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teawaffles · 4 years ago

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The Conspiratorial Bullet: Chapter 5

Returning our view from where the two girls began to rekindle their beautiful friendship to the site of the flag once again, a fierce battle was still raging on.

Just moments earlier, the blue team had been at a numerical disadvantage. But with their allies having received their communications and returned, the battle could now tilt either way…… No, they currently had the momentum to push the enemy back just a little.

“Alright, we’re totally forcing them back here!”

“If we can get through this fight, there’ll only be a handful of them left. We just have to hold out a bit longer.”

The nobles had spotted a chance of victory, and they could even afford to smile now. But as they verified their opponents’ positions from within a thicket, from behind a tree on the opposite side, a mysterious object was lobbed in their direction.

“What’s that?”

One noble had noticed the item sailing towards them — a bulging leather pouch. But its opening wasn’t fully shut, and as the blue team members stood rooted to the ground, the contents of the pouch spilled out onto them from above.

Out the bag poured a vast quantity of dummy bullets.

“H-Huhhhhhhh!?”

Stunned, the men shrieked as the rain of bullets pelted them without mercy. Of course, in the blink of an eye, most of them had been covered with paint.

One of the noblemen touched the paint on his clothes with a finger as he spoke in a daze.

“Is this, really possible?”

It seemed that doubt had surfaced in the others’ minds as well, for those who’d been paint-bombed simply stood where they were, their confusion plain as day. And as they did so, in the distance, a figure watched them from behind a tree.

“Sorry about that. Still, this is a great tactic.”

——As James Bond murmured that, he chuckled.

Needless to say, the one who had delivered that hefty blow on the blue team was Bond. At a spot far removed from the crossfire, he’d quietly made his preparations alone, and lain in wait for the chance to pull off this stunt.

Using bullets in this manner, when they were meant to be shot from a gun, could potentially invite controversy; but Herder had said, “If you get paint on any part of your body, you are out” — and not “if you are struck by a bullet fired from a gun”. In other words, if one adhered to the rules as explained, it could be said that this tactic of raining huge quantities of mock bullets on the enemy was legitimate.

Although they’d been suspicious at first, after a moment, the nobles looked at one another and laughed.

“That was an interesting attack for sure, but now…… what’ll we do? Should we call the referee and seek a decision?”

“Nah, we were completely done in — it’s our loss. Let’s bow out with grace.”

Far from leaving them frustrated, the innovativeness of that idea had felt refreshing; even as they harboured twinges of regret, the men obediently left the battlefield.

The red team members glanced at one another, as if wondering why their opponents were leaving the battlefield: it seemed Bond’s unconventional attack had surprised even his own allies.

Gazing at their puzzled faces with delight, Bond began to head for the apparent location of the opposing team’s flag. There was no rule that a certain person had to capture it, so he wanted to settle things himself if he could. With the blue team’s forces severely depleted, as long as they eliminated the remaining few members, they should be able to steal the flag with ease.

But the instant he saw the path to victory, from the direction of his own allies came a familiar voice.

“O—i, everyone. I’ve taken the flag. The game’s over now.”

That was absolutely impossible. A chill ran down his spine.

The voice announcing their victory—— was his own.

“Huh? We’ve already gotten the flag?”

“That was quicker than I thought.”

Naturally, since they thought the game was over, his allies had let down their guard. Bond shouted to them as fast as he could.

“No! That’s not me!”

But the warning came a second too late. Before his voice could reach them, several gunshots could be heard coming from their direction.

“……They’re done for.”

Bond bit his lower lip as he headed for his allies. There, a group of men stood in a daze, their clothes stained with paint. It seemed they had fallen into a spectacularly executed trap.

The number of players eliminated here was comparable to what Bond himself had taken out earlier. Once again, the balance of the battle had been restored, and his shoulders sank — but then he heard the rustle of leaves from a thicket behind him.

Sensing danger, Bonds dived swiftly into the nearby bushes. That instant, from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a certain colleague’s young face.

Bond smiled as he raised his gun.

“You said you weren’t the type to get passionate, but that was a pretty nasty trick you pulled there ——Fred-kun.”

“That’s because I can’t let the team Mr William is on be defeated.”

Fred Porlock responded in a flat voice.

“Bond’s” voice from earlier had been a product of Fred’s mimicry. He’d led his opponents to mistakenly believe that the blue team’s flag had been captured, then took advantage of their lowered guard to inflict a massive blow.

“Hmm, so you’re determined to win too. Speaking of which, you��re rather passionate for someone who’s stone-faced.”

He purposely slung those provocative words over, and from the other side of the thicket, Fred’s retort sailed back.

“Perhaps — but getting too passionate only impedes my work. For me, an ironclad rule is to remain calm at all times.”

“I don’t think that’s necessarily true. It’s precisely this important work which requires a passion that’s second to none.”

“In that case, shall we prove who’s right?”

Fred’s unusually provoking comment had a somewhat joyful ring to it.

Bond chuckled.

“I knew you were a passionate man.”

With that single line uttered with joy as the catalyst, Bond leaned out of the vegetation and raised his gun. It seemed Fred had the same idea, for both of them were now pointing their revolvers at each other. But this was no time for indecision. Both men pulled the trigger, then took evasive action. The bullets passed through the exact spots they’d been a moment earlier, and they each hid behind a tree at the same time once more.

That thrilling battle lasted only a moment. Then, Bond called out with a childlike innocence.

“Aah, what a shame: I’ve been hit. Look, here’s the paint stain.”

“I’m not getting fooled by that — you completely dodged the shot.”

Fred had instantly seen through his deception. But even after his true intentions had been read like a book, Bond seemed to be enjoying himself, and he made to step out in preparation for his next move.

——Then, as if in response to that action, Fred raised his voice.

“Mr William, we can carry out a pincer attack now.”

“……What?”

That shocking line sent Bond looking around the area in suspicion. Then, as Fred had said, he saw William standing behind him.

“Hey Bond. How’s it going?”

“W— Will-kun!?”

For a split second, Bond panicked. He’d been trying to keep an eye out for William’s movements, but then the man showed himself just when he’d been focusing on Fred — this was the worst possible situation he could’ve found himself in. Bond knew he still had a few teammates left, but could it be that William had wiped them all out without making a sound?

In any case, it was a fact that his most formidable enemy had crept up behind him. Bond switched gears: in a flash, he took aim at William.

But far from defending himself, the man simply shrugged, as if he was troubled.

“Sorry, but — I’ve already been eliminated.”

“Eh?”

Yet another surprising statement. Bond’s thoughts were in disarray as he stopped himself, his gun still trained on William. Then, he felt something thud against his back.

“…………”

With an awkward smile plastered on his face, Bond turned his head, and looked behind him. There, stood Fred with his gun raised. Somehow, it seemed a slightly victorious smile had risen on his face.

He didn’t even need to check his back — he knew he’d been hit. With a magnificent sigh, Bond sat down on his haunches.

“Ah~, you’ve got me. So something like that was possible too……”

Now, he finally understood the plan that William and Fred had concocted. Bond ruffled his hair in regret, and William smiled as he spoke.

“There wasn’t a rule saying that you can’t take a detour as you leave the battlefield.”

William had anticipated the strategy his opponent would employ, then used the fact that he’d been eliminated, purposely passing through the frontline where Bond and the rest were in order to give the impression that he was still in the game. Of course, he made sure to tell the people he encountered that he was already out, so that they could avoid wasting bullets on him.

Even so, for those who knew William’s true power, the effect of his presence was enormous; now, just as William had planned, Bond made the mistake of leaving his back open to Fred.

“I didn’t think you’d also exploit loopholes in the rules.”

“Nonetheless, it’s a tactic bordering on foul play. Though, as long as Herder doesn’t show up, it should be alright.”

“……Will Herder-kun appear when someone breaks the rules?”

It was certainly an entertaining thought, but keeping watch over the movements of every single player must surely be a monumental effort. That said, it was flat out impossible for a single person to cover such a huge area — that was probably just a joke, wasn’t it?

In any case, Herder had yet to reveal himself; whatever the truth about his actions behind the scenes, with Bond — the mainstay of his team’s offence — now eliminated, this battlefront had effectively collapsed. As a result, the red team’s chances of victory were now almost zero.

“Aww, even though I was so fired up; I wanted to play on just a little longer.”

Bond hung his head in regret, and William smiled gently at him.

“It’s a pity indeed. Now it’ll be up to Moran and the rest to turn the game around.”

Analysing the state of the battle from here on, William looked towards the little cabin: the setting of the game’s impending climax.

Scoreboard

🔹 Blue team: Albert, Jack, Fred, William, Kevin, Andy

🔺 Red team: Moran, Bond, Louis, Helena

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #the girl who sees rainbows #illustration insert

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mi6-cafe · 4 years ago

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WEEK 3 DRABBLES ARE HERE!

Now, let’s refresh your memory about the prompt

We have asked our writers to write between 100 and 150 words of an acrostic drabble for NO TIME. (We wanted each paragraph to start with the given letters.)

THEY DID SUCH AN AWESOME JOB!

Now, how to vote?

Yup, that’s pretty much the method, although the writing of the individual feedback full of love is very much optional. (And yes, we’re reusing this meme from last week.)

Read the drabbles below the line (or on wordpress) and GO VOTE when you’re done!

Title: Little Prick Author: sorion Warnings: none Summary: Just some bondy banter.

Now, that was just rude, Q thought, sipping his tea with his eyes on the computer screen and giving a weak attempt at not looking amused.

Other than the potted plant in the corner, nobody was convinced of said attempt, and neither was Bond at the other end of the satellite connection, and he couldn't even see Q.

The hand gesture Bond waved at the hidden camera was still rude, though less original.

"I can hear you laugh into your tea; don't think I can't," Bond's crystal-clear voice echoed through Q-Branch.

"Mmm," Q hummed in agreement. "I have to get my kicks from somewhere, Bond, and you're usually a reliable source."

Ever the gentleman, Bond conceded with grace. "Alright, you win," he said. "Provided, of course, that you stop laughing for long enough to get me out of here, so I can come home."

Title: White Knight Author: sunaddicted Warnings: none Summary: bratty agents really do get on Bill’s nerves

"No."

"Oh, come on!"

Tanner arched an eyebrow at the raised tone of voice 009 was directing at him: he definitely didn't appreciate being talked to in such manner by a bratty agent - how the man was Q's favorite (besides Bond, of course), Bill would never know.

"I'm not messing around with the line-up just because you want to go to Malaysia."

M cleared his throat from the entrance of Tanner's office, looking coldly at 009. "Of course you're not. You should go get kitted for your own mission, 009: I believe R is waiting for you in Q-Branch."

Exhaling loudly, 009 pursed his lips and left with a stiff and parting nod - it was absolutely satisfying to watch. "You didn't have to come and save me," Bill pointed out, smiling up at the other even as M bent down to kiss him. "Thank you, though."

Title: Another Door Opens Author: soufflegirl91 Warnings: None Summary: Eve contemplates a door, and what led her to it

Now or never.

One way or another, things were about to change forever. In a way, everything from the moment she had shot James Bond off that bridge in Turkey had been leading to this.

The door loomed ahead, waiting for her to take the next step. There had been a time when she thought that with that one shot, she had ruined things forever. That any opportunity she had to prove herself in the field, any chance of a career, had crashed into the water with Bond’s body.

Instead, it had merely opened another door for her. Given her a chance to learn things she never would have in the field. The people, the politics. All the little games the field agents never saw.

“M,” her secretary greeted.

Eve nodded back at her, and walked through the door to her new office.

Title: Inside Information Author: starrboned / MrKsan Warnings: content warning: alcohol Summary: Bond is back again and bets are placed.

“No,” Q said over his glass of gin, finishing it off in one swig. “Not doing this again.”

“Or you could stop being such a wet blanket and place your bet already,” Moneypenny said, poking him in the ribs. He swatted at her, scooting closer to Tanner. “We all know Bond will ‘retire’ soon enough.”

“That’s all everyone’s talking about,” Q huffed, staring at his empty glass. “He’s back, he’s off again - it’s a never-ending cycle.” Almost wish he'd stay gone, he didn't say.

“It is,” Tanner sighs, nudging his half-full pint towards Q. “But even Mallory wagered a full six months."

“Mallory did?” Q almost choked on Tanner’s beer. “That’s - that’s unusual of him.”

“Eh, said something about how ‘Bond has something to prove' this time around.“ Tanner grinned. Q felt his cheeks warm under his knowing gaze. "Maybe he has some inside information, huh?"

Title: No Time Like The Present Author: storm_of_sharp_things Warnings: none Summary: Felix had been wondering if it was ever going to happen

“Not that you need to answer, but did you ever sleep with him?” Felix looked up from his glass as MI6’s Chief of Staff dropped into the chair next to him at the bar and quirked an eyebrow. It wasn’t how Felix would’ve started this conversation, but...

“Once,” he admitted. He tossed back the rest of his drink. “You?”

Tanner nodded, his gaze distant. “Once,” he said with a faint smile. “Seemed a good idea at the time.”

“I don’t regret it,” Felix said. Then he shrugged and smirked. “I think we’d have shot each other if we’d really tried to make it work. But I do miss him.”

“Me too.” Tanner paused long enough that Felix wondered if he’d follow through. “Listen, I’ve got some good bourbon back at mine. Want a drink where it’s quieter?”

“Easy answer,” Felix grinned. “Hell yes, thought you’d never ask, let’s go.”

Title: Entanglement Author: Nana-chan Warnings: Summary: In which 007 and Q trade places...

“Now take your clothes off slowly,” said Bond softly. “Goddammit, Q, I said slowly.”

“Oh, do piss off, Bond,” Q hissed, dropping his shirt to the floor while Bond continued to watch him through the CCTV live feed. “Now, help me with the leathers.”

“That actually sounds very sexy, coming from you,” Bond said conversationally, his eyes drifting all over Q’s bare midriff before focusing on the contraption strapped to him.

“I suppose it does, yeah,” replied Q archly. “Never mind my predicament.”

“Mm-hmm,” said Bond, unfazed. “Not enough time. The straps will have to stay for now. I’ll start, then.”

Entanglements such as this were usually Bond’s lot, not his, but what was he to do when someone had attached an IED to his person? At least he’d dispatched his would-be kidnapper. He sighed, relieved, as Bond typed in the code he’d devised to remotely disable the ticking bomb.

Title: Time Well Spent Author: IrishWitch58 / captain-magicalkitty Warnings: None Summary: A conversation over coms.

“Nine bloody days and the target hasn't moved at all.” Q could almost see the exasperated expression. Bond hated the need for surveillance and made his displeasure known.

“Once he does, I'm sure the resulting excitement will more than make up for your current boredom,” Q soothed. He managed to hide his smile from the rest of the branch late shift.

There was a disgusted snort from the coms. “You'll have to do better than that to make this up to me.” The tone was suggestive but only in the general Bond default setting. Q wasn't concerned about anyone overhearing.

“If you're still angling after an exploding pen, dream on.”

“Miser,” Bond accused, fond tone at odds with the statement.

Eventually the target would move and Bond would get the job done. Until then, they enjoyed time spent together, even far apart.

Title: N O T I M E Author: hexiva Warnings: Character death Summary: Bond confronts Blofeld.

No time to think as James rounds the corner, gun in hand, and comes face to face with Blofeld, with Franz.

Only hatred in Franz’s eyes, he reaches for his gun.

Trigger burning against James’ finger, all he has to do is pull it, end this, end this, but -

Ivy leaves underfoot, the sky blue above them, and they’re bickering but they’re just children still, not the killers they will become, and Franz laughs as James trips, and he reaches down to offer him a hand -

Many years ago, they were brothers. Franz knew him before he was 007. He’s the last man left who did. Everyone else is gone, and James is tired of being alone and tired of being a killer.

Every muscle in his body aches with weariness as he lets his gun drop. And he looks Franz in the eyes as Franz pulls the trigger.

Title: A Change of The Story Author: scarytheory Warnings: (a little bit of) sci-fi Summary: She has seen the future. What she’ll do with it is up to her.

No time to waste when she’s got a glimpse of the future. She had seen Bond devastated by loss and full of rage. She had seen Q who was absorbed in his job, bitter and sad. And herself – composed and nice and so, so lonely. Or was it possible to change it? She decided to go to that beach instead of Bond. But before she left, she whispered to him: “You’ve got a secret admirer in the Q branch.” Will it be enough? And the girl on the beach… will she manage to save her? “Tracy!” she screamed as she was trying to get her out of the water.

“I don’t know you.” Not yet.

“Moneypenny, Eve Moneypenny.”

Eve decided that this time she wasn't going to let them be burned by the inevitability. This time, Tracy would live.

#10

Title: Let the Record Show Author: anyawen Warnings: None Summary: They've read the same reports, but have arrived at differing conclusions.

"No, I don't think so," Q disagrees with forced lightness. "Not this time."

"Oh, honey," Eve sighs, not fooled in the least. She reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. "Every time. He always comes back."

"There's no reason for him to come back, not anymore," Q insists. "M is dead, and he's finished the last mission she ever gave him. He can retire now. Live a peaceful life with a beautiful woman. And a beautiful car."

"If you think he'll be happy with a peaceful life, you don't understand him as well as you think," Eve laughs.

"Maybe he doesn't want peaceful," Q allows, "but we've read his file. He doesn't want m— this either, or he wouldn't keep trying to leave."

"Eventually, he will come home. And when he does," Eve says, sitting back and angling to speak to someone over Q's shoulder, "you should tell him."

#11

Title: TO DIE Author: Merc / moon_of_mercury Warnings: This one is depressing. Sorry! Summary: The End.

Never again...

Observing from behind his screen, Q takes in the smoking, crumbling scene of destruction. Police cars with flashing lights and blaring sirens swarm the streets. A familiar silhouette blends in with the by-passers, slipping out of his view around the corner.

This is the last time James Bond holsters his gun, dusts off his suit, and heads for the airport to catch a flight Moneypenny arranged for him.

“It’s done,” Q says into the expectant stillness of the room. It hurts a little, even though he’s relieved. The showdown could have gone so much worse, but this is just as final.

Memories of this mission will haunt him for different reasons than usual. Their blazing victory is a bittersweet consolation.

Everything ends here; even those things that never began.

#12

Title: Mission Goal: Ideas Author: Venstar /1amvengeance Warnings: none Summary: well someone had to think of something.

“Now you're just showing off.” James’s voice drawled against Q’s ear.

“Oh, I'm showing off. Did you have any other ideas? No. Spies should have faster reflexes than asking me to 'Quick hide us!' My time and equipment are very expensive.” Q hissed quietly. They were still on a mission after all.

“That kiss was a far better idea than anything I had in mind. I'm happy to pay your asking price. Are you okay Q, your face has gone all red.”

“I will murder you in your sleep. I will end you. I will scatter your body parts to the farthest corners of the globe as a warning to those that think about blaming me for coming up with all the ideas!”

“Maybe instead of murder, you should think about our target. He’s escaping.”

“Escaping my arse. Someone is going to pay for your lack of ideas.”

#13

Title: Losing and Having Author: solarmorrigan Warnings: None. Summary: Bond reflects and knows he can't have it any other way.

Never in all his life had Bond felt quite this level of terror.

Or – well, no. That wasn’t quite true.

There had been one other time.

In the murky water, watching everything he’d allowed himself to love and depend on slip away into oblivion. The fear had clutched him then, shaken him and wrecked him.

Maybe he should have listened to his own damn self when he’d designated the heart as nothing but a target.

Even so, even knowing this, Bond clutched Q’s hand, eyes locked on his bruised and battered quartermaster who had only just returned to him, and knew it was worth it. The fear of loss was nothing against the euphoria of having.

#14

Title: Dreisamkeit (Or: Bliss comes in threes) Author: Misha / artsytarts / jelly-mish Warnings: Sickly sweet fluff, watch out for cavities Summary: Della, Felix and James are toying with the idea of having a lazy day in.

Nestled between the warm bodies of her boys, Della felt content.

“Occasionally, I’d like to just... stay here. All day.”, she said, letting her fingers brush through their hair in lazy strokes. James tightened his grip around her and made an approving noise.

Then the beeping started. Felix moved, banging his fist on the alarm clock. “Gosh darn it,” he growled. Della pouted in response, until a thought struck her. What if they took a sick day? Food poisoning? Good enough story. She suggested it out loud.

“If you take the blame,” James mumbled sleepily.

“Me? If anyone, it’d be Felix,” Della grinned at her husband's dirty look and carried on: “Remember when you forgot to add water to the pasta? The fumes were noxious.”

Eventually, reluctantly, they broke up their haven of safety and rolled out of bed. Della sighed. There never seemed to be enough time.

#15

Title: Augment Author: oldestcharm Warnings: n/a Summary: Every week Q argues his case and wins. "No," M says, squinting and displeased. "Absolutely not."

"One million," Q attempts with a half-hearted smile, but he knows well enough that it wouldn't work in any other situation. He's not even trying that hard at this point, because he knows he'll win this argument every single time. "It's not that much. I should probably ask ten times that with the amount of shit Bond breaks. Remember last week? I deserve a better budget."

"Then stop supplying him with expensive equipment," M suggests, unsympathetic at best.

"I'll have you know he'll get his hands on it whether I supply it or not," Q says crossly.

"Maybe you aren't doing a good enough job at security."

"Exactly, I need a better budget!" Q insists, eyeing M with a bit of a manic expression as he sets down the tablet in front of him. "Now sign it or deal with the consequences."

Go Vote!

#00Q #00Q fic #drabbles #james bond fanfiction #james bond #LDWS #ldws 2021 #ldws2021

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tothemeadow · 5 years ago

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these Mario kart AUs are killing me 😭 Ok so, after that little um..’display’ lol, It’s come down to this...Girls vs boys..The reader with the girls competing in the hardest mode: ☀️S h i n e T h e i f☀️ Empress-Sama can pick the punishment 👀

‘to claim victory pt. 3′ / Pillars x Reader

warnings: slight NSFW

words: 1,556

(a/n): Muichiro is 18+ in this!

also, one word: femdom

This is it.

This is your chance.

You’ve come so far, and you are not going to give up. Failure is a well-known friend by now, lingering on your shoulders and whispering words of doubt into your ears. There is nothing left to lose, now, and you’re going to give it your all.

The same can be said for Shinobu and Mitsuri. Like you, they’re tired of facing a loss and crave after the sweet taste of victory. The other team – the guys – have had far too good for far too long. It’s their turn for them to plead for forgiveness, to kneel at your feet and cry for mercy.

You’re so damn hungry for power. It’s well within your grasp, inches away. You are not going to lose this time. Boys be damned.

Stripped down to your undies, your flesh bears fresh goosebumps. The heat radiating off of Tengen and Kyojuro is downright pleasant, and you desire to have them cling onto you. But no, you cannot allow yourself to be distracted.

Your character frantically chases after Shy Guy, gradually closing in on his little buggy. The Shine Sprite hanging above him sticks out like a sore thumb, and you’re practically salivating to get a hold of it. You wait until you’re directly behind and take your aim.

“It’s nothing personal, Gyomei,” you speak.

At that, your character whips a green shell at Shy Guy. The Shine Sprite flies off, allowing you to quickly grab onto it before zooming away.

“Dammit,” Tengen curses by your side.

“Oh my gosh!” Mitsuri cries out. “We got it! We got it!”

“Don’t lose focus, Mitsuri,” Shinobu is quick to respond. “(y/n),” she says to you, “we’ll cover you.”

“Like hell you will,” Giyuu grunts.

Yoshi comes barreling towards your character. Boo King slams straight into him, effectively keeping him from reaching you.

“Thanks, Shinobu!”

“Oi, jackass,” Sanemi barks at his teammate, “don’t fuck this up!”

Your heart thuds with every beeping second. Twenty seconds left. You have to hold onto it for thirty. You must.

Again and again, the guys either launch themselves or an attack at you, but either one of the girls comes to your aid just in time or you somehow dodge it. Isabelle is hot on your heels. Waluigi is charging straight towards you. There are only moments to make a decision.

Screw it, you think as you rear your character to the side. You can hear both Muichiro and Obanai muttering curses.

Ten seconds left.

Your skin is absolutely crawling.

“Give it up!” Kyojuro taunts in his usual happy-go-lucky way. He tries to be intimidating while playing games, but he’s really not.

“Kiss my ass,” you toss back. You flash him a smile right when the clock reaches zero.

“No!” all of the boys shout.

“Yes!” the girls cheer.

Giyuu merely sighs and sets his device to the side.

Mitsuri wildly claps her hands. “(y/n), you did it! You really did it!” You quickly hop up from your seat to meet her hug.

Shinobu comes to stand next to the two of you, a dark glint in her eyes. Her lips curl into a sadistic smile. “Girls,” she begins, using a low voice, “you know what this means.”

A similar smile appears on your own face. It’s time for revenge.

The three of you simultaneously turn to the guys.

“Alright,” Shinobu continues, crossing her arms. “Now it’s our turn to pick the punishment.”

A round of grumbles comes as a reply. The guys are in no place to be angry, especially since all of them agreed to the conditions.

Shinobu claps her hands together. “Alright, gentlemen, please do us a favor and strip.”

You bite your lip and share a sneaky smile with Mitsuri.

Their reactions are amusing, to say the least. Of course, Tengen has no issue with whipping off his clothes and showing off all his glory. Kyojuro doesn’t mind, but is face turns red while he does so. Sanemi and Obanai only seem annoyed by the ordeal. The rest reluctantly do as told, an anxious expression written across theirs features. Soon enough, the room is filled with half naked men.

Mitsuri’s face blows with a bright pink. “Oh, wow.”

You agree. You know all of the guys spend a lot of time working on their physiques, but to see them up close and personal? It’s incredible.

Tengen flexes as your gaze flicks over his torso. “Like what you see, sweetheart? I know, this is quite some prize,” he purrs.

Shinobu rolls her eyes. “Pick two,” she says to you and Mitsuri. “I think we should give them a taste of their own medicine, don’t you agree?”

Your dominant side perks at the suggestion. It’s revenge, alright. And if you can get the guys as embarrassed and flustered as they made you, then sobeit. Humming, you tap your chin, eyes scanning over the different guys. “I want him,” you say, pointing at Sanemi, “and him.” Your finger lands at Muichiro.

“Alright,” Sanemi growls, “let’s get this shit going, then.”

You meet his challenge with a shark-toothed smile.

It’s funny that Sanemi is trying to pass as unbothered about the whole thing. For one, he hates to lose. Second, you can see the subtle shifts in his character. The light trembling. The way he swallows harder than usual. You’re already affecting him and you haven’t done anything yet. Taking a seat next to him, you bat your eyelashes at him.

“I promise I won’t bite.”

Sanemi scoffs at your obvious bluff. He knows it’s a personal jab; he’s into biting himself, and the mark on Mitsuri’s shoulder says it all.

Kyojuro’s sudden giggling catches your attention. Turning to him, you see Mitsuri peppering kisses up and down the column of his neck. Oh, so he’s sensitive? You’ll have to keep that in mind. On the other hand, Shinobu is sitting on Gyomei’s lap. Compared to his massive size and her tiny one, she’s more of a doll sitting in his lap rather than a human.

Fingers dig into your fleshy hip. “Stop watching them,” Sanemi growls, just low enough for you to hear. Jealousy laces his words, and it’s clear as day. Heat spikes up your back.

You cast your attention back to him and click your tongue. “Brat,” you hiss. His fingers dig into you harder. “Don’t be so upset,” you breathe into his ear. “I’ll mark you, okay?”

A heavy breath passes through Sanemi’s nose as you nibble at his earlobe. Lips skimming his sharp jawline, your lids fall into a sultry squint. Sanemi gulps.

It starts with a few light kisses situated under his jaw. You soon grow bolder; it turns into open mouthed kisses, sensuous licks. You take delight in how much he’s trembling. His hand forces your thigh over his legs so that you’re half-straddling him. Although he’s acting extremely bratty, he knocks his head to the side when you suckle on his flesh.

Other sounds fill the room. They’re mostly grunts and little pleasured sighs, but there’s also impatient ones mingling with them. Seems like the others are impatient for their punishment.

Sanemi’s openly groping and kneading your thigh now. You swat his hand away as a warning, but it goes unheeded. You sink your teeth into him in return.

“Fuck!” Sanemi barks.

“Shit,” Tengen mutters off to the side.

Your fingers grip onto his hair and jaw, keeping him in place. After a few moments, your tongue licks over the fresh bitemark and you pull away. You flash Sanemi a devilish grin as he scowls back at you, his chest heaving. Gingerly, you grab him by the wrist and take his hand off of your thigh.

“What did I tell you?” you whisper. “Now you’re bearing my mark - just like you wanted, right?”

Sanemi inhales sharply through his teeth.

Picking yourself into a stand, you look to Muichiro. From his spot on the floor, he looks impossibly tiny. His brilliant eyes widen as you cross over and stand directly in front of him.

“Sit back,” you order him.

And just like that, Muichiro snaps from his hunched position and leans back, his palms pressed to the floor. You quickly drop to the floor, a leg swinging over him; as you straddle him, you press your hands flush to his exposed abdomen.

“I wonder where I should mark you,” you murmur, mimicking the words he said to you earlier. “You think you’re always so sly, Mui. Maybe I should put you in your place.”

Your words take him by surprise. Leaning down, you pick your spot on his collarbone. Muichiro’s high-pitched gasp fills your ears, fuels that growing fire inside of you. You suckle on his skin languidly, dragging your tongue and your teeth whenever you feel like it. Muichiro’s muscles flex underneath your hands.

“Such a good, pretty boy,” you mumble offhandedly. “You’re not a brat like Sanemi.”

To your surprise (and delight), a soft moan breaks through his lips. Color immediately colors his face and Muichiro promptly clamps his mouth shut. Pulling away, you lick your lips and cock your head at him. His eyes shine with that fierce emotion you saw in them earlier.

“Hmm,” you say aloud, grabbing everyone’s attention, “I decided that I like winning a lot more than losing.”

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny pillars #kny pillars x reader #kny hashira #kny hashira x reader #request

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 5 years ago

Text

What a Time to be Alive - Diego Hargreeves x reader Season I

Chapter 4- Man on the Moon

*Smut ahead, wink wink

Summary: So you got your ass handed to you last night, but it wasn’t a complete loss of an evening. Now here you are with Diego and Luther, searching in a library for Five.

Tagged: @sambucky8 @white-wolf-buckaroo @2cuteforyourlies @la-vie-en-amour1 @fandomoverlord221 @thatfandombitcch @alonewolfsblog @starrrybarnes

You wake up tangled next to Diego, the sun is shooting a warm ray on his back, as you feel a heavy limb pressed against your face and realize it’s just his arm. Gosh what a bed hog. You nudge him in the stomach with your fingers, when he doesn’t appear to react you tickle his arm that’s currently trapping you. He squirms away, bringing his arm with him, trailing it across your face and evidently messing up your hair.

“Thank you for that.” You mutter as he wakes up, sucking in a large breath. “Good morning to you too, grumpy.” He smiles, turning himself to the side as he props his head up by his right elbow to better look at you. You fake scowl, doing the same. “We’re gonna have to make a pit stop at subway or something cause I could eat a whole village right now.” You whine, dramatically laying back down on your pillow. Diego laughs at your early morning theatrics, you suddenly throw the blanket away from you and launch yourself over Diego. “I gotta piss, be back.” You yelp, racing to the bathroom to relieve yourself. Diego watches you take off with a giant smile plastered onto his handsome face.

While drying your hands, your mind subconsciously wanders to the pleasant shower you and Diego had last night. You could honestly have gone for a round two when you made it to your bedroom, but Diego looked exhausted so you let him sleep. But it just so happens that he’s awake and not tired at the moment, hmm interesting. You open the door and make your way back into the room, where Diego is laying on his back while staring up at the ceiling. “Hey Diego, real question? Would you be up for a continuation of last nights shower?” You ask him, standing a couple feet from the bed, his eyes grow wider. His princely face breaking out into a smug grin. “If you think you’re up for it.” He shoots back, throwing the covers away from him, sitting himself up on the edge of the mattress.

You grin back at that little comment, holding all the information you need to know that your man’s down to party. Taking him by surprise you launch yourself into the bed, rugby tackling Diego into the mattress. He lets out a huff, about to protest his annoyance when you start to kiss his exposed neck. Making a sweet trail of butterfly kisses up to his jawline, up to both of his cheeks, and finally a deep one on his lips.

He moans in delight as his hands snake around your sides, feeling you up and down, “Y/N you’re wild...but hmm... you do...things to me babe.” He purrs in between kisses. You love taking him off guard at any given opportunity, ranging from random jump scares to tackling him with your own means of loving affection. Although right now you really want some friction, so to satisfy this new craving of yours, you lay completely body to body on Diego. You’re both still clothed but now you can tease him a bit by lightly grinding into his growing bulge. Another sweet and guttural moan is pulled from his needy lips as you press your clothed lady bits over him once again, and again, and again. It’s getting you hot and driving Diego insane. He suddenly flips you onto your back in one fluid motion, you let out a surprised yelp and begin laughing when your head hits the pillow.

“A simple, take your pants off would have done it.” You tell him as he hovers over top of you, breathing heavily and noticeably shirtless. He leans down to kiss you, “Yeah well it was nice to hear you scream.” You snort at that as you roll your eyes, “You’re an idiot.” You whisper playfully in his ear, while you start to palm him through his boxers. His snarky comeback abruptly catches in his throat as he’s taken off guard by your fondling. You’re thoroughly enjoying how you’re making Diego squirm underneath your skilled touch. But you know too well he’ll take the reins in no time, and a few moments later he breaks from your heated kiss to lean back away from you. You’re about to protest at the sudden loss of contact, when he begins to pull your sweatpants down your legs. So that’s where we’re going, you think with a smirk. You lift your butt up to better help him get them off of you, and when they’re finally off he flings them across the room. “I’m gonna need to find those later.” You sass, he just smirks as he leans back into you to shut you up with a chaste kiss.

He ever so casually pulls your legs up to straddle you, tugging at your underwear while your lips are locked. You smile into the kiss, knowing exactly what he wants. “You’re in a compromising position..I can’t get them off from here.” You mumble into his lips, Diego reaches an arm out to grab something on the nightstand. You don’t care enough to pay any attention, that is, until a blade is lightly pressed against your hip, Diego cutting off your underwear. You laugh as he quickly rips them off of you, now forgotten somewhere on the floor. “That’s one way to do it.” You muse, while he sets the knife down, getting back to business which consists of taking off your shirt. You’re glad he doesn’t go to cut this one off considering Klaus bought it for you and it’s a favorite of yours.

He tugs it off the rest of the way, throwing it about the room elsewhere, his nimble finger immediately begin massaging your exposed breasts. You let out a pleased moan, that’s pure music to his hears. You grind your naked womanhood into Diego’s thin boxers turning him on even more, by now you’re soaked and about to lose it if Diego doesn’t start discarding his own clothes. To give him a not-so-subtle hint, you buck your bare hips up into his boxers, that are currently doing nothing helpful by trapping his obvious erection. He breaks from your heated embrace to lean his forehead against yours, “Alright, alright...I’m on it.” He chuckles at your neediness, as he finally pulls off his tight boxers. You bite your lip and hold in an excited moan when you see his cock springing out from its previous constraints. Diego then leans himself further down your body, starting to kiss up from your abdomen onto your stomach, between your heaving breasts and up to your neck. God he’s such a tease, always taking his good old time, revving you up with every second he’s not inside you. It’s almost torture.

At long last he makes it to your wanting lips, while you spread your legs apart even wider, granting him open access to what you’re absolutely craving. He holds himself up by his forearms as you reach out one hand to help guide his manhood into you. Once he reaches your slick entrance Diego knows exactly what to do next. You hold onto the sheets as he pushes himself fully into your core, filling you up to the brim. You let out a shaky breath as he begins to slowly thrust into you, his face hovers above yours, eyes closed in deep concentration at how he wants to move. He continues to pull in and out of you over and over again. Leaving you almost breathless each time, suddenly he begins to amp up the pace, much to your delight. Diego pounds into you with deep powerful thrusts that rock your whole body, you let out a moan as you dig your nails into his muscular back for better support. He kisses your shoulder while he pins you down to the mattress with his muscular body that’s rocking into you with gusto. The bed is shaking and the sweet sounds of sex are dissipating throughout the entire apartment. Diego’s heartbeat is thudding against his chest with each stroke, it’s a beautiful symphony in your ears that’s truly sending you places.

“Ah, fuck Y/N I’m getting close.” He grunts while continuing to pound into you. You can’t even fathom a coherent sentence with how he’s making you feel right now. Your pussy throbs with each thrust, the sensations pulling you towards your high. Without warning Diego hits your sweet spot sending you into a wave of pure pleasure, you don’t remember screaming out his name but the words leave your mouth anyways. Your walls tighten against his hard cock in reaction to your orgasm, further wetting the already messy bed sheets, he lets out a loud moan as he cums a few moments after you. Releasing his load into your hot sex all at once, he then gives in a couple more sloppy thrusts for good measure. Before slowly pulling out of you and falling onto the mattress to your left, your entrance is left dripping with some of his warm cum that runs off of you and onto the bed sheets. You ignore the fact that you’re gonna have to change the sheets before you leave later, while you turn to face a sweaty Diego. Who’s already looking at you with a dumbass smile on his stupid cute face. “I thoroughly enjoyed that, if I may add.” He tells you as he reaches out a hand to remove a strand of hair in your face that’s blocking you from properly seeing him. “I don’t remember but I might have screamed once or twice...my brain shuts off when you’re working your wonders.” He chuckles at your truthful comment, it’s not your fault he fucks up your thinking when he’s that deep inside you. Your mind no longer wants to function anymore. Diego’s dick game is that strong, but hell no would you ever fully admit that, his ego does not need anymore boosting.

For the next forty minutes the two of you just cuddle and talk about the most random and insignificant of things that come to mind. Until you look over at the time and decide you should probably get up, it’s still morning but you’ve got important Hargreeves family business to deal with at the Academy. Begrudgingly you pull away from Diego, kissing him before you stand up, walking naked over to your clothes. He props himself up on his elbow, watching you move in adoration. You force yourself to concentrate on putting on your clothes, ignoring Diego’s prying eyes with all your willpower. Once you’re done changing you turn around to face him, “Enjoying the view? Here put some clothes on we got shit to do today.” You quip while throwing him his boxers and some pants. He gets off of the bed, putting on his boxers while you go and find your boots.

“I can’t believe how much red was coming off of you in the shower last night.” Says Diego who’s now putting on a clean dark shirt. You purse your lips together, sitting on the edge of a chair, intently concentrating on tying up your boots. “It happens when you’re practically a human battering ram.” You deadpan, finishing the knot as you fold your arms looking up at Diego. He smirks at that, “Hey, so. What do you think about those crazy masked psychopaths last night? They really gave us a run for our money, huh?” He wonders, as he sits back down on the bed, sliding on his own boots, you get up and walk over to sit next to him. You hug your sides with a frown, “I have a strong suspicion that they have to do with Five. I’d just like to know where the hell he’s been off gallivanting to?”

“Good question. Guess we better head out, and figure out what the fuck is going on.” He stands up, reaching his hand out for you to take. In one swift motion he pulls you up, unintentionally slamming yourself right into his chest. “Jesus, Diego.” You huff, he just laughs holding your face gently, leaning down to kiss you. You give in, wrapping your hands around his muscular waist, pulling him in closer. He smiles into the kiss, reaching down to lightly squeeze your bum. You gasp at the sudden contact, he takes the opportunity to stick his tongue into your mouth, cheeky bastard. But you’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t enjoying this. It’s the small sweet moments with him amongst the chaos that makes you fall for him deeper and deeper every day.

You pull back, his face following yours, he pouts as you smirk at him, “I’m truly debating if we should continue this...again, but we have a mystery to solve, Detective Diego-black-is-my-favorite-color-Hargreeves.” He chuckles at your teasing comment, pecking you on the lips once again. “Okay. Fine. Let’s go see what my idiot family has got in store for us today.” He whines, breaking away from your touch to find his knife belt slash vest type thing. You walk over towards the door, putting on your jacket as you wait for him to get ready.

——

The both of you walk into the Academy, you stopping dead in your tracks to listen closely for movement. Diego walks right into you, “What the...” you shush him, “I’m trying to find Luther, shut up.” He keeps his mouth shut long enough for you to hear the sounds of Luther rummaging around upstairs in Five’s room. “Gotcha.” You smirk, grabbing Diego’s hand as you pull him up the wooden stairs.

The two of you start walking down the hallway, you in the lead, “He’s in Five’s room. With Pogo.” You add, continuing down the dimly lit hallway that you were getting shot in just yesterday. You let Diego take the lead, as he walks into Five’s room first, you right next to him. “What are you doing here?” Demands Diego, Pogo and Luther turning in surprise by your random appearance. Luther looks like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t be, he slowly rises from looking into Five’s drawers, “Uh. Do you guys know about Mom?” He questions, fixating the conversation away from his current situation.

Diego glances down for a moment, “Well, it looks like you got what you wanted, one way or another, right?” He sasses, fed up with Luther always seeming to get what he wants.

“Wanna tell me what you’re both doing here?” Luther asks, redirecting the subject once again. “Looking for Five.” You answer, while leaning your back against the wardrobe. He shifts his gaze to you, “Let me guess, Diego’s gonna save the day.” He grumbles. “It’s what we do. Asshole.” Diego snaps, before you have a chance to clap back at Luther.

“Really? Last I checked, you mopped floors. And Y/N teaches people how to box. At least she’s got that going for her.” He remarks, you scowl in annoyance. Diego snapping around to challenge him, “And what do you do? Sit on the moon....for four years, waiting for orders?” Pogo suddenly speaks up, trying his best to stop something bad from happening, “Boys. This won’t help us find Five.”

Diego ignores him, stepping closer to Luther, “Keep on being a loyal soldier after everything our father did to you.”

“What? You mean save my life?” Luther says, matter-of-factly, a flash of aggravation creeping into his eyes. God here we go.

Diego leans against the side of the wardrobe, a foot or two away from your right shoulder. “No, I mean.....turn you into a monster.” He says honestly, pushing Luther’s buttons, as he looks up defiantly at his larger brother. “Diego.” You hiss at him, a second later Luther punches a hole through the wood, inches from both of your faces. You don’t even flinch, “Nice one.” You mutter, walking around the two of them, as they continue their little matcho stare down.

“Can’t hide it anymore, champ.” Diego tells him, unflinching from Luther’s brief act of aggression. “He had a difficult decision to make, and he made it.” Luther argues back while pulling his fist out of the broken wardrobe door.

Diego shakes his head, “Grow up, Luther. We’re not 13 anymore.” You stand by Pogo rolling your eyes, they’re like actual children.

“That’s what leaders do, by the way.”

“He sent you on that mission all alone. Almost got you killed.” Diego persists, egging on a frustrated Luther further. “Yeah, well at least he was there. Where were you? You and everyone else in this family? Y/N included. You walked out.”

“And thank Christ that we did, or I would have ended up just, like, you.” Jabs Diego, pointing his glove covered finger at Luther, “Let me ask you a question. When you watch one of those nature shows..” You make a disgusted face, knowing exactly where he’s going with this.

“Please don’t.” You groan.

“Does it turn you on?” Diego finishes, trying to get a real reaction from Luther. “So what? Is he just an animal to you, too now, Diego, huh?” Luther accuses, pointing to Pogo, the tension in the room at an all time high.

“Enough!” Shouts Pogo, offended and defeated with how these two have been acting. You decide now’s a good time as ever to lay into them about it.

“Seriously? The Academy was attacked, I was shot multiple times and the rest of you are lucky to still be alive. Grace sadly wasn’t. Not to mention, Five is still MIA, and this is the shit I gotta deal with right now.” You cross your arms in irritation, “You’re both acting like angry little 6 year olds. Take it elsewhere.....Now.” You growl, sick of how both of them have been so moody towards each other. Pogo gives you a slight nod of approval, grateful that at least someone here as any sense.

Luther and Diego go silent, the two of them looking anywhere but your harsh gaze. The both of them embarrassed and annoyed at one another for taking it too far. “Sorry Y/N n’ Pogo.” They both mumble, avoiding eye contact with the two of you. They promptly exit Five’s room, Diego knowing you’re too pissed to have a conversation with right now.

You listen as they disperse down the hallway, “What is wrong with those two? Honestly.” You wonder shaking your head at Pogo. He shrugs, equally as befuddled. “Well, thank you anyways, they needed a stern talking to.” He smiles at you. “Problem is, I need them if I want to find Five. Well....technically I could do it on my own but...uh....that would not sit well with Diego.” You add, saying goodbye to Pogo as you walk out the door in search of those two idiots.

All you have to do is follow their scent down the hallway and then down the stairs to the front room. “So, are you two ready to play nice.” You retort while walking down the wooden staircase. Diego following your every move, “I guess, we can manage.” He mutters, pursing his lips together. You grin at the two of them, “Good. Let’s go find Five.”

——

The three of you walk down the street, towards the last place Luther had seen the stolen van Five was hiding out in. And there it is, parked nonchalantly in front of some hospital. “This is it. He’s still here. This is Five’s Van. Go. Go.” Rambles Luther, ushering you both towards the vehicle, as he makes a sad attempt at opening the locked door. Diego stepping up, by taking out a dagger and lock picking the door with ease. You stand behind them and watch in amusement as Diego opens the door, only for them to both move to get in at the same time. Luther announcing that he’s Number One so therefore he gets a free pass to get in first, Diego turns around to give you a look. You just shrug.

Diego and you jump into the back, scouring the small area for any clues as to Five’s whereabouts. Diego finding Vanya’s book with a ton of notes written in it, including where the book actually came from. The Argyle Public Library. “I know where to find Five.” Diego announces to the two of you.

“When was the last time you were in a public library? Oh right, since never.” You tell Diego bluntly, bursting out with a loud laugh at the end. Luther giving a small snort from his spot in the front seat, Diego just glares at you, mouthing a silent, “I’ll get you for this.” With the least menacing face you’ve ever seen.

——

Making your way into the giant public city library, you stand in front of Diego and Luther, as you take in your surroundings. “Let’s split up.” States Luther. “Wow. Good thinking.” Retorts Diego sarcastically. You chuckle lightly at their brotherly banter. “Yell if you get lost. Or don’t, I don’t care either way.” You mumble sarcastically, turning left to walk up the stairs, Diego following you. Luther taking the right staircase, helping to cover more ground.

You and Diego search the first floor, then the second, and finally you make it to the top. Meeting back up with Luther, who looks as puzzled at you two. “Anything?” He wonders, lost as to where Five could be. “No.” You and Diego reply bluntly. “Y/N, can’t you just hear him....or sniff him out.....like a bloodhound.” He carefully asks you. Sighing you go to answer, “To many people in one area. It’s already loud in here, as it is. Not to mention full of many, less then wonderful scents floating around.” You tell him, while leaning against a nearby cement wall. Diego holds onto the balcony railing, watching people go about their business. You turn to Luther with a shrug as you turn around to carry on your search for Five. Luther nods to you, turning around in the opposite direction in search of Five as well. You stroll down a new isle of bookshelves, deciding to try and concentrate on hyper focusing your hearing and sense of smell. Maybe that will help you find him quicker.

“You wanna know why I left?” Diego starts, choosing now as a good time to explain things to his brother, while you’re off wandering around for his other one.

Luther stops walking, turning himself around to face Diego, “What? What are you talking about?” He scrunches his face up clearly befuddled, Diego continues, “Why I left the Academy.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you couldn’t handle me being Number One.” Luther says, walking closer to Diego, who’s now leaning his back against the balcony.

“No. Because that’s what you do when you’re 17....and in love. And she’s way more appealing then anyone else.....So you move out, become your own person, grow up.” Diego explains, finally revealing his true motives for abandoning the hero lifestyle with the Umbrella Academy.

“Yeah, you’re a real grown-up.” Replies Luther dryly.

“At least I make my own decisions. You’ve never had to hold down a job. Pay bills.” Diego pauses for a moment thinking of something that would make Luther tick, “You ever even been with a girl?” He questions smiling, Luther snapping his head up at Diego at that alarming personal question. “I...I don’t know what you’re talking about..”

“Look, you wanna blame me, blame us for leaving first...and then the others...that’s okay. But maybe you’re asking yourself the wrong question. Maybe it’s not about why we left.” Diego pauses for a second letting the words sink into Luther, “Maybe it’s about why you stayed.” Luther’s brows furrow in frustration as he walks closer to Diego, “I stayed because the world needed me.” Diego shakes his head, “You stayed because you couldn’t let go of the way things used to be. The Academy. Dad. With Allison......Dad’s dead. Mom too, now. We’re orphans again, dude.” He walks away from the balcony, turning around to face Luther, “And things are never gonna go back to the way they used to....be.”

“Do you ever stop talking.” Luther cuts in, done with this brotherly therapy session. But before Diego has time to reply you burst into the open area, out from the hallway. They turn to you quickly, “I found him.” You give them a knowing smile, they follow you down the hall in collective confusion.

“Is he, um..?” Ponders Luther, not completely believing you just found Five drunk in a public library holding half a mannequin, an empty beer bottle, and laying among books and writings scribbled on the cement wall behind him.

“Drunk as a skunk.” Replies Diego smiling in amusement at Five’s current state of being.

“Yeah.” You whisper, walking over to pick him up.

——

You’re not certain what the actual time is, but by now it’s dark out, your favorite time of the day. The night air is cool and misty, and the city lights illuminate off of the dark blacktop of the alleyway. The one you’re currently walking down, along with Diego who’s to your upper left. And Luther who’s in between you and Diego, begrudgingly trailing along as he carries a conscious but drunk Five in his muscular arms.

“Well, we can’t go back to the house. It’s not secure. Those psychopaths could be back at any moment.” Worries Luther, still holding Five.

“Our place is closer. No one will look for him there” You add, referring to yours and Diego’s apartment.

Five burps loudly, Luther giving him a warning look, “If you vomit on me..”

“You what’s funny? Aah! I’m going through puberty.” He scoffs, “Huh. Twice. And I...I drank that whole bottle, didn’t I ? That’s what you do when the world you love goes bye-bye. Poof, it’s gone.....What are you guys talkin’ about?” Five wonders.

“Two masked intruders attacked the Academy last night.” Answers Luther.

“They came looking for you. So I need you to focus. What do they want?” Demands Diego, fed up with all the crap you and him had to deal with last night.

“Hazel and Cha-Cha.” States Five tiredly. Diego turning quickly to look at him. “Who?”

“You know, I hate code names.” Whines Luther.

“Ah, the best of the best. Except for me of course.” Chuckles Five, letting out a single hiccup.

“Let me guess, assassins?” You ask him, pretty darn certain you’re right. “Wow, Y/N. Someone pays attention to details.” Applauds Five, starting to ramble on about how Dolores doesn’t like it when he drinks. Diego having enough of his shenanigans whips around to face him, “Hey! I need you to focus. What do this Hazel and Cha-Cha want?”

Five gives Diego the goofiest grin you’ve ever seen as Diego continues to try and reason with him, “We just wanna protect you.”

“Protect me. I don’t need your protection, Diego. Do you have any idea how many people I’ve killed?” States Five, Diego answering with a quiet no, glancing to you for a second. “I’m the Four frickin’ Horsemen. The apocalypse is coming.” He blurts out, right before turning his head over Luther’s muscular arm, and vomiting on the wet pavement.

“Lovely.” You groan in disgust, Diego and Luther looking away from the scene, equally as grossed out.

——

Finally inside your boiler room apartment, you set Dolores down by the coatrack. Diego standing next to you, as Luther gently lays a mumbling Five onto the bed. “Uh...hmm...they probably had sex here.....gross.” Mutters Five as he falls asleep almost instantly, Luther holds in a laugh the best he can, as not to wake him. You stand up snickering at Five’s subconscious comment about your place. Diego gives you an odd look, blissfully clueless as to what Five just whispered a second ago. Right, Diego can’t hear nearly as well as you can.

“Five just said it was gross that he’s sleeping on our bed, cause we probably fucked there.” You explain, holding in laughter the whole time. Diego’s eyes go wide for a moment, before something else flashes inside them. “And we most definitely did, this morning in fact.” He says lowly in your ear, sending chills down your spine. You look up at him, staring deeply into his chocolate eyes. “That makes it even worse.” You deadpan, “But we’re not telling him that.” You finish, giving him a quick peck on the lips, before turning towards Luther, who’s watching Five.

“Funny. If I didn’t know he was such a prick, I’d say he looks almost adorable in his sleep.” Whispers Diego, gazing down at Five’s oddly peaceful form.

“Well, don’t worry. He’ll sober up eventually. Be back to his normal, unpleasant self.” Says Luther, dreading when that moment may be.

“We can’t wait that long.” You mutter, thinking about how he’s involved with these crazy assassins.

“Exactly, I need to find out what his connection is with these lunatics before someone else dies.” Adds Diego, in sync with what’s on your mind.

“All that stuff he was saying before...What do you think he meant by that?” Wonders Luther, you suddenly hear footsteps approaching.

“Someone’s coming.” You quietly blurt out, Diego turns to you before moving into action. He takes out a knife as he swiftly walks up to the door, giving the two of you a nod, he turns the handle, holding up his knife. “You throw another one of those goddamn knives at me, I’m pressin’ charges.......Or even betta’ I’ll have Y/N take that knife and put it where the sun don’t shine on ya.” Grumbles Al, the boxing gym’s owner.

“What do you want, Al?” Asks Diego, less then enthusiastically, letting the old grump into the apartment. “I ain’t your guys’ secretary. Some lady called for you two, said she needs your help.”

“What lady?” Probes Diego, lost as to who Al could be referring to.

“I dunno. Some, uh, detective. I think she said her name was, uh, Blotch or somethin’.” Rambles Al.

“Patch?”

“Uh, Yeah. She needs you to meet her at that motel, a dump on Calhoun. About a half hour ago.” He says, reading it off a piece of paper.

You share a startled look with Diego, “Oh shit, Patch.” You whisper.

“Uh, oh and something else. She said she found your brother.” Al tells you, turning around and promptly exiting your apartment.

You share another worried look with Diego, “Well, that didn’t make sense.” He says, thinking for a moment.

Suddenly the three of you get a look of realization, “Klaus.” You and Diego then book it out the door.

——

You smell the metallic scent of blood, radiating from a nearby open motel door. A few rooms down from where you and Diego are standing. You push forward, not sensing any signs of life, as you walk up to the open door. You look inside to find, your friend Eudora laying dead on the carpeted floor. A bullet wound in the center of her chest, you race over to her, kneeling down next to her body as Diego does the same.

“Shit. Why didn’t she wait for us.” You whisper yell, angry and in shock that this happened. Diego gently lifts her face up, stunned that his longtime friend is laying lifeless before him. “It had to have been those masked fuckers.” He hisses, upset that neither of you could have been here to prevent this.

“Goddammit, those fucking bastards.” You scream pounding on the floor in frustration. A moment later you hear the call of police sirens in the distance. Never a moment of peace. Taking in a shaky breath you reach out to touch Diego’s arm, “Police. We gotta go.” He looks up at you sadly, giving a gloomy nod, the both of you stand up and make a swift escape out the door and out of sight.

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy x reader #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #what a time to be alive fic #falcor the luck dragon stories #number two

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polaristranslations · 4 years ago

Text

The Tenth Box

■ ■

By the way, Torai Kudaki.

When do you feel that you have "lost"?

When do you become conscious of your defeat, become aware of your inferiority, and recognize your loss?

Ah, you look as if you're wondering why I'm asking something so obvious, but this can be a pretty fundamental question in life—to the extent that whether or not you can prepare a good answer to this question can have great influence over your life. And I'm not exaggerating.

We should think of it not in terms of losing, but winning?

It's not defeat, but victory that has great influence over your life?

Indeed.

Or rather, that's an excellent point.

That has to be the case, Torai Kudaki, especially for someone in your position—it's fundamentally the right thing to do to look at things optimistically. No, I don't have any ulterior motives in using the word "fundamentally".

Don't flare up at me like that. It's the right thing both fundamentally and practically.

In the first place, it's not like you can perfectly divide right from wrong, and thus the world is quite hard to understand—it may be correct to define things based on winning rather than losing, but if you only pursue what's correct, you'll end up like me.

You don't want to end up like me, right?

Of course, you probably don't want to end up like Kumagawa Misogi, either—well, it's basically all about balance. A person that thinks only about winning should also think about losing, and a person that thinks only about losing should also think about winning.

Let's return to the initial question.

When do you feel that you have "lost"?

Unlike the Formation Game that I played with Chinu Namaji at this point in time, the real world is not made up of such easy-to-understand rules—there didn't exist any umpire that could definitively lay down judgment as to who the winner was and who the loser was.

You could think that you emerged victorious, but other people may see you as having lost. You could be filled to the brim with a sense of defeat, but other people may think that you were clearly the winner.

That doesn't happen?

Well, I don't know about that.

However, in the case when you learn from your defeat, then you could say that defeat was necessary for you to win later on, and thus that defeat was an integral part of your victory—and, on the other hand, if you grow too arrogant after winning and decline because you stopped putting in the effort, then you could say you lost because of that victory.

That's right.

It's an extreme example—however, there aren't very many examples that aren't extreme, in the same way there aren't very many lives that aren't extreme. My life is certainly rather extreme, and, Torai Kudaki, your life is rather extreme as well.

Well, even so, I'm definitely not saying that you shouldn't be concerned with short-term wins and losses and instead focus on the long-term—after all, there's no one that concerns themselves with short-term wins and losses more than me.

How can we be concerned with future wins and losses without being concerned with short-term wins and losses? The most important thing is to have a perspective that can see both the near and the far.

In what? Well, in life, of course.

And in a competition, as well.

Speaking of which, for reference, I think that I have lost when I think that I have lost. No matter how I try to force logic and requirements on it, that would be the ultimate conclusion I arrive on.

No matter how much someone explains to me that it will benefit me in the future, no matter how much I am told that it is practically like winning, no matter how much I am told that I lost the battle but won the war—to me, I lose if I think I lost.

In life, and in a competition.

The one who thinks they lost is the loser.

It's not really logical, is it.

So, in accordance with those words—against Chinu Namaji, I lost in that illogical way. Not to mention, it was an overwhelming defeat.

Strictly speaking, it wasn't that I lost, but that I was made to feel that I lost—that was what happened.

■ ■

The Formation Game.

I shouldn't need to explain the rules of the game that Chinu Namaji presented to me—a perceptive person should not only be able to predict the details of what kind of game it would be, but perhaps even make up the appropriate rules themselves.

Well, if I had the chance to nail down the details of the game, then it could have been even more thrilling, making my skin crawl with excitement—but in that situation three years ago, the rules were only based upon what Chinu Namaji thought of.

In hindsight, I feel like there was room to be a bit more creative with the rules, but for now, this was what it was—although, for her, there was probably no need to be creative.

There was no point in making the game interesting.

Chinu-senpai—it wasn't like she wanted to just play around with me.

"The rules are, let's see..."

I'll abbreviate Chinu-senpai's explanation a bit.

She said something along these lines.

"Within an hour from now, each of us will choose five team members—well, let's go with having no alternates. You can only choose from the students that are still here at Hakobune Middle School. I'll make it so that it's against the rules to call or text a student who's already left the school to come back—that randomness will make it more like a game."

"......"

I listened quietly.

Naturally, I was able to more or less predict the rules based on the name of the game, but that didn't mean I wanted to make a careless mistake by skipping the explanation. I wanted to be serious when it came to matches like these—I wanted to be sensitive.

"As for gender... Hmm. Well, it would be more interesting if we could mix it up... Like, you can only have up to three boys, or you must have at least one girl, or something like that. However, when it comes to sports, mixing boys and girls together can lead to accidents, after all. Since this is just for fun, let's limit the players to girls this time, seeing as both you and I are girls."

From her tone of voice, it seemed like Chinu-senpai was making up the rules as she went along, but it was hard to tell if that was really the case or not. She was a clever girl, so I wouldn't be surprised if she'd already come up with this much as soon as she told me the name of the Formation Game.

Well, there was no point to being too distrustful of her.

I just had to be careful to not get caught in a trap.

"In exchange, it won't matter what year they're in. You can make a team of all third-years or all first-years—of course, you can mix it up, too. But let's try to avoid any professionals—in other words, any former basketball team members cannot be scouted."

"......"

That was a bit of an unexpected rule.

It should be easy to understand why it was so unexpected—after all, Chinu Namaji herself was a former basketball team member... Really, it wasn't clear to me at all what happened to the girls' basketball team, but it seemed for certain that there was some sort of connection, some history, between her and the other former basketball team members, which meant that she would have had an advantage when it came to the game.

Well, who knows.

Since this was just for fun, I could understand the logic behind excluding those specialized in basketball from the possible team members. In the same sense that pros couldn't enter in amateur matches—however, I felt that the rule was a bit too strict for something she supposedly thought up just now.

Strict... Or perhaps, rigid.

That's why, at this point, I interjected.

"Couldn't making amateurs play basketball against each other also lead to accidents? This may be a bit of a foolish thing to say, but I think that some, if not all, of the members should be people that have at least gone through proper training..."

"I'm not saying that you can't get people with experience. I don't mind if you find someone who's played mini-basketball in elementary school, or someone who plays street basketball out on the town—but, but but, former girls' basketball team members are not allowed."

Because it's awkward for me.

That's what Chinu-senpai said.

"......"

Well, I didn't know what to say to that—if I tried to delve too much into the matter, it would probably make things even more awkward. After all, I needed to win this game in order to figure out what was going on with the girls' basketball team. That was how I felt.

Well, if I had to guess, it would be that there was some kind of internal conflict within the girls' basketball club, which led to the club splitting up and ceasing to exist in a near-catastrophic way—since it was practically devoid of people now—so it would be "awkward" to meet again because of a game like this.

If it was like that, it wouldn't just be awkward, it might even be depressing.

I was guessing on my own and convincing myself on my own, but even if I was on the mark, my way of thinking had been a bit shallow—I probably could have been thinking a little more deeply about the situation facing the girls' basketball team and the incident that occurred.

"...So can I understand it as, choosing your acquaintances is not allowed?"

"No, no, not that. I'm not saying that, I'm just saying that choosing former members of the girls' basketball team is not allowed. Specifically—"

After that, Chinu-senpai listed the names, classes, and seat numbers of some students. They used to be in the same club, so it made sense that she remembered their names, but it was a bit discomforting to learn that she completely remembered their classes and seat numbers as well.

Well, it was a discomfort I could ignore.

"—Those students are out. Other than them, anybody you get is fine. Ahaha, well, they'll have to be girls, so it won't be just anybody—Japanese sure is hard.[?]"

"......"

"It doesn't matter to me how you decide who to scout, either—you can choose your friends, or you can feel free to bring completely unrelated people, if you manage to come to an agreement on the conditions."

"Conditions?"

"Well, it's not like someone you don't know will agree to come with you just because you asked them, unless there's some sort of condition, right?—maybe you'll take over cleaning duty for them, or you'll do their homework for them... You'll probably have to pay some sort of price in exchange."

"Uh-huh... I see. Basically, compensating them for agreeing to be scouted for this game."

"Right, compensation. Of course, if there's some benevolent student who'll agree to come for free, then you won't need to pay compensation then... But anyway, let's be wholesome about this."

"Wholesome?"

"When scouting for members, unethical behavior will not be allowed."

"......"

Unethical.

It was somewhat ambiguous wording, but I could guess that it probably meant that violence and anything illegal was prohibited—Chinu-senpai was essentially proposing a sportsmanlike game.

"Five people in an hour... Scouting five people, huh? It'll be pretty close."

As I said those words out loud, I could feel my heart becoming agitated at this game that I was experiencing for the first time—although, it was inevitable that a restless person would get tripped up.

"So, what happens after that? The match between Team Chinu and Team Kurokami? Would we be playing a normal game of basketball?"

"Well, how would you define 'a normal game of basketball'? No, they'll be people unrelated to our situation, so I don't want to get them too involved—let's set the rules of the game to be something that can fit into a break period. A five-minute game without halftime? Since the people you can scout aren't limited to those with sports experience, I think we should cut it down to a short length of time. Since there are no alternates, there will naturally be no substitutions allowed, and no time-outs, either—on the off chance that someone gets injured, we'll put a stop to the game right then and there. I don't want this to be an unreasonable game. We'll use the full court... No, maybe we should go with the half court? Ah, but actually, it might be harder for amateurs to understand half-court rules..."

From then on, Chinu-senpai began fleshing out the smaller details, but I think I can spare you the rest—in the Formation Game, the team formation was the main part, so that was up to where I could participate as a player.

My and Chinu-senpai's role in the Formation Game was not even that of a coach—since scouting the players was the main stage of the game, a closer comparison would be us being recruiters.

Finding players.

Discovering players.

Inviting players.

And forming the team—if I had wanted to, I would have included training the team in the content of the game, which would have made the game even more exciting, but Chinu-senpai provided neither the time nor the rules to do so. Whether she thought it would complicate the game more, or she thought it would be an unnecessary waste of time counting backwards from the time school closed for the day, or she didn't even think about it at all—it wasn't very clear.

"—Something like that. Any objections?"

After her explanation, Chinu-senpai opened it up to questions—although, it wasn't like I could ask if there was enough leeway for a change in the rules. Other than that, I didn't have anything in particular to ask—it was simple.

There were no objections.

If anything, I was beginning to feel as if I wanted to get into this fresh new game as soon as possible.

"I have no objections. Then, let's begin."

"Let's begin?... Whoa, whoa. There's no need to measure it precisely, but... All right, let's say the thirty-minute mark is our starting point. From there, we'll gather members for an hour. And at the next thirty-minute mark, we'll have them play a five-minute game... Is that okay?"

"Yes."

"If you manage to win, or rather, if your team manages to win against mine, then I'll answer any question you have—whether it's about President Kumagawa, or about the girls' basketball team, or anything."

"Yes. I'm fine with those conditions."

I consented—a ready affirmation.

And, naturally, I didn't ask at all about what Chinu-senpai would demand from me if I lost, nor did I even begin to imagine—that was the ready affirmation I gave.

■ ■

When do you recognize that you've lost—when do you feel as if you've lost?

It's a question that has great influence over your life.

However, if you think about the trick to competitions in life—and rather than this being what I think, it's more about how Chinu-senpai thought—then it's important not to think of winning and losing, and especially losing, as self-centered.

Chinu Namaji.

Chinu-senpai would later say this.

She would say this without sounding too proud or too condescending—as if it was a matter of fact, just as if she were stating the fact that the ground would get wet if it rained.

"The best way to win—is to win without letting your opponent know that you've lost. Ideally, it's wonderful to make your opponent think you've won even though you've lost. If you think you've lost, then you've lost—but if you don't let your opponent think you've lost, it doesn't necessarily mean that you didn't win."

"Winning" and "losing".

Aren't opposites, you see—

So said Chinu-senpai.

Those would be the last words I would hear from Chinu Namaji.

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supermanshield · 5 years ago

Text

A Weekend in Smallville

Summary: Amid a town coming together in the aftermath of an alien invasion, Bruce meets Lana, learns a little bit more about Clark, and reflects on his place in Clark’s life and rural Kansas.

Or: Bruce in Smallville. Goes about as well as you'd expect.

Words: 7,217

Rating: Teen and up for like one swear word and mentions of sex.

Read on AO3 or continue reading here!

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

Dinner had been put away and Bruce had once again taken his place at the table, papers and laptop laid out in front of him. Various people from town, and eventually some Leaguers (and shouldn’t that raise some suspicion? No one paid attention here) had been walking in and out all day to get a bite to eat. The old wooden floorboards were littered with dusty footsteps, but Martha Kent was on the couch, too exhausted from providing for everyone all day long. Jonathan wasn’t much better off after driving around town and helping his neighbors. Bruce would sweep up the dust for them when he was done working and before he flew back for the night.

“We’ve rebuilt what we can right now, with the available materials. It’s not much, but at least people will be able to sleep in their own home right now.” He must be tired too if Clark could sneak up on him like that.

“It’s something,” he sighed. “I’ve been on the phone with contractors all day to procure the necessary materials and workforce. The more elaborate structures might be repaired within the month.”

Clark grabbed a glass of water and slumped down in the chair across from Bruce. Even he seemed tired, which should be impossible, but seeing your hometown in shambles and its people in distress all day will do that. Even to Superman.

“Rest of the League?” Bruce asked.

“Barry and Hal helped all day. They went back home just now. J’onn went back to the watchtower and Diana had other matters to attend to.”

Bruce nodded. It was time he got back to Gotham as well. With a bit of luck, he could charter a jet to fly back tonight and still get a couple hours of patrol in. He told Clark as much and started putting away his papers, but Clark grabbed his hand when he went to close the laptop. “Bruce, wait… It’s Friday, why don’t you stay the weekend?”

A weekend in Kansas, with nothing to do but help at the farm… While he loved the Kents, that wasn’t Bruce’s idea of a productive time. They still had to figure out what had led the aliens to Smallville of all places, and what they wanted. No, he could be of much more use elsewhere.

Before Bruce could reply though, Jonathan shot over his shoulder from where he was sitting in the living room, “We got that queen size bed for your room, Clark,” and Martha added, “You’re more than welcome to stay, Bruce dear.”

Great. Clark looked at him expectantly, still holding his hand. “It’ll be fun. And wouldn’t it be easier to start investigating here what those aliens wanted?” Clark knew exactly what to say to keep him around. He had other obligations, though.

“You know I can’t.”

“Aww, come on, Dick and Tim can watch over Gotham. And they’ll have backup from Cass, the Birds of Prey…” Clark’s voice faded, his eyes drifting down. “And you have to let those ribs heal properly. Finally.”

Something in Clark’s voice said he would just keep Bruce here if he threatened to fly back tonight. Bruce sighed. The only appealing thing about the queen size bed was the fact that he and Clark didn’t have to literally sleep in each other’s arms all night like before. Although it was going to be another warm night so he might just kick Clark out anyway. He could sleep floating in the air for all he cared.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll just have to make some phone calls to set things in motion back home.”

---

The new queen bed stood proudly in the middle of Clark’s small room, with Clark seated on the edge now, observing Bruce put his things away and taking off his jacket. At least Alfred had packed one extra set of clothes.

When he was done, he turned around and looked at Clark, who looked as if he was debating a life or death situation, and as always, Bruce wondered what he would ask. It didn’t take long.

“Wanna go out tonight? Have you ever been to a real midwestern bar?” Bruce only knew of one bar in Smallville, and it was in no condition to operate right now. Still, he felt a vague sense of excitement at Clark asking him out in his hometown. They hadn’t done that before. Every time they had been in Smallville together so far had been for something serious. Clark’s parents, Clark’s temporary loss of powers, Kara, Conner, and even once for Damian, to recover from a nasty concussion.

“It’s open? Didn’t half the roof and the back wall get blown up?” he asked Clark.

“Already boarded up. And yeah, there’s a lot of people there. Something about celebrating your whole town surviving an intergalactic attack, maybe, who knows.” Clark shrugged.

“Hmm. They got karaoke?”

Clark’s eyes shot wide open. “Yeah!”

“One of those bull-riding things? Because I would beat the crap out of everyone.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but no. There’s another bull you can ride though,” Clark grinned and hooked his fingers through Bruce’s belt loops to pull him close. He felt his heartrate spike and really, this is why they should’ve just gone back to Gotham.

“Not here.”

“Jeez, no, of course not.” Clark kept looking up at him though, still waiting for an answer. He was truly tired, but also mildly curious to Smallville nightlife. If anything, Clark would make it more fun. Maybe he could beat him at pool or darts or something, and then maybe they could make everyone and themselves believe that they were normal and just have an average date night out.

“Alright, just not too long. And I’m gonna beat you at whatever bar games they got,” Bruce grinned.

“At karaoke?”

“Maybe we’ll do a duet, who knows,” He winked and freed himself from Clark’s grasp. The other man stood up and hooked his arm through Bruce’s offered one. “What say you, Clarkie? Let’s get to that bar o’ yours,” he continued in his worst midwestern accent.

“Not like that you aren’t. You’ll stand out way too much in your dress shirt and Armani pants.” To his horror, Clark turned around towards the closet in the corner of the room. Oh no, whatever he kept here was probably worse than the rainbow cacophony of shirts he had in Metropolis.

“Short sleeves or long? It’s pretty warm.”

Bruce debated his options. Better get this over with quick and hopefully painless. “Long, and I’m keeping the pants. I am not wearing your old jeans.”

Clark threw a shirt at him. “This one has the most black I think.” It had black alright. And red. Straight-up lumberjack. At least the fabric felt nice. “I’ve also got an old blue and white Henley, but it’s pretty worn down. What do you think?”

“I’ll go with the lumberjack,” Bruce mumbled.

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

"Lana, Pete! How are you?" Clark hugged his friends in the middle of a loud, crowded bar, filled with the continuous strings and drums of country music. They had been here for just over an hour and Bruce was on his second beer, something he didn’t do all that often. They kept getting interrupted by people that knew Clark, and Bruce was enjoying himself less and less. Lana he hadn’t met before yet, though, and he had to admit to a quiet curiosity, with the way Clark talked about her and all. (Clark’s enthusiastic ‘My friends are your friends’ from earlier rang in his ears and he forced his mouth into a smile. He would do anything for that man.) His train of thought got interrupted by Clark’s warm hand on his shoulder. "This is Bruce!"

Lana was dressed in jeans and a blue t-shirt that didn’t completely cover her shoulders, her auburn curls doing that instead. Bruce grabbed her hand to shake it, but it got answered swiftly by a peck on his cheek. He introduced himself to Pete as well, a scrawny guy, who was somehow allowed to wear a crisp white dress shirt, unlike Bruce. He was starting to feel like maybe Clark had played him and shot him an accusatory look.

Lana turned back to Clark. "We came over as soon as we heard you were in town! Couldn't pass up the opportunity you know?"

"Great to see you Clark,” Pete joined in. “And, you know, Smallville could really use some extra hands right now.”

Clark laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, gee, what did you guys get yourselves into this time?” Before the alien invasion became the talk of the day, he quickly changed the topic. "How's little Clark?"

"He's great! We’re lucky we could get a babysitter this late, but... Are you still here tomorrow? You should come by to see him!"

"We’d love to, yes.”

The conversation carried on for a while, as Clark and his friends obviously had a lot to catch up on. Bruce felt strangely intruding. He considered to start looking for that darts game, right as Lana turned to him.

"So, Bruce, how are you? You from around here?"

"Gotham.”

"Oh, one of Clark’s city friends! What's it you're doing all the way out here?"

"Bruce is my boyfriend," Clark said and grabbed his hand.

"Oh, Clark... Really? That's awesome!" She turned to Bruce. "I've heard him drop the name a couple times… Didn't know you were so handsome!"

"And I'm a billionaire, too!" Bruce chimed, automatically kicking into Brucie mode. Clark rolled his eyes.

“Wait? Bruce Wayne? The Gotham pl… philanthropist?”

“That’s me.”

Lana’s whistle got lost in the music, but the look she sent Clark said it all. "Wow, Clark, not becoming a gold-digger are we...?" Clark put up his hands in defense, but she continued quickly. "How did you two meet again?" Clark’s flat "work" got lost in the music too, and Bruce didn't hear anymore after that, because he could see the wheels turning in Lana’s head as she turned back to Clark and made some joke about journalistic integrity. Her whole expression had changed though, and Bruce turned away from the bar to start walking towards the exit. Fresh air. Did he make a mistake? Slip up? Maybe it was the beer. He needed fresh air. The door was too far and it took too long to push through everyone, but eventually the stars looked down at him, the door slammed shut and the music got abruptly replaced by late-night Kansas silence.

Bruce looked around himself and quickly regained control of his breathing. The parking lot was half-empty, Clark’s beat up truck tucked away in the far corner. He’d be out here soon. He was probably making excuses to Lana and Pete right now to start looking for Bruce.

It wasn’t long before he heard the old rusty door slam shut again.

“She knows.” The calm in his own voice surprised Bruce.

Clark walked up to him. “She's the first person I ever told."

"You saw the look in her eyes, she's putting one and one together right now, and I…"

“Bruce, stop. You don’t know that, and besides, I trust Lana.”

“You could have at least told me, warned me.” Trust was a burden in Bruce’s life, and an unnecessary slip-up had revealed who he was. He should have asked Clark who they could have run into, a stupid mistake. "I'm walking back to the farm," he said resolutely.

“Hey, what? It’s fine. Stay.” Clark grabbed his hand, but Bruce quickly pulled away. He really didn’t have time for this.

“I’m done here. This was a mistake,” he bit back, and turned around to start walking towards the exit of the parking lot.

"At least take my car? Bruce?"

"No."

Clark was beside him before he could blink. "Bruce."

"I'm walking to the farm and taking my car back to the airport and to Gotham. I'll have Alfred prepare some documents and have a hefty sum of money send Lana's way."

“What? Bruce, baby no, you don't have to do that,” Clarks hand were on his shoulders and he was forced to look straight into those blue eyes. Unobscured by glasses. Idiot. “Lana is my oldest friend. I trust her. Look, I’m sorry this happened. But maybe she hasn’t figured it out and we can still…”

“It’s too late for that. All I can do now is make sure nothing else gets compromised.”

“For fucks sake, Bruce, I’m trying to tell you, it won’t.”

“Until it will.”

Clark let out a huff of breath and closed his eyes. “At least talk to her.”

If it were anyone other than Clark, he would have just walked away. But alas, here he was, with Clark in front of him. The only man that could convince him to do something as ridiculous as wearing a lumberjack to a midwestern bar, and reason his way into Bruce’s mind just like he had wiggled his way into Bruce’s heart. Bruce crossed his arms. “Fine.”

“Good.”

“I’m still walking back to the farm.”

“No karaoke?”

“Forget it, Clark.”

“Ok, whatever, you’re tired. Get some rest. I’m gonna hang around here a bit longer. Here,” Clark pressed his car keys into Bruce’s hands and kissed him on the cheek.

When Clark was back inside the bar, Bruce debated walking back anyway and tossing the keys somewhere in a field for Clark to find. Exhaustion soon enough took over his anger though, and the adrenaline dissipated. Clark should consider himself lucky.

---

Clark’s ‘I’m sorry’ and chaste kiss on his forehead woke him up briefly barely an hour after he’d gone to bed.

“Still mad.”

He heard Clark flop on to his back and chuckle quietly. “And still here.”

“Quite the observation you made there.”

“Well, I learned from the best.”

“Obviously.”

Whatever Clark said after that was lost on him, and he turned around again to face the other way and closed his eyes.

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

The next morning, as Bruce walked down the creaky stairs, hair still damp from his shower, the smell of fresh coffee approached him pleasantly. There was a lot more work to do in town, so Bruce had really made an effort to get up early, but he still found Clark at the kitchen table with a half-eaten stack of pancakes before him. There was toast, yoghurt and fruit laid out for Bruce. Martha knew him well.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” he asked Clark as he took his seat. Jonathan walked in through the kitchen door, his brow already covered in sweat.

“Dang dust is making it so much harder to clean,” he said as he wiped his handkerchief over his forehead.

“Oh shush Jonathan, you need to eat something and drink plenty water. The boys will be there to help soon.”

“I’m staying all week, pa,” Clark clarified.

“Alright,” Jonathan said after he gulped down his water. “Just came back to get some more tools.” Martha walked him to the door and Bruce heard her say to slow it down, especially in this heat and Jonathan’s yes, yes you know me probably sounded funny to himself, but clearly not to Martha.

Clark looked at him over the cup of coffee he was pouring for Bruce. “So I take it you’re staying?”

“If you’ll have me, yes.” He still wasn’t sure how to feel about what happened last night. It seemed like something so avoidable, something Damian would definitely pin on him for being careless. And his son would be right. As much as he wanted to blame Clark, it was largely his own fault. The wrinkles disappeared from Clark’s face as he smiled and passed him the coffee.

“J’onn contacted me about the aliens this morning. They’re Zandrian. He’s been interrogating them, and it seems as if they were looking for some signal here.”

Here, as in Smallville. “Your Kryptonian ship.”

“Most likely, yes.”

“And why is it still here?”

Clark swallowed his bite. “Thought it was harmless. It’s never sent out any kind of signal, not now either. Nothing I can sense at least.”

“Radiation?”

“Perhaps. So, that’s what we’re doing today. I’m taking the ship to the north pole and I wanted to ask you if you could take a look at the barn.”

That sounded like a plan. Something where Bruce could be useful. “Okay. I’ll need some instruments from the cave though.”

“I’ll pick up whatever you need. But first… Baby time!” Clark grinned. Bruce nearly choked on his coffee. “Eat your breakfast. Lana’s expecting us.” Clark got up and started putting things away, clearly way too excited for this.

“I have to see her right now?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He quickly drank the rest of his coffee. “The sooner, the better.”

“No scary batshit, Bruce,” Clark pointed a finger at him. “We’re there for the baby.”

---

Lana and Pete’s place was another old farmhouse, not too far from the Kent’s, so they walked there. Lana inherited it from her aunt after having lived with her most of her life, Clark told him. Bruce had sweat stains under his arm by the time they reached the house. Maybe he should have opted for one of Clark’s t-shirts and ugly cargo shorts today.

The breeze blowing through Lana’s living room and being out of the sun helped though, and Lana served them lemonade with ice cubes. Bruce sat down on a chair and Clark took his place on the large couch.

“I’m sorry Pete couldn’t be here, you know how he is with the store.”

“Is it bad? We can go help if he needs,” Clark offered, verging on apologetic.

“He’ll be fine. I’m sure you both have more important matters to attend to.” She looked at Bruce when she said it, and he cleared his throat.

“Just. Make sure he asks if he needs. We can provide,” He settled on, hoarsely. The bat was barely audible in his voice and Clark should be proud. He nodded at him from where he was sitting on the couch. It could wait.

They got startled by a baby’s cries, and Lana disappeared out of the living room. She came back in with Clark (the name still irked Bruce, even though Clark had told him the child wasn’t named after him but after Martha’s maiden name – because yes, that made it less weird somehow). “Look who’s awake!”

The child on Lana’s arm looked around drowsily, clearly unsure how to feel after waking up from his nap and being greeted by two strange men.

Clark reached out his hands and Lana placed the baby in his lap. Bruce knew he was around 5 months old. Clark had been there for the birth but hadn’t had much opportunity to see him after that. Lana sent him many pictures and videos though, that Clark would show Bruce late at night in bed, and they would laugh at the child’s antics and giggles. The learning curve of young people was incredible.

The child was slowly waking up in Clark’s arms and started making more sound. Not crying, he was content, and Bruce wondered if he knew instinctively that Clark’s arms were the safest place on earth. “He likes me,” Clark grinned up at Lana when the baby grabbed his fingers.

“Of course.”

Bruce felt stuck in place, captivated by the sight. Clark looked so incredibly at home, so natural with a child in his arms that held on to Clark’s pointer finger with a force as if he did it every day and was decidedly not named after Clark. Bruce quickly swallowed around the lump forming in his throat before his thoughts would betray him anymore and moved from his chair over to the couch to sit next to Clark.

When Lana walked back into the living room with pie, she took a picture of them, and that would probably make this day a lot harder to look back on later, but right now Bruce didn’t care. The baby was on Clark’s lap, looking up at both of them and laughing. Definitely at Clark sticking out his tongue and making cooing sounds. Bruce didn’t do that. Until he found himself mimicking the baby and trying to get him to laugh. Damn mirror-reflexes.

He tried not to think about what he had missed out on with Damian. What Damian had missed out on. Instead he put a hand on Clark’s back, and held it there while they both continued to make ridiculous sounds and faces at little Clark.

---

When Clark left to take the rocket ship to the North Pole, Bruce went to work on the barn. Though, not before he did change into Clark’s old Henley and cargo shorts. Alfred would kill him if he got any more dust on his nice clothes.

The hatch in the floor of the barn was open, and the space underneath now empty. There had been some radiation coming off of the ship itself, but it was faint and not nearly enough to hurt anyone. Bruce doubted he would find any more in the rest of the barn, and considered other forms of signals the aliens could have picked up. Lower frequency wave lengths, maybe.

Nonetheless, he went around the hole in the ground methodically, scanning every scrap piece of metal, rock, and dirt. He swept it clean too, and took any tools that were still there out to examine them later in the barn. There was a large box, all the way at the back, that he skipped at first, but knew he eventually had to get back to as well. Getting it out was no problem, he could lift it over his head and slide it onto the barn floor easily, but he had a feeling what might be in there.

After cleaning the other tools and logging anything of interest he could find on the metal and rocks, he went back to the box and opened it. Sitting on the floor, he stared down at pictures of Clark, a baseball and bat, scrap of red fabric, a pair of extremely worn down and no-longer-white converse.

“Haven’t seen that thing in a while.” Jonathan’s voice startled Bruce as he walked into the barn and took his cap off.

“Hmm. Sorry, I was cleaning, we thought…”

“I know. You don’t have to apologize. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

“What happened to the baseball?” Bruce held up the ball, split clear in half and its threads loose.

“Was the first one Clark hit clear across Smallville. I looked for it for six months on the other side of town,” Jonathan answers proudly. “The shoes are from when he first outran the car.”

“That must’ve been something,” Bruce huffed. He got up. “So this is a reminder. Of what he can do.”

“Oh, I don’t need to be reminded of that,” Jonathan Laughed. “But I kept the memories because I knew he could never belong to us. Never belong here. He belongs to everyone, out there.”

Bruce thought about that. In Smallville, Clark was clearly at home. “I don’t know. I think he belongs right here, in the center of it all. I haven’t seen him so relaxed and… happy in a long time.”

“Bruce, son. As much as Clark is still a small-town boy - and will never not be -, I know he is happy right where he’s supposed to be, with you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he told me.”

As Jonathan left the barn again, Bruce felt in the back of his mind the creeping feeling that he could never give Clark what he had left behind here. That he could never be what Clark truly wanted. Because as much as he hated Smallville’s openness and missed the gothic stoicism of Gotham, this place was everything Clark stood for. It was everything Bruce was not. Somehow, somewhere along the way, a mistake had been made, one that Bruce would have already undone were he a stronger and less selfish man.

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

Bruce would never tell the man as much, but Martha’s sandwiches were far superior to Alfred’s. Maybe it had something to do with working outside all day that made the sandwiches waiting for him taste just that much better.

He had considered multiple times during the day to beam up to the watchtower, but he didn’t have his suit, and finally settled on just contacting J’onn about his progress with the aliens and the mediocre findings of his work in the barn. Maybe it could help, as J’onn was still in contact with the creatures after they had quickly been escorted away by the Green Lanterns. Hopefully, some negotiations were all that was needed to keep them away.

---

As the day progressed, and Clark didn’t return, Bruce worked himself to a sweat multiple times. In Smallville, he wasn’t expected to be Brucie Wayne, because no one knew who that was. But he wasn’t Batman either. It was as if he was back in training, another nobody working long days in the sun, sweat forming a sheen on his skin, and exhaustion putting him to sleep in the afternoon heat on the porch. No, he decided, this was as far from his training days as possible, and allowed himself to relax.

As the sun started setting, he ended up in the kitchen with Martha to prepare dinner. She knew he wasn’t very skilled around the stove – courtesy of Alfred’s warnings -, so he was put on vegetable cutting duty. That was fine. He used to do it all the time with Alfred as a child and still did sometimes. The methodical slicing of the bell peppers, potatoes and onions kept him focused and calmed him down.

Just as dinner was almost done and they were cleaning up the kitchen, a familiar sound followed by creaking floorboards and the opening of the screen door made Martha jump. Bruce smiled. Maybe the smell of dinner had made Clark fly back a little faster.

“Oh, Jonathan! He’s back!” Martha shouted while putting her tea towel down and practically skipping towards the screen door. “Hey, ma. Pa,” Bruce heard from his place in the kitchen.

“Are you okay? We got worried, you stayed away so long…”

“I’m fine, ma. Just some miners in South-Africa that got stuck.”

“Told you the boy was fine, Martha.”

Bruce washed his hands and was drying them when he walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway, where an adult, 6 foot 3 tall man in a Superman suit was hugging his aging and tired parents. Bruce felt painfully out of place, but it quickly subsided when Clark looked up at him. “Hey. Little detour there.”

“So I heard.”

Clark walked over to him and kissed him chastely on the lips. It was the kind of kiss you give your significant other in front of your parents or your children, or when you return home from work after a long day. A type of kiss they had shared many times, to the children’s (and especially Damian’s) horror, but that here, in Smallville, made Bruce feel as if they were normal. As if they could be normal. As if he always helped Clark’s mom with dinner and worked long hours in the sun with his dad. Though, as quickly as the kiss ended, the feeling fleeted and Bruce felt like himself again. They broke apart and Clark looked him up and down.

“You look dashing in that ensemble Bruce, who picked that for you?”

Right. He was still wearing the Henley. And the ugly shorts. A pair of his own limited edition and now-brown sneakers to top it off. “Oh, thank you, just a simple get-up I found in the dumpster here.” He made his way over to the stairs, and Clark followed him with a grin.

“You boys be down soon, dinner is ready and I’m setting the table outside,” Martha warned as they made their way upstairs.

In Clark’s small bedroom, they both changed into something more appropriate, and Clark combed down his wind-swept hair. Bruce turned to look at him and waited for him to be done.

“Your ship?”

“Buried it next to the Fortress.” Bruce nodded approvingly. Clark set down the comb, but as he did so he stared out the window into seemingly nothing, his brows furrowed and drawn together. The miners. Bruce walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Clark sighed, but still pulled Bruce into a hug. “Thanks for asking.”

Clark hugged him with an intensity that made it clear that it was needed much more than the kiss from before. “Just… It was stressful,” he sighed. “Those miners. I couldn’t just drill them out, it took hours.”

Bruce nodded and angled his face towards the crook of Clark’s neck. He smelled like dust and a vague hint of sea-salt, and definitely needed a shower, but the crisp clean t-shirt was all Martha’s laundry detergent. As they stood, Bruce felt the tension leave Clark’s shoulders and his grip loosen, and he looked back up at him. Clark’s eyes had regained their usual shade of blue and the lines had disappeared from his forehead.

Bruce tried a smile and grabbed Clark’s hand. “Come. Dinner’s waiting.”

---

After dinner, Clark somehow got them excused from doing dishes and took Bruce by his hand out into the garden, and to the barn. Bruce thought about telling him about the box he found, but didn’t. Instead, Clark asked if he wanted to for a walk and grabbed a picnic blanket.

Their walk was laced only with the sound of cicadas, and took them away from the farm uphill where the low grass gave way to bushes and trees. They stopped at the top of the hill.

“I don’t know why it is you’re taking me here,” Bruce said as Clark laid down the blanket on a patch of very dry grass.

“I thought we could enjoy the night together. Just the two of us.” Clark’s smile was much too innocent as he sat down and patted beside him for Bruce to sit.

“We had a fight.”

“Yes. And I love you. Please tell me you haven’t been thinking about that all day. I thought we were okay just now.”

Bruce sighed. “My secret identity got exposed. I’m not okay with that.”

“You wanna talk about it? Did you get a chance to talk to Lana?” Clark prompted.

“Not yet. But I’m… sorry. For the way I reacted last night.” He sat down next to Clark on the blanket.

“I’m sorry too. I should have let you know.”

“Does Pete know?”

“Yes, although he doesn’t really acknowledge it. We barely talk about it.”

Bruce huffed out a breath of air. They were surrounded by small, green trees that gave way to a view of the corn and grain fields below. The sun was inching closer to the horizon and it had finally started to cool down a little bit. Next to him Clark was looking at him, but he wasn’t sure what to say.

Clark shifted and settled behind Bruce, trapping him in between his legs and large arms, which Bruce allowed. It was painfully clear that Clark knew just what Bruce needed, and where that used to irk him to the core and make his skin crawl, he now welcomed it, leaned back, and let himself relax. It was easier to talk when you didn’t have to look the other person in the eyes.

“That should have been you, Clark,” he started. “A house in Smallville, wife, child... sometimes I don’t understand why you left this place at all.” This whole weekend felt like the first time he was really in Smallville and had seen what made Clark, Clark. A reality that he wasn’t a part of and only allowed a glimpse of, by some miracle.

“So you do like it here,” Clark said. When Bruce didn’t say anything to that, he continued: “I knew I had to give that up a long time ago. And, just between you and me, I'd say we have the most awesome family in the universe.”

“But we'll never have that. A child all our own. You could have.”

“I know,” Clark whispered into his hair. “Is that something you would have wanted? If…”

“Even if it was technically possible, the moral implications are just... I wouldn't want to bring a child into this world. Into our world,” Bruce mused out loud.

“But It is technically possible. Conner.”

“Conner is a clone. And we’re lucky we found him when we did.” He had turned into a wonderful kid, a good crimefighter even, but he had his unpredictability. They didn’t know nearly enough about his physiology, his lifespan, his unpredictable moods. Clark squeezed his hand.

“And if we were normal?”

If they were normal, Clark would have stayed in Smallville, and they would have never met. And Bruce, as a rule, did not think in hypotheticals. Not like this. Yet, he heard himself answer without hesitation. “Yes.”

“Me too,” Clark’s lips were on Bruce’s ear in a way that was not quite a kiss. It was an affirmation, taking Bruce in, this moment, his scent mixed with that of Kansas, and a gush of breath that ghosted through Bruce’s hair. Clark’s breathing was grounding, a dull constant in the midst of the song of the cicadas, the feeling of dead grass under his toes and the Kent’s old picnic blanket under his fingers. It was all wrong.

“Don’t you wonder what would have happened if you had stayed? With Lana?”

“Once or Twice, a long time ago. But I left here to find myself. I never fit in here, never really belonged here. You know that.”

“You do, though. You’re much happier here. Yourself.” Bruce turned to meet Clark’s blue eyes, the smile lines visible even on Superman’s perfect skin. “And I don’t,” he breathed in. “I don’t fit in here. With you.” The smile lines disappeared.

“Bruce… Why would you think that?”

“I feel like this is the first time I’ve ever really been in Smallville. Stopped and looked around. Like I’ve finally seen the last piece of the puzzle that is you.”

“And everything else completes it. You complete it. I belong to you.” Clark put a hand over his heart. “And you belong to me. Don’t you ever forget that.” Clark’s blue eyes under his furrowed brows pierced right into his soul, something he had discovered a long time ago he could not ignore.

In a different life, Clark might have stayed in Kansas. As it was, they had found each other elsewhere amid their hectic lives, in some twisted inescapable fate. An alignment.

“Hn. You’re still a Kansas boy at heart.”

“And you like that.” Clark’s smile was back. The one that regardless of the Kansas sun or Gotham greys or Metropolis shine brightened up his life and Bruce found himself smiling back in return.

“Can’t say that I don’t.”

“So… now that you’ve got me completely figured out…”

“Hmm?”

“Where do we go from here?”

“We have sex. That is why you brought me here, right?”

“Bruce!” Clark covered his mouth with his hand in a fake gasp. “I can’t believe you think of me that way.”

“But you did.”

“Can’t say that I didn’t,” Clark smirked, put his hand on the back of Bruce’s neck, and kissed him.

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

In the middle of the night, the queen bed was too big and Clark should be right on him, spooning him, and cooling him with freeze breath. So Bruce rolled over into his space, and Clark – half asleep – happily put his arms around him. He could be a selfish man if Clark was too.

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

On Sunday morning, the clouds started gathering and simultaneous to the electric tension of a storm building in the air, the people of Smallville let out a collective sigh. Soon, they would get some rain.

After a quiet Sunday breakfast and Clark’s parents had returned from church, it was off to town in Clark’s old truck. Jonathan had taken his newer one, full of materials and tools, and Clark and Bruce would do clean-up together and haul away rubble to a nearby depot. Main street already looked more lively than the day before, with most of the rubble gone and gathered in piles. People were walking around and making small talk, a stray door was being hung back into its hinges. The few buildings that had any structural damage had been taped of, and shattered windows had been boarded up, but the wind had picked up and blew the dust away, clearing the air and everyone’s mood.

On the way to and from the depot, Clark rolled down the windows and sung along with the songs on the radio, missing some of the words and looking over at Bruce every now and then.

He watched Clark, sunshine ever present in his skin and smile. How he was in such good spirits while literally cleaning his hometown after an alien attack was lost on Bruce. But then again, Clark was usually in a good mood if he was able to help someone. Even though he was doing it as Clark Kent now, and couldn’t use his super strength to haul stuff into the truck, or maybe because of that.

“It’s fine, B.”

Bruce hummed in response.

“I hope you had a good time here, despite everything.”

“I’m still having a good time now.” He immediately regretted saying that, because Clark mistook it for him liking his singing and continued on for the remainder of the ride. Really, it was Clark’s enthusiasm that made it tolerable. Bruce felt content to just watch, and breathed in the Kansas air, and tried to store away this memory forever.

---

When they were back in town, Clark stayed to help Pete at the store while Bruce went to the local hardware place to get some more supplies. He found what he needed and was waiting in line when he felt someone approach him from behind.

“Hey, Bruce.” He turned around to face her.

“Lana. Hello.”

“You got something that needs fixing?” she smiled at the small box of screws and plugs in his hands. He looked at the people in line behind her, all getting something, even if it was just a nail to hang up a picture that had come off the wall during the attack.

“More than one thing, I’m afraid.”

Lana huffed. “Smallville will be fine. I hope you’ve been enjoying your weekend here at least?”

“It’s been…” Eye-opening. New. Necessary. “Different,” he settled on.

“Ha! I believe that, coming from the big city and all.” That obviously wasn’t what he meant, but he assumed Lana knew that.

It was Bruce’s turn to pay. He put down a 20 and accepted his change, stepped aside to let Lana pay. “Walk with me,” he commanded when she was done. They reached Clark’s truck in the middle of the sunlit parking lot. Bruce held on to the keys in his pocket and missed the protective confining warmth of his cowl.

When Bruce didn’t say anything, Lana cleared her throat. "The way Clark talked about the bat always made me think he was in love with him. Glad to see it worked out." It was a good thing Lana was just as blunt as Clark. Something about rural Kansas, he thought. He couldn't help but feel a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

"Sorry, it just wasn't hard to connect the dots. You’re him, right?”

Without hesitation. "Yes." The things this town did to him were beyond his understanding. Small town life brought out the truth easily. Here, there were no covers required, no masks. It’s the same reason why he could have found the last piece of Clark, only here.

"Look, Bruce. I know how important the whole secret identity thing is to Clark. Think he can count on one hand the people that really know him."

"More like three hands now with my children and the league." There was that incessant tug at the corner of his mouth again.

"You're a father."

"Not in the most traditional sense of the word, but yes." He leaned against the door of the car. Lana seemed to think about that. Batman and Robin. What it implied. Bruce braced himself for the passion of a young mother, but it never came. Instead she swallowed.

“I did love Clark once, but I knew I could never be what he needed. I’m glad he found someone,” she paused. Looked up at Bruce with her brows drawn together. "Your secret is safe with me Bruce."

That was the issue, though. No secret is ever safe with anyone, because then it wasn’t a secret anymore. He gritted his teeth, swallowed. He thought of Clark, how he would put his warm hand on his shoulder if he were here right now, how he would say once again that it was fine, Lana could be trusted. Clark’s closest friend, first love, and the person that knew him best before he became who he had to be. Lana was to be trusted. Bruce sighed.

"I just need you to sign some documents, and get your contact information in case something gets compromised."

Lana nodded. "Sounds fair."

He opened the car door and climbed in. Lana put her hand on the open window. “It was nice meeting you, Bruce.”

“Likewise.” He paused. “I’ll make sure Clark gets you those documents.”

“Alright,” Lana laughed and waved at him as he started the car. He wondered how much of Clark had rubbed off on her during their childhood friendship and dating through high school. Or maybe it had been the other way around. Clark probably wouldn’t be who he was today without her, or without anyone here for that matter.

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

The jet was placed imminently in front of them, Smallville and its normalcy reduced to a memory on the far horizon. Bruce turned around and looked at Clark, his hair windswept and glasses placed awkwardly back on his nose. Here to see him off to Gotham.

“Thank you for having me.”

Clark laughed. “Thanks for staying.”

“I would almost say it would be acceptable to do this again some time.”

“Almost?”

“Well.” Bruce shrugged. “Minus the alien invasion.”

“Of course. 4th of July? Bring the kids?”

“That could turn out worse than an alien invasion,” his own laugh surprised Bruce.

“I mean… we’ll have Alfred to keep them in check,” Clark argued. “Ma would love having all of them over.”

“I’ll give it some consideration, then.”

“Hmm, so that’s a yes?” Clark grabbed his waist and brought his face close to Bruce’s. His triumphant, beautiful grin was the most annoying thing in the world that Bruce could only wipe off with a long, slow kiss.

Behind him, the engines of the plane roared and it was really time to say goodbye. To Clark, if only for a couple days. To Clark’s parents. To Kansas. Godawful, unpredictable, and beautiful Kansas. Just like its most important (former) inhabitant.

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

Out of the window of the jet, he watched Clark, the town, and finally the cornfields disappear, and he sighed contently. Smallville. His secret was safe here.

#superbat #write write #I worked on this for like two weeks and i'm like genuinely proud of it #farm fic #pls don't be weirded out by baby clark.#...it's canon

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justatiredghost · 5 years ago

Text

Living for the Moment Chapter 2 A series of glimpses at Klaus’ life if he’d met Dave in his mid 20s. His life isn’t magically transformed, love can’t fix either of them when they’re both homeless and in a bad place. They’re not even really ready for a relationship yet. But maybe a supportive friendship can set them on a better path, the two of them inspiring each other to take care of themselves. It’s going to be a long and bumpy ride, and the question is, when will they actually admit to themselves that they have feelings for each other?

Klaus rarely slept well. The most he could hope for most nights was a few hours of unconsciousness by getting blackout drunk or high, which unfortunately wasn’t known for being all that refreshing. This morning was no exception; what he’d taken the night before did the trick, but could only last so long and as it wore off, the voices of the ghosts always waiting at the edge of his mind slowly rose to the full force of their screaming and wailing. It jolted him awake with a start and he scrambled out of bed, breathing heavily, searching for his things and, most importantly, any drugs that he might have hidden away.

“What a beautiful morning,” Ben said, taking Klaus’ spot on the bed

Klaus muttered a curse under his breath as he tried to ignore the concerned or irritated looks of the others trying to sleep at the shelter. He only had a few pills left, that would have to do for now. He flipped Ben off as subtly as he could before heading for the exit. He needed a cigarette. Desperately.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that,” Ben said, suddenly at his side. “You’re so grouchy in the morning. Let’s go do something fun for a change.”

“How about you take your ‘fun’ and--”

Before he could come up with some sort of colorful finish, he nearly walked directly into another man. Looking up, he completely lost his train of thought as he found Dave staring at him in equal surprise. Considering Dave had taken center stage in some of his half-remembered restless dreams, he had a second of wondering if he was just really high or still dreaming. He wished he was high.

“Hey,” Dave said with a smile. “Small world. Good to see you again.”

“Is it?” Klaus asked, legitimately curious as he lit up a cigarette in the doorway. “That’s not usually the reaction I get after standing someone up.”

“That was just kind of a line,” Dave admitted like he was sharing a secret, opening the door so they could both move outside, and probably so Klaus wouldn’t get yelled at for smoking indoors. “But now that you mention it, I had a good time otherwise so it’s not like I can be too annoyed.”

“Sure you can,” Klaus said. “I believe the appropriate reaction is usually anger.”

“Is it? If I had to pick, I’d say a little bummed, maybe,” Dave said with a shrug, pulling out his own cigarette. Klaus whipped out his lighter and held it out for him before he could go looking for his own. “We all got lives, man. You gotta go, you gotta go.”

Ben coughed, only half disguising the word ‘pushover,’ in the middle of it. Klaus ignored him.

“Can’t blame you for enjoying the ‘Klaus Experience,’” Klaus said with a wink. “Although, maybe you’ll get a kick out of this. I actually thought you’d stood me up.”

“Really? Does this mean you’re mad?” Dave asked.

“Hey man, anyone stands me up, it’s their loss,” Klaus said emphatically

“That’s the spirit,” Dave laughed.

“That’s the truth.”

“It certainly is,” Dave said with a much too sincere smile. “But I gotta know, how exactly does that work? You thinking I’d stood you up?”

“Eh, I got a bit high, lost track of time,” Klaus said with a shrug, taking a drag. “You know how it is.”

“I sure do,” Dave said, nodding sagely, although Klaus wasn’t sure if he actually agreed or was just humoring him. “If it wasn’t intentional, any chance you’d let me make it up to you? Promise I won’t stand you up this time.”

“What?” Klaus said in surprise, barely stopping himself from choking on smoke. He hadn’t expected Dave to want anything to do with him after, well, everything.

“Yeah, let me by you a--” he dug around in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. “A coffee?” He sounded much too hopeful and Klaus was irritated with himself for finding it endearing.

“Well, how can I say no to coffee?” Klaus said, ignoring Ben’s disappointed sigh. Someone who wasn’t likely to get too angry at his antics was definitely someone worth keeping around, he reasoned.

“So,” Klaus said, making himself comfortable on his side of the booth, stretching his legs out. “Do you usually buy coffee for people who stand you up?”

“Depends,” Dave said, immediately pulling out the little sugar packets and making a game out of stacking them, building a little sugar packet house. “Can these people make me laugh so hard alcohol comes out of my nose?

“You have strange standards, but I am hilarious, so I’ll give you that.”

“Besides,” Dave said, handing a sugar packet to Klaus, inviting him to join in. “I had to apologize for making you think I’d stood you up.”

“And yet I’m the one who should be apologizing for actually, if unintentionally, standing you up,” Klaus said, gesturing with the packet before building onto Dave’s little house.

“So? Are you?”

“Am I what?

“Going to apologize.”

“Yeah, sure, I guess I should,” Klaus said, clearing his throat like he was about to give a speech, hand over his heart. “I’m so sorry for standing you up. And for depriving you of all of this.” He gestured to all of himself, winking yet again.

“I’m not sure how I survived,” Dave laughed. “But really, it’s cool. Who hasn’t gotten high and lost track of time before? But what about you? Do you usually go on dates after standing people up?”

“I mean, I did have fun last night, so—” Klaus admitted, because he couldn’t deny that he was a flake and, really, it was probably better that Dave knew that up front.

“I knew it,” Dave exclaimed, apparently missing the point, but Klaus wasn’t going to correct him if he wanted to take the ego boost and leave the rest on the table.

“Don’t get all full of yourself, every party I attend is a good one, so really you can only take half credit.”

“That’s more than enough for me.”

“Hi, Dave,” the waitress said, coming over to their table. “The usual?”

“Yeah, two coffees this time, Cheryl. Thanks.”

“You got it.”

“Come here often, then?” Klaus asked once the waitress left.

“Well, my work is right across the street,” he said, gesturing to a construction yard they could see from their seats. “We’re almost done with this job, though, so it’ll be a bummer to find a new place that won’t kick me out for drinking endless free refills.”

“Pretty face like yours, I’m sure you’ll manage.”

And he actually blushed at that. It was adorable and he would have liked to dwell on it and tease him, but the waitress was back. Dave seemed a bit relieved at the distraction.

“I got some fries for you both, on the house,” she said, setting it down in front of them.

“Oh, wow, thank you,” Dave said, smiling at her.

“I think she has a thing for you,” Klaus whispered across the table to him once they were alone again.

“She’s not really my type,” Dave chuckled. “And to be honest, she’s probably just glad I’m not here alone for a change. I think she was beginning to think I don’t have a social life”

“Well, either way, I’m completely happy to take advantage of your good fortune.”

“All jokes aside, thanks for getting coffee with me,” Dave said, holding his mug up like he was gonna toast him.

“Yeah, apparently I should stand you up more often,” Klaus said with a whink, taking his own drink in hand.

“Or,” Dave said, drawing the word out like he was trying to get his courage up enough to actually finish the sentence. “You could find out how things go if you stick around.”

“Hmm,” Klaus said, acting like he was considering, like he hadn’t already made up his mind the moment he agreed to coffee. “Sure, I’d be willing to see how it goes”

“Are you going out again tonight? We can meet up at the same place. And hopefully we can avoid standing each other up this time.”

“Sure,” Klaus said. “So long as we can skip the preamble. Flirting across the dance floor was fun and all, but I’m pretty sure our night could be better spent.”

Last night, they’d continually gotten distracted from the main reason people usually meet up at clubs. While it had still been fun and another night of the same would have still been enjoyable, Klaus wanted to make sure there was no doubt where he’d like the night to end up even if it was obvious neither of them had a place they could go home to together. There were other ways to have a little fun, after all, and Klaus certainly wasn’t above back alley or bathroom escapades.

He decided that the easiest way to get this across was to reach his foot out, running it along Dave’s ankle and up his calf. Dave’s eyes widened in surprise, but he grinned back, a blush creeping across his face, and attempted to surreptitiously reply in kind. Instead, he misjudged the distance and accidentally kicked his leg, causing Klaus to gasp mock-accusingly and kick back.

From there, things quickly devolved into some sort of competitive game of footsy, the rules unclear. All Klaus knew was that it was taking everything they had to not laugh out loud and disturb the other tables. He wasn’t sure why things with Dave always turned out so ridiculous, but he was having more fun than he had in a long time so it wasn’t like he was going to complain.

The game ended abruptly when Dave banged his knee on the table, nearly spilling their coffee. They both stopped, trying to look innocent, until they made eye contact and immediately descended into giggling, Dave rubbing his tender knee. They got a few glares, but really that only caused them to laugh more, leaning close together conspiratorially.

When Dave eventually announced that he had to get to work, Klaus was once again struck by how easy it was to lose track of time when they were together. And it was strange how disappointed he felt as he headed down the sidewalk after saying his goodbyes. Then again, he’d gotten coffee and had eaten more than he usually did, so maybe that was the only reason he felt so reluctant.

“So, you’re going out again tonight,” Ben said, clearly disappointed as he fell into step beside him.

“I thought you said you liked the guy?” Klaus asked.

“‘Like’ is a strong word. I’d like it more if you didn’t go to clubs at all.”

“Well, we both know that’s not gonna happen,” Klaus said, pulling out another cigarette and grinning at his brother.

“You said you’d take me to that free art gallery,” Ben persisted. “We should go there instead.”

“Sorry, it’ll have to wait,” Klaus said and he really did feel a bit guilty for putting it off for so long. “I gotta resupply. We’ll go another day, okay? Now, help me figure out which dealer might actually give me an advance until I can get my hands on some cash.”

Ben sighed heavily, but at least he didn’t disappear.

#klaus hargreeves #dave katz #klave #the umbrella academy #klaus x dave #umbrella academy #fanfic #living for the moment #my fic

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marithlizard · 5 years ago

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Ace Attorney: Rise From the Ashes (part 1)

A couple of people expressed interest in a writeup as I play through the game, so I thought I’d give quasi-liveblogging a try. It might have come out to be too detailed - let me know if the result is amusing enough to go through the next part.

(I knew this already, but wow liveblogging is a lot of work. And it must take twice as much effort to do this for a show and to include screencaps.)

(I’ve tried three times now to put proper line breaks/spacing in, and they’re just not displaying, at least on desktop. I’m sorry.)

A brief, stylized opening designed not to give away much, except that a creepy-looking doll is involved.

Two months? Phoenix, you haven't taken a single client since Maya left? a) are you depressed, and b) how are you paying rent on the office?

Ookay, you're not going to tell us why you've been moping around. I don't think it's that you have a crush on Maya. Are you just not able to function without a partner? That's not great for your ability to survive, but I can sympathize.

New perky assistant, right on cue. (A partner who isn't a young girl would be a nice change now and then. (But not Larry. Anyone but Larry. In fact, I take it back, this girl with the pink sunglasses will do just fine.))

Oof, Phoenix still not being able to say out loud that Mia's dead.

In the first two minutes pink-glasses girl has asserted that he's his female boss, the coffee boy, and 'better than nothing'. Aha! The problem with all the clients he turned down was that they didn't insult him enough.

Kid, you can't be more than sixteen, and you have silly face buttons on your lab coat. You are about as much a scientific investigator as Photography Girl last episode was a journalist. ...But apparently you have a future job lined up in forensics, so you're more organized than she was. And this world certainly could use more competent crime scene analysis.

"I promised her I'd bring Mia Fey". Huh. Is Mia's murder not well-known to the public, then, even though the Edgeworth case apparently got famous enough to earn Phoenix a bit of a reputation?

A murder charge with an eyewitness, and an assistant who "kind of hates" her sister the defendant. Sounds hopeless, let's do it! Off to the Detention Center.

...Did we just overhear the defendant threatening their terrified guard with a pay freeze? Is she their boss? And if she's someone that high up, why doesn't she already have a better defense attorney?

I like Lana Skye's character design. She looks as though she should be starring in a Takurazuka revue show, swearing eternal star-crossed love to a princess.

She insists she did it. By genre convention we know that can't be the case; my first assumption is that she's being forced to cover for someone, blackmailed or coerced by someone higher up in the system. But it would certainly be interesting if it turned out she was covering for Ema.

Must....resist...plotbunnies...

Oookay. A prosecutor should certainly know ways to commit murder without getting caught, and this sounds like the opposite of those ways. WHY does she claim she did this? You're not even going to ask her, are you? *headdesk*

Ema: "Please ignore that totally gay statement by my sister, because I certainly plan to!"

Lana: "No don't help me, go away go away go away go away go awa-oh fine."

Hmmm. From Ema's description of the behavior change, Lana has been being blackmailed or coerced for a long time now.

Time to go investigate the underground parking garage.

Attorneys aren't supposed to examine crime scenes, and defense attorneys aren't entitled to a copy of the police investigation reports. What does a "normal" defense attorney in this world do for their clients then? Always assume a loss and try to negotiate a plea bargain? I wonder if we'll ever get to see one in action.

It's...a cop with a cowboy fetish? Do police not have dress codes here? Maybe they're waived above a certain level, and some people take pride in cultivating a unique style to show off that they can. It would explain Edgeworth.

You are dramatically pretending to shave in front of us. Also you just called Ema a baby cow. Although you know her and seem sympathetic - I guess Lana brought her little sister to the office sometimes? Not sure what I think of you, Jake Marshall.

I am revising my stance. Being Phoenix's partner on a case requires precise and narrow qualifications. Specifically, just enough sense to stop him from doing something breathtakingly stupid, but not enough sense to take the badge firmly away from him and do the job themselves. Ema fits the bill perfectly.

Ooh, new mechanic! And an ID card number for a Bruce Goodman who dresses like a white-hat agent in Spy vs Spy. (I was trained on games that would require you to write that number down and remember it later, but AA will certainly be more forgiving.)

Using the new mechanic on Phoenix's attorney badge, I deduce that at some point this game it will be stolen.

It doesn't explain Lana's supposed actions, but that red sports car does kind of scream "My owner is a jerk, stuff a body in my trunk." Instead of a chalk outline, they seem to have outlined the hanging body with string? Is that actually a technique, and how do they get the rope to stay put in precise outline?

And the cowboy gives them a hint. So he's on their side but constrained by rules?

Lady put the boobs away. Why are you selling sushi in a negligee under a fur coat, at a crime scene? And why would anyone trust food from someone whose nickname is "the Cough-Up Queen"?

Angel Starr, dominatrix lunch lady. It says something that this is not the weirdest witness in an AA game so far.

She hates prosecutors, and therefore especially Lana. Not a trustworthy witness. But it's probably no fun to cater for a group of (relatively) wealthy and powerful people you despise. Especially if they're smugly giving awards to each other as they eat lunches. (Eeeevil lunches. She probably coughs on them.)

"The rhythmic beat of Lana Skye's knife"... very poetic, but didn't Lana say the victim was stabbed only once?

We can't get back to the car, phooey, so up to the prosecutor's office we go.

Pink...everywhere...no question whose office this is, even if one of his outfits wasn't framed on the wall. (why do you frame an outfit?) I see a very ugly trophy on the sofa, so he's the one who won the award.

Ema: "this is the kind of room that just screams 'I can do the job'. Actually it screams 'I don't need to pretend to be heterosexual', but the two aren't unconnected.

Is it just me or is that trophy broken off at the top?

Edgeworth did you just roll with being insulted and make a joke about it? I'm so proud of you, you've clearly relaxed since your murder trial!

BWAHAHA of course it was Edgeworth's car.

Wendy the security guard from the Steel Samurai case is sending Edgeworth expensive presents?? a) that's both funny and a little sad, b) how can she afford it, and c) he keeps and displays them which is very courteous.

WAIT did you - did this game just heavily suggest Gumshoe hangs out in the office a lot? Twice, once when you look at the shelves and again when you look at the desk? I don't ship it, but this is the point where I start to see why people do.

Awwww he's embarrassed about the trophy, that's cute. So he's the one who "devours the evillest lunches of all", hmm? I wouldn't have thought the Cough-Up Queen's weird not-even-fresh lunches would appeal to Edgeworth's refined tastes.

Ema actually has a bit of a crush, from the way she's rhapsodizing about Edgeworth sleeping on the sofa. d'awww. And I definitely want to know the story behind the outfit. Made by his mom and too precious to wear?

Edgeworth, no one thinks you did it. Sheesh. He certainly doesn't sound happy about having to prosecute Lana, even though he believes she's guilty. His car, his knife... it almost seems like this is a plot aimed at him, or perhaps a plot against Lana with a healthy dose of fuck-you-too-Edgeworth to it.

Huh. Maybe it *is* aimed at him. I've been assuming all this time from his behavior on the stand that Edgeworth has indeed been messing with evidence to convict obviously innocent people, and also assuming that it's common practice in this corrupt justice system. (Much as it is in Japan and in the US). But the way he's talking about rumors right now, it sounds more like he's being slandered. And he thinks the award he was given was out of mockery. Ouch.

So yes, the trophy is broken. (In RWBY, you assume everything is a gun; in AA, you assume everything is a murder weapon. It probably broke when it was used to hit someone over the head.)

Evidence transferal day, huh? Was the murder timed to draw attention away from a case being closed? And Edgeworth parked his car only three minutes before Goodman was stabbed and thrown into its trunk? No way. He was there for the murder, or more likely that's not when the murder happened. (Is he being coerced like Lana? I don't think so, but it's possible.)

Enter an idiot mailman with a bandaged hand. And exit, with sniveling. What was that about?

And a hint to go investigate at the police station. Is Edgeworth being friendly, attempting to signal something, or merely aware that the most efficient way to get rid of Phoenix is to give him a clue to chase?

The police department entrance, with some sort of plywood jester figure in front of it. We're offhandedly informed that it took 30 minutes to get there from Edgeworth's office, which means that will be important later.

This is the creepy doll from the intro! It's clearly meant to be a mascot. Was it made by the sniveling mailman? There's a certain resemblance...

No, I should've guessed that Gumshoe made it. I mean ... mechanically it's pretty clever for someone who's not a craftsman or engineer? Moving articulated limbs and all. It's just the aesthetics and design he shouldn't have been allowed anywhere near.

Yes, yes it is odd that only the top-ranked people are being allowed to work on the case. Are they all in on it? A patrolman in charge of the crime scene instead of a detective - that suggests Marshall is part of the conspiracy. I'm thinking the dominatrix lunch lady is too.

Gumshoe is so happy about the prosecutor's award - Edgeworth probably didn't have the heart to say that for him it's a mockery. Daww. (Also there's something endearingly cheerful about his hopping-caterpillar eyebrows.) He's also being much more helpful than his superiors would want, probably just because he thinks of Phoenix as an ally in general now.

Back to the parking lot, with a letter of introduction in hand this time.

I genuinely can't tell if the lunch lady is a sex worker, if she actually has multiple boyfriends, or if that's code for her professional contacts in whatever she's really doing here. (And that's an interesting cultural bit, isn't it - any of those options seem possible, and I'm not expecting any of the characters to question her competence or morality because of it, not even in court. If this was a US-made game my expectations would be...different.)

"Good men always die young"...I see what you did there, Marshall.

Autopsy report confirms one stab wound. Lana and the victim worked together on "a case a few years back", ding ding ding. Someone didn't want the evidence for that case transferred. Or looked at.

Marshall used to be a detective but got demoted? And he's lying about why he was assigned to the crime scene, and telling us Gumshoe is off the case because he's friends with Edgeworth. The police chief, whoever he is, is now at the top of my suspect list.

Happily, the game will let me do dumbass things like show off Goodman's ID card without consequences. Marshall seems very uninterested in it and why it was found so far from the spot of the murder, which I take to mean "we have our official narrative, don't go messing it up with facts or evidence."

Finally we can examine the car! First up, Lana's cellphone. The whole business about hitting redial and somehow not knowing that Ema's phone rang was weird. Phoenix’s lie couldn't possibly have fooled Marshall, who is bizarrely claiming there's no way to know who the last call was made to. It's an odd thing to conceal, even given the “no facts please we have our narrative” stance. Maybe he's trying to protect Ema somehow?)

Marshall said the rumors about Edgeworth came from Lana. And we have a note found in the trunk: 6-7S 12/2, on a piece of Goodman's stationery.

Er, yeah, Ema, why didn't you mention your sister called you 3 minutes after the claimed murder time? If Lana hung up right away that's hardly incriminating for either of you.

End of Day One! We are, as usual, completely unprepared for tomorrow morning's trial.

#ace attorney #rise from the ashes #ace attorney spoilers

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realfuurikuuri · 6 years ago

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Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Mao Mao/Tanya Keys, Mao mao/badgerclops

MissingArm!AU: When escaping the cave, it wasn't his tail that got crushed. In exchange for his innocence, he gained a sordid past. The Pure Heart Valley seemed like a good place to escape. To start a new life with a new family to forge a new identity. However, when the past rears its ugly head Mao Mao's forced to step up or be put down.

MissingArm!AU Chapter 6: The Torment of A Son

CW: Graphic Depiction of Injury and Body Horror

This one took some time to put out. Finals are a bitch (I say that, but the lowest grade I got on any of them was a C) and I've been busy playing games during winter break. I'm going to need to edit some tags after putting this up. This chapter is a perfect 10 pages which I really do like and is the second of the 3-part set, so there's that. If it's been too long since you read the last chapter and you don't exactly remember it I would recommend going to read that again since the set is a single story split into 3 parts. The song recommendation here is You're Insane - Escape the Fate. Heads up, if you followed @spookylovesboba on Tumblr you're going to want to do that again because their account got nuked for some reason.

Direct Link to Chapter 6 on AO3: XXXX

Chapter Below the Cut

Mao Mao struggled to look at his father. He’d like to say it was the sun, shining off his armor like a flashbang, but something in his chest hurt more than his eyes. Mao Mao licked his lips and rolled his tongue. There was something he wanted to say, however, he did need time to figure out what it was. He nearly bit his tongue when Papa slapped him on the back again.

“So, you gonna invite me in or are we just gonna chill outside.”

“Right, right, right…” Mao Mao droned off, shaking the handle when it didn’t open.

Did he drop his keys, or did Jǐngtì take them? He’d have to make a copy when Badgerclops got back.

“You lost your keys? Tsk, tsk, tsk, you gotta learn how to be more responsible to take care and be aware of things.” Shin simply walked through the door, doorframe, and wall, smashing the front of the house.

Mao Mao barely caught himself from calling the hypocrite out, but he bit his tongue and swallowed his anger. He looked at the sky making a mental note to do something with the hole before it stormed tonight.

Mao Mao carefully stepped over the broken wood while Shin looked around. He watched his father prowl around the room, finger to his chin, lips moving as he mumbled. If he tried he could probably understand the mumbles, but he let the words gloss over his ears. It was the best way to be near his father. Mao Mao would rather not listen to this jackasses’ bullshit.

“Hey, Mao Mao,” Shin said, making Mao Mao turn up his head. “You’ve set a solid little place here. I’ve got to hand that to you.”

Papa laughed and walked into the kitchen. Mao Mao balled his hand into a fist and followed him.

Papa was making himself quite at home. Mao Mao watched him search through cabinets and drawers from the doorway. He could tell his father wasn’t moving aimlessly; he was looking for something. Mao Mao was going to ask when Shin glossed over the fridge and then doubled back. Mao Mao wondered if the idiot was looking for a bite to eat when Papa pulled off one of Adorabat’s drawings. He stared down at it intently: brow creased, rubbing his chin with a “hmm” sound.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“A drawing.”

“Of course, but…”

He handed the drawing to Mao Mao. It was crude and done in crayon, but there were a few unmistakable things about it. Lined up on a grassy hill was Adorabat, him, Tanya, Jǐngtì, and Badgerclops. He had to wonder how long it was up there. He never noticed it. The picture had a distinct family photo-like quality to it. He had to find some way to spin this.

He handed the picture back. “It’s a picture from an admirer. A small child called Adorabat. She’s the blue one.”

“Odd color… who names their child Adorabat,” Shin mumbled.

Who names their child Mao Mao Mao?

“Who are the other people?”

He blinked a few times. “Those are just… some people I know. The one with the eyepatch -the black spot on his face- is Badgerclops. My partner. The brown one is Tanya Keys: a bounty hunter who was here a little bit ago.”

“What about this one?” Papa pointed at the brown cat.

Mao Mao took a deep breath. “That’s Tanya’s son.”

“Feel like I’ve seen his face before,” Papa snapped his fingers with a clang,” yeah. I’ve seen his face on wanted posters… in Queen’s Putland.”

“He’s... been headed down the wrong path,” he said.

Mao Mao didn’t notice himself drifting off. He only snapped back when Papa cleared his throat. “Well, I’m sure his mother can get a handle on him,” he said.

“I hope she can.”

Papa picked up the magnet and stuck it back on the fridge.

He didn’t ask about the other pictures.

Papa moved on, sifting through drawers before he sighed and scratched his head,” Hey, do you know where you keep your fist aid kit?”

“Yeah, it's in the bathroom. Under the sink," Mao Mao continued,” why? You cut yourself or something?”

Papa gave him a look of utter confusion. An eyebrow raised, lips parted slightly, like he Mao Mao wasn’t speaking the same language. “What? No. I’m getting it for you. You’re trackin’ blood all over the place. You look like you gave someone an arm and a leg,” he chuckled uncomfortably.

Mao Mao looked behind himself at the splotches of blood he’s tracked all over the house. His first thought was how hard the blood would be to get out of his nice hardwood floors. Then the dull pain reminded him of his wounds. He felt some kind of concern; a need to drop everything and call for help. It was the dying gasp of whatever self-preservation instinct he had left. All that just seemed so exhausting. He didn’t come home to start stitching wounds or deal with his father. He just wanted to rest.

“I’ll clean it up,” Mao Mao said, already walking to get the mop when Papa grabbed him by the shoulder.

“I’ll get the first-aid kit,” Papa said,” Why don’t you just... go have a seat.”

Mao Mao did as he was told. He limped his way to the living room couch and waited. He could hear his father rummaging around in the bathroom before coming back with the first-aid kit between his massive metal fingers and washbasin under his other arm. Everything always looked so small compared to him.

Mao Mao took the kit without hesitation. Papa sat down and watched him work. Only having one arm made things harder, his tail did help, but some things were more difficult than before. He started with his feet first, washing them in the basic, applying ointment to the worn away paw-pads, and then wrapping them in gauze.

The shard of glass in his side was next. A foreign object lodged in his lower right side below the kidneys and above the intestines. He supposed it was similar to a gunshot wound (although the shard of glass was larger and jagged), so he treated the procedure much of the same. He wrapped the gauze tightly around his torso seat-belt style to staunch the blood before getting a pair of tweezers to play a game of operation. He reached in, tightly grabbing the shard of glass. He ignored the fatigue burning in his only arm as he did his best to slowly and carefully pull it out.

Mao Mao did his best to focus on what he was doing, yet his mind naturally wandered. It bounced from fleeting topic to fleeting topic, although a few questions liked to show up. Jǐngtì was one of them. More specifically, why did Jǐngtì hate him? The question was like a hot stove. Every time Mao Mao got close he was burned by a stinging well of emotions. He turned his attention away from the stove but cattish curiosity always dared him to put his fingers to the burner.

Curiosity killed the cat, as they say.

It didn't help that the next thing curiosity would lead him to was his father which was arguably worse. He watched Papa out the corner of his eye. He intently watched his son work without being direct, sneaking glances or watching him in the reflection of the stupid golden armor. He leaned forward, dominant hand folded over the other. He wanted to do something; he wanted to help.

Papa did nothing. Of course, he did nothing. He never does anything. The only thing Papa ever taught him was to do everything on his own. If Papa really wanted to help he’d explain why Jǐngtì hated him.

A sharp pain yanked Mao Mao out of his thoughts. It's what he gets for not paying attention. He quickly set aside the freed shard of glass, parting the wound with his hand to get a good look.

It was a fountain of blood. Deep breaths. A racing heart won’t help.

Be calm and quick, he reminded himself. The first step was dabbing most of the blood away and cleaning it with water, check to make sure no debris is in the wound, then grab a needle and thread. There was a prick of pain as it pierced his skin, and the sting as the thread was pulled through.

Mao Mao didn’t let his missing arm stop him from doing things; his tail could work as a replacement more often than not, but there were some things best done with two hands. He held the needle in between his claws trying over and over to get the needle the other side. He grimaced at the painful pricks that were too shallow to pull the needle through. The bleeding hadn’t stopped; he was beginning to feel woozy. The tips of his fingers were numb. Was his anxiety from blood loss or knowing that he was having this much trouble just trying to finish one suture?

The needle fell from Mao Mao’s paws that were slick in his blood. Mao Mao scrambled to pick up the needle. He was so busy that he didn’t notice anything around him. It was only when Papa placed his paw over his son’s did Mao Mao stop.

“I’ll do it,” he said,” just be still.”

He didn’t have to tell him to be still; Mao Mao already was. He didn’t worry about blood loss either, because he was sure his heart had stopped.

Papa was out of his armor. Papa was out of his armor. He didn’t know anyone who’d seen him out of it. Not even his sisters had seen that. He was sure of it. He’d asked Brunhilde about the armor and she said it’d been grafted to his skin in a battle with a fire demon. Minori said that the armor was cursed by magic so he couldn’t take it off. Each of his sisters had a different story. All of them agreed on one thing: that Papa couldn’t take his armor off

There he was. A small shriveled up mockery of a man dressed in a weird-looking jumpsuit. And he was helping him. Was this Papa an imposter? Was it some stroke of luck? Did he fall into some strange alternate universe where Papactually cared about his son?

“What happened?”

“Huh?”

“How’d you end up like,” Shin gestured vaguely,” this?”

“I got into a fight.”

“Did you win?”

Mao Mao stiffened at the question. Whether he won, wasn’t important.

“Why’d you visit,” Mao Mao asked, quickly shifting the topic.

“You didn’t visit for the summer. We had to celebrate Tanabata without you.”

Mao Mao sank back into the sofa. He’d completely forgotten Tanabata was last week. This was the first time he’d missed Tanabata since he lost his arm.

“How’s the family,” he asked flatly.

“They’re fine. Nothing really, although everyone was asking about you. News that you’d settled down as a sheriff traveled fast. Funny, I always thought you’d stay a vagabond.”

Mao Mao felt something. It was a warm feeling that nearly made him cry. It reminded him of a hug from his mom. Had Papa finally grown a heart?

“Is that why you’re here?”

“Yeah, you're mother asked me to check on you.”

Of course, he didn’t.

“Turn around so I can stitch up the wounds on your back,” he said,” Moo Moo. Moo Moo.”

Mao Mao didn’t move.

“Turn around, Mee Mee.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No,” Mao Mao shouted as he stood up,” and get out!”

“Wha- no! I’m not leaving you in… this shack.

“That! What is that? You suddenly walk into my home and you give me the vaguest hope that your not terrible, but every other second you act like the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You break down my goddamn door, you openly admit that you came here because my mother sent you instead of giving a shit yourself, and you ask if I’ve won the fight when you should be asking if we’re going to a goddamn hospital, you even call my house a shack. It's not a shack! It’s where I live!”

Mao Mao could hear his thumping in his ears. “All you do is antagonize me at every chance you get.”

“That’s no way to talk to your father.”

“You barely even count as my father. You treat every single one of my sisters better than me. I play sixth fiddle to every one of my sisters.”

“Now that’s just preposterous. Give me one example of how I treat your sisters better.”

“You know what to call my sisters, so I’ll ask this.” Mao Mao loomed over his father,” what is my name?”

“I-, uh-,” Shin stumbled over his words.

“I’ll give you a hint: it's yours too.”

“...Shin junior?”

Mao Mao didn’t know what came over him. All of the cold pain and sorrow that had built up suddenly burned red hot. He lashed out at his father. He only missed his father’s neck because Papa was as quick as he was short. He tossed the basin at his father’s head, flipped the table, and threw anything he could as he chased after him. He chased Papa through the kitchen, through the bedroom through the dojo, knocking, breaking, destroying anything and everything.

Eventually, the fire burned out. The chase ended where it started. Mao Mao slowed down, climbed on the couch, huddled himself into a little ball, and cried. He just felt so tired.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Papa said, tentatively taking a step forward.

“You,” Mao Mao sobbed,” you are why I’m always the last to show up on the holidays and the first to leave. You always manage to get under my skin....the reason I blew up this time is that...I just thought… you might have changed, or at least learned your lesson.”

Something clicked in Mao Mao’s head.”So that’s why he hates me,” Mao Mao said under his breath.

He’d heard those words earlier today. From the son to the father, and again from the son to the father. The tears had stopped; the sadness was replaced by an immense, deadening sorrow. He had become the thing he hated, the thing he detested with every fiber of his being without even trying.

“Did you know your grandfather?” Mao Mao blurted out.

Papa seemed genuinely shocked by this. His eyes went saucer-wide, and he stumbled back. “I’m what?”

“I have a son. He did this to me. I tried to keep him from suffering from the stuff you did to me, but it turns out that I did it to him anyway. Probably worse.”

Mao Mao let out a chuckle,” God, what is this shit? Genetic?”

Papa stayed quiet.

“You should go,” he told Papa.

Quietly, Shin slipped back into his armor, turning to face the door. “Goodbye,” he said.

Mao Mao stayed quiet.

He stayed huddled up on the sofa. He didn’t know how long it was, but by the time he started moving the sky was black and thunder howled. He got up and went to the kitchen. I the fridge he grabbed every can of beer he could find; in the cabinet, he grabbed every bottle that was and wasn’t covered in a layer of dust. He sat on the floor, cracked open the first of a long set, ready for the trip down memory lane.

#Fanfic #MMHOPH #Mao Mao #Shin Mao #Adorabat #Badgerclops #Jǐngtì #MissingArm!AU #Follow Spookylovesboba #They uploaded a video today actually #Angst #A lot of Angst #CW:body horror #TW:Body horror #Fair warnings and all #Feedback is much appreciated

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eluhasmyheart · 6 years ago

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Your Love Is Like A Drug, It’s Intoxicating - Chapter 6

A/N - Hey guys! The dramas building up! I can’t wait for what’s coming next and I hope you guys are excited too! :)

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It had been a week since THAT incident. Lucas had never considered himself the paranoid type, but ever since Eliott had told him that he’d have people watching him all the time, Lucas felt constantly on edge. Every time he walked to the bus stop, he could swear he saw glimpses of a black car that seemed to follow him around every corner. Across the street, he’d catch a glimpse of a familiar black leather jacket, but then when he focused it was gone. When he was at home, he swears there’s somebody lurking outside his apartment even though he can’t see anybody from his window. It made him feel on edge and Lucas didn’t like it. It had even got to a point where he thought there was a secret camera hidden in the bookcase or something. He was searching for over an hour, scanning every inch of the apartment before he stopped himself and realised how ridiculous he was being. He was an almost grown adult man, searching his apartment like some sort of paranoid victim out of a cringey spy movie.

“Fuck this, I need a night off” Lucas said to himself, throwing all caution to the wind.

He pulled his phone out and loaded up the group chat.

Le Gang

Lulu – Guys, I’m in serious need of a night out

Yann – he lives!

Arthur – we thought someone had kidnapped you and was holding you for ransom

Lulu – why didn’t you ring the police, I could have been in real danger

Baz – I don’t want to get involved in some weird mafia war, I’m too pretty to die

Arthur – that’s the least of your worries Baz

Yann – anyway a night out sounds good

Lulu – I need to get absolutely off my face

Baz – that is the best idea you’ve had all year Lulu

Arthur – Friday night?

Yann – predrinks at mine?

Lulu – I’m down

Arthur – sounds good to me

Baz – I’m so going to get laid

Lulu – You’d need a miracle for that to happen mec

Yann – even Lucas has more game than you Baz

Arthur – we’ll find you somebody nice

Baz – you’re all nasty, I don’t even know why we’re friends

Lulu – love you

Lucas laughed as he shut his phone. He loved his friends he really did. And he really needed to get drunk. Like proper drunk. He wanted to be able to forget all this shit that had happened. And he also needed to get Eliott out of his head. He was bad news. Lucas sighed and glanced towards his window. He could have sworn he saw movement.

“You’re going insane now Lucas” he muttered to himself as he turned over and fell asleep.

Friday night finally rolled around after a long week of catching up on assignments, being bored out of his mind and checking over his shoulder every 15 seconds to check nobody was following him. All in all it was a great week. The boys had had predrinks at Yann’s and were pleasantly tipsy. Not enough to be out of control but enough to feel the warm buzz that ran through their bodies. The four boys entered the club and were immediately swallowed up by hundreds of people. Lucas had no idea there were this many people here, but he really didn’t mind. It gave him a chance to completely let loose and forget about HIM. Him and Yann went to the bar to get the first round of drinks in. They got a beer each and eight shots of vodka and tequila. They were going to let loose tonight.

“Cheers boys!” Arthur shouted.

“VODKA!” Lucas screamed as they clinked their glasses and downed the shots. He welcomed the pleasant burn in the back of his throat. He immediately picked up another and swallowed, smiling as he felt the warmth start to pool in his stomach. Fuck, he needed this.

About an hour later and about 12 shots, Lucas was really feeling the benefit. A warmth was spreading throughout his body, and his mind was slightly fuzzy. The neon lights all blurred into one and he marvelled at how they could be so blinding yet soothing at the same time. It reminded him of when he was little and he would curl underneath the covers and flash his torch from different angles. It used to drown out the shouting and the crying. It made him feel safe, like he was the only one in the room.

“Lucas. Lucas. Lucas!” Yann shouted, trying to get his attention.

“Huh what?” He said, snapping out of his daze, shaking his head to clear the haze from his eyes.

“Dance. We’re going to dance, you coming?”

“Hell yes!”

Yann yanked his arm and dragged him to the centre of the dance floor. Arthur was gently bobbing along, chatting to some people from school who had the same idea as the boys.

“Where’s Baz?” Lucas shouted over the music, realising his voice would be hoarse in the morning. Yann pointed to the corner where Baz was pushed up against a wall, kissing some random girl.

“Get in there Baz. You’ve pulled!” Lucas shouted, losing all control of his inhibitions. He was a completely different person when he was drunk, more carefree and less uptight. Him and Yann started throwing themselves around, not caring what they looked like. He let the music fill his ears, closed his eyes and just let go. He let his body move naturally, going with the flow of the rhythm. He rocked forwards and back, throwing his hands up in the air.

His actions were halted when he felt a breath on his ear.

“Hey handsome”

Lucas quickly whipped around and found himself face to face with a beautiful stranger. He was tall, had dark hair and dark eyes. He looked into them and could see his reflection, his tousled hair and glassy eyes. He was conventionally attractive and for some reason had some sort of interest in Lucas. But who was he to deny the attention of an attractive man?

“Hey yourself. How can I help you?” Lucas smirked, taking a step closer to the man.

“I was just wondering what a pretty boy like you was doing here alone”

“Nobody caught my eye”

“What, even now?” He whispered, voice rough in his ear.

“Hmm, maybe someone has caught my attention” Lucas flirted back, blinking up at the stranger.

“Whoever he is, he’s a lucky guy”

“Yeah he is” Lucas winked as he turned around. He pressed his back against the stranger and started to dance. He glanced over his shoulder and was proud to see that the older guys eyes had turned almost completely black, his pupils dilated. He put his hands on Lucas’s small waist and moved his hips in time with Lucas. Their dancing was messy and simple, but the alcohol pumping through Lucas’s veins refused to allow him to think straight. All he knew was that he was having a good time and this guy was a good distraction.

He didn’t know how long him and Aidan? He thinks that’s his name, were dancing for, but Lucas felt an intense burning on the back of his head. It was almost as if someone had pushed a firey hot poker into his neck and was twisting it constantly. He turned around and scanned across the room to try and find the source of the burn. All he could see was people dancing, shadows filling the night.

Until he saw him. Time seemed to stand still. The movement around him slowed. The hands on his waist suddenly became feather light. The lights faded away until they were just colours blurring around him. His eyes met the stormy night sky. Although he was metres away, Lucas had never seen him so clearly. His ruffled hair stood up at all angles and flopped over his forehead. His eyebrows were furrowed in complete concentration. His eyes were like lasers, stalking his every move. His jaw was clenched, just like his fists. His hunched shoulders left his jacket crease over his tense muscles. His stance was ready to attack, like a predator hunting its prey. And his lips. His lips were slightly open, tongue licking around the bottom, wetting them. They were plump and red, almost calling out for Lucas’s attention. It was like there was only him and Eliott in the world. In the universe. They were opposites, fire and ice, destined to meet and cause a collision. Everything else has faded to nothing. Their force was magnetic, pulling them together on a subatomic level. Lucas had never felt like this before. Like he would drop dead if Eliott’s eyes stopped watching his every move. He breathed in heavily, his lungs seeming to burst out of his chest. Thump, thump, thump. His breaths were shallow and forced, yet he felt like he could breathe for the first time in years.

All of a sudden his vision blurred and the sounds ambushed his ears. The loud bass music continued its attack on his brain and it was as if time hadn’t stopped. Everything carried on, completely oblivious to the moment he and Eliott had just shared. He let his ears and eyes adjust, coming back into focus. But never once losing eye contact with Eliott across the room. Lucas heard the song lyrics and he knew what he had to do.

“I’m giving up, I’m giving up on love”

He plastered himself against the guy behind him, dancing like he was before. But this time, he imagined it was Eliott. Let his body go and showed off. He knew he was affecting Eliott. He could tell by the way his eyes dilated, the way they seemed to turn hungry. He rocked back against Aidan and grinded their hips together. He could sense the anger flaring up in Eliott, almost as if they were his own emotions. Good, he thought to himself. I hope it makes you feel something. Desperation, want, helplessness. I want you to feel how you make me feel. I want you to want me. I want you to want me the way I want you.

Lucas barely noticed the loss of contact on his hips before he felt a gasp to his side. Aidan was being slammed against the wall, back making a sickening thud. His eyes were wide in fright, hands shaking. Strong arms were holding him there, veins pulsing against the skin.

“Back off. He’s mine” Eliott growled, letting go of the stranger and watching him run away in fear.

Lucas stood there, shock evident in his face. Did Eliott just- did he just-. His thoughts were interrupted by hands ghosting over his waist. But this time they were calloused, rough, covered by rings. The cold metal soothes his flushed skin stretched over his hipbones. The grip was firm, possessive. Lucas’s back was flush against Eliott’s chest. His strong arms covering Lucas’s swaying to the rhythm. His hot breath tickled Lucas’s collarbone, damp and heavy. His eyes were jet black, not a stormy blue in sight. His demeanour was electric, lighting up a spark inside Lucas. His heart constricted and he forgot how to breathe. He was overcome by a sense of want, of need, of lust. There was something about the way Eliott was looking at him. Looking at him like he was his prize, the only thing that mattered in the world. His desire was animalistic, raw and passionate. And Lucas had never wanted anybody more than he did in that second. He wanted to feel Eliott’s rough hands against his, pinning him down. He wanted those lips to devour his. He wanted that stubble to brush his cheek and leave a mark. He wanted to be owned. He wanted to be needed. For the first time in his life, Lucas felt complete, like this is what his whole existence had been leading up to. He turned around in Eliott’s arms and leant up, warmth filling every bone in his body.

Then emptiness. Cold. Numbness. Lucas blinked his eyes open and was met with the same eyes he wanted to see. But they were getting further away. Eliott was walking away from him, leaving him alone. He glanced at Lucas one more time before turning and walking out the door. The younger boy stumbled on the spot, his body in pure shock at what had just happened. Lucas thought he had felt empty before, but that was nothing compared to this. He felt like his heart had been torn from his chest. He could feel claws tearing up his gut. His soul was crushed beneath the ocean, water filling his lungs and clawing at his throat. He stood in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by dancing people. But they didn’t matter to him. He was alone. Alone.

#elu fic #elu fanfic #elu fanfiction #elu #skam france #eliott x lucas #lucas x eliott #skam #skam france fanfic #skam france fanfiction #skam france fic #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #lucas #eliott #gang au #au #protective eliott

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schtroumpf-a-lunettes · 6 years ago

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Smurf Village Upturned, Chapter 10

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9

Read on: AO3 | FF.net | This post

It was no mystery to Baby Smurf who was “it”. His dreams as of late had been lined with mirrors, and large, oversized glasses of the exact same size that might as well have been mirrors. As he walked by them in the dream, he could see his own reflection in the lens. They were looking for him. But he didn’t want to be found. So he adapted. He started navigating Smurf Village carefully. He’d already been making himself scarce. Whoever he was with, whether it be Lazy or the smurflings, was stuck haplessly following him around in his efforts at avoidance lest they lose track of him – the little smurfling would not be contained.

Grandpa seemed to catch on, catch him in his little hide and seek act with smurfs that didn’t seem to be aware they were playing. “Well… I’ll be smurfed if I’ll ignore or disregard the clear signals of a young smurfling,” was all that Baby heard Grandpa say on the matter, more to himself than anything. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but the much older smurf seemed to be supportive. From the looks of it, Grandpa was noticing something different about them too, and other smurfs were beginning to follow suit… Baby heard talk that Vanity was starting to neglect his chores. Baby was glad that he didn’t need to do any chores around the village yet, and wouldn’t for a long time. It was more fun to just play. Slouchy and Nat, however, they were being given more and more responsibilities these days, now that they were getting older. Although, it really didn’t have to be so difficult. Why didn’t Slouchy and Nat just use their magic when tasked with things like cleaning up? That’s what Baby would do. Just wave your hand about, and everything would fall back into place. He even tried to suggest as much, but they wouldn’t listen. “This isn’t one of our games Baby, we really do have to clean up!” was all they would say. It would be so easy for him to just wave his hand and get the job done for them, but there was probably a reason why the other smurfs always seemed to refuse to make use of their magic in their day-to-day lives. Maybe there was a rule against using magic for that kind of stuff. In which case, Baby didn’t want to break it in front of the others and get in trouble. Besides, he was too young to do chores! If a task was allocated to Slouchy and Nat, then they had to do it. So, restricted in this manner, Baby would simply stand by and watch. *** Brainy found that if he did it just right, it was even easier when he wasn’t trying to concentrate, but to instead let a more subconscious force take over. Although it did tend to leave him a little… talkative. Blurting out observations, at times. All he knew was that it was easier, so he’d slipped into it, but he hadn’t been expecting this. And it was much harder to slip out of… He did his best not to be inspecting every aspect of the other smurfs’ minds. Sometimes he stared at the ground, at a table in front of him, anything but them. He just needed to keep it up until he was finally allowed to see his own self. At other times, he couldn’t look away. Grandpa came over to him, warily. Brainy was always doing his best not to let his eyes come into contact with the older smurfs especially, now. Sometimes it was unavoidable. This seemed to be one of those times. Was he going to be forced to engage in conversation…? He felt that their privacy had an added layer of sacredness to it that he shouldn’t be trespassing into. “Hello, Brainy,” Grandpa said carefully. Insights into how Grandpa’s extensive travels had shaped him danced about in Brainy’s mind. He could see his connection to Nanny Smurf, lasting far back into their pasts, back when she looked just like every other smurf. “…You seem distracted,” Grandpa continued. He couldn’t look at Grandpa for too long, even if he wanted to. He was just too bright, almost painful to look at. His glow had to be the strongest out of all the smurfs. Brainy was left with no choice but to shield his eyes from the unbearable brightness of his being. Grandpa’s voice came to him once again. “Brainy…?” “Nngh… Sorry.” There was one way to help alleviate this mess… he took off his glasses, just as he’d been doing whenever speaking to Clumsy recently. It was easy to readily slip them off around his best friend and just talk to him normally. It was a little familiar, in a comforting kind of way, as it harkened back to when he hadn’t been able to wear his glasses at all, and Clumsy was there to look out for him. That meant he already had plenty of practice with talking to a Clumsy that he couldn’t even see. A carefully practiced motion of letting his guard down a little, as it were. Although Grandpa was unused to such a motion. “I just need to give my eyes a rest,” Brainy explained, seeing nothing now, no more eye-straining incandescence. “Hmm… Perhaps you’re in need of a stronger pair of glasses,” Grandpa suggested, “Papa and I could take a look at them…” “Oh, no, it’ll be fine. I’ve just been staying up far too late recently, aha.” “Well… Okay. But Papa did want to speak to you, in any case,” Grandpa prodded, “just to make sure everything’s right and smurfy.” Brainy shook his head. “No, I mean I – I’m fine.” “Brainy…” “Please. I appreciate the concern, Grandpa, but there’s nothing wrong.” He could handle this himself! He snapped his glasses back on. He did not wish to deal with the disadvantages of being unable to see right now. He wouldn’t smurf that vulnerability for anysmurf. Why should he? “You’ve been acting mighty strange as of late, you know. We’re a little… worried. You weren’t, heh, advising everysmurf in the village as you normally do for a few days, but then uh, when ya did…” “When I did, I smurfed more truth than was expected? Well excuse me for being perceptive of my fellow smurfs. Why not worry about yourself, Grandpa? That memory of yours, you’ve been fretting over it more and more, of how there’s so much memory that seems to be lost to you now. On some level, does it not constitute the breakdown of the self? If our memories are an integral part of our makeup, and you’re losing them, you wonder if it heralds a loss of identity.” Brainy had trailed off into his more monotonous tone towards the end of that, as that autopilot he’d experienced lately had taken control. He was back now. “It must be terrible to not have access to those important aspects of your own self…” he turned away from the older smurf then, not wanting to face him any longer, and just kept walking, past Smoogle sporting that inexplicable radiant sheen. It was strange, wasn’t it? The way that Smoogle glowed, but Nanny didn’t. He came across Vanity, and stopped. He had dark circles under his eyes, which was highly unusual for the smurf normally so preoccupied with beauty. Wasn’t Vanity always the one going on about "beauty sleep"? The moment any blemish appeared on Vanity’s face, he’d always been quick to react, to take counteractive measures. He wasn’t sure if he’d seen him dishevelled like this before. He was exhausted. Just as exhausted as Brainy was. “Vanity, you’ve been hopelessly lost in yourself for far too long! Don’t you think it’s time to give it a little rest?” Brainy asked. Vanity was muttering into his mirror feverishly. “You could look into another smurf. Like me. And tell me all about it.” He sat down in front of Vanity. Still no reply? How rude. So then he relaxed, slipping far too readily into that more robotic state of mind. He didn’t have to feel tired, did he? He could just flip that switch. So, what was going on, inside of this smurf he knew too well, and who knew himself even better? Vanity Smurf, there is such a thing as too much introspection, you know… ”You’re losing the bigger picture. When you look at something for too long, a single thing, it stops making sense. When you focus on something too much… it loses all meaning. In the very act of trying to know all about you, you’ve left yourself with nothing, rendering senseless the very concept of a self, your self, which as is anyone’s, is ever-changing, seems to dissipate the closer you get. How can you categorise it? You’re unable to consolidate anything now. But still, you try. But haven’t you started to notice the ongoing feedback loop that begins to start up, when you is all you focus on? The self observes the self, ad infinitum, but what does that make the true self, when it all interacts, intersects? Who is the unobserved observer? There is none. So what it becomes, is self-destruction. The self observes itself and then crumbles until there’s nothing left to see.” “At least I stick to myself, stick to minding my own business.” Vanity was talking. Finally, he was talking. “You know, I don’t actually appreciate you seeing into all that is and should be secret to me.” “But right now, you can barely see yourself. You can’t see like I do. You don’t have an outsider’s perspective. And I can see that you need to focus on something else.” …But he wouldn’t, would he? He caught glimpses of the others, could even see how looking away from his spellbinding mirror would, if anything, be far more rewarding at this point. But his infatuation with the smurf he saw in the mirror was just too strong. It consumed him. And he was too proud to admit he was getting sick of it, he was actually getting sick of it. It had been amazing to really see himself for the first time after receiving the insight, and now it was habit, stubborn persistence, and the desire to have that level of clarity again that drove him to keep on gazing into the mirror's glass, fruitlessly. Brainy spoke again. “You should go back to Roesia. Have the insight taken away.” “Oh, I will. Right after you do.” Vanity cast him a glance. A glance that said, got you there, haven’t I? “It’s having a terrible effect on you, you know. You really should.” Vanity turned his eyes on him now, didn’t look away. Oh… Now he was seeing into him. “Unlike a certain someone, I can actually see myself perfectly well. Haven’t you paid any attention to yourself? You’re not exactly doing very well either. You risk losing yourself in a sea of others. The self that you cherish so much is slipping. You see, two can smurf at that game, Brainy Smurf. But here’s the difference: I can see into myself.” They were locked now in the strangest impasse, where both could see just about everything about the other. They could see the concern they had for each other’s current predicaments, wished to impel the other to do something about it, while stubbornly doing nothing about their own. Vanity continued to study him intently. “Can you tell me what you see, Vanity?” Brainy asked hopefully. “What do you see…?” Vanity only smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” And at that snide remark, all of Brainy’s patience flew out the window. “Yes!” he hissed in frustration, restraining himself from allowing the exclamation to turn into a shout. Vanity was simply tired and choosing to be petty. But he was tired too. “Fine. If I can’t know… if I can’t see me, then why should you see you?” Brainy went to snatch Vanity’s mirror away, but he leaned back out of the way. Brainy was undeterred, grabbing at the mirror persistently. “You shouldn’t smurf with this mirror anymore, Vanity!” “It’s mine! Get away!” They struggled over it, two sets of hands trying to wrench it away. “Great smurfs! What is smurfing on here!” They looked up. Papa Smurf. A little behind him, they also saw Architect, who had happened to catch sight of them. Ah… Vanity spoke first. “He’s trying to take my mirror, Papa Smurf! Well, I say he should get his own mirror!” “Papa Smurf, from just one look at Vanity you’ll clearly be able to see that-“ the two smurfs started talking over each other rapidly. “Okay, okay, enough!” Papa looked the two now-quiet smurfs over before continuing, taking in the bags under Vanity’s eyes with disapproval and suspicion. “Vanity, I thought I told you to finish your chores!” “O-oh, sorry Papa Smurf…” Vanity replied. “I think your attachment to your mirror this past week has been too unhealthy. I have no choice but to confiscate it.” “But Papa, please!” Vanity protested, aghast. Brainy was snickering. Papa Smurf shook his head. “When I can see that your tasks have been completed, then we can talk.” “Oh, it just isn’t fair! What about Brainy, trying to smurf my mirror away like that?” “It was for your own good! Papa Smurf agrees with me, and Papa Smurf is right, because-“ “-And as for you, Brainy,” Papa said sternly. “W-what? Me?” “You haven’t been yourself lately… I want to see you in my lab.” *** It was such a useful method that managed to double as a fun little experiment to match. Roesia had never really shared her insight with anyone before, but she knew that such a thing was possible. And now, she could observe the results firsthand. But that was only secondary – whether or not they had accepted the insight, it would make little difference in the end. This would simply make things go just a little bit more smoothly – a way to doublecheck everything for absolute certain to confirm that she was ready. An extra pair of eyes or two wouldn’t hurt – it could only serve to benefit her in the end.

#the smurfs #Brainy Smurf #Vanity Smurf #Baby Smurf #smurfs

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boarix · 7 years ago

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Wraith in the Ruins: A Fallout 4 Story Part V

The Promise

Trigger warnings: canon language/violence/gun, drug and alcohol use. Mature/suggestive content

Game spoilers!

Please enjoy!

“Why won’t she listen?!”

Danse was pacing in Curie’s lab. His steps were heavy even without his power armor and he kept jarring the microscope making it almost impossible for Curie to read the slide.

“She listens to you, monsieur Danse, but she is most distraught over almost loosing MacCready and effectively loosing monsieur Hancock. She is so downtrodden; we need to respect her wish to move more slowly, oui?”

“I could crush them! The Dragoons and I and one or two M-42s... It would be over like that.”

Snapping his fingers, Danse roused Panther who had been napping in a window. The great monster of a housecat proceed to walk across Curie’s desk placing itself strategically between her and her work.

Sighing in defeat she gave it a pat, “We do not know how many civilian innocents may be killed by a direct assault.”

Wraith would never again call for the destruction of an entire facility; the loss of life between the Institute and the Prydwen would forever haunt her.

Danse had gone back to pacing-out his frustration and hearing Curie’s uncharacteristically impatient sigh, Panther jumped down from her desk and intercepted the large man, purring loudly and rubbing on his leg. Danse stopped automatically and as is if a switch in his brain had been flipped, he stooped slightly to pet the cat.

“Ah, you are Pavlov’s dog.” Curie smiled at him, “You have no say; the cat is there so you must stop to pet it.”

Curie giggled at her “joke” and combined with the smile she gave him, Danse had a rush of feelings and thoughts that were rather unsettling.

I wonder if I could… If she would let me…

His thoughts were cut off by the door slamming open and a ridiculously muddy MacCready poking his head in, “Hey is the boss lady back yet?”

Curie jumped when the door opened, “Oh my goodness! Why, you are all together mud! Do not come in here so filthy. Why are you a swamp monster?”

“I’m helping Sturges dredge for the mill. Is Wraith back yet?”

“What, did you lose a bet?” Danse was laughing.

“Why do people keep asking me that?” MacCready was exasperated, “Of COURSE I lost a bet! No one would willingly volunteer to help with this crap! Let me know when she gets home.”

“Is there something you required from Madame?”

MacCready was thankful that they couldn’t see him blush through the mud, “No! I just… want to know that’s all.” He slammed the door as he left.

Curie had returned her focus to the microscope. Danse, feeling that the moment had passed, but that some of the new thoughts and ideas might be worth revisiting later, left her to work; closing the door politely.

Wraith had taken Shaun back to Diamond City for the fall with the intention to work a local case with Valentine while she was there. There had been some whispered dissention over the synth detective’s new look and Wraith had hoped that her presence combined with Piper’s endorsement would help to ease any growing negativity.

She had been gone for a while and MacCready had been increasingly grouchy at over being left behind. He didn’t remember what had happened after he had been shot, and Wraith had been rather vague about the subsequent fight between her and Hancock. What she had been clear on was that for the time being he was grounded for his own safety and there were a lot of tasks he could help with before his next semester started.

“I can’t believe she took the dog too. I’m so flippn’ bored!”

As it happened, as soon as MacCready slammed the clinic door, Wraith crossed through Big Bridge Gate. She had made the trip to and from Diamond City travelling incognito as a male caravan guard and so made it all the way to her office undisturbed. Dogmeat’s disguise was simpler: Wraith took his red bandana off.

“May I help you?” Sofie had no idea whom she was addressing and was legitimately startled when Wraith’s voice answered her.

“How’s it been, Sofie dear?” Taking off some of her gear while the ghoulette updated her, Wraith interrupted long enough to suggest they go outside to the picnic tables, “It’s really nice out today and I want to sit in the sun while it’s out.”

MacCready caught wind that Sofie was talking to someone that “might be The Boss” and so immediately went over to impress her with his mud. Swaggering up as if he was in a tux, his tone was overtly flirtatious, “Well if it isn’t the best looking ladies in town! Get a load of you two knockouts! Hey, Sofie who’s in the little tower today, it’s Lloyd right?” At the diminutive ghoul’s nod he winked at them, “Scuse me a minute…”

Laughing a little at his odd behavior and appearance Wraith and Sofie continued with their meeting until they both jumped at a sudden scream, “GGGGAAAAAHHHHH!!! MACCREADY YOU DISGUSTING FUCK!! I CAN’T FUCKING UN-SEE THAT SHIT, MAN! GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!” Then, looking all the world as innocent as a new born, MacCready returned to the picnic tables adjusting his belt.

“What did…?”

Wraith interrupted her quickly, “Nope! No, Sofie. Just… no.” She laughed in spite of herself, “Mac, if you’re through, I got some more ballistic fiber and I’ve been meaning to mod you some new stuff. Go shower and meet me back at the house. Hey, the showers are that way.”

“Why can’t I use your office shower? I’m gonna get a change of clothes…”

“I’m about to get in there myself and you are not walking through the house like that! Go use the public showers and I’ll have someone bring you clean gear.”

“Okay, mom! Jeez!”

The community showers were one of Wraith’s personal triumphs. Although the pressure wasn’t always the best, at least the users had the option of hot running water. MacCready relaxed into the warm water and had just finished lathering up everything when he heard Curie’s voice.

“Monsieur MacCready I have brought you fresh things. These old are to be burned, oui?”

“No! Don’t!” In a panic, he forgot himself and ran out to the locker room area, slipping on the floor and nearly colliding into her.

“Oh! I was only… joking…” Curie turned an odd shade of pink as she got a full frontal view of everything MacCready had to offer. “Oh! Eeeeeee!” Running away she dropped the pair of pants she had brought, but nothing else.

Wearing nothing but a confused face and a few suds, he picked up the pants, “Hmmm, commando it is.”

Wraith was surprised to see him half naked a few minutes later, “I sent Curie with a full change of clothes.” As he told her the story she started to laugh.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny, but I’m confused; I thought she’s a doctor. Doesn’t she see naked people all the time?”

“Hmm. Maybe it was just the shock of it? Actually maybe she hasn’t. I’ve never forced anyone to get a physical and Preston was prepped for surgery before we got there. All of the instruction she’s done has been field med based, and they used cadavers so probably never a live man either.”

“Didn’t she help with medical research and stuff? Before she was…”

“Well, keep in mind when Dr. Collins programed her, all of the anatomy and physiology data was just that, data. And if she ‘saw’ a live naked patient it would have been through her ocular sensors. They aren’t quite the same as our eyes and she wouldn’t have had a… an emotional, I guess, reaction. So she has never seen a live naked man before. Then when a handsome naked guy who is dripping wet, bumps into her… yeah, she’d probably flip.”

Now it was MacCready’s turn to blush, “Never seen a naked man before… Where did you get cadavers…oh yeah, never mind.”

Wraith was laughing hard, “Yeah…heh… she’ll forever… hahaha… compare…” She snorted loudly, “… all other guys… to you! BWAAAHAHAHA!”

“Wait… you think I’m handsome?”

Wraith rolled her eyes dramatically at him, “Yeah, Mac. You be sure to apologies to her later though, okay? Wait. You better let me speak to her first because I’m laughing but you might have legitimately traumatized her.”

“Well, it is a lot to take in.” He spread his arms out wide and lifted his chin proudly.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep your arms up, I’m gonna measure you.” As she took the various measurements, Wraith found herself thinking about how handsome she really thought the young man was. Trying not to make herself blush she pushed the thoughts away and rushed, especially his inseam.

Stop it! Don’t think about his junk! You creep. Old bat. No underwear…. Gaaaahhhh!

Trying to cover up her busy mind she read his measurements out loud as she wrote them down, “I’m glad I measured first cause you’re filling out, I’m surprised your coat even fit you anymore.”

“What do you mean? I’m not done growing yet?”

“You’ve been at your full height, I’m sure. I just mean that I’ve been feeding you well and having you do more physical tasks than just runnin’ and gunnin’. You didn’t have as lean a winter as the ones you’ve told me about either, so your body can actually apply calories to muscle mass building as well. Don’t get me wrong, you’ll never be a beast like Danse.” She had thrown in that last bit to deflate his ego as he had started to flex experimentally during her explanation and it was giving her all sorts of fresh material for her dirty brain. She went to sit at her workbench, more to have her back to him, less to actually start her work.

Will you please stop! You are fifteen years his senior and he… and he… looks it.

MacCready’s ego was rather substantial however and so the jibe didn’t seem to faze him. Instead he swaggered over to the table and plopped down on the top, folding his arms he smiled down at her, “You know everything about me, huh? I don’t know anything about you though. I mean, not really.”

She immediately stood up so she could have her back to him again feigning interest in the ballistic fiber, “What do you mean? You know me, Mac!”

“I know what you’re like. I know that you’re a good person. But I don’t even know what your life was like, you know… before. You said you were a lawyer, but I don’t know what that really involves.”

“I assure you, it’s boring stuff.”

“C’mon, Wraith, give me something! Just one little story… Please?”

She sighed, defeated. At first she tried to speak calmly and slowly but her pace soon picked up, “Okay. I was in the Marine Corps for a few years and bounced around a bit; I worked for the Adjutant office and Ground Supply and a few months over-seas with Public Affairs.”

She took in a large, shaking breath, “When I was home on leave for a cousin’s wedding, my parents and I were in a bad car wreck. I was the only survivor and then it was just barley. That was actually the first time I heard of Vault Tec; they had a lot of contracts with the military and they offered to help pay for my surgeries and recovery if they could run some extra tests. I didn’t really have much of a choice; I essentially belonged to the military.”

She had started to pace back and forth as she talked, “I found out later that I wouldn’t be able to have children. The doctors said it was because of the damage I received from the accident, but I have always wondered about that.”

“Wait, they told you that you couldn’t have kids? But… Shaun?”

“I’ll get to that.” She resumed her pacing, “I decided that I wanted to change my career focus. I still wanted to stay in the military but I thought I might actually feel like I was doing something if I got my law degree and became a JAG lawyer.”

“Jag?”

“Yeah, it stands for ‘Judge Advocate General’s Corps’. She stopped pacing and stood silently. She was practically panting by now.

“Wraith? Are you okay? You don’t have to…”

“No, I’m alright. I just haven’t talked this much about before... Not to anyone.” She closed her eyes and controlled her breathing, “That is actually how I met Nate.”

MacCready straightened up a little at the name. She almost never talked about her late husband.

“Nathaniel Emmanuel Keita-Johnson. He was the Army liaison assigned to me for a case I was working. He was also just about the most beautiful human being I had ever seen; tall, dark and handsome. But he was also kind and fully committed to justice. I fell in love with him immediately. I kept it professional though and never let on what I was feeling. So much so that he thought I didn’t like him at all!” She had started breathing hard again.

“Wraith, really! You don’t have to…”

“No! I can do this!” She was back to pacing, even faster this time, “After the case wrapped he approached me and apologized. He said ‘I’m sorry if I wasn’t helpful to you’. I couldn’t believe it! I apologized for him feeling that he needed to apologize to me…”

“That sounds like you.” MacCready was trying to be supportive.

“Yeah. Well, we got to talking and then the rest as they say is history. We got married and I was amazed that he even liked me let alone wanted to be with me, especially since I couldn’t have babies. Well, then Vault Tec showed up again. The rep congratulated us on our marriage and asked if we would like to participate in a surrogate program.” She could see that MacCready was confused, “That’s when they take a fertilized egg sample from the parents and implant it in another person. At first I told them ‘no’. But I reconsidered and Nate said that he really wanted to see… me… as a mother…” Wraith was shaking now and started gasping for air.

MacCready took her in his arms and held her tightly to his chest, “Stop! It’s okay! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you. Just breathe.”

He had unwittingly echoed Hancock, and Wraith’s mind went into a spin as she simultaneously re-lived the deaths of her husband and her son as well as Hancock’s dismissal. She blacked out as her body re-set itself. MacCready continued to hold her as she briefly went limp and her breathing evened out.

As she came-to she was keenly aware that she was pressed against MacCready’s bare chest. She tried to focus on his heart beat and regain control. Then he began humming I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire and rocked them gently back and forth. She could hear his heart rate increase as she put her arms around him and reciprocated the embrace.

I just want to feel something else… Maybe I could… With Mac I could…

He pulled back from her and setting his hand on the top of her head he made as if to pet her hair, but ended up running his hand gently down the side of her face to cup her chin, “I’m sorry Wraith.” With his face mere inches from hers it was nothing to dip his head slightly and set his lips against hers.

The kiss was meant to be an offer of gentle support, but as she returned it with urgency he felt a fire ignite inside him. His hand moved to the back of her head to deepen the kiss even as she wove her fingers through his hair pulling him to her. He hefted her up to straddle him and pushing her against a wall, ground his growing erection between her legs. She moaned against his mouth and he thought he might lose it right then. Reaching down between them she cupped and stroked him through his pants.

He bucked himself into her hand, “God yes… please! Uhhh!”

As Wraith moved her hands to his zipper an image of Hancock flashed into MacCready’s mind and he grabbed her hands to stop her. Shaking and panting he set her down and backed away, “No we can’t. I’m sorry we can’t.”

Wraith completely misunderstood and was blushing furiously, “I’m sorry, MacCready! I guess I… I don’t…”

“No! God no, it’s not what you think!” Knuckling his fists into his eyes he reeled back, “I promised! I promised him!”

“Mac, I don’t understand… what…”

“Hancock!” Backing away from her toward the door, MacCready’s face had twisted into an intensely anguished mask, “Please don’t think that I don’t want to… God I do… so fucking bad! But I promised Hancock that I’d never steal from him again!”

Wraith became very still, “Robert Joseph, I do NOT belong to Hancock!” She was clenching her fists and wouldn’t look at him, “He doesn’t even… like me anymore!” She felt so childish saying it out loud.

“He loves you!” He raised his voice at her shaking head, “I know he does! And you love him! And… and I don’t know what happened, but I know it’s my fault you guys aren’t together anymore.”

“We were never together!” Wraith was trying hard not to start crying.

“But… you slept together...”

“Slept. He held me while I slept.” As angry as she was she felt a stab of sympathy for him. Even more so when she saw tears standing out on his cheeks. She reached for him, “Mac, it’s okay…”

“No. You never had a chance… to… It’s all my fault!” He fled through the door, and she could hear him run up the stairs to his apartment.

Wraith stood in silence for several minutes. She briefly thought to go knock on Cait’s door; the other woman would probably help her alleviate her intense sexual frustration. She almost immediately dismissed the idea. Cait wasn’t who she wanted and she didn’t want to use her like that. Instead she took a copious amount of Mentats and proceeded to write up 3 months’ worth of task-lists for Sanctuary. As she came down she felt an intense compulsion to go see Nate’s grave. Hiking up past the vault she remembered too late that she was wearing a t-shirt and jeans and had no armor or weapons at all.

She didn’t see the shadow following her.

Wraith had planted hubflowers around the simple stone that served as her late husband’s grave marker. She sat on the damp earth and took several measured, flower scented, breaths before speaking, “Hey Nate. You remember that talk we had about moving on if one of us dies? Well, I thought I had someone in mind… I wasn’t ready yet but… there was a man… a ghoul actually and also maybe a man. I guess I thought I could have both.” Tears streamed down her face, “But it turns out… no one actually wants me anyway.”

Lost in her pity-party she didn’t see the shadow circle around her.

Finally feeling a presence, Wraith lifted her face from her hands to see a pair of glowing eyes quietly observing her. She wasn’t afraid as she didn’t feel a harmful aura, “Panther?”

Upon hearing its name the cat began chuffing at her. Stepping across the grave with its whiskers fully extended, it licked her nose before crashing its forehead into hers and wiping her tears with its face and neck. It then made room for itself on her lap: sitting on her crossed legs while placing its head and paws on her shoulder.

She returned the cat’s hug, whispering, “Thanks Nate.”

The next morning Wraith was gone.

She had left notes for Sofie, MacCready and Danse and had spoken with Curie, but everyone got the same information: Wraith would be back TBA. With 3 months of task-lists no one lacked for clear directives, but MacCready told everyone to leave him alone and spent 3 days in the big tower. In the end, Danse was the one to go and bring him down after a lot of yelling and toilet-bucket throwing. It was even later rumored that Danse had called him a, “whiny little shit”.

Deacon knew that the young man traveling alone was actually Wraith. At first he was irritated with her, but then decided that her disguise was probably good enough to fool anyone but him. Wraith was 5’7” so with the heeled boots she was wearing; she was already the average height of most males in the commonwealth. She had altered her walk as well so her movements and body carriage denoted a general sense of “maleness”. She had even worn a wig. His irritation changed to pride as he jogged up next to her, “Whatcha doin’?”

Wraith didn’t jump or flinch at his approach as she had felt him from a ways off, “Walking.”

“Walking is for saps! Me, I’m swimmin’!” So saying he started wheeling his arms around as they moved along, “C’mon in, the waters fine!”

She couldn’t help but smile but wasn’t exactly in the mood to feel better yet, “Looks more like you’re trying to land a plane on a carrier.”

“Where we going anyway?” He was doing the breaststroke now.

“We?”

“Yeah, it means the speaker,” He pointed at himself, “and one or more other people,” He pointed at her, “considered together.”

“It’s getting dark and I’ve been settlement hopping and I’m worn out and… I’m trying to do the smart thing by stopping at a safe-house.”

“Do you have some of that sweet leather stuff?”

“Always.”

“Then we shall join you for dinner.” He had stopped swimming and instead adopted a courtly walk, “That time ‘we’ was meant to indicate that my royal self has made a decree, thusly.”

Wraith gave in. After an enjoyable banter-filled dinner she felt herself relax. Spreading her bedroll and tossing Deacon a spare blanket, she was amazed that she was as comfortable as she was.

Maybe it’s because I know he doesn’t ‘want’ me. There aren’t any expectations. I’m just safer because he’s here.

They lay in the dark for a few minutes before Deacon finally worked up the nerve, “Wraith, we are friends right?”

She propped herself up on her elbows to try and see him better, “Of course! Why?”

He resisted the urge to get closer to her, “Friends talk about stuff. You want to tell me why you and Hancock aren’t speaking?”

Flopping back down she grunted, “Ask him.”

“Hancock barely tolerates me. We are too much alike. So as much as I like fucking with him… I’d just as soon go poke a yao guai.”

“Who says I won’t punch ya?”

“Punch yes, eviscerate no.”

“Oh I’m sure he wouldn’t do that.” Tucking an arm behind her head she sighed dramatically, ending it in a growl, “I think he’s mad about MacCready. We almost lost him and it more or less could have been avoided, had I not been so stubborn.”

“That doesn’t track boss; Hancock knows what this life is like. Notice he didn’t try to stop you like I did. Instead he came with, probably thought it would be fun. The guy gets off on danger.”

“I don’t know… he’s got a soft spot for MacCready. He was pretty possessive after he’d been shot.” She started to run her hand back and forth across her buzzed hair, “Actually it wasn’t until Mac kissed me that he started acting weird.”

She could see him smile in the dark, “Oh yeah? Exchanging fluids with ol’ Hatty MacCheekbones are we?”

You have no idea…

“It wasn’t like that; he was delirious and mistook me for his late wife Lucy.”

“What are you going to do tomorrow?”

The abrupt change in subject caught her off guard. ”Uh… I donno. I don’t actually have a plan out here. Like I said I’ve been going through Minutemen settlements incognito, checking on everything unofficially and so far so good. I’m happy with all the leaders I’ve picked and there really isn’t anything other than the big projects…”

“So come back to the Railroad for a bit.”

His interruption surprised her, “Uh… I don’t know, Deacon.”

“Or, or, just hear me out. Help me with my current project.”

It would be nice to have something different to do… A change in focus…

“Okay.”

“Really?!”

His excitement made her smile, “On one condition; you can’t swim on dry land the whole time. Wavin’ your arms around like that… you’ll have vertibirds trying to land on us.”

There wasn’t supposed to be coursers.

Deacon’s project was meant to be a simple package transport: a pick-up and drop-off of a synth from one secure location to another. It was supposed to be a routine mission and a way for Deacon to spend more time with Wraith.

There wasn’t supposed to be coursers.

Wraith’s high perception picked up on the concealed courser before it fired a shot, “There!” Throwing a knife at the mirage-like ripple in the air, she gauged about where its hand would be and got off a rifle round as it moved to block; its Institute pistol coming into view as it left its hand. The ripple moved away and Wraith chased after, “Pursuing!”

Moving himself between the synth they were transporting and the apparent threat, Deacon was surprised when she grabbed his arm and twisted it painfully behind him. Forcing him down she stood on his right leg to keep him prone. Rolling to his right, he brought his left leg around and kicked hard against her right knee. For a split second her hold weakened, long enough for him to continue his momentum back to a standing position, pulling his silenced pistol from its holster as he did.

Recovering quickly, she grabbed his pistol wielding hand in a vise-like grip. Pain forced his hand open and the gun dropped to the ground. Not losing a beat, Deacon gave her a closed-fist double-tap to her temple. She caught his fist on his third jab and yanked forward to grip his neck with her other hand. Releasing his fist, she gripped his throat with both hands and lifted him off his feet.

“GHAACK! How are you so tall?!”

Activating his shoe knife, he delivered a brutal kick to her armpit. Had she been a normal human this would have more than broken her hold. As she was a courser, she flinched and dropped her arms slightly but not enough to set him on the ground. Clawing at her hands, he could feel himself losing consciousness. Mustering every remaining ounce of strength, he swung his foot up and slammed the knife into the side of her head. He knew she was dead, yet her body didn’t seem to know and was still holding him painfully aloft.

His last thought was, “Oops.”

Using a combination of her berserker rage and an incredibly sharp combat knife, Wraith sliced through the courser’s arms, dropping Deacon to the ground. Prying the hands away from his purpled neck she tilted his head back to begin CPR. Knowing full well she wasn’t competent enough to perform a tracheotomy, she prayed his windpipe hadn’t been crushed. “Common Deacon! Fight for me buddy!” Still not getting a heartbeat, she slammed her fist onto his chest, “God damn you, YOU ASS! BREATHE!”

“Ouch.” His voice was a horse whisper and was followed by a wracking cough.

Shooting him up with Med-X and a stimpak, Wraith gathered him into her arms and proceeded to cry. He briefly struggled against her touch but she squeezed all the tighter, “Nope! I get to. I get to hold you after that! I’m sorry and you can yell at me when you’re better, but I get to fucking hold you now.”

He reached up to tenderly touch her bruised and battered face.

“I know it will be difficult for you monsieur Deacon, but you must use your voice as little as possible as you are recovering.”

Curie’s no-nonsense face made Deacon want to laugh, but the thought of how painful it might be kept his chuckle at bay. Nodding instead he hopped down off of her examination table and joined Wraith in the waiting room.

“Doc sez I shouldn’t talk.”

Wraith laughed at him, “As if that’s possible!” As they headed to the door, Wraith stopped short causing Deacon to almost bowl her over, “Shit! Mac is out there.” Deacon raised an eyebrow at her. “I scared him and now he won’t let me out of his sight. He’s kinda smothering me.” Deacon raised both eyebrows at her. “Okay, okay I get it. Shush yer eyebrows, jeez!”

Hancock sensed someone standing behind him, “Fahr, can you tell me why in the goddamn I wrote three copies of the same fucking page?!”

“You were probably high. Or drunk. Both?”

He was in no mood for Deacon and didn’t bother to turn around, “I don’t have time or the patience to deal with your shit right now.” He shuffled some papers around to emphasize how busy he was, “The Railroad needs something, they can leave a memo.”

“Actually it’s Wraith that needs something.” Deacon involuntarily flinched as Hancock slammed his palms down on the table. “She’s not well, Hancock. She doesn’t sleep or eat hardly at all.”

Hancock’s voice was low and dangerous, “What, am I her pa now? She has plenty of folks to take care of her.”

“You mean MacCready, right? You know they aren’t together, right? He completely rejected her and she was heartbroken!”

“It’s none of my concern.” Hancock’s shoulder set and voice told on his lie, “I have problems of my own here without having to worry after the good General Wraith.”

“Wraith isn’t her real name.”

Pushing himself up violently, Hancock closed the distance to Deacon with remarkable speed. Grabbing the other man by the shoulders he slammed him roughly into the wall, “I DON’T FUCKING CARE!”

Throwing caution to the wind Deacon got in his face, literally pressing his forehead to Hancock’s and dislodging his tricorn, “I think you fucking care quite a bit! You can’t lie to a liar, Hancock. I know you are in love with that woman.” As Hancock released him and backed away, Deacon feeling he’d gained the upper hand, followed after him, “You thought you were in their way right? You thought ‘If I’m not around then they’ll fall into each other’s arms’. Right?! Well the jokes on you because they are both too hung up on you, of all people, to even be with each other!”

“Well in the absence of us both, I’m surprised you didn’t swoop in and snatch her up! Follown’ her around all the goddamn time… sneaking around actually; It’s obvious you’re in love with her too!”

Deacon's shoulders sagged. Removing his sunglasses he cleaned them with his shirt, “Of course I’m in love with her. We all are.” Looking back at Hancock he smiled a sad little smile, “I can’t be that for her though. I had my chance at happiness and I destroyed it. I will never have that again; I don’t deserve it.”

Hancock’s body posture changed, “That ugly face yer makin’… like lookin’ in a mirror.”

“Well, people are always saying how much we look alike.”

“Heh!” Hancock swept his hat from the floor and returned it to his brow, “Well, I’m not sure what to do. She’d be pretty pissed at me still… Oh, and don’t think for two seconds that whole ‘Wraith isn’t her real name’ shit was a huge bomb! I know better than that. Who names their kid Wraith? I figured it had to be a nickname.”

“It’s from when she was a Marine; the ladies in her unit all choose spirit names like ‘Banshee’ and ‘Geist’ and called themselves the Spirit Squadron.” Deacon chuckled, “It’s interesting that she’d prefer Wraith to…”

“No! Don’t tell me!” Hancock quickly interrupted, “I don’t deserve to know unless I ask her myself. Although I doubt she would want to speak to me anytime soon.”

“Drop her a memo.”

Thank you so much for reading! Like what you read? Looking for more? Please see my Wraith in the Ruins master-link under my tags. =^..^=

#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout 4 fanfic #wraith in the ruins #fallout hancock #fallout deacon #fallout maccready fanfic #fallout deacon fanfic #fallout hancock fanfic #fallout curie #paladin danse #fallout danse fanfic #fallout dogmeat #rj maccready #maccready romance fanfic #hancock romance fanfic #john hancock

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aiimaginesbts · 8 years ago

Text

No Hands (M)

Seokjin x Reader

Genre: Smut. Nothing but filth here.

Warnings: Dom!Jin, master/pet, squirting, overstimulation, ass play, toys

Word count: 4,042 words

A/N: I suddenly got the idea for this filth when I wanted to love Jin more after seeing so many appreciate Jin posts like 2-3 weeks back… Also, thanks to @rielleria and @mylovejhs for beta-ing!

Disclaimer/Copyright

Many see Jin as a jester. A comic, a source of laughter and the brunt of jokes, rarely more. Oftentimes you wonder if the girls who claim to fall for him are simply enamoured because of his looks and nothing else. But he is more than an eye candy. Although many may not realise it, Jin is a person with substance. He has feelings, he feels pain and insecurity, his thoughts run deep, but he only shows these sides to the people who are lucky enough to be close to him. You are one of the lucky ones. Actually, you are even luckier than most because there is a side of him that he shows only to you.

In front of most people, Jin never stops making jokes, playing and horsing around. Little does everyone know that when he’s alone with you, he still likes to play around. However, his games turn deliciously wicked, the angelic smile he wears in public becomes sinister. The people who know you would find it even more surprising that you can’t get enough of it. Usually Jin has no problems giving what you want and letting you win most of your arguments, preferring to make his girlfriend happy unless he strongly disagrees with you. He is just as kind and sweet as he looks. However, when you’re in bed… His word is law, and you live to please him. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“My beautiful little bunny rabbit,” he coos into your ear from behind, placing his hands on the sides of your waist. Those simple words and touch send shivers running down your spine. He moves from your ear down your neck, not quite touching you yet you’re already tilting your head away, exposing the expanse of your neck to him. As he continues to breathe on your delicate skin, you know he’s smirking at your obliging behaviour, but you don’t care. He loves having this much control, and you love him lording his power over you.

“Master,” you whisper when he finally makes contact, his lips planting kisses along the slope between your ear to your shoulder blades. You find it hard to control yourself when he begins to attack the crook of your neck, sucking and nipping the flesh to leave a bruise. Your hands are curled into tight fists by your side, wanting to give in to the urge, to reach back for him…

“You will be a good girl for me tonight, hmm?” It is more of a statement than a question, a reminder that your limbs should remain where they are until told otherwise. You nod mutely, not quite trusting your voice. All your powers of concentration are focused on not touching him, or grind against the insistent bulge that you can feel poking against your ass.

He hums softly as his hands slide up over your rib cage towards your breasts. He loves it when you forgo a bra, and you have to admit that part of the reason you do it so often is to get this reaction from him. The flimsy material of your white shirt does nothing to shield your breasts from Jin’s heated touch. Nor does it hide the fact that your nipples get hard from just one flick of his thumbs.

“Wow. Would you look at this,” he teases and you obediently look down to see your pebbled buds being rolled around his long, elegant fingers through your clothes. “Already so hard. Such a naughty pet.” His ministrations are sending sharp arrows down to your core, but just as your breath stutters, he releases your taut peaks, cupping the undersides of your heavy breasts before making his way down your stomach. Your pussy dampens even more in anticipation when his right hand moves closer to the band of your panties, only partly covered with your slightly oversized shirt, but you should have known better. Jin would never give you satisfaction that easily - you’ll have to earn it.

However, he bypasses your hungry pussy through the hips that he has always admired, arriving between your legs. Wordlessly he coaxed them to part just enough so he can slip his hand in between your inner thighs. You resign yourself to the slow burn of him drawing tantalising circles so close to your center but never quite touching where you need him most, while his mouth shifts back up to the side of your face. Your earlobe is pulled between his teeth, his tongue flicking it back and forth, gradually readying you for what’s to come.

“Does my little bunny want to please me?” He blows against the shell of your ear, breathing in your intoxicating scent.

“Yes, Master, so much,” you plead.

“Good.” With that, he pulls his hands and mouth away. You fight against the whine that threatens to escape you at the loss of contact. “Now strip.”

The command is soft, calm, almost kind even, but you hasten to comply. He walks around to face you so he can watch as your fingertips pinch the hem of your shirt. You lift the piece of clothing upwards at an excruciating pace, revelling in his greedy gaze, eating up the sight of your skin being exposed to him, inch by inch. Finally you toss the material onto the floor, then hook your thumb into the waistband of your panties. Its descent down your legs is faster than the speed with which you used to take off your shirt, giving away your growing impatience. When you bend down to slide it completely off, Jin places a hand on your shoulder, and you continue to follow the unspoken command to sink down until your knees hit the plush carpet.

Tilting your head up, you watch him pull his hoodie over his head, tousling his brown hair in the process, before unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. You wait anxiously, but instead he stops and motions with a nod of his head for you to continue instead. Excited hands reach for his pants but before you can yank it down, he stops you, “Ah ah ah. No hands.”

Of all the games that Jin likes to play with you, this is his favourite. It’s also the one you find to be the most torturous and difficult, yet it is one that always, always drives you crazy. In the best possible way. Hoping that he won’t extend this order for very long, you clasp your hands behind your back in the position that you’re now familiar with. The dark look that his face has taken on makes you rub your legs together unconsciously with excitement, a move that he fortunately misses as you get to work on undressing him without the aid of your hands.

It is an arduous task, made more difficult by the erection that is straining against the unforgiving material. Still, you persevere, ignoring the roughness of the jeans against your tongue and the roof of your mouth, making sure to grip his boxers between your teeth to pull down as well. He stays silent as you struggle with the task, only helping by giving the smallest of wriggles here and there to make your job easier. Bit by bit his large member is revealed to you, and along with its revelation, the faint scent of Jin mingled with the fresh smell of soap. It clouds your mind and you pause to breathe it in, letting it boil your insides with lust and the singular need to pleasure him.

The desire refuels your efforts and you tug his clothes down with renewed vigour. You can hear him chuckle softly at your urgency but you don’t care. “Tsk tsk. So impatient,” Jin’s mock disapproval is ignored as you celebrate the victory of freeing his rigid cock. Saliva pools in your mouth at the sight but you can’t afford to be distracted. After getting past his shapely buttocks, the rest is a cakewalk, and in no time the clothes are pooled at his feet and you’re grinning up at him, satisfied with your achievement.

“Good girl,” he praises, brushing his hand from the top of your head down to the side of your jaw, and you lean into his touch. His thumb draws soothing circles against your cheek before he directs your lips against his throbbing dick.

“Do you want a taste?” It’s more of a tease than a question for he knows what your answer will be. Your lips brush against the tip as you nod, and he releases his hold on you.

Since you obviously haven’t earned his permission to use your hands, you lean forward, wrapping your mouth around his cock, slowly taking more and more of him until your nose is buried into his lower stomach. He hisses at the feeling of your warmth surrounding him. You’re determined to remain there as long as possible, so you alternate between focusing on inhaling through your nose and swallowing around his length. It doesn’t take long for Jin to let out a loud groan and card his fingers through your hair. There is no pressure behind it though, he’s not forcing himself on you, and eventually you’re overwhelmed and is forced to retreat.

However, you’re far from done. As you suck the head of his cock voraciously, you wish you have the use of your hands to pump his shaft. Jin is making you work for it, having you run your tongue all over his length, then latching onto the head again, before bobbing your head on his cock while he softly massages your scalp, his hold keeping you steady.

You alternate between pumping his cock with your mouth and devouring him whole, all the time swallowing and humming, heightening the pleasure and he doesn’t hold back. Streams of praises between his moans boost your ego and keep you going until you feel his digits pulling on your hair, and you allow him to hold you still so he can face fuck you. Your eyes fill with tears as his tip rams against the back of your throat but you don’t stop him, trying to relax your jaw as much as you can until bursts of his hot cum explodes into your throat and floods your mouth. You swallow every drop like you haven’t had any liquid for weeks and he’s your oasis, making sure to lick every inch of his cock clean before you reluctantly release him.

“Open up,” he commands, and you obey, sticking your tongue out to show him. A possessive smile decorates his angelic face when he confirms that you have gulped down all of his cum. “Very good. Now get on the bed.”

You nearly buckle at your knees as you get up, the lower half of your body weakened by the prolonged contact with the ground and the dull ache between your legs. Jin quickly catches you before you fall, plants a chaste kiss on your lips and helps you onto the bed.

Laying sprawled on the bed makes you feel completely exposed to him, but you’ve learnt not to be shy in front of Jin. He has long since assured you that he loves your body just the way it is, that any imperfections in your looks makes you more special to him. The way he looks at you, touches you, kisses you and treats you, whether it is in bed or out, makes you feel as loved and protected as a queen. What you admire most about him is that he’s aware of his shortcomings and is always working to improve, yet he strives to see the positive side of things. Perhaps some of that has rubbed off on you and helped make you more sure of yourself and comfortable in your own skin.

However, it’s difficult to remain confident when he’s parting your legs to settle between them, his intense gaze focused on your flooding womanhood. “Look at you, dripping onto the mattress already and I haven’t even touched you yet,” he says with a smirk, and you fight the urge to close your legs off to him. He won’t be pleased if you do that. Although you can’t see it from your position, you can feel the dampness smeared all over your inner thighs, you’re that wet.

Jin slides the tip of his index finger up your slit, barely touching, but it’s enough to incite a shudder from you. He grins wickedly upon seeing your response and continues to tease you, running his digit up and down your folds, occasionally lightly brushing your clit. You’re quickly growing frustrated, squirming underneath him in an effort to withstand the torture, until it becomes so unbearable that without thinking, your hands move to reach for his wrist.

He stills immediately. “Did I say you can touch?” He asks menacingly. Duly chastised, you lower your arms back onto the bed. At least he decides that you’ve been tormented enough, and the finger finally slips into your needy pussy. A wanton moan from you follows the second finger and he begins to finger fuck you hard. Fortunately he doesn’t mind the mewls falling from your lips as your walls slowly tighten around him.

“Jin,” your warning is high-pitched, and he responds, “Go on. Come for me. I want to see you come all over my fingers.”

His words, coupled with the hook of his fingers to graze against your g-spot, are all you need to burst in ecstasy. From your hazy, half-lidded eyes you can see him continue to pump his fingers through your high, making clear liquid spurt out of you in bursts. You can’t seem to stop panting, your limbs are trembling and you’re not sure if you’ll ever regain your sanity but when he withdraws and shows you the aftermath, you still retain the decency to blush.

A mixture of arousal and embarrassment fills you as you watch the evidence of your orgasm trickle down Jin’s long, stately fingers. The palm of his hand is wet, and you can also see colourless spots glistening all over his forearm. “Such a dirty bunny. Squirting all over her master,” he growls and you bite your lower lip to keep from moaning in response, especially when his tongue darts out to lick it all up, commenting on how delicious you taste.

After he’s satisfied with his cleaning job, he surprises you by flopping down onto his stomach. His plump lips are dangerously close to your core and his warm breath hits your still tingling center, sending you into a panic. “Jin, what are you doing?!”

He looks up at you, eyebrow raised at the impertinent words but luckily for you, he lets it slide. “I’m doing what I want to do,” he answers right before he dives into your folds. Raspy tongue exploring your silken lower lips, flicking your oversensitive clit makes you yelp and scoot away, trying to escape but his reaction is lightning fast. A strong arm lands across your waist, keeping you in place and another shifts so he can shove two of his fingers back into your weeping pussy, leaving his mouth free to latch onto the small bundle of nerves crowning your womanhood.

The overstimulation that he’s unleashing on you is a little painful at first, but the discomfort blends into mind-numbing pleasure faster than you’re willing to admit. Before long, you know that he can feel your insides pressing down on his digits again. You call out his name but he stops, taking away his hand and releasing your throbbing clit with a pop. His irises have disappeared under the blown-out pupils and his voice has gone impossibly deep. “Not yet. Don’t you dare come.”

Gleefully taking in the look of alarm on your face, he goes back down on you, this time pushing his stiffened tongue into you as he pinches your nub between his fingers. You try your best to stave off your orgasm, but he has brought you too close to the edge. When his thumb presses hard into your clit, you lose all control. Your mind goes completely blank, unable to dictate your actions and your hands fly up to grab his soft hair, holding him in place as you scream his name in blinding release, bucking your hips into his sinful mouth and fingers uncontrollably.

You start apologising even before you can regain your bearings, but the damage is done. The dangerous gleam in his eyes cautions you to ignore the spike in your arousal at the sight of the lower half of his face covered in your juices. Without saying a word, he climbs off the bed to the drawers that he shares with you. You know better than to ask. That’s where the two of you keep the assortment of toys, and sure enough, when he returns, you can see the bottle of lubricant in his grip.

“Didn’t I tell you not to touch me?” His low volume makes his rhetorical question sound all the more threatening. “Didn’t I tell you not to come yet?”

You open your mouth to apologise again but he cuts you off. “You’ve been a bad girl. This calls for some punishment. Turn around.”

Without hesitation, you flip yourself around, lying on your stomach. A sharp slap on your ass cheeks prompts you to squeal and raise your ass up in the air, knees apart so your dripping sex is on display for him. The cool lube being spread around your asshole causes you to jolt, but you tell yourself to calm down and stay in place as he liberally applies the fluid around the rim. It’s hard not to fidget under his touch, as gentle as it is, ass play is something that is fairly new to you, and you’re still getting used to it.

A soft moan falls past your lips when you feel the pressure of his lubed pinky on your anus, slowly making its way inside you. The intrusion still feels a little alien to you, but the discomfort gradually lessens as he moves the small digit in and out of you, and when another joins it, you don’t find it to be painful.

The pressure increases when he bends over your body, but the kisses that he peppers all over the side of your face is soothing even as his hard cock pressing against your ass cheeks makes your heart race with anticipation. “Do you remember your safe word?” He whispers and you repeat it to reassure him that you do. You sigh in relief when he pulls his fingers out of you completely, but a part of you misses its presence more than you want him to know.

“You don’t think I’m done with you, do you, my pet?” He chortles ominously just before he elicits a loud gasp from you by pressing an unknown object into your ass. A butt plug. He must have brought it with the lube without you noticing. You’ve never seen one, so it’s probably new. It’s bigger than his fingers and you wiggle your hips, trying to adjust to its presence. After making sure that you can take the intrusion, he turns you around again so he can look into your eyes as he shoves his cock into your soaked pussy.

Groans, both yours and his, bounce off the walls of the room as he fills you to the brim. You’ve always half-jokingly told Jin that he’s too big for you, but with the butt plug inside you as well, you’re feeling particularly stuffed. Already your senses are going into overdrive, and another coil is forming in the depths of your stomach despite having cummed twice.

As if testing the waters, he slides in and out cautiously, almost leisurely, but as he builds the momentum, you know you don’t stand a chance. You hope that you can at least last long enough to get his permission to come, but with Jin pounding you into the mattress at such breakneck pace, it’s going to be next to impossible. Remembering that you’re not supposed to lay your hands on him, you grip the bedsheets in an effort to resist holding on to his broad shoulders to anchor yourself as you take on his powerful thrusts.

Even though Jin loves to have your firm grip on his body or your nails raking down his back while he fucks you to oblivion, he now finds that he also enjoys watching you struggle to refrain yourself from doing so upon his orders. The look in your eyes is pleading, your grasp on the bed covers desperate, but you know that this is your punishment for touching him before you are allowed to. The best thing is, he’s not even done with torturing you yet. No, he has one more surprise tucked up his sleeve.

Just as your voice grows in volume, he reduces his speed. Your moan is a mixture of relief and frustration at having your high taken away, but letting your guard down is a mistake. Leaning down, he captures your mouth in an intense kiss, moving and nipping with such force that your lips are sure to bruise, but you don’t care. Returning the kiss with equal fervour, you lose yourself so deeply in him that you don’t notice him reaching for the remote he has placed close by until he suddenly snaps his hips into yours the same time the plug inside your ass starts to vibrate.

Your startled cry causes him to smirk, but your subsequent moans are swallowed by his mouth. The vibration intensifies Jin’s pounding, which have accelerated into rapid fire, forceful thrusts. The knot in your belly has grown so taut that you’re afraid you may snap any second.

“Jin, Jin, please, I need to come, I can’t hold back any longer, Jin, please, please,” you beg, over and over, any sense of shame gone out the window, your body is already trembling with the force of your impending orgasm. He rests most of his weight on his forearms so he can watch the quivering mess he has reduced you to, his eyes almost black with lust and sadistic satisfaction.

Luckily for you, he can never withstand your tight channel for too long. “Does my little bunny want to come all over her Master’s dick?”

“Yes! Yes, Master, please, I’ll do anything,” you agree, not caring about how desperate you sound.

“Then come.” He accompanies his permission with an increase in speed, ramming into you so hard and deep, pressing against your cervix, pushing you off the edge. You scream as you finally let go, the force of your orgasm so powerful that you almost blacked out. Head thrown back against the pillows, back arched clear off the bed, your breasts shuddering in the air under his starving gaze, your hips bucking ferociously against his, feet shuffling against the mattress to fruitlessly attempt to find purchase.

Your already tight channel closes in on his cock even more so that he can hardly move and forces out his own high. With a loud roar he gives in to his needs, blowing up inside you, filling you up and letting you milk the last of his cum. He is so shaken by his release that he can hardly stop himself from collapsing on top of you.

With a Herculean effort, he turns to lie on his side, bringing you with him. He allows himself just a few seconds longer to enjoy the vibrations from the toy before he reaches for the remote to turn it off. Neither of you move, both perfectly content to lay in each other’s arms, even though his softening cock is still buried deep inside you.

“That was amazing,” Jin comments, and you laugh breathily in agreement. Silence falls, and you assume he has gone to sleep, but apparently he’s just lost in his thoughts. “Maybe next time I should tape a vibrator on your clit as well.”

The thought of him doing such a thing makes you shudder. You hit his chest playfully and his windshield wiper laugh alerts you to the return of happy, sweet Jin. You can’t wait for next time.

#jin smut #bts writing squad #armiesnet #hyunglinenetwork #noonanet #bangtan bookclub #eatjinnetwork #bts smut #jin scenarios #bts scenarios #no hands #flower jin

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funkzpiel · 8 years ago

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Further thoughts on involuntary-vampire!David: Jerry is terrified that the shock of being Turned against his wishes will ruin David - after all, Jerry himself used to be someone entirely different. He dedicates himself to helping his husband recover, helping him be better - and he's never so relieved as when he realizes that David is still his lovely marshmellow self, just with fangs.

DAY 4: Begging

When Jerry woke, David wasn’t there, and immediately he knew something was wrong. He flew down the stairs, not even bothering with the steps, to land in a crouch at their bottom – and that was where he found them. His best friend turned enemy from another century and his small, soft David.

David, his David, with his glasses askew and fat, wet tears behind them, lower lip trembling over the shoulder of the woman currently buried in his neck. Letting lose a wrecked whimper when the creature drew deeper from him, his lashes fluttering, his hands wriggling in the cuffs that were slowly turning his wrists purple.

“Jerry,” David mouthed, but fear stole his voice – and Jerry was grateful for it. He put a finger to his own lips as he slowly slunk forward. And he almost got there, too, before a dark chuckle made him still. David whined as fangs pulled free from his throat and the heady scent of blood in the room thickened, drawing the shadows into Jerry’s eyes.

“Angelica,” Jerry said, plain and simple, and his once upon a time partner in crime smiled with all her bloody red teeth.

“Jack. Although this sweet thing keeps calling you Jerry. What a strange new name you’ve found yourself. Does he kill with you like I did?” She pondered, drawing up behind the chair David was tied to, one long talon caressing the soft underside of his jaw, tapping lightly. “Hmm, somehow I don’t think so. A little dull, this one. I’m almost surprised. Almost.”

“He’s a toy, Angie. Nothing more,” Jerry said, and he even almost convinced himself – but the only one he did convince was David, big tears finally spilling as his head fell, hiding behind his messy fringe. He’d fix it later, he told himself. After David was safe. Only he wasn’t as hard as he used to be,

He didn’t quite cover his flinch.

And like blood in the water, Angela noticed. She leaned over David’s soft, trembling shoulder and pressed her lips close to the sluggishly bleed holes in his neck as she whispered.

“You’re getting soft in your old age there, Jack. What happened to my Ripper?”

“Touch him again and you’ll find out.”

“But I’m just helping you through a problem you’ve always had, Jackie,” she purred, lips soft against the tremble of David’s skin. “Commitment.”

Jerry stilled, something unfamiliar turning his dead insides colder. He braced himself to move, to attack, to fucking fling her from his lover before she could finish what she had started, but froze at the glacier crack of a gun being cocked and pressed to David’s temple.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she crooned. “I know all your tricks. No more running, Jackie. Not today.”

“Angela–”

“I wonder what he’ll be like,” she hummed softly, her long brunette curls bouncing about her shoulders as she played with David’s hair with her free hand, relishing in his trembling. “So soft right now. Nothing like you or me. He’s no hunter… I can’t help but wonder why you didn’t eat him. But he is rather cute in a ‘too helpless to function’ sort of way, isn’t he? Like a kitten.”

David sucked in a sharp, hurt little breath, and Jerry couldn’t tell what he hated more: that David was taking all of this to heart, that he couldn’t stop any of this, or how soft he had become. Because in his heart, his long dead heart, he felt crippled by the long fall of tears down David’s stupidly little nose.

Angelica dug her chin into the meat of David’s shoulder, eyes heavy where they hung on Jerry. Something cold chilling the smile on her face. Something familiar. A ghost from old English streets, fingers and tongues covered in blood as they made out in back alleys, fresh from their kills.

“You never were very good at ‘forever’, baby. Is that why you haven’t turned him? Harder to get bored when your toy has an expiration date?” She asked, then kissed David’s shuddering cheek before gleefully stating, “Let’s find out,” and bring her free wrist to her mouth.

With an animalistic snarl, a sound Jerry could still remember in his dreams from the night he had first turned her, Angela bit into her own fingers. Mangled and tattered, she pushed them to David’s lips before either of them could do a thing about it. Blood smeared across his pursed mouth, stilling instead of prying when finally Jerry spoke.

“Don’t!”

She arched a brow, something cruel stealing across her face. Something hungry.

“I’m listening,” she purred.

Eyes on the gun in her hand, Jerry settled back first onto his haunches, then his knees. Slack and defeated, unwilling to race the gun. He licked his lips and gestured helplessly.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing at, Angie, but you win. What do you want? I’ll… I’ll do it. Just… just don’t.”

And obviously, that was the wrong thing to say. Thunder drew across her face, turning her pretty features ugly. She sized him up with disgust, a sneer tight across her teeth.

“You don’t fool me, Jack. I’m going to open his eyes to what you really are – a coward and a fraud. You don’t know how to love.” She forced her fingers in, past the trembling of David’s lips, and jarred the gun a little more harshly against his temple as she snarled, “Suck.”

With a throaty, despairing moan, David did. He suckled at the coppery fingers in his mouth, skin pale from blood loss and fright and sorrow. His lashes fluttered as the Change began. Still his heartbeat with each swallow, slowing down his mortal breath – made worse by the hyperventilating slowly stealing away David’s composure, blocked by those bloody fingers.

“David, baby, look at me,” Jerry said, startling them both as David’s eyes jerked up – wide, brown eyes slowly turning darker. “You’re going to be okay. It’s going to be okay. Stay with me, guy. I’m right here.”

David nodded shakily around the fingers in his mouth, and Angela quickly drew them away, shoving the chair and David both at Jerry in one wild, angered rush. And the second she did, he was free. He caught and steadied David’s chair before propelling himself forward and around it, stealing her around the waist before she could so much as aim her gun. Shots fired, but didn’t take as he slammed her through the couch and onto the floor. He raised his hand to smite her, fingers like knives ready to rend her head from her long ivory throat, only to stop at her cackling. Boneless and laughing, she wiped bloody tears from her eyes.

“You know as well as I do the Change has taken, Jackie,” she said, but there’s was an old hurt in the sound, like a gong from a church bell they both used to know. “You kill me, his Sire, and he won’t make it.”

Jerry felt fury burn through him, lighting his dead flesh alive like a live wire, before snarling and slamming his fist through the floorboards beside her head. She didn’t even flinch, her eyes already dead in a way he couldn’t understand, but maybe did once.

“As soon as he’s strong enough, I’m going to find you,” he said, as though describing the color of the sky rather than the details of her murder; factual rather than a vow. “And I am going to show you just how committed I can be. I’m going to make you feel every last ounce of your forever. And you’ll beg me to forget you, but I won’t. You’re going to regret this. Forever. So enjoy what you have while you can.”

She blinked up at him, slow and far away, before tracing his jaw with healed, bloody fingers.

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep, Jerry. You never were good at forever.”

She slipped from him the way he had slipped from her all those centuries ago. A shadow in the night, a whisper in the silence, and then she was gone.

Jerry scrambled back to David. He freed him from the chair and held him close. Forced down his rage and his hurt, forced down his claws though they ached to kill, and gentled the trembling of David’s hair. He held him close, heart breaking each second the glowing warmth of his soft lover slowly ebbed. He murmured awkward reassurances into the crest of his fringe, into the trembling clench of his hands in Jerry’s shirt, and promised it would be alright.

They had forever to figure this out. It’d be alright.

#Kinktober #jerry (fright night)#david (the lobster)#Red Lobster #Jerry/David #Vampires #Turning #mini fic

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