#mildly frustrating. but his story wrapped up satisfying enough
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Not Quite Invincible
Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30488721
Prompt: Hallucinations
Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen
Pairings: Nanago, Satosugu
Warnings: Illness, mentions of past canonical character death
Summary: Nanami returns home to find a sick and delusional Gojou, talking to his long-gone best friend.
@badthingshappenbingo
If there are any specific prompts you’d like me to write and any specific scenarios/fandoms/pairings you’d like me to write for, just send in an ask!
Story below the cut!
To most, Gojou Satoru seems invincible.
To most that encounter him, he seems as though nothing bothers him. He doesn’t seem to know how to take a hit, what with an ability that stops just about everything from making contact and a tendency to reach speeds incomprehensible to most human eyes. To most, he is flawless. A beacon of hope. The pillar that holds up the feeble roof of Jujutsu Sorcery. Were it not for Gojou Satoru, would the institution even still be standing? It’s a question that has been posed many times, and yet it’s never one that Nanami Kento has seen answered in a way he finds satisfactory.
Still, for all of his power, for all of his strength, and for as many opponents that have fallen to Gojou Satoru, there are still things that even one such as he is weak to. There are still things that can leave him as vulnerable as the child that he pretends to be. There are still things that steal that confidence from his voice and leave him doing just about everything that he possibly can to cover up the shaking that’s left in its wake.
Apparently, Nanami Kento is one of few privileged enough to see it.
“What are you doing in my house?” Nanami asks with eyes narrowed and arms crossed over his chest. He had walked through the door to find a pair of shoes that were most certainly not his and a pitch black coat hanging on one of his hooks. Nanami owned nothing black. He had discovered, while working in a boring office where the only goal was money, money, and more money, that black made him look far too uptight, and made him feel the same way. If he was going to be saving people, he would be better served wearing a less depressing color.
There’s only one person who Nanami knows well enough to suspect them of being in his house, who also wears a black coat and... whatever the hell those shoes even are. How frustratingly annoying, that it’s also the man known for his ability to inflict just about anyone he speaks to with a migraine that just might last days, depending on his mood. If Gojou Satoru is feeling particularly annoying today, then Nanami will have to make sure to stock up on painkillers. If he’s feeling just mildly frustrating, then perhaps Nanami will manage to kick him out the door with minimal incident.
“Hmmmmm…?” There’s a long hum coming from the lump on Nanami’s couch. Wrapped up in blankets, Nanami can barely make out a head of ethereally white hair resting against one of his throw pillows. “…oh, you’re home?” The voice is familiar, but also not. It’s obviously the voice of Gojou Satoru. There’s no way that Nanami would ever be able to mistake that voice for anyone else. And yet, there’s something off about it. Something shaky, quiet, weak, vulnerable, and maybe just a bit broken.
“Yes. What are you doing in my house?” Nanami repeats his question, and there’s a long minute with no answer. Then the pile of blankets shifts, groans, and settles once again. This is going to take a while, it seems. “Are you going to answer me, or are we going to stand here all night?”
“…head hurts.” The pile mumbles. “Stop talking so loud–“ A hand pokes itself out from the mountain and waves at Nanami, as though asking him to quiet down. “–Shouko said… uhhh… somethin’ about sleeping until it goes away,” Gojou’s voice says with an edge to it that Nanami doesn’t recognize and most certainly doesn’t like. He furrows his brow, reaches down, and shakes the pile until it lets out another loud groaning sound and rolls over. Finally, there’s Gojou Satoru’s face. His signature blindfold is nowhere to be seen. His hair is even more disheveled than normal. His eyes are squeezed firmly shut and Nanami can make out beads of sweat on his brow. His skin is flushed, and Nanami would be willing to bet that those scarily blue eyes hidden behind lids are glassy.
“You’re sick.” Nanami states, and Gojou seems to flinch at the statement. “Why did you not go home?” Nanami asks with a raised eyebrow. Gojou lets out yet another groan and rolls over, tucking his face into the back of the sofa and hiding himself from view once again. Honestly, what a child. He can’t even be bothered to look Nanami in the eyes when they’re speaking. “Gojou–“
“Satoru.” Gojou interrupts. “When’d… When did you stop callin’ me that..?”
Nanami blinks. He stares, for a moment, unsure of what to do. As far as he remembers, he’s never used Gojou’s given name. Certainly never to his face. He reaches a hand forward, trying to rest it on Gojou’s forehead to feel for a temperature. The moment his fingers brush against the man’s hair, however, Gojou almost seems to jump away. Nanami pulls his hand back. Stares, for a moment, before reaching forward again and this time managing to rest his fingers against Gojou’s forehead. He doesn’t pull back, despite the intensity of the burning that he finds there.
“Mmmmm…” Gojou hums. “…your hand’s cold, Suguru.” He whispers, and it gives Nanami pause. Of course it does. What else is he meant to do, in response to that?
“Gojou, I’m not Getou.” Nanami says, because he can’t think of anything else to say. Gojou has a fever – which was obvious even before Nanami rested a hand on his forehead – which seems to be high enough to be giving him delusions. Nanami wonders, briefly, how the older of the two of them could be irresponsible enough to let himself get so sick. Then he remembers that the older of the two of them is Gojou Satoru, infamous for his strength and his complete and total lack of responsibility. “Why did you come here?”
“Missed you,” Gojou mumbles. “Ahhhh, prolly shouldn’t have said that. You’ll never let me live it down,” Gojou laughs. It’s humorless. Nanami hates the sound of it. “…Shouko said somethin’ about staying in bed… but bed is super boring when you’re alone,” He grumbles, turning his head as though going to look up, but his eyes stay firmly closed. Nanami wonders, absently, if the six eyes serve to worsen his headache or improve it. “…been a while since we could hang out, Suguru. How’s the afterlife treating you?” Gojou’s lips quirk up, into a smirk. Nanami could spot how fake it is from a mile away. “Having fun in hell?”
“Gojou.”
“Awww, c’mon!” There’s a shakiness to the happy tone that Nanami is certain most would miss. Most, however, haven’t known Gojou Satoru quite as long as Nanami Kento has. Most would assume that he’s playing some sick game with himself that no one else is allowed to get in on. Nanami knows better. “…j-just cause I killed you… d-doesn’t mean that we can’t still…” Gojou breathes a heavy exhale. As though something is pressing on his chest and Gojou can’t quite shake it. Nanami sighs. No matter what he says, it doesn’t seem to be working. For now, he might as well try and do something about the fever.
Gojou continues mumbling. Nanami crosses the living room and makes for the nearest bathroom. Once inside, he collects a rag and a basin, quickly filling it with cool water and allowing the rag to soak in it for a moment. With a sigh, Nanami lifts the basin and makes his way back to the sofa. Gojou has shifted slightly. His eyes are still closed, but he’s lying on his back now. One arm is slung over the back of the couch, and the other is resting on the floor. Normally, Nanami would comment on what a messy pose it is. Now is not normally.
“Stay still,” Nanami commands, setting the basin down beside the sofa. Gojou mumbles something that Nanami can’t quite make out – aside from the use of the name Suguru once again – but otherwise complies. What a strange sight, a Gojou Satoru who actually follows orders.
Nanami lays the damp folded cloth over Gojou’s forehead. It causes the white-haired sorcerer’s brow to furrow and his lips to twist into something of a grimace, but he doesn’t complain. The thought briefly crosses Nanami’s mind to take a picture. He can think of countless people who would appreciate a picture of the world’s strongest Jujutsu sorcerer in such a state. But the thought fades as quickly as it came. No matter how satisfying it might be to see someone as strong and insufferably annoying as Gojou humbled like this, that’s no excuse to take advantage of his pain for something so petty.
“…’m sorry, Surugu,” Gojou mumbles. His hands clench into fists and then unclench once again. “…’m sorry… d-didn’t wanna kill you.” There’s another moment of silence. Gojou’s breathing is labored and maybe a bit pained. Nanami wonders, for a moment, how Ieiri could even allow him to head anywhere on his own, if he was this sick. The thought is quickly replaced, however, with–
“…miss you,” Gojou whispers.
Nanami feels something ache in his chest.
He buries it. Like always.
“Go to sleep, Gojou. You’re sick.” Nanami gives another command. The last one worked well enough. Perhaps all it takes to get Gojou Satoru to actually listen for once is to give him a high fever and a bit of delusion. It just might be useful information, somewhere down the line.
“Mmmm… fine,” Gojou mumbles. His eyes stay closed, but the expression on his face relaxes a bit. “…see ya later… Suguru.” It’s the last thing he says, before his breathing begins to even out and his muscles lose a good amount of their tension. Nanami breathes a sigh of relief. He can only hope that the fever will break before Gojou wakes up again.
Gojou Satoru seems invincible, but Nanami Kento knows that he’s far from it.
As satisfying as it is to see the mighty Gojou Satoru humbled, Nanami can’t say that he wants to see any more of it.
#jujutsu kaisen#satoru gojou#kento nanami#suguru getou#nanago#satosugu#bad things happen bingo#hallucinations#angst#whump#angst writing#whump writing#my writing#suzu speaks#writing#ao3#ao3 link
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Klaroline Drabble
Random. 1.4k words. Totally not canon compliant. I’m trying to write more, so.
Caroline stops by New Orleans ten years after that lovely afternoon in the woods with Klaus and they have dinner. Or try to. It’s hard to concentrate with Originals fighting werewolves and a blue witch right outside.
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Caroline should've known there was no way this was ever going to be anything resembling normal. She just didn't think it would ever be... Well... This.
Being a vampire and growing up in a city like Mystic Falls, which is basically the world's magical belly button - although, more accurately, it's more like the world's magical drain, where all kinds of crap get sucked into - you kind of forfeit the right to a normal life. You may cry, you may scream, you may even try to leave it all behind and start anew elsewhere, but magic always finds its way back to you, no matter how far you go. She’s long accepted that they're flames in a world of supernatural moths. There is no escaping it. So they might as well embrace their fates, find a way to live in spit of it all. And if an opportunity for a bit of a social life arises - don't even question it; just hold on to it like it’s the last drop of water in the desert.
With that thought firmly in mind, she chose to go with the what the heck shrug when Klaus asked her out to dinner while she was passing by New Orleans. Of course passing by meant stopping by when she really didn't have any good enough excuses for sticking around, waiting to get noticed. It was a bit of a coin toss; if it happened, it was meant to be, if not... Well.
It took Klaus exactly twenty three minutes to find her. He really does have the city wrapped around his little finger. Color her impressed.
Caroline hadn't seen him in ten years. She was... curious. Of course she'd heard all sorts of stories - resurrected Originals, bloody wars raging across the French Quarter, the Strix, whatever the hell that was. Caroline wondered what a decade and the conquest of a city would've done to him, and she's not surprised to find that he is indeed... different. He looks exactly the same, and the dimpled smirk on his face is familiar in a way that makes Caroline feel inappropriate things, but she does not remember Klaus being this composed in the face of chaos. Especially involving his siblings. And a bunch of rabid werewolves. And...
"Is that person... blue?"
"Spell gone wrong, I'm afraid," he speaks calmly, lifting his glass so one of his employees - that's how Caroline is choosing to call it; she'd rather believe the man is being handsomely paid to wait on the Mikaelsons - can refill it. "More wine, love?"
"I... Yeah. Sure." Klaus nods at the man, smiling at her from behind the hem of his glass while hers gets refilled.
"Are strawberry cheesecakes still your favorites?" he asks mildly. There's a loud crack outside, and Caroline turns to look in time to see Kol flying across the courtyard.
"Klaus," she says. "Your siblings are fighting werewolves and a blue person outside. I think I just saw a fireball. They're trying to burn down your house."
"Nonsense. This house won't burn so easily. It has very good foundations. Besides, I had it spelled against fires back when there was a different one raging across the French Quarter every other day," he says flippantly.
"Elijah just got bitten by two wolves," she remarks, wide-eyed and disbelieved. "And now he's biting the guy back?" Caroline makes a little disgusted sound under her breath, scrunching up her face when Elijah rips the man's head off with his teeth.
"Yes, it seems like it," Klaus replies around a sigh, unbelievably bored. "Do you have any ideas how many peaceful evenings I get to have around here? There's always someone trying to start an uprising for some reason, somewhere. When it's not wolves, it's witches, when not witches, vampires, when not vampires, it's my own bloody family. I haven't seen you in a decade, sweetheart, so I'm clinging to this evening until one of those rascals flies through my French doors and ruins our dessert, in which case I will be forced to retaliate. Otherwise, I'm staying put. If you've changed your mind about our date, love -"
"No," she hurries to reply. “I didn’t.”
The slow self-satisfied grin tugging at his lips is positively obscene.
Klaus' Henley clings to his torso at just the right places, the first couple of buttons undone, revealing the beaded necklaces around his neck. His hair is longer than she's ever seen, styled rather fashionably, and all Caroline can think is that she wants to bury her fingers in those silky-looking curls and then pull. Klaus looks more appetizing than anything he's served tonight, so no, Caroline does not regret saying yes to the invitation she oh, so smoothly sought. She never expected Klaus to be so respectful of that agreement they signed in sweat and orgasms ten year ago, so it was up to her to take a strategic detour and hope he'd take a famous hint.
It's just... Well, it's a little awkward, sitting here with classic music and people waiting on them while Rebekah's skirt is on fire right outside. Do you have any idea how much this cost, you ogre?! This is vintage Chanel!
"Uhm... Aren't you worried they might die?" she asks, tearing her eyes from Kol stabbing a man with what looks like a table leg, cutting to the incredibly enticing movement of Klaus' throat as he swallows his wine.
He scoffs. "Please. Four werewolves and a witch that can't even fix her own botched spells? If they die, it'll be well deserved and I won't be attending their funerals."
The creases on Caroline’s forehead deepen. "You're all completely insane around here, aren't you?"
"This city does have a way of twisting people's sanity, yes," he says calmly. "But is it really insane that I just want to have a quiet night in with an old friend?" A soft smile curls his lips as he stresses the word in a way that leaves no doubt as to all the lewd intentions underneath. Caroline tries not to blush. Probably fails. "As far as wishes go, that's a rather simple one."
"You're apparently in the wrong family for that," she counter, sipping from her glass. The wine is fantastic. "And the wrong city, too, I guess."
Klaus shrugs just as what looks like a human hand hits the glass doors, leaving a gory splotch of red.
"For goodness' sake," he grumbles, putting his palms flat on the table as he pushes up from his chair. "Rebekah! We're trying to eat in here!"
Rebekah comes to stand right in front of the door, a grim expression on her blood-stained face, hands firmly planted on the sides of her charred skirt. "Oh, I'm sorry, Nik. Am I disturbing your romantic endeavors whilst fighting for my life?"
"Yes, dear sister. You are, indeed. Can't you wrap this up or go play with your food outside?"
"I -" Rebekah is cut off by a fireball flying right over her head. "We could do with a little hand, you know?"
Klaus shakes his head, exhaling in frustration as he turns back to Caroline, his expression instantly softening. "Would you like to join me upstairs, love? The view is lovely from the balcony and we won't be disturbed by my barbaric and incredibly incompetent siblings."
Caroline smiles sheepishly, not quite disguising her excitement. "Well, I do love a good view."
Klaus offers her his arm as he guides her up the stairs. Caroline's hand balls next to her as she refrains from touching the dimple denting his cheek, missing the feel of his stubble under her fingertips, wanting to follow up with her lips. The night is young, though.
"Next time," Klaus starts. "We'll go out. There's a lovely restaurant called Antoine's, just around the corner. I'll get us a private room or perhaps I'll have them close the courtyard for us, and we'll have a nice dinner without interruptions. Then we'll go for a stroll across the Quarter, beignets at Café du Monde, a walk around Jackson Square, the view of the Mississippi at night from a terrace bar. I'll show you all my favorite places. Perhaps you might yet fall in love with New Orleans."
Caroline looks up at him, drawing just a tiny bit closer, and smiles. "Perhaps I might."
#Klaroline#Klaroline fanfiction#Klaroline fic#Klarolinefic#KC fanfiction#KC fic#Kcfic#klaus x caroline#kc fandom#yokan writes#klaroline drabble
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Your Living It
Summary- (Playing It Cool) He x Y/N (later i will give him a proper name besides he or me) Frustrated with the latest romcom, you two go out for some fun. Smut. Fir @official-and-unstable-satan Hope this is what you were hoping for babes.
Word Count- 2.7k
“Babes, can you like, not leave notes all over everything?” You playfully scold as you gather the papers he had scattered across the entire kitchen, and he raced in, throwing his hands up rapidly.
“STOP RIGHT THERE! Babygirl dont you dare move”
Wide eyed you pause, the papers half shuffled together when he comes over and takes them from your hand. His brows furrow as he studies them, before putting them back on the counter just where they were before. “A method to my madness, just… dont clean.”
“But how am I supposed to cook dinner then?” You whinned a bit, arms folding over your chest, and he straightened out some of the papers before turning to you.
“Ummm, pizza? Bowling alley pizza?” You wince a bit and then he adds “With bowling alley beer?” You nod then with a grin and he busts out in a grin to, and wraps an arm around you to pull you in close, kissing your lips quickly. “Thanks for putting up with me, but Im almost done with the script for Bryan and hes been riding my ass for it.”
Your hands smooth along his chest, and up around his neck, he had been STRESSING over this thing for weeks, “Riding your ass and pulling your hair huh? I should really call Bryan and tell him to lay off or else.” You joked, and he wiggled his brows, tickling along your back.
“Well thats better done in person after all. I need to see his reaction” You lean up and catch that grin of his one more time, a more playful teasing kiss with a nibble and trace of tongue before you step away. “Give me five minutes and I will be ready to go.”
“Okay! See you in ten then!” He called over his shoulder and laughed when your middle finger shot up at him and you slammed the bedroom door shut, laughing yourself. Once you closed the door, he went over to his laptop, sitting and staring at the screen. Its cursor blinked at him . “fucken hell” He muttered as he slammed the screen down, frustrated at coming up with the ending.
You pop back out just as he plasters a smile on his face and his eyes rake over your form, even in damn black leggings and a tank, the whole ensamble hugging your curves. Fuck you looked good, You always did. “See! Five minutes.” He gasped as he took your hand to lead you along, fingers wrapping with yours. “A first? One of many? The world may never know.”
What a dumbass, you thought but couldnt help but laugh regardless. Going to the car, you two headed out, while he was driving you texted Scott.
‘Hey buddy, wanna play bowl a round or two, or you to caught up in something?’
‘No! Be there, get that end lane if you can.”
Tossing your phone up on the dashboard just as you two pulled in “Scotts gonna play with us.” And he just nodded, making sure his wallet was in his pocket.
“Good, he whupped my ass last time, time to pay back the favor.”
Sure enough you were able to lock down the lane on the end, while he went to go get a couple heartburn pizza slices and mildly warm beers, grabbing enough for Scott as well, there was nothing quite like bowling alley fare, you test the balls and set to put the names on the screen. Bowler 1- HottStuff 2.Wifeypoo 3.BlueBallMC. He glanced up at the screen and smirked “You really think im Hott Stuff, Wifey?”
You snort just as Scott comes in and also looks at the screen. “What the hell guys, come on!”
You look all innocent and make a pointing motion to your man, wrinkling your nose as if in distaste.
“Seriously dude? Just cause I have a blue ball…. “ he grumbles as he unzips his bag and takes out gloves and a shiny blue ball. You two just pick random ones from the selection.
“What? It wasnt me.” the two of them bicker about the name calling and you take your slice of pizza, nipping on the end with a satisfied grin, putting your feet up in the seat next to you. He takes the first bowl, making a fist pump when it hit just right and scattered the pins across the alley. “I told Y/N i was kicking your ass today Scott”
“As if man… “ Scott is polishing his ball, looking all serious, while you to to take yours. You honestly dont care, your just shooting the ball down the lane, and hands on hips, waiting to see how the pins fall. You get three, well your happy with that. The other two though, it was almost a tie torwards the middle of the set.
“Hey, I will be back, gonna get another pitcher of beer” You offer when you noticed it was down to the dredges, and he poured out the last of it into his cup before handing it over. “Thanks babe” as you walk a little tap on the ass makes you smirk and a little spring in your step.
Taking a quick break while your away, Scott stretches his arms out front of him to stay loose. “So hows that latest script coming by the way? Last message I got from you was a bunch of nonsense about how you suck at anything romantic”
Rubbing his head he sighed “I dont know why Bryan keeps laying these lame ass rom coms on me. I cant write them worth a shit, and they just suck. Im so stuck on a ending now, and my deadline is in just a few days, after already getting an extension.” Carrying on, Scott kinda just shook his head at him. “What?”
“You man, you claim you cant write rom coms worth a shit, but come on. The last two were HUGE box office successes for you and look at you. You are basically living in one.” Scott pointed out as he moved to grab his ball, nodding towards the counter where you were chatting and paying for the beer. His head tilted, he honestly never thought of what you two shared in a movie sense.
“Just saying man…. thats a love story right there without you even knowing it.”
Yea, I am pretty lucky. He thought as you came back over, setting the pitcher down with the utmost care. He leaned forward and caught your hips, dragging you back into his lap. Wiggling in place, your legs draped over his, you mentioned to Scott. “2 more frames and the best bowler wins. Come on Blue Balls MC! You got this!” Red flamed the mans face and you tipped your head back laughing. He was watching you, but in a different light, just capturing the moment for himself. Fuck he was probably one of the luckiest people he knew.
So He won, not by much and as the three of you went to leave, Scott promising a rematch later in the week when the whole group could get together and you were hugging Scott goodbye “Game on, I know Mallory wants to see you kick his ass you know.”
“Oh I plan on it. Im gonna prime up the ball tonight with some new wax.”
“Thats the stuff Scott” you encourage him, and wave as he left, the parking lot mostly empty with the late hour and He came up behind you, sliding his hands against your hips and you felt him brush the raze of his chin against your neck, tipping back with a light sigh.
“You can beat him again baby.”
“I love how you pit us together Y/N” Making you smirk deviously and turn to look up at him.
“Girls gotta have her fun.”
“Yea well, the guy does to.” Backing you up against the car and grasping your chin to tilt your face up, his face lowering close enough to brush his lips against yours. “Im thinking we have some fun right here.” You reach to his belt buckle and tug on it lightly, “Back seat or Front seat?”
His hands were already sliding over your ass and grinding you into his groin. “Mmmhhh back” He let go to open the door, the two of you tumbling in with kisses and hands grabbing at clothes. You laid back as he hovered over you, your legs parting so he could lay between them and continue with sloppy kisses and your hands pushing through the buzzed hairs on his head and down to his back, wrapping your legs around his hips as he rolled them, sure to apply the pressure right at your core, that belt buckle just grinding into your nerves making you gasp right in his mouth. “Fuck baby… “ Scrambling your fingers into his shirt and tugging it over his head.
He rolled yours up and lifting your head, disposed of the tank top on the floor, dropping his head to bite and suck the top of your breasts that were peeking over the top of your bra, he dragged a cup down enough to expose you, drawing that peak between his teeth and rolling lightly before sucking on it, causing another jolt and moan from you, your nails digging in lightly at his shoulder blades, and dragging down. He didnt stop there, lapping his tongue over the aroused peak and did the same with the other, your bra tightly wound around you while your breasts fell out the top, kneading firmly while teasing the tip. Shortly after that he unsnapped it and dragged it off. He knew what that did to you, so sensitive and maddening, soon you were wriggling underneath him and in panting pleas.
“Your driving me insane, I need you. NEED YOU INSIDE ME. Fuck me please?”
“Since you ask so nicely babygirl” He lifts his head, his blue eyes flashing in the street light illuminating a part of your backseat. He grasps your leggings and panties drawing them down. In your impatience, you shift your legs to be rid of them. He hovered over you, dipping his hand between the two of you, teasing your wet warm folds, slicking your arousal up and down.
“Cant wait can you baby? So wet and needy.” Dipping into your core and you tighten around him, needing that sensation. “Greedy is what you are, so tight.”
You nod, and run your hands up and down his biceps, biting your lip. “God yes, so please? Pretty please? Fucking hell, please?” You bucked your hips under his hand and he swept down to kiss you deeply, and jerking at his belt, you purred against his tongue rolling around yours and started helping him, grabbing his belt loops and shimmying his pants down far enough so his cock was free, using your heels and toes to hook in his pants from behind and pull them down further, locking your ankles behind his back.
He tilted your hips a bit more, and grasping his cock, lined up to your entrance, and started to push in. He was slow going at first, taking his time to not hurt you, but fuck that, you werent having none of that and with a roll of your hips, you deep seated him inside of you, hissing from the pure satisfaction while arching.
“Oh shit baby! are you okay?” Your reaction misread by him, you grasp his ass that flexed under your hands and you nod. “Fuck yes, I wanted this, go right ahead!”
Oh babygirl, he did. There was no slowing him down once he knew just what you were looking for. Deep long thrusts filling you, hips rotating to reach all those sensitive spots that had you at first moaning and panting but turned quickly into chanting, your head tipping back against the car door and digging your fingernails into his back, tightening your legs, just drawing him in against you, rutting harder and harder into you.
The broadness of his chest, was friction to your entire body, burning. His mouth traveled down the length of your neck, nipping right at pulse points, and sucking to leave love bites in place. Yea hickeys were a teenage game, but he loved marking you, and you loved the challenge of hiding them. The car started squeaking with the motion of him pounding into you, and you hid your face in his shoulder to keep from laughing as he grunted over you “Baby, fuck im close…. “ You glanced up, and tipped your mouth up to kiss his straining neck, That spiral that settled in your belly soon caught up to his words, and your pussy clenched around his thrusting cock. Slicking a finger to help yourself along, you twirl it around your clit, and start panting. “Me to baby, together?”
Tensing up while trying to leave yourself on the edge till he was ready, his thrusts became erratic plunging and seeking out an ending, you to let go, and scream his name, while arching your entire body, waves of pleasure sparking your eyesight, and above you, his mouth fell open with a deep gasp of your name, sinking himself into you that final time and his cum filled you, coating your walls while you milked him for all of it rolling your hips and clenching around him. His thrusts started to slow, and the car stopped swaying once he stopped and using an elbow next to you, he half leaned against you. His ragged breaths blew hotly against your shoulder and you nuzzled your own face into his neck, breathing him in deeply. You two were simply enjoying the moment when there was a knock on the window and a flashlight shinning in on you.
“Fuck!” He jerked his hand down to the floor and snatched your tank top to cover your chest, lifting his other hand to shield his eyes. Scrambling, him pulling up his pants, and you ducking behind him, he rolled down the window to see a officer looking away on purpose. “Uuuh sorry officer? We were just leaving.”
“I would say so son, we got a call from the closer here said your car was still parked in the lot, and there was some activity going on. How about you head on home and I wont issue a ticket, kay?” You are entirely red at this point and tugging on your clothes as fast as possible while trying to stay hidden behind him, rubbing your face in his back to keep quiet, trying not to laugh about being caught. Of course you two got caught getting randy fucked in the parking lot.
“Right now, right away, thank you officer” He said and once the officer headed away, he rolled up his window quickly and fell back in the seat, deep laughter issuing from him. You sit next to him and sputter a bit, but he wraps you in his arms and tugs you in against him, kissing your neck, or trying to. It was mostly him huffing, and you to get caught up in it. “Baby we better get home, were lucky we didnt get in trouble.”
“Yea, we probably should” He agreed, but was soon distracted in kissing you again and drawing out deep moans, a flicker of red and blue lights light up your car and you two broke apart, opening the back door and crawling out into the front seats. With a turn of the engine, you two left, the cop following you along till you were closer to home.
Once you two reached the apartment building and made it inside without anymore incidences, you shrug out of your coat while he wanders back over to his laptop and opens it up like hes about to settle into typing again. “Handsome you sure you wanna do that?” You ask as you head down the hallway towards the bedroom.
“But I thought of a perfect ending” He states, clearly distracted to your actions outside of the bedroom door. But as soon as your bra slingshots right into his chest and falls in his lap, his eyes widen as he looks up at you, your back to him, shimmying down your leggings for a second time, he snapped it shut once again. “Sorry Bryan, day late again.” He he raced down the hallway, catching you and dropping you down on the bed.
He really was living his own romantic comedy.
@what-is-your-plan-today @p8tn0lish @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @jtargaryen18
#chris evans#buzzcutchris#playing it cool#spur of the moment fic#he can pound me in the backseat#and we can bowl to
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Final Thoughts - Gymnastics Samurai
I’m not gonna lie - I liked Gymnastics Samurai, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t disappointing.
Being disappointed implies that I had expectations going into this, and yes, I absolutely did. The show was an original work by the creator of Zombieland Saga and MAPPA, a studio that has, to put it mildly, been on a fucking roll lately, and it all looked somewhat in the vein of Yuri On Ice!!, which was made by the same studio.
But unfortunately, it seems like this is more or less where MAPPA’s insane schedule ran this this year, as it was airing during what I’m sure was a heavy prep period for Attack on Titan Final Season and the concurrent airing of Jujutsu Kaisen, two of the most anticipated shows of the entire year. 95% of the show looks totally passable, but where Yuri On Ice featured jaw-dropping, hand-rotoscoped sequences of its featured sport (even if they were a bit repetitive towards the end), almost every single shot of gymnastics, in a show called Gymnastics Samurai, from one of the world’s premiere anime studios of the modern era, is low-resolution, wide-shot CG. It’s not a dealbreaker for the show, but at least giving me something to gawk at would have probably elevated this by an entire point.
The other issue, however, is the plot. It’s good*, and the asterisk there is the kind of thing that will really bother someone experienced with story analysis. There are people that will watch this show and have no problem whatsoever with its narrative and conclusion, but I am not that kind of person, and the parallels with Yuri on Ice!! just made it frustrating to watch as the buildup failed to raise the stakes quite high enough, the characters didn’t get to go deep enough, and the entire thing wrapped up a bit too neatly. Most of the cast is developed perfectly well enough for me to feel satisfied, but the big casualty is this series’ version of Yurio, Tetsuo Minamoto, who almost feels plagiarised at the beginning but ultimately gets so little focus that the subversion of his character arc at the end and the reveal of his motivation falls entirely flat. It’s a shame because all of the other character dynamics, centered as they may be around Aragaki (with the exception of Leo and Tomoyo), are pretty clearly defined and the main cast as a whole are different enough from their equivalents in the show I keep comparing this to to keep them engaging, but that doesn’t make it any easier to take that a show about a guy sticking his landing basically falls on its ass in the last two episodes.
6/10.
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Cold Hands, Warm Heart
Based on that one post by @thepensword about how Taako is always cold. Can be found here. Plus an idea I’ve had for a long time but never written about.
Cw for swears, kids. Be safe out there. But other than that it’s light angst with a fluffy chaser and a dash of Lore.
Enjoy!!!
*~*~*~*~*
Positively stomping through the streets of Neverwinter, Taako, for the thousandth time, curses the city for its positively idiotic name.
“Neverwinter”, his ass. Maybe they should have gone with “UsuallyWinter,” or “JustAsMuchWinterAsAnywhereElse,” or “CanWeReallySayThatAnythingOnThisOneSunnedPlanetIsn’tWinter.”
Because, you see, Taako is cold.
Taako is always cold.
It’s a holdover from a plane long behind them. Two-sunned elves have different traits than those of Faerun. Ears that move. Different colored eyes.
Different body temperatures.
Taako is a sun elf. A sun elf from a planet with two suns. He was made for warmth. More warmth than here. And even on two-sun he ran a little colder than the other elves he knew. But there, the extra warmth was enough to compensate. He’d tan in the summer, he’d soak up the rays and wear sleeveless shirts and live for the suns.
Faerun has one sun. On Faerun the long sleeves and pants, the heavy coat with the dozens of pockets he wore adventuring were more than just good sense - they helped him stay fucking warm.
It’s not even fair because Lup isn’t even cold all the time. Lup feels fine. Mostly. She gets a little chilly but it’s nothing a jacket can’t fix, and now she’s a Reaper and something about that helps too (Taako doesn’t know what). Taako’s body doesn’t work that way. And to top it all off, ever since Wonderland, when those fucking liches stole some of his vitality, it’s gotten even worse.
The snowy winter days in Fucking Neverwinter are hell to the multiverse’s favorite wizard, because no matter how many layers of coats and scarves and gloves and enchanted wizard hats he throws on, he can’t get warm.
He turns off the road, starts making the hike up the hill to his house which looks out on the Stillwater sea. He liked the walk when he bought the place. Lined it with trees and flowers that Merle and Pan blessed to grow big and beautiful.
He bought the place in the summer.
Magic should help. It doesn’t. First lesson he ever learned on the road with Lup: no matter how good a wizard you think you are, you never directly influence body temperature using magic. It’s too powerful, too volatile. Transmutation on the body was a risk they were willing to take. Watching your sibling’s blood boil just because you got a little chilly was not.
He finally makes it up to his front door, pushes inside, and sighs in relief.
Ever since the first chills of autumn in the city, every fireplace in Taako’s home, of which there are many, has been running almost nonstop. Is it a fire hazard? Probably. Does Taako give a shit? Maybe ten percent of one. He’s got more money than anyone else in the damn planar system. He can buy a new house.
(But he likes his villa-styled sprawling house by the sea. Likes the herbs in the window boxes and the flowers in the front and back. Likes the view of the water. It would be a shame if it burned down.)
The fireplaces help. But not enough. Never enough.
He takes off his outermost layer for the sake of the snow caked on it, but keeps on everything underneath it. Stupid, he thinks, to wear a full coat and scarf inside of his own house. But he doesn’t know any other way.
He walks through the foyer, and there.
The man of the hour.
Kravitz.
He’s reclining on the couch, close by the fire, book in one hand and glass of red wine in the other, wearing his usual suit without the jacket and shoes. He looks...
Well.
Taako knows how he looks (miraculous).
The worst thing about the winter is the space it’s put between him and his boyfriend.
Six months after Story and Song, and Taako, against all odds, is living with Kravitz. As in, Kravitz lives in his house. Kravitz drinks his wine and moved in his books and plays piano here and sleeps in Taako’s bed.
Well, most of the time.
Kravitz, who’s hands were ice cold on his and Taako’s first date, who tried to warm himself up for their first kiss, is fucking freezing to the touch in the winter.
It’s been a solid couple of months since Taako and Kravitz have cuddled without at least three or four layers between them, and by then Taako could pretty much have just bought a weighted blanket for all the good it does him. It’s hard to satisfy that craving for skin contact from the person you... care about when said skin contact feels like hugging an ice sculpture.
Kravitz looks up, puts down his glass of wine.
“Evening,” he says, mildly, as though testing the waters. And that’s what does it for Taako.
“Hey,” Taako says, immediately turning into the kitchen, not looking at Kravitz, because he just can’t.
Ever since the winter started, and Taako, out of necessity, started shying away from Kravitz’s touch, things have been... weird.
Taako knows that Kravitz isn’t the kind to speak up about this kind of thing. They’re working on it, but it’s been so long since he’s been in a relationship, so many mortal things are new to him. Taako knows this. And yet... breaching this issue, to which Taako has no solution, trying to communicate to Kravitz that he wants him while constantly having to push him away is... frustrating. What Kravitz wants is for Taako to be happy, for Taako to be comfortable. He says it constantly. He insists. And it’s the insisting that’s the problem.
Because Taako knows that even if he’s not saying it, Kravitz isn’t happy either.
And now when Taako comes home, and tries to spend time with his boyfriend, there’s all this horrible... space between them. When Taako’s cold, it seeps into his words and his actions, until all of him is cold, not just his body, not just his skin. Until he’s cold to people he cares about, and apologies come slow and with difficulty, and then the damage has been done.
Taako starts on a simple soup, no energy to make anything flashier, and still refusing to use magic in the kitchen. He hates the way all the extra clothing gets in the way of cooking. Hates the way the warmth of the stove only does so much.
Kravitz eats with him that night, and they talk, but it’s a weird, shy conversation, both of them anticipating what comes after.
What comes after is Kravitz sitting on the other side of the couch pretending to read while Taako shivers and pretends too.
What comes after is Taako going about his evening routine before slipping into bed in a full onesie and under about five blankets. It’s Kravitz dressing in flannels to try to shield Taako from the coldness of his skin, and then the two of them, side by side. Lying on their back and staring up at the ceiling, as they wait for sleep to come.
It’s a long wait, when one of them is an elf and the other doesn’t sleep naturally.
And there’s the thing about Kravitz: he’s not just without warmth. He’s actively cold. His body radiates cold like a living person’s radiates warmth. It’s only been a few minutes and Taako’s already shivering.
“I’m sorry,” Kravitz says from his side of the bed. And he sounds so fucking defeated and sad and Taako feels bad but he also feels annoyed. Because he’s cold. Because why can’t Kravitz just be a normal fucking person. Because Kravitz won’t talk to him and he won’t talk to Kravitz and this whole situation is just a goddamn nightmare.
“Not your fault,” Taako says, but the words have been said so many times they hardly mean anything anymore. He can feel how flippant they sound. He can feel the way they don’t sink in, how they bounce off Kravitz’s skin like Taako doesn’t care.
I do, he tries to broadcast. I promise I do.
“I think maybe it would be better if I stayed up tonight.” Kravitz says, like it’s an idea he’s only just had, not something he’s been saying nearly every night these days, like it’s not the new normal, like he truly believes that they still sleep in the same bed and touch each other and they aren’t on the verge of -
Kravitz slips out of the bed, pads gently out of the room and shuts the door behind him. And Taako turns over in bed, ignoring the tightness in his throat and trying, desperately, to get warm.
*~*~*~*~*
Candlenights comes, as it always does, despite the coldness in Taako’s house and his heart.
And Taako’s happy for it, really. He didn’t harbor any delusions about everything being beautiful and shiny and sparkly so close to the apocalypse, and in the aftermath of it. The world is still healing from a colossal wound. But he’s hosting, at least. He’s always been a good party planner. Lup is there and so is Barry. Merle comes up from the coast with his kids. Magnus and his dogs. Angus, visiting on his break from school. Davenport is still abroad, and Lucretia is conspicuously absent (no amount of begging from Lup could convince Taako to let her into his house), but it’s... good. Cozy, almost.
Taako even cooks for everyone, Lup assisting, and ignores the careful distance Kravitz keeps from him and from most of his family. The meal goes off without a hitch, save Taako’s shivering. He can see the sympathetic eyes Magnus keeps making at him, wants to glare and snap and tell him to fuck off, but he doesn’t. Just because the cold makes him crabby doesn’t mean he has to be an asshole.
He has a thick will blanket wrapped around him elegantly, like a shawl, while they’re unwrapping presents. Lup smiles brightly at the diamond earrings Kravitz got her, and Taako’s heart swells a little. Angus loves his books. Kravitz gets Taako a set of jewelry done up in gently curling silver and sapphire and pink tourmaline, because he’s a romantic, and Taako tries to ignore how... wiggly it makes him feel.
He wants to kiss him. He doesn’t.
Taako saves Lup’s gift for last, as is tradition.
It’s a tiny little box, which Taako had first been terrified was from Kravitz and then relieved wasn’t, and it’s as light as a feather.
Because, Taako discovers, there’s nothing inside.
Nothing, that is, except a tiny ivory card with scrolling golden text on it. It reads:
Command word: flambé.
Love, Barry and Lup! :)
“What the fuck, Lulu?” Taako asks, turning the card over and over in his hands.
“Oh fuck off, Taako,” Lup says good-naturedly from Barry’s lap. Gross. “You’ll thank me later. Well, thank us.”
And isn’t that fucking cryptic, he thinks. But Lup is Lup. His sister is fucking weird, and he brushes it off in favor of drinking more wine.
It’s a good day, mulled wine and carols and gift-giving, but as all good days do, it winds down sooner than expected. The guests go off to their many rooms, Taako’s house big enough to host them all (by design), and before he knows it, he and Kravitz are headed to bed.
It’s the same old charade. Kravitz goes through the motions, and Taako does too, and it’s awful and stilted and he just wants it to end.
It’s not fair, he thinks, staring at the the bed while Kravitz is still futzing around in the bathroom, a charade of mortality. Kravitz is good. Taako likes him. He’s nice to talk to and doesn’t make Taako feel like he has to perform. He’s a big old nerd and actually really compassionate and sometimes an entity of absolute chaos and he’s perfect for Taako, he really is. So why can’t he just have this? Why does there have to be fucking... roadblocks in the way?
Taako expected things to be hard. He expected having to make things work. Sometimes Kravitz is gone for days going after bounties and Taako can deal with that. There are elements of mortal life Kravitz has to re-learn, and he doesn’t know how to interact in just.. normal society sometimes, and Taako can deal with that. Sometimes he’s a real asshole and gets prickly and offended and impatient after a bad day and Taako can deal with that.
He doesn’t know how to deal with not being able to touch him for months at a time.
He’s shivering just standing there. He needs cover.
But when he pulls back the comforter the sheets are a deep fuchsia. And while it’s a nice color, it looks nothing like his usual ones.
There’s a piece of paper like a letter, there, on his side of the bed under the comforter. It’s the same as the card he found in lup’s gift, and all that’s on it, in that same gold ink, is a winky face.
Taako sighs, long and deep. Because with Lup these things are always a gamble. Is it a gag gift? If Taako says the command word, will his bed explode? He has a horrible flashback to the memory of his first conversation with Kravitz, which was about tentacle porn, and Lup heard it from the umbrastaff, and now she’s given him enchanted bedsheets. Taako pales at the thought.
But here’s the thing: it’s late, and he’s tired, and he can always shut it off because he’s the best wizard in all planar systems, and he’s curious.
He stands, contemplating, cold as balls, for another minute.
And then he says, very deliberately,
“Flambé.”
And for a second it looks like nothing happened. And then it really looks like nothing happened. And then...
Taako can feel the warmth just from standing next to the bed.
It takes him about 0.04 seconds to hop in after that, to pull the sheets up around his shoulders and bury himself under the covers up to his chin.
It’s heavenly. Warmth from all sides, and Taako sighs, long and deep, as he feels tension in his muscles all over his body, held from weeks and months of being cold all the time. Already he can feel the chill in his veins slipping away. He can feel the warmth reaching the core of him, strong and comforting.
He can feel his face flushing, and the warmth rushing up into his long ears.
And then it gets warmer.
And warmer.
And warmer.
Uncomfortably warm.
Taako’s sweating, he realizes. He’s flushed, not in the comfortable way of sitting by the fire. He’s hot like a beach day, hot like a desert plane. He throws the covers off above the waist. It’s not enough. He’s too hot. Much, much too hot.
The door to the bathroom opens up and Kravitz steps out.
“Oh thank god,” Taako says, without thinking, “get the hell over here.” He holds up the blankets on Kravitz’s side of the bed, gestures for him to get in. Kravitz is staring at him like he’s grown an extra head. He slides into bed, slowly, tentative, and Taako practically throws himself on top of him.
The relief of his cold skin isn’t enough through the flannel pajamas Taako’s wearing. He goes for his shirt buttons.
“Taako,” Kravitz says, “what’s happening here?”
“Damn enchanted sheets from Lup are too fucking hot,” Taako grumbles, pulling his shirt off and squirming around with his pajamas pants until those are off too. He tosses them across the room.
Laying across Kravitz’s chest is such a relief. It’s like cold water on a hot day, and Taako spends a luxurious moment running his hands over his chest and shoulders, nuzzles into his neck and revels in the coolness on his face. He sighs, goes boneless against his boyfriend. He feels wonderful.
Kravitz’s arms come up around his back, tentatively holding him, and it hits him.
“Oh shit,” he says, half sitting up. Kravitz looks him in the eyes, questioning.
“That was Lup’s Candlenights gift. It was...” he licks his lips. Why is it so much harder to say things than it is to feel them? “It was this,” he says, running his hands over Kravitz’s chest again.
Understanding dawns in Kravitz’s eyes, and he smiles at Taako, and his smile is like the sun on a warm day.
“Glad I can be your ice pack,” he says, smiling.
“Shut up,” Taako says, resting his head back down, feeling more than hearing the happy little hum Kravitz makes. He snuggles a little closer. Kravitz’s arms tighten around him.
“I missed you,” Kravitz whispers.
And what can Taako do in response to that but kiss him?
“I missed you too, handsome,” he whispers into Kravitz’s lips.
#taz balance#taakitz#taz taako#taz kravitz#taako taaco#kravitz#my fic#desiree: the tumblr sessions#thepensword
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Cadence Update - 28
Catch up on the full story here!
Now and again we try
To just stay alive
Maybe we’ll turn it all around
‘Cause it’s not too late
It’s never too late
Never Too Late - Three Days Grace
---------
Over the next few days, things fell into something akin to a schedule. Nero and Nico would arrive in the morning before Dante had even rolled out of bed. Then, Nero would carry Roxy to the backseat of the van, give her the blade Kuro had blessed, and wait for Vergil to hop in after. It had only taken a day for the devil-hunting duo to lapse back into what Vergil assumed was normality. Nero and Nico fought more with each other than they did demons, but Vergil could sense a certain underneath all the arguing. When they did encounter any demons, Nero would let Vergil out and the two would fight them off together.
There was just one, glaring problem: Vergil couldn’t kill anything on his own.
He had been worried something like this might happen. It didn’t matter how strong he was on his own; he was still a familiar. And, for reasons he still hadn’t figured out, familiars couldn’t kill other demons. Every time he tried, he failed miserably. His most vicious attacks would do nothing, leaving Nero to kill them himself. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the demonic energy always shot straight at Nero, no matter how much damage Vergil had done. Nero had apologized, but they hadn’t figured out how to fix it. And the less energy Vergil had, the more pain Roxy was in. Every day put Vergil further from figuring out how to fix her paralysis, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Nico had tried to solve it. Nero had used their blade instead of Yamato, but it didn’t do anything. Nico had offered to drag Roxy out, but she could barely raise her arms, much less stab a demon. She’d been too weak to summon Aki, much less hand him off to anyone else, so that was out. Vergil tried everything he could think of. He’d dragged a few demonic bodies back to the van, but both had spurred back to life before they reached her. Nero had done the same, even holding her hand to kill them, but the energy still flocked to him. Vergil had even slipped back into his corporeal form to try and direct more energy at her. But nothing happened, and he had a sinking feeling that nothing ever would.
How had Kuro managed this? Aki mentioned that it had taken the dragon a few years to even manifest himself, much less reveal his existence to her. Another lie that, unfortunately, Roxy hadn’t been aware of. Vergil had learned through her thoughts that Kuro had revealed himself to her as some kind of passing demon with interest. She hadn’t had a clue that he’d already existed within her and had just waited until he could show himself to let her in on it. But no matter how much Vergil cared for her, they didn’t have years. They all knew that Mundus would be back. The former (or current?) Demon King would find his way out in due time. And if Roxy was this week, both her and Vergil would be dead in a heartbeat.
Or enslaved, the thought of which was much, much worse than a quick death.
After four days of no luck, Vergil could tell that even Nero was getting upset. “How long do you think this will take?” He said even though his present company had no hope of answering him. “I can’t stay away from Fortuna forever, even with Dante’s constant visits.” He sighed, rubbing his fingers aggressively through his hair. Vergil didn’t blame his son for being so close to a breaking point. Vergil himself felt positively miserable, as his only contribution to the last few days had been almost-demon-kills and long, fitful naps beside his summoner.
He could feel Roxy’s frustration as strongly as his own, even though she was rarely lucid enough to express it.
Nero stabbed through another demon, wincing as the energy swarmed him. “Sorry, Pops. I’m not doing it on purpose.” Vergil shrugged, prowling around Nero impatiently, before pouncing on another demon, biting its neck for good measure. It didn’t bleed out - of course not - and Nero shot it without about as much gusto as a snail. “Is she close to standing at least? Surely she’s getting stronger.”
Vergil sighed, but it came out as nothing more than a huff. ‘No’, was the easy answer, as ‘I don’t know’ made him uncomfortable. Luckily, he didn’t have to say anything as Nero plopped himself on the ground, spinning Blue Rose in his hand. Vergil sat beside him, glancing at the van behind them. Nico was missing from the front seat, probably checking on Roxy. She was fine if a bit tired. Vergil could feel her in the back of his mind no matter how far away he got. She was mildly more awake today - thankfully, as she’d been in and out of sleep for a few days now - but her back still hadn’t healed. Vergil could still see the strings connecting them; small, fragile things that still didn’t show any signs of improvement.
Finally, Vergil sighed and tapped the ground. Nero glanced at him, and he drew a circle in the dirt with a claw, before drawing a line through it. Nero snorted, but Blue Rose stopped spinning. “I can’t stay here much longer.” Vergil drew a question mark and Nero sighed. “Nico will stay behind to help, but Kyrie needs me.” Vergil nodded, even though his heart sunk at the thought. Nico could only do so much. He hoped that Roxy would at least be walking before Nero left, but it wasn’t fair of him to expect that.
So, he drew a single word in the dirt, “Go.”
Nero nodded. “Don’t worry, pops. It’ll all work out.”
A rumble pulsed around them. Vergil’s ears flattened on his head as he searched for the source. A quiet dream laugh echoed from beneath him. He slammed his head into Nero’s side. The younger hunter swore as he rolled to his feet and darted to the side, giving Vergil just enough time to leap out of the way. A massive demon burst through the ground, sending chunks of concrete in all directions. Vergil’s gaze jerked to the van, but he was forced to dodge away as a giant fist slammed down where he’d been standing. “Wonderful,” Nero said as he propped Red Queen on his shoulder. “I swore I killed you months ago.”
Vergil had never seen this creature before. It towered over them with lava swirling through its rocky body. Two, massive horns curled off the top of its head, but Vergil’s attention was drawn to the massive, shark-toothed mouth in place of its stomach. “Human!” The creature roared. “You were the one who fought my brother?”
“Guess so,” Nero said. “And he was just as ugly as you.”
Vergil wanted to roll his eyes, but his gaze kept shifting to the van. They needed to pull the beast away before it crushed the helpless women inside. But Nero wasn’t moving, and the last thing Vergil wanted was to draw attention to them. The creature roared again before his stomach snapped open. A ball of fire shot at Nero, but he simply hopped out of the way before Vergil could react. Nero clicked his tongue as he shook his head. “And now I’ll just have to take care of you too.” He slammed Red Queen into the ground, revving it with a wink. That time, Vergil did roll his eyes; Nero was acting far too much like Dante for his liking.
The creature roared again. Another fireball shot at Nero. Vergil backed away, glancing at the van again. Nico was in the front seat now but had yet to move. But with a building at her back and the demon in front of her, Vergil knew she wouldn’t have a chance. He considered going back to the van himself. There wasn’t exactly much he could do to the monster.
Unless.
He closed his eyes as Nero continued to run the Goliath around. Vergil wasn’t sure why he and Dante spent so much time playing with their prey, but it didn’t matter. Instead, Vergil focused on his memories of Shadow. The way her body moved and twisted in whatever way she wanted. She could have fought a creature of this size, and he couldn’t rely on Nero any longer.
My tail…
His eyes snapped open. Of course. He’d spent hours working on summoning his demon tail. Surely that could use that now. And as Nero continued fighting, Vergil focused on his tail. After a few moments of nothing, it snaked out around him, sharpening in a form similar to his demon tail. More tendrils seeped off his body in response, and he was satisfied when he found he could recall them at will. Perfect. As Nero slashed across the demon’s chest, Vergil leaped forward, slamming his tail into its leg. The creature howled, surprised as he swung at Vergil. But Vergil sunk into the ground surprised to find that it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. He slipped back out on the other side, stabbing his tail into the opposite leg. The demon swung to the side and his stomach-mouth widened. But as the fireball launched, Nero appeared and knocked it back into him.
“Not bad,” Nero said. “But you need a lot more practice.” Vergil glared at him, but Nero’s wings appeared and the man was gone, launching into the air. Nero kicked the Goliath in the head, leaping off of it with a whoop of delight. The monster stumbled. Tendrils shot from Vergil’s tail, wrapping around the creature’s legs. He yanked back as hard as he could. Goliath went down in a heap. Vergil backed away, snarling as Nero moved to take its head off. “You ugly piece of…”
“Wait!” Nico said.
Nero froze, Red Queen inches from the beast’s neck. Alarm swept through Vergil as he realized that Roxy was standing, arm over Nico’s shoulder. The frozen blade was in her other hand as they limped toward them. “What are you…?” Nero’s voice trailed off as Roxy shakily extricated herself from Nico’s arms and stumbled slowly forward. Vergil moved to her side, uncertain what he could do if she fell. And while the pain was obvious between them - Vergil could feel it in his own back - her determination was as strong in her eyes as it was in her heart. The strings between them pulsed with energy, though it was far less than Vergil wanted. She unsheathed the blade as she approached the dying demon. Its eyes rolled up toward her.
“You,” It whispered. “My master wants you.”
“Well,” She said, out of breath as she dropped the sheathe. “He can’t have me.”
Then, with both hands on the hilt, she stabbed the creature straight through the eye. Blood pooled at her feet as it screamed; a shrill, terrible sounding thing. Then everything went ominously silent. His body vanished, leaving behind trails of red orbs and demonic essence. It all cascaded into Roxy, nearly overwhelming her. Vergil moved first, leaping to her as she clumsily dropped to her knees. He propped his body against her back as the sword fell from her hand. She took a deep breath as her head fell back toward the sky. “There,” She said quietly. “I did it.”
Then she slumped forward, her eyes closed, and she said nothing more.
#zenni-writes#cadence#update#vergil#nero#nico#vergilxoc#vergilxroxy#I'm glad the fight scenes aren't as long as Blazing Tempest#;_;
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Lunch Buddy: Chapter Eighteen
Masterlist
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Overall Story Facts:
Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers
Story Summary: Steve Rogers makes a friend. A prickly, generally people-averse friend, but they’ll both take what they can get.
Quick Facts: Friendship (/Eventual Romance) – Steve Rogers & Reader (leading to Steve Rogers/Reader) – Female Reader
Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense
Chapter 18: Party Hard
Chapter Summary: Steve is a popular guy, whether he wants to be or not. Seeking shelter around Christmas seems appropriate for the season, at least.
Chapter Warnings: Whether the viewpoint character celebrates Christmas or not is left vague (there is a gift exchange but it’s mostly centered on what Steve would celebrate), general time jumps between days are marked with single tildes (~), and at the end there is a change in viewpoint and a change back, marked ~like so~
Chapter Word Count: 5241
A/N: This chapter was a little delayed because it wasn’t working and when I dug into why I found I had issues with the following sections that were mucking up the place. It felt like working out a real big snarl– frustrating and painful at first, but very satisfying when I got to the end of it. And slightly cathartic when I just ripped out the bit that refused to budge. It was fun. I hope you enjoy.
(Minor note: time is left vague but this all starts just a few days after the last chapter and happens over a couple of weeks, ending just before Christmas. I have sort of a fake calendar I’ve done up so the dates make sense to me but I don’t think they’re necessary to understand the chapter. If I’m wrong let me know and I’ll see if I can fix it so it does make sense.)
~
I was having a perfectly pleasant evening at home. I had comfy clothing, I had drinks, I had my phone, I had activities…and I had activities involving my phone.
Me: How’s the party?
Steve: Ugh
Bothering Steve would always, no matter what, be fun.
Me: Serves you right
Me: trying to guilt-trip me
Steve: My only regret is I didn’t guilt you more
Steve: I can’t believe you abandoned me to this
Me: And I can’t believe you wanted to subject me to that
Steve: >:(
Steve: I’m reduced to hiding
Steve: From a very drunk woman who wants to lean on me
Steve: Among other things
Steve: Or so she assures me
I felt a flare of something. It wasn’t anything nice.
Me: Hang on
Me: Omw
Steve: Is that all it takes?
‘Is that all it takes.’ He was such a fuckhead sometimes; maybe that woman could have him– except, no, actually unacceptable. Any potential partners had to understand ‘no means no’ and when to back the fuck off.
Me: Yup
Me: There is only so much arm space for clingy bitches
Me: And I take up a lot of room
Steve: Hey
Steve: You are not a bitch
Steve: >:(
Me: Don’t you frowny-face me mister
Me: I am whatever I want to be
Me: Deal with it
I added the sunglasses emoji just because.
Steve: Well
Steve: I can’t argue that
Steve: But I still don’t like it
Me: You don’t have to
Me: <3
Steve: I guess that’s fair
Me: Seriously though
Me: Do you want an excuse to leave?
Me: I’ll figure one out
Steve: It’s okay
Steve: I’m going to be up early tomorrow so I’m going to duck out soon
Steve: It just would have been more fun with you here
I rolled my eyes. But I smiled.
Me: Well
Me: Don’t stay too late, Cinderella
Steve: Hm
Steve: Better than the old man jokes I guess
Me: I would never
Me: …Well I guess I might. Too easy though; I like to make an effort
Steve: I appreciate your work ethic
The conversation drifted off in drips and drabs, but that night I dreamed of Steve and glass slippers and in the morning I woke with the feeling that nothing had fit quite right.
~
Steve: Guess where I am
I got up and peeked out the window. No bike, but that didn’t necessarily mean no Steve. However I looked around my apartment and cringed at the mess.
Me: If you’re dropping in you better be bringing snacks
Steve: I wish
I frowned at my phone. If he wasn’t coming over then why was he…wait a minute. Wait.
Me: No
Steve: Yes
Me: It’s Thursday
Me: Who has a party on Thursday?!
Steve: Pepper assures me it’s not technically a party
Steve: It’s a small get-together
Me: So it’s a small party
Steve: Basically
Me: We’re going shopping this weekend
Me: We need to find you a spine
Steve: YOU try telling Pepper no
Me: Hey I never said I had a spine
Steve: Be grateful
Steve: She really tried to get me to invite you
Steve: I danced around it. I knew you wouldn’t want to with work tomorrow
Me: Yeah, not happening. Thanks
Steve: You’re welcome
Me: Seriously though
Me: How many parties can those people have in one month?
Steve: Please don’t ask
Steve: I don’t want to find out
Me: I hate to be the one to break it to you
Me: But it sounds like you’re going to find out
Me: Whether you like it or not
He sent me a sad frowny-face and I immediately imagined him making the same expression. I looked up at my ceiling and wondered why it had to be now that I had the most active imagination I’d had since I was seven.
Me: Well
Me: If you need a place to hide out from fancy food and grabby people
Me: You know where to come
Me: I don’t really do fancy food
Steve: What about the grabbing?
‘Buddy, I wish,’ I thought and rolled my eyes. He had no idea. And he never would. Hopefully.
Me: I like to think I’m respectful of personal bubbles
Steve: Except when I steal your food
Me: Well yeah
Me: At that point you’re a thief
Me: And punishment must be meted out
Steve: Crap
Steve: Tony saw me, gotta go
Me: Good luck
Steve: Gee thanks
I sent him a sweet smiley face, because some things just couldn’t be helped.
~
Karma kicked my ass the very next day when I woke up with such a sudden and severe cold that made me call out of work. I was just barely considering getting out of bed for maybe some soup or a slow crawl directly to the morgue when my phone buzzed.
Steve: I think I hate you
Me: I didn’t do it
Steve: Another party
Me: …
Me: …
Me: Dude
Me: It’s ten am?
Steve: It’s tonight
Me: I’m sick
Me: Come over and I’ll cough on you
Steve: I can’t get sick
Steve: I never thought I’d be sad about that
Steve: Wait
Steve: You’re sick?
I rolled my eyes. And winced, because that just hurt my fucking head.
Me: Yeah. Staying home today.
Steve: Do you need anything?
Steve: Help? Food?
I really wished he could stop being so sweet. It was a real fucking problem sometimes– like now, when I could think of a whole list of things I wanted his help with that was just slightly past the friends barrier. Or maybe friends cuddled and I was just out of the loop? I made a mental note to look into that, when I was slightly less disgusting.
Me: No thanks
Me: Got medicine, got soup, got bed
Me: Just need to decide if I can keep anything down
Steve: Oh :(
Me: I’ll be okay
Me: Just need some sleep to kick this in the ass
And warm arms wrapped around me, but I kept that to myself. Maybe I’d have a nice dream later.
Steve: You do that
Steve: Get plenty of rest
Steve: And call if you need anything
Steve: I will be incredibly motivated as of 9pm tonight
Me: Oof
Me: I would offer to be your excuse
Me: But I’m hoping a cocktail of cough syrup and pain meds will make that way past my bedtime
Steve: Stay safe
Me: I will. Worrywart
Steve: Yup <3
He was trying to kill me; I knew it. However I was so exhausted I just sent him a quick ‘bye’ and crawled back under the covers to be miserable and whiny on my own. Admittedly, ‘on my own’ left much to be desired these days, but I got through it like I always did.
Except for the container of soup from a local Chinese place that somehow made it to my door that afternoon. That was new addition to my ‘get better’ routine. But very much welcome.
~
Steve: Sigh
I already knew what was coming. Mostly because I was trapped in a similar hell.
Me: At least it’s close enough to an appropriate date
Steve: I guess
Steve: What are you doing?
Me: Work holiday party
Me: fml
A couple of women greeted each other nearby in tones that varied up and down but they all stayed pretty equally loud, and I ducked closer to the table, under which I hid my phone.
Steve: I guess it’s true
Steve: Misery does love company
I sent him a line of middle fingers
Me: How’s YOUR party?
Steve: Zzzzzzzzz
I ducked down further to hide my laughter.
Me: Seriously though
Me: How many parties can one guy have?
Steve: So many, apparently
Steve: Last year wasn’t this bad
Steve: He did get mildly offended you haven’t been to a one
Me: Ugh
Me: Wait, sorry
Me: I don’t really mean that
Me: I just have no idea how to do damage control with that guy
Me: I don’t know what his deal is
Steve: It’s okay
Steve: Neither do I
Steve: And he’s mostly joking
Steve: I think
Me: Good
Me: I’d rather get along peaceably with your other friends
Steve: Or be friends with them?
I thought about it.
Me: Gotta be honest
Me: You have a lot of friends
Me: That sounds like a lot of work
Steve: They’re not so bad
I heard my name and glanced up to see my boss was looking around.
Me: Well you have fun with them
Me: gtg boss is looking for me
Steve: Don’t get in trouble
Steve: I’ll see you later?
Me: Later
My boss caught sight of me just as I was slipping my phone away and I subjected myself to being politely social for the rest of the night. I had…a lot more sympathy for Steve after that.
Not that I would ever let him know it.
~
Steve: Can I come over?
Me: Of course
Not one second later I heard the buzzer for the entry go off. I let him up without even looking, so when he actually showed up at the door I froze like a deer in the headlights.
“Hey,” Steve said, his face a mixture of stormy and exhausted and his body clad in a finely (finely) tailored suit. He gave me a tired smile and held up a grocery bag. “I brought payment in snacks.”
Yes. Yes he did. Wait, no, snacks. Plural and actual. Literal. Right. “Sounds, uh, good,” I said and stepped aside to let him in, and I briefly hit my head on the door before I shut it. I turned just in time to see him sit down on my couch like he could sink into it, legs opened up and head thrown back. He shut his eyes and breathed. I took a second to do the same. But he looked so fed up with everything and that ended up being (sadly, selfishly,) good for my focus.
“What happened?” I asked and went to sit next to him as soon as concern won out.
“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just tired.”
I could only imagine. I reached out and squeezed his shoulder– but my instinct to leave my hand there propelled me up and over to the kitchen counter where I started unpacking the bag he brought. The first thing I pulled out was an interesting looking bag of something labeled entirely in Cyrillic. The very next thing I saw, hiding behind it I realized, was a box wrapped in paper and ribbons. I couldn’t even give him the benefit of the doubt– my name was written right there. “Steve.”
“Yes?” he asked, overly innocently and turned his bright blue eyes to me like he was some naïve young farm boy who couldn’t possibly understand why I said his name like that.
He was getting better. My bullshit meter was going off so hard it nearly broke and he still almost got to me. Still, I surreptitiously cleared my throat and said, (quite strongly, I thought,) “That is not going to work on me.”
He didn’t back down. His eyes even seemed to get bigger and bluer. “It’s a good time of year to get gifts for your friends, even if for no real reason. Besides, it’s just something I saw that I thought you would like. It’s no big deal.”
“Uh huh.” I liked the way he stretched his arm across the couch, and the way he stole glances at me like I wouldn’t notice. Starting off strong, getting weaker by the moment; I needed to tell Natasha to up his spy training. “Real subtle.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said and grabbed the remote. While he pretended to give a shit about holiday programming I rifled through the rest of the bag, dumped the caramel popcorn into a bowl, and took the bowl and the gift over to the couch where I plopped down as hard as I could in an effort to be as annoying as possible. He didn’t even flinch, just smiled as I put the popcorn in between us on the couch. The gift I set in the center of my coffee table, where it actually looked really nice.
“Aren't you going to open it?” Steve asked, trying to look like he was watching Jimmy Stewart get his Christmas miracle but, again, his eyes kept darting; this time between me and the gift.
“Mm.” I shrugged but inside I was taking my inner impatient five-year-old and turning her into a moustache-twirling villain, with the gift tied to the train tracks. It felt good. “It’s a Christmas gift, right?”
“Not necessarily,” he said.
“Well, I think most single gifts get opened on the 25th, so I’ll wait,” I said, grabbed a handful of popcorn, and settled in to enjoy a bell ringing like I never had before.
“It’s a– a December gift,” Steve insisted.
“Oh,” I said. “Then I have until December 31st to open it.”
“It’s A Wonderful Life” suddenly became the title of my night, maybe even my autobiography, when Steve said my name in the whiniest fucking tone I had ever heard outside of a bad comedy sketch about nasally nerds. I almost dropped the popcorn I held and, when I turned my head to stare at him, he was almost literally beet red.
“Can we pretend that didn’t come out like that?” he asked, looking down like he could stare right through the floor. I had never before seen someone who actually looked like they desperately wanted to be swallowed whole. “As a present to me?”
“Wow,” I said, because it was all I could say. Already the sweet sound of memory was fading, and I tried to hold onto it. “I got you an actual present so no. But wow. Wow. Happy holidays to me. Wow.”
“I’m taking my gift back,” he grumbled and made as if to grab it.
I curled forward to protect it but I moved too fast and accidentally dropped some of my snack, though Steve kept me from cracking my head on the table. “Shit,” I said and hurried to pick up the bits of food. “I just cleaned; if you make me get popcorn bits on my floor I’m making you drag out the vacuum.”
“I don’t think your neighbors would appreciate that right now,” Steve said and wolfed down his own heaping handful of the caramel corn, though he put the bowl on the table.
“My downstairs neighbor has a pre-teen who’s getting into EDM,” I said and pulled the gift into my lap. “Let them suffer as I have suffered.”
“Mm hm,” Steve said, already pretty thoroughly checked out as I turned the box over in my hands.
It wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t tiny, and it was a fairly standard box so I had no idea what it could be. Maddening. I decided to put us both out of our misery.
“Really?” Steve said as I started picking at the tape on the side. “Are you going to save the paper?”
“Weeeeellllll…” I debated whether or not I should admit my failings, but came out on the side that it would make him smile and I couldn’t find anything wrong with that. Short of an unintentional Three Stooges act there was no way I was topping his whiny self. “I maybe didn’t get a chance to go buy wrapping paper for your gift, sooo…” After a moment I stole a glance, and sure enough, he was smiling.
“You didn’t?” he asked and even let out a little laugh.
“We’re saving the environment,” I said as I started peeling back the paper.
“Sure,” he chuckled. “You, me, and five square feet of wrapping paper.”
“There’s no way there’s that much on here,” I muttered as one corner decided to be a bitch. “How much tape did you use on this thing?”
“I didn’t know we’d be sharing it,” he said, and while he amused himself by harping on the point, I got my wrapping paper off and set it aside.
“–nd you’re not even listening to me, are you?”
“Why would I start now?” The box was plain and, at least for that, I had no compunctions about ripping the tape off. Inside was a lot of paper sitting under a small rectangular box and a shiny black satchel. “Thanks for the great packing materials,” I said as I dug around to make sure I wasn’t missing anything, but it seemed to be just the box and tiny bag.
“Happy to help,” Steve said but he sounded distant. He was staring at the gifts. I took another look at them and my stomach did a flip. The little rectangular box reminded me of–
“Open the box first and then open the bag right after,” Steve said. “It’ll make more sense then.”
When I opened the little box and saw a bracelet I had to hope it was going to make sense. It was…shiny and looked like silver. Chunky but plain. That was a good sign, right? Nice and shiny but plainly platonic. Right? I opened the little satchel and dug out tiny matching metal pieces that were shaped like…oh.
“Wow,” I said and spread the charms on the table around the bracelet still sitting in its pillowed case. “This is…Steve, this is so nice.”
“Oh thank God,” he said and let out a breath that sounded like it was as big as the one still locked in my chest. “I don’t see you wear a lot of jewelry but I saw the charms and it just seemed perfect. The metal’s super hypoallergenic or something– the woman was telling me that it should be fine for anyone with sensitivity to certain metals and I don’t know if you do, but I thought it was better to be safe, and it’s pretty, or I thought so–”
“It’s very pretty,” I said, a smile taking over. What the hell was he so nervous about? Whatever; even his babbling was charming and cute and I tried my best not to think that way because I should have been making fun of him, like a good friend, but I couldn’t rag on him while he was so excited. Or maybe I just couldn’t bring myself to rag on him about this.
“Here,” Steve said, reaching over and taking the bracelet out. Big fingers fumbled with the clasp but he put it on my wrist, and then he went for the charms. He held up the coffee cup. “Obviously,” he said and somehow managed not to fumble that time when he attached it. A cloud, “because you can be pretty gloomy and cranky sometimes,” and when I flipped him off with my other hand he just said, “see?” as he put it on. The book was, “again, pretty obvious.”
Then he put the joystick on and squinted at it for a second before he looked up at me, bright eyes framed by dark lashes, and wet pink lips I couldn’t kiss as someone I deeply cared for leaned into my personal space and gave me jewelry for Christmas. I looked down at the bracelet and focused on being grateful for the sweet, generous gesture this was rather than what I wished it could be. The bracelet itself wasn’t too much. It felt comfortable.
“I asked her if they had anything video game related and she said this was a good one,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. It took me a moment to remember what he was referring to. Joystick. Right.
“Remind me to take you to an arcade,” I said and held my arm up to the light. The charms were fun but plain and melded easily together from a distance; I could wear this anywhere and have it be appropriate. But I would know what it really was. “This is…so thoughtful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said warmly. Softly. All of a sudden those repressed feelings surged forward to make my chest ache and for just a moment I thought of a world where he gave me jewelry and it meant something more. But I lived in a world where he gave me a piece of jewelry and looked quietly pleased with himself while I sat and admired it. It didn’t mean anything; it didn’t mean–
Actually, no, that was wrong. It did mean something. It meant Steve was a really good friend who gave me a wonderfully thoughtful gift. I really needed to stop being in my own fucking head so much or I was going to lose everything I already did have.
But I still needed a moment to come back down from the urge to hug him way too tight. “This is so nice, Steve, thank you,” I said and stood quickly, box and wrapping paper in hand. “I can’t lie, yours aren’t as amazing, so get your acting chops up while I’m wrapping them.”
“You know you can just give them to me,” Steve told me as I walked around the other side of the room to avoid any chance of tripping over him.
“Nope!” I said and shut the door to my room. Safe and alone, I breathed– but not too loud, because he might hear me. I grabbed his gifts and shoved them in the box (stuffed them, really) so I couldn’t think too hard and chicken out of giving him something. I messed up at a couple of points with the tape and, rather than ripping the already well-used paper by trying to fix it…I decided to go with it.
One full roll of transparent tape later, I walked back out feeling a little more composed, a little more me. I stood in front of Steve and proudly held out the box.
“It’s very shiny,” he remarked as he took it and looked it over. From the second I sat on the couch I was on the edge of it, eager to see what he would do. Would he try to return the favor by removing all the tape? Would he try scrabbling for an edge? Would he try tearing the paper to ribbons only for the tape to stick all over his hands?
None, apparently– he just pushed his fingers clean through the box right next to the edge and ripped the side right off. “Hey!” I said, because hey, no fair, but he just laughed at me and shook out his gifts onto the couch in between us. I crossed my arms. “You're no fun.”
“No fun at all,” he agreed happily and picked up the beanies. He rubbed one of them between his fingers. “These are very nice.”
“They’re good quality and warm and you look good in beanies,” I said. He put one on haphazardly and I laughed. “Maybe not with tuxes.”
“It does feel nice though; thanks,” he said and sorted through them. “I like the colors too.”
“Yeah, they’re all earthy or whatever,” I said and pointed at the most important gift.
“Unicorn slippers!” he said, seeming actually delighted as he picked them up. He then immediately took off his socks and shoes to put them on. “They fit! They’re soft.”
It was no bracelet, but I couldn’t keep a smile off my face. “I maybe hid some measuring tape near the entryway and ran over to your shoes when you went to the bathroom once.”
“Sneaky,” Steve said and set his shiny loafers aside. “I’m going to have to bring them every time I come over.”
“They’re worth it,” I said and wiggled my own unicorn-clad feet.
Steve picked up the last gift. Or ‘gift.’ “That’s not–” I stopped myself and tried to think of what I wanted to say. I just couldn’t figure out how I could say it that I wouldn’t sound stupid. I gave up on the pretense. “So that’s…just a little thing, that can actually stay here if you want, but it is yours. I know you’re not really into games, but I thought if you were over here maybe you could have your own controller.” As he looked it over, I quietly added, “And maybe I can look into…games with two players. If you’d like to play with me sometimes.”
“I would like that,” he said quickly. “To play with you.” He then turned bright red. “In a game– in a video game.”
I would have made fun of him, but I was choked by embarrassment too. Damn it, I had done so well with keeping my daydreams chaste (mostly, mostly chaste) and that fucker had to do that. I swallowed and tried to think of absolutely anything else while the time ticked on and our mutual embarrassment settled in. Luckily Steve still had the perfect distraction in his hands. “Hey– do you like the design?” I asked, looking from the Captain America shield design to Steve and back and back again.
He rolled his eyes. “Where did you even find it?” he asked and set the package down.
“I don’t know who does your marketing but they deserve a raise because they are putting in work,” I said and sat back, a little apart from him. I could only get so far on the same couch in a small apartment, but it was enough.
“I’ll be sure to pass that along,” he said.
The conversation died and I didn’t know if I should say anything or not, but I felt…mostly comfortable. Despite the slightly-less-but-still-a-little awkward silence. Outside was cold but we were warm inside with fuzzy slippers and snacks and a slate of classic Christmas movies.
“Hey Steve?” I said, looking at the TV.
“Yeah?” he asked and leaned in.
I definitely didn’t turn my head– I was afraid the temptation would be too great. So, I resisted. But I still had plenty to be grateful for. “I’m glad you ditched your dumb party to hang out with me.”
He chuckled and scooted closer. His presence was a wall of warmth that was too comfortable, so much so that I got a core workout just from sitting so rigidly upright. But then he said, “So am I,” and, well…it was worth it.
~Later; Avengers Tower~
“I told you you’d break him,” Maria said, sitting on one arm of the couch.
“Excuse me?” Tony extended his arms, drink sloshing dangerously up the sides of his cup. “I don’t see him here. Where do you think he ran to, hm?”
“We don’t know he went there.” Clint said, a little down the bar from Tony. “He could have run home.”
“No, he’s there,” Natasha said, tapping at her phone. “He’s on her couch, I quote, “eating chips in peace.’”
“Ungrateful,” Tony muttered and continued to do so.
The others ignored him. “So are we going to let Steve handle this on his own terms now?” Bruce asked.
“Bruce,” Natasha said, mock-frowning at him. “It’s like you don’t know us.”
Bruce rolled his eyes, but stretched and groaned. “It’s more like I’m partied out, and this isn’t working.”
“Yet!” Tony said and pointed at Bruce– again, with the hand holding the drink, so his drink sloshed over the side and onto Rhodes, who cursed and grabbed napkins to dry his shirt. “It hasn’t worked yet.”
“Tony,” Pepper said, exasperation lacing her tone. “I think it’s time to let this go. He’s going to refuse to come to any more at this point.”
“Except he has to come to the New Year’s Eve party,” he said, looking at her with eyes as serious as he could make them. He only wavered slightly.
“Oh,” Pepper said. “Yes, he has to come to that one.” She looked thoughtful. “Maybe we can make it a bit smaller.”
“‘Just us’ smaller?” Clint asked.
“Not too small,” Natasha said. “She’ll need a place to hide.”
Thor sat on the couch, with Jane sleeping on one of his shoulders and Darcy sleeping on the other, and he looked curiously around the room. “It is interesting that the Captain would be infatuated with a partner so…” He tried to think of a word, and settled on, “Meek.”
Clint and Natasha snorted in unison. “She’s not meek,” Natasha said. “She just keeps to herself and comes around on her own terms.”
Thor brightened and looked to his sleeping girlfriend. “Like my Jane,” he said and faced forward again, keeping his body very still so as not to disturb the sleeping women. “Perhaps Darcy will help in bringing her forward.”
Bruce cleared his throat. “Before we get too ahead of ourselves, how are we sure Steve isn’t going to skip the next party?”
“He won’t,” Natasha said. “As long as everyone shows up– and they will,” she said, shooting a look at Bruce. He, naturally, withered, and she looked around the room, finally settling on Pepper. “Put her name on the list. I’ll make sure he comes, and I’m certain he will bring his date.”
“The question is: do you think he’ll bring her as a date, or will it become a date?” Maria asked idly.
“Are we betting?” Pepper asked brightly.
As the rest of the group got involved in the debate, Bruce and Phil stared from their positions against the wall. “Poor Steve,” Bruce said. When Phil lifted his glass Bruce clinked his against it, and then they both downed the last of their drinks in unison.
~The next day~
Steve: Please
Me: Steve
Steve: PLEASE
Me: …Are you on your knees or something?
Steve: If I was and I took a picture would you come with me?
Me: You seriously want me to come along that bad?
Me: Why can’t you skip out?
Steve: The NYE party is a big one
Steve: Or so I have been told
Steve: Sam is coming
Steve: And I missed Thor at the last party
Steve: I will never hear the end of it if I miss him at this one
Steve: Please?
Me: We forgot to go on that shopping trip for your spine
Steve: It won’t do me much good when Natasha removes it
Steve: She said I HAVE to go
Steve: But Tony and Pepper always have good food
Steve: And good alcohol
Steve: And he pays the bartenders so well you literally aren’t allowed to tip
Steve: Please?
Me: …
Me: I’m going to have to wear a nice dress
Me: And makeup
Me: And travel through the city on New Year’s Eve
Me: To a big social event
Me: This is going to sound weird because Stark’s parties are some hot thing apparently but
Me: You are going to owe me so fucking big
Steve: I already owe you!
Steve: Thank you!
He went on to thank me in a variety of ways that normally would have made me laugh, but I already really regretted saying yes. Steve, all of his friends, me, and booze– I hit my head against my phone for each miserable fucking point. Oh, and people tended to kiss at midnight. Thinking of all the good alcohol made me feel sour, because I wasn’t going to be able to allow myself much of it. Not if I wanted to succeed in keeping my secret crush secret. And even with that pre-new year resolution, I still had a really bad feeling that I wasn’t going to be under wraps for long.
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#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers & reader#captain america fanfic#avengers fanfic#reader insert#lunch buddy#gift exchange#holiday parties#parties#texting#i love the texting bits but formatting them will be the fucking death of me
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Stacks of Pretty Paper: chapter 3
for @sofondabooks
Rey was a firm believer in willpower. There was no task, no ailment that couldn’t be overcome by the sheer force of her will. And Motrin, as appropriate. Except for one ailment in particular, but Rey refused to be a slave to her biology, to her designation. A quality toy and a tendency to hoard her vacation and sick time had always been enough when her biology overwrote her willpower. She’d tried asking one of her Alpha friends for help once, but it had been...weird. Unsatisfying and weird. It had been too rough, then not rough enough. He’d talked too much, then not enough. They were still friends, they still talked, but Rey never sought help with her heats after that, and she liked it that way. Really.
And sure, she dated, but none of her dates ever seemed to get past one uncomfortable dinner. They either treated her like some shrinking violet or like some kind of sex toy, never like a person. Rey hated dating, almost as much as she hated being an Omega.
Rey stared at her computer without seeing it. She’d tucked the piece of paper with Ben’s number and address on it into her skirt pocket, where it was currently seemed to be burning a hole. She patted her pocket unconsciously and sighed, rubbing her temple distractedly with her other hand. A headache was coming on, she could feel it. Her clothes felt too tight. It was stifling in her office. When had it gotten so warm?
Rey rubbed the back of her neck and winced. Her glands were sore, all three of them. She inhaled deeply, trying to center herself, like the Yoga videos on Youtube explained. Instead, lingering hints of Ben’s rich scent smacked hard into her olfactory senses, forcing a sad whimper from her throat. She wanted to wrap herself in his scent. This was...new. And unwelcome.
“Kaydel?” she called. She huffed. Might as well admit what was happening and get out now before things got embarrassing.
“Yeah?”
“Do I have anything going on next week?”
“Mmm not really. You set aside that week to do the preservation survey.”
“Shit,” Rey swore under her breath. It would have to wait. She’d set aside that week to examine the library’s collection of medieval and early modern prayer books and determine what needed to be done to keep the collection in good shape. Now, it appeared the old manuscripts would have to wait for her biology to run its course. She groaned in annoyance.
“Is something wrong, Miss Johnson?” Kaydel asked gently from Rey’s doorway.
Rey gave Kaydel a speaking glance before turning away to gather her things, shoving them impatiently into her leather messenger bag.
“What do you know about Professor Solo?” Rey tried to ask casually.
Kaydel smirked, but quickly schooled her expression when Rey turned back around for her laptop.
“Not much. Just what I hear from some of the students,” she replied with a shrug.
“And what do you hear?”
“That he’s a hardass, a tough grader, kind of intense. Keeps to himself.”
“Uh-huh.” All useful information, but not exactly what she was after. What did intense mean exactly?
Kaydel’s eyes twinkled mischievously before she added, “Definitely unattached.”
Rey raised a brow at her assistant.
“No mark, no ring, and he gave you his number and address. Pretty obvs, if you ask me.”
“Hmm,” Rey replied with a faint blush.
“So...I take it you’re going to be out for a bit?”
Rey heaved another disgusted sighed. “Yeah, looks that way. God, this sucks.” Rey tried not to fall into a pit of self pity, but it was a battle she was quickly losing. She laid her head on her work desk, grateful for the cool plastic on her warm forehead.
Kaydel grimaced sympathetically. As a Beta, she didn’t go through the same issues, but she could empathize. “Will you…” Kaydel hesitated and shook her head. That wasn’t something you asked your boss.
Rey answered anyway, knowing instinctively what she was going ask. People always did, not knowing where the line between concern and invasion of privacy was as it concerned Omegas. “I prefer to be alone.”
Kaydel winced but nodded. “Will you be okay going home by yourself?”
“I’ll get a cab.”
***
It had been a tortuous ride home. By the time the cab had pulled in front of the library, Rey was tapping her heeled foot in angry annoyance, and by the time they reached her apartment, she was in a full on panic. She’d practically thrown her cash at the cabbie and flown up the few stairs to her front door. She slammed her door shut and locked all three locks quickly-doorknob, dead bolt, and chain. Her breathing was ragged, and she forced herself to take several deep centering breaths like her Yoga instructor, Gwyn Phasma, had taught her.
Feeling mildly better now that she was home, Rey tossed her things onto her dining table and made her way to her bedroom to change. Digging around in the drawer she’d unofficially dubbed her “heat clothes” drawer, she pulled out a loose pale teal tank top, a pair of cropped black leggings, and a clean pair of shortie underwear. She didn’t bother with a bra. She was glad she hadn’t reached THAT point yet, where underwear and bottoms were pointless. That would have been embarrassing in the cab.
She walked back to her living room, flipped on her TV and switched to Hulu, deciding to listen to Daria while she did some Yoga. She did a few calming poses, focusing on her breathing, while she tried to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of her mind. Yoga failed to help. If anything, the feeling had gotten worse. Rey groaned in frustration and annoyance. She decided to try a different tactic. She went into her kitchen and began to pull everything from her cupboards and cabinets. Stacks of plates, bowls, and cups soon crowded her counters. Grabbing one of her dining chairs and her spray cleaner, Rey set to work spritzing and scrubbing. Soon, her little kitchen smelled of citrus and bleach. Satisfying, but still not quite right, her mind seemed to say. Rey carefully put everything away and decided to reorganize her pantry, throwing out open things that had evidently expired years ago. She hadn’t paid much attention when she’d packed and moved a few months ago. Thinking it would be helpful to Future Rey, she grouped things by use, using one shelf for baking items, one for Japanese pantry items, one for Korean, a dedicated pasta shelf. Finished with that task, Rey dusted her hands and looked at the clock, doing a double take. The green numbers on the read out proclaimed it 11:45PM.
Hulu had long since gone silent, deciding Rey was no longer watching. She rinsed her hands in the sink and went to bed, the nagging sensation having been sufficiently silenced for the moment. The need to nest never usually hit her so hard, but then again an Alpha on blockers had never triggered her heat before. Rey flopped on her bed, not bothering with the covers, soon enough there’d be no point.
She’d been able to sleep for maybe an hour before she jerked awake in a panic. She looked frantically around her dark bedroom. She was covered in a sheen of sweat, her heart pounding. There was a dull ache in her stomach, a hollowness in her core. She whimpered. She was alone. She was scared. She needed…
“Go to Alpha,” a voice inside her whispered. “He will take care of you.”
“But…,” she tried to argue with herself.
“He was strong. He will keep you safe. He will provide, little Omega. You’ll feel so good.”
Rey moaned softly at the thought of Ben, his broad frame and large hands, so warm and solid. Warmth bloomed between her legs, unbidden, and Rey held her head in her hands, knowing instinctively there’d be no relief without Ben. This one was going to hurt. Damn him.
Rey crawled out of bed and fumbled around her closet for a tote bag. She shoved a few pairs of leggings, some loose t-shirts, and some underwear in the bag before retrieving the slip of paper from her skirt pocket. It still smelled faintly of him and her eyelids fluttered. Walking to her door, she tossed in her wallet and grabbed her keys and phone, punching in the number for a Beta cab company. She closed and locked her door quietly and waited in the small lobby by the fou mailboxes for her cab.
Ben’s house wasn’t too far from her apartment, to Rey’s surprise. The cab pulled up in front of a modest but impressive two story home. Grey stone with clay colored shutters, it sat dark and quiet at the end of a tree lined street. Rey walked cautiously up the gravel walk to the covered stoop, the stone crunching pleasantly beneath her feet. She scoffed at the imposing brass lion’s head door knocker fastened to the middle of the large front door. A doorbell stood off to the side, but Rey had always wanted to use an actual door knocker. She clanged the heavy brass loop a few times and waited. She jumped when a dim light appeared behind the glass in the door, her nerves prickling.
She staggered back, a small sound escaping her mouth when the door opened and Ben’s scent slammed into her like a potent wave. Her mouth went dry as she watched him process what was happening, his hair rumpled and eyes slightly bleary with sleep. She’d obviously woken him, since he was standing in front of her without a shirt, a pair of dark grey sweats riding low on his hips. Rey bit her lip. He was built, every inch an Alpha. The Omega in her hummed with approval and another wash of warmth coated her underwear. A gentle breeze blew behind her, carrying her aroused scent to him, and his eyes went wide. He was suddenly VERY awake.
Rey stood fidgeting on his stoop, suddenly very embarrassed. She hated this, hated being so obviously needy, hated being vulnerable like this. She toyed with the strap of her bag nervously, unable to meet Ben’s gaze.
“So…,” she began lamely.
Ben said nothing, his brain probably still trying to process that she was standing on his stoop in the middle of the night right in the beginning of a hard heat, but Rey could hear his breathing. Deep, greedy, and ragged. Aroused. Rey could smell the change in his scent, a note of musk underlining the other rich notes. She shivered.
She sighed disgustedly, trying to regain control of herself. “This was stupid. I shouldn’t have come. But this is all your fault, and I guess I needed you to know that. Goodnight, Professor Solo.”
She turned to walk away, but as she did, she felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her pelvis. She yelped and clutched at her belly, nearly doubling over at the pain. Tears pricked her eyes, and she looked up imploringly at Ben. Before she could even say or think another word, she found herself off of her feet and in Ben’s arms, cradled to his broad chest. Her blood sang and a deep feeling of calm washed over her. She sighed audibly and rested her head on his shoulder as he carried her inside, locking the door behind them.
Rey looked around curiously, finding herself in his foyer. A staircase against the wall wound up in a gentle curve to a narrow landing, a hint of light coming from a partially closed door. A darkened living room was at her left, a formal dining room to the right. Above her, a rustic wrought iron light fixture hung heavily.
“You came,” Ben said finally, his voice deep and approving. Rey tried to wiggle closer to him, nuzzling into his neck. Ben held her tighter and began to rock gently back and forth.
“I did,” Rey said against his neck. She lifted her head to look him in the eye. “I...I don’t really want to make small talk,” she muttered, her cheeks flaming.
Ben’s lips quirked in a lopsided smile. “Then by all means, let’s cut to the chase. Before we both lose it completely, what are your limits?”
Rey thought a moment, never having considered the question. “Don’t break my skin.”
Ben looked at her, surprised. “That’s it?”
Rey looked away, suddenly very aware of what she was about to do. About how long it had been.
“And...don’t hurt me,” she whispered.
Ben rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. “Don’t worry Omega. I’ll take such good care of you,” he purred.
Rey moaned softly and kissed his neck, gasping when he began to make his way up the stairs to his bedroom. Ben turned when they reached the top of the staircase and headed for a set of double doors, the soft light of a lamp peeking through the opening between them. He carried to the edge of his large bed, setting her carefully down atop the soft French grey linen duvet. Rey’s feet barely reached the wood floor. Ben’s scent was strong everywhere as she looked around. Doors for the attached bath and walk in closet stood open, both rooms dark. Bedside tables stood on either side of the bed, one bearing an old fashioned alarm clock and a small lamp, the other with a stack of books. A dark velvet chair and matching ottoman sat beside a large window, a book perched on the ledge. A large antique wood dresser stood beside the door. Ben seemed to prefer dark neutrals, and Rey found herself nodding in approval. She liked that. It was calming. She absentmindedly reached for one of his large down pillows and hugged it close, burying her nose in its softness.
She looked beside her up at Ben, who was perched beside her on the edge of the bed, watching her closely. Rey suddenly felt very shy, regretting her earlier declaration regarding small talk.
“What do you need, Rey?” he asked quietly, sensing her nerves. He tucked a loose strand of hair tenderly behind her ear, almost making her whimper. She lifted her head from the pillow as she watched his eyes grow darker. She felt her rational mind slipping away, ancient Omega instincts taking a hold of her.
“I need,” she bit her lip, thinking. Ben was watching her mouth hungrily. “Soft. I need soft, Alpha,” she finished quietly.
Ben nodded and rose, dipping his fingers gently beneath her chin, raising her eyes to his. “I’ll be right back,” he said calmly.
Rey was surprised at the tight feeling of panic in her chest. She held his hand and pressed a soft kiss to his palm, a small desperate sound escaping her.
Ben bent down until his lips were a hairsbreadth from hers. Their breath mingled hotly in the space between, and Rey was surprised to feel herself trembling. Ben took her mouth with a gentleness, a softness, that surprised her. She let out a shaking gasp as she felt his tongue trace her lower lip gently, and she parted her lips a little in invitation. He claimed her mouth slowly, languidly, as if they had all the time in the world. Rey found herself wondering if maybe they did.
“Let go, Omega,” Ben commanded kindly after he broke their kiss, straightening to his full height.
Rey obeyed, her eyes wide as she watched him disappear into the hall. She heard him rummaging around in a closet nearby, but she paid the sound no heed as she went to work. She grabbed for the other pillow on Ben’s bed and scooted off of the edge, grabbing his duvet. She shuffled awkwardly to the corner of his bedroom behind the velvet chair and laid her spoils down on the floor. She went back to the bed and pulled the flat sheet off and brought it back to her corner, bunching it just so. Rey frowned. No, that wasn’t right. She picked it up and draped it over the chair back and the floor lamp. Much better.
When she turned around, Ben wasn’t in the room, but a new piled of linens and pillows had appeared on the bed. Rey scampered over eagerly and gathered the soft burden into her arms. As she worked on her corner, focused and intent on placing sheets and pillows hither and thither, Ben knelt beside her to deposit one last heap. Rey pushed them away from her nest until she had need of them, tucking pillows and another down comforter in hat she deemed to be strategic spots. She held one flat sheet back and nodded at her handiwork. Yes, perfect. She quickly peeled off her leggings, which suddenly felt like sandpaper against her skin, before crawling onto her mass of cotton, linen, and down. She curled onto her side and clutched the remaining sheet to her chest. She hummed with deep satisfaction when she felt Ben crawl in behind her, his heavy arm wrapped across her waist, his long fingers splayed over her midriff. She felt him purr with deep approval, his naked cock hardening at her back, and she felt proud, elated, and calm in equal measure.
“What an industrious little Omega you are,” Ben growled approvingly. He played with the loose hem of her tank top idly, his hand moving up her body ever so slowly. “What a perfect nest you’ve made us.”
If Rey hadn’t been so tired, she would have moaned at his praise. But, she needed rest. She grabbed for his wrist weakly, stilling him.
“Not ready. So tired, Alpha,” she pleaded weakly.
Ben kissed the mess of her hair and moved his hand back to where it had been. “Whatever you need, Omega. I’m here,” he whispered as sleep finally welcomed her.
***
Rey awoke in another panic, the soft grey light of early dawn shining down from the window. She felt feverish, in pain. Everything hurt. She wasn’t at home, she realized as she took in her unfamiliar surroundings frantically. Strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her back to soft downy comfort.
“Breathe, Omega,” Ben growled behind her.
Rey did as he bid and felt the panic abate as his scent enveloped her, awakening something else.
She gasped as she felt wet heat coat the apex of her thighs, but she whimpered in pain at the accompanying cramp.
“Alpha, it hurts,” she said with a sob.
“Shh, Omega. I’ve got you.”
Rey moaned when she felt Ben’s soft lips against the nape of her neck. The hand at her stomach pushed beneath her tank top, the feeling of his callused skin against hers causing her hips to buck slightly. Ben groaned as her bottom pressed against his erection. He palmed one of her breasts roughly, his fingers pinching and teasing the delicate flesh until it was stiff and aching.
“Fuck,” he swore lowly.
Rey whined when he removed his hand from her breast. She twisted to look behind her, her lips parting when she finally saw him. His eyes were black, his color high. Lust, personified. His hands were at the hem of her tank top, poised to practically tear it off her. She gave a slight nod, and he ripped the garment from her, tossing it away.
Rey didn’t think it was possible, but his eyes darkened further.
“Take these off,” he growled as he snapped the lace waist of her underwear. “Now, Omega!”
Rey shimmied out of them quickly and looked up at him nervously. She’d never been confident about her body, having heard one too many times that she wasn’t what an Omega should be. However, she was healthy and took care of herself, and she tried to take pride in that.
Ben ran his fingers reverently over her body, and Rey smiled and closed her eyes, letting the feeling overtake her. Her hands flew to tangle themselves in his thick hair when she felt his plush outh at her collarbone.
“Beautiful. My Omega,” he murmured against her heated skin as his lips drifted lower.
“Yours, Alpha,”she gasped as he took one of her nipples into his mouth. Teeth and tongue worked to drive her mad, a madness she would happily endure forever as long as he would be the one to relieve it. She jumped a little beneath his heavy frame when she felt his fingers at her thigh, so close to where she was soaked and aching to be touched.
“Alpha, please,” she begged softly as his fingers stroked and teased her.
Ben released her from his mouth to come up and nip at her scent gland gently.
“That’s it, little Omega. Beg for me,” Ben hummed as he soothed the sting of his teeth with his tongue.
Rey responded with a gasping growl as she squirmed beneath him, trying to get his fingers where she needed them most. She almost wailed when he removed his hand from her body and pinned her with a devastating stare. Rey stilled and watched him study her, again looking at her like she was a puzzle he wanted to put together.
“Please don’t make me beg, Alpha,” Rey implored. He didn’t have to know why. She probably should have added that to her limits. To her relief, Ben nodded.
Rey took a shaking breath when she felt his fingers ghost over her wet folds.
“You’re so wet, lovely one. No wonder you don’t want me to make you beg. You need my knot, my come, so badly, don’t you?” Ben asked, panting.
Rey could feel his cock, hot and heavy against her hip, something warm and wet seeping on her. She moaned at the thought of him filling her and nodded, sobbing, “Yes, Alpha.”
She cried out as middle finger parted her, slow and careful. Her cry shrank into whimpering sobs as Ben worked his fingers slowly, surely, through her folds, feeling for every twitch and every pulse, studying her with eyes and hands. He found her clit quickly, the brush of his fingers against the sensitive peak enough to make her wail. He let his thumb play while his other fingers drifted lower, stroking and feeling her entrance. Ben was studying her intently, his eyes dark and hungry as he pushed one long thick finger into her lush heat. Rey keened, her hands fisting the blankets beneath her tightly.
“Holy fuck, Omega,” Ben groaned lowly, thrusting his finger in and out.
Rey’s knuckles went white as he worked her. “What?” she managed to choke out between pants.
Ben leaned in close to whisper darkly in her ear, “You’re so tight. Do you think you can take my cock? My knot?”
“Yes, Alpha! I’ll be so good. I’ll take your cock so good,” Rey gasped. She cried out desperately when Ben slipped a second finger into her, stretching her carefully.
“Mmm, you will, won’t you?” he purred. “You’ll take it so good. Make you come all over my knot.”
“Yes, Alpha! Oh God!” Rey sobbed as Ben added a third finger. She felt so full. He made her feel so good.
“You’re so close, Omega,” Ben praised, looking her up and down greedily. Grinning wickedly, he swirled his thumb and thrust his fingers to the knuckle, stroking her inner walls. “Come for me.”
Rey tossed her head desperately, her nails digging deep as she felt her muscles flutter around his thick fingers. She moaned low and long as she came, coating his fingers and hand with her slick. Ben withdrew after a moment, staring in wonder at his hand. He licked his wrist greedily, his eyes rolling back as he tasted her.
“Make you come on my tongue,” he growled to himself. “All mine.”
Rey watched with heavy lidded eyes as he brought his wet hand to his thick cock, carefully coating himself with her arousal. Rey began to pany as wanton desire began to build in her again as she watched him, hungry and insatiable. She grasped at his shoulders desperately, trying to pull him over her prone body. Ben responded with a deep, gravelly laugh.
“Hands above your head, Omega,” he purred deliciously.
Rey obeyed with a whimper, and Ben took both her wrists in one hand. He used his other to help her wrap her legs around his hips, running it up the length of her thigh to cup her sex before taking himself in hand. They both moaned loudly as he dragged himself through her slick to tease her pliant entrance. Rey’s breathing was frantic as she tried to move her hips to take him, but Ben had her totally under his control.
“I won’t make you beg, but you need to ask nicely.”
“Need your knot, Alpha. Please!”
Ben replied with a sound somewhere between a grunt and a growl as he began to push into her. Rey’s back arched tight, and she began to tremble as his cock claimed her inch by inch. Their breathing was ragged and desperate, the air between them with ancient, almost elemental energy as Ben worked to bury himself inside her velvet heat.
“Oh God, Omega,” Ben moaned. “You’re so tight. So perfect.”
“Alpha,” Rey whimpered. With one final push, Ben buried himself to the hilt. Rey cried out, almost in relief. She felt so full, so surrounded by him. Ben swallowed thickly as he held still above her, giving her time to adjust around him.
“Relax, Omega. Relax for me,” he whispered soothingly. He released her wrists, and Rey draped her arms around his neck. She moaned softly as she pulled him close, burying her nose into his neck and peppering the column of his throat with soft kisses. His scent filled her nose, and she felt every muscle and nerve in her body relax.
“Oh, Alpha,” she moaned, running her fingers through his soft raven hair.
Ben gasped and began to move slowly, each drag of his cock against her walls making her gasp. Rey was pretty sure she was ruined for anyone else, and she couldn’t find it in her to care.
“You’re taking my cock so well, lovely one,” Ben moaned into her ear.
“Yes Alpha, yes. You fill me so good. So full.”
He started moving faster, his thrusts becoming harder, rougher, erratic, his sounds more desperate as he came closer and closer to his edge. It drove Rey higher, knowing she was doing this to him.
“Need it, Alpha. Need your knot. Please!” she sobbed.
Ben withdrew fully with a harsh growl, poised to thrust back into her. He fixed her with a heated stare, his arms braced on either side of her, his muscles tense. His breath hissed through his teeth, but for all his heat and lust, there was still concern in his dark eyes. Rey realized he’d been holding back, not wanting to frighten or hurt her. She reached up and rested her fingertips gently on his cheek, the skin burning. Ben dropped his head, his dark hair falling in front of his face.
“Say you’re mine, Omega. Say it, please,” he whispered desperately.
“I’m yours, Alpha. Only yours.”
They cried out together as Ben thrust into her roughly. He groaned deeply as his knot formed rapidly, filling her so full Rey thought she might break apart with the pleasure pain until she felt something relax inside her and the pain was gone. She shook as she came hard around him, coating him in slick as her walls fluttered again and worked to pull him deeper. Warmth filled her as she felt him release, his arms shaking with the effort to hold himself above her. With great effort, Ben helped Rey adjust her legs so she had one stretched out and one over his hips so they could both lie on their sides.
Ben studied her with soft eyes as he ran his fingers through her hair, working out knots and tangles. Rey let out a soft gasp when she felt him pulse and release into her. She bit her lip as a strange sensation built up inside her again, something like pleasure, but somehow deeper.
“What is it?” Ben asked softly.
Rey threw her leg higher over Ben’s hip, pulling him deeper and making him groan. His cock twitched as he thrust his hips against hers.
“Rey. Omega,” he moaned.
“Touch me, Alpha. Here,” Rey replied quietly as she traced her fingers up Ben’s back to the space between his shoulder blades.
Ben slowly ran his fingers up the length of her spine, following the gentle curve until he reached the edge of her mating gland.
“Yes, Alpha. Touch me, please,” Rey moaned softly.
Ben brought his lips to hers, kissing her deeply as he splayed his hand wide and possessive over the gland on her back. Rey gasped as she felt her cunt spasm wetly around Ben’s not again. She held him tightly as she trembled, the intimacy overwhelming her. Ben kept his hand at her back, his other cradling the back of her head as he shushed and soothed her.
“Shh. I’m here. I’ll take care of you,” Ben murmured.
Rey didn’t realize she was sobbing his name over and over.
Ben. Ben. Ben.
#reylo#reylo fanfiction#fanfiction#Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics#alpha ben solo#omega rey#reylo a/b/o#professor ben solo#librarian rey#reylo au#modern au
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I can’t believe I’m doing this for the last time. I also can’t believe this is the second show I’ve had to say goodbye to in the last fortnight alone. But, let’s do this.
Overall, I understand why they did this the way they did. It was a fresh start. I know everyone kept saying that this Council + King arrangement would be random as fuсk and while it is suspiciously full of people we’ve known over the seasons, it’s still better than having people we don’t care about on there and these are also people who, apart from Tyrion, haven’t been in power before - not this scale of power, at least. I suppose it’s the closest they could have to “””breaking the wheel””” while also showing that a lot of the ruling class was still woefully incapable of overnight change, even if it’s for the better (see: the reaction to Sam’s democracy suggestion).
For the characters who made it (the grand total of 10 of them who were series regulars), this was a good ending, or at least, an acceptable one. For the ones who did not make it... wait, there was only one death in this episode, wasn’t there? Must be some kind of record.
It was inevitable, I suppose, at least after the last two episodes. It was also too quick, it should have been developed over a longer period of time if they were always going to go there (and it feels increasingly like that the more I see people’s reactions, to be honest, as much as I don’t feel like admitting it). All I was hoping for was for it to be dignified and for the ending to be as fast and as gentle as possible. Guess I got what I wanted. I’m not satisfied, but I was never going to be - not with this - and frankly, that’s just how I felt and no one ever needed to indulge me, so. Thanks for making it quick, at least.
I’m glad the Throne was destroyed for too many reasons to count and the way the power seemed to shift in meaning in purpose was well done. It opens a window into a brighter future without dealing with any of the setbacks that will inevitably rise, which, given the penchant for the political that the writers have, is a surprise. Guess they wanted to restrain themselves a bit for the sake of a hopeful outlook, which is a welcome outlier for them.
As an ending, let’s check on the three-ish remaining houses who were given at least half a wrap-up, shall we?
House Lannister - Tyrion’s opening scene broke my heart and I’m really really glad he, at least, made it. The Lannisters live and die as they always have, i.e. start fights that someone else carries out and then mostly remove themselves from responsibility while they stop making the mistakes of the past and start making the exact same mistakes of today. Thanks for the representation now that your mildly worse siblings are gone, Tyrion, I appreciate it.
House Stark - the house of ‘got what they wanted, I guess’. Bran didn’t want to be king but knew someone had to. Sansa did want to be queen but she’s alone and although, as someone pointed out, Jon is essentially in her backyard, he’s going farther North, it seems, so she’s on her own. I was actually most satisfied with Arya’s ending. After many seasons of Things That Are Not Her, this seemed to click. Loved her goodbye with Jon.
House Targaryen - I already talked about this above, but my only real complaint now that I’ve gone through the five stages of grief over Dany’s plot like fifteen different times is that they decided to make her a borderline dictator at the end. Sure, they can live in my new world or die in their old one was thing, but it still felt very on the nose. Still, it’s vastly better for her to be written as ruthless in her grief - and it’s an endless grief, after everything that happened - instead of just going mad. At least that’s how I read it. Don’t get me wrong, I am devastated over this, but I’m also just... it’s difficult to explain. I expected the worst. Instead, the behaviour they gave her at the end felt very true to her despite everything. Jon... I felt frustrated with his ending, to be honest, and I think that was the point. There was no going back from ‘you’re my queen and always will be’; he was never going to be someone else’s subject. He was never going to rule in his own right either and instead this vague lack of clear endgame for him feels fitting.
The Small Council - Another thing I talked about, but I do approve of them, really. As previously mentioned, these aren’t people who’ve ever had a whole lot of power so they aren’t numb to what they’re doing and all of them know what it’s like to be on the other side of those castle walls and what they can do to make it better. (Really, iirc they’re all either smallfolk or, like Sam, have been through A Lot. Of course, apart from Tyrion and Brienne, the former of which is doing what he knows best and the latter of which is doing what she actually wanted, which, given this finale, is Rare. I was very satisfied with both their endings; they’re close to my heart and it’s exactly what I imagined.
The show itself - like I said, I enjoyed the relatively open ending of ‘wonder what happens next; looks like it might just be good this time around’. It did give me some peace and, given everything else about this finale, I was grateful for that; for all the ways this can still be expanded through imagination. It’s the one thing I’ve always loved about this show, how many possibilities it gives a fan, and it did deliver this time too. The entire cast and crew did an amazing job consistently and I’m beyond grateful for that as well. Some of its characters have helped me push through some of the toughest moments of my life and I’ve, ironically, found more strength in them than I had ever expected because everything was loaded enough with meaning to spark discussions, debates, stories and entire friendships.
Thank you, Game of Thrones, for keeping me on the edge of my seat for three lovely years. You’ll always be in my heart, my blog and, as it seems, my AO3 account. Thank you.
#game of thrones#episode recap#not gonna see that tag again until dw comes on probably#can you hear me crying in the distance#got#got spoilers#can you believe I just wrote 1k words in 10 minutes about one (1) television episode?#wish I couldn't relate and yet
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Grey Area Finale
Okay! I finally finished this fanfic.
Thanks to everyone who stuck around all this time. I worked hard to create a satisfying end, and I hope this lives up the the expectations.
Don’t worry; Feeling Blue is still in production. I just wanted to get the prequel out of the way so that everything would make sense in the last portion of that story.
Hope you all enjoy!
Fresh clumsily navigated the hospital hallways, keeping an eye out for the staff. He had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t supposed to be out of those restraints, let alone wandering freely around the building.
They’d tied him up for a reason; even if he hadn’t hurt anyone, he was pink, and he was dangerous. He’d proven that by annihilating that poor pastry.
He didn’t want to get in any more trouble, yet the painfully empty sensation of hunger gnawed at him, driving him to keep going. He was painfully aware of the throbbing ache in his back, suddenly wishing he’d just asked Zone to buy him something.
As he aimlessly turned another corner, he found himself sighing. He was here now, and it was a bit too late to go back to sleep, so, he might as well find his way around the place. Chances were, he’d be stuck in this hospital for awhile.
Fresh’s eyes dimmed in brightness, reacting to his lethargy. That odd energy from earlier had faded, leaving only an itchy, irritated emptiness. His internal song was sluggish; he could feel the slow beat thrumming in his veins. It was too quiet…
Fresh continued down the empty hallways for what seemed like an eternity. He could tell, from the soft, warm light filtering in from the windows, that it was afternoon, right after school let out, if he guessed right.
A small smile spread across his features as he realized that Zone must have rushed over just to see him. Even if he was in the hospital closest to the school, it would still take about twenty minutes to walk. Zone was a great friend, even if they were a bit bothersome at times.
Fresh distracted himself thinking of them, finding himself wandering around for a bit, aimless. It wasn’t until he felt that empty, gnawing sensation in his core that he snapped out of it, looking up to realize where he’d ended up.
Finally, the pink shape arrived at one of the lobbies, where elevator doors lined the walls, and lounge chairs and vending machines were found in abundance. His eyes lit up again, his energy revitalizing as he looked around.
And the best part… it was empty. There were no shapes to bother him…. He was alone.
Laughing in euphoric glee, Fresh ran towards the nearest vending machine, his eyes scanning the contents. It was packed with individually wrapped goodies. Most of it was health-conscious snacks, like granola bars and the like, although a few boxes of jelly beans, bags of chips, and chocolate bars were also visible.
Fresh dug into his pocket for change, his gaze set on a particularly sugary candy bar. Sweet Radiance, it was called. It was comprised of dried fruit bits, suspended in a caramel and dark chocolate shell shaped like the Treeangle. The chocolate itself had cinnamon and brown sugar mixed in as well, giving it a complex, layered flavor that Fresh loved. While the now-pink shape didn’t particularly care for the Treeangle itself, one good part of the annual festival was the overabundance of this specific candy bar.
Fresh practically shoved the money into the machine, his fingers flying to input the code for the candy, as well as a banana nut muffin and a soda. It wasn’t the healthiest lunch, but he was starved, and he felt he deserved a snack after having been practically comatose for what could have been weeks.
The muffin and the soda fell down accordingly, although as Fresh watched the candy bar with hungry eyes, he noticed as the wrapper began to snag on the spiral holder. Just as he feared, his favorite snack became lodged on the metal piece, unable to fall down the slot for claim. The shape’s eye twitched, his grin slowly falling as he shakily raised a hand, tapping the glass.
Of course, there was a huge sign just next to the machine that read in all caps, “DON’T SHAKE THE VENDING MACHINES.”
Fresh hesitated, continuing to knock on the glass, hoping that he could ease the candy bar off of the hook it was trapped on. His irritation blossomed into anger, and he felt his agitated pink energy spike. He grabbed the edges of the machine, starting to shake it violently. The candy bar was stubbornly hooked to the metal rungs, having snagged by the plastic wrapper’s edge.
Fresh couldn’t care less about the rules; he was getting what he paid for. He stopped shaking the machine, glaring up at it, before he drew his fist back, pink light collecting in his claws. A frustrated growl left him, and he spent a moment staring at the vending machine, almost daring the candy to fall…
What with his luck, it’d probably fall for free for the next shape to buy something, and he’d be deprived of something he’d paid for while someone else got a freebie. He couldn’t stand the thought of that, his eyes glowing a harsh pink as he prepared to shatter the glass of the machine, to take all the food for himself… He wasn’t that hungry, but the notion itself was enough to make him grin maliciously.
“Excuse me,” a voice suddenly rang out, snapping Fresh out of his enraged state. “The sign says… don’t shake the machines. I assume that that includes punching, but I could be wrong.”
He turned to see one of the doctors, a golden hexagon who wore ivy framed glasses. She was pretty tall, even compared to Fresh’s augmented height, looking down at him over her glasses, a small frown marring her features.
Looking up at the doctor, Fresh scowled.
“Yeah, I don’t need sarcasm today, buddy.” He turned his attention to the machine. “I just woke up, and I’m starvin’, if ya hadn’t guessed.”
The hexagon nodded, smiling in an odd, passive-aggressive manner. The young shape fidgeted; he didn’t like that smile.
“I assumed so. In fact, Fresh Blixer-Beats …” Fresh tensed upon hearing his full name. He looked up at the doctor, eyes wide. “I believe you should be in bed right about now… it isn’t exactly safe for a newly corrupted shape to roam free to… attack the vending machines.”
The hexagon walked over to the machine, raising a hand. For a moment, Fresh thought she was going to hit the unit, although she merely smiled at him in that mildly irritated manner, lightly tapping the side of the vending machine.
As if on cue, the candy bar fell down, and the doctor bent down to retrieve it, handing the Sweet Radiance chocolate to Fresh, who gaped. His eyes darted from the doctor to the candy, and he felt a tiny smile grace his features, his eyes sparkling.
“Now, see what patience can do? Try to keep an open mind.” The doctor patted Fresh on the head, ruffling his tuft of hair. “Pink can limit one’s ability to maintain their composure, so I suggest trying out some calming exercises.”
The hexagon doctor stifled a warm chuckle as she walked past Fresh.
“By the way, your parents will be coming to pick you up in about an hour. You woke up just in time, kid. You’re going home.”
The car was stuffy with the smell of dust and chocolate. Fresh nearly gagged when the scent hit him, as soon as he opened the door. After weeks of breathing sterile hospital air, his lungs were unaccustomed to other smells, although he mused that part of the sensory overload could have been from his new, pink state.
Speaking of being pink...
His mother refused to meet his gaze, although she smiled warmly, obviously glad that he was okay. She was naturally pink, and Fresh thought he saw a bit of guilt in her gaze, hidden behind her shining, dark magenta irises.
As he climbed into the car, scrambling to the middle seat, he found himself sighing, hoping that things would return to normal. For a long time, his mom refused to start the car, and Fresh could see her gripping the steering wheel with an increasingly tight hold.
“M-mom? You alright?” He couldn’t stand the gravelly tone of his voice; his volume dropped to a whisper. “I’m fine… really.”
His dad glanced at him from the mirror, his golden eyes full of poorly concern.
“You sure about that, Fresh-Beat?”
Fresh groaned at the nickname, crossing his arms. He couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face, however, stifling a chuckle.
“Yeah, I’m okay! Seriously!” He sneered, holding up his claws, which flickered pink in the dim afternoon light. “I mean, at least I’m not grey anymore!”
Fresh looked away, crumpling up a candy wrapper in his pocket. He was still hungry… starved, even… but other than that, he felt much better. He no longer felt that… anger. For awhile back there, he’d wanted to punch something. A small, vindictive part of himself had even wished for a disaster to happen, he was so angry at the world. He was just tired, homesick, and hungry.
He sighed, closing his eyes. “I just wanna go home…”
He felt the car shake a bit as the engine stuttered to life. His mother breathed softly, “Fresh…” He looked up to see her turned around, staring hollowly through him. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you about that cave. This never would have happened if I’d just told you.”
Fresh’s eyes widened, illuminating the car. “You knew?!” He blinked owlishly, his eyes shining with a pinkish hue. “I could’ve done this sooner! I mean, yeah it hurt, but I’m happy to finally be pink! It’s better than being powerless.”
His mother gained a dark tone to her voice as she hissed, “No.” She calmed slightly, sighing while shaking her head. “You don’t understand. Pink is a curse. I’m sorry you even have it in your bloodline…”
His dad added, “Listen to your mother, sport. There’s a reason why pink is harmful…”
Fresh felt tears prickle at his eyes, his face becoming flushed. That anger from earlier started to return, and he felt himself shaking, gripping at the car seats.
“But why? They never tell why pink is bad! How am I supposed to be afraid of it?!” His voice was breaking, his eyes flaring wildly. He felt the fabric of the seats tear under his claws, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets, shuddering. “You never tell me anything…”
The pink circle huffed, “Fresh, you’re too young to understand.” She turned back to face the front, preparing to drive. “It’s much too complex for a child your age-.”
She was cut off when Fresh abruptly shrieked, his eyes glowing a furious magenta.
“WHAT IS IT? DO YOU THINK I’M GONNA MURDER SOMEONE BECAUSE I’M PINK?!” He punched the door, snarling. “YOU’RE JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE!”
His dad tried to calm him. “Fresh-Beat, that’s not what your mother meant.”
“I don’t care! That’s what everyone else says! And I nearly hurt Zone; that’s why they tied me up! I… I’m a monster…”
Suddenly… he fell silent. He felt tears rolling down his face, and he cupped his hands to his mouth. Eyes wide, he stuttered, “I… I didn’t mean… I didn’t…”
He trailed off as he heard his mother mutter, “Your friend’s outside. You should go see them.”
His dad agreed, “Just give us a minute, sport.” The yellow triangle’s voice was strained as he spoke, trying to deescalate the situation. “You’re not in trouble.”
Fresh felt his internal song skyrocket in tempo. He growled lowly, before ripping the seatbelt off, throwing the door open. He slid out, breaking into a run across the pavement as soon as his feet hit the ground. Sure enough, he saw Zone walking out. The red circle’s gaze was cast towards the ground, their hands in their pockets. They seemed distracted as they walked, their path almost veering to the side a few times before they righted themselves.
The squares floating at the sides of their head were folded down, occasionally flicking in the breeze. They were thoroughly distracted, so they didn’t even see it coming when Fresh tackled them.
“Zone!”
The circle looked up just as Fresh launched himself at them, letting out a frightened yelp. Their glasses were sent flying, cracking against the concrete as both shapes staggered back. Fresh wasn’t very heavy; he’d certainly lost a few pounds during his stay at the hospital. Zone was considerably strong for their size, only stumbling back a few feet from the impact.
“Woah, hey, Fresh!” They chuckled as the pink shape pulled away, looking him over. “You okay, buddy? Your eyes are lookin’ a bit red.”
Fresh found himself nodding, although he was anything but. His eyes stung with barely suppressed tears, but he bluffed, “Nah, I’m fine…” He wiped his eyes on his sleeve. A bit of anxiety raced through him as the fabric came away slightly rose-tinted. “It… it’s probably just a side effect… from being pink...”
Zone snickered, “If ya say so, dude…” They bent down to pick up their glasses, holding up the cracked frames in the light. “Ya did a number on them… so I guess I’ll see ya later…”
The young shape felt a bit of sadness rush through him, before he realized that Zone had made a joke, playfully punching them in the arm. They instinctively recoiled, a bit of fear glinting in their eyes. Fresh frowned.
“What?”
Zone just glanced at his glowing claws, and he got the message, awkwardly stuffing his hands into his pockets. He looked away, his happiness draining away as his expression became solemn.
“I… I was there for awhile, huh?”
He didn’t want to think about how long he’d been unconscious. How long the pink had to settle in his body, for its corruption to become apart of him. He was no longer a grey shape… not even the hospital could fix him. He didn’t particularly mind his new status, but even his parents were apprehensive around him… as if he was dangerous.
In a way, he was; he’d already proven himself capable of causing damage to others. His powers were inherently destructive, and his aggression made it easy for him to snap.
Zone seemed to understand his discomfort, their voice dropping to a whisper as they affirmed, “Yeah….” They chuckled softly, bitterly, even. “You… you really worried us, dude. And when you did wake up, you weren’t all... there.”
Fresh felt a twinge of worry go through his core, and he perked up, his eyes filling with a startled pink light. He didn’t remember waking up until today. Was it possible that he’d somehow lost control? He vaguely remembered Logic Gatekeeper’s lessons on corruption; once a shape was blighted with the pink, they would often lose their mind and turn violent.
“What do you mean? Was I… did I hurt you?”
If he’d hurt them… his fears would only be confirmed. He began to panic, his eyes starting to sting with the beginnings of tears. He didn’t want to be a monster… he didn’t want to be…
He looked back to Zone, frowning. “Did you get hurt, Zone? Please... don’t tell me… that I…”
The red circle shook their head wildly, raising their hands.
“No no no… of course not! The restraints were just a precaution… you didn’t actually try and attack. The most you did was complain about being hungry…”
All the tension in Fresh’s frame dropped, and his shudders ceased. He blinked owlishly, before an incredulous, relieved laugh left him.
“Zone… ya have no idea how happy I am to hear that…” He chuckled bitterly. “No idea…”
The circle shrugged. “I had a feeling.” A crooked grin spread across his face, and he chuckled softly. “I know ya don’t wanna hurt anybody… not on purpose. ‘S’a shame the doc didn’t seem to get it.”
They were both silent for a few minutes, before Fresh heard the car’s horn blare. He jolted, blinking in confusion.
Zone chuckled, “Looks like it’s time for ya to go home.” They stuffed their hands into their pockets, humming.
With a flicker of light, the circle summoned forth a glowing red construct in the shape of a skateboard. Fresh internally grimaced, envious. Most of his peers had long since grasped the ability to create solid magic. Before becoming pink, he was forced to watch as everyone around him advanced, praised by their instructor on their prowess. The only skill Fresh had to his name was his natural talent for music, although this was often overlooked in favor of the powers of other shapes.
Snapping him from his angered thoughts, Zone hummed, hopping onto their board.
“It’s cool. Catch ya later?”
The pink shape nodded robotically, and Zone began to roll away down the inclined street, letting gravity propel them. They were going pretty slowly, but as Fresh watched, they quickly became nothing more than a blur on the horizon.
He squinted; maybe it was just his eyes. His depth perception had been a bit off ever since the incident, and at times, his eyes stung, watering almost excessively. Blinking the tears from his eyes, Fresh reached up to wipe his face, frowning as he saw that his sleeve once again came away pinkish. He hummed in thought, beginning to walk towards the car.
Irritated with his sluggish pace, his mother slammed her fist on the horn, a blaring honk echoing throughout the parking lot. Fresh felt his heart quicken at the noise, and he rushed forward, feeling a bit embarrassed. People were trying to get some rest, after all. He thought it to be unfair to the others if he got to rest for all that time, and his mom was running the risk of disturbing them.
Frowning, he cupped his hands to his mouth and hollered, “I’m coming! Stop honkin’ the horn!”
The pink shape quickened his pace, his mind swimming with conflicted thoughts.
Everyone seemed to fear him. Even his parents were apprehensive around him now. They were happy to see him, but the stigma of pink shapes overpowered their concern. Fresh was reassured by the fact that he hadn’t harmed anyone, but he couldn’t deny the violent urges that were beginning to flare up from his core. Although he’d always had pink in his blood, it wasn’t until that infernal Treeangle shard decided to lodge itself in his head that he realized how powerful it could be.
He sighed, opening the car door. The dim afternoon light was already beginning to fade as the sun set, and he was still tired, despite his elongated rest in the hospital. He didn’t say anything to his parents, even when his dad began to pepper him with questions about how he was feeling.
His mother murmured, “Maybe there’s a way to reverse this.”
Fresh felt a twinge of anger go through him, and he growled, wanting to block the voices out.
He retrieved his favorite pair of headphones from his backpack. They were a bright cerulean blue, a peaceful shade that he’d loved at one point. Looking upon them now, he couldn’t help but grimace, the cool hue irritating his eyes. A fanged grin spread across his face, and he sent a jolt of pink energy through the device, staining it a dark shade of magenta.
He held up his claws, watching the rosy energy spark. It was proof of his power. And the more Fresh stared at it, the more entrancing it became, until he realized… he liked being powerful.
He smirked, slipping on his headphones. His own internal song echoed through his head, reminding him of his new nature, his new status as a pink shape.
Even if some people refused to accept it, he wasn’t a weak grey blossom anymore. For the first time in his life, he had power over others. Even his family was afraid of him. And he had to admit that he liked it.
His grin only stretched as pink energy crackled along his form, his once pale jacket being infected with the energy, also turning a magenta hue. He’d turn everything he pleased pink, just because he could. He was a new shape, and people had to recognize it somehow.
Long Live the Monster.
...
Long Live the New Fresh.
#jsab#just shapes and beats#fresh#fanfic#into the zone#spectra#vindicate me#Oh Look a Story Thing#jsab au#Chill Out AU#Cool Friends#au
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Requiem for the King
An interlude between Agni’s death and real!Ciel’s appearance at the manor. Partially inspired by @white-queen-lacus‘s candy = ring theory and @dorkshadows‘s magnificent post about real!Ciel being a malicious, Machiavellian brat of epic proportions :)
- mod Nina
Phantomhive Manor is silent as he walks down the east wing, an expression of mild curiosity fixed on his youthful features. Usually maids and caretakers bustled about dressed in their dull black garb—chamber maids, parlor maids, house maids, and footmen moved behind artificial shadows; they were Phantomhive servants and they know how to disappear.
He turns a left corner, eyes glossing over the original paintings of Caravaggio, Vermeer, Rubens, and Boucher. There’s even a rare Holbein hanging above his mother’s favorite Ming vase; how the earl obtained it, no one knows but the work of Henry VIII’s most celebrated court painter is a status symbol that cannot be ignored and Vincent Phantomhive was ever so fond of his petty gags. The duke of Westminster had a near tantrum when he learned who the mysterious buyer was—Ciel ought to know, he was there the day his father hosted a dinner party specifically for the unveiling of Holbein’s 1527 Lady with a Squirrel and Starling portrait.
“Truth be told, I despise this painting.” Vincent mused after their guests had gone and it was just they two, father and son, standing in front of Holbein’s work. “Unimaginative, dull—and the lady’s not much of a beauty is she?” He inquired with a devious half-smirk.
“Then why did Mr. Holbein paint her?” Ciel inquired curiously, tugging on his father’s hand. “Surely there were other ladies with a face more pleasing to one’s eye.”
“Of course there were but Mr. Holbein is an artist—and not just any artist but one employed by the great king himself. He painted a true aristocrat, Ciel—a woman whose cost far exceeds her aesthetic value.”
Ciel frowned. “So she’s ugly?”
“Oh yes.” Vincent smiled, perfectly charmed by his son’s perception. “Quite. But artists seem to enjoy it when only they can find beauty in monstrosity. It’s a wretched cliche.”
“Then why not paint a wicked woman with a fair face whose beauty actually attracts men?” He stared at the plain faced maid with the sharp nose and dull eyes. A squirrel in her lap. A bird to her side. “Do you suppose that’s why the starling’s on her shoulder? Because she so resembles a tree stump?” Ciel looked up at his father, sapphire eyes wide with curiosity and cruel mischief.
Vincent was mildly surprised by his son’s viciousness—innocent, yes, but vicious nonetheless. A troubling, albeit necessary, trait. He decided, gathering his son into his arms. “Tell me Ciel, who do you think is the most beautiful woman in the world?”
“Besides mummy?” Ciel responded dutifully, with a practiced smile on his angelic face. After all, those were the sorts of answers good boys gave—the sort of answer his little brother might give—and Ciel was nothing if not observant. His theory was further reinforced when Vincent laughed—a rare, charmed laugh that signified Ciel had said the right thing and smiled the right smile.
“Yes,” he nodded, “besides your mother.”
Ciel pretended to think. It was obvious really—the year was 1883 and the most beautiful woman in the world was the American vaudeville star Lillian Russell. But he could never bring himself to admit that since she was, by all accounts, crude, careless, classless, and vulgar. Always a perpetual fixation in the American tabloids, making sure photographers caught sight of her in either a new bodice or with a new beau, it didn’t really matter—they were both fairly changeable when it came to Lillian Russell. In Ciel’s opinion, a lady should be two things—beautiful and loyal. And he already had someone like that.
“I think Lizzy’s prettiest.” He answered at last—and, while Ciel was certainly no pillar of veritable truth, he was at least being sincere. Lizzy was pretty and wonderful and fun to be around—much more fun than his sickly younger brother who could do little more than snivel in his bed and beg for a story.
It was a shame for him to put up with but Ciel had decided long ago that he would be the perfect heir, and being the perfect heir meant all sorts of things. It meant being intelligent, well-spoken, clever, cosmopolitan, courteous, and kind. Society, it seemed, liked kind people and while Ciel didn’t think you could get very far by exposing your bleeding heart every day, other people did. And, annoyingly enough, a good majority of those “other people” were powerful lords and businessmen whose influence was something he would one day need.
Thus, it was with careful consideration that, in addition to his daily lessons and time spent with father, Ciel made a conscious effort to be kind—to show empathy and generosity because these were good Victorian virtues. Because it was expected of him.
(But sometimes, when no one was looking, Ciel would laugh a mirthful, misshapen chuckle, because they all seemed so impressed when he did so little.)
These are Ciel’s thoughts as he continues down the hallway to his father’s study, a slight frown marring the perfection of his fair face when he notices how the air has become heavy with copper, how the scent of his mother’s waterlily perfume now rings with a metallic edge.
Strange, Ciel muses when Tanaka does not appear outside to greet him. Has father called a meeting of the aristocrats?
He opens the door himself and barely flinches when he is met by a scene of succinct chaos—cleverly done chaos, his mind corrects, since the room’s furniture is still intact. All the books still lined on their shelves; the coffee table still holding a silver tray and two porcelain teacups.
But the lights are off. The fireplace has gone cold. And Tanaka is not here.
Ciel inhales and nearly gags when the scent of waterlilies and rust meets his nose. It doesn’t take long for him to notice the shadowed lump laying a few feet away from him and as he comes closer, he realizes that they are bodies.
Two bodies.
One is a man with a sapphire ring; the other is a woman with fair strawberry blonde hair.
Father. Ciel is aghast. Mother.
A biting, brutal stab of realization quickly follows. Someone’s coming—someone’s still here.
Ciel moves forward, approaching the dead body of his father with something akin to frustration. This was the Queen’s Watchdog—the aristocrat of evil—and here he lies, cold and weak and dead. The blood pooling around Vincent’s still form is enough to horrify Ciel because he is still young and because the blood has begun to seep into his favorite Turkish rug. The same rug Uncle Chlaus sent them from Ankara, after wrapping up a case that involved a dead queen, her butler, and a vial of black poison.
Or was it Ankara? Ciel bends down to examine his father’s right hand. Perhaps not—it could have been Istanbul. Still, he winces when he feels a gush of coagulated blood cling to his fingers, this carpet used to belong to Elizabeth of Bohemia—the winter queen herself. And now it’s ruined. Utterly and completely ruined. Ciel grimaces, giving one harsh pull of the hand before the polished sapphire falls free, tumbling into Ciel’s hands as he observes the precious stone with an expression of calm repose.
There it is! He smiles, marveling at the weight of this ring—this symbol of terror and damnation worn only by the queen’s chosen watchdogs. He thinks it strange that such a cold object could radiate warmth as he slips it onto his right thumb. It is, of course, three sizes too big but Ciel doesn’t mind. He will soon grow into it.
He smiles again—and that’s when he hears them. Voices, vague and indistinguishable, coming closer with each second that he stands there, wearing his father’s ring. My ring, he mentally corrects but decides this isn’t the time or place for technicalities.
They were coming.
It is without thought or delay that Ciel opens his mouth, pressing the still bloodied ring to his lips to give it a temporary kiss goodbye. It takes him only half a second to taste the coppery aftermath of his parents murder but he ignores the blood and swallows the ring whole.
Who stole the candy from my tummy?
“That’s enough Polaris.” Ciel observes, tucking the gun into his breast coat pocket. He didn’t like guns—was never too fond of them and the mess they made. Knives were much cleaner and could be swift as a flying bullet if one knew how to use them well enough.
He approaches the wall and Polaris bows, handing him a particularly sharp incision blade. With one smooth, practiced motion, Ciel stabs the knife below the question mark before stepping back. He is still not satisfied but this will do for now.
“My lord?” Polaris approaches and Ciel turns away from the carved message.
“Let’s go.” A strange smile appears on his lips. “I have a reunion to attend.”
#real!ciel#our!ciel#ciel phantomhive#vincent phantomhive#rachel phantomhive#tanaka#lord polaris#blue sect arc#black butler#kuroshitsuji#spoilers#fanfic#headcanon
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Top 10 Albums of the Decade: Amanda Hailwood
World Comes Calling
Midnight Youth
[2011]
I’ll never ever forget the moment that those first few notes of The Street echoed through Claudelands Arena - I was captivated by it, full of that familiar ‘whoaa ohh ohh’ we’d come to expect from Midnight Youth, but with just enough growth to create something both entirely new, yet wholesomely familiar. A perfect opening to the set.
Personally, I think this is one album that’s ripened flawlessly. It may have been nearly 10 years since it was released, but every song still rips through just like the first time. It’s rich, showcasing their talent outside of the radio hits that are embedded inside every single kiwis brain. I’ve never quite gotten over the heartbreak of Midnight Youth breaking up - but they’re reforming to open for My Chemical Romance in March this year, and i’ve got my fingers crossed that their set opens with The Street.
This was the first band that really got me into the live music scene, and for that I am eternally grateful. Thank you Midnight Youth for existing.
Special Mentions; The Street, Too Young To Wonder
Sempiternal
Bring Me The Horizon
[2013]
I miss when Bring Me The Horizon were metal. Kidding. I dig their change, like, a lot. Every release since this one has been one that’s definitely vibed with me - but Sempiternal does still hold that special place in my heart. This was my first venture into heavier music that wasn’t suggested by my sisters, and I found so many incredible artists surrounding Bring Me The Horizon.
But I think what makes this album so special to me; is that every release that follows is so different. BMTH are that token band that everyone loves to hate on, saying that they should make heavier music again/stop with the growth. But do they listen? No, instead they throw out a song with the lyrics ‘we ain’t heavy metal!’. But it’s all still so fucking good. So fucking good. AMO was a banger of an album, and if you’re the kid from the ‘gram who doesn’t agree then that’s fine because everyone’s opinion is different.
Fun flex; The first ~proper~ gig I shot was Bring Me The Horizon back in 2013. I was still in high school, I had the entire photo pit to myself, and my camera broke during the last song.
Special Mentions; Hospital For Souls, And The Snakes Start To Sing
Hope
Manchester Orchestra
[2014]
Hope is an acoustic re-imagining of their other album Cope, and if Cope is the body then Hope is the soul. I don’t know if that sentence actually makes sense.
A few years back I took a wrong turn in Wellington, and ended up walking up a goat track to Brooklyn in the rain. I had this album in my ears, and although given the circumstances I should’ve felt frustrated - instead I just felt peace.
Go get lost in the rain and listen to this album.
Special Mentions; The Ocean, Choose You
Instant Gratification
Dance Gavin Dance
[2015]
Okay, first admission - I never got into Dance Gavin Dance until late 2019. You can partially blame Scenepai Lily Mou for that, he's constantly (like seriously, constantly) talking about how good they are - and one morning I gave in and listened to them on the 3 day commute that it takes to journey across Auckland. It was love at first listen, and I quickly ran out of data downloading their entire discography to Spotify because I couldn't handle the wait to get home.
Instant Gratification was the first album that I fell for, and though I did cycle through the other albums, taking the time to fall deeply for each one - Instant Gratification is still the one that holds my heart. Everytime I listen to this album it just feels like a hug.
I'm also obsessed with the fact that DGD release instrumental versions of all their albums - as often I just don't wanna deal with lyrics while I zone out into the abyss - but there's something about an entire instrumental version of an album that i'm so familiar with that just really does it for me.
Special Mentions; Legend, Lost, The Cuddler
Everybody Is Going To Heaven
Citizen
[2015]
I once met someone wearing a Citizen t-shirt underneath a Citizen hoodie - and that’s a perfect example of how much I love Citizen. That’s all I have to say.
Special Mentions; Stain, Yellow Love
Baby Teeth
Dizzy
[2018]
Baby Teeth was the soundtrack to my last few months prior to moving to Wellington, it’s ethereal spacey tones captured perfectly how my soul felt at the thought of leaving a city that I once hated, but had finally grown to love.
It’s an immensely captivating album that’ll leave you nostalgic for moments you didn’t know you missed - listening to this album feels like drinking a cup of tea brewed with stars and sunsets.
Special Mentions; In Time, Ghost Limbs
When The End Began
Silent Planet
[2018]
This album is just the heavier version of Dizzy’s Baby Teeth. Atmospheric as fxck and best enjoyed melting into the lounge floor while the walls echo everything back at you.
It’s reminiscent of an apocalyptic future where society doesn’t heal. I know it’s not technically possible to be reminiscent of the future. But somehow this album radiates that feeling.
Special Mentions; Afterdusk, Look Outside: Dream, Look Inside: Awake
Fine But Dying
Liza Anne
[2018]
Hey do you know what’s cool about this current world we live in? The fact that we’re open about how we take care of our mental health! This album is how I take care of mine. Seriously, next time you’re feeling a bit down and out of sorts, throw this album on. There are songs in here that are like roadmaps for bad days.
Special Mentions; Paranoia, I Love You But I Need Another Year
Proper Dose
The Story So Far
[2018]
Oh man. I love The Story So Far. I accidentally named my cat Parker because the day after their 2014 Auckland show I was at the vet and all I could think about was how good The Story So Far are. Initially this list had two The Story So Far albums on it just to emphasize how incredible they are - but I dropped What You Don’t See (even though it’s a fxcking stellar album!) after we started getting everyone else’s lists back, and I realized that over half of them already featured WYDS.
Prior to this album’s release, TSSF had kind of dived away. I hadn’t heard from them in a long time - and although they’d never officially announced a break up, in my head, they’d broken up. It was over. No more The Story So Far.
Then with no warning they dropped ‘Out Of It’ in September 2017, and for the next 10 months, that was all there was to consume. Then July 2018 came around, and they’ve gifted us ‘Let It Go’, and there are announcements of an album…
Proper Dose was the most beautiful re-birth of a band. It still holds that same hardcore/mildly pop punk sound that we’re familiar with, but shrouds it in a psychadelic haze.
I could easily write pages on how it makes me feel, and why you need to consume it, but instead.
Just listen to it.
Special Mentions; Take Me As You Please, Upside Down
Live At Auckland Town Hall
Marlon Williams
[2019]
Marlon Williams hasn’t moved off my top artists stats since the day his first album was released back in 2014. Someone once compared Marlon’s music to butter on toast in the mornings, and although at first I thought that a very odd comparison - it’s fast become the easiest way to describe it. It’s incredibly safe, but it’s so satisfying.
My only problem with Marlon Williams is that once you’ve seen him live, neither of his albums quite encapsulate the magick that surrounds the live experience. Luckily that problem was solved when he released this gem.
Next time you have the house to yourself, line this one up and play it as loud as you can handle. Then go outside your house, and turn the volume up even louder. It’s a perfect soundtrack for a frosty winters commute, and equally as enjoyable during a carefree summer stroll. Listen to it when it’s your pets birthday. Listen to it on the way to see your grandma. Listen to it when you’re happy. Listen to it when you’re sad. Listen to it while your cleaning your house. Enjoy it on the balcony once you’re house is clean. It’s versatile.
Special Mentions; I Didn’t Make A Plan, Can I Call You
Listen to our decade wrapped over on Spotify!
Written by Amanda Hailwood / Hailtree
[more decade round ups here]
#bring me the horizon#the story so far#marlon williams#midnight youth#manchester orchestra#citizen#dizzy#silent planet#liza anne#hailtree#top 10 of the decade#top 10 of 2010s#dance gavin dance#top 10s of 2010s
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How Long is Forever? Chapter 2
Rating: Mature
Ships: finnrey, reylo, finnlo, finnreylo
Notes: Many thanks to @xxlovendreamsxx and @reylotrashcompactor for their constant support and beta work on my stories. You ladies are my inspiration!
The quote featured in this chapter is by Erin Van Vuren.
Chapters: 1
They’re always coming and going. And you’re always answering the door. Maybe you enjoy abandonment a little bit. After all, it’s all you’ve ever known. And there’s a comfort in repetition.
Rey stops sparring with Kylo, and when the general tries to pair them together for a mission, she refuses to work with him. Finn heard from three different people about what happened in the technos’ bay, so he doesn’t have to ask why she’s avoiding her—friend? Ally? (It’s hard to pin down Rey’s relationship with Kylo, because she’s never very keen to discuss it.) His wife is too good, too true, to ever be unfaithful, so she’s doing her best to remove herself from temptation’s way.
Things go back to something like normal, except that there are now quiet moments when Finn catches Rey staring off into the distance, as if she sees something impossible and tantalizing just out of reach. She always trains alone, now that Luke is off-world, and every time she returns from practicing her forms, she’s frustrated and short with him. And once, he wakes in the middle of the night to hear the water running in the bathroom. Rey thinks she’s being clever, covering the sound of her sobs with the shower, but she can’t fool him. After two years of marriage, he knows most of her tricks.
Today, she’s barely picking at her food—a sure sign that something is wrong—and Finn only has to look across the hall to see Kylo watching them. He’s trying to be subtle about it, but he can’t seem to help but glance at Rey every minute or so.
“Are you happy with me?” Finn asks.
“Of course,” Rey says, but her answer is so quick, so automatic, that he fears she put no thought into it.
Finn takes her hand, twines their fingers together. He tries to keep his voice quiet, unaccusing and safe from eavesdroppers, when he asks, “Then why do you want him so badly?”
Rey allows herself to look across the hall, and Finn knows she’s gazing at Kylo.
“It’s not that I love you any less, or desire you any less, than I did when we first married,” she says. “I don’t want Ben more than you, or instead of you.”
Finn frowns, relieved but confused. He doesn’t say anything, though, because he suspects that Rey isn’t finished.
She takes a deep breath. “I just—maybe I need you both?”
Finn can’t think of anything to say to that, and Rey stares pointedly at the table. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me to be so selfish, so greedy.”
“You’re not those things,” Finn says. “And there’s nothing wrong with you.”
“You’re not mad?” Rey asks.
No, he isn’t, although Finn supposes perhaps he should be. “You’re not sneaking around behind my back, are you?”
“Of course not!” Rey says. “I’d never hurt you like that. And besides—I may want Ben, but only if having him never comes at your expense. Does that make any sense at all?”
“I think so,” Finn says. He doesn’t fully understand what she means, but he barely cares. What Rey feels for Kylo isn’t borne from dissatisfaction with their marriage, or disappointment in him as a husband, and that’s all that matters.
He’s tired of watching his wife wilt, seeing her brightness dim as she fights her own desires. She’s making herself miserable trying to make him happy, and Finn can’t think of anything he could want less.
Later, he kisses his way down her chest and stomach, then settles between her legs. Finn knows her body, has learned every part of her, and it’s almost easy to make her moan, to make her come. Rey shouts his name into the cloying shadows of their bedroom, clutching the sheets in her fists, as she rides out her climax.
He climbs on top of her and kisses her, presses his cock against her wet sex. Rey wraps her legs around him, and Finn can’t wait another moment. It’s been so long, and he’s missed her so much. She whimpers when their bodies join, and he goes slowly, gently, careful not to hurt, until Rey begs him to have her harder.
“Is this how you imagine it with him?” he asks, breathless, while he fucks her. This isn’t the sort of question he’s supposed to ask his wife, but Finn stopped caring about other people’s rules the day he left the First Order.
Rey blushes all the way down to her breasts. “I don’t think you want to hear about that,” she says.
“I do, though,” Finn whispers, and it’s true. He’s been painfully curious about this for weeks, but for the first time since he discovered that his wife wants another man, his curiosity isn’t colored by jealousy. He wants to hear about her fantasies—all of them, no matter how secret or shocking—because how else can he give her what she needs?
Finn gives a rough thrust, and she throws back her head, mouth open on a gasp.
“When you pretend he’s in our bed, what do you think about doing with him?”
He touches her sex, rubbing rapid circles there that make her shiver.
“Sometimes I think about hurting him,” Rey says, so softly that he almost misses her confession. “Or letting him hurt me.”
“Tell me,�� Finn says. Voicing these things sends a shock of heat across his cheeks but hearing her answer is too satisfying to let shame stop him.
She stammers through a quick list of deeds: pulling Kylo’s hair and slapping his face, restraining and choking him; having these things done to her in return. Her desire to punish Kylo is easy to believe, but it shocks him a bit that Rey—always so powerful and in control—wants to be hurt back. What shocks him even more is that the thought of his wife being thrown around by another man doesn’t bother him at all. Finn imagines Kylo fucking her, those large hands of his wrapped around Rey’s throat, strong body pumping between her legs—
He bites back a groan when he comes, grits his teeth to keep from making any noise as the pleasure overwhelms him.
Afterward, Finn lies beside her, breathing hard.
Rey runs her fingers up and down his chest, idly touching him. It feels right, simply because he’s hers. “You liked hearing about that?”
“Yeah,” he whispers. “I did.”
He’s not sure that he found Rey’s fantasy so arousing purely because of his wife’s part in it, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with this discovery. It isn’t that Finn has never found men attractive before—Poe, at least, is far too handsome not to notice in this way—but Kylo Ren is not like other men.
He spent so many years ground under the heel of the First Order’s boot, a system that Kylo supported, and his contributions to the Resistance have not done enough to earn Finn’s trust. If he’s honest with himself, he knows that his nervousness where Kylo is concerned is rooted in latent fear as much as disrespect. The bastard still calls him FN-2187, that awful number that made him less than a person. Just a nameless, faceless soldier in a series. Expendable.
He should hate Kylo without reservation, should find him too deplorable to desire in any way. But apparently he doesn’t, and neither does Rey.
His wife falls asleep with her face pressed against the nape of his neck, one arm hooked around his chest, a slender leg slung over his hip. It’s a sweet little peculiarity, that she prefers lying like this, despite being a bit shorter and much lighter than him. The big spoon, Poe called it, when Finn mentioned this quirk of his wife’s.
He has the odd thought, just before drifting off to sleep himself, that Rey would look both beautiful and mildly ridiculous if she tried to hold Kylo this way.
Rey wakes to the smell of burning food. She hears Finn, voice pitched high as he yells, “Shit!”
The smoke detector goes off, and Rey laughs into her pillow, because even through the blaring alarm, she can hear her husband cursing a colorful streak.
She hurries to the kitchen, where she finds Finn standing on a chair, waving a stack of flimsies at the detector, as if fanning it will trick its sensors into ignoring a room full of smoke. Just as Rey opens her mouth to make fun of him for it, the alarm stops and the red light on the detector blinks to a cheerful green.
“Huh,” she says. “Neat trick.”
Finn smiles at her. “You’d know it already if you ever made breakfast.”
“I don’t cook for you because I love you,” Rey says.
Neither of them had many opportunities to learn their way around a kitchen, but Finn at least has some interest in trying. Rey suspects that it’s his reaction against growing up with no one to cook for. Now that he has someone to love, he wants to spoil her.
They throw away the blackened toast, and Rey eats two bowls of scrambled, scarlet eggs that have been spiced with pink peppers and yellow onions. It’s Rey’s favorite kind of meal, flavorful and hearty, full of bright tastes and vibrant colors.
“This is delicious,” Rey says, and Finn laughs—probably because she spoke through a mouthful of food.
He must know better than to start a conversation when she’s eating, because he waits until they’re washing dishes to say, “We should talk. About last night.”
Rey wills herself not to blush; she blushes anyway. “Last night was fun,” she says, as lightly as she can manage.
Finn takes a clean dish from her, dries it, and puts it away. Then he turns to her, and his grin is genuine, if unimpressed. “Last night was fun,” he says. “But it was also kind of a mess. So why don’t we sit down and talk about it?”
Her husband is kind, and loving, and too generous for his own good. Rey already knows what he’s going to say, and she doesn’t want to hear it.
“We don’t need to—”
Finn cups her cheeks between his palms, and his touch is so warm. Just the barest brush of his hands on her skin makes her feel wanted, safe, loved. At home.
“It’s okay,” he whispers.
They go back to bed and cling together beneath the covers. Rey buries herself against the crook of Finn’s neck, and breathes him in. He smells like smoke and the faded, lewd scent of their lovemaking from last night. Once she feels calmer, they pull apart and sit up.
Finn speaks first. Of course he does; he’s the brave one, of the two of them. The bravest person she’s ever known.
He says, “I think I get it now, what you’ve been trying to tell me. Kylo isn’t a threat to what we have. We come first for each other, right?”
“Always,” Rey says, without hesitation.
“Good,” Finn says. “So if you want to start seeing him, I’d understand.”
He smiles, but it’s weak around the edges.
The day Rey met him, Finn was running away from the First Order so he wouldn’t have to hurt innocents. Then he ran back to Starkiller to rescue her. He’s always been so damn self-sacrificing, and it drives her mad. Rey suspects that Finn is so quick to put the welfare of others over his own safety because he doesn’t value himself as he should, and she’s not about to let him do it now.
“No,” she says. “I’m not risking our marriage—not risking you—over some stupid infatuation. It’s not worth it.”
Rey spent most of her life wishing for the impossible, but each tally-marked day on Jakku crushed her hopes a little more. By the time Finn wandered into Niima Outpost, she’d made an art out of loneliness, honing her self-sufficiency for the sake of survival. She’d tried to push him away, just like she did everyone else, but they met under such chaotic circumstances—the Force throwing them headlong into danger together—that she’d let her guard down. Finn broke through the walls around her heart like they’d been built on sand, like they weren’t even there. By the time she kissed him goodbye on D’Qar, Rey was already so enamored with him that half the reason she ran to Ahch-To was to get away from her feelings.
And later, once she’d returned with Luke, falling in love with Finn had been easy. Friendship flowered into passion, then love, and they’d married within a year of meeting. She’s fought too hard and survived through too much to throw away the best part of her life on a man like Ben Solo.
“Rey—”
“No,” she says. “We’re done talking about this. Don’t bring it up again.”
Finn stands, pulls on his clothes—standard Resistance wear except for the jacket that once belonged to Poe—and says, “I love you, Rey, but nobody gets to tell me when I can’t speak. Not even you.”
The door closes behind him with a sharp, echoing snap. It sounds final in a way that Rey doesn’t like.
She sits in the middle of their bed long after he’s left, clutching her knees to her chest. The last time Rey felt this small, she was watching a ship retreat, shouting her fears to the bright Jakku sky. Begging not to be left behind.
Finn comes to his door while the sky outside is grey, more night than morning still.
“I haven’t even had a cup of caf yet,” Ben says. “So this better be good.”
“Oh, it’s great,” Finn says flatly. “Zak Malbus caught a stormtrooper on his last mission and brought him back alive. So guess who gets to do the interrogation?”
Ben rubs a hand over his face. “Us.”
It isn’t the first time. They’ve been given this task twice before. Finn understands which questions to ask, the right direction to press in, how to obtain the most information with the least damage. And Ben, of course, has the ability to extract answers from an unwilling subject.
“I’ll get dressed,” Ben says.
Fifteen minutes later, they’re sitting across from FN-2000, a stormtrooper from the same class as Finn. He’s a good-looking man in his mid-twenties with a prominent scar across his cheek. It stands out, pale against his dark skin, the kind of mark that never enjoyed the privilege of a bacta bath.
FN-2000 grins when he sees Finn. “Well if it isn’t the traitor. I wondered if I’d be seeing you here, Eighty-Seven.”
“Hey, Zeroes.”
“You two know each other?” Ben asks.
“Yeah, we go way back. Been on the same fireteam since he we were kids. At least until Eighty-Seven here let Slip die, ran away, and killed Nines,” Zeroes says. Then he looks right at Finn, and his smile twists into something ugly. “Guess you weren’t the perfect stormtrooper after all.”
Finn looks away. “I never said I was.”
Ben takes a seat across the table from Zeroes and says, “This isn’t the place for you to air your grievances and petty jealousy. It doesn’t matter who the two of you used to be. Finn is a captain here, and you’re a prisoner. So show some respect, or I’ll make you.”
Ben can feel Finn watching him, but he doesn’t dare break his gaze from Zeroes to see the expression on his face.
It’s straightforward, as interrogations go. Zeroes clearly gets under Finn’s skin more than the last two stormtroopers, but even when Ben can feel that he’s on the verge of losing his composure, Finn keeps himself together. Asks the right questions, the smart questions, until he lulls Zeroes into a false sense of security. The stormtrooper says too much—enough that being rescued would lead to greater pain than can be found in Resistance prison. It only takes the threat of Ben’s interrogation skills to get Zeroes to spill everything he knows.
“Sibensko,” he says. “I came from a new base on Sibensko. It’s a small installation, nothing like Starkiller, but the locals are sympathetic.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Ben says. It doesn’t take a full mind probing to tell when someone is lying, or when they aren’t. Especially if the object of attention is as nervous as this one is now.
“It’s been—” Zeroes stops, his lips pressed together tightly.
Finn leans forward, patient, waiting.
After a minute, Ben breaks the silence, because patience isn’t a virtue he’s ever possessed. Not as Jedi or a devotee of the dark side or a wanderer of this strange grey path he’s taken now.
“What has it been?” he asks.
“Safe,” Zeroes whispers. “So far Sibensko has been safe for us. And now it won’t be.”
Ben snorts. “Well, you’re not wrong.”
Finn steps on his foot under the table, too subtle for Zeroes to see but hard enough to hurt, and Kylo hides his grunt behind a cough.
Zeroes spends the next hour giving them all the details of the Sibensko base, an underwater city that was rebuilt in the shadow of the Amaxine Warriors’ hideout. (“Friends of your general’s,” Zeroes says, nodding at Ben, and that’s intriguing enough that he’ll have to ask his mother about it.) There are a half-dozen unforgiving cameras capturing the confession, so there’s no need to take notes, but Finn records it anyway, tapping away on a datapad. Ben suspects that he simply wants something to look at besides his ex-teammate.
After they’ve updated the brass, Ben tells Finn, “Thank you.”
Finn looks at him, his eyes sharp and suspicious, like he thinks Ben’s gratitude might be a trick. “What are you thanking me for?”
“He made you nervous, but you didn’t let it get in the way of your job, and I didn’t have to probe his mind at all.” Ben stares at the wall just above Finn’s head. “It isn’t something I enjoy.”
“Anymore,” Finn says.
Ben stands up straighter, drawing as much distance between himself and Finn as possible without giving away any ground. He tries not to think about the shallow space between, the heat that’s charging the air, as turbulent as clouds on the edge of brewing into a storm.
“In case you didn’t notice, there are two traitors standing here,” Ben says, “and we just worked together to make a third. I’ve seen your mission reports; you’ve killed hundreds of stormtroopers, soldiers who were programmed from infancy, just like you were. This war is a mess, and none of our hands are clean.”
“And I guess that absolves you of everything, right?” Finn steps closer, closer into his space, until Ben can smell the clean scent on his skin, standard soap and something else—Rey.
“Of course not. Nothing could absolve me.”
He leaves before Finn can say anything else. There’s nothing left to talk about anyway.
He thinks of Rey, strapped to that interrogation chair on Starkiller Base, crying as he stole into her mind to spy on her most private memories. Of Finn, burned and bleeding in the snow. And his father, falling falling falling off the bridge—his father saying, “I’ll be home soon,” one lie after another, because he was a liar—and Ben would give anything, even his own wretched life, if it would bring his father back to tell lies again. But it won’t.
#finnreylo#finnrey#reylo#finnlo#finnreylo fic#finnrey fic#reylo fic#finnreylo fanfiction#finnrey fanfiction#reylo fanfiction#finnlo fanfiction#darkjedistorm#how long is forever?#my fanfiction
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Reiterated Promises
by TroubleScout
Well, it took him a good number of years, but Logan finally succumbed to his squad’s, and hilariously Weevil’s, razzing about his un-inked skin. The Navy and body art have a long and storied history, but it really seemed like Logan was set to eventually retire without that kind of tale of his own.
“What would I get?” he used to say to me, always followed by some variation of, “An eagle soaring across my back? A giant star-spangled flag rippling in nonexistent wind on my chest? You in a saucy pin-up number with ample cleavage emblazoned on my—?” Then he’d pause with a twinkle in his eye and say, “Hold on a second, I may need to rethink this,” but he was never serious.
And truthfully, I was always sort of selfishly glad for his disinterest. I loved his sun dappled, freckly skin just the way it was. I also secretly didn’t want him branded by the Navy any more than he already was. I worried enough about the dangers of his career, I didn’t need another visual reminder in addition to the buzz cut.
But then a funny thing happened though, it was me who got properly buzzed with my pals and stumbled into a tattoo parlor in the middle of the night.
Whoops-a-daisy.
It was two tours ago now when somehow post-case victory drinks with Mac and Weevil turned into Weevil getting grilled about his body art. Mac was toying with the idea of getting a tattoo herself and wanted to know if he could recommend anybody. Turned out his friend Snake, real name Pablo, had a shop just around the corner so we meandered our way there.
We were casually browsing designs lining the walls when Snake busted out his needles mid-conversation and cornered poor Mac expectantly, “So, whatdya want?”
Her eyes grew round with fear. “Oh, I wasn’t— I mean, I was just doing research— I’m not sure—,” she stammered.
Logan had been deployed for 4 months at that point and the cherry on top? He’d been radio silent for 2 weeks. In a boyfriend-sick daze of beer and longing, I had stared at the sheets of nautical designs populating the back corner, making a decision, shocking as it was.
“I’ll get one.”
“Uh, Veronica?” Mac hedged.
Weevil managed to looked simultaneously dubious and impressed. “You sure, V?”
“Yup. One tramp stamp. Lay it on me!” I insisted ebulliently, making my way to the chair.
“What are you going to get?” my friends asked and I mildly slurred, “That’s for me to know and you to neeeever find out.”
I even whispered my choice to Snake and made Mac and Weevil do an about-face so they wouldn’t know the location of this intoxicated decision either.
My faith in Snake was a bit shaken when he’d said, “You know that’s not actually where a tramp stamp goes, ay chica?” but I soldiered on.
“I feel like if Wallace was here this definitely wouldn’t be happening,” Mac mused nervously. “Please don’t be pissed in the morning that I didn’t stop you from branding Tweety Bird on your ass or whatever the hell it is.”
“I sorta always pictured something featuring a lightening bolt. You know, ‘cause of the taser?” Weevil shared and I scoffed, “Hey, eyes on your lock screen pal! Quit picturing.” Weevil happily checked the time on his phone with a smile, staring at Jade and Valentina’s grinning faces, and I undeniably envied him.
“It’s gonna hurt,” Snake reminded me as he poised the needle.
“No kiddin’. I heard from a F · R · I · E · N · D, these things ‘got licked on by kittens’.”
“Last chance to chicken out.”
I didn’t hesitate, “I like my choice.”
It was a tiny anchor just inside my hipbone, deep Navy blue to boot.
—
When I told Logan about it via Skype a week later, I was pretty nervous about it. He’s never been judgmental about things like this, but in the sober light of day I had this momentary panic where I thought he might hate it. Or at least not love it on me.
Boy, was I wrong.
His eyes bloomed like mainlined something, but a good rush of blood to groin will do than to you. It was a satisfying reaction to be sure, but more than that, I desperately adored how befuddled and touched he seemed to be at the mere concept the tattoo would have anything to do with him.
“But an anchor’s a Navy thing?” he said stupidly and I blushed.
“Well, my honey is in the Navy you know. Flies fancy jet planes and everything.”
“You don’t say.”
I wouldn’t show him the tattoo either, even though he practically begged me. Actually, there was no “practically” about it. He did beg me.
“Just imagine it,” I told him with a feral grin.
“Veronica.” His voice was like molasses in his throat. Syrupy and warm. I loved it.
“Come home to me. You can see it then.” I told myself I wasn’t trying to incentivize him, but I was lying. It was shameless blackmail, through and through.
“You expect me to fly straight with that mental image rattling around?”
“You better. If I lose my anchor, I'll be permanently adrift.”
It might have been the most directly-indirect thing I'd ever said to him, so of course the screen immediately went blank from a failed connection. My reaction was torn between, "Fucking Navy!" and "Thank goodness!".
Intimacy issues? Who, me?
—
I was pretty fond of the inky mark myself. I took to stroking the tiny anchor when I thought of him. It became a strange touchstone, maybe worry-stone, definite erotic zone. I couldn’t wait to feel his hands run across it, his mouth, his tongue, his teeth; then dip lower. Imagining him going down on me — below it — got me through some serious masturbation mental blocks during some tough nights.
And then, when he finally did get home, coincidentally he took to rubbing it absentmindedly himself. I really don’t think he even knew he was doing it most of the time and I didn’t point it out because I was afraid he might stop. It was so soothing and such a turn on at the same time. It literally became difficult not to just grab him by the wrist and shove his hand down my pants early on. A couple of times, I admit, I didn’t find the restraint.
It’s a good thing no one goes to movies 3 months post release date except the formerly deployed. Disappearing on Hunter and my mom at Legoland on the other hand? Not marked by such desertion. Neither was the beach at midday, but what can you do?
—
It would take nearly another year to execute, but as it turned out, our mutually discovered affection for my body art inspired Logan to seek out some of his own…
A little help from Weevil sourcing an artist and two weeks before his last tour he came home with his inner forearm bandaged, just below the elbow. I'd snatched it up in my grasp, fearful he had hurt himself. When I’d seen the multitude of color beneath a clear wrapping, I’d exclaimed in panic at the sight: “What’d you do to my pretty skin?!”
His eyes were warm and sweet and he gave me a bashful shirk. “Reiterated a promise.”
“What promise? When did you promise me a permanent bird? I feel like I’d remember that.”
“It’s a swallow. It always comes home.”
Of course, like any reasonable person, I proceeded to scale him like a jungle-gym.
After, we lay in bed. He laid on his side in silence, casually fingering my hip with a sigh.
“What?” I asked.
He smirked, “Just lamenting how tattoo-representation-of-me has much better living quarters than I do.”
“Well you can live in my pants if you want, but you’ll have to stay home to do it.”
He groaned loudly, clearly disgruntled, and hauled me to him.
I gave him a smile, asking, “Did I win yet?” knowing I hadn't, but smug all the same.
He rolled his eyes and looked to the ceiling, “I don’t want to go.”
But I knew the truth, “Yes you do.’
“I don’t want to leave you.”
“I’ll be here when you get back.”
—
Post deployment, I’d barely gotten a chance to get used to seeing his first ‘Sailor Jerry’ style tattoo in person before he’d up and gotten another. A mirroring swallow on his other forearm — as was tradition upon a sailor’s safe return.
And now, post tattoos, Logan’s penchant for rolling up his sleeves has become even more tantalizing to me than it already was. His body art is a proud declaration of love and loyalty and dedication — to himself and to me — creeping out from under his hems on the regular. Tattoos had always been intriguing, but now, on him, the’ve become this extraordinarily potent catnip.
It’s a boring, chore-filled Sunday afternoon and I’m drying the dishes while he washes, but suddenly I feel like I’ve stepped into some paperback, bodice-ripping romance… Everything is raising my blood pressure… The wax on, wax off motion of his arm. The way he flips the sponge from the soft side to the scrubby side and then back again. The way the little muscles in his forearms twitch and jump beneath his skin, beneath the tattoos. All the while bathed in the golden light of the setting sun filtering through the bay window. It’s all driving me crazy and I feel hot and flushed and my thighs ache from clenching. Enough is enough.
I throw down the towel. “Logan, you’re going to have to stop doing that.” My voice comes out gruff and he glances at me confused.
“Doing what?”
I gesture to his arms like it's obvious and he sees his cuff has gotten soaked. He assumes this is what I’m referencing and he pushes his sleeves up higher, past his elbows. They strain against his biceps as he continues to work. His tattoos now on full, unobstructed display, I huff. I’m officially breathless and frustrated. “Okay, crap." I take the metal mixing bowl he's offering me and drop it on the countertop with a noisy, swirling clang.
He looks at me concerned, but I just steal the sponge out his hand and chuck it in the sink while forcibly turning his hips around to pin him against the counter, his multicolored forearms dripping wet like a newly prepped surgeon.
“Honey, what’s—?”
I proceed to place the little stool I use to reach to upper cabinets in front of him and kneel, very determinedly dislodging his belt buckle intent on freeing him. His mind has whiplash, but his body reacts quickly.
"Why the hell did I ever resist tattoos?"
"Beats me."
via AO3 works tagged 'Veronica Mars (Movie 2014)' https://ift.tt/2Uzz9Mk
March 20, 2019 at 11:36PM
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Transformation Stuck story entry, original script continuation.
(Well, I’m not sure how good I am at this, but here you go, sorry for whoever has to read it.)
The Costume Designer - AKA - One voice inside the Courtyard Droll’s head, there are a lot of us in here.
Thinking about how to go about this, there are many possibilities a savvy dresser could take to be made less powerful. Of course the obvious springs to mind, the best way to be made powerless is to lose power! What better way than with one of those quite infantile garments human infants wore. Typing up the code rather quickly and sending it through in a matter of moments. Of course there was no way to know if this would even work but even if it didn’t that just meant more opportunities to mess around with such a fine specimen of garment creation.
Be the Sexy Nurse
Suddenly as Jade was stood over Dave something strange happened. Her outfit changed in an instant like it had before, but not of her own doing. Dave stared in shock as the clothes practically vanished off of Jade’s body, leaving the girl completely naked, except for one thing. Though Dave was far more concerned with the fact that those ample breasts were now completely staring right back at him, as if they could see right into his soul.
A cloth diaper was wrapped around Jade’s waist, a plain white garment with layers of thickness that forced the girls legs apart and was held together by safety pins. Of course Jade immediately felt several things, firstly the distinct lack of clothing was quite apparent. Quickly moving to cover her breasts so she wouldn’t be exposing herself like this.
“What?!” was all Jade said in her own confusion.
It occurred to Dave that he probably shouldn’t continue to stay. He had no idea what on, any world, was going on at the moment, but something told him Jade might appreciate if he wasn’t there to witness it, hell, he didn’t think he could stand to witness anything more than he did them both a favor and seemed to just vanish in the way only one with time based powers could. Jade barely even noticed Dave was missing as she looked down to see a diaper. A diaper. Something must have gone wrong because she didn’t put that there, and it seemed like she couldn’t get rid of it either, but aside from the lack of clothing the only thing it seemed to be hurting was her pride. But boy was she wrong. The sexy curves she had as a nurse were quickly fading away. Where her arms had once been keeping her breasts in place as she covered them, now they were covering nothing as her breasts shrank down completely. Her chest was as flat as a board. It didn’t stop there though as she felt one of her legs buckle, then the other, shaking like noodles her legs quickly collapses under her own weight as she fell to the ground, landing on her padded caboose as any muscle her body had seemed to be turning to fat. She had gone from curvy, to flat, and now had accumulated an amount of fat all across her body, pudgy arms and legs dangling from her plump torso as even her face fattened a bit.
Of course she tried moving her limbs, but not only did she find the remaining muscles she had been ill suited to picking herself up, she oddly felt as if she couldn’t quite control herself as much. Jade had to focus greatly to stop herself from being distracted by the increased sensitivity she was feeling against her skin, the grass practically tickling her as her skin simply sat against it. Of course she realized that a diaper could do nothing positive for her and only served to weaken her mind and body! She needed to fix this as soon as possible, if only Dave hadn’t disappeared she could have had him go find out what the problem was. As it stood she rocked herself forward, on her hands and knees she began to crawl back. As long as nothing else got in her way she’d be fine to make it back, though after crawling about fifty feet she felt something horrible.
The urge hit her like a rhino riding a skateboard as Jade felt her bladder was suddenly fit to burst. Spurred on by desperation, Jade crawled like mad to reach her destination before she really soiled her pride. Of course it would possibly take ages to get back at this rate, but what other choices did she have? Other than banking on a more beneficial malfunction.
Be the Courtyard Droll
It had already been about ten minutes or so, but there didn’t seem to be any noticeable effects of what he had done. He had expected the machine might alert him of what was going on or have some sort of display to view, but no such thing appeared. All things considered perhaps something else could be done? Would it not be even more confusing to be thrust into many negative situations? Of course it would! This totally wasn’t an attempt to screw around more with the machine to satisfy his own curiosity. Though unable to think of anything more worthless than the garment he’d already come up with, he simply typed in a few random things to see if that would cause some kind of commotion. Be the Helpless Baby
What had once propelled Jade to crawl even faster along the ground was now bringing her to a snails pace. She had learned quickly that frantically scampering on all fours across the ground wasn’t helping her situation at all, and so a slower approach had to be taken. But going slow only accentuated her lack of balance and motor control which caused her to veer off and come close to toppling over. Though suddenly her clothes changed one more. Gone was the cloth diaper, replaced by something far better in her eyes. She had an actual skirt on now, not just any skirt though, the skirt was striped vertically with the colors black and yellow. There was also another welcome addition, a shirt! Though it fit rather tightly over her fat body, the shirt had no sleeves and was striped in a similar pattern to her skirt. Though she still didn’t quite feel completely covered, turning her head she saw that the shirt had a large hole on the back, an oval reaching from her shoulder blades down to just above her tail bone. Though this outfit seemed to be lacking two other important things, a bra, which was of little concern at the moment, and panties. Running her chubby, fingers, which were quickly losing their chub, over the shirt front, she found the material to be quite fuzzy. In a few short moments the flab all across her body had slimmed down, her muscles coming back and her body type returning to normal. Though she seemed to be about a foot smaller than she normally was, and her breasts, while now existing, were practically just small lumps on her chest. Like someone had put pancakes there. Picking herself up off of the ground as thankfully that dreadful need to urinate had gotten manageable as she changed, it didn’t even feel like a problem now, though as she stood there she noticed the final additions. She had hardly felt anything, just twin pricks snapping at her upper back, and on the top of her head. Turning her head once more Jade saw she had sprouted a pair of translucent insect wings. Like that of a wasp or a honey bee, and looking up informed her of the antenna she now possessed.
“Alright, this is pretty neat.” Jade stated to herself as she tried using her new wings.
Much like the bumble bee, it was a mystery as to how she was even able to lift herself off the ground with these wings, much less high into the air. It didn’t take long before Jade was zipping back through the air without a care in the world. Though as she flew she spotted something on the ground, instantly it caught her attention, distracted she flew down to the ground quickly, landing mere inches away from a small yellow flower. Leaning down Jade pressed her nose right against the buttercup on the ground. Inhaling deeply, Jade’s eyes rolled upwards as the flowers scent was practically intoxicating. Though it was only a few moments before she was in the sky again, and then another few moments before she was stopping to smell a lily, and then a posy, and finally she stopped at a red rose, and as she smelt the aroma wafting off of the flower she felt her loins heating up in such a frustrating fashion.
Reaching her hand underneath her skirt, she was mildly surprised at how moist she had already been down there when she plunged her fingers deep inside. Getting to her knees and then lying herself down on the grass, she continued to slide her fingers in and out, it wasn’t long before her entire hand was in there. Panting and drooling as she kept at it with such ferocity, turning her head at just the right moment and taking a deep whiff of that beautiful red rose right next to her, eyes practically white as they rolled up into her skull as the sensual aroma of the flower pushed her over the edge and she let out a loud gasping moan as she felt her hand and wrist getting soaked as her own fluids sprayed out onto the grass. Moments later Jade was out, head lolled to the side with her tongue dangling out of it, sprawled out on the ground as the antennae on her head occasionally twitched and bobbed.
Be the Courtyard Droll
At this time he was satisfied with his work, he had spent a suitable amount of time messing with things and assumed his actions had been enough to derail the girl from being able to stop Jack at whatever he was doing. He strolled along with a spring in his step and a remote in his hand. A remote that would let him mess around with the machine whenever he pleased, providing no one ever found
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The Talk, Part 9
I know it’s been a while, but... here’s the next chapter! Don’t forget to comment and review or whatever.
Glossarycks departure to his room on the second floor had left the group speechless; not because his disappearance had been so incredible, but because no one knew what to say. The silence did not last however.
“Whelp,” Tom proclaimed, clapping his hands as obnoxiously loud as his voice was. “I’m done. Can I borrow your music, Marco? My CDs…” Toms eyes squinted nervously as they scanned the room for anyone who might possibly refute him, “mysteriously went missing after an intense game of ping-pong.”
Marco groaned an almost inaudible sound. The CDs Tom was referring to hadn’t been Toms. They had been Marco’s.
“Yes, Tom, you can borrow my CDs,” He responded through gritted teeth. He gave Tom a sharp scowl before adding, “Don’t break them this time,” in a voice that clearly stated that Marco knew the CDs were as good as trashed already.
Tom gave him a cocky smile and snapped his fingers into finger guns pointed at Marco. “Gotcha.”
As Tom left to go acquire what would soon be a pile of broken polycarbonate, Star looked up to Marco. “Uh, Marco?”
Marco looked to her. Despite getting her book back for her (or having tried and succeeded with her help), she hadn’t recovered the way he was hoping she would. She wasn’t bursting with energy, she wasn’t ready to embrace the world with her unique personality, she wasn’t sure of herself no matter what. It was like she had taken pills that suppress herself, or, god forbid, in an angsty fanfic that should have ended long ago.
“Yes, Star?”
She lifted up her wand and pointed towards the star in the center. The crack that separated the golden half of the Star from the empty darkness next to it stood out in intense clarity to the young teen. “We didn’t get the wand.” Her eyes were weary and filled with disappointment for herself. “It’s still broken.”
Marco stared at the wand for a solid ten seconds before slapping himself in the face. “Right, no wand, shit, alright…” he sighed and rubbed his hand all around his face, letting it mush it up. The wand. He’d forgotten the wand. Half the reason he’d gone on the trip and they had forgotten it. Marco glanced at Star through his fingers and, hesitantly, asked, “Can we go back?”
Frustration broke out on Stars face like acne on pre-teen Marco’s face. Before she could answer in what would’ve been a condescending tone only Star could make, Jackie spoke up informatively, “How do we know the green gas won’t still be there?”
Marco cringed, then shook his head and looked away… to see Jam and Elizabeth staring hard into each other’s eyes. Their faces were only five inches away as their faces shook, their eyes turned red, their tears ran in rivers down their cheeks. Absolute determination defined their entire bodies. Artists, athletes, and craftsmen alike would have slaughtered babies to have but a sliver of the intense focus on a single action that the two teenagers employed to their death stares.
“What the heck are you two doing?”
They answered in perfect unison, as symmetric as their concentration. “Staring contest to determine the best child.”
Marco rolled his eyes and mildly scowled away from them. Tom was right. They were fond of staring at each other. “Yeah, okay, whatever. Star,” Marco looked at Star with tight-knit eyebrows. “Can you and Elizabeth go talk to Glossaryck? You two know him the best.”
Star looked at Marco like he was crazy. She was slowly starting to act more like herself, as seen in her befuddled response: “I barely know him.”
“Same,” Elizabeth stated without ending her stare.
“That’s still more than the rest of us,” Marco countered. “We need to know as much about the green cloud and the time travel stuff as possible.” He gave her what he hoped wasn’t a pleading smile. “Please?”
Star stared at him, then nodded. Her eyes went half-lidded. “Come on, Elizabeth. Time for more riddles and pudding.”
Elizabeth bit her lip. She was clearly winning the staring contest, but it would take at least another five minutes to wear Jam down. There was only one option.
She poked Jam in the eyes.
He sprung back, his hand flying to cover his stinging eyes. He fell on his back in a satisfying thump.
“Suck it, rag boy! I win!” She proclaimed to the crowd of four as her eyes twitched uncontrollably.
Jam rubbed his eyes and scowled in bitter hatred at Elizabeth. “You cheated. And cheaters never truly win.”
Elizabeth stuck her tongue out at him as she proceeded to stand next to Star, who fist bumped her daughter. “She didn’t break a single rule,” Star declared quietly. “She simply rewrote the rules.” She and Elizabeth went up the stairs and disappeared from sight. The sound of a door opening and closing was heard seconds later.
“Alright then.” Marco didn’t know if Star supporting Elizabeth was a sign of recovery or resignment. He shrugged it off and looked over to see Jackie supporting Jam and looking over his eyes. Her smooth hands glided over Jams own to reveal his throbbing red eyes, still watering from terrible if only temporary agony. She carefully inspected them with the care and love of a mother.
“You’ll be fine, but you should probably get some rest.” Her voice was calm but direct. She looked up to Marco, who realized too late that he’d been staring. His cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and she gave a quick smile before returning to wary neutrality. “He needs time to rest. And…” she hesitated. “I need some time to unwind. Tonight was a lot, and I think I need to relax and let everything set in.” She looked down at Jam, who was still rubbing his eyes. “I’ll let Jam stay at my house. You’ve got enough company for one night, and I need to ask him more questions about this all.”
Marco nodded. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably for the best.” He couldn’t keep his eyes on Jackie so he looked Jam. He had risen by himself, eyes still watering, and nodded. He looked miserable, but kept his head up, high and proud. He wanted to look dignified and cool in front of his parents, much like his father.
“We’d better leave now,” Jam said clearly. “It’s already late.”
Marco looked out from behind himself and looked through the window. The sky was pitch black, only lit by the street lamps and a nearly full moon, it’s pale light gleaming across the pool of black that surrounded it. It must have been early in the morning, sometime around three or four A.M. Marco looked back to Jackie.
“I, uh…” He scratched his head looked away again. “I’m sorry that tonight didn’t go as planned.”
Jackie shrugged and smiled. Her smile was warm and airy, like that of the winds in summer. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her voice spoke more than her words alone, assuring him that she was okay that their plans had changed. She pecked him on the cheek as she left, causing Marco’s crimson red to deepen further. Jam, who still stood proud despite his pain, broke out into a wide grin that stated, ‘who’s the winner now, Elizabeth?’
They left. And Marco was alone… For all of ten seconds.
“Hey, Marco!” Tom shouted from the kitchen. “Come in here! You gotta see this!”
Marco’s face dropped. “What is it?”
“No time, just come see it!”
Marco sighed. It had been a long night, and he’d been hoping to just be able to fester about his problems in his bed while hopelessly trying to get some sleep. He grumbled something about ‘demons and how he needed to get some holy water on hand’ when he was met with a terribly familiar face.
“Hey Marco,” Janna said, smooth and relaxed despite being tied up and held down by a demon. “What’s new with you?”
Marco stood, too tired to be dumbfounded again, at the mess in front of him. Jars of peanut butter, grape jam, and pickles lay smashed next to broken eggs, a still leaking carton of milk, mushed bananas, and torn bread (which was, at the moment, soaking up the milk flood). Janna lay wrapped in what appeared to be red, glowing string in the mess of food that covered Marco’s floor. She gave Marco sensual eyes, which would have worked better if there hadn’t been peanut butter smushed against her cheeks. Tom, panting and sweating with a triumphant vigor, looked up at Marco.
“I caught her hiding away in your refrigerator when I went to steal a small snack before going,” he explained, still high on his victorious setup. “I think she might be some sort of assassin or spy for… something. She put up a good fight, but I distracted her with the peanut butter. Should I kill her?”
Jannas eyes went from collected and full of power to shocked and scared within seconds. “Wait, what?” She asked, voice cracking.
Marco shook his head. He was tempted, if only for a second, to let Tom deal with his stalker problem once and for all. But only for a second. “She’s not an assassin, Tom. She’s here to annoy me and stalk me.”
“So…” Tom’s demeanor melted into disappointment. “No killing?”
Marco shook his head. He looked down at Janna, weariness overcoming him. “Why are you here, Janna?”
Janna, who kept watching Tom to make sure he didn’t make any sudden movements, replied, “I felt left out of the story. Also it’s Friday, and I always stalk you on Friday.”
Marco nodded. This was true: Janna made a solemn effort to stalk him every Friday night, despite his threats of calling the police. But while most nights it was only a minor inconvenience and mildly scary, he didn’t have time to deal with her tonight. He had to think of what their next plan of action would be, and how to deal with his girl troubles. Janna’s acult-ish nature would only distract him from-
Wait. Her acult-ish nature.
A smile broke out on Marco’s face. He clapped his hands with deep satisfaction, causing both Janna and Tom to look confused and worried.
“Janna!” Marco exclaimed, face beaming. “Have you met my demon friend Tom?”
Tom lift up his finger to protest. “Wait, we aren’t-“
“DEMON?!?” Janna’s voice fell hushed and low, eyes sparkling. The character who she’d been watching cautiously suddenly caught her eyes in a new light. Her arms and legs tore through their constraints as she threw her arms around Tom in a crushing hug. Tom’s eyes went wide. He looked daggers at Marco.
“Whatdidyoudo?” He demanded, voice totally not shrill in panic. Marco gave him a deeply satisfied, sinister smile.
“What are friend-enemies for?”
Tom’s eyes lit on fire and he screamed vulgar profanities as he failed to escape from Jannas arms. She ran out the house with Tom struggling in her arms, his screams slowly growing quieter and quieter as they got farther and farther. Marco smiled broadly, reveling in Tom’s displeasure. Then he looked to the mess that Tom and Janna had left him. His smile fell.
“Well,” he lamented. “At least I have something to do while I think of what to do next.”
Uh, oops. Two months is a long time to not update after having updated weekly. I’d say I’m sorry, and that work and life got in the way, but those are only excuses. I promise to work to update more often. I know how it feels to be waiting for the next chapter in a story, especially after cliffhangers. There will be at least one more chapter this month, if not two.
With regards to writing this chapter, I had a lot of trouble trying to figure out what should happen next. So this ended up mostly just being setup for the next chapter[s], where the groups then individually expand the story. Spring break is coming up soon, so expect more to come.
#star vs the forces of evil#starco#jarco#yeah okay so its been a while#my bad#just#just dont give up#there will be more soon
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