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maybege · 3 years

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Birthday Party Adventures

Summary: With his daughter’s birthday party approaching, Paz has many plans to make it all go right. What he didn’t expect was for Emily to invite her teacher and his crush – you.

Pairing: single dad!Paz Vizsla x fem!teacher!Reader

Wordcount: 4.0k | Rating: T

Warnings: Modern AU, fluffy fluff

Oh I feel like it has been ages since I initially wrote this (back in September actually!) but I love it just as much as on the first day and I hope that you will enjoy it too! This is dedicated to my Paz Gang @aerynwrites @datmando @hdlynnslibrary @princessbatears and @stubbychaos who came up with this wonderful AU idea. ❤

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

Paz was overwhelmed.

Paz was truly and utterly overwhelmed.

“Can I go and get my cereal?” Emily asked next to him, clearly bored with her father’s antics, “You will take ages to choose, Uncle Din was right.”

“All right, go ahead,” he mumbled, choosing to ignore the fact that Din had – once again – infiltrated his daughter’s thoughts with horrible lies. He did not take ages. Anybody would take as long as he was taking when the choices were so … vast.

Cake mix after cake mix was displayed in the aisle and how would he know which one he should get?

Emily’s birthday was this weekend – Saturday to be exact and he had promised her a cake. He always promised her a cake. And he always failed.

But not this time.

This time, he had listened to his best friend and would settle on a cake mix although he still felt like he was cutting corners. But at least it would not be store-bought. And, as Fennec had suggested, he could still buy some decorations to make the cake special.

Because that’s what Emily deserved – a special cake, made with love.

So, while his daughter was probably trying to find the sweetest cereal there was available, he tried to settle on a cake.

Deep down, Paz knew that Emily was probably eating way too much sugar. But to be honest, there were so many battles he could fight at once and he was more prepared to fight some judgmental soccer moms than the will of his own daughter.

Holding two cake mixes in his hands – birthday confetti and chocolate – Paz whipped around as he heard an all too familiar voice greet him. “Mr Vizsla, it is so nice to see you.”

There you were.

The woman of his dreams.

Emily’s teacher.

Stars, he knew he was probably acting absolutely ridiculous around you. No matter what kind of school event there was, as one of Emily’s main teachers you were always around he was never able to take his eyes off you.

Not only were you pretty and smart but you were kind. You kept all the kids in check with a calmness that he admired you for and he could see how you valued each and every student in your class. And now you were here, wrapped in an oversized cardigan and clutching a shopping basket in your hands.

But you beamed at him and he was sure he’d never seen anything prettier.

Forgotten were the cake mixes in his hands as he lowered them to the sides of his body. “Hi, um, Miss –“

“Emily was mentioning you were having trouble choosing.”

“Em saw you?”

You chuckled, avoiding your eyes as if you were embarrassed, “I came over to say hello and she mentioned you needed help to choose a cake?”

Speak, for maker’s sake, speak! A voice in his head screamed at him but his brain was still processing the fact that (a) this was not a school event and (b) you were speaking to him, leading to (c) you were speaking to him in your own free time.

“Chocolate.”

“What?”

“I would go with chocolate,” you gestured to the box in his right hand, biting your lip and stars, he wanted to hold your hand and kiss your cheek and take walks through the park with you. Instead, here he was, making a fool of himself.

“I will trust your judgment, then,” he nodded, carefully putting the other box back on the shelf. When that was done, you kept standing there in front of him looking up at him expectantly. Why – why? – couldn’t he speak? It should not be this hard to open his mouth.

He just needed to say I think you are wonderful and I would like to get to know you more. Would you be interested in having dinner with me?

“Um, would you like to …”, his voice trailed off.

You did that lip-biting thing again and your whole face lit up and stars, maybe you wanted him to ask you. “Yes?”

“I was wondering if you would like to –“

“I know you said I wasn’t allowed the sweet ones but it’s my birthday soon,” Em announced loudly, dropping a box in the already full shopping cart and pouting at him, “Can I have it as an early present, pretty please?”

Mission: Ask Pretty Teacher Out For Dinner was immediately aborted and he swore he saw a look of disappointment flash across your face. At least that was something to give him hope.

“Dad always makes me a cake and he fails every year, it’s a tradition by now,” his daughter explained and he groaned inwardly, but then she had her thinking face on – the same she had as a toddler – and suddenly added, “You should bring one.”

“What?”

“Em, I don’t think your teacher has the time to …”

But Em, bless her soul, would not be deterred from her plan. By now he cursed the stubborn streak that ran through his family and had evidently taken root in his daughter as well.

“Dad always talks about how much he likes your raspberry chocolate crumble,” she shrugged, “And my classmates like it too.”

When would the ground open up and swallow him whole?

And the worst thing was: Em wasn’t even lying. She had her blunt honesty from him and the way he had gushed about that raspberry crumble had been unusual, especially for him. But it had also been unusually good. And the way you had smiled at him when he had taken a second serving had made his heart warm.

Now though, there were no words that could describe the embarrassment that flowed through him. He felt exposed in a way that he had not felt for a long time and being at anyone’s mercy – even if it was yours – was not something that he cherished.

“Well,” you started with a smile and looked at him, “If your dad won’t mind, I could certainly bring over a cake for your birthday party.”

“He won’t mind.”

“I won’t mind.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and you smiled, genuinely smiled, at him. Paz’s breath caught in his throat. Stars, you were beautiful. Everything about you was just magnificent from the tips of your hair to your eyes, your nose, your lips, how you hugged your oversized cardigan closer to you.

“Great,” you nodded, “So … I will see you then?”

“My dad will text you the info,” Emily added, seemingly the only one who kept her cool at the situation.

You furrowed your brows in confusion, “Oh, but I don’t –“

“Dad, why don’t you give Miss Y/L/N your number?” Em brazenly suggested, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes that he knew all too well, “For adult stuff.”

He could feel his ears burn, could hear himself sputtering out words about how he did not want to be inappropriate and how this should be your decision and not Emily’s. And stars, he didn’t want to make advances towards you.

Well, he did.

He did want to flirt with you, wanted to compliment you on your kind eyes and your shining smile. But not like this. Not if it made you uncomfortable. And certainly not in the blaring lights of the grocery store aisle.

But before he could say anything more, before he could dig his hole deeper, you had your phone in your hands and were looking at him expectantly. And then he stumbled through his phone number, you nodding all the while and typing the numbers into a new contact.

“Great,” you smiled, “So – I will see you then?”

“Yes,” he murmured dumbly, “I will see you then.”

5:33 pm: Hi! This is Y/N 😊 Just wanted to say I’m really looking forward to Emily’s party this Saturday. Is there anything I should bring next to the crumble?

5:59 pm: Sorry, it just occurred to me that you probably only know me by my last name. I’m Emily’s teacher.

6:12 pm: Hello, this is Paz. Emily’s dad. You do not need to bring anything other than the cake and yourself.

7:43 pm: I am looking forward to seeing you too.

Saturday rolled around quicker than he had anticipated.

He had spent the week trying to make sure everything would be ready for Emily’s party (and your arrival) and that the apartment would be in tip-top shape to be destroyed by a bunch of kids.

He had spent almost all of Friday night wrapping presents when Emily was fast asleep only to be woken up at sunrise by his very energetic daughter who wanted to have some tasty pancakes from their favourite café around the corner.

He loved mornings like this.

Where it was just Em and him and they could enjoy their peace and quiet. Seeing her grow up was bliss and torture at the same time. He loved her, he was so proud of her and seeing her grow slowly but surely into a confident young woman was everything he’d ever wished for. But at the same time, it felt like time was slipping through his fingers. He wanted to catch these precious moments in his hands and never let them go.

This moment of calm did not last for long though, only for breakfast and until they were back in the apartment, preparing excitedly for the party that was to come.

Baking a cake was a disaster just like Emily had said it would be.

Maybe she had been right in saying that it was a tradition now. Maybe he really would not be able to bake a cake for her.

But now it was not only the cake. In less than an hour, 10 kids would swarm the way too small city apartment and he would need to prepare some food and why had he decided against ordering pizza and what if something went wrong?

And you would show up too, sometime, and he had wanted to change into something more appropriate for actually having a teacher (aka crush) over and being dressed in his flour-covered flannel shirt was certainly not it.

The doorbell rang just as the bowl of cake mix fell to the tiled floor. “Kriffing shit” he cursed trying to jump out of the cloud of grains just as he heard the tell-tale footsteps of Emily running to the door. “I got it!”

“No, Em, wait -!”

But it was too late. He had just caught himself on the doorframe when you stepped into the hallway, looking around curiously. You fit in so well, he thought instinctively, you could live here too.

“I’m a bit too early, I hope you don’t –“ you halted in your words, tilting your head at his flour-covered appearance, “mind.”

“I – I am so sorry,” he started, trying to dust off but only making it worse, “I was a bit in a hurry and I –“

“It’s all right,” you replied quickly, lifting the box in your hands lamely, “I brought cake.”

“I will take that,” Em decided, taking the cake off your hands and transporting it to the dinner table in the living room. But not without showing him the huge grin on her face.

“I’m sorry for the mess, I just …” he threw up his hands in defeat, desperation clear in his voice, as you followed him into the chaotic kitchen.

“No worries, we will manage that just fine.”

The way you said we made his heart beat faster and he stepped aside to make space for you.

The apartment Emily and he lived in was actually a miracle to find in such a big city and he still thanked the stars for the day when the landlord had decided to let him, a single father and his tiny daughter, move in. But for all its perks – the layout, the view, the small balcony that fit a small bench – the apartment had one single flaw: The kitchen.

It was a tiny kitchen with the counters wrapping around all three walls and leaving only the space free where the doorway was. And it was narrow. He had always cursed it, especially with his size, and more than once had he accidentally hit his head on a cabinet door that his daughter had left open.

And where it was small for one full-grown adult, it was a tight fit for two. Which made it even worse. Or better. Depending on how one viewed things.

You bumped against him constantly, his hands brushing accidentally against yours, one time almost smashing into you but only hitting your foreheads together. And you only ever giggled or smiled shyly at him, never ever stepping away from the closeness and it made his heart flutter in his chest.

Maybe – maybe you wanted that too.

While he was mixing the dough together under your careful eyes, you had started to slice some apples that he had found in the pantry. He threw a few glances your way, catching you looking at him too before smiling at you.

Stars, he really was behaving like a lovesick puppy, wasn’t he?

“You are pretty good at this,” he commented, nodding towards the cake that you had brought with you. You spooned a bit of cinnamon into the apple mix, before spreading the dough in the baking form he had found somewhere in a cabinet.

“It’s a hobby,” you shrugged your shoulders, “I was never good with finding new connections when I moved and I found that making good food helps people to talk to you.”

“I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to talk to you,” he blurted out, feeling his ears grow hot, “I mean because – you don’t need baking to be nice and I – fuck, wait, shit no, I don’t mean fuck, I – “

You laughed, full-on giggles escaping you as he sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “I’m sorry, I imagined all of this differently.”

“How – how did you imagine it?” you asked quietly, stepping closer to him. Your eyes were so big now and you looked so hopeful and he could feel his heart skip a beat.

“Well, I wanted to look competent for once,” he stated, gesturing around the filled countertops, “And not forcing you to help me make up my mistakes.”

“You’re not forcing me to do anything,” you protested, biting your lip, “I – I like helping you and … spending time with you.”

“Dad, Alyssa is already on her way, are you sure want to cook? Is the cake even ready? I invited Isabelle and I don’t want her to think that I can’t –“

Apparently, he could not hide the misery on his face – when had he decided that it would be a good idea to not only bake a cake but cook for a hoard of hungry kids? – because you snorted next to him, clearly amused. Emily had crossed her arms in front of her chest, looking pleadingly up at him.

“Don’t worry, your father and I will make sure there will be enough cake to go around,” you reassured his daughter before looking at him, “Do you have a plan for dinner?”

“We could always order pizza,” Emily suggested, the hope in her eyes clear as she looked at him.

Stars, when would he ever be able to deny her anything?

“It’s true,” he chuckled, patting his daughter on her back, “We always end up with pizza anyway.”

So, while you and Em busied yourselves with putting the pie in the oven, he ordered pizza for everyone. (A few family-sized pizzas would be enough right?) And because he was feeling a little more confident, he also added a side of garlic bread and a bottle of wine to the order. Maybe you would like to stay if he could offer a glass of wine?

On his way back, he passed Emily on the way to the bathroom. “I will go get ready,” she announced loudly while also wildly gesturing towards the kitchen.

When he entered the small room, he could feel the heat of the oven already.

“It should be done soon if everything works as it should,” you announced and straightened up, “The kids definitely won’t starve.”

“I cannot thank you enough,” the relief in his voice was clear, “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Then it is a good thing we won’t have to know,” you teased him and the mirth in your eyes made him want to kiss you so badly. And there it was again. That silent tension between the two of you.

This would be a good moment, he thought to himself as he slowly lowered his face towards yours, Emily was occupied getting ready, the pie was in the oven, you were alone with him and he could hear your breath hitch in your throat.

Delicate fingers closed around his wrist, pulling him closer and he could feel your breath on his face and just a little bit more and then –

Ring!

He flinched away from you, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s probably Alyssa,” he whispered, avoiding your gaze.

Alyssa was dropped off by her mother. Her eyes fell to you, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, drying your hands on a towel and looking very much at home (he tried to ignore how warm that made him feel).

“Miss Y/L/N,” she greeted you, clearly caught off guard, “what a surprise to see you here, I didn’t know that Emily had invited you too.”

“Oh well you know …” you shrugged your shoulders and he could hear the wheels turning in your head, searching for a good excuse.

“My dad invited her,” Em announced smugly, her and Alyssa grinning from ear to ear.

The awkward silence between the adults would have been hilarious hadn’t he been a part of it. But what his brain decided to focus on the most was the fact that you had not denied it, you had simply smiled at Alyssa’s mom, made some small talk about the newest English project you had the kids working on, and remained standing next to him the whole time.

Paz was sure that his gazing at you was obvious to everyone present but he could not help himself.

One after another, the little guests trickled in, playing board games and eating your delicious cake in the living room. He helped Em set up the little karaoke game that she had gotten from Din last Christmas and excited cheers filled the room as they tried to look at the different song options.

Paz left them to their own devices, knowing that should anything go wrong, Em would come and get him.

But with the living room occupied, the only space left for him and you to be was the tiny kitchen.

“So … I, um, I helped you with the cake,” you started to shuffle, hands wringing in front of your belly, “I really don’t want to outstay my welcome and –“

“You could stay if you want,” he suggested, blood pumping in his veins, “I – I have ordered some wine and garlic bread if you’d like.”

And that’s how you ended up sitting next to him on the kitchen floor, your legs stretched out in front of you. He had to angle his legs a little, the space between the counters too small for him. But the closeness it provided to you was more than worth it. He fished two wine glasses from the shelf, handing them down to you before grabbing the bottle of wine.

There were no clean plates left so he spread the pizza carton out on both of your legs, the warmth of the food seeping into his thighs.

“To a successful birthday party,” you stated, carefully clinking your glass with his, “And to the very talented father who organized it all.”

“To the best baker out there,” he replied and the way you bit your lip made him smile.

He bit into the garlic bread heartily and his stomach grumbled satisfied.

“This is so good,” you moaned next to him, mouth still full and he grinned.

You ate in peaceful silence, munching on a few leftover slices of pizza that the kids had graciously left. With the warm glow from the kitchen lamps, he decided that birthday parties weren’t so bad when he had you there to enjoy it with.

When he looked at you, his gaze fell to a drop of red sauce that had found its place on the corner of your mouth. You tilted your head questioningly.

“You, uh,” he murmured, gesturing towards his face, “You got something there.”

When your hands missed it, his own rose up to your face. He swore he could hear your breath hitch as his thumb brushed over the tomato sauce, wiping it away.

But your face remained turned towards him, your lips slightly open and were you getting closer?

Was he reading the signs right? He didn’t even know. All he knew was he wanted to kiss you. Really. Truly. No matter how inappropriate it might be.

And with the karaoke in the background and a bunch of 10-year olds shrieking the lyrics to the newest chart, he bowed down his head and kissed you. Full on the mouth.

It was soft and gentle, both of you not moving an inch. But then his hand crept forward, gently framing your cheek and you gasped against him, your hands wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer and stars you were returning the kiss.

You tasted of wine and cake and you were soft, so soft, he loved every second of it.

Slowly, he started to move his lips, brushing his tongue on your bottom lip, pulling your closer and suddenly you were straddling him, his hands on your hips pulling your closer and his back against the counter and the screeching of some Jojo Siwa song in the background.

When he slowly pulled away, your bottom lip falling from his teeth, your chest was heaving from his kisses, your lips were swollen, and he wanted to pull you to him again. A smile tugged at his lips.

“Would you like to go out with me sometime?” he asked breathlessly, eyes searching for any indication that he had crossed a line. But you were still clinging to him, your hands wandering down to grasp at his forearms.

This. This would be what he dreamed about now. The smile on your lips, how your eyes shone in the low kitchen lights, how you kept touching him.

“I’d really like that,” you nodded, the small smile on your lips growing bigger by the seconds.

“Really?” he asked, his nose nudging against yours, “That’s – that’s great, how about tomorrow? We could go for a walk in the park?”

“A walk in the park sounds great,” you whispered against his lips and he dipped his head to kiss you again, just as slowly.

“Good,” he murmured.

“Good,” you repeated, your tongue mingling with his.

“Dad, do we have any more of that cake left, it’s actually really –“

In a panic, he almost threw you off him.

You were doing your best to right your cardigan as Emily entered the kitchen, eyeing both of you suspiciously.

“Sorry, what was that, Em?” he asked, swallowing hard and hoping to all the stars that she hadn’t seen him make out with you like a teenager.

“I was just wondering if you had any more cake left, I can’t believe it but it actually tastes good?!”

He laughed and gestured towards the counter, “there some more, you can take the tray to the living room, I – we will just clean up some more.”

“You know, I totally saw you two kissing, right?”

“Emily Vizsla!”

“What? It is not like I am going to scold you or anything,” and with her usual confidence, she swayed away, the cake in her hands.

“Well, you heard her,” he grinned, hands coming up to frame your face again, as he kneeled on the tiles, his lips descending yours, “It is not like she is going to scold us or anything …”

And with that, he kissed you again.

#maybege writes #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizsla x fem!reader

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cellard0ors · 3 years

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Fic: Movement (4/5)

Still working on this for @peachworthy. Should wrap up sometime this week or next and then the full thing'll get posted to AO3. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 here for now!

They decide to do it on a Saturday night.

Link has the weekend off from work and no classes. Rhett’s schedule is also free. They discuss the matter in terse terms, both seeming nervous about the idea, but neither backing down.

As such, Saturday rolls around with little fanfare until late into the evening. An evening that finds Link sitting on the couch, one of his legs jiggling and bouncing about as he waits for Rhett.

Rhett comes out to the living room holding a pillow and he offers it to Link. Link looks at it with some confusion and his friend clears his throat, eyes darting away, “For your lap.”

“My-?” Link looks down and then to Rhett and then…oh. Link colors, realizing that the pillow is to be used in order to cover any potentially ‘arising’ situation on his part. Feel exposed yet stubborn, he remarks dryly, “Don’t think I’ll need that.”

Rhett lets out a loud laugh and pats him in the chest with it, “Trust me. If I’ve done my job right? You will.”

“…point taken,” Link says softly and he takes the pillow, settling it over his crotch. To be fair, he probably will pop wood. After all, he sometimes pops it when Rhett’s full clothed.

Nude?

Yeah.

Link presses down on the pillow harder, even the errant thought of a nude Rhett causing a stirring. Rhett walks to the television and fiddles with the remote.

An app that Link’s noticed before, but never bothered with, is clicked on. Erotes Plus. The screenshots for the videos that come up are…certainly something. Link looks away, almost overwhelmed by all the bare flesh before him. The titles of the videos are also a bit much. Rhett notices and Link can hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “Prude.”

Link scowls and glares back at him and the screen. He is nota prude. However, titles such as ‘Lonely Housewife Squirts for The First Time’ and ‘He Rides His Daddy Dry’ would take anybody aback. At least Link would like to think so – he supposes some people are more immune than others. After all, his own history with porn is on the small side.

During puberty he’d taken his healthy peeks at nude magazines and a few of his friends had snuck out adult VHS tapes to check out, but for the most part it hadn’t interested him. Granted, this was probably due to his eventual discovery that – while he appreciated the female form – it didn’t draw his interest quite like the male one did.

And finding gay porn? Where he grew up? Yeah, pretty much a completely impossibility. And then – when he’d finally managed to snag some – it had, once more, disappointed. It all just seemed so cold and callous. Like a business transaction with a boatload of grunting. Not at all to his tastes.

Rhett, scrolling through the videos, finally finds one titled simply ‘Movement’ and turns to Link with an apprehensive glance, “Still plenty of time to say ‘no’.”

Link’s throat is dry. Unlike some of the other screenshots, this one is vaguer. It’s two forms silhouetted in shadow. One of those forms is Rhett. Link feels numb as he speaks, “I’m good.”

Rhett clicks the video and it begins.

He moves over and sits near Link, lounging against the other side of the couch in an oh-so-casual way. As if an adult video starring him hasn’t just begun to play.

The film opens with a lithe redhead in a yoga outfit doing various poses. While this is being shown the title card appears followed by the starring and since Link highly doubts Rhett goes by ‘Jenessa Star’, he can’t help but chuckle at, “‘Donatello Velvet’?”

“What?” Rhett asks simply and Link gestures to the television, “That’s you, isn’t it?”

“Problem?”

“That’s the screen name you chose?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it, I just don’t see you as a ‘Donatello’,” Link grins at him and Rhett laughs, rubbing one finger along his top lip thoughtfully, “What would you’d’ve gone with then?”

“If I was doing adult film?” Link asks and at Rhett’s nod, he crosses his arms and thinks, “I don’t know…Bevin, maybe?”

Rhett tosses his head back and laughs and Link feels a fissure of delight at that sound, just as he always does. He turns back and the redhead’s poses have become…much more complex. Almost painful looking as she contorts herself to degrees Link wouldn’t think possible and then she rises, stretching out and that’s when Rhett enters.

Or maybe it would be better to think of it as Donatello enters. Yes, it’s a little easier that way and Link does his best to cling to that, to try and stay nonchalant as he offers dryly, “Well, well – there’s a familiar lookin’ fella.”

Rhett just hums and they both watch as he walks up to the woman. He runs his hands along her shoulders and down her arms, whispering into her neck huskily, “Good form.”

Link can’t help but let out a snort. Rhett rolls his eyes, “Okay, okay – I know, I know. Dialogue’s a bit-?”

“Bad?”

“…it could use some improvement.”

“Uh huh,” Link just beams and hey, this isn’t so bad. Cheesy and kind of silly and maybe it will just stay like this. Light and fun. For all Link knows, they won’t even watch the whole thing. Maybe just some of it and then they can turn on something els-!

Rhett begins kissing Jenessa’s neck, white teeth visibly dragging along her skin and Link’s whole body tightens. A phantom sting starts along the same side of his neck that Rhett’s touching on Jenessa. Jenessa’s whole throat arches back, a pleasured moan leaving her and Rhett’s tongue is…very pink.

Link’s Adam’s apple bobs as he says (much huskier than he’d like) “N-Nice camera work…”

Rhett just hums, “Mac’s always had a good eye.”

“Mac?”

“Mackenzie, the director of this one.”

Link just lets out a sound of acknowledgement as he watches Rhett reach around Jenessa and tug at her tank top. Tug until her small, pointed breasts pop free. He cups them in his hands and he has…great hands.

They looks so tan against her skin, palms rough and big, and Jenessa lets out a full throttle moan. Rhett teases the pink tips, fingertips agile as they play along the sensitive flesh, as they circle around her areolas.

She whimpers and turns, kisses him fully, passionately, and it’s…messy. Wet. Link can feel his whole heart thump hard at the sight. Janessa’s hair is shorter than Rhett’s – cropped close to her scalp and Rhett’s hands have abandoned her chest to run through the short strands.

Link barely stops himself from reaching up and touching his own hair, instinctively wanting to mimic how that might feel. To imagine Rhett doing it to him.

He tries not to fidget and talking, talking will help, “Surprised this isn’t more, ah, instant.”

Rhett shrugs, “Foreplay’s a thing, man.”

“No, I know,” Link knows his voice pitches a little high at this, defensive, “Just…figured, mean...’s porn…”

“Some of the earlier videos on here are like that, but when EP got bought out, the new owners took the company in a different direction.”

“EP?”

“Erotes Plus. The platform these films are on,” Rhett explains and then he starts mentioning a few things about different production companies and distributors and the like, but Link is too distracted because Jenessa is now fully naked and Rhett is on his knees between her legs, feasting on her moist lower lips.

The silken tip of his tongue is parting her, dancing along the bundle of nerves that is her clit and her head is tossed back on a loud, wild whine.

Her pale body undulates and she’s gripping his long hair so hard. Link feels as if he’s having an out of body experience. This is his roommate. His friend. The man he’s secretly in love with.

And he’s pleasuring this woman with such…focus. With intensity and finesse and when he rises, his erection is clear, straining at the linen pants that are containing it. Link points to the screen weakly, “Hippie clothes.”

The comment is stupid and unhelpful, but Rhett just laughs, “Yeah – kinda the theme of this series. I’m like, a Yoga Instructor or something? Least that's the way it was explained to me, so – linen pants, cotton top – I mean, we’ve had better costumes, but for this shoot-!”

Rhett is talking some more but, again, Link is barely listening. His eyes are transfixed by what’s taking place on the screen. Janessa easily strips off Rhett’s shirt and then his pants and – No. Underwear.

Link is seeing Rhett’s dick. It’s there…thick, but not as big as his own, a visible vein running along one side. Dusky dark and with a blushing pink tip and gently curling hair hiding his full, taunt sack…

“Link? Buddy? You doin’ alright?”

“Fine.”

“Lookin’ like you seen a ghost," Rhett teases, but there’s a breathless quality to his words, “My body all that bad?”

Link just shakes his head and watches as Jenessa strokes Rhett, as his head falls back and he lets out a shuddering gasp that Link feels in his very bones.

Link is suddenly very, very thankful for the pillow that bobs some as it reacts to the situation taking place beneath it. That situation being Link’s own dick perking upwards, making his jeans tight and constrictive.

“You…?” Something Rhett said finally seems to click in Link’s head, “You said this is a series?”

“Yup,” Rhett murmurs and now the film shows him pressing Jenessa against one of the studio walls and she raises one leg high. Insanely high. It’s a very gymnastic level move and Rhett slots his cock up with her opening, sliding hard and deep into her body.

Jenessa lets out a wail of pleasure as he presses in and she holds that leg up – all strength and grace as he begins to move within her at a steady rhythm.

Her hips answer some, but it’s more about how…open she is. And how deep he’s getting. They’re eyes are locked as he picks up his pace, rocketing in and out of her, shaking her whole form with his thrusts, her tiny breasts jiggling with each movement and movement, they call this…

“Got an award for this one.”

Thank God. That one comment draws Link back to some semblance of sanity even as his body quickens with an unspeakable longing, a carnal hunger that aches, “Really?”

“Uh huh,” Rhett says with no small amount of pride, “Best Sex Scene.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I mean, I owe it to her to be honest,” he waves to the screen, “She’s the one turning herself into a pretzel throughout this thing. Same for the rest of ‘em. They kept finding co-stars for me to work with who had had extensive training in this sort of body contortion. It was just my job to, uh, well…”

Rhett waves again and the answer is obvious: to fuck them through it. Link is not at all limber. In fact, he’s kind of a klutz. Nothing to match up with someone like this.

For some reason, this realization leaves him hollow. Cold. His arousal dims some, “Where’d you get the award from?”

“XRCO.”

Link makes some sound that would imply he understands, but he doesn’t. Rhett sighs, “Got nominated for Most Popular Male Performer on Pornhub but lost to Johnny Rockwell. Guy deserved it though. Performance he did that year was nuts.”

Link’s lost in the vocal cacophony that is erupting from the television speakers. Moans, gasps, grunts, cries of sheer ecstasy as Rhett and Janessa really ramp it up.

They’re in a different position now, Jenessa’s body once more arched at a crazy angle and Rhett's just...really getting in there. His hips are pumping double time, like a jackhammer, and she is loving it.

Her blue eyes are flashing with adoration, her lips curled in that moue that speaks to an almost pleasurable pain and Link can’t help but ask, “Are the others with her?”

Rhett takes a moment to process the question and when he realizes Link is asking about the other films in the series, he shakes his head, “Nah, man. You don’t usually have repeating partners. Like I said, they found other people who could bend in weird ways. The sequel to this sees me with Julian St. Croix. Great guy. Really smart. He’s actually working on another doctorate. Plans on working in the tech field when he retires, which – money he’s making, should be pretty damned soon. You want me to dial that up?”

Link just shakes his head. The idea of watching Rhett doing something like this with yet another person and with a man no less…

He feels crappy for, well, feeling crappy. This is Rhett’s job. He shouldn’t take this personally.

Besides, it’s not like Rhett knows how Link feels about him. To him, they’re just friends and he should play the part of friend – be a friend, a good friend, “I can see why you won the award, Rhett. You’re doing a…a great job. Real good acting.”

The sound of the shocked (yet oddly sharp) laughter that leaves Rhett at that actually causes Link to finally look at him.

Rhett’s face is a ruddy red, like he’s embarrassed or something, and he’s looking at Link with a bit of a wildfire in his eyes, “‘Good acting? Are you serious?”

Link finally shifts about on the couch (which feels fantastic considering his body has been fighting off a plethora of sensations for a while now) as he fully turns to him, pillow still firmly in place, “Of course! I mean, it-it seems like you’re really into this girl,” he gestures to the screen, “when you’re doing this and I imagine that’d take some acting chops.”

He chews on his bottom lip and lowers his gaze, hands ghosting over the pillow as he talks to it more than Rhett, “Un-unless you really are into her.”

“Into her?” Rhett pokes one finger over to the television, “Into Janessa?”

“Yeah, I mean…if-if you two are a couple or-or were one or-?”

“Me and Janessa?” Rhett asks incredulously and some of the heat seems to leave him. Link gets the impression that Rhett had, for a moment, been mad or affronted by Link’s well intentioned compliment, but now is completely changing track. Now Rhett seems charmingly baffled, “You think I’m into Janessa?”

“I-I was just saying if you’re not into her in this,” Link waves to the screen where (seeing as the volume is dying down) it would seem the film is reaching its conclusion, “Then the acting is good and if you are-!”

“I’m not,” Rhett confirms firmly, “I am very much not, nor was I ever, into Janessa. We’re friendly, but we’d never work as a couple, man. She likes cats.”

Rhett says the last as if it’s a blasphemy and Link can’t help but giggle, suddenly feeling bright and light even though he knows better than to do so, “Problem?”

“Not a big fan of lil demons…”

“Noted, “Link sighs and he feels much, much better. The film is finally over, he’s seen some of Rhett’s work, and he can now say the following with sheer confidence, “I’m proud of you.”

And with that, Rhett freezes. He freezes solid, back going ram rod straight, and his eyes – they’re as round as dinner plates.

Big and green and looking at Link like’s a wild anomaly and Link worries that maybe he, somehow, inadvertently offended him with the remark so he’s quick to explain, “I-I mean it, bo. I’m proud of you. Going out there and-and doing something like this. Being so…so exposed and vulnerable and for anyone to see and yeah, sure, I mean, I guess it’s just for people to-to beat off to or whatever, but when you think about it, it’s something that brings people pleasure, which is a lot better than bringing something bad into people's lives and I know some would argue that porn is like, some gateway into violent dark tendencies or whatever, but for the average person it’s a good thing to explore and the fact you can so freely provide that to them and not be ashamed-!”

Link is blathering.

He’s a blathering idiot.

But he feels like if he stops talking, Rhett might snap at him. Or be mad. Or-!

But instead Rhett just shakes his head and whispers, “You’re unbelievable.”

Link’s diatribe cuts off. His blood stops in his veins. He feels completely seized.

“I’ve been trying so hard…fighting with everything in me,” Rhett breathes and he just…eases forward, eases closer. He’s in Link’s personal space and Link wonders if he should back up or something.

He can feel the heat coming off Rhett’s skin. His breath is bathing Link’s face as he rasps, “But I can’t anymore. You’ll have to forgive me, but…”

Rhett kisses him.

Rhett. Kisses. Him.

Rhett kisses Link.

Their lips meet in the smallest, quickest, sweetest little peck. The sound of it, the quick wet click of their lips…it’s earth shattering, sound-barrier breaking.

And Link feels his whole nervous system lurch at it. And Rhett is still looking at him, searching his eyes wildly. Link blinks and licks his lips and tries to speak, but there’s nothing to say.

Rhett just grins softly, “Bad for business…that’s what you are…”

Link’s gaze dips to Rhett’s mouth. To his lips. Lips that were on his seconds ago. His eyes feel heavy lidded as he gulps and Rhett just huffs as he kisses him again. Again.

Another kiss and this one is more than just a peck. This one? This one is the one Link’s been dreaming of, the one he’s been wishing for.

This kiss is perfect.

#rhink #randl #my writing #peachworthy

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darter-blue · 3 years

Text

Beautiful Rage

Bucky/Zemo

Explicit - 18+ readers only

Helmut clenched his fists to control the shaking. He hadn't meant… hadn't meant to…

Well. That’s a lie.

He had absolutely meant to upset Bucky.

He should have meant to placate him, to twist him against Sam, to keep his leverage but give them enough information to keep them both on his side.

But there's something about the way Bucky holds his jaw. The way his eyes flash with unchecked emotion.

Something about the heat that radiates off of Bucky when he's angry.

Fires under Helmut's skin like a pulse.

And that little outburst, looming over Helmut, ripping the tea cup from his fingers and smashing it against the wall. The cold fury…

Helmut needs to shake it off. This is not what he's here for. This is not part of his plan…

Bucky's beautiful rage, the way it clouds Helmut's judgements, his fixation on bringing it to the surface, is only going to make it harder for him to finish what he started.

It takes almost no time at all for Helmut’s resolve to crumble.

It takes only as far as their next argument, with Sam gone to speak with his sister, to buy himself some small peace, and Helmut fresh from a hot bath, Buky has been sitting too long on his own. Left too long with his own thoughts.

A well placed attack at Bucky’s restlessness, his currently unfulfilled need to be useful, and Bucky is up and at him in a second.

This time with no one to pull him back.

‘What is it that you actually want from me,’ Bucky says, his face so close to Helmut’s face, Helmut can taste the cherry blossom tea on his breath.

He wants to reach up and taste it for real. He wants to bite at that taste, sink his teeth into it. Into Bucky.

He also doesn’t know how to answer that question.

He doesn’t want Bucky to know that, though he’s taken so long to answer, stared so long at Bucky’s mouth… he might not be able to hide it now.

‘You don’t even know? Do you?’

‘I want to finish what I started.’

‘Kill all of us?’ Bucky’s eyes are blazing. His lips are pursed, his jaw is clenched. It throws his whole face into the kind of chiseled righteous fury that Helmut craves.

He shouldn’t push… he can’t afford to push him too far. He needs Bucky to help him find the others. But he needs… he needs to feed off this rage.

'No good will come of allowing super soldiers to live,' Helmut whispers, and it's not a lie.

'And you? You've done so much good with your life?' Bucky asks, whispered just as quietly, not moving back, not giving an inch.

'I've done what was necessary.'

Bucky’s eyes narrow at that. But he doesn't move. Doesn't respond.

'At least I've always done what I thought was right,' he closes the distance between them, speaks the words right into Bucky’s ear, 'At least I've never rolled over and let my enemies enact their evil through me.'

Bucky’s reaction is beautiful. He flinches at the words as if they've struck him. Helmut can feel him shaking. With guilt, or anger, or fear, he isn't sure.

But if Helmut knows anything about Bucky, he knows it will be some combination of all three.

Bucky steps back but Helmut follows him, reaches up a hand to cup his face. 'Such a perfect weapon, Bucky,' he says, tracing a thumb across the stubbled divot of his chin, 'Do you honestly think you can ever be free? So much capacity for death and destruction.'

'I'm more than what they made me,' Bucky fires back, ripping his chin out of Helmut’s hand, 'I'm more than what you see in me.'

'You might think so-' Helmut starts but Bucky cuts him off, stalking forward and pushing Helmut back with the force of his chest, his expression, his power.

Bucky stalks Helmut all the way back into the wall.

‘You want me to be a weapon,’ Bucky says, sneering now, menacing, as he crowds Helmut into the rendered brick of the kitchen wall, ‘you need me to be a weapon,’ he puts his hands on either side of Helmut’s head, leans his face in close, ‘I’m not the only one of us who’s broken, Zemo, I see the way you look at me, the way you land your blows to hit me so right.’

Helmut can’t move, he can’t find any words to reply that won't betray the mess of his feelings right now.

His breath comes faster and faster, his heart pumping blood to all the wrong places. He needs his head, he needs his mind, he doesn’t need his dick to do his thinking.

He doesn’t need for Bucky to be able to feel how broken he is, that this is working. That Bucky has him cornered.

‘You need me to be nothing more than what they made me, because then you can play with me all you want. Isn’t that right? Then you can break me more, you can push me over the edge, and you don’t have to worry that you are becoming everything you hate.’

‘I am nothing like what they made you,’ Helmut says, breathing faster, harder, his chest rising and falling and pressing up against Bucky’s on every inhale.

‘No, you’re not like me,’ Bucky says, and he smiles. Shark-like. Fiercely stunning. ‘You’re like them. You’re just like Hydra.’

And that catches at something jagged in Helmut, something he knows and pretends isn't true.

‘I am nothing like them!’ he snarls, pushes up into Bucky’s face, their noses almost touching.

Bucky lets him.

He doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t pull away.

He takes his vibranium hand off the wall next to Helmut’s face and he runs it down Helmut’s chest. Then he pushes him back into the wall. Holds him there.

‘You know you are,’ Bucky says, still smiling, ‘and you want exactly what they wanted.’ Bucky leans in, ‘You want to use me,’ he takes his flesh hand off the wall, traces a finger down to Helmut’s waist, ‘want to control me,’ pushes his robe aside and trails his hand across bare skin, ‘you want to own me.’

Helmut lets his head fall back against the wall as Bucky’s hand slips down to his dick. Presses on it, wraps his fingers around it.

Helmut means to shake his head, means to deny it, to lie again. But he can’t.

He wants it so much.

‘You want to own me, don’t you.’ And Bucky bites down on Helmuts ear.

Helmut can’t help the breath that escapes him. The way it drags out like a sigh, like a prayer.

‘You want to fuck me open, make me yours.’

It’s not a question. Bucky knows. Helmut hasn’t hidden anything. Hasn’t manipulated anybody but himself.

And even so, Bucky pulls back to look him in the eye. Raises an eyebrow at him, looks for confirmation.

Because despite everything they’ve done to him, at his core, Bucky is a good man.

Helmut wants to burn that out of him.

It's terrifying how dangerous Bucky is. The raw power, not just from the poison in his blood, but the vibranium in his arm, the force of his rage.

It's terrifying and it's magnificent.

He can't let Bucky get the better of him, he needs to take back his control.

The victory here belongs to Helmut.

He tests Bucky by pushing against his weight, and at first Bucky pushes back, but then almost immediately he relents.

'You okay?' He asks, voice shaking.

And it rings in Helmut’s ears, that affectation, the way he has rattled Bucky. He uses his sudden leverage to press even further forward, and he looks up into Bucky’s beautiful face.

'I'm never going to be okay,' he says, voice calm, using every measurable unit of control in his body to keep still. To keep steady. 'You and your Avengers made sure of it.'

Bucky's face closes over, but his stance loosens further, his shoulders slump, and Helmut seizes the opportunity to push Bucky to his knees.

And Bucky lets him - be it sense memory or innate supplication, whatever the reason - Bucky lets Helmut push him to the ground.

Helmut ignores his hesitation, focuses instead on the storm in Bucky's eyes, the rise of his chin. The way Bucky has made this his choice, even now.

Helmut mimics his movements from earlier to cup Bucky under the chin, takes his other hand and runs it through his hair, grips it hard and pulls, snaps Bucky’s head back.

'Open your mouth for me, like the good little soldier you are.'

And Jesus, Helmut has to swallow down his moan at the way Bucky does exactly what he's told. At the way Bucky opens for him. Never dropping eye contact.

As if this is exactly what he wanted.

Helmut should take that, should let it stop him. Should pause now. Not give him what he wants. But it's too late.

He's too far gone.

And Helmut is already sliding his cock into that open mouth with delicious abandon.

The slick wet warmth, so tight, so sweet, it draws him forward. He yanks at his grip on Bucky’s hair, uses it like a stronghold to keep Bucky in place (though he could never; Bucky is so much stronger) to pull out and then slam all the way back in.

He looks down into those steel blue eyes and catches the fire there. And it spurs him on, to pull out and push back, to slam his hips forward. To fuck Bucky’s face, to own him, and be owned, and throw everything away on the power, and the powerlessness of this feeling.

Of the way Bucky hollows his cheeks to keep that wet heat deliciously tight, an action that only exacerbates the sharp cut of his cheekbones, only intensifies the beauty of his supplication.

Every thrust brings Helmut closer and closer to a complete loss of control. And every thrust feels more and more like tipping over the edge.

'You are mine,' Helmut says, as much to reinforce that idea to himself as to Bucky. 'I own you.'

Bucky doesn't move to agree or disagree. Only slides his hands up Helmut's thighs to pull him closer.

'Oh god,' Helmut cries out, throwing his head back as Bucky sucks harder, as Helmut’s cock pulses. 'So good,' he looks down, pulls tighter on Bucky's hair, 'my perfect little soldier,' and he means every word to be a barb, but they miss the mark so completely. Because he feels it too damn much.

And Bucky… Bucky knows it.

Bucky is smiling around Helmut’s cock as he draws it in, as he takes every thrust.

It's too much. The smile, the fire in his eyes, the warmth of his mouth, the way Helmut’s cock hits the back of Bucky's throat.

The way he can put all of his force into yanking Bucky's newly shorn hair, and Bucky just takes it like it’s a gift.

It's too much. He can't hold on.

He pulls out just in time to feel his orgasm wash over him, to spray come all over Bucky's lips and chin.

And Bucky...

Bucky happily opens his mouth to it. Closes his eyes and accepts it, rapturous.

He chases the mess on his lips with his tongue, wipes at it with a vibranium thumb and sucks it clean.

Helmut doesn't mean to run his hands through Bucky's hair. Doesn't mean to trace a finger down his face, let it linger across his swollen red lips.

'Such a good boy,' he says quietly. And then he bends down to pick up his robe, turns around. And walks away.

He doesn't feel victorious at all.

#bucky x zemo #angry sex #emotional manipulation #smut #my writing #you can thank my evil friends for this #htp adjacent #beautiful rage #i am still OTP stucky #but this was an exploration of a dynamic I felt this scene really highlighted to me #and i think i really like the writing here

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twistedtummies2 · 3 years

Text

Top 12 Pandora Hearts Characters

Moriarty the Patriot may be my new favorite anime and manga series, but today, I feel like talking about my OTHER favorite manga (and what COULD have been my favorite anime, if it had only gone on longer): a little franchise known as Pandora Hearts. Japan has a huge following for the works of Lewis Carroll, but Pandora Hearts has probably the most unusual manner of reinterpreting the characters. The story of PH is set in a world where human beings coexist with monstrous entities known as Chains: demon-like beings who are all directly inspired, in terms of name and design, on characters from Wonderland. With a few exceptions, the characters themselves do not have the names of characters from the books; instead, it is the Chains they make bargains with, form “Contracts” with, that tell you what character from the stories they are meant to represent. It’s a cool idea, and whether you look at this franchise as a new take on Wonderland, or just look at the characters on their own terms separate from the books, they are all fun and engaging characters who are frequently much more complex than they at first seem. Now, Pandora Hearts is a series with a lot of twists and turns, so I’m going to try and keep this as spoiler-free as possible when it comes to some of the REALLY big twists, but there’s only so much I can do. So if you haven’t read the manga, or at least watched the anime, and don’t want things spoiled, just be wary in case something pops up here you weren’t wanting to know ahead of time. Also, because this is me writing this list, I will give away which characters from the Wonderland stories these characters are analogous with in their descriptions. With that said... “The time has come,” the Walrus says, “To honor them today! So here’s a list of my favorites to lighten up your day!” (pauses) Yes, I’m aware that rhyme was terrible, just run with it. These are My Top 12 Favorite Pandora Hearts Characters!

12. Echo & Noise.

Wonderland Analogues: Tweedledee & Tweedledum.

One thing you need to know about Pandora Hearts is that...honestly, like a lot of anime/manga, in my opinion...it can be rather confusing at times. The lore of this world, partially because it takes so many twists and turns all over the place, is a little hard to follow at times. I’ll try be succinct and as major-spoiler-free as possible, as I said before. With that said, these two are a prime example of how things get twisted up. Echo and Noise are essentially a classic Jekyll-&-Hyde scenario; a pair of separate identities occupying the same body. Noise, also called “Zwei,” is the original personality: a member of the mysterious and dangerous Baskerville Clan, she is, as her name suggest, loudmouthed, crazy, and rather all over the place. Noise is in control of a Chain known as “Duldee,” and the Chain is responsible for the creation of the other personality: Echo. Echo is the exact opposite of Noise: she is quiet, constantly polite, and indeed often seems to be little more than a robot, very emotionless and unnervingly calm, even in the heat of battle. As Echo, she is the unsettlingly loyal servant of one of the series’ chief antagonists, Vincent Nightray, and their relationship is...a little creepy. Vincent frequently treats her like a beloved child or pet, but he also frequently uses her for his own selfish ends, never worrying about nearly killing her in order to get what he wants, and seeming to see her more as an object than another living being. Despite this, the most upset with him Echo ever gets is calling him “annoying” (now, THERE’S an understatement), and Noise herself is absolutely obsessed with him. Their twisted relationship with Vincent, and all the fun that’s had with these two different personalities, is a big part of what gets them a slot on the list.

11. Oscar Vessalius.

Wonderland Analogue: N/A

While most of the characters in Pandora Hearts are easily identified by their Chains, some don’t even have Chains, and thus cannot be readily identified as any character from the Carroll classics. Oscar Vessalius, whom I frequently and affectionately refer to as “Uncle Oscar,” is one of those cases. Now, to be fair, Uncle Oscar is not the most complex character in this series, but he IS one of the most endearing. Oscar is the paternal uncle of our main protagonist, Oz, and considering Oz’s father is...well...a gigantic douchebag of the highest order...Oscar really is more of a father to Oz than anybody else in the series. Oscar is unflappably encouraging and jolly, and extremely protective and caring when it comes to his family. He’s always there to support Oz and his friends, tries his best to get along with everybody, and generally speaking brightens up every single scene he has. Despite this, Oscar does have a bit of a sly and sneaky side to him, as well as a slightly lecherous leaning in some cases, which keep him from being too perfect or one-note a character. While he has no direct ties to Wonderland, some have suggested that he MIGHT be inspired by Lewis Carroll himself, and there are a few subtle things that could suggest that...but either way, he’s ultimately a purely original character, and of those ranks, he’s easily one of the best.

10. Reim Lunettes.

Wonderland Analogue: March Hare.

Reim, sometimes called “Liam,” is the best friend of Xerxes Break and one of the most notable members of Pandora: a not-so-secret organization dedicated to the study of Chains and the protection of the world. Sort of a Victorian-styled Men in Black, if you will. (pauses) The Will Smith Men in Black, I should say. ANYWAY, an interesting thing I’ve noticed with many interpretations of the March Hare in Japanese culture is they tend to make him a somewhat more serious and more easily flustered character than the Mad Hatter. Reim is no exception: he’s a panicky workaholic who is frequently the butt of other people’s jokes, and tries to treat things with a no-nonsense demeanor, taking his job extremely seriously and always worried about what’s best for his employers. In some ways, one could argue he acts more like the White Rabbit, but that character is one we’ll get to later. At any rate, while Reim is constantly obsessed with his work, and frequently frustrated by Break’s antics, as well as the shenanigans of other characters, he has a heart of gold and is always there to try and help his friends and colleagues when they most require assistance. His Chain also has a pretty impressive power that one does not expect...but I mustn’t say more, or I’ll spoil something important.

9. Sharon Rainsworth.

Wonderland Analogue: Unicorn.

Another character with close ties to Xerxes Break, Sharon is an interestingly dichotomous character. She’s one of the first people we encounter in this series, and she plays a big part in the story as it unfolds...but in the early parts of the franchise, what’s interesting is that Sharon stays largely in the background. Now, at first, it seems this is because she’s one of the head members of Pandora, and Break is technically her servant; so it makes sense the others would interact more with Break than Sharon. But as time goes on, and we learn more about Sharon, we find that’s not so much the case. Sharon and Break have a brother-and-sister relationship, with Sharon seeing Break as her surrogate big brother, and Break seeing her as his little sister. The problem with this relationship is that Break will do anything to protect Sharon, and at times that can go a bit too far, as Sharon truly wants to be of use to him and prove she’s just as powerful as he is or any other major member of the team. Indeed, her Chain, Equus the Black Unicorn, has many impressive abilities, including being able to open a gateway between Earth and the Hell-like dimension of The Abyss. A lot of this dichotomy is visible in Sharon’s personality: most of the time she’s very demure, polite, sweet, and ladylike. But the more we see of Sharon, the more we become aware of other facets to her personality. She’s shown to have a tough and domineering side to her character, and has some eccentricities of her own. Most notably, she’s absolutely INSANE when it comes to romance stories and romantic situations, and holds both the standards of ladies and gentlemen in high regard. Whether she’s a soothing presence or a downright scary one, Sharon is always an interesting character to return to.

8. Rufus Barma.

Wonderland Analogue: Dodo.

There are a few characters in the frequently twisted-up world of Pandora Hearts who have a habit of constantly keeping you guessing...but the king of mystery, without a shadow of a doubt, is the Duke Rufus Barma. His analogous Chain, Dodo, is able to conjure impressive illusions, and this illusionary skill is only the tip of the iceberg in showing how this man constantly manages to make you wonder just what is going on in his head. Barma lives by the code of “knowledge is power,” and constantly seeks to learn everything he can about...well...anything and anybody he wants. Money and prestige are secondary to him. He’s very soft-spoken and cold, even when angered, and carries himself with a sense of grace that’s rather flamboyant, but somehow not exactly loud or over-the-top in the way some of the other characters can be. His exact goals and motivations are constantly second-guessed, and you’re never really sure what makes him tick or what side he’ll take. You’re never really sure if he’s a villain or a hero. I love characters like this, in general, so it’s ultimately no surprise that Rufus Barma gets a solid spot on this list.

7. The Will of the Abyss.

Wonderland Analogue: White Rabbit.

The Will of the Abyss (sometimes called “Alyss” and sometimes called “The Intention of the Abyss”) isn’t a villain we see a whole lot of. She is the queen of the Abyss; the ruler of everything there. The Abyss, itself, is the home of the demon-like chains: ghoulish entities who feed on human beings, body and soul, and are formed from those who have fallen into the Abyss in the past. The place is described as “a broken toy box” and is a horrifying limbo realm of killer dolls and psychotic puppets. Needless to say, it’s not exactly an ideal vacation spot. The Will is a mysterious and mercurial character; she’s mostly a peripheral villain, since we see more of the Chains she controls than her, herself, and much of what we DO see of her actually comes through flashbacks...but in that overall brief amount of time, she proves to be honestly the single scariest character in the series, as well as one of the saddest. Part of this is due to her mood: the Will can shift from seemingly innocent and playful to screaming like a banshee in a split-second; she can go from crying and sobbing like a sad little girl to being as refined and elegant as a proper queen. And there really isn’t a safe place with her, in any of this, either; sometimes that playful and sweet persona is a good thing, but other times...yeah, it’s...um...REALLY not. Like many Chains, she’s violent and bloodthirsty, but unlike other Chains, there’s some humanity to her and you get the feeling that a lot of her actions are justified. She’s still very much a villain, but she’s also a victim, in a way, and as the story goes on, you feel bad for her and are truly sorry when her part in the series’ events is finished. Whether she makes you whimper with terror or makes you want to hug her and console her, the Will of the Abyss is bound to get a major reaction from you.

6. Vincent Nightray.

Wonderland Analogue: Dormouse.

One of the main antagonists of the series (though not, for the record, THE main antagonist...they actually don’t appear in this top twelve), Vincent Nightray is another character who changes throughout the series. What I find most interesting about Vincent is that he, himself, changes very little. It’s more the attitude the reader has to him, in the manga, that changes. See, if you only know Vincent from the anime, or the chapters in the manga that the anime covers, chances are you find him to be a pretty repugnant person. He’s creepy, he’s treacherous, he’s responsible for some of the most screwed-up things any character in this franchise does, and that’s saying a lot. He’s totally insane, and sort of seems to be aware of it, and seems to have an unhealthy interest in his own brother, Gilbert. In fact, with how disturbing he is, and the kinds of things he tries, you start off thinking he’s the main antagonist...and, for a while, he pretty much is. However, as the series continues in the manga, and you learn more about Vincent - why he is the way he is, and what exactly he wants to accomplish - the more you come to understand him and sympathize with him. Make no mistake, Vincent is a villain; in fact, even he seems to be aware of the fact that he’s sort of a monster. But he’s the kind of villain you come to feel sorry for and realize that, if things had been different, maybe could have turned out a much better person. In a way, Vincent is a foil to the ACTUAL main antagonist. Without giving anything away, the real main villain of the series follows the opposite path: at first he seems sympathetic and endearing, but the more we learn about him and the more horrible things he does, the more we come to loathe him and want to see him kicked in the face a thousand times over. Vincent, meanwhile, we start off hating his guts, but by the time his part in the story ends, we’re sad to see him go, because we understand him and care about him, and realize not everything was his fault. I actually feel a little bad for not placing Vincent higher, but I doubt the characters above him will drastically disappoint. He may have been one of the nastiest characters in the franchise, but if ever proof was needed that Evil is a lonely course to take, Vincent Nightray could provide it.

5. Cheshire Cat.

Wonderland Analogue: Doesn’t need to be given, because IT’S HIS NAME.

Again, the Cheshire Cat doesn’t have a lot of time in the series - he gets one major arc fairly early on, appears in several flashbacks afterwards, and then makes a sudden and unexpected return much later in the story - but that doesn’t keep him from being one of the most fascinating figures in the universe of PH. Cheshire is the reincarnation of an innocent kitten who belonged to a girl named Alice; the kitten was brutally murdered by Vincent Nightray. As a Chain, the Cheshire Cat is steadfastly loyal to the Will of the Abyss, and - at least at the start of the series - dwells within a mysterious realm simply known as “The Cheshire Cat’s House.” The “house” is an eerie Victorian mansion that is literally made up of all of the worst memories the Will has, and Cheshire guards the mansion and the Will herself with ferocious zeal. It’s ironic because this is a very different take on the Cheshire Cat, in general: the character in the book, and most other adaptations, is a chaotic being who shows loyalty to seemingly no one, and while some versions lean more towards good or evil, friend or foe, than others, he ultimately isn’t an obedient housecat. He’s more of an enigmatic agent of madness. This Cheshire Cat is a totally different spin on things. He’s got human-like intelligence, for the most part, and occasionally speaks in a cryptic or evasive manner, but he’s not the puzzling imp of Carroll’s classic. He doesn’t even SMILE all that often...and when he does it’s...well...the most terrifying thing you’ll ever see. But just because he’s a very different take on the character, doesn’t mean he’s still not a good one; Cheshire’s mixture of ravenous hunger (all Chains are so), sadistic ferocity, and childlike adoration of the Will make him a very layered character. Like the Will herself, he can be very creepy and menacing, but he can also be sympathetic and sweet, since he still very much is that loving kitten whose life was cut short. In a very short time, he becomes one of the most standout characters, and despite a relatively short lifespan (so to speak), it’s clear the creators really liked Cheshire, since they tried to find ways to fit him in all over the place. It’s a sign of restraint on their parts, I’d say, that he doesn’t pop up more often throughout the franchise. When he does pop up, he’s a scene stealer, and I was always excited to see him.

4. Oz Vessalius.

Wonderland Analogue: N/A

Our chief protagonist, and another original character, Oz Vessalius is a teenager whose life is turned upside-down when, at his Coming-of-Age Ceremony, a group of depraved cultists send him body and soul into the Abyss. He makes a contract with a Chain called Alice, and escapes the Abyss, only to discover that the very short time he spent down there equated to a full decade in the real world. He is enlisted by Pandora, and the rest of the series focuses on his adventures as he tries to discover the secrets of a cataclysmic event from the past known as “The Tragedy of Sablier” - in which an entire city was somehow sucked down into the Abyss. Oz is an endearing young hero, as his youth is mixed with a curious maturity. At times he’s very silly and almost hopelessly optimistic, but at other times he shows a very fatalistic and calculating side to his personality. Part of this is due to his upbringing, as his father never showed him any love at all, and the best friend he ever really had was his own servant, Gilbert. He didn’t exactly get out much to explore the world. So while he’s lived a very sheltered life, it’s also been a very cold one. Oz works on a philosophy of acceptance, just going with the flow and trying not to let the bad things get to you...but considering he frequently claims his own life means very little to him, it’s very clear the bad things DO get to him. In fact, despite his privileged youth, he puts the lives of others vastly before his own, even when he doesn’t know them all that well. He just doesn’t like to show how much things can hurt him, and tries to press ahead no matter what. It’s a complex sort of way of thinking - being proud and unflinching and yet humble and downright self-loathing, all with a dash of youthful exuberance - and as the series goes on, and we learn more about Oz than maybe even he knows, it only becomes more fascinating. He may not be my favorite character, but he’s a fine protagonist for us to follow, and certainly worthy of high marks here.

3. Gilbert Nightray.

Wonderland Analogue: The Monstrous Crow...probably.

I say “probably” because Gilbert’s Chain, as well as his own codename, is “Raven,” which is an obvious reference to the riddle “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” I guess it’s possible both were inspirational, but the Crow is an actual creature/character in the stories, so it’s the one I choose to credit. Whatever the case, Gil is one of the other major protagonists in the series, and...this guy is freaking adorable. I know he doesn’t look it, but trust me, he’s adorable. At the start of the series, we meet Gil as a small boy, who has amnesia about his past and works as a servant for Oz. Oz is not only his Master, but his best friend, and Gil will do absolutely anything to protect and serve his “Young Master” no matter what. After Oz descends into the Abyss, Gil - blaming himself - tries to run away...and is enlisted, at a very young age, by Xerxes Break. He becomes a double-agent, working for both the Rainsworth and Nightray households, upon discovering he is actually a long-lost member of the Nightray family. When Oz returns years later, Gil is a seemingly changed man: stoic, stern, always dressed in black, smoking heavily, and rarely speaking. Very quickly, however, we discover a lot of this stoicism is a facade: underneath it all, Gil is very much still a child at heart, and even though he’s grown older, he still sees Oz as his brother and best friend, as well as his true master, and will do anything to protect and to help him. Just as Oz always puts his life ahead of others, Gil’s foremost thoughts are always with Oz and how he can help him, and the lengths he’ll go to in order to keep Oz safe are sometimes touching, sometimes hilarious, and sometimes downright heartbreaking. Gil’s “dark side” is certainly engaging - he’s a crack shot with a pistol, and has a gloomy and cynical sense of humor - but I think what’s most endearing about him are the moments...and there are surprisingly many...where we see the cracks in the armor, and this “seaweed head” shows that he really hasn’t changed as much as he often claims. Whether he’s a man of action or a man of hilarious hijinks, Gilbert Nightray is more than worthy of a place in the top three.

2. Alice.

Wonderland Analogue: Again, IT’S HER NAME.

The secondary protagonist of the series, after Oz, this Alice is a far cry from the little girl we know of from the Carroll stories. At the start of the franchise, we are introduced to Alice as a Chain known as “B. Rabbit” - a title that stands for both “Black Rabbit” and “Bloody” or “Bloodstained Rabbit.” (In fact, her full title is often given as “The Bloody/Bloodstained Black Rabbit.”) B. Rabbit is one of the most powerful Chains out there, and in her Chain form, Alice is a nigh-unstoppable powerhouse ruled by bloodthirst - a maniacal berserker whose morning star chains and massive scythe cleave through even the toughest opponents with ease. However, Alice can also resort to human form, and here she’s much more...well...human. She has the same basic weaknesses a human has, she’s not quite as psychotic (though she DOES have a nasty temper at times)...really, the only sign of her being a Chain is her ravenous hunger. Like any Chain, Alice is ALWAYS hungry, and always hungry for MEAT. Thankfully, unlike other Chains, Alice has no desire to consume human beings. Indeed, while at first she comes across as frightening and intimidating, Alice has a very vulnerable side to her; she’s lived her life without any real friends or family, since the only “family” she has is her twin, the Will of the Abyss...and, to put things simply, they don’t get along very well. Much like Oz, she often feels like she’s undeserving of other people’s care and attention, but while Oz compensates this through being charitable and caring, Alice compensates by over-inflating herself; a classic “superiority complex via inferiority complex” issue. She’s never unlikeable, however, and as the series goes on - and we come to realize that Alice’s true identity, and her status as a Chain, is a lot less cut-and-dry than we might think - she only becomes a more and more fun and fascinating character...arguably more fascinating than Oz. Indeed, it’s really Alice who drives so much of the plot of the series forward, as her whole goal in the series is to find out the truth of her past and regain her lost memories, and it’s through the team’s efforts to help Alice in this goal that so much of the story is told. Oz is really just along for the ride, at least at first. Powerful but not invincible, and easily one of my favorite takes on the title character of the Carroll stories, Alice nabs second place easily…

...But who in the great wide world could take first? That honor goes to...

1. Xerxes Break.

Wonderland Analogue: The Mad Hatter AND The White Knight.

Yep. Two characters. How is this possible? Well, the first thing to know about Xerxes Break is that he wasn’t always called “Xerxes Break.” Once upon a time, he was a knight called Kevin Regnard, who served a noble family; his Chain was called Albus the White Knight. When Regnard’s mistakes led to the destruction of the entire family, he went absolutely bonkers and became a twisted serial killer known as the Red-Eyed Ghost. Ultimately, however, his contract with Albus ended, and Regnard was dragged down into the Abyss, where the Will and the Cheshire Cat ripped out one of his eyes (...yikes…), and plotted to turn him into another Chain. Things get a bit complicated at this point, but basically, Kevin managed to escape and was thrown into another time and place upon doing so. He was taken in by the Rainsworth family, befriend Reim Lunettes, and steadily began to come out of his shell. He took the name “Xerxes Break,” because he felt “broken,” later formed a contract with a very special and powerful Chain known as The Mad Hatter (in fact, one of Break’s nicknames is “Mr. Hatter”), and crafted a whole new personality for himself: Kevin Regnard was stern, work-obsessed, and wore his heart on his sleeve. Xerxes Break is in every way his opposite. When it comes to takes on the Mad Hatter, Break is one of the best; granted, we very rarely see him WEAR a hat, but the personality of the guy speaks for itself. Break often comes across as clownish and childishly hyperactive, constantly eating sweets, performing magic tricks and weird stunts just for the sheer sake of it, prancing around and giggling like a small boy, and even interacting with a puppet he calls “Emily”...which...may or may not actually be alive. However, much of this is a facade, as underneath it all, Break is...well...broken. Not just in body (he’s much, much older and more frail than he often seems), but in terms of his mind; he’s half-crazed and extremely mercurial. Much like with Rufus Barma, Break is somebody you’re never entirely sure of, but in a different way. Break, you see, is very open and honest; he never tells lies and he makes his loyalties and disloyalties very clear. But at the same time he’s very secretive and enigmatic, often speaking in riddles and partial-truths to throw people off. He’s very cunning and intelligent, and a gifted swordsman, and will do anything and use almost anyone to get what he wants. So while he can be extremely funny, he can also be very frightening and ruthless. You’re never sure what’s going to set him off and if the next line he says is going to be a threat or a joke. And as the series goes on, and we see more and more of Break’s vulnerabilities, we only come to care about him more and more, though, at the same time, he always remains an eternal mystery. A riddle with no real answer...just like the Mad Hatter’s from the book. (Way to bring things around, don’t you think?) Whether you look at him as a version of the Hatter, or look at him just for who and what he is on his own terms, he is, in my opinion, the most well-rounded and fascinating character in the whole series, and easily takes the top spot as My Favorite Pandora Hearts Character. Xerxes Break, I doff my own topper to thee. (tips hat)

Honorable Mentions Include...

Elliot Nightray.

Leo.

Jack Vessalius.

Lottie Baskerville.

Lily Baskerville.

Ada Vessalius.

Phillipe West.

#pandora hearts #top 12 #top 12 pandora hearts characters #characters #best #favorites #list #countdown #alice in wonderland #wonderland #alice

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blinder-secrets · 4 years

Text

Settling Debts - Tommy

‘Can’t we just say goodnight?’ & ‘I don’t trust anybody. Don’t take it personally.’

prompt list

wordcount: 4624

ao3 link

You were twenty-six when you broke Tommy Shelby’s heart. He’d just turned thirty-two, the business in London had settled, and everything was going right again. That is, until you’d told him you couldn’t do it, you wouldn’t, not anymore. Not when he slipped further and further from you each day. Not when the Tommy you’d fallen for had changed in the process, had gotten lost between the canals and the city.

He’d tried to offer you a ring, but you’d said no. Marriage won’t fix it, Tom. You couldn’t be a wife to a man that forgot you existed sometimes. You wouldn’t sit alone in a house, waiting for him to come home, wondering if he was even alive, while you spun the gold on your finger. It wasn’t what you wanted. So, you’d told him that and left before he could change your mind.

It was the only time you’d been grateful of his pride. He didn’t come after you, he didn’t chase you down, his own ego wouldn’t allow him to. You’d broken his heart, and he’d let you. It was better that way.

To say that was the end of your relations, though, would be a lie. You may have ended your relationship, but you couldn’t shift the stain Shelby business had left on your life. No-one would hire you, so you worked in their London offices. No-one would befriend you, so you drank with John, and Isaiah, when they were in town. You saw Tommy at every event, family party, and business meeting. You bumped into him when you were visiting your parents. In fact, the bitter irony of it all, was that you saw him more once you’d left him, than you ever did when you were together. But after a while it became the norm; it stopped hurting once it had.

Then, he had gotten married. You were invited, you’d smiled as they kissed. Clapped at the speeches. Honestly, it was a good night, you were happy for them. Both of them. He’d found someone who could keep him whole, and she did so without compromising on herself — it was what he needed. That should have been cherished, it should have lasted. When she died you mourned with him. For him. You picked up the phone when he rang, but you never went to him, he never asked you to. He grieved alone.

He did the same when John went. Though, that was hard for all of you. His funeral was the one family event where you’d felt you belonged, like you’d be there even without your history with Tommy. John was your friend first.

When the trouble with Changretta was over, Tommy decided to throw a party, though it felt more like an arrangement for us to breathe. A message to the family that it was done and they could finally come up for air. It was only a small guest list, those closest to him, but somehow you made the cut. You almost didn’t believe him when he asked you to come. Me? Why? You’re family, he said, you’re one of us. After the time he’d had, the stress, the loss, you’d told him you’d be there. You’d said it with a smile like it meant something to you, like it felt nice to be included.

The reality is that it doesn’t feel nice anymore, it feels like an obligation. A debt you didn’t know you had been paying since you’d left him. You could end things with Tommy but you could never move past him, not really, not on your own accord.

‘You’re here,’ is how Tommy greets you on the night, his hands limp by his sides as he stands before you in the doorway. He’d come to meet you there once he’d heard the car. No hello, no smile, just a quiet acknowledgement of your arrival.

‘Yes, Tommy,’ you answer, ‘I said I’d come.’ You look over your shoulder, gesturing to Isaiah with a jut of your chin. ‘I got a lift with your youngest and brightest Blinder. He drives well.’

Tommy nods, looking into your eyes for something you aren’t prepared to give him.

‘Are you going to let us in?’ you ask. If he wants to stare, he can do it from the warmth of the inside, and without the company of your oblivious friend.

‘I hope there’s food,’ Isaiah says, rubbing his hands together. He looks between you and Tommy with a grin, unaware of any difference in your behaviours.

His statement works to reanimate your host though, and he steps aside, extending an arm into the house. ‘There’s food,’ he says, nodding again. ‘Come on, come in.’

Despite the circumstances, you are glad you came. There’s alcohol and laughing, conversations you’d never expect to hear from Shelby lips. The food’s good, the atmosphere is easy, the guests are relaxed. Everyone is grateful to be free, to feel free, to have each other still. You’ve never heard Tommy crack so many jokes, dry as they are. You’ve not seen him smile this much since he married Grace.

When Arthur stands, announcing that he has something to say, you can’t help but snort and roll your eyes along with the rest of them. Maybe you are one of them. Maybe once you’re in, you’re never out again. Not while there’s still breath in your lungs.

‘I’d like to make a proposal,’ Arthur booms, ‘to insist that Tommy here, takes some time off.’

You laugh and you aren’t the only one to do so.

‘Time you took a holiday, Tom. Put your feet up. War’s over.’

This one was, but all Tommy knows is war. You can see in his expression, the one beneath the smile he’s giving to his family, to Arthur, that he knows it too. It isn’t in him to rest.

‘Alright,’ he says, 'thank-you, Arthur.’ He raises his glass and the group follows. ‘To peace.’

‘Peace,’ you repeat, catching his eye. He tips his whiskey toward you and then you drink in unison, holding each other’s gaze until the line is disrupted by another figure.

It’s Polly. Her cheeks are rouged from the celebrations, her movement lagging as she sits on the arm of the chair opposite. ‘You never told me what happened to that Irishman,’ she says, ‘the one with the eyes.’

You laugh, letting your focus settle on her rather than the man she’s blocking. ‘I don’t have to tell you things for you to know, Pol.’

After that, the night slips away from you. It’s near twelve when you decide you’ve had enough. You say your goodbyes to everyone, working through the dwindling group, until you’re left with just Tommy and Isaiah to speak to. From the way Isaiah’s behaving, sitting loud and boisterous with Finn, it’s obvious that your driver has forgotten all about his duties. You’re already in your coat, already clutching your bag with your mind set on leaving, but seeing him laugh so happily makes you stop. It’s not too long of a journey, but enough to make you hesitate — if he’s ready to leave is one thing, if he’s in any fit state to man a car, is another entirely.

You’re too caught up in your indecision to acknowledge Tommy arriving beside you.

‘You’re leaving?’ he asks, standing parallel, his gaze on the boys also.

‘Trying to.’ You sigh. ‘I’m at the Midland, though I don’t think we’d make it that far.’

He clears his throat once and says, ‘Leave him be, I’ll take you back.’

‘Really?’ Your eyebrows raise, neck craning to look at him. ‘Aren’t you drunk?’

Tommy shrugs, still staring ahead. ‘Either that, or you go with him in the morning.’

After spending the night, he implies, after staying in the guest room of the house he once shared with his wife. Doors down from the nursery his son sleeps in.

‘No,’ you decide, ‘no, I think I’ll take your first offer.’

‘Suit yourself.’

You explain to Isaiah, who looks very happy with the idea. Not that he didn’t want to take you, of course, not that you were ever a bother to him. You watch him scramble to backtrack with an amused smile.

‘I love driving you places, really,’ he stresses. ‘I just meant it’s great to—‘

‘Siah, it’s fine. Honestly.’ You laugh, letting him cling to your hand still. ‘Just have a good night, yeah? Don’t over-do it.’

He agrees, nodding wildly, then goes back to Finn with a fresh set of bottles under his arm.

After waving goodbye, again, to the room, you follow Tommy down the hall to the door. He takes his coat from the hook, pulling it on as you hurry to catch up to him. For someone so keen to have you there in the first place, he was certainly in a rush to show you out now.

It’s only once you’ve both stepped out into the cold, that you realise it isn’t the case at all. He isn’t keen to leave, just keen to have you alone, to have you by himself with nothing but the quiet and the night.

You’re behind him at first, but when you step down onto the gravel, he turns so quickly that you’re toe-to-toe before you can move out of the way.

‘Tom—‘

Your surprise is cut off by his lips. He has your face in his hands, his thumbs holding you steady by the curve of your cheeks. He’s kissing you. He’s kissing you and it takes you so long to realise, that he pulls back before you can respond to it. You can feel him watching you, waiting for a hint, but your eyes fall to the floor. Your fingertips ghost over your mouth.

Dropping his chin, he steps away and reaches into his pocket for a cigarette. There’s a quiet between you now that neither wants to break. You don’t think either of you know how to, or what to say. You’re still trying to work out if you should have kissed him back.

After what feels like a lifetime, but is really only long enough for half of the cigarette to burn away between his lips, Tommy clears his throat and speaks again. ‘Right, shall we go?’

It’s forgotten to him, then. He’s already buried the kiss under the list of things that happened, and then didn’t happen, and now will never be spoken of. You aren’t sure you can afford him the luxury this time.

‘Is that why you asked me here, Tommy?’ you ask, quietly, like you’re embarrassed by it. You aren’t, of course, you’re just more worried that you’re being assumptive. That he won’t react well to it.

He directs his smoke upwards, turning in the last minute to shrug his eyebrows at you. ‘Forget it, right? Didn’t happen.’

Except that it did, and the more you think about it, the more you wish it had continued. Or hadn’t begun at all. The conflict bites at your throat. One second, you find yourself wanting him for the nostalgia of it, but then in the next, reason corrects you. You know what he’s like. He’s just looking for comfort, something to take the edge off. Something that’ll last longer than booze and drugs.

‘You kissed me, Tom.’

He sighs, his face is pointed to dark sky. ‘Yes, I did.’

‘I can’t be that person,’ you say. You’re reminding him as much as yourself. ‘I know it’s been hard but I can’t, that hasn’t changed.’

‘Have I asked anything of you?’ he replies dryly, then his head straightens and he redirects his gaze to yours. ‘Tell me, who have I asked you to be, eh? Hm?’

You chew the inside of your lip. He’s getting irritated, and once he does the conversation will go nowhere. He’s too stubborn. Too full of pride, and ego, and denial. Too Tommy to make progress.

‘It’s just a kiss, [y/n].’ He can insist all he likes, but you know he’s lying. He wouldn’t kiss you just for the sake of it. At least, not like that.

‘Fine.’ You lift your bag from where it was dangling and set the strap back onto your shoulder. ‘So take me home.’

He doesn’t move, he just looks away again and takes another drag from his cigarette.

Sighing, you rub at your forehead, closing your eyes to save them from staring at him any longer. This was exactly what you feared. Every time you saw him, every time you ended up alone together, you were worried he’d do something like that. Worried he’d undo all the work you’d put in, take down the walls with one stupid, boyish, action. It was always a likelihood — now it was reality. You don’t want to go back to how you were, you’re happy separate from him. But, fuck, he doesn’t half make it difficult. You never question your resolve quite as much as you do when he’s close by.

‘I’m sorry, alright?’ He breaks your train of thought, grumbling the words into the dark. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’

‘What?’ You scoff before you’ve even opened your eyes. When you do look at him, you almost expect him to be smiling, but he’s serious. His expression’s hard. ‘Are you apologising, Tommy?’

His jaw sets. Then, he nods.

‘Wow.’ You smile accidentally. ‘That’s new.’

Shaking his head, he laughs to himself, though there’s no humour in it. It’s one of those disbelieving laughs that’s always grated you the wrong way. ‘Always fuckin’ fighting me,’ he says.

‘I don’t,’ you reply sharply. ‘I’m not.’

‘You don’t trust me anymore, do you?’ he asks, half-smiling, like he’s finally solved the riddle that’s been plaguing him. ‘That’s what it is. After all this, after everything, you don’t trust me.’

You fold your arms over yourself. ‘I don’t trust anyone,’ you quip. ‘Don’t take it personally.’ His swerve in topic has caught you off-guard, and the response that you’d intended to reassure him, had come out so quickly that it looked more like a lie than anything else would’ve. ‘Surely you know what that’s like, Tom?’

‘We’re not talking ‘bout me.’ He finishes his smoke and flicks the butt away from him. ‘You don’t trust me,’ he says, pointing at you, ‘and that’s why I can’t kiss you, at me own party, without a fuckin’ inquisition about it.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘No?’

His smugness is starting to get to you. Everything you’ve ever said, years ago and now, has gone right over his head. It’s barely even grazed the surface. ‘God,’ you sneer, letting your irritation take the reins, ‘you really are insufferable.’

‘Yeah.’ He scoffs, nodding. ‘Yeah, but you still came.’

The tension in your chest snaps. Any grip you had on civility is lost, tossed aside into the stones of the driveway.

‘Because I feel guilty, Tommy, because I left and your life has gone to shit ever since.’ Your voice is straining in your throat, but you aren’t shouting. Not yet. ‘Do you think I’d even be here,’ you continue, 'if I didn’t feel like I had to be? Like I owed it to you to say yes?’

‘Owed it to me?’

‘Yes, fucking owed, Tommy. We broke up years ago and I’m still here.’ You hadn’t gotten away yet because he hadn’t let you, he pulled you back every time the distance grew.

Opposite, he’s unmoving. His face is blank to your outburst. He just stands there and takes it, like you haven’t dowsed him in undeserving pity. Like you haven’t just taken his hospitality, his loyalty, and thrown it back in his face like you hated him for it. His lack of response is enough to send you tumbling into self-reflection.

‘Fuck!’ You turn away from him, then back again before the regret can sink any deeper. ‘Fuck, sorry. Sorry, Tom, I shouldn’t have said any of that.’

At that moment, at that exact, horrible, moment, your solitude is disturbed. In a clutter of noise, Arthur comes tumbling out of the house, gun raised and pointed vaguely in the direction of the both of you. If it were any one else, you’d be scared, but it’s just him; just Arthur and his habits.

‘Who the fuck’s this?’ he spits, his words bleeding into one another.

‘Arthur?’ Tommy is first to respond, lifting his hands. ‘Christ, put the fucking gun down.’

‘Oh.’ Realisation stops him dead. ‘I thought you’d gone, Tom,’ he says, quieter but no clearer. His arm lowers sheepishly. He’s so drunk he can’t even stand straight, he sways as he talks. ‘I heard shouting,’ he explains.

’S’alright, brother,’ Tommy says, voice tight. He’s using that tone that he so often does with Arthur. It’s somewhere between condescension and thin, waining patience. ‘Go back inside, eh?’

‘We were just talking,’ you add, hoping it’ll help to usher him away. ‘Everything’s fine.’

‘Right, right, yeah, course.’ He’s nodding, and waving the gun at you like it’s no different from his hand. ‘Shouldn’t have assumed.’

‘It’s okay.’ You smile at him though you doubt he can even see it through the dark and the blur of the alcohol. Out the corner of your eye, you notice Tommy turning away from him, sighing with his hands pressed to his face.

Arthur just stands there, rambling. ‘Beautiful night, though, beautiful,’ he says.

‘It is,’ you agree, looking between him and Tommy. ‘Sorry, Arthur, we were—‘

‘Yep,’ he barks, interrupting you suddenly. ‘I know, I know, hm, as you were.’ With that he’s away, holding his hands above his head in surrender, keeping them there even once his back’s turned.

You watch him until you cant see him anymore, until the door shuts and you’re alone again, in the silence with Tommy. The previous tension has dissipated, dropped and sunken into the ground beneath. In the quiet, it seems stupid to attempt to carry on with the conversation, you can hardly remember how it had gotten to that point in the first place.

‘I don’t think we’ll ever get anywhere like this, Tommy,’ you say, finally turning back to him. He nods, while his hands push his hair into place, smoothing it over more times than necessary. ‘I am sorry for what I said,’ you add, still feeling the guilt twinge in your stomach.

‘No.’ He shakes his head, pouting slightly. ‘No, you’ve nothing to say sorry for, it’s not your fault.’ His hands tuck into his pockets, his eyelids droop. He looks tired. Whether it’s from you, or the night, you can’t tell. ‘I’m the one who’s cursed,’ he says.

‘I don’t believe that.’

‘You’re the only one.’

‘Tom.’ You find yourself stepping toward him, your hand reaching for his arm. When it settles on his bicep, just above the elbow, his gaze follows it. ‘You aren’t cursed,’ you tell him, ‘you’re just…’ Unlucky? Destructive? There isn’t really a word for it, at least not one that will make him feel any better.

He huffs a breath through his nose. ‘It’s alright,’ he says. ‘You don’t have to.’

You nod. You pull your hand back and hold yourself instead. The empty silence that seems to linger around the two of you is back, though this time it’s sad. Bleak. If there was ever a moment where you felt truly alienated from him, it was now, you were living it. Or, at least, that’s what you suppose it is. You’ve never felt anything like it. He’s looking at you as if he understands at last what was lost between you, like he’s only now realised that you’ve gone. The ache you felt that day has finally been passed onto him.

Maybe it’s relief, then, not alienation. He understands and he isn’t bitter, he’s sad. You can finally agree on that.

‘Do you regret it?’ he asks. ‘Leaving?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ you answer quietly. ‘It was the right thing at the time.’

He wets his lips, nodding. ‘And now?’

‘Don’t ask me that.’ Your voice cracks slightly. You shake your head like it’ll stop the thought from latching. If you shut it down fast enough, it won’t do any damage, it won’t make you consider.

‘Already have,’ he says. He’s looking for that something again, that hint of desire in your eyes. He stares in wait of it.

You can’t find an answer — your tongue has swallowed itself whole. There’s nothing to push him back, nothing to stop the hope he’s starting to build. He needs telling no, but you can’t find it within yourself to do so, you can’t blink the idea of it back.

‘I’m taking time off,’ he starts as he steps toward you, palms open and reaching. ‘Spend it with me,’ he says. ‘We can go on the road, eh? You and me, travelling. We can see your cousins in Wales.’

‘Tommy…’

‘Or London, we can go back to London.’

‘Tommy.’ You stop him before he picks up anymore momentum, your hand pushing flat against his chest. ‘You’re going too fast.’

‘It’s nothing we haven’t done before,’ he counters.

‘We haven’t even, I mean, we can barely keep a conversation, Tom. I don’t know.’

‘Well, let’s start with that,’ he says, ‘let’s talk.’ He’s stepping closer still, his hands have taken your waist, and he’s looking at your lips. Just your lips.

‘Talk?’ you mirror, feeling the air catch in your throat afterwards. You’re chest-to-chest now and his eyes still haven’t lifted. If he were any closer you’d feel his heart beat with your own.

‘Just talk,’ he insists. His voice is low, dragging. ‘We never talk.’

He’s saying things he doesn’t mean. He’s moved a hand to your face, his fingertips trace the line of your cheekbone, just below your eye. He’s close and he’s soft, and he’s Tommy. He’s always Tommy, your Tommy.

‘I can’t think like this,’ you say quickly, softly, too nervous to add any force to the words. ‘I can’t go away with you, Tom.’

‘I know,’ he murmurs, eyes flitting across every inch of your face. He’s drinking you in. He’s missed you, you can see it, you can feel it in how he’s holding you. He’s cherishing it all over again, taking stock of what he lost. Once he’s satisfied, he closes the gap between you and pushes his mouth on yours.

He kisses you and this time you kiss him back.

You melt into it, letting him part your lips with the edge of his tongue. Your arms go around his neck, your fingers to the back of his head. You kiss him like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like you’d never stopped doing it. It’s wrong. It can only ever be bad, for you, for him, but you’re doing it. You want it. It fills you with a warmth you’d long forgotten. The taste of him slips down your throat like liquor, burning the sides. Stifling the chatter in your head.

All too soon, he pulls back, dragging your bottom lip with him before letting go. His head tilts, forehead resting against yours, breath shaky and fogging between your two mouths. ‘Don’t go to the hotel,’ he says. His voice breaks from his throat in a coarse whisper. ‘Stay here, with me.’

‘You don’t mean that,’ you tell him. ‘You’re drunk.’ You feel drunk yourself, you lean on him like you’d fall without the support.

‘I’m not.’ He kisses you again and you meet him there, your tongue daring to taste his this time, your lead the one that’s followed.

You let him walk you back, let him put you between him and the wall of the house. His hands are on your face, and then your neck, and then down your sides like he can’t settle. Like he’s desperate to touch every part of you before you disappear again. The kiss breaks and then he’s covering you in them, leaving them wherever he can think to.

‘Tom,’ you whine, ‘we can’t.’

‘Stay,’ he breathes, hiding the word behind your ear. Trailing it down your neck. ‘Stay for now. Stay.’

You sigh his name. ‘Can’t we just say goodnight?’

‘Do you want that?’ His nose brushes your jaw, his lips settle beneath. You sink against the wall.

‘We shouldn’t—’ the sentence is stolen from you, staccato from the feeling of his teeth against your skin. It’s getting harder to let reason win, the more he touches you, the less you care. The more you want. Groaning, you force your eyes open. ‘Tommy.’

He responds quickly, lifting his head to meet you. His palm sits at the base of your throat, not holding, just touching. ‘I’ll stop,’ he says, ‘do you want me to stop?’

The answer should be yes. Any other day it would be, it would be Goodnight, Tommy. Take me home, Tommy. But you can’t say it. You can’t lie to yourself, or to him. You want him to carry on. You want him to kiss you like he loves you, like he’s desperate. You want him to take you into his big house, to adore you, to fuck you like you never broke his heart. Or maybe like you did. It’s weakness, it’s a failure to yourself and your dignity, but, God, you don’t care. You can’t force yourself to.

‘[Y/n]?’ Tommy’s still waiting for his answer, still holding his breath as he watches you think.

You start to shake your head, but desire interrupts. You kiss him and then he knows. Then his hands go back to your waist, pulling you in, pulling you to the side, pulling you around the wall and backwards toward the steps. It’s clumsy, you stumble with him. Your teeth knock together as you move.

‘A bed,’ you say, panting in the breaks apart. ‘Not downstairs, not like a whore.’

He nods against your lips, his arm reaching behind to push the door open. The warmth folds over you, drowning you. You hadn’t realised how cold it was until you're in the house again.

You pull away from each other to get upstairs; he walks in front of you with his hand trailing behind, fingers interlocked with yours. You don’t know where everyone else is, but you don’t care, you’re so trained on Tommy that the stairs could be on fire and you wouldn’t even know. From the heat that creeps down your legs, they very well could be.

On the landing, you’re reunited again. Kissing, grabbing, chasing each other toward the bedroom like you’re newlyweds. He takes your coat off, leaves it by the door. You push his back from his shoulders and let gravity do the rest.

There’s no time to talk, not properly; no space between you is kept long enough to allow words to fall. You devour each other, peel back the layers of clothing, shed the years of discomfort. You let him kiss you, invite him to taste what he’s missed. When he lays you down, you open yourself up to him, you hold him close like you would’ve when you were twenty-five.

‘I should’ve stopped you,’ he says against your stomach. His hair is messy, like it never is, the dark twists brush your skin. ‘When you went, I should’ve gone with you.’

‘No,’ you tell him, ‘you shouldn’t.’

Everything that happened, still led to this. If it wasn’t broken you’d have nothing to put back together. You’d kiss and it would be empty.

‘Stop thinking, Tom.’

You cup his cheek and pull him upwards until he’s above you. His skin sticks to yours, his heartbeat thumps against you like its your own. He kisses you and he doesn’t stop. You don’t let him.

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy x reader #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby imagines #peaky blinders fanfic #had this thought in my head all week and i think it came from that episode in sopranos where tony and carmela fuck in the pool KSJFGHKJSHFG #anyway hope you enjoy hope it was worth the wait love you #please let me know what you think!#this really possesed me

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silenthillmutual · 4 years

Text

daniil dankovsky is autistic and here’s why:

because i’m autistic and i said so

i kid, obviously. what sort of autistic person would i be if i wasn’t read to back up my silly little claim with an overly long post of evidence a total of three people will read? (hi ned hi jordan hi raven :))

i’m aware that this is cringey because adults aren’t supposed to have autism or interests or talk about either of those things, but this is my blog and you are free to block me if the cringe is too much for you.

these are some things i picked out from the DSMV’s diagnostic criteria, found on the CDC website:

deficits in social-emotional reciprocity

reduced sharing of interests, emotions, or affect

abnormal social approach

abnormalities in eye contact and body language

defecits in […] understand[ing] relationships

difficults adjusting behavior to suit various social contexts

repetitive motor movements or speech

rigid thinking patterns

highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus

hyper- or hyporeactivity to sensory input

there’s also some misc. stuff not in the diagnostic criteria (though it may be in the adir or gars-3) i thought was worth noting.

important note from the diagnostic criteria: “symptoms cause clinically significant impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of current functioning”. i’d say that in his case, they do.

spoilers for pathologic classic, pathologic 2, and the marble nest

deficits in social-emotional reciprocity

in bachelor route of classic, daniil

seems completely oblivious to eva making advances toward him, to the point where she complains to him that he’s ignoring her in favor of asking questions about simon.

seems surprised when people mention maria being in love with him, despite outright asking her a couple of times if she’s flirting with him.

not to mention the fact that he asks her that at all.

his inability or resistence to making connections with others is typically considered one of his character flaws. although it is not outright stated in the dsmv criteria, one trait of autism and other neurodivergencies is “having extremely high or extremely low empathy” - and daniil, despite being a doctor, lacks empathy. which is not to say he doesn’t care at all. i think that he does, but is terrible at showing it.

for example, this scene from marble nest:

Sticky: You must feel terrible… right? That’s fine. I forgive you. You just got confused… Adults always do. Daniil: Oh yes, adults are always occupied with the most asinine nonsense. Like feeling anxious that a bunch of urchins keep roaming the streets, putting themselves in mortal danger!

daniil clearly cares about sticky’s wellbeing (and the wellbeing of the kids looking after him, though he’s not cognizant that he’s in a coma), but his way of showing it is… kind of by being a jerk. all of which bleeds into the next item on the list

reduced sharing of interests, emotions, or affect

he has no problem sharing his interests, but in both pathologic classic & pathologic 2, daniil speaks with a flat affect - which is to say that he lacks intonation. the words we read him saying may be dramatic or come across as passionate, but the actual voice reading his lines is very monotone, which may contribute to being read as lacking emotion.

and in pathologic 2, he has a voiceline lamenting not telling “her” (eva?) how he felt

in marble nest, he’s teased by the tragedians for being “heartless”:

Tragedian: Maybe. Possibly. But it’s useless to explain to a heartless man. …Take heart, Excellency! If you ever find it, that is. And then come back to us… Even though it all sounds like a rather implausible turn of events.

abnormal social approach

daniil has a tendency to say things that are tactless, odd, or just socially inappropriate. i probably don’t need to point out too many examples, as i think it’s fairly obvious - these are the things people love to pick at when it comes to him, but i do have a few in mind. like, for example, from haruspex route in classic:

Haruspex: What of the antibodies essential for making a serum? Bachelor: I don’t know for sure yet, I’ll send you a report in a few hours. Don’t go about cutting people’s hearts out for your panacea until then. It’s a… controversial solution, you know… Haruspex: What?! Do you even hear yourself? Bachelor: Sorry! I meant no offence… it was just a momentary lapse of… well, you know. Haruspex: None taken.

until artemy points out, daniil doesn’t seem to be aware he just said something rude. even with therapy, picking up on social cues doesn’t come naturally to people with autism, so we tend to say things that come across as rude or strange to others without realizing we’ve put them off. we tend to lack a “filter” that tells us when things are or are not appropriate to say. even when we may recognize it, the rules may not make any sense to us. for example, it makes very little sense that allistics favor politeness over honesty.

i think the glaringly obvious abnormal social approach in pathologic 2 is him threatening to hold artemy at gunpoint to get in the house, which is just overkill, but my personal favorite comes on day 7, when he’s complaining about the orders aglaya has given him. artemy stops him to say he doesn’t understand what daniil wants from him, to which daniil replies:

From you? Oh, nothing. I was just sharing.

to daniil, they were just having a normal conversation. but some part of this - his tone or his words or maybe even his body language - didn’t give artemy the impression that this was supposed to be a regular conversation. (we could, in fact, attribute the same idea to artemy here; why didn’t artemy pick up that this was a normal conversation? the reason i count it towards daniil is because artemy doesn’t seem to have this problem with anybody else. for the record: i don’t think artemy is neurotypical either.)

abnormalities in eye contact and body language

it’s hard to get proof of this in video games, but i will say i think it’s very funny that in pathologic 2 daniil’s idle animations are “pacing”, “sitting like he desperately wants to start bouncing his knees but is stopping himself from doing it”, and “standing unnaturally still” - but there you go. i don’t know anything about making gifs, or i’d gif this one specific talk menu idle he does where he holds eye contact for about three seconds, looks away uncomfortably, and then looks back out of the corner of his eyes.

deficits in […] understand[ing] relationships

mostly examples from his route in classic:

when the army arrives, he can claim to block that aglaya, whom he’s known for two days, is his best friend

he seems baffled by the fact that everone is smitten with maria and working with her, and seems equally baffled by the idea that she’s smitten with him

despite eva implying on day two that she is in a relationship with andrey, is completely blindsided by the revelation on day 6, asking him, “How in the world is she ‘your woman’?”

i’d also like to use his sign-off on his letter to artemy, day 2 of the haruspex route - he signs it as “Your friend (hopefully)”. i know i’m not the only autistic person who used to ask people if we were friends or not. pro tip, if you’ve never done this: don’t. it really weirds people out.

difficulties adjusting behavior to suit various social contexts

the fact that he stands out is blatantly obvious even in pathologic 2 and in the haruspex route of classic. people will comment on him being an outsider and mention that they don’t trust him. but you can watch it happen in real time in his route, because he never fully acclimates to the town. he says something about this to aglaya on day 7:

Bachelor: Was there any particularly notable backstory? I’m deadly tired of all these people. They’re inhuman. They tell the future, believe in walking zombies, and die in all manners of painfully abnormal ways. Inquisitor: Your line of t hinking is obviously falacious - and I was implying something rather mundane. I promise you, no one can really tell the future around here: and neither are deaths inspired by third parties uncommon. Mysterious phenomenons do occur here sometimes… but hardly more often than anywhere else.

actually, there’s an example of him saying something similar to artemy on day 5 in pathologic 2:

Damn this town… I feel I’m trapped in a nightmare. The absurdity of it all… There’s no one to talk to. Everyone’s so volatile. They all seem to want to help, but… their help is worse than hostility.

some of this can be explained by the town’s strangeness, but keep in mind that the first instance happens after he’s been there and involved in the ongoing for an entire week, and the second at nearly a week in. clearly he’s struggling to adjust to the changes.

it’s also worth noting that his reason for fleeing the town in the nocturnal ending?

I have no place here anymore.

This town is no longer mine. No longer human. No longer rational. It doesn’t… accept the likes of me anymore.

repetitive motor movements or speech

it’s harder to see the motor movements in classic, but remember how i pointed out earlier that he paces? pacing is a form of stimming. murky, who is canonically autistic, can also be found pacing as one of her idle animations. having stock phrases for characters to speak when you come near them already ticks off the box on “repetitive speech”, but that by itself doesn’t really cover what they’re talking about - echolalia.

but you know what this does fit with? “‘quoting’ things(communication is HARD! sometimes we need to take shortcuts and use someone else’s words)“

i’ll get to the more obvious example in a minute - i want to point out something that happens very early in pathologic 2 first. you know how you first meet him and artemy accuses daniil of trying to guilt-trip him by asking if it’s true that isidor would still be alive if artemy had come sooner? keep in mind that he spoke to rubin first. and this is what rubin says, when you get a chance to talk to him:

Yesterday, I was told you had killed your father.

That’s not far from the truth, Burakh.

You betrayed him. You left when he needed you most. He cried out for your help, but you didn’t care. He was in peril, and you were too busy elsewhere, He believed, truly believed, that your arrival would put an end to his troubles. And, as always, he was right.

i’m not saying this was necessarily the game’s intent, but it’s entirely possible daniil is parroting back to artemy exactly what rubin said to him.

now, for what you’re probably expecting in this section: the latin. people love to refer to his use of latin as “random”, so let’s clear that up:

it is not latin daniil has made up. with the exception of latin that is mispelled in the game’s texts, all of them are proverbs or otherwise common sayings. you can find most of them on the wikipedia list of latin phrases, or through a 3-second google search.

he’s a doctor. him having taken latin isn’t anymore strange than a lawyer taking latin. in fact, if you pay attention, artemy also took latin; this is implied when artemy tells him he’s always sucked at it.

his uses of latin actually aren’t random at all. what he says fits the situation, and sometimes is used in place of him having to come up with something to say on his own.

prime example:

Forget it, Burakh. I have a splitting headache. If you have no urgent business, then we’ll talk later. Later, later… Qui non proficit, deficit.

qui non proficit, deficit - he who does not advance, loses ground. in other words, “i’m sorry, but i really do need to keep working.” one of his voice lines.

as for why he doesn’t translate the latin: it probably wouldn’t even occur to him to. these are not obscure sayings. the utopians all have a certain degree of education - what would he need to translate them for?

this bleeds into something that isn’t really mentioned, but that i’ve found i have a lot of trouble with in everyday life. autistic people have a tendency to either overexplain (and then have everyone get mad at you because they feel you’re being condescending) or underexplain (and have everyone get mad at you because you haven’t explained anything). the latin would be a case where it feels like a justified underexplanation. you’ll notice that when it comes to anything scientific, he tends to do the reverse, and overexplain. this also happens in classic, whether artemy has asked him to clarify or not.

rigid thinking patterns

the thing i had marked for this was simply his strict adherence to western medical practices and refusal to acknowledge the supernatural, even when it seems obvious - he has a conversation in his route in classic with yulia about this, and that is in fact how he manages to get to her: by asking saburov if there are any other logical skeptics in town. it should be noted they seem to be breaking with this in pathologic 2, where one of his voicelines is “I’m no positivist. There are things in this world beyond our mundane perception.” i have no idea where they’re planning on going with that.

there’s also a quote floating somewhere around twitter about him having been raised by a military man, and militaries tend to enforce very rigid routines. you could say the same thing of block - who (in classic at least) i also have my suspicions about.

highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus

special interests. the one that should obviously come to mind is thanatology, though i would argue latin if not classics in general is a special interest of his as well - in addition to his usage of latin, he also references pericles in the marble nest and was probably refering to the roman occupation of haruspicy in addition to augurs in the same text. he also makes references to shakespeare more than once in both marble nest and pathologic 2.

hyper- or hyperoreactivity to sensory input

i don’t have much written down for this one but there seem to be several places in classic especially where he asks npcs to stop shouting at him. we don’t really have the privilege to know their volume or how they’re interacting with him, but i think it’s also worth noting that he’s the only one of the healers who wears gloves. in pathologic 2 he’s the only named character i can think of who wears them at all. his thing in the lucid dream about the brain being “a border”? gloves are his border, as is his jacket, which may be worn to cut down on sensory issues.

he will also sometimes seem to “overreact” to the situation at hand - such as in classic, when some dogheads mispeak and say that daniil is going to “sterilize” them, and instead of understanding that they must have mispoken, freaks out over the idea that they think they’re going to be… well… sterilized. or in haruspex route, when his reaction to the inquisitor arriving is to threaten suicide.

miscellaneous

he never goes anywhere without that carpet bag. we don’t see it in pathologic 2, but we do hear about it and he doesn’t let it go for a second in classic - not even in the cutscenes where he’s using the microscope. his bag could be a comfort item.

“getting very attached to things like inanimate objects” could work for the bag - but you know what it actually fits the bill much more obviously? the polyhedron. in the haruspex route he recognizes that it’s a lost cause, but he’s still too attached to it to let it go.

in classic at least, daniil is absolutely terrible at lying. most autistic people either are not good at lying, or feel uncomfortable or anxious with having to lie. when he’s asked by yulia and the kids in the polyhedron to lie to block (for different reasons) he’s clearly uncomfortable with the idea that it’ll work. and when it actually comes time to come up with a way to lie to block about why he needs five rifles, your options are to either buckle and tell him the truth, or simply say that you need them for “self-defense”. block believes that you’re not lying to him, but daniil can’t come up with any embeleshments to explain why he needs what he’s asking for.

Commander: Are you hiding something from me? Bachelor: No.

he comes across as naive to other characters. in classic, capella has a voiceline saying, “The Bachelor is not smart. Intelligent, yes… but not smart.” in Pathologic 2, Daniil complains that Aglaya takes him for “a useless dreamer”. he’s also easily used by the Kains to fulfill their endgame in classic.

my final, and absolute favorite: he takes things way too literally. autistic people (and adhd people, from my understanding) have a hard time differentiating jokes and sarcasm. so my favorite moment in marble nest is a case of him taking that earlier advice - to “take heart” literally, by bringing the tragedians a literal human heart:

Tragedian: Oh… Excellency. What a sordid sight! Sorry for underestimating you. You definitely do have… how shall I put it… a creative touch. But this is pure madness. You can’t take things so literally! Daniil: You wanted me to come back to you with an open heart. Well, here I am. …It looked too fitting to be a coincidence.

your mind map, after this, updates to say “I misunderstood the tragedians.”

conclusion

people don’t stop being autistic with age and i think he’s a good example of what it’s like to be in your late 20s and be autistic. i’m sure i missed things as i haven’t finished haruspex route of classic yet and there may just be some other things he does or says that i missed! if anyone has anything to add they think fits i would love to know, thank you for your time :)

#icarus.txt #autistic daniil dankovsky #daniil dankovsky #pathologic meta #ok to rb but i'm not interest in your ''but he's just weird!'' arguments #please keep in mind that this post is about autism #and that this is written by someone w autism...#popular

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atinybitofau · 4 years

Text

S E O N G H W A ⥈ mafia au series

RECAP: training with the boys begins and frustrations between you all get heated. Seonghwa offers you a kind gesture of motivation to get you to learn how to fight.

word count: 1600+ , tags: angst fluff

characters: ateez (ensemble), reader

⤩ CHAPTER 3 ⤩

character list . one shot

“So what DO you know how to do?”

Yunho has never recalled seeing such a pathetic attempt at shooting in his entire life. Up until today when he saw the way your hand trembles around a gun. San, on the other hand, was elated to watch you suck at every single thing you tried to do. You were downright frustrated knowing: learning how to shoot, physically defend yourself, and fighting back wasn’t something you sought to learn.

He kept his hopes high though, Yunho, wanting to see you prosper at the side of his ruthless boss. And even if San thinks otherwise of the circumstances, Yunho assumed your place beside Seonghwa would do the heartless southside king justice. Being with him for so long, Yunho knew of Seonghwa’s shortcomings. Love was undoubtedly one of the assets Seonghwa never had. Seeing as he’s at least trying, Yunho wanted to help out the fact.

He had become frustrated too whilst teaching you and decided maybe you needed a breather.

You were quiet despite San’s failed efforts to get into your head with his rambunctious insults. You only stared at the ground while the other two pondered over new ideas. You weren’t trying at all. You’d like to think it’s because you refuse to take part in justifying yourself for a self proclaimed husband. Honestly, you just had little motivation to try let alone exert any unnecessary efforts.

“Your husband’s arrived early.” A meddling voice fills your empty mind. “He‘s on his way to pick your ass up so look alive.”

Your lips curt a faint affirmation before taking your things and beelining for the building’s locker room. There was soft excitement that frenzied deep down in your stomach as you changed. Not that being around a bunch of buffoons bothered you much but you’d much more prefer the company of a senile swine like your husband than them any day. As pathetic as they sounds to you...

San’s picking at his nails cooly on the outside patio while Yunho leans against a pillar. You’re sat cozy in a chair with your bag over your lap as you all await the said mob boss’ arrival.

“Fashionably fucking late, as always.” San seethes through gritted teeth. “Does that asshole not know I have better things to do than babysit his sorry excuse for a wife?”

San was getting sick and tired of it already. Of course, unbeknownst to you, San absolutely adored his precious leader. It doesn’t excuse the fact that your obnoxiously attractive self gets to settle down with his own first love. To add to it, Seonghwa was effortlessly throwing you around like a treasure that must be watched at all times. Somehow, San realizes the time Seonghwa claimed he had when bargaining his new gift did not exist. So here San was doing Seonghwa’s bidding yet again.

Yunho notices the clench in San’s tight look and glares into his own. “Sannie. Let’s not get careless.”

“Bastard better think twice if he thinks I’m gonna still be sleeping in his house after this.”

San glances at you with no momentary comfort before sticking a cigarette into his lips. You note the face of shock that masks on Yunho’s face but says nothing at all.

“He’s here.” Yunho coughs out while glaring at the cancer stuck between San’s lips. “Kill that stupid thing.”

“With pleasure.” San growls back eyes groveling at you.

“San.”

You stand up upon seeing Seonghwa’s knowing glare from the cracked window of his sleek black SUV. The tables turned on the fellows around you when your heels flick on an opposite direction. Being unwanted never bothered you. Being unwanted forced into a situation has not once bothered you. Being victim to it and having the choice to walk out? Now that’s an additional option you’ve never always have and will always willingly take. You don’t do unnecessary efforts. And you know when you aren’t wanted.

“Y/n!”

You ignore them with heavy feet trudging in no resolute destination in mind. Your fingers play with the earphones in your bag before placing them in your deafening ears. You’re joined by a slow moving car at your side while you walk in no particular direction away from your fiancé.

“Honey, get in.”

You ignore him with a long press of your volume up button.

“Stop being stubborn, y/n.” His voice gets harder. “If I have to get out of this car so help me god I’ll—“

You snatch an earphone out of your ear. “You’ll have San deal with me?”

He abruptly brakes when you do. You let out a grunt of vexation before placing an earbud back in your ear.

Seonghwa decides to park his car right then and there to throw you over his shoulder like a sack of rice. Your face flushes in the hottest color of pink as you try to break free.

“S-SEONGHWA WHAT THE HELL?”

“This’ll be what stubborn gets you from now on.”

You resort to sulking in the front seat as your husband possesively holds his hand on the surface of your thigh. You don’t bother even looking back at where the both of you left San and Yunho, irritated eyes strewn on the outside of the moving vehicle.

“I’m assuming your training didn’t go too well.” He comments while driving faster this time.

You don’t reply making Seonghwa’s fingers twitch on your lap. So much for convincing yourself you aren’t wanted.

“Y/n, I’m no psychic. You need to tell me if something bothers you.”

You scoff. “And what, Seonghwa? You’re gonna fix it?”

“I most definitely will try if that’s what you entail me to do.”

You don’t move from your position as your husband drives you to what you know is back home. The eerie silence that fills the both of you in the car makes your gut clench. His fingers on your thigh aren’t helping the entire car ride either.

Seonghwa’s presence to you reminded you of air. He wasn’t a nuisance to have around and for an appraising relationship to move forth with lesser issues, that’s a good thing. Actually, to add to the fact, Seonghwa was much more meaningful company than anyone else. He never crossed any unnecessary lines and if he did, he did so with grace. It was hardly something you can’t sleep on.

He escorts you, with a distance between you two, towards your shared room and it feels domestic. There’s little need for words. Needn’t questions either. Seonghwa was far from an open book, but he’s not the type of novel that pegged your fancy anyway.

Seonghwa’s back was to you as he stripped out of his dark suit, shoulders bared with torturous temptation. Your mind was clouded no thoughts head empty when he brings you out of your trance with a slight quirk of his chin around his shoulder.

“I can at least draw to a conclusion,” He just keeps pushing the subject of matter you refuse to shed light on. “that the basics of living with a man like me weren’t taught to you properly then.”

Your face becomes shaded with amusement. “Living with a man like you requires basic training?”

“You always think so little of me, my precious wife.”

You feel like you’re in some fanatical love story— how fast he is to getting to your place, finger upon the tip of your chin. He lifts your gaze up onto his eyes with certainty and slight amusement too.

“I may not be of some threat to you but some people will think of you to them. I’m an expensive man and I don’t spend my money and the likes of it on just anybody.”

A twitched smile screws your expression. “And that’s supposed to impress me?”

“Scare you a better word for it.” He slips on a low cut long sleeve and a pair of casual pants before dropping you onto his lap. “I need to know. That at all times I’m never with you.. you’re prepared to take down the worst.”

Your breath hitches at the back of your throat as his fingers grace the exposed skin on your neck. His lips take upon the deed of pressing a sweet kiss, the feel of pain besting you. You don’t realize in the blur of the pleasure how a throbbing pain lingers where his lips lift.

“I know I promised not to take things too far but if you have no reason to fight, I’ll have to offer you one.”

It’s not a mark of lust nor was it a bite of love. It was a mark for people to see. It was a caligraphy of his own sort, making itvlegible for anyone to read. His lips relieves the vibrating pain and you’re curious. You turn to face him and his breath meets yours. You get caught up in something that isn’t there but you can taste. It was like something you need. A lot like air.

“It was meant for your skin.” He reassures you taking an inch of space back. “It’s not inclined for you to believe it’s also for your lips sake.”

You chuckle softly no blush apparent to his notion. “What a romanticist.”

He boredly hums. “Seems so.”

You wear a shirt that reveals the mark as if you’re proud to bear it. No, it’s not pride you feel entitled to, it’s the meaning. It gives you reason to fight.

Seonghwa stands beside you while you throw punches; in front of you when you kick and swing so he can teach you how it’s done.

It’s then you realize why he’s Southside’s king and why he deserves his title.

“Yunho informed me that your lack of skill was overbearing this afternoon.” Seonghwa speaks highly, eyes dawned with amusement and amazement. “That or I’m just one hell of a good teacher.”

You lean over to help him up. “I didn’t have a reason to defend myself. I think I do now.”

“While fighting me?”

“Something like that..”

@atinybitofau

a/n: ROUGH EDIT

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watchtower-feed · 4 years

Text

Detective

Anon: after your last imagine I can't shake college Damian off my mind, can I request one about him and his s/o in college? I don't really have an specific idea but something like walking them to class, studying together, getting each other coffee and just overall taking care of each other. Notes: I didn’t get to cover everything in the request because there are too many scenes and I didn’t wanna turn this into a bullet point fic. Hope you like it though! Words: 2,774

“No.”

The girl that approached the table looked forlorn and her friends slowly helped her walk away.

“Ugh,” Will groans. He’s one of Damian Wayne’s friends and their varsity is currently doing charity work for Gotham Academy. Will took a brilliant idea from the internet where they set up a table offering people to walk them around campus if they feel bullied or generally unsafe.

“You can’t keep saying no to people, Wayne. That’s not how the charity works.”

Damian clicked his tongue. “I know exactly how this works, and those girls did not need assistance.”

“Yeah. In the bedroom, they did,” Mike laughs and tries to fistbump Will who just stares at him until he puts his hands down.

Damian’s attention is already taken by you. He kicks back his seat to leave.

“Where are you going now?” Will whines.

“Helping someone who actually needs it.”

You’re walking to your next class while looking over your shoulder every now and then. To Damian, they’re simple signals of someone who feels like they’re being followed. So he stands right in front of your path in the middle of the quad where there is a multitude of people around. You almost bump into him but he quickly takes a step back to give you your space.

You know him. Everybody on campus knows him. He’s the greatest player the football team has ever had. Too bad he left halfway through his first semester and joined the swim team instead.

Damian is staring down at you from being almost a foot taller. Then something catches his eye and he looks at someone behind you who quickly hides behind a statue.

You see a small snarl on the corners of his lips before he starts taking steps around you. You stop him immediately.

“You can’t--”

“Why not?” Damian quickly asks.

“If you-- if you get in a fight again, they’ll kick you off the team.”

Damian raises his eyebrows in thought, “That doesn’t sound like much of a loss to me.”

“Please don’t.” You grip his arm tighter.

He stares at you, “Why haven’t you reported him?”

“He-- he hasn’t done anything. He’s smart. He keeps his distance and no one has actually noticed him following me around.”

“I did.”

And you want to thank him for that. This whole semester has been a nightmare for you. It started with your survival instincts kicking in, always warning you that you’re in danger. Your gut has never failed you so you listened. But this stalker is so good that he’s hidden himself well from all of your friends. Friends you’ve lost because they deemed you too paranoid and anxious.

“Come on.” Damian’s voice saves you from your thoughts. “I’ll walk you to your class. Spanish, right?”

You’re stunned, “How-- how do you know that?”

He rolls his eyes and then points at your books. “It’s the one on top of your pile. Lucky guess.”

You suddenly feel assured and laugh a little. “You’re quite the detective.”

His eyes widen at the comment and he slowly turns back to you. “You have no idea.”

Damian walks you right up to the door of your classroom. As soon as you thank him, he leaves and heads for his own class. When it’s time for lunch, you’re surprised to find him standing against the wall outside of the room.

“You’re here.”

“Do you have another class?” he asks you while his eyes roam the hallways.

“No, I’m about to have lunch.”

“Okay. Let’s go.” Without giving you time to respond, he starts walking to the cafeteria and you try to keep up with his strides.

So far nobody has paid attention to the two of you. But when Damian carries both of your trays to your table, the staring and the whispers start. There are even some flashes from cameras that almost blind you.

“Sorry,” he mutters under his breath while concentrating on his food.

You shake your head as you watch the lines on his brows and the irritation on his face. “It must be hard being a Wayne,” you say.

He grins at the thought of what it’s like to be a real Wayne beyond what the gossip columns say. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s all this stupid attention that I hate.”

“That’s probably why you don’t date, huh?” Damian looks up and stares at you with a raised eyebrow. You quickly wave your hands, “It’s just that-- my friend-- well my old friend-- she asked you out once and you said you’re not interested. We teased her that maybe you’re just not interested in her but--”

A sudden flash hits the side of your cheeks and Damian is quickly leaving his seat and marching over to another table, the table where your stalker is sitting with a camera pointed at you. You wince at the sight of it.

Damian grabs the man’s camera still strapped around his neck. “What? Did you think you could hide your flash among these paparazzi wannabes?” Before he could say anything, Damian takes off the camera and starts flipping through the pictures.

“Hey, man! That’s mine!”

Damian scoffs. “Really? That’s good then. You can get it back from the cops.” Damian turns the camera around and shows the stalker a picture of you in the girl’s shower. His eyes widen and quickly tries to run but Damian grabs him by the collar and slams the side of his head against the table.

You watch all of this go down from your table. People’s murmurs are louder, trying to figure out what’s going on. When word reaches you that Damian is calling the cops, you feel a new kind of relief wash over you. Suddenly, your shoulders felt lighter and it’s easier to stand up straight.

Damian stays with you the whole time. Whenever the officers and the stalker’s voices got too loud, your voice would falter and Damian would speak for you, authoritatively holding everyone’s attention.

Once the stalker was detained and all evidence tagged, you and Damian walk back to campus.

“You seem… happy.”

You didn’t even notice you’re smiling until you touch the upturned corners of your lips. “I feel kind of free… like a bird.”

Damian snorts to himself, “Yeah.”

You mull something in your head and speak your thoughts out loud, “You planned that, didn’t you?” Damian stops walking and he’s looking at you when you turn around. “You knew he wasn’t just following me, and that he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity you created.”

Damian’s brows furrowed, “I apologize for using you as bait--”

“No!” you interrupt and hold his hands, “I was just thinking that it’s ingenious. Forget being a detective, you’re almost as good as Batman.”

Damian smirks. You suddenly see a whole new side of him probably no one on campus has ever seen. A playful one. “Just almost?”

When you reach the dorms, Damian walks you right up to your door. He takes a quick look inside to make sure you’re roommate is already there. Before you let him leave, thinking this will probably be the last time you’ll be together again, you gather up the courage to hold his arm, stand on your toes, and kiss him on the lips. “Thanks. For everything.”

Damian gives you a look before he nods and leaves. You watch a small shade of red reach the tips of his ears as you cover your own blush.

The next day, Damian Wayne is back at the table with his varsity friends. You walk by and only mean to wave at him before your next class. But as soon as he saw you, he shrugs off Mike’s arm from his shoulder and gets up to leave.

“Dude, no. You’re bailing again?” Will whines.

“You have more than enough people here. Just message me.”

Will slumps down in his seat and crosses his arms, “Yeah right. It’s not like any of us has your number.”

“They don’t look too happy about you leaving,” you tease as he approaches you.

He shrugs nonchalantly, “They’ll live.” He gives you a long look before he raises an eyebrow in curiosity, “You seem happier today.” You quickly blush and immediately think of the kiss from last night. “You’re thinking about the kiss, aren’t you?”

You stare at Damian with wide eyes. You wonder if he’s either a real detective or you’re just too obvious. You laugh, “You, too. I mean you’re actually teasing me. Where is the always-reserved Damian Wayne of Gotham Academy and what have you done to him?”

He smirks and points ahead to the direction of your next classroom, World History. You look down at the top book in your pile and roll your eyes. Definitely the detective. Definitely obvious.

After class, there’s no Damian standing outside waiting for you. You try not to feel the tiny pang in your chest and walk to your Figure Drawing class. As soon as you walk in, you come face to face with a very naked Damian Wayne.

When Damian returned to the varsity table, Will had given him punishment for bailing twice in a row and volunteered him to be the model for a class. Damian has absolutely no problems with appearing naked in front of anybody. To him, this was just a chore he had to do to live up to his civilian identity.

But as soon as he sees you walk in through the door and your eyes roam from his head all the way down to his toes, he grits his teeth. “I’ll kill him.”

“Y/N, please. You’re already late. Take your seat.”

Your lecturer’s voice jolts you back to your senses and you quickly take a seat on the far side of the room. It’s one of the most grueling classes you’ve been in since you got to the academy. Damian avoided your eyes the whole time.

“Y/N, wait for me.”

Damian calls out while he put on his clothes. You’re already standing by the door and a lot of people had stayed to continue to watch him. When they heard him call out to you, they instantly turn and glare.

As soon as he reaches you, he puts his arm around your shoulder and you walk out together. You can feel the heavy weight of his arm rest on top of you.

“Do you have another class?” he asks. You shake your head, still unable to speak to him because you keep seeing him naked inside your head. “Good. Let’s have lunch in the city.”

Damian takes you to a small diner hidden in a corner between the business district and the Narrows. The lunch rush is already over and you find yourselves in a corner booth.

“Wow,” you say. “I never expected you to eat at a place like this. You’re more down-to-Earth than I thought.”

“As opposed to what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Being a rich kid? Everything handed to you on a silver platter?”

“Trust me, Y/N. Nothing was ever handed to me. Everything I have-- everything I am, I worked for.”

You prop your elbow on the table as you look at the once menacing Damian Wayne. The past two days, you’ve spent with him have completely changed your opinion about him and a little of the ancient Wayne family.

Speaking of.

“My family’s here,” Damian mutters as he scoots over until he’s sitting next to you, freeing up his side of the booth. A group of four walks into the diner and start heading for your booth. “Damian!”

“Good morning, Grayson. Cain.”

Two of the four, nod their heads at you. While the shortest boy, who is still taller than you, crosses his arms. “Rude. What about us?”

Damian doesn’t pay him any attention. You watch as they enter the booth in a single file.

“Late night?” Damian asks.

The one he called Grayson gives a long sigh as he sits next to Damian. “You have no idea. Would’ve been faster if Rob-- Ow!” The tallest of the three elbows him and nudges his head toward you. “Oh, hello there.”

“Are you on a date?” asks the girl he called Cain, smiling.

“Yes.”

“We are?” you ask right away. You tried to keep your voice low but from the way their eyes widen, you know they heard you.

They look at each other and smirk. “Looks like you forgot to inform your date,” teases the tallest one.

Damian smirks to himself before replying. “Y/N can’t think straight at the moment. Still a little flustered after seeing me naked.”

Damian pulls you closer to him to avoid the spray of water from one of his siblings. “We really shouldn’t be letting you loose into society without a harness, Drake.”

“It was for figure drawing class,” you chuckle to break the tension, and try to appease their wide eyes with your waving hands. “I’m Y/N by the way. I go to GA, too.”

“I’m Dick,” one of his siblings reaches around Damian to shake your hand. “These are Cass, Jason, and Tim. We’re Damian’s siblings--”

“Adopted.”

Jason looms over the table and grabs Damian’s head to harshly rub his knuckles into his hair. “You don’t have to say that every time, demon.”

“Todd-- Stop it--”

Dick tries to pry them apart but ultimately fails and accidentally gets punched by one of Damian’s flailing limbs, making Jason laugh. “You may have gotten bigger, but you’re still a runt!”

“Not-- as much-- as Drake--”

Tim, who’s sitting at the outer edge of the booth across from you, apologizes for his brothers with a sigh. “I wish I could tell you that we’re not always like this.”

You smile at the thought and finally realize why Damian is always so reserved on campus. He’s the youngest of such a big and lively family. Dick and Tim are familiar, too. You’ve seen their faces on the Legacy Wall of the academy. You’ve seen a few pictures of Jason and Cass, too but not as much.

This is what Damian meant when he said he’s worked hard for everything in his life. It must be hard living behind so many giant shadows.

When Cass finally intervenes and disentangles the boys, you place your hand over Damian’s as he sits back down. He turns to you and you give him a supportive smile.

He smirks and raises an eyebrow, “You keep getting into a better mood each time I look at you.”

You blush a little because who would ever expect someone to just say things like that. “Maybe your company just does that to me,” you tease back.

You hear a quick snicker from Dick and both of you turn to him. He’s visibly whispering to Cass but it’s audible enough for you to hear. “They’readorable.”

After that, Damian never took you back to the diner again, not wanting to let his siblings see the two of you together. But on campus, you are almost always together.

“Stop! Stop!” you laugh and try to protect yourself from the whirlwind of water Damian is sending your way as he shakes his head. He had just finished training and met up with you at the stands where you’ve been studying while waiting.

Damian leans down and kisses you on the lips. Your eyes widen before they slowly close as you let him lead. You hear catcalls from his teammates and you can already guess that Damian’s flipping them off.

“Okay. Come here.” You break the kiss and pull down the towel he had draped around his shoulders. You use it to properly rub his head and dry off his hair. “You must be tired. That ran longer than usual.”

Damian tries to look at you as you keep drying his hair, “Competition’s next week so we’re doing last-minute checks on everyone’s forms. Did you wait long?”

You nod your head like a child. “Been here since morning. It’s so hard to date a varsity,” you groan.

Damian takes the towel from you and rubs your face with it. “Think that’s hard? Try dating a vigilante.”

You giggle as you try to fight Damian for the towel, “I wouldn’t mind that. Batman seems to be getting hotter these days.”

You’re only teasing him and he knows it. But you don’t know that the mantle of Batman has been passed down to him. So he laughs out loud and it’s one of those rarest moments you want to treasure but you also can’t resist the urge to just kiss this happy and carefree version of Damian Wayne.

#requested #Damian Wayne #Batman #batfamily #College!Damian #Older!Damian #DC imagines #DC fanfiction #DC reader insert #Damian Wayne fanfiction #Damian Wayne imagine #Damian Wayne x reader #Robin #watchtower-feed #acropen #lexyartem

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zayray030 · 3 years

Text

Ramble

Summary: Spencer knew that his tendency to ramble has at times frustrated people but he thought that at least the BAU wouldnt mind. Guess he thought wrong. OR 4 times someone told him to shut up and 1 time someone told him to ramble

Spencer rambled a lot. It was conman knowledge. He especially seemed to ramble when he was either anxious, scared, injured or with someone he was close with.

When Spencer had been younger he had regretted rambling so much. Maybe if he hadn't rambled so much his father would still be with him. If he hadn't rambled so much maybe, just maybe he wouldn't have been bullied so much. Maybe he could have a happier life.

Anyway, he shouldn't think like that! He had a new, even better family. The BAU had accepted every part of his weirdness with limited questions and light teasing.

The BAU had especially adapted his rambling tenancies and listened to him when he rambled. Most times anyway.

I mean, Spencer couldn't exactly blame them. Not everybody could continue having the patience of a saint. Some people tended to snap when too much was handed to them. Spencer guesses he was the too much they couldn't handle.

He knew that the team didn't mean to be hurtful. It just hurt that the people he thought he could trust were just so…cold when they wanted him to be quiet. But they were.

And Spencer didn't know what hurt the most. The fact that he wasn't shocked that they had gotten tired of him or the fact that they did.

Instance one where people had too much of him (Maybe talking about the importance of healthy eating wasn't a good idea)

Spencer and Morgan had been at the lunchroom when Spencer had noticed that all Morgan had was a protein shake, two cookies and milk.

Those weren't nearly enough calories to be able to power Morgan up! Especially considering the older agent had the tendency to overtrain himself to get more muscled.

“You know that isn't enough right?” Spencer asked, gesturing to the measly meal in front of Morgan.

Spencer missed the look that Morgan sent him and continued rambling about the health and safety of having limited food and the dangers that can do to the body. Just as he was about to start rambling again Morgan cut him off, harshly.

“Listen, thanks kid but I don't exactly need health tips from a skinny twig. How about you shut up and just let me eat in silence, okay?” and without waiting for Spencer’s reply Morgan up and left, not bothering to look behind him.

If he had he would have seen the heartbroken expression on the younger agent. He would have seen the slight fear in his eyes at the thought of another person is his life leaving him.

Spencer looked down at his meal and shook his head out of any thoughts to do with Morgan just being a tad bit rude with how he wanted Spencer to be quiet.

He should have just kept quiet and not spoken. This was all on him. He shouldn't have bothered the older man. He'd be quiet around him to make him happier.

Instance two where people had too much of him (Maybe he shouldn't ask someone if they need help from now on.)

Spencer was making his way to Garcia’s office. Maybe spending some time with the older woman would help but his mind at ease with what happened with Derek. She might even offer him a solution!

However, when he walked in there it was too see Garcia focusing on something on her screen.

“Hey Garcia!” he said happily. He hadn't been able to have an actual conversation with the other in a long time and he wanted to just rant with her. She was the most patient with him and sometimes even joined in with some of his ramblings.

“Hey Spence” she greeted distractedly. Maybe that was one of the clues that Spencer should have taken and left the older girl to her devices before coming back, but he was too stressed and he wanted to talk to his ranting partner.

“Did you know that…” and he continued rambling about the dangers of constantly staring at your screens (we'll just ignore the slight hypocrisy) when he stopped when García banged her hand on the table.

The boy jumped and turned to look at the girl in a mix of confusion and fear. The blonde took a deep breath before turning back to Spencer.

“Listen, Spencer. I love you, okay pumpkin? But currently, I need to do this so please shut up.” and she spun her chair back around and continued back to what she was doing.

Spencer took that as his cue to leave. The other didn't notice as the genius of the BAU turned around and left her office. She didn't notice the dejected look on his face as he turned away, sure that this was another person who was tired of him.

Instance three where people had too much of him (Maybe he shouldn't be asking questions. He is a genius after all)

He hadn't been able to understand why the unsub had the tendency to put a picture of their victims' happiest moments near their dead body and had gone to Rossi to explain it to him.

Not his brightest moments he would admit to that.

He had approached the older man in hopes of learning more from him but maybe he should have done it when the man was feeling better. But it was hard to tell with that man whenever Spencer was around him. He would always have a constant scowl. Maybe he should have taken that as a sign to not continue speaking.

“But why?” Spencer continued to wheedle. He had hated not knowing something. It was truly frustrating.

“Listen, kid.” the older man snapped, turning to glare at the genius. “Maybe for once it would do you some good to not know something. Or maybe just use your genius brain to figure this out. Either way, shut up and stop bothering me!” the older man was almost yelling by now but he lowered his voice at the last minute, making it sound like a vicious hiss. Spencer couldn't help but feel like that felt worse.

Before he could respond to the other, Rossi had turned around and stalked off, muttering things about kid geniuses being a pain in the ass.

Another person left him. Maybe he really was the problem for everything going down.

Instance four where people had too much of him (Maybe he should stop trying to explain things to people. It never turns out well in the end)

Emily and JJ had been talking about a new campaign thing they can do and Spencer had decided to drop in his two cents. Big mistake.

Just as he was about to go into detail about the various colours and where they come from, Emily put her hand up.

“Listen, Reid. Not that we don't appreciate your input.” she began, shooting him a tight smile. The same smile his father would have whenever he explained anything to the older man.

“We don't.” cut in JJ, before stuffing a dorito in her mouth.

“We would much rather you shut up and leave and let us handle this on our own. We don't need or want you to explain this to us.” Emily continued as if she hadn't heard the blonde.

Spencer didn't say anything, just nodded and shakily stood up. He walked out quickly, the only tung he could hear behind him is Emily and JJ talking about the campaign again.

He had lost two people in one go. He hadn't thought he would be able to hit that number after he sent his mother to the asylum. He truly was alone again.

And one instance where someone hadn't had enough of him (A.K.A Aaron Hotchner is the best)

Aaron was confused. Now, this wasn't exactly unusual. In this job, you tended to become really confused when dealing with the crazy things that happened in the BAU.

No, what confused him was the youngest member of the BAU. One Spencer Reid.

Once again, this wasn't exactly shocking. The young genius tended to confuse things with his ramblings about the most random things. Some people would find it annoying but Aaron found it quite endearing. Whilst he might not understand what the genius was blabbering about, he found it nice that the younger man would let down his guard enough to not care what he was talking about and just let things be free.

He also couldn't say anything when those sparkly eyes were targeted at him but no way was he going to admit to that. If anybody found out they would use it to get away with almost anything. Especially Morgan. Aaron inwardly shuddered at the chaos that would cause.

So that's why the agent couldn't possibly understand why Spencer wasn't rambling to him and why he seemed almost scared about even going near him.

“Hey, Reid?” and he couldn't help but feel slight anger when Spencer jumped and flinched when he called his name.

Not anger at Spencer, never. Anger at whoever had hurt him yes.

“Y-yeah?” and the younger man winced before starting again. “I mean yeah Hotch?” and he was fidgeting with his sleeve, looking anywhere but him.

Aaron shot the younger man a look, not liking the lack of rambling.

“I was wondering if you could tell me something about the stars.” and it was an absolutely pathetic attempt at a conversation and he knew that, but he was getting desperate now.

“Umm, well they're up in the sky.” answered the younger man, words coming out more awkwardly than intended and both men winced.

“Cmon. I'm sure there's more than that in your big head. Come on. Tell me more.” the older man encouraged, a small smile on his face.

Spencer shot him a surprised look, and Hotch couldn't help but feel confused.

“Umm well, did you know that…” and hearing the younger ramble made him relax ever so slightly. It was just one of those things that once you get used to it feels too weird not to be around anymore.

However, Hotch’s peace was interrupted by the very boy who started it. “I'm sorry. That's probably enough. I'll shut up now.” he said bashfully, looking down and scratching the back of his neck.

Hotch saw red briefly before calming down. He can get angry later, right now he was going to deal with why the younger man seemed to care that he was rambling so much. He didn't care before, so why know?

“Why would I want you to shut up?” he asked, slowly making his way to the smaller man when he noticed the slight shaking in his shoulders.

“B-because everyone w-wants m-me to s-shut up and I-I don't want to l-lose the o-only family I have l-left” the brunette answered through his choked sobs,

Hotch enveloped the prodigy in his arms, not allowing him to escape. The younger made a small sound of surprise before collapsing into the man, shaking as he continued to son in the man's arms.

When he looked up he realised he had an audience that consisted of a group of oddly guilty-looking BAU members.

Suddenly, something clicked but he needed to make sure.

“Who's everyone, Spence?” he asked gently, contrasting the harsh glare he sent everyone else. A ripple of satisfaction went through him when they all looked away in shame.

“D-Derek, G-garcia, Emily and JJ and R-rossi.” he answered shamefully, burying himself deeper in the man's arms, almost as if he was trying to make sure the older man wouldn't see him in such a weak state and judge him harshly. So that he wouldn't see the look of disappointment.

Hotch felt his heartbreak as the young man in his arms continued to cry. Eventually, those sobs died down and only light breathing could be heard. He must have cried himself to sleep.

Making a split-second decision he quickly gathered the man in his arms before picking him up and laying him down on the couch. He took a blanket that was lying there and draped it over the peacefully sleeping form.

He then turned around to the people who caused this mess.

“Do you guys have anything you want to say or do you want me to make an assumption?” he asked sarcastically, shooting them all a furious look.

“Look, Hotch we didn't kn-”

“Shut up, Derek,” he replied and took little satisfaction when the man in front of him flinched away.

“I don't really care how stressed you guys were, what happened that day, what you ate. But none of that makes it alright to tell the person who was told to shut up for most of their life and mistreated for most of his life to shut up.” he hissed, mindful of the sleeping agent in the room.

When none of them disagreed with him he continued.

“Know, here's what you guys are going to do. You will all listen attentively to whatever he has to say, clear? You all have to do as he says, clear? And if I don't hear him ramble and the only cause is because he's tired I will personally assign all of you to convenience store robberies. Clear?” and he knew that would get them to agree if Spencer’s crying face wasn't.

Nothing is more humiliating than being assigned convenience store robbery cases. They all nodded their heads quickly, not wanting to anger the other man any more than they had.

“Good. Now go. I doubt Spence wants you guys to be the first faces he sees when he wakes up.” and they all scuttered away, like mice.

‘Rats would be more fitting.’ mused Aaron as he turned to the man he'd grown to see as a son.

“Get some rest, k Spence. You're going to need it. After all, tomorrow you're going to have to deal with a bunch of sorry ass' ' and he placed a small kiss on the boy's forehead before making his way out and closing the light and door after him.

Spencer would be okay. And if he wasn't you would have to deal with one Aaron Hotchner.

#spencer reid #derek morgan #Penelope garcia #Jj #emily prentiss #Rossi #aaron hotchner #Rambling #Awkwardness #angst with a hopeful ending #Angst #Hurt/comfort #Dad Aaron hotcher #Guilty BAU #Bau

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imperialstark · 3 years

Text

choke on me—chapter five

breathe me in (prequel fic)

chapter four

chapter six

a/n: i’m not going to say much, aside for a little warning that there is some violence and gore (nothing crazy) in this chapter. i’m super excited for this one and i hope you guys enjoy it! also, this chapter has my first battle scene so bear with me folks

rating: explicit

warning(s): this chapter contains violence, smut, and a little bit of gore

—————

Whatever peace they have following the carnival quickly dies when HYDRA rears its ugly head. Again. Tony hates how devoted they are to living up to their namesake. He had hoped that they would take their time to regroup after the fall of SHIELD, but apparently, four months was more than enough time. HYDRA's power ran that strong.

Tony watches Steve throughout the briefing. He's been watching Steve a lot more lately. Ever since that ride on the Ferris wheel, he's been trying to be more open, more inviting, Steve taking to his attentions like a starving man to freshwater. Steve's all business right now. His jaw clenched, he's scrolling through the digital files JARVIS compiled for them on a tablet with a single-minded focus. His free hand rests on his knee curled into a fist. Tony can practically see the rage in him rising like a tidal wave. He can't imagine how Steve feels, to devote himself to something, to die for it, only for his sacrifice to be for naught.

"God, these guys are like roaches," Clint says, cutting through the silence, tossing his tablet down on the table. "They could survive a nuclear winter."

"So what's the plan here, Cap?" Natasha says, leaning forward in her chair. "You've got the most experience with HYDRA out of any of us."

Steve sets his tablet down. "What we're going to do," he says, his voice colder than Tony's ever heard it, "is go for the head."

"We strike fast, and we strike hard, leave them absolutely no time to recoup. HYDRA, no doubt, has a number of facilities at their disposal. We find them, and we burn them to the ground. Any operatives who surrender will be turned into the proper authorities. We don't want another Zola."

"JARVIS, can you pull up a three-dimensional render of the base?" Tony says.

"Of course, sir," JARVIS says.

A bright blue hologram appeared over the center of their table. Steve stands up and starts to circle it. He could practically see the wheels behind Steve's head turning, formulating a strategy from the bottom up.

"They were smart when they made this base," Steve says. "It's incorporated into the mountain top. They'll be able to see us coming from all sides."

Bruce speaks up. "What if we approach from the west? It looks like there's a pretty dense forest; we could use it for coverage."

"A ground assault would be suicide," Tony says, rising from his seat to take a closer look at the hologram. Steve moves over, making room for Tony to stand beside him. "They could have bunkers, watchguards, tanks, the works. We'd be fish in a barrel."

"An aerial assault then," Thor suggests. "So we won't be caught unaware."

Steve gives the idea some thought, a muscle in his jaw working. "Tony and you could fly ahead and scout for assailants."

"That could work," Tony says. His mind is racing, running through all of the possible outcomes of their fledgling plan. The others could stay behind in the quinjet, and he had recently added retro-reflective paneling to it. "Once we give you the all-clear, we'll be right on top of them and—"

"We'll have the element of surprise on our side," Steve finishes.

"And once we reach the base?" Natasha asks.

"That's the easy part, Nat," Clint says. "We give 'em hell."

*********

They finalize their plans and run them by Fury and what remains of SHIELD. They'll head out tomorrow morning, just before dawn, to catch them off guard. The others have left the war room, either to train or to get some rest. Steve sits at the table alone, the hologram casting his face in blue light.

"Penny for your thoughts," Tony murmurs so as not to startle him.

Steve glances at him and smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Talk to me, Steve," Tony says. "What's bugging you?"

Steve sighs. "It'd be easier to list what isn't bugging me."

With a sudden surge of daring, Tony steps off from where he'd been leaning against the wall and slides onto Steve's lap. Steve lets him, his hands settling on Tony's hips like they belong there. Tony wraps his arms around his neck and leans in.

"Am I bugging you?" he whispers.

"Never," Steve says fiercely, his grip on Tony's hips tightening.

"That's one," Tony jokes. "Can't think of any others?"

Steve presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Your smile." Another kiss on the tip of his nose this time, making Tony chuckle. "Your laugh."

"Okay, Romeo," Tony says, laughing. "I get it. That's three, I guess."

Steve smiles, a bigger one than the last one. His thumb has slid under Tony's shirt, rubbing circles into his hip. "Thank you," he murmurs. "It's just... I'm worried about the mission."

"And why is that?" Tony asks like an idiot until he remembers that this base is located in the Alps, where so many things went catastrophically wrong for Steve.

Steve's smile falls just as quickly as it came, and Tony kicks himself mentally for being the one to do it. "Whenever HYDRA's involved, things tend to go south pretty quick."

"I gave my life to putting an end to HYDRA, and no matter what I do," Steve whispers, more to himself than to Tony, "they always come back. They always come back and take something from me. I'm fighting a war with no end, Tony."

Tony cups Steve's face in his hands. "But you're still fighting," Tony says softly. "The second you stop, that's when they win. That's when there's no coming back." His thumb brushes over Steve's cheek, wiping away a stray eyelash. Sitting this close, Steve looked so young. Tony forgot that mentally, Steve was only twenty-nine. He carried himself with an age-old grace and had suffered so much…

"And you're not fighting alone. You never did. You had the Commandos," Tony says. He doesn't know where he's going with this, but he'll do anything to take that grimace off of Steve's face.

"No one should be this alone," he thinks.

"You have the Avengers," he continues. "You have me."

"I've got you?" Steve asks. His voice sounds small, unsure.

"You've got me. You'll always have me," Tony confirms.

"I'm holding you to that," Steve says.

"I'm a man of my word," Tony replies.

Steve tilts Tony's head up, and they don't say anything after that. Not for a while.

*********

It's supposed to be a run-of-the-mill ambush, so of course, they're met with the modern-day equivalent of hellfire and brimstone—in HYDRA's case, a volley of gunfire. One second, Tony's flying over a mountain pass, thanking his lucky stars that his flight suit is insulated, the next a bright blue bolt of pure energy strikes him in one of his thrusters, sending him spiraling. Another shot sends Tony plummeting towards the earth in an ironic facsimile of the Battle of New York.

The same terror grips him, that awful feeling of weightlessness and pressure all at once. He barely registers the shouts of the others over the comms before his sense finally kicks in, and he deploys the flaps meant to slow his fall.

The impact still rattles his bones, and for an awful second, Tony swears his brain is shaking around in his skull. Whatever guns HYDRA were using had to be enhanced somehow because there's no way two shots from any old machine gun would take him out so easily.

He's landed in a snowbank, thankfully. Tony always knew that there was a possibility that his suit would be his coffin, but he didn't want to bite the dust just yet.

"Pepper would yell at me," he thinks, still trying to calm his racing mind down. "And Rhodey. And Happy. And Steve. Steve—"

"Iron Man? Iron Man, do you copy?" That's Steve's voice. There's an urgent note to it, almost like he's trying to stop himself from shouting.

Tony blinks once, twice, and tries to answer him. "I'm fine, Cap. Just disoriented."

"What's your location?" Natasha asks curtly, cutting off whatever Steve was going to say. Tony can hear gunfire in the background, and hurried commands barked out in Russian.

"Jarvis?" he asks. Tony used a separate comms unit precisely for moments like these when his suit might be compromised. "You there, buddy?"

"Always, sir."

Relief floods through Tony. He's not totally helpless if Jarvis is still on the line.

"Can you send my location to the others?"

"With pleasure, sir."

"Got it," Natasha says a second later. "I'm sending Thor to you. But first, Hawkeye, let's show these boys a little reciprocity, hm?" Natasha's voice is like ice. Tony almost feels bad for those poor HYDRA agents operating those machine guns. Almost. If only they weren't the scum of the earth.

Tony can't see the quinjet anymore, but he can sure as hell hear it as Natasha unloads a barrage of bullets aimed directly at the turrets surrounding the HYDRA bunker. Never has he ever been more thankful for retro-reflective paneling. There's a pause in the gunfire, presumably from the HYDRA goons taking cover and Natasha ceasing her fire to allow Thor to reach him unharmed.

In the meantime, Tony needs to figure out what he can salvage.

"Is it just me, or do those guns remind anybody else of the Chitauri's weapons?" Clint says over the comms.

Thor lands in the snowbank, sending the snow into a flurry. He stalks towards Tony, his red cape fluttering in the wind. Lightning dances at his fingertips, and paired with the fury painting his face red, Tony would think it was directed at him.

"Iron Man? Are you alright?" Thor asks when he reaches Tony.

"I'm fine, just disoriented," Tony says, which is the truth. The snow broke most of the fall. Aside from a few minor cuts and bruises, he's alright. It's not the worst mission he's been on. Yet.

"Your suit," Thor says. "Can you fly?"

Tony looks down, observing the damage. The gunfire's resumed, Natasha and Clint aiming with deadly accuracy. Good. That makes his job easier. The thrusters in his boots are shot, but his HUD and hand repulsors are still functioning.

"Don't think so," Tony says. "Can I get a lift? I'll tip you."

Thor chuckles, some of the fierceness in his stance deteriorating. "He's alright," Thor says. "He can still joke."

"That's a relief," Clint says, actually sounding relieved. "Who else is gonna call me out on my bullshit?"

With Thor's help, Tony strips out of the armor pieces that are nothing more than dead weight until he's down to his helmet, gauntlets, and chest piece.

"Cease your fire," Thor says, wrapping an arm around Tony's waist. "We're joining the fray." And they're off. Thor's flying is different from Tony's own; Mjolnir functions as a weight, taking them into the mountain top's direction. It's completely flat on top, akin to a plateau. Every twenty feet is a gunman armed with what looks like a modified Chitauri gun. They're firing blindly, still looking out for the quinjet. "We're coming in," Tony says. "And Hawkeye, you're right. This does look like Chitarui weaponry."

"Can you say that again so I can record it?"

"In your dreams," Tony says. Thor lets go of Tony when they're safe to land. Tony rolls into the fall, landing in a crouch. The HYDRA gunman spots them, but before they can pull their handgun sitting at their waist, Tony's already fired two blasts from his repulsor, sending them flying. Thor sends Mjolnir flying through the machine gun, shattering it into hundreds of metal shards sparking and sputtering like the last embers of a fire.

"One machine gun down," Tony reports. He stalks over to the HYDRA agent he shot and takes the handgun for himself. Ignoring the agent's blank, dead stare, he looks over the gun, trying to get a feel for how it functions. It's all sleek curves and silver chrome, a current of cobalt energy coursing through it like blood. He aims the gun and pulls what he hopes is the trigger at the gunner. The HYDRA agent screams as Tony's shot makes its target, charring his skin. "Make that two," Tony says. "The north side of the base is clear."

"I'm dropping Cap off," Natasha says. "The north side is too small to land the jet."

Mere seconds later, Steve's landing near them from seemingly nowhere, looking ready to kill. His eyes looking over Tony, "You okay?" he says, his voice rough.

"I'm alright," Tony says. They can talk later. There's still a mission to finish.

"There's four gunners on the western side," Steve says. "How long do you think until they call for reinforcements?"

The thundering sound of footsteps on concrete answers Steve's question.

"Not long," Tony snarls and rounds the corner with Steve and Thor flanking him. One of the agents who abandoned the machine gun has a regular pistol aimed right at Tony. Steve moves like lightning, lifting his shield in front of Tony. The bullet ricochets and lodges into the agent's skull.

Tony will thank him later, for now, they have to keep on moving. They need to clear space for Natasha to land.

It's like he, Steve, and Thor have a telepathic link with how well they fight together, making quick work of the HYDRA agents and their alien weapons. "It could be a dance," Tony thinks, as they push forward. Thor wields Mjolnir with grace and finesse; it might as well be an extension of his arm. It's the hallmark of a person who's spent half their life spilling blood. Tony's the same when he has a gun in his hands, and this modified Chitauri gun is no different. Aiming and firing with the intent to kill, his weapons are all too happy to listen. And Steve, Steve fights with a dancer's grace, lethal power behind every one of his attacks.

If he were a religious man, he could almost believe that he was meant to do this. That he was destined to fight by their side.

The party truly starts when Natasha lands the quinjet. Bruce emerges, already going green, and it's through him that they're able to bust down the doors and breach the base.

A fierce jolt of pride runs through him at the sight of Natasha and Clint wielding the batons and bow he made for them specifically, and he fights with a renewed sense of purpose. The HYDRA agents storm them all at once, but what's fifty men and women to six pissed off Avengers?

The answer is nothing. The Hulk alone takes out ten agents, tossing them about like a child would a toy. Clint's converted his bow into its bo staff form while they're enclosed, keeping close to Natasha's side.

Only four HYDRA agents remain standing when they finally surrender. The rest lie, unmoving, the smell of blood and sweat and burned skin filling the room like a sickly perfume.

Steve sends Natasha, Tony, and Thor off with a nod, while he, Clint, and the Hulk stand guard. They have their own missions to fulfill.

Tony and Nat find the base's command center, while Thor keeps going, muttering under his breath.

He retracts his helmet, lets himself breathe. The air is stale and dank, reminding him far too much of Afghanistan for his taste.

"Easy, Tony," Natasha says when she notices him hyperventilating. "We made it. We'll be leaving soon. We just need to find what we came for."

"Right," he says. "Right." He came for SHIELD secrets; cover stories, mission files, safe houses, that sort of thing. It takes JARVIS no time at all to hack into HYDRA's system.

As he's finishing up, he overhears Natasha say, "Oh, my God."

Instantly he's on guard. "What's wrong?"

As soon as he speaks, Thor comes back into the command center, his face grave. "There's something you should see."

"But," Natasha begins.

"I believe it might be related to what you found. Follow me."

Tony doesn't know what he's expecting as Thor takes them down a series of hallways, the light growing dimmer and dimmer the further they go. He's not expecting a girl. At least he thinks it's a girl. It's hard to tell when their skin has been completely stripped off their body.

*********

Tony can't say he's paying attention during the debriefing. It's hard to when every time he closes his eyes, all he sees is pink exposed flesh. Thor had been looking for Loki's staff. They had let it stay in SHIELD's custody in 2012 and two years later were kicking themselves for it. He said that he tried to follow its magical signature, and it had led him to...that girl. Or what was left of her.

When the debriefing is adjourned, he comes away with three things. First, someone ratted them out. Second, if someone ratted them out, then SHIELD was still compromised. Third, HYDRA was conducting human experimentation.

It wasn't surprising, given their history. During the war, they had taken prisoners of war and conducted all kinds of horrific experiments on them. As far as he knew, only one made it out alive, if you could even call it living. James "Bucky" Barnes had survived HYDRA's experiments only to be subjected to a worse kind of torture.

Seventy years and HYDRA was still the scum of the earth.

By the time Tony gets an all-clear from the medics, all he wants is to take a nice scalding shower, and he does just that.

When he emerges from the bathroom, Tony can't say he's surprised when he finds Steve, still suited up, sitting on the couch with his helmet in his hands.

Tony makes himself known, knocking on the wall.

Steve's eyes flit up to meet his, and Tony's surprised to see that they're red.

"Tony," Steve breathes his name like a prayer, and it's like someone's punched Tony directly in his chest. Every time Steve says his name like that, it always leads to something electrifying. Tony's eager to see him, eager to wipe the blood and the bodies of the day's events from his mind.

He walks further into his living room, and Steve rises to meet him until they're standing chest to chest. Tony has to look up at Steve, but Steve's never held it over him like others. It should scare him, how small Steve makes him feel. But Tony doesn't feel helpless.

If anything, he has the power to bring Steve to his knees.

Steve's hands are on Tony's waist, and he's shot back to the first time they stood like this, close enough to catch each other's breath. That first time had been an exploration—an adventure in learning each other's bodies.

Steve kisses him, hot and desperate, tugging at Tony's clothes.

This time it's a reassurance.

A fevered kiss—You're okay. Every fleeting touch a "stay with me."

Tony kisses him back.

"We're okay," he whispers into Steve's mouth.

"I saw you fall," Steve's voice cracks. "I saw you fall, and I couldn't do a damn thing to stop it."

Tony cups Steve's face in his hand. Steve closes his eyes, leaning into Tony's touch. When he opens them, his eyelashes are clumped with tears.

"I'm alive," he says. "I'm alive, and I'm here with you. That's all that matters. You and me."

Steve shudders. "God, Tony, I need—I need—"

"I know," Tony says, and the next few moments are naught but a blur. They kiss again and make their way to Tony's bedroom, occasionally stopping to feel each other up or get rid of a piece of clothing. When they finally make it to Tony's bedroom, they're both down to their boxers.

Idly, Tony realizes this is the first time they've messed around in an actual bedroom, especially his bedroom.

Except when Steve breaks their kiss to lift him up by his thighs and walk them over to his massive bed...when he lays Tony down gently like he's something precious...it doesn't feel like messing around anymore. Messing around put him in the mind of two teenagers fumbling around the backseat of a car, desperate to get themselves off and themselves only.

Don't get him wrong, the desperation was there as Tony wraps his legs around Steve's trim waist, but there wasn't a selfish bite to it.

Steve Rogers is desperate for love. His entire body thrums with it, in the way he slips his tongue into Tony's mouth and grips one of Tony's hips in a harsh grip, hard enough to bruise. It's fine, though. Steve will kiss every one of his bruises later as penance.

Maybe Tony shouldn't engage in such strenuous activity after another death experience, but he got the all-clear from SHIELD's medics themselves. If he sustains a concussion, that's on them.

Tony's already hard and straining against the confines of his boxers. He can feel Steve, hard and leaking pre-come through the thin fabric of his boxers.

They could come together, just like this, hell they have come together like this, but today is different. Today, Tony almost died again, and today Steve fought like a demon sent from hell for him and—

"Oh."

Tony loves him.

He's in love with him.

It's no great shock to him, not really. There's no fireworks, no lightning strikes, just a subtle shift in his paradigm, like someone zooming out on a camera.

Steve pulls back from their kiss to look at him, and Tony's gone. From Tony's penthouse suite, he has the perfect view of the sun in the evening. It's midday, and the sun, not quite setting, casts shafts of light into his room, catching the blond of Steve's mussed hair until it shines like hammered gold.

Steve has lifted the veil off of his face, and Tony can see the reverence in his gaze untempered. Tony's stomach clenches. He feels like an animal, like some feral beast has taken up residence in his skin, wanting to claim and be claimed.

"This is how Steve feels. This is how he's felt from the beginning."

He's not an artist, not like Steve, but he understands the appeal of wanting to capture a moment forever in all of its rawness. He wants to get some paints and canvas and immortalize Steve precisely as he is right now: wild and devout. To him.

Steve's thumb traces the outline of Tony's mouth and pushes at Tony's bottom lip. Steve gasps when Tony parts his lips and takes Steve's thumb into his mouth. He recovers quickly, pressing his thumb deeper into Tony's mouth. The salt of Steve's flesh coats his tongue, but for once, Tony feels like the hunter.

Steve's thumb becomes his pointer and middle fingers. Tony sucks them, lathing at them with his tongue until they're slick and glistening when Steve withdraws them from his mouth.

Tony blindly grasps for the drawer of his nightstand, rooting around until he finds what he's looking for: a bottle of lube.

He passes it to Steve, who flicks open the cap with his thumb.

"Ah," he breathes as the lube hits his skin, all cool and wet.

Steve's fingers, slick with Tony's saliva and lube, ghost around his perineum. He's thankful he had the good sense to shower beforehand, although he couldn't have foreseen this happening. Steve always caught him by surprise.

Steve starts Tony out slow, with only one thick finger working its way inside of him. The stretch, while familiar, takes some getting used to. It'd been so long since he'd truly been with another man.

A second finger joins the first, stretching Tony to the point of discomfort. In the back of his mind, Tony had always known that Steve's hands were big, but having them stretch him out was an entirely different matter.

Despite his initial discomfort, his cock is still hard, dribbling pre-come onto his stomach.

"Breathe for me, baby," Steve says, and it hits Tony then. This is the first time they've had sex. All of their other moments had been fleeting, full of fevered grinding and hot mouths and rough hands when they had time to spare.

Tony's naked in front of Steve, and he's in love with him, and he doesn't know what's worse.

"Hey," Steve says softly like he's comforting a spooked horse. "Breathe."

Tony closes his eyes and does as he's told. Some of the tension leaves his body as Steve's voice washes over him.

"You have no idea, don't you? How gorgeous you are?"

"Tell me," Tony finds himself saying. Steve's working his fingers in and out of Tony now, searching, searching…

It's getting harder to think straight.

"I'd burn for you," Steve says. "I want you so much, I'm fucking dizzy with it." Steve twists his fingers, and Tony sees starlight behind his eyes.

Steve's fingers are relentless against his prostate, scissoring and splitting him wide open.

"Do that again," Tony somehow manages to gasp out. "Fuck, Steve, please."

Steve, bastard that he is, withdraws his fingers from Tony's entrance, and if Tony whines, that's between him and God.

"I think I like you like this," Steve says instead, pressing his fingers into the meat of Tony's thighs. A shiver runs down Tony's spine at the hungry look in Steve's eyes.

"A wolf closing in for the kill."

"Like what?" Tony finds himself saying.

Steve tilts his head and runs a hand up Tony's thigh until he's tantalizingly close to cupping his cock. "Desperate. Wanting. Regardless of what you want to call it, I like seeing you as wrecked as I've felt these past couple of months."

Wrecked is definitely the right word. Tony's willpower is equal to that of a Jenga tower right now. One wrong move (or right one depending on who you ask), and he'll come tumbling down, and Steve will have to pick up his pieces.

Tony's lips part when Steve takes him into his hand, a soft gasp escaping them as he spreads the wetness of his pre-come along his cock. Heat pools low in his belly, and Tony finds himself spreading his legs wider, baring himself for Steve to use however he pleases.

"Are you going to wreck me?" Tony says.

Steve's grip tightens on his cock, and Tony bucks up into his fist, his hands flying up to make contact with Steve's skin. "I don't want to wreck you," Steve says, eyes burning. "I want to worship you."

"That's blasphemous, Rogers," Tony says. Worship. Like he's something pure. Like he's someone worth loving.

In the most shocking plot twist of his life, Steve Rogers, Captain fucking America, says, "Who the fuck needs a god when I have you?"

It's a far cry from the "aw, shucks" wholesome Irish Catholic mask Steve dons, but Tony shouldn't be too surprised. This is the same man who got him off at the dinner table. And the shower. And the helicarrier.

There's still a part of Tony that thinks he doesn't deserve it, such utter devotion, such attraction (he won't dare call it the other word he's thinking of lest he get his hopes up,) but for what seems like the umpteenth time, he decides to ignore his doubts.

"This moment is mine. If he stays, or if he leaves, this will always be mine." He'll take whatever he can get from Steve with eager hands.

Steve's hand reaches for the lube once more, the other jerking Tony off at an agonizingly slow pace until he's truly hard and leaking pre-come all over Steve's fist.

Steve slicks up his cock, and Tony's toes curl at the thought of all of that going inside him. He wants it, though. He wants Steve like he's never wanted anything else in his life.

Tony isn't new to desire or lust, but the need burning inside of him like a red-hot coal consumes him in its intensity.

"Steve, please," he says, hating the desperate chord in his voice. "Wreck me, worship me, do whatever you want, just do something."

Steve swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, and he nods. "Fuck, Tony. Okay."

He lets go of Tony's cock, but Tony has no time to beg because he's lining himself up with Tony's entrance.

Tony can practically hear his heart beating in his chest over the sound of Steve's steady, even breathing. Steve presses into him so slowly, so carefully like he's trying not to break Tony in half.

"Fuck that," he thinks.

Tony cants his hips up, teasing Steve's cock, and says, "I can take it. I want you to fuck me, Steve."

Steve's hands clamp down on either side of Tony's hips, and Tony knows he's won this round when he sees the dark look in Steve's eyes. He plunges into Tony, fucking a sharp gasp out of him. Tony's not a virgin by any means. His playboy reputation is a well-earned one. But it's been so long since he's been full. Steve's only halfway in him, and yet Tony feels like he's in his stomach.

"Is this what you wanted?" Steve asks, withdrawing slightly to add more lube. He pushed back into Tony, the lube squelching obscenely as his hips slap against Tony's. Tony's face, his everything, is red, but he'll take it. He wants it.

"Yes," he says, wrapping his legs around Steve's waist, effectively trapping him. "I wanted you."

"You have me," Steve says, his voice hoarse and wretched. "You'll always have me."

Steve tilts his hips just slightly, but the change in angle is enough to make Tony clench around him as his cock presses incessantly against that sweet, electrifying spot inside of Tony.

They both curse, Tony at the change in angle, the lightning in his blood, Steve at Tony's sudden tightness, and Steve fucks into him in earnest.

Tony's being unmade. He's unraveling at the seams like a worn-out sweater, and Steve's stitching him back together.

Their skin is tacky with sweat and lube, and the clean-up will be awful, but Tony doesn't care as the reality of the day hits him. Tony almost died. He almost died, and he loves Steve, and he should tell him while he has the chance.

Steve buries his head into Tony's neck. "I almost lost you," he says, his voice breaking.

"You didn't," Tony gasps.

Steve doesn't say anything, just presses into Tony harder, like he's trying to seep into Tony's skin. Tony throws a hand over his mouth to stifle his moans even though it's just them, but Steve catches his hand and intertwines it with his.

"No," he says. "I want...I need to hear you."

Tony's toes curl as he nods and lets the moans he was holding back slip from his mouth untethered. If anything, they spur Steve on. His bed squeaks with each thrust, and Tony can hear Steve mumbling under his breath, a litany of "I need you," and "So tight, so good," and "Stay with me."

Tony should tell him. He should tell Steve he loves him, but something holds him back. He doesn't want Steve to think it was just a spur of the moment ordeal. He wants Steve to be sure that he loves him, that his soul has completely intertwined with Steve's, that they're one. It should be perfect.

So instead of saying I love you, he just lifts Steve's head up to look him in his face. He loves seeing the utter desperation in Steve's face, the euphoria right before he comes, loves knowing that he was the one to bring him to such heights. He sees it now. Steve's on the edge, his hair falling into his eyes, his lips all red and bitten like a smear of blood.

"Tony, I—"

Steve never finishes his sentence as Tony's tongue slinks into his mouth. Steve moans, kissing him back. One of his hands finds Tony's cock. Tony bucks into his fist, still slick with lube, digs his nails into Steve's back until they're both falling apart. Steve comes inside him with a muffled groan, filling him with a wet heat; meanwhile, Tony feels like his brain is leaking from his ears as his come spurts from his cock and paints both of their stomachs in white.

When Steve's hand strokes his cheek and comes away wet, Tony realizes that he's crying. Steve kisses his cheeks and his forehead and his nose, and when he finally goes for Tony's mouth, Tony lets out the softest, "Thank you."

Steve hovers over him. For a moment, Tony thinks he's going to say those three terrifying words. Horror and excitement alike send his stomach rolling, but Steve just says, "Anything for you."

He's not sure if he should be disappointed or relieved.

#stony #stevetony #superhusbands #steve x tony #steve rogers #tony stark #imperialstark fic #imperialstark writing #my fic #my writing #marvel #mcu #nsfk #choke on me

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soulmate-game · 4 years

Text

“Alright, so tonight is going to be fairly standard. Arkham is silent, and there’s no solid leads on what any of the free rogues might be up to. Harley is sick and Ivy is stuck at home taking care of her, so they aren’t going to be up to anything on either side of the law for a few days. Catwoman is the only person we’d have to look out for right now, but her kleptomania has taken her out of the city for a change,” Barbara was typing away at the large Batcomputer keyboard as she brought all of the Gotham vigilantes up to speed on what to expect for patrol that night. “So, Red Hood and Black Bat will take the Narrows and surrounding area patrol route like usual. Nightwing and Batgirl, Upper east side and fashion district patrol route. Red Robin, you’re taking the route that passes city hall and through Old Gotham and Diamond District, and if you don’t throw a fit maybe you can take Robin with you. Batman, crime alley and Newtown patrol. Robin or no Robin, pick your poison,” the redhead offered, finally spinning her wheelchair around to look at everyone. “We’ll be pretty spread out tonight, but like I said, there’s nothing. No whispers of anything planned on the dark web, no news from any of the rogues, Blackgate and Arkham are, dare I say, peaceful right now. But if you see anything, I’ll redirect you guys so you can get backup ASAP.”

This was a rare night. Usually there was at least a plot or red flag to investigate, but not that night. For some reason, it seemed like Gotham had gotten a dose of sanity that it had been desperately missing.

“Actually,” Alfred took that moment to walk in, a slight pep to his step that seemed to catch everyone’s attention. “I do have news. Batman, you of course know that I have been keeping a close eye on Paris’s situation as per your orders, yes?”

Bruce, who had already been inching towards the batmobile none too subtly, suddenly stood stock still and slowly turned to look at his father figure. He could feel the eyes of his many children honing in on him, silent questions behind those orbs.

“Of course, I remember,” he confirmed cautiously. “You haven’t had an update for me in years.”

Years? Tim furrowed his eyebrows. That meant this had to be something that stretched very far back, because everything that Batman tried to keep secret from him since he became Robin had already been outed. Right? Well, he supposed there was always the possibility that Bruce could have snuck something by, but not a large one. Between him and Oracle, any new secrets he tried to squirrel away were unearthed pretty swiftly. So, most likely this was something Bruce had asked Alfred to keep an eye on at least back when Jason was still Robin. Maybe even further back than that.

“Yes, well you wouldn’t have appreciated any prior updates, sir,” Alfred said pointedly, raising an eyebrow. He always would be the one to understand Bruce Wayne and Batman the best out of all of them. “But this is a big one. I used our inside contact to check up on the Paris situation like I do every month, and this came up,” Alfred pulled out a remote from his pocket and clicked it at the computer, triggering it to bring up an article that likely had been hidden and only accessible via that remote signal. If Barbara had had any reason to check for hidden files she would have found it easily, but Alfred was good at never giving any hints as to when he was hiding something.

But what was on the computer was far more interesting than the all-too-familiar, cryptid ways of Alfred Pennyworth.

Because it was a news article from an online Paris newspaper. It was still in untranslated French, but nobody in that room had any trouble reading it. It was dated to have been published two weeks earlier.

On the cover picture for the article was a man that everybody also recognized, being high-profile and extremely influential in the fashion industry. Most of them had even met the man at least once, the aging Gabriel Agreste. In his early seventies, it was odd to see the man being herded into a police vehicle. He didn’t seem all that threatening, though he still struck an oddly intimidating figure with his cold glare and straight back. Being herded behind him was a woman of around Bruce’s own age, with long brown hair in several elaborate braids. Her dark, almost muddy green eyes bore into the camera and a snarl was on her face. Lila Rossi, the model that had been employed under Agreste for quite some years now and had turned into a sort of reality TV celebrity after she got too old to be hired for as many modeling gigs. She was known as highly untrustworthy, a lie monger and the most infamous gossip in the celebrity world. The headline for the article was;

“THE PARISIAN NIGHTMARE FINALLY OVER! AFTER THIRTY YEARS OF TORMENT, THE HAWKMOTHS OF PAST AND PRESENT HAVE BEEN ARRESTED.”

Underneath that title picture was another, this one detailing the Parisian heroes to stop Hawkmoth, who had been replaced years ago by his female counterpart Monarch, a play on the Monarch Butterfly. The Heroes, on the other hand, had remained mostly the same after the infamous confusion of the early years of Hawkmoth’s reign of terror, where Ladybug had temporarily started adding hero after hero to the team before mysteriously and suddenly retiring almost all of them.

On the right was Ladybug, who stood proud with her arms crossed and a somber gaze directed towards the two unmasked villains. On the left was Chat Noir, in a weird black leather costume that was like a bizzare yet fashionable meld of DiscoWing and the classic Batman uniform. Minus a cape or cowl, of course. Standing behind them, all fanned out, were the last four members of their team. Viperion, in a dark teal snake-themed costume. Ryuuko, standing next to him in a black and red ensemble with her elemental symbol proudly on her chest. Bunnyx, in her bright baby blue and white, and lastly the imperious Stinger behind them in her black outfit with gold accents.

As everyone but Alfred and Bruce read the article and examined the photos as quickly as they could, the eldest vigilante in the room slowly removed his cowl. His eyes were wide, disbelieving as they stared only at the two pictures on the screen and didn’t pay any heed to the article itself.

“Thirty years,” Jason remarked, turning to face Bruce angrily. “Paris has been under attack by magical madmen for thirty years, and you never told us? We knew nothing about this, and this has been going on since before us. Since before you, even,” he waved a hand at the screen angrily. “You know that they have been under attack since before Batman was even a thing, and you never said anything? We could have helped! The league could have—“

“Been a liability,” Bruce interrupted, but it was the uncharacteristic softness to his tone that ultimately shut Jason up and attracted everyone else’s rapid attention. “The league knows. The founding members, anyway. It was something I briefed them on back when we first founded the League, but we were careful to keep any mention of it off of any electronic system. The magic behind the attacks stopped any word of the terrorism from getting out through normal means. We pretended to put the JLE in Paris, when really they are centered miles out of city limits and never set foot inside Paris’s boundaries.”

“Why?” Dick asked, his own mask off so that he could glare into Bruce’s eyes without it obscuring his expression at all. He wasn’t explosively angry like Jason, but it was clear that Dick wasn’t happy either. “They all look to be your age, Bruce. Which means they’ve been fighting HawkMoth since they were teenagers, on their own, since before there was any Justice League or very many other established heroes at all to provide backup. And I get that HawkMoth and Monarch seem to have controlled or fed off negative emotions and a lot of us would have been liabilities, but there are Leaguers who have extreme control over their emotions. You could have gone. Or J’onn, you could have even sent Tim. Anybody to help even a little.”

“Paris isn’t my city, it’s Ladybug’s city. The League and most metahuman heroes stay out of Gotham because I asked them too, but I am not the first to have the idea that keeping other heroes out of a volatile city can be beneficial for damage control. Ladybug herself told me not to allow any interference in the situation,” Bruce braced himself against the back of one of their metal debriefing chairs, leaning forward so it could take most of his weight. That, and the way he never looked away from the photos displayed on the computer, tipped off everyone else that Bruce might not have stayed uninvolved willingly. That he had a deeper connection to the whole Paris mess than just keeping a shrewd eye on a possible issue.

“You know Ladybug?” Tim decides to speak up, leaning back against the desk that housed the batcomputer keyboard. His voice was decidedly softer than that of his elder brothers’.

Bruce nodded, still in an odd partial trance. “We met when I was on a trip to Paris, before I became Batman. It was twenty-three years ago, I was eighteen and found out the hard way about the situation that the rest of the world was somehow oblivious to. I was able to meet Ladybug during one of her patrols, and confronted her. Even after I became Batman two years later, she refused any help. It wasn’t until about a year before I adopted Dick that I finally decided I couldn’t keep worrying about a situation and people that I wasn’t being allowed to help, so I told Alfred to use the sources that Ladybug had given me back when we first met to check in on the situation every month or two. I know that it was not the best decision, making Alfred do what I couldn’t bring myself to, but by the time I adopted Dick I had mostly forgotten about it. I was too worried about trying to figure out how to raise a kid and then deal with raising a vigilante kid after that, for the first time.”

Silence reigned for a while. This was, essentially, news that Bruce had been waiting to hear for over twenty years. An outcome that he had been barred from being a part of. Talk about bittersweet, especially when Bruce seemed so passionate about wanting to have helped. Probably too guilty about not being allowed to.

In the end, it was Damian who made the connection between this news and his father’s foreign mood and behavior first. Or at least, he was the first to vocalize it. Cass probably noticed it sooner.

“You have feelings for Ladybug,” Damian somehow managed to make the declaration sound like a reprimand. “I admit, she is likely much better of a suitor for you than that mangy cat, but I hardly think that trying to start courting her again after so long apart is reasonable. She could have changed from—“

“I know, Damian,” Bruce’s knuckles were white from how tightly he was gripping the chair. “Trust me, I have spent more than enough hours contemplating calling her again to catch up, but I knew it was best to stay away. I had grown busy with Batman and the League anyway, and adding the time difference on there was no way any relationship between us would have been feasible.”

“So you cut yourself off from even being her friend. Which, might I remind you, I heavily advised against,” Alfred finally cut back into the conversation, hands clasped behind his back. “The two of you had maintained a perfectly stable long distance friendship for over five years, and I still consider the day you cut her off to be one of your stupidest mistakes, master Bruce. On an unrelated note, I received a call from the designer that you always commission your more high-fashion suits from, sir. She is coming to Gotham for a time, and I gave her an invitation to come visit for dinner tomorrow. I hope you don’t mind.” With that said, Alfred turned on his heel and walked away.

“That man never raises his voice, but somehow still makes you feel like absolute shit when he gets mad,” Stephanie mused aloud when the butler had left, earning silent nods from everyone else.

“How are you still alive, Father?” Damian asked, raising an eyebrow over one vibrant green eye. “If you cut off Ladybug only to continue to commission the person that I assume is her civilian identity on a regular basis, how has that idiocy not blended into the rest of your life?”

“It has,” Jason added in, always up for a game of Rag on Bruce. “He’s just always had this annoying ability of surviving even the shittiest situations he ends up in. It’s like he has plot armor or something.”

Bruce only grunted, pulling his cowl back on. “Patrol. Robin, you’re with Red Robin today. Don’t kill each other.”

“Oh no, I want to live to see the girl you’ve apparently been crushing on since you were a teenager,” Tim said as he ambled over to his motorcycle. “Seeing THAT reunion is gonna be way better than picking another fight with Demon Spawn.”

“Tt.”

—*—*—*—*—*

“Your tie won’t get any straighter,” Barbara teased Bruce, watching as he fiddled with the tie around his throat for the millionth time in just the past ten minutes. Alfred had made sure that he couldn’t escape this, even going so far as benching Batman for the night.

And to make matters worse, it was still far too early for patrol so all the Wayne kids were present. Stephanie had other obligations to see to, unfortunately, but other than her even Jason had come over to the manor to see the fallout.

“Master Bruce, she is here,” Alfred’s voice cut through the almost palpable nerves emanating from the usually stoic or charismatic man. Batman was nowhere to be seen at the moment, but neither was Playboy Billionaire Brucie Wayne. No, this was Bruce Wayne, as genuine as anybody could see him. And more nervous than his kids had ever witnessed.

The door was opened, and in stepped someone that defied any of the Batkid’s preconceptions. They were expecting someone suave, sophisticated, with hard-earned muscle trying to hide under her skin. Like a Wonder Woman type of person, bursting with strength except for when they made an effort to disguise it. But that was not what they got. No suave, sophisticated bachelorette of a businesswoman and reputable fashion designer. No goddess-masquerading-as-a-human. Not even a femme fatale like Selina Kyle or most of Batman’s exes.

But there was a distinct observation that the kids made the moment they saw her.

Black hair, so dark that it seemed to reflect blue in the light, and clear blue eyes that were dark, vibrant, and seemed to glow with intelligence and humor, with just the slightest gray tones that hid in them grim experiences and disillusion.

She had a smile that was eerily similar to Dick’s when she laid eyes on the family and let it spread across her face. It was like the warmth of the sun, and instantly made the impersonal foyer feel cozy and welcoming. But the sharpness in her eyes as she scanned over all the people gathered, more than she expected if her eyebrow raise was any indication, was just like Tim. Too much like Tim.

She came to a stop a few feet away from the Wayne clan, and rested one hand on her waist as she popped her hip out. Jason’s attitude.

Her hair was up in a simple but elegant bun, with a braid curling around the base of it. She was small, about five foot four if their estimates were correct, and the sleek sleeves of her midnight blue dress simultaneously emphasized and disguised the lithe, corded muscle mass that seemed to flow smoothly down her arms. Not a brawler’s muscle, but an acrobat or gymnast’s. The delicate silver embroidery along the sleeves and trim of her dress, and curling around her waist like a belt of thread, was in actuality a string of bats in various flight poses interspersed with silver swirls and tiny ladybugs. Her own playful personality, it seemed, something innocent and daring and subtle all at once that didn’t quite fit any of the kids, it was solely hers.

“I am Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” the woman finally introduced herself, holding out her hand even as her radiant smile stayed firmly in place. When her eyes found Bruce again, they stayed there. “An old friend of your father’s. And by the way, Bruce. If you ever cut contact with me again without ever explaining yourself, I will not stay twiddling my thumbs in some other city again. I will hunt you down and get you to tell me what exactly possessed you to freeze me out, and only if it is some really good reasoning will I let you off without giving you a remedial lesson in the importance of dodging.”

Damian’s fire.

Dick looked over at Bruce, then at Marinette. She caught his eye, nodded and winked, and looked back to her old friend.

“But I do have to say, this looks suspiciously like a family we might have had if you had ever gotten up the courage to ask me out all those years ago instead of not realizing that I never specifically forbade you from visiting Paris, only heroes in general. You’re lucky I’m patient. I spent thirty years waiting to get back the Butterfly Miraculous and lock those two up for good, but making me wait twenty years to finally confess to you is a bit much, don’t you think? And adopting kids with only blue eyes and black hair is a bit on the nose, even for you.”

Scratch that, Damian’s loyalty.

Bruce really had adopted kids that reminded him of Marinette in some way, and the way he would grin or smile at Damian when he was displaying his usually subtle but steady loyalty, or the way that Bruce had almost unending tolerance for Damian’s stubbornness, it all started to make sense.

Bruce had tried building a family around the one he imagined he could have had with Marinette.

“Mari—“

“Nope. You’ve made me wait this long, you don’t even get a hug until after dinner. Then we can catch up, and you’ll take me out to dinner in a few days,” suddenly what was happening seemed to creep up on the woman, and she fidgeted. Sheepishness rose to her face, and she winced at her own words. But damn, she had imagined this day for so long, she couldn’t help but get assertive! “I mean, if you want to. I get it if you lost interest in dating me, but—“

“How about I set up a private dinner on the top of Wayne enterprises, day after tomorrow. We can even do a patrol afterwards if you’re up to it.”

His sons all facepalmed, some inwardly and some outwardly. Barbara groaned and Cass pinched the bridge of her nose. But, to their astonishment, Marinette’s smile just came back full force.

“Aww, you know I can’t resist the offer of a patrol. But just one, I want to enjoy some time off now that I’m not perpetually on-call as Paris’s main hero.”

Bruce finally grinned back, his eyes soft for the first time in a while that wasn’t directed at his kids. In way that they had never been soft towards Selina or most of his past flings.

“Just one patrol, then.”

“Sounds like a date.”

First attempt to upload this goofed and deleted the first part, so here is attempt number two! Again, Brucinette has been invading my dreams.

Apparently there is a part 2 now.

#mlb x dc #ml x dc #brucinette #aged up marinette

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coldmorte · 3 years

Note

Honestly if Dutch van der Linde curb stomped me I would probably thank him, no questions asked, and I think you'll say the same-

OKAY.

You know me WAY TOO WELL. I was thinking about this ALL day and smiling to myself because it’s SO TRUE. I mean, what a conversation starter and one hell of an amazing story to tell… in the event of survival.

Also, I was quite captivated by this idea (and apparently quite bored). It’s been a long ass week, I needed to blow off steam, and you planted the idea in my mind.

SO I BLAME YOU FOR THE SHORT STORY THAT CAME OUT OF THIS 😵

This has to be one of the worst things I have EVER WRITTEN and definitely the worst post I have EVER made on the internet.

I am straight-up warning you right now - you probably don’t even want to read what this turned into. I hesitated as to whether or not I should even post this because it is SO BAD, but I figured… what the hell? What do I have to lose? I don’t give a damn. (This blog WAS reputable once upon a time, I swear....)

Aside from the internal shame I bear and my strong desire to forget this, I will give one other major warning… VIOLENCE. This is a bit graphic, but hey… I didn’t bring up the idea. I merely brought it to life. 🤷‍♀️

Sooooo with that in mind, PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK. YOUR EYES AND MIND WILL FOREVER BE CURSED, BUT IF YOU ACCEPT THOSE TERMS, GO AHEAD. 😈😈😈😈

(PS if anybody is considering unfollowing me because of this post, I do not blame you one bit. But also, I promise it isn’t always like... this.)

I heard him before I saw him.

The sharp click-clack of his boot heels echoed loudly as he marched down the paved avenue. It was a harsh sound - heavy, but quick. There was a clear purpose in the steps. In the dead of night like this, nobody would dare to venture out without a good reason.

It had to be him.

Taking a drag from my cigarette, I smiled to myself as I lifted my head and blew the smoke towards the stars overhead. My eyes watched as it curled and twisted against the backdrop of the night sky, eventually dissipating into the vast heavens above.

When I finally lowered my chin, I could see his figure rapidly nearing out of the corner of my eye. I dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it with my foot. Still, I kept my head turned away from him. I wasn’t about to give him my attention that easily.

“You.”

The tone of his voice was deep and heated as he confronted me. I kept my eyes fixed on the ground as I saw him try to stand in my line of sight and force me to look at him, which only encouraged me to tuck my chin closer to my chest. Despite my best efforts to the contrary, I could feel my lips pulling into a wider smile.

“Look at me.” His voice seethed with so much fury, he didn’t even have to raise it to convey the emotional gravity of the words. Even so, I refused to give in that easily. He would have to do more than that if he was going to get what he came for.

Seeming to catch onto my resolve, his hands lurched forward and grabbed me by the jaw. He pulled my face upwards and held it there, forcing me to look into his eyes. It was hard to speak with his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my cheeks as he pinned my head to the wall. I could barely mumble out, “Hello to you as well, Dutch.”

Not even taking the time to allow for decent civility, Dutch ignored the greeting and got straight to the point. “Where are they? What did you do with them?”

I squirmed slightly under his touch as I moved my hands up to grip at his wrists. Tugging them downwards, he allowed them to be moved to my shoulders instead. However, his grasp tightened as he leaned his face closer to make up for the change. I knew better than to step out of line or push him anymore than I already was, but -

“With what? I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

Involuntarily, my hands reached forwards and clutched at the fabric of his waistcoat to steady myself as he shoved me harder into the wall. I practically hummed at the feeling of the tight muscles of his chest beneath, biting my lip to suppress my ever-growing smirk. Even in the dim light, I could see his eyes narrow as his face pulled into a fierce scowl. The vein in his forehead throbbed with intensifying anger as he hissed out his next words. All this energy, all this attention…. just for me.

“You know what! MY GODDAMN EVELYN MILLER BOOKS!”

At that remark, I couldn’t hold it back any more. I felt my lips part into a wide grin as I flashed my teeth at him. I knew I was toeing a fine line here - quite a precarious one, to be more exact. My own eyes narrowed as I relished in the pure mirth of the situation. Dutch would have to kill me before I’d give that information up.

“Come on, you’re the one always saying we need more money. Miller’s entire collection, all signed first editions? They’re worth more money than the entire gang could earn in a month, maybe two.”

Silence.

It was as if time itself froze. Even the breeze and the insects of the night became mute.

Then, those brown eyes flashed with a glimmer of rage as they widened. His lips fell open in an inaudible gasp as the fingers dug into my shoulders with bruising strength. Voice uneven and barely above a whisper, it was filled with cracks as he snarled back, “You… sold my books?”

It started in my chest - a shake. Quiet, at first. But steadily, it crept up my throat and out my mouth.

A laugh.

The look on his face - the horror of it all - evolved into something comical beyond the wildest depths of my imagination. I could not resist.

“How else are we gonna get to Tahiti?”

Even underneath my chuckles, I could hear it. Or maybe, felt would be a better word. An exhale so indigent and ferocious it came out as more of a growl. It shook his whole body, all the way down to the tips of his fingers still holding my shoulders against the wall.

But it was short-lived.

In an instant, I felt the breath get knocked from my lungs as those strong arms ripped me away from the wall and threw me to the ground. I grunted at the mere speed and agility of it all, but as soon as I was able to recover from the shock, I could feel the quivering sensation again.

Laughter, louder this time.

My whole body trembled from the sensation as I lifted my head. I was on my stomach now with Dutch somewhere behind me. Drawing an arm inwards, I moved to push myself upwards. I felt weak as a whole range of emotions coursed through my body - shock, amusement, terror, achievement...

Raising my head, I could see the curb of the street in front of me. Figuring I could use it as a place to hoist myself up, I began to crawl my way towards it. However, he was quicker. Just as I planted my palm on its brick edge, the sole of his boot dug firmly into my back and pinned my face against it.

The laughter was muffled, but it continued on. My mouth was propped up against the hard surface of the curb as the rest of my body remained in the street.

Dutch said nothing, but the more my laughter continued to escalate, the harder his boot gouged into my spine.

Until, he paused.

Pulling his foot away, the pressure disappeared. I was free from his power.

For a second.

My lungs felt like they collapsed in on themselves, the laughter dying on my lips as my face was crushed into the brick curb with such brute force that my entire vision went blank. I could feel my front teeth snap as the remnants rebounded against the roof of my mouth.

But I was still breathing. I was still awake.

Barely.

I could taste the blood from my gums burning the tip of my tongue as I drew in an unsteady breath. His foot was no longer on my back, but I knew he was still there. He wouldn’t just leave me.

Mustering up all the strength I could, I rolled myself over. Eyes blinking open slowly, it was hard to see at first. The world was a messy blur, hazy and clouded over with spots of black.

And yet, through it all, I could still see him.

Still standing over me, Dutch was staring down at my crumpled body. I tried to blink a few times, but I was seeing double of everything. I could think of nothing to do, except for…

Laugh.

What more could I do? My jaw hung limply open, the cacophonous cackling coming out in pained chokes of breath and labored coughs. I could see the shape of his body as it leaned forward, a hand brushing along my cheek.

I had to say something, I had to…

“D…”

His hand froze. My entire face burned with relentless agony. He had won. It was over.

And yet, I could not give up. Not just yet. I had to get it out.

My final word.

“D… daddy…”

The sensation felt so distant and removed from my body, but I could feel it nonetheless. A rumbling laughter - weakened, but most certainly still discernible - returned to my chest as he snatched his hand away. Standing above me once again, I could hear the click of his gun as he pulled the hammer back.

“You never learn, do you?’

With that, an intense ringing filled my ears. It was deafening at first, but as my vision plunged into nothingness, it slowly faded away.

All that remained was my dead body and the broken grin plastered across my face, forever preserving my final moment of overwhelming pleasure and gratitude.

---- FINE ----

Note: I was thinking about this. I honestly have no idea how I would say the “th” in “thanks” without teeth, so I’d probably resort to showing my appreciation through excessive joy instead… and by taking my last moments to sneak you-know-what-word in there. I think I could manage that without teeth.

Hehe. Anyway, this is still WAYYY out of character for me. I just was in a reallyyyyyy weird mood, and I’ve always had too vivid of an imagination. Please, forgive me. I am done now. (If you DID read this far, I am genuinely curious to hear your thoughts on my absolutely horrific garbage, though) 🙃

HAVE A GREAT DAY 💜💜💜💜

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29-pieces · 4 years

Text

Whumptober day 27 - Good Omens

Day 27: Extreme Weather Fandom/setting: Good Omens, Pompeii ca 79 AD Read on AO3 Read on FF.net

~*~

Crowley hacked and coughed, face covered with his arm in a pointless attempt to protect himself from the ash. Stones rained down all around him; it was the only sound now that most of the screams had gone silent. Tears dripped down Crowley's face, carving lines through the ash that had already settled on him. What was he even doing here? It was useless... any human still in Pompeii was dead by now, or long past his ability to heal. And he wasn't supposed to be healing anyone, anyway. In fact, Crowley didn't know what his assignment here even was, but the crippling horror he felt at the scene around him wouldn't have allowed for him to function anyway.

"Anybody!" Crowley croaked out, desperation driving his sandaled feet a little further into the city. "Hello! Is- is anyone left...?"

One person. One wretched person to save, that was all he asked, but he couldn't stay here much longer himself, not without succumbing to the volcano and discorporating. At this point, it didn't seem like a terrible idea. A huge rock glanced off his shoulder, knocking Crowley off balance so that he tripped into the rapidly growing layer of hot ash coating the streets. Even if fire wasn't likely to do much damage to a demon (did lava count? He'd never tested this and wasn't eager to) it still hurt. Another stone crashed down beside him, so Crowley growled and drew his wings out into the physical plane, hoping to shield his head.

It wasn't the best idea he'd ever had, the hot, cloying ash immediately starting to stick to his feathers. It weighed him down, cumbersome and unwieldy. Crowley tried to stand back up but this time a falling rock did knock him over the head. The demon toppled the rest of the way to the ground, almost totally immersing himself in a hot casing of the volcanic brume.

With a strangled cry, Crowley forced himself up onto one trembling arm and called again,

"H-hello! Anyone, is anyone left alive?"

Shouting made him cough and choke and there was no reply. It was time to go; he was doing no good- er, well, he never did good, but he wasn't any use here. Shuffling around in the ash, Crowley staggered to his feet and tried to point himself out of the city, away from the cruel fires of Vesuvius. He blinked, shielding his eyes, and glanced around. His heart pounded faster; which way was out? Everything was covered in a thick, dark cloud and he had no idea which direction he was pointed now...

Maybe he should just lay down and discorporate there after all, but it was a terrifying prospect to die there alone in the volcano's wrath.

Panic overcame him, making the demon start to hyperventilate, which—given the debris in the air—only made things worse. Crowley sat heavily back down, about to go into a full-blown panic attack when a sudden light permeated the gaseous cloud around him.

"Hello!" a voice shouted. "Is someone there?"

"Over here!" Crowley immediately choked back, forgetting for a second the point had been for him to find someone else to save, not to require rescuing himself. At the moment, he didn't even care, nor did it occur to him that his wings—which he couldn't put away now even if he wanted, thanks to the layer of ash and dust bogging them down—might be a bit of a shock to whoever it was.

But when the light got closer, Crowley nearly sagged with relief to see the someone was the angel Aziraphale. They hadn't crossed paths since that day at Golgotha, but so far all of their meetings had been more or less on friendly terms, or at least neutral ones. So even though now would be the ideal time for Aziraphale to finish him off if he wanted, Crowley didn't think twice before reaching out desperately for the angel.

He saw Aziraphale's eyes widen before he hurried forward to take Crowley's hand and haul him back up to his feet.

"Can you fly?" Aziraphale asked urgently.

Crowley, who could barely move his wings now, shook his head.

Without another word, Aziraphale turned them both in the direction he'd come from, starting to run, still gripping Crowley's hand tightly. As bogged down as Crowley was, he couldn't go quite as fast, gasping raggedly for breath.

"Hurry!" Aziraphale urged over his shoulder. "The flow is about to hit the city!"

Crowley didn't answer, saving his breath for running. He didn't know how long or far they ran, but finally they broke free of the heavy cloud. Ash still drifted down like snowflakes, but Aziraphale didn't stop or let go of his hand until they had outrun even that. Not until they had splashed across a stream and Pompeii was far behind them did the angel slow to a stop, leaning over and panting hard.

Crowley fell to his knees at the stream to greedily gulp the cool water. It mixed with the ash coating his mouth, making him hack and spit out gobs of gunk. Crowley had never felt so miserable.

"Took too long gloating, did you?" Aziraphale wheezed, shooting a glower at the demon.

The implication froze Crowley in his tracks. He stared at Aziraphale, the accusation burning into his heart. "You think- that wasn't me," he gasped. Crowley's frame shuddered as he slowly shook his head and looked back towards the volcano—hidden in the cloud of its own eruption—with pain filled eyes. "There- there were kids in there," he whispered, voice breaking. "I thought I could get them out, but... They're all dead. All of 'em. I- Just get out of here and leave me then, if that's what you think! Stupid angel! I didn't do this!" He crumpled again. "There were kids..."

Aziraphale didn't leave, kneeling down next to him with an expression of sorrow. "I'm sorry, Crowley," he said contritely. "That was foolish of me to assume- I'm sorry, dear boy, please forgive me."

Crowley hung his head and nodded wordlessly. The angel had saved his life, after all, even while assuming the whole thing had been Crowley's doing.

"Oh, your wings are in such a state," Aziraphale fussed then, looking over the normally black feathers that were now streaked grey and white from the ash. "Let me get you cleaned up a bit, alright? Penance for my ugly assumption. And because I don't believe you'd have much luck on your own."

Well, he was right about that. Too exhausted to refuse and wanting nothing more than to be clean, Crowley nodded again.

Permission given, Aziraphale miracled a clean cloth out of nowhere and wet it in the stream. Then he sat behind Crowley and started to gently wipe away the layer of grime. While he did that, Crowley tiredly splashed water over his face and neck, rinsing so much ash away between the two of them that the stream ran cloudy where they were sitting. He finished before Aziraphale did; Crowley closed his eyes and sank into the comfort of having his feathers carefully cleaned, all the way from the tip of his primaries to the joint where the wings met his back and then back down over the other one.

His hurt at Aziraphale's accusation melted away along with the debris on his wings. To Crowley's surprise, the angel didn't stop even once he'd gone through several rags and the feathers were pristine again.

"Close your eyes," Aziraphale warned him, miracling a bucket now and trickling the water over Crowley's head to rinse out his long hair. Somehow the water was soapy and warm as the angel massaged it diligently into Crowley's scalp. It nearly put the demon to sleep, his throat closing up a bit at the gentle touch. He couldn't remember the last time someone had washed his hair. Had anyone ever? He didn't say a word, not trusting himself to speak, as the angel continued his careful ministrations.

"There we are," Aziraphale murmured, tipping one last bucket of warm water through his hair to wash everything away. "Now one last miracle—I doubt anyone on my side will notice, after all there's plenty that needs doing here—and you should feel like a new demon."

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley's ashy, dirty tunic was suddenly clean and shining white. Apparently the angel forgot that Crowley wore black, but it had been nearly white from the ash so he could be forgiven the mistake. Crowley would fix it later. Maybe. At any rate, it left him fully clean and fresh at last. Aziraphale crouched down beside him, a warm hand on Crowley's shoulder and a worried light in his eyes.

"Are you alright?" the angel asked softly. "I imagine this has... not been a good day."

"To say the least," Crowley replied, trying for flippant but sounding more downtrodden than anything. He cleared his throat. "But, uh, I guess I should thank you."

"Nonsense, you would have done the same-" Aziraphale cut off, turning an interesting shade of pink as though he'd said something he shouldn't have and wanted to have not said it.

Crowley wanted to tease him for it, but honestly he was too tired, so he nodded instead with all seriousness. "Yeah. Still," he said, shrugging. "Thanks." It was true, of course, he would have saved the angel if necessary. Crowley hated to be in anyone's debt, so maybe they should just make some sort of standing Arrangement, when the other needed help, they'd give it. Then it wasn't a favor, it was just... what they did. He'd mention it to Aziraphale sometime, see what the angel made of it. An Arrangement could come in really handy, the more he thought about it.

But that, he decided, soaking in the feeling of being clean and safe at last, was a thought for another day.

#whumptober2020 #no.27 #extreme weather #good omens #crowley whump #fanfiction #volcano #pompeii #pre-arrangement #wing grooming #hair washing #basically i'm a sucker for soft boys ^_^#Aziraphale to the rescue

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