#(and yes she still chose to follow through on some of those plans - albeit without having the full picture)

[piratefalls]

upon whatever number rewatch this is at this point (3? 4?) i just clocked that adalind actually looks uncomfortable when she’s flying to vienna at the end of season 3. like she’s telling herself, on repeat, “it was for my baby” while also not feeling good about the thing she did. she’s trying so hard to justify it to herself but she can’t even make herself fake a smile. she’s not proud. she’s a desperate mother who wants her child back and will do whatever it takes to accomplish it.

[writer-panda]

The Hit on the Groom and What Became of It - Chapter 3/Leaps in logic (and over the edge of the rooftop)

Chapter 1  -|-  Previous -|- Next

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Adrien’s day wasn’t good at first. Okay, it was straight-up terrible. For most, their wedding is supposed to be a happy day. Or at least a reason for celebrations. Adrien? He couldn’t even hope for a cake since it would ruin his model body.

For the last several months, his father was working him into an early grave. The extra photo sessions, harder classes, new exercise regime… and Lila. The last one was terrifying. 

Adrien tried to hold onto hope that his father would in the end cancel the whole affair. That he would drop the ridiculous notion of wedding or at least push it back. The young model wasn’t sure exactly why was his father so insistent on pushing for the wedding. He repeatedly asked himself if Lila was blackmailing his father, but it was hard to think of anything that his father possibly could be blackmailed with. Adrien spent countless hours wondering if his father had some dark secret, but it didn’t fit the man. 

Did the designer have an affair with Nathalie? No… he already got angry about the suggestion once. And even if so, it wasn’t something that he would be so ashamed about. 

Was his father doing some illegal business dealings? It was somewhat possible, but what? It would need to be something big. Something extremely big. 

Thinking rationally, he had no idea what could it be…

What could be so big that it was worth more than the happiness of his only son?

--------

When one looks at all that, being kidnapped right at the altar was almost… nice. Sure, Adrien had been dragged by a sentient pile of mud into the sewers and then carried to some unknown location. Sure, his beautiful suit was ruined and all the hard work Marinette put into her work was irreversibly wasted. 

But, he was not married to Lila. 

The pile of mud dragged him deep into the sewers until they found a ladder leading up. It appeared to be grievously damaged, with several steps in the row removed. Adrien didn’t protest much when he was lifted up and into the place above. 

The place turned out to be a quite comfy flat. It was overall smaller than Adrien’s room back in Paris, but it felt more welcoming. It only had one big room, divided in half with a plywood panel. In the first ‘room’, there was a couch, a small table with three chairs, a tv on a cabinet, and two armchairs. It all appeared to be old and worn out. The second part held two beds (one without any mattress), a desk with an old computer, and a kitchen annex. It was… nice. Adrien almost liked it better than the big, sterile manor. 

The pile of mud seated him on one of the chairs before condensing into humanoid form. Slowly, his body turned human and in the end, he looked almost exactly like the wedding officiator. The man pulled his phone and sent some text before turning to Adrien. 

“Do you want something to eat?” He asked, walking over to the kitchen annex.

“Um… anything would do.” Adrien hesitantly spoke up. He was only slightly scared. Honestly, first, he is saved from the wedding and now he is given free food? Yes, purr-lease!

“Vegan or non-vegan?”

“I would kill for a fat, juicy steak…” Adrien remembered his last photo session, which was advertising the summer collection. One of the photos had him standing over the BBQ grill. The smell of the food being prepared almost made him salivate back then. 

“Ah… The actor’s diet?” His kidnapper/savior asked, giving him a knowing look at the same time.

“Yeah… I’m a model, but I heard it’s the same” Adrien corrected. 

“I’ll get you something. We need to wait anyway.” 

Adrien chose not to speak to the man while he was cooking. It was still a bit awkward. He was being kidnapped.

It didn’t matter. The meal was too good to complain. Who cares about kidnapping when one is given some meat. It was a light meal, probably not to upset his stomach, but it was still more than he hoped for that day. 

Of course, it couldn’t be that pretty.

The moment Adrien finished with the first piece of meat and was reaching for another, the doors were violently kicked and a man entered. He was dressed in a red bodysuit with silverly metallic elements. His helmet had one eye replaced with a red… monocle?

The explosion was quickly followed by a single gunshot. The moment it sounded, Clayface (because that was the name of the ‘pile of mud’) became frozen in place. Literally. He was covered head to toes in ice.

“My steak!” Adrien cried as he was being dragged away by the newcomer. 

They were already away when Clayface managed to break through the ice. He wanted to pursue them, but his phone rang suddenly, giving him a pause.

“Who is this?!” He snarled, irritated at the interruption.

“I was led to believe you have what I wanted.” The voice on the other side growled and Clayface paused. It sent shivers down his figurative spine. His employer sounded dangerous. 

“Ah… Yes… There’s been a… complication.” He stuttered, hoping it wasn’t too apparent. Whoever was on the other side made a terrifying first impression.

“What do you mean ‘complication’?” They hissed. Clayface stumbled and almost dropped the phone. He knew the employer was someone powerful, but it was a whole new level of scary. Sure, he was technically a mercenary, but until today his biggest job was some light security gig. This was supposed to be his way of reinventing himself into part of the major league. But this was being much more overwhelming. 

He quickly got to the point where his employer should’ve been somewhat satisfied and hanged up quickly. He had to get the boy before he became the target himself.

----------

Elsewhere, Adrien was starring into a pair of curious sea-green eyes.

When his new kidnapper brought him to the apartment and tied him to the chair, Adrien was still bemoaning the loss of his steak. He disliked the lack of freedom, but he was still feeling safer than with Lila and his father. Objectively looking at it, he knew it was wrong, but he preferred to be kidnapped. 

To his surprise, the kidnapped tossed him and the chair into some spare room of the flat they were in when the doorbell rang. There were also some curse words, but Adrien chose to disregard them.

It took a very energetic girl (about two years younger than him) all five minutes to figure out he was in that room. Not that the man made it particularly hard, leaving the doors half-open and all that.

She leveled her head so that they were on an equal level and stared into his face with an inquisitive glare.

“Daddy! You promised not to work on our day together!” She turned to the man and complained. “You clearly kidnapped him!”

“I’m really sorry, cupcake. I didn’t plan it. The time zone changes can really mess up with the calendar.”

“If it helps, this is better than the alternative.” Adrien smiled shyly.

“How is being tied to the chair good?”

“It’s better than being forced to get married.” The boy deadpanned.

“Fine.” She then turned to her father “But you will untie him. He can join us in our board game evening.” She declared imperatively.

“You won’t try anything, right?” The man glared at Adrien, who shrugged (as much as the binds allowed him). 

“I quite like it here. I could do with some water, but it’s really better than how the day was supposed to go.”

The man sighed and walked over to the boy. The rope fell to the floor and Adrien could move freely. Yet, he didn’t immediately move. He did try to get up, but the world swirled and blackness consumed his consciousness.

----------

When he woke up, he was once again faced with a set of sea-green eyes. The girl apparently liked to stare at faces in close quarters. Not that Adrien complained much as long as she didn’t actually touch him. He was used to the attention. 

“You must’ve been really tired. Daddy said he almost wanted to get you to a hospital.” That woke Adrien very quickly.

“No hospital!” He launched himself to sit straight up and almost crashed with the girl. Luckily, she moved out of the way. Otherwise, her father might’ve actually sent him to the hospital. Probably in pieces too. 

“Don’t worry.” Speaking of the devil, the man entered the room with a platter full of fast food and a glass of water. There was a hamburger there!

“Zoe. Please leave us alone for a moment. I need to discuss some things with Mr. Agreste.”

“Sure. But remember you promised not to hurt him. And we promised him board games.” She reminded her father before happily skipping out of the room. 

Once she was out, the man handed him the platter and Adrien practically leaped to devour the food. 

“So…” His kidnapper/temporary caretaker started awkwardly. “If it’s any help, I’m sorry for kidnapping you.” 

“Dot wowwy” Adrien dismissed him with a mouth full of burger. His father would lock him up for months if he saw him, but the boy was way past caring about it. He gulped before continuing though, as it was a shame to waste anything of the tasty goodies. “Seriously, you guys are making me a favor.” 

“Huh?” The man raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah! If not for this,” he gestured vaguely around the room, albeit it was clear he meant kidnapping, “I would’ve probably been married already.”

“Ah… And I guess the wedding wasn’t your idea.” It wasn’t a question. Deadshot (because he was the kidnapper if it wasn’t yet obvious) had some experience with runaway brides. Grooms escaping arranged marriage were rarer, but not unheard of. He used to take those tasks without remorse. At least until one time, when he tracked the bride, instead of an adult woman like usual, he found a pre-teenage girl. She couldn’t have been older than his own daughter at the time. 

Let’s just say that he failed to deliver that contract. Or any similar in the future. 

“Sir?” Adrien asked once he finished the meal.

“Yeah?”

“Could I get some more?”

“In a moment. Let what you ate settle down first.” He scolded him lightly, his parental instincts kicking in. “So, do you have any idea who might’ve wanted you kidnapped?”

“Not really… Only Marinette and Gerard cared about my opinion on this matter. And neither is the kind that would arrange a kidnapping.” He did his best not to think about his past as Chat Noir. No one but Ladybug knew, but his Lady wasn’t someone that would get involved with criminals. And even then, he doubted she could afford mercenaries. He always thought they were expensive. Could someone else figure out he used to be Chat Noir?

“Hm…” Lawton focused for a moment. “And what about The Seamstress? She is a completely new player that came out of nowhere. I suspected she might’ve had a personal connection to you. What about your father? Could someone want to get back at him? Especially someone with that name?”

“You do know what my dad does for the living?” Adrien deadpanned. 

“Yes, but did he anger someone? Enough that they would want to ruin him?” The man pressed. 

“It would be easier to list people he didn’t anger. My father is not… not the easiest to be around.” The light that was in the boy’s eyes just moments ago dimmed slightly. “Why are you asking all this?” He suddenly perked up and met the gaze of the mercenary. 

“Honestly, I really dislike the jobs involving kids. I thought that you were just another bratty teenage star that got his way with the wedding. A kid wanting to be treated like an adult. Now… now I can’t with clear conscience return you or deliver you.”

Adrien held back any witty remarks about hired gun having a conscience. “So… I’m living with you?”

“Sadly, no. I’m not around often enough and there is still a price on your head.” Lawton pulled out his phone and carefully read through something. “The more I think of it, the more it looks like you are not the most important part.”

That got Adrien’s attention. His own brain started to work overtime to get the meaning. “What?”

“The wording of the contract. ‘Grab from the wedding’, ‘possibility of further assignments’, ‘very public’… and the price is unreasonably high for such a simple task. It appears as if whoever The Seamstress is wanted a show. Like she wanted to recruit whoever brought you in. It appears as if she was setting up some sort of competition over who brings you to her.”

“But why me?” Adrien ran through ideas, but only him being Chat Noir would make sense in the long run. 

“Publicity. Your old man made sure the wedding was the event of the decade.” The merc simply shrugged. “If they wanted to announce their entrance to the big league, they would pick the biggest, most prominent target.” 

“Figured father is to blame…” Adrien grumbled before reaching into his pocket. “I… would like to call a friend of mine. To reassure her I’m safe.”

“She won’t run to the police?” Lawton was hesitant to allow it but also didn’t have the heart to tell him no. The kid was emotional wreck. And if his appetite was anything to go by, it was possible physical abuse was also there.

“Marinette wouldn’t do anything dangerous. She… I think she was trying to stop the wedding. Or delay it.”

“The girl that stood up shortly before the panic?”

“Yeah… She used… She’s a friend of mine. Probably the last true friend I have left.” 

“I see… Okay, call her. But make sure not to mention anything about me. Just in case.”

There was a moment of tense silence while Adrien waited for his friend to pick up. Finally, after the fifth signal, there was a rustle on the other side.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng speaking. Who do I have the pleasure with?” She spoke almost mechanically. To someone who never met her before, it might’ve sounded sincere. To Adrien, it sounded like she was exhausted both physically and emotionally. He almost blamed himself, but at the last second shifted it all onto Lila and his Father. 

“Marinette!? Are you okay?” He asked, wanting to make sure there was nothing truly wrong.

“Adrien!? Adrien!” She immediately seemed to cheer up. “Where are you!? Are you okay? What happened? Did they hurt you? Are you safe?” She finally paused to take a breath. 

“I’m okay, Marinette. I might’ve sorta gotten myself kidnapped,” he realized how bad that sounded as the words left his mouth, “but it’s all okay! It’s better than it was!” He rushed to reassure her, albeit his method was not a hundred percent successful. 

“Are you safe?” Was the question she repeated. It sounded almost… guilty. To Adrien’s tired brain though, such subtle details were second to the question. 

“I’m probably good. Someone put a bounty on me, but it’s all about me being alive. It’s like whoever did it accidentally saved me from the wedding.” He chuckled a bit darkly, thinking about how much of a temper tantrum Lila must’ve been throwing since his disappearance.

“Call me back later, okay?” There was a sudden urgency that Adrien did pick on. “I have something that needs to be sorted out.”

“What’s happening?”

“Just my Maman is coming. She is knocking right now.” With that, she hanged up. Adrien relaxed. There was no danger. And even if there was, it probably just ran away to hide as Sabine Cheng came to town.

“Kid, you done?” Deadshot walked back into the room with another hamburger.

“Yeah. I feel much better now. Thanks for the opportunity.”

“Don’t sweat it. Listen… I can’t just keep you, but I called some friends of mine. They’re willing to help you. Well, she is. Her girlfriend is just going with it for her sake.”

Lawton carefully studied Adrien to see his reaction to mentioning the couple, but there was no visible reaction. He just watched the hamburger with a hungry gaze. 

-------

Elsewhere, an exhausted kwami flew out of the jewel. Hawkmoth was one step from tossing the jewel at the wall. 

“I don’t understand! He should be terrified by now! He was kidnapped! They wouldn’t kill him after going so long to kidnap him!”

“Maybe your powers aren’t as good as you’ve thought?” another voice spoke from the shadows. Lex Luthor walked into the center to join Gabriel Agreste.

“They didn’t have time to move him out of the city before I started the search. Not without magic and he said there was no magical travel to or from Gotham so far.” Gabriel paced around the room. 

“While you were playing with your precious jewels, I actually used some of my contacts. It appears that someone ordered a hit on your son. They wanted him kidnapped from the wedding.”

“What?!” Gabriel paused and glared at the other man.

“While I can’t stop it or even try to outbid them, I do know of one person I can convince to take this task. And she just happened to be coming to Gotham this very moment.”

“Fine. I want my son back, or our deal is off, Luthor.” 

“Don’t worry. He will see the Light soon.”

[madsdefencesquad]

Okay I got boooored so here’s a Kevison magazine fic I wrote for Kevison nation coz I love yous and we deserve to see Kevin talk about his fam magazine-stylez coz you know he’ll be gushing all the time about them, like you just KNOW IT.

Kevin Pearson on life, fatherhood and what’s next for him by x March 2028, Spring edition

It’s been twelve years since the impassioned The Manny star Kevin Pearson announced to the world that he will be quitting the role that had started it all for him. Pearson’s public meltdown was excruciating, to say the least, but it was this very act of defiance that led the actor towards the path of the actor-crusader that he is now known for—a revolutionary who defied the odds and ultimately defined him as one of the greatest actors of his generation.

After a slew of tabloid-worthy dalliances with famous co-stars including the soap operatic love triangle with Tony award-winner Olivia Maine and his Back of an Egg co-producer and playwright Sloane Sandburg, to the court-ordered rehab stint after a DUI arrest, Kevin Pearson has done nothing but illicit the kind of stories that tabloids are desperate to display and monetise from in full view. All of these seemed the perfect pivot points for the actor, basking in the affordances of all this fame and fortune albeit in a trajectory of a complete career-destruction, but the actor was by no means deterred in proving that he can and should be taken seriously in his acting craft.

Pearson came through with striking, emboldened performances: a soldier with an inability to confront his demons in the Ron Howard-helmed World War II flick opposite Sylvester Stallone, and an embittered cop in the M Night Shyamalan action flick Stairs to Nowhere. But it wasn’t until his role as a disingenuous trial lawyer in the 2020 Jordan Martin Foster film Glass Eye that earned him his first ever Academy Award nomination and eventual win that proved to the world that when he puts his mind to it, Kevin Pearson can truly achieve the kind of acting greatness worth the lauded applause.

Pearson, who was born and raised in Pittsburgh before moving to New York and eventually Los Angeles, has spent a good amount of his life in the public eye. Though his sunny, easy-going persona and physicality have been compared to the likes of Chris Hemsworth and (supposed rival) Chris Evans, the Pittsburgh-bred Pearson doesn’t feel the need now to prove that he is anything but a conscientious actor and a dedicated family man.

It’s a warm, spring afternoon when I ring the buzzer of a sprawling floor-to-ceiling glass residence tucked away in a town in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. The little lady of the house, barefoot in a floral-print dress, greets me with an encouraged wave from her father, who is cradling her against him upon opening the front door. “She’s not normally this shy,” Kevin says with an affectionate grin as he leads the way to the sitting room, his little girl curiously taking peeks at me with what I garner is her mother’s soft blue eyes given Kevin’s famous warm browns.

The newly built residence is a remarkably private house perched on a dramatic hillside overlooking a panoramic view of the verdant surrounds, which Kevin says, “keeps the family very safe from prying eyes.” This feature, of course, was at the forefront of his mind prior to laying its foundations there.

“There’s one main reason as to why I chose to build here specifically,” he says. “But I’m not gonna bore you with the details. Let’s just say, I’m honoring a memory. Makes me sound real poetic, doesn’t it?”

Throughout Kevin’s career, he’s been known to talk quite candidly about his love and appreciation for his mother, Rebecca Pearson, with his Oscars acceptance speech having heavily featured his immense gratitude to her as would a loving son. But, as we move along the elegantly furnished corridors with him pointing and elaborating at the various artworks decorating the walls and the spaces, it is obvious that Kevin has an unrivalled affection for his wife that is quite notably special.

We make our way to a sitting area outside where we are entreated to the sounds and sights of a naturally filtered swimming billabong with cascading falls—a modern feature incorporated with the Japanese Zen garden landscaping that is just breathtaking to behold in person. “I wanted to make it feel as authentic as the ones you find in Japan,” he says, sitting on one of the cushioned recliners. He pours me a glass of red wine while he settles for chilled tonic, his little girl now helping herself to some olives and crackers.

There is an air of rare contentment around Kevin as he laughingly recalls his twins’ daily shenanigans. “Nothing really compares to coming home to them,” he says. “And I’m not trying to sound ungrateful or anything, but I’ve been [working my whole life] and I’ve only had my wife and kids just short of a decade, and that’s nothing! So, I do what I can to be home in as most days of the year as I can.”

When asked whether he’s perhaps heading into the territory of acting retirement in favour of other pursuits like directing or producing, Kevin thinks it can go either way.

“The other night in bed my wife suggested I do voice acting,” he says, to which his little girl unintentionally responds to in glee as she, her feet now strapped in light-up sandals, runs the width of the garden (within sight of her dad, of course) with her Jessie and Bullseye dolls held high. “She knows me too well,” he says fondly of Madison, his wife of eight years now. “I’d love to have my kids watch a movie that dad’s in without having to wait till they’re teenagers. And I hate thinking of my babies as teenagers! God, it’s just the worst age!”

Kevin recalls his teenage years with the kind of accepted embarrassment fit for a 48-year-old, but he laughs saying, “But I see a little more of their mom in them than me so that gives me hope. I’d hate to think I passed on angsty teen Kevin to either one of them. Just serious kudos to my parents for putting up with me all those years. I must’ve been a nightmare.”

From endorsing the des Resistance popular eau de parfum for men to his Armani-clad behind splashed on every billboard in the country (much to his chagrin and to his wife’s entertainment), Kevin Pearson has always been quite the go-getter, and though his “yes man” days in the industry are over, he’s always open to other ways in which he can challenge himself in his craft without compromising the time spent with his family.

“They’re my first priority, no questions asked,” he says. For a kid, who grew up in a middle-class family with parents whom had high hopes for their future, Kevin says that now, as a father himself, his perspective has shifted as to what’s really important and what’s not.

“I think a lot of the time there’s an expectation for your kids to meet the standard their parents have set or even go beyond it,” he says. “But that’s just toxic, you know? And it puts a lot of pressure on them to be someone that they’re not and not meant to be.”

Kevin is candid about his insecurities as an actor and as a father and as a husband, but there is a masterful acceptance there that he gives full credit to his wife. “We’re not perfect people, perfect parents,” he says. “And we’ll never be. That’s just a fact of life. But getting to do this with your person, the love of your life makes the biggest difference. I used to think that my parents had the greatest love story ever, and I used to really idolise it, you know, but honestly I think Madison and I can probably rival that.” And he thinks that if he’ll ever write, direct or produce a script, it’ll be about him and his wife’s sweeping and unconventional love story that will be the “tear-jerker of the century. Like, A Walk to Remember or The Notebook level but like better!”

I ask him what Madison would think of his plans to unleash their love story to the world, and as if on cue, he fishes his phone from his pocket and utters a “just a sec” before leaving to grab his daughter and take the call.

Following his game-changing Academy Award win in 2021, Kevin had let himself free fall in the industry as a kind of versatile actor in roles where he sweeps you away with gut-punching monologue deliveries coupled with an intensity that comes in through the eyes. He hasn’t delved into comedy since his Manny days though, but there is a certain cajoling ease in his demeanour that could easily challenge his funny bone.

“It’s Madison,” he returns not long after and settles himself down again, his daughter handing me a pizza-shaped play-dough I pretend to munch on. “She’ll be home soon. You should meet her. You’d love her! Everyone does not that it’s surprising.”

And who could deny that offer?

Kevin shows me a photograph of the twins on his phone at their cousin’s birthday whom they celebrated with in California last week and qualms that they’re growing up way too fast—yet another reiteration that he is as doting of a father as he is a consummate actor. He thinks that though Hollywood is a lot less ageist in terms of film and TV roles, there is still that pressure not to succumb to filling a role just because you’re the right age for it.

“Ever since my kids were born, I’ve been approached to do a lot of dad roles. Like my agent would send me about five scripts a week where my character is supposed to be this stereotypical dad.  I’ve rarely taken any of them because I feel like it’s like they’re just trying to fit me in to a role just because I can say, ‘Oh hey, yeah I’m a dad now, I know what that means or what that looks like’, and not that that isn’t a good thing per se, but there’s a difference between the director wanting me to put my own spin to it as Kevin Pearson the actor versus them just wanting Kevin Pearson the dad. The way I approach parenting my kids, the way my wife and I do it, would be different to the way my character in this film would parent his kids. Sure, there may be certain overlaps, but it’s not going to be full Kevin Pearson the dad, you know? So, it’s hard with that kind of expectation.”

As the sun dips a little lower and it gets a little cooler, Kevin takes us back to the house just in time to finally meet Madison and their little boy, who looks strikingly like his father though, upon closer inspection, actually looks a little more like his mother. But there is one undeniable feature of the twins that definitely comes from both parents: the adorable identical dimples adorning their little chins.

Madison Pearson is as beautiful in person as she looks in photographs standing beside her husband in premieres and events. With her light-blue eyes and warm, soothing voice that sounds both delicate and excited at the same time, Madison is nothing but the embodiment of all things lovely.

“She grounds me,” he says adoringly, watching Madison and their kids flit about in the kitchen arranging dinner. “There isn’t much I can say that’s good about me if it hadn’t been for her. I can be ambitious and sometimes there’s always that pull towards something bigger but not necessarily better and she tells me honestly. She calls me out. And everyone needs that, you know? A frank person who won’t sugar coat anything, but they do it because they love you.”

It’s easy to imagine Kevin in gritty noir films playing bad cop, good cop or even as an intimidating trial lawyer, but Kevin as a family man is the role that is perfectly suited for him, almost like it’s created especially for him. As a father, he thrives on the affections of his kids, and as an actor, he finds pleasure in what’s he’s good at. And as a husband, his smile is the widest. “Not gonna lie, her not even being slightly jealous of that one time I did a love scene still gets to me,” he jokes. But it’s obvious that it bothers him not one bit. He enjoys being Madison Pearson’s more than anything.

“It’s crazy to think that people are inspired by what I do and who I am when for most of my life, it was 100% the other way around. It’s a huge responsibility, really, but I take it as it goes. I have my kids on the back of my mind now every time I make any decision, and I have a wife to love and support too, so it’s easier to not feel trapped by people’s opinions and expectations of you when you’re too focused on them and being the best person you can be for you and for them. So, it’s about growing every day, and enjoying all that life has to offer, and making every moment count.” x

Particular shoutout to my GC gals coz like ILY 5EVS @wallofweird @betweensunflowersanddaffodils @thisiskevison @thesocietalmisfit @tryalittlejoytomorrow @lullabiesandgoodbyes @flythesail @ourfinehouse @elephantsneedwater @holding-up-the-universe @smoakingpinklipstick @purpleinthesky

[gagmebucky]

[bad boy!bucky. teasing. kitten.]

“You’re fuckin’ responsive,” he answers himself, half-bemoaned like he can’t believe it, “like no one’s treated your little kitty like she deserves. But that’s okay ‘cause I’m here, and I’m gonna make it all better, kitten.” The last bit is a crooned promise. “Want me to fingerfuck your tight heat until you’re sobbing into the middle of my hand, don’t you?”

in which you’re supposed to tutor bucky but he has other plans. (includes bad boy!bucky x shy!reader, bucky’s pov, dirty talk, praise kink, teasing, fingering, mild exhibitionism and voyeurism.)

do not repost.

—

“Shouldn’t you be closer?” Bucky quirks a quizzical eyebrow from across the library table, lips slanted in the faintest of smirks, resisting a full blown show of teeth lest he intimidate you further. 

Stacked shelf to shelf, the book-laden expanse is desolate on an eight o’clock evening. The maze of literature has a plethora of tables and chairs on in-house reading; of which, the both of you are stationed at one. At the farthest corner of the room, he’s moored you in a coven of privacy: obscured from the front desk by towers of wood and bound paper. 

At the opposing head of the rectangular surface, you look up; the first glance in ten minutes since arriving for the studying session as you procrastinated under the guise of arranging the work space. Your wide eyes connect with his, and you swallow. “I. . . I,” you stammer before clearing your throat and nodding. “Yes. I - I suppose I should.” 

His fingers flex subconsciously at the anticipation of having you within reach. “Okay, c’mon,” he encourages, settling forward as he pats the open seat beside him. “I won’t bite, kitten.” Before he can control himself, a smirk upturns his naturally redden lips, words drawling out like gravel, “Unless, of course, you want me to.” 

Your pretty face darkens a bashful shade, and your mouth opens then shuts. You diligently gather your materials, fumbling some underneath the intensity of his carnivorously blue gaze. Once you’ve packed up your textbook and writing utensils, you grapple them to your chest. “I am just your tutor, James, and all we’ll be doing is studying,” you state, hushed and insistent, almost as if to convince yourself. 

His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, his teeth following to nibble on them before releasing. “Whatever you say, kitten,” he claims, but there’s a covetous glint in his dilated pupils that says otherwise.

Albeit with hesitation, you pad down to the chair directly diagonal from him and sit. A unique lull of vanilla and cinnamon greet his senses, another intoxicating whiff when you flip your physics book open to a chapter about electromagnetic waves. 

After skimming it with your eyes, you straighten. “Okay, um,” you say without looking at him. “Are you sure you want me to tutor you? Because it’s not my major, and I’m only getting a B—”

“I’m sure.” 

Unbeknownst to you—and to anyone who looks at him—he’s getting an A in Introduction to Cosmology. The thing is, he heard you’re one of the volunteer tutors; what’s a better way to get to know you than through deceiving you into being alone with him in a nearly empty library. 

A part of him feels guilty for that but it’s a necessary evil. Utilizing your predilection for helping others, he’s finally gotten you on your own. With your generally skittish personality, amplified when it comes to a roguish reputation like his, it was his only course of action. And he’s wanted this, wanted you for awhile now. 

Ever since he’s seen you in the front row of class, jotting down line and line of lecture, catching glimpses of your face buried in a book underneath the campus tree, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his head. But upon approaching you, you were all stuttering and clumsily running away. 

Turns out, his capable temper and brazenly illicit activities are more infamous than he initially thought. Which he should feel proud about, not annoyed by. But given its fault in thwarting his courting of you, there’s a flicker of agitation. 

That particular emotion is simmering with every second he inhales your bewitching aroma and eyes your beauty up-close. Warmly dimmed lights cast down a glow on your face, the shadow of your cheekbones, the length of your fluttering lashes. Your eyebrows are pinched cutely in concentration as you scan over his error-ridden homework, pink tongue peeking against your upper lip. 

God. You’re so cute. But in a way that makes him want to sheathe himself inside you as deep as possible and watch you writhe around on his cock beneath him. 

His jaw locks briefly as desire pits in his stomach. And, he knows he’s staring, an intensity of hunger display within his shark-like eyes. Undoubtedly, you see through his storming oceanic pools and know that there’s a gluttony of dastardly impulses flashing through his mind; carnal movies starring you and him in the leading roles. 

For the millionth time, you clear your throat. “S - so, I think we should go over the easy ones first. Then we - we. . .” you fumble over your instruction when his hand finds its way on your thigh, squeezing lightly through your skirt. You gulp and spare a nervous glance around then whisper, “What are you d - doing?” 

“Trying to learn,” he answers casually, moving his hand to slip underneath the fabric. He withholds a sound at the soft smoothness contrasting against his rough palm. Gauging your reaction, the shiver that slithers down your spine but the alarm widening your big eyes, he stills in place, tracing lazy circles with his thumb. “Aren’t you gonna help me, kitten?” 

You nod quickly. “Y - yes, of course.” You shuffle in your chair but he keeps a steady hold on you. “What I was saying is that, we’ll go slow then when you understand the basics, we’ll go f - faster with some harder problems.” 

“You know, I’m the type of person who prefers to go fast. I like to go in all at once, no preparation. . .” He licks his bottom lip. “Fast and hard. You think you can handle that, kitten?” On cue with the pet name, he glides his palm up your sensitive inner thighs, inching to where you’re radiating heat. 

Immediately, you gasp. “J - James!” you admonish a little too loudly and drop your pen to seize his wrist as it fixes between the cradle of your hips. “I - I’m trying to tutor you; what are you d - doing?” Despite the appalledness of your voice, your hips are instinctively bucking into the stimulation. 

“I’m listening,” he insists innocently, tilting his head as if perplexed by your fidgeting. “Is there something wrong? D’you need to use the bathroom?” 

You gnaw on your bottom lip, clearly crossed between calling him out and brushing it off. To his lucky surprise, you chose the latter. “L - let’s begin, then.” You relinquish his wrist and focus on the work splayed out on the table. “The test is coming up, and you’ll need to memorize the equations so - so—” When his hand reaches your panties and his index finger draws lines up and down your slit with the faintest of touches, you jolt, gasping, “James, we’re supposed to be studying!” 

The look on your face, he can't get enough of it: embarrassment attempting to cover the need shining in your sparkling eyes. “I am.” He chuckles huskily as he undulates his fingertips along your cloth-clad slit. “I’m studying your little pussy. And you wanna know what I notice right off the bat?” he questions like you can respond but you’re too busy shoving a fist in your mouth and smothering sounds as he goes to work. 

He kneads your sex crudely, manipulating the weeping flesh through soaked cotton between his fingers. He hasn’t touched you for more than a minute, and you’re already a puddle against the chair—slicked up and primed for something to fill up that tight hollowness inside you. 

“You’re fuckin’ responsive,” he answers himself, half-bemoaned like he can’t believe it, “like no ones treated your little kitty like she deserves. But that’s okay ‘cause I’m here, and I’m gonna make it all better, kitten.” The last bit is a crooned promise. “Want me to fingerfuck your tight heat until you’re sobbing into the middle of my hand, don’t you?”

As you nod with fluttering lashes, he bypasses your underwear and palms your hot, soft mound. A moan vibrates through his throat at the same time you squeal. He beelines for your clit, swollen and just begging for abuse—which he’s more than happy to provide, to wear the tiny bundle of nerves out until you just can’t stop shaking. 

The mere image of your cute self undone like that in the public has all the blood rushing to his cock and straining for release; for you to give him that release but that’s not his aim right here and now. Right here and now, it’s about corrupting someone as sweet and good as you—to be the blackguard that unravels you like candy bar and eats you whole. 

“G - god. That’s good,” you whimper, raking your nails down his muscular forearms, and he’ll wear the red marks with pride in the future. You survey the surroundings but he can’t care less about whether someone’s watching. “James. H - hold on—” 

He pauses and lifts a brow because you’re still rutting into his caress like a dog in heat. “You really want me to stop, kitten? ‘Cause your sexy body is telling me otherwise.” If you want him to stop, he has zero qualms about doing it; he’s willing to do whatever it takes to get you in your entirety. 

You shake your head. “N - no. I - I like it,” you whisper shyly, blinking those hypnotizing orbs at him. “But—”

Cutting you off, a familiar voice rings out, “Hey!” Deep and annoyingly authoritative, he identifies the blond librarian’s baritone pitch. Heavy footsteps on hardwood became louder as a build rivaling Bucky intevenes. “I heard someone yell—” 

Bucky grunts. “We’re just fine, Rogers.” He punctuates the word by parting a finger past your tumescented folds, sliding in with a curved angle until he hears your muffled but telltale choke that he's about to stroke your g-spot. A smirk curls into his lips as you slump in your seat, arms braced around your head to hide your face. “Oh, yeah. We’re doing great.” 

Steve narrows his eyes and folds his arms, nonverbally saying he won’t be brushed off that easily. “Am I seriously supposed to trust someone like you, Barnes?” he retorts with a scoff and takes a step closer to examine you. 

Which, if it were anyone else, he’d tell them to fuck off before he makes them. In this case, however, he’s knuckle deep inside you, and he sorta wants Steve to know that. In Bucky’s failed attempts to pursue you, he noticed that his childhood frenemy had also developed feelings for you, but is too daft to act on them. So, there’s some satisfaction in showing him you’re literally wrapped around his finger.

Your channel possesses him like a vice, practically gushing with every slow thrust, fevered like the contents of a volcano, and soft like silk; he knows you’ve been made to be seated around his cock. And with that conviction in his head, he’s going to show you off proudly.

“Kitten, why don’t you tell Stevie here that I’m taking good care of you?” Bucky purrs in your ear, gaze connected with the fiery depths of Steve’s. “Just reassure him that I’m handling my perfect little kitty just like she needs.” 

It takes you a minute to gather yourself—not that it helps—then you raise your head. Your face is dazed in unmistakable desire, a shimmering sheen of sweat around your forehead, pupils blown wide. “I - I’m fine,” you croak, a tone away from being a moan. “James is h - helping me.”

Satisfaction fills him, and he has to share how pleased he is with you. Keeping the heel of his palm flushed against your clit, the texturized pad of his finger rasps over that soft spot inside you over and over, speed quickening every time, making you sporadically spasm around him. 

The sensations hit you at once because you coil yourself into his embrace, trembling with your nose pressed into his chest, and his other arm huddles you close while his fingers play you like a fiddle. His black t-shirt does a decent job of suppressing your pleasure-heavy cries, but in a library setting, the noises are unmistakable. 

In shock—jealousy or arousal, both probably—Steve takes a step back, eyes like moons and lips parted as he watches the girl he has a crush on shudder and sob in the throes of orgasm within the arms of his frenemy. All the time, Bucky’s remain on his, an infuriating smirk upturned on his lips. 

Because he’s an asshole, he ducks down to stage-whisper in your ear, “That’s it, kitten. Squeeze my fingers, show me how tight you’ll feel bouncing on my cock. Be a good girl for me, and do exactly what I say.” Your cries crescendo, and your channel twitches warningly. “There she goes. You’ve got the softest, littlest, wettest pussy, don’t you, kitten? And I’m the only one who gets to have you, right?” 

Along with a nod, there’s a distinct bleat of, “Y - yes!” And that snaps Steve out of his perverse trance, blinking back into reality, and spinning on his heels to storm off, probably to jerk off or punch something. Either way, Bucky’s having the best time he’s had in awhile, and it’s all thanks to you. 

You bite into his pectoral through the blend of polyester and cotton when you cum, a sting that he absolutely loves. Your velvet walls pulsate and throb as you flood his hand, your whole body vibrating with the force that upheaves you. 

He rocks you through it: repeatedly cooes of “Good, kitten,” and waning strokes of his fingers, holding you snugly. Once the convulsions have stopped, he pops his finger free and sucks it clean. At the taste, a groan wrenches through his throat, and the urge to get on his knees and lap at the source dominates him. 

Blearily, you look up at him, all timid and such. And he feels his heart melt. “I don’t want you to fail,” you blurt out. “I’m sorry!” 

He cracks a grin. “It’s fine. I’m doing good in that class, anyway.” He cups your cheek. “I just wanted to hang out with you. Why don’t we get something to eat, and then later, I’ll eat you?” 

Although flustered, you nod with a small smile. “O - okay.”

[masterlist / feedback]

[soradragon]

Sugary Comfort

Art’s not mine I found it and credit goes to the wonderful owners of this master piece of a drawing!

First Mikey x reader! I am proud and content with this one!

Thank you my sweet new beta reader for helping me edit this fic I love u and your amazing! <3

Warnings: sensory overstimulation in the beginning, lots of fluff, one pun

Mikey x f! reader

Check out my main masterlist if you liked what you read and wanna read more!

If you want to be tagged in the upcoming fics don’t be afraid to ask me! ^^

Anyway, enjoy^^

~~~~

You gazed at the reflection of a girl. She looked utterly exhausted; bags under her eyes like she hasn't slept in ages. 

Her lips were tilted up in a sneer; it was evident that she was repressing the urge to scream. But instead of giving in to the voice begging her to do just that, she drove her foot through the water's surface. Not only disfiguring the reflection of the girl, but also dirtying the dress you nitpickingly chose to wear this day. At the time you felt beautiful wearing it. Proud that you chose the right clothes to fit with the dress, completing the look you wanted.

Now, you just didn't care.

You didn't feel pretty nor proud.

You choked out a sob, rubbing the back of your hand against your face harshly.

You wanted all the white noise to stop, wanted the crying to stop, wanted the searing headache to stop. Why couldn't time freeze? Then, maybe the chaos in your head would finally end.

You had tried everything you knew that normally should have worked. Out of all of the times for those methods not to work, why did it precisely choose now when it actually matters?

You followed all the steps. You even rehearsed the steps as you did them.

Step one: When you feel an episode coming, go to a quiet place with dull, even colours. 

You had almost dropped your project when you felt everything becoming overwhelming, muttering an explanation to your teacher before almost booking out of the school building, to the most calming place you could recall; the park.

Step two: Once you have found a quiet place, go sit down and use your headphones to block out all of the sounds.

The headphones did not work.

Your never-ending trains of thoughts took the place of the noise and multiplied it by two. 

Images that flashed before your eyes every time you closed them were too bright. You were unable to figure out the meanings behind the words your mind screamed at you. 

All of it only worsened the already painful headache.

After only a moment you tore the headphones from your head.

Step three: Try even your breathing, and count to ten to ground yourself.

This was the only step that worked. You managed to calm yourself and stop your ragged breathing but it took effort. It took two attempts of counting to ten before it succeeded.

This whole fiasco petered you out mentally and physically. You just wanted this unnecessary sensory to decrease and quiet down to at least a tolerable level. But alas, the world did not want to cooperate this time.

You sighed, casting your gaze to the heavens. 

The sky was beautiful this evening - painted in orange and pink - and you would have taken the time to admire it, had it been in a different situation.

After hearing a familiar yet obnoxious 'ping' coming from within your bag, you cursed under your breath. You snatched your bag from behind you crudely, zipping it open with a huff. As you turned it on, you flinched at the bright light of your screen.

One unread message from 'Mom.'

She was worried sick no doubt. You felt guilty for worrying her, and wanted to reassure her that yes, you were safe, but felt like trash and were in the middle of an episode that wouldn't stop. No matter how hard you tried, all the obnoxious and illogical sensory your brain's been picking up did not stop. Though, on the other hand, you just wanted to ignore the message and skip the whole situation of explaining everything altogether and just turn off the screen and put notifications on mute. You sent a quick 'k' to whatever she had messaged you and moved on to the mute button.

Your finger hovered above it when a notification popped up, causing you to hesitate.

One new message from 'The great Mikester dude!'

Without thinking, you pressed on the notification, staring with big eyes at the message he had sent you: Guess who and where dudette. :P

"Mikey." You gasped out, manoeuvring your head in all kinds of directions, eyes skimming all over the park, trying to find the one in question. You felt the tingling and buzzing feeling of hope and glee pool in your body, replacing the sadness and anger.

All problems were forgotten or pushed to the back of your mind.

The white noise died down suddenly when you heard a low thud and the slight rustling of leaves. 

There was no other explanation; they were here...You were sure of it. 

Only they could stop the chaos when everything else failed, though you didn't know how, nor the logic in it. 

You guessed it had something to do with their ninja nature or something. (Even though Donnie told you multiple times that it might have been because of the aura they carried with, them, being half turtle and all that jazz had its side effects on some humans, like how a pet could soothe its owner simply by being near them. You still blamed it on them being ninjas.)

With your mind settled down, you could think clearly again. 

You briefly acknowledged the fact that you most certainly were a dishevelled mess. Puffy eyes from crying, clothes covered in mud, and hair all over the place, considering that you've pulled and tangled your hair in frustration. Despite all of this, you didn't care.

You were too busy thinking of a plan to lure them - you guessed it was all of them, though it could be only Mikey - out of their hiding place.

You accidentally placed your hand on your phone, making it vibrate, and your hand shot back as if it had burned you. A few seconds after, a song piped up.  A lot of curses could be heard from the tree where the music came from, the leaves rustled like no tomorrow. Mikey fell out of said tree not long after, hitting the ground with an 'oof' followed by a groan. You stared at Mikey for a couple of seconds before doubling over in laughter as the realisation hit you:

You had accidentally called Mikey!

Well, it sure helped you find him!

You counted that as a win on your part. And it seemed that Mikey was on his own, for normally one of the brothers, cough Raph cough would have jumped out from their hiding place and scolded Mikey.

He rolled into a sitting position, giggling with you.

"Yo, dudette! Fancy seeing you here. Don't mind me dropping in," he said, peering at you with an expecting smile, seeming to wait for a reaction. 

It took you a hot second or two for you to catch on, eventually groaning at the pun and face-palming yourself for your delayed comprehension. He did jazz hands and everything.

The great ninja Michelangelo just punned...

You wanted to kick yourself, you completely forgot that April had warned you about Mikey using puns. She had messaged you not too long ago about how it was a "Big" (with capital B) mistake of Casey to teach Mikey "The Art of puns." For Mikey had become obsessed with them. - Throughout the whole exchange, Casey had managed to steal April’s phone a few times and messaged you some words. Three guesses which one was Casey’s input on the matter. - 

You had no clue what they meant with "mistake" throughout that whole exchange. 

You appreciated a good pun.

This was not a good pun. 

You could just imagine the brothers’ reactions to Mikey's newfound fixation: Raph screaming desperately for Mikey to shut up. Donnie being hella annoyed with something pressed against his (ears?) to drown Mikey out. Leo would definitely try to ignore him, probably without success, because you knew...oh, you knew Mikey would take every chance he got to make a pun.

Your heart went out for them. Needing to go through such torture was horrid, yet it was a funny sight to be completely honest. Not that you would ever tell them, heavens no.

You were not going to poke three bears with a stick - in this case, mutant turtles. You were not ready to die three separate times.

"Dude, that was so bad,” you said, making a face as if you had just been forced to smell Raph's feet. You still regret going through with that bet.

"Dude!"

Mikey frowned, throwing his hands in the air. You knew he wasn't really offended, just a bit pouty.

"It's the truth, dude," you retorted absentmindedly, casting your gaze from left to the right before it rested on your bag. Smiling slightly, you snatched it, hauling it over your back before turning back to Mikey who sat contently against the tree. 

"But," you emphasised the word by pointing your index finger in the air, "you can get better,” your grin widened as you spoke.

 “And I, Y/N, know how it's really done."

Mikey's pout vanished and a wide, child-like grin overtook his face. You had his full attention, as he observed you expectantly from his cross-legged position. 

The long uncut grass rippled towards and caressed Mikey, the blades of green curling slightly forward and creating an image of what looked like nature sheltering Mikey from the harsh reality outside of this garden of paradise. 

The green-filled branches of the tree hovered above him, leaves gliding down every now and again, covering Mikey in small dapples of shadow.

Dusk's hew engulfed the image before you in a soft purple radiance. Mikey's skin practically glowed, making him look like a forest fairy.

It was a captivating sight. 

You could mistake it for a painted fairy tale that had come to life. Whoever the painter was had made sure that each tiny detail captured the magic and beauty of the image before you.

A magic-filled world coexisting in the harsh one you stood in... what you wouldn't give to cast all worries aside and join that world.

You were so lost in the moment that you almost forgot to continue.

Shaking yourself free from the enchanting sight, you carried on, albeit flustered, "a-and I could, um, teach you a thing or two. If...If you want me to, that is."

Mikey almost jumped right in your face before the words had completely left your mouth. There were practically stars in his eyes! He actually looked really adorable.

"Really!? You would!? Y/N, you are the best!!"

Mikey engulfed you into a hug, his body nearly covering your entire body from the world.

You gave a chuckle as he kept his arms circled around you, letting you sit in his lap. You didn't mind at all, feeling cosy in his arms.

"Of course I would Mikester. It would be my pleasure!"

You raised your hands to Mikey's cheeks, giving them a couple of pats before you continued.

"That way, you have a reason to end patrol earlier so we can spend more time together," and it would give the others a break from the barrage of bad puns, but you didn't voice that out loud. 

Mikey seemed to agree. He didn't waste any time to establish when and where this 'class-session', as he called it, would be taking place. He wanted it to become, without a shadow of a doubt, a weekly thing, like movie night at the turtles’ place with everyone.

Mentioning movie night brought up some nasty memories of last time -the movie night itself wasn’t bad, just one of your episodes got out of hand -  and Mikey changed the subject promptly after seeing you wince slightly. 

He told you about all kinds of new skateboard tricks he mastered and invented.

After a little while - when everything had been said about skateboarding - Mikey started to eagerly talk about random topics, bringing up stuff like how his training went this morning or what he encountered on patrol. Just little things to draw more time spending in this position. You kept in mind that this peaceful moment couldn't last forever, for both of you would have to separate sooner rather than later. 

You needed to go home to your no doubt worried sick parents, before they would start search parties. And Mikey...had to wait till the next time you two could hang out. (Which wasn't as often as both of you desired)

You listened to his voice silently, only humming a reply whenever Mikey asked for your opinion, snuggling deeper into his embrace as you lost track of time. Drowsiness tugged at your consciousness, beckoning you to close your eyes and let sleep take over. The way Mikey held you close to him made you feel loved and safe, with you resting your head against his chest to hear his heartbeat. He rubbed soothing circles on your left shoulder with one hand, making it impossible to resist the urge to let sleep take you away to dreamland. 

You vaguely heard Mikey's voice murmur in your ear, "Sweet dreams, sugar muffin..." You felt soft lips brush against your forehead before sleep took you over.

*(*)(*)*

Michelangelo stayed seated for a little while longer, looking at your sleeping form with loving eyes. If the world would have let him, he would have stayed like this forever. Alas, the moment was broken when your mobile pinged inside your bag, vibrating like crazy.

Mikey panicked. Jumping to his feet (surprisingly without stirring you) without thinking. He opened your bag in such haste he had almost dropped you trying to grab the vibrating phone before it would wake you.

He sighed in relief when the phone stopped its obnoxious buzzing after he managed to keep you from falling. He shifted you gently onto one arm to hold you delicately, yet tightly to his chest, as if he was protecting you from the world around you.

Once he made sure you were nestled comfortably in his hold,  he glanced towards the device lying in his palm. Mikey held it at an arm's length.

One question drifted inside his mind: Who in their right mind would call you this late in the evening?

It was a question where he could get an answer, but Mikey didn't want to pry into your private life without your permission.

But the curiosity gnawed at him like he would do with pizza.

He shook his head and chastised himself for goggling the device longingly. "No, bad Mikey...Be the better man, you can do this," he muttered, moving to put the phone in your bag until your phone buzzed again, displaying the number of notifications on the lit-up screen.

It made him halt in his tracks. 

Mikey knew you were having a bad day today. After all, he saw you crying by the pond in the centre of the park. It was a mere coincidence, patrolling around the park at the time. He had seen you crying and decided right then and there that he would cheer you up. But he had no idea you had that kind of bad day. 

There were seven unread messages and three missed calls from your mother. All of them showed how worried she was about you, asking where you were and if you had one of your sensory overstimulation episodes.

Without really thinking about it, he typed a reply to your mother: Batteries died, was with a friend. Coming home through the fire escape forgot keys.

It wasn’t a  grammatically correct message, he knew. It was the best he could do with one hand and one thick tumb.

Mikey glanced towards you with gentle eyes and a soft smile after sending the message and put your phone back in your bag.

He moved you gently, holding you with both arms again and cradling you against his chest.

You, in turn, stirred and snuggled deeper into Mikey's chest, making his heart soar.

"Time to get you home, sugar muffins..." he whispered softly, brushing a couple of stray hairs out of your face.

Mikey moved swiftly yet precisely, ensuring you did not wake or feel uncomfortable during roof-top-hopping. You needed all the rest you could get; the bags under your eyes made him even more certain of the fact.

Your home came into Mikey's field of vision far too soon. Opening the window and laying you softly onto your bed felt too fast for his taste.

Mikey took extra care to tuck you in. He even attached a little note to your bag for you to find when you would wake up. 

He really wanted to stay longer, but the sound of your parents coming up the stairs told him it was time to go. He opened the door of your room slightly so your parents would know you were home. Michelangelo climbed through the window before your parents could see him.

He watched your parents turn on the light from a rooftop across your window. Your dad gave you an extra blanket before the two of them turned off the light and left your room.

Mikey stayed there on the rooftop for a little while longer before leaving, looking over his shoulder one last time and then he sprinted over the rooftops towards home.

*(*)(*)*

You found the note the next day. You smiled brightly at the words hastily scribbled on the pape. You texted Mikey a reply before you went to look out your window. Your eyes draw towards the morning sky, which was painted in a soft orange hue.  

You repeated the words inside your head, making you excited for the next time you would see your turtle in orange...

Yoo, dudette! Can't wait for the pun-session upcoming Friday! 

I'll pick you up at ten alright? It's a date! ;) <3

~~~~

Thank you for reading, and keep soaring high!^^

Forever taglist

@theincaprincess​ 

[brittledame]

Pairing: Shirabu Kenjirou/Reader

Warnings: Explicit, hate-sex, swearing, name calling, light bondage, edging, overstimulation, semi-public sex

Word Count: 6.6K

Summary:  Contrary to what you both believed, the tryst in the study room only served to intensify the tense air between you two. Not wanting to acknowledge how he’s been on your mind since, you shut him out completely. Unknowing to you, Shirabu is plagued with the same thoughts. Tension boils over once again as you find yourself left alone with him in the gym.

Series: Part 2 of 3 (Part 1 & Part 3)

To say that the last few weeks since handing in the assignment have been tense was an understatement. Ever since the incident in the study room, your head has been in utter disarray.

There were many things on the burning pile of your mind that added to your mounting vexation. The first one being that you gave into him, and no matter how pleasurable that was, it was a major blow to your pride. Since that library session, Shirabu acted as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. Hell, if you weren’t for the bruises painted on your hips, you might’ve convinced yourself it was a very vivid sex dream about your rival.

Unlike Shirabu’s heated anger, yours was more of the frosty kind. Cold shoulders punctuated with icy looks. The two of you were opposites in every sense of the term and yet he haunted you like an embarrassing childhood memory that refuses to let you sleep.

You let your hand slip out from where it was supporting your cheek and let your head ‘thunk’ against the table. Concerned, Natsuki pauses from her bento and gives you an assessing look.

“Alright, you’ve been acting weird for a while now. Are you alright?” Natsuki narrow her eyes at you, a silent warning that you wouldn't get away with lying.

Asides from her expression, you could hear concern ring loud and clear in her voice. Natsuki was a dear friend but she was also as stubborn as a bull if she wanted something, just like you. Now that you think of it, maybe that was why you two got along so well.

Knowing that you weren’t going to be able to evade the question, you give her a plausible excuse.

“University entrance exams are getting closer and I feel like I’m hitting a wall when I try to study.”

It was partially true. Albeit the reason you were hitting a wall was mostly because you can’t go more than an hour sitting there without your thoughts drifting to Shirabu’s hands on your hips, thrusting inside of you with vitriolic comments on the tip of his tongue. But Natsuki didn’t need to know all of that.

Accepting the lame excuse, Natsuki nods her head in empathy.

“I feel you there,” she frowns, “with my council duties on top of everything, I feel like I’m doing work but getting nowhere with it. They have me running around every afternoon trying to get forms signed. By the time I’m done I don’t want to study.”

You quietly hum at her tribulations. Annoyed at your uncharacteristic brooding demeanour recently, Natsuki sharply prods your cheek with her chopstick. You bat her hand away and turn to weakly glare up at her.

In your periphery, a flash of copper-toned hair catches your attention. Peering at the boy that’s been distracting you from the corner of your eyes, you could see him sitting like a statue among the lively chatter of his table. For some reason, the mere sight of his blank face and stupidly straight fringe elicited anger inside of you.

If it wasn’t clear before, that reaction to his existence was enough to rule out the possibility of you falling for him. This fills you with relief. You had suspected the possibility when you caught yourself thinking about him on a daily basis, but the thought terrified you.

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” Natsuki pouts at you, hand poised to jab you in the cheek with her chopstick again.

“Yes.”

“Is that a yes to delivering the form or for listening?”

“Both,” you absent-mindedly answer, eyeing off your unfinished bento, knowing you weren't in the mood to finish it.

“Thanks for doing this favour for me.” Natsuki sounded genuinely glad as she riffles through her binder she refuses to leave in her desk.

With a small ‘aha’, she pulls out a sheath of paper and holds it out to you. Sitting up from your slouched position, you gingerly take the paperwork. You wonder what you might’ve signed yourself up for when you see how much writing is crammed onto the first page.

“What is this?” You ask.

“I knew you weren’t listening.” Natsuki says, a knowing glint in her eyes. “I told you that I need to get the volleyball’s club captain to submit their plan for the new people filling the team roles and other admin stuff like that.”

At the casual mention of the volleyball’s captain, dread gripped your heart.

“The volleyball captain?” You parrot back weakly.

“Yeah,” she gives you an odd look, “you know, Shirabu. The guy who you claim to hate. Surely you knew he was captain.”

Oh, you knew all too well that he was the damn captain. Being the overachieving bastard that he was, as if acing high school and aiming for medical school was enough, the dick had to add in being captain to a national-placing sports team as well.

Petulantly looking away to not meet Natsuki’s unimpressed look, your eyes incidentally met golden ones. The eye contact probably lasted all of a millisecond, but it was the most you two shared over the past few weeks. With you avoiding looking at Shirabu at every possible opportunity and Shirabu himself making no attempt to address the elephant in the room, you both let the elephant waste away and dye under the lack of attention.

Breaking the eye contact, you turn your attention back to the brunette in front of you. “Why am I doing this for you?”

“Because you’re a good friend?” She bats her eyelashes at you.

You give her a flat look, not believing her for a second.

“Come on,” she whines, “you know those volleyball guys scare me. They’re way too tall.”

“They shouldn’t. They’re a bunch a meat-heads.” You don’t mention the fact that their captain is below the national height average, which you find quite hilarious for a sport that’s all about height and strength.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Whatever, I’ve got the papers now, so it’s already settled. Don’t say that I’m not a good friend.”

Natsuki gives you a wide smile that makes you pause.

“Maybe while you’re at it, you can sort out whatever happened between the two of you since working on that science project.”

Your skin breaks out in goose bumps at the innocent words paired with a meaningful undertone.

It was then that you swore to never underestimate the power of Natsuki’s perception.

Not wanting to interrupt practice and bring unnecessary attention to yourself, you decided it was best to wait until practice finished. Remembering the time practice should be ending from your previous sessions with Shirabu, you holed yourself up in the dorms during the meantime, trying your hardest to work through some practice exam questions to no avail. Your traitorous thoughts kept drifting to the copper-haired setter roughly handling you.

Phantom touches ghosted along the same places Shirabu had graced upon not that long ago. Unthinkingly, your thighs press together as the memory of him ruthlessly fucking into you plays in your mind for the umpteenth time this week alone.

Frustrated with your horny mind, you slap your cheeks. The sting drives away the faint tendrils of arousal and brings back clarity. God, now was not the time to be getting all hot and bothered over something he probably hasn’t thought twice about. You valued yourself more than to ruminate over something so basal.

Looking at the time, it signals that you should head off if you want to get the forms signed tonight as per Natsuki's explicit orders. Snatching the forms off the corner of your desk, you set off to the gym with a stone sitting heavy in your stomach.

Thankfully, it was warm enough to not wear a jacket. The heat teases the stress from your tense shoulders. The walk was calming, the scent of blooming sakura and freshly cut grass further soothing your frayed nerves.

You weren’t nervous per say, more anxious at finding out how your body may react to being in such close proximity to him again. Since that night, purposeful or not, you both struggled to find an appropriate time to meet up and decided that it was best to do it all online since the majority of it was completed.

The sounds of shoes squeaking over varnished wood along with the low murmur of male voices met your ears as you slide your shoes into a cubby and slipped on indoor shoes. You’ve only been in gym one three times before and that was for the opening ceremonies. The sight of high beam ceilings and sleek modern interior still astounded you.

The boys running around had mops in hand, whilst others climbed to dismantle nets, but most of them were missing. Looking around for a head of copper-hair, you hoped that Shirabu hadn’t left early like most captains would. However, your mission was interrupted as your sight was filled with black hair and glittering dark eyes peering at you.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“Yes. Is Shirabu still here?” You answer, taking note of how tall the boy is. His face doesn’t seem familiar and you’d definitely remember meeting someone with a bowl-cut. He must be in a year below you, you reason.

“Ah,” the boy’s eyes flit over to the right, “he’s over there.”

Following his line of sight, you found Shirabu standing with his arms crossed next to an open door talking to a ginger-haired guy that you’ve definitely seen in your class before.

“Thanks.” You nod to the younger who smiles to you and continues whatever chose he was assigned.

Walking over to the pair, you catch his eye without even trying. Shirabu’s expression changes minutely, a subtle twitch of the mouth that has you contemplating homicide. You were over-reacting, surely. Still, you hoped that maybe he could fake being pleasant for as long as it takes to fill the forms out.

“Sorry to interrupt –“

“No, you’re not.” Shirabu interrupts. Well there goes the fantasy of him being pleasant for one minute. Even his tall friend gives him a look for cutting you off.

“You’re right. I’m not,” You concede. Placing a hand on your hip, you hold the papers out to him.

Shirabu blankly stares at you instead of taking them, which added to your mounting annoyance. Fine. If he wanted to play the petty game, so would you.

“These are forms for the retiring captain of the volleyball club to fill out. Unfortunately it turned out to be you.” You say with a plastic smile. “The team must be really sad to see their esteemed captain leave, huh?”

Shirabu’s jaw clenched at your poorly concealed insults, not even bothering to dress them up like you preferred to do. Expecting him to rise to the bait, you waited for the onslaught of offense he’ll spew in response.

“I’m busy right now. You can wait until I’m done.”

He brushes you off, turning and walking away from you. His friend gives you an apologetic look, knowing how shitty his friend’s personality is.

Your eye twitches with restrained violence as you watched him saunter away. With clenched hands you wait by the storage room’s doorway. You dismiss the few pitying glances from the few people walking past you to put the cleaning equipment away.

You busy yourself with your phone as Shirabu continues to waste your precious time that you could be using to catch up on some much needed studying that he was unknowingly depriving you of recently.

Kenjirou had not expected you to turn up tonight, catching him by surprise. When he noticed you, an inexplicable feeling rushed over him. He tried to keep his face neutral as you drew closer but the moment you opened your mouth he couldn’t help himself.

That temporary high of riling you up and then giving you the cold shoulder was incredible. After the weeks of your frigid treatment and the plain disregard for his existence you subjected him to, it was the least he could repay you with. The worst part of it all was that he couldn’t even ask about your sudden change of attitude, as you would try your hardest to avoid being in a room alone with him.

All he did know was that he weirdly missed the fiery attitude you possessed. It frustrated him to no end that as soon as the assignment was completed, you had done your hardest to ghost him. As much as one could when you shared the same classroom for near seven hours of the day.

Your suddenly frigid attitude didn’t stop you staring, though. Kenjirou had caught you a few times looking in his direction with an indescribable expression. From your distant expression, he couldn’t tell if you either wanted to stab him or re-enact that last study session.

Regardless, the entire affair has him on edge. He thought that fucking you would vent all those conflicting emotions and give him peace. Instead he feels more restless now than ever.

And to his dismay, this did not go unnoticed by Taichi.

“Is there a reason why you’re being more of a prick to her than usual?”

Kenjirou ignored the question in favour for checking out the gym. The first and second years were generally tasked to do clean-up and they did so with vigour, feeling privileged to work in an old war-horse team with a vendetta.

“Man, I never took you to be the ‘boy pulls girl's pigtails because he likes her’ stereotype when getting a girl's attention.” Taichi muses.

Shirabu scowls at Taichi. “Shut up. She annoys the hell out of me and that’s all.”

Taichi grabs him by the arm, eyebrow piqued. “She didn’t even speak two words and you were at her throat.”

“She doesn’t need to say anything to piss me off.”

“Funny that she’s willing to be civil and yet you aren’t.”

Kenjirou chooses not to comment on that.

The pissed off expression on his face has the younger members avoiding him like the plague, choosing to leave for their dorms over loitering in the locker room.

“Are you going to help me lock up or not?”

“Only if you stop looking murderous.”

Taichi’s knee buckles as Kenjirou delivers a swift kick to the back of it.

“Go away, I can do it on my own.”

“Fine,” Taichi says, looking relieved at the early dismissal. Kenjirou didn't doubt for a moment that Taichi planned for it. “Don’t murder the cute girl. I won’t be your alibi.”

“You’re a terrible friend.” Kenjirou hisses under his breath.

Taichi laughs and leaves Kenjirou to his own devices. Remembering that you were waiting on him, he’s surprised to find that you were still there. Leaning against the wall tapping at your phone looking bored, you didn’t notice his eyes on you. You were still wearing the school uniform, with the exception of your tie and first few buttons undone.

There was a casual air about you that he didn’t get to see every day. His eyes linger on your skirt, fingers twitching with the memory of how the fabric felt under them. Without his permission, an image of your panties tucked away in the back of his bedside table flashes to the forefront of his mind.

Unlike the previous times the thought popped into mind, Kenjirou chooses not to fight it away as he turns away from you and goes through the motions of checking the locker room and hallways before locking up.

The lacy scrap of fabric was a memento of sorts, a trophy of him putting you in your place the same way he envisioned in his more… illicit fantasies. Although, they may be cursed. As absurd as the idea is, Kenjirou has no other explanation for the phenomenon that’s been occurring since his ownership of them. He can barely stand looking at the harmless piece of furniture containing them without feeling heat spark up inside of him.

At first, he ruled it to anger or frustration, a common emotion he experiences in your vicinity. It only took a week after the tryst, left alone in his dorm room for the weekend did he indulge the demon in his mind. It wasn’t until he was coming down from his high, your soft panties wrapped around his hand covered in drying cum, did the weight of his actions sink in.

It didn’t stop there, though. No, that’d be too easy for him, and if Kenjirou had learnt anything since you breezed into his life, life was all about being difficult.

He had woken up a few times to ruined sheets from dreams of your sweet moans and pliable body under his hands, all too willing to obey his every demand. It's laughable that he thinks you would ever be like that, but that’s why he supposes their called wet dreams – they’re unrealistic fantasies. The logical part of him chimes in the significance of Kenjirou liking you to the extent of your appearing in those fantasies, but Kenjirou did his best to smother that voice until it died.

The keys in his hand rattle as he shoves them into his pocket. Without even realising it, he managed to complete lock-up. The only soul besides his in the gym belonged to the only person that could piss him off with just a look.

Walking down the hallway, towards where you were waiting, Kenjirou decisively concluded the knot in his stomach was not anticipation, it was from the annoyance at knowing he was forced to be with you in the few precious hours he has to himself.

Your mindless scrolling stops as you check the time, pissed that he’s held you back for this long. You wished you could leave but you promised to give the completed forms to Natsuki in the morning and you didn’t trust Shirabu for as far as you could throw him.

Whilst you didn’t expect him to greet you with open arms and a charming smile, you were fed up with his belligerent attitude. While he’s always been like that, it’s really been grating on your nerves recently. You’ve become acutely aware of Shirabu’s every move. The sight of him alone, at ease talking among peers made you experience something you’ve never felt before.

The closest description to the feeling is butterflies fluttering around your stomach, but the idiom was simultaneously nauseating and horrifying to you.

From dwelling on it for weeks now, you knew that your sudden interest towards him stemmed from lusting over him, as adamant you were to admit. Unfortunately, you enjoyed him taking you from behind without any regard for you. It infuriated you that you got off on his nasty personality.

“Give me the papers.”

The unexpected appearance of Shirabu’s voice startles you, very nearly causing you to drop your phone.

You click your tongue at him and give him an admonishing look for his rudeness. Grabbing the papers tucked under your arm, you hand it over to him.

“Here.”

Without a word of thanks, he takes them and starts reading over them, not wanting to dignify your cold tone. Biting your tongue, you fish out a pen in your pocket. You were sorely tempted to toss it at his head, but you were above acting so childish, unlike Shirabu.

Moving close to him, you stay out of his personal space as you point to sections of the paper with the pen and start reciting everything Natsuki told you. You were nothing but meticulous and as much as you despised her for setting you up, you never half-assed anything.

At the end of your spiel, Kenjirou snatches your pen from your grasp and start filling out the form against the wall. At your indignant shout, he simply rolls his eyes.

It was obvious that Shirabu wanted to be anywhere else but here with you, evident by his silence. Weirdly enough, the thought hurt, like little pinpricks piercing your chest.

Surprisingly, Shirabu is the one to break the silence that fell over the gym.

“Why does the council need to know how many students I think are going to join next year? How could I possibly guess that?”

You roll your eyes at his griping. “Just fill out the damn form.”

Uncaring of the dilemma threatening his fastidious nature, you grinned as his jaw clenches. He’s put you through psychological torture for a month now, this was only a taste of the frustration you felt.

You felt a little vindicated when he huffs out loud at another unnecessarily specific question.

Fuck what Natsuki said, this was exposure therapy at its finest. If you could do this without admiring his body in some way then that’d be a victory. And you despised losing, so you were intent on winning this as well.

Easier said than done.

Your eyes lingered on his lips as his tongue darts out to wet them. They further stray down the column of his throat and settle on the hand scribbling down information. His hands were surprisingly slender for a guy, but no less deadly. You’ve heard about his pin-point accurate tosses and serves. You knew firsthand the mistake of underestimating his strength.

“What?” He snaps, noticing you intently staring at his hands.

“Nothing,” You sniff, trying to look disdainful to cover your embarrassment at your wondering attention.

‘For fuck’s sake, pull yourself together woman!’ You inwardly admonish yourself.

For Kenjirou, this was the last straw. He tried carrying on as normal after the incident, he tried not biting back for the sake of decency, and yet your attitude flips on him out of nowhere. He’s tired of all of this shit.

Letting the papers fall to the ground, he grabs your wrist in an iron-hard grip and bangs open the door of the storage room beside you. Fed up with your attitude, Kenjirou knew that confronting you about it could blow up in his face but he couldn’t stand his last few weeks of high school spent with your bitchy demeanour.

“Hey! What the fuck?” You protest, pulling against the tight grasp he has on your wrists as he kicks the door closed pulls your further into the dark room.

Not listening to your complaints, he pulls you behind the high stack of mats and shoves you against the shelving unit. The shelves uncomfortably dig into your back as he cages you in, arms placed beside your head, breaths intermingling.

“This has got to stop.” He growls.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You raise your eyebrows at him, outwardly acting unaffected. Internally, your heartbeat thundered in your ears, deafening you with the excitement you felt.

“Oh, so now you want to act normal?” He snorts.

“Fuck off.”

For the past three years you’ve taken enough of his shit. You thought denying the issue attention would starve him and he’d get bored. How wrong you were. Instead you managed to piss him off even more, evident by the way the air vibrated with the tension between your bodies.

“I bet you can’t get me out of your head,” Shirabu says lowly, possessive grip on your hips tightening minutely. “Maybe that’s why you refuse to meet my eyes.”

“Don’t sound all high and mighty. I bet you get off with my underwear that you stole, asshole.” You bite back, defiantly meeting his gaze head-on to prove him wrong.

Unexpectedly, Kenjirou flushes. If you didn’t know how big of a prick he was, you’d almost think it was cute. Now though? It was all you needed to know that was exactly what he’s been using your stolen panties for.

“Oho, hit the nail on the head now, did I?” You tease, drawing your faces close enough to see the faint freckles that were hidden by the redness.

“Shut the fuck up.” He says warningly, a hard expression on his face.

“Or what? You’ll gag me again? Oh no.” You challenge, lips pursed in faux concern.

“No,” he drawls, brushing his thumb across your lower lip. “I want to hear you beg for me this time.”

His thumb presses down hard, preventing you from responding coherently . You glare at him from under your eyelashes, not liking the smug look on his face at all.

His titillating tone had your horny hindbrain rearing to go. Meanwhile, your forebrain was too stubborn to give in just because he was wanted it, despite you wanting it as well.

Shirabu’s eyes dart from your eyes to your mouth, watching your tongue flick at his thumb. He replaces it with his index and middle finger, pressing down on your tongue and admiring the way your tongue melded around them. It was the best way he could stop your witticisms for one fucking second.

“You’re so much cuter when you’re not talking.” He sighs, feigning a wistful tone.

You scowled at him, hating the fact that he was enjoying himself and that you were weirdly enjoying it as well. His other hand migrates southward, slipping up underneath your skirt. The brush of his fingertips leave a tingling sensation on your skin as it makes its way up your inner thigh.

Your knees lock up as he brushes along the edge of your panties. Unable to take his intense focus on your face, you shove shove his fingers out of your mouth and pull him down into a kiss. Much like the first one you two shared, there was much more teeth and tongue involved for it be labelled such, but you had no other word for it.

As his tongue slips in, Kenjirou forcibly rubs against the wet spot he found. He pressed against it, testing how far the fabric would stretch. You keened into his mouth at the rough feeling of the fabric stroking against your folds.

Breaking the kiss, he leans his forehead against yours. His fingers move the panties to the side and you finally get the skin-on-skin contact you’ve been craving. Stroking your bare folds and smearing the wetness around, Shirabu manages to touch you everywhere but the place you wanted him most.

“If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought you never done this before.” You tease, hoping to urge him on but unknowingly sealing your fate for another rough night.

Shirabu’s ministrations stop and he levels you with a serious expression – a dangerous glint in his honeyed irises.

“I’m going to make you beg for me.”

Committed to his promise, he buries two fingers into you without concern. You yelp at the burn of the sudden stretch and lack of lubrication. As if you didn’t think you were insane as it was, you could feel yourself get wetter at the lick of pain. Kenjirou smirk as he watches your face screw up as he pumps and twists his fingers inside of you, feeling you become wetter around his digits.

Skillful fingers make a mess of you. Unable to support yourself on weak legs, Shirabu and the shelving unit bare your weight as you pant and give breathy sighs whenever he makes a particular set of motions that has heat rushing throughout your body and your hole gush.

It wasn’t long before you could feel that heat accumulating low in your gut. Throwing your head back and letting out a lengthy moan, needlessly warning Shirabu that you were close.

‘Just a little more,’ you thought desperately, ‘just a little more and I'll be there.’

Kenjirou knew he was a sadist at-heart, told many times by Taichi and his seniors for pushing the younger years during practice. He never had the chance to explore it with a partner before and while he never imagined you to be the one, he found himself enjoying your sinful expressions and sounds.

With a cruel smile, he watches your reaction as he pulls his fingers out of you. You Eyes fly open, hips pausing in their mindless rolling and a complaint rises to your lips.

“You fucker.”

He laughs at your reaction. it was exactly what he expected from your impatient bitchy self.

Instead of resuming the bickering from before, you force yourself to calm down. Closing your eyes and turning your thoughts inwards, you practice breathing techniques counsellors taught you for exam stress. The back of your mind registers his fingers skirting around the edge of your hole with enough pressure to cause your leg to twitch.

Envisioning the smug look on his face did not help you calm down. it caused your blood to boil all the more. Begrudgingly opening your eyes, your eyebrows furrow when you see his contemplative look.

Kenjirou wondered how long it would take for you to give in to him. From the way your chest was heaving, looking at him through lidded eyes, he concluded that it would be miracle if you could last more than two rounds of this game.

Determined to prove his theory, he ripped your skirt down with your panties in one smooth motion and slipped his fingers back into your greedy hole. It took a much shorter amount of time for you to get close this time, thighs tensing around his hand.

Trying to spread your legs wider, you’re stopped by the elastic waist of your panties. Annoyed, you step out of them and kick the skirt and panties away. Now freed, your legs spread wider to give Shirabu’s miracle hand more room to work with, which he gladly abused.

“Fuck.” You moan

“I’ve barely started and you’re already a mess,” He notes, eyeing your glistening eyes and the bared column of your throat.

“Screw you.” You hiss, thighs tensing as he works you back towards the high he ripped from you.

Kenjirou darts forward to deliver a harsh nip to your bottom lip in punishment. Not expecting it, you moaned at the bite of pain, tightening around his long fingers.

Believing you learnt you lesson, his lips move southward. Trailing down the column of you throat, his mind summons thoughts of your neck being littered with his mark. His hand increases the pace, brutally pumping in and out as the mental image makes his dick harden impossibly more.

The sting of his scalp as you tug at his hair pulls him away from the thought and in turn gives him another idea.

You smother the whine threatening to come out as he remove his fingers from your soaking hole, once again depriving you of that high.

Mildly confused, you watched as he loosens his tie and slips it over his head. It hits you a moment too late what he was planning. The fabric rasp against your overlapped wrists and tightens as he slide the knot down.

“I didn’t know you were into that, Shirabu. Mummy and daddy must be so proud of their little boy using their knot tying skills for bondage.” You comment, to which he rolls his eyes and forces your arms upwards to loop the other end of the tie around a pole.

He tests your new restraints by tugging at the knot. Satisfied with his handiwork, he turns his attention back to you.

“I was serious about you begging,” he starts conversationally, like you weren’t tied up and half naked. “I’m not going to fuck you until you do.”

“I’d like to see you try and get me begging, pretty boy.” You taunt him full-well knowing that you were starting to become a little desperate. Once clear mind was now clouded with a need that he’s been denying you over and over again.

Kenjirou knew this as well. Your legs were trembling minutely, your pupils dilated, and face flushed a cute pink. He could tell you were close to breaking. He was mildly surprised that you survived this far in, but your resilience – more like stubbornness, he muses – only served to make him all the more determined to break you.

Unlike before, it starts off slow. Calloused fingers massaging your faintly pulsing walls as you roll your hips against his palm. Just when he lulls you into a sense of security, the pace is amped straight back to maximum and fans his fingers out.  

Kenjirou scissors his fingers as he pulls out and twists his wrist as he draws out. This had your eyes rolling into the back of your head, loud moan reverberating off of the walls.

It takes only a few pumps and a twist to have the heat grow and spark inside of you as he brings you closer to an orgasm than the previous times.

Kenjirou can feel the tell-tale fluttering of your walls, thighs clenching around his hand, as if trying to force him deeper. Easing up, he lazily pumps his digits in and out, watching as your expression twists into a pained one as he rips yet another orgasm from you.

“Fuck me already.” You moan, fed up with the ups and downs. You both loved and hated Shirabu having all the power right now. You’re sure this was something you’ll contemplate once this is all said and done.

“You know what I want.” He massages your walls and brushes against a sensitive spot.

A moan cuts off your words, walls clenching down on long fingers that weren’t enough to scratch the itch deep inside of you.

“Say it.”

Kenjirou buries his fingers inside of you, this time deeper than before, reaching spots that your own failed to reach. You very nearly screamed at the sensation. Shirabu was pushing you to your wits end without any effort.

“Please! Just fuck me already!”

The tears gathering at the corners of your eyes spill as he hastily pulls his fingers out of your sopping core. The sound of a zipper followed by fabric dropping to the floor fill your ears as Kenjirou hastily preps himself.

Smearing the juices from your dripping hole onto his length with slick fingers, Kenjirou catches your eyes as he strokes himself and smirks at your curious look.

A blush sears onto your cheeks at his look. Last time you didn’t get to take a look at his member, even though you became intimately aware of its slight upwards curve, you had to admit to yourself that his length was impressive. You’d rather cut out your own tongue than tell him that, so you make sure your face devoid of those thoughts.

Kenjirou doesn't waste a moment as he grabs your thigh and wraps it around his back as he lines himself up. The breath in your chest stalls as his tip prods at your entrance.

“Good girl,” He breathes as he finally enters you inch by excruciating inch.

Head dropping back, your arms strain against their restraints as his dick perfectly fills every crevice inside of you. The slight sting of the stretch brings more tears to your eyes, but it was soon overshadowed by the liquid pleasure that coursed through your veins as he starts rocking up into your warmth.

The shelves rattle as each thrust jostles you back. You were unaware of the pain caused by them digging into your back as each stroke already had you becoming closer and closer to your peak. The friction alone from his hurried pace had your toes curling and mind wiped of coherent thought.

Having you tied up and at the mercy of his whims had blood rushing from his head to his dick. It was an incredible feeling to tame your fiery spirit, creating a high that he could see himself chasing for the rest of his life.

“Look at you, taking my cock like the good cock-slut you are.” He pants into your ear.

You moan loudly, not giving a single fuck for any unfortunate soul that might still be in the gym, as your evasive orgasm finally comes into arms.

Your walls tighten around Kenjirou's length hard enough for him to hiss. Kenjirou knew you were close, moans reaching a new pitch. As a reward for you being compliant with him, Kenjirou lends you a helping hand. With a few strokes of your sensitive bundle of nerves he tips you over the edge.

Sparks coalesce inside of you and dance along your skin as you orgasm, creaming over Shirabu’s cock. Your vision turns black, but the feeling of Shirabu fucking you through your orgasm intensifies as he works through your tight warmth, seeking out his own peak.

“Kenjirou.”

Hips jerking out of motion, Kenjirou nearly chokes on his tongue as his orgasm sudden crashes down on him at your call of his name. Burying himself as deep as possible, cum sprays inside of you with considerable force as he unloads inside of your hole.

“You sound so good begging and moaning for me,” He pants. “It’s the only time where you’re not being a bitch.”

“Like you can talk Mr. When-I-Talk-Over-Someone-I’m-Automatically-The-Winner. You’re no better-”

Abruptly pulling out, Kenjirou replaces his cock with his fingers, pushing his cum back inside of your leaking hole. A weak groan rattles your chest as his fingers brush against sensitive hole, holding their position.

“As you were you saying?” He says smoothly, knowing he’s robbing you of speech as he applies more pressure to your hole.

“You fucker.” You grit out, tugging at your restraints as you automatically move to try and move his hands away, the full feeling of his hot cum inside you becoming overwhelming.

“A reward for being a good girl.” He breathes into your ear, causing a shiver to consume your form.

Reaching up with his free hand, Shirabu single-handedly undoes the knots of his tie and frees your wrists. You’d be impressed by this if it weren’t for his two fingers rubbing incessantly against you the entire time, making your vision fritz at the edges.

Arms falling to your sides, the blood rushes back into them and the feeling of static pairing wonderfully with the way Shirabu’s digits moved against your abused hole.

Pain flares up in your wrists when you grab his hand to stop his unrelenting movements. Working through the pain, you move his hand away. As Shirabu pulls away from you, he avidly watches as his cum drains from you. You swallow thickly at the sensation of warm globs trailing down your thigh.

Disgusted at the feeling of it drying, you glance around and spot a roll of paper towel sitting on the shelf beside your head.

You busied yourself by cleaning up the mess Shirabu made of you as the devil himself also wiped himself off.

Leaning down to pull up his shorts, Kenjirou notes the red fabric sticking out from your skirt piled on the floor. Surreptitiously checking that you weren’t paying attention, he tucks the fabric into his pocket with a sly grin, claiming his rightful trophy to his second conquest.

Glancing over to Shirabu as you pick up your skirt, you find him tucking himself back into his shorts with a carefully blank look on his face. You eye him suspiciously, unknowing of what he was going to do or say next.

“Here’s the key, lock up when your done and give it back tomorrow.”

You scramble to catch the key he tosses at you, dropping your skirt in the process. He doesn’t wait to hear your complaints, giving you one last long look and waltzes on out like he didn’t have you tied up and fucked senseless not even five minutes ago.

Incredulously, you watched his back disappear around the corner. Shaking your head, you go to pick up you skirt again. Noticing the absence of red fabric inside of the purple plaid, you looked around the floor, hoping that maybe you kicked them under the shelves.

After one quick look around, the fate of another pair of your favourite panties hits you like a brick to the head.

“Motherfucker!” You scream after him.

The deep laughter in the distance filters through your ears and fanned the hatred simmering inside as well as the blush doing its best to turn you into a strawberry impersonation.

Leaning against the shelving unit, chest heaving and sweat drying along your skin, you swore to fix the part of you that craved Shirabu's touch.

Notes:  Too bad I can’t write degrading stuff without looking too far into it because goddamn does Shirabu suite it. Hope you enjoyed this indulgent fic!!

[zahneundklauen-retired]

Old Dogs, New Tricks || Ulfric and Alcher

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @ulfricvinterson and @zahneundklauen SUMMARY: Alcher hears Ulfric is back and town and goes to meet him. The two sniff out each other’s intentions CONTENT: Family death mention (no specifics mentioned)

So the wolf Ulfric was back in town. Alcher had grown accustomed to being the only authority in town, but with the return of this other, older wolf, it meant one of two things: she had support, or she had competition. Today, she would find out which one. And she was prepared to defend her spot, if need be. She was a pack leader, after all, born and bred, more thorough than most others could claim. She didn’t know too much about this Ulfric, only what Ariana had told her, as the wolf had left town soon after Alcher had gotten in. Where he’d gone was not really her business, but she couldn’t help but feel a cinch of anger at the idea that he could abandon Ariana like that. She was a young, influenceable wolf, and obviously his absence had caused her to attach herself not only to humans but hunters as well. The thought made her balk, but by the time she reached the parlor she knew he worked at, she had steadied herself, and she held her head high as she entered. The bell above her rang and her eyes briefly lifted to glance for it, but the scent of the other wolf pulled all her thoughts away from her. He was somewhere in the back. Ink and metal and blood also filled the air but her golden eyes landed on the young man at the front desk. “I’m here to speak to Ulfric,” she said, tone low, “please get him. He’ll know who I am.” If he was even half the wolf she was, he would also know she was already here. 

And he did. Ulfric had been working on a client, a fairly large piece. Calf. One of his favorite spots. This man under the wolf’s needles was a braggart and a fool. Came into town from about an hour off, said something about knowing this shop from yadayada, instagram, facebook. Didn’t really matter. What did, was the fact that he went on and on about the meaning of the art he chose and how it was as powerful and strong as he was. The kicker. It was a wolf. Howling at the moon. The irony kept the ginger man smirking as he shaded the fur. Taking a wicked glee in the yelps and twitches the man before him gave up. 

It was always the ones who bragged that howled the loudest. And not to mark territory. Which is surely what the….presence…. At the door was trying to do. The Vinterson line was one of fair renown. Albeit back home. He wasn’t about to roll over and play second fiddle to some…. Newcomer. So he waited. And he took his time with his art. Finishing every last hair until he put in the highlights, delighted in the pain it brought this young human, and carefully, carefully cleaned his station. 

Now it wasn’t terribly long. He’d almost been done when the bell rang of her entrance. Long enough to be a nuisance, make her wait for it. Not enough to rile her hackles if she were truly a leader. An alpha as he’s heard Ari claim her to be. Titles, titles. 

With a satisfied whumph, he finally stepped foot into the front room. Having let his client go out the back. A knowing smile, sure that something….interesting... Was about to happen. 

“Alo” He said simply. “You call for me?” 

He was making her wait. Alcher didn’t mind all too much, she was here to scout him out, after all, and making her wait for him was already a sign of knowing. Of dominance. A smile curled onto her lips at the thought. She hadn’t met someone able to challenge her position in a long time, and while she would not back down easily, she was willing to put up a fair offer to this wolf. Ariana had not told her much about him, and she didn’t want to be told either. She wanted to see-- and observe-- for herself. 

The electric buzz of the needles sounded like a hum in her ears. It was almost soothing, and despite her immediate disdain for a wolf having such a ...human job, she could understand why someone enjoyed such a hobby. She, after all, still carried around a very human toy with her as well. She was wandering the front of the studio, gazing at the pieces they’d chosen to hang on the walls, when the wolf approached. He was tall, well-built, sturdy. And his voice carried the tone of a foreigner. 

“I did,” she answered, coming over to him, but keeping a distance from him. “Can we go somewhere private?”

A dance. The orchestral repose. Between the two headstrong wolves and their vie for control. An aria in and of itself. Each movement, breath, bead of sweat, and step a note in their own right. “Private to talk, or to show one’s teeth?” He loosened an easy smile. A warmth that betrayed the thickness in the air. True, though Ulf was more sedentary as of late, when he let the beast go, not another soul could stand in his path. There was something of pride in his swagger. While he wasn’t close to every wolf in town, his standing was kept more by a...pride. His little pup Ari would tell him of the goings on, and if need be he’d step in. But so far, he needn’t. King with a dull crown. If the rest of the whelps needed council or guidance, he’d be there. If they needed protection, doubly so. 

And then there was Alcher. He’d heard a little. But he wouldn’t pry, and he was gone for much of her… reign. So there was more to divulge. “Dere’s the apartment upstairs, or the woods about a mile off, plenty close if you want to run.” He let his tongue roll over that last r, a glimmer of a growl. 

At the question, Alcher ran her tongue over her teeth. She could taste the tension in the air. She did not want to fight this wolf. Without forethought, without planning, she would be lucky to escape alive. She could feel that much. Tell from his eyes, his grin. It was an intuition that had bred and beaten into her. She was smart, that was her specialty. She drew in a breath. “I just want to talk,” she stated clearly, making sure there was no hidden agenda behind her words, “I figure we ought to properly meet.” Made sure to stretch out her words, her native tongue making them sound hard. “Our lives are entangled whether we want them to be or not.” And she still wasn’t sure of her own answer to that, only that she would know by the end of this.

“We can talk first,” she said, making the decision, not waffling on her answer, “and perhaps run later.” This intricate dance was something she hadn’t experienced often-- but that didn’t mean she didn’t know how to handle herself. While the so called alpha back in Canada had been nothing but a coward and pushover, she’d still had to prove her worth and assert her dominance. This was different. Perhaps there’d even be room to share. Her family, after all, was led by multiple leaders. They were a family unit, and she wanted nothing more than to find something like that here. 

“Wonderful!” He brightened and brought his hands together in a hearty clasp. “I will cook for us then.” Well at least  you couldn’t call him inhospitable. An open arm, and a leading step, he pointed the way for the other wolf to head upstairs. While the shop was a fair size, the staircase that connected it to the waiting apartment were not. “I hope you don’t mind kittens, I found them starving behind the shop.” There was a lovely lilt to the words. A joy he’d not shown in the first few moments. What could he say? He loved cooking. And anyone willing to talk before baring a claw was worth cooking for. Sometimes, even after. Not that he’d let his guard falter all the while. Just… sate it for a bit. 

“Anything you’d rader not ingest?” Those pesky middle t’s. Always coming out as more of a duh sound. Ahh well. The both of them shared a distinction in tongue the locals to White Crest lacked. 

Ulfric was quick to close the door behind them, while the kittens were still quite young, they were old enough to learn to escape. And that was more than a workout he wanted to deal with. Running was for later, right?  

The sudden change in attitude did throw Alcher off for a moment. She blinked, looked around, then back towards the ginger bearded wolf. “Alright then,” she agreed, and, after he gestured for her to follow, exited the shop with him, climbing the narrow stairs up to what was, presumably, his apartment. It smelled much nicer up here, although the scent of ink and metal still wafted up through the vents and the floor. Soon, it wouldn’t matter, she supposed. “I don’t mind cats,” she said, though she didn’t altogether like them. As long as they stayed out of her way, she didn’t mind them. And, perhaps, they made a good snack every now and then. She couldn’t help it sometimes, food was food. Ulfric, however, did not need to know this. “It’s nice of you to rescue them and give them a home.” She could smell them, but hadn’t seen them poke their heads out yet. Cats did tend to be much shyer than dogs.

“I’m not a fan of mushrooms,” she stated simply, “or anything fungus related, really.” She took a quick glance around the house before settling back on Ulfric. He was a good looking man, and it made her yearn to see his wolf. His coat must be beautiful. Perhaps it, too, was a shimmering orange, like fire on the horizon. 

“Ariana hasn’t told me much about you,” she stated, opting to simply get this part out of the way, so that she could reel out his intentions and his thoughts sooner, “and I figured I’d like to get to know you myself, anyways. You’re not from here, are you?”

“Ahh, our little Ari keeps things close to the throat, yes?” That wasn’t the term. Either he did not know, or did not care. He turned, prepping a few things for a simple meal. Everything it lacked in complexity it made up for in care, flavor, and quality. A swarm of aromas filled the kitchen and beyond. And that was enough to pique the interest of the kittens who were wary of the new imposing presence in their lair. First was the tuxedo, the bravest of the trio. He plodded out, tail looking like a little christmas tree, very brave. All hackles and teeth like he was the protector but also chief investigator. As if on cue, Ulfric bent and held out a small piece of raw meat. Tenderized enough to chew even with little bitty fangs. 

“No I am not” He turned fully, leaning elbows on the counter and crossed his legs out in front of himself. “But I’ve been here long enough to know some things.” The little ginger kitten was the next to reveal himself. Cautiously following his brother but definitely showing his fear in a different way. Overcompensation, a hiss that barely squeaked out. Even going so far as to raise a paw to the new wolf, but quickly retreating to behind the wall. “You as well though, I presume?” 

Alcher nearly balked at the word “our” but she had to admit that he was right-- Ariana was his first, and hers second. She relaxed her shoulders a bit to keep from seeming as if she were too uptight about all this. Ulf was an older wolf, and a male at that. He was invaluable to the pack, whether she wanted to admit it or not. And besides, she’d barely gotten to know the wolf. She ought to give him at least a small chance, right? “She does, yes,” Alcher finally answered, taking in the aroma of the food he was cooking and finding it smelled a lot like home. “It’s a trait that should be fostered. IT will do her well to keep things close to her heart.” 

She watched him carefully as he fed the cats, not moving or even really reacting when the orange one hissed at her and ran away. Cats often had that reaction with her, even if she tried her hardest to accommodate them. “I’ve only just arrived in America, let alone White Crest. I don’t know much about this town, but I know it’s full of mystery and intrigue.” She followed the cat with her eyes as it made its swift exit. “I am from Germany, originally, but I lived in Poland with a sister pack most my life.” She offered the information freely. “You are...Northern European? I recognize the accent, though I could not place it properly.”

Ulfric soaked in the information. Somewhere in that thick head of his it rang a bell, but alas, there were many packs in both Germany and in Poland. While studies had never been a  perfect pursuit nor penchant of the old wolf’s, his family did impress on him the strength of knowing who could be your ally, and who could be your enemy. A lesson well enough learned from his now permanent stay away from his home. “Ahh, I’m not sure you would have heard of my little village.” He nodded along as he finished sauteeing their meal. Just a whiff of a nostalgic sadness mixed in with the carmelized veggies and barely browned meat. “It’s called Arendal.”

The third and final of the pack of kittens made its way out. Perhaps a bit more confident in her stride, having taken the time to watch the goings on between the two large bipedal ‘cats’ that loomed overhead. She took it upon herself to declare a sense of superiority to her brothers by attempting to steal the lap of the one who was not standing. 

Alcher paused. She recognized the name from somewhere. Racked her memory for it, before-- “Arendal,” she repeated, “yes, I’ve heard of that place. The pack there-- the Berserkers.” She tapped her nails, trying to remember the name. Her father had impressed upon her the names of many packs across the European landscape that were their allies, that they could go to with needs. The Northern packs were always far enough away to not cause disturbances, like some of the Southern and Peninsula packs, but close enough to form pacts with. “The...Vintersons, right? Are you a--”

But she was interrupted when one of the small kittens clambered up her leg and onto her lap. She gazed down at it with a small, confused look, before reaching a tentative hand out for the thing to sniff. It did so, then promptly began to ignore her, despite being on her lap. Sighing, she pat its head. “Tell me,” she asked quietly, “did you know of the Kriegs?”

Behind a curtain of russet hairs, a wry smile made its way across his mouth. Ulfric finished the last of the cooking and plated the dishes. “Aye. To both.” A simple motion of his head and he laid out the table for them. “I miss home dearly, I do hope my pack is doing well. Alas they are strong enough and smart enough without me.” The chipper tone he spoke in betrayed the great emptiness he felt. There’s no filling that hole, it aches in and before all things. 

 “It is the same for you, yes?” He had heard of the Kriegs, not enough to really say much more than what any other wolfpack he knew of. He had a sinking feeling that their stories must not differ too much. For one of their kind to be away from family something drastic must have happened. And it was probably just about as shitty as his whole ordeal.  “Tell me Alcher, what do you want for the wolves of this area? I sense a great bit of pride in you. Is it unity you are after, or control?” 

A smile seemed fitting on Ulfric’s face, even if Alcher couldn’t really see it under his mop of facial hair. She relaxed a little, though the ache she felt for his loss and her own made her features slump ever more. “I hope your pack is doing well, too,” she said quietly, stroking the small, purring animal in her lap. When he asked her of her own family, she took a moment before she glanced up at him again. “In some ways, yes. I still long for them, of course, but-- I don’t have to wonder how they’re doing. News must not have made it North before you left.” She stroked the cat once more. “They are all dead now. I am the sole survivor of my family. Nein--” she paused, let out a slow breath, “--my entire pack.” She finally stopped her motions and looked back up at him, then to the plate he’d set in front of her. “It smells delicious.” 

She did not need to ponder on the question he posed next, but she took a moment to, anyway. “I want peace for them,” she said quietly, “I want to help guide them and make them strong, so that what happened to me doesn’t happen to them. This place-- the hunters here-- already took one wolf from this pack. I won’t let that happen again.” Her expression had turned sharp again, but not in the way it had been before. It was set and determined and loyal. The wolves she’d met here-- Ulfric now included-- were her family. Her final pack. She would lay down her life for them, and she figured he knew as much through her words alone. “I want trust, not control. I lead with love, not fear.” Just like her father had. Even in his angriest moments, Alcher knew it was out of love that he grew upset with her. Not fear. Never fear.

The old wolf  listened with intensity and compassion. That old familiar ache punched at his chest and brought it down, making him fight just a bit more for each breath. No creature on this earth could understand the weight of losing one’s pack. Ulfric had lost only a fraction of what she had, and yet she stood strong. That kind of determination and drive, that’s what the pack needed. Ulfric could offer strength, and maybe experience. But she….She could really pull them together. His eyes softened, and he extended a hand.

“Your ideals are as mine.” It was an offering. Time to let someone else fully take the reins in White Crest. Berserkers weren’t naturally ones to stop and think about their actions before rushing into something dangerous headfirst. And Ulf had honestly had more than enough time thinking about the consequences of his hasty decisions. They could build something together. A matriarch and her right hand. Being a guard dog on a chain was more of his style anyway. Less decision making and more…. BBQs and catch with the pups.

In a perfect world anyway. 

“Have you ever considered getting a place, specifically for the pack?” 

It was an odd relief that filled her, one she hadn’t known she’d been waiting for. Alcher watched her own pain etch onto his face and in that moment, she’d never felt more akin to someone else. Not even Cain, her old partner. His betrayal still stung her heart, but Ulfric seemed to understand, on some level, what her pain felt like. His pack may have still been alive, but he was separated from them. Likely for good. When he extended his hand, she took it, and she enjoyed the warmth of it, and the callousness of his palms, thick with hardened pads from use. 

“Good,” she said quietly, “I’d much rather have a partner in you than an enemy.” She gave a weary smile. “My father revered your kind. I am the same.” He was, after all, the kind of wolf Alcher strived to be. She took her father’s words to heart and etched them in to never forget. She would make him proud, she had to.

At his last question, she gave a small chuckle. “Unfortunately...human money is not something I come by often. I’ve had little use for it before, but…” a pause, “I might have a place, actually. An old farm, left to me by a friend. It’s secluded, has plenty of room to run, and perhaps a basement to keep the pups that aren’t...quite as learned.” She looked to Ulf after that, tilting her head. “You...do not cage yourself, right?”

Well. This went better than he ever could have expected. Almost made him wish he’d sought her out sooner. A symbiosis between the wolves would be excellent for this town. If not that, then at least for the pack. And to be fair, that’s really all Ulfric could ask for or ever wanted. Maybe now he’d really be able to start to build something here. Do more than just survive. His gentle smile blossomed into a full blown grin at her sentiment, the feeling was completely mutual. While he was used to being somewhat of an apex predator, he never sought out a fight with another wolf if he didn’t have to.

“I’ve got a bit of a house-egg-” nest. “From years at my business. Been saving it for some time now, looking for the right time. The right project.” He leaned back. Taking time to think of the farm she proposed and what it might be like to stretch his legs outside of the apartment. A farm could be a lot of work, but that’d be an undertaking he’d gladly. 

Her next quip cut him to his core, all he could do in response was laugh. So heartily he nearly bumped the table. “Why on earth would I do such a thing?” 

“House-egg?” Alcher asked, blinking. “I’m not sure I...know that term. I didn’t study my English as much as I should have as a child.” The admittance came with a small, sheepish smile as she looked at him. “You seem like you enjoy your work quite a bit. I’ve never quite found myself good at anything so...human.” She tilted her head, wondering. She had very few skills that were applicable to human professions.

“Well, the house itself is still in nice condition, but it’s big, bigger than I care to upkeep by myself so it’s grown a little dusty. Perhaps we could all get together and make it a project.” It sounded almost like a dream. It reminded her of the pack she’d left behind in Canada. But this one, this time-- she didn’t want to leave, even when they were a pack able to survive on their own. This time, she wanted to stay. She wanted a family.

His chuckle started her a little and she blinked. “I simply wanted to double check. I was going to chastise you if you did.” She paused a moment. “And, so...hunters. We agree they are to be dealt with, correct?”

“Is that not the--? Y’know like, a prepared savings for a house you eventually plan to buy.” English was still a bit of a struggle for him as well. Especially any kind of idiom or saying. The words got twisted and ended up on the opposite side of the map, absolutely refusing to ask for directions. Ulfric waved the idea away, not caring to really think about what it should be. That was irrelevant. 

A part of him softened at her next query. “I-uh, well it’s a long story.” The chair creaked along the wooden floor as he leaned back. The kitten in the alpha’s lap gave a big stretch along with the old wolf. “When I first got to America, I was lost.” He rolled his neck and idly poked at his food. “I had no direction, no purpose, no pack. Alone.” He had spent most of that time in a haze, barely able to recall details of what really transpired. Only that he survived, and did what he had to do to survive. “I was getting into too much dangerous shit, verging on self-destructive. The one person I really did know here suggested once that we get a tattoo, on a whim.” That hint of a smirk returned, but his eyes and thoughts were still far away. “I don’t remember what exactly made me want to get a memorial piece, but the process, the pain, the whole thing…” 

He cut off, taking that moment to roll up his sleeve to show off his left forearm. An old, somewhat hazy crest filled out most of the area between his wrist and his inner elbow. Aged and fading, the ink spreading faster than it would in a human. Didn’t help that he was drunk when he got it. “Ahh, these old lines, I’d want them to be touched up but my mentor she… isn’t around anymore.” He looked over it with a soft fondness. “Not gone, just not here.” 

“Having this was like having a part of them with me at all times. It made me not feel so empty in here.” Calloused fingers moved to his heart. “Helped me love the body that ripped me from the rest of the pack. Sort of reclaim it.” With a croak of mirth he returned his gaze to Alcher. “I realized I wanted to do that for other people. Help them heal.” 

He let her speak, almost able to see the musing in her head. This place must’ve been something grand. “I think we’re up to the task.” This was probably more than he’d talked in months, even with his particularly chatty clients. Though they usually only wanted to talk about themselves. 

“Oh of course. If I could rid this town of their blight I’d do it in a heartbeat.” His expression stiffened, and his tone grew grim. “Though with our numbers and outright attack would do more harm than good. I will not let another hunter hurt my pack ever again.” A moment of silence, consideration. “Our pack.”

“I’m afraid we’re both at a loss with this one,” Alcher chuckled, shaking her head.

She listened to him speak and felt her heart filling with a sense of belonging that she had been searching for since she was twelve years old, and she’d first woken up without her family. She remembered she’d been lost, so lost, when she’d woken up alone in that field, bleeding and dying. Even when she’d found her sister pack in Poland, the void that her family had left had remained. It would always remain. The hole in her heart would not go away, though, she supposed, it could be patched. She had finally figured that part out. 

Her eyes trailed along his arm as he pulled his sleeve up to show her his markings. A tattoo with a meaning. She pressed her fingers to his markings and traced the lines and tried to absorb the life she knew lived inside of them. “It is a hard thing to do, isn’t it?” she asked quietly, looking down at her prosthetic limb. “Reclaiming parts of yourself that seem...taken.” She tapped her leg and listened to the hollow plastic sound it made as she did. “I lost my leg when I fled my family’s demise. I was so lost as well, I didn’t speak for over a year after the incident.” She shuffled to the edge of her chair to move closer to him, putting a hand over his on the table.

“We can heal them,” she agreed softly, “together.” And perhaps even each other, but the pups came first. “No, attacking outright would only get us all killed. We need to be vigilant, careful--” and perhaps even play possum. If Ariana wanted to try and make peace, perhaps they could use that to their advantage. Get inside before striking. “But whatever we do, we can do it together. We’re no longer alone.” 

And the relief she felt at her own words were palpable. She wasn’t alone anymore.

[j-elaine-hyde]

In the Nick of time...

Nick Pulos / Reader 💞 Fluff / almost trigger warning but not quite...

It was impossible to miss him. He was a 6’5” mountain of pure attractiveness. He was giant. You tried to act calm and casual around him, but you were worried you weren’t doing a good job of attempting to be nonchalant so he wouldn’t know you were watching him. To be honest you had never seen such a massive man in person before, so it was hard not to gawk. You had found his Instagram during Quarantine and had been able to do some online obsessing, but let’s be honest, seeing him in real life was so much better.

You finished your workout and wiped down the treadmill. Not only had you missed working out but you missed going....well anywhere. And seeing people. Especially him. Quarantine had put you in a funk and you were beyond ready to bounce back to your former self. You realized that three months of not going to the gym and ya know, the constant snacking and general couch potato life style (albeit heroic at the time) had now shown up on your body. You were weaker than you were three months ago. Those gains you worked so hard to get were now long gone. But you knew you’d get there again and be even better than before, it’d just take time.

In the spirit of social distancing you had decided to shower at home. You grabbed your water bottle and your keys and like so many times before, you headed for your car, leaving in your AirPods continuing to listen to music.

Today you’d wish you hadn’t.

You didn’t hear when that creepy guy from the gym came up behind you. Out of nowhere, a random flying shoe smacked your arm. You spun around to see Nick standing there with the creepy guy shoved against the wall. You quickly plucked your AirPods out of your ears.

“Are you ok, Miss?” He asked you as he held this creep in place.

“Yea I’m fine.”

“Why’d you bolt when you saw her leave? Why’d you race out here after her? Were you about to attack her?!” Nick was roaring in this guy’s face.

You were trying to process what happened, in shock that had he not been paying attention things could have gone very differently. He had arrived in the nick of time.

Releasing the terrified creep Nick stood next to you watching the guy scramble to his car and leave. Nick had put the fear in him and told him he never wanted to see his face again. His roaring reminded you of ‘Beauty and the Beast’, you were still a mix of emotions.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” He tilted his head as he looked down at you.

“Thanks to you I’m fine. Just a little stunned.” You shrugged your shoulders and peered up at him, a flame igniting deep inside you as you gazed up at him.

“Sorry, I don’t know if he was just going to shoot his shot and talk to you or worse, but the way he bolted after you I wanted to make sure you were ok.” He rubbed the back of his neck slightly embarrassed at his potential overreaction.

“No... thank you. Honestly. That guy creeps me out. I really appreciate you looking out for me.”

“Uhhh... of course. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t kind of been watching you at the gym... not in a creepy way... I’ve just noticed how hard you work. I was really happy to see you back.”

“You noticed me?!” You were stunned.

He made a face, you were unsure if he was blushing, “Yea... how could I not? You’re gorgeous.”

You spun around, looking behind you, looking around over exaggeratedly. “Me?”

You knew you weren’t a hideous troll, by any means, but you didn’t think he would ever notice you. You were silent as you processed everything.

“I’m sorry...? I didn’t mean to weird you out. Ummm... can I walk you to your car? I wanna know you leave safely.”

“Oh! No! Sorry. I’m not weirded out.... at all. Just...surprised. Definitely flattered. Kind of internally geeking out....” you trailed off. You weren’t really socially awkward, but fantasizing about this man had gotten you through quarantine, thus the reality of what he was saying made you a little awkward.

“Wait what?” He was equally as surprised. If either of you had planned on being smooth, that didn’t seem to be possible.

“Would you wanna go grab something to eat?” You found your moxie.

A wide grin spread across his face. “Yea! That’d be awesome. Oh crap. I’ve gotta run in and grab my stuff. I just kind of ran out. Wanna come with me to go get it and we can go grab a bite?” His eyebrows were raised, his hopeful puppy dog look absolutely melting you.

“Sure!” You shrugged and started waking back to the gym, trying to hide your excitement and failing. You were beaming. You couldn’t hide it.

He had walked you to your car like the chivalrous gentleman he was. You had decided on a local dive bar that Nick swore had the best burgers.

The two of you sat on the bar’s stone paved patio under neon signs and cafe lights. It was surprisingly romantic. Aside from the random outbursts from noisy bar patrons, an assortment of music played quietly over the speakers. It was only the two of you outside.

You had decided to shy away from the typical girly order and chose a burger, fries, and a beer. Nick seemed impressed and ordered the same. You toasted Nick and his heroism with your beer, winking at him as you took a sip.

Hours had passed without either of you knowing, the conversation flowed and clicked effortlessly. The two of you were laughing and smiling, the electric tension building between you.

Nick excused himself to the restroom as the waitress came out with another round.

“Is this a first date?” She asked nonchalantly.

Startled at her candor, “Yes. Kind of. No? I don’t know.”

She laughed a little before looking at you, “I’ve been watching you two all night. You’re both into it. But if you don’t get on it and kiss that giant hunk of man soon, I will.” She cackled again before walking back inside, waving a cocktail napkin in the air. A moment later Nick came back outside.

“Our waitress is a little different....” he laughed as he sat down.

“Why do you say that?” You were worried you had missed something.

“She told me ‘she’s hot! If you don’t kiss her soon I will.’ as I was coming back outside from the restroom.” He shook his head in disbelief, mildly amused.

You shook your head, rolling your eyes, “she told me the same about you.”

His head jerked towards you, eyes wide, he blushed slightly. “I mean... if she’s going to try and make out with both of us... we should probably just go ahead and save her a trip....” he was afraid to look directly at you, bashfully keeping his head down.

You took a deep breath and held it. Swallowing hard you stood up and took a step towards him, placing your hand on his shoulder. He placed his massive hand on the outside of your leg, almost trembling. He gently pulled you closer, down onto his lap.

You were face to face, bashful like teenagers, awkwardly moving in together for your first kiss.

His beard tickled your face, but his warm, strong lips drove you wild. His kiss was intense and passionate. You felt it all the way down to your toes. Had you not been sitting in his lap your knees would have betrayed you. You felt butterflies before his grip on your thigh tightened stirring up something more.

Neither of you noticed the waitress standing there with the check until she muttered, “about time...”

Both of you nervously laughed, ducking your heads awkwardly at being caught.

“We should probably go...” he said softly.

You stood up, as he shifted, taking out his wallet.

“I invited you out, let me pay.” You reached for the check as he swiped it off of the table.

“No way babe. I got this.” He winked at you with a sweet smile.

You grabbed your purse, lowering your face. “Thank you...”

“No! Thank you! I’m just glad you wanted to go out with me.” He blushed again, looking like a nervous boy, despite his giant size.

He stood up and handed the waitress the check and some cash as you walked out to your cars.

“Is it weird if I follow you home to make sure you get there safely?” He asked standing next to you at your car.

“Not at all. I appreciate it.” It was at that moment you contemplated inviting him to your place for a night cap.

“Alright then. Let’s get you home.” He bent down, placing a sweet kiss on your cheek before taking a step back and holding your car door open for you.

You spent the entire drive home bouncing back and forth between asking him to come up and thanking him, sending him home.

You pulled into the parking lot of your apartment complex and sat in your car, still trying to decide what to do. You were so preoccupied trying to decide that you hadn’t noticed him standing next to your car until he opened the car door for you.

You grabbed your purse and climbed out. Standing in front of this massive sweet giant teddy bear.

“Do you wanna come up?” You asked.

To be continued....

[the-weeping-monk]

visions are seldom all they seem (but i know you)

Chapter 4

prev-next/find on ao3

“We have to go to her,” Merlin said, determined.

Morgana merely shook her head. She had just been explaining how Nimue was still alive and had not even finished before Merlin was up and ready to leave. She could feel the anticipation radiating off of him, could see the overwhelming relief in his eyes. But this was something he had to do without her.

“You will go alone,” Morgana said, albeit regretfully. “The dead are calling me. I have avoided them for too long.”

It was true. Ever since she had taken the Widow’s life, the dead had been summoning her, reaching out for her guidance. It had been manageable, at first, but was now so persistent that she could hardly form a coherent thought without being bombarded by the need to do her job.

Her job. She held back an agonized sob. She would never be free to live her own life or make her own choices again.

There is always a choice, a voice in the back of her mind whispered. You chose to kill the Widow.

Morgana hated to admit it, but that tiny seedling of darkness in her mind was right: this was entirely her fault and she was going to have to live with that.

Merlin nodded, once. If anyone could understand what she was going through besides the other Daughters of Death, it would be him—he had been friends with one, after all. The one Morgana had killed.

She took in an unsteady breath.

“Morgana,” he started, his eyes sad, “you don’t have to do this alone. Let me help you.”

That gave Morgana pause. It was not what she had expected, but it was exactly what she wanted to hear—someone was willing to take her side, guide her through this new life. But then an image of her slicing the Sword of Power through the Widow flashed in front of her eyes, and she was left feeling ashamed for even considering the magician’s proposition. Morgana could not accept Merlin’s help; this was her burden to bear, not his.

The voices in her head grew louder, more demanding. Morgana made herself turn away.

“I’m fine. You do not need to worry about me,” she said.

There was shuffling behind her. She could feel Merlin moving to look out the window. “I do worry about you, though. This burden—”

“Is mine to bear,” Morgana interrupted. “This is who I am now.”

We can’t run from our true nature. Those were the words Morgana had said to Nimue what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Maybe this was what Morgana truly was, what she was always meant to be. And if it was, then she had to stomach this curse alone.

“I need to stop running from this.”

Merlin spoke again, and this time his voice was closer. “Let me help you, young one.”

Morgana squeezed her eyes shut against the torrent of whispering, begging, berating of the dying. She put her hands on either side of her head as if she could physically restrain the voices screaming at her to help them.

“Morgana, just let me ease this pain. Let me help in any way I can.”

She whirled. “I have to do this alone, Merlin. No one can do it for me. I alone made this choice so I alone must dig my grave.”

The irony wasn’t lost on either of them. Morgana would never have a grave, she would never have a mortal death. One stupid mistake had cost her everything.

“Cailleach got in your head. She was the one who made you kill the Widow.” Merlin put a hand on her shoulder. When had he gotten so close? “Stop blaming yourself for something you couldn’t control.”

She turned to him. “But that’s the thing—I wanted to kill her. I was angry and I wanted someone to hurt as I was hurting. I punished her for my pain.”

Merlin didn’t have anything to say to that.

Morgana knew that Merlin had his own daughter, his own life. She couldn’t make it more complicated than it already was, despite everything in her that ached for someone to care for her.

She and Arthur had lost their father when they were young. Arthur would say that it had affected him the most, but he had only lost his father—Morgana had lost her entire life. The church had taken her in, but it wasn’t what she had wanted. She had wanted her dad, had wanted someone to care about her, and tell her everything would be okay.

Arthur had lost his father, but he still had his freedom. He had the opportunity to find someone who could care about him. He could make his own decisions.

Morgana felt like a child again. Her life was no longer her own, and just like before, she was forced to serve a higher purpose. No one cared about her then, and it was too dangerous for anyone to care about her now.

Reluctantly, Morgana shrugged off Merlin’s hand. “I need to leave and you need to find your daughter.”

“Morgana—”

But Morgana would not listen. If she let Merlin talk her into opening up, into letting him into her life . . . it wouldn’t be fair to him or Nimue.

“Good luck, Merlin,” she interrupted, before disappearing into thin air.

. . .

The voices dragged Morgana all across the kingdom, but the most notable place she traveled to was King Cumber’s encampment.

She had appeared in the medical wing—a series of white tents that reeked of death, a scent she had gotten used to throughout the day. Inside one of the tents, there were rows and rows of sick beds.

Morgana stopped at the foot of a dying man’s cot. It was the last cot in the row, separated from the rest by a single sheet. The sheets were coarse and dotted with holes and patches of blood. She made herself look at the body under those sheets, made herself take note of the deep gash in his side that seemed to be infected. His eyelids fluttered with each stilted, shallow breath he took. His braided hair was matted with blood and there were cuts and bruises covering his face.

He must have been in a battle of some sort, Morgana deduced idly, though she hadn’t heard of any fight recently. She wanted to inquire about what had happened but decided against it. It would be cruel to ask the man and then take his life.

Burying her curiosity, Morgana leaned closer to the man and searched for his Cord.

Through Merlin, she had learned that each soul had a tether to the earth, called a Cord. Each Cord that she took fueled her, made her stronger.

It is to restore the natural order of things, he had reasoned. The Daughters aren’t power-hungry; they just serve to balance the world.

But Morgana had shaken her head, had moaned, I don’t want this, I don’t want this, over and over again. Merlin had taken her into his arms and had held her as she cried.

I know, he had murmured, comforting her as best he could. I know.

Blinking past the memory, Morgana found the dying man’s Cord and claimed it for herself. When she pulled on the tether, the results were almost instantaneous. There was a rush of power, unlike anything she had experienced while she had been mortal. It was overwhelming. She wanted more. Her blood sang with the feeling—and then ran cold when she remembered what she had done. What she had been doing for the entire day.

A final sigh left the man’s lips and his body relaxed.

Morgana had cried the first time she had taken a life. She did not cry now. That numb feeling overtook her, and she just . . . stared at the body before her, not really seeing it. The power she had stolen from him ran through her veins, intoxicating her.

In the back of her mind, Morgana knew that what she was doing was wrong, but it was so hard to think of anything else besides the power she felt after she absorbed someone’s Cord.

What was she becoming?

At the end of the hall, the tent flap opened to reveal a burly man with a metal plate attached to his right temple. King Cumber. A woman—Lady Eydis, Morgana assumed—and a soldier followed Cumber into the tent, heading right for Morgana.

But they passed right by her, as if she was not there at all, and stopped at the dead man’s cot.

“You should have told me he was dying,” grumbled Cumber.

The soldier grimaced. “I did, my lord.”

“He’s not dying—he’s dead.” The woman’s nose turned up at the sight. “You didn’t say he was dead.”

The soldier's eyes widened and he froze. “No,” he breathed. He looked like he wanted to move toward his dead comrade but held back at the last moment. His gaze shot to Cumber. “My lord, I swear to you he was alive only moments ago.”

“Who is to verify your story now?” Cumber lamented.

“You must believe me,” the soldier said. “The Fey are still out there, on the beach. We can send soldiers in and finish what we started.”

Eydis stepped toward Cumber, her mouth in a firm line. “Father, we must trust him. If the Fey remain here, then they are a threat to you. The only reason they would stay would be to put Nimue on the throne.”

Cumber’s brows furrowed. “I was under the impression that Uther took her prisoner.”

“He did,” she asserted, “but she escaped. We don’t know where she went, but we have to assume that she found the Fey.”

“Sir?” the soldier spoke up, nervous. When Cumber only raised a brow, he continued. “You should also know that the Red Spear and her raiders aided the Fey in their efforts.”

Anger erupted across Cumber’s face. “How dare she interfere with my plans. She knows how much this means to me. To us.” He paused, expression darkening as he turned to his daughter. “Your sister needs to be put in her place.”

“She is not my sister. Not anymore,” Eydis said with finality. “And if she is working with the Fey, that also makes her traitor.”

Toying with his beard, Cumber murmured, “She must be plotting against me.” He glanced up at Eydis. “We must get that sword before she does.”  

“My thoughts exactly,” Eydis said.

“My lord?” the soldier asked. “Should I have the troops deploy to the beach?”

Morgana held her breath, though she knew they wouldn’t be able to hear her even if she screamed.

After a moment of contemplation, Cumber said, “Yes. Send them out and get me that sword.”

No. If the soldier was telling the truth and the Fey were still at the beach, then Morgana had to warn them. And fast.

. . .

Most of the next day consisted of strategizing in the newly-declared war room—a small, hollowed-out crevice in the caverns big enough for a dozen people to convene. Empty crates brought in by the Red Spear’s crew were pushed together to serve as a table. Those that comprised the tight-knit circle of leaders huddled over the maps strewn across the crates.

Voices shouted over each other, echoing off of the walls of the crowded space. No one could agree on anything, let alone listen to anyone besides themselves. Arthur hadn’t had a chance to get a word in since they had begun the meeting.

Six raiders including the Red Spear, and five Fey, with the addition of Arthur, were included in the assembly; Arthur and the Red Spear had thought that it would be advantageous if they showed solidarity between the raiders and the Fey. Emphasis on had.

“We must attack now!” a raider shouted.

“Only if we want to be slaughtered,” contradicted a Fey woman with branches in her hair. “We’re not ready—there are not enough of us to take on two armies at once.”

Another raider slammed her open palms on the table. “Uther won’t attack us if we attack Cumber.”

“No, he will wait to eradicate us until after we’ve dealt with Cumber. That way, he’ll be able to kill two birds with one stone,” a Fey man argued.

Arthur shot the Red Spear a glance over the din. She looked as tired as he felt. They had been at this for hours now, but the exact same ideas were rehashed again and again.

“This isn’t helping,” Kaze muttered at his side.

Arthur looked to the Fey warrior with tired eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

He watched as the Red Spear sighed. Her brow creased and she pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Pym burst into the room, panting.

“Pym?” Arthur raised his eyebrows. Silence descended around the cave, and he was suddenly grateful for the intervention. “What’s wrong?”

Pym shook her head and bent over, hands on her knees. She held up one finger. “Give me a second,” she huffed.

“Pym—” started the Red Spear, no doubt incensed at the interruption.

“It’s Morgana,” Pym breathed. “She’s here.”

Arthur froze, along with the rest of the gathered strategizers. He had been so caught up with saving the Fey and planning to defeat Cumber that he had forgotten his sister.

Guilt seized his heart.

The Red Spear was the first to regain her senses. “Who’s Morgana?”

Arthur was already moving toward the door, but he looked back over his shoulder to address her when he said, “She’s my sister.”

Pym bit her lip and wrung her hands together. “Arthur, there’s something you need to know.”

His brow furrowed. “Can it wait? I want to make sure Morgana is alright.”

“Yep, yeah, that's what I need to talk to you about.” Pym glanced over his shoulder at the gathered crowd. “Maybe you should just see for yourself.”

That didn’t sound good.

“Okay?” Arthur said, but it came out as a question. He met the Red Spear’s eyes. “Can you handle this?”

The Red Spear gave him a look that said “did we handle it before?” but nodded nonetheless. “Go to her.”

Arthur gave her a grateful nod and followed Pym out of the caverns.

The sun was already descending toward the horizon, painting the waves of the ocean with fire. A few raiders and Fey hung around the beach, but for the most part, it was empty and allowed for Arthur to zero in on a figure in all black.

When Pym saw him staring, she said, “That’s her. She’s . . . changed.”

Arthur didn’t comment, just continued forward. He didn’t want to think of the implications of Pym’s words until absolutely necessary. When they were only a few strides away from Morgana, the woman in question turned to face them.

A black veil covered her features, one she quickly threw back over her head. On the surface, nothing about her—save her dark garb—seemed different. That was, until Arthur saw her eyes.

They held a depthless well of sorrow and pain, and antiquity to them that hadn’t been there before. Grief was etched in the downward curve of her mouth, in the crease of her brow. Where there had been a fiery spirit, there was only devastation.

She’s . . . changed.  

“Arthur,” Morgana said, halting his observations.

“Morgana, what happened—”

She didn’t let him finish. “There’s no time. Cumber is sending an army here as we speak; you need to prepare.”

The abrupt news took his breath away and it was only by sheer luck that his heart didn’t stop right then and there.

“No,” he breathed.

They were nowhere near ready for another attack. There were more wounded Fey than those that could fight, and even though there were plenty of raiders who were itching for another battle, Arthur knew their numbers were too few to take on an army.

Arthur shared a worried glance with Pym, whose eyes were wide open in fear. She knew as well as he that if they stayed, it would be a bloodbath and that this time, they would not be the victors.

His eyes snapped to Morgana’s own. “How much time do we have?”

Morgana grimaced. “A couple of hours at most. It should give you enough time to escape.”

Arthur shook his head. He didn’t understand. “Why would they send another army? We killed all of the soldiers who were sent here.”

“Not all of them,” murmured Morgana, regret tinging her voice. “There were two that escaped. Cumber thinks that Nimue and the Red Spear plan to dethrone him.” She placed both hands on Arthur’s shoulders and squeezed. “But none of that matters right now—you need to warn the others.”

Arthur paused. “How could Nimue dethrone him? Doesn’t he know of the bargain she made?”

Morgana pursed her lips, almost as if she was reluctant to tell him. “She escaped, and she’s heading here now.”

Relief flooded through his system in a tidal wave. Nimue was alive; she had escaped Uther and she was alive. She was heading toward the beach and Arthur was going to see her soon and they could be together—

“How do you know this?”

Her expression shuttered. “There’s no time.” Arthur opened his mouth to object, to demand answers, and she amended, “Later, I promise.”

“How am I going to explain this to them if you don’t give me something to work with?”

“Now is not the time, Arthur. You just have to trust me.”

Arthur sighed in defeat. “Fine. But—”

“I promise you I’ll explain everything after you save the Fey.” Her eyes implored him to drop the subject. “Please.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but they were already pressed for time as it was. “Alright.” Arthur nodded. He started back toward the caves with Pym in tow, heart in his throat.

How was he going to explain this to the Red Spear and the rest of their makeshift council? Oh, hey, by the way, my sister just appeared out of the blue and said that Cumber is going to attack us. Please don’t freak out.  

When he realized that Morgana wasn’t following him, he stopped and turned back to her. “Won’t you help us?”

Morgana shook her head slightly. “They need your leadership, Arthur. If I was there, it wouldn’t change anything. They need you.”

Arthur couldn’t help the swell of pride inside his chest. Even after everything, his sister still believed in him.

“Besides, there’s something I must do first,” she answered. And then, to Arthur’s bewilderment, she disappeared into thin air.

He whipped to face Pym, who didn’t look nearly as shocked as he felt was appropriate. “What was that?”

“I told you that she changed.”

“I—” Arthur started, then decided that there were more pressing matters than his sister’s newfound abilities. “Nevermind.”

They made their way back into the hollowed-out crevice of the meeting room in silence, both too nervous to say much.

They returned to find the makeshift council much the same as they had left it. Everyone was arguing, back and forth, back and forth over nonsense that didn’t even matter in the light of Morgana’s new information. Maybe bringing this up with the group first was a bad idea—maybe they should go to the Red Spear before opening this up to a dozen differing opinions.

But before Arthur could give voice to his concerns, Pym was already talking.

“Everyone quiet!” she shouted over the din. All at once, every voice in the room ceased in order to listen—which Arthur would admit was an admirable quality had he not been trying to signal to Pym to stop talking. Pym continued, oblivious to his silent pleas. “King Cumber is sending more soldiers here to attack us. We only have a couple of hours.”

Chaos erupted. The raiders stood up so fast from their seats that the crates they used as chairs were knocked over; the Fey were already trying to dominate the debate on how they should move forward. Across the room, the Red Spear’s face was ashen.

Arthur was about to go to her, but she was already moving toward him. When she reached him, the Red Spear shoved him out of the hollow and into the larger part of the cave. Her eyes were wide in apprehension and a little bit of anger, and Arthur rushed to explain for fear that that anger was directed at him.

“I can explain,” he whispered. There was no one within hearing-distance, but Arthur still kept his voice down in case of his words echoing.

The Red Spear narrowed her eyes and matched his tone, though with much more hostility. “Well, I would hope so, considering you just announced to a group of nonfunctional military personnel that we’re going to be attacked by my father in a few short hours.”

Arthur’s mouth was dry as he floundered for words. The Red Spear’s eyebrows rose as she prompted, “Well?”

“Well, Morgana didn’t say much except that a few soldiers escaped from our skirmish and reported back to Cumber. That’s why they’re attacking.” He paused, waiting for the Red Spear’s reaction. When she didn’t speak, just stared, waiting for him to continue, Arthur said, “We have to run. We can’t fight our way out of this.”

“I’m not running. Not again,” she said, her tone icy.

“We don’t have a choice this time. We’re not in any fighting shape.”

The Red Spear closed her eyes. “I can’t admit defeat. He already sees me as weak.”

Arthur didn’t ask who she was referring to, but instead reasoned, “It’s not just you that you have to worry about. Both the raiders and the Fey are counting on you.”

It was a moment before the Red Spear sighed in defeat. She glanced up and met Arthur’s eyes before giving a single nod. “You’re right. We have to run.”

“And I have to stay behind.”

“What?” she snapped. “What do you mean you’re staying behind? What did you mean before when you said that ‘we can’t fight our way out of this’? Are you trying to be a martyr, Arthur, is that what you’re doing?”

Arthur could only blink at her rant. “No, Red, I . . . Nimue is alive, and she’s coming here. If we’re all gone, then she’ll think that we left on those ships.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m so close to seeing her again. I have to be there for her.”

The Red Spear could only blink. Finally, she said, “Okay. Fine. But we’re not sending anyone back to check on you, you understand? You’ll have to find your way to us on your own.”

Arthur nodded, solemn, and released a breath. “What should we tell them?”

The Red Spear rolled her shoulders back and said, “Tell them to prepare their belongings. We leave in half an hour.”

. . .

Nimue was not sure what to make of the Monk.

It was something she had overheard the night before that made her question if her assumptions about him had been made in haste.

After collecting firewood, she had stopped at the edge of the clearing, having heard voices. Intrigued, she had paused and observed as the Monk comforted Squirrel. But she quickly realized that the Monk was being a lot more open with the boy, even going as far as to tell him about his past.

The Red Paladins killed my parents and burned my village. Fa—Carden took me under his wing and molded me into a weapon. I never thought to leave, and even if I did, I had nowhere to go.

You could have used your ability to find one of our villages, you know, Squirrel had mumbled.

That had given Nimue pause. His ability? She had heard that the Monk was a good tracker, but she hadn’t attributed it to anything other than practice.

And you think that they would welcome me with open arms? After everything I’ve done? The Monk’s tone had been self-deprecating, but Nimue knew he was right.

The Fey Queen would not welcome him, the warrior who had to keep her people safe would not welcome him. But between the moment she had met him and now, something had changed. There was more to the Monk than she had thought.

The sun was just coming up over the horizon and they had just finished readying themselves to finish their journey.

But something was weighing on her mind, something Squirrel had said about the Monk’s ability. She couldn’t shake the thought away, so after the fire had been put out and Squirrel had been hauled onto the horse, Nimue decided to confront him about it.

“Monk,” she said, addressing him.

His eyes snapped to hers and his jaw worked as if he was deliberating something. Finally, he spoke. “I would rather you call me by my real name.”

“Oh, alright then.” Nimue blinked, a little taken aback. “Lancelot, I want to try something.”

The Monk looked at her warily but didn’t object as she stepped forward. His eyes tracked her until there was only a foot of space between them.

Hesitant, Nimue took his hand in hers, noting how large it was in comparison before quickly dismissing the thought.

She closed her eyes and called out the Hidden. Their power rose within her, and suddenly, she was connected to everything around her. She could feel the life of the soil beneath her feet, could feel the gentle drumming of thousands of heartbeats coming from the animals in the surrounding area.

But Nimue pushed through all of the nuances for something specific, something she was not entirely sure was even there.

And then she felt it: a soft inkling that slowly became an overwhelming sensation. It was coming from right in front of her—from the Monk. His connection to the Hidden matched her own, but unlike hers, it was buried deep within him, recoiling from her prodding.

Nimue pulled back and opened her eyes to find the scars under the Monk’s eyes glowing gold. As the Hidden retreated, the glow faded.

“Why?” she demanded. “Why lie about that?”

The Monk glanced away, his face a careful mask.

“Lie about what?” Squirrel asked from his seat atop the horse. “What’s going on?”

“Your friend here is Fey,” Nimue said without breaking eye-contact with the Monk.

Silence, and then—

“Oh, yeah.”

Nimue whirled. “You knew?”

Squirrel shrunk in the saddle.

“You didn’t think this piece of information would be of interest to me?”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell.” Squirrel crossed his arms, indignant.

Nimue sighed and turned back to Lancelot. “I can understand why Squirrel wouldn’t tell me, but why wouldn’t you?”

“Would it have made a difference?”

Would it have made a difference? Would you have taken pity on me if your Fey had been fighting a man and not a beast?

No, she had said. I suppose not.

This time, Nimue remained silent.

The Monk’s gaze was far away. “I thought you would hate me more than you already do since I’ve hunted and killed my own kind. Isn’t that worse than me being human?”

She wasn’t sure what was worse—fighting a nameless monster or fighting one of your own kind. How could you forgive someone for murdering their own people, those they should have protected? How could you forgive someone for going against everything you stood for?

Nimue did not have an answer, and she wasn’t sure that she ever would.

She did not say anything for a few moments, just analyzed his face, his scars. When she spoke, all she said was, “What clan are you from?”

His voice was quiet when he said, “The Ash People.”

Nimue remembered her mother telling her about how the Red Paladins had wiped out the Ash People long ago. She was not sure if she should comfort him or leave him to rot in silence—after the Paladins had murdered his people, how could he have joined them?

“How old were you, when it happened?” She didn’t know why she needed to know; it wouldn’t absolve him of his crimes. But nevertheless, she wanted an answer.

The Monk deliberated for a few moments, before finally bringing his eyes up to hers. “Old enough.”

Nimue shut her eyes against the blue of his eyes. She wasn’t sure what she expected. It was not like knowing how old he was would change anything, but it might have made things less tense between them if she was given the opportunity to understand.

The crunching of boots against leaves echoed through the forest. Nimue ripped her eyes open and spun around toward the noise. She caught a glimpse of red through the foliage, and she cursed under her breath. She didn’t have her sword, but she had one of the Paladin swords. It would have to do.

Her gaze cut to the Monk, anger rising. “Did you lead them here?”

“I didn’t, I swear.” He looked genuine, but Nimue was only reminded that he was a Paladin himself only a few days before.

She raised her sword to his throat.

. . .

“How do I know you’re not lying?” she snarled, voice low and dangerous.

Lancelot’s gaze flicked to the flashes of red robes through the trees. It would only be a few moments until they were discovered. He had to think fast.

“I can prove myself to you,” he started. “Stay with Percival while I dispatch them.”

“Oh, you’re giving me orders now?”

Lancelot fought to keep his tone controlled. “Just trust me.”

“That’s not happening.”

He worked his jaw, eyes trained on the Paladins heading their way. They would be upon them any second now.

An image of Squirrel’s broken body and lifeless eyes flashed through his mind’s eye. Lancelot could not let that happen. He couldn’t. He would not be able to live with himself if something happened to the boy, not after everything they had been through together.

Lancelot needed to protect the boy, needed to protect Nimue. It was all he could think as he unsheathed his twin blades, moving toward the Paladins as he did so. There were four of them, all with their swords drawn.

“What are you doing?” Nimue hissed.

He didn’t respond and instead focused all of his attention on the Paladins, who were heading toward them. They were no match for Lancelot, but he was wounded and his movements were slow. Even raising his swords required more effort than he cared to admit, though the salve Nimue had applied on his wounds had helped with the pain.

When they were only a few yards apart, Lancelot said, “You don’t have to do this. You can walk away and forget you saw us.”

“Us?” one of the Paladins asked, raising his sword a little higher. His companions looked around discreetly.

Lancelot’s brow furrowed and he looked back to check on Squirrel and Nimue—

Only to find that they were nowhere to be seen.

“We know what you’ve done, Monk.” The raspy drawl of another Paladin brought him back. “Abbott Wicklow wants your head.”

I am sure he does. Lancelot bit back the remark.

“How could you betray your own brothers?” another Paladin spoke up.

A different Paladin said, “Animals don’t have the capacity for reason. Betrayal is in their blood.”

Lancelot clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on his sword. This had gone on for too long.

Steeling himself, Lancelot charged forward and felled the first two Paladins by swiping his dual swords in two intersecting arcs in front of him. The Paladins crumpled to the forest floor, and the last two charged him, each taking moving to either side of him. The one to his left raised his sword above his head and slashed down, while the one to his right made a swipe at Lancelot’s ankles. Lancelot parried the Paladin to his left with little more than a thought and nicked the arm of the Paladin to his right with his blade. The man grunted in pain and redoubled his efforts, while his companion ran at Lancelot with a war cry.

But he didn’t make it far—vines erupted from the ground beneath him and twisted around his writhing body. The last Paladin froze in a moment of pure panic and fear, giving Lancelot an opening to stab him straight through the heart. It was a quick death and a mercy he felt obligated to give. They had been his brothers, once, and even if that meant nothing to them, it had meant something to Lancelot.

“You’re welcome.”

Lancelot spun to face Nimue. “I thought you had gone.”

She raised a skeptic brow. “We haven’t moved. We’ve been here the whole time.”

He could only blink. “I’m not sure I understand. You disappeared.”

“I might have a theory about that.” Nimue bit her lip in contemplation as she sorted through her words. “Your ability allows you to find those who don’t wish to be found; I suspect that it can also hide them, too.”

Lancelot’s brow creased. “But this has never happened before.”

“Have you ever needed to use it?” At Lancelot’s silence, she continued. “When I searched for the Hidden within you, a large part of it was buried deep within your subconscious. Like you’ve repressed that part of who you are for your entire life.”

“Oh.” He was not sure what to say. He had had to repress his identity for the majority of his life, so it was no surprise that if he had any other powers besides his tracking ability that they would be repressed, too.

“That’s bloody fantastic!” Squirrel shouted, hopping down from the saddle and rushing toward Lancelot.

Lancelot couldn’t help the upward quirk of his lips.

Nimue opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by a powerful gust of wind that knocked them all back. When they righted themselves, a woman cloaked in black drapery stood in the center of the clearing.

“Morgana?” Nimue asked.

“There isn’t much time.”

[devilrising]

Fallen Draco, Pt. 17

This story is following a prompt set by @mymindsmadness

Summary: AU where Draco is a fallen angel, and the way he gets his wings back is by guiding Harry in defeating Voldemort, but it all goes wrong when Draco starts falling in love with Harry

Word Count (Part 17): 3,022

Word Count (Total): 54,381

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of abuse/torture (non-graphic)

***

29th April, 1998

“Hey, Harry?” I ask, my question quiet in the loud kitchen. Harry is bustling around, preparing a large brunch for the two of us plus Mother. It turns out that he rather likes cooking when it’s for multiple people, and living up to my Mum’s standards makes him grin sappily.

“Mhmm?” Harry replies from where he’s standing over the frying pan. He insists on cooking like a Muggle, carefully waiting and watching, before flipping over one of the pancakes.

“I’m worried…” I murmur, suddenly aware of how absurd the statement is. It’s a lovely, crisp Thursday morning, my boyfriend is preparing a meal for us to share, and I woke up late enough to actually be well-rested for once. Yet here I am, concerned about the upcoming war that I have no control over. Except I very well might...

“Worried about what?” Harry asks, turning away from the kitchen and towards me.

“The war,” I answer shortly, making sure my voice is clear and stable. It doesn’t work very well.

Harry crosses the room, a look in his eyes that I can’t quite decipher. He holds his arms out as he approaches, and wraps me into a tight embrace. I focus my attention on his hands rubbing into the small of my back, on his face next to mine, and on the smell of him, wafting up from his collarbone. Even so, tears burn at the sides of my eyes, threatening to spill over.

“So am I…” Comes the whispered confession.

“You are?” I pull away to look at his face, and find wet tracks down his cheeks. That’s what tips mine over too.

“Oh, don’t cry Dray,” he tries to comfort. His hand resumes it’s circular motion and he calms me down, but I feel like a jerk. He’s the one who’s going to have to do the unimaginable soon. He’s the one who has the right to be crying.

“I’m- s-sorry,” I hiccup.

“Don’t apologise! You haven’t done anything wrong Dray.” Harry pulls out of the embrace and holds me at arms length, his eyes shining and searching. “The war is going to come no matter what we do.”

I nod. “I know,” I manage to say without being interrupted by my own body. “But I-” hiccup, “can't bear the thought of- of losing you…”

Harry smiles shallowly, tears betraying him. “You won’t, I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Merlin I sound miserable, like a girl in a romance novel whose boyfriend is going off to war. Except that’s exactly what’s happening… albeit I’m going too…

Harry finds the parallel too and chuckles under his breath. I shove him lightly. “I know Dray,” he sighs. “I feel like my world is going to end in three days. Hell, it probably is!”

“Nonsense!” I immediately argue, instincts leaping into action to prove him wrong. Years of arguing don’t vanish overnight. “You’ve put so much work into everything, and all of the plans are finished. I’ve seen the way people act for you, Harry. You’ll have thousands of people fighting.”

Harry grins at me. “Well, if you’re so confident in me, why are you worried?”

I roll my eyes, a smile on my face. “Shove off, Potter.”

“Potter, am I? Whatever happened to Harry?”

“You made a point, Potter.” Harry’s grin only widens, enjoying the banter when there’s no venom behind it.

Harry pulls me back into a hug, but a loud bubbling sound from the kitchen, followed by a sharp crack, has him instantly running back to the stove. He groans loudly, a wild and panicked sound, and starts rapidly moving things around and waving his wand.

“I thought you were cooking Muggle style?” I mock.

“I was,” he quips. “But it’s burnt now and I’d rather like to salvage it, so magic it is.” Despite being turned away, I can practically hear the contradicting smile in his words.

For the next couple of minutes, there’s silence (except for the sounds of cooking, of course). Pleasant smells begin filling the room, and I happily watch Harry’s back as he moves. He’s so good at cooking, yet he refuses to mention why or how. Whenever I ask there’s some sort of panic behind his eyes, and his face inevitably closes off. I stopped asking after only two attempts. It clearly doesn’t hold any enjoyable memories, even though he seems very happy when he’s doing it.

“You know Dray,” Harry says once he’s rescued the pancakes, “you look gorgeous today.”

I roll my eyes, ignoring the blush creeping up my neck. I am not in a romance novel! “Indeed I am, Potter,” I reply. “But why is that relevant?”

“What, Potter yet again? And there isn’t anything irrelevant about it,” he says. “Malfoy,” he throws in.

“Hmph,” I huff. “For what it’s worth, you’re not so bad yourself.”

“That’s it?! That’s the best compliment you could think of?!”

“How’s this?” I ask. “I would let you bend me over right here right now if you wanted to.”

Harry’s breath catches. “Draco!” He shouts. “You can’t just say that!”

I smirk at him as he turns to face me, and he sticks his tongue out. We haven’t done that yet, but seeing his expression overtaken with want makes me seriously consider it. But no. My mother is in this house, and I do not want her to witness that.

“I’ve been thinking,” I say into the comfortable silence. “I want to help. To train and actually help.”

“Changing subject are we?” Harry laughs. “Help how?”

“I don’t know, but I want to try something! If I don’t prepare I will be useless in the battle.”

“Ahh,” Harry hums. “Why don't I firecall Hermione, and she can help you with that?”

A rush of disappointment runs through me. “Why won’t you?”

“I’ll be there!” Harry practically trips over himself to say. “Of course I will! But I’m afraid I don’t really know much about magic like yours, and Hermione does.”

“How could she possibly know that much?” I ask.

“Please,” Harry scoffs. “All she’s done these last three days—I guarantee it—is read every book ever created that could maybe have the slightest chance of helping you.”

“Why would she do that?” I furrow my brows. “It’s not like I know her that well. And I was an absolute shit to her just last year!”

Harry turns fully to face me again. “You may have been an arsehole in the past Draco, but she’s since seen how you truly are, and probably considers you a friend!” He exclaims. “Besides, she got you back when she punched you in Third Year.”

I groan at the memory of bone cracking under her fist. “That hurt,” I grumble.

Harry chuckles and turns back to the food. “I’ll call her, and she and Ron can probably come up with something to help.”

“Thank you Harry.”

***

After a delicious brunch—that only vaguely tasted like it had been dropped in a fire and left to burn—Harry left Mother and I to go call Hermione.

“He is an excellent cook, dear,” Mother says out of nowhere. “You chose a good boyfriend.”

“Mother!” I say, aghast. “I didn’t choose him out of a lineup or something! It just happened.” The end becomes less defensive and more sensitive, and I internally scold myself for showing any sign of weakness to her. In the past, that very same weakness has been criticised, punished.

“Well, he’s still a good cook,” she continues. “Although, it is strange he doesn’t have a house elf?” It’s posed as a question, and I feel my blood boil.

“For a start, Mother,” I begin. “He actually does have a house elf, Kreacher, he’s just moved him elsewhere so he can prepare for the war without worrying about another body.” The light slowly fades from her eyes. “Second, why does having a house elf determine someone’s worth?”

Mother has the sense to look sheepish. “I’m sorry for that, Draco. It’s a habit left over from-” She cuts herself off.

I nod solemnly, my anger fading. “Yeah. I know.” I’m not going to make her say it out loud. As much as she is flawed, I love her, and she doesn’t need to dredge up her recent past. Less than a year ago, life was normal. We were living in the Manor, listening to Lucius’ rants; and yes, maybe I did have to follow orders on the threat of my family’s painful death, but before that it was fine.

The silence becomes awkward and strained. As much as we were on good terms two days ago, the reality has since sunken in. There is a war set for three days from now. In three days time, the world as we know it will either stay relatively the same, or it will be flipped upside down into a time of terror. Whichever side wins, people will die. By the end of it, people I know—guaranteed, with my mess of a family—will be dead, and there is no slowing it down. I sigh and rise from my chair in the dining room.

“I’m going to go shower,” I announce to the air. Mother doesn’t respond, lost in thought as she is, and I cross the room into the hallway. I’m halfway up the first flight of stairs when Harry comes rushing down them. He halts upon seeing me, his face lighting up for a second before it’s schooled into a calm expression. When he managed to make such a good mask, I don’t know.

“Draco!” He says quickly. “I’m glad I’ve got you. Hermione and Ron are going to be here in the next five-ish minutes and you should probably change into something you can exercise in.”

“Well that was a rush of words,” I tease.

“Sorry.” Harry’s hand rubs the back of his neck. “Where were you going?”

“Shower, but I guess I won’t bother now.”

“Probably a good idea. I’d save the shower for after.” He let’s a smirk cross his face. “I could always join you…?”

“Harry James Potter, get your mind out of the dump.” I shake my head. “We have a war to win, and that is much higher on my list of priorities than getting laid!”

“Quiet down Dray, you wouldn’t want your mother to hear those words coming out of your mouth.”

My face darkens, even though she’d probably approve of what I said. I shake my head yet again, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m going to go get dressed.”

Harry grins, pulls me in to peck me on the cheek, and then goes back to running down the stairs.

***

“How have you used them so far?” Ron is standing in front of me, his red hair a mop over his forehead. He’s dressed head to toe in black workout clothes, just like I am, and is brandishing his wand at me. The sunlight is glaring harshly and I lift a hand to shield my eyes.

“I’ve uh- I’ve dimmed the lights a couple of times,” I start, shuffling uncomfortably under his scrutiny. The grass crunches underfoot. “I also faded some glare when I went outside yesterday.” It sounds pathetic and weak, there’s no use for that in an already dark room.

“That’s a good start,” Hermione says, seemingly appearing from nowhere. Trust her to notice the tiniest hint of self-deprecation. “I’ve come up with some drills to focus your magic, and Ron has made a course for you to run once you get more confident with it.”

Ron nods his head. “It’s under a concealment charm right now so you can’t worry about it. It looks quite intimidating, but it shouldn’t actually be too challenging.”

Hermione walks away from Ron and beckons for me to follow her. Her blue and grey clothes are a stark contrast from Ron’s and mine, and her hair is tied neatly behind her head. Well, as neatly as it can be, considering it looks like it’s trying to spring out of the hairband, and with the strength of her curls it’s quite possible. She whirls back to face me and points to the sky.

“Try to remove the glare, not entirely, just lessen it a little.”

I tip my head to the side. “I already know I can do that.”

“I know, but I want to see it,” she insists. “Come on.”

Sighing, I screw my hands into fists beside me and close my eyes tightly. Light dances behind my eyelids, yellow and red spots all I can see. But as I concentrate and the glare dims, the spots fade and shrink, becoming blue and purple instead. When I open my eyes again, I’m not confronted with a blinding light like I would normally expect.

“Wow…” Hermione mutters. I can’t help but notice her usual notepad and pen, covered in new notes. “Try brightening it again!”

Ignoring the fact that while I’m training I’m also becoming her new test subject, I once again tighten my fists. This time, instead of closing my eyes I focus on widening them as much as possible. I’ve found over the last couple of days that in order to alter the lighting, my eyes need to mirror the action. Light off, eyes closed; light on, eyes open. I stare intently up at the sun—my eyes somehow unaffected—and watch as the glare slowly returns. Eventually I rip my eyes away and unclench my hands. I blink a couple of times to clear my newly-spotting vision and turn to Hermione again.

Her jaw is now dropped open, her hands fallen—momentarily forgotten—by her sides. I watch as her brain whirls behind her eyes, the cogs turning as she thinks through what I’m doing. Just as quickly as she fell silent, she leaps into action once more. Her hand starts moving so swiftly across the paper that she can’t possibly be thinking about what she’s writing before it’s written.

“That’s amazing!” She exclaims. She keeps writing, making sure to jot down everything she thinks is necessary. I think it’s a bit overkill, but if she wants to do it, who am I to stop her?

“Could you try fading the sun? Like, not just the glare but the light in general?”

“I’ve never tried that before…” I say. “I don’t see why not.”

Unsure of how to do that, I start as I usually would. My hands tighten into fists and I squeeze my eyes closed. I focus in on the lines and dots that are now all I can see, and try to—for lack of a better word—extinguish them. I hear a faint pop and my eyes jolt open. Everything is exactly the same as it was before, with no sign of the cause of the noise. I hum in annoyance. Instead of getting worked up and annoyed at my failure like I would have a year ago, I grit my teeth and force myself to give it another go. My hands move to rest on my hips, my head tipping backwards to look into the sun. I close my eyes again and this time concentrate on removing the light I know is above me. It wavers and flickers behind my eyelids, but it never goes out or dims for more than half a second. I open my eyes and return to my normal stance again, rolling my neck to relieve the strain.

“Hmmm,” Hermione says. “I’ll have to think about that for a while.” She writes down a couple more notes, her eyes squinting in the glare from the sun. “Move over to Ron, give his thing a try.” She waves her hand dismissively over to her boyfriend’s area of the backyard without pausing in her notes.

“You’ve finally passed Hermione’s testing, hmm?” Ron calls out when he sees me approaching.

I grin at him. “It seems so,” I reply with raised eyebrows. “So… What am I doing?”

“You are going to run this course, and then we are all going to play a muggle game called Murder in the Dark.” His face lights up in excitement. Why, I’m not sure.

“Murder in the Dark?” I ask. I’ve never heard of it, although since it’s muggle that’s not that surprising.

“Yes, but only after completing the course. Ready?” Ron doesn’t leave time for me to answer, pivoting around and waving his wand in front of him. The air ripples and lifts up, reality distorting as a mass of random objects and transfigured walls come into view. “It’s messy I know, but it should work perfectly.” His face flushes with what must be pride at his creation.

“What do I do?” I ask. It looks like a maze mixed with an obstacle course. That is, if both were meant to be pitch black.

“You work your way through to the other side, avoid the obstacles, and alter the lighting the whole way through to reveal different path options and objects to dodge. New routes will appear depending on the light, as will obstacles. Take your time, but if you’re not out within the hour I’m concealing it again and you’ll come flying to wherever I am.”

I swallow hard. “That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Yep,” Ron says cheerfully. “Harry told me you work well under time constraints and worry.”

“Did he now…?” I murmur to myself, fixing a glare to the window which shows him sitting and watching from a sofa. “I don’t know where he got that idea, but he will definitely pay for it later.”

“Probably because you managed to send him a letter from the Manor, through all of the wards and right under Voldemort’s nose. Not to mention the series of torturous changes and injuries you’ve survived without time to heal properly, all while helping Harry prepare for a war,” Ron says, sounding gleeful as if it should all be obvious. “So yes, I quite think he’s right. Anyway, get to it!”

Just as I’m about to question him as to how he knows all of that, I’m pushed a few steps ahead and into the entrance of the maze.

***

A/N: Sorry this is a week late, it just got to Monday and I figured I’d rather post it later 🤷‍♀️ Hope you enjoyed! Xx

Masterlist — Previous Part — Next Part

@draconianhorntail @p3trovass @cowboy-simp @queeneyart @ohheavenlylord @h0pehauntedmyw0rld @unsolicted-chick-picks @itsclayclay @harrybpoetry @slash-slut @jianing2603 @magical-fairy-princess-stuff @give-me-the-queer @youmakeprettybeautiful @hello-i-am-moi @slytherclaw134689 @sinnysin-sin @lafilleetlechatnoir @absolutetrashcan @irrelevantdrarry @glo-up-goddess @birdy1032 @d-addict @pizzasandwich72 @madison-is-a-small-baby @joshoriande @sugarhoneyice-t @imaginemymemories @shipperofalltheships @uniiicornen @thewanderingnomadsworld @randominternetloser @levi7755 @localxmermaid @biyaaaaaaaaaa @just-some-bibliophile @pizzabitch @champagnemonarch

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (110/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous chapters conveniently available here.

[21 Feruary 233 Before Age.   Planet Qondoging.]

Ryba Booth's tactical data reported Saiyan activity in and around twenty-five star systems.   By the time Luffa's star-yacht reached Federation space, she had received new reports that increased that estimate to thirty-two.    Five systems had reported Saiyans actually landing on the planet's surface.   Unable to help more than one world at a time, Luffa simply chose the closest planet where Saiyans were confirmed to be on the surface.

She was still recuperating from her last encounter with Trimegistus' Saiyan marauders.    It was clear to her now that the six warriors she had faced on Lubegev were not just a test of Luffa's measure, but a diversion to keep her out of Federation space long enough for the main invasion force to make their move.   Trismegistus had done something to enhance these Saiyans' powers, making them far stronger than any normal Saiyan ought to be.    Individually, they were still no match for Luffa's Super Saiyan powers, but a group of them could present a serious challenge.   Luffa estimated that a dozen of them, trained to coordinate their attacks, might be enough to overwhelm her.  

She doubted that her enemy would risk sending that many of his troops to a single world.   In such an extreme situation, Luffa could destroy the entire planet from orbit, or the Federation fleet could carpet bomb the entire surface, effectively achieving the same result.    The destruction would be horrific, to say nothing for the loss of life, but a defending force might consider it a justifiable course of action, as it would end one world to preserve many others.    Judging from the breadth of the invasion, Trismegistus' plan seemed to be to wear Luffa down by forcing her to travel from planet to planet, fighting just enough Saiyans to make things difficult for her.   Destroying planets wouldn't accomplish anything, as it would only kill a few enemy troops per world.   Destroying every planet the Saiyans attacked would simply be doing their work for them.   No, the goal seemed to be to force Luffa to run an interstellar gauntlet, fighting Saiyan after Saiyan until she succumbed to injury or exhaustion.  

She had to admit that Trismegistus understood the Saiyan heart very well.   She was sorely tempted to take this situation as a challenge of her power and endurance.   She suspected that most Saiyans would feel the same way, albeit on a smaller scale.   Trismegistus had laid out his strategy brilliantly, counting on Luffa's weaknesses to complete the trap he had laid.   However, he had underestimated her, like so many of her past enemies had done.    As a Super Saiyan, Luffa had fought battles most ordinary Saiyans could barely imagine, let alone experience.   Luffa had already faced gauntlets of warriors before.    Not long before becoming a Super Saiyan, she had battled the Tikosi hordes on Dorlu Prime, and they had slowly worn her down.   She had long regretted that defeat, and had spent years thinking of ways to handle that scenario differently.    She had tested them on the battlefield, daring large armies to fight her while she held back her power to make things more interesting.  Entire theaters of war had served as laboratories for her tactical experiments.    Trismegistus had laid down a challenge of endurance, but Luffa chose to see it as a challenge of innovation.  

As her star-yacht entered the Qondoging System, she stood in the cargo bay and smiled eagerly.   Beside her, Luffa's wife Zatte held her right hand and watched her nervously.  

"I don't know if I can do this," the Dorlun said.  

"Maybe you can't," Luffa said.   "But I think we can, working together."  

"But the entire ship!" Zatte objected.    "And you--!"

"This is Plan A.   If it doesn't work, Plan B is I bail out and fight the Saiyans hand to hand," Luffa said bluntly.   She pointed to the bandages on her arms and under her black sleeveless shirt.    "I'll win, but they'll make me pay for it, just like those last six I killed."

"I know, but--!"

"This is your chance, Zattie," Luffa said.  "You pull this off and you'll be helping my cause and keeping me healthy for the next battle.   That's what you've always wanted to do for me, right?"

"Yes, but if I screw it up--!" Zatte argued.

"You won't screw it up," Luffa replied.   "I'm a xan'nil-Dor, aren't I?   It can't be a dumb idea if I came up with it, right?"

"Providence deemed you important, Luffa," Zatte said with an anxious smile.   "They never said you were smart."

"Which is exactly why they sent you to cover my back," Luffa said.    "Your Dorlun pride should be burning in your veins right now."

"Not exactly," Zatte said, "but I love it when you talk that way."

Luffa grinned and tapped the communicator mounted in her left ear.   "Cargo bay to bridge," she called.   "How are we doing?"

"Um, okay... I think?"  The uncertainty in Dotz's voice was palpable.   "We're, uh, approaching the planet pretty fast."

"Great, Dotz," Luffa said.   "You sound like you're already getting the hang of it."

"Well, that's nice of you to say," Dotz said, "but, um, you only showed me how to use this thing half an hour ago.   Are you sure you want me to do this?   I'm a fortuneteller, not a pilot."

"I've got no choice," Luffa said, "I need Zatte here with me, and Doc's on standby in case we get hurt."

"Right," she said.   "Well, I'm happy to help, but..."

"You've got this, Dotz," Luffa said.   "It's a simple maneuver.   All you have to do is keep us from hitting  the ground, and pull up when the time is right."

"Um... when is that, again?"  

"You're the fortuneteller.    You tell me," Luffa said.    

"That's not how it works," Dotz said.

"Just joking," Luffa said.   "You'll know."

Luffa used her ki senses to decide when to begin.   The entire planet's collective life energy was easy to pick up as a great distance.   It was when she could pick up the individual Saiyan powers on the planet that she signalled for Zatte to begin.   The Dorlun held onto Luffa's hand and used her other to hold onto a power conduit they had pulled out from the wall of the cargo bay.   Then she applied her unique ability to manipulate energy.    Zatte typically used this talent for camouflage and sabotage.    She had never concealed anything nearly as large as a spacecraft, but Luffa had convinced her it was time to try.   It was a simple matter of bending electromagnetic radiation, refracting it around the entire ship instead of allowing it to bounce off its surface.   But this was just the beginning.   Zatte also had to diffuse the radiation emitting from the ship itself.    The heat from the engines, the illumination from its running lights, and the ki of its occupants.  It was a tricky operation, and Luffa planned to make it even trickier.

As they entered the planet's atmosphere, Zatte's focus began to waver.   "The heat," she said with a grimace.    "I'm having trouble dispersing it all."

"No worries," Luffa said.  "They haven't spotted us yet, and you're about to get a little help..."

She transformed into her Super Saiyan mode.    As Luffa's hair stood on end and her eyes glowed green, Zatte only clenched her teeth more tightly as she struggled to cope with this new energy.  

"Use it!" Luffa said.   "Take whatever you need."

"It's... too much!" Zatte said.   "I can't borrow your energy and use it to hide the rest of it all at once!"

She didn't have to.   Luffa had learned to hide some of her own ki in a fashion resembling Zatte's ability.    The only trouble was that neither of them could hide all of it at once.   But if they worked together, with Zatte borrowing some of Luffa's power to apply to the task, then maybe...

"I've... got it!" Zatte said.   "But I can't hold it."

Even as she said it, Luffa could sense the Saiyans taking flight, moving to intercept their ship.    Only they had no idea it was a ship at all.   Zatte's cloaking field wasn't absolute, but it was enough to confuse anyone who had detected them.    The Saiyans had detected their approach, but they weren't closing in to attack; they were keeping their distance to investigate.    They didn't know what the star-yacht was, but they were probably certain that it wasn't a Super Saiyan.  

There were five of them, and when the first three approached from the aft of the yacht, Luffa tapped the control for the bay door.   Before it had finished opening, she had acquired her targets.  

"Vengeance Cannon," she said with a grin.  

At this moment, Zatte's cloak could have collapsed altogether and it would make no difference.    From the perspective of the three Saiyans, they would only be able to see an indistinct blur in the sky, and sense an indeterminate power level.    And then, they would see beams of crimson light shooting out of the blur, one after another, aimed straight for their hearts.   The first one Luffa hit died instantly, followed by the second one an instant later.    The third Saiyan might have had just enough time to realize they were under attack, but Luffa's aim was too sure and her attack too quick for him to react.  

As for the remaining two Saiyans, they had approached the star-yacht from the fore, where Luffa wouldn't be able to attack them without firing through her own ship.   They didn't know they were under attack until they sensed the deaths of their three comrades, but once they knew what was happening, they moved closer to blast the yacht with their own ki beams.   On the bridge, Dotz was alerted to their approach, and so she did what any novice pilot would do in such a situation.    Panicking, she followed the only instruction she was given, and pulled the ship upward as sharply as she possibly could.    The Saiyans were confused by the sudden course change, and as they chased after the blur as it rose into the upper atmosphere, they found themselves making the same mistake as the first three.    Luffa picked them off with two more shots, and the liberation of Qondoging was complete.  

Luffa shut the bay doors and caught Zatte before she could drop to her knees.  

"Nice work everyone," Luffa said as she tapped her earpiece.    

"I nearly blew it," Zatte said between exhausted gasps.   "How do you handle all that power?"

"You did fine," Luffa said.   "With a little more practice, I bet you could keep this whole ship invisible for hours..."

"Just... help me get to sickbay," Zatte said wearily.    

Luffa smiled proudly as she helped to her feet and led her out of the cargo bay.    Once she had turned Zatte over to Doctor Topsas, she went to the bridge and set course for the next planet.  

*******

[1 March, 233 Before Age.   Interstellar Space.]

Over the next several days, Luffa's unorthodox tactics had proven effective.   With each planet she liberated, the Federation fleet was able to regroup and consolidate their gains.   She had staged counterattacks on three worlds now, and on each one she had managed to use the element of surprise to kill the Saiyans without sustaining any new wounds.   As they moved on to the fourth planet, Dr. Topsas was more concerned with the injuries Luffa already had from the battle on Lubegev.  

"You said you were going to rest between missions, little mammal," Topsas grumbled.  

"I am resting, Doc," Luffa said.   She handed him a plate of fried gizzards, still wearing the oven mitts she had used while preparing them in the ship's kitchen.   "Oh, I forgot your sauce, let me go get that real quick--"

"As much as I enjoy your cooking," he protested, "it won't do you any good to keep running back and forth on the ship."    

Luffa waved her salad tongs around the bridge, gesturing to Zatte at the navigation console, and Dotz at a tactical station.    "That's bunk, doc," she said.   "You all deserve a good meal after the work you've put in.    You guys have done really well these last couple of days.   I mean, I was confident, sure, but I'm still impressed.   Dotz hasn't even been in a battle before, but she's handled the ship better than I could have imagined."

"Really?" Dotz asked, looking up from her plate.

"Hey!  Don't fill up on bread, okay?" Luffa scolded.    "I've got baked tubers coming up, but the toppings aren't ready to come out of the oven."

Dotz dropped her roll immediately, and nodded.    

"Luffa, Dr. Topsas is right," Zatte said.    "I can get my own salad, and the ship can pilot itself long enough for me to run down to the kitchen for you.    Just take a seat and--"

"Like hell," Luffa said.   "If I put you in charge, you'll just slap some sandwiches in the microwave and call it good."

"What's wrong with sandwiches?" Zatte asked.

Luffa sighed and patted her on the head.   "You poor aliens are so backward when it comes to food," she said.   "It's probably because you eat so little.   You're full before you can really take the time to appreciate what you're putting in your stomachs."

Zatte looked over to Topsas and rolled her eye.   "I burned one sandwich," she said as she held up her index finger.   "Two years ago.   One sandwich, and I'm banned from the kitchen."

"I need all of you at the top of your game," Luffa said.  "I'm healing up well enough, but that'll go out the window if one of you gets sluggish from malnourishment."

"Uh, Luffa?" Dotz said as she noticed a blinking light at her workstation.   "I'm new at this, but I'm pretty sure we're getting a priority communication.   It's from a Rear Admiral Barone.   Should I patch it through?"

"Finally," Luffa said.   "We haven't heard from any fleet commanders since we entered Federation territory.    I was starting to think they had all been killed in the initial attack."

The video was blurry, and the audio distorted, but Luffa could see and hear well enough to tell that it was not Admiral Barone.

"Marshal Booth," Luffa said.   "You've looked better."

"Luffa...." Booth said, though only some of his words managed to come through.   "...d to see... joined the party."

"I'm headed to your end of the front," Luff replied.    "Busting some Saiyan heads along the way.   What's your status?"

"Saiyans... kind of jamming device," Booth said.   "They know.... coordinate our defense... Doing everything they can... disrupt communications."

Luffa turned back to Zatte.   "How long would it take to rendezvous with him?"

Zatte checked her readouts before answering.    "Three hours," she said.   "Luffa, I'm showing other ships on the long range sensors.   Booth's going to have some company out there."

"Marshal!" Luffa called to him.   "What's your status?   How many ships are with you?"

"...had ten to start with.    My flagship destr... Saiyans first attacked.    Made it to... Barone's ship.   Only one left in the wing," Booth said.   There was a long pause of static, during which Booth's lips continued to move, and then: "Repeat: I'll be linking up with the Sixth Fleet.... three days."

"Dotz," Luffa said.   "Can you tell if those other ships are on our side?"

"I'm sorry," Dotz said.   "At this range all I've got are energy signatures.   It could be anybody."

"Booth!" Luffa shouted, though she knew raising her voice would do nothing to improve the clarity of their transmission.    "You've got possible hostiles converging on your position!   Can you defend yourself?"

"Oh, you noticed?" Booth said with a smile.    "We've been... draw them away from.... System.     Already Saiyans attacking the planet now, but... 're being contained.     The ships following me were sent to help them turn the tide, so we had to give...  better target.   I volunteered.     No one else around, after all."

"Marshal, that won't work!" Luffa shouted.    "There's too many of them!   Even if your ship's undamaged, they'd still pick you off, and they'll head right back to join their friends on the planet!    You'll be sacrificing yourself for nothing!"

"Don't count us out yet," Booth said.   "... few surprises in store for them--"

"It's no good!" Luffa shouted in to the communicator.  "I can't reach you in time!  You've got to pull out of there!"

There was no reply.  Only a brief segment of audio that might have been Booth's voice, but could have just as easily been static.  Zatte looked up from the communications console and shook her head.  

"There's no signal," she said.

Luffa slammed her fist down on the armrest of her chair, and the force was so great that it broke off.

"How long until Despye?" Luffa asked.

"Three hours," Zatte said.

"You said that before!" Luffa snapped.

"Two hours and fifty-one minutes," Zatte said.  "And thirty-four seconds, for all the difference it makes!"

"I'm going to the engine room," Luffa said.

"Luffa that won't do any good!" Zatte said.  

"Nothing! Will! Do! Any! Good!"  Luffa shouted.  

As Dotz listened to them argue, she began to feel very helpless.   Even if there was a way to save Booth, Dotz doubted that she would be able to contribute much to the effort.   Luffa had healed her mind from an attack by the same Saiyans she was currently warring against.   Dotz felt obligated to return Luffa's kindness somehow, but she was completely out of her element.  Dotz was a fortune-teller, not a soldier, and she had only done as well as she had on the bridge because the controls happened to be user-friendly.  

And so, rather than succumb to despair, Dotz fell back on her natural talents, and turned her thoughts inward.   There was a small crystal which hung from a simple necklace underneath her purple shawl.   Dotz focused on it, and meditated on its spiritual vibrations.   She asked for nothing, for this was not a prayer to a higher power, but an exploration of a different plane of existence.   On occasion, she sometimes found what she was looking for.   Very often, the results left more questions than answers, but she almost always came away with something, even if it was merely a renewed perspective.    

To her surprise, things became much clearer than she expected.   It was like tumblers falling into place on some incomprehensible combination lock.   Luffa had no discernible future, that much remained true, but she could see glimpses of destiny surrounding the Saiyan.    There was Zatte, and there was Doctor Topsas, and others she did not know, and... Booth.    She could sense his cynical opportunism, his longing for worldly power.  He would not achieve it, at least not yet.    There were triumphs ahead in his lifeline, though she could not tell if they were great enough to satisfy him...

And then she felt a hand on her shoulder, and Dotz found herself back in reality.

"Listen to me!" Zatte shouted back.  "If we push the engines, we'll only gain a few minutes at most, but we run the risk of breaking down before we get there!  We'd be stranded in interstellar space."

"Those people are going to die!" Luffa said.  She pointed to the viewscreen, though there was only the distorted star field ahead of them.  "The Saiyans aren't going to just stand around and wait for me to fight them.  They'll start sacking the planet, and then--!"

"Are you all right, Ms. Dotz?" Topsas asked.  

She looked to her left to see the arachnoid physician standing beside her.    She had seen premonitions of him before meeting him.    Those premonitions had frightened her at the time, for he looked very much like a monster to her.    But once she had met him, she had found him very gentle and unassuming, despite his penchant for sarcasm.

"I'm... yes, I'm fine, Doctor," she said.    "Just... just woolgathering, that's all."

But it was more than that.  She was certain that Marshal Booth was in no immediate danger, though she couldn't explain how he would survive.   Dotz wasn't sure if it was a good idea to say anything.    Luffa had enough to worry about, and Booth's personal safety didn't necessarily mean that the planet he was fighting for would be protected.  

"I know," Zatte said to Luffa  "A lot of people are going to suffer, but there's nothing we can do to stop it.  The best thing right now is to prepare for the worst.  I can contact commercial ships in the sector.  We can organize a relief operation to take over once you've cleared out the enemy."

"I... Okay, do it," Luffa said.  "And you'd better get in touch with the Federation Council while you're at it.  If Booth's dead, they'll need to appoint his successor."

"Good idea," Zatte said.  "Listen, I know it's tough for you to sit this out.  I don't like it either but-- Wait."

"What is it?" Luffa asked.

Zatte didn't answer right away, as she stared down at the console to make certain of the readouts that displayed on the screen.    "I'm getting reports in from Despye.  Booth is still alive.    He's winning!"

"How?" Luffa asked.  "He only had five ships."

"Not anymore," Zatte said.  "It looks like he's gotten some reinforcements."

"What reinforcements?" Luffa asked

*******

Two hours and fifty-one minutes later, Luffa got her answer from Booth in person.   She was not happy to hear it.    

"Saiyans?!" Luffa shouted.

"You seem surprised by this," Marshall Booth said.  In the ready room of his command ship, he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.  The look on his face was one of a man who was very pleased with himself.

"We're fighting the Saiyans, Booth!" Luffa groaned.  

"I'm aware of that," Booth said.  He casually pointed at Luffa's furry tail and added: "I'm also aware that we have one Saiyan fighting on our side.  Why should it shock you that I would enlist the help of others?"

"You can't trust them, Marshall!" Luffa protested.    The irony of this was delicious.   He wondered if this mutual loathing was a common trait among the Saiyan race.    It would explain their hostile tendencies.

"I don't need trust, Madam Federatrix," Booth replied.  "What I need is a defensive line broad enough to cover our border.  As strong as you are, you can't be everywhere at once.  Our Saiyan allies may not be as  strong as our Saiyan enemies, but they make up for it in numbers and starships.  They can at least defend Federation worlds long enough for you to arrive and relieve them."

She knew he was right, but that didn't stop her from pacing angrily around his ready room.    Normally, Booth never would have provoked Luffa so brazenly, but he had just survived a very intense battle.     His Saiyan allies had turned the tide, to be sure, but experience had taught him that victory could be even more dangerous than defeat.     Even now, he could hear the repair crews just outside, working tirelessly to put his bridge back together.   Maybe it was the adrenaline rush, but he couldn't resist taunting Luffa with his success.    You're not so indispensable after all, are you?   I won the day without you, even if I needed your cousins to do it.

"What's to stop them from pillaging the same worlds you want them to protect?!" Luffa demanded.  He wondered if it had actually taken her this long to think of that point.   He had asked himself this question from the moment the Saiyans offered to help.  

"Self-preservation," Booth said.  "The Federation may need their help, but we're far from helpless.  If we have to fight them, we certainly can.  Given the choice, I'd prefer to fight the Saiyans who aren't empowered by this cult."

"This is a mistake, Marshall," Luffa grumbled.   "These Saiyans you've called in, they will betray you.  It's only a matter of time."

"The why don't you speak with their leader?" Booth asked.  "I was going to meet with their flagship soon anyway.  You may as well join us.   I haven't been aboard your ship in years.    Maybe you'd like to have us over for dinner."

"Fine," Luffa said.    "You look like you could use a decent meal, anyway, Marshall."

He smiled.   Booth would have preferred to let the Saiyans deal with each other without putting himself between them, but it couldn't be helped.    At least they would behave a little better with some food in front of them.

*******

[2 March 233 Before Age.   Despye.]

"Are we under-dressed?"  Zatte asked.   "I feel like we're under-dressed for this."

"Well we're not," Luffa grumbled as they stood at the open entranceway of their star-yacht.    Luffa was dressed in her usual black sleeveless shirt and baggy yellow pants.   She had changed her bandages this morning, but this was the only modification she had made to her attire.   As for Zatte, she was still wearing the grey leggings and white T-shirt she had been wearing for most of the day.    

"I mean, this is a diplomatic visit, right?" Zatte said.   "I know they're Saiyans, and they don't have much use for protocol, but they did help us out.   I feel like we should show some respect--"

"I'm making them a pot roast," Luffa said.   "That's more than they deserve.    Would you let go of my arm?"

Zatte backed away from her.   "Sorry.   Listen, if you'd rather not have me around for this, I totally understand.    I'd prefer to stay out of sight anyway--"

"You're here," Luffa said, "because I want you where I can see you.    You're not going anywhere near my kitchen while I'm messing with these fools."

"You're kidding," Zatte said.    

"I don't joke when it comes to pot roast," Luffa said.   "You should know that by now."

"I burned one sandwich..." Zatte groaned.    

"Quiet," Luffa muttered.  

Marshall Booth had arrived at the docking bay, and walked up the ramp leading into the ship.    "Madam Federatrix," he said.    

"Marshall," Luffa replied.   "Where's the Saiyan?"

"On her way," Booth said.     He stood on the deck and clasped his hands behind his back.    As he rocked back and forth on his heels, he glanced around, as though admiring the ship's interior.    "Will your... companion... be joining us?"

Zatte's species was secretive by nature, preferring to share little with outsiders unless needed.     As such, she had never been formally introduced to Booth, by name, or as Luffa's wife.   The women saw no reason to change that policy now, in spite of the awkwardness it created.    

"I made plenty for everyone," Luffa said brusquely.    

"Splendid," Booth said.   "Ah, I think that's her now."  

Zatte craned her head to get a better look through the entrance of the ship.    When she finally spotted the Saiyan, she asked "That's who you've been dealing with?   She's just a kid!"

Luffa watched the teenage Saiyan walk up the entrance ramp.   There was some polish to the way she moved, as though the girl were planning to run for office some day.   Her blue uniform lent her an air of gravitas, but she couldn't quite shake off the appearance of a child.    The bright pink dye she wore in her hair didn't help matters, nor did the wad of gum she was chewing.    As she entered the ship, she couldn't help but look around in every direction, taking it all in with wide-eyed fascination.   At last, she looked at Luffa and asked: "Permission to come aboard, Madam Federatrix?"

"Who the hell are you?" Luffa asked.  

"Wow, rude," the girl said.  "That's okay, I can drop the pleasantries.    I'm Seltiss, daughter of King Rehval III.    Princess of the Saiyans."  

NEXT: The Absalom Effect

[thesarcasticramen]

PROOF THAT TONY STARK HAS A HEART: IRONDAD EDITION

*inhales deeply* i don’t even know why i need to discuss this but here we go.

here are the basics that most of us are probably well-aware of now. the irondad and spiderson thing originated when tony stark recruits peter parker in captain america: civil war which also marks the second appearance of the latter since iron man 2.

setting aside the obvious liking i’ve taken to this relationship, i admit, tony’s recruitment with a (possibly then) fourteen-year old kid in a fight with highly-trained super-powered individuals in berlin without the knowledge of his legal guardian about the real matter—yes, we know she wouldn’t have let him because she’s an incredible mother to peter—because he blackmailed him into doing so is problematic. tony threatened the boy of disclosing his part-time vigilantism if he doesn’t reconsider his rejection of fighting alongside him. moreover, peter, as he had told steve during their duel and in the opening vlog of homecoming, wasn’t even in the know about the accords. it was a lapse of judgment on tony’s side that he didn’t shed some light on the conflict before dragging him into it. sure, peter has had his spidey powers then and tony wouldn’t have let something harmful befall on the teen on his watch and he knew that the other team isn’t really out for blood, but frankly, that wasn’t really one of tony’s best moments.

one detail we’ve all taken into account, aside from the fact that he already knows spider-man’s identity, is the suit tony had prepared for peter. tony stark is a genius, that is a universally-acknowledged truth, but even he took way more than several hours to create his own suit, design its features and run tests. this proves that tony stark had already been monitoring spider-man before civil war even took place, going out of his way to study the workings of the vigilante and upgrading his armor for more convenience, efficiency, and safety. after the fight, he relinquishes millions-worth of property to peter’s hands not just because it barely even scraped tony’s fortune, but to keep him safe and under his watch. the mentorship was bound to happen right from the start, tony has just been waiting for the right moment.

on spiderman: homecoming, peter receives radio silence from tony for the months that followed the events of civil war. peter is seen to be struggling to contain the excitement of participating in bigger things like the walmart parking lot fight instead of his usual fix of small crimes in queens and the disappointment of still not hearing a word from tony. people viewed this as another issue as tony left peter to fend for himself after using him to do his bidding. as a mentor should, it would’ve been better if tony did become more of a recurring presence in peter’s life and gave him actual lessons and training rather than just swooping in when the boy is on the brink of danger.

however, we see all kinds of features tony has put in the suit for the kid, as a fruit of all his past mistakes that he learned from. a parachute, a tracker, a heater—all of these things make peter extra protected. don’t even get me started on the training wheels protocol, the baby monitor protocol, and karen. of course, spider-man can do without all of those things (which i will be explaining later on, stay with me) but tony is doing his best to let peter spread his wings but not fly too close to the sun. “stay close to the ground” and “be a friendly-neighborhood spider-man” weren’t restrictions on peter, they were encouragement that looking out for the little guy matter as much as what the avengers do and those are going to help him work his way up and grow into a much wiser superhero.

“it’s not too early to start thinking about college”is also an important part of the aftermath of getting dunked in a lake. tony stressed on the significance of education, as any parent would, and even offered to pull on some strings and give a good word out for him. he knows peter is a genius and had so much potential so he wanted to make it flourish and not let it go to waste for the benefit of the boy and possibly of the world he’s going to change someday.

tidbits that are equally essential: tony makes sure peter is also under happy’s surveillance. tony knows about the churro lady and that he quit the band, he either reviews the reports that happy forwards to him or listens to happy rant about peter. either way, he cares enough to pay attention and remember that sort of information.

howard stark wasn’t “father of the year”. despite growing up with such a detached dad, tony didn’t want to end up treating peter, who wasn’t biologically his, by the way—i get that blood of the covenant is thicker than the water in the womb but it’s to give emphasis that tony cared for peter by choice—the same way howard treated him. he was “breaking the cycle of shame” by validating and praising peter’s achievements because he knew how it felt but just crave for that from the one person you want to hear it from.

in an excerpt from destiny arrives by liza palmer, the official paperback version of infinity war, peter had wanted tony’s approval since day one and that explains his reckless attempts of proving himself by going against tony’s warnings. what he fails to notice is, tony had been validating him since iron man 2. “nice work kid.” “you did a good job, stay down.” “great work in dc.”

now let’s get to the big yikes scene. first of all, tony stark was offended to think that peter thought he didn’t care. if stepping out of that suit (being actually there) looking pissed doesn’t already show that, then i don’t know what else would. see, he didn’t take the suit just because peter screwed the pooch and he thinks he is not capable of using it intelligently, he took the suit to teach him a lesson about responsibility. tony was once reliant on his iron man suits that he lost sight of how to stand up on his own two feet and he didn’t want peter to end up being the same. “if you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t have it.” tony wanted peter to learn that being a superhero is more than having a suit, it’s about the choices, the path, the actions, and the person, himself.

the “i was just trying to be like you.” “and i wanted you to be better.” dialogue made me draw a conclusion (this is just my personal opinion), the possible story behind the radio silence was because tony was scared peter would end up following his footsteps. he wanted peter to navigate super heroism on his own, with only the slightest guidance, to be able to figure out who he really was and to learn on how to build his own character and not replicate iron man and his failures. tony wanted peter to be peter, spider-man to be spider-man, because that’s what he needs to be and what he believes to be what the world and peter deserved to be, better. it’s why he set the parameters to the gray area: avoiding the things he would and wouldn’t do.

if people thought tony stopped peter from being spider-man by taking the suit away, wrong. peter chose that because he needed the time to rethink. in the end, he managed to push himself back up and be the bigger person, the hero. remember that scene wherein he can’t get out from under all those rubble and he almost gave up because he believed that he would never? recalling tony’s words made him reach an epiphany that his strength indeed does not come from his suit, but from himself. he was spider-man even before, with, our without the suit. and that, by the end of the day, is what all he needed to realize in order to triumph.

another issue i frown at is tony’s recruitment of peter to be one of the avengers at the end of homecoming. peter is still a kid after all and letting him be exposed to the media and to more accountability and bigger threats is just a no-no for me. thank goodness, peter turned that down, thinking it was a test. test or not, tony is proud of peter’s decision because it shows how much the kid has matured and actually listened to his concerns.

TOUGH LOVE, these words were uttered by tony stark, himself so need i really say more?

in the beginning of infinity war, tony was initiating the talk of having kids with pepper, a huge development that could possibly be influenced by the amount of peter parker he had become accustomed to. tony and peter’s relationship is seen to have evolved more. their dynamic and coordination is like that of a well-oiled machine. in the scene where peter was getting beamed up, we were introduced to the ironspider suit but he was sent home by tony. peter, however, still managed to hitch the ride to space.

“speaking of loyalty.” - peter parker to tony stark in avengers infinity war (2018). you mean, loyalty and worry? to say that tony was terrified to see peter aboard is the understatement of the century. tony pretty much lost his mind, not wanting to be the reason or the one responsible for peter not coming home to his aunt, just as he was scared when peter went down in the airport and in the ferry incident. tony didn’t have a single good memory in outer space and he certainly can’t put peter through the same thing. he didn’t want another loved one to be at risk all because of him and his conscience and heart absolutely cannot take that. but as much as it’s hard for him to accept it, tony didn’t have much of a choice but to knight peter as an avenger.

“what’s your plan?” tony put so much faith in peter’s wit, skills, and capabilities even back in civil war when they took down ant man and when he enlisted his help albeit everybody saying he was crazy to and he continues to do so when he entrusted the plan of freeing strange to peter and when he called for him during the removal of thanos’ gauntlet. again, belief and validation means a lot to a protege.

“what is he, your ward?” even stephen points out the obvious bond between the two.

“you shoot my guy and i’ll blast him. let’s go!”one of tony’s major priorities in the movie is protecting peter. according to accounts that have purchased destiny arrives, tony was depicted to have been going through an existential crisis throughout the whole endeavor over the possibility of losing peter, gnawing at his gut, coming into terms with how pepper always felt when he did something wherein he would only have a fifty-fifty chance of survival. he was also coming into terms with how much he cares for the boy.

i’m not going to delve deeper into THAT scene, and instead, present to you another excerpt from destiny arrives:

there is a reason why marvel repeatedly accentuates that the irondad and spiderson arc is a vital aspect of the emotional core of infinity war and endgame. in the new and latest teaser for endgame, tony is shown to be mournfully looking at a framed photo he had with peter, meaning that the two have spent time together beyond the scenes that we see them in and in the gap between movies. having kept that picture already speaks volumes about how much peter meant to tony. it was serving to be his reminder of what he was fighting for, not just to avenge the world, but for peter. that face is a face of a man who lost family.

and when i say “repeatedly”…

jeremy conrad’s tweet:

in a panel with the russo’s, a fan asked about what was going through tony’s mind when peter disintegrated before him, they answered, “like losing a child.”

robert downey jr.’s interview wherein his take on his character’s relationship with tom holland’s is “an attempt at modern parenting.”

…i mean, repeatedly. IRONDAD IS CANON.

before you all clamor about the lack of may parker in this post, i’d like to clarify that i absolutely adore that woman. there is no competition when it comes to being the most incredible parent and mother to peter. the love she has for her nephew cannot be measured and she raised him with all she had despite losing all who can support her in doing so. she deserves as much recognition and admiration as tony does. nonetheless, that doesn’t mean she can’t accept a little help from time to time especially in the spider-man department. richard and ben parker will always be peter’s dads, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have another father figure to look up to.

tony is not a perfect father figure. he has had his fair share of messing up trying to be and he probably thinks peter deserves someone better to fill in the role. but one thing is for sure, he loves peter and he’s doing everything in his power to be the best one he can be and the one that peter needs.

so to all those who put on a blind eye and deny that this relationship doesn’t exist, 

let it sink in that tony stark had become more of a hero to peter parker 

than he was in the suit.

iron man wasn't the one who believed in him

it was the man with the heart.

thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[calligraphist-artemisia]

Reunion

Summary: Shiro’s reunion with Adam doesn’t go at all how he expected.

Also on AO3 and fanfiction.net

I wanted to write something cute between these two before Season 7 arrives and breaks my heart into ten-thousand pieces. No, I haven’t watched any part of episode 1. In fact, I’ve been trying to avoid all spoilers. Yes, I realize writing this is probably going to ruin that attempt.

Basically, everything I put in here is based on what I’ve seen from the trailer and from what brief little bit I know of Shiro and Adam’s relationship. (Which is almost nothing.)

I’ll say it now; the bonus section is silly and probably mildly-out-of-character for everyone.

Reunion

There was only one person on Shiro's mind when they got back to Earth. It only intensified when they learned that Sendak's forces had arrived ahead of them, terrorizing the threatening the human population in their absence. The knowledge that the Galaxy Garrison had opened its door as a shelter and that similar shelters had been opened across the planet, gave him only a small measure of relief.

He had so many other things he needed to worry about. So many other things that needed to be done, if they were going to beat back Sendak. He and the other paladins, with their expertise in fighting the Galra and knowledge of alien tech, were more useful working with Iverson and the other commanding officers of the Garrison. And he knew that, but still...

Shiro tried to cast a fifth inconspicuous look around in an attempt to find him. When he returned to the conversation, Sam Holt gave him a knowing look.

“Go find him, Shiro,” he said. “You won't have any peace until you do.”

Shiro blushed at how transparent his desires apparently were, at least to Sam, but he had a good point. He honestly couldn't remember half of what they were talking about, and his exhaustion was only part to blame. He looked to the other paladins, taking in the way Lance was leaning heavily against Hunk, who'd spent the past ten minutes drifting off to sleep, only to jerk back away. Pidge was swaying on her feet and Shiro would worry about her falling over if it weren't for the fact that Keith was next to her, keeping a sleepy but wary eye on her. Allura kept fidgeting with her hands in a desperate attempt to stay away and keep focused. Even Coran and Krolia were struggling, and poor Romelle, so determined to stay alert, looked as though she was about to drop.

“Alright team, get some rest. We'll pick this up again in a few hours,” Shiro told them.

“What about you?” Keith asked.

“There's something I have to do first. I won't be long,” Shiro promised.

Keith looked like he wanted to argue more, but kept his mouth shut and nodded. Shiro suspected if he took longer than fifteen minutes, Keith would personally hunt him down and drag him back to where they were sleeping.

After a quick word with Sam, he set off, making his way through the crowd.

Before Kerberos, people would stop and stare because he was The Takashi Shirogane, ace pilot, and poster child of the Galaxy Garrison. They stared because of the respect he commanded and the awe he inspired.

With his return, they stared at a broken man; a ghost of who he once was in more than just appearance.

Shiro ignored them all and focused on his goal.

He needed to see for himself that Adam was okay. It didn't matter how things ended between them. It didn't matter if Adam turned him away. What did matter was seeing him alive and unharmed.

Shiro could only stop and watch him, caught off-guard by the sudden rush of emotions that hit him when he saw Adam again for the first time in two years. He was talking to a group of cadets, paying no attention to anything else around him, which gave Shiro ample time to regain control. He'd seen all he needed, but something held him there, rooted to that spot.

And then Adam looked over. Absolute disbelief colored his face, his eyes going wide as he hurriedly began pushing his way through the crowd with a growing desperation. He stopped just before Shiro, taking a moment to look at him.

“Takashi?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Shiro smiled sadly back. “Hey, Adam.”

Adam sobbed and took Shiro completely by surprise when he threw his arms around him, holding him tight and close. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! I wished I could have taken it back the moment you left. I never should have said those things to you. I never should have made you feel like you had to choose. I'm so sorry!”

Shiro could only hold onto him with his remaining arm, stifling his own tears into Adam's shoulder. “You're still here,” he mumbled, barely managing to get the words out.

Adam shuddered as he dragged in a breath and drew back slightly to get a better look at Shiro's face. He reached up to caress along his jawline and trace a finger across the scar on the bridge of his nose, as if trying to reassure himself that he wasn't imagining him; Shiro really was there, alive, in front of him.

“I'm not going anywhere, Takashi. I love you.”

Shiro closed his eyes. It was so much more than he expected. So much more than he deserved. He opened his eyes again, gazing at the face of the man he still loved with all of his heart. “Marry me?”

Seconds stretched on as Adam stared up at him with wide eyes, his lips slightly parted in surprise. “I...” His voice broke, but he pressed on. “No fair. That's no fair, Takashi. I had this whole plan. This whole, stupid proposal planned out and here you are, asking before I can get the chance to,” Adam said. A tiny, hysterical laugh bubbled up, but he was smiling, his eyes glistening with fresh tears.

Shiro could hardly believe what he was hearing. “You had a plan?”

“I did. It was a week after you left. I had this whole vision of what I'd do when you came back. How I'd go to the Garrison to see you land and be one of the first to welcome you home. Then I'd get down on one knee and... and ask you to marry me.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Shiro whispered. “Much better than mine. I'm sorry I ruined it.”

Adam shook his head. “You haven't ruined anything. You came home to me, even after everything I said. I don't deserve you.”

Shiro's heart twisted in his chest at Adam's words. It would be so easy to respond the same – to start a back-and-forth of who was less deserving of the other. (After all, Shiro had left first when he chose the Kerberos mission over Adam.) But he didn't want that. He had to believe that they were equally deserving of each other, or else what was the point?

“We both deserve this. This is our second chance and I'm going to take it. I just need to know that you feel the same.”

“Yes,” Adam said without hesitation. He raised up on tiptoe, sliding his hand to the back of Shiro's neck, guiding him in for a long, overdue kiss. When they both pulled away, breathless, Adam playfully ran his fingers through Shiro's short hair.

“So, uh, about your new look...”

“What, you don't like the hair? I think it makes me look distinguished,” Shiro joked.

“Ha,” Adam said dryly. “As your fiance, I think I'm going to have to insist that you dye it. Everyone's going to think I'm in love with an old man.”

Fiance.

Shiro couldn't stop a grin from breaking out across his face at the word. Pure elation swelled in his chest and he couldn't help but swoop in for another kiss. And then another. And another. Until Adam was laughing from the number of kisses being planted all over his face.

Somewhere between them all, Shiro managed to whisper: “I love you.”

BONUS

“Hi, I'm Adam. Shiro's fiance.”

Lance spat out the food goo he was eating, eliciting a disgruntled glare from Hunk, who was both disgusted by his friend's lack of manners and the waste of their precious food supplies. Pidge looked between Shiro and Adam with mild surprise, ignoring whatever was happening next to her. Allura and Coran looked excited by the news, while Krolia and Romelle appeared curious. And Keith...

“Well it's about time,” Keith said, staring at Adam, who shook his head and pointed to Shiro. “Seriously? You two are a disaster.”

“Keith,” Shiro chastised, though he sounded too amused for it to be effective. He paused as a thought occurred to him and he frowned at the current Black Paladin. “Wait, why did you think it was Adam who proposed?”

“Because I helped pick out the rings.”

It was Shiro's turn to be surprised as he turned to face Adam. “You got us rings?”

Adam nodded. “Well, I did say my plan was to propose to you the moment you got back. Most people do that with a ring.”

“Shiro, you proposed without getting him a ring? What kind of example are you trying to set for the rest of us?” Pidge teased, too amused to sound properly (albeit fakely) scandalized by the whole thing.

Shiro buried his face in his remaining hand in sheer embarrassment. “It was spur of the moment, okay?”

“Now, now. Leave Shiro alone,” Allura said, coming to his rescue. “I'm sure it was all very romantic and Adam doesn't seem upset. So how did you ask? Give us all of the the details!”

Adam tried not to laugh at Shiro's misery at the line of questioning, but failed. “Oh yes, it was very romantic. I told him I loved him and his response was 'marry me?'”

There was a momentary uproar as Pidge and Keith couldn't contain their laughter. Lance was quick to get over his temporary confusion and had moved on to bemoaning their leader's apparent lack of romance skills.

“Awww,” Hunk cooed.

Which was followed by a brief silence and an unexpected “Hunk, what the fuck?” from Pidge. And then the noise resumed, with Lance calling out Pidge for her foul mouth while Hunk argued his defense.

Adam pressed a quick kiss to Shiro's cheek. “Don't worry, babe. We'll get the rings and have a better proposal story before we tell our parents.”

[nessnessquik]

The Nanny - Chapter 3

I can't apologize enough for the amount of time it's taken me to write more for this story. Please know that I do intend to continue writing for it though! 

The support for this story has truly been overwhelming. Thank you, thank you!! I'm so grateful for all your comments and kudos! =) And huge THANK YOU to @katrinacornwells, who continually encourages me. I love you so much!

Also, here's to hoping for some good Philinda moments in this next episode!!

Also on AO3.

Phil flipped on the lights in his apartment before shutting and locking the door behind him. He made his way through his tiny kitchen, grabbing an orange as he went. He’d been awake since 4am to get some hours in at the bakery before hurrying back to his apartment, showering, and leaving to meet Dr. May. Melinda. His thoughts drifted to their  afternoon together. She was a captivating woman, that Dr. May.

He was about to settle down and watch some Food Network when the music to “The Star Spangled Man With A Plan”  broke through his cloud of exhaustion. He picked up his phone and answered it to stop the ringing.

“Hello?”

“Phil! How did the meeting go?” Tony’s voice filled his ear. “Ol’ grim-faced May didn’t scare you away, did she?”

Phil thought about the soft look on May’s face when she described her daughter, and the one time he’d made her laugh. “She was nice. Maybe she’s only ‘grim’ around you.”

“Nah, that can’t be it. Mel thinks I’m great. But that is interesting, because she usually hates meeting new people and–Pepper, no, I’m talking to Phil…" Phil heard rustling noises, like Tony was moving quickly. “Well someone’s gotta warn him about May. Aw, come on, Pep! I’m just telling him-”

Phil shook his head in amusement and tuned out their argument. Naturally, Pepper eventually got the upper hand (with some threat no doubt, Phil mused) and, in her usual chipper voice, demanded he tell her everything.

“I thought the talk went well. I may have rambled a bit. They had this amazing quiche that I managed to get the recipe to! Definitely going to try that soon. I couldn’t figure out why I liked it so much, but then then Sif’s cook told me they used-”

“Phil. Focus.” Pepper interrupted him. “What did you think about May? ”

“Uh, shouldn’t you care what I think about Daisy more?” Phil replied, eyebrows drawing together.

“Of course, but you met May first. Let’s go in order.”

Phil sighed, but gave in to Pepper’s insistence. “She’s…” He paused and thought about the woman that had captured his attention so effortlessly. He’d known what she looked like before meeting her, thanks to the pictures Pepper had shown him, but they didn’t do her justice. She was stunning. And, despite her seemingly solemn air, every once in a while he would catch a glimpse of something intriguing in her dark eyes. Maybe it was interest? Or something more like mischief? Humor? He wasn’t able to decipher it before it disappeared behind a polite mask. The spark made him want to learn more about her, and he remembered his disappointment when she didn’t share anything about herself.

Phil cleared his throat, realizing he’d kept Pepper waiting. “She’s a good interrogator.” He grimaced as he recalled the intense gaze that had caused him to babble even more than usual.

Pepper huffed through the phone. “That’s all? ”

“Well, she was pleasant enough to talk to, even though she’s not very open about herself. And Daisy is just as cute as can be. I’ll have to work to keep up with her though.” Phil hoped she would accept the switch in topics and move on. He didn’t want to admit to himself how fascinated he was by Dr. May. Not if she was going to become his employer. In his (albeit limited) experience, acknowledging any attraction in that kind of a relationship would just be asking for trouble. It would be better to be professional, ignore it, and focus on Daisy, Phil was convinced.

“May said to come to the house early on Monday and she’ll show me around. Then I’ll pick up Daisy from school later and watch her until May gets back from the hospital.” He finished.

“Great! I really think you’ll fit right in with them, Phil.” Pepper sounded happy. “And I’ll want to hear all about the first day, so don’t you forget to call me."

Phil chuckled tiredly. “I’ll try. Thanks, Pepper.”

“You’re welcome. Have a good night."

“You too.” Phil hung up and leaned his head back against his couch, closing his eyes with a sigh.

His mind wandered back to the afternoon at The Tower—the gym Tony owned. May had asked him to meet her there after she picked up Daisy from school, which he happily agreed to. The four-year-old had been very energetic when they arrived, especially after being cooped up at school all morning. But she had shown a little interest in him when May first introduced them in the lobby of the huge building.

“You’re a babysitter?” She asked, a mixture of doubt and suspicion on her face as she looked up at him.

Phil bit back a smile at the adorable look of distrust she was giving him. He wanted her to know he would take her seriously, even if she was cute as a button. He squatted down to her level. “Well, sort of.” Phil decided to be frank with the girl. Children could see through lies more easily than some adults could, he’d learned over the years. “I’ve babysat a lot of kids, but I mainly work as a baker.”

At that, her brown eyes lit up, causing Phil to grin back without thinking. “You mean you know how to make cakes and cookies?”

Phil laughed. “Yeah, lots of other things too.”

“Cool!”

After their exchange, Jemma and Peggy came out from the back office to meet them and Daisy ran off to play with her friend. Peggy and Phil chatted for a bit before she excused herself to see to another matter. Although Tony owned the gym, Peggy, along with Maria Hill, were the ones who ran it. Without the children or Peggy, Phil and May were left alone again. Phil stood there a bit awkwardly before May brought up the possibility of him watching Daisy for her.

“It would still be a trial, just to make sure this is a good fit, but…how about starting as soon as Monday?”

Phil smiled reassuringly at her, sensing her hesitation and caution. “Absolutely. I’ve already mentioned the possibility to my boss at the shop. He’s not very happy about it, but he still needs me, no matter how few hours I’m able to work.”

May nodded, and Phil could see some relief on her face. “Till Monday then.” She reached out her hand and he took it, shaking it to seal the deal.

If he also took note of how nice her hand felt in his (strong, yet soft), that was neither here nor there.

A loud knock startled Phil from his daydreaming.

“Phil, it’s me.” Garrett’s voice came from the other side of the door as he knocked again.

Phil winced and, not for the first time, wondered why he ever decided that getting an apartment in the same complex as his friend and boss was a good idea. He’d known John Garrett since they were young, but something had changed over the years—and not for the better. Since Phil started working at the bakery Garrett owned, he’d begun questioning if he was really a man he wanted to continue claiming as a friend or not.

In spite of his negative feelings, Garrett was still one of his employers and it wouldn’t be a good idea to get on his bad side.

“Took you long enough.” Garrett snarked playfully when the door opened. “Getting harder to get those old muscles moving, huh?”

“You would know, with you being 2 years older and all.” Phil replied dryly.

Garrett scoffed with a grin. “I just came to check and make sure I’d have you working all day at the shop tomorrow. No snotty-nosed germ-carriers you’ve gotta abandon me for then?”

Phil chose to ignore his passive aggressive question. “I’ll be at the shop.” He confirmed.

“Good. We’ve got a big order for 9am pickup, so I’ll need you at 4:00 sharp.” Garrett clapped him on the shoulder before turning to leave. “Better get your beauty sleep while you can. Can’t have you scaring away the customers.” He called behind him.

Phil shut the door and made his way to his bedroom, already feeling the weariness settle on top of his shoulders.

May’s house was beautiful, Phil noticed as soon as he pulled into the driveway early Monday morning.

The house sat on a tall incline, and the front yard was green and freshly mowed. Its walls were painted white while all the accents were a dark, wooden brown. The cozy covered porch he stepped into as he walked up the front steps contained two wooden chairs and a porch swing, and was probably perfect for watching the sunset. The main characteristic that struck Phil was the simplicity of it. It was definitely larger than the average house, and looked very well-kept, but it wasn’t…excessive or elaborate. May was a specialist, and a very good one, according to Natasha and Pepper. She could probably afford an entire mansion if she wanted it. But perhaps he was just used to the overly-lavish, expensive look of Tony’s home.

As Phil knocked on the door, he had to admit he thought the elegance and style of the home was very pleasing, and he was even more intrigued by the owner than before.

The door opened after a moment, “You’re early.” were May’s first words.

“Oh, yes, sorry. It’s a tendency I have…” Phil rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying not to stare at May in her dark purple scrubs. “But,” He stuck out his other hand toward her to show off the brown paper bag he’d brought with him from the bakery. “I did bring muffins! I, uh, hope you two like blueberry though.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on May’s lips as she took the bag from his outstretched hand. “There are worse habits to have. And who doesn’t like blueberry?” Phil looked relieved as she tilted her head in a gesture for him to follow her through the house.

Despite Phil sensing that May herself was a fairly organized person, there was still a four-year-old living in the house, and the very first room Phil was introduced to made that rather obvious.

“That’s the library in there, which mainly acts as Daisy’s playroom now, as you can see,” May nodded at the French doors on the right as soon as they walked in. Through the glass Phil could see open toy bins, dolls, and books scattered across the carpet, as well as an upright, plastic easel with a half finished drawing still attached to it and a spilled crayon box on the ground.

Phil sent a charming smile to May. “Multi-purpose rooms are the best.”

The side of her mouth lifted slightly at that. After taking another couple steps forward, May pointed out the living room and dining room on the left, the latter containing an open archway that led to the kitchen. Before taking him in there, however, she walked him straight ahead and showed him a long hallway that contained several doors.

“The first one here is my bedroom,” May indicated the closed door on the left side of the hallway. “The second is the guest bathroom, the last one is Daisy’s room. The door at the very end of the hallway leads to the garage, and the one door on the right side leads to the basement floor.” May rattled off quickly, as if giving out orders. Phil nodded and tried to commit them all to memory.

He had to admit, the house was larger than he originally thought only a minute ago.

“Basement floor?” Phil questioned as May lead him back to the kitchen.

“Yes. This house used to be my parents. They built the bottom floor for me for…after I finished my residency.”

Phil noticed the hesitation in her voice, but didn’t pry, and instead chose to smile at the girl impatiently sitting at the breakfast table. She sat up immediately when they entered.

“Hi, Daisy. Remember me?”

“You’re the baker babysitter!”

Phil chuckled and glanced at May, seeing her shake her head affectionately.

“His name is Mr. Coulson, Daisy. Or Mr. Phil?” She looked at Phil with her question.

“Either is fine,” Phil nodded. “I’ve been called worse.” He thought he saw May’s lips quirk up again briefly before she turned away to add one of the blueberry muffins and what looked to be a peanut butter and jelly sandwich into Daisy’s lunch box.

“Does that mean we could make some cookies today?” Daisy asked after taking a bite of her cereal. Lucky Charms, Phil noted. “I made sugar cookies at school before.”

“Sure thing, Daisy. That sounds fun! When I pick you up from school, we can swing by the store and pick up a few groceries for my famous chocolate chip cookies.” Phil grinned at Daisy’s “Yay!" of excitement.

He looked around the spacious, black and white kitchen to see what May could have eaten for breakfast, but the sink was empty and all he saw was a forgotten coffee mug on the island. That wouldn’t do. The best way to start the day is with a good breakfast, his mom always told him. Phil vowed right then and there to make sure Daisy and May had a hearty, home-cooked breakfast whenever he was here.

“Just keep those receipts and I’ll reimburse you for it.” May spoke to Phil, her voice didn’t leave any room for arguing. “Daisy, go find your backpack and shoes while I finish speaking to Mr. Coulson.”

Daisy hopped up and started to run out of the room.

“Daisy.” May spoke without so much as glancing her daughter’s way.

The little girl settled for skipping the rest of the way out the room, much to Phil’s amusement.

“Here's the key for the front door.” Phil took the silver house key and put it in his pocket, while May continued without pause. “I made a few more notes about things you may need to know and left it on the fridge, as well as the hospital’s phone number in case you can’t reach me on my phone. You can also call Peggy with any questions. There’s an SUV in the garage that you’ll use when taking Daisy anywhere. It already has her car seat in it. Car keys are next to the door. I trust you'll drive carefully in it.”

Phil began to assure her of his caution and vigilance, but she cut him off and started ushering him back towards the front door. “You can familiarize yourself with the house more later, I’m running a bit behind today.”

“Oh, I completely understand. Thank you, Dr. May. I will–”

“One last thing,” May interrupted again, glancing behind her as if to check that Daisy was out of earshot. She stepped close to him. Phil swallowed at her sudden proximity, as well as the the cold stare she fixed on him. All at once he knew exactly what Tony was trying to warn him about. Petite and beautiful as she was, he was 100% convinced that this look from Melinda May could bring the most deadly assassin to their knees.

She spoke slowly and carefully, voice low. “If you do anything that could even potentially hurt my daughter at any moment, I will find out, and I promise I will make you regret it for the rest of your life. Understood?”

Phil felt like he couldn’t breathe for a solid moment, but shook himself and nodded vigorously. “I-I’ll take the very best care of her, I promise.” He stammered nervously.

May nodded once and slowly stepped back. “I’m looking forward to hearing all about your day. See you later tonight, Mr. Coulson.” She smiled at him politely before swinging  the door shut.

Phil blinked at the front door, unable to remember when he had physically stepped outside of the house. As he took in a deep breath and made his way back to his car, he couldn’t help but wonder if he knew exactly what he was getting into, and if he was prepared for it or not.

Despite his stunned thoughts, a small grin began to grow on his face as he drove. He’d rarely seen a woman so direct and fiercely protective of their child before. And he had definitely never been threatened so convincingly by anyone. He was certain she meant every word she said, unlike the complaints and empty threats he received from time to time as a high school teacher. It was fascinating, admirable, and more than a little bit frightening.

And it really brought a whole new level to the term “Mama Bear.”

Terrifying or not, Dr. May and her daughter had complete hold over his attention, and he was absolutely eager to embrace this new challenge they presented.

Even though it seemed like a very reasonable idea to attempt to prepare himself for being scared out of his wits the majority of the time.

[owlsshadows]

Purpose (AnS, Kiki x Izana) Chapter 3 Update!

Linking doesn’t work so: READ ON AO3 OR READ MORE HERE:

They say he is strict, some even calls him a rule-freak, yet Marquis Haruka can still surprise Izana every now and then with something unconventional. One of these things he could never understand – the biggest of all the Marquis’ mysteries after all – is how he made a thief kid found on his premises, with a lethal wound nonetheless, his right hand man.

The man who currently goes by the mononym Obi has been the subject of Izana’s curiosity since the very first time Haruka took him along to the castle.

Then, the Marquis tried to use him as to dissuade the bird girl from pursuing her relationship with Zen – and while the man turned out to be an absolutely impeccable creeper, his tricks and threats backfired, fueling the girl’s determination, therefore inadvertently he was also the catalyzer for the biggest romance scandal in the history of the Wisteria clan; for which Izana could still not forgive him.

If he killed the girl as any other assassin would have, Izana would not be in such a desperate position.

Not that Izana would ever support such crude solutions.

Not openly, at least.

Since that very first time Izana caught him in the crown of a tree, the king has spent a considerable amount of time and money to discover the past of him – but all he ever found was lies and aliases. Obi has visited the royal castle many times, always accompanying Haruka like an old black cat, and every time Izana finds him more and more confusing; every offhanded comment of his a mystery.

He has knowledge on how to read maps and affinity to understand strategies, but no lexical knowledge on any of the great strategists.

He knows how to play chess, but calls the pieces on made-up names.

He has the manners to convincingly act the role of a footman, a priest, a knight, once he even impersonated a young pharmacist when a foreign scientist was not willing to listen to Ryuu, the child prodigy of the castle – yet he dares to lean leisurely against the doorframe of the king's waiting room, nonchalantly picking his nose while his lord awaits his audience with the king.

Izana decides to ignore him for now, calling for his master and closing the door in front of his face.

“If you don’t mind, I have something to discuss that… can’t have an audience,” Izana says instead of a greeting.

“I understand.”

“This is regarding my upcoming royal visit to Tanbarun.”

Haruka nods, waiting for orders.

“As you know,” Izana starts, gathering his thoughts on the go, “with my brother giving up his royal status to marry his lover, I currently have no legal heir.”

“I feel partially responsible for that,” the lord bows, but Izana signals him to raise.

“I didn’t call for you to hold you accountable, I have a favor to ask. My mother will move to Wistal for the duration of my visit. However, I need someone to bring my brother back in case something happens to me.”

“Your Majesty, I…”

“I don’t plan to die,” Izana cuts in. “But we need this country up and running even if I do, and Zen has the right attributes to become a king. Once he loses that hot head of his, that is.” Haruka stifles a laugh – and Izana is yet again surprised, wondering whether the sense of humor can be learned. The Haruka of his memories, especially the ones from his adolescence, seemed to have none. “I will have a letter prepared on his royal pardon entrusted to you before I go. I want you to get Zen back on the mainland.”

“I will do the needful.”

“Good. One more thing. Actually two.”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Reconcile with my mother. It’s terrible seeing twins fight.”

“… as you wish.”

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Izana says, sweet satisfaction rushing through his veins. He is petty as it is, enjoying every moment he can – it is payback for the humiliation he felt when his uncle scolded him as a child.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

“Great. Now, please call in your aide for me. You may go.”

“My aide?”

“Isn’t the one calling himself Obi your aide, uncle?” Izana looks up at Haruka with innocent eyes. The Marquis squints back at him suspiciously.

“Yes, he is,” he says.

“I’ll have a word with him,” Izana nods. Knowing Haruto, he sometimes wonders how can twins be so different. His mother is eccentric, witty and sharp; his uncle is peculiar in the weirdest of ways, overly honest and humorless.

“Alright,” Haruka says, opening the door. “Just don’t kill him.”

Izana wonders how circumstances may make two very similar people end up very different; yet other circumstances close the gap between their personalities. The influence of Obi may just be enough to, slowly but surely, give Haruka an edge.

“I wonder shouldn’t your worries be counter wise?”

 *

 The black cat stands in the door, assessing his situation. He has his guard up, face still like a marble statue, almond shaped eyes scanning his surroundings swiftly.

“Come on in,” Izana greets. “And close the door.”

Obi nods and he follows the order without making a single noise: neither the clicking of the doorknob, nor his footsteps can be heard. Could he afford it, Izana would be impressed. As no such luxury is granted to the ruler of a country, he cuts straight to the case.

“Your hand-to-hand combat session got high praise,” he says. “The trainer of our rookie knights advised me to incorporate your teachings into their agenda.”

“I’m unworthy, Your Majesty.”

“Is this a rejection? Even before I could make my offer?”

“I have no plans to leave Lord Haruka’s side.”

“Not even to teach the next generation of knights?” he asks.

Haruka’s aide burst into laughter. It starts as a surprised snort, bubbling up into a full-fledged laugh that bends him by the waist.

“I get it. Something that works on Haruka will not work on you, am I right?” Izana asks.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Obi apologizes as his fit of laughter seizes, and Izana has to give credit to him for daring to laugh straight into a king’s face. “I admire your efforts to persuade me. I just… don’t see how the knights could benefit from learning how to move like a ruffian. Most of my tricks are not possible to do in an armor.”

“Their trainer said the same thing. However, she reasoned that as knights the kids will need to be ready to fight all kinds of bandits. The better you know your enemy, the better you can do against them.”

“She seems like a smart one.”

“She is brilliant,” Izana replies. “The best swordsman in the country.”

“And you trust her decision enough to make a fool out of you in front of a simple aide like me?” Obi counters. Izana has to admit, albeit reluctantly, that the man has enough charm to pull off such audacious manners. It is in these moments he thinks, should he not be a king and Obi a soldier, they would make great friends.

“I have my doubts,” Izana admits, leaning closer. “You have, after all, many secrets.”

“Don’t we all do, Your Majesty?” Obi asks, not waiting for a reply. “If you were so concerned about my past, I believe you would’ve already done your research, given how long it has been since I first joined Lord Haruka.”

“Don’t you worry,” Izana says, and he enjoys for a moment the fear crossing the aide’s face. “You piqued my interest the day the bird girl received that message to leave.”

“About that…” the man starts, but Izana cuts in his words.

“We’re not here to discuss what happened back then, but to talk about the possibility of you training the newbies. My concerns are rather about your behavior. I’m afraid one audacious knight is enough for this country.”

“I know it may come surprising to you, Your Majesty, but I can behave.”

“How come I’ve never seen it?”

“You don’t quite like me, do you?”

“I don’t particularly fancy your guts,” Izana admits. “Should I?”

I have nothing,” Obi shrugs nonchalantly. “Nothing, but a rather particular skillset I’m open to share with those who deserve it. And while this skillset includes proper court manners you did not quite earn it, Your Majesty.”

“You’re not very afraid of death, are you?” Izana asks, smirking. “So I didn’t earn it. Not yet? Or not at all?”

“I didn’t sense any will to earn it so far, Your Majesty.”

“So you say that you provoke me because you want me to earn your respect?”

“You are the king of this country, after all. If I were to, say, stay for a few more years, wouldn’t it be better to spend it with a ruler I can look up to?”

“Do you find me despicable, Obi?”

“You are very clever, Your Majesty. But you lack compassion.”

“I guess I can accept this,” Izana says. “Out of the two of us, it has always been Zen the crowd loved.”

“I am the crowd,” Obi replies.

“So, you pick Zen too?”

“I liked that easy-going charisma.”

“It’s a shame he chose a woman over his country.”

“Do you think so?”

“He would’ve been a great king.”

“I’m afraid I can’t reply to this without risking my head, Your Majesty.”

“Train the kids then,” Izana noted. “Join Lady Seiran in the session tomorrow morning.”

“If this is the price, I must pay a visit,” Obi says, bowing slightly. “I can’t promise, however, that I will train the knights on the long run…”

“Lord Haruka is to stay with us until the end of next week. Make your decision until then.”

“Do you think my opinion will change?”

“Who knows? I’m certain. I might be wrong. I am but a man undeserving your rather particular skillset after all,” Izana says, motioning Obi to leave. “On your way out, will you call for Lord Zakura for me?”

 *

 It was him who summoned her, Izana is still surprised when the door opens, and Kiki enters the room.

Under the cape she discards arriving, she wears but a thin dress draped along her body. Izana has only seen this type of dress in the southern seaside towns. It’s a trickery of one big rectangle of fine fabric, tied together under the breasts but leaving both sides dangerously open. It is made for the unbearably hot summer days, and is worn by both men and women, with the men’s clothe shorter, like a tunic, worn with a pair of shorts and sandals and women wearing theirs over thin linen underwear and underskirts – lest for the ones who live off their beauty. Kept women, they are called, caged songbirds living in petit villas along the shore, spending their days hanging around their balconies waiting for their respective lords.

It surprises him to see the dress on her, the daughter of the north, the future head of the Seiran family. Especiall, since – and it is clear the moment she moves, the moment she lifts her arms to assess her hair after removing her cape and in the slit of her dress he can see the shadow under her breast – she has nothing underneath. As she steps closer, the material sinks between her legs, revealing the side of a naked thigh, a glimpse of a hipbone.

Izana gulps down heard, but his throat is like sandpaper. His blood sinks, leaving too little in the head and too much between his legs. He did not plan to touch her. It still takes him a huge amount of self-restraint not to push her down in that very moment, ravishing her on the floor.

“Good evening, Kiki,” he croaks, vocal cords less cooperative that he would like to.

“Good evening,” the woman replies.

“Did you eat?” Izana asks, motioning towards the fruit he has ordered to the room. Kiki nods and shakes her head simultaneously, resulting a weird bob which makes her lightly done bun bob on top of her head, few strands coming loose – driving Izana crazy. He clears his throat to restore his clear mind, in vain. While he walks to the table in the room, his steps feel strained, his posture rigid. He huffs as he plops down a chair. “Good, I assume?” he asks. “You can still take a few bites if you want, please come and sit down, I want to talk to you.”

Kiki walks up to the chair, and her nipples, her nipples show through the fine material of her dress. Izana is thankful for the table that separates them.

“What do you want to talk about?” she asks, voice almost timid – a refreshing reminder for Izana that while she is alluring, she is not quite aware of her effects on him. He lets out a sigh, relieved.

She tried, she very obviously tried to be tempting – probably as a reaction to the comments he made about her nightgown – but she is not a seductress by nature.

“I would like to ask you to think of a signal system we can use in the future,” he says, and the eyes meeting him are eager, honest, hard-working. The Kiki he knows faces him, with a body he was never quite aware of before. “I would like you to indicate which days are good for you,” he continues.

Kiki purses her lips, raising her eyes to the far left – she is thinking, searching for ideas in her brain.

“All days are good,” she replies after a while.

“Except for days when a woman shall not be touched,” Izana says, carefully, calling her eyes back to him. The blush that spreads across her face at the mention of her cycle is endearingly bright.

“True that,” she nods, shoulders sinking. “Should I signal then, somehow, when I am allowed to touch?”

Izana croaks again, throat never quite wet enough to talk.

“I mean… if there is something holding you up, or you don’t feel good, I don’t want to force myself on you. But as I have a busy schedule, I can’t propose a plan to you beforehand, with available slots for fucking.”

If Kiki is bothered by his coarseness she does not show. Instead, she nods seriously, as someone deep in thought.

“Yeah, in your case it might be difficult to come up with a mating schedule,” she says, and her phrasing make Izana burst out in laughter. “Sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“Nothing worse than what I said,” Izana confirms, collecting himself.

“I cannot guarantee that I will be ready to do it any time of the day when you have free time, but I can think of a way to let you know of days when I am fine and days when I am not,” Kiki continues then.

“Care to share your ideas?”

“I think the easiest would be this,” she says, peeling a fine leather strip off her wrist. “I use these often to tie my hair in a ponytail. If the strip is blue, I am good, if it’s black, not good.”

“This is brilliant. But will I see that on days we don’t meet, for example?”

“Ah… yeah. Then what if I send you a letter each day?”

“Footmen are chatty. They will eventually catch on.”

“Then what if,” she continues, eyes sparkling with the way brainstorming fired her up, “I tie a ribbon to the doorknob?”

“Wouldn’t that be suspicious?” Izana asks. “I love all of your ideas though.”

“Then! Then. Then… I am out of ideas for now. May I think about it for a few days?”

“Until then I can still sneak messages to you and back,” Izana nods in agreement. “Good.”

“Good,” Kiki repeats, and the room falls silent.

So deafeningly silent.

The only sound Izana hears is the soft crackling of the fire and the barely audible breaths of them. Suddenly he is aware of Kiki again.

He is aware of the intent eyes on him.

“Do you have something else to discuss?” he asks, chewing on the insides of his mouth to suppress his nerves.

“I know that I am not an adequate lover,” Kiki starts. “I don’t know how to please you, and I don’t know how to find pleasure myself.”

“Pleasure.” Myself, she said.

“I would like you to show me what you love, and I would like to ask you to help me discover my sensitive spots.”

A thick strand of hair falls from her bun, dangling idly behind her shoulder. He wants to undo it all.

He wants to undo her.

 ***

 Undoing her belt Izana’s hands sink under her dress through the slit open sides, palms settling on her waist. Kiki stiffens when she feels his touch on her skin, suddenly losing all her determination.

It is happening, and she has barely any idea what ‘it’ really is.

His smell invades her nose as he leans close.

“Breathe,” he says, voice soft yet broken on a suppressed chuckle.

She inhales, deep and slow, blood drumming in her ears.

The palm moves. It follows the curve of her waist down, fingers hooking around her bone, thumbs teasing the sensitive skin underneath. The fabric opens and closes upon his touch, only revealing a glimpse of skin every inch the way, baring it to the lukewarm air of the room, which feels ice cold in comparison to the burning hot trail Izana’s hands leave behind.

When she trembles ever so slightly, Izana nudges her chin with his nose, ordering her without words to bare her neck for him.

He kisses down on her pulse softly, hands hovering over her hipbones, keeping her in place.  His touch is feather-light; tickling her skin. His lips close on her throat, sucking and nibbling at it, marching higher and higher until he reaches the edges of her chin.

The feeling is new, wet, hot, entirely not unpleasant. Kiki closes her eyes, letting the sensation run through her body. She feels as his fingers curl, dig deeper into her skin and, guided by his wordless signs, she steps in, lips finding his.

No one would have ever kissed her like this – not that no one wanted; she realizes in the split moment their eyes meet and she sees hunger, but that she would have never let it happen.

(Maybe if Mitsuhide agreed to marry her –)

– hands drag her back to reality, sliding down her thighs, grabbing them, pulling one leg up against his side, drawing her up against his body. Her hands, placed tentatively on his shoulder, tremble as she feels the bulge of his erection press against her inner thigh.

The palms holding her flatten, fingers opening around her legs, and his grab becomes a caress, soft and mellow.

“Don’t worry,” Izana breathes, taking half step back.

“I don’t,” Kiki assures, gripping firmly on his shoulders. “It just…”

(… surprised me, she wants to say, but she swallows it back. It’s a lie. She has seen his eyes. She knew he wanted her.)

“It’s new,” she says instead.

Izana looks at her defeated, desire so painfully clear on his face it casts a blush over Kiki’s face. To her surprise, he buries his face in her shoulder. She feels his hot air run down her arm as he huffs.

“Is it bad?” he asks after what it seems like an eternity.

“No,” Kiki confirms. “I was just a bit taken aback.”

“Sorry,” she hears Izana’s murmur, and as she looks down to see his face, she is presented with a bright red ear peeking through blonde locks.

She feels inclined to touch it; to run her fingers through his hair and massage the soft end of his earlobe.

“I quite liked,” she starts, searching for words, “the friction… it’s just that I’ve never touched one before and I’m curious.”

“You drive me crazy.”

“I didn’t intend to.”

“Really?” Izana looks up, hands flying up to the ties on the shoulder of her dress. “You come dressed like this, and you say you had no intention to drive me absolutely mad?”

He loosens her dress and she lets it fall to the floor.

“You know I didn’t plan to touch you today,” Izana asserts.

“I feel fine,” she insists. “My body is fine. There is no need for you to hold back.”

“You know, no one has ever tried to seduce me this badly,” he laughs, cupping her face in his palms. “The way you present your body is a masterpiece, but all that comes out of your mouth is absolutely maddening.”

“I’ve told you before; I’m not an adequate lover,” Kiki says irritably.

“Yeah,” Izana agrees. “You are a terrible lover.”

“That’s why I asked you to teach me…”

“Shush. Don’t ever repeat what you said. I could barely survive hearing it once.”

Kiki looks at him, doubting every word he says, but oh, how pained he looks and how fragile he seems as he stands before her – and she has overheard the tales hushed in secluded corners between maids about how desire can make a man weak, but she has never associated the thought with herself.

How she could make Izana tremble with want.

“So…” she starts, careful to hide the triumphant tone from her voice, “can I touch it?”

The grumble she receives is barely human. She takes it as a go ahead.

And it’s no longer the king of Clarines before her.

Not even Izana Wistalia, the husband of Haki.

Just a man she found in this room. A man who sparred with her. A man who, as stakes stand, loses this round.

[hopelesstvaddict]

SPOILS OF WAR AFTERTHOUGHTS

So this episode still upsets me somehow. Everyone around me is just like wow this was an amazing episode and I’m here trying to pinpoint why I still have concerns. And then I think I finally pinpointed what’s wrong. It’s Dany’s storyline. This episode really made me realize how problematic her character is no matter how much I love her.

At the beginning of the show she was introduced as this fragile young woman who awakened and seized her chance at living life on her own terms and she instantly became this symbol of feminism and girl power. All the while she retained her greatest quality: compassion. By season 3 she had become the badass Mother of Dragons everybody rooted for. At this point, I was cheering every time she accomplished something without really thinking about the other side of said something. When she torched Astapor and took the Unsullied I was like YEAH. Like everybody else. When she was celebrated as Mhysa I was like YEAH. Like everybody else. When she freed Meereen I was like YEAH. Like everybody else. Etc etc.

Until the Field of Fire where I should have been like YEAH. Like everybody else. Except I wasn’t. The scene itself was impressive but for the first time it was constructed differently. Instead of an epic and victorious variation of the Dracarys theme - as was used during every single one of her battle scenes (yes I pay much attention to the score) - we got a sad rendition of the Rains of Castamere. And so I realized what was wrong. The show had just gone on the other side for the first time. Apart from Jaime and Bronn who we naturally root for and so don’t wish to see dead, we met Ed Sheeran and his friends three episodes ago and it was a nice scene of humanizing what we still perceived as the enemy because they were Lannisters.

This got me questioning everything backwards. And I realized the show made us root for Dany by never showing us the other side of things. It always painted her storyline as her vs evil men. Plain and simple. Sure the guy in Astapor was a douchebag. He deserved to be torched. And yes the dynamic between masters and slaves is problematic and needs to be changed. But when you think about it the rest of the masters were just guilty of respecting centuries-old traditions. Nothing more. Same in Meereen. When she crucified them as retaliation for the slaves that were crucified I did not think twice about it because the show just identified the masters to bad men. That’s why the Sons of the Harpy storyline never properly worked to me. They were just depicted as rebellious terrorists who didn’t accept Dany’s reign. It would have been more interesting if we could actually go into their reasons. Reasons being they do not accept this foreign ruler who would come and change the way things had been in forever because nobody likes change. And so I did not even notice when she said or did problematic things because I was only seeing her side. She fed masters to her dragons just because they were masters and on the assumption they were guilty of helping the Sons of the Harpy. Those men were potentially innocent… but I only saw the badassery in it.

Now seeing the Field of Fire and how the show established that not all Lannisters are bad I noticed how big of a contrast there is between then and now. What helped during past seasons is that we could still see a soft side to Dany. She genuinely seemed to care for the small folk. When she had to execute one of them we could see she didn’t like it. But Westeros seems like a curse to her because she seems to have lost the last of her humanity since she stepped foot on it. Where is the girl who gave her followers the choice to walk freely and unharmed if they did not wish to go with her ? Compare this to her upcoming ‘Bend the knee or die’ speech. (Although we already got a taste of it before: ‘They can live in my new world or they can die in their old one’.) Some choice she’s giving here…

Where is the wit and the clever strategy we saw during past seasons ? When she conquered all those cities, when she killed the Dothraki chiefs, that was always through a smart plan with a twist. That was part of why we loved her so much. But now she’s reduced to traditional war ? Granted Westeros is not a city. It’s seven kingdoms. Still… And I get that this is war and that she is still a better person than Cersei because she comes with good intentions (at the very bottom of her heart she’s not bad. She just goes the wrong way). Yes war means soldiers will be lost. Innocent soldiers with lives and children and families. So I’m not saying that she did a bad thing in waging war. It is what it is. Dany has always been a conqueror more than she is a ruler. And she’s a beginner. That’s why she surrounds herself with people who are more skilled in that matter yet she does not always listen to them. Sure when she takes matters in her own hands we’re in for spectacular stuff. Most viewers stop at that. But what has she accomplished here on the Field of Fire? Besides weakening the Lannister armies, she’s also weakened her own - albeit significantly less - she’s harmed her most powerful dragon and she flambeed food reserves that would have been very useful. And she didn’t listen to every single one of her advisors. Tyrion was utterly devastated in seeing this massacre. (No matter his allegiance, he cares about Westeros and its people. And he still cares about at least his brother and Bronn). He chose her and he thought that with clever plans he could have her win the throne without too much bloodshed. She didn’t listen to Barristan in the past who once told her to be merciful. She didn’t listen to Tyrion when he told her to be patient in her war. War is not a matter of days, Dany. She didn’t listen to his strategy despite it being smarter than go upfront with the enemy. Or Jon for that matter. Who told her not to do it either. Jon who seems lately to think more about the small folk that she does. Both Varys and Tyrion said they chose her because she is the one who thinks about the people first. But since she’s arrived at Dragonstone all I could see from Dany is teenage-ish behavior of someone who throws a tantrum when they don’t get what they want. ‘Call me by my rightful title’ and ‘bend the knee’ seem to be her new favorite sentences. Bend the knee and I will help you save your people, she says to Jon. Uh you know you said the North is one of YOUR kingdoms so that’s your people as well who are going to be attacked. Where is Tyrion to give her a good wake-up slap ? A good ruler thinks about their subjects first, not about their crown. Wouldn’t it be better if you’d go save everyone in an unselfish way and then maybe perhaps they would be more willing to accept you..? Because so far, again let us go on the other side. The Westerosi just see this foreign queen, the last remaining of a dynasty they consider cursed because of its last ruler… of course they are weary. Of course I can understand Jaime and Bronn going against her and Drogon.

She made Varys swear to tell her to her face when she’s failing her people. Your first failure to do your duty, Varys. Varys? Varys where are you ? Oh over here with Tyrion discussing about maybe you chose wrong again. She used to genuinely care about the well being of the small folk and I believe she still does. She still refuses (for now) to attack King’s Landing and kill innocent people. But it’s not her priority anymore. Her priority is getting people to bend the knee. Meanwhile we have Jon whose new favorite sentences are ‘Help me fight the White Walkers and save the lives of everybody’ and ‘Do not touch my sister’. Jon who was thrust into the role of being King when that was clearly not his wish. Jon who united Wildings with Northmen to save them from the White Walkers. Jon who’s trying to rally everybody to save the lives of small folk and highborn alike. Jon who initially decided to take up the fight again because he could not fathom the idea of harm coming to his sister whether it be from Ramsey or the White Walkers. Jon who left his Kingdom in the care of his sister who’s trying her best to follow in his steps in her own ways - starting food reserves, making sure that the soldiers who will defend them are warm enough against winter, preparing Winterfell as a rallying location. Just Jon and Sansa caring more for the people than the power they were given.

And so here I am. Still liking Dany as much as before but not blind anymore to her faults. I still like her better on the throne than Cersei but really who are the better rulers here I ask you Tyrion and Varys?