it as a conquest and nothing more. If one of us...show interest in him, then this scandal would not arouse suspicion.”

Fenrhys coughed. “You aren’t suggesting—”

“One of you will seduce CEO Vernon’s head informants,” Lorcan clipped out. “Whether male or female, I do not care. But you will make it happen.”

Fenrhys bristled as all heads turned towards him.

The Las Vegas Strip, Nevada

Work had drained her, ten hours of relentless scribbling and talking, full of sweet, empty words. If only the interviewed her insides and intentions, then would they see the black water running through her, flooding her lungs. Every breath tasted of the lies of liberty and poison of power.

The lust filled looks washing over her body was nothing new. Neither was hurrying through the less dense streets where lamp light rays flickered away into ceased existence.

The moment Elide walked down the alley, she knew something was wrong. The night was a calm tranquility harboring deeper secrets than the sun’s horizon, but never did it fade into utter silence.

Something was off.

She wormed through her bag until she palmed her pepper spray, and slowly inched up her skirt where her laid strapped against her thigh. No one, not even Vernon, knew that she carried weapons with her.

Except Manon. The cunning mafia leader had taught her how to survive on the streets when she’d save Elide from near assault after she was caught in the after-effects of a crossfire. Howls had filled the air, snarling and savagery whipping around her.

But this was a silent, sinister after thought. A rattling her bones left hollowness seeping through her.

Stone from the slanted roof clattered to the floor on her left, and Elide froze.

“Shit,” a male’s voice said.

“Shut up, Fen—”

The entire roof collapsed, and Elide let out a shriek as the stones hit the floor along with bodies.

Beautiful, male bodies. The most beautiful creatures she’d ever seen. Flesh did not scare as they rose from the ground, dark abominations with crooked halos. The closest—she assumed was Fen—held up his hands in protest.

“We come in peace,” he said, his voice a low melody.

But dark and dangerous.

Another dark-haired figure next to him snickered out, “Hey, props that she’s a girl.”

The shape of another male appeared from behind him, this one formed with broader shoulders and arms corded with sheer muscle. His fall had ripped apart his black-pressed shirt, a thin line of blood trickling across his chest. He snorted at his companion’s statement, rubbing his jaw with his large hands. A rough-hewn face met her own trembling posture, her bottom lip threatening to spill.

Yet—never had injuries looked so magnificent. Never had the darkness so called to her. Never had she tasted freedom.

Elide mentally slapped herself. Bit down on her tongue. Gripped the pepper spray tighter.

“What do you want?” She managed.

The male raised an eyebrow, his midnight black hair rippling with the night. “What I want to know, Elide Lochan, is why you’re the only person working for CEO Vernon.”

Elide Lochan trembled. No one knew that—no one. Vernon had even coded millions of nonexistent names with false identities into his computer to seem as if he had millions under his command as his last action of actual work. No one could re-route that direction and clear the coding and decipher the assortment of jargon.

Unless—

A mocking bow. “Expert hacker, Lorcan Salvaterre. And CEO of the Cadre Companies.”

Now

Jakarta, Indonesia

Elide wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, sighing as the beads of sweat continued to run down her forehead. California knew storming deserts and tepid springs, but Indonesia oozed humidity that had each of her pores leaking in response.

Pressing her bag closer to hip and grasping the clasp tightly, she weaved through the bustling streets. Vendors leaned forward at her sides, nimble hands flashing forward, the town the perfect hole to pickpocket. Vibrant cloths and teeming displays glamoured the wiped-down fronts. Every smile and wave of a hand served as a distraction as the unsuspecting pockets or zippers opened, only for seconds later, curses to fill the air as victims realized their foolishness.

Elide reasoned she would be the same victim to the games if she weren’t a werewolf.

Her hands instinctively enclosed around a wrist, and squeezed. A little boy fell out of a stall, his face beet red. A warm wind had his long locks of dark curls slapping across his face, coated with black streaks of grime and dust.

As Elide gripped him, her eyes absorbed the thin scars painting his scrawny arms.“Who did this to you?” Elide murmured softly, her other hand firmly tightening its hold on her bag, ignoring the rest of the curious eyes peeking from behind the tapestry stall.

The boy shook his head, hitting some of the hanging threats of rainbow hues. “Can’t say.” His other hand flailed out and pantomimed zipping his lips.

She slowly sniffed the air, narrowing down the scents. Of all the vendors in this street, this particular stall held the only one inhabited by werewolves—young ones, to be precise, which was odd considering the fact not one smelled rogue. Lest the laws forbid it, any pack forbid young wolves, prone to be subject as pawns or used as threats, wander alone.

“Where’s your alpha?” Elide asked, and slipped her fingers around a pendant in her bag. Yanking it out, and angling her body closer to the stall, she palmed the ruby.The boy’s eyes widened, his other hand reaching out.

Elide retracted the gem. “Alpha?”

The boy loosed a small, defeated sigh. “Dunno. Probably killing or fucking.”

Her eyes widened. A sound escaped her throat. “Are you sure?”

The boy’s eyes turned dark. “Alpha killed mother. Alpha fucked sister. Alpha does same to others.”

Elide knew by the sweeping undercurrents of bitterness and acerbic taste in the tongue that the boy’s sister simply hadn’t been taken without strand of dignity or consent. It seemed she had come across one of the boundless alphas, spending wiles and wills on the wild mind rather than the collective security of duty. Her insides shuddered, her skin prickling in sorrow for the fate of the pack, for only the true chaotic cursed ruled in this new era. “What’s your name? I’m Elide.” She knew it was a risk to expose herself openly like that, but by the boy’s fragile state, he wouldn’t be able to fully mind-link his alpha that another werewolf not from his pack set on his claimed territory. By tomorrow, she’d completed her mission and be sailing back towards California.

It’d been too long before she had been in the eastern hemisphere, where two years ago, no alpha pack had deigned to rule over the torrid terrain and scorching soils of Jakarta. Only the ruined would dare claim the chance to tame the lands.

“I’m Nox.” The boy blushed. “Nox Owens.”

Elide released her grip and slid the ruby into the boy’s hand. Before he could disappear behind the fluttering, threaded colors of clarity and brightness, Elide leaned in, whispering, “Don’t grow bitter, Nox, but better.”

She set off for the streets, attempting to cover her scent with newfound vigor—her only supposed gift for her runted wolf side. Hiding in rabbit burrows did have advantages, but brought out whispers of disgust and pity to those who saw her other form. If she completed her unspoken task easily, then she’d be out of the ground quicker. Intruding on another's territories had never been one to her liking, unlike Aelin’s boldness. Being the one of the several Alpha females must have had its perks, a craving Elide would never have fulfilled.

Hurrying up the steps into a small building with a slanted roof, she pushed past the wooden door, the blast of the cranked of air conditioner eliciting a satisfied sigh. Footsteps rounded from the corridor, and Elide grinned as she stared at the familiar white-haired acquaintance, dressed in the ever trademark dark clothes.

“It’s good to see that Aelin hasn’t quite roughened you up yet,” said Manon, twirling her favorite blade in her fingers. “I’ve not got much on my end except for an Alpha Lycan settling here in the wastes.”

Elide unpacked her bag, pouring out the sparkling jewels for later bartering and bribing. “A Lycan?”

The more feral and wild kind of werewolves in the supernatural world, Lycans dominated over packs and reigned as royalty. Feared by most younger vampires and worshipped by regular werewolves, Lycans challenged the social order of the supernatural system. She’d met not just five three years ago, but one certain dark-eyed Lycan well enough to wish herself dead and nothing but dust in the earth; an encounter enough to drive her into a frenzied state of one she’d never envisioned herself, the simplicity rested in certainty.

“I saw a little pup today,” she murmured. “Alone in the streets.” The urge to protect the small one had rammed repeatedly in her head, ringing with resonance within every crevice. The lost, wide eyes reminded her of a younger version of herself, afraid and in awe of the wide world who offered terrors and tranquility. A desperation had flashed through him beyond that draped curtain of fear.

“This Lycan’s known to treat omegas poorly.” Manon rolled her shoulders. “He may not give a lick about what happens to those who toil in soil, but his warriors form a force of sheer strength.”

“Which is why your Thirteen still haven’t drive him away?” She had an inkling of feeling running through her veins, a snap of hopefulness thrumming through her. Manon’s silence was enough, and Elide rolled an amber stone across the table. The white-haired female easily caught it in her hands, rubbing the smooth surface. As a witch, her stance held hold over other supernatural creatures, only challenged by the ancient throng of individuals, including the older vampires who had seen the early revolutions of barred freedom and processed colonialism.

“Which Lycan are we dealing with?” asked Elide, for the true forest bred creatures of the night called Lycans numbered to a few to be counted on hand’s fingers. Each reigned deadly in their own particular ways, each a foe to be reckoned with, each immortal and an aura of powerful.

The leader of the primeval witch clan snapped her teeth—not at the fellow wolf who held youthful ebullience hidden within the shaded depths of dark orbs, a drawn and drab curtain across that flaring spark of cunning, restrained lore, but at the thought of the Lycan in her wasted lands. Manon crossed her arms. “This Lycan has dared to claim my territory as is, infiltrating my streets and my rings. I’m losing my contacts in a flushed drain.”

“What does this have to do with Aelin sending me here?” If gathering intel was all that was required, then she’d be heading back home to the sunny, albeit windy, shores of California within no time.

Manon gripped the stone tightly, the sharp noise of cracking piercing the air. “No,” the witch said slowly, opening her palm. Elide watched the cracks of the reddish brown hues fall listlessly to the floor, a distant reminder of the salted liquid running through her and scorching her mind. “You need to seduce Lycan Lorcan Salvaterre.”

A heartbeat of silence, then Elide coughed, clutching her chest. Pain sweltered through her, rivulets of rage racing across her vision, clear as the freshwater without a facade of fiction. Lorcan Salvaterre, the newest, most dangerous and wild Lycan that had appeared out of nowhere three years ago, the one who had shaken the very soils of her roots. The phantom bite at her neck flared at the name, her entire body shaking and trembling, the memories of the madness running amuck her mind.

Time healed the blemished bruises and scrapes of scratches, but only bred the psychological damages burning and branding her insides.

“Elide!” Manon called sharply, shaking her shoulders firmly, halting the flood of feelings. “Do you accept the deal?”

The figure of a rough-hewn face emerged through the fog of recollection, onyx eyes boring into her soul, warm hands skimming her skin, sending sparks through her. A dance of danger and dignity, her body a violin to his tune, unleashed and forbidden. The crescendo of emotions that had ruled her into the haunted female—werewolf—that she was today.

“Yes,” Elide managed to gut out, a sick smile spreading across her sunken eyes. Riled revenge spun, a chance of millions emerging through the unsolicited closure of three year’s time. She didn’t have to ask why the new type of mission when another vice wormed through her. “I accept your deal, Manon.”

It was time to return the forged game of unforgotten secrets and tempted betrayal—one in which no longer pawn reigned as herself, but the CEO of the Cadre Company, Lorcan Salvaterre, the robber baron of her heart.

A retribution for what Lorcan Salvaterre had done to her three years ago.

#lorcan x elide #elide x lorcan #elide lochan #manon blackbeack #lorcan salvaterre #lorcan lochan #tog au #elorcan

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fifteenleads · 7 years

Text

it must be the caffeine

[Based off the YOI Medical AU by @chantedeer and @perdizzion.]

Viktor hums an old tune as he ambles along the quiet corridor, the magenta-colored stethoscope around his neck slightly bouncing off his chest with every light step. He doesn’t have any scheduled operations until after lunch, but there isn’t any harm in clocking in a bit earlier than usual. The nurses usually don’t mind him hanging around the pediatric surgical ward as often as he does, only occasionally sparing him fleeting glances whenever he passes the nurses’ station.

And lingers a bit longer than usual to send a playful wink in Nurse Katsuki’s direction. And laughs as the beautiful, bespectacled Japanese squirms in the corner like a schoolgirl, a telltale deep, crimson blush coloring his whole face.

They never did understand why he enjoys teasing the cute nurse to oblivion so much, but then again, they usually don’t mind. (At least, Nurse Crispino doesn’t. Though very perceptive, she is pretty subtle about these kinds of things. But that’s a story for another day.)

(Also, the above isn’t today’s story.)

Today, Dr. Nikiforov finds himself next in line to a student nurse waiting for the vending machine to dispense her drink. He’d forgotten his wallet, of all things, on the way to the café downstairs, so he now has to settle for cheap, instant coffee with the measly coins left in his pocket.

The student nurse retrieves her cold drink and shyly moves away from the machine, her face as flushed as her jacket is blue. Viktor nods and smiles warmly in her direction, and she scurries away at once, muffling a squeak into the tall cup with beverage. His mind briefly conjures up an image of Nurse Katsuki doing the exact same thing as he inserts a quarter into the coin slot and selects the standard 3-in-1 brew.

Viktor shifts his footing as the machine dispenses his coffee. It beeps after a few moments, and he pulls out the small, warm cup and brings it to his lips.

It tastes exactly like hot water.

The doctor splutters over his wasted drink, trails of scalding liquid dribbling down his chin. He downs the rest of the contents and chucks the paper cup into the adjacent waste basket, before fishing for another quarter from his pocket. He is stopped from inserting the coin into the machine, however, when all the buttons suddenly turn an angry red, and the LED screen displays some system message in Japanese.

Today, he decides, isn’t his lucky day.

“Ohh,” a voice to his left sighs in disappointment, “it ran out again, huh.”

Viktor raises his head and finds Nurse Katsuki behind him, studying the message over his own crouched form. The young nurse frowns slightly before taking a couple of steps back. “This one runs out the fastest among all the vending machines in the hospital, actually.”

The older man hums in amusement at this fact. “Yet you still came to try your luck?”

“I’m always lucky with this unit, thank you very much,” Katsuki huffs indignantly, puffing his rosy cheeks. He maintains the accusing glare until his whole face turns red. “… Just not today, I guess.”

Viktor chuckles as the nurse exhales dejectedly, his brown eyes downcast. “If it’s any consolation, I only got hot water from this thing,” he admits, tapping a hand over the button for the 3-in-1 coffee. “It cost a quarter, too.”

Katsuki lets out a sound between a snort and a laugh. “Wow, that sucks, Doc.”

Boy, does it ever.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t sting as much, coming from this angel in cartoon poodle scrubs.

He must have zoned out right there and then, because the next thing he actually registers is the tail-end of whatever it is Katsuki was talking about, something about the sixth floor of some adjacent building.

“– Would you like me to accompany you?”

Still at a complete loss, Viktor nods dazedly and allows the nurse to lead the way. He isn’t sure if Katsuki has noticed the obvious spring in his step, or the stupidly large grin that must be on his face right now, but the doctor found that he wouldn’t have minded, either way. The view from behind is wonderful, and he relishes every moment of it.

The “sixth floor,” as it turns out, is the top floor of the old hospital building, recently refurbished to serve as an annex to the medical school. It houses additional classrooms and laboratories for the Nursing and Rehabilitation Colleges, and has connecting bridges to both the main school building and the new hospital wing.

It also has a functioning vending machine, right beside the door to the emergency staircase.

How had Viktor not known of this hidden gem?

Beaming, the doctor places the already-warmed quarter in his hand into the coin slot and orders the same drink as earlier. He hums a short victory theme as the cup slowly fills with brown liquid instead of hot water.

Katsuki crouches forward beside him as he watches the machine do its work. Viktor retrieves the drink with glee a few moments later and straightens himself, his forehead accidentally colliding with the nurse’s as he did. Both immediately right themselves at the sudden painful contact, rubbing at their sore spots.

“Sorry, Doc!” Katsuki apologizes first, looking away in embarrassment. The nurse’s ears slowly turn red beneath his messy, black hair, and Viktor picks up on the soft, breathy noises he is making while his back is turned.

“No, don’t be,” he mumbles in reply, absently cradling the bell of his stethoscope, while feeling his heart rate go faster and his whole face flush with heat. Damn, he’s cute.

Viktor regards the cup of hot coffee currently in his other hand for a moment, before looking back at Katsuki. “Yuuri?”

The nurse stands in full attention at once, his brown eyes turning as wide as saucers.

“No, wait. Um. I mean–” Viktor mentally fumbles, attempting to correct himself. Shit.

They both stare at each other, their awkward (nonexistent) attempts at restarting any conversation punctuated by Katsuki’s hyperventilating and Viktor’s own gasping. He is surprised the nurse hasn’t fainted on the spot yet. Viktor would have loved to take care of the precious thing himself, if those adorable doe’s eyes haven’t killed him yet.

He knows who he’s nominating for the Mr. Syncope Award this year. Mmm. Yes.

Once again, it’s Katsuki who breaks the silence between them. “Um, Doc?”

Viktor perks up at hearing the nurse address him, ignoring the thready pulse already thrumming beneath his wrist. “Yes?”

Katsuki wrings his hands as he slowly looks the doctor straight in the eyes. “I-It’s okay. Um. You may call me Yuuri, Doc,” he stammers. “I-I don’t mind.”

Viktor almost drops the paper cup, his hand suddenly shaking. He swears it’s the caffeine.

Even though he hasn’t consumed it yet. (He knows.)

(Who is he kidding?)

Viktor can’t believe his luck.

So instead, he lets his brainstem take over, smiling freely on autopilot like a young idiot. “Yuuri it is, then,” he babbles loudly, not caring if others in the hallway might hear it. “Call me Viktor! We’re coffee buddies now!”

Oh God, now he doesn’t even know what he’s saying. (He does.)

Nurse Katsuki – Yuuri – is practically shaking in his poodle scrubs. He might be crying. Okay, wait. Backtrack.

Feigning a slight shiver in his white coat, Viktor instinctively raises the cup of coffee towards the trembling nurse’s direction. “Here, Yuuri, you can have this,” he offers. “It’ll warm you up.”

Yuuri blinks twice in confusion, then his eyes widen in surprise. “N-No thanks, Doc! I-I mean, I can pay!” he sputters, searching his pockets for a quarter to pay with. He manages to find one and is about to hand it over, when Viktor closes his hand around Yuuri’s with his own free one.

“No, seriously, it’s okay,” he insists, still holding up the proffered cup. “It’s my treat, Yuuri. As thanks for showing me this place.”

And for something else entirely, as well, he thinks, but does not say. (He swears he eventually will.)

Yuuri looks at Viktor blankly, as if processing what he had just heard. After deeming it a sufficient reason enough, he accepts the cup of coffee with both hands. “If you don’t mind, then,” he mumbles. “… Thanks, Viktor.”

Viktor grins like he’s won the grand lottery thrice over. Hearing his name from this beautiful Japanese nurse’s lips is the best thing to ever happen to him – even better than when he’d passed his subspecialty boards. (And those were damned difficult.)

“Of course!” he beams (and ahhh, Yuuri is smiling!), then turns back to the vending machine to get himself a coffee, as well. The iced mocha costs two quarters.

It tastes exactly like iced water with ice.

The machine goes out-of-service at exactly the same time. His luck has run out, it seems.

Yuuri nearly snorts on his coffee, while Viktor laughs. He finds that he doesn’t mind anything at all, so long as this angel in cartoon poodle scrubs is by his side.

(They find out later from the hospital management that all the vending machines will be permanently pulled out in a fortnight.

At least it now gives Viktor an excuse to ask Yuuri out on a Starbucks date. But that’s a story for another day.)

#victuuriweek #day one #au prompt #yoi med au #chantedeer #castihalo #perdizzion #yuri!!! on ice #katsuki yuuri #victor nikiforov #victuuri

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