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vivisextion · 3 years

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I first saw Slipknot at age 14.

No one knows how I managed it. I'm not sure I even remember. These days, you have to be 16 or 18 to get into Standing areas. I do know I had to buy tickets on the phone, back in the old days (2005, that is). A singular ticket, too - none of my friends, not even the classmate who had gone with me to see Linkin Park the year before, was that into Slipknot.

But I HAD to see them. This was the Subliminal Verses tour cycle, and Vol. 3 was my first and favourite Slipknot album, even to this day. It's the reliable old warm blanket for my soul whenever I need it. It's on right now, as I write this.

My memory isn't that good, but luckily I unearthed a livejournal (livejournal!) diary entry about the event I made the next day.

August 16, 2005. I went right after school. I went to a very conservative Anglican secondary school, too. I tried not to get caught in the bathroom, as I coloured my nails black with permanent marker (I know, don't laugh) and changed into my standard metalhead baby outfit - Slipknot band shirt, black cargo shorts, and my pride and joy: steel-toe boots I somehow managed to cajole my parents into letting me own.

I caught the bus to the open-air war memorial park where the gig was going to be. I got there at 4pm, 4 hours early. A couple other maggots were already hanging around. I found myself surrounded by tombstones, and I read them all. It was the middle of the Hungry Ghost Festival, too - a very fitting time for Slipknot to pay a visit to this godforsaken hellhole of a small town I lived in. (Especially given the paranormal circumstances surrounding the making of Vol. 3.)

While I wandered around the venue (no security or sound guys were around at all), I spotted two white vans pull up to the stage, in the middle of a clearing. It was them! I spotted Joey and missed him by a hair's breadth. I was quickly ushered behind the stone archway entrance by security then.

(Funnily enough, while walking around, I got mistaken for Joey more than once. I am the same height as him, had the same long black hair, same pale skin, and was wearing almost exactly what he had been. One person claimed from behind, I was a dead ringer, apart from when I turned around, and they realised I was Chinese.)

It was soundcheck time. A sound guy testing the mics would say random things, like "testing one two three two one.... fudge fudge, I like fudge...." The band even did Purity, so us earlybirds were given a rare treat, and we screamed along from the entrance, and drummed our fists on the sides of nearby porta-potties. I hope no one was in there at the time. Whenever we got a glance of any of them, we'd scream and cheer. Finally they left again, but were soon to return.

This was the first time I'd been a part of the metal community. I was barely allowed internet in those days. But here, random strangers were friendly, striking up conversations like they'd been friends for years. Two big guys, called Trevor and Ted, looked out for me the entire gig after, keeping other big dudes from crushing me too much (I'm 5'3, remember). Other people commented on me being so baby, because I was only 14, and said they would take care of me.

When we were finally let in, right after the usher cut the rope, I ran in, screamed "WOOOHOOO!" along with a few friends I'd made. I only briefly stopped to receive this RoadRunner Records compilation CD from a roadie, then resumed running like a madman screaming and dashing into the VIP cage.

I was right up against the barricade - the first time I would ever be at a gig. People from assorted magazines and press took photos of us, and I think I got my photo taken about 10 times at least.

(This is how I got in trouble with my parents the next day. My photo had ended up in a local paper - you can see examples of that here. They had no idea what I'd been to see the night before, and were horrified when they saw what Slipknot looked like.)

We saw Sid filming us from the stage with a camcorder and screamed at him. We saw Jim and screamed at him too, and he flashed the victory sign back at us. I remember Metallica playing at the time, another one of my favourite bands.

The concert was a brutal religious experience I will never forget. People with their arms outstretched, crying and screaming out loud, moving like the devil possessed them.

The new friends around me made sure I was alright after every song! There were huge guys fainting behind us who had to get carried out, but I endured, a tiny 14 year old child. We got a family speech as per tradition, of course. "Are you guys out there all looking out for each other? We're all one big family, and we gotta look out for each other." What Corey said held true - strangers hugged, shook hands, talked, and made friends. I was heartened by how close-knit the maggot community was. It really did feel like a family, and it's felt like that ever since.

Of course, I did my first Jump The Fuck Up. It is possibly the most euphoria I've ever experienced all at one go. (Later, in 2020, I was extremely disappointed that I didn't get to do it again in London.)

They did the death masks for Vermilion, and I remember Chris helping Sid fix his mask and shirt when they'd changed back. Sid hung out near Clown's drums for most of the time too, and hugged him from behind and just latched on at one point. It was pretty adorable.

Fun fact: The version of Eyeless you hear on the 9.0 Live album is from Singapore, as is Eeyore. There are very few photos and videos from the crowd of this gig, because in 2005, very few people had camera phones. The crowd at the Slipknot gig in 2020 was a sea of arms with phones, filming the gig rather than experiencing it. Yes, I'm going to be that cranky old geezer who complains about the good old days.

Joey as usual, was fucking amazing and never failed. However, due to the fact that I was right up front, only his tiny head was visible behind his vast drum set, I couldn't see him the entire gig.

Amazingly, the government told Slipknot they were not allowed to do obscene gestures, curse, vomit (possibly due to the decomposing crow pre-show ritual), simulate humping on objects, throw faeces, or jump off stage (looking at you, Sid). I don't think our totalitarian government knew who they were dealing with, because watch what happens next.

Near the end of the gig, Corey tells the crowd “your government has given us a laundry list of things we aren’t allowed to do, your government has told us we are not allowed to swear”. Crowd goes “BOOOOOOOOO” and Corey goes “BUT WE DON’T GIVE A FUCK!!” And they launch into Surfacing, the last song. Everyone riots. Best night of my life.

You can find the setlist from that gig here. It had everything I wanted and more.

This story later got immortalised when Kerrang asked maggots for gig stories, for an article which came out in 2020. I had forgotten entirely, until people began messaging me to tell me, and one friend sent me a scan of it!

On the way out, I managed to get a shirt. I remember calling my best friend at the time, and got everyone at the merch booth to go "IF YOU'RE 555 THEN I'M 666" for her. This shirt has since been lost to the landfill, because my Christian mother took it upon herself to dispose of it the first opportunity she got. Needless to say, our relationship is not very good.

After that, I even managed to get that Roadrunner compilation album they were giving out signed. The band was staying at the Carlton. Unfortunately, Joey wasn't there, neither was Clown, and Mick was swarmed by guitar nerds so, 6/9 it is. It is a great regret of mine that I'll never have anything signed by him, nor will I ever get to see him perform ever again.

The next day, I went to school, my head swimming. Yes, I went to see Slipknot ON A SCHOOL NIGHT. I was a giant bruise, from my ribs and my chest, to my hips and knees, from being slammed into the barricade like a screen door in a hurricane. Most of all, my sore, headbanged-out neck could barely hold my head up. Classmates thought I had been in a fight. I was torn between battle-scarred exhaustion and hyperactive ranting about the most amazing gig of my short life (it still is, to this day). When teachers spoke to me, I wanted to reply, "Fuck trigonometry! I've just seen SLIPKNOT. Do you not understand that my world is different? Do you not understand that *I* am now different?"

My country was a small, conservative town that Slipknot had graced with their unholy presence. Corey Taylor once said that where he grew up in Iowa had a way of making a 16 year old boy feel like a 36 year old man (or something to that effect). I felt that in my weary bones as a teenager, being from a place just like that. Years later, Watain would run into worse trouble, and wouldn't even be allowed to perform. The Christian stranglehold is stronger than ever. It was a good thing that back then Slipknot had the element of surprise, striking serpent-fast and choking this society by the neck for a too-brief time, before they departed.

After that, my desire to play the drums only grew like a weed. Joey Jordison had, has, and will always inspire me as a drummer, and seeing the beast live (or what little I could spy behind the massive riser) had only spurred me on. I had always been a noisemaker, be it driving my parents mad with chopsticks on pots and pans, or driving my teachers mad with pencils on my desk. But of course, my parents wouldn't have any of it. I'd have to wait a good 14 more years before I'd be able to afford lessons and later, a kit of my own. Better late than never, right?

There will never be enough words to describe the impact Joey has had on my life. And it isn't just Slipknot, either. I could write another essay on his time with the Murderdolls and its influence on my own gender-non-conforming ways. Suffice to say, my wardrobe doesn't look too dissimilar to his during the early Dead in Hollywood days.

I told my boss I could not come into work today. I was grieving. I said that my music teacher died, as I didn't think she'd understand the magnitude of my loss. In a way, it's true. And I am not the only one Joey has nudged on the path to being a musician, that much is certain. To the rest of us, I wish strength and love for you in this difficult time. The best way to honour Joey, who truly loved music, both the creation and appreciation of it, is to pass that gift on. Teach it to someone. He is the reason I picked up the sticks in the first place, and one day, they'll be handed on, the heavy metal baton for the next generation.

And finally: remember that the ones we have lost are never truly gone.

Vinnie

P.S. See if you can spot me in the crowd photos in this post!

#Joey Jordison #Slipknot #Murderdolls

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simsadventures · 4 years

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Teach Me

Summary: Bucky might have been a confident ladies-man before the war, but now, he is just a shy boy in a body made of steel. All he needs is a nudge, and a few directions as to how to make a woman scream his name again. And Bucky is a fast student.

Warnings: fluff, shy!Bucky, smut, like… so much smut (MUST BE 18+ TO READ THIS STORY)

Pairing: Bucky x Female Reader

Word Count: 2829

A/N: This is a story for @this-kitten-is-smitten ’s writing challenge, my song prompt being Strangers like Me from Tarzan. I used the whole idea of the song and a few sentences of it, those will be in italics. Also, it ws supposed to be a drabble challenge and here we are, so… ups? Obviously I’m unable to write short things. #this-kitten-is-smitten-challenge

I know I incorporate a lot of books in my fics, and if it annoys some of you, please, let me know. It’s just… I’m and English Major and I have to read a shit-ton of books, and I’m trying to use it somewhere :D Here I used Native Son by Richard Wright xx

Anyway, hope you’ll enjoy it, and as always, tell me what you thought, feedback is gold :) xx

Bucky Barnes Masterlist __ Masterlist

Sitting in your room, trying to read Native Son to get your mind off of the last mission, which was all too close to comfort for you. Nobody got really hurt in Tokyo, just a few bruises here and there, but it was one of the more difficult missions, and so it stuck with you for a bit longer.

It also didn’t help that despite your relationship with Bucky was blooming, and everything seemed to have been going in the right direction, even after 5 months of a relationship, you two still hadn’t done it. Not that you were one of those people building a relationship on sex, not at all. But you were extremely attracted to Bucky, and you just wanted to explore things with him. Sooo many things.

But whenever you tried and talk about it with him, Bucky would always steer the conversation in another direction, suddenly being interested in what mission would come, or if you two would have dinner at this new Indian restaurant in the city. And after a few conversations like these, you just gave up on meek questions and letting him get away without actually answering you.

No, you would cut straight to the point, and you wouldn’t let him leave the room without actually talking things out. You would be ok if he told you he wasn’t ready for sex with you, you’d totally accept that. But you just needed to know where the two of you stood. If it had some kind of a future together, or if you two should just move on.

Bucky didn’t even know what awaited him. He came to your room, oblivious to the plan you had constructed in your mind, and he was just happy to spend some time with you. And when he came into the room, he still thought you two would have just a nice evening together. But oh boy, was he wrong.

You were in the middle of Superman vs Batman when you touched his biceps in a way he knew you weren’t just getting comfortable.

“Can I ask you something, Bucky? And this time, you will actually answer me?”

Even in the darkened room, you could see his Adam’s apple bob heavily, as if he was facing the worst kind of interrogation. You could feel him fidgeting under your fingers, his muscles tightening and loosening, as stress hit his body.

You didn’t want to make him feel that way. It wasn’t your intention, but you knew this was the only way to go about it.

“I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but just, please. One small conversation and we’ll both know what’s going on,” you looked at him, expectation written all over your face, and even though Bucky really didn’t want to delve into this, he couldn’t avoid the topic forever.

“Alright,” he barely whispered, and a relief spread through your body.

You sat up straighter and paused the movie, making Bucky repeat your movements so that the two of you could sit opposite of each other.

“I know you don’t wanna talk about it, and I’m gonna make it quick, Buck. I gotta know if you’re uncomfortable with the idea of sex as such, or if it’s me, or if-“

“It’s definitely not you, Y/N! I hate myself for making you feel that this had anything to do with you at all. No, baby! You’re perfect, just the way you are, and I’m a douche for not showing you. It’s just… This is something I’m not proud of, and that’s why I didn’t tell you anything.”

You nodded and took his right hand in both yours, squeezing it tightly and letting him know that it was a safe space, and he could tell you anything in the world. You two could get past it, you were sure of it.

He sighed and squeezed back, getting to the point.

“I’ve been with quite a few ladies back in a day, and just like any other man, I enjoyed it thoroughly. But ever since I was the Winter Soldier, I wasn’t with anyone, except few rare kisses or make-out sessions, and I’m just not sure if I got it anymore. I’m afraid I’d disappoint you, and I really don’t wanna do that. So I just chose to not do anything at all.”

He ended his little speech, staring at the blankets underneath you, not ready to see your expression.

But you wanted him to see it. You put two of your fingers underneath his chin, lifting it up gently so that your eyes could meet. And what he saw took his breath away.

There was no hate nor disappointment in your eyes, not at all. You were looking at him like he was someone important like you were in awe he was really sitting there in front of you, and the love you radiated made him feel dizzy.

“I could never be disappointed in you, love! Never! If anything, this makes me love you even more. I wanna explore with you, Bucky, I wanna show you so many things. Can you feel what I feel, right now?” You asked him, guiding his hand to your chest, where your heart was beating strongly.

“I wanna know, Y/N. Can you show me? Everything I’ve been missing, I wanna feel it all,” He whispered to your ear, biting your earlobe in the process. It made goosebumps erupt on your skin. You’ve been touch-deprived, and that was an understatement of the year.

“I will gladly be your guide, my love! But I think sex is like riding a bicycle, you can never really forget it. You just have to trust me.”

He didn’t give you an answer in words. Instead, he leaned in and captured your lips with his, revealing at the feeling of being so close to you. He kissed, just like that for a while, before he slipped his arm around your waist, squeezing your hip on the way.

It made you gasp into his mouth and gave him the perfect access to your mouth. You two made-out many times before, so he was fairly familiar with your mouth, and he knew his way around. There was still a certain amount of nerves from what was to come, but a determination was the more growing feeling in him. He wanted to make you feel good because you deserved it, for all those months he gave up on the intimacy between the two of you.

The hand resting on your hip travelled north underneath your shirt, lifting it up as it went, and Bucky could feel your warm skin underneath his fingertips, making him shudder in anticipation.

He ended up right under your bra, caressing the silky material in his hand, letting the feeling of the soft material travel right to his groin. It didn’t take much for Bucky after such a long wait, and he could feel himself growing hard.

Whenever he’d got to this point with you, feeling his cock growing stiff, he would push you away and go to his own room, either breathing it out in a cold shower or just jack off to the idea of you writhing underneath him.

But to finally have you there, even if no clothes had been shed yet, it was already better than his imagination. And he suddenly wanted to do so much more with you.

He swiftly pulled the shirt over your head, his eyes roaming the newly freed skin, and anticipation grew inside him. But as soon as his confidence rose, it also subsided, remembering that he didn’t have any practice in 70 years.

But fortunately, you saw right through him, and the second his grip on you loosened, you took over. Not that you were a sex-goddess, but you weren’t scared of little touching, and the horniness and determination combined to create a deadly mix.

You also freed him of the confines of his shirt, letting your hands explore his skin. You started on his neck, caressing it from both sides before you slid further down to his collarbones, which you swiped with your thumbs. Meanwhile, your mouth sucked on his pulse-point, making it really difficult for Bucky to think about anything, let alone his nerves.

While you pinched his nipples between your fingers, you licked his collarbone, earning a shudder from Bucky. Your hands were then splayed on his stomach, scratching it lightly with your fingers only so hard that you left the pinkish lines behind your fingernails. You mouth worked each of his nipples, biting it ever so slightly and making circles with your tongue around them.

By the time you reached his waistband, Bucky was a panting mess with his fists clenching around the sheets.

But before you could pull his pants and boxer-briefs down, Bucky grabbed your hips and threw you back on the bed, laying you down and rushing to lay himself on top of you.

“My turn,” Bucky mumbled to your ear, and while his left hand was grabbing your hip and squeezing it, his right hand was fighting the clasp of your bra, trying to get the damn thing off of you. And though he might have been rusty, he managed to do it reasonably quickly. What you didn’t know at the moment was that he didn’t unclasp the pins, but he tore them with his fingers. He would buy you a new bra, hell, he’d buy you a full Victoria Secret store if he could do this with you for the rest of his life.

He threw the bra somewhere behind him, not really caring where it landed, before he latched onto your breasts, sucking and licking like a madman. While his mouth was working on your left nipple, his hand was kneading your right breasts.

You never had anyone playing with your tits so passionately nor for so long, and so when he finally ceased his actions, you were ready to come. Your thighs were rubbing against each other, trying to relieve you in some way.

Bucky’s attack continued as he travelled further south licking stripes along your abdomen, circling your navel, and licking a line along the ridge of your pants. Before you even knew what was happening, you were completely bare in front of Bucky. His strength never ceased to amaze you.

Bucky stopped moving, just watching your naked form, splayed on top of the white sheets like a goddess. He could swear he has never seen anything sexier than you, there.

His head got in the way again, telling him that he forgot how to pleasure a woman with both his fingers and his tongue, and so he was just sitting there, staring at your welcoming pussy, not trusting himself to move.

You sensed his hesitation and took the first step.

You lifted your own hand, and hill one played with your nipple, the other went straight for the target, spreading your lips and gathering the slick on your fingers before you touched your clit and moaned out loud.

Bucky felt like he was in a wet dream. The very likely love of his life was touching herself in from of him, putting a show specifically for him. You had your eyes closed, your fingers moving on muscle memory. It was when you slipped a finger inside you, and your back arched that Bucky was finally able to move.

“Every gesture, every move that she makes, makes me feel like never before”, Bucky thought for himself as he finally gathered enough courage to pleasure you himself. He slipped from his seating position to lay on his stomach between your legs, and without as much as a word, he dived in.

You released a loud moan, unable to contain yourself anymore. It was all too much. Just being close to Bucky would always make your blood run faster, but this? This was from another world. He was playing with you, you could tell.

He tried to discover which moves made you sigh, which made your tremble and which made you scream his name. He combined sucking, tongue and finger fucking with clit sucking, and in no time, you were squeezing your thighs around his head, chanting his name like a prayer when you reached your climax.

Bucky almost licked you dry, revealing at the sudden power he had, never wanting to give it up. He loved the idea of making you feel this good, because when he looked up, you look thoroughly fucked, with your hair all over the pillow, your cheeks flushed red, and your lips slightly parted, breathing heavily from the intensity of your orgasm.

And Bucky was no longer afraid. His cock was aching in his pants, and when he finally pulled down his pants, it sprang right up against his abdomen. Bucky couldn’t even remember when was the last time he was this hard.

You watched him with hooded eyes, and when you tried to sit up to reciprocate the pleasure, he pushed one of your shoulders back, letting you know he wanted to lay still.

“I’ve waited too long, doll. There will be enough time for you to suck me off like the good girl you are, maybe in the second round, but right now, I need to be inside you. This pussy is calling for me,” he growled the last part and guided his cock between your folds.

He bumped into your clit with the head of his cock several times, which already had you gasping again.

“Are you gonna be my god girl and take my cock in this tight pussy?”

You stared at Bucky, and you weren’t sure when did your sweet, shy boyfriend turned into a dirty talking sex master, but you weren’t the one to complain.

You just nodded your head, and stretched your arms, bringing Bucky down to kiss him with all you had. His tongue was licking inside your mouth like it was the most natural thing for him to do, and you never wanted to leave that bed. You saw before you a new horizon.

Still kissing you, Bucky guided his cock inside you, and thanks to your slicked pussy, he could slide right in.

You gasped, holding onto him for dear life, and from the pants and gasps, you could tell Bucky was doing the same. He stilled inside you, trying to let you get used to his girth, but you didn’t want to wait any longer.

You moved your hips upwards, rutting your pelvis against his, creating friction needed for your clit, and it made your pussy squeeze Bucky inside you.

He moaned like a wounded animal and bit your shoulder before he started thrusting into you with all he had. He delivered short but powerfully strokes, bottoming out every time, and you were 100% sure you’d feel him inside you for days to come.

You were both covered in sweat in a few minutes, but neither of you cared. The only thing that mattered at the moment was to make each other come. And when Bucky put his thumb against your bundle of nerves, putting pressure against it while still hitting your deepest spots, you opened your mouth in a silent cry, raking your fingers down Bucky’s back, squeezing his cock inside you as your climax took over your body.

Bucky hissed at both the sensation of slight pain caused by your nails and by the way your pussy was trying to milk him off everything he had to offer. It took only a few more stuttered thrusts before he pushed deep inside you and came with the sexiest groan you’ve ever heard.

You could feel the warmth spreading through your pussy as his seed painted your walls and leaked out of you, with Bucky’s cock still pushed deep inside of you.

You were both panting messes, trying to gather your thoughts and will your muscles to move one last time that night.

Bucky pulled away from you, which cause you to white from the lack of contact between the two of you, but he only rolled on his back, bringing you with him.

You could feel his cum still oozing out of you, but you couldn’t care less at that moment.

“We’re never getting out of this bed,” Bucky mumbled against your hair, and you had to giggle at his exclamation.

“What if we’re hungry, huh?” You asked with a smirk, feeling Bucky’s chest rumble with a deep laugh.

“Give me a minute, and I’ll feed you, alright.”

You swatted his chest playfully and kissed his now puffy lips.

“You’re an idiot!”

He pulled you impossibly close to his body and whispered, “Yeah, I am. But I’m your idiot, and that means something.”

That sure did mean something. You smiled and let the exhaustion of your body take over your mind as well, the idea of having this breathtaking sex all the time now lulling you to sleep.

Bucky Taglist

@this-kitten-is-smitten @paradisiacalsparks @crazybutconfidentaf @owlyannah @lassini @s-trawberryv-eins @reniescarlett

Marvel Taglist

@voltage-my2dlove @kneel-begyourpardon @lumar014 @ptrs-prkrs

Forever Tag:

@eileenalone @sasbb23 @p8tn0lish @coffeebooksandfandom @waiting4inspiration @caswinchester2000 @mogaruke @justthatfangirloverthere @mushyjellybeans @livsheph @sebbbystaaan @notyourtypicalrose @itsunclebucky

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chaseatinydream · 3 years

Text

pirate king (2) || atz

“All the dried fruit has been accounted for.”

You fight down the yelp that had almost left your mouth, trying to quieten your breathing as much as possible. Two men, from the sound of their voices, are inspecting the food stocks. You’re going to be found.

“How much salted fish?” The deeper, lower voice you heard giving commands earlier asks his partner, and you pick up the sound of a pen scratching across paper.

“Enough to last us two weeks, if Jongho doesn’t eat them all by the first.” The second voice, softer and gentler, quips and they both share a laugh.

“That kind smile hides a darker mind beneath, Seonghwa-hyung.” The speaker with the deeper voice comments with a rolling chuckle. You’re still frozen in fear as they continue to take inventory, but them finding you is inevitable.

“How much alcohol did we get?” The person she assumes to be Seonghwa asks and you hear the sound of barrels shifting. “San needs some of it to treat the wounded.”

“Enough rum to last us till Tortuga and some wine and beer on the side.” His partner replied, writing some more things down. “I’m sure we can spare a barrel or two, not many of them got injured.”

“That’s a relief.” You can hear the worry leave Seonghwa’s voice, but your panic levels are jumping as you hear them move ever closer to you. “I heard Yunho didn’t have a scratch on him.”

“Neither did Jongho.” The other man snorted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already down here, chomping his way through the apples. Look, the sacking fell. I’ll get it.”

And suddenly the sackcloth is pulled away from your head.

You don’t have time to think. Lunging forward, you headbutt the man who removed the sackcloth from you in the face and you hear him let out a howl of pain, letting go of the sacking to clutch his bleeding nose. Your eyes dart around desperately for an escape route, but before you can move, someone slams you against the wall, the tip of a razor sharp knife pressed to your throat.

“Don’t move.” It’s the softer man, Seonghwa, although his grey eyes are hard as stone now. You can’t look away, transfixed, and he continues to speak, eyes never leaving yours. “Mingi, you alright?”

The man he addresses has a long, face with strong, defined features and narrowed eyes, tiny braids done in his cerulean blue hair. He’s tall, taller than you by about a head. He gives you a resentful scowl. “I think he broke my nose.” The words come out thickly as the man you now know to be Mingi cups both hands over his face, trying to stem the flow of blood.

Then it hits you.

He?

It’s true you’re not especially curvy and your chest has been bound by strips of cloth, but you didn’t expect to fool people so easily.

“I’m sorry.” You manage to choke out. Seonghwa and Mingi exchange surreptitious glances.

“You should get San to look at that, Mingi.” Seonghwa advises, worry written all over his face. Mingi nods wearily, blood falling through the cracks in his fingers and staining the ground.

“Let’s get this kid to Hongjoong-hyung first.” The taller man sighs, grabbing you by the shoulder with a bloody hand and pushing you towards the stairs you had tumbled down from. Pain lances up your ankle, but you steel yourself and step on it anyway.

It’s excruciating, but you don’t dare to show any weakness. They might toss you overboard. Or feed you to the sharks. You don’t know and you really don’t want to find out.

You bite on the inside of your cheek so hard you taste blood, but you manage to make it onto the main deck. Many faces turn and look upon you with surprise, then they see Mingi bleeding from the nose and their expressions turn threatening. One even draws his sword.

You flinch back into Seonghwa, who steadies you by the shoulders, while Mingi addresses the crew.

“I’m fine!” He shouts through his bloody nose, which obviously isn’t fine. “Everyone back to work, please.”

There’s a disconcerting silence as if they’re still planning on how to kill you in every way possible, but they eventually turn back to their work cleaning the cannons and securing the sheets. Mingi turns back to you.

“This way.” He says gruffly, pulling you up another flight of stairs, Seonghwa at the rear. You bite back another whimper of pain, but Seonghwa hears it.

On the quarter deck, you catch sight of a man at the wheel. He’s young, almost your age, dressed all in red with patchwork black pants. His ash blonde hair falls into his eyes and the back is done in a neat mullet. But the most eye catching thing about him is the black eye patch he has over his right eye, the confidence he stands with despite his age and how he’s steering the ship as if the oceans bow at his feet.

Something in him calls out to you.

“Hongjoong-ah, we found a stowaway in the cargo hold.” Seonghwa calls over you shoulder as Mingi forces you to your knees. The man at the wheel doesn’t take his eye off the sea for a moment, pulling a length of rope from around his waist and lashing the wheel in position. Only then does he turn around.

“Mingi, take the helm- What happened to you, Mingi?” The helmsman’s voice is almost an entire octave higher than Mingi’s, almost too cute to be a pirate’s. His eyes rake over the bloody nose on Mingi’s face, before his expression settles into a frown.

“Got headbutted by our stowaway here.” Mingi jerks a thumb at your face and Hongjoong’s one eye follows it down, coming to rest on you. His fingers dance on the hilt of one of the two cutlasses hanging at his hip.

You gulp. “I said I was sorry.” You mutter under your breath.

Hongjoong’s eye drills into you, a calm, unbothered smile on his face that terrifies you more than if he were furious. “Well, I guess I should introduce myself, shouldn’t I?” The side of his lips pull up in a smirk. “This ship is the Treasure and we’re the pirate band ATEEZ. I’m Kim Hongjoong, the helmsman and captain of this ship.”

At that, your mouth falls open. This man can’t be any more than twenty two, but he’s the captain? Hongjoong nods at the dumbstruck expression on your face, the chilling smile never leaving his face. “What about you, Royal Navy scum?”

Seonghwa and Mingi’s expressions change to shock in seconds and Seonghwa even begins to draw that wicked long kitchen knife from his belt.

You pause at that. “Royal Navy?” Your lips pull downwards in a frown. What is the Royal Navy?

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Hongjoong’s not smiling now and you feel the air drop several degrees. Your teeth want to start chattering but you force a terrified smile on your face. Hongjoong’s eyebrows lower into a frown.

“The coat you are wearing is of Royal Navy make. An officer’s, I might add. It may be beaten and torn up, but I’d recognize that rose insignia anywhere.” He jerks his chin at the red patches on the shoulders. Sure enough, you can see the rose stitched into the fabric. “So what is your purpose here? If you answer truthfully I might simply shoot you instead of having you flogged to death.”

He doesn't sound like he's joking.

Goosebumps race along your skin and you know that your face has drained of colour. You don’t even remember your own name, how are you supposed to remember where you got this stupid coat? So you start rambling.

“Okay actually I just woke up this morning in the prison of the town you guys just looted like a while ago and I kind of don’t remember how I got there so like they were talking about bringing me to the gallows for some kind of public hanging and I don’t really know why they wanted to hang me so when you attacked I just tried to escape and ended up in the harbor so I ran up the first ship I saw which was your ship and tried to get away from the fighting so I went into the cargo hold and fell asleep there so yeah.”

There's a pause.

“What?” Mingi blinks. You open your mouth to repeat it when Hongjoong holds up a hand. You close your mouth with a clop.

“Seonghwa, go help San take care of the wounded.” He orders and Mingi stiffens as if they’ve breached some kind of taboo conversation topic. The other man visibly relaxes and exhales shakily, nodding. “Yes, captain.” Then he turns around and makes his way down to the main deck.

Hongjoong turns back to you with a calm gaze. “So, according to you, you can’t remember why they would throw a Royal navy officer such as yourself into prison?”

“I’m not a Royal Navy officer.” You retort with a scowl, meeting his gaze angrily. When he raises an eyebrow, you catch yourself, swallow and lower your head. “I’m sorry.”

“Well this is certainly the most interesting story we’ve heard from a captured Royal Navy officer, haven’t we, Mingi?” Hongjoong muses to himself, running his tongue across his lips. Mingi nods apathetically.

“He’s also the youngest.” The quartermaster adds on to the back unhelpfully.

“Tell me, what exactly did you intend to do after escaping onto my ship?” He leans back with a smile, as if expecting some silly answer. You don’t have any smart ones, so you answer honestly.

“I really wasn’t thinking that far.”

Sighing dramatically at your lackluster answer, Hongjoong nods again. His one eye is a vivid green, like a poisonous snake’s that could sink its fangs into you at any moment. He seems to be contemplating something. Then he lifts your chin with a finger so that you meet his eyes even as you try to squirm away.

“Well then, Mister I’m-Not- A-Royal-Navy-Officer.” The young captain wears that same chilling smile again, and it doesn’t make you feel any better. “How about this? We’ll tie you to the mainmast so everyone can keep watch over you and we’ll feed you enough to survive, but the moment we stop at Tortuga, I’m tossing you onto shore. If I find out that you’re one of the Royal Navy swine at any moment...”

There’s a click and suddenly there’s a musket pointed at your temple. Your body seizes up in rapid panic, blood freezing over in your veins. You hadn’t even seen him move.

“I’ll gut you like a stuck pig.” His voice is warm and smooth, right next to your ear. You don’t even realize you’re trembling until he steps back, holstering the musket in his belt with an amused smile on his face. “I’d shoot you for breaking Mingi’s nose like that, but I suppose that it won’t matter if I’m going to kill you in the end anyway. Mingi, secure the boy to the mainmast and make sure not a single man on board touches him, then get San to look at your nose.”

“I got it.” Mingi sounds almost annoyed at being babied with the repeated advice, but Hongjoong just laughs.

“I’m interested to see how long you can keep this facade up, pretty boy. Don’t worry about anything.” Hongjoong’s grin is terrifying, wild like the raging sea as he strides back to the wheel, boots clicking on the deck.

“When it finally breaks, I’ll be the one to end it all for you.”

That’s the last thing you hear before Mingi marches you down to the main deck.

You’re still freezing from the chilling encounter with the young pirate captain as Mingi pushes you towards the main mast. Even the pain in your ankle doesn’t seem to compare with the numbing terror of Hongjoong’s threat. You slump in shock against the main mast as Mingi looks upwards into the rigging.

“Yunho-ah, toss me some rope!”

Seconds later, a coil of rope slithers down the mast and Mingi wraps it around your upper torso securing your arms and torso to the mast. It’s loose enough not to cut off the circulation in your arms, but tight enough to ensure you won’t be going anywhere. And honestly, where can you go? As far as the eye can see, it’s all ocean.

You thought that escaping the gallows had been a smart move. Now it seems like you threw yourself from the frying pan into the flames.

Go home, the voice in your head whispers. You tell it to shut up savagely.

Mingi finally announces to everyone that they are not to make eye contact with you, speak to you, or have any form of interaction with you as he finishes off with several skillful knots at the back.

“That includes physical contact like beating or throwing things at him.” Mingi adds on and there’s a collective sigh of disappointment from the crew.

“You sure, quartermaster?” One of the men at the cannons pulls out his musket. “An eye for an eye, he did make you bleed!”

The rest of the crew shouts agreement, but Mingi shakes his head firmly.

“We’re pirates, not barbarians.” He chides, wiping his nose once more. The blood flow seems to have slowed to a steady trickle at least. “It’s my fault for being unprepared. Besides, these are Hongjoong’s orders. Any of you want to answer to captain?”

“Absolutely not!” The crewman declares and the deck breaks out in carefree laughter. Mingi gives a tiny smile as he straightens up from tying your bonds.

Something in your chest tugs painfully.

“Well then, don’t get me into trouble with captain.” He waves them back to their work and they do so cheerfully, all the tension in the air gone. Then Mingi turns back to you with a stern scowl.

“From what you can see, the crew isn’t exactly happy with you.” He gestures at the deck with one of his long arms. “I’d suggest you keep your mouth shut if you want to make it to Tortuga alive.”

And then he turns and leaves you alone with your thoughts, a lonely stranger on a foreign ship.

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sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years

Text

Artistic Instinct: Chapter 5

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 4,700 (yup, the words ran away from me!)

Warnings: Language.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

Art washes away from the soul, the dust of everyday life

Pablo Picasso

Chapter 5

Golden sunlight streams down in ribbons upon your hair, setting fire to the natural red highlights and causing the wrought iron railing to cast beautiful shadows across the floor. Marcus sits with you upon your hotel balcony in the late morning sunshine. You are now, a little more comfy, wearing your airport clothes- the high-waisted, wide-legged jeans and a mustard yellow and cream breton top that does everything to highlight the rise and fall of your curves.

He watches each tiny twitch of your face as you read notes from the meeting- your full lips pout and brow furrow as your gaze flits backwards and forwards over the words, making connections and drawing together the different pieces of information that you’d gathered from that meeting. Marcus tries to smother a chuckle when you unthinkingly roll your eyes and shake your head at the point where some idiot tried talking over you in the meeting and he can fully read from his position that you have scrawled TWAT across your notes in reference to that mediocre white man.

It’s at this sound, that you look up, “What’s up?” you ask tiredly, smiling amusedly in his direction.

“You’ve got such an expressive face as you read- I swear, it’s like your muscles are reliving all of the faces you wanted to pull in the meeting. You managed that jerk well in there.”

“I’ve been managing cockwombles like him my entire life. They’re fucking insidious,” you say turning your eyes back towards the screen, shaking your head at the memory of the all the arseholes who have gone before and all those who were yet to come. “If they had anything to actually offer, I’d accept it; but they just parrot shit back at you - the same shit that came out of your own mouth moments earlier - as if it is their fucking own, enlightened idea!”

“I can imagine.This level of work, even in the art fraud department, is such an old boys’ club,” he agrees, pursing his lips in annoyance of the invisible barriers that you must have come up against.

Nodding in agreement, you add with your head tilting to one side as you take the agent in, “You don’t seem to fall into that category, Marcus. You even handed the reins over to me in there- I should have just been your lackey today, not the one doing all the speaking. I appreciate you treating me like an equal.”

Rolling his shoulders and stretching the sides of his neck, Marcus looks off into the distance as he slightly straightens up in his seat, “My Mamá firmly entrenched the value of every human being in me, regardless of their gender. I don’t wanna bring it up again, and certainly never wanna upset you, but you should be my role in the team. Your aptitude for this role far outweighs mine,” he grins and turns towards you, “There’s a part of me that feels like a mediocre white man around you.”

“Well, at least you have decent enough manners not to mansplain my ideas back at me!” you laugh, hugely enjoying your boss’ company on that narrow balcony.

“You know, I didn’t recognise you wearing civvies in the airport? I was absolutely kicking myself for not taking a ride with you to the airport.”

“Yeah, I get that. After seeing me suited and booted, it must have been a shock to see a jet-lagged, middle-aged man in old jeans and a hoodie,” Marcus humbly chuckles, shaking his head.

“Are you digging?” Your eyebrow arches high on your brow as you interrogate him teasingly.

“What do you mean digging?” Marcus furrows his brows as his eyes widen innocently.

“Digging for a compliment, you daft thing!”

“Hah, no! I meant it honestly. Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and don’t even know the reflection that stares back at me,” he replies, shaking his head sadly.

“Pssh, you have nothing to worry about. Some of us can only dream of looking as put together as you. I generally look as though I crawled through an art studio backwards even if I use an iron and put make-up on- in fact, scratch that- I look worse if I iron and put effort into how I look,” you exhale despairingly at the memory of all the other immaculate recruits and your general throw-it-on, it’ll-do appearance. “Everyone else in my family is so incredibly smart- immaculate even- and yet, I stick out like a sore thumb. Like I didn’t quite pass the expectations of what it takes to be an adult. I swear that’s the reason my aunties think I’m not married.”

Marcus huffs a gentle laugh, “I think that’s a big part of it for me. For the amount of grey in my hair and the creases in my skin, I’m not where I expected to be at this point in my life.”

“Where did you expect to be, Marcus?” You cock your head to one side, listening intently.

A buzz suddenly emerges from your phone:

« On est en bas! »

“Ah they’re downstairs- but do not think for one second that this conversation is over,” you wag your finger in Marcus’ direction as you gather your belongings, “We will continue this later.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Marcus mock salutes you and clicks his heels together as he rises from his chair with a huge crunch from his knees, “See, what did I tell ya? Old. I’m gonna grab my things.”

Grabbing your trusty rucksack from the floor of the balcony as Marcus departs, you feel almost reluctant to leave the balcony and the conversation that you were having with him. Since he’d helped you through the anxiety attack prior to re-entering your old workplace, the two of you had found an ease in being around each other. Whilst you are dreaming of spending a day chatting with Marcus, he’s already back with a small smile and a soft look about his eyes as he catches you staring into space.

Walking through the hotel, Marcus and you could be thought of as any pair of friends on holiday with your giggles and gentle jibes towards each other as you walk down endless corridors to find the exit. There is no way that anyone would have said that you had met barely twenty-four hours before or that you were there as business associates with the easy air you treat each other. After crossing the elegant lobby, you finally reach the doors to the outside world, a wave of relief coursing through you to see that you didn’t have to make a decision as to which way to open the door as there is someone to do it for you.

As you reach their car, Jacques takes off his seatbelt and makes to get out of the car but Marcus waves him off, opening the door for you to jump into one of the back seats.

“Oh you weren’t kidding about the stickiness,” you mercilessly tease the pair sitting in the front seats. Élodie responds by sliding her front seat back as far as it can go and you yelp in surprise at the sudden crushing of your legs, slamming your fist on her headrest in mock anger.

“Please excuse the children, Marcus,” Jacques shakes his head and sighs deeply but Élodie reaches over and squeezes her husband’s thigh in a way that makes him yelp and laugh in the same breath.

Marcus and you catch each other’s eyes and grin at the playfulness. You might be here on business but at least you can enjoy yourselves at the same time. The stresses of the morning slowly ebbing from your mind, you stretch out, resting your head against the cool glass of the window and allow the hum of the car engine and gentle chatter to surround you, lulling you off to the sleep you had missed out on the night before.

✪✪✪✪✪

Something is tenderly brushing against your cheek and you instinctively nuzzle into the warm touch as your eyes start to open and the world begins to regain its focus, “Hey, sleepyhead! We’re here,” Marcus murmurs as he strokes your cheek with his thumb to rouse you from your slumber.

“Shit. Sorry. Sorry,” you rub your eyes with your knuckles trying to rid yourself of the embarrassment of snuggling the fingers of your new boss, noticing that Élodie and Jacques have already left the car.

“No worries, your snores were pretty cute,” the agent teases you gently with a lopsided grin crossing his face.

“Lies! I don’t snore.” you exclaim indignantly at the accusations, but glad he hasn’t focussed on your reaction to him caressing your cheek, as your faculties start to kick in, reaching for the door handle to escape Marcus’ jokey impressions of your snores.

The mountain air in Grenoble strokes its icy fingertips against your neck, making you wrap the woolly softness of your cardigan more tightly around yourself. You notice Marcus also zipping up a black leather jacket over his hoodie. In the open boot of his car, Jacques concentrates on making a roll up next to a small bag of resources for you - cotton gloves, sample pots, tweezers and magnifying glasses.

“s'il vous plait, Marcus. Before we do anything else, I need to borrow your muscles,” Élodie announces to him, “We need coffee, and if I know that woman standing next to you, she will be in need of one, too!”

At Élodie’s statement, you watch Marcus’ face crease into a small smile, flashing that lovely dimple, as he crosses his arms across his chest. You wonder whether he's protecting his clothes from your next caffeine hit or trying to steel himself for the latest cheeky wink coming from Élodie. A slightly raised eyebrow is sent in your direction as his boots softly stride behind the clack of her heels upon the pavement.

A waft of tobacco drifts through the air as Jacques lights up as you watch his wife and your boss walk off in the direction of coffee.

“You left us, Nush,” Jacques scratches his nose as he looks at you through a cloud of smoke he has exhaled, “You disappeared. Literally, disappeared to the point that none of us could track you down.

“I mean, it is testament to what an incredible agent you are that you can just make yourself that invisible but…” he takes another inhale of the cigarette as he turns his shoulders to mirror your position, “But you weren’t even there for Jasper’s funeral.”

Silent rivers course down your face, “Please, Jacques. Don’t make me do this now. I can’t do this right now. Let me find my feet before we get into all of this. This is my first job since everything,” your hands trembling as you gesture wildly in the air. “I want to explain. I missed you both so much but I can’t right now. It isn’t the right time.”

Nothing more is said between the two of you as you both sit silently next to each other. Jacques nods contemplatively whilst he carries on sucking at his cigarette for comfort and release from the tension that has built upon his face. In the relative safety of the car boot, as he reaches across what feels like a chasm between you to pat your thigh, you can see the hurt searing through his eyes.

How did Imanage to destroy so much?

✪✪✪✪✪

Marcus wonders how you are doing. He keeps looking back at you until you fade from his sight just to make sure that you are ok. He swears that he saw your shoulders and head drop as they seem to whenever you’re reminded of whatever those ghosts are that you haven’t managed yet to lay to rest.

“She’ll be ok with Jacques. Those two are like brother and sister, you needn't worry,” Élodie pats Marcus’ arm as she points in front of her, nodding towards a cafe. Seeing a small tic in his jaw, she adds with a small smile, “She’s special to you, non?”

After Marcus holds the door for Élodie, he shoves his hands in his pockets and pauses before saying, “Yeah. She is. I don’t think in all my years of working as an agent, that I’ve ever met someone like Anushka. Listening to her speak about art and the various different forgeries… it just transports me to a place... I’m not just in the museum seeing the original masterpieces. It’s not even just that I can see those pieces in front of me. Just by her words bringing them alive, I become part of the art. Her passion and knowledge is infectious and she cannot help but to enthuse everyone around- she is truly gifted.”

“Anushka is incredibly talented. She was born to be in the role but I would say that’s not the only way that you think she’s special,” Élodie gently analyses as she squeezes Marcus’ arm seeing a moment of panic cross his face- she tries to swallow down a laugh at how he looks like a little boy caught with his hand in the biscuit tin, “Don’t worry, I won’t say a word to Nush- she can be a bit like a wild animal at times. It can take time to earn her trust. The 5 Eyes team is separate from Mi5, non?”

Marcus’ brow furrows, “Yes, we work under slightly separate parameters as we work across five agencies across the world- sort of similar to Interpol. Why d’ya ask?”

“Ok, so if you were to start anything with her- if anything were to be allowed to develop between the two of you, could it result in disciplinary action or her losing her role? Hang on,” she pauses as the assistant behind the glass shelf raises their eyebrows in Élodie’s direction, alerting her that it is time to order, « Bonjour, quatre cafés s’il vous plaît »

Marcus adds « Et je voudrais deux pain aux raisins aussi, s’il vous plaît. »

“Oh, I didn’t realise that you spoke a little French- a man of many talents,” Élodie teases with a wink as she grabs her purse from her bag, “And let me guess, the food is to try to stop Nush from burning herself or you? That woman is a nightmare with drinks.”

Reaching across Élodie,who is about to tap her card to pay, Marcus passes the cashier a couple of notes that more than cover the total, grabs the coffees and goes to leave, holding the door open with his elbow. “Why d’you wanna know about how interdepartmental relationships are viewed?”

The creases on Marcus’ brow deepen as yet another hint of whatever plagues your past troubles his mind due to Élodie’s words, “It is not my story to tell, and I’m not sure I even have half of the facts but please be gentle with her. Come what may between the two of you.”

“Oh, look who’s come to join us!” Looking up after a sharp nudge to his ribs alerted him to speak no further, Marcus sees Jacques tucking a piece of hair that had fallen in front of your eyes behind your ear, then pulling your hunched shoulders into a side on shoulder hug as Élodie grabs a coffee and mocks throwing it in your direction, to which you stick your tongue out. You are so busy messing around with the pair of them that you don’t notice the tenderness in Marcus’ eyes or the smile that creeps across his face as he watches how your friends behave around you.

“So are we ready to look at a slab of meat? I hope you’re not a vegetarian, Marcus,” Jacques chuckles freely at the thought of the tall, broad American becoming queasy at a graphic painting depicting the decomposition of a piece of carrion.

“Oh no, I love rare steak far too much, and I’ve spent way too long researching art to be weirded out by a bit of expressionism,” Marcus adds before taking a long gulp of coffee, “I must admit that I’m not terribly confident in my knowledge of Soutine other than he liked painting rotting meat.”

Jacques smiles and gestures his head in your direction, “Nush- time to shine, chérie.”

“So - Soutine was a Russian painter, who made massive contributions to the Expressionist movement whilst based in Paris. I don’t want to teach you to suck eggs so please tell me to shut up if you already know it but expressionism was a modernist movement, initially in poetry and painting, originating in Germany at the beginning of the 20th century. Its typical trait was to present the world solely from a subjective perspective, distorting it radically for emotional effect in order to evoke moods or ideas. Expressionist artists sought to express the meaning of emotional experience rather than physical reality so you needn’t worry about the depictions of rotting meat as it isn’t like an anatomical drawing you’d find in a copy of Grey’s Anatomy or anything.”

Pausing to draw a breath, you look up to check Marcus’ face- that you aren’t boring him to death- and see two dark eyes, flecked with amber, that are entirely focussed on you. His entranced gaze makes you shift awkwardly, eyes dancing around the street to try and focus on something other than him under the sheer intensity but you decide to continue, “He’s quite an interesting character in regards to our case as he was good friends with Modigliani, who we know is another one with multiple fraudulencies of his works as well as our link we made in the meeting that our main faked pieces being sold by our group are by European Jews.

“Soutine seldom showed his works, but he did take part in the important exhibition The Origins and Development of International Independent Art held at the Galerie nationale du Jeu de Paume in 1937 in Paris, where he was at last hailed as a great painter but sadly soon afterwards, France was invaded by German troops and obviously as a Jew, Soutine had to escape from the French capital and hide in order to avoid arrest by the Gestapo. He moved from one place to another and was sometimes forced to seek shelter in forests, sleeping outdoors. Suffering from a stomach ulcer and bleeding badly, he left a safe hiding place for Paris in order to undergo emergency surgery, which ultimately failed to save his life.

“The main thing that you two need to know,” you add as you reaffix your focus and run your eyes between Marcus and Jacques, ”Is that Paul Guillaume was the main dealer of his work. Straight after World War 1, he was Soutine’s biggest cheerleader and landed him a major deal with the American collector, Albert C Barnes. If you manage to track it back to either of them, you’re pretty much at ground zero- back at Soutine’s own easel- and don’t need to worry much about further certification of validity as it being one of his pieces.”

Standing in the street in front of the cafe, you discuss between the four of you who will focus on which part of the checking for verification of the piece.

Marcus and Jacques decide to focus on the provenance of the piece and to be honest, you’re relieved to be free from the paperwork trail. The idea of searching through the records of previous ownership, fills you with utter dread at missing something that would prove that it was a fake. You’d hope that each piece could be instantly traceable back to the moment where the original had been removed from the easel by the artist but that is so often far from the truth of the situation as records are often lost or aren’t even kept in the first place with only a handshake to move the piece to the newest owner. When certain disreputable organisations or untrustworthy governments seek to obscure the origins of pieces, it is nothing but doors being slammed in your face and labyrinths created from lies and deliberate obfuscation.

“Ok, so Nush and I will collect samples from the piece. I’ll then use the microscope to check the samples for any irregularities in the craquelure in the craquelure while madam here uses the stereo microscope to check the layers of paint,” Élodie gestures towards you, passing a plastic case over containing your equipment. “Obviously we won’t be able to do an x-rays, infrared or mass spectrometry tests as they aren’t so portable but if we cannot confidently say the painting isn’t a forgery, then I suggest we get a courier to take it back to Lyon for us.”

“Agreed, I think that would be the best use of everyone’s talents here,” Marcus replies, nodding, “Are we far from the auction house?” to build up a more 3D picture of the piece. D’accord??” Élodie checks as she grabs a coffee and starts to walk off in the direction of the auction house with Jacques beating a steady path behind her.

With a small gesture of his hand, Marcus waves you forward and as you take a step in the same direction as your friends, a small white paper bag with a telltale sticky stain seeping through that you hadn’t noticed being held out, taps you gently against the soft curve of your tummy. With a confused look knitting across your face.

Marcus boyishly grins back at you as he takes a bite out of his pastry, “Last set of clean clothes, gotta take calculated risks with you around.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Slightly arched windows with flaking grey paint allow a small amount of crisp mountain light to trickle into the mellow gloom of the Aladdin's cave that stretch out in front of Marcus’ eyes. As far as his eyes can see, gilt framed pictures playing out a multitude of scenes from people’s lives- some more parochial and some edging to the more abstract- bedeck the walls. A goat playing a violin, a horse in a field and a lady all in blue with sad eyes and a nose twisted closer to her ears are all jostling for positions in the party on his senses. Every single nerve in his body tingles with excitement at the treasures surrounding him on all sides. The busy-ness did not stop at the walls as every surface of the room was covered in objets d’art with exquisitely fashioned chairs, tables and armoires creating an increasingly impossible maze to step through across the floor. Even the exposed beams of the ceiling felt the need to be a part of this gentle assault upon the eyes, protruding above his head, lending an elegant set of vertebrae to the room.

Marcus thinks he’s hiding his giddiness well until he catches Anushka looking at him with an amused grin upon her face. He goes to respond but initially struggles to find the words to explain the eagerness that is written across his face, his mouth stretched in a childlike grin, eyes lit up and hands that tremble and flex with anticipation. A small smile from her and the light squeeze upon his arm told Marcus that he needn’t worry about explaining anything. Even though the touch was slight and momentary, it cut through the overstimulation of the room and it takes every bit of self control he owns to not throw his arms around her and hug her tightly. Don’t mess this one up too, Pike.

Reopening his eyes, an elegant chignon of hair and high cheekbones makes its way through the clutter of Marcus’ thoughts and extends a delicate, papery hand in greeting. The owner seems to glide through the objects around her, obviously confident of the dead ends and exit points between the items as she leads you to a small office where a tidy pile of papers and a small computer await your services.

«Madame, comprenez-vous que l'utilisation de ces méthodes scientifiques ne peut que prouver que le tableau est un faux? On ne peut pas prouver si une pièce est authentique.» Madam, do you understand that using these scientific methods cannot prove if a painting is a fake? rubbing his brow, Jacques tries to explain to the owner of the auction house, «Même si les résultats de tous les tests scientifiques indiquent qu'il n'y a pas de tromperie dans l'œuvre d'art, nous ne pouvons pas dire sans l'ombre d'un doute qu'il ne s'agit pas simplement d'un cas d'un faussaire dépassant la détection scientifique.» Even if the results of these scientific tests show that there is not a forgery in this work of art, we cannot say without a shadow of doubt that there is not simply a case of a forger out-pacing scientific detection.

Marcus nods in agreement with the agent’s words. He hates the dishonesty of it all- the obviously incredibly talented painters creating mimicries and mockeries of the original pieces. As the owner spins out of the room, Jacques notices the frown painted on Marcus’ face and the tic in his jaw as he starts to flick through the portfolio of papers in front of him.

“Hey, what happened to the giddy boy in the sweetshop back there?” Jacques teases, gently punching him on his shoulder.

Rubbing his fingers along the side of his nose before scratching the patchy scruff that lines the edge of his jaw, Marcus smiles, “Hah! That obvious, eh? Just, kinda wishing that we weren’t even necessary.”

“Yeah, it is irritating but it does pay my mortgage,”Jacques chuckles deeply, “And to be honest without it, I wouldn’t have met that woman in that lock up over there and convinced her that she should marry me or have my baby.”

A pang of jealousy hit Marcus hard, “You’ve done well then. Mine just pays a mortgage on a place in DC that I won’t even be living in for the next couple of years.”

“Never wanted to or the opportunity never arose?” Jacques quizzes not lifting his eyes as he reads through documents.

“Your setup with Élodie is something I’d love to have,” he nods sadly, “Just have one failed marriage - due to her infidelity and lack of wish to try and work things out, and a failed engagement as she was in love with another man - to my name. No, I’d love to have that vulnerability and affection with someone again. Kinda feels like a pipe dream now- not sure anyone would want to take on someone with such a creased up, greying ol’man.”

“Hah, have you forgotten my wife’s quite genuinely visceral reaction to meeting you?” Jacques laughs heartily, rolling his eyes at the mere suggestion from Marcus, “Believe me, you do not have anything to worry about there. It’ll happen. Usually- in fact, always, when you least expect it.”

With a soft huff and a slight lift from the left side of his lips, Jacques strains to hear Marcus’ whisper, “I truly hope so.”

“Hang on, whose name was it that we were looking for that would pretty much guarantee authenticity?”

Jacques’ face creases in concentration as he tries to rack his brains for the names Nush had provided earlier, “Bof...Paul something-or-the-other French and Albert something-or-the-other American, I think.”

“Hmmm, I think I’ve a document here with both of their names on it… Shall we go share it with the ladies?”

«Bonne idée. On y va. » Good idea. Let’s go.

Grabbing the pile of documents from the polished walnut bureau, there’s a sweet bubble of excitement building in Marcus’ tummy. Try as he might to convince himself that it was on account of being out of the tiny office and back around an exquisite masterpiece from the early twentieth century, deep down he knew there was another sweeter, more ancient and primal reason that made him want to be in the lock up.

My beautiful taglist: @astroboots @silverwolf319 @lunaserenade @danniburgh @leonieb @mrsparknuts @sirowsky @yespolkadotkitty @agirllovespancakes @tardisfangurl @mouthymandalorian @the-ginger-hedge-witch @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

If you’d like to be added or dropped from the tag list or have any thoughts, thots or suggestions, please do get in touch! I don’t bite hard 🥰

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x oc #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist fanfic #pedro pascal #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal#jose pedro balmaceda pascal #ppascaledit

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chunhua-s · 3 years

Note

im gonna CRY, this is like the 3rd time im sending this: OKAY-- ushijima <33 and a royalty au maybe? whether he's the loyal knight or loving king, i will take anything <33 ily davi ur so cool and btw ur handwriting is SEXC

i’m putting the note at the end because really? they clog a lot of space 🧍🏽‍♀️

YOURS ➽ WAKATOSHI USHIJIMA X READER

genre: angst

au: royalty, time travel

warnings: uh nothing went as i planned for in this oneshot and i’ve hurt myself with it enough to the point of a headache :D

when you open your eyes, you’re greeted by the night sky, though there’s something about it that gives you pause. the stars above you aren’t the same ones from your city — the ones that could only hope to shine against thousands of bright lights. the stars above you are brilliant in their light, loud with a declaration of glory and untold miracles that flow across the darkest purples and blues of midnight in rivers of silver. they’re radiant, telling you stories of worlds far beyond what you could ever dream of, and they draw your breath on frost and smoke as it falls from your lips. and should you have asked yourself — where does venus hide among this canvas of light, where does her red outshine the bursts of silver, the trails of gold that glow brighter than the sun, you’d never find your answer.

“(y/n)?”

it’s hard for you, but you manage to pull your eyes away from the night sky, and when you allow them to return themselves to the earth, your breath escapes you once more.

he’s standing amidst an old garden, his face familiar while being like that of a stranger. under the moonlight, you wonder if he’s an apparition, merely a figment of your imagination that approaches you with slow, almost cautious steps. he calls your name again and his voice carries to you on a chilling wind, it ghosts across your skin and fills up your lungs with the oxygen you’d forgotten to take. olive eyes glisten like deep ponds when he finally stands before you, and as you seek out your voice to respond to him, you find that it’s lost its strength.

“ushi-... ushijima?”

and truly, the face that you see before you is that of wakatoshi ushijima. his hair, the shape of his face, and even his lips that now twist into something of a helpless smile. here is the man who you’ve worked with for so long as the dietitian of japan’s national volleyball team; the man who you watched grow through high school, whose transformation reminded you of a cosmos flower in autumn; the man whose smiles told of secrets shared on late phone calls and a voice as calm as the ocean waves at night.

and yet, there’s nothing here of that man you know.

the wakatoshi ushijima you see carries the same regality that he always does, the same grace and silent power that flows from him just as the maroon cotton flutters around his body like waves. he’s always been the perfect picture of royalty, you consider, but here, with assured steps and a certain hush to the normally domineering force he exudes on the court, he really does appear to you like an emperor.

he chuckles lightly, a deep sound that rumbles in his chest and travels through your entire being as his eyes search your expression. there’s something that glistens on starlight, a certain warmth that you’ve yearned for on your loneliest nights, when his gentle words would pull you into deep slumber. does he see the way your brows furrow, the way your lips part with questions you don’t even know the beginnings to? “i thought i told you to call me wakatoshi, didn’t i?” he whispers, his tone soft and gentle, careful just as the hand that reaches up to cup your cheek. your heart stutters under the brushes of his thumb, and you’re sure that he can feel the heat spreading across your skin. “what are you doing out so late? and barefoot, nonetheless.”

he’s right. your feet sink beneath blades of grass as if they would be embraced by them, drops of dew clinging to your skin and causing a chill to travel up your spine. looking into ushijima’s eyes, you have no answer — neither for his question, nor for this strange situation you’ve found yourself in.

with concern melting into his warm gaze, he studies you for a while longer, the thumb that had been rubbing circles into your cheek coming to a stop as he ever so slightly tilts your head back to meet his gaze. at the same time, he’s leaning his head forward ever so slightly, as if to meet you half way. “(y/n)?”

“i—” your words fall short, disappearing under the night air when you try and speak. your eyes fall from his patient gaze, and all your attention is given to the green grass that, beneath the starlight, gives itself to a colour you can’t find the name for. this, you’ve decided, isn’t your world. it can’t be — the stars don’t shine as brightly as they do here, and neither does the air encompass you as if it yearned to kiss your skin. and in your world, wakatoshi ushijima has never held you so gently, and his eyes don’t sing to you poems of a feeling lost on your wildest fantasies. you force air into your lungs when you meet olive hues and try your best to speak with a wavering voice. “ushijima, what’s going on?? i don’t— where are we?”

you see confusion etch lines around his lips and between his brows as he frowns. “what do you mean? we’re in the palace garden, of course.” he says it so assuredly, confident, yet his words are hushed in a secret shared by the both of you. and the way he looks at you, you feel terrible for not knowing that secret. it feels as if somehow, you’d betrayed something sacred by taking the face and name of someone he might hold dear — maybe in this world, in this time, there’s a you who knows ushijima’s love.

“i’m sorry...” you mutter out, guilt and shame unwarranted yet potent behind your words as your eyes lock with his. “i think there’s been some sort of mistake. i’m—” you force yourself to swallow, to breathe; you find that the task comes difficult and your body betrays you terribly. “i don’t think i’m the person who you think i am.”

ushijima’s gaze falters, the hand that had so lovingly warmed your face falls to your shoulder and his fingers grab on to you tightly. “what do you mean...?” there’s a bit of a broken laugh that bubbles from his lips, and to you, it’s as foreign as the night sky above you, because there has never been a time when you’d ever seen him so vulnerable, open, pained. it’s new, and it scares you. it makes you want to wrap him into your arms and to take back everything you’ve said, to selfishly become the person he sees in you — the you whom he loves and cherishes so dearly. “you’re you, aren’t you? you’re (y/n)... my (y/n).”

you shake your head weakly, tears lining your eyes as feelings you’d long since fought against begin to spill from your aching heart like rain. every i love you that you’ve ever whispered to your starless sky burns your skin and sets an unbearable fire alight inside your chest, and the smoke clouds your brain and makes you forget your reality. my (y/n), he’d said — he’d called you his, his (y/n), with all the certainty and confidence in the world, as if those words should stand as true as the moon should shine at night, and oh, how desperately you wished they were true. you wished with all your heart that you really were his. but to look into his eyes, so hopeful, so loving and so, so beautiful in the starlight, you can’t find it within yourself to lie. not to him, and not to yourself. and so you steel your heart and abandon those feelings, and you lift your hand to pull his away from your shoulder, ignoring the pain that could blind you from its intensity. “i’m sorry...” you whisper, and this time, the hushed words bring no secrets, no sweet affections or longings told when the night showers your bodies in silver. it tears you apart and leaves your wounds to fester. “i’m really sorry, but— but i’m not them...”

“i’m not your (y/n).”

chile im so sorry this took so long!! and uh.... see i originally started this oneshot with a cute idea in mind??? but 🤡 somehow it turned into angst and uh.... but anyways!! i had these two requests and i thought “hey, why not combine them!” and it was the perfect opportunity to push my emperor! ushijima agenda 🤩 well.... that was the original intent? but somehow i got sidetracked.... again.... and didn’t really focus on that 😗 in summary? nothing went as i planned for this oneshot and somehow i ended up with a short angst oneshot that could work for an entire plot. like deadass?? i have the whole thing planned out in my head already and i was tempted to go off on it but it would become too long and i wouldn’t have a resolution for it all... or at least not one that didn’t involve pain. so, basically, reader in emperor! ushi’s world would have been like a palace worker who grew up with toshi, and they’d have fallen in love, but it’s ✨forbidden✨ because toshi would have already had his s/o chosen for him. on the flip side, modern world reader is team japan’s nutritionist and they, similarly grew up with toshi, but they have feelings for him that they don’t ever let show because they’re worried that they would destroy what they have with him already. if i went on with the plot, it would have shown reader going about palace life and their interactions with toshi, along with a handful of challenges that they’d have to face. this idea was highly inspired by one of my favourite k-dramas, scarlet heart ryou (a really good watch i def recommend it) but yeah! that’s the end of my rant! (it’s not. i’m stopping myself because if i don’t i’ll never shut up about it.) but anyways!! i really hope you guys enjoyed this oneshot! it feels good to write something after a while — if any of you guys have any thoughts or anything i’d love to hear them!!

taglist: @aiiishiiiteru @tsumue @bootylikepeachy @waitforitillwritemywayout @mixxfi @shnnn @janellion

send an ask to be added or removed!!

#ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader angst #ushijima x reader angst #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! au event 💫

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Soft Epilogue

Prompt: Hear ye, hear ye, I humbly request from the fanfic goddess, a merlin fanfic of epic fluff proportions!! Lol I love your writing, can I request an Ace!Merlin and Ace!Arthur platonic love life bond?

Thanks for the request, babe! it seems fitting that on my birthday I get to upload a fic about ace qprs

Read on Ao3

Pairings: merthur qpr, implied morgwen

Warnings: none my dudes

Word Count: 1807

In the end, there’s no big celebrations.

Oh, Camelot has a feast to end all feasts, but that’s not the point.

There’s no big rushing into each other at the end of a hard-won fight, Arthur looking all stupidly heroic with his hair all sweaty or Merlin rippling with otherworldly power that makes men want to fall to their knees.

There’s no kiss after years and years of pining finally being deforested—get it?

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“What, that was a good one!”

“Merlin!”

—alright fine, there’s no big kiss, there’s no music that swells romantically in the background—

“Though not for lack of trying on your part, I’m sure.”

“Will you shut up, you prat, and let me talk?”

“It’s a wonder you ever stop talking.”

—okay, look.

It’s simple.

It’s the end of a fight. Everyone’s exhausted. There are heavy pants and the scrape of steel on steel from the trodden corners of the battlefield, as soldier after soldier, knight after knight, falls to the ground in a heap. Some get back up. Some don’t.

Arthur’s fingers fumble on the pommel of his sword. Huh. He needs to redo the grip on the left side. It’s fraying. His fingers are too clumsy. They won’t hold the damn thing properly. The chain mail keeps snagging where it’s come loose. He really needs to fix the grip.

The sword sings quietly as it slides home, back into the sheath, away, away. His breath leaves him in a rush and he looks up, looking around, counting.

Leon stands, already directing the survivors to start taking care of those they lost. He catches his king’s eye and nods. Once. Arthur nods back.

Gwaine pushes his hair out of his eyes and makes a joke. It’s what he does best. As the desperate chuckles start up again, Arthur’s mouth quirks up in a smile. Gwaine catches it.

Elyan strips the last of the shrapnel from someone’s wound and hauls them to their feet, a man of the people until his last. Arthur watches, paralyzed by the weight of the crown on his shoulders, as Elyan helps in ways he can’t.

Percival stands. Shadows Arthur as they start to move through the field. The weight is a little easier to bear now, as his breath starts to sink back into his chest.

Lancelot turns, smiles. Says ‘it’s good to see you,’ as if they’re just mates, running into each other after a long hard day. As if he’s about to buy Arthur a drink at the tavern and talk about the harvest, the new work from the blacksmith siblings, how much he misses looking up at the moon. Arthur just claps him on the shoulder.

Everyone’s here. Except—

“Arthur?”

So there’s no dramatic turn, no big flourish. Time doesn’t slow to a standstill as they rush into each other’s arms. The bards would be so bored, there’s no dramatic confessions, no infamous realizations, no murmured apologies through the hurried meeting of lips. What would they have to sing about?

Well, perhaps they could sing about this.

Arthur turns, sees Merlin standing there. He smiles. Merlin smiles back. There’s a little cut on Merlin’s shoulder. Barely enough to graze through the tunic, but enough to draw blood. Arthur frowns, stalks forward, gently tips Merlin’s head to the side so he can have a look.

“I’m fine, you prat.”

“You’ve managed to injure yourself.”

“Wasn’t me!”

“Given how clumsy you are, I’d be surprised.”

Arthur presses gently over the cut. It’s nothing more than a scratch, should close by the end of the day. And yet Merlin just rolls his eyes and lays his hand over it. A moment of golden light later and it’s like nothing ever happened.

“There. Happy now?”

“Mm.”

Merlin sighs and moves his head back. Arthur doesn’t. For a moment, their foreheads rest together.

Thank the heavens you didn’t die, I would’ve dragged you back here myself.

Just so you could kill me?

Obviously.

That’s all. Don’t look so disappointed, there needn’t be more.

Oh, alright.

The ride back to Camelot is slow. There’s work to be done along the way, after all. There are people to tend to, knights to bury and mourn, families to tell. There are knights that return to Camelot only for their hands to shake too much, their eyes to go too glassy. These knights leave with the highest honors Arthur can give them, thanked sincerely for their service and the knowledge that the people will forever be in their debt.

There are preparations to be made, hugs to give. Gwen throws herself into Elyan’s arms, Lancelot’s arms, Merlin’s arms, Arthur’s arms. Gaius isn’t far behind. Each of them breathes in the scent of the other. Home.

“So you missed me?”

“Of course I missed you!”

“I’ve got your favorite waiting, Merlin.”

“Thanks, Gaius.”

“Oi! Why don’t I get a hug?”

“Oh, fine, come here.”

Arthur looks up to the top of the steps to see Morgana. No longer is she the intimidating figure cut from Camelot’s noble cloth, dressed up like Uther’s legacy, no. Just a simple dress, one of Gwen’s, her hair down around her shoulders in limp curls. If Arthur were someone else, he’d say she’d never looked better.

“Don’t tell her that.”

“I don’t need to, she knows.”

“Merlin!”

“What? She’s your sister.”

She smiles, a little dimmer, a little warier, as she descends the steps and holds out her arms. Arthur doesn’t hesitate.

His sister is here, finally recovered from her long fight with the magic Morgause wove through that horrid bracelet. Morgana hugs him back, tighter than they can imagine.

“I’m glad to see you,” Arthur mumbles into her shoulder.

“I’m happy you’re back.”

Merlin joins them a moment later and Morgana pulls him in too, laughing at Arthur’s affronted face when Merlin squawks and his elbow digs unceremoniously into his ribs.

“It hurt, you idiot.”

“She pulled me!”

“If you weighed more than a beanpole maybe that would help.”

“My weight is just fine, thank you very much.”

The feast is glorious. Food and wine flow freely out of the castle into the city below. The people dance, sing, yell, live. The city comes alive with the sound of its people. And that’s the end of the story.

They won.

They’re safe.

They’re with the people they love.

“You can’t just leave it there, Merlin.”

“What happened to wanting to keep your privacy?”

“Just—get on with it.”

“Fine, you prat.”

It’s not entirely over. There are still nights where Merlin wakes up and his fingers tingle so much it feels like they’re about to fall off. Nights where he swears he hears a low rumbling voice in the back of his mind, feels giant hands on strings grafted to his arms. Nights where he still feels like Destiny’s puppet, strung along without a second thought.

There are still nights where Arthur can’t stop hearing the singing of steel and the weight of a sword in his hands. Nights when he can’t stop seeing Uther’s face, hearing his voice, seeing Morgana dead and twisted, broken on the ground. Nights when the flames rise high as knights—his knights—slaughter innocent people as part of a meaningless war.

There are still nights when they think they can hear each other screaming.

But Arthur is always there to roll over and wrap his arms tighter around Merlin. He’s here, he’s right here, and he’s warm, and nothing, nothing can take something away from Arthur once he’s decided it’s his. Merlin jolts awake to a cold nose pressed in the crook of his neck, sleepy declarations of ‘mine, my Merlin, go away, leave my Merlin alone, he’s mine, you can’t have him.’ Or it will be to tender words, gentle hands shaking him away, whispered promises of ‘you’re here, it’s alright, I’ll keep you safe, you did it.’

And Merlin is always there when Arthur clenches the pillow so hard he looks like he’s going to break his fingers, there to gentle them away and pull him close, tuck his head under his chin and say ‘it’s over now, it’s safe now, they’re all safe, they’re all safe.’ Arthur wakes up to rough tunics, slim fingers woven through his own, the warmth of someone else who won’t ever leave. Or just the weight of an arm or leg thrown across his middle. It’s just enough to wake him up and realize that there is someone who, even in sleep, wants to hold him close.

In the morning, Merlin will wake before Arthur does. The morning will ruffle along the edge of the curtains and he’ll shiver, hiding a little further under the covers. Arthur will hold him closer, unwilling to give up his heat source just yet. Some days, Merlin will let him, falling back asleep with his fingers carding through Arthur’s hair.

But on most days, he carefully separates himself and tucks Arthur back up, pulling on his clothes and moving to get their breakfast set up. His fingers will brush a vase and a bouquet of flowers will bloom, one of the side effects of training with Morgana. He’ll smile and pick one out to give to Gwen.

Arthur will wake slowly, first reaching out to feel where Merlin’s gone, then sitting up to spot him at the window, or the table, or right next to him, comb in hand. He’ll grumble, saying Merlin gets up too quickly, only for Merlin to laugh and pull him up to eat.

The sun will rise through the curtains as they eat, get dressed, and leave to go about their days. The door will close softly behind them, waiting to open again once the day is over.

There’s no furious declarations of love, no gritting of teeth as they fight to make the world change. Just slow, steady, constant. A touch of a hand here, a brush here. A knowing look or a quick jab. Nothing rough, just soft.

They deserve a soft epilogue.

“Hmm. Should’ve known you’d get all sappy.”

“You like me sappy.”

“I think I should go see Gaius, my teeth are starting to hurt.”

“You love it.”

“…maybe.”

“Did Arthur Pendragon just admit I was right?”

“Shut up.”

“He did! He definitely did!”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Morgana just rolls her eyes and wraps her arms around Gwen to watch the two of them bicker.

“He’s right, though,” Gwen murmurs after a moment, leaning back to look up at her, “they do deserve a soft epilogue.”

Morgana smiles. “I think we all do.”

She’s right and she should say it.

#merthur fic #merthur #merlin #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #arthur pendragon #fic #dragonbabbles #ace

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ultimatetrashyfanfic · 3 years

Text

I’m just gonna say Non-despair AU cause I want everyone to be happy. I freaking LOVE Gundham so much, he’s wonderful and I’ve been wanting to write him for a while (but stalling cause of his DIALOGUE. It’s so hard). Buuuut I decided to finally give it a shot. And to kind of vent a little cause he used to stress me out in his dark coat and scarf in tropical heat. With Kazuichi because I want them to be friends, and because I seem physically incapable of not putting Kazuichi in every fic. COULD be seen as pre-soudam if you prefer, I didn’t write it like that but it could be if that floats your boat. I do like that ship, I just like other ones with Gundham and kazuichi more. Anyway, hope you enjoy - Circle

Also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33543364

Warning: descriptions of overheating, sickfic. Nothing really bad here.

Kazuichi wasn’t shocked to wake up sprawled across a towel with sand in his hair and a dry mouth, completely alone on the beach. This wasn’t even the first time it had happened. When his insomnia was really bad he’d always doze throughout the next day - for some reason he couldn’t sleep in his warm, comfortable bed at night but could drop off in seconds with his head on the breakfast table or against Hajime’s shoulder. His classmates never bothered to wake Kazuichi if he was somewhere he wouldn’t be in the way, so the beach was a frequent napping spot. They always made sure to leave him in the shade with a water bottle for when he woke, so Kazuichi didn’t mind. It was normal.

What was very much not normal was waking up to Gundham grasping the front of his t-shirt, shaking him violently and yelling some weird gibberish that Kazuichi was still too woolly-headed to understand.

“Wha..?” he muttered, trying to wake up properly. For a second he wondered if he was having a weird lucid dream, because Gundham never usually touched people, especially him - though he was shaking him by the shirt instead of the shoulders.

“You’re gonna stretch out my clothes,” Kazuichi whined, sitting up and scrubbing his eyes.

“As if your tattered garments are a priority right now! Answer me with honesty, lest the demons tear your tongue from your very mouth. Have you encountered the wrath of my Crimson Steel Elephant?” Gundham cried, far too loudly.

“What?” Kazuichi mumbled. “Gundham, I can’t decipher your witchy language when I’ve just woken up.”

“Foolish mortal! This is a dire emergency!”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“I shall repeat myself just once more, so listen well. Have you encountered one of my Dark Devas of Destruction? Maga-Z appears to be missing,” Gundham said. Despite the grandeur and fancy words, Kazuichi could see he did look pretty distressed, holding the three remaining hamsters in his hand as if he was scared they’d dash away too.

“Oooh, okay. You’ve lost a hamster. That’s all you had to say, Gundham. One single sentence and I would’ve understood,” Kazuichi said.

“Do not talk so disparagingly! My Devas are far more powerful than mere hamsters. And Maga-Z has an independent spirit and often attempts to cause chaos alone. I have my concerns for the safety of everyone on this island if Maga-Z wields his destructive power without my guidance.”

Gundham was completely serious, but Kazuichi had to bite his cheeks to stop himself laughing, picturing a hamster storming across the island in a tank, decimating everything. But Gundham was clearly frantic, and Kazuichi was trying to be nicer to him recently, so he sighed.

“Okay, I’ll help you look for him. We should try to get the others to help too.”

“Indeed. You were the first mortal I came across,” Gundham admitted.

“Right, what does Maga-Z look like?” Kazuichi asked, taking a long drink of water. He felt like he’d be running around in the hot sun for a while now and wanted to drink while he had the chance.

“Your memory is abysmal.” Gundham seemed irritated that Kazuichi didn’t know the hamsters by sight.

“Look, I’m not exactly on nodding terms with your ham- Devas, am I? How am I supposed to know which is which? I only recognise the chubby one.” Kazuichi pointed to Cham-P.

Gundham reeled back like he’d been slapped, spluttering in outrage. “How dare you mock his corporeal form! If Cham-P was not so patient, he would obliterate you where you stand for such cheek.”

“Look, I wasn’t trying to body shame your hamster,” Kazuichi said irritably. “I wasn’t mocking. He’s just bigger than the other ones.”

“He is of the Golden variety, of course he is larger in stature. It has nothing to do with his nutritional intake.”

“Are we going to search or not?” Kazuichi snapped. God, talking to Gundham for more than five minutes was exhausting. “Do you know if Maga-Z has favourite places to go or something?”

Kazuichi let Gundham lead and did his very best not to talk to his strange companion as they searched through bushes and inside cupboards, asking any of his classmates they encountered to look too. Gundham muttered to the remaining hamsters, but didn’t try to talk to Kazuichi much either except to order him around - though his grandiose tone was quickly becoming softer and more anxious.

“Maga-Z has never disappeared from my influence for so long,” he mumbled, pulling his scarf to cover his mouth. “I cannot contain this feeling of dread.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Kazuichi said, surprising himself. “We’ll find him. He’ll be okay.”

Gundham blinked, then stood up straighter. “I assure you, I fear for the inhabitants of the island. Maga-Z will come to no harm.”

But he was worrying, and even Kazuichi could see it. His searching was becoming frantic, his usually careful hands clumsy, so he knocked things off their shelves and forgot to tidy up or close doors behind them. He started running between buildings and bushes, long coat billowing, calling out for his lost hamster.

“Gundham! Hang on a second,” Kazuichi gasped. “I can’t breathe!”

Surprisingly, Gundham did as he was told, leaning against a palm tree in the shade. He wrapped his arms around his chest, pale fists gripping his dark coat. His carefully styled hair was starting to droop in the heat, and his face was very pink. Kazuichi had never seen so much colour in his cheeks before. The three remaining hamsters cowered inside Gundham’s scarf, sensing his anxiety.

Kazuichi went to lean beside him, wiping the sweat off his own forehead. He didn’t know how Gundham managed in his black clothes every day.

“We’ll find him,” Kazuichi said again. “Ibuki and Twogami and Mahiru said they’d look. And Miss Sonia looked like she was going to cry when I told her Maga-Z was missing. She said she wouldn’t rest until he was found.”

“She has a good heart,” Gundham said softly.

“Yeah…” Kazuichi paused. “Hey, you didn’t say anything nice like that about me. I’m the one who’s been running around with you in the baking sun for hours.”

Gundham didn’t respond. He’d been talking a lot less in the past twenty minutes or so, though he’d originally been giving incomprehensible orders to Kazuichi every two minutes. Souda assumed he was just growing more concerned for Maga-Z the longer he was missing - so he was caught off guard when Gundham slumped over and fell limply against him, almost bringing them both to the floor.

“Dude!” Kazuichi managed to catch hold of Gundham. “What are you doing?”

Perhaps Gundham didn’t know what he was doing either, because he had a look of sheer bafflement on his face. He tried to pull himself upright, clinging to the rough bark of the palm tree, but each time he wobbled dangerously and Kazuichi had to grab onto him again.

“What is this..? I appear to be reacting negatively to your mortal world’s atmosphere.” His usually forceful speech came out laboured and slow, and Gundham placed a hand to his lips in surprise.

“What? You’ve been surviving in this atmosphere for ages already,” Kazuichi argued. “What’s up with you? You sound drunk. Can you tell me in plain English?”

“The temperature in this godforsaken land exceeds even the fiery bowels of hell,” Gundham hissed, having to cling to Kazuichi to stay upright.

Kazuichi took a second to disentangle Gundham’s web of fancy words. “Sooo… you’re too hot. I guess that makes sense. Who wears a black coat and a scarf in this heat? And I know you haven’t had any water since we started searching. I’d better take you back to your cabin,” he sighed.

“Unhand me this instant, you fiend!” Gundham growled, though he was the one using Kazuichi like a walking stick. “I could never rest while one of my Dark Devas of Destruction is unguided.”

“Well they’ll all be unguided if you get heatstroke and drop dead,” Kazuichi said. “Half the island is searching for Maga-Z - and I’ll go back out to keep looking as soon as I can, okay?” As much as Gundham might get on Kazuichi’s nerves sometimes, he didn’t want him to get really sick or hurt. He hoped Maga-Z had enough sense not to wander into the sea or something; Gundham would be crushed.

“Hmm.” Gundham didn’t look convinced.

“Your other three ham- I mean Devas probably need to cool down a bit too,” Kazuichi tried.

Another pause. “Very well,” Gundham sighed. “I shall retire to my artificially cooled domain until the effects of this oppressive atmosphere wear off. I trust you to ensure the search continues.” He turned on his heel and tried to walk on his own, staggering alarmingly.

“Hey, careful!” Kazuichi ran to steady him. “I told you I’d help you.”

Gundham slapped his hands away. “Fool! Have you forgotten I am cursed with poison?”

“Oh for God’s sake! Could you just give an inch for once! Why do you make everything so difficult?” Kazuichi cried exasperatedly.

Gundham stuck his chin in the air and started berating Souda again - but before he’d even finished the first sentence his words died away. He blinked several times, looking dazed, swaying where he stood.

“Gundham..?” Kazuichi said nervously.

Gundham didn’t respond. He took another few staggering steps towards his cabin, then crumpled as his knees gave way under him. Kazuichi cried out and hurried to catch him, their foreheads bashing together painfully. Gundham’s skin was clammy and damp, his face looking much more… alive than usual. Kazuichi realised it was because his pale makeup was running.

“Fucking hell, Gundham,” Kazuichi groaned, hauling one of Gundham’s arms around his shoulders. “Just hold onto me, okay? Try not to pass out.”

Surprisingly, Gundham nodded, staring down at his feet like it was taking a huge effort to make them move. It was clear he was trying to be helpful, but Kazuichi had to carry a lot of his weight and they were both breathless by the time they reached Gundham’s cabin. Kazuichi breathed a sigh of relief as the wall of cool air conditioning washed over them.

“Thank God for that,” he mumbled, dumping Gundham onto the bed. It was carefully made, which Kazuichi had never understood; why bother making your bed when you were just going to mess it up every night? The entire room was neat, though the giant cage meant it rather smelled like hamsters. “Right, get your coat and scarf off.”

Gundham glared at him viciously.

“Oh, that’s the thanks I get, is it? Well, no matter how annoying you might be, you’re overheated. No wonder, wearing that stupid dark coat. So get it off.” Kazuichi grabbed Gundham’s arms and yanked the coat sleeves off like he was undressing a sulky toddler. Gundham hissed a series of furious curses at him - one of which sounded like Latin, which was actually pretty impressive - and the three remaining hamsters hopped out onto the bed, startled.

“There. Was that so hard?” Kazuichi said silkily when Gundham was lying on the bed in his shirt and scarf, glaring. Kazuichi tried to take the scarf off too, but Gundham’s hissed threats became more vehement and he gave up. “Fine, keep it on then. Though I don’t think the gothic look is very sustainable in a tropical climate, man. Right, I’m going to get you something to drink.”

Gundham didn’t respond until Kazuichi had returned with a cup full of water from the bathroom. “I shall take advice from one with such abysmal fashion sense as yourself with a grain of salt, fiend,” he said, with as much dignity as he could muster while tomato-red and damp with sweat on his bed.

Kazuichi had to fight very hard not to pour the glass of water directly over Gundham’s head, but he just about managed to help him drink it instead. Then he grabbed the little fan from the bathroom and placed it by Gundham’s bed, dampened a cloth and slapped it rather unceremoniously on his forehead. Gundham yelped and glared again, water trickling down his temples. Good. Serves him right for that earlier comment. “There. Keep your head back or you’ll smudge your eyeliner. And don’t move. I’ll try to find Mikan while I’m looking for Maga-Z, okay?”

Gundham turned his face away, cupping one hand over the Devas protectively. He mumbled something into the material of his scarf.

“What?” Kazuichi asked.

“I said I am grateful for your assistance…”

“Oh.” Kazuichi was surprised. He’d never heard Gundham acknowledge he needed any help before - though maybe that was Kazuichi’s own fault. He’d been the one to start up the whole stupid rivalry thing (which wasn’t ever a rivalry in the first place since the girl wasn’t remotely interested). Maybe this was a step towards a reconciliation.

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna leave you to die,” Kazuichi added awkwardly.

“You are far more tolerable when you do not echo the Dark Queen like a parrot. I once believed you had no real mind of your own,” Gundham said bluntly.

Kazuichi flushed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You made yourself an extension of the Dark Queen. You never disputed her or challenged her. You agreed with her every word.”

“Well… I wanted her to like me,” Kazuichi mumbled. “Look, you don’t need to lecture me about all this. You know I’ve left Sonia alone.”

“Indeed. But you still wish to befriend her?” Gundham asked. Even weak and overheated as he was, his eyes were burning into Kazuichi’s with such a fierce intensity he had to look away.

“That’s her choice. Why are you asking all this?”

“If you still seek a friendly companionship with the Dark Queen, you should not forget she is a mere powerless mortal,” Gundham said. “She does not wish to be treated like she is extraordinary. She does not wish to be around those who only agree to please her.”

Kazuichi stared at him. Was Gundham really offering advice? Was this a weird way to repay him for helping out? It was pretty embarrassing to be given advice on how to make friends from Gundham, who openly distrusted everyone - but he was friends with Sonia. Maybe even something more, Kazuichi honestly didn’t know. He’d tried to stay away from Sonia as much as possibly, partly because he wanted her to be more comfortable and partly because he was pretty fucking embarrassed by his past behaviour. But he would like to be her friend. Nothing else - he knew that wouldn’t ever happen - but friends was good.

“Now make haste!” Gundham suddenly cried, making Kazuichi jump. “Continue the search! I shall rejoin you as soon as I am able.”

“No, rest. Don’t move and especially don’t put your coat on again. I’ll find Maga-Z,” Kazuichi said quickly. He dashed outside before Gundham could protest, groaning as the sticky heat wrapped around him once more.

He started searching again, after taking a quick detour to Mikan’s cabin to ask if she could go check on Gundham and make sure he hadn’t gone out into the sun again. Almost everyone on the island was searching now, splitting off into little groups to cover more ground. Nagito was one of the last to join in - and Hajime and Kazuichi watched in astonishment as he shifted the very first box he touched in the storage room of the old building and pointed. “There he is.”

“WHY didn’t I ask him first?!” Kazuichi practically screamed.

“Ultimate Luck seems a pretty useful talent,” Hajime murmured to him, not wanting Nagito to hear. It’d only start him off on a long self-deprecating rant. “Go on then, Kazuichi. Get him.”

Kazuichi peered behind the box on his hands and knees. Maga-Z was cowering in the corner, fur dishevelled and standing on end. He didn’t look too friendly. “Why do I have to grab the stupid hamster?” Kazuichi whined. “You grab him, Hajime. I don’t like them. They look like they know too much.”

“What are you on about?” Hajime sighed. “It’s just a hamster. You can’t be scared of a hamster, Kazuichi.”

“They’re Gundham’s hamsters. They probably like… worship the devil or something.”

“Hamsters don’t worship anything. They’re just hamsters.”

“Can I go now?” Nagito asked, looking like he was losing braincells just listening to this conversation.

“Yeah, thanks, Nagito. Unless you fancy grabbing this hamster,” Kazuichi said. He looked hopeful, but Nagito left without another word.

“I’ll do it,” Hajime said, exasperated. He reached behind the box to ease his hand underneath Maga-Z, but as soon as his fingers brushed fur, the hamster made a mad dash forward. Directly towards Souda. He squealed and hastily cupped both hands around Maga-Z, holding him at arm’s length. “Oh my God, oh my God, I got him… Oh God, he’s gonna bite me, I know he is,” Kazuichi whined.

“Hey, good job,” Hajime said, surprised. “I didn’t think you’d catch him.”

“I’m not a baby, Hajime,” Kazuichi huffed. Then he whimpered in a very childish way. “Ugh, he’s wriggling around. Can I… put him somewhere? A bag or something? I don’t trust him.”

“Just shove him in your pocket and let’s go. It’s boiling in here. And Gundham will be stressing about Maga-Z. Do you know where he is?”

“I had to put him to bed because he nearly fainted. He was running around in his black coat all day.”

Hajime rolled his eyes. “Nobody on this island has any self-preservation skills.”

“At least Maga-Z is okay.” Kazuichi studied the little ball of fluff cupped in his hands. Somehow his little ink drop eyes did look menacing. “Hey, he really does look like he wanted to go off and cause chaos on his own, doesn’t he?”

Hajime gave Kazuichi a look. “I think you’ve spent too much time with Gundham today.”

Thankfully, Gundham was still in his room and looking a lot better, though still very visibly agitated. His colour had returned to ghostly pale (he must’ve reapplied his makeup) and his eyes were far more focused - they snapped to the door right away when Hajime opened it. When he saw Kazuichi, his hands still full of wriggling hamster, his brow cleared.

“Take him, quick!” Kazuichi said, hurrying over to the bed. “I’m sure he wants to bite me.”

“You fiend,” Gundham murmured, taking the hamster. For a second Kazuichi was offended, thinking Gundham was calling him names when he and Hajime had been nice enough to bring the hamster back, but then he realised Gundham was talking to Maga-Z. He spoke to them in exactly the same way he spoke to his classmates, no silly mushy voices like most people did with cute animals.

“I can only pray you have not caused too much destruction while unsupervised,” he murmured, smoothing Maga-Z’s fur. The hamster sat up to greet him like a little puppy, and Kazuichi noticed for the first time that Maga-Z’s cheeks were bulging.

“Did he really run off just to steal food?” Kazuichi groaned. “We’ve been so stressed and he was just eating!”

“Ah yes, a feast befitting the magnificent Crimson Steel Elephant,” Gundham said, gently placing Maga-Z with the other hamsters. They circled him joyfully, happy to be reunited too.

Kazuichi threw his hands up exasperatedly. “I give up. You’re all nuts.”

Gundham turned to Kazuichi, his face solemn. “I am deeply indebted to you, as is everybody who resides on this island. I cannot speak of the terrors that may have occurred if Maga-Z was without guidance. I shall spread the story of your triumph to every other mortal here so they can show you due gratitude,” he said.

“Oh… Thanks, man.” Kazuichi could see he meant well, but the thought of Gundham telling everyone Kazuichi saved the island from a hamster’s destruction was pretty embarrassing. He could already see Hajime smirking out of the corner of his eye.

“You should stay inside a bit longer though,” Hajime said. “Just in case. You need to make sure you’re totally cooled down.”

“Indeed. I have had ample excitement for one day,” Gundham said.

“Me too,” Kazuichi mumbled.

“If you’re feeling better, you can tell everyone about Kazuichi saving the island over dinner,” Hajime said, grinning. Kazuichi glared at him.

“Asshole,” he muttered as soon as they were outside Gundham’s cabin.

Hajime burst out laughing. “Maybe he’ll make you sound really gallant and fearless when he tells it.”

“Then everyone will know it’s a lie right away. And anyway, Nagito saw what happened. Even if you don’t give away the real story, he’ll definitely tell.”

“Probably. But you did save his hamster, even if you weren’t that fearless about it. Is there a truce between you two now?”

“I suppose so. He’s not so bad. Crazy and dramatic and difficult… but okay,” Kazuichi admitted. He paused. “I don’t know what half of the words he uses mean though.”

“Yeah,” Hajime agreed. “I don’t either.”

#super danganronpa two #danganronpa 2 #kazuichi souda #gundham tanaka #four dark devas of destruction #overheating #Gundham’s lines were ridiculously hard #mod circle

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icedthoma · 4 years

Text

friendly competition

--Since you seem to like chapstick so much... maybe have a reader and Bakugou and neither of them know what the chapstick game is so the bakusquad ropes them into playing it before they know what the rules are?

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Notes: thiS IS THE LAST CHAPSTICK POST I SWEAR HSSBDKJS DON’T COME AT ME T-T (it’s just writing kisses is rlly fun ight ok ill shut up now)

“This is stupid.”

“You know, for once I find myself agreeing with you.”

“For once? What are you talking about, idiot? I’m always right.”

“Yeah? I saw your red kahoot screen the other day, don’t even try to lie.”

Mina slid in between you and Bakugou, who’s hands were beginning to spark at your nonchalant attitude. “Let’s all calm down before someone gets sent to the hospital."

Huffing, you folded your arms and jerked your head away, plopping down to sit cross-legged on the common area’s floor. “Whatever. That doesn’t change the fact that little Rat-suki over here is being a whiny brat, as always.”

“What did you say? I’m going to--”

Kirishima yanked Bakugou back as he attempted to lunge toward you with palms blazing. “Come on, man. We’re all here to have fun!”

“Don’t even know why I came to this stupid thing anyway,” Katsuki hissed as he reluctantly sat down on the couch farthest from you.

“What’s the game?” you sighed, just wanting to get it over with. You’d go along with their antics to make them happy and leave you alone for the next couple hours, where you could catch some must needed rest.

Ashido beamed at your question, and flung a plastic grocery bag out from behind her back, holding it high in the air like it was some sort of trophy. “The chapstick game!”

“What’s that?” you and Bakugou said in unison, then immediately glared at each other from across the room.

“I asked first, you overrated extra.”

“Actually, we asked at the same time, you stupid blond hedgehog. No wonder you were never in band, you can’t count.”

Kirishima was prepared and once again held Bakugou in his seat before he exploded you to pieces. He resorted to flipping you off from his hunched position on the couch.

“Gremlin,” you mouthed back, sticking your tongue out at him.

“As I was saying, we’re playing the chapstick game,” Mina continued. “I will act as judge, of course.”

“Hey, Bakugou! I think you’d be great at this!” Kaminari teased, slinging an arm over his friend’s shoulders. “You’re good at cooking, so you should be able to tell these flavors apart in a heartbeat!”

“Y/n’s a pretty good cook too, you know,” Jirou piped up from Kaminari’s other side. “I think she could give Bakuboy a run for his money.”

You grinned at your friend’s support, staring smugly at where Bakugou was trying to burn holes into your forehead with the power of his glare alone. “Oh yeah? I think so, too.”

“Well, we won’t find out unless we play, huh?” Ashido yelled, finally losing her patience with all the interruptions. “I blew a quarter of my allowance on these, so we’re putting it to use or else.”

“That’s not very good money management.”

“Shut up, Denki!”

“Psh, fine. I’ll play along with your dumb game,” Bakugou scoffed, squinting at you while jerking his thumb towards the floor. “But you’re going down, you hear me?”

“I’ll make you eat your words like it’s your inferior cooking.” Walking over to where Mina was holding the bag of chapstick at you, you took a random one and looked at its label. Strawberry. “Wait, so what do I do with this again?”

“Put it on!” Kaminari urged you, and you did so.

“But I already looked at the label, so I know what flavor it is.”

“You’re not the one guessing, silly!” Uraraka piped up, looking pointedly at where Bakugou was still perched atop the common room couch.

“How is he going to...” you trailed off as the realization hit you. “No.”

“Absolutely no way,” Bakugou growled, coming to the same conclusion as you. “I’m heading out.”

“If you don’t play, you forfeit and Y/n wins by default,” Ashido called after his retreating back. He froze, hands twitching but not sparking yet, clearly torn between his desire to beat you in every competitive way possible and his distaste for games like this.

“It’s fine, Mina,” you laughed, waving your pink friend off. “I think I’ll take this free win. I’m sure Bakugou agrees.”

“Oh, no way in hell,” was all you heard before Katsuki whirled around and stormed back towards you.

“Wait--hold on--what are you--” you managed to stammer out before he grabbed your face in both hands and kissed you, right in front of all your friends.

You were barely aware of someone saying, “Oh my God he actually did it, someone get the camera right now--” followed by several other shouts of the sort, but it had all been lost in the background to your shock that Bakugou had indeed, done it. Your eyes were wide in surprise as you took in his face scrunched up in concentration, lips brushing against yours with a softness you never would have expected from him. His palms were rough and calloused and warm against your cheeks, and you couldn’t believe that these hands, the ones that were holding your face so gently like you were made of glass, were the same ones that had tried to blow you to smithereens on multiple occasions.

Once you had gotten over the initial shock and got used to Bakugou being so close to you, you then felt kind of awkward. Where were you supposed to put your hands? On his shoulders? Behind his neck? Was that too intimate for a simple game?

Just as you started having these frantic thoughts that made you extremely self conscious as to the way the two of you looked to the rest of your friends, Katsuki exhaled sharply and pulled away, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt much to your annoyance. The cool air conditioning was such a contrast to his warm body, that for a second you found yourself wishing he’d come back.

“Strawberry,” he said, an insufferable smirk plastered on those lips you hated, those lips you wanted to come back to you more than anything.

“Y-yeah,” Ashido murmured, gaze darting around to the rest of your friends in the room, as to confirm that she wasn’t the only one who saw that, right? “You got it.”

“Tch.”

You frowned down at the strawberry chapstick that had been in your hand the entire time, Bakugou getting slapped on the back by Kaminari in the corner of your vision. The thing was, you could tell from the moment you held the stick to your face that it was strawberry. The smell was potent enough that he should have been able to tell as soon as he got within smooching distance. But he had kissed you anyway.

You didn’t have the time to dwell upon this enigma, as Bakugou was snatching a new stick from the bag and swiping it across his mouth, shoving it into his pocket once he was done. “Well?” he barked. “Do you need an invitation?”

Rolling your eyes, you went up to him, steeling your nerves with determination. He raised an eyebrow skeptically as you paused in front of him, wondering how you were going to reach him from your lack of height. He certainly wasn’t going to bend down to your level himself. Deciding to throw all caution to the wind, you sighed and grabbed his shoulder with one hand and the back of his head with the other, yanking him down to crash his mouth onto yours.

Unlike his kiss, yours was anything but soft. You kissed him because you knew he wasn’t made of glass, you kissed him to win, your eyes open and narrowed as you ran your tongue along his bottom lip, noticing how he tensed up when you did so. His crimson eyes stared a challenge into yours, just daring you to lose to him. You coudn’t smell anything relatively fruity, so you ruled a whole bunch of flavors off the list. Your tongue had come away from his mouth cool, a stark contrast from his generally warm skin. Which led the only option to be...

“Mint,” you said, ripping your mouth off of his and placing your hands on your hips defiantly.

“Spearmint, actually,” Bakugou snarked, tossing the stick up and down in the air.

“I say it counts!” Ashido exclaimed, quieting down at the end to murmur, “And who knew Y/n could kiss like that?”

"Hurry it up,” Kaminari complained, bouncing up and down on the couch impatiently. “I want to play it with Jirou.”

“In your dreams.”

“We’re literally dating, what are you talking about--”

“What are you all doing still up?” Iida yelled, appearing at the front of the room and silencing all of you in an instant. “People are trying to sleep, and you all are making such a racket downstairs. I implore you to stop at once.”

“...that’s our cue to leave,” Mina whispered, grabbing the bag and running upstairs followed by Kirishima and the rest of your friends, leaving you, Bakugou, and Iida alone. Iida sighed and stumbled off towards the kitchen, mumbling something about just wanting to get some water.

It suddenly became so quiet you swore you could hear crickets chirping like they did in cartoons.

You snuck a glance at Bakugou out of the corner of your eye, only to find him doing the same thing. The two of you jumped in surprise as you caught each other staring, and you quickly averted your gaze to the floor.

“Listen, about earlier.”

You looked up to see Katsuki rubbing the back of his neck, his face uncharacteristically tinged with red.

“Yeah?”

“That didn’t have to mean anything, okay? It was just a stupid game, so don’t think too much about it, or--”

“We never found out who won, you know.”

“I would have won anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

“You had an easy one, okay? You could tell by the smell alone, meanwhile I actually had to try.”

“Oh yeah?”

You knew you really had no reason to be provoking him like this. Literally none. So why were you continuing to do so?

“Whatever, it’s just some friendly competition,” you said, flicking your finger against his chest and turning away. However, he caught your wrist before you could fully pull away.

“Are we?”

“Are we what?”

“Friends.”

You searched his face curiously, but there was no malice or anger in his expression. You couldn’t tell what he was feeling right now, and that bothered you. Friends...maybe yesterday, that was what could describe you two.

But something had changed, and there was a shift between you that you weren’t sure was good or bad. Maybe it started when Bakugou agreed to the game in the first place. Maybe it was when he held his lips against yours longer than necessary. Maybe it was when you yanked him down to your level and kissed him until your lips bruised.

Not quite friends...but not entirely more...

“Sure,” you forced yourself to say, brushing an invisible lock of hair behind your ear and sliding your hand out of his grasp, which you found odd because he literally could have just let go and save you the experience of brushing your fingers over his for a split second. “Of course. Idiot. Anyway, isn’t it past your bed time?”

“Tch. See you later, loser.”

Both insults lacked venom, and you both knew it. As you walked up the stairs, Bakugou a few steps in front of you, you fisted the stupid strawberry chapstick tightly in your hand, the only thing you had linking you to that moment.

The moment everything changed.

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pod95 · 3 years

Text

Pairing: Finn Balor X OFC (Ciara)

Word Count: 1135

Warnings: Mature to explicit as the story goes on.

Description: After moving to the USA from England to start her career as an NXT superstar, Ciara gets to meet her long time crush, NXT champion Finn Balor. It's clear the pair have chemistry, but when tensions start to rise, will they find they want more than a no strings attached relationship?

So this is the first piece of fanfic I have written literally ever. I will be posting them here periodically, but I already have 6 chapters out on my Wattpad, AO3 and FanFiction pages.

This series will involve romance, drama and (although it will take a little while) some smutt too. Hope you enjoy it! 😊

Chapter 3: Teasing the Prince

My taxi pulled up outside the hotel the orientation party was being held at, and I made my way inside. The hotel was beautifully decorated, definitely out of my price range but WWE has money to spare I guess.

Upon entering the bar, I immediately recognised most of the people there. Superstars from Raw, Smackdown and NXT, as well as coaches and backstage crew sat in their own groups, engaged in various conversations. It was incredibly intimidating to an outsider. After trying and failing to insert myself into different crowds, I ordered a glass of water from the bar and took a seat at an inconspicuous table in the corner of the room.

I tried several times to abandon my comfort spot and introduce myself to my colleagues, but lost my nerve everytime. After half an hour of sheepishly sipping my water, I was startled out of my haze by the sound of a glass being placed on my table.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to scare ya," came a smooth, Irish accent.

I knew Finn would be here of course, but I'd specifically avoided seeking him out. I certainly didn't expect him to approach me after I made such a mess of our first interaction. And yet...

"It's fine," I chuckled, nervously. "I was just in a world of my own. Sorry"

"No offense meant, but you look like you're shittin' yourself."

"Well everyone is already in their own groups. It's like high school all over again"

Chuckling, Finn slid the glass over to me, "This should help. It's vodka."

I hadn't intended to drink tonight, but that intoxicating smile was hard to resist, and it would be rude to turn down a gift after all.

"I'm Fergal. Your name was Ciara, right?"

Hearing him use his real name made this conversation feel much more personal somehow. The way he said mine sent tingles down my spine. Speechless, I nodded.

"That's an Irish name. Do you have any Irish in ya?"

"I don't," I confessed.

"Well, would you like some?"

At this I choked slightly. Not daring to look at his smirking face, I tried to regain my composure.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself," he giggled, mischievously.

"Has that line ever worked?"

"No, never. Usually I just flash the abs and the rest is history."

"Right, right, because you're just SO irresistible," I teased, rolling my eyes slightly.

"Well... You couldn't seem to take your eyes off of me earlier today, so I guess I must be doing something right." He'd stopped laughing and leaned in closer, now staring intensely into my eyes. Every instinct in my body was telling me to break eye contact, but at this point the alcohol was starting to kick in and my nerves were unusually steeled.

"The only way you could possibly know that is if you were watching me too," I smiled sweetly, feeling proud of my retort, though internally my heart was racing.

To my delight, he seemed surprised by my new, unabashed attitude. Looking down at the table, he smiled coyly. I swear I detected the hint of a blush as he bit his lower lip and leaned back in his chair.

"So how long have you been wrestling?" he asked, clearly wanting to change the subject.

"About 6 years. Started in the indies before I worked for Progress."

"So did you try out or get scouted?"

"Scouted. I thought they'd got the wrong girl at first. There were so many other more talented women there. I don't really know why I stood out and they didn't."

Noticing my dejected tone of voice and my eyes glassing over, Fergal placed a kind hand over mine and softened his tone.

"Those scouts have a real eye for talent. You really should believe in yourself more. Even Paul seems impressed with you. That's not something to take lightly love."

He had this peculiar way of being able to make me feel so anxious and unsure of myself one minute, yet completely calm the next. My heart was doing backflips from the warm, tender touch of his fingers, which were currently tracing pleasant patterns on the back of my hand.

We sat like that in silence for a moment, before he cleared his throat and left to get us more drinks.

I wasn't waiting long before I heard a voice I recognised calling my name.

"Ciara? When did you get here?"

"Saraya!" I screamed, excitedly standing to give her a hug.

"Did they FINALLY sign you?" she asked. I nodded in response, and she playfully slapped my arm. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I guess I didn't wanna jinx it until I got here."

"Oh my god I'm so happy for you! It's gonna be like old times!"

Fergal returned with our drinks and nodded politely at Saraya.

There was something about the way she looked at him, or rather, the way she glared at him. I sensed some animosity there. As Saraya and I had a catch-up, she would break eye contact with me now and then to throw a scowl towards Fergal, and whenever she did, he'd respond with a smug grin, clearly amused at how much his presence was bothering her.

"So Fergal," Saraya started, "how are things going with Elayna. Oh wait, Ashley wasn't it. Or was it Steffanie... Aw damn, I can never keep track of who you're seeing..."

Fergal smiled wickedly and took a sip of his beer before responding.

"You know damn well who I'm seeing, and you also know how it's going. So why don't you cut the crap and tell me why you're still here."

"Hey, I'm just looking out for my girl here," she placed an arm around my shoulder, "wouldn't want her getting hurt."

Satisfied that she had pissed him off, Saraya grabbed her purse. She gave me a goodbye hug and flashed one last death stare at Fergal before making her leave.

I left Fergal to stew in his own frustrations for a few minutes, taking the opportunity to buy us both a drink.

"Are you OK?" I asked, setting the beer down in front of him. Upon my return, he quickly removed the scowl on his face, returning to the cocky smile he had on earlier in the evening. It was as simple to him as putting on a mask.

"I'm marvelous love," he winked, continuing the conversation as if nothing had happened, "so whereabouts in England are ya from?"

* * * *

A/N - Hey guys! I found this chapter really hard to write, because it's the first proper interaction you get with Finn and I wanted to do him justice. I hope I managed to. Anyway I'm back at work now so will update when I can. Really enjoying writing this and hope you enjoy reading! 😊

#fergal devitt #fergal devitt x reader #finn balor #finn balor fanfiction #finn balor fic #finn balor imagine #finn balor x reader #wwe fanfiction #finn bálor #finn balor x reader smut

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Satisfied, Part 51

First

~~~

She rested her head back against the wall -- a mistake, there was now water streaming down her face, but one she had accepted. “Hey, Riddler, what happened to your whole ‘we’re not killing kids’ thing?”

“Sorry, kids, but you’re both 18! Fair game!”

She rolled her eyes. “You just called us kids.”

There was a short silence, then Riddler mumbled something that sounded like it might have been ‘shut up.’

Damian worked at attempting to break his bindings with his rock. It was apparently much harder than you’d see in movies, because he was making seemingly no progress.

“Y’know this is a really boring puzzle!” She yelled.

She felt a hand smack her leg and cursed, drawing her knees to her chest and glaring at Damian.

“Can you not taunt the guy who’s trying to kill us?”

“What’s he gonna do? Try and kill us harder?”

“Yes! We at least have a chance of escaping right now!”

She rolled her eyes.

For a while, all that they could hear was the steady stream of water, the clanking of their manacles, and the sharp sound of rock striking metal.

And then Damian managed to pull himself free. He stared at his broken chains for a second, apparently just as shocked as Marinette was that he’d managed to get that to work, and then went to breaking Marinette’s bindings.

This would have been all well and good if the water wasn’t already creeping up her neck.

She sat up as straight as she could, but it wouldn’t be good for long. Even if it would be, she didn’t know how long she could hold the position. The cold water made her muscles ache from the strain of even keeping her neck up.

She bit the inside of her cheek…

She interlocked her fingers in front of her and held them out to him.

He raised his eyebrows slightly.

“I’ll help you vault up. Get out and beat him up for me, will you?”

He gave a quiet sigh of annoyance and continued to try his hardest to break at least one chain on her wrist. “Shut up. I’m not leaving you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Dami…”

“Nope! Shut up!”

She didn’t know what to do. She had no clue and she hated it. There definitely wasn’t a way for both of them to get out, there was no way Damian could break her chains in time. She could tell he knew that, could see it in the frantic way he struck the metal, but then why wouldn’t he stop? The water wouldn’t reach the top, and the walls were too slick to climb. He needed to vault up soon, while she still had enough energy to give him a boost.

He needed to get out while he still could.

She caught his hand on his next strike and held him there. “Dami… please, you have to get out, okay?” She whispered.

He sighed and looked at the rock in his hands, then his eyes widened slightly. He dropped the rock.

“The hell? That worked --?” She began, but then he shoved his hand in her face. She raised her eyebrows. “Nice?”

“Look closer.”

She snickered and glanced it over, then her eyes snapped back to his fingers.

To the industrial steel ring.

She cursed.

He leaned over her and pressed a hand to her chains. “Cataclysm.”

The illusion crumbled to dust around them.

The warm air brought her to her senses in a flash of pain as her body attempted to adapt. She curled inward on herself instinctively, screwing her eyes shut. She reached out and tapped the nearest surface twice. She could hear movement beside her but it took a moment for her to get over the feeling of her skin cracking from the sudden change.

She pried her eyes open and cringed at the Wayne Manor guest room they were in. She was laying on a bed, it seemed. Damian was next to her, though he was quickly getting up. In the corner was a very concerned and confused Riddler.

Marinette managed to pull herself together. Her hands went to her utility belt and she cursed. Empty.

Great, so Riddler had the horse and fox miraculous.

She doubted he would have found much use for the horse miraculous, though him having it was problematic for some of her future plans.

But the fox miraculous…

Well, he’d already shown what he’d wanted to do. The idea of him being able to make insane death traps (because, ultimately, any damage someone took in an illusion transferred over) without any need to ground it in reality? To make them without a paper trail for them all to follow? To be able to hide his victims in plain sight? It was terrifying, and she wasn’t about to just let him have it.

She held her hands up placatingly as Riddler’s hands went to his flute.

“I don’t want to fight!” The two men looked at her and she gave a somewhat sheepish smile. “Seriously, I don’t. I want to make a deal.”

Ultimately, it was far safer that way. The fox miraculous was a tricky one to deal with, she didn’t want to have to directly engage with it if she could get around it.

She and Damian exchanged looks. He sent her a wary look and she rolled her eyes. After they glared at each other for a bit he finally stepped out of the room, shutting it behind him. She relaxed slightly and slowly scooted her way to the end of the bed.

“Cards?” She asked, giving a bright smile.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he nodded. He took a seat a safe distance away, setting his flute down in his lap in case. She pulled out her yoyo and summoned a deck. She let him shuffle and deal.

“How’d you know? Was the ring the wrong color or something?” Asked Riddler as he handed over half of the deck.

She gave a smile and they started playing war. “Give us the miraculi and I’ll tell you.”

“No.”

Marinette shrugged. Fair enough. She would have been stunned if that actually worked. She bit the inside of her cheek.

“Right, what do you want?”

She nodded slightly. “I want the miraculi back and to have your word that you won’t tell the Rogues my identity.”

“And I get…?”

“I’ll help you get an insanity plea.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m not insane.”

“Sure, you aren’t,” she said in a gentle tone. “But I’m sure you could find some use for it.”

She let his mind wander to what it would mean. Even if she had no intention of getting him or any of the other Rogues into Arkham (they seemed utterly incompetent and there had to be other asylums around), she let him think that she would. She wasn’t directly lying, really. Just giving minimal information and allowing them to draw incorrect conclusions.

He sighed. “I. De. Clare. War.”

“I. De. Clare. War.” She collected her winnings and looked up at him. “So, what do you think?”

“Why would you help me out like that?”

“A lot of reasons, really, but mostly because I care about you and the other Rogues.”

His hands paused and, after a moment’s thought, he nodded. “Fine. But if you don’t do the insanity plea…”

“You have the right to tell the entire world my identity, I’ll get you a press conference myself.”

He stared her down for a few moments, probably trying to gauge her truthfulness, and then he nodded and slowly handed over the miraculi.

She breathed a sigh of relief and put them away. She tossed her Lucky Charm up and watched it disintegrate. “Right, I’m going to have to make it look like I beat you.”

“Of course.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, wrapping him in her yoyo and pulling him out the door.

Damian raised his eyebrows. “It worked?”

She grinned. “Obviously. I’m a genius. Also, geniuses don’t have to carry Rogues, so… good luck!”

She handed off the yoyo to Damian before he could react and jumped out the nearest window.

She brushed some stray leaves out of her hair (she’d fallen straight into a hedge, ow) and made her way into the courtyard.

She felt herself relax a little when she saw that everything seemed to be alright. There wasn’t any blood, so no one had died in her absence, and she could see all the Rogues tied up by a fountain. Great.

The bats were circling the Rogues carefully, making sure no one escaped. As she looked closer, though, she could see their stress in the tenseness of their shoulders.

The first person to spot them was Dick, who ran forward and wrapped her in a tight hug.

“Euh…?” She murmured, giving him a short pat on the back. “What’s with all the hugging?”

“You were gone for three hours! What the hell?! We thought you died!”

She felt the blood leave her face. She didn’t even know that was a real thing, she thought that was just something you read about in books, but she’d managed it. The world around her felt cold.

3 hours…?

She forced an awkward laugh and pulled away. “Yeah, we were just dealing with one of Riddler’s traps. He’s annoying. Damian’s bringing him down the regular way.”

Dick nodded slightly, then a frown came over his face. “Wait, Riddler?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah…? That’s… what I said?” She said slowly.

“Not Joker?”

“No, obviously not… why?”

He sighed and pointed at the Rogue pile. Marinette raised her eyebrows slightly, glancing over the faces.

Harley Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, Catwoman, Penguin… And Riddler on the way…

But no Joker.

~~~

*frantically googling how to write a climax* *it doesn’t help at all* *struggling author sounds*

I don’t get why writers these days are so obsessed with subverting expectations. People guessing what’s happening feels great. Like, yesssss all that work foreshadowing wasn’t for nothing

Taglist

@comet-kun @thatonecroc @trippingovermyfeet @swiftie-miraculer13 @nickristus-dreamer @moongoddesskiana @i-am-ironic @indecisive-mess-named-me @thebooki3h @insane-fangirl-of-everything @deepestobservationwombat @theymakeupfairies @fatimaabbasrizvi @clumsy-owl-4178 @fanofalittletoomuch @iamablinkmarvelarmy @nathleigh @lilkymilky @silvergold-swirl @dino-lovingreen-angel @thestressmademedoit @kissa-chan @ladybug-182 @alysrose-starchild @t1dwarrior-of-earth @spyofthenightcourt @rowanrouge @nik-nak-3 @momothefemur @aestheticnpoetic @labschaos @our-preciousss @mochinek0 @eliza-bich @mythogaychic @severelyenchantedwonderland @sashakoi @smolplantmum @bluesimani @tropestropestropes @kitsunebell @keepingupwiththemalfoys @sassakitty @2confused-2doanything @too0bsessedformyowngood @all-mights-asscheeks @demonicbusiness @meg-an-ace @fantasiame @qualitypeacepainter @multplelifes @kokotaru @spicybelladonna @ultimatetornshipper

#timinette #timari #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #tim drake #red robin #maribat #satisfied

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 3 years

Text

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 7

Thomas X Reader

2873

Summary: Reader gets medical treatment. Thomas is not ok.

by @adventuresintooblivion

They didn’t speak again until the Garrison Pub came into sight. Several men were milling about trying to figure out what the hell was going on. They parted with excited chatter craning their necks to see what Thomas was holding.

“Open the door! If you’re not helping, you’re in the way. Go home. We accomplished what we came here for tonight.”

Only a handful of people remained. Most of them were the Shelbys themselves. Danny paced back and forth in the back of the bar murmuring to himself. Thomas nodded to the small room they conducted their business in. John hurriedly opened it enough for Thomas to set Y/N down on the table.

Y/N sat there swaying back and forth slightly, her eyes closed as she focused on not falling over. Moments later, Thomas draped his coat around her shoulders. A sigh of relief escaped her lips. For the first time, she looked up at the people gathered around her.

Aunt Pol’s face was pale. A shawl was clutched in her hands with her hair unmade. John blinked blearily, but she could visibly see the fatigue drain away as he took stock of her injuries. Arthur simply wouldn’t look at her.

Thomas hovered over her protectively. She could just barely see the redness on his cheek where she’d slapped him. His hand rested lightly against her lower back. She could feel his hand shaking even through all the layers.

“The doctor is on his way but there’s a few things I need to ask you before he gets here.”

Y/N shook her head, “I want to talk to Pol first.”

He stiffened. “Excuse me?”

She lifted her head, leveling her gaze at him, “You heard me, Shelby. I want to talk to Pol first.”

“Did he touch you?” He growled almost under his breath. Something about him changed. His knuckles turned a stark white as they gripped the table. His lips pulled back in an inaudible snarl, eyes wide as he used every inch of self control he had left not to turn on his heels and find whoever had done this.

“Wha…?”

Thomas roared a tremor visibly running through his body, “Did he touch you!”

Understanding dawned on Y/N. She reached out to lay her hand on his. He recoiled. She leaned forward just enough to press her hand over his. Her skin was ice against his rage, but he did stop shaking once she rubbed her thumb across his knuckles.

She spoke softly, “He didn’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that I need to talk to Pol.”

He turned toward her, almost pressing his forehead into her shoulder. “I need answers.”

“And you’ll get them. After.”

Thomas locked eyes with her. Finally, he straightened and led his brothers out of the room.

Pol was left behind, her eyes wide as she adjusted her shawl. “That’s the first time I’ve seen Tommy listen to anyone when he’s like that.”

Y/N glanced down

“Well, you wanted me to yourself. Now what is it?”

“I think Grace is working for Inspector Campbell.” Y/N said it all in a rush, not trusting herself to actually speak if she took her time with it.

Today, the inspector had wanted to instill fear in her and make her a useless pawn in this game of his. She hated to admit that she was in fact afraid. Of what she wasn’t sure, but she’d be damned if she let that decide her actions.

Pol cleared her throat. “That’s… a serious accusation. What is your proof?”

Y/N steeled herself before telling Pol everything. How she’d seen Grace at the opera, the little hints here and there that it wasn’t a place she’d normally be caught dead in. Then the great reveal of the man’s identity.

“I watched her hand him a piece of paper. I don’t know for certain that she is working for him, but it seems like the only logical answer, and at this point it’s dangerous to keep it to myself,” she finally finished.

The whole speech had taken a lot out of her, and she was already exhausted at best. Y/N pulled Thomas’ jacket closer around her, grateful that she was finally starting to warm up. At the edge of her senses, she caught a whiff of a smell that was distinctly Thomas. Stale cigarette smoke, aftershave, and hay. She almost smiled as she remembered the horses he loved so much.

Pol rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hands. “That’s a lot of information to deal with. Why haven’t you told Tommy?”

Y/N frowned, “Right now if I did he’d storm off to kill her. I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Hell, maybe turning her in and ending this now would be preferred. I just… I wanted to ask your opinion.”

Her head jerked up. “This is your business. I’ll have nothing to do with it.”

Y/N sighed, finally letting the exhaustion cause her to sag in on herself, “Well, fuck.”

“I can’t believe you told me this. I won’t be caught complicit if he finds out,” she hissed.

“Pol, I’ve seen the way he looks at her. He likes her, even if it’s just a little, and with Thomas that means miles. This could destroy him. Or it could get one of them killed, and I don’t know if Grace worked at an opera house and just hates it from exposure and this is all some huge misunderstanding. I just don’t know.” Even to her ears Y/N sounded a bit hysterical.

Pol began to pace, thinking. Her heels clicked loudly on the floor, and even if the boys weren’t listening in they’d be able to hear that. After a few solid moments Pol rounded on the wounded girl.

She shook her finger at Y/N. “Listen here. For now, we say nothing. But if ANYTHING goes wrong and Grace is within ten miles of it, you tell him. Understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Alright, now let's get those boys in here. He’s probably about to strangle Arthur.”

As soon as the door knob clicked, Thomas stormed back in. His eyes were dark and cloudy as they traveled over Y/N’s exposed skin. Behind him, a small man with glasses shuffled in.

He spoke with a nasally voice, “Hello, I’m Doctor Tanish. Now if you could remove your coat I’d like to get to work.”

Y/N reluctantly shed the layer of warmth she’d built during her conversation Pol.

The doctor immediately swooped in, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Are there any pre-existing medical conditions I should know about?”

Y/N glanced at Thomas before turning to the doctor. “I have a bullet that’s lodged in my back that’s an inch to the left of my spine by vertebrae T11. They uh… found it and got me with a billy club. A couple times.”

He paused. “That’s very specific.”

“Yeah, well, you hear doctors say it enough eventually you can parrot it back if you need to.”

He nodded before continuing with this ministrations.

Thomas, who was leaning against the wall, had turned a light shade of green when she spoke. His world was slowly closing in on him, a dark tunnel taking over his vision. It wasn’t until Arthur elbowed him that he was able to regain some control and return to the real world.

Eventually the doctor needed to see beneath Y/N’s underclothes.

Pol shooed them out saying, “I’ll be right here with her. Let the girl keep some of her dignity.”

Thomas’ hand snaked out to grip hers firmly. “What did you two talk about?”

Pol’s lips settled into a thin line. “I will not betray her confidence. Just have faith, Tommy.”

He released her, allowing himself to be pushed back out into the pub with the others.

Arthur growled under his breath, “You’re gonna want a family meeting as soon as that doctor is done aren’t you?”

“Am I that predictable?”

He just grumbled and went to take a nap in one of the stalls. John soon followed suit, not really sure what his stakes were in all this.

But Thomas sat at the bar nursing a glass of whiskey. He couldn’t make out much in the way of sounds. That’s why they like that room so much. There were a few moments when a yelp or shout would set him on edge. But all he could do was wait.

It wasn’t until the sun had started to come up that the doctor slipped from the room, blood covering his hands. Thomas sat up straighter, not realizing just how much he’d drunk until he tried to stand.

“How is she?”

Doctor Tanish let out a tired sigh. “Exhausted. Most of the damage will heal itself just fine; however, there are a few spots that I am concerned about. Will you be taking care of her?”

Thomas was a gang leader. He didn’t have time to be coddling people while he was supposed to be out managing things.

“Yes.”

Doctor Tanish nodded, pulled out a piece of paper and began to write. “She has three fractured ribs and another one that was popped out of socket, but it’s back now. Her toe was also broken; that’s been splinted. There was some minor internal bleeding, but that’s been addressed. The thing I’m most worried about is that bullet in her back.”

Bile rose on Thomas’ tongue. “Is it that bad?”

“Well, it was already something that could cause chronic pain and difficulty walking. Now that it’s been agitated, the muscles around it have swollen which would lead to temporary paralysis. Honestly, I’m surprised she’s up and around at all.” He tore the paper of a small notepad and handed it to Thomas, “I’ll have medication waiting to be picked up by the end of the day. I’d get it here earlier, but she insisted that she wouldn’t take opium. Under no circumstances let her walk.”

Thomas nodded dumbly, not exactly sure how to process all the information, but as the doctor left he glanced down at the paper. Detailed instructions were scrawled out in handwriting that was little better than chicken scratch. Luckily, John’s scrawl was also atrocious, and if Thomas could read that, he could read anything.

The door was left open. As he looked at it’s gaping maw, something inside him wanted to run. If he didn’t go in, she would once again become a ghost that haunted his memories. He wouldn’t have to face the words he’d said that night, or back then.

He took a deep breath and walked in. Thomas was a Shelby after all.

〜

Y/N had stopped paying attention to the doctor a while ago. Between the war and her childhood, she’d gone through all this before. Pol on the other hand looked like she was having a rough time. At one point Y/N even caught herself reaching out to hold the older woman’s hand.

“It’s going to be fine, Pol.” Her voice didn’t even quiver.

Pol nearly jumped out of her skin. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

Y/N flashed her a wicked grin. “Eh, getting hurt comes with the territory.”

“With knowing Tommy.” Pol’s gaze fell. A deep sadness had made a home for itself. It was in the small things. Her posture, her subtle frown, but most of all her eyes. Eyes that Y/N suspected had seen too many people die.

She gave a small tug to get Pol’s attention. “Actually, I was a bastard long before I met Thomas.” Pol’s brows furrowed so she continued, “Da wasn’t exactly a law abiding citizen. Hell, if I’d been a man I’d probably be in the same position as Thomas.”

A silence settled between them as they both came to terms with Y/N’s past. The doctor didn’t seem to care much about what was said around him. He only spoke to instruct Y/N to move.

Finally Pol spoke, “While I don’t doubt the legitimacy behind your claim, you have,” she paused searching for the right words, “a certain level of education that isn’t typically available to people of our status.”

Y/N shrugged and immediately got scolded by the doctor. “Over-achieving bastard child. Not much else to it.”

Pol leveled her with a knowing gaze but enough had been shared that night. For the rest of the evening they either chatted idly or Pol dozed. The continuous attention was starting to wear Y/N out even beyond her limits.

She vaguely wondered if she was going soft after the war. Then she remembered that she’d been traipsing around town, got kidnapped, beat to hell and walked back on her own. Y/N allowed herself a small smile. Today was a productive day.

“It’ll take a couple months for your ribs and toe to heal but they’ll do it with little assistance. You must stay off your feet however. Especially if you ever want to walk again.” Doctor Tanish’s voice startled Y/N out of her thoughts.

She glanced at Pol’s dozing figure before replying, “I’ve beaten those odds before. But I’ll try not to push my luck.”

He gave her a curt nod and left.

Y/N glanced around the room, grimacing as she remembered that her flat was upstairs. She also had no way to pay for it now until she was healthy enough to work again.

A soft knock got her attention. There by the door was Thomas, peeking his head through as if he were walking into her bed chamber not his office.

“How are you holding up?” Deep circles had carved themselves underneath his eyes. His already drawn features took on a more extreme form in the dim candlelight.

Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off him. “I’m doing pretty well, all things considering. I might need help upstairs, though.”

Thomas cleared his throat before entering the room. He paused a moment to consider the best course of action. Then with little warning he simply picked her up. She bit back a startled yelp, clinging to Thomas as he moved easily with her in his arms.

“Tommy!” she hissed. Y/N couldn’t properly lift her arms to wrap them around him securely, so she clung to the front of his shirt with all she had. Her knuckles turned white instantly.

He simply chuckled. “I think that’s the first time you’ve called me ‘Tommy’ since you got back. Maybe I should pick you up more.”

Y/N could already feel her ears heating up. “Don’t try and distract me with flirting.”

“Why not? It usually works.”

She didn’t reply as they reached her room. With horror she realized that her key was still in the pocket of her jacket. Which was probably in the back of some copper’s car.

Thomas seemed to read her mind, “You don’t have the key anymore do you?”

She shook her head.

He gently set Y/N down, careful not to jostle her. Then produced a pair of lockpicks, making quick work of the shoddy lock. A few moments later Y/N was sinking into her mattress slowly.

Thomas kneeled beside her. She couldn’t see him; the darkness clouded his features. He reached out, fingertips the barest touch against her skin, to brush her hair out of her face.

Y/N would later blame the overall shittiness of the day for what she did next. She leaned into the touch. Her own hand reached up to cup his and press it to her lips. Thomas froze. But he didn’t pull away.

“Y/N.” His voice was gravilier than usual.

She wasn’t sure how long they sat there, but it felt like all the years that had been lost came back to life in seconds, all at once. Something between them had faded over time. Now was the first time either of them had actually reached back out for it. It was a tenderness they’d never let the world see. A secret of the trenches. A dream of what could be.

Eventually, the spell broke, and she released her hold on him. At first he didn’t pull away. Then he stood, ending the moment all too quickly.

Thomas cleared his throat, “I...I need to head out. If I catch you on your feet, I swear I’ll send Aunt Pol after you.”

Y/N chuckled, and pretended her smile was as genuine as she wanted it to be. “I’ll have to be careful and make sure you don’t catch me then.”

He rolled his eyes as he closed the door behind him.

Y/N let the darkness envelope her as she rolled onto her back. Her movements were stiff with pain. Exhaustion seeped into her joints and with Thomas gone there was nothing left to distract her.

For the first time since it’d happened she let her mind wander over the events of the day, a sob ripped itself from her throat. Then another. She pressed the palm of her hand into her mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle herself. But Y/N couldn’t stop the tears from streaming like trails of fire down her cheeks.

#thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #reader insert #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Emp-ire “Vacation.”

Ok everyone, so Just a bit of an announcement before we get to this story. As you know I have been writing this series for over a year now, which includes the book. That means I haven’t worked on anything else in years. I love these stories, and the characters, so I want to keep writing, But, to avoid burnout, I am going to need to take a detour from the the regular themes and write something new. I won’t title them HASO because that is the theme I am stepping away from for a bit. But its all the same characters and what not, just something new so I don’t end up with the desire to quit.

The book’s name is Empyrean Iris so, the nickname I am giving the universe is Emp-ire because it is shorter. If you can think up a better name, I am cool to hear it out, but this is how you will know the difference :).

I hope you will accept the new shenanigans and be willing to ride out this little detour with me. Its for the health of my writing, but I still wanted to give you guys something, while allowing myself to relax and write something else for a little.

Sharp light filtered in through tinted glass. Despite the brightness and pureness of the light, somehow the room still seemed dark. Perhaps it was the sharpness of the light and the blackness of the shadows left in its wake. The room itself seemed cold and barren. The floors were grey, the walls were grey, and the furniture was mostly stainless steel.

There was a chair toppled over on the floor in the center, surrounded by shards of shattered glass which caught the sharp light from outside and warped it to reflect across the room in crystalline patterns.

The walls of the room were barren, mostly devoid of pictures, except for one hanging crooked over the couch- a frozen image of a happy family smiling down from the wall. Somehow, in a room like this their smiles seemed rather hollow. Just across from that a TV was playing static and a defused bluish light filtered onto the floor where it mixed with the white light filtering in from the tinted window, and the bright lunar landscape outside.

The place was silent, mostly silent except for the occasional sloshing of liquid.

He lay on the dull grey floor next to the overturned coffee table. He was a wreck, wearing a stained white T-shirt and boxer shorts. His face was covered in a weak layer of scruff and in one hand he held a bottle. He lay there for another long moment staring with a dead expression up at the ceiling before slowly raising the bottle to his lips and taking another swig. He grimaced, and much of the alcohol spilled out onto his chin and neck, but he didn’t seem to care, and rested his head back against the floor with a dull thud.

He contemplated getting up.

Cleaning himself up maybe.

But that would clearly be too much work with his prosthetic stowed under the bed in the bedroom.

He was a cripple.

He couldn’t get up.

He took another sip from the bottle, hating the taste as much as the fuzziness that clouded his head.

A soft whimper from the other side of the coffee table, and looking up he saw a snout and a pair of ears poke out from behind it.

“Lay down.” He ordered drunkenly

And the nose and snout disappeared again to go along with a dull thud.

He didn’t have the energy to deal with her today, but she was always so insistent. He just wanted to be left along more than anything in the world.

Adam stared at the ceiling closing his eyes as another wave of incomprehensible self loathing washed over him, he was an idiot, he was pathetic, he was stupid, and he was barely even human. He had no life, no personality, and the one thing that made him interesting was the one thing he couldn’t do at the moment.

He hadn’t told the UNSC of course, he didn’t want to lose his job.

So he had disguised his visit to the moon as extended leave, leave that was VERY extended considering all his unused vacation hours stacked up. If he wanted, he could take the next year off.

The thought scared, him and his fear scared him even more. Why was he so afraid of spending time by himself.

It’s because you don’t have a personality.

Or the fact that you are super boring and you know you would be bored the entire time.

Because you are worried about what you are going to learn about yourself.

Because…. Because you don’t get to see her.

He squeezed his eyes tight shut and groaned.

Stop thinking! Don’t think about that!

And then he heard the sound of keys rattling in the lock. He sat up very quickly suddenly aware that he was legless and unarmed. But who the hell had a key! Only his mother, but she was back on earth, its not like he could think of anyone else to give it to. The key rattled in the lock for a few more seconds.

Adam turned looking around for any sort of weapon and found only the mostly empty bottle at his side.

He looked at it, shrugged, and then downed the last of its content before grabbing it by the neck and brandishing it like a weapon.

The lock clicked and the door was pushed inward. Boots thudded over the grey laminate floor, and a shape came around the corner duffle bag in one hand, a set of keys swinging in the other.

He raised the bottle, ready to throw it at the intruder and then paused.

“Ramirez!”

Ramirez stopped to look at him a dark eyebrow raising over an amber eye. He looked Adam up and down very slowly before, “You look like shit.”

Self consciously Adam managed to lever himself up onto the couch, so he could be a little more dignified, but as he was right now, there wasn’t much hope of that.

Ramirez lifted his nose to the room and sniffed grimacing.

“Dude, its smells like a bar in here, and not the reputable kind. It smells like the kind of bar where the blond chick just threw up in the corner, and drunk uncle dan pissed himself because he passed out.”

“Ok, Ok I get it.”

Ramirez turned to look at him, “No I don’t think you do, bro what the hell.” he bent over and picked up one of the bottles, “Since when did you drink?” He flipped the bottle over, “Since when did you drink this shit. If you are going to get drunk at least make it something good.”

Adam looked away, “Highest alcohol content I could find.”

“Yeah…. That stops now.”

He set down his duffle and crossed his arms over his chest, “Go get yourself cleaned up.”

Adam opened his mouth to protest.

Ramirez held up a hand, “No, no your mother said she would only give me the keys if I got your ass out of the house, and that is what i intend to do.”

“You met my mother!”

“Yes, lovely lady, though the next time she sees you shes gonna beat your ass. Now get up and go wash the stench off, I can smell you from here. Also,...” He looked down, reaching into his bag and tossing a small white bottle over to Adam, who, somehow, managed to catch it.

The two of them stared in surprise for a second before Adam flipped the bottle over to read the label.

“Ethen-null?” He read aloud, “What is this.”

“Take two, they should neutralize the ethanol in your bloodstream. I used to carry a bottle around in my wilder days. ITs great when you want to get super drunk late at night, but you don’t want to be a shitty human being while driving home drunk.”

“I don't w-”

“Option one is you take them voluntarily, option two is that I make you take them, and I guarantee that you aren’t going to like option two.”

“I can’t walk.”

“Boo hoo, get up and hop your crippled ass to the shower, I know you can.”

HE blinked a bit surprised at the venom in Ramirez’s tone. No one had spoken to him like that in a while. The ones who did speak to him kept tip toeing around him as if they knew there was some problem, but not wanting to address it.

“NOW!”

“Ok, Ok, jeeze.”

He uncapped the bottle first, tipping two of the little white pills into his hand before swallowing them dry and then getting unsteadily to his remaining foot. Ramirez didn’t make one single move to help him as he hopped, or crawled his way across the room and towards the hallway where his room was.

Opening the door, it was clear the place hadn’t been touched since he moved in.

He didn’t really know why.

There was something about sleeping in a bed somewhere that made that place permanent.

He wobbled through the door into the bathroom, which, luckily for him had a walk in shower and a bench.

Despite his original dislike for the idea of getting up, the water felt good on his aching soul, and he spent some minutes trying to scrub the alcohol and grease from his body. A thick coat of steam rose up around him as the warm water evaporated, rolling down the glass in rivulets.

He admitted to feeling a little better as he hoped out of the shower and onto the heated tiles, gripping the railing on the wall for support as he moved over to the mirror.

His mouth tasted pretty foul, but at least his head was clear, and he took at least five minutes of brushing his teeth and two cup fulls of mouthwash to satisfy him.

He contemplated not shaving, but decided he might as well since he was here.

His leg was already beginning to ache with trying to hold himself up, and he took the indignity of crawling on his hands and knee into the bedroom, in only a towel, rooting under the bed until his hand fell on the cold outside of the prosthetic.

He closed his eyes unable to look as he pulled it out from under the bed and strapped it on feeling the motors whirr to life as he finally picked himself up off the floor.

He refused to look down as he walked over to the drawers and pulled out a fresh set of clothes, tossing his nasty ones into a bin in the closet.

Over the sound of the fan in the bathroom, he thought he could hear the sound of a vacuum and then pots and pans clanging in the kitchen.

Curious, he stepped out into the hallway only to find that the front room had been tidied. The chairs and overturned tables had been picked up, the glass had been vacuumed, and waffles was greedily staring at Ramirez as he popped a piece of toast from the toaster, buttering it lightly before handing ti down to the dog, who took it gently and walked over to her bowl.

Ramirez looked over his shoulder, “She deserves it after having to deal with your dumbass for the past few weeks.”

He took a seat at the dining room table.

“Feeling any better?”

“Feeling human at least…. I guess.”

“Good,also you better be hungry because I am making breakfast.”

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

Ramirez raised an eyebrow at him, “Really, I come from a long and illustrious line of people who enjoy fiestas and siestas, so of course I know how to cook. My abuela would be horrified you even suggested such a thing. Just because YOU can’t cook.” he turned to the kitchen, “All this food in here, and the only thing I find open is a box of cereal, which is weird because no milk was open, which makes me think you have just been shoveling it into your face dry like dog food. Speaking of dog food, you HAVE been feeding waffles, right?”

Adam frowned a little affronted, “Of course I have!”

“Good, because I was about to slap your bitch as if you weren't.” Across the room waffles licked her chops rather loudly.

Adam paused and looked down at the table as Ramirez walked over setting a plate in front of him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Taking care of you, what does it look like. My matronly side really comes out when I think my friends are being stupid. Now eat your breakfast, or the shoe comes off.”

“The shoe?’

“Another long and glorious tradition passed down through the centuries that involves throwing your shoe and disobedient children.”

Adam raised his hands, “Ok, ok, I’m eating.”

He picked up the fork as ramirez turned to sit down next to him.

As soon as he took a bite, his mouth exploded with flavor, it was so good it was almost as if he could experience it through all five senses, and even a few more. His mouth began to immediately water. He hadn’t eaten like this in months, and found that he was surprisingly ravenous.”

Ramirez looked on smugly as he polished off the plate and then saat back in his seat,.

“More?”

Adam nodded.

Ramirez took the plate and returned with a second helping, which Adam managed much more slowly this time.

“So….”

“So?”

“How is the crew.”

The atmosphere seemed to sour just a little. Ramirez shrugged, “Since you left, its been ok I guess. Simon is doing alright but she kind of a stickler for rules, and becomes even more so when she is stressed, which kind of puts a damper on things….. She not as good as you are truth be told.”

There was a silence in the room.

“And…. Kanan?”

“Oh he’s still pissed. I am pretty sure when you get back you might have to duel him, or at least take a punch, but he’s sort of stepped up to take care of the clan and….. The weapons system since….”

“So she’s still gone is she/’

Ramirez sighed, “yeah, she's still gone, but she left a bunch of her stuff on the ship, and apparently she told kanan she was only going to be out for a couple of months, so here is to hoping she returns.” Ramirez paused turning to look at Adam with a frown.

Adam shrugged, “What.”

“You’re a real dumbass, you know that.” Adam sighed, “Soyou have said.”

“No no, you are going to hear me out for a second because I have a few things to say to you. I have been thinking bout it on my trip to find you, and I think its about time someone said them.”

Adam waited.

“You are the smartest dumb person I have ever met.” Adam blinked, “Here is a man who doesn’t need to do orbital calculations to fly a jet into orbit. He is a man who knows exactly what to do and what to say to new alien species. Here is a man who practically defined a generation, and yet here is that same dumbass abandoning his support system when he needs it the most. You have that habit, you know that. The habit of telling the Rest of us to F-off when you really need us. Its like you think that somehow we can’t handle your problems, when bitch, we have problems of our own, and if we can’t handle your we wouldn’t be offering to help. He leaned forward across the table, “You need to step up and do better because this is getting tiring.”

Adam remained in his seat staring at Ramirez and he sat back.

“Are you done?”

“No.” He slumped a bit, “But that will have to do for now.”

Adam sighed,, stared out the window at the Lunar landscape for a long moment before, “You know after years and years, after therapy and after psychologist after psychologist….. Not one has anyone ever said that.”

Ramirez watched him shiftily, not sure where this was going.

“Ive been waiting years for someone to tell me that?”

Ramirez blinked, “ok…. Ok well… shit I didn’t really expect that to work. I was just pissed to be honest.”

Adam shrugged.

“I get tired of people being so understanding all the time. It doesn’t help…. At least not me anyway.”

“Well in that case.”

Ramirez stood and walked over to his duffel bag, “You and I are going to go on a little vacation. Get out and experience the universe while we are still young. Find ourselves, and hopefully get into a shit ton of trouble.”

Adam frowned, “Are you sure about this.”

He grinned, “yes, and I know the perfect palace to start.”

He grabbed the duffle bag, and then flipped it’s contents onto the floor, “Your mom gave me these.”

Andam stood and walked over, turning to look down at the pile of clothes before snorting a laugh, “You can’t be serious.”

Ramirez grinned, “Nothing more wild that the final frontier.”

Adam reached down, and picked up two sets of wide brimmed cowboy hats from the floor pulling them apart. One was black and the other was a light tan, “You aren’t serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking.”

With a snort he reached over and crammed the hat on to Ramirez’s head before pulling the black hat onto his own.

Ramirex struck a pose, ‘What do you think, make a pretty good cowboy, wont I.”

“You look like as much of a dumbass as I am.”

“Ouch, that really hurts me on the inside you know.”

Adam turned to look at his reflection in the window, “So this is how you are going to fix me huh, playing dress up?”

“Ok, number one I am hoping to help you fix yourself, number two your mother says you love playing dress up, and number three, I want to go on a cool vacation, but no one else will go with me.”

Adam sighed, and rolled his eyes, “Ok, ok we will go on a vacation.”

Ramirez rubbed his hands together evilly, “Excellent.”

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barjogaron · 3 years

Text

This is the continuation for my Elite AU Love & Deceit! The fanfiction can be read on ao3 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32302612

And on Wattpad here:

Chapter Three:

Waiters and waitresses all dressed in white stand on every corner of the table. There are young men who play violins in the corners of the room, and women who tug on the strings of harps. I see my suite mates are already seated and I grab a random seat to sit in. From across from me I see Polo looking at me with hungry eyes, teasing me with a smirk. I ignore him and observe the rest of the dining hall.

Traditional European foods of all kind are already set up neatly on the white blanketed table on silver plates that are partnered with a drinking glasses and silverware. A heavenly chandelier hangs from above everything and Crisanto sits at the head of the long table. He is accompanied by other people dressed just as fancy as him. A young man with rosy cheeks and a friendly smirk, sitting next to another guy with beautiful caramel-colored skin and dark eyes. There is also a girl who sits beside them and they all bicker in a soft chatter, laughing and giggling in unison. There are a few other important looking people as well. I assume they are all Cristano's very opulent friends.

"Welcome, everyone. This meal is not only for my departure, but also in dedication to you, the new addition to the White Mansion." Crisanto smiles. Even though I shouldn't take it in other way, "new addition to the White Mansion" sounded pretty odd to say, but I shouldn't think too hard about it.

"Ah, right on time as always." Crisanto turns his heads to his sons that enter the room. Leading his brothers, dressed handsomely, is no other than the bruiting, Guzmán.

He is dressed in a black velvet suit, a suit that darkens his eyes in a strange deep incandescent green filled with obscured devilry. His hands are in his pocket, and he looks at just about everything in the room, except for in my direction. For a split second our eyes lock, and he quickly turns away clenching his jaw. I can tell he is forcing himself to avoid me. But why? I wonder what his problem is.

His brothers are dressed in a more casual formal attire. They all sit in seats near the girls I'm living with, and some next to each other and other guests who I am not yet familiar with. By the time all the boys sat down, the only spot left for Guzmán to sit is next to me...

His powerful scent infiltrates my nostrils and I can't help but to think how good he smells. I try my best to ignore him, tapping my fingers on my thighs. I can feel him eyes looking over me, and from the corner of my eye I see his jaw do his signature clenching thing again, and he quickly turns his head away from me, taking a sudden interest in the silverware in front of him.

"Now, shall we say grace before we begin?" Crisanto smiles but it quickly fades when he looks at me, giving me an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry Nadia, forgive me. Would it be alright to say prayer? I don't want to oppress any different religious beliefs." he asks me and I shrug in my seat, trying to avoid all the eyes of the room staring at me.

"I really don't mind it." I smile nervously.

"Splendid. Come now, let us all hold hands." he tells us. I'm not so keen to the idea of holding hands with Guzmán, but I must do so. This day just keeps getting better and better...

We all stand from our seats, grabbing onto one another's hands. I am hesitant to hold Guzmán's hand, inching my hand closer to his.

"I don't bite," whispers Guzmán. "Hard." He surprises me by practically snatching my hand into his. His hands are bigger than mind, fingers slender and ringed with silver, and easily wraps around my cold hands. Unlike his, which are somewhat soft and very warm. For some odd and stupid reason, I can feel my face heating up and I literally shake my head to fight against the sensation. I hate this.

"Our gracious Heavenly Father," Crisanto begins the prayer and we all close our eyes as he continues. For some odd reason I am tempted to open my eyes, and stupidly, I do, only to see Guzmán staring at me. I close my eyes quickly and I hear a soft chuckle escape from his mouth. I didn't think he was even capable of even chuckling, let alone laughing. I can feel the heat rising, my palms getting hotter and hotter.

Please end this prayer already! Please! I mentally scream. I repeat it over and over in my head, just so I can escape Guzmán's grip. Within moments, Crisanto ends the prayer with an amen, and we all sit back down in our seats. Thank goodness.

I snatch my hand back as quick as I could, looking away and pretending Guzmán doesn't exist. Yet, this cunning young man has the audacity to lean closer and whisper into my ear.

"Don't worry, I enjoyed holding your hand too." he grins against my ear. I can feel him smiling at me. I know for sure it's with all the wrong intentions.

"Don't flatter yourself." I whisper back to him and his eyes simmer cold, but his perky lips still hold that smirk. Guzmán smirks and focuses his attention to his plate.

"I can tell you're not going to be an easy catch." he says and my mouth hangs open. I know he's trying to get under my skin. I can tell by his cheeky smile.

I scoff.

"You have another thing coming if you're thinking I'm a catch." I tell him and focus on my plate, waiting for the waiter to reveal our meals. Everyone else is socializing with one another like normal people, and here I am with the dreamy yet diabolical, Guzmán, who I barley even know—is finding it in his twisted pleasure to annoy me.

"Don't worry, little rabbit, I enjoy a good game." I look at him and I lose it.

"Game?!" I shout and everyone goes quiet. I clear my throat thinking of something of a way to quickly dig myself out of this awkwardness.

"I didn't know you fancied sports so personally, Guzmán." I shoot Guzmán a wicked look, hoping he catches on. He simply grins. Damn his smile is gorgeous, but already I despise him.

"Oh yes, basketball is a sport I love. As well as rugby, and such and such." Guzmán replies and everyone continues to their casual banter. I notice his brothers whispering to one another, chuckling.

"Nadia, I'd like you to meet my young friends who are successful in the fashion industry," Crisanto smiles at me, pointing to the gentleman with the dark blue suit and wavy brown hair. I can tell he is a model because how charming he is.

"This is Nathaniel Gray, he models for Calvin Klein. The fellow next to him is his friend, Austin, accompanied by their companion, Eleanor Steel, who is a photographer.

I wave to them and they give me friendly smiles, but I can tell they weren't really interested in the acquainting business. The waiters reveal our meals which consist of steak, lobster, salads, vegetables, fruits, and my personal favorite beverage besides lemon water and wine.

The night had went on and on about business talk and getting familiar with one another. The boys kept cackling to jokes most of the time, and I would occasionally talk to my suite mates. Carla was busy flirting with a guy named, Joseph, who was more than alluring on his part

Throughout dinner, Guzmán stayed quiet and kept to himself. He didn't make any snarky comments, or made an attempt to bother me. Every time I talked, he just...watched me. Maybe he didn't think I noticed him, or felt him looking at me. Or maybe, he didn't care if I did...

"So, Nadia, please do tell us a little bit more about yourself." Nathaniel asks, taking a sip of wine from his glass.

"There's not really much to know about me." I nervously reply. Being the center of attention was never my favorite thing to be.

"Please, enlighten us." Nathaniel insists and I sigh to myself. Guzmán is fully focused on me and I can feel the anxiety brewing within me.

"Well, I'm from Madrid, Spain, born and raised. I love singing and photography, as well as writing. Um, I'm in my last year of college at NYU, majoring in English and hope to one day publish a story of my own. I'm Twenty-one years old, and I have a loving family who I am thankful everyday for." I tell everyone and notice Guzmán has turned his attention somewhere else, burying a smile under his hand pressed against his lips.

"Well that was a perfect little bio if I ever heard one. Nice to meet you, Nadia." Nathaniel says and I smile and mentally pat myself on the back. I take a quick glance at Guzmán who drinks his wine. As soon as I look away to down the rest of my glass of wine, I think I hear him say, "This should be fun."

"What did you say?" I look at him. I meant for it to come out more with authority but I sounded like a timid school girl.

"Nothing, Princess," Guzmán grins while standing. "Enjoy your meal." he winks and walks away from the table, leaving the dining hall. Crisanto watches him leave and I pour me more wine and continue eating.

I really wonder what goes on in Guzmán's head. I sigh. So far I have survived the ongoing night. Let's see how it ends.

...

AFTER DINNER ENDED everyone said their fair-wells and goodbyes to one another. Carla kept flirting with Joseph, and the other girls were a trying to keep their drunken behavior managed until they got back to the suite. Crisanto had got into his white limousine hosted by William, and had left for the airport. The house is now officially in the supervision to me and his sons. Honestly, I don't know which terrifies me the most.

I stroll around outside on the balcony after getting changed into more comfortable clothes to sleep in, which is just a typical silky white gown. My hair in a messy bun and I am so glad to have all that make-up off my face. I put on my reading glasses and make me some tea to soothe me. I figure I'll take this peaceful moment to enjoy the night air. I tip toe outside onto the balcony while the the girls are asleep l in their rooms.

I take in the fresh late spring air. The breeze cool, just right, soothing and running across me. The balcony is big and acts as a perfect view for most of the enormous backyard of the white mansion. I see the tennis court, the basketball court, the swimming pool, the green house, and the walking trail that stretches into a land of tall trees amongst the meadow between the mansion and the woods.

I lean on the ledge of the stone balcony guarded by more white lions. Below, I notice someone standing near the swimming pool. He just stands there, looking at the large pool illuminated with the lights beneath it. I set my cup on the ledge and watch him. It's of course, Guzmán, to no surprise. I just watch him. What is he doing? Why do I care?

I continue to watch as he mindlessly watches the pool with his hands in his pocket. Then, to my surprise, Guzmán begins to slowly undress, taking off his clothes peace by peace. His skin is open to the night air. He pulls down his pants, kicking of his shoes and sliding off his socks. Finally, the biggest shock, is that he slides off his black name brand boxers and tosses them to the side. Oh my god, he's naked! Skinny dipping at that!

I can't help but to notice how his physique is literally godly, Greek defined for sure. The shape of his rear even, it's unearthly. I blush at the sight and I want to look away. In fact, I even turn my head...but instinctively, I find myself looking back.

He rakes his fingers through his hair and I am mesmerized by the intensity of his back muscles. He must work out. A lot. Catching me off guard, Guzmán turns his head back towards where I stand and I quickly duck to the floor of the balcony. I peak at him, seeing him turn back around and I cautiously stand back up. I watch as he dives into the now disturbed water, swimming naked and proud without a care in the world.

taglist: @inmyarmsyoufell @elitestan @glamorizing @jasminejc4525

#elite au #elite fanfic #elite season 4 #guznadia #guzman x nadia #netflix elite #ao3fic #ao3 #fanfiction #wattpad fanfic #ander x omar #romace #writers #wattpad fiction #omander #omar ayuso #aron piper #manu rios

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earliebirb · 4 years

Note

Hello. So about the "send me a pairing and a number and i'll write you a drabble"... These are all perfect and I kinda want to ask for every single one for stony but I don't want to be that greedy XD How about 32 - “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”. It seems perfect for Steve and Tony. Love you!

Hello! Thank you for the prompt. Sorry for the long wait, I hope you like it!

weather the storm

steve/tony, hurt/comfort, getting together, 1839 words

(32 from this list)

Everything hurts. Breathing hurts.

“I really thought we could make it, you know. We had a decent chance of making it out—”

They are stuck under the remains of a collapsed apartment building. Fortunately, the wreckage seems to provide a small cocoon for them to sit in without being crushed, with a small amount of sunlight finding its way through the cracks between the debris and into the small space they are trapped in. Not so fortunately, JARVIS’ calculation has told him that the suit has taken a considerable amount of damage and that even if it had been running optimally, there would still be no way for them to blast their way out of there without risking certain death.

“Stop talking,” Steve grunts, but how can Tony stop talking when Steve’s face has lost its natural complexion and instead has taken on a deathly pallor that makes it look like he is the one that has a piece of rebar running through his abdomen instead of Tony?

Oh, that’s right. There is another unfortunate aspect to their situation: the fact that some time during the destruction of the building, Tony has somehow managed to get himself impaled on one of the steel bars underlying the building’s structure.

“I’m fine, Steve. It’s all going to be okay,” Tony says, every word an exertion. His wound smarts with every breath.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Steve spits out angrily, his voice cracking on the last syllable as he presses his forehead to Tony’s temple, cradling the heavy weight of Tony’s suit-clad body in his arms.

Tony smiles weakly up at him as black spots appear in his vision. Just before he asked Steve to help him remove his helmet, the HUD of the suit had notified him of the fact that his vitals were failing and that without serious medical attention within two hours, he might not make it. That was maybe around half an hour ago, but he doesn’t know anymore; it’s getting harder and harder to focus on anything but the torturous pain his body is in.

He raises one of his hands, offering it up to Steve. The simple movement jostles the rebar in him and he grits his teeth at a wave of pain so intense he is on the verge of blacking out.

“Hold… my hand?” Tony asks and Steve complies readily, holding Tony’s gauntleted hand in his.

“Hey, Steve.”

Steve stays silent but Tony feels his gloved fingers tighten around his gauntlet. He lets the silence stretch out between the two of them for a few moments, listening to the sound of their harsh breathing. Absentmindedly, he admires the way the dust motes rising from the debris seem to dance under the rays of sunlight.

“You want to know a secret?”

Steve speaks his words against Tony’s hair. “I want you to stop talking.”

“I think… I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

Steve stills against him, muscles locking up with tension. Tony feels drops of something warm land on his face even as Steve continues to say nothing. Steve is crying.

Tony tells Steve that he loves him and Steve’s response is to start crying. Of course, because he is Tony Stark, he manages to find a way to hurt other people even in his dying hours. Tony wasn’t going to ever let Steve know about how he felt about him but life is a funny thing full of surprises. With the prospects of him making it out of this disaster alive becoming increasingly unlikely by the second, he has found a surge of courage he doesn’t think he would have found otherwise.

“I’m sorry. For this. For everything,” Tony says breathlessly. He continues to speak even as the act of doing so renders the already exhausting task of breathing that much harder. “I know that you probably don’t want to hear this—”

“Shut up!” Steve roars, his voice hoarse. He rests his chin atop Tony’s head, just above Tony’s hairline. “If you say another word,” Steve chokes out, “I’m going to kill you myself.”

Tony falls silent at that, closing his eyes. He has told Steve the one thing he needed to tell him and now that the job is done, he feels very tired, like his bones are turning into liquid. He feels himself sink deeper into Steve’s arms and he thinks he hears the sound of Steve whispering what might be a litany of pleas into the skin of his temple.

As he lies in the arms of the man he loves, the last thing Tony thinks of before his senses are engulfed in darkness is that there are worse ways to die.

***

Tony wakes up alone in a hospital room to the sound of the steady beeping of machines.

At least, he thinks he is alone, until a voice speaks up:

“You can’t do that again.”

He startles and looks around the room before finding Steve, seated in a chair situated in the darkest corner of the room, arms crossed and eyes looking right at him.

“Steve,” Tony tries to say, but his dry throat morphs the word into a series of coughs.

Steve stands up from the chair and walks to his side, handing him a glass of water and holding the straw up to his mouth. Tony takes a few sips gratefully, letting the liquid soothe his throat.

“Thanks.” Tony sighs, leaning back against his pillow. Steve sets the glass down on the bedside table and proceeds to stare down at Tony with unblinking eyes.

“How long was I out?”

Steve continues to gaze at him wordlessly, expression unreadable.

“Steve—”

“I wasn’t going to forgive you.”

Tony blinks. “What?”

“I wasn’t going to ever forgive you if you had—” Steve breaks off abruptly. He doesn’t finish his sentence. All the while, he is still staring down at Tony with steely blue eyes. The non-expression on Steve’s face and the way he holds himself makes Tony think of a rubber band that has been stretched taut, liable to break any second.

Hearing a creak, Tony turns his head to see that Steve is gripping the metal handle bar of the hospital bed’s headboard and that the metal is giving way under the strength of his hand.

“Steve, you need to let up—”

“You can’t say you love me and then leave me alone,” Steve says. It’s like he is not hearing whatever is coming out of Tony’s mouth, like they are having two entirely separate conversations. The way Tony is still unable to discern an ounce of emotion in his voice or on his face would scare him if he didn’t have an inkling as to what kind of emotion is simmering behind Steve’s apparent stolid indifference.

It’s fear, he guesses. Cold, all-encompassing fear that numbs you to your bones. Tony remembers feeling something similar one December night twenty-something years ago, remembers hearing the words “car accident” and then nothing else. He remembers feeling nothing. No anger, no sadness, just… nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says. He doesn’t say what for because there are too many things he is apologizing for. Sorry for not being better at calculating the odds. Sorry for being a constant burden for the team. Sorry for springing an unwanted love confession on Steve when he least needed or expected it. Just an endless string of apologies.

“You should be,” Steve says, still in that unsettling monotone that is so uncharacteristic of him.

“Just forget what I said.” Tony stares down at the white rumpled sheets of the hospital bed. “And… I promise to recalibrate the suit so I can perform better on the field. I’ll try my best to make sure that this kind of miscalculation won’t happen again.”

Tony nods decisively to himself before holding out a hand to Steve with his best attempt at a smile. “Now, are we good?”

Steve just stares down at Tony’s hand impassively for a few moments before looking up at Tony.

He proceeds to ignore Tony’s hand entirely, leaning down and—

Steve is kissing him.

Steve is kissing Tony, one of his hands gently cradling Tony’s cheek. His lips caress Tony’s softly, and then eagerly with increased frenzy, like he is kissing Tony with the intent to bruise his lips.

Then Tony tastes salt. At the same time, he realizes that Steve’s breath is stuttering against his lips. “I can’t— You can’t— Damn you—” Steve whispers brokenly into his mouth and that makes Tony pull back in alarm, gently pushing Steve back with a hand on his chest.

He gets the briefest look of Steve’s face—his red eyes brimming with tears, lips quivering and teeth gritted like someone withstanding torture—before the dam breaks and he watches as Steve buries his face in Tony’s chest, sobbing loudly into it like someone letting out years worth of bottled up agony. Steve’s throat sounds raw and his tears seep into the fabric of Tony’s hospital gown. Both of his hands are trembling as they clutch Tony’s arms for dear life, nails digging into Tony’s skin.

Tony feels his own eyes sting with tears, his vision blurring, because Steve sounds like he is falling apart because of Tony.

In the end, it takes quite some time for either of them to calm down. Tony and Steve end up lying together on the small bed, having carefully arranged themselves in a position that allows them to look at each other. Tony stares softly at Steve who in return is gazing intently at him, eyes still wet and face red from crying. Tony’s hand is cupping Steve’s cheek.

Steve absolutely refuses to let go of his other hand, fingers intertwined with his. He still looks upset. He also looks incredibly exhausted.

“Go to sleep,” Tony whispers, thumb methodically tracing one-way strokes across Steve’s cheekbone.

“I’m scared,” Steve rasps. His eyes remain trained on Tony, the intensity of their gaze unchanging.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up,” Tony promises.

Steve blinks languidly. Once. Twice.

“Can you say it again?”

“Say what?”

“Say you love me again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“...Again.”

“I love you.”

Steve closes his eyes. “One more time?”

Tony smiles, closing the small distance between them to capture Steve’s lips in a tender kiss. He lingers there for a while, making it last, making sure Steve knows just how much Tony loves him.

“I love you, Steve Rogers.”

Over the next few minutes, he watches Steve drift off slowly, the fight going out of him like Tony’s admission is all the permission he needs to fall asleep. When his breathing evens out, his grip on Tony’s hand goes lax. Tony doesn’t let go.

Tony is scared, but Steve is, too.

Maybe it’s okay.

Maybe they can be terrified together.

He lies there in the quiet, listening to Steve breathe for a long, long time because he can, because he survived, and because somehow—by some stroke of miracle—Steve is in love with him, too.

#stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve x tony #mine #earl wrote something #earl answers #user: m-e-i-c-h-a-n

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