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exhaslo · 1 month

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Corruption Ch17

(Villain!Miguel x F!Hero!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9, Ch10, Ch11, Ch12, Ch13, Ch14, Ch15, Ch16

Warning: Minors DNI, mentions of sex, violence, blood, murder, twisted thoughts, experimentation, language, wannabe fluff, established friendship/relationship? SMUT, cockwarming, creampie, breeding kink

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Everything felt like a daze. You had woken up sore, exhausted, weak and full. Your body felt strange, yet satisfied. Glancing at the time, you weren't even worried that you were late for work. It was Miguel's fault anyway.

"Mhm...Lyla," You whispered, your voice scratchy.

Rubbing your eyes, you whimpered as you needed water. Your voice hurt from all your moaning and crying from last night. Laying back on the bed, you snuggled into the blanket since you couldn't feel your legs.

"Miguel will return soon to tend to you." Lyla spoke, appearing before you.

Tend to you? Oh how sweet that sounded. Recalling the night, you groaned happily. Who would have thought Miguel had that side to him. A side that only you could see. It was almost animalistic. It truly felt like Miguel was trying to breed you.

"Mhm....Miggy."

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Miguel returned home early after a night of harassing the city. Taking his mask off, he let out a heavy sigh. This super-villain work was a lot more taxing than he thought. How you ever adapted to being a hero honestly impressed Miguel.

"Lyla, how is (Y/N)?" Miguel asked, making his way to the shower. Lyla appeared with a bright smile,

"She woke up a while ago, but fell back asleep. Her stats are still normal, but she is very low on energy."

"Order her favorite food. I'll wake her,"

Miguel took off his costume and hid it away. A soft chuckle escaping his throat as he thought of your reaction to this. If you ever did find out, then he would have to teach you a good lesson, but that was for another time.

Entering his room with a bottled water, Miguel took a moment to stare at your sleeping state. You looked so peaceful, so tempting. Taking the blanket off you, Miguel scoffed at his work. All of his bite marks and hickeys all over your body.

You truly were his.

Hissing lowly, Miguel felt himself getting hard by just looking at you. Last night was not enough. To think that he would succumb to these instincts so easily. Waking you slowly, Miguel had to give you time to rest before he could breed you again.

"Mhm....Miggy?" You whispered tiredly.

Shit. Miguel stroked your cheek, pulling you into a kiss. That little nickname you gave him sent shivers down his spine. Hearing you cry his name all night was something out of a dream. A twisted and fucked up dream.

"Here. You need to stay hydrated," Miguel grumbled, helping you drink the water.

"Thank you," You said with a soft yawn, slowly waking up. "Were you busy today? Sorry I slept in."

How cute, you were still thinking about helping him at work. Of course, Miguel was still going to have you work with him. You had to be watched every second of the day. That and he might go insane if you weren't there.

"It's fine. I didn't go in either,"

Miguel was too busy making a name for himself last night. The amount of bones he broke, the people he killed. People were going to fear the name Spider-Man overnight. To think, both as Kingpin and Spider-Man, Miguel was a menace to be reckon with.

"Really?" You gasped. Miguel resisted a chuckle, picking you up with ease,

"If you really want to work, I'll put you to it."

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You felt so dazed. Leaning against Miguel, you resisted a whine as Miguel kept you firm against his lap. You were exhausted. How did Miguel have so much stamina? Even after last night, Miguel gave you a good fuck in the shower and now he had you sitting on his cock.

"You need your energy, eat." Miguel huffed, taking a bite of his meal. You squirmed slightly,

"I-It's a little hard...w-when I'm like...this." You whimpered.

You had been working with Miguel for years. Never had you suspected Miguel to be so sex active. Reaching for you food, you shivered as you moved ever so slightly. Your body was sensitive from his rough sex in the shower.

"M-Miggy~"

Your body arched against his, whining against his cock. He was so deep inside you, keeping his previous cum inside your womb. You weren't able to think straight. Miguel's hands were holding your waist as his fingers started to rub your clit.

"Hah~ Ah~ M-Miguel...P-Please~" You begged, itching for him to move.

"Hm? Your body is going to weaken if you don't eat." Miguel said with a smirk, "Easier to have your body accept me and be breed."

You gasped lowly, shuddering and moaning from his touch. You bit your lower lip as Miguel pinned you against the couch, his thrusts slow and almost painful. After having you sit on his cock for a few minutes, you wanted to get ravished.

Miguel hand rested on your lower back, his thrusts slowly picking up. His hips slapping into yours, earning loud moans and whines from you. Tears formed from the corner of your eyes, unsure if you could handle this much pleasure.

"Your body has done well to adapt to me already. Your pussy is just welcoming my dick. Won't be long until you have my children. Are you ready for that, my dear?"

"Yesh~ Mhm~ Miggy~" You cried out.

Miguel chuckled as he pressed your head into the couch, pounding you with no remorse. His wicked laughter echoing throughout his house. Your moans and cries just begging for Miguel to keep you as his pet.

"Mhm~ M-Miggy~ I-I....Ah~ l-love you~" You cried out.

Miguel grunted as you confessed. He felt his vision blur for just a second as he felt his high approaching.

"(Y/N)" Miguel groaned, hurrying his pace, "Fuck..."

Releasing a heavy load inside you, Miguel panted heavily. The words almost slipped out of his mouth. Never. Never could he admit something so cheesy. Watching you tiredly catch your breathe, Miguel felt something in him stir.

"(Y/N), you are mine," He whispered, kissing your head before leaving to clean you up.

How could he admit something so weak? Love? Glancing at you as he grabbed a warm clothe, Miguel inhaled deeply. His emotions were strong for you. Love was the correct term for sure, but he did not want to admit something so...human.

"I need to finish my testing."

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You sat in Miguel's bed, watching the news as your body recovered. It had been a few days since you apparently now moved in with Miguel, not that you were complaining. Living with him felt like a dream. Not only did you work with Miguel, but you also got to move up in your relationship with him.

If only he wasn't so work obsessed. Lately, Miguel was working overnights too. He didn't want you coming along and made sure he gave you a reason to stay home. Honestly, you felt like you were losing your mind and falling into Miguel's palm.

"But I love him~" You cooed, drinking some tea.

"And now we head to the city where our reporters are talking with concerned citizens about this new Spider-Man character causing havoc in the city."

Your eyes widen as you placed your cup down. There was a Spider-Man? Gasping lowly, you went to reach for your phone. Miguel must have done it. He made himself into a super powered individual, but why didn't he tell you?

Right as you reached for your phone, you gasped as your hand was webbed to the bed frame.

"Thought I blocked all news channels," Miguel sighed, entering the room with his costume.

"Miguel?! When?"

"Shh,"

Miguel leaned down, removing his mask and brought you in for a deep kiss. His lips licked yours, forcing his tongue down your throat. Unable to resist, your body arched into his, moaning softly. You couldn't deny Miguel.

"That's my good girl. Why don't I give you an explanation tomorrow night? We can swing through the city together."

"Mhm," You hummed to the thought, feeling lost in a daze.

"Now, why don't you give me a proper welcome home."

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Miguel just chuckled lowly as he watched you. Not even a single argument came out. You were so obedient. It was so easily to turn you into his super hero pet. Rubbing your head as you worked, Miguel leaned back, inhaling sharply.

He could get used to this life.

People fearing him throughout the day, and you waiting for him at home. Smirking at the thought of tomorrow, Miguel was going to officially show the city who's in charge.

That there were no heroes left to save them.

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Next Chapter (Last Chapter)

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#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x you #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #miguel o’hara smut

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gnashingwailing · 23 days

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@fireflywritesgt LOVINGLY WRITING MY UNHINGED CH23 THOUGHTS AND THEN BURYING THEM UNDER A READMORE. I felt such overwhelming hype when I saw we got 2 chapters in 1 day I truly was ready to throw my phone out the fucking window. TOO MUCH JOY FOR ONE LITTLE GNASH... I hadn't even finished processing ch21......

first off pov Joe when he goes to Calloway's to pick up his cute new tailored fit in 3 days

soooo right from the jump. hey.

"“…’cause he’s way better off than I am, it’ll make it harder for me to leave him or something. That he’s luring me in. I mean—” Joe laughed nervously as he steeled himself in preparation for how the captain would react to his next statement “—if it were a giant treating me the way he treats me, everyone would call me a pet.”

“Well of course they would, Joe. That’s because giants are evil.” The captain said matter-of-factly.

He may as well have poked Joe squarely in the eye. Nonetheless, the bartender continued."

hey. UM. Joe you beautiful idiot who canonically has bad luck and, presumably from reading this very chapter, a terrible poker face. Maybe you should have said. Any Other Thing? GODDD in my heart he's definitely sooo overconfident and drunk like wow I am so smooth :) nobody suspects a thing :) while Calloway is having a conversation with him like uh... just saying, but you know, none of us could stop you from. for example. idk. becoming a giant's pet. we wouldn't like that but it's just a random thing that came to mind just now, unrelated to the really tall really wealthy really powerful guy who is afraid of taking advantage of you by luring you in and giving you things like a giant would and maybe isn't treating you like a person. And you're afraid you shouldn't want it. Like BRO IT IS SO OVER FOR YOU even without Harry literally calling Joe's name 3+ times in the dead silence 😭😭😭😭 And presumably Harry having been waiting around there for a while to see Joe! Loitering in a way we know tinies are on guard about since they all noticed that snatcher back in Ch13!

They're idiots ur honor, so true, but it's all worth it to see Joe get rescued and swoon like a damsel ... I definitely wonder if Calloway observed any of that, and what he might think about it if so. >:) May or may not have been daydreaming and writing bits about how horrifying it would be to give your surrogate kid all this well-meaning advice, see him nearly slip to his death, and while you're hurrying down to try and help him, watching him call out to a walking nightmare for help and then get whisked away by it

I have a pet theory that everything we've seen from Calloway so far has been pretty heavily colored by it being from Joe's perspective when he's having a bad day, and maybe he will be more understanding than we think? Objectively, I didn't think he was being very rude or anything back in Ch 13, when he was speculating on Joe's love life. It rankled Joe, which is understandable, but he 1) he's happy that Joe looks good, 2) he doesn't let Gutters or O'Grady rag on Joe too hard and 3) he just generally seems like an interested father figure would about his kid's love life:

"“Oh, lay off him, Tim. It’s a good borrowing year!” Captain Calloway cut in. “We all have ‘em, we all enjoy ‘em, we all cry ourselves to sleep when they’re over.”

Relief washed over Joe like the warm water in Harry’s sink.

“Though I gotta say…” The captain gave a wry smile as he continued. “…it could just as easily be someone else’s good borrowing year if ya’ catch my drift. Could be he’s got a little sweetheart looking after him. A brick of pure chocolate? That’s practically a dowry."”

Although I may be wrong here, since Ch 21's incident at Tiny Town with the Italian mob that saved him gives us the insight that "[for] the first time in Joe’s entire existence at that, Joe understood what it was like to have a real father." So maybe Calloway is not that nurturing to Joe and not much of a caring dad -- as @remordsposthume's tags so wisely point out:

WTF WAS HE DOING LETTING HIM LEAVE THE BAR LMAO. Calloway's Den of Drunkards confirmed for an "everybody drive home drunk. it's not my problem" bar??? Everyone is processing TAoLaW thru their own cultural lens and. in that spirit. lmfao. I must say. Calloway reminds me of the libertarian redneck dads I've known who just let their kids do whatever. If he was a giant I think he'd let his kids ride ATVs thru the woods drunk. Most probably he would also be ridin around drunk with them. "If you die it's your own damn fault" being his motto is too on the nose LOL. Huge farm dad "I LOVE MY SONS. ONLY HALF OF THEM WILL SURVIVE TO ADULTHOOD BUT I DO LOVE THEM" energy. To Me.

(Btw Harry & Joe processing their parental issues together WHEN <3)

BUT ANYWAY YEAH EVEN IF CALLOWAY WAS THE MOST UNOBSERVANT GUY IN THE WORLD RE: THAT SUSPICIOUS CONVERSATION? YOU WERE LITERALLY BOTH SCREAMING EACH OTHERS' NAMES LIKE LOVESICK ROMANCE PROTAGONISTS RIGHT UNDER THE DREDGE THAT'S STILL PROBABLY GOT AT LEAST SOME NIGHT MARKET CUSTOMERS? HELLO?? @94444 we are on the same wavelength rn

AND MORE ABOUT CALLOWAY... I am very heartened by how you mentioned once, Warren, that you planned to give each character real depth and treat them with sincerity. I feel very interested about when that time will be for Calloway! We know that he takes in kids (or at least O'Grady and Joe scratch that. tag lore be upon me) and teaches them how to sell trinkets. We know that he hates giants. We know he's been horribly injured in a way that led to him losing a hand, an eye, and possibly teeth. Knowing what we do about the risks of being a borrower, and how casually cruel giants are to them, it's not unlikely those last 2 things are related. I'M TAKING YOUR TAGS AND RUNNING AWAY WITH THEM LIKE A DOG W SOMETHING IN ITS MOUTH.

So Calloway knew them for several years as vulnerable kids... then lost them for a year or so... then got them back after they escaped the watchmaker's? I will be interested to see if that trauma means he's more protective of them, or uh, still more drunk libertarian dad about them. Lmao. He seemed like he cared about Joe getting into Tiny Town way back in Ch3 tho at least! (as an aside... interested in who Gutters is, too. He SEEMS to be older than Joe/Tim, but he could also still be a Calloway Kid himself... he seems to defer to Calloway... and/or he could just be some guy embittered about giant/tiny relations. which. fair, brother.)

If the broader Tiny Town culture (such as it is... would word get around about this incident with Joe and Harry, or does news just not travel that well amongst lots of secluded borrower communities? much to consider. it makes sense in a dark way why you would physically mark somebody who's transgressed against society's cardinal rule, in a culture where you cannot generally spread information effectively) would reject Joe for his proclivities... will Calloway, too? Or is it Joe's anxiety making him think that? I'm afraid we already know how Tim would feel. Other than him, Calloway is the person who Joe seems most connected to in miniature society... Although Harry's worry about Joe not spending enough time around his fellow miniatures in Ch22 is at least partially motivated by his own guilt-trip, I think he has a bit of a point! I hope Joe doesn't lose touch with everyone -- or if he does, I hope there will be new friends out there for him, too, who are more understanding.

(LORRAINE WHEN)

Now Calloway aside, OBVIOUSLY THE ENDING OF THIS CHAPTER HAD ME HOOTIN AND HOLLERIN.

“Joe… can we go back to the big, sexy giant part for a second?” <- LIT'RALLY me rereading this chapter 800 times

A snapping turtle is a fantastic little horror for poor Joe to face, woof. Those fuckers are scary enough when ur height is measured in feet. The quick way they snap is no joke. Just want to 👏👏👏👏 about how good this passage is: The turtle’s maw emerged from the waters of the lake like the gaping mouth of some ancient monster that fed on the souls of sailors. The grimy lakewater rushed over its beady little eyes as its beak, sharp as a dagger, flew towards Joe faster than a gunshot. YEAH.

It just!! makes my little heart sooooo happy to see that Joe does have someone who will unconditionally look out for him...!!! Harry has his issues, and they're still learning how to open up about themselves, but he consistently shows up!! :') the thought of him waiting for his man all night ... hoping the dredge would be the place Joe meant ... and then acting sooo fast when he saw a tiny guy fall off of it... what a faithful hound of a [future] boyfriend. Calloway is so right. Joe deserves somebody to look after him. And Joe has done the (forgive me for the loaded meme) girl math on this. One big man is the best possible outcome for him. ONLY THE BIGGEST MAN WILL DO to keep him off of his bullshit as much as possible 👍👍

And OF COURSE god their conversation is just so so so fucking funny. "Thank you" "fuck no I'm not" -> "FUCK YOU" is INCREDIBLE i CANNOT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT lmaooooo and Harry still being so gentle about receiving this insult and trying to parse what Joe means ... he does listen to Joe, they're definitely not back to square one as drunk!Joe feared, his own issues are just getting in the way! (And Joe's are getting in the way of him seeing thru Harry's facade into what the real issue is! We love to see it!)

"“I meant that. You don’t get to call me handsome until you start listening to me.” He slurred. “You gotta—you gotta want it.”

Joe crossed his arms and scowled up at the beautiful man and his beautiful face as Harry tried to parse what Joe was saying.

“Want it…?” Harry echoed.

“Yeah. You gotta want to be my friend. And screw what anyone else thinks!”"

And did anyone else cackle at how Joe telephone-gamed Calloway's advice to still be in plausible-deniability-land. "You gotta want to be my friend" ok. not what he fuckin said. run that back real quick -> "Not if you’re being open about what you want and everything. That’s how love works, Joe. You gotta want it."

I just adored the moments of insight between them, too. "... Joe knew his real answer was yes – he was just too afraid to say it overtly. He argued and fought and begrudgingly accepted it instead. / What was that saying to Harry?" vs. Ch22 Harry's revelation: "How much of his relationship with Joe was genuine, he wondered, and how much of it was Joe going along with Harry’s suggestions in the name of diplomacy?"

Joe IS acting like somebody who's being coerced! Harry IS being a trustworthy guy by noticing it and checking in once their relationship is definitely turning intimate! It's so fascinating to think in hindsight that every time Joe turned red and embarrassed, Harry was having a thought at the back of his mind like "he doesn't want this. I'm scaring him. He doesn't want me, and he doesn't even know the real me yet. And worse, he can't tell me, because he's afraid of what I might do to him." But he can't SAY all that because it would hurt too much if he said it and Joe confirmed he was actually correct, so Ch22 comes out as a trainwreck where he's accidentally insulting Joe's ability to survive without him. (Side note I KNEW Harry wasn't REALLY considering Joe his landlord. Sad!!! That fucked up scrawny starving guy has squatter's rights and he was doing pretty good all things considered maybe !!!)

The respective issues ~Society~ has given both of them just make it impossible to talk about the root of their problems without baring your guts in a really terrifying way. OOF.

HOWEVER this chapter confirming that homophobia isn't such a problem in tiny society is going to make this eventual conversation betwen them real interesting... Harry like "You don't understand Joe :( there's something really wrong with me... ... I like ... men..." and Joe being like "omg :) :) :) :) :) wait what's wrong with you tho" and then Joe "No you don't understand Harry :( I know this is sick but... I like.. giants... I'm sure you could never see someone smaller than you as anything other than a pet ..." and Harry just ":) :) :) :) oh what no :) Georgie was shorter than me" I hope they can have a good, baffled laugh at how long they could've been snuggling guilt-free. At the end of the angst. <3

#taolaw

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defectivevillain · 8 months

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this broken design, ch13

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary: That familiar analytical gleam in your eyes lives in Hannibal’s mind as he sinks his teeth into his prey. Despite your departure hours ago, Hannibal sees you sitting across from him at the table. Dining alone has never bothered him; yet, right now, he can’t help but desire your company—your scintillating conversation, your sharp wit, your clever smirk. Indeed, his table feels uncharacteristically empty. Hannibal stares at the chair across from him—the same chair he’s grown accustomed to seeing you sit at—and takes another bite. Flavor explodes on his tongue, yet you are what dominates his thoughts.

Your experience in criminal profiling means that you've met a wide variety of people from all different walks of life. You've stared down hardened criminals and fought for your life against people hellbent on killing you. Even so, something about the FBI's new target, the Chesapeake Ripper, seems to elude you.

Then you meet Hannibal Lecter: an enigmatic jigsaw of a man with jagged corners and misshapen pieces.

Fortunately, you've always been rather good at puzzles.

read from the beginning here.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: cannibalism, vomiting/throwing up, canon-typical blood, violence, & gore. If you'd like to skip the vomit part, stop reading at the bolded "The clock ticking incessantly on the wall,” and continue reading at the bolded “Must not have agreed with me.”

You wake up with burning eyes. There’s nothing but blinding white on all sides. It takes several moments for your eyes to stop watering but, once they do, you realize that you’re in a hospital bed. There’s a nurse hovering over you, asking questions that you can’t comprehend. Her voice sounds warbled, as if you’re underwater. You try to say something, but the effort hurts and you abandon the notion. It takes several moments for your ears to stop ringing enough to hear what the nurse is saying to you.

The ensuing few minutes are painfully awkward, as you have to gulp down an entire glass of water and cough several times to clear your throat. When you finally do speak, the effort stings and hurts your throat. You answer a few of the nurse’s questions as she busies herself with checking your vitals.

“You’ve gotten a lot of visitors,” she says, as she writes something down on her clipboard. You raise an eyebrow and look around the room, looking for signs of these so-called visitors. The room is rather bare—nothing to suggest that you’ve had several people stop by.

“Really?” You ask, unable to shake a bit of your suspicion.

“Yes,” the nurse nods, meeting your gaze with a kind smile. “Your husband is quite nice.” You stare at her in confusion. After all, you don’t have a husband. The nurse senses your perplexment and clarifies. “The European man. Well-dressed, very polite.”

“Oh.” There’s only one person you know who fits that description seamlessly: Hannibal Lecter. You’re surprised that he visited. You say as much to the nurse as she’s checking your vitals and she raises a brow at you. Her reaction prompts you to utter the question lingering in your mind. “Did he… visit often?” Normally, you wouldn’t assume that he did. However, if you were to analyze the nurse’s assumption that he was your husband… Well, Hannibal must have visited at least a few times for her to make that assumption. Indeed, the nurse nods.

“He sat in that chair; must’ve come by at least once a day.” Once a day? The thought both amuses and frightens you. Of course, you’re very appreciative of the thought of Hannibal visiting you every day, even when you were unconscious. However, your unconscious state meant you were vulnerable in front of the Chesapeake Ripper for days. That could have provided him with an ample opportunity to kill you, maim you, steal an organ. Yet, as far as you know, he didn’t take advantage of that opportunity. You frown. You suppose you can’t be completely certain that he didn’t take advantage of your vulnerability. The idea of Hannibal taking an organ of yours—plunging his hand into your bloodied skin before neatly stitching it back up—sickens you.

Thankfully, your unsavory reverie is broken by a rapping sound against the door. It seems you have a guest. The nurse walks over to the door, opening it just enough for her to see the newcomer, before glancing back at you. She’s positioned in a manner that blocks the visitor from your sight, silently asking if you’re comfortable with the prospect of having a visitor. You’re touched by the gesture and it takes you a few moments to ground yourself to the moment and give your permission. The nurse nods and swings the door open, allowing you to see your visitor.

Freddie Lounds stares at you with a complex expression. She looks far better than you do, with nothing more than a few abrasions on her wrists from her bindings to indicate her captivity. She wears a smokey grey sweater and blue jeans in lieu of her professional journalist attire. There are dark circles under Freddie’s eyes, which indicate that the events that transpired still weigh heavily on her conscience.

“Hi, Freddie,” you say. Your voice is still a bit raspy—evidently a combination of the lack of use and your fight with Gideon. You have to put almost all your effort towards pushing the memories out of your mind. You don’t want to think about your time in captivity right now. You don’t want to think about the fact that you murdered Gideon. Sure, he would’ve killed you first. Even so… The thought nauseates you. A pointed cough from Freddie separates you from those thoughts. You wave a hand in an attempt to invite her closer. She takes a few steps forward, looking rather restless. You finally allow the question plaguing your mind to fall from your lips. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting you,” Freddie responds without hesitation.

“Ah,” you remark dumbly. Indeed, Freddie had been forced to sit at that dining table, in the company of Abel Gideon, Frederick Chilton, and you. You blink and you see the redhead with blood spattered across her face, a glazed gleam to her eyes as she stares blankly ahead. You blink again and you’re thrown back to the blinding white hospital room.

“You saved my life,” Freddie remarks, once the silence begins to grow painful. You startle and turn your attention to her once more. Sure, you may have saved her life, but you certainly hadn’t expected a word of gratitude from her. That wasn’t why you did it, anyway. Those thoughts must be evident in your expression, because Freddie shakes her head. “I know that wasn’t-” She stops for a moment to collect herself, “Regardless. I would’ve died.”

“So…” Freddie then says, a grimace overtaking her lips. She looks vastly uncomfortable. You have to quell the urge to preemptively reassure her. Freddie clasps her hands and takes a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior in the past. I wrote some rather unflattering things about you—things that weren’t true.” She doesn’t need to go into any further detail, as you remember the times you’d seen your name in bold black lettering on the Tattle Crime website.

It doesn’t take very long for you to come up with an answer to her apology. “It’s alright,” you answer easily. Freddie sends you a wary look. She clearly doesn’t trust your mild-mannered expression. You suppose you could’ve been mad about her press coverage over the years but, truthfully, it never impeded your work or affected your life. “Really, it’s fine,” you continue, “I get it—you were doing your job.”

“I accused you of murder,” Freddie argues. Is she trying to provoke you? The thought perplexes you. You fiddle with the thin, scratchy blanket haphazardly thrown over your form. The movement makes you aware of the IV connected to your arm and it stings tauntingly for a moment.

“Happens to the best of us,” you shrug, wincing as the movement sends a bolt of pain down your shoulder and through your side. Freddie stares at you in evident disbelief.

“You’re not mad,” Freddie says uneasily. Indeed, you’re not mad. In reality, you don’t have the energy to be angry. Perhaps, if you were in better physical condition, you’d be able to scrounge up some ferocity. But something about seeing Freddie Lounds in your hospital room—the first visitor you’ve seen since you’ve woken—humbles you. You almost feel strangely appreciative of her honesty, appreciative of the maturity with which she conducts herself. You don’t realize she’s waiting for an answer until you see the apprehensive expression on her face.

“I’m not angry,” you confirm. “Next time you write about me, just… don’t be so eager to drag my name through the mud.” You mean for the remark to be sarcastic rather than accusatory, but the journalist’s eyes widen and her lips part in surprise. Freddie then has the good grace to look mildly embarrassed, before she takes a deep breath and lets a resolved expression dominate her sharp features.

“Thank you,” Freddie murmurs. It looks as if the act is difficult for her. She’s avoiding your eyes. Even so, she went out of her way to visit you as you’re recovering—just to thank you and apologize. Honestly, you feel undeserving of her gratitude. Freddie never should’ve been in a hostage situation in the first place. You should’ve gotten her out of there sooner. You should’ve- “Seriously.” The sincerity in the journalist’s voice destroys those self-deprecating thoughts.

You feel a smile tugging at your lips. Honestly, you never would’ve expected to grow an exasperated sort of fondness for Freddie Lounds. You almost want to credit your generous mood to the painkillers, but you get the feeling they aren’t having that kind of impact. Freddie seems eager to leave, so you give her the opportunity to leave. “Bye, Freddie.” With that, the redheaded journalist exits the room. She has a rather uncanny talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, you think to yourself as she departs.

Your conversation with Freddie was nice, but now that she’s gone, you’re painfully aware of the headache forming in your temple. You close your eyes for a moment in a half-hearted attempt to rest. You don’t have your eyes closed for long before you suddenly sense another presence in the room. An ordinary person may not be able to sense it, but your years of training greatly developed your spatial awareness. You keep your eyes closed for a few moments, wondering what this new presence will do. After a few moments of silence and evident stillness, you give up the act and open your eyes.

Hannibal is standing before you, a mild smile on his face as he regards you. You stare at him for several moments, unable to move past the overwhelming rush of conflicting emotions. Relief and distress, happiness and grief, hope and despair. You were so focused on Gideon that you neglected to remember the killer standing right in front of you.

“What are you doing here?” You manage to say, your voice still raspy. Hannibal takes another step and closes the door behind him. The steady beeps from one of the monitors are the only sounds to break through the silence sticking to the air.

“I’ve brought supper.” In characteristic fashion, he neglects to truly answer your question. You don’t have the energy to keep yourself afloat in these mind games. Since you first woke, you’ve spent an immeasurable amount of time in this nondescript hospital room, scrutinizing every action you took that led you here. The last thing you need is another conversation to feel lost in.

“Oh,” you remember to respond. “That’s very nice of you.” You stare at him for a moment, taking in his perfectly coiffed hair and fine-trimmed clothing. Your eyes meet and a shiver rolls up your spine. What is this feeling you’re suddenly overwhelmed by? It’s almost déjà vu. How could you be getting déjà vu from this moment? You’ve never been to this hospital before. Perhaps it’s the expression on Hannibal’s face…?

“You were there, weren’t you?” You realize aloud, as glimpses of that fateful day come back to you. You vaguely remember being wheeled through the blinding white halls of this hospital, Hannibal gripping your hand tightly. Now, you can’t help but stare at him expectantly. Weirdly enough, the man focuses his gaze on the wall next to you for a minute.

“I must admit, you made for a rather harrowing sight,” Hannibal then says, apropos of nothing. Your eyebrows furrow. That comment doesn’t quite make sense. Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper—surely he’s seen far more gruesome sights. Also, negating his murderous tendencies, he used to be an emergency room surgeon. Your injuries weren’t quite fatal. Your eyes track Hannibal as he crosses the room, taking out a stainless steel capsule reminiscent of a Thermos. He unfolds the small wooden table that extends from the side of the bed and places the capsule in front of you, before placing a napkin and silverware next to it. Hannibal then procures his own meal and takes a seat in the chair at the side of your bed. He seems unusually determined to skip the necessary pleasantries that typically characterize his behavior. That’s not quite like him. You’re sidetracked before that thought comes to fruition in your mind.

Looking down into the container on the tray, you realize you’re not sure what to call the food inside. It appears to be some sort of stew. There’s an unfamiliar smell wafting from the food. It’s not exactly unpleasant, but it’s such a multi-faceted scent that it makes your stomach turn. You grasp the fork provided to you, unable to shake this irrational unease.

Hannibal is already eating. You take after his example and stab a piece of meat inside the container with your fork, before bringing it out of its steel confines. A drop of sauce dribbles from the meat and back into the Thermos-like capsule. The clock on the wall seems to grow louder with each passing second. You inhale sharply, before taking a bite of your meal. The flavor is something you don’t think you can even describe in words. It provokes such a strange and unfamiliar sensation—one that leaves a weird (although not inherently unpleasant) aftertaste in your mouth. Inexplicably, you take another bite. Judging by that reaction, you must like it in some capacity.

For a few minutes, the two of you eat in silence. You only get through a few bites before the potent gamey taste of the meat makes itself known. At that point, you’re not sure what to do. You don’t want to be rude. You also don’t want to make yourself sick by eating this… mystery meat. Trepidation sends goosebumps down your skin. Dread has been crawling through your chest ever since you took a bite of this stew. Something is wrong—you just can’t figure out what. Hannibal has always enjoyed rather eccentric tastes, yet you can’t help but wonder what would possess him to bring you a stew in the hospital. Every single one of his actions is purposeful, as you’ve grown to accept in the time you’ve known him. There’s something about this interaction, a hidden undertone of anticipation and amusement that forces you to scrutinize the little details.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking…” You trail off, trying to find a way to word the question delicately. For a moment, you contemplate letting the question fade into silence. Perhaps it’s better not knowing. Perhaps… You bite your lip. The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them. “What is this protein?” You gesture down to the meat scattered about the stew.

“Chicken kidney,” Hannibal responds. Somehow, that answer doesn’t provide any additional clarity. The meat doesn’t taste like chicken. You’ve tried a lot of different foods before, but you’ve never tasted something like this. Alarm bells ring in your ears and you put your fork down on the tray. For a moment, you settle with staring at Hannibal. You soon give up on staring when you ponder his syntax, the way he emphasized the nature of the organ before naming it.

Realization crashes down on you. The restrained look of amusement on Hannibal’s face. The wry smile ever so slightly visible on his lips. The strange taste of the meat. Your paranoid thoughts earlier. The recognition that it would be frighteningly easy for Hannibal to slip into your room disguised as a surgeon, to use your existing wound as a disguise for the removal of organs. Chicken kidney. The gleam in the killer’s eyes. Prey trapped by a much stronger predator. The clock ticking incessantly on the wall.

You stumble out of bed and race to the bathroom, just barely making it to the toilet before your throat burns and the food you just ate exits your mouth. You groan. Despite the fact that you only took a few bites, your body seems intent on purging your system. After a minute or two, you’re left to dry heave into the toilet bowl. The porcelain exterior is cold against your hands and you grimace. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, as sweat trickles down your temple and the back of your neck.

At some point, your eyes catch on the emergency assistance button on the wall near the toilet. It’s tempting to jam it, to explain everything to the nurse. Unfortunately, you don’t think that would work. Hannibal is just outside the door—he would certainly hear you. Even if he didn’t hear you and you managed to complete the phone call, the nurse wouldn’t believe you. Hell, no one would believe you. Perhaps that’s been a part—albeit a small one—of the reason why you haven’t tried to turn Hannibal in yet. Your public reputation is still rather poor; while you know the majority of your coworkers trust you, there would certainly be outcry if Jack were to act on your suspicions and arrest Hannibal. No, you’re well and truly trapped. The Chesapeake Ripper doesn’t leave evidence; he doesn’t make mistakes.

The thought makes you nauseous once more. You grasp the toilet and close your eyes, praying that you won’t throw up again. You’ve always despised vomiting: the horrible rush of dread and anxiety leading up to the act, the act itself, the clean-up... Thankfully, the universe is merciful and you don’t throw up again. You wait a few more minutes to ensure the nausea passes before flushing the toilet and pushing yourself to your feet. You mechanically wash your hands, making sure to scrub for a few minutes. Once you’ve finally dried your hands, you open the bathroom door and walk back to the side of the bed, pretending not to notice Hannibal’s eyes on you.

“Must not have agreed with me,” you shudder, grabbing the glass of water at your bedside and taking a small sip. Your heart is racing as you come to terms with the fact that your paranoia was founded. You grasp your bedside railing and slowly maneuver yourself back into bed. Once you’re settled, you meet Hannibal’s gaze.

“It must not have,” Hannibal acquiesces, looking entirely unbothered by the events that just occurred. His reaction is far too muted, even despite your unshakeable knowledge that his expressions of emotion are always muted. There’s an undercurrent of vicious pride in his smile, in the way his legs are neatly crossed as he regards you from his seat.

The air remains dominated by a tense silence. There is nothing you can say to diminish the horrors sticking in your mind. Time resembles a thick, gelatinous sludge—dragging on and on, dirtying everything it touches. Your hand twitches to investigate the wound at your side.

Hannibal leans forward in his chair, his gaze focused on you. He looks as if he’s about to speak when there’s suddenly a demanding series of knocks on the door. His left eyebrow ticks a half centimeter, the most minute of gestures. “It appears you have a visitor,” Hannibal remarks, turning to the door. You resist the urge to grimace. You’re not sure you have enough energy to get through a polite conversation with yet another person. Hannibal opens the door and the newcomer steps into the room.

“Jack,” you say, unable to quite hide your relief. Jack Crawford takes one look at Hannibal Lecter, who is smiling politely at him, and promptly shoos him out of the room. You send Hannibal an apologetic look, but in reality, you��re glad that Crawford made him leave. You don’t have the wits about you to keep yourself afloat in Hannibal’s mind games. There’s no telling how you would have fared in a drawn-out conversation with him. “It’s good to see you.”

“Agent,” he responds. Jack’s stance is broad and self-assured (as always), but there’s an unfamiliar expression on his face. He almost seems remorseful. You grapple for something to say.

“Jack,” you repeat, unable to fight past the ugly feelings running through your mind. Your boss must sense that something’s wrong, because he takes a step closer and his lips pull tight in a frown. You try to say what’s been weighing on your mind: that you’re Gideon’s killer, that you murdered him instead of sparing his life. The words don’t come but, thankfully, Jack seems to understand what you’re thinking regardless.

Crawford takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, before sighing resignedly. It almost seems as if he expected that remark from you. “You stopped Gideon from inflicting any further harm. You acted in accordance with FBI protocol.”

“I know,” you interject, before Jack can carry on any longer. You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Agent,” Jack says, his voice commanding enough to pull your gaze up from the thin blankets covering you. Despite the intimidating figure he poses, his eyes are forgiving and his expression is one of exasperated patience. “Do I look worried?” You shake your head. “Then you shouldn’t be worried.”

“Yes, sir,” you choke out.

“Is there something you needed to tell me, Agent?” Jack asks, perceptive as always. His eyebrows are furrowed and he’s studying your face, as if trying to pull the truth right out of you. You press your lips together firmly, lest you say anything stupid. After all, what could you possibly say? Yes, I think Hannibal Lecter took a nurse’s clothes and impersonated them, before ripping my wound open, removing my kidney, and sewing me back up. Hannibal has built significant rapport with Jack—you don’t think Jack would believe you. Besides, you’re still on a decent amount of painkillers. There’s no way in hell that Jack would believe whatever you have to say at the present moment.

You’re not sure how to proceed. Now that Gideon is no longer a problem, Jack’s focus will rightly shift to the Chesapeake Ripper. The Ripper will operate seamlessly, killing without leaving a single shred of evidence, until he dies or is somehow eliminated. There was a momentary lapse in his activity—one that you selfishly want to attribute to the beginning stages of your friendship with Hannibal—but the Ripper will kill again soon enough. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep this act up: feigning ignorance, looking past the glaring warning signs that only seem visible to you.

“No, Jack; that’s it,” you bite out.

“Good,” Jack says, a small smirk rising on his face, “We’ll be having a conversation about obeying my orders once you’re recovered.” A slight smile falls on your face. Jack sends you a stern look before gripping your shoulder reassuringly. For a fraction of a moment, you contemplate telling him the truth. He deserves to know, you think.

“Who would ever believe you?” Franklyn Frodieveaux asks you. He laughs—a cruel, mocking thing. Abel Gideon cackles with him. Your victims’ voices blend together, creating an awful symphony that rattles in your ears.

“Rest up, Agent,” Jack says, his hand slipping from your shoulder. You’re promptly jerked out of your thoughts. There’s a conflicted expression on Crawford’s face, as if he doesn’t quite want to leave. You put it down to your imagination. “That’s an order.” Jack turns on his heel and walks away. Once he crosses the threshold and enters the hallway, the door clicks shut behind him.

You’re left alone once more. Your victims berate you for your cowardice and the tears come quickly. You grapple at your hospital gown with shaking hands, tugging at the fabric until it falls away to reveal your mangled side. There’s discolored bruising and swelling, in addition to dried blood scattered around the edges of the suture. The wound looks exactly the same as it did before, almost eerily so. You think back to all the medical awards and certificates covering the walls of Hannibal’s office. It seems impossible—the idea that he removed your suture and put it back. Although, the more you think about it, the more you realize Hannibal Lecter is characterized by his redefinition of impossibility. The Chesapeake Ripper leaves no evidence. Dr. Lecter leaves no evidence, save for the horrible agitation that settles along your skin. You have no proof, but that in and of itself is enough.

Another tear slips down your cheek, traveling mockingly along the ripped scar that Gideon gave you. Your skin burns with recognition, knowledge, horror, and something akin to grief. You will be forever marked by a killer. Yet, somehow, the unseen scars hurt even more. Your chest aches as you mourn the loss of the wholeness you never expected to lose.

next chapter

my search history for this chapter was so suspect…. “kidney recipes” “can you eat kidney” "can you survive without a kidney"....

I like how this turned out—specifically, the conversation with Hannibal. Him neglecting to engage in some of those pleasantries that the reader associates with him is an interesting way to portray his behavior as strange and unusual; I think it stays faithful to his characterization. After all, Hannibal isn't the type to display much emotion—we know him to be extremely calculated and calm. Therefore, "strange behavior" that he may exhibit is limited to things that may not seem strange to the average person (e.g. neglecting to wait for the other person before beginning to eat), but the reader can recognize that behavior as uncharacteristic for him.

thanks for reading! <33333

taglist: @its-ares@tobbotobbs@xrisdoesntexist@gr1mmac3@tiredstarcerberuslamb@yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown@atlas-king1@pendragon-writes@slipknotcentury@cryinersaved@the-ultimate-librarian@starre-eyes@pendragon-writes@peterparkeeperer

#hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #Hannibal Lecter x reader #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #hannibal x male reader #hannibal x gn reader #x male reader #x gn reader #gn reader #you get the idea

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aphrodaisyacs · 10 months

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This might be an odd question, but do you have any tips or preferences when it comes writing Natsuo? Asking for *ahem* reasons...

Ok well I guess like with all fanfic writing I use canon as a jumping point. He’s not exactly a flat character because the few moments he’s given imply a lot of depth, and it’s pretty fun to tease out that depth.

What we know from canon:

Out of all his siblings, Natsuo is the only one who appears to have a “normal” social life. He has a girlfriend who he presumably met during a university class, and he’s implied to prefer hanging out with her and his other friends instead of going back to visit his childhood home (much to Fuyumi’s annoyance lol). Based on his interactions with others he seems to be a sociable and friendly person (when Endeavor isn’t around to sour the mood at least). Personality-wise he also seems to be a confrontational person, in the sense that time and again he doesn’t shy away from uncomfortable conversations or topics- he prefers to air out all the grievances instead of letting them fester.

Currently, he and Fuyumi are the closest out of all the family members. They grew up together and they have the most normal sibling relationship out of everyone (the bar is on the ground tho aljsbd). In the scene where we first see them visiting Rei in the hospital together we also see them bantering and playfully poking at each other and he loves and respects her enough to put up with Endeavor for her sake.

It is no secret that Natsuo despises Endeavor—for being responsible for Touya’s death, for his treatment of Rei and Shouto and most likely also for the way he left Fuyumi as the responsible “adult” in charge of the home. The latter is implied from the way Natsuo spoke about how he tried to help her, ie with the cooking, but he was forced to stop when Endeavor complained about his cooking so it became Fuyumi’s responsibility again.

Then there’s all the trauma surrounding Touya, the way he feels like his brother wouldn’t have had to die (and become a villain) if only he’d listened to him when he needed it and maybe talked him out of some of his more extreme beliefs. It’s implied that he’s studying his current degree (medical welfare I think?) because of Touya, because he wants to help more people like his brother. There’s a lot of (irrational) guilt wrapped up in his feelings about Touya, but as seen in recent chapters he’s willing to put in the work and walk the long and difficult road to mend things between Touya and the rest of the family.

Now onto headcanon territory (most of which are extrapolated from canon):

I think that he has extremely low self esteem, due to the neglect he suffered while growing up. Not just from Endeavor, but from Rei too—here’s some thoughts I’ve already had about this, copy-pasted from the end AN of ch13 in WHFO:

I've always gotten the feeling that she and Natsuo were never particularly close, especially before she was hospitalised. Because he must've been what, 3 when she had to pass him over to be raised by the housekeeper while she completely shifted her focus to Shouto? Not to mention that his physical resemblance to Endeavor would've made it hard for her to even look at him, especially as her mental health spiralled. I just feel like Rei never really got much of a chance to get close to him the way she did with her other children, which is sad because that means Natsuo didn't have much of a relationship with either of his parents when he needed it most during his formative years faksjdlfs that is most definitely not going to have an impact on him at all, nope :)

Expanding on that I think he is also incredibly affection starved, and even as he strives to make a life for himself outside the family a part of him might always find it hard to accept praise or even just the idea that people would genuinely think he’s great to be around or good at things in general. Just you know, general symptoms of someone who had a childhood of emotional neglect.

Because of the whole thing with Rei I also think that he’s hyperaware of how much he physically resembles Endeavor. Does this mean he’s probably insecure about his looks as a result? Yes I do like to think so, especially for the Angst™️. It also doesn’t help that all of his other siblings look like their mum so he’s got that extra dose of feeling like the odd one out.

I also really like the headcanon that he inherited Endeavor’s short temper and general anger issues. Not only because that’s Angst Deluxe, but also because it would be interesting to explore how he grapples with it, and the internal conflict he feels about how scared he is of becoming like his father. This is why I love writing scenes where he’s arguing with his siblings or shouts at them only to watch them flinch because the psychic damage + self-loathing that would follow? Impeccable. Unparalleled. 👌

#asks #laarbybarbtbox #bnha #todoroki natsuo #sorry I just realised how angsty all the hcs are akdhdjdk #I hope you find this helpful anyway

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neutronice · 11 months

Text

What Do You Do When You're Secretly In Love With Your Roommate?

Summary: Yuuri Katsuki needed to get a grip on himself. Just because his new roommate looked like a silver-haired descendant from the Greek gods did not give him the right to thirst so hard. They were there to study! To explore! To experience studying abroad! Not to… not to… Victor Nikiforov really should have been prepared for the beauty that was his roommate Yuuri Katsuki, but he wasn’t. And now, he doesn’t know how to ask the most important question! The rainbow question. The ‘do I have a chance?’ question. Well, at least they both still have their secret love of skating. But when Katsudon🇯🇵 clashes with BladesofGold🇷🇺 online, Yuuri and Victor are one step away from seeing just how much they have in common.

This story is a dedication to this beautiful artwork by @elevenharbor

Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10 Ch11 Ch12 Ch13 Ch14 Ch15 Ch16 Ch17 Ch18

Chapter summaries are below the cut

Ch1: (Very) Pleased to Meet You

Yuuri is taken by surprise when he meets their new roommate for the year, in a very pleasant way. Yuuri also has an encounter with one of his online friends that goes a little sideways.

Ch2: Yuuri and Yuri

Victor too is surprised by Yuuri, in the most wonderful way possible. He's also pleasantly surprised with the online friendship he's started to build with his skating friend Katsudon🇯🇵

Ch3: Roommates and Neighbors

One of Yuuri's secrets has been discovered. Yuuri is just lucky that Phichit Chulanont is a fanboy too!

Ch4: Seeking Advice

Victor's in deep and turns to two of his friends for help. Lucky for him, they both deliver the goods!

Ch5: The Highs and Lows of Dance Parties

Yuuri goes to a dance party, the first that Victor has invited him to.

Ch6: Picking Up the Pieces

Victor reaches out to a friend for advice on what to do with a roommate who is avoiding him.

Ch7: One Step Forward

Victor makes Yuuri an offer that he cannot refuse (not that Yuuri wants to...)

Ch8: Katsudon

Victor has to come up with his photography project's theme, and suddenly finds himself very close to the truth.

Ch9: Reflections

Yuuri finally gets back to BladesofGold🇷🇺, and has a revelation while working with Victor on his photo project.

Ch10: Yes, No, Yes

Victor is staring down his realization, in more ways than one.

Ch11: Date Night

Victor and Yuuri sit down for pizza and wine. It's a date.

Ch12: It's Him

One night is all it takes for the course of Victor and Yuuri's relationship to change.

Ch13: BladesofGold

The truth is out: BladesofGold🇷🇺 is Victor. But that doesn't mean that all the secrets have been revealed!

Ch14: Excruciating Truth

Victor can't figure out what's going on. Is Katsudon🇯🇵 not Yuuri? But before Victor has a chance to really reflect on that, a movie dredges up a lot of things that he wanted to forget.

Ch15: Best Laid Plans

Yuuri had a plan! It was a genius one at that! But you know what they say, "the best laid plans often go awry."

Ch16: The Start of Something (Rated M)

Victor is beginning to understand how deeply he's fallen for his gorgeous roommate.

Ch17: The Best (Rated E)

Yuuri experiences his first time in the loving hands of his roommate.

Ch18: Omamori

Victor watches the sun set, thinking about what tomorrow brings when he gets summoned home. Yuuri has a surprise for him!

#yoi fanfiction #yoi fanfic #victuuri #neutronice fanfiction #idiots in love #what do you do when you're secretly in love with your roommate?#viktuuri

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lordoftherazzles · 4 months

Text

Razzy Writes 01.

I wanted to do some posts to discuss what I'm working on currently, how I'm doing, and what you can expect in the (near) future when it comes to my fics and things! It's really just journaling for me, but maybe others will find some enjoyment in it!

January Task List

Task marked with ★ is what I'm currently working on

Word Count: 22k

Write: As The Tide Turns (CH4)

Write: Bookbinder//Songwriter (CH13)

Write: Kurdu 'abadaz (CH5) ★

Write: Golden Hearts Bleed Faster (CH3)

Write: May Your Forge Burn Bright (CH17)

Write: May Your Forge Burn Bright (CH18)

Outline: Led Only By The Stars (B)

Edit: May Your Forge Burn Bright (CH17)

Revamp: "Scars" Oneshot

What I've accomplished so far...

Posted "Below the Belt" [E] for @tolkienpinupcalendar's event!

Finished writing MYFBB CH17

Finished writing GHBF CH3

Almost finished writing K'A CH5

I had covid going into the new year, which gave me a lot of time at home, so I've made a decent dent in my goals for this month - with still a long way to go, and realistically, I know I won't get ALL of those chapters written this month, but I can shift what I don't finish to next month!

9189/22000 words written

My word count goal felt like it was going to be a struggle going into the new year, but I think I'm doing pretty good so far!! Almost halfway there, and we're not even halfway through the month.

Thank you to everyone for your continued support!

#raz wips #raz in progress #bagginshield #since that's all i'm working on right now!

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mofffun · 5 months

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Team wings headcanons??? Any????

They are children on the playground and arguing is proof of their "friendship"!!

Headcanons

Rita being the secret supplier to Yanma's antique collection (think government auction, double as one Gokkan's source of income)

Yanma Gast 100% knew about Moffun.

Yanma the hashtag angry mark vs Rita the pool of yarn mark (ahhh I want to doodle)

THEM WITH KIDS: Rita scaring a little girl in N’kosopa vs. the flower twirl with Ishabana boy + Yanma is a good teacher

when did they first hear the king-ohger legend

"You don't even know that?" -> Yanma: yelling at auroras to "turn off your damn speakers!!!" // Rita: can't tell a lightning cable from a type c

I don't think Rita is bad in tech in terms of lacking a sense in it but they just never had the need to study it

Rita will never say the full technical name for Yanma's inventions though (Does he even know his lie detector is called the Thundercarcker behind his back?)

(bringing the actors into this) Rita serectly adding another grudge on their list because Yanma's Moffun voice is actually really good

per manga ch13, the grudge list grew again because the Jealous Judge's retainer has a heart uchiwa for the yankii king

Yanma is smart enough to motivate the judge with words into helping him if necessary but it'll take a minute hour for Rita to begin wonder if it was because they agreed with his reasoning or his choice of words

Yanma is 2 years older but by kingship he is 6 years Rita's junior. Their first meeting happened at 21/19. The number fluctuates because I also really want to see their first meeting at 19/15.

similarity and differences:

teased by Himeno, Yanma turns red and Rita turns white

they are too gay to sit properly

parallel play (they could sit in a coffee shop for hours and people would think they are angry with each other because they're not talking but it's actually the most comfortable way for them to stay together in the same room)

unconsciously hum while working long hours

“what is sleep”/caffeine addicts

you KNOW they both have a tendency to fall asleep in their office

Both have a sweet tooth but Yanma in drinks and Rita in hard candy. Rita more so than Yanma because butterfly.

don’t really look at what he’s eating vs. has a gokkan-native comfort food

Yanma doesn't mind trying foods with dry/weird textures Rita is not exactly a picky eater (because gokkan food shortage/low variety of homegrown food) but typical “I need that texture once in a while or I start malfunctioning”

(Gokkan has all sort of weird pickles and dried meats, typical winter country)

Like any northerner Rita has a high alcohol tolerance though without a preference (okay Gokkan harvest(?) festival and the one day the prison complex is allowed fruit punch) and you'll find me beat up before I say Yanma Gast can take more than a beer.

Yanma Gast has a HUGE ego but I think it’s only gotten worse by having an eternal hyper in Shiokara. Does Rita has an ego? long story short, yeah.

Instances:

first meeting

development of king's hotline/ohger calibur/king's weapon

the moffun scalper

development of the lie detector

yanma's arrest and trial

when yanma and rita were castle-mates (?) before himeno and kagu got themselves in jail

jail time

the body swap phone call!!

body swap resolution (admit it canon is not giving it to us)

the voyage back home

maintenance spa day of the shugods

first meeting: I think one reason Rita doesn't like N'kosopa much (and an underlying cause to them randomly arresting everyone in 28 besides stress), is organized crime plagued N'kosopa in the aftermath of Wrath of Gods.

Post-Wrath, the blue king ran away, so N'kosopa is either an anarchy or at warring states where crime bosses and militarists took hold. "Police" exist but took bribes per Shiokara. At that time, Rita just became king themself and has enough on their plate. So even though it's technically a domestic affair, it's a growing potential threat to Chikyuu's order but it's too systemic for a 10-year-old foreigner to take on alone.

I also think Rita would be required to witness the day Yanma officially becomes King. He has the popular vote, but to keep things simple, the monarchy is kept instead of transitioning into procedural democracy. So the yakuza lawyer, Usba maybe, say they have to get the Chief Justice here, to everyone turning blue and silent for a moment from the excited discussion of a big ceremony hearing their name.

but! my initial fic idea in may/june was very simple because I only wanted to put them in a bike + sidecar and sunglasses and comedic road trip. They chase down a McGuffin to help a kid. Their budapest. Where Yanma making "Absolute Neutrality" Rita's name comes from something they said. Maybe that's why the couldn't end the incident in a less legal but more effective way.

another first meeting idea allows them to meet younger as late teens is maintenance day for the shugods. A very random event is if the Yanma needs the Ohger Calibur to stay over temporarily, how is Rita gonna continue with the trials? Did he buy them a substitute pon pon Moffun hammer at the tuck shop??

Developing the henshin system: See I think Yanma is not going to bother putting in a function that he personally can’t use but knowing it’s a team’s weapon, as a good designer, he at least has to ask the other kings what they want as an auxillary. What is his reaction hearing Rita says bow? (i talk as if anything other than HA? is an option) What if Rita didn’t suggest bow, but Yanma just assigned them that because it fits that stick-in-the-mud?

Body swap resolution: Yanma wants to train his body but doesn't know where to start. I mean, he can't ask Rita of course. But if anyone can keep a secret, it's them. Oh of course he doesn't have to go that far and outright get humiliated again, so he has to phrase it like picking a fight. Rita is down anytime to "convince" Yanma Gast so they didn't really register it as a one either. (re: Erica saying arguing is the proof that this two are "friends")

Yanma's arrest:

Yanma's hair got fried blond because of his ultracomputer

N'kosopa mass protest + boast rally that conversely proved Yanma is the culprit

nobody remembers to hire Yanma a lawyer

a particular loud shriek when Gokkan's power black out (lucky for yanma it's summer i.e. long day)

Morfonia and her unsaved files

Yanma's sentence include improving Gokkan TV/Internet reception as community service

Jeramie using the "boys will be boys"/"he's just a kid" defence as Yanma's Grand-Master to mask he secretly contributed here and there

+ power blackout doesn't really affect the bugnarok because they're underground and only beginning to build a power system with Gira and Shugoddom's help

Shugoddom's historic gas lamps!

Himeno breaking down Yanma's door because "if not for my hospitals all equipped with the best backup power!" (solar/wind energy), and that she can't curl her hair that morning.

Kaguragi turned it into a campfire story night/community event somehow

Yanma's trial day is the day Gokkan's immigration and tourism board has to overwork for the first time.

Shiokara and hacker gang arguing for visitation rights. homemade bento

does yanma sentence last for more than two years if he says prison break is an additional charge?

Gira tried negotiations but he knew he isn't being fair and backed down quickly with a Rita stare

Yanma got dragged away with Papi-chan helicopter style, he's yelling at Tonbo to put in a good word for for his buddy and Papi-chan ignore him lol

CHARACTER ANALYSIS

They have two key words: past/present and secrets.

the thing with wings is, they somehow sparked in each other another side. (i.e. they drive each other crazy, and they are the only ones that can do that to the other) But then they spring back like nothing next day like children on the playground.

On a level, these two are actually very similar in terms of being analytical and practical. Yet their conflict comes from attacking problems from opposite angles. Rita represents the past and Yanma the future. Rita will collect evidence and review history while Yanma focuses on what's already in hand and invents something new. I said that right, but in a way Rita is forward-facing when they never let any childhood trauma stay a trauma or haunt them; Yanma is nostalgic based on his antique/physical media collection.

You may say it's partly recognition of the self. That's why they are only antagonistic 80% of the time.

(hc territory) They ended up doing the same thing/making the same choice ouf of completely different reasons. They are more similar than they think they are but no one can name what/why (not even me).

Yanma Gast 100% knew about Moffun but he kept his mouth shut in ep11. He (should) never told anyone about what Rita did in the underworld. I'm lying to myself he trusted the judge won't do something they didn't deem necessary so he turned away in 38.

Rita holds grudges. Yanma Gast is the source of their headache since he stole Gira and kick-started the story. Sometimes they don't get how such an obnoxious person is so popular. But Rita guesses, he's dependable when it's important. Not a very skilled fighter but he's not dumb. At least they can count on him not to intervene if they make it clear they are making a move.

the movie scene: No spoilers, but, I just think that’s a really nice scene to that established how different Yanma and Rita are while providing a base for reconciliation following their argument in 19. Neither of them are acting like their usual self. I don’t mean they are ooc, but you see them perform different than everyday under an unknown situation.

#JUST SO YOU KNOW WHEN YUZUKI MOVED TO THE SIDE TO GIVE WAY TO N'KOSOPA TEAM BUT WATANABE AOTO #PUT HIS ARM AROUND RITA'S SHOULDER AND DRAG THEM INTO THE OP DANCE LIVES IN MY HEAD RENT FREE!!#and 724 tiktok where Yanma says it's okay if Rita would rather enjoy the movie alone #and Rita smiles and Yanma is shocked 'why are you telling me this' 'because no one will ever believe you'.jpg #kingohger #team wings #kingoh hcs #moffsages #long post #2311291724 #hi anon this is very messy and frankly it took me 2 days because i don't exactly have that much situational headcanons for them #and i basically combed my whole n'kosopa and gokkan backstroy before I can reach something meaningful for them #and now i typed it out it feels like i haven't paid enough attention to their future #i'll look to correct that in coming days #also I assumed you ewnt through my wings tag so I try not to repeat here

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lastbluetardis · 1 year

Text

Sacred New Beginnings (18/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong.

Ten x Rose AU

This Chapter: Teen, ~4900 words

AO3 || Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 |

It was no hyperbole for James to say that the next six weeks were some of the best of his life. He worked hard to stay in the present, to file the memories he was making with Rose into his brain to be pulled out again at a later date when things got bad (because inevitably things always got bad, didn’t they?) He cataloged every laugh, every smile, every touch, basking in the high of new love.

His relationship with Rose had become the most important thing in his life, and he would protect it fiercely with every bone in his body. The media had caught on to that fact; as a result, more and more articles were coming out, wondering where he was and what he was doing. They ranged from wild speculations that he had been pulled into nefarious schemes, to softer and sweeter (and more accurate) speculations that he was love-sick. The paps still called her his mysterious blonde, which had become a running joke between them, with Rose calling him her mysterious beau.

His fans had also noticed his public absence. In the past, he could often be found wandering London and sampling its pleasures with whomever he happened to be dating at the time. But with his desire to keep Rose away from the cameras, they were sneaking around or hanging out in each others’ homes far away from any hope of discovery. His fans were discussing among themselves about whether he was working on a super secret project, or if he was ill, or if he’d stepped away from music altogether.

While he yearned to soothe their worries, he didn’t want to jeopardize this pseudo-peace he had found with Rose. They obviously couldn’t keep going as they were forever—he would want to take Rose all across the globe with him whenever her schedule allowed for it. He wanted to show her all the places she’d never been to but wanted to go. He wanted her to watch him on tour, wanted to see her face in the crowd beside the family and friends he’d invited to his show. He wanted to bring her along as his plus-one to the formal events and galas he was regularly invited to.

But not yet. Baby steps. He knew they first needed to continue building and strengthening the foundations of their relationship, and unlike all of his previous failed attempts at love, he wanted these first few months to be just theirs and no one else’s.

As November drew to a close, he slowly began to integrate Rose into his private life by introducing her to the people he trusted to keep the secret. His mates were thrilled that he seemed to have found “a good one” (their words), and he couldn’t bring himself to do anything more than grin like an idiot. Rose really was a good one—the best one.

“She’s good for you, mate,” Ian told him when his friends began to depart from his birthday dinner. “You act more yourself around her.”

“What do you mean, I always act myself,” he protested, frowning.

Barbara, Ian’s fiancée, patted his cheek softly while she kissed his other cheek. “You think you do. But remember, we’ve known you since puberty.”

He grimaced and shooed his two oldest friends out of his house so he could celebrate the remainder of his birthday alone with Rose.

His record label seemed surprised but overall indifferent to Rose. James didn’t know what he expected, really; they’d always made it clear that his personal life was his own to do with as he wished, but the moment he started looking bad for the label, they would put him on a short leash.

Nevertheless, it was a relief for them to be privy to the knowledge that he wanted Rose to remain a secret from the public for as long as possible. They also didn’t mind that his productivity had slowed down. Since the bulk of the work for his next album was complete, it wouldn’t take too much longer to get it produced, polished, and published.

Rose didn’t yet want to introduce him to any of her friends, and he wavered between hurt and guilt, wondering in equal measure if Rose was embarrassed to be dating him or wishing she could have a normal boyfriend she could show off to her mates.

But at the same time, he understood. With too many people in the know, it would be far too easy for word to leak about their relationship, and before they knew it, paparazzi would be battering down their doors to interrogate them. His friends had years of practice (and several awkward or painful missteps along the way) with keeping aspects of his life a secret, while hers didn’t. He would let Rose decide the pace with which they broadcast their relationship to others.

It was like he was living in a dream, and while he existed in a state of euphoria for most of the day, there were times when a lingering doom would settle over him as he wondered when their bubble of joy would pop. It was as though a great storm was approaching, but he couldn’t predict when or where or how it would happen.

He always knew he and Rose were teetering on the edge of discovery. One moment of being in the wrong place at the wrong time beside someone with a camera, and the game was up. One person would be all it took to have his paradise come crashing down around him.

But James never expected that person to come in the form of Jacqueline Tyler.

oOoOo

It has been nine days, eleven hours, and twenty-eight minutes since he last saw Rose, (not that he’s counting), when they snuck into the back of a darkened cinema to watch the Catalysis film together. The theater had been mostly empty, thanks to it being noon on a weekday and the film having been out for a month and a half. Rose’s school was closed for the day due to a water main break that left several city blocks without running water.

When she’d texted him that morning telling him the news, he couldn’t help but want to spend the entire day with her because he would be off that night traveling to a few cities across Asia for more film promotion and some early holiday concerts, mostly to raise money for charities. Everyone was more generous in December, and James wasn’t above being used to draw people in to watch him perform for a half hour.

The trip also served to satisfy his fans that he was, in fact, alive and well. The hashtag #WelcomeBackJames was trending on Twitter for half a day when he made his first stop in Tokyo. His social media was flooded with photos of himself either performing on stage, posing for a photoshoot, or taking selfies with fans. For the first time in a long while, he looked healthy. His eyes shone with joy and his skin had a glow to it that he hadn’t realized was missing.

When he took part of a morning to do a photoshoot for a Japanese magazine, his makeup artists barely had to touch his face like they usually did to soften the sharp gauntness of his cheeks or conceal the dark shadows beneath his eyes. After some of the photos had been released, Rose had sent him one where he was clad in nothing but a pair of low-slung jeans that showed off the jut of his hip bones and teased at the happy trail that disappeared beneath the denim. The photo had been heavily edited to make his skin tanner than it was and to highlight abdominal muscles he definitely didn’t have.

Can I get your ab regimen? “How to get abs of steel in 48 hours” from James Noble, she had texted.

He snorted. “Sorry, it’s a trade secret.”

Hmm. I’ll give you a bj for it? 🍆

His stomach swooped teasingly, and he banished the memories of Rose’s mouth on his cock before they could take root.

“Deal. The trick is being a multi-millionaire with a phenomenal make-up team and photographers who know how to use photoshop. BJ when???”

When you come home 💜

Home. It’s funny that when he thought of home, it wasn’t his house that came to mind. It was her—her smile and her laugh, the warmth of her embrace and the passion in her lips and the tenderness of her touch. And as excited as he was to visit east Asia, he was more excited to return to Rose.

Presently, now that he’s home, he aches to see her again. He returned three days ago, but Rose has been recovering from some respiratory illness her plague-riddled students passed on to her. While he respected her wishes for him to stay away for a few more days, he misses her. Their late-night phone calls were just enough to take the edge off, but he longs to see her in person, to hold her in his arms and kiss her deeply and slowly until they’re both starved for breath.

It’s Friday evening, and James is in the recording studio, snacking on a packet of crisps to tide him over until dinner time and plonking away on the piano, trying to put his finger on what is missing from the latest song he’s recording. Every time he tries to focus on what doesn’t sound right, it slips farther and farther away, like trying to catch wisps of mist with his fingertips.

He groans dramatically and gets up from his piano bench to flop even more dramatically onto his sofa. He shoves the remaining few crisps into his mouth and sullenly chews while replaying the melodies over and over in his head, trying to map slight variations on top of each other to fix whatever is dissatisfying him. But it doesn’t work, and he only succeeds in giving himself a minor headache and a bone-deep frustration.

Fuck it. It’s Friday, and he’s going home.

Unless…

He snags his phone from the table and opens his messaging thread with Rose.

“I know you said to wait until this weekend when you’re feeling better. But it’s practically already the weekend, innit? Can I come over for a bit? Or pick you up and we can go to my house?”

James drums his fingers across his thighs while he waits for her answer. Now that he’s got it in his head that he might be seeing Rose within the hour, he’s impatient to get to her.

His phone vibrates in his palm, and her message sinks his spirits.

Sorry, I can’t. I’m babysitting my little brother for the night. Mum and Dad have Friday date night, and their usual sitter came down with the flu. Tomorrow. I promise xo.

James sighs and rubs his fingers into his eyes.

“It’s fine. I understand. Tomorrow first thing? 🥺”

Oh, that’s so pathetic! Yes, first thing tomorrow. Pick me up at 9?

“On the dot,” he confirms.

He rests his phone beside him on the sofa cushion. Now what? Go home to an empty house and cook up whatever his personal assistant planned for him? Or maybe he can see if any of his friends are up for a night out. His week-long excursion to Asia scratched the itch of wanting to socialize, but he wants more. He’s always been extroverted in nature, loving the energy of a crowded pub or some similar venue, and while he would never regret these quieter, calmer weeks with Rose, he misses the former bustle of his social life.

James pulls open the group chat with his local famous friends, but before he can ask if any of them want to meet him at a pub, he gets a new message from Rose.

I mean… I don’t suppose you’d mind a 4-year-old third-wheeling us if you came ‘round?

A grin steals across his face. “Not in the slightest. Though it does put a damper on my plan to ravish you thoroughly and filthily the moment I see you 😏”

Well, what if I told you Tony will be gone by 9pm? 🍆

“I suppose the ravishing could be postponed ‘til then 🐱👅💦” He sends the text, then a thought occurs to him. “Does this mean you want to introduce me to your family?”

The three dots that indicate Rose is typing pulse across his screen for many long seconds before she answers, Yeah, I think I do. At least preliminarily. We can do a longer introduction later.

He beams at his phone screen. “Perfect. Can’t wait. I’ll come by right now. See you soon! 💜”

James hurriedly packs away the instruments and equipment he’d used that day before bolting out of the building and to his car, praising his lucky stars that he’d chosen today of all days to drive himself to the studio. He would have gone half-mad waiting for his driver to trek to him amidst Friday rush hour traffic. As it is, he goes half-mad inching through the rush hour traffic on his way to Rose’s flat.

Finally though, he arrives, and he battles the climb up to the tenth storey. It’s only when he knocks on her door that he belatedly thinks he should have offered to pick up dinner. No time for it now, not as Rose swings open her front door and ushers him inside.

When the door snicks shut behind him and she fastens the lock, he folds her into his arms and simply holds her for several long seconds, tucking his nose into her hair to breathe her in. She embraces him just as tightly, rocking slowly from side to side.

“I missed you,” she murmurs into his neck. There is still a faint, throaty rasp to her voice leftover from her bout of illness, and if he’s being perfectly honest, there is something incredibly sexy about it.

“And I you.”

He pulls back only far enough to cradle her jaw in his palm and angle her face up for a sweet kiss that he works to keep chaste. She melts into him, bracing her hands on his shoulders to kiss him back, matching his pace. Heat unfurls through him, gentle yet delicious. Before his desire can overtake him, he pops their mouths apart to rest his forehead to hers.

She nudges the tip of her nose into his before backing up a step. “C’mon. Tony’s in the kitchen havin’ some hotdogs and cheesy potatoes.”

Rose takes him by the hand and guides him to her kitchen table, where a small blond-haired boy sits perched on several pillows on top of a chair to get him to the proper height to reach the table. He’s watching a cartoon on a tablet, so transfixed that he doesn’t even notice their presence.

“Tony? I’ve got someone for you to meet,” Rose says, releasing James’s hand to step closer to her brother. “Can we pause Peppa for a moment, please?”

“I guess,” the boy says with a dramatic sigh. He reaches out with grubby fingers to pause the video, then pivots in his seat, causing the pillows to shift slightly with his movements. He meets James’s eye and blinks. “Who’re’you?”

“This is James,” Rose says, touching his upper arm as she says his name. “Remember I said he’d be hangin’ out with us tonight. He’s my boyfriend. Can you say hi?”

“Hi,” Tony obliges. “D’you like Peppa?”

James scratches the back of his neck. “Can’t say I’ve ever watched Peppa. What’s it all about?”

Tony lights up and launches into a half-coherent rambling about the show and the characters. James barely follows what the boy is saying, but judging from the interactions he’s had with some of his friends’ kids, it doesn’t really matter.

“Come come come,” Tony says, patting the table beside him. “You can watch Peppa too. Come on!”

Rose flashes him an apologetic smile, but James waves her off and pulls up a chair to sit beside the child.

“This one’s my fav’rite,” Tony says, returning to the tablet and starting the episode.

“They’re all your favorite,” Rose mutters. She steps up behind James and lightly links her arms around his neck, resting her chin atop his head. He leans into her while an anthropomorphic pig appears on the screen.

“Is that Peppa?” he asks.

Tony giggles. “Nooooo, silly, tha’s Chloe!”

“God, I can’t believe you didn’t recognize that’s Chloe,” Rose drawls in his ear.

He reaches back to pinch her bum as he says to Tony, “Oh, right, silly me. Of course I can see that’s Chloe now.”

Tony absently swings his feet and nibbles on a hotdog. “There. Tha’s Peppa.”

Rose continues to hold James in a backwards hug while the three of them watch the brief episode together. When it ends, Rose ruffles Tony’s hair and says, “I’m gonna steal James back, all right? We need to make grown-up food.”

“You don’ wan’ hotdogs?” Tony asks, frowning.

Rose grimaces. “Nah, remember big sissy doesn’t like those.”

Tony simply blinks owlishly at her, as if he couldn’t possibly understand why anyone wouldn’t like hotdogs. James, meanwhile, catalogs that factoid of Rose into his memory bank.

“After dinner, why don’t we all play a game?” Rose suggests.

“Okay,” Tony says brightly, and he returns his attention back to Peppa Pig.

James follows Rose the short distance to the kitchen, where, together, they chop, season, then cook the ingredients for fajitas.

The knife is an extension of his hands as he neatly slices and dices. He hardly realizes Rose is watching him until she asks, “Have you always been this comfortable in a kitchen?”

He glances over at her lumpy attempts at cubed chicken.

“Don’t laugh, but I actually took cooking lessons a couple years ago,” he admits, faint heat crawling up his cheeks.

“Why would I laugh?”

He ignores the jabs his friends made when he told them he was learning to cook.

“Just hire a chef…”

“Just order in…”

“Just find a wife…”

His famous friends didn’t understand why he didn’t hire someone to cook for him, and his non-famous friends didn’t understand why he would want to learn a skill they would all kill not to need to use.

James shrugs. “I like the idea of knowing how to cook. My luck might run out, and this time next year, I’ll be a washed-up has-been who needs to get by like a normal person, which includes knowing how to cook and use ingredients efficiently. And it’s healthier than dining out all the time. I struggled with proper nutrition when I first became famous.”

Rose comes up beside him and, careful of the knife, hugs one of his arms. She plants a kiss to his shoulder.

“Makes sense. You’ll have to teach me one day. But not tonight, I’m starving and in no mood for lessons.”

He snorts and bumps his hip into hers to get her to take a step away so he can reach for the onion that needs chopping.

The flat is soon filled with the sound of sizzling chicken, and it smells absolutely divine. The meat and spice scent reminds him of their date at Cocinara.

“Let’s go out to dinner sometime soon,” he suggests. “I know we’re trying to keep a low profile, but I’d really like to take you out. We can get all dressed up and get wasted on fancy champagne and stuff ourselves on fancy hors d'oeuvres and order fancy meals that come on fancy plates that look too fancy to eat. I know some places. I can book a reservation in a private area where we can go unnoticed.”

“James, you don’t need to convince me,” Rose says gently, resting her hand on his forearm to pause his rapid-fire speech. She then flashes him a cheeky smile. “You had me convinced at the promise of champagne. And dear God, would you please stop saying ‘fancy’?”

“You don’t fancy it?” he quips, giggling as she rolls her eyes and halfheartedly swats his chest.

When their dinner is finished, they each struggle to enfold the sauteed chicken and veggies into a tortilla shell until they give up and shred their tortilla atop a pile of fajita innards. Tony has left his perch at the kitchen table and is instead curled on the sofa with the iPad, still wholly consumed by Peppa Pig.

Rose clears her brother’s empty plate from the table. While in the kitchen, she grabs a bottle of pink wine and two glasses, and pours them both healthy measures. They clink their glasses in a dainty toast before tucking into their meal.

They don’t speak while they eat, but James has never felt more comfortable. There have been dates he’d gone on where he felt the need to fill every awkward silence because it was too stifling. But not here. Not now. Not with Rose.

He stretches his legs towards hers and lets his toes tap an absent beat against her feet while they eat. The beat turns into the rhythm of the song he tried (and failed) all day to tweak.

“D’you wanna see the recording studio?” he blurts. “I could show you how the sausage gets made.”

“You mean you don’t just sing into a microphone and magically have an album?” she drawls.

“Enh, that’s really the general gist of it. Just with some fancier gadgets. So… wanna see the studio? I’m sure there’s a “take your girlfriend to work” day coming up soon.”

Rose cackles. “Next time school’s off, I’ll come by. During the winter holiday, maybe.”

He makes a mental note about it, and is suddenly impatient for the next couple weeks to pass. While he genuinely does want to invite her into his professional life, his ulterior motive for showing her the studio is to present his half-finished album to her, to seek her blessing about creating music that captures and immortalizes the beginnings of their relationships.

When their food is eaten and the dishes are piled into the sink to do later, James and Rose join Tony in the living room. He finally puts the iPad aside and asks, “Can we play Jus’ Dance?”

James perks up. “Ooh, yes please!” He turns to Rose and affects his best pout.

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” she says.

She opens the little cabinet door of the entertainment center her TV sits atop of to reveal an older-model gaming unit.

“Is that a genuine antique Wii?” James gasps.

Rose sticks her tongue out at him. “Shut up. I found one cheap online and got it so I could entertain this little terror when he comes to visit.”

Tony is utterly oblivious to his sister’s comment and is instead preemptively gyrating his hips, dancing to music that exists solely in his head. He puts lyrics to that music and is soon crooning in a long, off-key babble, “Gonna play Jus’ Dance. Gonna dance wi’ sissy. Gonna dance wi’ James. Gonna dance and dance ‘til it’s bedtime and Mummy comes and I go home and sleep in my big boy bed.”

“All right, big boy, you first,” Rose says, loading up the game.

There is a wide selection of songs from the 90’s and early 2000s; James notices she picks a child-appropriate song for her brother to play. Tony eagerly grabs the Wii remote and vaguely follows the on-screen dancer, choosing instead to move his body however he sees fit. The pure joy and delight radiating from the boy is infectious, and before they know it, he and Rose are mirroring Tony’s wild movements and giggling uncontrollably.

“Your turn!” Tony pants, pink-faced.

James accepts the nunchuk and selects a song for himself.

They pass nearly two hours in this fashion, trading off the controller between the three of them. James is amazed by (and slightly envious of) how much stamina Tony has. It’s only when the clock strikes 8:30 that he seems to have hit a wall. He throws himself onto the sofa and announces, “My legs are out of breath.”

Rose grins. “Yeah, mine are too. How ‘bout you, James.”

“So out of breath,” he agrees.

“Let’s sneak in a bit of ice cream before Mummy comes to get you, eh?” Rose suggests.

“Yay! Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream! Choc’late?”

“Of course. Only the best for my Tony.” Rose glances at James. “Want some?”

He nods, and powers down the Wii before settling onto the sofa beside Tony.

“That was fun. Good choice, little man.”

“It’s my fav’rite,” Tony says, still lying in a heap on the sofa. He peers up at James with giant brown eyes that are a few shades darker than Rose’s. “Are you an’ sissy in love?”

James balks. For a split second, he nearly spits out the reactionary retort he gives paparazzi, but mercifully catches himself.

He’s just a child. Of course he isn’t fishing for information. He’s just a child.

“Er, yeah, we are,” he answers, scratching at the back of his neck, as though that will stop his skin from prickling.

Tony beams. “Are you gonna get married?”

James doesn’t have a chance to respond, since Rose chooses this moment to enter the living room juggling three bowls. Her cheeks are pink, and she flashes him an apologetic smile before setting one of the bowls on the coffee table.

“Bum on the floor,” she tells her brother, who is already in motion to sit in front of his ice cream.

She then hands James his ice cream and settles into the spot her brother vacated.

“Sorry ‘bout him,” she murmurs in an undertone.

James shakes her head. “Children don’t know any better. No filter at that age. Not that I’m one to talk. My filter hasn’t developed even by age twenty-seven.”

Rose visibly relaxes, and the three of them sit in comfortable silence, enjoying their dessert.

The entire lower half of Tony’s face is covered in sticky chocolate by the time he’s done, so Rose marches her brother down the hall to clean him up while James takes it upon himself to start the washing up. He cleans up the droplets of melted ice cream from the coffee table, then does all of the dishes piled up by the sink.

Washing dishes has always been a mindless task for him, and tonight is no different. While he runs through the motions of washing and rinsing, his mind wanders absently, wondering what he and Rose can do together tomorrow, wondering where he can take her out to dinner, wondering if, as Tony said, Rose might want to marry him some day.

He never put much thought into marriage; it was something that either happened or didn’t. He has never had the deep and desperate desire to get married; all he ever wanted is to find a partner he loves with his whole self, and who loves him with their whole self. Whether that is made legally official with legally binding documents, or whether it’s a vow of commitment made between him and his partner, he doesn’t care.

But does Rose care? Does Rose want the big fancy wedding with the big fancy dress? He supposes he ought to find out. Really, he ought to find out a lot more than what he already knows. How much does he even know about Rose? What are her hopes and dreams and aspirations? Where does she want her life to be in five years? In ten? Does she want children? Does he want children?

He tries to imagine himself in ten years’ time, just like this, with Rose bathing their child or putting them to bed while he does the evening chores, and he just… he can’t see it.

He tries again and again, despite a little voice in the back of his mind that tells him that this doesn’t matter because he doesn’t know what Rose wants, and yet it makes no difference. Because what if Rose really, really wants children? What if having children is a deal breaker for her? Would he be okay with having kids? Would he be okay with not having kids? Do most twenty-seven-year-olds know by now if they want kids??

James has been absently scrubbing the same bowl for nearly five minutes, and he realizes Rose and Tony have been gone for quite a while.

But he barely finishes that thought when he hears the metallic jangle of a key in a lock, and suddenly Rose’s front door swings open. James’s heart is hammering as he is jarred back to the present. He sets the ultra-clean bowl into the sink and grabs a towel to dry his hands.

“Sorry we’re late. Traffic was a nightmare, you wouldn’t believe—”

A middle-aged blonde woman that James recognizes is standing just inside the front door beside a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair. James freezes as the woman’s eyes lock onto him and turn to ice.

“You!” she snarls, and stalks towards James. He shrinks away, but the sharp edge of the countertop bites into the small of his back, preventing his retreat. “What the hell do you think you’re doing in my daughter’s flat?!”

#ficandchips #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #ten x rose au #james x rose #my fic #sacred new beginnings #i'm so excited for this chapter #and the coming ones #i hope y'all like this!

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hugmekenobi · 6 months

Text

Ch13 Snippet

I am terribly sorry for how far behind I have gotten, but here's a lil something cause I'm back to being to work on it more now! Some very light smut included below the cut!

Phee raised her hands before she half-turned to Shep. “Lead the way, Shep. I’ll catch up.”

You all made to follow Shep, but you couldn’t help but notice Tech linger to look back at Phee and it warmed your heart. You just wished he would clue into the part of his brilliant brain that would realise he and Phee had potential.

“Leave them alone.” Hunter whispered as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder to turn your gaze away and focus on walking behind Shep.

How are you not more invested in this?

“It’s not that I’m not invested but I know my brother, and this is something he needs to take at a very slow pace.”

“You’re so good.” You knew he was right. You focused instead on taking in your new surroundings.

The more you got to see of Pabu as you walked, the more you loved it. Everything was so pretty and letting Omega run ahead with Lyana felt completely safe, there wasn’t a threat to be found. It felt natural to be here.

“Upper Pabu is the oldest part of the island.” Shep informed you all as you paused to take in the magnificent view of the island and its crystal-clear blue waters. “As we’ve grown over the years, we’ve expanded the wall into Lower Pabu.”

You leaned over the wall to take it all in.

“Hi, Shep!”

“Hi, Mr Eenta. How are Sari and Micha?” Shep replied warmly to the old man that had approached them.

Mr Eenta let out a cheery high-pitched laugh. “They’re doing good. Thanks for asking, Shep. I see we got some newcomers here too. Although we haven’t had some quite as lovely as you join our community in a long time.” He added with a kind smile in your direction.

You smiled in thanks at the man and elbowed Hunter playfully. “Gotta up your game, I might just run off with him.”

“Ha ha.” Hunter replied drily as he drew you into his side and pressed a soft kiss to your hairline.

Mr Eenta laughed at your words. “I best be off but welcome to the island! Feel free to stop by anytime!”

“Nice to see you!” Shep waved him goodbye.

“Uh, do you know everyone here?” Wrecker asked Shep.

“Of course. We’re all like family. Now, if you’ll continue to follow me, I can show you were you and (Y/N) will be staying.” Shep said to Hunter. “I have a place for the rest of you too and Omega can go to either house, but I gather it would be best to show that to you after dinner?”

“Staying?” Hunter repeated.

Shep paused for a moment. “Well, I imagine you two’ll want some privacy before dinner tonight. There’s plenty of time. Unless I’ve read things wrong, or you want to stay as a group-”

“You have read things correctly.” Tech said without looking up from his datapad.

“Tech-” Hunter started.

“Yes, please, take them somewhere far away from us.” Wrecker said in an exaggerated manner.

You punched his arm.

Shep paid little attention to the teasing insinuations. He remembered what it was like to be young and in love. “We’ll pass my home on the way anyway so you can see Omega get settled and join us in an hour or so?”

You and Hunter glanced at one another before Hunter nodded his agreement and you both walked beside Shep trying not to look too eager or walk too quickly.

You didn’t remember much about the place you were staying. All that really registered with you was the discarded pieces of armour and weapons by the door and the short route from the doorway to the bedroom. From what you did recall; it was very cosy and homey, but right now your focus was on the fact you were sat across Hunter’s lap at the edge of the bed. Your kisses were slow and deep, there was no residing worry of being interrupted or needing to be rushed and the two of you were perfectly content with not rushing things, both too intoxicated by the feeling of your lips on each other’s skin and the noises leaving your mouths.

“I want to call this in.” You panted against his lips as your fingers traced the red scarf.

Hunter groaned as he felt you grind against him. “But I-”

“I want to call this in.” You repeated seductively as you lifted it over his head and pulled back to look into his eyes. “Please.” You murmured as you pressed delicate kisses along his jaw.

#the bad batch #the bad batch season 2 #hunter x femalejedi!reader #hunter x reader #hunter x fem!reader #hunter x female!reader

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laurel-finch · 2 months

Text

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch13: Family

Summary: A brief calm before the storm... Referenced Episodes: mentioned S1 E16 "Shadow" CW: Mostly filler. Some fluff! Word Count: 5922 Recommended Song: Cecelia -- Simon & Garfunkel Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

I clocked out after about eight hours of driving and finally gave up on holding a conversation with the boys. The relief of surviving yet another hunt had finally washed away, leaving a bitter feeling hanging low over us.

The brothers were not happy, for similar and yet very different reasons. Both of them were pissed to hell that they had to say goodbye to their father not even an hour after reuniting. However, Sam was frustrated with the fact that it was his brother who sent John away – I could understand his pain. If I had rekindled relations with my father, wherever he might be, and then he suddenly left I would be upset too.

The brothers hadn't spoken much, only really conversing together when I was involved in the conversation. Eventually, I got fed up and did my best to fall asleep to the sounds of loud rock music. Despite Dean's claims about not liking Bon Jovi, he played it an awful lot.

I too was irritated in my own way. I couldn't help but replay the previous night's events over and over again until my head was reeling from exhaustion. Maybe if I had stayed put, John wouldn't have been led to the boys. Perhaps he wouldn't have gotten there in time and therefore not have gotten hurt- No, if we hadn't gotten there, the brothers might have been dead, or worse.

The more I thought about it, the fewer good options there appeared to be. No matter how I spun the story, I couldn't find a happy ending. Something would have gone wrong eventually.

I sighed and fluffed my coat - there was no way Dean was ever getting it back - and rested my head back onto it. It had already been two hours since I had given up on getting a conversation going and all I really wanted was to sleep. I hadn't gotten any at the hospital, and I certainly hadn't had anything more than a few hours while in Chicago. I shut my eyes and did my best to lull myself to sleep.

"Sammy, hand me one of my AC/DC tapes, would you?" Dean asked, extending his hand. Sam had just enough time to open the glove compartment before I spoke up.

"If you play that while I'm trying to sleep, I will skin you," I grumbled out, my words partially muffled by my coat.

Dean briefly glanced over his shoulder to catch my glare. "What's wrong with AC/DC?"

"Nothing, as long as it's not played at 10pm," I growled and nuzzled into the coat. Dean scoffed.

"It's just after 9:30," he muttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

"Close enough," I spat. I heard Sam chuckle and close the compartment. "You have my permission to play something like Journey, though."

Sam practically howled with laughter at this. "No way does Dean have any Journey," he said with a chuckle. "You're lucky he's got any Bon Jovi."

"They're not my favorite," Dean tacked on, "but, they do have a few good albums. I just hate their love songs."

I sighed into my makeshift pillow and squeezed my eyes shut. "Yeah right, Dean. I heard you tapping your foot to 'Bed of Roses' earlier." I cracked one eye open to see Dean's ears tinge pink and again Sam laughed. I grinned and shut my eyes once more.

The car fell silent after a few grumbles from Dean and the cassette that was currently playing came to an end. I hummed and burrowed once more into the coat, letting sleep finally overtake me.

I felt oddly warm, despite being enveloped in darkness. Shouldn't the lack of anything suggest cold, rather than heat?

I blinked open my eyes, or I assume I opened them. The lack of any sort of presence made it hard to distinguish the inky blackness of my surroundings from the shadows of my closed eyelids.

I looked down, seeing my calloused hands, shadowed and blanketed by the heavy darkness. My eyes scanned over my form, recognizing all the clothes I was wearing. They were the same ones I had fallen asleep in, jeans with ripped knees and cuffed ankles to fit over my tightly done hiking boots, and a loose sage green button-down that fit well over my bandages.

I stretched, soaking the warmth into my tired muscles, and suddenly jumped, expecting pain from my torn shoulder and feeling none. I rolled my shoulder questioningly - where was the pain? There wasn't even a dull throb.

I reached towards my back and felt under my shirt, searching for shredded skin, bandages, anything, and felt none. My back felt smooth. Frantically, I unbuttoned the tops of my jeans and pulled them back as far as I could, peaking at where the top of my mangled wound should be. It was smooth. Unblemished.

I felt sick. My eyes flitted around the inky darkness and my throat closed up. I scrambled at my throat. I couldn't breathe. Why wouldn't I breathe?

A faint noise caught my attention and I swiveled the best I could in the murk. My eyes widened with horror as my ears strained to identify the sound.

It was a growl.

I whipped in the opposite direction, searching my shrouded darkness. A shape moved in front of me and I squinted my eyes at it. My hands dropped from my throat, the lack of oxygen forgotten. I struggled to make out a shape in the dark, peering and hoping to see whatever had growled.

My eyes widened as they fastened to two red ones.

I woke with a jolt, using my good arm to propel myself away from the window. I fell to the side, putting pressure on my bad leg and catching myself with my sore arm. I yelped and pushed backward, leaning against the door with wild eyes and heavy breaths.

The car skidded as I startled Dean and he quickly corrected our course. Sam whipped around to face me, worry in his hazel eyes. "Woah, woah, the hell is going on back there!?" Dean shouted, sounding panicked.

I nodded and threaded a hand through my hair the best I could. I took a deep breath in an attempt to regulate my heartbeat and then nodded again, feeling more sure of myself.

"Nightmare," I wheezed out and dropped my hands on my lap. Could it even really be considered a nightmare? If anything, it was more unsettling than terrifying. I brushed my hair out of my face as it clung to my sweaty face. "What time is it?"

"Just after eleven," Dean replied. "You've been asleep for about two and a half hours."

I nodded and swallowed dryly. "So are we close to home?"

Sam nodded and handed me a bottle of water from the glove compartment. "Another twenty minutes." I sighed in relief and relaxed, shifting so my back rested comfortably against my seat. I uncapped the water and downed a third of it.

"Wanna talk about it?" Sam inquired quietly. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply.

"I was in complete darkness, just kind of... floating," I mumbled. "I wasn't in any pain either. My wounds were just... gone, and there were no scars. Like nothing had happened." I sighed out and rested my fingertips lightly on my throat. "I couldn't breathe. It was like there was no oxygen, and... I heard this growl. When I tried to see what growled at me, I saw eyes. Red. Like fire." I shrugged and leaned my head back. "And then I woke up."

My eyes flashed to Dean as he chuckled darkly. "That's it?" he asked. "You afraid of the dark or something, Scoob?"

"-Dean!" Sam chastised his older brother for his apathy."Of course not," I scoffed. "I just- it was just unsettling. There was something... not natural about it."

"We specialize in 'not natural,' sweetheart," Dean continued. "You think it had anything to do with these voices you keep hearing?"

"I don't know," I mumbled, pressing a palm to my temple. My head was throbbing, like a dull headache. "Oh! I forgot to mention it earlier but- I heard the whisper again. Right before your dad attacked me, it told me to duck."

"It told you to duck?" Sam asked, obviously confused. "Why?"

I shrugged. "Probably because your dear old dad would have hit me in the back of the head if I hadn't."

"I dunno, maybe you deserved that for following us," Dean chimed. I glared at his stern features in the rearview mirror.

"And maybe you deserved that pretty cut across your face for being an ass," I snapped back. My harsh words only drew a rumbling chuckle from him. I resettled myself in my seat and shut my eyes once more as the interior of the car fell silent.

I jolted upon feeling the car take a familiar turn off the highway, one that would lead to my front door. I cracked a grin and straightened in my seat, leaning between Dean and Sam to stare out the front window.

Nerves hit me like a truck - was now really the best time to go back? My grin slipped from my face and instead I frowned, pondering. The boys had only just found their father, who supposedly had a huge lead on killing the demon that killed their mom. Killing a demon! What if they needed me?

My heart pounded. Calliope. Had she even made it to the pack? I should have called to check- I should have called to let them know I was coming home! God, that was stupid of me. They were my family, I needed to tell them these things.

Being a part of a family again was a lot harder than I thought.

I bolted upright again when I saw the lights of my house come into view. There was no way this wasn't my favorite place on earth. I beamed, remembering all the memories I had here. Repainting the house with Dennis had been one of the best - it had been an ugly beige color, but I somehow convinced him to go with an almost pastel blue. He had been so against it at first until we started doing it. He fell in love with the color after that.

I reached for my crutches and waited for the Impala to roll to a steady stop. Before Dean had even parked, my door was thrown open and I launched myself from it, struggling to walk and get my crutches under me at the same time. The pack bond was blazing, pulling me towards the painted house as I stretched the crutches as far ahead of me as I could to propel myself forward.

The front door was tossed open and from the opening popped Andrew's red hair, a wide, relieved grin on his features. He ran out the door and toward me, Sasha close behind with a dishrag in hand.

My crutches fell to the ground as Andrew threw himself at me, enveloping me in a warm hug. Sasha soon followed him, embracing me a bit more timidly after surely having noticed my injuries. I hugged back tightly, relieved that I was finally home.

I jumped and broke the embrace, hearing a squeal from the doorway. My eyes fell on Calliope, long hair tied into a loose braid and an apron draped across her front. In just a few bounds she had crossed the lawn and tackled me, practically knocking me over.

"You're back!" she exclaimed, pulling away and inspecting me with sheer joy.

"You're here!" I squealed back. "I was worried you hadn't made it!"

"Of course I made it! Why wouldn't I?" Calliope was practically shaking with excitement, her eyes raking over my form as if she hadn't seen me in years. Finally, her eyes settled with some confusion on my leg with a tight brace on it to restrict movement to keep me from further injuring my muscles. Her eyes widened with panic as they befell my crutches and her grip tightened on my upper arms. "What happened?"

A gentle hand rested on my good shoulder and I turned my head to meet Dean's green eyes, my backpack slung over one of his shoulders. "Just a couple thousand-year-old shadow demon," he said, smirking playfully. He extended his hand to Calliope. "Hi. Dean Winchester."

Calliope looked nervously between the two of us. "Your human friend?" she asked me. I nodded. She smiled softly and shook Dean's hand. "Calliope Jones. I’m a new friend." Her chest swelled with pride.

Andrew leaned forward to pick up my crutches and handed them to me. "What do you mean 'shadow demons'?"

"Ever heard of a Daeva?" I asked. He shook his head and I chuckled. "I wouldn't expect you to. I hadn't heard of them either. Basically, they're these shadow demon things that are really hard to summon and are vicious." The younger boy blinked in confusion, drinking it all in. I rolled my eyes playfully. "I'll fill you guys in later. Where's everyone else?"

"Booth turned in a few hours ago," Sasha chirped, her sweet voice music to my ears. I missed her- all of them. She was going to be pissed when she saw the state of my clothes. "Marcus and Caeden went hunting a couple of hours ago."

I nodded and turned to the Winchesters who were both rearranging luggage in the car. "Don't tell me you boys are leaving already?"

Sam glanced up at me, a woeful expression on his face. "We have to go," he started, straightening and brushing a long lock from his face. "We've got to find dad."

I scoffed and crossed my arms in irritation, much to my shoulder's displeasure. "John can wait a few hours. You boys are getting some sleep." I glared at Dean as he bolted upright to protest, silencing him. "I'll have you boys dragged in by your napes. You can head out tomorrow, but you're sleeping here tonight." I turned to Sasha, hobbling a bit as I spun. "Can you set up the pull out couch in the living room? I doubt they'll want to share the guest room bed," I teased with a glance over my shoulder at the brothers.

The six of us padded into the house and I breathed a sigh of relief as I sat on the living room couch. It had been too long since I was home, and the familiar scents and warm lights gave me an innate sense of comfort that I was sure nothing else ever would. This was my home. And of course, it could be argued that my pack was my home as well, but everyone needed roots. It kept us grounded.

I needed to be grounded.

I wasn't particularly worried about my self-control – as long as I remained around people I trusted and cared about, I had little concern. Truthfully, I was worried about my inability to change forms. How long would it last? And what the hell did I have to do to make it stop?

I must have dozed off at some point. The boys had gotten settled and wished everyone a pleasant night. After that, I remember staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours.

—

I bolted upright having been awoken by the sounds of a door opening, squeaking on its hinges. My eyes slowly adjusted to the room as I blinked furiously, peering through the darkness. My tired eyes latched onto a shadowed form on the front porch, just visible through the small window near the top of the door.

I rubbed a hand down my face, working the sleep out of my eyes. It was still dark out and couldn't have been any later than four in the morning, perhaps even earlier. I felt like I hadn't slept at all. With a deep inhale that rocked my lungs, I stood and reached for my crutches, making my way slowly towards the front door.

The door creaked as I pushed it open, but elicited no reaction from the figure on my porch. I sighed, recognizing who it was, and padded softly toward him.

"You're supposed to be sleeping, you know. That's the whole reason I told you to stay," I mumbled sleepily to Dean, rubbing a closed fist over my eye. He didn't respond, instead staring into the tree line with a tired expression.

"Did I wake you?" he finally asked, eyes unfocused and clearly deep in thought.

I yawned and placed a hand over my mouth. "Yeah, but I probably would have woken up soon anyway. What time is it?"

"’Bout three in the morning, I think," he mumbled back. I nodded and propped my elbow on the railing, resting my chin in my open palm.

"Then I would have been up in a couple hours anyway. Pretty much as soon as the sun started coming up," I reassured with a soft chuckle, almost unnoticeable.

Dean ran his fingers through his hair which was subtly less spiked. Clearly, he had at least laid down for a little while. He always slept on his stomach, it only made sense that his hair would be mssed because of it. "I thought skinwalkers liked to sleep during the day?" he teased.

I laughed a bit louder than I had intended, placing a hand over my mouth to muffle my laughter. "Yeah, some do. My sleep schedule has been all kinds of messed up in the last few months though," I yawned again. "I used to sleep the day away then come out at night. Everything just seems so peaceful and crisp at night, you know?" I sighed and smiled softly. "Even the air is better."

Dean nodded slowly and turned his head towards mine, green eyes swimming with unspoken thoughts. "I guess we messed up a lot more than your sleep schedule, huh?"

I frowned and locked yes with him, confused by his statement. "What makes you think that?"

Dean huffed and turned to face the tree line again, a resigned look resting on his tired features. "Ever since Sammy and I waltzed into your life, nothing's been the same. I mean, you're a hunter now, you've got a pack-" he chuckled darkly, "Hell, you've almost gotten killed a couple of times."

I hummed quietly, mulling it over. True, everything had changed, but I wouldn't say my life was messed up now. "I was bored out of my mind before you boys showed up." I inhaled deeply and spun around, back to the railing and elbows propped on it. "I had been on a few cases long before meeting you boys, but it had been a long time. Months before my uncle died." I paused and thought for a few moments. "Honestly, I think hunting was what I was missing. I love it, despite how crazy that sounds. I was raised on stories of hunting, and when I got a taste of it... I didn't want to let go."

I turned my head to meet Dean's eyes, his looking rather unsure. I mustered the sweetest smile I could and grinned at him. "I'm glad you boys dragged me back in. I didn't realize how much I missed it."

Dean scoffed playfully. "Why would you miss hunting? This life sucks."

“I think I like the… saving people part. I’ve done enough bad in my life, it feels nice to do some good.” I raised an eyebrow at him and nudged him in the arm. "Don't act like you wouldn't miss it."

He exhaled deeply, picking at his nails nervously. "If I could get out and have a life, then I would. White picket fence, kids, two dogs-"

"- Two dogs? I thought you didn't like dogs?"

"Yeah, two dogs – and I do like dogs, s'long as they don't shed. The apple pie life, you know?" He propped his chin in his hands and stared wistfully into the woods. "A house like this, too. Small, but warm, cozy, and out of the way of everything else."

"Would you get a normal job?" I inquired. He looked so peaceful, daydreaming about the perfect life. I wanted to see more of it.

"Yeah, I would," he said with a small smile. "Probably a mechanic, like my dad. I'd teach my kids all about cars, just like he taught me. We'd have pie on Sunday nights for dessert and have Sam visit from time to time..." his smile suddenly fell, replaced with a grim expression. He frowned, the skin between his brows wrinkling and dragging his eyebrows down with it in a sour expression.

"I want that for Sam," he continued, sounding almost lost. "And I want that for you."

Now it was my turn to frown as my own eyes perused his crestfallen features. "But not for yourself?"

"Of course, I want that for myself," Dean grumbled. "But it's just... not something I'll ever have. Kids, a wife, that whole life – maybe in another world that could be mine." He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair once more, tugging at it gently in frustration. "Sam got out of this life once. He can do it again. I want you to get out too, away from the hunting, the demons, all the conflict."

I scoffed. "I hate to break it to you, Dean, but it's not in the cards for me either." His green eyes whipped to mine, a deep-set scowl on his handsome features. "Maybe if I was human, or even if I didn't have a pack to look out for... but not now. Hell, I don't know if I'll even find a partner."

"Do you want kids?" Dean asked. The question startled me and I glanced at him with wide eyes. The last time I had even thought about the prospect of kids was my first case with the boys, with Missouri...

"Honestly, I've never really thought about it," I mumbled and scratched the back of my neck. Why was I so embarrassed? "Never really been the motherly sort, you know?"

Dean laughed and cracked a grin, one that brought a smile to my own cheeks. "You seem plenty motherly with your pack."

My grin grew into a smirk. "Yeah, but they can feed themselves and don't need their diapers changed." Dean chuckled again at this and leaned further forward over the railing.

"So I take it that's a no?" he asked. I hummed questioningly. "About having kids? I guess that means no?"

I froze. Did that mean no?

I shook my head. "Whatever happens, happens. I'll just roll with the punches. If I have a kid, or two, or three, then yeah, I'll be ecstatic. And if I don't-" I frowned. What if I didn't? Missouri said I would, and in the near future, but what if she was wrong? "- If I don't, I've still got a family." My voice cracked as I spoke, betraying how I felt.

I hoped Missouri was right. Maybe I would have some pups of my own and have that apple pie life. Get away from hunting, maybe appoint Booth as the new alpha... my stomach lurched at the sudden thought. Give it all up? Maybe that didn’t sound so bad…

"I still want all that for you," Dean mumbled, once more tearing nervously at his nails. He had a habit of chewing them when he was deep in thought and picking at them when nervous. "For you to have a happy life away from all of this, both you and Sam-"

"Sam and I are never going to be happy with a life outside of this unless you're part of it," I stated, sounding a bit harsher than I intended. "And you and I both know that if either of us had a life outside of this, you'd stay as far away from us, so you don't ruin it."

Dean glowered and glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "I do have a habit of doing that," he grumbled as his eyes lazily scanned over my injured leg and finally befell the crutches leaning against the railing by my side.

I scoffed loudly and turned my face away from his, a dismissive glare on my features. "You don't ruin things, Dean."

He hummed in response, as though he didn't believe me. "Yeah, sure I don't..." he huffed disapprovingly and turned his green eyes away from me. "I didn't exactly act the way I should have when I saw you again in Wyoming... that made things worse."

"No, it didn't," I stated firmly. "You were pissed, and you had every right to be, but the fact that we can have this conversation now tells me that nothing is ruined." He inhaled deeply, ignoring my gaze and glaring down at the ground.

"What'd you and my dad talk about?" he asked, confusing me with his question. Why'd he change the subject so quickly? "On the way back to the hotel in Chicago? You guys took a long time getting back."

I placed a hand on my aching shoulder, rubbing it a bit. I'd need to change the bandages soon. "Nothing much. He didn't believe who I was at first."

"How much did you tell him?"

"I didn't tell him I'm a skinwalker if that's what you're asking," I hissed out. "I'm not that stupid. I mostly told him the truth. Told him my mom died just a little after I was born, and lived with my dad until he left. Told him my uncle took me in and taught me how to hunt. Nothing too crazy or far from the truth."

Dean nodded, looking relieved. "Good," he muttered quietly. "He had your uncle’s number, didn't he? That's what you were trying to show me at the bar?"

I nodded. "Yeah, apparently they worked a couple cases together, though it had been years since they'd seen each other. Didn't even know he died." Dean nodded again, eyes scanning the horizon as the first blue-tinged rays of light dotted the sky. It was only four in the morning, but the sky was already brightening. I sighed and fluffed my hair, trailing my fingers through it in the hopes of undoing a few knots. "I'm sorry, Dean."

He perked up at this, casting me a rather confused glance. "What for?"

"For everything," I mumbled back. "Mostly for leaving. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He chuckled softly and reached to put an affectionate hand on my good shoulder. "You didn't hurt me. I get it, you had to go. Just... next time, let me know before you disappear without a word?"

I laughed softly and fixed my eyes on him, a smirk rising on my lips. "As long as you don't ask me to stay."

"No promises," he teased and spun, his back to the railing. "Thank you."

I straightened and looked at him quizzically. "What for?"

"For everything," he teased, mimicking my previous statement and earning a soft laugh from me. "Mostly for putting up with me. Not many people can."

"What are you talking about, Dean, you're a joy to be around," I said sarcastically.

"I try," he replied jokingly. He yawned, coaxing a yawn from my own lips. "I should probably try to get a couple more hours," he stated softly. "Got a long day of driving ahead of us."

"Where are you and Sam going to go?" I asked. John hadn't given any mention of where he was going.

Dean shrugged. "Sam found a case in North Carolina. Nothing too major, I think, probably just a vengeful spirit," I wrinkled my nose in distaste. I didn't like ghosts. "From there I guess we'll just... follow dad's trail. Try to track him down."

I nodded solemnly and fixed my gaze on Dean's once more. "If I asked you to stay, would you?" I asked quietly. Dean's eyes widened an almost imperceptible amount, his jaw becoming lax from surprise. His eyes surveyed mine with a certain wariness, as though he wasn't sure what to say.

"Yeah..." he finally whispered, trailing off as though he didn't believe it. "I think I probably would."

"Then you should go," I whispered back, standing and hoisting my crutches up next to me, my face only inches from his. "Before I ask you to."

He continued to scan my face with a certain bashfulness and confusion that I had never seen on him. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked timidly, leaning forward ever so slightly.

I gulped, my cheeks dusted with pink. Did I want him to stay? After another few long moments, I turned my face away from his. "You should go to bed, Dean. You've got a long day tomorrow," I said softly, leaning back against the banister again. Dean blinked, ridding himself of the confusion and sleeplessness plaguing his features.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Yeah, I probably should." He stood to his full height and turned away, his back towards me. With one last brief glance over his shoulder, he mumbled, "I'll see you around." And just as quickly as our conversation had begun, it ended, and once more I was left alone in the dark.

I covered my face with my hands when I heard the guest room door shut. My cheeks reddened from embarrassment. "God that was stupid," I muttered to myself. My cheeks flushed darker. I'd never seen Dean act like that before – I'd never seen myself act like that before.

What was wrong with me?

—

I woke mid-afternoon to the sound of Simon and Garfunkel, their wailing tones mixing with someone else's rough vocals. I blinked hard, adjusting to the bright golden lights filtering through my large windows, casting a soft glow onto my bed. When did I make it to my bed?

I stretched and reached for the crutches that leaned against the side of my bed and hobbled down the spiral staircase that led up to my loft. My leg was feeling a lot better than it had yesterday, but I doubted my tendons were even close to being fully healed.

The kitchen was just as bright, with the huge west-facing windows casting a massive amount of light into the room. I squinted and blinked, my eyes fighting to become accustomed to the light. Finally, my eyes landed on Marcus who was sashaying around the kitchen with various pots and pans and belting out the lyrics to 'Cecilia,' the sunlight bouncing off his blonde hair.

"Well look who finally decided to wake up!" he chirped, placing a soapy pan in the sink and pausing his music. "I thought you were going to sleep the day away, honestly."

I groaned and rubbed my eyes which were sore from an excessive amount of sleep. "I feel like I did sleep the day away," I said with a yawn as I sat at one of the bar stools on the edge of the kitchen. "Heard you and Caeden went hunting. When'd you get back?"

"About the time you and your hunter friend had your 3am rendezvous," he teased, scrubbing a pot that looked to have chili residue in it. "So what was that all about?"

My face flushed. "I heard him open the front door and decided to see what was up. We just... talked for a while."

"Mhm," Marcus teased with a smirk. "Yeah, I'm sure you two did a lot of talking." I didn't think my face could get any redder, but I was quickly proven wrong. Marcus sighed playfully and rinsed the pot, placing it on the drying wrack. "By the way, your boyfriend and his brother left a few hours ago."

"They left already?" I asked, a bit surprised by their sudden exit. Marcus nodded.

"Yep," he said, popping the 'p'. "And Dean said to give him a call when you woke up."

I frowned and contemplated a bit. They left without a word - though I suppose I deserved that, after how I left last time I saw them. "Did they say anything else?"

"Just that if you're up for a hunt when your leg heals, then they'd be willing to team up again," he replied, aggressively scrubbing some tongs. "By the way, Sasha changed your bandages for you after we brought you upstairs." I jolted at this, wondering how to hell they managed to do that without waking me – hell, I was in a pair of sleeping shorts now, the new wrappings clearly exposed. Somehow, despite all that, I slept through it. Marcus shrugged, seemingly knowing what I was thinking. "She's pretty gentle, and you were really out of it. Clearly, you needed the sleep."

"Yeah," I mumbled in agreement. "Yeah, I guess I did."

My mind was racing at nine hundred miles an hour, chasing any and all random thoughts that popped into my head. Did they really have to leave so soon? They could have at least waited until I woke up so I could say goodbye.

Maybe they got a lead they wanted to follow up on. Whatever their reason for leaving without any notice to me, I'm sure it was with good intention. I glanced towards the corner of the counter where my phone was plugged in next to the outlet. I contemplated calling Dean now, despite my throat being raw and dry from sleep.

Marcus dried his hands slowly, watching my eyes flicker around the counter in thought. Finally, he put the cloth down and rested his palms on the counter, leaning toward me.

"You care about him, don't you?" he asked, a serious expression on his face. This wasn't the usual teasing- this was sincere. I jolted when I met his green eyes, the sincerity in them shocking me back to reality.

"I care about both of them," I retorted, clasping my hands in my lap. "They're family."

Marcus' eyes regarded mine with scrutiny before he stood abruptly and tossed the dishrag over his shoulder. He reached to press play on his music, but I stopped him with a chuckle.

"Simon and Garfunkel, huh?" I teased, propping my chin on my open palm and elbow on the counter.

"Damn right," he exclaimed with a grin. "Best damn musicians, past, present, and future. I don't care what anyone says. The way they sang 'Bridge Over Troubled Water'?" he blew a kiss into the air. "Absolutely delectable! Nothing better."

I laughed, a wide grin spreading across my cheeks. "And what does Caeden think about that?"

Marcus huffed and crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. "Caeden has terrible taste in music. He likes Johnny Cash," he spat with a groan. "Wouldn't know good music if it bit him in the ass."

I giggled and brought a hand to cover my mouth, suppressing the loud laughter. Suddenly, an outstretched hand was thrust towards my face. My confused eyes traced the length of the arm back to Marcus, who wore a cocky grin on his face.

"Care to dance, alpha?" he teased, wiggling his eyebrows at me. I laughed once more and took his hand. He dragged me out of my seat and held me tight, tilting me slightly to the side to keep too much weight off my injured leg. He reached towards the counter and pressed play on his music, the opening notes of 'Mrs. Robinson' filling the room.

I giggled as Marcus and I swayed around the kitchen, the both of us belting out lyrics like there was no one else around.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader #fluff #angst #slow burn #cross posted on ao3 #cross posted on wattpad #monster reader #Monster #original characters #original monster characters #x reader #female reader

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evanox · 1 year

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A recent conversation (recent when I started writing this, I got held up by uni a lot) has reminded me I never wrote in full (at least in here) how I feel about relix in Sage's route ch13-14 and how it was an interesting development that ended up falling flat... It might not be too fair to judge from only 2 chapters, but then again I can’t trust if 2 more chapters would’ve done much of a difference.

Here's what we know about Felix from his prologue and Sage’s route (and a few bits of Felix’s):

Rime died at the battle of Mournfall. That was 5 years before the prologue. The ritual that summoned MC was meant to resurrect Rime, which means Felix has been isolating himself and looking into resurrecting his dead boyfriend for a good 5 years. We know he has an issue with isolating himself from his own route, and in Sage’s route we don’t really see him much unless we’re discussing plans in Fathom’s war room/his office.

Ch5: in Felix’s route we see Anisa and Felix both have opposing, black-and-white views on necromancy. You do have the option to challenge Felix’s views in his route, but in Sage’s, Felix goes behind our backs to use the more unsavory method to get answers out of Balsam and when confronted by Sage, he justifies himself by saying that “it’s nothing worse than what Sage had done to [Balsam],” which, hello, a bit insensitive given that it was Felix and Anisa’s intervention that provoked Balsam and forced Sage’s hand to kill his own childhood friend.

Ch10: Upon finding out about the corruption potion and trying to figure out who's responsible, Felix immediately sides with Rime no questions asked. When the fact that Rime did stab Sage (and unnecessarily tortured him some more even though his goal was MC), Felix's response is insisting that there has to be a good explanation. He can't even look MC in the eyes when he tries to defend Rime. Now I won't begrudge him his defensiveness. Rime was good and kind and a hero to the Starsworn, and Felix loved Rime; it only makes sense that he'd be in disbelief, that he'd desperately try to make sense of the situation. But one would think that the murder attempt would shake Felix's faith, making him start to doubt if this is still his Rime. Because when Rime did attack MC in Felix's route, Felix didn't hesitate to defend them and stand up to Rime. He embraces the fact that this isn't his Rime anymore. But in Sage's route, when it's his friend of well over 5 years getting stabbed and tortured, or when MC is being threatened, Felix prioritizes taking Rime's side even as more clues point to his involvement in exploiting the Griefers and corrupting them.

Ch8: And then Felix is still trying to negotiate with Rime and understand where he's coming from which hey, that would be a fair and sensible course of action if, you know, Rime hadn't just lured us into a trap in the LOS cultists' lair and proceeded to summon a gang of corrupted Griefers to attack the Starsworn gang without discrimination.

Ch 11-14: Even after all of that happens, Felix has been making himself scarce to the remaining Starsworn and continuing his attempts at recruiting Rime (which happens off-screen) and six months later we come back to them walking into Tulsi's tent hand in hand.

Now, I’m not saying that’s a bad development. It’s an interesting development. I like how we get to witness a specific facet of each character’s personality outside their route. Anisa in Felix’s is so strict and disciplined it almost makes her feel distant from her friends even when she tries to be helpful and only in her route we understand why. Felix in Sage’s leans more towards his obsessiveness and how he struggles with moving on and it is in his route we understand why. It makes perfect sense that we’ll come back to Felix and Rime dating 6 months later. No one’s contesting that or asking to be spoon-fed the events that happened off-screen to understand why it happened. All the aforementioned events point to the fact that unless a variable (like MC) is introduced into Felix’s life, he’ll always come back to Rime.

The aforementioned events also point to the fact that it’s really unhealthy. Not only is the narrative very comfortable with it but it expects you (and the other characters) to be comfortable and accept it. Sage is expected to apologize to everyone when he loses his shit over Rime being present but we all just roll with Rime stabbing Sage.

Looking back at the timeline of events in Sage’s route, at no point was Felix shown (or even given the chance) to develop and then he’s thrown into a relationship with his undead, corrupted ex. “But oh! He had plenty of time within these 6 months to grow!” Not only is healing not that linear, but remember Astraea was in upheaval at the time thanks to Gramme taking over, which would’ve easily triggered traumatic memories from the first war. Not to mention that it seems most of his time within the 6 months was spent with Rime, the object of Felix’s obsession for well over 5 years.

But Rime is not quite the man Felix fell in love with years ago, and he can love Felix with every dead fiber of his being but it still wouldn't make him fit to offer Felix the help or encouragement he needs to grow or learn how to move on or even re-evaluate how he used necromancy (the way Felix-route-MC did). If anything, Rime is the only party that stands to benefit from how delusional Felix is in Sage's route, and he doesn't seem willing to question Felix’s skewed judgements. We’ve already seen that Rime left his moral compass behind him in the void. Felix says so himself in his own route.

“Ohhh but tumblr user evanox why can’t I enjoy my evil fucked up reindeer and his necromancer boyfriend why does everything need to be AcKnOwLeDgEd and have consequences and a moral this is just a romance vn”

By all means, enjoy your evil fucked up reindeer. That doesn’t mean I still can’t criticize what half-assed writing that felt like. The beauty of Felix’s route was the complexity of his and Rime’s circumstances and how necromancy is not a consequence-less feat, but one that comes with a heavy price paid by both resurrector and resurrected. For that sentiment to be swept under the rug in Sage’s route even after the writers goes out of their way to give Felix (and by extension Rime) a considerable spotlight is just disappointing.

“Ok but this is Sage’s route there won’t be time to allow them to develop.”

Yeah, I’m aware, but the influence of external factors (limited time, limited chapters) doesn’t mean I have to consider the bad writing good. That’s first of all.

Secondly, it wouldn’t have been that hard to add some subtle details that would’ve significantly acknowledged the relix side-plot without sabotaging Sage’s main plot. Things like MC still feeling uncomfortable around Rime while Sage puts himself between them even after peace was made, a hint of disdain from Anisa or even expressing concern towards Felix (the way she always did in his route), an agitated lash of Elowen’s tail over having to collaborate with the guy who had a hand in corrupting the Griefers and tried to fuck her over when she sought the Starsworn’s help, a sarcastic remark from Tulsi that leaves everyone feeling awkward about having to break bread in her own tent with the zombie deer who stabbed her brother and exacerbated his corruption---all of that would’ve gone a long way to give that development the weight it deserves.

Better yet, I’d like to see Rime betray the Starsworn and try to kill two birds with one stone: keep Felix by his side and make a second attempt at the astrolabe. I think it would nullify all my former notes and make for a great parallel to Felix’s route and how it reality-checked Felix and tackled the consequences of necromancy and desperately holding on the past. I initially assumed that’s where the route was headed but it’s mere speculation and would need its own post, but I do think it would be rather ✨ spicy ✨.

#long post #repeat after me guys 'just because i like something doesn't mean it's well written and anyone who disagrees is a thick illiterati'#rime solano varela #felix iskandar escellun #felix escellun #last legacy #fictif #fictif last legacy #last legacy rime #last legacy felix #fictif rime #fictif felix #sage lesath #fictif sage #last legacy sage

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ladykf-writes · 7 months

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Work Title: Waltzing Through Time

Pairing: Reeve Tuesti / Genesis Rhapsodos

Ship name: ReGen

CH count at this moment: 12.5 chapters (aka half way through CH13)

Word count at this moment: 27K

Vibe: happy ever after fluffy romance, may eventually grow a plot about how things have changed because of the soulmate mechanic; hurt/comfort also planned for later chapters. Angst is possible, but angst with a happy ending is promised.

The fic meanders. It's about their life together, first and foremost, and how the world events effect that. It is vastly canon divergent based off of the soulmate mechanic alone.

These are 100% soulmarks, unlike DW where there's different kinds of soulmates. As with DW, though, all orientations and types of relationships will be respected and a large part of them will be represented.

HIGHLY based off shared headcanons and discussions between Traxits and I - paging @case-of-traxits - this is 100% an indulgent gift piece, to both of us, really.

Plans for NaNo next month? This fluffer.

(Yeah no I totally feel another 50K is waiting for this. We're just getting started.)

Plans to start posting? After I get past this current section. Somewhere in the next few chapters, I think.

Also...

Looking forward to sharing with you! Thanks for taking a peek!

#waltzing through time #ff7 fanfic #regen #reeve tuesti/genesis rhapsodos #nanowrimo #reeve tuesti #genesis rhapsodos

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verfound · 7 months

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MINIFIC: Oct. 23: Day 13: Skeleghost (MLB, Lukanette, DLM AU)

“Mini” isn’t so much a word limit as it is something you feel with your heart. 1k is totally “mini” when some of these oneshots I throw at y’all are 10k, right? 😂

For @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers October Minific Challenge 2023.

Read on Ao3

To Feel Alive Again: Ch13: Skeleghost

Luka looked up from his guitar at the knock on the door, his eyebrows lifting. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He had been perfectly content to ignore the rest of the world for the evening, actually. Just…him and his music.

Moping, a dry voice that sounded suspiciously like his sister drawled in his mind. He told it to fuck off, because he was definitely not moping.

Whoever was outside knocked again, and he sighed as he put his guitar down.

“All right, all right!” he called, scrubbing his hands along his face as he walked over. “I’m coming!”

Marinette was on the other side when he opened the door, a large tote bag on her arm and bundled in her sweater. He had to smile at that: he was pretty sure she hadn’t taken it off since he’d left it for her. She’d been wearing it every time he’d seen her since, at least. He had to assume that meant she liked it.

“Sorry,” she said, biting down on her lip in that nervous way she had. “I hope I’m not bothering you?”

You could never bother me, he wanted to say.

“I wasn’t doing anything, no,” he said instead. “What’s up?"

“Today sucked,” she said, and he had to agree with her. He’d been distracted all day, ever since Mendeleiev had hauled her and Fred away from breakfast. Not…not worrying, not really. Just…worrying. She pursed her lips and bobbed her head back and forth. “Actually, this whole week has sucked. And I really don’t want to be alone tonight. So…I was hoping…maybe we could not be alone together? I brought movies.”

She held up her tote, watching him from beneath her lashes with a look that made him a little lightheaded. He tried not to focus too closely on her words when she looked at him like that – on how not being alone together sounded, what I don’t want to be alone tonight would mean if it was anyone other than Marinette at his door, because Marinette would never mean it like that anyway. Because it’s not what she meant, he knew, and even if it was…it wasn’t what either of them needed. What either of them were looking for.

She wasn’t Théo, looking for some meaningless physical connection.

He’d never been good at meaningless, anyway.

She needed a friend.

…but he wasn’t sure he knew how to be a friend anymore, either.

“Fred working again?” he asked, peering into the bag. Her pink blanket was tucked inside, along with bags of microwave popcorn and at least ten DVD cases. He thought he even saw a deck of playing cards.

“No, he’s home,” she said. She looked at the bag, her teeth worrying her lip again. “I just…I think a movie night with you would be more fun than a movie night with him?” His eyebrow lifted higher, and she rolled her eyes. “You’re going to make me beg, aren’t you? Here I was, thinking we were making progress – thinking you actually did want to be friends – and you’re just gonna keep being a butthead.”

His lips quirked with a smile.

“…you can call me an asshole, you know,” he said, stepping out of the way and gesturing for her to come inside. “Most of my friends do.”

“Well, that shows what they know,” she sniffed, walking past him. She paused by his side, peeking up at him with those blue, blue eyes of hers twinkling up at him with a knowing little look. “I don’t think you’re an asshole, Luka. I think…you’re a grumpy puppy. I think the world hasn’t been very kind to you, and I think it’s made you hard. I don’t think you were meant to be hard, though.” She winked at him. “Softie.”

“Marinette…” he started, but the words caught in his throat and he looked away. She didn’t know him. She was…she was wrong. He wasn’t soft. Not…not anymore, though he supposed that was kind of her point. He shoved a hand through his hair, scratching to dispel some of the anxious energy running through him. “So. Movie night. What did you bring?”

“I hope you like horror,” she said, turning and walking over to the couch. Her eyes widened when she saw the guitar. “You play?”

“God, I hate horror,” he laughed, closing the door and following her. He shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned at her. “You don’t get enough gruesome shit at work?”

“Luka,” she said, nudging his arm and gesturing to the guitar. He paused when he remembered he’d been attempting to play when she’d knocked. “I didn’t know you played.”

“…I…” he tried, but the don’t got stuck in his throat, too. He didn’t, not really. Not anymore. But music had always been so deeply ingrained from the moment he’d held his first guitar. It was in his blood. Was it really fair to say he didn’t when lately it had been more a case of wouldn’t? “…stopped. For a while. I’ve been trying to get back into it, though.”

“Would you play me something?” she asked, turning to him. “Not now, if you don’t want to. But…sometime? I’d love to hear you play.”

“…maybe,” he said, moving around her to pick up the guitar. He hesitated a moment once he was holding it, then he shook his head and went to put it back in his room, where it would be out of sight and (hopefully) out of mind. “We’ll see. I’m…pretty rusty.”

“I feel like I should have realized,” Marinette called from the living room. He paused, his hand still on the guitar. “I’m pretty sure Juleka had said something about you being in a band. Of course you’d play, if you were in a band. It’s just you never talk about it, and I’ve never seen you play, or…well, I guess I’ve never really been over before, have I? Fred gave me your address – I hope that was ok. I just thought…I mean, you came to visit me, so I was hoping you wouldn’t mind me visiting you, but…eep!”

He had gone back out to the living room, where she was emptying her bag on the coffee table. She stood and turned, squeaking when she found him directly behind her. She laid a hand over her heart, giggling nervously.

“You scared me,” she said, grinning up at him. His hands had come up to her shoulders when she’d turned, holding on to steady her.

…he hadn’t moved them. He should probably move them.

“Sorry,” he said, his lips twitching with a smile. He still wasn’t moving his hands. “It’s all right, Marinette. I don’t mind. I…would like the company.”

She lifted an eyebrow at him, her grin growing, and he chuckled as he shook his head.

“I would like your company,” he conceded. He squeezed her shoulders and finally let go, looking around her to see what movies she had set out on the table. His nose scrunched when he saw she actually had brought nothing but horror movies. “Though maybe we could see what’s streaming? I’m really not a horror fan.”

“I’m usually not, either,” she confessed. His eyebrows lifted, surprised, and she shrugged. “But I figured…I don’t know. Things feel different now, you know? Since…I thought maybe I could handle them now.”

“It didn’t change for me,” he said. He picked up the first movie in her pile. He didn’t recognize it, but the back said it was about…a ghost? Skeleton? Skeleghost? He supposed that was a thing? It sounded dumb to him, honestly. Like Sharknados. “But I’m game.”

…thirty minutes and five bad jump scares later, they were both huddled under Marinette’s blanket, their heads bent together as they tried to avoid watching the screen. Theoretically, they could just turn the damn movie off, but the remote was on the far side of the coffee table and neither felt brave enough to leave the safety of the blanket.

Or…well. At some point, Marinette had practically crawled into his lap, an arm and leg thrown around him while she pressed her face against his chest. Luka could easily reach for the remote and turn the movie off, but that would mean moving Marinette.

…and he wasn’t so sure he wanted to move her. Not yet.

She burrowed closer as someone on the screen screamed, and he glanced up in time to see the Skeleghost bludgeon someone with its femur. He ducked his face back against her shoulder and pulled the blanket over their heads. Her fingers twisted in his shirt, and her nose pressed into his clavicle.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, wincing when another scream filled his flat. “Next time, puppies. Oh my God, why didn’t I pick puppies?”

…he liked the sound of that. There being a next time. And puppies, but…yeah. He was game for a next time.

#miraculous ladybug #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #ml fic #ver fic #lbsc october minifics 2023 #to feel alive again #dead like me au #dlm lukanette au #lukanette are sissies #but he gets snuggles out of it so he's not complaining #I mean no Luka doesn't want snuggles what show are you watching #he's tough #she's totally got his number

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