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illegal-spiegel · 4 years

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To Save a Dog’s Life

Genre: angst, fluff Warnings: reader sustaining injuries Summary: Bakugo, Todoroki, Deku, and Kirishima’s reaction to the reader who risks their life to save a dog A/N: I am not a doctor so sorry if none of this is ✨accurate✨

Katsuki Bakugo:

he is literally blasting towards the villain when you jump in out of nowhere

he slams on his nonliteral brakes and gawks for a second

what kind of moron are you?

you run right at the villain before stopping a couple of feet away to pick something up

wait

is that a...?

it’s a dog

you start to run away again when the villain sends rubble your way

Ground Zero is right back into action when he gets over his initial shock

but, of course, he just wasn’t fast enough

next thing he knows, you’re being crushed

he flies to you using his quirk and lands before you

he goes to help you while the other idiots try to stop the villain

“You sure are stupid.”

that is literally the first thing he says to you when he reaches you

he’s not very good at this part of the whole hero thing

you gawk up at him after telling the dog to run home

he watches the dog take off before looking back to you

“Did you seriously just risk your life to save a dumb mutt?” he asks as he tries to lift the rock off of you

you scoff at his question, rolling your eyes

“Well duh! The poor thing was about to be crushed!”

Bakugo gives you a straight face as he assesses your situation right now

your entire lower half is trapped under concrete

“God, you’re such an idiot,” he groans before deciding to just blast the rubble away

you scoff again and go to say something as you move to stand up when you feel it

you cry out in agony, your legs refusing to move

“Your legs are broken, you imbecile. Stop moving,” he snaps, moving to lift you up bridal style

you huff and roll your eyes, looking at the villain who is now tied up

“My hero,” you say sarcastically

he clicks his tongue and scowls at the sight of the villain restrained

“You made me miss all the action, you extra.”

“Do you have a single nice bone in your body?” you snap, growing agitated

“I saved you, didn’t I?” he snaps right back

you huff and look away from him once more

“Touché.”

he personally took you to the hospital and made sure you were taken care of before leaving

he barely spoke the entire time he was with you after you both reached the hospital

you can’t help but feel sad that he left

maybe you only like him because he saved you?

but he’s so handsome...

and he can keep up with your quips and sarcasm...

you tried to forget about him during your stay in the hospital but it was hard

he was always on tv saving people and he even appeared in your dreams

stupid hero

when you started physical therapy, halfway through the first session, you discovered that he was there

you asked for a break and sat in your wheelchair before wheeling on over to him

“Ground Zero?” you ask shocked

“Yeah. Good thing your brain isn’t more damaged than it already is,” he says as he crosses his arms over his chest

you grunt and roll your eyes

“And you’re here because...” you trail off, waiting for him to fill in the blank

he stays silent for a moment, just staring at you

then he finally says, “I just wanted to tell you that the stupid dog you saved is okay. The family found it and said they’ll pay for your hospital bills as thanks.”

you’re shocked, to say the least

you try to argue with him but he says it’s too late and it’s already been done

turns out, he’s actually the one who paid for them

he didn’t lie about the family’s dog though. They got you flowers, balloons, and a ‘get well soon’ card to which he brought to your room

after that one visit, he found himself coming around more often

after your legs were good as new, you ended up asking him on a date

you’ll never let him live down how red his face got

Shoto Todoroki:

he uses his right side to freeze the villain’s legs in place

this is when he sees you just a couple of feet away with your feet stuck as well

you’re also holding a dog?

you quickly set the dog down though and let it run away from you

before he can do anything else, the villain extends his arms to you and hits you with all of his might

so he can extend his body

he must also know that saving you is the priority

because he hit you from behind and made you go forward

since part of your legs are stuck in the ice though, your knees break with the pressure as you fall forward to the ground

Todoroki curses and quickly freezes the rest of the villain, not even caring at this point if he freezes the villain to death

he goes to your side and uses his left hand to melt the ice around your legs

you look up at him with wide eyes, staring at him and refusing to look away

“Is the dog okay?” you stutter out, voice laced with pain

he was not expecting that

his brows furrow at your question as he looks at your face before looking back down to your legs

yup, your legs are definitely broken

“Yeah. It ran away. Is it your dog?” he asks as he lifts you up

you shake your head with a weak laugh

“Oh, no. I just saw it and knew I needed to save it.”

he honestly can’t believe you right now

you risked your life to save a dog that isn’t even yours

you’re starting to remind him of Deku

did you hit your head too?

he takes you to the hospital, leaving the villain to the police

he doesn’t even bother melting the ice for them

he stays with you for as long as he can before visitors are forced to leave

he visits you every single day though

it is his fault that you got stuck there and then the villain attacked you

you tried to tell him it wasn’t necessary but he refused to listen

it took a while for your legs to heal and for you to be able to walk again but the day eventually came

Todoroki then told you he’s taking you out to eat

yes, you read that right

he didn’t ask

he demanded it

he tried to tell himself that it’s because he felt guilty for being the cause of this

when in reality

over the time he visited and stayed with you at the hospital, he began to grow feelings for you

you already felt bad enough for getting in his way and having him pay for your hospital bills (despite your protests)

and now he wants to take you out to eat?

you agree but only if you could pay for the meal

he agrees, if anything, to just see you longer

Izuku Midoriya:

he’s already in mid-jump heading toward the villain when you appear out of nowhere

he starts to panic but tries to remain calm

wait, okay

maybe you have a quirk and just want to help

maybe you’re not an innocent civilian

yeah, you’re most definitely not a hero

you pick up a dog that’s about to get crushed by the villain and turn around just to have Deku run into you

he can’t exactly stop himself in the middle of the air

you both crash to the ground and you weakly let the puppy go to let it run off to safety

you cough a bit as Deku quickly moves off of you

just as he does though, the villain sends heavy debris both of your ways

he punches through it to make the pieces smaller but they still hit you

one hits your head and has you laying back down onto the ground

he quickly takes care of the villain before rushing to you

he jumps high into the air with you in his arms to the rooftops, knowing it’ll be quicker for him to take you to the hospital this way rather than having you go through traffic

“Did you just risk your life to save a dog?” he asks incredulously

at your weak laugh and nod, he can’t help to smile a bit despite his worrying

you’re just like him

even before he got his quirk, he was running out into danger to save the people he cared about

you pass out halfway there and it only makes him go faster

when he brings you inside, he refuses to let you go unless it’s absolutely necessary

he just wants, no—needs you to be okay

turns out you have a concussion

he asks the doctor how long you’ll be here for

“Normally, someone who sustains a head injury only needs to stay three to seven days unless it’s serious. We won’t know until we run some tests,” he replies smoothly before excusing himself to check on other patients

whether you’re there for a couple of days or a couple of weeks, Deku is there for it all

it’s his fault you got hurt in the first place

with his caring and protective personality, it didn’t take long for you two to become close

anytime he mentioned you getting hurt is his fault, you stop him and reassure him it’s not

“You saved me. You’re my favorite hero. I’ll never forget that day,” you reassure him the first time he ever said it was his fault

you’re the first person to tell him that he’s your favorite hero

he’s red in the face for the rest of that day

the day you’re released, he asks you to get food with him

“Deku, are you asking me out on a date?” you tease

“No! Maybe! Yes! Only if you want to!” he stutters out, face the darkest shade of red you’ve ever seen

and who would you be to deny him?

Eijirou Kirishima:

he’s trying to think of a plan on how to stop the difficult villain when you appear out of thin air

he thinks you’re a hero for a second before he realizes that you’re just a civilian trying to save a dog

the giant villain is about to crush the dog with his foot when you run towards the villain, grab the dog, and slide it out of the way

it was very manly of you, whether you’re a man or not

Kirishima is very moved and even tears up a little

he snaps out of it though when he realizes that you couldn’t move out of the way fast enough and got stepped on

Kirishima has never moved so quickly in his life

he hardens as he runs at the villain and goes right through their leg

it’s gross and he’s covered in blood but at least it prevents the villain from walking anymore

he runs to your side and checks to see if you’re alive, praying that you are

if you died because he wasn’t manly enough and didn’t stop the villain sooner...

his whole body softens when he realizes that you’re still breathing and you have a heartbeat

both are weak though and you need medical attention asap

he lets the ambulance take you since its the fastest way

he makes sure to know what hospital you’re going to though

once he knows, he saves it into his memory as he heads home to clean up

when he’s free of blood and in his regular clothes, he goes to the hospital to visit you

he’s devastated to find out you’re in a coma

this is all his fault

you stay that way for weeks but you best believe that Kirishima visits you every. single. day.

he talks to you too

he tells you about his day, what he learned in class, his friends, about being a hero, and anything else

he’ll spend the whole day there and he never grows bored

sometimes, he’ll even read to you or work on homework out loud

no matter what he’s doing, he makes sure to include you

because what if you’re awake but just can’t show it and you’re so incredibly bored?

he’s there when you wake up

you’re shocked to see him there and even more surprised to watch him start to cry

he begs for your forgiveness and promises that he’ll be a more manly hero and do a better job at protecting people

all you do at first is smile at him and weakly reach for his hand

“Thank you for saving my life. I heard you, you know. Everything you said to me,” you say weakly, voice barely working thanks to lack of use for weeks

he wipes his teary eyes with his free hand and smiles the brightest smile you’ve ever seen

he thanks you and makes sure to visit you every day until you’re released

when you are, he blushes as red as his hair and asks you out on a date

“I think it’s only fair to keep you company after you’ve kept me company after all this time,” you lightly tease

he tries to get rid of his blush while you laugh at how red he’s turning

yeah, it didn’t take long for you to start dating

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mandoalorian · 4 years

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Don’t Let Me Go [Maxwell Lord x Reader] SMUT

Summary: Spiralling in a circle of guilt and blame, Maxwell Lord reflects on the night he let you slip through his fingers. He just wishes he had seen the warning signs sooner. Then maybe he wouldn't have lost you.

Word count: 8k

Author's note: This is my longest one shot so far oh my gosh. Please note that everything that is in bold italics are flashbacks. I hope you enjoy! Xx

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~ gif by: pajamasecrets

••••••••

There was simply no way to put into words how Maxwell Lord was feeling. Without you, his suburban-manor home was empty. Completely empty. Nothing but the drip of a leaky faucet echoing through the oversized kitchen, and the padding of his shuffled footsteps as he made his way to the bar to pour himself a drink. He didn't cook anymore, but he wasn't feeling the pain of going hungry. His bed wasn't made, but it didn't matter because he couldn't sleep in it anymore knowing that your scent still haunted the blankets. He would slumber around his house in a shirt that had been unevenly buttoned up and probably hadn't been washed in a week. His eyes were tired, cheeks were tear stained and he hadn't taken absence from work this long in his whole life. His job was what lost you. How could he ever want to go back?

Maxwell was unravelling back into the mean spirited man he was before he met you— but somehow, worse. He didn't have friends, he had business associates. And he had chosen to cut himself off from his mother due the awful way she had treated him his whole life. If his own mother could see the broken shell of a man that Maxwell had become, she would laugh in his face. She would reprimand him, and tell him how she had warned him not to fall in love. Business first, always. But it was that same advice that she had ingrained into him from such a young age, which would inevitably be his downfall. All he ever had, was you. And that was enough. That was all he needed.

Maxwell hardly remembered life before you but he was certain it didn't hurt this bad. He had experienced loss before; with his father when he was only sixteen— but this was a different kind of loss. You were still out there. You were living your life, and you had chosen to do it without him. How could you? How could Maxwell possibly survive without you? He opened up to you like he had with no other. He softened around you and the level headed businessman had become completely dependent on you.

When you were with him, you changed him into a better man. You encouraged him to tidy for himself, taught him how to cook meals and insisted that he even did his own dishes afterwards. You would scold him gently for not making his side of the bed until eventually, he was making both sides of the bed, and even doing laundry.

You both shared a schedule— waking up at the same time every dawn. Sharing cuddles and kisses and intimate touches in bed under the morning sunlight. Eventually getting up and taking your turns to cook breakfast. Whether it be blueberry pancakes or eggs, or sometimes Maxwell would surprise you with an array of exciting different foods from all around the world. Then, you would head back to your bedroom and dance in your shared walk-in closet, laughing together as you picked out your outfit of the day. You’d tie his tie and straighten his suspenders before helping him into his suit jacket. He loved the way you'd style his hair on a morning. Maxwell was a perfectionist but you knew just the way he liked things and he really admired that about you. You'd brush your teeth together and he'd paint your face with your favourite face cream. When you applied your lipstick, you'd always give him a surprise kiss and make your mark on him. He'd reluctantly scrub the lipstick stain off his cheek, or jaw, or chin, or wherever you had planted it that day, but now he wished he still had every mark you had ever made on him.

You were so understanding too. This was the longest relationship either of you had ever committed to before. You fell in love with each other hard and fast— but the honeymoon phase seemingly never ended. Everyday was a new and exciting ride with Maxwell. He knew how much you wanted children, and a family. You'd bring it up now and again. One day, Maxwell felt as though he should open up to you.

He explained how he had never considered having children because of his own personal relationship with his family. He informed you about how absent his parents were, and he imagined himself to be like his late father; too consumed in his own work and business to give any attention to his son. Max knew that pain all too well due to experiencing it firsthand. He would never want that for his children. It was nothing to do with you— he has no doubt in his mind how excellent of a mother you would be. But to Max, being a CEO and father just didn't go hand in hand. Of course, this shattered you, but it wasn't a deal breaker because Maxwell was the complete love of your life. With kids or without kids, as long as you had Max, you believed you would live a lifetime of satisfaction and genuine happiness.

Maxwell Lord hadn't known love until he met you, and the truth is, from the moment he laid his eyes on you, he was infatuated. He knew he just had to have you. And so he spent weeks trying to woo you and win you over. He started with all he ever known, buying you jewellery from Tiffany’s, Louis Vuitton heels and the most gorgeous crimson red shade of Dior lipstick that he dreamed of you wearing on multiple occasions. But it didn't faze you.

"I don't need all of this," you sighed, placing the large white box on the table and re-wrapping it with the silver silk ribbon. Maxwell furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "There are people out there who walk around the streets of DC in winter with holes in their shoes, mothers who can't afford ChapStick nevermind Dior Lipstick."

Maxwell hesitated. No woman had ever rejected the material items he had purchased for them. They'd always sweep them away with a familiar glint in their eye and, to show their appreciation, would go down on him later that night. He lulled his head to the side. "Not even the necklace?" Maxwell questioned, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip.

You breathed an elongated sigh, taking the Tiffany’s box and opening it once more with a small click. You adored the necklace. A small silver chain with a crystal heart in the centre. You could only guess that it was Swarovski. In the sunlight, the crystal gleamed a prism of rainbow colours— like a kaleidoscope. It was simply magnificent and unlike any other necklace you had seen before.

“It is beautiful.” you hummed, admiring the way it sparkled before your eyes. Maxwell took the box from your hands and removed the necklace. He stood up and gently moved your hair to one side, his soft fingers brushing against your skin making your heart flutter. He clipped the necklace in place and adjusted it so the small crystal heart fell over your chest.

"It brings out your eyes." Maxwell smiled and you felt your cheeks heat up at his comment. "Please, keep the necklace. I see how much you like it. And it suits you so well."

You looked at yourself in the mirror. Still standing behind you, Maxwell swung his arms around your hips and pulled you into his chest. He gently pressed a kiss into the crook of your neck. "Thank you Max," your voice was barely above a whisper. "But please, no more gifts. All I need is you."

Your words took Maxwell by surprise because he had never heard no such thing from any of his partners before. It was true, you meant your sentiment completely, all you needed was his attention, his care, his love, and most importantly him. That is where he went wrong and what would ultimately be the downfall to your relationship.

"I will wear this everyday!" you beamed proudly with a grin so wide. Maxwell felt chuffed with your love for the necklace. "I won't ever take it off." You promised him. "Let it be a symbol of our first date."

"The start of our relationship?" Maxwell proposed and you let out a small squeal as your arms tightened around him and you buried your head into the softness of his chest. The buttons of his shirt poked into your cheek but you didn't care, and you felt your eyes close as he brushed his fingers softly through your hair.

"The start of our relationship." you confirmed with a smile.

Maxwell threw the crystalled whiskey glass to the wall at the memory, his already broken heart shattering into even smaller pieces. He didn't think it was possible, and yet. The amber liquid dripped against the white walls and the glass deflected back at him, cutting his hand. A thin stripe of blood leaked down his arm and he done nothing but simply swallow a curse. It didn't even hurt. He was completely numb.

He hated what he had become, and there was no one to blame other than himself. Sometimes he would try to hate you. He would take a look at himself in the mirror and feel nauseated at the sight of him. He was a mess, and he couldn't stand to feel any more self hatred. He couldn't take it. He couldn't live like this. He remembered when his schedule at work became a lot more hectic and he was away on business trips a lot. He'd call you, every night without fail from his hotel room. You'd be spread out on his bed, sporting his favourite button down work shirt and pair of shorts. The sight alone would be enough to make Maxwell hurry home quicker than The Flash. But he had work commitments that he simply could not leave behind.

"How many more business trips?" You tried to keep composed for him, but just hearing his voice and knowing he was hundreds of miles away from you felt like a knife in your heart.

"It could be like this up until the end of the year. Canada isn't easy to do dealings with. Not even my charm can succumb the president." Maxwell chuckled lightheartedly, and you allowed a small yet pained smile to creep upon your lips. He truly had no idea how much you were hurting without him, but, it sounded like he was doing just fine without you.

"Max, time for dinner!" You heard an unfamiliar feminine voice call in the background. You froze up, a shiver racing down your spin and goosebumps rising on your arms.

Silence.

"Who was that?" you asked your boyfriend cautiously, your fingers anxiously twiddling on the crystal necklace he had gifted you months prior.

"Oh, that was my assistant, Barbara," Maxwell explained non-chalantely. "You remember? I had to get a new assistant. Veronica couldn't come to Canada so…"

"Oh." you replied, voice cold. "She called you Max." you stated matter of factly. You couldn't just let that slide.

"Well yeah," he chuckled. "That's my name."

"Everyone at work calls you Mr Lord." you deadpanned. "Or sir."

"I mean, yeah, that's true I suppose. But Barbara's new and I never specified otherwise. Besides, I'm growing to like the informality. No doubt that's your doing." He laughed. But you weren't sharing the same energy.

"You're having dinner with her?" You hoped you weren't sounding pushy, or clingy, but you had to know.

"Yeah, she got us reservations at this fantastic Italian restaurant. We went last night too." Maxwell was smiling on the other end of the line but you felt like screaming at this revelation. "Actually, I think you'd love it there. I hear Canada is beautiful at Christmas time. Maybe I can clear some time off in December and I'll take you?" he suggested. Usually you'd be so excited at this proposal of his, telling him you'd be packing your bags immediately. But not this time.

You trusted your boyfriend. You really did. But you couldn't stand the fact that he was in a different country with another woman who you'd never even met before. Jealousy riled in your stomach and you wondered what she was like. Not only that, but Maxwell had a long winded history of sleeping with his assistants and you were completely aware of how desperate his sex drive could be. The more you thought about it, the more your stomach churned. But you just couldn't escape the thoughts.

You wondered what Barbara was like. Maxwell's assistants were always young and beautiful. They wore the nicest clothes to impress him and made such an effort every single day. Of course, this was before you. He'd select his assistants based on looks rather than qualifications. If they couldn't pour him a good cup of coffee, that was okay because they'd be gone after a week anyway. You wondered if he had employed Barbara based on her looks.

He called your name. "Are you there?" He asked.

"Uhm, yeah, I should go." You told him hastily, suddenly feeling the urge to hurry to run to the bathroom. You felt like you had to throw up.

"Oh, okay," Maxwell replied. He often struggled picking up on the little prompts you would make that illustrated you weren't okay. It was no fault of his own, but unless you explicitly stated that something was wrong, the chances were, he would just assume that everything is okay. "Well, can I call you the same time tomorrow?"

"Okay." you shakily exhaled, praying he didn't notice your growing anxiety. If he noticed, he would confront you about it. That was just his nature.

"Okay. I love you sweetheart." You could practically hear his grin. A single tear slipped down your cheek.

"I love you too." You told him before slamming the phone down on the hook.

Maxwell was taken aback by your abrupt end to the phone call. He sat on the edge of his bed, processing your words. He went to dial your number again because he felt in his heart that there was a chance that something could be wrong.

"Maaaaaax," Barbara called again, snapping the businessman out of his thoughts. "We're going to be late." Barbara sauntered over to Maxwell, his tie in her hand and placed it around his neck. She went to cross it over when he gently put his hand out to stop her.

"That's okay," he said. "I can tie it myself."

Barbara stiffened at his rejection but after a few seconds of awkward silence, she shuffled away.

That was the very first time Max being away had bothered you to unmeasurable amounts. You struggled to sleep without him anyway, but that night, you were completely restless. Tossing and turning— imagining him with his assistant doing unspeakable things together. You couldn't count the amount of journeys you made to your en-suite bathroom. Not only that, but you were ridden with guilt. If Maxwell found out you were doubting his faithfulness, he would be devastated.

And it only got worse.

He spent more time away. Longer business trips. He had to cancel the December trip to Canada that he promised. It felt like he was slipping through your fingers.

Maxwell fell to his knees when the memory of your break-up hit him like a ton of bricks.

Maxwell put the phone down with a smile. “Albert has invited Edward and I over for drinks tonight." he announced. You adjusted the red roses he had brought home for you and put the glass vase in different locations around the dining room, trying to gauge where they would look nicest.

"You said no, right?" You asked, manouvering a rose to one side, being careful not to prick your finger on the stem.

"Why would I say no?" Maxwell asked.

You pricked your finger.

"Shit." you hissed, your blood dripping down your hand. Maxwell grabbed a flannel and wet it under the kitchen tap. He walked over to you and carefully wrapped it around the cut. You winced at his contact.

"Does it hurt?" Maxwell asked, dabbing at the cut being as careful as he could.

"That you forgot we had plans tonight and agreed to see Albert and Edward?" you asked, bitterness dripping from your tongue. Maxwell pulled away, knotting his eyebrows together in confusion. "Yeah Max, it hurts."

"We didn't have plans." Maxwell said, folding his arms over his chest.

"This is your only night home!" You cried out. All your emotions while he had been gone were pent up inside of you and this was the final straw. "I rented a movie, I got the popcorn maker out!"

Maxwell took a peek at his gold wrist watch. "We could watch half the movie and you know, I don't really like popcorn that much anyway." He was actually serious about ditching you on his only night home. You were so angry. "Listen baby, I won't be gone all night. And when I get home, we can have a little fun ourselves. I won't be too late, I promise. Besides, I've missed you-" He suggested, voice low. You let Maxwell's fingers trace your skin, and he meant it in nothing but a comforting way, and yet you had the urge to smack his hand away from you.

"No!" You folded your arms across your chest and shook your head.

"No?" Maxwell quizzed, confused. "But baby-"

"Max how can you be so… so…." you struggled to even find words but you hoped he had picked up on the frustration in your tone of voice.

"What?" He beckoned you but all you could do was hide your face in your hands. You were so close to tears. You wanted to beg him to stay with you, but the point is, you knew that you shouldn't have to beg. Maxwell awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "You know I was suggesting sex, right?"

You narrowed your eyes in his direction. "Oblivious." you said. "You're so oblivious."

"You're keeping something from me." Maxwell deadpanned.

"You're keeping something from me." You repeated.

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"And so what if I ask Barbara?" you asked, but regretting the words instantly as they left your mouth.

Maxwell blinked, completely dumbfounded. "Ask Barbara what?"

"Ohhh what went on in Canada? What you both get up to on these business trips. You're with her more than you're with me." You accused. But it was the truth.

"I'm not following." Maxwell said. "Are you trying to accuse me of something?" You couldn't even look at him. Then it dawned on him. "You think I'm cheating on you." His blood ran cold.

You didn't know what to say. It was true. You had suspected. But gauging by his reaction, and the way his voice cracked, you knew right then and there you had been wrong. And that you had hurt him. Maxwell loosened his tie and leaned against the kitchen counter.

"Tell me." He urged.

"Yes," you whispered, looking at your feet in shame. "I thought that… I thought…"

"Tell me," he repeated. "I want to hear you say it."

"I thought you were cheating on me with Barbara." you admitted with a sigh, and looked up at your boyfriend with hazy, tear filled eyes. "Max…" you let your voice trail off and put your hand against your raising heart.

"How could you?" he asked in disbelief.

"You always slept with your assistants… before me. And you were so secretive about Barbara. You went out to Italian restaurants together. And I just thought-"

"That I was sleeping with her?!" He raised his voice at you and oh boy, you hated when he shouted at people. He never shouted at you, that's one thing for sure, but when you had first met, he shouted a lot. He shouted at the people he worked with, he shouted at his colleagues, his secretary, his assistants. He definitely had grown out of the habit since he entered his relationship with you but Maxwell was so angry right now...

"Well can you blame me?!" You yelled at him back feeling defensive.

"I can't believe you don't trust me." Maxwell shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know Barbara did make advances on me." You felt your fingers curl into a fist. "But I rejected her, obviously. I warned her if she keeps at it she'll have to find another job."

You laughed and rolled your eyes. "Because you can't resist the temptation of her."

"What the fuck, no?!" Maxwell bellowed and his voice was so loud your heart dropped. You completely froze up. "Because I didn't want to disrespect you. I'm not going to stand for other women trying to make their move on me when I'm faithful to you!"

"Can you please stop yelling." Your voice was quiet— begging, almost.

But he didn't stop. "I have never ever given you a reason not to trust me." Maxwell felt so hurt. He felt heartbroken. He would've never have second guessed you like this.

"Will you stop fucking yelling at me?!" You shouted, tears streaming down your face in anger.

Maxwell stood there in silence, watching you bubble up and cry. Truthfully, he was finding it difficult to keep it together himself. He'd normally come to you, pull you in a hug and wipe your tears away, nursing you and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. But he just stood there, frozen and staring. You wiped your tears away yourself and took a deep breath before grabbing your jacket and purse from the coat rack.

"Where are you going?" Maxwell sighed.

"I'm leaving." you stated. You knew this was it. And you couldn't even bring yourself to look back at him. If you looked at him one more time, it might be enough to stay. And you couldn't stay. Nothing had ever hurt this much.

"What? Well when will you be back?" Maxwell questioned.

"I'm not coming back." You swung your purse over your shoulder and Maxwell followed you to the front door.

"What the hell do you mean?" he called after you.

"I'm leaving you." your own words felt like daggers in your heart.

"What?" Maxwell asked.

"Please don't come find me." You told him, your fingers tracing the door handle. You opened the door and set foot on the patio, looking up at the setting sun. It reminded you of all the moments you spent with Maxwell, lounging outside waiting for the stars to come out, or the evenings where you'd be tidying up the garden after a barbecue. "You know, I really did love you Max." You whispered, a tear slipping from your eye.

"Just. Come back inside and we can talk about this. I'm, I'm sorry for yelling. Please." Maxwell begged, his voice cracking. He held his arm out for you and wished so desperately that you would turn around and take his hand. But you didn't.

"It's not just the yelling Max, you're prioritising your work over our relationship."

"Baby, you knew it would be this way when you got with me. I told you."

"I just don't think I can handle it." You sniffed.

"Come back inside and we can talk about it." Maxwell said but you shook your head.

"Goodbye Maxwell."

Maxwell's grip on the bathroom sink was so tight, his knuckles went white. His own reflection made him sick. This wasn't him. This wasn't Maxwell Lord.

Maxwell Lord didn't lose. He didn't lose anything. He didn't lose business negotiations, he didn't lose business deals and he certainly wouldn't lose the love of his life. He had to stop moping, he had to make this right.

He ran to the dining room and swung the phone of the hook, dialing the home number of his driver, Jeeves. "Come on, come onnnn." he mumbled to himself, tapping his foot impatiently. It was the dead of night and Maxwell was aware that Jeeves would be at home with his family, asleep. But this was important and Maxwell paid Jeeves enough to be able to answer the phone at 1:30am, that's for sure.

"Hello?" A tired Jeeves greeted Maxwell.

"Where is Y/N staying?" Maxwell asked abruptly. Straight to the point.

"Mr Lord… with all due respect…"

"Jeeves I need to know and I need to know now," Maxwell cut him off. "Don't make me come down there."

"Sir, you should be asleep."

"Jeeves." Maxwell raised his voice sternly. "I don't have time for games. Where is she?"

Jeeves sighed. "Last I heard, she was at the Waterfront Hotel." Maxwell scribbled the name down on a torn piece of paper and hurriedly crumpled it into the pocket of his light grey sweatpants.

"Thank you Jeeves."

"Will you be needing me to take you there?" Jeeves yawned.

"No," Maxwell said. "Go back to sleep. I'll take the Porsche. Drive myself."

"Ah, excellent choice. Okay, goodnight Mr Lord." Jeeves yawned again.

"Send Elizabeth and the children my love. I'm sorry for bothering you." Maxwell apologised and slammed the phone down on the hook.

Jeeves’ wife, Elizabeth, rubbed her eyes and shuffled upwards. "Who was calling at this ungodly hour?"

Her husband hesitated, confusion evident in his face. "It was Maxwell Lord. I think he's going after Y/N."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Oh thank goodness for that."

"I know… he's really lost it without her," Jeeves admitted, shaking his head. "He told me that he sends you and the kids his love."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Maxwell Lord said that?" she asked in disbelief and Jeeves shrugged his shoulders.

"It’s Y/N," He replied. "She just has that effect on him."

You'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't miss him. You thought about him every second of every day— and you weren't doing too well yourself. You hadn't left the hotel room once. You couldn't bring yourself to eat. You found it difficult to sleep. Your final words to him haunted you.

"I really did love you."

Why did you say that? Why would you make him believe that you no longer loved him? You wondered if he had moved on yet, perhaps initiated a relationship with Barbara. You wondered if he had resorted to his old ways and had been fucking and dumping his assistants. You wondered if he still thought about you.

You were so worried about him because you knew how self destructive Maxwell could become. You knew about his dependency on alcohol and his tendency to lash out and yell at people when you weren't there to call him down. If he was suffering at least half as much as you were, you felt extreme guilt. You hoped he hadn't gotten himself hurt. You weren't happy, but if you had some kind of closure— if you just knew that he was doing okay without you, then maybe you would feel better.

And yet you couldn't bring yourself to go back home. You had Maxwell's driver bring over your toiletries and clothes and tipped him enough to not tell Maxwell which hotel you were staying at. You didn't know if it was really worth it. He was Maxwell's driver, and if Maxwell asked, you figured the driver would reveal your location anyway. Your mind was racing. What if he did ask? What if Maxwell knew where you were but didn't care enough to come see you. You didn't tell him to not come and find you…

A sudden loud knock on your hotel room door interrupted your thoughts. You sat frozen in your bed and checked the wall clock. It was almost two in the morning. The knock came again, even harder this time and you clutched your bed sheets tight around you. You took a deep breath and shuffled out of bed, padding to the door. You scoped your hotel room for something blunt that could be used as a weapon if this post-midnight mystery stranger happened to be an intruder. Slowly, you opened the door.

Your heart sunk when you saw him.

Dark circles under his eyes, his dark blonde hair messy and sticking up in places. He was literally wearing one of his button down work shirts (the one you used to sleep in), and light grey sweatpants. He looked helpless, and it was like time had frozen. You felt your eyes begin to sting from the brimming tears and you could only bring yourself to whisper his name. "Max…"

Maxwell took a step forward and pressed a heated kiss into your lips. It took you by surprise, but you soon sank into his chest. This was it. This was everything you had missed. His lips tasted like a mix of whiskey and spirits. His large, ring clad hands gripped your back and pressed you tight into his broad chest. He was finally holding you again, and kissing you— and you were letting him. He couldn't believe it. He pulled away for breath but didn't let go of you for one second. He nudged his nose against yours. "I am so sorry…" Maxwell whispered, a tear falling down his cheek. You cupped your hand around his face and wiped his tear away with your thumb before pressing your forehead against his. "I was so stupid, for everything. I shouldn't have let you go." His voice was sore and it broke your heart. He was taking full accountability and blaming himself.

"No Max," you sniffed and shook your head. "No. I wasn't thinking straight. I was so mad."

"I gave you a reason to be mad." Maxwell soothed you, rubbing circles into your back.

"No no no," You curled up into his chest again, holding him tight. "I acted irrationally. Please don't blame yourself." You begged him. "This was on me. You were right. You never gave me a reason not to trust you."

"I was so foolish, planning to go and see Albert and Edward on our only night together." His words brought back a familiar pain and you broke down into a sobbing mess in Maxwell's arms. He continued to rub your back, feeling your tears dampen in his lazily buttoned shirt. He kissed your head gently, the familiar scent of your hair making his knees weak. "I'm really struggling," Maxwell gulped. "I don't think I can live without you. I need you. I need you and your good heart helping me decide between what's right and what's wrong. I need you scolding me for my bad manners and confronting me when I'm in the wrong…" you let out a small chuckle and his heart bloomed. "It's true!" he smiled for the first time into your hair. "You're the only one who can get away with telling me what to do. I miss the way you play with my hair," you dragged your hands up to his hair and Maxwell let out a muffled groan. "Missed your touch," he said, stiffening up as you let your hands roam down his body, touching every bit of skin he had visible. "Missed your kisses," you pressed another kiss against his lips and let your arms rest comfortably around his waist. "Missed you so fucking much."

"Maaaax," you whimpered out his name as he placed sloppy kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

"I don't think I can be alone anymore," he said in between kisses. "You don't have to forgive me. I wouldn't forgive me. But please come home with me. And I will spend every day for the rest of my life proving to you how much I love you. You first. You before Edward and Albert and Barbara, you before all work commitments." he promised and you hummed in contentment.

"I would want nothing more." You told him and he smiled. "No more fights. I'm going to communicate better, I can do better. And Maxwell?"

"Hm?" Maxwell's voice was soft like velvet.

"I forgive you. And I never stopped loving you."

Maxwell sighed and squeezed you tight. "I never want to let go of you." he admitted. "I never want to leave you ever again. Wherever I go, you're coming with me. This has been the worst couple of weeks."

"You have looked better." you joked with a small smile. You grabbed him by his shirt collar and dragged him into your hotel room, before locking the door behind you.

"You…" he smiled, his eyes sparkling. "You always look so beautiful."

"You're lying," you shook your head feeling your cheeks heat up at his smooth choice of words. "I haven't slept in days."

Maxwell cupped your cheeks with both hands, taking in the features he had missed so dearly. "Me neither, but I'll sleep well tonight, I'm sure of it." He said and you grinned, playfully pushing him into the plush hotel bed. He yelped as you clambered on top of him and straddled him.

"Fuck Max," you whimpered, softly rubbing your hips over his crotch.

"Shit baby," he mewled, his hands dropping to your hips and grabbing your ass. His eyes were locked on to your body as you lounged on top of him. "Missed this." he admitted with a sheepish smile.

"It's been so long," you said quietly, popping open the buttons on his shirt and helping him shuffle out of it. There was a real temptation to just curl into his warm naked chest and fall asleep in his arms but you needed more. It had been months without any kind of sexual gratification and now you finally had him. You had been yearning for so long. "Couldn't stop thinking about you," you admitted and Maxwell's heart fluttered in his chest. "Every night I… I could never sleep. So I'd lay here in this bed and just think about you. Think about you holding me… kissing me… touching me…"

"Where?" He quizzed you, his voice low at the thought of you laying exactly where he was now lying, restless because you were imagining his touch.

"Everywhere," you breathed shakily.

"Show me."

He steadied you as you removed your hands from his chest and pulled off your shirt. Maxwell gasped slightly when he saw you weren't wearing a bra and you began to touch yourself in front of him. You let your fingers grace over your arms, your stomach, and then brought them up to your breasts. You let your thumb graze over your nipples and cupped them, squeezing a few times as you closed your eyes at the blissful sensation. Maxwell watched you touch yourself intently and you began to feel him harden beneath you. Unable to hide the smirk playing on your lips, you continued to softly grind over his length, gaining a gentle moan from him. "Touch me." you begged him. He ran his big hand up your stomach, between the valley of your breasts and to your chest, twirling the crystal necklace he had gotten for you way back when you had your first date.

"You never took the necklace off?" he asked, his chocolate brown eyes looking deep into yours.

"Never," you told him and he returned your smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Lean into me," his voice was rough but gentle. You obeyed him, slowly sinking forward into his body and he took one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking on your nipple and eliciting a moan from you. With his free hand, he opted to mirror your previous actions and squeezed your other breast. Your knees weakened everytime his teeth grazed your skin and you missed the way he would gently bite at you. All your senses were completely heightened and he felt amazing. You hummed in delight before leaning back, your breast leaving Maxwell's mouth with a pop.

You climbed off him and took to your knees by his side when you began to palm his length through his grey sweatpants. "You're so cute," you giggled as you stroked him through the soft material.

Maxwell turned his head slightly and furrowed his eyebrows together. "Cute?" he asked.

"Mhm," you replied, dipping your hand into his sweats and pulling out his throbbing hard cock. You smiled to yourself— he wasn't wearing underwear either. You slowly began to pump at it and a delicious moan fell from his lips. "You come here in a work shirt and sweatpants," you conceded. "Not your best fashion decision. But I do love these sweats. I love to see you get hard in them, it's so hot. I can really see how big you are," you admired him and let your thumb sweep across the tip of his cock, collecting the precum that had beaded there. You brought your thumb to your mouth and began sucking on it, letting his warm, salty seed settle on your tongue.

"F-fuck," Maxwell drawled out. "Keep talking like that. You're so- you're so fucking pretty, sucking on your thumb like that. Wish- wish you were suck-"

"Be patient my love," you whispered, pressing a kiss into his v line and wrapping your hand around his cock once more, repeating the movements. You knew what he wanted, and you wanted it too. "We have all the time in the world."

"Keep talking like that." he reminded you, watching as your hands graced his length.

"I'd lay here," your voice was barely above a whisper. "Just like you are. And I'd imagine you fucking me. Been too long. Missed- missed you so much. I missed your big hands and the way you'd caress me. I missed how good you were at going down on me… best- best I've ever had," you hummed in delight, feeling your cunt begin dampen your shorts. "Most of all, I missed this. I missed your big cock, and the way it fills me perfectly. Feels so amazing. While you were away on those fucking business trips… I’d…I’d..." you took a deep breath.

"What?" Maxwell prompted you to continue.

You took one hand and began to cradle his balls as you kept rubbing up and down the length. "I'd finger myself, rub myself, do everything I could just thinking about you. Usually I-," you exhaled shakily before shooting him an innocent smile. "I'd have to use a dildo because my fingers can't ever compare to your cock. Nothing can, Max." You promised him and he emitted an earthy groan. "Your turn." you smiled at him before licking his tip.

"Fuuuck. That- that feels so good," Maxwell gritted out, throwing his head back into the pillow. You opened your mouth slightly and started by taking the tip in your mouth, sucking softly. "More, please,"

"Keep talking." You quoted him cheekily before reattaching your mouth to his hard cock.

"I took those Polaroids with me," Maxwell admitted bashfully. "The- the ones you took for me on Valentine's day. You wore that lacy red lingerie set I got you and fuck, you looked so stunning that night. Found it so hard to sleep without you by my side so I'd get out the photos and jerk off to them. I- I could never really last long looking at you, you're just so fucking pretty," Maxwell praised and you hollowed your cheeks, sinking your mouth further down on him. "I'd dream about this. Baby, you know how much I love getting blown," You felt his cock twitch in your mouth just as he said that and you tried to suppress a giggle. "Dreamt about this. Your mouth on me. I- I'd cum in your mouth."

You lifted off him with a pop. "Cum in my mouth then," you urged with a sheepish grin and continued sucking on him, bobbing your head up and down.

"N-no." Maxwell said, lowering his hands to tug off your head. "Fuck, no. Baby. I have to fuck you." You almost came from his words alone and you could feel the electricity spark in your stomach as excitement filled your core. "I have to feel you. Feel you around me. You always- you always feel like home."

Your heart blossomed at his words. "Can I ride you?" you asked him, popping off him again. He grabbed your chin and forced you to look into his eyes. They were so dark with lust, you could've mistaked the usual honeyed shade for black.

"No. I want to fuck you." he growled in your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

He kicked off his sweats that were pooled around his ankles and you pulled down your silk shorts, discarding them on the floor with the rest of his and your clothes. "Please please please can I ride you." you whimpered, letting your hand fall down to your cunt and you started rubbing your clit as you drunk in the image of Maxwell spread out on the hotel bed, his cock hard and pressed against his stomach.

"No." he reprimanded you as he got to his knees. He pushed you down onto the bed and you lay there on your tummy, your butt perked in the air.

"Maaaax," you drew out his name, waiting for him to do something. Max was stroking his length and this time it was his turn to get a good look of your naked body that he had missed so much.

"Patience." he scolded, giving your ass a spank. You let out a yelp as the coolness of his rings slapped against your warm skin. That was sure to leave a bruise.

"Fuckkk Max, I need you inside me now," You begged and started to rub yourself against the blankets on the bed, desperate for some kind of friction to ease the overwhelming sensation you were feeling.

He spanked you again and you let out another yelp. "You will be patient," he warned again. "Are you a good girl?"

"Yes Max," you sung, sweetness dripping from your tongue.

"Good girls don't talk back. Now get on all fours." You listened to his instruction, scrambling to your knees and resting on your elbows. "Spread your legs. I want to look at you." You obeyed him, knowing that if you dared to speak up again he'd issue another spanking.

Maxwell stroked himself while drinking in the sight of you. Your folds glistened under the light and Maxwell couldn't rid himself of the pride he was feeling. "All for me?" He mumbled, and aligned his cock against your entrance. You tossed your head back at the feeling of his tip nudging against you.

"All for you." you confirmed in a whisper. Maxwell wrapped his arms underneath you and started fondling with your breasts before suddenly, and in one swift movement, thrusting inside of you.

Your breathing hitched at the sensation of his long thick cock stretching your walls. "Oh shit Max," you moaned in pleasure. "Shit shit shit," you panted as he kept thrusting deep inside you with consistent movements. Tears pricked your eyes as he hit your g-spot with every thrust, not hilting once. He knew exactly how to make you feel good. You begged for him to go harder and he brought his hands up to your head, grabbing your hair and roughly pulling your back into his chest. You let your head fall into his shoulder as he continued fucking you, his arms holding you tight around your stomach.

You loved hearing the noises Max made. There was something so satisfying about listening to the CEO of one of the biggest and reputable companies in the whole world, fall apart because of you. Because of your body. "Are you- fuck, you're close aren't you? I can feel it." Maxwell groaned and you whimpered back in agreement, letting your head lilt into the crook of his neck. "Baby girl, fuck you feel so good. So tight around me. Fuck."

"G-gonna cum," you gasped, trying to catch your breath.

"Me- me too," Maxwell replied through gritted teeth. "Can I, can I cum inside of you?"

"Fuck Max, you don't need to ask. Please. Please fill me up." You begged.

With only a few more thrusts, Maxwell came inside you, filling you with warmth and leaving you shuddering as you came down from your own climax. He stayed there for a moment, holding still inside you, wanting to make sure every last drop resided deep within you before he softened and slipped out of you. You moaned at the loss of his length. He turned you over on the bed and positioned his face in between your legs.

"What are you- what are you doing?" you asked him. Before you could say anything else, you felt him bury his thick index finger inside of you. "Fuck," you gasped. "Maaaaaax."

Max was watching your pussy intently, and as his cum began to drip out of you, he pushed it back in. "You're so perfect," Max said in admiration, still staring at your glistening wet folds. "You know that?"

"I can't wait to go home with you." you sighed as relief and contentment washed over you for the first time in forever.

"Can't wait to start a new life with you," Maxwell smiled and your mind buzzed with confusion. "You're all I need. This. This right here is what I need. My- my job has given me enough wealth to live more than comfortably for the rest of my life. I know that, no matter what, I will be able to provide for you. And for our children, and grandchildren, and great grandchildren…" Maxwell trailed off and you couldn't wipe the elated smile from your face.

"Children?" you asked him, eyes lighting up.

"Look at you," he grinned, a dimple appearing in his cheek. He pressed a soft, sweet kiss to the inside of your thigh. "I think you'd be the greatest mother in the world. You take care of me well enough, that's for sure. So kind. So gentle. Such a good heart. You make me into a better person. Our kids would be so lucky to have a mother like you. I want a family."

You sniffed, sitting up and shuffling toward him. "Oh Max, I love you so much." you gave him a teary smile before falling into his chest and curling up on top of him.

"I love you too, darling."

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord #max lord x reader

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ridetherain · 3 years

Text

Some Zelink parenting to make me feel better. Happy Mother's Day to the mothers.

Superpower

Words: 2094

"Link," Zelda said, "Can you hold the baby for Rhondson? She's agreed to fit me for that cold-weather gear we agreed on."

I gave her a swift nod and cautiously took the sleeping bundle. Rhondson spent a moment adjusting my arms and grip before she gave my head a pat and bustled behind a partition with Zelda.

I let the two women's discussion of what color and cut would be best for our adventures fade to the back of my mind as I wandered around the recently expanded shop. Rhondson had moved on from just Gerudo styles to add some Rito cloth (likely due to Fyson's enterprising) and even a few water-resistant options. None were as good as my Zora armor, but still quality fabric.

Zelda and I have spent the last several years touring Hyrule and stitching the disparate peoples into one community. Zelda steered any discussion of retaking the throne to a more democratic direction and, after we married, I understood her fear and supported democracy wholeheartedly. So instead, we found ourselves working as neutral parties and messengers throughout Hyrule.

The Rito outgrew their village a generation ago but resisted expansion into Hebra while the calamity ruled. Zelda and I were preparing for an extended survey of the mountains for a suitable location to build a new town.

I slowly circled the shop again and gave the baby a gentle bounce when Rhondson and Zelda's conversation turned into an argument.

"Rhondson! I'm going to be out in the wild for weeks! Roughing it! Sleeping in tents! Climbing mountains!"

"Just be careful! If you watch where you step then it shouldn't matter. You're the Princess! I won't have you leave this shop in anything but my best work! Besides, you said your jacket was white Before!"

"Hyrule is a democracy!"

I gave a little cough to remind them that other people exist. Zelda stepped out from behind the partition without a shirt on and glared at me. I smiled and covered the sleeping baby's eyes with one hand.

"Zelda!" I scolded, "Madison will see!"

She stuck her nose in the air and spoke to Rhondson without looking away or moving out of sight.

"Fine. Just do the pink then. Anything but white."

I smirked and tried to cover it by looking down and pretending to be fascinated by Madison's habit of sleeping while I'm holding her. Zelda hated pink. When I chanced a glance back up I saw immediately that I did not trick her and the thoughtful look on her face meant she was already planning her revenge.

---

Her revenge sucked. For me, anyway, I'm sure she enjoyed herself. My beautiful Rito set of winter gear was dyed. The jacket was a horrendous yellow and, predictably, the pants were pink. Every time she caught sight of me she started laughing. Worst of all, she clearly used some of our best ingredients to dye her pink jacket to a nice shade of dark blue so I'm the only one looking ridiculous.

The Rito children all loved my colorful appearance when we returned with our survey results. Kaneli was polite enough not to comment, but pretty much everyone else in the village did and by the time I got to the children I gave up and just let them hang on me and enjoy the mismatched clothes.

Zelda flashed me another smile at the sight of my clothes but stayed out of the fray with Amali.

"Mister Link? I'm tired."

"That's good," I said, "It's pretty late, so you're supposed to be tired."

Cree thought hard about what I said for a minute. Her little face scrunched up and I subtly glanced at my wife. She was glaring again. Cree gave a nod and wandered off to her bed with a sleepy "'night Mister Link" and the rest of the children followed her out. I gave Zelda my full attention.

"What's up?"

"Nothing."

I sighed. She'd tell me eventually. Or maybe not. Sometimes she forgot. I suppressed a smile at the thought. She'd been ridiculous lately, but after the stress of this trip is out of her system I was certain she would get back to her usual self.

---

Zelda did eventually get back to her usual self. By the time we got back to Hateno, Zelda was on another project and writing furiously in her journal. For once she wasn't letting me in on the project and didn't think out loud other than complete incomprehensible gibberish. The notebook she was using had lists drawn up of completely random words under number headings with no context.

Whatever she was into this time was pretty big and was taking all her energy. She didn't consult books which probably meant she was working on ancient technology again. That's the only subject she knew better than any book written. Eventually, I decided I needed to say something. She wasn't taking proper care of herself. She was eating well, but she wasn't out walking as much and it showed a little. She would be angry with herself when she pulled out of her project and found herself unable to hike up to the tech lab with me.

"Zel? Want to come up to the pond with me? We can go swimming."

"No, sorry, I'm a little busy today."

"You've been busy a lot lately. What have you been working on?"

Zelda looked nervous when she flipped the pages back and turned them to face me. I looked curiously at the lists she's been working on.

"One... Significant people... Sleep... Sitting... What is this?"

"Developmental milestones."

I still didn't understand. She grimaced and pushed her hair back from where it had fallen in front of her eyes. It revealed the dark circles from lack of sleep.

"For children."

"Oh..." I looked at the list again, "Did Amali ask for help? Is something wrong with one of the girls?"

"No, it's not for her... It's for us."

I was going through each girl one at a time and considering the items on the list. None of them stuck out to me.

"I wanted a clear timeline. Amali said there wasn't a book on how to raise a child, but I'm so worried about forgetting something so I figured I would write everything I could think of down and ask as many people as possible."

It took a minute for her words to filter into my head. I decided that Kheel was a little behind her sisters, but that was fine because she was the youngest. And Madison was too little still for most everything on the list. My muscles seized up and my breath started coming quicker. I spent one terrifying moment tense without knowing why I was so afraid.

"For... us..."

The room was tilting. This must be what Zelda means when she says she doesn't like being on the Sheikah towers.

"Yes, Link. Who else would I do this for?"

Okay. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Zelda was still talking. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Make sure you understand.

"You're pregnant." I said, confirming.

"Yes."

"With a baby."

She scrunched her nose at me.

"Yes with a baby. What else would I be pregnant with?"

I finally looked up into her eyes and her whole face softened at me.

"Oh, Link, don't panic. Yes, I'm pregnant. We're going to have a little baby here next spring. You're going to be a wonderful father."

My heart stuttered in its rhythm at the word "father." My hyperventilating stopped. My breathing stopped. Something wet hit my cheeks and I realized I was crying. I looked through blurry eyes at Zelda and saw her smiling back at me.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I just panicked. And I thought you'd stop our Hebra survey early if you knew."

The happiness I had started to recognize was immediately shoved out of the way for my terror.

"You were pregnant!" I fairly screeched in her face. I opened my mouth to shout at her some more, but nothing came out. I didn't have words that matched my fear so I closed my mouth and stared at her with wide eyes. The hyperventilating was back.

---

I was unbearable. I know I was because Zelda told me so repeatedly. I was mostly fine until it became obvious that she was pregnant. Something about the visual of a bump made the child more real than her words ever could.

We visited Kakariko, but I refused to take her further afield than that. Madison was almost a year old now and we hadn't seen her since before I knew of Zelda's pregnancy. Rhondson sent letters and I know Zelda wanted opinions from another woman who had recently given birth, but it was too far and too dangerous. I flat-out refused to let her teleport with the Slate. She was so angry with me that she kicked me out of the house and I had to spend the night at our cookpot. I told her I took a room at the inn. When I tried to convince her to let me move the bed downstairs she finally put her foot down and I was left to grumble.

She's due in a couple weeks and I've timed myself at running to the midwife. It takes seven minutes for me to get there and it will probably be more to bring her back.

Zelda had her feet up in front of the fire since the winter chill hadn't quite left Hateno yet despite the start of spring. Her hand was rubbing gentle circles into her stomach.

"Link, I need your superpowers."

I smiled at our little joke. My skill at putting children to sleep extended to settling an unborn child's kicking. I sat on the floor next to her and leaned my head cautiously against her just in case the baby decided to kick me in the face. Again.

"Come on, kid. Your mom needs some rest." I took over the circling with my hand and hummed the lullaby Zelda taught me.

Zelda sucked in a sharp breath. I hummed a little louder and used my free hand to take hers and gave it a squeeze.

"Link?"

"Hmmm?"

"Don't panic..."

I immediately tensed at the words and looked up at her. Her eyes were tense and a grimace was frozen on her face.

"I need you to go get the midwife."

"You're not due yet," I said stupidly, "we have another two weeks."

Zelda gasped again. I shot to my feet and hovered over her.

"Okay, okay," I said, "Just... Stay here... I'll... Okay..."

I rushed to the door and wrenched it open. Seven minutes plus however much time it takes to get back. I glance back at Zelda. It goes against the grain to leave her in pain. Maybe this is why the other Hero's didn't marry their Zelda.

---

Purah heard my headlong flight through town for the midwife and came down to visit after a few hours. The midwife roped her into helping with the birth and kicked me out of the house. I ended up waiting at the cookpot again while Symin filled the silence.

I shook like a leaf at the sound of Zelda's shouts and gasps. The wooden door only muffled so much. But the moment my child cried nothing could keep me out. I slammed the door open and rushed to the midwife. The woman had no patience for my "hysteria." She made me wait while the baby was cleaned and swaddled.

Zelda was exhausted. She was damp with sweat and weak. I held her hand and pushed her wet hair from her face. I could only glance at her occasionally. My attention was caught by the screaming child at our kitchen table. My child. Our child. The midwife brought the bundle of cloth to us and placed it in Zelda's arms. I helped her keep ahold of the baby - her arms were about ready to give out. The child barely paused for breath between cries.

"Link?" Zelda said, "I need your superpowers."

My hands shook as I arranged my arms as Rhondson had taught me and Zelda carefully passed the bundle to me. I hummed the tune I had been using for months and my superpower held. The cries lessened, but wide blue eyes blinked at me instead of closing in sleep. After so much time worried about pregnant Zelda that I didn't think to worry about my child. I was going to be unbearable.

A daughter.

#zelink #parent!Link #parent!Zelda #BotW #rainworks #fluffy garbage #but I like it so whatever

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blu-archer · 3 years

Text

Go Home

Right... So, I’m obviously new here. I’ve been posting my work previously on AO3 [Usernames: Blu_Magic or Indigo_Archer] and someone told me that I should think about posting them here as well.. So I am here. Just reposting what I have so far and hopefully whoever sees this enjoys it.

Main Pairing: Jimin/Yoongi

Alternate universe - Hybrids are a thing and magic is real.

Warnings: ??? I really don’t think there is any... like maybe... slight mentions of self esteem issues, if you squint? If that’s a warning?

This is snz based, I haven’t ventured into writing anything else really.

Enjoy it! Hopefully there’s no errors... *Awkward peace signs*

*****

“You look wonderful today.” Taehyung greeted sarcastically as he swirled through the entrance of the staff room, making a beeline for his best friend huddled in the corner away from the other members of staff.

The cat hybrid ignored the comment, letting his chin droop into the palm of his hand. Jimin didn’t need to make himself feel any worse than what he already felt like. He had woken up with a piercing headache and the few off hand sneezes from the day before that he had chalked up to allergies, had definitely not been allergies. Honestly, he wouldn’t have even gone in to work that morning if it hadn’t been for the fact that exam season was rapidly arriving, and he couldn’t just leave his students in the dark. His class was practical based, so leaving it to a substitute was out of the question.

So, there he sat, perched pathetically in his thickest sweater with a face mask and tea while the other staff hovered around in their faculties, discussing how far in the syllabus they were.

He felt awful at not being more of a help towards that particular conversation, but after an unfortunate occurrence earlier involving scolding coffee, a folder of fresh math assignments and an older woman jam packed full of spite and aggression that had left him in a puddle of tears; he had considered it best that he stuck to the shadows. If something important came up then Hoseok would come find him.

Taehyung gave him a pitying smile before helping himself to a seat beside his friend.

Despite not being a teacher at the academy, the witch got away with a lot. Jimin had been amazed to see how quickly Tae had been accepted on the campus just by speaking with staff – starting with the security guards and working his way all the way up to the principal. He seemed to just flash a boxy smile, and everyone just felt compelled to let him do what he wanted. It was almost as if he had them under a spell, which Jimin would believe if only he didn’t know just how much Taehyung unfortunately sucked at using magic. Jimin wasn’t even amazed at how easily his friend had appeared at his work – in a staff only section – without him knowing. It had become almost second nature to just see Taehyung wherever Jimin was.

Jimin was almost envious of how easily everything seemed to come to Tae – almost. He knew the man too well to be blind to the troubles in the witches life. It was very much the same as how Taehyung knew Jimin.

Which was exactly why he had arrived with whatever spiced potion he thought would help the poor calico hybrid, along with a large familiar grey scarf that filled Jimin with both a sense of ease and longing. Jimin coughed into his fist as Tae wrapped the scarf around him, the younger man smiled knowingly as Jimin huddled into it to try and breathe in his boyfriend’s faded minty scent.

“How many classes do you have left?” Taehyung asked, leaning over so that he could pour the potion into the tea which Jimin clutched close to his chest – choosing to remain oblivious to the dread-filled eyes of the poor sniffling hybrid. He had faith in this potion, unlike the others that he’d tried to recreate away from the supervision of Yoongi and Namjoon, he was almost certain that this one would serve as a source of healing. Like 90% certain…. Maybe 85%. “Namjoon told me that Yoongi should be back from that business trip this afternoon, apparently it went well so he’s finishing early.”

Jimin nodded, his lips twisting into a soft smile at the thought of the older man’s return. Yoongi had been gone for almost three months. The only thing that was keeping Jimin sane was the old articles of clothing that the Warlocks scent clung too, and the video calls that they had worked in every second or third day. Maybe it was his feline genes kicking in, but Jimin really despised the distance. He would much prefer being able to touch and cuddle up to his boyfriend while the elder would pet him or tell him about his day or.. well anything. Anything with Yoongi was better than not being with him.

“I have my last class in half an hour.” Jimin breathed heavily.

His nose had become completely useless after the first two hours of being awake and had yet to show improvement. He tried not to think about the mess of a person he had been throughout the day. Even his students, as hard working and determined to do their best as they were – had encouraged him to sit on the side lines and not join them in the dance session like he usually would.

“Shouldn’t you be with Namjoon? I thought that mentoring those two meant that you are supposed to be with at least one of them during working hours.”

“Don’t be a grouch.” Tae pouted playfully, tossing an arm over Jimin’s shoulders, and carefully reaching up to scratch behind the calico’s ears. “Namjoon had to guest lecture an extra class at the university, so he let me go. Why don’t we head back to my place when you’re done? Jungkook and Hoseok won’t mind. Jungkook has actually missed seeing you, I don’t think he knows as many other hybrids as he claims. If you want to go now I can ask Hobi to cover your class?”

Jimin pursed his lips, gingerly swirling his tea that had taken on an odd vermillion shade. He really did want to leave, but the other two contemporary instructors either had left already or had a conflicting schedule. Yet the more he thought about it, the more he wished that he hadn’t even left his bed. He could have slept the whole day and then maybe he would have felt better by the time Yoongi got back.

“Hoseok teaches a different style, Tae.” Jimin murmured, leaning into the witches soft scratches with a sigh. “And he has his own classes to go through.”

“His class ends in twenty minutes. Exam preparations have actually opened up his schedule at the school a bit. He gets home earlier with the disadvantage of being buried in paperwork. Honestly, I don’t know why either of you think that teaching is fun, the homework is no joke.”

Jimin chuckled only to break off into a hoarse cough that left him wincing. He felt Tae’s hand move from his fluffy ears to his back, calmly rubbing circles into the knitted material of his clothes.

“I’m going to ask him to take your class. It can’t be that difficult, maybe the fact that he has a different technique and specialty will help your students find their own self-expression or whatever you guys call it.” Taehyung said, deciding to not give Jimin a choice as he whipped out his phone to fire off a message to his older boyfriend. “Have you taken anything today?”

“Pain killers and cough drops.” Jimin mumbled, already feeling the witches gaze pierce through him with annoyed concern. “I couldn’t take anything else. It makes me too drowsy and I will not let this cold stoop me to a level of taking catnaps during class.”

Taehyung hummed. His hand that wasn’t rubbing against Jimin was pushing the tea concoction closer to his face – pulling the face mask to sit below his chin. If he was worried about the pink hues that Jimin new stained his nose and cheeks, Taehyung didn’t mention it.

“Drink this and when we get to my place then we can put some proper medicine in you. We bought a whole bunch of stuff a couple weeks back when Jungkook had his bi-annual ‘exam session flu’ as he calls it, so we have everything you need.”

Jimin sipped the tea with a nod, accepting his fate before immediately regretting it as he choked on the liquid. A few other staff members shot him some sharp looks that he couldn’t fault – if he was them he would want to avoid anyone sick as much as possible as well, especially at such an important time of the year. But he had no control over this. What had once been a moderately decent cup of tea was now a thick, syrupy fluid that tasted oddly like melting rubber and pears.

Jimin pushed the cup into Taehyung so that he could smother his coughing into his hands, failing to stifle how thick and grating it sounded. His face was a blaze and he wrapped his tail around his waist while he panted, far too short of breath.

Tae frowned and took his own sip of the drink, moving quickly to spit it back out into the cup. “Damn it, I thought I had it this time.”

“Stop - trying to kill me.” Jimin whined, only half amused as he fixed his mask back over his face.

Feeling like enough time had been wasted, Taehyung pulled the hybrid to his feet.

“Let’s just go find Hobi, it will be quicker than him checking his messages.” His face still contorted in a mixture of disgust and disappoint as he led Jimin along to where Hoseok held his classes.

They disposed of the drink as soon as they could and avoided as many people as possible. Jimin preferred to try limit the amount of people he came into contact with, more out of fear of embarrassing himself more than he had already, so they had taken the chillier outdoors route to the dance studios. Tae didn’t listen to any of the weak excuses that Jimin had presented and kept mumbling on about all the nice relaxing things they could do as soon as they got back to the apartment. Jimin wasn’t strong enough to fight the promises of warm store-bought hot chocolate [that had no special additions from Tae], soup and the prospect of animations with cuddles.

Hoseok’s class was technically still in session when Tae pulled Jimin into the studio room. Thankfully the senior dancers seemed to be doing their own cool off routines and Hoseok was hovering off to the side on his phone when he saw them.

“Hey, I just saw your message now.” Hoseok bounded over to greet Tae with a chaste kiss. His face morphed into one of disgust when he had impulsively licked his lips. “What is that taste?”

Tae waved his hand with a deep sigh. “I almost poisoned Minnie again. Sorry to just come in, I really wanted to see if you could take his class. He hasn’t taken any medication, so I want to get him home.”

“Of course.” Hoseok pulled Jimin into a tight hug that had the hybrid sinking into his embrace. “Ah, Min. I can’t believe Taetae tried to poison you again. How have you survived so long?”

He could vaguely hear some of the students commenting on it and Hoseok merely lifted Jimin into his arms, letting the smaller man link his legs around his waist before leading Tae out into the hallway. Jimin pushed his head closer into the elders neck, hovering over where the scent gland should have been.

Out of their weird friend group Hoseok was the only one that was human, the rest being a mix of hybrids or witches and warlocks, but Jimin had always found that besides Yoongi and Jungkook – Hoseok had the most calming scent and embrace. In fact, there were many times when Jimin preferred Hoseok to Jungkook. The bunny hybrid was often a bit too active and always smelled of all the different people he had befriended in his uni classes.

“I thought it was weird that I didn’t see you at the meeting this morning.” Hoseok murmured gently, letting Jimin rub his nose into his shoulder and the crook of his neck. He smiled at his boyfriend as Tae reached to pet Jimin’s hair tenderly. “You should have told me sooner, Kookie could have come and fetched you. He only had a morning class today.”

Jimin tightened his hold for a second before pushing away. Hoseok set him down, swiftly running a hand over the hybrids forehead and then through his hair. He didn’t have a fever at least. Jimin could have easily stayed in Hoseok’s arms but he knew the elder must be tired. It wasn’t fair to fall asleep on him or make him use up his strength.

“When is the class?”

“It’s at three.” Jimin answered, shying away with regret. There wasn’t much of a time gap for Hoseok to take a break, but the other dancer didn’t seem to mind.

“Cool, its seniors right? They should all be working on their own routines and such, shouldn’t be too difficult to give some pointers. I’ve watched you enough to know what to talk about.”

“Are you sure? I’m sure I can push through. You must be tired.” Jimin pouted and Taehyung chuckled, pulling him back into a hug.

“Hobi won’t mind. He’s secretly always wanted your class, they’re more behaved. Plus, you don’t know when Yoongi will arrive. It would be easier to fetch you from our place.”

“Yoongi is coming home today?” Hoseok grinned brightly, not denying the fact of wanting to steal Jimin’s class. “Go Jimin. Go cuddle my precious little bunny and rest up for your man. I’m sure you must both be excited.”

It hadn’t even sunk in for Jimin that he would be seeing his boyfriend again – almost two weeks earlier than they had originally planned. A small piece of the heaviness that had made a home in his chest seemed to dissipate at the thought of going to sleep beside his own personal warlock. Jimin hadn’t even truly acknowledged how much he had missed the elder, preferring to bury himself in his work and spending more time watching old anime that he had forgotten about.

He may have still had a pounding headache, and his chest, throat and sinuses were definitely going to give him troubles for days with how much his symptoms had progressed in such a small amount of time, but at least the momentary gap in is life will be filled again.

“I just want to wake up next to him again.” Jimin admitted, his voice dipping low enough for his voice to crack.

He cleared his throat and gave a tight chuckle, looking away from his friends sympathetic eyes. Neither of them had really had to experience being away from each other, it helped that there was three of them in their relationship. Perhaps that’s why Jimin hadn’t spent as much time with them recently as he usually did. The atmosphere of bonds and love may have been something that he was subconsciously avoiding.

“You will, Minnie.” Tae murmured softly, his fingers finding their way back to Jimin’s tri-coloured ears. “Let’s get you some medicine first. Don’t want this to linger like it usually does.”

Hoseok gave Jimin a tight hug before he pressed a goodbye kiss to Tae’s cheek – avoiding having to taste the contaminated tea still on the witches lips. Taehyung had to tug Jimin away at first, the hybrid was determined to make sure that Hoseok truly was okay and equipped to handle his class, but eventually the pair had gotten Jimin to leave the building.

It hadn’t taken him long to get settled in the Jeon-Jung-Kim apartment.

Either Tae or Hobi must have texted in advance because Jungkook had met them at the door with his largest, warmest hoodie and a tall mug of hot chocolate ready to take control of the situation. While Taehyung had finished off the soup that Jungkook had started and gathered medication, Jungkook had set Jimin down in their small lounge which he had transformed into some sort of fluffy wonderland and managed to pull the huge hoodie over the smaller man’s head.

After sipping at least half of the hot chocolate Jimin had sunk right into the soft blankets and pillows with a deep purring sigh, allowing himself to just doze lazily while the other two prepared for their afternoon in a rushed silence.

It seemed like only a few minutes had passed when Jungkook shook him lightly from the slumber he had slipped into and gestured for him to sit up in order to place the steaming bowl of vegetable soup in his lap. Jimin had pawed at his eyes and nose lethargically before leaning against the younger hybrid. Whatever sleep he had gotten hadn’t exactly helped. His head felt heavier than before and there was an irritating itch that had embedded itself in his sinuses.

One of Jungkook’s floppy black ears kept brushing against Jimin’s cheek while he ate, despite being comforted with the contact Jimin could tell that between that and the steam from the soup, he wasn’t going to be able to sniffle back the itch for long. After suffering through a few bites of food and numerous amounts of nose swipes, Jungkook moved to find a film in his room. Jimin took the opportunity to try relieving himself of some of the problems that were becoming somewhat problematic.

“Tae-ah” Jimin ran a sleeved wrist under his nose as he set down the soup bowl on the small portion of floor visible beneath all of the blankets that Jungkook had dragged out. “Can y-you get some ti-hih-tissues.”

Taehyung didn’t reply, although a box of tissues levitated over to Jimin from the kitchen, dropping almost directly into his soup. Jimin scrambled to try catch it with his breath hitching teasingly as he did. It was infuriating to be crumbling into a mess, especially with company. He knew that his friends didn’t care about how disgusting he may currently be, but Jimin despised that he wasn’t able to be in control of his symptoms. He pressed his wrist to his nose hard, trying to stave off the inevitable at least until he got the tissue box open. Unfortunately, it didn’t quite work like that.

Jimin’s breath stuttered off into a harsh, wet sneeze – which was quickly followed by two, three, four more. It left him coughing into his fist, sitting miserably and too tired and embarrassed to move his hands from his face. He could only cringe at the mess on his hands and upper lip.

“Bless you.” Tae called, only for it to be the trigger of the next flurry of sneezes being torn from Jimin’s throat.

“That sounds awful.” Jungkook winced sympathetically as he returned with what Jimin assumed was Finding Nemo – always the first to start in an animation marathon.

Jimin wanted to curl up in a ball and hide, his face burned even though the other two seemed to just move on with life. The bunny called out to Taehyung to organise the movie while he shot Jimin a soft smile and tore open the box the elder had been struggling with. He pulled out a few tissues and handed them to Jimin, looking away to make a spot more comfortable for himself while Jimin tried to clean himself up.

Tae appeared from the kitchen, a dark robe adorned him as he dropped some water and pills beside Jimin then moved to put the movie in. He sent a tired look back at Jungkook when he saw the title but didn’t argue at the choice. The robe made Jimin nervous about what exactly Taehyung was getting up to and whether Jimin was going to have another potion poisoning him soon, but he didn’t have the energy to put in any complaints.

“Are you going to eat some more?” Jungkook asked, pressing against Jimin’s side. “You barely got halfway.”

“I – Hih’eitiishhew, eheHISHiew… Argh.” Jimin reached to trade his tissues for new ones, sniffling and gradually losing any pride and dignity he had left. He shook his head and pressed the tissues to his nose, letting the old ones fall to his lap. “‘Not hungry. Just tired.”

“Okay…” Neither Jungkook nor Taehyung were too happy about the food being taken back to the kitchen but they weren’t going to force the cat hybrid to eat anything when he didn’t feel well, not after the last time Namjoon and Jin had done that and had resulted in Jimin throwing up on Hobi. Which of course had caused an unfortunate cycle that no one wanted to ever remember. “Come here and lay with me then.”

Jimin finished blowing his nose, not entirely satisfied with how it was left feeling itchy and raw, then he swallowed the pills without hesitation. He climbed into Jungkook’s side, purring instantly as the bunny preened and scented him until he was numb – being doused in calming pheromones and affection. Taehyung lay behind him after cleaning up and pressing play on the movie, running his one hand through Jimin’s hair and casually stroking the end of the hybrid’s flicking tail with the other. Jimin wasn’t able to focus on the film at all, slipping in and out of a dazed state while the other pair murmured to each other. There were a few moments when they all had to shift for Jimin to collect tissues or when he broke out into rough fits of coughing that usually ended with him snuggled into Jungkook’s neck, but most of the time they had spent bundled comfortably keeping movement to a minimum in case any of them fell asleep.

Jimin couldn’t recall the exact moment he had fallen asleep, but he did remember waking up briefly when Taehyung had left the cuddle pit to join someone else in the house. Vaguely he made out that Hoseok had probably arrived home, if the credits running along the screen were anything to go by then the dancer had probably just finished with Jimin’s class. Jungkook was snoring deeply beside him with his arms pinning Jimin to his chest, so Jimin couldn’t push himself upright like his weary and sick muddled mind had originally planned. When he heard Hoseok speak again he made a noise in his throat, wanting to gain attention to ask about his students but only resulted in coughing into Jungkook’s shoulder. Almost immediately fingers danced through his hair, scratching pleasurably at his ears before resting on his cheek with a sharp tsk.

“Go back to sleep, Minnie. Just for a little longer, ‘kay?”

There was something so soothing about how the human had reacted to him that Jimin didn’t fight Hoseok’s smooth words, couldn’t fight them as his eyes were lulled closed, letting himself be petted back into darkness.

Jimin blinked himself awake. It was colder. His brows furrowed in confusion at how dark the room had gotten. The places where Tae and Kook had lain were vacant. Padding the empty spaces Jimin could tell they had been gone a while.

His chest ached at the thought of them leaving him, but he pushed the thought aside- biting down on his lip to divert whatever pained him to be physical and more manageable. He could hear faint laughter from deeper into the apartment, the clinking of cutlery and plates. It must have been late already.

Jimin coughed tightly into his arm before rolling over to where Jungkook had been. He felt warm and tight, and he ached in a way that made him seem hollow but at least his headache had disappeared. He breathed as deeply as he could in an attempt to grasp at Jungkook’s soft floral scent, failing to smell anything more than a slight wisp of what should have been there. Being sick was so annoying.

Jimin was used to being reliant on scent, relishing in how different scents made him emote different feelings. Now he was left to just experience a bland, empty world.

He sat up, suddenly hating the soft fabric of blankets under his fingertips. He ripped off Jungkook’s hoodie, almost doing the same to the scarf Taehyung had brought him earlier , the paused. Instead, he brought it up to cover the bottom half his face. It wasn’t as soft as everything else since it was worn with age, but it brought him a sense of ease. A sense of home.

Hoseok’s loud, contagious laughter sounded through the apartment again and Jimin couldn’t keep himself from standing and wondering to where it was coming from. He moved passed the kitchen and down into the hallway, the guest rooms and study were empty, but a light shown dimly towards the end of the passage. As he got closer to the master bedroom he could hear a number of familiar voices speaking over each other excitedly. Namjoon and Jin must have arrived while he was asleep. His stomach twisted a bit at his previous thoughts that his friends had just left him for nothing. Of course, if they had other company they should be with them and not babysitting him.

He was indecisive to join at first before deciding that the only reason they weren’t with him was probably because he was asleep , so he moved to push open the door when he froze, hovering in the hallway just outside the door. Jimin pressed the scarf to his nose then pulled away and tried to sniff at the air. It was difficult but he could make out the sharp earthy mint that lingered.

His throat grew tight and his blood pulsed in his ears at the prospect of what waited for him in that room. He took a step back, running his hands through his sleep tussled hair. He no doubt looked awful - he knew that he did. No one looks attractive after spending their day gradually feeling more and more like a walking plague ad. Not to mention he probably smelled. No, he definitely smelled, he had danced with 5 different classes that morning and didn’t take his usual immediate shower when arriving home, because he hadn’t arrived at home. He couldn’t walk in like this, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to step away again. Now that he had had that taste and awareness of the fresh mint aroma he couldn’t stop it from amplifying despite not being able to smell anything else.

Jimin took a shaky breath, leaning his back against the wall opposite the door. The heat had bubbled up inside of him and a jittery smile danced on his lips. From inside the room he could hear Jungkook mumbling something, only catching his own name and the words ‘awake’ and ‘next dose’.

“I’ll get it.”

Jimin held his breath at the sound of the familiar deep dialect. Then that heat from before turned cold. He couldn’t be seen like this, what was he thinking? He at least had to wash up. He wasn’t ready. He had to –

“Jimin?”

Jimin looked up only to feel his stomach flip nervously at the deep brown eyes that brightened at the sight of him.

Yoongi.

He looked just like he had when he had left those months ago. His dark hair swept forward into his face and his fair skin shining with that unearthly glow of magic. Perhaps he looked a bit sharper, a bit more real. Jimin couldn’t stop staring at him, even when his heart beat rapidly against his chest and his cheeks flamed. He hadn’t even realised he was shaking until Yoongi reached out for him, bracing the hybrid with firm hands. Jimin croaked out a gasp and sunk into Yoongi’s arms – his previous concerns dissipated as Yoongi embraced him and pressed his lips to Jimin’s temple. Soft praises were whispered against Jimin’s skin that made him dig his nails into Yoongi’s chest – his nails subconsciously transforming to claws to gain a better grip.

How was this real? How was Yoongi even real? What had Jimin done in his life to deserve someone like the warlock that held him tight, as if he was just as scared to let Jimin go as Jimin was to step away from him. Jimin clung harder.

The world was suddenly too loud – deafening. His breath kept catching in his throat and he was sure that he had started coughing, but he couldn’t quite recall. All of his actions were blurring together.

“Shhh don’t cry, love.” Yoongi stroked Jimin’s neck tenderly. Earning another whine out of the hybrid. “Please don’t cry.”

Was he crying? Jimin rubbed his face against Yoongi’s neck, pulling away momentarily to see that – yes, he was in fact crying. For what, he was unsure, but no matter how much he sniffled and bit at his lips it didn’t seem like he was going to stop soon.

“Is everything okay?” Hoseok peeked around the door that Yoongi had half closed in his rush to leave the room. The dancer’s eyes widened at Jimin’s sobs, every so often broken by a grating cough. Hobi wouldn’t be surprised if Jimin woke up the next day without a voice.

“He – he feels a bit warm.” Yoongi answered rationally, but a voice crack betrayed his emotions.

The warlock felt close to tears himself.

“I’ll go fetch you some water.”

Neither of them argued, and Yoongi didn’t even glance up at the now silent room. He knew that their friends were probably watching with concern, but he didn’t want them near Jimin right now. Just him. Only him.

Yoongi had underestimated how difficult it was going to be when he had agreed to take the job in the UK. He had missed Jimin with every fibre of his being and struggled to communicate with him through electronic devices. He usually hated relying on the manmade crafts, but his magic was being used in his task and had left him practically depleted after each day. Even now he could tell how weak his job had made him. He’d surely be drained for a few days still – perhaps even a week. Yet nothing made him feel more powerless than having his beautiful, charming, strong calico hybrid brought to fevered tears in his arms. It made him regret ever choosing to leave, no matter how much his client had needed him – he and Jimin needed each other more.

“Shh love.” He felt Jimin lean into him completely and Yoongi took his weight, using the wall as support to gradually sink them both to the floor. He hugged the smaller man close with one arm and used his free hand to wipe at the tears staining the hybrids cheeks. “You must be feeling awful, Minmin.”

Jimin shook his head and burrowed deeper into Yoongi’s neck, mumbling something inaudible.

“What was that?”

Jimin pulled away, his breath hitching as he tried to control his tears. “ ‘missed you.” He ran his sweater-covered wrist under his nose which had been running, much to Jimin’s disgust and horror. “ ‘missed you so much, and now you’re here and I’m gross and … you’re perfect.”

Yoongi pressed a kiss just below each of Jimin’s eyes, then his jaw and then finally – despite the noise of protest from his boyfriend – to the hybrids lips. He kisses were salty, but Yoongi didn’t care. Jimin’s tears had almost rolled to a stop, but it pained him to imagine that Jimin’s tears were partially due to insecurities. Yoongi had thought that they had moved past this in their relationship already, but he should never have been so quick to dismiss it.

“You will never be gross, okay? I am nowhere near perfect compared to you, and being here with you - no matter what state of health you’re in, makes me so happy, Min. I cannot even begin to describe what these months with not being near you have felt like and I would rather I lose my limbs than have to go through that again.” Yoongi pushed the dark sweaty locks of Jimin’s hair back from his face as he did a once over of his face. Taking in the swollen eyes and bright red nose, then moving to those familiar plush lips that looked puffier than usual – no doubt Jimin had been biting them. “I don’t want you to ever think that I wouldn’t be elated to see you every second of every day, okay?”

Jimin nodded. A small smile breaking out on his face. Yoongi took that as a sign to run his hands down to the hybrids sides and immediately the smile widened into a hoarse laughter as Jimin tried to wiggle away from Yoongi’s reach. He only stopped when a small bout a coughing broke the giggles, thankfully not as harsh as before but still worrying to Yoongi.

“Hey.” They both looked up to see Hoseok standing with a clear glass of water, smiling at them as he gave it to Jimin. “Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt. Do you two want to stay the night? I can set up the guest bedroom if you want?”

It was Yoongi who shook his head first, although Jimin wasn’t far behind him. “I think it would be best if we head home. I want to make sure Jimin is comfortable. Thank you though and thank you for giving us some time.”

Hoseok grinned knowingly, somehow always being the wisest out of the lot. “I’ll get Jungkook or Jin to pack you guys up some food to take with you, since it’s getting late.”

He didn’t wait for a reply merely turning to push open the bedroom door fully, revealing Namjoon and Jin sitting on the bed laughing lightly at the pair huddled on the floor close to the entrance. Jungkook had an arm over Taehyung’s shoulders while the witch had tears staining his cheeks with blood shot eyes.

“Tae why are you crying?” Hoseok questioned with startled amusement.

The witch sniffed and rubbed at his face with an embarrassed chuckle, glancing around at where Yoongi and Jimin watched him from with wide, somewhat bemused eyes.

“It’s nothing. I got caught up in it, is all.” He explained sheepishly, earning a full round of amused chuckles.

“He started almost as soon as you left.” Jungkook added, directing his gaze to Hobi.

Hoseok sighed. He placed his hands on his hips and shook his head, although he supposed there was something sympathetically charming about it. “I’m dating literally toddlers.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes at his apprentice, although he couldn’t blame him. He had come close to crying as well. Yoongi moved to adjust Jimin onto his lap, relishing in the deep purr that came from Jimin even before Yoongi pressed his hand to the base of the hybrids tail. Usually he didn’t pet Jimin’s tail in public, since it generally always led to something more, but he knew the younger loved when he did it, so he was making an exception.

“Let’s go home.” Yoongi murmured, wiping at the others’ cheeks before deciding to just leave his hand cupping Jimin’s warm face. “I am one hundred percent okay with closing my practice to spend the rest of this week with you, get you better.”

“I have school.” Jimin replied with a pout. Whether it was due to having to go to work or the fact that Yoongi was implying that he wouldn’t be going to work, he wasn’t sure.

“You have a cold.” Yoongi corrected. “And it will only get worse if you don’t take the time off now. Plus, we can catch up. Its deserved.”

Jimin didn’t have it in him to fight it, not after how tired his crying had made him and especially since all he wanted was to spend time with Yoongi.

“I’ll get someone to stand in for you.” Hoseok promised. Not wanted to give Jimin a chance to even deny Yoongi.

It appeared a plan was being formed, but Jimin zoned out of the moving of bodies and their soft voices, only choosing to focus on Yoongi’s scent, his breathing, his warmth, his touch. It was intoxicating.

Jimin barely even recalled being lifted up and carried outside to the car, having a thick blanket from Jungkook’s monstrosity being wrapped around him to protect him from the icy weather. He definitely wasn’t conscious when Yoongi drove them back to their shared cottage along the coastal edge, or when he was carried inside and surrounded by all of his favourite soft and scented pieces of clothing and blankets. Despite not being completely aware, Jimin’s dreams were swamped with the aroma of mint and the gentle strokes of a large, warm hand from the base of his tail all the way up to his twitching cat ears, easing any fatigue or pains that he may have had.

All in all, it was a pretty magnificent end to a very long and exhausting day, and Jimin couldn’t have been happier.

#bts sickfic #hybrid jimin #warlock yoongi #mild angst #like very mild #snz #dancer teacher jimin #dance teacher hoseok #tae #happy ending #colds #fever #alternate universe #fanfiction #kpop

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bitchfitch · 3 years

Text

day 0, day1, and day 10

so 10 ish days of style exploration later ive got some Hashtag Thots.

I wanted to have a style that was quicker and easier to deliver on for art fight this year while still being pretty.

i wont lie, undeniably one of my bigest inspos was st-hedge here on tumblr, check em out,

but one of the biggest aspects of their style is that its very technical but a bit messy at the same time. with a fairly limited local value range. and they use the colored pencil approach to digital art to create pieces that are both very textured and atmospheric while still looking flat. i Adore this look.

and that was Definitely what i was trying to channel in these first three pieces

what i very quickly learned is that my brain just Does Not work that way. big clean shapes just arnt my thing,

piece number 3 is where i feel i was the closest, but i still didn't Quite get where i wanted to be. and at this point i was really frustrated with this whole process, which is why there was a sharp and sudden shift to this more shiny and plastic look

its passable. i stopped trying to do anything approaching color pencil work and shifted to more traditional cells and layer styles. and like, maybe with more refining this one could have worked but it just didn't really Speak to me.

this is the one i think im the happiest with result wise. we're still doing lineless at this point and its the nicest to look at, but theres a lot of places that just felt bad to work on. it was frustrating and i felt like i was fighting the style the entire time. beyond that its just boring. its too minimalist for my taste. and nothing is sharp enough but at the same time everything is Too sharp.

then i tried to do clean lines. and then i imeaditly gave up on that bc i hate doing line art.

then we wound up here. where i just used a cleaned up sketch for my lines with two layers of cel shading done in my rough sketching brush

theres still room for improvement but i think i finally have a direction. it has the grit and most of the simplicity i wanted from the start, while still keeping in line with my love of bold, dramatic/high contrast shading.

i think from here i might experiment with colored lines and top of sketch detailing. maybe ill start going more painterly with the shading to soften out areas,

anyways this was a fun experiment and i got two new boys out of it.

#god sometimes i forget how much art i shit out #ndsnsnsjsj #anyways thank you all for sticking with me through this #long post

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marionettejones · 3 years

Text

Headcanon: Ojiro has face blindness (Prosopagnosia)

I just think it’s an interesting concept so I’ll write down some of my thoughts and some canon convergence.

He's not entirely struggling since almost every active character in bnha is unique.

He relies on voice, hair, body shape, body language, clothes, etc. to recognize individuals.

Might be jumpy at first when someone recently acquainted tries to talk to him. He'd greet back and smile just to give himself time to deduce from what he remembers. He'd wonder who this 'stranger' is then categorize if it's worth memorizing their features. People will just think he's polite.

Actually had to be more polite because he realizes that pausing awkwardly to recognize someone or asking who they are makes people think he’s a snob and usually ignore him thereafter.

Having to recognize an individual when they are in hero costume vs school uniform vs casual is a daunting task, but he manages by recognizing voices and quirks.

He’s the first one to notice a change in someone’s costume coz it doesn’t feel like that person. He forces himself to associate new things to his existing memories of said individual.

Probably a reason to be avoided or bullied earlier in life, making him naive in some aspects. (Probably never got porn shown to him or allowed to join "those" kinds of conversations in middle school. He doesn’t get lewd jokes.)

His martial arts training focuses more on looking at the body and anticipating movement. He uses that to differentiate people most times.

Is afraid to tell people he has this disorder.

Long post ~

Midoriya: med to low recognition

Broccoli

That mumbling kid with the big red shoes that don't seem to wear out. Kinda jealous of his footwear.

Weird t-shirts

Keeps upgrading costumes!!!

If he’s in a stretcher with broken bones after something bad happens, it’s him.

before: Danger! Do not approach. later: an ok friend with fancy stuff coming out of his fingers. Scary, but most protect coz friend.

Kaminari: medium

Zigzag streak of black lightning on bright yellow hair

That blond dude behind him that plays with his tail too often.

Both fearless and a bit stupid, but a very fun guy to have around.

Kirishima: low

Spiky red hair with shark teeth. Sidon but rockfish (says Kaminari. Doesn't actually know who that is coz he doesn’t have games. Doesn’t get how they are similar coz Sidon has a tail on his head)

Kirishima without hair gel! : Ojiro being weary, tail twitching, till anyone of the bakusquad calls his name.

Has a twin but silver

Has absolutely no idea who he is when his black hair grows out. Excuses himself for going into the wrong room to borrow dumbbells. Comes back and realizes he went into the right room but doesn’t recognize Kirishima.

Confuses Kirishima sometimes but Ojiro doesn’t want to talk about it.

Ashido: high

very pink (that’s about it)

Would love to learn how to break dance from her.

Hagakure: high

Invisible! (invisible, not naked. end of discussion, brain!)

He's hyper aware of her at first mostly because she doesn't have a head to even focus on. But he knows there is a face nonetheless so he sees a general graph of where the features should be.

Seems to always know where her eyes are.

Feels relief because he does not need to analyze minute changes on the face that indicate mood. Tooru makes it easier for people to read by making big movements and tones of voice.

Ojiro suspects that she’s just acting cheerful.

Feels not as calm now that she keeps teasing him. (might have actually kissed him-- Team Up Mission chapter 6)

hc fic: Recognizes her gestures and school bag when she got hit by a quirk nullifying bullet. Is not affected by how beautiful she is. (Horikoshi says that she’s the most beautiful girl there if she were visible.)

Confuses him when she wears a mask

Everyone is equally beautiful. charot!

Would like it more if she stays invisible.

Fukidashi Manga: med

Doesn’t understand, and he thought it would be as easy as Hagakure.

Sometimes, he thinks he’s going crazy coz the manga pages are starting to talk to him. Later realizes that he is alone in his room, and it’s 3am.

Sometimes gets pulled into Tooru’s pranks. Talking to an emoji feels better than he thought.

Shinsou: med to high

That purple haired guy who brainwashed him.

Gets irritated by seeing purple for some time till he realizes that isn’t logical and just stresses him out.

Not Mineta, but should avoid nonetheless.

Joint Training Battle: “ACK!” AAAAAAAAAHHHH! (Sports festival/war flashbacks Ah shit! Here we go again) “SHINSO!”

He finally apologizes so I guess it’s ok. Admits that his quirk is actually powerful. (BNHA Official Character Book Ultra Archive)

hc: Still somewhat recognizes him even with the voice changer and different hair style coz of that specific shade of purple. (it really hit him hard)

Would buy him gifts with the same color.

Mineta: high

Grapes. Violet, not purple. small person.

They all seem to rely on Ojiro to watch over him.

Should have hit him when he tried something in Hagakure’s room but Sero was quicker.

Is actually ok when he’s not perving out

Sero: medum

Office supplies Spider man

Weird elbows

Loves napping in his hammock.

Would have to take a while to recognize him if he ever changes his hairstyle

Bakugou: med to high

Explosive person overall, even his hair!

King of corny nicknames

Same with Mineta but watching over him for different reasons.

Great sparring partner. Good practice for drowning out voices coz he cusses a lot at the beginning of sessions. Gets quiet once he gets serious.

Had to stare at him for some time when he got a hair cut. Immediately recognizes him once he talks.

Todoroki: high

Ice cone with chili sauce on one side

Very expensive clothes

Ojiro realizes he holds grudges coz he easily recognizes him and Shinsou

Tokoyami: med to high

Has no problem differentiating birds

on second thought~ Oh right, the other one doesn't have a body

Shoji: high

hard to mistake anyone with that many arms

Looks like a Hindu god when doing meditation

Sato: med

Sometimes forgets that he isn’t part of the staff when in costume. Mistakes him for Vlad-sense sometimes.

Sometimes calls Vlad, Sato-san.

Aizawa: med to high

Sometimes a caterpillar, sometimes an old rag

Didn’t recognize him on tv when he shaved and had his hair up

#ojiro mashirao #ojiro headcanons #bnha headcanons #bnha students #mjfic #mha #mha headcanons

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saltskinandasociopath · 3 years

Text

a very earthling question (onkey, 2min - teen)

summary: 'their names are jinki and minho. minho's the one in blue. jinki's out back trying to fix the ship. they crashed.'

'you talked to them.'

'no, they're telepathic. just - beamed it. right into my head,' taemin says, his eyes sparkling with mockery. 'yeah of course. i even introduced you too.'

(earth girls are easy, onkey (and 2min) style.)

pairing: onew/key, taemin/minho

notes/warnings: some fluffy alien romcom for this valentine’s day.

can be found on ao3 here.

———————————————————————

there is a spaceship outside of kim kibum's salon. it was not there last night, and it has no right to be there now.

this is, coincidentally, the least of kim kibum's problems. he is a colored-in shade of human misery, from breaking up with his on and off (permanently off) boyfriend, and ritualistically categorizing all the places in his life he has yet to cleanse of his presence; to the impending foreclosure of his business; to the sniffing bloodhounds of the other competitors in the area, ready to acquire his, frankly, absurdly sizeable space.

(it is absurdly sizeable, to taemin's key observation, because there's hardly ever customers. it's a hard market to break into, temperamental and not temperamental enough, in equal measure.)

the apartment he occupies above the space is tiny, made tinier with taemin's form crowding the couch, and kibum is mulling the utter dead end that his life has become, when a great collision rocks the dumpster.

and. it is a spaceship. it is definitely a spaceship, almost cartoonishly so. it's about the size of a parade float.

it's probably a parade float, is the second thought. some idiot drunkenly taking it for a joyride down an alley. look, there's an opening, light beaming out before it's blocked out by one body, then another. two figures that are probably human, beneath their bobbled helmets, their thick, stuffy jumpsuits.

this neighborhood gets all sorts of characters. it's why kibum chose it a little over a year ago, taking a chance on the already crowded area, the unfriendly lease agreement, the questionable landlord. these are just two more characters, talking in a garbled tongue that kibum just isn't hearing right.

it's 4am, anyway, and kibum doesn't have time for this. so he throws on his headphones, viciously tugs off taemin's socks in a pique of spiteful vengeance, and heads to his bed to mull over ways to make his bank account stretch even thinner.

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

'hey kibum, there's someone banging on the door. hey. hey, kibum.'

kibum is sleeping, he would be horrified to recognize, halfway on his laptop, lodging a canyon of a line across his cheek. when he scrambles up, his joints aching from the unnatural position he had dozed off in, he finds the time on his phone - 7:17 am.

'do you mind? i'm trying to sleep.' taemin says, nonchalant.

'god you are just the worst,' kibum says. he is looking down at his phone, checking his email when the reminder comes up - bank visit 730.

FUCK. SHIT. goddamn it. the bank, his loans for the space, seeing if he's using the space as intended and isn't secretly - something? insolvent? incompetent? kibum is certainly something, something sharp and biting and near-poisonous in proximity, as he throws on his clothes and tries to arrange his hair into something presentable. taemin holds up his bar of deodorant as he passes and kibum grabs it and pauses to apply it, unwilling even in his panic to let the stink of body odor be his signature scent.

he hurtles downstairs, his shoes sliding off at the heel as he careens down the stairs. in the salon he can see the banker (? is that even the term - auditor? realtor? pain in the ass, really) standing outside the door. whoever it is, is an actual asshole, because it's only 7:27 and he's been at the door for 10 minutes, chomping at the bit to rob kibum of his pride and joy. what a miserable bastard.

he is flipping on the lights, and taking one last duck into the bathroom when he spies them. the aliens. the parade floaters. whoever. they're just standing there, one of them a good 4 inches than the other, helmets still on like they're robbing him. one of them has a device in his hand that looks halfway between a smartphone and a gun.

holy fuck he's being robbed. he has literally negative to give, and he's being robbed.

he's desperate, is his excuse. he puts his hands together, and extends them out.

'look. i will give you anything you need, if you can just let me pretend you are customers for 15 minutes. just to get his asshole off my back? alright? just - ' he nods, looking between the two of them. the shorter one on the left, clad all in yellow, makes a jerky motion that might be a nod? he'll take it, especially when he moves to put away his gun phone. kibum makes a reckless motion to grab his hand and lead him out. the other one in blue is following when kibum glances over the top of the yellow-tinged helmet. the one whose being tugged along, his grip is loose, almost skittish, but kim kibum is not a quitter. he maneuvers both of them into chairs and holds out his hands again.

'just - stay there. and play along. please.'

before they can respond, or decide kibum's meager wealth is worth the charade, he turns away and schools his features as he strides to the door, popping it open with a cool, professional 'good morning'.

'mr. kim,' the bank asshole says, like he's the one being inconvenienced in every aspect of his life. 'am i interrupting?'

'actually, you are,' kibum replies, opening the door wider. 'i had some urgent client requests to handle this morning, so we'll have some company. i hope that helps you make an informed determination on our operations.'

he's impressing even himself with his handling. the asshole is looking at the two, weird as they are, like they aren't random intruders. which, no, of course not. of course. kibum moves forward to make the case more persuasive.

'i think we're ready to take that off now, sir,' he says to the one in yellow, whose gripping the ends of the chair like he's terrified. still, he doesn't make any motions when kibum moves towards the - neck latch? of the helmet - where it clicks into his get-up. when kibum fumbles with it, he gently moves his hands aside to do it himself, releasing the catches and lifting it up off his head in a smooth, practiced motion.

and, well. shit. kibum doesn't really have time to dwell on how gorgeous one of his assailants is, with sweet, expressive brown eyes. there's a discoloration to his cheeks, a yellow blush brought out by the vibrant tones of his clothes. his nose is thick, straight, and sharp cheekbones and jawline that together are really affecting his ability to make this whole thing believable. he clears his throat and meets those eyes with his own eyes wide, encouraging and asking for forgiveness as he moves to run his fingers through his hair.

his purple hair. it's one of the nicest dye jobs he's seen in a while, perfectly and naturally applied like it had grown out of his scalp like that. if his robber is from one of his competitors, coming in here and scaring the hell out of him, he's going to be monumentally pissed, but at that point he'll have to concede he's outskilled. it's not even fried out, it's almost inhumanely soft. perfect styling, too, framing his face - jesus, that face - like art.

he plays with it for a moment - a half-second - too long, but hides it with a murmur of consideration.

'excellent, i think this is about what you were expecting?' he turns the chair around to face the mirror and the man growls, like he's surprised, or scared, by the motion - like he's never been in a spinning chair? goddamn everyone loves these chairs, it's weird. but it tapers off when kibum steadies it at the stop, his black-painted fingernails resting at his shoulders.

(he can feel them shift slightly beneath his touch, and he's keyed up on panic, chalking his noting of that up to panic)

the man is just staring, silent now, at his reflection, and the asshole is still watching them. his (gorgeous, awkward) robber must have stage fright, so kibum smiles wide in the mirror, meeting his eyes. after a moment he follows the silent instruction, crinkling his eyes, breaking his face into an all new level to kibum's panic, with a wide, warm smile that feels like sunshine. he looks like sunshine, all in yellow, like a lavender flower blooming.

'great!' he says, chirpy in a way that sounds unbelievable to his own ears, but he's moving onto the other one, who is already moving to take his helmet off.

well, fuck, they're both good-looking. this one is a hell of lot less tolerant of kibum's performance, spinning himself around, moving away from his hands as he goes to check out his hair (black, surprisingly close to standard, especially in comparison). it's short in the nape of the neck and when he makes a motion to get up, kibum pinches, hard, giving himself a moment of surprise to push down, his hands full-weighted against his trapezius muscles.

at that point, he goes with the program; his smiling motion is a little quicker, but kibum has already picked his favorite and it's too little, too late, robber asshole.

'we can settle up after we're done, okay, guys? thanks again!' he hates his customer service voice - he doesn't even use this voice for real clients - but bank asshole seems like the type of guy who says 'the customer is always right' so he rubs it in extra sweet. he takes his time settling in, setting his shoulders down and back, lifting his chin high as he plays the part.

'these were just two of the clients we have booked today. actually - they were multi-day appointments, follow-up to ensure all their services were to their exact requests. performers, you know?' he knows he doesn't know. and he knows that bank asshole knows he doesn't know, that he has no idea what's trendy, or stylish, or experimental. helmets for protecting hair? why the fuck not. he'll sell that line all day long if he has to.

he doesn't have to. bank asshole is taking photos - without even asking! - and making notes on his phone. he made the case that he could make, and it was better to have someone here than not. even if they were a little difficult and a little criminal.

'well, thank you for your time,' bank asshole says suddenly. he moves to stand and shakes kibum's hand. when he turns, the two - instead of waiting in their chairs - are standing shoulder to shoulder, their helmets at their hips, expressionless, like a low-rent daft punk. he squares his shoulders like everything's normal here, and sees the asshole out with a cool nod.

as soon as he leaves -

he exhales, letting his shoulders and his head drop, releasing a moan to start, and then turning it into a yawn as the adrenaline starts to settle. the lack of sleep, the push to herd his brain into performative professionalism, on top of negotiating his own robbery.

oh. right. he's being robbed.

giving less than a fuck (but not zero fucks), he turns and resigns himself.

'thank you,' he says firstly, pointing it towards the one in yellow. 'ironically you probably saved my ass.'

the one in blue rumbles, like a whiny drunk, before it turns into a questioning 'ass?' the one in yellow turns to him, sharp, an obvious look of dismay on his face. he gestures, hurky, at his gun-phone - kibum tries to take a look at it, but suddenly takes several steps back as the one in yellow - not blue, it would have been easier if it were blue - raises it and aims it at him.

'whoa whoa, just - wait, i can get you - i can get you whatever money, i just have to go upstairs - ' and he squeezes his eyes shut as the one in yellow squeezes his hand, and it fires -

nothing happens. well, not nothing - there's some odd, light noise, like chimes, like the rounding noise of a balloon being blown up, and kibum dares to open its eyes and there are bubbles, iridescent in a way that doesn't quite look right, black and purple and green and red, stringing from one color to the next in a rhythm that's shifting, like it's looking for the perfect hue to settle on, shrinking and expanding out with little explorative tones that feel, inexplicably, like sticking your tongue out to taste the air, except with sound.

it doesn't look real, so jury's out if he's now suffering visual hallucinations, but he glances at the other two and finds the one in yellow is looking at him, with increasing levels of horror.

he opens his mouth and shrieks, incomprehensible syllables that make kibum want to cringe in on himself, but he's also still looking at him long enough to see his eyes shift, from the human brown to an alien orange.

alien.

spaceship.

he's not proud of it, but he passes out. at least in unconsciousness, he doesn't have to worry about dignity.

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

when he comes to, he's propped up in one of the salon chairs. across from him, taemin is sitting on the counter, playing with a pair of scissors. honestly, it's one of the most disconcerting things he can think of, and that's before the blue alien walks into view. taemin beams at him, and gets a smile in return, more tentative than earlier, more genuine.

'taemin,' he says, urgent and undecided about whether or not he needs to risk his life for his worst friend. 'what are you doing?'

'waiting for you to wake up. eating cereal.'

he doesn't have cereal. he ignores this discrepancy and slowly starts to get up. the one in blue doesn't stop him from steering taemin away so they can have this conversation slightly more privately. he still doesn't know where the one in yellow is.

'this is going to sound crazy. but these guys - they're not human - i don't think so, anyway.'

taemin puts his finger on his lips to shush him - to actually shush him, like he's a child and not the most rational, most human individual in the building.

'i know. they showed me their ship outside. it's pretty cool, actually.'

he turns to retrieve a box of cereal from behind the nearest mirror. this would explain kibum's ant problem. his arm goes elbow-deep as he takes a handful and starts eating it dry, talking around it.

'their names are jinki and minho. minho's the one in blue. jinki's out back trying to fix the ship. they crashed.'

'you talked to them.'

'no, they're telepathic. just - beamed it. right into my head,' taemin says, his eyes sparkling with mockery. 'yeah of course. i even introduced you too.'

'kibum,' says a new voice behind him. taemin keeps munching his cereal. kibum turns.

jinki looks infinitely more composed from earlier, which is impressive considering he looks like he's been actively rooting around in an engine, dark smears across his forehead, his gloves covered in something undeniably gooey. unfortunately nothing has really changed the actual look of him, and kibum - who will need therapy - chokes around his first 'hi' like an idiot.

the second one comes out a little smoother. it's hard to hear himself over taemin's chewing.

'kibum,' jinki says again.

'what?' he asks.

'that's all we've managed so far,' taemin says from behind him. when kibum turns to look, he shrugs and puts the box down, licking his fingers clean. 'but it's impressive, right? i'm probably going to be in history books.'

'lucky us,' he hisses. 'you don't even know they're peaceful.'

'um, you've been passed out for at least 30 minutes. and they left you alone and put you in that chair. i was up for leaving you on the floor. they're better than me.'

'low. fucking. bar.'

minho has moved to their side, looking between them like he's unsure whether to intervene or not. kibum turns away in a huff. so now he gets to handle aliens. he can't just leave them to taemin.

with a start, he realizes how much brighter it is outside, and, checking his phone, realizes he's near to the opening hours. he can't afford to leave the little he has, to take up recreational alien-babysitting. he also has, like, an obligation as a member of the human race to not have their ambassador be taemin.

he takes what he thinks is a discreet glance at the other three, and finds jinki looking back at him, patiently waiting. he flashes a nervous smile and looks back down to his phone.

ok.

plan.

small kernel of a plan. jinki is working on their ship. he can keep an eye on him from the salon, with the back door popped open. and he'd rather keep both aliens handy, but if he has them both down here, then taemin will undoubtedly lurk around too. so.

'go back upstairs,' he orders the pair of them. minho doesn't understand him, but he jabs his finger up to communicate the general spirit of it. taemin shrugs, but grabs minho's hand all the same.

his human-looking hand. he must have taken off his gloves at some point, which means that jinki's hands are probably similar.

it's traitorous or selfish or maybe just horny if he wonders what the chances are of the rest of their bodies being human like.

anyway.

jinki turns to follow them, but kibum reaches out to grab him by the sleeve. jinki looks at him, confused, and then takes his own gloves off - and, yes, they are human-like too. he clips them to his belt and grabs for kibum's hand, his grip still as light as earlier. outside of the glove, his hand feels terribly small and delicate, easy to dwarf in kibum's.

'your ship,' he starts, then falters. taemin has already disappeared up the stairs. he starts moving back towards the alley, prattling about taemin's ability to preoccupy people, for lack of anything else; jinki keeps pace beside him, his eyes kept trained on kibum's face, dipping down to watch his lips move. kibum tries valiantly to ignore what that does to him.

he pushes out into the alley, where the ship is opened up, a couple pigeons perched on its antennae.

'you can work on it,' he says, semi-helplessly gesturing towards the ship with their still-joined hands. 'and i'll be inside - ' he puts his free hand to his chest and then nods his head towards the path they just took. ' - if you need anything.' he lets go of jinki's hand and tries to reiterate with slightly more smooth motions.

jinki seems to get the gist of it, at first, but he grabs kibum's hand again and brings it up between them. bizarrely, kibum thinks he's about to kiss the back of it, he just has a gentle, warm look in his eyes that doesn't belong at all - but he doesn't. instead he meticulously opens his fingers, one by one, and then puts his gun-phone against his palm, and wraps his hand around to close it again. he maneuvers kibum's fingers into a series of motions, clicking a switch here, and there, until one of the screens lights up, with a series of lines running seamlessly from left to right.

jinki meets his eyes seriously and brings the device to his mouth. he speaks, clear and decisive: 'jinki'.

then, he moves it back to kibum and nods encouragingly.

'um, okay,' he says. he leans in, and clears his throat. 'kibum.'

jinki nods again and releases his hold. he clutches his hands together in mimicry of kibum's own posture, and mouths silently.

'you want me to talk into this,' he holds it closer to his mouth again, and, in doing so, notices the lines from earlier spiking with each syllable. oh. okay. translation device. or recording device. or... communicator? either way, it's not like it can do any harm. probably, anyway. his life is suddenly full of probabilities, when he had felt dead set on the certainty of failure.

'okay,' he says, deliberately slow, into the device, and is granted with a wide, happy smile from jinki.

he starts backing away from jinki, out of his own preservation instincts and the need to get the salon opened on time. he keeps his eye on the alien, on the off chance he has misunderstood, but jinki is also turning away, casting one last glance back at kibum, and nodding encouragingly when kibum clicks the button and says 'goodbye' into it. if it sounds a little sappy, well, there's no one here to call him out on it.

when he steps back into the building, he takes a few deep breaths and buoys himself up to start the day. everything else before this moment won't count for a good 10 hours.

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

he can't hold it the entire time, it's just not possible. but he does keep it on whenever he has one hand free, from greeting customers and employees as they arrive to clock in. he puts it aside when he's intent on a cut, or a wash, conscious at all times of when he's left it alone, peeking more often down the back way. occasionally he catches a glimpse of yellow, and once he saw jinki staring upwards towards the sky, lost in thought.

it twangs something in his chest, that he has to push aside.

he manages to get through the majority of his day like this, when his stomach suddenly and angrily growls. one of his stylists is nearby, and quirks an eyebrow at him.

'don't even start,' he says, and she sticks her tongue out, making him laugh. why not, he has to take a break at some time. he'll run upstairs and make sure minho and taemin are fine, and drag jinki along with him, and make sure he has something to eat to.

the question of what aliens eat is a good one, and kibum doesn't know, but he can at least ask. they're aliens, they can probably figure out if something will kill them.

'jinki,' he calls as he heads outside. there's a great clatter from the spaceship and jinki pops up, his lips parted and he lets out a pleased bark. kibum, fighting his own smile, motions for him to come down and simultaneously says 'let's eat some lunch, okay?' into the device.

'okay,' jinki repeats amiably, and kibum is positive he doesn't know what he's saying, but he isn't about to object to his sweet agreeability. especially considering they're going upstairs.

he waits semi-patiently for jinki to come down and then sneaks them both inside after looking, shooing jinki up the stairs.

'taemin, minho, have you guys eaten anything yet?' kibum calls out as he turns the key - there's no click, taemin didn't even bother locking - and enters. he waves jinki inside and takes a quick scan to make sure everything is in order. it looks like there's plates in the sink, the TV is loud from around the wall, but neither taemin or minho are anywhere to be seen. but, if they ate, then that speaks positively towards jinki being able to eat something. he clicks the button and starts talking.

'i'm going to give you some water. food...normally i'd just run out to GS25 and grab something, but i should have some packets here...taemin! what did you eat, i'm trying to feed for four here....' he trails off as he realizes he hasn't heard much of anything since coming in except the TV. he abruptly turns and jinki senses the sudden change in his mood, setting his shoulders back and walking with more caution into the underlit apartment.

it's a small place, with a hole of a bedroom and a bathroom split off from the hybrid kitchen/sitting area. there's only so many places for people to lurk. kibum throws open the door to the bedroom, half-expected taemin to have taken over his bed, and minho resigned to the small desk in the corner, his helmet a pillow. but no such find waits for him there. which means they've either left, and they're altogether fucked, or -

jinki, following kibum's example, apparently is already turning the handle on the bathroom, and when he opens it he jumps back with a noise kibum can't even properly describe - it's like a gasp, gurgled through a mixer of soju and rock salt. when kibum takes the three steps necessary to arrive at his vantage point, minho is turned away, shoulders hunched in, his right arm in an all-too-human motion, and taemin is wiping his mouth and looking exceedingly - exceedingly - unapologetic.

'tell me you did not just suck an extraterrestrial dick, taemin, jesus!'

jinki makes some more noises that kibum trusts has the same energy.

kibum has always known about taemin's hobgoblin-esque exploratory promiscuity. he only asks that his friend be safe, perfectly unbothered that his metaphorical line in the sand is the human race.

he, understandably, never expected to have that sanguine understanding stress-tested.

while he's been busy engaging in a one-sided staring contest, jinki has pulled minho out into the hallway, and is having a furious conversation that sounds halfway between static and muzak. kibum has to consciously tune them out, has to do something to communicate that this cannot happen again, and also - how the fuck did this happen?

'how the fuck did this happen?' he yells. 'i left you alone for a morning, and you put him in your mouth? you don't know where he's been!'

'space,' taemin says. 'and this apartment.'

'you don't even speak the same language, you - you asshole - how can you even call that consensual?'

'hey,' taemin looks genuinely offended. 'i gave him some porn first and showed him how to turn it off and turn it back on. he found a blowjob one and had a boner. i asked and made sure he was good with it. c'mon, hyung, i'm not that guy.'

'fine. you are still the guy who just sucked a dick without having any idea of what it could look like, or what - what it was like when he came - or if the - if it was okay for you to swallow.'

'i didn't swallow,' taemin looks incredibly pleased with himself for his foresight, and holds his hands up in the universal sign for obviously. 'it's fine.'

'it is no way fine,' kibum hisses. 'you are such a dumbass.'

as he lets out the invective he turns and faces the other pair, who have stopped their own discussion and are now looking at him with expressions of apology and confusion - jinki - and...resolve? consternation? whatever. minho doesn't look nearly apologetic enough for kibum's mood.

'you're a dumbass too,' he hisses, stabbing a finger at minho.

'dumbass?' he parrots tentatively, pointing at himself, and then taemin. kibum rubs his temples.

'yes, exactly. both of you. glad we're all on the same page.'

'dumbass?' jinki asks, quieter, and pointing at himself.

'....no,' kibum responds, shaking his head. he can't even be bothered to try to explain, he just heads back to the kitchen. 'c'mon let's eat something. taemin, you are gargling and brushing your teeth first.'

'ok, but that means i have to use your toothbrush.'

the only respite kibum can take is that jinki helps him as best he can in the kitchen, monitoring the water he sets to boil and handing out the chopsticks when the convenience store ramyeon is done cooking.

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

he doesn't have much of a choice except to leave minho and taemin again. jinki seems much more opposed to it, pausing in at the bottom of the stairwell. he gestures towards kibum's pocket, where the edge of his device is poking out. at the motion, kibum pulls it out.

'sorry, i forgot to use it upstairs. don't think you'd want to remember much of it, to be honest.'

jinki shakes his head, and silently holds his hand out. kibum passes it over, watching as he holds it up to the side of his head, and presses a smaller button. the device says 'jinki', then 'kibum', and the rest of all the little pieces of conversation kibum has had throughout the day, speeding up until it's completely unintelligible, spitting noise into jinki's waiting ear. when it finishes, jinki nods, a small smile.

'thank you,' he says, clearly, carefully watching kibum's face.

'oh,' he replies faintly. 'you're learning? that helps you speak?'

jinki narrows his eyes in effort, and kibum realizes it's limited just to what has been recorded. has he talked about learning today, with the elderly mrs. park, or the chatty server from down the street? probably not. 'thank you' is thrown around so much in customer service, no wonder it's the first thing he picked up.

'you're welcome,' he says back, and jinki's smile is a quickly blooming thing that smacks kibum right across the face. he takes a step closer and presses it back into kibum's hand.

'use it more,' he asks softly. 'please.'

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

it's stupid, but he does. he memorizes the feel of pressing it just enough so it activates, and what it's like when his finger slips. he finds a little clip and fashions an attachment to his apron, so it's sitting on his collarbone. when there's an odd question about it, he says he's taking better notes of his day for record-keeping, and that seems to work well enough, though one or two stylists keep giving him odd looks. he doesn't acknowledge them.

at the back of his mind, he knows he's doing this for more than just improved communication, that he likes the way jinki smiles at him, the cadence of his voice when he says his name - the proud look in his eyes when they managed to exchange just a few words. he likes his steady, reserved presence. he has a sweet temperament that smooths down kibum's rough edges, just by being.

it's a crush. kibum brooks no self-deception. it hasn't been a week since he's broken up with his last boyfriend, and jinki is an alien, an actual alien, preparing to leave the planet, that he's known for all of nine hours. and he has a crush on him.

maybe when they lift off, he'll get burned up in the rocket fumes. frankly it's the only satisfiable outcome kibum can see from this.

he has one last appointment for the day, an older lady of the neighborhood who likes to talk, even when kibum doesn't. for once, this anticipated division doesn't bother him much, because it can be put to good use. he makes sure the button is pressed down and secure and leads mrs. choi to the chair, nodding along as she starts laying out her day, her impending anniversary, her entrenched drama with the other salon down the street (the cause for her patronage of kibum's location). it's all much formless noise to him, to be certain. luckily for him she doesn't need a partner to have a conversation, and he's lost in the focus of trimming when there's an unmistakable 'kibum?' from his right.

both he and mrs. choi turn to find jinki standing there, lavender hair a stringy mess, coated through with goop. kibum almost swears in dismay, stopping himself only in the nick of time. he looks down at mrs. choi and, before he can say anything, she swats up at him like they're friends. important to note that they are not friends, but kibum needs the money, and also needs jinki to stay undiscovered.

'jinki,' he says cautiously. 'what's wrong?'

visibly uncertain on how to proceed, jinki raises his shoulders, and lets them drop.

'it's a mess,' he says, and, yes, kibum did call a few things a mess today. 'i need to clean up. upstairs. okay?'

'oh honey,' mrs. choi says, feigning an unwarranted level of camaraderie. 'you really do. are you kibum's boyfriend?'

'friend,' kibum hastily corrects. he doesn't need to get himself into a fake-boyfriend scenario for further emotional torture. he looks square at jinki and nods. 'okay. take my key and go upstairs. wash.'

jinki nods, and kibum is grateful, glad that he managed to phrase it in a way he could understand. he excuses himself to go to the desk and pulls out the key ring, wiggling out his apartment key. jinki saw him use his key earlier, right? he should be able to figure it out. he takes a moment to send a text to taemin too to warn him.

'thank you,' jinki says again, and kibum dips his head back, oddly formal, and familiarly warm with pleasure when jinki turns with a small smile.

mrs. choi should go back to her old stylist, he'll lose her business gladly, because she greets him with a loud 'how handsome your friend is! you must be close, to let him use your shower.'

she says the last part with a relish to her voice, and god, kibum could kill her so easily. he laughs, hollowly, and she continues on.

'he's very polite too. have you known him long?'

'no.'

'mmmm, well. if you don't mind me saying, you shouldn't let him get away. and he seems to like you too!'

'well it doesn't matter who we like. can't really help that he's leaving town soon,' he says tightly.

she lets out a hiss of disappointment. he could give her a terrible asymmetrical cut in return.

'well, that's too bad. he seems to like you well enough, and well enough could be, well, enough to get him to stay!' she laughs gaily.

'ha ha,' he says.

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

'hey, it's me,' he calls through the door. knocking on his own door is just the way to end this day, tired and more emotional than he ever cares to disclose. 'let me in already.'

he hopes taemin hasn't gotten so far as to fuck minho. or let minho fuck him. or let minho suck his dick. if there's any chance they're incompatible, then spitting could hardly have been the apex of protection. taemin could be rotting from the mouth in, or minho from the dick out.

a small, tiny part of him thinks they'd deserve it. a larger part says if that happened, his crush on jinki would have the shit topper of misfortune it deserves. just to round it out perfectly.

he knows jinki must still be up there - because he checked out back before locking up, and the ship was half-dissembled, with jinki nowhere to be seen even when kibum called out - but he did not expect it to be jinki opening the door. he also did not expect jinki to be wearing some of his clothes, an oversized sweatshirt that makes him look like a college student.

'hi kibum,' he says, and he beams when he says, 'welcome back.'

it's so cute, is the thing, so exceedingly domestic and homely that kibum may not survive its cruelty, knowing it won't last.

'i washed,' he continues as kibum sets down his things blindly. 'taemin gave me clothes.'

'good,' he croaks. he fishes out the device before he can forget, hands it over to jinki's obvious pleasure. he holds it up to his ear, and kibum just watches his face, his eyes closed, as he learns. it's not fair, is it? life's not fair, is what they always say, but they're talking about things like losing your job, being left behind by the people you thought were you friends. not being teased with happiness, with love, and having it literally leave for the stars.

well, maybe there's an astronaut or something who can relate. whatever. kibum isn't about to argue technicalities with his own feelings.

'where's taemin and minho?' he asks, instead, when jinki has finished and is setting the device back down in the table. kibum presses the button before he asks, leaning back against the couch. he might as well keep giving his words, it's all he can do.

'they went out,' jinki says. 'for food.'

'okay,' kibum says. he's tired, but jinki looks like he's on the precipice of a question, and kibum knows he's going to have to say goodbye, so he doesn't wave it off.

'earlier,' he starts. 'taemin and minho. what are they doing?'

trust him to ask the hard question.

'sex,' he says. he hasn't said it at all today, it's not something you talk about with your customers. he's open, but he's not that open. he casts his mind back to some of the idle chatter from the afternoon. 'they kissed. taemin was making him happy.'

'oh,' jinki says. he sounds unfinished. he brings his fingers to his lips, and asks in confirmation. 'kissed?'

kibum nods.

'okay,' jinki says, then repeats it to himself. 'kibum?'

'yes?'

'does kissing make you happy?'

he snorts.

'sometimes.'

jinki tilts his head, his brows gone quizzical. there isn't enough vocabulary between them to explain it, but something in his eyes feels compassionate, and - kibum is just sunk. there's no way he's getting out of this without some damage.

'you're good,' he says, plain and honest. kibum flushes and turns away, but jinki continues speaking. 'you're good to us and to others. you should be happy.'

'i want to be,' kibum confesses to his hands. 'i want to be happy.'

jinki moves to his side, the couch arm between them.

'"sometimes"', he says back to him. he touches his lips, and then reaches out, stopping short of touching kibum, but pointing towards him all the same. 'tonight?'

kibum looks at him, and considers a thousand things that don't matter, because he's already saying 'yes', already watching jinki go down on one knee, then the other, folds his arms across the couch until his hands are resting on kibum's upper arms. he smells like his soap, but in this light his brown eyes spark orange once more, and there's a buzzing beneath his touch that hasn't been there before, and then he can see every star in his eyes, can see countless worlds in every freckle, and he surrenders at the first brush of jinki's lips against his.

it's only a momentary touch, but it lives past its occurrence. isn't that a thing? like the light shining down well after the sun had exploded, kibum can still feel his lips after he moves away.

jinki asks.

'are you happy?'

the light is blinking out.

kibum shakes his head, manages to smile a little.

'not tonight.'

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

he closes the salon the next morning, contacting the few appointments by phone call to make sure they get the notice. minho and taemin both slept on the couch overnight, wrapped up in each other, while jinki slept on the floor. the blanket kibum had lent him wrapped tightly around his form. it turned out his bathroom was hosting their suits, the helmets on the floor of the shower, so kibum just washed up the best he could with the sink, brushing his teeth with his finger on the recollection of taemin's earlier use.

apparently minho had also lent his device to taemin for a similar purpose, so the morning was filled with a lot more korean than he was used to, most of it full of minho's innocently profane conversations.

'you had to corrupt him,' he had wearily warned taemin after minho had given an enthusiastic definition of a rimjob to jinki.

'it was educational,' taemin retorted, and in a way, it was. it was certainly more straightforward than anything kibum had given jinki. but still, jinki had cast him his own looks, alternating between amusement and confusion. kibum shrugged helplessly and tapped their shared device reassuringly.

for now, it was much of the same as yesterday, minho and taemin keeping each other company while jinki worked on the ship. kibum was stewing over his business, trying to think past today, or tomorrow, to the return to his regular life.

it was much easier when jinki wasn't calling him out, excitement laced through his voice.

'kibum! come here!'

he gets up and heads out to the back. the ship looks great, with jinki perched atop the cockpit, half his body hidden inside.

'good news?' he asks, careful to have the button clicked.

'yes! very good!' he yells joyfully back. 'come here!'

'how?' he asks, because he doesn't feel like possibly cracking his back from falling onto the pavement. jinki laughs, the slightly alien rhythm of it, and extracts himself, climbing down with no problem at all. when he meets kibum, he turns to present his back and leans forward slightly.

'get on,' he says.

'it's called a piggyback ride,' kibum says uncertainly. he reaches out to touch the broad expanse of his back, before retracting. 'are you sure?'

'yes!' jinki says.

well, when it's said like that, kibum does his best, hopping awkwardly up and wrapping his legs around his hips. jinki grabs at his ankles and starts up, so that kibum is sitting further up on his back. he still smells like kibum's soap, even back as he is in his suit, and it's making the whole experience that much more surreal as jinki clambers easily back up to where he was.

'um, jinki, it's a little small,' because the entry is. looking into it, he's not sure how jinki expects both of them to fit, when he must have just had enough room to squeeze his lower half into the porthole-sized space. jinki shakes his head.

'it's not small,' he explains, without explaining. 'watch.'

he starts squeezing himself in, getting to his earlier position of being cut off at the waist. when he moves to slide down further, his upper half disappears in a blink, leaving the gap empty.

'what the fuck - jinki!' he yells, looking down and also watching his own step, now paranoid about being transported god knows where.

'it's okay!' comes his voice from - inside? kibum peers closer and can't see him at all. anxiously, he dips one toe into the space, but nothing happens. as though entering a cold pool, he starts to clamber in, toe, foot, knee, then the other. all of the sudden he can feel a grip around his ankle and shrieks in fear, starting to kick out before jinki's voice calls out again.

'it's me, i'm here.'

'okay,' he says, chanting it to himself, once, twice - on the third time he bends his knees to go lower, and just as the metal siding brushes his belly button he can feel something wrap around him, like a squeezing flash of warmth, and then he really is being squeezed, by jinki's solid arms, the alien smiling at him reassuredly.

'not small,' he says, and releases him so kibum can see he's now inside a spaceship a good three times bigger than it was on the outside.

'yep. you're right,' he concedes. 'not small.'

'i want to show you something,' jinki says, and he takes him to the front. out of the window he can see the entry into his salon, and beneath it is an expanse of controls. on the far left, there's a screen with another alien, his helmet off, pink hair almost cartoonishly bright.

'jonghyun,' jinki says, with clear affection in his voice. 'kibum.'

'hi,' kibum says, waving. jonghyun waves back, but doesn't speak, clearly turning to look at jinki to translate.

he's gotten so used to jinki talking in korean that it's disorienting to hear him let out those indiscernible noises again, and to hear jonghyun respond back in kind, but he doesn't want to interrupt the clearly happy reunion. jinki is smiling wide, and jonghyun's a bit softer, but obviously genuine.

they're talking about his coming home. kibum wraps his arms around his torso and waits, because what else can he do? this was an accident, after all, and accidents get fixed.

they are talking for a while, it seems, their tones shifting into something more serious - as best kibum can tell - so he takes a step back and begins looking around. the ship is bigger than outside, but clearly was only ever meant for two - two seats, two beds towards the back. there has to be some food for their journeys, kept somewhere, or maybe they were fed nutrients, like in the matrix, until it was time to wake up. it's a big universe, and jinki is meant to be somewhere else in it. not here. not with kibum.

'done,' jinki says, cutting through kibum's thoughts. when he turns back, jinki is looking at him, so he comes forward. from the screen, jonghyun looks pleased to have jinki (and minho, but - you know - fuck him, he goes in the same bucket as taemin) coming back soon.

'done?' he asks and jinki nods, pleasure evident on his face. he performs a complex little signal with his hands that jonghyun reciprocates, and then reaches out to turn it off.

'can we go outside?' kibum asks, because he doesn't think he can stand to be in this ship anymore, with its two seats, two beds, and engine ready to leave. he moves aimlessly back towards where jinki caught him, and jinki lets out that alien laugh, richer for having talked to jonghyun, high off of his happiness.

'there,' he guides kibum to one of the circles decorating the floor, hand gently clutching at his elbow. 'wait.'

that bright, warm flash and kibum is on top of the ship, with taemin and minho looking up at him from the blacktop. before he can make an excuse for his expression - because he can feel it - he can feel the pressure of tears at the corner of his eyes, jinki appears as well. he turns and leans forward again, inviting kibum to ride his back once more, and kibum - he's not proud of this at all - he clutches jinki in a hug from behind, before jumping up into the piggyback.

they climb down together, kibum burying his face in jinki's neck. he's sure he can feel a snotty tear or two, and wipes it across his yellow suit before sliding off.

'ready?' minho asks, anticipation evident in his voice.

'ready,' jinki says. in unison they make that hand signal jinki just shared with jonghyun, and kibum clears his throat.

'thanks for - thanks for crashing into our planet,' he offers, with a respectable command of his voice.

'it was our pleasure,' jinki says.

'literally,' taemin interrupts, elbowing at minho, and the taller alien blushes with a greenish tint. he steps forward to be side by side with jinki, and they each bow forward to taemin and kibum, from their waist, in perfect form.

then, jinki turns to minho:

'i've spoken to jonghyun about the return, and he is prepared,' and he turns to taemin, who - kibum is now noticing - has a bag over his shoulder. 'i have marked all foods that can be eaten. do not stare at the stars too long; you will burn your eyes out.'

'what,' says kibum.

'i brought sunglasses,' taemin argues.

'that's not enough,' minho says, and jinki is handing him his helmet, and minho is moving to place it over taemin's head, and jinki is taking off his suit, revealing one of kibum's old t-shirts, and some sweatpants, and -

'what,' says kibum.

'i want to stay,' jinki says. as he steps out of his suit, he stumbles, and minho catches him with long practice. he moves forward and kibum instinctively turns away from minho and taemin's gazes, trying to find some privacy, to find some equilibrium, because jinki is talking like -

'i like you,' he says.

'you don't know what that means,' kibum says, but jinki smiles.

'yes, i do,' he says, gentle, always gentle. 'i'm not leaving town.'

mrs. choi, and kibum's fingers on the button, keeping it on. jinki pressing the device against his ear, listening carefully and telling kibum he should be happy.

'it's not fair to you,' kibum says again, because he is selfish, he has always wanted more for himself, and in his experience what he wants, doesn't agree to be had. 'your planet - '

'my planet doesn't have you.'

jinki closes his hands over his.

'kibum,' he says. 'will kissing make you happy today?'

'yes,' he whispers, and jinki smiles. there are stars in his eyes.

the space between them closes, their lips pressed together, the world is shaking, rumbling like it never has before and jinki is holding him close as the ship lifts off, taemin pressed against the window like a bug. behind him, minho waves, the light bouncing off his helmet.

jinki is pressing another kiss to kibum's hair as he watches the ship become smaller and smaller, until it's little more than another dot of white among the clouds.

and kibum -

he's happy.

#salt writes #shinee fic #onew x key #minho x taemin #onkey fic #2min fic #onkey #2min

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prettynxsty · 4 years

Text

Scented Wood

My first ever fic, femdom!reader x sub!Chan

contains: angst, swearing, futa/girlcock, size kink, choking, smoking, toxicity, dark themes, mentions of killing, smut, y/n is straight up a serial killer, okay?

Summary: You’re a notorious serial killer, but you only kill to keep the balance. Your purpose is to rid the world of it’s garbage, but by day you’re simply a forensic crime scene specialist. You tangled yourself in a serious mess by giving into your selfish desires, indulging in hearts instead of stains on society.

AN: I tried to give a new spin on a unique writing style and write something that gives a fresh feeling.

1 2 3 4

Chan enters the station, his breath coming in shallow puffs. It felt like ice out there, it'd never snow in LA no matter how nippy it was outside. He peels the gloves from his hands and tucks them under his arm while scrubbing together his cold fingers. The station was quieter at these hours, the normal hum of noise was quieter.

He nods to a comrade at the front desk as he heads down the hallway, he was still cold, if not colder. But there was a warmth that he remembered, one that tickled him inside and out. Chan slowed to a stop beside Y/n’s office, doubting himself for a second before tapping his knuckle against the wood. He shrugs his jacket down to his shoulders, reaching up and gently scratching at the base of his neck under his uniform top.

You nearly jumped out of your skin upon hearing the knock, the wheels of your chair inching you away from your desk. Peering through the frosted windows, you see the familiar frame of Chan. You relaxed gently, but still felt a bit jumpy. You had every reason to be nowadays - after all you’ve done, it's hard to just go back and calm yourself. You’re now paranoid, spastic, loud... but that doesn't matter.

You saved and exited the document you were working on, then stood up to your full height, putting your hands in your pockets... wincing as the bruised and cut knuckles rubbed against the fabric of your pockets. This was what had to happen - for the good of LA, you just wished that you would have been smarter than to get into a fight with them first. You'll be quicker on the next kill, cleaner. Quieter. But now, you had better things to look forward to. "Come in, Chan," your voice echoed through your office, dominant, deep, assured, enough to chill the room even more.

Chan exhales, his entire frame relaxing as he pushes down the door handle and enters the room. The chill in his skin begins to fade away as his eyes run over the silhouette of the taller form. He swallows quietly, rubbing his lips together and licking them idly as he lifts his eyes to meet yours.

"Hey," he breathes, "you busy?" Lifting a hand, he removes his black cap and combs his fingers through his brown locks to fix them. He hadn't ever outright asked you for what he wanted, he could only ever remember simply taking it, or having it given to him without any word.

You could read the body language of the man as simple as you could a children's book - Chan wanted something. Something he didn't want to say out loud, obviously - his cheeks were a supple shade of red, but that could always be the temperature. You always preferred the cold, so your house is always a steady 65. But Chan was warm-blooded, you could tell that by... everything about him.

You watch his hair as it smoothed out between his fingers, and you could almost feel the silkiness on your own fingertips. Your hands twitched in response. You swallowed the lump in your throat, lifting your chin slightly, eyeing your friend. "Not usually," you lied. "I always have time for you. What do you need?"

"Just wanted to catch up," the corners of his lips twitch up in a lopsided smile. His lids flutter shut as he stretches his back, moaning quietly. His collar shifts, practically putting his pretty tanned skin on display. His neck was fresh, free of markings of any kind.

Chan tucks his gloves into his pocket, shrugging off his leather jacket and spotting the second chair beside your desk. He helped himself to the seat without asking, quietly fishing out his peppermint chapstick. For an officer of the law, he was acting awfully shy at this very moment. He quickly looks away from you as he glides the balm over his dry lips. "Uh, how have you been?"

You kept an eye on Chan's every movement, every twitch, but stayed completely still yourself. You watched the shine of his lips as he rubbed them together, you would swear you even saw the pink of his tongue slip out for a moment. You suddenly felt slightly flustered, but buried it quickly with your other thoughts.

Catch up? What did that mean? You ran through the locations of your crimes in your head, and as far as you knew, you left nothing but the little folded paper on the victim - some wife beater from Glendale, which you enjoyed killing very much so, even took one of his teeth as a trophy, which was sitting in a jar on your bedside table at home.

So Chan had to be here as... just a friend. Easing up a bit, you pushed your kind persona to the forefront, offering a smile to Chan. "Good as I can be, with all this rain we've been getting," you laughed slightly, making your way around the desk to stand by Chan. "How have you been? Working the old 9-5?" You leaned against your desk, hands still in your pockets as you looked down to Chan, catching the honey of his brown eyes in the light.

The inkling of desire swimming in his blood began to grow and spread like poison. He just couldn't get enough of you, there was just something about your presence. Your imposing height, the mystery of your character, you were more beautiful than you'd ever realize. The quirk in your charm always made his heart flutter for some reason. In a room full of people, his eyes went to you first and foremost, but why?

He rests his jacket on the back of the chair as he leans back against it, nodding actively as the other man spoke. The chill that was within him was replaced with a fire, a fire that wouldn't be quenched without his desire being fulfilled one way or another.

"Ah yeah, nothing big lately since they have me on patrol until something happens."

He couldn't help but sneak a few glances at your lips before forcing himself to hold your gaze.

"Got any breakthroughs?"

You thought carefully of what to say next; you’re far too good of a forensic scientist to have nothing by this point, so saying no would seem suspicious, but you could lead them in the wrong direction. You reached behind your desk, grabbing a pen and a notepad, scribbling down some info to give to Chan.

"The footprints at uh... the first scene were partial, but my guess would be they're a men's size 8, so you're probably looking for a guy of average height - 5'8 maybe. The killings are brutal, but I don't have to tell you that. They're probably done by someone of great strength."

Or great stealth. You almost laughed at the thought, before glancing up just in time to see Chan’s eyes on your lips. Oh. So that's what he wants. You cocked your head up again, what a pleasant surprise. Maybe you two could have a little fun together.

"See something you like, officer?"

Chan hummed, nodding as he shifted in his chair to sit up straight, scanning the notes given to him. His lips tingle slightly with the sweet cooling notes of peppermint and menthol in his chapstick, he softly smacks his lips together as he thought for a moment.

Was this a good idea? Chan felt like he was more than likely pushing his luck. Your teasing remark pulls him from the disappointing thoughts, bringing him back to reality. You were probably just joking with him, better not push it.

"Maybe I do," he laughs as he stands up from the chair and stretches.

"I won't keep you too long, Y/l/n. You probably put off some work to talk to me." Chan got ready to turn back and grab his coat, playfully nudging his friend's shoulder.

Your smirk turns into a full blown cocky smile now. There was something nice about the way Chan referred to you, like you were his superior. It warmed you from your thighs to your stomach, and made your heartbeat pick up ever so slightly. Noticing Chan about to leave, you quickly grabbed his arm before it reached his coat.

"Why leave so soon? You just got here," you breathed softly, though your grip was no doubt tight; your thumb grazed right underneath the sleeve of his shirt, right along the little blue vein of his wrist. You licked your lips, stepping closer to him.

"Stay a little longer. We can... go over the case." You didn't want to seem too forward.

Your voice sent chills down his spine, his face grew hotter. He couldn't believe what was happening right now, you wanted him like that? He swallows dryly as his arm was grabbed, it wasn't really harsh per se, but it completely took his breath away. Chan’s mouth fell slightly ajar as he allowed himself to be pulled back into the space of the taller.

The normal beating of his heart gains a nervous and excited flutter as he stands before the other, gazing up into your eyes. They smolder with something deep, hot, something that could burn him, but the warmth was good. "Uh, yeah." He babbles blankly, nervously nibbling at his lower lip.

You watched his lips carefully, watching them quiver ever so slightly. You knew Chan was thinking exactly what you were. You met his eyes, leaning down closer to him, looking for any sign of distress or disagreement. When you found nothing, you moved in quicker, catching his lips quickly. Your own lips tingle at the contact, the taste of peppermint flooding your senses as your other hand shoots to Chan's collar, pulling him in even closer by the neck.

Chan felt his lids fall shut automatically as you leaned in to kiss him, he waited eagerly to receive it. Suddenly he felt a hand on his collar tugging him forward and he moans in shock. This was exactly what he wanted, what he needed. Some roughing up, and he was more than ready to get it. He leans into your touch, grabbing your shoulders as he moves his lips against your own. It felt so good to just let someone else take the lead and take what they wanted, giving him what he craved.

You were a bit taken aback by the moan, but quickly picked up on what to do. You took Chan’s bottom lip between your teeth, biting just hard enough to see how he'd react, but not enough to draw blood. You adored this; having someone squirming under you. Usually it was some high-priced hooker, or someone dumb enough to fuck you in the bathroom, but lately you haven't had much luck - so you were more than desperate, and Chan was the perfect target.

As your pants grew tighter, you kicked Chan’s chair aside to make more space. It bounced off the wall and clattered to the floor. Breathing heavily, you switched position to pin Chan to your desk. You completely lost any inhibition that told you this was probably a bad idea, and instead completely lost yourself in the slim, muscled man underneath you.

Chan jumped as your teeth scraped across his lower lip before sinking in. He took a sharp breath in, exhaling with a deep sigh. The flame inside of you was licking his skin, heating him up in the best of ways. His head spun as blood rushed to his nethers, aching to be filled and used.

Chan barely heard the noise of the chair until it fell onto the floor, opening the space around you. His dick jumps when you pin him back against the pine desk. He was drunk from the smell of earthy cologne and the rough touch, his mind was empty save for one woman, you.

You smiled into the kiss before parting your lips, "You like it rough, huh, detective?" You chuckled, keeping one hand tight on his collar. You move your other hand to lift his chin, dragging your fingertips down the column of his throat before digging your thumb into the base of his neck. Just enough to apply pressure.

You wanted to be rougher - wanted to make the man whimper and beg - but you still needed to toe the line, if you crossed a boundary, you could get fired. You pressed your hips into his, looking down on Chan’s supple lips, his half-lidded eyes, taking in the fact that you could do anything you wanted to him in that moment.

"Tell me what you want, then."

Chan felt his cheeks prickle with heat of shame, to admit something like this out loud, he could never. He opens his eyes, his pupils blown wide with pleasure as you lift his chin. He couldn't contain the shaking moan that came from his lips as his throat was squeezed. Feeling you press completely up against him felt good, felt so right to him. His lips were only slightly swollen from their lip lock, a renewed tingling from where he was bitten. Chan almost couldn't process the demand he was given, babbling the first words that came to mind.

"Fuck me," he breathes quietly, leaning further into your touch.

You smirked once more, leaning in to kiss the last bit of peppermint off his wet lips, before pushing him roughly against the desk. You took a step back, goosebumps raising on your skin from the cold air. "Take off your clothes," you commanded, before looking down and beginning to work on your belt.

You were going to fuck him until you couldn't fuck him anymore, maybe if he was good you'd even let him cum too. When you finally got off your belt, you kept it in your hand, walking to the office door and locking it. Couldn't take any risks, you thought, as you set the belt down on the desk, keeping it close as you quickly unbuttoned your shirt.

Chan obeys immediately, reaching up and making quick work of the buttons on his top. He keeps his eyes on you, not peeling them away for a second as he undresses. He allows the garment to slide from his shoulders seductively, taunting the domineering woman with light, playful eyes. After pushing aside the top of his uniform, he moves down to his well fitted black slacks. Chan unbuttons them with ease, shimmying them off to reveal his snugly fit boxer briefs. Afterward he kicks his pants to the side, dumping them beside his discarded shirt, awaiting his next commands.

You glanced backwards to the frosted glass with a worrisome look, but there was still no one there. You unbutton your black dress pants, pushing them and your underwear off in one solid motion. Your cock sprung free easily, a solid, cut, girthy 7 inches, hard as a rock and shiny at the head from your own excitement. You really hadn't been laid in a while, so you were more than eager to get this show on the road.

You looked to Chan, who stood with a playful look on his face. Oh, so he's a brat, you thought. I can play with that. You took a few steps forward and brought Chan into a kiss, deep and hungry, sliding your middle and pointer fingers in the elastic band of his boxer briefs. You pulled away after a moment, catching your breath once again as you pulled back the elastic and snapped it against his skin.

"Everything."

Chan idly licks his lips, tracing every dip and curve of your body with his eyes. For so long he admired you from afar, not daring to make a move. Now he wondered why the hell he hadn't tried anything like this before. His lips twitch into a sly little smile as he watches the other man make quick work of his clothes, hurrying back to him. He receives the kiss easily, leaning in to the larger form as if it were second nature to him.

His breath hitches as the warm fingers hook under his black undergarments, pulling them back and snapping them against his unmarked skin. Chan hooks his thumbs under his boxer briefs, holding your heated gaze as he slides them down and over his thighs. His cock sprang from the confines of the cotton, standing at attention as he kicked his underwear aside.

You were getting impatient now, especially with the sight of Chan’s cock eagerly awaiting you; if you wanted to, you could get on your knees and suck him until he couldn't stand on his own. If you wanted to, you could fuck his throat until he couldn't speak. But you weren't being paid hourly, and you had stuff to do tonight - particularly search for a new victim.

This wasn't a date, Chan came here for a fucking, and that's what he's going to get. That's all he's going to get. You wrapped your arms around Chan’s waist gently, staring down at the firm rise and fall of his abs, the dip of his hips and his cock, licking your lips hungrily. "You wanna get fucked, huh?" You mumbled.

"Turn around. Bend over."

Chan almost wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, things were getting right to the point. Things were moving without stopping, just the way he liked it. There was too much to be done later to spend too much time fooling around, as much as he would enjoy it. A quick round would help clear his head and put him in the right place to start piecing up this case.

The look in your eyes made his dick jump, sending a shiver through his compact frame. He bit his lip, turning away from you and bending over the desk. Suddenly he felt much too shy to look you in the eyes, being exposed like this. He hated and loved it all the same.

You placed your hand on the small of Chan’s back almost instinctively, running your hand over the tan, smooth flesh.

"Good little slut," you whispered as you exhaled, not even realizing you were saying it. You brought your right hand up to your lips, spitting on your long fingers. You slowly brought it down to level with Chan, moving the hand on his lower back down to spread his firm cheeks lightly, soaking up the sight of him.

"God, you're hot." Your fingers shook slightly as you pressed a lubricated finger to his hole, prodding just enough for sensation but not enough to penetrate, your love for teasing getting the best of you for a moment.

Chan arches his back, allowing his head to loll forward gently. Your warm hands coming in contact with his cooler skin, one resting in the dip of his spine. He chews on his lip anxiously, swaying his hips in anticipation as he hears you spitting on your fingers. He felt a hand part his cheeks before a wet finger rolled against his rose colored hole. Chan let out a quiet sigh, trying to stifle the noise daring to exit his lips. He couldn't be any more ready for this, but he could not get caught, and neither could you.

You decided that you shouldn't waste anymore time. You pressed your finger in slowly until your knuckles got in the way, watching the man's back rise and fall as his breath got quicker and quicker. You twist your finger as you pulled it out, adding a second one easily - a sign he's probably done this before, with some guy at the station, you assume.

You picked up the pace gradually, scissoring your fingers to loosen him up, searching for that spot that would really make him moan. Just thinking of those sounds made your cock twitch, prompting you to reach your free hand down to slowly pump it in response.

Chan felt his body jerk, a moan slipping from his kiss swollen lips. "Shit," he curses quietly as his hole is breached. He felt the long finger twist before slowly retracting before he was being stretched out with two fingers.

This was good, but Chan really wanted the main course, now. He couldn't finish the thought, his eyes rolling back with white hot pleasure. You hit the nail right on the head, curling against his prostate mercilessly. "Fuck me, Y/n," he whines, burying his face in his hands. He felt shame for saying it so loudly, anyone could've heard him.

You felt pretty proud of yourself. You’ve always prided yourself on your power over people, specifically in relationships. You could get anything you wanted easily, it just took the right plan; people were just pawns to you, technicalities. Not that you were completely cold-hearted, you’ve been known to indulge a few of your emotions from time to time- but you’ve never felt better than when you’re on top.

Which is why you kill, apart from wanting to better the city that you hope to one day raise children in - power. Around the workplace, no one knows this, though; they push you around as just the forensics girl, like you’re the technicality. You’re so much more than that. You feel your blood boil at the thought of it, as you pull your fingers out. It felt wonderful to see the tough cop begging to be fucked.

Eventually, you tire of playing around and gently remove your fingers from his entrance. Wordlessly, you reach over your desk and clumsily pull open the top drawer. Rifling around for a few bare seconds, your fingers brush over the crinkling packet of lubricant. Awkwardly pinching it between the tip of your ring finger and index nail, you lift it out of the drawer and maneuver it into your palm. Tearing the corner carelessly, you cradle your length in your hand and dribble it from base to tip. You busy your hand with spreading it along, pouring the remainder along the cleft of his ass.

A delighted hum rumbles in your chest when he jumps at the cool liquid sliding over his skin. You toss the now useless packet into the trash can beside your desk. You collect some of the lube on your fingers, taking care to spread it around before pushing back in. Once you’re satisfied with your own meticulous preparation, you lean back into the embrace of carnal desire. Pressing the head of your cock against his glistening hole sends a chill up your spine. Planting your feet, you begin to press inside of him.

It felt good to loosen up like this, no strings attached, nothing really at stake. Things would probably fall right back into their neutral friendship as if nothing happened. Afterward he'd head to his desk and take the information that you wrote down for him and try to make some connections.

There had to be a way that these murders were connected, it didn't make sense. His invasive, calculating thoughts were silenced immediately as he felt you begin stretching him out. You were much bigger than your fingers, for damn sure. Chan felt a sting, but it excited him.

You felt disappointed almost that Chan was trying to stay quiet, you always loved to hear the sounds of someone below you, but all you were getting now was a choked back whimper or the occasional soft, quiet groan. Clenching your teeth, you ground into Chan without warning, the warmth around your cock coaxing out a soft moan of your own.

You definitely needed to get laid more, if Chan keeps this shit up, and you'll be coming within minutes. You took a moment to let Chan adjust before moving into a punishing pace, reeling his hand back to smack his ass.

Chan thought he was managing well with keeping himself quiet enough, but you seemed to have a different idea. The powerful thrusts were enough to rock his whole frame and he couldn't bite his lip any harder.

"Oh!" He cried out, trying to clamp his lips shut while catching his glasses before they shot off of his face. Each moan was long and drawn out, despite his struggle to be just a little bit quieter. He bit his tongue so hard that it bled a bit, crying out in shock as the large hand claps over his ass cheek. "God- damn!" He pants, squeezing his eyes shut.

You smirked, feeling the heat pooling in your stomach already. You felt proud, finally getting Chan to show the world just how much of a slut he was. The man was practically a mess of syllables and moans, not making any sense at all, if not for the occasional curse. The desk creaked threateningly as you pounded in again, and you couldn't tell if you should be worried about the receptionist walking in or the wood splitting in half.

The 54-year-old, almost retired woman would cross herself, then immediately collapse if she heard them, undoubtedly filing a complaint to HR which would subsequently cause you to lose the one job keeping you from being arrested. Unfortunately you weren't in the best state of mind to be worried about these things, or even consider them. You leaned forward until your stomach met Chan’s back, wrapping your arm around his throat in semblance to a choke hold. You were gonna make Chan come harder than anyone had before, you were determined.

Chan whines every time you strike that special bundle of nerves, the sound keening. The sensation was beginning to get overwhelming, he was reaching his limit. "Y/n-, ah!" He moans, cutting himself off and allowing his head to hang down limply, pushing his glasses back up his nose. The smaller man could feel you leaning forward, your breasts pressing against his back.

Much to his surprise, an arm wraps around his throat and yanks him backward. His dick dripping precum, pulsing and twitching fitfully. Chan felt the heat climbing his cheeks, the lack of air pushing him to focus solely on the feeling. Soon after, it was all too much. He whimpers pitifully as he cums, shivering with each shot.

You groaned through clenched teeth as you felt Chan fluttering around you, that alone was enough to send you over the edge. You keened, loosening your grip on him immediately. He rattles with a few sharp coughs, gasping to catch his breath. "Fuck," you managed to groan, pulling out of him and frotting your length in between his cheeks.

You came, and you came hard. Thick, syrupy ropes splatter over the small of Chan’s back as you rest your head on his shoulder, planting sloppy kisses along his neck and behind his ear. You hadn't cum like that in awhile, your legs even shook slightly as you caught your breath and tried to wind yourself down. After a moment, you chuckled slightly to yourself. "Where have you been all my life, Bang Chan?"

Chan pants heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face. He allowed himself to lay limply over the edge of the desk as he recovered from the earth shattering orgasm. The wet kisses cause a shudder to run through him, sending a felt more bolts of pleasure through his sensitive body. Never in a million years would he have expected you, his friend, the bookish forensic scientist to fuck him like this. "Honestly, I don't know," he breathes, slowly regaining his strength.

You smiled slightly upon seeing the disheveled man, stepping back. Without missing a beat, you grabbed a tissue out of the box sitting on your desk and swept away the mess you created. You’d need to tackle the cum on the front of your desk next, that was a conversation that you weren’t willing to have with the custodian.

You turned your attention away from him, swiftly moving to clean up the evidence of your recent escapade. It was a quick fuck and there were no feelings to be shared, you assumed that Chan felt the same. You dressed yourself as quickly as you undressed yourself, making your way back over to the desk, rifling around for your pack of marlboros in the top drawer. Dumping yourself in the seat, you turned on the small fan on your desk to try and mask the scent of smoke as you lit one up.

"Don't tell anyone about this. DK would have my ass," you mumbled with the cigarette between your lips, inhaling the smoke deeply, and puffing it out in rings. You thought of what Dokyeom, your real boss, would think if he found out not only had you fucked a cop in your office, but offered him a cigarette afterwards.

Chan peels himself up from the desk, stretching out his back with a few cracks and pops. He pushes his glasses into place, and combs his finger through his hair to put himself back together. Decidedly, he would get dressed and head straight to the bathroom to completely clean himself up before he went back to work on the case for a bit. "There's nothing to tell." He agreed, bending over and grabbing his boxer briefs.

Chan made quick work of pulling them up and over his thighs and jumping into the rest of his clothes. Upon straightening his collar, he grabs his cap and jacket. He glances back, nodding at you before seeing himself out quietly. No words were needed, what's done is done. However, he should have definitely wiped the lube out of his ass cheeks before he left, sheesh.

You knew what to expect, so hearing the door shut wasn't that bad of a blow. You take this time to sit at your desk, skimming through anything that could possibly look bad on your part. You weren't stupid enough to keep any evidence incriminating you on your work computer, but you still had stuff to double-check in case Chan wanted on.

You updated the files with some basic information, making sure to get the rough description of the unusual suspect, or unsub, as far away from yourself as possible. You had to feel a little proud; you were only two murders down, but you had big plans, a list, even, of people to target next. You cleaned your email too, deleting all emails from your therapist, making sure to make yourself look as bland as possible.

Chan spent a few minutes in the bathroom, freshening himself up in front of the mirror. He stops, inspecting himself idly as he allows his thoughts to roam. Why did she give me so many details earlier? I didn't really mean anything serious by asking her that... Whatever. Quietly fishing around in his pocket, he pulls out his chapstick and glides it over his lips. He smacks his lips together with a soft pop, putting away the small lip balm as he pushes open the door and exits. Chan strolls down the hallway, entering the office and finding his desk. You weren't far from his mind, just sort of looming for some reason. He stares blankly at the dark computer screen, glancing up as someone walks by. Jinyoung, the chief of his department. Should he question Jinyoung about his sudden suspicion?

#sub!idol #dom!reader #domme!reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #sub!skz #sub!chan #sub!stray kids #sub!bang chan

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sillyteecup · 4 years

Text

Sunflower

Scott McCall x black!reader

Warnings:

Mentions of death

Death

Literally one mention of sex

And my bad writing. Enjoy��

Sunflower

My Eyes

Want you more than a melody

Let me inside

Wish I could get to know you

Scott's breakup with Allison had been tough and he had no plans to move on anytime soon. He found himself intrigued with the new dark chestnut skinned girl with the rich afro tied up into two huge puffs with sunflowers in them. She wore a short sleeved, lemon and white stripped button up shirt with a lemon rouched tank, long paperbag jeans with yellow sunflowers on the left pantleg, silver framed reading glasses and lemon and white custom Nikes. Scott approached her and sat across from her with the intention of being friends with her. For a second he watched in adoration as she smiled at the whatever she had just written before clearing his throat to catch her attention.

Sunflowers

Sometimes

Keep it sweet in your memory

I was just tongue tied

She looked up him, her eyes questioned Scott and he knew what they wanted to know. He would've answered much quicker if he didn't get lost in the hazel orbs that gazed at him at that moment. "Uhh..." she said snapping him out of his thoughts. "Oh uhm my name is Scott. McCall, captain of the lacrosse team," he mumbled. "Okay. Can I help you Scott McCall, captain of the lacrosse team?" she asked with an inquisitive eyebrow raised. "Uhm I noticed that I haven't seen you before and a friend of mine told me that you're new, so uhm you-uh wanna be uhm friends?" Scott mentally facepalmed himself for stumbling over his words so hard. 'Nice going McCall, she probably thinks you're a dork now,' he chastised himself. She giggled softly and Scott swore he had never heard anything as beautiful in his life. "Name's Y/N. Sure. We can be friends." He let out a sigh of relief and chuckled before diving into conversation with her.

And I dont wanna make you feel bad

But I've been trying hard not to talk to you

My sunflower (sunflower)

He introduced her to his pa-friends and they loved her instantly. Well Stiles was a little wary at first but he grew to like her too. She and Scott had a lot in common and became really close, hell she was giving Stiles a run for his money in the best friend department. Her favourite thing in the world was sunflowers. His favourite thing in the world was her. Scott always saw her as soft and fragile and he found himself falling for her, so he kept her away from all the supernatural drama by not telling her at all. He felt bad for keeping such a huge secret from her but he also felt better because he was protecting her. Little did he know that he wasn't the only one keeping secrets.

I couldn't want you anymore

Kiss in the kitchen like its a dance floor

I couldn't want you anymore tonight (tonight, tonight)

It was the night when the music teacher was killed. Scott ran to look for Lydia and told you to stay behind but her stubborn ass wasn't having it. He was fighting Jennifer Blake when Y/N ran into the room. "Y/N get out!" he yelled through a mouth full of canines. "Scott," she gasped. Everything after that was a blurr. Jennifer had thrown Scott into a table and stalked towards Y/N like she was some kind of prey. Scott tried with all his strength to get up but he was just too weak. He kept yelling for Jennifer not to hurt Y/N to no avail. Imagine his suprise when Y/N began to move at inhuman speed as she fought Jennifer. She fought long and hard but in the end she fell to her knees with a knife in her abdomen. Scott ran to her through his weak state. Everything around him shut down, all he could do was focus on her heartbeat as it slowed. He pleaded for her to stay with him as he held her. "I love you Y/N. Please. Don't," he sobbed. "Relax Scott I'm not dying," she groaned as she pulled the knife out. Everyone around them watched in awe as the wound underneath the grey t-shirt healed. They started flooding her with question after question, but not Scott. He just had one question. "What are you?" "I could ask you the same thing," she chuckled. "I'm a werewolf. What about you?" he asked. "Werewolf," she said as she flashed her eyes golden. "I love you too," she whispered as she pulled him into a passionate kiss.

Wondering headshake

Tired eyes are the death of me

Mouth full of toothpaste

Before I got to know you

It wasn't long before they actually got together. Nothing much had changed though, other than the kissing and sex. And as much as she was a great fighter, she was still his little sunflower. She stuck with him through everything. She was there when he became a True alpha, she was there when he, Stiles and Allison had to get rid of their darkness, she was there when Stiles was possessed and she was there, in his room, holding him as he cried in her arms hours after Allison died in his. Y/N didn't cry that night. She just wasn't the type to. Intead she was unusually quiet. "I should give you some space," she said as she got up to leave. "No. Stay. Please," he whispered.

I've got your face

Hung up high in the gallery

Out of this shade (sunflower, sunflower)

There was one instant where Y/N was jealous. Kira. Scott was jusy far too friendly with her and it made Y/N feel insecure. Maybe he liked Kira more than her. She came up with several reasons why: her hair, her skin, her body, her face. Kira was just better than her and it tore her apart. She wasn't mean to Kira about it though. How could anyone be? She's a whole ray of sunshine. Another reason for Scott to like her more. She started cancelling dates and plans because of it. She never cried about it though. She never told Scott she had anxiety because she didn't wanna seem like she was burdening or anything. At some point she stopped answering his calls and texts, and avoiding him all together. Not because she didn't love him anymore. But because she was afraid he didn't love her anymore. Oh how wrong she was. One afternoon as she was getting into her car, she felt someone gently grab her wrist and turn her around. "Y/N talk to me. You haven't been responding to my texts or calls. Are you okay? Have I done something wrong? If I have, how do I fix it?" he rambled. "You...I...I dont know," she whispered. "I'm sorry," he said, tears welling up in his eyes. "No! Its not your fault. I just got a little insecure," she reassured him. "Of Kira," she added quietly. He didn't say anything for 5 seconds before pulling her into a soft, loving kiss. "I love you." And he did. Hell so did she. She loved him more than sunflowers.

Your flowers just died

Plant new seeds in the mellody

Let me inside

I wanna get to know you

I don't wanna make you feel bad but I've been trying hard not to act a fool

My sunflower (sunflower, sunflower)

Y/N had only ever cried once in her life since she turned 5. "Scott! Scott no! NO! Mason who did this!" she screamed as she ran towards the stairs. She had an entire emotional breakdown at the sight of the lifeless corpse of the love of her life as Melissa tried her best to revive him. She would've helped if she had the strength but she didn't. Just the thought of living without Scott shattered her. Mason tried to comfort her but it was just all too much for her. The emotion was far too overwhelming and had come down on her harder than a tsunami on a single sunflower.

I couldn't want you anymore

Kiss in the kitchen like its a dancefloor

I couldn't want you more tonight (tonight, tonight)

I couldn't want you anymore

Kids in the kitchen, listen to dancehall

I couldn't want you anymore tonight

As if the heavens had heard her cries, Scott roared. His alpha eyes went back to brown immediately when he caught the sight of Y/N crying in Mason's arms. "Y/N," he said as he reached out to touch her. "I'm not ready to lose you," she said softly. He wiped her tears and kissed her forehead. She cleaned his wounds and stayed with him until they healed. She was a little bitter towards the rest of the pack except for Mason, Lydia and Kira because they didnt abandon him. The latter were victims of circumstance. Stiles and Liam on the other hand, she couldn't stand them. She never spoke to them until the end of the Theo Raeken/Lu Bête saga. And even then, it wasn't like she was extra friendly. She spoke to them because she had to. Scott wasn't mad at them though, he was okay as long as his sunflower was okay.

Sunflower

My eyes

Want you more than a melody

Let me inside

Wish I could get to know you

The rest of senior year came and went with thw Ghost rider saga. She was actually pretty glad to have Stiles back. Then came college. Y/N was supposed to leave for New York when strange animal occurrences got in the way. "How the hell is any of this more important than my college education?" she groaned as Scott, Malia and Lydia tried to talk her out of leaving. "It could mean that everyone's in danger," Lydia sighed. "Liam and his friends can handle it. Babe you're supposed to be headed for UC Davis. Malia, France! Lydia, MIT awaits you and I gotta go to Julliard," she yelled. "Come on. Please, its just a week," Scott said as his hands made their way to her waist. "Fine." A week turned a gruesome month, battling with something that uses your fears against you called the Anuk-ite. A week turned into a gruesome month of war with Tamora Monroe and her merry band of "hunters", aided by Gerard Argent. A whole month of death. But just like every battle they fought, they emerged victorious. She had just kissed Scott to help heal his eyes when she collapsed to her knees. Blood began pouring from her mouth as Scott rushed to her side. He began searching for the wound like a madman, hoping he could heal it. "Scott, baby. Its okay," she whispered. "No, no no," he mumbled after finding the bullet wound in her side. She had been shot with yellow wolfsbane and it was too late. "Why didn't you tell anyone?" he asked barely over a whisper. "We were too busy fighting to keep everyone else safe," she said with a proud smile. He cradled her body and sobbed. "Hey. You know sunflowers die right?" she chuckled softly. That's when Scott realized something. She was wearing the exact same outfit she wore when they met. Only this time her hair was tied into one ponytail. The sunflowers were replaced with sunflower clips. "I love you. I always have and I-I always will," she whispered feeling herself getting weaker. "I love you too. More than anything in the world," Scott sobbed. "Promise me you'll go on and be happy. Get married, have kids or not. Just be happy," she said with a smile. Everyone else was a crying mess. He listened as her heartbeat got slower and more silent. Her last petal fell and she went limp in Scott's arms. He begged her to come back between chokef cries, but deep down he knew that she was gone. For good.

Sunflower just died

Keep it sweet in your memory

I'm still tongue-tied

Sunflower, sunflower

"And that was Sunflower vol.6 by Harry Styles from his latest album Fine Line. Great song, makes me wanna grab my girlfriend and dance," the radio presenter said. Scott turned the radio in Argent's car down as they got closer to the pack. The song started playing after he told Alec his and his pack's story and he couldn't help but let his mind wander. He knew how much Y/N would've adored the song if she were still alive. Two years without her and he still felt like a part of him was missing, but he didn't let it stop him from fighting the war. Her last wish was for him to be happy and he couldn't help but think about how the end of the war would not only make him the happiest man alive. But it would also make her smile proudly at him from her sunflower garden in heaven. That would send him over the moon. God, how he missed her. They pulled over in the parking lot where the pack agreed to meet up, and Scott couldn't help but smile at his pack. They supported him through thick and thin and stuck together because they knew how you got when they didn't. "What are you thinking about?" Alec asked. "How the death of a sunflower can come with the growth of an entire garden," Scott replied as he made his way to the pack with a proud grin.

#teen wolf #teen wolf fandom #scott mccall #scott mccall imagines #scott mccall x reader #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf imagines #scott mccall imagine #stiles stilonski #allison argent #kira yukimura #malia tate #liam dunbar #mason hewitt #theo raeken #tamora monroe #song fic #harry styles #Spotify

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quickspinner · 4 years

Text

Take a Chance - Ch 1 First Meetings

Summary: Lukanette college AU. It all starts with a little mix-up. One look in her notebook and Luka is intrigued. One look in her eyes - and he’s in love.

This story came from the prompts for the first week of Lukanette September 2019. I was still pretty new to posting my stories and I wasn’t confident committing to the whole month but I figured, I could manage a week!

This story is complete on AO3

Marinette didn’t get a lot of phone calls, and she never got calls in the middle of the day. She stumbled a bit as she tried to get her phone out and walk at the same time. The number on the screen wasn’t a known contact, but it looked familiar. Wasn’t that Juleka’s number? But then why wouldn’t it show up under Juleka’s name? Frowning, she answered the call, trying not to sound too breathless. “Hello?”

“Uh, hi, I’m looking for Marinette?” The voice was male, so, definitely not Juleka.

“I’m Marinette,” she said cautiously.

“Cool, I’m Luka, I’m Juleka’s brother? I think we might have met once a few months back.”

“O-oh,” Marinette stammered, confused.

“Jules gave me your number because I have something of yours and I’m kinda hoping you have something of mine. A plain black notebook that basically looks exactly like yours, except mine has music inside instead of clothes. Sound familiar?”

“Oh gosh—um, hang on, let me check.” Marinette dug through her bag and pulled out her sketchbook. She flipped it open and her stomach dropped as she found that it wasn’t hers at all. It was full of music notations and scribbled notes that might have been song lyrics. “Yes, I have it,” she confirmed. “I’m so sorry, I’m such a klutz. You live with Juleka right? I was over there this morning and I knocked over a stack of things and I thought I put it all back but I must have switched these. I hope you didn’t need it, I’m so sorry—“

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Luka said, soothingly, a touch of amusement in his warm voice. “As long as you have it, that’s fine. I do kind of need it tonight though, is there somewhere I can meet you and trade?”

“Um, let me think. I’m on my way to class now...it’s Tuesday, so my next break is at 3.”

“Okay, I’m in class until 3:30, but I could meet you right after? Um...there’s a coffee shop near the music building, do you know it? I can’t remember the name, but it has a red awning. I can meet you there after my class is over.”

“That sounds perfect,” Marinette agreed. “I know the place, I’ll meet you there.”

“Great.” Luka seemed to hesitate. “Okay, I hope this isn’t weird, but I was wondering if I could look at some more of your sketches? I only saw a few before I realized it wasn’t mine and found your name, but they looked really cool and I’m really curious to see the rest.”

Maybe it was a little weird, but it was also flattering. Marinette appreciated that he asked instead of just snooping through and not mentioning it. “Um, sure, there’s nothing really personal in it, just designs for one of my classes.”

“All art is personal,” Luka said easily, and then she heard someone calling to him. “Shit, you’re right,” he said, voice a bit distant before returning. “Marinette, I’m sorry, I’ve got to go before I’m late. I’ll see you a little after 3:30.”

“Okay, see you then,” Marinette replied, half expecting him to hang up before she finished speaking.

Instead she heard, “See you soon, Marinette,” before the line cut out.

***

Luka headed to the coffee shop with a quicker step than strictly necessary after escaping yet another boring, pedantic lecture from his least favorite professor. He hadn’t even heard half of it, fascinated by the book in his hand. He knew less than nothing about fashion in general and even less than that about the process of design, but there was so much life in the sketches covering the pages of the misplaced notebook. He couldn’t judge her talent, but Marinette’s passion was clear and he was curious about the girl behind the designs.

He found her easily enough, sitting in a booth facing the cafe’s entrance, his composition book placed prominently towards the edge of the table. For a moment, he felt disappointment. He wasn’t sure what he expected, and there was nothing wrong with her exactly, but...she didn’t really stand out, dressed in shades of pink and black, sweet but without any of the edge he’d seen in her art.

But it wasn’t like him to judge on appearances and he silently berated himself as he made his way over to the table. “Marinette?”

Then she looked up and locked eyes with him, and the deep blue of the sea fell into the endless blue of the sky and he swore he heard music.

***

Marinette had met Juleka’s brother once before, if you could call a hurried introduction and hello-goodbye a meeting, as he was rushing out to perform with his band. All she was really left with was the impression of blue, and lean muscles highlighted by body glitter.

She could see neither muscle nor glitter at the moment, but the blue was there, in his eyes and the tips of his shaggy hair. He wasn’t classically handsome but he had an interesting face, and she thought to herself that she’d like to dress him. It would be a nice change from cookie cutter models and he looked like he had a fun style.

He smiled and gestured at the empty bench across from her. “I’m Luka. May I?”

“Oh sure, of course,” she said quickly, shuffling her things ineffectually before realizing there was plenty of room. He slid in across from her, sleepy eyes a deeper shade of blue than her own fixed on her. She blushed faintly without really knowing why and his eyes flicked away.

“Thanks for meeting me,” he said. “I hope It wasn’t too far out of your way.”

“No, it wasn’t too far, and I’ve gotten some work done, so it’s all good. I’m so sorry about the mixup.”

He took her book out of his bag and slid it across the table towards her. “Thanks for letting me look at it. Way more interesting than my music theory class.”

“Oh,” Marinette blushed deeper. “A-are you interested in fashion?”

“No,” he admitted. “Honestly I never thought about it much, I just wear things that are comfortable and make me feel good. But I am interested in art, and I can see now that fashion is art too. So, thanks. For...a new perspective, I guess.”

Marinette couldn’t help smiling, there was something so sincere about the way he said it. He must have a really interesting way of looking at the world.

Which maybe shouldn’t surprise her so much. Juleka was hardly known for conventional thinking.

“I wish I could get as much from yours,” Marinette said, gesturing towards his notebook where it still lay on the table. “Not—not that I looked through it or anything, but just what I saw when I opened it, It’s only gibberish to me, I’m afraid.”

Luka smiled slowly. “You think so?” For a moment Marinette was afraid she’d insulted him, but he only took his notebook up and turned the pages for a moment. Then he laid it back down and turned it so she could see the open pages. “What do you see here?”

She looked, and at first it was only gibberish, as she’d said, a mix of notes and musical terms, with occasional notes that made sense but didn’t, like “dark, flash flood, drowning.” Marinette glanced up at Luka, who was watching her with a small smile on his face. She looked down at the page again, and this time she noticed the dark lines and deep grooves, the places where things were not just crossed out, but scratched through or scribbled black. The whole feel of the page was frustration, maybe even anger. “This,” she said slowly, looking up at him. “This was not a good day.”

Luka’s smile widened. “See? You can’t read the notes, but the feelings still come through. I felt the same way about yours.” Marinette slid the notebook back to him, smiling herself. “Can I ask you something?” Luka asked. “You don’t have to answer if it’s too personal.” He gestured to her notebook again and she handed it back to him. He thumbed quickly through the pages until he found the one he wanted. He put it back down in front of her, watching her face. “What happened?”

The page was scribbled over with thick black marker lines, zigzagging across the dress that had been coming to life on the page. Beneath the thick scribbles, there were notes written around the sketch, some scratched out and some visibly messier than others. Marinette winced looking at it. “It couldn’t do what I wanted to,” she said, after staring at it for a moment. “It was...the dress wasn’t right for the concept, or the concept couldn’t be a dress at all, and the more I tried to fix it the more frustrated I got. Then my TA reviewed my work for the week and ripped me a new one over it, and...I just knew I wasn’t ever going to be excited over it again, so I scrapped it.”

She felt ashamed as she said it, like she was admitting she was a quitter, but Luka just nodded, as if she made perfect sense, then reached over and turned a couple of pages.

“Not that my opinion’s worth much, but this one was my favorite. It just has so much energy. It feels...hopeful. Like it’s waiting for great things to happen.” He glanced up at her, looking uncertain for the first time in their conversation. “I hope that came out right. I’m not always great at explaining things.”

Marinette just stared at him in wonder, a bright smile slowly spreading over her face. “No, I think you got exactly what I was thinking. It’s a first date dress, I mean, that’s what I was thinking when I made it.”

Luka nodded slowly. “Potential.”

Marinette beamed. “Yes, exactly.” She leaned on the table and put her chin on her fist, looking at him with renewed curiosity. He looked back for a minute, and then straightened abruptly.

“I think I’m going to get a drink, would you like anything?” Luka said, sliding from the booth.

Marinette blinked. “Um, yeah, that would be great. A cinnamon latte?”

“Got it. Be right back.”

Marinette sat back as he walked away.

He seemed nice.

***

Do you believe in love at first sight?

He’d heard the question many times before, usually from people trying to pick him up after performances, but until now he’d been largely agnostic on the matter. It could happen, but I’ve never seen it.

Luka was a thorough believer now.

Of course he knew the term coup de foudre but he’d never known it was so...accurate. He’d never experienced a shock to his system like the one he’d felt when he locked eyes with Marinette.

They were supposed to just exchange books and go on their way. He was bad at small talk, he knew it, but jumping into such an intimate conversation hadn’t been his intention either. He fervently hoped he wasn’t scaring her off. He knew his natural intensity could be off putting when he was too focused on a single person, and right now he was very, very focused on Marinette.

Luka ordered the drinks in to go cups, just in case.

When he returned with the drinks he felt a bit better. Marinette looked more comfortable and relaxed, and made no move to flee once he set her drink in front of her.

When he was back in his seat, Marinette surprised him, asking, “So, um, is music your major or just a hobby?”

“Music Ed, actually,” Luka replied, wrapping his long fingers around his cup.

“Really? You want to be a teacher?”

Luka chuckled. “I’d like to be a musician and not starve. Honestly, I’d like to give private lessons so I can work one on one with the kids and still work on my own music.”

“I remember you play in a band,” Marinette said.

“Yeah, we’re playing this weekend actually.” Luka rummaged in his bag for the stack of fliers, grateful for the opening. He pulled one out and handed it to Marinette. “I’d love for you to come.” Her eyes met his again and he felt that same shock run through his system. He wondered if she felt it too.

He flexed his fingers, wishing for his guitar.

#quickspins #take a chance #backlog #lukanette #i am lukanette trash i admit it #miraculousladybug #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculous ladybug #ml fics

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sky-blaze · 4 years

Text

Restart And Try Again

Summary:

Sam has found Rinzler, and is trying to turn him back into Tron, but thirty-year-old code requires an expert touch. Enter Alan Bradley, who ends up unexpectedly attached to his creation.

---

“I need your help.”

Alan turned to see Sam in the doorway of his office at ENCOM. His godson looked unusually agitated, despite the faux-casual pose he had assumed, leaning against the doorframe, the way his leg jiggled with barely-suppressed nervous energy gave the game away.

“Hello Sam,” Alan greeted with exaggerated formality, “Nice to see you.”

There was the barest twitch of guilt that he was abandoning politeness, but even Alan’s subtle admonishment didn’t deter him, “It’s… Dad’s… uh… project. I need your help with something.” Sam blurted, the words coming all in a rush, making him sound like the awkward teenager Alan remembered with a mixed amount of fondness. The words, however, made Alan raise an eyebrow.

“I was under the impression,” Alan said slowly, “That you and Quorra were handling that.”

“We are… mostly. But there’s one thing that needs your...uh...personal touch.” Sam said, his eyes darted around warily, and Alan understood that this was not something Sam was comfortable discussing in the ENCOM officers, where just anyone could listen in.

After only a moment of hesitation, Alan grabbed his keys of his desk, “Lead on, then. I can’t promise anything, but I can take a look.”

Sam’s answering smile was full of relief.

Neither Kevin nor Sam had revealed the full details on Kevin Flynn’s ‘project’. The closed system hidden in the basement of the arcade was still largely a mystery to him, Lora and Roy, but Sam had at least told him about Kevin’s ultimate fate; saving the system, The Grid, by reintegrating himself with his rogue program, CLU. Alan was torn between being impressed at what his old friend had accomplished and wanting to raise him from the dead so he could strangle him for being so reckless.

A prickle of apprehension crawled up Alan’s spine when he saw the digitising laser; so familiar from those early days at ENCOM. It looked so incredibly incongruous sat there in front of a workstation terminal. Alan took a deep breath of the dry, stale basement air and looked at Sam, who shuffled uncomfortably.

“Would you care to explain?” Alan asked carefully.

Sam looked at his shoes for a moment, taking his own deep, fortifying breath, “You gave a copy of your security program to Dad for his project, right?” Sam began.

Alan frowned, “Tron. Yes, I did. What does this have…” Alan’s eyes widened, “Is he still..?” Alan had often found it difficult to reconcile the work he did every day - coding, compiling and upgrading software - with the ideas that Kevin had espoused about programs being like real people, living within the machine, but Tron had always been… different. Special. There was a connection there that Alan had never been able to explain. Thinking Tron was… gone had been unexpectedly and inexplicably painful.

Sam looked uncomfortable again, “Sort of. CLU got to him. He… repurposed him. Turned him into an attack dog, renamed him Rinzler. I don’t know how, but something in him must have… fought back. Towards then end, before the reintegration, Rinzler turned on CLU - tried to attack him.”

Alan frowned, his brows drawing tightly together as apprehension congealed into worry, “But you found him?”

Sam nodded, “Yeah but… his code is a total mess. I’ve tried to help him, but some of his core kernal is… well, its beyond me.”

Alan blinked, “And you think I can help?”

“He’s your program.” Sam said softly.

“Sam, in case you forgot, I wrote it – him – in the eighties. Its been a while.” Alan replied, anxiety rising in his chest, tension making his shoulders ache as he stared at the laser and the darkened terminal.

“You’re his best shot,” Sam insisted, “You’re his user. He’s… well, he’s been asking for you.”

Alan couldn’t help but stare, “Asking for me?”

Sam sighed, “He’s not completely conscious, but whenever I try to work on his code, he pushes me away and says ‘Alan1’ over and over.”

“My old username at ENCOM.” Alan said faintly. He sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose, “All right. You’ve convinced me. I’ll give it a shot. What do I need to do?”

Sam nodded at the seat in front of the terminal – the one with the laser pointed ominously at it, “Sit right there. I’ll handle the rest. Oh, and don’t worry when you get there, I’ll be right behind you.”

For the first time since Sam had arrived at Alan’s office, Sam flashed one of his bright smiles. Alan wasn’t sure if it was meant to be reassuring, but since that same smile was often on the face of both father and son right before some of their more outrageous stunts, Alan decided he was correct to be concerned.

–

Arriving in the Grid was just as disorienting as Alan had feared. He materialised – for lack of a better term – to almost total blackness. The only faint white light in the small, closed-off room was… himself. His shirt glowed with a faint white radiance, while his suit pants and jacket had gone from dark grey to jet black. His face felt… odd. He reached up to touch his glasses, but once his fingers made contact with the frames, there was a spark of white across the lenses and his vision suddenly came alive with a host of information, scrolling across like a military-style heads-up display.

“Huh.” He said.

A column of light coalesced beside him, and in moments Sam had arrived, wearing some of sort of… armoured black suit covered in glowing white circuitry patterns.

“Nice outfit.” Alan commented dryly when Sam had fully materialised.

Sam grinned back, “Nice glasses.”

“I appear to have come equipped with an augmented reality display.” Alan said, “I can’t say I don’t appreciate the upgrade.”

“Advantages of being a User in a computer, I guess.” Sam shrugged.

“Apparently.” Alan’s gaze sharpened as it fixed on Sam, trying to ignore the little pop-ups of information on the heads-up display, which described Sams’s clock speed, code integrity and power level, “Where is he?” Alan asked softly.

“This way.” Sam said, leading Alan out of the darkened room and into the city streets.

The city was something of a revelation for Alan, who was almost mesmerised by the colour, the angles, the beauty of it all, especially with his glasses providing him with helpful information on each point of interest, right down to its code composition, if he so chose. Getting control of the flow of information was a challenge; Alan was a programmer, and the beauty of this place, not just on a physical level, but on the level of pure code, was almost too much to resist. Only the knowledge that someone – that Tron – needed his help, let him keep his focus.

Sam led him through the neon-laced streets, up into a glowing tower. Quorra greeted them at the door, the usually perky ISO oddly subdued. The room Alan was guided into was comfortable, decorated in muted shades of white and pale blue. It almost like a high-end hotel, except with more glowing parts.

A figure lay motionless on the plush-looking bed. Dressed entirely in black, an opaque helmet covering his face, the glowing circuitry lines were strangely truncated, pulsing an ominous dark orange. The most distinctive marking was the set of small squares near his throat, set in a T shape.

“Tron.” Alan breathed. The figure on the bed twitched, and made a rattling moan. It was a ragged, pained sound, like a fan with a worn bearing, or a failing hard drive. Either way, the noise worried him.

“Here.” Sam said, handing him… a disk? It looked like a hollow Frisbee, its edges its edges pulsing the same malevolent, fiery orange as Tron’s circuitry. Alan’s glasses promptly displayed information telling him how to bring up a code overview from the disk. Helpful. He was starting to wish he had something like it in the real world.

He sat down on a sinfully comfortable chair and watched as the code spiralled up from the disk, appearing in a splay of holographic light. He examined it for a few long moments, turning it this way and that, marvelling at the 3-D representation that revealed data structures, variable arrays and other things that Alan usually had to keep track of in his head, all presented clearly but… something wasn’t right. He dug further, finally finding something familiar. He wasn’t usually one to blow his own trumpet about his programming prowess, but the core of the original code he had written looked remarkably elegant next to what appeared to be hastily hacked-in patches with more recent timestamps.

After further investigation, Alan sat back with a scowl, “Who wrote this additional code?”

Sam looked up from where he had sprawled on a sofa, “Uh...why?” he asked.

Alan scowled harder, “Because I’d like to punch them in the mouth.”

“It was probably CLU,” Quorra said, almost making Alan jump. She’d been so still and quiet he’d almost forgotten she was there, “Well, either CLU or Dyson.” She continued, “They’re both… gone now.”

“Hmph.” Was Alan’s only reply. He spent another few moments staring at the butchery that had been made of his creation, trying to fight down anger on Tron’s behalf at what had been done to him. The new blocks of code emphasised obedience, and violence. To have this done to Tron, who was created to be self-sufficient, to protect, not attack, it felt like nothing so much as torture and brainwashing.

“I think I can fix this.” He said finally, “But it’s not going to be quick. I’ll need time, and access to my usual suite of programming tools.” He gestured to the swirling holographic code, “This is lovely, but its not what I’m used to. It’ll be quicker and easier for me to use a normal workstation.”

Sam nodded, “Yeah, I get it. Programming in the Grid is… different.”

A thought occurred to Alan, “Is it even possible to transfer data to this system? I didn’t see any ports, except the I/O and display port, and the operating system is bound to be completely unique.”

Sam nodded again, more slowly this time, and Alan heard Quorra take a sudden, sharp breath, “It… is…”

“I hear a ‘but’ at the end of this sentence.” Alan said.

Sam gave a slightly forced chuckle, “Yeah, okay. It is possible, but you kinda need to use yourself as the data storage medium.”

Alan blinked, “What?”

Sam chuckled, sounding far more natural this time, “It’s okay. I’ll show you when we get back.”

Alan’s gaze went back to the figure lying so still on the bed, seeming almost lifeless if not for the dull pulsing of the circuitry, and the scrolling information on Alan’s heads-up display. “Will he be all right?” he asked.

“Quorra’s staying with him.” Sam replied. Alan caught the look that flickered between Quorra and Sam, suddenly understanding that it wasn't just a case of keeping Tron company; it was making sure that that awful ‘Rinzler’ code-butchery didn’t cause him to hurt himself or anyone else. Quorra was more guard than nurse. The thought made his stomach knot up.

Without thinking, Alan reached over to pat Tron on the arm, “I’ll be back, and I promise I’ll help you.”

Tron made a noise, that odd grinding sound, but softer this time, sounding almost like a purr, and then, a barely audible rasp, “Aaalaan onnneee…”

“I’ll be back.” Alan reassured again, feeling a lump in his throat. He forced himself to let go, ignoring the odd look Sam gave him as he marched out of the room and heading back towards where the laser had dropped them, not really knowing why he felt like crying.

–

Less than a week later, Alan found himself back in the basement beneath Flynn’s Arcade. True to his word, Sam had taught him how to port code to and from the Grid. It was something of an involved process, and needed one of the obscure ‘floptical’ storage systems to interface with Flynn’s ageing, custom-built computer system. It had taken almost as long to find the right storage system as it had to actually rebuild Tron’s code.

Now, he loaded the disk caddy into the semi-hidden drive slot and loaded his own ‘profile’ on the workstation and hit ‘import’. Sam then took over and loaded the laser digitisation program.

“Ready?” Sam asked.

Alan shifted, feeling both impatient and anxious, “Yeah, let’s go.”

The dizzying sensation overtook him and he once again found himself in that darkened room inside the Grid. This time, however, there was significantly more light – still coming from himself. The sensible suit he had worn before was replaced by a long black overcoat, decorated with glowing white circuitry lines. His shirt was still softly glowing white, but he could feel the weight of an ID disk on his back.

“That’s new.” Sam said, frowning, “You okay Alan?”

“Yeah,” Alan smiled, “I think it’s due to the extra data I had to import into my profile so I could help Tron.”

Sam chuckled, “Looks good on you. No fair you get a cooler outfit than mine, though.”

Alan couldn’t help but smirk, “And the cool glasses.”

“Yeah, rub it in why don’t ya?” Sam lightly smacked his godfather on the arm, and once again led Alan through the twisting streets to where Tron lay.

It looked like Tron had barely moved, but when Alan stepped through the door, Tron made that painful-sounding grinding noise, his arms twitching. “How has he been?” Alan asked Quorra.

Quarra shrugged, “About the same. He twitches sometimes, and calls out for you. If anyone else tries to touch him, though, he tries to get away, despite how damaged he is.”

The bluntly spoken assessment chilled Alan, and he took a deep breath, reaching over to the program laying motionless against the plush blue bedcovers, “Tron? It’s me, Alan. I’m here to help you, but I need your ID disk. Is that okay?”

The grinding noise grew louder, and Tron’s body twitched almost violently, “aaaa...aaaa.” Tron rasped, trying again to move. It took Alan a few moments to realise that Tron was trying to roll over, to expose his ID disk at his User’s request. The display of trust made something in Alan’s chest twist.

Reaching down, Alan helped his program to roll onto his side, noting almost absently as he did so that where he touched Tron’s circuits, the orange faded into bright blue, just for a second, before it bled back to orange.

As gently as he could, Alan disengaged Tron’s disk from the port, and reached to his own back to pull off his own disk. Praying silently to whatever gods looked after programmers, he slowly brought the two disks into contact.

Holding his breath, Alan watched as the white light of his disk slowly melted into the orange, and wherever it touched, the light changed, transforming from deep orange into blue. When the process finally completed, Alan felt like he could breathe again, but the knot in his stomach still remained, a reminder that it wasn’t quite over.

Carefully pulling the two disks apart, Alan clicked his own back into place before leaning down and carefully, almost reverentially, placing Tron’s disk back in its port.

The change was immediate. The blue light flowed like water from the disk port, spreading across the circuitry lines. When it reached Tron’s neck, the mask dissolved, revealing a face that looked precisely like Alan himself had thirty years ago. Tron’s eyelids fluttered and he blinked open his eyes, looking unerringly at his User, eyes full of wonder and joy.

“Alan1.” Tron said, his voice almost...worshipful, which was deeply embarrassing, but at least it was at last free of the awful grinding growl.

Alan felt tears in his eyes, “Welcome back, Tron.” he said, reaching out to take his creation’s hand.

Tron frowned, “I… so much has happened.” Sorrow filled the program’s face, “I...I failed. I did terrible things. I’m so sorry, Alan1.”

“Shhh,” Alan soothed, perching next to Tron on the edge of the bed, unable to tear his gaze away from his creation, “It’s all right. You did everything you could. You fought back against CLU. I couldn’t be any prouder of you.”

The awestruck wonder was back in Tron’s face, his fingers curling tightly around Alan’s own, apparently totally unwilling to let go. Alan gently touched the circuitry on Tron’s arm, marvelling at the colour – it wasn’t quite the electric blue of Quorra’s lines, it was paler - closer to ice blue, and Alan wondered at the reason for that difference, if it had any particular significance.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startled them both, both Tron and Alan apparently forgetting that Sam and Quorra were in the room. Sam looked somewhat embarrassed, “Uh, so yeah. Me and Quorra have… stuff to take care of. We’re gonna head out, okay?”

Alan rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, feeling his own embarrassment climb up his cheeks, “Uh, sure.”

Tron tugged on his hand, “You’ll stay with me, Alan1?” his face and voice full of hope.

Alan couldn’t help but smile, “Of course, Tron.” he said, and Tron shuffled over on the bed to make room, not once letting go of his User’s hand.

Alan lay down next to his creation, the security program he had coded with his own hands, trying not to melt under said program’s adoring gaze. Without really thinking about it, Alan brought Tron’s hand up to kiss his knuckles, wondering exactly how this had become his life.

Once he turned to see the joy shining in Tron’s face, free of the pain he had suffered, Alan couldn’t bring himself to mind.

End of Line.

#Alan/Tron #tron: legacy #Tron #fanfic

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neverfearforiamhere · 3 years

Text

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR A FOOL’S ENDEAVOR BELOW!!!

/.\

Lure had entirely forgotten the entire concept of ‘Stranger Danger’, it seemed.

Balsam was behind the group, hand pressed firmly to his mouth to keep from saying something or laughing out. Yves merely looked confused at what he was trying to accomplish, Morrick had his face in his large palms, and Princess Vivianne was puzzled- though not as to what her court jester was doing, but as to why the girl was concerned.

Her skin was the colour of honey, dark eyes wide and shining towards the jester, mid-length hair framing her face, nearly the same size as the princess. She looked terrified, scrambling backwards and keeping her eyes trained on that golden mask with hollow, empty eyes as he tried to whisper towards her. There hardly seemed to be a reason to back up her fear, simply shying away from someone she didn’t know trying to engage with her.

Then again, having a brightly clothed jester and his gang practically trapping her in a dark alleyway might’ve been what had done it.

“My momma said not to trust people like you! I’ll never be a princess!” She cried out, trying to wrench her wrist out of Lure’s grasp- who quickly let her go as to keep from scaring her further, though this unbalanced her and she fell to her bottom with a soft cry.

She was wearing a cute little dress, patched up and now dirtied by the sandy makings of the ground. It was made up of various shades of browns, and even had a small corset wrapped around her waist, though he didn’t know if this was sewn on or a separate piece.

“Dear little girl, I never said you would be a princess! I said you could look like a princess! See this dress, this one here?” He ushered Vivianne forward and the princess came beside him, taking his gloved hand. “Wouldn’t you like to look just like her?!” The girl stiffly nodded, cowering and eyes going back and forth between the younger girl and the clown.

“Don’t worry, he’s my friend! You can trust him!” The young royal assured her, offering her own hand to help her stand up. She then let go of Lure’s hand, placing the girl’s held hand into his hand. She gave a noise of surprise and clamped her jaw, looking up at that smiling golden face with something akin to terror in her eyes, but she didn’t fight it as he wrapped his fingers around her hand and led her off towards their hotel.

“Great, perfect! We must’nt dawdle, the quicker the better! Haha!” Of course Lure felt awkward, practically luring a child away- no pun intended- from her home, yet he wasn’t going to do more than take away her clothing!... which sounded worse without the context.

The other three men followed back cautiously, clearly curious and concerned as to what the jester was planning and yet they trusted him enough not to stop him... yet... and halted when he held up a hand to stop them in the doorway and led the two girls in.

Lure explained further in detail the trade and asked for the two girls to undress, making sure they both knew he wouldn’t watch either of them.

The village girl- upon asking her name was Alaya- turned from the jester and quickly stripped off her layers, neatly placing them beside him on the bed one at a time. Lure averted his gaze, turning his head so his mask wouldn’t face the two undressing girls... but Vivianne waved a hand in front of his face, still fully dressed.

Ah, she’d always had nursemaids to dress her. He cleared his throat and adjusted his collar awkwardly before helping her out of the dress and stockings, offering them over in the direction of the girl and feeling them tugged out from his hands. Vivianne was stripped to her undershirt and underwear, and Lure took the stockings the other girl offered and opened a foot for the younger to stick them into, these being a darker brown compared to the creme ones she had been in before. He helped dress her piece by piece, smoothing out the skirts and then bopping her on the nose at the end, where she giggled and smiled.

Alaya twirled in her new dress, tapping the jester’s shoulder and looking to him with wide eyes, now looking more excited and hopeful. “It’s really okay for me to keep it, you’re sure?” She asked eagerly, running her hands down the length of the skirt. “But of course! I told you that you could, did I not?”

“Yes, but... why are you so nice to me?” Lure chuckled. “I can assure you, Young One, we needed this dress just as much. Thank you so much, you’re free to keep it! Enjoy your beautiful new princess dress, Alaya!” He exclaimed, fixing up her hair a bit and patting her on the head. She smiled and twirled before skipping out the door, giving a somewhat wary look to the group of men that crowded around the door, awaiting an explaination. Upon seeing the village girl leaving, Balsam cautiously knocked on the wood.

“Come in!” Vivianne squeaked out, waving towards the group as they gathered in the room. It was a simple room with a single bed and a disappointment of a couch, yet worked well enough for their purposes. She knelt in front of the jester who sat on the bed, combing his fingers through her long blonde curls.

Balsam came to the conclusion first, yet Lure spoke before he could share his theories. “You all were saying she looked too recognizable, and we couldn’t have that! So long as we keep her curls combed out and she wears these rags you would only see on a peasant girl, nobody will suspect a thing!” Balsam looked down to his own clothing and sniffed lightly, to which the jester merely shrugged. Morrick scoffed at the exchange but stayed largely silent, as did Yves who sat down and thumbed through his own bag. Balsam soon joined him and they began making their travel plans for the next day, all the while the jester sang quietly to his princess as he tended to her.

“Thank you, Lure.” She turned around, looking to him with bright amber eyes, giving him a beautiful smile. He bopped her nose with a grin matching that of his mask. “Anything for you, my princess.”

/.\

Just a little something that gives context to this picture!

This took me a lot longer than most of my other drawings did. It might not look like much, but I unapologetically clashed two styles together! Look closely to see the amount of detailed texturing I put in. XD This piece took the longest out of any art pieces I can think of!

This is drawn and written about A Fool’s Endeavor, a wonderful book written by- you guessed it- @mable-stitchpunk!

Art done by me, @neverfearforiamhere. Do not repost without permission or claim it as your own. (Though reblogging does not count as reposting, as it links back to me!! :D)

#a fool’s endeavor #AFE #princess Vivianne #jester Lure #Mable

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kaz3313 · 5 years

Text

@crowleypaw (adorable username btw), @lyricwritesprose , and @why-not-go-with-style because I used this concept

Crowley was undoubtedly cool; he wore the latest clothes (though in a manner no other person would put together. That is not to say it looked bad), wore shades (even when he didn't need to), had the best car that Heaven,Hell, Earth, and the Galaxy beyond had ever seen, and he also had a certain sway to his hips he'd call swag (his angel would say 'boneless is the best term, my dear'). However sometimes Crowley was put in situations that were, to put it politely, very uncool.

Crowley was undoubtedly Aziraphale's knight in shining armor, even if he had no intention of ever riding a horse again. This was proven countless times over the last six thousand years. Aziraphale would place himself into a tight situation (debatable whether intentional or not) and Crowley, in the nick of time, would show up to sweep his angel off his feet. This would be followed by a lovely meal, a chat about safety, and maybe even ridiculous amounts of alcohol. However, in very rare situations, Crowley is not playing the part as the savior; rather he is the damsel in loads of distress.

Crowley had undoubtedly left Hell. He proved to any questioning demon that his loyalties lie elsewhere when he was on team "Stop-Apocalypse" (which won, if anyone couldn't guess). Every demon in Hell and every angel in Heaven knew of the two traitors. However, Hell had a way of creeping up on you when you least expect it.

Crowley was sitting in his chair (not his throne otherwise this whole experience might've been avoided) contemplating getting up to yell at his plants and he felt a blade press against his back. It was not any blade, judging by its sting it was forged in Hell's biggest furnace by a demon who had a knack for keeping it hot permanently.

"It's rude to walk in without knocking," Crowley had scarcely finished saying before the blade dug into his back. It was merely the tip but his skin blossomed a crimson streak. Not only that but the knife (what he assumes to be a knife as it seemed too small to be a sword) steady in his back burned like a fire poker. He would've loved to say he didn't even twitch in reaction to his new wound but that would be a blanket lie as he sucked in a sharp quick breath.

Crowley had always been quick to come up with plans but this moment his mind just raced into broken thoughts. Panic easily confused imagination and fear made too many second guesses for any reckless plan that snuck out to pass.So his thoughts frayed further and further the more he realized that things were going downhill fast.

"I heard you were supposed to be a clever traitor, even had Lord of the Flies tricked, but really? Sitting with your back to the door? Rookie Demon mistake," The Demon, which Crowley doesn't recognize, sneered. "And mistakes are always exploited to the fullest," With that the knife was plunged further in and Crowley let out more than a sharp breath.

Aziraphale hardly ever showed up to Crowley's but for some ineffable reason he felt the need to walk there. He tried to, at first, blame it on the good weather but it had begun to rain. He then tried to reason it was because of the bad weather but, as that made little sense, he found it easier just to say naught. And no matter what would he admit that the thought of 'something is going to go terribly wrong' crept into his mind.

Not until he walked into the flat and heard a scream slice the silence like a steak knife cutting cheese.

Aziraphale rushed into the room not a second thought that the only weapon to his name he'd given away centuries ago. His vision turned scarlet as he saw the situation at hand.

He hardly would use wrath to describe his usual behavior, out of the sins he had to admit gluttony suited him far more (though he'd also argue that none of the seven applied to him or Crowley and furthermore they were all highly misunderstood), but he'd make an exception at this moment. Eyes that had not been opened since his last battle viewed the minimalistic flat around them. They took in the tiny details, like the auras and the atoms, as well as the bigger ones, the demon with a knife jammed into his back and the assumed culprit whom was laughing something wicked. His eyes landed back to his demon and softened just for a moment.

He then saw the pool of blood that had formed on the chair and the wrath flared up once more.

Aziraphale gripped the item tighter in his hand, an umbrella still damp from the storm outside, and held it akin to how one would wield a sword. In a millisecond flames licked his finger tips but never once pained him.

The demon must've felt the presence, or the sudden heat, and glanced behind him. He stiffened, his laughter died in his throat, and his eyes grew wide, even watering slightly.

"I-I," He backed away but Aziraphale, quicker then one could process seeing, had already gotten over to him, the flames just brushing against his neck. The Principality said nothing using voice but the demon retreated, letting himself sink through the ground, without hesitation.

"And don't come back," Aziraphale said to the floor with all the venom he could muster but soon let himself relax his shoulders.

Fighting completely avoided, at least for now.

He approached Crowley and his heart twisted. He hadn't moved from the chair nor reached to attempt to remove the dagger. Instead he sat, trembling, with his sunglasses fallen to the bridge of his nose and his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"My dear boy," Aziraphale said and the flame in his hand softened. The fire no longer licked the air with rage but rather love filled it's warmth.

"Oh, angel," Crowley's voice cracked and he could feel shame rise to his cheeks. How would his angel react to him so...vulnerable? He didn't dare open his eyes.

"I think, I was good at playing the, err, James Bond guy you like so much? Coming in at the last minute," In spite of everything, and because Crowley hadn't made any snide remark yet, Aziraphale tried to add lightheartedness to the atmosphere.

Instead of replying in a similar tone Crowley nodded his head and gave a small pathetic whimper. A whimper that took ahold of him and transformed into a sob.

Aziraphale was there, the umbrella which was aflame but had yet to burn anything by his side in case of more intruders, sitting near and carefully tended to Crowley's needs.

A true gentleman knight.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #my writing #this was supposed to be very silly but it didn't work out that way #i might make a part two but with Az just patching Crowely up and calming him down

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sweetlangdon · 5 years

Text

Reckoning: Part Five (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Notes: AU of the Outpost plot of Apocalypse. A Gray accidentally finds Michael while he’s performing the ritual. Things take an interesting turn.

Warnings: Blood, violence, murder, all the usual stuff you’ve come to expect from this fic.

Word Count: 5.0k

You can find the previous parts here.

Her dreams were filled with Hellfire and devils and a world ravaged by the darkness. She heard it whispering to her as she slept, voices that seemed so much closer, so much clearer once she’d taken Langdon’s knife in that blood-soaked room. In her dreams, the sky was scarlet, a fire left burning. Everything else had drowned in ash and smoke except for the heap of bodies. They were pale, nearly withered away to bones. Left in twisted, macabre shapes with blood running from the corners of their mouths.

But she knew their faces. Every single one.

The Outpost, a hulking, black shape, loomed over them, awash in gold and orange from the fires. And then there was Langdon—impossibly, frustratingly perfect, dark and immaculate all at once. Not a drop of blood on him, not a speck of dirt on his clothes. She’d been distracted by the way the wind stirred his hair. His eyes were two deep pools of obsidian, an unforgiving black. And then he was moving toward her, dust and sand and ash swirling around his shoes, every movement more graceful than the last.

And he was grinning at her. That slow, arrogant crooked grin that took a while to curve his lips, the one that she tried to tell herself she hated. His molten black gaze drifted from her eyes to her hand as he closed the distance between. She hadn’t noticed it, the knife clutched in her fist, the crimson dripping from her fingers that didn’t belong to her.

But he did. Of course he did, because Langdon knew everything. Knew whatever darkness was locked away deep inside her soul. Knew what it took to coax it out and set it free.

And it was beginning to scare her, how much she wanted it.

His long fingers wrapped around hers still gripping the knife. His knife. Her breath hitched as his knuckles brushed her hair. He took her face in his hand, his thumb tracing the swell of her cheek. Langdon’s grin widened, and she decided that the abyss in his eyes wasn’t so horrifying anymore.

But he could keep the fucking snakes.

“Chaos becomes you,” Langdon whispered. A low growl that rumbled through her bones like thunder. Cataclysmic.

She’d been afraid the first time he told her that—terrified and angry and attracted, which seemed to be a package deal when it came to the fucking Antichrist. And now, once she heard the words echo through her thoughts, filling up her dreams, whispered against her skin in the blazing red light of the apocalypse, she believed it. She felt it, as real as she felt him.

And damn, if it didn’t feel good.

The knife slipped from her fingers when he kissed her. She barely heard the metallic thud of the blade dropping into the dirt, so lost in his touch. Langdon drew her to him, holding her face in the searing warmth of his hands, his rings lightly grazing her skin. He held her with a needy desperation that she didn’t expect. She forgot about the blood coating her hands, too eager to taste the chaos on his tongue.

There was scarlet where she traced the sharp lines of his jaw up to his cheekbones, wherever her fingers tangled into his silken hair. When he parted from her, she brushed her thumb along his lower lip before his head dipped toward her throat. And then she couldn’t hear anything else, nothing but his ragged, panting breath against her neck and the moan that echoed when he left a trail of kisses down to her collarbone. His lips were soft, but every time they swept across her skin, it felt like an inferno. He’d set her soul alight and now she needed him to stoke the flames, to keep that wildfire burning. Langdon smelled of smoke and darker things she couldn’t name—some kind of ancient power that tinged the air around them.

She didn’t care what the hell it was. She wanted it.

And if Langdon wanted chaos, she’d give it to him.

***

She was unceremoniously awoken by someone jostling her shoulder.

It wasn’t pleasant. It was actually so goddamn irritating that she tried to shove them away while still holding tight to sleep. Even after she’d groaned and swore loudly, rolling over on her paltry cot to escape, her fellow Gray shoved nearly her entire body weight into her shoulder. The Gray was lucky she wasn’t awake yet, otherwise she would’ve found herself sprawled on the floor. Her reflexes used to be quicker; it hadn’t mattered back then if she was half-asleep. For whatever reason, some of those survival instincts had worn off while they’d been trapped in this miserable pit.

“Fuck off.”

“You have to wake up.” Her roommate—whose name she always forgot despite the two of them spending eighteen months together in servitude—sounded completely done with her shit. “You can’t oversleep. I mean, it’s your business if you want Venable to starve you again, but I wouldn’t try her patience.”

“She can fuck off, too.” The long-suffering groan was muffled into her pillow until her fingers closed around the knife resting under it. Her muscles tensed. She’d almost forgotten about Langdon’s knife. “All right…I’m getting up. Stop hovering.”

If she had to guess, she’d gotten a few hours of sleep, but it didn’t feel like it.

Letting go of the knife’s sleek hilt, she made sure it was still safely hidden. There wasn’t any way to carry it around without her roommate noticing, so she pulled the blanket up over her pillow and hoped that the Gray didn’t get nosy while she was off doing the day’s chores. Her roommate eyed her, a mix of suspicion with a noticeable smugness that she didn’t really care for. She dressed quickly in a new, clean uniform without saying a word, trying to shake the last of the stubborn grogginess from her limbs.

Her heart slammed against her ribs when she saw Langdon’s coat tucked away in her wardrobe, the black striking among the drab shades of gray and white. She took a fistful of the fabric, gently, almost reverently, fingertips settling against the red silk lining. Something had been left in one of the inside pockets. Her thumb caught the edge of it, and with a little careful, discreet maneuvering, she found the clear vial of white pills Langdon had shown to the Outpost. The pills, he’d said, that would cause a painful but quick death.

Careless wasn’t his style. They’d been acquainted for about twenty-four hours if she had to guess, but after seeing him up close, she realized he never did anything without a reason.

Damn it, Langdon. What kind of fucked up nonsense is this? She stashed them in one of the extra pairs of shoes at the bottom of her wardrobe as she heard the approach of her roommate’s footsteps.

The weak, golden light from their fireplace tossed strange shadows onto both of them. She listened to the drumming of her pulse in her ears. It wouldn’t quiet down.

“You talk in your sleep, you know.” The Gray folded her arms over her chest. She hated the smug grin that pulled at one corner of her roommate’s mouth. That amount of arrogance wasn’t attractive on anyone—except, maybe, for Langdon. With the population of the world blown to hell, he practically had it trademarked.

It had been too late to hide the coat.

Well, now I’m completely fucked.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “No.”

“Well, you do.”

She was positive her fellow Gray had seen the coat before she tried to tuck it back between her uniforms and sparse personal belongings. More than enough time for her to catch the scent of something to throw into the Outpost’s rumor mill. It was the only form of cheap entertainment the Grays had to pass the time. Part of the reason why things spread so fast around here was her hawkish gaze and penchant for eavesdropping. Her interests usually involved tearing apart the Purples—and after catering to their every goddamn need, she had to admit it was cathartic—but if her roommate figured out that was Langdon’s coat…

She’d be the first casualty of the Grays. They’d rip her to fucking shreds.

…But would their jealousy be such a bad thing? She’d never been on the receiving end of anyone else’s envy. Maybe it was petty as fuck, but she had to admit that maybe it would be fun for once.

“Sounds like you and Langdon—”

She looked up sharply, eyebrows knit together. “Sounds like it’s none of your business.”

“You don’t have to get defensive,” her roommate answered. But the smugness was still there, and fuck, it annoyed her. “I doubt you’re the only person who’s fantasized about Langdon since he got here. I mean, have you seen the way Gallant looks at him?”

Actually, she’d forgotten about Gallant. But her roommate had a point. Langdon liked to sow chaos, liked to play with people’s minds. She had proof of that now. What would stop him from fucking with all of them? Was she just another pawn to him, a complete dumbass charmed by a pretty face and the allure of doing whatever the hell she wanted without consequence?

How could she trust any interest he’d shown in her as genuine?

“Whatever,” she replied. “It was just a dream.”

An omen or a prophecy? Hell if she knew.

“Oh, I don’t think it was just anything,” her roommate persisted. “Care to share? Come on, I thought you would’ve been dying to spill the details—”

She scowled. Yeah, like your bloody corpse thrown in a pile of bodies.

“I’m really not.”

The creak of the door’s hinges saved her from her roommate’s interrogation. Neither of them had heard the tap of Venable’s cane until she appeared at the threshold of their shared room. She wore a frown as severe as her hair, the cloud of perpetual disappointment following in her wake along with a sense of impending doom. Her mere presence could suck the life out of anything that was still breathing around her. She’d met a lot of uptight authority figures in her life, had a couple sets of foster parents who were stricter than the nuns at the Catholic school she’d once attended. Somehow, Venable put every single one of them to shame in their eighteen months together.

“Ladies.” Venable’s tone was even but firm, carrying a hint of exasperation. “Have I not been clear about the schedule? I’m sorry you don’t have the luxury of late mornings, but that’s not how things run around here.” Venable’s dark gaze fixed on her, and it felt like the woman had slapped her across the face. She caught herself before she rolled her eyes. Mornings, as a concept, were a thing of the past, another lifetime entirely. “You were warned about this, were you not? If I have to tell you again, there will be harsher consequences.”

That was Venable Speak for I’ll throw your ass out of here faster than you can blink. She would be left to the radiation poisoning if the desperate cannibals didn’t get to her first. She’d thought about it a lot while doing her chores, all the ways it could happen, while counting the minutes until curfew. She often debated which was worse, weighed her options. Of all the shit she’d been through in her life, nothing had made her feel more pathetic and hopeless than this. Venable had been lecturing her with the same warning for about two months, if she’d counted right. She suspected they couldn’t spare any more Grays or her own corpse would’ve been rotting in the wasteland outside by now.

She held her tongue, even though it nearly killed her. This was about survival, after all. “Yes, ma’am.”

***

Doing laundry for the Purples was the most thankless, mind-numbing job on this ruined planet, so of course the second she’d been put on Venable’s shitlist, it was the task she’d been assigned. It wasn’t that she hated being invisible, because she had been used to that before the bombs dropped. The Purples, as a specific tax bracket that could actually afford survival, were extremely high maintenance. And the fact that life as everyone knew it had ended did not change that. Venable’s weird ass Victorian Gothic aesthetic seemed to make it worse. Somehow, she never thought surviving the apocalypse would involve a future—or lack thereof—washing rich people’s dirty clothes.

But, survival was survival. She was lucky to be here, even if people like Venable and Mead made her constantly question her worth. If she was such a goddamn nobody, then why would she ever catch the interest of the Antichrist himself?

Her thoughts were traitorous bastards. Every time her mind wandered off throughout her monotonous work day, she always found herself thinking of Langdon. Whatever she’d felt when he gave her that knife and asked her to wound him—and the power she’d had, even though it had been fleeting, when she thought she’d mortally stabbed him. The intensity of his gaze, the preternatural heat of his body. She actually fucking missed that pretentious asshole, which was wild and ridiculous and maybe a little bit pathetic.

She was the only one in this miserable place who knew his secret. That had to be worth something.

After she dropped off the last of the clean towels in Coco’s room, narrowly avoiding some kind of argument between her and the Gray, Mallory, who was attached to her hip, she slipped away to Langdon’s suite. She told herself it was because of the bloodstained towels she’d left all over his bathroom floor last night. Anything else would’ve been pitiful.

When a knock on the door didn’t elicit any kind of response, she found it unlocked.

“Langdon?”

The door shut with a soft click behind her once she’d slipped inside. She didn’t have his coat with her—she’d have to return it after curfew, the only time that was relatively safe—so it was pointless to be here without him. The bathroom door was open this time, the room empty. Nothing but the flicker of candlelight, splashing like gold on the walls. Unlike a lot of the Purple suites, this one was kept tidy, the bed made as if it hadn’t even been slept in. Like she’d noticed last night, there were no personal touches to the room except for the laptop on the desk, which wasn’t even there anymore.

The room was so much colder without him in it.

She ached to know more about him. Any sort of hint about who he was outside this place before the world fell apart. Before he made it this way. What kind of life led to bringing about the apocalypse? She wondered if he had a family. A spouse. Parents. Her only frame of reference for the Antichrist was The Omen, and she doubted that was any help whatsoever in this situation.

Her life was so fucking bizarre.

“All right, Langdon,” she said to the vacant room. “Let’s see…”

Her fingers trailed across the top of the desk. Sitting in the chair, she pulled open the drawers, only to find every single one of them empty. No Cooperative files like she’d seen in Venable’s office. No letters. Not even a worn photograph of his family. She lingered there a moment longer, drumming her fingers on the glossy wood, wondering if Langdon would know she’d been in here without him. Maybe he would; he seemed to have eyes everywhere, an eerie omniscience. A satisfied grin tugged at the corner of her lips, knowing he was probably somewhere in the Outpost conducting interviews while she had the run of his private suite.

A soft gasp broke the quiet when she pulled the armoire open and discovered it overflowing with his clothes. “You are a fancy bastard.”

It was mostly a sea of endless black, a few pieces of dark or bright red lost in between. Her fingers skirted over silk and satin and velvet, neatly pressed pants, waistcoats, and jackets kept in impeccable order. A row of dress shoes and ankle length boots sat on the bottom shelf, all of them polished. The scent of him, dark and cloying, drifted into her senses the longer she stayed there snooping through his personal wardrobe.

And the absence of him was downright maddening.

She could almost imagine him here with her, silent as a phantom. Keeping watch.

A small drawer held his silk cravats, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. Next to the tangle of expensive silk sat a crystal bottle, the cap gilded with a decorative flourish and a serpent winding around it. She took it out, eyebrow inching upward. Two tiny rubies flashed in the candlelight, the serpent’s intense, angry gaze fixed in the middle distance. It was nothing more than a cologne bottle, except it happened to be so vague and yet so elegant that she wondered where the hell it had come from. Whatever scent it held turned amber in the light.

“Pretentious,” she muttered. “Hedonistic. I can’t say I’m surprised…but if I had access to anything I could ever want, I’d flaunt it, too. Being Satan’s son must have its perks.”

Once she uncapped the bottle, the scent hit her immediately. Rich and warm and earthy with a hint of bergamot and citrus. There were some darker notes hidden in there, some things she couldn’t place. Alluring. Decadent. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, letting it fill up her senses as if Langdon had been hovering right behind her, knuckles grazing the back of her neck, his chest flush against her spine. She was lucky the room wasn’t occupied because the sound that it provoked was probably the definition of unholy.

She sprayed it on her wrists and the hollow of her throat, the scent blossoming on her skin, following her even when she left the bottle where she’d found it. With the armoire shut, she went to the dresser. The top drawer had an orderly pile of black dress shirts; to her shock—because she thought he would’ve burned them along with the bloodied towels that had gone missing—she saw his ruined shirt tucked into the corner. The only thing in this room that wasn’t perfectly arranged. She pushed the drawer closed once she wrenched it out of its hiding spot.

It took her a minute to find the tear in the shirt, the place where the blade of his knife had pierced him. But it was still there, the only reminder that it hadn’t been some feverish nightmare. Her fingers worried at the ripped fabric, stumbling over where she could feel the dried blood. She stared at it for a long time, remembering how odd it had felt when the blade sunk into him, how easily she could do it again. There was the absence of him, but the absence of that power, too; she felt it fading and wondered if she’d ever be able to summon it again.

Maybe she was better off being a nobody. A shitty worker ant under Venable’s shoe.

“Sorry, Langdon.” She rolled up the shirt and shoved it into the pocket of her apron. “Old habits and all that. Though, I don’t think you’ll be missing this much.”

The door closed softly again behind her, and she stayed for just a moment more, her forehead resting against it as the scent of him drifted into the hallway with her. When she spun around, she caught the edge of a shadow darting around the corner. Her heart leapt straight into her throat, thinking it was Langdon. But it was so much worse than that.

Her roommate locked eyes with her from across the hallway, the two of them separated by the wide expanse of one of the main staircases. The Gray had captured her gaze long enough for her to know that this time, she was completely and utterly fucked. There were no lies to tell now, no excuses to explain this away. Her fellow Gray didn’t say anything, just lifted her chin in a sort of childish, condescending manner before she disappeared down the stairs.

Shit.

***

She awoke sometime past curfew, a feeling weaseling into her subconscious to wrench her out of a dreamless sleep. It felt more like a warning than her internal alarm clock, now set to the formless passage of time down here. Wrestling her way out of the fatigue that threatened to drag her back into the blissful dark, she sat up and blinked against whatever still blurred her vision.

Her roommate was awake. Wide awake. The doors to her own wardrobe had been thrown open, her fellow Gray, dressed in one of those horrible vintage nightgowns, stood there rifling through her personal shit. She’d found what she was looking for, though, because Langdon’s coat was in her hands and she recognized the pool of black fabric at her roommate’s bare feet as the shirt she’d stolen from his room earlier. Now she knew why her roommate had been asleep already when she went to bed, why her gossipy ass hadn’t said a word about what she’d seen. The Gray had been waiting instead. Biding her time for the right opportunity.

She swung her legs over the side of her cot. The floor was chilly under her toes. “What the fuck are you doing?”

The Gray’s smile was slow and rather triumphant. “I should be asking you that. Is this Langdon’s coat? How did you get this?” She took a few steps forward, trampling over the shirt she’d left on the floor. It made her irrationally angry, the way she kicked it to the side.

“I think he would say that’s classified.” She couldn’t help the smart comeback, despite the anger in her blood. “Why are you going through my shit? Who gave you the right?”

Her roommate’s grin dissolved into a deep frown. “I saw you,” she accused. “In Langdon’s room earlier. And I saw you hiding this.”

“I know you did.” Without thinking about it, her hand slid beneath her pillow, fingers curling around the handle of Langdon’s knife. “Now put that back where you found it.”

The Gray’s eyes narrowed. “So, what’s the story between you and him, then?” Her roommate threw the coat at her chest and she caught it with one hand, letting it drape across the cot where her blanket had been left in a tangle. “The secret visits, his clothes in our room—Mead said you were a thief. For the record, I never believed her.”

Well, maybe you should have.

“He asked me to do his laundry.”

“Right.” Her roommate scoffed. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

“Not really.” Her fist tightened around the knife.

“Are you fucking him?” the Gray asked. “Is that what this little arrangement is about? You give him everything he wants, and he’ll let you into the Sanctuary?”

“If I was,” she slipped the knife out from under her pillow, the blade flashing silver, “would that make you jealous?”

The Gray let out a trembling breath. “What are you doing?” She stumbled back a few steps, her eyes horrifyingly wide as she rose off her cot.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She advanced on her roommate, the knife clutched in her fist. The Gray wilted into a corner, a frightened whimper springing free from her throat. She wanted another taste of that power so badly, wanted the feeling of chasing after the chaos Langdon had unleashed inside her. It disappointed her a little that the Gray didn’t fight back, didn’t so much as scratch her or make a desperate grab for the blade. Once her roommate sunk into the wall, recoiling, silent tears dripping down her face, she leaned over the Gray with one hand splayed above her head.

“Would you be jealous,” she asked again, “if he wanted me?”

“Stop,” the Gray yelled. “I’ll tell Venable what you’ve been doing. And she’ll tell Mead, and they’ll throw you out and shoot you—”

It was quick. Not a second thought spared, just a swift, violent motion and the blade of the knife disappeared into the soft flesh of her roommate’s upper torso, slipping between her ribs. The Gray went slack with terrified shock, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights, one last pained whimper left to give. Another violent tug and the blade sliced upwards, a rush of blood spurting down the Gray’s white nightgown. Scarlet dribbled from her roommate’s chin, and she felt the splatter of her choking cough hit the side of her face. The Gray’s blood was warm, running down between them, her own nightgown stained from the aftermath. She pulled the blade out and watched the Gray crumple to the floor, the pool of blood growing bigger and darker around them. It was sticky and familiar between her toes.

She was panting heavily from the adrenaline, her exhales shaky. She dragged her sleeve across her forehead. “Shit.”

The blade had turned red, the air in the room tinged with the familiar scent of iron. She lowered into a crouch, eyes fixed on the Gray’s still body. Her sightless eyes. Rising to her full height, she gathered up Michael’s shirt from the heap on the floor and stowed it away in her wardrobe. She’d still have to return the coat to him, once she figured out how to deal with this mess. On the bright side, maybe he’d let her borrow his shower again.

The fire in the hearth behind her flickered wildly and then almost extinguished as if it had been smothered by a strong wind. The change in the air around her was immediate; the sharp rise temperature caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand up, a bead of sweat to trickle down the side of her face. She heard herself exhale, but it was more than that—the tension in her muscles dissipated, and she could take a deep breath. The ache lessened.

When she turned around, Langdon had his arms folded calmly behind his back, dark amusement on his lips. He cut a tall, lithe figure in tailored pants and a waistcoat, and the casual way he’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt caught her off guard.

“This is becoming a habit between us.”

She listened to the measured cadence of his footsteps. He moved past her to have a look at the body growing cold at her feet, his arm brushing against hers, his skin searing hot through the sleeve of her nightgown. Hearing the low rumble of his voice again made her stomach do another embarrassing somersault. His head turned toward her again, icy gaze drifting to the knife still clutched in her hand.

“You stole my knife.”

She threw him a pointed look. “Bullshit, Langdon. You let me take it.”

The slight rise of his chin, the mischievous, barely perceptible tilt of his head told her that she’d been right.

“I knew the temptation would be too much.” Langdon stepped closer, all languid elegance, that arrogant grin overtaking his face. “I knew the moment you turned the blade on me you wouldn’t be able to let it go.” His fingers closed around hers, wrapped around the hilt of the knife and smeared the blood. When she tried to let go and push the knife into his hand, he held tight to her fingers, his thumb tracing her knuckles.

“No,” he whispered, nudging her forehead with his, so close that the warmth she’d missed seeped through the thin fabric of her bloodstained nightgown. “I think you’ve earned the right to keep it.”

The knife slipped from her fingers and buried itself into the floorboards. Langdon hadn’t let go of her hand; instead, he brought it between them like he had last night, except now the blood was still warm and new on her skin. She watched, her breath catching a little in her throat, as he flipped her hand over to inspect the inside of her wrist. The pad of his thumb was soft, curious, as it followed the veins there. He ducked his head, nose skirting the delicate bone where the blood started to congeal. A flutter of his long eyelashes, the sharp intake of his breath told her that Langdon had discovered the remnants of his cologne on her.

He didn’t say anything, just pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. The touch was gentle, so fleeting that she could’ve imagined it. But it was enough to ignite the fire in her veins, enough to make the room spin just a little. She wanted to reach out and tangle her fingers in his hair like her dream, but she stopped herself. Fucking hell.

She struggled to speak. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Her voice shook more than she would’ve liked. “How am I going to explain this? Venable’s going to notice one of us is missing and I don’t—”

“You won’t have to,” he assured, voice dropping to a whisper. When he looked up, his smirk had returned. Langdon let go of her wrist and she hated him for it. “Leave that to me.” He searched her gaze and held onto it with an intensity that made her cheeks flush. “Anyone willing to kill to protect their secrets—and mine—is worthy of my trust. Do I have yours?”

She crouched to wrench the knife from the floor. “If you clean up the mess first.”

Langdon reached out a hand, fingers curled, his rings catching the weak light from the fireplace. The blood that had been spilled on the floor started to leach back into her corpse, not a trace of it left behind except for the red she’d managed to, yet again, get all over her clothes and hands. And then the Gray’s body ignited, the flames summoned from nowhere and producing little smoke. Together, they watched the body burn until there was nothing left except a few singed floorboards.

She supposed there were perks to earning the Antichrist’s trust, too.

***

Tagging my usual list, but if you want to (or don’t want to) be tagged, just let me know!

@lastregasolitaria @mylippo @zeciex @lvngdvns @langdonsdemon @wvntersldr @sojournmichael @gabnelson98 @antichristlangdxn @keavysmithxoxo @batgirlbride @dead-witch-boy @boofy1998 @gentianea @cryptid-coalition @kinlovecody @yuriohoe04 @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean @jcshadowkiss-blog @frozenhuntress67 @sebastianshoe @dixmond-taurus @bookobssesed99 @sassylangdon @queenie435 @holylangdon @angsty-otters-blog @denaexr @mr-langdonn @micheallangdons @lostin-fern @crazedcatcuddler @michaelsapostle @wroteclassicaly @monsucre @ritualmichael @queencocoakimmie @bluelancesredswords @theharvestgirloffire @punkysouls @sevenwondr @prettykitten123 @zoebensvn @kylosbabe @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @readsalot73 @americanhorrorstudies @tiny-ruby-seeds @confettucini @xavierplympton @kaetastic @blakewaterxx @marvel-imagines-yes-please @forever1313 @anacerta @imagines-oneshots-blog @tothetardissterek @vixi3303

#michael langdon x you #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x fem!reader #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon fanfiction #fic: reckoning

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