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angel-0f-verdun · 9 months

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12 Chimera

Previous Chapter

The night was filled with the clomping of hooves at a constant trot or gallop trying to flee Hamunaptra. The noise was calming and the breeze of the night kept us cool, I had wrapped a blanket around my shoulders as it was almost too much at times. After the conversation with the leader, we knew there was more to fear. I could see the visible change in Rick from the pompous ‘I got him’ guy to ‘Oh shit we’re in trouble’. In my case, there were many thoughts that washed through my mind. Evil… The word filled my mind in metaphorical capital letters. We were all so focused on getting out of there that I hardly noticed Evy was trying to get my attention.

“Eris?—Eris?” She asked repetitively.

“Yeah, Eves?” I replied so she knew I was listening.

“When we were in the chamber you said that the mummy would yield to you until he was fully regenerated. What did you mean by that?” She asked inquisitively.

“Honestly, Evy I’m not sure. That was Ahmanet, it was like I couldn’t control her, a fight was happening in my mind.” I said to her choosing my words carefully.

“Yep, I could tell that from your eyes and speech.” She murmured lost in thought.

“It’s like I was possessed—wait, my eyes? What happened to my eyes?” I asked her.

“They turned to gold and doubled; not like you had four eyes but your pupils. God, it was disconcerting Eris. I wish you could’ve seen it.” She explained.

“It certainly got my attention. What I don’t understand is why you? Why did this entity attach itself to you?” Rick pipped up from the background.

“Well, I’ve been told I’ve been marked for death because of my tattoos,” I whispered out, just loud enough to be heard over the hooves.

“Marked for death… Who in their right mind would tell you that?” Jon asked as he slowed down to a trot next to me.

“The warrior, the one that leads them all…” I told him. His face dropped, and his sarcasm died.

“You’re put your faith in the one person who has attacked us not once but twice?” Jon asked recovering from the serious moment.

“And beyond that, he has been watching us at each step of the process. Yet he didn’t come forward and say anything with concrete evidence until we were all in danger?” Rick asked me.

“I guess it is silly when you put it that way… He just seemed to know more about this type of thing than any of us did.” I told them perking up a bit, now that I didn’t feel that I was going to die.

“I swear to you, I won’t let her hurt any of you,” I said to them all, hoping that they would believe me.

“She won’t get what she wants out of you, not if I have anything to do with it,” Rick said back to me. I nodded, knowing that there was nothing he could do.

“We know.” They all echoed each other.

“Eris, I wondered if I could talk to her…?” Evy asked curiously. I looked around at the other two curious about what their opinions were, Rick nodded and Jon just stared at me.

“Give me your pack and weapons,” Rick told me, holding his hand out ready to receive them. I did slowly, then took my knife from my sleeve and gun out of my waistband. He nodded and held on to my gun for a second, watching my eyes. I nodded to him to take it once my hands were free I called Ahmanet to the front. She happily appeared a bit eager to talk for once. Evy’s grip tightened on her reins and she straightened her posture. I felt my own posture morph into something that was best described as regal, I felt Ahmanet straighten my back, my grip on the reins, stretch my neck out, and hold my chin up high. I knew she did not feel threatened by Evy she actually seemed interested in her.

“Ahmanet, our last meeting was rather sudden, I would like a proper introduction. My name is Evelyn Carnahan, this is my brother Jonathan, and this is Rick O’Connell, Eris’s brother. I hope you don’t find it awfully rude that I have requested to speak with you.” Evy started the conversation strongly. I felt Ahmanet blink at her in response, she felt Evy was a lowly comparison to her and the introduction did not matter at all.

“She cannot change her fate. The curse will never be broken. She was branded from a young age to be my host. My chosen before was murdered and before that and so on.” Ahmanet spoke in Ancient Egyptian nudging my camel to go faster as it followed Evy’s.

“But if she is your chosen, why would you want to kill her?” She asked dropping all pleasantries.

“Oh, I don’t want to kill her, I want to kill him. I am going to grant him eternal life, and make him a living god.” Ahmanet replied as if she was dishing with an old friend.

“You murdered your father…” Evy said plainly hoping maybe to find some answers on my behalf.

“I loved my father with all my heart, I only wanted his love in return. They were different times. The day of awakening will soon be upon us. He will become Set and the world will fall to his side, he will have power of life over death and he will have me.” Ahmanet explained to Evy watching her face fall gave her joy. I knew at that moment she was looking to twist the figurative knife that she had just stabbed Evy with. I kept her mouth shut from making any more problems with my friend.

“What you have seen, what you must know… Why I’m sure it’s remarkable, I’d love to-- I have studied the world of the Old Gods and the New.” Evy started trying to pay her a compliment to see what kind of reaction that would produce.

“The Old Gods? Your language is simple, what you truly wish to know is what lies behind the veil of death to know what I have seen. And you will when he kills you.” She curled my face into a small smile and watched Evy’s reaction. She shuddered but remained stoic and nodded.

“I would like to speak to Eris now please.” Evy almost whispered out, Ahmanet faded away and let me push forward back into my own body. It felt so much better to have her leave willingly. Ahmanet knew that our relationship would be easier this way. Evy watched as I blinked and she looked back to Rick and Jon and nodded. Everyone let out a sigh, relieved nothing had happened.

Rick rode up next to me and handed me the items back that he had confiscated while Ahmanet took over. I smiled at him and happily put everything back where it belonged. They knew I couldn’t control her appearance. I was focused on where we were headed, Cairo, we weren’t far out. We were heading to Fort Brydon, a common area for the locals and for the Royal Air Force, I’d assume we’d run into Winston as well. I needed to get Evy alone to see if she knew anything further about this creature Ahmanet. Her home wasn’t far from here, I assumed we’d be going there to collect her things before we left the country entirely. I knew Rick planned to go with her, my intuition told me to stay behind. I wanted to try to see if I could swing by the museum before we were all scheduled to leave.

The sky was starting to cloud up and I could hear the thunder starting to rumble as we neared the city. A storm was brewing, with what, I wasn’t sure. But this was the type that I loved, it was exhilarating. I watched as Evy talked to the guard at the gate, Rick leaned over to me, standing up in his stirrups and stretching as he did so. Evy and Jon went through the gate leaving us.

“I’ll see you in a bit, come down to the bar when you’re finished.” He told me. I nodded to him, clucking to my camel to take me in the direction of our house and the museum. The ride was short but would have been much faster in a car. I maneuvered the camel to the post where I climbed down and tied him up, I gave the camel a pat and reached in my saddlebag for a carrot to give him. I smiled as I held it while he enjoyed the carrot. I strolled through the library entrance, waiting to be greeted by the curator. Although I heard voices echoing through the halls, one was the curator the other was one I had grown familiar with but still surprised me. I could feel Ahmanet struggling in my head to be the main character. I went to the section I knew held the book I desired. Knowing Evy at all, I knew how she would categorize. I slinked up to the stalks and up the ladder to grab it, Set Volume 1. I tucked it under my arm and went back down the ladder feeling my feet firmly on the ground, I walked towards the curator's office. I’m not entirely sure why I did it, but I hid in the hallway for a few minutes listening to their conversation.

“Yes, the creature certainly poses a threat.” The curator told the man I had previously interacted with.

“But, the girl, she poses another issue as well. She has no idea the power she possesses, who knows if she has already given in to it. The only good news is that she doesn’t have all the information, although she is quite inquisitive about it. It’s better she knows less, I believe.”

“Ardeth… I don’t think Eris is our problem here. She’s a bright young thing, quite an adept learner, I have no qualms with her or her family, in fact before this ordeal I would say she would have been a smart match for you. The Carnahan’s however, have a habit of sticking their nose where it does not belong.” I heard the curator chuckle out.

“Dr. Bey, I respectively and vastly disagree. She has the power to wipe out the entire world, why, you know better than most the stories of Princess Ahmanet. She was beautiful, cunning, and ruthless, she vowed her life to Set and was reborn a monster. All she needs to do now is something she has not completed in her lifetime. The demon will be running around our world, and most likely the sacrifice will be the brother. Or that skittish fellow she’s been with as well, but I’m sure Ahmanet won’t settle for the woman. I’m sure Imhotep already has plans for her.” I stayed quiet hoping to hear more of my fate.

“Yes, well, if you’ve made up your mind there is nothing I can do to change it. However, do not underestimate Eris, she is a strong woman, I’ve known her for over a couple of years now. I know little about her history but from what I have gathered she is certainly capable, driven, and mischievous.” The curator finished. I swallowed my pride and strode away, I didn’t want to pry any further than I already had. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I wanted to go in and confront them. But I was worried what Ahmanet would decide to do since it would have been an easy fight. I walked quickly down to my own office retrieved a spare scarf I had in there and promptly left the museum. I put the book inside my saddlebag and started my journey to the house. I repeated the process I did the for museum with the camel.

I walked through the door and took a deep sigh of relief. It felt good to be back in a familiar place. I walked over to my room and pulled out some clothes to change into, but the first order of business was to take a shower. I got inside and did everything without a sense of urgency. It was nice to feel the hot water over my skin and the suds wash away the dirt and grim that had accumulated on my hair and skin. I scrubbed and scrubbed until I felt like a new woman. Once I was satisfied I stepped out and wrapped a towel around my form and another around my head to pull the water from my hair. I left my dress and corset from the trip on my chair in the bathroom and walked to the bedroom to change into the pants and shirt I had laid out. I dried myself thoroughly before putting the clothes on my body.

“Must we dress like a peasant?” I heard Ahmanet hiss at me. I brushed off the insult and continued moving through my motions. I walked toward the bathroom again preparing to do my eyeliner. I slowly winged the liner being careful not to mess up the lines.

“At least your face is reminiscent of royal lineage.” I scoffed at her words, heading to Rick’s room. I wasn’t entirely sure why he wanted me to pack him a bag, because he hadn’t touched his clothes here in 3 years, and I wasn’t even sure if they fit anymore. I looked in the closet finding a couple of shirts that might fit and then rummaged through the drawers finding a few pairs of pants. I pulled out a duffle from underneath the bed and put the clothes inside. After this, I went through the house turning off the things that would bill us and other things. After a final round of checking things, I went outside and rode the camel back to the fort. I wrapped my scarf over my head and continued until I saw the guards at the gates.

“Eris O’Connell, here for Evelyn Carnahan,” I told the man in Arabic. The guards waved me through as I felt Ahmanet pushing through to the surface, I’m sure she would have just doubled my iris to terrify them. It was as joyful to her as it was for me to see their faces change instantly. I tied my camel to a post with the others and slowly got down from the height. I took the book from the saddlebag and threw it in my pack. I then slung the duffle and pack over my shoulder and headed towards the entrance, keeping my head down and away from prying eyes. I walked through the courtyard and down some stairs to the bar. I saw Jonathan talking at the bar with the Americans. I took a seat next to him and decided now was the time to do some research on Set, I opened the book and waited for my brother to arrive happily settling in and ordering a gin and tonic from the bar.

Next Chapter

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tothefiniteyou · 2 months

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PREVIEW:

The tears just wouldn’t stop no matter how much he wished they would. He didn’t feel like a big brother right now, and he supposed that was because he wasn’t one. Not anymore. He was all alone.

Notes under the cut as I'm using this post to explain some special thoughts I had writing this that weren't included in the notes! So I guess read it first and come back to this post if you're interested.

First things first, the delirium tag. This is a little evil, especially since I tagged this as hurt/comfort. You see, I made sure to tag it as City Fall and not post-City Fall because I wanted it to be unclear if any of this is real.

I repeat lines and make it clear that Leo has vague memories of things but, even he isn't too sure what's going on. He gets the impression that the singing is familiar because of his mother, but he can't actually grasp the complete memory. Everything's a bit fragmented, with lines from the dream appearing again when he 'wakes up'. And then, there's this line:

"His little brother. His bleeding heart of a brother that only ever wanted to help. The little brother that he had shrugged off with vitriol and fear. His baby brother who wasn’t dead but alive, and here. His brother that hadn’t left him alone in this world to fight all alone against the demons in his head and the shadow of a man that wouldn’t let him go no matter how far away he had gotten."

He could be talking about the Shredder, or he could be talking about Splinter, as being in The Foot would put distance between them. So, at night and in his dreams where he's allowed to pretend and properly mourn, he could easily envision Mikey being there. Maybe Mikey is really there, maybe not. Who's to say (I am the one to say. I can. But I won't).

I know that this entire scenario doesn't quite have a place to fit in with canon, but hey! That's the beauty of fanfiction. And while this is me giving you some fun BTS content, don't take this as exact. I wanted it to be interpreted either way. It's why I chose to not describe the scenery much when Leo wakes up. That way the reader doesn't get a hint as to when or where this is all occurring. That and he's panicking, so. Not exactly the best time to assess your surroundings.

The scene with the skeletal Death might be confusing so allow me to explain; it starts with Tang Shen, but then she's slowly morphing into something else as it crushes Leo. Her skin peels away, revealing Death. Death is the one still gripping Leo, but as he looks down, he can see the skin of his dead mother grasping his ankle and accusing him.

Anyways! If you see this, hi! I hope you enjoyed.

#tmnt #2u writing #tmnt idw #idw leo #ao3 fanfic #tmnt fanfiction #not sure what else to add tbh #this is basically a behind the scenes post #I guess.#idw leo makes me so emo #I wanna write more idw content but my brain runs around in circles #idw spoilers #Idw city fall #dark leo #tumblr suggested I tag this with daddy issues and I mean. yeah.

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casspurrjoybell-22 · 9 months

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Master - Chapter 38b

*Warning Adult Content*

- Lincoln -

"He's lying," Alexander states confidently, her face the harsh set of lines it'd been since she'd laid eyes on Diablos earlier.

The others nod quickly adding on a few comments of agreement here and there.

Before I can contest that statement, Malcolm does it for me.

"I don't think he is."

Everyone looks to him now, including the breathing stick sat beside him but Malcolm keeps those calculated eyes on me as he taps his fingers against the gleaming wood of the table.

"This all started because Lincoln took Kalem from one of his slave houses without any trouble. He wanted to prove himself strong because if he didn't, it would've created an imbalance in their power structure, that I'm guessing doesn't do well with upsets."

When my eyes narrow just a little he explains...

"Why else would he be so desperate to stop us while our clan has barely started? We're causing an imbalance."

That... made sense.

"He probably never imagined that Lincoln would grow so attached to Kalem, to the point that he'd fight back instead of just ignoring them as he's always done."

Malcolm continues and while I didn't appreciate Malcolm reading every detail from the most recent chapter of my everlasting life, I couldn't fault him for it as he hadn't spoken a word short of the truth.

This was all for Kalem, at least, it'd started that way.

To protect him and ensure that I could build a future for him that would promise his safety for the rest of his life.

It'd slowly morphed into something else though.

I wasn't sure exactly when or even how it'd happened but my wish to protect Kalem had also become a wish to protect others both from and in my species.

That was something that Diablos would soon be made aware of.

"If Diablos had made this offer to Lincoln at the start instead of attacking him, I'm sure he would've taken it without a second thought," Malcolms says with a bit of smirk that told me he was very proud of knowing me so very well.

"Lincoln used to just want peace and to be left alone. Diablos knows that and by offering this deal now, he not only takes care of the threat of a new clan, but also appears stronger for 'taming' Lincoln."

I'd never tell him but Malcolm was the smartest people I knew.

"He's right," I say to confirm his theory. "If he'd offered this to me when it was just Kalem and I, I wouldn't have thought twice about it. Even if it made me look weak or 'tamed', all that mattered to me then was taking care of my love."

I smile just a little as Kalem squirms in his chair, his cheeks heating up with a beautiful pink touch that he tried to hide behind his hands.

Apparently claiming my loveable boy in front of others made him turn from shameless to shy.

I'd have fun with that in the future.

"And now?" Alexander asks carefully, her words pulling me back to a reality that didn't only include Kalem.

"And now, it's not nearly enough," I answer as I look to her. "Not only have my ideals changed, what I want from this has changed as well but most importantly, my purpose has changed."

Her eyes widen just a bit before they fill with pride as she nods.

"Malcolm is right in many things, including the fact that he can't offer an imbalance," I continue. "His 'structure' runs well and it runs deep, but it probably won't run if a new clan, steps into a fold. One big enough to offer protection to those who've been too scared to run in the past. He knows this and he knows that we will ultimately be his downfall if he doesn't stop us now." I state as I look around at my clan.

They weren't as strong as they needed to be but there was a fire to them that just needed to be tended, so it could burn bright and turn all that faced us to ash.

"Diablos came to instil doubt and fear that would push us into those deal but all he's done is strengthened my resolve to tear his head from his body."

The words left the mouth of a truly dead thing for a moment, as the thought of death consumed me and reminded me of my connection to it.

What I was, was death itself and any who tried to fight me, would die at my hand.

If Diablos wanted a war, then that's exactly what I'd give him.

"So where do we go from here?" Malcolm asks, his smirk growing while his grey eyes flood with crimson, sensing the change in the atmosphere.

"We'll do the very opposite of what he suggested," I reply with a grin of my own. "That means we'll be growing our numbers and broadening our reach. This clan needs to grow and quickly so that we can face all who stand with him."

"And how do we do that?" One of Alexander's former chief-advisors asks from a table near the front.

"I've got a plan," I don't say any more.

Until I'd ensured that there weren't holes already appearing in the clan, I would be holding the most important information close to my chest.

Of course, I'd need to speak with Malcolm and Alexander before I followed this plan of action as I didn't doubt that Malcolm would have some suggestions that would only strengthen it.

"Now, before I offer up the floor for questions, I would like to offer an apology to those of you who I took control of, without your permission."

Frowns of confusion shift their expressions as they look at me.

"It's what we agreed to when we chose to follow you," Alexander says slightly puzzled, and a few nods and words of agreement follow suit.

"And while it may be, I know agreeing to something and experiencing it is quite different," I reply while my fingers close themselves into fists. "It was the first time in a long time for me and I fear I may have been... hasher than I used to be."

It'd been far worse than that.

I'd locked onto every vampire who was close enough to do my bidding without a second thought of their wellbeing as I put them where I thought best.

Before, I'd been able to ensure a certain calm came over those I controlled, so that the connection felt less invasive and more... natural.

Like they were a continuation of me and so they felt my power and strength within themselves.

There'd been none of that today.

In my haste to protect Kalem and the castle, I'd tossed them around like rag dolls and for all I knew, I'd forced one through a wall.

"It'll take some time for me to adjust," I admit as I look around. "So until I do, I apologise for any pain or fear I cause."

Nobody replies right away, they all stare at me as if they weren't allowed to make comment.

I knew in other clans, that was the way of things.

But if I and a handful of others were the only ones to speak their minds when the floor was open to them, this clan would fall apart before it truly began.

Thankfully, a vampire who I'd recognised as one of the ones to speak to Kalem last night stands up despite his friends' pleas not to, and shouts out.

"I got torn out of the shower."

Everyone looks across at the man who's voice sounded almost familiar but I didn't know where I'd heard him speak before.

"I couldn't even get my towel so I was just running around in the woods butt naked."

I should've felt guilty.

I shouldn't be forcing myself to laugh.

I should be apologising but with the way he was smiling so joyously as if he'd had a great time, I wasn't sure he wanted me to.

"Gazium," Kalem whispers quietly as he covers his mouth to silence a giggle.

This so-called, Gazium, continues smiling as if he was happy about it while those around him shook their heads and laughed, his reactions easing the tension in the room as everyone started laughing.

"It's not like we saw anything new," a girl says beside him which makes the surrounding laughter grow.

My lips twitch upwards slightly as I relax my fingers.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine Plyen," Gazium says as he does a rushed awkward dip of his upper body. "It was weirdly freeing."

As laughter roars up through the room I glance to Alexander who shrugs with a smile on her own face.

"Alright then," I say with a grin I couldn't put away. "Any questions?"

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ask-sam-and-crew · 2 years

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Chapter 12: Cabin boy duties (1)

Sam looked around and saw Jim standing around. "Shouldn't stand in the way you know...", the teen told him and watched the others. "Loose all solar sails!", boomed the voice of the first mate over deck. When that was done they started floating. Sam was used to that by now but it was obvious that Jim wasn't. "Mr. Snuff, engage artificial gravity." Snuff activated it and they fell down again. Sam turned around and looked up to the steering wheel because there was a loud clattering noise coming from there. He guessed that it came from Dopplers suit. He turned again to face Jim. "Have you done that before?", asked Sam the other teen. "No...?", answered Jim. "Your landing was pretty good for someone with zero experience." "Uhm...thanks?", Jim said with a questioning look. They heard the captain who gave Turnbuckle the coordinates and told Arrow to full speed. The first mate gave it to Grewnge who pulled the lever and the ship flew out of the port. Jim climbed in the shrouds and watched while Sam leaned over the railing. They watched a few Orcus Galacticus before Sam turned around and saw Silver on deck. "Ah 'tis a grand day for sailing, Captain. And look at ya. Yer as trim and as bonny as a sloop with new sails and a fresh coat of paint.", he complimented. Sam rolled his eyes and went over to the cyborg to punch his arm. "You can keep that kind of flim-flammery for your spaceport floozies, Silver.", she called out to him. Sam started to giggle a bit but that turned into loud laughter when he heard Morph who repeated "Spaceport floozy. Spaceport floozy.", while looking like Captain Amelia. Silver hid Morph under his hat and tried to stop Sam from laughing. "Ya cut me ta the quick captain. I speak nothin' but me heart all the times.", he said. "Nothing but me heat..", they heard from under his hat. Sammy wiped a tear from his cheek and held his stomach that started to hurt from laughing. "By the way,", the captain started and looked over to Jim. "Isn't that your cabin boy aimlessly footling around in the shrouds? And why isn't he working?", she finished and pointed at Sam and Jim. Silver looked down and put his organic hand on Sammy's head. "It's uhm...a momentary aberration, Cap'n. Soon to be addressed." He took a bucket and a mop and called out to Jim who turned to look at him. "I got two new friends I'd like ya ta meet.", Silver started. Jim looked around while Sam watched. "Say hello ta Mr. Mop and Mrs. Bucket.", he laughed and threw the two things to Jim. "Yippie...", said the teen annoyed. Sam stood next to Silver and giggled. "Ya help him pup. Don't think I go easy on ya." Sam wanted to complain but stopped himself when Silver walked away and winked at him, a sign that the youngest pirate could actually relax.

Timeskip (1 hour)

Jim still hadn't finished mopping the floor. "Yeah...I got you Mr. Mop.", he muttered and looked over to Sam who was laying on the ground, back on a barrel, legs crossed and eyes closed. "Why aren't you doing anything? We're both supposed to work.", complained Jim. Sam opened one eye and looked at him. " 'cause I don't want to. That's why. Ya doing it better than me anyway.", smiled the teen and sticked out his tongue. Jim rolled his eyes and kept mopping before he collided with Hands. "Watch is twerp.", growled the four handed alien. Jim watched him leave and looked at Onus, Grewnge and Hedley, who sat on Torrance. They noticed Jim and got quiet. "What are you looking at weirdo?", asked Hedley before he got down on the barrel. Torrance turned to look at Jim too. "Yeah...weirdo.", he said. Sam stood up and looked at them while he slowly shook his head. It would be really bad to start a fight already. Suddenly they heard hissing from the mast and looked up to see Scroop.

#oc #sam #fanfic #long post #john silver #jim hawkins #treasure planet

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maknaesdancersrappers · 5 years

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🥀 / 🌙(?)

#i had a dream about jaehyun #trying to teach me and two other people about meanings of words when theyre written backwards and honestly it was all bullshit #suddenly theres a fucking huge ass snake by his legs and he holds it down while we call for help and i stay there with him #when one of the two people returned; my dog Kuya was with them and he was barking bc there was another snake that was much smaller and #and it was having like a staredown with my dog until ANOTHER snake of a different size and variety came out and started chasing after Kuya #Jaehyun accidentally lets go of the big snake and it tried to go to me so I ran #and i found this weird bc im not afraid of snakes if i know its not poisonous and i ran up these stairs where the other smaller snake that #had chased my dog was there and it sprung itself onto me and i obviously freak out and i wake myself up #does anyone know what this means :(#its been weeks (probably months) since i had a nightmare i had to wake myself up from #and to make it worse i had another nightmare right after #where my friends and jaehyun (im honestly really glad he keeps popping up) were in SNR (like Costco) and we were going around and trying to #look for things to buy but it turns out this SNR was actually built on an abandoned school and they didnt take down those parts of the #building yet so i wanted to explore but at the same #not really bc im aware im dreaming and it could turn to a nightmare (and it did) and this is where it starts;#i ran into my older sister and shes doinng grocery shopping for us and from the corner of my eye i see the pet supplies aisle and i tell her #we should buy a sack of dog food for the dogs and shes like fine but pay half of it #we had to go through multiple blocked off sections of the buildings for some reason and we eventually came across this old empty room where #a ghost was whispering but she was actually by the door and when i saw her idk my instinct was to attack and she looked so appalled that she #started fighting back too and she was slowly starting to morph into what i guess was her original form and before that could happen #i woke myself up again and this was hard this time bc in the dream she had her hands on my shoulders and in reality #i couldnt sit upright for a few seconds like someone was holding me down #i still had another nightmare after that again but its like a third POV of my sister and her friends exploring the same abandoned building #which is weird bc my sister would NEVER do that since she cant even watch horror/suspense/thriller movies #i feel completely drained after these dreams #i was supposed to run an errand for my other sister but ill be asking her if i could do it tomorrow instead

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fanfic-chan · 3 years

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Hi! A prompt, if you don't mind. Since there's not many content with Todoroki siblings, maybe some family bonding with lee Shoto and lers Natsuo and Fuyumi. Like, Shoto finally feels comfortable and close to them enough for cuddles and affection, and they realise their baby brother is touch-starved (and unexpectedly ticklish)

I- I cannot even put into words how much I enjoyed this prompt! I absolutely loved every minute of writing this and I'm so glad you decided to send it to me! Poor Shouto is so touch starved and I love every opportunity I get to give him some much needed love! I really hope you guys like it!^^

Better Late than Never

Lers: Fuyumi and Natsuo Todoroki

Lee: Shouto Todoroki

"Hey. Can you guys tickle me?"

Fuyumi couldn't even blame Natsuo when he promptly started choking on the soda he'd been drinking in surprise. Of all the things that she would have expected her socially inept younger brother to say, it certainly wasn't that.

The three of them had been hanging out in the living room together, watching some animated movies that Shouto had borrowed from one of his classmates, Izuku Midoriya. That green haired kid that he'd fought during the UA Sports Festival.

Apparently, their youngest sibling had been doing some 'research' as he put it, on sibling bonding techniques, and had been interviewing a few of his classmates to figure out what they liked to do with their siblings. Tonight he'd suggested the three of them have a family movie night while their father was away on a business trip and he had some time off from school, an idea he'd gotten from his classmate, Hanta Sero.

Ecstatic that their little brother finally seemed ready to open up to them, they immediately agreed, and the three of them were currently cuddled up together in the impromptu blanket fort that Shouto had insisted was a must when it came to a proper family movie night because, 'Sero said so.'

And so it was.

Admittedly, things had been going pretty well up until now, when their stoic peppermint of a little brother had turned to them, family bonding list in hand, and had asked, in the most blank tone possible, if they could tickle him of all things.

"Shouto, um, if you don't mind me asking, what brought on that question?" Fuyumi asked after a moment, patting Natsuo's back firmly while he still struggled to catch his breath after almost drowning himself in Fanta. Shouto didn't even bat an eye at his older brother's near death experience, and instead kept his expression carefully emotionless. However, he was fiddling with the hem of his shirt slightly, as if he might be nervous.

"Oh. Well, Kirishima said he likes to bond with his younger siblings by tickling them. I'm the youngest, so I just thought maybe that's how it was supposed to go and that maybe we could do that too." He explained calmly, though there was a tad bit of barely noticeable apprehension there as well. "Is that… Wrong?" He asked hesitantly, tilting his head and taking on a rare expression of clear confusion as he started flipping through his notes again. Fuyumi couldn't decide whether the sight was adorable or flat out hilarious. Heck. Maybe it was a little of both.

"Oh! No! No of course it's not wrong! Just.. a little unexpected? I guess it's just surprising! Not bad though. It's good actually! Really good!" She answered hurriedly, not wanting to ruin this rare moment of trust Shouto was showing. He'd never really gotten the chance to bond with them properly when they were little, and his social skills definitely left something to be desired, so for him to be purposefully seeking out the opportunity to do normal siblings things with them? Especially things like physical displays of affection? Well, that was a pretty big deal.

He looked up at her and blinked, relaxing after a moment and setting his notes aside, seemingly satisfied with her hasty explanation.

"Oh." He said after a pause. "So.. You'll.. You'll do it then?" He asked quietly, and if she didn't know any better, it looked like he might even be blushing. Fuyumi couldn't help allowing herself a fond smile. When had her little brother gotten so adorable dang it?! There was definitely no way she could say no to that!

Rather than giving a verbal answer right away though, she instead let her expression morph into something a tad more mischievous and looked over at Natsuo, who had by some miracle managed to recover from his coughing fit. "Hey Natsu? Remember that thing Touya used to do to us when we were kids?" She asked with a smirk, suddenly scooping up their little brother from behind and pulling him into her lap when he wasn't looking, catching him off guard. She quickly wrapped her arms around his torso, trapping him effectively while simultaneously preventing him from being able to bring his arms all the way down, leaving him exposed.

Natsuo looked just as confused as Shouto did for a moment before realization suddenly seemed to hit him. Back when they were younger, sometimes Touya would scoop one of them up into his lap and trap them there, then he'd warningly tell them, "Don't laugh or flinch at all or else~" and wiggle his fingers just above their stomach, occasionally pretending to dip his hand down before bringing it back up again. This would go on until eventually they'd break and he'd finally start clawing into their sides or ribs or armpits. It was never the same spot, and so the inability to guess or prepare for it always made it so much worse. They loved it, and hopefully, so would Shouto now that he would actually have a chance to play.

He smiled slightly at the memory before crawling over to sit in front of his two siblings, the younger of them looking more than a little confused. "Um. What are you two doing? What did Touya used to do?" He asked, voice deceptively calm even as an anxious smile was starting to pull at his lips. Just because he'd never been allowed to participate didn't mean he hadn't seen his siblings playing this game before, and he had to admit, it was kind of exciting to finally be a part of it, even if he was a bit nervous.

"What do you mean 'what are we doing'? You wanted us to tickle you right? So what better time than now to teach our dear little Shouto about our favorite tickle game hm?" Fuyumi teased, making him squirm a bit in anticipation as he watched Natsuo slowly move his hands toward his stomach, which he sucked in instinctively.

"The rules are simple." Fuyumi began, "Don't laugh,"

"Or flinch at all-" Natsuo joined.

"Or else~" They finished together, and with that, the game had begun.

Shouto held up pretty good for about seven minutes. After all, due to both his extensive training on self control as a child and the countless tickle fights he'd already gotten into with his classmates back at the dorms, he'd managed to build up a fair amount of resistance, and he remained stubbornly quiet and still no matter how many times Natsuo tried to catch him off guard. That is until Fuyumi decided to cheat by pinching his side right at the exact moment Natsuo decided to bring his hand down again, and he arched his back in surprise right into his older brother's waiting fingers.

"GYAH- Ahahahahaha! No! Nohoho wait!! Fuyuhuhumi you cheheheheater!!!" He laughed, collapsing into his sister's chest as Natsuo started digging into his sides. "Cheater? Me? Are you hearing this Natsu? Shouto's accusing me of being a cheater! The nerve!" Fuyumi exclaimed, feigning outrage as she joined in by scribbling her fingers over his ribs and into his armpits, making him squeal adorably. By now, he'd been squirming around so much that his head had ended up cradled in her lap, giving her a perfect view of his joyful smile. The sight of her little brother, so happy and carefree in this moment, it almost brought her to tears, and she couldn't resist the urge to discretely snap a few quick pictures of the scene with her phone, both as a keepsake and to send to their mom later along with the others she'd gotten throughout the night.

"NONONONO!! NOT THEHEHERE! NOT THE FEET NATSUHUHU!! AHAHAHAHAHA!!!" Shouto honestly couldn't remember a time he'd felt this much joy. Tickle fights with his classmates were always fun, sure, but this? This level of closeness and affection being shared between him and his siblings right now? It was like having a hole filled that had been empty for far to long. He never wanted it to stop.

"What? Not here? Why not? Is someone a little sensitive riiight here~?"

"YEHEHEHES! I AHAHAM! PLEASE! PLEAHEASE STAHAHAHAP!!! I'M DONE FOR NOHOHOW!!""

Okay he didn't want it to stop, but maybe, um, maybe he did need to breathe though. His siblings seem to recognize this as well and quickly let up. He shot them both a grateful smile as he curled into a ball on his side, still giggling. This time, Natsuo was the one who couldn't resist the urge to record it.

"I.. I love you... Guys.." Shouto mumbled between giggles, and they both froze. Did- Did he really just?...

Shouto barely had time to process what was happening before he was literally being crushed in a bear hug between his two siblings, and despite his sudden inability to breathe again, he returned the embrace happily because maybe.. Maybe this is what he'd been missing all along.

#bnha+tickling #sfw tickles #sfw #shouto todoroki #fuyumi todoroki #natsuo todoroki #todoroki siblings #lee!todoroki #requests

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connordavidscamera · 3 years

Text

A Jealous Household | Connor Brashier

A/n: listen, I know it says y/n, but we all know it’s written about me, right? Okay, just wanna put that out there lol

Summary: Shawn and Brian want to have a party, but this party causes a few problems for Connor and y/n

Warnings: angst, underage drinking (for US standards, at least), pining

Word count: 7.5k, she’s a long one

***

“You want to have a party? When?” Y/n asks, closing her book and setting it in her lap.

“This weekend,” Shawn nods. “And it won’t be a big thing, I promise. Maybe fifteen, twenty people.”

“Thirty or forty, max,” Brian interjects.

I can’t help but laugh at that, neither can she as she says. “You know we can’t even fit thirty or forty people in the condo, right?”

“I know that, but that’s why we’ll have some of them in the backyard too.”

“So what’s the party even for?” She asks, leaning into my side. On instinct, I wrap my arm around her shoulders.

They both shrug, “A house warming party? Does that still count if we’ve lived here for almost two months?” Shawn questions.

She shrugs, “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t see why we couldn’t have one. We just have to be considerate of our neighbors. And nobody’s allowed in my room. If there’s alcohol, I’m not chancing anyone going into my room for a sloppy fuck.”

Shawn laughs, “So your sloppy fuck is gonna be in Connor’s room then?”

I roll my eyes at the comment. Shawn and Brian love to tease me about my crush on y/n. They have since the beginning. Shawn’s taunts are light hearted, but they’re plentiful now that we all live together. Brian’s at times feel almost malicious. But Brian also isn’t aware that I still have a crush on her, he thinks the feeling has passed. It definitely hasn’t. If anything, being in such tight quarters with her at all times has made me like her even more. Watching her move so effortlessly around our home - seeing her do her nightly routine, watching her polish her nails every Sunday like clockwork. I have undeniably fallen even deeper in love with her in just these few short weeks we’ve lived together and it’s killing me.

It’s killing me because we still haven’t talked about what she said to me a couple weeks ago when we were falling asleep together. I don’t even know if she remembers saying what she did. And I could have misinterpreted her words, I mean, she was falling asleep, her words were slurring. I could have misunderstood. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself every time the memory pops into my head. Which is about six times a day for the past three weeks.

Y/n gasps and tosses her book at him, "Asshole!"

He laughs, picking the book up off the floor from where it ricocheted off his chest. "I'm kidding. Kidding. But it's cool?"

She shrugs, "Yeah, whatever. Go nuts."

"Yes!" Shawn pumps his fist in the air before high fiving Brian.

"We gotta get alcohol."

"Ah, wait. Before you two go broke buying drinks for the party, remember that we have bills to pay. So save us all a headache and make it BYOB."

Brian snaps and points at her with a click of his tongue. "This is why we keep you around."

She laughs, "Oh is that why?"

"Indeed," he nods.

"Okay, well can I have my book back, please?"

"Yeah, here," Shawn leans over the coffee table to hand it to her before disappearing to his room, Brian heading to the kitchen.

"What's wrong?" I ask, not looking up from my phone. I can sense that the wheels are turning in her head and she sighs dramatically.

"I don't remember which page I was on."

I force myself not to laugh. "243."

“Hmm?” She flips to that page and looks up at my side profile. “How’d you know that?”

I shrug, “I always memorize the page you’re on before you close the book, just in case.”

She smiles sheepishly and presses a kiss to my shoulder. “You’re cute,” she whispers before turning her attention back to the page in front of her and resting her head in the crook of my neck.

I squeeze her shoulder hoping she doesn’t look up and notice the growing blush on my cheeks, “You’re cuter.”

---

“Do you have any idea who’s coming to this?” Y/n asks as we move a cooler out to the backyard.

I shake my head, “Not really. I think Matt and his girlfriend, honestly, I have no idea. It’s Shawn, so there’s bound to be more people than we’re anticipating.”

“Lots of girls then.”

“Why do you say that?” I ask, setting the cooler down, providing her with my undivided attention (which she has always had).

“He’s making a name for himself out here. Playing a few more gigs than at home. I noticed at the last one, he’s got a few groupies.”

I chuckle, “Oh really?”

She nods, “There were like five girls there just holding onto his every word. It was actually pretty cool to watch. But he got nervous. Started fidgeting with his necklace, so I had to get him out of there, which of course resulted in death glares from his adoring fans.”

“What? What do you mean? Death glares towards you?”

Y/n laughs, fixing the collar of her shirt that’s falling off her shoulder. “Yeah. I think they thought there was more there than there is,” she shrugs, “And if looks could kill, I would be dead five times over.”

I shake my head, I don’t like that thought, and I say as much. “I don’t like that thought.”

“What? Shawn having groupies?”

“No, girls staring daggers at you because you’re friends with him.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

I know it’s not, but the thought of someone not liking her is appalling to me. “I still don’t like it.”

“Is it because if something happened to me you’d be left to live alone with Shawn and Brian? Because that would make me sad too.”

I force a laugh, “That, and I’d be bored without you.”

She nods understandingly, “I get it. I am the light of your life,” she teases.

You are, I think to myself. “Yeah, yeah,” I say instead, stepping forward, wrapping my arm around her waist. “Let’s get inside, it’s hot as hell out here.”

Shawn and Brian are sitting on the floor in front of the TV, trying to get the wifi hooked up to it. We barely got wifi installed at the beginning of the week, but we’ve all been so busy, we haven’t had the chance to get everything hooked up to it.

“It’s not working!” Brian complains, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Well try again! That’s what the router says.” Shawn counters back.

“Let me see that,” Brian snatches the router out of his hands. “Dumbass! You’re reading me the product number! Not the fucking password!”

Y/n and I hide our faces to keep from bursting into a fit of laughter, but we both break when Shawn pouts when Brian puts the router back in his hands after successfully connecting the TV.

“Oh, what’s with the pouty face, rockstar?” y/n asks.

“Brian’s a dick,” he mutters, which causes Brian to punch his shoulder.

“Ow!” Shawn exclaims, reaching to hold his arm. “That hurt!”

“It was supposed to. Want me to do it again?”

“Craigen,” y/n shakes her head and before I can protest, she’s out of my grasp and I suddenly feel lonely without her body next to mine. “No more fighting.”

“Just one time in the face,” he tries to reason. “Just once. Come on, it’s a long time coming. I’ve wanted to punch him in the face since we were kids.”

“No,” she squats down behind Shawn, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, leaning her head against his. I watch Shawn fall into her touch and I’m envious of him. Even though she holds onto me in the exact same way, almost daily, she isn’t right now and it makes me long for it. Especially when I watch her start to massage his scalp and he hums because her head scratches feel like you’re in heaven. “You can’t punch him in the face. That’s the money maker,” she squishes his cheeks with her free hand and speaks in a mock baby voice, “And if he’s got a black eye how will he charm girls with his pretty face tonight?”

Shawn laughs and pushes her hand away, but he reaches back and pats her calf. “Sit down,” he says and she obliges, her legs spreading and bracketing Shawn’s. He falls back into her and takes her hand that was just squeezing him and brings it to his lips to kiss her knuckles before bringing it to his hair as well. “More head scratches.”

She rolls her eyes, but continues anyway. “So fucking needy.”

He hums, “Could fall asleep like this.”

She hums too and looks up at me with a smile that melts my heart, “Connor does all the time.”

I nod, “I do. Feels good. Your hands are magic.”

“How magic? Like you could get me off in three seconds?”

“Brian!” I growl. Yep, we can always count on him to ruin the mood.

But y/n’s laughing, “I’m sure I could, I mean, if you ask your first girlfriend, you only last five so I don’t think it’ll be difficult,” she answers.

Shawn’s hysterical in y/n’s arms, as am I as I fall to the floor, clutching my stomach. But Brian? Brian is livid.

“I can’t believe she told you that! She said she wouldn’t tell anyone!”

This only makes Shawn and I laugh harder. “Wait, did that actually happen?” I ask between fits. “Craigen, come on,” I groan when he’s silent. “Five seconds?”

“It was our first time!”

“And last, apparently,” y/n comments.

“Shut up!” he groans. “Fuck, I can’t stand you.”

She nods, “I know.”

“No, but seriously, when did she tell you that?”

Y/n breaks out into a wide grin. “She didn’t. But you just did. Thanks for that.”

He’s speechless. Absolutely speechless. And his face is so red; I don’t know if it’s in anger or embarrassment, but either way, Shawn pipes up. “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, my first time I only lasted like twenty seconds.”

“I lasted fifteen,” I confirm, but I immediately regret it when y/n’s face morphs into one of confusion.

Oh, oh fuck. I never told her that I-

“Wait, you’ve had sex?”

“You didn’t know?” Shawn questions, looking back at her.

She shakes her head, “I guess not.”

I sigh and scratch the back of my head, “Yeah. It was… during that time where we weren’t really talking,” I mumble.

She nods slowly, scoffing, and I can’t quite pin her emotion, but it’s definitely a cross between anger and… is that jealousy? “Ah, good ol’ McKenzie,” she mutters under her breath. She exhales deeply out her nose and focuses her attention back to playing with Shawn’s hair.

“I would have told-”

“We weren’t talking. I know,” she cuts me off. “And it’s none of my business. It wasn’t then, and it’s not now either.”

“Oh, right. Okay,” I nod once. “New subject.”

---

We’re tiptoeing around each other the rest of the day. Or more so, I’m tiptoeing around her. She somehow is coming off as completely unbothered, but at the same time completely bothered. I don’t know what to make of this situation. I don’t know if I should apologize for not telling her, or if she even wants me to apologize. I don’t know and it’s killing me not knowing what I can do to make this better for us tonight.

I’m helping Brian pour more ice into the cooler we have in the kitchen when she walks out of her room. “Where’s Shawn?” she asks.

I look up at her and my heart stops for a moment. She’s wearing red, my heart never knows what to do when she wears that color. Does it stop? Does it speed up? Yes.

“He went to his car to get the beer we got this afternoon,” Brian answers, closing the lid.

SHe nods, “I’ll go help him.”

I watch as she leaves, not taking a full breath until the door shuts behind her.

“She still mad at you?”

I shake my head, “I don’t know. I don’t even know if she is mad at me.”

“Well, it’s y/n. You kept something from her for almost three years. I’m willing to bet she’s a little upset.”

I sigh, “Yeah, I know. But I mean, how was I supposed to tell her. She would barely even look at me during that time, so -”

“Yeah, because McKenzie was a bitch to her. How was she supposed to look at you when she was practically threatened or called out or god know what when you weren’t listening. I’d hate to know what she actually said when none of us were there to listen.”

I exhale deeply. I know my ex was the worst to her - she’s the entire reason y/n and I weren’t talking. She told me not to hang out with her as much, so I didn’t (also because I was trying to prove to Brian that I didn’t have feelings for y/n anymore. That was a mistake.) “So, I should apologize.”

Brian shrugs, “We all know you’re gonna apologize. You can’t stand it when she’s mad at you. Honestly, we can’t either. We have no idea what to do when you two aren’t talking. And since we all live together now, it’ll be even more awkward for you two to not talk.”

I nod, “Yeah. I know. I’ll apologize later. You should go get ready. I can finish up out here.”

Brian claps my shoulder, “Thanks, man. I’ll be quick.” He disappears at the same time Shawn and y/n walk in the front door with the drinks. I make my way over to them.

“Here, let me get that for you,” I tell her, reaching to take the cases from her hands.

“Oh, it’s okay. I got it. You want these inside or out, rockstar?”

“In the fridge, in the back. Gotta keep the good stuff for us.” Shawn hands me a pottle of vodka, “Put this in the freezer? I got it for y/n, I’m gonna make her a new drink.”

“You’re gonna risk giving her alcohol poisoning?” I question, raising one eyebrow at him.

He rolls his eyes, “I’ve gotten better at making drinks, dickhead.”

I laugh and hold my hands up in surrender, “Alright, sure.”

“I’m gonna put these in my room for now, and then I’m gonna get ready.”

“Brian’s in the shower, you can use my bathroom,” I say as y/n moves past us to the kitchen.

“Good looking out, thanks.”

And now it’s just me and her. It’s like any normal day. So why is my heart beating so quickly?

I watch her move some things around in the fridge to make room for the drinks, and I can’t help but smile. “You look pretty tonight,” I tell her, leaning against the counter.

She looks over at me and smiles softly, “Thanks.”

I clear my throat, “Hey, y/n?”

“Hmm?” she turns her attention back to her task at hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asks, closing the fridge.

“For not telling you that I slept with her.”

“Oh,” she nods. “It’s fine. It really is not any of my business who you have and haven’t slept with.”

“Well maybe not, but you are my best friend, and we tell each other everything. I know if we were on better terms when you were dating Noah, you would have told me that you-”

“I didn’t tell you because we didn’t sleep together.”

“What?” I stare at her with wide eyes.

“Noah and I didn’t sleep together.”

“But I thought-”

“You assumed. But no, it didn’t happen. I wasn’t ready. I mean, I barely let him kiss me, so how the hell was I gonna sleep with him?”

I nod because I don’t know what else to do or even say. She’s right, I just assumed that they had sex because he always had his hands all over her. I almost scoff at the thought. I hated watching him hold her in the hallway, his hands in her back pockets as he pulled her closer to him. Seeing them together everyday made my heart clench every time because it should have been me. I wonder if that’s how she felt when I had a girlfriend.

“Look, it doesn’t matter, okay? So, let’s just drop it. It’s not like I’m mad you had sex, I was just surprised to find out this way, that’s all.”

“Yeah, I get it. And I would have told you sooner, but there really was never a time, you know? And it was just with her a couple times, nothing since.”

“Connor, you really don’t need to explain it to me. Actually, if we could just stop talking about her all together, that’d be great.”

“No, yeah. Of course. It’s dropped.”

She nods, “Okay, good. So, you should go get dressed.”

“What do you mean? I’m wearing this,” I gesture to my torn t-shirt and my sweatpants with paint stains up and down the legs from when we painted the living room a few weeks ago. I’m totally joking, but I want to see her reaction anyway.

She looks me up and down and scoffs, “Yeah, no. Go change. You’re not wearing that.”

I pout dramatically, “Why not?”

“One, those pants are a mess. Two, you know you run hot when you drink, so why would you wear sweatpants? And three, that shirt is literally falling apart. You are not wearing that, go change.”

I can’t fight the smile that tugs at my lips because just like that we’re back to normal. “Okay, I’m going. Do you have something you’d like for me to wear?”

“Yes, your black pants with the white tank top and your peachy cream shirt. The one you wore for our graduation party.”

I nod, “Yes, ma’am. You wanna do my hair?”

“Come find me when you’re done, and I’ll see what I can do.”

---

I’m talking to my friend Will out in the backyard as the party becomes bigger than anticipated. Yeah, definitely called that situation.

“Bro, I wish I would have saved up more so I could have gotten a place like you guys did. I emailed my roommate last week to see what he wanted to get for the dorm and he straight up said, ‘I don’t plan to be roommates long, so nothing.’”

I can’t help but laugh, “Hey, we’d take you in over Brian, but he’d throw a bitch fit.”

He laughs too, twisting the cap off his beer. “So what’s it like living with y/n? Everything good?”

“Yeah, everything’s great. She knows how to run a household. She made a chore chart that goes on the fridge. Shawn had to beg her to take it down for the party because he was embarrassed.”

“Sounds like y/n. But that’s not what I meant.”

I take a swig of my beer and shrug, “There’s nothing else to say really. She’s nice to live with.”

“No progression between you two.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right, right. Because you’re not in love with her, right.”

“Will, come on. Not tonight.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. We’re not in a teasing mood tonight.”

Or ever. Will is a great friend of mine, and I would take a bullet for him, but he asks me for y/n updates every time we’re together, and I never have any for him. When I told him we were moving in together, he was stoked, but less so when I told him we were moving with Shawn and Brian too.

He - like Shawn - is an avid supporter of us getting together. Will found out about my so-called crush one night in high school, actually a couple weeks after my breakup with McKenzie. Y/n and I still weren’t talking. I was trying to mend things and she was trying to push me further away. I don’t remember much of the night he found out because I got shit faced drunk, but I somehow admitted to him that I had feelings for her and he’s convinced himself that he knows the biggest secret in the world. He treats it like he holds the key to the universe. If anyone wants us together more than I do, it’s him.

“Just don’t want to risk her hearing anything,” I tell him. “I already made things awkward earlier.”

“What? How?”

I shake my head, “Let it slip that Kenz and I slept together.”

He blanches. “She didn’t know?!”

I shake my head, “No. I never found the right time to tell her. But she keeps saying it isn’t her business, so I don’t know if that means she’s hurt by it or if I’m imagining it because right now it seems like she doesn’t really care. But - I don’t know, I want her to, I guess.”

He smirks, “She cares.”

“I don’t know,” I mutter, looking inside, lifting my bottle up to my lips, but halting when I see her standing near the sliding glass door with - “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What?” Will asks, turning toward the door. “What hap - is that? Wait, is that Noah? What is he doing here?”

My jaw clenches, just like the grip around the bottle in my hand. “Better question, why the hell is he so close to her?”

Will sucks in a breath, “Are they still friends?”

I don’t answer him because I don’t know. I’m 99% sure they aren’t, but that 1% that says yes is simply because I’m watching them right now and she’s hugging him and letting him kiss her cheek before he pulls away. “I didn’t think they were. She hasn’t brought him up since the breakup.”

I don’t take my eyes off them as I start chugging the rest of my beer. It was still pretty full, but at this moment, I need to finish it because I need something stronger.

“I’m gonna go get a drink,” I mutter, tossing my bottle in the trashcan near the cooler. I walk inside, but neither of them notice me. I shake my head and walk to Shawn’s room where he hid most of the hard stuff. I find the bottle of tequila that he stashed because he knew if he put it out, it’d go fast. I twist the top off and take, maybe a little more than a shot. I cough into my elbow when I pull the bottle back because wow he got the strong stuff.

Shaking my head, I close the bottle back up and sneak out of Shawn’s room. When I enter the living room, they’re still standing there talking. Or, he’s talking, she’s nodding at something he’s saying. I click my tongue and walk into the kitchen to grab another beer. SHould I be mixing my alcohol? No, I should not. Is that going to stop me? No, it is not.

My girl’s ex-boyfriend is over there talking to her and touching her like they’re best buds and I can’t stand it. I can’t stand him.

I still remember the day she told us that she was going on a date with him.

All four of us are sitting in our usual booth at the diner, everything seems to be going like it always has. Just us four, laughing and making our weekend plans. The difference though is that y/n and I aren’t sitting shoulder to shoulder right now. She’s pushed against the window, and I’m toward about as far left as I can get without it being noticeable, or falling.

“So, we’re aiming for Saturday afternoon, right? Y/n, you’ll ride with me?” Shawn asks.

“Oh,” she sits up straight, “um, could we maybe do it on Sunday instead? I kind of already have plans on Saturday.”

“What?” Brian furrows his brows, “Without us?”

She nods, “Yeah,” she takes in a sharp breath beside me. “I um… I kinda, I have a date.”

At that exact moment, our heads whip in her direction - I’m pretty sure if I turned any faster I would have given myself whiplash.

“A date?” I ask as calmly as I can.

“With who?” Shawn questions.

She shrugs, “You know that guy Noah? I have him in like all of my AP classes? He asked me out after class this morning.”

I don’t think I can clench my jaw any harder. Noah. I hate him. I’ve never personally met him, but I hate him. “Cool,” I mutter, turning my head back to the table to reach for my drink.

“Well?” Shawn prompts. “What are you gonna do? Where is he taking you?”

She clasps her hands in her lap and shrugs again. “I don’t know. He hasn’t told me. Said he wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Ooh, romantic,” Brian teases.

“You hate surprises,” I mumble into my cup.

Y/n clears her throat and shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “It’s just one date. Not a big deal.”

“Okay, sure,” Brian says. “So Sunday then?”

“And you’ll tell us all about it?”

“Sure.”

There are very few times that I wish I was deaf, but that day was one of them. I didn’t sleep that whole night. I couldn’t. And the night of her date? Forget it. I was up all night wondering what was happening. Did he hold her hand? Did he hug her? Did that bastard take her first kiss? The first kiss that was supposed to belong to me?

And right now, as I watch him reach for her elbow again, I decide, fuck it. I don’t care if I look like a jealous asshole, I’m taking my girl away from him. I stride over to them and place my hand on her hip, “Hey, baby. Can you help me find the bottle opener? I can’t remember what drawer you put it in the other day, and I think my eyes are failing me.”

She shakes her head, “Um, yeah. It should be in the drawer closest to the fridge.”

“I checked there, please, come help me look.”

She rolls her eyes and turns back to Noah who is staring daggers at my hand on her hip. I smirk. “Noah, it was good catching up with you. I’ll find you later. I’m gonna help him out.”

He looks back up at her and forces a smile, “Sure. Sounds good. Save me dance?”

Over my dead body. “Come on, baby,” I say, guiding her toward the kitchen.

She steps in front of me, mumbling a couple excuse me’s to the people blocking the kitchen. Then she b-line’s to the drawer closer to the fridge, which I definitely did not check because I wasn’t really looking for the bottle opener. I just needed an excuse to get her away from Noah.

“Here,” she holds it out to me. “Wait, I thought Shawn got twist tops.” She takes the bottle from my hand and laughs, “Bub, it twists off.” She says, taking the cap off the bottle.

“Oh,” I chuckle. I knew it was a twist top, again, I just needed an excuse to get her away. “Whoopsies?”

She puts the bottle opener back in the drawer and leans against the counter. “You having fun?”

I shrug, “I’m alright. So um… Noah’s here.”

Y/n nods slowly, “Yeah, he is.”

“Kinda weird that he showed up after we just talked about him,” I mutter.

“Yeah, I guess. He just tagged along with one of his friends.”

I nod, “Mhm. You two looked pretty cozy.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. Just, I mean, I haven’t heard you talk about him since the breakup,” I take a sip of the beer in my hand. “I didn’t realize you two were still so close.”

She tilts her head at me, “We’re not. We were just catching up. He didn’t know that I lived here too.”

“Uh-huh, so you haven’t talked to him recently?”

She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s with the third degree, huh?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I mutter.

“No, Connor. I haven’t talked to him recently. In fact, I haven’t talked to him since the breakup. But what does that matter? Why does it matter who I do and do not talk to?”

“I just think it’s a little strange that he came here tonight.”

“Well, I didn’t invite him, if that’s what you’re insinuating. He came with a friend. He didn’t even know it was our party, or our house. He just showed up.”

“So he crashed it. Classy.”

“What is your deal?” She pushes herself off the counter and stands face to face with me, her forehead creasing as she glares at me. I want to smooth the crease and tell her not to do that because she’ll get a headache, but I refrain.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please,” she scoffs, “you’re acting like a jealous boyfriend! Newsflash, Connor, you’re not my boyfriend.”

I recoil, because sure I know I’m not, but the words spew from her lips like venom. “I know that.”

“Do you? Because right now it doesn’t seem like you do. Now unless I completely missed the part where you asked me to be your girlfriend, you have no right to be upset over me talking to my ex-boyfriend.”

“He was an ass to you then.”

“How would you know?! We weren’t even talking then.”

“Because you didn’t want to! I was still trying to fix things with us but you were pushing me away.”

“No, I wasn’t pushing you away. I was protecting myself from getting hurt again.”

“But it wasn’t me, that was Kenzie, and -”

She groans in frustration, “Why are we talking about her again? Why? I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

Y/n pinches the bridge of her nose. “Look, you’re my best friend, and I love you. But you have no right to be upset about Noah. You are not my boyfriend -”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because you aren’t! You like to act like you are sometimes, but you’re not.”

“Do you want me to be?!” I exclaim, setting my bottle down.

She scoffs, shaking her head. “Not like this,” she says quietly, pushing past me.

“Y/n!” I call after her, but she ignores me. I, however, can’t ignore the eyes that are on me.

---

“He’s jealous?” Alessia asks, leaning back on her hands. We’re sitting on the grass in the backyard. It’s quieter out here, and far less crowded. “Does he even have a right to be?”

“That’s what I’m saying! He’s my best friend, but sometimes he acts like he’s my boyfriend and I just - I’m over it.”

She sighs, “You’re over him acting like your boyfriend.”

“Yes,” I say.

“Because you want him to actually be your boyfriend.”

“What? No! No,” I shake my head, “that’s not it.”

Les smiles, “Honey, it’s obvious the way you two look at each other. And you can deny it because you’re best friends, you live together. You don’t want to risk the integrity of the friendship that you have. And that is totally reasonable, but you two need to discuss what you are to each other. Because it’s clear that in his mind, you’re a little bit more than just ‘best friends.’ And well, you’ve always wanted to be more, so what’s so wrong with him being that?”

I sigh and pick at the grass beside me, “I don’t know if he feels this way genuinely or if it’s because I’m closer now. We live together, it seems almost easy or convenient for him to develop some tiny crush because of the proximity.”

At this she laughs, “Oh, honey. That is definitely not it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that boy has been in love with you since before I even met you guys. It’s written all over his face and if you took a second to just stop and -”

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, guys,” Shawn says, breathlessly, pushing his curls out of his face. “Y/n, Connor’s drunk off his ass, and I need your help”

I sit up, “Okay, How much did he drink?”

“Like, the entire bottle of tequila I had in my room, plus however many beers he had.”

I stand up, swatting at the backs of my legs to get off any dirt, “Is he throwing up?”

“No, he’s just asking for you.”

I nod and look back to Alessia, “We’ll talk later, Les?”

“Mhm, go take care of your boy.”

“Why did he drink so much?” I ask Shawn, following him toward the sliding glass door.

He shrugs, “I asked him. He said you were mad at him.”

I roll my eyes, “Well yeah, he was being an ass. But it still doesn’t make sense.If he drinks every time I get upset with him, he’d be an alcoholic ”

“All I know is that he was asking for you,” Shawn says just as we find Connor sitting outside my bedroom door, nursing another beer bottle.

I shake my head, “God, he knows not to be switching between alcohol.”

“Connor, buddy?” Shawn says, squatting down next to him. “I got her. Why don’t you give me that beer, eh?” He goes to take it from his hands, but Connor’s quick to move it, spilling a bit of it on his shirt in the process.

“No, this is mine. Get your own,” he slurs

I sigh and squat down next to him, too. “I think you’ve had enough, bub. Come on, let me have it.”

He looks at me with heavy eyes and he pouts, dramatically. “Y/n… you’re so pretty.”

“Connor,” I shake my head.

“I love you in red. God, you look so good. Could never get,” he hiccups, “tired of looking at you.”

I blush, looking over at Shawn who’s still sitting with us. “Okay, come on. Let’s get up. We need to get you to bed.”

He nods slowly, “Whatever you want, baby.”

I take the drink out of his hand and set on the floor beside us. “Shawn, help me get him up.”

Shawn nods, “You got it.” He does most of the heavy lifting, but when Connor’s on his feet, he leans into me, hugging my waist, burying his head in my neck.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. So sorry.”

“I know, come on now. We’re going to your room.”

He groans into my skin, but helps me and Shawn take him to his room as best as he can, only stumbling once when we round the corner. We push his bedroom door open and walk further into the room, plopping him down on the bed.

“Thanks, Shawn. I got it from here.”

“You sure?”

I nod, moving to grab his trash can from next to his desk. “Yeah, we’re good. Thanks for coming to get me.”

He nods, “Of course. Come get me if you need anything else.”

Connor groans as Shawn slams the door shut behind him. I sigh and move around the room, turning on his bedside lamp and going to his desk chair where his outfit from earlier is laid out. “Okay, bub, I’m gonna need you to help me out, alright? I need you to get out of your clothes, I’m gonna put you in pajamas, okay?”

He shakes his head, his pout even heavier than usual, eyes struggling to stay open. “Too tired. You do it.”

I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath. Of course he’s gonna be difficult right now. I shake my head, throwing his clothes beside him, “Can you stand up?”

He mumbles something incoherent, but I’m pretty sure it’s somewhere along the lines of “The room is spinning.”

“Fuck, Connor, why did you drink so much?” I grumble, moving to the floor to take his shoes off.

“You’re mad at me,” he whines.

“Yes, I am. You know your limits. What were you gonna do if this didn’t happen at the house, hmm?”

“M’sorry.”

I roll my eyes, “Okay, sit up,” I reach for his hands to help pull him to a sitting position.

He makes an unnecessary amount of groaning sounds as he moves around to accommodate me.

I push his shirt off his shoulders, it’s almost damp, he’s sweating so much. I throw it to the side, I’ll put it in the laundry room when I go get him some pain meds in a little bit. I take hold of the hem of his tank top, “Arms up,” I pat his side and he obliges, looking up at me with a sad smile on his lips. “What’s wrong?” I ask him, tossing his tank top off to the side too.

“I’m sorry I got mad earlier. About Noah.”

I shake my head, “It’s fine. Lay back, lift your hips for me.”

He lays back, but his pout still remains on his face as I lean forward to unbutton his pants.

“What now?” I question softly, pulling down his zipper, “Hips up.”

He’s looking at me with such sad eyes and it’s killing me. “This isn’t how I wanted you to undress me for the first time.”

My breath hitches, “What?”

“Wanna make love to you,” he slurs.

I almost choke on his words, “Connor, you’re drunk,” I shake my head, pulling his pants off him and grabbing his sweats to pull up his legs instead. I decide to forgo the shirt because he’s already sweating a lot, I don't want to make him even hotter. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I’m gonna go get you some water and pain meds. Stay here.” I move the trash can closer to him, “The trash is right next to you if you feel like you’re gonna get sick.

I pick up his discarded clothes from the floor and walk to the door and out the room before he can say anything else he doesn’t mean. After tossing them in the hamper in the laundry room, I squeeze past the group of people still congregating in the hallway. I slip into my room and grab some of my pain meds from my book bag and quickly slip out again to head to the kitchen which is also crowded. I mumble out a general excuse me, and go to the fridge to grab Connor a bottle of water.

On my way back, I stop and go to his bathroom which is thankfully empty, and grab a hand towel and wet it under the faucet to hopefully cool him down a bit. When I’m back in his room, he’s laying face down on his bed and I stop for a minute, admiring his smooth skin, and the way the muscles in his shoulders tense up when he moves his arm above his head. It’s not fair. No one man should look this good.

I shake my head, focusing back on the task at hand. I close the door behind me gently. “Okay, Connor. I need you to sit up just one more time to take these pills and then you can go to bed, yeah?”

He groans, “I think I drank too much, baby,” he mumbles, pushing himself up and I'm once again in awe of how his muscles move with him.

I scratch at my scalp and nod, holding out the pills for him. “Yeah, I think you did, too.” He takes them in his hand and I sit next to him, uncapping the water bottle before handing it to him as well.

“Thank you,” he hiccups.

“You’re welcome.” I look down at my hands as he takes the pills. He goes to hand me the water bottle back but I shake my head, “You need to drink it all. We’re trying to avoid a hangover.”

He just holds the bottle in his lap, not moving to drink anymore of it, so I look back up at him only to find him already staring at me.

“You okay?” I ask.

He hums and reaches forward. He runs his thumb under my eye, “You got an eyelash. I got it,” he mumbles, but he keeps his hand cradling the side of my face.

My eyes search his tired ones, they’re glossed over, but they always get that way when he drinks, making his eyes seem just a little more blue than green.

“Have I told you tonight that you look pretty?” he asks quietly.

“Multiple times,” I confirm.

“Good, because you are… so, so pretty.”

I lick my lips and watch his eyes move from my eyes to my lips and back. I take in a shallow breath as he starts to lean closer. His eyes closed as his face inches toward mine. I push him back gently just before his lips have the chance to connect with mine, and I mean just before because I could feel his breath against my mouth. “What are you doing?” I question.

“I was… I was trying to kiss you. Did you, I thought you wanted to - when we were laying in bed a couple weeks ago, you said you wanted me to kiss you.”

“Well, I… Connor,” I shake my head. I didn’t think he heard me when I said that. “Not like this. Not tonight. Not when you’re drunk and not thinking clearly.” I stand up, pacing slowly in front of him. “If you’re gonna kiss me, I want you to be sober, and to actually want to do it. Not just because we got in a fight earlier. I don’t want this to be something you do now and then completely forget about or ignore, or fuck, even worse, regret in the morning. I don’t want that. I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve to be led on by you again.”

“Again?” He asks, tilting his head at me.

“Nevermind. I should go back out there, start cleaning up so it’s not so much tomorrow.”

“Wait, y/n, please. Stay here, please. Stay with me tonight.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I won’t try anything, I promise. Please, just stay?”

I sigh, “Just until you fall asleep.”

---

It’s nearing eleven in the morning when Shawn finally retreats from his room. He’s not nearly as hungover as I bet the other boys are going to be. If he’s even hungover at all, he doesn’t seem to be.

He leans against the counter, watching me pull my second batch of cookies from the oven. “You’re stress baking,” he observes.

I scoff, “I made muffins too,” I nod in the direction of the counter in front of him where a plate of blueberry muffins sits.

“Ooh,” he reaches forward and takes one, “Not that I like when you’re stressed, but this my favorite of your coping mechanisms.”

“For purely selfish, I presume.”

“Of course,” he says around a mouthful of muffin. “So,” he says after he swallows. “Does this sudden urge to bake have anything to do with what happened last night with Connor?”

I tense up at the memory of Connor leaning in to kiss me. Me pushing him away. “Maybe.”

“So what did happen after I left you two?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head.

“Well, the glorious smell of our kitchen and the spotless living room say otherwise.”

I close my eyes and rub my hands over my face. “He, god, he tried to kiss me.”

“What?” Shawn chokes.

“Shh! You’ll wake them.”

“Oh please, Brain will be asleep until five. Nothing will wake him. He kissed you?! Well, how was it?”

“I said he tried. As in, I didn’t let him. I pushed him away before he could.”

“Why? Don’t you want him to?”

“Of course! But not like that! Not when he’s drunk and not himself. WHen he’s saying stupid things like he wants to make love to me, and that he wishes I was undressing him for the first time under different circumstances.”

“What? He said all of that?! Oh my god! Go, Connor!”

“No, not go Connor. Because he’s not going to remember any of this when he wakes up and I’m going to remember everything and have to pretend that he didn’t say anything or try to kiss me. And I’m stuck being led on once again, except this time he lives just down the hall and I have to see him everyday.”

Shawn sighs, “Okay, you’re right. So, what are you going to do?”

“Same thing I always do.”

He nods, “I’ll get my guitar.”

***

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#connor brashier #connor brashier x y/n #connor brashier x reader #connor brashier fanfiction #connor brashier imagine #connor brashier imagines #connor brashier blurb #shawn mendes #shawn mendes fan fiction #Shawn Mendes Imagine

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xbadgerbearx · 3 years

Text

bird

word count: 1.6k

Can’t Sleep: [4] … [6]

Not too long later, Gaius Grieves revealed himself. Your little trio watched as Robert discreetly put a gun to his back and started talking. You weren't close enough to decipher what he said. Once he started moving your team got the cue to follow. However, everyone stopped in their tracks once soldiers were spotted.

"I thought Milton was supposed to be our lookout," you muttered as the soldiers started speaking Spanish to the patrons in the club.

As the soldiers got more aggressive in their search for Americans, Robert turned to Cleo.

"All right," Robert motioned to Grieves. "Take him out through the back, all right? Find my coordinates in the pad and meet me in half an hour," he ordered while handing Abner a gun.

"What?"

"Hey, did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, but-"

"Go."

Cleo hesitated before grabbing Grieves.

"Let's go."

As you were leading your small group to the back entrance, you heard Robert yell out, "Hey, calm down! There's no need to disturb everyone's night."

You could faintly hear Flag speak up as you found a door marked Solo Empleados.

"This way."

Unfortunately the door you opened was the dressing room for the dancers. You heard Abner say, "Oh, God," before a stumbling sound and a gun being handled. You briefly looked back to see Abner holding Grieves at gun pointing and ordering him to "Move it!"

Damn. That was a little hot.

Pushing your way through the dancers and out the door, you let out a small gasp at the soldier standing in front of you. Cleo, ever the quick thinker, used her device to have a rat crawl down his throat.

"Remind me not to get on your bad side."

You eventually made your way outside in an alley. Milton jogged over once he caught sight of you four.

"Your equipment manipulates animal behavior, clever," Grieves spoke out. "I'm working on something similar with humans."

"Be quiet, please."

"You are perceivably panicked. I'm guessing that you are not the alphas of this battalion."

"Do you want a dozen angry rodents crawling up your ass?" Cleo snapped.

"My answer might not be what you expect."

"Disgusting," you commented as Abner ushered Grieves to move.

You quickly made your way into the van. Milton took the driver's seat, Abner sat in the middle across from Grieves who still had a gun pointed at him, and you and Cleo took a seat in the back by Nanaue.

"Hello, friends!"

"Hi, yes, hello to you too, Nanaue," you said before pointing at Grieves. "Nom nom this man if I give the word."

"Okay!"

Cleo rummaged through DuBois bag before handing you the coordinate pad he spoke of earlier. Was that a picture of his daughter you saw? You couldn't get a good look since Cleo zipped up the bag. Coordinates in hand, you made your way back up the front to give Milton directions.

"Oh ho ho, what's this?" Grieves smuggly declared. You were too busy paying attention to the road to hear him.

"What's what?"

"I saw that little look you gave to your teammate."

"There was no look," Abner denied.

"Ah, but there was. How are you going to pretend you weren't just looking at their ass as they passed? You seem to have a school boy crush."

"Abner has a crush?" Cleo entered the conversation.

"No!"

Grieves laughed before answering Cleo. "You seem to have forgotten that I study people for a living, and I am very good at my job."

"Pet pet and Polky?" Nanaue piped up from the back.

"No! No Pet pet and Polky," Abner said with exasperation. However, upon looking at you and seeing how captivating you looked under the flashing lights of the street lamps, he followed it up with defeated, "Okay, maybe Pet pet and Polky."

"Dios mío!" Cleo exclaimed before she was hurriedly shushed. They both looked over to see if you heard.

"Okay, now take a right onto this street."

You did not.

"I'm happy for you, Abner."

"You seem to have forgotten you are on a mission. This isn't some little girl's slumber party."

Cleo slapped Grieves over the back of the head as Abner seemed to remember that he had a gun in his hand.

"Be quiet."

"Is- is that them?"

The team all looked at you as they looked out the window. Following your gaze, it landed on an upside down armored vehicle in a ditch.

"Of course it is, who else would be dumb enough," you sighed.

Milton slowly approached the area and parked the van. As soon as it stopped you jumped out to see if they were still there. Turns out you didn't have to wait long; the back door unlocked to reveal your three teammates scuffed but otherwise unharmed.

You wouldn't admit it but you felt relieved.

"All right," Robert grunted. "Let's go to Jotunheim."

"Nope. There's somethin' we gotta take care of first."

"What?"

Rick sighed out, "As much as it pains me to say, we gotta get Harley Quinn."

"Harley who?"

"Quinn. She was on Team 1 with me. Now that I know where she is, we gotta go get her."

"Fuck no."

"Come on, man." They made their way back into the van after you. "She's a valuable asset."

"I said no."

"Don't make me get Waller into this."

Robert thought for a moment. "Fuck, fine, alright. We'll go get 'er."

Everyone eventually got seated. This time you actually sat in a seat since you weren't planning on taking an impromptu nap—although that did sound nice. Flag filled Milton out on the details and directed him on where to go as you all got cozy. Robert and Chris were going at it again, Cleo was asleep, Nanaue was trying to get you to sit in his lap, and Abner was watching in amusement.

"No."

"Yes."

"I said no."

"Pet pet?"

"No, Nanaue."

Nanaue put on his best pout, "Please?"

You should not have turned around to look at him. Sighing, you stood up and made your way over to him.

"Hahaha!" He sounded like a giddy kid in a candy store. He gently picked you up and placed you on his lap. Immediately he started petting you again and hummed. Your legs were cramped and you felt like you were about to fall off his lap. Without saying anything, you sprawled your legs across Abner's lap. He just looked at you with a smile before adjusting himself to accommodate you. Resting his arms over your legs, he continued looking out the window.

"How fascinating."

"Hmm?" You looked at Grieves.

"You don't happen to also control animal behavior, do you?"

"Why would I tell you that?"

"Fair."

You heard a loud sigh from Chris. "Is this going to become a regular occurance?"

"What, you jealous? I'm calling it now, if we have another night during this mission I'm using him as my cuddle buddy."

"Whatever."

Although you said you wouldn't, you were almost asleep before Robert made the call for everyone to gear up. While everyone was rushing to get their gear on, you just yawned and leaned over to handcuff Grieves to a seat before making yourself at home on Nanaue again. You weren't exactly trained to fight with weapons, although you did grab a nearby combat knife to carry.

"You gotta be kiddin' me. You're gonna risk the entire mission for a mental defective dressed as a court jester."

"This is coming from a guy that wears a toilet seat on his head."

"We don't leave our own behind," Rick reminded.

"You're okay with this?"

"No, but I've been around Flag when he's got a rag in his mouth. Best not to tug it."

"Motherfucker!"

Just as everyone seemed almost ready, you hopped off Nanaue and gently nudged Cleo.

"Come on, gotta wake up."

"All right, let's go."

Everyone—besides Grieves—exited the vehicle before Flag announced his plan.

"All right, we'll enter through the third floor, go to the inner staircase, and then down to the cellar where they usually keep their detainees. Hopefully, Harley's still alive."

Still butthurt about what Robert said, Chris stubbornly muttered, "It's not a toilet seat, it's a beacon of freedom!"

Everyone got into position; Peacemaker somehow scaled a building to get a vantage point, Abner was down the street looking for traffic, Rick and Robert were beside one of the walls ready to climb to the third floor, you turned into a bird (much to the amazement of your team) so you could quickly enter the window Robert would open, and Nanaue—who forgot you turned into a bird—stared at you.

"Ratatouille, what do you got?"

"Third floor hallway's clear. Abner?"

"There doesn't seem to be any incoming traffic."

"Bird."

"Nanaue, that's Mimic you meathead- and stay off the comm!"

"Colonel, I got a clean shot on the only one in the office. Just give the word."

"Fire on three, two..."

"What're you guys doing?"

Rick looked at Harley, then DuBois, then back to Harley. "I... you- we're here to save you."

"You were gonna... save me?" Harley visibly looked touched.

"It was a really good plan, too."

"Well I can go back inside and you can still do it."

"That's patronizing," Bloodsport commented.

You saw Harley drag a big stick thing over to Flag and hug him.

"Uh, what's with the javelin?"

"I'm waiting for God to tell me."

"Jesus Christ..."

"Yeah, or Him. Or any of them, really."

You and Nanaue watched as Harley and Bloodsport had an awkward introduction.

"Never mind everyone, Harley is secure."

"What?"

"Meet me in the van so we can leave as quickly as possible."

Sighing, you morphed back into your original form. Nanaue made an audible gasp as he saw you sitting on the railing.

"Pet pet?

"Yes, Nanaue, it's me, Pet pet."

King Shark laughed as he started petting you immediately. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you swatted his hand away and motioned for him to follow you.

171 notes · View notes

elysiadjarin · 3 years

Text

Sword and Shield

Part 1: https://elysiadjarin.tumblr.com/post/652827986465275904/sword-and-shield

Tags: Bad Batch x reader (you), fem!coded, poly!relationship, multi-part series, nonhuman!reader, Echo later on.

Warnings: Only some mentions of war, otherwise have at it!

2: Familiarity

You took in a deep breath, then slipped off your bag and set it down on the ground. Turning, you looked pleadingly to Rex, who decided to help you out behind his hidden smirk.

He held out his hand to you. “Permission to Transfer?” he asked the initial question to begin the Transference.

You took his hand readily. “Transfer Granted,” you said quietly, feeling that familiar tightness in your gut as the process began.

“Blaster,” Rex’s voice became a sharp command.

Almost without thinking, used to the process, you allowed the sensation of your cells shifting to complete their movement. With an odd sort of sucking sensation, you closed your eyes and Transferred.

Startled noises made you open your eyes to note your point of view from right above the blaster now held in Rex’s hand. The Transference had been completed successfully. Rex spun the blaster, using the Bond you’d forged between you and him to request a switch of weapons. You morphed the weapon in his hands into an IWS, hefting it in his hands. Another request as he swung his arm behind him, feet shifting in practiced movements to reveal that you’d Shifted into a giant scythe. One more request, and Rex straightened to hold out a Vibro-shiv in his hand.

“Hence why she’s called Shiv,” Rex remarked somewhat dryly, flipping the shiv in his hands.

You let a silhouette of your head, shoulders, arms, and torso materialize over Rex’s shoulder. It was a method of easy communication with others and a way to reveal your presence a little more visibly than just through a mental Bond with a Handler.

Rex nodded at you. “Bond Dissolution,” he said, allowing you to begin the Dissolution of the Transference. He tossed the Shiv, allowing your body to replace the weapon before it even hit the floor.

You shook your head a little to reorient yourself. Reaching down, you picked your bag back up. “I’ve been working with Commander Rex and the 501st for a while, but it’s a bit difficult to work with a large force and manage being passed from one person to another. Being a living weapon requires not only an intimidate knowledge of the weapons themselves but also a close working relationship with a tight-knit group in order to cater to their own individual strengths and preferences,” you explained, reaching up to rub your eye briefly. Your vision always felt a bit... off, after a Transference.

“She’s been stretched thin trying to understand and learn the fighting patterns and preferences of the entire 501st, and limiting her usage to just a few isn’t exactly the best scenario for an entire squadron’s unity,” Rex said, picking up your thread. “I thought putting her in an already-established, smaller, special-forces group would perhaps be best for increasing her effectiveness and bringing her to her best. It’s a commitment, but I’d appreciate it if you gave it a try.”

“Whoa, that’s super cool!” The large one bellowed, giving you an exhilarated grin.

A little startled, you gave him a shy smile. “Th-thanks.”

The others seemed to glance at each other almost in a non-verbal conversation, but seemed to come to a pretty swift agreement. The tattooed one turned to Rex.

“Since you’re recommending it, Commander, I suppose we’ll give it a go. Our next mission has been assigned tomorrow morning, so if she decides to join, she’ll have to probably move into the ship tonight.” He glanced at you.

Rex nodded. “Thank you for giving it a try. What do you think, Shiv?” He turned to you.

You nodded. “Of course, Commander,” you murmured, stomach flipping a little. After so long, it was actually happening. You were going to be transferred to a special ops group.

Rex nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Go and pack your things, Shiv. I’ll get the transfer settled and let the General know.”

You nodded, then turned to the group. “Um, should I just come back here? It shouldn’t take me long to pack,” you asked timidly.

The leader nodded at you. “We’ll be right here. I’m Sergeant Hunter, if you need to ask for me.”

“Oh, right! Name’s Wrecker!” The burly guy said with a wave.

You had to smile, waving back.

“I’m Tech,” the one with glasses introduced, adjusting his goggles.

“Crosshair,” the white-haired one grunted, seemingly disinterested in the whole affair. Though, he did glance at you.

“Thank you. I’ll be back,” you promised, looking to Rex.

He dismissed you with a nod, and you headed back to your bunk.

Sinking down onto the bunk, you stared down at your trembling fingers. You hadn’t even realized how nervous you’d really been until it was all said and done. Shaking your head, you dropped your head into your hands and tried to work through the muck of feelings that stuck in your chest.

You were... scared. Excited. Apprehensive. Curious. Nervous. Glad. Sad.

“Yo Shiv- hey, what’s wrong?”

You started, looking up to see Fives and Kix approaching your bunk. You gave them a bit of a sad smile, looking down at your hands now clasped in your lap.

“It’s... it’s finally happened,” you whispered, trying to wrap your own mind around it.

“Happened? Wha-“ Kix paused, eyes widening. “Wait, are you getting transferred?”

You nodded shakily. “Y-yeah.”

Fives slung his arm around your shoulders. “Well. Congrats, Shivvie!” he tried to cheer, but it came out a bit sadly.

You smiled up at both of them. “I’m gonna miss you guys, you know,” you said with a light laugh.

Kix sighed. “We’re gonna miss you too, Shiv. But I’m guessing that since this opportunity is one that you’re taking, so it must be good, right?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah... yeah, it’s... it’s a good one,” you admitted. “I’m- I’m joining Clone Force 99.”

“Whoa,” Fives blurted. “You’re joining the Bad Batch? That’s great for you, Shiv! I heard they’re weird but pretty good at what they do,” he said, clearly impressed. “I mean, Commander Rex helped create that force.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I...” Still, you had to let your shoulders slump a little. “I... I hope it goes well.”

“You’re gonna knock em dead, Shiv,” Kix encouraged, patting your shoulder. “We’re gonna miss you, but you have our commlinks. Come and get drinks with us at the 79s whenever you stop by for a break or something.”

You nodded, smiling up at both of them. You’d miss their company, no matter what happened. Kix and Fives had really been your pillars of support throughout your time with the 501st, and you’d really supported each other through... well, the Battle of Lola Sayu.

With a sigh, you looked around. “I have to pack. I have to get to the ship by tonight.”

“We’ll help you out,” Fives offered immediately, standing.

You shook your head at him. “Thanks, but... you mind just telling the others I’d like to say bye? If they’re around? I kinda... I need some headspace,” you admitted.

Kix nodded, grabbing Fives’ arm to keep him from protesting. “Got it, Shiv. We’ll send ‘em over. Good luck!”

You waved, biting back tears as you tried to smile.

New beginnings, after all, usually meant leaving something behind.

Taking a breath, you headed into Hangar Bay Six again. You’d said goodbye to the rest of the 501st, promising to keep in touch when possible and wishing them the best of luck. They’d been sad to see you go, but they’d all been encouraging and hopeful.

After all, you reflected, they were the ones who knew the difficulties you all faced working together. They’d seen how thin you’d been spread trying to accommodate and learn to work intimately with all of them.

Walking up to the Havoc Marauder, you headed up the ramp with your bags. “Hello?” you called uncertainly at the mouth of the ship, not wanting to just barge in.

Hunter rounded the corner, nodding to you. “Welcome aboard. Your quarters are just down here,” he said, heading down the corridor.

You followed him, glancing around at the ship in order to get familiar with the layout. It was a pretty standard ship by all accounts, so you figured you wouldn’t find it too hard to learn where things were. You followed as he ducked into a room, the door sliding open.

The room itself wasn’t too bad, a bit small but that was to be expected. In all honesty, you wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d asked you to share quarters, so it slightly surprised you that they gave you your own personal quarter. A small fresher was tucked into the corner, though it only had a sink and a toilet.

“The showers are down the hall, they’re shared.” Hunter jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

You just smiled, setting your bags down on the bunk. “Thank you. I honestly kinda expected having to share quarters. This is really nice,” you said honestly.

He blinked at you. “You shared bunks with the 501st?”

You tilted your head. “Yeah?”

He shook his head, but didn’t say anything else. “Feel free to get comfortable. You can look around the ship and get used to it whenever you want. The galley is on the other side of the ship, and everyone’s quarters are on this side.”

You nodded, belatedly realizing that he didn’t even stop to see your reaction before ducking back through the door and walking off. With a glance around, you decided to unpack. This would be your home for a while, after all. Might as well make the best of it.

After looking around the ship and getting familiar with it, you found yourself wandering into what seemed to be a common, shared space. You’d taken your mug to the galley and made some caf, stowing away some of your own tea paraphernalia in an empty shelf out of the way.

Tech sat in the room, going through datapads in his own corner. He looked up, observing you through his goggles with a blink.

You gave him a hesitant smile. “Um, do you mind if I sit?”

He blinked, then nodded. “Oh, sure. Anyone can come in here, it’s a common room,” he said, motioning to the seats that were scattered around. “Oh, uh... Hunter said to give you the rundown, by the way.”

You crossed the room, sitting in a chair close to him. “Rundown?” you asked, setting your mug down.

He handed you a datapad. “This is the data I’ve gathered and compiled about Force 99. I thought it might be useful to you since you said you need to work closely with a group, and I’ve been meaning to create a profile for a while now anyway so it was a good excuse,” he seemed to be babbling a bit, reaching up to adjust his goggles and avoiding direct eye contact with you.

You glanced down at the display screen to see Hunter’s name at the top, a chunk of material following it.

Tech was still rambling on, fiddling with another datapad. “I mean, I know we’re also supposed to get to know you, but I guessed that letting you know about all of our desired mutations and details about our weapons preferences might be a good way to start, you know? Since you also said you’re a weapons expert, I mean. I added some footage of our missions as well for reference and all, since I tend to record most of them.”

You smiled, deciding to cut in and stop his nervous rambling. “Thank you so much, Tech. Oh, is it okay if I call you that?”

He blinked, looking at you briefly. “Oh, sure. I mean, it’s my name. Uh, what should I-?”

You laughed a little, tucking your feet up onto the chair. “You can either call me (Name) or Shiv, I like and answer to both.” You pulled out your own datapad. “Do you mind if I transfer this data to my own pad? That way I can make notes without stealing yours.”

He nodded. “Oh, sure, of course. The information was compiled for you, anyway.”

“Thank you, Tech,” you said again, touched that he’d gone that far. “I appreciate it, a lot. It’ll really help me try to integrate myself in the best way.” You gave him a smile.

He hesitantly nodded, taking back the datapad from you after you’d finished transferring the files.

You quickly lost yourself in the wealth of information, making notes and highlighting some key characteristics that you noted in the files. Tech had really done an immaculate job, considering that you’d been an unexpected arrival and addition to the group. As you continued learning more about the group, you began to understand why they were nicknamed the “Bad Batch” by the others. It barely irked you, though you knew that the premise of the whole name was rather... derogatory.

You’d already been treated much like a clone for most of your life, anyway. You’d been born a weapon, a tool, nothing but cannon fodder ever since this war had even started. Here you were, at twenty-something years old, and all you remembered was a life of surviving, living, fighting, and forcing yourself to be a tool.

The clones had welcomed you in, had given you a sense of camaraderie, understanding, and family. You’d found a sense of purpose despite your status as an outcast. And the more you read about the Bad Batch, the more you found yourself understanding why Rex might have specifically considered this particular group to assign you to.

You completely lost track of time, going over the information and committing it to memory, taking time to make meticulous notes about their weaponry. You only stopped once you’d gone through the written information, turning to Tech.

“Excuse me, Tech.”

Starting, he looked up at you owlishly as though he’d forgotten you even existed in the same room. “Oh- y-yes?”

“Is there a holodeck I can link to? So I can get a closer analysis of the footage?” you asked, motioning to the datapad.

“Oh, right!” He shuffled over to the other side of the room, grabbed a holoscreen, and handed it over. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” You gave him a fleeting smile, then hooked up the datapad to the holoscreen display. Putting the footage on complete mute, you began to scrutinize it frame by frame, expanding some scenes and rotating the screens to get a different vantage point. You did notice that sometimes it was harder to catch Crosshair’s movements since he was, after all, a sniper, but you did manage to isolate quite a few moments of his meticulous shots and get a bead on his location and vantage points.

You were so immersed in examining the footage, highlighting reels, and going through your well-versed motions that the feeling of someone tapping your shoulder well and truly took you off-guard. You instantly froze, eyes narrowing as your awareness instantly honed in on your surroundings. It only took half a second to recall where exactly you were, and you shook yourself with a sharp inhale.

You turned to the person who had tapped you. “Sorry-“

Hunter observed you with a piercing look. “Why did you freeze?” He demanded.

You blinked, mouth opening, scrambling for an answer. “Um- I lost track of my surroundings and had to regroup myself, Sergeant,” you found yourself answering almost mechanically, the tone of his voice forcing an answer from your conditioned mind.

“Why would you freeze? Why wouldn’t you immediately react in order to assess a threat?” Hunter asked ruthlessly, crossing his arms.

The question felt oddly familiar. It didn’t take much for you to find an answer. “As a weapon, sir, my first reactions are necessarily different from most other people,” you said quietly, heart pounding in your chest. It didn’t help that you now knew that his enhanced senses most likely heard it. “If I were to immediately react, I would end up thoughtlessly killing the person or object that had surprised me.” You swallowed, looking down at your feet. “I learned my mistakes the hard way, by completely destroying everything and everyone within five meters of me.”

A silence fell in the room, while you ruthlessly tried to push away the memories that loomed at the edge of your mind.

Hunter finally spoke. “Understood.” He cleared his throat. “I... apologize.”

You looked up, eyes widening. “N-no need to apologize, Sergeant. You should know, especially since I-I’m supposed to be working with you.”

He nodded, then glanced behind you at the frozen footage. “I see that Tech has given you the files he compiled.”

You started, then turned around and scooped up the datapad. “Yes sir, I’ve been going over the information and trying to compile all the necessary information I can before the- the mission tomorrow,” you explained hurriedly.

He nodded. “I appreciate the dedication. You’ve been here for four chrons. You might want to get some food.”

You stared down at the clock on the datapad, realizing that it really had been hours since you started. Reaching up, you dragged a hand through your hair a little ruefully.

“Thank you.” You gave Hunter a sheepish smile. “I probably should. I tend to... get lost in my work.”

He nodded, then wordlessly stepped back out of the room.

Tech glanced at you, still working on his own stuff.

You sighed and set down the datapad, turning to Tech. “I should go get myself something to eat. Can I bring you something, Tech?” you offered.

He looked up at you. “Oh- that’s- I mean, you don’t have to, I-“

You just quirked him a smile. “You’ve been here the whole time, too. I’ll go get us both something to eat.” Giving him a wave, you headed out to go find the galley and something to eat.

You poked around the available ingredients in the galley before deciding on a quick but filling dish, whipping up enough for everyone. Hesitating after you finished cleaning up, you decided to at least try. Leaving two portions on the counter, you grabbed scrap paper and scribbled Crosshair’s and Wrecker’s names on them. Leaving them for the other two to find, you grabbed the other three portions and headed back to the common room.

Setting down the bowls, you handed one to Tech. “Nothing fancy, but it should go down easy,” you laughed a little.

He took it, surprise flickering over his face. “Th-thanks.”

You nodded, then grabbed another portion. “I’ll be right back.” Leaving your own bowl on the table, you went to go find Hunter. You found him in the cockpit after ten minutes of searching, making him look up as you approached the doorway.

You gave him a hesitant smile, holding out the bowl. “Um, maybe you’ve already eaten but... I made some for everyone, if you’re... hungry,” you said, trailing off and starting to second-guess yourself. What if he didn’t like that kind of food, or thought you had some sort of ulterior motive? What if-

But after staring at your for half a minute, he got up and approached, almost gingerly taking the bowl from you. “Thanks,” he said.

You nodded and skittered away, barely waiting to see his response or hear anything else. Mortified, you paused in the hallway and clapped your hands to your cheeks, shaking yourself. It was fine. You didn’t have to be thatnervous, honestly. It wasn’t like you’d done something ridiculous, just offered him some food is all. It was normal. Completely normal. Right?

You decided to return to your spot and drown your embarrassment in your research again. After all, you did have good motivation. Tomorrow morning would be your first mission.

#The bad batch #tbb #star wars #Clone wars #the clone wars #sw #my writing #x reader #crosshair #echo #tech #wrecker #hunter #the bad batch x reader #Writing #my fic #fanfic

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Dumb Luck

Prompt: the usual "Everyone knows Merlin has Magic but Merlin doesn't know they know" but Arthur's being really fucking thick about it. Everything that could possibly be magic Arthur has brushed off as luck or something. At some point Merlin realizes that the knights know (or maybe he's known all along) and the knights tell Merlin that Arthur knows but he's being stupid, which leads to Merlin performing increasingly extravagant/impressive/silly magic in front of Arthur until the point Arthur just asks if Merlin would like him to acknowledge the fact that he doesn't care that Merlin has magic

no brain cells for these boys, leon stop hoarding them

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none!

Pairings: merthur, can be platonic or romantic who tf knows

Word Count: 2943

Alright. Merlin’s going to be honest. Is the absolute best at hiding his magic from people? No. Is he a damn sight near better than some other bastards would be if they had his magic? Yes, yes, he is, thank you very much. They would do quite well to remember that he is magic, and he’s had it since he was born, so he knows what he’s doing when it comes to knowing that he has it. Yes, thank you, he doesn’t go around doing every single thing he could with magic because well, then he’d never get to do much of anything ever again.

And that would be boring.

But yes, maybe he’s a little petty or lazy sometimes. Honestly, he’s just being efficient. Yes, he can justify pettiness as efficient. He’s just getting them back for something that he would otherwise have to expend so much effort doing. It’s very handy.

So the knights work out he has magic. Big surprise there, he knows. Lancelot is Lancelot, Gwaine is Gwaine. Percival stumbles in on him lifting too much a little too easily and cracks a joke about having Merlin pull his weight more on hunting trips and patrols. Elyan watches him fix armor and immediately clamors to bring Merlin to his and Gwen’s forge so he can actually show him how to fix armor.

Leon takes him aside quietly one day and thanks him. Merlin doesn’t start crying, he doesn’t end up breaking down into Leon’s arms, and Leon definitely doesn’t promise that although Merlin may not have been knighted, he thinks of him as his brother in arms.

Leon is very rude sometimes, as a matter of fact.

But Arthur doesn’t seem to notice.

Now, Arthur doesn’t notice a lot. Doesn’t notice Merlin shifting his chair a little bit so he crashes onto the floor, doesn’t notice Gwen spending just a hair too much time with Morgana in the evenings, doesn’t notice the guards that don’t even pay attention to the dungeons. Like, at all.

But there are some things he…should notice.

Like when a branch suddenly lifts itself up from a forest floor to trip a bandit.

“Bandits,” Merlin mutters under his breath, “why is it always bandits?”

He deflects a blow and sends one of them flying into a tree. Behind him, Elyan parries a blow and deftly clubs the man over the head. Arthur is battling another bandit a few paces away as one tries to run up behind him.

Merlin’s hand is out in a flash and the tree branch right in front of Arthur wheels up and smacks the man across the face.

Arthur whirls around and cuts the other man down, successfully putting an end to the fight. Around the clearing, the knights shake their heads and go about picking up the rest of their camp. Really, being far too calm for men who just killed a bunch of people.

Except for Merlin.

Merlin, while this is happening, is slowly coming to the conclusion that he would like to be swallowed up by the ground and never emerge again.

He just used magic, very obviously, in front of Arthur.

Is this the first time he’s done it? No, not by a long shot, but it is the first time he’s done it without any regard for whether Arthur can see.

Arthur turns and Merlin’s heart drops to his stomach.

Arthur wrenches his sword out of the ground and stalks over to him.

Arthur roughly grabs his shoulder. Shakes. Hard.

“Merlin! Merlin, answer me?”

“…Arthur?”

Arthur’s face is drawn. Grim. Almost his father’s. His grip hurts.

“Where are you hurt?”

Merlin blinks. What? Where is he what?

“Where is it, Merlin,” Arthur growls again, already looking him over, “where did they hurt you?”

“I’m—I’m not hurt.”

“You’re paler than a damn sheet, Merlin, you must be losing blood.” Arthur’s hand is…surprisingly gentle as it lifts his chin. “Tell me where. Come on. Now’s not the time for shame.”

“No, no,” Merlin mumbles, “I’m not—not hurt. Didn’t get hurt.”

Arthur slows, grim expression morphing to confusion. “Then why do you look so…”

If in doubt, poke fun at yourself.

“Just scared, I guess,” Merlin tries with a self-deprecating laugh, “wasn’t expecting bandits.”

Arthur huffs, lightly shoving his shoulder. “Leave it to you to be such a drama queen that I think you’re bleeding out.”

“’S nice of you to care.”

“Just glad I don’t have to drag your corpse back to Gaius.”

So that was…bizarre. Not the most bizarre thing that’s ever happened to Merlin, not at all, but bizarre. Arthur may be a little unobservant at times but he’s not that oblivious.

But, in fairness to him—which is something Merlin tries not to do too often—he was in the middle of a fight and had just killed a man. Knights may not be known for the smarts but they are known for their overprotectiveness.

Yes, he can hear you lot protesting over there, it’s true and you know it.

And maybe…maybe Merlin’s been getting a little sick of Gaius screaming about how secret his magic must be kept in broad daylight with the door wide open. Listen, if you think he’s about to get scolded by your parental unit and not immediately find some way to rebel, you don’t know Merlin very well.

And yes, maybe there’s a sick little thrill he gets out of doing magic in front of Arthur.

Maybe.

So. The next time they’re on a hunting trip and he’s as sure as he can be that there aren’t any bandits around, he decides to push a little bit.

Arthur is lounging around because you can take the prince out of the castle but you can’t take the castle out of the prince and he thinks he’s still about to receive the finest of dishes that Camelot’s kitchens can prepare. Well, no, but he is about to not have to cook it himself.

“Light the fire, Merlin, it’s not that hard.”

“Have you ever lit a fire a day in your life?”

“Sure, when I was training.”

“Training? You needed training to learn how to light a fire?”

“It was survival training, with the elder knights. Had to survive a night on my own.”

“On your own?”

“Well, my own campsite. They stayed about a league away.”

Merlin just sighs and crouches down. He eyes Arthur, who is tending to his sword, and then very slowly but pointedly sets the flint and steel aside. Arthur isn’t paying much attention to him.

Slowly, Merlin leans forward and lights the fire with his magic.

Arthur looks up. Merlin looks back at him. Arthur swings the sword off his lap. He sets it on the log, his hand still wrapped around the pommel. The tip of the blade points straight at Merlin’s chest. It gleams in the firelight.

“See? I told you it wasn’t hard.”

Is…is he serious?

As it turns out, yes. Arthur is completely serious.

And at this point, this is science, now, what Merlin’s doing. Experiments. He has to know the limits! He has a hypothesis, he has a method, he wants to reach a conclusion.

Hypothesis: Arthur is really, really oblivious to anything magical.

Method: do increasingly obvious magic in front of Arthur until he notices.

Conclusion: how oblivious is Arthur?

An important caveat: Merlin doesn’t know how Arthur will react to finding out he has magic, but he can burn that bridge when he gets there.

So when he wakes Arthur up the next morning, he draws the curtains with a flourish and when Arthur turns over and pulls the blanket up to his cheek in protest, he flicks his wrist and yanks the covers off the bed.

What does Arthur do?

Mumble and groan and stumble out of bed saying Merlin’s worse than his first governess.

“Wait, first?”

“Morgana and I snuck a toad into her bed. She quit after that.”

“You two did what?”

“Think there’s still frog spawn in that bed frame. Father had that chamber closed off for a while.”

“You—eat your breakfast, you prat.”

“You’re the one that pulled my blankets away!”

…okay, so he needs to take it up a notch.

One of the ones that pisses Gaius off the most is when Merlin uses magic to polish multiple pieces of Arthur’s armor at the same time. So when Arthur is at his desk, Merlin lays his shield across his lap and grabs two polishing rags. He sets the can of polish next to him and starts working on the shield. When he’s sure Arthur is focusing, he uses his magic to lift the breastplate up next to him and start to beat out the dents.

“Merlin,” Arthur sighs, “can you keep it down any?”

Showtime. “Don’t know what you mean, sire.”

“That bloody racket! Can you at least be a little quieter?”

“What racket?”

Arthur shoves the paper away from him and glares at the ceiling. “That banging! It’s so loud I can barely hear myself think!”

“It’s no louder than you normally are, sire.”

“Oh, you—I ought to—“ Arthur just mutters to himself as he claps his hands over his ears.

But he never looks toward Merlin.

Huh.

So maybe Arthur isn’t ignoring him because he’s oblivious. Maybe…maybe he knows already and is…is trying to protect Merlin.

Uther is still King of Camelot. Morgana is outspoken against his cruelty but he is still very much in charge. There’s only so much protection the knights can afford him. There’s only so much protection Arthur can afford him.

So…so maybe Arthur is pretending he doesn’t see because he knows he can’t save Merlin if he has to acknowledge it.

Merlin takes a few days to process that. The knights are concerned, they ask him what’s wrong, what does he need, how can they help? He waves them off, says he’s just thinking.

“Maybe,” Lancelot says kindly, “but with you, Merlin, you’re never just thinking.”

“Or at least it doesn’t stay that way for very long,” Gwaine agrees, slinging an arm around Merlin’s shoulders, “and I don’t know about you lot but I like a little bit of forewarning before I wake up to ale in my shoes.”

“You asked for another round, you didn’t say where.”

“Why the hell would I want them in my shoes?”

Gwaine does what Gwaine always does and steers the attention away from Merlin, leaving Leon and Lancelot to carefully prod him a little more privately. He waves them off too, even though he’s sure he isn’t keeping as much as he would like to be from Leon.

Merlin stops using his magic as much. He does his chores as much as he can using his two hands, lugs buckets of water without complaint, polishes armor until his nose burns and his eyes sting. He uses his magic for particularly stubborn stains in his room and keeps a sharper eye out for how to move this bandit’s sword a little to the right, or how to make this knight’s staff a little heavier.

He thinks Arthur is trying to hide for him, so he hides for Arthur.

Then he can’t hide.

A sorcerer is threatening to collapse the walls of Camelot in on themselves. The entire citadel shakes as Merlin and the knights rush out, dragging as many people as they can. The stone trembles and the wood groans and there are screams. More screams than Merlin could ever bear to hear join the chorus of more than he could ever know that plague him every time he closes his eyes.

He shuts them anyway and runs.

He runs away from the knights, magic pushing him faster, faster, faster with the need to protect the castle, protect the people, protect Arthur. The sorcerer is pulling him away from his people and for that…for that, he must pay.

By the time he gets to the field, it is rippling with magic. Merlin’s fingertips, his ears, even his nose tingles as he rushes deeper, deeper, deeper, trying to get to the eye of the storm.

There, in the middle of a patch of grass, stands a sorcerer. In robes deeper than night and hair whipped up in the wind of the spell.

Merlin grits his teeth and says no.

And when the Greatest Sorcerer to Ever Walk the Earth calls, Magic answers.

The sorcerer is dust before he manages to open his mouth. The field settles. Magic returns to the earth. And Merlin collapses to his knees as the knights run up behind him.

He isn’t a fool, despite what others may have led you to believe. He knows this was magic, could only be magic, and could only be stopped by magic.

So when the knights rush up to him and collapse to their knees around him, muttering that he’s alright, he did it, he’s safe, he did it, is he hurt, all he can think of is how he’s going to have to explain this to Arthur.

They tell him he doesn’t need to explain anything. That Arthur already knows, that he doesn’t care.

Merlin doesn’t believe them. Even if he saved Camelot, which he’s already done, he has magic. He used magic to do it.

They tell him again that it doesn’t matter, that Arthur doesn’t, won’t care.

But Merlin still has to tell him.

“Tell me what?”

+1.

Arthur rushes into the clearing. He can hear him behind them. He can’t find it in him to get up. The knights are still around him, he can hear Lancelot’s voice in his ear, feel Leon’s hands on his shoulders, but he can’t move. Can’t speak.

“Tell me what,” Arthur repeats, and oh, he sounds angry, “what is it?”

“Merlin,” someone—Gwaine—is muttering, “Merlin, it’s alright, he won’t care, he doesn’t care—“

“Of course I care,” comes the cold, cold voice and Gwaine falters, “now move.”

Merlin’s chest clenches. There’s the sharp sing of steel as Gwaine draws his sword.

“Put it down.”

“Nope, can’t do that.”

Then Leon stands up. “Arthur, please think carefully about this.”

“I don’t have to think carefully about anything. Merlin is hurt, let me tend to him. He’s mine.”

“You won’t hurt him.”

“No, I certainly don’t intend to, so move.”

Lancelot’s hands are the last to leave him. Merlin is cold. It’s so cold. His magic buries deep inside his chest and it feels hard to breathe.

Boots. Boots on the ground in front of him. They flatten the grass as a shadow blocks the light. Armor creaks as the figure kneels down. A gauntleted hand cups his chin.

“Merlin,” comes a voice that’s soft, too soft, “Merlin, I need you to look at me.”

And what is he supposed to do, disobey?

Arthur’s face is too warm when Merlin looks up at him. His mouth tugs up into a little smile as Merlin finally makes eye contact with him.

“There you are,” he says, still in that soft voice that doesn’t make sense, “now, are you hurt?”

Merlin can only blink.

“Merlin,” he says, and his voice is a little firmer as he cups Merlin’s chin properly, “are you hurt? What happened?”

His throat is too dry. “Not hurt.”

Arthur relaxes, only marginally. “Then why do you look so upset?”

The world could collapse and Merlin would be frozen here, trapped in the silence of Arthur’s gaze.

Unbidden, his eyes flash gold.

Arthur takes a sharp breath in. Merlin braces for a hit only for—

“Oh, you idiot,” Arthur whispers, “do I actually need to tell you I don’t care if you have magic?”

Pause.

Go back.

One more time.

What?

“I don’t care, you idiot,” he says in a tone that is too fond, “I don’t care that you have magic. You have it, you’re still Merlin, I don’t care.”

Rough metal gauntlets cup his face and oh—it’s cold—

“Merlin, look at me.”

“I—I am.”

“No, look.”

He blinks and has to focus on looking at Arthur.

“I’m not mad,” Arthur says firmly, “and I don’t care that you have magic.”

Merlin starts to laugh. Because of course, of course, Arthur doesn’t care. He’s been so stupid. Arthur doesn’t care. Arthur doesn’t care. He’s doubled over before he can stop himself. The laughs keep pouring out of him, his magic rushing back to his fingers, his nose, his chest. He laughs long and loud and hard and then Arthur is murmuring at him again because no, no, he isn’t laughing anymore, he’s crying.

“Come here, you big baby,” Arthur murmurs, tucking him into the gentlest embrace he’s ever had from someone wearing armor, “yes, there you go, that’s it.”

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

Arthur has known Merlin has magic and he doesn’t care.

…wait, does that make Merlin the oblivious one?

Nah, that couldn’t be it.

It’s not like Arthur is hiding anything else from Merlin.

#dragonbabbles #fic #merlin #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merthur #merthur fic #arthur pendragon

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inkykeiji · 3 years

Text

day 4 ❅ let’s go below zero and hide from the sun

i love you forever where we’ll have some fun

day three ❅ day four ❅ day five | series masterlist

character: todoroki touya | dabi

genre: smut + angst

notes: eeeeeeee meery christmas eve everyone, here’s day four!!!!! day four is my favourite out of the five, so i truly hope you all enjoy it as much as i do <3 as always, please pay attention to the warnings n stay safe!! | title credit: snowman by sia

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), implied noncon, sub-drop, panic attacks, fingering, cockwarming, car sex, mentioned drug use, generally toxic relationships, size difference, verbal fights, tense family dynamics

words: 8.4k

synopsis:

“It’s nothing,”

Tender fingers tuck a tuft of alabaster behind his ear.

“It’s not nothing,”

“It doesn’t matter,”

Gentle lips place soft kisses along his jaw.

“It matters very much to me, niichan,”

“It’s—It’s stupid, fucking stupid,”

A small palm finds solace on his cheek, cupping it as a thumb strokes the skin.

“It’s not stupid if it’s hurting you, baby,”

❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅

Sunlight streams through the crystal window, tiny dust motes playing hide and seek between the rays, painting golden beams across the smooth skin of Touya’s bare back, his skin almost sparkling in the warm light.

A little whimper slips from between your lips as your eyelids stick together, sealed shut by dry salt, brow furrowing as you finally pry them open. They hurt, dry and tacky and squinting against the too-bright light, spitting a hiss through your teeth.

“Ow,” you whine as you try to roll onto your side, every muscle in your body aching and stuffed full of exhaustion.

You’re sweating—Touya is always way too hot, and this bed is decidedly much too tiny for the both of you—raising a heavy arm to try and shove the sheets down to your waist, only to find that you can’t. It takes your hazy mind a few moments to realize that the sheets are stuck to your skin.

Bleary eyes blink twice, raising your head off of the plush pillow with immense effort and gazing down at your naked body. The muscles in your arms are screeching in protest as stiff, sore fingers fist in the sheets, giving one hard yank and ripping the material from your body, a sharp gasp hitching in your throat.

Hard, dried cum is splattered across your entire torso, wincing a little as you arch your back and watch it crack on your skin. Vibrant petals of indigo and violet have bloomed across your body, growing in places you don’t ever remember them being planted in.

What the hell happened last night?

It’s hard for you to recall, really, eyebrows knitting as you think hard, sifting through all of your recent memories and trying to remember when someone spurted cum all over your body.

Everything from last night is nothing but a tangled mess in your mind, with loops and crisscrosses, certain memories seeming to overlap, to morph together the more you think about them. It’s as if you’re watching an old film through a thick cloud of fog, flickering and stained with sepia as the sound keeps cutting in and out, the projector stopping once in a while, stuttering and repeating frames or burning holes through the filmstock.

It takes every ounce of strength you have to roll your beaten body onto your side, yelping softly from the massive effort. A sudden rush of tears pricks your eyes, burning in your throat as you try desperately to hold them back, to swallow them silently like a good little girl.

But it’s hard, tiny hiccupped sobs attempting to climb up your raw throat, catching painfully in your chest as you strive to suppress them, to gulp them back down, to force them back into the core of your body and stay put. Yet they refuse to cooperate, becoming more and more vicious as they fight against you, causing you to cough and choke on them as they finally escape your lips, and you mentally berate yourself for such a stupid rush of senseless emotions.

Don’t cry. There’s no reason to cry. It’s too early—you’re going to wake him and he’s going to be—

“Baby?” Touya croaks, voice deeper than normal, hoarser than normal.

And, God, he sounds so fucking hot in the morning.

“M’fine,” you say, though the words just come out sounding garbled and wet.

“Baby, baby, no,” he’s saying softly as he pushes himself into a sitting position, sheet pooling around his waist and exposing his chest, strong arms hooking under yours as he pulls you up and into his lap.

“I’m sorry,” you whine into his neck, shutting your eyes tightly as tears begin to leak from the corners.

“For what, princess?”

You don’t know. You just are. Shaking your head in response, you shove your face against him, letting your tears drip off your jaw and soak into his skin.

“Alright, alright,” a large hand pets your back rhythmically, up and down, up and down, fingers tracing along your spine. “Niichan’s got you,”

“What’s going on?”

The unexpected voice startles you, and you freeze in Touya’s embrace.

“Is she okay?”

It’s groggy and rough, vibrating in his throat, and you nuzzle into Touya’s shoulder, chest hiccupping.

“I don’t—I’m not sure,” Touya responds, and you can hear it, that hint of worry laced in his voice, accompanied by a sprinkling of frustration, but it only makes you cry harder, entire body trembling against him.

The other bed groans as Natsuo slides out of it, bare feet padding against the hardwood, your mattress dipping as he sits on the edge a moment later.

“Aw, poor baby,” Natsuo purrs, a soft, massive hand clamping down on your tense shoulder, thick fingers digging into your muscles. “Was last night too much for you, sweetheart?”

His voice is so patronizing, and you whimper a little against Touya, who kicks his younger brother’s thigh with his foot.

“Don’t be an asshole,”

“Says you,” Natsuo scoffs. “I’m being serious. It might be sub-drop,” The bed shifts again, and then kisses are being pressed to the column of your spine, down, down, down your back, words murmured sweetly into your skin. “I’m sorry, babygirl,”

“S’wasn’t too much f’me,” you mumble, heat seeping into your cheeks as both men laugh.

“Definitely sub-drop,” Touya says with a sigh, resting a large palm on your head. “I’ll run a bath,”

“I’ll make some tea and eggs,”

Peaking out from Touya’s shoulder, you watch as Natsuo heaves himself off the bed, snatching his shirt up from the floor and slipping it on before exiting your bedroom with nothing but his Frosty the Snowman briefs as bottoms.

Touya gently deposits you on the bed, slipping out from under you and shaking his head with a chuckle when you whine loudly, making little grabby hands for him, muttering Yup, definitely sub-drop under his breath.

Touya pulls on a pair of grey sweatpants and a nondescript black t-shirt over his head before he returns to the bed, laughing again at the involuntary pout set on your lips.

“C’mon, brat,” he murmurs affectionately, wrapping your naked, cum-stained body in the sheet before he hoists you up, carrying you across the hall to the bathroom and placing you on the counter, still swaddled up.

“Bubbles?” You ask, voice small as he bends to start running the bath.

“I dunno if we have any, princess,” he says with a small frown as he turns back to face you, sapphire eyes scanning the washroom quickly.

It turns out you do, in a pink bottle with faded Disney princesses on the worn label, hidden behind half-finished cans of old hairspray and expired toothpaste, covered in a thin layer of dust.

“Very fitting,” Touya snorts.

It must be over ten years old, but that’s alright—bubble bath doesn’t expire, does it?

Touya pours a bit too much of the syrupy magenta substance under the running water, resulting in you being encased in a mountain of foamy suds that reek of artificial bubblegum.

“Y-You’re not coming?” You ask, a frown materializing on your face as you watch Touya turn off the tap, wiping some of the bubbles that cling to his arm on his thigh.

“No, baby,” he says softly, kneeling in front of the tub. He guesses your next question before your dazed mind can find the word. “Because niichan wouldn’t be able to resist fucking you if he did, and that’s not what you need right now,”

“I could handle it,” you grumble, and Touya laughs, eyes glittering.

“It isn’t a question of whether or not you can handle it, it’s a question of whether or not you need it,”

But even without him snuggled behind you it’s nice nonetheless, your niichan cleaning your body slowly, unhurriedly, dragging a rough cloth across your skin and lathering soap in little circles, cleaning the sweat that has dried sticky and salty on your neck and collarbone, then elbow-deep in the water as he gently pries your thighs apart, scrubbing away the dried cum. Soft, murmured affirmations spill from his lips as he works, praising you for being such a good girl last night, for being such a good girl as he washes you.

Good girl, very good girl, his good girl, his best girl.

❅ ❅ ❅

Just past noon, Rei kicks you all out of the house.

“The Takasu Snow Park is open until four today,” she tells you curtly, practically shooing the five of you out of the cabin. “Don’t come back until it’s closed.”

She lets you take different cars, this time.

“And Touya, Shouto,” she calls from the doorway, lips pressed in a firm, thin line.

Both boys freeze at the sound of their names, hesitantly turning to meet their mother’s gaze.

“Don’t forget that you’re doing the dishes tonight,”

Shouto scoffs as he turns away, climbing into the back seat of Natsuo’s car, and Touya rolls his eyes, muttering something about being treated like a child, to which Fuyumi retorts that it’s only fair, considering the fact that he’s been acting like one.

❅ ❅ ❅

The Takasu Snow Park is just under an hour from the cabin. It’s surprisingly busy for Christmas Eve, filled with high-pitched squeals of excitement and bubbles of laughter as children wrapped up in brightly coloured snowsuits waddle around with tubes in tow.

And Touya drives right past it.

“Niichan, I think you just—”

“We aren’t going tubing, baby,” he says nonchalantly, a wicked spark glinting in his eye as he glances over at you, lips tugging up into a crooked smirk at the way your head quirks cutely, shaking it a little to indicate that you don’t understand what he means. “Niichan would rather play with that pretty pussy of yours instead,”

And he does, finding a shaded little nook just off the main road, snow squeaking under rubber tires as he pulls into it, partially obscuring his car.

“C’mere, princess,” he breathes, patting a thigh. “Come play with your niichan,”

You scamper across the center console and crawl into his lap, thighs straddling him and giggling a little as his fingers inch up, up, up, until they’re pushing your white lacy panties to the side and gliding against your slit.

“Something funny, pretty girl?”

“No, niichan,” you gasp as a finger dips into you, curling as he drags it out and repeating the action a few more times before adding another, your head finding purchase on his shoulder.

Nimble fingers work slowly, lazily, messily, Touya’s free hand busy scrolling through missed text messages on his work phone as he lets you pathetically rut against his palm, fucking yourself on his digits, craning his neck a little and allowing you to trace along the brilliant ink that stains his skin with your tongue.

And it’s nice. It’s almost romantic in a sense, just the two of you silently enjoying each other’s company, the only noise your gentle little mewls and a howling gust of wind every once in a while. The countryside, draped with freshly fallen snow from the storm yesterday, glitters in the late afternoon sun, the cloudless sky as blue as Touya’s eyes. You sigh dreamily as you gaze up at it, basking in the feeling of your niichan’s fingers buried inside of you, stroking your silky walls intermittently, just the two of you in your own little world, protected from everything else by the Audi’s bulletproof glass.

“W-Wanna cockwarm you,” the words are mumbled against his neck sleepily, your eyes lidded and heavy, only half conscious and barely aware of what you’re saying.

But you can feel his cock, hard and hot through dark denim, and it makes your little hole clench, fluttering around nothing. “Jus wanna be full, wanna be close,”

Touya’s chuckling as he shifts a little, hands slipping between your bodies to unbuckle his belt. “That so, princess? Is my baby girl being a needy little slut?” And despite the degrading words used, his tone is warm, gentle and full of compassion. “Niichan will let you sit on his cock if that’s what you want,”

“Please,” you’re whining, pulling back to gaze at him with bleary eyes. “Please, please,”

“Alright, greedy little thing,” he hushes you like he’s calming a fussy baby, shucking his jeans down just enough to let his cock spring out, using his thumb to push it forward, presenting it to you.

“So pretty, niichan, so pretty,” you’re mumbling as a small hand wraps around the base, squirming a little in his lap and lifting yourself to hover over him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his hips.

He lets you do all of the work, merely watching you through hooded eyes, an odd little grin present on his face. Touya doesn’t normally allow you to cockwarm him, hates how goddamn teasing it usually is, but he figures that today we have time to kill, so why not?

“There you go, baby,” he murmurs as you sink down on him, a loud moan getting caught in your throat. “You feel better now, huh? You feel better now that niichan’s stuffing your little cunt full?”

A soft whine is all you can manage, nodding dumbly against his shoulder. Yes, yes, you feel better, you feel right, you feel complete.

And you can’t help but hump him a little, hips rocking against his in tiny, shallow motions, clit catching on his pubic bone with every push forward and drag back.

“Yeah, that’s it, princess,” he breathes, though his eyes are still focused on his phone, reading an article about a drug bust you’re sure his gang was a part of. “Use niichan to get yourself off, come on,”

He tells you to go slow, to be careful, cute pussy still sore from the abuse it suffered last night, and you obey, hips moving in unhurried motions, just enjoying the feeling of him being inside you, of him being this close, of how good it feels, sweet little whimpers of niichan, niichan, being huffed out against his neck.

It takes a good half hour of grinding before you’re finally creaming all over his cock, body trembling in his arms as he hushes you through it, whispering into your hair how good you are for him, one of his hands gripping your hips and forcing you to keep moving until your body collapses against his, boneless and pliant. Touya affords you a few moments to come down, cock still buried deep inside you, twitching as it patiently waits for your breathing to calm.

He isn’t gonna fuck you, he tells you as he shifts your limp body off of his cock, not with how you were feeling this morning. But he doesn’t think it’s very fair to make niichan suffer with such a hard cock, especially after he just let you cum all over it.

You don’t think it’s very fair, either, murmuring your agreement to him as your hand wraps around the shaft, his cock jumping at your touch.

It’s still so wet from all of your own juices, aiding your hand as it pumps him, hard and fast the way he likes it, obscene squelching echoing throughout the car.

Heat floods your cheeks while you watch your motions, stomach curling in on itself as his cock gleams with your slick, and it’s so hot, that’s so hot baby.

It doesn’t take long to have him panting out those gorgeous sounds, throaty moans and broken little whines, and you can tell he’s close when his hips begin to shift, thrusting into your fist. But you don’t want him making a mess all over his nice car, or his pretty sweater, leaning down to close your lips around the tip and suckle, tongue swiping across his slit as your hand works.

He whimpers out a curse before his hips stutter, thrusting his cock into your mouth as it paints your throat with spurts of burning cream. And you swallow it all, like the good little girl you are, looking up at him with sparkling eyes as you thank him for his cum, and God he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

❅ ❅ ❅

Christmas Eve dinner consists of a symphony of forks dragging across porcelain and spoons scraping against bowls. Rei tersely shoos everyone out of the kitchen the moment it’s over, brusquely ordering Touya and Shouto to get started on their chores.

The rest of the family shuffles into the living room, sitting stiffly on the couches, the television’s volume low as Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer plays on the screen.

Fuyumi tries to reason with her mother in a hushed urgent voice, tries to tell her that it’s a bad idea to leave the two of them alone, especially with Touya surrounded by so many objects that could potentially be used as weapons.

“They’re adults,” her mother responds, tone clipped. “And they aren’t alone,” grey eyes glance over at the kitchen, at her eldest and youngest standing together at the sink, frothy bubbles beginning to build as the tap runs. “I can see them perfectly fine from here.”

“Mom—” Natsuo begins, cutting himself off at the glare his mother shoots his way, swallowing his words and nodding instead. “—is right. Mom is right,” he looks over at his sister. “They’re fine, look at them,”

But his voice is high, thin, glassy, the words trembling ever so slightly as stone eyes dart towards his siblings, both with rigid shoulders, weighted with the thick tension suffocating the room.

“They should be fine,”

But it’s hard for you to watch, too much for you to watch, entire body consumed by sharp anxiety as you observe Touya’s stiff movements. His jaw is set, nostrils flaring as he glares down at the sink, frustration and anger and red-hot hatred beginning to ooze through his mask of passivity, to seep through the cracks Shouto’s dexterously created using hostile comments and snide glances as his tools.

And on Christmas Eve, that mask finally shatters.

Because Touya doesn’t have it in him to continue his act of indifference anymore, worn out and exhausted by the effort. Trembling hands pluck a spoon from the mountain of dishes sitting in the aluminum sink, wetting it with water and then laving over it with a soapy sponge.

He’s sure he’s coming down—even though it isn’t time yet, even though he knows, deep down, that the comedown is still a few hours away, even though he knows he knows his body better than this, has been swallowing oxys for so long that he’s got the comedown memorized, right down to the fucking second—but he swears he can feel it, can feel the migraine beginning to throb behind his eyes, can feel the cold sweat beginning to bead at his temples, can feel the chills beginning to course through his body despite how warm the cabin is, teeth grinding to keep from clattering.

The air stings his clenched teeth as he sucks in a breath, exhaling slowly, shakily, trying to force his mind to focus on the dish in his hand, on the warm water cascading over his skin, on the light scent of artificial lemon wafting from his sudsy skin. It’s fine, he’s fine, all he has to do is wash a few stupid dishes and then—

“Listen—”

“Shut the fuck up and scrub,”

“I just wanted to—”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Touya growls, gaze hyper-focused on the plate he’s been cleaning for over a minute now.

A lie. He has a lot to say to him, but he’d rather not make their mother cry, again, desperately hoping that Shouto will just shut his mouth and finish cleaning his side of the skin so they can get this fucking over with.

Shouto sighs, deep and patronizing, scoffing as his chest rises with the force of it.

“You’re impossible,” he grumbles. “Why can’t you—”

But then it’s all bubbling over, acidic words flowing from his mouth before he has a moment to consider what he’s saying. He wishes Shouto would’ve just left it, would’ve gritted his teeth like Touya and finished their chores silently instead of trying to play some fucking martyr, instead of trying to fix something that has always been broken.

“I heard what you said in that fucking washroom,” Touya cuts him off, eyes finally flashing to his face, jaw clenching twice as he glares at his baby brother. “Don’t you ever fill her head with that bullshit again, do you hear me?”

“She’s my step-sister, too,” Shouto shoots back, scrubbing turned needlessly aggressive, eyebrows set in a deep furrow as he glowers at the bowl in his hands.

“I don’t care,” Touya hisses. “Stay the hell away from her,”

Something massive, sharp and shiny catches his eye as he turns to deposit the clean dish on the drying rack, quivering hand hovering over it in hesitation. A butcher knife, gleaming in the dim, warm light of the kitchen, stuck halfway in the knife block.

Beside him, Shouto snorts, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in disgust as he looks back to his hands, rinsing the bowl under a stream of hot water and placing it on the towel-covered counter.

“What? You gonna stab me? Really? In front of mom on Christmas Eve? Were the bloody nose and the black eye and the split lip not enough for you?”

No, of course not; it will never be enough for Touya.

“Why not?” Touya asks, voice calm, sounding almost serene, for the first time tonight. “It’s not like she’d miss you. I’m the one she took with her when she left, aren’t I? I think we both know that mom loves me more than she loves you—isn’t that right, scarface,”

And that—that has Shouto freezing mid motion, hand halting under the flowing tap water, half rinsed glass still in his grasp. It takes a moment for the words to sink in, Touya watching him almost lazily, that annoying indifferent smirk finally forming on his lips, achingly familiar.

Heterochromatic eyes glaze over and Shouto swallows roughly, jaw clenching twice as he turns towards his eldest brother, the glass clutched in his sudsy hand squeaking as his grip tightens. And for a moment, Touya thinks he’s won, breath bated as he waits for that first tear to escape, to roll down Shouto’s unblemished cheeks and fall crashing to the floor.

But then Shouto’s rolling his shoulders once, twice, puffing his chest out just a touch as he straightens to his full height, nearly a full inch taller that Touya, and exhales forcefully through his nose.

“Y’know, if you loved her—I mean, if you really loved her—you’d let her go,” His voice is sharp, clear, ringing throughout the kitchen, ringing throughout Touya’s head, bouncing off the walls in his mind and reverberating. “What you have, what you’re feeling, isn’t love—it’s obsession.”

That infamous smirk begins to fall, cobalt eyes narrowing at his baby brother’s words, breath beginning to quicken. Shouto sees it then—that final crack in the mask Touya’s so painstakingly crafted, in the mask Touya so expertly worn for so many years—and he strikes.

“It’s possession.”

No. He doesn’t want to hear this, doesn’t need to hear this—it’s all lies, isn’t it? Touya tries to scoff, tries to roll his eyes and shake his head at such ridiculousness, but it feels like his body’s encased in ice, frozen straight to the core.

“It’s insecurity.”

Blood rushes in his ears, but it fails to drown out Shouto’s crisp voice, his words slicing straight through the white noise. Touya wants to tell him to stop, wants to tell him to shut the hell up, wants to silence him by driving that huge knife straight through his fucking chest, but his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth, refusing to obey his brain as it shouts at it to fight back, goddamn it!

“I meant what I said to her in that washroom,” his younger brother spits, words dripping with hostility as his eyes narrow, giving Touya a once-over like he’s the most pathetic thing Shouto has ever laid eyes on. “She does deserve so much better than you and you fucking know it, but you’re too selfish to let her go. That isn’t love.”

And it’s those final three words that finally have the mask breaking into tiny fragments and falling away, revealing glassy sapphires and a twitching nose, a trembling chin and a hard swallow. It’s those final three words that have it shattering concurrently with the glass in Shouto’s hand, shards clattering to the tiled floor, smashing into smaller pieces upon impact.

It catches Fuyumi’s attention first, who had been on edge and observing the pair sharply, body coiled and ready to spring at the slightest hint of danger.

“Shouto, your hand!” she cries as she leaps up, eyes wide and trained on the blood oozing from Shouto’s palm, rushing down his arm and dripping off his elbow.

But neither of them break their stare, Shouto entirely numb to the pain, Touya entirely suffocated by it, molars grinding together as he tries in vain to stop his chest from stuttering. It isn’t until Fuyumi grabs Shouto by the shoulders and forces him to face her that their gaze is broken, the youngest finally looking down to find his palm stained with viscous crimson.

Frantic sapphire eyes dart around the room, something akin to panic clawing at Touya’s chest, tearing him open from the inside out and making each breath more painful than the next. He needs to go, he needs to leave, he needs to get the hell out of this kitchen, out of this house, needs to, needs to, needs…

Feet stumble a little as he rushes up the stairs, catching himself on the railing twice as he ascends to the top. Someone calls his name, he thinks, but he can barely hear it over the intense ringing in his ears, his vision fading in and out of focus. The door to your shared bedroom slams open, brass knob whacking off the drywall and leaving an ugly little hole not unlike the larger one Shouto’s head left in the living room wall the day before.

Startled and gasping, your book falls from your hands and tumbles to the floor as Touya barrels through the threshold, making a beeline for the nondescript chest of wooden drawers tucked into the corner, yanking it open and beginning to riffle through the neatly folded clothing.

It sounds like he’s muttering something to himself, but you can’t discern what it is, heart beginning to thud against your ribcage. The tufts of hair at the back of his neck are coated in sweat, sticking to the skin, his breathing harsh and uneven as a curse hitches in his chest, rapidly moving onto the next drawer when whatever he’s looking for doesn’t turn up in the first.

A potent mix of adrenaline and dread floods your veins, and for a moment you’re frozen, little fingers curled so tightly in the sheets under you it’s painful, breathing stopped as you watch your niichan urgently rummage through the second drawer, his back beginning to hiccup.

For a moment, you aren’t sure what the hell is going on, unblinking eyes watching his motions in some sort of daze. For a moment, you’re terrified he might be overdosing, frantically searching for—for—you don’t even know, for some sort of antidote Natsuo might’ve given him, or something.

But then, he chokes out a pathetic little half-sob, trying in vain to swallow it back down akin to the first night you spent at the cabin, and then you’re leaping off the bed and rushing towards him in alarm, wrapping your arms around him tightly from behind, and he just…breaks. Collapses against the wooden chest hard enough to make the entire thing wobble, burying his head in his folded arms as his entire body shudders under the force of the sob that tears through his chest.

“Niichan!” you gasp, pawing at the front of his shirt, trying to make him move to face you. “Niichan, niichan, what is it? What’s wrong?” your own voice breaks with the threat of tears as you speak, heart racing in your chest.

He doesn’t respond, merely turns in your embrace and collapses on you instead, face buried in the crook of your neck as he weeps, big juddering breaths that have his entire back convulsing.

The action surprises you, a stark contrast from his stubborn resistance from the first night, but it worries you, too, such surrender uncharacteristic of him.

But your body’s running on autopilot, immediately petting his hair as your other arm tightens around his waist, clutching him. Soft hushes fall from your lips as you hold him, rocking your bodies slightly as you whisper into ivory tufts; it’s okay, you’re there, it’s alright, you’ve got him, you love him.

And the sob that rips from his throat as those last few words leave your lips is nothing short of vicious, has him coughing wetly into your neck and whining a little, large hands curling in the material of your dress as he tries to pull you closer, closer, closer.

“Baby, please, tell me what’s wrong,” you beg and your voice cracks, blinking hard against the tears flooding your own eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can help, please,”

He shakes his head, whimpering incoherently into your neck.

Can’t…Won’t…Pathetic…Disgusting…

“Please,” the word catches in your throat as tears finally escape your eyes, rolling down your cheeks in pairs. “Please, let me help, let me make you feel better,”

“I—I—I’m—” he tries, shaking his head again, but you urge him to continue, plead with him to try again. “Need to get out, n-need to—to make it stop,”

You aren’t sure what he means, but it doesn’t matter, body moving on pure instinct the moment the words are out of his mouth, little hand snatching the keys to the Audi off the surface of the dresser and dragging him along behind you.

❅ ❅ ❅

The road is empty, silent, entirely barren as the Audi weaves through it, fat snowflakes beginning to drift down from the wispy clouds that decorate the night sky, taking turns blanketing the full moon and softening it’s beams of ivory light.

You don’t drive very far. You haven’t a clue where you’re going, but it doesn’t matter, frenetic eyes searching for the first little secluded clearing you can pull into.

Touya is unsettlingly quiet, save for his soft sniffles and the gentle rustling of his clothing as he uses a sleeve to wipe at his nose. Hiccups are still catching in his chest, but he’s trying his hardest to stop them, to quiet them, growling a little in pure frustration each time one escapes. Your stomach churns uneasily at his muteness—you wish he would just say something, glancing over at him worriedly with your bottom lip sucked between your teeth, his sapphire eyes destitute, bloodshot and glassy as they stare indigently at his knees.

The small village that the cliff overlooks emits a warm glow of golden light, hovering hazily over it like a halo. Christmas lights are strung up on a few of the cabins, little glowing dots of red and green and blue lining the roofs. A dusting of snow has begun to collect, like gingerbread houses sprinkled with icing sugar.

Touya is still silent when you cut the engine, stays silent when you turn to peer at him from your spot in the driver’s seat, stays silent when you place a dainty hand on his bicep, rubbing soothing circles into the clothed muscle and sighing.

“Niichan,”

Nothing.

“Niichan, look at me,”

Nothing.

“Touya-nii,” you murmur, kicking off your boots and climbing over the center console into his lap, his arms immediately opening to embrace you. “What’s going on?”

His gaze still avoids yours, despite the fact that his hands are curling around your body, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to make you wince, needing you close, closer. And his voice is so quiet, almost desolate as he answers.

“It’s nothing,”

Tender fingers tuck a tuft of alabaster behind his ear.

“It’s not nothing,”

“It doesn’t matter,”

Gentle lips place soft kisses along his jaw.

“It matters very much to me, niichan,”

“It’s—It’s stupid, fucking stupid,”

A small palm finds solace on his cheek, cupping it as a thumb strokes the skin.

“It’s not stupid if it’s hurting you, baby,”

Cobalt darts around the car, trying to look anywhere but at your face as sharp teeth sink into his bottom lip, an attempt to quell its quivering. A soft sigh leaves your lips as gentle hands cup his face, forcing his gaze to meet yours.

“Let me in,” you whisper, soft little thumbs caressing the ink under his eyes. “Let me help,”

Burning sapphire sears into your eyes, gaze penetrating and powerful as it shines with unshed tears, and you have to force yourself to not look away, to keep staring into those pools of gleaming blue, feeling as though you’re staring directly at the sun.

He doesn’t blink, but the tears collecting in his eyes become too many, too much, spilling over his lashline and cascading down inky cheeks, leaving little gleaming trails in their wake. He inhales deeply, holding the breath in his chest for a moment before exhaling slowly, the breath trembling.

“I don’t even know where to fucking start,”

And his voice is so low you nearly miss it, raw and hoarse and barely above a whisper.

“Take your time,” tiny fingers run through his hair again, his eyes closing with the motion, more tears dripping down his cheeks. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. Just…Tell me what’s bothering you,”

What is bothering him? It’s hard to say, not because it’s complicated, but because he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, doesn’t want to accept it, doesn’t want to admit that his baby brother’s words have affected him more than he ever thought they would.

If you really loved her…You’d let her go.

He does really love you, he wants to scream until his throat is sore, until his throat is bleeding, molars grinding at the thought of anyone thinking otherwise. He loves you so much, loves you too much, loves you more than he’s loved anything in his entire fucking life, he’s sure of it, positive of it.

He’s loved you since he first began stealing kisses from you, in the kitchen when mom wasn’t looking. He’s loved you since you tiptoed to his room, mumbling about a nightmare and seeking solace in his warm bed, in his warm arms. He’s loved you since you sobbed into his chest, that night you told him you wanted all of him, that night when he realized that you love him, too. He’s loved you since you let him permanently sear his name into your skin, branding you as his forever.

Yes, he’s possessive, and yes, he’s selfish, and yes, he can be a fucking asshole, but he does love you. Really loves you. He can barely remember his life without you in it, everything blurry and out of focus before you entered the frame. You’re all he’s got, all he’s ever had, all he ever wants, and the thought of you being unhappy, the thought of you wanting to leave, kills him, drives a large stake straight through his chest and clean out the other side, spearing him.

And yet, he fails to put any of these thoughts, running a mile a minute through his mind, into words. Patient as ever, you wait, petting his hair, planting kisses scattered across his face, tracing patterns on his skin as a war rages inside his head.

“I’m—It’s fucking pathetic,”

“It isn’t pathetic to be human, Touya,” you whisper sadly, little thumbs swiping across both cheeks. “You don’t have to keep it together every minute of every day,” you remind him gently, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “You’re allowed to be ‘weak’, too,”

He shakes his head, but refrains from arguing with you, because he can’t. Because he knows if he opens his mouth, if he tries to speak, he’ll start sobbing again. Sapphire tears away from your gaze, unable to hold your eyes anymore as his chin begins to quiver.

“I do really love you,” he whispers finally, head dropping, eyes squeezing shut against the prick of tears.

“I know you do, baby,” you say softly, fingers rubbing circles into his biceps, though he can hear the confusion laced in your voice.

“But do I—Do I des—”

He can’t. He can’t force those four simple little words out of his mouth, getting caught at the back of his throat, tangling into a giant ball that aches when he tries to swallow past it.

It’s starting again, that feeling from the kitchen, building in his torso, growing, stretching, higher and higher and higher until he can’t fucking breathe. A sharp gasp hitches painfully in his chest as he desperately tries to inhale, tries to suck an adequate amount of air into his lungs, coughing on the saliva pooling at the back of his throat.

“Do I—” the words escape his lips in a pitiful whine, voice cracking.

A sudden flash of blistering fury rips through his chest at his own cowardice. Disgust churns in his stomach, leaving a stinging bitterness lingering on his tongue, revolted at himself for getting so goddamn emotional over this, for letting Shouto’s words eat away at him, corrosive and parasitic as they take root in his brain, infecting his consciousness until it’s all he can fucking hear, think, see.

Tiny fingers find his face, hooking under his jaw and tilting it up, gently forcing him to look at you again. The pads of your fingertips dance along his skin, tracing along his jaw and then up his cheek to catch in the endless stream of tears.

You don’t say anything, because you don’t have to, tender little touches speaking volumes more than your words ever could, inspiring a bout of intense strength as he powers through the sentence, forcing the trembling words from his throat.

“Do I deserve you?”

And you’re so shocked by the question that your fingers halt, and his body stills, his breath stuttering in his throat, staring at you in an almost urgent manner, pleading with you to tell him the answer he’s so desperately seeking.

Salty water trickles over your thumbs, the sensation breaking you out of your reverie, response flowing from your mouth seamlessly, without a second thought.

“Of course you do,” your eyes search his face, studying his features slowly. “Where is this coming from?”

The question leaves your lips before you even know what you’re saying, but your voice is soft, kind, full of so much concern and affection as your fingers begin their ministrations again, tracing the ink decorating his cheeks.

He refuses to tell you, shakes his head as his lips press into a firm line, expression hardening. Blue fire ignites in his eyes, and you have your answer.

Shouto’s words from that first day in the washroom drift through your head, but you don’t press. Regardless of whether or not Touya had heard them on the twenty-first, it is fair to assume that Shouto must have said something along similar lines tonight, triggering this reaction.

Sighing, your expression softens, forehead falling forward to knock against his, hands still on either side of his face, keeping his gaze from escaping again as you speak.

“You—you’re sure?”

“Niichan, my niichan,” you murmur, pecking his lips in a chaste kiss. “That isn’t yours to decide, or Shouto’s to decide, or anyone’s to decide,” and your voice is so tender, filled with so much love as tiny fingers run through his hair, tension dissipating from his shoulders with each comb through. “It’s mine. And I’m telling you that you do deserve me,”

“Do I?” he chokes out brokenly, voice cracking and barely above a whisper. And the look on his face, azure eyes glazed with a thick shield of tears as they desperately search your face, chin trembling almost violently as he swallows a pitiful whine, pierces your heart; and you swear you can feel it shattering into a thousand little pieces, puncturing the surrounding organs and making your whole chest ache.

“Yes,” you whisper, tiny hands flexing on either side of his face as you grip him tighter, blinking rapidly to clear your own vision. “Yes,” you repeat, louder, stronger, fiercer, silencing whatever he was beginning to respond with by crushing your lips against his.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you’re murmuring between kisses, spit slicked lips sliding against his as he sobs into your mouth.

“I love you,” he mumbles against your lips, voice raspy with tears. “I love you, I love you,”

And, truly, you’re the only thing holding him together at this point—have been the only thing holding him together for a long time now. You’re the glue that keeps his life from falling apart, you’re the stitches that keep his very soul intact, sewing him back together each and every time he begins to unravel, keeping him complete, keeping him whole.

Fingernails dig into the skin of his cheek as you hold him in place, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth and nibbling, relishing in the quiet, broken moan you pull from him. A little tongue laps at the salty tears staining his cheeks, licks along his jaw as his hands grip the meat of your ass, trying to pull you closer as he breathes out your name.

“I love you,” you whisper, words punctuated by kisses down the column of his neck. “So much,”

A whine gets stuck in his throat, head tilting to allow you more access to move as large hands paw at the hem of your dress, rucking it up around your waist. Something pokes you, prods you, pushes up into you through the thick, rough denim of his jeans, and you inhale sharply, instantly consumed by overwhelming need—the need to feel him, hot and pulsing and driving into you, the need to make him feel better, to make him forget, to remind him that you’re his, and he’s yours, the need to be claimed.

It hits your like a fucking freight train, burns through your veins and shoots straight to your core, sharp spikes of heat that have you huffing out his name.

“I need you,” the words are whimpered against inky skin as you grind desperately against his hard cock, clawing at his chest, his biceps, his belt. “Niichan, I need you,”

“Yeah, baby?” he pants into your mouth, hands kneading your nylon covered thighs as he presses his clothed cock against your core, forcing a mewl of his name from your throat.

“Yes,” you cry pathetically, and it’s almost too much, the scalding, throbbing heat collecting between your thighs, hips gyrating in quick little circles as you try to alleviate some of the tension coiling tightly in the pit of your stomach. “Yes, yes, need you t-to fuck me, to—” a sharp gasp cuts you off as he bites into your shoulder, growling darkly against your skin. “—To fill me up, to remind me who I belong to,”

Strong, lithe fingers tear into your thin tights, hooking into the holes they create and ripping the delicate material. Dark eyes flit down, rabidly scanning your clothed little cunt, white lace soaked and stuck to you, outlining your folds. Touya chuckles, delivering a superficial slap with the back of his hand before pushing your panties to the side.

Niichan, niichan, you’re whining out the honorific, fingers tangling in his sweater and tugging roughly as his digits caress your slit, urgently shaking your head.

His lips tug down. “Baby, you know I—”

“No!” you pout, eyebrows knitted together, Touya’s eyes flashing dangerously at being so rudely cut off. “I don’t want your fingers, they aren’t enough,” Because the need to be filled, to be stretched, to be owned is almost voracious now, desire clawing at the pit of your belly. “Mark me, claim me, breed me, I-I’m yours,” you’re wailing, cunt achingly empty, the pulsing in your clit nearly too much to take.

A snarl rumbles in his chest, large hand snaking around your bent leg, wedging between your thigh and calve and gripping the back of your knee, hitching the leg closest to the center console up in one swift movement and planting your foot on the console box, thighs stinging from the sudden stretch.

One of your hands latches onto the handle above the door while the other clutches his shoulder, nails digging into the muscles through the knit of his sweater while he fiddles with his belt, squirming a little and shoving his jeans down to his knees.

Not a second is wasted as the head of his cock nudges against your fluttering hole, and then he stills. He wants you to beg, needs to hear you beg, and so you do, high-pitched and whiny as your hips instinctually wiggle.

“Please, niichan, please! Want it, need it, need you,”

And then he’s shoving himself into you, a hiss slipping from between your teeth, familiar, welcomed tears springing into your eyes, a guttural groan catching in his throat.

It stretches, aches, stings so good, so right, so perfect as he bottoms out, pressed snugly against your cervix, and pauses for a moment, cock twitching inside of you, strong hands on your hips preventing them from rocking forward and forcing you to just feel him for a second, every inch of him, buried deep inside you. The sigh that falls from your lips is nothing short of dreamy, mumbling about feeling whole again, and he chuckles.

Yeah, that’s right, princess. Only niichan’s cock can fill you up like this.

His thrusts start gradual, fingers flexing on your hips as they dig into the sensitive flesh, forcing you to slide nearly all the way off his cock before pushing you back down, hips pressing up to meet yours, cockhead grinding against your cervix as he stuffs himself in your cunt, gaining a little more speed with each motion.

No one but niichan could ever make you feel like this.

The words are whimpered between fierce, messy kisses, between ravenous, devouring kisses, between the clacking of teeth and the slurping of tongues, glistening saliva, sticky and sweet and laced with the taste of blue fire and Marlboros dripping off your chin.

And he needs to hear it—needs to know that you belong to him and only him, needs to know that you want him and only him, needs to know that only he is deserving of you, worthy of you—so you tell him, in breathy little whines, that no, no one could ever make you feel this good; yes, niichan’s the only one that can fill you up this fully, this wholly, this rightly, eyes rolling back and sharp cries echoing through the car as he pounds into you, deep little grunts falling from his lips in time with each snap up of his hips.

“Tell niichan—ah, fuck—tell niichan how badly you need his cum,”

Senseless babbling flows freely from your lips the instant he asks for it, forever incapable of disobeying a direct order from him—please niichan, need your cum so bad, need to feel it in my belly, need to feel it in my brain, please, give it to me, give it to me, give it to me!

“Christ,” he chokes out, hips beginning to falter, muscles bulging and tensing as he forces you to keep bouncing on him, hard and fast and deep. “Cum with me, baby,” he nearly begs, voice more wrecked than you’ve ever heard it before, inspiring a whole flock of butterflies in your tummy. “Be a good girl and make a—make a mess all over niichan’s cock,”

And it’s the sense of desperateness, of urgency, of sheer neediness sown deep into his broken voice that has you spasming around him, that evokes an orgasm so intense it makes you choke on your own scream as it slashes through you, gurgling on spit and tears as violent tremors course through your body.

Hot, thick spurts of cum fill you, your name escaping his lips in a cracked whine, his hips continuing to lazily roll against yours as you milk him for every drop of cum he’s got, as you beg him for more, more, more.

Overwhelmed by emotion, you collapse against his heaving chest, hiccupping out pitiful little sobs between your harsh breathing, and he hushes you, fingers petting your sweaty hair as he murmurs against your scalp—shh, it’s alright, he’s here, he loves you, you’re his, and you did so well.

“Do you want to leave?” the question is uttered softly, after your breathing has calmed to tiny sniffles, voice so genuine it’s almost painful, curled up in his arms as your bare cunt presses against his pelvis, cum still leaking out of you. “Just say the word and we’ll go, baby,”

Swallowing thickly, he’s silent for a moment, considering. Patiently, you wait, nuzzling comfortingly against his neck and licking at the sweat pooled in the dip of his collarbone. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, laced with a hint of disbelief.

“Really?”

You pull back to gaze at him.

“Yes, really,” you whisper, catching a tear with the pad of your thumb and placing a soft kiss against his cheek. “You are more important to me than anyone else in that damn cabin by far, and I don’t care if it upsets them—if you want to leave, if you need to leave, we’ll leave. Say the word, and I’ll drive back, pack our shit, and we’ll be gone. You don’t even need to get out of the fucking car,”

Shining sapphire eyes study your face intently, searching for any sign of hesitancy, finding nothing but sincerity.

“I love you so much,” he laughs wetly, more glistening tears escaping his eyes with the motion. “So fucking much,”

Tingling warmth blossoms in your chest at his words, at his laugh, conjuring a watery smile of your own as you pepper his face with kisses, soft lips ghosting across his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids and forehead until he becomes too impatient, large hands cupping your jaw and pressing your wandering lips against his.

Giggles erupt from your throat, and he’s sure that’s what liquid sunshine sounds like, allows the noise to wash over him, to bathe him in your everlasting light, to warm him to his very core. A little tongue darts out to lick teasingly along the seam of his lips, evoking an involuntary smile of his own before his tongue escapes to meet yours, another precious squeal of laughter echoing through the car.

Yes, he thinks, as your laughter vibrates against him, arms tightening around your waist as he cradles you against his chest. This is what love feels like.

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #dabi #AAAAAAAH okay #this made me cry lol #idk if it'll make u cry but it made me cry #anyway merry christmas eve i love u lots!! <33 #tw pseudo-incest

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spenciegoob · 3 years

Text

The 4 Types of Manipulation

A/N: hey hey hey cuties... just thought I’d drop in to tell you I love you and Harry Styles at the Grammy’s, oh and Miley Cyrus in general. Okay that’s it.

Summary: Spencer has to interrogate an unsub, but she has a few tricks up her sleeve.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Unsub!Reader

Category: Not fluff, but not angst... angsty fluff? fluffy angst?

Content Warning: mentions of murder, manipulation, mentions of sex in the form of flirting, mentions of drug use, mentions of emotional abuse

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.8K

____

Nobody dared to take a breath out of place, every profiler was packed into the room watching with careful eyes at the sobbing girl in the interrogation room through the glass. No one knew what their first step should be, but I guess there’s a first time for everything, right? Winging it was not something anyone in the BAU enjoyed doing, each case needed a thought out plan.

But they’ve seen this unsub before, they know the profile, the history, they know her. So why was she crying so hard that the weight of her head became unbearable, leaving her only option to sob into the crooks of her elbows as best as she could with wrists cuffed to the table?

Nobody knew, except for Spencer Reid.

Emily was hesitant, as expected, to blindly send in one of the best agents she’s ever seen into the room that with each tear shed slowly morphed into a lion’s den. Reid deserved better, she knew that, especially since the last time they dealt with an unsub like this one, Spencer had to be so far out of the loop that the case almost broke him.

He put up a good fight though, and if the determination set in his eyes wasn’t enough to inform the unit chief that she was not winning this argument, his deviance to storm through the door, startling the young woman chained down definitely did.

Why was it always Spencer?

Tears:

“P-please, I didn’t do anything.” Those were the first words anyone’s heard her say since the arrest, even if they were separated by sniffles and choked out sobs.

Spencer just stared down at her, not taking the risk to further entertain the stuttering girl with wet cheeks and tired eyes.

“I promise I’m not a murderer. You have to believe me, please.” That promise whispered so quietly made with unbreakable eye contact urged him to take a second to reevaluate the situation.

She was apprehended in place of Jacob Hughes, the man they had originally been looking for. There was a chance she wasn’t complicit, a chance she was innocent. Maybe Jacob placed a hair of hers at the latest crime scene because he knew they were closing in.

Or maybe she is just as sick as he is.

“Prove it,” Spencer said, his tone loud and assertive, leaving no room for argument. She didn’t plan on fighting his demand anyway.

“I- I haven’t seen Jacob for days. He drugged those men, and did h-horrible things. Those poor men.” This struck a nerve, everybody could tell, even the one person in this interaction that wasn’t a profiler.

Spencer’s shoulders tensed for a millisecond, but she saw it. She saw what her words were doing to him, after all, he used to be one of those poor men she felt so sorry for.

Another loud sob echoed off the concrete walls before she bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath.

“I can’t believe he mur... did that to them. H-how could he?” Spencer watched as the young girl looked up to him like he held the answer to the million dollar question. He studied the way her eyes bounced around his face, looking for something, anything to relieve some confusion when it came to her fiancé.

“Jacob Hughes is what we call a vindictive narcissist and a sadist. He receives pleasure from hurting others, and in this case, drugging and torturing men because he feels he’s been wronged his whole life. The question, however, is why. I know you know, just like how I know you’re aware of his crimes.”

It was a blow so low it could’ve come from hell itself. Spencer regretted it immediately when he watched the way her whole body stiffened at the mention of her knowledge, but he had to be certain no matter the fallout.

“I-I still don’t understand. I’ve never seen him hurt anyone.” Denial, guilt and fear all jam packed into 3 little words that had his heart dangerously close to breaking. The sorrow in her eyes believable enough that Spencer left his standing position between the suspect and the door to sit directly across from her.

She watched his movements with careful eyes, only stealing glances from her peripherals before returning to her cuffed wrists.

“Maybe you’ve never seen him physically hurt anyone, but we know what he does to you.” It was the first and only time Spencer let any emotion, as fake as it was, show in his responses. How could he not try when the girl resumed her sobbing at the implication of her past deception from the man she loves?

“You know nothing,” she whispered back, her tone laced with defensive anger.

“I know everything.” Was he challenging her?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Was she challenging him?

“You know what it means.” Yes, he was.

“Do I?” Yes, she was.

The two stared at each other for the entire tone shift in the stuffy interrogation room. The other profilers on the other side of the mirror had no knowledge of how thick the tension had just become because unlike Spencer, they weren’t standing in the middle of it.

Small sniffles were the only noise breaking through the quiet until suddenly, they just stopped.

“Ugh, fine! You win this round. My eyes are starting to hurt from all this goddamn crying. Do people actually cry this much when you arrest them?”

Spencer leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms to clearly convey just how unamused he was with the girl’s antics. She watched him intently, picking apart every move down to the muscle trying to search for any indicators that her little performance worked even a fraction of what she was hoping for.

And she got her wish in the form of the agent’s fingers tapping lightly at his sides under perfectly muscular, if she may add, arms, because any other movement would have been too obvious.

Spencer Reid was getting nervous, because the second her facade faded, he lost the upper hand. She just had to get him trapped in here.

“Oh come on. Not even a ‘good job’? I wasn’t expecting full blown applause, but some appreciation for that show would be nice.” Still, Spencer gave her nothing. He needed her to keep talking, and filling silence was a sure way to make certain she did just that.

“I’ll tell you what you need to know, but first you have to admit that I had you fooled for a second there.”

Lies:

“No.” Unexpectedly, instead of getting frustrated with Spencer’s refusal to play along, she just smiled brighter. This was exciting to her, and it was getting on his nerves.

“What gave it away? Did I look to the left before I spoke or something?” Spencer kept his mouth shut. “Come on, what’s my tell? Enlighten me.”

She copied his movements as Spencer leaned over the cool, metal table slightly, eyes racking over her face, lingering on certain parts for longer than others.

“No.” At this, she huffed back in her seat, leaving the close proximity that would later be used as a secret tool against the doctor before he had the chance to catch on.

“If you’re just going to shut down every single one of my proposals, then why am I here?”

“You’re here because you’re a suspect in a series of 7 murders in the past 5 weeks.” She perked up at his words, amusement dripping from her features.

“Finally, Doc has something more to say than just ‘no.’ Tell me, was that so hard?”

“No.”

“Ugh!” Rolling her eyes would be giving ammo to the enemy, but the urge to do so was quite strong. In fact, she almost did until she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the one way mirror.

“I’m serious when I say this,” she said, looking directly into Spencer’s eyes so he couldn’t accuse her of lying. “If you take the cuffs off, I’ll answer everything.”

“No.”

“Please! They’re seriously starting to hurt. I put 100% into that performance, and now it’s coming back to bite me in the-”

“Fine!” Spencer stood up carefully, not walking around the table until he was certain the girl wasn’t a flight risk, or worse. When he did finally make his way over, she sat completely still, not taking her eyes off where his fingers grazed hers as the handcuffs unlocked.

A breath of relief escaped her as she rubbed her wrists with the opposite hands, eventually feeling the blood fully return to all 10 fingers.

“Thank you.” It was so vulnerable and raw that it knocked Spencer back for a second. They locked eyes, and something deeper than he was ready for passed between them.

He didn’t know what it was, all he knew was that he hated it so much that he tore his eyes away immediately to return back to his original spot seated across from her.

“Answer me this-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Neither of them spoke for far too much time, and Spencer was growing more annoyed by the second.

“What?” It came out harsh, and mean, and downright cruel, but he couldn’t care less.

“Oh nothing, I just wasn’t going to answer anything. I really just wanted to fix my hair.” And, in being true to her words this time, she secured her hair into a messy bun using the elastic Spencer didn’t even realize was missing from his wrist.

“I’m putting the cuffs back on.”

“No wait,” she pleaded, halting Spencer’s move to get up. “They really did hurt, I wasn’t lying about that.”

“I don’t care.” He made his way over, forcefully grabbing both of her wrists before securing the handcuffs back on. Spencer only regretted his actions slightly when she winced at the metal now back to pressing into her skin.

“Yes you do. It’s your biggest flaw.” Instead of answering, Spencer just returned to his seat, leaning back with crossed arms. He didn’t need to listen to a psychopath tell him his flaws.

“You care too much,” she continued, not minding if he was listening or not. “It gets you hurt, other people hurt. I wish that wasn’t the case. You deserve better, Doc.”

Spencer didn’t engage, opting to gawk tiredly at the suspect, and watch the way her eyes flicker across his features, gauging for a reaction. She wasn’t done.

“Hey, okay, fine. I’m just messing with you,” she laughed, finally breaking her serious facade. “What? A girl can’t joke around while she’s being accused of murder?”

“Accused? Or caught?”

“Accused.” It was final, her tone immediately dropping to a fiery rage. Her defenses were up, and Spencer was never really good at playing on the offensive team.

This time, it was Spencer’s turn to analyze, watching the way the blood rushed to her cheeks with her rising anger level. How all of a sudden her eyes lost their playful glint, giving him the chance to fully see the soul buried deep in them. For a split second, she was completely unveiled right before his eyes.

Spencer, clearly not anticipating just how long the girl in front of him could hold her own, used his last bullet.

He placed the crime scene photos in front of her.

“You know who did this.” It wasn’t a question, he saw it in her eyes. Spencer watched the way they remained stoic even after looking at the bloody walls, and vacant eyes of the deceased.

“No.” Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Who are you protecting?” Her head shot up at his question, eyes flashing red before she blinked it away again. Subconsciously, she started to pick at her fingernails.

“No one.” It was a lie if he’s ever heard one.

Fear:

“You’re lying. Who is it?”

“I’m not lying.” She wouldn’t even make eye contact with him. Instead, she gave her undivided attention to her shaky hands confined to the table.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Enough! Who are you protecting?!” At this, Spencer stood up and slammed his hands against the table with a strong amount of force that she flinched hard enough to further irritate her wrists.

He felt awful, the bouncing back and forth between them should have given him enough indicators that she wasn’t lying out of spite. But he couldn’t back down, he had her cornered and her only way out was to tell the truth.

“No one.” She wouldn’t look at him, even as she whispered. “Please stop.”

Spencer truly believed that he had her in a bind, an inescapable one at that, but it wasn’t the truth. Oh no, what the profiler failed to realize was she had him where she needed him.

“I have no information to give you,” she whispered before tagging along. “I’m sorry.” It was the first time she apologized for something Spencer could have seen as an inconvenience.

He believed her, too.

“I shouldn’t have yelled.” That was his form of an apology. Spencer wasn’t going to go any further with it, even if she was coerced into lying by whoever the true unsub is, she was still getting on his nerves.

Her hands were still shaking at this point, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Spencer just slumped back into his seat, settling into the silence between them until ultimately he was either called out of the room, or she gave him another indication that her game hasn’t ended.

A loud sigh bounced off the walls. “I don’t care that you yelled in my face. You think it’s the first time a man’s done that? You’re not special, Doctor.”

“I never said I was.” So the game carries on, but this time, she didn’t smile at his sarcastic response. Leaning back in her chair, she huffed a breath before continuing.

“You really want to be though, don't you?”

Lust:

She was pushing his buttons, trying so hard to dig under his skin till she was unremovable. She wanted Spencer to leave this room with her on his mind for the rest of his days.

She was close too.

“No, I don’t,” Spencer deadpanned, trying to keep a cool tone. If he continued to hand her the ammunition she needed, he would be left defenseless.

“Oh come on, loosen up. I was just joking.” A smirk grew across her features, a thought crossing her eyes. One Spencer knew would not be in favor of his win tonight. “I could help you with that, you know.”

“No, I don’t know.” He did. Spencer wasn’t going to lie to himself and say that the woman sitting across the table wasn’t extremely attractive; she was. He just would never admit it aloud.

“I have a feeling you like to get rough, don’t you, Doctor?” She asked, sitting up and crossing her legs. The stare shared between the two of them was a mix between passion and anger, meeting in the middle to create a new kind of emotion.

“Is this fun for you?” She left out bait, and Spencer was stupid enough to fall for it. Emily once said that a pretty face slashed his IQ in half.

He couldn’t help but agree.

“Undo these cuffs, and I’ll show you what fun is.” She was toying with him now, and they weren’t going to get anywhere, but Spencer couldn’t find it within himself to get up and leave. She had him by the...

“I’m going to get that confession.” It was like he was five years old again, arguing on the playground with the older kids about how their insults didn’t make sense.

“What’re you going to do, punish me?” She asked, the last words in a hushed whisper. When Spencer’s cheeks grew hotter, and his eyes darker, she knew she had him.

“You do like to get rough! My, my, Doctor, you're keeping me at the edge of my seat here.” She let out a boisterous laugh before really digging the knife deeper. “Is that why you kept the cuffs on?”

Before he could snap back, the door flew open and Emily stood there with a tablet in her hand. “You need to see this.”

Spencer got up to leave, thankful for the reprieve even if he did have to return to the interrogation after speaking with Emily. He almost made it to the door before a voice called out behind him.

“Wait!” She called after him, the cuffs rattled when she instinctively went to reach for Spencer. “Aren’t you going to answer my question, Doctor.”

Playing chess his whole life, Spencer had never once played a game where Checkmate presented itself unexpectedly. He was always at least three moves ahead in his mind, seeing the inevitable end before he even began his gameplay. There was a first for everything, because his last move suddenly arose.

“No.”

_____

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persephone-plasmids · 3 years

Text

Deacon X Sole

The Deathclaw Incident

[AO3]

Sole stood in front of Deacon with her eyes narrowed. A large glob of green slime dripped from the ends of her hair onto the ground with a dull splat. Deacon’s mouth twitched in the corner but he didn’t let himself smile.

“Don’t. Say. Anything.” Sole warned, her already narrowed eyes getting even smaller.

Deacon raised both of his hands up in front of him, the perfect picture of innocence. “I didn’t, Charmer.”

“And don’t call me that,” Sole said with a groan of frustration.

“Why not? I thought you loved the code name?”

“You only call me that when you want me to smile. And I don’t feel like smiling right now,” Sole said, green slime still dripping from her.

“What’s not to smile about? You just killed a Deathclaw while I stood by with a busted gun,” Deacon said, the corner of his mouth now twitching up into a ghost of a smile. “That’s awesome.”

Sole allowed her eyes to lose some of their suspicion as she nodded slowly. “I guess that’s true. I am pretty amazing.”

“And who knows, maybe Deathclaw innard chic will become the new style,” Deacon said, now letting a full-blown grin spread over his face. “Maybe that Deathclaw exploding when you used the alien blaster was the best thing to ever happen to you.”

“There it is,” Sole said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “I knew you couldn’t actually be trying to cheer me up right now.”

Sole stomped away towards the nearby sinkhole, careful to avoid the torrential water that would try to pull her into the underground cave if she wasn’t careful.

“Wait, where are you going? I was totally trying to cheer you up!” Deacon said, trotting to catch up to Sole.

He thought it was cute the way she huffed under her breath when she was mad. And he couldn’t ignore the adorable little line that formed between her eyebrows when her face got all scrunched up in anger.

Deacon wanted to take Sole seriously, but these little characteristics that he’d grown used to over the past months were so distracting. He tried to ignore the way his chest tightened when he thought about this.

“Come on. A little slime actually looks kinda cute on you,” Deacon tried.

“I’m going to rinse off in this waterfall, and then we’re never going to talk about this again,” Sole said, pointing an accusing finger at Deacon.

“Scouts honor, boss,” Deacon said, holding up two fingers.

“You were never a scout,” Sole scoffed with a roll of her eyes.

“I totally was. I was the leader of my bear pack… or... whatever they call it,” Deacon said.

Sole shook her head, her face still a perfect mask of annoyance. But when Deacon watched her carefully, he could see the small ghost of a smile that threatened to give her away.

He was getting to her. He was cheering her up.

The thought made his heart leap in his chest and suddenly, the only thing that mattered to him was making that familiar smile appear on Sole’s face.

“We roasted radroach meat and sang songs to get badges on those little sash things. It was adorable,” Deacon said, his easy smile returning to his face.

“Deacon, boy scouts weren’t even a thing in your lifetime. The only reason you know about them is because you’re such a book nerd,” Sole said, her voice significantly softer now.

“You say ‘book nerd’ like it’s a bad thing.”

Sole let a soft small smile pass over her face, another emotion there that Deacon couldn’t quite decipher. Fondness? He hoped that was it.

“It’s definitely not a bad thing,” Sole said. She looked at the ground for a moment, not wanting to meet his eyes. “I actually really love that about you.”

Deacon worked hard to keep his face carefully neutral at her words.

He had never been so grateful for the sunglasses he constantly wore.

“So, are you going to wash that Deathclaw slime off you or what?” Deacon asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence. His tone was light and teasing. He’d mastered the art of appearing calm and collected when he felt anything but.

“Good point.”

“We don’t want you sending off some weird Deathclaw mating pheromones or something. A bunch of Deathclaws looking for a good time is the last thing we need.”

Sole pulled a face of disgust at this. “Yeah, let's avoid that.”

Without another word, Sole turned her back on Deacon and carefully picked her way across the slippery wet rocks to where the waterfall crashed into the sinkhole.

Deacon told himself that he watched Sole to make sure she didn’t lose her footing and get sucked into the underground cave, but he knew that was a lie. Of course, being the incredible liar he was, it only took a moment for him to actually believe that that was what he was doing.

His ability to lie to himself was unmatched.

Deacon watched as the water crashed around Sole, washing off the slime from the Deathclaw fight and the muck from their travel across the Commonwealth that day. Her skin was shiny under the waterfall and her clothes clung to her in a way that made Deacon think he should look away. But he didn’t.

When she finished, Deacon quickly turned away, hoping she wouldn’t be able to see the blush in his cheeks.

Blushing? Really? He was a highly trained Railroad agent who had worked hard to remove any attachments from his life. The fact that he was blushing over a fully-clothed woman was just embarrassing. This was hardly the most compromising position he’d ever been in with someone of the opposite sex.

“I feel so much better.”

Deacon jumped at the sound of Sole’s voice beside him. He had been so focused on appearing uninterested in her little impromptu shower that he’d actually lost track of her for a moment.

“You smell a lot better now too,” Deacon joked, trying to keep his voice light and disinterested.

“Maybe I should have just stayed disgusting. It would be some nice payback for all the showtunes,” Sole said, giving Deacon a sideways smile that made him feel warm all over.

“You should feel privileged that I give our missions their own soundtrack,” Deacon answered. “Besides, I have the voice of an angel and you know it.”

Sole’s sideways smile morphed into a full grin as she watched him. “You do have the voice of an angel.”

Again, the sunglasses were proving to be extremely helpful today in a way Deacon had never anticipated.

“Glad you think so, Charmer.” Deacon let his own smile grow in the quickly fading light. “Wait, am I allowed to call you that again or are you still anti-smiling?”

Sole took a step closer to Deacon with an amused look. “You’re allowed to make me smile again. Now that I’m all clean.”

“Glad to hear it. If I can’t make you smile, what am I even doing here?”

His question was rhetorical but he felt it to his core.

Deacon had been excited for a new person to joke around with when he and Sole had been assigned to start doing missions together, but he knew something had changed. He craved the satisfaction of her smile. Every time it ghosted across her face, he felt like he’d accomplished something incredible. And in those rare instances when he actually managed to make her laugh, it was like he finally knew why he was still wandering across this barren wasteland. Why he hadn’t given up all those years ago after losing Barbara.

Because now, for the first time in years, there was a glimmer of hope. A hint that he could actually be genuinely happy again.

Sole shivered in the dying light, her clothes still wet and clinging to her.

“You’re going to catch a cold if we don’t get you warm,” Deacon said, taking off his leather jacket and wrapping it around Sole’s shoulders.

“Well look at you, Deacon. Who knew you could be such a gentleman,” Sole said, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

Deacon was positive that Sole didn’t know what she was doing to him right now. She was being playfully flirtatious, the way they always were with each other. But for him, it felt like she had his heart in a vice. Every smile only tightened the grip she had on it.

Deacon swallowed hard, desperately trying to hold onto his lighthearted facade that was one smile away from shattering into a million pieces.

“You’re not the only one who can be a charmer,” Deacon said, but his voice sounded all wrong. He hoped Sole wouldn’t notice.

Without thinking, Deacon put his arm around Sole’s shoulders protectively. “Let’s head back to Goodneighbor and get you warmed up.”

Deacon tried to take a step forward, but Sole didn’t budge. When he looked down at her, Sole was watching him, her eyes serious. It was an expression he didn’t see her wear often.

“Something wrong?” Deacon asked, his voice still giving away just how keyed up he was.

Sole swallowed hard and Deacon couldn’t help but notice the rise and fall of her chest. Her breathing was shallow. “I just… thank you for always having my back.”

Deacon shrugged nonchalantly. “You’ve got my back too. It’s just what we do in the Railroad.”

“Just one big dysfunctional family with guns?” Sole asked, repeating Deacon’s words back to him. It had been one of the first things he’d said to her that had made her smile all those months ago.

“Exactly.” His words came out soft. Softer than he’d meant for them to. But their close proximity made him feel like he needed to whisper.

Sole’s eyes darted down to Deacon’s lips for only a split second, but it was enough time for him to suddenly feel self-conscious. Involuntarily, his eyes also trailed down to Sole’s full lips, but he had the added benefit of hiding behind his sunglasses.

“Deacon… all joking aside, I really appreciate you watching out for me.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘all joking aside’,” Deacon said, his eyes still transfixed on the way Sole took her bottom lip between her teeth when she was nervous.

“Maybe just for a second?” Sole asked, turning her body so that she was now facing Deacon head on. She shifted her weight, bringing them even closer together.

He could feel the heat coming off of her body in waves, even as she shivered.

Sole took Deacon’s hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. Deacon’s breath caught in his throat at the unexpected closeness, making him feel ridiculous all over again.

“I guess I can be serious for one second,” Deacon answered. “But it might actually kill me.”

Sole leaned into him, her body now touching his. “It’ll be worth it,” she said, her voice low in a way that gave Deacon chills of his own.

The fabric of Deacon’s white shirt instantly dampened from the water still dripping off of Sole, but he hardly noticed, instead focusing on just how close they now were.

Sole leaned up and touched her nose to Deacon’s lightly, closing her eyes. Deacon seldom saw Sole in such a vulnerable position and the amount of trust it showed shook Deacon to his core.

He tried to be professional; at least, as professional as he ever was. He tried to tell Sole this was a bad idea, that it would make things complicated going forward. But he didn’t do any of that. Instead, he closed the last few inches between them, pressing his lips gently against hers.

Even though Sole had been sending him some obvious signals, Deacon still worried he’d misread the situation and she’d pull away from him. He was surprised when, instead, he felt Sole’s hands press against his stomach, slowly running up his body to his chest and finally behind his neck to pull him firmly against her.

Deacon let his hands rest on Sole’s waist, drawing her to him in the now dark wasteland. With the sound of the rushing waterfall beside them and the occasional distant gunfire that was all-too-common in the Commonwealth, Deacon revelled in this rare stolen moment.

His lips moved over Sole’s slowly and deliberately, wanting to take his time with the kiss. She felt soft and perfect. The way her fingers tangled in his dark hair and her shirt soaked his own grounded him in the moment.

The kiss lasted only a moment, but when Sole pulled away, Deacon felt the inevitable shift in energy between them. He already missed the feeling of Sole’s lips on his own.

“So, did it kill you?” Sole asked, her eyes searching Deacon’s face.

“It did,” he confirmed, still breathless from the kiss. “But you were right. It was worth it.”

Sole placed her hand gently against Deacon’s face, her thumb running along his cheekbone. Every time she touched him, it sparked something inside of him that he hadn’t felt in years.

It was dangerous but thrilling at the same time. Part of him wanted to give into it, but the other part was far too scared to explore those feelings.

“Consider it payment for the jacket,” Sole said, her grin returning before stepping away from Deacon’s embrace.

He instantly missed the warmth from her body, instead left with a dampened shirt and empty arms.

“That jacket is only on loan, you know. I expect it back,” Deacon said, impressed by his own ability to sound nonchalant when, inside, he was dying to be close to Sole again.

“Fine. I’ll give it back one day,” Sole said. “But it looks much better on me.”

“That’s obvious,” Deacon answered. “And if this is the way you pay me back for loaning you a jacket, remind me to give you any article of clothing you ever ask for.”

Deacon raised his eyebrows suggestively at Sole, making her laugh. The sound was soft and musical.

“Now we’re even Sneakin Deacon,” sole called over her shoulder as she sauntered away into the darkness.

Her tone was joking, but before she turned away, he saw the look in her eyes. It was the same one that hid in his own behind his trademark shades.

The kiss had devastated her and much as it had him. It had meant more to her than she was letting on and he knew it.

They were so screwed.

(Part 2)

#fallout #fallout 4 #deacon #deacon x sole #deacon x sole survivor #fanfic #fallout fanfic #deacon fanfic #sole survivor #fallout sole survivor #fallout 4 fanfic #fallout companion #fallout 4 companion #fallout companions #fallout deacon #fallout 4 deacon

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whumpinggrounds · 3 years

Text

Hide n Seek

sooo this doesn’t have a title but Liam came into my head and would not leave so? here we go?

lmk if you like it or you hate it or want to see more. or if you have a title or anything to say or for any reason at all :) talk to me!!

CW: failed escape, escape attempt, environmental whump, big whumpee, tiny whumper, female whumper, nonconsensual drug use, drugged whumpee, scrapes and bruises, gaslighting, uhhh i forget what else. nonconsensual touching but it’s also nonsexual

Dark branches tear at Liam’s skin hard enough to draw blood, but he won’t stop running. On either side of him, trees loom up, huge and bristling with needles. The ground tilts sickeningly under his pounding feet, and as he slips and skids over icy ground Liam throws his body from side to side, trying to dodge the obstacles that pop up, seemingly out of nowhere. He’s pulling it off – barely – and then a towering red spruce appears out of nowhere. One of its lower branches, thick around as a lead pipe, catches Liam in the side of the head and sends him reeling.

Liam lands on his knees, breath whooshing from his lungs. The blow to his temple makes his head spin worse than it already was, and his whirling vision isn’t doing any favors for his roiling stomach. An unbearable heaviness in his limbs makes him long to stop, rest, maybe lie back on the frozen, muddy ground and let the blessed chill ease the fever heat in his brow.

As the desperate, exhausted thought crosses his mind, a faraway sound reaches his ears.

“Lavender’s blue…dilly-dilly…lavender’s green…when you are king…dilly-dilly…I’ll be your queen…”

The words are sung in a voice that’s high and light and almost fey. The sound stops Liam’s heart, makes ice water run through his veins. Dashing frightened tears from his eyes, Liam scrambles to his feet, ignoring the bleeding scratches, the ache in his bruised and frozen knees. Behind him, the voice drifts piercing and eerie through the trees, and, driven before it like a sacrificial lamb, Liam picks himself up and crashes onward.

Head reeling, body aching, so sick to his stomach he spends every step fighting not to vomit, Liam runs. He runs until he slips and falls, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of himself, mark bruises on his skin. Then he gets up and runs some more, staggering, faltering, missing steps, head empty of any instinct besides move forward, get away. The headlong sprint through the woods feels like it lasts forever. Snatches of song reach Liam’s ears, distorted and giggly. The forest rears up on every side like so many dark green walls – towering large, endless in every direction. Liam’s ears are ringing, his throat is dry, he can hear his own breath heaving unevenly in his chest. The terror in him is so raw and real that he can almost taste it, salt and iron, blood on his tongue. He’s choking on tears as he staggers onward, but scared as he is, all he can think is what if his sobs are too loud?

When Liam sees light through the trees, he thinks he’s dreaming. Stumbling forward, hardly daring to believe, he feels new hot tears spill down his face. Like a drowning man, he stretches his arms toward salvation, straining as if it’s something he can hold in his hands. Then he’s stumbling again, toppling forward, knees and then hands and then body kissing pavement.

Unable to stop himself, Liam sobs in simple, blessed relief. Pavement. The ground beneath him hard and unforgiving, solid and uniform. Above him, big plate glass windows spill yellowy light into the gathering darkness. The miracle of sidewalk, of concrete, of buzzing phosphorescent light!

Liam is weeping like a baby into his scratched up, icy hands. Now that he’s horizontal and staying there, now that the adrenaline has done just about all it can for his body – now, Liam starts to let go. His body feels both distant and incredibly close. He can feel every individual bit of concrete against his skin, and he can feel himself buzzing against the inside of his skin, and there’s a cloudiness in his head, a big and growing white threatening to envelope him, leave him blissfully out and unaware.

“What in the - ? Son? What the hell is wrong with you, son?”

The voice is gruff, incredulous, more than a little suspicious. Peering up through hazy eyes, Liam sees an older man coalesce into a hazy double-focus, bearded and grizzly as his tone suggests. The flannel-clad bear of a human recoils at the sight of the tears on Liam’s face, lip curling as he takes in Liam’s disheveled appearance.

“H-he-e-elp,” Liam manages, one hand reaching up, wavering and buzzing static in his vision. Even to his own ears, his voice wavers, rises and falls, distorted by hoarseness and God knows what else. “I n…need hel-l-l-p.”

Narrowing his eyes, the man continues to regard Liam with blatant doubt. Liam tries to morph his face into something acceptable, an expression that’s beseeching without being desperate or deranged. His muscles respond slowly, sluggishly. He can’t remember how to manipulate his face. Giving up, Liam leaves his mouth slack and just looks up, inches a little closer, pushing his body over the pavement, ignoring the way the cement rasps against his skin. He doesn’t want to try standing, yet.

Strange things are happening to the man’s face – his cheeks bloat, blow up grotesquely as he talks. His eyebrows, thick dark beetles, worm and writhe over his deep-set eyes, which are more like holes than real eyes. He’s towering over Liam, so tall the man on the ground can’t help but shrink a little bit against the pavement. His mouth is moving and Liam watches it with a dull kind of fascination, forgetting to pay attention to the words that emerge as shapeless sounds from that dark cave of a mouth.

“Help,” Liam tries again, seeing the way the word feels on his tongue. It sounds like it’s coming from very far away. “Huh…help?”

“Boy? What is wrong with you, boy?”

The man is waving his hand around in front of Liam’s face, looking for some kind of a reaction. When Liam just keeps staring hazily up, the man shakes his head. He starts talking, but the words dip and circle around Liam’s head, refusing to find his ears, refusing to find his brain. Every so often a word or two comes through – a revelation.

“…fucking cops…”

“Hellllp,” Liam whispers, turning his head to rest one hot cheek against the concrete. His head is pounding so bad it makes him feel sick. Or maybe he just feels sick. Either way, he’s wrung out, exhausted, ready to be done. Liam is tired. He gives up. He’s ready to be done.

Shutting his eyes to try to block out the loud and angry spinning world, Liam forces words out as best as he can make them. “Pl-l-l-e-e-eease. Please.” In his chest, he feels a little hitch come with the word, a shaky breath that prefaces a whimper. The sound is so small, so utterly pathetic. Liam didn’t know he could make a sound like that. “Ple-ease help me.”

The man squats down now to peer a little closer at Liam, at the young man laid out flat on the ground, not even trying to get up. “…what is…come from…”

The words aren’t landing with any greater frequency, nor are they making much sense, but Liam imagines he hears a grudging warmth in the tone that wasn’t there before. Maybe concern, instead of suspicion. Maybe aid, instead of exasperation. He lets himself slit his eyes open, see the hazy outline of the figure above him, leaning in. He lets himself hope.

Then he hears the gasp from behind him, long and loud, high and flighty and dramatic. Suddenly, Liam can’t breathe. He shuts his eyes again, trying to block the nightmare out, but it’s too late. She’s already here.

She throws herself down beside him, drapes herself on top of him, small hands roaming from his broad shoulders down to his waist, as if checking that he’s still whole. She’s so small. She’s always been so small. Doesn’t make sense that she can be all over him, everywhere at once when she’s so…damn…small.

“Philip!”

She trills it, sweet as any songbird. There are tears in her voice, real tears, and a burbling wet kind of laugh of relief that would tug at the heartstrings of anyone who had a heart. “Oh God, Philip, oh, don’t scare me like that.” She presses a warm kiss to his temple and Liam groans out loud. “Oh, sweetie. Oh Philip. Oh.”

One finger traces down the side of his face. The feeling comes through hideously clear and sharp. If it were a picture, it’d be Technicolor, while the rest of the world scrapes by in staticky black and white. Liam presses his face harder into the concrete, wanting to escape, to sink through, to disappear. She picks up his head and cradles it with one little hand.

“…know this…?”

Liam wishes, more than he’s ever wished for anything before, to understand the words of the man standing over them. Instead, the man remains indistinct, distant, unreachable, while every word she says rings loud and perfect in his ears.

“Philip is my brother,” she explains, voice so sweet it conjures honey on the tongue. “He’s…he’s…well, he’s not right.”

“…see that…”

“Well.” A firm but gentle hand smoothing over his wild hair. “We don’t know what exactly it is that’s…wrong.” Locked inside his head, Liam is screaming. All that emerges from his mouth is a low, indistinct moan. Above him, Delilah chatters on, her voice taking on a tragic tone. “We suppose it could be genetic. Or it could be…well, he was in a bad way with drugs, my brother.” She strokes his back, a long, possessive touch. “It’s not his fault.”

The man above them grunts. His voice is still so distant, coming in and out like radio waves. “…damn fool thing…cold.”

“I try. I really do try. He’s just…he gets away from me sometimes, I guess.”

“…huge motherf…little thing like…”

A laugh, carefully calibrated to sound just a little forced. “Philip is my brother.” Another long, tender caress down his back. Liam pants into the pavement, head spinning. “I love him. Of course I’m going to look after him. I have to.”

“…need help?”

Sprawled out on the ground, Liam heaves a dry sob. Those words, words he wanted to hear so badly just minutes before, now offered to the exact wrong person. The conversation goes on above him, but Liam can’t waste his focus listening to it anymore.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Liam takes stock of his aching body. His knees are bruised and sore, his body scratched all over. He’s exhausted and cold and his muscles feel distant, tingly and out of touch. Even lying on the ground, his head pounds and spins. If there was anything left in his stomach, he’d definitely have thrown it up by now. All he wants is to stay where he is and rest. He wants to feel right again, in control of his body and his mind. He wants to give up, give in, be allowed to sleep and heal and rest. Liam just wants this to be over.

But he can’t just yell surrender and expect Delilah to leave him alone. She’s hopping to her feet now, standing to shake the stranger’s hand. If he has a last chance, this is it, so Liam grits his teeth. Dredging up every last bit of meager strength, he places his palms on the ground beneath him and pushes up. His arms are shaky, and nearly give out, but he manages to slump into a sitting position before his strength fails.

From his place sitting on the pavement, Liam can peer up pitifully at the two people above him. The flannel-wearing man is facing Liam, which means Delilah is facing away from him. He has a window, a precious small amount of time, in which he can just maybe make his escape. Swinging his head to the side, Liam examines the storefront he’s ended up outside of. The vinyl booths, the matching countertops – it’s a diner, all the lights inside aglow. If Liam can just make it inside. If he can just get his story out.

He has to move quickly. Sucking in a quick puff of cold air, Liam leans back and pushes off the ground, flinging himself to his feet. Almost before he’s all the way up, he’s throwing himself into his next step, staggering forward with all the grace and control of a drunken grizzly. Speed is his only chance, and also his greatest enemy. As Liam lunges forward, his body gives out under him. He stumbles, wailing in frustration, stretching his hand out for the door even as he goes down.

Before he can hit the pavement for the second time in ten minutes, the stranger catches Liam. It sounds like it takes a good amount of his strength, because the man grunts as Liam’s chest smacks his shoulder, but he stays where he is, all but holding Liam up.

Even though the guy seems to have decided to take Delilah’s side, gratitude leaves Liam breathless.

“Your brother is heavy,” the man complains, his gruff voice booming through the air right next to Liam’s ear.

“He was a football player,” Delilah explains, and surely anyone could hear that smug, faintly covetous tone in her voice? Surely, this man can see the way she squeezes his bicep as she runs her hand down his arm?

The man throws one of Liam’s arms over his shoulder and drags his unresisting body toward a parking lot. Stumbling along, Liam tries to stay on his feet, though now his hectic vision is starting to fade entirely. On his other side, Deliliah hovers along, her hand so light on his back that he should hardly be able to feel it. Somehow, though, while his entire body is distant, prickling, offline, that handprint burns in his awareness, heavy and hot and stinging like nettles. Liam whines under his breath, trying to make his thick tongue form words.

“Shh,” Delilah soothes, drawing so close he can feel her breath on his arm. “Shh, Philip, honey, it’s gonna be all right.”

Still whining like a kicked dog, Liam is dumped unceremoniously in a foreign backseat. Crawling up next to him, Delilah waits until the man is seated in front of them to perch herself basically in his lap. With greedy, grasping fingers, she tugs his leaden body over so Liam’s head is resting on her shoulder. At first, Liam fights it, but when the car starts up the winding mountain road, he subsides. The curving motion of the road sets his stomach roiling, so he’s too nauseous to do anything but let his head flop back as he tries to open his airway and breathe.

Cooing, Delilah cards her hot little hands through his hair. “Poor Philip,” she murmurs, voice sweet and conciliatory. “Poor honey. Didn’t I tell you no one would believe you?”

#whump #whump writing #big whumpee #tiny whumper #female whumper #environmental whump #hypothermia #escape attempt #failed escape #failed escape attempt #drugged whumpee #bruises #gaslighting #nonconsensual drug use #headache #original characters #original writing #liam #delilah

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