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moonctzeny · 4 years

Text

I don’t think I can wait

“You’re basically eating me up in your imagination right now”

“Oh, I’m doing much more than that”

pairing: Doyoung + fem!reader

genre: smut

word count: 1,927

warnings: public sex, dirty talking, light degradation but it’s consensual of course

summary: “You and your boyfriend, Doyoung, are out for a fancy dinner, but he looks so fucking good you can’t wait to get home. So you don’t.”

a/n: please don’t put your boyfriend’s fingers in your mouth during a pandemic

I’M SO FUCKING SAD THAT I HAD TO REUPLOAD, it was at 100 notes before it was flagged for one fucking picture... tumblr sucks.. anyways enjoy

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Having a gourmet dinner in formal wear wasn’t really your thing. You were more of a making pizza in your underwear type of gal, but when Doyoung made a reservation at one of the fanciest restaurants in the area, to celebrate your anniversary, you couldn’t turn him down.

You dressed up for the occasion, slipping on one of the few designer dresses you owned, Doyoung’s favorite. Carefully chosing your make up and jewelry to match, you left your place smelling like expensive cologne and looking like a million bucks.

But none of that mattered. Because right now, as you finished the overpriced main dish you ordered, you only wanted to taste one dessert. Your boyfriend’s dick.

He had no right looking this handsome tonight. His hair was jelled back, letting his sharp eyes shine in their full glory over the candle light between you. The black silk shirt he chose to wear looked royal on him, the dainty jewelry accentuating his collarbones and making his neck look delicious. His long fingers looked even prettier than usual, decorated in silver rings, and you couldn’t stop daydreaming about sucking on them.

You took one more sip from the french wine he had ordered for you, the alcohol not helping your situation. You put the glass down, absentmindedly drawing circles around its perimeter with your finger. A feeling of guilt pooled in your stomach, when you realized you hadn’t listened to a word of the story that he was telling you.

“Are you ok? You seem a little out it tonight”

You took your right heel off, sighing at the alleviation of pain the shoe was giving you. Running your foot up and down his calf, you were glad the tablecloth was long enough to hide the inappropriate action.

“I’m sorry, honey, I’m just- so needy tonight”

He chuckled at your tone, and studied your body language. A flushed face and a body leaning towards him, basking him in your attention, begging for his touch. He placed his hand over yours, rubbing little comforting circles with his thumb.

“We’ll get home soon baby, don’t worry”

You glided your foot higher up his thigh, the silky fabric of his slacks making the motion smoother. Batting doe eyes at him, you took his hand and guided it on your lips, as if to leave a sweet kiss. Looking around quickly, you made sure no one was staring directly your way and dipped the tip of his thumb in your mouth, sucking lightly. Your voice was sweet like honey.

“I don’t think I can wait”

You let him go since a second later, the waiter came, handing you out two little menus. You lifted your foot even higher, pressing it over your boyfriend’s clothed cock, happy to discover that he was already half hard.

“May I interest you in our desserts? You can choose from the menu over here but our specials tonight are crème au caramel, babas au rhum and chocolate lava cake”

Doyoung grabbed your ankle from under the table, stopping your little massage.

“Ooh ooh!” you wiggled excitedly, satisfied with your effect on him, “I’ll take the lava cake. I just love gooey things in my mouth”

Your tone was innocent but your intentions were far from it, and you saw your boyfriend almost choke on his spit from the corner of your eye.

“We’ll share”, he choked out and quickly returned the menus back to the unsuspecting waiter.

“Are you crazy?”, he whispered once the two of you were alone again. Well, as alone as two people in a crowded restaurant can be. The anger in his voice was only turning you on even more.

“What did I do?” you challenged.

“You’re basically eating me up in your imagination right now”

“Oh, I’m doing much more than that”

With that, Doyoung had enough. He stopped a passing waiter and asked for the bill, handing out his credit card impatiently. It wasn’t often you got to break his cool façade like tonight, turning him from the collected man he was to someone so fidgety. You put you shoe back on, excited for what you knew was coming next.

He grabbed your arm and pulled you up, guiding you to the higher floor of the restaurant. The waiter that had taken your order earlier saw you walk away and stopped you, a quizzical look on his face.

“Sir, are you leaving already? What about the desserts?”

“Pack them up, will you? I want to show the beautiful lady the view you have on your top floor”

You weren’t heading to the restaurant’s balcony, of course, but rather the bathrooms. Waiting around for any waiters to leave, you sneaked into the ladies room, luckily empty, hoping no one would interrupt you soon.

The moment you got in, you crashed your lips into his. He kissed you slowly but dirty, dipping his tongue in your mouth and turning you more desperate than ever.

The impatient boy was gone again, his calmness making it seem like he only wanted you half as much as you needed him.

He grabbed your neck and squeezed, and you weren’t sure if it was his dominance or the cold rings that were sending shivers down your spine. Walking you backwards with his grip, you felt the porcelain sink digging in your ass.

“So, did you have my dick in your mouth in your imagination earlier?”

You just nodded eagerly, unable to choke out any words with the way he was restricting your air flow. He released your throat, gripping your hair instead and pushing you down on your knees.

“Then show me, slut”

You wiggled a bit in spot, waiting for him to free his cock from the slacks he was wearing. He only moved the least amount of fabric possible in order to let it spring out, red tip angry and staring at you.

You put your hands on your knees, pushing your boobs together and staring at him in anticipation and thankfulness, like he just did you a favor. Leaning forward, you only trail your tongue across his slit, making him hiss. You move in circles around his tip, focusing on the sensitive skin located right under it.

“No time for this”, he mutters and laces his fingers in your hair again, fitting the entirety of his member in your mouth. You take up the challenge and start to bob against him, moving your head in a pivoting motion. Placing one hand on the base of his cock to stable yourself, you use the other to massage his balls.

“Fuck you’re so good at this”

You felt his cock turn incredibly hard inside your mouth and you couldn’t help but run your tongue through his length, feeling all the little veins and thinking how good he will feel inside you.

As if he heard your thoughts, he pulled you up, a hand kneading your ass. He slips his fingers between your pussy lips, realizing that you have no panties on. His stare was strict but you look at him with wide eyes full of innocence.

“I didn’t want my underwear to be visible through the dress”

He collected the juices that were already pooling there, and placed his fingers on your lips. You open up eagerly, lapping over his digits with such hunger that he’s just staring with an open mouth, his glance darker than ever.

“Is that the case? Or were you planning on getting fucked in public and just gave me the easiest access?”

You didn’t have time to answer him because he immediately pulled up the skirt of your dress, locking your right leg around his waist. The position would otherwise be a bit uncomfortable, but he was so hard and you were so wet that he just slipped into you effortlessly. You were so needy for him that just his tip filling you up triggered a daring moan from you. He bent down for a deep kiss, and you weren’t sure if it was to shut you up or because he got turned on by your desperation. You knew he had more to offer.

“I need more”, you whispered over his lips and he delivered, pulling your dress to the floor leaving you completely naked except for your heels. He turned you around, bending you over the sink, bitting your earlobe before pushing into you completely.

“Be a good girl and shut up”

It was so dirty, how he stayed all suited up and yet you were completely naked for him, bouncing on his cock. You stared at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes moving from your pleasure filled face, to your breasts, to the place were he was digging inside you.

He grabbed your leg, placing your knee on top of the sink, thus making his thrusts feel mind numbingly deep. You moved your fingers over your clit and started rubbing circles over it but he smacked your hand away, doing it for you instead.

The way he was fucking you just right, coupled with the fear of getting caught made it impossibly hard for you to stay quiet. Doyoung grabbed your throat once again, the mirror offering you the beautiful imagery of his fingers over your neck.

“We’ll get caught if you keep being so loud”

“I don’t care”, you moaned out, “let them know how good you’re fucking me”

He growled at that, picking up his pace and shutting your mouth with his hand, muting out the sounds you let out.

“You’re so nasty tonight, you little slut. Begging for it like a bitch in heat. I wouldn’t let you cum, but I don’t want your dripping pussy ruining the leather seats of my car”

His filthy words sent you over the edge, forming tears in the corners of your eyes and making your knees buckle. Doyoung held you in place, continuing to fuck into you, but your whimpering made it obvious that this was too much for you.

He let you kneel down, turning your face around to look at him as he jerked off over it. Your fucked out state was enough for him, soon urging you to open up. Pulling your tongue out for him, he started spurting his cum over it. He looked absolutely beautiful, with his flushed face and open mouth, and you gladly swallowed all of him, reopening your mouth to show him how good you were for him.

He kneeled down next to you, arms embracing you and he pulled you into the sweetest kiss.

“I love you”

“I love you too, Doie”

You let yourself get lost in his scent, the smell of sweat and his woody cologne calming you down. The moment wouldn’t last for long, as a knock on the door made you both jump up in panic.

“Just a moment”, you yelled out, quickly putting your dress back on and fixing your hair to the best of your ability. Doyoung took his suit jacket off, wrapping it around your shoulders and opened the door. The lady looked a bit taken aback to see him in the ladies room, but he only held you closer.

“My girlfriend wasn’t feeling too good”, he lied and she nodded in worry, convinced.

You walked out of the restaurant, a bag with your packed dessert in hand as he sighed.

“What am I gonna do with you?”

“Share the lava cake with me as we prepare for a round two?”

He laughed, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“Sounds like a plan”

#doyoung smut #nct smut #doyoung scenarios #doyoung nct #nct 127 #nct u #nct scenarios #doyoung fluff

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cinnamon-spicex · 3 years

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Hey guys, so I got this ⬆ card on that 50 pull event, and this particular part of the history gave me ideas! I don't write that much (this is actually my second fic here on Tumblr) because honestly I’m lazy and I don’t think I’m really good at it, but well I needed to write my thoughts on potential things for that “spa day” with Diadaddy. I won’t give much context not to spoil the history of the card for you guys, so sorry about that. Please keep in mind that I’m NOT a writer and english is NOT my first language so forgive me for grammar/time/words mistakes, also feel free to comment if you liked it or if it is a constructive criticism. To anyone who reads it I hope you enjoy it and thank you for your time! 😊 (Also if you haven’t read my other/first fic pairing Lucifer and want to feel free to check it out too but I warn you I’m a horny b*tch so it’s also a NSFW hehe 😈 🤣).

DISCLAIMERS: 18+ NSFW; SEXUAL SCENARIO; MASTURBATION; FINGER PLAY; EXPLICIT LANGUAGE; A FEW CURSING; PENETRATION; MORE VANILLA THEN KINKY I GUESS.

Fandom: Obey Me!

Main characters: Diavolo and F!Reader.

Word count: 2,868K

Royal Treatment Spa Day

You were asking yourself how you ended up in this situation to begin with, in the moment you were sitting naked in a huge bathtub with roses petals, lavender and some other devildom flowers that you didn't know of floating in the milky waters at the big luxurious private bathroom of a famous Spa in Devildom, scented candles, incense burning and the distant sound of the decorative fountain adding to the relaxing environment . Except that you weren’t entirely alone, you were alone with the Royal Prince of Hell himself (who was also butt naked in said tub). You cursed Asmo for being the horny bastard that he was and Diavolo for asking you to go with him instead, but above all you cursed yourself for not knowing better what “a relaxing spa day for two” meant for the avatar of lust. (You also knew that Diavolo wasn't naive, taking advantage of the situation when it appeared before him smiling with “the purest intentions” at your oblivion).

“Ughh demons…” you thought to yourself.

But there was nothing to be done about it anymore and here you were completely nude with Diavolo right across you, in a place where you’re supposed to relax but being very NOT relaxed at all. You were trying to keep yourself not to look at him, focusing your attention on the fancy chandelier, the fire dancing in the candles or anything but those muscular tanned pectorals just above the water or the cocky side smirk together with an intense amber gaze the prince was giving you. You fidget a little and he chucke.

“What is it? Are you not feeling relaxed? Do you want me to get you something?” he asks seemingly worried.

“NO!” you scream and then immediately cover your mouth with a hand, he looks at you with amusement.

It was already hard enough not to look at him undressing to join you in the tub, and you were very thankful that the milky water covered things beneath it.

“I mean... no, thank you my lord… I’m… I’m good” you swallow, trying to look at his eyes without blushing and failing miserably at it.

“Are you certain my dear? For someone in a spa you look rather tense, does my company make you unconfortable by any way? I can leave if you…”

“Oh no my lord! This whole thing was planned to help you relax, and you don’t make me uncomfortable at all, so don’t worry. Is just that… well you see…” you trale off biting your lips.

“Yes? Carry on dear it’s okay.” he gives you a reassuring smile.

“Is just that, frankly, being naked with your highness… with you… makes me a little nervous that’s all.” you finally say it with a sigh.

Diavolo just looks at you for a moment and then he begins to laugh, his characteristic enthusiastic laughter, while you on the other hand stare right back at him with an incredulous look.

“Hey! Stop! Are you laughing at me?” you say pouting and splash a bit of the water at him.

“Of course not my dear I just think it’s cute, but don’t worry I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable on purpose or touch you without you wanting it” he says still laughing a little and with a surprisingly caring look that you didn’t remember ever seeing in his eyes.

“Even you being the most beautiful sight I had the pleasure to behold in ages ” he adds with a sincere yet intense look.

Immediately your face goes red and a fire starts at the lower of your stomach, you stay there looking at him without knowing what to say in return as he keeps his gaze at you, his smile fading from his handsome face, only his eyes now adding more and more to the burning inside you.

“I…what? I thought we had agreed not to look at the other as we undressed” you say in a moment of clarity.

“Yes we did. But can you blame a demon for giving in into temptation?” He answered with a deep voice, his tone serious for a moment.

“But don’t worry I just took a quick peak” his smile back again and you just reply sarcastically.

“A quick peak hun? Yeah right”

You both smile at each other for a moment and he says:

“See there’s nothing to be nervous about, it's just me. I’m glad you are more relaxed now but I do own you for breaking our promise, tell me how can I compensate you?” he asks.

For a moment several devilish possibilities cross your mind, pranks and challenges, but then you remember that he is the prince (and not one of the brothers, minus Lucifer clearly) also the sensation in your belly is still there and you look at him thinking about sliding your hands on those big arms or the muscles of his torso and back and… “wait wait wait WAIT” you think stopping before things get out of track.

“Well?” he asks, still waiting.

“A massage” you ended up saying.

He smiles.

“That’s hardly a punishment dear, but if it’s what you want me to do then come.”

“Wait right now?” you ask, surprised.

“Yes?” he gives you a funny look while you curse yourself yet again.

“shit I didn’t think that through” you think and hesitantly sits next to him with.

“Excuse me darling” he says before putting his hands on your shoulders.

You tense again for a moment and he leans in your ear and says in a smooth voice.

“Relax, you’re in good hands.”

A shiver runs through your body and you tighten the hold of your enlaced hands at your lap. He presses against the muscles of your shoulders for a while and his hands goes to your scapulas, drawing circles in there with his thumbs, until they found their way to the top of your spine where he slides then down pressing all it’s way and you close your eyes and squeeze your legs together letting a small breath out.

“Is that good?” He asks seeing your reaction, his deep voice oh so close to your ears.

His hands again drawing circles but this time at the base of back, you don’t reply afraid to open your mouth at all and letting any embarrassing sound out, instead you just shake your head in a “yes” as his hands slide to your waist and you let a tiny little moan out unconsciously.

“Oh. I guess it is” He says teasing and you are mortified.

“I’m so so sorry my lord, it’s okay you don’t have to continue it was a stupid idea I will…” you say as you start to move to get back at your side of the tub but he holds you firmly by the waist, right where you are.

“Why do you say that? I think it was a marvelous idea! I’m having a very pleasurable time, and clearly so are you…” he says from the crook of your neck, holding your back pressed firmly against his chest. You shake feeling his strong hold and his warm breath at your sensitive skin, the fire in your stomach now impossible to ignore, your pussy getting wetter with every second.

“My lord, I don't think we should…” you start.

“Diavolo.” he interromps “There’s no need to be so formal it’s only us in here” One hand goes to the back of your neck massaging there, as the other still holds you in place and starts slow movements at the base of your back .

“Hunm… Diavolo… I don’t think we should continue, we might do something we’ll regret later” you say a little breathless, unable to stop the clench between your thighs.

“Dear I’m positive I won’t regret anything with you, and I can assure you neither will you” he says in a sexy way giving a small kiss at your shoulder, stopping his hands and letting them rest at your waist again. You turn your head and look at him. That your core wants him is no secret for you, and you look at his eyes overflowing with confidence and lust, and at your own desire mixed with uncertainty.

“I’ve said before I won’t touch you without you wanting it as much as I do, if a massage is all you want then is all that you’ll receive. But... if you’re feeling like something more, then I’ll be honored and very happy to indulge you” he says in a strong voice.

For a moment you just keep looking at him, the two of you trapped in each other's gaze, and you think to yourself “Fuck it! We only live once.” and kiss him a little hesitant at the beginning, and when he presses you harder against him you can feel his dick twitch at you ass as he kisses you back with a ferocious need, devouring your mouth, you reach one arm to his head lacing you fingers in his red hair as his tongue invades you, conquering every spot, dueling, dancing with you own until you are gasping for air as he slides his hands down on your thighs, kissing and sucking at you neck, he squeeze your left thigh and bites you and you moan.

“Hunm, you have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to hear this” he kisses your earlobe, sucking at it as his hands go up your stomach.

“Diavolo” you call his name drunkenly, your core moist and throbbing for him.

“Yes darling?” he says lavishing your neck and running his hands around your breasts not really touching it.

“Stop teasing, please” you whine.

“If you want me to touch you more intimately you’ll have to ask dear. Give me your permission and I’ll kiss, and lick, and caress, and fuck you all over. You’ll be glowing and it won’t be because of the spa treatment sweetheart.” He chuckle.

You start grinding your ass against his bulge eliciting a grow from him “please touch me.” He smiles holding your jaw and turning your head to kiss you hard on the lips, the hand there going to your throat as the other slides it’s way down your body to your clenching pussy. He kisses you as he slides the tip of his fingers up and down your vulva, spreading your legs a bit more he circles and presses against your clit, getting you moaning between his lips, humming in return, until he enter you with three fingers at once and you scream, your head going back resting at his shoulders as he fingers fuck you.

“Hunm you like it when I touch you here dear? You’re such a little slut for me are you not?” he kisses your cheek but you don’t reply, just looking at him, his hand around your neck as his fingers curl and reach your g-spot, and you give a little cry closing your eyes at the sensation.

“It looks like I found you weak spot” chuckles “Lets see how long it takes to get you there darling” he speeds his ministrations adding a fourth finger as his thumb stimulates your clitoris. The hand on your throat goes down to your breasts playing with your nipples, pinching at it as he kisses and bites at your neck and shoulder, the constant thrusts of his firgers at your spot with the stimulation of your clit and nipples being too much.

“Dia… I… Ahh hun… I’m going to...” you try to warn him.

“Cum for me.” he demands.

And as if obeying a direct order you came with a loud moan as your body shakes and your back arch.

“Hunm that must be one of the sweetest sounds of all three realms” he says removing his fingers from you, your cunt immediately clenching again at nothing. “Here, taste yourself” he says bringing his fingers to your mouth and you suck at then cleaning your juices from it, you can feel his dick pulsating at your back and he kisses you again tasting your flavor on your own mouth. He then turn you around and gets up, you now can see him in all his mighty naked glory, and all you can do is look astonished at his thick girth, to say he’s big would be a euphemism “He’s huge” you think, and for a second and you worry he might just rip you open. You bring your gaze back at his face, passing it through his toned abs and chest right back at his eyes, and he looks down at you with a knowing smile. He offers a hand and helps you to stand taking a languid look at your bare body himself and you can’t control another clench, your pussy needy to be railed. He sits on the marble edge of the luxurious bathtub and taps at his lap with one hand the other holding his hard member.

“Look what you did to me dear” he says starting to stroke himself “Won’t you be a good girl and help? ”.

Smiling, you walk to him, your pussy as wet as it can be dying to be buried and stretched till the limits by his fat cock. You straddle him getting his member in your hand, he holds you and closes his eyes with a satisfied exhale as you sink at him, slowly, adjusting to his enormous size, biting your lips when finally he enters you completely. You never felt so full in your life, his dick reaching till your cervix just right.

“Shit you’re so tight.” he exclaims, his browns pressed together and he kisses you in a sensual and adoring way.

You start to move as he holds you tight, his kisses now making their way down passing your throat until his lips, teeths and tongue are at your nipples, sucking and licking as you bounce up and down at his girt, riding him, and he thrust at you, you both meeting halfway. He hits just the right spots while you on the other hand clench at him oh so deliciously with every movement. You are moaning and gasping and so is he.

“Fuck… hahh… yes baby don’t stop, just like that.. yes...” he praises you.

“Dia I’m getting close.” you say as the movements get harder and faster, both your climaxes fast approaching.

“Don’t hold back, scream for me” he says.

You meet him harder and harder and in no time you reach your limit point screaming his name in a high pitched voice, and with your walls clutching at him from your orgasm he soon follows reaching his own with a deep grunt, spaying his royal seed in your warm womb. With ragged breaths you collapse at his chest and he hugs you laying on the marble with you above him, still connected.

“Are you alright my dear?” he asks, caressing your back with one hand.

“Yes” you answer still in daze.

“Hahah now that’s what I call relaxing” he says in good spirits and you look at him. “Follow me to the palace later, Barbatos will give you a potion to avoid a possible pregnancy, and we can also have some tea” he says kissing your forehead and smiling content.

“What? You don’t want a little mixed heir my lord? You joke.

“Oh no darling, I would love to father your children, but I must make you my queen first don’t you think? He says, exiting you as he moves you both back to the warm waters of the bath.

“You’re joking right?” you say incertain.

He laughs again and replies in a conspiratorial tone.

“Yes… but you never know the future...”

“Barbatos does though” you say as he starts to wash your skin and press against your sore muscles.

“Indeed he does”

And that’s all he says, you decide to just let it go as you lean on him relaxing and enjoying his pampering. But you could never imagine that he wasn't really joking and where that afternoon would lead you in the not so far future.

#diavolo headcanons #obey me!#obey me imagines #obey me headcanons #obey me diavolo #obey me #obey me fic #obey me hc #diavolo

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meruz · 3 years

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Aforementioned long ask post please excuse me while i try to figure out tumblr's new text editor. I’ll get into the art meme questions first and then the rest at the end.

Ok first of all thank you all for sending in questions! Giving me an excuse to talk hehe. I’ll address these in number order. Here’s a link to the ask meme for reference but also I’ll restate the question for ease of reading.

1. When did you get into art?

Super cliche answer but I don’t remember a time where I WASN’T the weird art kid! I started keeping a dedicated sketchbook when I was about 12? But here’s a page from my kindergarten journal about what I want to be when I grow up.

2. What art-related sites have you ever signed up for?

LOL this is a weird question. Not sure why so many people want to know. Anyways I definitely had a dA. more than one dA account. I used to browse oekakis when I was a kid but I think I was only signed up to some small ones that internet friends owned. What else...? Mangabullet,Tegakie, Paintberri, iscribble back when that was a thing, instagram if that COUNTs, I used to post art on livejournal and dreamwidth too. Patreon, I guess. Gumroad, inprnt, bigcartel, storenvy all for selling stuff.

In terms of resources.. I have a schoolism account that I’m sharing with friends. Used to take classes on coursera for free. I signed up to textures.com for work recently haha. I can’t remember if I ever had an account on posemaniacs. Did they have accounts...? I definitely used to visit all the time.

3. Show us your oldest piece of art you have on hand.

Alright here’s me actually logging into my old deviantart account. These are from September 2008 So I was 13 years old. I don’t have a deviantart account from before then because 13 was the required age for having an account and I didn’t want to lie about my age because I wanted people to be impressed by how young yet clearly incredible at art I was LOL.

4. What defines your artistic style?

You guys are probably more equipped to answer this than me but uh... I wanna say... Focus on colors. And... a slightly heavy hand? Like confident... not always well-considered mark making HAH...

Also I think I have a pretty healthy mix of american comics/manga influences. I feel like people who are into american comics always think my art is too manga and people who are into anime/manga always think my art is too american. And I’m taking that as a good sign.

5. Do you practice other styles/have you tried other styles in the past?

I like to think I switch it up a bunch! I mean, these are pretty different, right?

I think I’ve mentioned this before but one thing I really took away from art school is that, for an illustrator at least, art style shouldn’t be consistent. Your greatest weapon is changing the aspects of your style based on the task, the emotions and message you want to illustrate etc. So depending on the project I’m working on, the fandom I’m drawing for, whether I want something to be funny or serious or dramatic, I’ll change things about my style all the time.

One thing I don’t rly post on here is really tight polished work and that’s because I do that for my day job haha. If you’re not paying me... I’m probably not gonna color in the lines.

6. What levels of artistic education have you had?

I have a whole ass diploma LOL. Bachelor of Fine Arts in Illustration. from the Rhode Island School of Design. And I had a great college experience tbh. Besides the student loans. If any of you guys are thinking about art school feel free to e-mail or message me questions or concerns, I’ll be happy to help. Be as honest as I can be.

7. Show us at least one picture you drew or sketched recently that you did not put on a public site.

heres the wandavision kids. Uhh what else do I have...I feel like I’m rummaging for loose change here...

assorted valentines prep doodles

8. What is your favourite piece that you have done?

Well, obviously this is gonna change all the time and generally it’s gonna be my most recent piece LOL. So yeah, why the hell not. I’ll say it’s this one. I have a pretty short memory which I count as a blessing for an artist. I don’t dwell that long on older work and it keeps me moving forward.

10. What do you like most about your art?

I like that it’s something that only I would make! I had this thought fairly recently and I wrote it down in my sketchbook, it’s pretty cheesy and rambling but it felt revolutionary at the time:

So yeah. I like my art best when it’s the most me and for me. And I like it least when it feels like I’m just making something for social media or for other people’s expectations or whatever.

14. What do you like drawing the most?

Kids in baggy clothing are like my go-to LOL idk if that’s obvious. but also I like being challenged so lately I’ve really loved drawing multi-character compositions, environments, weird angles, etc.

oh i LOVE drawing the underside of shoes lol. And bandages. People that are kinda beat up.. I think it comes from getting a bunch of cuts all the time. I’m always patching myself up and I want to patch characters up too.

15. What do you like drawing the least?

mmm I try to find something to like in every drawing but lets see... I don’t like doing commissions of people’s dogs. Just because it’s normally like... a family friend and my mom volunteered me without my consent and I don’t even really know what they’re expecting me to draw and I don’t even get to meet the dog. Also I’m not that great at dog anatomy. Trying to learn though.

18. What is your purpose for drawing?

This could have a million answers! Uhhh to GIT GOOD??? But also to express myself... and also to make money... I mean it depends on what the drawing IS. I draw fanart mostly to connect to people in the fandom so if you ever see me drawing fanart please take it as like an open invitation to talk to me about the character haha.

20. How would you rank your art? (poor, mediocre, good, etc.)

Good!!! I have a lot of self-confidence primarily born out of ignorance and a short attention span. If I don’t think too hard about how many other artists are mindblowingly unfathombly good... its easy to think I’m good too! LOL

In all seriousness though, I think the opinion a person has of their art is like a crazy balancing act, right? Like you have to think you suck enough to want to get better but also you have to think you’re good enough to not want to give up. I think we’re all walking that line, I know I am! But also I’m a glass half-full type of person so. Most of the time I feel good about it.

22. List at least one of your “artspirations.”

This is a good question because I’ve been trying and failing to put together one of those “influence map” memes for like a full month now. What’s giving me a hard time is I feel like none of these are actually really obvious “““influences”““ in my art? Like it’s hard to see a lot of them in the work I make...? But idk maybe you guys’ll see what I can’t.

And these are just a couple! God there’s so many more. I could talk about other artists for ages, from all different genres of art. Daumier, Rockwell like every illustrator out there, Dana Gibson, Alex Toth, Hiroshi Yoshida, a lot of the Brandywine School. Lots of current working artists too, Karl Kerschl, frikkin Masashi Kishimoto lol, Jake Wyatt, Richie Pope, Edouard Caplain, Matt Cook, Sachin Teng, - lots of big internet artists, Sophie Li, Freddy Carrasco, Milliofish, Angela Sung... like all my friends from art school too. I could just keep going but I’ll stop for now lol.

24. Do you have a shameful art past? (recolour sprite comics, tracing art, etc.)

I mean if that’s how we’re defining shameful?? sure LOL. It’s not sprite comics but I used to do pokemon sprite recolors all the time. And I used to trace manga panels and color them... Granted this was all when I was like under 12 yrs old so it’s not even embarrassing. Can you really call it shameful when a 7 year old wets the bed or whatever? Not really. In fact some of these are cool as fuck. Look

25. Draw a picture!

Man I’m so tired now but here.

I used to get a lot of compliments for drawing people smiling lol but I don’t think I’ve drawn a lot of smiling lately.. here’s proof I’ve still got it.

OK MEME DONE. onto the rest.

I read this ask first thing when i opened my computer in the morning and it made me really emotional.. I’m so glad my sketches could help you!!

I think a lot of artists on social media talk about the struggle of making art but imo not enough people talk about the joy! Like I know it’s corny but. I really meant what I said at the beginning of that sketchbook about re-contextualizing art around process and progress > product and perfection. I think its super important..! The strength of messy, unfinished, and energetic art! For the feeling of it, for the love it!

That's crazy!!! I hope you like 'em. The whole line of x-books is really good rn imo.

Hi! I totally have the answer for digital stuff on my faq lol. But in terms of drawing on paper.. it varies! I tend to use sketchbooking and any on-paper doodling I do as a way to loosen up/warm-up or experiment. But right now my go-to aresenal is:

from top > bottom

- kuretake no.55 doublesided brush pen

- tombow fudenosuke

- muji 0.38 ballpoint

- medium size poscas

- grey tombow double brush pens

- good ol bic mechanical pencil

not EXACTly sure which inking you referring to from my sketchbook but if I had to take a guess it'd probably be the kuretake no55. That's been my main inker, lately. Great for sketching with the thin end too.

You can print out and eat my art if you like. Just please don't mass produce or re-sell. <3

Thanks! I've come to accept that my art is always gonna be sort of gestural and painty naturally. It's getting it to tighten up enough to be legible that's hard lol...

uh yeah lol I agree actually. I think yolei is great.

I assume these asks are related? LOL

1) Yeah totally true. I love David.

2) I don’t take requests, sorry! But if you want to commission me to draw Legion i would be MORE than happy to. Just e-mail me at [email protected].

<33333333333333333333333333

#ask #anonymous

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

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Madara and Obito... In SPACE

So the preface to this mess: I don’t know jackshit about Star Wars, so a lot of this went through friends who do know Star Wars (the primary of which does not have a tumblr).

(I have watched Episodes 7&8, and Rogue One. Of the first six movies, I remember watching maybe an hour total. I have not seen more than snatches of Clone Wars. Beyond that, nothing but fic.)

Anyway! Let’s go:

As y’all probably know by now, my favorite form of crossover is what I call “intrusive,” so... I'm enjoying the mental concept of "dump Madara on Coruscant and watch him go." (Prequels, probably.)

Does Madara know what's going on? No. Can he understand a word that's being said? No! Is he going to fight the first person to aim a weapon at him, and every person after that? Yes.

Is Madara fighting fit?

Nnnnnnnnnnnnnno, not really, he’s old as balls. This is "I was on cave life support but I'm getting back up to kick ass out of pure spite" Madara.

[Image description: A screenshot of a panel of the Naruto Manga. Uchiha Madara is old and visibly ‘decrepit,’ with spiky white hair and an amorphous black robe. He is sitting on a pale throne, and there is a scythe visible to the side. He has a speech bubble saying “I am... a ghost of the Uchiha.” End Description]

Two wrinkly old guys, staring each other down: There ain't enough room in this universe for the two of us. [Palpatine and Madara start fighting to the death]

Congrats, Palpatine! Your ass is getting kicked by a geriatric malcontent who doesn't speak any language you've ever heard or feel like literally anything in the Force. You may have Sith lightning, but do you have decades of frontline experiences and over half a century of cave-dwelling bitterness?

Both of them, simultaneously, in completely different languages: Get off my lawn, whipper-snapper.

Palpatine: Behold my mastery of the Dark Side, Foolish old man! Palpatine: [shoots lightning] Madara: Oh hey, you're like the seventeenth most dangerous person who can shoot lightning I've fought. Telekinesis? Fought that. Combat precognition? Fought that, have that, and let me tell you hwat, it doesn't help if you're opponent is just that much faster than you.

Now, I’ll take a step back and acknowledge that several people advised me that Palpatine would stand a chance against Madara, likely even win, if Madara just got hacked off of his life support and is down to one eye.

But. I want a shitpost, and also to clown on Palpatine, so Madara wins easily.

Madara also deserves to be clowned on, but the entire situation is clowning on him because he’s not in his cave anymore, and he really wants to go back to his Gedou Mazou statue.

Maybe Madara and Palpatine go Old Man Fight and then Obito just pulls a Ninja Move and kills Palpatine that way. Madara was ranting and Obito just. Ninjas behind Palpatine and slits his throat like “okay, you’re obviously evil so like... bye.”

(I just love causing "Wait what" reactions in characters that are used to having total control. Like. Have you read "Unexpected Guests"? The Bleach fic? Everything that happens in Hueco Mundo and after. That energy. I want that energy.)

Madara waves his scythe around like a cane. Obito just trails after like “Gramps, no” because it’s still pre-Sanbi, so he’s Mostly Innocent (you know, on the scale of how fucked up Obito is as a person), and just wants Madara to like. Stop.

Palpatine dies but nobody's sure what to charge Madara with since he did kind of expose a Sith? And Palpatine attacked first for [handwave] reasons?

Jedi: Well sir, in lieu of charging you with assassination of the emperor, we have decided to ask you politely to return to the elderly person's retirement home from whence you came. Please leave immediately. You are frightening the senate. Madara: [incomprehensible raving] Jedi: Yes yes, very interesting. Jedi, whispering: Does anyone know his caretaker???

Obito looks increasingly put-upon as events progress. You need Obito there to... well, not translate. Nobody can translate. But to at least poke Madara into being Slightly Less Homicidal.

Anakin seems sad about his friend dying and being evil so Obito challenges him to a spar. Madara and Obito get pulled into the Jedi Temple to help train Padawans? My first thought was "they wouldn't trust someone so obviously Weird, Crazy, and Incomprehensible around the younglings" and my second thought was "well they let Yoda do it and he's all those things so I mean? YEAH."

What if they put Madara in the bacta tank and he just freshened up like a daisy because of hand-wave Hashirama cell reasons (Blame Sir Tiddyface).

From “Decrepit and Reliant on Cave Tube Life Support” to “Will Call Down Meteors With Ease”

How many eyes does he have? Whatever’s funniest. Let’s say one Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan and one Rinnegan, for maximum chaos.

Would "half my body is missing" Obito freak out if Bacta regrew his eye? Can bacta regrow something like that? When characters lose limbs they usually just get cybernetic replacements, but the person I spoke with said that apparently they saw somewhere that that kind of thing can grow back it just takes a really long time.

I want to imagine bacta would help Obito with the Zetsu integration.

Anyway! Yes. Have Madara help train people despite being... Madara about it. You know... kind of a dick.

(I’d put example gifs but I don’t feel up to it. Y’all know what Madara’s “weakness disgusts me” ass is like.)

Obito had to get his "these fools could never make me sweat" sass from somewhere, after all.

Do you think Obito could fight the baby Jedi that are around his age while recovering? I have no idea what their skill level is at fourteen, but I want to imagine Obito sparring the Padawans.

Obito + Zetsu + Bacta = he still needs physical therapy but he can spar again!

Madara is delighted to have a baby ninja to bully. He's too old to not bully baby ninjas, and Obito is the only baby ninja. TBH Madara just makes Obito his assistant teacher.

Obito: What are we even doing here and how do we get home? Madara: I'm still working on that. Obito: But I want to go home and see Rin and Kakashi! Madara, who was like two days away from triggering the Sanbi plan: I'm working on it.

Something sticking in my mind rn is Ahsoka&Obito, since Obito is still Baby.

I think Obito would be excited to have someone his age that thought he was Cool and Talented for being able to do Chakra Things instead of writing him off as "the dead-last." Like, Rin is friends with him, but she doesn't look up to him as someone more/differently talented. He'd be excited to get to be "The Mysterious Cool Big Bro" for once.

I feel I also just like the idea of Anakin not knowing what to do with someone Several Years Younger that is also. Ninja Skill.

Miscellaneous thoughts:

Madara is a grouchy old man even AFTER he gets effectively de-aged via bacta dunk, for the record. He's back in his prime and the Jedi have no idea how. They're all concerned about tiddyface*. (When are people not concerned about Sir Tiddyface, really.) The mokuton is a problem.

*Sir Tiddyface is that random Hashirama face that Madara had growing out of his pecs for like... convoluted bullshit reasons.

(Madara doesn't have mokuton, but he has enough Hashirama cells that it interacted very, VERY weirdly with the bacta.)

Obito spends the intervening weeks trying to learn the local language. He's very eager. Not particularly fast. Still doing it though!

I want Obito juggling kunai as physical therapy while he's waiting for Mads to get out of the bacta tank and just gains himself the adoration of a gaggle of small baby Jedi children.

Madara comes out of the bacta tank looking like he did in his prime (which I mentioned earlier but whatever), and it absolutely incites a yelling match of an argument that draws way too much attention.

Someone tries to teach Obito how to access the Force, just to see what happens. He almost turns into a statue because the philosophy behind Force meditation is only a few steps away from Sage Mode Meditation.

Anyway, Madara smacks him with a stick like Fukasaku to make sure Obito doesn't turn into stone.

Madara grumps about the lack of paper and brushes and ink. Bitches about it until someone hits up an antique store or something to get them for him. The day before he and Obito are dispatched on a mission with someone, probably Anakin for plot reasons, Madara very publicly seals things into a scroll and then tells them that no, they can't learn it, because the Force isn't chakra so fuuinjutsu won't work for them, so There.

Obito practices some Teen Rebellion (tm) and like, tries to teach the Padawan friends he's made how to do Chakra Things... but he's so bad at explaining things that nobody can get it to work even if it were possible.

In Obito's defense, language barriers. Not in Obito's defense, he's just really bad at words sometimes.

#Star Wars #Star Wars Prequels #Naruto #Uchiha Madara #Uchiha Obito #crossovers #Phoenix Posts #body horror mention

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lokispettigerr · 4 years

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2,000 Followers Celebration!

Today I hit a milestone; 2,000 followers! This excites me and brings me so much joy. I want to celebrate this with you all, as a way to not only have some fun and connect with you all but also to give you thanks for being my readers! I want to celebrate this with a writing challenge! So let’s begin. ***There will be a special prize given away! Keep reading for more info!

How does this work?

The rules:

Put an ask in my askbox with your request, this is the only request I can accept.

Below are three categories from which you need to pick one of each.

Once you submit your chosen categories, I will then write a 500-800 (give or take) drabble on your submission.

Your requests can be submitted between now and 3/31. After that, I will begin to write!!!

I ask you be patient with me while I work on your submission.

The categories:

1. Choose a character from this list (these will be X reader fics):

Loki

Geralt of Rivia

Tom Hiddleston

Henry Cavill

2. Choose your content:

1. Smut (you can specify if it is normal, dub-con, non-con, or other kinks, etc) 2. Fluff 3. Angst 4. Aesthetic Relaxation (check my masterlist for these, they are generally those that are very relaxing) 5. Whatever you would like!

3. Choose your prompt (You can choose your own prompt but here are some examples you can choose from)

“Bend over, I’m not kidding.” (requested by xoxoarts)

“Look at me. Now.”

“You know how to make me cum, so do it already.

“Slap my ass again and I’ll make you fuck me _______ (in a certain place).”

“I like it when you call me a drunk whore.” (requested by littleredstarfish)

“You’re wet? I won’t believe it till I see it.”

“That’s what I am, right? Your cock slut?”

“I’m really hard/wet and I’m gonna die if you don’t do something about it ASAP.”

“Don’t hold back, baby.”

“I can make you cum harder than that.” “Try me.”

“Your parents would be royally disappointed if they saw what you have on right now. Even more disappointed at what I’m thinking about doing to you.”

“Oh, the things I’d do to that pretty mouth.”

“Make it hurt, baby.”

“I’m going to die if you don’t let me cum.”

“How about we do something different tonight?”

“You’re so fucking sexy when you do that.”

“Oh. Keep doing that.”

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”(Requested by scorpionchild81)

“Just for that, I’m gonna suck your clit ‘til you go blind.”

“I’m too busy.” “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Not to make things weird, but I thought about you when I came last night.”

“You’re really bad at hiding how turned on you are.”

“You better muffle yourself with a pillow then, because I’m not stopping.”

“Try to stay quiet for me. Can you do that?”

“Spread your legs. I want to feel how turned on I made you.” (requested by rougepetale)

“I want to watch you take off your clothes.”

“You look so beautiful tied up to my bed,”

“I want you to be rough with me, please leave marks on my skin,”

“Say my name,” “Louder,”

“I love hearing you moan,”

“I want to hear you beg for it.”

“I want to kiss every inch of your body before I fuck you,”

“I don’t have the patience to remove your clothes right now,”

“Were you just touching yourself?” (requested by anon)

“I love how your body loses control when you cum.”

“Spank me,”

“Are you trying to turn me on right now? Because it’s working.”

“I’d hold on to something if I were you.”

“You’re really going to make me beg for it?”

“Are you going to eye fuck me all night or are you going to do something about it?”

“You’re so sexy when you’re all hot and bothered.”

“Fuck, I love the sounds you make.” (requested by rougepetale)

“Please… Don’t stop.”

“Please. I need you. Now.”

“Get on your knees.”

“I know all of your weaknesses.”

“If you don’t like my teasing then why are you moaning?”

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever even met that asshole.”

“I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that.“

“You make a sound and it’s game over baby.” (requested by anon)

“If I have to pull over, you won’t be able to walk for the next week.“ (requested by anon)

“Can you feel what you’re doing to me?”

“Don’t think I’m letting you get away with that, darling.”

“The things that I want to do to you, baby.”

“You’re going to regret that, sweetheart.”

“I may or may not have left some….marks.”

“Really? You wanna have sex….here? Now?” (requested by thereisa8ella)

“do you like that? like being in control?”

“Are you sure? Once we start, i might not be able to stop.”

“You’re in trouble now.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“Bite me.”

“Could he make you feel as good as i do?”

“If i have to stop what i’m doing, you won’t be able to walk for the next week.”

“I haven’t even touched you and you’re already this wet.”

“Tell me again.”

“Don’t ruin the sofa.” “Ill just have to cum inside you then.” (requested by anon)

“You know, you always look so much better when I mark you up.”

“You look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat.” (ladyyyglittersparkles and anon)

“You don’t have to be gentle with me, I don’t break easily.” (requested by anon)

“Maybe if I punish you it’ll help you remember who you belong to next time.”

“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

“You look so good on your knees like that.”

As an extra special gift to you all for being readers and as a way to say thank you, I am going to do a prize drawing. Each person can enter ONE TIME ONLY by reblogging this post. The prize will be either an already written fic of your choosing printed and signed by me and sent to you with a special note OR a submission you created for this celebration. Just be sure to make note of it and let me know that you did that if you are chosen as the winner!

Rules:

You must be following me on this blog @lokispettigerr. If the blog you reblog to is not following me, it will not count.

You must be 18 years or older to enter.

You cannot enter on a giveaway blog.

You can enter until March 31, 2020 by 11:59pm ET. 3 different winners will be randomly chosen from all eligible entries and separately contacted through the Tumblr messaging system.* If a winner does not respond within 48 hours, a new winner will be chosen and contacted.

*All communication will be done through Tumblr, but this is in no way officially administered, endorsed, or sponsored by Tumblr. All given information will be private (not shared with anyone but me).

Best of luck to you all! Can’t wait to hear from you!

Peace, Loki’s Pet Tiger

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mimik-u · 4 years

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Flower Child (Chapter 13): Blue (III)

Goodness, I'm nearly a year and a half late, but here we are—Chapter 13 of "Flower Child." First of all, I want to give my sincerest apologies for the delay... I mentioned this at the start of my fic "Facets," but the simplest and truest story is that my muse for writing Steven Universe and, well, writing in general petered out for a long time and has only recently returned. But, because it has recently returned, I wanted to begin to make good on a promise I made to you guys so many months ago—that one day, I would finish this story. So let's do this. <3 I'm ready now.

(1) I read through the previous twelve chapters, lmao, and half-loved and half-hated my writing, but the point of that exercise, beyond getting acquainted with the plot of "FC" again, was to also do some quick grammar and flow revisions, so a few of the previous chapters should read just a little better than maybe they had before.

(2) Fun fact! Chapter 13 is pretty interesting because some portions of it were actually written over a year ago; it was an incredible challenge for me to work with what I had as a 2019 writer versus what I've learned as a 2020 writer.

(4) Someone asked on Tumblr a long time ago if there was a playlist I worked with in writing this story...

(5) And finally, and most importantly, this chapter is incredibly heavy, dealing with themes of suicidal ideation and extreme depression.

Please be cautious while reading if these are topics that are triggering to you!

The shiny, black town car eased to a stop at the pull-through entrance of the hospital, drawing the gazes of passerby on the sidewalk. An older lady in a wheelchair, a group of what appeared to be college kids in scrubs, a scraggly-looking patient who’d obviously escaped the confines of his room to light a cigarette—they all stopped and stared as the back door of the overtly fancy car was pried open from the inside out, as a metal cane preceded a woman who quite looked like she needed it.

Blue Diamond unfolded into the light of day, trembling.

Because it was hard.

It was so hard.

To be here.

(To be.)

She wanted to collapse where she stood, dissemble and dissolve away one piece of herself at a time; she leaned heavily on the head of her cane and lit upon the sole pair of eyes that weren’t looking at her—or, really, her Lincoln. The man named Greg Universe stood next to the automatic doors with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at the ground, all but boring a hole into it. When the sliding doors opened and closed at his backside, they appeared to be ripping into him, piece by miserable piece.

“I’ll call when I’m ready,” Blue murmured to her valet before shutting the door and slowly hobbling over to Greg.

Clank.

The onlookers glanced away as the town car drove off, resumed their lives and cared not for yet another broken person in their midst. The hospital was full of them as it was. Perhaps they were even broken themselves—very probably they were.

Blue Diamond did not care to know.

Clank.

I’m betraying her, she thought, she was always thinking. I’m leaving her behind. I’m betraying her. I’m—

Clank.

The clanking did the trick, catching Greg’s attention and only half-holding it. He lifted his head slowly and mustered a smile that must have been agony. It wobbled on his lips and very nearly disappeared in his bushy beard. It pulled at him—all over. He looked like a Picasso gone wrong, an abstraction of a man stretched too far.

“Hey, just in time.” He gave a shaky little laugh that rather sounded like a sob and then somehow kept talking, his entire physiognomy alive with his nerves. “Steven’s so excited to see you again. He hasn’t stopped talking about ya since this morning, which is kinda nuts because he was so tired yesterday, but this is a good thing, and so we should really go up and see him now because—”

She cut across him; it was a quiet act, a merciful one. “Greg.”

It was just his name, a singular syllable, a sound, but even that was enough.

Mr. Universe’s face fell into geometric disarray.

“No use hiding it, huh?” He half-wept, half-laughed again, scrubbing a hand over his face and bringing up his shirt to soak up what was left.

“No,” Blue Diamond whispered, her hands tightening on the head of her cane. “It’s scrawled all over you, I’m afraid.”

“Figures,” he said hoarsely. “I’m a mess.”

“No more than I am.” She pried one of her hands away from the other and gestured loosely at her entire body with a wry smile. “If you’re a mess, then I am a dereliction.”

It wasn’t a contest; it was the truth.

Four years of grieving had wasted her.

Blue Diamond was skeletal.

Broken.

Greg took this in and considered; his smile that really wasn’t a smile resolved itself into a quiet, aching sort of frown. It tugged his face downwards; it tugged at the hollows of her chest. She’d seen him only a little over a week ago, and yet today, he looked as though he’d aged a hundred years in the span of eight days. There were bags under his eyes and sunken dunes in his cheeks.

There was a little boy in a hospital bed.

There was a disease.

It was killing them both.

“How do I do this?” He asked the ground. “How did you—” But he stopped short; his breath hitched.

It was a highly personal question after all.

It was no short wonder that Blue’s cane didn’t snap beneath her grip.

“How did I do it?” She returned softly all the same. The slight breeze stirred the strands of hair poking out of her silvery braid.

Greg nodded mutely, the desperation in his face tangible. She could reach out if she wanted and touch his hurt, the very heart of it, and all of its dimensions. (She didn’t want to.)

“To be entirely truthful,” she murmured, “I’m not sure that I ever did.”

ii.

It was nearly one o’clock in the afternoon, and it was also 2:38AM, the very moment when a police officer had the audacity to come to their door and tell two mothers that their daughter was dead, gone, and never coming back. His expression was a gathering bruise, and his words were like bullets, striking right between the ribs.

Blue Diamond couldn’t breathe.

In the darkness, she sat on the edge of Pink’s bed and dragged every mouthful of air inwards like it was painful; her chest heaved with the awfulness of it, the punctured horror of leaking lungs.

Her child was dead.

Oh, God.

Her child was gone.

Why, oh, why, oh, God, my God?

And she was never coming back.

Goddammit.

In the coagulated darkness, Blue clutched her daughter’s favorite sweatshirt close to her chest; it was black and ratty, full of holes and little tears. A small alien logo perched on the chest, grinning up at her from depthless eyes.

They used to fight over this particular number.

Constantly.

“You’re a multibillion dollar heiress.” Blue would pinch the bridge of her nose and try not to raise her voice above an acerbic whisper. “Would it inconvenience you to buy some nicer clothes?”

Pink was unsparing in her retorts, wicked and witty, face upturned in a haughtiness to match her mother’s own.

“Would it inconvenience you to get off my ass, Mother? It’s just a sweatshirt.”

“Pink!”

And on and on.

The fabric was cold between Blue’s long fingers, still scented with Pink’s favorite perfume.

They were going to bury her today, mere hours from now.

Last week, they’d been fighting over this shirt.

On and on and never again.

The funeral… mere hours from now… less than three… but how could that also be true when it was only 1:52AM and Pink Diamond was coughing her last, strangled breath on a dirty pavement outside a bar on 9th Avenue?

Blue Diamond hadn’t been there, but she forced the words on the detective’s report to come to life in the theatre of her mind’s eye anyway. By the time the paramedics had arrived, Pink was all but gone; she gasped, and she coughed, and her brown eyes marbled in one final supernova of emotion. They tried to resuscitate her, but the damage was too extensive.

She’d fought back, the officer had said. (He thought it was a consolation to them.)

The proof was caked in her nails and scratched all over her arms, but it’d been three against one.

She was a lion, and they were men; she was a twenty-one year old girl, and they were men.

In the darkness, unraveling, Blue Diamond’s face dripped onto the sweatshirt, onto the alien smiling up at her with a black sliver of a mocking grin. She did not register—she did not care to register—the slow creaking of the door opening inwards.

Amber light strained from the hallway to find and reach and touch her but didn’t quite make it.

Yellow Diamond was a shadowy figure in the doorway.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” she scolded, and yet, she moved into the room anyway—the hypocrite—her sharp heels muffled in the carpet. Stiff and forbidding, she came to stand in front of Blue, arms crossed over her chest, a frown crossed over her face. “It’s not healthy for you, Bl—“

But Blue cut across her. It was not a kind act; it was a precise incision—cold and surgical—three inches long and just as deep. “Our daughter is dead, Yellow.”

The shadowy figure recoiled but did not bite.

Even now, Yellow couldn’t bear to be seen as vulnerable, couldn’t bear to give one damn inch.

“I know that, dammit,” she muttered to the wall. “Dammit—do you not think I know that?”

But Blue had no pity for her, no shred of any emotion left except for the vicious tangle of grief; it tangled in her fingers, which sunk deep into Pink’s shirt, and it tangled in her cold eyes, leaking down her pale face and salting her anemic lips.

“Then act like it,” she hissed.

The exhortation bruised the air.

It demanded a reaction.

On its hands and knees, it begged for a response.

And yet, the shadowy figure said nothing. She didn't move her clenched fists.

She could not face Blue in the eyes.

Coward.

Hypocrite.

(Mourner.)

(Mourning.)

She simply left, staggering out of the room on precariously high heels, and Blue simply stayed, conflating the hours and the days and the minutes.

Later that day, they buried their daughter in a mausoleum, a gazebo—in a cemetery slathered in golden sun.

iii.

Greg explained the details as best as he could on the way up to Steven’s room. It was hard to find him a kidney because his blood type was O negative, which meant that he would only be able to receive a kidney from a Type O donor. And though he’d been on the waiting list for months now, and though he’d recently been moved to the top of the list given his worsening condition, it was still anyone’s guess as to when a kidney would become available.

(“If,” he could barely choke out, “we can even get one at all.”)

After slowly making their way across an expansive skywalk, they finally arrived at a pair of double doors labeled Truman Ward. The sun pierced through the tall glass windows and lit upon Blue’s sunken face, and Greg’s red eyes, and her metallic cane, and his wobbling lips—as though it was doing them a favor by doing so.

Greg reached behind her and pressed a button on the wall, alerting someone on the other side to their arrival.

“Listen”—he ran his hand along the back of his neck as the doors slowly parted open in welcome—“I’m going to go back to the room for a bit and see if I can get some paperwork done. Feel free to stay as long as ya’d like. Visiting hours don’t end ’til eight.”

Blue stared at him.

Every moment—every hour, minute, and second with this child was precious nowadays, and here Greg was, lending her time out of his own.

She felt the gift of what he was offering deeply.

(She could have never found it in herself to be so generous with Pink.)

“Thank you.” She swept a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I… I appreciate you allowing me to visit him.”

But he only shook his head and urged her through the doors with a pinched smile.

“If he’s happy that you’re here,” he shrugged, “then I am, too.”

And with that, he waved a last goodbye, and the doors folded to a close again with her on the other side of them.

Room 11037.

Walking became a monumental task as the clinically white hallway stretched out before her, lengthened by her mind, twisted and contorted into an obstacle she had to surmount.

It should have been just a hall.

Clank.

The memory of Pink burned bright behind her eyelids, stained there permanently by principle but stamped in starkly with assistance from the harsh fluorescents overhead. She was laughing, always laughing, in these flashbulb reminiscences, her freckles coalescing and then expanding across the bridge of her nose like the bellows of an accordion.

Clank.

But it wasn’t just Pink, though it always would be.

Clank.

It was Steven now.

Clank.

A ghost she chased, as opposed to the one who perpetually haunted her (who mercifully, who cruelly stayed.)

Clank.

But he wasn’t a ghost just yet, right? He was still here and still fighting—did that not count for something? Didn't his heartbeat, the very state of its continued existence, teach her to hope?

Clank.

But hope was such an awful word—so empty, brimming with meaningless sensationalism.

Clank.

(Maybe it was the vestiges of her long dead religion, but she wanted to hope anyway.)

Clank.

Hope was such an awful word.

Clank.

Room 11037.

The door was decisively closed.

A tall woman with bicolored eyes leaned against it, her dark lips corkscrewed into a frown.

Blue Diamond vaguely remembered her from the cemetery but couldn’t quite place a name. She could place an expression, though, and was surprised to name the one on this stranger’s face as disdain. Disdain rolled off this mysterious woman in waves, from the resolute clench of her jaw to the iron way that her arms were folded across her chest. It burned in her eyes. It seemed to languish inside of her, seething just under a facade of smooth skin.

She was a monolith of quiet loathing.

Blue squared her rounded shoulders in a manner she thought to be composed; her hands trembled on her cane nonetheless.

“You don’t like me very much, do you?” She asked it quite politely, even as the walls were harsh and white around them. She used to command rooms by the authoritative nature of her voice alone, and now she struggled to keep it together long enough to face a singular woman in front of a singular door.

“It’s not you specifically,” the woman replied, impressively put together, admirably composed. If her electric blue eye was cold, the brown one simply burned. Both were bruised underneath with tired shadows. “It’s what you stand for. It’s about the morals that Diamond Electric doesn’t have.”

“You’re an activist,” Blue surmised quickly, almost flippantly. Activists were challenging DE all of the time, and activists were always losing. Before Pink… she’d largely assumed that these sorts of protesters simply had no logical case. After Pink, she had had much more consuming thoughts on her mind than petty lawsuits against their multibillion dollar company.

“A Crystal Gem,” she corrected tersely, “but that’s not what I want to talk to you about.” Her gaze slid subtly to the doorway behind her, and Blue understood her at once.

“Steven,” she whispered.

The woman nodded.

“Steven,” she agreed, and her voice cracked as she said it, splintering into thousands of little pieces and struggling to regroup. When she swallowed to compose herself, it was almost as though she was swallowing the shards. “He likes you, and I can’t… I won’t begrudge him that.”

In the way that she said it, it was almost like she was convincing herself most of all.

“There is an implicit but there,” Blue parried softly. “You won’t begrudge him that, but.”

Again, the woman nodded, the gesture slow and measured, as though she was working something out in the tiny motion. When her squared chin came up again, her mismatched eyes were bright, intense with quiet pain.

“But don’t hurt him.”

It was a reasonable demand, but the implication behind it stung immediately and anyway.

She inhaled sharply and scrambled to defend herself, to salvage the punctured wound, but the damage was already done. Her voice came out more broken than it did cold.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Maybe not intentionally,” the Crystal Gem said, shaking her head. “Most people never really intend to hurt someone… but it happens. We get caught up in our emotions. We get selfish. We get distant. And then we hurt people.”

It struck Blue Diamond at that very moment that she hadn’t even deigned to ask the woman’s name.

“So, all I’m saying is don’t hurt him.” She unfolded herself from the door and stepped aside. “He likes you.”

iv.

Two days after the first anniversary of Pink Diamond’s death, a doctor shined a light in Blue Diamond’s glassy eyes and waited for a pupillary response. When he received one—an involuntary but nonetheless reactive blink—he unceremoniously clicked off his pen light and straightened up into the unfriendly darkness once more.

In the sparse incandescence bleeding in from the hallway, Yellow Diamond cut a shadowy figure by his side, her usually tidy hair rumpled from all the times her fingers had become ensnared in it that day.

Her tie was loose, and lines had already begun to etch themselves beneath those hawklike eyes of hers.

Soon, they would become permanent fixtures, marked there by time and age and grief.

For now, though, they were only suggestions.

Hints of what was to come.

(So many sleepless nights.)

(How many haunted days?)

“Well?” Though the CEO tried hard to strangle her voice into a whisper, the sharpness of the syllable was still the loudest sound in the room. Subtlety had never quite been this woman’s strong suit; she wielded her words as though they were gavels to proclaim on the heads of all who dared to cross her path.

“Catatonic depression,” the doctor replied, just as succinctly, replacing his pen in the pocket of his lab coat. “The staring, the lack of movement, the loss of appetite, the elective mutism. All textbook symptoms that point to the fact that your wife is still grieving, Mrs. Diamond. Frankly, I’m worried for her health.”

The shadow on his left scowled at this diagnosis, and she fidgeted, and it was apparent by these two idiosyncrasies alone that she was scrounging deep for some incisive rebuttal against the truth that laid like a breathing corpse directly below her.

“Then what, pray tell, do you intend to do about it?” Her voice exceeded its former intentions of quietness. “That’s the problem. Now what’s the solution?”

“Well, I admit her to the hospital and start her on an intravenous Lorazepam treatment. It’s a sedative. It’ll assuage some of her anxiety and relax her muscles to prevent spasming.”

“Yes, and then?”

They were talking about her as though she wasn’t even there.

It was a fair enough assessment.

“And then what, Mrs. Diamond?” The doctor stared at her incredulously, shoving both of his hands in his pockets. “With all due respect, I can treat your wife’s physical symptoms from sunup to sundown, but that’s not touching the heart of what is truly debilitating her. She’s grieving, ma’am, and she needs psychiatric treatment beyond what I can provide as a private doctor and you can provide as her spouse. We discussed this the last time I was here.”

“And the time before that—yes, I know,” Yellow Diamond laughed humorlessly, the sound half-mad in her constricted throat. “Because you stand there, like an imbecile, and tell me that there’s no underlying medical cause to this?!”

She jabbed an accusing hand at Blue Diamond, whose oceanic eyes were wide open and unseeing, silent tears slipping from the corners of them and falling sideways across her face. There was an untouched tray of food on her nightstand. There was a lankness in her unwashed hair. There were pill bottles accumulating like a grotesque collection next to the alarm clock.

And there was an air, an atmosphere, an oppression of silent decay.

The funereality of it was undeniable.

An uncomfortable wooden chair stood next to the bed where Yellow Diamond had been sitting vigil for the past two nights since they had visited the cemetery on the day of the anniversary.

Blue Diamond’s keening sobs had sliced the autumnal air.

Her daughter was dead.

Gone.

Never coming back.

She stared at nothing, it seemed to Yellow and the doctor; she languished in the visions of Pink that seized across her mind with every dripping second of consciousness.

“Depression is an underlying medical cause, Mrs. Diamond.”

The doctor’s voice softened.

Minimally.

For the first time since the house call had begun, his lanky silhouette jerked a little, as though he wanted to place a hand on the CEO’s shoulder, but thought better of it upon seeing something forbidding in the other’s expression.

“And she’s tired, ma’am. You both are.” Look at you, his rust colored eyes seemed to say. You’re both historical wrecks to a long dead ghost. “You can’t take care of her alone… moreover, you shouldn’t have to.”

But the doctor had finally overstepped one prying comment too far, and he must have known it immediately, because he took a step back from the golden eyes glowering at him in the darkness of that dusty bedroom.

Yellow Diamond’s entire face transformed, twisting itself into facets of shattered rage.

She was feral.

(Wounded.)

Apoplectic with fury.

(Grieving, she was inconsolable.)

Dangerous.

Goddammit, she was on fire.

“Do not ever deign to tell me what I can and can’t do when it comes to my wife,” she snarled, all pretense of quietness long gone, devoured in the hurricane of emotion. “Get out! OUT!”

“Mrs. Diamond, please—“

“I SAID OUT! OUT!” She shrieked, harshly shoving his shoulder with the flats of her palms. “GET THE HELL OUT!”

The doctor did not need telling again; he fled the room as the force of Yellow Diamond’s dismissal stoned his back.

Blue blinked slowly as a shaking hand suddenly clasped her arm in the wake of the carnage, the imprint of a steel wedding band carving itself into her flesh.

That hurts, Yellow.

She blinked again, the words swelling on her tongue and dying there unrestfully.

That hurts.

The warnings of Steven’s guardian standing sentinel on top of her frantically beating heart, Blue Diamond turned the knob to Room 11037 and pushed inwards until the door reluctantly gave way to a sight she had forgotten to steel herself for in-between the guilt of moving on and the agonizing action of doing so.

Steven himself.

Dwarfed in a hospital bed.

A mere wisp of the boy who had sat with her on the balcony only three days ago and stuffed his face with little chocolate cakes.

Her prodigious mind working far ahead of her paralyzed body, she frantically tried to recall his text from yesterday, what it had said about his condition, if it had indicated anything about his current state at all. But he had only told her that he had passed out and ended up in the hospital again. The boy had said nothing about the extensive tubing and the wires that ribboned and scissored his entire body in streaming colors. Lines crisscrossed each other and tumbled over and under and around his blankets.

She saw the bottom of an empty catheter bag at the edge of the bed.

And the bruises like angry embers pulsing up his arms.

Somehow, amongst all the other things she was absorbing at precisely the same time, she noticed that next to a vase of elegantly arranged sunflowers, there was an inelegantly arranged tray of hospital food.

Untouched.

He had texted not a word about the yellow pallor of his skin.

He had used exclamation points—exclamation points!—to indicate his excitement.

Blue Diamond could not shake the notion, the very absurd idea, that he had lied to her somehow, had drawn her here under false pretenses.

(This was not the truth. She had estimated at what she was getting herself into and crossed the line into getting herself into it anyway.)

“Hi,” Steven Universe said sheepishly, his cheeks flushing darkly. He was caught, and he knew it. “It’s good to see you again, Blue.”

The seconds dripped between them.

The heart monitor on the wall counted them out.

One…

Blue’s plump lips parted slightly.

Two…

Her hand shivered on the head of her cane until the sound of it rattled the clinically quiet room.

Three…

She couldn’t do this again.

She wouldn’t grieve for another dead child.

One had been too much—one had almost killed her.

Four…

God, and there were still days where she wondered if it still would.

Without thinking, desperate for relief, Blue turned away and braced her free hand on the door, drawing in harsh, ragged breaths that scratched at her beaten lungs, that bled them anew until they were leaking.

Who was she to believe that she wasn’t falling apart at her seams? How delusional was she to hope that a boy with a flower would be the difference between her saving grace and her inevitable dissolution? Was she so naïve to overlook the contours of his illness and think that his determination would be enough to save him from the eternal truth of this world? Was she so weak?

Death didn't discriminate between the old and the young, the sinner and the saint.

Pink Diamond was only twenty-one years old.

Steven Universe was a child.

“Blue!” Steven pleaded. “Wait, please don’t go. I—”

“I cannot look at you, Steven Universe," she cut across him, her voice low and fractured. Hot tears stood in her eyes, suddenly blurring her hand against the smooth door. “I’m sorry, but I cannot bear to see…”

“Can’t bear to see that I’m dying?”

He didn’t just refuse to mince the word; he stabbed it into her back so remorselessly that she gasped sharply. She glanced down at her chest and half-expected to see it lodged there, poking out, her beating heart speared on its tip.

“People can skirt around the word all they want,” Steven laughed bitterly, “but there’s no other word for it… without a kidney, I’m gonna die soon, Blue Diamond. I’m dying right now. I think I’ve been dying all this time. And everyone… all they wanna do… is look away from me. Pearl, Garnet, my dad…”

He sniffed.

“They keep looking away, and I’m so tired of it… I-I’m exhausted.”

The door felt cold against her palm.

Icy.

On the balcony, two days ago, she accused Yellow Diamond of shoving their daughter away in a drawer with the rest of her useless items.

In an arctic hospital room, Blue Diamond was ready to consign a boy to the same grave her daughter was buried in…

… but dead children couldn’t talk.

Dead children couldn’t be tired.

They were simply dead.

“So, please, Blue Diamond… please don’t look away.”

The seconds dripped between them.

The heart monitor on the wall counted them out.

One…

Her eyes were wide with the horror of everything, of it all, the senselessness, the depravity, the nihilistic revolutions of this awful, uncaring world.

“I had a daughter once,” she whispered to the door. “Her name was Pink Diamond, and she was… she is… my everything. She had a smile wider than this planet could ever hope to contain… and she very much liked to laugh.”

She had never talked about Pink to anyone other than Yellow before.

Even evoking her name felt like blasphemy.

Two…

A second passed, and no lightning fell from the sky to strike her dead; she supposed her own self-flagellation was the punishment and the eternal damnation alike.

“I looked away. Yellow and I both did. She wanted more from life, and we wanted to contain her life into… into a little box that could fit on the shelf with all our other trophies. She was our accomplishment, you see, our legacy.”

Three…

Blue Diamond’s hand fell away from the door, so she could bring it up to her mouth in a futile attempt to dam the sobs that racked her shoulders.

Four…

“We looked away. The night that she… she—” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word aloud. She wasn’t brave like Steven. “We thought she was in her room, and I didn’t tell her that I loved her that night because we had argued… I thought I’d get the chance the next day or the day after that because we argued all the time. It was normal for us.”

On and on and never again.

When was the last time Blue Diamond had said those three words to her daughter?

These past four years, she had scoured her brain for the answer, but the answer was as elusive as the phrase was from her mouth.

For the simple truth of the matter was that she hadn’t said it very often.

In all her vast intellect, she had always assumed that it was assumed.

Implied.

Understood.

You’ll never let me grow up, will you?

I love you, she could have said.

You’ll never let me grow up, will you?

I didn’t want you to, she would have replied then. I wanted you to collect dust with all the rest of our awards and certificates. I wanted you safe, where I could see you. I wanted to quantify the entirety of your life and itemize the particulars. I wanted you to always be mine.

I love you.

I looked away.

An oxymoron.

A tragedy.

Five…

“So if I look at you, Steven Universe,” she murmured, screwing her eyes closed tightly against the pain, “really look at you, then I have to face that truth again—that I loved someone once… and I looked away… and now she’s… gone.”

And that was the immutable truth of the matter, the conclusion she circled around to no matter how many times the Earth continued to revolve away from the day since Pink Diamond had last existed on this world.

Four thousand revolutions later, and this would still be what it came down to in the end.

Her daughter’s blood was on her hands, staining them crimson, veining her lifelines with the guilt and the awfulness and the unbearable, crucifying shame.

And her daughter’s blood cried out, You’ll never let me grow up, will you?

And every time she so much as looked at her own palms, that was the only echo she saw written across their hollows.

Those last words.

Unanswered.

Unfinished.

Undoing and undone.

Six…

“But… I’m not gone yet,” Steven argued softly. His voice fought to be heard over all the machinery keeping him alive. “I’m here.”

He must have moved because blankets shifted somewhere behind her.

Dead children didn’t move.

Dead children weren’t here.

They were simply—

Seven…

Eight…

Nine…

Ten…

Do it, she commanded herself.

Look at him.

But Blue Diamond was frozen, and she was statuesque; she was a calcification barely anchored on the foundation of her cane. One false move and she would crumble entirely.

The safest bet on her own survival was to limp away and dare not look behind her lest she turn to salt and dust.

Someone else could clean up the carnage.

That woman who stood at the door—she’d do it—Greg Universe and the boy’s other guardians, too.

Don’t hurt him, that same woman had also said. He likes you.

Eleven…

Twelve…

Thirteen...

vi.

It was wash day.

For nearly a year and half after Pink Diamond died, Yellow would force Blue out of bed every few days for a bath or a shower—usually a shower because it was becoming increasingly hard for the CEO to lift her wife in and out of the tub.

Today was a tub sort of occasion, though.

Date night with the Diamonds.

The presence of death was always with them, though, an intrusive third wheel.

With a slight groan, Yellow lowered herself into the warm water behind Blue, steam rising around their naked skin like curling smoke. Once upon a time, this used to be a favorite pastime of theirs, a chance to reacquaint themselves with each other and their bodies… but now the gesture was simply hygienic in purpose, asexual and quiet.

It was always quiet in the Diamonds’ penthouse suite these days.

Silent.

“Is it too hot?” Yellow asked, her voice as gentle as she could wrangle it. Somehow, at the same time, it was still edged with the trappings of harshness. “I can add some cold water?"

She waited briefly for a reply that would never come.

Blue stared limply at her knees, pulled up awkwardly as they were to her chest. Her sensitive skin had already reddened in a couple of places where it was touching the water. There were pink fingerprints wrapped around her armpits where she’d been handled into the tub.

“I think it’s too hot. You’re getting a rash.” A well-manicured hand flashed out from behind her ear and knobbed the far left tap. There was a quick murmur and then the steady hiss of cold water.

“There,” she humphed satisfactorily. “This’ll feel better.”

The running stream answered its assent.

Blue Diamond did not say a word.

She hadn’t in days now, maybe even weeks; time was irrelevant to her, and the words would not come.

There was only a dullness in her head, numb and numbing, like an icy compress coiled tightly around her thoughts.

Yellow didn’t think so, but this was better than the alternative; this was the far superior solution to the problem, the pain, and the pervasiveness of the ghost who was their daughter Pink Diamond.

Because when the analgesic of her own catatonia faded, and some of the feeling tried to seep through, her chest would unfailingly tighten, a vice squeezing hard upon her weary heart.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her child was dead.

“I…”

The sound came from behind her, guttural and choked, as though the speaker was fighting hard against the noise and losing the war.

“I’m so tired, Blue.”

It was an admission, and it was a copout.

Both of them knew that Blue Diamond wasn’t registering a single word.

She heard them—yes, this was true.

But they came to her—they landed softly—like distant echoes; she did not feel the pain of them, the visceral agony; at the present moment, she did not even feel her own pain, the grief and the scalding water and the grief.

Because it was always the grief she was trying to repress.

Everything else was just ancillary.

“You don’t know, goddammit, you can’t know, how exhausted I am.” Yellow Diamond’s voice shattered in the tub.

And her entire body hitched.

As though to keep that from breaking, too.

“You exhaust me, Blue Diamond. You exhaust me every single day. And you don’t even know it, goddammit. Who are you? What the hell have you become?”

The question was delivered to her backside, where it slipped down her tall, curving spine and into the water, splashing there with the delivery of the tap. With a violence that was almost cruel, Yellow reached from behind her again and flung it back into an off position.

There was quietness then.

It was so still, that it was disquiet.

It was always quiet in the Diamonds’ penthouse suite these days.

Silent.

Blue continued to stare blankly at her knees.

There were red patches on her skin.

Her child was dead.

After a moment’s hesitation, her breath heavy on the back of Blue’s long, slender neck, Yellow Diamond gathered her silvery hair gently in one hand and grabbed the comb on the side of the tub with another.

She was careful as she maneuvered its teeth through damp, lank strands.

She always was.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Blue.”

That was what Blue Diamond’s note would say merely a few months later.

I’m sorry and I’m sorry and I’m sorry.

Love always, Blue.

But that was the crucial thing, wasn’t it?

Sorry was not enough; love was not enough.

Because if love had been enough, Pink Diamond would still be alive.

vii.

In a hospital room pierced through with golden sun, Blue Diamond turned around and faced the light of day, her heavy braid swinging along with the slow, deliberate motion.

She wasn’t looking away, Steven Universe.

She was staring straight at him—at his sunken face and his tubing and at the catheter bag and at the sunflowers.

The boy was dying, but he was not yet dead.

It wasn’t much.

At the very least, though, it was something.

He was not gone, even if he was going.

He was here.

In this moment, in this very ephemeral second.

The heart monitor on the wall attested to that; it counted his heartbeats; it pleaded with her to have hope.

(Hope was such an awful word.)

“Those are beautiful flowers,” she whispered. Her cane clinked against the tiled floor as she carefully drew closer to observe them better.

Their petals were tall and spiky, assaulting the air with attentiveness and regal magnitude.

They vaguely reminded her of Yellow.

With a light finger, she tried to prop up one that was beginning to droop beneath the weight of all its brethren, but the moment she withdrew her touch, it fell again, sighing listlessly.

Poor thing.

“But not quite as pretty as that hibiscus you bequeathed me.”

Steven’s eyes, edged with the trace remnant of his tears, were wide and dark, full of velvet and silvery stars.

“You don’t still have it, do you?” He asked, incredulous and rather pleased.

He played a little with his hands on top of his blankets.

He tried to tamp down his hope for an affirmative with an unconvincing casualness.

Blue Diamond’s smile bruised her lips.

“I placed it on my nightstand, sweet boy, so I could look at it everyday.”

It took a second, but the irony of that word choice was not lost on either of them.

viii.

Yellow Diamond placed the failed suicide note on her nightstand for Blue to see and know that she saw. They didn’t talk about it afterwards.

How could they?

What was there to say?

It remained there for a few days afterwards, shriveled and guilty-looking next to the alarm clock; every time she opened her eyes, she would see it and feel its quiet condemnation. She would close her eyes against its glare and wait for sleep or numbness one to wrestle her into the dark.

One day, she woke up, and the paper was gone again.

The realization drew a frown across her wrinkled face.

When she thought about getting up to search for it, and mustered the appropriate will to get out of bed, apparently, many days had passed in the interim.

A month.

She only recognized this upon surveying her bathroom on her way to the toilet; she couldn't find her shaving razor anywhere.

One night—the day, the month, the year undetermined in the abscessed haze of her mind—a dull ache throbbed through Blue’s hip, growing in intensity and sharpness with each passing second that she laid on the wounded area.

There was a part of her, not entirely inconsequential, that invited the pain. For after all, suffering was the only victory the woman had left in the entire world; she wrestled with it nightly, and she embraced it. She made it her new lover and exchanged an oath that only death would do them part. She didn’t shoot herself, or cut herself, or swallow a handful of pills that would surely do the trick.

She laid on her bad hip and convinced herself that she deserved it.

But that night—whatever night that it was—the agony was unbearable, pulling at her all over.

With a groan that wasn’t voluntary, Blue wrested herself into some semblance of a sitting position and looked for her phone so that she could call Livia for an ice pack, but it wasn’t on the bedside table as it usually was… and since it wasn’t in its usual position, she had no clue where she had last left it.

If she wanted relief, she would have to brave the kitchen herself.

She wanted relief, and the guilt of it half-immobilized her.

So she sat there for a couple more minutes still and endured the stabbing ache before finally coaxing herself upwards into the dark night of the bedroom.

Assuming her cane in one hand, Blue crept silently towards the door and out of it, where the hallway stretched out before her like a cavernous tunnel, all the lights extinguished.

Even the telltale glow of lamp warmth that usually emitted from the study across the hall was gone out, which meant that Yellow had likely succumbed to sleep on the couch within.

A twinge of something bothered Blue’s sternum at the thought.

She limped forward anyway and all the same, lifting her cane off the floor to keep from making noise; the wall was her guide in its stead, the pads of her long fingers moving along its smooth planes until she reached the end of the archway, where she immediately intuited that she wasn’t alone.

In the moonlight that wept into the living room through the tall windowpanes, Yellow Diamond was a stark figure sitting on the edge of the couch, leached of all her color. Her blonde hair, her silky pajamas, the leathery musculature of her corded neck—all of it was leveled by blinding whiteness.

Illuminated.

Vulnerable.

Exposed.

When her wife swallowed, she could see every line in her powerful jaw working through the peristaltic motion.

In the shadowed hallway, Blue Diamond stood still, even though the sharp pain in her hip demanded attention.

For this moment, this night, this moonlit haunting did not belong to her—even though most of them usually did.

She understood, somewhere in the mire of her own head, that to disturb this scene would be sacrilege. So she watched, and she waited.

Yellow Diamond was holding something between her sharp, angular hands.

With a jolt, she realized that it was Spinel, a stuffed pink cat who had been Pink’s favorite companion once upon a time. Her left ear was still stained from the tea Yellow had once accidentally dripped on it during a princess tea party.

Washed it though they had—several times over—the spot was stubborn; Spinel had been permanently marked.

“S’okay, Momma,” Pink had only said, grinning up at them both from gapped teeth. She had hugged the toy to her chest. The affected ear brushed against the side of her freckled neck. “That just means she’s one of a kind."

Yellow’s fingers were wrapped around the cat’s plush stomach tenderly; she stared at it from depthless, ancient eyes.

It struck Blue Diamond—then and there—that she wanted something more from this vignette; she wanted Yellow to say something. Selfishly, she desired a confirmation for what she had already so trenchantly inferred.

She wanted, she desired, she longed, she needed to know that her wife was broken, too.

It was a horrible hunger, an itch that felt terrible to scratch.

But Blue Diamond was voracious.

Sometimes, maybe even oftentimes, she could be cruel.

After a long while, though, Yellow Diamond only placed the cat down on the coffee table and stared out into the irradiated night with her hands templed below her sharp chin, lost in silent thought.

She looked older than she ever had in all of their collected years together.

She was only fifty-four.

ix.

They talked—for a long while—as the sun slipped away from the sky, sunset coming in fragments through the slats in the window blinds.

Blue Diamond held Steven’s hand, the one that didn’t have so many IVs in it, and rubbed smooth circles against his wrist.

“Pearl does that, too,” he smiled at her softly through hooded eyes when she began. “It’s nice.”

They talked about everything, and they talked about nothing.

He told her about his favorite show, which seemed to be about morose breakfast items from what she could vaguely surmise, and he talked to her, very quietly, about his disease.

It was rapidly progressing, far more quickly than his nephrologist had anticipated.

“Those chocolate cakes we shared on your balcony,” he admitted with the air of a child waiting to be scolded, “I may have accidentally puked them up in your toilet. Sorry..."

“It’s of no consequence,” she returned with a small, sad smile.

And this was very well true.

She wasn’t the one who had to clean it after all.

They talked about everything, and they talked about nothing.

Blue told him about the sunrise yesterday, how all the colors had seeped together in a swirl of delicious color, and she talked to him, very quietly, about Pink.

“In the best of possible ways,” she mumbled, the sound caught in the column of her throat, “you remind me of her sometimes. She smiled at everything, even when there wasn’t exactly something to be smiled about.”

“That’s a very pretty way to put it.” Steven wriggled a thumb from beneath her palm to stay it against the side of her hand.

“Yes,” she nodded gently, “I suppose so.”

When it was time for her to leave—a team of nurses had come in to administer Steven’s evening medicines and check his vitals—she pressed a kiss against his forehead.

Very light and very soft.

“You didn’t look away,” he whispered against her cheek as she withdrew. His breath was sickly sweet with disease. “Thank you, Blue.”

She froze, meeting his eyes.

There was hesitancy, and there was consuming grief.

The scribble of guilt.

Scrawled all over her face.

“I wanted to, though,” she breathed. “If we're being technical... if we're being fair... I think the impulse counts against me.”

“But you didn’t.”

Steven’s chapped lips tilted into the beginnings of a smile.

“And that’s what matters, right?”

She brushed a stray curl off of his clammy forehead and thought about Pink and Yellow and all the things she did and didn’t do.

She loved them.

She looked away.

“Yes,” she told Steven Universe.

Yes.

Alone, Blue Diamond slowly crossed the skywalk, her silvery hair crowned in all the colors of the sunset, a phone pressed against her ear.

Her cane struck the tiled floor with each shuffled step forward.

Clank.

The dial tone droned rhythmically—bzzt and bzzt and bzzt.

Clank.

She felt her heart work its way up her throat, clambering up its fleshy rungs. The immensity of what she was doing transformed her nervous system into a network of beating, pulsing neuroses.

She was ready for this, and she was not.

She could do this; she half-hoped that she wouldn't receive an answer.

Clank.

And then—

“Blue?” Yellow Diamond’s low voice threw its instinctive panic across the line. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Because this was new.

And yet, achingly familiar.

So many years of having not sought Yellow out—all those weeks, days, and months—were well-established patterns that were not easily overturned and undone.

All those collective hurts—hundreds of them, thousands.

Four years of misery sat between them like four hundred thousand miles.

Blue Diamond swallowed thickly, stopping dead in her tracks as the spillage of people continued to swarm all around her like a package freed of its contents: doctors and patients and sundry other visitors. She was the eye of their storm, and yet, she was just another broken person in the midst of so many other broken people. She was separate from them, and yet, she was their intimate kin. The contradiction seemed untenable, unworkable like all the rest.

Her fingers tightened on the head of her cane.

“I’m… I’m fine, Yellow,” she began. “Please don’t worry. I just had to… I wanted to tell you something. Are you busy?”

On the other end of the line, somewhere in a giant, yellow skyscraper at the edge of Empire City, there was the sharp intake of breath.

And the hesitant beginnings of a fearful reply.

It was a start, though.

And that was what mattered, right?

Yes, Blue Diamond thought to herself.

Yes.

#bellow diamond #blue diamond #yellow diamond #steven universe #garnet #greg universe #s: steven universe #mimik-u #flower child #holy shit - i can't believe i wrote this

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talpup · 3 years

Text

Summary: Yami Sukehiro just wanted to join the Magic Knights and make his mentor proud. He knew there would be trails. He knew trouble would come his way. Knew he would be faced with discrimination for being a foreigner and a peasant. What he didn’t know. Didn’t expect. Was that literal Chaos would come his way. That he and his mentor’s sister would be at the center of world ending trouble. Or that he would fall in love with his mentor’s sister and face more than discrimination; but the jealously of Nozel Silva who loved the same woman he did.

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, eventual sexual behavior, and other possible triggers. For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

Chapter 74

Teris awoke to one of the loudest claps of thunder she had ever heard. Sitting up in bed, hand to her racing heart, she looked out the window expecting to see darkened skies. Instead everything was calm and sunny. Quickly getting dressed, she headed downstairs. Yami and Tobin had been out on another mission when she had returned to base shortly before lights out last night. But Venice had told her the two were expected back sometime today.

Before heading to the dining hall, Teris poked her head outside the front entrance, looking again at the skies. Finding that direction clear and unclouded as well, she shrugged pulling her head back in and closed the door. Turning she jumped, startled by Iban’s presence.

“Damn it, Iban! You need to wear a bell or something.” Teris cursed, stepping around him.

Iban watched her, impressed at how quickly her system had recovered from the surprise. Her hammering heart already almost returned to normal in its rhythm. Opening the door he exited without word, fully believing Yami when the man said he would harm him if he didn’t keep his distance from Teris.

Shaking off the weird encounter, Teris headed to the dining hall.

“I swore I heard thunder.” Teris commented as she served.

“You did. And you can expect much more of it.” Olsen said.

Teris sat down at the table. “The skies to the north and south were clear.”

“The Vice Captain's are practicing.” Olsen explained.

“For?” Teris asked, looking to him.

“Seems there’s to be a changing of the guard for the Purple Orcas.” Olsen said.

Teris’ brows rose at that. “Heath is leaving?”

“What’s this?” Bran asked, eyes clearing as he looked up.

“Whenever a Captain retires the Captains and Vice Captain's battle it out in a set of two challenges.” Olsen explained. “It’s a sort of going away fun time celebration, preparedness, and hazing all rolled into one. The first battle in which four of the nine Captain's go against all of the Vice Captain's is timed. The second isn’t timed, and usually ends up being Captain against their own Vice Captain as all the Captain's participate. While the first battle the Vice Captain's have to subdue a Captain before time runs out the second challenge is left to a win, call, or draw for each of the Vice Captain's.” Olsen grinned. “Most of the Vice Captain's end up calling or drawing but if the Vice Captain meant to be taking over the squad doesn’t come out with a win or a draw--”

“They don’t become Captain?” Bran asked.

“No.” Olsen said. “They’ll still become Captain. Usually. But it will likely be hard going for them. Especially among the other Captain's.”

“I don’t know much about Whilf. Do you?” Teris asked Olsen, wondering what kind of Captain the Purple Orcas Vice Captain would make.

“You’re the one with a friend in the Purple Orcas. I was hoping you could tell me.” Olsen said.

Teris shrugged. “Zara hasn’t mentioned him. Then again, he never mentioned Heath leaving. And I just saw him at the Decoration Ceremony a couple days ago.”

“How was that by the way?” Olsen asked. “Nozel loving it as much as you hated it? Everyone bowing and scraping before him.”

“I didn’t hate it.” Teris said.

“You finally turning into a proper royal on us?” Olsen teased.

“No.” Teris huffed. “But thanks to a friend I got a new outlook on that sort of stuff. As for Nozel. I don’t think he enjoyed any of it. Not personally at least. He didn’t want to be an acting Captain in the first place. His Majesty set him with a task and though I’m sure he was pleased and proud to have achieved it after a fashion, I don’t think he thought he deserved the Golden Clover Medal of Honor.”

“I never would have expected that.” Olsen said.

“I didn’t either. It—he surprised me. In more ways than one.” Teris smiled at the memory of yesterday.

Olsen's eyes narrowed. “What’s this? With your face.”

“I can smile.”

“You certainly can and often do.” Olsen agreed. “But never when you’re speaking about Nozel Silva.”

“He surprised me with a really pleasant birthday gift yesterday is all.” Teris said, unable to stop smiling despite her efforts.

“I hope you didn’t let on how much you liked it.” Olsen said, feeling protective of her on Yami’s behalf.

“Stop it.” Teris snipped. “All of that has been made painfully and uncomfortably clear on both our parts. Nozel and I have moved past his feelings.”

Olsen gave her a dubious look. “Has he really?”

“We can still be friends.” Teris said. “Our friendship is more important than any hurt feelings he may have about Yami and I being together.”

“Especially when he thinks you are going to do as you’re told and marry him.” Olsen put in.

“Stop it.” Teris got up leaving her plate untouched. “I’m not talking to you about this. Where is everyone anyway?”

“Out at the training field watching the show of course.” Olsen answered watching her. He may have over stepped his bounds a bit. But with no one else here to remind her what guys were really like he had felt it his responsibility for both her and Yami’s sake.

74.2

Fuegoleon and Randall stood together watching their Vice Captain.

Quince pointed at the royal Vermillion. “No telling your sister of our plans.”

“Of course not.” Fuegoleon called back, grinning. “You’ll need all the help you can get to best a team that has Mereoleona Vermillion on it.”

Bronn rolled his eyes. “I’ll subdue that Lioness quicker than her mouth can shoot off.”

“Oui!” Quince snapped. “That’s my Captain you’re talking about.”

“Remember your loyalties here.” Bronn snapped back. “Stupid Crimson Lions. Next thing you know Quince will go apologizing we’ve knocked the Lioness on her ass and turn on us, trying to back her up.”

“I’m more worried about Julius.” Kess, Vice Captain of the Silver Eagles, said. She cast Julius’ Vice Captain a look, blushing slightly when Jon’s dark eyes met hers.

“I think everyone’s worried about Julius.” Bronn said.

Jaynee, Vice Captain of the Blue Rose and Captain Jamie’s sister, began arguing with Tryn, Jamie’s Vice Captain.

Bronn sighed and shook his head. “What we should be worrying about is if we’ll kill each other before we even make it to the day of the challenge.”

Teris came up beside Venice who was standing in the front row of the spectators circle. “I had wondered if you had been put on another mission.”

“Thankfully things are beginning to calm. Though I doubt we’re at the point of slacking off and letting you and Yami handle it all for us again.” Venice teased.

“Good luck with that once Bronn retires and we become Vice Captains.” Teris warned, playfully.

“I don’t know if it’s because the Vice Captain's are practicing on our sparring field and he feels responsible or what, but he’s pretty much been the one keeping them from imploding.” Venice remarked, watching the Vice Captain’s.

“Who? Bronn?” Teris asked in disbelief.

Venice nodded. She glanced at Teris. “I was kind of afraid to ask last night. But how was your birthday? Not one of the worst to date I hope.”

“One of the best, if not the best, to date. At least I would hope.” Fuegoleon smiled, joining them.

Teris looked at the Crimson Lion, returning his smile. “Leon’s right.” She told Venice. “Yesterday was actually pretty great.”

“Pretty great? You had a grin the entire time that I don’t think the healers would’ve been able to remove.” Fuegoleon said, glad Nozel had come up with the idea and had convinced Lord Silva into allowing the excursion.

Venice looked at the two royals. Happy as she was that her friend had had a good birthday, she wasn’t overly pleased the good time had been while in the company of Nozel Silva. Fuegoleon, she didn’t mind so much. The Vermillion wasn’t all that bad once you got to know him. Nozel on the other hand. The Silva was the type of person Venice would’ve hated even if he had no connection to Teris.

“Why? What happened?” Venice questioned.

Looking back at her friend, Teris told. “There’s a water, ice, and sand sculpture contest in Racine every year. I’ve always wanted to go, but it’s held October first through the third. So I’ve never been able to. Nozel somehow convinced his father to forgo the usual itinerary for my birthday and allow us to attend.”

“It was a simple matter really.” Nozel said, joining from behind, having just arrived to view the spectacle that was all the Vice Captain’s training together. “With all the royal fanfare the day before your birthday it was easy enough to convince him.” He smiled at Teris. “I’m glad you enjoyed your day. After seeing you that happy I was disappointed I hadn’t thought to try and convince my father sooner.”

Fuegoleon fought against rolling his eyes. As glad as he was Teris was so grateful and pleased with Nozel for his efforts, he couldn’t help but think Nozel was pressing the matter a bit over much. At least Teris didn’t suspect anything. The surprise event in Racine apparently enough to either explain away or make her forget about Nozel overreacting and dragging her into a private room.

Teris smiled at Nozel. As much as she wanted to forget about his affection for her and preferred to think that Nozel had already moved on, she was always mindful with her ways and words around him just in case. “Thanks again.” She glanced at the Vice Captain's. “I wonder if Quince’s compass magic could somehow negate, or at least redirect, Julius’ time magic.”

“What was that Black Sheep?” Bronn asked from several paces away.

“Yet when you’re standing right beside me and I directly ask you something you don’t hear.” Teris complained to her Vice Captain.

“I hear what I want when I want. Deal. Now get over here.” Bronn ordered.

“What are you doing?” Jaynee asked.

Bronn gestured to Teris. “She has an idea how to combat Julius. Unlike Jon who’s either too dumb or too loyal to give away his Captain’s weaknesses.”

Teris shook her head. “No I don’t.”

Bronn snapped his fingers at her and pointed to the ground in front of him.

“What does some girl know that we don’t?” Whilf asked.

Bronn shook his head in disappointed disgust. “And they’re thinking of making you a Captain? Well this one’s gonna be a Vice Captain soon enough.” He gestured to Teris. Looking over his shoulder, he told his follow Vice Captain's. “Oh, and in case anyone wasn’t aware. It takes two to replace me.”

Quince and Jon chuckled.

“Step to it Black Sheep. We don’t got all day.” Bronn said.

“Actually, we do.” Kess said.

“Not to wait on her.” Bronn snapped.

Wishing she could disappear, Teris stood in front of Bronn on the Black Bulls training field. Everyone, from the Vice Captain's to the spectators were watching her.

Bronn crossed his arms and looked down at her. “Now, how do we beat that pesky brother of yours again?”

74.3

Yami and Tobin both hated flying by broom. So with their mission completed they decided to walk. It meant they’d get back to base by late evening instead of early morning but Tobin hadn’t much cared. What somewhat bugged him was Yami hadn’t seemed to care either.

They had just passed the small village of Rimrock and were turning onto the smaller dirt road that led to the Black Bulls base when Tobin finally got the nerve to ask. “Everything alright with you and Teris?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Yami tossed back.

“Don’t know. Just don’t see why you chose not to fly when Teris was suppose to get back last night and is probably waiting to see you.” Tobin said.

“Cause I hate to fly by broom.” Yami said.

“So no other reason then?” Tobin asked, looking at his friend.

“No. Now get out of my face.” Yami rumbled, giving Tobin a shoved creating more space between them as they walked.

“I was just concerned was all.” Tobin said, righting his steps.

“Things are fine.” Yami assured. “We just need to slow things down a bit.”

At that Tobin gave a hearty laugh. Turning serious, he told. “You’re lucky.”

Yami’s eyes slid back to his friend. “Why’s that?”

“Teris is still shy and innocent. Venice is far from that. That woman will toy with me. Get me riled up just enough.”

“You two haven’t...” Yami left the rest unsaid simply because he wouldn’t like Tobin asking so directly.

Tobin shook his head. “Not for lack of trying on my part. She wants to wait a bit. Though who knows why or how long. It’s not like with you and Teris. Venice is no blushing virgin wanting to wait till marriage.”

Yami raised a censuring brow. “And because of that you figured she would just accept?”

“No! Not at all. Still, I didn’t think she’d make me wait this long or tease and tempt me as she does.”

“You do realize who you’re with, right?” Yami questioned, Even he knew Teris’ friend well enough to know Venice was the type to toy and tease.

“Yeah, yeah.” Tobin tried to shove Yami.

Yami halted a step, easily dodging the attempt.

“I know the way she is.” Tobin went on. “It’s my own damn fault for loving her. All I’m saying, is as difficult as you think you have it you don’t know difficult. Not with that stuff. Be grateful for your girls innocence and don’t do anything to take it from her too soon. Especially if you’re planning on waiting till you wed.”

“Don’t give unasked advice.” Yami grumbled, humored temper turning. He didn’t mind when he was the topic of so called guy talk; but once Teris was brought into it, it was a completely different matter.

There was a concussive boom from ahead, followed by a rain of soil. Yami was meters ahead before Tobin began following. As Yami got closer he heard voices. A lot of voices. But it didn’t sound like fighting. He had been a part of enough battles to know what those sounded like. Also, the many Ki’s he sensed weren’t the same as what would come from a mass battle. Yami slowed.

Tobin reached him. “What?”

“It’s not an attack.” Yami said.

“Then--”

Another boom sounded.

“The training field.” Yami said, tracking the sound.

“This late?” Tobin questioned. It was then that he heard the crowd.

The two made their way up the path and came across a group of excited Magic Knights walking away from the training yard.

Recognizing one of the Magic Knights, Tobin called. “Oui. Dmitri. What’s going on?”

“The Vice Captain's training has turned into an open challenge.” The Coral Peacock answered.

Yami and Tobin looked at each other wondering what they had missed in the two days they’d been gone.

Entering the training field that was still overly large from the combination of Yami and Teris’ magic three years ago, Tobin looked around in amazement. The area had a festival-like atmosphere. There were people from the village selling food and drink. Tobin noted Yami moving to one such person and buying an ale.

“What?” Yami asked, seeing Tobin looking at him. “I’m thirsty.”

Tobin shook his head and went to find Venice.

Yami sniffed and followed his nose, buying something to eat as well. Sensing Teris’ mana Yami knew exactly where she was in the field but decided to let her come to him rather than seek her out. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see her. After three days away from her, he was chopping at the bit to see and hold her. But in leaving Teris falling over and wanting in an effort to heighten her desire and make her comfortable after what happened in the Diamond Kingdom, Yami had discovered just how much he enjoyed being pursued by her. Though he hadn’t told Tobin as much, that was why he had been fine walking home. To leave Teris wanting and waiting. To heighten her desire and excitement of seeing him.

Yami stepped up to watch the fight and found himself standing beside William Vangeance.

“I’ve always wanted to see the Azure Deers Vice Captain go up against Lady Neyres.” William said. “Dragon and Wolf. Fire and ice. It’s almost as opposite yet similar as your and Teris’ dark and light magic.”

“Hardly.” Yami said, taking in the combatants. He figured Venice’s ex could easily best the Silver Eagle girl due to his greater experience and power. Not to mention that Jon had Julius as a Captain. As kind as Julius was, he was an exacting teacher, as both he and William could attest.

Looking around the ring of spectators, Yami saw someone with Fuegoleon and Randall. The Purple Orca appeared older than the Crimson Lions but the three seemed friendly enough.

Pointing the man out, Yami asked. “Who’s that?”

“That’s Lord Julius and Lady Teris’ Purple Orcas friend.” William told.

Yami looked the man over with a bit more interest. “Don’t know him.”

“Apparently Zara Ideale managed to make three more high ranking friends while teamed together on their mission during the Nine Day War.” William said, watching the trio across the field.

“That’s the fourth member of the Ball of Pride’s squad?” Yami said more to himself. The Purple Orca certainly wasn’t a royal or noble. Which peaked his interest all the more. Sensing Teris behind him, Yami smiled. “Hello, Ikigai. Took you long enough.”

Teris didn’t need to see Yami’s face she know he was smiling. Four days might not have been long; but when it came to not seeing Yami, it felt like forever. Her eyes hungerly raked over his muscular back. Taking in his thick thighs and fine ass. It was a struggle not to touch him but the bustling crowd and Julius’ rules about open affection rang in her ears, staying her hand.

“I told you if you’re not going to tell me what that word means to stop call me it.” Teris lightly scolded. When Yami didn’t turn, her small smile faded. “I would’ve thought you’d find me to tell me you’re back.”

“Wanted to see how long it took you to sense and come find me.” Yami teased, eyes on the match even though every other sense was focused on her.

So that’s how he was playing it, Teris thought. Well two could play at that game. She turned to leave. Yami dropped his food and turned. Reaching out, he grabbed her wrist. He managed to stop short of pulling her to him, feeling several eyes watching them.

Growling, he slowly let go of her wrist. Mana, he hated that he couldn’t openly do as he wanted with her. But with Lord Silva sending another gang to try and kill him Jax had thrown his full support behind Julius’ decreed. The two Captain's adamant about his and Teris’ so called public appearance. As much as Yami hated it, he had to admit they had a point. Even if he didn’t see what good it would do now. It all seemed a little too late to him. He couldn’t see how Nathyn Silva would stop sending hired gangs and forget about him simply because he wasn’t physically affectionate with Teris where someone might see and word get back to him.

“Stay. Please.” Yami said, trusting his eyes to get across the message of how much he missed, and wanted to hold and kiss her.

William smirked, watching the scene out of the corner of his eye. Asking her about the Summer Solstice, an all too familiar voice echoed in his head. Not now, William thought back.

Teris looked Yami over, tamping down the urge to grasp him and pull him down for a kiss. Eyes shifting away from him, she cleared her throat. “You dropped your food.” Looking over her shoulder she gestured to a passing girl.

“Yes, Miss?” The girl asked, bounding up to her.

Teris pointed at the food on the ground. “Three more like those and a mead, please.” She handed the girl a silver coin.

The girls eyes lit up. “Right away, Miss.”

Teris smiled after the child.

“You’re too generous.” Yami told, having seen the glint of silver in the torchlight.

“How was your mission?” Teris asked.

Yami took a quaff of his drink thinking he should’ve added an ale to Teris’ order, or possibly two. The coin she’d given the girl would've covered it and more.

“Went well enough.” Yami answered. He looked her over and grinned. “Good to be back. Even better having you back where you belong.”

Teris smiled shyly.

“Here she is.” The girl said, returning with a boy of maybe seventeen who carried the drink and one of the orders of food.

The boys eyes widened at the sight of Teris. To the girl he whispered in a hiss. “That’s Lady Nova.”

“She’s nice.” The girl said, cheerily.

The boy gave a clumsy bow. “Forgive my sister, my Lady, she--”

“Did nothing wrong.” Teris finished, smiling down at the girl.

The boy gave her a nervous smile a slight color flooding his cheeks.

Yami smirked at the lad, the boys Ki telling him that he found Teris attractive.

“I’ll take those.” Teris said, holding her hands out to the lad.

Yami chuckled seeing how flustered the kid got handing over the mead and food. The boy’s neck and face turning beet red when Teris’ hand brushed his during the transfer of goods.

Teris looked at the girl. “And you can give one to each of these gentlemen.” She gestured to Yami and William.

William turned his head, though his eyes had been watching the entire time. “Me?”

“Unless you don’t want it.” Teris said.

William smiled at the Nova’s generosity. Accepting the offered food from the girl, he told Teris. “Thank you.”

“That coin she gave you can cover another ale.” Yami told the boy, taking the food from the girl.

The boy nodded and dashed off.

“Making me pay for your drink?” Teris teased, brow raised.

“You already paid, I’m just seeing you get a bit more out of it.” Yami said.

“And how is another ale for you getting me anything?” Teris played, stepping between him and William to watch the match.

“Cause it makes me happy and you like it when I’m happy.” Yami said, feet shuffling to the left till his arm brushed hers. He looked her over glad his hands were once again full otherwise the temptation to grab and kiss her would’ve been impossible to resist.

Yami looked across Teris at William to see him watched them with interest. The two men's eyes met and held a moment before William’s bright smiling eyes flicked away. Yami turned back looking across the field to find and focus on Zara.

“So that’s your Purple Orca friend.” Yami commented, jutting his chin in the man’s direction.

Teris followed his gaze. “Zara. Yeah.” She huffed seeing Randall speaking to him. Remembering how the Crimson Lion had all but ignored the Purple Orca after the Decoration Ceremony at the Kings Castle, she said. “Glad to see Randall finally seems to remember he knows Zara.”

Having attended the past two day events at the Kings Castle that celebrated the end of the Nine Day War, William asked. “Can you blame him? Randall could hardly converse so readily with a peasant when among his peers.”

“I did.” Teris challenged.

“As a member of the oldest royal family, you can speak to whom ever you wish with little condemnation.” William said. He chose not to add that as the Intended of Nozel Silva, the heir to the second family of the kingdom, she could converse with whom ever she pleased without fear of lowering her status.

Teris scoffed, recalling the censuring looks Nozel and his father cast her way when she had conversed with Zara after the Decoration Ceremony.

“I could name a number of people who don’t agree with you there.” Teris told, looking at William out of the corner of her eye.

The boy returned with Yami’s ale. Yami downed the one he had and held the mug out to trade for the full one, only the kid was too busy making eyes at Teris.

“Can I get you anything else, Lady Nova?” The boy asked, softly.

Too softly apparently, because Teris who hadn’t noticed his appearance, kept her back turned to him. The boy looked her over and stared at her butt.

Yami’s eyes narrowed. He thrusted the empty tankard into the kids chest, hard enough to send him back a couple steps.

The boy turned his gaze to Yami who snatched his drink out of the kids hand.

Staring down at the boy, Yami commanded. “Go away.”

The boy sprinted off.

Yami watched the kid with an amused huff. Turning back around he asked Teris. “How was the ceremony?”

“You mean, did I behave myself?” Teris asked, eyes sliding to him.

Yami smirked at her. “You said it, not I.”

“Lady Teris was most genteel.” William offered. The feelings of his hidden friend melded and infected his having him go on. “Well, except for when Nozel dragged you away.” He looked at Teris. “Though I’m sure it’s difficult to appear elegant when being pulled behind someone. You were alone in that room together for quite some time. I hope whatever Nozel wanted of you turned out alright.”

Teris glared at the masked noble. The hair on the back of her neck prickled feeling Yami’s eyes bore into her. There was no doubt in her mind that William said what he did on purpose. The way his blue eyes danced behind his mask made her want to rip it off. What was he hiding anyway?

“I suppose it did.” William went on. He felt guilty, but not enough to stop. “You arrived on his arm for the dinner and danced not once but three times with him at the ball. Is it true that he even convinced his father to allow him to take you to Racine to view the sculptures of the Ice, Water, and Sand Contest? I’ve always wanted to go myself. But from what I’ve heard it’s mostly a romantic event meant for couples. Maybe next year. If I have someone close enough in my life.”

“I don’t see that happening.” Teris said in dry monotone, wondering what she’d done to offend Julius’ other protege.

“Ah! Vice Captain Jon has won the match.” William said. “Excuse me. I must congratulate him. Thank you again for the food.”

Teris watched the Golden Dawn slip under the bar that marked the perimeter of the training yard. Turning to Yami, she noted the once full mug of ale dangling from his hand, empty.

After taking a long, slow sip of mead, Teris asked. “How was you and Tobin’s mission?”

“You already asked that.” Yami said, dropping the empty tankard next to where he dropped the food when he grabbed Teris by the wrist. He took a bite of food more for something to do than hunger which he no longer felt.

“No problems?” Teris asked.

“Nope.” Yami said, chewing.

“It’s just Venice said you and Tobin were expected back early today.” Teris said, wishing Yami would look at her. “I had begun to worry.”

“I can tell.” Yami snarked.

Teris’ eyes hardened. She was tempted to throw her food at him. Instead she threw it on the ground.

Yami felt a breeze kicked up by Teris spinning around and storming away. He tossed his food down and cursed, regretting his sour sarcasm. It wasn’t that he was jealous. ...Okay, he was jealous. But not in the way one would think. He trusted Teris, and didn’t need to trust Nozel to know nothing happened. What Yami was jealous of was that Nozel could take her to some romantic event supposedly meant for couples, and he couldn’t even go out alone with her unless it was for a mission.

“Who’s next!” Bronn hollered from the center of the training yard.

Annoyed at Julius’ rules, and angry at his response, Yami gripped the hilt of his katana and lept over the bar. He needed to hit something and Bronn had just given him an excuse.

Bronn saw him and grinned devilishly. “I was hoping you’d get back in time for this. Sure you got enough mana left after that mission? Can’t mix with Black Sheep like you use to top off and cheat.”

“You gonna talk all night or fight?” Yami questioned the Vice Captain.

Bronn rolled his neck and cracked his knuckles. “The Captain's Challenge is meant to prepare and show what it means to be a Magic Knights Captain. The power, strength of will, and all that nonsense. There’s no Vice Captain's Challenge. But seeing as you’re suppose to take my place soon enough, I’ll happily take you on here and now. Feel free to let loose and use magic, fists, and whatever else you got.”

Yami cloaked himself in mana. He didn’t put it passed Bronn to take an early cheap shot before the matches start was called. “Works for me. So long as I can kick your ass and you can’t cry about it and have me kicked out.”

“You sure you don’t want any help?” Bronn taunted. “It apparently takes two of you to take my place. Black Sheep--”

Yami unsheathed his katana, cloaking it in darkness. “Leave her out of this.”

Bronn shrugged. “It’s you’re infirmary stay.”

Standing with Randall and Zara, Fuegoleon looked between the two Black Bulls. It was obvious this wasn’t a challenge so much as an excuse to fight. He looked for Teris among the spectators hoping his cousin was watching Yami’s brutish display but didn’t see her. At least Nozel had left, called away on a mission. Given that Yami had left Nozel in the dark about Lord Silva sending another gang to kill him; Fuegoleon wouldn’t have put it passed Nozel to step forward and join the current challenge against Yami.

Jon left Kess’ side, ducking back under the railing and moving near Bronn. “I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I.” Quince said.

Fuegoleon silently agreed with his Vice Captain. This was suppose to be a challenge of skill. Not a brawl of passed grievances. They were Magic Knights not petty thugs.

“Get behind the line.” Bronn ordered the Azure Deer.

“Let the two fight. Bronn has a point. Why isn’t there a Vice Captain's Challenge?” Jaynee asked.

“Because you’re stupid, that’s why, Jaynee.” Tyrn said. “Bronn. I’m all for whipping upstart subordinates into shape but this doesn’t feel right. You might be use to getting into trouble but the rest of us aren’t.”

“You might be leaving soon but I’m looking to be made Captain. I won’t let you do this. You want to fight the foreigner, do it another time.” Whilf put in.

Bronn sighed heavily, stance relaxing. “Seems I’m being overruled. Sorry, Lord of Destruction. You won’t be visiting Healers Hall tonight.”

Yami sheathed his katana and spat. “Coward.”

Bronn made for Yami. Quince lept over the bar. Tyrn ducking under. The two reached Bronn and held him back. Jon moved between Yami and Bronn in case Yami made for the Vice Captain or Bronn broke through. Bronn struggled against his fellows, cursing up a storm.

Senses alert in case Bronn used his magic or broke free, Yami turned his back. An insult he knew would enrage the Vice Captain further.

Shoulders tense, sure word would get back to Julius and his Captain would have words for him, Jon ushered Yami away.

Seeking to quickly move on and deflect from the scuffle, Jaynee took up the call asking for an opponent.

Yami took a drink out of someones hand and downed it, tossing mug back at the person. Jon apologized, handing the Magic Knight a coin as payment. Reaching the treeline Yami plopped on the ground exhaustion suddenly catching up to him.

“What was that about?” Jon questioned, watching Yami yawn.

Blinking heavily, Yami said dully. “Bronn’s an ass and deserves an ass kicking.”

Jon shifted on his feet, looking around before agreeing. “Can’t argue there.”

The Azure Deers Vice Captain wasn’t sure how he felt about Yami. But he didn’t think he’d ever consider the man a friend. It wasn’t just because of the way Yami had insisted on a bribe before agreeing to go out on what had ended up being the worse double date of Jon’s life. It wasn’t even because Yami was close friends with Venice’s new boyfriend, Tobin. Nor was it because it had been Yami’s suggestion that Tobin had followed which had made Venice so jealous and led to their break up. Okay, may be it had a bit to do it. But it mostly had to do with how different the two men were.

For the entirety of his life, Jon strove to behave as perfect courtly gentleman. He showed far more noble grace than either of his legitimate siblings and likely knew more about proper decorum too. As a bastard, Jon had done all he could to show himself to be better than what people expected. To be more than the noble children who sneered at him and had it so easy. Yami, on the other hand, didn’t try in the least to raise and better his behavior to prove to others that he was capable of it. That he was more than the uncivilized foreign peasant the hierarchy believed him to be. Worse than not trying, in Jon mind, was that Yami didn’t even seem to care what people thought.

It bothered Jon to no end. Still, despite his lack of friendly, though not necessarily unfriendly, feelings toward Yami, Jon felt a responsibility toward him given Yami was one of Captain Julius’ proteges.

Jon looked over the crowd milling about and sighed. At least no one seemed to be paying them much attention any more.

“Is everything alright?” Jon asked. Seconds passed without answer. “Yami?” He looked back down the Black Bull to find him laid back against a tree trunk asleep. Jon shook his head in annoyance. He’d never understand what his Captain had and still saw in foreigner.

74.4

“Are they dating?” Jax asked.

Julius shrugged in his seat. “Don’t know. Jon’s been exceedingly careful of his personal doings since he learned we knew so much about him and Venice.”

Jax tisked, taking a sip of his drink. “It’s our duty as Captain's to know what our squad is up to. Hard as one tries, personal life can’t completely be removed from work.”

“I’m just glad he’s no longer moping about the break-up.” Julius said.

Jax nodded into his cup. “It’s been six months. It’s about time he got over her and back out there.”

Julius smiled sadly. As if his friend should talk when he was still hung up and hadn’t been on a date in years. Not that Julius hadn’t tried helping Jax get back out there. The man deserved to find happiness. Especially after what happened.

“Is he?” Jax asked.

Julius raised his brows and blinked in question.

“Over her.” Jax elaborated.

Julius shrugged again. “Don’t know. But his better humor and interest in someone else is a good first step.”

“Just so long as he doesn’t go after Tobin or hold any animosity against Venice.” Jax said.

“That was never a worry.” Julius said of his Vice Captain.

“Talking about the Captain's Challenge?” Teris asked entering the Black Bulls base just in time to hear Julius’ comment. Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you two are spying. Hoping to learn the Vice Captain's strategy.”

“You mean it hasn’t devolved into an open contest for all comers yet?” Julius asked, remembering that’s how it was when he was a Vice Captain. Sadly, the Captain's didn’t have near as much fun preparing. Too busy to even schedule a group practice before the challenge, they were left winging it the day of. At least it gave the Vice Captain’s a chance at winning.

Teris nodded, moving to stand before her brother who sat in her favorite spot in the great room. “That happened shortly after sundown. People from the village have come to sell food and drink. There’s even music. You’d think it was a festival.”

Jax shared a smirk with Julius. “Nice to know somethings never change.” His eyes focused back on Teris trying to stifle a niggling worry. “Yami and Tobin back yet?” Even if the two dallied, they should've been back by now. But Yami and Teris hadn’t seen each other in four days. Jax would've figured the couple would be together if Yami had returned.

“Yeah. They’re out there.” Teris grumbled.

Jax and Julius glanced at each other. Though both wondered, neither wanted to kick a possible hornets nest by asking what Yami had done. At least Yami and Teris didn’t argue often. And the few times they did they seemed to handle it quickly enough on their own; with the exception of that one time last year before they got together.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you some questions. Have a seat.” Jax commended. He reached for an empty glass on the coffee table and poured a fingers worth of whiskey, sliding it over to Teris who sat beside Julius.

Julius’ eyes followed the serving of amber liquid as it glided across the coffee table. He gave Jax a look for offering his little sister such a hard drink.

Teris picked up the glass. Julius’ narrowed eyes fixed on her, eyebrow arching.

At her brother’s critical gaze, Teris paused. “What? I’m eighteen.”

“You’ve been eighteen for two days.” Julius remarked.

“Girl’s still eighteen.” Jax said.

Julius shot his friend another look.

“What? If the kingdom can send her to war and have her face possible death in service as a Magic Knight, she can have a drink.” Jax said.

Teris didn’t see the problem. She had partaken of ale and mead for years.

Julius turned back to his sister, disapproving expression warning her against drinking the hard liquor. Eyes locked with his, Teris took a sip.

She sputtered and coughed, eyes tearing and squeezing shut as her face scrunched.

Julius plucked the glass from her hand and set it on the coffee table. “Serves you right.”

Jax chuckled at both Nova’s. He took a swig of his drink and admitted. “It’s an acquired taste.”

Vision still blurry from watery eyes, Teris watched her Captain. Now she knew why they called it fire water.

Setting his glass down, Jax rested forearms on knees. “Have you had anymore disoriented awakenings like the ones that happen when the page of Chaos communicates with you?”

“You, Julius, and Commander Greywright were quite clear that if I did I was to report it to one of you.” Teris replied.

“That wasn’t an answer.” Jax said.

“Why would I disobey an order from three of my superiors?” Teris asked.

An uneasiness tugged at Julius’ stomach at Teris’ deflection.

“Answer the question.” Jax commanded.

“No.”

Stern eyebrows knitting together, Julius’ head snapped to Teris. Reprimand on the tip of his tongue.

But Jax spoke first. The single word weighted with danger. “No?”

“No, I haven’t had any communicative dreams with the page of Chaos. At least not any telling sign of them.” Teris answered.

“Has Yami mentioned any dreams or signs that the page of Chaos is communicating with him?” Jax asked.

“Shouldn’t that be a question for Yami?” Teris wondered, still cross with her boyfriend. She had been so excited to see Yami upon his return only for him to act like an idiot. At least they didn’t have to worry about showing affection in front of everyone, she consoled herself.

Rather than scolded Teris, Julius did something far more effective. The Azure Deer sat back and crossed his arms. “I don’t know, Jax. You sure you want to make her co-Vice Captain? She can even answer a simple question without giving lip.”

Teris’ eyes widened. Her jaw dropped, struggling for words.

Jax pretended to consider. “You have a good point.”

“Yami’s way worse about cooperating and listening.” Teris said, incredulous.

Jax sighed knowing all too well how true that was. “Which is why I’m asking you.”

Teris shrugged a shoulder. “He hasn’t said anything.”

“We’re a little under three months out from the Winter Solstice. That’s about the time you began experiencing somewhat regular signs of communicative dreams before the Summer Solstice wasn’t it?” Jax asked.

Teris nodded.

“Yet Yami hasn’t mentioned any sign of the same?” Jax pressed.

Teris shook her head. “No. And he promised he’d tell me.”

Jax looked to Julius in open question.

Julius scratched his brow and speculated. “It’s possible the signs of the dreams are different for Yami and he hasn’t yet figured out what those signs are. But Marx would need to preform his Memory Absolute spell for us to know for sure if Yami’s had any communicative dreams.”

“Yami won’t like that.” Teris said.

Jax almost said he didn’t care what Yami would like but instead admitted. “It wouldn’t do us any good anyway. Not when we still can’t see or make Yami remember what’s going on in those dreams.”

Julius hung his head feeling like a failure. For all his searching he still hadn’t found a spell or magical technique that would help Teris and Yami remember what the page of Chaos was communicating with them. His hands balled into fists, knuckles turning white. When it came to the Agents of Chaos matter he had failed too many times to count. In truth even his small victory’s hadn’t been wins so much as barely there catch ups. But there was one thing he refused to lose at; and that was keeping his sister and Yami safe and out of the Agents of Chaos’ hands this Winter Solstice.

Though it was only October fourth, the dreaded day loomed large with seventy-eight days left until December twenty-first. As much as Julius wanted to find a way to help Teris and Yami remember what the page of Chaos was saying; it wasn't necessary. With or without that knowledge he would stop Alowishus Spade and end his plans.

Thank you to those who have left hearts. And a special THANK YOU to those who have recently left comments or re-blogged. They really mean a lot.

*So we won’t being seeing the Captain's Challenge this time around. But we will be seeing one later when Yami, Teris, Nozel, and Fuegoleon will be able to participate as Vice Captain's. For now we’ve got other sorts of drama to get to.

Next chapter snippet:

Now that he was looking, Yami noted bruises on her other shoulder too. His hands lifted hovering over Teris’ shoulders lining his fingers over each mark.

#yami sukehiro #julius novachrono #william vangeance #fuegoleon vermillion #nozel silva #Zara Ideale #randall luftair #light in the darkness

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eryiss · 4 years

Text

Request: The Training Retreat

Summary: With the Grand Magic Games fast approaching, Freed suggested that he, Laxus, Lucy and Natsu train together for a week. In the isolation of a forest, the two couples get closer and unlikely friendships are made as their magic improves. [Fraxus and Nalu Oneshot]

This was based of a request by tumblr user @allnalufraxus, who asked for something with both Fraxus and Nalu. This took a lot longer than it should have, but I'm quite happy with the result. This is also the first time I've properly written Lucy and Natsu, so please forgive any OOC behaviour.

You can read this on FanFiction, Archive of our Own, or under the cut. Hope you enjoy it ^.^

The Training Retreat

If you were to ask Laxus what he expected his week to entail, it wouldn't be this.

He found himself standing at the kitchen of an old cabin in the middle of a forest, chopping carrots beside Lucy Heartfilia of all people. The two weren't exactly the most friendly of members in Fairy Tail with one another and their interactions had mainly been born more of politeness and obligation rather than out of actual fondness to each other. And yet there they were, cooking side by side in relative comfort.

They both looked out at the large window, to a small clearing in the forest. Bost Freed and Natsu were outside, engaged in a fight that seemed heated and vicious. The view was slightly distorted by Freed's runes, but it was clear that they were both giving it their all.

Laxus felt a small swell of pride run through him.

The entire thing had been Freed's idea. The Grand Magic Games were coming up fast, and there had been a rumour that all four of them would be participating. Training was an obvious necessity, and Freed had been the one to propose that the four of them have a short retreat where they would train intensively with one another. He had justified it by saying that being less familiar with each other's fighting style would help them deal with unforeseen foes, as well as bringing them closer which would help them if they were placed on a team together.

Freed had approached Natsu before he had Laxus, and the Fire mage had jumped at the chance. Almost everything had been organised before either Laxus or Lucy knew about it, no doubt so that neither could stop their plans with any objections they may have.

"I had no idea you could cook," Lucy commented as she took a pot of boiling water off the heat.

"Most people don't," Laxus shrugged. "I learned when I was travelling, needed something to do and eating out wasn't an option since I had no money. Got a cook book, started to do some recipes and found out I liked it."

"Well that cottage pie thing you made last night was amazing," Lucy grinned, carefully pouring the chopped vegetables into the pot. "D'you cook often?"

"When I can, I try to," Laxus placed the knife down, stepping back to allow Lucy access to a cutlery draw. "Freed's a pretty good chef as well, so we always eat well. He does most of it on the missions since he knows how to work with an open fire better than I do, so whenever we're at home I'm usually the one making food."

Lucy chuckled, and Laxus quirked an eyebrow at her un confusion.

"Sorry," She smiled. "It's just weird, you know, to think of you two being so domestic. I kinda think of you as actions heroes, funny to think of you scheduling meals."

"Well, if you wanna know a secret, we also do laundry," Laxus said with a small grin, and Lucy laughed. "We sometimes even polish our silverware."

Over the few days that they had been in the cabin, Lucy and Laxus had gravitated towards each other in a small way. There was something of a friendship forming between them, and Laxus found himself happy about it. He was still not comfortable with his new place in the guild – years of antisocial behaviour had left an impact on him – but had found he enjoyed having platonic relationships with people outside of the Raijinshuu.

"And you're one to talk," Laxus continued. "You dating Dragneel. There was a theory going around when he was younger that the only feelings he had were being hungry and being angry."

Again, Lucy laughed. "He's not that bad."

As if to disprove her point, Natsu screamed 'I'll kick your ass' as he charged at Freed with a raised fist.

"That's not helping my point," Lucy said after a moment, and Laxus smirked. "But he's actually a lot more emotionally intelligent than people give him credit for. He can actually be really sweet when he wants to be."

Laxus didn't doubt it, Natsu was definitely an emotional person, so it made sense. Still, it wasn't an easy task to envision the brat being romantic.

"Give me an example," Laxus challenged, slowly adding the chopped mutton to the pot of vegetable.

"Well, okay, a couple of weeks ago!" Lucy said, smiling. "I got home from a pretty bad mission with Erza late in the night, and I was exhausted and starving, and he was in my apartment waiting for me having cooked us both a curry and some rice. Then he ran a bath for me once I'd eaten and let me read to him until we fell asleep. It was a nice night, actually."

It did indeed sound like a nice night, and undoubtedly more thoughtful than Laxus would have expected from the other Dragon Slayer. But still, in some twisted way, he saw the younger man as something of a younger brother. And what is a pseudo-older brother for if not for teasing.

"How did he get into your apartment?" He smirked. "And if it's anything other than breaking in, I'll give you two thousand jewels right now."

Lucy was silent for a moment.

"I said he was more thoughtful than people give him credit for. I didn't say he was a completely different man."

Laxus laughed, placing the stew he was making back onto the heat. He reached up to the crockery cupboard and started to set the table. Lucy had pulled out the remainder of the cutlery and began placing it down beside the plates. It was a small thing, but Laxus was thankful. Even in such an inconsequential action, they were working well as a team. It was a lot better than what Laxus had expected when Freed informed him about their retreat.

Both of them quickly looked from the table and towards the open when a sudden rush of orange spurted up. It was clearly Natsu's fire, and Lucy frowned as she watched as the flames in the area cordoned off by Freed's runes died down.

"I thought they weren't using their magic?" She questioned, watching as Natsu's charged forward with his fists alight. Laxus walked beside Lucy to watch.

As he did, runes plastered themselves over Natsu and he fell to his knees. "It was. They're just fucking idiots, apparently."

The two mages watched their respective lovers through the windows for a little while longer. Natsu managed either to overcome Freed's runes, or just ignore them, and charged at Freed again. Freed used some quick walls of runes to protect himself from the attacks, before slamming the sole of his boot into Natsu's stomach. He piled another rune onto the man's chest, and the dragon slayer was shouting in pain again.

"Freed can be pretty vicious when he wants to be," Lucy commented. "More scrappy than I thought"

"Suppose you've only seen him when he's had time to plan out a fight, huh," Laxus frowned a little. "When he's on a mission and there's impromptu fights, he's always like this. He's just as good without his magic as he is with it."

Lucy looked up to the blonde with a teasing grin. "It's cute how proud you are of him."

Laxus didn't say anything, but his cheeks reddened. "Fuck off."

Lucy laughed again, leaning on the counter to better watch the fight happening between the two men. It was oddly mesmerising to watch; despite his desires to fight almost every member of the guild, Natsu rarely managed to actually have full on fights. Well, he did, but those fights were often in apocalyptic moments, and appreciating his fighting style wasn't an option when that was happening. It was fun to see him go all out on a foe who wasn't an actual danger, and Lucy was going to make the most of it.

Even visually, the fight was beautiful. The combination of Natsu's flickering flames and Freed's shimmering runes was oddly entrancing. Almost hypnotic. But, as they watched the two men get more and more heated, Lucy noticed something.

"Why doesn't Freed use his sword like a… sword?" She asked, frowning.

"He tries not to when he can avoid it," Laxus explained. "It's mainly used to channelling his runes, it makes his casting quicker and spells more detailed. Don't exactly know how, but he seems sure it helps. And if he can fight with his fists, he'd rather do that. Stabbing someone is pretty…"

"Permanent?" Lucy offered, and Laxus nodded.

"He used to use it more liberally but changed after the harvest festival. Something of an atonement I think," Laxus shrugged. "Speaking off, I haven't thanked you for using that spirit to grow out his hair. It was good of ya, after all we did."

"That's no problem," Lucy smiled, almost mischievously. "You like guys with long hair huh?"

Was she teasing him? That wasn't something he had expected to happen. But he could deal with that too.

"Yeah," He agreed. "Gives he something to hold onto when I fuck him."

Lucy's reaction was fucking hilarious. There was a moment of disbelief where she slowly turned towards him, an expression of shock, small amount of horror and a hint of respect on her face. Laxus cocked an eyebrow at her, silently challenging her to bite back, because he had more than enough ammunition to tease her right back. She decided not to say anything.

"It was a nice attempt, but there's something you don't know," Laxus continued, smiling. "I've been a dick longer than you've been breathing."

"No arguing there," Lucy replied, seemingly having recovered. Laxus let her have it. "Should we stop them?"

At Lucy's question, they both looked out of the window. Natsu no longer had any runes on him and had punched Freed with enough force to send him flying into the back of his own runic walls. The resounding thud of Freed hitting his magic, a clearly painful act, made Lucy wince, but Laxus didn't seem bothered by it.

"They can handle themselves," He went back to dressing the table. "You wanna put some salt in the stew?"

Lucy watched as Freed stood up, wearing a determined grin not unlike Natsu's. "Sure."

~~~

When Natsu awoke the next morning, his limbs were tangled up with Lucy's. The cabin had only king-sized beds, but the lovers had somehow managed to curl up against one another in the centre, with their covers thrown to the floor. This always happened when they shared a bed; Natsu was warm naturally and apparently hugging him was like hugging a heater, so Lucy had stated. It apparently made summer unbearable.

The dragon slayer carefully removed himself from his girlfriend, holding a snort when Lucy let out an undignified snore. That was something he would have to bring up later; hopefully in front of Freed and Laxus, just to make it more embarrassing.

He grinned at the thought and left the bed.

After going through his usual routine of stretching, cracking his back and lighting his hands for a quick second, Natsu threw on his clothes from the day prior and left the bedroom. The hallway of the cabin was still dark – which made sense as it must have been about six in the morning – but he managed to make his way to the kitchen without bumping into anything.

He got himself a glass of water and leant on the back of the counter. He had always woken up early, there was probably a reason for it but Natsu didn't care enough to figure it out. He liked the mornings, it was relaxing. People assumed he didn't like the quiet, but he did. Just in moderation.

As he drank the water, he frowned. Every few seconds there was a sound of something being hit. A dull, repetitive sound.

Alarmed, he turned to the window and readied his magic, but calmed when he saw the source of the sounds. It was Freed, standing outside of the cabin with a large axe in his hand, which he slammed down into a chunk of wood. The dragon slayer frowned a little, he hadnt expected anyone else to be awake this early in the morning, let alone doing something so physical. He placed the empty glass on the counter and walked to the kitchen door, not caring for his coat.

"Morning Freed," He greeted, voice chipper but still tainted by sleep. Freed snapped his head around and replied with a polite smile.

"Natsu," He greeted. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"Nah," Natsu assured him, walking to Freed as he raised the axe again. He placed his hands behind his neck, watching as another log was cut. "I always wake up this time, didn't expect to see anyone else. You normally cut wood this early?"

"No. After our fight yesterday I crashed early," Freed confessed, moving the cut logs into a basket. It was half full. "As such, I woke up early and thought that I might as well do something productive. Laxus said that it seemed as though storms would be hitting us soon, so we'll probably want fire wood, so this made sense."

Natsu nodded, sitting on the grass and looking up at the sky. Clouds were forming, so it probably would start raining pretty soon, so getting firewood was a good idea. Not that Natsu was worried about being cold.

"Y'know, I sometimes forget, but you're a badass," Natsu commented with a grin, and Freed glanced towards him. "I guess I always forget because when I wanna fight someone in your team, I default to Laxus, but you're really fucking strong. Haven't had an actual stalemate for a while."

"I'm glad I could be a challenge to you," Freed smiled, bringing the axe down on the wood again. "And I agree, it was nice to spar with someone I'm not familiar with."

"We should do it again some time," Natsu suggested, grinning. "Then I can learn how to kick your ass faster."

"You're implying that you won," Freed looked back at him, posture almost challenging. "The only reason you lasted so long was because I showed mercy. I could have crushed you by increasing the influence of gravity with a literal click of my fingers."

"And I could have burned off your nuts, try fighting after that," Natsu grinned, unaffected by the threat.

"Well, if that's the case we should fight again some time, but with less restrictions than we had before," Freed offered. "Make it a real challenge."

Natsu grinned wide and made a note to remember the offer; he was never going to turn down an opportunity to spar with someone when he didn't need to wear down their will. Honestly, he shouldn't have to bother people that much to train with them. They were in a damn guild; they should want to improve how they fought and increase their magical skills. How was Natsu the only one who saw it like that?

The dragon-slayer leant back on the cold grass, looking up to the still visible stars. He knew some of the constellations now, thanks to Lucy teaching them to him. It was nice to look up at the stars while he could, it made him feel close to his girlfriend, weirdly.

With Lucy in his mind, Natsu clicked his fingers.

"Hey Freed, you like to read right?" He asked, and he heard Freed's movement stop.

"I do," Freed nodded. "Why?"

"Well, I don't know if you know this or not, but Lucy really likes to write. And she's been writing this novel for like, years and she's finished the draft. And she wanted me to read it, so I did and it's really good, and I told her that but she's still putting off sending it to a publisher," Natsu explained, hands moving around as he did.

"That's understandable, it can be a nerve-wracking experience."

"Yeah, I get that, but it is really good. So I was thinking that maybe you could read it," Natsu sat up again, grinning enthusiastically at his idea. "Then you'd see how great it is and you could tell her. She knows you've got good taste and you won't just say it because you have to. Maybe it'll give her a confidence boost."

"I'll certainly offer when we get back to Magnolia," Freed assured him, and Natsu brightened further.

The dragon slayer grinned and leant back against the grass again, letting the wind slowly cool him as the sun started to rise. After all the fighting of the day prior, it was nice to have a moment to calm down and look at the sky. And Freed was a pretty calming presence, when he wasn't making everyone fight each other through the town. Maybe they could be friends; someone who could calm him and nearly beat the shit out of him was something Natsu was always looking for.

Although, despite knowing each other for years, he didn't know much about Freed as an actual person. In the past, he had been standoffish to the point where even Natsu had given up trying to be friends with him. But now he was more open, and this was a good enough time to try and get to know him.

"How did you and Laxus get together?" He asked. Better to dive right in. If Freed didn't want to say, he wouldn't.

"We just sort of… did," Freed replied, looking deep in thought. "We have always been close, and after Laxus returned from his exile, we got closer. One night we kissed, we talked, and the next day we had our first date. And now we're here. How about you and Lucy?"

"I realised I liked her, then I asked her out and she said yes," Natsu shrugged. "Why make it complicated."

"That's an admirable attitude to have," Freed smiled a little. "It turns out Laxus and I had feelings for each other long before we kissed, so perhaps if either of us had that attitude then we would have gotten together quicker."

"Maybe, but I sometimes think I rush into things, y'know," Natsu shrugged. "I charge in, don't think things through. Wanna change that, be a better boyfriend."

"Well, your 'charge in and to hell with the consequences' attitude has saved a lot of people a lot of times," Freed said, placing the axe down and sitting on the log he had been chopping wood on. "And I wouldn't worry about your relationship. You're very open about who you are as a person, and Lucy is a smart woman. She would have known what she was getting into, and I expect she rather likes it."

Natsu tilted his head in thought but smiled. "Thanks Freed. Oh, and Laxus just woke up."

"You can tell?" Freed asked, placing the chopped firewood into the basket.

"Well, heard a thud and then a load of cussing. So either he stubbed his toe and it hurt, or he just moves around in bed and tells side-dressers to fuck off in his sleep," Natsu grinned, jumping up with too much energy for the time of day that it was.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Freed laughed. "But if he is awake, I expect he'll still be tired enough that we can convince him to make us breakfast without him putting up a fuss."

"You're devious, Justine. I like it," Natsu laughed, putting his hands behind his neck again as he walked to the cabin.

"I'm glad," Freed smirked. "Because you'll see just how devious I can be when I pound your ass into the ground next time we fight."

Natsu grinned. "Looking forward to it!"

~~~

"We should do this again some time," Lucy smiled.

The four mages were standing outside of Magnolia train station, having just returned from their training retreat. Natsu was leaning across her shoulders, partly to be closer to her and partly because the motion-sickness still was leaving him queasy. Laxus also seemed affected by the journey, though to a lesser extent. He was refusing to maintain eye contact with anyone and kept wincing when he moved his head too fast.

"We should," Freed smiled, raising his bandaged broken arm. "Though hopefully with better results."

"Sorry about him," Lucy laughed. "He goes all out."

"I knew what I was getting myself into," Freed laughed, smiling good naturedly. "And I like to think I gave as good as I got, even if all his bones remain intact."

"You did," Natsu groaned, looking up to reveal the bruise on his jaw. "You've got a good right hook, anyone ever told you that."

"It has come up, hasn't it Laxus?" Freed smirked, looking to his boyfriend with a glint in his eye.

"Once or twice," Laxus muttered, having been on the receiving end of Freed's punches whenever they sparred together. "But yeah, this was good. Nice to spar with someone I'm not used to. Especially you, Blondie. That whips a pain in the ass, you could beat half the assholes we'll be fighting without your spirits."

"Thanks. I doubt they'd want that, but that's a good compliment coming from you," Lucy smiled, before looking to Freed. "I can bring the manuscript over to the guild tomorrow, if you still want to read it."

"I'd love to," Freed nodded. "From what I've heard, its rather good."

"He's biased," Lucy laughed off the compliment, but Natsu frowned.

"Doesn't mean I'm not right," Natsu shouted, but covered his mouth a moment later as vomit threatened to leave him. He continued to speak through his hands, which muffled his words. "You'll see. It's great."

"Well, you can make up your own mind," Lucy said, pushing Natsu away. "We should get home before he pukes. I don't think Aquarius will appreciate being summoned to clean it off the sidewalk. Again."

"Of course," Freed nodded a little. "I look forward to reading your manuscript, and to doing something like this again if we ever get the time."

"Me too," Lucy smiled. "See you both soon."

"We shall," Freed agreed, and Laxus made a small noise in place of a goodbye.

The two men watched as the younger couple began to walk towards Lucy's apartment, Natsu swaying slightly as he tried to walk without Lucy's assistance. Freed didn't say anything, knowing Laxus was just as bad as the other dragon-slayer was – albeit hiding it better – and would need some time to recover.

After a few moments, they began to walk to their shared house in silence. It was a nice moment, the two of them appreciated silence between each other, and Freed allowed a small smile to grace his features. It had been a nice week, actually.

"So," Laxus said after a while. "You and Natsu have some weird rivalry going now. Didn't expect that to happen."

"Me neither, but he is good to train with," Freed laughed.

"Say that again when he's beating down your door in the middle of the night because he wants to fight," Laxus chuckled, and Freed smiled.

"I'll set up runes to stop me from hearing it," Freed grinned. "And as you find it so funny, I'll make sure the runes don't affect you. Just so you have something to laugh at when you wake up."

Laxus chuckled, wrapping an arm around Freed's shoulders.

"And speaking of things that I didn't expect to happen, you and Lucy have something of a friendship forming," Freed continued, and Laxus shrugged. "It's nice you're starting to make friends with other kids your age."

"Fuck off," Laxus laughed, nudging Freed with a grin.

"And such language. Maybe she's a bad influence," Freed smirked.

"You know that sounding like my grandfather ain't exactly a turn on," Laxus deadpanned.

Freed didn't reply, instead laughed and leaned further into his boyfriend. Laxus grinned, tightened his grip on Freed, and continued to walk with a smile on his face. This had been a good week.

#fraxus #nalu #freed justine #Laxus Dreyar #natsu dragneel #lucy heartifilla #fairy tail #request #fanfic #writing

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kutemouse · 4 years

Note

Hey! Can i have vampire au with jimin please? No smut just fluffy :*

Hey ARMY, listen up! See this??? ⬇️👇 ⬇️👇 ⬇️👇 ⬇️👇 ⬇️👇 ⬇️

I made and edited this gif. In fact, I make and/or edit a lot of the gifs I use myself. You may have noticed that I use the tag #btsgif in some of my posts, even if they contain writing. That’s because I want ARMY to see all of my creations, including the gif I make as a header. Therefore, I think the tag is relevant.

In addition, not only do I want ARMY to see my gifs, I want to encourage ARMY to use them. Yep, that’s right! Feel free to steal this gif, I just ask you give me credit for the edit. After all, it’s not even my content I make/edit the gifs from, it’s obviously the property of BigHit and BTS.

However, in the future, I will be sure to be very specific in my posts, and post a disclaimer that I’m not just using the tag for clout, I’m using it so ARMY can find the gif I made and use it however they like. It’ll look something like this:

Disclaimer: This gif was made and/or edited by me, kutemouse. That is why I’ve posted this under the tag #btsgif. Feel free to use this gif however you want, just give me credit for the edit.

Hopefully this way, the 🚨tumblr police🚨 will leave my kute ass alone. Okies? Everyone happy? Good.

And with that out of the way, let’s continue on to this request. When it came in, it made me a tad apprehensive because it gave me a CHALLENGE, kutie anon. I mean, fluffy vampires? Fluffy JIMIN vampire? I’ve only written brooding, mysterious, playboy Jimin vamp in my book “Cursed,” so I had to take a couple days and really think about how I could make this work. I hope you like what came out of my brain. Much 💜 to you for challenging me in new ways, therefore improving my writing 😊

Disclaimer: Beauty and the Beast belongs to Disney, just in case 😉

Age Recommendation: 16+

Warnings: Swearz for dayz. A bit of angst. Vamp Jimin being extra. Soobin from TxT magically appears. A little bit o’ flirting.

Word Count: 2,845

Summary: You’re an artist trying to obtain a university degree. One day, you get the strangest phone call asking you for the strangest commission you’ve ever had: Come live with this rich recluse and paint his portrait all summer. What could go wrong?

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Summer Portraits (Jimin One-Shot, Fluff, Vampire) Part One

You looked up at the large house, a feeling of intimidation creeping over you. It just looked dark, even in the bright sunlight, and most, if not all, of the windows were covered. What kind of person lived here of all places? In the middle of nowhere? Seems pretty sketch.

You’d gotten the call last week. “We’ll pay you a handsome commission,” the smooth voice said. “And we’ll cover the costs of travel.”

You pressed the phone closer to your ear. “That sounds great, Mr. Choi, but… it’s still a strange request.”

The voice on the other end chuckled. “Yes, well… Mr. Park is the very definition of strange, Miss L/n.”

Mr. Choi was very clear in his proposal. You’d spend the three months of your summer with this man, living in his house, to paint a series of portraits for him. As many as you could get done in three months. You initially found the request absolutely ridiculous. Give up your entire summer? No way. You already had plans to see friends and family, and were keen to get away from the stresses that University brought. However, the request became more interesting as Mr. Choi described how you would have to sign a non-disclosure agreement and not tell anyone where you were going or what you were doing. That piqued your interest. Who was it? A celebrity? A famous CEO? An idol?

Looking at the large, foreboding mansion, you couldn’t see any of those three living here. The place reeked of old money. This estate had probably been passed down through the generations, and now someone, likely a young heir, was keen to stretch the limits of what ridiculous things their money could buy.

Sighing, you stepped onto the porch and rang the doorbell. It clanged through the house loudly and you cringed, thinking maybe you should’ve knocked. A tall guy dressed in a suit and tie cracked it open. “L/n Y/n?” he asked.

“That’s me,” you said.

He stepped out onto the porch. “I’m Choi Soobin,” he said, bowing. “Please, come inside. I’ll show you to your room.”

“Thanks.”

Soobin was much younger than you imagined. He couldn’t be more than nineteen, at the most. Yet he acted well beyond his years, more refined, more mature. It was disconcerting to say the least. Soobin picked up your bags and led the way up the curving staircase. You both went down a hall, then turned right, then down another hall before he stopped at the third door on his left. “Here we are,” he murmured, pushing it open.

Your mouth fell open. The room was large, spacious, gorgeous, and surprisingly modern. The walls were painted a soothing lavender, your favorite color, and the king-size bed was covered in a matching coverlet and pillows. There was even a couch and television, and a large bay window filled with pillows that looked out onto the grounds. A perfect reading nook. “This is your closet and bathroom,” Soobin said, opening a set of double doors. The closet was humongous and chic, with plenty room for your clothes and then some, and the bathroom looked more like a full-out spa. It was like something you’d only seen on TV.

Soobin strode over to the other side of your bedroom and opened another door. “This leads to your studio,” he said. Your mouth fell open once more as you walked through. The space was open and had so much light, you had to squint from the sudden brightness. There were shelves upon shelves of supplies, everything you’d ever need, stacks of blank canvases, and a large, wooden easel. It was like an artist’s wet dream.

“This is amazing,” you breathed.

Soobin grinned. “It is, isn’t it? Mr. Park wanted to make sure you’d have everything you need. If you run out of supplies, please let me know, I’ll order more. Feel free to make a mess. The floors are a cheap vinyl flooring only made to look like wood. We’ll rip it out and put carpet back in once you depart.”

You nodded, amazed at the way Soobin said that so casually. Not everyone could afford to re-carpet on a whim. Did your benefactor really have that much money? “Dinner’s at seven every evening,” Soobin continued. “Don’t be late, and dress in something other than jeans, please. For your other two meals, you may have them whenever you like, just give me ample time to prepare them. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen, feel free to help yourself to a snack. You may go wherever you like in the house, except the west wing. Mr. Park lives on that side and spends most of his time there, and unless you are specifically invited, I’d prefer you not disturb him.”

“S-Sounds good,” you stuttered. Who was this guy anyways, the Beast?

“Now, Mr. Park is waiting for you in his study. You’ll probably paint a few of his portraits there, is that alright? Or do you need to work in your studio?”

“I can work anywhere,” you replied.

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

Soobin led the way through the various hallways until you stopped at a set of dark wooden doors with intricate carvings in them. He knocked and pushed one open. “Jimin hyung?” he asked. “She’s here.”

A chair behind a desk turned to reveal the most handsome man you’d ever seen. Like Soobin, he was much younger than you’d imagined. His skin was pale, making his dark hair stand out in stark contrast. It was parted on the right, and his bangs hung over his left eye giving him a mischievously sultry look. He wore a bright jacket with a pattern of palm trees over a black dress shirt, dark ripped jeans, and black boots. His full, rosy lips were too perfect to be true, and his tawny eyes smoldered as they looked you over.

“Welcome!” he said brightly, holding out his hands and grinning. His eyes disappeared into cute crescent-moon slits. “I’m Park Jimin, but you can just call me Jimin. I’ve been waiting so long for this day, Y/n.”

Your mouth parted in surprise. Well, that’s not at all what you were expecting. And you were already on first-name basis…?

“Shall we get started?” he asked eagerly.

You closed your mouth and nodded. “Uh, sure. But I’ll need my supplies…?”

“Of course, of course. Come, I’ll sit in your studio for today.”

He wrapped your fingers in his and led you back down the hall to your studio, swinging your hands as you went. “What the hell?” you thought. To say Jimin was the opposite of what you were expecting was an understatement. The house screamed dark and brooding, as did his weird butler/servant person, and the mysterious circumstances under which you were brought. Yet Jimin was nothing but smiles and sunshine.

“Ah, here we are,” he said, pushing the door open to your studio. He got a stool from the corner and sat on it. You set everything up, placing a blank canvas on the easel and choosing a couple different colors of paint from the shelves. Soobin slipped through the door, hands behind his back, silently watching.

“How do you want me to pose?” Jimin asked, crossing his legs. “And smiling, not smiling?”

“Well, that depends on how you want the portrait to turn out,” you replied. “So just pose… however you want.”

“Better do not smiling,” he said. “For the first one at least. I want a range of my facial expressions, seeing as how I haven’t seen them for over thirty years now.”

“Sir,” Soobin said, a tone of warning in his voice.

Jimin waved him off. “Please, she’s signed a non-disclosure agreement. She’s fine.”

You were taken aback by the strange exchange, but shook your head, brushing it off. Whatever they were talking about didn’t concern you. You were here to do a job, get paid, and move back home without incident. Nothing more, nothing less.

You cleared your throat as you took a drawing pencil and started sketching out what you wanted to paint. What you really desired was to capture the way his hair swept over his eyes, the mischievous look he wore, and those gorgeous lips turned up in a smirk.

“You can feel free to move a little if you’re uncomfortable,” you said to Jimin who sat as rigid as a statue.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear. I can sit still for quite a long time. Years, in fact. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“Right, years,” you muttered as you continued sketching. This guy could really exaggerate.

You found you were enjoying yourself as you continued doing what you loved. This was why you became an art major. The bright, airy light, the way your pencil slid across the canvas, the only sound being that of your breathing as you inhaled and exhaled. It was perfect.

“So, how old are you?”

You blinked in surprise. “Twenty-three, almost twenty-four.”

“I expected as much. I look twenty-four, but I’m actually nearing my two-hundredth birthday.”

You scoffed a little at Jimin’s proclamation. “What, are you some kind of immortal?” you asked.

“Actually, yes,” he answered, actually serious.

You moved out from behind the canvas to give him an incredulous look. “Oh, I see. The scary mansion, the brooding butler… I get it.”

Jimin tossed a smile at you, biting his lip as he did so. “You do? Oh, I’m glad. I’m so tired of having to hide what I am.”

You snorted and kept sketching, trying to capture that irksome smirk he was giving you. “Whatever, dude. If you wanna pretend you’re immortal or some sort of metaphor, I say go for it. I’m just here to paint and get paid.”

Jimin tilted his head. “It’s not a metaphor,” he said, a trace of hurt in his voice.

“Sure it’s not,” you muttered. You were beginning to see why your commission was so high. You were sketching Jimin’s torso now, trying to capture the lines of his toned waist and the palm trees embedded on his jacket. He certainly chose an interesting outfit for his first portrait sitting.

“I’ve seen your work online,” Jimin said, still trying to make small talk. You rolled your eyes. You kind of wished he wouldn’t. Part of the magic of painting was the silence it brought. The most sound you allowed while you worked was a bit of soft music in the background.

He continued even though you didn’t answer. “It’s very good. That’s why I chose you, you know.”

“Well, I appreciate it,” you said. “It’s hard trying to be an artist and make a living, unfortunately.”

“I understand that. I knew Da Vinci back in the day, and he always said-”

“Done,” you said loudly, interrupting him. You could flesh out the colors with paint later. Right now, all you wanted to do was get away from this insanity.

“Already?” Jimin said, pouting.

“Yes. I mean, it’s not all finished of course. I can do the rest later. I just need to take a photo real quick.”

Jimin chuckled. “You can try.”

Rolling your eyes, you pulled out your phone and aimed your camera at him still posing on the stool. “Alright, I’ll get-”

You stopped short as your finger hovered over the screen. There was the stool placed in front of the window, but Jimin was missing from it. “The hell…?” you muttered. You closed your camera app and reopened it.

Once again, there was the window, the stool, the floor, everything in the background that was supposed to be there… but no Jimin. “You see, Y/n,” Jimin said, standing up and walking slowly towards you. “That’s precisely why I brought you here. As a vampire, I don’t show up in photos, or even in mirrors. I haven’t seen what my face looks like in nearly thirty years. That was the last time I had my portrait done.”

You backed away from him until your back hit some shelves behind you. Jimin reached out and tenderly wrapped a strand of your hair between his fingers. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured, his eyes hooded and dark.

You, however, were fucking terrified. In all your years of artwork, you’ve obviously never, ever encountered someone, no, something, like Park Jimin. “Wh-What the fuck are you?” you stuttered.

Jimin sighed, grasping the shelf behind you. “I told you, Y/n, I’m a vampire.”

“N-No, that’s not possible, they don’t exis-”

“Exist? Am I not proof to the contrary?”

“Please,” you whispered, a tear leaking out of the corner of your eye.

“Shhhhh,” Jimin said. He stroked your cheek, wiping the tear away, and you shut your eyes, tensing up at his touch. “I’m not going to hurt you. That’s not why you’re here.”

“And will I be allowed to leave when I’m done?”

Jimin frowned. “Of course. Y/n, I think you misunderstand my intentions. I don’t want to drink your blood or keep you prisoner or anything. Besides, even if you did go home and tell people, who would believe you?”

You considered his words. What he said was true. Even your closest friends and family members would think you were crazy. That thought, however, didn’t help you feel any less frightened.

What did ease your feelings was the tender gaze Jimin was giving you. He didn’t look like he intended to hurt you, although his close proximity was making you uncomfortable. You stepped out of his grasp and held up your hands. “I just… I need a moment,” you said.

“Of course.”

Soobin bowed as you exited the room and ran down the hall, holding a hand over your mouth to keep the screams from coming out. Was it possible? Was every nightmare you had, every scary story, real? You stopped once you reached the top of the stairs, bending over and panting.

You sat on the stairs and curled your knees up to your chest. What the hell were you thinking? You should just run out the door and never look back. Still, something was stopping you. Maybe it was sheer curiosity, or maybe it was how you couldn’t get the way he looked at you out of your brain. Either way, it couldn’t lead to anything but disaster.

“If you want to leave, you may,” a voice said. You looked up to see Jimin walking towards you.

“I’ll think about it,” you muttered, turning away from him.

“Please don’t hate me,” he begged, reaching out. You shied away from him, and he withdrew his hand, closing it into a fist. “Once people find out what I am, they just stereotype and assume. All I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is for someone to accept me.”

You let out a shaky breath and finally looked at him, into those smoldering tawny eyes. “I’ll stay and paint your portraits… but on my terms. Don’t touch me, don’t come near me, and I need some guarantee of protection.”

Jimin thought for a moment, pressing a finger to his chin, before pulling something out of his pocket. It was a small velvet bag that clinked as he brought it out. “Here.” He grabbed your hand and turned it so your palm was upright. He dumped what was in the bag in your hand.

You stared incredulously at the coins in your hand. “The hell is this?”

“Protection,” Jimin replied seriously, his eyes wide as they looked at you. “Silver. It burns me.”

Your mouth dropped open before you laughed out loud, completely overwhelmed by the entirety of the situation. The corners of Jimin’s mouth went up, but he looked mostly confused as he watched you laugh, arms folded over your stomach. You laughed until you cried, wiping your tears away and sniffing once your giggles had subsided.

“Are you done?” he asked pointedly.

“Yes,” you muttered, realizing how unhinged you looked. “Thank you for the coins.”

Jimin rolled his eyes and slung an arm over your shoulders. “Now, come on. You’ve got a painting to finish.”

Somehow, you found yourself not minding his touch very much, if at all. He didn’t seem so scary, even if he was a monster straight out of the movies. “Is Soobin a vampire too?” you asked suddenly as you walked back to your studio.

Jimin hummed in response, nodding. “I’ll need more coins then,” you joked.

“Oh, don’t worry. He’s on the bag diet, just like me.”

“Bag diet?”

“Yeah, you know, blood bags? We steal them from hospitals and such.”

You furrowed your brow. “That’s not cool, Jimin.”

He sighed. “I know… but it’s better than the alternative, right?”

You had to agree with that. Both of you reached your studio, and Jimin sat back on the stool as you started to paint. Soobin brought you a sandwich as the afternoon turned into evening and you started to lose light. For obvious reasons, neither he nor Jimin ate.

It was disconcerting, for sure, being stuck in a large mansion with two vampires, but one thing was for certain: this summer would be the most interesting one you’d ever have.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

As I said above, I hope you like this, kutie anon! Also, yes, I made a Part Two in which Y/n reflects back on the summer she had with Jimin and there is def more fluffy romance in that. Much 💜, as Taehyung would say, I purple you!

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darkblueboxs · 4 years

Text

All the Guys Love a Bruiser

Posting attempt two because tumblr is fucking with me and I can’t fix the read more on the original ask. Not today, Tumblr! Not! Today!

Read here or on AO3 (Check AO3 notes for content warnings)

Original ask

“You like watching me fight.” “It’s more interesting than watching you run.”

Neil learns how to throw a punch. Andrew is more than a little into it.

*Edit*: In the original version of this fic, Nicky faces racist abuse in addition to homophobic abuse, and quotes the offensive language and slurs used against him. After concerns were raised regarding how I handled this abuse (specifically, the language used, the context in which the abuse takes place, and my position as a non-latine) I censored and subsequently removed the relevant dialogue. I sincerely apologise and promise to do better in the future. Please don't hesitate to contact me with any questions and concerns regarding this subject.

[01/06/2020]

Neil’s mother taught him how to throw a punch, of course she did. Their lessons took place anywhere spacious enough to swing a fist, in empty parking lots behind greasy gas stations or in dingy motel rooms if she thought the walls were thick enough to cover up the noises they made.

Mary had always been more flight than fight, an instinct she had forced into Neil over years of running. Even she had to admit, however, that sooner or later they would hit a dead end, and while that would spell certain death for both of them, it would be better to go down fighting than it would on their knees.

If their lessons ended with Neil aching black and blue, it was his own fault. He needed to be quicker, smarter, crueller. More like his mother.

Matt’s teaching style is different from Mary’s, as is his fighting style. It bears the hallmarks of professional athleticism, all stances and positioning and strategy. While his mother’s idea of a lesson in self-defence was to hit Neil until he figured out how to dodge her blows or hit back, Matt talks him through how to angle his body, how to make a fist in a way that won’t break his fingers. At the end of their first boxing lesson, the only bruises on Neil’s body are the light purple marks spreading across his knuckles.

That evening, he and Andrew take over the beanbags, TV muted in the background while they dig into ice-cream. The tub is pleasantly cool in Neil’s hands, and he rubs his knuckles against the sides like an improvised icepack. When the residual cold has melted away, Neil flexes his fingers, enjoying the faint tingle dancing across them. These marks are different from those his mother gave him; they weren’t inflicted on him unwillingly but earned with sweat and exertion. When Matt had let go of the punching bag and told him they were done for the day, Neil had been surprised by his own disappointment. He had never been sorry see the end of his mother’s lessons.

Andrew takes his hand suddenly, startling Neil from his thoughts. It’s a purely analytical touch; he turns Neil’s hand over and runs a finger across the blossoming bruises of his knuckles.

Neil bites back the I’m fine, knowing the look it would earn him. Instead, “I had fun. We’re meeting again next week.”

Andrew nods. It’s a few moments more before he relinquishes Neil’s hand, however. The heat of Andrew’s skin mingles with the singing twinge of Neil’s bruises like an after-print.

Next week, Andrew slouches into the gym after Neil. He ignores Matt’s invitation to join them, flopping onto a rowing machine and leaning back against the machinery so he can kick his feet up on the seat rail. They’re lucky that they chose unsociable hours for their workout, or a line of athletes would be forming to glare at him.

Andrew watches them train from across the room with apparent disinterest. He can feign boredom all he likes; Neil knows he wouldn’t have bothered following him to the gym without reason.

Matt, if anything, seems amused by Andrew’s presence. “Dan comes to watch me practice sometimes, too.” He pauses to correct the angles of Neil’s feet before nudging his arms into blocking positions. “She did it even before we started dating. She used to sit on an exercise bike and pretend she was cycling so I wouldn’t know she was there to watch me. It was never very convincing.”

“Why did she want to watch you?” Neil shifts his weight, trying to copy Matt’s position.

Matt’s face crinkles up with laughter. “That’s the most Neil thing you’ve ever said.”

“Everything I say is a Neil thing.”

“She liked it when I took my shirt off. C’mon, man, join the dots.”

“You don’t take your shirt off to box.”

“Yeah,” says Matt. “Don’t tell her that.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Can I hit you now?”

Matt barks out a laugh, and training resumes.

“Enjoying the show?” Neil asks Andrew an hour later, dropping down on the gym mat next to him. Andrew hands Neil his water bottle with an unimpressed look.

“You’re awful.” Andrew flicks a look over to Matt, who is using their break to chat with the only other gym regular insane enough to be working out at the crack of dawn on a Sunday. “He could knock you on your ass with one right hook.”

“I know I’m awful. That’s what training is for.” Neil pauses to gulp down most of the bottle. A droplet escapes his lips and tracks down his jugular before falling into the dip of his clavicle. Andrew’s eyes track its path. “Matt isn’t going to hurt me. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I’m not here to babysit you.”

“Huh.” Neil drains the last of the water before shaking the residual droplets over his head. The beads glint in the corners of his vision as they catch in his bangs and fleck his cheeks, mercifully cooling against his skin. Andrew is still watching him intently. His eyes flick to Matt once more, checking that he is still absorbed in his conversation.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Neil replies, and he watches as Andrew takes Neil’s hand in his. The skin is flushed from strike after strike, not yet coloured in bruising patches but soon to be. Neil’s hands feel softer for it, sensitive to Andrew’s touch.

“I know my limits.” Neil isn’t sure why the gym suddenly feels three degrees warmer. “Really, it doesn’t hurt.”

“I know. I trust you.” Andrew sends one more look over Neil’s shoulder like he’s checking the coast is clear before pressing Neil’s knuckles to his lips.

The breath Neil was in the process of catching slips from his grasp entirely. “Oh.”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“You like watching me fight.”

“It’s more interesting than watching you run.”

Neil leans in until he can see each individual freckle on Andrew’s cheeks. “Interesting?”

Andrew’s cool look is betrayed by the twitch of his jaw. “Something like that.”

If Matt notices Neil’s new vigour when they return to practice, he doesn’t comment on it. When he catches Neil’s eye, however, he grins knowingly. Perhaps Matt’s conversation had not been as absorbing as he made it out to be. Soon, however, the rhythm of the exercise draws Neil’s attention back to the task at hand.

Neil first learned to throw a punch because his mother believed that one day his life could depend on it. That isn’t the reason that he has resumed his training with Matt; it turns out that a good instructor and fewer death threats make the activity far more pleasant than Neil remembers. It may be a useful skill, but he values the challenge more than he does the practicality. The physicality, too – in fact, he likes boxing for the same reasons that he loves Exy. Quick, brutal, thrilling. He finally understands, too, why Andrew likes to spar with Renee whenever his emotions get on top of him. There’s a certain a sense of control that comes from putting his fist through a break-board. Not that he needs the empowerment as much as he once might have – most of Neil’s tormentors were killed long ago, his fears with them. Given his new life of safety and security, it’s likely that he’ll never really need to know how to throw a good punch.

It takes all of one week for Neil to be proven wildly, wildly wrong.

Opposition strikers – with one glaring, now very dead exception – are not typically Neil’s problem. Generally, if they end up playing on the same side of the court as him, something has gone wrong in the team’s strategies.

He can tell even from a distance, however, that one of the Terrapin strikers is causing difficulties. Not in terms of ability – of which Terrapin’s #13 has little – but in attitude. Thirteen is a vocal player, and Neil can hear snatches of his voice echoing across the court. No fists have been swung, which is an impressive feat for the Fox defenders, but perhaps only because the luck of substitutions has put Thirteen against Nicky more than anyone else, and Nicky is more likely to react to insults with mirth than anger.

Shortly before the end of the first half, Nicky is subbed off at the same time as Thirteen. Nicky passes Neil on the way to the court doors, clacking their racquets together with half a smile. “Give them hell, Neil.”

Thirteen passes them at the same moment, slamming Nicky’s shoulder as he passes. Nicky mutters a word under his breath that would have earned him a month of washing-up duty at Abby’s house before heading for the Foxes’ bench. Neil watches him go, eyebrows creasing together. Nicky isn’t easily upset by the cruelty of strangers; it’s the cruelty that comes from within his own family that is most likely to shake him from his good humour. The barbed insults of nameless players on the court, on the other hand, are usually brushed off with a rude gesture and no more.

Swept up in the rush of the match, Neil forgets about Nicky’s discomfort until half-time. The team pours from the court in high spirits; they have a decent lead over the Terrapins which should carry them through the second half when exhaustion starts to kick in. Nicky, despite having blocked more shots on goal than anyone, reacts to the arrival of the rest of the team with only a pallid grin. His grip on his water bottle is tight, and the cheap plastic crackles and caves in his hands.

Nicky is an easy read, and it doesn’t take long for the other Foxes to notice. After he brushes Renee’s concerned enquiry off, however, the team leaves him be.

When Neil returns to the court for the start of the third quarter, he breathes a sigh of relief to see that Thirteen is nowhere near Nicky. He’s standing closer to goal than Neil is happy with, but Andrew is more or less impervious to verbal abuse and Thirteen has yet to show signs of physical violence. As much as he wants to keep a closer eye on the situation, Kevin’s barked commands draw his attention to the match at hand. The best thing Neil can do for the Foxes’ defence is to spend as much time lobbing the ball at the Terrapin’s goal as possible.

Neil and Nicky are substituted at the same time; they collapse onto the bench and drown their exhaustion in Gatorade. Thirteen crushed Nicky against the wall moments before the substitution, and Nicky is uncharacteristically quiet as Abby examines the cut over his eye.

“You’re not whining about cramping your style,” she says as she presses a plaster in place. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah, this is great for my style. All the guys love a bruiser.” Nicky winks despite the blood crusting in his eyelashes. “Neil knows what I’m talking about, don’tcha, Neil?”

Abby makes a noise that isn’t convinced, but doesn’t press the issue. Neil waits until she’s out of earshot before saying casually, “I still have a few contacts in the mafia.”

“Your sense of humour is dire,” says Nicky, but he’s grinning, so Neil counts it as a win. “Don’t worry about it. I think Andrew’s drawing his fire now. Andrew handles that kind of thing a lot better than me.”

“What kind of thing?”

Nicky winced. “Don’t ask.”

“Tell me.”

“Let's just say he isn't exactly lining up to lead a Pride march.” Nicky snorts humorlessly.

The joke doesn’t land, and not because of Neil’s non-existent sense of humour. He may not be as obvious as Nicky in his preferences nor as dark-skinned, but he has still been on the receiving end of enough of that brand of bullshit to know how it scratches at one’s insides.

“I wasn’t joking about those contacts.”

Nicky sighs. “I was worried you would say that.”

Neil’s attention keeps slipping from the game and over to Andrew, who is standing in goal and ignoring the tirade of insults being thrown his way like a statue facing down a breeze. His non-reaction only seems to stoke Thirteen’s fury, spittle catching in the mesh of his helmet as he watches Andrew knock yet another attempt away from the Foxes’ end.

Andrew spares Thirteen no more than a second of blank indifference in the face of his tirade. Then he drops his stance, shoulders setting into a silent challenge that sends a hot bolt of excitement straight Neil’s to gut. Andrew is locking down the goal.

The Terrapins don’t score again for the rest of the match.

Neil is through the doors before the final buzzer has died, charging into the crush of Foxes at centre-court to join in their celebrations. Andrew, as usual, hovers at the edge of the throng, but he accepts the clack of Neil’s racquet against his. A light sheen of sweat dances across Andrew’s forehead and his lips are parted as he regains his breath after the exertion of locking the Terrapins out.

“Did Thirteen give you trouble?”

Andrew snorts derisively despite his breathlessness. “He tried.”

Neil gets to see Thirteen up close during the handshakes. He barely grazes the tips of each Foxes’ fingers as he passes one by one, but he stops when he gets to Neil. “I remember you. You were all over the news, weren’t you? The runaway Wesninski.” His expression speaks to his delight at the revelation. To no-one’s surprise, Thirteen is a sore loser.

Andrew barely moves, just a slight adjustment to his footing so that he presses a little closer into Neil’s shoulder.

Neil smiles. It is the kind of smile he has not had use for in some time. “Looking for an autograph?”

Thirteen snorts. “Bet you think you’re real bad. Bet you think those scars make you look tough. Too bad you’re still a puny little bitch.”

Neil flexes his hand before clenching it into a fist. “I do think I’m real bad, actually. Want to find out why?”

The striker waits for the hit to come. Neil doesn’t give him the satisfaction; the guy is a piece of shit, but he isn’t worth the trouble he’s clearly looking for. Neil drops his hands, meets his gaze, and waits for him to give up on getting his reaction and leave.

Most of the other players are moving off to their own respective sides, and their stand-off is beginning to attract attention. Kevin squints over at them, and at his side, Aaron pulls off his helmet.

“Oh shit. Twins.” Thirteen’s gaze swings from Aaron to Andrew, flashing with sudden recognition. “I remember you too.” His expression turns sharkish. “Now that was a story. So, which one is the murderer, and which is the brother-fucker?”

Andrew barely twitches. Neil’s reaction is less restrained.

It’s almost a play-by-play of decking Riko at the Winter Banquet. The key difference between that punch and this one is hours of training with a borderline-professional boxer.

Neil squares his stance, draws back his fist, and puts his whole body behind the punch. He’s rewarded with the sickening crack of a nose breaking and a hot spurt of blood splattering his knuckles.

Thirteen staggers back, shock registering for a second before he spits blood at the floor. He’s swaying on his feet, but there’s still fight in his eyes.

Andrew’s hands go to his sheaths, but Neil waves him back. He wipes the hand bloodied by Thirteen’s face across his jaw unthinkingly, feels the wet, red heat clinging to his skin. “Hey. This one’s mine.” The smile he tacks onto the words is toothier than he means it to be. With blood still smeared across his chin, he can only imagine how he looks.

Andrew’s hand judders to a halt at the hems of his armbands. His jaw is clenched tight but roaring over the current of concern is something far darker. It creeps into his eyes, a weight to his gaze normally only visible in the privacy of their bedroom. Andrew’s gaze runs the length of Neil’s body before coming to rest on Neil’s mouth. His bottom lip catches momentarily in his teeth as he nods.

Thirteen’s first swing hits, and a burst of blood dances across Neil’s tongue as his lip is split open. Thirteen’s luck ends there; Neil blocks his second punch with a move Matt taught him the day before. He drives his free hand into Thirteen’s solar plexus, knocking the air from him.

Neil doesn’t get much time to appreciate how the striker falls on his ass as they’re rushed by teammates and officials who break them apart.

Neil stands placidly before Wymack and bears his row with the bare minimum of decorum. The lecture is undercut by Nicky, who’s expression alternates between elation, amusement and mock disapproval from moment to moment. Matt, at least, waits until Wymack is finished before applauding.

“I’ll give you some notes later, but all things considered it was a solid right hook.”

Neil brushes the team’s reactions off as best he can; he certainly didn’t do it for their recognition.

He takes his time showering, watching with a strange, sick pleasure as he rinses the striker’s blood away. It turns pink in the shower basin before swirling at last down the drain. Beneath the blood, Neil’s knuckles have begun to bruise, satisfaction burning them blue.

It’s at these times that Neil worries that he may have inherited too much from his father; the temper, the violence, the bloodlust. Then again, they all served as tools to his survival at one point or another. The key difference between Neil and his father is who they choose to turn their anger on. Neil’s father always set his sights on the underdog. Neil prefers to punch up.

No; if there’s one thing Nathan gave him, it was a distaste for bullies.

There’s a familiar tap at the door to Neil’s stall. The rest of the Foxes cleared out some time ago, still rowdy from the post-match high. Tonight was a home game; most of the team will be halfway back to Fox tower already, thinking only of booze and the weekend stretching ahead of them. There’s only one player who would have any reason to linger.

Andrew steps under the spray, his hair is plastered to his head by the steamy drizzle. He holds his hand out, and Neil offers his without question for Andrew’s inspection.

Andrew’s voice is dispassionate as he inspects the damage. “I don’t need a knight in shining armour. Nor for you to fight my battles for me.”

“The fight was for my own satisfaction. But I’ll stop if you want me to.”

Once again, Andrew presses his lips to Neil’s raw knuckles. The contact stings, sweet and savoury, pleasure and pain. “Would it kill you to make life easy for once?” The words tingle against the tender skin.

“I thought you liked to watch me fight.”

“Just because I find your stupidity entertaining doesn’t mean I encourage it.”

“It’s my stupidity you like, is it?”

“What else do you have?” Andrew’s eyes track the rivulets of water snaking down Neil’s neck.

“I’m sure I can think of a few things.” Neil says. Then, for clarity, “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Andrew doesn’t let go of Neil’s hand, thumb running across the reddening knuckles once more before leading it to his chest. Neil leaves it resting there, marvelling at the colours bleeding between them under the shower’s onslaught, pink and brown and red and blue. Andrew soon tires of Neil’s staring, and is the first to bridge the gap between them.

Neil once compared Andrew’s kisses to a fight with their lives on the line. Countless kisses later, this fact has not changed in the slightest. Andrew leaves a bruising trail of kisses across Neil’s neck until he can’t remember which marks are from Exy and which are from Andrew. They all sting the same, sweet way.

Each kiss pressed to his mouth carries a metallic tang from Neil’s burst lip. He can tell from the fierce pressure of Andrew’s mouth against his that Andrew can taste it too, is feeding off the adrenaline rush just as Neil is. He catches Neil’s bottom lip between his teeth and with it sucks a groan from deep in Neil’s chest.

Andrew draws back to level him with an unimpressed look. “You’re far too into this.”

“You’re one to talk.” Neil raises his hand to Andrew’s eyeline, wiggling his fingers. Andrew’s eyes catch on the blooming violet patches. “You like this. Admit it.”

Andrew steps forward until his cheek brushes Neil’s fingers. Neil turns his hand automatically, cupping Andrew’s face.

“Yes,” says Andrew. His eyes stay on Neil’s, even as Neil’s hand drops lower.

It’s a small miracle, Neil thinks, that Andrew can trust Neil’s hands on him, after all he knows they are capable of. Maybe that’s part of the appeal, the evidence painted into Neil’s knuckles that Neil’s gentler touches are reserved for Andrew and Andrew alone. It’s strange that Andrew should love Neil’s fighting spirit as much as he does. After all, it was Andrew who taught Neil how to stand and fight in the first place.

It’s a fact that neither will ever let the other forget.

Neil leaves the shower sporting several more bruises than he entered with. Some are from Exy, some are from fighting, and some are from Andrew’s mouth.

He loves them all just the same.

Thank you for reading, let me know what you thought! Still open to fic prompts, ideas etc.

#the foxhole court #all for the game #tfc #aftg #andreil #my fic #prayer circle that tumblr will not fuck this one up lads

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eureka-its-zico · 5 years

Text

Lips Like Liquor

Scenario: Your friend really should’ve taken your phone. Now you’ve drunk texted Yoongi and there’s no turning back.

A/N: Alright. So this is just me submitting this again, because tumblr’s guidelines banded the original so....hopefully second time is the charm.

Genre: Suga x Reader

Words: 6009

Disclaimers: As always, the gifs used are not mine and belong to their rightful owners!!

Warnings: Smut. Smutty Smut Smut. It’s filthy.

You hadn't regretted the dozens of texts you sent as much as you did when you saw him enter the bar. A dark blue baseball cap pulled low over his eyes as they scanned the dozens of faces. No doubt looking for a hint of your location inside the crowded room.

You were trying to become one with the pleather booth. Not giving a damn about the food crumbs stuck between the headboard and seat or the old smell of sweat and booze stained inside the broken cracks. The only thing your drunk ass cared about was not being spotted; groaning inwardly at your idiotic idea to keep your phone on you.

The regret not weighing enough to stop you from sending him that first text:

Let’s fuck.

You’d received “Kekekeke” almost seconds later. Only to send him another message that informed him what you’d implied wasn’t a joke. You wanted him, and wanted him for months, but you were just his friend. Your texts back of, "Yoongi, I just want to feel you one time. Just once. Please. We don't have to mention it after..." Making him call you seconds after you sent it.

"Where are you?" Had been your greeting instead of the usual hello.

"At a bar."

"What bar, Y/N? How much have you had to drink?"

"It's a bar with pretty lights and too many people. Some guy is trying to talk to me, but he's not you, Yoongi. I just want you."

"Who is there with you?"

"Rachel," you hummed into the receiver.

The same guy you'd just described to Yoongi looking at you now. Maybe it wasn't a smart idea to take his offer of a free drink. His leechy hands now taking every chance they got to try and move up your dress. Probably thinking your acceptance of a drink was an acceptance of his advances.

He was making his way over again. His eyes drawn tight in annoyance at you being on the phone making your stomach toss and your nerves sing to life underneath the fuzzy haze of the booze.

"I gotta go, Yoongi. He's coming back-"

"You keep your ass on the phone, Y/N."

The irritation in his voice usually would've made you pause, but instead you giggled. Your body starting to feel like it was bundled up inside a cloud: light and euphoric.

"My ass can't talk on the phone, silly. I’d have to sit on it, and it’d break.”

You'd hung up seconds before the man was before you. His hand stopping you short before you placed your phone back into your purse.

"Who were you talking too?"

"Yah!" You snapped, ripping your wrist free. "That's none of your business!"

His grip only tightening to the point you knew there would be a light bruise if you didn't pry him off. Luckily, Rachel appeared like a drunken savior haloed under shitty fluorescent lighting to help pry you away.

That's how you ended up here, doing whatever possible to hide from Yoongi himself. Rachel must not have gotten the memo as her hand lurched sky high and waved it around like a mad woman. Yoongi's gaze drifted to your corner booth seconds later; eyes solely focused on your slouching figure.

He didn't waste a second as he started to make his way through the expanse of bodies. Yoongi's diverted gaze giving you the opening you needed to slap Rachel on her arm. Your drunken words slurring out to silence her equally slurry and delayed, "Ouch."

"Did you tell him where we are?"

"Well, yeah. He called when you were in the bathroom and said he wanted to meet up. What's wrong I thought you liked Yoongi?"

You were going to tell her about your drunken mistake. Maybe take the chance to blame her for not taking your phone when she knew how you felt about him, but none of that happened. None of it mattered once you felt an all too familiar body slide into the booth next to you.

“Hey Yoongi!” Rachel practically screamed beside you. “Were you recording earlier? Y/N was telling me about how you’d been working, and living like a caveman for the past week. She’s missed her best friend.”

You wanted to smack her for being so obvious. The smile on her lips betraying the naivety she was drunkenly trying to display. Yoongi was so close, that when he shrugged the fabric of his jacket rubbed against your bare arm.

“I was actually out getting drinks with a couple of friends. Y/N texted me and I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

You fought off a groan and bit your lip. The teeth drawing in the skin hard as you struggled to keep your eyes focused on the table. Taking in the many empty glasses sprawled across its wooden top and trying to remember how many were yours. You were so lost in thought that when you felt a strong poke to your abdomen you jumped. A small yelp of surprise leaving you and forcing you to look at the man you were trying to ignore. All thoughts of yelling at him, swatting his chest, and telling him how rude he was left when you finally saw him.

Yoongi had turned his baseball cap around. The blonde and slight brown outgrowth showing with his face bare and lips full. He should’ve looked ordinary, but he looked far from it. You tried to swallow the lump that’d built in your throat; tongue racing across dried lips as your intoxicated brain flooded with things to say. Every single one of them landing you in probable embarrassment fierce enough to combat a hangover.

You didn't have to worry about the possibility of making an even bigger ass of yourself, when Rachel began to scoot herself, in obvious drunk fashion, out of the booth. Your brows shot up high as your body went rigged with tension.

“Where are you going?”

Your question was high-pitched matching the blossoming panic that sprang to life in your chest. The only response she gave was a devious smile that had you mentally sending her a flurry of, “Fuck you’s” that you hoped she could read from the daggers you shot her.

“I’m going to get Yoongi a drink. You can survive a few minutes without me.”

You wished you could've tripped her when she turned to walk away. A small piece of satisfaction of getting even, as she left you alone with Yoongi. It wasn't like you hadn't been alone plenty of times before. You were friends for Christs sake. The only difference being tonight, you usually weren't telling him how badly you wanted him to shove his fingers in your mouth or smack your ass as he fucked you from behind. It was vastly different from the playful jokes and goofy pictures that were sent.

The minute Rachel’s presence disappeared into the crowd, it seemed your body came to life in response to his nearness. It didn't take much to realize he’d casually placed an arm behind you resting it on top of the booth. The fabric of his jeans grazing against the bareness of your thighs as his legs moved under the table. You were so close that when he spoke your name, his breath tickled against your neck forcing you to fight back a shiver as you turned to face him.

Yoongi wasn't just close to you: his body invaded what little privacy the booth provided. So when you turned to look at him you’d gulped down your cowardice and prayed he didn't notice your pulse thundering in your neck.

“Did you want to talk about what you sent me? Rachel’s gone, so now would be as good a time as any.”

Yoongi was usually unreadable in one of the most intimidating ways you’d ever experienced. His face smooth with indifference, while his eyes carefully read the silence of words unspoken. You were struggling to find some courage, even if it was alcohol induced. A part of you thinking you’d found some until your eyes caught sight of his teeth dragging his bottom lip into his mouth. Your gaze transfixed on the motion as you felt your core tighten and his pouty lips rise in a smirk.

You wanted to punch him.

You turned to face the expanse of the bar and scooted yourself away from him. Not caring that the motion made the hem of your already short dress rise up further. You clasped your hands and set them on the table, all while you glanced at him over your shoulder.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Yoongi let out a growl of, “Yah,” as his head whipped to the side. His eyes trailing up your body before they landed back on his face.

“There’s no point in acting coy about it. I have the messages.”

“I think you have me confused with someone else. I'm a good girl.”

“Is that so?”

The challenge that sparked behind his dark eyes made your pussy ache to be touched and your breath catch in your throat. A quiet plea rising up that you struggled to squash before you spoke and gave it life. You wondered what it was you could even say to calm the fire behind his eyes before it engulfed you, but you didn't have to. You caught sight of the guy from earlier who definitely did not look pleased with your current state.

His intrusion in your line of sight sent you scooting back into Yoongi. Your shoulder moving to rest against his chest. The action earned you a look from him, but he didn't push you away. His eyes, instead, following yours until they no doubt landed on the reason for your sudden demand for protection.

“Pretend I'm with you,” you pleaded.

Yoongi didn't give you a reply. Instead, he watched with you as the guy made his way over towards your table with two full beers in tow. He let his arrival known when he placed one down in front of you with his following suit as he sized up Yoongi beside you.

“I got you another drink,” he snapped in your direction, his tone harsh, and making you hate yourself for attempting to make yourself smaller beside Yoongi.

“Thanks for this,” Yoongi spoke up first.

His hand reached out to take the guys beer and raised it to his lips. His hand tilting to give him a salute before he put it to his lips, and downed it in a few quick gulps.

You must have shared in the same shocked expression as the man before you. The two of you watching as he placed the now empty glass on the table. His arm that’d been resting on the top of the booth now lazily snaked around your shoulders. His index finger pointing at your still full drink.

“Drink up, babe.”

“YAH!”

The guy’s shout left you jerking against Yoongi. Your eyes warily trained on him as you silently pleaded for him not to be himself. Unfortunately, Yoongi didn't give a damn. His tongue rolled around in his cheek in obvious annoyance. His neck craning up slowly until Yoongi looked up at the guy, like his very existence was the largest annoyance on the planet.

“You’ve overstayed your welcome. I think it’d be in your best interest for you to leave.”

You watched helplessly as the two men were locked in a silent argument. The stranger’s fists clenched at his side while he sized Yoongi up. It was obvious that he had a bigger advantage of build on Yoongi, but what he lacked in body mass Yoongi more than made up for it in bitch face. Even now his features maintained an air of annoyance that somehow was able to turn predatory. His eyes speaking in dares for the other man to make a move. Eventually the stranger smacked his lips together in distaste. His hand unfurling from its original clenched form as he dismissed the both of you with a wave.

“You can go ahead and keep her. She isn’t pretty enough to fight for.”

“Yah!”

You wanted to toss the drink he left behind at his retreating back. Your hand wrapping around the cup to do just that when Yoongi’s hand grabbed a hold of your wrist, halting you from throwing the cup.

“Let’s not get ourselves into anymore messes for the night, ok?” Yoongi reprimanded, while he tugged the cup out of your hands and placed it on the other side of him. “Getting into a fist fight isn't how I imagined ending this evening.”

The comment was enough to make your next words die in your throat, curiosity taking over. You eyed Yoongi’s position as he lounged back into the worn pleather. His arm moving from your shoulders to rest back on top of the booth. He motioned for you to move back with his fingers and without a second thought you obeyed.

Maybe subconsciously you did it because you knew, from overhearing talks with his friends, how much Yoongi loved it when his girls played submissive. It wasn't in your nature to play sub to anyone, but then that buzzed part of you couldn't pass up a chance to play.

When you leaned back you made sure to position yourself just right that you were cradled against his shoulder. It was just enough that if he looked down he’d be rewarded with a nice view of your cleavage. You felt a smirk curl your lips when he did just that, but it died as quickly as it’d formed. Yoongi’s eyes tracing up your body until his eyes locked with yours. The intense desire that was behind them sent your legs to tighten as your core pooled with heat, but when your thighs flexed a soft hum of surprise danced over your lips.

Yoongi’s hand had moved between you thighs. His thumb making small circles into the skin. He tapped your thigh once, a small order to release their tense hold on his fingers. You knew if you did it would give his fingers freedom to continue whatever devious plan he’d come up with. You weren't entirely sure it was such a bad thing.

You were still lost in thought when his lips brushed against your ear. His words a low growl that incited goosebumps to rise along your skin.

“Open up for me, baby.”

Your breath shook free from your chest as you felt your muscles relax. His fingers wiggling between your legs until you spread them wide enough for his fingers to continue to move completely under your dress. The tips of his middle and index fingers teasing over the outside of your underwear. The digits testing around the material until a soft moan escaped you when they ran over the mound of your swollen clit.

Your fingers clenched helplessly in his sweater as you turned to look at him. Your breath shaky as you tried to remain calm. You were still very much in a public place, surrounded by a bunch of drunks, but still a full crowd. If any of them dared to glance under the table what would they see?

The worries that took hold of you quickly vanished when his fingers moved behind the thin lace fabric. A long stroke of a bare finger between your wet folds sent your mouth gaping open. You were sure you would have made a sound, but Yoongi’s lips landed on yours before it ever made it out. His tongue darting expertly between your lips until it coaxed yours to caress back. Your hands now fisting the cotton of his sweater as your ass lifted off the chair, giving him enough space to slide a digit inside you.

Another moan vibrated against yours lips. Yoongi the epitome of calm as he simply ate the sound down with his next kiss, until the only thing you cared to feel was the overwhelming feel of his lips and his finger thrusting in and out of your core. You started gyrating against the palm of his hand. The friction giving just enough that it stimulated your clit as he added a second finger.

You should've felt ashamed, worried even, that you were doing something so private in a public place. But you couldn't find the energy to care. The corner booth dimly lit to begin with, and hopefully, if anyone looked it would simply look like just another couple making out under cheap crimson fluorescent lights and the darkness of the corner.

When Yoongi pulled back you wanted to protest, but he placed his index to his lips to keep you silent. His palm now pressing harder against your core to give you more friction; both of his fingers curling inside to locate your g-spot as he continued to finger fuck you in the booth.

He dipped his lips back to the hollow of your neck. At first making you think he was going to whisper another rough demand, only to be pleasantly surprised when his lips pressed down under your jaw. He dusted kisses sporadically along your neck until he reached your clavicle, letting them draw back up until he was angled just below your jaw. Yoongi’s mouth locking tight to the skin as he sucked it into his mouth, his tongue tickling against the skin as his mouth worked it over.

Your hand moved to his chest to push him away. To get him to look at you as you stuttered out a weak, “No marks,” into the loudness of the room. He pulled away from you then, and with it, his hand between your legs. A pitiful sound crawled up your throat as your eyes, wild with need, looked at him expectantly.

“You don't make the rules, Y/N. I get too. If you want my hand back between your legs, I get to mark you.”

You swallowed hard as you thought over his offer. It wasn't like you didn't want them: you did. You just knew it was a tacky thing to see when you’d walk into work wearing a scarf. It felt like such a silly thing to complain over when your pussy was aching to be touched. When the thought of his expert hands sliding back between your thighs left you trembling and yearning for him to drench the leather with your come, you knew you couldn't fight him. The need to feel his hands on your body and his lips against your skin left you with no will to argue.

“Yoongi,” you pleaded with both your hands tugging on his jacket. “Please. There’s a motel just behind the bar. Take me there please?”

You felt crazy with need for him to finish what he started. You weren't about saying things you would regret our offering up to play a game you knew he loved. Yoongi was always about control, and he loved nothing more than controlling his women. You wanted him to own you the same way he had the others, and you wanted to prove you could be better than those women at the same time.

He didn't answer you right away like you’d hoped, and you felt your earlier mood to please quickly sour into your own heated demand. Your skin felt molten hot where he’d touched you, but it was quickly fading to a cold memory.

Without thinking it through, you pressed yourself closer against him. Your left hand moving down the line of his body until it reached the crotch of his jeans. A sigh bounding from your lips as you felt the hard length of his erection straining against the fabric. Unlike most people who would've given some effect to being touched, Yoongi didn’t budge. He didn't jump at the contact or even bother to look around to see if anyone was watching. His eyes stayed trained on you and how you slipped your other hand between your legs. With lazy fingers you massaged your clit, causing a moan to cascade from your lips. Both of your hands rubbing the both of you off.

Your head lolled against his shoulder as you struggled to keep your eyes from fluttering shut.

“I want it to be your fingers that make me come,” you whispered against his lips. “I want to feel your cock stretching my pussy while your fingers wrap around my throat. Jesus, Yoongi you can tie me up if that's what you want. I just want you to be the reason I come tonight.”

Your breathing was beginning to become erratic. Your orgasm building and threatening to peak when Yoongi reached out and grabbed both of your wrists, halting you completely. You let out a cry of disappointment that he silenced by a rough hand in your hair and his lips crushing down against yours. There was nothing romantic about the kiss. Nothing that gave you butterflies and left you dreaming of white picket fences. No, this was the kind of kiss that left your body euphoric and consumed. The kind that when his fingers tickled along your throat you prayed that, instead of caressing it, he applied sweet pressure.

Yoongi broke the kiss first. His hand darting out to grab yours as he slide himself out of the booth with you scrambling to follow suit. Your hands moved down to try in a weak attempt at covering up what modesty you had, and you were sure you failed. You just silently followed Yoongi as he weaved you both through the crowd and out through the bars exit.

Neither of you bothered to speak. The anticipation spurring you both to hurry as you continued to cut through the alleyway to the street behind. Your heeled feet scrambling to keep up with his pace; a giggle rising in your throat when you realized he was practically having you sprint to get the motel.

The minute the building came into view Yoongi picked up his pace. His usual polite demeanor gone as he skipped holding the door for a man exiting the motel. Instead, he shoved past him with you muttering a soft apology as you squeezed passed. He’d already had his wallet out before he got to the desk his fingers holding up his credit card as he asked for whatever room was available.

“It doesn't matter,” were his next words when they asked if he wanted a room with a view.

You were willing to bet the only view Yoongi was going to let you have was either of the mattress or his cock. The thought had you biting down on your lip as your hands bunched in the fabric of your dress. Yoongi caught sight of your fingers playing with the hem of your dress. His head giving a firm shake, a silent way to inform you that you needed to keep your hands off until he told you otherwise.

When he finally got the room key, he reached out to take your hand once more and dragged you towards the elevator. Being locked in such a small space with him, but not having him touch you, made you crazy. You looked over at him to see his eyes focused up on the ticking numbered lights. You wanted to see that the anticipation was driving him wild too; that he couldn't control himself from touching you. You inched a step closer to him, your hand moving to run down the front of his pants, when his hand gave yours a warning squeeze. It almost had you stomping your foot like a pouting child.

The elevator dinged to notify you that you arrived at your floor. The both of you barreling down the hallway as he mumbled the room number over and over as his eyes scanned the door. He came to a halt at a door on the left side, the sudden stop making him slingshot you back to his side. The second the keycard sent the lock flicking green, Yoongi shoved the door open and pulled you inside. His hand closing the door just a little too hard as he pointed back towards the bed.

“Take off you dress,” he instructed.

His own hands moving to remove his jacket and sweater in one smooth motion. You felt your core bundle with heat as you watched one hand grab his shirt and pull it off, exposing the stark white of his bare chest. Yoongi looked at you expectantly, his eyes dragging over your still dressed frame, his brow rising up as he took a step towards you. His presence feeling like it was consuming the whole room, and you, causing your legs to buckle for a moment.

“You really going to keep me waiting?”

“No,” you breathed.

Yoongi reached out his fingers touching down on your shoulder. Your breath catching as the rough pads of his fingers traced along your shoulder and down to your collarbone. The smirk on his face making it obvious he enjoyed watching you struggle to formulate words.

“I need help with my zipper.”

Your statement made his hand stop. A smile cutting through the smugness as he shook his head and motioned for you to turn around.

“Why didn't you say anything earlier?”

“I was a little, uhm, preoccupied.”

You made sure to grab your hair and pull it to the side, making it easier for him to get to the dresses zipper. Your eyes focused on the bed while you fought to keep from shaking. Your body painfully aware of the placement of his hands and how slowly they moved down as he pulled down on the clasp. You knew he was doing it on purpose, another way to show the control he exuded over you.

You were so lost in thought that when his hands touched the hollow of your bare back you jumped. Yoongi’s deep chuckle muffled as he placed a small kiss against your spine. His hands taking hold of the thin straps of your dress and sliding them down your arms. A shiver rolled through your body as his kisses turned to licks; his tongue running the length of your spine until your dress had dropped at your ankles. Your hands flew up to cup your bare breasts, as Yoongi’s fingers wrapped around the lacy fabric of your panties.

“Did you wear these in hopes I would see them tonight?” His question groaned flush against your skin, as he placed sweet kisses on your shoulders that quickly turned to soft nips of his teeth.

“If I say yes?”

The both of you knew you had. It was how you ended up texting him in the first place. You wanted him to see you in this dress. To tempt him with flashes of his favorite kind of panties. Yoongi loved lace, and you were more than happy to decorate your body in the erotic fabric.

“Turn around. Get on your knees.”

Yoongi’s demand left you blanching for a moment. Your buzzed mind taking far longer than he would’ve liked to comprehend his request. His hand landed a light smack on your ass that carried a yelp from your mouth. You turned to look at him, only to find he was back to being hard and unreadable. A part of you knowing he was waiting for you to follow orders. You didn’t make him ask you twice as your knees sunk down into the grey carpet, while you looked up at him.

He moved to undo his belt. Your hands moving out to knock his away. Your eyes holding his as your hands began to undo the soft leather with your fingers tugging down on his jeans and briefs moments later. You made sure his pants slid down his legs first, leaving the briefs to outline his erection; your pussy becoming wet at the sight. While he wasn’t incredibly long, Yoongi was thick, and a part of you craved to feel that thickness touching the back of your throat.

You made sure that he kept his eyes on you as you watched him. Your tongue moving out to lick across the fabric of his briefs, ending with your lips wrapping around the clothed tip and sucking hard enough you noticed his eyes flutter for just a second. The small victory had your lips smiling around the cloth. The gesture earning you Yoongi’s hand in your hair, pulling tight, while he used the other to shimmy the rest of the way out of his briefs.

Using the grip he held on your hair, Yoongi brought you towards his cock. Your mouth opening automatically to allow his hips to push his cock inside. Your lips wrapped around him as your tongue circled around the tip. Without warning, Yoongi used your hair to pull you back. The sudden movement causing your mouth to let out a “pop!” at its exit. He didn't waste any time as he brought you back down, this time his hips pushing in more than just the tip. He repeated his earlier motion and pulled you back, except, this time, before he brought you back down he ordered, “Spit.”

You looked up at him with a moment's hesitation causing him to pull tighter on your hair.

“I said spit.”

You followed through with his demand and spit on the length of his cock, leaning forward as much as he allowed to even out the saliva with your tongue. He pulled back on your hair just a little tighter, when you moved to take his cock into your mouth. His grip eased up when your tongue darted out to trace the edges of his tip.

“Open your mouth, Y/N, and hold it open. If at any time this becomes too much let me know immediately, okay?”

“Okay,” you replied.

You would’ve tried shaking your head, but Yoongi’s grip was wound tightly in your hair. You obeyed his request and stared up at him expectantly. Your tongue moving out to have him slap his cock against it just before he angled it into your mouth. Yoongi started started pumping his cock inch by inch into your mouth, and with each thrust, you hollowed out your cheeks. Your eyes watching his face as he bite his lips and watched his cock as it slipped in and out over your lips.

He started moving faster; the force enough to feel his tip touching the back of your throat. The only sound in the room was the wetness of your mouth and his soft grunts.You reached your hand down between your legs and between your panties. Your fingers expertly finding your clit and began running circles over the swollen mound.

You lifted your tongue up to run over his shaft, focusing on how the smooth skin caressed violently past your lips, as the strength of his thrusts increased. After the last thrust he buried his cock down your throat and kept your head pinned there. You knew the shaking in his legs was from feeling your throat close around his length. The reason his eyes fluttered shut, and making his head careen back.

You were ready to tap him to get a breath, when Yoongi pulled himself completely out. A sharp gasp leaving you coughing as you struggled to wipe your mouth clean. His hand gently reached out to cup your face, and lifted you to look at him. The pads of his thumbs caressing your cheeks.

“You okay?”

You shook your head eagerly wanting to tell him you just wanted more, but Yoongi had other plans in mind. With your affirmation, he leaned down and took hold of your elbow, lifting you up from the carpet and spinning you to face the bed.

“Get on the bed and place your knees as close to the edge as you can.”

Immediately, you climbed onto the bed, your knees backing up until they threatened to slide off. Yoongi was already there behind you, his hand flying out to leave a soft smack against your ass. Your moan was accompanied by your hands curling in the sheets. The action pulling them towards you just as Yoongi pulled the string off your panties away from your core.

Another moan escaped you when he slide two fingers up and down your folds, spreading the juices of your arousal. His skilled fingers massaging over your clit just before he slide them inside. Your hands gripped the sheets harder, pulling them completely off of one side, as they pumped in and out. Both curling upwards to no doubt find the sweet spot that would throw you over the edge, and when he found it you cried out. Your head sinking into the mattress in a weak attempt to muffle the sound.

“Please,” you whined. “Please, Yoongi fuck me.”

He stilled behind you. His fingers disappearing from between your folds. The action making you glance over your shoulder, to ask if you’d done anything wrong. Instead, you found him using your juices to slide over his cock; jerking himself off as he took a step towards you.

“Turn around,” he growled.

Like always, you obeyed.

You placed your forehead down on the bed, as if you were praying and maybe you were. Your body was trembling in anticipation. A part of you wondering about what happened after the desire passed and you were just two completely fucked and naked people. All your worries ceased, however, the minute you felt his tip press at your entrance. His hands moving to grip your hips as he positioned himself just before he thrusted inside you.

Another cry left you that you quickly silenced by shoving the sheet into your mouth. He drew his cock all the way out and slapped his tip against your clit, just before sliding it back inside you. Your pussy stretching to accommodate his width with every delicious pinch.

He started a brutal rhythm that left you panting out moans with each thrust. Your fingers moving between your legs to start stroking your clit in time with the rhythm he’d created. You could feel your orgasm beginning to build just as he changed angles, his tip finding your sweet spot. Each thrust gliding over the spot until your toes curled and your hand stuttered between your legs.

“F-fu-FUCK!”

Your hands scrambled like mad on the bed. Your legs already beginning to shake as your orgasm informed you it was close. Each thrust sent your body rolling back against him, and at the same time, struggling to get away. In one last thrust, your world erupted in blackness and stars. A scream of his name tore free from your throat as your body bucked against him. Yoongi held on tightly to you, his body molded against you, with his hands on your breasts.

You were still coming down when he pulled out and turned you over onto your back. His hands back on his cock as he stroked it fast and tight. Hurriedly, you slid off the bed and were back on your knees, tongue out against his tip. He gave one final jerk and his come came squirting hot and salty against your tongue. You swallowed before you leaned forward with an eager tongue to lick off the remaining come that hadn't gotten into your mouth. Yoongi’s eyes watching you, panting, as you licked him clean.

When it was over, you stood up and went to find your clothes. The soft touch of Yoongi’s hand stopping you to turn and face him.

“What are you doing?”

His question left you confused. Your eyes looking at the scattered clothes and back at him.

“Getting dressed.”

“Why? We need to take a shower first.”

“We?”

“Unless you wanted to take one alone,” he shrugged. “I just wanted to show you why I'm the king of giving oral in the shower.”

“Well, by all means,” you began, discarding your panties back on the floor as you moved towards the bathroom. “Lead the way.”

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areyoureadyforsomemeatballz · 5 years

Text

K-I-S-S-I-N-G

Summary: Shield University puts on a fall festival every year and donates the proceeds to charity. While most of your friends are signed up to help with booths, you are left to crash a date with Steve. When someone drops out of the kissing booth and you take their place Steve is forced to make a choice.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (College AU)

Word Count: 1900

Warnings: Mentions of female presenting nipples (sorry couldn’t resist) and other body parts (is this to saucy for new tumblr, who knows?) . Mutual pining? Some cursing? Vague dirty talk?

A/N: I had a blast writing this! It’s my submission for @captain-rogers-beard Fall into Marvel Challenge. My prompt was fall fair’s and who better to go to a fair with than Steve? It’s the last day of fall, so I made it just in the nick of time. If you like it please SCREAM with me in the comments, I love talking with you guys more than anything!

“A little to the left,” you shout. “Right there! That’s perfect, Steve.”

Clint tosses his arm over your shoulder as you watch Steve pound the last stake into the ground, securing the entrance gates for the fair. “That sounded vaguely dirty, sweet pea. Though I’m sure Steve wouldn’t mind.”

Your cheeks heat up and you try to shrug his arm off you. “I don’t know what you mean, Clit. We’re just friends.”

“C’mon that nickname has been old since freshman year. Also, you’re wrong, me and you are friends. Meanwhile, you and him are one wrong move from ripping each other’s clothes-”

Steve clears his throat and you jump away from Clint with wide eyes. “I need some help hanging the signs for the booths if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Clint says.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Steve grits out. “Are you busy, doll?”

“No, we’re good here for now. We can’t hang the entrance banners until we finish painting them.”

Steve looks over to where all the paint supplies are laid out and grins at you. “Why don’t we finish that, and Clint can handle the booths?”

Clint groans and stomps off toward the stack of signs. “Who pissed in his cheerio’s?”

“You gave us the fun job, Steven. That’s not fair.”

“Hey, he called me boss and I went with it. We deserved a break.”

You walk over and pick up a paintbrush and continue the pattern of orange and black stripes. “I can’t argue with that. I’ve been working my ass off all day.”

Steve moves to the other side of the banner and paints a jack-o-lantern. “Speaking of asses, who were you and Clint talking about?”

You keep your attention trained on the colors in front of you. “That was the worst segue I think I have ever heard.”

Steve laughs and you join in. “It’s a secret then?”

You look up at him and your eyes go wide. “Ah, Stevie, you got something,” you say as you point to your cheek. “No, you’re missing it. Here.”

He leans in close enough for you to sweep your paintbrush across his face, leaving a bright orange streak on his flushed cheeks. Steve grabs your wrist before your able to run away and he pulls you toward his chest. This sends you both toppling to the ground in a fit of giggles. He scoops up a glob off his cheek and smears it along your nose.

“Hey, guys? Not to interrupt, but we’re all done here,” Clint says.

You and Steve stand up and you help him brush off the leaves that are covering his back. He slings your backpack over his shoulder and the two of you walk back to your apartment building. He pauses when you make it to your front door.

“You still want to meet up tonight?”

“Yeah, Pep and Tony don’t have assignments and I thought we could hang out with them,” Steve says with a smile.

You raise your brow at him. “As long as they’re okay with it? I mean I’m assuming it’s a date?”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine with it? I’ll check.”

“Let me know.”

He nods, and you close your front door as he walks away. “I’d be fine if it was just us, Steve. God, how hard would that have been to say?”

Natasha walks up beside you and locks the door. “Are you talking to yourself?”

“Fuck, we need to get you a bell!”

She grins at you and you can’t help but laugh. “Did you finally tell him how you feel?”

“Who? Brock? No, I think we’re just going to be friends.”

She laughs and pulls you toward the living room. “You know who I’m talking about, dumb ass. And it’s definitely not that creep.”

“Nat,” you whine. “It’s not that easy. I even had the perfect opportunity.”

“Let me guess it had something to do with paint?” She says and taps your orange nose. “And there’s no such thing. You’ve just got to tell him.”

“I’m going to try at the fair. We’re going with Pepper and Tony, but, I’m sure I can do it.”

“After you come visit your poor working friends at their booth, right?”

You roll your eyes at her and flop down on your couch. “You and Wanda should’ve just signed up for set up with me. Then you would be off the hook tonight and could enjoy the fair.”

“I don’t mind helping at a booth and I think you and Steve had set up covered.” She wiggles her perfect eyebrows at you, causing you to groan.

“I’m not coming to visit you.”

“Yes, you are,” she sing-songs.

The sun is just starting to fade as you make your way through the gates of the fair. Steve immediately drags the three of you to get treats. Pepper loops her arm around yours and the two of you humor Steve as Tony whines.

You swipe a piece of cotton candy off the bundle that Steve is holding in his hand and smile at him. “I promised Nat and Wanda that I would stop by their booth and say ‘hi’. After that, it’s up to you guys what we do.”

You and Pepper trail ahead as you look for the booth. Tony nudges Steve in the side and the two hang back further.

“So, you enjoying our double date?”

“Yeah- wait no. This isn’t a date. It’s just- we’re just hanging out.”

“Me and Pepper are on a date.”

“What does that have to do with me and-”

“Stevie! I need your help up here,” you call to him and he can’t fight the smile that spreads across his face.

Tony shoots Steve a pointed look over his shoulder as he walks faster to wrap his arm around Pepper’s waist. Steve stops in his tracks before shaking his head and rushing to catch up with you. He reaches you in time to hear Natasha pleading with you and Pepper.

“Maria’s sick and I need a girl to fill in for her. Sam’s shift is almost up. Please tell me one of you will do it?”

“Count me out. This is mine and Tony’s first date in weeks, so I don’t think that I should spend the evening kissing other people,” Pepper says as she squeezes Tony’s hand.

“As much as I joke about sharing, I’d prefer if it was just us tonight.” Tony catches Steve’s eye and nods toward you, causing the blond to vigorously shake his head. “I spy one hottie that’s not hindered by a relationship.”

You roll your eyes and rub your chin. “Hm, I don’t know. I mean I could just have a nice relaxing evening. Or, I could make out with gross guys that are willing to pay for it for half an hour.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that there are tons of good guys in line and quite a few ladies,” Natasha turns toward the line and smirks. “In fact, I see Brunhilde and Carol lining up to get a chance with you. Plus, it’s for a good cause. Think of the children.”

You peek over at Steve just as he plasters a fake smile on his face and you give him a reluctant smile back. “That’s a low blow. But, fine you got me.”

“You’re a lifesaver! Follow me so I can get you ready.”

Natasha leads you to a curtain behind the stool that Sam is currently perched on as he locks lips with Bucky. Wanda announces to the crowd that this is Sam’s last kiss. Bucky slips off his blindfold and the pair smiles at each other and leans in for another kiss. When she says that you are taking the next shift there are a few whoops from the crowd.

“Tony, I need your wallet,” Steve says without taking his eyes off Natasha painting lipstick on your lips.

“What do you want to ride the Tilt O’ Whirl, Dorito? I’ll come with you I’ve been meaning to talk to the hot attendant all night.”

Pepper slips her hand into Tony’s pocket and pulls a stack of cash out of his wallet. “Your smart mouth is going to get you in trouble one of these days, darling. Besides, I’m sure Rhodey doesn’t want you bothering him during his shift.”

Up ahead, Natasha is helping you get settled on the stool and slipping a blindfold over your eyes. She returns to her spot next to Wanda to collect money from the horde of people waiting in line.

Pepper holds the money out to Steve, which he takes with a wide grin. “Can you guys do me one more favor? I need a distraction.”

“Oh! I get it you’re going to rescue your damsel in distress from locking lips with every hottie at the fair-”

Steve rolls his eyes but can’t wipe the smile off his face. He nudges Tony with his elbow and starts walking toward the ticket table for the kissing booth.

“Virginia Potts,” Tony cries loud enough to draw the attention of everyone in line. “Put your shirt back on. This is a family event!”

Pepper rolls her eyes but can’t help but grin at Tony. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Hey, you’re the one that offered my help. He wanted a distraction! What’s more distracting than your perfect boobs?”

Steve runs past the line and tosses the stack of money down on the table. “I think that buys me more than her whole shift?”

Wanda and Natasha grin at him and nod him towards you. Bucky’s leaning against the table with his arm wrapped around Sam’s waist.

“Took you long enough, punk.”

“Hey that’s not fair,” Brock says as he slams down his money on the table. “I’ve been waiting all night for a chance with her.”

Bucky drops his arm and scoops the money off the table and pushes it against Brock’s chest. “First off, she said yes to doing this five minutes ago. Second, the rest of us, including her, are thanking god that we didn’t have to experience that.”

Steve ignores the commotion behind him and cradles your face in his palms. He lifts one hand to take the blindfold off of your face and you raise your brow when you meet his eyes. His eyes dart down to your lips.

“Steve?”

He lets out a deep breath and drops his hands. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to-”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you pull Steve closer to you by his jacket. His lips slot against yours clumsily at first, but the kiss quickly melts into something raw and needy. One of his hands cups your cheek as the other slips behind your back to pull you flush against him. Your tongue softly sweeps across his lips as you hear cheers behind you. You pull away from him reluctantly.

Steve pulls back from you with shining eyes and his cheeks stained a ruddy pink. “Hi, doll.”

“Hi.” You grin up at him and bury your face when you hear Sam and Bucky’s shouting behind you again.

“So, your shift has got another twenty minutes,” Steve says with a grin. “What d’ya say we go ride the Ferris wheel?”

You pick your head up off his chest. “On one condition.”

“Anything.”

“Kiss me again.”

Steve beams at you and tilts your chin up gently with one finger. Your lips connect again and before you know it the two of you are running away from your friends, hand in hand.

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x you #steve rogers x you #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america fluff #chris evans x reader #Steve Rogers #Chris Evans #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #mimi's fall into marvel challenge #nothing makes me happier than comments and reblogs #they fuel me #scream at me #steve rogers fluff #steve fluff

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edward-richtofen-queen · 5 years

Text

You're Mine

Pairing: Michael Myers | The Shape × Evan Macmillan | The Trapper

Warning(s): NSFW

༺━━━━⁎∗.❆.∗⁎━━━━༻

It was a stormy night; Rain pouring down onto the mansion that the fourteen killers resided in. Most lollied around out of bored boredom, like Max and Phillip, but others were doing more productive things, such as cooking or cleaning. Trapper was in the ritual room, mumbling under his breath in an unknown language as he spoke with the Entity. It was a normal daily thing, mostly due to Evan's strict schedule he stuck to for the Entity.

A unknown noise from the door made Evan stop. Out of the corner of his mask, a familiar smiling doctor stood leaned up against a wall, clearly annoyed. "You think your special?" Herman began, rolling his pulled open eyes as Evan cocked his head to the side. "Just because you've been in this realm longer doesn't make you special, pretty boy. You're the weakest of us all. Even the nurse is better than you, and she's the slowest killer than the rest of us."

Evan snarled, stepping forward and holding the man in question by the collar. "For a doctor, you've got something wrong with you. Your whole kit is just electrocute and smack survivors with whatever the fuck you call your weapon." Herman chuckled. "Don't get all mad on me now, I'm just telling you that you're weak!" The Doctor didn't need to flinch of do anything, seeing Trapper fuming with anger was already funny.

"Don't you fucking laugh, you sentimental fucking excuse of a doctor! I don't know who pissed in your damn cereal, but I'm not having this shit right now!" Evan growled lowly as his fingers reached for the doctor's neck. Unfortunately, Evan was grabbed by his collar and dragged backwards into the arms of Michael Myers.

"Myers! This isn't the time!" Evan whined and struggled, Michael standing strong and not moving an inch, then began to drag Evan away from the Doctor. Evan was quick to comply, only moments away from shutting Herman's mouth for good for a while.

An airy chuckle breathed through Michael's mask as he kicked his door in to enter, along with Evan. Evan walked in, still fuming but calming down. "You shouldn't have intervened, Michael," Evan scolded as he sat on the edge of the bed as he watched Michael pick up his notepad to write. The Entity let's us do whatever we please, only that we don't kill each other because reenacting us takes to much energy from it, Evan It read.

"It would only be this once," Evan whined slightly, causing Michael to softly chuckle. Let's not forget; You aren't just the Entity's, Evan The paper read as Evan rose an eyebrow, a soft grin under Michael's mask. How about I remind you who you also belong too, yes? Evan had just finished reading as Michael pushed him against the wall, the notepad draping to the ground with a light thud. Trapper couldn't help the smirk that twitched onto his lips, "That's funny—I thought you were the one that belonged to me, pretty boy."

Micheal had lifted his mask above his nose, a smirk playing on his lips as if challenging Evan. They had already done it once or twice, but this time. They weren't gonna go easy on each other. Not anymore.

Michael attacked Evan's neck with kisses and bites. A moment of searching and he struck gold when he found the tender spot on the man's neck, sucking and biting to draw hickeys for the others to see. Evan was his and his alone. If he could have it his way, he wouldn't even allow The Entity to touch him. Wasting no time at all, Michael twirled his knife in his free hand and cut right through the fabric separating skin from skin. He wasn't worried about the fabric, The Entity would give them new clothes anyway. Throwing Evan on his bed, Michael crawled over the large man to kiss and stroke, hands tracing past scars from previous love making and trials. A possessive growl rumbled in Michael's throat, lips training down to Evan's chest as the man groaned. Evan grunted, tugging harshly on Michael's mask.

"Dammit, Myers, let me see you!" Evan barked, yanking the latex from the blonde's head. Michael's eyes made Evan shake in anticipation. They were so blue, piercing and full of greed and lust that he hadn't noticed Michael's finger trail up his thigh and right to his ass. Evan shivered at Michael's soft touches. It didn't process until Michael gave him a hard squeeze. This cause Evans breathing to hitch and get caught in his throat. That's what Michael was good for. Teasing. Dragging out. Making you suffer before you got to the real fun. Evan wasn't going to have any of that. He was going to show Michael that he belong to him as much as he belonged to Michael.

He quickly flipped them, moving until Michael was on his stomach. Evan leaning down and attacking his neck this time as his member rest against his entrance. "Come on, Michael," Evan purred into his ear, hands trailing up his chest. "Who do you belong to, hmm?"

Michael grunted when he felt himself being filled, face red and flustered as he buried his face in a pillow. Michael's lips parted slightly. Evan growled as he pushed himself all the way in and rested at the hilt. He gripped Michael's jaw and made him turn slightly to look at him, lips inches away from each other. "I'm not moving till I hear you say it."

His words were low; husky and rich like chocolate and honey. Michael caved into his words, lips parting just a bit. "You...I belong....to you...." Michael's voice was scratchy and husky, most likely due to not talking for years and still learning to pronounce. It didn't matter though, Evan loved it when he spoke. It sent shivers down his back with how deep it could get.

"Good boy," He said, smirking and chuckling before he pulled back and slammed in, causing Michael to let out a surprised grunt of pleasure. Evan's smirk only grew as he began to pound his way against Michael, him in turn panting and grunting. Both men started to sweat, the wet sound of skin on skin and the ignored sound bed repeatedly hit the wall, no doubt causing it to scratch and dent the wallpaper. The dim light from the lantern was enough to illuminate both men, causing the atmosphere to become rich with mystery and lust.

"Eh—van," Micheal grunted, fingers tearing at the sheets as he tried to stay stable underneath the harsh fucking he was being given. His beady blue eyes, once filled to the brim with hatred and bloodlust were misted over with lust and love. He was in pure ecstasy, a groan grumbling in his throat.

Evan moaned, gripping Michael's hips as he violently smacked and thrusted into Michael. Tears of pain and pleasure streamed down his cheeks, turning his head as he kissed Evan with hot passion. Evan's animalistic growls and groans reverberating off the shell of his ear, making his toes curl and a whine escape his lips when Evan angled him the right way. The sounds he made along with Evan had dulled in his ears, only hearing white noise as he grunted in embarrassing release. Evan grunted and picked up for a minute and then he growled in his own release, the backboard of the bed making a squealing noise as they stopped and sunk next to each other.

"Shit, Michael," Evan panted, fingers trailing down Michael's chest. Michael made a soft noise of recognition, his breathing a little strained. He had never made this much noise before and it was taking a toll on him, but it was worth it. His legs hurt slightly and shook just a bit—he had experienced being shot over and over again, so he was fine. Evan purred quietly as his hands cupped his cheeks. "I guess I am yours, and you're mine, right?" Michael response was cuddling with the larger man.

∾❦∾

Downstairs, Herman chuckled to himself—did he just get Evan laid? Max had a confused look on his face and Phillip seemed horrified to hear such the noises. That poor bed Herman thought with a laugh. Even down the Hall, Herman could hear the animalistic growls coming from one of the two men. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he removed his guards and slipped on a pair of glasses to read.

At least Evan won't be bothering him for a while.

༺━━━━⁎∗.❆.∗⁎━━━━༻

I decided to repost this on Tumblr so anyone who likes Shapper Smut can read it! There's not much of this ship around anymore, and I'll be sure to write some more!

This post is dedicated to @renlvbon for being my newest inspiration (And I hope you feel better!) and @ameliafireheart for the support♡!

#smut warning #shapper #it gets really gay #my friend and i did this together #it was fun #evan macmillan #michael myers #fanfic

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sevenfists · 6 years

Note

dear tumblr user sevenfists please write me an ot3 fic called "babydances with wolves" (optional: alpha!geno alpha!anna competing to impregnate sid)

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED

~3.1k, A/B/O, explicit, domesticity, fluff, porn?? The whole enchilada.

The mess of Sid retiring ate up an entire year. It wasn’t his head, as Anya had secretly feared; it was his knee. “He won’t play again,” Zhenya said, when he came home that first night—late, well past midnight, because he had been at the hospital with Sid. And he was right, although Sid fought it for months. He could still skate, but not well enough to play at the NHL level. He never played another game.

“Okay, well,” he said, the morning after he announced his retirement, when they were eating breakfast in the kitchen. Zhenya had taken Nikita to school on his way to the rink, and Anya and Sid were alone in the house, as they were most mornings now. “Guess we might as well have another baby.”

“Sid, maybe you’re not ready,” Anya said carefully, because Sid seemed brittle to her, or friable, like clay. He helped Nikita with his homework and went to physical therapy religiously and skated a few times a week, as much as he could without aggravating his knee, and he still cooked and argued with Zhenya about hockey and spent time with his friends, all of the normal Sid things he had been doing for years. But he hadn’t been ready to retire.

“What else am I supposed to do with myself?” he said, a little sharp, and then shot her an apologetic glance.

No, he wasn’t ready. “Let’s talk with Zhenya,” Anya said, and texted Zhenya as soon as she had a moment alone, to make sure he would be on her side. Presenting a united front was the only way to overcome Sid’s stubbornness.

They agreed to wait. A few months went by. Sid formally accepted a position with the Little Penguins, and Anya watched how the work changed him. He left the house smiling every morning, and came home smiling every afternoon, with Nikita in tow, because Sid had taken over school pickup. Anya was usually home then, to make a snack for Nikita and supervise homework while Sid cooked dinner, and her heart always lifted to hear their voices coming up the stairs from the garage, Nikita’s high rapid chatter and Sid’s deeper responses, and his laughter.

“Maybe we have another baby,” she whispered to him, the morning of her birthday. Zhenya had promised breakfast in bed, and she had clung to Sid when he tried to follow. Zhenya didn’t need any help, and Anya was hoping for at least a quickie before Sid left for work.

“Oh, now you want to,” Sid said, turning over in bed to smile at her and stroke her hair from her eyes.

“You too old soon,” Anya said, mostly to be mean and make him narrow his eyes at her, but also because it was true. He had another five years, maybe. A good chunk of time, but not forever.

“Look who’s talking about being old,” Sid said, “you’re going to be forty next year,” which was a horribly rude and hurtful thing to say, and Anya jabbed her fingertips into the tender spot below his ribs and laughed as he yelped and thrashed around.

He went to get his IUD out a week later. Anya went to the appointment with him, because he’d had a hard time with the insertion, but he said the removal was no big deal. “Just felt like a pinch,” he said with a shrug, as they walked out to the car. “I’ll probably bleed for a few days. No sweat.”

“Let’s get milkshakes anyway,” Anya said, because anything involving a speculum was a perfect excuse for a milkshake. Sid smiled at her with his eyes creased up, and Anya felt a wave of love roll over her, deep rich cold water from the very bottom of her heart. After nearly eight years together, her love for him was so familiar that most of the time she didn’t notice it, like a beautiful, beloved painting that became part of the backdrop of your home. But from time to time you stopped and gazed at it and realized anew how wonderful it was.

“What is it?” Sid said, eyebrows drawing together.

“I can’t wait to put a baby in you,” Anya said.

Sid’s eyes darkened and his cheeks pinked, a delightful response. But then he grinned and said, “You sure Geno’s gonna be on board with that?”

She and Zhenya hadn’t discussed the matter at all. She brought it up with him that evening, when they were cleaning up after dinner while Sid played Minecraft with Nikita in the den. “Have we thought, you know—will we want to find out whose baby it is?”

“No, I don’t care,” Zhenya said. He licked a smear of tahini from his thumb and grinned at her. “Obviously it’s going to be my baby, though.”

“Oh is it,” Anya said. Fine: challenge accepted. She and Zhenya had mostly reached a tacit agreement that they were equally in charge, but he could still fire up her competitive engines with a sly look and a few carefully chosen words.

“I have a good track record,” Zhenya said smugly. “Past success. But you’re welcome to try your best.”

She sighed and leaned against him. “I’m nervous,” she admitted. “I’ve never done it.”

He glanced at her, and then abandoned what he was doing with the leftovers and turned to take her in his arms. “Never?”

“No. Every omega I dated, they were on birth control. They didn’t cycle.” She sighed again. “I want it to be good for him, but. Maybe it’s best if you do it.”

He kissed her forehead. “Don’t fret, Jerry. It’s not so complicated. Listen to your body and to Sid. We’ll both help you.” He ducked his head to press his mouth to her ear and dropped his voice to a murmur. “Think of how sweet he’ll be when he’s in heat. Pink and begging for it, and you’ll be able to give him exactly what he needs.”

Anya shivered. That did sound appealing. “So, it’s my baby, then, we’re in agreement?”

“May the best alpha win,” Zhenya said, and patted her ass a few times.

She had time to think about it and look online for tips: three peaceful weeks as they waited for Sid’s body to figure out what was going on. She had fucked Sid many times with her fingers and her strap-on, and it wouldn’t be all that different, probably. She could figure it out.

At dinner one night, Nikita was more fidgety than usual, tearing apart his bread and kicking his heels against the bottom rung of his chair, which Zhenya had told him a million times not to do, and finally he said, “Dad, why do you smell weird?”

“Oh, uh,” Sid said. He glanced at Anya and then Zhenya, as if they had any answers. “Do I?”

“Yeah, like—when mama burns her hair on the curling iron,” Nikita said. “Are you sick?”

Zhenya started laughing. “No, he’s not sick. He’s go into heat.”

“Oh, okay,” Nikita said, taking this perfectly in stride, even as Anya squinted at Sid and wondered how she’d missed the signs. Well, it was still early. “Milanka says Aunt Katya doesn’t leave her room when she’s in heat. Will you text me?”

Sid looked a little flushed, but he said, “I’ll try, bud. It might be hard for me, though. But mama and papa will take care of you, and it’s only for a few days. And it doesn’t mean I love you any less, it’s just—”

“I know, it’s just how your body is,” Nikita said. He stuffed another piece of bread in his mouth. “Will I be an omega?”

“Well,” Sid said, and gave Anya a panicked look.

“Nikita, let’s read a book about this later, okay?” Anya said. “I’ll answer all of your questions. Right now dad needs to finish eating his dinner.”

Sid still looked faintly panicked even when the meal was over and Zhenya had taken Nikita off to finish his homework. “He’s seven,” Sid said, standing in the middle of the kitchen with the salad bowl in his hands, like he had forgotten what he meant to do with it. “What does he know about heat? He thinks he’ll be an omega?”

“Oh, calm down, he’s hear things, he’s see on TV, kids at school talk,” Anya said. “You know. It’s normal, it’s fine.”

“I definitely didn’t know about heat when I was seven,” Sid muttered. He really did smell like burnt hair. The scent would fade and mellow as his heat drew closer. Anya would have to take a good whiff of him every morning to decide when he should quit leaving the house.

“Come here,” Anya said. Sid looked at the bowl in his hands, looked at her, set the bowl on the island, and came over to where Anya was rinsing plates at the sink. She nestled into his arms, and he sighed and held her, and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. Anya said, “Let Zhenya and me take care of you, okay? When you’re in heat. Stay home, let us feed you, take care.”

“You’ll make me a baby,” Sid said, low, and she kissed his neck and said, “We’ll try hard.”

She woke up a few mornings later, so early that it was still mostly night, the room dark and silent. Sid was shifting around on the bed beside her and making a kind of whimpering noise, and Anya reached for him, still half-asleep. The room was filled with a lovely smell that made Anya tingle, a sex smell that had her opening her mouth to draw in a deep lungful of it, and she realized what was going on in the split second before her hand touched Sid’s warm bare back.

“Anna,” Sid whispered as he turned toward her, a poorly defined shape in the dim light. “Please, I feel—”

“I’m here, my love,” she whispered in return. Her hand found the curve of his cheek, and she leaned in to kiss his mouth. “You’re ready?”

“Please,” he said again, his hands fumbling at her sleep shorts, tugging at the waistband.

She kissed him and groped blindly down his body. There was his hard cock, drawn tight against his belly, and there was his swollen cunt, ready for her. She pushed her fingers in. He was a tight soft cling as always, and wet, dripping down her palm. The smell intensified as she touched him, and she felt her own body responding. The tingling centered between her legs, and she felt herself begin to swell.

“Sid,” she said, a little frightened, “I’m,” and he wrapped one strong arm around her back, crushing her against him, and said, “It’s okay, it’s okay, I want it.”

She took a deep breath and felt it happen: a swelling and lengthening, a peculiar stretch she had never felt before. But not bad or painful. And then Sid finally managed to get a hand inside her shorts and his fingers curled around her and they both moaned.

“Let me feel it,” Sid whispered urgently, “let me, I’m ready, Anna, please,” and she kissed him again to quiet his babbling. He rolled onto his back, dragging her on top of him, his thighs parting around her hips, opening himself to her, and she pushed down her shorts and then she was in him, a wholly new pleasure, while he panted harshly and tugged at her hair.

She wasn’t big, like Zhenya. But she knew how to fuck, with short assertive rolls of her hips, and Sid moaned each time she pushed in. She wasn’t tall enough to kiss him, so she worked on his neck, sucking a big mark there, letting herself be possessive in a way she usually tried to avoid with Sid, who didn’t need or want it. Her omega, hers, to protect and care for.

The light on the bedside table cut on. Anya paused, blinking, momentarily blinded, and Sid tightened his legs around her and said, “Don’t stop,” arching to rub his cock against her belly.

“Not on my account,” Zhenya said. He sat up against the headboard and smirked at her, wrapping his big paw around his dripping cock. “Or if you need some help—”

Anya bared her teeth at him and got back to work. Sid was so warm and wet and sweet around her, noisier now than he ever was during sex and pushing up to meet each of her thrusts, his cock leaking between them. She pushed up onto her hands so she could watch his face, his cheeks flushed and his hair damp with sweat, his eyes closed and his eyelashes a dark brush against his skin.

“Oh,” he said, and his eyes flew open, wide and startled. “Anna—”

“Let her make you come, and then it’s my turn,” Zhenya said. From the corner of her eye, Anya could see him toying with his balls, but she didn’t want to take her attention from Sid. He was tightening around her now, working himself up to come, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. Anya didn’t have a knot, but she didn’t need one with Sid’s legs clamped around her, holding her in place.

“Fuck,” Sid gritted out, and then so many things happened at once: he squeezed rhythmically around her and cried out, and his cock jerked as he made a mess between their bodies. Her dear love.

“Now you, Anya,” Zhenya said, and Anya let all of the new confusing sensations in her body resolve into bliss and filled Sid with her come.

She collapsed onto Sid without guilt, short of breath and overheated. He could bear her weight. He made a soft noise and sank both hands into her hair.

“Was that okay?” she whispered into his neck. She was having the very strange experience of feeling herself go soft inside him.

“You made me feel so good,” he whispered back. “It was perfect.”

“Don’t whisper,” Zhenya said, annoyed as always that he was being left out. “Sid, you like another?”

“Yeah,” Sid said, and began shifting beneath Anya at once, until she pulled out and rolled aside to let him up. She watched as Sid straddled Zhenya’s lap and without hesitation sank down on his cock, his expression dazed with pleasure. They were beautiful together, her two men, Zhenya’s hands gripping Sid’s ass as they moved in sync. Anya almost hoped that the baby would be Zhenya’s, the perfect combination of these two people she loved so well. Almost.

She went up on her knees to kiss each of their faces. “Zhenya, don’t forget you have practice later. I’ll get Nikita ready, but you need to take him to school.”

Zhenya groaned. “Anya, please, I’m busy,” as if he was incapable of talking and fucking at the same time.

She left them to it and went down the hall to wake Nikita. He was always slow and sleepy in the mornings, just like his papa, and he yawned and rubbed at his eyes as he got dressed. She monitored him as he brushed his teeth, because he liked to use too much toothpaste, and then took him downstairs to make breakfast.

“Your dad is in heat now,” she said as she cooked his oatmeal. “You might not see him today, but would you like to send him a text message?”

“Okay,” Nikita said, and she gave him her phone so that he could text Sid a meticulous series of totally random emojis, followed by a very sweet I love you daddy!!!

Her phone buzzed a minute later with a response: a selfie clearly taken by Zhenya, their two heads on the pillow and nothing else, Sid’s smiling face half-hidden where he was tucked against Zhenya’s neck. “See,” Anya said, showing Nikita the picture. “Papa’s taking good care of him.”

“They’re hugging,” Nikita said, which was true in a sense: they were probably knotted together.

“It looks like they are,” Anya said diplomatically. “Now finish your breakfast, and papa will take you to school.”

She went back upstairs to roust Zhenya out of Sid’s pussy and into the shower. They were still tangled together in the bed, Zhenya holding Sid’s wrists in his hands and gently pressing kisses to Sid’s palms, each of them gazing at the other with utter besotted rapture. Zhenya glanced at Anya as she came in, and then kissed Sid’s cheek and said in Russian, “I have to go, bunny. Anya’s here, she’ll take care of you now.”

“Okay,” Sid said agreeably, and they separated, Zhenya with a slight wince. Anya dropped her robe and traded places with Zhenya in the bed, giving him a kiss as they shifted past each other. Sid opened his arms to her, sweet and dazed and warm and smiling and still smelling so good, and Anya kissed his cheek and his mouth and snuggled in.

“You need to go again?” she asked. Behind her, she could hear the shower turn on in the bathroom.

“Geno made me come three times,” Sid said. He slid his hands down Anya’s back. He was acting like he did on painkillers: a little silly, a little slow. “So I’m good for right now.”

“Okay, tell me when you need,” Anya said. “You hungry? Thirsty?”

“No,” Sid said. He nuzzled at her hair. “Maybe thirsty.”

“Zhenya will bring before he leaves,” Anya said. She pressed a kiss to the base of Sid’s neck and felt his arms tighten around her. She would stay with him until Zhenya came home again, to keep him safe and happy.

“Geno told me he’s got the best sperm,” Sid said after a few minutes. Zhenya was singing loudly in the shower. “Do I want to know?”

Anya smiled against his skin. “He’s wrong. I’m best.”

Sid huffed and shifted against her, draping one leg over her hip. His scent was changing and deepening. Anya took her cue and reached between his legs and stroke him, where he was soft and wet and messy with Zhenya’s come. Anya would put him in the bath later and make sure he ate something. Her sweet omega.

She felt her body responding to him, getting ready to give him what he needed, like Zhenya had said. She kissed his throat and gently squeezed his dick, hot and hard in her hand. “You want again?”

“Yeah,” he said. She pressed her hips to his, feeling herself begin to swell. She heard the smile in his voice as he said, “Let’s make a baby.”

#babydances with wolves I swear to god #I got a lot of OT3 prompts #happy annaversary to me #TM honeycombhenry #FYI you can still send prompts if you like #I will write several more of these!#ficlet #replies #dadvans #ot3

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ventrue-rosary · 5 years

Note

13 for Amaranthe and Bal? (alternatively the kids ;D)

I’m mashing up these two prompts..well…because I can!

Amaranthe and Autumn are mine. Vander belongs to the asker, Winter and Balthazar to people who aren’t on tumblr

Her mentor prepared her for the difficult life of a blood hunter. Her mother had prepared her for the unpleasant realities facing a ruler. No one prepared her for parenthood.

Of course, common sense tells her caring for not just one, but two newborns would be challenging, to say the least.

But now on her third sleepless night, she was cursing all her mentors in life, all the gods she could name from memory and even herself as she tries to soothe her twins back to sleep. But she is only one woman, and they were two restless and unhappy babies.

‘Please, settle down,’ she whispers, feeling a tear slide down her face. ‘Please just sleep.’

Autumn and Winter finally fall asleep as the sky changes to a pre-dawn grey. Curled up together in their cot, facing one another, she might think it cute were it not for the restless nights they cause.

Amaranthe lingers for a few minutes, just in case they awaken before she silently slips out of their room into her own, immediately face-planting the bed.

She barely falls asleep when wailing awakens her from the adjacent room. She groans into the pillow, mentally preparing herself to leave the comfort of her bed. She barely registers the shifting of weight on the mattress as Balthazar absconds the bed, entering the twins room. Amaranthe slips back into a deep sleep.

///

‘We need help,’ Balthazar says as she stares listlessy at her breakfast. ‘Amara? Did you hear me?’

She looks up at him from her plate of food. ‘Hm?’

‘I said we need help.’

‘I thought we agreed to raise and care for them ourselves.’ She’s being stubborn, she knows. They are new parents, they need assistance. But she feels oddly jealous of her children. The thought of another woman rocking them to sleep or suckling them at her breast fills her with anger.

‘We did, but we can't do this alone. We should hire a nanny.’

Amaranthe sighs and rubs her exhausted She’s too tired to argue. ‘Alright fine. Well get a nanny.’

As expected, many clamour for the position. Most don't even make it past the Council to secure a meeting with the Queen and Prince-Consort.

One eventually meets them, a striking young woman in a white shirt with a long train, black pants, ash blonde hair and red eyes.

Looking over the documentation of her previous experiences, Amaranthe is nothing short of amazed, though she intends to verify their legitimacy.

‘Your experience is impressive,’ Balthazar remarks.

‘Yes it almost beggars belief,’ she mutters, placing them aside to give the candidate her full attention. ‘Odile, was it?’

‘Odette,’ she corrects with a saccharine smile.

‘My apologies.’

She shakes her head, still smiling. ‘A Queen apologises to no one. If I may, I just want to say I think it’s very brave what you’re doing.’

‘What do you mean?’

Odette leans forward as though sharing a secret, and she certainly shares a far too generous view of her cleavage, which is certainly not missed by Balthazar.

‘Most parents are too proud to admit they need a little help. I think it's great you realised your limits and reached out for help.’

Amaranthe feels a flicker of irritation that grounds her teeth together.

‘I mean....’ Balthazar leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. ‘We could have totally handled it. If we wanted to.’

Odette grins impishly. ‘Of course.’

‘My Council was impressed by you,’ Amaranthe interjects as the stares linger on each other for a bit longer than she is comfortable with. ‘And your experience speaks for itself. But that doesn't mean you are the ideal candidate. That is something me and my husband will have to discuss. If you wouldn't mind waiting outside.’

‘Oh, of course. Take all the time you need.’

She struts rather than walks across their chamber, the gait drawing attention to her long legs. Amaranthe might just throw up.

Balthazar looks to her with confusion. ‘What's to discuss? She's great.’

‘Oh, please.’ She rises from her chair, her agitated mind agitating her limbs. ‘Did you even listen to a word she said? Or were you too busy staring at her tits?’

‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘You were staring at her, don't deny!’

‘Well yes she was addressing us, what do you expect me to do, stare out the window?’

Amaranthe shakes her head. ‘You know what I mean.’

Balthazar sighs, rounding the table towards. ‘Ok maybe I looked. She has a voluptuous frame, hard to miss.’ He grabs at her dress with a devilish grin. ‘But it’s nothing compared to yours.’

Amaranthe rolls her eyes with a huff.

‘You’re adorable when you're mad, you know that?’

‘And you're an ass.’ Amaranthe wrenches her dress free and snatches Odette’s papers from the table. She turns to Balthazar with a sigh. ‘Well put her on a trial basis while I check to see if these are forgeries or not. When the results come back we’ll make a decision then.’

‘Amara, if she makes you feel uncomfortable--’

‘I’m not a child, don't speak to me like I’m one. Unless I have reason to worry about her presence here?’

‘Of course not! You're being ridiculous.’

‘And you're being insensitive.’ The door slams behind her, ending their debate.

Glancing down each side of the corridor she sees no sign of Odette, but spots the twins door, now ajar. She runs in to Odette bouncing Autumn on her hip, cooing gently to her.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry! I heard this little cutie fussing so I came in to see if I could soothe her. Your children are so adorable. I can tell this little Princess is going to grow into a beauty like her mommy, aren't you?’

Odette continues cooing to Autumn, who babbles in response, grabbing a fistful of her shirt.

‘I think she likes me.’

‘Well, good news: my husband and I decided to give you a trial run. I guess it starts now since you took it upon yourself to tend to my children.’

Odette squeals happily. Autumn tries to replicate the noise. Even in her annoyed state, Amaranthe has to admit its cute.

‘Thank you, I won't let you down.’

‘I hope not.’ Amaranthe gives her children one last lingering look, the loves of her life she is about to leave in the care of a stranger. A qualified one mind, but still a stranger. ‘Right, I’ll leave you to it.’

Odette beams at her, then turns her attention back to the twins, placing Autumn down to pick up Winter. Amaranthe closes the door, and seeks out her spy master.

///

Amaranthe finds Vander in the garden, his usual haunt, playing with Elora. She watches for a few seconds, going unnoticed by the pair until she can wait no longer.

‘Vander?’

He turns to face her, scratching under the chin of the blood hawke perched on his forearm.

‘May I request a favour?’ she continues.

‘Of course, what do you need?’

She holds out the papers of Odette’s past positions. ‘Can you tell me if these are forgeries?’

Vander leafs through them curiously. ‘What’s this for?’

’A new hirling. They would have already been vetted by the Council members but I want you to double check.’

‘I’ll look into it right now. It shouldn’t take long.’

‘Thank you.’

Vander gives her a nod and steps past her, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She exhales deeply, bitterly recalling her argument. Though still angry, she can hardly stay that way with the father of her children. She checks her reflection in the waters of the fountain. Dark bruises under her eyes, loose, limp hair, and remnants of pregnancy-fat clinging to her waistline. She almost can’t blame his attention being drawn elsewhere. Almost.

Amaranthe dashes the reflection with her fist, and sets off back to their chamber.

///

Balthazar is pacing as she returns wearing a look of deep contemplation and regret. He stops when she enters. They stare at each other for a long time

‘Hey.’

More awkward silence.

‘Oh, uh, these are for you.’

He hands her a bouquet of amaranthus, lillies and forget-me-not.s

She smiles, bring the flowers up to her nose to inhale their sweet scent. ‘You picked these for me?’

‘A peace-offering.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Mmhmm.’

She crosses the room to her bedside cabinet, placing the flowers in a vase. ‘I also wanted to apologise.’

‘Oh?’

‘I um, may have overreacted. I shouldn’t have accused you like that. Besides she is beautiful and I’m...’ Her words trail off, stifled by her own shame.

‘You’re what?’

She jumps as she heard his words whispered in her ears, his body only inches from her own. Turning to face him, she sees his eyes staring down at her with a dark, intense look.

‘I--I um...’ She stumbles over her won words as he pulls her close to his body, kissing her gently in the lips as he backs her towards the bed. The back of her knees hits the mattress. Balthazar pushes her down onto it before kissing her passionately as he settles down on top of her.

///

A different sound awakens the sleeping couple that night, a frantic knock on their door. Amaranthe ignores it at first, snuggling down further into Balthazar’s arms. But it sounds again, louder.

With a groan Amara leaves Balthazar’s embrace and the bed, pulling on his discarded shirt as she makes her way to the door.

She opens it to a frantic Vander.

‘Vander, it’s late what--’

‘I looked into what you asked. The documents are not forgeries, but the daughter of each of these families Odette worked for went missing after she left. I--’

Amaranthe doesn't wait around to hear the rest. She sprints towards the nursery, her legs not moving fast enough for the nauseating worry devouring her stomach. Winter wails loudly as she reaches the door, only further panicking her.

She flings open the door. There Odette stands in a revealing white dress, its high slit revealing black stockings. A wide-brimmed hat obscures her scarlet eyes, which flicker up from Autumn to Amaranthe.

‘Figured me out, handsome?’ she calls to Vander, her voice dripping with sex appeal. ‘It matters not. Autumn is mine now.’

‘Put her down and walk away, bitch.’ Amara snarls as her rite flickers down her trembling hands.

‘Are you really in any position to make demands?’ Odette holds one sharp, crimson-painted nail to Autumn’s throat. She wraps her fist around Odette’s finger.

‘You wouldn't dare!’

‘Do you really want to test that, lovely one?’

Vander aims an arrow. ‘There are none more skilled than a bow with me. I bet this arrow could pierce your wicked heart before you could put a scratch on her.’

Odette grins, looking right through Vander. Then she throws up her free arm. Both Amara and Vander are picked up from ground and flung against the wall, Odette’s magic keeping them pinned there. Vander’s arrow, loosed at the moment of impact, flies harmlessly over her shoulder. Both twins are crying loudly now, their cries breaking her heart. She struggles against the magic keeping her pinned, wanting to run to get children and protect them, but she isn’t strong enough.

Odette looks over Amara’s shoulder as thundering footsteps approach.

‘That's my cue to leave. But don't worry, I’ll take good care of her. I’ll be the mother you never could be.’

With a snap of her fingers, Odette vanishes with Autumn. Amaranthe and Vander drop to the ground. Balthazar immediately runs to Amara, helping her to her feet.

‘What happened?’

The shame and guilt keeps her eyes glued to the ground, watching her tears fall onto the carpet.

‘I lost our baby.’ Her words are a broken whisper.

In the surreal silence, as everyone struggles to come to terms with what transpired, Winter cries escalate to screams.

#queerassassinstims #amaranthe darcelle #vander carris #autumn darcelle #winter darcelle #my writing #writing #my OCs #dnd

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