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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Note

Thank you "Worthwhile Trade". The idea of Baxia turning into an guai is so interesting. I liked imagining the part where she hit NMJ for his idiocy. My brain is projecting "married couple" vibes, omg. I admit despite how weird WWX spoke about the events, the time travel part flew over my head until the tags spelled it out for me. (TBC)

(Cont'd) Also... did NMJ mean it in THAT dual-thing way when talking WRH's prefs? And the last part, where WWX used resentful energy to sub NMJ's qi. I assume he can still cultivate since his core's still there, if emptied? But I wonder what'll happen to his energy once restored Can't help but think his renewed qi will inevitably be affected by the traces of the previous energy that once circulated. He's not going to become a walking stygian tiger or something, is he? Off the wall guess, sorry!

----

sequel to Worthwhile Trade (ao3), also on tumblr

Wei Wuxian didn’t understand Nie Mingjue.

He didn’t understand the way he thought, the way he acted – the way he smiled when he woke up, the way he opened his arms when Nie Huaisang threw himself into them with a wail and said, “It was worth it for you, didi; it always is if it’s for you. Don’t you know that?” the way Wei Wuxian had always shamefully thought of saying, as if something like that could just be said like that, out in the open.

The way Nie Mingjue shrugged when the doctors said his cultivation would likely never recover, that he should have died, that they didn’t understand why he hadn’t; the way he said, seeming even satisfied, that it was a worthwhile trade.

It’s not a trade, Wei Wuxian wanted to scream at him. It’s a sacrifice! It hurts and you’re sad, no, worse, you’re resentful about it and you shouldn’t be because it was your choice, your decision, but you see someone else with everything that you worked so hard for and you’re angry when you shouldn’t be angry and you feel bad and you turn away; it hurts them when you do and you’re glad, you miserable thing, you’re happy that they’re hurt because why should you be the only one whose hurt –

Perhaps the problem wasn’t that he didn’t understand Nie Mingjue.

Perhaps it was only that he saw in Nie Mingjue his own faults, his own deficiencies, the ones he’d tried so hard to hide in the sea of his poor memory.

“You’ll die if you don’t find a way to cultivate,” he said instead, hovering by the door. He’d say that he didn’t mean to ruin the mood, but he kind of did, and Baxia’s eyes on him were cold as if she knew.

As if she knew everything.

How he’d gone back to the past, how he’d changed things, how it was his fault that Nie Mingjue – who’d never done a single thing to hurt him, who’d been upright and righteous and good and whose brother loved him enough to –

Wei Wuxian had made a point of avoiding Baxia.

Not that she was that easy to avoid. She was tall for a woman – not as tall as Nie Mingjue, but proportionate to him in the sense that she was as much taller than the average woman as he was taller than the average man – and she walked as though people should flee before her, a tread that only felt heavy because of the almost visceral rage that surrounded her like a cloud.

Nie Huaisang had found robes for her, somehow, and they were the least feminine robes Wei Wuxian had ever seen a woman wear, though he supposed he still hadn’t seen that given that Baxia wasn’t exactly a woman. Cut in a martial style, a dark shimmering grey that seemed in some lights to be almost red – she had been born as a human in a mantle of blood and she would not let anyone forget it.

“I should have died already,” Nie Mingjue said, as if the world’s scariest guai didn’t have her hand on his shoulder right next to his vulnerable neck. “You came up with a solution, Wei-gongzi, and for that I thank you. Even if we are not able to solve the next stage, being able to see my loved ones is worthwhile.”

Wei Wuxian could learn to hate that word.

“I have a solution, of a sort,” he said, irritated and not entirely because his reveal had been preempted. He’d hoped to sort of ease into it, somehow. “You lack the capacity for regular cultivation, but that doesn’t mean you can’t use demonic cultivation.”

“What? No, we can’t do that,” Nie Huaisang said, biting his fingers anxiously. “Anyway, doesn’t demonic cultivation harm the temperament?”

“You mean my temperament can get worse?” Nie Mingjue teased, and Nie Huaisang smacked him so lightly that it didn’t even displace his clothing. “I don’t know any means of demonic cultivation, Wei-gongzi –”

“Call me Wei Wuxian,” Wei Wuxian said. “Please.”

“Wei Wuxian, then,” Nie Mingjue said. “All the methods I’ve ever heard of were forbidden for very good reasons – but perhaps those conditions are not the same in the method you know.”

Wei Wuxian tensed. “How do you know that I know one?”

“You saved me, didn’t you?” Nie Mingjue said practically, and well, yes, Wei Wuxian supposed he had a point – “And anyway, Baxia can tell.”

Wei Wuxian shivered. “I don’t use it,” he argued. “How can she tell?”

At Nie Huaisang’s instigation, Baxia had recently started experimenting with smiles. She put one on her face now.

It was terrifying.

“Tell me about it,” Nie Mingjue requested. “The powers and the price, all of it.”

“You’re actually considering this?” Nie Huaisang exclaimed. “But da-ge…!”

“Wei Wuxian was not wrong when he said that I would die if I didn’t find a way to cultivate despite having given up what I have,” Nie Mingjue said. “If I die, what will you do?”

Oh, not much, just become a mastermind capable of puppeting the entire cultivation world to enact revenge for your death. Nothing big.

“But – da-ge has always put such a priority on remaining on the righteous path…”

“That’s why I asked about the costs,” Nie Mingjue said patiently. “I will not abandon righteousness simply because I adopt a new method of cultivating.”

“Everyone will revile you even if you are righteous,” Wei Wuxian warned him.

Nie Mingjue shrugged. “Who is everyone? What do I care for them? You do the right thing because it is right, not for the sake of fame.”

Wei Wuxian had once thought the same.

“If everyone in the cultivation world thinks you are evil, they will paint you as evil no matter what you do,” he insisted. “No matter how righteous your motives –”

“Let them think he’s evil, then!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed. “He could be the most black-hearted cultivator in the land, but he’s still my da-ge; my Nie sect and I will protect him!”

“Huaisang! No! That is not how righteousness works – if I ever truly become evil, you are to cut me off at once, kill me if necessary –”

“No way!”

“Huaisang – Baxia, tell him; evil cannot be endured –”

Baxia was looking at her fingernails. She’d picked that gesture up from Sect Leader Ouyang, when he was trying to be pointed about ignoring someone; it was extremely irritating to absolutely everyone who wanted to know who she was and what she was doing here and Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian had teamed up to convince her to keep doing it.

Possibly a mistake, in retrospect.

“Baxia. I know you agree with me on this. Evil is evil, and must be eradicated no matter who it may be.”

She gave him an unimpressed look.

“I know I’m not evil yet,” Nie Mingjue argued, apparently understanding her without any difficulty whatsoever. He’d just woken up from a month-long coma and he could already speak fluent human-saber, it was really unfair. And this man had succumbed to Jin Guangyao’s wiles? Lan Xichen had more to answer for than he knew. “But if I ever become evil – what? No, we will not burn that bridge when we come to it, that’s not even the right idiom, who is teaching you these things –”

Nie Huaisang coughed and hid his face behind a fan.

Wei Wuxian was not going to laugh.

Nie Mingjue growled at them all and turned back to Wei Wuxian. “Explain,” he demanded. “The rest of you, out.”

“But –”

“Out. One of us has to cultivate the righteous path, and if it can’t be me, it has to be you. Baxia?”

She picked Nie Huaisang up by his collar, for all the world like a mother dog picking up her pup by the scruff of its neck, and walked out.

Nie Mingjue picked up demonic cultivation faster than anyone else Wei Wuxian had ever met or even heard of. He wasn’t sure if that demonstrated an unnerving aptitude or if it was simply that Nie Mingjue was surpassingly talented – Wei Wuxian had never met anyone like himself before, someone for whom all things came easy, and it was an unexpected delight to meet a kindred soul somewhere where he’d long ago given up hope. He’d never planned to unveil demonic cultivation in this life unless he truly needed it – he didn’t want to hurt his Lan Zhan the way he had in his first life, and anyway Jiang Cheng and Uncle Jiang and Madame Yu were all alive, with hundreds of Jiang sect members to boot, there was no need for his sacrifice – but the part of him that was more researcher and inventor than cultivator luxuriated in their discussions.

Nie Mingjue was a lot more concerned than Wei Wuxian had ever been with consequences, and how to mitigate them, but he supposed that made sense: losing his cultivation hadn’t impacted that Nie temper one bit, and demonic cultivation was likely to make things worse. Moreover, Nie Mingjue was simply who he was, stiff and unbending, as much steel in his spine as in Baxia’s; he could almost be described as being rigid in his thinking except for the fact that he was in fact seriously considering becoming a demonic cultivator.

“We’re saber cultivators,” Nie Mingjue said when Wei Wuxian tentatively brought it up. “Like a saber, our nature is to be firm and unyielding, not flexible like the sword, but we cannot allow ourselves to become too rigid – a too-rigid saber will break upon encountering an obstacle. It’s a difficult balance to keep, and one made more difficult by our cultivation style.”

“The demonic cultivation aspects, you mean? Using yao to refine your saber spirit?”

“One day, though not today, I’m going to ask you how you know about that,” Nie Mingjue remarked, and although his tone was causal Wei Wuxian’s back went cold. “And I’ll expect you to tell me the truth when I do. But not today. Anyway, yes, that’s what I mean. Do you know what they mean when they say that demonic cultivation harms the temperament?”

Wei Wuxian hesitated. “I assume you’re going to tell me something other than ‘it drives you crazy and makes you kill people’?”

Nie Mingjue snorted. “Sometimes I wonder how someone as smart as you got sent home before you finished your lessons at the Cloud Recesses, but other times it’s fairly obvious.”

Wei Wuxian shrugged, embarrassed.

“Do you really not know?”

“No one taught this to me,” Wei Wuxian said, stung. “I came up with it on my own. How would I know?”

“All demonic cultivation has the same root,” Nie Mingjue said. “Obsession.”

“With killing, yeah, I know, I’ve heard it a million times –”

“Shut up and listen, you impertinent brat. The killing comes later. It starts with obsession. Obsession with righteousness, obsession with love, obsession with the pleasures of this world, with power – a human becomes a demon when they cannot overcome the obsessions within their heart, and the obsession consumes them. In time, a demonic cultivator who is obsessed with power will do whatever it takes to obtain that power, and not mind the blood shed to do it; a demonic cultivator who is obsessed with love will kill everyone who they perceive stands between them and their love, a demonic cultivator who is obsessed with righteousness will turn to murder when in their judgment something that ought to be condemned goes unpunished…”

“What about one who only wants what’s best for his family?” Wei Wuxian said, and he did not know if the challenge in his voice was about Nie Mingjue’s future or his own past.

Nie Mingjue shrugged. “Two roads that I can see: first, their family turns away from them for what they have become and they become vicious with the abandonment, becoming quick to lash out against the world and eventually doing something that causes the world to turn against them. Second, their family stands by them, and eventually the world causes some harm to them – and the demonic cultivator turns to madness in revenge.”

“Not exactly an optimistic outlook.”

“Not especially, no.”

“You don’t seem as concerned by that as I would have thought.”

Nie Mingjue’s lips twitched. “I have a solution.”

“Would you like to share?”

“Using resentful energy to cultivate our sabers makes them prone to obsession, driving them ceaselessly to fight evil, destroy it, without discrimination. It makes them stronger, but also more dangerous – and that is why they must be carefully controlled.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “So, what? You’re going to be the saber now? Under whose control?”

“Huaisang’s, of course,” Nie Mingjue said, as if it were obvious. “For better or for worse, he is sect leader now. Who else would it be?”

“But – what if you disagree? What if he wants to do things one way, and you another –”

“Then I argue and probably yell a lot, and if in the end he still insists on doing things his way, I listen,” Nie Mingjue said dryly. “That’s how hierarchy works. Isn’t it the same for you? When your shidi, Jiang Cheng, becomes sect leader, you’ll need to listen to him – or leave the sect. There’s no middle ground.”

Wei Wuxian scowled.

“A sect leader that can’t control his disciples is worse than a demonic cultivator,” Nie Mingjue said. “He’s weak. A target, ripe to be ripped apart and devoured by other sects – resources raided, disciples poached, responsibilities taken away...It’s not a fate I would wish on anyone. If you can’t commit to obeying, commit to leaving so that you don’t end up promising more than you can give.”

Ouch.

Just – ouch.

Great advice, fantastic advice, world-class advice, and totally useless because Jiang Cheng had travelled back in time with him and was therefore convinced that Wei Wuxian was just looking for the first way out of the Jiang sect he could find, no matter what Wei Wuxian said or did about it.

(Even Madame Yu was concerned by the new coldness in their relationship and had tried to talk to him about it, which – Wei Wuxian didn’t know what to do with that. It didn’t match any of what he had thought he’d understood.)

He decided to focus back in on the demonic cultivation lessons, shifting from theoretical discussions to the practical, and that, unfortunately, was when they encountered an issue.

“What do you mean you can’t play an instrument?” Wei Wuxian demanded, appalled. “It’s one of the Six Arts! Everyone can play some sort of instrument – even Nie Huaisang plays an instrument!”

“Everyone agreed it was better that I stop learning,” Nie Mingjue said defensively. “It’s all just plucking on strings or blowing air in pipes, and yet no matter that I did exactly what the teacher said to do, it never worked, that’s all.”

“Didn’t Zewu-jun offer to teach you…?”

“He did. And then he said it would be better if we stopped, too.”

The reason, Wei Wuxian soon learned, was that Nie Mingjue was almost completely tone deaf, and the only reason it was almost was that he was still capable of differentiating speech.

“I agree with the majority,” he said after an extremely frustrating day. “Stop. Never pick up an instrument ever again. And don’t let anyone but Zewu-jun play something especially for you, either, okay? Even if they’re highly recommended.”

“An interesting request,” Nie Mingjue said, eyebrows arched skeptically. “May I ask why?”

“Because you’ll have no idea if they’ve changed the music on you,” Wei Wuxian said bluntly. A great deal about the man’s murder in a different life made sense now, and Jin Guangyao’s brilliance in hiding the score of Turmoil inside of Clarity was a little less impressive when played to a man who thought all music, without exception, was just plucking strings or blowing air. “Musical cultivation is deadly in the right hands, especially if you lower your defenses against it. Just consider it a precaution.”

Nie Mingjue’s eyebrows remained arched, but he hummed in agreement.

“I guess we’ll have to think of a new way for you to cultivate demonic cultivation,” Wei Wuxian said, rubbing his face. He had not been planning on having to invent demonic cultivation at all in this life, and now he needed to not only ‘invent’ the original but actually come up with something new. Why was his life so hard? “How did you previously manipulate external energy?”

“With Baxia.”

“Well, that’s not helpful, is it? You can’t wield a human being. Perhaps another saber…?”

That didn’t work, primarily because it turned out that Baxia had strong feelings about Nie Mingjue even thinking about using another saber and well, as far as Wei Wuxian was concerned, whatever Baxia wanted, Baxia got.

(Nie Huaisang had had to go to Heijan once, with Wei Wuxian and Baxia accompanying him since Nie Mingjue wasn’t ready yet, and some unlucky Wen captain had tried to ambush them. That captain, and his squad, were not granted the courtesy of an intact corpse, and Baxia hadn’t even gotten a speck of blood on her nice new robes – no, Wei Wuxian would not be crossing Baxia any time soon.)

“There’s got to be something,” Wei Wuxian said, and Nie Mingjue agreed, and in the end they found something.

Nie Mingjue had been absent-mindedly playing around with one of Nie Huaisang’s fans when one of the fierce corpses Wei Wuxian had raised as practice targets had gotten loose; instinct had taken over and Nie Mingjue had lashed out with the weapon at hand as if it were a saber, and the resentful energy had surged in response –

Baxia was apparently not threatened by the notion of her master using a fan as a weapon, not even one inlaid with steel and heavy cloth with enough layers to catch a sword in.

(If Wei Wuxian needed to go have some time to himself at the sight of Nie Huaisang, dressed as a sect leader with his saber always at his side, standing next to Nie Mingjue holding a fan – well, that was his problem, and also one he intended to show to Jiang Cheng at the next possible opportunity. Someone else deserved to have their mind wrecked by the incongruity as much as he had.)

Even without the weirdness of Nie Mingjue, it was more than a little odd to see Nie Huaisang in the robes of a sect leader without him acting like the Head-shaker. The shock of having to become sect leader had fallen heavily on him: he had become a little more serious, a little more earnest (though still a bit frivolous); he was more inclined to listen and think things over, less inclined to run away.

“If da-ge is going to become a demonic cultivator, someone needs to stand behind him,” Nie Huaisang said simply when Wei Wuxian had tried probing. “He’s always held the world up for me – it’s the least I can do for him. I may not be able to do much, I might be terrible at it, but I owe it to him to at least try.”

Wei Wuxian wondered, sometimes, if Jiang Cheng would have stood up for him if only he had trusted in him, believed in him, the way Nie Mingjue believed in his notoriously useless little brother.

Maybe he’d ask, when he went back to the Jiang sect.

Maybe he’d –

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” Jiang Cheng said as a greeting, and for once Uncle Jiang didn’t disagree. “All those letters and you never once mentioned the terrors?”

“The what,” Wei Wuxian said, and that was how he learned that while he was on his way back to Yunmeng neither Baxia nor Nie Mingjue had wasted any time utilizing their newfound skills out on the battlefield.

Nie Huaisang was never going to be a particularly respected sect leader, especially by those that had met him beforehand, but evidently that wasn’t really important given that he was constantly flanked by what was being called the two terrors of Qinghe.

Nie Mingjue preferred darker colors now that he was no longer sect leader, the same dark grey shading towards black that Baxia had selected for herself, and the selection somehow made him seem even taller, verging on inhuman, and Baxia standing beside him, her human features patterned roughly after his, made the two of them appear a matched set. Nie Mingjue wielded the fan that Wei Wuxian had helped him design, which he had forged with his own hands out of the metal from the Xuanwu’s cave that Wei Wuxian had foolishly figured someone ought to get some use out of, painted over with a cinnabar array in Nie Huaisang’s careful brushstrokes, and in his hands it was both weapon and conduit for the raising of armies of corpses. Baxia, for her part, held nothing but required nothing, a sweeping gesture of her hand more devastating than a dozen blows with the saber.

They were terrifying, a nightmare writ large and unmistakably dangerous, undeniably demonic cultivators in a way that was entirely different from Wei Wuxian’s own dramatics, and it unnerved the rest of the cultivation world the way Wei Wuxian had feared it would.

“It won’t be a problem,” Jiang Cheng said impatiently. “The Nie sect are ascending in strength, and this only adds to their mystique – who would challenge them?”

“Uh, Jin Guangshan,” Wei Wuxian said. “Like last time?”

Jiang Cheng huffed. “At this rate, I don’t even think Jin Guangyao will bother defecting to the Jin sect,” he said. “Not if he knows how to play his cards right. The Nie sect’s strength in the original version was never about Chifeng-zun’s skill with the blade alone. It was the whole sect’s strength, with Chifeng-zun’s ability to wield them as skillfully as he did his saber; he’s an outstanding general. And now they have him as a general, him as a demonic cultivator, and whatever the fuck is going on with Lady Baxia –”

“I already told you. She’s a guai.”

“Like I already told you, it doesn’t matter how many times you say that, I will immediately expel the knowledge from my mind and you should too. ‘Immortal cultivator cousin that my brother named his saber after’, like what Nie Huaisang has been putting about, is a perfectly acceptable cover story.”

“And the fact that his saber disappeared at the same time?”

“Coincidence,” Jiang Cheng said firmly. “And we’re sticking with that. Anyway, the point is that if you’re an ambitious man, the Nie sect is the place to be right now and probably will continue to be in the future. This is going to be evident to both Jin Guangshan and the future Jin Guangyao, and we’ll need to deal with that.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Wei Wuxian promised. “After rescuing Chifeng-zun and helping with the demonic cultivation, I’ve gotten pretty close to them.”

“Mm. And how about your other mission?”

Wei Wuxian scowled at the smirk on Jiang Cheng’s face. “You know perfectly well that I haven’t had any time to seduce Lan Wangji, what with how busy I’ve been. I don’t even know for sure if he likes me yet -!”

“You’re an idiot, he does, and you’re not allowed to keep us all in suspense for two decades this time. Figure it out.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I’m sticking you with the job of being an information courier and you leave for the Lan sect front line tomorrow.”

“You are the best shidi ever,” Wei Wuxian said, and meant it.

Jiang Cheng huffed. “Yeah, well,” he said as if his cheeks weren’t red. “Remember that in the future. In this life we’re the Twin Heroes, you hear me? No take-backs.”

Nie Mingjue was right: Wei Wuxian would need to either learn to obey or tell Jiang Cheng early on that he was leaving, and walking a path in the middle would only cause heartbreak all over again.

“Okay,” he said, deciding to ask Lan Wangji for advice on obedience. Surely that was something that could be learned? “Deal. You do know that that means Lan Wangji’s going to have to marry in, right?”

“Oh no,” Jiang Cheng said, voice entirely flat. “How terrible. I’ll find a way to manage dealing with that ice block somehow…listen, I don’t care if you end up calling him Wei Sizhui in this life, but don’t ruin his character. He was perfectly nice.”

“I don’t know if he’s even been born yet,” Wei Wuxian said glumly. “I’ve been looking, but…”

“I’ve asked some of Mother’s spies to keep track of Wen Ning and Wen Qing,” Jiang Cheng said. “Collecting evidence we’ll need for their inevitable post-war trial, assuming we want them to live better lives than just refugees. Give it time, we’ll find him.”

“Now I just need to see if Lan Wangji will want to raise children with me…”

“Wei Wuxian. I don’t care. Go.”

#mdzs #nie mingjue #wei wuxian #nie huaisang #baxia #jiang cheng #my fic #my fics #academic discussion of demonic cultivation #this isn't an answer to your question but I hope you like it anyway #tkpartisan

278 notes · View notes

anna-pixie · 4 years

Note

Hello !!! Can I have Geralt x reader? Reader has been so caught up in her work that they forget to eat. They get extremely lightheaded and stumble a little. Geralt steadies them and he is worried (and mad) when he finds out they forgot to eat. While he is making food they faint and land (luckily) on something soft. When he's done, he comes back , at first he thinks that they're just laying down but he kinda freaks out when he realizes that reader is unconscious????? THANK YOU

i am SO sorry this took so long, i’ve had the worst writers block recently! 🥺

i really liked writing this request and if you like it i would love to turn this into a little series maybe!

request: reader has been so caught up in work they forget to eat. geralt is worried (and mad) while he is making food they faint and land on something soft, he freaks out when he realises they are unconscious.

pairings: geralt x reader

warnings: swearing, slightly suggestive tones

****

To say Geralt was over-protective of you would be a vast understatement. You’d met more or less a year ago, when he pretty much saved your life. You had just been kicked out by your father, for refusing to marry the fat, greasy suitor he had decided was worthy of your hand. A life on the streets doing whatever you please would be better than being married to a disgusting hog, right? Well, kind of. The harsh reality of living on the streets slapped you in the face like a bolt of lightning.

You were growing wearier by the day, coming closer and closer to facing your final option other than starving to death. Prostitution. You knew it would keep you going, but you’d seen the way those horrible men would manhandle and devour the painted ladies.

You met Geralt the night you almost gave in. You sat in the back room, glaring at your painted face with tears pricking your eyes. The lady of the brother called your name, a shriek in her voice as she commanded you to come down. She had a client ready for you.

Long story short, that client was Geralt. He took you up to his room for the night, taken aback when you started crying hysterically when he approached you. You had expected him to hit you, tell you to stop being a bitch or even just force himself on you there. Instead he ran you a bath, left you to calm down and then took you under his wing, whisking you away on Roach for a life on the road.

You like to think that was the Gods smiling down on you, meeting Geralt was the best thing that ever happened to you. Of course, life on the road was no breeze. Your new life was filled with monsters, hunger, travel and death. But you wouldn’t change it for anything.

The past few days had been particularly tough, you had been camped out in the forest while Geralt came and went, going after a particularly nasty wraith. You had been alone for the last day, and you were too afraid to venture out of your tent alone with the exception of relieving yourself, so food had not been at the top of your priority list.

However, now that you’ve started the long walk to the nearest town, you realise how stupid you had been. Your head is spinning and you feel slightly delirious, your stomach screaming at you to feed it. Luckily Geralt is a few paces ahead of you with Roach, and the sound of a nearby stream drowns out any of the rather embarrassing noises your stomach is making.

You stop a while later, and Geralt makes sure you drink a hearty amount of water from the stream. He leans against Roach and watches you, your cheeks flushing as you slurp the water.

“Do I have something on my face?” You’re paranoid now, he won’t stop looking.

“You’re about to.”

“W...what?” You barely have any time to question before he is striding up to you, grasping your face and planting his lips on yours. You relax, smiling into the kiss as he takes his time to savour you.

Geralt is not your boyfriend by any means. Sure, you kiss occasionally. Sometimes he can’t seem to help himself, but you draw that up to just needing a bit of female attention on the road. You never let him go further though, as you know that will bring unwanted feelings. You see the way Geralt is with women, a different one in every town - sometimes even more than one. You don’t want to become that to him, just another body to have his way with. So you stick to kissing. And, oh Gods is he good at it.

You hit his chest lightly, blinking quickly as you stumble to the side slightly. Your vision blurs suddenly and you place your hand on Geralt’s large arm, trying to steady yourself.

“Y/N? Y/N!” He shakes you lightly, looking down at you with furrowed brows as you start to regain your vision.

You shake your head a little, plastering a smile on your face, “Sorry. I don’t know what happened there. I felt a bit faint…”

“You practically passed out, Y/N. Gods, you didn’t have any breakfast today, is that why? What did you eat yesterday?”

“Umm…” You stall, trying to think of a way to tell Geralt that you in fact haven’t eaten, “Nothing…” You regret telling him almost immediately as his face drops, his eyes going dark. You know how angry he gets when you don’t take care of yourself, and you guess that’s why he feels like he has to do it for you.

“Fuck…” He groans, dragging the word out as he walks towards Roach, grumbling quietly to himself. He takes the reins and brings the confused horse over to you, “Normally I wouldn’t let more than one person ride Roach but I can’t risk you passing out and falling off if I’m not on there with you.”

He grabs you quickly underneath the armpits and you shriek in surprise as he lifts you onto the horse with ease. You whisper an apology as your fingernails lightly scratch Roach’s neck. He climbs up after you and you blush at how close his body is. You can feel everything, you’re practically sitting on his lip. You ignore the unladylike thoughts swirling in your brain and focus on staying awake for the rest of the ride to town.

“How long left?”

“Shouldn’t be long. Blaviken is not too far but… obviously… we need to travel a few towns over.”

“Aah. Okay.”

You make idle chat for the rest of the way, though it is mainly you chatting about any old thought that pops into your head, and Geralt grumbling along. At some point he had wrapped his arms around your waist, one resting on your thigh and the other on your waist. Gods, is he trying to make this hard for you?

The rest of the ride isn’t too bad, your vision spots in and out of black a few times but you try not to bother Geralt with this information. You spend your time brushing your fingers lightly through Roache’s main, trying not to distract her too much. You let out a sigh of relief when you finally reach the next town, probably looking like a mage out of her mind as you grin sleepily as you pass people by.

You stumble a bit as Geralt lifts you off of Roach, but deflect his concerned glance with a wry smile, telling him your leg was dead from being idle for so long. Wow, you’ve gotten so good at lying. You leave him to sort Roach out in the nearby stables while you wander inside the warm tavern, scrunching your nose at the inviting scent of sweat wafting around the room. Your transaction with the owner is quick, you’re used to it now after months on the road. You place an order for meat with all the trimmings, knowing you had a bit of coin left over from being camped out for a few days.

“Sorry, love, we ain’t got no meat left. I can rustle you up some potatoes if you’re desperate.”

You sigh, biting your lip as you eye the man near you devouring his piece of meat, your stomach groaning desperately. Alas, you smile kindly at her and assure her that it’s fine, you’ll just take the room for now.

You smile, shaking your head once more as you enter the room, realising that you’ve been given a double bed to share. You will never admit this to Geralt, but you secretly love it when you have to share a bed. You had never been one to enjoy physical touch a lot, but the way Geralt’s large arms would hold you in his sleep, gripping you tightly like he’s scared you’ll leave, well it just makes your heart melt.

Sitting on the bed, you focus on trying to stay awake whilst you wait for Geralt. This is in vain, however, because your head starts spinning almost instantly. You whisper a quick ‘fuck’ before all you can see is darkness, falling down onto the bed with your back facing the door.

Geralt smiles as he spies you on the bed when he enters the room a few minutes later, assuming you’re napping. It had been a long day after all. He starts to run a bath for you, a sort of tradition between the two of you since the night you met. As he listens to the running water, he sits at the small table in the corner of his room, his legs spread as his hulking form takes over the small wooden chair.

“Come on, you.” He nudges you slightly once he has finished preparing your bath. Usually when he wakes you from a nap you groan, mumble and drool before glaring at him angrily. Not this time, though. You don’t move at all, and Geralt starts to panic quickly as he remembers the events of earlier that day. He turns you over, your unconscious body lolling like a ragdoll in his strong arms. He shuts his eyes with a groan, realising he is going to have to shock you awake.

You wake with a squeal, thinking for a second you might be drowning. Your vision is bleary for a few seconds as you try to gather your surroundings, only calming down when you hear Geralt’s low, soothing voice talking you through things.

“You can’t scare me like that, Y/N.” Geralt is holding your face now, brushing a strand of wet hair out of your face. You realise he must have dumped some ice water on you to wake you up.

“I thought tough old Geralt of Rivia wasn’t scared of anything?” You tease weakly, closing your eyes once more as a wave of fatigue slams over you. He slaps your face lightly, ensuring you don’t pass out again. You meet his eyes once more, slightly shocked at the sheer seriousness of his expression.

“Not when it comes to you. You’re the only thing that keeps me going in this world, Y/N. You have to understand that I might not always be here. I need to know that you can take care of yourself, okay? For me.”

You tilt your head so that you’re leaning further into Geralt’s hand, his thumb brushing over your cheek. He leans forward, kissing your forehead quickly as he gets up.

“Where are you going?”

“I bumped into Jaskier earlier, he’s passing through this town with his newest whore. I sent him to get us some meat. We’re not sleeping until you’ve eaten. Got it?” Sometimes you like to tease Geralt, just to get a reaction from him. This was not one of those times. You look at him through your lashes.

“Got it.”

Jaskier is as happy as ever, humming a tune whilst the three of you dig into your food. You try to remain ladylike as you eat but can’t help scoffing down the hearty chunk of meat you were served.

“You should’ve seen Geralt before, Y/N.” Jaskier cackles, shrieking suddenly when Geralt serves a swift kick to his shin.

“What do you mean?” You eye Geralt suspiciously, placing your hand on his thigh so that Jaskier can explain without the fear of being kicked again.

“I was enjoying my… company… downstairs, shall we say. Then all of a sudden this buffoon comes running down the stairs, shouting about a jug of cold water. So of course I followed him, and all I could see before he kicked me out of the room was him pacing around - I kid you not, Y/N, he was praying to the Gods - and then he chucked the jug of water on you.” You can’t help but giggle at Jaskier’s dramatic retelling of the events, awwing slightly when you see Geralt’s bashful face.

Turns out even emotionless Witcher’s can freak out when something they care about is in danger.

#geralt x reader #geralt x oc #geralt of rivia x ofc #geralt of rivia x oc #the witcher #witcher imagine #the witcher imagine

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johnnyclash87 · 3 years

Text

Ok I finished this way quicker than I expected! I’m actually really happy with it

@sammi-doll483 @kris-styx I believe y’all wanted to be tagged in this?

3636 had been in over a dozen battles, numerous engagements, and countless near death experiences. But knocking on a Jedi generals door was still the most terrifying thing he experienced. Whenever his previous General, Pong Krell called him to his quarters at best it was orders for another mission that would get hundreds of people killed. Or at worst a lengthy berating over a small failure in the last mission that got hundreds of men killed. Did they move from position? Failure. Did they retreat? Failure? Did they engage the enemy without orders? Failure. It didn’t matter that their position was under heavy artillery fire, or that they were overwhelmed by a force ten times their size, or that the enemy was about to engage them.

But here he was again at the door of a Jedi. Although this wasn’t Krell, it was their new general, Plo Koon. Kel Dor. Jedi Master. Even though the commander and the rest of the battalion were still extremely uneasy around him, he couldn’t help pick up on some significant differences. Like how when passing the troops he would say “good morning”. Or how he actually congratulated a trooper on their marksmanship on the range. Something Krell would have seemed a mere expectation for a Clone.

Whatever this was about, certainly making General Koon wait would not help. 3636 took a deep breath, said a silent prayer to whatever or whoever cared enough to listen, and pressed the ring button. The door slid open, and sitting on a circular mat that hardly looked comfortable was Plo Koon.

“Good afternoon Commander, please come in” hearing his actual rank was still an adjustment. With Krell it was always “3636” or “CC 3636” or he would just bark orders to nobody in particular and expect them to figure out who it was for.

“CC 3636, reporting as ordered Sir”

“Please have a seat,” 3636 stood still and firm at attention.

“Uhm.. at ease.” The commander relaxed his body slightly and slid his right leg out a small distance.

“I’m not sure you’ll take the offer but it would make this conversation easier if you would sit down” Plos voice even through the rebreather felt oddly calm and assuring. He wasn’t sure sitting would make him more relaxed but if it eased the generals mind.., He wasn’t sure if he should sit cross legged like General Koon and elected to keep his feet on the floor. That would make any need for sudden movement easier. As he sat he noticed a scent stick burning on a nearby table. Noticing it, he noticed a sweet warm smell in the air that oddly seemed to lower his heart beat.

“I hope I’m not being hasty but I think I should get to the point of this meeting. I’ve noticed the men are, well they seem very uncomfortable since the transfer” Plo barely moved except his hands in small slow gestures.

“I accept responsibility for the troops performance, I’ll..” with a slow raise of his hand, Plo gently cut 3636 off.

“No, Commander,I’m not blaming you, or anyone. What I would like to know, is why this is, and how I can help”

The commander was nearly always ready with a response or answer to a superiors question, even if the answer was “no excuse”. But he wasn’t sure how to tell one Jedi that the reason his siblings were so terrified was that another Jedi practically beat that fear in them.

“I know it may be hard to believe but I do genuinely care about you and the Troops. It concerns me greatly that you all seem to be in so much emotional pain. You may be bred for war, but you still deserve to be happy”. 3636 had to look away, unless the general see his eyes moisten.

“It’s ok Commander, I’m listening”

“Well General, honestly it’s just how we’re trained. We’re so used to punishment we’ve come to expect it. Some of us have even become numb to it”

“Punishment from your previous General? Master Pong Krell?”

“Yes sir” For a moment Plos muscles visibly tensed as if reacting in shock and anger. Of course Jedi aren’t allowed to get angry.

“Thank you Commander. I know that was hard but you have done your men and possibly more a great service. I will be sure to speak of this to the Council.” If the Commander wasn’t so well disciplined he might have hugged him.

“Before I go on, Commander, there’s a small but frankly important matter. I know it may not fit into military protocol but I can’t keep calling you commander and CC number is well out of the question. Even droids get names”

“It would be nice to have a name but I’m not sure what I would be called.” 3636 was relaxing more and more. This new general was most different.

“I may have a suggestion. I see how protective you are of the Troops, like a

wolf. What if I called you Wolffe ?” The Clone considered the name for a moment.

“‘No need to decide now. What I’d really like to discuss is how we might ease the men’s hearts and minds. I know many of the Troops in other units frequent the bars on Coruscant to relieve stress. Perhaps a trip outside the base might help?”

“Maybe in time sir, but I’m not sure they’re ready for crowds and loud noise.” Never did 3636 think he would not only counter a generals words but actually be encouraged to do so.

“Hmm you may be very right. Perhaps something less, intensive?” Plo stroked his chin or rather his mask thoughtfully.

“I may have an idea, General”

“Please. You know them better than I do”

“During our training, some of the instructors taught us how to paint our armor to make it more distinctive and to help build a sense of community. For many of us it was the most enjoyable and relaxing trainings we received. Maybe we could have the men paint their armor as a way to ease their anxiety and feel more like individuals. We could even have them make a logo and tell them it’s for tactical reasons. That way they feel less suspicious about the idea” This was probably the most 3636 had spoken to well anyone in while.

“I think that’s a great idea. Is there anyone who might be able to take charge of such a project?” General Plo sounded just as ecstatic as the Clone was.

“Actually I think I know the perfect person. 2827. The instructors were very impressed with his painting skills and he even helped some of the other Troopers.”

“Then he sounds like the man for the job. Call him in, if you would, please” Plo was already standing up as the Commander contacted the Trooper. They didn’t wait long before the bell rang. Plo activated the door and invited the waiting Clone in.

If 3636 was on edge when he first came in, 2827 was practically hanging on it by his fingernails

“Commander, General. You asked for me?”

“Yes Trooper. At ease.” 3636 decided it might be better if he started the conversation.

“The general and I have a very important task for you.” This clearly peaked his interest. At this Plo took over

“Your commander and I were just discussing ways to make the unit more efficient. Not that you and your comrades aren’t performing exemplarily. I’m constantly impressed. But if I’m honest distinguishing the 104th from other battalions is a bit of a challenge. So I’d like you to make an insignia for the battalion.”

“And it can’t just be numbers,” 3636 must be feeling more comfortable if he would dare interject when a general was speaking, “it’s gotta let the Seppies know who they’re dealing with”

“Well said Commander. And I’m sure the Trooper is more than up to the task”

“Absolutely, I don’t think there’s a better man for the job” The commander did something he rarely did, he smiled.

“Well Trooper, you have your orders. Can you do it?” Plo didn’t think he would say no, but wanted him to at least feel it was his choice.

“Yes general. I won’t let you down”

“I know you won’t, brother. Dismissed” 3636 gave him one of the most genuinely respectful salutes he ever rendered

“Yes commander” 2827 was heading to the door, a slight spring in his step

“Oh and Trooper”

“Yes commander?”

“Call me Wolffe. Feel free to tell the others too”

Three days later and 2827 was running down the corridor toward Wolffe.

“Commander Wolffe! Is General Plo around? Have you seen him?”

“Take a breath Trooper. He’s actually heading this way” Wolffe hadn’t seen any of his Troops this excited since they completed training.

“Good. It’s done. I finished designing the insignia for the battalion!”

“That is good. Here’s the General now.” Both Troopers came to attention and greeted Plo with a salut which he returned. Something Krell never did..

“Good morning gentlemen. Commander Wolffe, you have the recommendations for promotion? “

“I do General. But actually, Trooper 2827 has the design ready for us.”

“By all means, let’s see it!” Plo showed about as much excitement as a Jedi could. 2827 opened up a folder he had been holding and revealed the image it had contained; a gray wolfs head.

“I thought that if the Commander was a Wolffe, we would be his Wollfe Pack. If that’s appropriate, sir” The Trooper beamed with cautious pride

“It’s very appropriate Trooper. I’m very proud of you and you should be too” Wolffes normally gruff voice cracked a little. Luckily Plo stepped in so he could wipe the dust from his eyes

“This is very excellent work Trooper. You have great skill with a paint brush. Hmm how would you like that to be your name; Brush?”

“I-I like that very much” 2827, or Brush, rather would probably have been just as thrilled if his name was Toast

“Very good then. Well it looks like we have some painting to do then. Requisition some art supplies and tell the Troopers to meet in the training hall. Commander, I think these promotions can wait, don’t you?”

“Definitely general.”

“And Brush, I hope you’ll be kind enough to assist me with my own art.”

“I’d be honored” Brush and Wolffe shared a silent look that let eachother know thinsgs were going to be much better from now on.

#my post #star wars #the clone wars #104th battalion #commander wolffe #wolffe pack #plo koon #star wars oc #star wars fanfiction #clone wars fanfiction #clone wars au #my fiction #my writing

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ironmandeficiency · 4 years

Text

untitled (because it has no plot)

pairing: tech / reader

word count: 1621

summary: porn with almost no plot, no title & no apologies

a/n: tech is a tits kind of guy, you can’t change my mind

warnings: minor thigh riding, biting, normal riding, tech is the top we never knew we needed. he’s also the personification of the troubled bird painting that says “can i nest in your cleavage?”

the moment the havoc marauder’s ramp shut he was on you, giving you no time to adjust before hands wandered everywhere they could reach and lips stole your breath before giving you his. it had been too long since the two of you had any semblance of privacy and tech intended on using every second to his advantage.

you had been able to convince hunter (with enough mechanical jargon, of course) that two sets of hands were necessary to repair the ship before you’d be able to leave the latest planet. making the strenuous repairs the ship needed on your own “would have put the guys at risk if they needed a quick escape and their ride was in disrepair” and the argument was solid.

in all honesty, you were extremely exaggerating because this repair you deemed imperative to the wellbeing of your group could have gone a solid two months without being addressed. that being said, you were not going to wait two more months to get your hands on tech.

it seemed that he had the same mindset. nimble hands gripped your hips as he slowly walked the two of you backward. your boyfriend knew exactly what to do in order to get you melting against him, his slender and toned body pressing you against the ship’s walls. his tongue pushed into your mouth and you weren’t about to fight against him because the languid movements of the muscle were far too enticing and you missed it far more than you could express with words.

he groaned into your mouth when you ran a hand through his auburn hair, letting your fingernails drag along his scalp. tech’s thigh nestled itself between your legs and you held no reservations about trying to move your hips along the taut muscle.

tech didn’t approve. “oh no, my dear,” he tutted at you with his crisp accent, hands now pressing your hips against the wall with just enough force to guarantee that you weren’t going to move them without his say-so. “we’ve got plenty of time, no use limiting ourselves to the bare basics of what we need.”

he did have a fair point. that particular method of getting off was saved for expending the remnants of post-battle adrenaline and the tides of relief about him coming back in one piece. now, with the marauder vacant of any potential interruptions, you two were free to take a bit more time than you were normally allowed. this also meant indulging in your favorite carnal acts with the genius that regarded you with the highest reverence occasionally fogged by the thickest clouds of lust.

your neck’s pulse point was his latest target and he nipped and lapped at it with glee, relishing in the wanton moan with which you said his name. gods it’s been too long since he’s been able to taste your sweet skin and hold it between his teeth & he was going to enjoy every second of it.

lips moved from the pulse point and down to your clavicle, tongue collecting the fine droplets of sweat already beginning to form from the beginnings of your arousal. there was something about his tongue that sent you up a wall, the calculated fluidity tech worked it with identical to how he behaved during a mission.

when he was confident you weren’t going to try chasing your orgasm against the thigh holding you up, he slid his hands up your hips and tugged away the shirt concealing your chest from his hungry gaze, discarding it with an unfocused flick of his wrist.

“tech,” you moaned when his teeth gently grazed the valley between your breasts, catching slightly on the bra keeping your chest from spilling out. he ventured down the curve of your stomach and began to bite at the waistband of your pants, occasionally snagging the material and letting it slap against the soft skin. your hands went to your back to unclasp the infernal device and you felt him grin wildly when he identifies the action. the straps loosen around your shoulders and you let the material fall to the floor.

it’s barely a breath before his hands are on each breast, kneading and pinching your nipples. the engineer was fond of your chest, more so than the rest of your body, to the point of lavishing it with his unique brand of rapt attention every moment he could.

“so beautiful,” he mumbles into the skin between your breasts. after a few twists of the hardening bud between his fingers, his lips are on it. his mouth is hot and divinely wet against you, his teeth almost feeling sharp when they began to leave marks. canines catch on a sensitive area and you whimper, tech taking it as a cue to suck on the spot a little harder and dig his teeth in a little deeper. the hand in his hair tugs the roots at the sensation, your head falling back and gently thudding against the durasteel wall you’re pushed against.

this love of having his hair played with was discovered shortly after you joined the team. the two of you had stayed up for several hours longer than needed working on a new attachment to his vambrace and he had eventually slumped against you, head ending up in your lap. you knew that some people took comfort in people running hands through their hair and figured that it wouldn’t hurt to try. this man nearly purred at the motion and from then on, his hair was never not played with.

now you used it to your advantage, the tugs you knew he enjoyed spurring him into getting a move on. there wasn’t time to waste; even though the boys would be gone for a considerably long while, it did nothing about the fact that you’ve been depraved and you’re yearning for him.

he takes the hint and frees you from the wall, guiding you toward the cockpit where the pilot’s chair waited for its regulars. hands begin fumbling with the other’s clothes and they quickly turn into landmines on the ship’s floor, leaving you both in only underwear (which won’t stay on much longer, not at the rate you’re going).

tech takes his spot in the pilot’s chair and pulls you on top of him. it’s a dance you’ve done plenty of times and the motions only grow in their grace and familiarity. no words are shared as you tug his briefs down, nor as your underwear becomes yet another landmine. there’s nothing to say, at least not through talking. you communicate with each other through pants and whines and grips and caresses, each touch carefully translated with the ease that follows the formation of an unbreakable trust.

it’s an eternity within seconds as he pushes into you, the wait making the sensation all the more euphoric as you clench around him. the sensation has him burying his head into your chest, your now-speckled breasts a reprieve from the stimulation.

when he’s fully sheathed inside you he’s uncharacteristically still. he’s never held much patience while his desires are given to him on a silver platter and it’s got you spoiled. you try to hold out but it’s an attempt made in vain, your body revolting against your sense of control as you raise and lower yourself back onto him. he hissed through his teeth at the movement and bites the nearest patch of skin in retaliation.

you whine because of how tender your breasts are and how rough he is with them, and you whine because he just won’t give you what you both need. you whine because you’re completely fucking desperate for him to do something. hell, even if he removed you from his lap and went on about his business would have been at least some relief because he would have to move on the way out. this sitting still thing? you probably would have enjoyed the tease of it all were you not so desperate right then, but that could be pondered another time.

your whining and preening for him did the trick, flipped the switch in tech that told him to take what he needed from you, what you offered him so freely in these shared moments. he immediately set a fast, grueling pace that you both realized wouldn’t be easily kept, not after this long apart.

skin slapping skin and choked moans echoed in the cockpit as your climaxes grew near. tech strangled out praises of your beauty, how divine you felt around his cock, the sounds you made. he asked if anyone else made you feel this way, if there was anyone in the galaxy that would dare to challenge him in pleasing you.

you held nothing back as you cried out his praises and your love for him, how he was the only man that could bring you the blinding pleasure that always accompanied his touch. it was getting harder to hold on to coherent thoughts as you teetered on the edge. your hands braced themselves on his thighs as he gripped your hips and pulled you down each time he thrusted upward.

his pace had slowed to execute a few more perfectly aimed and executed thrusts. seconds later he jutted himself balls deep in you and came, your name spilling from his mouth in ragged breaths between hot, wet kisses on your breasts. hearing him so needy and feeling his release inside you sent you over the edge with him with an arched back and quaking body. time was irrelevant in the comedown, neither of you knowing or caring to know just how long you stayed in the chair wrapped up in each other.

#clone trooper tech #tech #tech x reader #the bad batch #bad batch #the bad batch x reader #clone force 99 #star wars fanfic #star wars reader insert #star wars imagines #star wars the clone wars #star wars #clone trooper x reader #sergeant hunter #wrecker #clone trooper wrecker #crosshair #clone trooper crosshair #nsft

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wienerbarnes · 4 years

Text

Stressor

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 2,622

Warnings: murder lol, mentions of gore/blood, mentions of rape (its described in like two sentences and theres a short non-graphic flashback, but pls pls pls message me if you dont wanna read and ill give u a sparknotes version), so theres angst but also some nice parts like bucky meditating okay

A/N: wrote this while procrastinating my art commissions but i bought my first laptop BY MYSELF after saving for months and im v excited :) lmk what yall think of this, i promise next part will be goofier/happier lol

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

“Shit… Fuck… Fuck! He’s gonna fucking kill me… fuck…”

The mumbles spill from your lips as you take in the scene in front of you. Puddles and puddles of blood covered the floor of your apartment, dirtying your beige tile and all the other surfaces with splatters. David lays in the middle, with about thirty-six stab wounds in his body.

When you and Bucky started the arrangement regarding your list, there were two rules you two agreed to follow - no matter what. First rule: Kills are never completed alone. You two are to complete the list together and help each other with everything that involves the person. Second rule: Bucky is to know everything about the person they’re killing. What they did to you, their name, their remaining family, where they live, what they eat for breakfast; everything.

And here you were breaking both of those rules.

It was too good of an opportunity, you try and convince yourself. Bucky will understand, he’s always so understanding, he never yells, he’s always so nice to you; a choked sob escaped your body as your dirty hands fly to cover your face, tears flowing down your cheeks mixing with the blood now smeared across your skin.

…

TWO HOURS EARLIER

Bucky always told you to be extremely cautious when leaving the apartment. Even though it had been well over a year, almost two, since your prison escape, you never knew who could be watching. Every few weeks or so, your name pops up in the news, Whatever happened to one of the worst killers in modern history, How did she pull off such an escape from such a high security facility, Is she even still alive, etc.

But as soon as your name appears, it vanishes once more, replaced by some other injustice happening in the world.

Your feet take you inside a small bar, the musky scent intrigues you along with the copious amounts of peanut shells littering the floor. You take a seat on the stool and try not to pay attention to the fact that every single person in the room is staring at you right now. But you can’t blame them; you’ve dyed your hair a pastel pink now, body covered in baggy jeans and baby blue long-sleeved milkmaid top, a gift from Bucky. “You can’t wear that one t-shirt, that’s mine, by the way, forever.” He’d told you. Your rainbow painted toes and fingernails stand out under the dimmed lights of the place.

An older man behind the bar approaches you and places a napkin in front of you, “What can I get ya’?” You order some beer plastered on the wall because as far as you know, you’ve never even tried alcohol before, let alone know enough about it to have any kind of preference.

You take sips of the beer for a while, aimlessly watching the sports game playing on the TV, every once in a while glancing at the pool table where a group of older men play a game together. Suddenly, the stool beside you becomes occupied. You know it’s not Bucky, he doesn’t know you’re here and it’s not his cologne, but for a second you were hoping it was. A parallel to when you sat with him in that cafe all that time ago. When he bought you that apple pie and hot chocolate. I miss him…

You refuse to look over at the man sitting next to you, but you can feel his eyes blatantly staring at you.

“So… what’s your name?” He breaks the silence and asks you. You don’t respond, simply just continue sipping away at your beer.

“My name is David.” He offers. A chill runs up your spine at the name and you look over at him. He looks so familiar… Where do I know him from? Have I seen him at the food market before? Is he Hydra? Did we go to school together? Were we in the Marines-

“Hey officer,” A deep voice curls into your ear, causing a chill to run up your spine.

“Fuck off, David. I’m trying to do my hair.” You don’t bother glancing at him in the mirror as you scoop more gel into your hands and smooth it onto the top of your head. You’ve let your hair grow to long and the strands keep sticking out of the bun, but the thought of asking any of the other women, or worse - the men, for help cutting it terrifies you. You’re still too new.

“Now, is that any way to talk to your higher up?” A large hand wraps around your middle and gropes your breast.

“I said fuck off.” A pointy elbow slams back into his chest, knocking the wind out of him.

“I’ll get you for that, just you wait. Fresh meat.”

Your body runs cold as you make the connection and you feel as though your entire body has shut down. You can feel the cold sweat gathering in your palms and your lower back. A lump forms in your throat and you want to cry; you want to scream. But something takes over, and although you feel terrified, you keep yourself composed; hide your anxiety.

“Do you want to get out of here? My place is only a few blocks away.” You ask, false sultriness dripping from your voice. David smirks at you, clearly not recognizing you from nearly a decade ago.

He takes out some cash and places it on the bar, grabbing your beer from your hands and placing it on top, grabbing your hands after and leading you out of the bar.

…

Bucky sits on the floor of his living room, practicing his twenty minutes of meditation before bed. Alpine rubs her cheek against the bare top of his foot that’s crossed under his knee, but eventually gets bored before trotting around behind him to start climbing her way up his back. Bucky tries his best to ignore her tiny nails digging through his shirt, but can’t help but chuckle as she makes herself comfortable in the curve of his neck. “Guess meditation time is over, huh baby?” He whispers before gathering her in his hands and plopping her on his bed. He reaches down to roll up his yoga mat when he hears a silent buzzing from his kitchen.

Confused on who would be calling him this late, knowing that Sharon’s visiting a college friend over in SoHo and Sam’s on a date, he sees a number he doesn’t recognize flash on the screen. Bucky hesitates answering, but he knows telemarketers rarely call this late.

“Hello?” Bucky answers.

“B-Bucky?” Your shaky voice sounds on the other end. The sound is watery and raspy, like you've been sobbing your eyes out and screaming for hours.

“Bucky, I-I-I need y-your help… I fucked up,” Your voice is cut off by a hiccup as Bucky goes to grab his closest pair of pants to go over his boxers and he pulls on sneakers before grabbing the keys to his bike.

“Hey, sweetheart? Do me a favor and relax, okay? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Bucky rushes out as he locks his door behind him before making his way to the staircase.

“I’m so so so sorry, Bucky… please don’t be mad at me-e… I broke t-the rules,” Choked sobs escape you and Bucky has never heard you cry like that before.

“Listen, I’m already on my way, okay? I’ll be at yours in twenty minutes, okay?” You don’t respond as Bucky listens to your crying and you eventually hang up.

Broke the rules? What does she mean by… oh. She couldn’t have… we had our next hit planned for a few days from now. Did she do someone else on the list? Bucky tries not to think too much about it until he can get to yours and figure out what’s going on, his motorcycle screaming through the quiet night.

…

You’ve been sitting in David’s blood for about an hour now. The liquid is cold, his body is cold, the phone in your hand is cold. Nice going, you’ve really done it now. Not only have you probably just cost yourself your freedom, but you’ve ruined your jeans and the top Bucky bought you. He’s going to be so mad at you; he’s going to be so mad that he’s going to have no choice but to bring you in. He’ll be laughing as the cops drag you away-

Your thoughts are interrupted by a frantic knock on your door, Bucky’s voice calling your name on the other side.

“If you don’t open the door, I’m breaking it down!” He calls.

You slowly stand, trying not to slip in the puddle, before walking over to the door and opening it about halfway. Bucky’s eyes widen and his brows furrowed together as he looks your body up and down.

The blood on your clothes is starting to brown and you’re covered up to your forearms in blood. Splatters decorate your face, neck and hair, and your eyes are puffy from crying.

“I-I-” You begin to stutter. Bucky silently pushes his way inside to see the bloodbath waiting for him. He pushes the door closed behind him and stares at the body laying in the middle of the floor. Your knife still sits standing out of his face.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Bu-Bucky- I can,”

“What, you-you can explain?!” Bucky snaps, turning to face you, and you’ve never seen him look at you like this. You flinch and take a half-step backwards, bumping into the door behind you.

Bucky turns back around, a flesh and silver hand running through his hair and roughly over his face.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” He begins, voice eerily even, still staring at the body. “You're going to go shower and wash all of the blood off your body. Then you’re going to make sure this apartment is spotless. I’ll take care of… him. And then we’ll talk when I get back. Are we understood?”

You can’t seem to make any words come out so you quickly make your way to your bathroom and close the door behind you softly.

You shower until the water runs cold and your skin is tinted red. Either from the blood or how hard you were scrubbing, you’re not sure, you just didn’t want Bucky to still be in your apartment when you stepped out.

It’s not that you were scared of him, because you weren’t. You knew that Bucky would never intentionally harm you, both physically or mentally. You were more angry at yourself. Bucky's done nothing but protect you; he’s kept you a secret, helped you indirectly work through your trauma, stitched you up, made you smile and laugh when you didn’t even think that was ever going to be possible for you anymore. You broke the only rules he asked of you. You disappointed him. You’ve put him in an even worse position than he’s already in by protecting your existence.

You turn the knob of the water to the right before stepping out and wrapping your fluffy yellow robe around your body, tying it at the waist. Your apartment is empty when you step out of the bathroom, Bucky nor David occupying the space. Your walk over to your sink and open the cabinet on the bottom to take out your cleaning supplies before getting to work.

…

Bucky’s calmed down significantly by the time he gets back to your apartment. He checks his phone to see that it’s almost five in the morning before reaching in his other pocket for your keys that he took off the table, slipping the key into the lock and jiggling it until pushing the door open.

He’s not mad at you. Perhaps he was for a bit, but he realized that anger was just fear. Had anyone seen you? Did this guy do something to you? Did he recognize you and that’s why you needed to kill him? Did you kill him because you actually wanted to experience that again? He really hoped it wasn’t the last one.

You're sitting on your bed in the corner of the apartment, splatters still visible on the sheets but the floors are clean. The room doesn’t have an overpowering smell of bleach or cleaner, but there is no trace of a body here, besides the small splatters, but those can be passed off as splashes of wine. You did good.

Your feet are stretched out in front of your as your hands are planted behind your back, propping you up. Your yellow robe is tied around your waist but the edges sit high up on your thighs.

He sets your keys on your table, kicks off his shoes, and walks over to take a seat next to you.

“Did you know I was a Marine before all of this? When I was, like, eighteen?” You break the silence, still staring at the wall in front of you.

“Yes.”

“The guy was my unit chief. He raped me twice during my first week there.”

Bucky remains quiet as you explain, watching your face and it’s calm expression. You hesitate, opening and closing your mouth before opening it once more to continue.

“I went to some bar tonight and he hit on me. He didn’t recognize me, and… I don’t know. I thought I’d scare him or something, remind him what he’d done. But then he was here and he kept trying to feel me up even though I’d push him away. I didn’t have a plan yet. And then he snapped at me and then I snapped back…” You trailed off.

“After I realized what happened, I panicked and I used his phone to call you.”

“I’m really sorry, Bucky.” You say, softer now. You bring your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your shins.

“Okay. I forgive you.” Bucky responds after a moment.

The two of you sit in silence next to each other on the thin sheets. You’re staring at the passing cars out the window. He’s staring at your plant that’s sitting on the small night stand next to your mattress. You’ve changed out the silver tin it was sitting in to a light blue one covered in green polka dots.

You tilt your head to meet his eyes and look away briefly before meeting them again.

“Can… Can I have a hug, Bucky?” You ask, with the smallest voice in the world, your sentence ending in a small crack.

Bucky doesn’t answer and instead scoots closer to you, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you onto his lap, your thighs on either side of him, chests touching. His left arm wraps around your back and drags slowly up and down while his right hand rests on the back of your head, softly scratching through your still damp hair. Your hands are tucked close between both your chests and your breath fans softly against his neck where your head is tucked into. He silently breathes in your scent, the children’s strawberry soap you use mixed with a homey, warm small that’s just you. He watches out the window as the sky turns from a dark blue to a deep orange; it should be about five-thirty right about now and the morning traffic is about to start.

“There’s a ton of white cat hair on your shoulder, Buck.” He hears you whisper against him, voice slurring a bit with drowsiness, the last bits of adrenaline wearing off.

He smiles to himself and holds you until you're fast asleep, and then stays for a while after that, too.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanficiton #bucky x criminal!reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes series

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utterlyinevitable · 4 years

Text

Do We Have A Future?: January

Part 1 | Part 2: November

Paring: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 1.9k Warning: Adult themes, mental health triggers, themes of depression, pregnancy complications and termination Summary: Rebecca told Ethan and now they have to live with the aftermath of their decision.

Author’s Note: Sensitive subject matter means I really suggest only reading if you are 18+ years old.

Taglist: @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @aylamwrites @binny1985 @ramseysno1rookie

________________________________________

Becca stood alone in the middle of Ethan’s dimly lit bedroom one morning after a scalding hot shower while flecks of snow flurried outside. She stood in front of the double wide full length mirror taking in her full form - the unchanged curvature of her hips and abdomen.

“I’d be in my second trimester…” she whispered to herself as she ran a hand delicately from her breast and lingering down to the blank space of skin below her navel.

It would have been born in June.

It was 6:30 in the morning and they needed to be at work in thirty minutes. When Ethan didn’t hear the familiar scuttering of his girlfriend hastily getting ready after choosing another twenty minutes of sleep he grew worried that something may have happened.

He gingerly opened the door to see his love transfixed in front of the mirror. He crossed the distance quietly in four long strides. Snaking his arms around her he whispered into her ear, “Are you okay?”

There Ethan stood in his standard work attire holding Becca’s cold naked body close to him, his left hand securely wrapped around her midsection and his right hand placed on top of hers at her stomach. His clean shaven chin rested on her shoulder and his bright blue eyes searched her features for the explanation he knew was never coming.

“Yeah,” she breathed as she snapped back into reality. Ethan could feel the goosebumps beginning to prick her skin and eyes started to glaze over as she pulled away from him. “Give me a minute. I’ll be ready in five.”

Becca still cried at the thought of what's been lost. She still couldn’t walk past the neonatal wing of the hospital, or any babies for that matter. Even infants on social media or television bring tears to her eyes. Some days the extreme emptiness hits harder than others.

Ethan still refused to talk about it. He wanted nothing more than to know how exactly he could help her without having to guess each and every day. But that would be breaking their solemn vow. He couldn’t break his promise after she explicitly asked him not to all those weeks ago at her appointment. Ethan couldn’t let her down; not now, not ever again.

Unbeknownst to him, Rebecca wanted nothing more than to confront the fact head on, she’s done her self deprecating wallowing and was ready to divulge. She wanted to know what’s going on inside his head. But after the last time she tried to bring it up she feared that if she continued it would be to the detriment of their relationship.

They were sitting on Ethan’s couch watching a Blue Planet documentary. Ethan comfortably laid back with his feet perched on an ottoman and Becca’s legs draped over his lap. She had the purple fleece blanket she brought from her apartment snuggled around her torso. Neither were too intrigued by this segment on flying fish, so Becca picked at the chipping paint on her fingernails and Ethan closed his eyes, relishing in the feeling of how this woman beside him could make him feel so at home.

Out of nowhere the demons eating at Becca’s core shakily asked, “What would we have done if we kept it?”

Truth be told Becca had been thinking this since the moment she swallowed the first pill. What would their life be like here and now?

“Stop, Rookie,” he sternly admonished. Ethan knew she was treading down a slippery slope. She had finally started going through a routine like normal and he believed entertaining this notion would have her regress back into the shell of the woman he once knew. “No point in dwelling on the past.”

Becca pursed her lips and gave him an unsatisfied nod. She could push the subject but she wasn’t strong enough for that. She used every little bit of courage she had to let the thoughts slip off her tongue without the twin tears rolling down her cheeks. The topic seemed like taboo.

Why can’t we talk about this? she thought.

***

Becca had been back at Edenbrook for six weeks. She enthusiastically threw herself into her work hoping it would help fill the void and bring her joy. However it did nothing to soothe her like the way it once had. Rebecca was barren; the things she loved didn’t carry enough weight anymore. Her moods had also frequently gone on a roller-coaster ride, more times than she or Ethan would care to admit. She lived in the realm of fury, rage, disinterest and disdain. But at least she was talking and willing to leave the apartment.

Thankfully, Ethan thinks to himself every day she gets up and goes through the motions of her past self.

She still didn’t spend much time at her place. The awkwardness and permanent ball lodged in her throat at keeping this secret from her dearest friends had put distance between them. Becca didn’t actively want to put a strain on her friendships; she just couldn’t bear the thought of them pitying her. It was easier for them to think she’d let her new job title and relationship become her most sacred of priorities.

When Ethan noticed her dejected and hopeless look day after day he thought now was a better time than any to help move her mind on to something else.

“I was thinking…” he trailed off as they sat at his kitchen island having her favorite spaghetti bolognese dish he ordered for them from Don Luigi’s. Looking down and twirling the noodles around his fork he said softly, “Maybe you’d like to move in?”

“What?” Becca’s eyes went wide as she nearly choked on the two bits of pasta in her mouth.

“You’re here all the time anyway,” he rationalized with a shrug of his shoulders. Ethan dropped the fork and swiftly swung around on his stool to face her. There was a gleam in his eyes that involuntarily made the corners of Becca’s mouth twitch. He reached out for her hands, cradling them between his own.

“How about we make it official?” Their eyes met and Becca took a bated breath. The corners of Ethan’s lips pulled into the biggest grin - a smile Becca knew was just for her. It had been months since she’d last seen him glow like that, all the wrinkles and cracks in his features coming to light just for her. “Make me the happiest man alive and turn this place into a home, Rookie.”

Looking at the man before her she thought maybe, just maybe everything will be okay.

“Okay,” she nodded with a small smile, trying her best to give him the genuine declaration of adoration that a moment like this deserved.

***

The move didn’t help. If anything it made her mental state worse. Rebecca was completely dissociated from her current life and there were two versions wandering around in her place.

The first version; the doctor and third year resident who focused solely on her patients needs, continuously going above and beyond for them. No matter the turmoil raging inside of her. For the first time in a while she was back at the top of her game, she didn’t need Ethan to shadow her or reassign any of her potentially-emotionally damaging cases. In the halls of Edenbrook all that mattered to Becca were the lives of her patients and helping as many helpless individuals as she possibly could.

Ethan knew she was deflecting but as her boss he was overly impressed with her performance as she tirelessly solved case after case in no time at all. He came to accept that the concern he had for her well-being was better felt behind closed doors, whether it be at home or with his father figure. Ethan did consistently speak about her with Naveen for both of their sakes. The two men discussed and debated on how they can support her without her knowing, while the older doctor simultaneously consoled and navigated his mentee’s guarded emotions whether Ethan liked it or not.

The second version of Rebecca was simply Becca. A girl who’s new coping mechanism was throwing herself into packing up her life and slowly turning Ethan’s luxury and sterile bachelor pad into a home. As she packed alone in her room she let her mind project a new, better reality. One where she was still carrying. She’d pass the time singing and speaking to her flat belly of the great life awaiting the three of them. The undeniable love still coursing through her veins.

‘What are we doing today?’ she said softly with a smile as she taped together a cardboard box on her bed. ‘We’re packing up my apartment and we’re moving into daddy’s place!’ Saying those words made her heart swell, feel fuller than it’s ever been.

Rebecca wasn’t alone. Although science and any rationale would say otherwise, she still felt that the baby, her baby was still with them.

Moving about her room she categorized the objects of her life out on the floor into piles of winter clothes, summer clothes, general clothes, books, household objects, and miscellaneous. As each pile started to grow and moving around became difficult she exclaimed,

‘I have so much stuff! Where are we gonna put it all?’ She chuckled to herself as she haphazardly threw one of the piles of clothes into an empty suitcase.

Patting her abdomen she happily added, ‘Dad’s gonna have a fit; we’re gonna take over the whole place.’

This quite well may be the only time she’d get to say those words out loud with Ethan. This could have possibly been the only time she’d be pregnant. Ethan was being more than careful now that she was not on any form of contraception. Her doctor noted that the typical thing to do after a termination would have been to start on the pill but Becca refused, wanting time for her body to readjust before adding more hormones in the mix. Not like we’re gonna be intimate any time soon... she thought bitterly in her OB/GYNs office back then.

In her mind Becca was now moving and creating a nest egg at Ethan’s for their little miracle. She allowed herself to indulge in this fantasy keeping her together - keeping her happy. She had made the mistake of getting attached in those first and last two weeks of knowing and now couldn’t shake the thought. As much as she’d wanted it gone, she grew fond of the little ball of cells and all the possibilities it held. Now she felt unfulfilled; something was missing from her life, from her body and she couldn’t understand why. Why something she didn’t want and didn’t have could hurt so much.

As a woman of medicine, Rebecca is a woman of proven science. She never did believe in a higher power.

But there’s so much unknown in this world. Maybe, just maybe...

If there was even the slightest chance the soul - her baby’s soul was wandering aimlessly around in the unknown, she needed to do something about it. After much internal deliberation and listening to her heart she decided it was a girl and gave her a name, Avaline Dolores Ramsey. She thought of her dark brown hair on the top of her tiny head, Ethan’s eyes shining bright with possibility, their skin colors mixed together to give an olive complexion.

A little bundle of joy staring back at her in her mind's eye every second of every day.

__________

A/N: writing this is the most cathartic thing ever. thank you for reading. we’ve got 2 more parts to go!

#open heart #open heart fanfic #choices open heart #choices fanfic #oph #oph ff #ff #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #tw: abortion #tw: mental health

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wall-maria-fritz · 3 years

Text

The Wingman (Erwin Smith x Marie)

Chapter 5: The Territory

Reposting this because I am officially overhauling my @levi-lives blog, in lieu of this one because SOMEONE Tumblr won't let my posts show up from there anymore! grrrr.

@levi-lives blog is still up tho, if you would like still see my original posts

The Wingman MASTERLIST

A/N: HELLO! YES I STILL PLAN ON FINISHING THIS BABY So much has happened these past 5 months that’s cost me my peace of mind and caused me so much heartbreak (haha i hate boys but what’s new? lol) But hey! At this point, I’m just choosing to see all this as new material to source my inspirations from now on :P This chapter was written while listening to Pretty Please by Dua Lipa, Laisse-moi t'aimer by Laurie Darmon , and There You Are by WHAT THE DUCK. I actually made a playlist for all the songs I use, and ya’ll can find them HERE! I’ve written you lovelies a looong one for the looong wait! (4K words wtf XD) Enjoy!

Chapter 5: The Territory

Dearest Marie,

The moment you walked in the room, all blazing curls and bright hazel eyes, I knew you had me wrapped around your finger. And what is a man to do, when the most gorgeous woman he’s ever laid eyes upon, makes his heart stop the second she blesses him with her tinkling laugh and charming wit?

Truly Marie, you may very well be the death of me. But if that’s what it takes to keep your heart, then what a wonderful death it would be!

And I do swear, by my soldier’s honor, to offer up my heart to you, for you to do with as you wish. Break it or take it, I am at your whim’s mercy. But I do trust that a woman as gentle as she is beautiful, would never deny a dying man’s wish.

Forever Yours,

Nile

The Titan Territory was at the peak of its happy hour. Chock full of drunkards, lechers, soldiers, and the occasional vagabond. Most nights like these, Marie would be at the tips of her toes. Keeping alert, and focused on getting her work done without attracting trouble. She was a woman in a room full of inebriated men, after all. And it wouldn’t be uncommon for a few of these men to get… more handsy than usual. And it certainly isn‘t new to Marie either

But tonight, the barmaid did not seem to mind all the boisterous men nor the stench of ale. In fact, she looked rather flushed and chipper as she placed another mug of ale in front of a bucked-tooth man. She even smiled sarcastically when yet another man old enough to be her father used yet another recycled pick-up line at her. As opposed to straight up telling the old bloke that the age must be getting to him if his eyes couldn’t tell that she was no angel, but a person who definitely knows how to call the MP’s for harassment.

“Who is he?”

Marie paused pouring a mug to glance at Elena, confused by the sudden question. “Huh? Oh, I don‘t know, another dirty old man clearly.”

“Nooo,” Elena looked pointedly at Marie, her ruby red lips plumping into a tight ‘o.’ “Who’s got you daydreaming and out of it like that? I haven’t heard you give some poor drunk a good smack talk all night.” Marie pursed her lips. Elena immediately pointed a long, equally ruby red fingernail at her. “And that! You keep pursing your lips like that!” Elena’s amber eyes widened exaggeratedly. “Who did you kiss?”

Funny you would ask that, Marie thought sardonically. For the hundredth time that night, her mind reels back to the taste of strawberries and cigarettes, and carefree eyes so blue, she could drown in them. All at once, she is once again engulfed by strong, sure arms, and the heady smell of sandalwood.

And the lovely sight of the woman in front of her pressed against the very man she can’t seem to shake off her system.

Then Marie remembers the letter she received just that morning. Nile’s remarkably careful handwriting, and his smitten words resurfaced in her mind’s eye. Despite the cheesy—not to mention incessant—flirting. Marie certainly never thought Nile had such profound emotions for her. She’d be lying if she said that his confession wasn’t affecting her opinion of him.

Marie smiled, conniving. “I have an admirer.”

Elena was extremely intrigued. “Well? Spill! Who is it?”

The ginger girl smirked. “Guess.”

Before Elena could even speak the name, Marie went ahead and sashayed away from the ravenette, a tray of ale on hand. She knew what name Elena would answer. And she’d be right.

But she didn’t want to think about Nile, nor his tall friend’s irresistible dimpled smile.

So the barmaid bent down to serve mugs of ale and beer at a particularly loud table of drunk garrison soldiers—clearly drinking on duty if the presence of their uniforms were anything to go by– when she was startled out of her reverie by the bawdy laughter of drunks and the hard smack of a man’s hand against her rump. “Is this ass on the menu, girly?”

Marie whirled around, flinging an enraged hand to slap against the wretched bastard’s head, when the surly red-faced soldier caught her hands. They were unbelievably small and weak against his bruising grip. Marie gritted her teeth against the man’s sour ale-breath, and her own pounding heart. She could feel the lecherous eyes of the drunk’s buddies, laughing like predators baring their teeth. It was a busy night, and no one would bat an eye at a barmaid getting harassed in a tavern. She felt like a trapped deer, surrounded by lions in their very lair.

The soldier leaned dangerously close, almost like he’s sniffing her fear out. He tutted at Marie’s stricken face. “Tsk. Tsk. Good little girls don‘t hit their betters.”

Marie, very much a woman of spunk and grit, steeled her resolve.

She was going to give this motherfucker a nasty head-butt.

But she was never able to. Many things happened all at once– a sudden, strong force pushed the man back, making him crash against his group’s heavy wooden table.

He stumbled back, shocked and winded. Her harasser’s friends all shot up from their seats at the commotion, barstools clattering to the ground from the sudden movement.

Marie was pulled back into a solid chest, a firm arm anchoring her there; safe.

“The sign was right. This is Titan territory. This place stinks of one.”

The ginger girl strained her neck up to gape at the tall, imposing form of the very man who’s been haunting her thoughts all night. Erwin’s blue eyes barely even acknowledged the woman nestled against his chest. They were solely trained on the bastard coughing on the floor. Marie shivered. Erwin Smith looked cold and wicked.

Like the Devil passing judgement.

The drunk man whipped his head up, a menacing snarl distorting his red face as he clambered up off his ass.

“What was that, boy?”

“Just an observation.” Erwin sounded almost like he couldn’t care less if he was talking to a drunk gang of trained Garrison soldiers. Much less that he just shoved one.

The soldier guffawed. “Ho ho! You got some wit to ‘ya, pretty boy! But didn’t your momma teach you to never mess with a Titan’s territory?!” He moved to reach for a disgusted Marie, when his hand was abruptly grabbed and halted by an unshakeable grip.

Nile Dawk’s face was painted with a scowl. His dark eyes shooting daggers at the drunkard.

“Well she ain’t yours, Sergeant Kemper.”

Kemper spluttered, and tore his hand away. “Did we guess that right, sir?” Nile taunted, his eyes alight with the adrenaline in his system pumping for a fight. His gaze briefly caught Marie’s wide-eyed stare, and winked. Marie’s cheeks went hot.

“And?! I’m a known soldier! What’s a couple of backwater punks gonna do, huh?” Kemper and his friends were just about ready to start a brawl, when Mike stepped in—knuckles cracking, nose sniffing out blood, his massive bulk intimidating. One look at the giant told them that he could sweep them all out, no problem.

Mike just grunted. “A hell of a whole lot, actually.”

Kemper very nearly whimpered like a kicked dog.

“I’m sure Captain Brezenska* wouldn’t like to hear reports of his men gallivanting around with barmaids, while drunk on duty and in uniform, yes?’’ It was Erwin who dealt that final blow. And just like that, the men trudged up and out The Territory, a slew of empty threats trailing in their wake.

Marie sighed. Relieved that what would have been a messy fight, was diffused.

Then Marie broke out of the arm holding her, and turned on Erwin. “Are you out of your mind?! You could’ve caused those men to seriously hurt you! Those are full-fledged soldiers. What if a brawl broke out? We’d all be banned from here!”

Erwin was taken aback. He certainly didn’t expect this response from a girl he just saved.

Nile immediately stepped in, holding his hands up. “Relax, Marie! My wingman here was just making sure those bastards knew not to mess with my girl!” Nile had an arm hooked around Erwin, and was grinning flirtatiously at her when Mike joked lowly.

“You better pee around her then, if you don’t want the wolves scenting your territory!”

Erwin and Nile froze, wide eyes boring into Mike’s careless, smirking, stupid face.

Marie straightened up, like a feline rearing her claws. A single perfect eyebrow arched high on her forehead.

Mike immediately choked on the booming laughter bubbling up in his throat, and stuttered out a cough and an apology– clearly forgetting that he was in the presence of a lady.

Although Nile and Erwin didn’t miss how Marie—this feisty, pretty little thing—singlehandedly brought a man who just threatened a group of drunks with just the sight of him, to a sheepish stutter. Marie decided then to let the comment slide. The man did just drive her harassers away.

Then like a cruel reminder, Elena’s full voice rang out. “Looks like my favorite customer decided to pay a visit!”

As is usually the case where Erwin and Elena are involved, Marie resisted the urge to roll her eyes back into her skull. The voluptuous brunette sashayed over to Erwin, who had one of his cheeky smiles playing around his lips. His dark blue eyes sending a naughty promise.

Mike brotherly clapped Erwin’s back. “Guess that’s my cue too.” He asks Elena, “Is that cutie Charley around? I heard I’m her favorite customer,” Mike smirked. Elena laughed, and pointed to where the tiny blond barmaid Mike was fooling around with last time was. When Mike left, Elena turned to Marie with a knowing look in her eye. “Let Erwin and I leave you two alone,” her red lips purred.

Marie was beginning to loathe that shade of red lipstick.

And was it just Marie, or was her perfume more nauseating than usual?

Nile stepped towards Marie, and nodded at his friend. “Go ahead man, knock yourself out, I got her.”

Erwin chuckled at the heart eyes his poor friend was making at the girl beside him, who was none the wiser.

None the wiser, because Erwin knew that longing look on Marie’s face only meant that her mind was back at that charming apartment of hers too.

His calloused hands around her waist, her moans in his mouth.

Bright hazel eyes met deep blue ones. For a flicker of a moment, neither Marie nor Erwin wanted the other to go.

But just for a flicker.

“We’re not carrying you home again if you get shit-faced, Nile!” Erwin called to his friend, before he left with his hand against Elena’s back.

And like a bad omen, Marie watched Erwin’s broad back go.

“Again?”

Marie turned to Nile, her arms crossed, and one hip jutted out in amusement. She was smiling prettily at the man, whose rugged looks blushed crimson under her bright hazel eyes’ scrutiny. Nile rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, “Smith doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.” Marie laughed; a carefree, happy sound.

It absolutely captured Nile’s heart.

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow, walking back to the bar to settle more orders. Nile followed her, leaning against the countertop as he watched the pretty barmaid go about her work. “Heck yeah,” Nile flashed her a megawatt smile. “That bastard doesn’t even get back to the barracks until after sunrise whenever he makes a go for one of his chicks.” Marie’s heart sank. “Is he always chasing after girls?” she huffed.

Nile blinked, then looked to where Erwin was. Marie followed his gaze, and found Elena all but giving the handsome blonde a lap dance.

Erwin seemed to be enjoying himself.

Marie’s eyes went to slits again. Nile saw this, and took it as another case of girls being so oddly protective of their girlfriends. The ravenette shook his head, “Erwin is a good man. He’s like a brother to me. He likes to play around sure, but I’ve never met a man with more honor. He’s much too gentlemanly to fuck your friend like a common whore.” Nile chuckled, “And besides, it’s the girls who chase after Erwin…”

Nile trailed off, his lips setting into a line when he saw the warmth that came over the look in Marie’s eyes.

Nile’s long fingers held Marie’s chin and moved her gaze back to him.

“But I’m not here to talk about Erwin.”

Tender hazel eyes became playful.

Meanwhile, Nile’s silver ones crinkled at the edges at the sound of Marie’s sweet voice saying, “What then, Cadet Dawk?” Marie hadn’t realized how close Nile was. And just like the last time she was this close to the man, she could see the thick dark lashes framing the Nile’s light eyes. Except that now Marie saw how those eyes, paired with his high cheekbones, made Nile look like a dark elven sprite come to cause mischief upon mortals.

Marie recalled the letter he sent her, and thought it fitting that this dark sprite would write such enchanting words. She still didn’t know what sorcery came over her that she was half-bewitched by this man’s one letter.

Nile carded his hands through his unruly dark locks, willing his beating heart to calm down. Sweet Sina she’s adorable, he thought.

There was so much Nile wanted to tell Marie. How he woke up every single day looking forward to the next time he’ll see her, thinking of all the little details of himself he wanted to let her know…

As much as he’d like to know all the little details she could ever offer him.

Yet, the poor guy could only splutter out a shaky and ineloquent “I-I… uhh, did you get my letter?”

Marie’s lips quirked up to a girlish giggle. If his letter was anything to go by, Marie knew Nile’s intentions had far more depth than that. Marie grinned while a lingering thought remained in her mind—this is a far cry from the Nile she read in that letter.

Perhaps Nile Dawk is more of a poet than a Romeo, Marie mused.

“I did. And you really are too sweet, Nile. I don‘t know what to say. I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Nile immediately sucked in a breath, gasping out, “Of course I do! I—I couldn’t get my mind off of you. ” He winced. He sounded like an idiot. Like a desperate schoolboy talking to his first crush.

Not at all like the charming and suave man those letters made him out to be. It got Nile thinking that maybe he overestimated Erwin’s way with words a tad bit too much. But instead of making him feel like an absolute fool for it, Marie laughed good naturedly at his response.

“Cat got your tongue?” Marie teased, grinning at his antics. There was something Marie found really quirky about a man being so bold in writing, but so tongue-tied in person.

He’s kinda…cute, Marie realizes.

And like the fates deciding a destiny sealed shut and done, Nile felt his heart give a finalizing beat that this woman would be the woman he’d spend the rest of his days with.

Nile gave a relaxed, even relieved smile, and took Marie’s soft hand.

He brought it to his lips, and kissed the delicate, milky flesh.

Marie bit her lip as her cheeks burned red at the feel of his stubble grazing her hand. Nile’s silver eyes flashed up at her, and grinned boyishly, “I‘m more of a man of action.”

I got her.

The words echoed in Erwin’s head like a threat.

I got her.

The Territory’s lowlighting only accentuated the sharp planes of Erwin’s scowling face. Elena had left to get him his fourth glass of whiskey—on the rocks, just the way he liked it—after the very welcome distraction the minx gave him. If it weren’t for the woman draping herself all over his lap, her luscious dark hair entangled around his fingers, he would’ve probably not have stopped himself from moping longingly—not unlike what he was doing now– at the sight of his best friend making his Marie giggle.

His Marie?

Erwin dragged a hand over his face. His thick eyebrows scrunched together, as he felt a dull throb slowly form in his head. He needed a cigarette.

She isn’t MY Marie, Erwin scolded himself. He took out a joint, lit it up, and held it to his lips like muscle memory. He took in a deep drag, and watched Marie throw back her wild ginger curls in a fit of laughter, her freckled cheeks blooming almost as crimson as her hair. She’s been amusing herself with Nile’s puppy dog flirtation for a good hour now.

“Go ahead man, knock yourself out, I got her,” Nile’s voice intruded his thoughts like a restless conscience.

No, Marie was never his. Erwin narrowed his eyes at the indulgent smile on Marie’s lips, as if she were cooing at his friend like a child, and wondered—

Perhaps Marie did not belong to anyone.

Erwin’s mind reels back to when he and Nile were just writing that first letter he left in Marie’s doorjamb….

It was an ungodly hour to still be awake in the barracks, but Nile took it upon himself to invade Erwin’s bunk with a pen and paper and a candle enough to last an hour. So now Erwin found himself with his copy of the Blue Book* against his thigh, the piece of paper atop it, and Nile practically moaning to him all the sappy little details of his love for a certain freckled ginger in the candlelight.

Mike was in his own bunk above Erwin‘s, pretending to have fallen asleep.

There was no way in hell he was gonna volunteer his ears for Nile’s emotional masturbation.

Erwin groaned, “Nile, do you know how physically painful it is to listen to you right now?”

“Why can’t I just tell her how much I wanna kiss her? How much I wanna give her the moon and the stars? How she’s literally my dream girl and how I swear to Sina, I’m gonna marry her?” Erwin rolled his eyes at that; Nile wants to marry every girl he ‘falls in love’ with.

“…Isn’t that the sort of thing girls want to hear?” Nile was truly perplexed, the poor bastard.

Erwin winced at his friend.

Mike couldn’t help it. “Sure, if she’s a goddamn fifteen year old virgin!” he called down from his bunk.

“Oi! I thought you were asleep!” Nile hissed, prompting Mike to start fake snoring again.

Erwin gave an exhausted sigh. It was late, he wanted to sleep. “Didn’t I tell you? Marie’s a full grown woman. That sort of flattery isn’t going to work on her anymore. She isn’t going to entertain just because you tell her how much you want her, you gotta make her realize how much she wants you.”

Nile looked skeptical. “Alright then, Eyebrows. How would you do it?”

Blue eyes looked into the dancing flame of the candle at his trunk, his pen poised upon the paper.

“I would tell her how I notice all her little details—her curls, her eyes, the way she throws her head back when she laughs—and how they made me feel like a fool the first moment I saw them.” Erwin’s lips quirked up as he continued to look into the flame, “But most of all, I’d talk about her mind, her heart…”

Nile felt his teeth grind, and the muscles in his jaw twitch.

Mike stopped snoring; wide awake now.

They waited. Erwin continued, a glazed look still in his eyes.

“…How a woman like her makes me want to devote my very life to her.”

“Woah, don’t lose your cool, Wingman.”

Mike’s gruff voice pulled Erwin out of his reverie, as his friend joined him where he was leaning against the bar top.

He probably already got bored of his girl, Erwin thought.

Mike was already holding his own glass of bourbon in one hand, cigarette in the other. The larger man nudged the hand holding the joint at Erwin for the lighter. Erwin wordlessly held out the light, and Mike placed the stick against the flame.

It’s always been like this with Mike. The two moved together with a wordless sense of trust and understanding; as seamlessly as a well-oiled machine.

“What happened to ‘Tomcat’?” Erwin chuckled, as he smoked with his friend. Mike just smirked, “Nah, you’re the Wingman now. Derek’s the Tomcat, more like. Müller certainly thinks so. Besides,” his green eyes slid over to Erwin’s hunched over form. “I think you’re losing your mojo.”

Erwin laughed out loud at that, a few curious heads turning to the handsome man throwing his blonde head back. Erwin’s broad shoulders straightened into their usual confident set. “You’re full of absolute bullshit Zacharias, that’s what I think.” He cocked a thick eyebrow at Mike’s scoffing, shaking head, “And it’s Müller’s daughter who thinks that. Müller thinks Derek’s a rodent he has to kill.” Erwin inhales a drag, “And like most pests, he’s a bitch to get rid of.”

Mike just hummed observantly, taking a sip of his bourbon. “Well, can you blame him? Your brother’s fighting for the woman he loves. That’s more than you seem to have the balls for.”

Erwin was silent.

The two men continued to watch their friend try to make Marie take a break, and sit down for a drink with him. She only just deflected him for the fifth time that night.

Mike sighed and placed a firm hand on Erwin’s shoulder. “Look, a bastard like me is in no place to tell you how to love– that just isn’t my thing. And Marie’s a special girl, I can tell.”

Erwin glanced sharply at the taller man.

Mike rolls his eyes, “Don’t worry!” Then hastily adds with clear exasperation, “She ain’t my type! But writing those letters?” Mike motions his head to Nile and Marie across the room.

“It’s going to hurt you, brother.”

Mike started swirling the bourbon in his glass, contemplating. “I understand that you do it out of love for our friend, but this can hurt Nile just as much. You had better pick a side, Smith. This woman, or your friend?” Mike threw back his drink in one swift gulp.

“But either way, it’s going to break your heart.”

Erwin blinked at Mike.

Then he chuckles warmly, a hand flicking away his blonde hair.

He’s always known that Mike was as keen as they come, but…

“Since when were you so wise, Bloodhound?

A/N: AND THIS IS THE PART WHERE I RAMBLE AND DON’T HAVE TO WRITE PROPERLY LMAO

Captain Brezenska - I always had this headcanon that Rico comes from a military family, considering how seriously she takes her job as a Garrison soldier compared to her peers. Not to mention how she seems to have risen through the ranks as Captain despite looking quite young. I imagine, unlike the Survey Corps, you’ll need YEARS of experience to become an Elite Squad captain in the Garrison, since well… a third of the regiment doesn’t die every three months lol. So the Captain Brezenska mentioned here is Rico’s father!

The Blue Book- Another headcanon! The US Army calls their official guide to military training and maneuvers as “The Blue Book.” I think it made sense for the Cadet Corps to make use of a ‘Blue Book’ for its trainees as well.

That’s all for now! I’m working on a shit ton of other projects rn (I’m a commissioning artist hihihuhuhu) Not to mention c o l l e g e (ugh.) So Chapter 6 might take a while huhu.

In the meantime, I would love love love to interact with you lovelies, since I missed ya’ll sooo much! You can go hit me up here anytime! Or even at my ig: @artexmaria where I post a lot of my art, AND where I may or may not post my Derek Smith art if anyone’s wondering about Erwin’s hot old brother *winkwink.* Y’all can also find me on AO3 as RosemaryTumbleweed <3

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treacherous-dwarf-of-the-seas · 4 years

Text

I had a lot of Thoughts about the Steven Universe Future finale

It’s exactly a month after its premiere, but I still have a lot of feelings and I wanna organize my thoughts a bit so I can have them somewhere, perhaps for any future ideas I may have. I think I’m just gonna list my thoughts on the 4 individual episodes, the finale (and season) as a whole, etc. Overall, I liked most of it, but I’m gonna get a bit su critical because although I absolutely loved many things about this finale, Oh boy. Some things I downright Did Not. Spoilers ahead I guess, this is a long one.

This is my favorite part of the finale by far. To me, it did almost everything right.

I loved picking up right after Fractured, and Steven’s expression and body language, *chef’s kiss*

Poor Jasper gets killed *twice*

Homeworld looks so good! It’s all gardeny and disorganized in a good way.

Purple pearl?

SPINEL’S BACK!!!

Edgy theories that spinel and the diamonds were a disaster waiting to happen (I agreed with these) were wrong and this makes me happy.

Steven’s reaction to Spinel kissing him? Was a tad strange//

SO GOOD to see Spinel being mentally healthy and happy and while still being herself.

The Diamonds! Actually working to better themselves!

I love the idea of diamond powers “working in reverse”. Like, Yellow diamond can change bodies and destabilize bodies, Blue can change emotions for better or worse, White can take over others or let others in. Honestly the idea that Pink/Rose could bring random plants to life and basically heal anything always struck me as so overpowered and random. The context that she was a goddess of destruction that changed into a goddess of creation makes the concept make a bit more sense to me, I appreciate that.

I’m so ambivalent about Yellow’s scene.

Like, its so satisfying to see. The thing that everybody (including me) was complaining about was that the diamonds’ redemption did not change the millennia of shattered, corrupted and amalgamated gems and suffering they had directly caused. Its very nice to see them putting their money with their mouths are. There’s acknowledgement that redemption isn’t just saying sorry and being less of a dick than you were before, it’s also correcting past wrongs and making it up to the people who were hurt.

However, I’m not totally sold on the idea of healing every shattered gem and the cluster. Like, I guess it makes sense considering a shatter is just a crack that’s been finished, and cracks in gems can be healed. But I don’t think it should be as easy as it is, and in any case, it just feels like it cheapens the impact of shattering, and even the forced fusions when they were so impactful in the original show. I wish the healing could still be done, but in a way that respects how awful and impactful the harm was.

I totally understand Steven in the Blue Diamond scene. I had had mental health problems where my mom had just offered drugs instead of talking to me or trying to help in a way that showed she cared about the issue, so this scene hit a bit hard.

Blue gets a song!

White, by far, my favorite scene in all of Future.

Spinel White, no joke, gave me nightmares.

The little moment of Steven yelling at himself for being a diamond is exactly what I wanted and I needed so much more of it.

Triggered by everything White Diamond does. *chef’s kiss*. I especially love the little subtle moment of looking uncomfortable and pushing away white’s fingernails.

Finally seeing similarities between Steven and White is canon, though I wish it was more explored.

THE HALLUCINATION

Zach Callison is Intense(TM). This man always goes so hard and deserves mad respect.

TOO BAD.

Intrusive thoughts being represented in this way is amazing.

I still wonder if White knows what happened. Can she read thoughts in that state?

He used White Diamond’s power to go into her body, and then while in her body, used her power of possession to take over his own body to puppet himself? I actually love the twistedness of this concept. It shows how twisted Steven himself has become. It’s so much about self-harm, while also not being self harm? vengeful thoughts, intrusive thoughts, anger, just everything. This moment could take all day to analyze, and I think it is way more thematically relevant to Steven’s internal struggle than the corruption.

Love that the diamonds were still willing to help and only seemed concerned after how Steven was acting. They have changed!

Fairy tale imagery, noice.

This one is odd in the best way.

My favorite scenes in anything with supernatural beings is when they look at their own eyes in the mirror and realize that it’s not human or changed from what they should be. The way this scene played out was in a way I’ve only seen in fanfiction, and I am Here for it. The horror on Steven’s face when he’s looking at his own appearance is just wonderfully done.

Very uncomfortable that there is an actual painting of Steven as an angel in his own room. I love how it ties into this episode, but I genuinely feel uncomfortable that he was thought of in that way at all.

The flat out denial that he had just done the things he had done simply by virtue of who he is, I love the idea that “Steven Universe” has become more of a concept/symbol to him rather than being his own name. It reminds me of his concept of his mother and how her name is more of a symbol to Steven than a person. I just love the subtle parallel.

I love the fact that “toxic positivity” is being explored in this show. I never really see it being discussed, and in a show so centered on being honest about emotions, no matter how painful they are, its so wonderful that the protagonist’s main character flaw is the exact opposite, to the point of being forcefully happy and smiling and actively ignoring things going wrong. It really strengthens the message by showing the opposite extreme.

I love the recontextualization that is present in suf. The criticisms of Steven being “too happy” during the cluster arc, being strangely positive after Lars’ death, etc. Although it was uncomfortable when those episodes came out and those events were all but ignored, I’m happy that it is being addressed as this culmination of madness in Steven, being so forcefully happy that its obvious that those episodes weren’t trying to ignore the problems, Steven was.

I’m also happy to see a genuine “hero complex” in a protagonist. (usually the term is used incorrectly to mean “anyone who is a hero who works too hard.”

Steven talking to himself in typical protagonist fashion.

The crystal gems staging an intervention, good shit.

“Steven’s here to help. Steven help. Help Steven.” Not subtle, but I’m always a slut for the glitchy messages.

The confession of his crimes, love that we get to see the gems react to that.

The whole monologue. Once again, Zach goes hard. I love the manic energy and still the ending is so raw and broken.

“Oh, don't worry! I fixed that too! I can fix anything. I can just keep messing up and fixing things forever, and you'll never have to know or think about any of it! How messed up is that? That I've gotten away with this for so long. You have no idea how bad I am.”

It honestly feels like some projection? (Idk something to do with that). It feels like hes a little put out by the things he learned in Homeworld Bound. Like, maybe he feels the same way I do? That the diamonds got off too easy? Maybe it’s simply that hes put out that they’re getting better and he seems to be getting worse. Maybe even, into the worst parts of his mom? I mean from his perspective, his mother had reverse character development and went, in his mind, from a goddess to a petty teenager, to an actual monster. How upsetting would it be to see the galactic dictators who got to live, do so many awful things, worse things than her, and just get to make everything better, to the point of total reversal of their crimes, while pink just ran away and left steven to deal with the mess.While he had to deal with the aftermath of EVERYTHING. Everyone seems to just be okay with the diamonds now, the monsters he feared for so long, so how come he has to be the bad one? How come he has to be like them now? Maybe it’s even coming back to his whole theory that he’s just a reincarnated version of his mom. (I know that he knows it isn’t true, but old fears and old habits can come back during a manic episode, and he spent a long time thinking that he was just there to clean up his mom’s mess and thinking that he was her in disguise.) If you look at what he’s saying, it’s a little strange that he’s talking about how bad he is and how he messes up and then fixes the stuff and no one has to know. It doesn’t even sound like he’s talking about himself, not really.

This sounds like a hysterical realization of what being a diamond means for steven. This is better explained in this post here :https://pennylogue.tumblr.com/post/613441610438590464/steven-is-a-diamond-and-thats-okay . Like, he is panicking that being a diamond means that he can just destroy everything and just fix it like the other diamonds. It’s terrifying that he can just destroy anything and hurt anybody, and people will still worship the ground he walks on just by virtue of who he is. (This isn’t true, obviously, but after what had just happened with jasper, a terrified mind would latch on to that.)

Dude, I could just go on all day this monologue is just fascinating.

Love the parallel of Connie’s “backpack butterflies” and Steve’s back exploding. Its like a subtle way to show that the thoughts are “suddenly swarming.”

Oh god. I’ve gotta be honest. I hated this one. But I’ll start off with things I liked.

The general concept is okay, but I feel like it is not thematically consistent, which I will get into later.

The moment when the gems tell Greg to leave, and he stamps his foot down saying he needs to be with his son, I like that it is very apparent that his stomp makes almost no sound or impact, which really shows how different Steven is from him, aka, his separation from his own humanity that has been building up.

Connie being amazing as always.

“Yoo hoo! Steven! Is this a bad time?”

Spinel’s entire thing, from her reaction to seeing pink godzilla to her thinking that she is the main villain of steven’s story. It reminds me of Peridot’s “leader of the crystal gems, traitor to homeworld” thing and it makes me so happy.

“WHy is something like this always happening when we show up for a visit?”

The ending. Jesus. Zach always goes so hard I don’t doubt he was actually sobbing. I wish I could have cried during this moment.

I respect the message, that it’s not about fixing it, it’s about being there for the person struggling, and Steven wasn’t cured, he finally hit a breaking point. I understand that the problem was not “solved with a hug” as so many say.

I love that before I saw the episode I saw pics of Garnet being as big as the kaiju and actually said to myself, “Wow the heights really ARE inconsistent.”

I don’t like that Connie included herself as one of the people that depend on Steven. They are the healthiest relationship in the entire show and Connie is always there for Steven? sometimes even more than he can be there for her? Where is this coming from? She has literally always been there. Her calling everyone out did clear my skin and water my crops though.

Also, where is Connie’s emotional resolution? Didn’ she go through alot of the same trauma as Steven?

I don’t think it’s unreasonable that a diamond, Steven, could corrupt themselves. It’s not necessarily a bad ending to have Steven be corrupted into a giant monster. However, I don’t think it’s the ending that was really built up to. The only real build up was the presence of “Wyrm boi” in the theme song, and that’s about it. It’s not as prevalent as eye symbolism and foreshadowing of someone (Steven or Connie) losing a hand or an eye.

The episode itself was 11 minutes long, and the monster was very underwhelming and way too quick. I feel like the emotions were too rushed, and although everyone else seemed to put in their emotional 2 cents, I feel as though Steven did not get the emotional climax that he really needed.

Also why didn’t we have a sweet little moment of connection with Nephrite Jade/Centipeetle? Wouldn’t that have been such a bittersweet parallel? The whole “being there for Steven like he was there for us?” So where is she?

There was so much imagery and thematic elements in both Steven Universe and Steven Universe Future, that did not build up to the kaiju monster in the way that it was.

The imagery with one eye, the eye patches, cat steven, the heterochromatic eyes with Onion’s doll, Cookie cat, split Steven, etc etc, most people have many many more examples. I feel like someone could have lost an eye, or maybe Steven could have had a corruption scar that left his eyes permanently heterochromatic. It also would have been thematically relevant to have Steven come out of this with more of a balance of his gem half and human half. This never really becomes relevant in “I Am My Monster.” His gem half turns him into a monster, his gem half helps him turn back. It’s nice that his gem and human family were there as support, but there was never a sense of balancing both sides of himself in the fact that they are there, as there are only two humans and mostly gems there, and this lack of balance and security with both parts of himself was one of the major themes throughout the series and one of the sources of Steven’s identity crisis.

Connie is always a parallel to Pearls. Our Pearl and Pink Pearl. I wish something had come of that. (There are amazing comics that show her losing an eye like Pink Pearl, as it seemed to be foreshadowed in Open Book and Sworn to the Sword.)

This idea isn’t mine, but I’ve seen it done really well and I feel like it would have been a better ending than 10 minute godzilla monster. I wish I could have seen Steven split up again. I am personally fascinated with the otherworldly enigma that are Steven’s two halves, but I feel that that would have tied into the themes better and tied up more loose ends. By the end of the series, we don’t know Steven’s opinion on his mother, and last time we heard him mention her it was in a negative light. This is connected to Steven’s conflict within himself, his desire to understand his human side better, his fear of his power as a diamond, his insecurity and loneliness as a totally unique being. Homeworld Bound was the closest we got to seeing Steven talk to himself, and confront the two sides of himself. This was also the closest we’ve seen Steven come to being honest with the diamonds about how he really sees them. However, this ended with Steven hurting himself, (wanting to hurt White was a response to trauma as well as symbolically confronting his own diamond self), and running away. We never get to see the resolution to that conversation. We never see Steven accept that he is a diamond and that it isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Furthermore, Rose Quartz/Pink Diamond is not resolved. The negative character development took a huge toll on her character. Not only does the audience think of her as a terrible person, but the characters also forget her positive character development after hearing about all the mistakes of the past. Rose/Pink’s redemption arc still happened. I think it would have been fitting to remind us here, like all the other diamonds get their moment in this special. I feel like having Steven split up would tie up these loose ends. It would be a dramatic ending while also being a way for Steven to confront these issues within himself in a grounded way, while also making genuine peace with Pink Diamond. We could have Steven talking to himself, maybe starting out the way he did with White in Homeworld Bound, then steadily coming to terms with the sides of himself that he is afraid of, maybe how both sides help each other, how Pink Diamond is not a symbol of all that is wrong in his life, but just a person with flaws who was able to be better, like he can be better, too. This was touched on a little in Change Your Mind, but I would love to see Steven’s thoughts on Pink after the events of Fractured and Homeworld Bound, as there has to be some difference in perspective there. I feel that if Steven split into his components, these themes and ideas could be explored more and we could have a better climatic resolution for Steven’s character arc. Even if Steven came out with no scars, even with both his eyes, the imagery and thematic elements would still be satisfactorily resolved if we got to see the two halves of Steven actually talk to each other. This also explains it better. https://scatterpatter.tumblr.com/post/615024679798915072/hmmmm-okay-so-i-just-watched-one-of-those-rose

Btw, if anybody has fanfiction recs with this concept, please hmu.

I think I hate the kaiju ending because it seemed like such a waste of potential and didn’t really resolve any conflict besides functioning as a sort of breakdown.

The Future. aka: Welcome to another episode of Crying Breakfast Friends!

Boogle

The cookie cat rap. Pearl obviously kills it because she’s awesome and I was dying the entire time.

Steven/Therapy is canon!

I like that Steven puts up a poster of Kerry Moonbeam in his room that he’s giving to his dad. It’s like he’s made peace with the whole “mr. universe thing” and it makes me happy to see that he’s not holding it against his dad or even avoiding the subject.

I appreciate alot of little moments with the family while it still lasts.

It is genuinely like watching Crying Breakfast Friends.

Steven gets to be “petty” with his emotions! He is finally honest with his family. I do appreciate the subtle resolution to his character arc (despite my opinions of the climax).

My favorite thing about Steven and Connie is that the fact that they are “canon” has basically always been true. Like, they’ve always loved eachother as best friends and they still do, it’s just that they get to kiss now. I absolutely love that its not a huge dramatic thing, its just Steven and Connie and they are otp for life.

The fanfic potential is strong with this one.

I wish I could have seen a therapy session or at least meeting the therapist. Maybe Steven walking into the office with his family behind him and its a moment of doing the first steps toward getting better.

But as is, this one is fine.

Love the idea of a road trip with our little weirdo interacting with normies.

Time to hit up Gravity Falls, lmao.

TLDR:, the finale was good, but I did not particularly care for the climax. I am genuinely sad to see this show go. I was not a fan until I was already 18, but even after 5 years this show has taught me so much about self love, acceptance, tolerance, emotional honesty, etc. (I’ll probably do another post about it because holy shit this is long.) But this season, or epilogue series, has gotten me through such a difficult time in my life that is still happening, and has given me the tools to get through it. I sympathize with Steven so much, and I know alot of other people did too. It was so nice to be part of a community that just adopted this feral child. Some of future was rushed and of course it wasn’t perfect, but I greatly respect what it was doing. Bringing up PTSD and mental illness in this way in something like this was not something I was prepared for, even in this show, and I certainly couldn’t have imagined it even 5 years ago. Even with its missteps, this show took so many risks and was so incredibly detailed and it was obvious that it was made with alot of love and the fans in mind. I criticize because I love this show and while I feel it is necessary to acknowledge its flaws, I have so much love for the possibilities that this little world makes me dream of. These four episodes in particular was an emotional roller coaster and I am so sad to see it go, but I enjoyed the ride. Thank you, Crewniverse!

#steven universe #steven universe meta #steven universe finale #su #homeworld bound #everythings fine #corrupted steven #i am my monster #the future #steven universe future #pink diamond #connie maheswaran #long post #su critical i guess? if you squint

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ssashimiii · 4 years

Text

Waiting For You

Warning: Slight angst

(Bakugou Katsuki X Male reader)

─❀◦❀◦❀──❀◦❀◦❀──❀◦❀◦❀─

"It's fucking cold shitty hair! Why the hell are we out here anyways!" Katsuki gritted out, the crunch of the snow under his boots making him worry that his sick parter might slip and fall.

What if (Y/N) fell? What if he got out of bed looking for him and slipped? Even worse what if (Y/N) got injured while Katsuki was away. Katsuki couldn't afford anything to happen to you, especially after what happened in June.

Katsuki bit his thumb's fingernail as multiple possibilities ran through his head. Each more gruesome than the last.

"Hey Bakubro? You awake in there?" Kirishima asked as they stood in front of a shopping mall. The shopping mall about to close even though it was still only 3 PM, it was probably because of all the heavy snow and it also didn't help that Christmas was right around the corner.

"Kirishima we have to go back. (Y/N) is still sick," Katsuki grunted as he pulled the red and green scarf - that you made for him - closer. He inhaled the pleasing scent of gingerbread and the scent of your 'girly' cinnamon scented cologne. It made him smile and want to go back to the dorms -to you - all the much quicker.

"Relax I have Mina and guys looking after him! I'm sure (Y/N) will be fine! He's so manly that he'll be fine, illness or no illness!" Kirishima said as he dragged Katsuki into the mall. Kirishima weaved around people with Katsuki's wrist in his hand heading to who knows where.

"What did we even come here for Shitty hair?" Katsuki grumbled as he muttered under his breath about how it was the perfect time to cuddle up to you. Being sick made you cling to Katsuki and made you more than happy to cuddle up to him for warmth. Which you would normally not be caught dead doing.

"Well I still haven't bought (Y/N) his other Christmas present so I thought I might give it early along with the others. Since when he gets sick he stays sick for atleast a couple weeks and gets worse. The whole class is gonna do the same while he can still stand, " Kirishima explained as he dragged Katsuki by the coat to a small shop tucked into the non-busy corner of the mall.

Kirishima and Katsuki walked in, opening the glass door. The bell above the door let out a nice chime and Kirishima made a bee-line to a shelf with Christmas mugs.

He sighed as he looked around the warm and homey shop. Straying from Kirishima he walked around the store until he passed an eye-level shelf that held a multitude of snowglobes and other trinkets. Stopping he looked at one of the ornate trinkets and picked it up, inside of the carefully crafted glass dome was a small cottage surrounded by trees. There was a small dog on the porch of the cottage sleeping in a rocking chair with a blanket draped over its tiny body. The top of the cottage was covered in snow along with the forest floor, only a small path leading to the house was clear. On the path right in front of the house stood an old man waiting for someone. It all stood on a wooden base painted green with handcarved mistletoe leaves. Spinning around the globe carefully on the back of the base was a twistable crank, twisting it a couple times made pleasant music erupt from the globe.

Without another glance he took the snowglobe to the cashier and purchased it impulsively. The cashier carefully put the snowglobe into a plush satin box and wrapped the box with ribbon and red paper. With a small 'goodbye' and 'have a good afternoon' Katsuki took the box(which had been placed in a decorative bag with just a small extra fee) and joined Kirishima at the entrance. Kirishima held a similar bag to his just green, Kirishima hummed with a smile and showed him the white mug with a reindeer with lights hanging from its antlers on one side and on the other was a Holly tree with branches creeping in around the reindeer. It was a nice mug he'd admit.

"Oh hey Bakugou! Ready to go?" Kirishima asked and Katsuki just headed back to the entrance of the mall where Momo would probably be to pick them up. Laughing Kirishima followed after Katsuki's and left the mall to go back to the UA dorms.

─❀◦❀◦❀──❀◦❀◦❀──

Familiar laughter coming from the living room made him smirk. You would love his gift and we'll if you didn't he'd just explode the damn snowglobe. He'd be just a little irked but he'd get over it eventually. After all he wouldn't get into an argument with you over a damn snowglobe that just might symbolize he loves you and wanted to get a dog with you... and maybe marry you. But that didn't mean anything of course. It was just a stupid snowglobe that meant a couple small things to him. That's all.

"(Y/N)! Bakugou's back with Yaomomo and Kirishima!" Round face squealed making you turn your head to the door with a dumb hopeful gaze. Instantly Katsuki almost dropped the damned bag holding the snowglobe, his heart stopped beating for just a fraction of a second and he took in a breathe like he had never known how to. As in he didn't breathe, he just stopped and stared at your dumb really nice face with that stupidly handsome grin on your face.

"Welcome back guys! How was the trip?" You asked as Kirishima came and dropped off his present on the glass table that had been unsurprisingly broken before and fixed by Momo herself at least a dozen times.

"Here. You can have this, I picked this up at the store Shitty-Hair dragged me too, if you don't like it I can blow it up. Just let me do it outside," Katsuki explained before placing the bag in your lap.

The entire night was spent with you lovingly opening gifts. You placed Katsuki's to the side to open it last. But of course you were hit with a bad coughing fit after you were almost done. Ushering you into your room Katsuki brought all your presents in and gave a small smirk.

"Decent gifts, but mine will be better," Was all Katsuki said to you as your fever rose and he got to work calling Recovery girl and wetting a cloth for your forehead.

You would absolutely be enamored with his amazing gift, he just had to wait until you got better and opened it. That's all he had to do, and maybe you would pick up all his gushy mushy stupid feelings behind the present. Then maybe you would know that where ever you went he would follow and he would wait for you even when the sun went down, or the sun rose. As long as you came back to him that's all that mattered.

Even as these thoughts coarsed through him, the thrumming of his fear and anxiety was louder. Like a Biwa playing for everyone to hear and signaling everyone to go snooping in his business.

You were sick for a month, by the second week into January you still hadn't gotten better. No one knew what was happening, they knew it wasn't just your quirk overuse or any other factor. Over the course of weeks his anxiety slowly grew and grew, but he waited because he Promised you that he would wait for you. He Promised he wouldn't give up on you in middle school, when you were in that stupid sweater and fashion disaster you called pants.

Maybe to other people the word promise was thrown around, but between you and him it was a law that meant death if broken. Because unlike his usual 'I don't give a shit' additude he Cared about You and a selected few's opinions, he stood by Your side watching you climb to heights he would never reach yet you still offend the same place right next to you. It hurt his pride but it hurt more to watch you be happy without him. He was and still is extremely selfish, so when he was told he wouldn't be seeing you for awhile he broke down.

He wouldn't be seeing you for weeks, months or however long he manged to willingly stay off your trail. It hurt him and maybe just a little bit of his pride. It was probably because his decorative Christmas bag was still on the floor tucked lovingly under your bed so you could open it when you weren't sick and could properly enjoy it. He sighed and took the bag twisting the small crank letting the melody flow. If you got to see the present he had gotten you, he knows that it would outshine any gift you received. He knew that you would give him that wonderful smile and kiss him on the cheek as a thank you.

(It happened so fast too, he could barely remember the dread or the feeling of fear, he just knows that it was real. One minute you were being transferred to the hospital the next thing he knows your being stabbed in the arm, yelling and screaming 'what's going on sir? It hurts sir' sedated and confused you sat up on your bed, with a bleeding arm making him just seem more confused. 'Whats going on-' Screaming and crying you heard shots firing! 'Baby, behind you!')(Sorry I just thought of hamilton and I had to write it down)

#bakugou x reader #writing #Male-s/o #Snow #snowglobe #Angst

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bonelesswords · 4 years

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a study of souls | alex høgh andersen au

Chapter four: The bad things.

gif credit: @lol-haha-joke

- masterlist

Warnings: Language, sexual content, mentions and using of drugs, mentions of a toxic relationships, grammar mistakes (english is not my first language)

Notes: This a short chapter and maybe a shitty one as well, but I found it necessary to write it for the fifth chapter, so if you want let me know what you think :)

I leave the building I've been coming to every Friday since I came back from New York and before that. I get in the car and when I fasten my belt and squeeze my fingers on the steering wheel, for the first time after a therapy session I don't feel like turning on the radio.

I understand that my need to turn on the radio doesn't come from the desire to listen to music or to listen to the news, I have more than clear that I have always done it because I didn't like when the words of Cobie, my therapist, echoed in my head.

To come back to the university has been overwhelming, so it was necessary to me to talk with her, she thought the same. I remember the first sessions and how difficult was for me to accept the situation I was in, I don't feel that way anymore, now I like to remember the words she says to me, una tras of chase away the words from my head.

I never considered myself someone who needed therapy, but there had come a point where I had realized that there were things in my head that I couldn't solve on my own.

And we talked about William, because he is the main reason why I am there, and the cause of everything else. We talked about the university, about reliving the previous year, about the professor who supplants William now. She asked me if I still have nightmares, I answered that yes, but almost none this week. I started talking about Rory and how he tries to get me close to his friends, I told her about my unfortunate encounter with this girl called Megan at Alex's party. Cobie finds the situation extremely amusing when I'm talking about Alex and all the things he says to me, I roll my eyes every time.

When I can't stand being alone with myself anymore, just because I want to, I turn on the radio and in a short time I am in front of the bakery. My turn starts in six minutes, according to my cell phone clock. I park and enter through the back door, passing through the kitchen, which is desolate. I hang my keys, put on my blue apron and tie my hair in a ponytail.

I go to the front of the bakery, where Grandma and Mary, the girl who helps her when I'm not here, are. I greet them both, and after a few minutes Annie ends her shift, saying goodbye to us.

"Everything alright?" Grandma asks me, almost cautiously.

"Yes, I needed to talk to Cobie," I say and she smiles at me, that's all she needs to hear to be sure.

"I'm glad" She just says. Then she asks me about the university and about the rest of my day, I do the same. She doesn't ask much about therapy, although I have told her that it is not a forbidden subject and that it does not bother me that she asks me, but she thinks she does not know how to handle it, and despite giving the best advice from her position of grandmother, she thinks it's always better to talk to a therapist.

Suddenly, she looks at the clock hanging on the wall, it marks half past five. Grandma's eyes widen:

"Mrs. Samantha!" she exclaims and quickly enters the kitchen, to come back again with a wrapped package in his hands. She carefully places it on the counter.

"What happens with Mrs. Samantha?" I ask and she shakes her head repeatedly.

"She ordered a cake!" She explains to me, with the most worried look on her face "And you are going to give it to her, while I pretend to be baking back there, you stay here and listen to everything she has to say" She speaks quickly, staring at the door, at any moment mrs. samantha could walk through the door. As soon as I open my mouth to protest, she interrupts me. "Not a word! The last time he came I wasted too much time, now it's your turn"

She disappears through the door of the kitchen, without letting me say a word. I look at the cake in front of me and release a great sigh of defeat; Mrs. Samantha was the lady of the neighborhood who knew everything about everyone, it's fun to have her when they get together for tea, but almost irritating when you find her on the street. When she finds someone who shows a minimum of interest in what she says, she wouldn't let them go until at least fifteen minutes have passed.

A few minutes pass until I see her enter the door. She approaches me with a smile and permeates the whole place with her perfume.

"Hello June, I haven't seen you here for a long time" She greets and rests her hand on the counter, the gold rings shine on her fingers and she taps the glass lightly with her fingernails painted a pink baby, which matches her shirt.

"Hi, it's because I started the university again, I haven't accommodated my schedule yet," I explain and she nods with a smile.

"Good to hear that you continue studying, not all mothers can say that about their children and not all grandmothers can say that about their grandchildren." She approaches me a little, as if she was trying to get me a hint about someone "I hope to say the same about my grandchildren, or at least be able to say that they have a job after finishing high school, like your brother Rory. How is he?"

"He's doing well" I just respond after that strange dialogue, it's obviously that she's trying to talk shit about someone with me, unlike her friends, I don't want to. She keeps smiling at me, waiting for me to say something "I guess this is yours, isn't it?" I extend the wrapped package and she happily takes it in her hands .

"Sure," She replies. "It's already paid, It's for my grandson, today is his birthday and it's my gift. He has always liked Lucy's cakes."

"I hope he enjoys it, then."

"Thank you, June. By the way, I have heard about something and that you are not aware, which I believe it is a shame. I really don't know if I am the one who should tell you, but having you here, I feel the need to do it" Mrs. Samantha speaks in a worried, but almost faked tone. I frown, having no idea what she is talking about and why I should be aware of something in particular.

"Don't scare me, what happened?" She shakes her head severely and gestures me with her finger to get me closer, so I do it.

"Do you remember Hugh? Your high school boyfriend? " She asks me and for a moment, it confuses me, but I remember immediately.

The memory of Hugh suddenly hits me and hearing her call him my high school boyfriend makes me want to laugh. Hugh was the guy I had sex with for the first time as a teenager. I liked him it so much that I had thought I was in love, but he didn't feel the same for me. Eventually, we moved away and stopped seeing each other completely.

"Yes, I remember. What happened with him?" I know it is a bad a idea to ask her that and that I just gave her the chance to tell me the story from the begin to the end, but my curiosity is stronger. And I know as well that is hypocritical to complain about her talking all the time about others people life but wanting to know what she has to say about Hugh. But I couldn't help it, I feel a little bit intrigued by my "high school boyfriend".

Before she starts talking, I hear the door bell that warns that someone has entered the bakery. Both she and I directed our eyes towards the door. Then, the strangest thing in the week happens; Alex himself is standing in the middle of the place, looking confused, as if someone had throw him there without warning.

His blue eyes run all over the place, until he meets mine. I stare at him, saying nothing, he smiles at me almost ... shy? He didn't look like a person who would show shyness, not in front of someone like me. However, I feel out of place, and not only because of that smile that dances on his lips as he advances towards the counter and stops behind Mrs. Samatha, lining up, but also because that night at his house I had treated him so bad. I wanted to ask her what he is doing here after that, but I don't want Mrs. Samantha to witness that conversation, so I turn my attention to her, who starts speaking again.

"He has entered rehabilitation for drug addiction." She tells me, regardless of the presence of the man waiting behind her. I open my eyes big. Her words echo throughout the place and I think even Alex is surprised from the words that come out of the lady's mouth in front of him.

"What?"

"You're listening well! I don't know if Marta, her mother, has sent him or if he has decided it on his own, but yes, it has happened. A shame, he was a good boy, I liked him" he says as if Hugh was already dead. "Marta's mother always told me that he and you made a beautiful couple, and when I found out what had happened, I thought of you. Maybe you could send your condolences to Marta, I'm sure she'll love to hear from you."

Condolences? Was Mrs. Samantha sure Hugh was still alive?

"Thanks for telling me, then. Surely I will." I lie. I wasn't going to do it, I hadn't crossed a word with her in my life, besides, what am I supposed to say? "Hi Marta, I found out about Hugh, a shame. I wasn't his friend, or anything like that, but I feel an emotional responsibility towards him, I wanted to send my condolences since Iost my virginity with him a few years ago. I hope he gets better soon."

"I hope your grandson enjoys the cake" I say again, concluding because I do not want to continue with this conversation or I will burst into laughter otherwise. She asks me to thank Grandma for the cake and says goodbye, disappearing through the door.

I turn my eyes to Alex again, his hands hide in the pockets of a gray hodie, looking at me shy, even a little uncomfortable.

"Rory has passed me the address," he says uncertainly. "He also told me that you live right here next door"

"Ah yes" I answer. "I guess you come to buy something, as you said the other time." I have no idea how to talk to him or how to react, I remember being angry but not precisely with him, Alex had not treated me badly, Megan had done it. But the situation made me angry and I had treated him badly. I wonder if he is mad at me for that.

"I came to apologize, actually," he replies suddenly, taking me by surprise. His eyes shine, he looks at me like a puppy and makes me feel guilty about how I treated him a couple of nights ago, even more than before. That wasn't right, I was the one who should have asked Rory for his number to apologize, not him.

"Why should you apologize?" I ask but really, it's not a cynical question, I want to know why he thinks he should apologize.

"Because I should have known about Megan and stopped her, it wasn't my intention to make you have a bad time. That's why." He explains to me and a little voice in my head yells at me that I'm an idiot for treating him that way. I sigh, as if that was my only reaction.

"You should not apologize, I should do it. You aren't guilty if she doesn't trust in you, I shouldn't have treated you that way," I start saying and he nods frantically. I don't know him not even a bit, but he don't look like that boy who I had seen the previous times, the one who flirted every two words, he seemed genuinely sorry for something he had not done.

"She shouldn't have any reason to trust me," he says and a smile appears on his face. "I don't have a girlfriend, June, I had told you. She's jealous because I don't pay more attention to her."

"It's okay, Alex. You don't need to explain yourself"

"And yet, I do it anyway. I feel like I need to make it up for you"

"Why? You really shouldn't."

"Because you haven't felt welcome in my house and you had a bad night, right?" I nod and he approaches the counter with a different smile, a playful smile this time "So?"

I hesitate, I put my elbows on the counter, holding my face with my hands.

"So? How do you plan to make me forget that horrible encounter I had with your girl?" I exaggerate and he rolls his eyes.

"She is not my girl" he complains "Anyway, hang out with me tomorrow night, I will reward you for that horrible hour and a half you spent at my house"

I sketch a smile when I hear it.

"Hang out with you?" I repeat and he nods "What would happen if Rory finds out that you're inviting her little sister out?" I ask amused.

"Why would he find out?" I had seen it a few times, but I had seen so many times that arrogant smile making itself present on his face.

"If I think it was a horrible night, he'll find out. Otherwise, he won't," I offer.

"Good," he replies. "I'll take a chance, then."

"You should know that if you plan to take me to one of those parties, your mission will automatically fail," I warn.

"I'll keep that in mind. I'll pick you up tomorrow at ten, it's a fact," he announces. "And the fact that I don't have your number and you don't have mine indicates that you won't be able to cancel me" He starts walking on his back as he heads for the door

"And neither do you"

At that moment he sketches a bright smile, it's almost a laugh.

"Oh June," he sighs before opening the door. "I would never cancel you." He finishes by throwing a kiss in the air, keeping the last word once again and disappearing behind the door.

The water in the pot is boiling and grandma cuts vegetables, she is cooking spaghetti and this time at dinner it will only be her and me. The old television in the kitchen is on a cartoon channel, in which I pretend to be very concentrated.

"I can hear you thinking from this side of the room" Her voice fills the silence between us, however, she doesn't turn to look at me, she keeps cooking.

"And what am I thinking, exactly?" I ask distractedly.

"You want to tell me something and you don't know how." She says, I look at her and she also looks at me with raised eyebrows, nodding. She turns again and returns to what she was doing.

"Well, if you make it look like it's a big deal, I'm not going to tell you." I'm kidding but she looks at me annoying.

"June!" Exclaims.

"Lucy!" I play it fun when she starts shaking her head in disapproval. "Okay, but before you start, you must promise not to say anything to Rory." I lean on the kitchen island, ready to start talking, but she looks at me with a frown.

"Why would I tell Rory?" She asks confused.

"Why you should NOT tell Rory is the question."

"Why?" She asks again, more confused than before.

"Promise it first, then you'll know." I anticipate and she sighs, resigned.

"Okay, I promise, June. Now talk." Grandma turns to listen to me and dries her hands with the tips of the apron she is wearing.

"Well, Rory's best friend has invited me out tomorrow night." I announce and she looks at me as if I could explode with happiness, she approaches me quickly ignoring dinner and sits on a stool, putting all her attention on me.

"I knew your brother was going to get you to start going out again, but I didn't expect you to get a date all of the sudden"

"I don't think it's a date, Grandma. But he came to the bakery today to ask me, while you were hiding behind. The party I went with Rory the other night was at his house, and I had a sequence with a girl who likes him. She was jelous of me somehow and treated me like shit." I tell her and she looks at me carefully, with her eyes wide open. "And I've treated him the same way because of it, he came to apologize for something he didn't do. I told him that I was the one who should apologize, but he insisted he wanted to ask me out to reward the bad night."

"Oh honey, he seems so nice."

"Yes he does. But I don't know grandma, he's a little bit problematic. I mean, the first time I met him he had a black eye because he had gotten into a fight" Grandma shakes her head with a smile on his tired face.

"Are you really telling me that a black eye is an excuse, June? The boy has come here to ask you. Besides, when you have not been involved with problematic boys?"

"From today on, maybe?" I joke.

"Oh, shut up June, if the guy is cute and nice with you, you should go out with him. It's simple."

I release a sigh, our eyes remain connected for a few seconds until she imitates me exaggeratedly, releasing a sigh just as long as mine, causing us both to start laughing. After that, she asks me to take the dishes to the dining room, where I know she will bombard me with countless questions about Alex, but for now, the conversation is over.

If I am being honest, it doesn't matter to me that Alex has a black eye and that, from what I had heard from his friends, maybe he is a bit problematic. I don't care that his bruised face was my first impression of him, but I always do that. Like when I was little and I showed Rory a drawing I had made, even though I liked it a lot, I used to say "It's not very good, but what do you think?" I had done that with Alex, "He's a bit problematic, but what do you say?" I seeked someone's approval to stop feeling guilty for not caring about bad things, and tonight, grandma's approval had taken effect.

#alex høgh andersen #alex høgh #alex hoeg andersen #alex hogh andersen #alex hogh #alex høgh andersen fanfiction #alex høgh andersen fan fiction #alex høgh andersen x reader #alex høgh andersen imagine #alex høgh x reader #alex høgh imagine #alex hogh imagine #alex hogh fanfiction #alex hogh x reader

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okimargarvez · 4 years

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INCONVENIENCE OF BEING ROOMMATE

Original title: Terzo incomodo (o Quello che può succedere uscendo con l’inquilino di Penelope Garcia).

Prompt: Luke asks Penelope to stay in his apartment until she will find a new one.

Warning: post 13x6.

Genre: funny, romantic.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, female O.C., Roxy, Sergio.

Pairing: Garvez; Luke x O.C.

Note: oneshot 58 in Garvez collection.

Legend: 💏😘🐶🎈🎵.

Song mentioned: No vacancy, One Republic feat Tiziano Ferro.

GARVEZ STORIES

INCONVENIENCE OF BEING ROOMATE

* the move

Penelope watches her colleague walk up the stairs to her (now ex) apartment. -Look, you weren't forced to come.- she tells him when he's close enough to hear her. -Just because we will live under the same roof for a while, this doesn’t mean that we will have to do everything together.- it's not that she always go looking or studying for them, often these kinds of jokes come out naturally to her, especially with him.

A familiar grimace bends Luke's lips. -No?- he asks, inclining his head to one side, making a falsely meditated gesture. -Too bad.- he finally exclaims, when they are practically at the same height. For a few seconds they simply stare at each other in silence.

She recovers first. -Ha, ha, funny, roommate.- she calls him on purpose. The man seems to like the choice. -Now, since you're here, let's take advantage of those muscular arms that Mother Nature gave you.- she moves away to let him enter. Luke looks around. He still remembers what he had felt the first time he had been there, only a few months before, when Garcia had invited them all to celebrate the search for a responsible inebriation. It was impossible not to be struck by every detail: the colors of the walls, the paintings, every single accessory. And now only the bare walls remained of all that rainbow.

He turns to her and bends his arm, imitating a body builder. -Do you like my muscles?- he asks, winking. Penelope remains just two thousandths of a second without words, so she rolls her eyes, unable to hide a smirk altogether.

-Did I say this?- she replies in the same tone, then gives him a little push (taking advantage of it to touch that arm that seems to have been carved in the marble by Michelangelo). -C’mon, there is a bit of stuff.- he doesn’t know if he should consider it a kind of encouragement. There are boxes of all shapes and sizes almost everywhere.

-A bit it's an euphemism.- he exclaims, chuckling. Penelope doesn’t replicate anything and bends down to begin. It is not easy to leave the place where she lived for years. Where she found her identity and risked dying. -Wait, don't lift that box, it's too weigh.- his hands overlap her and the blonde stays enchanted watching the contrast of the amber fingers with hers pale. Then she forces herself to recover from the daydream.

-Luke Alvez, who do you think I am?- she leaves the box anyway, mostly to avoid feeling other shocks down her spine. -Do you think I’m a girl who is afraid of breaking a fingernail?- she challenges him with her eyes and he doesn’t hold back.

Luke doesn't even seem to realize the weight of what he has in his hands, but who knows what he brought when he was at war. Why is it so difficult to imagine him in this context? -No, but I would be sorry if it happened or if you would be hurt.- he comments, before going in the direction of the stairs, instead of the elevator. She follows him, with various bags scattered, more than it would be recommended to carry together.

-Hell, nobody can't argue with you.- he hears her muttering, and smiles. They mostly continue working in silence and communicate with looks. Mainly he limits himself to instruct her to leave him the heaviest boxes and she reminds him that this is still her home, and then gives up. Luke also notices slight hesitations every time they pass through the inner courtyard, on the steps at the entrance to the apartment complex. It has been too little time since he heard JJ's report (but even if had been twenty years, he wouldn’t have forgotten it); it is terrible to have to accept that right there a bastard shot her and even if by now not only a a spot of blood is longer distinguished, it is certain that she can still see it clearly).

It is late evening when the man closes the door. -Is there anything else?- he asks, just for confirmation. Penelope shakes her head. Her blond hair frames her white face, made even clearer by the adrupt drop in temperatures.

-No.- in fact, she shudders, climbing into the passenger seat and placing Sergio's cage in the center, not particularly happy with all this fuss. -You've seen, in the end it wasn't so much stuff.- she comments, turning slightly to look at him while they fasten their belts. -There is still a place for something else.- she also smiles at him, continuing to turn her back to the building she called home for years, with all its pros and cons.

Luke seems to understand it and, in any case, he smiles too. -On the van, not to mention the truck, which lent me one of my comrades.- he specifics, however, turning on the engine and leaving. She puts her hands clasped on her knees. For once (the first, without a shadow of a doubt) she wears pants and not a skirt or dress in his presence. Definitely a logistic choice and dictated by reason, but not for this motive the effect was less destabilizing on him.

-Thank him for me and...- a break, full of possibilities. But man is destined to be disappointed. -...is he nice?- only his being aware of the consequences that could occur even if just for a slight oversight forces him to stay with his eyes on the road.

But it doesn’t prevent him from shouting -Garcia!- in an incredulous and reproachful voice.

She shrugs. -That's there, I thought maybe I could reciprocate the favor by cooking some biscuits.- she throws it there, improvising with the first thing that comes to her mind and seeming extremely credible.

Luke fails to prevent that mischievous smile from reappearing, half grimace and not even to pose a provocative question that hides much more sincerity than she believes. -And me? How would you like to thank me?- he winks and finshes at center stage, because in front of the blonde's retinas pass unmistakable images, forbidden to minors of eighteen, sinful thoughts, disordered frames and sufficiently blurred shots to make difficult to recognize the protagonists of the clip. And sounds, it would be better to say verses, masculine and girly ones.

She swallows and turns to the window, to hide the redness on her cheeks, certainly not due to embarrassment, but to an internal heat. -Just the fact that I treat you as a person instead of a Newbie seems to me something you should be happy about.- he merely nods without repeating anything and leaving her at the mercy of doubt.

*The invasion

The day after the only signs of the sleepless night due to the disorientation of being in a strange bed, in a foreign house (but which she will have to start to consider differently) are internal. Outside the blonde's face looks as fresh as a daisy, while she scolds her colleague for the fifteenth time. -Luke, don't touch that box!- she hurries and almost trips, just to anticipate him. -Have you heard me?- the man helps her to regain her balance, so he looks at her (taking the opportunity to give her a nice exclusive look and being disappointed to see that she already done her makeup, she doesn't have a single strand out of place, like at work) confused.

-Why? I just wanted to help.- she seems struck by something that she catches in his eyes. Perhaps fragments of sincerity, of purity mind.

She nods. -Yes, but there are some things that...- she gesticulates, unable to explain without revealing too much -…in short, I prefer that they stay safe, sealed in my room, whose access is allowed only under my concession.- she particularly emphasizes the possessive adjective, placing both hands on the lid of the box to accentuate the concept. Luke chuckles, but he doesn't just seem amused.

He scratches his head. -Uh, and what should I do to obtain the privilege?- without realizing, he leans as far as possible towards her, keeping only a few centimeters of distance between their bodies.

Not even the woman realizes it, although she finds herself asking aloud the question that is spinning on her head. -Why should you want to enter the only room where you can't go freely?- and for once, there is no trace of malice in her tone, only pure crystalline naivety and the effect is like that of water on flames: not always extinguishes the fire, sometimes it makes it even more powerful and devastating.

He is still approaching a few millimeters. -For the taste of the forbidden.- he teases her, never taking his eyes off her. -Or maybe because you're there.- he admits, not even doing a lot of effort, with an intense tone, which she ignores beautifully.

-Ha ha, still try to seem funny, you're really nice.- she gives him a little push and he reluctantly decides to settle.

-I know.- he looks around. -How long do you think it will take to unbox everything?- he asks, just to continue to have an excuse to talk to her, stay close to her, so as not to lose the grip on the thin thread that binds him to her.

Penelope gives him a dirty look. -You took me for an expert in removals or for Reid?- she still managing to make him laugh. -I have no idea!- she shrugs. -This is the first time I change my house, since...- she changes mind at the last- since many years.- and then, again, she understands that she must say it aloud, to be really free from her past. -Since I left Shane.- Luke never heard that male name come out of her lips before, but he immediately realizes that it's not a relative, nor a friend.

He then takes that step that separated them without thinking twice. -Hey, I didn't want to make you think about bad things.- he adds in a low voice, gently stroking her arm and marveling that she doesn't chase him away instantly.

-But imagine!- she replies, with a little voice that is a bit too fragile to be credible. -It is a thing of the past.- with a shock she seems to shake off everything. -All right, if you really want to help me, I'll satisfied you.- Luke smiles already. -And in return you can come in my room, with warning, it's clear, once a week.- he pauses to think about the perspective that opens up before his eyes.

-But?- he finally asks, already feeling the nostalgia of the contact with her arm.

-But what?- she repeats, not understanding where he wants to go.

The man shrugs. -Surely there will be a but, or a rip-off.- he explains, catching a weak fist in the side. -Ouch!- he exclaims, intensifying tones in a theatrical way.

-You deserved it.- Penelope replies anyway. -However... my condition, no, that sounds bad.- he chuckles, knowing that he will never get tired of her messy way of talking. -I was saying... my proposal, I already like it, better, I said, my proposal is...- Luke expects some kind of torture, so much so that when she finally explains her idea, he is almost disappointed -that you give me permission to change something even in the rest of the house.- the blonde seems to read who knows what protest in the man's brown eyes. -Not your room, let it be in roughing style, even if I'm sorry for Roxy...- she hastens to specify, losing the train of her thought again. -By the way, where is my wad of fur and love?- the laughter that was being born, instantly turns into a sweet smile, dripping love and adoration to such an extent that it is really hard to understand how both can ignore it.

-My best friend is caring of her, Phil.- he explains anyway, when he recovers.

-Oh.- she nods, then a light passes in front of her. -Is he nice?- in this case it is clear to both of them that she is not really interested in the answer, but to provoke him and tease him.

And he is in her game. -Garcia! Anyway, I accept your offer.- he continues to smile at her, he has never stopped. -Shall we seal the deal with a handshake?- Penelope's answer is certainly not expected.

-And what would you like, otherwise, a kiss?- and she almost feels bad that he doesn't answer affirmatively.

Only at the end, Luke understands that the quality of the objects of his (officially) roommate is far greater than the quantity. They throw themselves down on the sofa next to each other, too tired to notice how close their bodies are.

-So now that everything is exposed... what do you think?- she asks him, not forcing herself to disguise how much she cares about his opinion, but answering in her own mind that simply depends by the willing of having a quiet life. -You must be sincere, you know that I realize if you tell a lie.- she warns him and both end up thinking about two years before and of peanut butter biscuits.

For the same reason, Luke keeps his gaze fixed on her as he speaks. -I love it.- he says simply, proud of his response, because other words wouldn’t serve to enrich the concept. She continues to observe him for a few more seconds, scrutinizes every single detail of his expression.

-What?- but the man doesn’t yield. -If you're kidding me...- and he stops her protest by simply raising his hand.

-No, seriously, I like having few things, you know, we talked about it right the day you were complaining about your ex-neighbor kunf fu naked...- for a moment he risks losing the train of his thought (like her) -but your stuff...- his eyes fly beyond the woman -I don't know, it seems to me that the atmosphere is warmer, more welcoming.- he almost stutters at the end, and even a little blushes. -It looks like a lot more a house, now.- he ends in a sigh.

But his efforts are amply repaid. -Oh, Luke!- exclaims Penelope, her voice clearly moved, before jumping on him to hug him. Just as suddenly she pulls away. -Sorry, it was... I was catch by the atmosphere.- she justifies herself, even if judging by the enormous smile of the man, there would be no need at all.

-You’re welcome.- he answers in fact, with the heart that echoes in his ears.

*the routine

-Pen, did we buy the paper towel?- it feels strange to hear him talk like that. Both the fact that he uses a diminutive, something that no one (except Shane) has ever done, or for the whole extremely relaxed tone, but above all the use of the plural: we. As if they were something, a couple, that's it. A duo, sentimentally speaking.

She is sitting at the table in the kitchen; he has opened all the doors of every cupboard. -Yes, open the locker in front of you.- she says, without even looking up. And the lost object is exactly where she said.

-Thanks.- as soon as she turns around, he notices something strange in her expression. -What is it?- he asks, sitting down right in front of her.

She turns the spoon in the cup in front of his face, without looking at him. -Nothing, it's just weird not to have a case.- she simply replies, and it's certainly not a lie, but there is something strange in her tone, which makes him think that there is also something else behind.

-Don’t say it too loudly.- he comments however, deciding to keep such suspicions for himself. -Do you know what else is weird for me?- he asks her and the woman finally raises her eyes to meet his. -Find out that you are a morning person.- he provokes her, hoping in this way to send away that melancholy air that makes her seem so different from the usual Garcia.

-Did you think I was lying on the bed all Sunday morning?- she replies in the same tone, stretching her leg to give him a kick, but only managing to tickle his foot.

-No, but...- he understands that if he wants to keep her attention he must open up, say something personal, show her that he trusts her. -I've always had trouble sleeping over seven o'clock.- he then reveals her. -I think it's one of the many gifts of the war.- he adds bitterly. -But I didn't think to find you awake when I returned with Roxy.- yes, it's just seven o'clock on a Sunday morning. And on his return, he found the table laden with all good things, even for dogs and cats. And Penelope, not in pajamas, but not properly dressed for the outside world, but in a casual style, without heels, without make-up on and with her hair in a bun.

-Oh, Alvez, I am a woman of a thousand surprises.- she says, blinking seductively, mainly so as not to be outdone. Luke doesn’t take his eyes off her, running his tongue over his lips with hungry eyes.

-I had noticed.- is all that comes out of his mouth, and who knows why, it doesn't sound like a funny or provocative joke, but rather like the pure truth.

The blonde seems to notice it, at least at an unconscious level, so much so that she backs up until her back is shaped on the chair. -Uh, yup, then, let's have breakfast?- she asks, without waiting for an answer. And already in the previous weeks he had been able to sense her culinary skills, but here the level is so high that one wonders if she is trying to get his heart through his stomach. In that case, the mission could be said to be fully successful. When last only crumbs, traces of the assault, on the tablecloth, Penelope stands up. -I wash the dishes.- she announces, heading towards the sink with plates and glasses.

Luke's hand grabs her by the wrist, risking to make her drop everything. -But no, it is my turn.- he puts himself in feet and the difference in height between them is such as to make her waver for a single moment.

With the other hand, she frees herself from his grip, slowly, by pulling away his fingers one by one. -You can't even consider the days you're out for a case.- she points out, in a calm, rational voice. -And the last time you were here, you washed the dishes, so it's my turn.- she throws him a single sharp look and reaches her goal.

-I surrender in front of your impeccable logic.- he exclaims, raising his arms as if they were about to arrest him, even if she can't see him, because she gives him her back.

-And it's better this way.- confirms the woman with a smirk on her lips.

About an hour later, from the room of Penelope seems to come a song that it's celestial, to say the least. I used to leave the doors unlocked and leave the lights on, I used to stay awake, just counting hours all night long, I had so many empty rooms inside the chateau, Yeah, oh yeah. Luke willingly or unwillingly finds herself outside that closed door, listening to her colleague, friend and now also roommate (but not cohabitant, and here is the essential difference) she sings. I'm done with sharing space with people that I don't know, trading pieces of my heart 'til I felt shallow, I had so many empty rooms inside the chateau, yeah… Despite the noise of the dryer, which clarifies how the woman she is drying her hair (those blond, silky, wonderful hair that wrapped his heart like windings from the first moment), he manages without any problem to hear every single nuance of her voice. But ever since I met you, no vacancy because of you, there's no vacancy, no empty rooms, got no vacancy, ever since I met you… No vacancy because of you… And he finds himself hoping that those words want to say something, that it concerns her moving and above all, them. Hopefully he be the person to whom she is addressed, he who has filled all the rooms always empty inside her... even if the opposite would perhaps be more appropriate. Used to be that I felt so damn empty ever since I met you, no vacancy, used to be that I felt so damn empty, ever since I met you, no vacancy… No vacancy, no vacancy… Because she's the one who bridged every gap in his life; it is the thought of her that makes him come home from a mission anyway with a smile and a serene soul, without taking anything away from Roxy. Before you, only empty, now you fill every room, before you, only empty, now you fill every room... Every room... Every room... A pause, the hairdryer is off; the man senses that she is probably combing now. He imagines being there with her, having the brush in his hands and he is not able to conceive anything more erotic in the world. I used to be the type to never take a chance, oh, had so many walls, you'd think I was a castle… I spent so many empty nights with faces I don't know… He leans on the handle and unintentionally opens the door. Penelope stops instantly.

She is wearing a fuchsia bathrobe, which leaves her legs half-thigh down exposed, tied just below her breast. -Am I bothering you?- is the first thing she thinks and says, rather than insulting him for invading her privacy. This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back of his sanity. -I didn't think about it, I'm used to doing it at home, I meant the house where I lived before and...- he takes a step, only one in her direction.

-No, you don't bother me. At all.- he smiles. -I love hearing you sing. You're very good.- she stares at him intently, her eyes half-closed, her lips tightening to form a line.

-Thanks, but flattery will not get you anywhere.- she warns in a partially playful tone. He nods and turns to go out.

-I was sincere.- he adds however, just before fading away. About ten minutes later she reaches him in the living room wearing an emerald green dress, but, to Luke's delight, still without makeup. -What will you doing, this afternoon?- he asks, watching her sit with the corner of his eye at the other end of the sofa.

-I don't know.- she answers sincerely. -I still have to get used to the environment, to the neighborhood.- she gestures, pointing to the whole universe apart from her. -You know I have difficulty with changes.- he certainly can't keep from giggling.

-Oh, yes, I know.- a little too smug, but this time she decided to spare him.

They spend at least one minute in total silence. -And you?- she finally asks, just to get out of this impasse.

Luke looks her straight in the eye and she seems to be genuinely interested in knowing the answer. -I think I'll go to my friend Phil and then... later there should be a baseball game.- he shrugs. Certainly nothing special, all too trivial by Penelope Garcia's standards.

But she nods and chuckles. -Yeah, you're that type.- she also gives him a slight nudge, more affectionate than playful. -On this you would get along with Morgan, he was also very good at baseball, as a boy.- her gaze flies far, beyond time and space.

-I don't doubt it...- a slight twinge in his side. -And ... how is him?- she seems to try to escape his eyes, but finally gives up. -Did you tell him about the big step?- her cheeks turn red for a few seconds.

-In this way you make it seem like we went to live together... I mean...- she gets mixed up, and he loves her when it happens. And she has noticed ir. -...you understand.- she sighs. -Anyway, he doesn't know it yet.- an idea illuminates the whole face. -Maybe I could call him today.- Luke stands up and before he can stop it, his hand touches her knee.

-Good.- she doesn’t seem to react in any way. -I'm going to change.- he says.

-You don't have to tell me your every move as if I was your bodyguard or your mom.- he hears her scream behind him, and chuckles. He also thinks he heard her humming something a cappella, but perhaps he only imagined it.

He is still thinking of it when, in the middle of a historical hit, his phone starts ringing. While responding with a generic -Alvez-, having his eyes glued to the screen, his best friend teases him asking if this is not his girlfriend.

Penelope barely manages to distinguish a few words in the exchange between the two men, before pronouncing one in her turn. -Luke.- and seems to be enough.

-We have a case, I understand.- he sighs, shakes hands with Phil and recovers the few things he brought with him. -I'll pick you up, can you take my bag?- he feels the hesitation even though they are on the phone. -It's in my room.- he adds then. He listens to her steps on the floor.

-I don't know if it's really...- she tries to protest, but meanwhile she tightens the handle. - ...ok.- her eyes rest on the only object that corresponds to the parameters, perfectly aligned at the foot of the bed. -Found.- he hears her exclaim, but understands how she still has something to comment on. -Damn it, it's not a facade, you're really an orderly type.- she adds a few moments later.

Luke reaches his car, gets on board and slams the door. -And is it a wrong thing?- he asks.

-No, but it is strange for a male bachelor, even if...- he anticipates her, feeling again that thick in the side.

-...Morgan too was like that, I guess.- he says in her place, rolling his eyes in annoyance. Fortunately, the clinic where Phil lives is close to his (their) home. -Come out, I'm on our way.- he announces five minutes later, feeling the end-call click. She goes up, placing Luke's bag at her feet, next to her own and practically they don’t speak until they see the outline of the building in which they work.

Penelope says one word again; a name. -Luke.- but there is urgency in her tone, something that forces him to give her a quick glance.

-What?- he asks only. He expects her to hesitate, to change her mind. He's wrong.

-You'll be careful, won't you?- she asks instead, placing her hand on the male one on the steering wheel. He feels a shiver along the entire spine.

-I'm always careful.- he tries to sound nice and playful, but she doesn't compromise.

He feels her fingernails in the flesh and a dreamlike image passes in front of him: their bodies intertwined and she, while screaming, leaves red marks on his back. Scratches that don't hurt. -I'm serious.- he enters the parking lot entrance, slides his card and the barrier rises. She lets him go.

-Yes, Pen, I will do everything not to get killed.- when they are still in the car, he looks her in the eyes and she does the same. -But do you worry about me?- he exclaims, gloating.

She silences him with a sharp gesture of her hand. -I think it's one of the inconvenience of being roommates.- she replies, before walking quickly towards the elevator, leaving him behind, but giving him a different gift.

*the guest

It could be any Wednesday night. Just concluded a case in town. Penelope stays silent throughout the short trip, letting him talk freely. -So you are sure it’s okay for you?- he asks her for the umpteenth time, holding the door open gallantly.

-Alvez, it's your kitchen, you can invite whoever you like to dinner.- she replies, with a sharp tone and a little annoyed. This is also why he follows her up, placing a hand in the middle of her back. There are many drawbacks, as she says, of being roommates; but also positive aspects. Among these is the freedom gained in being able to touch her body and be touched in his turn.

-No, that's not true.- he says, barely moving his fingers. -It's also yours and if it bothers you...- she spins around, even to block that kind of caress or massage.

-Why should it?- she looks at him, but doesn’t give him time to reply. -However, I won't even be at home.- she then reveals to him, just as suddenly. -I go out with Kevin. We met and... he asked me to go out with him.- a slight smile brushes the woman's lips. But behind it there aren't so many false hopes not to forget what she feels throwing herself into the arms of an ex... nor to make him jealous. She moves only based on affection.

-Uh.- it's all that comes out of the man's mouth. Once again that stab.

She seems to notice something strange. -Don't worry, I'd never take him here.- she reassures him then, blushing because she doesn't know why she said it. -Now I have to go get ready.- he nods, throwing himself in the shower to do the same. He has always imagined her as one of those women who leave their boyfriend to wait (yes, although to be correct we should specify that he imagined himself in this role and that anyway it would be worth every time, to arrive late to the restaurant), instead she comes out of her room only five minutes after him. She enters the living room and both Roxy and Sergio stare at her. - How do I look?- she asks then, taking a ride on herself and make swirling her skirt. -Luke?- he literally remains speechless. So much so that Penelope approaches, she passes a hand in front of him. -Are you there?- he reacts, blinking several times to focus on her.

-Yes, yes, I... wow.- he finally exclaims, with a sweet smile. -You look stunning.- he admits without embarrassment. She lets herself go into a childish giggle.

-Do you say this as a colleague, as a roommate or as a friend?- she asks him though.

Luke stands up and takes a step in her direction, facing her. -As a man.- their eyes chase each other for a few seconds, while static energy can be felt in the air. -You are beautiful.- then he adds, deciding not to hold in what he feels. And she reads his sincerity in his face.

-Thanks!- she claps her hands together and then caresses his shoulder. -You look very good too.- she says. -So...- they look at each other, perhaps both wondering the same thing. Why are they about to meet other people, when there is nothing in the world that they would like to do more than spend this evening together? Without knowing it, they also dressed in a combination: he was wearing a red shirt and jeans, casual and elegant at the same time; she a red dress with a wide skirt and a jacket (in jeans) in case she was cold -...good luck.- she says, feeling a buzzing in her head.

-Even to you.- he echoes her, a little too late. There is something wrong. -Penelope!- he calls, when she is almost at the door. She turns to look at him, a faint hope shines in her pupils. -What time do you think you're coming back?- Luke asks, and she responds with a grimace. She then decides to activate the maximum protection level.

-I don't know, daddy, I have to send you an SMS first, so I won't find you two in compromising positions?- she provokes him, putting malice in an exponential amount. But the man doesn’t seem to want to laugh.

-I didn't ask for it.- he shakes his head. -Forget it.- she just looks at him. -Have a good evening.- fortunately only a quarter of an hour has passed since Penelope is gone to when the bell starts to ring. -Hi, Micaela.- he greets her, fully enjoying the slight shiver as she smiles at him. She is undeniably a beautiful woman: slender and sporty build, auburn curly hair, green eyes. She's really beautiful, but she's not here for that. She is here because someone has practically forced him to organize this appointment.

-Hello. Am I early?- he shakes his head.

-No, no, come on in. This is my humble abode.- he recites in a deliberately refined tone, making her laugh.

The woman looks around. -Oh, but... I didn't think a lonely man could have so much good taste without being gay.- Luke scratches his head behind, feeling a different kind of puncture. Like a sting in the back, while a little voice in the head reminds him that even when she is absent, it is as if she still were there.

-Well, good, I'm not so lonely...- he finds himself forced to admit. -I have a roommate.- Micaela doesn’t reply anything, she lets him finish. -We... We are colleagues, we work on the same team.- he decides to limit himself to saying, regretting, because he would at least have to present her as also his friend.

But she seems to be satisfied. She nods vigorously. -Oh, I understand.- she looks at the rest of the house, but there seems to be someone else missing. -And where is the dog you told me about?- not even Luke paid any attention to that. Too many thoughts swirling in his head.

-I don't know, it's strange that she wasn't here waiting for me.- she's not in her room, nor in the area dedicated to her, that screams Garcia in every single object. -Roxy!- he calls her. -Rox, come on, we have guests!- then, he has a doubt. He beckons Micaela to wait and opens the door to the only room he cannot show to his guest. And the dog is right on Penelope's bed, next to Sergio. Reluctantly she obeys, goes down and comes out. -Here she is.- but She remains however at a certain distance.

-Hey, honey, come here.- Micaela bends over, but Roxy ignores her. She doesn't growl at her, but she doesn't even show affection. Not even the first time she saw Emily, she was so cold.

Luke shrugs. -She will be on a bad day. Even the dogs have them, after all.- she nods, immediately going beyond the question.

-Yes.- and she even smiles. And it is at that moment that a perverse thought (needless to call it otherwise, even if it doesn0t imply anything sexual) appears in his mind: and if Roxy had behaved in this way with Penelope? Certainly, she would not have let this pass without doing something, she would have accused him of having corrupted her dog, of having persuaded her not to show her affection for spite her or would have started to grumble and whimper, full of pain... -So, let's eat?- the voice of the woman makes him recover. -We can continue the tour of the house later...- there seems to be something mischievous in her eyes, but the man doesn’t catch the message.

-Yes, it's not like there's so much to see.- he says. -Do you prefer to dine outside or inside?- she strokes his arms, naked and velvety, with an apparently innocent manner.

-It’s a little cool, if it's not a problem...- he interrupts her, placing his hand on her shoulder for a second, brushing her.

-But you figured, come on.- the dining room is already ready; he hoped she would answer like that. He also helps her to sit down and think back to the only time he tried to do the same thing with... with her, the light slap on his hand and the blonde's laugh as she asked him if he was training to go out with a real girl , one day.

-Thanks.- Micaela repays him instead. -What a gentleman.- she exclaims, blinking seductively. -Phil had told me, but...- Luke goes around the table, sitting in front of her.

-You don't have to believe at his loudmouth.- he mutters, blushing without an apparent reason.

She still seems to appreciate this reaction too. -For now you have proved yourself far above expectations.- she reveals, before taking a sip of wine in an extremely elegant way, a way that would make any straight man move. He is actually staring at her carefully, until both hear a sound like something heavy that has fallen, coming from one of the adjoining rooms. -What was it?- she asks, more confused than scared.

Luke gets up, already in professional mode. -I don't know, maybe Roxy.- he misses the weight of the gun in his side. -I'm going to see, stay here.- she nods. He sees the door of his friend's room and a half-open colleague, and he is sure he has closed it, after having let the dog out. -Hey, is there anyone?- he asks, feeling like an idiot. -I'm a federal agent, so you have chosen the wrong house to rob...- he warns, thinking of going to get a weapon, when the door opens and behind it... -Penelope!- he shouts. -Shouldn't you be at the appointment with Kevin?- she's still wearing the same nice dress and shoes, but the makeup is gone.

-Yes.- she only says, not just a single joke, but not even a short sentence of explanation.

She then stays partially sheltered behind the door and held on to it like a castaway, like Jack in Titanic. -What happened?- he notices a few more details. No, she probably didn't cry. But she is profoundly sad.

-It happened that he came accompanied and that he wanted to tell me that he is getting married with Gina.- she explains to him flatly, without trying to protest that they are not his business. That twinge again, this time on his hips.

He stretches his hand to caress her (the cheek, the chin, the shoulder), but then he doesn’t find enough courage to conclude the action taken. -Oh, Pen, I... I'm sorry ...- she shakes her head instead.

-No, don't say anything.- she tells him, though not putting much emphasis on it. -Come back to your friend and let at least one of us manage to finish the evening well.- an orange hair ball appears between her legs. Roxy is also on her side.

But Luke is already ready to send his appointment to the hell. -Are you sure, I could...- Penelope understands it, but it's not what she wants.

She nods. -Yes, don't worry about me.- the door closes a little more.

-This is not possible, but that's okay.- the man whispers, remaining still a few seconds there to meditate.

The other woman waits for him to sit before asking the obvious question. -It's all OK?- but her eyes are not turned on by real interest.

-Yes, it was my roommate, her appointment was cancelled.- why the hell did he have to tell the complete truth about a fact that didn't concern any of them?

She paints a sad expression on her face. -Oh sorry.- she touches his arm , causing him some brief shocks. -Let's eat?- even if he didn't understand it, someone is already thinking about after dinner.

-Of course, I've already prepared everything.- he leans over to remove a steaming pan from the oven. -I hope you like lasagna.- he can hear noises coming from the kitchen , but both ignore them. -It's vegetarian, though. You know, Penelope...- Micaela interrupts him.

-I bet it's your roommate.- she says, with a grimace that wanted to seem nice.

-Yup.- he confirms, with a very different attitude. -She doesn't eat meat, so, in order not to always have to cook two different things...- he starts to explain, but she silences him by stroking his hand and almost making him tickle.

-I got it.- she looks at him intently, without ever taking her eyes off his. -It 'll be okay, for once I will be a goat.- a pain in the back, while he's trying to appear amused.

-Ha ha, what a nice joke.- but Micaela doesn’t notice the forcing tone.

-And it’s just the beginning.- she winks and the touches his arm again, this time even by scratching it. And just as Luke tries to elaborate what is happening, Penelope appears with an innocent look.

-Oh, sorry!- she hangs on the threshold. -I don't want to disturb you, I just have to take something I forgot.- she starts looking for it, giving them their backs, but neither Luke nor Micaela open their mouths, continuing what they have undertaken. But the curly is reassured by the appearance of his roommate, she couldn’t imagine better; she had in fact begun to have strange sensations for the way in which Luke had spoken about him/her, too full of affection... but it is simply a feeling of friendship, almost brotherhood. After finding what she was looking for (a cup in the shape of a shark's mouth, directly from the set of Spielberg's film, The Beast, Penelope approaches the couple. -Anyway, at this point...- she stretches her hand to another woman. -I am Penelope. Nice to meet you!- she exclaims, and the thing that hurts Luke most is her sincerity.

-Micaela.- the other replies, imitating her smile, but not getting the same effect. -I've heard a lot about you.- she reveals, however, unaware of causing damage especially to herself.

In fact, the blonde is surprised, and for the first time she glances at Luke. -Really?- but he doesn't react. -Well, I hope they aren't too embarrassing, however...- a very short pause, in which the man vibrates from the terror of what she can say. -Good evening.- Penelope is about to go back to the kitchen, but stops and turns back . -Oh, please, never cook anything that contains cucumbers.- she suggests to the other woman, with the tone of someone who wants to imply that there is already a past about. -It makes a strange effect on him, I wouldn't say really unpleasant, but...- Luke blushes deeply. -Let's just say that later, cucumbers would not be the only long thing in the room. A word to the wise...- and this time she really disappears.

Micaela looks at him and doesn't find word for a good minute. -Wow, really interesting, your friend.- in the end she opts to take it with laughter and he doesn't correct her. -Where were we?- indifferent to what happened (indeed, even a little more intrigued) she starts touching him again , caressing his arm. Luke smiles at her, just happy that she doesn't want to go into the subject further. With this quite spicy atmosphere they manage to finish eating in peace, but the quiet doesn’t last long. Penelope returns and this time she has changed: she is wearing a suit (which he knows it's a pajama) that he thinks is still good on her.

-Luke, I 'm sorry to have to break your spaces again, but I can't find my headphones and I absolutely need them.- she says, all in one breath, completely ignoring the guest. -Did you take them, by chance?- the last two words underlined by a sharp look.

He scratches his head, guilty. -Yes, they are in my room.- he confesses.

She shakes her instead. -Ok to use them, but at least you could remember to put them back in their place.- she scolds him, and for a moment they both seem to ignore that they are not alone. There is something in their attitude, in their reciprocal way of doing, that could make Micaela worry, if it weren't that she just can't imagine them together. However…

-Sorry.- he only answers her, and he doesn't pretend to be saddened, he really is.

The blonde seems to be satisfied with his reaction. -Okay, good continuation, lovebirds.- she winks above all at the other woman, who this time can't hold back.

-Wow.- she exclaims, pursing her lips and beginning to give in to doubts.

-What?- Luke asks, trembling (thankfully more inside than out).

-Are you sure that you two are just co-worker and roommates?- she insinuates for the first time, something that he would have expected long before, something he feared throughout the evening.

-Why?- he replies with another question, trying to mask his hope that Micaela's impression is correct and that therefore between the two of them there is something more than a friendship-cohabitation. However wrong it is to have such a thought while he is at dinner with another woman. The heart goes where it goes, they say.

-I don't know, maybe it's just an impression.- she scrutinizes him trying to pick up some signals. -Why her headphones were in your bedroom?- finally she decides to leave him the benefit of the doubt.

Luke sees the answer before his eyes through a scene that seems to have been torn from a sitcom. -Here, mine are broken and I don’t remember ever to buy another, so I borrow hers and then at times we see the movies together and put the headphones to not disturbing Roxy and Sergio.- he babbles, getting stuck several times and feeding even more the suspicions of the redhead.

-Sergio?- she frowns.

-Yes, our...- he doesn’t stop quite quickly. -Penelope's cat.- in the kitchen, even if they are not able to see her, the nominated smiles. All notices that sort of lapsus, and then she doesn't consider Roxy as something of her own? Didn't all of them, in these weeks or perhaps months, become a sort of strange family?

-Uh.- the other woman comments instead, continuing to spin the wheels of her brain, but finally deciding to ignore her rational voice. -Wow, are you an animal lover too? You gave me a different impression.- Luke sees the only good opportunity he has left to get out of this mess. Will he ever have the courage to really expose himself with Penelope? He already knows the answer, unfortunately. So, is it really necessary to preserve himself for a woman who will never be his?

-Well I don't know if I can really define myself...- he tries to justify himself, but the other continues, ignoring him.

-I like them too, for heaven's sake.- bad debut, thinks Penelope beyond the wall, eavedropping without wanting, while they start to hear the noises of pots and pans that are moved. -But you have to have criteria, you can't consider them as people.- the blonde clenches her hands in fist, planting her fingernails in the flesh and risking to make them bleed. And to think that she could also like her. -Do you agree?- asks Micaela, but Luke is aware that she is close enough to hear his answer. And in any case, he doesn't want to lie. On what basis would their relationship be based?

-Not really...- he starts, and immediately sees the disappointment on the redhead's face. -For me, Roxy is worth far more than a lot of people I've met.- he confesses, even with too much effort.

-Mmm.- she bites her lips. -Have you ever hunted animals?- He can almost feel the tension in the air. Penelope almost even stops breathing, precariously poised on a chair.

-No.- finally answers and he hears someone cheer in the other room. Micaela looks at him and then beyond his shoulders.

-You don't know what you're missing.- she says, and a strange light shines in her eyes. -The adrenaline, the pursuit, that communion of...- she speaks freely.

Man's attempts to stop her are of no use. -Micaela...- she ignores him merrilly.

-The communion of the hunter and the prey participating in the same dance...- she continues as if he hadn’t said anything. -If you think about it, it's a bit of a dance, a mating ritual, too.- it's like she's talking to herself. -And the life and death that challenge each other and...- he even touches her on the arm, to make her recover from the trance.

-Mic...- but this time she doesn't even let him finish her name.

-And have you ever seen a live bullfight?- Luke shakes his head, but even if he was perfectly still, nothing would change. -It's a spectacular hunt, but it's great to see matadors and bulls united in death and resurrection.- he can't help but imagine what Penelope is thinking and what she would say if she were in his place.

And here it is as if she (that she, of course) had entered into him. -Actually the bull really dies and if you refer to spiritual death... Only the matador has this privilege.- he corrects her and also feels a certain pleasure. -The bull remains sadly dead.- and how to forget the tears of the blonde when they had watched a documentary together that explained the little spectacular truth hidden behind the veil of the muleta? -However, it's nice to see you so passionate about a topic, but...- he tries to divert the subject, he doesn't want to despise her just because they have divergent opinions, even if on ethical things and therefore fundamental arguments. On the other side of the wall, Penelope thinks Luke listens to her and really knows her; and at that precise moment, with one leg in the air, she is enveloped by two feelings that seem perfect for being together: sadness and jealousy. And she understands an equally fundamental truth: she is in love with her roommate.

However, Micaela seems to have somehow understood that a change of course is better. - Come on, tell me about when you were on the fugitive team.- she gets up and moves the chair to be practically stuck to him. -It's so sexy.- she blinks her eyelids once while her hand caresses his knee. And the other (which feels even more such, like the intruder, in this context) is imagining even worse, fantasizing only from the noises.

She doesn’t draw his attentions. -Well, I felt and I feel again, what you were saying, more or less.- he shrugs. -Tracking, the stakeout, waiting, patience, setting the trap, studying every detail... yes, this is definitely exciting.- he agrees. But the prey he has in mind has precise connotations.

-You see?- the redhead is getting even closer. -We are made for each other.- she comments and Luke knows what is going to happen and he doesn't pull back anyway. When between their lips there is less than a centimeter, a tremendous roar is heard caused by a cascade of pots, various scrap metal that falls on the floor and shortly afterwards something wooden, a chair, to be precise, and finally a body. Both jump, but Luke immediately understands the meaning of that commotion.

-Penelope!- shouts, seeing her on the ground massaging her leg. There is a hole in her pants. -Did you... Did you hurt yourself?- he leans over to see better. -You’re bleading... oh my God, you need patches, hydrogen peroxide and it must be disinfected immediately...- he completely loses his mind, goes into hyperventilation. -Maybe I should call 911...- he meditate to himself and thankfully he doesn't have a cell phone at hand.

-All right there, honey?- Micaela's voice asks, which seems light years away.

-Yes!- replies Penelope, but her voice is obscured by the male one.

-No.- at the same time the two also fight a staring contest.

-Luke?- she calls him again, confused by the contrasting answers.

-I’m here, just a moment.- replies the man, without masking the annoyance. -Wait, stand still.- he orders. -I'll go get the stuff. You don't move.- he repeats, standing up.

-You are crazy.- she comments, but obeys him anyway. -I can do it alone.- eye contact is still active. -It's not broken.- she points out uselessly. -You must return immediately to Micaela.- she is the voice of reason, for once. What she says would be right, it would be the right thing to do. But accepting this appointment in his confused state was already wrong at the preconditions.

-Luke?- again the guest asks for the attention she deserves.

He doesn't answer her and shakes his head, stubborn. -No, now you need me.- Penelope looks at him, almost in shock. -She will wait.- he adds.

-You will never have a woman, Alvez, if you continue like this.- she still protesting weakly. Luke goes out and comes back laden like a mule: bandages, plasters, pharmaceutical products in various formats. -You're out of your mind, I say it again.- he ignores her, bending down again and rolling up her trousers until he reaches the injured area. -Ouch, hell, it burns.- she complains. At the end of the medication, she hopes to get rid of him. -Now go.- she commands.

But he hasn't finished. -No, I have to check that you can stand and walk.- he says.

Penelope gives him the last warning with her eyes. -Luke, I'm serious.- and he keeps up with her, never taking his own.

-I'm not joking.- and the trouble is that he is sincere. Then she grabs him by the shirt collar, trying to pull him away, instead she gets the opposite effect, makes Luke fall near her own body. Too close. They stare at each other for a while, in a way that seems at the same time the same, but that is also new, both guessing what will happen just a thousandth of a second before it happens. He lowers and she stands up, until their lips meet, skipping the sweetness to go straight to the point and exchanging hard, hungry, aggressive kisses, too long postponed.

-Hey, Luke, did you solve? Penelope? Are you alive?- not getting any kind of sensible answer, poor Micaela enters the kitchen, unaware that she never had one chance to become her, having always been the other. So she remains a few seconds astonished to see them kissing on the floor, perfectly at ease. She was just wrong about one thing: they are really cute together. And against her will, also hypnotic. -I should have imagined it. Do you still have that colleague's number?- she asks, more to see how deep they are immersed in their world. -I'm sure he lives alone.- she comments. -If you don't count a goldfish.- she adds. And this last joke seems to shake Penelope, who separates first.

-Don't leave, it was just a...- she pulls herself to his feet, trying to give her words more credibility. -A comforting kiss, Luke was taken by the role of caring rescuer, right?- she looks at the man who, however, shakes his head.

-No.- he even says, sending her into a panic.

-At least someone here is honest with his feelings.- Micaela comments, throwing a dart at the blonde. If she were in her place, she wouldn't even have half a hesitation. -Listen, without rancor.- she spreads her arms. -I'll call a taxi. And anyway... Phil had warned me that you were a involved single, but I didn't understand in what sense.- she shakes her head. It does not matter anymore. -Talk to your friend, okay?- she doesn’t wait for an answer, goes to the exit, but turns back, with a mischievous look. -Good evening and, please... remember the Cucumbers!- Penelope blushes, cursing her own tongue. Live by cucumber, die by cucumber.

Meanwhile, Luke has also recovered. -What just happened?- she asks in an accusatory and angry tone, pushing him away with all her strength.

The man is in a very different mood. -It happened that you sent my date to hell.- he smiles, slyly, with a look like a boiled fish. And he takes a step towards her.

-It was you who threw yourself on me!- she cries, continuing her escape, slowly.

-Throw me on you?- he thinks about it seriously. -It seems to me that you did your part.- he finally says, but then decides to have other priorities. -Anyway...- he shrugs, he pulls back close to kiss her again.

Penelope's pupils dilate in a mix of fear and excitement. -What are you doing?- she asks with a trembling little voice, unable however to take her eyes off the man's lips.

-What I wanted for a long time.- he says, bending down. She doesn't reject him, but eventually Luke changes his mind. -Penelope...- he chooses to be content with holding her in his arms in an intimate way, not really different in form from their previous hugs, but still different in substance.

-Yup?- she replies, not knowing what to expect.

-What did you need headphones for?- he investigates, toying with her hair with his free hand. She understands that he thinks she may have done it on purpose.

-I wanted to see a movie so as not to hear you two.- she reveals therefore, with a sad tone. -I have the defect of having too much developed hearing.- she tightens the lips until they turn white.

-And the pans?- he continues, as he admires every detail of her face.

She shrugs. -I was looking for a kettle to make me a cup of tea. You know that...- He literally takes the words out of her mouth.

-There is nothing better than a good movie and a cup of tea.- he imitates his voice, making her laugh. -Except maybe a good book, a cup of tea and a steaming tub.- but she stops quickly and looks at him in a terribly serious way. -What is it?- he fears to have exaggerated.

-You scare me.- she admits. -You... You really listen to me when I talk.- he nods.

-Of course, I listen to you.- even if he's not particularly concentrated right now. -I listen to you even when you don't speak.- he warns, throwing allusions that maybe will be clarified later. He approaches her so that their faces are parallel.

-Why?- but their eyes are too.

-Because I can't help but find anything that comes out of your mouth wonderful.- he says spontaneously.

It's like a slap, a bucket of water frozen down her back. -Oh. You know... I think...- she understands that he deserved to know the whole truth. Even the one she hadn't even confessed to herself yet. -I was a little jealous, and... Sad, and I didn't see where I put my foot so I fell from my chair but got caught in a pan and the rest you know.- she spreads her arms as tightly as she can in his sweet grip.

-Yes.- he nods, before pulling her against him and kisses her. Like for the first, she kisses him back. -What movie were you watching?- yet another question. Penelope's hands are still sunk in his hair.

-He’s just not that into you.- they only talk to each other with their eyes, before changing positions. -But tomorrow you’ll buy a pair of headphones.- she tells him, trying to make him understand how the transformation in their relationship will not change other situations. Not immediately, at least.

He chuckles, amused by her intransigence. But he decides to play just as heavy. -If you sleep with me tonight.- suddenly the atmosphere becomes serious.

-Luke...- she warns. As much as she wishes (it would be ridiculous to say otherwise at this point) she doesn’t feel ready for it to happen tonight. She has already had enough emotions to brush the heart attack.

-I said sleep and I intend to sleep.- she states the man, with all possible sincerity.

And she believes him. -Deal.- they shake hands, but he only grabs it to take advantage of her and steal another kiss. Between roommates and cohabitants there is just one step. And they just did it.

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

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#garvez #criminal minds #cm #penelope garcia #luke alvez #penelope x luke #luke x penelope #garcia x alvez #alvez x garcia #luke x o.c.#post 13x6 #tiziano ferro #one replublic #no vacancy #criminal minds fic

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taotrooper · 5 years

Text

Colorful horizon

Title: Colorful horizon Series: Mo Dao Zu Shi Pairing: wangxian Summary: Wei Wuxian wants to make Lan Wangji's life more fun, so he decides to make kites just for them. An afternoon together teaching his husband how to fly a kite under the breeze of a perfect sky, smiles and song and words of love on their lips, proves to be truly special. Notes: For visual aids, this is the novel's description of WWX's kite back in Yunmeng. There are more pics of pretty Chinese kites that inspired me on the AO3 link.

🍃 On AO3

"What a cruel man," he pretended to be offended. "I worked for three days and you mock my beast. Is it too silly to you? Too tacky? Too childish?"

"No," Lan Wangji replied. "It is in fact extremely well done."

"Well, I would hope so. Then why did you laugh at it?"

"It suits Wei Ying."

Silence fell. Wei Wuxian frowned. He turned the head around and leveled its large eyes with his. While it was a great dragon-like creature, that wasn't exactly a beautiful animal. Unbelievable. Lan Zhan was teasing him once more!

"It is lively and bright and loud," his husband continued. "It takes the entire sky, fills it with color and horror, and it's impossible to look away. It suits you."

************

Wei Wuxian leaned back. He stared at his work and sighed in relief. His nimble fingers were covered in ink, paint of every possible hue, paper cuts, and even splinters after hours of work. The desk was a real mess that could attest to the intense creative process. However, it was worth the effort if he could say so himself. Not bad for his first and second attempts at this craft! It wasn't as gentle as Shijie's brushwork or as sturdy as Uncle Jiang's frame, true, but he felt pride in his chest as he raised both toys to the light for a final inspection.

But would the elegant Hanguang-Jun consider them worthy?

'Well,' he thought with a cheeky grin, 'he ended up liking me. His taste isn't that graceful or refined as he'd like to think.' He couldn't wait to see his beloved's reaction to those masterpieces.

The crazier the kites, the more fun you have flying and shooting them. That's just a fact.

************

The wide blue sky over his head was clear, with barely some white clouds spread across. Yet the wind was both gentle enough to refresh the summer heat, and strong enough to lift anything weightless —the grass under his boots, the clothes he was wearing, hopefully papercraft— into a disarray. In short, it was the perfect afternoon to fly a kite.

A strangely-shaped white shape moved closer and closer into the azure. As it reached the little valley, it was evident to the eyes that it was but a man. Patterns of blue clouds were embroidered into his white garb. For Wei Wuxian, the sight of that beauty warmed him more than the sun and shook him more than a gale.

Lan Wangji effortlessly unmounted his sword with a poised hop and pulled Wei Wuxian into his embrace right away. They joined lips, ignoring the distracting weather and taking their time to kiss in bliss.

"Did you wait long?"

"An eternity! What took you so long, Lan Zhan?"

"I was punctual."

"But I was early for once and I missed you..." A pout was quickly replaced by a mischievous laughter. "Ah, no matter, it's okay! You're mine for the rest of the day."

Lan Wangji tilted his neck to try to look at the pouch Wei Wuxian hid behind his back. "Will you tell me what you've planned, Wei Ying?"

It was natural he was curious. Three days of secret work, locked in a corner of the Library Pavilion, fingernails red and golden underneath. Of course his husband knew he was scheming and preparing something special, with this little date as the culmination of his labor. Anyone else would have been concerned to see the Yiling Patriarch crafting anything at all, yet Lan Wangji gave him space and trusted him, and never demanded to be told what that was about.

"Yeah, now I can say!" the devious artisan grinned. "We're flying kites! I made us some really cool ones since we didn't have any. Let's play, Lan Zhan."

Lan Wangji blinked in surprise. "Mn," he just said before reaching again for a final soft peck that made the other one purr.

Reluctant, Wei Wuxian let go and opened his pouch wide. He offered it to Lan Wangji, who took it. "Hold it, I need both hands to get them out."

After some rummage, Lan Wangji's eyes opened wide as a red monstrosity came out of the bag. It was all face and tail, the longest kite he had ever seen. The head was almost as large as a human's, with sharp horns and fierce eyebrows on top, bulging eyes, pig-like nostrils, and tusks coming out of a huge open mouth. While the base paint job was crimson, a plethora of vibrant colors adorned the flying beast's semblance.

Even though it should have looked intimidating or majestic, Lan Wangji's lips curved upwards and the softest chuckles were born and died in his throat in an instant. Wei Wuxian was left breathless, any outrage gone by the joy he felt, by the miracle that was making the stoic Hanguang-Jun laugh.

"What a cruel man," he pretended to be offended. "I worked for three days and you mock my beast. Is it too silly to you? Too tacky? Too childish?"

"No," Lan Wangji replied. "It is in fact extremely well done."

"Well, I would hope so. Then why did you laugh at it?"

"It suits Wei Ying."

"It is lively and bright and loud," his husband continued. "It takes the entire sky, fills it with color and horror, and it's impossible to look away. It suits you."

Whether he was saying it earnestly or trying to fix his comment to hurt Wei Wuxian's feelings less, the latter didn't know. He gaped, looked at his husband, looked back at the kite, and looked up again. He decided not to say that not only the design wasn't his, but also Jiang Cheng's kite was basically the same with slightly different colors.

"So... do you really like it?"

"Mn. It's perfect."

Beaming, and the weight in his stomach loosened a bit, Wei Wuxian turned the kite around and made the beast's mouth give a little nudge on Lan Wangji's cheek.

"Are you ready to see your own kite?"

Lan Wangji's face didn't change, but his shoulders tensed.

"Hahahaha, don't be alarmed! I made something completely different for you! Something pretty, I promise! Let me take it out."

Wei Wuxian put down the red beast on the ground and rummaged inside the pouch again. It didn't take him that long to fetch it, but he stalled and kept moving his arms for a while to increase the suspense. After building enough expectation, he pulled it out and rose it to Lan Wangji's face's level.

"Take it! It's yours now!"

Lan Wangji grabbed it with the utmost care, as if it was made of glass or silk instead, and glanced at it. The kite was larger than the targets that sect disciples and civilian children flew, but was still a more conventionally shaped kite than the beast. Bird shapes were already a current popular motive. Lan Wangji's kite was a rooster, which wasn't that usual nonetheless. It had a white body, a red comb on the upper tip, and a colorful tail made with long strips of different papers which simulated feathers. Its eyes and beak were painted. Its wings were part of the shape of the sail.

By itself, the rooster was quite beautiful. But Wei Wuxian didn't leave it there. Over the bird's body and wings, he had painted flower designs. Large pink peonies with small blue gentians around them, decorated the otherwise jade white canvas.

Lan Wangji's eyes shone bright like gold, full of emotion and wonder. With his free hand, he slid delicately his fingers across the paper, stopping on each of the peonies with tenderness. Wei Wuxian could see with delight that the tip of his ears had turned to a softer shade than those flowers'.

He didn't need to ask if Lan Wangji liked it.

"I told you it was pretty, see?" he said instead. "I gave it a lot of thought, and I think it suits you. Are you pleased with this kite, Lan Zhan?"

"Very much so," Lan Wangji spoke in a whisper, his eyes fixated on his present, on the tail feathers. "Wei Ying, it's gorgeous."

The weight in Wei Wuxian's stomach was completely gone, replaced with satisfaction. He would cherish Lan Zhan's delighted reaction forever in his memories.

"Why a rooster, of all things?"

Wei Wuxian contained a laughter. He saw that question coming and he was prepared. Of course, he couldn't just say it was because his husband had stolen two chickens the third time he had gotten drunk with him, therefore giving him a chicken kite was a highly amusing idea to him. Instead, he just pointed out at the toy.

"Turn it around and you'll see the answer."

On one of the bamboo sticks of the frame, there were three characters engraved in the wood. They read 'Lan Wangji', except wang was written with the character for watch, and ji was written with the character for chicken and rooster. As soon as Lan Wangji groaned at the pun, Wei Wuxian couldn't take it anymore and sat on the grass next to his own kite, holding his belly as he cackled.

There were so many layers to that rooster joke. Cocks, obviously —and a quality Wei Wuxian admired in his man. Not to mention, in a more serious sense, that it was a lucky, auspicious animal that symbolized wisdom, goodness, loyalty, and courage —all qualities Wei Wuxian admired in his man. It was really easy to keep the connection fun without making Lan Zhan losing face. Lan Wangji crouched next to him and held his shaking waist gently, waiting in silence for his fit to end.

"Come on," said Wei Wuxian afterwards as he took the hand offered to lift himself up. "Let's fly these handsome babies before the wind goes away."

"Mmn."

Wei Ying then took the pouch again and started to take out the two sets of bows and quivers. Lan Wangji tensed up again, his face looking angry and dismayed.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think? It's to shoot them."

"No."

"You do know, right?" Wei Wuxian threw his arms in the air, exasperated at the curt, stubborn negative. "It's an archery target game, right?"

"...You worked hard on them!"

"They can be fixed or made again. Shijie took care of ours all the time."

Lan Wangji fiercely protected the rooster in his arms as if it were a masterpiece, very much like his drunken self with the actual birds. "Nonetheless, I refuse to damage it."

"..."

They glanced at each other. Wei Wuxian understood: he saw it as a mere toy but it was something he made for Lan Wangji, who treasured everything related to the man he loved with zeal. It was just unthinkable to open holes in them. With that point of view, he felt a tug in his heart and he offered a conciliating smile while he put the bows back in the pouch. Time for a compromise.

"You win, Lan Zhan. There are other games we can play anyway: which one flies it for the longest time, or which can reach higher. And we can just be boring and look at them! That's nice, too."

"Mn." Lan Wangji had the hint of a smile in his eyes.

Wei Wuxian put his arms around Lan Wangji's shoulders. "Next time I'm bringing a few little cyclopes we can shoot into shreds. I kinda want to see which of us does better. You will shoot normal training kites, right?"

"I will, yes."

"Good boy!" He dived for a long kiss, licking his husband's lower lip before breaking apart. "Now let me show you how it's done by a true kite champion."

Lan Wangji followed his instructions carefully and emulated the way he had to run with nothing short of perfection. The rooster shot upwards and did well at first, but after he stopped in one spot it started to jerk down in the changing currents of gust.

"Do I give it more line?" he asked, glancing at the spool in his hands.

"Yeah but put... Ah, it's more complicated than that. Hold on, let me..."

Wei Wuxian quickly went and positioned himself behind his husband. He cupped each of his hands with his own, and gently moved his arms into the correct position.

"Like this, Er-gege," he murmured into flushing ears. And it would've been tender and erotic to fly the kite like this together for a while, their hands intertwined and their bodies against each other, but the breeze had another ideas. Lan Wangji's perfect silky mane was whipping against Wei Wuxian's face, not allowing him to see ahead or talk without eating hair.

He would be really annoyed if that hair didn't smell like sandalwood. He couldn't stay mad at that soothing scent. After some chuckles and coughs, he broke contact for a moment in order to grab the hair and shove it under Lan Wangji's collar. Then the lesson resumed until the kite was stabilized and the other man had learned the basics. As good as the embrace was, Wei Wuxian was itching to fly his own creation.

Soon a black-garbed man ran across the green, and a big red creature rose up behind him across the blue. Wei Wuxian managed to move so he stood up right next to Lan Wangji, but with enough space for the two kites.

"Lan Zhan~"

"Wei Ying?"

They glanced at each other, but careful not to leaving the kites completely unsupervised.

"First time flying a kite?"

"Mn."

"Have you shot kites, though?"

"I have. Archery training with moving targets is a group activity for junior disciples."

"But as a class, I assume? Not as a game with the other kids during your free time?"

"Indeed."

Just as he thought. He didn't expect Lan Wangji to share that common childhood experience. That was the real reason that drove him to get paper, scissors, paint, bamboo, string; to make something both fun and beautiful for a wonderful person who craved, deep down, for childish excitement he never had.

That, and the fact that during their drinking session last week, an inebriated Lan Wangji had demanded for kites after seeing children playing during the day. Wei Wuxian couldn't provide even one in the middle of the night and distracted him with a hide-and-seek game. Even if in the morning his husband had forgotten, he couldn't.

"Haha, look!" Wei Wuxian smirked and pointed above. "My red fury is flying higher than your white cock! I'm winning."

"Mn."

Lan Wangji was now looking at the kites closely. Even though the face remained with the same serious expression, he was mesmerized by the two figures. There was a happy shine in his eyes that told Wei Wuxian that he did not mind if he wasn't victorious. The same shine was in Wei Wuxian's eyes with that sight, infectious and endearing.

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan!"

"Wei Ying?"

"You're having fun, aren't you?"

"Yes. More challenging to keep it balanced than I thought."

An overwhelming emotion of joy filled Wei Wuxian's already puffed chest. Lan Wangji was having fun.

"Yeah, it's way less dull than I thought. And you're doing amazing for your first time, Lan Er-gege. Talented in everything he does, that's my husband."

"I have a talented instructor," Lan Wangji replied. Wei Wuxian guffawed, his cheeks flustered. Ah, that Lan Zhan was getting better and better at flirting and quips. His heart couldn't take it.

"Oh, yeah? I heard he was a champion or something."

He glanced again at Lan Wangji's direction, who had said all that without taking his eyes off his kite. Wei Wuxian's eyes wandered to his man's hands and how he was unwinding the line slowly, with care and dexterity. Then he dropped his voice to a hoarser tone. "Honestly, I wish I were that kite, to feel your fingers all over my spool until you take me to the heavens."

Lan Wangji almost dropped his kite, but he quickly recovered.

"Shameless."

"Ahahahaha!"

"...I will do that later."

"I know you will, my sweet Lan Zhan," he winked. "And I will make you fly so high as well, but let's play for a while while it's windy. After all my efforts to make these guys for us."

"Mn, let's."

He noticed that Lan Wangji was now looking at him with longing eyes.

"Are you envious of my kite, too?"

His husband didn't answer for a few seconds, weighing the question. "No need. You're the wind underneath my sail."

It was the red beast's turn to shake violently. He pouted, his face matching his own toy in color. "Argh, Lan Zhan! You're definitely doing it on purpose! And he has the audacity to call me shameless?"

But despite his complaints, this was truly happiness for Wei Wuxian. As he recovered altitude, a few notes from a tune that always calmed him against all turmoil came out of his lips, resonating in his throat and chest. Lan Wangji hummed back the following notes. It sounded so natural in his velvety deep voice, just like that time over a decade ago when the song was born out of reluctant young love in bloom. Wei Wuxian joined him for the next verse, and they kept singing along in an improvised duet.

The playful breeze made everything sway to the melody. The vibrant tails of the kites danced. Wei Wuxian's red ribbon and Lan Wangji's white forehead ribbon danced. The sleeves of their robes, their hair as dark as ink, the green grass around them. Even their souls danced to the wind and the music.

When the sky exploded in the soft colors of twilight and it was too late to play, they packed the kites; it was their time to glide in the air. Balanced on top of Bichen, Lan Wangji carried Wei Wuxian in his arms all the way home, both enjoying the sunset. Wei Ying's head rested on his beloved's shoulders. They couldn't wait to unravel in each other's hands, to make the other one reach those familiar heights.

#mo dao zu shi #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #$fanfic

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2lovesihaveofcomfortandfandoms · 4 years

Text

Skinamalink: Chapter 5

It’s done and edited and it is up.

AO3:

Or read here:

Edward opened up the keypad on the phone. The milkshake man caved.

“Whoa, whoa. Let’s not be hasty here.”

“But you wanted to call the police,” said Edward, quite simply.

There was a long pause. The milkshake man looked around, searching for any kind of support. None was offered. Looking back at Edward, there were only green eyes glaring. The gaze was almost acidic, corroding away any will to push back. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said. The slight aversion of the eyes, the small drop in his shoulders made a clear concession of defeat.

“Right,” said Edward, as he put his phone away. “I think its best if you leave and don’t come back.” The pilot light of defiance tried to spark in the depths of the man’s eyes. “I won’t ask politely next time.”

And the light nodded. The man nodded and walked out – proverbial tail between his legs. The café was held in silence. Thick, tense, and uncomfortable. Thank God for Lucy.

“Sorry about all that, folks,” she said, she voiced raised – clear and authoritative without shouting. “Next coffee on the house.”

Edward glared a little at that, but she shot it down with a glare of her own.

“On the house?” Edward muttered

“Better leave it on a high note. It’ll look like we handled it well.”

“We did handle it well.”

“Part of it. Maybe you should go talk to the knife-wielder now.” She wasn’t asking.

“Sometimes you make me question who’s in charge here, Westenra.”

“Good. Go.”

Edward went. As he passed Jonathan, he said,

“Mop up that shake, will you?”

Edward didn’t even wait for Jonathan to agree before striding away to the office.

Jonathan tried very hard not to grumble on his way to the supply cupboard. It’s not fair – Dorian made this mess. He should clean it up. Jonathan mopped the floor as aggressively as a floor can be mopped. He was being harassed. He’s allowed to defend himself, said a kinder thought. Jonathan wrung out the mop and put out the ‘wet floor’ sign. But the way he held that knife. Not a tremble. There’s no way that was the first time he’s done that. The kinder part of Jonathan did not dispute that and was a little disturbed by what it suggested.

Edward shut the office door and locked it. Dorian stopped chewing on his fingernail. He gave Edward a small, guilty smile.

“I know I shouldn’t bite them – it’ll chip the paint. But it has been a bit of a day.”

“Are you ok?”

“No. But I’ll live.”

“You can go home if you want.”

“I don’t want.”

“Dorian—”

“Don’t send me home, Teddy. Please. If I go home, I’ll just sit there wallowing in pity. I don’t want that – so don’t make go.”

Edward gave Dorian’s shoulder a light but reassuring squeeze. Dorian nodded in acknowledgement.

“If that’s what you want. And if you want me to get Vlad on this—”

“No. Don’t bring Vlad into this. That guy was a prick – but Vlad can get a bit... extreme.”

Dorian had a point – and Edward knew it. Vlad would do anything to protect his own – truly anything. It was generally agreed that Vlad was only to be called in emergencies.

“Yeah. You’re right. G’wan – get.”

Edward gave Dorian a playful shove towards the door. After Dorian had left, Edward let his hand hover over the phone. Dorian didn’t want him to call Vlad but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t. This was Vlad’s territory – hell, it was his building – and he had a right to know if there might be trouble. Edward picked up the phone. He could even ask Vlad not to do anything – just a call to let him know what happened. That’s it – just a call. He held the phone up to his ear and listened to it ring. Edward slammed down the phone. On second thought, it might be better to let sleeping dogs lie.

Dorian placed a glass of coffee in front of a customer. A gentle-looking, arty-type with soft brown hair, a yellow scarf draped over his shoulders.

“Thanks.” The man turned his eyes up from his sketchbook. “Dorian? I thought Ed would have sent you home.”

“I didn’t want him to.”

“Ed should have called the police. What that guy did... disgraceful. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Dorian shrugged and perched on the arm of the man’s chair.

“When you look like I do, it’s an occupational hazard. It’s not the first time it’s happened. I mean, it’s not just me. The girls get it too. Lucy most of all. But it’s sweet of you to say, Basil.”

“Dorian...”

“Let’s not talk about it anymore. Too depressing. Come on, show me what you’re drawing.”

Basil closed over the sketchbook and set it down on the table.

“It’s nothing. Just silly little sketches.”

“I like your silly little sketches.”

Dorian had the sketchbook in his hands before Basil could slide it away. He flicked through the thick white pages. Basil was talented – there was no denying that. The ability to create such form and beauty from nothing but lines on paper was nothing short of divine in Dorian’s eyes. A part of Dorian wondered if Basil had ever tried to draw him. The larger, and vainer, part knew Basil obviously had – the question was, how many times?

“This one’s beautiful.” Dorian held out the sketchbook to Basil. The page showed two men in armour, one lying unresponsive in the other’s arms. “Who are they?”

“Achilles and Patroclus.”

“And these two?” Dorian flipped a page.

“Apollo and Hyacinthus.”

Dorian closed the book and handed it back to Basil. He put a hand on the artist’s shoulder.

“Basil?”

“Yes?”

“Can I come over to yours tonight? I don’t want to sit at home by myself.”

“Of course you can. Of course you can come over. I can make dinner and I can sleep on the couch tonight if you want to stay over.”

“You really are too sweet for your own good, Basil Hallward.”

It was so hard not to use Basil – not when he offered himself so eagerly. A kitten looking for love from a wildcat.

Jonathan suppressed a glare as Dorian hopped off the arm of the chair and sauntered back behind the counter. Lucy gave Dorian a tight hug.

“Thanks, Luce.”

“Jesus, Johnny – the milk!”

Justine’s shout snapped Johnathan back to attention. The milk he had been steaming was hissing and bubbling over, spilling onto the counter and the floor.

“Shit!”

Jonathan shut off the steam wand and moved the jug away.

“Damn, Johnny, you’re really not on form today, are you?” chuckled Dorian.

And that was it. The last straw. Jonathan slammed the milk jug down, causing even more to spill.

“Screw you, Gray!”

“Johnny!”

“No! I have had enough of him. He has no idea how much trouble he causes – and he doesn’t care. And it’s up to everyone else to clear up after him. Well, I’m done. He’s selfish and he’s arrogant and he thinks that he can get away with murder. You know what, Gray, I don’t care that you’re sleeping with the boss – you’re a nightmare for the rest of us. And you—”

“Johnny!”

Except this time, it wasn’t Lucy who was shouting. It was a man’s voice. A Scottish man’ voice. Jonathan slowly turned to see Edward standing there. Stern and rumbling – like a storm ready to break.

“Edward, I... I didn’t mean...”

“I think it’s best if you go home now, Johnny.”

“Edward, please...”

“Now, Jonathan.”

Jonathan could see no point in protesting or in making a scene attempting to do so. Embarrassed, infuriated, and upset – Jonathan left the café floor.

“Teddy, I—”

“Don’t, Dorian – just don’t.”

No one said anything else, they waited in silence as Jonathan came back with his bag and coat. Justine whispered to Lucy,

“Should we do something?”

But Lucy stayed silent. Jonathan gave a last look before rushing out the door.

The door hadn’t fully closed when a hand pushed it back open. Smart black shoes clicked across the worn floorboards, long black coat swishing behind them.

“Was that Johnny I saw running out of here?”

The voice was smooth and soft. It spoke in English that had been so well studied that there was no European accent left. In fact, it was a voice that had been speaking English in London for so long that the accent leant more towards cockney than scholarly.

“Yes,” said Edward, “it was. I just fired him.”

“Such a shame. I liked that one.” And the man did sound sincerely sorry at the thought of Johnny leaving.

“Why are you here, Vlad?”

Vlad smiled wide, showing ever-so-slightly crooked teeth.

“You rang?”

#victoriangothictrash #skinamalink #fanfic

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 5 years

Text

Meet and Greet

Yes, this is an MBJ fic and don't be mad. It's all in good fun. We fans. Not the crazy ones, just...

Anyway. Mike wouldn't be mad, he has a sense of humor. Happy Birthday @ange-sensuel my fellow scorpio queen. I love you, you're beautiful, and my mind got to working, so this is what came out.

Smut Ahead

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"Fuuck..," Michael dragged through flared nostrils watching the petite and masterfully built brown woman work voodoo magic between his thighs. She was down on her knees sitting on a pillow, sucking her little heart out along with his soul. Her silver dress draped over the hotel bed along with her fur. Without him having to ask, she'd kept the heels on.

When he'd initially invited the stranger to his room, it was out of intrigue. She was a beautiful, clean, classy woman with long hair, long elegant legs and neck, a beautiful face, and big titties. He didn't think she'd be so nasty or focused on his pleasure, yet here she was.. making a mess of his dick and he couldn't take it. He could barely even speak. God if this woman looks me in the eyes she gone fuckin get it, he thought unsure of whether he wished for it or against it. She was fuckin him all up.

Angel's eyelashes fluttered and she gazed feverishly with bloodshot eyes up into Mike's own hooded eyes, her throat full of heated raw dick that was sensitive to the touch. Thick ropes of white saliva spilt from the corners of her full ruby red lips, collecting at his base as she moved her head back and forth swiftly. She could feel his tight fist gripping her long blown out strands into a makeshift ponytail.

"You fuckin nasty, suck that shit," he strained, sweat forming on his brow. The look is his eyes said, suffer bitch. His mouth was wide, an O before his big lips began to purse and pout. He was locked the fuck in, nodding, making tense eye contact.

Angel could feel his strong lust, palpable. It only made her hungrier to possess the man she'd dreamt about since she was a child watching Hardball. This meeting was a decade in the making. Meeting Michael was everything she'd dreamed it would be. When she'd approached him at the New Orleans meet and greet, he was taken by her flamboyance. Distracted. Her mild peacocking had worked. He was extremely friendly, playful, and flirtatious. In a short, fitted satin rouched silver dress coupled with a luxurious fur and tulle bolero that read old Hollywood glam, she was in her element. Photographers mistook her for a celebrity asking her name, but no one recognized it. Michael was no different, he'd asked her identity not recognizing her from any magazine or red carpet. Despite that, she sent him all the signals she knew how to show him she was interested and he'd picked up on every one, ultimately asking if she wanted to go with him back to his hotel. She was years past ready.

But he sure wasn't.

The wet and echoing gluck, gluck, gluck, was only interrupted by her harsh gasp as she attempted to cram minutes of breathing into a brief second. The glossy strong dick coated and dripping with her thick spit was calling out to her. She let the pool of excess spit collecting in her mouth drool heavily onto his length, sliding down his balls and to his hairless asscrack. The large cloth hotel chair Michael sat on was wet, stained with her spit. She grasped his dick firmly in her small hand, her index, thumb and pinky nails painted salmon pink with small silver and crystal appliques at the base. Her middle fingernails were marbled pink and grey. Her matching bra and panties were pink lace. She could tell he was enjoying that colorful view along with her silver stacked finger rings. She hadn't done it for him at all, but she knew he loved and appreciated it. It was just who she was naturally. Panting, she gobbled his length hungrily with a desperate moan. She felt insatiable.

Her perfume kept hitting him, the smell alive in the air. Light and natural notes, sweet but mildly floral. She had elegant taste to the most minute of details. Out of all the girls he'd had sex with since he'd been poppin in Hollywood, she smelled the best and her head was top tier. She dared him to look away from her pretty, messy face, but he knew better. If there was anything he was good at to the same degree as acting, it was sex and though Angel was great, he knew he was better. He refused to be shown up in either field.

But in that moment, as he was squeezing her head and simultaneously digging his thick fingers into the arm of the chair, it was a struggle to last like he was used to doing. Her aggression was about to explode him. He lifted his hips feeding himself to her as she devoured all he had.

Angel watched his control slip, his face contorting and his breathing getting louder as he gradually lost control over his body. She felt herself getting wetter just knowing that the control had shifted to her. She wanted him to cum hard and in her mouth and when he did, it was with a heavy sigh as though he were releasing a ghost. The taste of him was pleasant, something she was already adapting to having had no previous experience. Indeed, she was a virgin, but an eager and hungry one. She'd plotted for years to lose her virginity to this man.

As she cherished the oxygen hitting her lungs, she watched him breathe, spent, his head thrown back against the seat cushion. He had a fresh close cut, almost bald and he was the thickest she'd seen him since Black Panther. God bless his trainer, Corey, she thought. In a blink, he was up.

He'd leaped from the chair, recovered, and lifted Angel to her feet then into his arms. She weighed next to nothing. Perfect to manhandle. He dropped her onto into the bed and yanked her ankle flipping her quickly onto her stomach. Immediately she arched and he took a step back to admire the view. If he was half hard before after nutting.. he was fully hard now. She wiggled her ass in the air, her middle on full display.

"Do you want this ass? Come get it. Come on, Kari," she encouraged playfully.

"Damn, the government huh," he joked, his thick hands coming down hard to slap both of her cheeks before spreading them. He turned to pull a condom out, lubricated.

"Eat this pussy," Angel said a bit more directly. "I wanna feel what those lips do."

Before she could finish her sentence, his mouth was on her, his lips soft like two plush pillows. She felt those pussy pillows pinch and suck on each part of her flower, teasing and testing the sensitivity. She moaned softly as she ascended to heaven feeling his warm, long, wet tongue flatten and drag purposefully.. slowly, up her slit. The juice from his mouth mingled with her wetness as he drooled his excess saliva back onto her core. She could feel the sensation of it dripping. Long, quick laps followed, his flat tongue licking wet stripes before using the tip to strike her with precision.

He ate her cat from the back, wet noises filling the air. It sounded like a pitbull lapping water from a dish and it was what he resembled. Angel's dish overflowed with her water. Mike could feel it in his mustache though he'd shaved his beard.

"That muhfucka wet," he whispered to no one in particular, licking his lips. Her taste was still there. He let his heavy bottom lip hang as he kneeled on the bed and pushed Angel forward, scooting closer. "You gone throw it back?" He pushed Angel's back down again and her arch was immaculate. With the perfect angle he slid in and she made a noise that was a hissing groan on transition to a purr.

"When the last time you got some good dick," he asked gliding in and out, working her open like a blossom. "You the first," she laughed breathlessly before biting her lip, her small hands gripping the cover. She felt the power of his strokes knocking her forward. It was no wonder he had so many women, he had good díque and knew how to use it.

"Uh, fffffuck," she gasped, panting. It was a new and intense feeling for her but she was determined to show out and make this moment something truly special. She planted her hands firmly and threw her ass back, matching a surprised Mike stroke for stroke. She was close to coming and then she did, her rhythm breaking then ceasing. His heavy hands came down again on both of her asscheeks and he reached forward to collect her hair, pulling it to make her arch again, her head back and close enough for him to bend and whisper into her ear.

"Use my government again," he grunted hammering her into the mattress.

"Bakari," she moaned. "Now say my name."

"FUCK... Angel with the good pussy," he smiled. That was exactly how he planned to save her into his phone. Next time he was in New Orleans, he knew who to call for some good box.

Showered and redressed, Angel stepped to the door. "Anytime you want a true local to show you the city the correct way, call me, we can link."

"Where you think you going Angel with the good pussy," he smiled, the look in his eye saying to stay put. He was on his way to shower, but he had to stop to stop her from walking out. "Y'all swear I'm some fuckboy or fuck nigga.. Nooo," he shook his head dramatically before whispering, "No." Angel stepped away from the door with a smile and humored huff causing her shoulders to bounce.

"Stay put. I'm a take a shower and you can show me the city. I wanna see some crocodiles," he said quickly.

"Boy, that's Florida. Alligators are native to Louisiana. I'll take you to the swamp to see some."

"That's why you the tour guide," he pointed. "I'll be right back," he confirmed before disappearing into the bathroom.

Angel checked her phone for messages before hitting up her group chat. "Met Bakari." That was all the juice she was giving away until her little adventure ended. She could see her mentions blowing up already in the chat. Her friends knew she was in love and plotting. She was clever, driven, supermodel beautiful, and full of love to give. He didn't deserve her, but she'd chosen him and after her positive experience she was glad she had. She could hear the water running from the shower and she cut the television on to a random channel to pass the time. Angel looked around and grinned, kicking her feet, tickled. She planned to be the best tour guide in all Louisiana.

The End.. or is it the beginning? 🧐💕💕

Lmbo jk it's a one shot. Happy Birthday again baby love.

@hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @simplyyamberr @whoramilaje @bitemyxxx @bonita-juanita

@eriknutinthispoosy @blackpinup22 @thadelightfulone @yaachtynoboat711 @youreadthatright

@inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove @bidibidibombaclaat @priya212 @romanceoftheeveryday @muse-of-mbaku @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @kreolemami @myboyfriendgiriboy @loosewindmill @wakanda-inspired @madbadsiren @theunsweetenedtruth @panthergoddessbast @allhailnjadaka @amethyst1993 @thehomierobbstark @purplehairgawdess @supersizeme @blackpantherismyish @drsunshine97 @thiccdaddy-mbaku @wawakanda-btch @killmongersprncss @imaginewhoever @niggarachi15 @hidden-treasures21 @pupyluv247 @phoenixxx1225 @violet-ines @indigoxsummers @janelledarling @imasmille @sweetsexysavagery @mermaidchansons @destinio1 @ash-moneyy @ljstraightnochaser @forbeautyandlife @iamrheaspeaks @elle-luring @yoyolovesbucky @ilovebubblesz @awkardlyabstract @beautifulqueenflaws @slimmiyagi @sidneebleu@vikkidc @chaneajoyyy

#that's an mbj imagine smh #original

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frehleys-baby · 5 years

Text

Chapter One - Great Expectations

(A.N.: You wanted more, you got more! This was proofread lovingly by my bestie @walkingmajority , and if u don’t follow her already go do so if U want quality content! 💖. Questions, comments, and constructive criticism are always welcomed! Anywho, happy reading!)

If one had ever worked in a rice field, they’d know it was torture. The blood red Sanguine sun lashing down on you like a master cracking a whip across your back, made one want to work faster so they could run and escape the heat’s blows. Melior would’ve loved for nothing more than to run and hide under a tree, but he had to work, as his father had woken up with a stomach illness this morning, leaving him to collect the seemingly endless stalks. He heaved his sack over his shoulder with what he had collected from this section, then continued to trudge along, his sandaled feet now muddy from the recently drained paddy.

He cursed as his footing left him, and he fell face first into the mud, his sack and straw hat flying from his head and his hands. The stout, tall young man stood quickly, dusting his yukata of the stinking mud. A familiar, grating voice began to laugh as he struggled to recollect his fallen rice stalks.

“Always working, Melior! How do you plan on being a mantle holder at this rate?” A voice sang out from the tree across the field. The young man furrowed his brows, pulling dark coarse hair into a lazy ponytail, retying on his now muddy sugegasa, glaring up at the tall trees branches.

“At least some of us do work, Chaim.”

And with that, a lithe young man with glinting eyes and a pearly grin swung down to the ground, standing triumphantly as Melior rolled his eyes. Typical Chaim, always posturing and posing.

“Don’t you have girls to be bothering?” Melior sneered, although his smile told of his lighthearted jab.

“Well, I’m bothering you, aren’t I?” He retorted, snagging the hat off Melior’s head and placing it upon his own.

“Aiiyah, give that back!” He growled, grabbing at the sugegasa and narrowly missing the straw brim.

“Why wear this, Mel? You’re darker than us all, you wouldn’t burn.”

This was true, as Melior was not a full-blooded Sanguineum. Rather, he was half Ferali, with almost glowing black eyes and coarse dark hair, skin tinted the shade of the dark sand the Fera people lived in. Melior’s mother had been a survivor of a Sanguineum holocaust on the Ferali people, and narrowly escaped genocide to tell the tale.

She fell in love with the son of the soldier who saved her from being used as target practice as a child, and the rest was history. Regardless of how heartwarming his parent’s story of unlikely love, his half-breed status did not earn him many friends.

He stood out among his peers, all silken haired and paper pale, with bright red-brown eyes. He was the ugly, broad duckling in the pond of svelte swans.

Melior’s appearance did not gain him many friends; they often called him Minikui as a child- ugly.

Chaim, the smartass son of a blacksmith, had been the only friend he’d managed to keep all these years, and under his friend’s father, Melior had started to train towards his ultimate goal of becoming a mantle holder.

He wanted to make sure another genocide like the one that happened to his mother’s people, his people, never happened again. He wanted to prove himself just as capable and worthy of respect as any of his peers, and while he’d often been laughed at for this goal, Chaim never quit believing in him.

“My father wanted me to come looking for you, you know. Said he had important news to tell.”

“Now?”

“No, a moon from now-yes now, you lunkhead!”

Melior frowned, a strong movement that creased his cheeks.

“I’m working right now-“

“That can wait, c’mon!”

And with that, Chaim took off through the grass, his opened yukata fluttering behind him, while Melior swore. The darker boy bolted off towards the single stable he and his mother had built, and saddled up the one dappled mare they owned, a sleepy eyed grey horse named Tsukareta.

He rode her down the black dirt path, following his friend’s sandal prints into town. Melior was taking her at an easy trot, as he did not wish to rush the old mare. (The last time he had done so, she’d thrown him off and trotted to the nearest pond to drink.)

As he rode through the wooden town, pagoda-like buildings painted with reds, black, white, and browns, he saw the government servants stringing up banners from rooftops. The banners were painted with the symbol of The honored Demon, his pointed face-paint and long tongue giving the face of the god away.

He was meant to horrify, and that he did. Melior recalled stories his father would tell him to terrify him into being good. “Behave or the Demon will cut your tongue out!” He’d tell Melior, and his son would always be good, fearing for his tongue’s safety. But now Melior wished to become the Demon he was so afraid of, and to incite hope in children, rather than fear.

Beneath the sign’s face, blood red text calling for strong young warriors to come to the palace to apply for the role of Mantle before the next new moon.

This hit him with a surprise- the next new moon was tomorrow! There would be no way he could make it to the palace in time, that was at least a 4 day trip!

Before he turned to complete fear, he watched as a servant noticed a typo, stuck her fingers into her mouth, then took a paintbrush into her now bloody palm and repainted over the words new moon with full moon.

At this, Melior gagged and turned his head back to the path, dodging merchants selling boiled bird eggs and gizzards and livers and the like. Tsukareta nimbly avoided children playing with balls and hoops and kites in the street. That was one similarity Melior was always thankful he never shared with the Sanguineum people: they had the uncanny ability to spit blood at whim, like beasts trying to blind their prey or disgust their predators. Melior had only managed to do it once under extreme stress, and had made a promise to himself never to do that again. The experience was traumatic, and the blood had stained his mother’s dining room table, which was even more traumatic if you ask her

But, with this disgusting editing, Melior was given more time, and he mumbled a prayer of thanks to The Demon under his breath.

By the time they had passed through town, he found himself with the familiar burn of steel in his nose, and knew he was close to the blacksmith’s.

Chaim’s father was an ancient man named Edo, and he was practically a skeleton. Chaim had always told Melior that his father once crafted weapons for the King, the Royal Council, and for the Demon Mantle himself!

This was one of his friend’s tall tales Melior elected to personally not believe, as all three of those honors seemed highly unlikely to be had at once. Even for a man like Edo, who was likely the best blacksmith he’d ever known (although to be honest, he didn’t know more than one blacksmith.)

When Melior arrived, Chaim was sitting in a rusted out chair, picking at his fingernails and hardly even glanced at him.

“About time you showed up, Melly.”

“Don’t call me that.” He mumbled, tying up Tsukareta to a post and patting on her nose. She whinnied in response, and Chaim stretched in his chair, motioning to the door. Melior’s heavy footsteps made the wooden steps of the shack groan in protest, and his ink haired friend yawned.

“Father said for you to head to the workshop, he had a gift for you. Wanted you to learn to use it before you ran off to get yourself killed to try and become a Mantle holder.”

Melior didn’t honor this statement with a retort, rather just turned back, and walked through the dry, untrimmed grass, finding himself at old man’s work hut. The sharp smell of hot metal singed at his nose, and the sheer heat radiating from the building made his eyes water as he stepped inside.

“Edo.” He said firmly, bringing a fist to his chest before dipping into a courteous bow.

Edo, in response, let out a haggard scream, hitting a cane over Melior’s head before returning to his hearth. The younger man swore, and rubbed on what he was sure would become a knot.

“Ow! Demon’s blood, old man, did you think I was an intruder?!”

“I have told you before about walking in without asking to come in! And don’t give me your apologies, I’m not going to waste what time I have left listening to them!”

Melior sidled up to the wooden work table centering the hut. It was aged and brittle and crumbling, the decor seemingly matching it’s owner.

“Oh, I’d never, sir.” Melior deadpanned, before getting another hit with Edo’s cane.

He scowled while the old man dragged a creaky, rusting stool from a darkened corner, and reached for a fabric bound item on a shelf.

He struggled with the weight of the object, but did not ask Melior’s help, he simply tossed the object onto the table, where it’s wooden legs groaned in protestation while Edo hobbled over to it. The old man struggled to untie the string binding it with stiff, semi-arthritic fingers, but managed to free the object from the bundle.

He moved the fabric to the side, and on the table now laid the most distinguished, beautiful weapon Melior had ever seen. A square of polished black steel became a gradient into unpolished metal, the edge sharp as sickle Melior had used to harvest rice.

Melior’s eyes lit up as he took the long handled weapon into his hands.

“...An axe.”

“Yes, an axe.”

Melior quickly put it back down on the table, almost frightened by the sight of it. He backed up like at any time it might attack him.

“I can’t take this, this is meant for only-“

“I know who it’s meant for, boy! I made the damned thing! I just want you to bring it to him as a gift!”

The young man watched as Edo rebound it, and handed it to him with aged, shaking hands.

“You bring that to Genahaki and tell him it’s a sign of approval from Edo.”

Melior frowned as he took it. The axe felt heavier than any rice sack he’d carried in his life! He was to lug this on his back, and on Tsukareta? That seemed almost cruel to him and the horse.

“He’ll take you seriously if you give this to him. Otherwise, you’re just like every other arrogant soldier, aristocratic softie and farm boy that plan on being the next Mantle holder.”

And with this, Edo strapped the weapon to Melior’s back before sending him out with a cane whip to the ankles.

When he returned to the front of the house, Tsukareta looked at him lazily. Chaim was nowhere to be seen, likely inside napping already.

Melior shook his head as he untied the reins from the post. Chaim was almost unbearable in his laziness, but he was still his friend, so he had learned to put up with it.

Without a word, Melior left Chaim and Edo’s shack on a calmly trotting Tsukareta, heading home with the axe strapped to his back. If he was to be prepared to head to the palace by the next moon, he needed to be ready for the training it took to become a mantle.

He needed to learn how to find his inner Demon.

Thanks for reading!

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#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #fanfiction #semi original story #amateur author #frehleys baby

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