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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

Wings

Characters: Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 3,523

Warnings: Slight depictions of violence

Premise: In which the reader has wings

Author’s Note: It’s been a while! Hopefully I’m not too rusty, although I can’t account for how late(/early) this is being posted. I’m going to bed.

Xiao

Even from the beginning Xiao had been enthralled with your wings.

They were larger than that of any bird or creature that Xiao had ever seen before, stretching far beyond your arms when they were unfolded, before bending to cover you in a cloak of downy feathers the color of warm soil, shot through with the occasional birch colored feather.

He’d decided to appear in front of you almost the moment he saw you in the distance, at first wondering if you might be an adepti or a god from one of the other lands in Teyvat. Although the look of surprise that crossed your face when he shed his invisibility before you quickly robbed him of that conviction. It was too late to go back at that point though, so Xiao begrudgingly let out his question.

“Who are you?”

Your smile was an odd one; it seemed to convey to Xiao that you didn’t have the answer to his question at all. Nevertheless you answered. You were a half-adepti, and as of such you had been born with wings. When pressed upon your adeptus side you merely shook your head. Both of your parents hadn’t stuck around that much, and you knew little of your heritage, or of the beings who walked the land who weren’t Morax.

Xiao had stared at you then, disbelief mixing with a vague sense of pity. What must it be like to be unable to recognize an adeptus despite being one yourself. It seemed ludicrous, but Xiao couldn’t find it in himself to disdain your state. Pausing then he decided upon what immediately after seemed a very foolish decision.

“Call for me if you are in need. I’m called Xiao.”

He didn’t bother waiting for your response before disappearing, unwilling to let his emotions be known.

The next time he saw you was in the sky. The yaksha certainly hadn’t expected such a thing, and while the initial shock was certainly something, it was almost immediately replaced with a strange appreciation. Though Xiao had seen that the vision you wielded was a Geo one, he almost immediately began to associate you with his own element, with the winds that carried you where you wished to go. Any clumsiness or human fault in your step was almost immediately shed, for how could one be anything but graceful in the air, no matter how they dipped or shook or stopped suddenly. If Xiao was honest with himself, he was utterly enthralled.

Eventually you seemed to grow tired and soon you grew closer. Shifting slightly Xiao backed up as you landed on a branch next to the roof, face flushed with exercise and happiness. Spotting Xiao you smiled brightly.

“It’s a beautiful place to fly here.”

Seemingly unfazed by the lack of conversation on Xiao’s part you sighed, leaning against the branch and staring into the sky. Murmuring something to yourself you seemed so utterly content. A begrudging curiosity swept over Xiao as he found himself responding to your words.

“Really?”

“Oh yes!” You immediately replied, face brightening. “It’s much nicer here than where I came from.”

“Where?” Xiao found himself once more asking.

“Oh this small village on the outskirts of Liyue, near the Chasm a bit. It’s a poor mining town, always covered in soot and coal dust. It’s very difficult to keep things clean there let me tell you; and the people don’t really like things that stand out. I haven’t flown in a while actually, since everyone was so hostile when I did. Now that I’m here I think, I hope, that I can do what they want.”

“You can.”

“I’m so glad to hear,” you smiled once more. “I wasn’t really sure what it would be like here. I’ve mostly stayed in the village, but people seemed more hostile than usual so I figured it’d be better to leave now before I ended up on the wrong side of a pitchfork or a shovel.”

“Humans are so foolish.”

“Maybe you’re right. Still, I’m here now and who knows! Maybe things will turn out well.”

With that you clambered off the roof and walked into the Inn proper, leaving Xiao a swirl of questions and surprisingly burning emotions.

After this you seemed to have gotten it into your head that Xiao was now primed to be your general confidante. Though this initially ruffled the adeptus, he didn’t truly feel like dissuading you, and by the time he’d gotten over the initial shock of your conversation he decided that your voice was surprisingly nice to listen to, and thus settled quietly enough into his new and strange roll of sympathetic ear.

“I registered for the Guild today,” you were saying today, voice bright with excitement. “It’s funny the lady at the stand, Ms. Katheryne? She didn’t even bat an eye at me! I was sure that I was going to get some questions, but besides the stares nothing happened. I’m supposed to start tomorrow. I have to make sure some supplies get to the quarry. Hopefully I won’t run into anyone there.”

“They will leave you alone. The Guild I’ve heard is a powerful force in Liyue.”

“I hope so! I don’t want my first commission to go wrong. I never thought about what I’d do in my life, beyond the usual village work. It’s exciting to have something new out in front of me.”

Xiao thought that was unbearably peppy of you, but he said nothing. Surprisingly he found himself also wishing that you’d do well.

Xiao wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing, following your commission on wind currents. It was none of his business how things went today, after all what did he care about the affairs of humans, even those who were half adeptus? Still he found himself following you, cursing himself all the while for doing something so stupid.

The usual unshakeable happiness that you seemed to exude seemed to disappear almost the moment you left the Inn, instead replaced with a face grim and jumpy with anticipation. A few times you even turned back, studying the Inn or the sky around it. Sometimes your gaze even seemed to pierce through Xiao, something the adeptus found slightly unnerving. Nevertheless he followed as you continued on your journey, all the while wondering what could cause such a massive shift in your demeanor.

If Xiao had any questions about the extent of the reality of your words they were quickly answered. The atmosphere of the quarry was absolutely suffocating, and you could’ve cut the tension with a blade as you slowly approached the drop off.

The foreman said nothing to you, merely glaring as he approached the balloon that you were accompanying. Scouring the barrels and boxes his scowl deepened and deepened. Turning around abruptly he disappeared into his hut for a moment before coming back out. Gesturing towards to open quarry he glared at you.

“There.”

“Thank you,” you replied, voice suddenly small. “Uhm, where exactly should I put this?”

“You lived with us for how many years and couldn’t be bother to retain a shred of information?” The foreman swore under his breath. “Damned half-creatures like you. Put it in Section 4. Tell the Guild master that I never want to see your face here again.”

You said nothing to that in response, merely continuing on your way. Though Xiao couldn’t help but notice how white the knuckles were on the rope you were using to lead the balloon with.

The hostility didn’t ease up when you walked in. Instead things seemed to grow worse, as men and women stared at you with open disdain. The occasional insult could be heard, but for the most part it was deadly quiet, and your steps seemed shorter and shorter as you approached your given destination. At first Xiao was trying to convince himself that such a spectacle didn’t affect him. After all, what did he care for the strange whims and fears of humans. None of this had anything to do with his contract, and he was under no obligation to help you in such an instance. These thoughts were chipping away however, and before Xiao was entirely aware of what he was doing he found himself lowering himself on the ground.

A chorus of gasps rose up as he emerged from the invisible winds that cloaked him. Standing in front of you Xiao nevertheless didn’t catch your eye, instead focusing his glare on the people around him. At first you stopped, taken aback as well it seemed by his sudden appearance. Almost immediately however your posture seemed to relax slightly, and your pace seemed to go back to normal as you walked towards him, continuing on as he followed you to your destination.

Everything else was done in deadly silence, as you got the paperwork you needed and headed out of the quarry. Xiao said nothing the whole time, merely following a few steps behind you. He half expected you to start chattering again the moment the foreman’s hut exited the field of view, but instead you remained quiet. Still you seemed much less grave than in the morning and though Xiao couldn’t explain why this somehow reassured him. Walking next to you now he found his hand drifting towards you, as if the two were being drawn together by magnets. When your hands finally connected Xiao couldn’t help but think how warm yours were.

After that a ritual of commission sharing seemed to inexplicably pop up, though how exactly Xiao wasn’t really sure of. At first it had been to make sure there was no repeat performance of the first day, but then it quickly developed into something else, although what that something was Xiao didn’t really know. All he knew was that every morning when you went to leave he’d find himself next to you, frowning grumpily, muttering about how this wasn’t his duty. You were usually groggy in the mornings, but always managed to give his hand a squeeze before embarking.

If Xiao had subconsciously assumed that the mining incident was a standalone thing he was quickly robbed of that conviction. At first it seemed as if everyone was out for you, though in general the reason seemed to be less your status as half illuminated beast and more due to the figure you cut soaring against the sky, wings obviously too big to be a glider. Everyone seemed to be after you. Treasure Hoarders and Fatui Agents would try to shoot at you, though often you were much too high for their weapons; bandits would ambush you, aiming for your feathers as they attacked; even geovishaps and other such creatures seemed weirdly obsessed with going after you.

Though Xiao had told you more than once that it would be faster if you let him dispatch the monsters and knock out the hunters you always forbid him from doing so. It was your work after all, and if you couldn’t do it yourself then you might as well resign. Xiao usually responded to this with grumblings, but he had to admit that a part of him admired your tenacity.

Still it was difficult to sit back and do nothing. It wasn’t your presence that irritated Xiao, it was more everything else. Besides, he felt as if he was neglecting his duties sometimes. Thus when you told him one day that your commission tomorrow was going to see if a citizen had found a ruin network Xiao excused himself. You didn’t seem to mind too much, though you joked that you would miss your adventuring companion. Still the idea of suddenly not going with you seemed strange after weeks of this new routine.

“If you find yourself in trouble, do not forget to call my name. No matter where you are I will hear it.”

“I’ll make sure to do that,” you replied, smiling softly. “But it’ll be fine. I probably won’t even need to fight anything, besides maybe some slimes. I might even get back before you.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t. I’ll come back as soon as possible, and then maybe we can fly a little together?” For some reason you seemed to like the idea of flying alongside Xiao, who found himself more and more often indulging you, though he wouldn’t really call his use of currents flying.

“Maybe.”

“Good! Then I’ll try to wrap things up quickly. Can’t miss something like that, can I?”

Xiao didn’t say anything in response. Later that evening, after you went to bed, he stared up at the night sky, trying to grasp onto his thoughts. He seemed to be awfully worried about you, or rather you seemed to be invading most of his thoughts. Why Xiao couldn’t tell. At first it had simply been that your strange situation somewhat interested him. He couldn’t imagine the idea of a half-adeptus who had lived as you had. Then it had been the mining, then the commissions, then the gliding. Now he couldn’t even think of the next day without a strange sense of worry.

What did all this mean? Xiao never thought he would find himself infatuated with anyone. His only loyalty was to Morax, his only connections had been with the yakshas who were now lost to him. His only remaining duty was to guard Liyue, to clear the land of the curses that remained. Nevertheless he found himself thinking about you, worrying about you even. What did this mean?

Staring out into the sky Xiao asked himself what he wanted. An image of you seemed to materialize in his brain. You were flying high in the sky, arms stretched out wide, smile as wide and clear as the sky above you. He wanted you to feel that way, and, more than that, in that moment Xiao wanted nothing so more as to share that feeling with you, to be some piece in that vision of happiness. Shaking his head the yaksha let out a snort. What a stupid idea.

The next day started in a way much more similar to the days that had passed before you arrival. Xiao left early, finding it easier to deal with the lingering evils of the world when there were less people going about to get in the way. He thought of waiting for you to wake up, but for some reason the action seemed foolish. Or maybe it seemed somehow unlucky. After all, Xiao was embarking on a day that would surely have to end with some sort of cleansing ritual.

The monsters weren’t excessive, and the going was fast enough, though the sun had risen high in the sky by the time Xiao stopped to rest. Traveling towards Jueyun Karst Xiao thought of the pool of water up near Cloud Retainer’s domain. It would be good to rest for a moment, up near sure pure energy. Summoning some winds Xiao found himself in a weirdly clear frame of mind, detached once more from the world around him.

Then he heard your voice.

Almost immediately Xiao found himself above you, instinct reacting before his mind had time to catch up. You had never called for him before, and the unexpectedness caused a flood of hot panic to rush through him.

Staring down at the scene above Xiao felt another wave of burning emotion rush through him. You were backed up against a few stones, panic evident in your stance. One of your arms appeared to have suffered a gash, and as of such the claymore Xiao knew you carried lay in the grass next to you, too heavy now to be of any use. You also seemed to have suffered a blow to the head, and your awkward movements seemed to indicate some sort of dizziness. But what drew Xiao’s eye the most was the blood staining the brown of your wings, the feathers that were scattered around you.

The people surrounding you wore the crest of the Fatui, and their smiles were ones of absolute triumph.

“You should’ve flown away. What could a half-baked fighter like you do against the greatest army in the world? Now your wings will decorate the walls of the palace of Snezhnaya.”

You were mute to the Skirmisher’s jeers, your head bobbing to the side slightly. Once more Xiao heard your voice ripple through his head, though this time it was fainter, unsteady. The anger welling up inside of him seemed to ripple, and before he knew it the yaksha found himself standing in front of you, not caring about the black tendrils that licked at his polearm, only coherent thought that the Fatui members should have picked a different assignment.

Xiao despised fighting humans. They seemed to bend around him, shredding like paper. Though a part of him jeered that he was fighting nothing but monsters, the adeptus still pulled himself back. Some burdens were too heavy to bear, and even fighting a human was something that he would normally never do. Still the fight was brutal, if painfully short, and when Xiao finally found himself standing alone he surrounded by the groans and shrieks of those whose injuries would not be forgotten tomorrow.

Taking his mask off Xiao pushed through the tendrils of darkness that were now clinging to his skin. There would be time to bathe and clean off all the evil he’d generated and purified later. For now the adeptus ran over to your side, scooping you up and traveling as quickly as possible to the Inn. The smalls groans that escaped you cut through him, but at least you were alive. At least he had made it in time. At least.

Though there was nothing that the adeptus could really do to cure gashes and a concussion, Xiao found himself unwilling to stray from your side in the aftermath. Pushing away the guilt that threatened to burn through him when he was alone Xiao became a constant figure in your room. Perching no your dresser, or eventually in the chair Goldet dragged next to your bed, Xiao supervised your health with a regiment that would’ve been impossible for a mortal. Yet it didn’t feel like enough, it never felt like enough. Watching over you as you fell in and out of naps Xiao felt the guilt buzzing behind his ears. Your fault, this is your fault.

One evening Xiao found it all too much. Covering his face with his hands he rasped into the silent room.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Whipping his head up Xiao was met with your slightly groggy face. Reaching over to grasp his hand you smiled as the adeptus moved to intertwine his fingers in yours.

“I didn’t go with you.”

“I didn’t ask you to. I thought, I thought it’d be easy. But it wasn’t so I called for you and then you came and saved me, so it was fine.” Your voice was heavy with sleep and your words slightly slurred, but there was still some urgency behind them, an urgency Xiao found himself responding to.

“I still wasn’t fast enough.”

“You seemed pretty fast to me.”

“I still, it’s still my fault.” Xiao didn’t know why he found himself repeating the same words over and over. Somehow he seemed completely unequipped to deal with the panic that had been slowly crushing him for the past few days. How could he explain this to you? How could he explain the fear that shot through him, the anger, the… something?

“No, it wasn’t. It’s not your fault that I look strange, or that I have these weird wings. It’s not your fault that people don’t like it.”

“Humans are fools,” Xiao spat out. “They try to destroy something that is beautiful, all because they cannot understand it.”

“You think my wings are beautiful?”

“Yes.” Xiao didn’t realize that was a question. Somehow the looked of sleepy happiness on your face filled him with a sense of embarrassment. Ducking his head the adeptus shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Thank you for telling me,” you replied, happiness in your voice. For a moment you paused, before piping up again. “You haven’t been sleeping a lot have you?”

“Sleep is unnecessary for those who are full adeptus.”

“Still, it can’t be fun to sit here alone for hours,” you frowned before scooting over slightly.

Xiao stared at the unspoken invitation for a moment, disbelief mixing into the thoughts that were cramming his head. He said nothing, but as the look on your face dimmed slightly he sighed. Laying his mask on the nightstand the yaksha lay next to you.

You smiled, seemingly satisfied. Linking your hand once more with his you let out a small sigh, before relaxing slightly, closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep.

Xiao stared at the ceiling, listening to the soft cadence of your breath. The panic that fizzed through his brain only moments earlier, replaced with a contentment that the yaksha rarely felt. Suddenly everything seemed at peace with the world, and despite the summer heat Xiao felt no more discomfort.

#genshin impact #xiao x reader #genshin xiao #genshin impact fanfiction #requested #oneshot #my writing #alatus

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bookishofalder · 4 years

Text

Pretty Girl - Two

Summary: In which Flip struggles with his feelings for the reader, and his emotions hit the breaking point when she is threatened.

Warnings: Swearing, suggestion of slur (not written), masturbation, violence, angry Flip, sexism. WC- 3,030

A/N- I rewrote this chapter a few times to get it just right, I really wanted to convey the struggle Flip is having. Feedback is appreciated!

It was late October, the chill in the air crisp as the apple cider (Y/N) had brewed and brought in to the station, using a hot plate to keep it warm. It filled the whole building with the scent, which was a pleasant upgrade from the usual mix of cigarette smoke and body odour and leather. She had even commissioned the local elementary school to draw autumn-themed pictures for decoration. As a way to boost morale and community engagement, she proudly displayed them in the lobby for everyone to admire when they came to and from the station.

Flip had teased her when he found her one morning, standing on a chair to tape the photos up. Now slightly taller than him, she turned with care and playfully glared down at him.

“One more word, detective, and I’ll be assigning you to take over the job,” she threatened, then added, “I should have done that in the first place, actually. You don’t even need the chair.”

He laughed loudly, “Apologies, I know it’s not your fault you’re so-“

“Seriously, don’t finish that sentence, Flip!” She giggled, her hand reaching out and ruffling his hair. Before Flip could react fully to the sensation of it, she was shooing him away and chastising him for distracting her. She grinned as he retreated, his hands in the air in surrender.

However, he had spent the rest of that day replaying the feel of her hand on his head.

Although neither of them had discussed it, it had become a routine for Flip to give (Y/N) rides to and from work regularly. They both enjoyed each other's company, their friendship solidifying, and it wasn’t like he had to go out of his way. To thank him, (Y/N) insisted on bringing him breakfast. Fried egg sandwiches and a hot dark roast coffee were handed to him every morning. Along with her endearing ability to make him smile, Flip was more than satisfied with the arrangement.

If their colleagues at the CSPD noticed the closeness developing between Flip and (Y/N), none remarked on it initially to either of them. Secretly, many of the detectives who knew Flip were beyond grateful for the friendship, as it brought out a side of him that they would all agree, if asked, was more tolerable and likeable to his usual angry demeanour.

It wasn’t until a young rookie officer had spotted them arrive one morning a few weeks after Flip had started driving in with (Y/N), that the rest of the station came to learn the relationship was more important to him than he let on. His rare show of emotions the indication that alerted them.

The rookie had met up with Flip in the bullpen, loudly inquiring as to whether he was banging the hot new secretary, a cocky grin on his face, expecting perhaps a joking reply, or scandalous gossip.

For most of the detectives in the room that knew Flip, a collective intake of their breath and exchange of weary glances took place. They had watched apprehensively as he had turned to Caruthers, a glare that defined to term, ‘if looks could kill’ marring his handsome features. Flip then knocked the coffee out of Caruthers's hands and jabbed him in the chest as he had shouted. The rookie had nearly pissed himself, apologizing profusely before running off. Flip had then glared around the room, daring anyone else to suggest such a thing, but no one was stupid enough, and those who Flip worked closely with were better men than the likes of Caruthers.

As Flip had taken his seat, his blood boiling at the inappropriate question, he considered the reason for his over the top reaction. (Y/N) had brought a lot of happiness into his life, filling a void he hadn’t taken the time to recognize had grown over the last few years. Loneliness, the acceptance of retaining his bachelor status permanently. And the realization, when she would casually touch him, that he was touch starved. He was already comfortable with, and protective of, their friendship. The last thing he wanted at that moment was for her to overhear Caruthers suggestion, should it cause a rift between them.

And, if he was honest with himself, he recognized that his feelings for her were...complicated. If he were to see a reaction in her at the suggestion they were sleeping together, he was not sure what that could do to them. The idea that Flip could lose (Y/N) terrified him.

So he actively worked to push his feelings down, preferring the safety of friendship. The safety of routine and the expected.

Today, Flip and Jimmy returned from a successful arrest on a perp they’d been following for weeks. They had managed to nail him while he was completing a small drug shipment from his mother’s garage. The whole arrest took them only just over an hour, and it was clean-the suspect, upon seeing the two detectives, surrendered.

When they arrived back at the station, Flip lingered outside to finish his smoke, feeling pretty satisfied with how the arrest went down and looking forward to sharing the success with (Y/N). He never told her anything classified, however in her position she was privy to a lot of sensitive information. She knew the details of most of the cases the detectives worked on.

He found it effortless to share the good days straight away, enjoying the way her features lit up at his words. Regardless of what she was working on, she would give him her full attention. The bad days she coaxed out of Flip with care during the drive to her home, always ready to comfort him or offer words of encouragement.

“Did you have a rough day, detective?” She had asked him one afternoon as they walked to his truck. He had been silent when approaching her at the end of the day, giving her a brief nod as she joined his pace and they hurried out of the station.

Flip had glanced down at her, unable to keep the frown off of his face. She merely tilted her head, her eyes soft as she waited patiently for him to speak, to say whatever he needed to. He had taken a deep breath before relenting.

“Just, usual bullshit from the Chief, about a case I worked just before you joined us.” He wasn’t able to elaborate, the entire case classified. Even files had been destroyed to keep it under wraps. Which was part of the reason he was so annoyed-he felt they could have accomplished more if they’d remained undercover longer. The Chief wholly disagreed.

Part of Flip had wondered if she would tease him, or tell him off for whining; a reaction that would have been entirely unsurprising from any of his fellow detectives. “Flip, do me a favour, tough man?” She had asked instead, leaning slightly against the side of his truck and gazing up at him.

“What’s that, darling?”

(Y/N) smiled, “When you walk through those doors at the end of the day,” She gestured at the main entrance, “You leave all the bullshit behind, don’t take it home with you anymore.”

He returned her smile, shrugging, “What if it’s too much to leave behind?” He hadn’t meant for the words to come out so quietly. (Y/N) stepped closer to him, their bodies inches apart, and Flip found himself unable to tear his gaze away from her (y/e/c) eyes.

“Then let me help you carry it, at least.” She had replied, voice equally as soft.

After a pause, she had patted his arm gently before moving to climb into the truck.

“Flip,” He glanced up, pulled from his thoughts, to see Jimmy standing at the main station doors. His expression was unusually annoyed. Flip tossed his smoke, stomping it out.

“What is it?”

Jimmy shook his head, “You ain’t gonna like this.” And he pulled open the door. The sounds of a man shouting were the first thing to reach Flip’s ears, and he followed Jimmy inside, curious.

The shouting man had his finger angrily pointed at (Y/N), who was standing behind the counter. His yells echoed off the walls, a jarring contrast to the warmth and professionalism the station usually exuded. (Y/N) was positioned somewhat defensively in front of Donna-who Flip only noticed as he was approaching-her jaw set and mouth in a thin line. His eyes assessed her quickly, taking in her crossed arms and narrowed eyes, while he moved toward the scene with fast steps.

“I don’t give a god damn that he’s a police detective, I’m telling you no-” As the man uttered a slur, Flip’s frown morphed into a glare. He made his way down the hall unnoticed by everyone, all attention on the man. He hated when men cursed and uttered slurs in front of ladies. He especially hated that it was being directed at (Y/N). “-is going to be arresting my son, no sir, now you get that damn-“

“Sir, I’m not going to tell you again, your son was arrested, lawfully by a respected Detective of this station. Now lower your voice and I would be happy to take you to see your son and meet the detective.” Flip had never seen her angry-or even annoyed-but at that moment her eyes were narrowed, lips twisted in distaste as if the irritation tasted sour on her tongue. He did not like seeing (Y/N) upset, nor treated so poorly.

Her reasonable words served to merely enrage the large man further, his face reddening as he stepped closer to the counter. Flip, still unnoticed, moved to step in and lead the man away, his intention simply to diffuse the situation. However, there was a pressure building in his chest; the next few moments seemed to slow down in his red hazed vision, his willpower strong enough to remain professional, his hand reaching out to touch the man's shoulder-

Only the fucker pointed, his dirty hand inches from (Y/N)’s face, and rudely snarled, “Shut up bitch, and get me a white detective to talk to before I-“

The pressure hit a breaking point.

Flip instead seized that hand and twisted it behind the asshole’s back. A growl ripped from his chest as he used his free hand to grab the back of the man's neck and force him down, bending him over the counter. A wave of gratification swept through Flip when the man grunted in pain and surprise, his face pressed to the countertop.

“You were looking for a white Detective, I hear?” He snarled, his grip too tight for the man to struggle against. Flip was much too angry, a fact that his rational mind was concerning over-he had been fine moments before. Movement out of the corner of his eye had Flip glancing up, his eyes meeting (Y/N)’s over the desk. “You alright, darling?” His voice considerably softer as he surveyed her, concerned.

She nodded, her eyes holding his gaze steadily. “Just fine, Detective.” (Y/N) quickly assured him. Flip thought he saw something pass through her gaze, but before he could read it, it was gone. Something about that look had the thundering rage inside of him fading, which was for the best. He loosened his grip, slightly, resisting the urge to cause further harm.

Adrenaline coursed through Flip’s body, eyes never breaking away from hers. She seemed to draw him in, the look alone calming him further.

“Alright, sir, you’re coming with me, we’re going to have a little chat on how we conduct ourselves around ladies.” Jimmy stepped up, smirking, and cuffed the man. Flip looked away from (Y/N), and watched his partner and a uniformed officer lead the man away.

Flip momentarily considered following, but thought better of it. He drew a steadying breath of air, his anger dissolving as quickly as it had come on.

“Oh Donna, are you okay?”

Flip turned at the sound of (Y/N)‘s voice. Donna was visibly upset, her gentle nature affected. (Y/N), it seemed, was much less shaken. She wrapped her arms around Donna and gave her a comforting hug.

“I’m being silly, really,” Donna gulped, wiping at her eyes, “I’ve seen it all, at my age, you know. I just really worried he was going to hop the counter!”

(Y/N) patted her back, “I did too, but we’re alright, thanks to Detective Zimmerman. Why don’t you head home early?”

Flip agreed, ignoring the swell of pride at her words, “You don’t need to be worrying about us, Donna, you go ahead home and tell Carl I defended your honour on his behalf.” Flip joked, causing his matronly friend to give a shaky laugh and wipe away her tears. (Y/N) gave him a grateful look.

Flip stuck around while Donna gathered her things and bid them farewell, never taking his eyes off of (Y/N). She had walked over to the benches that lined the wall, taking a seat and letting her head fall back against the brick. Waving happily as Donna walked out, her smile dropped when she was out of sight.

She heaved a big sigh, watching as Flip joined her. His arm pressed against hers, neither of them adjusting their positions to move away. He said nothing, knowing she would speak when she was ready. They sat in silence for a few minutes, staring across at the silly pictures the kids had drawn.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that, Flip,” (Y/N) finally said, shaking her head sadly. Flip stared down at her a moment, raising his brow.

“There is nothing for you to be apologizing for, darling.”

“I-I know, I suppose I just...” She trailed off, glancing away. When she didn’t look like she would finish her thought, he decided to joke and change the subject, though he filed her reaction away in the part of his mind he reserved for her failings at caring for herself. It ultimately served to provide him with excuses to care for her in his own ways, as a friend would.

A friend, only.

“You want me to go in there and rough him up a bit?” Flip wished he was fully kidding, but part of him would have been happy to go and knock the asshole around if she’d asked him to.

Instead, she laughed at his words, an arguably much better result. He smiled at the melody of her voice “Flip, thanks for shutting him up.” She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes, an almost coy expression appearing.

Giving no real thought behind the action, simply following his instincts, Flip reached out and gently tucked some loose strands of (y/h/c) hair behind her ear. His hand lingered there a moment, before dropping abruptly, “Of course.” His voice came out in a rumble, “No one will ever speak to you like that around me, darling.”

She had watched him with her wide, beautiful eyes as he’d spoken, barely moving when he’d touched her hair. She was regarding him now with affection; he could see it clearly.

“My best friend, the protector.” She teased, breaking the frisson that had built between them, much to his relief.

Flip smirked down at her, though his heart was beating tirelessly in his chest and his mind was reeling. She patted his leg before standing, thanking him again. He watched her walk back to the reception desk, his expression unreadable. While he was fairly sure he could return to his desk, Flip decided to go outside for another smoke. chastising himself for the direction his thoughts had moved; from the intensity of his anger to the guilt of imagining filthy scenarios with his best friend.

When she had teased him, it was the first time the term had been used. And he found himself torn, feeling both touched at the sentiment, yet disappointed at its platonic connotation.

Flip returned home that evening in an overwhelmed state of mind, after a quiet car ride with (Y/N). She had thanked him again before hurrying inside her home. He wanted to stop her, to ask about the look on her face earlier.

He wanted to ask her why the first word that came to mind to describe it was hungry.

Bristling, he sought release immediately, not bothering to undress beyond kicking off his boats and lowering his jeans to his thighs. He stood in his bedroom panting, one hand on his dresser to keep him steady, as he fisted his already hard length. He was desperate, sensitive from weeks of pent up sexual frustration he had pointedly ignored.

A guttural moan ripped from his chest as Flip finally allowed the thoughts of (Y/N) to the forefront of his mind; thoughts of her glowing skin, soft to his touch, her body quivering as he explored head to toe, kissing every inch. His hand moved quickly, the tension building within him swiftly. It only took a few more pumps as he imagined his name on her lips in ecstasy, pleading for him not to stop...

With a cry, he came-the wave of pleasure pulsing through his body as his cum spurted, coating his hand and dripping to the floor. "Fuck!" His head tilted back.

His legs trembled, perspiration coating his skin; he crashed from his high and quickly sat on the edge of his bed, gasping for air. After only a few moments of relief, the guilt seeped back into the front of Flip’s mind.

He sighed, “Flip, you’re a piece of garbage.” He muttered to himself, eyes closing in disgust. He fell back, now laying on his bed, chewing his lip as he considered everything that had happened. His mind was now much clearer.

And there was simply no denying, the expression on (Y/N)'s face had not been of fear or concern. It had been of arousal. Flip wasn't sure of how he would react if he ever saw that look cross her face again, and so he fretted at the best way to move forward.

Would telling her how he felt, and risking their friendship, be the right move? Or was Flip too selfish, too cowardly, to admit his feelings?

Flip didn't sleep a wink.

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

29 for indruck nsfw? i am already amused thinking about what sport either of them would play

Here you go!

29. I’m a professional athlete and I just fired my personal assistant and my manager sent you over but you don’t even know what sport I play or who my team is

When you’re in an aggressive profession it’s best, in Duck��s experience, to be as calm and friendly as you can the rest of the time.

But this whole shit-show is testing his fucking limits.

It’s been two days since he found out his perfectly fine P.A was working for the Wallstreet Journal, hoping to learn that Duck was somehow using his T or his identity to gain an unfair edge in matched. Ned fired him on the spot, thank god, but it took less than twelve hours for the guy to publish some fabricated piece on his attitude and for Duck to remember why he needed an assistant in the first place. He’s gotten so used to having one that he keeps forgetting stuff or dropping the ball on appointments, and the last thing he needs right now is to look like some stupid hick.

When Ned texts him to let him know his new P.A is en route, Duck groans “thank fuck” loud enough to startle the cat from her tree.

He goes to the door when someone knocks, but doesn’t open it.

“Who is it?”

“Indrid Cold? I, ah, Mr. Chicane said this was Duck Newton’s address and I’m supposed to start as his assistant tomorrow.”

Duck opens the door, “Fuck tomorrow, you’re startin today. I gotta focus on strategy with Minerva the next two days if I don’t wanna show my ass Friday night and it’s real fuckin hard to do that with people callin me left and right.” He guides the startled young man inside, then stops to take a deep breath, “sorry, lemme try that again” he holds out his hand, “Nice to meet you, Indrid.”

“Likewise, Mr. Newton.”

“Duck is fine. It’s a nickname. You bring your stuff with you?”

“Yes, it’s all in my car.”

“Good. Here, lemme give you the, uh, the grand tour, so to speak, on the way to your part of the place.”

Indrid smiles and nods, hanging back slightly as Duck leads him through the house. They cover the living room, kitchen, Duck’s bedroom, then come what was once the garage door.

“This here’s the gym; you can’t find me in the rest of the house, I’m probably here.”

“Goodness” The other man’s eyes widen behind his red glasses, “that’s an impressive array. I mean, I know professional athletes need to train but I, ah, I assumed you did it on site with the rest of your team.”

“Team?” Duck closes the door, spots Indrid’s fingers diving into his pockets to hide their twitching.

“Yes.”

“Which team?”

“Your...sports team?”

“....you got no fuckin clue who I am, do you?”

“No.” Narrow shoulders sag in his sweater.

Duck chuckles, “Figures.”

The silver haired head snaps back up, “Mr. Chicane didn’t say it was a prerequisite for hiring me.”

“Guess he didn’t. And I guess it ain’t. Just hoped they’d hire someone who knew what the fuck he was gettin into.”

Indrid crosses his arms, “They gave me a very thorough job description. I assure you I can do every part of it. Laying out your pre-workout and scheduling appearances isn’t rocket science, and it doesn’t matter if the dry cleaning I pick up is for a, a baseball after party or some sort of charity basketball fundraiser.” It dawns on the taller man that he’s just snapped at his boss. He contracts in on himself, staring down at his black converse.

Duck takes the chance for a more careful look; all of his clothes are second hand, chosen as if he’s cosplaying a jock who went into white collar work. There are piercing holes in his ears, flecks of silver polish on his nails. This job application was a hail mary and Ned Chicane went ahead and caught.

“No harm done, slim.” He rests a friendly hand on Indrid’s arm, “think it’s time I enlightened you.”

His office doesn’t get used much, so a sprinkling of dust greets them as he flips on the lights and reveals posters, magazine covers, and newspaper clips bearing Duck’s face. The gloves he used to win his first fight hang in a place of honor, right above the photo of him and the other fighters from Amnesty Boxing. It’s an older photo, taken the first time they sent a team out of state, sun-faded to the point the writing on it is disappearing. It makes him smile all the same.

“This does explain the set of instructions for helping you cut weight if needed.” Indrid takes in the posters, then turns his attention to the corner dedicated to Duck’s model ship collection. He cocks his head, says more to himself than Duck, “boxer. Interesting.”

“Were you just gonna bluff about knowin who I was until I said somethin?”

“That and look for clues in the rest of the house.”

He smiles, “Like a man with a plan b. C’mon, lemme show you your room.”

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

Alright, so Indrid should have researched Duck Newton before turning up at his house so he didn’t come across as ignorant and unprepared. But he was busy running every Taskrabbit and UberEat he could get just to scrape up enough to keep his landlord off his back. Sue him for not wanting to sleep in his car again.

He never expected to get this job; live-in P.A who doesn’t have to pay for groceries (buy them, yes, since that’s one of his jobs) is not the kind of luck he’s familiar with. He keeps waiting for the catch, so nervous that when Duck pops in on him unpacking he assumes he’ll scold him for his wardrobe.

“I, should I buy some more professional clothes?”

Duck takes in the two duffle bags and backpack, “Up to you. I don’t mind you lookin like the little art punk you are, but a dress shirt or two might help if we gotta go somewhere real upscale. Don't worry about buyin it yourself; just use the same card we do for groceries.”

Indrid is still hung up on why the fact a man three inches shorter than him calling him “little” makes his chest burn. Luckily, the phone rings and distracts him. Then it rings again. And again. And again. All while the inbox doubles every time he looks at it.

This turns out to be the catch; the work is actually hard. Everyone and their uncle wants to interview Duck, get him to sponsor something, or proposition him. Four hours in, he’s overwhelmed, overstimulated, and ready to hide under the desk. His fidget necklace isn’t helping, so he pulls out his chewable one; it often helps him think in high pressure moments.

The phone rings again and he growls at it.

“You’re allowed to let things go to voicemail, y’know.”

He spins in his chair, black rubber moth still in his mouth. Duck leans in the doorway, tank top soaked in sweat and towel around his shoulders

“I, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to drop anything important.”

“Ned handles the fights and the money, and anyone I care about has my private number for emergencies.”

“Right. I knew that.” Indrid can’t have his boss thinking he’s a total space-case.

Duck smiles, “What I’m sayin is; ain’t the end of the world if you don’t get back to everyone right away. Besides, right now you need a lunch break, slim. Lemme go rinse off and I’ll join you.”

By the time Duck enters the kitchen in an old “NIN” shirt and jeans, Indrid has his protein bowl laid out for him and is finishing microwaving a hot pocket for himself. Before he can scurry away, Duck pats the seat beside him and Indrid sits down, preparin to politely listen to Duck talk about himself or his sport.

He talks for ten minutes about the trees he saw on his run that morning before asking Indrid what he did before coming to the house. Indrid explains about his art and his side hustles in tarot and palm reading, about the run of bad luck that saw him without roommates and lost him his steady gig at a coffee shop. Duck makes genuinely sympathetic noises, lets Indrid change the subject when the fact he was on the edge of disaster makes Indrid’s chest tighten. They’re still talking about music as Indrid returns to his desk and Duck goes to meet Minerva in the gym.

By the time Duck’s fight rolls around that weekend, Indrid is feeling much better. He has a system of sorting emails that works for him, some mothman stickers to help him organize the paper calendar on his desk, and more confidence in his ability to spot callers with ulterior motives. He’s shut down two separate ones looking to trap Duck into interviews where he’d be forced to defend his very identity. Duck overheard his responses to the second one and brought him back a fancy creme brulee latte from his breakfast as a thank you.

He doesn’t go to the fight; it’s a small one for charity and Duck has Ned to manage him, Minerva to train him, and Leo to coach him ringside. He doesn’t need his P.A. Instead, Indrid finishes up his correspondence for the day, makes sure Duck’s breakfast is all set in the fridge, and confirms the masseuse is coming in the morning.

Once in bed, Indrid gets sucked into the commission he’s doing and is lost to the world until a tired, satisfied face pokes through his door.

“Oh! Hello Duck. Did it go well? Do, ah, is there something you need from me?”

“Yep, I won like I thought I would. And nope; was just poppin in to say goodnight.”

No one’s said that to him in a long time. The bitterness of that realization is sweetened by Duck’s smile.

“Goodnight to you too, Duck.”

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

Minerva is sick, which wouldn’t be a problem except for one part of his workout. He could skip it, but he needs to keep everything sharp for when they go to L.A.

“‘Drid? You got a few minutes?”

His assistant appears in the doorway, black jeans and white “Cramps” tank-top fitting him in a way that makes Duck want to hold him face down on the floor and find out how to take his breath away.

“What do you need?”

Duck points to the heavy bag, “You up for bracin this while I hit it?”

“I...I am not as strong as Minerva.”

“You don’t gotta be; this is just to keep the damn thing from swinging while I’m doin this speed drill.”

“Alright.” Indrid takes off his glasses and sets them on the folding chair, joining Duck, “how do I hold it?”

Duck shows him, does a few test punches to make sure he won’t send the poor guy flying. The round clock dings green, and he’s off. The bag wobbles for the first few seconds, then Indrid seems to find his footing and holds it stable enough for the drill to work. When the round ends, Duck steps baack, “okay, you can let go until the next round.”

“Goodness.” Indrid stretches his hands, “I feel for your opponents. I’m jarred just from that.”

“You need to stop? I got two more rounds at least, but if it’s hurtin you I caan skip ‘em.”

Indrid shakes his head, smiling, “nono, I like helping you with this. It’s exhilarating.”

The bell dings.

“Glad to hear it. Now brace it again.”

By the end of round three, Indrid is panting loud enough for Duck to hear him over the fan. He looks up, glove still on the bag, and finds them face to face.

“Minerva said three to five rounds for this. You wanna keep goin?”

Indrid, breathless and grinning, nods, “Can’t have you slacking off, now can we?”

Duck wants to bite his lip, just to see what happens. Blames the thought on the adrenaline. Then discovers the exact same thought waiting for him when Indrid, cleaned and in his most respectable clothes, joins him in the car to go to an interview.

Ned gave the P.A a list of likely questions, so they practice those as they creep across the Bay Bridge. But Duck notices that on both the trip there and back, whenever there’s a lull in conversation Indrid is on his phone reading about boxing. Duck knows the other man fixates on topics that interest him; knowing one of Duck’s passions has earned that distinction makes him smile.

After that, he starts inviting Indrid to watch him train, or shares his thoughts about matches with him. That’s all it takes for Indrid to start drawing him into long, animated conversations about his sport. When Indrid asks why there’s such debate over the proper way to wrap hands and also how does Duck do his, Duck demonstrates.

“Here, ‘Drid, now you try it on me.”

The P.A moves the wraps slowly, deliberately, moving Duck’s hand like it’s a priceless treasure he’s readying for transport. Every time he bites his lip in concentration or brushes hair from his forehead, Duck has to remind himself to breathe.

“Done.” Indrid is still holding his left hand, “Did I do well?”

The boxer tests the wraps, wiggles his fingers and clenches his fists. Then he squeezes Indrid’s hand, “you did perfect, slim.”

Duck can wrap his hands in his sleep. But whenever he’s home, he finds Indrid and asks him to do the honors. Indrid does them every time. Perfectly.

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

Indrid stands in the green room with Ned and a cluster of arena employees. The roaring crowd a few walls away echoes through the screen. He’s never seen Duck fight, but this event required all hands on deck to handle P.R, scheduling, and making sure Duck had what he needed to win.

Duck and his opponent enter the ring. Touch gloves.

Indrid’s pulse climbs.

Then the bell sounds and no useful noises come through the T.V. Just the announcers shouting and being drowned out by the crowd. Indrid gives up on parsing the cacophony, focus only on Duck. He’s seen him practice, but in a true match he’s a different beast. His opponent is faster, that much is clear, but Duck is patient, steady, blocks and weaves until he can land blows that make Indrid hurt just watching them.

Duck is magnificent like this. Indrid has to draw him like this, has to capture this and keep it forever, he has to, he has…

He has a hard-on in the middle of the green room.

He sticks it out long enough to see Duck win and then bolts to the bathroom so it can be taken care of by the time the boxer is done with the post-fight interviews.

They go out to celebrate, and Duck never nudges Indrid aside to let someone more important sit next to him. And as the drive to the hotel, he nods off with his head on Indrid’s shoulder.

It only gets worse after that.

Duck will coax him into joining him for a run with the promise of a fancy breakfast. On cheat days, Duck orders food to the house or takes Indrid out to lunch, and somehow the thing he wants when not focused on macros is always the thing Indrid mentioned he’d been craving. He invites Indrid on hikes with him, starts taking him to all his events even though he seldom needs help or herding at them (“yeah, but it’s nice to have someone to crack jokes with”). And on days when Indrid needs to be alone, or wants to see other friends, Duck simply smiles and closes the door.

The most dangerous days are the ones without anything on the schedule. Then it’s all too easy for Indrid to pretend that they’re something they’re not while he draws at the table across from where Duck is building his model ship. Too easy to imagine that the water-wise garden Duck tends is something he put into their house, not his house that Indrid happens to live in. Too easy to admit that Indrid wants to look after him for no payment except being looked after in return.

Duck reciprocating his feelings is within the realm of possibility. Indrid’s caught him staring when he walks in on the P.A doing yoga, and the casual touches long ago made the leap from accidental to deliberate. He also knows that Duck can’t fire him--only Ned can--and hopes that might lead to the boxer slinging him over his shoulder and tossing him on the bed one of these days.

There’s also the tabloid site circulating a photo of them with a caption claiming he’s Duck’s “boytoy” in spite of them only being two years apart. They’re not even sitting that close in the picture; Duck’s just smiling at him like he’s the only thing in the world, that’s all.

Currently, he’s having an easier time keeping his feelings buried because--ever since they landed in Vegas-- Duck has been a dick the rest of the day. Well, as much as a dick as he can be; his offenses are mainly snapping at people and lacking his usual patience.

When he scolds Indrid over something silly in the hotel that night, Indrid turns and stares at him over his glasses.

“Duck, what’s wrong?”

“Wh-uh, fuck, nothing, why do you, uh, fuck, I’m fine.”

“You just snapped at me in a way that was completely uncalled for.” He crosses his arms, “is it the fight? I know it’s a big one but that’s no reason to be rude.”

Duck scratches the back of his neck, “You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I swear I won’t. Or, if I do, it will be after you leave.”

That gets a smile, “I’m uh, well, I’m what you’d call ‘horny as all fuckin get out.’”

Indrid’s immediate thoughts would solve the problem at hand while creating a new and far worse set, so he keeps them to himself and replies, “If need privacy, I can come back later and hold all your calls.”

“Nah.” Duck sits on the bed, “You’re not supposed to get off before a fight. Makes you too relaxed.”

“That strikes me as an old wives tale. Old boxers tale?”

“Either way, it’s one Minerva still believes. If I lose, she will ask about every possible cause, includin that one. Better if I just cat nap before I start all my pre-match stuff. Come get me in fort minutes?”

“Of course.” Indrid waves and closes the door before he offers to lay down in the hopes of Duck having a wet dream while holding him.

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

Duck wins, though it’s a tough battle to get there. He fucking hates these Pay-Per-View fights, they try to make it sound like he’s got beef with the other guy. In reality, once he’s down from a knockout, Duck is the one who helps him to the other side of the ring.

There’s a flurry of press afterwards, of questions and congratulations while all he wants to do is shower. He gets clean, promises Ned they can all go out to celebrate later. As he and Indrid finally escape to his suite he’s forced to admit that--if the thoughts of hitting the “fire” button and fucking Indrid against the wall are any indication--his problem from earlier hasn’t gone away.

“Do you need me to see if I can get a masseuse up here? You look very stiff.”

“Just uh, just tense.” Why did he tell Indrid he liked those jeans on him? He’s worn them as often as he can since.

Indrid cocks an eyebrow, “Still pent up even though the fighting is done?”

“Yep.”

The P.A shakes his head, hiding a smirk, “Do you need me to find something for you to watch?”

“No.”

“I mean it, this place has all the good channels.” He’s so earnest, picking up the channel guide like it, rather than those fucking jeans and shirt with Duck’s name on it, has what Duck needs.

“No.” He growls.

Indrid sighs, sets the book back down, “This mood is annoying us both, so just tell me what kind of porn you want and I can go out and buy it.”

“Unless they got somethin called ‘boxer jackhammers skinny artist until he cries’ we’re gonna be shit out of luck!”

The P.A blinks, “Duck, this is Vegas, I can probably find that. Or look for it on your laptop…” he trails off when their eyes meet. Duck knows he must look like he’s ready to jump him. Indrid licks his lips, “Duck? What, ah, what exactly lead to this situation?”

“You really wanna know, slim?” Duck steps across the carpet, notices Indrid padding over the black and blue patterns to meet him.

“Yes.”

Duck removes Indrid’s glasses, “Had a dream about you while I was on the plane. Woke up havin just finished fuckin you open. First thing I thought was “no big deal, ‘Drid’s right here. We can do the real thing once we get to the hotel.’ Then I fuckin remembered that we couldn’t, and I know for damn sure that if I jerk off I won’t feel satisfied because you’re be over there” he jabs his thumb at the door connecting their rooms, “so close and completely outta my reach.”

“So keep me right here instead.” Indrid purrs, fingers tentatively finding Duck’s hips. The light contact splinters his self-control and he practically tackles Indrid onto the bed, kissing him as the taller man moans and paws at his clothes.

The kiss takes the heat off enough to clear the steam fogging up his head and sits up, “This really okay?”

“I would have said if it wasn’t now for goodness sake please get back down here.” Indrid yanks him forward by the front of his shirt, smashing their lips together. He’s humming and sighing every time Duck touches him, rolling his hips to display a quickly forming hard-on.

“Aw, sugar, you gettin excited just from kissin’?” Duck grinds down just to see him gasp.

“Y-yes. I, Duck, I’ve wanted this for months.”

The implication of those words slam his desire into overdrive, “You sneaky little thing, that why you kept runnin around in tight clothes?”

“Most of my clothes h-hang off me.” Indrid holds tight to Duck’s thighs as the boxer strips his shirt off, “but yes I, I did start wearing what you liked more often.”

“Ain’t that thoughtful. And what were you hoping would happen, slim?” Duck yanks his sweats off and kicks them to the floor.

“This.” Indrid’s eyes keep slipping down to stare at Duck’s dick.

The boxer strokes himself lazily, “like what you see?”

“So much.”

“Then how about a closer look, sugar?” He crawls up Indrid’s body to straddle his face. It looks even better than normal framed by his thighs.

“Do I get to touch too?”

Duck guides his hands onto his ass, “As much as you want. You gonna be sweet and let me fuck your face, or am I gonna have to hold your mouth open?”

Indrid opens his mouth instantly, a whimper creeping out of it as Duck strokes his hair. The sound morphs into a louder, but muffled, moan when Duck sinks down. He teases his dick against Indrid’s lips, drags slick across his chin, feels his jaw tremble with wanting to close. Duck shifts so his dick touches Indrid’s tongue, “get to it. Oh fuck” he braces a hand on the wall, “heh, didn’t know Ned screened for cocksuckin skills.”

Indrid shakes his head, brown eyes wide as Duck roughly rides his face.

“No? He didn’t make you demonstrate on some of the other fighters? Didn’t make sure you could make a whole gym cum to prove your mouth was good enough for me?”

“‘O” Indrid shakes his head again, silver strands sticking to the pillow as he kneads Duck’s ass in a way that makes him groan.

“Too bad for them. Because now they ain’t ever gonna get a chance.”

A whimper and write of the torso; Duck glances over his shoulder to watch Indrid buck his hips in the air, pre-cum clear on his crotch. His feet, still in their shoes, point and flex as he moans around Duck’s dick.

“You like that, don’t you sugar?” He threads both hands into Indrid’s hair, pinning his head down or pulling it closer as it suits him, all the while gently rubbing his scalp “like knowin’ that you’re doin well.”

A harder suck in reply.

“Then be a good little cocksucker and make me cum.” He holds his head down and let’s loose, grinding and grunting in pursuit of the heat that starts at Indrid’s tongue and is steadily curling up into Duck’s belly. The other man holds him tight, moaning and licknig and sucking until Duck cums on his mouth, the lasts bursts of it happening against a slackening jaw.

As soon as his legs cooperate, he climbs off and guides Indrid to sit up in his arms. His attempt to check on the other man is interrupted by a frantic kiss.

“I was gonna ask if you wanna keep goin’, but I think I got my answer.”

“Yes, I mean no, I mean please don’t stop yet. Please I, we can do whatever you like, we can do just this, you can drag me out on the balcony and fuck me in full view of the city-”

“Easy, slim, easy.” Duck cups his cheek, “let’s start with somethin simple. Get naked and get comfy on your back for me. I gotta go grab somethin from down the hall.”

His memory turns out to be spot on; the vending machine on this floor has toiletries, including condoms and a travel bottle of lube. He buys ten of one and three of the other, drops them in the pockets of his robe and hurries back to Indrid. Sprawled on the bed, he looks painfully vulnerable, like someone who got used to life kicking him and telling him to stay down.

It’ll be different when they’re together, Duck can promise that much.

“Seem to recall you wanting me to keep you here.” He grabs a handwrap, holds it where Indrid can see, “how do you feel about me usin this?”

“Extremely good. Oh, oh hello.” He laughs when Duck rolls down beside him to pepper his face with kisses. The process of trapping his hands to the headboard is prolonged thanks to their mutual need to keep kissing every five seconds.

“Now” Duck kisses his shoulder, “I didn’t bring any toys to fuck you with, so it’s just gonna be my hand.”

“You say that as if it’s a disappointment to me and not incredibly sexy.”

“Some folks don’t think you’re fuckin ‘em unless you use somethin dick-shaped.” Duck shrugs with a flicker of sadness from the last time he had that conversation.

“Tell me who insulted your body or your skills in bed and I shall stand outside their window with a megaphone informing them of how terrible their manners are and how they missed out on the finest man in the world.”

“That’d be funny” Duck leisurely kisses his belly and hips before sitting up, “but you’d have to get outta bed.”

“True. Ah well, a sternly worded email will have do OOOh, oohhhyes.” He wiggles his hips as Duck presses in the first finger, relaxing under his touch.

“Get the feelin you’ve done this before”

“Yes.” Indrid’s chest is flushed and Duck reaches up his free hand to play with his nipples.

“What’s the most you’ve taken?”

“Th-three, I believe. I, ah, I’m usually facing away so I sometimes lose track.”

“You're takin four tonight. Can’t believe anyone would wanna miss out on how you look when you’re getting fucked.” He teases the second finger to prove his point and Indrid’s mouth curves with bliss.

“My ass is many people’s type; my face not so much.”

“Fuck that.” Duck pushes the second finger in. Indrid arches, then sighs as Duck keeps working him open.

“I find it difficult to care what they thought right now. I, ahhhn, it’s much more fun to think about you.”

“About me…?”

“About right you’re doing right now and, AH, what we can do next. I do so want to sit in your lap in the hot tub back home.”

“Can manage that. What else?”

“I’d very much l-like to fuck you, however you’ll let me and, and I want us to do it right after you train some day, you look so good like thatAHgod.” The third finger is in and Indrid is now steadily pushing down on them, “and one of the times you get me to run with you I expect a blow job in reward oh, ohfuck” his eyes are wild and eager, “please do the last one, I’m ready, I want it so badly, please.”

Duck begins teasing the fourth finger, “Think all those wants of yours sound real good. You wanna know mine?”

“Absolutely. AHaahnnnahgod” The wrap tightens as Indrid clings to it, trying to stabilize himself as Duck fucks his hand into him hard.

“Soon as we get home, I’m gettin the strap-on and fuckin you for a solid hour at least. Gonna leave you so fuckin raw and relaxed you won’t wanna do anything but lay there, and you’ll goddamn get to because you’re mine and I’m gonna take care of you.”

“Duck” it’s a happy sob, Indrid’s cock bobbing in the air.

“Gonna take a trip somewhere private, just the two of us, and you’re gonna spend the whole fuckin time tied up, to the bed, a chair, whatever the fuck else I feel like so I can ride your dick whenever I want.”

“Yes.” Indrid is barely getting out words between his cries.

“And the next time you have the fuckin nerve to wear tight jeans the day I gotta fight, I’m gonna shove a vibration plug up that cute little ass and lock your cock in a cage so we can both be horny without bein able to get off.”

“Duck please, I’m close, please touch-”

He wraps his fingers around Indrid’s dick and works him over hard and fast, “Soon as I’m done with that fight, you’re gonna blow me in the locker room so I can focus on nailin your ass into next week when we get--ohfuck!” Cum hits his chin as Indrid gasps and squeaks, scratching at the wraps and the headboard.

If Duck ever loses his memory, he hopes this is the last moment to go; Indrid Cold, happy, safe, and satisfied while he moans Duck’s name.

Indrid is boneless as Duck undoes the bonds, though he rallies enough to pull the boxer into a hug so he can cuddle him like a teddy bear. He kisses his throat, feels his pulse even out beneath his lips.

“Duck? Does, ah, does this mean what I think it does?”

The phone rings right as he’s about to answer. It’s probably Ned, so he holds up a finger and grabs the receiver.

“Go for Duck. Yeah, yeah that’ll be fine” he nods as Ned explains the plan for their exclusive, late night dinner, “yeah, tell ‘em five; you, Minerva, Leo, me and” he winks at a beaming Indrid, “my boyfriend.”

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #trans duck newton #reader request #meet ugly #boxer au

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thewriterisalwayswrite · 4 years

Text

Bad Choices

Summary: Logan has learned to ignore that little voice in his head that tells him when he is about to do something dumb. Fortunately, Remus is more than happy to fill in for said voice.

Pairings: Intrulogical

TW: Self-harm, needles, blood, Logan being kind of stupid

Word count: 1259

AO3

<-Last Next->

There may have still been a very small voice in the back of his head that told him this idea was not a great one, but he’d learned to ignore it a long time ago. No logic in little voices that told you what not to do. No sense in listening to them.

As Logan carefully set up his supplies for his most recent experiment, he diligently ignored said warnings. While this experiment could (and probably would) put him out of commission for a few days, he wouldn’t die. He wasn’t even sure if he could die, but that was a question to be tested another day.

It was worth it, whatever happened. Roman had been losing far too much blood for his liking after frivolous run-ins with fantasy creatures, so Logan was exploring how blood loss would affect a side.

Unfortunately, his only test subject seemed to be himself. He wouldn’t subject the others to that, not even Janus. Not even after he’d been impersonated twice.

Finishing prepping his gear, he slowly stood. This was the last thing he had to do before he locked the door.

He had to check individually with each of the other sides to ensure they didn’t need anything before he disappeared for a couple days.

Patton said yes, he needed a hug, which Logan was quick to oblige, albeit a little uncomfortable.

Roman needed a schedule done, which Logan immediately handed over. He had finished it earlier that day.

Virgil said he didn’t need anything and closed the door in his face, which would have been offensive had it been anyone else.

Janus said yes , he absolutely did need something and why was Logan asking him ?

Remus, oddly enough, gave him a suspicious look before requesting something that caused even Logan to sigh and roll his eyes, annoyed.

When he returned to his own room, he ensured it was completely blocked off with a clear and concise note on the door. Then he began.

After changing into a soft black t-shirt and sweatpants, he began connecting himself with the machines he’d set up to monitor how he was doing. He fitted a breathing mask onto his face to be sure to keep his breath even and controlled. He then cleaned a small patch on his arm before finding a vein and inserting the needle.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts before switching on the machine, watching the clear tube fill with blood as it was transported to a container that would make it easy to measure.

He felt himself get light-headed and dazed as he continued to draw blood. This was something he’d expected, a common side effect reported by the twins after copious injury.

He allowed himself to lie down on the bed he’d prepared, fully expecting to lose consciousness at some point. The machine would not stop unless it detected signs of a serious threat to his life. In that case it would shut off, log how much blood had been collected, then start putting it back into his soon-to-be-lifeless body.

Foolproof, right? He was very proud of his advanced machines and convoluted plans.

As he laid there, breath even and arm stinging, he slowly began to see black spots in his vision. Then green flashing lights, bigger black spots, and he could no longer feel his head as reality slipped away.

Remus had done enough dumb things in his life to know when someone else was doing one. And Logan definitely was. There were little tells. In his eyes, in his voice, his posture. Remus had spent a long time watching Logan, learning them. He also knew the others’, of course, but Logan’s were the most concerning. He did stupid things, and then tried to cover for himself by saying it was ‘for science’.

Bullshit. Logan hadn’t needed to starve himself ‘for science’, or intentionally contract illness to see how it would affect his intellectual abilities ‘for science’. Logan was just dumb, and probably depressed, and apperently needed a full-time babysitter. Which was a role that Remus apparently had to now fill in.

Whatever it was, he should probably get going soon. He found his way to Logan’s door, and, ignoring his note, tried to force it open. Then he tried to sink inside. Then he tried to will the door out of existence. Then he willed an ax into existence and broke it down. At least that worked. He could always fix it later. Or now. With a lazy wave of his hand, the door was back on its hinges, and he was inside Logic’s room.

When he found Logan himself, he sighed, disappointed. Removing one’s own blood until one passes out is not a very intelligent course of action.

And by that of course Remus meant that it was really fucking stupid. Tempted as he was to just rip out the needle and watch the blood spill, he had to go about this in a smart way.

Ugh. Smart. Not his strong suit. But he had to fill in for Logan, who was supposed to be the smart one but bailed.

He started poking around on one of the screens until he managed to reverse the effects, returning Logan’s blood to his body. He did not care if he was ‘messing up’ a ‘science experiment’, this was not the way to go about something like that.

Once all of Logan’s blood was back inside him, Remus carefully disconnected all the machines and monitors, snapping them away and watching Logan peacefully asleep, chest rising and falling as normal.

Remus placed his hands on Logan’s shoulders and shook him.

After a moment of violent shaking, Logan came to, coughing and spluttering before settling down and looking up at Remus. “What hap’nd?” he asked blearily, looking around for his missing equipment.

That was when Remus slapped him, concern and fear gone and replaced with anger for doing that to himself. Logan sounded very affronted.

“What was that ?”

“No, that’s what I should be asking you . Where on earth did you get it in your head that this was a good idea?”

“You’ve done worse things,” Logan muttered.

Remus rolled his eyes. “Yeah. That’s my job , wise guy. Yours is to be sensible and smart. Do you think that was either of those things?”

Logan grinned weakly at hearing Remus rant like a concerned and upset parent.

“Okay dad.”

Remus grinned, almost like his usual grin, just a bit more subdued. “Dad? That would be Pat. Try daddy.”

Logan sighed. “I regret saying anything.”

Remus laughed, a big, loud laugh, and Logan was relieved to see he was relaxing. When Logan tried to stand, though, he did get serious again quickly.

“You’re staying right there until I clear you. I’m not joking with you, Logan. That could have been really risky.��

Logan sighed. “I know. I just… I needed to, to know how to help Roman, and my only subject was myself, and-”

Remus interrupted. “Next time, use me. You know it doesn’t bother me.”

Logan gasped a little. “No, I would never- oh.”

Point made, Remus smiled gently. “Don’t do anything on yourself you wouldn’t do on me, okay?”

Logan smiled. “Fair. I’ll try.”

“You better do more than try.”

Logan smiled. “For you, sure. Since it is, for some odd reason, so important to you.”

Remus grinned again. “That’s right. Since you seem to be incapable of doing it for yourself. Which we’ll talk about later, by the way. But for now, just relax.”

And Logan did.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #thomas sanders #intrulogical #logan sanders #remus sanders #logan x remus #fanfic #fander

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taetaesbaebaepsae · 5 years

Text

Tteokkboki

A/n: This goes from super fluffy and cute to REAL smutty halfway through, but this is a little commission for @sweetwritertanya because she’s an angel.

Summary: Jungkook falls for a waitress at a tteokkboki restaurant, and she isn’t sure if they’re just friends or not.

Warnings: fluff and just a whole lotta smut, chubby!reader, virgin!Jungkook, girl on top, vaginal fingering, some mention of male masturbation, Jungkook just really wants to love reader and all her curves, protected sex

Word Count: 3413

Namjoon mentions it first, how Jungkook is suddenly all focus, quiet all the time, holing up in his room.

"What's going on with you?" He asks, after the third time in a row Jungkook barely picks at his food.

Jungkook shrugs. “Nothing.”

He keeps saying nothing even when Namjoon asks again because he isn't quite sure how to say he thinks he might be lovesick and he barely knows your name.

You work at a tteokbokki restaurant near his gym, and the first time he saw you he almost choked to death.

It was so simple, just the curve of your upper arm in his peripheral vision. Your skin looked so soft and it drew his eyes up to your face before he even knew it.

You smiled almost immediately and he feels his cheeks burn as he tries not to choke on his water.

Hoseok orders as if nothing's amiss, and then gives Jungkook a curious look when he clears his throat and mumbles an order.

"You okay, Kook?"

Jungkook can only nod fervently, keeping his eyes trained on the table and drawing in a sharp breath when your hand brushes his when you take the menus.

That'd been it, he'd barely spoken to you, going to eat tteokbokki so often he was sick of it. He learned your name from the receipts he got, traced his fingers over it, practicing the syllables out loud as if he'd ever get the courage to introduce himself.

Jungkook can't rightly say he'd developed a type, after all it isn't as if he has a whole wealth of experience to choose from, just a couple stolen kisses in high school at the lockers.

But now?

He seeks out pictures of girls with your body type, can't ever find anyone with exactly your curves, how soft your skin looks, the thickness of your thighs in slacks.

He can't help himself from looking up nudes, scrolling down to obscure her face, his skin hot, hand scrabbling at his fly as he sits at his laptop.

He'd be ashamed if he didn't daydream just as often of just your hand in his, fingers curling into his palm, your easy smile, head tilted up, how he'd kiss the tip of your chin, the corner of your mouth.

Jungkook asks the hostess politely if he can sit in your section, every time, and every time he has grand plans to tell you his name, maybe even be so bold as to write his number under the big tip he always leaves on the credit card receipt.

All he ever manages is a mumbled order, drumming his fingers on the table and shredding the paper of his straw.

It's you who speaks first, as he's signing the receipt and gnawing on his bottom lip, wondering if he should at least draw a smiley face, and he startles so much his pen jerks onto the table, leaving a stray mark.

"You don't have to leave so much!" You protest.

"I-I...I really like...the service here," he sputters, and your bright smile doesn't much help the flush of his cheeks.

"Jungkook, right?"

He just started at you for a long moment with surely an idiotic, dreamy expression on his face, unable to fight his smile.

"It's on your receipts. You're my only regular customer," you say quickly, and scrunch your nose in a way that is so cute his chest aches. "I don't think I'm very good at this."

"No," Jungkook breathes, unable to stand the slight frown on your face. "You're so good. The best, actually. The best waitress ever."

You giggle, a sound that makes him wonder if he's dreaming, and glance around to see the restaurant is almost empty before you sit down across from him.

Jungkook swallows hard, palms on the table because he doesn't know what to do with his hands.

"You're sweet," you say, smiling a little, looking away as if you're the one who's shy, and he can't bear it, can't stop himself from reaching out to touch your hand hesitantly.

"I mean it," he insists.

You give him a smile that makes his heart nearly stop, but then the bell over the door rings and you're up and heading to busy yourself before he can say another word.

Jungkook feels emboldened by the conversation, scribbles something on the receipt before he can change his mind and bolts, leaving the restaurant before you come back over.

He's halfway home before he realizes he's left his coat on the back of his chair, it takes that long before he feels the cold.

Jungkook goes to his room and rolls around on the bed, imagines you scoffing at his message, a scrawled "I think you're beautiful" with a stupid badly drawn heart and his phone number.

He throws his phone on the floor and buries his face in his pillow, certain you'd be absolutely disgusted, after all it was your job to be nice to him and surely guys hit on you all the time and what had he been thinking?

It's an hour later when his phone chimes and he falls off the bed with a thud to get to it.

😳 Thank you. Where should we meet up? You left your coat.

Jungkook whoops so loudly that Taehyung opens the door, peeks his head in to raise a thick brow at Jungkook lying on the floor and grinning at his phone.

Jungkook throws a pillow at him and Taehyung laughs and leaves him be.

It takes a full half hour before he can text you back, typing text after text before deleting them and settling on: The park near the restaurant? When is your shift over?

When you text back: Now, all the breath leaves his lungs in a rush.

He scrambles up, goes to the mirror and runs his hands through his hair, looks down at his wrinkled t-shirt and sweats and groans.

It would look too desperate and eager to change his clothes, wouldn't it?

When he picks up his phone he accidentally calls you and he wants to die when you pick up on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"Oh, fuck," he mumbles, and brings the phone to his ear.

"Jungkook?"

"Fuck, I'm sorry, I shouldn't curse I...um...can you meet me at the park entrance in half an hour?"

"Sure thing." He hears the smile in your voice and it calms the hammering of his heartbeat.

"Um, okay. Thank you."

He hangs up. Thank you? What the fuck was that? How was he supposed to meet up with you outside of work when he can barely make words on a phone call?

Flustered, he all but runs out of the house despite Namjoon's protests that he needs a coat and he's freezing by the time he reaches the park.

He's fifteen minutes early and he sees you right away, sitting on a bench with your palms on the thick thighs he's been dreaming about, wearing a beanie and a scarf, cheeks rosy from the cold when you look up at him.

"H-hello." He manages, and you make a distressed sound in the back of your throat, bounding up and putting on his coat like he's a child.

You're rubbing your hands up and down his arms, so close he could lean down and kiss the top of your head and suddenly he isn't cold anymore.

You tsk. "Your teeth are chattering! Did you walk here?"

"I'm sorry," he says dumbly, struck by how near you are, how he's been daydreaming of this moment for weeks.

"Let's get coffee. Warm you up, yeah?"

You loop your arm through his and his head feels light when you tug him across the street to a nearby cafe.

Jungkook manages to fumble out his wallet when you order for yourself and him, paying despite your protests.

He's been hoping for this for so long but now that you're sitting next to him on the couch at the back of the cafe, your knee touching his, he can't think.

"Are you warmer now?" You ask, watching him sip his coffee, and he nods.

It's another moment before you speak again and your words make him take a bigger gulp than he'd intended, burning the roof of his mouth.

"Do you really think I'm beautiful?"

He nods again, more fiercely, but the way you're not looking at him directly, just from the corner of your eye makes him realize he needs words.

"I think you're so beautiful," he blurts earnestly, and you still don't look at him but the corner of your mouth turns up just a bit.

"You're my only regular. I figured maybe you just were so shy you didn't want to deal with a new server every time. Guys that look like you do don't...they don't like girls like me. Not like that, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Jungkook sits his coffee down on the table, pivots toward you, ignoring the thrill up his spine when his thigh touches yours.

"You obviously work out. I don't, much."

You seem to curl in on yourself, making yourself smaller, and he frowns.

"So? I'm sure we have lots of other stuff in common…"

You look up at him and blink at him, and then laugh a little at his confused expression.

"You're really not poking fun at me?"

"Wh-what? No! Never. I'm not... I don't really go on dates or talk to girls... women…"

He trails off miserably when you smile wider, face on fire, but you take his hand in yours, curling your fingers into his palm just like he'd imagined, and he loses his breath.

It's a few weeks before he gets to show you just how beautiful you are to him, and he can barely believe it's happening.

You're in his room, lying on your stomach on his bed and he's sitting on the floor, rifling through the vinyl albums he collected to show you when you say something that makes his hands still.

"Are we just friends?"

Jungkook hums nervously in the back of his throat but he can't find his voice, something tightening his chest.

"Kook?" You call when he doesn't answer, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment.

"Do...do you want to be just friends?" He asks, softly, and when you don't answer right away he turns and you're sitting up on the bed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"I asked you," you insist, your mouth set in a hard line.

Jungkook swallows, opens his mouth, closes it again.

"We've been...hanging out now for what? A month?"

"Six weeks," he blurts, and flushes a bit.

You huff out a breath. "Six weeks. You never let me pay for dinner and you let me hold your hand...but you...you haven't kissed me and I just need to know if we're just friends or…"

Jungkook's heart is thudding against his breastplate and he gets up on his knees in front of you.

"I don't...I don't want to be your friend."

Your expression doesn't change, but something flashes in your eyes. "No?"

Jungkook shakes his head. "I want to be more than friends," he confesses. "I want to…" He takes a deep breath, gingerly places his hands on your thighs, inwardly groans at how badly he wants to squeeze.

"You want to kiss me?" You ask softly, and put a hand in his hair, leaning forward just a bit, and Jungkook can't help the moan that comes from his throat.

His head is spinning like he'd been drinking wine all night even though he hadn't had a drop and when you lean in he surges up, nose bumping against yours a bit before he finds your mouth, and he doesn't bother with chaste, slips his tongue into your mouth hungrily and his right hand squeezes the soft flesh of your thigh almost involuntarily.

You make a low noise into his mouth and before he knows what he's doing he's climbing onto the bed, encouraged by your fingers gripped tight in his hair.

You're so soft, everywhere, all these curves instead of hard lines and he wants his hands all over you but he can't stop squeezing your inner thigh and when your legs part and you arch up off the bed a bit, he feels like all the blood leaves his head and he breaks from your mouth, panting just a bit.

"Y/n, I-I-" he stutters, but then you palm the front of his jeans and he forgets what he was going to say entirely.

"You want me, yeah?"

He looks down at your face, almost in wonder at your flushed cheeks, your glassy eyes, and nods, groaning and bucking against your hand.

"Want you so bad," he breathes, and you lean up to kiss him again and he can't think anymore, just following the ache in his belly and his cock.

Jungkook kisses your neck, right at your pulse, soft at first and then when you gasp, harder, sticking out his tongue to taste your skin.

"Do you have...do you have protection?" You ask in a husky voice and Jungkook thanks God for Jung Hoseok forcing a handful of condoms on to him, Taehyung and Jimin every break despite Jungkook's flushed cheeks and protests.

He leans up, almost mourning having to take his hands off you, and rummages around in his nightstand and finding a few to throw on the bed.

Jungkook wonders if he should tell you that he's never gotten past second base but you're shimmying out of your jeans and God, there's so much skin he wants to touch and kiss. As soon as you shuck them off his mouth attaches to the skin of your inner thigh and he sucks hard until you cry out and when he lifts his head the red mark he's left there makes him dizzy.

You're wearing these pale blue panties and they're almost transparent. He can't take his eyes off the crotch of them and when you tilt your hips up he moans against your thigh, places his palm against your sex and he can feel such heat against his palm that he chokes out your name.

You lean up, sliding your hand between your bodies to grab his cock through his jeans and fuck, he can't think when you do that, feels like if you rubbed even a bit he'd cum in his pants like a teenager so he takes your hand, pins your wrists above your head with one hand so that he can keep touching you with the other.

He slides his hand down the waistband of your panties and you're so slick, bucking against his fingers and moaning his name and he has no idea how he will last if he gets his cock inside you.

You make a sound almost like a whimper and his eyes dart to your face. You've got your eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted, and when your tongue darts out to wet your lips he wonders briefly what you'd look like with those lips wrapped around his cock.

"Kookie, please, I'm gonna-"

He watches your face, knows he's dragging his thumb along your clit by the way you cry out, and curious, he slips a finger inside you and you instantly clench around it.

"F-fuck. Fuck, Y/n, I want…"

Your eyes pop open and you lick your lips again, arching your back and he sees your nipples hard and straining against your shirt and he groans. Just when he thinks it's too much, just when he thinks there can't be more of you that's so sexy he can barely contain himself, he notices something else.

"Tell me what you want," you say in that husky tone and his face is burning but so what, so was the rest of him.

"Want you to ride my cock," he blurts, hoping that if you controlled the speed and depth he'd last longer, keep from embarrassing himself.

"Yes," you breathe, but when he releases your wrists and tugs off his shirt to lie down, you hesitate after slipping out of your panties, tugging your shirt down, sitting up on your knees.

"Are you okay? We can stop, I-"

You shake your head, eyes trailing over him. "I'm just... I'm nervous. You're in such good shape and I'm-'

Jungkook sits up, cups your face in his hands.

"You're beautiful," he insists. "You're so sexy, Y/n, I've been trying not to cum in my jeans for half an hour."

He would normally be mortified but your smile makes up for all of it and you kiss him hungry and sloppy and he doesn't protest when you keep on your shirt but he wants to see your tits so badly.

"W-wait," he stutters when you unbutton his fly, his head feels fuzzy and he wants this to last. He pulls you into his lap, tries to ignore how hot your core is even through his jeans.

He kisses along the neckline of your top before lifting his head, meeting your eyes before he touches your breasts.

You smile and nod and he clumsily tugs your breasts out of the top of your shirt and bra, leaning down to kiss the peaks of each of your nipples gently.

"There," he says softly, and lies back on the bed, adjusting his hips under you and holding his breath when you unbutton his jeans, deftly tug his cock out and he's embarrassed by how much precum spurts from his tip, coating your fingertips.

But then you bring your fingers to your mouth, suck them gently and he groans and tries not to buck beneath you.

"You're trying to kill me," he gasps, and your laugh makes him feel almost drunk.

You look around for the condoms and he fumbles with one, gets it open and fights the urge to fist his leaking cock when he slides it on.

Jungkook is nervous when you straddle his thighs but you don't tease, just guide his cock inside you and he can't stop the hoarse moan that rips from his throat.

"Oh God, oh fuck, Y/n, you're perfect, so fucking perfect," he babbles, and you rock forward, brace your hands on the headboard.

You're so tight around him, pulsing and so wet he can't stop himself from grabbing onto your hips and jerking up beneath you.

You cry out his name and do this smooth roll of your hips that makes him bite down hard on his lip and throw his head back.

You move your hands to his chest, panting a little, your eyes concerned.

"Am I...am I doing okay?"

Jungkook barks out a choked laugh.

"Okay? You're so fucking hot, Y/n, I can barely look at you."

You take his chin in your hand and his eyes open. You keep rolling your hips and he can barely breathe, watching your tits bounce and he moves his hands there, loves the way your nipples drag against his palms.

You let out a long whining moan and start to almost bounce on his cock and he feels his balls tighten.

"Y/n," he warns, but you've got your head thrown back now, moving as if you're on a mission.

"Jungkook, I'm… I'm cumming," you moan low in your throat and he can feel it, fuck, he can feel you pulse around him and he thinks his heart might vault out of his chest.

"Oh God, oh God, Y/n!" He nearly shouts, spurting into the condom, hips bucking uncontrollably. His orgasm seems to last forever and he moans your name over and over, drags your head down to kiss you until black spots slide across his vision.

He gasps in air when you break apart but he whines when you slide off him and you giggle a little and the way your ass jiggles when you head to the bathroom is such a gift.

He's thrown the condom away and tugged the covers up when you return and he makes grabby hands at you, sleepy.

You slide in beside him and he puts a hand on your ass and wonder of wonders if he's half hard again in moments.

But you tuck your face into his neck, plant a chaste kiss there and he rubs your back instead, loving your breath on his throat.

"Are we more than friends now?" He mumbles, and your low laugh puts him to sleep with a smile on his face.

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #ksmutclub #3kwords #jungkook smut #kookie smut #bts commission

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magioftheseas · 3 years

Text

Stick It To Dis Bear!

Summary: An alternate/bonus scene about THE STICKER in Chapter 25 of Super Danganronpa 2: Matsuda Yasuke’s Battle of Despair and Wits.

Rating: PG

Warnings: None really.

Notes: I just didn’t feel right leaving out the stupid sticker. I still haven’t gone to a theater in over a year. For obvious reasons. I think I’m done with theaters. Like, forever. The last film I saw was Birds of Prey. That was good. I don’t need to see another movie.

Read this fic among others HERE

Main story is HERE

Commission? Donate?

They managed to get all the testing done in one day, although if Hinata played along in hopes of being told everything, he ended up sorely disappointed. Another to add to the list of people who found Matsuda in general to be a disappointment as a person. At least, Matsuda had an inkling that such was how the chestnut felt.

He was dealing with his own disappointment—with Komaeda still dragging his feet even after Hinata got too exhausted to keep fucking around with them.

“I feel like nothing of value actually happened,” Hinata groused.

That’s because it did. So little happened that it’s barely worth a passing narration, Matsuda thought.

“You’ve done well, Hinata-kun!” Komaeda chirped. “Great work! As expected of an Ultimate!”

“Shove it,” Hinata snapped. “It would’ve been nice if any of that felt like it mattered.”

“Aw, Hinata-kun...” Komaeda does pout, and it visibly gets Hinata more flustered and frustrated. “I really am sorry that you feel like your time was wasted.” Komaeda turns the full force of that pout to Matsuda. “Hinata-kun feels that his time was wasted. Isn’t that sad? Don’t you feel sad?”

“Yeah,” Hinata agreed through gritted teeth. “Doesn’t that make you sad?”

What romcom bullshit did I wake up in now?

“...I guess... It’s sad?”

“It’s so sad!” Komaeda exclaimed emotionally. “Matsuda-kun, you must make up to him! If only it’d abate his pain a little!”

“I mean, I guess it was a pretty big pain,” Hinata agreed with that, too, even if he seemed more confused about it. “It’d be...nice if I got some compensation...”

“What the hell?” Matsuda balked at the idea. “You volunteered?”

“I don’t REMEMBER that!” Hinata shot back. “For all I know, you lied to my face AGAIN! You do seem to like lying if it benefits you!”

Matsuda opened his mouth but hummed thoughtfully. When he went to speak again, he thought against it and hummed some more.

“C-Can you at least pretend you’re ashamed?” Hinata asked, exasperated. “Like, if you agree, surely you see that it’s wrong...”

I don’t really care.

He especially doesn’t care to pretend he cares. That said...

Komaeda was pouting at him. Lower lip stuck out, puppy eyes, the works. For a kid who looked half on death’s doorstep, it shouldn’t have been that effective. What the fuck.

Matsuda sighed loudly.

I don’t really care, but...

“Alright. Compensation. I guess I can do that,” he said before muttering, “What kind of compensation, though...? Do you want a coupon or what?”

“What would I use a coupon for?” Hinata asked, raising an eyebrow. “I mean—I would’ve been fine with just an apology.”

“Oh, Hinata-kun, such a martyr...” Komaeda gave him a pitying look. “You need to raise your standards.”

Hinata flinched for reasons beyond the current conversation.

“...I guess...”

“Yeah, you’re not getting an apology when I’m not sorry,” Matsuda said. “Pick something else.”

“Seriously?” Hinata gave him a look. “I... What the hell am I supposed to ask for?”

“A raise!” Komaeda exclaimed. “Extra vacation days! Or maybe a cruise!”

“I’m not paying for a fucking cruise,” Matsuda snapped. “Just how much money do you think I have?”

“Eh? But, Matsuda-kun, you’re a renowned neurologist,” Komaeda pointed out. “Even if you’re still a minor, you should be making a considerable amount of money...”

“Paid intern,” Matsuda corrected. “I could afford rent and instant food without having to pick up a parttime job on the side. Better than most...other people of my status...” He paused, having to stop himself for a moment before continuing, “I’m still not living the fancy life, though.”

Living as an orphan is never easy, especially in this country.

“That seems unfair,” Komaeda pointed out.

“What rock do you live under? That’s just how it is,” Matsuda scoffed. “Maybe if I had rich parents or even grandparents, it’d be different but I don’t.”

My worthless dad fucking ran the second shit got only a little difficult. Come to think of it, how did I manage after...?

“Rich parents,” Komaeda echoed as Matsuda rubbed his temple irritably. “I see.”

What now?

“Oh nothing!” Komaeda chirped, waving his hand as he was stared at by both Matsuda and Hinata. Right. Hinata.

This was supposed to be about Hinata.

“I, uh, don’t know much about making money,” Hinata confessed rather pitifully. “I’ve done some job-hunting...and I guess I’ve helped out at a convenience store? But only because my parents knew the owner...”

“How down to earth,” Matsuda remarked. “I knew a convenience store owner who gave me a sandwich because she felt sorry for me.”

“The one I knew hated me,” Komaeda chirped. “She said I was cursed! Which I guess was true!”

Both Matsuda and Hinata stared at him again, this time harder than before. Despite that, Komaeda remained bouncy and cheerful.

“Since financial compensation isn’t an option, I guess the best we can do is find something on the island to give Hinata-kun!”

“There’s a supermarket,” Matsuda pointed out dryly.

“I can just go there myself and grab whatever I want,” Hinata said. “I don’t need you picking up anything for me.”

“Do you want to be compensated or not?” Matsuda snapped.

“You’re not the kind of person who gets easily taken advantage of, right?” Komaeda asked, looking at him pityingly again.

“I’m not answering that,” Hinata griped. “But yes, I want compensation, I just... I don’t think I’m going to get the kind of compensation I actually want...”

Komaeda looked at Matsuda next.

“Sucks,” is all he had to offer.

Hinata grumbled, but wasn’t one to give up easily, almost as if he was motivated by a higher force.

“There’s stuff to do, right? Like, go to the beach...”

“I guess I can take you a beach and toss a frisbee for you to fetch,” Matsuda conceded.

“O-Or maybe relax at the park!!”

“Oh, should I bring a leash instead?” Matsuda asked, head tilted.

“T-There’s the movie theater!” Hinata exclaimed in a fit of desperation. “Let’s try that! Let’s go to the movies!”

Matsuda stared. Komaeda stared. Hinata took their silence as agreement.

“The movies,” he decided. “L-Let’s go to the movies.”

Matsuda and Komaeda traded looks.

It was decided, but not without reservations.

“Surely there’s more than one film showing,” Hinata said, looking up at the sign. “I mean... I know I wanted to come here but... This film is supposed to be really bad, right?”

“It is,” Matsuda confirmed.

“It really, really is,” Komaeda agreed. “No offense, Hinata-kun, but you’re going to have to watch this alone if you have your heart set on it.”

“I-I thought I was supposed to be getting treated?!” Hinata protested. “And—I won’t want to see it anyway! I just...” He trails off. “I just...thought it might be nice to watch a move... I wasn’t thinking about...”

Wasn’t thinking is right. I’m also surprised you have the energy.

“Guess it can’t hurt to check,” Matsuda said as he made his way inside. “Of course the main issue is asking...”

Komaeda whistled before Matsuda even had a second to truly dread what came before.

“WHAT AM I, A DOG?!” Monokuma shrieked. “Call me by my NAME or at least a TITLE if you can MANAGE IT?!”

“Why would I when you already answered?” Komaeda retorted. “I just wanted to ask some questions about any films playing?”

“Why? So you can break my fragile little bear heart all over again?” Monokuma sniffled. “Critics are vultures! Vultures, I tell ya!”

“Get the fuck over yourself,” Matsuda snapped. “We’re only here because this dumbass wants to see a movie.”

“I-I’m not a dumbass!” Hinata protested, but Monokuma looked at him as if he were, in fact, a dumbass. “What?! Do you have a problem with that?!”

“Eheh... Upupupu, and here I thought you didn’t want to watch it!” Monokuma cackled. “You were just being tsundere all along! Should’ve known!”

“I don’t want to watch that film, just a film,” Hinata hurriedly corrected but Monokuma just squealed.

“Such a tsundere that you even threw away millions for a sticker!”

“Millions...?” Matsuda echoed.

“For...a sticker?” Komaeda wondered, wide-eyed.

“Don’t worry about it!” Hinata yelped, waving his hand frantically. “I-It’s nothing to worry about!”

“I think tsundere syndrome IS pretty worrying!” Monokuma exclaimed, smacking Hinata on the ass and retrieving the one and only sticker. “I mean, honestly! Imagine paying 150 million yen for this lovely sticker just so you don’t have to watch a movie! Check it, check it!”

“Stop, don’t!” Hinata shrieked, but Monokuma couldn’t be deterred, flinging that sticker into Matsuda’s face.

Matsuda got a good look at it, as did Komaeda. The Monokuma sticker grinned back at them, with the cheekily written following words underneath: I’m sorry, I was born stupid.

Matsuda stared. Komaeda stared. The sticker smugly kept on staring back, radiating contempt and malice.

“H-Hinata-kun,” Komaeda began shakily, sounding close to tears. “You bought this for 150 million yen?”

“I-I had to take out a loan,” was Hinata’s pitiful explanation. “I didn’t...pay for it upfront...”

“What were you going to do if it accrued interest?” Matsuda asked blankly.

“And what are you going to do now that you’re gonna watch the movie anyway?!” Monokuma exclaimed. “All that money—wasted!”

“I can’t believe you’re going to go bankrupt over this shitty sticker,” Matsuda lamented, feeling genuinely apologetic for his cruel fate. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

And Hinata.

Just.

Screamed.

“ARGH FORGET IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!!”

In the end, Hinata ran out of the theater. In the end, Matsuda and Komaeda wordlessly left as well. In the end, Monokuma surely laughed his furry ass off.

Another day largely wasted.

“Do you think Hinata-kun’s going to want his sticker back?” Komaeda asked, grimacing at the thing as if it had committed great offense. Which it had. Simply by existing. “Monokuma didn’t write up a contract. His word isn’t legally binding. Hinata-kun might not have to pay.”

“Hm.” Matsuda stuffed the sticker into his mouth, chewing it and swallowing it much to Komaeda’s awe. “It’s his word against ours. I can at least afford a lawyer.”

“I’ll pay for legal fees! Just for Hinata-kun!” Komaeda exclaimed, fired up now. “And—!”

“Once we get out of here, we’ll take him to see an actual movie,” Matsuda said.

Komaeda shut his mouth.

“Once we get out of here,” Matsuda repeated.

Komaeda said nothing else for the rest of the day, but there was a particular glimmer to his gaze. One that Matsuda took note of, and couldn’t help but hope for a greater significance.

#yasuke matsuda #hajime hinata #nagito komaeda #MatsuKomaHina #sdr2 #Magi fics #Protag Matsun

10 notes · View notes

krabmeat · 3 years

Text

𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎?

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜: c!Quackity, c!Techno, c!Tommy, c!Tubbo, c!Schlatt 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: violence, fighting, threats, weapons, panic attack, manipulation, yelling

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎:

another lore fic for my dsmp persona, this wasnt a request just something i wanted to post! enjoy! :]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

The molten and glowing netherite dented into the ideal shape that Krabs had in mind. Currently she was in her smithy at home working on a dozen netherite tipped arrows. She hadn’t tried making arrows before but when Techno asked her for a commission for it, how hard could it be, right? By the looks of it, it seems to be turning out well. She managed to make a strong, dense metal fit the characteristic requirements of an arrow that should be light and steady.

On about her 5th one, 4 steady knocks come from her door.

‘I’m not expecting anyone today…?’

The same knocks rumble from the spruce wood. Krabs puts down her welding tools and goes to put on her worn and ripped navy trench coat.

“Yeah, hold up! I’ll be there real quick!”

Grabbing Axe My Beloved and heading for the door, she places her weapon next to the door out of view in case she needs to use it at all. Opening the door, she realizes she needs her weapon in her hands once she sees the man on the other side.

“Ah, Krabs! Just the lady I wanted to see!”

Krabs furrows her brow and gets in a defensive position, grabbing Axe My Beloved and holding it in front of her.

“Why are you here? How the hell did you get past the forest and what do you want?”

Her words are like venom, the hostility practically oozing out of her body. Quackity takes a casual step back and holds his hands up in surrender.

“Relax, relax! I’m not here to hurt you, maybe- just here to discuss some…business.”

He can see the confusion on Krabs’ face along with how dumb she thinks he’s being. Deciding to humor his request, she pretends to think about what he said and acts like she’s taking it into consideration before dropping her expressions that made Quackity hopeful.

“I don’t think you see how much of a contradicting dumba$$ you sound like right now. We have nothing to discuss so get off my property, you’ll lower the property value.”

She walks away and waits for the door to slam shut after swinging it closed, but it never happens. Instead the door is met with Quackity’s foot as he opens it and lets himself in without warning. Krabs turns around and he’s already right behind her.

“What the- QUACKITY WHAT THE F*CK?! GET OUT!”

Krabs swings her axe at Quackity, making them easily dodgeable as to not hurt him but more so to scare him away.

“Well you let other people talk to you about what’s on their mind! Cmonnn, how is this any different?”

“Man, I have no clue! It couldn’t possibly be because you always want me dead whenever I see you! You tell me Quackity, why is it any different?” Krabs says.

He then gets a small smirk grazed across his lips. He knows that she’s being sarcastic, but pretends to play dumb.

“I have no idea what you're talking about! You're really just gonna ignore someone who needs to talk to you? Wow...I thought you were better than this.”

Krabs stops and rolls her eyes, sighing as she walks to a door expecting Quackity to keep up, which he does.

“Leave all your weapons outside the room. I’m keeping mine next to my chair because I still don’t trust you but other than that I won’t have any weapons either. This is the best you’ll get from me.”

The room contains 2 small navy couches across from each other, 3 black leather stools along the wall and a small coffee table between the 2 couches. A big window with open, white shutters is on the right wall and the rest of the walls are a plain grey tone. Sure enough, Krabs grabs a stool and sits down after leaning Axe My Beloved against it while instructing Quackity to sit wherever he wants after he places his weapons outside the door. They are both seated when Krabs nods at Quackity, signaling him to start speaking.

“Well it looks like you’ve got a nice place here! I have to say, I saw some of the weapons you’ve made in your workshop and your work is amazing!”

He’s seated on the couch, looking around at the small room and taking it all in. He can sense the uneasiness from Krabs and it makes him smile.

“Yeah...I was working on a new commission before you came knocking at my door. Some netherite tipped arrows for Techno.”

Krabs starts fidgeting with her hands, scratching her thumb against her index finger. She’s reluctant to make eye contact with the scarred man in front of her. She knows he’s staring her down and it makes her wanna shrink down into her seat, but she won’t. Looking vulnerable isn't exactly up her alley, so she takes on a more casual look but still avoids eye contact.

“Hm...look, we’re both busy people so I’ll cut to the chase. I’m sure you've heard of the new country I’m starting up, Las Nevadas. Everything’s built, there’s a bunch of casinos and it’ll be one of the most economically prosperous places you’ll ever see. I’m asking you to join my country Krabs. Join me.”

“Um...excuse me, what? Out of all people, you’re asking me to join your country? Man, how desperate are you? Of course I’m not joining! Let alone a country led by you, Quackity.”

Quackity tilts his head to the side in amusement as if he was expecting this response. Which he was. He’s not surprised that she reacted that way. I mean, one of your worst enemies who’s always out for your throat asking to stand side by side with you? That’s practically asking to be labeled as suspicious!

“You’re still holding onto the past, I see. Krabs, you need to stop looking back. L’manburg is f*cking gone and there’s nothing we can do about it. I don’t care anymore that you helped blow it up because I moved on. You should too.”

Krabs lets out a long, aggravated sigh and tightly clenches her hands together to relieve pressure.

“Maybe if you would take the f*cking time to listen for once, our sh*t could have been resolved a long time ago! I tried telling you why I had to help build the detonator but YOU decided to not let me speak and instead shoved me to the damn ground and made stupid false accusations. Why the hell do you think Tommy isn’t mad at me for helping? Or Tubbo? Because they had the common sense to let me EXPLAIN, QUACKITY! Our issues with each other are all on you, so quit trying to shove it all down my throat. Either way, I’m not gonna join you. I’m not Techno, Quackity. I don’t team with my enemies, you’ll just stab me in the back later.”

“Your ‘reasoning’ for why you helped is for another chat. It’s funny how you bring up Technoblade, though. You guys seem to work with each other a lot, right? I mean, he trusts you enough to let you live in the same area as him! But...what else is there to you?”

“Hm, well as you know I’m a welder, builder, blacksmith, redstone intelligent, pretty good at PVP and the general therapist of the Dream SMP. I also have my fair share in historical events, so there’s quite a bit to me actually.”

A long sigh and a slow head shake of disapproval comes from Quackity.

“And yet, you’re still as significant as a grain of sand.”

Krabs doesn’t get offended or angry, but rather curious and suspicious. Her eyes squint at him, tilting her head slightly to the side waiting for him to continue.

“Krabs, what word have you built for yourself? What title? ‘The Laborer’? ‘The Therapist’? You block out everyone from yourself, you’ve made yourself dull and boring. You have nothing to hide if you join me, Krabs. You’ll be someone!”

“Did you just completely ignore everything I just said?”

She finally looks up at Quackity, squinting at him. Accepting his request to chat is something she regrets now.

“I’m not ignoring anything, I’m telling you the cold hard truth. All of the sh*t you’ve been a part of was never you. All you are is an asset to peoples victory, and since you jump around so much your help isn’t as respected anymore as it used to be! You’re just Technoblades assistant. You’re just Tommy’s assistant. You’re just your ‘fathers’ assistant. And sooner or later they’ll realize your worth and drop you. They’re going to leave you, Krabs.”

The last phrase sends chills of anxiety and paranoia down Krabs’ spine. Was that really true? I mean, she had always known that she was less than her friends but pushing those kinds of thoughts away were a normally practiced thing for her. Her vicious shaking proved why she always tried to shove away the thought. Tears threatened to dump from her eyes as she downcasted her gaze to try and hide her sorrow, her breaths shallow and shaky.

“Shut the f*ck up…”

Quackity is a bit taken aback by her current state, but quickly tries to recover and recoil with an answer.

“It’s not my fault you’re too much of a p*ssy to-“

“I SAID SHUT THE F*CK UP! SO F*CKING HELP ME QUACKITY IF YOU SAY ANOTHER WORD I WILL NOT HESITATE TO SLICE YOUR TORSO IN HALF-“

Krabs’ yells, sobs, and threats choke to a stop as her neck is held at knife point with her axe kicked away from her reach by Quackity.

“Try to kill me and I’ll slit your throat right here with your own f*cking finger, Krabs.”

Both of them know what he means by that. He snuck in the knife he made after chopping one of Krabs’ iron fingers a while ago. She welded a new one back, but he got it made into a pocket knife just to spite her. And now here she is, being threatened with her own material. Her head is tilted upwards exposing her neck more but not wanting the knife to be in more contact with her skin. It feels like time stands still for a couple of seconds. With Krabs trying to fully process the situation while also trying to not look as weak and shattered as she does, and Quackity feeling both prideful yet slightly shocked that he has one of his longtime enemies finally backed up into a corner. Tears are running down Krabs’ cheeks but she can't wipe them away in fear of the blade being pushed further into her skin. But the silence gives her time to calm down and recoil.

“So, you're gonna take a life? Go ahead. Attack when your opponent is at their weakest, like always. Pathetic. Killing me wouldn't do anything, it would be a dishonorable kill and you would lose a precious member of Las Nevadas.”

His thoughts linger on the first part of what she said, when he realizes the last part. The knife hesitates and releases pressure from Krabs’ skin, giving her the chance to slowly back away from the knife. Once she's leaned back into the stool enough, Krabs dives for her axe but Quackity reacts before she can get to it and slams her stomach into the wall harshly with his shoulder. He crouches down in front of her aching body as she hisses in pain, cradling her stomach with her right arm.

“This is a dangerous f*cking game you're playing here, Krabs. Repeat that last thing you said.”

But no words come out of her mouth. They're all stuck in her mind. Her eyes are squeezed shut and hard breaths are escaping her nose. The words in her mind are ping-ponging all over the place and it feels like everything is both in and out of her grasp. Both her thoughts and her body are shaking- she's having a panic attack. An event that Quackity is all too familiar with from his Manburg days. The way Schlatt was like during their partnership in running Manburg, the abuse was both mental and physical so panic attacks aren't a foreign thing for Quackity. After he realizes this, he waits. Obviously he's not the person to help Krabs with this, and he doesn't think she would want help from him after what he did, so he lets her calm down on her own before engaging in a preferably more calm conversation.

“Are you able to listen to me now?”

A genuine question, no sarcasm, annoyance or malice laced in between. Krabs nods her head while keeping her gaze on the spruce floor in front of her. Quackity takes on a less menacing tone and instead speaks casually to not bring attention to Krabs’ current state, as well as to make things easier and less tense.

“Look, I heard you say something that hinted you were joining me. Were you telling the truth?”

Krabs takes a deep breath. Her voice is quiet and raspy, but she manages to mumble out a response.

“Admittedly, I said that to throw you off guard…”

Quackity chuckles quietly. Of course she would do that, how did he not realize? Still though, he's gotta admit it was pretty clever.

“You’re really hard to convince, aren't you?”

“Considering I'm your enemy, of course I'm gonna be difficult.”

“Well, then how about we make a bet for it then? It is a casino dependent nation, after all.”

Krabs looks up at Quackity, her eyes bloodshot but still wanting to know more of this bet Quackity has in mind. Her right eyebrow raises in wonder.

“We duel. If I win, you join me in Las Nevadas and capitalize off of the plot of land I'll be giving you. As well as pledging loyalty to the nation, following our laws, etc etc.”

“And if I win?”

“Straight to the point I see! If you win...not only will you not have to join Las Nevadas, you will also have immediate connections to me- the owner of the nation- if you ever get into any sh*t and you won’t need to owe anything in return, and I'll also keep the little episode you just had completely under wraps. Deal?”

Quackity holds out his hand to Krabs, waiting for her to seal the deal. She stares at his hand, thinking about the offer.

‘Seems fair enough…wouldn't want news spilling out anyways.’

“Hm, deal. When is this duel of yours taking place, and where? What are the rules?”

She shakes his hand then lets go, listening closely.

“It'll be in The Needle in Las Nevadas in about an hour or so. Bring as many weapons or materials as you wish, but no armor to make things more interesting. The first one to put down their weapon and surrender loses the bet,”

He gets up from his crouched position and heads for the door.

“See ya in about an hour, Krabs. Start preparing! I know I will.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Krabs looks down at the small piece of paper with the coordinates sloppily written on it. Quackity had placed it on her workbench before leaving, so she followed it after packing everything she thought she needed. A huge red and white sign stood proudly next to the concrete walkway.

Las Nevadas

read the sign. This was the place, she knew it. Not only from the obnoxiously bright sign, but also because of the golden winged man sitting just below the sign. Krabs whistles at Quackity, causing him to spot her walking towards him.

“Alright then, let's make this quick. Follow me, we're going to The Needle.”

To say the country was impressive was an understatement. Casinos, food joints, gathering places scattered all across the roads. The sun started to slowly set about a minute ago, making everything a beautiful golden orange hue. Krabs keeps her comments to herself, but looks around in wonder. She hadn't seen such a beautiful place ever since before the detonation of L’manburg. Krabs didn't say anything, but Quackity could see the look of amazement on her face and felt his ego boost a bit.

“Yknow, we don't even have to fight if you already like it here-!”

“Now who said anything about that?”

The elevator dings, and the two exit the small glass room into the highest and most spacious level of The Needle. The view is like nothing Krabs has ever seen before. The sky started taking on a darker hue, meaning that lights were being turned on throughout the country. And man, what a sight it was.

“So, are you ready?”

She snaps out of her trance, only to be met with Quackity standing in a fighting position on the other side of the room, sword in hand with potion effects floating around him. Krabs nods and proceeds to take out Axe My Beloved and eats a gapple.

And with that, the duel starts. Quackity is first to react, lunging at Krabs and slicing his sword at her. A swift move to the left and she evaded the attack and hacks her axe into Quackity’s torso. Dislodging it, blood drips from her weapon, yet he hasn't dropped. Instead, his skin has woven back together leaving not a scar behind, only a tear in his shirt. Time feels slow but is moving fast when their weapons strike each other, they both reposition their weapons to a flatter angle to try and shove the other away. 5 distinct seconds are gone, Quackity takes a potion from his inventory and quickly down the bottle, smashing the empty glass to the side while overpowering Krabs with one hand on his sword.

‘Regeneration and strength potions…’

Quackity managed to push her to the ground on her back, his sword striking against her axe she's using to block. His strength potion hasn't worn out yet so his sword is getting closer and closer to Krabs’ neck before she swipes her foot at his legs, making him fall over but getting a light cut on her arm.

Both of them are breathing heavily. Quackity’s regeneration potion has worn off but his strength potion hasn't. It's become clear to Krabs that he's relying on potions to win, which is perfect for what she's been saving. Clang after clang from blocked attacks, they've been going at each other for a good 10 minutes now when suddenly Quackity disappears after downing another bottle.

‘That f-cker had an invisibility potion!!’

His steps are quiet and he's making no noise, making things almost impossible to locate him. Krabs orbits around the center of the room, being cautious of any noise she hears or any potion effects she spots. Her eyes catch the familiar colorful potion effects rushing for her, she takes out a splash potion bottle filled with milk and smashes it in the general area of the potion effects. She wasn't sure if this experiment was gonna work, so she was surprised when all of the potion effects Quackity had wore off immediately, making him both visible and weaker. His sword gets a few inches stuck in Krabs’ metal arm that she had used to block herself with. It's wedged in enough that Krabs can yank the sword away from his grasp, dislodge the sword from her arm and throw it out the window. Glittering, clear shards scatter everywhere, and Quackity has been disarmed. The perfect opportunity open to her, Krabs rushes Quackity, holding her axe to his chest. The only thing behind him is the velvety sky, a cool breeze dancing through the few hairs exposed from under his beanie.

“Well, this has been a good fight! But you should have been more precautious, after all-”

For what seems to be the millionth time, he downs a potion from his inventory and tosses the bottle out of the already shattered window.

“-I am a gambler!”

He leans back into the night sky. Krabs expected an immediate death until she saw him slowly float down from the top of the building, laughing in overwhelming pride and satisfaction- he got away.

“HAH! GOOD FIGHT KRABS, BUT I HAVE A COUNTRY TO RUN AND I CAN’T RUN IT IF I’M DEAD! THE OFFERS STILL OPEN THOUGH, HIT ME UP IF YOU WANT THAT PLOT OF LAND!”

Quackity’s feet softly hit the ground, picking up his sword and walking away from the building with his own little victory. Krabs scoffs as he walks away, but not in pure hatred or anger. More so amused. Maybe she would just take the plot of land. What could go wrong, right?

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thetravelerwrites · 4 years

Text

Geteb (Troll) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Troll/Non-Binary Reader Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Troll, Non-Binary Reader, Reader Insert Content Warning: Speech Disorders, Dysarthria, Stuttering Words: 2741

A commission for @mxnsterbabe! After getting sick from drinking contaminated water, the reader comes home to find the plumber fixing the water problem. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

Moving to Willowridge hadn’t been your first option, but it was the only one that made financial sense. You were going to school at E.U. for business management, but Coleville was just too expensive, even living in the dorms, so you transferred to the Willowridge campus. There was an apartment complex with plenty of studio apartments for the college kids, and you rented the only ground floor apartment they had left. There was a trade-off, of course. You didn’t have to climb up and down seven flights of stairs every day because the elevator was perpetually broken, but you did hear every argument, party, and session of loud sex your neighbors decided to have.

Well, college life was college life, regardless of where you lived.

The only real problem was that the water was an odd color and tasted funny, and before your first day in your new place was over, you were in the hospital for suspected salmonella poisoning. You were in the hospital for over two days, and when you were released, there was a large stranger in your apartment, looking under your kitchen sink.

“Excuse me,” You said in alarm.

The stranger jumped and hit his head on the cabinet, swearing and dropping a wrench. He stood up, and you could see he was wearing a workman’s jumpsuit. You were suddenly confronted with a solid wall of man, easily seven feet tall, with a broad… everything. He was a troll, you realized, and judging from the dusty, pebbly texture of his skin to the tusks jutting out from his lower jaw to the hair like green moss that curled around his ears, he was a field troll.

Trolls were distantly related to orcs, though they didn’t have the same warrior culture as orcs did, if you recalled correctly. They were typically creatures of nature, keeping to the forests and mountains, often seen as slow or stupid. You weren’t sure if those claims were true or not. You’d met a few before, and they seemed normal to you.

“Sorry,” He said very slowly, his voice deep. “Are you… the one… that… got sick?”

“Yes,” You replied, coming inside the apartment but leaving the door open. “And who are you?”

“Sorry,” He repeated. “I’m Geteb. I’m the… plumber… for the building. I came to… fix the pipes.”

“Oh,” You said. “What was wrong with them?”

“The pipe… that p--pulls water…. from the city… broke… and street water… got in it,” He replied in the same slow cadence. “That’s why you… got sick. Your apartment is… the first in the line. When you… got s--sick, we shut it… off. We only just now… turned it back on.”

“Well, I guess it’s good no one else got sick, then,” You said, trying not to come across as bitter.

“I’m sorry… you did,” He said solemnly, though it was an odd sound, like a puppy whimpering after being scolded. “I… b--brought you… clean water.” He pointed to several jugs of water that were stacked along the wall in the kitchen area.

You nodded numbly. “Oh.”

“Just in case. We’re flushing… the system… now. I was just… checking the water… in the tap… to make sure it’s clean.” He held up a cotton swab that was inside a tube. “It’s a test, see? If it’s blue… then it’s con…” He stopped and struggled with the word. “Co... conta…taminated. But it’s not, see!” He held out the test swab for you to inspect. “So it’s all safe. But you should… drink the jug water… just in case.”

“Okay,” You said tiredly. “Well, if you’re done, I’d like to lie down. I still don’t feel very well.”

“Oh, okay,” He said, picking up his tools. “I hope you… feel better… soon. Call the front office… if anything is wrong… and I’ll come back… and fix it… any time.”

“Sure,” You said, ushering him out of the door.

You spent the next couple of days in bed, unable to eat. You managed a few sips of tea, but there wasn’t much else that your stomach could tolerate. As suggested, you drank the water from the jugs that Geteb had brought, but mostly because you just didn’t trust the tap water anymore.

Three days afterward, when you were finally starting to feel better, there was a knock at the door. Geteb was standing there in his work clothes with three more jugs of water in each fist.

“I brought you… m--more water,” He said.

“Oh,” You said in surprise. “Okay. Uh, bring them in.”

You stepped aside and let Geteb in, who had to duck to clear the doorframe.

“I’m sorry if I was rude the other day,” You told him. “I didn’t even really thank you.”

“It’s okay! I understand!” He replied. “You felt bad. I’m cranky… when I feel bad… too.”

“I just hope I’m well enough to continue classes next week,” You said.

He chuckled. “School was fun. I remember college. Lots of parties.”

He seemed to be better at speaking short sentences. “You went to college?” You said in surprise.

“Yes,” He said reproachfully, looking hurt. “I know… I’m not that smart… but I’m s--smarter… than people think. Just because… I’m big… and I talk slow… and I have trouble… with big words… it doesn’t mean… I’m stupid.”

Horrified, you said, “Oh, no, I didn’t mean…” But then you stopped. That’s exactly what you meant, and you knew it. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for, and I apologize.”

His frown melted, and he smiled. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

“What did you get your degree in?”

“S--struc…tural engin…eering.”

“Oh, wow,” You said. “That’s really impressive.”

He chuckled again. “Lots of people… don’t believe me… when I tell them… I h--have a… Bachelor’s degree.”

“Well, they’re idiots,” You said. “Listen, can I buy you a drink? To thank you and make up for being a rude asshole.”

His face lit up. God, he reminded you of a puppy. “Okay! I’d like to. I should… change clothes, I’m really dirty.”

“Aren’t you still on the clock?” You asked.

He stopped and thought about it. “Oh. Yeah. Later then?”

It was your turn to chuckle. “Later then.”

He met you after work at a local college pub and you bought him a round. Well, a pitcher for him. He had big hands.

“So, I don’t want to offend you, and I’m trying hard not to be an asshole, but can I ask something?”

“You… want to know… why I… talk so slow?” He asked with a patient smile.

“Yeah,” You replied hesitantly. “I’ve seen other trolls and they don’t talk like you do.”

“I have… dysarthria,” He said. “I had a… really bad ear… infection… when I was… s--seven… and it turned into… men…ingitus… and caused… a stroke. I was… in… a coma for… a while after.”

“Oh, god,” You breathed. “I had no idea you could have a stroke from an ear infection.”

“It’s rare,” He said. “I’m special… like that, I guess.”

You smiled at him. “How long were you in school?”

“The standard… four years,” He replied. “And then another… four years… app…p--prentice for the… plumbing job. T--that’s a long time… for people… to still think… I’m stupid.” He didn’t seem angry about it, just resigned.

“You’re definitely not stupid, Geteb,” You told him.

“It’s not just… the talking,” He said, gesturing at his mouth. “People… look down on… labor jobs. Just because… we work with… our hands… and get d--dirty… doesn’t make it… less… of a skill.”

“You’re absolutely right,” You replied sadly. “And it’s a shame people are like that.”

“You’re not… like that, are you?” He asked you.

“No, Geteb, I’m not,” You told him. “My dad was a carpenter. I know all about how difficult working with your hands can be.”

“That’s good,” He said. “Because… I’d like to… take you out again. My treat… this time.”

Your smile widened. “I’d like that very much.”

You went on several dates with Geteb. Because he was such a big guy, a lot of them were outdoors or in places that were wide open, like museums or aquariums. He liked looking at things and letting you talk, shy about talking in public or around a group of strangers. He was already unusual, and his speech impairment made him stand out even more.

Despite dating for almost a month, he still hadn’t kissed you yet, and you wondered why. You knew he was shy, but you’d been more than affectionate with him, so he had to know you wanted him to. Maybe you’d just have to do it yourself.

At the end of the next date, you said, “Bend down.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s hard to kiss you when you’re way up there,” You said, laughing.

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he sighed heavily.

“Do you not want to kiss me?” You asked him, teasing.

“It’s not that,” He replied seriously. “I do… v--very much… but if I… kiss you… that means… something to me…”

“It means something to me, too, silly,” You said. “It means I like you.”

“It means… more than that… to me.” He asked. “I’m… never going… to be normal… you know that… don’t you? I can’t… fix this.” He gestured at his mouth and head. “Kissing me… after so many dates… means… you’re commit…ting… to that… reality. Are you sure… you can… do that?”

“It’s not like kissing you means we’re getting married, Geteb,” You said, your brow furrowing. “It doesn’t bother me how you talk.”

“It doesn’t… right now,” He said. “But what… about in a… month? Or five? What about… when your friends… say something… or a stranger says something… that makes you… uncomfortable with… the idea… of being… with me. You may be… able… to tolerate it… now, but you… may not… be able to… forever.”

“Geteb, don’t be silly,” You said, frowning. “If someone has something to say about it, I’ll bite their ears off. And if my friends have something to say about it, I’ll get better friends. It’s that simple.”

“For you,” He said, looking away, and you took his face in your hands.

“Has something like that happened before?” You asked.

He frowned and looked at his feet. “I almost… g--got married once,” He told you. “I bought… the ring and… everything… but b--before… I could ask her… w--we got in a fight… she said… she always ha--hated… how I talked. After we… calmed down… s--she said… she didn’t m--mean it… but that’s all… I could think… about when I… t--talked to her… so I stopped… talking… and we b--broke up…” He sniffled a little. “I still… have the… ring. I couldn’t… bring myself… to return it. I didn’t want p--people… to be sad… for me. I was already… sad enough.”

“I’m so sorry, Geteb,” You said, stroking a thumb down his cheek. “Even if what she said was true, I’m not her. I love the way you talk. I can understand you perfectly fine. All it takes is listening, and I’m more than willing to do that.”

His expression looked so pained. “Are you… sure?”

Instead of answering, you turned the key in the lock of your front door, opened it, and pulled him inside.

“Let me show you,” You said. He gulped and allowed himself to be led.

Inside, you had him sit down on the pull-out couch-bed and sat in his lap. He carefully placed a hand on your lower back, as if testing the waters. You laughed softly and leaned against his body, laying your head on his chest.

“Isn’t this nice?” You asked him.

“Very,” He said, his lips in your hair. Not quite a kiss, was it was contact. “I have missed… holding someone… I have been… lonely… I guess…”

“I’m not surprised,” You said. “That’s kind of what happens when you try to keep people at an arm’s length.”

“I don’t mean to,” He said. “I just don’t… want people… to be hurt… because of me.”

“And you don’t want to get hurt, either,” You said, sitting up and looking at him. “I totally get that, Geteb. That’s a natural reaction when you’ve been hurt. I’ve been hurt too. You think my parents took it well when I told them I was non-binary? Or my boyfriend? Sorry, ex-boyfriend, because he can’t be with someone--excuse me, something--who isn’t a girl, which…” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “I know it’s not the same as having a lifelong, debilitating condition that people don’t understand, I do get that. What I’m saying is that in some ways, I completely understand what you’re going through. And I want to go through it with you.”

“You’re sure?” He asked again.

“Yep,” You said. “You’re stuck with me, pal, like it or not.”

“I like it,” He said, smiling.

“Good,” You said, standing up so that you could be eye level and wrapping your arms around his neck. “I like it, too.” Then you kissed him. It was long and leisurely, not pressing him too hard if he didn’t want to go there yet.

Acceptance is a funny, powerful thing. It gives confidence to the meek, solace to the troubled, and in this instance, it made him very, very aroused. You could feel it the moment you climbed into his lap and straddled him. His hands gripped you more firmly and his kisses deepened. The tip of his large, broad tongue brushed across your lips, and you opened your mouth so that he could slip it inside, tangling with your own.

You kissed down his body, opening the button-up shirt and pulling it out of his pants. His jeans were tented, and you thought it might be painful, so you popped the button and unzipped the sipper, stroking him through his underwear, and he moaned.

“You don’t… have to…” He said between gasps.

“I want to,” You said, kneeling down. You opened the slit in his underwear and freed him, swirling your tongue around him. He grunted and his hips bucked upward involuntarily.

“It’s been… a long time…” He said. “I’m a… little… sensitive…”

“I’ll be gentle,” You said, and pulled him slowly into your mouth. A long groan of satisfaction issued from him, and you figured you were doing alright.

It didn’t take long before he was writhing under your touch, panting and gasping. He was throbbing inside your mouth, but before he came, he lay a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

“Can you… get undressed… please? I want… to look at you,” He asked, heaving in deep breaths. You obliged, making a little bit of a show of it. He watched you hungrily, and when you were fully nude, he reached out for you. You climbed back into his lap, and he caressed your body, kissing your neck and shoulders. You rose up and positioned him at your entrance and slowly, carefully, slid down on him.

You kissed him deeply as he grasped your hips, bouncing you a little. You braced your hands on his chest and came down harder on him, making your bodies slap together. You threw your head back and he kissed your throat, his tusks poking into the skin, his hand in your hair.

“I’m… close…” He wheezed.

“Me too,” You whimpered, speeding up. You felt the rush of pleasure hit your body just as he abruptly pulled you up and came all over your thighs and his jeans.

“Sorry,” He said as you collapsed onto his chest.

“It’s okay,” You panted. He held you close until you got your breath back. “You can use my mini washing machine to clean your clothes. I don’t have a dryer, though, so you’ll have to stay until they dry. It could take a while.”

“I d--don’t mind,” He said. “I can sleep… on the floor… if that’s okay.”

“I’ll make us a nice pillow fort,” You said. “Good thing it’s the weekend. We can just stay in our fort and order out and be naked the whole time.”

“The best weekend… ever.”

“Yes, it does. And we can do it every weekend from now on. What do you think?”

“I think… that sounds like… heaven.”

You stood up and dragged him to his feet. “Shower first.”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Troll #Dysarthria #Speech Impediment

201 notes · View notes

darlingandmreames · 4 years

Text

A Thousand Ways to Say It

(also on ao3)

Prompt: Love Languages (a bit of a loose take on it, but my brain latched onto Arthur telling Eames he loved him in ways other than outright saying it and just Ran With It, so here we are)

Summary: Arthur loved Eames. He knew that, and he tried to tell him in his own way. Just never in so many words. Or 5 times Arthur didn’t quite say “I love you”, and 1 time he didn’t need to

@arthureamesmonth

Arthur reloaded his clip and got off four shots before the incoming fire forced him to duck back down behind cover. They would've been fine, the mark's subconscious was only partially militarized so stealth would've been effective enough for them to do the job without any major resistance, but then the other extractor had managed to run directly into the mark. That'd been more than enough to alert his sub-security, and now they were stuck facing a load of gunfire on what should've been an easy job.

“This is why I hate working with amateurs."

Arthur nodded, glancing over at Eames. He had a few cuts, likely from flying glass, but thankfully seemed otherwise fine. "Issue is when you don't find out they're an amateur until after you start the job."

Eames let out a clipped laugh. "True." He raised up briefly, taking out two projections before dropping back down again. "Any idea where our lovely colleague is?"

"Probably dead."

Eames nodded. "You have any sort of plan? Because all I've got currently is 'try not to get shot'."

Arthur looked at his watch. Just over 15 minutes. That was more than enough time to get the information if they could get the mark's projections off their backs at least a little. Which, given the current state of things, was a pretty big if. He peered around the corner of the bench they were currently hiding behind. "How do you feel about our chances of making it to that hallway over there without getting shot?"

Eames followed his gaze, ducking back down just in time to avoid a bullet. "Questionable, but if we lay down enough covering fire we might be able to make it."

"I'll provide cover as we run." Arthur held a hand up to cut off the objection he knew was coming, flinching as a ricochet sent bits of stone flying in his face. "You're the dreamer. If I die it'll just be a little inconvenient. If you die the dream collapses and the job's fucked." He paused, taking advantage of the lull in incoming fire to take out another projection. "Once we get into the hallway and have more cover we'll split up. The projections will follow you while I find the safe and finish the job."

Eames grimaced. "I'm not a particular fan of this plan."

"Me neither. You ready?"

Eames nodded again, crouching. "On your go."

Arthur gripped his gun, body tense, and waited for another lull. It was slowing…slowing… "Now!"

He stuck close to Eames' back, providing a general round of fire as they started running. He switched to more focused bursts as the projections took cover, targeting whatever figure he saw first. Cover fire was only useful as long as he had ammo after all, no point in wasting it. The distance between where they'd been taking cover and where the hallway started was thankfully relatively short, and the return fire had only just started up in earnest when they reached it. Arthur turned and ran normally as soon as he was out of line of fire, keeping pace beside Eames as they ran down the hallway.

He stopped at the first intersection they came to, looking around the corner carefully in case it was being patrolled. The hallway was empty though, the only sounds coming from behind them. He turned to Eames, reloading. "You good to distract the projections?"

"Course."

"Eames." Eames had already started off down and hallway when Arthur called after him. He turned to look at him, confused. "Be careful."

Eames gave him a small smile, expression softening slightly. "You too."

Arthur nodded and turned, setting off down the other side of the hallway. "See you in 15 minutes."

I love you.

XXX

Arthur was already in bed by the time Eames got back to the hotel. He had been for a while. It'd been a long couple of days, waking up early and staying late to finish up his research, and it was starting to catch up to him. He could normally stay up until the early hours of the morning with no issue, but now it was barely 10pm and he was already having trouble keeping his eyes open.

Eames opened the door and slipped in quietly, looking at Arthur with surprise. "Figured you'd be asleep by the time I got in."

"Almost, but not quite." Arthur stretched out under the covers, trying to stifle a yawn. "Productive evening?"

"Very. Business dinners are always a great context to observe someone in." Eames took his jacket off and dug through his bag. "Guy's your average run of the mill slimy businessman. I could probably forge him in my sleep."

"Hm, we do work with quite a few of those, don't we?"

Eames grinned at him. "Practically our bread and butter."

Arthur went back to scrolling mindlessly through his phone as Eames disappeared into the bathroom. He'd spent the past hour half-heartedly reading through the news as he tried to stay awake, and that seemed like a good way to continue occupying his time until Eames had finished getting ready for bed.

"You heading into the workshop tomorrow?" Eames' voice drifted out of the bathroom over the sound of the sink.

"No, I was thinking of working in a cafe somewhere." He shrugged. "We're in Rome, I might as well take advantage of the quality espresso."

"You," Eames wandered back out, drying his face with a hand towel, "don't need espresso. You're sleep deprived enough as it is, you don't need to add more caffeine to the mix."

"I'll get a good night's sleep tonight, it'll be fine." Arthur sighed. "And I'll try not to drink more than four shots tomorrow. Sound fair?"

"I suppose." Eames pulled the covers back and climbed into bed, turning the lamp off as he did so. "Mind if I join you?"

Arthur smiled and moved closer. "You're just trying to make sure I don't overdo it on the espresso."

Eames laughed. "Maybe." He shifted, making space for Arthur as he nestled against his side. "Can't I just enjoy your company though?" Arthur hummed happily as he curled against Eames, not even bothering to reply. He could already feel sleep pulling at him as Eames' arm settled around his shoulders. Eames laughed again quietly, pulling him close. "You really are tired, aren't you?"

"Mm, a bit."

"Why did you stay up? You could've just gone to bed."

Arthur gave a small shrug as he started to drift off. "I sleep better next to you."

I love you.

XXX

“You’re okay.” Arthur brushed Eames’ hair back from his forehead, his other hand rubbing gentle circles on Eames’ back as he threw up. “You’re alright.”

Eames rarely got sick. He might get the occasional cold or bout of food poisoning if he wasn’t careful, but that was usually it. When he did get sick, though, it was bad. The sort of bad that knocked him out and put him out of commission for a week or two straight. Or, in this case, had him bent over the toilet throwing up for hours at a time for the third day in a row. They were supposed to be working a job right now, a quick and easy one extracting information from an old man on behalf of his estranged son, but Eames had come down with whatever the fuck he’d gotten on the the second day and that had put a quick end to their involvement. Well, to Eames’ involvement technically. But someone had to help take care of him until he was a bit more recovered because Arthur learned rather quickly that Eames would do a terrible job of it if left to his own devices.

Arthur filled a cup up with water and handed it to Eames once he seemed to have gotten through this round of throwing up. “Try and drink at least a little. Otherwise you’re going to get dehydrated.”

“‘M not going to be able to keep it down.”

“I know.” He crouched behind Eames, going back to rubbing his back gently. “But you should try to drink a bit anyways.” Eames managed to get half of it down before setting the cup of the floor and resting his head against his arm. Arthur moved the cup up onto the counter. “Do you think you’re going to be sick again soon?”

“Don’t think so, no.”

“Why don’t we head back to the bed then? That’ll be more comfortable than the bathroom floor.” Arthur helped Eames up slowly. He looked terrible, with dark circles under his eyes and his skin pale and clammy. Arthur remembered the first time he’d seen Eames properly sick; he’d been shocked by the change and had briefly and irrationally wondered if he was maybe dying. He’d gotten more used to the sight, as uncommon as it was, over the years, but he still felt a stab of concern each time.

Eames was curled against Arthur’s side as soon as they were back in bed, face pressed against Arthur’s t-shirt. That was the other thing he'd learned: when Eames was sick, wearing anything he actually liked was inadvisable at best and downright stupid at worst. So until Eames was more recovered it would be sweatpants and cheap t-shirts that he didn't have to worry about keeping clean and could just throw out when they invariably got something gross on them. Arthur could still feel the slight heat of Eames’ fever through the cloth, but it was far better than it had been the past few days. Hopefully it would break for good sometime this evening. He looked down as Eames muttered something, his voice too muffled to actually make out what he was saying. “Come again?”

He tilted his face up slightly. “Said you’re going to get sick too after this.”

“Maybe. I’ll be fine though.” Arthur ran his hand through Eames’ hair. He was, to be fair, absolutely right. There was almost no way he was getting out of this without catching whatever it was Eames had. When he got sick though it was usually far milder. He'd feel like shit for a few days, but nothing like what Eames was going through. “I don’t get sick like you do.”

“Still. You don’t have to stay.” Eames started to sit up unsteadily. “‘M fine.”

Arthur sighed. “Don’t be an idiot. I’m not going anywhere. Now lay back down." Eames was back against him almost immediately, arms around his waist. Arthur laughed quietly and went back to running his fingers through Eames' hair. Eames was quite affectionate to begin with, and when he got sick he was almost downright clingy. It was sweet, honestly. "Someone has to take care of you."

"I can take care of myself." Eames' voice was muffled again, but at least a bit more understandable.

"Not when you're sick, you can't."

"You had to drop the job though."

Arthur settled back against the pillows. "Well, it's not like either of us really needed the money. And it wasn't a particularly exciting one, so I doubt we're missing much." He was about to say something else when he felt Eames tense. Arthur gripped his shoulders and pushed him up; he knew all too well what that meant. "No no no no do not throw up in the bed."

It was close, but Eames managed to make it back to the bathroom in time. Arthur crouched behind him, rubbing Eames' back gently as his shoulders shook. He moved back and sat against the tile wall after a few minutes when Eames seemed to have finished throwing up, shifting so that Eames could lay between his legs, head resting on Arthur's chest. "Maybe it's best if we just stay in here for a bit."

Eames groaned, gripping his shirt tightly. "Sorry for making you do this."

"Don't be. I'm certainly not sorry for being here." Arthur wrapped his arms around Eames' shoulders, holding him close. "Let me take care of you."

I love you.

XXX

The fourth drink was, as were most things with Eames, both a wonderful and terrible idea. Arthur hadn't planned on getting drunk, in fact he'd planned on specifically not doing that, but Eames had asked if he wanted a second drink with a smile that had made it clear he was hoping the answer would be yes, and Arthur had never been very good at saying no to that smile. Two drinks turned into three and eventually into four and at some point Arthur had ended up back at Eames’ place, settled quite happily on his lap, the world warm and blurry around him. He wasn’t exactly sure when or how that had happened, but he wasn’t going to complain.

He leaned his head back against Eames’ shoulder. “If I’m hungover tomorrow I’m absolutely blaming you.”

“All I did was ask if you wanted another drink.” Arthur could see Eames grinning out of the corner of his eye. “You could’ve said no.”

“Not when you’re asking, I can’t.”

“Really?” Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur’s waist, holding him close. Arthur moved with him easily. “I had no idea I had such an effect on you.”

Arthur laughed. “Yes you did.”

“Well, okay. I maybe had some idea.”

Arthur hummed contentedly in response, settling back against Eames’ chest. It was wonderful laying here like this. He knew he’d regret those extra drinks in the morning when he’d almost definitely wake up with at least a mild hangover and have to go back to working on the job, but right now he couldn’t think of anything better than sitting with Eames' arms around him, curled against him. Eames chuckled, leaning back against the arm of the couch. “You’re cute when you’re drunk, you know that?”

Arthur tried to cut off the giggle he could feel building up in his chest, but was only partially successful. “I’m not cute.”

“You get a couple of drinks in you and you start blushing and giggling and invariably end up on my lap like some sort of intoxicated cat. You,” Eames kissed his temple, “are an adorable drunk and you absolutely can’t convince me otherwise.”

“And what about you?” Arthur looked up. He tried to fix Eames with a serious glare but based on Eames’ grin he seemed to have failed. “You’re just as drunk as I am.”

“That’s true.” Eames raised an eyebrow. "You saying you think I'm also cute when I'm drunk?"

"No." Arthur frowned. That hadn't been what he'd been trying to say but, to be fair, he wasn't entirely sure what he had been trying to say. He searched for some sort of comeback. "You're always cute. Not just when you're drunk."

Eames stared at him for a moment, surprised, before laughing and pulling Arthur in close. "Shit, you really are drunk."

"Hm, maybe. You're still cute though." He slipped his hand into Eames', train of thought derailing slightly as Eames squeezed his hand back. "You have…you have this smile. It's not your normal one, you know, the polite one you use when you're trying to be nice or friendly. Your real one. The one you use when you're happy or something made you really laugh. Or sometimes you just look at me and suddenly that smile is there for no reason. Your entire face lights up and you…" He shrugged. He knew there were probably better words he was trying to find, but none of them seemed to be coming. "You're cute."

Eames ran his thumb over the back of Arthur's hand, tracing small circles. "Apparently you're a sentimental drunk too." His tone was teasing but even through the haze of alcohol Arthur could hear the fondness behind it.

"Shut up," he giggled.

"Never." Eames shifted and Arthur slid off his lap slightly and onto the couch beside him, draping his arm across Eames' stomach and nestling against his side. Eames kissed his forehead. "You're a cute, sappy, sentimental drunk and I refuse to ever let you forget it."

"I can't stand you, you know that?" Arthur buried his face against Eames' shirt as Eames laughed. It truly was wonderful laying here like this. It struck Arthur as Eames ran his fingers through his hair that he would be perfectly content to lay here in Eames' arms for the rest of his life. "Can't stand you in the least."

I love you.

XXX

Arthur had some strong opinions about Toronto's downtown architecture, most of them rather negative, but he'd always liked the train station. It was a classic building, with it's high, arched ceiling and wide open atrium, and Arthur may have gotten his start in extraction with strange and paradoxical architecture but he still appreciated a well made classic when he saw it.

He hated it now though. Being at the train station meant morning had come already and it was time for him and Eames to part ways. Again. Three days together after almost four months apart hadn't been nearly enough, but it was all they'd been able to manage. He leaned against Eames, trying to savour the feeling as best he could.

"Don't look so sad."

Arthur looked down, trying to hide his expression. He both loved and hated how easily Eames could read him. "I'm not sad."

"Yes you are." Eames chuckled and tilted his chin up. "You get sad every time we do this."

"I just don't like goodbyes, that's all." Arthur kept his gaze down, not looking at Eames. It felt childish but if Arthur looked at him he'd see the soft expression he knew was on Eames' face, and that would just make it worse. "I've never liked them."

"It's just a couple of weeks. A month at the most." Eames' hand was against his face and Arthur leaned into the touch, trying to commit the feeling to memory. "We've had longer goodbyes before."

"I know." Arthur reached out and adjusted Eames' collar, frowning slightly. Anything to occupy his attention. "Doesn't make it easier though." His hands drifted slowly down to Eames' waist, fiddling with the hem of his jacket. Finally Arthur looked up and met Eames' gaze. His chest hurt slightly as he saw Eames' expression; it was just as soft and gentle as he'd imagined. "I'll miss you."

Eames grinned at him. "Careful, or I might start to think you actually care about me."

Arthur frowned again. "Careful, or I might decide I don't."

"Empty threats, that's all you have." Eames' expression softened again, and he ran his thumb over Arthur's cheekbone. "I'll miss you too, darling. I always do." He looked up as an announcement echoed over the loudspeaker. "Well, I think that's you."

"Yeah, it is." Arthur looked back down, fingers still playing absentmindedly with the edge of Eames' jacket. He knew he needed to go, but he couldn't quite bring himself to pull away. Part of him was tempted not to. To stay here, miss his train, forget the job he was supposed to start tomorrow. To not say goodbye. Not again. He was tired of that, tired of weeks, of months, apart. But that was their life. Maybe it wouldn’t be one day- he hoped it wouldn’t be one day- but for now it was. After a moment he sighed. "Be safe?"

"Always." Eames kissed his cheek before pulling away. "I'll see you around, love."

"Yeah." Arthur gave him a small smile that he knew was laced with sadness. "See you around."

I love you.

XXX

Arthur was pissed.

Well, not really. He was worried. Eames had been gone for over an hour. Which wouldn’t be concerning under normal circumstances, but it most certainly fucking was when they had people trying to kill them. They’d been laying low in a safehouse Eames had used in Amsterdam previously for the past few days without any issues, but the client who’d put the hit out in the first place had deep pockets and access to resources. Arthur doubted three days was enough for things to be even remotely safe again.

They’d needed food though. There hadn’t been much in the safehouse when they’d gotten there, and it hadn’t been long before they’d worked through most of what was there. Arthur had tried to insist on going but Eames had pointed out that his Dutch was better and they needed to attract as little attention as possible right now. Arthur had begrudgingly agreed; he knew Eames was right, but that hadn’t done anything to calm the discomfort in his chest as Eames had closed the door to the rundown apartment behind him or tamp down on the restlessness that had made him start pacing back and forth in the small space as the minutes ticked by.

By the time an hour had passed Arthur was well and properly anxious. There was a store nearby, it shouldn’t have taken Eames this long to pick up enough food to last them another few days. Unless something had gone wrong. Unless he’d been made. Been captured. Been killed. Their client had a reputation and Arthur had met men like him before, men who were vengeful and violent and cruel; he didn’t want to think about what would happen if he got his hands on Eames. Couldn’t think about it. His mind wouldn’t leave it alone though, running through the possibilities. Of how Eames might’ve been killed. Of what might happen to him if they had taken him alive.

So Arthur wasn’t angry. Not really. But anger was easier than the worry and anxiety that was gnawing at him so he focused on that instead, letting it build until he could almost ignore the growing fear that something had happened. Not quite, but almost.

He stopped in his tracks, hand dropping to his gun as the door lock turned, tense and alert. He relaxed as he caught a glimpse of god awful but familiar paisley though, and a moment later Eames was in the apartment closing and locking the door behind him. “Well, we won’t be eating great, but we should be-”

The relief didn't last long, anger flaring in Arthur's chest. “Where the fuck have you been?!”

Eames blinked, clearly surprised by Arthur’s tone. It was admittedly a little harsher than he’d intended, but not by much. He gave Arthur a confused look. “I went to the store, darling. Thought we’d already discussed that.”

“The store is three blocks away. You’ve been gone over an hour!” Arthur tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t quite seem to manage to get a full one. “It shouldn’t have taken that long!”

“The line at the store was long and then I thought I might’ve had a tail so I-”

“A tail?!” Arthur wasn’t quite yelling, raised voices attracted attention and they very much did not need that right now, but it was getting harder to control his volume. “How careless were you?!”

Eames set the bags he was carrying on the floor with a frown. “Arthur, calm down, I wasn’t-”

“No, I’m not going to fucking calm down.” It was harder to take a breath now and he knew he was getting louder despite his best efforts to stay at a normal speaking volume. “You could’ve been killed, Eames, you can’t be this careless! You can’t…”

“Arthur.” Eames’ voice was quiet but firm as he took Arthur’s hands. “It’s alright. I’m alright. Just breathe.”

Arthur gripped Eames’ hands, trying to take a deep breath again. The anger drained out of him as quickly as it had flared up, leaving him feeling shaky and unsteady. “I just…you were gone for so long and I…”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Eames pulled him into a hug and Arthur leaned into the touch gratefully. “I didn’t mean to worry you."

Breathing was a little easier with Eames' arms around him, the pressure grounding him. Still a bit shaky, but easier. "I kept thinking something had happened." He relaxed slightly, the solid feeling of Eames against him helping dissipate some of the anxiety in his chest. "Sorry I got…worked up. I just…I worry sometimes. About you."

"It's alright." Eames pulled back just enough to kiss Arthur's cheek. "I love you too."

Arthur blinked at the words, surprised, before smiling slightly. He'd known how he felt for a while, but he'd never said it out loud. He hadn't known how. Leave it to Eames to figure it out anyways though. He buried his face in the crook of Eames' neck, a gentle warmth replacing some of his worry. "Am I really that easy to read?"

Eames laughed quietly. "Absolutely."

“I do, you know.” Arthur pulled back and looked at Eames with a serious expression. “Love you. I mean it.”

"I know, darling. I've known for a while.” Eames kissed him gently. “And I mean it when I say I love you too.” He smiled. "Now what do you say we eat something? Like I said, it won't be the best meal ever, but it'll be better than the stale crackers we've been eating the past few days."

Arthur smiled back. The anxiety in his chest hadn’t fully disappeared, but it was far better now, and Arthur knew it would be gone soon enough. It was alright. Eames was alright. "Sounds good to me."

#arthur x eames #arthur/eames #dream husbands #arthureamesmonth2020 #dreamhusbands #inception #local trash goblin writes stuff

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abused-sides · 4 years

Note

Could you write maybe a short angst/fluff thing about them discovering each others triggers and talking about them and how to avoid them? (My family and the people around me dont really respect mine so this is kinda just a request for me to project onto 😅 you absolutely dont have to tho)

fuck your family we’re your family now

Trigger warning: This au follows the sides as abuse survivors.

Other tws for: Yelling, arguments, passive aggression, non-censored homophobic slur used to talk about oneself, sl*t used in a joking and literally not at all degrading/mean manner also non-censored, drama violence (like reading a script), flashback/panic attack, ableism off screen, throw up mention, allergies mention, glass breaking, lmk if i missed anything! <3

enjoy the hurt/comfort lol it took me like an hour and a half xD

Edit: love when it just doesn’t fucking add the read more :) sorry about that guys

Virgil:

-While Virgil was helping Patton fix dinner, Roman and Logan started an argument at the table. Logan was upset that Roman hadn’t finished his chore list for the week, but Roman insisted that he would finish it and he just needed some extra time to work on commissions.

-Logan: We all have jobs, Roman, we still manage to get our chores done! This place is a mess half of the time and that’s largely due to you neglecting the list.

-Roman: Why are you acting like some weekly chore list is worth more than our jobs? Isn’t that why we moved in together, to pursue our passions?

-Logan: How are we meant to do that when we’re living in a mess?

-Roman: You’re completely overreacting.

-Logan: Fine. You’re right. I’ll just do everything. Sorry to be a bother.

-Virgil had slipped away from his job chopping vegetables to glance at the missing items on Roman’s chore list. The first one read sweep and mop the floors. He silently took the broom from its spot between the fridge and the counter, and worked on piling up the mess on the floor.

-Logan was about to storm out of the room, when he noticed Virgil.

-Logan: Are you okay?

-Virgil: Hm? I’m fine.

-Logan: You’re shaking.

-Patton: Of course he’s shaking. Would it kill you two to be nicer to each other?

-Realization dawned on Logan’s face. He bit his lip as he thought, and then turned to Roman.

-Logan: I don’t like it when you neglect your chore list. I understand you’re busy, but it makes life harder for all of us.

-Virgil stopped sweeping, looking at Logan in confusion.

-Roman was just as confused.

-Roman: I... Yeah, I got that, weirdo.

-Logan: I want to make sure there’s no confusion. Do you have anything you want to say to me?

-Roman’s eyes flicked between Virgil- Shaking, gripping the broom, staring at them with wide eyes -and nodded slowly.

-Roman: Some weeks I can’t complete the entire chore list. Finishing my commissions are more important. The kitchen can be cleaned later.

-Patton: And I can help! I don’t mind chipping in on chores.

-Logan: I can live with that. I’m going to my room.

-After that, there was an unspoken agreement to state things plainly, especially when fighting, and to try and keep the yelling at a minimum. Janus and Remus may have appreciated it even more than Virgil did.

Patton:

-Janus and Remus were visiting for a movie night, and they were still setting up. Patton fussed over the organization of the snack table, Roman over who sat where.

-Remus: I’ve got my seat!

-He flopped into Janus’ lap, who grunted.

-Janus: Jesus Christ, babe.

-Logan: You two are so...

-Remus: What? Sexy?

-Logan: No... Not the word I’m looking for.

-Remus: A cute couple of boys?

-Logan fought not to laugh.

-Logan: No... Not that, either.

-Remus: Just an attractive pair of young faggots?

-While Logan, Roman, and Janus burst out laughing, Patton choked. He covered his mouth and tried to recover, but the others laughing quickly died down.

-Virgil: *softly* Patton? Are you okay?

-Patton: I’m fine.

-He forced a weak smile.

-Patton: Are we ready for the movie?

-Remus: You look like you’re going to be sick. Is it something I said?

-Patton: It’s not a big deal-

-Janus: Bullshit. Tell us. What, Remus calling us faggots? It’s okay to laugh, we know we are.

-Patton didn’t take the bait, shakily sitting down. Janus’ grin faded.

-Patton: I just... I don’t like that word too much, I guess. It, um...

-Virgil: *quietly* Bad memories?

-Patton nodded quickly.

-Remus: Jesus! You should have told me! I’m sorry, Pat-A-Cake! I guess Janny and I have just been calling each other that for so long, I forgot it bothers some people.

-Janus: Yeah, um, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have encouraged it, it wasn’t very-

-Patton: Guys, stop. You don’t have to apologize, okay? I’m okay.

-Roman opened his arms with a soft smile. Patton sighed happily and crawled into his lap, his back against Roman’s chest.

-Remus: So what can I say instead? Slu-

-Janus slapped his hand over Remus’ mouth.

-Janus: Why don’t you just try behaving?

-Patton: *laughing* No, I’m actually pretty used to that one. Roman can’t see a cute boy without calling himself that.

-Remus: Perfect. Was that the word you were looking for, Logan? Just a bunch of cute little sluts?

-Logan slapped his hand to his forehead.

-Logan: *dryly* That’s exactly the word I was looking for.

Logan:

-The morning was a busy one. Logan had three projects due that he’d somehow neglected, Roman had two auditions, Patton had an increase in orders to pass out, and Virgil had an interview for an apprenticeship at a tattoo parlour.

-Everyone raced around the kitchen-- No time for a family breakfast today. Logan banged at the coffee maker as it went painfully slow, Patton trying to carefully package a box of cupcakes. Roman slid between the two of them to get to the fridge, nearly tripping over Logan’s feet.

-Roman: Hey, watch out! Tryna get out the door here!

-Logan stiffened.

-Logan: Apologies, Roman.

-Roman looked at him in confusion at the formal tone, but shook it off and grabbed his water bottle so he could race out the door. Soon, the apartment was empty, everyone left to their respective tasks.

-Logan didn’t come home for a while.

-Patton left a sticky note on Logan’s door to say his dinner was packed up in the fridge for whenever he wanted it, but couldn’t stop feeling worried. He stayed up until 4am on the couch watching cartoons, eventually passing out.

-When Logan still wasn’t home in the morning, Roman carried Patton to bed and stormed across the hall.

-He rapped loudly on the door. It swung open a moment later, revealing the tired, angry face of his brother.

-Remus: What do you want?

-Roman: Is Logan with you?

-Remus: Well, I know where he’s not.

-Roman: I’m not fucking around. Just tell me-- We’re worried about him!

-Remus arched an eyebrow, a sick grin spreading across his face.

-Remus: *whispering* Are you now?

-Roman: What’s going on? Is he okay?

-Remus: *voice still hushed* You would think out of all of us, you and I would know better. You and I would know exactly what to say to make someone feel worthless. The difference is, it’s usually me who says it, and you who avoids it.

-Roman: I don’t get it. What did I say? Did I hurt him?

-Remus: He feels like a waste of space in his own home!

-Roman pushed past Remus into the apartment, finding Logan asleep, Janus curled around him protectively.

-Roman: Logan!

-Logan and Janus both startled awake. Janus glared and hissed.

-Roman: My God, why didn’t you tell anyone you weren’t coming home? We were so worried! Patton stayed up all night waiting for you! Why was your phone off?!

-Logan frowned in confusion and sat up, self-consciously scooting away from Janus and brushing his arm away. He found his glasses and put them on.

-Logan: What? I just figured, the apartment seemed cramped lately, people were getting cranky. Janus and Remus offered to let me stay before in the past, so I thought I might give you all some space.

-Roman shook his head wildly.

-Roman: Why would you think that? You scared us! Dinner’s still waiting for you in the fridge, and- and you could have at least called us to let us know!

-Logan fought not to shrink in on himself. He was silent for a while, before he said, quietly, confused, “I thought this was what you wanted.”

-Roman: No. Where did you-

-Roman paused.

-He felt so stupid.

-Roman: No- God, Logan, I’m so... I’m so sorry. I didn’t- I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry I ran into you, and then...

-Janus and Remus looked at Logan, waiting his response before reacting.

-Logan: It’s okay, Roman. I guess I just got confused. Has Patton started on breakfast yet?

-Roman: No, he’s asleep.

-Logan: I’ll make breakfast. I’ll be there in five minutes.

-Remus gripped Roman’s shoulder.

-Remus: I’ll show you out.

Roman:

-Roman and Remus were in the main four’s living room, scripts in each hand. Roman had asked Remus’ help in reading lines for a scene, and they had both gotten way too into it.

-Patton: Be careful with my throw pills! My sister stitched those!

-Remus cackled maniaclly from his position on the couch, a plastic sword held at Roman’s throat.

-Remus: Now what did I tell you?!

-Roman, on his knees on the carpet, faked a pained groan.

-Roman: It’s not true.

-Remus: Still thinking that, huh? What do I have to do to get it through your head? Beat it out of you?!

-Remus lurched forward with his fake sword.

-Roman’s heart stopped, the blood drained from his face, and he threw himself away from Remus’ advance. He fell back, nearly knocking his head against the coffee table they moved, crossing his arms in front of his face.

-Remus: Roman? *nervous laughter* Come on, I know I’m not that good an actor. Are you... Okay?

-Roman shakily lowered his arms, staring at Remus with wide, paranoid eyes. He gasped for breath.

-Patton jumped up from the kitchen table and raced into the living room. Remus caught Patton by the waist as Roman flinched and covered his face again.

-Patton’s eyes welled up.

-Patton: Roman? Roman, what’s wrong?

-Remus: *mumbling* Go sit on the couch, I’ll wave you over.

-Patton didn’t want to, but he listened. Remus sat on the ground, plenty of space between him and his brother.

-Remus: Ro? I need you to look around, tell me five things you can see.

-Roman: Stained- Stained glass.

-Remus: There’s no stained glass here. Look around, harder. What do you see?

-Roman: Your stupid mustache.

-Remus: *laughing* Yeah, that’s good. What else?

-Roman: Um... Um- The- The carpet.

-Remus: What colour is the carpet?

-Roman: Green- No. No, it’s beige.

-Roman ran his fingers along the beige carpet, trying to control his breathing.

-Remus: That’s good. Three more.

-Roman: I see Patton. Um, his glasses. There’s flour on his hands. Does that count?

-Remus: Sounds like five to me. Four things you can touch?

-Roman: Carpet. Um, my shirt. The table. Y-You?

-Remus scooted forward slowly and opened his arms for Roman to curl into. Remus held him tight, his chin rested on Roman’s shoulder.

-Remus: Tell me three things you can hear.

-Roman: Your heartbeat. Patton crying- Patton, please, love, I’m okay.

-Patton: I- I know. I’m sorry. I just- I know.

-Roman: Patton’s voice.

-Remus: Two things you can smell.

-Roman: That awful deodorant you use. And Janus, for some reason.

-Remus: One thing you can taste?

-Roman: Salt.

-Remus: You back in the present now?

-Roman buried his face in Remus’ chest. Remus held him tightly and waved Patton over. Patton staggered to his feet and Remus gently transferred Roman to curl in Patton’s lap, who cooed in his ear and kissed over the side of his face. Remus quietly slipped out of the apartment.

Remus:

-Janus: Remus? What’s wrong?

-Remus didn’t answer, slamming the door shut and headed straight for the bathroom. The water turned on a moment later.

-Janus looked through Remus’ drawer for his meds and counted them carefully. He’d taken his dosages. He settled against the headboard and waited for Remus to finish showering.

-About an hour later, Janus was startled awake to a wet pressure on his chest.

-Janus: *mumbling* Ew. You couldn’t have dried off? Got dressed?

-Remus looked up at him with wide, teary eyes. Janus raked his fingers through Remus’ hair and kissed his forehead.

-Remus: It doesn’t matter.

-Janus: It does. Was it that bitch again?

-Remus: She is a bitch.

-Janus: Exactly. What’d she say this time?

-Remus settled back against Janus’ chest.

-Remus: *mumbling* It doesn’t matter. She’s right.

-Janus: I doubt she’s ever been right about anything in her life, especially my Remus. So what did she say? I need to prove her wrong. Proving people wrong is kind of my thing.

-Remus let out a breathy laugh.

-Remus: I got upset again. A family told her about their child’s allergy, and she didn’t tell me. I made the dish normally and the girl threw up and had to go home. I started yelling, because I mean I was freaking out, what if I’d killed her? If it was a more severe allergy, she- she couldn’t have been older than seven, it could have killed her just being on the table, and- and-

-Janus: Hey, baby, take a second to breathe. Just breathe with me for a second, okay?

-Janus took in a deep breath, his chest raising and lowering Remus gently as he followed the pattern.

-Remus: She told me to stop worrying about it, that I was delusional. She asked if I remembered my meds. She said I was overreacting.

-Janus’ hold on Remus tightened as hatred boiled in his stomach.

-Janus: I’m going to get that bitch fired.

-Remus: Janus, no, I probably-

-Janus: You did not overreact. She didn’t tell you, and not only could that have killed the girl, it could have ruined your life. We can’t afford a good lawyer, they would pin it on you and shove it under the rug. And you’re not fucking delusional.

-Remus: I do... Have... Delusions...?

-Janus: That doesn’t have anything to do with this!

-Remus laughed weakly.

-Janus: Yeah, you have delusions that the girl on the fifth floor runs a meth lab, and that someone lives in the basement, but that- That was not a delusion. She should be put in jail!

-Remus raised his head and kissed Janus softly. He nuzzled into his neck, and Janus hugged him tight.

-Janus: I checked your meds. You’re completely caught up.

-Remus: I know.

-Janus: And you’re not crazy.

-Remus: I know.

-Janus: And I love you.

-Remus: I know. I love you, too.

Janus:

-Janus had snuck into the other apartment to see if Patton had any leftovers from his last orders. The others were asleep, but he knew they wouldn’t care. Patton left notes on the things no one could touch.

-He found a small plate of assorted cookies with no warning, and settled at the table to eat a few.

-On his way to put them back, someone on the floor above them screamed a string of curses, and a door slammed. Janus flinched, his shaky hands loosing hold of the plate. His heart dropped as it shattered along the tile.

-He couldn’t breathe.

-Clean it up and leave, go, now!

-Hurry up! Before someone finds you!

-Don’t worry about clean up, just go! You weren’t here!

-Logan: Janus?

-Janus’ head snapped up. He spoke before thinking about the words coming out.

-Janus: I just got here. I don’t know what happened, I was about to clean it up. It wasn’t me.

-Logan raised an eyebrow, eyes sleepy.

-Logan: *flatly* Really?

-That was the worst lie you’ve ever told in your life.

-His stomach coiled in embarrassment. He forced up a smile.

-Janus: I know what it looks like. But I assure you, it wasn’t me.

-He reached for the broom, but Logan carefully stepped over the glass and grabbed Janus’ wrist.

-Logan: Janus-

-Janus: *gasping* I’m sorry! It wasn’t me!

-Logan: Janus. I’m not angry! What’s the matter?

-Janus hesitantly met Logan’s eyes. Logan’s soft, worried eyes.

-Logan: You know I would never hurt you.

-Janus: Of course.

-Logan: I’ll clean this up. Do you... Want to stay over?

-Janus’ heart stuttered.

-Janus: If you want me to, I suppose I could stomach it.

-Logan smiled a little.

-Logan: You suppose?

-Janus: I suppose.

-Logan: I’ll meet you in there.

-Janus’ heartrate had slowly gone back to normal as he laid in Logan’s bed. A few minutes later, Logan slipped in behind him, hesitantly resting a hand on Janus’ hip.

-Janus rolled over and pulled Logan into his arms. Logan sighed in content, nuzzling into his chest.

-Janus: I didn’t break the plate.

-Logan: It doesn’t matter who broke the plate.

#virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #deceit sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #roommates au #abuse tw #abuse mention

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the-shy-shrimp · 3 years

Note

Well, hello! I am one of your readers from the AO3 and I just wanted to say that I enjoy your lotr related works very much! And since you allow asking for commission, there is one thing I would love to see if you ever felt inspired and that is Elrond Peredhel being hurt in a fight.

Adding in the rest of the ask because this came to me in three parts:

It seems that since he is a healer in most stories it is quite rare for him to get physically hurt – which is understandable of course... But I would love to see that written by you, as you are quite good at portraying this amazing hurt/comfort stories.

The floor is all yours, but maybe it would be nice to see how his family would react to that? Or any Imladris inhabitants. But you know, it’s just an idea, no pressure. Thank you very much! And whether you decide to use this idea or not I hope we will meet in some lotr-related work. Have a nice day! :D (And sorry for sending three asks - I am not used to Tumblr :c)

So here you go! Sorry it took forever, but I made a bad decision (very, very bad) when scheduling an exam that my entire career relied on me passing, so I was pretty brain dead for the two weeks after I got this ask... But here it is! Enjoy!

...

Pain is the first thing that registers when Elrond wakes, pain and the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that comes from fighting for one’s life.

Strange, he can’t remember being in a fight, not recently. Yet here he lays, sprawled out on the floor of his study, exhausted and aching for no clear reason. Attempting to move proves to be unwise, bringing dizziness and nausea with each shift, but the alternative of lying prone until someone finds him seems even more unsavory.

He goes slowly, first turning onto his side as he tries to deduce what has happened. His face and his jaw hurt the most by far, though the rest of his body is not far behind. But his jaw had been tightly clenched for several days now, likely the result of stressing over his third child’s imminent arrival, and so he finds it difficult to relate that symptom with the rest of what he feels. His hands wander over his body in a search for injuries. While he does not discover anything new, he does find his shoulder to be red and hot, the small puncture wound he sustained in a skirmish over a week ago now open and weeping. He groans internally at the finding.

It should have healed long before now, and that knowledge fills his gut with dread. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

The simple act of using the corner of his desk to pull himself upright leaves him shaking, and the idea of forcing himself to walk down the hallway to find Erestor is daunting to say the least. But it must be done. He presses onward, putting one foot in front of the other, desperately clutching whatever furniture seems sturdy enough to lend some support as he shuffles toward the door. Once out in the corridor there would be little to hold onto, unfortunately, but it was only a few yards between the doors to each of their workspaces. He would have to manage.

After fumbling with the doorknob for a moment, he breathes a sigh of relief upon finding the hallway to be entirely empty. The last thing he needs to be gawked at in his present state.

His movements are slow, but determined, as he makes his way along the wall, eventually coming to a stop in front of Erestor’s door. He attempts to knock before entering, but the sound is weak and piteous, barely heard over the sound of his own breathing. He has better luck with the doorknob this time around, and with minimal struggling, he tentatively steps into his friend’s space.

“Elrond? Is something the matter? You don’t look well.”

Erestor is at his desk, several papers in his hands and concern written across his face. He seems to be debating between getting up to rush over, and letting Elrond speak first.

The Peredhel swallows thickly, then gives an almost imperceptible nod, taking one, then two steps beyond the doorway. When he opens his mouth to speak, however, the ache that had thus far been sitting quietly in his jaw crescendos into a roar that races down his neck and back and into each of his limbs as pain engulfs his entire body.

A strangled cry is the only sound he makes, and Erestor’s cursing is the last thing he hears before the world goes dark.

“You really are the worst, you know.”

Erestor’s chiding is soft, lacking its usual barbed timbre, and is accompanied by the warm weight of a thick blanket settling over his body. The Peredhel gives him only a quiet sigh in return, blinking until the image of his friend comes into focus. He is not sprawled across the floor of Erestor’s office, as he halfway expected to be, but is instead tucked into a cot in the middle of an unfortunately familiar room. He groans, feeling even worse now than he did before, every muscle in his body wound tight as a bowstring, unable to relax no matter how much he ached.

It doesn’t take more than a minute before Elrond decides that he does not like being the one in the sickbed, and much prefers to stay within his role as a healer.

“Why didn’t you have the wound looked at when you returned? If one of your sons had pulled the same stunt you would have had their head on a platter.”

He can see the poorly veiled concern in Erestor’s expression, creeping through every time Elrond fails to suppress the violent shivers that come in waves almost too intense to bear.

“T-T-T’was only an, an, arrow…”

His voice is weaker, shakier than he would like it to be, stuttering as he tries to keep the shuddering at bay. His advisor only scowls down at him, looking more hurt than angry.

“Yes, only an arrow with a rusted head. If you were fully elven you might have been able to ignore such a detail, but you aren’t, Elrond! Now the poison is already in your blood, and it might just kill you. Andûnél says that it probably won’t, but there is still a chance.”

“I’m s-sure I’ll, I’ll be f-f-fine.”

Erestor leaps to his feet at that, sending the stool he had previously occupied flying back to clatter against the floor.

“Fine? You think this is fine? You cannot take risks with your life like this! What if you don’t make it, hm? Everyone in this valley depends on you, son of Eärendil. Your family depends on you. What if this is what does it? Would you leave your children to grow up fatherless, leave your people leaderless? You are all we have left, Elrond. They don’t have a high king to follow anymore, no one is going to step in and take care of things if you perish.”

He turns on his heel, disgust written on his face as he slams the door shut behind him.

Silence descends on the tiny room, and Elrond finds himself whimpering as the next wave of shivering hits him full force. He knows he isn’t alone, not truly. Someone will be around to check on him eventually. But for the moment he cannot help but feel abandoned. He wants Erestor to come back, but he will need time to sulk. He wants Celebrían, but he knows she won’t be back in Imladris for another week. Perhaps shamefully, he finds he wants Maglor most of all.

Maglor who had done his best in spite of circumstance, who made sure their needs were provided for. Maglor who held him when the tears didn’t seem to have an end. Maglor who sat with him late in the night when sleep wouldn’t come because of nightmares or insomnia or the disturbances that had come when his foresight finally began to manifest. Maglor who was the closest thing to a father he had ever really had.

It wasn’t until Andûnél knocked and entered that he realized there were tears in his eyes.

“Now, now, none of that.”

She sighs softly and dabs at the wet spots on his cheeks before anything else. He is grateful for the way her touches are nothing short of professional, devoid of the almost motherly tenderness they held when he and Elros were just young things being brought to her with scraped knees and sprains and broken bones. He already feels small and broken enough without being coddled.

Was it because Erestor had yelled at him? Probably. Being reminded of everything, everyone, that relied on him had left him feeling grossly inadequate. There was no high king. No one was around to supervise him and yank him out of his stupidity anymore. Ereinion couldn’t come to his rescue. Galadriel might, but not because she actually cared for him. She would come out of responsibility, and likely regret allowing her daughter to marry him as a result. Just a stupid, half-blooded fool who managed to survive long enough to reproduce in spite of his own idiocy—

“Elrond? Look at me, Elrond.”

He hiccups twice while trying to blink away the tears, and it takes several more minutes of dabbing at his eyes before he can actually see her face as more than just a wet blur.

“That’s better. Now, are you weeping because you are in pain, or because you are upset?”

“Pain.”

The single syllable is rasped out, barely louder than a whisper. The look in her eyes tells him that she knows he is lying, or at least telling only half the truth. Maybe the pain was a part of it, but Andûnél clearly knew it was just as likely a combination of the two.

“Alright. I can do something about that, at least.”

She leaves his line of sight immediately. If his neck didn’t ache so badly he might have tried to watch her, but he could barely move at all with how tense he was. He settles for staring at the ceiling and trying to breathe evenly. At least he could hear her moving about the room, and so he knew she hadn’t left him. Not like Erestor had.

Another whine escapes him at the thought.

“Hold on, I’m coming.”

He doesn’t get the chance to feel any more sorry for himself before she pries his lips apart and sticks a dropper full of bitter medicine in his mouth. It tastes foul, as all her tinctures do, but it works quickly, dulling the ache in a matter of only a few tense minutes, and for that he is grateful.

“Better?”

“Better.”

Elrond sighs, relaxing against the bed beneath him as the pain is driven back for the moment. He hadn’t noticed just how much the tension in his body was bothering him a moment ago, but with it now under control, its absence leaves him feeling weak and jittery.

“Unfortunately, there isn’t much we can do outside of managing the pain that comes with the muscle spasms.”

Andûnél’s voice feels far away, even if vaguely registers that she now sits beside him in the stool Erestor had previously discarded. She smiles down at him, looking tired above all else.

“There isn’t an antidote or any effective treatment for it. You’ll just have to wait it out until your body rids itself of the toxin.”

The idea sits poorly with him, although there isn’t anything he can do to change things, not now. The healer is quick to remind him, of course, that had he gotten the wound treated sooner, properly cleaned and bandaged as it should have been, he might have avoided this unpleasantness altogether. She says he ought to know better, and he knows she is right. But she takes his silence as exhaustion rather than the moping that it is, and mutters something about the two of them being the sole purpose someone came up with the adage that “healers make the worst patients” before tucking another blanket around him and getting up to leave.

“I will send Camaenor in to sit with you while I take care of some other things that need my attention. He will probably be so engrossed in whatever book he brings with him that you’ll hardly notice him, but at least he’ll be present if you need him.”

Elrond is asleep not long after Andûnél latches the door behind her, snatching up what sleep he can while he has the option. He’s seen this sickness before, in mortals wounded by pieces of old metal, and he knows that it is likely to get worse before it gets better.

When it does get worse, either Andûnél or her reedy apprentice are always present, ready and waiting with another draught for the pain and muscle spasms that make his limbs cramp and his back arch off the bed. The Peredhel is grateful that it is only the two of them who see him like this. Not that he doesn’t trust the discretion of the other healers, but he knows that Andûnél will not gossip, and Camaenor has been so absorbed in his studies that he is likely to follow his master’s trend.

The days all blend together, a cycle of sleeping until he is awoken by excruciating pain and downing more medicine until he can once again rest comfortably. More than once he wakes in the dead of night, due not to the constant muscle contractions, but instead because the apprentice perched nearby is struggling with his reading, stumbling over some new term or another and attempting to sound it out.

The first time this happens, it leaves Elrond confused and disoriented, wondering if the apprentice is trying to speak to him and his brain is simply failing to interpret the words. Eventually though, after hearing several similar sounding terms in a row, he realizes what is happening, and rasps out an answer.

“Parenchyma.”

Camaenor nearly jumps out of his skin when his charge suddenly speaks, but quickly recovers and nods his thanks before asking if he would like some water, or if he was in pain. Elrond decides then that the boy will make a good healer, someday, and resolves to help him study during his precious moments of wakefulness and clarity. It is the least he can do.

He loses track of how many days and nights he’s been bedridden, knowing only that it has been long enough for him to grow tired of it. The only break in routine comes when Erestor returns to his previous position, constructing a nest of bookwork at Elrond’s bedside to keep himself busy while he sits with him. He says nothing of the outburst that resulted in his several-days-long absence, but instead chatters on about all the things going on in the valley that he’s missed since this all started. Profit margins for new trade routes. Personal correspondences that need attention. Setbacks in planting a new section of the orchard.

His chief advisor says nothing of Celebrían’s whereabouts, and so he assumes that she has either not been informed of his current state or has chosen to remain with her parents until this has all blown over. Part of him hopes for the former. This pregnancy has already been hard enough for her, and it has only just begun. She doesn’t need the added stress.

It comes as a surprise, then, when the soft morning light brings him toward wakefulness and he is assailed not by the whole-body ache he has come to expect, but by the soft velvet of her lips on his. He sighs, thinking it must only be the remnants of some very pleasant dream, but the gentle brush of her fingertips over his eyelids tells him otherwise.

“Wake up, my love.”

A weak smile finds its way to his face, the first in days, as he slowly pries his eyes open. His silver queen is waiting for him, her soft expression framed by the wild platinum curls of her unbound hair. She kisses him again, more fiercely this time, and though his attempts at reciprocating are sloppy at best, it still fills his heart with joy.

They still cling to each other, even after Celebrían finally stops nibbling at his lower lip and stretches out on the bed beside her husband. Neither of them says a word about what happened, about what Elrond has suffered through in the past week, or about the fact that they are celebrating their reunion here instead of the quiet intimacy of their bedroom. None of it matters, though, at least not to the Peredhel.

The presence of his beloved is like a balm on his aching soul, and in her strong arms he is reminded of what it feels like to belong and be loved. He sighs, burying his nose in the tangled nest of her hair and breathing in the scent that is undeniably hers, causing her to giggle and throw her arm over his bared chest and drag him closer.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

#fanfic #lord of the rings #requests are open #If you want one I'll make u one #just ask #I swear I'm not dead

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imagine-loki · 4 years

Text

Feels like Death

TITLE: Feels Like Death CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One shot AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine unexpectedly getting your period and having to explain it to Loki. RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: Also on AO3 here

It was a series of unfortunate events that had you in your current situation. You writhed in your bed, trying to find some position that was remotely comfortable. But everything hurt. It didn’t just hurt. Hurt was too weak of a word for the aching cramps in your abdomen, the ones in your back. You felt sick, nauseous, fevered and chilled at the same time.

You shifted again in your bed, though this position was no better than the last one had been. You felt like you were laying in a pool of your own blood. That may have actually been more comfortable than the tampon that felt like a rolling pin shoved up a very uncomfortable place and the pad that felt like laying in a wet diaper.

Everything reeked and hurt and gods, you felt like you were dying. Or at least that ripping out your uterus yourself would feel less painful than what it was doing to you. It had been months since it had been this bad. The medication you were on usually kept you from even having periods most months. This month was different. You’d missed a dose of the shot while you were on a mission with the team. You’d caught up on it later, but it hadn’t been enough. Plus you were due for a real period.

You groaned as you reached for the bottle of pain pills. You were going to have to take them dry. Getting up to get water was out of the question with how awful you felt.

“Miss, breakfast is ready,” Jarvis announced.

That made you groan louder and curl into a tighter ball. “Fuck off, Jarvis,” you grumbled as you whimpered in pain. You weren’t going anywhere.

There was a pause where you could practically feel the AI’s offense at your words. “Shall I tell the others you are sick?” He asked too politely. Yup, he was pissed.

Somehow, you couldn’t find enough fucks to care.

Fuck.

Loki.

Loki didn’t know about periods as far as you were aware. You’d been dating him for a few months now, but hadn’t had to tell him about this unfortunate part of being a midgardian female. You last period had been before you’d started dating.

He was going to freak out if he found you curled in a ball in your bed unable to move.

You tried to sit up, you wouldn’t have long before he came to try to find you if you didn’t show up for breakfast. He worried over you during the best of times. While you were skilled enough to be on the team, you still weren’t a god of Asgard. You usually bickered with him that you were perfectly capable of handling yourself, and had even handed his ass to him in the training room before, but today you knew he wouldn’t listen or believe you.

You managed to get to a mostly sitting position before the pain got too bad and you fwumped back among the pillows with a whimper of pain.

There was a polite tap on your door. “Darling?” Loki asked, concern in his voice. Jarvis probably ratted on you for cussing at him. Fucking stupid AI.

Fuck. You were out of time and still had no idea how to explain.

“Loki, I-“ you paused. You couldn’t lie to Loki, even though a closed door he would be able to smell your lie. You sighed and laid your head back down.

“Darling? May I come in?” Loki asked more insistently when you didn’t answer properly.

You groaned something in reply. Or just groaned in pain. You couldn’t quite be sure which. Regardless, Loki took your groan as permission to enter and opened your room’s door. You looked up at him when he came in. He was perfectly handsome as ever, even in the Midgardian clothes he’d taken to wearing after you’d finally convinced him that most people on Midgard didn’t wear court clothes from Asgard. Or tunics. Despite how hot he looked in them. He’d worn sexy suits for two weeks straight after that just for spite. Today he was wearing perfectly tailored jeans and a green shirt, his raven hair was down as he usually wore it, reaching just past his shoulders.

It wasn’t fair that he looked so stunning while you felt and looked like shit warmed over. Your hair was a mess, you were too pale, soaked in sweat and beyond gross as you were bundled in your bed and blankets. You felt like death and you were sure you looked just as bad.

You were extra sure about that point when Loki rushed over to your side, sitting on the edge of your bed and reaching for one of your hands. “Darling? What’s wrong? Are you ill?” He asked you gently as he reached with his other hand to touch your forehead and cheeks, checking you for a fever.

You blushed at the question. Fuck. You would have to tell him. “It’s that time of the month,” you told him, hoping against hope that he would understand what the phrase meant. You didn’t know if Asgardian women went through the same monthly woes as human women did. Loki’s blank look made your heart drop and you fought not to groan, even as you curled in on yourself, whimpering in pain.

“Darling, please,” Loki begged, hating seeing you in pain or hurting. He cared too much for you. This wasn’t an injury or a foe he could fight and he didn’t know how to help. “I don’t understand,”

You sighed and looked up at him. Words fell from you in what you hoped was a coherent manner. “You get an abbreviated explanation since I feel like death,” you warned him. He nodded his agreement, willing to accept whatever explanation you were willing and able to give him, any hint of how to help you. “Every month a woman bleeds from her vagina for a few days if she’s not pregnant. It hurts like hell, there’s a lot of blood, and cramping, and I feel like I’m dying~” you whined that last as your words became incomprehensible.

Loki squeezed your hand as he took in that information. You weren’t sure if he was as squeamish as mortal men, but he definitely accepted your words. “What can I do for you?” He asked you gently. He hated seeing you like this, you saw that much in his eyes.

You didn’t know where to start. You were gross and hurting and so very gross and just wanted to sleep and you couldn’t. “I should bathe, and change clothes, and the sheets, and find more paint meds, and…” you trailed off, babbling again. Gods, you needed to control your tongue.

Loki gave you a gentle smile. “Then allow me to help you, my love,” he told you gently. You nodded weakly, unable to do more than mew and let him care for you. He placed his hand against your forehead, the other against your abdomen where the pain was worst. His cold skin felt fantastic and you sighed in relief. His hands started glowing green with his magic and you sagged with a moan as the pain eased, the cramps eased. At least momentarily.

“I love you,” you told him, not having other words for how amazing it felt to get some relief.

Loki chuckled. “And I love you, dearheart,” he said warmly. That done, he carefully unbundled you from your blankets and lifted you into his arms bridal style.

“Loki?” You asked, though you didn’t fight him, your arms going around his neck automatically.

“Let me take care of you, darling,” he said gently instead of actually answering. He carried you into your bathroom and you saw that he had magicked you a hot bath, filled with some kind of floral herbs you couldn’t recognize, but they smelled soothing and relaxing. Loki vanished your clothes before you could protest. “It isn’t as if I do not know what you look like,” he reminded you. You’d had plenty of sex with him. He was fantastic at it, after all, so of course he knew very well what you looked like. He set you carefully in the bath and you sighed in relief.

“This is amazing,” you said in a purr as you sank back and relaxed.

“Soothing herbs from Asgard,” Loki told you with a warm smile. He knelt next to the tub and slowly began to wash you. You tried to protest that you didn’t need to be bathed like a child, but it felt so nice to not have to think or take care of yourself when you felt so much like shit. “Let me care for you,” he repeated when you tried to protest.

You were so strong most of the time. It was hard to let your guard down, even to him, but you nodded and let him care for you. You knew he wouldn’t hurt or betray you, or think any less of you for the condition you were in.

He massaged your scalp as he washed your hair and you moaned in pleasure. “You have magic hands,” you told him with a purr, relaxed and putty in his hands.

Loki chuckled. “Yes, darling. I’m quite aware,” he said warmly. You could tell he enjoyed this, enjoyed this simple caring. He was glad you trusted him when you were vulnerable.

You don’t know how long you were in the bath. Loki left you there for a bit to relax in the hot water and let the herbs from Asgard work their magic on you. He eventually returned and helped you out of the bath. “Are you up for getting breakfast?” He asked you gently as he used magic to dry you. Soft fluffy pajamas formed around you and you sighed in relief. You were comfortable for the first time since your period had started.

You looked up at him and fought back the nausea. “I’m not sure…” you said, feeling queasy. You wrapped your arms around his waist to lean on him and let him support you. You really did feel like death and just wanted to curl up in your bed again.

“Can you try?” He asked gently, pressing a kiss to your hair. He knew perfectly well that you needed food to keep your strength up. You sighed heavily, but nodded. You couldn’t deny Loki anything.

He helped you shuffle down to the common room, holding and supporting you, but not carrying you, as he knew you would hate to appear weak in front of the rest of the team. They all looked up at you when you came in and all of them were on guard when they saw you, clearly concerned. They never saw you at less than your best, even when bleeding from injuries on missions.

Yet, your own fucking body was taking you out of commission because it couldn’t behave and give you a break.

You held onto Loki tighter, not wanting to explain, not wanting to deal. “She feels like death,” he told the team, drawing the attention to himself. The look in his eyes clearly told them all that they weren’t to question it or harass you. They would be facing his wrath if they did.

You loved him even more for that.

Loki led you to the dining room, past the team, and helped you sit down at the table there. He brought you breakfast and you laughed when you realized that it was his favorite: pancakes. Of course he thought pancakes would fix everything. They were among his favorite Midgardian food, so he thought everyone should like them as much as he did.

“Thank you,” you said, cheered up by his adorable love of pancakes. You took a couple of bites before the nausea crept back up. Loki took your free hand and started telling you stories. He distracted you from the nausea so you could eat. You had a feeling a bit of magic was involved too

Somehow the pancakes were gone and you were full and happy for the first time in any period you’d ever had. Loki got you safely back past the team and to your own bed. The sheets and blankets had been magically cleaned. He slid into the bed next to you and pulled you into his arms. He held you close, stroking your hair and telling you stories until you fell asleep in his arms, feeling as good as you could, with your body turned against you.

He continued to care for you through every moment of your misery, through the pain and nausea, suffering through all your symptoms and soothing them all away, until you could finally be yourself again.

And you loved him all the more for every ounce of love and care he gave you those days.

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #submission #feels like death #nekoamamori

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ranmanjuu · 4 years

Note

Me again sorry if I’m spamming can request how the boys react to going to the future with mc be everywhere’s in lockdown thank you and stay safe love you~ (๑ゝω╹๑)

there’s probably a shit ton of them hcs around these parts and i feel like i’m just re-wording a lot of things so like,, ahaha i’m sorry. also the character cast is u-t forces cause ngl we have a lot of oda forces request previously and the coming requests dw just showing love to my kasugayama boys

—shingen:

the moment you stepped into the good ol’ modern times, the first thing you realized was that there’s a pandemic going on and with shingen being immunocompromised, it’s surely a danger more than ever. without a word, you quickly drag him into your apartment first thing’s first.

you quickly told him to take a shower (to which he’d probably jokingly invite you in, but to be fair, he doesn’t really know how bathtubs and shower heads are used). you didn’t have men’s clothing, not for his size so to say, so you just settled with your big, stretchy jackets you had.

after explaining the situation, you did consider going to the hospital for his treatment,, on one hand, if shingen doesn’t do it, he’ll. . .you know. and if he does, there’s a chance that he could get infected (with hospitals being a breeding ground for the virus).

in the end, you decided to do it.

even after that, you were always careful with things like going out, mostly you taking care of the shopping and everything. you kept reminding him to wash his hands, social distance, etc.

and frankly, while he understands social distancing, he doesn’t like it. he just wants to hug and kiss his deity lover! prepare for the man to just recite poems so damn dramatically for this.

(^ this includes the amount of pickup lines increasing by a lot. the fact that he can now search some up from google doesn’t help.)

there’s a lot of things you do in quarantine, and you’ve found that the amount of carpentry has increased significantly prior to this.

said carpentry ranges from tables and chairs, to small decoration carvings of birds and the likes. the smell of wood now wafts in the air more than ever.

you’ve now replaced yukimura for his dieting of sweets. his illness may be gone, but teeth problems could still arise! but shingen can have some modern candy once in a while, as a treat.

as for the reaction of the future in general—shingen finds it so, so warming how relatively peaceful it is compared to the sengoku. yes, protests are happening and there’s practically a new type of war going on (he most certainly advocates for human rights, etc), but it’s a step to a new light. a world he wants.

—kenshin:

you’ve had conversations of the future before—most of them on a,,, bizzare note, with the topic being on swords and war (or lack thereof), etc. a silent agreement was made between you two to not have kenshin be in the future since he’s missing one of the things he ‘needs to live with’ (them being war, sake, and you).

but a lot of improv had to be done when the wormhole was much more stubborn and managed to pull you through.

right after you figured out what happened, a security guard immediately came and told you to wear a mask (considering it’s a must). you had to haul kenshin back to your house before he attacks the guard with his sword.

after cleaning the two of you from any virus, you began running things over to him about the future. aaaand he’s already thinking about keeping you in your house by any means so you don’t get caught by it.

but you managed to convince him otherwise, you did have to go shopping and the thought of kenshin doing it with all the foreign technology around him made you sweat nervously.

no, kenshin, sake isn’t a need but you will buy it for him cause he won’t be able to survive, you feel.

you thought a peaceful modern world was bad enough for kenshin to reside in, ohoho, wait until you realize he can’t even go outside and fight sasuke and all that jazz.

a thought crossed your mind to learn how to duel and fight using mop sticks but he shot down that thought.

in the meantime, most of your days were spent in the garden with his sea of bunnies (how they got there, you don’t know) and mostly tending to them so they don’t contract the virus (kenshin almost flipped when you told him that rabbits could do that).

and by night, you spent it by looking out to the city skies (but the light from the buildings doesn’t hit like the stars do) and drinking sake.

he’d also be against social distancing, but—unsurprisingly—only to you. after a while that rule goes out the window as he cuddles you to death from being touch-starved.

i feel like he’d be interested in the past (or future, to him) wars just because. he’d read up about the wars from all sorts of places. and sometimes, you’d catch him with a deadly smile and say, “that sounds like a great idea, i should wage one like that.”

you had to remind him no, you can’t start a war cause you want to.

—yukimura:

he’d flip straight up by the idea of there being a pandemic in your time. you never talked about this when you told him you came from the future!

he’d probably groan at first with the thought of having to hole up for a long time, but he’d quickly understand. it’s for the benefit of the immunocompromised and the old, he’d like to help by following the rules.

besides, he has you. he’ll cope.

at first, his plan was for you to just let him do all the work during lockdown, like going out and stuff. he was non-chalant, if a bit stubborn.

until you mention groceries.

you start firing him questions, do you know what we need? do you know how much of it we need? or which one is which at all?

he shuts up after that.

yukimura will definitely do those workout things on youtube, and you’ll probably be roped into it. rip to you but you’re gettin’ buff during these lazy times.

small, silly arguments would most likely be the norm for you. it’s a bit of spicy bickering back and forth, you both find it amusing and it’s a way to stimulate the brain, no matter how stupid the topic is.

it can range from if mugwort mochi is better than chestnut dumplings, and you’ve even gone out to search for light topics to have small debates over.

occasionally, he’d invite you outside to watch the skies. the colorful lights from the tall buildings kind of reminds you of the loud fireworks during the festival back in the sengoku—only if they became stars instead.

much like shingen, yukimura is thankful of the positive changes in the future. horrible things may have stayed, but as long as there are people advocating for a fair and peaceful world, he can spend his days beside you.

—sasuke:

as any situation, sasuke was prepared as ever. the second you went to the modern days, he pulled out a spare mask (dw it’s clean) from his pocket and handed it to you. remembering the rule of mandatory masks, you quickly put it on.

you couldn’t really have a discussion about time-travel in the open, so you both went to your apartment.

sasuke is definitely well-versed in the virus, dumping most everything he knows unto you to better arm you with it yourself.

somehow, he could calculate how much groceries and overall shopping in any timeframe. a month, two, etc. so you find yourself bringing him out shopping with you.

since he’s now in the modern world, the amount of him being holed up kinda increases. if he’s learnt so much from a youtube tutorial, imagine the absolute machine he’d be by the end of it.

yeah he’s that guy who learns 45 million skills.

sasuke might seem unbothered by having to keep distance from you, but he really isn’t. you can tell; by the way his lips tighten, or the way his eyebrows furrow sometimes.

would regularly remind you to wash your hands, and would always say to take a bath each time you go home from the outside. if you’re ever sick, he’ll somehow have the perfect medicine ready.

you binge watch shows all the time, it’s another form of bonding cause you two already know about them. you’d spend nights on the couch with a blanket and snacks, discussing about things ranging from theories to crack cotent.

you really wouldn’t trade it for the world.

—yoshimoto:

honestly, yoshimoto isn’t even much interested in the future. mostly just how far art’s gotten (and trust me, it’s gotten so far). such is the situation when the wormhole caught you two.

he probably got sidetracked from the first art he could see (probably street art in this scenario) after you barely identified you went to the future.

again you must haul this pretty man after being told off by a security guard for not wearing a mask.

your biggest problem is probably his massive fascination with modern art. endless hours were used to have a talk that, no, he can’t go to an exhibit right now.

so you improvise.

you gave him a hand-me-down phone, or just share a laptop, and teach him the concept of digital art, along with how to operate certain social medias so he can browse around.

downside is he is currently—and unknowingly— planning to get you broke by commissioning artists. also he may or may not’ve been doing posting questionable things on his accounts (you really shouldn’t’ve given him one,,)

and so to fix the problem created to solve a problem, you decided to take it into your own hands.

popping out all the drawing supplies you’ve ever had, you began to doodle anything and everything, every day. and each one, you’d show it off to yoshimoto like a child to their parent.

and each time, he still looks at them so lovingly, no matter if it could hypothetically be classified as chicken scratches. as long as you make it, in his mind, it’ll be something worth cherished for.

but your strong suit has always been stitching, so you start a lot of projects of art on clothing. it counts as the one above.

oh—you know those pretty cloth masks? you now have about 100 of these at least, courtesy to yoshimoto.

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rainsonata · 4 years

Text

Doppelgänger 15/15

Chapter 15: Connect

Fandom/Pairing: Elsword; none Rating: T Word Count: 6,674

Summary: It was like looking into a mirror. What happens when one’s reflection talks back and throws uncomfortable questions? El Search Party struggles to find entrance into the Demon Realm, but Dominator has a plan.

Alternative Title: Dominator fucked up and now everyone meets their alternative selves.

AO3 Link I FF.NET Link

— [Chapter 01] [Chapter 02] [Chapter 03] [Chapter 04] [Chapter 05] [Chapter 06] [Chapter 07] [Chapter 08] [Chapter 09] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] —

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Class Notes:

Canon Path: Knight Emperor, Aether Sage, Daybreaker, Rage Hearts, Code: Esencia, Comet Crusader, Apsara, Empire Sword, Doom Bringer, Ishtar and Chevalier (Innocent), Bluhen

Alternative Path: Rune Master, Oz Sorcerer, Anemos, Furious Blade, Code: Ultimate, Fatal Phantom, Devi, Flame Lord, Dominator, Timoria and Abysser (Catastrophe), Richter

Transformation Path: Immortal, Metamorphy, Twilight, Nova Imperator, Code: Sariel, Centurion, Shakti, Bloody Queen, Mad Paradox, Iblis and Anular (Diangelion), Herrscher

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2 Weeks Later

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Rune Master

Red haze from the smoke and flames clouded Rune's vision. Everything was hot to the touch. The air was stiffening from the dry wind and the ground was uncomfortably warm. There was electricity in his hair that left the fire user on the edge. His mind was going to burst into flames if someone didn't put out the fire! Dominator snarked it was all the meat he ate before being silenced by Ultimate's glares. His body was overheating, Blade kindly told him and forced him on the side while the rest of the party dealt with Rosso.

Pain struck Rune in the lower part of his abdomen, struggling to catch his breath as he dragged himself across the floor. He hugged his stomach and straightened his back in an attempt to sit up to avoid nausea. There was nothing to support his back except for the remaining tree trunk exposed by the winds. Rune poured water from his canteen over his face. The fire user shuddered from the cold water trickling down to the base of his neck. Rune tilted his head back again to chug down the rest of the water.

Dead plants and tangled weed curled up at his feet. Was Varnimyr always like this or was this caused by Rosso's presence? Varnimyr was the same as Rune had remembered. The only difference he noticed between the different Demon Realms was that this one didn't know about humans until their arrival.

They made it to the correct Demon Realm, or at least one that wasn't already occupied by another El Search Party. As they traveled up north in the Varnimyr region, Rune kept wondering if Knight and Immortal encountered the same challenges and problems as they had. The only thing Rune was sure of was that Rosso existed across their timelines.

Immortal wasn't kidding. Despite his size, Rosso hit like a brick wall. There was so much anger and sadness coming from the El Master of fire. Every burst of flame and swipe was followed by the half-demon's pained screams. What could have caused someone as powerful as an El Master to curse everything around him? If only Rune was spared enough time to look into the source of Rosso's pain…

Forcing an eye open, Rune looked up to be greeted by haze and dusty clouds. Rosso's fires have hindered his view of the stars that once dotted the eternal night sky. His friends' cries scattered in the distance as he laid himself to the floor. His fingers felt numb from clutching onto his sword until his knuckles were white.

Warm palms pressed over Rune's, applying pressure to his knuckles before letting them go. Covered in calluses, it was a wonder how those hands could pull a trigger, but those hands were also responsible for saving his life among many others in the past. Phantom sat beside Rune with one hand over his destroyer and his eyes staring into the thin winding tower where Rosso was.

"What are you thinking?" Phantom kept his voice low. His eyes darted to Rune's with care in his words, "You've been quiet."

"It took us two attempts to get to the right Demon Realm," Rune laughed without humor. "We still couldn't avoid fighting Rosso."

"I think there are some things that can't be prevented even with prior knowledge," Phantom said. "Rosso was already here before we arrived. I don't know what his goals are, but it's up to us to take him down."

"You won't kill him, will you?" Rune asked.

Rune briefly caught a glimpse of Rosso's figure before being forced to leave by his teammates. What could have pushed an El Master to cause such destruction? The El Search Party managed to reverse their previous enemies from mind control in the past, but Rosso was different. He was alive and aware of his condition. Rosso actively screamed at the El Search Party to leave, resorting to violence when his wish went ignored. There had to be a chance to save him from his poor fate.

"I won't hesitate if it means coming out of this alive," Phantom said. "There are people depending on me."

Those that didn't know him well would have taken his statement as being cold, but Rune understood. After nearly losing his kingdom to demons, Phantom had learned the harsh lesson of what it meant if one hesitated to fight back. Delaying their next action by the merest second could mean a premature death to them all. They have followed Immortal's advice to split the team into two to rotate whenever Rosso changed his battle strategies - if mindless thrashing and crushing buildings counted as such.

Rosso was not to be trifled with. Despite having control over fire, Rune had suffered burns from attempting to breach Rosso's tower. Rosso's flames were demonic, impatient, and demanding. His skin was still hot when he applied cold water to the nape of his neck and the rest of his body. They were already struggling to fight back when the half-demon was using a small portion of his abilities. Immortal warned him what would happen if they weren't prepared to give it their all.

Half of their team was out of commission from the fight outside of Rosso's tower. His sister was leading their remaining team inside to find the El Master. Rune was half-listening to the occasional messages sent between team members. He was thankful for Dominator making last-minute adjustments so they could communicate with each other over long distances. The messages were getting shorter.

"They'll be okay," Phantom noticed Rune looking back and forth between the Hamel protector and his communication. "Your job is to stay alive."

"Not making sure none of us do something stupid?" Rune chuckled.

"That's my job," Phantom broke out of his facade and smirked.

Rune's heart nearly leaped out of his chest to the sight of the blonde man's smile, unable to stop himself from grinning like an idiot. He distracted himself by examining the freshly cleaned bandages wrapped around his joints. Soaked in an herbal bath to alleviate burns, Rune was proud to say he was getting better at prioritizing himself first so he could attend to his teammates. He and Richter helped prepare the bandages while Oz and Dominator counted how many people needed elixirs. They were lucky that most of their injuries were minor. There should be enough resources for them to last for at least a week.

"You're still worried," Phantom studied Rune's face.

"I was," Rune admitted. "Rosso makes Perkisas look weak."

"Was?" Phantom made note of Rune's wording. "What else is there?"

"We're already fighting Rosso, so there's no turning back." Rune said, "We did everything we could to prepare for this moment. Even if we fail, I can at least say that we tried. I have you guys to help me."

"I think I can live with that answer." Their fingers brushed. Phantom brought his hands back to his lap and leaned his head back. "You're not afraid to die?"

"Nah," Rune laughed. "If I was, I never would have left Ruben considering how many times I almost died. Gotta sacrifice myself at least once a week, right?"

"Not funny," Phantom growled.

Phantom gave him a look as if wondering, "Really?". The blonde was going to drill holes into Rune if he kept glaring at him like that. A lopsided grin found its way onto Rune's facial features, giving his partner a shrug and cocking his head to one side to show he was joking. Rune knew it wasn't going to work, but man was he going to try.

"You know being an adventurer isn't the safest job," Rune said with a more serious expression. Maybe joking about his own death wasn't the best way to cope, especially around his friends. Old habits were hard to break. "That's why they make so much money. They do the jobs no one else wants to do. Not even soldiers want to do it."

"That doesn't mean I'm okay with you joking about your death," Phantom said.

"I know, sorry."

Rune hated how lame his response was, how hollow his words rang. He wished he could say more than that, but he couldn't take back his words. Even if he did, Rune still made light of people's feelings. How many times was he going to ignore how his words impacted others? He was supposed to stop keeping things to himself and rely on others more, yet struggled to be honest about himself without making self-deprecating jokes.

"Did Immortal tell you Rosso's weakness?" Phantom asked.

"I didn't get it when he told me, but now I can see that Rosso was not completely in control of himself," Rune said. That much was certain from his enragement, sometimes crying to an outside influence with no name. "When his shadow appeared, I saw him covering his left eye. Do you think that has to do with why he overpowered us?"

"He's also an El Master," Phantom added. "We struggled against Solace when we defied him. Did you think fighting Rosso would be easier?"

"No, but isn't it strange that Solace barely mentioned him when we saw the other El Masters?" Rune grew frustrated, "I'm sure he has a lot to worry about because of the El Lady and the state of the El, but isn't it important to wonder what happened to his friend?"

"Unless they don't get along," Dominator interjected into the conversation. With a potion in hand, the scientist had a smug expression, "Talking about others behind their backs? I can't believe I thought you were a good boy."

"I can," Oz deadpanned.

"Don't scare us like that!" Rune twisted his body to pout. Couldn't a guy get some privacy for once? He crossed his arms, "We're talking about battle strategies."

"Like your distrust for an El Master?" Dominator cackled.

"I'm getting tired of nobody telling me what's going on," Rune sighed.

"Solace probably didn't think it was something we should be concerned about," Oz reasoned. "We already have a lot on our plate as is. Don't you think he may have kept Rosso's existence away from us because he didn't want us to throw ourselves into danger again?"

"You mean this brat doing something dumb?" Dominator pointed to Rune.

"Don't pretend you don't do stupid things too," Phantom wasn't impressed. "What about that knife-wielding cleaning robot?"

"T-that's different!" Dominator protested and turned pink, "I was testing something!"

"Already done healing everyone?" Rune stiffened a laugh to Dominator's shock of being talked back by the quietest person on the team. Although they lacked in battle healers, their team compensated by having a handful of alchemists. Natural resources weren't lacking from the various plants and rocks they found on their ventures.

"Nothing a few doses of elixirs and rest can't fix." Dominator was relieved to change the subject. "Is Solace obligated to tell you everything going on in his head? I'm not sure if he knows about the fire midget being here if he was so eager to throw us here instead of coming himself."

Rune wasn't sure if Solace was as keen as Dominator claimed about sending them over to another dimension, but his words made the rune user wonder. Would Solace find a way to the Demon Realm if he knew that Rosso had imprisoned himself in a tower? If one of their teammates had disappeared, Rune wanted to believe he would have done something about it, but he wasn't so sure after meeting Solace. He and the El Master of the sun were both Rubenians, obligated by an invisible force to carry responsibilities over the El. Although Solace had deemed him as a worthy equal, Rune couldn't shake off the unwavering restlessness he felt around the older man. Solace was a reminder of what human desperation could do to a single person and those around them.

"Regardless of Solace's intentions, we need to calm down Rosso if we want to get any information out of him." Phantom said, "Someone with that kind of power would likely know something about the Dark El."

"I can't promise I won't kill the midget," Dominator mused.

"Are you trying to get us killed?" Oz forced the scientist to jerk his head down by pulling on his collar. She hissed, "Rosso may have lost his mind, but he can still hear us."

"Then there must be two of him," Dominator laughed. "Because I heard him screaming about Elesis while I was talking to the priest."

More fire? Who are you people?

Rune ran his hand over his temples, that voice again… Rosso? His voice sounded so young yet ancient, easily centuries older than Rune. The half-demon's voice echoed like a memory ingrained into his subconscious, refusing to let go and forced the leader of the El Search Party to look into the faces of his teammates. A darkened blade covered in gold scriptures, Flame brought her Claymore over her head to strike a giant demonic eye covered in thorns. Fire spun from her fingertips as she led five other people by her side.

A row of grey thorns was blocked from spawning above their heads by Ultimate, who had summoned a dozen spears at her disposal. With the help of a few demon allies, blue flames rose to form a firewall controlled by Timoria and Abysser. Fire splashed to the side as Blade made his way across to slash through the barriers protecting the demonic eye. Green wind swirled as Anemos spun around into a high-jump kick. Dozens of arrows flew from her nimble bow.

Blood shot out from the demonic eye in all directions. Its shrieks caused all to cover their ears. Seismic waves riveted over the floor as everyone dug their weapons into the ground for stability. Its thorns shriveled back into the eye's core before it stopped moving.

"Is everyone okay?" Flame checked on her teammates. "Careful, it's getting restless…"

"That eye must be a part of someone who could very well be within this tower," Ultimate stated. "Energy levels have elevated."

"I think we angered him," Timoria backed away from the flames. "I'm not sure if there's enough time to retreat for this one."

"We need to let the others know," Abysser clenched his teeth. "We're reaching our limits. Els-"

"Elsword!"

Rune opened his eyes to his name being screamed by his sister. He rushed over to meet Flame and the rest of their shabby team, clearly worn out from the last battle.

At the wake of the demonic eye's death, the earth had opened up. A fault emerged from the depths of the Demon Realm. The long narrow tower once protected by its prisoner had split open, engulfed by violent crimson flames. Once the flames had cleared, darkness cloaked a towering figure rising from the horizon.

GO AWAY!

Towering at a height that was easily comparable to Eltrion, the colossal figure was composed of a material that reminded Rune of black lava rock. Darkened wings made of the same material expanded outward for the monster to look down at the El Search Party. Red horns protruded from its forehead, matching its equally red eyes hinted with an unworldly hue of blue etched into its pupils and the rest of its body. This was Rosso?

"Is that our demon?" Devi grabbed her spear. Hunger replaced her once emotionless expression, bringing her spear pointed downward and lowering her body close to the ground. The older woman gave a dark chuckle, "I won't let it get away this time."

"Find shelter while we deal with Rosso!" Rune looked to Anemos and Abysser, "It's okay, I promise. We'll come out of this alive."

"You better," Abysser laughed. "Lu isn't too happy after he nearly took her eye out."

"Ciel and I will do our best to heal everyone in case you need to switch out," Anemos said. "Watch out for the eye. There's a lot of demonic energy coming from it."

"Not unless we blind him first," Dominator grinned.

"I can help him," Richter said with a serious expression.

"Spread out and watch your feet," Rune ordered his team. He couldn't believe the scientist could find the time to joke at a time like this. Richter too? Or maybe the priest thought Dominator meant it and agreed. "Don't rush into this battle. We only have six people active and can't afford to lose anyone."

Richter nodded. Light shone from his palms, grasping around the spears materializing in his hands. Raising one arm from the side, spears rained down from above and shattered into Rosso's left shoulder, sending the half-demon roaring in pain. Red flashed over the already reddened landscape. The priest dodged a laser blast from Rosso's eye and tumbled onto the floor.

High pitch cackling roared out of Rosso. The earth rolled as a pillar of thorns erupted from the floor. Long shadows extended beneath Oz's feet, followed by firing dark energy to propel herself into the air. Dominator and Oz moved towards the center of the battlefield, out of reach from Rosso's spiny attack. Multiple drones were set up at the base of Rosso's waist level to fire lasers around the half-demon. Orange orbs from Devi spun around in circles before consuming the rest of Rosso's remaining pillar of thorns.

"Look out!" Phantom shouted to him.

A pair of giant conal structures swung from the side. They were slow-moving, descending onto Rune and spinning counterclockwise with the intent to crush the leader of the El Search Party. The runes on his body glowed as he concentrated and released flames from his fingertips. Smoke filled his vicinity to create confusion for the towering half-demon. Rune slammed his greatsword against the dirt as a launchpad to distance himself from the strange structures that could move on their own, perhaps controlled by Rosso. He could muse about Rosso's abilities later when he wasn't running for his life.

Silver bullets flew from Rune's direction. There wasn't time for Rune to look and see Phantom sliding over with his arsenal of pistols and an oversized cannon he kept from his early teen years. The blonde wasn't taking any chances and had them fired at the eye visible on Rosso's face, red layered with unnatural bright blue rings around the pupil.

Rosso didn't like that. His arms extended from behind the cliff where the rest of his body was, clawing at their team of six and howling. The left eye glowed. Red and gray thorns erupted from the ground up, threatening to pierce into the toughest man-made armor.

Phantom cursed loudly over the chaotic fight. Blood gushed from beneath his armor, pushing forward and using the last few bullets to get in between Rosso's hardened shell. The way he limped over when he crawled to the side was one Rune was too familiar with. He had broken a few bones. The thorns were stopping him from bleeding out, but they would need to remove them eventually - if they made it out of this alive.

Rune felt his hands form into fists. This could not happen, he wasn't going to allow it! He gripped his blade, forcing himself to breathe through his mouth because of the overwhelming smoke from his own fires and from Rosso's. This was what happened when one fought fire with fire.

"Keep going!" Phantom hugged where the thorns dug into armor and into his skin, "I'll be back on my feet in no time!"

"Not in that condition," Rune glared. "You're going to Rena and the others."

"You can't defeat Rosso with only five people!" Phantom argued, "Our friends barely stunned him long enough before he found us!"

"Arguing in the middle of the fight?" Devi backflipped to land neatly on her feet and turned to wipe blood dripping down her forehead. "I can't believe you're purposely missing this opportunity to kill this demon to bicker amongst yourselves. You must think you can win this fight by idling around. Move!"

Both men silenced. Rune grabbed Phantom and tossed his weight over his shoulder, ignoring the definitely-not-taller man's protests as he and Devi ran together to avoid another line of lasers. Rosso's wings expanded as he brought his arms to the side to summon a sea of energy orbs. The orbs floated slowly like bubbles and surrounded the El Search Party. Rune stared at the orbs in awe.

Rune blinked. The orbs have disappeared. His blade clashed against Rosso's arm swinging towards him, bearing down his weight and struggling not to get pushed off the cliff. Rosso backed off when sparks flew from his hands and surprised the half-demon. Flames licked Rosso's arm and traveled to the rest of his body before disappearing. Just enough to buy him time to run to the opposite side of the battlefield.

"How many times do we need to bring down this brat to make him stop moving?" Dominator complained.

"As many times as needed," Richter said.

Metal clashed against the conal structures rising once more against Devi, who had her spear extended and her hair turned white. The wind howled as the spear user flipped her weapon so that its tip was facing the floor, bringing her feet up and jumping to the opposite side to avoid another row of thorns fired in her direction. Her girly laughter filled the silence as Devi summoned orange orbs to fire at Rosso.

A tiny figure fought beside Oz. Cladded in purple clothing to match with the dark mage, Angkor assisted Oz in opening a dimensional gate. Purple bats flew from the portal and dislocated the arm Rosso used to summon the thorns. Rosso cursed at the woman as his form began to darken and lowered his head. His eyes glowed and the battlefield shone brightly.

"Did we defeat him?" Rune asked.

Dominator frowned and looked to his screens for help before his eyes widened, "No, you idiot. He was just playing with us!"

A small body rose from the collapsed rubble. Red hair draped past the shoulders and hid the right side of the face. The body was covered in black markings and the arms were colored bright magenta, wielding a scythe over the head. Rune recognized the figure. It was the form Rosso held when they tried to break into the tower.

"Is everyone alright?" Rune checked his teammates.

There was no time to listen to a response as he turned around to duck a scythe aiming for his neck. Great, now he was going to truly lose his head as Dominator always complained. Rune held his arms up to concentrate fire into his hands and touched Rosso by the wrists. Unfortunately, Rosso was also made of fire and used the moment to raise more thorns at the red-head. Rune was pulled out from the rows of thorns summoned by the half-demon by Oz, who was quick to teleport to his side with Angkor following her.

"I should be asking if you can still run," Oz gasped. "Worry about yourself first, silly."

"Hard to when most of us are barely avoiding his attacks," Rune said. "One wrong move and we're dead."

"Only if we get hit," Richter said. "I'll bring Mr. Guardrian back to Rena. I will return as briskly as the El permits."

Rune was in awe of Richter's confidence, never letting the little things get to him. He needed to ask the priest how to do that. Once again, Rune pulled out his blade to fight. His flames were eager to show Rosso what real fire looked like. Rune weaved around his opponent, only taking a few steps to allow Rosso to slide to the side. His friends joined the macabre dance in their own rhythm, spinning new steps with their unique fighting styles.

Oz and Angkor relied on each other as a medium to summon familiars to aid them in the battle. Bats flew above their heads and struck Rosso from behind. Drones floated the area from Dominator's endless supplies of technology. Forming into a triangular formation, lasers flew into a straight line to disarm Rosso from his weapon. Devi's eyes glowed red in bloody prance, swinging her spear to the side in precise movement as an extension of the demon-loathing woman. Her attempt to cut into Rosso's stomach at the midline was only stopped by the reddened scythe armored in demonic energy.

"What a dangerous monster," Devi glared at the half-demon with disgust. "You sure you don't want to kill him, boy?"

"No, we can't do that." Rune gasped. "He was crying for help. Something is controlling him. Something is…"

Rune's voice was cut off by the sound of his own scream. His blood sang when Rosso's scythe sliced through his shoulder. Red blood dripped from his pores and he heard his name being called.

Fuck.

He had suffered many injuries in the past. Some were worse than others, so why did this one hurt the most? His brief stay in the Demon Realm had strengthened his endurance of demonic energy, but Rosso was too strong. Solace barely held a candle against what Rune had witnessed from the El Master of fire.

Was there an end to this battle? Rune grasped where he bled, fumbling through the limited cloth he had to stop himself from bleeding. If only they had a healer, he thought in blinding pain. No matter how many times he wanted to tell Rosso he was sorry for the pain, his own had made it difficult for him to see past the battle.

Phantom was already out of commission and had joined Anemos and the others shortly after he was hit by the thorns. Fighting Rosso was barely feasible with a team of six when his sister did it, but a team of four? What was going to happen to them?

Footsteps scattered all around him as Rosso swung his blade, blocked by Devi's swift blade. It was impressive how long the older woman could withstand ongoing battles with such vigor. Dominator ordered Dynamo to switch to a different install to fly higher to release a rain of laser grenades. Oz dropped her staff to pull Rune to the side.

"I can walk," Rune waved his hand away when Oz offered to help him up. "You go fight Rosso. I'll take care of myself."

"And let you bleed to death?" She scowled.

"There's only three of us left because Ain left with Chung," Rune argued. "You need to stay. Ain should be back by now."

Oz looked as if she was ready to argue back, but stopped. Glazing over the bombed battlefield with pain visible on her face, the black mage nodded, clearly unhappy about their predicament. Rune didn't like it either, but what else was there to do? Rosso had neatly cut into their defense like tissue paper.

A woman appeared within his eyesight. Rune wiped his eyes to make sure it wasn't an illusion by one of those demon plants. Ultimate? Cladded in black spandex covered in white plated armor, she bore a strong resemblance to Ultimate. When Rune was able to get a better look at the stranger, he noticed her face lacked the same depth of emotions as his teammate.

"There they are!" Immortal exclaimed.

The swordsman brought attention to himself by raising one of his many swords as a guiding beacon. Rune was too stunned to vocalize his shock about his counterpart appearing. He was greeted by Immortal's signature grin, pearly white teeth and dried lips. Richter was with him. The priest must have shown Immortal where they were, although it wasn't very hard with the lasers and thorns flying in their general direction.

Rune's gaze switched back to Ultimate's doppelganger. She must have been Eve from Immortal's dimension. Unlike her rowdy teammate, she kept to herself and was silent with Richter, who equally had nothing to say amongst the chattering party. The priest made eye contact with Rune and acknowledged the rune user with a curt nod. It looked like Richter was able to bring Phantom to safety with no complications.

Knight appeared in good health albeit his expression suggesting worn and wear from the long journey. He nodded tiredly to a person Rune didn't recognize. A petite girl whose height was only rivaled by Timoria's ("Hey!"), her pink wavy hair reminded him of cotton candy. Keeping up with cotton candy as inspiration, the rest of her attire was in various hues of pink and pastel blue. Rune noticed a large amount of energy coming from the mirror bobbing next to the girl's head as she talked loudly in the middle of a warzone.

"Sorry for being late," Richter apologized.

"We were kinda lost until Richter found us." Immortal laughed.

"Elsword lacks understanding in reading coordinates," Ultimate's look-alike stated.

"Shhhh, I'm trying to look cool in front of myself!" Immortal stage whispered.

"You mean Metamorphy isn't here?" Rune still couldn't believe they were here.

"She was, but said she had business to deal with." Immortal shrugged, "Magical girl duties, or whatever."

Rune didn't get it, but couldn't bother to ask. His mind was on his friends, who were fighting for their lives against a corrupted El Master. The sight of his counterparts and their friends should have brought ease to the tension in his shoulders, but Rune couldn't shake off the fear that they were too late. He looked to Richter for help.

"What are they doing here?" Oz looked at the new strangers with concern.

"We're here to help," Knight said. "Richter told us you were fighting Rosso. It sounds like he's been giving you guys as much trouble as he did for us."

"In all fairness, Rosso isn't a pushover, especially when angry." Immortal mused, "Funny guy with a hot and cold personality."

Rune frowned. Why was Immortal talking as if he personally had the half-demon over for tea and biscuits? Was this another one of Immortal's moments of undermining things that were worse than how he phrased it?

"Oh no, you're bleeding!" The pink-haired girl tugged Rune's arm. Her eyes watered and pointed to his bleeding shoulder. "Why are you hurt?"

"Who's the kid?" Rune looked at the girl with confusion. He would have remembered someone who dressed as strangely as the young girl if they had met before. "Are you recruiting kids now?"

"This is Laby." The girl talked. Her voice was as sweet as hard candy and had to look up to make eye contact with Rune, "Is this one of Elsword's friends?"

"Yes," Knight said with wariness. What was up with this guy? One would think he had lost a pet rabbit in a fire. Too soon? "We met when we were trapped in the Demon Realm. We came here because Laby wanted to meet you guys."

"How did you get here if Bringer isn't with you?" Rune noticed the brawler's absence.

"I think Add gave the machine to Elsword as an apology," Laby said.

"For what?" Immortal asked.

"Elsword needs to have his wounds attended to immediately," Richter interrupted. There was irritation in his tone after what he thought to be too much conversing. "That demon is still alive."

"Right," Oz looked at Knight and Immortal. "Think you can keep up with us? We need someone to create a diversion while Richter and I remove the weapon from Rosso."

"Of course," Immortal smirked. "Why didn't you say so?"

Oz rolled her eyes but smiled.

"Laby, can you help Rune with his injuries?" Knight asked.

"Of course!" Laby waved her arms out in excitement. She bounced onto her feet and pulled Rune to look at his sorry state.

"Thank you," Rune lowered his head to hide the tears. Their timing was impeccable when they were down to a few adventurers. He couldn't have imagined his next meeting with his counterparts to be at the edge of a one-sided battle. "Please help my friends."

Laby's healing was gentle and reminded him of Bluhen, who wasn't with Knight today. He thought the priest would have stayed close to the knight and noticed how tense his counterpart was when Bringer was mentioned. Did something happen between them? Rune shook his head, that was their business to deal with unless Knight was looking for a second opinion. But still…

"Don't forget we're your friends too," Knight smiled for the first time since his arrival. "You're welcome to join us after Laby helps you."

"Man, how come you get two healers?" Immortal whined, "Ow!"

Immortal rubbed his forehead where Knight had smacked him. Laby failed to stop herself giggling from the man's pain.

Greatsword pulled out, Knight had the imposing demeanor of a Velder soldier ready for battle. Nodding towards the direction of the battle, Knight gestured Immortal to follow him. The swordsman pulled out his two blades. Sleek in design and balanced, Immortal struck a pose as Sariel ordered her Nasod drones to fly into combat mode. Richter looked to Oz for the signal and the two ran into the battlefield to join their teammates.

The cathartic landscape of torn-down buildings and the ground set ablaze was enough to bring most men on their knees. However, as Rune witnessed Knight and Immortal pulling Rosso towards their blades, he saw the fire light up in their faces. The excitement of battle in fusion with fear of uncertainty. Sariel's drones weaved along with Dominator's as they roped Rosso into using his thorns opposite Devi as she harpooned her spear into the half-demon's flesh.

His strength was slowly returning when a strong wave of power flooded his vicinity. It was coming from Rosso. Even those not sensitive to the El could feel it. The corruption had taken over Rosso. Rune stood up, suddenly finding strength in his voice.

"I'm going," Rune said. "They need our help."

Laby looked up at him in confusion, but it must have been his tone that stopped her from protesting. After much arguing with the pink girl (Who would have thought someone so tiny could be so stubborn?), Rune had forced himself to be content on resting, at least until he could move his limbs without wincing. He could no longer ignore the crave to return to the fight.

It was as if all of the pain in his body had disappeared. Maybe it was the strange food Laby gave him to recover or maybe he was delirious from the adrenaline, but he couldn't let the fight go on without talking to Rosso one more time. Fire lit up in one hand and his sword in the other, Rune calmly stepped into the battlefield to face the Master of Fire. It was time to settle this once and for all.

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

Metamorphy

"Ugh, I hate snow." Metamorphy sighed.

What could be so important for the magical girl to be summoned to Pruinaum? Although it was barren in demons since most tried to avoid the cold, no amount of layers could get rid of the frigid wind finding its way through her clear pores. It was a good thing Metamorphy was the nicest and most patient person in the world, otherwise, she would have been very angry to meet up with the person who was so generous to invite her to the coldest place in Demon Realm.

Sitting at the edge on top of a tall glacial structure was a tiny figure. They were a single black dot to the naked eye. When Metamorphy teleported to the figure, she was greeted by a child. She made out a pair of cat ears sitting atop of the hood they wore and the chains dangling from the back of their jacket.

"How long are you going to pretend you're a kid?" Metamorphy asked.

"How long are you going to pretend you're nice?" Paradox snarked.

"Add, you requested this meeting." She said in her sweetest voice possible. "So this better be good."

She cracked her knuckles between the grip of her staff.

Paradox wasn't shivering only because of the cold, although she couldn't understand how the literal man-child wasn't freezing from how little he wore. Light flashed for the child to be replaced with a man in a body-tight suit. His hair reached past his shoulders and nearly touched the ground.

Metamorphy shrieked when a portal opened from the side and a frozen body tumbled out. Red hair sprawled out from the roots and over the unidentified person. Their hair was so long that Metamorphy was sure it could have gone past the ankles. A red Claymore laced in black stuck uncomfortably between their ribcage.

"Add, what is this?" Metamorphy gasped.

"A body," Paradox said as a matter-of-fact. "I found her under the ice. Aren't you going to thank me?"

"She's dead!"

"Her heart is still beating," Paradox corrected.

Metamorphy flipped the woman onto her back to press her ear against the Queen's chest. A faint heartbeat fluttered weakly like a dim light on a winter night. She kneeled down to frantically tend to Bloody Queen's wounds. They needed to pull out the Claymore to clean her cuts. Metamorphy looked to Paradox for help. It took more effort than it should have to pull out the weapon. It was tempting to toss out the weapon since it was rusting from excessive use, but she also didn't want to risk losing her head to a frostbitten woman. Time froze in place as Paradox unwound time to heal the deep cut.

"What are we supposed to do with her?" Metamorphy asked more to herself than the Paradox. The time traveler didn't make a good conversationalist most of the time and she struggled to understand the brat.

"Do you want her or not?" Paradox asked, "If not, I can throw her back to the demons."

"Like hell you are," Metamorphy growled and pressed one hand over her temple. "What do you want out of this? It's not like you did this because you felt like being nice."

"Don't you have some brats to pick up from their fun little fight?" Paradox asked.

How did he know?

"You never told me what's going on between you and Glave." Metamorphy said, "Why didn't you complain when he agreed to keep the timelines together? Are you planning to mess with time again?"

"That's for me to know and you to wonder," Paradox said. Cryptic as ever, typical. "Not everything I do involves destroying time and space, you know."

"You always seem to know where everyone is too," Metamorphy made note of how the time traveler always popped up whenever they were in trouble. Even more so, he often held important information they needed for any obstacle that got in their way. "Could it be that you actually car-"

"Mention me about having feelings for you losers and I'm going to throw up." Paradox interrupted.

"Of course," Metamorphy smirked. "Then you just happened to stumble onto Elesis's frozen body and asked me to come pick it up."

"Yes, and now you have a new problem." Paradox grinned.

Metamorphy could never understand the enigmatic man. Albeit childhood trauma from the short glimpses of Paradox's past, she didn't know much of the time traveler. Maybe it was for the best. There was no point in digging up painful memories when it didn't help them in the present.

She turned to thank the man but he had disappeared. Metamorphy groaned. Why did Paradox always do this to her? The magical girl was one hundred percent sure he lured her to do the dirty work so he could take his leave. Looking at Queen's still body, she tucked some of the hair behind the older woman's ear. It was going to take time to bring Queen back to the others before checking on Immortal. Metamorphy lifted the woman and sighed. Immortal was not going to be happy about this. Her sole hope was that Queen wasn't going to wake up and dart the other direction when reunited with her brother like the last time in Velder.

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