mass-angel-exodus · 11 months ago
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I have a request for a thing you could draw, but it requires some context. are you familiar with the folgers incest commercial?
MINORS DNI || Age in bio BYF|| DO NOT REPOST
No but I definitely am now (this is rushed I’m so sorry everyone)
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bookish-blood · 4 months ago
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Modern AU
Keyleth looks up from her sketches as the little bell over her door chimes. „Vex! Hi, nice to see you. Sorry, I’ll just-“
„I’m a bit early, not to worry.“ Vex leans against the counter, picking up one of the business cards and twirling it between her fingers. „By the way, I was thinking… You know, Percy and I are together for a while now. So how instead these arrows we talked about we-“
„Vex, I am not tattooing your boyfriends name on you! It’s so stupid to do that! And I-“
Vex grins. „I was joking.“ She pockets the business card and winks at Keyleth. „Show me my arrows?“
Keyleth glares at her, more playful than anything else. „I hate you,“ she say without any real heat behind it. Throwing her pencil to the side, she shrugs out of her light cardigan, revealing a beautiful sleeve of floral designs on her left arm. „But I had a fun time doing some sketches for you. Look.“ Out of a drawer she pulls various sketches, all of arrows in different designs. „I’m favouring this one. Do you still want it on your forearm?“
„On the inside, yes.“ Vex takes the sketch Keyleth has pushed towards her. It shows three arrows crossing each other in the middle, their arrowheads and feathers beautifully rendered. „This look gorgeous, Keyleth. Would you mind some colour on those?“
Keyleth grins. „I should be the one asking you. What are you thinking?“
Vex points to the feathering. „Can you make them raven and magpie?“
„Sure. Let me look something up real quick and I’ll add some colour to the sketch. If you like it, we can get started.“ Keyleth starts to type away on her computer and modifying the sketch. „Can I get you something to drink?“
„I’ve got some water, but thanks.“
„You’ve eaten?“ Keyleth raises an eyebrow at her, looking briefly up from her sketching.
Vex returns the look. „It’s not my first tattoo.“
„So?“
„Yes, I’ve eaten. No alcohol yesterday and not even a coffee today so far. Which, I might add, is a great sacrifice on my end.“
Keyleth chuckles. „Your sacrifice is appreciated.“ She tweaks the design a bit more, then nods her head. „Alright, let’s go back.“ She starts prepping her workspace and, after putting on gloves, Vex’s skin.
Hours pass with chatting, laughter and the occasional scolding, all while the machine whirrs and the design comes to life on Vex’s skin. They are nearly finished, when the bell over the door chimes again. „Just a moment!“ Keyleth yells. She carefully turns Vex’s arm and traces a few lines a second time before setting aside the machine and gently wiping it down. „We’ll let it sit for a few minutes, then I’ll pack you in. Remember, no bathing for the next four weeks, no direct sun for the next six. After that, do use sunscreen. And remember to-“
„To care for it especially in the next two weeks and not let Trinket slobber it up, I know. It’s not my first tattoo, you know?“
„I do know. A few of yours a from me, after all.“ Keyleth wipes Vex’s arm down again before covering the fresh tattoo in adhesive tape. „I’ll see who it is. Take as much time as you need.“ She throws her gloves into the trash and pushes her stool away to stand up.
A man stands with his back to her, his gaze on the wall that holds her various sketches, interspersed with some photos of those she has tattooed over time. His long, dark hair falls open over his shoulders save for a few braids with beads in them. Hearing her steps, he looks over his shoulder; his resemblance to Vex is uncanny. „You are Keyleth?“
„I-i-i am.“ Keyleth clears her throat. „I mean, I am, yes. You are…?“
„Vax’ildan. I’m here to make a deposit on my appointment?“ He smiles, almost unsure of himself.
„Of course! Just let me get my notes.“ Keyleth rummages through her desk. „Here! Two daggers, one on each forearm, right? One with flames.“
„That’s me.“
„Vax? What are you doing here?“ Vex comes out, holding her arm at a bit of an awkward angle. „Where’s Trinket?“
„What, you think I bring him into a tattoo studio?“ Vax raises an eyebrow at her. „I took you for being smarter, sister. Though maybe I shouldn’t, with you dating Freddie and all that.“
„You, Vax’ildan, are an arse.“
„Sister?“ Keyleth looks up, eyes wide. Both twins turn their attention to her pointing at their own faces. „Right. I just… I didn’t know you were the brother Vex keeps talking about.“
Vax turns back to his sister, grinning. „Aaw, you do love me. And to answer your question, Trinket is with Pike. She holds the fort at the shop, there’s a delivery of fresh flowers supposed to arrive today. So, here’s the agreed deposit,“ he puts a few bills on the counter, „and I’ll be back on the fifth. Do you need anything else of me?“
„Uhm, no, no. Just tell me if you change your mind about what you want to have tattooed or if you can think of any details you’d like to have incorporated. And if you can’t make it to the appointment, it would be nice to let me know in time.“
Vax nods. „Of course.“
„I’m looking forward to it.“ Keyleth smiles softly, then turns her attention at Vex. „If you’re unsure about anything or have questions during healing, just let me know. And no scratching!“
„As always, will do. You outdid yourself, darling.“
„A pleasure. And give Trinket some scritches from me.“
~*~*~*~*~*~
„Hi, how can I-? Oh, Keyleth. Hello.“ Vax smiles warmly, brushing off his hands. „How can I help you?“
Keyleth closes the door behind her, returning his smile. „Vex recommended you. I’m looking for a few plants for the studio. Something… I don’t know.“
„Not a problem. Do you have experience with plants? Do you want something with blooms or without?“
„I have some experience, yes. Not too much, though. And I love flowers I just find them…“
„Intimidating?“ Vax nods, still smiling. „Well, some people tend to kill orchids, but really it’s rather easy to care for them. I think the amount of sunshine in your studio, at least in the front, would be suitable for them. And maybe something without blooms for the back, so that you don’t have to worry about pollen?“ He points to different, luscious plants all around his shop.
Keyleth looks around helplessly. „I, uh, I’d defer to your expertise? This is… This is a lot.“
Vax opens his arms, shrugging. „How long do you have? I could… Well, I could get us a coffee from down the street and then I could show you the plants I’d have in mind for you and answer all your questions. If that is alright with you?“
„Yeah. Yeah, sure.“ Keyleth can feel the blush spreading to the tips of her ears. „Uhm, I can take care of the coffee? I’m sure you cannot leave the shop unsupervised.“
„I could always close up,“ Vax retorts with a grin. „But sure, if you insist. Just,“ he rummages around in his pocket and pulls out a few knittered bills, „take this. No protests! I’ll just have a black coffee, no sugar.“ His fingers linger for a moment as he pushes the money in her hands.
Keyleth blushes even harder but doesn’t pull back her hand. „I’ll be back in no time.“
~*~*~*~*~*~
„Alright, that was dagger numer one.“ Keyleth pushes her stool back and snaps off her gloves. „I’d say we go for a little break here and then we’ll take care of your other arm. How are you doing?“
Vax chuckles and moves to rob his left forearm before catching himself. „I’d forgotten how much a tattoo can hurt. But your designs really are beautiful. I mean, the deatils, the depth… No wonder my sister comes back to you.“
She grins at him. „Maybe you’ll come back, too. Oh Gods, I’m sorry, I don’t know… I’m sorry.“
Vax’s smile turns softer, warmer. „No need. Really, don’t worry. I’ll even bring more plants, if you want to.“
„I, uh, I really love that monstera you brought today. I hope I don’t kill it.“ Her blush is still prominent, feeling as though her face is burning up. „I’ll do my best not to, anyway.“ She clears her throat, finding Vax’s gaze again. „So, this is not your first tattoo?“
„Disappointed? Your daggers are more beautiful, though.“ Vax sighs, rubbing his neck with one hand and reaching for a pen to twirl between his fingers. „Yeah, I was a teenager. It was stupid. Vex… Vex and I were in a difficult situation back then. It’s, uh, it’s not something I like to talk about, to be honest.“
„You don’t need to.“ Keyleth smiles encouragingly. „And should you ever want it covered, just tell me. We’ll work something out. No need to carry a difficult memory on your skin.“
Vax lets out a breath he hasn’t known he has been holding. „That… Yeah, let’s talk about that some time. Maybe after these are healed.“
„Anytime.“ Keyleth gets up and opens a cabinet door at the end of the room. „You want a granola bar?“
„Sure.“
~*~*~*~*~*~
The bell over her door chimes again, causing Keyleth to turn around from where she has watered her plants, which have grown in number ober the past weeks and months since she has met Vax’ildan.
„Vax! Hi.“ She smiles brightly as she recognizes the man entering. „You’re early.“
„I brought you something, a seedling of a plant named Alocasia Antoro Velvet. I thought you might like it.“
Keyleth carefully touches the dark, almost purple leaves. „It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.“
„It’s a rather rare plant. But I managed to get one some years ago and I thought you might like one, too.“
„That is… very thoughtful of you. Thank you very much.“ Keyleth accepts the plant with a smile and places it on the shelf. „Are you ready for our session today?“
Vax nods mutely, briefly averting her gaze.
Keyleth smiles softly and takes his hand. „Come.“ She leads him in the back where her sketches of antlers are already prepared. While she prepares her tattooing machine, he slips out of his shirt, baring the rather simple symbol of the Clasp between his shoulder blades. Keyleth sprays his skin with disinfectant and carefully wipes it down. „I’ll place one of the stencils on it and you can see whether you like it or not. If not, we can try another design or placement. Alright?“
Vax clears his throat, „Alright.“
He lets Keyleth work in silence, until she gently swats his upper arm. „Go to the mirror and tell me what you think.“
„When have I ever not done that?“ He manages a smile, but it feels rather crooked. With a deep breath he braces himself, then he looks up in the mirror. He only sees a pair of elaborate antlers. While the lines are not thick, Keyleth has managed to blend the symbol of the Clasp with the design so much that it almost vanishes behind it. „It’s perfect, Keyleth. Thank you,“ he says, his voice choked. He lets his gaze linger a moment longer before sitting back on the stool.
Keyleth smiles softly and leans forward to kiss his hair before she starts tattooing.
Find the master doc here
This oneshot was inspired by this post by @daniellecroy. I'm almost inclined to make a whole fic out of it, if I should find the time.
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me-uglypretty · 2 years ago
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81 with natasha x supersoldier! reader 😝😝
#81 Kailee Morgue - Headcase ft. Hayley Kiyoko | blurb replay 2022
Natasha Romanoff x Reader | Warning: (18+), mention of injury & blood, but happy ending
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“Where the hell have you been?”
Natasha slipped, one hand holding the doorframe while the other encloses around her arm where a slash of red weeps and mocks her tumbling state of weakness. The world’s greatest spy shouldn’t had failed this bad, how could she?
And yet, you disregard the trace of irritation in your voice, because you noticed the limp in her step and where blood drips mercilessly on the ground.
“Don’t touch,” Natasha weakly grumbled, shoving your hands away from her. “I said, don’t fucking touch!”
You take a step back, a deep frown appearing dejectedly on your face. “I’m sorry, Nat.”
Natasha hated the woeful sight of you; frown so uncanny on a face that was often adorned with a smile, hands trembling as though your blood wasn’t gushing with the strength of a super soldier, and how your body slumps weakly as you stand, so unlike your sturdy self.
It was your fault—but the truth lies there, where she extends her hand as a silent peace offering and you unquestionably grasp her hand like you needed to feel her. And she needed to feel you too.
“I’m okay,” Natasha whispered, and she doesn’t argue when you effortlessly lifted her into your arms or when you tended to her wounds.
Her blood stains the surface where you walked, and where your hand trembles with the look of distress in your eyes. The sheer gentleness in your touch makes the lump in her throat grow, guilt gnawing her chest for acting on impulsive, and in return, hurting you.
A babbling mess in her chest as she admits, you were always there for her.
It was always you.
The one to chase after her, promising to keep her safe, to stand in the line of fire because you swore to keep her save, and love her as she is—a heartbreaker as she said, a dangerous person as she warned, and the lines after that points the worse of her.
All the reasons laid blatantly for you to loathe her like the rest would.
But you never did.
“I was worried, I thought you— Nat, please never do that again,” you begged, eyes blurry as you distressingly wipe the tears that rolls down your cheeks.
Natasha messed up when uncertainty probs through her heart.
A mission left as unanswered calls, and it was an undercover mission, she wasn’t obliged to answer everything. It shouldn’t matter if you were worry because she left without a word, only the vague nod of her head as she climbed into the jet and continued the weeks after, trying to not recall the look on your face.
Her heart was falling into pieces, either she admitted it or not.
If you were there, a kiss would had been pressed on her lips then your thumb would trace the arch of her cheeks, you would wait till she smiles and wrap her arm around your neck.
“It wouldn’t matter,” you’d say, “If you’re safe then…I’m happy,” and that was the finality to a conversation which left her exasperate to know why you would act so recklessly for her.
She doesn’t know how to express herself with you, when she was always sure to ruin everything till you came along, urging for her to say and do as she pleased.
“You love me?” she questioned.
A smile graces your lips, and you nod your head.
Natasha grasps your hand and steering your gaze away from where her blood stains your hand. A smile mirrors on her face as yours, before her lips presses on yours and she’s kissing you like this was her first time tasting you.
“Never let go of me,” Natasha breathed out, her eyes shutting close when your mouth finds the deep of her collarbone.
You answered the same way she speaks—with your mouth on hers, tongue tasting so sweet and salty from the tears rolling freely down your face and hers, the stroke of your fingers between her thighs where she gasps and pleads for more than your teasing notions, and you relent, giving her everything that she wanted.
It was always you, and she knows enough to allow her heart to fall completely for you.
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i had an idea, but i couldn't execute it the same way and i hope this is still okay < 3
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jadelynlace · 2 years ago
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76. “You know I’m holding back from fucking you over this kitchen counter, don’t push your luck.” (this screams ink ivar)
Girl, it screams him in a multitude of languages.
content warnings: explicit content,smut
find the list of requests here & find more ink drinker here
Your outfit is the least likely thing to currently fuel the storm brewing inside of Ivar. There’s a glisten to his irises and you’re not sure if it’s out of anger or challenge. Between the choice of wording constantly sewn between Sigurd’s sentences and the passive aggressive remarks made by his father, you watch the metaphorical meter along his spine slowly raise. His reserve of sarcasm, petty remarks and down right ignoring have run completely dry and at the current state of affairs, he’s borrowing just to keep up.
When Ragnar excuses himself briefly and Sigurd finally sags in his chair (even he is at his limit with this man), your hand on Ivar’s arm causes him to flinch coldly. There’s an apology muttered and his weak words slide across the tabletop before Sigurd stands to step outside to start his own chain smoking.
Your hand moves from where it’s stationed in the air to planting on his thigh, a quick squeeze to the meat you’re able to wrap in your fist as the small pulsation momentarily calms the man next to you. And as you repeat your motions, you swear there’s a moan under his breath that he so very carefully tries, and fails, to cover. 
“Just let me know when you want me to take over,” You say softly. Even when your main attempt is to refer to the conversation at the forefront, you know Ivar takes the slight detour on his travels to interoperate it. “I’ve already chosen a very careful, and specific speech that may or may not make him cry. Hopefully, may,”
“I have a better way to use your mouth,” Ivar mutters and you snap your head to look directly at him. His gaze is still stuck on the table but you see the tell-tale sign of his lips growing into a smirk before ever so slowly, he turns his head to look directly at you.
“What was that?” You challenge, only closing the space between you two a tad.
“Save your breath,” Ivar starts. “You’ll need it later, I promise,”
“Make sure you can keep your promise,” You remark back as your hand takes a slow trace further up his thigh. 
“Don’t push your luck,” Ivar mumbles. His arm moves then, scooping behind the chair you're in and pulling your body closer in one smooth maneuver. You can feel his breath against your ear before he speaks again: “You know I’m holding back from fucking you over the kitchen counter, don’t push your luck,”
Before you’re able to open your mouth, the door moves and Sigurd plops himself back down in the chair. Ragnar’s back not two seconds after, a refill of his own drink and you watch Ivar straighten. Your fingertips brush delicately closer to his middle before they dance away, and you’re the only one who sees the twitch his jaw makes under the skin. 
Fumbling with your phone, you open the application your agency has assigned to you for all things work; between the dispatch calls and your response time and you let out a telltale loud groan of annoyance. One you have perfected over the course of working alongside Ivar’s brother.
“I need you to drive me to the station,” You say suddenly. “Whomever they gave overtime to, just called in,” You lie.
“What?” Ivar asks and his confusion almost amuses you.
“Chief asked me to fill in until the replacement is there,” You say calmly. “Sorry we have to cut this short, Ragnar,” You say as you look across the table.
“Not a problem, dear,” He replies with an uncanny warmth to his voice. The tone and the endearment makes you want to flip the table onto him. “Another time soon, perhaps?”
“Of course,” You say back, negating to leave out the other, more crude part of your sentence. 
You practically drag Ivar back to the car in all attempts to make this lie seem like a true emergency, and as the engine fires up he still looks confused. 
“I thought you had this whole week off?” Ivar mumbles and his lip curls as he fastens his seatbelt.
“I do,” You reply.
“Then…then why am I driving you to the station?” Ivar quips.
“You’re not,” You start. “You’re going to undo your belt so I can help you relieve some of your built-up tension on the way home,” You say back firmly, looking directly into Ivar’s eyes.  “That way, we don’t break any of the glasses in the kitchen cabinets when you fuck me against the counter,” 
“Oh my fucking god,” Ivar mutters under his breath and there’s a short laugh of pure disbelief as one hand reached for the clasp around his waist, and the other pulls the car into gear. “You could have just said—” And Ivar stops when your hand replaces his. “You could have just said—” And that sentence doesn’t even get to finish as he presses his head against the back of the seat when your lips wrap his tip.
“What was that thing about saving oxygen?” You hum before looking up him. You feel his hand tangle into your hair suddenly, finding a firm grasp amongst the strands and your moan vibrates against his cock. The car rolls slowly as your tongue traces the underside of his length, traveling along the vein with the dribble of salty pre-cum already starting in your throat. 
“I know I said over this kitchen counter, but the hood of the car might be just as well,” Ivar whispers and you can’t help the small giggle that moves your lips against him. “It’s really the same—the same height,” He tries.
“Stop talking,” You reply.
“It’s keeping me from crashing,” He answers. 
Your hand picks up when your mouth pulls away, strands of saliva still connecting you to him, and Ivar’s knuckles whitewash against the steering wheel as if they’re about to burst into bloody confetti. There’s a low grumble from his chest as you work him, even as his eyes constantly battle between watching you and watching the road before him. 
You feel the car halt suddenly and it only causes you to giggle as the movement rocks you. You’re not even totally certain that the entire vehicle is parked fully in the garage but you lack the ability to truly care. Pulling your head up slowly, you move away from Ivar, leaving a lingering kiss on his lips as he stuffs himself back into his pants. Your turn around the car is met with his grasp, pushing you against the hood and you know this insatiable man can’t wait to have you, so he’ll take you here. 
The hood of the car is still warm against your cheek, and the first push of Ivar’s cock into you makes you moan; it makes you shake against the metal as the car rattles. The surface offers nothing for you to grasp, and as Ivar sinks further you feel the tension dissipate from his body. However, this isn’t the time Ivar is going to be slow, tease you to the point of begging, and give in to your every need, just to hear your noises. This time, there’s fuel to how he moves and you pick up on it when the first snap of his hips is harsh, quick, rocking the car on its wheels and you nearly scream in the sudden pleasure. 
A dark chuckle comes from Ivar, as his head tips back slowly while he watches the way his cock pierces you. Pulling out, glistening from your juices before he traces his eyes back up your back. His hand is there next, slithering through your hair, and in one sudden motion, his thrust matches how his fingers pull at your locks. Heaving a sigh as the pleasure replaces the resentment, Ivar’s lips part as he sees your hands in a desperate display to grip something that’s not there. He plants his free hand next to yours suddenly, a loud thump of the quick motion against the metal and you waste no time latching on. 
“Fuck,” Ivar rasps, pressing his lips back together before snapping into your cunt another time. Your hair is dropped as your head hangs like a forgotten thought before you feel the brisk snap of that same palm against your backside. 
The metal from his belt scrapes the concrete floor and you lose all ability to try and put up a fight. Let him get out in frustrations in the way he fucks you and he grows more vocal with each deep press inside of you.
Suddenly, his body is over yours, sandwiching you against the car as his hips do not cease in their mission. 
“Who made you this wet?” Ivar asks lowly, his mouth by the shell of your ear and your first response is to whine. “Use your words,”
“You did,” You peep and you finally open your eyes. But they roll back suddenly as Ivar picks up his motions, pulling away only a whisper and giving you the room to crane your neck. Looking back you see the focus in his gaze, scanning your covered body like a predator and when your eyes lock with his, he feels your walls squeeze him.
One hand moves your head in his favor before he leans closer, covering your mouth with his but your lips cannot put up the same fight as you come around him. He only drinks in the noises you make with each thrust, the sounds coming from the movement in his hips, the slight rock of the car, and the wetness of your cunt. There’s no warning from him to how close he is, only the slight pressure that covers your back when his chest moves closer; his hips snapping erratically to pull out his own release and anger. 
When his lips stop, your head drops again, the ache in your muscles grows too needy and you feel his cheek against your temple. 
“Harder,” You whisper, knowing exactly what you’re doing. “Harder, Ivar, I need to feel you come inside of me,” And your words prove to be the single downfall as his hips push at you forcefully. Emptying his mind as his cock sputters, spilling his seed into you as he hears you hum, feel you shake below before resting his weight over your body, and you both pant. 
The only noise that takes up the garage becomes his breathing, as his limbs move slowly to try and find yours but it becomes a losing battle as the sudden onset of exhaustion nags at you both. 
“We should go to dinner at your Dad’s more often,” You peep from under him but you feel Ivar shake his head as it lays over yours.
“Mmm, nope. Don’t need to see him in order to do this, thank you very much,”
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chezzywezzy · 3 years ago
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Yandere Pyramid Head (4/4)
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Word count ; 4.7k
*Edited.
“You know,” I spoke in a low tone, only to Cybil, “Sharon, my sister - we’re not related by blood. But I remember when I went to the orphanage with my dad and late mom, I knew she was supposed to be my sister. Mom agreed. We both fell in love with her instantly. It took a while for her to grow on dad, but Sharon was destined to be in our family. I hate this place. Whatever’s wrong here, it ruined Sharon. She was only eleven, you know.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. Children don’t deserve to die so young,” Cybil sympathized, gently patting my back. “She was lucky to have such a great family.”
“Quiet,” Christabella hissed. “We’re in his domain now. Look at this map. Memorize it. Your memory may save your life.” She pulled us toward the hospital map. “This is where the darkness lies. The demon is in the bowels of this building. It hides behind the face of an innocent.”
“You… mean a child?” I clarified.
“Don’t believe your eyes. Your eyes will lie to you. Faith is the only truth. I will pray for you, Y/n… but I won’t expect you and your friend to return.” She walked back and gave us distance.
Cybil let me memorize the information while I analyzed the map as well as I could. Left, right, left, left, right, right, left. My finger traced the hallways that led all the way to B-10, the designated hospital room. My finger collected some dust, so I wiped it on my jeans.
I decided to inspect the room further. I went over to the main desk in order to loot. It was coated in filth and the chair was decayed and broken.
“Are you sure we should do this?” Cybil said.
“Yes. We should’ve died so many times already. I have a feeling that we are intended to take this route… The kid was right in front of me. He could’ve killed me. But he’s showing us his story, little by little, Cybil.”
“…Okay. I trust your judgement.”
“Thanks for being here with me through all this shit."
I moved around the desk and looked through some shattered glass cabinets. Some empty medicine bottles were tipped over inside, but nothing stood out. I checked some of the drawers in the front desk. There was an old pen. I checked to see if it worked, or if any of them did, but alas. But then I realized the paper I was using to test them was an old newspaper. I turned it over, a cloud forming. I coughed before examining the newspaper. ‘ELYSIA ESPOSA, ELEMENTARY SCHOOL STUDENT, ALLEGED ACCOMPLICE TO CHILD MURDERER, JACOB BLACK.’
“Take this.” Adam suddenly thrust a flashlight into my vision. I gasped but took it. “They’ll be drawn to the light, but you won’t be able to see without it.”
“Thank you, sir.” I tested the flashlight out before joining Cybil’s side.
“So this thing actually works?” Cybil checked.
“It will. If the demon wants you, it will.” Christabella check the desk and lifted up the newspaper. “These were the witches that damned her.”
“The little girl looks like I did,” I tittered. “The resemblance is uncanny, you know.”
The group froze. Christabella’s expression visibly darkened. I became nervous. “Like you?”
“Well, kinda, except for being a kid and all —“
“Witch! She is the demon’s bride, do not let the witches go down!” Christabella shrieked, and her minions jumped into action. Cybil’s immediate reaction was to take out her gun. She shot Adam in the chest. We both backed up. I tried to reach the elevator.
“Stop her, you fools! We must burn her!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I shouted back.
“You need to go, there’s no rationalizing with this bitch,” Cybil cried, shooting at two of the men’s feet.
“We’re going together.”
Cybil suddenly turned and shoved me into the elevator. She glanced over her shoulder once, and only once. “Go. Go!”
A scream tore at my throat as she knocked the crowbar out of the door, shutting it. I banged my fists and screwed harder. All of a sudden, the elevator began to shake. Panic overcame me and I gripped onto the side. It shook more and more. I turned on the flashlight and pressed myself further against the wall.
The elevator started falling. My already hoarse throat couldn’t handle it, but I couldn’t help it; everything was trembling. I was falling. It was becoming darker and darker as I went down. A red light illuminated the ground, but I could barely see anything. My light had gone out.
But eventually, the elevator came to a roaring halt. My legs were still trembling from the impact. I shook the large flashlight and it came to a start. I finally recovered myself enough to walk towards the door. The door creaked open.
Okay, there’d definitely be monsters in this hellhole. Left, right, left, left, right, right, left. I chanted it in my head over and over again, as though it were a mantra. I walked down the hall and turned left. And then right. I was uneasy with how silent the halls were. The only thing I could hear were my own footsteps and pants.
But, after a few turns, I came face to face with a hoard of… mannequins? They began twitching uncontrollably and they started skulking towards me.
I gasped and turned off my light. I could see well enough, but I knew the mannequins had stopped. What creeped me out even more was how… each one of the had a wedding veil dragging across the ground. They were still twitching, but not as violently. They were each naked mannequins, but not the plastic store type; more so the designer plushy sorts. Coated in a deep filth, each had an unreadable expression. But their plush hands had blades for fingers.
‘They’ll be drawn to the light.’ I bit my lip and thought. I had to get through an entire crowd of mannequins. There were at least twenty, and they were tightly packed. There was no way to get through except right in the middle, where each of the mannequins were eager to get their grub supernatural hands on me.
Then, I had a Eureka lightbulb moment. If I drew the monsters to one side of the hallway, surely I can make a less-dangerous path. So, mustering my courage, I set the light to the side of the hallway. Crouching down, I quickly turned it o and scattered to the other side of the hall, where I was out of the light’s reach.
I let a squeak when the mannequin started up. Their creaking legs started forward. Step after step. They were growling. I pushed myself further against the wall. They crowd began migrating to one side. I pushed myself up against the wall. I couldn’t help but tremble further.
With each step they took towards the light, they cracked. Almost as if they had bones Mannequins weren’t supposed to have bones to crack in the first place.
They all started crowding the light. I began inching my way down the hall. And that’s when a blood bath occurred.
It only took one awkward movement, but one of the mannequins slashed another. The attacked mannequin song back, letting out a hoarse yowl. I let out a small squeak and tried to push myself away from the crowd further. They all started attacking one another, having approached the light. Blood splattered everywhere.
So, naturally, I broke into a run.
Left, left, right, right. I turned hallway after hallway, leaving the monsters behind. And finally, I saw it. Like a shining beacon, room B-10 down the hallway. I let out a scream of relief as I knocked myself against the door. I jiggled the knob and swung it open.
When I stepped in the room, I became blind. A white light clouded my and I was bathed in a warm light. It felt as though I was floating on air. My brain blanked from sheer comfort and I figured I was probably smiling - for the first time in at least a month.
“You finally made it, Y/n,” Jacob’s voice echoed within the void. “I’ve been waiting for much longer than you’d ever imagine. You must be confused as to why I led you here.”
A vision began. It was the little girl and Jacob. I knew now that the girl was Elysia, and she was so similar to me to be considered a doppelgänger. They were playing on the playground during lunch when suddenly, mud was being thrown at them. A group of mean girls were picking on Elysia, and Jacob threw a tantrum while trying to make them go away.
“Don’t you see? I was always such a good boy. Everything I did was for Elysia, and yet nobody understood. Everyone hated us.”
The scene changed to that of the bathroom. Elysia walked through the door. The janitor was inside and sent her a perverse grin. He stalked towards her. However, the vision didn’t continue any further, as it went dark and all I could hear were agonized screams from the girl.
And then, there was Christabella. She was standing in front of Dahlia in the hotel. Two large men were holding the two children up as they screamed and writhed. And yet, the adults were calm, all except for Dahlia.
“Elsyia and I were alone in the world. Except, we had each other. But even then, those evil people weren’t satisfied. They thought we were witches because we were unfortunate. Even my own mother couldn’t help me.”
Christabella motioned with her fingers before turning and opening the painting. The men followed her, not blinking an eye as the children struggled. And Dahlia could only watch from the sidelines as they were dragged away into the large factory.
“My mother loved me, but it wasn’t enough. Elysia and I loved each other, too, but the evil people were too much. You know what it’s like to lose someone you love a lot, don’t you, Y/n?”
The two children were tied to a stake. They were still blubbering and crying, but they were holding hands. The cult members were praying and bowing their heads. Their incantation grew louder. Christabella lit up a torch, illuminating her vile expression.
She approached the stake. And, without hesitation, she tossed the torch onto the pile of wood. Screams tore at the children’s throats as the fire inched closer. Soon, Elysia and Jacob were lit aflame. The burns traveled up their legs and torsos until their entire bodies were on fire. However, the fire spread elsewhere; across the factory floors and towards some of the onlookers.
“Dahlia tried to stop it, but she was too late.”
There Jacob was, burnt to a crisp. His skin as black as charcoal, peeling and cracked. He was being carried away on a table. However, there was no other rescue. Elysia had clearly perished. Jacob was paralyzed, only recognizable by his blue eyes that were wide and unblinking with terror.
“There were good people in the town. But Jacob didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care anymore. If only Elysia had survived, perhaps the bad people would have been spared. But this evil must be judged, Y/n.”
It was the hospital room. The curtain was closed around the bed. But, it was slowly opened, and laying on the bed, was Jacob. A husk of what he once was. But as I panned in further on his expression, I noticed the tears sliding down his cheeks. They glistened across his inky skin. And then, someone else showed. It was… alike to a darker version of himself. As though there was an unspoken deal between the two, the dark child and Jacob clutched each other’s hands.
They didn’t let go, and their bodies began fusing together. They bubbled and festered until they became one. A normal Jacob, but one that had nothing but malice in his eyes. And he stood up from his bed and walked away.
“My hatred grew so much that it became its own being. It’s own power. Surely, you understand why? I lost the most important person in my life.
“I’ve been waiting for so long for my Elysia to come back, Y/n. I grew up while waiting. In fact, I only used my child form to show you the clues. To tell you my story. You were far too frightened of my real form. But I understand.”
The white began to fade and I felt my legs again. I breathed in the air around me and came to. I was standing inside the hospital room. It was red and seemed to be breathing, as though the entire room was an entire organ. There was red blood coating the walls and floor. Inside the center was the bed, masked by curtains.
The floor began bubbling blood. It sizzled and bloomed into something more fleshy, raising as high as the ceiling. It started forming a body, a familiar one. From the tornado of crimson, formed pale flesh, a skirt, and eventually, a triangular metal head.
The monster’s big, meaty arms extended expectantly and I came face to face with the same creature that had tormented me. And just as soon as I had been to pity Jacob’s story, I came to loathe him with a fiery rage.
“You’re the demon that caused all this,” I spoke cautiously, even if my emotions were about to short-circuit.
“The real demons are the ones that hide in that chapel.” Jacob’s voice was no longer child-like; it was deep and precise, mature and coercive.
“Bullshit. You’re the reason my Sharon is dead!”
“It was so you could feel the pain that I did when I first lost you.”
“Me?” I growled, seizing the seven-foot monstrosity. “What, don’t tell me that you think I’m some reincarnation of that girl, because I’m not! I’m Y/n and you killed the most important person in my life!”
It let out a deep sigh and took a step forward. On instinct, I took a step back. The process was repeated until I had backed myself up against the crumbling ruins, with nothing but hands to separate me and the monster. Try as I might, the monster had trapped me. In one swift swipe my hands were snatched and I was pushed back into the wall. His bare chest pressed against my blood-soaked sweater. I was so tired and angry and sad. I struggled in vain, but at least I could give the metal man a solid glare.
“You have no choice in the matter. With time, you will come to understand and love me like you once did,” he insisted smoothly. “In the meantime, there is something only you can do for me.”
“I ain’t doing shit for a monster like you. I couldn’t care less about this town, but Sharon was an innocent child—“
“You will be free from this town if you help to destroy it. As we speak, the officer is being burned. Think of me as you will, but do you care not for your friend?”
“…Let go of me.”
Surprisingly, he listened. His callous hands dropped mine and his veiny, bare body stepped away, granting me space. I rubbed my wrists, sending his wary glances as I fervently checked that nowhere else had been violated.
“What the hell do you expect me to do, huh? You’re the big bad guy with the power,” I snarled.
“You can enter the church. I cannot,” he explained flawlessly. He reached behind him and pulled something from the cloth. Opening his palm to me, he revealed a ring. “Take it. It belongs to you.”
As badly as I wanted to shout, scream, yell at the monster for what he did, I wanted everything to be over with. And… if Cybil truly was in danger, I couldn’t risk it. She’d done so much for me. “…Why?”
“I will be able to enter the church through the ring.”
“…Okay.”
~~~
Even from outside the church, I could hear the demonic chants and damned screams. I steeled myself before bursting through the doors with a clenched jaw and fists. However, my confidence immediately degraded as I realized the charred shish-kabob human was once Cybil, the brave officer who prioritized protecting me.
“Oh… my god.” My lips trembled. Tears sprouted to my crusted eyes. Whatever pity I once felt was flooded with a burning rage; something that almost felt like it wasn’t my own. Even with all my tremors, I stepped forward. The crowd of sinners began to part for me and, although I was entranced, I did not stop until I was standing in front of Christabella.
“You have returned.”
“Damn right I have.”
“The witch has returned,” she announced louder, and gasps ensued from the audience. “Do not believe her lies.”
“I come from a world outside of this shit!” I boomed. “I come from a world full of life, progress, and happiness. But the demons you face here are of your own making. Even you are dying of the truth. There was no apocalypse! You are burning in the fire that you started. And nothing can save you because all of you are already damned!”
“Take her,” Christabella demanded. Two of her minions emerged fro the crowd, eager to get their grubby hands on me.
“Burn her. Burn her. Burn her,” The hoard chanted.
I took a few steps back, brows furrowing. “Burn me? Everything that scares you, you burn. This woman uses your fear to control because she is the real reason all of you have been damned! She led you to burn Jacob Black. She led you to burn Elysia Esposa. Two innocent children.”
“They were sin incarnate,” Christabella fretted, her voice beginning to sound uneasy.
“No. It’s you all who have sinned. You made Jacob Black into the monster. And you will pay the price for your sins —“
I froze as a tingling spread to my chest. I looked down and saw that Christabella had stabbed me in the heart. I became largely aware of the ponding of my heart, the flowing of blood within my bodice. I stubbed and collapsed to the ground, right at the top of the steps. I pawed at the ground. I was writhing, and yet I felt no pain. I gasped and cradled my wound further, blood coating my hands. I heard the crowd cheering around me, but it felt so distant.
Some of my blood fell to the grungy rug.
And just like that, it felt as though m body was fixing itself. The blood on my hands flaked away. The tear in my chest sew itself back together. I could breathe once more.
The world around me was degrading; the carpet had flaked away to rust, and a big pit formed around me. I was under nothing, and yet I was floating able an abyss of iron. The torches within the chapel were blown away by a gust of wind. A fire raged from the pit, enveloping me, and yet it did nothing to me. My ring stung on my finger, as though it was suffocating the appendage. A scream tore at my throat, but no sound came out. As if on cue, strong hands grasped my waist and pulled me from the nonexistent ground.
“You’ve brought the darkness with you!” Christabella cried. “Do you know what you’ve done? The devil’s bride has doomed us all!”
Jacob gave me a gentle hug from behind, his bare chest pressing against my back. His human feet padded to the side as barbed wire began to sprout from the center of the church. I was rather weary from, you know, getting stabbed and all. So, the monster sat me in one of the pews. I watched as chaos ensued, enjoying the warmth of the wooden seat. I pulled my legs up to my chest.
At the front, from the black abyss, came the hospital bed and Jacob’s burned carcass within it. From the bed sprouted wire after wire. A shadow loomed over the entire church. Some of the people were tugging and screaming at the door, but it was tightly shut. Christabella stood at the front of the hoard, on her knees and praying. I noticed that in the corner, was a cackling Dahlia.
The wires sliced and cut down many of the people in the ground. Suddenly, they snatched onto Christabella, pulling her into the air. She fought against it, but only ended up being cut. Her blood spewed across the church like rain. I used my hands as an umbrella before I simply covered my eyes. I couldn’t bare to watch the sight any longer.
I could tell from the cries of agony that the monster had jumped into action, slaughtering person after person. But I was so emotionally overwhelmed and physically exhausted. I knew, at least for now, I was safe. So, I turned on my side and curled up into a ball, being hit with a sudden drought of sleep.
~~~
I came to noting that I felt far warmer than before. I felt completely replenished. My ankles no longer ached. My clothes no longer felt torn and filthy. There was also something residing on my head. I wiped my hands on my eyes, getting the grub out. As I observed my hands momentarily, they were no longer dirty, although the constricting wedding ring remained.
I pawed a my head, feeling a fluffy cloth and headband. Using my elbow, I pushed myself to sit up. I took whatever was on my head off, only to realize it was a wedding veil. It was pure and pristine; everything about me implied that all the grit I’d gone through had vanished.
My attire itself had changed; Soft dress shoes replaced my torn sneakers, and instead of a sweater and jeans, I was in a grande wedding dress, long-sleeved. The entire chest was covered in lace with an opaque backing, and the details were exquisite. The skirt was tight but didn’t constrict, and it almost flowed to the ground. I felt… oddly gorgeous. And the dress fit my form perfectly, even down to the details of every curve.
I bit my lip and took in my surroundings. The church… was alike to how it had been in a world that wasn’t Silent Hill. Everything was perfect and clean. It was vacant, but some sort of holy spirit lingered. I didn’t feel alone, and yet it was in a comforting way. For the first time, I was not set with an unease upon being in here.
Had I somehow hallucinated it all? No, I was in a wedding dress for christ’s sake. I tried my best to be angry and the demon that caused so much of my pain and attempted to pull the wedding ring off. However, instead of moving, a dull pain spread throughout my finger and I could’ve sworn it tightened. After a few minutes of trying, the pain became too great, so I simply let it be. I’d have to find a way to cut it off later.
I rose to my feet. I felt dazed, yet I was ultra-aware of my surroundings. At the steps to the exit, was Dahlia. She was sat, sobbing into her hands, her crippled form hunched and her face hidden. I felt pity for the woman and walked up to her.
“Why did he not take me with the others?” she sobbed.
“Because you’re his mother. No matter how evil he ended up becoming, he never stopped loving you.”
The woman went quiet and her trembles came to a stop. I didn’t know if there was anything else I could do for her. So, I walked past her and out the front door.
The blue fog was still hazing across the terrain. However, it was peaceful. Somehow, I knew that there’d be no more siren and no more monsters. Or, at least, monsters that intended to harm me. I still wasn’t sure if that pyramid head dude would stay true to his word and let me go. For all I knew, he could’ve been pulling my leg. But, at least there was no longer a crazy cult on the hunt.
I walked down the vacant avenues. There were never any sounds except for my own footsteps and breathing. The whole time, I couldn’t help but grow sadder. If I truly was able to go home… I had accomplished nothing. Sharon would still be gone and I would be left with more trauma than closure.
I made it past the welcome sign. However, instead of being welcomed by my car, I was met with a large stone wall. Barbed wire was at the top. And a large electronic gate was centered in the middle of the road. Panic overcame me and I rushed to it. I banged and felt the metal, even trying to lever, but there was no such electricity. My breathing quickened and I was quick to start crying. Of course that damned demon had lied to me. Of course —
The sirens started up. And the sky above me darkened. I stared at the clouds and realized something new was happening. The clouds swirled together and black tendrils shot across, caging to sky in a black prison. I gasped, perspiring profusely. I glued myself to the door as I watched four large orbs began floating from the heavens. They landed somewhere up the hill in town. I was baffled as a strike of thunder sounded and then the tendrils withdrew, although they didn’t disappear completely. They hovered in the sky, as though they were hungry, waiting.
The world began to flake. The concrete turned red and looked liquid, as though it were a river of blood. The grass decayed and flaked into the air. A whirlwind started in front of me, and I knew what such an indication meant; my captor had arrived.
Now that I wasn’t running away or in a daze, I was truly able to appreciate how tall he was. But I also noticed that he’d brought a large blade with him. I could only pray that he’d finally kill me, because I’d rather die than be trapped in this undeserved hell.
“The game has begun,” his deep voice spoke, shaking the ground beneath us.
“What game? Am I going to die? Why didn’t you just let me go?”
A throaty chuckle reverberated. “I said that I would set you free. You did not ask from what. I have set you free from those evil-doers,” he sassed. “And no, you will never die. So long as you wear that finger, you are granted immortal life. The ability to oversee and continue the games of which The Entity requests.”
“The Entity?”
“A being far more powerful than I will ever be. In exchange for building these walls to keep you with me forever, I must feed him by slaughtering sinners.”
“Y - you’re telling me I can’t go home?” I blubbered. “But - but my dad - ! And, and my friends! What’d I ever do to deserve this?”
He stepped forward me, successfully cornering me against the door. I pushed at his chest, but it did nothing but have myself be squeezed even tighter in a warm hug. His large hands soothingly pet my back, playing with my hair. I heard his sigh within the metal pyramid. I couldn’t help but wonder if a human head was underneath.
He pulled away reluctantly. “We can continue this later. I need to start hunting, lest they manage to escape.”
“Wh - what, you can’t be serious, they don’t deserve it— “
But the man didn’t even care to hear me out, beginning to walk up the road with his large blade dragging behind him. All I could do was watch in horror and pray that whoever was stuck in this hell could make it out alive. Or die swiftly, something I truly ached to do.
371 notes · View notes
loversandantiheroes · 4 years ago
Note
Okay my whiskey fantasy. It’s a holiday, anniversary, I dunno. But he comes home. You’re in lingerie, teddy, the garter belt, the thigh high tights (I am having an absolute brain fart and can not remember the name), the high heels. you’re cooking him dinner in it. Somethin real texas for dinner. He wants to immediately fuck yiu, BUT NO he has to WAIT bc its dinner time and you worked hard. He’s waiting, and he’s watching you, you’re bending over at the stove, all that. Dinner is served, you —-
You lounge on the table to eat like a decadent and gorgeous pain in the ass, so he can see you’re whole body while he eats, forced to be patient. You’re being an absolute menace. He’s running his mouth the whole time OBVIOUSLY. Then he fucking wrecks you
No Candles Necessary
As I am a bonafide yeehonk foole (and I have the t-shirt to prove it), I could hardly resist this idea. Nonny, I hope like hell I did you proud.💗
Shameless Whiskey/F!Reader smut (18+ and yes that means you), 5.3k+ words (they just wouldn’t shut up), mildly beta’d and lightly edited.
Warnings: established relationship, unsafe food preparation practices, light foodplay (it only goes in appropriate places I swear), egregious dirty talk, improper use of a dining table, Switch!Whiskey returns, Switch!Reader by extension, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroating, PIV sex, unprotected sex (do as I say, not as I fictionalize), cream pie (bc I’m lazy quite frankly), actual pie (peach!), a little soft schmoop in between the smut just because I can.
Permatag: @missredherring​ @dovesnroses​ @astroboots​ @magpierhymes​ @alienprincesspoop​ @aasimarr​ @maythxthirstbxwithyou​ @recklesswit​
Pedro Permatag: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ (sorry bab, more yeehonk) @corvueros​ @thirstworldproblemss​ @littleferal​ @krissology​ @frannyzooey​ @forallthstarsinthesky​ @princess76179​ @keeper0fthestars​ @venusandromedadjarin​
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Cooking your boyfriend a birthday dinner in lingerie is probably not the best idea you've ever had. The man isn’t even home yet to witness the trouble you’ve gone to, still wrapping up a day’s work at HQ after closing out another mission. So you didn’t jump right into cooking in your frillies. No, you did the bulk of the work in sweats and a t-shirt, only stopping to change once you were down to the last stretch and the steaks had come off to rest. You've got sense enough at least to put on an apron, not wanting to risk getting hot grease on the delicate fabric or the vast amounts of bare skin the thing doesn't cover, and while you've already donned the garter belt and stockings you've left your heels up against the island counter so you can slip them on quickly when you hear the door. Still you can't quite help but feel less sexy and more silly as you stand there carving up a pair of garlic butter basted steaks while your forehead prickles with sweat and your ass, covered by neither the teddy or the apron, feels ice cold.
The things I do for love of a goddamn cowboy, you think with a shake of your head. Your whole plan is honestly on the high end of ridiculous. But then Jack is a ridiculous man, and he always seems to drag you headlong into absurdity with him. Some days it's his only saving grace - the boyish playfulness that tempers his arrogance into something charming rather than infuriating. It seems only right to be a little ridiculous for the occasion.
Once the carving’s done you give yourself a second to go over the spread and make sure everything's ready to go. It's early yet, but you're expecting to hear Jack's key in the front door any minute. He's made no mention of returning home early, of course, but he is every bit the sort that would try to surprise you on his birthday, and you’ve developed an uncanny ability to anticipate his moves ahead of time.
As it turns out, you have just enough time to slip on your heels before you hear the front door open and Jack calls out your name. You allow yourself a moment of satisfaction - you do love being right when it comes to this sort of thing - and slip into your heels.
“In here, baby,” you call back, stepping out to lean against the door frame.
“Somethin’ smells like heaven,” Jack says, rounding the corner into the dining room. He stops dead when he gets a look at you, mouth falling open in surprise. He’s hung his hat at the door, his hair already flopping over in a revolt against the slicked-back way he styles it in the morning, his suit jacket still on and buttoned. “Looks like it, too,” he finishes, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin. “I feel overdressed all of a sudden.”
You can’t help but answer that grin. “Happy birthday, cowboy,” you tell him, beckoning him over.
He all but rushes across the room to slide up against you, hands curling around your hips and playing with the tie to the apron. “Sure as hell is now,” he mutters. His palms slide down, cupping your ass to pull you in close. You bite back a hiss at the warmth, and he gives a low approving hum at the expanse of cool, bare skin. “Looks like I don’t even need to unwrap my present.”
“Patience,” you insist, pushing his shoulders back and grazing your lips over the tip of his nose as you evade the kiss he tries to pull you into. “No dessert until after dinner.”
“Dinner can wait-”
“No it cannot. I did not just spend the afternoon trying to keep hot butter off my tits so you could get impatient and let your supper get cold.” He traces a finger across your cleavage as you talk, tugging at the top of the apron to get a better look at the skin underneath. You feel the quip coming before he even opens his mouth, so you take the opportunity to give him a little push and show him just what he’s in for tonight. You bring up your hand, fingers curling under his wrist, turning his hand away and using it to pull him flush to you, the line of your thigh landing against the covered denim crotch of his jeans with just enough force to make him jolt.
“Be a good boy, Jack,” you say against his open, breathless mouth, “or you won’t get any dessert at all.”
Whiskey pouts, but his eyes have that dark glint that says he knows he’s in for trouble and he is just as pleased as punch about it. “You mean to torture a man on his birthday, honeybee?”
The smirk you give him makes his heartbeat kick up a little faster - you can feel the quickening of it in the pulse point against your fingertips. “Absolutely.” You stretch up enough for one brief, warm kiss and then step back, jerking your chin towards the dining table where there’s already two glasses of wine poured at the ready. “Sit. I’ll bring out dinner.”
He nods, tongue rolling slowly against his bottom lip. “Yes ma’am.”
His gaze is a heavy weight on your body as you walk away, raking down across so much exposed skin. You hear him groan at the sight, low and appreciative. He’s always been fond of seeing you wrapped up in lingerie, even more fond of tearing up the expensive scraps just to get you bare for him. You’d chided him about it the first time - the bodysuit he’d ripped clean in half from gusset to tit hadn’t been cheap, even though that little display had thrilled you far more than you’d ever want to admit - but he always replaced what he ruined without fail.
When you come back, divested of the apron with plates in hand, Whiskey is sitting just as instructed, elbow on the table, chin resting on his knuckles. He tracks every move you make, every sway of your hips, a playful smile hiding the effort of his restraint as you set his dinner in front of him. He barely spares the food a glance when you elect to forego your own chair and simply hop up onto the table, setting your plate near his and dragging over your glass of wine.
“You’ve outdone yourself, honeybee,” Whiskey rumbles, sliding a hand up your knee to your thigh, and he could not be talking less about the food.
You only smile, taking an unhurried sip. “Somehow I thought you’d prefer this to a new tie. How old are you now, anyway?” you tease.
“Sweet sixteen,” he says dryly, hiking an eyebrow while he squeezes your thigh for your cheek.
You chuckle. “Uh-huh, and I’m Mother Theresa.” You lean in, spearing a slice of steak on his plate with your fork and holding it out for him. “Now, I worked very hard on this, and I am going to be very disappointed if you try to skip dinner on me just ‘cause you can’t quit eyeballing your dessert. Open.”
He tips you a wink before dutifully opening his mouth, letting you feed him. The soft, indulgent moan that leaves him as his eyes slip closed is too subdued to be anything but real. “Honeybee that is gorgeous. My compliments to the chef.” 
“The chef is glad to hear it.” You swipe your thumb over his lip, collecting the sheen of juice and garlicky butter and bringing it to your own mouth, delicately sucking it off. “Could’ve used a bit more rosemary.”
Whiskey shakes his head. “Mm-mm. This is perfection on a plate, baby. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
The smile that earns him is genuine, and you bend to give him a quick kiss. He presses it, just a little, a swipe of his tongue that you open for just enough to nip at before pulling away. “Eat.” You gesture meaningfully at his plate.
All told, there isn’t actually much on it. Steak, roasted new potatoes, and asparagus with hollandaise sauce. You’ve only served up maybe half of what you’d usually set in front of him for dinner, opting for more reserved portions. It’s a favor to you both - his patience wouldn’t last through a full meal without the need for physical restraints. There’s more in the kitchen, of course, and an actual pie for dessert if you happen to get that far. You’re both bound to be hungry again after.
Whiskey tucks in, fork in his left hand while his right stays comfortably curled around your thigh, slowly creeping higher and higher until he’s playing with the lacy top of your stocking. You give him a warning tilt of your head, your own fork poised halfway to your mouth. All you get in return is those plaintive, innocent puppy dog eyes of his, but his hand doesn’t advance further.
All in all you’re rather proud of his restraint, at least until one spear of asparagus manages to drip hollandaise down onto your cleavage. Suddenly that quietly repressed hunger cracks and he’s surging up towards you, mouth half-open and tongue peaking out, ready to clean you up.
But that won’t do. Not yet. Your reflexes might not be as good as his, but they’re nothing to balk at, either. You brace yourself back on one hand, leaning away and planting one of your high heels against his shoulder to shove him back into his seat. The look on his face is priceless; mouth agape and pupils blown. 
Slowly you shake your head. “You know better, Jack.”
His eyes track up the inside of your thigh to the crotch of your bodysuit - or rather, the lack thereof - and the split strips of lace that don’t cover your mound, but frame it prettily for him. “Fuck, honeybee,” he mutters breathlessly. 
Dinner and a show was always the plan. So you take your time, dipping your finger and swiping up the stripe of creamy yellow and holding it out to him. Whiskey stares you down as he takes the tip of your finger into his mouth and sucks dutifully, his tongue plush and soft and working against the pad of your finger the same way he worries it over your clit. A rush of heat rockets through you, leaving your belly warm and a sweet tingle tripping down your spine in its wake.
Biting your lip hard to rein in the impulse to just slide into his lap, you drag your finger out of his mouth. It’s what he wants; to make you break first, to make you lose at your own game. And where’s the fun in that?
“It is your birthday, so I’m going to cut you a little bit of slack, but if you can’t mind your manners and do as you’re fucking told, you’re gonna get a lot worse than a birthday spanking, pretty boy. Now, I told you: no dessert until you finish your dinner.” There’s precious little left on his plate; a few scraps of steak, a couple potatoes, one lone spear of asparagus. You stab this last with your fork and hold it out to him. “Last chance, baby. You open your mouth for me and be a good boy, and you can have me any way you want.”
Whiskey looks dazed; seething and starved and love-struck all at once. You don’t even need to look down to know he’s hard. But he hesitates just for a moment, whether it’s deliberate or accidental you’re not really sure - sometimes the man just really wants to be punished - but in that space you see his body jerk, hunching slightly as his abdominal muscles contract involuntarily. You follow the movement with your eyes and sure enough, there he is. Full mast and straining hard against thick denim.
Smiling sweetly, you wave the fork at him. “Your choice, Jack.”
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, and the roughshod timbre of his voice says it’d be a fine way to go.
Whiskey opens his mouth and takes what you give him.
You’re slow about it. Careful. Admonishing him when he tries to chew a little too quickly. Whiskey stares you down with eyes like coal seconds away from ignition. He holds your gaze while you slip another bite of food into his mouth, then lets his eyes slip down until they fix firmly on your half-exposed and already glistening cunt, and you know the moment you give him an inch he’s going to wreck the hell out of you for this.
When the last bite passes his lips he curls his hand around your ankle, squeezing. Always pushing his luck, this man of yours. You set his plate aside, glancing away like it’s no effort at all as he very methodically wipes his mouth with his napkin.
“Now can I have my dessert?” Impatience roughens the low gravel of his voice into something dangerously sharp.
You smile, leaning back on one hand. “There’s peach pie in the kitchen.”
He presses forward, left hand sliding big and warm up the inside of your thigh. The motion presses the leg you’ve used to pin him to his chair back until your knee is nearly flush with your chest, opening you up wider, the rush of air between your legs now shockingly cold against the wetness that had gathered there.
“Woman, the only pie I want a piece of is the one sitting right in front of me.”
The stretch along the back of your thigh burns, so you shift, hooking your leg over his shoulder instead. “I haven’t finished my dinner yet,” you protest cooly, reaching down to snag a strip of steak off your still half-full plate and popping it into your mouth.
Whiskey’s hands slip higher, and this time you don’t stop him, too busy sucking the buttery juices off your fingers. When the very very tips of his fingers brush the spread lace at the crux of your thighs he freezes, waiting for the rebuke, for fingers around his neck or your other heel to plant square in his chest. You consider it, sure; it’s certainly not a prospect without its merits. A man that enjoys being under your thumb is satisfying in a way that few things in life ever fully measure up to.
But honestly, you’ve worked hard enough tonight. Time to let him put in a little effort.
A tilt of your head and a curl of your foot against his shoulder is permission enough; slipping off the leash by way of a gesture, and the low smolder in his eyes blooms to a full burn. Whiskey stands to his full height, looming close enough for you to feel the heat bake off him as he shrugs off his jacket and unbuttons the cuffs on his dress shirt, rolling them up with a few quick turns of his wrists.
“Can’t let my girl go hungry now,” he hums in a voice like burnt molasses. “Lemme give you a hand there, honeybee.”
Smirking, Whiskey wraps an arm around you, brushing the tip of his nose against yours as you wriggle against solid heat of his body. His left hand wanders out of sight on the table as his lips meet yours, teasing your mouth open with the barest brush of his tongue, while his right hand trails warm and slow around your side and down and down to cup your mound.
It’s hard to believe you ever felt cold. You’re burning up now, skin flushed hot as his mouth grazes yours and breathes out: “Open up for me.”
And just like magic, you do. No input needed on your behalf; your mouth simply drops open and your legs shift wider in accommodation for him. There’s a clink of silverware and then he’s waving a fork at you, a strip of steak speared on the end. Whiskey’s eyes glitter as he pushes it into your waiting mouth. Each bite he feeds you is accompanied by a teasing dip of his fingers into your core, feeding you with his left hand while he touches you with his right. Your slickened folds part smooth and easy as he pushes his fingers inside you, a welcome but all too brief intrusion, before they trail up again to stroke at your clit. Again and again you rock your hips up, trying to encourage him to slip into you deeper, to give you a taste of the fullness and pressure of his cock, but every time his touch retreats.
You whine; a strange mix of frustration and pleasure. “Tease.”
“Takes one to know one,” he coos, the hand between your legs working faster. Heat builds quickly under his fingertips, a friction far more appetizing than anything else you’ve set on the table tonight. “You made the rules, honeybee. No dessert until after you finish supper. You do want your dessert, don’t you?”
He brings the next bite up, holds it tantalizingly close. You stretch out and he draws it back, and suddenly his fingers are rubbing a firm, determined circle on your clit. Your whole body jolts, gasping air with a pitiful little whine. There’s nothing but mischief on his face as he watches you, tongue sweeping against his bottom lip. He slows his fingers, brings the fork down again, closer this time. The food brushes your bottom lip before he pulls it away, fingers quickening again.
“Jesus,” you all but squeak. “Jack, don’t be mean.”
Whiskey gives you a considering hum, leaning forward to suck the sheen of butter off your bottom lip. “Oh darlin’ I would never,” he insists, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss that’s tender enough to be very nearly sincere if it weren’t for the fact that the motion of his hand never slows. A sweet, bright heat begins to build under his fingertips. “How could I be mean to my girl when she worked so hard for me, hm? I’m just paying that back in kind is all. You wanna come on my fingers, baby, you can do that all you like. I’ll make you come ‘til those pretty little legs can’t do much more than shimmy. You know I can. But you ain’t gettin’ nothin’ else until you clean your plate like a good girl.”
“H-ha-ah, fuck-how much more?”
He grins devilishly. “Just this last bite.”
“Oh you f-fucking jackass!”
Whiskey laughs. “Guilty as charged. Open up, baby, take what I got for you.”
He pushes the last bite past your lips and immediately delves his fingers into your warm and waiting cunt. The breath shudders out of you, fingers digging into the tablecloth as you try to hang onto enough composure to remember to chew and swallow. He’s slow for a moment, pumping and curling his fingers gently while he watches you eat. There’s a clink of silverware as he discards the fork and puts his arm around you, pressing his lips against your forehead.
“Good girl,” he murmurs sweetly.
Mouth empty now, you nudge your nose against his chin, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Jack-”
And then his grip becomes determined. The fingers inside you flex, the heel of his hand pressing hard against your clit and all you can do is cry out against the soft skin of his neck and hang on for dear life while he works you up and over the edge with shocking speed.
Trembling, you lock your legs around him as you come down, dragging his collar aside to bite lazily into the place where his neck and shoulder meet.
“Fuck,” he groans, hips rutting up against the back of his hand between your legs. “How do you want me, honeybee?”
That earns him a breathless laugh, goosebumps raising along his neck. “It’s your birthday, Jack. What do you want?”
Whiskey’s eyes drop to your mouth and he makes a considering sound, pulling back to suck you delicately off his fingers. “I think I want your mouth. And then I think I want to fuck you right here on this table until that divinely sweet little pussy wrings me fucking dry. Sound good to you, honeybee?”
“That can be arranged.” His eyelids flutter as you reach down to his zipper, not even bothering with his belt before you reach inside his jeans and the button fly of his boxers to tug his cock free, cupping your fingers to draw his balls out, too.
You move to stand and he shakes his head, caging you in. “No. Not on your knees, baby. On the table. I wanna see you all spread out for me. My pretty little present.”
He helps you. Sweeps your hair back as you lie flat on the dining table, scooting back to let your head hang just a bit. It’s not exactly comfortable. The edge of the table digs into your neck a bit, and the way the blood rushes to your head is not entirely pleasant either. But you watch Whiskey pace around you to take his place in front of your waiting mouth, cock bobbing and just barely beginning to leak for you, and you feel a gorgeous rush of heat at the sight.
Whiskey slides his palm up your stomach to cup one barely-covered breast. “Gorgeous,” he mutters, squeezing. “Absolutely beautiful.”
“Jack.”
“I know, darlin’, I know. But my God you’re a picture.” He cups your cheek, absently brushes the corner of your mouth with his thumb before sliding his hand back to give your head a little support. “Open up for me, angel.”
And once again, you open up for what he gives you. The angle makes it strange, the topography of Jack’s body less familiar as he slips into your mouth, your tongue dragging wet and slow over foreign terrain. The taste of him, hot skin and the tang of bitter salt, that you know well enough. You close your eyes at it, bring your hands up to his hips to tug him slowly forward and listen to the way he moans.
“That’s my girl,” he whispers, breathless and a little awe-struck. “Jesus fucking Christ. You spoil me, baby. Sweet as fucking honey, my god.”
A light touch against your breast makes you shiver, goosebumps raising as it draws lightly over your skin. A single fingertip, sliding the lace of the bodysuit aside to bare your breasts to the chill of the room and the warmth of Whiskey’s hands.
He mutters sweet things as he begins to move; sweet, tender, unconscionably filthy things. All the things you do to him. Do for him. The rocking of his hips is gentle at first, feeding you his cock inch by cautious inch. When he hits the back of your throat he pulls back on reflex, but the light scrape of your teeth and the sudden tightness of your grip on the plush meat of his ass sends him forward again. The angle eases the motion, and you relax into the pressure as he pushes in and in and...oh.
You feel the resistance at the back of your throat give gently; strange, but not uncomfortable. Above you, Whiskey lets out a pained groan.
“Shit. Oh shit yes, honeybee. Take it. Ohhh s-shit. Take all of it. Every goddamn inch. Fuck.”
And then his hips are flush with your mouth, the soft skin of his balls pressed up against your nose. Panting, he wraps a hand around the stretched column of your throat, swearing breathlessly. He moves, a small, careful thrust, and you can feel the tremor that ripples through him at the feeling.
“Just a little more baby,” he mumbles, pulling back until just the head of his cock rests within the warmth of your mouth. You suckle at it, working it eagerly with your lips and tongue while you breathe raggedly through your nose. Your hips jut up into thin air on their own accord, just as eager for him as your mouth is.
“I got you, honeybee.” The hand at your neck slips down, skimming over skin and lace until he finds your clit. The first touch jolts you, your cry stifled on his cock as you shudder up against him. “Good girl. I got you, baby. Jack’s got you. Keep going. Just a little more. Just a little more and then I’ll fill you right on up. Fuck my sweet girl’s brains right out of her head. Prettiest fuckin’ thing I ever fuckin seen, baby, holy fuck.”
You moan something against him - pleasure, acquiescence, god only knows - but the sound of it is lost as his cock slides steadily back into your mouth. The pressure in your head is distracting, tears prickling your eyes when he pushes in deep, but the stroking of his fingers and the feel of him in your mouth, sliding hard and slick and effortlessly down your throat is far more consuming than the discomfort.
He rocks into you. Fucks into you. Moans and gasping praises falling thick and fast from his lips as he moves. You don’t need to feel the way his balls draw up tight to know how close he is, how tight he’s riding the line between what he wants to do and what his body wants to do. You’re lost in it all the same; his pleasure and the fraying thread of his restraint. Your own pleasure, building quick and low and locking down the muscles in your thighs until they tremble. You float in it, overwhelmed and dizzy, until, very suddenly, you break.
Whiskey curses, pulling back to listen to you cry out, to let you curl up and clutch at him as he pants above you, muttering broken, desperate please of: “yes god yes honeybee all of it, gimme all of it, every last bit.”
You’re a wreck in the aftermath; pliant and limp, face teary and slick with spit and precome. He draws you up, wiping your face with a clean napkin before pulling you into a kiss that steals away whatever remained of your breath. He gathers you up, turns you until you can wrap your still-tingling limbs around him. Nudges his hips against yours, his wet cock dragging against slick skin and fragile lace.
“You okay, baby?” he asks, trailing soft kisses over your face.
You have to clear your throat before you can respond, the sound of it harsh and ragged like an engine turning over. “Y-yeah. Yeah I’m good. Dizzy, but good.”
“You ain’t the only one, honeybee. Almost didn’t make it in time. Wanted to fill up that pretty mouth so bad. You just about did me in.”
He laughs and you join him, breathing ragged joy into each other’s lungs.
“Still want me to fuck you?” The question should be coarse, but somehow isn’t. Not with his sweat-slick forehead pressed to yours and his lips ghosting kisses against your mouth with every breath.
“So sweet,” you mutter, combing your hands through his hair.
“LIke hell,” he scoffs, holding you tight to his chest. “I ain’t and you know it.”
“You are to me,” you insist, pressing a kiss against the tip of his nose. He smiles, softens everywhere but that place that throbs with impatient heat against you. “Now fuck me, pretty boy.”
A flash of a grin is the only warning you get before he’s hooking his arms under your knees and pulling you to the edge of the table. “Yes ma’am,” he says obligingly, planting a hand between your breasts to push you back against the table as he lines himself up, sliding into you with one smooth, achingly deep stroke. 
You moan, knees drawing up as his hips meet yours and he fills the space inside you that’s been aching for him all day. Whiskey lets out a groaning sigh, leaning into you like he wants to bury himself whole inside you. He hoists one of your legs up against his chest, nuzzles the inside of your knee while he tries to find his breath again. The length of him inside you is rigid as steel and blindingly hot, still so close to his own end that he has to wait, worrying his teeth over your skin, until the urge to just rut against you like an animal until he comes finally passes.
And when it does, when he opens his eyes at last, he looks down at you with a dazed, hungry smile. He presses a kiss to the tip of his finger and brings it down to your lips.
“Love you, honeybee.”
Heavy-lidded and so wonderfully full, you kiss his finger and arch your back. “Love you, too, cowboy.”
And that’s the last intelligent thing you manage to say. Finally - finally! - Whiskey fucks you, each pounding swing of his hips making the china rattle like nervous teeth. Your arms strike out, curling and flailing, trying to find something to grab onto as he fucks you. The heel of your hand strikes one of the wine glasses and sends it tumbling to the floor where it shatters. The breath leaves your body in tiny bursts with each impact; little monosyllabic cries punctuating each one.
“Fuck, that’s my girl,” Whiskey murmurs. He cups your breasts, thumbing the pebbled sharpness of your nipples before his hands slide lower, finding the deep notch of the bodysuit between them. “Wrapped up so pretty for me.”
The lace tears away like it’s nothing, a clean rip down the center. Oh well. He’ll buy you another.
Whiskey folds over you, pulling you down closer so he can get an arm under your back, his hand grasping the back of your neck and pulling you up to meet his mouth. He’s still wearing his tie, the drape of fabric laying cool against your chest. Blessedly he’s not wearing his usual belt buckle. Foresight or oversight you’re not quite sure, but you’re grateful all the same as he grinds into you, a press of cold metal and leather against your belly.
He’s not going to last long, but it hardly matters. You’re too worked up, two orgasms down already, cunt so swollen and sensitive it’s hardly an effort to get you there again. But the feeling of him inside you turns that bright burn into something lower, deeper. Something that makes your muscles lock and tremble, straining up against him and gasping into his mouth.
“Jaaaack,” you whine, arms locked around his neck.
“Yes, baby,” he groans, voice quivering with every thrust. “Fuck yes I’m right there too, c’mon. Come with me, honeybee, come with me.”
His rhythm falters, grinding deeper and deeper, and all that strained tension in your body snaps like a rubberband. You sob, grabbing fistfuls of his dress shirt, twisting and jerking as you come apart under him.
All Whiskey can do is growl as you bear down on him, gritting a litany of “yes, yes, fuck yes, god yes, that’s my girl that’s my girl that’s my fucking girl.” And then he’s gone, too, driving into you with a sudden jolt and crying out against the side of your neck as he comes.
You’re holding him too tight, clutching him to you as you both lie there, panting and shuddering, a spreading stain of red wine pooling next to your head.
“Jesus,” he whispers, tries to shift up to find your mouth, but even that amount of drag on his oversensitive cock is enough to make him hiss and jerk. “Fuck.”
“Mm-hm,” you agreed dumbly.
Whiskey lets out a growling hum, smoothing your hair. “You good, honeybee?”
You trail kisses up to his ear, still breathless. “What do you think?”
He wheezes a laugh. “I think I gotta replace a lot more than your frillies this time.” The laugh turns giddy, and Whiskey presses his forehead against your temple. “And I think I’m hungry.”
“Pie in the kitchen,” you mumble, too drowsy to do much more than nuzzle into the damp tangle of Whiskey’s hair.
“What kind?”
“Peach.”
He hums, smiling drowsily. “My favorite.”
You give a slow nod. “I know. Happy birthday, Jack.”
He kisses you, slow and sweet. “Best I ever had,” he murmurs.
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rockislandadultreads · 2 years ago
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Staff Favorites: Nonfiction Picks
In honor of Book Lovers Day on Tuesday, August 9th, this week’s recommendations will feature staff favorites here at the Rock Island Public Library!
When You Are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris
It's early autumn 1964. Two straight-A students head off to school, and when only one of them returns home, Chesney Yelverton is coaxed from retirement and assigned to what proves to be the most difficult and deadly case of his career. From the shining notorious East Side, When You Are Engulfed in Flames confirms once again that David Sedaris is a master of mystery and suspense. Or how about... when set on fire, most of us either fumble for our wallets or waste valuable time feeling sorry for ourselves. David Sedaris has studied this phenomenon, and his resulting insights may very well save your life. Author of the national bestsellers Should You Be Attacked By Snakes and If You Are Surrounded by Mean Ghosts, David Sedaris, with When You Are Engulfed in Flames, is clearly at the top of his game. Oh, all right... David Sedaris has written yet another book of essays (his sixth). Subjects include a parasitic worm that once lived in his mother-in-law's leg, an encounter with a dingo, and the recreational use of an external catheter. Also recounted is the buying of a human skeleton and the author's attempt to quit smoking In Tokyo. Master of nothing, at the dead center of his game, Sedaris proves that when you play with matches, you sometimes light the whole pack on fire.
Ten Steps to Nanette by Hannah Gadsby
Gadsby's unique stand-up special Nanette was a viral success that left audiences captivated by her blistering honesty and her ability to create both tension and laughter in a single moment. But while her worldwide fame might have looked like an overnight sensation, her path from open mic to the global stage was hard-fought and anything but linear. Ten Steps to Nanette traces Gadsby's growth as a queer person from Tasmania - where homosexuality was illegal until 1997 - to her ever-evolving relationship with comedy, to her struggle with late-in-life diagnoses of autism and ADHD, and finally to the backbone of Nanette - the renouncement of self-deprecation, the rejection of misogyny, and the moral significance of truth-telling. Equal parts harrowing and hilarious, Ten Steps to Nanette continues Gadsby's tradition of confounding expectations and norms, properly introducing us to one of the most explosive, formative voices of our time.
Kitty Cornered by Bob Tarte
Bob Tarte had his first encounter with a cat when he was two and a half years old. He should have learned his lesson then, from Fluffy. But as he says, “I listened to my heart instead, and that always leads to trouble.” In this tell-all of how the Tarte household grew from one recalcitrant cat to six - including a hard-to-manage stray named Frannie - Tarte confesses to allowing these interlopers to shape his and his wife’s life, from their dining habits to their sleeping arrangements to the placement and furriness of their furniture. But more than that, Bob begins seeing Frannie and the other cats as unlikely instructors in the art of achieving contentment, even in the face of illness and injury. Bewitched by the unknowable nature of domesticated cats, he realizes that sometimes wildness and mystery are exactly what he needs. With the winning humor and uncanny ability to capture the soul of the animal world that made Enslaved by Ducks a success, Tarte shows us that life with animals gives us a way out of our narrow human perspective to glimpse something larger, more enduring, and more grounded in the simplicities of love - and catnip.
The Genius of Birds by Jennifer Ackerman
Birds are astonishingly intelligent creatures. According to revolutionary new research, some birds rival primates and even humans in their remarkable forms of intelligence. In The Genius of Birds, acclaimed author Jennifer Ackerman explores their newly discovered brilliance and how it came about. As she travels around the world to the most cutting-edge frontiers of research, Ackerman not only tells the story of the recently uncovered genius of birds, but also delves deeply into the latest findings about the bird brain itself that are shifting our view of what it means to be intelligent. At once personal yet scientific, richly informative and beautifully written, The Genius of Birds celebrates the triumphs of these surprising and fiercely intelligent creatures.
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redhawtriot · 5 years ago
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Baby Boom (Bakugou x Reader)
Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated💞
I felt as though since this story had such a specific narrative (especially delving into the harsh world of modeling and the effects of discrimination) that it would reach out to a very specific niche of reader.
I was actually astonished by loud support this fic has obtained so for, so thank you so much! I cannot stress enough how much that means to me. 
HnM 💕
Tag-list: @steggy4ever​ @library-trash​ @watevermelon​ @glimmadora-ble​ @persephones24​ @dragonempress123​ @your-pri-ncess @broken-from-fandoms​ @hot-pocket01​ @tsukineho​
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Month 1, Month 3
--Month 2--
No.
You looked at the stick of plastic in your hand with wide eyes as your mouth stuttered into a slack jaw—your breaths hardly making their way in and out of your lungs evenly.
You squeezed your eyes shut so hard that you saw white spots underneath your lids before you snapped them back open again, internally praying that you would wake up form whatever nightmare you were having.
However, you couldn’t blink away the big, fat smiley face that stared back up at you from the piece of purple and white plastic that sealed your fate.
No. No. No!
The sudden urge to puke came back with a vengeance and you threw yourself to the toilet, slamming your knees to the ground in the process. As your stomach lurched up into your chest, you couldn’t tell whether the tears forming in your eyes were from the harshness of the motion or something else entirely.
“Gah!” you loudly choked out as you pulled away from the mess in the toilet. 
Once the nausea became slightly less debilitating you leaned back against your bathtub, throwing your head up as you groaned to the ceiling, “No, no, no, nooo…” you softly sobbed. You tried your best to keep from bawling so you didn’t find yourself with your head back in the bowl, but you couldn’t help the stream of hot tears that spilled from your eyes as you stared at the vent in the ceiling.
How could this happen? How could you be… pr...
A sudden stirring in your gut made you swallow hard as you tried to keep your stomach out of your throat.
Don’t be an idiot, Y/N. You took sex education in high school. You put the condom on the banana and were scolded with constant threats of STDs and the fires of Hell like everybody else. So yeah. You know how it happened.
You sighed as you thought back to all the guys you had slept with recently-- which was luckily not too many within the past few months, and only one since your last period.
Fuck, you didn’t even remember what the damn fathe-- guy looked like.
Well, excluding his rippling muscles.
You threw your head into your hands as the uncanny image of a body builder newborn infiltrated your mind. Well, that didn’t fucking help at all. Grabbing your hair tightly as you stared at the tile between your legs, you cursed yourself, “You dumbass! How could you be so goddamn stupid!? Stupid, stupid, stupid!” you repeatedly knocked against your skull.
You reached into the recesses of your memory for any information you might have about the guy. Where was his apartment again...? On the other side of town somewhere right… Near Club 52? God, you didn’t even fucking know! and what did it matter anyway, huh? What were you gonna do? Storm up to his place, pregnancy tests a-blazin’, and tell the complete stranger that you were carrying his kid?!
With a weak and tired moan, you lifted yourself off of your bathroom floor and went to the sink to rinse your bile infested mouth out and wash the salty tears off of your cheeks.
But not before you got a good look at yourself in the mirror.
Swollen eyes.
Red nose.
Drying, teary snot pooling on the rim of your upper lip.
“You look like shit,” you harshly reprimanded yourself before turning the sink on and sticking your face into the cool water. Your hands blindly reached around your counter until you finally grabbed a nearby hand towel to bring to your face. As you patted your cheeks dry, your eyes wandered to the counter where three other positive pregnancy tests that you had taken earlier that morning resided.
The trio all sported a similar smug smile as they looked up to you as if to say ‘we told you so.’
The little shits.
“Shut up.” You quickly grabbed all four tests and with a hint of bitterness chucked them into a nearby trash bin before making your way to your bedroom across the hall.
Plopping down onto your screeching mattress, you took your phone out:
Boss Lady
[2:50 pm]
Hey, brat. I hope you’re doing better.
Don’t forget that we have that runway fitting next week. And the test shots. And the international scouting event.
Think. Thin.
No carbs. No red meats.
NO ALCOHOL!!!
Fucking no alcohol for nine whole months. You attempted to scoff at this, but what came out could have probably been mistaken for the last sounds of a dying animal.
Kimi:
[3:31 pm]
Hope you made it home safe last night!
As you read this text, a piece of you wished that maybe you hadn't made it home safe last night... Your brain briefly wandered into the dark territories of ‘what if’s’ as you imagined falling in front of the train at the subway, walking past a drug deal gone wrong, hell-- drowning on the water you took with your Pepto Bismol. You quickly brushed these thoughts away as you continued looking through your phone, 
Boss Lady
[4:45 pm]
Oh, also Deku just asked for a meeting with you personally.
You’re going of course. Glad you got his attention. Good girl.
Tomorrow.  5:00pm. El Vino’s downtown. (EAT LIGHTLY!)
Inches! Inches! Inches!
You slammed your phone down onto your mattress as you loudly sighed.
Inches. Your entire livelihood depended on your damn inches and now there was no way you could maintain the “golden ratio.” The thought made your blood churn.
Modeling… was all that you had. You didn’t have any other fucking talents—no quirk to depend on-- so when would your growing stomach steal your life away?
When do people even start ‘showing’? 
You haven’t come across many pregnant women, but all of the ones you have seen either looked like normal people or like freaking beach balls. For some reason your brain couldn’t conjure an intermediate.
Did they just blow up out of nowhere? If so, then when? How long could you pull a ruse off before your growing organ snitched on you? 5 months? 6 months? Next fucking week?
You realized then that you knew next to jack squat about pregnancy.
Or damn kids for that matter.
Okay so... abortion? For some reason, even just the thought of that word made an icky taste surge in your mouth—or maybe it was the leftover vomit, who knows?
To be honest, you had never really thought much on abortion before—it was one of the many topics filed into your brain under ‘that does not and will not pertain to me, so why the fuck should I care?’ Filtered out and forgotten, your feelings on abortion had yet to be developed.
Until now.
After a few beats, you opened your phone back up and began to dial Kimi, fearing that you might soon explode with the brunt of knowledge that weighed heavily upon your shoulders.
You paused.
Had you ever actually talked to her about anything that wasn’t exclusively work related? In the past two years of knowing her, have you ever actually learned anything about her, and she about you? Very suddenly, you were slapped in the face by a crude fact: Kimi was just a work-friend.
That was fucking fine and dandy up until now. You pretty much either worked, or drank, or showed up to work drunk. But now…
Shit.
Who the hell else could you call? You barely had any friends, and you hadn’t talked to your family in what felt like ages. Who was there for situations like this? If half of your life was working, and half of your life was drinking, and your work friends were a no go… what about your drinking friends? Your mind briefly fled to the stashes of your best buddies-- vodka and tequila-- that you kept in your kitchen.
But not even they could save you now.
Fuck you really were alone.
That night, you found yourself constantly flipping your pillow to find a new dry spot to assault with fresh tears. You hadn’t cried so much since you were a kid. Wait-- come to think of it, you couldn’t even remember the last time you had cried at all.
So, was it hormones? Pregnancy hormones?
The surreal thought made your tears fly down your face even more furiously.
The next evening there was practically no trace or evidence of your mental breakdown from the night before as you strolled up to El Vino’s. It was honestly kind of frightening how quickly you had managed to pull yourself together before this little meeting—but mostly, it was empowering.
Okay, Y/N. You fucking got this. Hormones or not, you were still a baddie to your very core.
Deku was easy enough to spot in the little Mediterranean themed restaurant—with the green-ass hair and all. You strolled up to the table with the warmest smile that you could muster, “Mr. Deku,” you quickly approached his table and gave a slight bow.  
“H-Hey!” You seemed to startle him with your sudden appearance. He jumped a bit in his seat and awkwardly shifted as you made your way to your own chair. His face was a bit red as you maintained your eyes on his shying expression. 
“Look, before you say anything. I just want to say sorry,” his shocked eyes suddenly snapped back up to yours as you continued, “I had no idea that the event was yours and I probably ruined the rest of the night for you. If you want me off the brand deal, then I completely understand, just... don’t blame Ainu’s agency.”
His mouth fumbled over itself for a moment, causing you to quirk an unsure eyebrow before he could finally speak up, “No t-that’s not what I am here for at all, Miss L/N.”
“Call me Y/N. please,” your smirk was a little less sure than usual and you prayed that he couldn’t detect how off he had thrown you. This was going much different than you had expected it to. For one, he wasn’t trying to ‘put you in your place for disrespecting him’ or bargain  sex ‘as an apology’ like most power hungry men in his position would.
“Okay, M-miss Y/N,” the blush that adorned his cheeks confused you even further and you felt the space between your eyebrows involuntarily tighten. That was another thing… He didn’t seem like a typical man in a position of power. He was… soft... you didn’t know how else to explain it other than unusual for a man of his size and stature.
“I actually wanted to apologize to you,” he spoke up once more and you were completely lost by then. You could only blink as he continued to speak, “You really got me thinking about things the other night-- you were totally right. The brand of my sneakers did lose its true meaning. I really meant to have it be a symbol for kids growing up without a quirk to enjoy—to give them hope, but it turned into more of an endorsement to myself. The whole thing. It was wrong. That’s why I have decided to give 100% of my personal Red Sneakers profits to establishing my Quirkless Youth Initiative,”
You looked around for any hidden cameras—any hidden agenda behind his motives before looking back to him with a stiff expression. You had to physically keep your face from scrunching, “And just how are you going to make a living out of a mindset like that?” you dared to call his bluff.
“It’s just gonna have to work. It’s what my mentor would have done—given 100%. Beyond actually.”
Holy shit. This man was being serious. ‘100% and beyond’ serious, to be exact. Your face scrunched up once more, “Why do you care so much anyway?” you cut back on your tone as you noticed his eyes widen a bit at your accusatory voice, “Not to be rude, but… what’s a strong hero like you doing caring about us quirkless?”
He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment or two. Contemplating on whether or not he was going to lie, you noticed, “I… I…  didn’t have a quirk until much later in life. I was 14. Growing up, I always wanted to be a hero, and I just wish that I had someone back then believe in me. I want to be the one that tells kid’s—with a smile-- that they can do it. That they have at least one person who believes in them.”
His name-- Deku-- it meant worthless. The puzzle pieces were finally coming together and things began to make sense. It was a name that either himself or others used to describe him when he was growing up probably, and the man had taken it and spun it around to make it his own. Even you had to admit--
“That’s pretty damn impressive,” you couldn’t help the curl that tugged into the corners of your lips as Deku bashfully looked away from you,
“It’s nothing, really!” he tried to deflect. You gave a small laugh before smoothly bringing up the glass of wine in front of you to your lips. As soon as the liquid rushed in your mouth, your eyes flew wide open with realization,
Shit! What the fuck were you doing?
You immediately spit the alcohol back into your cup and snapped your eyes back to Deku who had, thankfully, been too caught up in his own embarrassment to be paying attention to you. You gave a sigh of relief and sat the wine glass as far away from you as inconspicuously possible. 
“So,” you leaned into the table a bit to get his eyes back on you, “Tell me about this Quirkless Youth Initiative,” you smiled. 
From that point on, you and Deku actually found talking to each other relatively easy—okay, extremely easy. In fact, you stayed past the point of dinner and ended up talking at your table hours after the bill had been paid.
You talked about everything and nothing altogether and didn’t know just when to end the conversation. You lowered your borders for some reason. Well-- you knew the reason. It was because you had been dying to talk to someone since you found out that you were the ‘p-word.’
 He ended up walking you home. Past that, for the next two weeks you guys pretty much saw each other every other day or two and talked fairly regularly. Things became habitual.
In fact.
As you stood in the beaming light of the wardrobe, getting your makeup done, you found yourself stealing little glances here and there to your phone to text with your new friend, Deku. Every buzz of your phone left you with a giddy sense of excitement.
One of the models sharing the gigantic mirror with you quickly took notice of your demeanor, “What are you smiling at, Y/N?”
“She’s texting someone,” another spoke up as your friend/babysitter, Kimi strolled up next to you,
“What?! Y/N L/N texting someone back? Have we entered the Twilight Zone??” she joked. You only responded with poking your tongue out at her before your phone buzzed again, 
Deku:
[1:00 pm]
Good Luck on your runway thing today!
You:
More like run away thing🏃‍♀️💨
Deku:
I could help? Bring comfort snacks?
You:
Most of us haven’t eaten a full meal in days BB
You would literally be stampeded by women
Wait that sounded too good🤔
You will literally be stampeded by hungry women***
Deku:
You haven’t been eating?!
Since when?!
You:
That’s not what I said. 
Just pre-show prep to keep the waists snatched and the legends skinny💁‍♀️
Deku:
Sorry I don’t know how your job really works.
I’ll come over again tonight after your show and bring dinner!
If that’s okay. Sorry didn’t mean to sound pushy.
“Didn’t you hear? Her and Deku really hit it off on their date,”  Your attention was instantly snapped away from your phone screen.
You gave an ugly snort, “It wasn’t a date.” And you certainly weren’t lying. The friendly atmosphere between you and Izuku felt comfortable as best—nothing intimate about it.
You wouldn't have it any other way. It felt as though he was placed in your life to perfectly fill the holes in your boat just before you started sinking.
“Girl your phone is blowing up!” a co-worker exclaimed, loudly.
Kimi laughed as she pinched your cheeks, “Look at that smile on her face”
All of the commotion gathered the attention of Boss Lady, who was currently storming up to you with the ‘phone box’ (or phone cemetery as some of you liked to call it) in her hand. She liked to have this on her especially in big events like runways or show casings because some of the girls—you were guilty as charged—spent quite a bit of time on their phones behind the scenes, “Phone. Bin. Now.”
Usually, you would put up some type of argument or give a quick-witted remark, but this time around you only rushed to send one final text in before you threw your cellphone into the crate.
You:
[1:33pm]
I should get off at like 11 see you then broccoli boy🥦🤪
Kimi looked terrified as though she was the one who had just incurred Ainu’s wrath, “Still smiling, huh...?” 
You hadn’t even notice that you had been.
Talking to Deku really did make you happy when you needed it. Just like he spun ‘deku’ around and made it make sense, he had spun your life around and did the same. He made you feel like life was normal—whatever the hell that was. You’d never really been classified as normal anyway, but you had some impression that this resembled what it must feel like.
For a fleeting moment you think that maybe you should just sleep with Deku and pass this pregnancy off as his since you had yet to tell him-- or anyone-- about it. 
But the better half of you instantly slaps this thought out through your ears.
Hello? Welcome to psycho bitch incorporated. Seriously. What the fuck was wrong with you?
Damn, you had been separated from your phone (and Deku) for exactly 23 seconds and you were already outta your cot-damn mind. You get one friend and suddenly you don’t know how to act. 
You needed to somehow find “blond muscle man” and let him know what was up. Fuck, how were you supposed to do that when you didn’t even know his name?
The runway that night went pretty much how every single other runway went, except this time-- you opted not to attend any of the after parties. Instead, you went home and had Deku over, who delivered on his promise with sushi. 
You could smell the sushi as soon as he walked through the door and your mouth instantly watered. He really was god sent. 
The two of you settled quickly in your apartment, deciding to risk it all and eat on your living room couch to watch TV; however, you quickly noticed that the TV wasn’t the only thing that Izuku was watching. As soon as you turned to raise an eyebrow on him he feebly attempted to avert his gaze, but you caught him anyways, “What? You better stop sizing me up unless you wanna fight, Deku,” you sang as you popped another sushi roll into your mouth.
“W-what sizing you up?!”
You cackled at the sudden redness of his face, “I’m just joking. We both know I’d probably kick your ass!”
“You think so?” he actually sounded a bit nervous in his tone, causing you to roll your eyes. 
“Oh, I know so,” you shrugged with a growing smirk, “Anyway. What are you staring so hard at me for?”
The air became very still around the two of you as he looked down to think. This was something that became pretty expectant of him these past few week-- a funny little habit.
“It’s just… we’ve been hanging out a lot the past few weeks and I never really noticed it—your… dieting,” he seemed to fall into that last word a bit as if it wasn’t exactly the word that he had wanted to use. 
You knew that he meant to say ‘starving yourself’ but was too reserved for that level of bluntness. That was okay with you. You weren't particularly ready to open that can of worms, “Damn, and here I was thinkin’ I was looking pretty damn good,” you joked as the both of you began cleaning up your food mess.  
“No. That’s not what I meant I—”
“Joking! I’m just joking with you, Big D,” you found yourself using this nickname for him whenever you wanted to see his face fall into it’s deepest shades of red. It worked every single time,
“I have just been at this for a long time—modeling for Ainu’s agency. Since I was 15 actually,” you shook your head a little at the surge of nostalgia that wanted to bubble up your back. You clutched a nearby pillow and hugged it to your chest, “She scouted me at a mall food court. She changed my entire life—for the better of course. She is practically my mom... I owe her a lot,” you found yourself giving into the nostalgia a bit-- a small, fond smile tugging at your lips. You looked up after a few beats of silence filled the air and was met with Deku’s admiring stare, “What? You nerd!” you exclaimed with a giggle, chucking the pillow at him. 
“It’s nothing. I just like hearing about you. I feel like I have been doing a lot of talking about me since we have been hanging out.”
Yeah, he was a Cancer zodiac for sure. You pretty much knew his entire life’s story after only the first week of knowing him, “Are you kidding me?! Your life is straight out of a comic book, BB! I love hearing about it!” You began talking to him from out of the kitchen as you put your leftovers in the fridge,
“You went up against the League of Villains, the Vanguard Action Front and The Paranormal Liberation Front as a freshman?? You powered up from a quirkless crybaby! (Hey!) to an amazing, uprising, super considerate, overpowered crybaby on his way to number one! Your U.A. friends all seem like comic book characters, too. I love them already from what you tell me,” you closed the fridge, revealing his shocked expression.
“Really?” You nodded, igniting a spark in his eyes, “Well, I am actually having a little get together at my place for my friends if you wanna stop by.”
“Yeah sure. As long as my favorite character, Kaminari, is there,” Izuku seemed shocked and slightly offended by your choice in favorite, so you clarified, “He sounded really cool and all with his ‘chatty zappy’ thing going on,” you suddenly rolled your eyes as a bad taste emerged in your mouth, ���Kacchan sounds like a little bitch baby though, no offense.”
“Y/N!”
“What?! Kacchan can ‘Kach’ these ‘hans’! Oh come on. Not even a pity laugh? A little one?” You apparently thought you were a lot funnier than Izuku did. 
“I think the two of you might actually get along. You’re very similar now that I think about it,” he trailed off on his last part, seemingly talking to himself as he grabbed his chin. 
You almost felt offended by his comparison, “Fuck that. Oppisites attract, Similars repel. Besides. Why would I wanna be friends with a little bitch baby that bullies and pisses on quirkless people?”
“Well, when you meet him next week you might like him…”
You clicked your tongue, “So now I am obligated to come, huh?” you smirked.
“N-no well that’s not what I meant but I would appreciate if you—”
You were only half paying attention to his freak out as the abrupt craving for orange juice infiltrated your mind and placed itself on the forefront of your thoughts, “Deku. I am joking!” you absentmindedly reminded him as you scoured your pantries for a wine glass. You had taken to drinking out of these instead of regular cups to at least maintain a semblance of your old self. 
Izuku’s eyes widened at the sight of your collection of wines and alcohols in one of your cupboards. You smirked at him-- throwing him  look that said ‘you ain’t seen nothin yet’ as you opened your freezer to reveal the insane hoard of alcohol you had stored.
His jaw practically dropped to the floor at the sight, “Holy woah, you have an entire liquor store in here!”
“Saving for a rainy day,” you almost immediately realized the error of your words as Izuku motions to one of the windows near you. The two of you sat in a beat of silence as the pitter-patter of rainfall splattered against the glass pane.
“It’s raining today,” he grinned excitedly. 
“No... I cant,” the way that the words fell out sounded about as convincing as a disguise with groucho glasses. You could really go for a drink right about now.
He looked to you a bit sadly, if not disappointed, “Y/N if this is about your diet… I am just saying, I don’t think one day will hurt too much.”
“No, I really shouldn't.” Understatement of the century. 
Izuku grabbed two glasses out of your cupboard with a soft smile gracing his features, “We’ll pour you just a little bit in case you change your mind—”
Maybe one glass wouldn't hurt... No. NO! God, you knew he meant well, but he is really fucking making this hard for you!! “I cant, I’m pregnant!!” you suddenly yelled. He immediately froze, 
“Wha...?”
“I’m pregnant...”
“Oh... Uhhh congratulations,” the most unconvincing thing to have ever come out of his mouth probably, “Who…”
“I don’t know,” the look of utter horror on his face had you instantly backtracking your answer, “Well—let me rephrase that. I do know who it is, but I don’t know his name. It was a umm.. ‘Wam. Bam. Thank you ma’am’ type deal.” Your face began burning as hot blood rushed into your cheeks. You literally couldn't have phrased that worse if you tried. What the hell was wrong with you? 
“You don’t look pregnant...” the horror on his face now registered into your mind as pure shock. 
“I sure as hell would hope not. I am like a month-ish along—I think.”
“You haven’t been to the doctor?”
“Uhh no...” He was right, you didn't even look pregnant. There was no way in hell that you needed to go to the doctor yet. Right?
“W-wait! Y/N the night we met! You were drinking alcohol!”
“So? I am probably only like a few weeks pregnant and I drank like two glasses. I am sure it didn’t do anything…?”
“Are you really sure? How can you know!? You have to go see a doctor!” he looked terrified. It was as if he suddenly was the embodiment every stressed emotion that you had been shoving away from you these past few weeks and the sight scared you. 
“You’re freaking me out, Deku.”
He instantly froze, “S-sorry,” he looked down to his shoes. Maybe you just might let him pour those drinks after all. He looked like he could use both of them right about now...
The next week dragged on for what felt like eons, as Izuku seemed to cautiously dance around the topic of your “preexisting condition.” It was quite obvious that every time the topic came up, a cloud of discomfort would come and sit on his shoulders; however, the man still made it a point to urge the fact that you needed to set up a doctor’s appointment.
Eventually, you caved in and scheduled for one at a local clinic, but they couldn't get you in for a few weeks anyway-- the joint was at maximum capacity, you guessed?  Apparently, there were more pregnant bitches waddling around than you thought.
Still, Deku urged you to read up and research some things prior to your appointment so that you could ask the doctor any questions that might pop up. It seemed like he was almost way too into this-- taking notes in a composition notepad that he dubbed “Baby Notes Vol 1″ and even mentioning coming along with you to your clinic visit.
It made things extremely real. 
Your little safe space with Deku had effectively been conquered and subjugated by the little parasite that took residence in your body. You shook your shoulders with a sigh as you neared Deku’s door for the party. 
*KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK* 
When the door opened you couldn't help the way that your eyebrows flew up in surprise at the sight of a woman opening the door. Uhh... did you go to the wrong house?
The brown haired girl in front of you looked just as surprised as you-- if not even more so. 
Okay, you definitely went to the wrong house.
The sudden sound of Izuku’s voice coming deep from withing the apartment led you to breath easy. You deflated a little bit as you relaxed. You wouldn't have to make a mad dash in a lagged game of ‘ding dong ditch’ after all,  “Y/N L/N. Nice to meet you.”
A series of emotions flashed across her expression at your greeting: shocked, nervous, then... disappointed? “Y/N! I’ve heard... so so much about you!” the smile that stretched across her lips seemed almost painful, “I’m Ochako Uraraka! I... love your hair!” she threw out the last part like a rabbit would throw steak to wolves. 
“Thank’s...” you felt fucking awkward and she still hasn’t let you into the apartment, “I’ll make sure to thank the stylist and the bottle of dye she used.”
“That’s not your real hair color? It looks so healthy though!” she seemed heartbroken as she used a pitying tone and you could gauge that the pity was not for yourself. 
“Nah. My agency pretty much determines what hairstyles I wear...”  You made eye contact with Deku inside of the house as he made his way to the door... Thank god! you were saved from that terribly awkward interaction.
“Agency? Hero agency?”
“Modeling, actually. I’m not that badass,” you smirked before walking into the party.
Her figure deflated as if to say, ‘of fucking course’, “Oh. That’s cool!” You didn’t see much of Uraraka after that 
Meanwhile, Bakugou was just a tick away from being angry enough to kill. His roommates had all three convinced him to go to this get together over Deku’s house and they weren't even going to be there on time! 
He had honestly never been to a party with these losers without at least Shitty Hair being with him, so he wasn’t exactly sure how it would pan out and that really bothered him. He wasn’t exactly social at these events, but at least the three stooges kept him somewhat entertained (he would never admit this aloud).
What could those other losers possible do to entertain him?
“Whyyyyyyy?” he heard crying as he neared Deku’s home. His face scrunched in on itself even further than usual as he approached the whining noise. He scoffed at the inebriated mess in front of him,
“What the hell are you doing, round face?”
Uraraka, who was leaning against the edge of Izuku’s front patio looked up, causing Bakugou to deeply grimace at the germy snot that trailed down her red face, “Deku’s new girlfriend sure is cool. He deserves someone like her, right? She’s perfect!” Bakugou couldn't help the way that his face shriveled into itself in disgust. 
It wasn't too late. He could still turn around and go the fuck home and no one would even know he was here. Well, save for bubble cheeks here, but she probably wouldn't even remember to be honest. 
But as soon as Bakugou turned back around to make his escape Uraraka spoke up again, “She’s a model. They met at the Red Sneakers Event apparently,” Of course this piqued the man’s interest. There were only a few models branding the event and he just so happened to be searching for one of them. Uraraka continued with her drooling of words as Bakugou brushed past her and made his way into the house-- not bothering to knock,
“You know I am the one who gave him that idea in the first place? It’s kinda like. I set him up with his future wife!” she drunkenly cried to no one in particular as Bakugou stormed away.
He passed Iida on his way in, “Go get round face and shut her drunk ass up-- she’s outside,” he didn't bother on stopping to further explain before walking back to the commotion of the party.
 As soon as he entered the packed room, his eyes landed on you. It was like the Red Sneakers Event all over again. You were simply glowing-- hard to miss-- especially with the crowd of his old classmates hovering around you like some damn flies on shit-- especially Deku. He was way too close to you-- the rat bastard. 
“Oooh! You’ve been to Milan! That’s so cool, girl! So you must get to sight-see like a lot!”
The way that your shoulders leaned and swayed as you talked sent flutters into Bakugou’s heart. Fucking gross. He watched you speak very intently-- searching for the magic you had used to bewitch him, “Actually I was working a lot when I was there, so I really only got to see the sets and runways,” you made fleeting eye contact with him from across the room, furrowing your eye brows a bit at his stare before breaking the gaze. 
“Do you get to keep the outfits after the shoots?!”
“Pfft. Hell no! This loser still hasn’t sent me a pair of his red shoes. What happened to helping the quirkless, huh, broccoli boi?” The most primal urge of jealousy that Bakugou had ever felt sprinted through his body as you leaned over to playfully tap that shitty Deku in the arm. The feeling was so intense that he hadn’t even registered what you had said fully. 
“You’re quirkless?” Racoon Eyes inquired, snapping Bakugou out of his feral trance. His face fell a bit as he dutifully awaited your answer. 
“Yeah. It’s whatever,” you shrugged.
“The competition must be so difficult!” Momo spoke up as she placed and apologetic hand to her chest. The gesture made you tense up a bit, but you reminded yourself that she probably didn't mean it in a belittling way as she continued,  “I’ve been to a few magazine shoots myself and it is always girls with flashy quirks who end up in front and center!”
“Well, I compete well, I guess,” you knew that hero hero modeling and your fashion modelling were two completely different worlds. Designers saw you guys mostly as clothing racks and mannequins for their clothes, so usually they wanted their models to be as mundane as possible-- not to distract from their fabric art. So basically the perfect job for someone like you, “it’s no big deal. I get by like everybody else.”
“You just live your life like normal!”
“Awhhhh. Y/N. You’re an inspiration!”
Suddenly you felt extremely tired. You couldn't find the energy within  yourself to filter out and soften your next response, “Glad I could inspire you just by breathing I guess.” you gave the girls a slight smile as you shrugged, but the undertone of your comment had not gone unnoticed-- especially by Bakugou who found himself stifling a proud smirk.
You once again made eye contact with him in this moment-- this time not daring to backtrack your gaze until he did-- a warning sign to back he hell off with that staring shit.
As the night progressed you found yourself becoming more and more tired. The debilitating sense of sudden fatigue actually felt like it had taken over even your bones at this point as the aching structures weighed heavily inside of you skin. You decided after about an hour that you were gonna make an early trip back home.
“What, why!?” Deku scanned your face nervously-- he thought you had been having fun!
“Just really damn tired suddenly.”
“Oh...” he trailed off, but suddenly realized the hidden context of your words. Baby Notes vol 1 page 4 section 3: ‘prenatal fatigue’, “Ohhhhh okay! Right! Well Let me call you a taxi or something.”
“Nahh, I’ll walk,” you waved him off as you made your journey toward small crowds of his friends-- waving them goodbye. Deku followed you in your path around his house, 
“W-what? You can’t be serious! You shouldn’t do that!”
You turned around and threw your hand on his shoulder, causing him to instantly freeze up, “I’ll be fine,” you smirked throwing your hand up to his cheek to gently pat his face. Of course, he was left a shivering, blushing mess. It was a low blow, but, hey, it gave you a good opportunity to escape. 
You felt a wave of relief as soon as you made it a few steps outside of the apartment. You released a heavy sigh as you continued walking away. 
Finally. You internally planned the rest of the night in your head: orange juice, Netflix and sleeeep. You could finally just let yourself relax and--
“HEY!” you jumped out of your skin a little at the sudden loud shout. You whipped around to see that blond spikey-haired dude from Deku’s house attempting to close in on you. 
You rolled your eyes as he neared. Hardly throwing him a glance as he approached you to walk a little behind you, “God. You’re the weirdo that was staring at me all night,” you groaned, hoping he would catch your drift. 
“We need to talk!” 
One of you eyebrows instantly quirked up as your lips curled into a look of disgust. You whipped back around towards him, “Look, I am actually tired as hell, so excuse me for my bluntness, but FUCK OFF!” You only caught a glimpse of his flabbergasted expression before you spun back around to storm down the stairs entering the subway. 
“You really don’t know me?” he sounded pissed. 
That’s when it hit you. 
“Oh! it’s you!” you snapped your fingers at the sudden realization, 
“You’re Kacchan!” the look of disgust that hardened on his face intensified by ten fold when he heard you use that nickname. You continued regardless as you neared the train platform, “The asshole bully who likes to pick on quirkless kids. Yeah, well, I don’t give a damn how great you think you are, buddy. You can really fuck off now!” you spun once more to ditch him; however this time around your ankle twisted from underneath you, causing your body to fall down toward the ledge of the platform where underneath the tracks resided.
Bakugou cried out something like ‘you idiot!’ before grabbing you by the waist and yanking you into him before you could completely fall down the ledge. Everything happened so quickly that you hadn't even realized that you were holding your breath until you gasped heavily into his chest.
With a shocked expression you trailed up his neck to his face until you were met with his vermilion eyes, “Shit…” suddenly a wave of familiarity crashed into you. you breathed deeply, “I-It’s you...”
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captainkurosolaire · 3 years ago
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A Father’s Instinct!
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The emerging stark black and white halves returned with a shattering of Silv’a ice-fence with a flashiness, they were past their play-enclosure. When arriving they saw only the foul demon who was kicking back and forth Nihlius and Klethera with their helpless unconscious state, each painfully being decimated and cheaply used as something to get aggression off with sadistic intent. Grinding a foot over and slamming it over and over Klethera who was screeching in bloodied pain in such defensiveness, trickling of celestially sparks of life, called tears, were protruding from her oceanic blues. Captain and Shiro stood in dismay both trembling but a slow-languid stare, tilted head of the Noble, came to look at the pirate’s response… Blistering red heat emitted his sun-kissed complexion. Why... why was it so scorching hot, so hot, so painfully searing like being thrust in the Sun. Blood pumping and swelling out against the surface breaking every blood-vessel into vascular veins, muscles enlarging and expanding from tensing, bulging, nail’s breaking flesh into its own. Sweaty and unruly deep thick melting red waters flowed in contesting against the cool-shifting room’s temperature. Brow-twisting and twitching, eye’s dilating and spinning around faster than the rotating orbit of the world. This feeling… Uneven attainable unless you possessed someone of your own, those tears held glitter stars of hope, and they were shedding from anguish. Gut-wrenched his diaphragm uncaring to even breathe. Caution drowned away, rightful sanity was murdered. Zieton’s own heed, ‘The half-soul you have is now an empty pot, what you fill, is what you’ll receive, that goes for all seed’s in life.’  Disregarded, nothing mattered, who cared anymore, was transcribed over. He was careful. Never wanting to let a child of his own into his dangerous sailor escapades, the same went for all he valued and loved, wives.., To know him, is to die so it seemed the outcome, or be forced to be strong, he pushed away everything and castaway it for many sake’s…but... Klethera, weaseled herself into his life with unrelenting to track and succeed in finding her deadbeat and chose this on her own, not for him, but her. Shiro was staggering noticing and barely able to fathom what was consuming his rival. Captain drowned and died on this day. He blew through with a Father’s instinct, of sheer resolve, the power that’d DESTROY anything God or none, to rip the head off shoulders for those who’d make their children suffer. The same adrenaline that’d an exhibiting atypical regular parent, under desperation were documented in news the uncanny performance to seething of upset feats which punctured through impossibilities. Pupil’s swallowed away as his eye’s seethed and glowered red. He broke through a Ghost-Step and round kicked the devil off her and then instantaneously a series of two identical clones carrying his fury began erupting with the same rage, the room was being taken over from an uproar of animistic rage that brought even sorrow.  A demon found himself becoming intensified and strong from this and was able to dodge the clone’s before grabbing both their legs on respective sides. Limit’s were insignificantly allowing Captain to push another close in quarter, ghost-step, nothing would allow him to get away, his teeth puncturing his own mouth, as he brought an indomitable punch that shattered through Silv’a’s entire sternum and broke through on the opposing side. Silv’a found himself in more agony than he could suffer screaming, ‘get off, get off, get off!’ getting his karma. Senses overloaded Captain was devoid of all reason, logic. Returning to his heritage of a lineage of savages. Harkening primal and primitiveness that conquered his mind.  Backhead round kick’s of the clone’s unleashed before squeezing this fiend’s arm’s and tugging on them to yank them off with a ferocity. Trying to escape the clutches but that blasted fist straight through the sternum prevented him, his feet were caught and pinned as Captain’s boots and weight prevented him, that facial rage overflowing with hostility, Captain broke a torrent of headbutts and then wrapped his second palm around a wrangling throat and began tugging up, at the risk of tearing this demon sheerly apart from spine, like a furious lion who watched a cub being abducted. His aether… so volatile was biting at both their fleshes like stings of bees. Shiro reinforced his rival with a skin of diamond ice but had to channel it and maintain it. Captain was temporarily indestructible, unwavering, finding his nails growing and sharpening from the Amdapori’s cell that had a small remnant trace left, settling into puncturing that so called perfectly immortal body Silv’a sold himself too. Silv’a felt every bone of his rattle like tide’s were going to swallow him into an endless vortex. His own survival instinct, unleashed all the might of the medallion’s of fire and lightning he swallowed. Captain scowled and winced before erupting even more angry and explosively mad, “ANYONE WHO MAKES MY BABY GIRL CRY IS T’ DIE! I WILL RIP YOU LIMB FROM LIMB N’ EVERY EXISTING HELL, THERE IS NO REALM YOU’LL ESCAPE ME.” This was not a threat… It was a promise! No.. worse, it was being proven. Fear knew the demon of a Father who held the belly of a beast. So counter-opposite in their parental approaches and handling. Silv’a was fighting for his life and survival as his neck bones were heard snapping from their sockets. The clone’s kept back and forth punching his face into left and right cheek barrages of complete annihilation and barbarically. Flesh and skin was being removed in an unbridled flash flood of gore. The clone’s dissipated and were electrified out. Giving back his arms, Silv’a unrelenting back, squeezing back and punching fist’s of the voidal inferno into the Seeker. Even with reinforced diamond skin it still busted through with hellish need. The Warlock set a palm on Captain’s face to push him back and even gouged a thumb against his eye socket.  This viscous black lion, wasn’t halting though, only terrifying ever shivering bone of the demoniacal entity. His soul and spirit were being feasted by a fearful aura. Shiro collapsed from being aethercially drained to maintain and sustain all those hits, “I’m sorry.” Face planting with exhaustion barely conscious. Captain showed no restraint as if he was accepting on dying here, wanting to claim the trophy of this demon’s head before. It was his resolve. Though suddenly in fortunate favor, for the demon, the pressure loosened as Captain slunk back and collapsed instantaneously with a lifelessness thud into the pavement. The Noble actually had a shot of mourning and disbelief. Did he just witness his first unspoken…secret friend… die. The Keeper didn’t have anything in his reservoir to repeat the same feat. He didn’t have the force of a brute with carnage. The opposite effect transpired throughout him though. Realization of something angelical, as if felt, he saw the glimpse of a bright sun-ray exorcise all the traces of evilness in him. He felt sheer remorse and emotion that could icebreak his coldness. Convinced and impulsed, ‘to save’ Solaire. At all, cost. His body denied him, making him crawl like a peasant but his arrogance was beside that fact. For once he wanted more than any other time, he wanted to save and protect a life truly. He never wished to do anything else but be an Aegis. Though always unsuccessful or felt, never achieved it. The terrible Silv’a still looked through his shallow hole that went completely through him. He kept puking up an endless entrails of organs. Starting to regenerate, heaving and having to use the maximum force of his medallions wasn’t designed. Furthermore, that shot also broke a Voidal Relic mirror that Silv’a kept clinging to prevent that type of thing from occurring, this beast even punctured through that, these infuriating insects had nullified his foresight, overextending only for that to fail too. Their troublesome union and teamwork was a fellow nightmare. Silv’a gassed and tried to recuperate with such dreadfulness and still a swelling of life-threatening that crept in his spine, immortality… Was this useless his plan for Project Immortal Age? “NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” How dare this mortal question his own self! Demon’s can't feel doubt… He couldn’t either, he achieved a higher-level above all these scattered disarray insignificant whelps!                         (Previous) << (Voidal Relics) >> (Next)  
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Text
Male!Werewolf (Rhys) x Human! Reader (Modern AU) 2
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Part 1  -  Part 3
Some swearing, just be warned, but mainly fluff.
Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing Part 2
The light caught your eyes as you had finally come around to waking up: the sunlight streaming through the gap between your curtains so happened to land on your eyes as you had opened them, making you squint away with a soft groan.
Having rubbed them, you had taken in what had happened to have you ended up in your bed once more, rather than on the sofa from where you had left a wounded Rhys.
Guilt is what you would’ve felt: for ditching him, but you had remembered your conversation that he had said it was fine for you to go to sleep in your bed, leaving him to sleep on the couch:
‘I don’t think I could make it to the bed, sugar. As much as I want to come back with you to cuddle, I think the effort would be too much for both of us.’
You had immediately gotten out of bed, your bare feet padding softly in carefulness across the wooden floor as you come to your living room once more, your eyes landing on the lump underneath the blanket you had given out to use.
You reached behind him noiselessly, until you could see the wisps of dark hair sticking out from beneath the blanket, and you felt your heart soften at the scene.
And he looks like a completely different person when he sleeps. You studied, looking over his features: soft and untroubled, with his eyebrows relaxed and mouth partially open, the man resting there was a completely different person that day he had saved your dog.
Gingerly reaching to trace his locks with tenderness, you witnessed the sight in front of you with soften eyes and a small smile on your face. Rhys was beautiful, and he has a beautiful soul only a few are lucky in seeing.
You jolted when a sound resounded behind you, making all the hairs on your skin stick up in the abrupt startle. 
You turned towards the entrance to your front door, your heart swiftly hammering: when did you ever get knocks on the door if it wasn’t pizza deliveries or Max coming round?
Taking a glimpse back over at Rhys, you waited noiselessly before tiptoeing over to get to the front door, scolding yourself for the foremost, not getting a peephole installed for you to spy on whoever was at your front door.
Another jarring knock came from the outside once more, more immediate and forceful than the first: as if knowing for sure you were wasting their time in making them wait for this long.
Hastily and praying for your life, you quickly opened the door to have it reveal and tall towering man stand close to the door. He was wearing all leather and had a familiar build to Rhys, and... he looked very similar to him too actually, the more you looked at him.
You braced yourself against the door, looking up at the threateningly tall man standing there with a large scowl.
His arms looked like they could wrap you into a headlock, and keep you there. There were much more burly and muscly than you had ever seen on a man before; eyes a seething amber, hard with age and maturity.
He stared down at you with little hesitation to want to knock you down with a backhand. “Where the hell is he?”
His voice was quaveringly deep and low as if there was a growl that was resonating inside his throat and close to barking out shouts. Your knees quivered, hands shaking on the doorknob as you tried to find your voice once more.
“Who?” hit the door with the side of your shoulder.
He pushed past you hard, his shoulder didn’t even graze you, but you were sure you had been knocked back with his washboard abs, hidden underneath a black shirt, watching in terror and dread as he charged his way in like a whirlwind into your living room, moving until he got to Rhys, still sleeping on your sofa.
Reaching out to him, he elbowed him awake with one hard shove. “Oi, wake up.”
Rhys keened and jolted awake, his eyes groggily opening as he stared down the stranger looming above him, barely fazed. “Nik, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Rhys, you know him?” Your voice brought the bad boy werewolf to look back over you, caramel eyes that had hardened immediately at the male in front of him had softened at the sight of you once again.
“Yeah, unfortunately.” Rhys, sat up, holding himself as he held his side. “He’s one of my damn brothers.”
Oh, that makes sense. They look the same. It was uncanny now, and you could see the similarities in their hair and how it fell to one side, apart from Rhys’ hair was shorter in length.
The man known as Nik looked back over his younger brother, the same scowl didn’t seem to leave his features. “Is this where you run off to? You know what happened last time.”
It made you question what occurred the last time in which Rhys had possibly gotten injured; maybe even worse than yesterday. If that was correct: you studied, looking over Nik, seeing the faint swelling mark healing; that would mean Rhys had fought with this guy. And I’m certain I know who lost.
“You leave her out of this. I didn’t want her knowing either, but,” He hissed momentarily to sit up straighter, and when he looked back on you, there was such a look of wanton that swam in those honey-brown eyes, “I trust her.”
Your heart was pounding still at this home invasion of a werewolf relative, and when you heard the booming laugh come from the tall male you were wanting to get away from, you could only feel the blush bloom on your cheeks.
“So, you’re the one my brother goes on about.” Rhys’ brother scoffed, almost comically at the sight, before sighing in defeat, being the better person and outstretching a hand towards you. “Nicholas, sorry for the intrusion.”
“S���fine.” You uttered your name back loud enough for him to hear, staring back in silence over the interaction of the two brothers:
“The others want you back.”
“Tell them they can shove it. I ain’t coming back for a while.”
“You should be pissed with me, not them.”
“They still stuck up to you, like they were your bitches.”
Nicholas sighed heavily, “You’re sounding like pops, you know? Being unreasonable again.”
Rhys didn’t seem bothered, snarkily rolling his shoulders back as if untamed. “Nicholas, always the serious type. Never one to have fun once in his life, and always living with a pole up his as-”
“You never take anything seriously, do you? You fight and never want to resolve anything. Heh, so much for maturity, Rhys.”
Rhys grovelled as he watched Nicholas smirk, knowing that his comment had dug deep. 
“I’m gonna be outside.” He shifted back to you: all beast and no man. “It was nice meeting you.” He said your name, smiling and leaving for the door.
You heard the door shut, heavy footsteps leaving - the storm residing and the aftermath left in your hands, as you heard a growl come back towards the couch. “Rhys.” Your words came out in a hushed whisper. “You can’t let his words affect you.”
“You fucking don’t know him. He’s been like this for as long as I could remember.” Rhys snapped suddenly at you, and the man was no longer resembling anything you had seen before. His muscles looked more bulging, thicker - as if ready to pounce on the nearest breathing thing.
“Marshall, Theo, Jackson -- they’re all fucking pawns to him: obeying and always picking sides, so they can see who wins. And they all mock whenever I lose.”
You slowly and carefully moved towards him until you were standing before him, and quietly, you bent down to his level, resting between his thighs. Taking his fingers, you squeezed on them to gain his attention, snapping him out briefly out of an episode.
“Don’t be at his beck and call, Rhys. You’re your own person, and you’re always welcome here if you need to let off steam.” You brought his fingers towards your lips, kissing lightly on the knuckles. "I'm here for you.”
Rhys looked surprised by the act, reluctantly chuckling to himself. “What would I do without you, sugar?” He pulled you up into his lap, cuddling you like you were some plush, feeling him calm down before you as you felt the skin mould back to its original shape.
“Thanks, sugar.” Rhys softly pecked the top of your head with such tenderness you didn’t expect from him. There was a deep rumble that resonated in him, making you wonder how it would feel again to have him in his wolf form cuddle up with you. “I needed that.”
-
Nicholas returns in spin-off fic, The She-Wolf of Water Creak, Antonia. 
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reddeadbread · 4 years ago
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Crossroads
Part 1 
Part 2
Summary: reader sells their soul to the devil to save Arthur from a terrible fate.
words: 1036
You’d been staring at the man in complete bewilderment for several minutes before you spoke “I’m sorry, have we met?” He has called you by name after all, he must know you, there was no other explanation. You hastily wiped any remaining tears away from your face as you let your guard down a little upon realising, he wasn’t carrying any weapons and he definitely didn’t look the brawling type.
“You don’t know me.” The strange man responded, his mannerisms were as dignified as his appearance and his monotone voice was unsettling in its blandness. He looked out across the lake, his face as impassive as his tone. You watched him closely. “It’s a shame about Mr Morgan. Wasted potential really.”
“So you know Arthur? Who are you? How do you know about that?” you were getting impatient already. You glanced around to the lake, it was more still than before, as if you were standing in a snow globe that hadn’t been shaken yet, it felt uncanny. It felt wrong.
“I know Arthur, I know you too.” He replied calmly although he still wasn’t giving any hints as to whether he was friend or foe and his lack of emotional expression certainly wasn’t helping.
“We’ve never met before mister. I’m certain.” You would never forget such a presence. It was all you could do not to reveal how unnerved you were in your tone but yet again the man didn’t react either way. He only looked out at the lake with an eerie calm as he had since he arrived. He lingered there for a moment or two more before his gaze switched to you. Your blood ran cold as soon as he set eyes on you, a shiver travelling up your spine. Somehow, he didn’t feel quite human although that would be a ridiculous notion.
“would you like to save him?”
“what?”
“I said, would you like to save Mr Morgan, y/n?”
You gave him an empty look, “don’t be stupid, there’s no saving him. I’ve looked into it so don’t try and sell me some snake oil scam and tell me it’ll heal all illness. If you knew me, you’d know I’m not a moron.” You were well acquainted with tricks and rackets living among the Van Der Linde gang, but this man didn’t give off the air of a fraudster. Of course, none of the best fraudsters did.
“I’m not selling anything, nothing that can be bought with money at least.” It was as if the man thrived off of being a hard to solve riddle, he was so difficult to understand it was infuriating.
“what the hell are you talking about? Is that supposed to be funny?” It was difficult not to get angry with this enigma of a man and for him to be toying with you about Arthur was bound to rile you up. You’d been living in your own personal hell since he got sick, it was nothing to joke about.
“Just say the word and he’ll be saved. But I must warn you, everything has it’s price and there will be consequences if he lives.” He straightened the hat on his head a little, his posture impeccable.
“who are you?” you asked again, perhaps he was just a madman. Perhaps he was something more. “who are you?” you repeated.
“I’m an accountant.” He was as reticent in his reply as ever of course. “well, of sorts.” He paused again, “do you want him to live?”
“Of course, I want him to live! I’d give anything for him to be alright, but I don’t see how an accountant can help with that. I don’t think this joke is all that funny.” you pulled out a gun and pointed it at him, enough was enough. There was something wrong here, something very deeply wrong about this man and about this place. “I think it’s time for you to go now.”
The strange man didn’t even flinch, he stared right at you with hollow eyes “you’d give anything to save him?” he pushed again, seemingly unfazed to be face to face with the barrel of a gun.
Maybe you should of shot him, or maybe you should of never indulged in his questions and walked away as soon as he had appeared but something about those eyes and the way he spoke those words compelled you to answer him. You felt your voice tremble in your reply “Anything.”
“y/n?” you heard your name and turned around but immediately felt a cold chill again, shivering and lowering your gun in response.
“y/n. I found you,” Arthur emerged from the trees riding his ever-loyal stallion. “what are ya doing out here all alone?”
You turned to where the man had been standing to see no one there at all. No tracks, no trace anyone was here but you and perhaps some animals passing through. You looked around for anything, searching for any hint on how he got away so quickly but to no avail.
“y/n?” Arthur spoke again, dismounting from his horse to approach you. Even his voice sounded more fragile these days. You stood in astounded silence for a moment before you turned to face him at last.
“it’s nothing,” you forced a weak smile as you tried your best to bury the growing concern that perhaps you were losing your mind. “I was just looking for you,”
“I heard about Micah,” Arthur replied solemnly but he couldn’t hide his look of approval. He couldn’t hide that from you. Micah deserved all he got. The only pity here was that he was still alive. “I guess you should ignore him, or at least wait until I’m around if you’re going to give him a beating.” He meant this both so he could protect you if need be, and so that he could watch the show.
You laughed a little at that, this man could make you smile no matter what. “right. We should go back to camp. Tell me all about this job on the way home, don’t think I’m dropping how late back you are but you need to rest.”
Arthur pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I know sweetheart, I know.”
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loserswin2 · 4 years ago
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A Matter of Timing (Jerza)
Read on FF or AO3
Erza felt that Jellal had the uncanny ability to always reach her side just in time. So the fact that now of all times is when he decides to be late is quite amusing to her. Or the fic where Jellal is late to witness the birth of not one but two of his children.
“Why don’t you rest for a bit? Today’s been very tiring for you.” Makarov made a motion for Erza to lean back onto the bed. She complied with his request but her eyes did not stray from the tiny bassinet near the bed.
“Did Warren manage to reach him?” She reached out to drag the bassinet as close as possible to the bed and she relaxed when her two sleeping babies entered her line of sight.
“Yes. Jellal is trying to get back as fast as possible. It doesn’t help that the client is being difficult.” Makarov gave an angry huff. “Mirajane is asking other guilds if they’ve worked with the client before filling out a letter of complaint to send to the Council. The client’s request was out of line and should have never been given to the guild.” What had been a simple escort mission that should have finished in two days had turned into a complicated mess. She didn’t know all the details and all she really cared about was that it had taken her husband away from her when she needed him most.
Erza bit her lip. It wasn’t entirely the client’s fault. Jellal had been reluctant to leave her side, especially this late in her pregnancy, and was initially going to refuse the request but she had insisted he take it. It was rare for clients to request Jellal’s aid as there were still some people who weren’t convinced he had earned his pardon. After several assurances that she would be fine as members of the guild would be on hand to check on her and that there wasn’t much to worry about as her due date was a month away, he left for his mission.
She knew something was wrong when he didn’t call home to check in. He always checked in, even if a mission was only going to take a day to complete. She felt he did that to remind himself that he had her to come home to now and that the life they’ve built together is not a dream but a reality.
Makarov had sent Meredy, Erik, and Sawyer to go to the town the mission was located in and everyone was unsettled when they were able to send a quick report back that the town was surrounded by a barrier that blocked people from entering and from communicating with those outside the town. They were positive Jellal was inside though as Erik had been partially able to hear Jellal’s thoughts. It had been a week since that report and the unease in Erza’s gut hadn’t settled.
It wasn’t uncommon for missions to run into complications and to take longer than usual but ever since Erza and Jellal had gotten together, they rarely, if ever, took long missions. Erza hadn’t ever thought of herself as a clingy person before but the fear that the universe would find a way to tear them apart again had her seeking shorter missions so she could quickly return to his side. She knew he felt the same and that the fear would never go away.
A whimper from the bassinet broke her out of her thoughts. She looked over to see one of the babies with a disgruntled look on his face which quickly went away when she reached out a hand to stroke his face to calm him. She softly smiled when the baby quieted down and turned to face his brother. She hadn’t had the time to process the shock of twins as her mind had been completely distracted by the pain of labor.
“I have to say, Erza,” Makarov’s voice was hushed but filled with warmth, “You and Jellal have made some adorable children.” He peered closer into the bassinet and said with a laugh, “Even if they did come rather early.”
She blushed. She knew he was referring to the fact that twins were born earlier than singletons but a part of her knew that he and the rest of the guild still made jokes about how quickly Erza had gotten pregnant. She and Jellal quietly married soon after her team had finished the 100-year quest and settled into a modest house on the outskirts of Magnolia. A few weeks later, they had found out that Erza was pregnant after she uncharacteristically burst into tears in the guildhall after Natsu had made a remark on her strange new eating habits. After seeing Porlyusica and breaking the news to the guild, everyone made sly remarks about now knowing why the two of them were never at the guildhall anymore but it didn’t distract from the sheer joy Jellal and Erza radiated at the prospect of starting a family.
“I’ll go inform the rest of the guild that we now have two new Fairy Tail members.” Makarov began making his way to the door. Only he, Wendy, and Porlyusica had been in the infirmary with her and she had refused to allow anyone else to see her children before Jellal did. She was surprised that none of the members had tried to force their way inside and figured that they were all behaving for once. Though it could also be that they were still terrified of an Erza ruled by pregnancy hormones. “Warren might have some more news on where your husband is.”
“Thank you, Master.” Erza gave a small bow before sitting back on the bed. Wendy had healed her earlier but she was still absolutely exhausted.
“Please get some rest, Erza. You know Jellal always finds his way back to you,” Makarov said before leaving. Though Makarov had tried to reassure her, Erza’s worry would only disappear once Jellal was by her side. The silence in the room only served to remind her that he wasn’t.
She turned to the bassinet and remembered what had transpired only a few hours ago. She’d endured many painful experiences in her lifetime but nothing could have prepared her for the pain of childbirth. It had felt worse with Jellal’s absence though her tears of pain had turned to tears of joy once her children were placed in her arms. Their hair shared the same shade of blue as Jellal and when they had briefly opened their eyes earlier, she saw they had her brown eyes. After briefly being looked over by Wendy and Porlyusica and declared perfectly healthy, they slept peacefully in the bassinet and hadn’t woken up since.
“Your father is running a bit late,” she whispered to the twins. “He’s usually not like this. He’s much more punctual than I am.” If Erza was to compare all her failures, she knew a majority of them were caused by her tardiness.
She had been too late to save Jellal from being brainwashed.
She had been too late in figuring that Siegrain and Jellal were the same.
She had been too late to stop Jellal from casting the self-destruction spell.
If she had been on time, maybe she could’ve spared them all the heartache. Whereas, Jellal’s timing, in her opinion, was much better.
He had arrived on time to save her from the dragons during the Eclipse Gate fiasco.
He had arrived on time to help liberate Hargeon Port from the Alverez forces.
He had arrived on time to save her and Wendy from Acnologia’s attack.
She knew if she were to tell these thoughts to her husband, he would disagree and insist that in the end, all that mattered was that they saved each other. That their mismatch in timing wasn’t something she should be concerned with and if anything, it meant they balanced each other out. Having a confident Jellal that was so positive about their future together was something she was still getting used to and reminded her of their time at the Tower, back when he was a bright-eyed boy and she a lost and confused girl who looked to him for strength. They’ve grown and changed since then but they were still quintessentially them and she was infinitely grateful that they found their way back to each other.
“I guess it’s only fair that he’s late this time since I’m so early. He can’t always be perfect,” she amusedly remarked. She recalled the few times a drunk Lucy and Levy had told her how lucky she was for having such a perfect husband and had wisely refrained from telling them all the stupid things Jellal has done.
She was content to just stare at her children until he arrived and she perked up when she felt the trace of his Meteor spell outside the window. He must’ve sped past everyone in the guild because in the next moment he was opening the door.
“Erza.” His eyes quickly looked her over before they were glued to the bassinet in front of her. From where he was standing, she knew he couldn’t see the babies. She felt the uneasiness in her gut disappear as she scanned him from head to toe and saw that he was alright aside from the minor cut on his forehead.
“You’re here.” She wanted to get up and go to him but she didn’t have the energy. He seemed to read her mind as he went to go wash his hands in the sink near the door before quickly making his way toward her. When he was close to the bed, she rushed into his arms and he held her tightly.
“I’m sorry for taking so long.” She didn’t realize she was trembling until she registered his hand running up and down her back to soothe her. “Are you okay?”
She pulled herself together and nodded. “I am now.” She leaned back and pressed her lips to his in a kiss that she hoped would convey the sheer mess of emotions that rattled inside of her since his departure. She ended the kiss before it could get out of hand like it usually did when one of them came back from a mission and muttered, “You missed a lot. Come meet your children.”
“Wha--” She laughed at how speechless Jellal was at seeing not one, but two babies in the bassinet.
She reached out to take his hand and gently stroked his palm while she explained. “Wendy kept hearing echoes of a heartbeat but didn’t think that could mean I was having twins. She’s really sorry about making the mistake and offered to babysit them whenever we want. We should probably take her up on that offer sometime. I’ve been told that twins are a handful.”
He grabbed both of her hands and stared at her with tears streaming down his face. She would never get tired of being able to see the love that shone freely from his eyes. “Erza, I…thank you,” he choked out.
She felt herself tearing up as well. She murmured, “I should be saying that to you.” They stared at each other for a few moments longer, hearts full of gratitude and love. They had taken a long and painful road to get to where they were now but it was fine as it brought them here. “Do you want to hold them?” she asked, freeing a hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks. He nodded and she arranged his arms in the correct position to hold them.
Once she safely deposited both babies into his arms, he whispered, “They’re so small.”
She rearranged the babies’ blankets, making sure they were covered and warm, and said, “Porlyusica said they’re the right size for twins and for being born early. They’re healthy as well so there’s nothing to worry about there. And it’s a good thing we couldn’t decide between those two boy names because now we can use both.”
He chuckled, probably remembering when she would spend a whole day declaring one name to be perfect for their child before deciding the next day that the other name was the better choice. “I do love that they have my hair color but I kind of wish they had yours.”
“Maybe the next one will.” Though Erza had grown up with the guild and Jellal had grown up with the people at the Tower, they had still largely kept to themselves and basically grew up alone. They decided they wanted a large family and that their children would never know what it was like to be alone and unloved.
“I’m still sorry I was late and missed everything. I promised to hold your hand forever at our wedding, remember?”
“I think I would’ve broken your hand. Labor was awful.”
“It would have been worth it.”
She hummed in agreement and looked down at the babies who had begun to squirm in Jellal’s hold. “Besides, you weren’t late at all.”
He gasped as the twins both opened their eyes to see their father for the first time.
“I think our sons will agree with me and say you came back like you always do, right on time.”
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onigirimsby · 5 years ago
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but all love is uneven
Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia
Character: Todoroki Shoto
Pairings: Todoroki Shoto x reader
Tags: Angst with a happy ending
Warnings: implied/referenced suicide
Word Count: 3024
Good intentions, bad decision. You have the ability to reset time by dying, unfortunately, the consequences start catching up to you, and your husband is in the crossfires.
(Title from Anne Carson's Town of Uneven Love (But All Love Is Uneven))
Read on AO3 or keep reading:
“I’m sorry. This isn't how I wanted to tell you.” You can’t look him in the eye, so you fiddle with the results of the MRIs and x-rays and other medical exams. You shuffle through the papers in the folder that all say the same thing. For no reason any doctor can explain, your body is suddenly riddled with the remnants of several impossible injuries. You touch your head on the spot where they found the tumor - the thing that would kill you before any of the other injuries could. The tumor was your most recent injury, if you could call it that.
“I don’t understand.” Shoto says quietly. You think about how you never really planned on telling him anyway. All this time, you let him - everyone - think you didn’t have a quirk. The truth was too complicated.
“I can...rewind...time,” you start explaining again, “by dying.” You sneak a glance at his face, searching for any clues about how he’s feeling.
“I get that part. What I don’t understand...is why you wouldn’t tell me.” Shoto fiddles with the ring on his finger that matches your own. It was a new enough accessory that he didn’t have a permanent tan line on his ring finger yet.
“I didn’t want you to worry, Shoto.” He looks at you sharply as you speak.
“How many times?” You tilt the test results so he can see every unusual injury on you. “Did you save them?” You smile at the question. You knew that part he would understand.
“Every time.” You said. You can see he’s thinking it over, and you know him well enough to dread the next question.
“Have you ever saved me?” You nod, because your throat is suddenly too thick for words. “How many times?”
“Just once,” you manage to whisper. His fists clench.
“Which one?” He asks, gesturing to the body scan showing your injuries. You wish you could lie to him now, but it’s a little too late, perhaps.
“This one,” you point to a shadow over your chest, “and this,” your hands are shaking as you point to the tumor in the picture of your brain. His head whips from the images to your sorry face.
“What happened?”
“You died,” you choke, “so I...jumped off a building-”, you point at the shadow on your chest, “-and went back to the day of the incident. I was too late that time, and the villain, he…” Shoto took your hand and squeezed. “He shot me-” you pointed at the tumor again, “and the time reset again. I went back a week earlier, this time, and gathered enough evidence to get him arrested before he could try anything.”
“So, this is my fault,” he says, utterly serious, as he traces the shadow of the tumor growing in your brain. He couldn’t believe how oblivious he was. How could he not notice that you’d spent a whole week gathering evidence against a potential villain? Getting the evidence to stick so the villain went to prison? Saving lives?
“No!” This is precisely why you hadn’t wanted to tell him about your quirk. “This was my decision, Shoto. I wanted to save you. I couldn’t live with myself if I just let you go like that!” He suddenly takes you in his arms, holding you tight.
“I’m so sorry.” He tucks his face in the crook of your neck. His voice is serious, but you can tell he’s holding back tears. You bring your arms around him.
“I’m not sorry.” You say, rubbing circles on his back the way you know he likes. “If I hadn’t done that, then I wouldn’t be holding you like this now. I wouldn’t be hearing your voice. I wouldn’t be sharing my life with you.”
“But...what am I supposed to do now? I can’t save you from this.” This is a side of him you’ve never seen. Shoto never gave up, never backed down. You never wanted to see him hopeless, yet here you both were.
“You don’t have to save me, Shoto. Being here with you is more than enough.” As you speak, you think about how you’d trade your life for Shoto’s any day. “Maybe I’ll come back again. Maybe I’ll rewind again.” You’re crying now, because deep inside you know this might be it. The injuries of every reset are catching up to you, and this might be the final death. This time, it’s not your choice. You’re not throwing yourself off a building, or slitting your wrists, or any of the other things you’ve inflicted upon yourself. This time, your own body is saying enough is enough. There was no way you could save yourself - you had 5 years left - but maybe you could save him just one more time.
*~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~*
You’ve been thinking about this for a month now, which to you seems like a long time if you want your plan to work out. After all, you wanted to see at least a small glimpse of his future before your time was up. Shoto had no idea you were planning anything, of course. After all this time, after all the resets, you’ve gotten very good at keeping things from him.
Shoto has been the perfect husband. He went to treatments with you, sometimes even forcing you to go, even though the prognosis wasn’t good. He took care of you the best he could, even though you could tell it was breaking his heart. You couldn’t do this to him any longer. That’s how you found yourself lying in the tub full of sleeping pills and alcohol.
*~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~*
It’s four years ago, on the day you and Shoto would’ve met for the first time. You wake up in your old apartment, and you feel a pang of nostalgia. You haven't travelled back this far since you first realized you were in love with Shoto. You hadn’t wanted to risk messing anything up.
The first thing you do is write down every incident you’d ever stopped, every life you’d ever saved, that was about to happen all over again in the next four years. You plot the dates and times, and write every last detail you could remember, including detailed plans to prevent them from happening.
Only when you’re finished do you sit back and think about what you’ve done. You glance up at the clock. You met Shoto after your friend and his friend set the two of you up on a blind date. You figure standing him up would be the best way to ruin everything right now. The clock ticks to 3:30PM, which was when you left your apartment the first time around.
You feel your throat tighten as tears roll down your cheeks, but you continue watching the clock, thinking about everything you’re giving up. The clock keeps moving until it’s 4PM, the appointed meeting time. Your phone buzzes. As expected, your friend has sent a good luck text.
4:15PM and your phone buzzes again and the name that appears makes your chest feel tight. “Hi, this is Todoroki Shoto. Our friends set us up for a blind date today.”
“Sorry! Can’t make it.” You send back, trying to sound rude enough to hate, but not too rude that it’s unbelievable. You can imagine the cute flustered look on Shoto’s face. You can’t seem to stop crying.
“I’m sorry for the trouble. Would you like to reschedule?” His familiar politeness in spite of it all makes you laugh through the tears and you’re feeling a little crazy. You leave him on read and hope he doesn’t try to contact you again.
*~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~*
You’re at the hospital again, and receiving the same “shocking” results. It’s a different doctor, but she still isn’t able to explain your strange residual injuries. She can, however, tell you that the injuries aren’t what you should be worried about. Even though you’ve reset to four years  ago (not that the doctor knows this), the tumor in your brain will still kill you in five years or less. You’d already guessed this before resetting. You were just biding your time.
You had the uncanny ability to remember everything when you reset. You spend the familiar four years with your friends and family, and you avoid Shoto, but that’s easier said than done when he’s always saving the day on the news. You save the same lives you’ve saved before, but you manage to fly under the radar. You don’t tell anyone about your quirk, but of course you can’t lie about your diagnosis. Everyone is loving and supportive, but you miss him.
*~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~*
The hardest thing in the world happens three years after you travelled back in time. You’re in the hospital again, sitting in a wheelchair, because treatments leave you feeling weak. You’re supposed to be resting, but you find yourself people-watching in the cafeteria, unread novel abandoned because you’re a little too dizzy to read right now.
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” Your heart clenches at the familiar voice. You shake your head without looking up. He slides into the seat next to you, because the cafeteria is a little full. You know you should leave or pretend you’re reading, but the temptation is too strong. Against your will, you turn to face Shoto.
“Who are you visiting?” You smile, even as you curse yourself for giving in. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, and you had to remind yourself to breathe. You tried to take him in subtly, every feature live-in-living-color in front of you, so close.
“How did you know I was visiting someone?” He asks, then takes a bite from his sandwich.
“You don’t look like a patient.” Of course, you could guess who he was visiting. You flashed back to the memory of another timeline, when you’d visited an injured friend with him. In that memory, you were holding a “Get well soon” balloon, but the Shoto in this timeline hadn’t brought anything. “Are you bringing them something?”
Shoto looks surprised for a second. “Should I?”
“Most people here seem to like it, even if it’s usually useless stuff. It’s just a nice gesture, I think.” Just a little more. You’ve missed him so much, it was unbearable, but the next two years might be a little easier if you could see him and talk to him just a little bit more.
“What do you suggest?” He asks.
“The gift shop is near here. You could pick something you think they’d like.” When you finish speaking, Shoto balls up the sandwich wrapper and you think the conversation is over.
“Could you show me?” You’re surprised when he asks, and he’s looking at you so earnestly. You see the tips of his ears are flushed pink, and your heart stutters.
“Of course!” You want to kick yourself. You need to back off now. Instead, you let him wheel you to the gift shop.
“I’m Todoroki Shoto, by the way.” He says as you inspect the chocolates in the gift shop. You panic. What are you supposed to do? Tell him your name? Give him an entirely fake name?
“You should get this!” You quickly hand him a random bar of chocolate large enough to surprise him. “I have to go now. Bye!” You wheel yourself out of there as fast as you can, and hope Shoto forgets about you.
About an hour later, a friend comes to pick you up. As you get inside the car, you see your favorite nurse jogging towards you, giant chocolate bar in her arms. She yells your name and your heart sinks.
“Todoroki Shoto was asking around about you. He said to give you this.” The nurse says as she hands you the chocolate bar. She looks incredibly impressed that a pro-hero, the Todoroki Shoto, would be looking for you, let alone giving you chocolate. You see that it’s not the exact one you pushed into Shoto’s arms, so maybe he gave that one to his friend. The card attached has “Thank you” scribbled in a familiar scrawl. Underneath the scrawl, the words “Get well soon” are printed in a bubbly font. Your friend and the nurse eye each other awkwardly.
“Thanks!” Your friend says to the nurse. “We better get going now.”
*~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~*
It’s your final mission. You have submitted your evidence against the villain who, if not stopped, would end up killing Shoto and several others. Except, you’ve run into an unexpected hitch. This time, you’re not married to a pro-hero. The police are insisting you need a personal guard, just until the villain is put away for good.
You end up under the careful protection of Uraraka Ochako. That was one of the worst things about resetting the timeline. You also lost half of your friends: the friends you and Shoto shared. You wonder if maybe it would be okay to be friends with Uraraka again. You’ve missed her a lot too.
You’re thinking some more about befriending Ochako again on the way home from yet another treatment at the hospital. Another friend is driving you home and it’s a little awkward because Ochako insisted you sit beside her in the backseat just in case. Ochako was right. Just a few minutes into the drive home, a much larger vehicle slams into your friend’s car. It takes you a moment to recognize the SUV as belonging to the villain you were currently prosecuting, and another moment to realize that Ochako has your friend’s car suspended mid-air, mid-tumble. But it’s too late. The SUV slammed into your side of the car. It was a purposeful and targeted attack, and the impact alone has you slipping into unconsciousness.
*~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~*
You’re floating in and out of sleep, and everything is hazy and confusing. When you’re awake, you have the sense of being in a very busy place, lots of people, lots of noise. When you’re asleep, you feel a thread in the middle of your chest tugging and tugging, threatening to unravel you. Something in your brain is telling you to hold on to that thread; don’t let it unravel. But you’re so tired, and so weak.
You hear your name, suddenly, loud and clear, even though Shoto isn’t shouting it. You crash into wakefulness. Shoto? It takes longer for your eyes to open, and you find yourself in a hospital room. You hear your name again, and this time you’re sure it’s him.
“Hi.” You manage to say, though your throat is dry and scratchy and the word comes out in a breathy rasp.
“Do you remember me?” Shoto frowns, and you recognize him both as your Shoto and the Shoto of this other timeline where you were never supposed to meet him.
“Yeah…” You say again, because trying to nod hurts too much.
“I...remember you.” Shoto says carefully. You don’t know what to say, so you stay silent. He continues, “We all...remember you.”
“What?” Is all you can say, sounding dumb even to yourself.
“You were in a car crash.” He gestures to your body, which must be lying injured in bed, though you can hardly see. “And after that, we all started getting these dreams...almost like weird memories...of things that never happened, or things that did happen but different.”
“Oh…” You suddenly remember the feeling of unraveling in your dreams. You remember your subconscious screaming at you to hold on, to keep those strings to yourself. You realize now that what you were holding on to were the timelines and memories, and clearly you hadn’t managed to hold on to them.
You notice Shoto is nervously fiddling with his empty ring finger, right where his wedding ring was supposed to be. He notices you looking and stops. “I died.” He says this in a matter-of-fact voice. “I was supposed to die.”
“God, I messed up.” You start to tear up. “You weren’t supposed to know. No one was supposed to know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I love you...a lot. I know that sounds crazy coming from someone you don’t even know,” you’re full-on crying now, “but it doesn’t matter now, and I’m going to die, for real this time, and I just didn’t want you to feel bad.”
Shoto looks perplexed. It was his job to be the hero, to save people, and here you were resetting timelines to keep him from being upset. A long silence passed as he thought about what to say to you.
“We were married, in the dreams. I remember that. We were supposed to go on a blind date, and it was really fun, and you were so easy to talk to. But it didn’t happen like that.” Shoto’s still confused.
“Sorry,” you say on reflex, then you correct yourself, “Actually, no, I’m not. I’m sorry you’re confused now, but it beats seeing you miserable because you had to watch me dying slowly. So, I’m not sorry.”
“I’m still miserable. I’m still watching you.” Shoto grips your hand fiercely. He wipes your tears away without thinking and you miss him so much. God, he’s right there, but it’s different, and you miss him so much. “I may not remember everything, and the memories - the dreams - aren’t always clear, but I remember loving you.”
“One year left. At the most, I have one year left.”
“Then we’ll just have to make the most of it.”
“You just said you barely remember me.”
“I remember what it’s like to love you, and the me that loved you that much was the happiest version of myself. I was happy just dreaming, remembering, the life we shared. If we have one year left to try again, then I’ll take it.”
“I feel so stupid trying to reset the timeline. It was never going to be anything but you and me, huh?” Shoto smiles at you, and you find yourself smiling back. You don’t know what’s going to happen now, and you no longer want to know. You’ll do the best you can with whatever time you have left, because that’s all you can really do.
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theartoflovingthomashunt · 5 years ago
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Seducing Mr. Perfect
[Red Carpet Diaries Masterlist]  ||  [Hollywood U Masterlist]
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Characters: Alex, Thomas Hunt, King Liam (mentioned), Drake Walker (mentioned) Rating: Teen + Notes: Alex has a new favorite film (and so do I). > @choicesjanuarychallenge2020​​​ Photograph  > Thanks to @the-soot-sprite​​​ for the idea! 
– – – –
Alex’s eyes were transfixed to her laptop screen as she sat in bed watching Seducing Mr. Perfect. She didn’t hear or see Thomas come home from work nor try to get her attention. 
Thomas stood next to the bed for a moment, watching her. She was completely enthralled by the story and this wasn’t the first time he’d heard her watching the same movie this week. 
Thomas’s movement from crawling into the bed startled her, causing her to close the laptop quickly, her cheeks blushing. “Oh, hi there.”
“Hello, beautiful,” Thomas kissed her softly but with determination. He held her face with one hand as his other hand opened her computer back up while she was distracted.
“Should I be jealous?” Thomas asked noting the shirtless man that popped up.  
Alex sighed contently seeing a photograph of Henney’s face paused on the screen. That smirk. Those eyes. That chest.
“You don’t have to answer.” Thomas’s lips brushed against her neck before pressing down on the spot he knew was her most sensitive causing her eyes to close and her body to shiver beneath his touch. “You may have been looking at him, but you’re still in my bed.”
“You’re not mad?” Alex guided his mouth off her neck so she could see him. “I can’t say I would be this calm had the situations been reversed.” 
“Should I not be?” Thomas held her gaze. 
Alex’s eyes wandered Thomas’s body, realizing only now that he was wearing nothing but underwear. She shook her head as she bit her lip. 
“My love’s not fragile,” Thomas smirked at the growing need in her eyes. He knew he had nothing to worry about. “If anything I’m less worried about him, and more worried about Liam.”
“Liam?” Alex questioned.
“Last we were in Cordonia filming The Last Duchess, King Liam was out of the country. You didn’t get to meet him. May I?” Thomas questioned reaching for Alex’s laptop. He quickly pulled up a photo of the King. “As you can see, Liam bears more than a passing resemblance.”
“That’s uncanny,” Alex marveled, her eyes widening as she stared at a photo of King Liam that could easily have been Daniel Henney. She felt a warmth growing in her cheeks again. 
“I take no stock in the doppelgänger mythology, however, it is impossible to ignore this pair,” Thomas explained. “Will his presence at our wedding be too much of a distraction?”
“I’m not sure how to respond to that.” Alex shook her head forcing herself to look away from the image. “The King of Cordonia who looks like Daniel Henney is coming to our wedding and this is the first I’m hearing about it?! I don’t see how a King himself is not going to draw attention, and then one that looks like Henney...”
“Is that a yes? I can uninvite him,” Thomas began. “It would save a whole table at the reception since he seems incapable of traveling anywhere without his merry band of misfit friends. I particularly would not miss Mr. Walker and his assumption that he knows more about Scotch than anyone. I mean really! And the way he’s always complaining.”
“Sounds a bit like you,” Alex teased. Her fingers caressing the stubble on his cheek. “If I’m being honest, I’m not sure I’ll notice anyone besides you on our wedding day. I am counting the minutes til I am yours, forever. I want you, Thomas, only you.” 
“Even if a look-alike to Mr. Perfect is sitting in the front row?” Thomas raised an eyebrow. 
Alex threw him a curious glance. 
“I’ve seen the movie, Alex,” Thomas acknowledged. “Lest we forget, I am a connoisseur of cinema. While less than perfect, the film is passable, which is far more than I can say for most romance films. I even referenced it in a few lectures before when I was a professor as a film to study when attempting to create a romance or build dynamic chemistry.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand the ‘less than perfect’ part. Those words seem to be incorrectly placed together,” Alex blinked repeatedly, refusing to accept them, even if that was higher praise from Thomas than most films ever received.
“Do you have any idea how cute you really are?” Thomas offered, his lips curling into a devilish smirk.
“Perhaps you should remind me.” Alex’s finger traced down his taut chest. 
“I shall do more than that, my love.” Thomas’s hands glided over her caressing, squeezing and rubbing as he spoke. “I intend to remind you who you belong to. After all, does Mr. Perfect know your body the way I do? Does he know how to make you moan and cry? Shiver and Squirm? Beg and scream in pleasure? I am not concerned about Daniel Henney or King Liam. When I’m done with you and I’ve had you begging for more and writhing in pleasure from my every touch over and over again, you won’t remember who they are. I will be all that you remember. You’re mine, Alex.”
“Pretty big talk,” Alex teased, her body already tingling from the commanding power behind his words and the way his touches reflected every word he said. 
"You're more beautiful than any woman I've ever met in my life,” Thomas kissed her tenderly. He closed the laptop and moved it to their end table. He opened the top drawer and took out a blindfold. “Sensory deprivation. Now every touch will be amplified and unpredictable.”
Alex nodded as Thomas wrapped it around her eyes. She hated not seeing him, but the experience was always more than worth it. Plus, it made seeing him at the end even more explosive. 
“Love is a game of power, a manipulation of emotions. Are you ready?" Thomas questioned as he began undressing his fianceé without waiting for her response. 
“You want to kiss me now, don’t you?” Alex breathed grinning with adoration. 
“You’ll just have to wait and see… well, feel,” Thomas taunted as his lips pressed against her collarbone, teeth grazing across her skin. The shift in her breathing and soft moans escaping her lips were all he needed. He would happily seduce her tonight and every night to keep her happy. She was his future wife, his entire world, and his personal Miss (soon to be Mrs.) Perfect.
_ _ _ _
Thomas Tags: @the-soot-sprite​​ ;  @alleksa16​​  ;  @hopelessromantic1352​​  ;   @flyawayboo​​ ; @mfackenthal​​   ; @lilyofchoices​​   ;  @alj4890​​  ;  @twin-skltns​​   ;    @ab1901​​ ;   @riseandshinelittleblossom​​  ;  @thearianam​​   ; @choicesjanuarychallenge2020​​, @trappedinfandoms; @awkwardambition
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haildoodles-writing · 5 years ago
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Of Childish Hopes
A Loki series oneshot
Summary: After Loki was captured by the Time Variance Authority, he thought he was immune to surprises. What he didn’t know, though, is that the TVA had one last card up their sleeve.
Pairing: Loki x OFC
WC: 5527
Warnings: violence, angst
A/N: hey folks! I haven’t published a MCU/Loki fic (not to mention a character x OC fic) before, so I’m honestly not sure how this will go over with the tumblr community. But I had fun writing this—and Nova is an original character that is very dear to my heart—so I hope you all enjoy!
* * *
The first time she visited him, Loki Laufeyson was confused.
The Time Variance Authority had managed to capture him a few weeks prior, locking him up in a dismal cell with too many security measures that he deemed unnecessary. Since then, it's been a daily routine: wake up, eat, change, and then be chained to a metal table and interrogated for the rest of the day. There, they only talked about the Tesseract and his faults in "creating too many timelines," and not much else.
It was mundane. Irritating, even.
That is, until the woman walked in.
The TVA had been quite brainless to give him the same few interrogators that they rotated through daily. All male, all spineless, and all too easy to intimidate. So when a woman walked through the doors to the interrogation room--if he was honest with himself, he was caught a bit by surprise.
Through the blinding light of the lamp overhead, he was able to tell that she was quite fair--well, she would have been, had she not have been adorned with purple beneath her eyes and a miserable expression upon her face. Frankly, she looked as if she had gotten run over by a Frost Beast, straight from the Jotunheim caves.
But still .  .  .
She looked familiar. Surely, he'd met her before.
He didn't know from where, though. Or when, for that matter.
"Hello, Loki." Her voice was soft, but her words were forced, as if she didn't want to speak to them at all. Loki really didn't know what to say to that--he wasn't fond of greetings, anyways. He resorted to biting instead.
"If you're here to seduce me into giving information, I guarantee you that your men have already tried--"
The woman, having pulled a metal chair up to the table, huffed a laugh. "Why am I not surprised you would say that," she said, more to herself than anything.
Loki waited, raising an eyebrow as she steeled herself. Then she leaned forward slightly, bracing her hands against the table, letting the light flash against something very familiar adorning her finger--
With the free hand not currently chained to the table, Loki lunged forward and snatched her by the wrist. Surely enough, it wasn't a trick of the light--it was his mother's ring, fit snugly upon her finger, and not on his own mother's hand--
Loki swallowed back the thickness in his throat.
"Where did you get this," he ground out. He clenched her wrist a little harder, just to get his point across. She winced, but oddly didn't react more.
"Let go, Loki," she breathed. Loki could sense the desperation in her tone, watching as her own hand began to change color.
But no. That was his mother's. Who was this pathetic little mortal to steal such a thing--
"Let go and I'll explain everything," she begged. For the first time, she matched his gaze, and something flashed in them that felt so strangely familiar--
Loki relented.
The woman snatched her hand back, rubbing it as blood rushed back into her fingertips. For a moment, she fiddled with the ring--but then retracted her hand, as soon as she saw Loki's pointed stare.
"Well?" Loki snapped, sweeping his hand out expectantly.
For a moment, he waited as she took a bated breath and closed her eyes--steeling herself, yet again. When she finally opened them, she stared directly into his own.
"My name is Nova," she said. "I'm your wife." 
Loki paused. And then he dropped his hand.
That was new.
Back in his princely days, he'd often gotten ragingly drunk and done things he'd later regret. Women--and men--were often part of that equation. But lately, he hadn't touched a sip of mead, and there weren't many people to talk to in his excursions, let alone wed--
"I'm sorry," he said, "Last I checked, I don't recall courting a human."
Nova raised her hand, a playful fire alight in her eyes that he hadn't seen yet. "Let me speak, dear," she said--and then promptly retracted, biting her lip. "Sorry. Pet name." 
Something twanged in Loki's chest at that. He chose to ignore it.
"I'm not your wife here, per say," she began, before pausing again and sighing. "Look--I know they've talked to you about what you've done with the Tesseract, and how that cube sliding to you in New York wasn't supposed to happen . . ." Loki nodded, and she continued. "Good. Well, what they didn't tell you about was what was supposed to happen, had you not taken the stone. What really happens to you."
What really happens to you.
Why did she sound so hopeless?
". . .  Go on," Loki said.
Nova hesitated, her gaze flickering between his eyes. In her own, all he could see was exhaustion. Despair. Pain.
And then she began, telling him of everything that happened after New York. How his mother died during the Convergence, how he usurped the throne and became king, and how Hela, his sister, destroyed Asgard and the people escaped. How his brother became king, then, and their relationship finally began to mend. And then how, along that path, he found her. How they fell in love, hard, and how he palmed his mother's ring for years until he finally offered her his hand on Asgard's ship--
As she spoke, her face was soft, nostalgic. And then it dropped.
"We never got married, though. We planned to, after Asgard's people were  settled."
Silence fell, swallowing up the room as Loki's stomach twisted. 
What really happens to you.
"What happened, Nova?" he asked. Softly, quietly, as if approaching a timid fawn.
Shaking, Nova traced her ring. "Thanos," she said.
Loki's blood ran cold, trapped in his own veins.
Thanos. Thanos. Thanos. 
"He was on the hunt for the stones, and he attacked the ship. He killed half of the people that were there. And you tried to stop him, to protect me--"  She bit her lip, hard enough for it to bleed, and Loki could see how much she was fighting not to tremble.
But all that was running through his head was that name.
Thanos got to him. In another time, another life, sure--but nonetheless, the wretched, sadistic beast found him-- 
"Why are you here?" he asked, pushing it through his own fear clogging up his thoughts. He forced his face to remain impassive, calm. He felt anything but.
That, evidently, seemed like it was easier for her to answer. "The TVA found me, after everything. They brought me back, to try to convince you to fix the timelines you . . . messed up."
Of course they would.
Of course they would bring in this woman, his alternate self's wife, pulling her out of time and forcing her to clean up his mess--
"No," he said. He had already wreaked too much havoc, anyways. The TVA would likely kill him the moment he straightened it all up. And this woman, Nova . . . Though he didn't want to believe her, it made too much sense. And something deep inside him, slumbering and warm, knew she was telling the truth. And that truth hadn't been kind to her.
"Loki, please--" 
"No," he said again, more flippantly this time. "If you are who you say you are, they shouldn't have brought you here nor gotten you involved in any of this. Besides, it's too much effort to slave after a bureaucracy that seems only fit to punish me in the end," he added.
Nova seemed desperate. "Loki, you don't understand--"
From the loudspeakers in the corners of the room, a buzzer sounded. A couple of guards filed into the room, lifting Nova up by her forearms and escorting her out. She protested the entire way.
"Goodbye, Nova," he said. Her name felt . . . pleasant, on his tongue.
He hoped though, for her sake, to never see her again.
*  *  *
The second time she visited him, it was after hours and in his own cell. She appeared late in the evening, holding two green fruits up to the force field that held him captive.
Even in the dim light, he could see her timid smile. "I brought your favorite," she said.
It was true--he did have an uncanny fondness for pears. The fact that she knew that, though, settled in his stomach wrong.
Wife, he reminded himself.
He swallowed thickly. "You're not allowed to be here, I presume."
She grinned. "Nope." Something in his chest warmed at that. Pride, perhaps.
Slowly he stood, taking measured steps to the force field separating them. "And how, do tell, do you plan on getting inside?" He flicked the blue aura in front of him for good measure, burning the tips of his fingers in the aftermath.
Nova rolled her eyes at that. "You genuinely think you married an imbecile, Loki? Of course I know," she said, chuckling. And sure enough, as she pressed her hand against the force field, it didn't scorch her. Instead, the imprint of her palm flashed green, allowing her access.
"Hacked into the system," she said flippantly, stepping through the barrier with a wink. She tossed him his pear.
Loki hummed as she collapsed atop his bed, throwing his blanket over her thighs and setting the pear by her feet.
Green suits her, he thought, before instantly shoving it out of his mind.
"Why are you here," he demanded instead. He kept himself a few feet away--for her sake, at the very least.
Nova shrugged. "Couldn't sleep," was all she said. It was obvious that that wasn’t the reason, though--so he waited, staring at her until she slowly collapsed in on herself. 
She closed her eyes, swallowing thickly. “Can you . . . come here? Please?” 
If he heeded the common sense belting its chords within him, he would have remained where he was. He would have demanded she leave, saving herself from the grief that was likely consuming her in front of him. He would have ignored her entirely, detangling himself from her finger and forcing her out of his own mind. 
But lately, Loki had been more in tune with his rash persona. Common sense was a title claimed by bland heroism, anyways--and Loki was far from heroic. 
So he shoved logic to the wayside and sat by Nova, his pear long forgotten, watching as she seemed to slowly fall apart. But as she crumbled, she seemed to relax, too. As if her broken pieces gave her, uncannily enough, some semblance of comfort. 
“Can I be honest with you, Loki?” she asked. Her gaze, though sometimes flickering to his form, remained on the barrier separating them from the outside world. 
“Always,” he said. It was surprising how quickly the words came to his mouth. 
Slowly, cautiously, Nova plucked one of his hands from his lap and placed it on her own. Her hands encased his, slowly tracing the lines and creases of his palm. She was oddly cool to the touch--something that Loki didn’t take lightly. Usually, humans radiated heat like a blazing furnace. But she was soft, and her touches were light--and strangely comforting, despite his distaste for human contact--so he didn’t mention it. 
“I wish I never met you,” she eventually whispered. A stone-like weight fell into his stomach, but she didn’t wait until it landed to speak again. “It is . . . so hard to see you, knowing that you’re not . . .”
“Him?” Loki finished, allowing her to hold onto his hand like a lifeline. Loki was not him: the Loki she was in love with, the Loki she courted. The Loki that, if he assumed correctly, became as soft as Asgardian silks and as pliable as child-made putty. The Loki that, in his own form of heroism, had died.
No, he was not her Loki. And she had every right to despise him for that.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said after a long pause. And one glance at her told him everything--a soft smile played on her face, betrayed by the loneliness in her eyes. “You’re not mine,” she said. “But you’re so much like him that it makes me sick.” 
“Then why are you here?” Loki spouted, much too consumed in the way she held his hand to give much thought to his words. But his comment made her retract, and she leaned back slightly as if he raked his own hand across her face. 
“I don’t know,” she eventually said. 
Liar, he thought. She was visiting him because either she wanted to pry him open herself in some morbid version of curiosity, or if she simply loathed herself enough to enforce her own punishment. Either way, she wasn’t here to be healed. 
Loki stared at her until she gave in. “Because I love you,” she said simply. And it didn’t sound joyous or romantic, the words dripping from her mouth like fresh honey. No, it sounded tired, and sad, and it fell out broken. As if the mere thought of it drove a knife into her chest and twisted it. 
In some curious, depressing sort of way, Loki understood. 
This woman--this wife of his--was damned, cursed by the gods to meet someone she loved but could not have. She needed healing, and Loki wasn’t the one to give it to her. 
But he could dull the pain, if he wished. If only for a moment.
“Sleep,” Loki said. 
Nova stared at him, as if not fully convinced of his words, until he spoke again. “You need to rest. Sleep.” And then he stood and stepped aside, lowering himself to the floor adjacent to the bed itself. 
Nova didn’t need to be told a third time, kicking off her shoes and collapsing atop his blankets and pillows. In less than a minute, she was asleep. 
And as she rested, Loki stared at her ring as it reflected moonlight against the wall, and he laughed. 
How cruel it was, for the gods to taunt her with a mirage of her love. And how cruel it was, for them to play with his own childish hopes of domesticity and shape it into a slumbering woman at his side. 
But Loki was a walking curse, after all. He should have seen it coming. 
*  *  *
Nova visited him every night for a week. 
The TVA still kept him to his interrogation schedule, sometimes including Nova herself to beg him to return the Tesseract. But her pleadings were bland, flat, as if she didn’t want to be asking him about it either, and she didn’t complain about his lack of a response. 
At night, though, they didn’t mention the Tesseract. 
Instead, they talked about each other--about her upbringing, her Loki, and the stories from his own past that she didn’t know already. And with each tale she told and each memory he shared, she seemed to become lighter. Happier. 
Loki didn’t deny that he enjoyed her company, much more than he should.
That night, she had brought him a basket of pears, mixed with some other goodies that he fancied. Anniversary present, she told him. A week of mismatched friendship. 
“I’ll never understand your love for these,” she was saying, sprawled amongst his pillows as if she owned the room. “They’re so . . . weird.” Overhead, she tossed her pear around, giggling as Loki consumed his stash at her feet. 
“They’re the gift of the gods,” Loki snapped, swiping the fruit from her hands and placing it in his basket. She had long since voiced her distaste for pears, much to Loki’s complete horror. 
“You’re so pretentious,” Nova laughed. Sitting up, she patted Loki on the head in playfulness--evidently something that she didn’t think through, as she swiped her hand back faster than she moved it forward. Loki brushed it off, instead running a hand through his locks to fix it. 
“I used to joke about you having extensions,” Nova commented, eying the curls that framed his face. “Your hair was always so long and wellkept. Now I’m starting to think it’s true.” 
Loki scoffed as she giggled. “You truly think so little of me?” he jested.
Nova stood, still laughing as she spread her legs. “Well, you were obsessed with your appearance, dear. One would think you would rather be caught dead than disheveled.” 
Now Loki was intrigued, raising a brow as she rambled on. “You always wore the finest shirts, along with some weird version of leather pants that you claimed were Asgardian; I couldn’t get you in jeans to save my life. And don’t get me started on how you did your hair, especially when it grew past your shoulders--”
Loki was still fighting a chuckle as he snapped his fingers, lengthening out his hair and changing his clothes in the blink of an eye. “Like this?” 
She turned around, still grinning from her speech. And then when she saw him, Loki instantly regretted doing anything at all. 
Her face dropped and Loki could only stare as she froze in place. 
“. . . Yes,” she said softly. “Just like that.” 
Loki felt guilt pooling in his gut like spoiled wine. If his tongue didn’t feel like lead, he would have apologized. But then he saw her breathing catch and tears gloss her eyes as she blinked them back, and he walked towards her without a second thought. Words piled behind his lips--but his silver tongue did nothing to sort them out. 
When he was close enough, Nova reached out blindly, grasping his arms as her eyes squeezed shut. “It’s not your fault,” she spouted, seemingly more to herself than him. “You didn’t know.” 
Still doesn’t excuse it, he thought. Nothing ever really excused his actions. 
He let her breathe for a while, clutching his arms like a lifeline and trembling like a newborn fawn. Eventually, though, she calmed, though she didn’t open her eyes.
“Look at me,” Loki said. He still hadn’t dropped the illusion--seeing him would be good for her. It would help her heal, help her begin to let her departed love go.
At least, that was what he told himself. 
She swallowed thickly, audibly. “No,” she said.
“Why not?” 
Squeezing his biceps briefly, Nova let out a strangled sound. “Because if I open my eyes and look at you, then I am going to kiss you, and I am never going to let you go.” 
Loki paused. 
Would that be so bad? 
In that moment he nearly laughed again, cursing the Norns for bringing him her: his retribution, his downfall. And someone he wanted to keep so, so badly. 
So slowly, he dropped his illusion, tilting her chin up and waiting until she looked at him again. She sagged in relief at his appearance. 
“This isn’t fair,” she told him. But she stepped forward nonetheless, letting him slip his hand to the crook of her neck. Let him lean towards her, throwing caution to the wind as he rested his forehead against her own.
“No, it’s not.” Because it wasn’t fair, to either of them. It was torturous, and it was cruel, and it made him feel things he would much rather avoid. 
But he kissed her regardless. 
He brushed his lips against her own until she fell into him, slipping one hand into his hair and clutching the fabric on his chest with her other. He could feel her tears against his own cheeks and the trembling of her frame in his arms--but the only thing he could think of was her hand in his hair, and her lips against his, and how much she tasted, she felt, like home. 
He didn’t know what to think of it. 
Even when she pulled away, burying her head in the crook of his neck, he couldn’t shake it--the odd, nagging feeling at the bottom of his chest that begged him to keep her.
He couldn’t, though. She needed to go somewhere better, somewhere safer, and he needed to face the damnation that he reaped himself. 
But that could happen later, after he finished kissing her and imagining things that weren’t meant to be his. 
Later.
*  *  *
After that night, Nova stopped visiting. 
At first, Loki brushed it off, considering how frazzled she had been over the past week’s events. So he allowed a few days of her absence. But then those two days shifted into three, then four, and then another week--and still, not so much as a wave, a glance, a presence. She hadn’t appeared in his interrogations, either.
After the second week, he began to wonder if she was dead. 
Though he didn’t like it, it seemed plausible. The TVA were a clan of stone cold brutes, anyways; it was incredibly unlikely that they let her go out of her own volition.  
The thought of her--cold, lifeless, at the hands of some twisted bureaucracy--didn’t sit well with him. It didn’t sit with him at all, really--so he pushed it off, forcing the image into the back of his thoughts and burying it under a lock and key. 
And there it remained, until he was woken from his slumber three weeks later with an aggressive shove.
“Wake up,” a voice demanded, its source uncomfortably close to his ear. “Get up, Loki.” 
It took him much too long to recognize the voice--but once he did, he shot up, and knocked into her in the process.
Nova leaned back on her knees, cradling her head with one hand. “Ow. Give a girl a warning, will ya?” 
In his sleep-addled state, Loki managed to chuckle through everything that was plaguing him.
I thought you were dead, he wanted to say. 
“Why are you here?” he said instead. 
He blinked until her form cleared, revealing her wild curls and her disarrayed clothes--
And a bruise, sprawling across her cheekbone. Her knuckles were bloody, too. 
His hearing slowed to a halt, and he didn’t notice she was speaking until he looked at her mouth. “We need to get you ou--”
“What did they do to you?” he cut off, the words leaking from his mouth in a hiss. 
At his snap, Nova retracted a bit. Her hand instantly pulled at her sleeve, trying to straighten herself up.
What did they do?
Nova puffed out her cheeks, slowly letting the air seep from her lips. “It doesn’t matter,” she eventually said. 
Loki ignored her, reaching forward and tracing the discoloration on her cheek. She didn’t so much as flinch--but still, Loki’s blood was still boiling. Other than chaining him up, the TVA hadn’t laid a finger on Loki since he arrived here. And yet they harmed her, of all people--
“What did they do,” he ground out again. 
He didn’t know his hands were clenched until Nova grasped at his fingers, slowly pulling them from his palm. “Don’t worry,” she chided. She tugged at him until he was standing before releasing him and backing up towards the barrier. 
“We need to leave,” she said, the barrier’s blue aura lighting her skin as she stepped through. “I found the Tesseract. We need to get you out.”
Loki stopped. 
Though he wanted to leave and bury this compound in the dirt, he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. The TVA had cameras on every corner and guards in every hall, and mountains upon mountains of intergalactic weapons at their disposal--
If he had access to his full magic capabilities, he would whisk the both of them out at a moment's notice. But the TVA had found a way to drain him, leaving him as powerless as any other Asgardian. Attempting an escape like that would be too risky--especially for a mortal.
“No,” Loki stated, coming to a halt just a hair’s breadth away from the barrier. The wall thrummed with energy, nearly biting at him. 
One wrong move, and you’re dead, Nova.
He wouldn’t have an innocent’s blood on his hands. 
Though Loki forced impassiveness onto his face, Nova seemed to read right through it. Her face softened. “I need you to trust me, Loki,” she whispered. 
Loki didn’t budge until a quiet laugh bubbled through her.
“I have a distraction, and I found a few employees that hate this place as much as we do. You’ll be fine,” she swore. 
Loki paused for a moment, considering. 
It wasn’t until he glanced at the ring on her finger that he surrendered. Wife, he reminded himself again.
His other self trusted her. What kept him from doing the same?
“Fine,” Loki muttered eventually, steeling himself as he crossed his arms. “When do we start?”
Nova snickered, pressing her palm flat against the barrier as she pulled a peculiar device from her pocket. “Now,” she said, much too nonchalantly--because with one squeeze of the device, the barrier fell and all the lights turned to a bleeding red. In the corners of his cell, he noticed the cameras grow dark. The sirens began to blare not long after that, and Nova giggled again. 
Stepping through where the barrier once was felt freeing--much too freeing than what he would have preferred, given the circumstances, but it didn’t matter. He was already running. 
“Past the interrogation room,” Nova called, a few steps behind him as he sprinted down the hall. At that, Loki scoffed--the TVA had always blindfolded Loki as they transferred him from room to cell, but it made little difference; Loki wasn’t a dimwit. 
And so they ran, avoiding the shouts of sentries for as long as they could until confrontation was inevitable. They made it a few turns away from the interrogation room when a handful of guards spotted them--surprisingly later than he expected. Loki took no thought to pounce on them before they could draw their weapons, slamming one’s head against the wall and kicking another’s knees out from under him. In a few strokes, three more were down, collapsed in a pile at Loki’s feet. 
He didn’t fight the grin that pulled at his lips. 
In front of him, Nova pulled a gun from the waistband of a sentinel’s slacks, checking the magazine and cocking it before turning to him. Her eyes went wide.
“Duck!” she yelled, not waiting for him to crouch to the floor to shoot two sprinting guards. Another one rounded the corner behind her--but Loki didn’t need so much as move before she was pivoting on her heel, shooting the third one down. 
 “Clear,” she called. She picked up another gun by the barrel and handed it to Loki before speeding up into a run again, Loki following close behind. 
A few more sentries tried to block them along the way, but it wasn’t more than they could handle--and soon they were running past the interrogation room, the dim overhead light still shining through the window. 
Loki shot the glass as he ran by, just for good measure.
In front of him, Nova leaned left--but abruptly stopped, sliding on her heel and slamming herself up against the wall. Loki soon followed, hearing the shouts of a group of soldiers coming their way. 
At his side, Nova cursed--but then here eyes lit up with an idea. “Crouch down,” she demanded, ignoring Loki’s scrunched brows. “When they get close enough, I want you to throw me.” 
Loki nearly laughed, but did as she said nonetheless. Well, I suppose that’s one way to catch them off guard.
And true to her word, she spun on her heel, jogging down the hallway a bit and sprinting towards him when the guards came close enough. She stepped onto Loki’s intertwined hands and he shoved her foot up, sending her leaping over him--and, subsequently, onto the shoulders of an oncoming sentry. She twisted herself around as she fell, bringing him down by his neck and shooting a few others along the way. She managed to roll out of the way of a few oncoming bullets--but not before Loki slid in, grasping both guards’ guns and squeezing until they snapped in half. 
“Evening, gentlemen,” Loki simpered, giving them both a wink before reaching up and knocking their heads together. They collapsed instantly, giving Loki enough time to flip around and down the last guard. Nova stood a few feet away, grinning. 
“You obviously didn’t end up changing your fighting commentary,” she teased, dropping her now empty pistol and replacing it with another. Loki scoffed. 
They didn’t encounter much after that as they twisted and turned throughout the halls, eventually stumbling upon a stairwell. 
Nova yanked open the door. “Down to the basement, and then it’s a straight shot there,” she said, quieting down as her voice began to echo.  
Loki stepped through and trotted to the railing, looking down to see over seven floors worth of stairs below. Nova was already sprinting down them--so he soon followed, picking up his pace as a door a few floors above ripped open. Floods of sentinels came through--some sprinting down the staircase in hopes to catch them both, and others lining the railing and shooting. Loki managed to yank Nova to his side as a bullet very nearly sliced through her.  
They managed to make it down three more flights before a door below them--the main floor, from what he could gather--burst open with a clang. Even more guards piled through, arms at the ready. They were surrounded.  
That is, until Loki lit up with an idea. 
He swirled around, backing up until he and Nova were both against the wall, and then, before Nova could protest, he scooped her up, swiveled on his heel, and sprinted for the railing. 
Then he was falling, and the soldiers from the main floor became a passing blur as he dropped. 
The concrete below him cracked as he landed. 
Nova, still clutching at his neck, was breathing heavily as Loki set her down. “Warn me,” she snapped, hands on her knees. Loki shrugged and yanked her through the door as bullets began to rain down the stairwell. 
She wasn’t exaggerating when she said it was a straight shot down the hallway, much to Loki’s surprise. At the farthest end of the hall resided two large doors, painted a bright red, cracked open slightly. A bright, familiar blue light shone through. Four sentinels guarded the doorway--that were quickly shot down, collapsing in front of the entryway. 
Loki managed to kick the doors open and push Nova through before more sentries flooded the hallway, slamming it closed behind him, twisting the metal handles together, and breaking the hinges. 
“Hands up!” Nova yelled, aiming her gun at the few people in the room that still resided--all scientists, presumably, given how much they were poking and prodding at the Tesseract in the center of the room. One in the far corner tried to shoot them with a nearby pistol, but was quickly shot down. The rest seemed far too compliant for Loki’s tastes--but they all dropped their devices and kneeled on the floor, so he didn’t bother questioning it. 
Loki was already climbing the steps of the pedestal the cube sat on before Nova lowered her gun. He didn’t fight the grin that broke out on his face--nor did he stifle the dread that simultaneously spread through him. 
He loathed the Tesseract--every sin that it made him do, every trauma that it conjured up. But still, it was the one thing that saved him from a lifetime of torture from the hands of a titan. 
It was his redemption, but it also was his downfall. How ironic. 
So, suppressing both his terror and delight, Loki grasped the cube and opened up a portal. To where, he didn’t know. Just . . . somewhere else was all he needed. 
Nova stepped to his side, her gun still at the ready, when he looked to her. 
She matched his gaze. “Go already,” she chided. “I have an escape route. Go.” 
He didn’t question her and stepped forward, clutching the Tesseract between his fingers as he put one foot through the portal. 
He paused. Something in his chest began to twist--something that didn’t sit right with him, though he hated it. 
“What are you waiting for?” Nova called, looking over her shoulder long enough to show how confused she was. “Go, Loki!” 
And then he was spitting the words out before he could think twice. “Come with me,” he said, retracting his foot from the portal and spinning on his heel. 
Because the idea of leaving this woman, this wife of his, in a building full of people who would rather hurt her than help her . . . he wouldn’t do such a thing. He was corrupted, and he was unredeemable, but still. He wouldn’t abandon the love of his life. 
Even though it wasn’t his life, exactly. 
Nova was staring at him blankly as he held out a hand. “. . . What?” 
“Come with me,” he repeated, slowly backing towards the portal, “before I change my mind.” He winked, just for good measure. 
And he watched as Nova paused, swiveling her head back and forth between his hand and the people still kneeling on the floor. Distantly, he could hear the door slowly collapse from the banging on the other side, shifting under pressure.
Slowly, she breathed, closing her eyes. Steeling herself, once again.
And when she opened them, she dropped her gun to the floor, and she took his hand. 
“Okay.”
* * *
Tag List (let me know if you want me to tag you in my future Loki fics!):
@aerynwrites @hiscyarika @theforceofdarkandlight @murdermewithbooks
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renaer-is-allegedly-hot · 4 years ago
Text
session 18
Session 18
Sunday, February 28, 2021       7:33 PM
  -  "we're all gonna die"
-  Lilguerite talking about soup and secondary soups and tertiary soups
 -  Last week on
-  We went to the hideout thing
-  In the prison thing
-  "you take little bites you fool"
o  "take bigger bites you fool" - marguerite, judging marianne
-  There's a minotaur
-  We tried killing this one guy but it didn't work lmao rip us
 -  6 for initiative
- 19 for L (22}
- 14 for M (17}
 -  Theo shoots, misses (10}
-  Dwarf
o  Sylvia: "how big is his ass"
-  Dwarf has an axe
o  Aerana is probably the closest
■       Is hit
■       I'm unconscious
■       "I'm expendable" "no binch I won't take any of this negativity"
-  Halfling asks theo for the lockpick
o  Theo gives it to her
-  Asyna turns into a crocodile
o
-  Adam o o o o o
Tries to bite and misses
 Cutting words Hits
Next minute dwarf is completely unconscious Strums one note for hypnotic pattern
Falls on his face (the dwarf not adam}
-  Time to go get his keys
-  Asyna has to roll a saving throw as a crocodile (17} ; she's fine
-  Cel adds 8 to aerana
-  Asyna turns into ape, grabs key, 11+2 for dex
-  Throws keys to adam
-  Adam lets big boys out first
o  minotaur, ogre, another w ogre-like features but not quite sure what type of creature it is
-  Cel lets out human and drow
-  Asyna takes battle axe
-  Asyna looks through pockets, 4 for investigation
-  Asyna gives adam the axe and gives the axe to the minotaur
-  Theo gets lockpick back
-  Aerana moves to the back bc she's casually bleeding out
o  Aerana in back with sword
-  Asyna still an ape
-  Theo doing smth I didn't hear lmao oops sorry lillian
-  Dwarf gets up
-  Adam "so you wanna surrender now?"
o  Dwarf grunts
o  Adam tells minotaur to sic him
-  Cel rolls to hit, dirty 20 w disad
-  theo rolls to hit, 15 w disad
o  Cel hits
■       12 damage
■       "can I shoot him in the ass?"
-  Adam has to persuade minotaur
o  11, persuades and minotaur
o  Hits, 21 damage
-  Back to theo
o  18 to hit
o  9 damage
-  Halfling looks around, turns to squad, says we have everything covered
o  Adam asks for any helpful things
■       27 for ?? Persuasion ??
  -  Asyna
o
 21 to hit
Sighs and has a crude shiv and walks up and shivs the dwarf Hits, damage ig
o 6 damage
-  Dwarf uses half his movement to stand, tries to run
o  18 damage from ppl around
-  Asyna gets to hit again
o  21 to hit, 9 damage
-  He runs off to the right
o  Adam is like 80? Ft away from him, casts sleep ?
-  Cel peeks out, sees arena with a bunch of blood
o  No bodies ???????? Ew
-  Arbys is the minotaur
o  Because he's got the Meats
-  Dom asks us for our passive perception
o  We apparently don't see the thing
-  Drow woman steps out
-  Does blood trail stop?
o  Adam investigating, 11
■       "sure" there's a trail of blood leading to wall, adam pushes wall, it swings inwards
-  Cel goes in first, adam right behind her
-  "are you guys finding the way out?" "we're finding the way in, dawg"
-  Inviting them to come with us
-  Ask them their names
o  Human names
■       Arthritis
□  "there you go. He's smoking hot"
□  This is an elderly man
□  Why are we into him
■       Claudio
■       Jia
OH WE'RE NOT ACTUALLY TALKING ABOUT ARTHRITIS
o  Drow
 ■
Raylan Arwindar(?}
"if you follow quickly, minotaurs have an uncanny ability to memorize where they've been"
Looks @ asyna and aeranan and in elvish says if we're interested in visiting below, operation works on level 5
□ Puts on a ring and disappears
o  Humans choose to follow minotaur
o  Halfling is gone
-  We can still pass without a trace
o  Time to go down secret passage
-  Adam peeks head into somewhere and sees four pillars glowing w sickly green/yellow light
o  100 ft long
o  Urns scattered throughout
o  Via thaumaturgy dims the lights, walks over to urns
■       Stealth check to go to urns
■       30 stealth, notices some things abt room
□  Nine alcoves in wall; ones he can see have murals w beholders painted on them
□  Diff patterns + colors + eyestalk shapes
□  Large statues of beholder heads that look similar to the ones in the murals placed in front of them
□  To right, carved stone display of a scowling beholder flanked by two statues of wizards
□  Beneath each wizard's hood a light that pulses
□  The pillars are kinda pillars but they have bubbling liquids w a beholder n all of its eyes shuts in the tank
-  Adam wants to let them out
o  "bitch what the fuck" - sylvia
-  Adam looks back at everyone else and says "what the fuck"
-  There's an exit to the south, ahead of us
-  Adam investigates
o  Walks up to biggest beholder and "no don't do that" (sylvia} looks at it
o  They're frozen in a serene pose; the furthest one is jet black and chonky, larger than the one that attacked our house
-  Adam looks inside an urn
o  Adam makes constitution save
o  Dirty 20
o  Unique smell that makes adam wanna puke
o  Quickly shoves lid back on, adam picks up urn and takes it with him
o  No one is hiding in alcoves
-  Go out south door, see a hallway that looks like another hallway we were in earlier
o  In front is heavyset wooden door, another passageway extending to right
o  Door swings open, aerana looks inside; pitch dark which is unusual
■       Heavy desk made of stone in corner, ornate chair behind it w a spider motif
■       Bookshelves not really w any books
■       Two open crates
■       25 for perception
□                Nat20 bois "it's an 8" "no it's a 6" - lillian and marguerite
◆      Spider motif gives off drow vibes
◆      Crates: stuffed beholders in them
◊ Grabs a bunch of them
◆      Small statues in other crate like trophy depicting smaller beholder being caressed by hands
◊ Looks kinda nice
◊ Some type of stone
◆      Empty bookshelves
◆      Chair smushed
◆      Drawers in the desk? Pull desk back
◊ Nat20, we move desk and it grates against stone; see different compartments in desk
◊ Nothing on or behind the walls
►            Asyna recognizes chair theme
-   Not made of wood, made of mushrooms
-   13 history check
•   Looks like a chair from menzo bonanza
•   Basically drow capital
•   Asyna remembers that her mother used to hide things in her chair
 -  "guys there's a key in the chair. Can we look for a keyhole"
14 investigation
There's a sealed compartment in the chair, pulls out a small black key
o  Try desk keyholes
o  Left cabinet
■       Silvery silken sack
□  "what's in the sack" - adam
□  Asyna pulls out sack, hard to see
o  Right drawer
Nothing in it
Adam cannot tell us what it is
Jacob cannot tell us what it is either Asyna puts her hand in it, feels around Fits her arm in the bag
Tardis bag
■       Heavy tome
■       "it's not even a book. It's like a tome. This big black book"
■       Wrapped in webbing
■       Asyna recognizes it as just a typical book protector
■       Pages of symbols n words; some in elvish
■       Arcana check 17
□  It's a wizard's spellbook
-  Use naya to find the jailer
o  Goes out of pathway and to left
o  Let's go kids
-  Puts a plushie in the bag
o  Puts 30 plushies in bag, they fall out one at a time
o  Bag does not get heavier
o  Puts urn in the bag
o  Takes urn back out
o  Only fluff in the plushies
o  10 investigation to see if there's anything in the plushies
■       Yellow n blue beholder
o  Puts book in sack
-  Aerana wonders if turning bag inside out is infinite
o  Everything falls on the floor
■       The animals and the trophies
-  Theo steps into the bag
o  Put on the ground, oh never mind it's been 15 minutes
-  70 ft down hallway, see an eyeball thing
o  Looks like a living thing, alien, looks back and forth every once in awhile
o  Doesn't see us
o  Sneak past it?
■       Narrow hallway
o  Theo + aerana 20 to hit, same time
o  Cel 17 to hit
■       Creepy shriek noise
■       Liquid slips out, drips, turns into cloud of green dust
o  Dust in the bag
o  Adam tries to do monster lines
o  "now it's a bag of . beholding" - lillian, 2021
o  We get some beholder dust in the bag by blowing
-  Hallway continues, ends at a doorway w heavy wooden door w side passage and stairs heading up
o  Naya looking up
o  Adam peeking into other door
o  Black smoke billows out of room, adam sees room lit with a halfling male with a dirty apron on, running around frantically
■       Appears to be cooking
■       Adam opens door and salutes
■       "head chef I'm here to help ! I was sent by the upper"
□  "finally I haven't had a break"
□  Gives adam the apron and mans leaves
◆      Leaves out off to right
□  "does the apron say anything"
□  Cel says if we survive she'll embroider "kiss the chef" on the apron
■       Adam puts food on top of rack, two halflings on bottom?
■       Adam rolls 14 investigation, sees one dirty apron and chef's hat combo
□  Aerana puts on chef's hat and apron
□  Thinks this is stupid
□  Asyna and aerana cook
□  Nvm asyna and aerana r following naya
-  Adam pushing cart towards good smelling food
o  V elegant chef ppl walking around
o  Hallway transforms into smth less dingy
o  Two large stoves
o  Spice rack
o  More elegance here
o  Seven chef ppl
o  Two small beholders; gazers
■       Floating above, chef gazers
o  "well fuck you too" ???? Cel to adam ???
o  Adam goes to most important looking chef and says he's responding to duty, says he was instructed to feed lord silgar but bc new doesn't know where to go
■       Gives self bardic inspiration
■       17 for deception
□  Chef goes "what are u doing w that"
□  Can't give food to silgar
□  Cobalts look like little lizard ppl
□  Adam instructed to follow stairs from outside
◆                                                                                                              Left right left right again for xant chambers
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