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trentaafcsblog · 3 years

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Take Your Daddy To School Day

Trent Alexander-Arnold

This is my entry for the lovely @footballffbarbiex’s writing challenge 🤍 thank you so much for letting me take part, I hope you all enjoy it and please go and have a look if it’s something that you might be interested in - there’s some lovely prompts still to choose from x

It’s been a good what...seventeen, maybe eighteen, years since Trent was sat on the yellow table in the Hedgehogs Class? The classroom still has exactly the same name and layout as it did when he was there all those years ago. The same blue felt tip stain on the bottom of one of the walls from where the boy in the year above ‘accidentally’ wrote his name in his four-year-old squiggly handwriting, and the water tray still being full of the same plastic dinosaurs that he used to chase his friends with when it was time for creative play. The name pegs by the front windows are still where they used to be too. Teeny tiny wooden hedgehogs glued above the multicoloured hooks, a white label stuck beneath them with all of the children’s names on. And obviously your little girl’s coat and bag hang on the first peg, just like Trent’s used to, because they’re ordered alphabetically, a wave of nostalgia hitting him because he used to love hanging his belongings there as it meant he was the first to leave at the end of the day - and it just so happens that your little girl has also picked up on her daddy’s habits when it comes to wanting to get out of there as soon as possible.

“Put your knees under the table, daddy” she’s tutting as T does everything he can to squash them under the yellow-topped desk without accidentally flipping it and sending the pot of scissors, glue sticks and blunt pencils across the room. His cheeks turning a dark shade of pink when your little girl’s teacher spots him shuffling around awkwardly and trying to disguise the fact that he’s in absolute agony, only intensifying when your daughter insists on pointing out daddy’s ‘raspberry face’ to the little boy sat on the table behind. But eventually he’s managing to do it, although the little plastic chair he’s sat on is now threatening to collapse, the metal legs bowing slightly each time he leans more to one side to help your little girl with her work or has to turn around when one of the children gasps and points before not so quietly whispering ‘that’s the man that kicks a football’.

“Daddy, you can do this one” she’s announcing as they plough their way through the worksheet they’ve been given to complete by lunchtime. “But I’ve just done all of these ones” he’s giggling as he points to the group of maths questions he’s just answered because he knows your little girl struggles with her numbers and he’s too soft to let her sit and find the answer on her own. “But you’re cleverer than me” she smiles, hoping that her compliment persuades Trent to write the answer down, not that he needs any sort of persuasion because he’s already scribbling down the answer, but she’s already picked up on the fact that if you’re nice to people, they’ll be nice to you - something she definitely uses to her advantage.

They’re both managing to finish the work before the bell rings for lunch, a miracle really since they've been interrupted every two minutes by one of other dads having a fangirl moment or one of the mums trying their best to impress Trent with their very limited football knowledge, obviously hoping that he’s blown away by it and runs off into the sunset with them. But regardless, they’re getting it done in time and heading off to the lunch hall together hand in hand. Trent carrying both of their lunch boxes and politely waving to the screaming children in the classrooms they walk past, your little girl still too innocent to understand why daddy attracts so much attention, hence the string of ‘why are they shouting at yous?’ as they make their way into the dining hall.

They’re sitting opposite each other on one of the collapsible tables with little blue seats. The smell of whatever unappetising it is being served for lunch filling their noses and making Trent feel quite sick, acting as a reminder as to why he refused to eat school dinners and instead stuck to his cream cheese sandwiches that were wrapped up in his Spider-Man lunch box. “Cheers” your little girl’s giggling as she smashes her jam sandwich against Trent’s tuna one, both of them cut into tiny little squares which T had begged you not to do, but it’s not really a ‘take your dad to school day’ if he doesn’t eat the same as the children, is it? Which is exactly why the Liverpool shirt shaped lunch box he picked up from the club shop on the way home from training the other night is full of a packet of Mini Cheddars, a strawberry Frube yoghurt (even though he tried to pretend that he didn’t like them), two tangerines to try and balance out the sugar in the Mr Kipling angel cake, and a Capri Sun which he has no shame in admitting that he absolutely loves.

Their twenty minute playtime afterwards is consisting of Trent taking on the rest of the school in a football match, but obviously it’s not cool to be seen playing football with your dad in front of all of your friends, hence why your little girl is deciding to engage in a very in-depth discussion about last night’s episode of Peppa Pig instead, occasionally turning around to see if T’s still winning, which obviously he is, despite having about a hundred children slide tackling into him and pulling his shirt. “Are you not proud of me?” he’s saying jokingly as he makes his way off the pitch and over to your baby girl who’s pretending that she can’t see Trent leaping around in front of all of her friends, all because he beat a bunch of five year olds at his own job. “Daddy, stop!” she’s giggling, grateful for the few curls around the edge of her face that mask her blushing cheeks because seeing your daddy show everyone up is one thing, but now having him flexing about it is another.

They’re making their way back to the Hedgehogs Class when the bell rings to signal the end of lunchtime. A few parents leaping in front of the two of them on the way to congratulate Trent on his most recent performances and awards, causing even more confusion for your little girl because since when has the whole world known about daddy and his job? And why is Jacob’s mummy, who always causes a scene in the playground when she sees someone wearing a football shirt because it’s ‘tacky’ and ‘the most pathetic sport’, suddenly so interested in a game that she tells everyone she hates? Or is she just interested in Trent? Who knows.

The two of them are spending the rest of the day doing creative play, flicking between playing with the dinosaurs in the water table, to making you a card for no other reason than because they love you, to creating one another out of red and yellow PlayDoh - something Trent won’t be doing again because he’s convinced himself that he looks like the slightly disfigured model that your daughter has made - one foot three times the size of the other, an unfortunate bulge on the top of his head, and arms that are extremely long and skinny. And his doubts aren’t going away because your little girl keeps reinforcing the fact that ‘it’s you, daddy’, much to the amusement of all of the other parents who giggle away at how disappointed and awkward he looks after being compared to crusty piece of five-year-old PlayDoh.

“I had fun with you being a big boy at school today” she’s saying as she walks hand in hand with Trent over to her peg, his dad instinct coming out as he helps her put her coat on and pack her book bag. “Did you?” he’s asking, his heart melting into a puddle when she nods her head and gives him a little smile. “I had so much fun too, even if you did splash me at the water table” he’s saying, tickling her sides and making her giggle at the memory of the plastic dinosaur ‘accidentally’ dropping from above her head right into the water in front of him. “Shall we go and tell mummy about today then?” he’s saying as he reaches down and takes her hand in his before the two of them are stepping out into the playground together, your little girl bursting with excitement ready to tell you all about their day and how Trent now has a gold star stuck on the wall for being the ‘cleverest at knowing all of the dinosaurs’ names’.

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold blurb #trent alexander arnold imagine #daddy trent

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capricorn-stark · 3 years

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Othello Pt 2

pairing: jason todd x reader, reader is a psych major because i think the concept of psych majors in Gotham is funny lmao

warning: i wrote this at 1 am again, kinda long, swearing

a/n: i mention Dana Harlowe and Annie B’s diner, they’re both from RHATO’s final two issues lol. still dedicated to @tadpole-san even though she hate crimed me

part 1

“I thought you said you wanted to get coffee,” you started when you noticed Jason veering away from where your regular coffee shop should’ve been, choosing to cut through the street and venture to a different path entirely. “Because you just-”

“Yeah, I know, I’m hungry,” he declared, slipping his hands into his pockets and tilting his head towards another row of stores illuminated with neon-lights and flickering street lamps. “This place has better stuff than overpriced coffee, promise.” You let out an exaggerated gasp of shock at that notion and he laughed, nudging your shoulder with his.

It was always strange to be walking around Gotham during the night, but with Jason by your side, it was far less worrying than it usually was. On your own, you couldn’t even imagine traveling around the dark streets littered with muggers, petty thieves, and the occasional evil clown prince or two - one minute, you’d be speed-walking down the streets, the next minute you could end up as the lucky winner of Scarecrow’s fear-gas testing special.

You actually knew someone who had been in that very situation. They were in Arkham now.

With Jason, it was almost ridiculous how much safer you felt. It didn’t take a whole lot of observational skills to notice how the men who usually leered at you and your friends when you passed shrank and slipped into the shadows when a man over 6 feet in height and built like a tank walked past them. Jason himself was in a good mood tonight, his shoulders relaxed and a slight smile playing at his lips while he told you about the local theatrical-adaptation of Othello that was currently under production near Gotham University.

You were getting used to seeing him like this - not so moody, smiling, present - but you had also noticed the expressions he had when no one was looking, when he wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, when his gaze had a certain intensity to them that you hadn’t ever quite seen before. He didn’t really like talking about himself or his life, preferring to keep conversations centered around school or you. The few times you had tried asking about his family and work had all led to him clamming up and quickly dropping the subject, his body language rigid and completely closed-off, the crease by his brows deepening as his expression transformed into a scowl. It was the first time you realized that Jason Todd could actually be genuinely scary - and the first time you realized there was a much, much darker side of him that you weren’t sure if you wanted to see.

You knew it wasn’t your place to pry, and you had never brought it up since - but you couldn’t help but wonder just what had happened to make someone like him so angry.

“...and I figured we could - did you just zone out on me?”

You snapped back into attention at his rather dramatic tone, flinching out of your character analysis to pay actual mind to the man in question himself.

“No, I just-”

“Yeah? What did I just say?” Jason challenged, grasping your arm to pull you away from the traffic lane you had nearly walked right into. His disbelieving expression made your face burn red - but much to your relief (and embarrassment), he was laughing.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t completely zoned out-”

“After you literally walked into traffic? Yeah, I can tell,” he deadpanned, tugging you towards him right as the cars slowed to a halt, the pedestrian signal blinking above you. The sudden action and the sudden closeness made your face heat up - something he apparently noticed when his bright green eyes flickered across your features and caused a smirk to tug at his lips. Instead of the teasing you had braced yourself for, you watched as he tilted his head towards the diner across the street, letting go of your arm. “It’s right over there, c’mon.”

He was already moving towards the crosswalk when you shook yourself out of your stupor, quickly moving to catch up with him and glancing up at the diner. The big glowing red letters on the sign beside it read “Annie B’s”.

“They got good food,” he explained at your questioning look, leaning forwards to swing the door open for you. “I used to hang around here a lot when I was a kid.”

“I don’t think I’ve actually seen this place before,” you commented, entering and hearing Jason close the door behind him, taking a quick glance around before you took a seat in one of the cherry-red and white leather booths. “Kinda wish I had.”

The entire diner had a vintage touch to it, from the luminescent pink and blue lights lining the ceilings to the multicolored tile floors, the cherry-red barstools, and even the jukebox in the corner cranking out old-timey tunes. There were only a few other people sitting at the bar and chilling in a booth a few down from your own, all too absorbed in their own worlds to pay much mind to the two of you. You could hear the sizzling of the food being made back in the kitchen, emitting a heavenly aroma that made your stomach growl not-so subtly. Jason laughed as he slid down across from you, sliding one delicate paper menu over as he scanned over the other.

“Pretty cool, huh? And like I said, they got great food.” He nodded at your stomach and you rolled your eyes, eliciting another laugh from him. “Knock yourself out, ‘cus dinner’s on me.” Before you could open your mouth to object, the kitchen doors flew open and a woman stepped out holding a heaping tray of food.

“One chicken fried steak with a side of mashed potatoes and rings,” she announced as she set down the trays in front of a man sitting a few booths down, already moving to refill his glass with a pitcher of water. “Enjoy your dinner, Phil.”

“Thanks, Dana,” the man told her as he picked up his fork and gave her a crooked-toothed grin, already digging into his food. “Always do.”

“I sure hope so,” the lady agreed, moving to walk back towards the kitchen before catching sight of them. She broke into a grin at the sight of Jason sending her a playful salute, changing course to head towards their booth instead. “Well, look who it is!” she exclaimed, securing her curly black hair out of her face with an orange-and-green bandana as she stopped in front of them. “Jason Todd decided to drop by for a little visit, did he? And he brought a friend.”

The sight of her beaming at you was too contagious for you to not smile back up at her in return.

“Hi, Dana,” Jason grinned, nodding at you as she looked between the two of you. “This is Y/N. Y/N, Dana Harlowe. Her dad runs this place.”

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Dana told you with another grin, leaning forwards to shake your hand in greeting. “When I decided to help out at the diner tonight, I wasn’t expecting a miracle. I definitely didn’t think this boy would ever walk in here with a date of all things-”

“Oh as if,” Jason scoffed loudly as the two of you laughed, face reddening beneath the bright colored lights. “Have you seen me? I was born a lady-killer.” He shot you a wink and you sent him another playful eye roll.

“Yeah, you sure killed me alright.” Dana burst out laughing again as Jason immediately let out a protest of betrayal at your words.

“I like you,” she decided when she finally managed to straighten, taking out her notepad and pen with another brilliant smile. “Did y’all decide what you wanted yet, or do you need another minute?” Jason glanced over at you and you nodded back up at her.

“Sure, I’m ready.”

Dana headed back into the kitchen for your food after you ordered, leaving the two of you to sit in a comfortable, familiar silence, the sound of forks scraping against porcelain plates and vintage beats being the only disruptors.

“I used to hear these songs on Gotham City Radio all the time,” Jason finally began after taking a sip of his water, fixating his gaze back on you as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the leather seat. “Growing up, I mean. I still do, sometimes.”

“Classic jazz?” You grinned, taking a small sip of your own water in turn. “You? I didn’t get that vibe from you.” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck with a slight shrug.

“At my old place, I had, uh, a butler. He wasn’t really a butler, honestly, he was more like a dad than anything. Or, like, a really cool grandpa. He had a whole rack of guns and shit he kept polished in this big cabinet thing-” You raised a brow, attempting to hide your amusement by taking another sip of water. You were a little surprised that he had actually started talking about his family at all - you weren’t about to ruin it, and boy, did you want to know more about the guy. “And he used to play that station all the time at home, GC Radio Classics. I guess I kinda missed hearing it.”

“He does sound pretty cool,” you admitted with a smile, setting the glass back down. “Do you still visit him?” Jason hesitated a few moments before attempting a nonchalant shrug. You noticed the tightness in his body language again, the same sort of tightness you saw when he was closing up around you.

“Not much anymore,” he finally said, letting his shoulders drop a little bit. “It’s been...a while. Just got some shit going on.” You watched him take another drink before you spoke again.

“If you ever want to talk about it with me - or talk about anything, really - you can, Jason.” It wasn’t just the products of your psych major showing through you - you meant your words, and the slight smile playing at his lips seemed to signal that he had understood that as well.

“Don’t worry about it, seriously. But thanks.” You nodded, looking up again when the kitchen doors flew open once again, Dana heading out towards your table with another two trays heaped with mouth-watering food.

“And here you go,” she smiled as she set your respective meals down before you, taking your glasses to refill them as well. “Enjoy your food, you two. Call me over if there’s anything else you need, yeah?” You both thanked Dana as she sashayed away again, letting the doors swing shut behind her once again after checking up on the rest of her customers.

Neither of you wasted any time digging into the food as soon as it appeared, finishing most of it in mere minutes like the starving university students you were, breaking the silence with the occasional offer at trying something the other had gotten. The aroma had been no false-alarm - it tasted even better than you had anticipated, and that was certainly saying something. Savory fries, buttery biscuits, and smoky burgers were better than anything else you had in a while.

“How did I not find this place sooner?” you sighed as you pressed a napkin to your lips, leaning back against your seat as you tried to process just how full you really felt. At this rate, you would have to roll your way out of the place. “I know you said it was gonna be good, but I didn’t expect it to be this good.”

“I told you,” Jason grinned as he finished up the last of his burger and fries, crumpling up his own napkins and setting them into the tray to throw away. “I know good food places! I grew up around these streets.”

“So did I!” you protested as he laughed and stood up to throw all the trash away, setting the trays back where they were supposed to go and pulling out his wallet just as Dana appeared by the kitchen’s window with two milkshakes.

“You can count these on the house,” she told him as she slid them over, ignoring his protests and sending you a wink as you stood up from the booth as well. “Enjoy your night - and it was real nice meeting you, Y/N. Todd, I better be seeing you around more often.”

“Yes ma’am,” he deadpanned, his smile warm as she waved them out anyways. “Thanks, Dana.”

You called out a thanks to her as well, tightening your jacket around you as you left the warmth of the diner and felt the chill of Gotham’s dreary night hit you once more. Jason handed you your milkshake, bringing his own straw to his lips and taking a sip.

“You guys seem close,” you noted with a smile as you took a sip yourself, relishing the cold, sweet taste of the shake in delight. Jason chuckled at that, shrugging as you walked along the illuminated sidewalks in no particular direction.

“She’s like an annoying sister to me. I’ve known her since I was a puny kid.” You watched as the corners of his mouth curled into a slight smile as he took another sip. “Dana, her sister, and her dad were good to me growing up. They’re great people.”

That, you had been able to tell just from meeting the woman herself.

“I liked meeting her. She was pretty cool.” He chuckled again and spared you another glance. “And thanks, by the way, for dinner tonight. It really was really good. And way better than just coffee.”

“I told you,” he grinned, flickering those brilliant green eyes across your face again. “I know where the good spots around Gotham are. We don’t have a lot of them, but when we do have them, they’re pretty damn good.” That elicited a laugh from you and Jason stopped beneath one of the streetlamps lining the sidewalk.

“You did better than I expected, Todd.” He made a big show of popping his collar and scoffing at your comment.

“What, you expected me to not impress you? Do you think that low of me?”

“That theatre minor of yours is really starting to make an entrance, you can put it away now-”

“Hey!” You burst out laughing and he couldn’t help but join. You felt pretty sure that he looked the happiest right then and there than you had ever really seen him - whatever that might’ve meant. Pretty soon, your laughter was residing and he had taken a slight step forwards, a cheeky grin still plastered on his face. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

You looked back up at him with a nonchalant shrug despite fighting back another smile yourself.

“Yeah, it was a pretty good night.” His gaze flickered towards your lips before settling back on your face.

“Yeah?” The sounds of honking cars and the murmurs of people walking past all around you felt like they were being drowned out somehow when you felt him get a little bit closer. The smile tugged at the corner of your mouth again.

“Yeah.” Another moment passed before Jason finally closed the distance between you, meeting your lips in a surprisingly gentle kiss for a man who looked like he could snap a baseball bat with his bare hands. You wrapped your arms around his neck after yet another moment, feeling him draw you even closer to him at the action.

Literally and figuratively, it was a sweet kiss. The milkshake truly had done wonders.

You were a little breathless when he finally pulled away, and you hoped the shitty streetlight would keep him from seeing just how red your face had gone. Jason was grinning at your reaction, rubbing the back of his neck.

“C’mon, that was better than pretty good.”

“Shut up,” you told him immediately, swatting his arm and moving to continue your walk again as he laughed and easily moved to catch up to you, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“It was! You gotta admit it, that was pretty great-”

“Shut up, Jason.”

Just like that, once again, you had Othello of all things to thank for your night. Maybe, just maybe, it hadn’t been such a terrible book after all.

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revengeisourlullaby · 3 years

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If I Never Knew You Pt.2

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, arranged marriage plot, kinda royal au, some fighting, secret relationship, angst.

a/n: Here is part 2! I might upload part three tonight. I’m so excited to see where this goes. It seems that the first part is doing pretty good so I might upload them faster. As always requests/asks are open! Just give me little time to get to them. Enjoy!

Word count: 1.8K

Walking through the town, you felt an inordinate wave of liberation flow through not only you but also through Loki. It felt as if the weight of the world released itself from your shoulders. Confidence and strength soaring through the air. Loki lost his stiffness, his typical carefree nature restored once you became more grounded.

“See, not so bad, right?”

Shaking your head, a cynical chuckle escaped your throat

“For you maybe. All these eyes on us is kinda gross.”

“It’s only because the most attractive prince has finally decided to show his face.”

You looked at Loki, amusement absent from your face. He laughed, a belly laugh almost. It was a free sound you had yet to hear from him and when you did your face painted your emotions before you had the chance to process them yourself.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yes, but you, my dear, tolerate it. So who's really at a loss in this situation?”

“Well, it’s not me.”

“It couldn’t be me Y/N.”

“Looks like we’re both losers then Loki.”

You were approaching the main entrance of the palace and began to wonder if Loki was considering bringing you inside.

“We lost when we fell in love with each other Y/N. Listening to the heart is the most foolish thing one can do and yet here we are. Charging full speed with our eyes closed hoping we don’t trip over anything.”

Guiding you up the steps of the massive golden structure Loki called ‘home’ your nerves struck up again.

“Seems to make sense that if we’re going full speed, might as well exploit our courtship in the place where you will eventually be spending all your time in. And with all things considered, sneaking you in is...counterproductive, to say the least.”

Exhaling, you brought yourself together and walked in front of Loki. His hand rested on your lower back escorting you inside. Grabbing fabric in your fists, you hiked your dress up a bit making sure you didn’t step on it. Walking through the main threshold, you realized you were worrying for nothing. The halls were massive, the ceiling stretching higher than you ever imagined.

It would be a miracle if you were to run across someone you knew in a place so vast.

You looked around in shock at everything you were being hidden from. The thought of it hopefully being yours to share with Loki in freedom and not in constraint was illuminating. One day to not only be openly in love with him but to call him your husband. Your partner for life was the solace you needed. Everything looked new to you because you had only ever seen the hallways in the dead of night to share evening visits with Loki, being as slick as one could, and it always working in your favor.

“Wow, it looks so different here with the sun shining through. Always felt like a runaway sneaking through the backways and balconies to get to your quarters.”

“And now you get to walk there like every other person in this place. Quite fancy isn’t it.”

“Okay, I didn’t ask for the smart mouth, you ass.”

“Comfortable, are we?”

“With you? Always.”

Finally, you two had walked up to Loki’s quarters. Opening the doors he welcomed you in and you welcomed yourself to his bed. Flopping down on the edge of it, the edge of your dress flying up and you went down. Hearing the door shut, you lifted your head up to face Loki at the door, only thing was he wasn’t there. Furrowing your brow you sat up on your elbows and by the time you looked behind you, it was too late.

“Boo.”

Your body reacted before you could control your response. Your stomach fell to your ass, eyes widening and a sharp inhale all followed one another before you finally shook off the anxiety and realized that Loki had popped up behind you.

“You asshole! What if I screamed, huh?”

Loki laughed falling over on the bed, your reaction to him obviously something of hilarity to him. You rolled your eyes and pushed his shoulder in and began to pout. He caught his breath and calmed down enough so he could respond back to you.

“You’re only screaming for one thing and unfortunately, darling, the sun’s still out. So, someone will have to wait, considering they’re so concerned about being caught.”

Loki raised his eyebrow and your mouth was agape. You squinted your eyes and an idea popped in your head. Rolling over on your knee you placed yourself on top of Loki's lap, resting your hands on his chest stealing his smirk for this moment in time.

“I can control myself...you on the other hand, once you start you can't stop.”

To emphasize your point, you rolled your hips into his and brought your body down to level his. Reaching his ear you whispered

“If you can find containment within yourself, a prize will await you this evening.”

You moved from his ear and hovered in front of his face, your lips ghosting one another. You pulled back a little bit to stare into his eyes. They were hypnotic no matter how many times you saw them. Loki’s hand trailed up your backside squeezing the mound of your ass before continuing up your back. His hand finding refuge at the nape of your neck. He pulled you back to his face, a gentleness about the entire interaction, and kissed you.

There was a different kind of spark in this kiss, it felt electric, coursing through your veins and settling in your brain as a memory you’d never forget. Losing yourself in the thrill of it all, your hips began moving against his. Your building arousal creating a fog between you. The more you ground into the god below you, the more apparent his bulge was. Flipping you on your back Loki now held the reins of the situation.

“Now, don’t tempt me Y/N. You have a habit of teasing and where does it always leave you?”

“At your mercy.”

“Clever girl. So if you like to save this accolade you mentioned for later, mind your manners, my love.”

He leaned down to kiss you as to punctuate his words, ending the discussion with the pull of your lips between his teeth. Hissing through the pleasure you couldn’t help but roll your hips up towards him, now being the one desperately craving friction. Testing the waters, you wanted to see how far you could push Loki to his limits. Your hand found the scruff of his neck and scrunched his hair. Sucking a breath in between his teeth, he pulled back a light laugh following.

“I’m aware of what you’re attempting to do Y/N, and I think it would be fair for you to know that it’s a feeble attempt. Reason being, now you’re the one left in ardor.”

Loki pulled off of you but made sure to drive his point home by sliding down your body and resting between your thighs before fully standing up. You lied on the bed in slight agony of your current predicament. You sighed and brought yourself up on your elbows. Looking ahead of you, you saw Loki sitting in the massive throne chair that was in his room. It was gothic in nature yet still regal with the back of the chair rising well up behind him and the arms of it embellished with Asgardian design.

His position in the chair was more than purposeful. His legs were spread wide, his arm resting on the arm of the throne and his hand propping up his head to look not only at you but out on the balcony. The late evening sun illuminating his eyes, bringing a whole new meaning to golden hour. He looked breathtaking and it was as if you were falling in love with him all over again.

The lust you were previously feeling was now amplified but also accompanied with adoration for your lover. You raised yourself from up off the bed and waltzed over to him. A fire behind your eyes and in your presence but you had yet to act on it. Coming in front of him, you kneeled in front of him and looked up. Two could play at this game. Your hands slid up his legs, paying special attention to his thighs and feather lightly rubbed on this. His eyes were boring through yours and you felt small under his gaze.

The silence between you was telling, that if you were to continue with your actions there would be no waiting until later. You wanted to enjoy the silence between the two of you, so you turned your back to him now sitting on your behind, and crossed your legs. You leaned your head back so it fell in between his legs, but before fully getting settled you reached for the two books resting on the side table in front of the chair and placed them in your lap. You wiggled your hips and settled into a comfortable position.

Resting your head back, you craned it further attempting to look at Loki. He rolled his eyes knowing exactly what you were asking for.

“You know, if I knew how often you’d beg for these I would have never indulged in your initial request.”

“You and I both know this is enjoyable for both parties.”

Loki huffed, a silent agreement without saying explicitly that you were right. Loki began to rub your temples. You closed your eyes enjoying the sensation and the loving intent of his actions. You finally felt calm and safe compared to the rest of the day which was riddled with anxiety and panic and the nagging fear of all the ‘what ifs’ you came up with. You had exhausted yourself and this simple action put you at ease. You opened your eyes for a moment and glanced down at the books in your lap trying to decipher which one was Loki’s.

Catching a glimpse on the side you realized the one on the bottom was Loki’s current project at hand. Grabbing it, you twisted your arm behind you and slid the book into Loki’s lap knowing that sooner or later you would end up dozing off and you figured that getting this out the way would make it easier for both of you.

“You are truly something else.”

“And you love me for it Loki.”

“Can’t argue that one.”

A small smile painted your face before it fell back into its relaxed state and you began to drift off. Every little thing that had happened today made you feel that you were a few steps closer to getting what you so desired with Loki.

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki imagine #loki laufeyson imagine #loki fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel x reader #marvel imagine

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billyspotato · 4 years

Text

Visiting Day [Part 2] - Eric Coulter

Words: 3.100+ words

Type: Fluff

Warnings: English is not my first language, sorry if I misspell anything. Maybe swearing? Being naked?

[Part 1] [Part 2]

A/N: Gif’s not mine :)

“I swear on Earth itself, Eric, if you don’t get your ass up” You start while listening to the alarm beside you.

Eric is rarely slow on getting up, but he still had these days where he doesn’t feel like it. He knows he can’t fall back asleep, so, he leaves the alarm playing to wake up the whole building.

The man under you moves slightly and the alarm is turned off, leaving your ears ringing slightly, because you were that close to the alarm.

You open your eyes to look at the buff blondie under you and he looks like he is getting ready to fall back asleep.

“You have to go train the initiates” You tell him while looking up at him, his eyes open as you do so, and he quickly glares down at you.

“Don’t remind me” He says with his raspy and low voice, a result from sleeping.

You roll off him and lay your head on your pillow, so Eric can’t use you as an excuse to stay and not work, and he groans out of frustration when his, now exposed, torso meets the cold breeze.

“Aren’t you working today?” He asks pulling your hair away from your face, just to gain your attention.

“Only after breakfast” You answer and open your eyes just to see his reaction.

A glare is all you get before he rolls his eyes in annoyance and sits up in the bed. You close your eyes again as he pulls himself up, probably revealing his naked self to the world.

As Eric starts looking through the drawers for clean clothes and you fall asleep again.

(…)

You walk in the cafeteria and see all the initiates eating their breakfast like they’ve been starved. You can’t blame them, the 6am workouts are the worst, no food in your system, only water. You felt like passing out most of the time when you did them.

You feel that people are looking at you as you walk up the metal stairs and once you check, many initiates are actually looking at you. Majority guys, but some girls as well. You can’t really tell what their looks mean since when you got interested, you were already up the stairs.

“Y/N” One of the leaders says when laying his eyes on you, “You got to save us before it’s too late”

You walk to his table confused and he smiles when the other leaders laugh at his choice of words.

“Eric is in a bad mood today” He says, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“Okay?”

“More than normal” He explains, “Some initiates annoyed him today at training and now we’re all paying the price”

You look around the tables filled with leaders and other kind of Dauntless members.

Your eyes land on the blonde man sitting alone and you’re able to tell that he’s annoyed just by how tense he looks.

You decide to go grab a muffin for your breakfast before going to him and some other leaders look at you, almost as if thanking for your existence.

No one, not even Max, can deal with Eric when he’s in his worst mood.

Once you’re close enough, Eric scrubs his face with his hands in frustration and you put down your food next to him, on the table.

“What’s up, bubs?” You ask in a loving and playful tone as he sighs out loud.

You put your legs over each side of the bench and take a good look at Eric, who hasn’t even looked at you. You lay your hand on his shoulder lightly and move it over to his neck, trying to relax his tense muscles by caressing his skin.

“I hate having to deal with initiates” He admits, pulling his hands away from his face and laying his cheek on his fist while looking at his food.

You stay silent for a bit, taking in what he’s saying and waiting to see if he wants to say anything else, before you jump in and talk.

“Are they that annoying today?” You ask while playing with the short hair on the back of his head with your nails.

He scoffs at your words as if they weren’t even half of what he experienced today.

“You’re going to have fun with them” Eric says ironically, not answering your question.

Oh, it’s that bad.

You’re not one to get easily irritated when training initiates because you try to understand that most of these people never fought or held a gun, but there are exceptions. And people compared you to Eric when those exceptions were a part of your day.

From disrespecting you or any other leader to refusing to work, you couldn’t just tolerate it. You’re okay when people feel exhausted and want to take a breather, but not when they step a foot on the gym and say, ‘I’m not doing it’.

No, that is not happening.

You decide not to talk any further about the matter and change the subject.

“We have ‘capture the flag’ today” You tell him, and he lets his shoulders fall and looks at the wall in disbelief. He completely forgot.

“Can’t Four go for me?” He asks and you smile at his words.

“No” You say, making him finally look at you, “I’ve been waiting to play against you since I became a leader. Don’t take this easy win from my hands, now”

Eric laughs at your words and you smile at him, noticing him finally relaxing.

“Easy win, uh?” He asks when calming down his laughter.

“Yeah, don’t think so?” You ask while smiling and he grabs his cup smiling back.

“You’re going to lose so fast” He says in almost a whisper and you gasp dramatically at his words before laughing slightly.

“You wish, Coulter”

(…)

You understand Eric’s annoyance, now. The initiates are starting to get to your nerves.

Not all of them. There’s this group of guys and girls that just make you want to rip your hair out. They are just doing the bare minimum.

You look at Four in annoyance and he sighs next to you.

The both of you look at the group of guys hitting a boxing bag each and you roll your eyes when noticing that they’re making fun of a girl next to them.

“Hey!” You shout, making your voice echo from the huge gym and the guys (and everyone else) look at you, “Stop playing around and start training! How many times have I told you this?”

One of the guys covers his mouth with his hand and you can tell that he’s trying not to laugh.

“10 laps around the gym” You order, and they look at you in disbelief.

Four walks away when noticing that there are some initiates who need help, back at the boxing bags, and you stay where you’re standing.

The boys continue to look at you and you frown at them.

“Didn’t hear me?” I ask and they nod.

Here’s the thing, initiates are not used to run around the gym, specially when they had a 6am workout with Eric, which was running through the whole premises of the Dauntless faction. Initiates run across when warming up, while Dauntless borns run around the room. Seems easy until you notice that your trainer wants you to run close to the walls and not take short cuts.

Damn you, Eric.

As the three boys start their laps around the room, you walk to over to the girl that was being made fun off.

“What’s your name?” You ask her and she looks at you, scared.

She answers you and you nod, looking back at the ranking board. Bellow the red line.

Once you start instructing the girl on how to really hit the boxing bag and adjusting her positioning, your sister’s eyes were glued on you.

She hasn’t really seen you up close since the altercation with your parents, but she has been trying her best on each training session.

She tries not to ask for help when it’s you or Eric training her, she doesn’t want to seem annoying and a slow learner to the two of you, but Four and other trainers really help her after hours.

You step away from the girl as she gets the hang of it all and you look around to see if there’s anyone else struggling, everything looks fine. You look around to check on the boys and they’re still running. God damn miracle.

(…)

You help some trainers carry the equipment to the train and Eric continues to make sure that he has every initiate in the big group of teenagers in front of him.

“Do we have everything?” You ask and the trainers nod.

You walk over to Eric and the trainers make their way to the front carriages, since they’re just going to monitor everything while the game happens, therefore, they don’t need to occupy more space in the only carriage you’re using.

Eric tells the initiates to get on the train and he’s quick to follow them, while you continue to look for your sister. Once you find her, you notice her talking and laughing with another girl, making you feel relieved over her finally having friends.

You walk close to the doors after checking if everyone is on and Eric stretches his hand out for you. You take it and he quickly pulls you into the carriage.

You close the sliding door once the train starts to move and Eric does the same.

“Alright” Eric starts, gaining silence and everyone’s attention, “We’re playing a game like ‘capture the flag’”

You grab one of the bags and pass it to Eric, who grabbed it and grabbed one of the guns.

“Weapon of choice,” He says, holding it so everyone can see, “A gun in which has neurostim darts as bullets, simulates the pain of a real gunshot wound. Only lasts a couple of minutes”

You see everyone tense up as the words ‘gun shot wound’ comes out of Eric’s mouth and you chuckle slightly.

“We’ll have two teams, me and Eric are captains” You say to everyone, making them look at you. You look over at Eric and smirk, “You can choose first”

Eric smirks back and says the name of the guy at the top of the leader board, making you bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. You’re quick to answer with the second on the leader board and Eric glares at you, gaining a smile.

“Y/S/N” You say, and she looks over at you in shock, expecting to be one of the lasts to be picked.

“Uh, picking the weak ones so you have someone to blame when you lose?” Eric asks and you roll your eyes at him.

You two continue to pick the rest of your team members until there’s no more initiates and the train stops. Eric and you jump out of the train and walk over to the amusement park in silence, the trainers are already going to their spots in case someone tries to trespass the limits of the park or if a medic is needed.

You play with the flags, both of them glowing in the dark intensely, and you give Eric the green one.

“You can have the ugly one” You tell him, and he grabs it, chuckling at you.

You two walk in the park and separate right away, so that Eric can go find a place to hide his flag.

“Alright everyone, we just have to wait until we hear the horn. Once we hear it, the game starts” You explain to your side of the team.

You take a look around the group and notice the fear written on some of their faces, especially your sister, she looked terrified.

And she is. She’s terrified of the idea of making you lose. She’s terrified of today being one of the days that her aim is awful. She’s scared of making you look bad.

“So, we’ll obviously need an offense and defense team. I’ll be in the defense, who wants to come with me?” You ask, grabbing your sister’s attention and most of the team lifts up their arm.

You start arranging the team, giving yourself more defense players, since you believe that Eric’s team is too good to let a big group of people run past them, towards the flag. And on the last minute, you look over to your sister.

“Actually, you’ll be offense” You tell your sister, making her look at you with widen eyes.

“What?” She whispers and you ignore her shock to look at the team.

“I’ll stay down here fighting while you guys try your best to get that flag, I can’t be the one to get it” You explain and everyone nods, “Don’t push if you don’t feel safe enough to do it. These darts hurt more than you think”

Well, that didn’t really relax anyone.

“Last 30 seconds” A trainer announces, and you look over at her and at your team.

“Let’s go” You say with a smile.

Everyone follows you while trying to fight their nerves and anxiety and as you take another step, the horn sounds.

You whisper commands as all of you start moving as a group and they all do as told, no hesitation.

You look over at your sister and she is too focused on what’s in front of her to notice your stare.

“Relax, I got you” You whisper only to her and she looks at you, almost forcing her muscles to do what you told her to.

Once all of you enter the center of the amusement park, you start looking around. It’s empty, no sign of the enemy team.

But you know Eric too much. This is a trap.

“Go around to their side” You whisper to half of your offense team and they run off right in that second. “Try to see where their flag is”

Your side of the team starts looking around as careful as ever while you continue to look at every box and wall suspiciously.

“There” Your sister says, and you look at her. She points at the second tallest tower of the amusement park; you can just see the tip of the flag waving with the wind. Bastards, they know how to hide it.

“Let’s go that way” You tell them and they all nod.

You all hesitate to go over the center of the park and go around just like the other half of your team, and once you meet them, you hear someone shout.

“They’re over here!”

You’re sure that’s Eric defense screaming, and him and his offense are coming right at you right now.

“You” You start by looking at your sister, “Go with those two to the flag” You order, pointing at other 2 team members, and she doesn’t move, “Now!”

The three of them get up and start running to the tower and you start hearing footsteps, many of them.

“They’re coming” You tell the rest of your team.

Everyone in your team peaks over the boxes and as you hear them start firing their darts, you help them.

Not all your darts hit someone or something, but with the help of some of the others from your team, you’re able to bring at least 4 players down.

“They’re defense is pushing us as well”

You decide to stop looking and aiming at the offensive team and try to deal with defense on your own.

You’re quick to study the scenery, how many teenagers do you see peeking out from the boxes and of course, how bad their aim is.

You’re not trying to lose an eye today.

After some more shooting, you’re able to bring down two of the defensemen and some of your team are also screaming in pain behind you.

You decide to push in when noticing that their defense is not trying to get up any soon and some of your teammates do the same.

They’re quick and silent when following you into better positioning.

How does your team not have the flag yet?

You peek again and smirk at the sight.

“Oh, there you are” You whisper to yourself before shooting at Eric.

He’s quick to move back and you look for a way to push in more.

A sharp pain hits your shoulder and you hiss in pain as you feel it. You look over to your side and you’re quick to react with the trigger as you see a guy from Eric’s team aiming at you.

You lean back on the box once he falls and you pull off the dart, smashing it to the ground. You’ll never get used to this pain.

You push in when noticing that your team is still standing like before and run closer to Eric. You notice him fighting a girl from your team and quickly shoot him on the arm and leg.

A tone of darts are shot your way as you do it and you’re quick to duck under the box. As you move over to the side, another sharp pain hits your thigh and you groan when caught by surprise.

You look around in confusion and quickly see Eric behind another box, now in front of you.

How the hell did he move so fast?

You crouch while hissing in pain from your leg and try to get better positioning, but you’re almost surrounded.

Eric peeks at you again after being done with another guy from your team and you pull the trigger, hitting him on this forearm. As he hisses him pain, you push in and land another two darts in his leg and a last one on his chest.

You duck again and a loud horn is heard around the park, snapping you back into reality.

You look over to the tower and see your sister with the green flag in her hands, waving it around as your team starts cheering.

You chuckle and stand up, regretting it right in the same second because of the sharp pain still circulating on your tight.

“You alright there, old man?” You ask when noticing that Eric hasn’t stood up.

“Fuck you” He says in a groan of pain and you smile.

(…)

You laugh at Eric when walking out of the park and he smiles down at you. You play with the flag on your hands and look around, finding your sister, talking to her friend.

You step away from Eric and he stops walking to look at what you were about to do.

Your sister looks at you and smiles right away. You give her the flag and she takes it.

“You deserve it” You tell her before walking back to Eric while still looking at her and grabbing his hand, “But just make sure to give it back, they have this weird thing about keeping it extremely clean for next year”

She nods before you could turn back around and you all walk back to train.

- - - - - -

A/n: I feel like this could’ve been better, sorry that it’s so simple.

I decided to tag everyone that asked for a part 2 and commented on the last part: @scarhades @seafrost-fangirl @letsthedogpackandthecats @prettyinblack231 @a-dorky-book-keeper @xxxxxerrorxxxxx @artaxerxesthegreat @taina-eny @caro-jean @nico-jai-1 @thatoneweirdfoxysexygirl

🌸✨Sorry, but I’m not writing in this account anymore. Go check out my new one @twinklelilstarkey ✨🌸

#Eric Coulter #eric coulter imagines #eric coulter imagine #eric coulter x reader #jai courtney #jai courtney x reader #divergent #divergent imagine #insurgent #insurgent imagine #eric x reader

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jaxsteamblog · 3 years

Text

Flirt

Click here to read the entire fic on AO3

Katara straightened her crown in the mirror, turning her head side to side to make sure it was straight. Her wavy hair had resisted the pin, and the thickness certainly fought the top knot, but she had eventually managed to get the thing on.

“Are you sure it doesn’t look silly?” She asked.

Zuko came into view behind her, sliding his hands around her sides to hold her lightly.

“As silly as mine does in modern clothes.” He replied and kissed her soundly on the cheek.

“I don’t think it’s made for hair like mine.” She muttered.

“Sounds like a design flaw, not a you flaw.”

“Mmm.”

“Mmm?”

“MMM.”

Zuko kissed her cheek again and backed away. The loops usually at the side of her face had been pulled back to start a simple sort of braid. The beads were still present, and she was wearing her necklace, but the crown stood out as an accessory.

“I know it’s a flame, but doesn’t it look a bit like a crescent moon?” He asked.

“That’s a stretch.” Katara said.

Skittering claws came into the room and Katara turned as Druk bounded toward her. He was less than a year old but already the size of an adult owl cat. His wings were still clumsy and he could only fly short distances, yet his legs were powerful enough to send him racing down hallways.

He terrified the palace staff and greatly annoyed the also still alarmingly growing Mister Whiskers.

“Don’t.” Zuko warned both Katara and Druk. Both of them ignored him and Druk launched himself at Katara, making her stagger as she caught him.

“He can’t jump up on people like that.” Zuko grumbled. “It’s poor manners.”

“Aww, my sweet baby just wants attention.” Katara cooed, rubbed her nose against Druk’s snout. He smelled like soot and heat, and Katara cuddled his chest close to her face. He nipped at her crown and Zuko sighed in annoyance.

“A dragon shouldn’t be carried like a toddler. It’s undignified.” He said finally and Katara turned to him.

“How dare you say such a thing about our boy.” She said.

“This is why he’s a brat when you’re gone.”

“Of course, he misses his momma.”

“You both are deranged.”

Katara kissed Druk’s scaly head and set him down. The dragon hopped indignantly, blowing out bursts of flame.

“You know he’s going to be a terror when we have actual children.” Zuko said, holding out his arm. Katara linked to him and held on with her other hand.

“Why do we even need anymore? Let’s just crown Druk and the Fire Nation can have an actual dragon as it’s Fire Lord instead of making up all these fancy honorifics for you.” Katara said.

“If history is any indication, they might not tell the difference.” He agreed.

Walking out of their bedroom, Druk followed them closely. Having returned with a dragon, the court and the city of Caldera had changed its attitude toward Zuko. The rest of the world still thought dragons were extinct, so Druk was a miracle bestowed to their Fire Lord as a sign from the spirits. As they had all sworn an oath never to speak of Ran and Shaw, no one disabused people of that notion.

Now, even the prime minister had quelled his adversarial politics.

Ozai and Azula both had been recorded as having thrown massive fits about it.

Katara and Zuko headed toward the ballroom, watching with wry amusement as the staff jumped out of Druk’s way. When they reached the massive double doors, Katara called Druk and held him again, knowing that he didn’t do very well in large groups of people.

“Fire Lord, Fire Lady.” A member of the house staff jumped when he opened the door, seeing the royal couple on the other side.

“We wanted to see how everything was progressing.” Zuko said.

The man glanced at Druk, curled in Katara’s arms and she smiled back at him.

Being favored by a dragon was also helping her image at the palace as well.

“Of course.” The man said, stepping to the side.

Katara followed Zuko inside and looked around. While Zuko himself wasn’t overly interested in celebrating his birthday, there were expectations for the Fire Lord. These expectations somehow included the Water Tribe Ambassador rearranging all of the flowers.

A sour faced man approached them, bowing obviously to Zuko and leaving Katara in her place at his side.

“Is everything to your liking, Fire Lord?” He asked.

Zuko turned to Katara and idly scratched Druk’s crest.

“Lady wife?” He asked.

“Yes?”

“Everything pales in comparison to the luminary beauty of yourself. I am unable to adequately judge these offerings with you standing so close to me.”

Katara smiled and had to keep herself from laughing.

“How can I do any better? The light of your loveliness blinds me to anything else.” She remarked.

“My most prudent and beloved queen, I beg that you give me some words to describe this room that does not degrade your glittering visage.”

“Oh honorable husband, for that you would have to leave my sight and I could not bear to stand in such darkness.”

“I think,” The sour faced man said bitterly. “I will have to trust the Fire Lady’s most esteemed brother then?”

“Sokka is a marvel, I think that might be best.” Katara said, wrinkling her nose and giving the man a patronizing look.

The man bowed to them both and walked back to the activity. Zuko did laugh softly then and Katara turned back to him.

“Light of my loveliness?” He asked.

“Glittering visage?” She countered.

“Hey, the words may have been stuffy, but they were still true.” He replied.

“So what words would you really use?” Katara asked.

“Hmm,” Zuko thought and took some of her hair in his hands. He stared at it as he rolled the strands under his fingers.

“I would start by saying how devious fate must be to make my love part ocean spirit as I most certainly am in danger of drowning when you’re around.” He started and twirled her hair around his fingers. “You take my breath away, but also, there are times when I don’t feel like coming up for air.”

“Zuko!” Katara whispered sharply, her face heating up in a flash.

Zuko only smiled and released her hair.

“I would say that thank the spirits you’re brilliant because I lose all sense when I look at your face, because your beauty is enough to make a fool of any man.” He continued. “And I’d quite like an opportunity to play the fool soon.”

“Spirits, you are brazen.” Katara said with a laugh. Her grip on Druk tightened and he squeaked in annoyance.

“Sorry Druk, I’m displacing you as your mother’s favorite.” Zuko said and scratched Druk’s neck.

“You are always my favorite.” Katara said. “No matter what season it is in the Poles, I only feel like the sun has returned when I’m with you.”

“I don’t see how I can compare when you are always the one lighting up the room.”

“I wish I could paint with ink the same shade as your hair so I could write every character with the same kind of elegance.”

“I wish I could train birds to sing in the same notes as your laughter so I could hear your joy every morning.”

“My laughter? I wish I could keep your voice with me because it soothes me better than the sound of a far off thunderstorm.”

“I am going to vomit all over the floor if you two don’t stop.” Sokka interjected.

Katara lowered her face, blushing, but Zuko chuckled.

“Aw come on! They were being really cute!” Thuy added as she approached from behind them.

The twins that hung around Thuy, who Zuko swore were harmless, watched them with different levels of interest. Suzu looked gleeful while Zula looked bored. Or mildly irritated. She was harder to read.

“I see my wife every other season. You’re lucky we’re out of our rooms at all.” Zuko said.

“Zuko!” Katara blurted while the three teenage girls burst out laughing. Sokka only sighed and tapped the heel of his hand against his forehead.

“Can we play with Druk, Auntie?” Thuy asked, changing the subject.

“Please.” Katara said, holding Druk out even as he clung to her in protest. “He needs to potty.”

“Thank you Auntie!” Thuy said and forcefully took the dragon, running off with him before he could break free of her grip. Suzu jogged after her and Zula walked stoically after.

“Okay you two, try to focus for long enough to look at these terrible centerpieces.” Sokka said. “I think I’ve managed to salvage them.”

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#zutara #fanfiction #jax writes #zutara month #modern au #the fic that prompts built

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artxyra · 4 years

Text

Her Little Robins | Tim’s Addition

“Hey, what’s a little kid doing outside on this cold winter night?” Little Timothy Drake turns around face red. He tries to hide the pair of binoculars behind his back. There standing before him is one of Gotham’s vigilantes—Kismet in her dark red halter bodysuit with black heeled combat boots and matching jacket. Her red and black mask covering her eyes that was clearly amused to see the young boy watching for the heroes.

“I, um… cookie?” Tim digs into his backpack and pulls it a single Oreo. Kismet giggles and takes the sweet treat away from the boy.

“But seriously kid, what are you doing out here all alone, in the middle of the night no less?” Kismet asks once again; however, this time she takes a seat next to the boy who was now pouting for being caught in such a situation.

“Robin and Batman are my favorite heroes,” He beams, “The way that they work as a team and beat the bad guy. I have every villain card that can be found in Gotham…and I just really want to meet them up close.” Tim’s enthusiasm fades away as he continues to talk about the vigilantes. Kismet hums in responses never once interrupting the boy.

“That was a nice explanation…” Kismet says but her voice fades leaving the blank to be filled.

Tim notices her trailing off and pipes up, “I’m Timothy, but everyone calls me Tim.” He smiles at the hero to which she rubs his head much to his liking. “Hey,” He whines squirming away from her.

“It’s nice to meet you Tim but isn’t it past your bedtime.” Kismet wonders tapping her chin with a thoughtful look on her face.

Tim becomes deflated. “They won’t notice that I’m gone.” He murmurs turning his attention to the bag that lays deflated on the ground. Kismet presses her lips together and places a hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“I’m sure they did, do you wanna talk about or do you want me to take you home?” She asks the second Tim turns to her with watering eyes.

“Don’t you have patrol?” There is hope in his voice.

“This is Batman’s city, I’m just visiting, so technically I don’t have to worry about patrol right now.” She answers finally sitting down next to the young boy. Tim not knowing any better rest his head on her arm. Kismet tense but one look at how comfortable the kid was against her made her relax. “Tu es trop précieux pour ce monde, Tim.” Tim was too precious for the world that is within Gotham.

“What did you say?” He asks softly.

“How about I tell you stories of my adventures until you feel comfortable to go home?” Kismet offers, deflecting Tim’s questions. There will come a day when Tim will learn French that day is not today. Tim nods excitedly and looked up to her with a question in mind. She nods giving him the approval he needed to climb into her lap. Kismet begins to tell him her first mission being Kismet. Starting the blossoming mother-son relationship that Tim desperately needed.

~*~

Tim was having a rough day. This morning his assistant insistent that the Co-CEO of WE should not be drinking coffee after a certain time, which just so happened to be right before noon. They should be lucky that Tim didn’t fire them right then and there. He needs coffee to survive a single workday at WE and that was just his morning drinks. Then during a meeting, there were missing reports upon missing paperwork that still needed to be signed and approved for projects that were ready for the next step. He just wants to take a break and enjoy the remains of his day.

“You know, you shouldn’t work on an empty stomach, my petit oiseau de café.” The one person that could make his whole day bright joke from behind. Marinette was wearing her usual business casual getup which consists of a pale pink blouse with her signature apple blossom emblem on the breast pocket and a grey (sometimes black) knee-length pencil skirt. Her arms were crossed over her chest, but he knows she isn’t upset because of the playful look in her eyes.

“Coffee?” He queries with underlying hope.

“Coffee.” She replies with a chuckle. “But I’m driving.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Tim says as she jingles the keys in front of him.

The two share a smile as Marinette walks closer to him and grabs his wrist.

Tim misses this feeling. Here he was sitting at the Cozy Miracles Café, a café that is specifically for him and his mother figure to hang out without any disturbance, drinking coffee, and talking. They spoke about the company and how its success is growing before switching the subject every now and then. Tim had asked her about any latest trips that she had gone on since her last visit. Apparently, she’s been to Brazil, Taiwan, England, and Japan a couple of times. Each visit was for a different reason. However, after a while, their conversation turns into long periods of silence and more looking at one another with worry.

“Timmy, what’s wrong?” This question takes Tim by surprise. He was hoping that she wouldn’t catch his depressed state. In fact, he wasn’t sure he wanted to even answer that question as he knows she’ll go all mother bird on him. Which is ten times worse compared to Dick’s.

“It’s nothing, ‘spresso.” He sighs but he should know better than to say something like that.

“Tim, you’re barely an adult, and yet here you are running a multi-billion company. I may oversee retail and own twenty-five percent of the company, but I can tell when you have a lot on your shoulders. Does this have anything to do with your brothers? Bruce? You being RR?” She wasn’t wrong with either of those options.

Tim stays silent, which did nothing but cause her to pout. Instead of opening her mouth, Marinette gets up and orders another round of coffee. Nothing fancy, just something to sip on. She returns and slides back into her seat with fresh cups of drinks.

“Alright, oiseau de café, I’m here to listen. I promise I won’t tell Bruce, nor Alfred. Psychologist honor.” She says holding her hand up giving him her word.

Tim takes a big breath, pulls the fresh cup of coffee closer to him, and opens his mouth. The words came out like a flood. All his anxieties and fears aired out like they are usually are when speaking to Marinette. By the time he was done, he was close to a breakdown. Marinette had gotten up and wrapped her arms around him.

“Tu es digne, Tim, et personne ne peut te l’enlever.” He is worthy of everything he has been through, and she was right no one could take that away from him. For years he felt unworthy of being a part of the Wayne family like he was only here because Jason had died. He remembers Bruce being reluctant about taking in another Robin. If it wasn’t for Mari, he probably still be trying to prove his existence to Bruce. No matter how many years and discussions have passed, he still feels like an outsider. Marinette never treated him like such.

“Thank you, Mari.” He whispers to her to which she smiles and places a kiss on his forehead.

“Ahem,” The two coffee addicts break apart to be greeted Damian, someone that probably should have been at school. “I am in need of tatie’s assistance.” He states keeping his head held high. Marinette looks back at Tim silently communicating to see if it was okay for her to leave. Tim shrugs and drinks his coffee like he hasn’t just cried his heart out just moments ago.

“Of course, Dami, do you wanna speak in my car or go for a walk.” She asks after sending Tim a bright smile.

“Walk, please.” Marinette nods and gets out of her seat and usher Damian out of the café.

Tim pulls out his phone and sends a text message to the group chat he has with his older brothers. The message was simple, and it was, “Demon just invaded my one-on-one time with ☕” The replies he received were hilarious and worrisome.

It turned out that Damian didn’t need Marinette for anything, he just wanted her away from Drake. This caused Marinette to take Damian out for ice cream before allowing him to return with her to WE for the rest of her workday. Bruce was not happy with Damian, who actually skipped school in favor of spending time with his tatie.

Tag List: *View my Tagging System guidelines for how to to be properly tagged or removed.

#maribat #sibling brucinette #auntinette #ml x dc #mlb x dc #ml crossover #dc crossover

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sunflwrvolume6 · 3 years

Text

plausible deniability [thirty-two]

“generosity”

An enormous boxing ring takes up most of the space, and blue mats cover the floor around it. Bare light bulbs hang overhead, bright spots of white illuminating the scene. Metal scrapes against concrete, and Aila turns her head. Tania waves jauntily from her chair at the edge of the mats, and Zayn and Harry sit on either side of her.

[ao3 ☆ wattpad]

[previous ☆ next]

[masterlist]

The courier comes back an hour later, this time bearing a message with only Terms accepted. Aila doesn’t bother responding. The meeting is set. It’s the worst decision she’s ever made, but Tania said it herself: Working with Irwin is their best bet at making sure he doesn’t wage a war.

Even if Aila wanted to reply, she has no chance. She has just reached the study when Liam appears at her side. He latches onto her arm and drags her down the corridor. She struggles against his hold.

“Excuse me, that’s my arm you’re ripping off my body.” Aila frowns when he stays silent. “Liam? What’s going on?”

“C’mon, we don’t have much time.”

“‘Time’? Time for what?”

Again with the not answering. So Aila shuts up and stumbles after him through the kitchen and down the stone staircase to the basement. He takes a right instead of straight ahead—away from the infirmary—and shoves her forward. Aila gapes at the set-up in front of her.

Liam gestures her into the ring. As soon as she is within reach, he yanks her hands toward him and begins winding tape around her knuckles. “We have loads to teach you. Just in case, I mean. I highly doubt Irwin will try anything, he’s too intrigued by you. But we never know what could happen. Figure out who you’re gonna take?”

“N-not yet. You, maybe?”

“Can’t be me, love. Or Zayn. Irwin will think it’s an ambush.”

Aila gasps as he swings a moment later, barely managing to duck in time. His fist still grazes her ear. Cursing, she lashes out, but he blocks the blow easily. The next punch lands against her jaw. It’s evident he’s holding back, not letting loose with all of his might, but fuck, it hurts anyway.

“Pause.” Tania slithers under the ropes, sauntering to Aila’s side. “Hands up here, protect your chest and face. If not, you’re gonna end up as ugly as dumbass Styles.”

Harry splutters, “Oi! What did I do?”

Aila giggles even as she lets Tania move her into position. Once the woman is satisfied, Tania grips the ropes, slides under the bottom one, then takes her seat once more. Aila makes the mistake of not paying attention: Liam’s fist sinks solidly into her gut.

By the time Robert interrupts two hours later, Aila has a split lip and a ringing in her ears that won’t go away. Liam grins, blood dripping from his mouth, then climbs out of the ring. He holds tightly to his ribs as he walks away. She leans against the ropes and takes the towel Harry holds out to her.

“Miss Aila, Mister Niall wishes to speak with you.”

“Thanks, Robert.” Aila sits on the mat as the valet passes over the telephone. Her chest aches when she tries to inhale deeply. “Hey, love. Miss me already?”

“What’s going on?”

Aila frowns then realises what it must sound like, her wheezing breaths and voice that trembles. “No worries. Everything is fine. Just working out for the first time in forever. The only thing worrisome is maybe me dying from my lungs collapsing.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Niall replies with a snort of amusement.

“I don’t think ‘enjoying’ is the proper word for it, but sure. What’s up?”

“I was just wanting to check in on you. I do miss you already.”

Aila turns away from the knowing look Tania throws her way. “I miss you, too. Oh! Before I forget,” she starts before swallowing. She has no idea how he is going to react. “I’m having lunch with a—a friend tomorrow. I won’t be able to talk to you until later.”

“I see.” Niall’s voice is tight, controlled. Measured. “Take your mobile in case it ends... early. I don’t want you to have to walk home. Going alone?”

“Nope. I want to do some shopping after, so Harry is gonna go with me. Someone has to carry all my stuff, and it certainly isn’t going to be me.”

“Wish I could be there,” murmurs Niall, and she closes her eyes. The unspoken meaning rings clear in his words: I wish I could protect you.

“Don’t worry so much, love. It’s only lunch. I’ll pester you as soon as I’m done.”

Aila doesn’t want to, but someone is trying to get his attention. So she ends the call after another reassurance that she’ll be smart about this. That she will be safe. She can’t monopolise his time, not when he’s meant to be fostering new connections.

When she climbs to her feet, Tania is right behind her. A pair of black ankle boots dangle from her fingertips, and Aila gapes at the length of the heels.

“What’s with the shoes?”

Tania smirks and shoves the boots into Aila’s hands. “Gotta learn to run in heels, babe.”

Aila spends hours following Tania’s ever command—walking on the mats, in the boxing ring, up and down the stairs, and even along the edge of the indoor pool. Running takes far more effort. She barely manages to not fall into the water, and that’s only because Liam yanks her back onto her feet.

Finally, Tania deems it ‘acceptable’. Aila can’t argue with the less-than-satisfactory assessment. She’s too tired and sore. Harry makes sure Aila’s wounds are superficial before letting her leave the infirmary. Her feet ache as she pads through the house barefooted; any shoes would be torture.

She doesn’t speak during dinner, but no one expects conversation from her. They must see her exhaustion, the winces whenever she moves. Sparring with Liam is quickly catching up with her. Lilyen clears her plate from the table with a bow, and Aila forces a smile before leaving the dining room.

Mera already has a hot bath drawn by the time Aila shuffles into the bedroom. “Allow me to help you, Miss.”

Aila does. A voice in her head tells her she should be mortified at the fact Mera is pulling her clothes off, that Mera helps her into the tub. Instead, it feels… nice, if awkward, to be taken care of like this. This is Mera’s job, but more than that, the woman has become a friend.

“Mera?” Aila groans as she sinks into the water. “Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not a miracle worker. You’re fucking amazing.”

Mera grins, ducking her head. “I’ll keep that in mind, Miss Aila. When you’re finished with your bath, Mister Niall has a salve he uses when he exerts himself too hard.”

“So… every day?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that implication, Miss.”

“Every day,” laughs Aila before she submerges herself.

She falls asleep in the middle of Mera rubbing the cream into her back, calloused hands pressing firmly against the tension.

Tania drags Aila out of bed at the crack of dawn the next morning. While Aila eats breakfast, the other woman stays behind to pick out an outfit. Aila tries to protest at the clothes spread out on the bed, but Tania doesn’t budge. So with no small amount of reluctance, Aila dresses in what Tania chose.

Aila doesn’t see how the meeting this afternoon will go well when Irwin can see the subtle hint of the bra straps criss-crossing over her chest through the semi-sheer blouse or how the black slacks hug her legs and ass.

By the time Tania finishes with her, Aila hardly recognises herself: Dark eyeliner accentuates the blue of her eyes, and her blood-red lips look fuller. Mera pulls Aila’s hair into a sleek, severe bun. The ankle boots from last night complete the outfit, and Tania steps back to examine her handiwork.

“Good enough,” she finally announces.

“Do I really need—?”

“Yes. Look, I know what Irwin likes, okay? I know how he thinks.” Tania touches up her own makeup before catching Aila’s eye in the mirror. “He isn’t going to expect you looking like this, like one of us. He’ll be thinking you’ll be just as demure and innocent as you were in the club.”

“I just…”

“Do you trust me?”

“As terrifying as you are, yes.”

“Then shut the fuck up and get downstairs. We have less than three hours and shit to do.”

The ‘shit to do’ turns out to be a manicure—Tania explains it away with a quick Gotta treat yourself sometimes. Aila settles back in her chair and lets the nail tech do his job. At least it keeps her mind off of what’s coming.

Harry listens as Aila complains the entire drive to the warehouse. She whines about her body still hurting, the tight bun tugging at her scalp, even the too-bright sunlight. He doesn’t tell her to shut up, only watches her hands gesturing wildly. But the instant the car comes to a stop in the car park, Aila can’t speak. She stares out the window at the rusted metal walls, the enormous gaping hole where the doors should be.

“Hey, you’ll do great,” Harry whispers. “Just be as assertive and confident as you were at the club.”

She lets out a breathless laugh. “I’ll need liquor for that.”

Yuri opens the car door before she can change her mind about the meeting. About everything. Aila follows the guard, Harry follows Aila, and soon enough, they’re at the entrance. Aila lifts her chin and steels her spine. Be confident, she thinks to herself, hoping to inspire courage. Pretend you don’t want to run away.

Irwin sits at a table in the centre of the cavernous room. A man stands behind him, another at Irwin’s left. Aila ignores the guard and inspects Irwin’s second out of the corner of her eye. His bleached hair flops over his pale, round face, and his brow quirks in Harry’s direction. The door screeches as it slides shut. Yuri murmurs an apology for the noise.

Without the sunlight, the warehouse is colder, darker save for the bare bulbs hanging over the table. The concrete bears cracks of time and use, and plywood boards cover what Aila assumes were once windows. Something rustles in the rafters overhead.

“Ah, the blushing bride-to-be,” Irwin drawls, waving at the chair across from him. “Lovely even in the daylight. And shadows.”

Aila approaches the table with determined strides. She can’t let him see how terrified she is. She sits though she doesn’t want to. The chill of the chair seeps through the fabric of her slacks.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Styles, how wonderful to see you.” His voice is hard, icy. Lacking any sincerity.

“Piss off, Irwin.”

Irwin laughs then turns toward Aila. His cold, almost shark-like, eyes roam across her body. They’re so much like Harry’s—green with a touch of brown—but vastly different. Harry never looks at her like this, not even back in the beginning. She represses a shudder.

“Ashton Irwin. You are?” When Aila doesn’t respond, he chuckles. “I suppose we should begin. Does your dashing groom know you’ve come without him by your side?”

“He does.”

“And he still allowed you to come, even though he can’t protect you if I decide to take your life right now?”

“He trusts me,” she says instead of bolting from her chair. “He also trusts you aren’t stupid enough to start a war.”

“Ah, trust. Very rare in this line of work.”

“I suppose so.”

Ashton laughs again. It’s not the same as before—almost warm, lighter. Not kinder. Aila is taken aback at how different he looks when he’s truly amused.

“I’ll just have to earn your trust, then. Now, Miss Bride—” At this, he sits up straighter, elbows on the table and holds folded before him. “I meant what I said the other night. You and I will get on quite nicely.”

“That depends entirely on the reason for this meeting. And your behaviour.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be a good boy.” He winks quickly before sobering. “Horan and I… We’ve been at odds for years. Consequence of inheriting ‘companies’, shall we say, from fathers and grandfathers hellbent on destroying each other. You understand how this works, yeah?”

Aila raises a brow and struggles to pretend her hands aren’t trembling under the table. “I like to think I’m not a complete moron, so yes.”

“I’m sure you aren’t. One thing Horan has going for him: He doesn’t suffer lightly fools and idiots. Anyway. The symbiotic relationship our families have, the peace, the lack of wars between us, only goes so far as to keep ourselves in power. I’ll admit, it’s been lucrative, then and now. Horan Senior certainly knows how to grow an empire, but my father taught me to do the same.”

“Yours has grown through espionage, shady infiltration, coercion, and brute force.”

Harry kicks her ankle, shooting her a sharp look. She ignores him, stays focused solely on Ashton. He stares back coolly, unblinkingly, for a long minute. To her surprise, the corner of his mouth twitches upward.

“I see you’ve heard of me. You aren’t wrong. Not really. Had to make my way up somehow, didn’t I?”

Aila rises to her feet in one graceful motion. She has no clue where this sudden confidence came from, but she clings to it. “If we’re here for a history lesson on your ‘company’, as you called it, then I think we’re done. I was under the impression this meeting was called for different reason. I really don’t like being lied to, Irwin.”

“Mm, feisty. Just like Horan to fall in love with someone who’s gorgeous and has such a smart mouth. No, sit, sit. I wanted to discuss a partnership.”

“’A partnership’?” she murmurs after a pregnant pause. “Between you and Niall?”

Ashton gestures toward her chair, remains silent. Aila sits again. “Yes. A partnership. A team. A chance to—what would you say, Mikey? Strengthen the truce between us. We’ll keep our own various holdings, obviously. I don’t trust your fiancé with financial aspects as far as I can throw him.”

“But?”

“But we’d work together under an umbrella of sorts. We’ve teamed up before, I’m sure we can again.”

Aila exchanges a look with Harry, wondering what the Hell Ashton is talking about. Niall has never mentioned working with the Irwins before. Harry shakes his head minutely—he knows what Ashton means. He won’t tell her. Not here.

“Continue,” she demands as she looks back at Ashton, and he grins knowingly.

“When we’re having difficulties procuring our gains, we’ll rely on Horan and his employees for help. Same goes for him. He asks, we help. We ask, he helps. We can give support when needed.”

Harry’s foot presses against hers, a steady pressure that keeps her grounded. She swallows thickly and muses over what Ashton said. Even without knowing the depth of the history, she can imagine how horrible it would be if they refuse this offer. If she refuses. She doesn’t doubt that Ashton does not take rejection well. Finally, she clears her throat.

“And what exactly do you propose? If everything is being kept separate, wouldn’t it be exactly as it is now? And what kind of support would you demand of us? We don’t exactly strong-arm those we watch over into obeying us.”

“Of course you don’t,” he says, voice far too mocking and sardonic for Aila’s liking. He rolls his eyes. “You can’t really be this naive. No one obtains loyalty without force.”

“Loyalty with force isn’t loyalty at all,” she counters. “What you’re talking about is a dictatorship. Niall doesn’t do that. He works hard to earn the trust of our people. Yes, sometimes there are consequences, I won’t deny that. I’m not quite ignorant enough to believe otherwise. But he is fair. He punishes only the ones who deserve it. So I’ll ask once more. What kind of support do you want?”

Ashton’s eyes gleam with something Aila can’t quite read. He leans forward in his seat and gives her a slow, humourless smile. “Nothing much. Just presence, really. See, our side? We don’t do the whole ‘hold hands and chant prayers and love and rainbows’ thing. We do whatever is necessary to maintain control. Hear about that barricade at the docks last August?”

She thinks back then gasps. Her stomach lurches, her breakfast threatening to make a reappearance. She remembers the news reports as hospitals all over Primden—all three sections—filled with dying patients. Doctors begging for medication and food that could have saved them all.

“That was you?” She blinks rapidly; she can’t cry. It’s weakness. “You realise there was important cargo on those ships, don’t you? People died in the thousands because of that barricade.”

Ashton shrugs without remorse. “I don’t care. They weren’t obeying, so I made them. Moving on. I’m certain those refugees Horan seems to care so much about? Victims running from their abusers? And the homeless he provides with warm food and shelter? We can help.

“I know Tomlinson supplies them with documentation. Styles here allocates funding to the shelters. Horan runs a tight ship with his charity,” Ashton spits out as if the word is poison on his tongue, “but we can help relieve some of the load on resources. We own the docks your precious food is delivered to. We can stop it from coming in again.”

“You’d do that? Simply because we say no?”

Ashton smirks and checks his watch. “Think about it, Miss Bride. Talk to your fiancé and send Davenport with the answer.”

“When do you want a response?” she asks against her better judgement. She should say ‘no’. Right now. Open her mouth and tell him to fuck off.

He stands, planting his knuckles against the tabletop, and raises a brow. “Sooner rather than later. If I don’t hear anything by the end of next weekend, I’ll assume you’re rejecting my very generous proposal, and we’ll all go back to being at odds with each other. And Miss Bride? I’m not this cuddly with people who actively work against me.”

Aila watches Ashton and his two-member entourage leave. The door screams in its track, and she blows out a breath before turning to Harry. “How’d I do?”

“I almost believed you weren’t terrified,” he murmurs as he pats her hand.

She can only hope Ashton believed the same.

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talltales · 4 years

Photo

—OPEN CHARMS ARE LOST ON VELVET; M'AIDEZ THIS MY M'AIDEZ, M'AIDEZ THE HIGHER WE CLIMB THE SMALLER WE SEEM, MAD WITH POSSIBILITY request by @jjpmoans!!

la faim, la soif et la chaleur vont de pair.

despite the unspoken prayer she hears on the tongues of friends and strangers alike; uttered into the unrelentingly humid and overly bright september days, summer lingers. the asphalt burns beneath the soles of her flip-flops; housing heat that wraps around her ankles and clings with heavy tendrils she can feel as she walks.

“maybe we’ll see rain.” the elderly man sitting in front of an abandoned playground says as she passes, his eyes never leave his paper. he flips to the next page, unperturbed by the sunlight bearing upon his hands. the band of his broken watch gleams in the light as he moves.

sweat drips down her back, beneath her shirt and she thinks, maybe.

maybe.

she, like everyone else making their way home, moves quickly and keeps a healthy distance between herself and the nearest warm body. the occasional blast of air conditioning coming from the odd doorway provides welcome relief, if only for the second it takes to pass the threshold.

it’s a luxury that most can’t afford; many of the residents have resigned themselves to languishing under the heat, aided only by bottles of lukewarm water and half-price ice cream cones offered every other block.

the slums are named so for a reason.

the air carries the scent of the odd perfume—vanilla and berries—and something unmistakably human. however hellish it is, there is something beautiful about the cracked city streets and the aged buildings flanking them; tinted in hues of gold-peach and stretching into the clear sky.

they, like the people themselves, stand in open defiance of time and the inherent neglect that comes with existing in such a wretched place.

she finds the thought is strangely satisfying—a boon that holds the faintest smile on her lips as she ducks into the next set of open doors with a passing glance at the fire escape climbing the side of the building. faintly, she spots a wisp of gray-white smoke curling out from a window; a peek of faded denim.

her smile grows into a grin.

the foyer is long disused, an enduring artifact of times past. silently, she ghosts her hand over the notched desk where a door-keeper might have made his living and slips into the old, caged lift. the fractured button beneath her fingertip flickers to life when she pushes it—shining dimly in the shade of the elevator shaft towering above her head. her ride to the fifth floor is quiet, punctuated only by the mechanical clank and groan of the structure as it rises.

as the pen slides open—none too quickly—she tugs her keys from her pocket and finds the right one with the tips of her fingers. the rest jangle uselessly outside of her grip, swinging against the back of her hand. her only guide to the door is memory and the cool, hazy light filtering in through the dust-covered window at the end of the long hallway.

his door—last on the left, beside a strangely thriving pot of lilies—stands out like a beacon; painted in shades of red with a chipped number 9 hanging perilously from a loose nail. she slots the key in and turns it, breathes a sigh as the—barely—cooler air fans outward in a pleasant mimicry of a spring breeze.

“i could almost fool myself into thinking you had air conditioning,” she calls out, because she knows that he’s there; can smell him in the air—amber and smoke—and hear the sound of him shifting beneath the tinny acoustics playing on his radio.

“that illusion will fade with time,” jinyoung retorts, from his perch on the windowsill. he rests against the frame, half on the fire escape with a cigarette held loosely between his fingers. she watches as he takes a drag and sends another column of smoke spiraling into the air, “trust me on that.”

she kicks her sandals off and steps into the space proper, with interlaced fingers resting atop her head, “i believe you, but it’s hell out there.”

her path to him is a winding one. she skirts around the coffee table where his half-dissembled vhs player sits abandoned—another unfinished project taken up in his spare time—and picks up the glass of ice water sitting on the edge. the condensation trails over her fingertips, providing some relief from the thick heat rolling through the open window.

the air is fresh, at least.

“have you been there all morning?” her eyes slide down, taking in the picture he makes with interest. jinyoung has never been overly fond of clothes; many of his afternoons are spent wandering his apartment shirtless, and that much hasn’t changed. he looks comfortable in loose jeans but little else, the single button undone for reasons she doesn’t bother to understand.

for all of his effort to stay cool, however, beads of sweat trail down his jaw and pool in his collarbones. he glistens in the sun, a modern myth come to life, pushing back the dark strands clinging to his forehead.

if there is one good thing to come out of this, it is the sight before her.

“yeah,” his answer comes with a note of exasperation, and she notes the way the hand not holding his cigarette lays on his thigh, tap tapping against the fabric. jinyoung is bored and that never bodes well for his mood.

she takes a sip of his forgotten water and nearly sighs at the sensation of something cool on her tongue.

“pity, you could’ve been on the corners making a little money off this.” she lifts the glass when he turns in her direction, brow raised. the comprehension that crosses his face is tinged with amusement.

“i’m no entrepreneur,” the smoldering light of his cigarette is extinguished in the tray beside him, before he crosses his arms over his chest. she tries not to examine the way his muscles shift beneath his skin.

“there’s a demand. even the balloon seller down the street is raking in a profit.”

jinyoung’s head tilts as a disbelieving laugh—low, a little untamed—slips into the air between them, “how?”

her shoulders lift, though even the effort of shrugging feels like it’s too much. she takes another long sip of his water, then another step closer, “who knows? but you’re missing out, either way.”

“are you going to drink it all?” he sidesteps, watching her swirl the glass thoughtfully. silently, she plucks the few remaining cubes floating in the glass before setting it on the nearest surface—a worn end table that’s certainly seen better days.

it’s a miracle that they don’t melt in her grasp. she carries them like precious cargo, only sparing him a humored look, “i’ll share.”

“there’s nothing in the glass.” he speaks slowly, as if addressing a small child. she merely raises a brow in response. boredom does terrible things to someone like him. jinyoung enjoys keeping his hands busy, because it keeps the darker thoughts at bay—

not everyone thrives in these godforsaken places, but she’s long accepted that he will always be a little angry.

a little bitter.

when he lifts a hand to wipe away the dew clinging to his upper lip, she grasps his wrist with her free hand and holds it, “i’ll share.”

and if he’s a little late in recognizing her intent, she doesn’t blame him. the heat has made her mind sluggish too; she moves mostly on instinct—driven by a base sort of delight with the way he looks, silhouetted in a gold hazy light that makes him look like he’s been touched by divinity.

jinyoung says nothing, merely watching her as she shifts to hold one cube between her thumb and index finger. soon, it follows the curve of his jaw and he jolts, lashes fluttering before he fixes his attention on her face. her focus moves with the melting ice clasped in her hand and the journey it makes down to his chin, before circling up to trace the edges of his mouth.

with little prompting, he parts his lips and she tips the cube onto his tongue and mirrors the movement with the remaining cube —before it melts on her tongue, she leans in and presses her lips to his; smiling against them when he catches the clue swiftly and opens his mouth to her.

she relishes in the coolness his kiss offers; remnants of ice quickly dissolving as he presses closer with an appreciative hum, tilting his head to draw the softest of moans from the back of her throat.

and even when the heat creeps back in—heady and narcotized—she doesn’t dare move away.

la faim, la soif et la chaleur vont de pair.

#request #member + prompt #jinyoung fanfic #got7 fanfic

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nancywheelxr · 5 years

Note

Eddie actually killed pennywise and lives AU and complains the entire time they wash themselves in dirty water and then instead of everyone comforting Ritchie they comfort bill who’s still has guilt issues for both Georgie and dean and someone bumps Ritchie and he loses his glasses and Eddie finds them

Oh god, you mean the good timeline and the true ending to the movie? What are you talking about, this is totally how it went--

Jumping down the quarry is something they do without discussing.

No one says anything as they walk away from what was left of Neibolt House and they keep walking and walking and walking until Derry is behind them and there’s nothing but trees and a precipice waiting for them to fall off.

“I’m not doing this,” Eddie is the first to break the silence, rooted stubbornly at the edge after Bev and Ben splashed in the water below. It’s a familiar argument and Bill grins, jumps down laughing, and Mike claps Eddie and Richie on the back once before leaping too. “You guys are crazy, do you even know– this is a petri dish of bacteria, do you even know what kinds of disease you could get from that water?”

Richie grins, shedding his jacket, and kicks off his shoes. “Come on, Eds,” he spreads his arms, steps back to the edge, “live a little! Get that stick off your–”

“Do not finish that sentence, you fucking asshole,” he snaps, but he’s folding his own jacket next to Richie’s crumpled one, and he’s twitching like he does when he’s trying to pretend Richie isn’t making him laugh. “I swear to god, if I die of some fucking infection after surviving that goddamn house, I’m haunting all of you.”

“Great, you do that, we can stop by a Walmart later and buy an ouija board already then, just in case,” Richie considers pushing him into the water, but ultimately decides against it. It’s a miracle enough that Eddie is doing this on his own, that he’s here waiting for Richie to jump first and laughing of his stupid, insensitive jokes, so instead, he grins wider, raises his eyebrow, “on three?”

“I hate you,” Eddie says, and Richie laughs, skips right to three and races off to jump while Eddie curses and scrambles to follow him, and the fall is familiar, too.

The water is cold and Bev is dunking Ben underwater when Richie comes to, splashing everyone in his vicinity. “Jesus, did you guys remember it being this cold? Is it because we’re old now? God.”

Eddie scowls at his side, glaring at Richie like it’s his fault the water is freezing cold, “if we get pneumonia–”

“Yeah, yeah,” he makes a show of rolling his eyes, “it’ll be all our fault, we know, you’ve only done this speech like, a thousand fucking times,” and takes advantage of the minute that takes Eddie to wind up for a lecture, that look full of indignation on his eyes, to splash water on his face.

The way he coughs and glares at Richie is priceless and Richie revels on being the center of his attention– if he’s in the business of being honest now, half of the time when they children, Richie had spent like this, making a show of anything to keep Eddie’s eyes on him, no matter the reason, just catching his full attention used to be enough. “I’m going to fucking kill you, Richard,” and it should be too soon to make dead jokes, Richie thinks, considering everything, but it’s Eddie and Eddie is still looking at him like Richie’s all he’s seeing, so he even lets the name slide.

And while Richie laughs, Eddie tries to dunk him underwater but it doesn’t work very well, and Richie coughs up lake water, ready to retaliate, but turning around, he finds Mike’s talking with Bill and Bill is– crying. Not too far off, Bev and Ben have stopped goofing around too, swimming closer.

“Shit,” Richie breathes, trades a look with Eddie before circling Bill, too. In the relieved state of the aftermath, they had forgotten, now that it’s over, so is Georgie, so is that kid from the amusement park. No hope for them, nothing at all.

Richie’s not exactly the best to comfort people, has never really known what to say, how to make someone feel better without relying on jokes, but the thing about them, about all of them, is that they have always fit together perfectly. Richie doesn’t have to say anything. Mike and Bev do all the talking. They just huddle around Bill and remind him it’s okay, he’s not alone.

It’s finally over, and fuck, there’s so much shit they need to work through, but there’ll be time for that later.

They stay like that until Bill sniffles, snort through drying tears, and cracks a joke no one really listens, but it’s proof enough that he’ll be fine. They’ll all be fine.

Though Richie might have to go back to LA fucking blind if he doesn’t find his fucking glasses in the blurriest fucking water he’s ever sorta seen, and–

A blurred shape vaguely resembling Eddie stops in front of him. “Looking for this?” He must be holding up something, and Richie squints, thinks he recognizes his glasses, but honestly? He’s fucking blind. “Jesus Christ, hold on, let me– there you go.”

The shape places the glasses carefully and Richie confirms that it was indeed Eddie, closer than he’s been before, and Richie wonders if this is the time he finally grows some fucking balls and asks for what he wants.

“It’s a little cracked, sorry,” Eddie goes on, a little sheepish, a little embarrassed as if that might’ve been his fault, “and I think– I mean, if you don’t mind it’s a bit broken–”

“Nope,” Richie says quickly, feeling weirdly breathless, “it’s all good– it’s fine, I don’t mind. It’s just– I don’t think it’s broken.”

There’s a visible crack in the glass, Richie can see it and so can Eddie. He still nods, ducks his head. “Okay.”

“Wait, hey,” Richie stops him from moving away, wraps his fingers around Eddie’s wrist and pretends he’s not burning up inside. Yesterday, Pennywise called it his dirty little secret and Richie hates that; this is Eddie and it’s fucking 2019 and it’s Eddie. He thinks of the kissing bridge. Get your shit together, Tozier, he thinks fiercely. “If– before we leave town, fuck it, today, later, whenever you want, there’s something I want to show you.”

Eddie studies him, glances at his hand on his wrist, and smiles. “Okay, Richie. I’ll hold you to that.”

The sun is climbing higher and higher in the sky, and if he looks closely, Richie thinks there are dark clouds gathering on the horizon, but for now, for today, he fully believes everything is going to be just fine.

#it #it chap 2 #reddie #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #bill denbrough #mike hanlon #reddie fanfic #it fix it #look an ask #it tag #reddie tag

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ninwrites · 6 years

Text

all the right words

Pairing: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood

Words: 6500

Summary:

“He wants the chance to fall for Alec, because he’s pretty sure he’s already halfway there, and he doesn’t want to stop.”

a story about falling in love, and the unimportance of spoken word.

Read on AO3 or below the cut xx

There are rumours, spread like wildfire as gossip is want to do, of a Shadowhunter – and a Lightwood at that, a dynasty of scandals – born without the ability to hear. Murmurs of the Silent Brothers picking up the newborn child and announcing to the mother in a voice as solemn as they’re permitted, that he will not hear the way another would, assuring them that if they were kind and he were lucky, he’d still be able to communicate, though not with speech.

Magnus can’t imagine the reaction from the Shadowhunters, with their excruciatingly high expectations and their noxious countenance that determines beyond their doubt that nobody is better than them. Their solution to any problem, if just stabbing it doesn’t work, is to scribble a rune and pray to the Angel to take care of it for them – he doubts that either would work. A rune can’t heal what was never there in the first place; admittedly, there’s a few Shadowhunters that could use a ‘manners’ rune, but they don’t exist and neither does one that creates the ability to hear.

He feels for the young one, having to grow up in a world that values super-human perfection over the morality of emotions; it will not be an easy life, and if they do grow to have a good, and kind heart, it will be a miracle.

He has hope, foolish though it may be. The future generation has to learn from the mistakes of the past, and the immortal must hold onto what hope they can, for eternity already stretches out long enough.

Not that Magnus is exactly planning on networking with Lightwoods any time soon.

“You’ve learnt sign language for him.”

It’s not a question, because Isabelle isn’t asking. She’d swept into the room a few minutes before, catching the tail end of Magnus asking Alec if he was free for a date, Alec’s cheeks pink under the fluorescent training room lights.

Alec, fortunately, had nodded before darting from the room with a quick gesture that resembles the spray of water enough for Magnus to feel confident assuming Alec is going for a shower; Magnus had caught him in the middle of a workout, not necessarily by intention but more from a striking desire to ensure that Alec knew how he felt.

He likes Alec – a lot . He’s over the moon that Alec appears to returns those feelings.

“He told me when we first met,” Magnus explains, glancing at the door where Alec had darted through, quicker than Magnus had ever seen him. “That signing is how he feels most comfortable communicating, because some people speak too quickly or not clear enough, and hearing aids are out of the question. It would be cruel to expect him to communicate in a way he does not feel comfortable with, when I could take the time – which I have in spades – to learn how to communicate in his space, with him.”

Isabelle’s eyes glisten, but no tears fall.

“I’m really grateful that he met you,” Isabelle reaches out and squeezes Magnus’ hand. “I have a feeling that you’ll be good for him.”

Magnus shakes his head, can’t help it. Alec had spun into his life in an accident that now seems written by fate, if the cliché can be forgiven; Magnus had been walking off a hangover, lamenting his woes to an uncaring New York street, when he’d knocked into the shoulder of a human tree.

Alec had circled his fist in front of his chest, his eyes blown wide with trepidation and the kind of distress that made the corner of his lip quiver. Magnus remembers feeling a great ache in his chest, for whatever had caused this beautiful human to look so utterly terrified from something that is nothing worse than an awkward accident. He wasn’t, at the time, fluent in any degree of ASL, but he knew enough to assume with a great deal of tentativeness that Alec had been apologising.

There’d been a miscommunication error, at first, because Magnus had – wrongly, he admits – assumed that Alec could read lips, and Alec had grown more distressed because he’d blamed himself, and couldn’t find a way to ensure that Magnus would understand that he’s sorry.

Fortunately, the notes app on a phone has a lot to offer, and they’d been able to clear things up with only a slight misstep on Magnus’ end – he’d taken the opportunity, with Alec’s permission, to swap numbers, and things had sort of stumbled along since then, at their own unexpected pace. Magnus had no idea that Alec was a Lightwood, or that he’d become such an important aspect of Magnus’ day-to-day in a considerably small time, but now Magnus can’t imagine his life without Alec in it.

It’s possible that he more than just likes Alec, but it’s fine. He’s handling it. All of his attention is on learning ASL to better communicate with Alec, who is just a friend dancing on the edge of maybe, hopefully, something more.

Magnus has fallen hard and fast before, and it’s never worked out for him in the long run … but he can’t help but feel as though Alec is different. There’s something undeniably special about him, something in his heart and his soul that sings and Magnus is drawn to every part.

He wants to know everything there is about Alec, but more than that, Magnus wants all the dumb, sappy stuff; he wants to hold Alec’s hand and kiss his cheek and get him flowers before their dates and sit up with him past midnight just talking about anything and everything-

He wants the kind of relationship he’s always heard about, but never been lucky enough for himself.

He wants the chance to fall for Alec, because he’s pretty sure he’s already halfway there, and he doesn’t want to stop.

Magnus doesn’t hear the doorbell over the scratch of his vinyl, spinning to The Beatles because they’ve always been his go-to when he’s feeling particularly moody, and the morning had been nothing short of a disaster. His hips are twisting and shouting and he’s so caught up in the moment, in venting out his frustrations, that he doesn’t notice that Alec has entered the loft until he almost dances into him.

Alec waves, and Magnus’ heart does a stupid little flip in his chest. They’re taking things at their own pace, but even after four dates Magnus still gets giddy when Alec is in the room. He’s not sure he ever wants to be rid of this feeling.

Magnus waves back, clicking his free hand to stop the vinyl, because it seems unfair to have a distraction when Alec is talking to him, and rather cruel to be listening to music when Alec can’t.

Magnus bends his hands with the backs of his fingers touching, thumbs pointed up, before rolling his hands forward so his palms are more open, leaning forward slightly, and then points at Alec, to indicate the subject of his question: “how are you?”

It’s an easier way, he’s found, for him to greet Alec and enquire about what is going on without too much miscommunication from his end, because try as he might, he is still learning, and he’s far from fluent in ASL. It’s a wonder that Alec is still so effortlessly calm with him - even Magnus has lost patience with himself.

But Alec hasn’t.

“Good,” Alec signs, moving an outstretched hand, fingers together, from his chin out and down in an arc - it reminds Magnus a little of the movement to blow a kiss, which sends a little spark through Magnus that’s hard to ignore.

Magnus nods, searching his mind for a sign that expresses his intended response. “That’s, good, that makes me-” He nips at his bottom lip, cheeks growing warm at the amused glint in Alec’s eyes as he watches Magnus struggle.

“Happy” he signs, holding his hands flat in front of him and circling it in a broad, forward-down-back-up motion. He’s almost certain he’s doing it wrong, but Alec’s grin widens and it’s worth the potential mortification just to see his face light up so brightly.

Alec curls his fingers into a fist, with his pinky and thumb sticking out, sliding his hand with his thumb pointing towards himself, and his pinky outstretched in Magnus’ direction. It takes a minute for the sign to click in Magnus’ mind, as he’d only learnt it recently, but he feels a shot of pride once he does.

“Same” he translates, copying Alec’s gesture.

Magnus knows that, over time, he’ll become faster at signing and his conversations with Alec won’t be so stilted on his end, but he can’t help but wish that time was now. He can’t imagine how frustrated it must be for Alec, to constantly explain himself and correct Magnus’ signs and have his own words - as simplified as they can possibly be - repeated back to him.

Alec blinks, gaze darting over Magnus’ shoulder to the vinyl player, then back to Magnus. He touches his fingers to the corner of his mouth, and then his cheek, a strong pink flush sparking beneath his touch.

It’s a sign that Alec, very graciously, taught Magnus early on.

“Kiss?”

Magnus leans in close, pressing his lips to Alec’s slowly, melting as Alec opens up to the kiss, Alec’s hand reaching out to curl in the hem of Magnus’ silk top, warm against his hip.

Magnus is always sure to be careful, because even though they’ve had the conversation about boundaries and consent - somewhat awkwardly translated by Isabelle, who’d practically jumped at the chance to help her brother - Magnus is always worried that he’s going to take too long to realise that he’s overstepped, and the last thing he wants is to make Alec feel uncomfortable.

Alec isn’t terribly shy when it comes to making a move, and letting him take the lead has been utterly charming.

They pull apart, though Alec keeps his hand resting against Magnus’ hip, and Magnus pecks Alec’s cheek, because it’s become their thing, a physical manifestation of the sign for ‘kiss’.

Alec scrunches his nose, and Magnus kisses the bridge of it, because Alec is cute and Magnus is weak.

Alec pecks Magnus’ lips, quickly, before nodding towards the vinyl player. Magnus follows his gaze, helped by the fact that he has given the vinyl player it’s own little pedestal of sorts, at Ragnor’s request after he’d gone to the efforts of having a message engraved into the side.

“I was-” Magnus rubs at the tension beneath his temple. He’d considered, for a second early on, that it would be easier if there was a spell that translated everything for him, but he’d diminished that thought almost immediately.

He doesn’t mind putting the effort in, he just wishes it was easier for him to pick it up, because he hates the way Alec’s mouth quirks downwards when he realises that Magnus is at a roadblock, knowing that is blaming himself for the language barrier, when it couldn’t be further from being his fault.

Isabelle told Magnus that Alec has always been this way, because growing up he was led to believe it, his parents treating him as though he’s a burden and a bother just for being born with congenital hearing loss. It had been up to Isabelle and Jace to remind Alec that he was perfect exactly the way he was born, that any issues their parents had were their problem, not his, but such early experiences build guilt that isn’t easily budged.

Magnus is quite familiar with growing up with guilt, and the last thing he intends is to make Alec feel anywhere near as awful as he has.

Magnus slowly lifts Alec’s hand, before waving his own, conjuring a luminescent blue figure of a mini-Magnus doing the Charleston across Alec’s forearm. A breathy huff escapes Alec’s mouth, as close to a verbal laugh as he gets, and it makes something tighten in Magnus’ chest.

“Dancing,” He explains aloud, hoping that somewhere between his pronunciation and his magic, Alec understands.

Alec watches the mini-Magnus dance with a childish delight; Magnus wishes that he could make Alec that happy all of the time. Then he has an idea - a foolish one, probably, but still worth a chance.

He conjures a little dancing Alec to join the dancing Magnus, glancing up at Alec with a cautiously raised eyebrow. Alec, after a moment of looking confused and a little excited, picks up on what Magnus is implying, and vigorously shakes his head.

“Please,” Magnus widens his eyes.

Alec stills, his jaw pulsing with how tightly he’s clenching it, and Magnus is ready to back down and suggest they find a really stupid movie with surprisingly good subtitles to watch, when Alec stills, and then very, very slowly, nods.

Magnus kisses Alec’s cheek again, overwhelmed with just how much he utterly adores this man. He reaches for Alec’s hand, using his free hand to touch his fingers to his chin, and then folding his hand back out towards Alec - “thank you” .

Magnus leads Alec by the hand towards the vinyl player - but he doesn’t put a record on. Alec’s eyebrows creep towards his hairline, and he taps at his ear, his mouth tightened into a thin line.

Magnus points towards the vinyl player, shakes his head, and then rests his hand over Alec’s heart. “We don’t need any music. We’ll dance to our hearts.”

Alec stares for a beat too long, with that (adorable) crease between his eyebrows, and then he’s resting his head against Magnus’ shoulders, tucked against the crook of his neck. Magnus rests his hands against Alec’s hips, swaying them just a little as Alec settles his hands, one on Magnus’ bicep and the other against the back of his neck.

It’s not the smoothest dancing that Magnus has ever done, but he’d trade a lifetime of dances for this one; Alec folds into him, but more than that, he relaxes the most that Magnus has ever seen since they first met, he lets himself lose in the moment and in Magnus’ arms and if Magnus tears up, it’s nobody’s business but his own.

It’s perfect. Alec is perfect. And Magnus is hopelessly in love with him.

“You’ve fallen in love before.”

Magnus tucks his head further into the crook of his elbow, his arm thrown across his face. He should have gone to Catarina to lament his woes, she’s always been more considerate of his feelings - at least at first - but she’s working a twelve-hour shift and Ragnor was suspiciously free.

Magnus is almost certain that Ragnor is just here to poke fun at Magnus’ romantic troubles, but he’s always given good advice in the past, even if it comes with a healthy sprinkling of salt.

“You know, I hadn’t realised that until you just told me.” Magnus grumbles beneath his arm, trusting that Ragnor can hear him. “I know I’ve fallen in love before. But this is different.”

Ragnor hums pensively. “Do you mean that Alec is different?”

Magnus lifts himself up into a sitting position, leaning against the pillows of Ragnor’s lounge seat. He stares at Ragnor, brows furrowed deeply, his hands wringing together in his lap almost unconsciously.

“I do not mean it in a negative way, my friend.” Ragnor sips calmly at his ornate porcelain teacup. “Simply that your feelings for him do not reflect that which you’ve felt for others in the past.”

Magnus brushes his knuckles across his jaw. “I didn’t think they were supposed to.”

Ragnor rolls his eyes heavenward - to his credit, he is showing a lot of restraint. “Your feelings are yours alone, Magnus. All I am saying is that it appears as though how you feel about Alec is not the way you’ve loved before. I think it scares you.”

“It fucking terrifies me.” Magnus admits, in a low whisper. “I’ve never felt this strongly about someone before, let alone this quickly.”

Ragnor peers at Magnus from above the rim of his teacup. “Is that such a bad thing? Just because this love is different, does not mean that it will hurt you.”

Magnus shakes his head, warmed at where Ragnor’s concerns lie, knowing his own are stretching far off in the opposite direction. “My heart has been battered and bruised and broken, and it’s still working. I’m not worried about hurting it.”

Ragnor closes his eyes, sighing deeply - sighing at Magnus, in much the same way that Catarina often does. Sometimes Magnus rues their close friendship. “I’m not going to waste my breath trying to argue with you about self-preservation - which, for an immortal you’re quite awful at.”

Magnus casts his gaze to Ragnor’s bookshelves, distracting himself with trying to translate the titles, so he doesn’t have to acknowledge Ragnor’s quite fair point. He may be immortal but that doesn’t mean he can’t be petulant if he feels that the situation calls for it.

“This is his first relationship, he deserves to set the pace, not have me press fast-forward without his notice.” Magnus comments.

“What about what you deserve?” Ragnor ponders. “Is Alec not in favour of your best interests, also?”

Magnus shakes his head, a tiny thing that is more from suspended amusement than disagreement. “Alexander is rather something of an unintentional martyr. He’d put himself last far before he’d even consider his own desires.”

Alec would prioritise Magnus’ feelings above his own, that much Magnus has no doubt about - it’s part of his nature, ingrained into his DNA and built into his actions. Magnus doesn’t begrudge Alec his selfless proclivity, but that doesn’t mean that he has to contribute to it.

“It seems to be that you’re both exceptionally daft.” Ragnor declares, skimming his fingers across his teacup, steam rising after his movements. “I’m certain that if you were to tell your Alexander about your feelings, he would be kind in his response, even if his own feelings do not align with yours.”

Magnus wishes it were that easy. “Alexander would not be cruel, I know, it’s not in his nature. But that doesn’t guarantee that admitting my feelings wouldn’t be too much, too soon. He’s young, as is our relationship. It’s not his fault that I’ve attached myself so quickly.”

Ragnor exhales deeply through his nose, the only sign of his frustration the way his fingers tighten against the handle of his teacup. “It is not your fault either, my friend.”

“I could frighten him off.” Magnus worries in a timid tone, feeling younger than his lifespan would suggest. Ragnor lowers his teacup carefully to his very sensible coffee table, which he’s up-kept since the 20’s, gaze not straying from Magnus for a second.

Magnus can’t convince himself to look at Ragnor. “I’m not sure that I could handle losing him, if I did. And that terrifies me more.”

Magnus discovers by their eighth date, that signing is not something he can multi-task with. Alec finds great amusement in watching him try, though.

“Do you need help?” Alec asks, closing his hand into a fist with his thumb pointing up, the palm of his other hand outstretched beneath it, raising both up in a fluid motion.

Magnus shakes his head, signing “thank you” after a moment, so as not to come across as rude. He’s trying to make a romantic dinner for them both - though it’s a little difficult to roll chili and breadcrumbs into meatballs and talk with his hands at the same time - but he doesn’t want Alec to feel as though he’s ignoring him, and so failing at both seems a better option than perfecting one.

Alec laughs, in his own endearing way, slight huffs of air that bring immeasurable joy to Magnus, even if it is at his own expense that Alec is laughing. He returns to the food at present, hoping to have dinner actually plated sometime this evening, though he knows that Alec will, if unintentionally, continue to distract him, even once the night is over.

Magnus allows himself a sneaky glance, or ten, whilst his hands are sticky with spices, unable to help himself. Alec is watching, patiently - he has it in an abundance that impresses Magnus - though he ducks his head a little when he catches Magnus looking.

It does, impossibly, make him appear even cuter.

Magnus is swept with the sudden desire to draw Alec; he has no artistic inclination, never has - Michelangelo, fleeting as their love had been, had ensured Magnus that whilst he was a talent at many things, art was unlikely to be one of them. It has never been anything that has bothered Magnus before now, his ego strong enough without the need to be the best at everything, but it strikes him now as quite the shame.

He’d love to sketch Alec, the artful mess of his air as it hangs down into his stunningly bright eyes, the sweep of his eyelashes against his pink cheeks, the tiny lift at the corner of his mouth when he’s trying not to grin, the curve of his strong jaw, the deflect rune at his neck, curling against his collarbone-

Magnus is startled from his, admittedly quite delightful reverie, by the gentle weight of Alec’s hand atop his - he’s looking at Magnus with earnest, hesitant eyes, and Magnus thinks it wouldn’t be difficult to drown in them. Alec raises his eyebrows, a silent question passing between them that doesn’t need to be spoken to be understood.

“I’m good,” Magnus answers, smiling in the hopes that it will translate his words for him, with his hands still occupied.

Alec smiles back, lifting his hand from Magnus’. He looks down at it, nose scrunched up at the ingredients left behind.

“Come on,” Magnus nods towards the sink, holding his hands up and miming rubbing them together, because he doesn’t know the sign for ‘wash’ and it’s the closest he can think of.

Alec follows Magnus around the counter to the sink, turning the taps on with his clean hand, nudging Magnus’ shoulder as he does so. Magnus winks back at him, holding his hands out as Alec pours dish-washing liquid on them - their hands bump together under the spray of the warm water, and then so do their elbows, because Alec has a lot of cheek to him and Magnus isn’t one to back down when the opportunity arises for some nonsensical fun.

Alec, somehow, gets a spot of soap on his cheek, but he doesn’t seem to notice, too caught up in jostling Magnus. Magnus offers him a dishcloth to dry his hands, turning off the tap so that they don’t accidentally flood his apartment, but he can’t stop looking at the spot on Alec’s cheek.

Magnus knows that he should be a little more used to how Alec makes him feel, the dizzying heart and the dancing butterflies and the way his throat closes up just from the sight of Alec, because he’s sure that he’s never known anyone as fantastically wonderful before - but every minute they spend together is another minute where Magnus’ feelings for Alec intensify beyond his belief.

He has fallen in love before, though far less times than he claims to, but he’s never fallen for anybody as quickly or as deeply as he has Alec. Magnus isn’t one for cliches, but he can’t deny that it feels almost as if Alec is the one he’s been waiting for, as if all his relationships, true and broken, were just a stepping stone that was always meant to lead him here, to Alec.

Alec squeezes Magnus’ shoulder, and Magnus feels like apologising, though he knows that Alec would brush it off as nothing. Instead, he reaches up, brushing his thumb across Alec’s cheek, taking the soap with him, his fingers ghosting across Alec’s jaw.

Alec’s eyes flutter shut, and Magnus cradles his cheek as though it’s made of glass, because Alec might be one of the strongest people that Magnus has ever met, but to Magnus he’s still the most precious gift imaginable.

Alexander ♡ : Are you busy?

Magnus: Never too busy for you, Alexander. Is everything okay? xx

Alexander ♡ : Everything is fine - I just miss you.

Magnus: I can be at the Institute in ten? xx

Alexander ♡ : I’ll see you then. x

Magnus portals into the training room, preferring the quieter entrance into the Institute so as not to encourage questions or attitudes that he doesn’t have the patience for.

Alec isn’t there, but Isabelle is, and Magnus always has time for her; he has an affection for her that is much like one he’d have for a younger sister, were he to have siblings, but that feels a little like jumping the gun before the bullet has left the chamber and Magnus is trying to keep better pace.

“Magnus,” Isabelle lets her whip fall before wrapping it around her wrist, the enchanted weapon transforming into a silver snake bracelet seamlessly. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Magnus shrugs. “I was in the neighborhood.”

Isabelle raises a curved eyebrow. “I bet.” She heads towards the wall, pressing a few glowing runes, a weapons rack sliding out from inside the wall. Her fingers skim over a curved bow. “Alec should be here soon, I imagine - or I can get him, if you’d like?”

A warm flush burns across the highs of Magnus’ cheeks. “I’ll wait. I don’t want to trouble you.”

Isabelle’s grin softens. “It wouldn’t be a trouble. With all that you’ve done for Alec … I’ve never seen him this happy, before. And that’s all thanks to you.”

Magnus finds it quite traitorous that tears prick behind his eyes. “I should really be the one thanking him.”

Isabelle moves with a gentle fluidity much like her whip, her arms wrapping around his back with a firmness that leaves room to budge should he want it; he surprises himself by melting into the hug.

“I’m really glad that you two have each other.” Isabelle says, pulling back, composed but for the glimmer of unshed tears.

Magnus is about to reply, though he’s not sure what to say in response and certain it won’t be said without tears of his own shed, when Alec walks into the room, his expression almost comically morphing from calm to cautiously happy to existentially confused.

Magnus pushes back the urge to kiss the lines that crease his forehead and elects to wave instead, his fingers twinkling. Alec waves back, gaze skipping between Magnus and Isabelle - Alec signs something at Isabelle, too quickly for Magnus to make sense of, though his limited vocabulary likely doesn’t include the translation anyway.

Isabelle signs back, just as quickly, and then the two of them are conducting their own conversation, hands a flurry between them. By the end of it, Alec is scowling at her, face growing heated, and Isabelle is grinning as smug as the wily cat that caught the canary.

“Alec has a gift for you.” Isabelle announces. “He’s been looking forward to giving it to you.”

Alec’s cheeks go brighter, but his scowl lessens as Isabelle signs something new; he seems reluctant, but not under the conditions of the situation. Rather, he seems … embarrassed.

He turns to Magnus, stepping forward slowly, like he’s anticipating a land mine beneath the training room floor. Magnus smiles softly, hoping it comes across as encouraging, because he doesn’t want Alec to feel embarrassed around him.

“You don’t-” Magnus falters, not knowing the signs necessary, and hating that he’s still unable to communicate with his own boyfriend - he picked up chthonic like it was nothing, but when it comes to a language he wants to learn, he’s stumbling.

“Alexander doesn’t have to give me anything, and certainly not if he doesn’t want to.” Magnus explains Isabelle, hoping she catches his drift. Isabelle’s smile is reassuring, but she translates for Alec regardless.

Alec frowns, once Isabelle is done, hurrying to cross the distance between them, his hands coming up to wrap loosely around Magnus’ biceps. He stares at Magnus, and it’s a moment where they don’t need words, signed or otherwise, to be understood.

Alec steps back, keeping one hand on Magnus’ arm, the other slipping into the pocket of his jacket. He pulls out a small red and gold charm, from which a surprisingly strong magic radiates, warm and tangible.

“I was with Alec on a mission,” Isabelle explains. Alec hasn’t looked away from Magnus’ gaze, and Magnus finds his own jumping between Alec and the charm. “There was a Rahab demon in the middle of a market - Alec was helping people out of the square, getting them to safety and keeping them calm.”

Magnus smiles, catching his thumb on the edge of Alec’s jaw. He’d tell Alec he was proud of him - he’s always proud of Alec - but he doesn’t know the sign, so he rests his hopes of understanding on the tug of Alec’s growing smile.

“There was an older lady,” Isabelle continues, speaking softly from the sidelines. “A warlock, I believe. In gratitude, she gave Alec this charm-”

Alec breaks his gaze from Magnus’ momentarily, signing something rapidly to Isabelle, one hand still happily grasping Magnus’ arm. Isabelle rolls her eyes, a near-exact mimic of the way that Alec does it, complete with a healthy dose of fond exasperation.

Alec turns back to Magnus, nodding slightly towards the charm as his fingers gently close Magnus’ hand around it.

“The charm is said to bring luck and protection.” Isabelle finishes, quietly. “Alec hoped you’d accept it - he told me that he doubts you need protection, that he knows you can look after yourself perfectly well, but he … he hopes that this can help you.” From the corner of his eye, Magnus sees Isabelle’s jaw pulse slightly. “Because he can’t.”

It’s a near-direct translation, he’s sure, because he knows Alec, and he knows that Alec doubts himself before anyone else has a chance, just as he knows that Isabelle believes her brother can do anything.

Magnus’ own views align with Isabelle’s - he doesn’t believe that Alec is incapable of achieving whatever he puts his mind to, simply that his path to do so is not the same one traveled by others.

Magnus wants to tell Alec that, to assure him that he’s amazing exactly as he is, that his being deaf doesn’t make him lesser than others, that Magnus is impressed every single day with how strong and talented and wonderful he is - but he’s not sure that now is the time, and he’s not sure if Alec is ready to listen.

Magnus has had a few centuries to build up his threshold of patience. He’s happy to wait.

“Thank you,” he signs, to both of them. He clutches the omamori to his chest, the magic inside of the charm radiating towards his heart, his own magic bundled inside of his core tangling with that within the charm - it sings of safety and love and comfort.

Magnus doesn’t mention to Alec, that he has some understanding of omamori charms, that he knows this one in particular has been bound with Alec’s intentions for the gift, that it feels to Magnus the way a tight hug from Alec does after a long, stressful day.

The gift itself, without the magic tied to it, is a message without need of words.

Magnus knows exactly what to gift Alec in return.

It’s a bit unorthodox, to learn complicated signs while he’s still a bit rusty with the alphabet, but Magnus has never been one to do things the traditional way. He’s never felt as secure within his feelings for Alec as he does since Alec gave him the omamori charm - Alec might not love Magnus, but Magnus loves him, and he feels pretty safe in the hope that telling Alec won’t fracture their relationship.

If anything, he hopes it will bring them closer - that it will bridge this aspect of their communication barrier. Magnus might not be able to fluently conduct a conversation through sign the way he can through spoken words, but he’s going to be able to tell Alec that he loves him, in Alec’s language, and that feels more important.

Magnus is fiddling with the lay of his necklaces - three in total, the longest hanging down to his abdomen, the middle with it’s silver arrow resting against his sternum, the A of the shortest comfortable against his collarbone - when the doorbell rings shrilly throughout the loft.

Magnus’ heart skips a beat, and he promptly tells it to keep calm. It doesn’t help, because Magnus’ heart reacts on it’s own where Alec is concerned, and time certainly has not eased that.

Neither does opening the door to reveal Alec on the other side, in black jeans and a deep cobalt button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing the stark soundless and angelic power runes on his forearms. Magnus’ mouth dries up.

Alec waves, eyes bright, and Magnus can’t do anything more than blink for what feels like an hour - he eventually manages to break through the haze, waving back at Alec even as his gaze sweeps down, and staggers back up again.

“You look beautiful,” Magnus signs, once his brain kicks back into gear - he leaves his right hand open, thumb pointed at his chin with his fingers pointed towards the sky, before rolling his fingers around and across his face.

His fingers are trembling, the tips of his ears burning hot, but then Alec’s hands are cupping his face, pulling him close and Magnus is lost to the kiss, to the moment, to everything Alec .

Alec pulls back first, resting his forehead against Magnus’. His eyes are closed, but he’s smiling, and Magnus thinks he must have done something right. He drops a kiss on Alec’s cheek, and then gently reaches for his hands, leading them further into the loft.

Alec opens his eyes, his smile watery but strong. It’s a good sign, considering what else Magnus has planned for the evening. He leads Alec towards the couch, still not letting go of his hands, allowing himself a sneaky glance over his shoulder because he finds it impossible to keep his gaze away when Alec is near.

Magnus reluctantly steps back, miming a drink with his free hand. Alec nods, shifting better onto the couch - it still warms Magnus’ heart to see Alec so comfortable in the loft, like he’s carved his own little spot in Magnus’ home. One to match the space he’s found in Magnus’ heart.

Magnus fixes Alec a rum & coke, and an old fashioned for himself, before joining Alec on the couch. He vaguely considers getting them something to eat, but Alec is curling up next to him, his head coming to rest against Magnus’ shoulder, and Magnus doesn’t have the heart, or the motivation, to suggest otherwise.

Alec is content, Magnus can feel it, and it settles the nerves rattling against Magnus’ ribs. This is Alec. Magnus has nothing to fear from the one person who’s come to feel the most like home.

They sit there, cuddled up and comforted, for an indeterminate amount of time - it could be hours, for the krick that starts to pull at the base of Magnus’ neck, or it could simply have been a minute. Neither of them are paying much attention. Magnus strokes spells for protection against Alec’s shoulder, absentmindedly, as Alec rests his hand against Magnus’ chest, feeling the off-kilter beat of his immortal heart.

Magnus can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed, this safe.

“Hey,” He murmurs, mostly to himself, covering Alec’s hand against his chest with his own. Alec pulls back, so slowly Magnus worries for a second that he’d torn Alec from a nap, blinking curiously at Magnus, eyebrows raised. ‘

Magnus holds his hands in front of him, the nerves threatening to make a grand and glorious return - it’s just Alec, he reminds himself. He loves Alec.

Magnus doesn’t have the most faith in his ability to finger-sign, but he trusts that it will be enough for him to convey what he means; ‘A-L-E-X-A-N-D-E-R’ he signs, slowly, carefully, pausing for a second after each letter to check with Alec that he’s doing this right.

He gestures towards himself, signing “lucky” by touching the tip of his middle finger, knuckle bent, to his chin before twisting his hand towards Alec. Then he signs “happy”, gesturing between Alec and himself, hoping the meaning is clear. He points at Alec, signing “perfect”, holding both hands up, with only his index finger touching his thumb, bringing them together with the palms facing each other.

Alec’s blinking back shimmering tears, but Magnus has one last thing to say before he can kiss Alec’s tears away.

He holds his hand up, all the fingers tucked against his palm except for his pinky, his index finger and his thumb. Perhaps the only finger-signing he feels comfortable with, and a phrase he hopes to have many chances to use.

Alec covers his mouth with his hand, a slight hiccup escaping through his fingers. The tears are flowing freely, now, and his fingers are trembling at the tips. He raises his eyebrows, his free hand reaching out to squeeze Magnus’, his palms damp.

Magnus nods. ‘I do’, he mouths, emphasising his pronunciation. ‘I love you, Alexander’.

Alec shakes his head in disbelief, moving his hand from his mouth, and signing “I love you” in return. Magnus sweeps his thumb across Alec’s cheekbones, wiping his tears away even as his own start to fall.

‘I love you,’ Alec mouths back. It’s a little shaky, and his mouth doesn’t seem comfortable shaping the words, but the sentiment is more than enough. Alec loves him. Alec loves him.

They move in a synchronised blur; Alec twines his hands in Magnus’ hair, wrists pressed to his neck. Magnus pulls Alec onto his lap, one hand sweeping up Alec’s back, the other curling against his hip, keeping him close. Alec surges into the kiss and Magnus meets him, second for second, his heart racing against Alec’s chest.

He still can’t believe it. He’d thought it a miracle that he met Alec, but the luck doesn’t seem to be running out. Here is this fantastic man, with a heart bigger than the world and a fighting spirit that keeps going strong, no matter how many times it gets kicked down - and Magnus gets to love him, and have his love in return.

Alec peppers kisses across Magnus’ cheeks, his fingers stroking against the nape of Magnus’ neck. Magnus tucks his head against Alec’s, his hand coming to rest against Alec’s heart, curled in the sign for ‘I love you’.

Alec grins against Magnus’ jaw, and it’s in that moment that Magnus decides there’s nowhere else he’d rather be, ever, than in Alec’s arms.

#malec #malec fic #shfanficnexus #my writing #my fic #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #sh fic #save shadowhunters #flufftober #i think

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akaluan · 6 years

Text

Cursed by Fate (or Witches) Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2

((So this segment grabbed my muse and ran off cackling so... well okay then.

Grimmjow has synesthesia that results in him tasting magic. Why? Because I felt like it. (He’s not the only one in this verse either, which is why Erich has a way to deal with it when Grimmjow gets overwhelmed. If I write more, you can be damn sure the second person will be brought into this, lol.)

Also, send help, I’m building an entire headcanon about this verse and how it’s all put together. Plz no.))

Grimmjow wakes with the dry-leaf taste of time magic on his tongue and the citrus-bright taste of divine magic in his throat. It makes him gag. Makes him roll onto his side and press his head against the wooden floor. Makes him wish he could spit out the taste of magic on his tongue.

He smells blood — /his blood/ — and wonders dully whose hands he’s fallen into this time.

Not Aizen’s. The man’s cloying sweet-sour magic is gone from his mouth, washed away by a jumble of unfamiliar tastes. He can’t separate them out, not yet. He doesn’t know everyone well enough to do so—

If only he could rid his mouth of the taste!

(Mint-bright-sweet-melon-cinnamon-dry-raspberry—)

Grimmjow chokes. Struggles to push himself up. “G’way fuckers—”

A hand catches his wrist, slides up to lace their fingers together. Before he can react, can pull whoever it is in, can /disembowel/ the fool who approaches a /demon/, magic washes over him. Drowns everything out in a rush of clean mint-water flavor that leaves him slumping in relief.

“Better?” the fool asks.

Grimmjow opens his eyes and glares at the man crouched in front of him. Shoulder-length black hair and sharp brown eyes, pale skin and a toned body marked by magic. By very /specific/ magic. A witch.

He’s fallen into the hands of /witches/?

His glare doesn’t phase the man. “I’m going to let my spell begin to fade. Tell me if our magics begin to overwhelm you again.”

“Ain’t overwhelming,” Grimmjow spits, ears flattening against his skull. The man arches an eyebrow at him, body radiating disbelief and amusement. Grimmjow snarls. Tightens his grip. Digs sharp claws into the back of the man’s hand.

The scent of mortal blood blooms bright and fresh in his nose. Drops run down the man’s pale skin.

The man doesn’t budge.

His spell fades away, letting the mingled tastes of passive magic creep back into Grimmjow’s mouth.

Except now he’s ready for it.

Grimmjow exhales slowly and lets his mouth open, lips curling back as he inhales through his mouth. Scents and tastes and /essence/ mingle together, an entire /shop’s/ worth of scents muddying the mix, but Grimmjow is no kitten. He takes another breath as the spell fades even more and lets the connections build.

Fool tastes like raspberry and mint, undercut heavily with cinnamon tones and a touch of sweet. Someone who tastes like sweet-ginger with hints of mint and clove hovers anxiously to Grimmjow’s left. Behind him rests cinnamon-clove — predictably undercut heavily with mint and a touch of ginger — who is entirely at ease. Melon-citrus is fidgeting next to cinnamon-clove, worried about /something/ but unwilling to interrupt.

(Fool and cinnamon-clove certainly deserve each other, if Grimmjow’s sensing things right.)

(Ugh, magic-matches. Utterly ridiculous.)

Fool lets go of his hand and sits back, a pleased glint in his eyes. “Better?”

Grimmjow huffs and sits up properly, eyeing the pool of blood all around him. His bone armor is stained with it, painted with streaks of red-violet and scattering droplets with every move he makes. His hair is weighed down with it too, pulling at his head and sticking to his back.

He must look a sight, a demon drenched in blood and in full armor, sitting in the center of a little mortal shop.

He carefully lifts his restored left arm. Flexes his hand. Watches the play of muscle and tendon beneath his skin.

(He’s not an idiot. He woke to the taste of citrus-bright divine magic.)

(The only question is /why/?)

“The fuck you want for this?” Grimmjow demands. He hates this. Hates being wrong-footed by mortals. He appeared in their shop unconscious and gravely wounded, unable to barter or make demands. He owes them now, owes them his life and his arm and his very /ability/ to remain a Lord.

They can demand anything of him and the magic humming between them would /accept it/.

Sweet-ginger bristles at his tone and Grimmjow can /hear/ the other gearing up to speak.

He resigns himself to a shit deal. An impossible deal. Wrought by someone who doesn’t /know/—

Except that cinnamon-clove darts up and pounces, sending both to the floor with a /thud/ and a surprised squeak. Grimmjow tears his gaze away from Fool to take a look and blinks in surprise, trying to understand what he’s seeing.

Cinnamon-clove is /absolutely/ Fool’s mate. Matching magic-marks gleam all over her body, bright with active power. She’s straddling sweet-ginger and has a hand clamped tight over his mouth, keeping him in place with an ease that sends shivers down Grimmjow’s spine. Sweet-ginger, the poor fool, seems too shocked to react with more than /desire/ and Grimmjow barks a laugh.

He can see the appeal.

Cinnamon-clove tilts her head towards him, eyes /gleaming/ with restrained power, and Grimmjow lifts his hands in surrender. She flashes him a bright smile of approval then returns her attention to Sweet-ginger.

“Let us strike a deal,” Fool intones once he has Grimmjow’s attention again. “You came to us in distress and we have saved your life. The deal could not be struck beforehand, so let it now commence. Make your offer and we will barter.”

Grimmjow relaxes as the looming threat of /binding/ fades away, replaced by a kinder magic. Fool truly /is/ a fool for passing up such a chance, but Grimmjow will take every bit of advantage that he allows. Still, he owes them. Owes them /heavily/. “No fucking bindings,” Grimmjow warns with a glower. “I’ll play muscle, or go fetch you certain things from Hueco Mundo, or lend you power if you really want it, but /no bindings/.”

“Never,” Fool agrees. The magic ripples around them, twisting in acknowledgment before settling once more. “I propose a temporary contract between us until magic deems your debt paid. Your only requirement is to answer the summons within two days and listen to our request. From there, your acceptance of our request is up to you.”

It’s a kind offer, one Grimmjow never expected. There’s more freedom in the offered contract than most mortals would allow, and relying on magic to judge his debt paid frees them both of subjective arguments. “No requests that’ll see me incur more fuckin’ debt to you,” he says stubbornly, “same with healing. If I get hurt dealin’ with yer damn requests, healing is free.”

“Acceptable.” Fool offers his bloodied hand, magic rippling across his skin. “Do you accept the contract as stated?”

Grimmjow scowls. He can’t sense a trap in the contract that Fool has outlined but experience tells him there will be one. Without an idea of /what/ that trap is, however, he can’t explicitly work around it just yet. It’s all too good to be true. Too lenient to be a contract forged with a Demon Lord.

(Maybe they don’t know he is a Lord?)

“Fuck it, sure, whatever,” he growls when all Fool does is wait patiently for his decision. He reaches out and grasps the mortal’s hand, flaring his inner magic as their palms meet. “Name’s Grimmjow. Call and I’ll answer.”

The contract settles gently across his core before fading from his awareness. He can sense none of the malice, none of the /greed/, that so plagues the mortals.

“Well met, Grimmjow,” Fool says as he lets go and settles back on his heels. “You may call me Rerugen.”

“Tch. You’re still a damn fool, Fool,” Grimmjow says with a smirk. “So. You got anything you need me to do or can I just poke around.”

“Do /try/ not to cause inordinate destruction or terror,” Rerugen tells him dryly. He adjusts his glasses and gives the bloodied floor a /look/ before shaking his head. “Stick to the coliseum if you want to fight. No one will think twice about a demon visiting it.”

The mention of a coliseum perks Grimmjow’s interest. “Wait, this is /Karakura/?” As far as he’s heard, only Karakura continues to operate a coliseum despite the disapproval of the Shinigami. He’s never /visited/ — it’s a /mortal/ thing, after all, what interest to a Demon Lord like himself? — but he knows of it.

“Yes. Yes, this is Karakura.” And from the sound of Rerugen’s voice, he regrets that fact just as much as he takes pride in it. Grimmjow understands the sentiment.

Grimmjow laughs and scrambles to his feet, tail swaying happily. “Well! I know where /I’m/ gunna be! Seeya later, Fool and Fool’s minions!”

He darts out the door to the sound of annoyed voices and bolts down the street.

Maybe this situation wouldn’t be so bad after all!

And maybe he’ll find a miracle in the coliseum. Some way to grow stronger. Strong enough to return to Hueco Mundo and reclaim his throne.

(He can’t /wait/.)

#bleach #bleach/tanya #Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez #erich von rerugen #kisuke almost did a Bad on accident #Alexis fixes that with drastic measures #also no #no she absolutely hasn't gotten dressed in the space between these two scenes #so yeah #nudity mention #albeit like... grimmjow doesn't really describe anything?#it's more just implied #anyway i will forever laugh at 'Fool and Fool's minions'

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mae-gi-writes · 6 years

Text

We’re Just Friends (RM/Namjoon x OC): Part Two

Synopsis: In which Namjoon and Yehwa have been best friends since childhood, until Namjoon falls in love with one of their classmates. Cue the drama.

Part: One | Two |

It always starts with the smallest things. The small, insignificant things you think that you can brush off like a stray fly on your shoulder. The small things that make you think maybe it’s best to leave them alone and in the dark, because saying them would mean that the problem is so much bigger than you actually make it out to be.

Namjoon never blew off our Saturday morning jogs. It’s a thing between us; if maybe we incorporate someone else in our physical activity, then it will motivate us to actually get out of bed. It works well for Namjoon, and not as much for me.

Apparently, there’s nothing stronger than my pillow when it comes to restraining my body from moving away from the endless ocean of warmth it basks me in.

But no matter what kind of weather, Namjoon’s always at the front of my house at 7:30 a.m (God knows the boy loves to wake up early to jog, says that it stimulates his brain to think) and doesn’t budge until I actually crawl my way out of bed with a promise that I’ll join him in fifteen minutes tops.

But this Saturday is different.

The sun comes up around six, and although I hate getting myself out of bed, I’m already awake by that point thanks to the wonderful see-through curtains that shed light into my room so that it stops me from actually dozing off again. So I just lie there, waiting until the clock signals that I should get up, hoping in the deep, darkest parts of my mind that Namjoon won’t roll himself out of bed today, that he’ll oversleep or accidentally press snooze on his alarm.

But when the hands of the clock do reach 7:30 a.m on my night stand, I shift uncomfortably and check my phone, wondering why the said boy hasn’t giving any sign of life yet. A prick of something unfamiliar, something maybe like worry(?) forms in the web of my chest, but I brush it off, knowing that Namjoon’s not someone to ditch plans last minute. He actually texts or calls way beforehand. He’s a gentleman like that.

So it gets concerning when the clock goes past that time in question and there’s still no sign of life from the boy.

I decide to text him out of mere curiosity and slight worry, asking whether if he’s still alive and breathing.

His answer comes back a few agonizing minutes later, and I swear I have never been this anxious before, although I try to deny it to myself by saying that maybe he’s still asleep, when I know that in the back of my mind, it’s not a rational answer.

Sorry. Haeryung called me for help this morning. Apparently her puppy got lost yesterday night and she called me since I live in the neighbourhood and I’m pretty familiar with the area. I’m helping her look for him right now.

A small sharp needle lodges itself right in-between my lungs so that it gets harder and harder to breathe, but I turn onto my back thinking that it’s possibly due to the fact that I’ve been lying for too long on my stomach.

I text him back with a faint smile, though it makes me wonder why does it seem like such an effort to feel happy for my best friend.

You better make it up to me with coffee. I woke up early for nothing today.

He replied: Yes ma’am, causing me to chuckle softly and roll back onto my pillow.

I tell myself that he didn’t have time to whip out his phone and text me, maybe there was so much panic, so much frantic movement and restless searching that he didn’t have the chance to contact me, because in any normal circumstances, Namjoon always lets me know what he’s doing with his life.

But a darker thought, a thought that wriggles at the back of my mind like a dark serpent threatening to break the peace with my rationality, the darker thought that pushes me to the brink of negativity and over thinking and insecurity, that kind of darker thought is blinking it’s red light at me, signalling me that there’s something not quite right there.

But like an idiot, I choose to ignore it and settle for simplicity, and that is make as if nothing has happened, that Namjoon hasn’t just stepped over me and forgotten all about me because of someone else.

Because it’s easier to kid yourself in saying that everything is fine, that you’re fine with it, that it’s not your decision nor your life nor do you have the right to be upset by the fact that someone has just placed you second in his priority list.

It’s much easier to live in ignorance, for then it doesn’t hurt as much.

The second time he blows me off is when I least expect it. A few weeks have gone by since the Haeryung and puppy incident, and all through that I brush off his apology even when he had looked really concerned and sincere, rushing to me as soon as they had found her dog, telling me that he hadn’t meant to forget our morning jog, that he had it at the back of his mind all along but that his phone died out in the middle of his search and by that time it had been too late for a warning that he wouldn’t be at my window at the said time.

Everything had fallen back into place. I settle in this routine where I make fun of him on a daily basis, and he gets annoyed or irritated by my comments, then blushes slightly whenever she walks past or drops by our class to say hi to him.

I can tell, even without looking too much into it, that they have good chemistry. She stands a few inches shorter than me, cute and adorable and just about the right size for him to envelope her in his arms. She’s petite, but has a very well proportioned body; with a generous bosom, a slender but curvy frame in all the right places, hips that can make any man turn his head in wonder.

She’s smart too. She wants to be a Vet, as per what Namjoon tells me. This can only mean that her life revolves around Biology, Chemistry and possibly Mathematics. If Namjoon needs someone in his life, he needs someone that’s just as smart and just as sharp, so that they can have long productive discussions, and not someone that always disses his theories with a snigger and tell him that he should stop smoking things that make him say all that philosophical crap about life.

A few months have gone by since then, and although it’s not official between them, there is definitely ‘something’. Exam seasons start and since it’s our finals, we’re both cramming information into our brains every night. I want to work as a translator, meaning that there are mountains of English books and French Grammar to be learnt and studied again and again. Namjoon, on the other hand, wants to divert into Medicine, meaning that his life only rotates around the Sciences and Maths.

The silence is peaceful and calm, with only the slow tapping of Namjoon’s pen against the wooden table creating a constant rhythm that I manage to drown out. At first it made me go crazy and I even tried to stop him multiple times, only to realize that it doesn’t work that way, that no matter how much I reprimand him, he’s not going to change. In the end, I just succumbed to my curse and let him be.

After all, we’re not perfect. Nobody is.

It’s past ten at night when a vibration buzzes through the table. Lifting my head to cast him a questioning look— eyebrows raised in amusement— he only responds with a roll of his eyes before grabbing onto his phone and sliding his thumb across the lock screen.

“Haeryung?” I cock my head at him when I catch a smile dancing across his face. Not just any smile. That smile. The one he does with his eyes lighting up like Christmas has come early and snow is falling outside our window even when we’re in the middle of May already.

“How did you know?”

I ‘tsk’ at him, “Really? You’re honestly asking that?”

He lifted his right shoulder in a half-shrug, and I shake my head in exasperation before leaning it against the palm of my hand, “You should look at yourself in the mirror when you see or even say Haeryung’s name.”

“Oh shut up,” He scowls, “Why don’t you go find yourself a boyfriend?”

“I ain’t got time for that,” I singsong.

“You sound like an eighty-year old grandmother.”

“You’re just jealous that I’m a strong and independent woman.” I tilt my head from right to left, wondering what she had written since he looks like he wasn’t even paying attention to what I just said, “What is it? What did she say?”

“Oh,” his eyebrows are furrowed into a frown as he texts her back. I sigh and wait because I know that he can’t multitask. Yes, a genius like Namjoon can’t multitask to save his life. Someone shoot him. I had always been amazed at the fact that he managed not to watch a tv show while working on his assignments, specially when there’s the miracle of split-screens nowadays.

“Sorry,” he finally lifts his head up from his phone, attention diverting back to me now that he’s finished with the major task at hand, “What were you saying?”

“I was just curious why she texted you.”

“She wanted me to meet her at Starbucks.”

“And?”

“What do you mean, ‘and’ ? It’s already so late. Plus, you’re not walking home alone.”

I manage not to scoff and instead settle with an eye-roll, narrowing my eyes at the boy before me and wondering why on earth the girl in question was so interested in him in the first place when he was such a dense douchebag, “What the heck, Namjoon. No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Do you expect me to wag my tail at her beck and call?”

“Well don’t drag me into your excuses. What will she think?” I take a swig of my water bottle, wiping my lips with the back of my hand before continuing, “Plus, I can take care of myself.”

“Last time I checked, you told me to stay on the phone the whole time you walked back because you thought someone—something— had been following you.”

“That was one time,” I hold up a finger to prove my point, “One time, Namjoon.”

Seeing that he isn’t going to budge. I emit an even louder sigh and stretch my arms above my head. After yawning, I proceed to gather all my things and feel Namjoon’s stare burn into me with a questioning look.

I look up at him, slightly amused by his befuddled expression, “What? Pack your things. I’ll do you the honours of walking you to your date.”

“It’s not a date,” He argues although he does start packing up as well. I raise a brow and he knows exactly what goes through my mind as I smirk at the way he obediently listens to my orders, before slapping my shoulder lightly with his jacket, “You’re so annoying.”

“But thanks to me, you’re going to have the best two hours of your life.” I reply as I skip to the door, “Come on. We don’t want to be later than we already are. Poor girl’s probably dying to see you.”

I leave him at the edge of the road so that we can avoid the questions raised by Haeryung of my presence. We both decide it’s best to lay low on our friendship, specially when it comes to dating. Our closeness always seems to be a source of confusion, and clearly explains why I’m still single to this day. Most guys think that I’m dating Namjoon.

Not that I mind, if that means they leave me alone.

But as I walk down the opposite side of the road, I manage to make out their figures through the transparent glass windows. The yellow glow from the café makes it appear warmer, cozier in contrast to the cold depth of the night. I see Namjoon walk in and scratch the back of his neck, before Haeryung says something that makes him laugh and causes his posture to relax. I continue watching their growing interaction, and must admit that Namjoon has an obvious, very genuine charm that seems to win over Haeryung quite easily. The corners of his mouth are moving rapidly, as though he’s saying something with excitement. She responds by bursting out in fits of laughter as she tries to cover it up with her hand, throwing her head back against the couch.

How nice it must be, to have someone to like.

A small ache resonates in the middle of my chest, but I try not to think too much about it. Instead, I lift my lips into a smile and ignore the small downward tug that somehow makes it harder to do that simple action. My feet continue their route down the road and I try not to think too much about the way Namjoon’s eyes had lit up at the mere mention of Haeryung’s name.

Maybe I knew something I should’ve been aware of , something that I feared so badly I stuffed at the back of my brain in hopes that I could lock up that corner of my mind to never let it out again, like pandora’s box.

It was then that I started to learn a little, about what my heart was saying.

---

“Yehwa, have you seen Namjoon?”

I give a shrug and Jung Hoseok groans in response. My eyebrows furrow together into a frown, “Why did you need him?”

“No, he told me he would come see me. We have a science report to hand in together and he’s been MIA for the past few days.”

“He’s probably with Haeryung,” I reply as I gather up my belongings and slither my way through the desks to reach the door, where Hoseok is standing. He lets me through and accompanies me down the corridor, “that’s who he spends most of his time with now.”

“Oh,” Hoseok adjusts his bag strap over his shoulder, “Maybe I should check out her class.”

I nod. “Anyway,” He says as we reach my locker, “Has he been ditching you a lot? Maybe you should get a boyfriend for yourself.”

As I exchange my books, he leans against the wall and keeps me company with his usual banter and chatter. Hoseok and I started being friends because he hangs out a lot with Namjoon. The said person in question is the one that brought us both together, and I must admit I’ve never met someone as bright and cheerful as Hoseok. If he’s compared to the sun, then there��s a likely chance for him to win, for he has such an optimistic view on life that sometimes it’s almost blinding.

But that’s the thing with Hoseok. He’s too bright, and too kind.

Which makes him awkward in situations where you have to be anything but happy.

“It’s cool,” I close my locker with a satisfied grunt at the effort, “I don’t need a boyfriend. That would just be more trouble.”

“Come on Yehwa, don’t you want Namjoon to hang out with you?”

I raise a brow at him, “And what’s the connection between Namjoon and me having a boyfriend?”

“Jealousy.” I burst out laughing in Hoseok’s face as I play upon the possibility of Namjoon being jealous. Him? It took him long enough to realize that he was attracted to Haeryung. How much more time will it take for him to recognize jealousy if he even had any?

“Why would he even be?” I say when the laughter has subsided within me. I still have a huge smile on my face, but Hoseok’s is one of seriousness, and this makes another round of laughter to escape my lips.

“Because he’s too dense to realize what’s in front of him?”

And just like that, the laughter dissipates. I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing here. I don’t think we’re going along the same meaning and right now, the way Hoseok is gazing at me— with a soft, almost sympathetic gaze that somehow reminds me of pity— makes me feel vulnerable and exposed in a way.

I bite my lip and forced another smile onto my face, slapping his shoulder playfully, “What the heck are you saying?” I laugh it off before winding my arm around his and dragging him down the hallway with me, “I want some ice-cream. You in?”

It makes me laugh that Hoseok thinks Namjoon can get jealous, and that I should even try to make him jealous in the first place. He’s right in a way; he has been spending a lot of time with Haeryung, but that’s mainly because he’s interested in her. Isn’t it what couples do? Isn’t it the most normal thing to want to spend time with the person you like?

As I walk home that day, I notice the flowers that are slowly starting to blossom along the pedestrian walkway that they’ve made alongside the road, and I smile. Changing seasons has always been a favourite of mine. It’s time for new life to blossom, time to turn a new page and to experience a whole new beginning. And plus, it’s going to be summer soon, which means that the city will be filled with ongoing activities, parties and festivals. It’s like the world flourishes with life and I believe that’s when it’s the most beautiful of all.

“Oh stop it!”

“Come on, you know you like it.”

“Shut up…”

A couple walks by, hands entwined and swinging between them, all smiles and giggles as their shoulders brush against each other in intimate affection. My eyes slide away from them when they walk past but I can’t help but glance back, curious by the happiness that seems to englobe these two individuals in a world of warmth.

They look happy. They look like their world is filled with flowers and colours and just about anything that seems to make life so full of hope and happiness. My lips automatically flicker with a ghost of a smile when I look at their retreating figures getting smaller and smaller in the distance, but then it slowly slips away when I linger upon the feeling for a little too long.

I wonder how it feels like to be in love?

Is this the kind of happiness that Namjoon experiences whenever he’s with Haeryung? Is this the kind of smile, the kind of tender gaze he projects whenever he looks at her? Like she’s the only girl that he’s ever found that was so beautiful that she was breathtaking?

Another pinch stings, this time a little closer to my heart. I bite my lip and turn my head forward, deciding that it’s better to focus on my walk home rather than dwindle on the fact that after all these years, I’m still single and I’ve never dated a guy before. It’s not like I want to, but I’ve come to this stage where I think about whether there’s something wrong with me. Although I give off the image that I don’t really care about such things such as romance and love, I still wonder about it, like most girls my age do. I just don’t voice it out to the public. Even Namjoon is a stranger to my feelings that I keep locked inside my heart.

I shake my head and try to shake out of this sudden melancholic state of mind. This is not the time to dwell on such things, I think to myself as I forced another smile on my face. Life's good and there are other people that have more important problems, such as world poverty or famine.

I was denying myself that the whole time as I walked back home, trying to kid my brain into thinking that I was okay, that it was perfectly fine that Namjoon spent all of his time with Haeryung, that he didn’t even call or text me anymore to tell me where he was, that he assumed that I automatically knew where and with who he was hanging out if it wasn’t with me.

But I knew then, at the back of my mind, that little voice that told me that it was only going to get harder for me.

-----

A/N: I know this is definitely starting off as a cliché, but I'm really trying my best to make the characters appear as realistic as possible. I'm sorry if the plot's moving kinda slowly, but I hope you enjoyed reading it anyway! :D Thanks for reading and for supporting this story xx

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kooshmeister · 6 years

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The Doctors of Doom Fan Script, Part 3

INT. SWAMP LAIR - DAY Murky daylight floods through the filthy glass of the mullioned windows, weakly illuminating the laboratory interior. Flanked by his mushroom monster, Dr. Viper stands mixing up some ingredients in an enormous cauldron-like metal beaker whose contents are being heated to a bubbling froth over a bunsen burner. Street paces impatiently behind him. We can see the four converted convicts, including Murdoch, standing off in a corner. The mushroom monster keeps eying them suspiciously, wriggling his tentacles in agitation; he doesn't like them, or Street. Street, for his part, ignores the big mutant. STREET How much longer, Doctor? Viper doesn't reply. He just pours chemicals and adds bits and bobs to the bubbling brew. A dash of this, a dab of that. Finally, he seems satisfied. VIPER There. It'sss ready, my good Dr. Ssstreet. Street comes over and looks in, making as much of a disgusted face as an almost fully transformed Ci-Kat-A is capable of, and then turns and nods to his accomplice, antennae twitching. VIPER Now then. I've done my part. Now it'sss up to you to go and get-- STREET (having heard all this before) Zzzuper-Katalyzzzt Five Zzzixty Zzzix. I know. VIPER I want to sssend-- He turns towards the mushroom monster. STREET (interrupting arrogantly) He won't be nezzezzzary. Viper whirls around. Both his and his mushroom monster's eyes glow with mutual fury, yellow and red in the semi-darkness. VIPER He knowsss the way-- STREET And so will I onzze I bite someone who workzzz there and gain their... "cooperation." Viper twists his mouth into a foul scowl. He isn't liking this rebelliousness from his "partner." STREET Nor do I need him for protection. Or azzzistanzze. (looks at Murdoch and the other prisoners) I have all that I need right here. VIPER (trying to argue) But... Street holds up a hand. STREET Relax, my dear Dr. Viper. My Ci-Kat-A brotherzzz and I have everything under control. He walks down the steps leading out of the lair interior. STREET You'll soon have your precious katalyzzzt. And zzzoon I will have what I want as well. My brotherzzz, to me! The other four converted kats follow him. Once they're gone, Viper goes and opens the window. EXT. SWAMP LAIR - DAY With the mushroom monster looming over his shoulder, Viper watches Street flying off over the desolate, swampy landscrape of the Dead Forest. The four converted prisoners trudge through the water in the same direction. VIPER (under his breath) Jussst don't screw thisss up, you brainless bugsss. Dr. Viper doesssn't look kindly on failure. He shuts the window and he and the monster away, receding into the darkness of the lab interior. EXT. MEGAKAT CITY - DAY An Enforcer chopper flies along. Inside, LIEUTENANT FELINA FERAL is flying. An ENFORCER PILOT is sitting beside her. Riding in back is a rookie Enforcer, CORPORAL GRAY TAYLOR, who can barely contain his excitement. He's dressed in the uniform of an Enforcer commando, but with a necktie added to show that he's a graduate of the Enforcer academy, and he has the visor of his helmet up, allowing us to see his eyes unlike an ordinary commando. TAYLOR Oh, boy, my first mission! FELINA (amused) Calm down, rookie, nothing exciting happening yet. TAYLOR Sorry, ma'am, I mean, sir, I mean... how do you address a female Enforcer officer? ENFORCER PILOT (droll) You say "Lieutenant." TAYLOR (blushing) Sorry, sir. (to Felina) Sorry, Lieutenant... Felina shakes her head and exchanges smirks with her co-pilot. ENFORCER PILOT Not even a week out of the academy and he's already itchin' for action, huh, Lieutenant? FELINA Don't I know it. (over her shoulder) Don't worry, Corporal Taylor. This is Megakat City. The chopper continues to zoom through the city. FELINA (a little darkly) Trust me, you won't lack for excitement here... INT. MEGAKAT BIOCHEMICAL LABS - HALLWAY Belljar walks off down the hall toward the elevator. BELLJAR I'm going back upstairs to run some more tests before I meet with the Deputy Mayor. And I need to call Dr. Konway over at Enforcer Headquarters. I'll be back shortly. STEVEN Sure thing, Doc. Belljar gets on the elevator. The doors slide shut. Settling back into his chair, Steven does his best to stay awake. He futzes with things on his desk. INT. MEGAKAT BIOCHEMICAL LABS - TOP SECRET LAB We behold another change in the captured Ci-Kat-A's behavior. Their antenna twitch, and they start becoming restless, even though no one is in the room, as though they sense something. INT. MEGAKAT BIOCHEMICAL LABS - HALLWAY Steven sighs tiredly, using one finger to spin his articulated desk lamp around in an effort to entertain himself, which suddenly the duct cover of an air vent flies off and lands on the floor. Suddenly very attentive, the big guard gets up. STEVEN Huh? The converted Murdoch slithers out of the air vent. He's still mostly katlike except his compound eyes. The other three converted convicts follow suit. As Steven goes for his gun, the four hurriedly overwhelm and subdue him. One covers his mouth. Another prevents him from drawing his laser pistol. Emerging from the vent last of all is Dr. Street. He glides down to the floor using his wings and lands in front of the group. He studies the door, eying the keypad. Turning, he grabs the front of Steven's uniform, jerking him out of the cons' grasp. Before the guard can yell for help, Street's mandibles sink into his throat. Releasing Steven, he steps back as the guard collapses, writhing. After a moment, he stops, rising, his eyes green and insectoid, and walks over to the keypad, where he enters his security code. The light turns from red to green and the door opens. The converted convicts enter one by one, Steven following. Murdoch lingers with Street. MURDOCH What about Zzzuper-Katalyzzzt-- STREET (cutting him off angrily) What that zzzmall-minded fool Viper wantzzz can wait. This izzz more important. Come... Murdoch doesn't press the issue any further. They go inside. INT. MEGAKAT BIOCHEMICAL LABS - TOP SECRET LAB Street pushes his way to the front of the small group, and looks around angrily at the imprisoned converted guards. He spreads his arms like a preacher about to give a sermon. STREET My brotherzzz! In a moment you shall be free! And together we shall have our new queen and conquer not only Megakat Zzity... but the world!

EXT. MEGAKAT BIOCHEMICAL - DAY CALLIE BRIGGS' dark green sedan pulls up to the curb and parks. Opening the gull wing door, the Deputy Mayor gets out. Callie is dressed in her usual attire, but has her jacket off, slung over her shoulder, tie slightly loosened, the top button of her dress shirt undone; concessions to the heat. INT. MEGAKAT BIOCHEMICAL - DR. BELLJAR'S OFFICE The lab administrator's office. Spacious but sparsely furnished. Framed diplomas and certificates as well as picturesque paintings adorn the walls. Bookshelves of medical and scientific volumes. There's a painting of Dr. N. Zyme on the far wall lit by track lighting. Dr. Belljar's desk is neat and orderly, with decorative glass awards, an antique graduated cylinder with gold measurement etchings - a graduation present from Dr. Zyme, his mentor - and a few framed family photos, plus the usual telephone, with Belljar is on. It's cordless with a long antenna. Belljar isn't sitting at his desk, though, he's standing over by the window by a big fish tank, sprinkling in some fish food. BELLJAR (on the phone) No, Batch B was a complete failure, too. He sighs, peering into the tank, watching the fish dart around and gobble up the little flakes. BELLJAR I don't know what to tell you, Sam. It just isn't working. He squints. The fish tank abuts the office's only window. He sees a murky, distorted image of Callie Briggs putting her jacket on, and stands, looking over the tank top and out the window unobstructed, watching as Callie shuts her car door, shoulders the burden of her purse, and starts towards the front entrance. Halfway there, she stops and looks up, offering a smile and a wave. He waves back. BELLJAR Listen, Sam, we're gonna have to cut this short. Deputy Mayor Briggs just here. (a pause; we hear Dr. Konway say something) Yeah, my new hydroponics project. I'm really hoping she can get Manx to invest in it. (more of Konway speaking unintelligibly on the other end) Yeah. Right. Thanks a lot, Sam. Bye. He hangs up. INT. MEGAKAT BIOCHEMICAL - LOBBY A stone-faced SECURITY GUARD is at the front desk. A little desk fan is blowing over him nonstop. He glances over disinterestedly as Callie comes in. Dr. Belljar rushes in from offscreen to greet her. BELLJAR Ms. Briggs, thank you so much for coming. They shake hands. Although she's got her blazer back on, Callie has elected not to button it, or her shirt, and has left her tie loosened. CALLIE It sure is a scorcher out there today, isn't it, Dr. Belljar. She fans herself. BELLJAR Yes it is, isn't it? Thank goodness for the miracle of air conditioning! They turn and head towards the elevators. CALLIE Sadly, the AC in my car is busted. It was like riding in an oven all the way over here. Belljar presses the "up" button on the elevator. CALLIE (half-jokingly) I don't supposed you can make this presentation a long one, can you, Doctor? The elevator doors glide open and the two get inside, Dr. Belljar chuckling. The doors shut. INT. MEGAKAT BIOCHEMICAL - RESEARCH LAB Callie and Belljar enter. BELLJAR I'll do my best to ensure you remain to enjoy our facility's air conditioning for as long as you require, Deputy Mayor. This is the primary research laboratory of the building. Big windows from floor to ceiling letting bright sunshine in. Rows and rows of shelves containing neatly arranged and carefully labelled bubbling flasks and canisters of katalysts. Gently humming electronic machinery, computers and the like. There are a few workstations and desks, although the primary one, Dr. Zyme's (from The Origin of Dr. Viper), appears to have been left unused for quite some time. The chair is pushed in and the entire thing is draped in a shroudlike opaque tarp, giving it an almost funerary appearance. The former administrator's computer, files, books, diplomas and so forth can be seen on the desk underneath the tarp. Callie spares it a sad glance, but then follows Dr. Belljar over to a big presentation table containing an HO scale model of Megakat City. We can see familiar landmarks like City Hall, Enforcer Headquarters and Megakat Biochemical itself. The Megakat Tower and Old Megakat Bridge lay to one side on the corner of the table, intact but pointedly removed; currently, nothing crosses Megakat Bay, represented by clear blue plastic filling an indention in the model city's terrain. Callie smiles at the craftsmanship of the model. BELLJAR Obviously, as the world's population grows larger, katkind needs more and more food. Feeding the world has long been a dream of my predecessor's. (sighs sadly) Unfortunately, his idea to use the Viper Mutagen backfired horribly. Callie lays a sympathetic hand on his arm. CALLIE Believe me, Doctor, I know. I know. (urging him on) So tell me about your ideas. BELLJAR (smiling) My idea, Deputy Mayor, is to create a subsidiary to Megakat Biochemical Labs, Nutronics, which will have state of the art hydroponics facilities here... From a shoebox, he produces a little model of such a facility, and places it on the outskirts of the city, near the salvage yard. BELLJAR ...here... A second model is put on the opposite end of the city, near where the mountain range begins. BELLJAR ...and here. The third and final model goes in the spot where the thrice-destroyed Megakat Tower used to be. Callie nibbles at her lower lip a bit. BELLJAR It won't be cheap, which is why I need you to help me persuade Mayor Manx to give Nutronics his official endorsement. CALLIE I can try, but this one's going to be a tough sell... She points at the one in the Megakat Tower's spot. CALLIE It's sort of, um... BELLJAR (chuckles nervously) Ah, yes. I gather it's something of a sensitive issue with the Mayor. Callie sighs. CALLIE But it's a good idea. And worth a shot. I'll see what I can do. She frowns and looks at her wristwatch. CALLIE I've got another half hour to kill. This didn't take as long as I thought. (frowning and thinking) What about Megakat Biochemical's other ongoing project? Belljar squirms uncomfortably. CALLIE There's five anxious families awaiting answers. They're calling my office night and day. I need to give them something, Doctor, even if it's that you've made no progress at all. BELLJAR I just got done checking the latest results and they aren't encouraging... He trails off. Callie sternly adjusts her purse's shoulder strap. CALLIE Take me there. INT. MEGAKAT BIOCHEMICAL - HALLWAY The two get off the elevator and start down the hall. BEL;JAR I just got off the phone with Sam Konway down at Enforcer Headquarters, and he has a few interesting ideas. He's a little more openminded than I am, which is probably why Feral headhunted him to head their biotech division. I can show you what I've managed to get done so far, and then what Konway has in-- He stops short as they 'round the corner. They see the ventilation grate on the floor - and the top secret room's door wide open, various figures filling the doorframe. BELLJAR What in the world? They walk closer, more cautiously, and duck down behind Steven's desk, peering over the top into the room. INT. MEGAKAT BIOCHEMICAL - TOP SECRET LAB The five converted MASA guards in their glass-encased cells are jumping up and down excitedly. The bug-eyed Steven goes to each one in turn and enters the security code to open it. The glass doors slide open, and the former MASA security personnel step free to mingle with their new "brothers," making particularly grateful buzzing noises to Dr. Street, who offers soothing pets and strokes. INT. MEGAKAT BIOCHEMICAL - HALLWAY Callie and Belljar continue peering over the desk. BELLJAR (whispering) This is bad! CALLIE (also whispering) It's... it's Dr. Street! I thought he was dead! INT. MEGAKAT BIOCHEMICAL - TOP SECRET LAB STREET And now, my brotherzzz, we muzzzt complete our zzzecondary mission for our "friend and benefactor" Dr. Viper... More excited buzzing from the assembled converted kats. Murdoch glances towards the open door. INT. MEGAKAT BIOCHEMICAL - HALLWAY The two onlookers Callie and Belljar duck down behind Steven's desk. But it seems Murdoch has seen them. Or at least he thinks she saw something. Enough to go and investigate. Convicts #2 and #4 accompany him. BELLJAR We'd better alert someone...! CALLIE A good idea! They turn and begin crawling away. She's reaching into her purse for her communicator when suddenly - MURDOCH (from behind them) Aha! Gasping, they turn, rolling over onto their backs, sitting up. Murdoch is standing on the desk, pointing at them as though in accusation. He's flanked on either side by the other two converted prisoners. Behind them, through the open door, Street and the others stop what they're doing and turn, antennae twitching in agitation. MURDOCH Zzzzpiezzz! He hops down from the desk and runs towards them, salivating, arms outstretched like a zombie. Callie swings her purse to hit him, knocking him slightly off balance. Convict #2 rushes forwards. Having seen Callie in action, he grabs her purse and rips it from her grasp, throwing it aside. It smacks into the wall, spilling out its contents, including the SWAT Kat communicator. Jumping up, Callie resorts to fisticuffs, punching the converted prisoner in the face, sending him staggering backward. He falls onto his back and lays spread-eagle on the carpet, shaking his head, dizzy. She then kicks Murdoch in the diaphragm with the tip of her high-heeled shoe, making him double over in agony, ripping her skirt all the way up past her mid-thigh in the process. As he collapses and Convict #4 advances, Dr. Belljar grabs a potted plant and throws it at him. It smashes across his face, and he falls to his knees, clutching his head. Dr. Street emerges from the top secret lab, growling, and with one great sweep of his arm, knocks everything off of Steven's desk, and then, with superhuman strength you wouldn't think his spindly stick insect arms would have, he grabs the desk and lifts the entire thing over his head. STREET (straining under the desk's weight) All thozzze who oppozzzze the rule of the Ci-Kat-A... MUZZZT DIE!!! With a grunt, he hurls the desk TOWARD CAMERA. SMASH CUT TO BLACK END ACT I

#SWAT Kats #script #The Doctors of Doom #Callie Briggs #Felina Feral #Dr. Viper #Dr. Harley Street #Ci-Kat-A #Dr. Belljar #Murdoch #Mushroom Monster

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chalantness · 7 years

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Let It Snow - day four

(for my “season of shipping” giveaway)

Rating: NC-17 Word Count: ~1,900 Characters: Steve/Natasha Prompt: “one is a bell ringer for a charitable organization and the other slips their phone number in the donation bucket along with some money at Christmas” au (I hope this prompt is okay! Feel free to add smut if the occasion calls for it *winks*)”

For:@xo-stardust720

A/N: If this trope seems vaguely familiar, it’s because it is, and that’s because I wanted to give a smuttier crack at it. Because duh. Also, I ended up filling your prompt backwards, if that makes sense. Hope you don’t mind!

Read on: [ ao3 ]

She’ll blame the eggnog.

Well, the eggnog, and the amount of rum Tony deemed appropriate to spike it with. She’s willing to bet that he mixed that shit with more than just rum, too, because not even the four back-to-back rounds of shots had hit her this quickly. She’s drunk. Coherent (or, as coherent as you can expect, and even then, just barely) but definitely drunk.

Otherwise, she’d be disciplined enough to keep her hands to herself, and she’d definitely be more disciplined enough to not need Tony’s long lost friend or whoever he is to stumble her down one of the many winding hallways of the Stark house. His steps are a little clumsy, and he fumbles to catch her by her hips a couple of times as he leads her up the staircase. He maneuvers them into a guest bedroom in the right wing of the house – her favorite guest bedroom, actually, because it has the best view and the softest sheets and Maria had the door painted red because it’s her signature color – and she giggles, tugging him to the bed. He murmurs a curse as they tumble forward, bracing himself above her on his forearms.

His shoulders are broad, and she smooths her hands up his back, over the material of his dress shirt to press her palms over his shoulder blades, pressing him closer.

Fuck, he smells good. How does a man smell so fucking good?

“That’s the eggnog talking,” he answers, sounding amused. Had she said that out loud? Well, shit.

She’d been thinking some pretty explicit things on their stumble here. She wonders if she’d blurted any of that out, too.

“I don’t usually get like this.” Her voice comes out deceptively steady considering how fuzzy her mind is. Except, she knows she’s not that far gone. Not at all. Not if she can stare up into his eyes and count how many shades of blue are in the flecks, count every one of his ridiculously long eyelashes. Which she kind of wants to do right now.

“I know,” he says, lips quirking into a dangerously sexy kind of smile. “You kept insisting it when you wanted us to leave the party. And funny enough, I think I believe you.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “Funny enough?”

He laughs, and the sound of it makes her stomach flip, makes her skin flush. Oh. She’ll definitely be blaming the eggnog for how her body is reacting to the sound of his voice. “Well, you did manage to get my glass of eggnog all over the front of your dress. So you’re either drunk or clumsy.” He grins. “Since you seem graceful, I’m going to go with the first one.”

She slips her hands around his torso, runs her hands up his chest to grasp as his collars. “How do you know I’m graceful?”

“Tony mentioned you’re a dancer,” Steve answers indulgently, his eyes sparkling in amusement. But, after a moment, there’s a shift in his gaze, and suddenly she can feel the very weight of it against her skin. “And I’ve been drawn to the way you’ve moved all night.”

She feels her lips part ever so slightly, a warmth unfurling low in her stomach. He’d been drawn, not to her body, nor to the tasteful bits of skin that her dress teases, but to the way that she moved? She knows hadn’t danced at all at night. She hadn’t moved much at all, really, except for flitting from person to person, slowly making conversation with everyone in the room. And yet, he’d been drawn to her. He’d remembered some small, passing fact Tony had given out during their introduction, and he remembered it as he watched her move.

“Kiss me,” she rasps, the words coming out in a burst of breath, like she can’t get them out fast enough.

His eyes darken, his desire clear through the haze in his eyes. But there’s a little bit of concern sobering his expression at the edges. “Are you still okay with this?” he asks.

She nods, but he still hesitates, so she tips her head up, pressing a soft, slow, sweet kiss to his lips. She makes this pathetic little sound at the feel of them at the same moment he lets out a low, rumbling groan, pressing her a little harder against the mattress. “If you ask me this tomorrow, I’ll still be okay with it,” she promises.

Because she is. She may be drunk, and he’s definitely not sober, either. But she knows that she wants this. She wanted this sober, when Tony was fumbling out half-assed introductions.

She knows he believes her, too, because his expression relaxes entirely, his eyes swirling and storming with hunger. He smirks – he smirks – and practically growls out, “good,” and covers her mouth with his, kissing her harder, deeper, rougher, his hands coming into her hair. And she swears that kissing has never felt as wild as it does right now.

He kisses her until her lungs start to burn, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, until she get frustrated and starts ripping him out of it. He doesn’t even blink, his hands sliding down her body and grabbing the hem of her dress and pushing it up her body in one fluid motion. He dips his head down, kissing the curve of her hip, the flat of her stomach, the dip of her breasts, until he’s gotten her dress over her head and off entirely, tossing it aside. She’d gone braless because of the cut of her dress, and she’d worn a scrap of lace that’s considered panties because it matched the stockings she wanted to wear with her dress, and his eyes slide down her body, as if taking in every inch of her bared, flushed skin.

His gaze fixes between her legs, she knows that she must look as wet as she feels. Because she feels like she’s dripping.

He pauses for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing almost adorably, but just as she’s about to ask what’s wrong, he mutters a broken, “I need to—” and then just dips his head down and closes his mouth around her through the damp lace.

She moans, grasping onto the comforter and twisting it between her fingers as his tongue laps her wet folds. It’s slow at first, almost leisurely, with the kind of pace of a man who wants to savor every second. His forehead is still wrinkled adorably in concentration, and he wraps a hand around one of her ankles, still strapped in her stilettos, and slides it higher, bending her at her knee as his tongue slides inside. She lets out a whimper, her hips rolling up, but he lifts his free arm and lays it over her hips, pinning her to the mattress as he sucks her clit.

Oh, oh, oh.

She’s not sure if it’s the alcohol, or the pure pleasure, or maybe both, but she can’t tell if it takes minutes or seconds to get her to the edge. All she knows is that all of sudden she’s right there when his tongue eases off of her, and she’s barely able to let out a protest when he pulls his arm off of her and slides two fingers into her, curling and curling.

“S-Steve,” she breathes out, and he glances up at her, his expression positively wicked as he pauses entirely. And then he pulls away.

Her eyelashes flutter closed, grasping onto the comforter so tightly she swears she feels the stitching stretch under her grip. She hears him fumble with his belt and his pants, hears him yank the bedside drawer open, fumbling for a condom. Somewhere in the back of her head, she’ll remember to ask him how he knew those would be there.

(Though, if he’s known Tony for so long, she shouldn’t be surprised.)

The bed dips as he climbs over her again, except this time she can feel how hard he is against the inside of her thigh. She blinks her eyes open to find him gazing down at her, his expression rather tender considering how incredibly wild he’d been only moments ago.

“What?” she asks, voice breathy and raspy. Fuck, she already sounds wrecked, and they’ve barely just started.

He grins. “Just glad we met tonight, is all,” he says, guiding himself between her legs. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth as he teases himself against her, sliding through her folds once, twice, three times, and then he lines up at her entrance.

She thinks it’s rather a miracle that she can pay attention to anything right now. Even more of a miracle that she answers with a steady, entirely sincere, “Me, too.”

He smiles, dimpled and boyish, and then pushes into her with a slow roll of his hips, filling her up, and she digs her nails into the muscles of his back as her spine arches and her lips part in a moan.

... ...

She wakes up the next morning in that bed, alone and tangled in the sheets, and honestly, her hangover isn’t nearly as bad as she thought it would be. Especially when she glances at the nightstand to find a bottled water already waiting for her, along with Ibuprofen and a note scrawled in Steve’s handwriting, giving her his phone number and apologizing for leaving so quickly to get to work. She wonders if it is intuition or maybe the fact that he coaxed four orgasms out of her last night, but she believes him, and she finds the gesture rather cute.

Besides, it’s not like she won’t be seeing him again. Tony had said last night that Steve moved back to the city for good.

It takes a few minutes for her to warm up to the idea of actually leaving her bed, but she needs coffee, and she doesn’t really feel like messing with the ridiculously complicated coffee maker that the Starks have in their kitchen. So she takes the Ibuprofen, changes into the leggings and sweater she’d stashed in this room for after the party, and heads outside.

There’s a coffeehouse only a few blocks away, and she feels a wide, ridiculous smile pulling at her lips as she approaches. Because there’s someone set up in front halfway down the street from the coffeehouse with a holiday charity bucket and a bell, smiling as he makes conversation with an elderly couple offering him coffee and a pastry.

Steve.

Somehow she isn’t surprised.

She ducks into the coffeehouse, orders her usual at the register and asks to borrow a pen. She scrawls her number on a napkin, tucking half of her change into it and dropping the rest into the tip jar. She cradles it in her hand as she holds her latte in the other, stepping outside and walking toward for Steve.

He glances her way as she approaches, pausing as he sees her. And that bright, boyish smile brightens his expression, warming her from the inside far more quickly than her drink.

She hands him the napkin, letting it fall open a little in his hands, so that he can see her number written on one of the corners. His eyes are twinkling as he meets her gaze, dropping the change into the bucket, then carefully folding the napkin and tucking into his jacket pocket. “Think this breaks my promise of not taking from the donations?” he teases.

“I’m sure you can convince them to overlook it.” Grinning, she adds, “You’ve got a rather skilled tongue, after all,” and he licks his lips and laughs.

#romanogers #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #chanty writes #chanty's smut #chanty's holiday 2017 #xo stardust720

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ao3bronte · 7 years

Text

23: Kink Fetish - Praise

Masquerade on Ao3

23: Kink Fetish - Praise

"Marinette?"

“Hm?” Marinette jerks on impulse, gazing upwards from where she'd buried her face in her folded arms, "Hey Nino."

"You're looking a little red this morning," he remarks with a smile, taking up his seat beside her, "Fall asleep on your balcony again?"

Marinette shakes her head and grabs her textbook from her bag, "You're never going to let me live that down are you?"

"You had the funniest sunburn I've ever seen," he snickers, "Wrap around sunglasses and a turtleneck? Really?"

Marinette giggles uncomfortably and tries to forget that on time she'd forgotten her sunscreen when they'd fought for hours over the Seine, "I told everyone a hundred times, it was for a fashion project."

"Sure..." he smirks, rummaging through his backpack, "But really, why are you so red? Are you sick?"

"Sick?" Marinette replays last night's sexcapade in her head for the umpteenth time, "No, no, I'm fine. Just embarrassed."

"What happened this time?"

"This time?”

He shrugs, “You’re always embarrassed about something.”

“I am not,” she mumbles, flipping to chapter four.

“Yeah you are. So who was it then? Amina? Chloe?”

She cringes, “Can you keep a secret?”

Nino nods in earnest and drops his textbook against his desk to give her his full attention, “I…I’m kind of seeing someone.”

“You WHAT?!”

“Shhh!” Marinette swats him across the chest, “Keep it down!”

Nino recoils for a moment, completely rendered speechless. She waits and lets him soak it in for a moment, watching in earnest as his eyes bulged, narrowed, and then widened again, “Does Alya know?”

Marinette swallows uncomfortably, “No. Not yet.”

“You’re seeing someone and she doesn’t know!?” he gapes at her, “She’s going to kill you. Oh god, she’s going to kill me!”

“Not if you don’t tell her.”

“Not tell Alya?” Nino shudders, “She knows everything. She’ll know I’m keeping a secret from her and then she’ll threaten me and—”

“You have to keep it a secret, do you understand?” Marinette insists, “I’ll protect you from her, I promise.”

“How? She’s an actual super spy. She’ll kick both our asses.”

“You’ll be just fine if you don’t tell her anything,” she rolls her eyes, “Anyway, I told you because I need advice.”

“Advice?” Nino reels at the change in subject, “Like, guy advice?”

She fiddles with the strap of her purse, “Well…you’re a guy in a relationship. I thought you would be a good person to ask.”

“Adrien’s in a relationship too you know,” Nino points out, “And he’s way better at these pep talks than I am.”

Marinette reddens at the thought of him, “N-not Adrien. I…I can’t ask him this.”

Nino raises a brow, “Why not?”

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” she tries to say breezily, hoping that he doesn’t notice the way her words seem to get stuck in her throat, “I need advice and it’s got to be you.”

“If you insist. Go for it.”

“Well…” she trails off, staring at her textbook, “What’s your…thing?”

“What?”

She shakes her head, “I mean, what’s the thing that makes you happiest when you’re with Alya? Like, what does she do that just makes you…well, happy I guess?”

“Ah,” Nino nods sagely and presses the bridge of his glasses further up his nose, “I see. You’ve got feelings for him, don’t you?”

“I…” Marinette can’t find it within her to say otherwise, “I just want to let him know I care.”

“Well, if you really want to know…”

“As long as it’s not about your sex life, then yes, I do.”

“Oh darn,” he laughs, snapping his fingers, “I have a whole list of the things she can do with her—”

“Nino!” she punches his arm, “I’m being serious!”

He laughs and grabs his wounded bicep, folding over in pain, “Your knuckles are sharp!”

“And I’ll use them again if you don’t answer me!”

“Fine, fine. She listens to my rants.”

“Your…rants?”

“Yeah,” he fiddles with the wires of his headphones, “My family is…messed up sometimes and it’s hard to talk about, so when something happens it’s like she just…she knows. And she sits me down and makes me food and just lets me talk, you know? Sometimes it takes a while but she never complains and I…honestly, it’s the best thing. It feels like someone actually cares.”

Marinette blinks rapidly, “That…that’s actually really helpful.”

“Yeah?” he replies, making eye contact with her again, “Is his family messed up too?”

“I think so,” she says, playing with the pages of her textbook, “He’s kind of neglected at home from what he’s told me. Not in like, a dangerous way or anything. It’s just…his dad sounds like a total dick.”

Nino snickers, “Are you sure you’re not dating Adrien?”

“What?” she chokes on her own saliva, grabbing at her throat, “No!”

“Well, whoever he is, he sounds like he has a lot more in common with him than he does with me.”

Marinette coughs forcefully into her elbow, her eyes watering, “They’re-cough-nothing-cough-alike.”

“You sure?” Nino opens the lid of her water bottle and hands it to her, “Well, if he’s anything like Adrien, he probably just needs someone to tell him that they care.”

She takes a few gulps and winces, “That’s it?”

“Yeah. Like, one time I told him he was really good with kids because my little brother is the poster child for ADHD and he can keep him happy and occupied for hours which is like…an actual miracle, so I told him and I thought he was going to cry.”

“Really?”

“It was kind of weird at the time but I thought about it after and…man, it kind of made me sad, you know? Like, I know he’s a popular guy and all that but…”

“But it’s still nice to hear it from people that matter,” Marinette supplies, turning away, “It makes sense.”

Nino adjusts the temples of his glasses, “Right? Anyway, that’s just my perspective. But if you haven’t already, you should just talk to the guy and tell him something personal, like how you like his taste in music!”

Marinette snorts, “I don’t even know what kind of music he listens to.”

“What?! How could you not know what kind of music he listens to?” Nino exclaims, waving with his hands, “What else would you even talk about?”

Marinette rolls her eyes and sits back in her chair, “We talk about lots of other things.”

“Like what?”

“I…everything actually. Well, almost everything.”

“Almost everything?”

“Well…” she frowns, shifting her purse so it sits in her lap, “We all have secrets.”

“Just make sure they don’t turn into skeletons,” he replies, “If it’s one thing I’ve learnt from my crazy family, it’s that keeping secrets is no different than lying. Best to be honest about everything than have to always keep up a charade or whatever. Remember Lila?”

Marinette nods emphatically, “How could I forget.”

« Mes élèves, si vous regardez la page 113 de votre manuel, vous constaterez… »

“Ah crap. Anyway, let me know how it goes eh?”

“I will. Thanks for the advice…and keep your mouth shut.”

Nino gulps, “I make no promises.”

“So…did you ever want this back?”

Marinette tosses her head back and picks up the tip of that green Agreste tie she was so very fond of, the strip of silk now tied artfully around her neck. She sounds more amused than she has any right to be considering her predicament, arched and sitting pretty, naked and impaled on his cock.

“I think it looks pretty good where it is,” he grasps her hips and thrusts up into her, relishing in the way her eyes seem to darken in response. He stops suppressing the rumble in his chest, the one he suspects is Plagg's doing, and watches as her hips shift unconsciously against him, lost to the sensation. He loves this woman, the warmth and the heat of her...

Even her bizarre obsession with his ties.

“Good,” she replies, her voice breathless despite her teasing tone, “because it’s mine now.”

Chat chuckles, “If I’d known that ties were what did it for you…”

“Oh, it’s not just the tie,” Marinette murmurs, leaning forward and pinning him under her weight, “Not to say that this isn’t the finest piece of silk I’ve ever held in my life but… it’s not the tie.”

“Really?” Chat retorts, his eyebrow arching under his mask as his arms slide up her thighs to wrap around her waist, “Because you practically molesting this one.”

“Okay, it might be the ties a little,” she admits, waving her fingers airily to dismiss the notion before reaching up to card them through his hair. Chat’s eyes close, his head tilting automatically to grant her better access, the rumble deepening as her fingernails scrape across his scalp, “But ultimately, it’s not the tie.”

“Yeah?” he’s only half paying attention to her words at this point, his focus fixed on the feel of his cock buried inside her, the weight of her against him. She smirks and shifts again, revelling in the way his purr seems to intensify the harder she kneads.

“Mmmm,” Marinette’s leg slowly stretches out behind her as she leans forward, her toes tracing the curve of his calf and the dip in his heel before circling his ankle, “It’s the man wearing the tie.”

Beneath her, Chat’s eyes snap open.

“You’re beautiful,” Marinette admits in a rush, “And I’m not just saying that because you’re disgustingly good looking, with your pretty eyes and your pretty smile and your frankly amazing cock.”

“Disgustingly good looking,” Chat repeated wryly, “Geez, thanks.”

“You’re sexy and you know it,” Marinette chides, “You’ve always known it, so don’t give me that look.”

“But it means so much more coming from you,” Chat croons back, that trademark cockiness of his bubbling through his breathless tone. Marinette can only roll her eyes and shift her hips in retaliation.

“I’m trying to be serious here.”

“Says the woman trying to ah! torture me to death.”

“Like you’re not getting anything out of this,” Marinette retorts, clenching her inner muscles and smirking as his eyes glaze over and his hips jerk in response.

“M’Lady…” he whimpers, hips twitching futilely under her weight, “This is cruel.”

“Cruel?” Marinette clenches again, holding for a beat before relaxing, “Me? Never.”

“Please,” he begs, shifting restlessly, “Don’t tease.”

“Me? A tease?” she quips, rocking her hips back against his. Groaning, he slides his hands towards her ribs and pushes her down, fruitlessly thrusting up inside her, “Hardly.”

“That’s not what it feels like,” Chat argues, his tactics shifting. He bends his knees and digs his toes into the sod, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin of her stomach. He slides his hands between them and adjusts his grip, desperate to get her to fuck him, “Is this payback for Wednesday?”

“Have I ever told you how amazing my partner is?” she evades his question, leering down at him. She continues stroking her fingers through his hair, shuddering at the slide of the silk tie between their bodies and relishing in the faint tug of it around her neck in counterpoint to the motions he makes as he thrusts into her. She clenches around him, partly to heighten the sensation of him inside her, but mostly to hear him moan, “Because he totally is.”

Leaning down, she sinks her teeth into his earlobe and laves it with her tongue, “He’s incredibly strong…did you know I once saw him lift a bus? Seriously, a bus. And even though he’s not as strong as a civilian, he’s still strong enough to pick me up and fuck me against a wall.”

“You’re not that heavy.”

“I’m not that light,” she refutes, letting go of his earlobe to trace the shell of his ear with her tongue, “That’s still fifty-two kilos that he supported while he pinned me against the wall and fucked me stupid. And he did it like it was nothing.”

“He’s handsome too,” Marinette continues, rolling her hips to punctuate her point “He knows it too so I don’t say it too often, but he’s amazing to watch. Once, we got caught on video and nobody, not one person, had a single negative comment to say about his body. ‘An ass carved from marble.’ ‘A body like a Greek god.’ ‘A fucking Adonis.’”

Beneath her, Chat begins to pant and writhe, tilting his head back to give her better access to his throat as she kisses compliments across his skin, “I heard his partner is pretty hot too.”

“You’re not wrong,” she dismisses, “but trust me, all eyes were on the specimen of physical perfection she was with. I mean, #CNbooty trended for days on social media…I can only imagine all the women who climbed on their boyfriends that night, wishing they were him.”

Chat whimpers as he tries to rock his hips against hers, the movements short and hindered by their position. He reaches down and tries to tug her leg back up, groaning in frustration when she flexes her thighs and refuses, “They really only saw the least of it, which is better for me really, because if they knew how hot he really is, up close and between my thighs, they’d probably hate me. But he’s so much more than just strong and handsome.”

“And that’s what I love the most,” she purrs, her nose brushing just below his ear as her nails scrape down his chest and to trace the muscles there. She pinches his nipples just to hear him gasp before dragging her fingers down his ribs, sitting up and tucking her leg back up alongside him, “His physical attributes are really the least of it.”

Chat regards her, wide-eyed and a little disbelieving as she moves over top of him, her back arching and breasts thrusting out as she continues to rock.

“I mean it,” she scolds him at his mute stare, “He’s kind and he cares about others. He stays behind to talk to akuma victims when he can and checks up on them to make sure they’re doing okay or that they’ve gotten help…oh, did you think I didn’t notice that?”

“We visit hospitals,” she carries on, grabbing his slack fingers and pulling them up to her chest. She plants her palms over his and rolls the hardened peaks of her breasts between his fingers, “It’s good publicity of course, but he really just loves doing it, talking to people and letting old ladies pinch his cheeks...the ones on his face obviously,” Marinette adds, winking mischievously, “Only I get to pinch the other set.”

“And kids, he loves kids,” Marinette pants as he thrusts up into her, “He goes to visit them in the hospital and carries around little treats and stickers for them in his pockets to hand out when we’re patrolling, or after a battle.”

Chat writhes underneath her, thrusting into her wet heat as she continues to shower him in breathless praises, interspersed with hoarse moans and pleased hums. He lets go of her hips and grabs the green tie still looped around her throat, wrapping it around his wrist and tugging her down to smash his lips against hers. He tries to pour all of his feelings, his love and adoration, his reverence and pride and longing into the kiss and it still isn’t enough.

“You’re amazing,” he struggles for breath, peppering kisses along her cheeks, her jaw, her throat, anywhere he can reach, “You’re beautiful and strong. You’re-”

Marinette reaches up, gripping his hair and yanking his head back. He gasps as her teeth sink into the muscle of his shoulder and her hips grind down against him, the intensity of the friction sending her reeling. She grips him with her thighs as she rides him as hard as she can, the nails of her free hand biting into his opposite shoulder and scraping him raw. He’s helpless to do anything other than her bidding, thrusting up into her blindly as he hangs, dangling, over the abyss.

“Yours,” she whispered reverently, “I’m yours.”

It’s like being ignited by lightning, love and lust and frenzy and a desperate need to be acknowledged all twisted up into a ball inside him, sitting in his chest and crushing his lungs. He drops the tie to grip her hips and hold her to him even as his rhythm falters, squeezing tight as he slams into her. She lets him, bearing down on him and whispering her love and devotion against his lips as his release consumes him.

Sometime later, he finds himself lying prone against the grass in the moonlight, gasping and panting and bonelessly tired. Eyes still clenched shut, he breathes in the scent of her skin and listens to her heady gasps as she comes down with him, the intoxicating slide of silk against his throat forcing him back to reality.

“Wha-?” he murmurs blearily, blinking his eyes open and frowning as Marinette sits back up and ogles him smugly; the tie was no longer around her neck.

“You know, I changed my mind,” she declares, reaching out and stroking a finger down the loose knot before straightening it absently, “I want you to wear it.”

“I thought it was yours,” Chat replies, still trying to regain his equilibrium. Licking her lips, Marinette flexes her spine and stretches languidly as if his dick wasn’t still rock hard and sitting inside her.

“Oh, it is,” she smirks deviously, “It’s mine, and so are you. All mine.”

“I can handle that,” he murmurs, absently trailing his fingers down her thighs and brushing his thumbs over her knees.

“In fact, I want you to wear it. And every time you wear it, every time you look at it, I want you to remember what you mean to me.”

“This is payback, isn’t it?” Chat breathes, throat clogging on emotions he can’t voice.

“Besides,” she adds smugly, rising up off of him and onto her knees, her eyes shining with mischief, “I already sent you those pictures. You know what I did with that tie. Try to forget that while you’re wearing it, I dare you.”

#mlnsfw #ml fanfic #miraculust #miracusin #smutember #smutember2017 #adrien agreste #marinette cheng #miraculous ladybug #brontewrites

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