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moonbearmeliox · 4 years

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The Kids

Pairing: BAU Team x Reader; Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: The BAU team get a case to track down an escaped serial killer, but things take a turn for the worst when two members go missing

Warnings: kidnapping, depictions of violence, stabbing, descriptions of torture

A/N: Whoo! I’m glad to have this out, I loved writing this. Criminal Minds have been added to my Request Guidelines, so if you have any Criminal Minds Requests send them. Hope you enjoy.

Request Guidelines

Another day, another case and you once again found yourself sitting in the meeting room. Most of your team was already here but while you waited for the others, the topic of the team’s dynamic came up.

“Ok, but us as a unit is basically a family and if anyone is the big brother, it’s Morgan.” You said before taking a sip of your coffee.

“And why’s that?” Morgan asked.

“The amount of times you’ve refused to let me go in before you when we’re busting an unsub just proves you’re the big brother.” You told him

“But he also likes to kick down doors and he can’t do that if you’re in front of him.” Emily said. Morgan let out a small chuckle.

“While that is the main reason, I also don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Awww. You’re proving my point even further that you are in fact the team’s big brother.” You said.

“Alright. What about everyone else?” Morgan said.

“Hotch is the team mom.” You stated

“Why would you say that.” Hotch said, walking into the meeting room. You almost spit out your coffee, not expecting him to hear that.

“You’re always looking out for us but not in the dad way that Rossi does. You’re also stern when it comes to things we do. We’re basically your kids.” You told him.

“The only kid I have is my son Jack. But if you’re talking about the dynamic of the team, the kids would be you and Spencer.” Hotch deadpanned, but you swore you saw a hint of a smile as he referred to you and Spencer as kids.

“C’mon Hotch, me and Spencer are in our 20s. We aren’t kids.”

“(Y/N), you keep a box of juice boxes under your desk.” Hotch said

“Which Emily steals, but I don’t hear you calling her a kid.”

“We got a new case!” JJ said as she entered the meeting room with the file in hand. You and the team dropped the conversation to give JJ your attention.

“Two people in West Virginia have been murdered.” JJ said, displaying the image of two dead bodies. “Taryn Klien and Polly Neal. Both were severely tortured before being shot in the head.”

“The police would usually call us in after more than two deaths. Why call us in when there’s only two?” Morgan asked.

“Because the police think that it’s the work of the serial killer named Mark Sutthers. He escaped from prison last week and this message was left at the crime scene of Polly Neal’s murder.” JJ displayed a picture of Mark Sutthers and the message that was left on the screen.

“Punishment will come to those that put me away.” Reid read the message out loud.

“After Garcia did some digging she found that Taryn Klien was the judge at his trial and Polly Neal was the prosecutor.”

“He’s doing this for revenge. Going after the people that put him in jail.” Rossi said

“Which means he’s either going to go after the people that were in his jury or the police that made the arrest.” You inquired.

“Let’s hope it’s the latter. Police can protect themselves better than civilians. If he goes after the police it will give us more time to see who was on his jury and try to warn them but let’s hope we can catch him before he hurts anyone else.” Hotch said

“Didn’t we help with this case?” Spencer asked.

“We did. So we need to pull everything we have from that case so we can find something that will help us catch Sutthers. Garcia should pull information on everyone in Sutthers’ jury. Morgan and Prentiss I want you to go down to the West Virginia police station and see who was on the Mark Sutthers case. Reid and (L/N), I want you guys to go over everything we have on Sutthers. Me and JJ will check in with local authorities to see if there’s been any sightings of Sutthers.”

It wasn’t until late in the evening when you and Reid decided to call it quits for the night. The two of you had gone over everything about Sutthers and had been able to piece together enough information to have a rough prediction where he’s going to strike next but by then most of the team had already left and you had to wait until tomorrow to present your findings.

“Hey Reid, can you give me a ride home? My car’s in the shop and the buses stopped running thirty minutes ago.”

“Yea, sure. Your place isn’t that far away from mine.” The two of you packed up your things and made your way to Spencer’s car.

“I still can’t comprehend how you can listen to classical music while you drive.” You said once you and Spencer were on the road.

“Today’s music just isn’t my style. Plus with classical music, you can’t get distracted by the lyrics because there are none.” Reid explained.

“Is that your argument?” You asked. Reid looked over at you.

“Maybe. But I still think classical is-”

“Reid!” You pointed and Reid turned his attention back to the road to see someone standing directly in the path of his vehicle. Reid couldn’t hit the brakes in time, as the person was struck by the car and rolled a few feet away. The two of you were stunned for a second, making brief eye contact with each other before quickly getting out of the car to help the person.

“Oh my god. Are you ok?” The two of you ran towards the person. It was a man, who looked to be in his thirties. He was unconscious.

“(Y/N), there’s a first aid kit in the center console of my car. Can you go grab it? I'm going to call 911.” Reid said. You ran back to the car and dug through the console until you found the white plastic box with the first aid supplies.

“Found it!” You said, turning back to the scene at hand. But you found that it wasn’t the man on the ground. It was Reid. You were going to call out to him but there was a sudden electric jolt to your neck before everything went black.

Reid woke up in a dimly lit room, sitting in a chair. His brain not fully awake, Spencer thought that he was having a nightmare, that he's back in the clutches of Tobias Hankel. It wouldn’t be anything new, he had those nightmares a lot. It wasn’t until he tried to move did Reid know that he was not having a nightmare. His hands were restrained behind him. With Spencer's eidetic memory, he remembers everything about his encounter with Hankel, he remembers that his hands were restrained in front of him, not behind. With that realization, Spencer became more alert.

He had hit a man with his car on his way to drive you home. That’s what he remembers. He told you to grab the first aid kit from his car so he could check how badly he had hit the man and call 911. But the man had a taser, it was unexpected and the man had tased Spencer before he could warn you. You. Did the man take you too?

“(Y/N)?” He said. He didn’t want to call attention in case the man came to wherever the hell they were but Spencer hoped you were in the same room as him.

“Spencer?” He heard behind him. Reid turned around the best he could and saw you in the same predicament he was.

“Are you ok?” He asked.

“Yea. Are you?”

“Yea. That man I hit with my car. He had a taser.”

“And used it to knock us both out.” You said “Now the question is why?”

“My message should have been obvious.” Spencer and you turned to see a man standing in the doorway, holding a knife. You and Spencer recognized that man. After staring at his picture all day you knew that it was Mark Sutthers.

“Mark Sutthers.” You said.

“I knew it wouldn’t take long for the FBI to be called in to investigate my murders.” Mark said, walking closer to the two of you. “Let me guess, you thought I was going to go after the police that arrested me?”

You and Spencer didn’t say anything.

“I thought about that. But I knew that it would lead to my capture too quickly. No, I said punishment will come to those who put me away. And that includes the FBI.” Sutthers squatted down to be eye level and pointed the knife at Reid.

“You, the genius who picked apart the trauma of my life,”He said, before pointing the knife at you, “and you, the forensics analyst who pieced it back together to lead the police and the rest of your team to arrest me and keep me in a cage for three years. Special Agent (Y/N) (L/N) and Doctor Spencer Reid, your punishment will come.”

Hotch should have known that his own team could have been one of Sutther's targets. Spencer had even said that the BAU worked on his case, but Hotch was certain Sutthers was going to go after the police or jury first before he even thought about going after his team. He was wrong and now two members of his team were missing, the only proof that they were alive was printed photos and a note saying “This is your punishment.”

“Do we have any idea where Sutthers could have taken them?” Morgan asked. Ever since he found out about their abduction, he looked into everything about Sutthers, pressing Garcia for everything she could find. (Y/N) was right about Morgan, he was the big brother and to him (Y/N) and Spencer were like his younger siblings. Knowing that they were being held captive by a serial killer made him distraught and angry.

“Garcia’s been looking into Sutthers records to see if there’s any property that he owns or has owned in the past, but so far she hasn’t found anything.” Prentiss said. This didn’t please the team. From the moment they found out they haven’t done anything but try to find you and Reid.

"I just got something.” JJ said, rushing into the meeting room. “A local landlord said he rented a small warehouse to a man matching Sutthers description. Garcia just sent us the addresses.”

Sutthers was true to his word about punishment. You and Reid were tortured the same way the previous victims were. Various cuts and wounds littered your bodies, enough to do damage but not enough to cause you to bleed out. There was one small comfort in the gratuitous toruture the two of you faced. Sutthers had placed you back to back with just enough room for the two of you to squeeze each other's hands as the pain went on.

“You know…” Sutthers said as he plunged a knife into your chest. You let out a pained scream and clenched Reid’s hand. “This has been fun.”

Sutthers got up, leaving the knife embed in your chest.

“Torturing people is how you get off. Of course you would have fun.” Reid said. He was doing better than you but even with the absence of a knife in his chest he was in a world of pain.

“Is that what you profiled about me, Doctor? You think I get high off of hearing your screams.” Sutthers stood in front of Reid.

“I think you’re a psychotic monster who’s going to pay for what he’s done.” Reid made direct eye contact with Sutthers, who punched him in the face.

“You’re right on both accounts.” Sutthers moved over to a table and wiped the blood off his hands. “Like I said, this was fun. But all fun things must come to and end.”

After the blood was wiped off, Sutthers moved to stand in front of you. You mustered all the energy you could to look at him, and wished looks could kill because Sutthers would have dropped dead at the hatred in your eyes.

“I planned this out the whole time I was in prison. No mistakes or slip ups. This has gone perfectly. Once the two of you are dead, I’ll skip town and wait until the heat dies off before I go after the rest of your team.” Sutthers pulled out a gun from his back pocket and pointed it directly at your forehead. “Hate to ruin such a pretty face.”

"There's one key mistake you made in your plan!" Spencer exclaimed. This piqued Sutthers interest.

“Really? And what’s that? Everything has been going perfectly. I caught you off guard by not going after the police. It was easy to target the weak links of the BAU. It will take your team too long to find me. Even with the photos I sent.”

"Yes, you caught us off guard by going after the BAU instead of the police like we thought. You struck at reasonable enough time so that you could get a few hours of tourture in before anybody knows we are gone and you went after what you consider the two weak links of the team.” Spencer explained “But there is one key mistake you made.”

“And what is that?” Sutthers asked.

“You went after the kids.” Hotch placed his gun to Sutthers’ head. “Lower your weapon and get on the ground.”

To say you and Spencer were relieved was an understatement. Your team stood in the entrance way, bar Hotch who was directly behind Sutthers. Their guns were raised and you inferred they would shoot Sutthers if given the chance because they looked pissed.

“Drop your weapon and get on the ground.” Hotch said calmly. Sutthers was hesitant. He lowered the gun away from your forehead and dropped it. He then slowly began to kneel but suddenly wretched the knife out of your chest and went to take a swipe at Hotch. Your eyes were closed due to the erupt knife pull but you heard six gunshots. Opening your eyes, you saw Sutthers lie dead in front of you. You kicked his head for good measure. He was dead. Without hesitation, the team was on you and Spencer in seconds. Rossi and Morgan went to help Spencer, while Hotch and Emily assisted in uncuffing you.

“I knew you and the team would come for us.” You told Hotch.

“I wasn’t going to abandon my kids.” He said. You smiled. They got the cuffs off and the team led you and Spencer to the awaiting paramedics so the two of you could be taken to the hospital. Morgan rode with Spencer to make sure he wasn’t given any painkillers while you got Hotch.

“You were right, you know?” Hotch said.

“About what? You being the team mom?”

“That we’re a family. Once you and Spencer were taken, the only thing we could focus on was finding you two. The team had the energy you only find when someone hurts your family. And what Sutthers did, he hurt two members of the family.” Hotch explained. You didn’t know if it was because your injuries were catching up to you or Hotch’s words but you felt tears begin to roll down your eyes.

“Are we really your kids?”

“Of course you guys are.”

#criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #bau x reader

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ka-za-ri · 4 years

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Personal Assistant Pt. 4

Oh hey there. I’m surprised you’re still here. I guess it’s time for some more kinky smut. If you’ve been waiting for demon sex, here it is! *Will Smith poses* Can I get a Hell yeah! If you’re into that? Taglist at the end

Part 1: here Part 2: here Part 3: here Part 5: here Part 6: here Part 7: here Crossposted on Ao3: here

Pairing: Lucifer x Reader Wordcount: 4,800 ish Genre: Filthy fucking. Tags: Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Toys, body worship, demon sex, knotting, floor sex, brief cunnilingus Summary: After getting your numbers back up, it's time to discuss a pay raise and maybe grace you with some new knowledge.

Pay Raise

Humans only ever believed what they saw; and Lucifer planned to make you a believer.

The problematic tendencies you had fallen into were quickly corrected. Through sheer force of your willpower alone, you managed to bring your numbers back up within a month and a half. It was no easy task as Lucifer still loved to start his weekends with a little after work rendezvous. So, drastic changes needed to be made quickly to keep him satisfied. While on the clock, you were laser focused, pushing back every lewd thought you had, letting your body react while your mind worked. You needed to separate and compartmentalize work from pleasure. If Lucifer could do it, you could do it too. Seeing your improvement come about so quickly had him pleasantly surprised and the discussion of a proper pay raise needed to be had.

He had gone in and scheduled another meeting with him at the end of the day a couple months after your performance review. Like the last time, it would take up the last couple of hours you had on the clock and you expected it to last a few hours past that as well. Surprisingly, he had sent you an email just as you started to wrap up your work to remind you of your meeting. When you opened it up and saw the message, you couldn’t help but smile a little. It was so him.

Make sure you’re properly prepared for the meeting and be on time.

To anyone else, the words on your screen would seem like a mundane reminder to bring something to write with and to be punctual for your meeting. However, everything Lucifer did had a purpose and you knew the underlying meaning of his succinct message. Understanding what you had to do, you rushed the last bit of work you had to accomplish. He wanted you to be prepared and that meant that you needed a few extra minutes before the meeting to ensure both your holes were empty and ready to be used as he saw fit.

You stared at the bathroom mirror, face warm from seeing your most intimate parts reflected in it while you pulled the toys of the day out. You carefully washed them with warm water, even if it was getting dangerously close to the appointed time, it would be a shame if you couldn’t properly care for the precious gifts Lucifer graced you with. Everything he handed you felt sacred, and to disrespect him by not ritualistically washing and drying your toys after use left you feeling guilty. If you arrived a little late because of that, you hoped he would show mercy. Likely not… but it’s not that bad to get punished...

When you stepped back out onto the main office space, you noticed that it was significantly darker than usual. Normally, the room would be glowing a warm orange from the setting sun as the day drew to a close. However, during the time you were in the bathroom, he had drawn all the shades to block out the light. A gray gloom fell over the two of you and you suddenly felt an inkling of fear crawl up your spine.

He was staring off into the distance, facing the windows as if he was watching the city. But, with the shades down, he was really looking at nothing. He seemed to be deep in thought while he waited for you to arrive.

Today would be the ultimate test of your trust in him.

“I’m here for the 3 o’clock meeting, Lucifer.” You spoke up after the silence between the two of you grew too heavy for you to bear.

“Right on time. Take a seat.” He didn’t turn to see you, his gaze and demeanor rather distant.

The fear you felt earlier came back. Your mind raced, wondering if you had disappointed him somehow. The somber mood only made you worry that he was gearing up for the ‘you’re fired’ talk. The last time a meeting like this happened, you had found yourself sitting on his cock for hours while he rattled on about reports. You could only pray that this meeting would somehow have the same outcome.

“My apologies for the darkness. I’ve had a bit of a headache and the light makes it worse.” He explained, finally putting your worries at ease and he moved to his seat at his desk. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I hope you’ll overcome it quickly.” You smiled softly, glad to know that he was still susceptible to the typical aches and pains of a normal human. Even if he seemed to be a supernatural being at times with how composed he was, you knew he was still human deep down. “What would you like to talk about?”

“Numbers.” Lucifer stated plainly, pulling out your file. “It’s been a rather busy month for you, has it not? I would like to check in.”

“Well, you know how it is during this time of the year. Everyone is trying to get all the supplies they need for school and orders are flying off the shelves faster than some of our facilities can fulfill them.”

He nodded, writing something down on a separate notebook he kept at the side of his desk while you spoke. “Yes, the hiring and training set up a few months prior helped; but, nothing really prepared us to experience such growth in such a short amount of time.”

“It was an unexpected spike, but if I remember correctly, marketing has also been working on expanding the network of advertisements on all platforms. Your reach is a lot larger than it ever has been.”

“And even with all this new work, you managed to bring your numbers up as I had asked you to. Very good.” He pointed out the improved data and compared the past two months to the time he had last spoken to you about your dip in performance.”Now that you’re on top of things, I expect you to stay there. You’re on track to keeping those numbers up and I’d like to see you stay diligent, even when things get slower.” He paused, letting you take in the information before he moved to the next point he wanted to get to. “I’m very proud to see that you’ve kept up with everything despite the sudden growth and spike in work. It might be time for a pay raise, don’t you think?”

You blinked, not expecting to have this kind of talk until you had been with the company for at least a year and a half. To have it brought up just a little over six months in your tenure felt too short; yet the pride you felt from meeting his expectations overrode any discomfort you had. “I’m happy with whatever decision you make.” You said truthfully.

“Well, with higher pay comes higher expectations. Do you think you can live up to them?”

“Guide me, and I’ll do whatever it is you need.” you replied confidently. It didn’t matter if the request pertained to work or your after hour services. You were willing to go to Hell and back for this man. Normally, you would have been alarmed to be this loyal to someone you had only met half a year ago; but having spent so much time around him, you knew you could count on him no matter what decision he made.

“Do you trust me?” The question felt a little odd, but not entirely out of place.

“Absolutely.”

He gauged your reaction, searching for any fault in your confidence. Your heart beat fast as the silence stretched on and he tested the waters even further. Finally he broke eye contact with you and got up from his desk, he beckoned you to follow him to a larger, emptier space. “If you trust me as you say you do, then do not be afraid.”

You struggled to understand what he was saying. For a moment you felt like you couldn’t see properly, Lucifer’s entire being seemed to disappear behind a haze and shift dramatically. Blinking rapidly to try to fix whatever was going on with your eyes; you tried to get a better look at him again. Once your vision cleared, Lucifer’s image was no longer the one you were used to seeing on a day to day basis. Yelping in surprise, you fell back, trying to comprehend what just happened.

“Do not be afraid.”

“I’m not… I’m not scared.” you stuttered. This image, this version of him was familiar to you. As shocking as it was to see now, there was a sense of familiarity. You knew this version of him as an illusion; but, for many times as you blinked, he remained the same. The great horns that crowned his head and the massive wings that surrounded him didn’t go away no matter how hard you rubbed your eyes and shook your head in disbelief.

You thought back to the night you signed your contract, how you had sworn you saw something in the reflection of the window. That red glint in his eyes you had thought was a trick of the light was actually natural. What you thought had been an illusion had been his true form all along.

Even his clothes had changed to fit this form of his. He was swathed in a long black and red tailcoat that fit snugly over the tailored suit he wore. The embroidered design on the coat and at his collar made your heart flutter. It matched the necklace he had given you months prior. The red that lined the coat and the capelet on his shoulders were an exact match to the lipstick you wore. All along, signs of his true self had been all around you and you hadn’t noticed a thing.

Everything clicked at once in your brain. His name, the contract, the sway he had over you. You had willingly made a deal to work with the devil himself. That realization should have had you screaming for mercy and for a return of your soul; yet that thought never crossed your mind. All you could think of was just how magnificent he was.

You wanted to get up, but your body seemed to lack the strength to hold you upright. He stood still, watching your every move. Even if you claimed you weren’t scared, your body wouldn’t stop shaking in the wake of his demonic form. He waited patiently for you to gather your wits, knowing how shocked you must be to realize this reality. Lucifer was almost ashamed that he had shown his true form to you without much warning. However; there was no delicate way to go about it, and there were needs that he wanted to sate which could only be accomplished in his true form.

“This… this is all real…” You breathed, finally at least getting enough strength back to get on your knees. “I’m not dreaming?”

He stepped closer to you so you could clutch onto his clothes and pull yourself back up. “Does it feel real to you?” He asked softly, his gaze never leaving you as you struggled like a newly born lamb to stand again.

“Very real.” You determined once you were back on your feet and able to gaze directly into his eyes. He’s beautiful. Carefully, you reached up to touch his face, stroking his soft skin and his silky hair. The familiarity of his warm skin under your fingers brought a calm over your body. Still, it was hard to believe and your touches tracked upwards towards his horns. “May I?” You asked tentatively before you touched them.

“You may.” He permitted, tilting his head to the side so you could properly touch them. You gently ran your hand through the ribbed texture of the hard horns, marveling at their sheen and how smooth they were. It was easy to be entranced by the unique curved shape they formed and you spent several minutes mindlessly tracing them from where they sprouted from his skull to their pointed tips. He stayed perfectly still for you the whole time, letting you soak it all in. Carefully standing on tiptoe, you placed a soft kiss on them, leaving red lipstick marks across them. He subdued a shudder, but let you continu, allowing you to explore him in a rare show of vulnerability.

“May I…” You started to ask again, distracted by his wings which fluttered softly whenever your touches tickled his senses just right. You reached out to them, wondering if they were as soft as they looked.

“You may.” he said softly, giving you permission to walk around him and caress the dark feathers. The ensemble he wore was so cleverly made, allowing his wings full range of motion while also being easy to remove thanks to some carefully hidden buckles and ties which nestled at the base of each pair of his wings. You traced the line his spine made, barely brushing past the feathery appendages. You couldn’t see his expression from where you were, but you could feel his muscles tense. Lucifer didn’t stop you though, letting you carry on and examine his body as you needed.

Your fingers traced the feathers, amazed at how they shimmered in the dim light, refracting bits of green and gold whenever they fluttered. The right at the base, the softest black down sprouted from his skin and flowed into the wings. Burying your fingers there, you sighed in content, loving the velvety texture of the small feathers as they tickled your hand. Lucifer visibly shivered, the base of his wings were particularly sensitive. The way you caressed them so gently sent jolts of pleasure right to his groin. He couldn’t stop you though, not when you were stroking those sensitive spots so innocently in your inspection of his demon form. He couldn’t bring himself to ruin the moment with his growing hard on. You heard him take deep breaths, calming his body as he stayed still for you.

You circled around to him again, wide-eyed and blushing. He trusted you enough to show you this. Out of all the people in the world, you were the one privileged with the knowledge of what your boss truly looked like.

“Are you afraid?” he asked once you were in front of him.

“No…” You answered softly, placing a hesitant kiss on your lips. “You’re beautiful.”

He liked your answer, responding to your kiss and deepening it. Lucifer pulled your close, his hand resting at the back of your head and keeping you flush against him. You could feel his hard cock press against your thigh and the intimacy of the moment was heightened. The kisses you shared were uncharacteristically soft, as if he was holding back his real desires from you. You were so used to him simply taking anything he wanted from you that the gentleness had your mind swimming in the most pleasant way. “If… I may…” You said breathlessly once the kisses broke. You placed your finger on the clasps that held his capelet in place, and patiently waited for his permission.

“Yes, you may.”

You smiled softly; there was nothing but adoration in your eyes as you worked his clothes off of him. The capelet fell away with little effort. The buttons to his tailcoat came next. He assisted you in undoing the buckles and ties at his back. Once those were undone, the rest of the garment came off with ease. All the ornate accessories he wore were carefully removed and placed on the desk. Everything you touched was sacred. Everything your hand passed was blessed to be in his presence and you were the one privileged enough to have the pleasure of taking it off of him.

Each piece of clothing landed on the floor in a pile next to the two of you. After the long coat came his gloves which hid long, red nails underneath. You blushed when you noticed that once again, it was the same shade of red you wore every day on your lips. You made quick work of the skin tight undershirt he wore; the last thing that stood before you and his bare skin. Once that joined the rest of his clothes on the floor, you were free to explore him again as you wished.

You didn’t even ask permission this time. It was the first time he had ever allowed you to remove this many clothes off of him. The treat of seeing his whole torso bare and framed by those magnificent black wings of his was practically a religious experience. You couldn’t help but want to kiss every inch of his skin. Your hand traced the toned muscles of his abs, trailing up to his chest where his nipples were. Keeping eye contact with him, you ran your tongue across them, watching how hard it was for him to keep his composure the whole time. You wanted to spend every second he allowed worshiping the perfect specimen in front of you. Taking his nipple in between your teeth, you swiped your tongue across it, gaining a hiss which turned into a soft moan. He laced his hands into your hair, encouraging you to keep going. Your hand joined your tongue at his chest, pinching and teasing his other nipple.

Your free hand moved down lower to the bulge at his pants and stroked him through the fabric. You would get there in due time; but your focus was on what was already revealed and you hadn’t had enough of that yet. Kissing across his chest, you sucked at his other nipple, moaning softly against his skin, you let the vibrations from that noise aide in pleasuring him. “Very good…” He murmured softly, his hands still laced in your hair and tugging at it slightly. “You may continue…”

At his request, you knelt down, coming face to face with his crotch and you swallowed. He stopped you before you got to working his belt off of him. “I… I will have changed there too.” he warned.

“I will not be afraid.” You reassured, deftly unbuckling his belt and tossing it to the side. You took your time in undoing the button and the zipper. The anticipation of what he was hiding was making you wet. How would it feel to be filled with this version of Lucifer? How would your pussy like his demon cock? You licked your lips unconsciously as you pulled the zipper down and revealed the outline of his cock pressed up against his boxers. Seeing the tantalizing silhouette of what was to come made you eagerly pull the rest of his pants off and tossing it on top of the ever growing pile of clothes. In a moment of awkward maneuvering when you struggled to get his pants past his ankles, Lucifer also assisted you in taking off his socks and shoes.

He only had his boxers left before he was completely nude. Even if you were excited to see what his cock looked like, you wanted to still show appreciation to what you had unveiled. Kissing up his thighs, you breathed deeply to take in his scent. His unique musk hadn’t changed at all. He was still the Lucifer you knew and trusted. Lovingly, you nuzzled the massive package he sported at his crotch. A bead of precum soaked through the fabric and you lapped at it Getting a taste of him, you smiled to yourself, noticing that his unique flavor was also the same as it had always been.

Embracing his thighs, you hungrily groped his clothed ass while you licked up and down his shaft through the fabric of his boxers. Your saliva wet the fabric, enhancing the outline of his cock even more, molding it to every ridge and bump. By the time you were ready to take off his boxers, it was soaked by your drool and a mixture of his cum.

Getting to the final reveal of his cock was better than you had ever expected. It was a magnificent thing. Long and hard, it curved upwards with deep ridges running all along the length. At the base, an impressive muscular knot bulged and pulsed which then seamlessly lead down to his balls. You couldn’t help but trace your finger along every detail, marveling at it and fantasizing about taking it all in you. Part of you wanted to also run your tongue across his length, but his hand in your hair stopped you before you could take the tapered tip into your mouth. Above you, you heard Lucifer hiss in pleasure, thrusting into your touches, just as eager as you were to get to the best part of the evening. “No. Not this time.” He said firmly; and you obliged, only touching him with your fingers until he couldn’t take it anymore.

The pile of clothes you made served to be an excellent cushion against the cold floor. He laid you on top, smiling devilishly now that you had your fill. “Now… it’s my turn.” He said. “May I?”

“Yes… You may.” You said, already lifting your skirt up and spreading your legs wide for him.

It took no effort at all for his sharp nails to cut through the thin fabric of your panties. Truthfully, he wanted to rip all your clothes off of you; but then that would make your journey back home rather problematic. So, he had to settle for the pleasure of tearing your panties to shreds, exposing your soaking pussy to the cool air. It was his turn to lick his lips and savor the beautiful sight before him.

Dipping down between your legs, he licked at your labia, lapping up your essence and taking in your unique scent. The feeling of his hot tongue playing at your sensitive folds was mind blowing and your hands flew to his head between your legs, gripping the horns hard to encourage him to go further. You could hear him chuckle, his body shaking slightly in the action and he complied, if only a little bit. He pressed the flat of his tongue across your slit, parting it open to freely lap at your juices and stopped to swirl the tip of his tongue at your clit making your whine and grip at his horns even harder.

You didn’t realize just how strong your grip on his horns had been until he had to pry your aching fingers off of them as soon as he was satisfied with tasting you. “Are you afraid?” He asked, pulling away from you to line the tip of his cock at your entrance. Just feeling the tip part your lips had you quivering in anticipation.

“No.” You reassured him. “I want you… all of you.”

He took his time entering you, wanting you to feel every detail of his cock as it slid into you. You arched your back, already writhing in pleasure at the first inch. He filled you in a way you never felt before. No human cock or toy could ever replicate the sensations he was giving you.You could feel everything, every curve and ridge of his glorious dick as he entered you. The girth of it was perfect, stretching you full while the length and curvature of his cock rubbed against your g-spot with every inch that entered you. “You will have all of me… soon.” He promised. “But first. Let’s see how you handle me like this.”

His pace was slow at first, making sure not to hurt you as you became accustomed to being fucked by his demonic cock. Every pass was a new experience in sensations. You clawed fruitlessly at the tiles on the floor as you gasped his name with every thrust he gave you. This had to be what it felt like to be in heaven. If you could choose a god to pray to, it would be Lucifer and his cock would be the temple you worshiped at.

You could still tell he was being careful with you; and that wouldn’t do. As much as you appreciated this soft side of him, you knew the control he craved. “Take… Take me.” You begged. “Use me as you like…”

At your request, something in him snapped and the languid pace he first set was broken in favor of a rougher and faster one. A pace that could satisfy a demon. Your insides clenched and fluttered erratically, not sure how to take the brutal fucking he was giving you. As your mind short-circuited, you vaguely felt him lift your leg up, propping it on his shoulder to get better leverage.

And that was the moment you saw stars. Every trust was pure bliss, you were cumming uncontrollably around his cock, spasming and begging for more at the same time. His sharp nails dug into your flesh, adding yet another layer of sensations for you to experience. The top of his hard knot caught at your entrance with the new angle and you could feel your cunt stretch out even more to accept him.

Tears streamed freely down your face as you lost count of how many times his cock had made you orgasm. Yet you still hadn’t felt his knot buried in you yet. “Lucifer… please.. I want all of you…” You whined. You weren’t sure how many more times you could cum before you passed out. At least before that happened, you wanted to experience fully accepting him.

He slowed down to almost a full stop and let you take a few deep breaths. As you calmed your body down from the high of so many orgasms back to back, he pushed further into you. You had thought the incessant stretch you felt from the top of his knot when he was fucking you would be the worst of it; but you were sorely mistaken. “Keep breathing... “ he said, coaching you into slow, even breaths while he continued to cram his whole length into you. “In and out… just like that… You will have all of me soon.”

He reached up to your face, brushing stray strands of hair away, watching your expression change from one of strained discomfort to one of pleasure as his knot finally slipped all the way into you, snug and tight at your entrance. “Very good…” He praised, kissing you softly and letting your mind process what you had just done.

Looking down, seeing your pussy stuffed so full with his cock, his knot pulsed in need and he slowly rutted into you, his eyelids fluttering at being engulfed in your heat. The image of your cunt stretched and strained around his massive member for the first time would be burned into his memory forever. As soon as he felt your body fully relax into the experience, he started to rut into you harder, rocking back and forth in short burst, making you scream his name while he chased his release that was so close

“Who do you belong to?” He asked breathlessly, sweat plastering his hair to his face. His whole body tensed, waiting for your answer. As soon as he had it, he knew it would be the end for him.

“You! You do, Sir!” You screamed, arching your back and shuddering at being so filled.

“Who?” He growled, digging his nails into your thighs and leaving deep marks on your skin.

“L-Lucifer!” You yelled, you voice hoarse from all the lewd sounds you had made that night.

That was it, that was what broke him. With one last trust, he pushed himself into you as deeply as he could, filling you with his seed, cum seeming to endlessly stream out of him in spurts. He bent over you, biting you at the juncture of your neck and collarbone, his fangs breaking skin and drawing blood. He lapped greedily at it, memorizing the unique tang to your blood and finally, was satiated in a way he hadn’t been in years.

Your whole body collapsed onto the pile of clothes at your final orgasm, your vision becoming white for a few moments before you slowly drifted back into reality. He continued to empty himself into you in spurts, his seed overflowed and seeped down your thighs, but you didn’t care.

“And the pact has been made…” He murmured softly, laying down at your side, protectively wrapping his wings around you.

“Does that mean you have my soul now?” You asked tiredly. You could feel yourself drifting and wondered if you could take a small nap before taking the last train home.

“Would you like to have it back?”

“No.” You said confidently, snuggling up against him, making him hiss in pleasure as your body shifted and he was still buried inside of you. “I signed a contract with you a long time ago if I remember correctly.”

“That’s right. You were mine all along.” He said chuckling softly and holding you close.

He never needed to make a believer out of you. You had believed him all along.

Taglist: @ptv-hades

#Obey me #Obey me smut #Lucifer x reader #Obey me fanfiction #my writing #i'm trash you're trash we're all trash #Demon lucifer fucks you good #Obey Me AU

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fairylightsandchai · 4 years

Text

The Internship - Part 1

A/N: Hello! I know I usually don’t post fanfiction to this blog, but I really wanted to participate in @darkficsyouneveraskedfor‘s Pre-Code Challenge! Just ignore this if you follow me and you’re not interested.

Pairing: Dark!Professor!Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: >10K

Summary: You are a student in the former-Captain America’s American History class, and you soon notice that Professor Rogers has been paying more than a professional amount of attention to you. But when he approaches you with an internship opportunity that’s too good to be true, how can you say no?

(A/N: This fic contains non-con elements, stalking, and manipulation, and in later parts it will inclue rape, breeding kink, and kidnapping. It is also inspired by The Wild Party, a film from 1929. I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think.)

You had always wanted to be a writer. When you were a little girl, you’d spent most of your time with your nose in a book and your head in the clouds, dreaming of the day when you would tell stories of your own, stories that connected with people all over the globe.

And then the Battle of New York had happened.

You had been in high school during the attack, a shy freshman who had only wanted to blend in and disappear amongst the rest of your classmates. You’d still had your dreams of being a bestselling author someday.

But, like so many other things in your small, sheltered world, all of that changed the day the Chitauri invaded. You hadn’t been in the city at the time; you’d grown up in upstate New York, about an hour away from the busy metropolis, but it had still shaken your small town to its foundations. It was too close to home, too huge for you and your neighbors to comprehend.

After it had happened, you spent less time dwelling on fiction and more time focused on the truth; the nonfiction isles of your school’s library became your second home, and you were always the first one in your family to read the Sunday paper. You followed current events almost obsessively, imagining one day having your name printed on the New York Post under a ground-breaking story that would define the rest of your career – the rest of your life.

You had not, however, counted on having one of the Avengers as your professors in college, and yet here you were, stood outside the history building of Columbia University with binder in hand, a syllabus and class schedule tucked inside of it.

You hadn’t realized that you would need to take classes on subjects other than writing – you’d known about the needed electives for your course, obviously, but most of them were somehow linked to writing, be it creatively or informatively. Your required history credit had surprised you, though, and your surprise only doubled as you’d scrolled through the available history courses on your student Blackboard account and found a name that stood out amongst the rest. American History (157) – Professor Steven Grant Rogers.

At first you’d chuckled at the coincidence and signed up for it without thinking, but after you’d been accepted into the course, after you’d read and studied its syllabus, you’d started researching your various professors only to find that Professor Steven Grant Rogers…was actually THE Steven Grant Rogers. As in, Captain America himself. As in, one of the people who had fought against the Chitauri and inspired you to seek out journalism.

And now you were about to walk into his class.

Letting out a deep sigh, you pushed a strand of your hair out of your eyes and adjusted your cardigan before pushing open the door of the classroom and stepping inside. Looking around, you only noticed a handful of other students, but then again you had arrived fifteen minutes early for class. Your eyes scanned each of their faces before finally meandering to the front of the classroom, immediately picking out the shape of your professor sitting at his desk.

Even with him sitting behind his desk, you could tell that he was huge. His shoulders were broad, and the fabric of his light blue shirt strained against them as he hunched over, jotting something into a leather notebook. His hair was neat and trimmed, and he had grown out a beard since his retirement from the Avengers. It looked good on him, you mused, but in the middle of your thoughts he turned and looked at you, his piercing blue eyes looking directly into yours, and you froze where you stood.

You saw his eyes widen for a split second while he took you in, but before you could register the shift in his expression he had put on an easy smile, giving you a small nod.

“Welcome,” Professor Rogers spoke, his voice warm and genuine.

You, for your part, answered with an incredibly smooth and well-thought-out response.

“U-um…” you stammered, shifting on your feet. “Hello.”

Feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, you ducked your head and darted to the first row of desks and sank into one, willing your heart to stop its infernal pounding. As you silently cursed yourself for being so nervous, you opened your binder and pulled out the only two sheets of paper in it along with your spiral bound notebook before reaching into your backpack and rooting around for a pen.

He’s just a person, you lectured yourself internally. A person who has saved the world on more than one occasion, but a person, nonetheless. He probably gets tired of people acting differently around him just because he’s- “Do you need a copy of the syllabus?”

The voice came from in front of you, and your head popped up to see Professor Rogers standing in front of your desk holding a stack of papers. He held one out to you, but you quickly smiled and picked your syllabus off of your desk.

“Oh, no, thanks! I printed one off last night,” you explained. “But thank you.”

His smile grew, and he walked back to his desk, setting the papers back down.

“You’re prepared; I’m glad to hear it.”

The minutes ticked by after that, a slow but steady line of students filing into the class as its start time grew nearer. You gauged your peers’ reactions curiously, observing as some hardly seemed to recognize your professor while a few others stopped to ask for a selfie with him. The first time that happened, your eyes had widened their bold question, but the former Avenger bared it gracefully, simply shaking his head and giving them a smile.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to hold off on that till the end of class,” he’d say. “If you still want one after we’re all done then just stay behind for a few minutes.”

Finally the clock read 10:30 and Professor Rogers made his way to the front of the desk, right in front of the empty, clean whiteboard. He took a few moments to look out over the full classroom, taking in all of the students before him. When his eyes landed on you, you swore that you saw him linger for a moment, a curious gleam resting in his eyes before he looked away and opened his mouth to speak.

“Well, everyone, it’s time to get started,” he began. “As you probably know by now, my name is Steve Rogers, and this class is dedicated to American History from 1914 to 1939. I’d like to just say right off the bat that I’m happy to have all of you in my class, and I hope that this course is informative and helpful to each of your personal fields of study.

“Now to address the elephant in the room,” he said, starting to pace slowly, “yes, I was alive during most of that period of time, and I did use to be known as Captain America. But I hung up that hat a few years ago, and I’d appreciate it if you showed me the same courtesy and respect that you show your other professors. That being said, I don’t want you to hesitate to ask me any personal questions you may have as long as they relate to what we’re discussing in class. Any off topic questions should be kept to yourselves or saved for after we are finished for the day.

“Any questions?”

There was a moment of silence as he searched for any raised hands.

“Is the shield as heavy as it looks?” someone called from the back row, and a few snickers could be heard from around the room.

Professor Rogers let out a chuckle of his own and pointed to the student who’d asked.

“That is a great example of a question that should be saved for after class.”

____________

Steve waved goodbye to the last of his students, only minorly annoyed at how many had stayed late to take a picture with him. As he packed up his things and prepared to head to his office for the rest of the day, he mused that he should have been used to it by now. With social media so prominent in society these days, he’d been hounded for selfies ever since 2012, but they were still (and probably would always be) aggravating to him.

He didn’t linger on that today, though; he had so many other important things to think about, after all. And most of them revolved around you.

A smile twisted his features as he remembered how you’d looked when you’d first walked into his class – so shy and hesitant but just as gorgeous as always. He’d been so pleased to see you wearing your long green cardigan today; it was one of his favorites. Mostly because of that time he’d seen you walking around your little apartment wearing nothing but your bra and panties under it, but he had to admit that you’d looked almost just as sexy wearing it with those brown leggings you’d had on today.

As he made his way across campus to the building his office was in, he didn’t even try to hide the smirk on his face; he finally had accomplished the first part of his plan. He’d hoped to have you in his class sooner, but it had been hard finding someone to hack into the school records to add that history credit to your list of prerequisites. Well, rather, it had been hard finding someone discreet enough to get the job done. Plenty of his friends would have been able to do it without any problem; hell, Tony probably had done that exact same thing in the past. But they would have asked questions, and he couldn’t afford to have people poking around in something that didn’t concern them.

A part of Steve knew that this wasn’t the right way of going about having you; the Steve from before Thanos would have been disgusted with his actions, absolutely repulsed at what he was planning to do. But after the snap, after he’d watched so many people he’d cared about turn to dust, something in him had changed. He’d tried so hard, so goddamn hard, to do the right thing, but in the end it hadn’t been good enough to stop everything from happening. And even now, after Thanos was dead and the fallen had been brought back, he was still different than before. He’d done the right thing his entire life, and all he’d gotten from it was heartache.

But now he would finally claim what he deserved. He would claim you.

The first time he’d seen you, it had been in the campus coffee shop. He had only been teaching for a year at the time, and he hadn’t foreseen how overwhelming it could be. While the students were cramming and stressing over finals, he was clamoring to compile the perfect exam for his class, the perfectionist in him never fully satisfied and constantly worrying if he had enough questions, if they were balanced enough, if they were too easy or too hard or irrelevant to the course.

Basically, he had been frazzled, and all he’d wanted was a small black coffee and a corner booth at the café to work on his laptop in. But then he’d seen you.

You were sitting at a table with a girl around your age, and the two of you were laughing about something; it must have been hilarious, because your head was thrown back and your eyes were closed as your laugh bubbled out of your smiling lips. It was in that moment that he knew that love at first sight existed. Every love song he’d ever heard had suddenly sounded in his ears, and he stood there as if frozen as he watched you, his eyes already straining to remember every little detail about your face.

After that day, he’d started seeing you on campus more and more often, though that might have been because he was following you. In his mind, though, it wasn’t following. It was…researching. He had to know if he’d been mistaken, if that electric feeling he’d felt upon seeing you had somehow been something other than love at first sight.

But as days turned to weeks turned to months of him following you, of him watching you while you were none the wiser, he knew that he hadn’t been mistaken. It seemed fell for you more and more with everything he learned about you and your life. Your body, your mind, your very soul seemed to be meant for him.

There was a problem, though. On the third day of him watching you, you and your friend from the café (he’d learned that her name was Tina) had gone to the library to study together, and he’d overheard you telling her something that made his heart sink. “So… You’ve been in college for a year now,” Tina had started, and you’d groaned, knowing where she was going even before she said anything else.

“No, Tina,” you sighed.

“What! I’m just wondering when you’re planning on finding yourself a man,” your friend insisted as you rolled your eyes.

“Is never a viable answer?”

“No – you and I both know it’s not. C’mon, you’ve talked about wanting to meet your dream man since high school!”

“Well, yeah, I’ve talked about it,” you’d said. “Talking about something and actually doing it are two different things, babe.”

“I knowww,” Tina had sighed. “But c’mon, now is the time to be looking for people to share a future with.”

You’d snorted a bark of laughter at that.

“It most certainly is not,” you’d countered. “I need to focus on my career right now, Tina. Even IF I met Mr. Right, I’m not gonna start a serious relationship until after college. I gotta put myself first right now.”

“I guess I see where you’re coming from,” she’d huffed. “I get it. But you could just, you know…fool around, right? College is the time for experimentation! Don’t you wanna get that cherry popped before you graduate?”

“TINA!”

“What!” your friend had laughed. “I know you’re dying to turn in that v-card of yours.”

Steve had had to stop listening at that point. With a muffled curse, he’d turned on his heel and all but fled from the library, feeling his heart soar and shatter all at once. On one hand, that same sick part of him that was driving his actions was all but singing; if your friend had been telling the truth, then you were a virgin. His (Y/N) really was a good girl – something that was rare to find these days, especially in young college girls. A sweet, innocent girl just like he’d always dreamed about starting a family with.

But, on the other hand, you were determined to hold off on relationships until the end of college. And even if you’d be willing to let Steve be the exception to that rule, that still didn’t change the fact that you were a student and he was a member of the faculty; he would not only lose his job if the two of you were found out, but he was sure that reporters and journalists would jump at the opportunity to write an exposé about Captain America taking advantage of a student at the university he taught at.

No, he would have to be smart about this. He knew he didn’t want to wait for you to finish your four-year degree, but he also couldn’t risk either of your reputations with some kind of forbidden relationship, if you’d even have him. He would have to think this through. He would have to come up with a plan.

___________

You were surprised at how quickly you got used to having Captain America as a teacher. You would still get nervous when he spoke directly to you, of course, but the insight he had to offer was priceless. It was one thing to learn about a period of history from a textbook, but it was another thing entirely to learn about it from someone who was actually there.

Professor Rogers was knowledgeable and kind to all of his students, and your favorite parts of his lectures were when your classmates would raise their hands and ask him about what it was like to live during whatever part of history you were learning about. You’d learned about Captain America and his backstory in high school history classes, of course, but the way he would answer those personal questions showed a whole different side of him. But you were starting to wonder if that new side of him was as golden as his status as a hero made him out to be.

Recently, something seemed a little bit off about him, as much as you hated to admit it. It only would happen in brief little flashes, so brief that immediately after you would find yourself questioning whether or not it had actually happened, but you could swear that he’d been…staring a lot recently. Specifically, he would be staring at you.

More and more often in class, you would start to feel like you were being watched; it was if you could sense eyes on you just out of the corner of your vision, and it would make your hairs stand on end. Usually, you would turn and see nothing out of the ordinary, and you would be able to chalk it up to an overactive imagination. But every now and then, you would turn and see Professor Rogers staring at you, his jaw clenched and his eyes dark.

As soon as it would happen, his expression would clear into a neutrally polite smile, and you always tried to return it to the best of your ability. But as the weeks went by, it was happening more and more frequently. And then there were the touches.

Mr. Rogers never touched you in an inappropriate way; you were almost certain that he never would. But whenever he would collect your papers, or whenever he would pass out assignments, his hand would always seem to linger. Sometimes, he would let his fingertips drag against yours as he took whatever you were handing to him; sometimes, he would set his hand on your shoulder for the briefest of moments when you dropped an assignment off with him before leaving class.

He’d also started commenting about your appearance at the beginning of class. From the moment you walked in the door to the moment you sat down in your seat, he’d manage to make some comment on your outfit. The first time he’d said something was on one of the many occasions where you were wearing your favorite cardigan.

“You look very nice today, (Y/N),” he’d mentioned in passing, almost making you stumble on your way to your seat. You’d barely managed to stutter out a ‘thank you’. After that, it happened every time you saw him, and some part of your mind whispered that he never complimented your classmates the way he would compliment you.

“I like how you did your hair this morning,” he’d said the next time.

“Like the new jeans, (Y/N),” the week after. (How had he even known those jeans were new?)

“That’s a nice color on you.”

“Looking lovely as always.”

You did love having Professor Rogers as your teacher, but each class with him made you feel increasingly uncomfortable despite your best efforts. In your mind, you knew that you were reading too much into it, but that was never able to stop you from feeling a cold shiver run up your back when you’d see him glaring at you from behind his desk.

Despite your growing anxiety about your history professor, though, you were settling in quite nicely to your day to day routine. Your favorite days were Fridays, though; you spent your afternoons right before the weekend with your best friend, Tina. She had been your friend since junior year of high school, and while the two of you were opposites when it came to most things, the bond you shared was strong and deep.

This Friday, however, she’d had to cancel your weekly study session; Tina was in Columbia’s dental department, and every now and then her and the other aspiring dentists would do volunteer events to help people in the surrounding area get free dental care. You were always proud of her when she took part in events like those, but you always felt a little lonelier on Friday afternoons.

After spending the morning sleeping in and meal prepping for the week, you set out on your way to the library without your best friend in tow; you would just have to study on your own that week, especially with the first test of the semester looming over you in Mr. Roger’s class. He was kind to his students, yes, but he was also demanding. He’d made it abundantly clear that he expected quality work out of his students.

“This is an advanced class,” he would say. “I expect you to be advanced learners.”

Pulling your heavy wool jacket tighter around your body, you trudged into the library and sat at yours and Tina’s regular table towards the back, opening your history textbook and busting out your favorite blue highlighter; this would be a study session of the ages, not interrupted by anything or anybody-

“(Y/N), is that you?”

…Maybe you’d spoken too soon.

Looking up, you saw none other than the man whose class you were about to be studying for. Professor Rogers was walking over to you with one hand in his pocket; in his other rested a copy of The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, and you smiled as you read its title.

“Hi, Professor,” you greeted him. You made to stand up out of your chair, but before you could he took his hand out of his pocket and set it on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“Oh, no, don’t get up on my account. What brings you here today? Got a big test coming up or something?”

You forced a weak smile to your lips, acutely aware that his hand was still on your shoulder.

“Oh, yeah,” you managed to joke. “One of my pesky teachers is giving us a test next Thursday.”

“Who does he think he is?” your teacher chuckled. Finally, he let his hand slide off of your shoulder, and you once again looked at the book he was holding.

“The Book Thief?” you asked, nodding to it. “Are you checking it out?”

“Oh! Yeah. For the second time, actually. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Really? It’s one of my favorites too!”

Steve grinned, even though he’d already known that. He’d read most of the books you had on your shelf at home; at first, he’d done it to try and draw closer to you, to see what kind of stories you liked. But after a while he just did it because you had good taste; the only book of yours that had disappointed him was a cheesy teenager romance you’d had since high school, but even then he thought it was adorable that you found enjoyment in such things.

“It sure is a small world, huh?” he drawled, pulling out the chair across the table from yours. “Do you mind if I join you for a little while?”

You hesitated, looking between the chair he was already half sitting in and the charming smile he had on his face. Something about the whole thing seemed off to you, but you shook away that feeling and nodded your head.

“Be my guest,” you finally said, and your professor didn’t hesitate to sink into his seat.

“Thanks, doll.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at that and quickly gave him what you hoped was more of a convincing smile.

“N-no problem, Mr. Rogers,” you hurriedly assured him. A smirk stretched across his lips as he reached across the table, letting his hand rest on the back of yours.

“I’ll never get used to people calling me that,” he chuckled. “How about you just call me Steve when we’re not in class?”

Your eyes widened and you gulped, eyes flickering between his face and his hand, so warm against yours.

“Wouldn’t that be, uh… unprofessional?” Your voice was higher pitched than usual as you said it, and it only made his smile grow.

“Not if we kept it our little secret. You wouldn’t tell anyone, would you?”

He arched his eyebrows questioningly at you, and for some reason you immediately shook your head.

“No, I… I wouldn’t tell anyone, Prof- Steve.”

Steve tried his best to keep his face neutral, but on the inside, he felt like fire works were going off in his head upon hearing you say his name. He knew it would sound sweet in your soft voice, and if it sounded good now, he couldn’t imagine how nice it would be to hear you moan it. One day, he promised himself. One day.

You squirmed in your seat as Professor Ro- Steve, you told yourself, Steve – watched you. After a few seconds of silence you hesitantly leaned forward.

“Steve?”

He seemed to snap back to reality, and once more his ever-present smile was carefully arranged on his face.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “I, uh… Zoned out there for a second.”

“It’s ok,” you assured him. “I do that in your class all the time.”

“Hey,” he laughed, “C’mon, that’s not nice.”

You chuckled at your own joke and shrugged.

“I’m just joking,” you assured him.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he grinned. “Maybe that’s why you and Tina are always studying together.”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but something stopped you from saying anything. Something about what he’d just said didn’t quite make sense, you told yourself.

Steve furrowed his brows at the look on your face.

“You ok over there, doll?”

“Y-yeah,” you nodded rapidly, turning to collect your things as alarm bells kept going off in your head. “I’m fine. I actually just remembered something; I have to go.”

“Go? So soon? I didn’t chase you off, did I?” His lips were lifted into a half-smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes as he watched you pack up your books.

“Oh, no!” you were quick to exclaim. “No, not at all! I just… I just left one of my textbooks at home. I’m so stupid.”

You finally slung your bag over your shoulder and made to leave, but all of a sudden there was an iron-like grip encircling your upper arm. You whipped your head around so quickly that for a moment your hair obscured your vision. When you shook it away, you saw Steve watching you with slightly narrowed eyes, his smirk still on his lips.

For a moment, you just stared at him, feeling your heartbeat quicken as his thumb idly rubbed circles against your bicep.

“Don’t call yourself stupid,” he finally muttered, letting his hand fall. “You’re a smart girl, (Y/N). I’m sure you’re just feeling a little…overwhelmed. From your classes, that is.”

You nodded numbly, taking a small step backwards, taking yourself out of arm’s reach.

“Y-yeah… That must be it. Sorry, Steve.”

You turned and walked away, just barely catching his next few words.

“No problem, hon.”

You felt his eyes on you all the way out of the library, and the feeling didn’t go away until you fell asleep that night, the sound of his voice echoing in your ears and the line of his smile still etched behind your eyelids. Just before you drifted off, it suddenly came to you, the reason why you’d felt such a sudden need to leave him.

How had he known that you were friends with Tina?

_____

Steve sighed as he sank into his armchair, watching you fall asleep through his telescope; one day he would really have to talk to you about leaving your blinds open.

Once he was sure you were asleep for the night, he looked around his small apartment, thinking about your little study session in the library. When you’d left in such a hurry, he’d felt angry at first, just barely able to keep himself from snapping at you to sit back down. It was rude to just run off like that, after all.

But then he’d heard your heartbeat, pounding away in your soft, sweet chest, and he’d understood: you were nervous around him. The fact had made him so giddy that he’d excused your impolite behavior this time, letting you go and waiting a few minutes before following you back to your apartment. You were nervous around him, and he was willing to bet it was because of your feelings. He’d been watching you even closer than usual for the past month, watching how you’d squirm in your seat in class when your eyes met his, feeling your quickening pulse anytime his hand lingered on yours.

You were starting to fall for him, he just knew it.

He stood up from his armchair, wandering over to his tiny kitchen and grabbing a beer for himself. It would all be worth it someday – the tiny apartment he’d bought just to be closer to you, the time he’d dedicated to watching you each day, the expensive hidden bugs he’d planted in your house so he could listen in on your life. One day, when you were well and truly his, he would move out of this apartment and buy a home for the two of you, one big enough for the family you would have.

He could see it even now as he settled back into his favorite chair, peeking through the telescope to glance at your sleeping form. One day, you would be able to quit your silly dream of journalism and be his wife, focusing on him and the children you would have. Oftentimes, Steve would imagine five or six little kids running around the house, even though he knew it was unreasonable to think of such things.

You guys would stop at four, he’d decided.

His cock twitched in his sweatpants at the idea of you round and swollen with his child. You would be such a good mother, such a good wife. You would be everything he’d ever wanted.

With a sigh, he took his cock out, stroking it leisurely as he kept your eyes on your face, peaceful and oblivious as you slept on. He hoped you were dreaming about him, fantasizing about him the way he was fantasizing about you right now.

He let out a soft moan at the idea of what your first time together would be like. You would lead him into your bedroom, hand in his as your hips swayed with your stride. He would sit on the edge of the bed as you stripped, watching as each delicious inch of your skin was slowly revealed to him. You would be wearing white, lacy lingerie, as pure and unsullied as your body.

His hand moved faster on his cock as he imagined what you’d taste like, what it would be like to have his face buried between your legs, his tongue delving into your tight, wet heat as you bucked and squirmed against him. You’d pull his hair and moan his name, your voice getting higher and breathier the closer you got to your release.

But he wouldn’t give it to you, oh no. Not with his tongue at least. He would pull away at the last second and hold you in his arms, his eyes not leaving yours for a second as he pushed his cock into you. He would go slow, at first. He knew it would be your first time, and the last thing he ever, ever wanted was to hurt you. A small part of him still wondered, though, what noise you would make as he pressed into you for the first time, how his cock would look coated in your cum and blood, how your face would contort in that strange mix of pleasure and pain as he took your innocence.

All too soon, though, he was brought back to reality when he felt his cum coat the back of his hand, and as he came down from his release, he felt a familiar surge of disappointment that it wasn’t your pussy that was making him cum, that his were the only moans to be heard in his lonely apartment.

He shoved his cock back into his pants and took one last look at you before standing up to go clean himself off. You were still sleeping, innocent and unaware of all the plans he had in store for you.

_______

You debated skipping your next class with Steve. As each day went by, you got more and more paranoid. Whether you were at work, walking from class to class, or even at the grocery store, you kept thinking you saw Steve. You would catch a glimpse of blonde hair or broad shoulders and do a double-take, but every time you saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Part of you still thought you were overreacting. He was your teacher, for god’s sake. And he was a former Avenger; if anything, you should’ve felt safer in his presence.

When Thursday came around, you pushed down your desire to skip class and soldiered on, stopping for a coffee on the way and taking your seats just a few minutes before class began. The teacher you’d been so paranoid about was seated behind his desk, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he stared at his laptop.

As you passed him on the way to your seat, his bright blue eyes darted upwards, and he gave you a soft smile like he always did when you walked into his classroom.

“Good morning, (Y/N),” he greeted you. “That’s a nice sweater you got on today.”

“Good morning, professor,” you’d murmured back, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Thank you.”

You scurried over to your seat and plopped down into it. With all of your nerves, you’d almost forgotten to study for the test today. You’d only managed to cram in about half an hour last night; all of your other attempts at studying had found you without the ability to focus on the textbooks in front of you, mind wandering distractedly.

“Alright, guys,” your professor finally sighed, standing up from his desk and grabbing a stack of papers off of it. “Before we get started with this test, do any of you have any questions?”

When no one raised their hand, he nodded and started passing them out. As he set your test on your desk, you looked to see him wink at you, his lips curving upwards.

“Good luck,” he whispered, and your cheeks heated as you slid the paper closer to yourself.

After that, you made a decided effort not to make any more eye contact with your teacher as you started writing out your answers. Mr. Rogers had only ever given you guys essay questions, encouraging his students to write out their thought processes behind each of their answers. You kind of resented him for it; essay questions were always, without fail, tedious.

The minutes ticked by slowly, the only sounds in the room behind the scratches of pens and pencils against papers and the occasional rustle when someone would flip their page over. You were amongst the first ones to finish, and when you dropped your test off with Steve at his desk, his hand once again found a way to linger against your own.

Biting your lip, you drew your hand back quicker than usual, scurrying back to your desk and pulling a book out of your bag to read. Not that you actually read it; your eyes stayed steadily on one sentence for the next several minutes. When they finally did lift off of the page, they immediately found your teacher’s eyes, boring into you with that same dark intensity. You shivered as you snapped your gaze back to the page in front of you.

When everyone had finished with their tests, Professor Rogers stood from his desk chair and cleared his throat, drawing all attention to himself.

“Alright, good job guys. Feeling good about how you did?” There were a few grumbles and murmurings heard throughout the room; apparently you weren’t alone in your dislike of essay questions. “I’ll take that as a yes.

“So I thought that I would cut today’s class short this week,” he went on, and all of you perked up at the idea of leaving early. “Before you all head out, though, I wanted to tell you about a new internship opportunity I’m spearheading.

“For the time being, the details of the internship are being kept under wraps, but I can say that it involves travelling to New York City for a week and keeping a field journal while you’re there. What you’ll be doing in New York, unfortunately, can’t be disclosed right now.”

You sat up straighter in your seat, interest piqued. A field journal? It sounded like whatever the internship was involved journalism skills. (Or scientific skills – you were pretty sure scientists kept field journals, at least. You shrugged that idea off pretty quickly, though; why would a history professor be in charge of a scientific internship?)

“If you’re interested in applying for it, you’ll need to write an essay and turn it in to me at the beginning of next week’s class. The essay needs to be about a historic event that has somehow impacted your personal life, and it can be from any era of history, not just the one we’re learning about in class… Oh, and make it over 1,500 words in length. Any questions?”

A few students raised their hands, but you tuned them out as you thought over what you would write about. That is, if you decided to apply for it. You still had no idea what the internship was for, after all. But, you reasoned, if it didn’t turn out to be something you were interested in, you could always say no, right?

“…Alright, guys, you’re free to go. Email me if you have any questions about your test grades once they’re posted,” Steve finally said, and you distractedly started putting your things away, still thinking about what you would write about.

When you finally stood up from your desk, you went to sling your backpack over your shoulder only to feel it hit against something. Or, if the small “oof” that had sounded upon impact was anything to go by, someone.

Your hand flew up to your mouth when you turned and saw none other than your teacher standing there, having just been hit in the stomach by your bag – your very heavy bag, which contained no less than three textbooks inside of it.

“Professor Rogers! Oh my god, I am so sorry-“ you started, but he waved it off with a good-natured grin.

“Don’t worry about it, (Y/N),” he insisted, waving off your concern. “I’ve survived much worse, believe me.”

You smiled a little at that and finished putting your bookbag over your shoulders.

“Still, I’m sorry. I promise I’ve never assaulted any of my professors before.”

“A likely story, Miss (Y/L/N),” he joked. “A likely story.”

The two of you were silent for a beat before he cleared his throat and gestured to you.

“I was just wanting to ask if you were planning on applying for that internship I mentioned.”

“Oh, uh… Yeah, I was, actually. Why do you ask?”

“Well… I know that I said I couldn’t go into what exactly the internship entails, but I did want to mention to you that it involves some journalism. That’s what you’re majoring in, right?”

You nodded, feeling excited about your suspicions being correct.

“It is, yeah! I thought it might have something to do with it when you mentioned field journaling,” you said. “Could I ask what the journaling would be about, or would that give too much away?”

“It would give way too much away,” your teacher confirmed. “But trust me, I think it’ll be up your alley.”

Your mind turned it over, taking in Steve’s raised eyebrows and expectant smile. He seemed even more eager than you were about the internship.

“Well, I’ll make sure to write my essay for it,” you assured him. “Just gotta think of what I’ll be writing about.” Your brain had already pondered writing about the Battle of New York; sure, it hadn’t even been ten years since it happened, but it was a historical event. And it was the main reason you’d wanted to pursue journalism, of course. But you almost died with embarrassment at the idea of writing an essay about something Captain America was involved in and then letting it be read by Captain America himself.

As if reading your thoughts, Steve asked, “Any idea about what your subject will be on?”

“Oh, uh…” you muttered, “I-I had one idea, but I don’t think I’m gonna go with it.”

“Why not?”

“Well…” You sighed, not able to meet his eyes as you confessed, “My immediate thought was the Battle of New York. I know you probably don’t like being reminded of it, but it just… It changed my world, the entire way I view things – it’s what made me want to be a journalist. After the invasion, the world – the universe, really – seemed so much bigger, and it made me want to tell stories about the reality we live in now rather than telling stories that are fiction.”

You trailed off, looking back up at him sheepishly when you realized you were rambling. He was watching you with an intent look on his face, and for a second you were worried that the memory had upset him.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Rogers. I didn’t mean-“

“No, no,” he interrupted, shaking his head, “don’t be. I understand; it kinda turned my world upside down, too. I’d thought that waking up from the 40’s had been disorienting enough, but… When I saw aliens on the streets of the city I grew up in, it really made me feel like I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.”

Your lips twitched into a half-smile.

“Was that a Wizard of Oz reference?”

“…It sure was,” Steve grinned. “Old fashioned, I know, but it was one of my favorites growing up.”

“Me too,” you nodded. The man in front of you chuckled at that and you arched an eyebrow questioningly.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Nothing, it’s just…not too often that I have something from my childhood in common with someone else these days,” he answered.

Your heart squeezed with compassion for the soldier in front of you, and without realizing what you were doing, you’d rested your hand on his shoulder. You didn’t know what to say, but you knew what you wanted to; you wanted to tell him that you were sorry for what he went through, that you would never be able to understand what it had been like for him but that you knew it had to have been hard. For a second, you regretted ever feeling uncomfortable around him; hadn’t he proven his entire life that he just wanted to do what was right?

You said none of that, though, and after a second you let your hand slide down to your side.

“I’ll have that essay ready for you next week,” you promised him, and with that you turned and left the room, not even feeling the weight of his stare on your back as you retreated.

For several moments, Steve just stood there, glaring at the spot you’d been standing in and feeling himself fall for you even more. Because even though you hadn’t said any of what you’d been thinking, he was able to read it all in your eyes.

______

You’d missed your study session with Tina that week again; for the next several days, when you weren’t working on homework for your other classes, you were working on your essay. You didn’t know why you felt such a sudden need to do well on it; something in you just couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing Steve. Plus, you’d never before written about your feelings on the Battle of New York and what it had meant to you.

Even though Steve had said the word limit was 1,500, your final essay clocked in over 3,000 words, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to shorten it. You’d dedicated an entire week to making it perfect, and you finally got to the point where you didn’t want to change a single word.

When that fateful Thursday came around, you gave Steve a bright smile as you set your stapled essay onto his desk. Judging from the pile of papers resting on it, you hadn’t been the only one to apply for the internship, but you didn’t feel nervous about your odds; either you got in or you didn’t. You were content knowing you’d done your best.

“You seem like you’re in a good mood,” Steve noticed, and you winked, actually fucking winked, at him, wondering a second later why you’d even done such a thing.

“I’m just happy to be done with that essay,” you confessed, continuing on to your seat. “I spent all week perfecting it.”

Steve grinned, knowing for a fact that you were telling the truth. He’d kept an ever-so-diligent eye on you since your last conversation, watching as you typed away on your laptop ceaselessly, feeling satisfied to know that all your work was for him. His heart soared this morning to see you so happy, and he’d felt butterflies, actual goddamn butterflies, in his chest when you’d winked at him.

Class went by as usual, closing off with a list of chapters to be read and homework to be completed before the next class. In fact, the rest of your day went by uneventfully, and the only thing out of the ordinary came in the form of an email on Friday morning.

You were standing in your kitchen, just wearing your most comfy pair of sweatpants and a tank top, sipping some coffee when you heard your phone ding with a notification. Opening up the email, you felt yourself gulp so fast that your coffee burned your throat as you read it.

Dear (Y/N),

Good morning! I know that this is last minute, but would you be willing to come see me in my office today at 11 am? I would like to discuss your essay with you. I’m in the C Building, third floor, Room 212.

Sincerely,

Steve Rogers

You looked up to the clock on your microwave and cursed when you saw what time it was – 10:34. You set your coffee down so quickly that some of it spilled on your pants as you rushed to your room, throwing on some jeans and a cream cable knit sweater before rushing to gather your phone, keys, and wallet. It usually only took you ten minutes to get to campus from your apartment, but the C Building was basically on the other side of the continent from student parking.

You sped in your tiny, beat up car all the way to your college, power walking to the administrative building while huffing and puffing; this was the most exercise you’d gotten in a while, what with your busy schedule.

After an agonizingly slow elevator ride, you reached the third floor and glanced at your phone as you passed by several offices – it was 10:58. You felt your lips spread into a grin.

When you finally reached room 212, you hesitantly rose your fist to knock on its door, but before you could make contact it was opened from the inside. Steve looked down at you with a smile as you jumped.

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to surprise you,” he said sheepishly. “I heard you walking up the hall.”

“…Super hearing?” you guessed, and he nodded bashfully.

He gestured for you to follow him into the room, your nose immediately flooded with the scent of something delicious. Your eyes fell on two bags from your favorite café on campus, and you could distinctly make out the smell of their turkey bacon wafting up from within.

“I hope you don’t mind that I got some food for us,” he said, settling into the cushy office chair placed on the side of the desk opposite to you. “I know you haven’t eaten yet, and all I’ve had was coffee-“

“How?” you interrupted him, feeling that old coil of unease wrap itself around you. “How did you know I haven’t eaten yet, that is?”

Steve’s lips parted and his eyes widened for a split second after you’d asked, but he quickly schooled his features back into something more neutral.

“Oh, sorry,” he chuckled. “I shouldn’t have said that I knew you hadn’t eaten; it was just a guess. I’m assuming I was right?”

You warily nodded, slowly walking over to the chair he had situated in front of his desk. The door behind you was still cracked open, something that helped comfort you enough to reach into the nearest bag and pull out a to-go box.

“I got you some turkey bacon and a cheese biscuit,” he said as you opened the package up. “And there’s some blueberry muffins in the other bag if you’d like any.”

Your hands trembled as you took a bite of your bacon; it was the exact same order you usually got for breakfast.

You were so focused on swallowing your bite of food that you jolted when you heard the man in front of you clear his throat. Your head popped up to see him watching you with an expectant face, tapping his fingertips on the desk beneath him.

“U-um…” you stuttered, not sure of what he was expecting you to do or say.

“It probably shouldn’t bother me, but… Back in my day, we thanked people when they got us something,” Steve shrugged, trying to pass off his words as nonchalant. You could see the way his fists were clenched, though, and it made your heartbeat quicken.

“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry,” you exclaimed. “I, um… Thank you, Steve. For breakfast.”

Your cheeks were on fire, and you felt your palms getting sweaty as you set down your piece of bacon; maybe you weren’t so hungry after all.

Steve, though, just smiled gently and dug into the matching box of food he had placed before himself.

“It’s ok, doll,” he hummed. “Bad manners are just a pet peeve of mine. Go ahead and eat.”

The food felt like cardboard against your teeth as you hesitantly obeyed, still uncomfortable from how Steve had just spoken to you. You began to squirm in your chair as the minutes ticked on, the only sounds in his office coming from your quiet eating. Finally, when you couldn’t take it anymore, you cleared your throat and spoke so quietly that Steve probably wouldn’t have been able to hear you if not for his advanced hearing.

“So, um… In your email you mentioned my essay?” you asked, sitting up straighter. “Did you want to talk with me about it today?”

He smiled and set down the muffin he’d been working on, leaning his elbows against his desk and looking at you with a gleam in his eyes.

“That’s right, (Y/N),” he answered, his face so bright and excited that it was almost easy to forget how harsh his tone had been just a minute ago. “I wanted you to be the first to know that you got the internship.”

You blinked a few times, feeling surprised despite how hard you’d worked on your essay.

“Really?” you asked, slowly starting to smile again. “I did?”

“Of course,” Steve insisted. “Your essay was the best out of the bunch; it’s obvious that you want to be a writer.”

“Thank you so much, sir,” you said, hurrying to say so after what had happened the last time you hadn’t been grateful for his kindness. “That…means a lot.”

“Well, it’s true,” he assured you. “And now you get to know what the internship actually is; I know you were curious about it yesterday.”

You nodded eagerly, watching as he leaned back in his chair.

“A few months ago, I decided that I wanted to write an autobiography,” he began, thumbs twiddling in his lap. “I’ve never been much of a writer, but I figured that it would be nice to try and put my story down on paper. And I thought that it would be a great idea to go back to Brooklyn, where I grew up, and write down what’s changed about it and what’s the same as a sort of opening for the first chapter of my book.

“That’s where you come in,” he added, pointing to you before setting his hands on his desk. “I wanted to go back to Brooklyn with someone who grew up in this century, someone who could help me take notes on that part of the city and who I could bounce ideas off of. After all, most of my readers would be people who have no clue about what the 40’s were like. I’d need someone to hear my ideas and tell me if they’re relevant and if they’d appeal to folks these days.”

Your head was already turning with ideas on how he could link his past to his present in the beginning of his novel; the writer in you was salivating that the idea of this project, and you opened your mouth to tell Steve that you’d take the position.

But then you hesitated, slowly closing your mouth again as you looked at the man seated across from you. You remembered every time he’d made you uncomfortable, every doubt you’d had about him, every time he’d made you squirm under his penetrative gaze. Would you be able to work with him one on one without feeling so nervous around him?

“I’m…flattered that you think I’m a good fit for the job,” you started out, “And this is such an amazing opportunity, but… Um, would we the alone in Brooklyn or would there be other people with us?”

Steve’s brows furrowed; clearly, he hadn’t expected that question.

“Why would it matter?” he asked, voice hard as steel.

“Well, I just… I wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong i-idea, you know?” you stammered. “I wouldn’t want them to think-“

“No one would know,” he interrupted. “For obvious reasons, this project is being kept strictly confidential. You would have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before we left.”

Your doubt must have read on your face, because Steve’s face softened, and he slowly stood up, walking around to stand in front of your chair.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he said softly. “You know you don’t have to worry about me, right? I understand that you can be…shy, but think of this as a week off! I’ve already talked to the school board, and your absences with your other classes won’t be counted against you. We’ll go to the city, take our notes, maybe even have a little fun.

“Whatya say?”

You sighed and let your head droop, looking down to your clenched hands as they rested in your lap. You liked his words; they were kind and considerate, but they didn’t reach his eyes. No, they were dark, a stormy gray-ish blue as he watched you intently.

“I… I’m still not sure,” you murmured weakly. “Could I have some time to-“

“It’s a paid internship,” Steve interrupted you, his voice just barely edging to desperate. “And I would let you write the Forward to my novel. Think about it, (Y/N) – your name on the cover of ‘Captain America’s’,” he rolled his eyes at the name, “autobiography. You’ll be able to have any job you want when you graduate. A guaranteed successful start to your career.”

You paused at that, eyes widening at the thought; he had a point. You’d be a famous writer even before the beginning of your writing career. And your bank account was laughable at the moment; you only had a part-time job at the college library, and it definitely didn’t pay much.

Your head tilted up and your eyes met Steve’s, and he was wearing a smile that spoke volumes; he knew what you were going to say even before you said it.

“I’ll do it.”

_______

Steve let out a soft grunt as he came, his hand finally stilling on his cock before he tucked it back into his pants. You’d left his office hours ago, but his mind hadn’t stopped thinking of you since you’d said those three little words. He was coming close to the end of his plan; his reward was so close now. He could practically taste it – taste you.

He wasn’t happy that he’d had to bribe you, of course. He hated the idea that you were just saying yes because of the money and success he could offer you. But if that’s what it took to make you his, then he would do it. It was worth it for your future children, for your future life.

Letting out a soft sigh, he stood up, putting in his airpods and selecting his favorite app on his phone. With a press of a button, he could hear the sound of your soft humming as you turned the pages of your textbook. The camera in your living room showed you curled up on your couch, studying like the good little student you were. Soon you wouldn’t have to work so hard; Steve would give you everything you could ever want or need – a family, a house, a ring on your finger… He smiled at the thought.

He shoved his phone into his back pocket, keeping his airpods in so he could listen to the sound of your humming as background noise. He grabbed his keys and headed out, tucking his laptop under his arm as he started walking out of the building. The two of you would leave for New York in a week, and he had so many preparations to make. His back-up plan still needed to be put in order, though he hoped he wouldn’t have to use it with you.

You were different from all the others – sweet, obedient, smart… Whatever ended up happening, Steve knew that you would see things his way eventually. The two of you were meant to be, after all.

#precodechallenge #steve rogers #captain america imagine #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #professor!steve #professor!steve rogers #non-con #stalking #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine

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rigelmejo · 3 years

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My dudes wasabi Japanese is so cool this site is so cool literally my dream site ToT (thank u @yue-muffin for all those free reading links <3 which is what included wasabi Japanese)

I know what I’m doing after I finish reading Japanese in 30 Hours! (I might keep reading Reading Japanese for fun too just cause... I might as well we will See).

So like curse me if, when I say I will, it makes me not lol. I hope I DO actually do this. Because it sounds so much more clicks-with-me right now than my alternate study plan (which was Nukemarine memrise - which I WILL eventually do ToT I plan it ok, and tae Kim’s grammar guide - which I’m happy to replace with any grammar guide I’ll finish fucking reading tbh).

1. Remembered bilingualmanga exists and I am making no commitments to read anything (tho I have 4 mangas open and an urge to read them for the first time in years since I read yotsuba earlier and followed it). But I will say it’s quite cool I could um read and look words up (ditto for just regular iOS word lookup and Japanese scripts... I’d say ditto for Animelon too and I DO recommend it but I’m just not really an anime watcher).

2. Wasabi Japanese has a: a grammar guide. So my ass is gonna try reading it (in my defense it has audio which I find marginally nicer than the other sources I’ve been looking at... like I literally read Japanese in 30 Hours aloud audio helps me... also why I suspect in part Nukemarine’s decks help they make me listen a lot). https://www.wasabi-jpn.com/japanese-grammar/wasabis-online-japanese-grammar-reference/

3. Even better (to me) wasabi Japanese has b. A grammar drills lesson course that has you shadow and practice SENTENCE PATTERNS AND GRAMMAR. I was literally considering buying a Japanese shadowing textbook for just this purpose (but that textbook was random phrases whereas this is targeted sentence patterns). Also I learn best by just fucking seeing sentence patterns so I kind of suspect an activity like this would click with my brain better than actual grammar guide reading (tho grammar guide reading gives me a useful overview of what to start noticing). Like I literally own the book Japanese Sentence Patterns just cause it was the only thing that clicked... Bonuses about this lesson course wasabi Japanese has: it’s me Doing stuff, I learn best just Doing tbh (it’s why just brute force reading clicks well with me lol). And better, Doing stuff in a streamlined way so I can not bumble as long lol and I have reference if I’m confused (Also why I like graded readers). Info: https://www.wasabi-jpn.com/japanese-lessons/how-to-proceed-with-the-instantaneous-composition-method/ The lessons: https://www.wasabi-jpn.com/japanese-lessons/materials-for-japanese-lessons-intensive-reading/

4. Wasabi Japanese has lessons through stories, listening reading and shadowing. Phenomenal. Both the perfect chance to test if Listening Reading works some more (which I’m currently into), and to actually DO some things I wanna do like read and practice listening (versus Nukemarines memrise courses which are just flashcards, or playing Japanese video games which is... doable but too draining to be enjoyable or efficient yet). I’m excited. How to use: https://www.wasabi-jpn.com/japanese-lessons/japanese-lessons-how-to-proceed-with-read-aloud-method/ Actual lessons:. https://www.wasabi-jpn.com/japanese-lessons/fairy-tales-and-short-stories-with-easy-japanese/

5. Assuming you’re better at Japanese than me - wonderfully wasabi Japanese has a course I could use, right after finishing that last one, at a slightly more difficult level, with manga: https://www.wasabi-jpn.com/japanese-lessons/materials-for-japanese-lessons-intensive-reading/

6. Alternatively, want a different N3 course that’s radio program based? Here it is: https://www.wasabi-jpn.com/japanese-lessons/materials-for-japanese-lessons-read-aloud-method/ so yeah, wasabi Japanese looks like a quite nice alternative to flashcards or a textbook if a babe just wants to learn from stories with audio for a while ToT

7. Also I am again contemplating the benefit of just playing audio in the background more. Will I do it? I don’t know. I’d love to play SpoonFed Chinese audio, Japaneseaudiolessons, and Japanese core 2k audio on in the background. As it’s all comprehensible input I know I’d mostly pickup if I just heard it enough to Review it (whereas rn I just hear each audio file once ever on a walk then never again cause I have little time for focused audio only listening). But I feel bad when I play them in the bg and don’t fully listen ;-;. Ah the dilemma. Truly though they’d help so much if I played them in the background I know it... as of this month as an experiment since reading The Word Brain, I’ve been listening to SOME Chinese audio more. Specifically Guardians audiobook, a random Chinese hp audiobook, Alice in wonderland audiobook, silent reading audiobook. You would not believe how much it’s been noticeably helping. Usually it’s avenuex’s Guardian audiobook and every time I catch a bit of it casually in the bg while working, I’m blown away I understand clearly what I didn’t the time before. In particular I’m probably having the most improvements in this novels comprehension, since I’m Listen Reading Method with it too. But like... the first time I focused listened to it during L R? I caught everything with difficulty during the only-chinese audio but English text step 3. And then listening alone only caught the main story beats/scenes (which was already a major improvement for me). Now when working I can actually catch the paragraphs about Guo Changcheng’s family, his uncle, going to McDonald’s - these are details I very specifically remember being the ones I could NOT catch doing listening only the first time post L R. So after idk 3-6 listening of this chapter, just listening again in the background (since L R takes too much time I’m lazy I only do L R once), I’ve made this much progress. I only saw the full definition of everything ONCE one time during L R step 3 once. But just listening more I catch more and more. And of course, as I catch more the unclear parts become easier and easier to maybe figure out. All I know is I severely underestimated the benefit of repeated listening - at least when (at one point once) you comprehended the material. So considering this... I think now with hindsight, yes listening to condensed audio of a show or just a show, that you’ve seen before with English subs/dual subs/in target language and looked unknown words up, in the background probably could help. If at one point you comprehended it before. (So for me Guardian cdrama is hella on this list lol). With hindsight yeah, repeated audio of an audiobook chapter or audio drama you followed the target language subs for before, or that you could read but not hear alone, would probably help listening skills. Definitely my audio flashcard files where they’re literally Built to be comprehensible since it’s English then target language each line. So... yeah in hindsight more audio, even background audio, can help. Guarantee when I’m not L R with the guardian audiobook I’m barely even listening. And still I find myself catching parts of it.

8. My roommate got too excited about Final Fantasy 14 and informed me it’s free to play now.. which I didn’t know. So of course I foolishly looked up if I could play it in Japanese on a PlayStation and looks like answer is probably yes and I am sorely tempted...

9. It’s gonna be wild for me looking back on may progress at the end of the month because: I did almost nothing I planned, I got demotivated then intensely motivated, I’ve done a ton ToT, I also did a ton of Japanese immersion which?? I’m not even counting?? I don’t track my Japanese immersion yet because like... it’s not my priority right now. I read a ton of manhua the other day and just forgot to log it. I watched some of the woh concert and just did not count it, I read a surprising amount of Japanese this month for someone “not studying it much” yet (aka maybe more than I read last time I studied Japanese??). I did a lot of L R method I didn’t even track, I did a ton of background listening and I’m not tracking just hoping for the best. Did I finish 小王子 this month or last month? Whatever month that was I read like 4 Chinese books. I just remembered I read like 3 Japanese graded readers but didn’t count them cause they felt too simple to count (only 28 pages each). I watched 10 Cure Dolly Japanese grammar vids tho not sure how much help it is long term. Whatever time I did the Japanese video games had to count for something even tho it was draining af. Anyway my point is just... count on me to not do what I planned but be more productive when I do that. All that said: I’m more productive when I set plans even if they aren’t always followed, so I’ll keep making them lol. I think I just needed to hit that turning point of “do anything you want, just continue to do something” instead of “complete this first!” (Although I’m still aiming to complete things - or at least go for progressively challenging things). I dunno... I want to say I want to consider just trying to finish things imperfectly just finish them (to motivate me to finish my Hanzi books, Japanese books, courses I find). But knowing me.. I have no idea what will get me to keep going. Just need to remember it’s ok to do it imperfectly. Just need to remember to place what I will care about and actually do, as priority over what it is I think “must be fully done.”

#rant #may #may progress #it’s gonna be wild for me looking back

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for-ests · 4 years

Text

Lost In Your Light: Peter Parker x Reader (Part 7)

( 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 )

[ my masterlist ] word count: 3, 963

CHAPTER 07: NOTHING I’VE EVER KNOWN

Potholes littered the road that stretched out in front of them.

The scene was just like every other night, except Y/N had a companion. She felt safer with Peter by her side.

"Does your suit know their location?" She asked as they turned down another nameless street. Words between the heroes had been scarce, but Y/N did not mind. She knew hunting down criminals wasn't the best way to get to know one another.

"Yeah." He affirmed quietly, making sure Y/N was lingering a safe distance behind him. "Just up ahead. I can hear them."

"You can?" She gasped. "What are they saying?"

Peter didn't answer. His side of the conversation had gone quiet. Y/N knew it was because he didn't want her to tag along. The girl took his silence to heart, and decided to stop asking questions. She needed to remain neutral while she walked alongside him. Even if she was thrilled, practically overjoyed to be with him, he was serious and she needed to be as well.

Peter was hearing things he would rather not relay. He needed to focus on whatever was about to happen, not the beauty that Y/N radiated under the moonlight. He didn’t want to think about her skin against his, how pink and glossy her lips were, or even the innocent look in her eyes when he agreed to have her come with him.

So, Y/N followed him silently through the darkness. There hadn’t been a visible light for miles, but suddenly, she recognized a warm glow reflecting against the pavement ahead.

Growing uneasy, the pair rounded the exact house where Peter's lead claimed the Thorns were camping out.

There was only one lamp on, emitting from the front bedroom. The tranquility of their situation did not sit right with Y/N. The skeptical girl absorbed her surroundings noting that it was nothing new. An average run down, ghetto hideout on the outskirts of a metropolis. The front porch was missing, replaced with poorly built wooden steps. The chain link fence had holes and trash littered the yard.

"I don't like this." She whispered, predicting that omething was off. The girl wanted to say more, but it was not her place.

Peter felt it too. His senses were tingling, almost out of control, but he couldn't pinpoint the reason why. It was something in the air. The minute they crossed the street, he felt uneasy.

But there was no reason to worry. Peter had never lost a scuffle with a Thorn member. Perhaps he was feeling too secure in the thought that he had put most of them in prison himself.

That confidence clouded his judgement. Because in reality, the most dangerous member had escaped. And he was leaning against the front door, watching them.

Y/N knew none of this, of course. She was following him blindly into a dangerous altercation. But she was young and ambitious. What girl wouldn't want to watch Spider-Man in action? Especially since she could give him something in return.

That's what Y/N tried to tell herself. But that was before she took one look at the house. All she could hear was the sound of her own breathing. Sharp and shallow. Maybe she was not cut out for combat, already worn out from tip-toeing in the shadows.

So many thoughts were racing through Y/N’s mind, that she failed to notice the sounds of rummaging that secreted from the home. It was quiet and suppressed, but it was noticeable.

Peter and Y/N scrambled to the front of the house. The hair on the back of Peter's neck shot up. Someone was watching him, possibly more. He lingered behind the chain link fence.

"So Peter..." Y/N whispered just loud enough for him to hear. "What's your plan?"

Admittedly, there was not one. All Peter had been doing the last couple of weeks was rounding up gang members. He had done it so many times now, that he felt like he perfected it.

That was why he ran into this mission head-first without a game plan.

But he wasn't going to tell her that. Until he heard the front door unlock.

Peter's foot crunched against the pavement as he took a step in front of Y/N. His gut sank, twisting with dread. He instantly regretted taking the girl with him.

"You need to get back—" He started, but was cut short by a whirling sound that chilled them both to the core.

Suddenly, the front window erupted into a piercing blue light, one that was alien and unnatural, one that caused Y/N’s mouth to drop open in shock.

A vibration zipped past them, the movement audible and touchable. Y/N stumbled back farther behind Peter, fear immediately sinking within her gut. This was far from normal, and judging by Peter’s reaction, he was also unprepared for the immense amount of foreign weaponry.

"W-what was that..." She whispered, afraid the perpetrators inside might hear her.

Y/N glanced to the front door. She felt their essence before she saw them.

"Y/N, go." Peter demanded through gritted teeth. He knew he shouldn't have let her come, he was far too concerned for her well-being. Why did he ever think it was a good idea to bring his crush to a fight?

Peter usually crept upon the scum that littered his hometown, he was usually quick and efficient. He made little mistakes these days. But as soon as Y/N walked by his side, most of his attention was tuned to her. And now, his slight miscalculation could result in both their deaths.

Because these lowlife criminals had something he failed to anticipate cautiously. They had alien technology that could slice him in half, knowledge he acquired from listening to their conversation for a single minute. The Thorns could tell Peter was outside before he even realized.

They were also thirsting for revenge.

"I'm not leaving you." Y/N insisted, steadying her feet and taking a step forward so she was standing at equal distance.

“Please-” He urged through gritted teeth.

“No.” She hissed.

Peter cursed himself as the leader of the gang stepped onto the porch before he could convince Y/N to leave. His name was Daquan Monty, a man Peter helped put in prison months ago.

His skin was dark, but not dark enough to hide the colorful tattoos that were visible on every inch of his exposed skin. That was the only distinguishable feature that Peter remembered. It was an intimidating feature, one that made the boy second guess himself.

It was also cautionary and helped remind Peter of the past. Monty may be blinded with rage, but he was also intelligent. Monty had connections. He had ways to get out, he had multiple ways to achieve revenge.

"It's the spider boy." He chuckled, seeming less intimidated by Peter than the last time, which was definitely not a good sign. Monty had stepped up his game. Instead of just a t-shirt, he was decked out in an expensive leather jacket.

"I was hoping I'd see you again." His heavy combat boots clunked against the wooden porch.

Even Y/N recognized him and she didn't know what to do. She glanced over to Peter for reassurance but he was just standing there, gawking.

Monty cranked his head to look at the fear-stricken girl just as his greeting faded into silence. Peter knew he was pleased to see them both afraid, but now he had gained a glimpse of Y/N. Shit. He internally cursed. There was no maybe, there was no probably. Monty immediately perceived Y/N as Peter’s weakness, and he was one hundred percent correct.

"Who's this?" He spat on the ground below him.

Peter shrugged to release the tension building up in his shoulders. His spider senses were telling him that there were at least 5 men hiding behind the door, waiting for a signal.

Peter had to buy time, yet he didn't know how that would help the dire situation.

"A spectator, who will watch me put your ass back in prison. Again. Where it belongs." The boy tried to feign confidence, for his sake and for Y/N’s.

She was thinking the same thing. How stupid could she be? To think she could fight along Spider-Man. Maybe in any other situation, but not this one.

"Wrong!" Monty yelled. "She's going to give me a good time when I finish cutting your limbs off one by one."

The words chilled Y/N to the bone. She had gotten into trouble with the Thorns before, but they were wannabes, they were the errand boys. The members she had outsmarted weren't confident like Monty was. They did not have weapons like the one holstered on his shoulder, one that had familiar glowing purple buttons.

Y/N’s gaze snapped back to Monty’s infuriated expression. Whatever experience he had with Peter was not a good one. He wanted blood.

Those were the thoughts racing through her mind as she watched Monty point his weapon at her.

"On second thought, I'm tired of you." Monty snapped, firing the gun without a moment's hesitation. Peter barely had time to comprehend what had happened until he saw the bullet fly past.

"Y/N!" Peter shouted, springing across the pavement and shoving her to the side. Y/N stumbled to the ground, almost hitting her head, but he broke her fall. For a moment, they gazed into each other’s eyes. There was an unspoken determination. Both of them needed to escape no matter what.

Peter quickly scrambled up and stood in front of Y/N as the remaining men burst through the front door, cocking their guns and pointing them all directly at him. Shouting suddenly filled the night, the howls and barking of dogs echoing around them from each direction except behind.

"Y/N, Y/N, are you okay?" Peter glanced over his shoulder and saw her climbing back to her feet. He was going to face Monty head on.

"I-I'm fine..." She insisted, looking at him with tear filled eyes. She tried to keep her legs from shaking, still recovering from the fact that someone had fired alien technology at her with the intent to kill.

"You need to go!" Peter begged, turning back to the house as the shouting ceased. The rest of Monty's men had filed out into the yard. Each of them holding their own weapon, artillery that was unclassifiable. There were more men than he thought. There were ten.

"Run!" Peter hissed, angry that she hadn't bothered to even move an inch.

"Perhaps bringing Y/N wasn't the best idea." Karen's voice rang in both his ears. "She doesn't know how to fight."

"No shit, Karen!" He grumbled.

"Do you want me to call for backup?" Karen asked as Peter watched Y/N finally take a few steps back. Why wasn't she running? What the hell was wrong with her?

"Not yet." He told Karen.

"Run, Y/N." He pleaded with the girl one last time. And this time, she turned on her heels and sprinted in the opposite direction, against every emotion that swirled through her mind. She felt dirty for doing so, she felt despicable and unforgivable.

How could she abandon him?

"She can run!" Monty yelled. "We'll find her. Any friend of Spider-Man is our enemy."

"Nah, I won't let that happen." Peter said, quickly raising his hand and shooting out his chemically engineered webs. It locked around the machine gun and he pulled it towards him. It worked, for a brief second, but as Peter tugged, the weapon shuddered.

Then, Peter noticed Monty's devilish smirk. One that told him he fell right into his trap.

The weapon exploded again, and it sent shock waves down Peter's web. The blast sent his arm flying back and he slammed against the concrete, the friction tearing through his suit.

Y/N heard his grunt and stopped in her tracks. She looked behind her and saw Peter scrambling to his feet. The vibration was so powerful that it had moved through the air.

The blast threw Peter off balance just long enough for a few of the men to surround him. The weapons were too powerful. He had fought against men with alien-like machines before, but nothing like this, nothing to this extent of abnormality.

How did Monty manage to possess these items?

Despite the situation weighing heavily against him, Peter refused to give up just yet. He was faster, he was smarter, and he was able to regain his stamina in the blink of an eye. Almost as fast as the projectiles from the alien weapons, Peter jumped forward and punched one of the men, instantly knocking him out. Next, he swiped another man out from under his feet. Their guns skidded across the pavement and out of reach.

"Oh no..." Y/N gasped. Peter had told her to run, but her legs wouldn't move. She had to help him. Somehow.

He was drastically outnumbered. They walked right into Monty's trap. Every man that Peter tossed aside, another filled his place.

The tips of Y/N's fingers glowed, beckoning her back to Peter. If she could not fight then she would heal.

Peter was ahead of the battle, just for a second, a second of hope… hope that was vanquished at the sound of Monty’s colossal weapon firing.

"Die!" The leader of the Thorns roared, he had limited patience, he had limited time.

He closed in on Peter as he tried to fight off the stranglers, firing again and again until one bullet hit its target. The intended bullet ripped across the flesh on Peter's torso, too fast for his spider senses to register.

Whatever the bullet was laced with, was so painful that Peter stumbled to his knees.

"No!" Y/N screamed as she watched Monty raise his gun in slow motion, finger on the trigger, barrall aimed for execution. She was too far away, she couldn’t do anything -- but she was getting closer.

Peter had to bite down on his lip from screaming out. He could feel the bullet lodged between his muscles, scraping away at every strand and inching to his bone with each strained movement.

The rest of the remaining men stormed down the stairs, their guns seconds away from unleashing Monty’s death wish. For the first time in his life, Peter was afraid of dying.

"I'm finally going to kill you, little bastard." Monty growled, over confident with the position he found himself in. At least ten of his men lay unconscious around Peter. "After all the shit you put me through, I'm finally going to get my revenge. Nice and slow. Just how I like it."

"—But first. I want to see your pathetic little face." Monty curled his fist around the material of Peter's mask, and ripped it off his head.

Peter spat at his feet, blood dripping down his chin. He had no idea that Lelia was racing towards him in desperation, just as afraid and just as unsure.

The boy knew he was going to die, yet all he could think about was how terribly he failed. As the barrel of the gun neared, he wanted to cry out and ask for forgiveness. Once a hero was unmasked, they could never go back.

Yet, Peter’s face was blank, cleared from all emotion. If he could do anything in his last moments, he would not give Monty that satisfaction.

"Just what I thought." Monty finally said after he had inspected Peter's face and stature. "A little kid. A retarded little kid."

And then he cocked his gun. Peter winced as he heard it whirl, the blue light growing brighter.

If this was the end. At least Y/N was safe.

"To hell with you, Spider-Man."

The blast rang out. But it never came into contact with Peter’s skin. The vibration buzzed past him, but nothing else.

And when he opened his eyes, he found Y/N standing in front of him, panting, her chest rising and falling as a form of intimidation.

Silence.

Monty's eyes widened in shock. Y/N was gripping the barrel of his gun, forcing it towards her with all of her strength. Her hands were glowing, pulsing with heat, a fire that began to shriek against the metal.

The bullet hovered inches from her forehead. It vibrated back and forth, stuck in the forcefield that surrounded her. A force field that was visible in the form of golden dust particles. Intimidating, yet indescribable.

Y/N’s hands seared. The intent of her power was different than before. She was pushing forward with all of her might, every piece of what she had was rushed forward at once, defying the laws of physics to save Peter's life.

The girl could sense everything around her, she heard every sound, felt every movement. She could taste the fear of all the men around her.

"Y/N—" Peter gasped, still on his knees. There was no way this was happening… there was no way.

With his next inhale, he groaned, the pain from his wound intensifying, so agonizing that it caused Y/N to flinch in response. She needed to reach him, she had to. The girl didn’t even know how she had created the ring surrounded her, but she felt the force tied to the growing pain knotting through her intestines.

How was this happening?

Y/N released the tip of the barrel, but managed to hold the golden ring of dust that floated around them, the width of it shrinking.

The bullet stayed still.

In a daze, and starting to feel weak, Y/N mistakenly glanced at the injured Peter.

The golden light reflected in his eyes, while a stream of blood threatened to drip over them.

I need to help him.

But the girl was drained, she felt herself struggling to keep control of whatever force was bound to the blood in her veins, naeasua coursing through her.

"Y/N?" Peter gasped weakly, trying to move, but unable.

A cry escaped her lips in reply, losing focus at the sound of his voice, the surprise, the anguish.

And that was when Y/N’s wrath unleashed against the surroundings. The girl lurched forward in the sudden surge of energy, breath leaving her lungs in a gasp, then a scream.

The familiar golden light exploded in a thick ring, traveling at such a speed that it severed everyone in its radius. Everyone except Peter.

Y/N screamed again in agony, her voice traveling miles through the vacant fields and overgrown lawns.

She fell to the ground, scraping her knees and hands against the concrete. Her skin was tingling, fingers curling abnormally. Y/N could still feel a slight flicker of power. For a moment, she had felt the most alive in her entire life.

Then, she twitched, and then, she felt nothing.

Peter's eyes widened as he watched Monty and all his men severe in half. The top portion of their bodies toppling over before he could make sense of it. The blood didn’t have a reaction time, the mouths of the victims hanging open until they smacked against the dirt.

Y/N had killed them all. With one scream, with one motion, with one movement. It was over.

Peter shifted his weight, dumbfounded. All alien technology that had come in contact with the golden ring, had disintegrated. It happened so fast that Peter didn't even feel that it was real. How was he still alive? Was he dreaming?

After gathering his senses, Peter immediately turned to the girl. She was still on her hands and knees, panting heavily.

"Y/N?" He called, afraid to touch her. Had she controlled the light? Or was it all coincidence?

Y/N felt an excruciating pain deep within her gut. Something wasn't right. Death lingered around her, and she knew it before she lifted her head.

The smell of rust filled her nose.

She opened her eyes.

The grass had been painted red, pools of blood collecting around the severed limbs. Eyes of the dead rolled back in their heads. Expressions still visible. Hearts possibly still beating.

"P-peter..." She managed to choke out, still too afraid and shocked to move another muscle.

He just stared at her.

Y/N staggered to her feet, legs shaking from fatigue. She stumbled forward to Monty, almost tripping over him as her eyes grazed the destruction.

"Oh god... What have I done?" A sob left her lips, echoing down the lifeless and vacant street.

Y/N fell back to the earth, knees buckling underneath her in a form of punishment, almost threatening that she couldn’t get away with her crimes.

She did this. She was a monster.

Her eyes remained wide open, what happened? Why couldn't she feel anything? The only thing that could make sense was the urge to heal Peter's wound. That was all the girl could think about, a switch in her brain telling her that it was the only way to feel something again.

The power that had manifested inside of her had released. And now it needed to be fed again, craving replenishment almost immediately.

Peter stared at Y/N from a distance, unaware of the revelation. All he could see was the massacre.

One that she had not intended, pure accident driven by an outside force. Judging by the panic setting in, Y/N had no control over her powers, she seemed to know that much. Yet somehow the girl had spared his life.

"Y/N... I-I thought you healed." Peter whispered, finally shifting far enough to feel the bullet still lodged against his collar bone. He trembled with discomfort, sweat intensifying along his forehead.

But no matter his pain, Peter needed to be assured that she was okay.

"I thought I did too." She swallowed hard, guilt thick within her throat. Each breath caused her to wince. She felt like her lungs had collapsed.

"Peter..." She tilted her head to the side, tears falling freely from her eyes. "I need to go..."

Sleep...

She could barely finish her sentence before she passed out. "I need help—"

And then she toppled over. Unconscious.

"Karen!" Peter yelled, frantic. He couldn't move to her side. "Call Mr. Stark!"

"And an ambulance?" She questioned.

"No, Stark will get here faster."

The sound of his phone ringing was all he could hear. His heart was beating so hard it was all he could feel. Peter waited, glancing to Y/N's slumped over frame.

Her chest rose slowly, yet fast enough so that Peter could relax.

Mystifying and fascinating yet destructive. All the power she had been hiding was finally boiling over and Peter was afraid for her well being. He may not have known Y/N for long, but anyone could see that she couldn't handle death. It was the exact opposite of everything she had ever known.

"Helloo? Parker?" Tony's voice blared through the speaker, irritated. Apparently Peter had not heard him the first time he picked up. He was stuck in a trance, wondering how they were going to clean up the dozens of bodies littering the street.

"Parker!" He scolded. "Why are you calling me at 2am?"

"Mr. Stark..." Peter spoke slowly, trying to mask the agitation in his voice. "I need you to come get me right now."

"Did something happen?" Tony asked, instantly worried. He could already hear the man scrambling out of bed.

Peter only called when it was a life or death emergency.

"Something bad." He paused. "Karen sent my location. But I think I have someone you need to meet."

Tag list!

@spn-assemble-seven @eridanuswave @fallisflame @used-avocado @pluckypete @vanillanestor @averyfosterthoughts @rudysrings @magicalturmoil @lust-for-pan @keep-bears-wild @selintugmen @undiadeestos @eridanuswave @unknownsolarsystems @ineedabifriend @silver-winter-wolf @alioop3818

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #tom holland x reader

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

Text

White Crest 101 || Morgan & Margot

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: UMWC

PARTIES: @g0t-ri5h & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Margot gets a crash course in class from her new professor, and what it means to be a transplant White Crestian

The class had started several minutes ago and Margot had just barely rolled out of bed. She changed quickly into a pair of pants, not bothering to change the sweatshirt that she had slept in. There was no time. Margot had a habit of being late, a trait she had inherited from her mother. While her mother thought it was a fashionable faux pas, Margot was simply disorganised. By the time she busted through the back entrance of the room, the professor was halfway through her lecture. The nearest free chair was close to the front, one that would attract a great amount of unwanted attention. Margot trudged down to it, annoying a handful of students that had to stand to let her past. She sat down, listened to the remainder of the lesson, not following any of it. An advisor had called her over the weekend, told her that she didn’t have enough credits for the semester. To her chagrin, this class was one of the few that still had availability. English, a subject she had always struggled to comprehend, starting later would only make it more difficult. The lecture came to an end and Margot began to pack her things. “She’s a great teacher when she’s actually here.” One student said to another. Margot listened intently. “My roommate was telling me she was gone for like a month last semester. No explanation, just poof.” The other gossiped back. The two of them left, and Margot was just about to follow them out when she heard her name be called.

“Do your reflection responses! Do the reading! Make good choices! Remember you have agency in your life!” Morgan shouted her end of class reminders in one breath, waving goodbye to each of them as the filed out. Most waved back with a mix of confusion and embarrassment. They made faces, because they were still young and had too much pride, but no one was above a little personal attention or affirmation. “Ooh, not you, straggler! Yes, you, Margot!” She smiled smugly, waving the roster in front of her. It wasn’t magic powers that gave her the student’s name, just some really attentive refreshing of the faculty center page. “You know…” She eyed the girl and gave a wry smile, “If you only stay for half the class, you’re only getting half your money’s worth. Also, technically, no participation credit. Which is an extra bummer, since it’s the easiest thing to get. But since you’re new, I guess I can let the first day slide. You got some free time, Margot? I’d love to know what brought you to my class this late in the game while we go over make-up work?”

Margot let out a quiet and frustrated sigh. She was so looking forward to going back to her bed. Instead she turned to face the professor. “I’m sorry I was late. I overslept.” Margot knew this was not an adequate excuse by any means, but she had no patience or energy to think of something more creative or reasonable. Margot began to walk towards the lectern in the front of the room, towards Morgan. “It was a great lecture though, the parts I was here for. Very, uh, informative.” She offered this as a consolation. Margot glanced at her watch, as if she had someplace else to be. “Yes, I suppose I can stay for a bit.” She took off her backpack and sat it on the floor where she stood. Margot imagined this could take a while. “I thought I had enough credits for the semester, but apparently I didn’t. Yours was one of the only classes I could join so late. Is there much to catch up on?” Margot dreaded to think of all the homework she had missed, it would only add to the growing stack of overdue work on her desk.

Morgan let out a long-suffering sigh. Of course she had only come here for the credit. She had maybe even heard that it was an easy class to pass, which...wasn’t wrong either. Morgan didn’t think that being a hardass with grades was the way to students’ hearts, or to teaching them anything effective. She tossed Margot a syllabus and gathered the rest of her materials, leading her out of the room and off to the long series of halls and stairs it would take to get to her office. “No, there won’t be too much work. Just the introductory assignment, so I know some useful things about you. And you’ll have to grab the books and catch up on the book we’re finishing up next week. But, it’s really not much. I’m not interested in competing with your other courses for ‘Most Demanding Homework.’ I’m here to help you figure out how to think differently and express yourself more effectively. But--” She paused on the stairs to look over at the girl. “Maybe you have some questions for me? I’m not sure how long you’ve been at the school, but I know it can be a lot sometimes no matter what.”

Morgan’s sigh sounded nearly as pained as her own. If Margot was more empathetic, she may have even apologised for being so flippant and insulting the woman’s career. But, alas, she was not so perceptive. Margot caught the syllabus between her palms and began flipping through the first few pages as she followed Morgan out of the room. As she spoke, Margot made a mental note to source an online copy of this week’s reading material. It would be cheaper that way. “Introductory assignment?” Margot hoped it would be a simple questionnaire; name, age, perhaps favourite pets name. Hopefully it wouldn’t ask her about her lifelong hopes and dreams. She would most definitely fail. “I transferred in this year, so I’m still becoming acquainted with everything here.” Margot explained, “I do have one question, since you asked. Your absences,” Margot prefaced before continuing, “I overheard some students say you disappeared without warning last semester. I was just wondering, will attendance still be required if that occurs again?” Her question was admittedly influenced most by laziness and her wish to stay in bed as late as possible. But, Margot was also just curious, and rather nosey. It was probably an inappropriate question, but it was too late to rescind it.

“Oh, just a short reflection on how you feel about reading and writing about stories and what you want to learn this semester. Learning doesn’t happen by accident, and being clear with yourself on what your intentions are can go a long way to getting the most out of the semester!” Morgan explained. She jogged up the next flight of stairs and turned on the landing, bright with encouragement. She nodded along as she walked, commenting that asking questions were how everyone learned. And then Margot asked. Morgan’s foot slipped on the next set of stairs and she stumbled down to one knee. “Uh, my--a-atendance?” She understood that her students flourished better with consistency and she knew that even though none of last semester’s students had the nerve to ask her what had happened or express how it had made them feel, she knew they had their opinions on it. What Morgan did not know was that Margot was the kind of student to cut to the chase, no matter how sharp she needed to be. She straightened herself up and smiled again, scrambling to recover. “Uh, well, it is possible that I may cancel class for unforeseen reasons, in which case there won’t be any reason to take attendance, but if there is class, then there will be someone to teach you, even if for some reason it isn’t me. And if there is someone to teach you, then they will be taking attendance and passing on the roster to me.” Her voice was growing tighter, breathier. She was forgetting to breathe. Morgan hissed through her teeth for breath and forced herself to meet Margot’s eyes. “Is there something else that you wanted to ask me about my absences, Margot?”

Margot’s hand reached out to grab Morgan’s elbow as she stumbled. “Oh, shit!” Margot cursed under her breath. She had clearly taken her professor by surprise. But, as quickly as Morgan’s pleasant smile had faltered, it was back in it’s rightful place. “Very well.” Margot responded to the thorough explanation, “I only ask because my course load is already so full. My programming classes are very time consuming, and I just want to ensure I can keep my schedule intact.” A lie, Margot thrived in disorganisation. Her ‘unplanned routine’, she liked to think. “I’m glad to know that the class would be unaffected in such an event.” Margot smiled in a disingenuous, thin line, hoping to settle the sharpness of Morgan’s breath. She was being her most polite self now, the facade she reserved only for her mother and father. It seemed she had distressed the teacher, Margot wondered why. To her it was such a straightforward question. “No, your absences, and reasons for them are entirely your personal business.” For now anyways. Margot’s mind was already in front of her computer, researching. Her question had tugged at a nerve. Margot liked to know what made people tick, their darkest secrets and how best to exploit them to her advantage. “Did you still want to go over the make-up work?” They were still frozen on the staircase, and Margot wondered whether Morgan would still be willing to help her cause despite the hostility in her tone and posture.

Maybe all the mushroom stress was getting to Morgan too much. She’d been so sure a second ago that this girl was trying to get under her skin, needling about her ‘personal emergency’ last year. But Margot stayed on that line of courtesy, and Morgan wondered whether she made other people feel this way when she asked about their kids or their losses or their dates. Maybe people with their sanity just barely intact didn’t like surprise personal questions. Who knew? Morgan tried to smile again, better this time. “Thank you. I uh, appreciate that. And, yes, of course. I want you to succeed. There’s copies of all the handouts on the class website, since I know half of you guys live your life on your computer.” She climbed up the rest of the way and started down the dimly lit hall, ignoring its off-center doors and the soft give of the floor that was just too much on the wrong side of uncanny to bear contemplating for long. “I know I can’t promise a lot for you, Margot, especially in a place like White Crest, but I can say I’ll try my best for you.”

Margot was glad that she had somewhat diffused the situation, having Morgan dislike her would only make passing this class harder. Once more, they were on route to her office. Margot detested this university, most of all it’s appearance, it was as if it had never had a renovation or even been repainted. She visibly cringed as they continued on their path. She had never been in such a lacklustre environment before, having been born and bred in quiet luxury. She hadn’t acknowledged the privilege while she had it, but since leaving MIT, it’s all she could think about. What she had lost. What had been taken from her. “I appreciate the help. I need it.” It seemed that Morgan was one of the more passionate professors at UMWC, most would not give a student this much assistance. “I’m trying my best to fit in here. It’s just,” Margot paused, considering her words, “such a strange place.” Strange didn’t even scratch the surface. “Have you always lived here? In White Crest?”

Morgan’s office was all the way at the end of the hall, through a communal office supply room stocked with paper the wrong size for the printer and coffee that was perpetually burnt. Morgan’s office was through a sticky door off the corner, one desk in five crammed together. Today, only Karl and Kirk were nursing whiskeys in coffee mugs since Kyle (or his body rather) still hadn’t been found. “Sorry, boys. Official business. Come back in fifteen minutes?” Her voice was bittersweet, sharpening an invisible knife under its surface. Karl and Kirk put their mugs down so fast, whiskey spilled over the sides. They folded their laptops under their arms and shuffled away. Kirk clumsily dropped a mint tea bag on her desk before mumbling an apology and shutting the door behind him.

Morgan turned to her student, smile tight with awkwardness. “Don’t mind the Medieval Bros. They’re mostly harmless. Now, anyways. And I’m a transplant from Texas. Strange is probably...the gentlest word for how things are here. Which, just some unofficial wisdom? Don’t be out after dark alone, especially on the full moon. Stay away from the cosplay bars, the crowds there are more dangerous than they look. Don’t go off trail if you’re a hiker, ever. And keep some bleach on hand in case your bathroom starts sprouting blood, eyeballs, or fish.”

Margot restrained her laughter as the two bumbling men were ushered out of the room. She knew the smell of whiskey well enough to know that wasn’t coffee seeping from their pores. Normally such unprofessionalism would surprise her, but this was the new normal. “Yum, mint tea.” Margot picked the bag up, twirled it between her fingers a few times before dropping it into one of the mugs. She had a sly smile on her face, the result of witnessing something she probably shouldn’t have.

“Texas, wow. I never would have guessed. You don’t even have the signature accent.” Margot made herself comfortable, taking a seat in one of the desk chairs that had become vacant by Karl and Kirk. At Morgan’s advice, Margot’s mouth opened, then closed, not knowing how to respond. She didn’t know what to make of all of these random warnings; skeledogs, mimes, now full moons and the dark. “Why does everyone keep telling me to be careful?” Her eyes narrowed. “I know how to take care of myself.”

Morgan reached into her desk and took out some things from her cache of school supplies, the paper handouts, a journal to be graded, the first assignment, and a spare copy of the first book. “Oh, that,” she said, laughing at the teabag. “They’re just trying to...well, make up for their existence. I think they’re really coming along when it comes to respecting women, though they should probably figure out how to do it without being induced by fear.” She handed Margot the stack of assignments. “Maybe at your old school that was true, but things are different here in ways they don’t tell you in the brochures. So, take these, follow the instructions carefully, and have them in by next week, and I’ll waive the rest of what you’ve missed. And, seriously, be careful. Don’t die!”

#wr margot #wr chatzy #wr margot chatzy #white crest 101 #wickedswriting

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aire101 · 4 years

Text

Ferrum Intro

My brain absolutely, positively refuses to focus on romance atm, which means I have made no progress on my WIP and instead my brain ended up producing this concept which I will probably continue at least until I get it out of my system. So here’s the beginning of a post-Endgame MCU/SAO Irondad fic that I went online to read, discovered it didn’t exist yet, and so could NOT GET OUT OF MY DAMN HEAD.

-------

It had been a long day.

Then again, every day seemed like a long one lately.

It had been a relatively beautiful November day for New York City, and with the approaching holidays Peter was starting to see the usual uptick in petty crime begin this season. Within his five hour patrol he had helped eight lost tourists, found one lost pet, caught two armed burglars and tied up a ridiculous number of petty thieves. Nothing too problematic, just another day in the life of our friendly neighborhood Spider-man.

Peter sat crouched on a roof looking over the newest Iron Man mural to pop up, this time right on the edge between Queens and Brooklyn. There were several around town already, but this one was especially heart-wrenching. Most were either of the armor mid-action or of Mr. Stark in his trademark press look. But this one was different in the best and worst way.

In this art, Mr. Stark was still in his armor, but the helmet was retracted, allowing the viewer to see the blood crusted on his face, the lines of worry even deeper than they were before everything had gone to hell. There weren’t many pictures of Mr. Stark from the five year period now known as the Blip, but in the ones there were Peter knew he had looked like this— tired and worn in a way Peter had never seen, but could well understand. All in all, it looked uncannily similar to the last time Peter had seen him. When—

Anyway—

And on the shoulders of this mural’s Tony Stark rested an enormous orb holding dozens of galaxies spiraling around a central point— a tiny arc reactor in the shape of a heart.

There was still a little while before he would be expected at Ned’s tonight, but the more he tried to convince himself to hit the streets again, the heavier his limbs felt.

He couldn’t do it. Not like this. Experience told him it was a recipe for disaster, likely to get himself or someone else badly hurt. Himself he could handle, someone else… his conscience couldn’t take another body added to its count right now. Besides, he had promised Ned he’d be there tonight.

Peter sighed and swung away from his rooftop perch to head back towards Ned’s, not sparing the art a backwards glance.

No matter how good it was, no reproduction could ever duplicate what he had lost.

----------

“Whoa, you’re early,” said Ned with a mild tone of shock. Which honestly… was probably fair. “I wasn’t expecting you for at least another thirty minutes.”

“Yeah, I decided to call it a night early. It was actually pretty quiet tonight anyway. Didn’t want to get too wrung out on the web considering we have plans tonight,” said Peter as he stepped into the Leeds’ apartment, slipping off his shoes and hanging his coat on the rack. “Where is everyone?”

“Dad has to work tonight, and mom and Angelica went to Laser Bounce earlier, but they should be back before too long. I stayed home to finish some stuff up before the launch tonight. Plus, I wasn’t sure when you’d be getting here, so…”

“Sorry, I should have messaged earlier.”

“You’re alright man. Like I said, I had some stuff to wrap up. I plan to be in-game as much as possible tomorrow,” said Ned as they moved into his bedroom.

“You sure you don’t mind me getting the first run tonight? They might have some secret opening event planned for the first few hours…” asked Peter.

“I am absolutely positive. I am going to have plenty of opportunities to lose unhealthy amounts of sleep to this game. Besides, between the two of us I think you need the break more than me. On a related note— you look terrible man. Have you been sleeping at all?”

“I sleep,” said Peter defensively. “I don’t really need much though, you know?”

“Physically, sure. Mentally? You’re still just as human as the rest of us Peter. Have you talked to May about it? Or Happy?”

“Can we please drop this? It’s just been a long day, alright?”

“What happened? I thought you said it was mostly quiet?” asked Ned, confused.

“I meant it was quiet for New York, I was still busy pretty much all evening,” said Peter, falling backwards onto Ned’s bed.

Ned sat down at his computer, spinning around to face Peter. “Fine, but I’m definitely going to harass you later, and you better actually sleep after we trade off in a few hours. Anyway, I am SO PSYCHED or this! God I hope its worth all the hype.”

“I can’t imagine it being a flop. The tech behind it is revolutionary, and the head developer has been working on the game for like a decade,” said Peter, as he scrolled through the GameSpot special coverage from that day.

“Wasn’t SI contracted to consult on it, too?” asked Ned.

Peter felt his throat begin to constrict. The nails of his right hand bit into the flesh of his palm as he forced himself to take a slow breath—hold—and release…

“Yeah, Mr. Stark consulted on it himself. Some of the engineering on the headset is similar to the BARF technology. I think he might have worked on a couple system AI’s as well.”

“That is so cool man. So this is almost like his last tech contribution? Last gift to the world…”

“I doubt that. It was just a consult job, most of the work was done by Argus. Plus, Mr. Stark had years worth of projects and updates on file. We’ll probably see things he had a hand in being released for the next ten years at the least,” said Peter.

“Still pretty cool though,” said Ned with a shrug.

At that moment, Peter heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock of the front door.

“Looks like they’re back,” he said, continuing to scroll, this time through discussions on Reddit.

“Have you had dinner yet? You know if you haven’t she’s going to force you to eat before you dive.”

“Nah, I didn’t get a chance to stop off earlier. What kind of leftovers do ya have?”

“I think there’s meatloaf and some chicken adobo left at the moment.”

“Yaaasss… Chicken adobo…”

Just then Ned’s bedroom door opened, and Mrs. Leeds poked her head in, a large smile on her face.

“Peter! I thought I saw your coat by the door! I’m glad you were able to make it tonight! Edward has been excited about the sleepover for weeks,” she said.

“Oh my god, mom! It’s not a sleepover! I doubt we’ll even sleep much!”

“Isn’t that what sleepovers are about?! You’re ridiculous… Anyway, have you eaten?” Mrs. Leeds asked, looking at Peter.

Peter had to bite back a smile, but shook his head.

“Hala ka, you’re going to waste away into dry bones! I don’t care how busy you are these days, you shouldn’t be skipping meals. You’ll blow away in a strong breeze. Come, I’ll heat something up. I know how bad you boys get about eating when its a normal game. A full immersion VR? You’ll forget you even have a real body that needs sustenance.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Peter, dutifully following her into the kitchen.

“You are in luck. We have some leftover chicken adobo from last night. I know you like that recipe. Did May ever give it a go?”

Peter flashed back to the gloopy, slightly charred mess that was May’s attempt at cooking the dish. “Eh… Yeah but it wasn’t quite the same. Still needs a bit of work.”

“Huh,” Mrs. Leeds said, sounding confused.

“Peter!” shouted a voice from behind him.

“Hey Angie,” said Peter, before he felt arms wrap around him from behind in a bear hug.

His heart throbbed in his chest. His breath caught and wouldn’t come.

Thanos was coming for the gauntlet he couldn’t let him have it he had to run the aliens were grabbing him he had to—

“You never come around anymore! It’s been months—!”

“Stop that Angelica. It’s been a crazy year, and Peter stays very busy between school and an internship. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for bed? It’s already way passed bedtime.”

Angie rolled her eyes dramatically but stomped back off towards her room to do as she was asked.

“Sorry, dear. She just missed her big brothers, you know.”

Peter did his best to force out a grin, but he wasn’t sure just how well it came off because the next thing he knew Mrs. Leeds was giving him a tender kiss on the head and muttering about making some cups of cocoa.

It was moments like this that he truly felt the strange reality of the fact that he had lost five years of his life. On the surface level everything felt mostly the same— Aunt May along with the majority of his friends had also been snapped, as well as several of his teachers. But while they were gone, Ned’s little sister aged from an innocent five year old, to a ten year old girl who had grown in a world in more confusion, pain and desperation than Peter could really comprehend. Freshman he had helped tutor in school had graduated. Families he had known were irreparably torn apart, seemingly overnight.

It felt like while he was still the same, the rest of the world had tilted slight to the left, leaving him unbalanced and unsure where to step next. He’d always felt a bit out of place anyway after the spider bite, but now it was so much worse. Sometimes Peter wanted a taste of what normal used to be like, without freaky spider powers, world protecting responsibilities and the guilt of looking around him and wondering if he deserved to be here at all.

He glanced at the clock that hung on the wall— fifteen minutes till midnight.

“I should probably go brush my teeth too and get settled in. The server will open soon,” said Peter as he stood.

“Yeah, though there shouldn’t really be much to do other than to actually connect since we calibrated your account the other day,” said Ned.

Within ten minutes Peter had taken care of his nightly necessities and given Angie and Mrs. Leeds both a hug goodnight, settling in on the upper bunk of Ned’s bed.

“Last time I’m asking— are you sure you don’t mind me giving this the first run?” asked Peter.

Ned sighed and spun around from his computer to send Peter an exasperated look. “Do you not want to take it on its maiden voyage?”

“That’s not what I said,” Peter rolled his eyes.

“Then stop worrying. Just have a good time for once. Also, I downloaded a couple files to the gear. Not sure how reliable it is yet, but a few beta testers put out some first floor tips on the DL as a downloadable in game file, so check that out once you dive. It might help out a bit.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

“No problem. Now get going, and be sure to take plenty of notes in your journal to send me later.”

“See you around, kid.”

“I am older than you are by two months. Shut up and dive, loser.”

Peter smiled as he fitted the Nervegear onto his head, laid back and said, “Link Start.”

———————

In a remote, nondescript server room a certain file kicked to life. It’s programming had been remotely accessed, a mere accident of oversight. The digital pathways that connected it to the Argus servers, while known about, had been forgotten in the chaos of the last few years. The file was not one created within the system, but one created to interact within it. The Cardinal system downloaded the precious data, implementing it in the category that best described its form and function.

Program designation: Client

System ID: Ferrum Vir

Administration level: GM

. . . .

Installation Complete

————————

At 12:00 am EST on November 5th, 2023 (1:00 pm JST), Peter Parker joined 10,000 others in the world’s first full dive MMORPG— Sword Art Online.

And so did a very confused Anthony Edward Stark.

#tony stark #peter parker #irondad #irondad and spiderson #marvel cinematic universe #iron man #spider-man #MCU #sword art online #mcu/sao #fanfiction #crossover fanfiction #ai tony stark #post endgame #mostly canon compliant #im not even sure what to tag this #i have no idea where im going with it #aire101 writes #not ffh compliant

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turtle-steverogers · 5 years

Text

Government Affiliated Love Affairs

idk @fuck-your-fandoms suggested this and i vibed with it so yeee here we are

soulmate au! kinda!

ship: ralbert

warnings: none i dont think, but if i missed something lemme know

word count: 2600 ish

editing: eh kinda idk

“Well, this is stupid.”

“Yeah, tell me about it, pal.”

Race sighs, looking down at his hands as he fiddles with the cup sleeve of his grande americano.

It was common knowledge that the “Formulated Love Act of 2023” was not the most foolproof of laws passed by the government in the past 5 years (not that anything the government did anymore was foolproof, but he’ll digress), but Race couldn’t help but at least appreciate that it wasn’t trying to push any heteronormative bullshit.

That didn’t make this asshole any more bearable.

Granted, the notion of solving the ‘loneliness epidemic’ (which apparently was a thing and was causing the US enough damn trouble that the government fucking stepped in) through means of systematic soulmates was sweet. Everyone gets a match based off a stupid fucking questionaire they completed when they were 21, like “oh, you can drink now! Here’s a shot of vodka and also your future partner is gonna be determined by this thick ass packet, go ahead and fill that out, no pressure!” And by the time you’re 25, a soulmate’s been hand picked for you. By law, you’re required to marry them within a year of meeting, and then you’re set to live your life happily ever after.

It was nice in theory. But in practice? Not so much.

Then again, wasn’t the government usually like that?

Race wished he had some whiskey to pour into his americano like those edgy movie characters. Or Jack Kelly. Jack Kelly did that sometimes.

When he’d gotten the email a week ago with his soulmate’s information and their established ‘meet-up arrangements’- which were really just fancy words for ‘forced date, have fun’- Race had been tentatively hopeful that maybe he’d be one of the rare cases. The ones you read about on Buzzfeed where it really is love at first sight and maybe those few, poor FBI Agents who were stuck with the ‘Pairing Process’ had done something right for once.

The ounce of a Disney fan within him had even entertained the thought of some miraculous meeting, where sparks fly and eyelashes are batted and smiles are exchanged.

But no. Instead, Race is sitting at some random Starbucks in the middle of Manhattan with an obnoxious (and upsettingly pretty) redhead, who’s first words to him were, “I fucking hate coffee, I’m gonna get tea.” To which Race had tried to cover his scowl, but failed miserably.

He hated tea snobs. Don’t get him wrong, he enjoys tea as much as the next 25 year old guy, but those dudes who fucking made a point to openly despise coffee in favor of tea like some sort of pompous jerk? Yeah, they killed his boner.

Race toys around with his coffee cup for another moment, before the silence gets too thick and he breaks, “Albert, right?” he asks, because even though it’s been a good half hour since they’d met up, the guy still hasn’t properly introduced himself.

It had said Albert’s name and age in the email last Saturday, but come on. It’s basic human decency to at least offer your name and maybe a handshake.

Albert scrunches his nose, taking a long sip from his iced peach green tea lemonade. Fucking asshole.

“Yeah,” He says. He sounds bitter and uninviting. Race tries not to shrink in his seat, “And you’re Antonio.”

“Race,” Race interjects.

Albert’s eyebrows draw together, “Race? What the fuck kinda-”

“It’s a nickname, just-” Race scrubs a hand down his face, “Just, don’t question it, but it’s Race, got it?”

Albert leers at him, “Fine.”

The silence settles over them once more, except this time, they’re maintaining eye contact. Albert looks like he’s trying to size him up and Race’s neck prickles uncomfortably.

I mean, seriously, this is the guy Race has to marry? Yippee fucking ki yay.

“Listen,” Race says slowly, “This- I mean,” he blows out a breath, starting over, “I hate to break it to you, but we’re stuck together and you’ve gotta move in by,” he pauses, checking the date on his phone, “Wednesday, so we could either work something out or suffer.”

Albert’s glare doesn’t falter, “I’ll suffer.”

Race sighs again.

XXX

“And down the hall here is my room and that,” Race gestures to the door opposite his room, Albert trailing behind him, “Is yours.”

After their disaster of a first date last Saturday, Race had relented and cleaned out his office, turning it into a guest room and moving his desk and file cabinets into his own room. It was a tight squeeze into his relatively small space, but he wasn’t about to share a room with Albert. But he was a nice person and wasn’t gonna condemn him to the couch, either. So, guest room it is.

Albert hefts his box of belongings higher into his arms, shrugging his right shoulder to adjust the duffle bag on his back before inching into his room.

“Thanks, I guess,” He calls bluntly behind him before kicking the door closed, leaving Race standing dumbly on the other end.

Race blinks. Then, blinks again.

“Man, fuck you!” He calls in a sudden surge of anger. He hadn’t done a damn thing to Albert, what fucking right did he have to hate him? He didn’t even give him a chance!

“Nah.” Albert calls back.

“I didn’t mean it like that you fucking ass- you know what? Nevermind.” He storms into his own room, slamming the door shut behind him.

XXX

Later that night, Race is curled up in front of the TV, cradling a bowl of Panang curry and watching some random documentary about koalas. He spoons some fried tofu into his mouth, frontwardly considering getting a koala, because they’re fucking adorable, and distantly wondering if Albert was ever going to come out of his room.

He hadn’t heard from him all afternoon and the only indication that he was still in the house had been the distinct sound of a toe being stubbed, followed by a loud, ‘fuck me!’, which Race didn’t laugh at. He didn’t.

His question is answered a moment later when Albert’s door creaks open down the hall and he pads into the living room. Race can feel him lingering in the doorway, watching him, and he groans a little, placing his spoon back into his bowl and muting the television.

“What,” he says, turning to face Albert, who looks sheepish for a moment before replacing the scowl on his face.

“Nothing, just-” he purses his lips and glances towards the kitchen.

Race softens a little, “Are you hungry? I didn’t know your order, but I got you some pad thai,

‘cause it’s pretty standard…it’s in the fridge if you want it.”

Albert looks back at him, a strange look on his face, “You got me something?”

Race shrugs, “yeah?”

“Even after I-” Albert shakes his head, “Thanks.”

Race watches as he seems to go through some internal conflict before stalking off towards the kitchen. A moment later, the microwave starts up.

“Alrighty,” Race mumbles to himself, unmuting the television and picking his spoon back up.

A couple more minutes pass with the remote sounds of Albert putzing around in the kitchen and the narrator’s accented voice droning on. It feels weird to have someone else in the house, but Race shrugs it off. He never loved having roommates, but it was no different than his college days, really. Even though he couldn’t just forget Albert after the year was over. He had to marry the damn guy.

He’s surprised when Albert comes back into the living room and even more shocked when the other end of the couch dips. Glancing over, he finds Albert sitting with his legs tucked underneath him, twirling rice noodles around his fork and staring fixedly at the TV. He forces himself to relax and finish his curry.

They don’t say anything and eventually, Race lets his guard down a little. An indiscernible amount of time passes and the program turns to a show about domesticated hedgehogs and how to care for them.

Race feels himself nodding off, and he’s about to let sleep take him over completely when he feels his bowl being lifted out of his hands. He cracks open an eye in time to see Albert get up and clear their dishes.

He comes back a moment later and looks mildly startled to see Race awake.

“I thought you were out out,” he says, and Race notes that the hostility that’s been ever present since they met is curiously absent.

“I woke up when you took our stuff,” Race admits.

Albert hums and sits back down on the couch, clicking off the TV and bracing his forearms on his knees. He looks like he might want to say something, so Race waits patiently.

“Look,” Albert starts, sounding a little strained, “I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting. I’m not trying to justify my behavior, but this whole,” he gestures a little wildly, “soulmate thing freaks me out and I kinda panicked over it and totally took it out on you even though it’s not in any way your fault and,” he lets out a humorless chuckle, finally looking at Race, “I’m sorry. Really.”

Race offers him a tired, but reassuring smile, “Listen, bud, I’m like half asleep so only, like, a fraction of this conversation is getting comprehended, but it’s okay. I mean, you were an asshole, but I get it. This whole system is fucked.”

Albert laughs for real and Race finds that he likes it. Just a little. He can appreciate a nice laugh, okay?

“Sure is,” Albert agrees.

There’s a pause, but it’s not as charged as before.

“Where did the nickname ‘Race’ come from?”

“Uhhh,” Race yawns, stretching, “I dunno, my little sister always called me that and it stuck?”

“Cool.”

“Yeah.”

Race props his head up on his hand, sleepily watching Albert fidget. Albert seems to sense him staring, because he looks at him again, offering a small smile.

“You’re tired,” he points out uselessly, “you should sleep.”

Race nods, standing, “Yeah, I think I’m gonna,” he starts towards his room, “You should, too.”

Albert salutes him, “I will.”

“Goodnight, Al.”

“‘Night, Race.”

XXX

After their little impromptu apology session, things change between Race and Albert.

They hang out more, heading into the city to browse through museums and stroll aimlessly through Central Park. Albert brings Race to a planetarium and Race, in turn, takes him to an ABT performance at Lincoln Center. It’s nice, Race finds, and his initial opinion of Albert is rapidly changing into something entirely different and ten times more positive.

He discovers that Albert’s favorite ice cream flavor is stracciatella, even though it’s hard to find in the States. Albert tells him that he graduated from Pratt with a film degree and dreams to one day participate in the Sundance Film Festival.

In turn, Race confesses that even though he grew up dancing and always thought he’d be a professional dancer, culinary school had ended up being his calling.

Little things about Albert start to filter into Race’s awareness. Like the way he quirks one side of his mouth a little higher than the other when he laughs, or how he scrunches his nose a little and furrows his eyebrows when he’s filming. He’s got that kind of charming, self-deprecating humor, where he’s always cracking jokes, but only at his own expense, making him approachable and likable. When he’s telling stories, his voice always pitches a little different, captivating whoever’s listening. But when someone else is talking, he gives his full, unwavering attention.

It makes Race feel interesting and important. Like what he has to say matters.

It’s a sunny Friday and the two of them are sitting in a small sandwich shop in Brooklyn. Albert is retelling some ridiculous story about how he got a cab driver to bring him to a veterinarian for free, because he found an injured pigeon. His meatball sub is long since forgotten and Race notices that he has a little sauce on his cheek.

He’s just about to reach out to wipe it off when he realizes it.

He’s kind of in love with Albert Dasilva.

Huh. Crazy.

XXX

“Hey, so I was thinking we could go try out that new bubble tea place over on 14th?”

Race lifts his head from his pillow, blinking blearily at where Albert’s leaning against his doorframe. It’s Saturday and they’d spent the night previous in some club getting spectacularly drunk and naturally, Race is hungover as shit. But Albert doesn’t get hungover, the motherfucker.

He scrubs a hand down his face and Albert watches with a smirk as he struggles to sit up.

“Yeah,” Race says, “Yeah, I’m down, just,” he rolls his stiff neck, wincing as it cracks, “gimme a few minutes to freshen up.”

“No prob,” Albert says, sidling out of the room, “We can grab greasy breakfast for you somewhere as well!”

“You’re a saint!” Race calls back.

A half hour later, they’re bumping shoulders as they venture through The Village, keeping an eye on Albert’s google maps as they look for ‘Bubbleology’, the new fangled cafe Jack and Katherine had been insisting they try.

“So, the Air and Space Museum in DC is having an exhibit on Mars next weekend and I was thinking we could pop down to see it?”

Albert perks up, looking away from his phone to give Race an excited smile, “Really? Wait, how did you know about that and I didn’t?”

Race blushes a little, shoving his hands in his pockets, “It’s your birthday coming up, so I was looking for things to do and...yeah.”

“Aww,” Albert nudges him, but Race can see him flush, “That’s sweet, I’d love to- shit, Race, careful!”

Race gasps, freezing as a car speeds towards him. The only unfrozen part of his mind is screaming that the crosswalk says they can walk, so why isn’t that car fucking stopping and-

He feels a hand grip his bicep, yanking him back towards the sidewalk and all cognition slams back into him as he and Albert fall onto the pavement.

“-Fucking ASSHOLE, watch it!” Albert’s screaming uselessly after the car, but Race isn’t registering it. Not completely anyway.

He takes a moment to assess himself, breathing deeply as he becomes increasingly aware that he almost fucking died, but he didn’t thanks to Albert.

Albert looks down when Race tugs on his sleeve, “Are you okay? Jesus, that was- mmph.”

Race pulls him down, crashing their lips together. For a moment, Albert’s frozen against him, then he relaxes into the kiss, reaching up a hand to cradle Race’s jaw. They kiss for a while, until Race remembers that they’re quite literally sitting in the middle of a sidewalk and pulls away.

Albert opens his eyes, looking slightly dazed, “Whoa.”

Race bites his lip, suddenly unsure, “Sorry?”

“No,” Albert’s eyes widen, “No, don’t apologize, that- no, that was okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Albert says, hoisting Race to his feet and pulling him in for another kiss, “Very okay.”

When they break apart again, they’re both laughing, foreheads resting against one anothers.

“Hey,” Race whispers, waiting until Albert’s eyes meet his to continue, “I like you.”

Albert rolls his eyes, but it’s fond, “I like you, too, dumbass. Maybe those FBI guys actually were onto something.”

Race smiles, goofy and genuine, “Yeah, maybe.”

They stand there for another moment, enjoying each other’s embrace. Then, Albert steps away abruptly, grabbing Race’s hand and pulling him down the street.

“C’mon, I still want bubble tea.”

It’s Race’s turn to roll his eyes, “Idiot.”

“Yeah, butcha love me.”

“You got me there.”

do we want a part 2 with fluffy dating stuff/wedding?

lemme know!

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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#newsies #newsies fic #albert dasilva #racetrack higgins #ralbert #chaotic bois #we lov #lol #okay yeah i posted a fic eee

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skvaderarts · 4 years

Text

Apocrypha Chapter Four: Benevolence

Masterlist can be found Here! Thanks!

Chapter Four: Benevolence

Note: I loved talking to everyone and reading your comments! Thanks for the support! I feel loved and appreciated. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and all the ones to come.

A gentle breeze picked up as the group rounded the corner and approached the front steps of the house. V opened the door and watched as the children filed into the house, immediately calling out to Kyrie to inform her that they were home as they took off their shoes and headed up stairs to their shared bedroom. They presumably intended to continue playing, a fact that V found exhausting to even comprehend considering the fact that they had spent several hours at the park. He'd chock it up to youthful vigor, but he hadn't had that kind of energy as a child and he also didn't feel like making himself feel that old so early in the day.

Kyrie approached from the living room, yawning as she stretched and adjusted her posture. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes before greeting the children and then turning her attention to V. Her usual smile was present although, at least to him, she seemed to be waking up from a nap and not entirely cognizant yet. She yawned again before speaking.

"I really appreciate you taking them to the park for me today," She said, beaming from her restful sleep," I hope they didn't cause too much trouble."

V shook his head, contemplating the idea of a nap of his own. Just looking at her made him more tired than he already was. Curling up with a good book in the arm chair that sat near the window in the living room and reading until he nodded off sounded like a tempting proposition. "They were very well behaved, all things considered," He said shooting a placid glance in the direction of the stairs," It was my pleasure."

"That and you certainly needed a nap, didn't you" He thought to himself as she headed into the kitchen. Kyrie turned the eye off on the stove and removed the teapot that sat atop of it, setting it down on the counter next to the refrigerator. Apparently she had been awake a little longer than he'd originally guessed.

"Would you like a cup?" She asked as she grabbed down the container that the tea was housed inside of. V nodded once in polite, wordless conformation, unwilling to pass up the opportunity to warm up a little. He was always slightly cold as a general rule. Kyrie took down a second cup and placed a flavored tea bag inside of each of them before douching them each with an appropriate amount of hot water and allowing them to steep. V made a mental note to purchase a kettle whenever he finally decided to venture out on his own.

Drinking tea with Kyrie was something he found himself doing quite often as of late, and he had gradually become accustomed to it. While they didn't really have anything to converse over while sipping their drinks, they each enjoyed taking a moment to simply savor the silence around them. Having three children around at all times could be never shredding at times, so any period of extended silence that they could procure was a welcome change of pace for everyone who lived there.

As the two of them fixed their respective drinks and began to drink them, V thanked her. He had come to appreciate how kind and considerate she was, always taking into account the comfort and happiness of those around her. Nero was exceptionally lucky to have someone like her in his life, and he was grateful to know her by extension. He hadn't experienced very many occasions in his life where he had met someone he could definitively say was genuinely concerned about those around them. But he could tell she felt that way about everyone she lived with. It was unfamiliar but refreshing for him to be surrounded by so many people who actually cared about him.

"If it's not too much trouble, can I ask you to do something for me, please?" She asked tentatively, seemingly unsure of how he would respond to the request.

V glanced up at Kyrie, giving her a curious look. He hoped he hadn't done something to upset her. She didn't seem upset, but assuming he'd something undesirable was his natural state until proven otherwise."Yes, of course."

"Would you be willing to come to the orphanage with me to meet the other children?" She seemed almost embarrassed to make such a request of him as if she was acutely aware that she was asking him to do something she knew he wouldn't normally do," Kyle, Carlo, and Julio seem to adore you, so I thought the other children might too!"

He was slightly surprised by what she'd just asked of him. While it wasn't an unreasonable request, he couldn't help but feel instantly uncomfortable at the prospect of going to an orphanage and interacting with children. It reminded him of things that he'd buried deep anc chosen to forget. He suppressed the urge to squirm in response to the visceral level of discomfort that he felt and nodded slowly, almost as if he were telling himself yes instead of her. This was the only thing she'd ever really asked of him. He could do that.

"... Yes...I could entertain the prospect. When did you have in mind?" It only occurred to him that he didn't really have any plans to speak of aside from taking a nap and catching up on one of the books he'd been reading. Well, rereading. He hoped Nico had found something worth wild during their excursion that day. He was woefully bored of the literature he had on hand. The selection was quite limited. At this point, he was willing to take just about anything he could get his hands on. A dictionary would suffice!

I was hoping we could go today, if that would be alright" She said cheerfully, " They are going to start making dinner in about an hour and I was going to go help them out like I normally do this time of week! They need all the help they can get with so many little mouths to feed!"

V choked on his drink.

-~-

All things considered, it seemed like Nero and Nico would be arriving back at home just in time for dinner. While sunset was still an hour or so off, the ferry would be making port shortly, and they would be home within the next little while. It had been a productive day as far as they were considered, so now it was time to enjoy a hot meal and take a well earned rest.

"I'm surprised the boat didn't sink from all these damn books, Nico." Nero said nonchalantly, earning him a prompt but playful middle finger from his mechanic companion. He took it with a grain of salt, already expecting that kind of response. They had each become accustomed to one another's sense of humor a while ago.

Nero glanced out over the water, catching a glimpse of their newly found relic in the back of the van. She'd been examining V's cane ever since they had left Redgrave City, so it was currently leaning against the wall over by Nico's work table. He wasn't sure what she hoped to discover, but he was willing to admit that he was becoming more curious as time passed. Did she think it possessed some sort of magical properties or something like that? While it wasn't out of the realm of possibility, he didn't really know if he thought that was the case or not.

"So what's the deal with the cane again? Is it cursed or somethin'?" Nero asked as he turned his attention to the front of the van again. They would be docking momentarily.

Nico glanced back before turning forward again and adjusting her position in the seat again. "Hell if I know! It's V's, so who knows. I found some weak demonic power comin' off of it, but I can't really tell where it came from. Hell, I can't even tell what kinda metal it's made out of!"

Nero laughed to himself, internally acknowledging that it must drive a former gunsmith up the walls to not be able to identify a type of metal. But that fact only made the cane more interesting to him. Where had he gotten a cane from that wasn't made out of a regular type of metal? Was it composed of some sort of experimental alloy or something? Heck, did it come from the underworld? Was it a devilarm?!

While the last option seemed unlikely, he couldn't rule it out completely. It made him feel slightly more comfortable about her request to study it just a little longer before returning it to its former owner. A day or two didn't seem like an unreasonable proposition, but no longer than that. At least that's what he hoped. From what he could tell, V actually did use it to get around. He tended to pick a spot and stay in it for prolonged periods of time compared to the level of mobility he had illustrated that he was capable of back in Redgrave City. That could be for a number of reasons to be fair, especially considering that he had only been back about eight days and was more than likely still recovering from their fight at Fortuna Castle and his original resurrection. And for all he knew V might just operate on low power in a domestic setting, reserving his energy for more pressing matters such as fighting demons. He didn't seem ill or anything, so maybe worrying over him was actually detrimental? Nero couldn't say, but he did find it difficult not to worry about him from time to time. He felt almost compelled to do so. Maybe it was the fact that he knew that they were brothers now, or maybe it was what hand happened to Credo a few years back. Perhaps it was because of his much weaker disposition, or a combination of all three. He couldn't say for sure. But he also had to acknowledge that it wasn't necessarily a bad thing either. Maybe he just cared about him.

Nero blushed slightly at the concept. Not very visibly, but he could feel his face grow perceptively warmer regardless. It was so strange to him. He'd never been able to really understand or coexist very well with quiet people growing up. Even as an adult they still had a special way of getting under his skin and making him uncomfortable as a general rule. Not knowing what someone was thinking made him uneasy, especially when they were as unreadable as V was. To this day, he still had a litany of questions he needed answered about his newfound sibling, but he wasn't sure where to start. No one liked being probed, and the last thing he wanted to do was to come off as invasive and totally insensitive. There was never a simple course of action when it came to V. Or was there? Was he overthinking this whole thing? Maybe just asking him to talk to him about these sorts of things would go over better than he thought. After all, never starting was a sure fire way to never get anywhere.

It was decided, then. He would ask him something simple when they got home. Something that he'd always wanted to know from the moment that he'd met him.

… What the fuck was his first name?

He seemed to always introduce himself as the same thing, but he was genuinely curious. The last time he'd brought it up, V had drawn a firm line in the sand with a succulent "no" and totally abandoned the subject. But no one named their kid a one letter name, did they? That seemed totally unlikely to him. He didn't really expect a different answer this time around, but he was just curious. It didn't seem like something he'd get upset about. If anything, he figured that there was some crazy reason behind it that he'd probably get a good laugh out of when V wasn't around to hear it.

"So ya gonna keep spacing out or are ya gonna come in the house? Cause I wanna eat dinner." Nico said, interrupting the deluge of scatterbrained thoughts that he'd been lost in for- had it really been that long? They were home already?! Wow. That had felt pretty quick… Then again, spacing out tended to alter one's perception of the passage of time. At least they were home now.

"I'm coming already. Don't worry about it." Nero said as he opened the side door and slipped out onto the ground. The concrete pavement welcomed his boots with a low thud, confirming that he was indeed in his own garage again. Yea, he definitely needed a nap or something. It was crazy how fast they had gotten here. Nero hoped that Kyrie hadn't killed anyone in the process. Her driving was pretty awful after all.

Nero crossed the space between the van and the garage door (what little there was) and headed towards the door. He turned the knob and pushed it open, stepping inside. Nico followed closely behind him, passing the white haired devil hunter and taking off her shoes before heading towards the stairs as soon as they got inside. Kyrie called out to greet them from another room, seemingly on the second floor of the house from what he could tell. He couldn't tell from the smell what Kyrie had been cooking, but he immediately felt more hungry that he had a few seconds before.

A cursory examination of the first floor yielded the result that he was alone now, so he shrugged out of his coat and boots and headed into the kitchen to grab something to drink. He grabbed the first thing that his hand landed on (a picture of water) and poured himself a glass before taking a peak at whatever was in the oven. He still couldn't really tell, although it seemed like a much smaller dish than usual. Kyrie must've volunteered to help make dinner at the orphanage again. They had probably eaten dinner with the children and then she had headed home to throw something for him, Nico, and V in the oven. How considerate of her.

He cursed himself for his total lack of cooking skills. He'd love to help her out more with those sorts of things, but he wasn't really sure how. Keeping the kids entertained so she could have a moment of peace was his specialty. She did enough as far as he and everyone else was concerned. Anything they could do to help her out they did, no questions asked.

Nero finished his glass of water and stepped into the living room, intent on closing the curtains. Since it would be dark soon, he figured that it might be a good idea. While no one in town was probably stupid enough to try and break in or anything of the sort, he didn't need prying eyes viewing what they were up to in their private lives. This was a gossip fueled town full of religious folks, after all. The last thing he wanted to do was provide them with something to work off of.

Upon closing the curtains, he turned around and did a silent double take. How long had V been sitting there asleep in the corner of the room? The part devil in question had dozed off on the far end of the couch nearest to him, seemingly exhausted from what he could tell. He always had this look to him that gave away his current energy levels, though Nero couldn't pinpoint what it was if he were asked to. He could just tell. He was willing to guess that the children had probably worn him out as per usual. Carlo had shown an almost magnetic attraction to him that they all found collectively endearing, V included though he never vocalized this opinion. The little child shadowed him around the house at all hours, captivated by whatever he was doing, even when he wasn't doing anything at all. It was honestly quite funny. And when he wasn't doing that, he was begging V to read one of his little toddler books to him, a request that he generally obliged, though he was probably ready to hide that book somewhere that it could never be found due to repetition alone.

The younger white haired devil hunter slipped out of the room silently, remembering that he hadn't let the garage down or locked the door. An easy mistake to make. He made his way over to the door, slipping out of it quietly as to not wake V. While he wasn't exactly a light sleeper, he still felt the need to try not to disturb him. No one liked to be roused from a restful slumber. Upon closing the door, he headed over to the metal folding door and pulled it downward, being mindful to do so slowly so as no to make unnecessary noise. It wouldn't make sense to creep out here and then loudly drop the door. Once the latch was secure, he stood up and locked it, content with his handiwork. The van was locked, but he gave it a quick once over just to be completely sure before heading back into the house and locking the door behind himself.

Nero stepped back into the kitchen and repressed the urge to curse to himself as he caught sight of V, now awake and standing in front of the fridge drinking a glass of water of his own. Whatever had been in the oven was now sitting on the counter in front of them, cooling off so that it could be eaten. Nero wasn't sure how V managed to do that so quickly since he'd only been gone for a few minutes at most, but it had happened nonetheless.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to look at whatever this dish was and not try to eat it, so Nero decided to give into temptation and do so, reaching up into the cabinet to try and locate a dish. V watched him do so, contently sipping his drink with a thoughtful look on his face. Nero located the plate and grabbed a fork, carefully plating up a small portion of the antre to taste. While the smell alone testified to it's edibility, he was still cautious whenever he tried something new. Thankfully, he wasn't a very picky eater.

"You know, I've only been home like ten minutes and you've already scared the shit out of me twice, V," Nero said casually as he fanned the now plated food in an effort to make it cool off quicker," I don't understand how you move around so quietly. It's kinda freaky."

V smirked at the statement, shrugging slightly in response. He wasn't really sure what to say to that statement. He was just light on his feet, he supposed. Either that or Nero was used to him walking with his cane. "My cane made most of the noise."

Nero nodded, considering his statement as he tasted the food. He slowly chewed the mouthful of food, finding it more to his liking that he would have originally assumed considering that fact that it seemed to be made entirely out of vegetables. While he wasn't a picky eater, he didn't normally gravitate towards these sorts of dishes. What the hell was this? It was delicious!

"Do you have any idea what this is," Nero asked as he gestured towards the pan of food with a slight tilt of his head," It's pretty fucking good! Never had this before."

V tilted his head downward slightly, glancing away from him in an attempt to not make eye contact. He looked almost embarrassed for whatever reason. Or at least that was how it seemed to the younger of the two. Nero gave him a curious look, his interest piqued by V's sudden and odd shift in behavior. Before he could inquire as to what the problem was, V responded.

"It's Ratatouille. I'm… glad you like it." He suddenly looked as though he had been asked to speak publicly in front of a large audience, looking anywhere but directly at Nero.

A look of shock and disbelief danced across his face as Nero processed the fact that Kyrie hadn't cooked this. It had never occurred to him that V might actually know how to cook. Had he accidentally eaten something he wasn't supposed to? V seemed to catch onto his surprised demeanor, feeling the need to elaborate despite his own discomfort.

"Everyone else has already eaten, so that is for the both of you," He said almost sheepishly," I... didn't think to make anything to go with it. I apolo-"

Nero waived his fork at him, gesturing for him to stop. Was he going to apologize after he had done him a favor? V was truly something else sometimes. "No, no, this is great! Don't even start! Nico isn't getting any of this."

V smirked again, almost smiling as Nero used a fresh fork to dish more of the food into his plate. Either he was adamant that he actually liked it, or he was putting on a very convincing act. V wasn't going to think too hard about it and simply take his word for it. As for Nico not getting any… he worried for his younger brother's well being if he wasn't kidding.

Before he could say anything else, a loud ringing noise reverberated off of the walls from down the hallway. They both instantly recognized the sound of the phone ringing and stepped towards it, awkwardly almost waking into one another but unsure as to who was actually going to answer it. Each time one of them tried to step forward, the other did so as well, leading to an uncoordinated dance that went nowhere. Finally Kyrie came from the other end of the hall and picked up the phone, saving them from themselves and they looked on in utter embarrassment. Nero tried to pretend he wasn't there as V sipped on the last of his drink, trying to hide his awkwardness behind the clear glass.

She smiled and nodded as she greeted the caller before turning towards the two of them. "Oh, it's your father! He'd like to talk to you both about something! Isn't that wonderful?"

For the second time that day, V choked on his drink.

-~-

Thank you all for taking the time to read the latest chapter! I'll be back soon with another entry! Thanks a bunch and I hope to see you again on Friday for the newest installment! Take care and stay safe!

#Apocrypha #V'sApocrypha #Soliloquy #DMC #DMC5 #DMCV #Devil May Cry #Devil May Cry 5 #Devil May Cry V #V #Vitale #V Sparda #Vitale Sparda #V Dmc #Vitale DMC #Nero #Nero Sparda #Nero DMC

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erikahenningsen · 4 years

Note

I watched Just Mercy with my family tonight and I thought it was a great movie I cried but I think I made one of my friends uncomfortable bc I texted her that I think the death penalty is horrifying and I can’t comprehend how people believe in it after watching the electric chair scene in the movie and sobbing and based on her awkward response I think she believes in the death penalty so that’s a bit awkward. Anyways how have things been going at your job recently?

I didn’t mean for this answer to be so long but here we are.

I’ve been working in criminal justice reform spaces for some time now and something that’s really, really challenging is figuring out how to meet people where they are. Knowing that the government should not be in the business (and it is a business) of executing people based on evolving moral standards and empathy because killing people is wrong no matter who is doing it makes sense to you and me, but many people do not feel the same way (although a lot of people support capital punishment because killing people is wrong, which is wild to me). To people who support retributive justice, restorative justice principles are radical and even dangerous. It’s very easy for people to dismiss exonerations as evidence of the system “working,” even though if you asked them to spend 14 years behind bars (the average amount of time the 367 people who have been exonerated by DNA testing in this country so far spent in prison) they would probably not be too happy about it. It’s also easy for people to agree that the death penalty is wrong for people who are innocent, but most of the people sentenced to death are not. (It should be noted that the Supreme Court ruled in Herrera v. Collins that, unless there was a technical error during a person’s trial, evidence of innocence alone is not enough to overturn a conviction or death sentence because, if it were, the court would be overwhelmed by innocence claims, which is absolutely fucking NUTS—Scalia literally wrote that there’s no constitutional basis for consideration of evidence of innocence. So even if you are innocent, good luck getting off death row, especially because people sentenced to death do not have a right to a lawyer for the appeals process and most appeals have to be filed within a certain amount of time and can only be filed once.)

Many people do not know someone impacted, wrongfully or otherwise, by the criminal legal system and do not live in overpoliced communities, and by virtue of being white do not believe racial bias exists. So you have to figure out how to make reform personal to them. Frequently, this appeal can be made economically. Really, what has made criminal justice reform more and more a bipartisan issue is that our criminal legal system places an enormous economic burden on taxpayers and state and federal budgets. It costs much more to house someone on death row than in prison, partially because of the litigation costs. That money is coming out of taxpayers’ pockets. I worked on a project for a year that works with corrections agencies to reduce and reform solitary confinement and spent a few days in touring prisons in Louisiana, and the staff there were skeptical as hell of us and what we were asking them to do. But segregation units are expensive, and corrections officers who work in them have higher levels of stress and poor health outcomes, so we were able to appeal to them that way. It’s terrible to reduce human beings to dollar amounts, but for a lot of people it’s the only way to get through to them.

If this is a topic that interests you, I definitely recommend reading Just Mercy if you haven’t read the book, and also checking out Bryan Stevenson’s HBO documentary, True Justice. End of Its Rope: How Killing the Death Penalty Can Revive Criminal Justice by Brandon L. Garrett gets really deep into the data on the death penalty’s disparate impact on low-income communities and communities of color, and shows that the vast majority of death sentences and executions are coming from only a few counties. If you’re interested in the history of the electric chair specifically, Old Sparky: The Electric Chair and the History of the Death Penalty by Anthony Galvin is fascinating (Thomas Edison used to stage press conferences to electrocute animals—wild stuff), and Galvin unfortunately makes the accurate prediction that since it has become more and more difficult for states to obtain lethal injection drugs, we will see a resurgence in the use of the electric chair—which we’ve already seen in Tennessee. (Another not-so-fun fact—the Supreme Court ruled in Bucklew v. Precythe that if you object to your method of execution on an Eighth Amendment claim, you must then propose an alternate way for the state to execute you and you have to prove that it will cause you less pain.)

The job is going okay. Lately it’s been a lot of conference calls, research, and report- and letter-writing. I miss being in our office and seeing my co-workers, because I really like them. We’ve put most of our work on the back burner to focus on COVID-19. It’s really difficult to try and deal with this crisis under our dumb governor and even dumber mayor. New York has more cases than Italy and Cuomo still doesn’t want us to use “scary words” like “lockdown” and has consistently been late in taking precautionary measures. It’s infuriating to have the entire country sucking Cuomo’s dick on social media while he uses his insane popularity rating to cut Medicaid and roll back bail reform so we can crowd even more people into Rikers, where the infection rate is seven times higher than in the general city population. Makes so much sense, Andrew, thanks. (I literally had to go take a walk and cool off when I read the budget lmao.) We also have to face the fact that the NYC government is going to have to make about $2 billion in budget cuts and the mayor has already cut programs like SYEP. On a more positive note, things are very tentatively looking like they could be getting a little better in NY. The death rate is really high but it seems like hospital admissions are starting to plateau a bit. There’s a lot of really good research going on worldwide. If we can get everyone on the same page about what we need to be doing to flatten the curve, I’m hopeful things can keep improving.

#i'm so sorry this is so long #the death penalty hyperfixation jumped out #anonymous #ask

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ariahearthockey · 5 years

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Thank You For The Chirps

I thought this article about Sid rewarding someone from behind the enemy line because of good chirps was really cute and I just had to write a oneshot about it.

Alright, here goes.

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So, it happened like this.

Geno was a simple man. All he ever wanted was to have a chance to watch his favourite team play live. When his friend Gonch came to him with tickets to the Rangers’ game that Wednesday, he was just short of offering his first child to the devil before he convinced his manager to let him have the day off.

The thing was, as much as he loves the Rangers, he shares the same amount but of dislikes to the team that they’re playing against. Which was why he came prepared, lodging all his chirping materials in the brain while waiting for an opportune time to unleash them. But of course, his main target was none other than the captain who everyone loves to hate, nicknamed The Creature, The Crybaby, The Cindy Crosby. Well, you get the idea. Let’s just say that the captain was not someone who is very popular in the MSG.

In truth, he had nothing personal against the team. But there was just something about the thirty-something captain which awakens his irrational side. One thing he couldn’t comprehend was how well-built the said captain is. Some may argue that the captain is far from perfect but being bottom-heavy and the super strong upper body, it was as though the Hockey God above had paid a little extra attention while creating this creature, pun intended. And his face? For fuck’s sake, no one who is as good as he is in hockey should be allowed to be so easy on the eyes. Irrational, but that was how he felt majority of the time.

Well, he kept telling himself that the reason of his irrational behaviour was due to the fact that the captain had robbed his home country of not only the World Cup but also the Olympics. Multiple times.

So, when the whistle was blown not even three minutes in, his heart started to race, and he conveniently blamed it on the latter.

Fuck yeah. That’s a fucking penalty.

The next sequence of events unfold pretty quickly—the linesman put up his hand, the game came to a halt and a player skated across the rink towards the penalty box like a sulking child. But through his eyes, it felt like everything has slowed down quite a bit—like a scene out of a James Bond movie but with mouth guard and chunky hockey gears instead of tux and stirred vodka martini.

Wait. He—he’s coming to the box. Holy fu—

He sat up straight the same time Sidney Crosby waddled into the box. The game resumed with the first power play of the night but he no longer pays any attention to it. It took him a while to snap out of it, ignoring his thumping heart and scrambled to think of something clever to say.

“Hey, Crosby.”

No reaction. From where he was seated, he was certain that whatever insult he throws can be heard loud and clear from the penalty box, and with the materials he has, he wanted to make sure Sidney Crosby hears him.

Maybe I’m saying it too softly?

“Hey, Crosby!” He spotted the slightest turn of Sidney Crosby’s head towards him, then he grinned. “Where your Calder Trophy? I’m ask for friend!”

Once he has started, he was on a roll. It was as though he had opened up the floodgates of chirps, all custom-designed for the one and only Sidney Crosby.

“Hey, Crosby! Gatorade want tough guy for ads but Justin Bieber say ‘no’, so they settled for you!”

“Hey, Crosby! Your team have more cups if have better support cast, you know?”

“Hey, Crosby! You number three tough guy in Canada, behind Celine Dion and Avril Lavigne!”

The longer he went on, the more creative his chirps got, and louder. He was so loud that even the officials in the box with Sidney Crosby laughed. The chirps were mostly just trash talk, but he won’t say anything that would cross the line. His aim was to be witty and funny, and judging from roaring laughter in his section, he would say that his aims hit the bullseye every single time.

Towards the end of the two minutes, he was pretty drunk on the satisfaction from being able to chirp so well, in English no less. He couldn’t wait to tell Gonch and his friends that he has done their favourite team justice, and that their most ‘hated’ player had fallen prey to his mighty chirps. That was until the most ‘hated’ player turned around and squirted his water bottle through the crack in the glass before skating back out into the ice.

His heart began to pump harder. His brain was working overtime to make sense of what just happened. He simply refused to think that Sidney Crosby had just done the one most significant tradition in hockey world at him. The same one when a player wants to express their affection or respect. And everybody knows how superstitious Sidney Crosby is when it comes to the damn game.

This time, it took him a little longer to recover. And when he finally did, he had to keep his blushing at bay. He forced himself to get his head back in the game but his eyes kept going back to the number ‘87’ on the back of white, yellow and black jersey, tearing through the ice the entire night.

When the last buzzer went off, he was quite upset for his team for losing 7-2. But more importantly, he was upset that Sidney Crosby never got into the box again for the rest of the game. Come to think of it, having Sidney Crosby as his personal chirping target was far more entertaining than the game itself. An acquired taste but it was definitely addictive.

However, his brooding was cut short when he got distracted by a man in the Pens’ track suit making his way from the bench across the ice, over to him, and with a stick in his hand. Curiosity filled him as he waited to see which lucky fan will be getting a souvenir tonight. A small group of the Pens fans quickly gathered at the rink side. All of them are waving enthusiastically at the man, trying to grab the stick over the glass. One young boy, not more than ten years old by the looks of it was front and center from it all.

He’s going to remember this forever, lucky bugger.

Then he heard something. “No, this is for you.”

It didn’t take long to realize the man was pointing at his direction. Like a walking and talking cliche, he looked behind him to see if the man was actually pointing at him. But the man made eye contact with him stubbornly until he gave in and stumbled down clumsily to the front. The crowd which has congregated at the front slowly dispersed as he reached out and grabbed the stick. If not for the adrenaline coursing through his veins right then, he would have seen all the dirty looks from the fans who just had their dream snatched away by a dude donning a Rangers jersey.

As he stood there inspecting the stick, he contemplated about a couple of thinks. Do I really want this? What did they do to this stick before giving it to me? Then he saw the scribbles on the blade—a message from the gifter. His first reaction was to bring it closer to his chest, a quick reflex to shield it away from any prying eyes. Why? He’s not so sure himself. There wasn’t a lot of people left in his section anyway.

A silvery ‘GOOD CHIRPS. TAKE IT EASY ON ME NEXT TIME!’ spread across the blade followed by an autograph. It doesn’t take a genius to know who wrote it. He hoped his face wasn’t betraying too much of what he was actually feeling. He wouldn’t have been able to live it down if his friend caught wind of just how giddy he felt on the inside. Truth be told, he didn’t have many cool things happened in his life and this would be right at the top by a long shot.

Now that just complicated things for him. It was making it harder to hate the guy. Someone of his stature who does something like this would earn Geno’s respect any day of the week. It was a classy act.

Without a hint of hesitation, he sped his way to the back of the arena where the loading dock was, and sure enough, a small crowd had already gathered outside of the barricaded area. Like them, he was hoping to catch a glimpse of the away team before they board their bus. He didn’t know how long he’s stood there before the door opened and the players came out single file, all changed into their formal suits and ties. When he finally spotted him, rather than pushing himself to the front, he went with something that he thought would grab attention more effectively.

“Hey, Crosby!” And it worked. Who would have thought it was so easy?

Sidney Crosby looked up and scanned the crowd, and finally landed on him.

“Hey, Crosby! Just want say, thank you!”

Sidney Crosby held his stare for a bit before a couple of his teammates—Kessel and Letang nudged their elbows at him and grinned as they walked passed. Sidney Crosby shoved his teammates away playfully as Geno watched, quite puzzled at the exchange. But that was before Sidney Crosby gestured for him to come over. He was over to the other side of the barricade in shorter than ten seconds—pushing and shoving and apologizing along the way. Once there, he followed Sidney Crosby to the other side of the bus where it was much quieter and had more privacy. For a few seconds it was just the two of them staring at each other, not saying a word. The atmosphere was getting a little uncomfortable and awkward when Sidney Crosby broke the tension by chuckling lightly to himself.

“Uhm, so. Nice chirps. They had me laughing a bit.”

Without wanting to sound like a total loser, he replied, “Oh, glad you think so. I’m try very hard.”

“Yeah. They were pretty good. I mean—I don’t think I’ve heard them before. So, uhm—yeah.”

You’re welcome was what he had wanted to say. But instead, he was distracted—this time by the way Sidney Crosby was looking at him, like he was checking him out.

“Uhm, so. Rangers, huh?”

Oh, okay. So, Sidney Crosby wants to make small talk. “Yes, yes. Favourite team. Way better than the Pens for sure.”

That earned him a small laugh from Sidney Crosby. Not something he’s heard often but it was as good as it get.

“But hey, despite all your chirping, we still won tonight, eh? Do you need a recap of the final score?”

At this point, all Geno could think about was where the conversation was headed. “Maybe my chirps too funny. Rangers distracted because laughing too hard.”

“Yeah, maybe. Or maybe you’re my lucky charm.” Sidney Crosby quipped with a tight smile on the corner of his lips.

Geno hadn’t noticed it until now, but Sidney Crosby has really beautiful lips. And eyes. He can’t stop looking at them. Then, he felt the atmosphere changed again, like a switch being flicked on. That’s when his brain connected the dots. Is he—is Sidney Crosby flirting with me?

“Hey, uhm—I was wondering. Our flight tomorrow doesn’t leave until noon. Do you wanna—I don’t know—grab a coffee or something?”

The question was fairly simple and straight forward but for some reason, it proved to be quite confusing for Geno. Ironically, he had lost for words and the prolonged silence had sparked the blush on Sidney Crosby’s cheeks. Again, he hadn’t noticed it until now that Sidney Crosby had such high cheek bones.

“Oh. Oh my gosh. I’m—I’m so sorry. I must have read this all wrong. Your girlfriend is probably waiting for you at home, and I’m just—”

Oh.

“No, no, no. I’m no girlfriend.” Geno quickly clarified. And to make sure his message got across loud and clear he added, “I’m uh—no boyfriend too?”

That last part came out more like a question but that seemed to be enough to snuff some of the doubts.

“Give me phone.” He demanded.

Sidney Crosby was a little sceptical as first, but reached for his phone in his pocket after a short deliberation. Geno quickly punched his number and then saved it before returning the phone back into Sidney Crosby’s warm hand.

“Call tomorrow. I bring you to best coffee shop.”

The moment was interrupted when some noise coming from the inside of the bus startled them. They looked up and saw a some of the baby Pens watching them like a hawk through the window, giggling like a bunch of adolescent young boys watching something inappropriate on TV.

“Hey, Kessel! Is late. Hot dogs all sold out!” Geno quipped at Phil Kessel when he spotted him at the back.

Phil snickered and retreated before he quipped back. “Heard that one before. Try again, chirpy boy.”

He chuckled as Sidney hit the side of the bus as a warning for his teammates to behave. Just like magic, all of them settled back down to their seat and left them alone.

Sidney looked down at his phone, then said, “Geno, huh?”

He mocked a shrugged. “Yeah. Is nickname. Better for you because you bad at Russian names.”

“Hey! I’m actua—”

“Calm down. I’m just joke.”

Sidney look at his phone again and then back at him, with a smile that he had never seen anywhere before. He can’t help but reciprocate.

“So, I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Yes, for coffee.”

“Okay.”

“And Geno?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for the chirps.”

_/_/_/_/

#sidgeno #fanfiction #ariahearthockeywrites #pittsburgh penguins #hockey rpf #sidney crosby #Evgeni Malkin #oneshot #ao3 #fluff

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 4 years

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Writing Commission - A Gift of Sunshine - Chapter 2

Just to give you guys a heads up this story will have a lot of time skips worked in where I was working under a certain word count limit and didn't want to drag out the story for over 100k words like I'm known to do. I hope you still enjoy it, however, and have fun with Chapter 2!

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Summary: It is the worst day of fifteen-year-old Aizawa Shouta’s life when he trudges home after a failed entrance test to U.A. – the school made for heroes. His worst day abruptly turns strange, however, when he gets home to find a beautiful sword on his bed with a scroll attached that is addressed from his grandfather.

It turns out that his entire family was descended from a samurai (unsurprising considering he lived in Japan) and the sword was meant to help him become a hero. Shouta hadn’t been expecting the sword to talk, however, and he especially hadn’t expected the sword to have a voice as warm as sunshine itself.

It’s a long journey to become a hero like he wants, but Shouta has a feeling that he and Hizashi are going to do just fine.

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Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Relationship: Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic/Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Characters: Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Rating: Teen Audiences

Word Count (Total): 35,935

Transaction Amount: $250 (USD)

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Check out my writing commission information here! Pledge to my Patreon to get exclusive content!

Read and follow the story on AO3!

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<<Previous Chapter>> <<Next Chapter>>

Chapter Two

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Hizashi had been asleep for a very long time; or perhaps it would have been more accurate to say that Hizashi had been unaware for a very long time, never fully knowing of how the world grew and changed around him. He was awake now, though, and he finally had a wielder for the first time in, if he were to guess, decades or even centuries. Of course, his wielder had immediately thrown him across the room and into a wall as soon as he had woken up, but Hizashi supposed nobody could be perfect - well, except for him.

‘Hey! That hurts, yo!’ Hizashi paused in his yelling, reflecting on his choice of words and accent for a moment. He really had managed to come a long way through time if the magic that bound him to the sword had already altered the language that had been his native tongue. It was a worry to think on later, if nothing else. ‘Didn’t your mother teach you to treat guests with some respect?’

Hizashi, ready to work his way up into a proper fit, stopped when he ‘felt’ hands wrap around the sheath of the sword - or maybe it was more accurate that he felt the warmth of his new wielder’s hands pick him up, muttering and mumbling under his breath rapidly before Hizashi was able to make out a quiet, “-didn’t hurt you, did I?”

The question, so clearly directed at him, had Hizashi wanting to laugh at the fact he had such a sweet wielder. A wielder who had obviously heard his voice and been taken by surprise, hence his being thrown into a wall- Ah. An Aizawa. Hizashi supposed some things never changed even if everything else did, especially if an Aizawa could pick him up and hear him without any trouble.

‘It’s gonna take a lot more than that to damage me, I’ll have you know!’ Tension drained out of the air and Hizashi did his best to get a look at his new wielder. He wasn’t yet connected with him enough to see through the new Aizawa’s eyes, but he could grasp a few basics, the biggest being that his wielder was young.

No… young wasn’t quite the right word. His wielder felt old enough to be wielding him - to be using a sword - but there was something soft about him, as if he were a child who hadn’t yet seen the world properly. Hizashi could feel it in the tentative connection that now bound them together, and in the way his own self begun to feel younger and softer around the edges, memories of bloodier battles and days slipping away as if they were never anything except nightmares.

“Right. Because you’re a sword.” His wielder's voice displaced the air, sounding as young as he felt. There was fear in his tone, but there was also… excitement. “A sword who’s talking to me in my head, apparently. Is this the work of a quirk?”

‘A quirk?’ Hizashi rolled the new word through his mind, finding no significant meaning to it. ‘No idea, but I can promise that you’re not just imagining all of this! Uh, just to be sure, though, what’s a quirk?’

The surprise cut through the air as sharply as Hizashi’s own blade, ringing out and filling the silence of the room with a heavy disbelief that was thick enough to be felt on the tongue, if he were human. It was no less than an eternity before his wielder spoke, grip on the sheath loosening. “You… don’t know what a quirk is?”

‘Hey, hey, I think we should be impressed we can even understand each other! It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve had someone to talk to - be real with me, yo, how long has it been? I take it I was sealed, yeah?’

It was the only thing that made sense, after all. After the wars and battles had settled, there had been littler and littler use for a sword like Hizashi. He may have vowed to never harm his wielder and the man’s descendants, but there was always risk, and sealing was the easiest way to ensure that no harm would come to the Aizawa family.

It had also made it seem as if he had last been used yesterday, his awareness gone until his new wielder, the latest Aizawa, had touched the sheath of his sword and called his name.

“Um… There was a… ‘seal’ on you, yeah.” The voice was hesitant and uncertain, not that Hizashi could fault him. Poor thing had never spoken to a sword like him before, it seemed. “As for the date, it’s, uh, pretty far from where you were, I think.”

‘Come on, then! Just give me the year, even, and that’d be a big help!’ When his new wielder mumbled the year, as if speaking it softly enough would soften the blow itself, Hizashi felt his entire being withdraw and quiet immediately. It was the same feeling as a human’s heart sinking and, well… hundreds of years was a very long time to travel through.

“You- My grandfather wrote about you in a letter he gave me and said that it had been a couple centuries for you, or something. Is that… right?” Oh, the sweet thing. Hizashi’s new wielder sounded concerned for him.

‘Pretty spot on, actually!’ Hizashi pitched his voice to be as chipper as possible, deciding to think on his trip through time later. He had plenty of time to spare now that he was ‘awake,’ after all. ‘Ah, man, it sounds like I’ve really missed out on a lot, though, haven’t I? Ah, but not everything’s changed, huh… You want to fight as a hero? Man, it’s been so long since I’ve had someone to talk to; and even longer since I’ve fought!’

A burst of laughter in the form of snorts shook through the air, Hizashi knowing he would be huffing and puffing if he could because that sounded like very insulting laughter. “You can fight? You’re a sword. Last I was aware, a sword couldn’t fight.”

‘You think so, huh?’ Hizashi lashed his energy together and threw it at the spider silk thread that connected him to his wielder, latching on and sinking under soft skin that had never seen true battle. Having no desire to cause any amount of true harm, he made sure to keep his control light, allowing his wielder to still see and comprehend what was happening as Hizashi slipped into his body, a soft hand grasping the hilt of his sword before pulling it out of the sheath whip quick. “Surely your grandfather told you just what sort of sword I am, didn’t he?”

Hizashi took a single moment to take in the details of the new world around him, filing away every change and difference to go over when he wasn’t attempting to prove a point as to just how well he could fight.

A deep breath in, a single shift, and Hizashi was moving his borrowed body through the typical warmups for a sword such as himself, keeping a part of his attention on the way his wielder's body naturally wanted to move and bend. He was certainly still young, the Aizawa he was now bound to, and his movements reflected that, untrained and uncertain with a bend that showed a spry body that would still mold once trained properly.

It was interesting, though, the sense of power Hizashi felt lurking within the body, somewhere up near the eyes. A reference to the ‘quirks’ that had been mentioned, maybe, but it was another thing Hizashi filed away to examine later, continuing the warmups and feeling something in him relax as he watched the sword cut through the air, the blade polished and sharp and ready for anything.

“I’m more than just a sword that can talk, you know,” Hizashi chuckled, the voice low and soft and making Hizashi think that one day his wielder would have a pleasant, if not deep voice. “I don’t fight for my wielder just as my wielder doesn’t fight for me. We work together, and with that comes, hm, we’ll call ‘em benefits, yeah?”

Twirling the sword in his hands, Hizashi slid it back into the sheath smoothly and cleanly, delighted to look up and see a mirror that captured his wielder perfectly. He was young, with tumbling black hair that reminded Hizashi so much of Adachi and soft grey eyes that reminded him of storm clouds on the horizon. The face was young and smooth and, Hizashi had a feeling, usually expressionless.

He was adorable, Hizashi decided, loosening his control as he talked with his wielder’s voice, words soft, yet sharp as his blade. “I can give you increased strength, when you fight… I can increase your senses, give you all the knowledge you need on how to fight with me in your hand, and I can make sure you have all the power you could want. But I can’t give you the will to fight or the desire to fight for others. That has to come from you.”

Letting the control slip away completely, Hizashi kept close to that thread that bound them together, speechless in delight and awe for an eternity hidden in a moment as he noticed it was already stronger than it had been. ‘What’s your name, little Aizawa?’

“S… Shouta. My name is Aizawa Shouta.” Aizawa Shouta, hm? It was a good name, Hizashi supposed, but it was an excellent name for a hero.

‘Well then, Shou-chan! Let’s get to work - we have a lot to do if you want to be a hero, right?’ Hizashi could feel the burst of countless emotions before he heard a quiet laugh.

“Right- Did you just call me Shou-chan?”

In the end, after many conversations that devolved into senseless debate over topics Hizashi couldn’t remember after they ended, Shouta agreed to officially become his wielder, learning to both fight with him and fight as a hero, which had become the modern version of samurai, as far as Hizashi could tell.

The names and technology and appearances had changed, of course, but the politics and ideals were the same as they had been in Hizashi’s time, and there were always kids who wanted to grow up and become a hero. Apparently, in this time and age, it was a lot simpler than it used to be; although that hadn’t meant a lack of work to get done.

It had taken over a month for Hizashi to learn everything he needed to about the modern era, but it had taken far less time for Shouta to latch onto training and push himself more than any of Hizashi’s other wielders. He didn’t just latch onto sword fighting, although it was wonderful that he did, he latched onto all of it.

Learning how to train and use his body, fighting with different schools until they found the one he was best in, learning how to clean a sword properly and not whatever way Shouta had picked up from those who obviously knew very little about cleaning swords, and even learning how to duel and fight with those who both fought with swords and fought without; although that last one had even Hizashi on a learning curve. Quirks, apparently, were very similar to the humans with supernatural abilities in the past, only now everyone had one.

It wasn’t only Shouta growing stronger, either, but Hizashi could feel their bond growing stronger the more time they spent talking and training as the days went on. It eventually allowed Hizashi to not only see through Shouta’s eyes - finally - but use some of his more creative abilities, which was how Hizashi found himself in the back corner of a classroom on his own abilities after Shouta had, yet again, left him behind in his bedroom because carrying a sword around in public, these days, was ‘just not done.’

With the sight he was now granted, largely in part focused on where Shouta was looking, but with some leeway into peering around the room in general, it was easy to see when Shouta’s attention drifted away from talkative, cute classmates to Hizashi himself. The look on his face, some mix between impressed and irritated, was a delightful sight that Hizashi promised himself he wouldn’t soon forget.

As soon as Shouta’s hand was wrapped around his sheath, Hizashi taking a moment to feel the now growing calluses that showed his training was truly paying off, Hizashi chirped out a cheerful, ‘Hello!’

“You have two seconds to explain how you got here, why you’re here, and why I shouldn’t throw you out a window,” Shouta grumbled under his breath, quiet enough for no student to hear, but his thoughts echoing loud enough for Hizashi to hear him clearly.

‘Aw, c’mon, Shou-chan! Just because you “forget” me doesn’t mean I can’t show up when I need to!’ Hizashi could feel the hundreds of questions that popped into Shouta’s mind, broken up by the adult, a teacher no doubt, walking into the classroom and calling for silence. The frustration and mental feeling of this isn’t over yet was too beautiful for words, truly. ‘Pay attention and impress me, Shou-chan, and I’ll tell you how I do it at lunch.’

“Hard to pay attention when the teacher is going to notice a sword at my desk, you scrap of metal,” Shouta hissed, trying to tuck Hizashi out of sight under his desk. Hizashi didn’t mind, too concerned with observing the classroom. He hadn’t had much of an opportunity to get out and explore this new world at Shouta’s side, yet, after all.

‘Hm… Oh! Don’t worry, she won’t notice me unless I want her to. Hey, is school really required of kids these days? Maaan, so much has changed! Back in my time you only went to group schools like this if you had fame or wealth to your name or were a pity case, you know?’

Shouta was quiet for a moment, Hizashi relaxing at the soothing buzz of his thoughts, which was much better than being alone or sealed away again for hundreds of years, before he heard the whispered, “What do you mean she won’t notice you?”

‘I told you, yo, I’m more than just a normal sword! One of my, hm, tricks we’ll call it is that I can only be noticed by my wielder when out in public, you know, for stealth stuff. Your teacher or classmates or whoever else won’t even notice I’m here, whether you’re holding me or not.’ Pausing, Hizashi gave a loud hum that had the bonus of forcing Shouta to make an annoyed face. ‘It only works as long as I’m sheathed, though. The moment my blade is out, that means I can be seen by anyone.’

“Huh.” Shouta went quiet again, but his thoughts grew even louder, Hizashi listening to half-thought words and twisted ideas as Shouta thought over the new information quietly and stored it away wherever he kept such things. He really was too cute. “Can you only talk to me or is it with anyone touching you?”

Ooh, that was a good question! ‘Good question, Shou-chan!’ Taking a moment to delight in the irritated huff, Hizashi continued, ‘It’s actually pretty complicated, but I’ll try to keep it simple, okay? While I can talk to anyone touching me, it depends on a few factors!’

“Factors?” Shouta was no doubt frowning, Hizashi experiencing something close to shivering as he felt fingers tap against the sheath. “What do you mean?”

‘Well… Let’s start with you. I can hear you because you’re an Aizawa, and I’m bound to your family line. The Aizawas are the only ones who can pick me up and hear me without any other factors.’ Hizashi waited patiently as Shouta thought over the information, only continuing when he was sure the other wasn’t about to ask any questions – he was no doubt saving them for later.

‘If a person isn’t an Aizawa, then it gets pretty tricky and has to deal a lot with having a clear mind and meditation and all that junk. The short of it? If people touch my sheath, then they can only hear me if we have some sort of bond and they have a clear mind, which means they have to meditate pretty often. I can talk to them directly without all that, but it takes a lot of energy and I can only say short, simple things. Nothing like my wonderful explanations I can give when I’m with you! Why do you ask, anyways?’

“Because, I assume you’re here to annoy me into an early grave, so you can talk to my teachers and let them know why I’ll have a sword around me at all times from now on. The last thing I need is a teacher with a quirk who’ll make it so they can see you even though you say you can’t be seen.”

Shouta had a good point, loathe as Hizashi was to admit it. There had been a few supernaturally powered beings back in his time that could see him even when he was hidden, so it was foolish to assume in this age of quirks and powers that he would remain perfectly hidden. They would have to be careful what they told to who, but it wasn’t an unreasonable request.

Of course, Hizashi might not visit Shouta at school every day if it was going to be so boring. The classes about the history of quirks and how they came to be and the modern day, now those were great as they helped Hizashi fill in the gaps in his knowledge that Shouta couldn’t, but everything else? Half of the other classes were boring, Shouta never talked to him, and Shouta never talked to anyone, too busy ‘training.’

Ah, but Hizashi couldn’t hate him for that part, at least. Shouta had told him of the upcoming ‘Sports Festival’ that his school put on every year. According to Shouta, it was a chance for students who hadn’t been accepted into the ‘Hero’ Department to work their way up and advance into it.

Hizashi had seen a few similar things in his own time, mostly in relation to sword dojos and certain classes, but he had never heard about something on such a massive scale. Shouta would do great, Hizashi was certain, and he was dedicated to his training, but that didn’t mean anything if he didn’t take the time to meditate and reflect on it; which is where they were finally stuck.

‘For the last time, yo, you just close your eyes and think about nothing!’ Hizashi desperately wished he had the ability to use himself to hit Shouta in the head, but, as of yet, there was no luck.

“And I’m telling you that it’s not so easy as to just close my eyes and think of nothing! Everyone thinks of something and the only time you’re not actively thinking is when you’re asleep - and even then you’re dreaming!”

‘Aah, Shou-chan, why are you so logical?! Where am I even losing you? You close your eyes, you stop thinking, and you just sit there! This isn’t that hard!’

“Oh, and I suppose you just love to sit around in silence. Do you even have the ability to shut up for more than two seconds?” That had Hizashi falling silent because, well… Shouta wasn’t wrong in his sarcastic remarks, for once.

Hizashi had always hated the silence that came from not having a wielder, and there were many times over his ‘life’ that he hadn’t even been properly sealed and instead had been shut away into a dark room to wait for the next time he would be passed down to someone.

None of this to say the Aizawa family was bad, of course, they had always been decent people and while the family was often quiet and serious and far too logical, traits that persisted even today, they had always seen him as nothing more than a sword after he left Adachi’s side. At least, that had been until Aizawa Shouta.

“Hizashi?” The touch on Hizashi’s sheath was light and careful, Shouta’s voice just as much so. “I… Sorry. I know you’re just trying to help me.” He had always been seen as a sword first until Shouta, who treated him so human.

‘No, no, I guess I am kind of a hypocrite this time. Meditation is supposed to be about silence, but, uh, I never really liked that part of it myself. The silence is… That’s probably the worst part of it.’ Hizashi had spent so many years in silence, and now after coming into this world that was so bright and full of life and energy, well… the thought of the day he would have to go back to that silence was heartbreaking.

“The worst part, huh?” The words were more of an afterthought than an actual question, Hizashi confused as he felt Shouta shift him until he was nestled in the crook of the teen’s arm, tapping around on what he had told Hizashi was a cellphone. The technology, especially, Hizashi was still trying to catch up on, but it seemed cool enough.

A few minutes passed and Hizashi was about to complain about being ignored before he heard music. It had been so long since he heard anything resembling music in a quiet place like Shouta’s tucked away bedroom, and this song had instruments Hizashi knew, ones that he had been almost certain he would never hear again.

“I don’t know if it’s really accurate, but I figured it was as close to sounding like home as I could get you, right now.” Oh… Oh, Shouta. “If we’re going to be partners then it’s only logical that we should make concessions for each other depending on what the situation calls for, right? It doesn’t hurt to have music like this playing in the background as long as I can do what I need to.”

‘You, Aizawa Shouta, are going to be the most incredible hero either of our worlds has ever seen.’ Hizashi didn’t need to see to know Shouta was already flustered, the sweet thing, but he felt Shouta’s grip return to his sheath, fingers stroking down the side so softly. The feeling was one that he knew he would only ever be able to describe as taking a breath of clean air after years of drowning.

‘Meditation isn’t just an excuse to fall asleep, which is something they thought even back in my day. It’s not a way to just shut off your thoughts, either, I suppose. It’s about quieting them.’ Hizashi explained softly, almost feeling Shouta’s own tension drain out of him. ‘Close your eyes and just focus on my voice for now, okay? Don’t think about what’s next after this or what you have left to do or any of your worries or anxieties. That’s not the point of this.

‘Meditation is about the centering of yourself. You’re logical, right? All you Aizawas were always so logical, really, but think of it like this. Every day you go through you end up getting a piece of yourself wound up, tangled from all your running about. If you don’t take the time to unwind those pieces, then eventually you’ll be so tangled you won’t be able to do anything.’

Hizashi paused to make sure Shouta was both following along and not getting sick of his voice, pleasantly surprised when it seemed the teen’s thoughts had already quieted but were still crystal clear to show he was wide awake. Maybe Shouta was the type to need guided meditation rather than doing it on his own. Odd, considering he was never the most social person, but Hizashi wasn’t about to turn away a gift.

‘You’ve been pushing yourself more and more each day and that’s not a bad thing, Shou-chan. That’s actually really good! You’re serious about your goals and your dreams and your hopes, and that’s so good, Shouta, but you’re wound up too tightly. You need to relax and unwind the tangles you’ve given yourself.’

Hizashi imitated the feeling of closing his own eyes, his world dark, but not empty. He could hear the music still playing and filling up the room, Shouta’s soft and gentle breathing layering over it in a way that made their small world so perfect for once. It was the easiest meditation he had ever done.

‘I heard of some people who meditated while standing up and walking in circles, physically unwinding from all their twists and turns. Others would sometimes sing, even if they weren’t good at it. All that mattered was finding a way to lose all of their tangles and tension. Some people, though, see all those tangles in their mind’s eye and start to pick them apart.’

Hizashi could see it clearly in his own mind, not a neat ball of twine, but a mess of knots and tangles that had to be carefully and slowly picked apart, each one carrying a worry or anxiety. He had a feeling that Shouta saw the same.

‘Each tangle or knot is a worry that’s been bothering you. Right now, though, you’re safe, and it’s quiet.’ Not silent, but quiet, which made all the difference. ‘For each knot you pick apart, you hear the worry, but… now isn’t the time to worry.’

A picked apart knot that screamed at him that one day he would be sealed away again and left in the dark. It was a worry, but not one that applied for today. ‘Think about the worry, truly think about it, and then decide whether there’s anything you can do about it. If it’s not something that has any way of being solved, let it go. Carrying extra weight has never helped anyone.’

Hizashi knew knots and tangles. He had knots about being too annoying and too loud and too dangerous and tangles about what he could never tell anyone and what he didn’t want to tell anyone and so much more, but that was okay. It was as he told Shouta, carrying extra weight never helped anybody, and to have so many tangles only meant one would trip over them.

Feeling something deep within him click into place and center itself, Hizashi breathed out a soft sigh and opened his eyes in his mental eye, just as he would do if he were human. Hizashi looked up and… he looked up and met Shouta’s wide, startled gaze.

“You…” Shouta’s voice was splintered with shock, but there was an undercurrent of delight. “You didn’t tell me meditation meant I would be able to see you.”

Startled by seeing so much emotion in Shouta’s face, it took Hizashi a very long time to realize the words and then look down at himself to see that he was, well, himself. His sword was still laying in Shouta’s lap and touching his skin, points of contact that he could still feel, but he was seeing out of a body that looked completely human.

He was sitting cross legged on the ground and in front of Shouta as if he had truly been meditating, and from what he could see he was wearing the uniform of Shouta’s school. He didn’t need to look into a mirror to know his hair would be a bright golden color, eyes as green as the handle of his sword.

“Wait, you’re supposed to be hundreds of years old, why do you look like my age?” The gentle current of Shouta’s thoughts had turned into a loud buzz, Hizashi simply staring his fill of Shouta because while he could ‘see,’ it had been so hard to truly see Shouta and his intense, curious gaze. “Hizashi.”

“Sorry,” Hizashi managed to blurt, looking around the room with wide eyes and amazed to see that everything was anchored to his own sight, his spirit, or at least a piece of him, able to leave the sword. It was something he hadn’t been expecting when he and Shouta had only known each other for a few months. “Sorry, this just…”

“Your voice is clear.” Shouta’s quiet words brought all his attention right back to him, Shouta smiling. “It’s not just a sound in my head anymore, it… sounds like I can hear you as if you were really in front of me.”

“Okay, yo, that definitely isn’t supposed to happen what the hell?” Hizashi poked at Shouta, equally relieved and disappointed when neither of them seemed to feel a thing. “Meditation lets me be closer to my wielder, yeah, but, Shouta, you shouldn’t be able to see me like this - I shouldn’t be like this - until, like, years from now!”

“It could have something to do with you being sealed for so long,” Shouta suggested, Hizashi immediately ruling the option out. Shouta shouldn’t even be able to hear him clearly for so much longer; Adachi, who had been his closest wielder, hadn’t been able to see or hear him like this until they had been together for six years. “Is it a bad thing?”

“No,” Hizashi blurted out, quickly waving his hands about and surprised he could even do that. “No, it’s just…” Hizashi shook his head, letting the thought go. “Right, uh, so I look like this, young and in your school uniform, because I kind of change depending on the time, and my wielder’s age, and a bunch of boring stuff like that. I mean, you didn’t think I talked like this when I was back in feudal Japan, did you?”

“Where you’re concerned, I wouldn’t have been surprised,” Shouta said dryly, Hizashi too delighted to be able to see that flat, unamused look on Shouta’s face to bother being offended. “Will other people be able to see and hear you now?”

“No, it’ll still just be you. The only time they can hear me is when touching the sword and having a clear mind, and if you let go you’ll probably stop seeing me like this, too. This is just…” Hizashi trailed off, tilting his head back and forth in thought for a moment. “It’s like an extension of myself, I guess you could call it. Think of it like a little piece of me that can see and talk and junk.”

Shouta nodded, going silent to think over all the information he had been given, Hizashi cupping his hands in his lap like one would when truly meditating and noticing that while he didn’t feel the sensation, it carried with it the remembrance of sensation. No matter what Shouta said about this being the result of Hizashi’s sealment, this was just… them. It was him and Shouta forging a bond that was already so strong.

“Hizashi.” Shouta’s voice was soft but resolute, Hizashi startling as Shouta looked directly into his eyes before giving a fierce and wild grin. “We’ll make a good team.”

And they did.

It was a few weeks of practicing and training and meditating and putting it all together, but it all paid off when they won the Sports Festival, Hizashi feeling Shouta’s grip tight around the sword as Hizashi watched from where he was standing beside him on the first place podium, the crowd around them screaming and cheering.

Apparently, first place was not meant for a student of Shouta’s background, and Hizashi was more than viciously pleased to see the smug victory in Shouta’s eyes along with the humble gratitude as he accepted his medal, although outwardly he had such a bored expression of distaste at all the fanfare.

“Looks like that dream of ours isn’t so far off anymore, huh?” Hizashi joked, beaming as Shouta glanced to him and met his gaze before giving a small, honest smile.

“Our dream, huh?” Shouta looked back out across the crowds, smile growing. “I like the sound of that.” And oh, yes. Their future together was going to be incredible.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #erasermic #a gift of sunshine #original

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evilrubberducke · 4 years

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IzuMina Week Day 3- Punch Drunk Love

The day 3 prompt I chose was “First Drink”. Hope you all enjoy!

If you follow me for my writing/MHA content, you might want to switch over to my new blog EvilMuffinLord. After this week, all MHA/Mina content and my writing will be re-blogged there, and this will be a personal account.

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23323591

Or on FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13530836/3/IzuMina-Week-2020

“Mina?” Uraraka said, tapping her friend’s shoulder to get her attention, “Is it just me, or is Deku looking a little… unsteady?”

Mina frowned, then cast her gaze around the common room in search of her boyfriend. He’d been fine the last time she’d seen him, but Uraraka wasn’t really a worry-wart and it never hurt to double check.

The absolute chaos of the Height’s Alliance common room made the task much more difficult. Their class was in the middle of celebrating their most recent victory over the League of Villains. They hadn’t managed to capture any of the wily criminals, but Izuku, Iida, Jirou and Tokoyami had definitely sent them packing in their latest encounter. The League would be licking their wounds for quite a while, which meant that the heroes had plenty of time to rest, relax, and celebrate.

The entirety of their class filled the common room, as well as most of 1B, a few of the upperclassmen they had managed to befriend, and their teachers. The latter group were mostly keeping to their corner table and supervising the revelry, but their presence was still appreciated.

Finally, Mina managed to spot her boyfriend, and was immediately concerned by what she saw. Izuku was indeed looking a bit unsteady on his feet as he and Iida demonstrated the dance moves she had taught them during the culture festival several months ago.

The two of them looked absolutely ridiculous, as always. Mina had tried to help Izuku improve his dancing skills since the festival, to no avail. Hero work might come easily to him, but when it came to dancing, Izuku had two left feet, and he didn’t know how to use either of them.

Mina was surprised that Izuku had been talked into the activity, given how much he disliked standing out in social settings. If Mina had to guess, it had probably been Mineta who had done the convincing. He was always cooking up some sort of ridiculous scheme to sneak a peek at the girls in their class. The attempts usually backfired horrendously, which was a relief for Mina and her female friends, but they did have to keep an eye on him and do their best to foil his plans.

With a sigh, Mina rose to her feet and prepared to rescue her boyfriend. The slice of cake she had been enjoying would have to wait until later. Maybe she could get Izuku to feed her the last couple bites as a prank.

“Mind watching my food Uraraka?” Mina asked, “I’m going to go rescue Izuku before Mineta talks him into doing something even more ridiculous.”

Uraraka shot her a salute, and Mina began to pick her way across the common room. People were keeping Quirk use to a minimum which made things a little easier, but there were still enough people that crossing the room in any reasonable amount of time was easier said than done.

She eventually managed to reach Izuku and the group surrounding him. He’d stopped dancing while she was making her way over to him, and was now reclining on one of the common room chairs, a curiously happy smile on his face.

“What are you guys up to?” Mina asked.

“Ah, Ashido, perfect timing!” Iida said, turning to face her, “I believe there is something wrong with Midoriya. He is acting most unlike himself.”

“What Iida means is that Midoriya is having fun for the first time in forever, and Iida’s circuits can’t comprehend it,” Mineta cut in, “Just let the man have his fun.”

Before Mina could ask what exactly Mineta was talking about it, Izuku jumped into the conversation and completely derailed her train of thought.

“Don’ worry,” he slurred “I’m fine!”

Now that she was paying attention, Mina could see that Izuku was having trouble focusing on things, and that his cheeks were flushed. Instantly, Mina was on full alert. She knew Izuku had been checked over by Recover Girl after the skirmish, and had been given a clean bill of health, but it was always possible that the Youthful Heroine had missed something. As adrenaline slammed through her system, Mina wondered if it was possible that Izuku had suffered from some sort of head trauma during the fight that was only now beginning to show itself.

“HEY LISTENERS!” Present Mic’s voice boomed throughout the common room, silencing every other conversation in the room, “If anyone has seen Midnight’s drink, let us know. She set it down earlier, but it seems someone moved it. No judgement if it was you. So long as nobody drinks it, we don’t care. The rest of you, keep having fun!”

With a sinking sensation, Mina turned back to Izuku. In light of that last announcement, his list of symptoms took on a whole new possible meaning.

“Izuku, babe, do you have a soda or something?”

He shook his head, then pointed to the nearby table where a tall cup was sitting next to an empty cake plate. “I had juice, but it din taste good, so I stopppped.”

Mineta burst out laughing, causing Mina to level a glare at him.

“Oh come on, you have to admit it’s hilarious that Midoriya managed to get trashed with like two sips of booze.”

“Mineta,” Mina said, her voice perfectly calm, “did you steal Midnight’s drink and give it to Izuku?”

“Nah. I just noticed him grab the wrong drink and stuck around to watch his reaction. Thought he’d just spit it out, but he took it like a champion instead. He’s gonna be real fun at parties!”

In one swift motion, Mina reached behind Mineta and dumped a glob of acid down the back of his shirt. It was a special mixture she’d been working on recently, corrosive enough to be extremely irritating to the skin, but not enough to do any real damage. It was also extremely sticky, and an absolute pain to get off of your skin.

While Mineta was occupied with his sudden and intense bout of itching, Mina turned her attention back to her boyfriend.

“Izuku, what do you say we get you back to your room for some water and a nap?” she said, gently taking his arm.

“But I don’ wanna nap,” he protested weakly. Even as he spoke, his eyes were starting to droop shut, indicating that he was going to be asleep before too much longer.

“Then do you want to go up to your room and talk about All Might for a while?” Mina asked. Using his obsession with the hero to manipulate him made her feel a little scummy, but it was probably kinder than letting him accidentally embarrass himself.

Izuku perked up at her words, like she had known he would, and nodded excitedly. He shot up out of his chair before Mina could start to guide him and began making his way towards the elevators. To Mina’s surprise, Izuku actually pushed his way through the crowd, rather than going around his classmates like he normally would. Apparently Izuku was much more forward when he was drunk, a fact that Mina filed away for later.

“Tell Uraraka she can have the rest of my cake!” Mina called to Iida as she dashed after Izuku.

Iida, for his part, simply shook his head in exasperation, then went to inform their teachers what had happened.

“Are you feeling any better Izuku?” Mina asked.

Izuku groaned in response, burying his head deeper into his pillows. He’d made it back to his room alright, and downed the water Mina had given him, but he was fading fast. He hadn’t even made an attempt to inundate her with All Might factoids like he’d been so excited to do downstairs, preferring to flop down on his bed instead.

She giggled at the uncharacteristically surly response and plopped down on the bed next to him to stroke his hair. The gesture always helped to calm him down when they cuddled, and he had fallen asleep in her arms a couple of times before, so she figured it would help him nod off once again.

She was taken completely by surprise when instead of relaxing into the gesture, Izuku turned onto his side and tried to shove her off the bed. He wasn’t entirely successful, but he did manage to knock her over.

“What was that for?” she asked indignantly, sitting up and leveling a glare at Izuku. She’d been so caught up in how cute he was acting that she hadn’t considered the fact that Izuku had a stubborn streak a mile long, and drunk Izuku could probably be an absolute pain if he wanted to be.

“Don touch my hair,” Izuku said, “I have a girlfriend, an only she gets to do that!”

“You… have a girlfriend?” Mina asked, extraordinarily confused by the statement. As far as she was aware, they were exclusive, and Izuku did not seem like the type to cheat.

“Yea! Her name is Mina, and she's even prettier than you!” Izuku said, nodding to himself.

“I… don’t know how to respond to that,” Mina said, genuinely stumped. She didn’t know if she should be delighted or slightly insulted. On the one hand, he had just proved that he cared deeply for her even while quite intoxicated. On the other hand, getting told that she was less pretty than whatever idealized version of her he had in his head kind of stung.

In the end, she decided to take it as she did so many things with Izuku; as a compliment that had been phrased in the most awkward and ridiculous way possible. Once, they’d been on a date to the Mustafu Aquarium and Izuku had attempted to call her graceful by comparing her to a leaping dolphin. Unfortunately for him, he’d done it by saying she looked like a porpoise.

She’d forgiven him before too long, though he had spent a few hours in the doghouse afterwards, and had learned a valuable lesson about giving Izuku enough rope to hang himself with.

With a sigh, Mina rose to her feet and dusted herself off. This was just one of the things she had to deal with. And being with Izuku was more than worth the occasional frustration. Besides, he put up with her inability to study and penchant for pranks without complaint, so she should at least do the same for him. Besides, it was hardly his fault that this had happened.

“Izuku, if I give you a back rub to help you sleep, are you going to try and push me off the bed again?”

He shook his head, and Mina sat next to him once again. This time he reacted like she expected, snuggling up to her side as she ran her hand gently down his back.

Mina relaxed as well. It wasn’t quite as romantic as some of the cuddle sessions they’d had in the past, but it was enough. Plus, Izuku looked extremely cute half asleep like this.

She barely even noticed as her own eyes started to drift slowly shut, and her stroking of Izuku’s back slowed down until she simply had her arm wrapped around him, her face cuddled against his chest.

The next morning would be awkward, as Mina had to explain how she had fallen asleep in Izuku’s bed and why he had such a pounding headache. That was later though. For the rest of the evening, though, the two of them slept peacefully in the arms of their love.

#izumina #midoriya izuku #mina ashido #izuminaweek2020 #day 3 #First Drink #dekumina #minadeku

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jarienn972 · 5 years

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A Simple Spell - Chapter Two

A Captain Swan Supernatural Summer Tale

Tonight, I’m bringing you Chapter Two of my @cssns story. This chapter is a brief flashback to Emma’s actions that will set the rest of the actions into play and I’m going to preface it with a quick disclaimer that the witchcraft portrayed in this story is entirely fictional and is not intended to be an accurate portrayal of Wiccan practices. I've adapted the depiction of magic and spells strictly to fit this narrative. Also, please forgive me if the Latin phrases presented are a little off. I tried my best to ensure the correct translation of the phrases in the spell presented but I'm a little rusty.

Again, I have to give a huge amount of thank yous to the creators of this event for allowing me to stretch my creativity and to my beta, @lassluna for helping me keep this all flowing correctly! Last, but not least, thank you to @cocohook38 for her incredible artwork!

I hope you enjoy Chapter Two!

Also on AO3 and FF.net Chapter One

The Previous Evening

Emma had, from her first visit with the Mills sisters, found it a tad morbid that their coven gatherings were held in a vault deep beneath the crypt of their parents' mausoleum. She could still recall Regina leading her down this path through the fog-obscured graveyard - when it appeared as though Emma was about to be on the receiving end of a very bad practical joke. She'd kept a tight grip on her service weapon as she'd followed the mayor down a carved stone stairway until they reached the faintly illuminated room hidden below.

After several months of meetings here, visiting for various lessons or to simply bear witness the Wiccan rituals, Emma was growing accustomed to the eerie surroundings. There was always a hint of unease in the pit of her stomach when she descended below the land of the dead but it just didn't nauseate her as much now as it used to.

Tonight, she'd trekked through the cemetery after work, running just a little late for the 8pm conjuring practice session that Zelena had planned. Emma was heading into the night a little half-heartedly after nagging memories plagued her all day. Memories that continued to haunt her as she descended deeper into the earth. Sure, making a ball of flames appear out of the palm of your hand was cool and all, but it truly wasn't where Emma's thoughts lay tonight.

She allowed herself to slink down the steps, hoping she'd arrived unnoticed, but as she turned the corner at the vault's entrance, she was met by Regina's disdainful glare.

"You're late, Miss Swan," was the greeting that spewed from the Mayor's tongue.

"Sorry," Emma stammered. "I had some paperwork to finish up before I could leave the office but I got here as quickly as I could." It was mostly a lie, but Regina didn't need to know that she'd actually been contemplating not even showing up tonight.

"Well, we were just about to don our robes. Hurry up and join us in the circle," Regina instructed as she thrust a jet black, hooded brocade robe into Emma's hands. The student accepted the garment from her instructor with a nod of thanks while quickly shedding her crimson leather jacket. She tossed her jacket haphazardly over a wooden armchair as she tugged the robe over her shoulders before proceeding into the main chamber. She was immediately reminded how claustrophobic the vault could be when their entire coven was present.

Theirs was currently a coven of five. As Emma saw it, there was one member for each point of the pentacle inlaid within the marble circle that adorned the vault's floor. The Mills sisters were, by far, the most active and the most powerful practitioners of the group, but they were joined by Ruby Lucas, the waitress at Granny's diner - whom Emma suspected might have a few other hidden powers, and Ingrid, an older witch of the prior generation whose methods and ideals quite often clashed with the Mills sisters. Ingrid was the last remaining member of the original coven, having practiced alongside Regina and Zelena's late mother, Cora, but that was all Emma knew. No one really talked about the old guard much, but Emma knew they'd been a formidable group of sorceresses.

Emma made her way into formation as Regina's flame-haired older sister, Zelena, lit the candles positioned within the circle with a mere flick of the ebony wand clutched in her hand. Emma found some of the rituals a bit unnerving, but like being twenty feet beneath a tomb, she was growing used to the feeling. Her mind was just wandering a bit more tonight than normal.

Today had been an auspicious anniversary for her and the only reason she'd even made the decision to come was that she absolutely didn't want to be sitting around the loft with her overly-positive sister-in-law. She'd decided that a coven gathering in the crypt was preferable to drowning her sorrows down at the Rabbit Hole - and a lot less expensive. Plus, the vault gave her access to collections of books and scrolls that might help her find something useful should she be given permission to search them. She just needed something to keep herself distracted for a little while. Something to prevent her from falling back into any of her old, desolate traps - because tonight was the anniversary of the day she'd had her heart crushed into a million pieces - a story she'd not yet shared with anyone here in Storybrooke.

That heartbreak had become the catalyst that really kicked off her quest to discover her family and the history her mother had hidden from her. She'd believed that solving her own personal mysteries would be the best way to heal after being abandoned by the man she'd thought she'd loved - the man she'd given her heart and soul to. When things had gotten too difficult, he'd bolted, never even saying goodbye and even after a decade, it still stung. His betrayal hurt as deeply as losing her beloved mother only months before he'd run away - and as bitterly as the miscarriage she'd suffered alone. All combined together in such a short amount of time had left her feeling utterly alone. She was now striving to push beyond those losses, determined to reconnect with the family she still had, and then maybe, just maybe, she could find someone to help mend her broken heart. And if magic could help her fill those voids, she was determined to try.

But at this moment in time, she knew she was simply going through the motions as she recited her ritual incantations and completed the mundane tasks asked of her. It wasn't hard for anyone else to see her lack of conviction either. Her heart simply wasn't in it, and as her lackluster attitude caught Zelena's attention, her mentor decided to cut the evening's lessons short rather than keep going with an inattentive student.

"How about we pick things up again on Friday?" Emma heard Zelena ask as the redhead brushed back her hood. Emma heard what she was saying but didn't completely comprehend the words.

"Huh?" Emma replied, startled by the query that pulled her back from her reminiscing.

"I was asking if we should pick this up again on Friday," Zelena repeated with a hint of irritation in her voice. "Weren't you listening to anything I said tonight?"

"Sorry… I'm a little distracted tonight and I guess I'm not feeling particularly well…," Emma fibbed in a feeble attempt to cover her obvious disconnect.

"Why don't you head home and get some rest then?" Regina suggested. "Friday's full moon will allow us to try out some new spells too."

"Actually, if you don't mind, Regina, I'd like to take a look through some of the potion books to see if I can locate a remedy for this lingering tiredness I've been experiencing. Would you mind?"

Regina thought about the idea for a moment, but granted permission. "Just stick to the newer potion books on the shelf under the mirror. Most of those ones are either already written in English or have already been translated from the original text. Most of the older books are written in Latin, Greek, Elvish - you get the idea? Your study of ancient languages hasn't advanced enough for proper translation yet so stick to the ones you can read, okay? Oh, and lock up when you leave."

"I can do that," Emma smiled graciously. "And I promise I won't stay too long, and I'll be sure to clean up and lock everything away."

"See that you do, Miss Swan," Regina stated as she undid the clasp on her robe and allowed the garment to slide off of her shoulders. She draped the robe over her forearm as she gathered her belongings from the desktop beside her apothecary cabinet. "Have a good evening, Deputy."

"Good night, your Highness," Emma quipped as Regina ascended the stairway towards the crypt above. Zelena smirked at the nickname as she followed her sister out of the vault and soon, both Ruby and Ingrid made their exit as well, leaving Emma alone in the creepy confines.

Hearing only the tap of her own footsteps echoing off of the slate floor, Emma made her way over to the towering shelves, teeming with an expansive collection of books ranging from spellbooks to recipe books to a weathered, and likely very dated, set of encyclopedias. She quickly figured out the filing system that Regina utilized and began scanning for a specific volume. Her eyes darted back and forth across the third shelf up from the bottom trying to find a book that Zelena had shown her a few weeks earlier when they'd practiced a few basic potions. She remembered looking at a sleeping potion, a memory potion and even one that was rumored to improve the mood of even the crankiest Storybrooke resident, but Emma wasn't actually interested in potions right now.

While Zelena had been busy preparing the ingredients for one of the potions, Emma had flipped through a few of the yellowed vellum pages, glancing over random potion recipes and spells handwritten in flowing Latin. She was still learning the basics of the language, understanding a few words and phrases that appeared frequently. Words that were unfamiliar were easily translated with an app on her iPhone, although she did know that just having the translation of the words didn't always help as figuring out the grammar could be awkward. She was determined to try anyway.

She located the correct, ornately decorated spine and carefully lifted the gilded book from the shelf, carrying it to the podium the Mills sisters had installed in the center of the vault, directly beneath the chandelier - one of the few nods to modern conveniences down here (although Emma had yet to figure out exactly where the electricity came from as there were no visible power lines around the mausoleum). She took extreme care in opening the cover, turning the pages gently as she sought the specific spell she'd seen before.

Nervousness began to overcome her, causing her to repeatedly glance back toward the stairs as she flipped through the ancient pages. She feared that someone might return to interrupt her and discover that she was perusing books that weren't in the officially-approved collections. She was taking a huge risk that could destroy the trust she'd built within the coven but right now, she had a singular focus.

It took a few minutes in the dimly lit vault to locate the spell she wanted but once she did, she picked up the crystal candlestick with its nearly fully melted ruby red taper from atop the desk and brought it closer to the podium to get a better view as her fingertip dusted across the flowing script. Her excitement and anxiety both increased exponentially as she stared at the spell she hoped might change her life.

Her brain immediately began translating the Latin text, beginning with the instructions preceding the spell itself. Succensa - set alight. Sapiens - sage. Roris marini - rosemary. She recognized the herbs and knew she needed to light them on fire as the smoke from burning them would cleanse the air prior to her reciting the incantation. She retrieved sprigs of both herbs from the apothecary cabinet and dropped them into a charred marble bowl then ignited them with the flame from the candle.

As the fragrant herbs burned, filling the small, subterranean room with their aroma, Emma continued translating the remaining text as well as she could. Verus amor - true love. That was her goal - to find her own true love and fill the void within her heart that she'd struggled with for so many years. Since the moment she'd stumbled across this spell, she'd been determined to cast it when the time was right. She had to. Why else would she have been gifted with these supernatural abilities if it wasn't meant to bring her some semblance of happiness? She wanted the type of love that her brother shared with Mary Margaret - that close companionship that just wasn't going to be found in friendship or familial relationships. She just wanted to be loved and have someone to love in return.

Alone in the vault, she began to recite the Latin phrases from the page.

Verus amor occurant - encounter true love.

Verus amor reveles - discover true love.

Those phrases she translated easily, but there were others she wasn't as certain of.

Verus amor agnocis. She didn't know what agnocis meant, but in the context of the words she understood, it had to be another part of finding true love, which led into the last phrase - Confirmare verus amor - confirm true love.

Once completed, she sealed the spell by pricking the tip of her finger with a needle and allowing three minute drops of her blood to fall atop the smoldering herbs. One for her, one for the love she sought and the third to unite them. Now, all she had to do was wait to see if it all worked - and get everything cleaned up, put away and locked up before anyone became suspicious.

#cssns #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ff au #cs ff #cs au ff #witch emma #a simple spell

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