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eljeebee · 9 months

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Somewhere in Tartosa....

In a home in Terra Amorosa...

Heavy doors gently slammed shut within the house. The sound resonated within the quiet house, but it wasn't too loud to hear outside from the bracing breezes. It was followed by the tip tap of a high heeled shoes.

"Ah, my favourite cousin," said a pale vampire dressed in green.

"Lady Beau," the dark vampire bowed her head.

"Have you found them, Valentina?" Lady Lana Beau asked.

"No, my lady," Valentina Asvang shook her head. "Their tracks mysteriously disappeared. Each time I get near them, they're gone. No traces—clean. I assume someone must've killed them."

"Or maybe," Lady Beau's voice lowered. "You're lying to me."

Valentina almost scoffed with the accusation, her eyebrows knitting together. "Excuse me, Lana, why on Lord Beau would I lie?"

"Valentina," Lady Beau warned. "You could have made up a story to prevent me reawakening my dearest sister. After all, you did say they were of Asvang descent—your bloodline." She scoffs. "How could you have a descendant? You're not the type to whore around. Your grandmother doesn't want you muddying your already muddied bloodline, or if they are real, you're protecting them, and if you are, why?"

Valentina's lips curled downward, trying her best not to roll her eyes on the nonsense the Lady just spat. "I am telling the truth, Lana—"

Lady Beau cleared her throat.

"Ahem, I am telling the truth, Lady Beau," Valentina corrected herself. "The group that killed two prominent human families were descendants of my late brother. I can't find any information why they attacked, it was purged from the internet."

"Neither have I."

"There's no news clippings either. I've tried digging through archives, but there's little to no mention of it. I've even tried interviewing some journalists, but they don't know. Or they don't remember at all," Valentina added.

"Don't you think the rogue spellcaster you got this information of your descendants from, have more about the event?" Lady Beau asked.

"She had more," Valentina said. "But she told me she was paid for her silence. But I think she wasn't just paid. I believe she was sworn into an oath to withhold information."

"Oath?"

Valentine nodded, "I've noticed faint energy from her — energies that resemble of a certain overlord. Your brother-in-law."

"Straud," Lady Beau snarled. "He might be the reason the information was erased, and the reason your descendants were killed."

"Shall I...interrogate her, my lady?"

Lady Beau shook her head. "No need, cousin. I don't want his attention. I believe he doesn't know we're alive either. Let's not get ourselves into trouble."

"Of course."

"So," Lady Beau sighed. "Is this the only news you brought? We won't be able to progress."

"No, my lady," Valentina shook her head. "Though I failed to get integral information you wanted, the spellcaster did tell me something more, to the extent of what the oath allowed her. One of the vampires survived. His name is Percival."

"Percival...," the Enchanting Lady tested the name on her tongue. "One survivor...do you know where he is?"

"The spellcaster told me he was last seen in Henford-On-Bagley."

"Good," Lady Beau nodded. "Go after him."

"I shall bring him to you as soon as possible, Lady Beau," Valentina said.

"No, no," Lady Beau stopped her. "Let's not be hasty, cousin. If Straud did kill your descendants, why would he leave one out? He's getting weak, or maybe, Percival might have adapted—evolved."

"He did?" Valentina softly gasped.

"Just like you, my dear," Lady Beau said, smirking slightly. "Maybe greatness do run in the Asvang bloodline after all. I'm surprised Rufus produced a good offspring. But then again, you're better than them. I trained you, after all."

"You meant torment."

The Lady chose to ignore her instead.

"Confirm his location, then keep an eye on him," Lady Beau waved her hand, dismissing her. "I've still got things to do, things to research. We need to make sure my sister's revival will work."

"But shouldn't we get him now?" Valentina asked, urging her cousin. "If you're telling that the Asvang blood evolved, then it is important to get him as soon as possible. We can revive the Asvang—"

"Revive your House?" Lady Beau guffawed. "Oh, cousin, you amuse me in many ways."

She laughed more, before her pale face dropping.

"Darling, we're here to revive my Clan," Lady Beau scoffed. "Haven't I told you, Valentina? The Asvangs are nothing without us. You're failed sycophants. You are mere servants of House Beau."

Valentina remained silent. Years and years of practice from taking countless insults from the Lady—she mastered the art of keeping her face blank. But of course, she had served Lady Beau countless of years to know that the latter knows what she truly feels.

"Worry not, Valentina. Once we're revived as House Beau, the Asvangs will rise once more—as our trusty servants, of course."

"Thank you, my lady," Valentina bowed.

"As I said, monitor Percival. Give me updates of his well-being as well as the extent of his power. Beware of Straud's scout. I heard he had new recruits in his Clan. Why don't you also get me information about them?"

Valentina nodded, then turned on her heel to leave.

"I'll be the one to collect him once he's ready," Lady Beau added. She checked her sharp nails, loudly mumbling, "Who knows what you'll plan once you get him all by yourself? Revive the Asvangs, rebuild your own pathetic clan...then you'll run back to me crying to patch you up once more."

Valentina paused, clearly not amused by Lady Beau's insults. She chose to ignore her and left the room.

The sun has risen in Tartosa, and the chilly winter air breezed through her. Winter is different here — always sunny and windy. So cheerful, which she doesn't like. She prefers the white blankets of snow, freezing winds of winter. It's miserable, she loved it. Fitting for a vampire — a creature of cold nights.

Valentina checked, making sure no one is near. People rarely walks by their house, but she just needs to be sure, especially since it's the morning. She needs to track this Percival.

In a blink of an eye, she turned into a bat, and off she goes to fly to Henford-On-Bagley.

#The Davis'#Side: Swanson & Harper #LGB's Vamps #lady lana beau #valentina asvang #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims 4 screenshots #ts4 #ts4 screenshots #sims 4 story #ts4 story #simblr #sims 4 vampires #ts4 vampires #sims 4 tartosa

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ms-taurusvenus · 11 months

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'it's because they don't have the same drive as their fathers. In order to be successful and do well, to win a championship and be memorable (for the right/good reasons) you have to be ruthless.' BINGO!! I think a lot of these new/younger drivers have it easy or have come from easy beginnings and don't have the grit in the gut that it takes to be a WC, it's this energy of 'ah whatever, it is what it is' whereas a lot of these drivers who are WC's (some at least) have had to dig deeper than anyone could have and for most of them this was it, there wasn't $$ to fall back on, to just give it a go and think 'eh that'll be enough for today' and a lot of these WC's have given up everything at times for a title (should there be a balance, yeah but I hope you know what I mean) I think talent can take you to a certain point, a name can get you in the door sure, for some, but it's the inner self, the inner grit that makes a WC or a successful driver that many now just don't have of haven't been able to tap into for whatever reason. Sorry for the long message 🤣

Preach anon!!

Nikita Mazepin, Lance Stroll, Nicholas Latifi, Mick Schumacher, what do they all have in common? Rich families, shitty reputation due to their shit job at driving. It is right in peoples faces that the more money a driver has, the shittier they'll do. Especially if they have connections to the sport (ex, the Piquets).

Lewis and Sebastian, what do they have in common? Both didn't come from families with money and did everything to get into F1 and were ruthless in their prime and are now considered the top 5 greatest in the sport. Lewis dad (Anthony) had 4 jobs to sustain and support him, and look at him - he's considered/is the greatest in the sport. Sebastian family wasn't wealthy either and he's considered one of the greatest & won 4 championships and went to be compared to his idol, Micheal Schumacher and was able to race with/against him (I'm not too sure how he/his family were able to enter F1 in terms of the financial aspect .. if you know please lmk lol).

Again, (besides Max & Nico Rosberg) have you seen a driver with wealthy and connections win a WDC? Or even do well for that matter .. No. They don't care, they're too comfortable, laidback, and lazy. Its cause f they leave a room (a space) they'll always have another room to enter right after.

Legacy drivers ended when Lewis and Seb made their marks on the tracks. From now on, the only drivers who will be the next WDC and be on the grid for that matter will come from wealthy families. Families more ties than any driver with said wealthy family and connections will ever have a WDC.

"He still has time left" blah, blah, blah. Give up, look at Zhou Guanyu, he's done really well and has improved majority from his first season. Yes, he does have connections and his family is wealthy but he doesn't act as if "oh, whatever". They've both spent (almost) the same time inF1, 2 seasons. Zhous doing well while Mick is like .. I'll have another opportunity. Let's stop babying Mick lol, yes hes cute & is a sweetheart but he's a rich grown ass man lol.

Let's start ripping the bandaid off.

(Again, I don't hate Mick and yes I do feel sympathy for him).

#mick schumacher #f1 #mercedes amg petronas #asks

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a-little-bit-of-tradition · 1 year

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Chicago P.D. has evolved dramatically over the course of its decade-long (and counting) run on NBC, but the police procedural has experienced quite a bit of change in its current 10th season with the departure of series star Jesse Lee Soffer in the Oct. 5 episode.

"This is quite the season already and people haven't even seen half of what we got to offer. Obviously we were a little nervous because Jesse is a leader on and off set and when you lose leadership in a certain capacity, it's hard to know where things might go," P.D. star LaRoyce Hawkins, who plays Officer Atwater, told ET over a recent Zoom interview. "But I think the way everybody's responded and stepped up to the plate and the way that it looks like Jesse's gone, but he's still there, in more ways than one."

"Over time, we'll see exactly why," he continued. "But we've been having a great time and this is my first time being 10 seasons deep. Shows that have lasted this long, they don't hold on to the thrill and the energy the way that we still hold on. We have a good pack."

Soffer does return to direct an upcoming episode of P.D. and Hawkins, whose storyline is at the center of Wednesday's intense hour, titled "Sympathetic Reflex," shared that the former series regular shadowed episode director Bethany Rooney and others in preparation for his turn behind the camera.

"I'm very excited for that. Because Jesse, he's been doing this since he was six years old. Over 30 years of experience in the business and he's learned so much and he has so much to offer. He's one of my favorite storytellers that I've been able to work with over the years because of his approach," Hawkins said, praising Soffer's intelligence. "So the directing pivot for me, it feels appropriate. And he's been great."

"To have him on the sidelines coaching me up, that's a dynamic we've always had. He gave me something in this episode that I think I'm going to keep with me for the rest of my career and that's how you know you're a good director," he noted. "There was a moment in the episode where it almost seems like, yeah, we're about to do this scene, but to be honest this may be a scene that might be cut. Then he told me something interesting. He was like, 'It might get cut, but make them need it.' And that was the challenge. Maybe we don't need the scene. No problem. I know exactly what to do. So now that's my approach for scenes that seem frivolous. It's like, I'm going to make them need this scene. Whether they could or not, I want them to have a hard time getting rid of this moment."

In the episode, Hawkins' Atwater finds himself facing possible termination after a tense arrest and confrontation leads to a young white male getting shot and killed. As the circumstances by which the fatal shot was made are called into question, his reputation and career are put on the line. With time against them, the Intelligence Unit starts digging to uncover key evidence that could help in the ongoing investigation and clear Atwater's name once and for all.

"I had a hard time not calling [episode writer] Ike Smith and being like, 'Bro, what are you doing? What is this?' Because it starts off so great even though you know where it's going. Like that first scene, that whole monologue about empathy, what you take with you on the streets and what you don't," he said. "I was like, 'Wow, this is different and this is good. I think this is important for us to hear.' And then as the episode grows, you realize exactly why. I was like, 'Oh, that whole speech was a setup.' Because every ounce of empathy I got on him, I'm going to need."

"It escalated so organically from one beat to the next and the rare circumstance that a white kid is killed, allegedly, by a Black cop raises questions. And I was like, 'Wow. How is he going to find himself out of this one?' But I think it was written beautifully. I think it was captured in a great way," Hawkins previewed. "I appreciated the challenge because the episode, if you're not careful, it can put you in a trap."

The actor detailed the biggest point of emphasis for him as he navigated Atwater's roller-coaster of emotions throughout the ordeal, which he said will shape how his character goes about dangerous situations moving forward.

"One of the things that I didn't want Atwater to look like was that he knew exactly what to do every time he was supposed to do it. Because we can sometimes get a little self-righteous as artists with our characters -- every no is an absolute no and every yes is an absolute yes. As we know, that's not really how life is," Hawkins said. "We struggle with our yeses and our noes. I might be wrong, but I got to stand on what I know. And Atwater's journey in 'Sympathetic Reflex' is his struggle between his yeses and his noes, not knowing exactly what to do, but landing on the most effective answer."

#aw #i can so see this #jesse lee soffer #laroyce hawkins #chicago pd

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raewritez · 3 years

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Airbenders

let’s all take a moment to appreciate our windy boy🙌

based on this request: Can you do Aang x airbender reader? When Aang and Katara found out that she hid from them that she could bend ? Please!

warnings: aangsty

It hurts.

Aang’s body felt like it was on fire, and he supposed it was. It seemed like electricity was still flowing through his veins, consuming him with needle points and flame. With Katara’s healing he was slowly gaining back his memory - visions of white glow, of the royal siblings, of waves, and of falling. There was something else, too, it was-

“Ow!”

Katara grimaced, removing her hands from his back. “Sorry, Aang. There’s a lot of energy built up in here.”

He winced, curling in on himself. “It’s ok.”

She stares at him worriedly, heart aching for her friend. He felt so awful, so consumed by guilt and failure, and she found herself having trouble coaxing him out of his thoughts. There was one person that could, but they were nowhere to be found. Aang noticed.

“Where’s Y/n?”

Katara breathed shakily, pulling at the edge of her tunic. “Aang…what exactly do you remember from Ba Sing Se?”

He tilted his head, furrowing his brows. "I remember Azula, and I remember I went down. You saved me."

She nodded. "Is that all?"

He leaned into the bed, running a hand through his hair (hair? how long has that been there?). "There's something else."

Katara looked nervous, as if preparing for him to do something awful. It made him confused. He searched his mind, digging through flashes of memory until he found what he was looking for. He inhaled sharply. Oh. Right.

They were outnumbered, Dai Lee agents advancing on them from all directions. Katara's water whips were no use, broken and splashed across the ground by shields of rock and crystal. Aang fought tirelessly, earth and water spinning around him in a flurry of movement. The earth benders only moved forward - creeping slowly upon the Avatar until they were thrown back by some powerful force. Wind. Aang looked down at his hands, he hadn't done that, right? The agents rose to their feet but their eyes weren't on him, rather on something that lurked behind. Turning, his gaze fell upon what had drawn their attention.

You.

Your arms were outstretched, an uncertain expression on your face. You glanced down at your palms in surprise - you certainly hadn't expected that to work so well. His mouth fell open, mind swarmed with confusion. His grey eyes widened, and your gaze met his. You couldn't tell if that look in his eyes was one of betrayal or pure shock, but you felt the guilt you'd been harboring over keeping this secret hit you full-force. Your own eyes were surprised, and they softened as they fell upon him. In them he could see the swimming emotions, and an apology. You raised your arms again.

"They're...they're an Airbender."

Katara looked at the floor, silently affirming his words. He stared at her, then he stood. His body ached and his legs wobbled, but he didn't care. He grabbed his staff, and leaning on it, began to make his way towards the door.

"Wait, Aang," Katara exclaimed, attempting to calm him. The look on his face was foreign; eyes glinting with sadness and something she couldn't quite decipher. And anger. It was a rare emotion to see displayed by the boy, but it was there now, although faint. She was nervous for you, her own anger since passed and replaced with a sort of resigned understanding. Sure, she was upset, hurt that you didn't trust her with this secret, but she guessed she understood. At least she tried to.

"Aang, your injuries are still healing. You can't-"

"I'm fine, Katara," he spoke, and she felt a chill run through her bones at the sternness. "Let me go."

He pushed past her, holding in his groans at the effort. He walked as quickly as he could down the hall, mind pulsing with adrenaline and determination. He didn't have to ask where your room was, he knew where it would be: at the end of the hall by the windows, so you could see the ocean. He limped his way down, the silk robe threatening to fall off his shoulders. In front of your door, he stopped. He breathed, and then he entered.

You were seated on your bed, staring blankly at the wall. You glanced tiredly at the intrusion, eyes widening when you saw it was him. You stood abruptly, almost tripping over yourself and if the circumstances were different he would've laughed. You missed his laugh. Instead he gazed at you, expression neutral. You felt nervous, unfamiliarly awkward under the Avatar's stare.

"Hi, Aang."

He kept his eyes trained on you, eyebrows furrowed. He was silent.

"Um...h-how are you feeling?"

"You didn't come to see me."

Your eyes widened. "W-what?"

His gaze never faltered. "You didn't come to check on me."

"Oh," You breathed, casting your eyes to the floor. "I didn't...I didn't know if you'd want me to."

He didn't speak, and you could feel him scrutinizing you. As if he didn't know what to make of you, as if he wasn't sure what to think. And in all honesty he probably didn't. You didn't know what to think of yourself, either.

"You're an Airbender." It wasn't a question, just a statement. An observation.

You breathed. "Yeah."

He stood a little taller, and you could finally make out an emotion. Anger. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than him acting as if you were Koh the freaking Face-Stealer. His voice was low. "Why didn't you tell me?"

You swallowed nervously, fingers coming to play with the fishing-line bracelet he'd made for you that rested upon your wrist. "I don't know."

He scoffed, beginning to pace around the room. Well, as well as he could considering his condition. "That's not an answer. How could you keep that from me?!" There was a desperation to his tone, and his eyes were glassy. You looked away, unable to deal with the shame.

"Aang, please, I-" You didn't know what to say. You truly didn't quite understand why you'd hidden it, the secrecy just fading into habit. "I was...I was scared. I didn't know what to say or- I'd never told anyone before! And then you came and I..."

"And you didn't tell me."

His face was darkened, so different from that sunshiney demeanor that you'd grown so goddam fond of. But behind his anger was a certain brokenness - a disbelief. And that hurt more than the rage.

He didn't give you time for an explanation, and you weren't sure you had one to offer anyway. He simply walked away, sparing you one more hurtful glance. Then, he left, taking the light and hope with him. You felt tears sting your eyes, but you forced them away. You didn't deserve to cry. You were the one who'd hurt him, who'd betrayed his trust. And now you weren't sure if your best friend would ever trust you again, ever allow you a second chance. So, instead of crying, you simply laid in the dark warmness of your bed, rocked to sleep by the swaying of the ocean with an ache in your chest.

///

A week.

That's how long it'd been since the two of you talked, since Aang had so much as glanced in the direction of his best friend. You were in the Firenation now, having assumed the role of undercover criminals. It was kind of exhilarating, and you knew you and Aang would be milking the drama of it for all its worth. But instead you sat alone, sidled in the corner of the cave as your friends danced.

Aang had somehow managed to enroll himself in a Fire Nation school, and had invited his classmates to your hideout for a dance party. You wished you had enough energy to participate - to twirl around with Katara or do the limbo with Sokka, but you were drained. Just like you'd been for days. Your hope was waning; you were becoming less and less sure that Aang would find a way to forgive you - that he would return to his best friend with that lopsided smile and endless generosity, the way he came to you all those times before. Now, he was dancing, shoulders brushing against that Fire Nation girl's - On ji? Something like that - while the rest of the kids laughed and cheered. It send an ache to your heart. He seemed happy with her - happier than he's been with you. He was sporting that contagious grin, that boisterous laughter, that-

"Wow, you really are mopey."

You were snapped out of your thoughts by Toph. "I'm not mopey," you grumbled.

She snorted. "Uh, yeah you are. I can practically feel the pitifulness radiating off you."

"Gee, thanks a lot."

You were silent for a moment, and she seemed to soften. "You know, he's not mad at you anymore."

You glanced over, a scoff escaping your lips. "Yes he is, Toph. He hates me."

Her eye-roll was about the biggest you'd ever seen. "Don't be stupid, Sap. That kid loves you. It's so obvious it's gross."

You sighed, shaking your head. You pulled your knees to your chest. "Not anymore. I lied to him."

She nodded, seeming thoughtful. "Well, yeah, that kind of sucked. And obviously he would be kinda mad about that. But he's not anymore, trust me. I can feel it."

"You can feel it?"

"Mhm. He's mopey, too. He misses you."

You looked over to the center of the cave, where Aang was demonstrating some bizarre dance movement. You smiled fondly.

"Seriously, Y/n. You should talk to him."

You nodded, breathing in your resolve. "I will soon."

Toph groaned loudly. "Well, I guess that's as good as we're gonna get."

///

Spirits, you were exhausted. A day of cleaning out a river will do that to you.

It'd been a few days since the dance party, and your time had been occupied with Appa's "sickness" while you stopped at a local fishing village. It was pretty gross, but with your friend's help and Katara's fancy costume, you were able to leave it better than it was when you arrived.

Now, you found yourselves at yet another designated campsite - a patch of ground near the cliffside, overlooking the valley. You were tired, and so much as walking around felt like a chore.

Your eyes fell on a silhouetted figure perched on the edge of the cliff. Momo sat on his shoulder. You breathed, body growing alight with nervousness. You made your way over, Momo launching onto you when you got closer.

You chuckled, petting his furry head. "Hey, Momo," you said softly. You eyes flickered upwards, latching onto Aang's. He turned away. You sighed, setting Momo down and moving to sit next to him. You inhaled deeply, bracing yourself for impending rejection. You fidgeted with the edge of your shirt - a movement that his eyes quickly locked onto.

"Um, I know you probably don't want to talk to me, and that's ok, but I need to...I need to explain myself."

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him nod slowly.

"My whole life I had to keep my bending a secret, and nobody's ever known except my parents. And when I met you...I don't know. I guess I was just scared. I thought I was going to be the last one for the rest of my life. I'd been hiding and denying that I was an Airbender for so long, and I guess I just...felt safer to keep doing that."

He was silent, staring at you intently with concentration and an emotion you couldn't decipher. You continued.

"The point is, I should've told you. And I'm so, so sorry that I didn't. I don't know if you could ever forgive me, but I-"

You were cut off by the press of his lips against your own. Your eyes widened, and you sat rigidly still. He chuckled breathily at your shock, moving his hand to gently caress your cheek. You relaxed, leaning into his palm and letting your eyes fall shut. After a moment, he pulled away.

"I'm not mad at you, Y/n."

You were still frozen with pleasant surprise. "Oh...ok."

He laughed, reaching to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. He smiled adoringly.

"But wait - how aren't you mad? I kept this a secret from you, and I-"

"Well, I was mad," he cut you off. "But I'm not anymore. If there's anything that we can take away from this, it's that you're not the last Airbender. And neither am I."

You smiled at that. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

He pulled you into his side, keeping one arm around you while he performed random tricks; like making a whirlpool or air or sending a small tornado Sokka's way. You leaned into each other to muffle your giggles when he fell. You felt happier than you had since Ba Sing Se - filled with the happiness that only Aang could provide you. You had his trust, and his guidance, and you weren't alone. Neither of you were.

#avatar the last airbender #prince zuko #atla #fire lord zuko #aang x reader #legend of korra #sokka x reader #zuko x reader #avatar #avatar: tla #aang #avatar aang #avatar x reader #avatar imagine #team avatar #the gaang

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

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Original Sin | Darksaber!Din

Pairing: Dark!Din x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ older for the love of all things holy)

Word count: 3.4k~

Summary: Things change after Grogu leaves. People change. No one is exempt.

Warnings/tags: DUB CON?¿, masturbation (m and f), inappopriate use of darksaber, sex toy (...), Dark!Din, Dom!Din, sacrilegious references, really dark shit, i am so sorry

Update: This should go without saying, but as it turns out, it’s in need of being said: every word written in this fic is my own; any likeness to any other work is coincidence, regardless of how bizarre. I don’t mean to offend anyone or raise suspicion, as I am certainly not a plagiarist (literally couldn’t be even if I tried: I am equal parts too incompetent, too busy, and too lazy to steal from someone else. Fellow writers can attest, I’m an absolute garbage reader and fall behind on almost everyone’s work. There’s an embarrassing amount I haven’t read.) Please reach out to me personally if you have any concerns. I respect everyone here like you wouldn’t believe. Sending love to you all. Be well. ✨

Notes: When I go to hell (it really is only a matter of timing, and not so much a question of if anymore), this fic will rank number one on the list of reasons why I’m sent to my eternal timeout. This... I'm twisted. I have issues. God help us. Seriously, this is basically a horror show. I bow down to the Darksaber!Din content creators who came before me, and the original artwork that inspired me to write this— thank you for lighting this (descending, dirty) path. I HAVE TAGGED A FEW PEOPLE HERE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INTERESTED but really— REALLY— there’s absolutely no pressure. Cheers friends x ( gif credit: @skyshipper )

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

The days stretch long like morning yawns—hours passing on creaky bones, slow and congealed inside the metal womb of the Crest.

It wasn’t always this way.

They used to be filled with pitter pattering— with wily antics and vanishing acts that could baffle even the most veteran of illusionists— with prying frogs from tiny, green hands and giggling as blocks and baubles floated through the hull. Laughter. There used to be laughter here.

But that was then. The child is gone now. The Razor Crest is quiet.

Time fills itself like this; there’s little for you to do now but wait. Wait for the dusk to blur into the dawn. Wait for your food to cook. Wait for the shower to warm. Wait for the parts you ordered to arrive at the port. Wait for Din to come back—to come home.

Home. You used to be so certain—you’d bite the head off anyone who questioned otherwise— but you’re not so sure this is home anymore. Its not that anything has changed. No, the galley, the carbonite pods, the cockpit, the deck—it’s all still here. The scuffed walls, the durasteel, the littered crates and packed arsenal. But—

It’s different. It feels different. Something is...

off.

You can’t quite put your finger on it. Its intangible, but it’s everywhere—like gas. Invisible to the naked eye, but encircling you all the same. Choking you.

Killing you.

There’s no good explanation for it. You feel eyes on you when there are none. You find yourself glancing over your shoulder, knowing full well you are alone. Something keeps snagging you, pulling at an unseen thread. The corners of your peripherals tugging at you. Beckoning.

Was that a shadow? No.

Is someone there? It’s just you.

There is a tickle at your ear - a constant - dancing along the shell of it. Wherever you go, it follows.

Home home home. It only feels like home when Din is there, safe and sound at your side. But even then, even Din—in all of his plated exterior—even Din has succumbed. Even Din has

changed.

The truth is, Grogu left and a part of Din left with him. There’s less of him now— more, too: there’s less where it matters, and there’s more where there shouldn’t be.

You don’t remember when it started—when he first disappeared. When the spark in him died, and he was reignited anew.

When this Other became.

On multiple occasions you’ve caught him murmuring into the bellied dark of the Crest with a bent spine, hunched over himself as if he’s shrinking—enveloping in in in as far as the beskar along his chest will allow him to cave. You can never pick up what he mutters, but you catch the sounds of his teeth and lips brushing together, hissing. It’s not Basic; you’d recognize it if it were. You don’t think its Mando’a either. It’s too sharp— too vile. There’s none of his language’s elegance in it.

“Did you say something?” You asked once, poking your head around the doorway, eyes resting on the shine of his helmet.

A beat—and slowly, he unfurled, rearing to his full height and like a sentinel he swiveled, pivoting to face you.

“No.”

Your throat bobbed. “Oh, I-I thought I heard-”

“Come here, mesh’la.”

And you did. You always do.

The darksaber appeared on his belt one day, shortly after the child went away. It came, only once, and there it stays. Indistinguishable - inseparable - there is no dismembering the two. It accompanies him in all things; when he pilots, when he hunts, when he eats. It sleeps by him.

By you, too.

Din has always been stoic—of scant words and physical timing—but now he is a golem. A silent, shrouded figure. His Creed is broken, and you wonder maybe - briefly - if Din is broken as well. He is never unkind to you. He is never threatening. But he is never him. His eyes— the oaky comfort you once found in them— have blackened. He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man.

And within that pit he has born rage. Immaculately, it has sprung from him as woman did by Adam’s rib. Like mold growing upon stale fruit does he have this—this wrath. It crept through him. It stalked along his soft flesh— his tawny hide—and it waited; patient, there in the shadows, it waited for him. Waited for him to turn his back, to close his eyes and drop his guard— leeway, an entrance— as to slip in undetected.

To inhabit.

The virtue and love that once thrummed within the heart of him has burned away. Charred. Only this of him remains; this insatiable lust— for blood sport, for the promise of split knuckles and fractured bone, for you.

For all of you.

Now, Din goes out on bounties like he needs it—like it’s oxygen. He lives off it. He’s sustained by the rush, by the adrenaline laced chemicals pumping through his arteries. He’s gone for days and weeks on end and when he returns, he fucks you like he’s been starved. Out in the wilderness without a morsel to eat, he devours you. He’s ravenous as he tears his way across your body—all too pliant for him, all too willing—letting him feast on the nectar dripping from your heat.

You can feel it in his foot steps as he storms the ship, the bassy echo of it. You can see it in the pitch of his visor. You can feel it in his cock as he slams into you, night after night after night—ceaselessly. Tirelessly. Unnaturally. The number of orgasms he wrings out of you is countless—his need so incurable, you have to fight to stay above it all; you have to war against your urge to slip away completely.

Din is one grey choice - one hair trigger - from coming undone.

And you should be scared. You should be terrified—he should terrify you. Like scalding water, you should flinch away at the mere sight of him—at the warning steam that rises from his pauldrons. This predator, unhinged and off his leash—a great, crushing beast at which you are at the mercy of.

But— you aren’t.

You couldn’t place it at first: the gnawing. The gnawing at your insides like maggots festering upon a grizzled carcass hanging limp at a wet market. You couldn’t name the tremor in your gut. You gave it epithets as best you could, you gave it placeholders - fear, worry, intrigue - all until one day it spilled. One day it seeped past the tremble of your stomach and sank lower, lower,

lower.

It settled in your cunt—the gnawing. And you named it Want.

You want him. You want this—you’re addicted to it. This sin like led-lined velvet, you want to roll in it until it poisons you, until you’re smothered with it, just like it’s smothering you now— blanketing you as you mewl naked in your bed, knees knocked together. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you frantically work circles into your clit with the all consuming thought of him: his teeth at your shoulders, his hand around your windpipe.

You’re nearing your finish, the promise of that tight coil unraveling there - there - right before you. You’re so enrapt in it—in this dizzying, wanton act—you don’t register the ramp lowering. You don’t hear the carbonite chamber whir, his quarry freezing over, or his foot falls sounding their way to your bunk.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You gasp, frightened eyelids wrenching open as his baritone timbre crackles through the hull. The Mandalorian stands there, backlit by the glow from the galley and he looms—expressionless. Haunting. You blink at him rapidly, batting away the desire that’s glazed over your eyes.

“Y-You’re back,” you stutter lamely. You try to smile. You try to distract him. “I uhm, I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you wouldn’t be back until, u-until..."

Your excuses fade, mouth parched dry. The film of his visor gives you nothing. He is unknowable, but you feel it - sense it - that energy—unbridled and rippling off of him in sick, suffocating waves.

“I’ll ask you again,” Din starts.

“What-" he steps towards you, darksaber hanging heavy at his hip, “do you think-" you shimmy up your cot, shoulder blades digging into the steel sidings, “you’re doing?”

Your heart thunders against your chest, beating until you’re sure it’ll burst.

“I’m-"

I’m sorry you almost say, and you have to force yourself to gulp down the apology. You know he doesn’t want it, and he knows you wouldn’t mean it even if you offered it to him.

Your brow wavers. “I-"

He rips away the sheet you had drawn up over you and reflexively you jerk back, revealing the gloss on your fingers and the patch of hair above your mound, shimmering shamefully—exposing you, mocking you under the dim lights.

“What’s this?” he asks, and fuck he’s patronizing you. He’s smirking—you don’t have to see it, you can hear it in the curving lilt of his voice as he drinks in the sight of your very obvious indiscretion, laid bare before him. You can’t bring yourself to answer him—you can hardly look at him—and you bristle, hair on your arm prickling up.

“You fuck yourself speechless, little one?”

Your cunt throbs, burning and contracting around the orgasm that was snatched away from you and fuck, you’re drowning in him. Din is tar—he’s an oil slick, and you’re plummeting through it—gasping for air, for the surface, for sunlight. He’s everywhere—his broad frame, his voice, his scent like copper and smoke. You can barely breathe through the thick of him.

“Answer me,” he growls, leather croaking at the clench of his fist.

“Yes—yes,” you utter, proceeding with honesty, no matter how pathetic. “I missed you,” you squeak out.

Din cocks his head, a smug look scowled onto his visor. “You missed me?” he purrs through a sneer and you nod, precious and small, worrying the inside of your lip.

He sinks one leg and then the other onto your bedroll, just between your parted feet, kneeling before you. The flimsy spring mattress squeals under his weight—all of that armor, all of that boiling soot trapped within him.

“How much?”

For a moment, you must look confused. Puzzled. Your eyebrows furrow as Din unclips the saber from his belt, rolling it over in his hand. You rake your gaze up from it, dilated pupils landing on the unforgiving black panel there.

“You claim you missed me. Prove it.”

Your cunt bottoms out.

He crouches over you, tracing along your inner thighs with it's steel shaft and you bury your fists into the cot. You don't know which to look at: Din or the rod in his hand. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you trust me.”

Fuck, it feels like you’re going to rattle apart. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t humming—isn’t seizing up wild. “I-I trust you,” you mouth softly. And you do, whether you should or not—you trust him with your life, to make or ruin.

“Fuck, you’re wet mesh'la,” he appraises darkly, leaning in to run a leathered digit through your seam, parting your curls. Your legs twitch, heels of your feet digging into the bed. “So ready for me. So eager."

Your eyes dance frenetically down to the handle and back up to him as he aligns the saber with your pussy. The blunt end of it touches your lips and you shudder, instinctually fidgeting away from it. Din splays his hand on your knee, anchoring you in place. “Shh,” he coos, rubbing a thumb soothingly into your skin. It doesn’t feel sweet. It feels sickly, cloying— like arsenic.

You don’t dare breathe as he prods the shaft into you, inch by terrible inch. It doesn’t matter how slicked and wet you are from touching yourself, your walls strangle the foreign intrusion. Your body resists.

“Fuck,” you sob. Your throat, your pussy, all of it— it’s all compacted. It feels so fucking tight, both words and air fighting to get out and in all at once—everything inside you constricting.

“Show me,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Show me how much you missed me.” He drags his gloved digit over your clit, pressing down onto it until you see stars, fizzing in front of your vision. “I know you can take it, sweet girl. Be good and show me.”

Be good. Be good for him. Be his only vice.

He continues to swirl at your bundle of nerves and you’re nearly thrashing with it— with all of this— hair fanned and mussed against the pillow as you writhe, swallowing his saber to the hilt. Fuck, you’re so full. Maker, you’re stuffed with it; with the cold, uneven edges, the ridges woven into the grip of it— and he slowly - tortuously - delves the handle in and out of you, hitting against your cervix with every thrust.

You can only mumble. Your lips have gone slack, your mind is cavernous. All you can do is quiver and beg— beg for release. Beg for it to end.

Beg for more.

“Oh gods, oh g- Maker, please—”

Your bleary eyes shoot open as you’re silenced by the grip of his gloved hand.

“No.” Din pinches your jaw in the web of his palm, fingertips dimpling your cheeks. “No, your God isn’t here,” he seethes, low and deadly, graphite venom dripping from his lips. “Pray to me.”

Fuck.

Trembling, your lips pucker ugly and sloppy as you babble uselessly in his stony grasp, chin crinkling with a whimper. “D-Din.”

He inhales sharply, mouth snaking into a wicked grin behind his helm. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

He’s deboning you as he would a fish. Practiced, he plucks you into messy pieces—gutting you through your open maw. His ministrations are crawled. They’re slothed and carnal with arrogance and pride and it’s not enough—its all together too much, but still—it’s not enough. You’re hungry. You paw at him, scraping over his breastplate.

“Din, please—more," you gasp feverishly, eyes blown wide.

A blip of static huffs through his modulator. “You want more, you filthy little thing?” He gives you another squeeze, indenting scorch marks into your face.

You nod—you try to, his grasp is too firm, rooting your neck to still. “Yes.”

Din groans, all but obliging you as he begins to fuck you harder, pistoning through you as he thumbs your nub with his rough pad.

“Din-”

You’re whining now, tinny and depraved. It’s wrong. Every part, every second of this, is wrong. Immoral. But you can’t stop the way your body convulses at his every touch—you can’t stop the heat roiling in your core.

“Din, Din baby- fuck fuck fuck-”

It’s like he’s trying to split you in two—all of you. Your pussy, your mind, your soul—he’s bisecting you. Divvying you up to bits of nothing. It’s only then that horrid realization occurs to you, winding through your addled haze as he fucks you deep and splintering: you’ll never be whole again.

And scarier still—you don’t think you want to be.

No, you want to be these loathsome shards. You want to be broken glass. You want to draw blood.

You want to be possessed by him.

“Fuck yourself,” he pants, his cock straining violently against his trousers, begging for relief. “Be good and fuck yourself. Let me watch.”

Be good be good be good

He leaves your clit and you whimper at the loss. Your face is stained with tears. The salty trails cascade down to mingle into your hair, into the sheets. You’re vibrating, but you do as he says and you reach down, recoiling when you touch the chilled metal tip. Tentatively, you pad along it, settling on the end that’s peeking out from you.

A pained sound rumbles through Din as you wrap your fist around the saber, and your eyes flit up to meet his, hidden somewhere behind his helm. Hurriedly he unbuttons his pants in a flourish and removes himself from his constraints. He’s pulsing and proud, flexing up against his stomach, the veins choked to bulge along the angry, silken shaft of him.

Finally, you begin to move the hilt—finding an aching, undulating rhythm and he can’t fucking take it. He rips his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor.

“Din,” your pray, “Din, I think I’m going to-”

You’re wrecked – fried like a livewire– as you look for him, as you search and search—for that warmth, for a trace of him left there. The Din you knew, the Din you agreed to fly with all those months ago, the Din you love. You think you see it sometimes—in the slant of his mouth, the bridge of his nose— but here, now, he is gone.

He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man, and you want nothing more than to fall. Standing on the ledge of him, staring down into the abyss—you want this. You want to fall. You want to jump.

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me, sweet girl— tell me.” He’s fucking his fist raw, humping into his palm as desperate as an animal.

“I’m yours,” you mewl. Furiously rubbing your clit with one hand and spearing yourself on the rod of his saber with the other, your hips buck and spasm. You snap. A blinding light sears through you, ricocheting off every scrap of muscle and tendon sewed up in your body. “Just for you,” you cry, “I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—”

Your ragged sobs mix with the lewd slaps of skin as Din pumps himself, hot ropes of his release spitting onto you— painting your pussy, the divot of your navel, coating along the slope of your tummy.

“Look at you—fucking, look at you,” he moans throatily, easing through his rough strokes as he softens.

Your chest is heaving and you feel dumb, empty—like a puppet, arms and legs moving on phantom strings. Din removes the handle from you with a wet squelch; a viscous strand of your juices clings on, obscenely connecting your pussy to the base of it, and you rasp—the wind punched out of you with its gaping absence. You gush. It dribbles out the slit of you, leaking past your abused hole and soaking into the bedroll.

When he unsheathed the saber from your scabbard, he took a part of you with it. You’re so fucked out—you’re practically a parsec away— it went unnoticed.

Undetected.

It brushed past you. You didn’t feel it—you didn’t recognize the whisper that has slithered in in it’s place, nestling within your swollen folds.

Breeding there.

“Beautiful,” Din murmurs, placing it on the mattress beside your head, the chrome of it gleaming with your slick. He bows his head to lick a path up your cunt, laving you clean as he climbs higher and higher, tonguing off his seed from your stippled skin. “Fucking beautiful, mesh’la,” he growls. “Mine—all fucking mine.”

You’ve gone heavy. You’re too heavy to keep your eyes open—you’ve been hollowed out and you’ve got nothing keeping you tethered here. You start slipping under in slow motion—intervals between languid blinks lasting longer and longer. You’re spooled in a knot of tangled limbs with Din’s mouth, fervent and needy, flaying you open as he sees fit— with his hot mouth and teeth, suckling your breasts, biting at your nipples and bruising your pretty neck.

It’s not long before you hear it again, as you have before— as you always do: the faint caressing of speech, of lips forming language you cannot understand—made indecipherable in your strung out high.

“D’you say something?” you mumble, half conscious—half dreaming.

Din laps a long stripe up your throat, his stubble sanding your skin. “No.”

You sigh, breathy and girlish, as his fingers find your mound, dipping into you once again. He makes you cum twice more that evening. You barely have the strength to watch him do it.

Finally, when he’s satisfied—when he’s spent with driving you mad, making you rile— he grants you respite. He permits it – generous, charitable - and you sleep like the dead, soundly through the night until—

until you don’t.

Eyes. You feel them somewhere— there are eyes on you. You stir, stuttering in your sleep to squirm in the dark. You don’t know what you’re listening to at first. It’s a sound of some kind, a noise. There is a hiss—

A frigid hand seizes around the bloody organ pulsing in your ribcage.

No, not a hiss—it’s a voice. It’s— no-

You pat around for Din beside you but he’s gone—he’s long gone and his vacant spot has grown cold without him—and your nails dig into the sheets, desperately clawing into the fabric.

Inside you.

The voice, the sharp hush of it—it’s inside you. It speaks from inside your own mind, its forked tongue fluttering against your ear.

‘Wake up, sweet girl.’

Tags (IM SO SORRY): @djarinsbeskar @pedros-mustache @krissology @keeper0fthestars @read-and-rec

#darksaber!din #dark!din #dark!din x reader #dark!din x you #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando fanfiction #mando x you #mando x reader #the mandalorian #star wars #sw fanfic #darksaber #Im so sorry #dom!din #haunted!din

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preciousthingsareprecious · 3 years

Text

It'll Be Fun They Said

Whumptober day 12 is here and I'm back with more Dick and Damian content because why not?

No. 12 - IT’LL BE FUN, THEY SAID

torture | made to watch | begging

AO3 Link

“Stop it.” Dick croaked out. His voice was raw as his wrists as he twisted his arms against the ropes holding him back. All that did was dig the fibers deeper into broken skin. The pain didn’t matter, not when--

Robin’s yelp brought Dick back to the present. It cut off almost as soon as Damian made the sound, but it stabbed Dick’s heart all the same.

“Please.” He tried again, the begging hadn’t worked so far but maybe, just maybe they’d switch to him instead.

The man torturing his brother paused for a moment, tapping the end of the cattle prod he’d been jabbing Damian with off and on for the better part of twenty minutes against his hand. He grinned at Dick, sharp, and twisted, more so now with a gap at the front of his mouth from when early in the night Damian had managed to knock a tooth out with a well timed defiant swing of his head. Back when he’d had the energy to fight back.

“I will,” he reached the prod out and tilted Damian’s face up with the end, thankfully not on for the moment. “When the little bird here says he’s done.”

Damian jerked his face away, “Not likely.” he spat.

The thug shrugged, “Tough brat he is. We’ll see how much longer he lasts.” With that he thrust the prod back into Damian’s chest again, the electricity crackling against his vest.

“He’s just a kid!” Dick yelled.

My kid. He didn’t say. He’s mine, please stop hurting him. Please let him be and take me instead. The words were locked in his throat. Pointless repetitions of arguments he’d tried.

“A kid who seems willing enough to let this continue. One who dresses up like the rest of you bats and manages to outperform most adults—”

Damian’s yell was high, the exact tone of his twelve years. Completely childlike and deserving of the mercy he wasn’t being afforded. It cracked, turning from yell to something gasping, broken, and choked.

Dick couldn’t take his eyes off his brother, slumping against his restraints. His chest was the only part of him really moving as he took in huge gulps of air. He couldn’t see his eyes, but Dick could clearly see the tracks from tears that had worked their way through Damian’s mask. He tugged again at the cuffs testing the links, seeing if pressure this way or that could make them twist and warp. Anything to get free and help his brother.

The man, for his part, stepped away at last, tutting.

“Time for a pause. Wouldn’t want to break the little bird beyond repair.” He flashed a grin at Dick, “Least not yet.”

With that he strolled from the room leaving them alone together. The only noise between them Damian’s ragged breathing.

“You have to let me take some of this.” Dick said, pleading now with his little brother.

Damian shook his head, sweaty strands of hair dislodging just enough to flop against a different part of his forehead. It took him a moment but he looked up, lips set in a determined line.

“I won’t watch him hurt you.”

“So you’ll make me watch him hurt you?”

Damian flinched back as if Dick had struck him. Lip quavering for just a moment before he pressed them tightly together again.

His words hadn’t been fair—Dick knew that. But Damian wasn’t being fair either. He had to know how it was killing Dick to sit there unable to do anything to fix the situation. And yet he stubbornly refused to allow Nightwing to come to any harm.

“Yes.” Damian’s voice was quiet, “Yes I will.”

They were silent then. Damian doing his best to pull himself together while Dick worked the cuffs. With no gear, and snapped so tight Dick was sure his skin was changing color under them, they were hard to get off. But he had to. Get them off. Get out of this chair. Get Damian home.

It had been hours since they’d woken in this too bright room and Dick had given up on the idea that rescue was coming soon. Bruce was searching that was certain, but he wasn’t waiting for the cavalry to arrive. Their captor could grow bored with his game and kill Damian by that point. Dick refused to let that happen.

He shifted again, fingers stretching just to attempt to keep them functioning properly and he brushed against something odd. A raised spot on the rungs behind him, just far enough he’d missed it before. Purposeful now, he let his fingers brush up against it and—yes it was some kind of nail. With a flat head and sticking out just enough he could get his forefinger and middle to kind of grasp it. He must have loosened it in his struggles. If he could get it out he might be able to unlock the cuffs.

All his focus shifted to that little nail. His fingers gripping and tugging, and losing their hold only to repeat the same steps all over again, each attempt wiggling it out just a little more. Every so often Dick glanced up at Damian again, to make sure he was still there and still breathing.

His brother hadn’t made eye contact with him since their argument but that didn’t matter. Damian could be mad at him all he wanted as long as Dick could get them both out of there alive.

He had half the nail tugged out when the door cracked open again and their captor sauntered back into the room, with a metal pipe held in his hands. Dick’s attention swiveled from him to Damian. Robin’s face was set, back braced against his chair already.

Dick couldn’t let this happen. He focused again on the nail, his efforts more fervent than before, grip tighter, frustration greater every time it didn’t just pop out.

The man took careful steps towards Damian, knowing both Nightwing and Robin were waiting on him--on his decision with how to move forward. When he was close enough he tapped Damian’s cheek with the pipe. Robin did his best to jerk away, but his movement was hampered tied to the chair.

“Ready to start again? Or have you decided to let your partner have a turn?” the pipe swung in Dick’s direction to point at him.

“Robin--” Dick plead. Even if it made it harder to get the nail out he’d be fine, as long as it kept Damian safe.

“Touch him and I’ll kill you.” Damian growled.

And the pipe swung. Before Dick or Damian really even saw it coming, the man had turned it into Damian’s stomach eliciting a surprised grunt from the kid. It didn’t stop there--he pulled back to swat at Damian again. And again.

Dick had to squeeze his eyes shut. Not to ignore his brother or his pain, but so he could focus. His ears were filled with the truth of what was happening to Damian and that alone was enough to make rage bubble up in his chest. Rage wouldn’t get the nail out. He had to focus.

The thwack of metal on skin, and Damian’s grunts turned cries turned gasps was all Dick could hear. Every one tore at his heart as his fingers scrambled against the nail. And then. At last. It slipped out, tucked between two fingers.

Careful, Dick palmed it, and shifted his hands so he could--just get it in the lock for the cuffs. It wasn’t meant to unlock them but he could figure it out. Wiggle it just right, work the pressure into the perfect spot--anything to just get them to snap open.

There was a hard thud without a return sound from Damian. Dick’s eyes shot open to see his brother slumped forward, blood trickling down the side of his head and decorating the pipe. The man was looking at it quizzically, like he too hadn’t been expecting that outcome.

Then the lock on the cuffs gave away. In one moment Dick pulled his arms around his front and lunged forward. Their captor had a moment to realize what was happening before Nightwing was on him, sending a vicious kick to his abdomen to knock him back and away from Robin.

Dick wasted no time subduing the man, fury bubbled in his chest fueling each blow, dodge, and kick. Until at last their captor was sprawled on the ground, unconscious. The pipe having skittered away in the conflict.

For a moment Dick considered scooping it up and ensuring their captor never considered hurting a kid again--but Damian coughed, the sound wet and pained, and Dick’s world shifted back to what was really important.

He turned, and rushed to his brother, working the ropes off his boy in an almost panicked rush. Damian looked rough-bruised, beaten, bloody, and exhausted. When Dick tore the last of the ropes away and tugged him into his arms Damian sunk into his chest with a sigh.

“I got you.” Dick said, tangling a hand in Damian’s hair, “I’ve got you.”

His brother shook in his arms, one hand gripping at what he could of Dick’s chest the other thrown up and around Dick’s shoulder.

“I knew you’d stop him.” Damian murmured, voice tiny and shattered.

Dick tugged him a little closer, careful not to hold him too tight, but desperate to have him as near as possible, “Don’t you ever do that again, okay? Next time we share the load as partners.”

He knew Damian wouldn't agree to it. The same way he would never agree to watch his brother be tortured again. Both were unmovable on the subject of protecting the other. Protecting family. It was a battle he wouldn't win, but he had to say it anyway. Had to let Damian know he'd been terrified for him, that even as he'd protected him from physical harm it hadn't stopped his heart being torn in two.

“Next time rescue us faster.” Damian quipped, “and we won’t have to.”

“Brat.” Dick sighed, relieved that if his brother could still sass him he would probably be fine. Still, he needed medical attention now.

He scooped Damian into his arms and stood, cradling his boy to his chest, “Lets go home, we’ll talk more about self sacrifice when you’re not dealing with a concussion.”

#Damian Wayne #Dick Grayson #whumptober 2021 #Day 12 #made to watch #torture #begging #hurt/comfort #angst #injury #blood #Damian needs a hug #and gets one!#canon typical violence #precious posts #fanfiction

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yououui · 3 years

Note

" i'm trying so hard, but... i can't stop myself from falling in love with you. " - but it's kurogane saying it! because you know he tried to stop himself before deciding this was just his lot in life and it was time to wife that boy

I accidentally wrote a 5 page fic of Kurogane just being a lovesick idiot enjoy

They sit in silence after Tomoyo leaves them. Kurogane wants to yell at her a bit because what the hell is she playing at dressing the mage like that?! but it turns out that cutting off an arm is exhausting and he doesn’t have the energy to fight her. He does give her a glare as she exits the room and she winks back at him.

Tea is brought for them eventually and Fai carefully pours them each a warm glass. “How are you feeling?” Fai asks while handing Kurogane his cup, the first words spoken since he socked Kurogane upside the head.

Kurogane shrugs, a natural instinct that proves to be a mistake as pain shoots across his left side. Fai notices his wince and moves closer in concern, like he thinks Kurogane will need to be caught before fainting, but Kurogane waves him off. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“And in pain,” Fai says. He almost sounds angry, but the sad look on his face betrays his tone.

“It’s not that bad,” Kurogane tells him instead. “As long as I don’t move too much.”

Fai regards the empty sleeve hanging at Kurogane’s side and the white bandages wrapped tightly around his chest. “You’re such… an idiot,” He says eventually. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Thought I made it clear a while ago,” Kurogane responds, as easily as ever. “I’ll do anything to protect the people I love.”

Fai laughs, though it sounds more like a sob, and shakes his head. “If you love me then you’re even more of an idiot.”

“Trust me, I know,” Kurogane says. When Fai lifts his eye, Kurogane offers him a small smile just so the idiot doesn’t get the idea in his head that Kurogane is serious. Somehow, even for as upset as he is, it gets Fai to smile weakly as well. That gives Kurogane the encouragement he needs to continue. “Y’know mage, I’m trying so hard—I’ve been trying for a while, but…”

But…?

When did it start exactly? When did the annoyance towards the insufferable man sitting beside him turn into curiosity? When did he begin finding himself wanting to know more about him—when did he begin to care?

He can’t be certain but Outo springs to mind first. The moment Fai’s casual admittance that he wanted to die spiked anger in Kurogane. Anger not towards Fai, as Fai believed, but towards the mere idea of him going through with it. And the moment he saw the mage’s ribbon on the ground, no body to be seen as demons surrounded him and that anger returned like a tsunami wave engulfing him until he could barely see or breathe.

And the relief when he saw the idiot was actually alive. And the frustration at himself for feeling so relieved for someone that didn’t care about Kurogane or himself. Kurogane knew that it was pointless to let himself be interested in the mage; Fai was a liar that carefully kept them all at arms length and Kurogane had no idea who he would see when the mask finally fell.

But he didn’t want Fai to die. As grating as Fai could be, Kurogane wanted him to stick around. He didn’t care about Fai’s past, but he wanted to understand him more. He wanted to know what he liked—liquor, music, cooking, annoying Kurogane, cats, dogs?—and what he disliked—hangovers, waking up early, pickles, personal questions, green tea. He wanted to understand what had Fai so guarded, what had him so afraid, and he wanted Fai to understand that he could let the walls down every now and then, that Kurogane would protect him from whatever he was running from.

And then Yama, Piffle, Lecourt, seeing those walls break down brick by careful brick. Feeling the strength of Fai’s magic for the first time as it engulfed them, the sheer power of it suffocating and brilliant. And Kurogane felt a brief spark of hope that maybe, maybe, Fai was beginning to learn that caring wasn’t such a bad thing.

And then the fear that came with the weight of Fai’s limp body in his arms, the way his blood fell like morbid tears and stained usually flawless skin. Kurogane had felt that once before as a child, the night his life was burned to ruins but he still refused to let his mother go. Kurogane also refused to let Fai go; he needed to feel the mage’s breath and heartbeat, no matter how weak. He needed to know with certainty that Fai was still alive.

It may have began earlier, but it was then that he realized that his minor curiosity had grown into something he couldn’t control or bury or pretend not to notice. In that moment, his worldview narrowed down until he could only see Fai, the noises around them dulled except for Fai’s wavering breath and weak voice, and suddenly anything else he’d ever wanted didn’t seem to matter. He made the wish and paid the price and bound himself to Fai, a man who would keep running seemingly forever.

Well then, to hell with Nihon—he could find a new home or wander around new worlds with Fai until the day he died. He could give up his own life, tear out his own heart, anything it would take to keep that idiot alive for one more day.

It was only after it was over and the price paid that Kurogane reminisced about his parents and realized that there was a word for what he was feeling.

“But I can’t stop myself from falling in love with you.”

Fai says nothing but the breath he takes is sharp enough to cut the stillness around them. Because sure, Kurogane loved him, he cared, they were friends after all. But to fall in love…

It was something he knew he shouldn’t feel as soon as he realized it. He knew he should avoid it. If he tried to pursue someone who did not want to be chased, it would only end in disaster.

And gods did he try to stop it before it reached that point. Kurogane had heard of heartbreak of course, through others lamenting the loss of their beloved or reading about it in books, but he’d never experienced it himself. He didn’t understand how such a feeling could overwhelm someone completely and scoffed at characters in stories that threw themselves from high windows or drank poison rather than live a day without their love.

But then he felt it, that hot knife of rejection stabbing him straight through the chest. Each cold word and hostile glare twisted the blade until he was certain his heart had been crushed to a gruesome, mangled mess, and yet there were still tender bits of it left for Fai to sink his claws into. And then Kurogane understood the windows and the poison and honestly, he’d rather cut off his other arm than ever experience that again.

But at least Fai was alive. At least he was there, and Kurogane would take the bitter pain and more for Fai. Only for Fai.

Kurogane chuckles to himself now, the entire thing so miserable it’s almost humorous. If the person he was before Tomoyo cast him away could see him now, he’d probably call himself a moron, just like those characters in the stories. Kurogane never knew one person could change him so much. “Even when you hated me, I couldn’t help it.”

Fai’s head falls forward and he digs the heel of his palm into his eye as if it could shove his tears back inside. His other hand trembles and fists his kimono so tightly, Kurogane is worried he’ll tear right through the silk.

“I never—hated you,” Fai gasps, shoulders trembling. Kurogane feels bad for making Fai cry—Fai’s cried a lot recently. It comforts Kurogane to hear the truth, though, and he thinks the mage needs it. He has about five lifetimes of tears built up. “I couldn’t. So I tried to make you hate me but—gods, even after all I did... how I treated you…! You still wouldn’t...”

Kurogane turns his body a bit so that he can reach Fai with his right hand. He ruffles Fai’s hair and the indignant squeak Fai lets out as his head is pushed down feels entirely worth it. “Guess we’re both idiots then,” Kurogane tells him quietly.

Fai peers up at him through his hair that Kurogane has made a mess of. His face is shining with tears, his cheeks splotched red and his eye swollen and Kurogane marvels that such a beautiful person could ever exist in the mortal world.

Fai weakly—playfully—swats Kurogane’s hand away and wipes his sleeve against his cheeks. Kurogane snorts, humored that the outfit Tomoyo carefully picked for Fai to wear for a very specific reason has been reduced down to a rag to dry his face. “I think Kuro-sama must be on all kinds of strange medicine,” Fai says with a fragile but honest smile. “He’s in such a good mood and saying all kinds of weird things.”

“Mm. Don’t expect to hear this shit when I wake up tomorrow,” Kurogane tells him with a nod. He’s still smiling though, smiling like a lovesick idiot with hearts in his eyes but damn it he’s been through too much and has almost lost Fai too many times to care about it now. Hearing the slightly teasing tone in the mage’s voice and seeing him here, alive and at Kurogane’s side, soothes his torn up heart and begins stitching the pieces back together.

Fai’s smile grows as well, the fragile edges chipping away and leaving behind a look of pure happiness Kurogane has never seen on him before. Fai reaches over, letting go of his own kimono to grab the empty sleeve of Kurogane’s. “I’m sorry,” He says. “And thank you. But never do something like this again.”

“Don’t almost get yourself killed again and I won’t have to,” Kurogane tells him, grinning.

Fai nods, still smiling. “Fine. You’ll live a long, long life with me by your side, Kuro-sama. I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

It’s probably the strangest proposal in the history of any world, but it’s one Kurogane is happy to accept.

#kurofai

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masterwords · 2 years

Text

Gonna Take Your Hand

Summary: Hotch is sick and Derek takes him to the hospital where they spend hours.

Warnings: hospital, a little vomit...it's pretty tame, he's just sick

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 3k

Notes: This isn't even a story. I woke up at 4am with the image in my head and now it's here, that's all.

Read on AO3: Gonna Take Your Hand

“This isn't how our first Christmas vacation in years was supposed to go,” Derek muttered, one arm slung around Aaron's hips, the other hand digging into the curve of his elbow. He wasn't supposed to be dragging Aaron, barely able to stand on his own two feet, to the car in the middle of a snowstorm two days before Christmas. He wasn't supposed to be dealing with this again, it had been under control, there hadn't been a spell in months. He was on medication, he was being good and Derek didn't know who to curse for the turn of events.

“You could just call an ambulance,” his mother called from the stoop and he groaned, folding Aaron's too long and too weak legs into the front seat. No, he couldn't, he'd made that mistake the last time this happened and caught hell for a week after. He grunted something unintelligible in response and she backed off, she knew her son well enough not to push. It was almost dinner time, he was hungry, and he was preparing for a long evening sitting in the emergency room lobby at county general.

In the lobby he ate a bag of too salty potato chips while Aaron leaned heavy against him, dragging in shallow breaths one after another without engaging in conversation. Derek didn't need him to talk, he did plenty of his own when he was nervous and trying to hide the fact that he was scared. “I'm not saying you did this on purpose...” he muttered, wiping the salt and crumbs onto the knees of his pants. “I'm not...but if you did...”

“Derek,” Aaron groaned, pressing his face into the other man's shoulder miserably. He was expending so much energy on sitting up, on holding things somewhat together after collapsing in Fran's kitchen right in front of her. Scaring her. That was the worst part, that he'd crumpled while he stood beside her visiting while he washed the dishes. He hadn't really gone fully out, he'd been awake the whole time...not alert, necessarily, but he was certain he hadn't lost consciousness this time. Pressing his palm flat against the wall of his sternum, he tried to pull the right amount of air into his lungs, the amount that would clear his head, give him the power of speech, but it was futile. If anything, it was getting worse, his breaths were coming slower, harder, but definitely not deeper. “...'m gonna be sick...” he muttered through lips that barely moved, not sure if it would elicit a response in time but he figured it was worth a shot before he got sick in his own lap. He trembled and Derek pulled the small pink bucket from the chair next to him, shoved it under Aaron's chin and turned away out of some last ditch effort at consideration for how much Aaron hated all of this. There wasn't anything in his stomach anyway.

“Aaron Hotchner,” they called, and without hesitation Derek asked them for a wheelchair, he wasn't going to risk another collapse, not when they were moving along now. It was still early enough that he had hope they'd be out of there sooner rather than later and he would rather put up a fight now to ensure it was with as close to a clean bill of health as he could control. He'd made it this far into the evening without another incident, a few bouts of sickness were nothing compared to the unexplained collapsing and they both knew it. It elicited an icy glare, but there wasn't anything Aaron could do to argue, the challenge issued was above his current ability to fight. His legs trembled beneath him when he stood long enough to transfer himself from the unforgiving lobby chair to the wheelchair and he refused to meet Derek's eyes, it was his last prideful stand. The nurse trotted along beside the chair asking Aaron questions while Derek pushed them down the hall, following her lead. It was all he could do to keep his eyes focused on her and the way she confidently strode down the hallway, she didn't seem to be pressed by any urgency, wasn't shocked by the way Aaron's head lolled to the side every so often as if even holding that up was too much for him. If she wasn't concerned, maybe it was fine, he kept telling himself that.

Pulling the curtain around them for privacy, she tossed a gown onto the bed and smiled. “You know the drill, honey. Down to the boxers...or...” she eyed him for a moment, cocking an eyebrow. “Briefs? No, you're a boxers guy, I can see it. Gown open in front. It gets a little chilly in here, you can cover up with a sheet but I need you up on the bed ready to go when I get back. Do you need any help?” She looked to Derek who shook his head, he'd wrangled Aaron in and out of clothes under worse circumstances, figuring out all of the intricacies of his expensive suits and the too many buttons while trying to field dress a stab wound...a sweater and jeans under no threat of duress wouldn't be a problem.

“I can do it,” Aaron argued when Derek began tugging at the sleeve of his sweater, pulling it down over his hand and he smirked, backed away.

“Fine.” He stood back and watched with some amusement at the way Aaron struggled himself out of his sweater, folded it neatly and tossed it to a chair beside the bed. The same happened with his undershirt, and then he was pulling himself upright, leaning heavily against the bed for support while his head swam and his knees buckled. Standing too quickly, his chest constricted, he blinked hard and felt his fingers dig into the paper on the exam bed, ripping it beneath his weight. Derek's hands were at his waist, steadying him, holding him upright when gravity became too much of a menace.

“I got you,” he said softly, and while Aaron held tight to the bed, Derek unzipped his jeans from behind and drug them to the floor, helped maneuver his feet out of them before tucking his arms through the too big holes in the gown and tucking it around him like a blanket. he didn't bother to tie it, they'd be doing an EKG shortly and just undoing the ties anyway, he was no stranger to this song and dance. Aaron shivered and Derek did feel for him, the room was too cold to be so exposed and after helping him up onto the exam bed he draped the thin white sheet over his legs in an attempt at making him more comfortable. The rest of the warmth came through contact, he put his arms around Aaron's shoulders and let him lean in, held him close to stave off the inevitable chill. There were times he thought his own knees might buckle while he stood, tired, hungry, worried but he braced himself against the bed and stayed as long as Aaron wanted him.

It was hours of imaging, blood tests and waiting. Derek called his mother, asked her to put Jack to bed, they had a ways to go and Aaron had been alert enough at least to speak to Jack for a few minutes before they hooked him up to an IV. Dehydration, low blood sugar, those were easy fixes and they created enough of a change in his status that Derek felt almost hopeful that everything else would be fine. It wouldn't be the first time a doctor leveled their steely glare at Aaron and told him he needed to drink water and eat actual meals, and while that did happen here, they didn't immediately cut them loose which meant there was more to it. So, it was more waiting, this time with Aaron lying on a real bed, one palm flat against his sternum, the other arm thrown over his eyes in an attempt to shield himself from the harsh lights above that were doing nothing for the headache he felt creeping in. Derek thumbed through an old copy of Cosmopolitan, tried to distract himself with oddly phrased, bad advice for women in their forties who were single and ready to mingle. He thought of Penelope and Emily. Smirking and without consideration for what he was doing, snapped a picture to send to them. As soon as he hit send, he felt a pit in his stomach...sure, they'd get a laugh, just like he did, but which one would call first and demand to know why he was reading Cosmo and where he had occasion to do it? Penelope, ever the optimist, would never assume he was reading it in the ER but Emily sure would, it would be her first guess.

“WHO IS IT?” she demanded, and he could hear her voice even through text. “WHO IS DYING?” All caps, she was yelling and the only reason she hadn't called was because she knew he wouldn't answer.

No one is dying.

WHY ARE YOU IN THE GODDAMN HOSPITAL?

Who says I'm in the hospital? Could be at the newsstand...

HOSPITAL. WHO?????!!

He smiled, thumbs flying over the keyboard with mind boggling rapidity, firing off coy responses one after another. It was the most pleasant part of his night thus far. She was getting more and more irate with each shifty reply and Aaron groaned miserably beside him. He couldn't see what was happening but Derek kept the sound on and he could hear the furious clicking sound of his keyboard.

“Stop,” he whined from beneath his arm as his own phone began buzzing relentlessly in his jeans on the counter. “Just tell her I died.” He smiled weakly, kept it hidden in the crook of his elbow and listened as Derek's typing slowed down until it stopped and he heard the phone being discarded.

“Sorry,” Derek muttered, reclining in the chair. He wasn't, though, not really. He loved getting Emily all riled up, it was Penelope that he worried about and he grabbed for his phone when it buzzed, tried to placate her with quiet admissions. Emily he would ignore now, let her stew, no one was dying and he'd get away with it but Penelope would be on the first plane to Chicago if he didn't give her something. Quickly he snapped a photo of Aaron lying breathless with his arm over his face and sent it to her...he grunted, complained that Derek needed to leave, he was just making things worse for all of them but Penelope was happy enough to see that there was no blood, nothing visibly scary, just a tired and sick man lying in a hospital bed. He wouldn't scare her with details.

“I've spoken with your primary physician,” the doctor said, pulling up a stool beside the bed. The rest of his speech was long, difficult for Aaron to focus on, he hoped Derek was listening better than he was. Or at all, really, because he was too foggy to pick out more than a word or two here and there. He shivered and Derek shrugged out of his coat, lay it over Aaron's exposed chest without taking his eyes off of the doctor while he spoke.

More scans, more blood drawn, he was getting antsy and they weren't getting any real answers. It could have been as simple as they'd originally thought, dehydration or low blood sugar, it could have been that he'd taken an Ambien too late the night prior and it was still trying to make him sleep while he wanted to be awake. Those were the easiest to digest, the easiest to fix. But they weren't convinced, and Derek was just along for the ride as the doctors chased a diagnosis that made sense. That explained why every time he sat up, even with the IVs pumping him full of all sorts of things his labs indicated were needed, all of the color drained from his face and his blood pressure plummeted. Why he couldn't seem to breathe easily, why he could feel errant heartbeats in his throat.

“I'm not going home,” Derek said for the hundredth time as he rubbed Aaron's cold bare feet, pressed his thumbs into the arches, circled gently. Something to do with his hands, to keep him awake because lounging in the chair was going to put him to sleep even in his discomfort. “I won't give you the satisfaction.”

“Derek, you're exhausted,” Aaron argued but he didn't have the energy to put into taking it further. He didn't really want Derek to leave, he just couldn't stand the idea that they'd been there six hours now and Derek had only eaten a bag of potato chips when they'd both been looking forward to the pot roast Fran had in the oven. “At least go to the cafeteria or a vending machine, get something to eat.”

“I'll eat when you can,” was all he said and it was final enough that Aaron didn't try again. Of all the people on the planet, he had to choose the only person that might be more stubborn and willful than he was. His eyes were closed and he let himself enjoy, briefly, the way Derek's hands felt against his cold feet, pulling him into a distraction from the way the rest of his body felt.

“Walking pneumonia,” they said, sliding his chest x-ray up on the board beside them and flipping on the light. Derek stared, enthralled by the glimpse at what it looked like inside of Aaron's chest. He rested his hand against the labored rise and fall, amazed by what was going on just beneath his touch. “You can see this spot of infection right here...”

“He hasn't been coughing,” Derek muttered, staring, and the doctor nodded.

“If not for the syncope bringing you in, it's likely that the coughing and fever would have started in the next couple of days. Sometimes we create a perfect storm and wind up able to catch things early, as in this case. You'll be sick for Christmas,” the doctor said, flipping the light off and pulling the x-ray back down. “But at least you won't be here and you won't get any worse.” A couple more hours, a bolus of antibiotics and a bag of prescriptions that sat in his lap on the quiet ride home through the barren, snow covered streets. Every sound echoed through the piles of fresh powder, ricocheted between eager buildings waiting for the morning buzz. Derek forced their car through berms that threatened to stop them in their tracks, the plows moved slowly criss-crossing the streets but wouldn't touch anything they needed for hours yet. It was up to them, and the way Derek floored the gas and let his car rock its way through nearly made Aaron sick again.

“Slow down,” Aaron whined, and Derek smiled, tapping the breaks wildly and letting the car slide, fishtail a little and come to a stop near their destination. Aaron groaned, he should have seen it coming, he knew how Derek got in the first snow...he'd do everything in his power to remind himself quickly how to drive in the stuff, test every mechanism in his car, his own reflexes, from the safety of an empty road. He shivered when they came to a stop, folded his arms miserably over the deep ache in his chest that was getting more pronounced the longer he was upright and let Derek help him out of the car. Not eager to slip, spend another eternity in the hospital, he was content to allow Derek to coddle him until they were inside.

Fran was up, baking cinnamon rolls by the smell of it. “You're home,” she hissed, her whisper joyful as she tried not to wake the rest of the house. Derek wrapped her in a hug after easing Aaron down into a chair in the kitchen, asked her if she had any pot roast left. 3AM or not, he was starving. He didn't bother to ask her what she was doing up so early, he knew...they were cut from the same cloth. Busying himself with plating and heating his food, he spoke with his mother in hushed whispers, explained to her what was going on and by the time he was ready to eat, Aaron was asleep with his face buried in his arms on the table. He looked content and neither of them worried, it was a different scene from earlier as he crashed to the floor, there was no urgency here. Only silence, the wheezing sound of his labored breathing against the table. They visited quietly while Derek mowed through two helpings, waited until her cinnamon rolls were finished in the oven before excusing himself and dragging Aaron down the hall to their makeshift bedroom. He'd considered scooping Aaron into his arms and carrying him but the look on his face said he may not have much energy left but he would put up a fight and did he really want to deal with that? Aaron was beyond his limit for indignities, he could walk the few feet it would take to get to bed. The futon was uncomfortable and hurt his back, but Aaron shuffled gladly toward it, knowing it was better than the bed he'd just spent hours lying on. This would feel like luxury, and when he was undressed and tucked neatly beneath a thick stack of blankets, Derek slid in and curled around him, calming the way his body shivered at the sudden change in temperature.

“I am contagious,” Aaron reminded him through short, raspy breaths. It was getting harder to fill his lungs, he could feel the first waves of coughing...able to stifle it for now, it wouldn't last. Not that he wanted Derek to let him go, but he felt it necessary to point it out, give him a reason for a little self-preservation. Derek chuckled, burying his nose in Aaron's hair and snuffling, wrapping himself tighter. He anchored himself there.

“I'm not going anywhere, so you'd better be ready to take care of me when I get sick.”

“We'll see,” was all Aaron managed to whisper as he drifted off, the first of many dry coughs interrupting whatever was left of his thought.

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #criminal minds #mortch #hotchgan #fanfiction #sickfic #hotch whump

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dizzydennis · 3 years

Text

Sonic x Rouge Cover Story (Part 2)

Translator note: Thank you for checking out Part 2 of Rouge’s cover story. I have no idea why it was separated like this, but it’s fine in the end. I am not fluent in Japanese and I am still learning how to be a better translator. Please note that there will likely be mistakes in my work here, but I hope you enjoy the story. Also, I am busy with work and didn’t have the luxury of working on my laptop for this one. While riding a Shinkansen, I typed this out on my phone. If there are any mistakes, please forgive me.

Within the center of Eggman Land, there is a deep vertical hole deep in the ground that goes over 100 meters down.

This was the site of the “Gaia Temple.”

The temple, which once stood for the "healing" of this planet, was tucked into the underground of Eggman Land, but emerged during a big battle and is now sleeping deep in the depths of the planet.

At the bottom of this hole was a figure that landed silently. After looking around carefully, this person said in an overly satisfied tone:

"Huh. It seems that all those robots that gathered together to get Sonic. All for little ol’ me! ♪"

This person was Rouge the Bat. When she looked at the radar she was carrying she could see Sonic was a ways off; just as planned.

"Everybody should get a friendly little hedgehog friend!~"

It seemed certain that she pushed the enemy towards Sonic and to drive them as far away as possible. Then, on the contrary, Sonic was heading for this very spot.

Soon after reaching the deepest part of the tall rock spires of the temple, Rouge found a stone that was dimly shining through the darkness, picked it up, and gracefully pressed it against her cheek.

“I finally found you! And you’re just such a cutie!”

"... Who are you talking to and what are you saying?"

When asked from behind, Rouge looked blankly forward with the stone still on her cheek.

"Oh ...? Did you abandon your work? That’s pretty naughty, Sonic."

Rouge's expression, as she slowly looked back and asked, returned to her usual graceful smile.

“Well, I know you’re the worst kind of lady and I couldn't help it," Sonic answered with an obnoxious grin.

Knowing the location of the Chaos Emerald with the energy detector, Sonic noticed Rouge's plan to use him to allow her a chance to take the gem and so… he quickly showed up here.

The communicator that was informing her of his position would still be spinning on rotation.

"So, what are ya going to do with that Chaos Emerald?"

Rouge smiled and returned without any fear.

"Well, I was thinking that I’d bring it home … What do you say to that?"

Rouge continued, shifting her gaze from the ring on Sonic’s left hand to the Chaos Emerald.

“You’ll soon realize the value of a better gem when one comes around.”

With that said, she slammed a smoke bomb, that she took out from in-between her breasts, on the ground.

<< BANG! >> >>

The area was covered with white smoke.

"Hey! What about our deal earlier!?"

When Sonic shook off the smoke, Rouge had already grabbed on to a large escape balloon and was rising into the sky.

"... Well that takes care of that! My investigation has already ended ♪ You were very useful for the time being, so I will share my intel as promised. Eggman Land’s power restarted because of that seven-colored shooting star ... and the Chaos Emerald accidentally fell here. "

The setup was a little crazy, but Rouge got the Chaos Emerald anyway. She began talking to earn time to escape.

“Well look at that, the Gaia Temple that was previously here was also a power spot for the Chaos Emeralds, right? Perhaps because of that, it seems the underground temple responded to all that Chaos Energy and began to spread energy around the area.”

Sonic didn’t seem to move at all.

"Well, I gave it some thought... If I were to come down here then I might happen upon a Chaos Emerald myself.”

So that was it. Sonic began to speak back.

"OK, but the Chaos Emeralds don’t really belong to anyone. They’ve just been used by some of us when the world was really in a pinch.”

It didn’t matter to Rouge as she let out a soft, “But…"

"But what?"

“But… isn’t it just great to be able to dig in and steal it?”

The next moment Sonic grinned as he dashed towards Rouge.

"!?"

Sonic used the slopes of the rock pillars to spin dash into the sky. As he crossed by Rouge, he grabbed the Chaos Emerald right from her hand.”

"Oh! You thief!"

With a wink, Sonic fell to the bottom of the vertical hole with a huge smile across his face. Rouge was at a loss for words and swooped down to catch up to him!

<< RUMBLE ...! >> >>

Suddenly, all the lights in Eggman Land shut off and the planet shook violently.

A plethora of dazzling streaks of light rose from the very bottom of the vertical hole. The lights shot out in countless directions, and the entire place was engulfed with light once Sonic landed.

The five Chaos Emeralds that Sonic had in his possession started to shine brightly as if they were responding to the lights below.

"What is this......!?"

A glow returned to the darkened and drained Chaos Emeralds.

Maybe it's because five Chaos Emeralds were gathered in the same place where the Gaia Temple used to be. Perhaps it was because Sonic has a deep connection with the temple. Either way, some slumbering power had “found” the Chaos Emerald.

Rouge, who was watching this from the sky, was completely awestruck at such a beautiful scene.

Moreover, the darkness that has spread across the entire temple was washed out as huge particles of light seemed to cut out through the engravings along the side of the large hole. They became even more gorgeous as they shined in seven bright colors.

It looked like a fancy jewel placed on top of high quality black velvet fabric.

"...!"

Rouge glanced at its beauty with longing eyes as she let out a sigh.

For the realist that Rouge was: gems that are unobtainable are truly worthless. However, the hint of "better jewels" still being out there made Rouge happy.

... She could hear Sonic calling from far below her feet.

"Hey! Are you going to come back for it?”

Sonic was shouting with the Chaos Emerald in his hand. It was if he wasn’t going to put up a fight at all.

Of course, she wasn’t going to give up on this real jewel. Right now, no matter what went down in Eggman Land, people’s hearts don’t change. Rouge squinted her eyes and made a confident smile. She pretended to give up and assessed her chances for a surprise attack.

“Well… I lost. I don’t need a sneaky hedgehog’s emerald anyway! Besides—”

<< Crack ...! >> >>

As Rouge flew, the circumference of the hole began cracking apart as the planet shook again.

<< RUMBLE ...! >> >>

"What!? What’s happening this time!?”

A vertical hole that was originally struck in an unnatural shape ... I couldn't stand the torrent of light. The vertical hole couldn’t withstand the barrage of light. The buildings and attractions of Eggman Land fell as if they were caught in an avalanche. The whole thin collapsed.

...... Now’s the time to strike!

If Rouge could get off a surprise move now, she could possibly get all five of Sonic’s emeralds! However, Sonic was able to avoid a giant Eggman statue that had collapsed and fallen in. Sonic slipped back and fell into the smoke.

Sonic would be fine in a situation like this. Rouge, however, concentrated all of her cunning towards an overhead surprise attack once the smoke settled.

But then ...

"I'm sorry to have kept a lady waiting, but I can’t give much more of an apology, right? By the way, what were you trying to tell me earlier?"

Rouge was hearing Sonic's cocky voice from the communicator.

Rouge dropped her head in sadness. Sonic had already escaped. Also, his communicator must was very far away from where he was ... Rouge realized that it was impossible to catch up with him.

Really, this guy does every single thing he wants to, doesn’t he?

"It's so annoying. I now have nothing!"

Saying that, Rouge got rid of her communicator and let her escape balloon go too. She then angrily flew into the sky.

Sonic, on the other hand, almost instantly returned to his usual demeanor with a cheeky expression. Before running off, he left a last message on his communicator despite the fact that nobody would hear it.

"Well, Rouge. Did you enjoy yourself today?"

The night was soon erased by a wave of light. Morning had come to Eggman Land, the place for hopes and desire.

The amusement park, which welcomed two guests during its bustling night of resurrection had collapsed and fallen completely silent. Now, it seemed nothing more than a set of ruins. Casting a dark shadow onto the new morning.

With that in mind, Rouge, who ended up going home empty-handed, was flying in the sky with horrid thoughts in her mind. However, she suddenly went silent when she thought about the jewel of light she saw.

Even so, it was overwhelming. That unrealistic beauty it had... What if Rouge could just know how valuable it was?

"... Well, you’ll just have to find it for yourself then!"

"Motivation" is the "ideal jewel". Maybe there was some value in this, depending on how you think about it.

Let's leave things as they are. Rouge was in a good mood as these thoughts raced through her mind. She then flew off into the sunrise.

“I'll definitely get all the jewels I want anyway! All jewels in the world are my mine to keep! ♪”

#sonic the hedgehog #rouge the bat #sonic unleashed #sonic adventure 2 #dr eggman #sega

134 notes · View notes

poppysmc · 3 years

Text

I Don't Know How You Do It But I'm Forever Ruined

Notes: This has been sitting in my drafts for so so long, unfinished with a different song and Im just obsessed with this song right now so I thought I'd go ahead and post it.. sorry for the mistakes I don't have a beta so they're all mine. I'm just slowly getting back to writing again, please be patient with me. ❤️

Song: Off my face - Justin Bieber

(One shot)

Last and certainly not the least…. Ms. Morgan Hughes, she’ll be gracing us with her angelic voice, singing… uhh… Off my face? Thomas reads the cue cards, slightly puzzled, he thought Morgan would be doing stand-up, he and Morgan’s posse endured long nights of practicing her stand-up routine and now she’s just gonna sing, it’s not even vetted on.

He glances to the side, silently confirming if it was right. Morgan nods and smiles nervously. He in turn smiles back, giving an encouraging thumbs up and a whisper of ‘good luck’ as she takes to the stage.

Some of the audience chuckled at the name choice, adding to the ever growing lump lodged in her throat. This is definitely not her best idea and before she could go ranting about the title, some of her friends clapped and cheered, giving her a slight boost of confidence.

She wrote thet a few months ago, absently plucking at the guitar strings. She’s got the same few chords stuck in her head for week. Only god knows how she pulled the lyrics out of her muddled brain.

How does one go about sharing her feelings for someone who has no idea? Said someone sitting front and center with a scowl, sitting next to her parents. She has no idea she wrote it for her, she sighs in relief.

For a split second she could see Poppy’s attention snap up to her, smirking and raising her eyebrow in question. Morgan rolls her eyes at her and settled into her chair and just like Poppy’s face never moved, her scowl was back in place, listening to Chloe rant about her talent to her right.

She starts plucking out the intro, it’s now or never.

One touch and you got me stoned

Higher than I’ve ever known

You call the shots and I’ll follow

Sunrise but the night’s still young

No words but we’re speaking tongues

If you let me I might say too much

Sometimes people just enter your life and burrow themselves so deep into it that for the life of you, you couldn't remember when it all started. This case was different, Morgan could vividly remember a day it all changed, how it became harder for her to even look Poppy in the eye for more than a few seconds. How her warm touch roughly pulling her back to the argument now seemed to burn through her sleeves, pressure slightly softer. She used to meet her hot gaze, faces only inches apart spitting out vicious insults without thinking much, now she didn’t have the same fire in her veins she seemed to have arguing with Poppy.

The need to antagonize her fizzled into something else, a warmth that threatens to overtake her made itself a home in her chest.

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

Morgan wanted to stay home, as much as she enjoyed parties, it wasn’t something she wanted to do regularly. Sometimes it gets a little too much to handle, the music felt too loud, the people got too close, the eyes on her felt stifling. She wanted to be free just this one night out of expectant looks but Zoey is too convincing, her puppy dog eyes are too powerful for a mere mortal like herself. She made a condition to just be at the party no over the top expensive clothes, just herself.

“I’ll come but just to be your glorified chauffer.” She dresses herself in something simple, a pair of black pants and flannel. “I just want to be invisible this one night, Zo.”

“Fine by me, but if your fashion choices end up splashed all over The T tomorrow don’t come crying to me.” Zoey shakes her head, the slight dig on her wardrobe is softened by a thankful grin.

“You get dragged on The T once, and no one lets you live it down.”

“Because I’m pretty certain I said don’t go out in that, it’s suicide. So yeah I would never let it go, you wore socks with your flip-flops and had the audacity to show yourself in public.”

“It’s not even my fault, sunny ran out the door. I had no time to check what I was wearing."

“You’ll never learn. Whatever will you do without me?” Zoey smirks and shakes her head affectionately. "Stop stalling and let’s go. My carriage awaits dear chauffer.”

“Yeah, yeah. Please allow me to escort you down, boss.” Morgan bumps her shoulders with Zoey as she passes by to grab her jacket. She opens the door and offers her arm, Zoey laughs and loops her arms around hers.

The party was already in full swing once they arrived. The music was blaring; the bass makes Morgan’s chest thump along erratically with every beat. “Text me, okay? I’ll make myself scarce.”

“Sure. Thanks for driving.” Zoey winks and beelines for the bar. In a few seconds she loses sight of her.

Morgan trudges through the house, the crowd gradually thins as she makes her way farther to the back. She exhales in relief finally free of the maze of drunk students with no boundaries, nobody seemed to pay attention to her, thank god for the dim lighting. The backdoor swings open, she breathes in the crisp night air. The door shuts and party fades into muffled thumps. She sat on the porch steps, her side leaning against the banister, oblivious to the pair of eyes quietly observing her.

After a minute of silence, Morgan sucked air through her clenched teeth, surprised at hearing someone pointedly clearing their throat behind her. The rate in which her head whipped back almost made her dizzy. When she recognizes who the person was, she could already feel the headache coming through, she almost swallows her tongue in disbelief. Of all the people she didn’t want to see her tonight was Poppy, yet here she was, alone with her.

“What are you doing back here?” Poppy asked, voice devoid of any venom just genuinely curious.

“Do I need permission to be? Who made you queen?” Morgan scoffs, the slight bite in her voice comes through and makes Poppy smirk.

“Belvoire.” Poppy cheekily answers, earning an undignified snort from Morgan. The slight tension momentarily forgotten.

“Should have seen that coming.”

“The party’s raging inside and little miss newbie sits here. What are you doing, really?” Poppy asks not unkindly, voice tinged with concern and curiosity.

“I could ask the same to you.”

“I asked first.” Poppy frowns impatiently.

Morgan sighs, opting to just answer just to avoid trouble. She didn’t have the energy to make up excuses nor to argue. “I don’t feel like partying today. I’m just waiting for Zoey to get flat out drunk and drive her home. My turn.”

“It’s- It’s overwhelming inside. I just want to be alone for a while.” The honesty in Poppy’s answer momentarily throws her off.

“Do you want me to go?” Morgan asks, feeling like she’s intruding. This must be the longest record they ever had being civil to one another, actually speaking without the sarcastic comments and the insults. It makes her feel out of place and awkward.

“You could do whatever you want. I’m not the queen of anything right now.” Right, cause technically it's Chloe. There’s something in her tone that makes Morgan’s heart clench, yet she shrugs it off as the bass from the party. To Morgan’s never ending surprise, the blonde pats the spot next to her on the bench. “The floor is filthy.” Poppy clarifies when she makes no move to stand. A disarming smile crosses her face, Morgan guessed her hesitation must have been showing.

Morgan stands and dusts herself off. “Who are you and what have you done to Poppy?” She asks with a grateful smile, sitting down the furthest she could from the other girl.

“I have half the mind to kick you off this bench.” Poppy grumbles.

“There she is.”

Poppy huffs out a half laugh and after that there’s just silence. After a while she could see the slight tremble in Poppy’s hand in her periphery. She wordlessly shrugs off the coat she’s wearing and offers it to the other girl.

“What?” Poppy blinks, eying her coat suspiciously, making Morgan chuckle in disbelief.

“You’re cold. Take it or go inside.”

“Fine.” Poppy slips on the offered garment, appreciating the warmth it gave to her cold limbs. She wasn’t thinking while she burrowed herself further, letting Morgan’s scent envelope her. She stared at Morgan, feeling guilty for a moment. She moves closer, Morgan shivers when their shoulders touched. "Thanks." Poppy whispers, if it wasn't for their proximity, Morgan might have missed it. She hoped the shadows hid the small smile spreading to her lips.

“I’m sorry for taking your coat. I just couldn’t go back inside. I-” Poppy trails off, breaking her gaze away and staring farther up the yard.

“It’s okay, I offered. You don’t have to explain anything.” Morgan understood, after today everything changed, she lost her spot to one of her friends. Morgan was somewhat surprised that instead of Poppy's explosive anger, she opted to just sit here and mope.

She jumps a little when her phone vibrates in her pocket, she could see Poppy smirk in the corner of her eye.

"Jumpy."

She reads the text and taps a reply, frowning. She turns to Poppy. She doesn't even know why she's explaining but it felt wrong to just go without saying anything. A part of her wanted to make this moment stretch a little longer, so she hesitates.

“Apparently Zoey doesn’t need me to drive her back. So... I guess I'll head back home." Morgan stands not having an excuse to stay longer and makes her way to the door, hands hovering over the door knob to open it but not before doing something stupid like asking her so called enemy if she wanted to drive around for a while.

“So… Do you still want company? We could drive around for a while?” Morgan mentally chastises herself for the suggestion. Of course Poppy would say no it’s not like she-

Morgan looks back at Poppy, she sees her worrying her bottom lip between her teeth in thought. Morgan’s gaze flickers down to her lips, wondering if they’re as soft as they looked. The moment passed and she breaks her gaze away just as Poppy decided.

“Sure but let me just get my stuff.” Poppy stands and makes her way to the door, Morgan standing motionless, hand over the handle. She reaches for it, her fingertips grazing Morgan’s, the slight static made her pull her hand away abruptly.

“Sorry.” Morgan breaks through her short circuited brain and moves to hold the door open for Poppy. “I’ll wait for you out front.” Morgan makes her way back through the crowd, her mind reeling at what happened back there and what mess she got herself into.

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

She continued singing, her eyes accidentally meeting Poppy’s gaze again, her scowl was replaced by an unreadable expression, attention now focused solely on her and Morgan almost faltered. She breaks eye contact and stares at the back wall, ignoring the burning gaze upon her from those familiar eyes.

Your touch blurred my vision

It’s your world and I’m just in it

Even sober I’m not thinking straight

Cause I’m off my face in love with you

I’m out my head so into you

And I don’t know how you do it

But I’m forever ruined by you

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

The sound of the door opening breaks Morgan out of her deep thoughts. She could see Poppy walking towards her with a sour expression, she's still wearing Morgan's coat.

“What happened to you?” Morgan’s warm hands reaching out to her, settling comfortably on her shoulder. Poppy stares at her hands, she pulls it away like she’s been burned.

“Just drive.” Poppy mumbles, trying hard to be composed but failing.

“Where to?” Morgan pretends not to notice Poppy's agitation, barely glancing at her so she won't feel uncomfortable. She unlocks her car slipping inside while Poppy stares at the abomination in front of her.

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful but your truck is… I don’t know how to say it without offending you? But maybe it could use a good wash? Like you drove through mud to get here. I don’t know, maybe we could go to a carwash, my treat.”

"That’s about the rudest thing anyone’s ever said to me, and you said a lot of insulting things before." Morgan rolls her eyes. “She doesn’t mean that Betty, you just got a little mud on you.” She murmurs quietly.

“You named your car… Betty?”

“What? No I didn’t.” Morgan could see Poppy’s amused smirk even in her periphery.

“You’re such a dork.” Poppy can’t help but laugh at her mortified expression.

Morgan distracts herself from the rapidly rising heat on her neck by fiddling with the radio before driving off. The sweet sound of the guitar filtered through the car and she smiles triumphantly, previous embarrassment pushed to the back of her mind. She doesn't notice Poppy's expression soften.

Morgan drives her car through the carwash. They watched the water and the soap assault her car, the material of the brushes made a repetitive sound along with one of her favourite songs. Poppy had her seat leaned back, watching the machine rid the car of dust and mud. There was something mildly intimate about it, Morgan could move her right hand then they would be grazing Poppy’s, she could do it, she wanted to do it. But all she could manage was a slight twitch in her pinky, her hand doesn't move any closer.

“Do you ever feel like there’s a hundred people around you in a room, yet you feel alone?” Poppy breaks the silence, tilting her head slightly to the left to look at Morgan.

“Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes people may be looking at you yet feel as if their staring right through you, like your nothing. Oh! Like a ghost.” This makes Poppy chuckle.

“Yeah like that. It would have been easier if we were ghosts at least then you know why.”

“Did you feel like that back at the party?” Morgan wanted to say how that would have been impossible that no one could have seen her, she’s seeing her now. She wondered how could anyone ever take their eyes of her, she always seemed to be the brightest thing in any room she entered and now even in this dingy carwash she looked so radiant. How sometimes she thinks that she picks fights with her just for a chance to be bathed in her light. Thoughts she doesn't think would ever cross her mind trickled slowly and became a raging river. Now that she found herself here with her, without anything familiar to fall back on, anything just to distract herself out of her dangerous thoughts.

“Yeah, I don’t know. It was easier to be alone than surrounded but feeling alone. Do you get it? At least I know, I chose to be alone.”

“I get it.” If she had the ability to say more she would have but these few pathetic words are all she could manage. This time her hand reaches to squeeze Poppy’s. A quiet comfort to reinforce her words, she understood.

“Thank you.”

Whatever atmosphere they created in that moment fell apart when Morgan had to move her car forward and exited the wash.

“Where to now?”

“Your turn to choose.” Poppy mumbles, still staring blankly outside.

“Okay, I know a place. You're gonna love it."

“I’m not going to let you pick anymore.” Poppy complains, standing in front a fluorescent lit diner. It almost glowed but in a weird way, like a bat signal for the weary.

“Hey! They make the best food.” Morgan steps forward and drags her companion along when she hesitated.

Warmth and the ambient sound of cutlery grazing the plates makes Morgan smile. She always came here when she’s feeling lonely, missing her parents, their farm or when she’s stressed from school, for trying to fit in like a robot.

“Come. Don’t just stand there.” Morgan looks back at Poppy, her breath caught in her throat. Poppy looked ethereal against the most basic place there ever is. If you said diners were some kind of portal to somewhere else she’d accept it and move on, for she looked like she existed out of place, alien, untouchable as she was beautiful. For the second time this day her gaze flickers to Poppy’s lips, she realizes that she’s saying something and Morgan’s mortified of being caught staring like a fool.

“What? Is something on my face?” Poppy is thankfully oblivious.

“No, it’s perfect.” Morgan quietly whispers while Poppy checks herself in the diner’s window, her words falling into deaf ears.

Morgan balls up pieces of her straw paper places it over some torn up tissues, stacked together. She’s fidgeting under Poppy’s presence; she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.

She's startled when Poppy lightly grasps her hands stopping it from tearing up another piece of paper. It’s been minutes of watching Morgan tear up even rectangles of several tissues, a girl could only take so much.

“You’re making a mess.” Poppy chastises her like a child. She would have laughed but Poppy still hasn’t let go of her hand, it’s making her blush like an idiot.

“Sorry. It’s just that the food is taking a while huh?” Morgan stealthily tries to take her hand back but Poppy only holds it tighter. When they're not arguing, Morgan found that she doesn't know how else to act around her.

“Stop tearing paper like confetti.”

“Sorry.” Morgan sheepishly apologizes and Poppy lets go of her hand, hiding hers under the table, flexing it, she could still feel the warmth of her hand in hers.

The food arrives and Morgan smiles widely. Poppy stares, pretending she's interested in what food Morgan ordered. She admits to herself that for all the times she stared at her she never noticed how beautiful Morgan’s smile was. Arguing doesn't leave one space to insert a smile. It made her heart skip, imagining how it would be like if it was directed at her.

She almost misses Morgan stealing a fry off her plate. “Hey! If you wanted some you should have bought your own or at least politely asked.” Poppy mock glares at her companion, taking one of the crumpled balls and flicking it, hitting Morgan right between the eyes. They watched as the paper landed right into Morgan’s half empty milkshake glass.

"Your face!" Poppy laughs, wishing she could have captured it on camera.

Morgan found that she liked Poppy's laugh when it was genuine. “You better buy me another. You ruined mine.”

“What? It’s almost all gone anyway. All the needless calories you’re consuming will bite you in the ass someday.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Just have the rest of mine.” Poppy slides over her milkshake, Morgan grins and takes a sip right into Poppy’s straw. Poppy noticed first, eyes widening. Did She just… A revolting question crossed her mind, how would ‘Morgan’s lips feel like pressed to mine.’ Shes never felt jealous of a piece of plastic before in her life.

Morgan freezes when she realized what she’s done. She just had an indirect kiss with Poppy through the straw. “Sorry. I got excited.”

Poppy opens a new straw for her water, blowing the other end right into Morgans face, another bulls eye, she’s killing it. “Don’t overthink it.” She dismisses the act but her brain does summersaults inside her skull.

They finished eating, the last few of Poppy’s fries stolen right under her nose. She pretends she doesn’t see her sneaking a few of the fries away, she just lets her. Mind preoccupied with important things like Morgan’s lips.

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

Can’t sleep ‘cause I’m way too buzzed

Too late now you’re in my blood

I don’t hate the way you keep me up

Your touch blurred my vision

It’s your world and I’m just in it

Even sober I’m not thinking straight

Even if she doesn't look or at least tries her hardest not to, she could feel Poppy's gaze on her, burning, willing her eyes to look back. There's something wildly intimate about singing a song to someone and in the sea of strangers you know it's just for them. No matter how many people sang it, to another, to themselves or just for the heck of it, the song only belongs to the person you made it for. Just for her. They could never feel the way she felt when she wrote it, how her feelings were entwined with every word.

In her periphery she could see Poppy stand and make excuses to her parents. She left, she didn't see where she went, she doesn't dare look anywhere near where she was, she's a coward like that. All she could feel is disappointment. It takes everything in her not to show it on her face. Was it too late to change her talent to stand up?

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

"Come on Poppy, pick a place already. I've been driving around for hours! People will think we're stalking someone around here." Morgan whines in the driver seat taking yet another turn around the block.

"It's been exactly 20 minutes. You're such a baby." Poppy looks at her phone for any places that might still be open around this time. "Turn right, that's not right. Right! Not left."

"Great, now were going in circles. Pull over." Poppy grumbles.

"What?" Morgan looks confused for a moment but does what she’s told anyway, parking along the street.

"Get out." Poppy moves to exit the car.

"What are you..?"

"I'm not gonna hijack your car, just let me drive. You suck at following directions."

"...."

They switch seats, Morgan slumps and mopes in hers. Poppy fights back a smile.

“Would you look at that it only took 2 minutes.” Poppy smiles smugly.

“I did all the navigating you only had to turn once.” Morgan complains, getting out of the car and looking around the parking lot. “What the hell Poppy, a 711? You could have told me, I could have turned anywhere and found one.”

“Like hell you could. You don’t even know your left from your right.” Poppy laughs at Morgan’s offended expression. They walked in, shoulders brushing together and Morgan shivers, insisting to herself that it’s because it’s cold.

Poppy smiles, victoriously pulling out what they came here for out of the fridge.

“A freaking capri sun? We drove all the way here for that?” Morgan complains, ready to throttle Poppy. Though there’s something endearing in her expression, that proud smile for finding something she was looking for.

“Just go find something you want.” Poppy shoos her away, grabbing a few more pouches of juice. She shakes her head and walks off in search of snacks.

Morgan comes back with an armful of sweets and chips.

“We just ate. What are you doing? Take these back, I won't buy you all these.”

“You said something I like. I like them all. Come on aren't you rich?” Morgan dumps her haul in the counter, the cashier looking back and forth from them, looking for a sign that it’s okay to scan the items.

“Are you just an overgrown kid or what?”

“Pop, you just bought a juice in a pouch, you have no right to judge me.”

“Fine.”

Morgan carries three bags worth of snacks back to the car, Poppy not attempting to lift a finger just because she paid.

“Your turn. Pick a place.”

Minutes later they're on a cliff overlooking the city. Fading notes from a song playing in Morgan’s car filtered to the back.

“I'm surprised you didn't get lost.”

“I don't suck at directions. You're the one that sucked at giving them.” Morgan says in self-defence. She unlatches the back so they could sit on it, holding Poppy’s waist, helping her up. If Poppy noticed her hands shake, she didn’t say anything. They sat closer together, leaning against the side. She could feel the cold seeping into her shirt, making her shiver. Poppy notices and moves to take Morgan's coat off.

“No. Keep it on.” Morgan stops her, cold hands over equally cold ones.

“But you're cold.”

“I'm not.” Morgan attempts to refute it but her hands are freezing.

“I can see your teeth chattering.”

“I like it on you.” She smiles softly.

“What?”

“I don't want you to be cold. Just take it, don’t be stubborn.”

“If you speak of this to anyone, I would personally kill you in your sleep.”

“Why would you do- oh.” Morgan stared in confusion, then realization.

Poppy moved to sit in the space between her legs, leaning her back into Morgan, taking her hands and wrapping them to her waist. Her hands rubbing over Morgan's freezing ones. To say that she was now warm was an understatement, she was burning from the blush that overtook her body.

“If you wanted to be near me so bad you could've just asked.” Morgan grins, chin propped on Poppy's shoulder.

Poppy huffs and attempts to get up. Morgan's arms stop her, wrapping tighter, keeping her in place. “Don't move, I might freeze to death.”

“That's what I thought.”

They had a toast with the Capri sun pouches, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. They sat there talking for hours, the company was too enjoyable to give in to exhaustion or cold.

From the time they were talking Poppy shifted her position, now sitting on Morgan's lap, staring up at her while she told a story about their farm animals, making her scrunch her nose in disgust at one of her retellings.

They stared at the sky surprised to see the day chasing the night away. How long have they been talking? Morgan looks at her phone and even more surprised that it's nearly 6am. Time went by so fast.

“I always wanted to see the sunrise from here. Thanks for the company.” Morgan smiles softly, running her fingers through her hair to distract herself from Poppy.

No one mentioned how one of their hands are still interlaced together or how Morgan's thumb drew circles on the back. Especially not Poppy's lips softly grazing the underside of her jaw.

They watched in silence, both aware that as the night was done, so will this new moment they found together.

“I'll take you to back to your dorm.” Morgan reluctantly says, unwilling to move. It was Poppy who moved off her first.

Morgan slides off the back of her truck smirking at Poppy. “Want a piggy back ride?”

Poppy scoffs. But positions herself anyway, her arms wrapped on Morgan's shoulders, Morgan's hands holding her legs securely as she closes the small distance to the front of her car.

They drove back in silence, neither speaking of the moment, afraid it will be over soon.

Morgan stops her car in front of Poppy’s sorority house, tapping her fingers anxiously against the steering wheel. No one talked nor moved for a minute or two, they just stared at each other feeling the change in whatever relationship they previously held. Poppy’s alarm goes off, effectively ruining their moment.

“I guess... I'll see you later. Good Morning, Poppy.” Morgan smiles softly, hands gripping the steering wheel too tightly, knuckles going white, stopping herself from reaching out.

“I’ll… see you later. Thank you for driving me around.” They both know they will see each other but not in the same capacity as tonight, they will be back to being rivals, enemies, whatever the school made them out to be. She could see Poppy fighting a losing battle against herself before she reached out and kissed the corner of Morgan's mouth. She turns away like nothing happened and exits the car without looking back.

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

Cause I’m off my face in love with you

I’m out my head so into you

And I don’t know how you do it

But I’m forever ruined by you

Cause I’m off my face in love with you

I’m out my head so into you

And I don’t know how you do it

But I’m forever ruined by you

Morgan stands and bows to the applause, yet she felt empty. It all felt useless somehow, she wasn't even there to hear the rest of it. She makes her way backstage, turning the corner as the next talent comes up. She felt like running but before she could turn and walk away, Poppy pushes herself off the wall and approached her. She gulped, unsure of what to do.

“Your voice is very beautiful.” Poppy tells her, voice almost as soft as a whisper. She's searching Morgan’s terrified eyes for something. “The song, did you write it?” She asks all the while moving closer, hands fiddling with the lapel of Morgan’s suit.

All she could do is nod, not trusting her voice at the moment. She takes a step back and another and another until her back is against the wall but Poppy follows her every step. Thank god they seemed alone or she would have burst into flames in embarrassment. Poppy steps closer until their bodies are almost touching.

“Who did you write that song for?”

“I...”

“Tell me.” Poppy looks up almost pleading, wanting to hear what she hoped to.

“It’s for you.” Morgan presses herself even more to the wall, wishing it would just swallow her up. She closes her eyes but it flies open when she heard Poppy gasp. “Are you surprised or?” Morgan trails off, observing Poppy’s expression going from astonished, to happy and outright tearing up.

“I can’t believe you wrote that song for me, I thought that there was someone else.” Poppy breathes in relief, Morgan’s hands wrap around her waist, supporting her weight.

“Just you.” Morgan says breathlessly. Watching her break into a smile made all the nerves she had vanish. She pulls her into a tight hug, smiling when she feels Poppy sink into the embrace. Her head leans on her shoulder and she rests her cheek on her hair. Poppy pulls back and smiles before leanig up and kissing Morgan.

#poppy x mc #poppy min sinclair #fanfic #we dont hava capri sun only zesto #one shot #please go easy on me whoever reads

60 notes · View notes

xsugarysweetsx · 3 years

Note

I hope I got this right it's kind of a mess

May I request option 3 with Oikawa please 😅

A bit about me : I'm 4'9 a bit on the chubby side with tan skin and shoulder length black hair

Personality type is ISTP. I'm quiet and awkward but once I get to know u I can't stop talking. I can be a bit lazy/introverted sometimes but if I'm with friends I know how to have fun. I seem kinda cold and distant but that coz I don't really know how to show affection, but I do care v much. I'm a ppl pleaser and tend to follow the rules so I can blend with the crowd. (I seriously need an outgoing person in my life 😐) love quiet places, bookstores, theme/water parks, reading, watching anime and frozen yoghurt. I have a vintage/kawaii? aesthetic

For the scenario : fluff with some spice at the end maybe? 👀

How about Oikawa finally having a break after volleyball season to spend with his family. He just wants to sleep in with u but the kids have other ideas so they end up going to the beach. Oiks is just being a child himself and having fun with his kids making sandcastles and swimming while u r chilling with one of the kids coz u both don't like the sun. Maybe oiks crashes a beach volleyball game just to show the random strangers how it's done 😌

Again congrats on the milestone and Thank you 😗 ily

A/N; don’t worry this is just fine! And thank you♥️

warnings; Spicy near the end~ not too much tho!

Please enjoy~

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

"It's so nice to have you home after so long" you sigh cuddling into your husband's side

He had finally gotten a break from volleyball and now he could spend time with you and your kids. After marrying Oikawa things were a bit hard when it came to quality time. It was even harder after you had become pregnant. He wanted to always be with you but at the same time, he had to be at his games.

Luckily he and his team had gotten about 3 months off, the same as summer vacation. It was one of those rare days when he got to sleep in with you. No early morning jogs, or workouts, just cuddling with his favorite person.

"Yeah, it seems like the only time we cuddle is late at night when I get home but," he shuffles to face you completely "now I'm here and we can sleep all we want" he lays a hand on your waist

"mm yeah" you hum snuggling in for some more sleep

"Mama! Let's go to the beach!" your son came marching in followed by his younger sister

"Yeah, papa! Beach!"

*Sigh*, so much for rest. S/N climbs onto your side of the bed while D/N makes grabby hands to be lifted up. Oikawa lifts her with ease and onto his stomach. You lift your son to sit between you both, here was the center of both your worlds. Your son was 7 and your daughter was 4. They were both polar opposites, D/N was basically a mini Oikawa and your son took more of your attitude.

"well so much for rest..." he sighed "how does the beach sound princes?" he asked you. Ah yes and, you were stationed with him in Brazil while he was on their team. It was almost like constant summer there. Although by the time the kids would be older he wanted to go back to Japan. For now, where you were was just perfect.

"sigh...maybe some sea breeze would be nice" both your kids start to jump on the bed with cheers and smiles "Alright, alright everyone, get dressed and then some breakfast and we can head out."

They stopped quickly and ran to their rooms to grab what they wanted.

"I love how you handle them" Oikawa complimented you with a kiss on your cheek "Come on, I wanna see you in a two-piece!" he shouts down the hall going to help the kids get ready. Going into your drawer you dig through your clothes until you come across a two-piece

"Hmmm, maybe not this time--oh! I remember this one!" you said pulling out one piece from the bottom. It was your favorite color with a low cut back and winches waist. Sure bikinis we’re the race right now but this really made everyone turn their heads. Especially a certain captain ;)

Slipping into the swimsuit you ready yourself with your sandals, bag, glasses, and other necessities. Mostly things for the kids like sunblock, towels, some beach toys, hats, and so many other things. To think you used to only take sunblock and maybe a book, thing change when your a parent huh?

"where is my darling wife? We're just about--whoa there! Hy if you look that good I might drop the kids off at my sister's place" he smirked coming over to you and wrapping you in his arms "Mmm you're just too beautiful for other men to see" he whined

"Well, too bad Mr, the kids want to go to the beach, and besides we haven't gone in a while. It'll be fun, come on" you said taking his hand in your and leading him back to the kitchen. kids were fed and ready, with huge grins on their faces. Usually like walking to the beach with them since it was only about a 10-minute walk.

locking up the doors and putting on some sunblock before you left you're on your way to enjoying a nice beach day. Walking along you say hello to neighbors and store owners. Y/D/N was sat atop of your husband's shoulders, while your son held your hand skipped along the sidewalk. You love to have moments like this. Happy simple moments together.

"Look, Papa!" your daughter points to the yellow-white sand of the beach with beautiful Crystal waves crashing onto the shore. A satisfying salty smell was in the air that filled your heart with excitement.

"Come on bud" Oikawa squats down to pick up your son. He had a habit of not letting them walk in the hot sand, his way of being an "awesome dad". But he was right, it was very thoughtful of him, he even did it to you before.

After finding a good spot he put down both your kids and helps me to set up. You open up the umbrella spread out some blankets and put down your small bag where you had carried some snacks and other necessities.

"Come here kids, you need your block" they both line up so that you can spray and lotion them down. Being in Brazil the sun was much closer than in Japan. Which meant sunscreen was a must!

"You too Toru, come here." you motion with your finger. he practically skipped over to you and plopped down on his knees ready for you to lotion him up. now listen, this was a way of kind of establishing your place to other girls who were around you. Some of them would give you looks and you would just smile back as you applied sunscreen to your husband.

"You turn lovely~" grabbing the lotion he turns to you and starts to apply. Starting gently at your face, then to your shoulders, your arm, your thighs (his favorite), and your back

"Alright, who wants to get into the water?" He said excited standing up

“Me, me Papa! Me!” Your little girl was excited as ever and of course a daddy’s girl. Picking her up abs jogs over to the water, leaving giggles behind

“What about you sweetheart? You want to join your father and sister?” You ask your son and he shakes his head coming over to your side

“I’ll just stay here mama” your son was a lot like you in a way. While your husband preferred to be in the spotlight, you and he preferred to cheer him on from the sidelines. Either way, you had company now. Climbing onto your lap he lays against you as you both enjoy the salty breeze.

You always loved the smell of the ocean, the calm saltiness in the air, the subtle sounds of the waves. It was coming, a bit strange but you really enjoyed it. An even better view was watching Toru enjoy himself. He held your daughter in the air and brought her down when a gentle wave would come and hit them both.

It’s then you saw your husband‘s eyes light up like Christmas lights. He then screws over to a volleyball game puts his daughter on the sideline and begins playing with them. He didn’t know whether to laugh or scold him, or maybe both. He eventually had a ball set over to him and he spiked it over the net. Then again you knew he couldn’t help himself whenever this would happen. You can only count the number of dates on the beach where the same scenario would happen.

It ended up with him apologizing for getting sand in your eyes. About half an hour later they came back, a bit sleepy from all the energy they had just used up. Sitting under the umbrella you bring out the snacks and juices. Everyone enjoyed their favorite sandwich, and small side snacks, and favorite drink. Looking over at your phone you had seen the time went by and it was already past three in the afternoon.

After one more return to the ocean all together y’all start to pack your things and head home. Your daughter fell to sleep on Toru’s shoulder on the way back home. Just as you enter your home the cloud started to roll in. This was your favorite part about beach trips when they ended and rainy days, it just made everything so much cozier.

After putting your son and daughter into bed for their naps you make your way to the bathroom to wash off all the sand. Getting in for us to turn on the warm water and close your eyes. The warm liquid cascading down your body relaxes in your muscles, meanwhile, the thunder clapped in the background faintly. You hear the shower curtain move slightly making you look over your shoulder.

"Hey," he said softly coming closer and pulling you towards him by your middle. He loves to do this, taking a calm shower with you close to him. Nothing really sexual about it but more intimate, and heartwarming. He felt closer to you, more content. Although sometimes it did lead to something more. But overall he loves to have a little alone time with you.

His hands squeeze your body slightly as his lips find your shoulder and neck.

"What are you getting at?" you giggle biting back a sigh

"Mm nothing, just admiring my wife's body is all," he answers a few seconds later you feel something poke at you

"Well, I would ask what's in your pocket--but obviously I can't"

"Well, is there asleep, and we have all night long~" his tongue Finds Its way gliding from your neck of your earlobe and taking it between his lips. He gives a small nipple and a chuckle escapes his chest.

"Aren't you tired from the beach?" you ask turning around and wrapping your hands around his neck

"I'll have to remind just how much stamina a volleyball player can have," he growls picking you up with easy and pinning you to the cool wall making gasp "and we have about, uuhh 7 hours until midnight"

Oh boy, you were in for a long night~

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I hope this was okay! ♥️

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