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another-lost-mc · 11 months

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When MC Feels Burnout/Emotionally Numb THE DEMON BROTHERS 4.1k words | SFW | gn!Reader | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Fluff & Angst A/N: The relationships between MC and the brothers can be read as romantic or platonic. The twins' sections are combined. ♫ [ MC's POV: Song Rec ]

─── LUCIFER:

Lucifer is concerned when you come to the dining room table for breakfast looking worse for wear; there's dark circles under your eyes like you haven't slept. You pour yourself a cup of tea and wrap your hands around the warm porcelain, but you don't drink it. Your breakfast plate remains untouched, and eventually you shuffle out of the room without a word.

He keeps an eye on you at RAD, but you're unusually withdrawn. You follow his brothers from class to class, eyes downturned and silent despite the lively conversations going on around you. Everyone walks home together that afternoon, but when he glances back to see how you are, he notices you’re lagging behind the rest of the group. He slows his pace to match yours, but you barely seem to notice; the walk home is silent.

When dinner time comes and goes without any change in your behaviour, he decides he needs to do something to snap you out of this little funk you're in. Later that evening, he invites you to keep him company in his study while he finishes his work. You accept in a monotone voice; it could be misconstrued as boredom, but he knows better.

Sometimes you read and listen to cursed records while he works at his desk, but tonight the random book you plucked off the shelf lays unopened in your lap. You stare unseeing into the fireplace, and your body is tense like you can’t relax.

He picks up something he was supposed to finish tonight—a folder full of documents to review and sign— but you barely notice when he sits beside you. He gives up all pretense of working when he places the folder and your unread book on the floor by his feet. He tucks you under his arm and pulls you against his side. You lean against him, a little reluctantly at first, until you start to relax. Your cheek is pressed against his chest and his heartbeat thumps gently beneath your ear.

He’s not sure how much time passes when you finally drift off to sleep. There’s something vulnerable about the way your body melts against his, and he wonders where he went wrong that led you to be in such a state to begin with.

He considers waking you so you can go back to your room to sleep. He contemplates carrying you somewhere more comfortable so he doesn't have to wake you—his room is closer, and maybe you won’t mind sharing a bed with him if it’s only for one night. Light and shadow from the fireplace dance along your skin, and you’re so warm in his arms; moving now seems like an impossibility.

A sore back in the morning seems like a fair price to pay when he decides to keep you exactly where you are. He maneuvers so carefully while he leans back against the armrest and holds you to his chest. He pulls the blanket off the back of the sofa and makes sure you’re covered before he closes his eyes. He doesn’t even notice that he syncs his breathing with yours, and he falls asleep not long after.

─── MAMMON:

Mammon eagerly tells you about his day—the things he bought, his wins at the casino, how his part-time gig is going—and he’s used to getting some sort of reaction from you (good or bad).

Today, you look at him blankly and tell him that’s nice in a quiet, emotionless voice that worries him. Having you scold him for being financially irresponsible (while you bite the inside of your cheek to resist the urge to smile) would be better than this. He’s stunned by your lack of a reaction, and you turn away from him when you’ve decided you don’t need to focus on paying attention to him anymore.

After dinner, he goes to your room and finds you laying in bed, staring at your ceiling and drumming the mattress idly with your fingertips.

"Whatcha doin’?" he asks, even though he knows what you're going to say next.

“Nothing,” your quiet, flat tone replies.

“Good. Come on,” he says in a much chipper voice than yours as he grabs both your hands and practically pulls you out of bed. He leads you outside the front door where his car is parked, thrumming gently while the engine runs. He flips on the seat warmer for you and glances at you occasionally from the corner of his eye; he hopes you’ll melt into the warm leather soon.

“We're just goin’ for a little drive,” he explains, even though you don't bother asking where he's taking you in the middle of the night. The radio is streaming music from his phone, and he keeps the volume low. He nods towards his D.D.D. on the dash. “You can change it if you want,” he offers, and he’s not surprised when you decline.

He drives away from the bustling streets of the Devildom. The road is empty and the skies are clearer here, but he knows brief moments of tranquility aren’t enough to alleviate whatever it is that’s bothering you.

He’s never been good with words, but he rests his hand palm-up over the gear shift. He’s not sure you even notice since you’ve been staring out the window most of the drive. After a few moments, you surprise him and put your hand in his. He squeezes your hand gently before lacing your fingers together; it feels like a victory when you don’t pull away.

Every once in a while he squeezes your fingers between his, and he smiles at the dark, open road when you do the same.

─── LEVIATHAN:

Leviathan knows what it’s like to feel numb. Sometimes he feels that way when his self-imposed isolation wears him down. Talking to Henry and surrounding himself with his games and manga and toys isn't always enough to fill the black void of jealousy that makes his tone sharp and his fangs even sharper.

He gets that way when he thinks about all things he wants but doesn’t have—he notices you become this way from doing too much for everyone else until you lose yourself in the process.

Between the two of you, you should be able to find some sort of balance. He feels like you should both know better, but here you are, drowning in your own black void while he watches helplessly. He can barely help himself; how can he possibly help you?

For lack of better ideas, he invites you to his room to play games. Usually you’re so animated when you play together; you jeer at him when he spins out due to a perfectly-timed banana, or you toss your controller aside and tickle him when his shell knocks you out of first place.

That level of enthusiasm is gone today; you tap the controller pad in total silence. You don’t care when you come in last place, and you don’t care when Levi throws the match so you can win. He turns off the TV and shuffles on the floor so he’s facing you. You glance at him occasionally but go back to staring at your lap.

Levi hates it when you cry, but he hates this dead-eyed stare of yours even more. He grunts in frustration when he gets up suddenly and grabs a small tin off his desk.

“Come here for a sec, I could use your help,” he says, and he shakes the tin in your direction until you get up from the sofa and shuffle to his side. He leads you to the aquarium where Henry bobs peacefully in the crystal-blue water. Levi hands you the tin and unfolds a step ladder he keeps tucked away. He climbs the ladder carefully so he can open the window at the top of the tank.

You open the can of fish flakes when he asks you to, and he sprinkles a generous helping across the top of the water. You’re transfixed by the sight of Henry dashing through the water for his supper, and Levi can’t stop staring at you.

“Sometimes he’s good to talk to,” Levi mentions off-handedly. “Henry is a good listener.”

(Both his Henry’s are good listeners, Levi thinks.)

“What do you talk about?” you ask him quietly, still watching the fish eat the tiny flakes.

“All sorts of stuff. Anything you want—he doesn’t judge.”

(You have that in common, too.)

Levi sputters a little, embarrassed by all the things he’s telling you, his little self-care rituals he normally keeps to himself. He thinks that even in your worst moments, like the way you are now, you’re still not nearly as pathetic as he is. You don’t deserve to feel like this, ever.

You glance away from the aquarium and meet Levi’s eyes just as tears begin to collect on his lash line. He clears his throat and takes the tin from you before putting it back on his desk. He pretends to organize things so he has an excuse not to turn around.

“Maybe you can come by tomorrow night and help me feed him again,” he manages to choke out.

A pause, and then you whisper, “I’d like that.”

Levi bites his lip to muffle his sobs.

─── SATAN:

Satan watches you during class and realizes you’re not acting like yourself. You tap your pen idly on the desk and stare at nothing. This is your favourite class but you’re not even listening.

Sometimes you come to his room after dinner and read, but not today. After school, you brush past everyone else and head to your room. He’s worried about you, and he’s not going to let you blow him off tonight. He knocks on your door, and your lifeless voice asks why he cares so much. He gets tongue-tied deciding how to respond:

I like spending time with you. You like reading nearly as much as I do and I don’t want that to ever change. It kills me to see you like this.

“It’s important to me,” is all he manages to say, and you must sense his desperation because you finally agree to follow him back to his room.

You sit on the bed while he picks the book off the shelf for you. You make a quiet noise of surprise when he places a pillow in your lap and lays down. Normally he reads to you, but his eyes are gentle when he holds the book out to you instead.

“Can you read a bit tonight?” he asks quietly. You frown and look like you want to argue, but he pushes just a little more—”for only a few chapters, okay?”

You take the book from him and pull out the bookmark when you find the right chapter. You glance down at him and when he smiles encouragingly, you start to read.

Your tone is quiet and dull at first, and your speech is slurred; Satan has trouble understanding you sometimes. He wonders if this was a stupid idea after all, but then you huff in amusement when you read a funny passage. He peers up at you and the little smile still tugs at the corners of your mouth as you finish the chapter.

You read another whole chapter after that, and Satan nearly melts in your lap when your free hand lazily combs through his hair as you read. Your eyes are a bit brighter when you finally stop reading and close the book.

“I can read a bit more if you’d like,” he asks you when he sits up. He almost expects you to refuse and shuffle away, but you nod and lay down when he sets the pillow in his lap for you to rest on.

He reads another chapter, quieter and slower than usual, and he stops reading when you fall asleep. He sets the book aside and moves you gently off his lap so he can settle into the space behind you. He drapes an arm loosely over your waist and contemplates other ways he can help you feel better.

─── ASMODEUS:

It breaks Asmo’s heart to see you like this. Your lovely complexion betrays the long days and poor sleep you’ve had. Your warm, shining gaze is dull. Your brow is creased with little lines and your mouth is downturned—he misses your easy smiles the most.

Sometimes Asmo feels like a ghost when he smiles at you but it feels like you see through him, not really acknowledging him or anything else around you.

He switches apps on his D.D.D. when he sees your message ping the group chat. You say that you’re not cooking dinner tonight (no explanation given) and that Lucifer should use part of your allowance this week to order food for everyone instead.

Asmo doesn’t blame you for not wanting to cook for seven hungry demons, but he has a suspicion that you plan on locking yourself in your room all night and skipping dinner for the third night in a row.

(You might’ve been at the dinner table every night this week, but he noticed that you just moved the food around in your plate without eating anything.)

No, he won’t let you do this to yourself. He understands wanting space and having lazy days, but that isn’t what this is. This is isolation and sadness and exhaustion, and if he feels this upset seeing how affected you are, he can’t imagine what you feel—or don’t feel—inside.

Asmo sends a quick message to Lucifer and asks him not to order anything for dinner just yet. Worst case scenario, Asmo will cave and order dinner for everyone later—but for now, Asmo marches to your room with a plan instead.

You’re buried under the covers when he lets himself into your room. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights; he can see you perfectly without them. He sits down slowly on the edge of the bed and rests his hand on your hip.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” he asks quietly, and normally you laugh away his pet names for you, but today you shrug under the comforter instead.

“M’fine,” you mumble into your pillow.

“I could use your help with something,” he says, leaning down closer to your ear. He presses lightly against the side of your body like a poor imitation of an embrace. “How about you get up and keep me company, hmm?”

You’re quiet and don’t say anything, and Asmo’s hopeful smile starts to drop when he thinks you’re ignoring him. After an awkward minute of silence, you sigh and turn your head slightly towards him. “Help you with what?”

He’s not going to give you the chance to change your mind, and he stands up and reaches for your hand. “I’ll show you in the kitchen.”

Asmo steers you towards a barstool in the corner of the kitchen so you can relax while he makes dinner. He has an assortment of ingredients spread out across the counter. The family recipe book is opened to one of your own additions added to the back pages.

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” he grins and winks over his shoulder at you. “I’ll cook tonight, and if I get stuck, who better to help than you?” He taps his chin thoughtfully and takes his D.D.D. out of his pocket and hands it to you for safekeeping.

Asmo might not be the most skilled cook among his siblings, but he’s confident enough that he follows your recipe correctly—for the most part. If you didn’t know him better, you would think he was exaggerating his movements and adding commentary to each step to be silly. But you do know Asmo, and you recognize this as his natural playfulness when he does something he enjoys.

Nearly twenty minutes later, there’s splatters of sauce on the front of his apron and he adds more salt and pepper to the pot with a flourish. When he turns his head to check on you, his mouth purses in surprise when the flash on his phone camera lights up the room. He blinks rapidly when he realizes you took a picture.

He jabs the stirring spoon in your direction with a playful glare. “I hope you got my best side,” he jokes. He’s self-conscious about the spices he knows that got in his hair somehow, and there’s something sticky on his cheek.

You slip the phone into your pocket and slide off the stool so you can reach for a clean cloth. You run it under the lukewarm tap for a moment, and your lips twitch into a smile when you wipe away the smear of sauce near his mouth.

“You’re doing great,” you murmur quietly, glancing at the pot simmering on the stove.

“Does it smell good enough to eat?” he asks nervously, and he beams when you nod.

He wraps his arms around you and laughs as he hugs you as tight as he can. He knows the apron is making a mess on your clothes, but he doesn’t care. Neither do you, apparently—you wrap your arms around him after a few moments and hug him back.

─── BEELZEBUB & BELPHEGOR:

Beel walks to his room dejectedly, and not even the bags of treats from Madam Scream's hanging off his arms makes him feel any better.

He invited you to go with him to the pastry shop after school today. He knows you're not eating properly, but that combined with your bleak mood and dull expressions convinces him that there's something wrong beyond not being hungry.

He watched you during meal times every day this week: you shuffled your food around on the plate and didn't eat anything, or you took little nibbles out of something then dropped your fork on the plate with a sigh and left the rest uneaten.

He went to the bakery after school today, alone. Even though he invited you, you said you weren't in the mood and walked home without him. He bought a few boxes of his favourites, and some for his brothers to share, and he bought a half-dozen Blood Velvet cupcakes especially for you.

He knocked on your bedroom door when he got home and told you he had a surprise, but he was met with silence. He heard the faint creak of mattress springs, but you didn't come to the door and you didn't respond. He frowned, but he explained in the cheeriest voice he could muster that he brought you some cupcakes.

“Thanks, you can have 'em, though,” your muffled voice replied through the door.

It’s an understatement to say that Beel is extremely concerned about you.

He walks to the room he shares with his twin. Usually Belphie naps in the attic after school (more often than not, he convinces you to nap with him). It’s a surprise when Beel finds Belphie sitting cross-legged on his bed with his pillow in his lap, and his eyes snap to his brother’s as soon as the door closes.

“They're not eating enough,” Beel tells his twin. He sets aside the boxes of pastries he bought, his appetite and mood completely soured.

“They're not sleeping enough either,” Belphie replies. He doesn't tell Beel about your sleepless nights, but his brothers would have to be blind not to notice your haggard appearance and the dark circles blooming under your eyes. You haven't napped with Belphie in over a week either, and he misses you—but he keeps that complaint to himself.

"What can we do?" Beel asks as he drops heavily on the edge of his bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and runs a hand through his hair.

Belphie is quiet for a moment, and he glances at the boxes of abandoned pastries Beel brought home. "What’s the plan for dinner tonight?"

Beel looks up and scratches the back of his head. "Some of the others are busy so Lucifer said it was a free-for-all night."

(That usually means everyone orders takeout while Beel eats whatever is left in the house himself.)

Belphie stands up and tucks his pillow under one arm while he wanders over to the stack of bakery boxes near the door. He rifles through the bags until he finds the one he's looking for, and he gestures for Beel to follow him. "I have an idea. Come help me in the kitchen."

It’s peaceful in the deepest corner of the House of Lamentation gardens. Even if the others were home, there’s enough distance from the house to offer peace and privacy—it's nice out there.

Belphie thinks a picnic might be relaxing enough for you to enjoy; the hard part is convincing you to join them. The twins are determined and they both go to your room and insist you have dinner with them.

“You have to eat something,” Beel says in a pleading voice, eyes sorrowful with worry for you. It wasn’t quite enough to convince you to get out of bed, but you swallowed around the lump in your throat as your eyes burned with emotion.

Belphie crawled onto the bed next to you, dangling over the edge precariously while he reached for your hand and laced his fingers with yours. “Please,” he whispered, eyes just as sad as his twin’s, “it feels like I haven’t seen you all week. I miss you.”

You can’t possibly say no to both of them, not when Belphie’s face is so close to yours and his lower lip trembles with too much emotion. You know he can be manipulative, but even in your bleary-eyed daze, you realize he’s being unusually honest now.

You wipe away the stray tears that pool in the corner of your eyes and nod your head. Belphie slides off the mattress so Beel can help you up, and they both hug you before they lead you outside. By the time they take you to the garden, you’re all sniffling quietly, but the twins are smiling a bit now, too.

The blanket Belphie lays across the ground keeps you from getting too cold, and you all share portions of the improvised picnic the twins packed: sandwiches, a thermos of warm soup, a container of diced cheese and poison apple slices. You don’t eat as much as the twins do, but they look content that you finished eating everything on the small plate you made for yourself.

Beel offers you one of your cupcakes next. He brought the whole box—optimistic, Belphie said earlier, raising his eyebrows before shrugging and putting the box into the basket.

You sort of remember Beel knocking on your door earlier and asking you if you wanted one, and you know that you refused. You accept one now because you can’t bear to say no to him twice.

When the food is eaten and the dishes cleared away, Belphie lays back on the blanket and gently nudges you to lay beside him. He rolls onto his side and lays his head on your shoulder, and you can see him looking at you from the corner of your eye.

“Have I told you the story about that star?” he asks quietly, pointing towards the sky.

He probably has, considering how much time you both spend in the planetarium together, but you lean your cheek against his brow. “You can tell me again if you want to.”

He tells you the story about that star, and the other stars near it, and when your eyes start to droop heavily with sleep, he smiles and keeps going. He whispers more stories until your breathing slows and you start snoring gently in his ear; he hopes the stories follow you into your dreams.

Beel sits nearby on the large blanket, watching over both of you with a keen eye and soft smile; his belly is warm and full from a pleasant meal and your company. Belphie carefully maneuvers himself to his knees without waking you, and he stands up and stretches out the kink in his neck. Beel stands and lifts you so gently into his arms, and he cradles you to his chest while Belphie hurriedly packs up the picnic basket and blanket.

The house is dark and quiet when they slip back inside, and Belphie leads Beel to your room. They both tuck you in—Belphie pulls back the covers and Beel lays you down and slips off your shoes. Beel squeezes your hand and waits for his twin by your door; Belphie murmurs a final goodnight as he brushes his lips across your forehead.

The twins head back to their room, and all three of you have the best night's sleep you've had in days.

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obeythebutler · 3 months

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Hi! I just saw your fluff prompts request was open! Could you do Barbatos with "you wake up from a nap and not only is there a blanket around you, but your partner snuggled up beside you"?

Tea has to brewed at four pm sharp is what comes to Barbatos’s mind.

All chores for the afternoon have been completed: the Young Master has consumed lunch and is now reviewing the audits that are due tomorrow, the kitchen and the palace dusted and cleaned, rat traps set up in every nook and corner. Now what remains is this one guest room that needs to be cleaned; its sheets changed and floors washed thoroughly.

There's dust collecting on the vases, clearly the little D's have been negligent in their duties, and oh this simply won't do. The demon pulls his gloves taunt and attempts to begin.

And only when the moonlight filters through the window and falls on the lump underneath the covers does Barbatos raise an eyebrow.

He doesn't need to look underneath to know who it is.

The demon puts aside the duster in his hand on the shelf, steps forward with slow footfalls to not wake you up.

Such a troublemaker, as always. Barbatos smiles as he gazes at you, deep in slumber, oblivious as to where you are. There’s only the quiet stillness of the afternoon in the room, given that at this hour most denizens choose to nap or involve themselves in activities suited to their nature.

Your left arm hangs out of the bed, pillows ruffled and thrown about. You must have attempted to make yourself comfortable.

There’s a certain fondness in his eyes when he places the blanket over you: ensuring that the soft fleece covers your neck and legs, gently places your outstretched hand back into the warmth of the blanket.

You murmur in your sleep, a frown settling on your lips before you bury your face into the pillow. A chuckle spills past his lips, and Barbatos can't help but run his fingers through your hair.

He’s got to be more quiet now.

Sheets can be changed later, dusting can be done later.

But then what needs to be done now?

When your eyes open, it is to a pleasant warmth.

You blink away the sleep from your eyes, body still sluggish and mind too slow to catch up on what is happening around you.

The first thing you register is the blanket on your body which you certainly don’t remember placing. It’s so soft. Fit for luxury. The second is a hand splayed across your waist, and soft breaths in the crook of your neck.

You don’t need to turn your head to know who the person is.

It’s five past ten in the evening, but neither of you care to wake up.

Instead, you wrap the blanket tighter around both of your bodies, and turn towards Barbatos, placing a hand over his frame, careful to not be too harsh in your movements and hold him tighter.

Duties and demons can wait.

This moment can’t.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me barbatos #obey me fluff #om barbatos #omswd #barbatos obey me #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me barbatos x mc

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rachaelstray · 2 years

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Afternoon Tea at Isabella's Coffee Shop - review

Afternoon Tea at Isabella’s Coffee Shop – review

We finally had Elsie’s belated Christening/Baptism and to celebrate we had Afternoon Tea at Isabella’s Coffee Shop with a small selection of our nearest and dearest so thought I’d share an honest review. Following the church service for her Baptism we headed straight to Isabella’s Coffee Shop which is in Shotley Bridge, County Durham. In the morning, Steve and his dad had dropped off table…

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#afternoon tea #celebrate #Children&039;s Afternoon Tea #christening #county Durham #food review #Isabella&039;s Coffee Shop #North East #review #Shotley Bridge

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rosemaryhelenxo · 1 year

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CREMA - Brunch Cafe - PR {Press Event}

If you’re looking for an aesthetically pleasing, truly delicious and Instagram-able brunch, look no further than CREMA in Bournemouth. On Sunday, I was invited to stop by to review this new cafe which has opened in Boscombe as part of the Collective. CREMA offer a delicious array of perfectly cooked toasties, avocado toast and a selection of sweet treats. They also offer fresh smoothies,…

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 10 months

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Soundly (Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader)

Summary: You’ve injured your arm, leaving you frustratingly helpless to complete everyday tasks, like cleaning yourself. Your boyfriend and colleague Simon understands your apprehension towards accepting help for such a task and tells you how he does.

AN: Working title was “Sprain” for those of you who voted in the poll. I’ll be posting the Soap fics shortly and posting another poll for my other upcoming fics afterwards! Meanwhile, let me know what you think in replies or inbox me, tell me your thoughts on fics - present or future.

I just want Ghost to feel loved and to recover from all the shit he went through. I did a fic for that and sharing a bed, so I’m doing this one for the reader a.k.a. me. Plus I like the head canon that Ghost is actually kinda talkative, like in the Alone mission. I know he’s probably partly chatting to Johnny to because he’s trying to keep him focused, guiding him to regroup and survive. But he’s telling dumb jokes and joking about watching his torture video. He’s got banter and trauma!

Content warnings: Allusions to Ghost’s time being tortured by Roba and the Mexican Cartel - specifically his SA as well as the reader’s. Reader is GN, no use of Y/N

Masterlist // AO3

For “just a sprain”, your elbow hurt like a bastard. It was resting in the hammock of the sling your doctor ordered you to keep on. Almost smugly, it sent a few stings across the bone when you were also instructed to restrict your movements and get support to complete day-to-day tasks before you were signed off on a month’s medical leave – pending review at the end of it for being brought back to work.

It was half your fault. The sprain in the first place was caused by some asshole who would not go down quietly and attempted to dislocate your limb. Thankfully, your training automatically twisted you into a position preventing that but then you had to shoot that asshole and your gun was in the arm he’d injured. The bullet that you fired solidified the damage and you were forced to focus hard on aiming with your non-dominant hand whilst slugging it over to the Heli half a klick to the west for recon. You didn’t have to shoot the guy straight away. You’d kicked him down and he was too far from his own weapon to have made it before you could have swapped your gun to your other hand and ended his life the same miserable way. But nah, in the heat of gunfire, you’d decided to end the fight as quick as possible then ran like a bat out of hell back to safety where the rest of your crew was headed.

Simon had known you long enough – and dated you long enough – to not treat you like glass. He wouldn’t insult you like that. Therefore you were very grateful that he was the one to take you home, and that his driving was a lot steadier and smooth on the motorway.

Letting you open the front door, he carried both his and your bags inside, ready to start your medical leave this instant. He was heading out of the hall with his shoes dropped loudly onto the rack when he asked:

“You want anything specific for tea?”

“Nah, I’m good with whatever.”

Despite years of therapy, this injury had dealt a hefty blow to your pride; you didn’t want to be any more of a burden than you were going to be over the next few weeks. Thank God you’d been to his place enough times for it to be considered familiar.

From the airing cupboard, you collected the towel that Simon had bought you after your fifth stay here and smiled at the memory of shopping for it together. He’d asked for what colour you preferred then gathering other items into the trolley that were the same shade: toothbrush, wash cloth, cup to sit by the bathroom sink. He was nice like that.

The bathroom door locked behind you, the final ebbs of afternoon reaching in through frosted glass. You thanked the sun for enabling you to keep the lights off; the buzz that accompanied their stark spark on the silky tiles was always too much for you. However as warm as the daylight was, it failed to soothe your state. When you tried to retrieve the memory of how you’d gotten this t-shirt on in the first place, your mind offered you a blank slate and tears of frustration bubbling over, stinging worse than the injury as you tried to warp it against its will. But to no avail. Your bitten tongue surrendered so that the crying could commence with your t-shirt still stuck on your body.

Gentle rapping at the door didn’t halt anything. Surrendering felt like an admission of weakness, failure, and it poisoned you against yourself as you twisted the lock in the handle and slumped on the rim of the bath.

A pair of plain-socked feet appeared at the top of your line of sight, lingering on the cobalt carpet side of the door frame.

“Can I borrow your scissors please?” You asked, toying with a stray string dangling from the hem.

“You gonna stab me?” Simon inquired semi-sarcastically.

“Yes.” It was a pathetic little reply. But Simon pushed off the bath, belongings tinkling against one another as he rooted around then retrieved a small pair of scissors from the top shelf.

He sat down beside you on the rim, holding out the scissors by the blade, “It’s a nice shirt.”

You wiped your nose on the hem before taking the scissors, “It’s just Primark.”

“I can help you out of it, if it is Primark’s finest.”

“Was just cut it off.”

But of course your dominant hand was tied up in the sling, and you only just realised now.

“I could help you take it off.”

You’d never been undressed around Simon. The closest you’d gotten were jogging bottoms you’d cut into knee-length shorts and the sleeves of your t-shirt pushed onto your shoulders whilst you both worked out at opposite ends of the gym. Towards the end of your set, you mopped at your brow with the hem of your shirt once and the sliver of skin nearly sent Simon into anaphylactic shock.

He knew why you grappled with the notion of undressing. But he didn’t ever linger on you going elsewhere to change. Across your relationship, and even before it started, he’d shown you love in so many other ways that you would forget about what had happened to you.

Today was the first time he addressed it: “I understand why you wouldn’t want me to help.”

Without moving your head, your watchful stare latched onto his adjusting to the nuisance of sitting on a thin perch of porcelain. He withdrew his skull balaclava from its suffocating in his pocket and began kneading at it until the eyehole faced the ceiling you’d stared at many times, wishing you could be more intimate with the man you loved more than life.

“Your reasons aren’t so different from mine.” And he held out the mask to you.

The olive branch was accepted and you thumbed over the skull plate as best you could with the scissors still in your grip. Only when your thumbnail caught against the paint depicting a cheekbone did it dawn on you what your boyfriend was referring to.

“Simon-”

“None of that,” He interrupted you, gently, firmly, “I get it. I don’t wanna bother you if you don’t want me here.”

He rubbed along your shoulder as you matched your deep breaths to his, resting your eyes to bask in his comfort and crushing the mask in your loose fist. You’d always equated it to anonymity. Never had you thought of linking it to another form of comfort.

“You can bathe with your clothes on,” Simon suggested after a minute’s silence.

“Do you know how hard it is to remove wet denim?” You muttered with a crooked smile.

“I do,” and he pressed a kiss to your forehead – his preferred place to do so. “Let’s give this a go.”

You handed back his balaclava and took in his bare face, the medical mask – the one he’d been wearing whilst you were in the hospital and all the way home - gone, his expression carefully crafted to be neutral so that you didn’t have to be.

He eased your sling off you after the taps were thundering steaming water into the tub. Then he vanished to his room, returning with a pair of baggy sports shorts. Cradling them like a baby, your nose welcomed their softness and the steam whilst Simon knelt onto the fluffy bathmat, nodding after splashing the bathwater and twisting the taps into silence.

“I’m gonna stink if I don’t wash properly,” You whispered.

After opening his palms to you, Simon took your shorts and arranged them on the floor, “I’ll get you some wet wipes to use while we wait for your arm to heal up.”

You held onto his shoulders whilst he undid your jeans and eased them down your legs, his hands careful to stay hidden in the fabric whilst you stepped out of them and into the shorts. Simon to pulled them up to your hips.

“Why did the magician take a bath?” He asked you as you lowered yourself into the water.

“I dunno, why?”

“To clean up his act.”

Your chest quivered, struggling to hold in your groans and giggles whilst Simon pumped some blueberry body wash into his palm, “That’s good.”

Tenderly he circled the soap across your forearm, “Fancy another?”

“Go on.” You were nothing if not his little enabler, indulging in his humour even after the rest of 141 had lightly roasted him for it.

“Knock, knock.”

Your free hand fiddled with the sodden hem of your t-shirt, “Who’s there?”

“Dwayne.”

“Dwayne who?”

Soaking the flannel and wringing it out over your arm, Simon began to wash the suds away, “Dwayne the bathtub before I dwown.”

Your smile was not dampened by the tears that rolled down your cheeks and dripped onto the shallow waterline. Instead, you focused your blurry vision on Simon’s hoodie sleeves that were pushed up to his elbows, those broad forearms sprinkled with droplets and soapsuds.

When Simon was lathering up some more body wash, you offered your own joke: “What did the man say after he swallowed a clock and went to the toilet?”

“What?”

“Watch out.”

Simon snorted loudly whilst carefully manipulating your injured arm amidst the blueberry bubbles.

You wiped a new tear away on your shoulder: “I’ve already told Kyle but you can tell it to Johnny.”

“Much obliged.”

With permission and a slow touch, he started soaping up your shins. His contact always lingered for hours on your skin. This felt like a polish, not a scratch or a dent, which is why you felt so overwhelmed now, just as you did that first time he gave you a proper bear hug. You didn’t mind the blueberry, something else to focus on instead of letting yourself meander towards conjuring disturbing imaginations of what you’d just learnt about Simon’s capture in Mexico.

He let you take over for washing your thighs, sitting on the toilet still talking to you with a smile that cracked up his face like the scar, from lip to brow. His eyes never strayed from your face, though it never felt like you were a target down his scope, more like feeling the sun first thing in the morning with a delicate breeze that danced around your being. Such a gaze wasn’t alien to Simon, even if he rarely showed it to you, and never to anyone else. You were just grateful that he was able to be like this, and that he still chose to.

That same stare, he held it whilst draping a towel around your shoulders, patting over your arms before he gathered it at the front for you to hold in your healthy hand. Then he collected a pile of clean clothes from the bedroom, placing them onto the closed toilet lid, you noted the crisply ironed button up folded on top. You settled for nestling your head against his chest since you were unable to hug him.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll make dinner.”

The door was locked after Simon disappeared behind it. You did end up cutting yourself out of the shirt, rest in peace. Fogged-up, the mirror wasn’t so bad to stare at whilst you moisturised with your good hand. You could still feel where Simon’s calloused hands had brushed over your skin, tingling in each follicle, and it was protected by the button-up you were able to slide on – one of the few Simon owned. His bulk was once again your gain; the shirt was loose enough to give you some wiggle room whilst dressing.

Clattering from the kitchen caught Simon in the act of putting away the ironing board. He was taking loud and rehearsed deep breaths that hissed through the fabric of his freshly-donned balaclava, the board under his arm before he tossed it into its assigned slot. His hand shook as it released the cupboard door handle, searching for something to distract himself with until he latched his stare onto you bunching your shirt in the front.

“I can’t do my buttons up,” You said quietly.

Your stomach impulsively sucked in on itself when his hands reached for the buttons before it, joining them with the fabric. Nevertheless, your gaze found solace in the thatch of fine chest hair growing in the lowest peak of his V-neck.

Simon started from the bottom button and made his way up. With each wince, his fingers stalled. But you knew he’d never hurt you, never on purpose and never like that. He made steady progress until complete and even helped you replace your sling. But then he sniffed and brushed his nose briefly, stepping away and back to the kitchen. For five minutes he alternated between sifting through the cupboards and staring helplessly into the fridge, his face washed out by the stagnant light inside. You took the time to help him in one of the ways you knew how.

“I’ll order us a takeaway.”

Immediately he slammed shut the fridge door, “You’re a fucking star.”

You were not put off by his pacing back and forth, nor were you by his hovering over you like a gargoyle whilst you tapped at the screen – which you held in a way for him to see clearly in case he wanted to add something. A wide berth allowed you to approach him on the couch with the takeaway when it arrived half an hour later (always reliable, hence why it was your go-to takeaway place). Simon also accepted the drink you brought him, but only because he’d already gotten you one plus two pain meds he made sure you took after getting some food into your stomach first.

The cushioned lap trays you’d invested in were already paying for themselves.

Dinner inhaled and rendering you quite soporific, you mirrored Simon’s earlier actions and tentatively shuffled closer to him, “Is this ok?”

“Yeah.” His arm dropped to around your waist, and you tugged on his wrist to keep it there. Only then did you tentatively wrap yourself around his full belly.

“Fuckin’ softie,” He said under his breath. That didn’t stop him from giving you a little squeeze – his hand no longer trembling - and sinking himself lower so that there was no pressure on your sprain. He turned the volume down a little, which sparked inspiration in your mind.

Half hiding in his t-shirt, you projected loud enough for him to hear you: “The local TV controller museum shut down due to no visitors. Turns out people aren’t remotely interested.”

“Have you been researching these instead of doing your paperwork?”

“What makes you think I haven’t been doing my paperwork?”

Simon looked down at you, those expressive eyes communicating both the “are you fucking for real?” and the “you’re lucky you’re cute” in equal parts. But from the way his balaclava was balanced on his face, you could tell he was smiling at you. So you smiled back at him then snuggled back against him with a contented sigh and the existence of your new joke book still a secret (for now).

The next time you opened your eyes, it was much darker in the living room. A blanket was tucked around your legs. The glow of “Are you still watching Phil Wang: Philly Philly Wang Wang?” from the flat-screen, despite that not being what you were watching when you first drifted off, bathed you in enough low light to allow you a comfortable adjustment period. You squinted up at your boyfriend. Head back in the pillows, his chest was rising and falling with each breath he drew and released through his nose. You adjusted the blanket around to cover his legs too and, tucking yourself back into your bundle, both you and Simon slept soundly.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon riley oneshot #cod #cod mw2 #mw2 #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod oneshot #mw2 fanfic #my writing #r: gen #wc: >2k

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blueberrypancakesworld · 5 months

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My heart...don't cry I'm here - Saltburn 2023

Michael Gavey x fem!reader

warning : hurt/comfort, angst, implied non-con kissing(from Oliver), jealousy, kissing/cuddling, mentions of blood

Summary : A winter ball or a party is an invitation with consequences and love that blossoms. Michael and his sweetheart were together, everything was perfect until one thing changed and love had to be defended.

Info : So again something for Saltburn and our sweet Michael a little thought/more complex. Have fun reading ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything had been perfect since she had been at university, her grades were good and she had made friends. It was the perfect environment in 2006 with the others.

And it was only going to get better since she showed up in his math class, the extra afternoon class with him for the students who wanted to review the subject.

Maybe it was because it was just the two of them in the afternoon class, maybe it was because Michael was the "teacher" for the time, or maybe it was because she started bringing him a crunchy bar every time. Whatever it was, it brought the two of them together.

Maybe it was his smile that appeared every time she got another task right which was so full of joy for her that she couldn't help but smile herself. His joy and devotion to the subject and to her was clear.

That it was bound to happen at some point that when she suddenly dropped a pen and they both bent down for it, it seemed like a scene from a bad romance novel. ,,Please, I insist," he said and his lips curled into that cute smile again, which almost seemed to make him excited.

He adjusted his glasses again and put the pen back in her hand, she greeted him with a ,,Thank you Michael... tell me, I'm very grateful for all this, would you mind coming for a cup of tea with me?" she dared to ask, already preparing to be laughed at by him, that his flight of fancy had caused him to drop her.

Instead, she was almost blown away when he practically ripped her arm out and shook her hand, smiling broadly at her.

,,Oh yes, I'd love to, my dear!" he had told her and this was the first date they had had in a small cafe near the university for tea and a few cupcakes but she had quickly realized that Michael preferred his Crunchy Bars to any other sweet things.

When he dug into the chocolate and drank the tea she smiled at him and she could always see his slight nervousness. He had changed a little, he was no longer as stern and serious as he was when he was studying.

She had often seen him in the library looking at the books and exercise books so intently. Always with a thoughtful look on his face. But now he was as cute as an excited golden retriever.

But it didn't bother anyone, it was even kind of cute when he told the cashier that he had miscalculated. How he insisted that they recalculate that his bill was correct and the machine was wrong.

Michael shouted out the answer and only calmed down when she put her hand on his and gave him an understanding look. ,,Excuse my... my boyfriend, please do the math again?" she asked, not seeing the look of confusion and then complete love behind his glasses.

She hadn't dismissed him, she hadn't laughed at him or shamed him, she had called him her boyfriend. They were a couple.

They were really together. They had been together for a few months, almost a year, and yet their love for each other had never changed, on the contrary, it had only grown stronger.

It was perfect until she found the little note under her notebook, she had met Michael in the library and they had studied together and she still seemed to feel the kiss on the back of his hand when he greeted her.

,,Romance, my dear romantic, is the best thing I can give you every day," he always said before he kissed her enruet gently and always with a little hint of nervousness. He hid his eyes, pushed up his glasses and disappeared, waving.

She looked after him for a moment before disappearing into the library shelves, not paying attention to her notebook, and only when she came back did she see the little note.

Dearest Blood, I would like you to show up at my party for the Winter Ball. With best regards O she left the handwritten message and looked around to see if she could find the person who had left it there. But no?

No one seemed to fit the bill, although she could knowingly assign the O as the sender. Oliver Quick. The mutual friend of the two of them, or the cheat if Michael was concerned.

Oliver and he used to be friends, but since the brown-haired man had been hanging out with the rich guys from Saltburn and such, neither of them recognized him anymore.

Giving the note her attention for a moment, she sat back down to study and decided to tell Michael in the afternoon when they met again, not knowing that two eyes were already watching her.

That his lips curled into a smile and the plan of plans went according to plan. After a while, she disappeared from the library and found her darling in the cafeteria, his plate full of food and almost always the same.

,,Michael, look what I've found from your... friend," she said as she came to him with her tray, also full of food, and sat down at her seat, handing him the paper.

She saw how at first he seemed a little unknowing and then he seemed to remember the deceiver who had once been his friend. Looking at the paper he let her know they knew Oliver had changed but now?

Was it a good idea to go to the party? ,,A party...my darling, only if you feel like it, of course I would accompany you, it would certainly...certainly be interesting to see how he has been," Michael said and handed her the note after reading it again.

She looked at the paper, she didn't know the word "blood" from Oliver, she never thought he would become like this. One of the rich ones.

But was it true and didn't everyone deserve a second chance? That's what they both thought when they turned up at the Winter Ball, or rather the big boozy party, and they were rather overdressed.

Michael had chosen his suit and the white rose on his breast pocket, she had picked it out, fluffed it through his hair and given him a motivating kiss.

In return, he had laced up her dress and showered her with compliments before the two of them had walked through the large double doors just a few minutes later and found themselves at the "Winter Ball".

She heard the horrified sound of Michael looking at the party with an uncertain look that resembled her own. She wondered how the hell so many people could fit in here - it shouldn't be possible, should it?

Everyone was close together, bumping into their neighbors. ,,Shall we go?" she asked, looking at Michael, who adjusted his glasses and looked at her, even though he seemed to want to leave, he shook his head.

,,Shall I get us some drinks and you Oliver?" he asked and looked at her, reaching for her hand to show her that it could be different, that he was looking for his friend and she was looking for the drinks. But when her gaze turned to the bar or whatever else was there, she almost felt dizzy.

Crowds upon crowds of people had taken over the area around it and finding her way back in there would be suicide. ,, Sure we can do that," she said hastily and gave him a grateful look before they parted and Michael set off to make his way through the dancing drug addicts and his favorite through the crowds on the way to Oliver.

After having to dodge several drinks, drugs and dancing people and a leap backwards to avoid being hit by a keg of beer, she was about to give up the search when she saw a brown mop of hair disappear into one of the many rooms. A room she had never seen before.

There were many brown-haired people here, but when she saw the brief smile on the lips of the stranger, there seemed to be no doubt. It was a knowing smile, an amused smile, a hungry smile. The smile of someone who knew exactly what was going on around him.

Following the stranger into the room and opening the door, it suddenly seemed quieter, as if the walls had been built in such a way as to keep the lowly folk at bay. ,,Oliver Quick?" she asked, annoyed that her voice sounded so uncertain even though she had no reason to be.

She knew him, she thought, and yet it also seemed to be due to the room that she felt like she was being swallowed up.

Her voice didn't have the confidence she wanted and she felt her heart beat faster as the man turned around. ,,My blood, you really came, I thought you and the nerd had gone off," he sneered and she could just see his eyes roaming over her body.

He had tried to hide his attraction for her back then, but she had already seen that he was always too tempted to hug her as his hands wandered over her body.

Until she got together with Michael and Oliver left for Saltburn. ,,No we didn't Oliver, we're here to see how you're doing," she replied, glancing over her shoulder, knowing the door was within reach.

But the wolf in front of her was watching her and seemed to want to wrap his jaws around her at any moment. He smiled, winked at her and came towards her, step by step he seemed to enjoy seeing her like this more and more.

,,Looking around then, dear? You were worried how flattering," he whispered and continued to walk towards her, his hand reaching for hers and she felt him kiss the back of her hand, not sure if she should pull away. It was disgusting only Michael ever kissed her like that.

He wasn't Michael he wasn't the romantic he was a creep. ,,Let go of me, we're done here!" she screamed, wanting to tear her arm free and run for the door, out of the room, away from him, away from everything, and yet the wolf seemed faster.

Grasping her wrist, he healed her in place and the grin of his fangs frightened her even more and she wanted to scream. She could already feel herself gathering air, she would scream for her friend until she fell silent.

Something almost medicinal tasted, medicinal, bitter. Alcohol. The alcohol and drug-filled kiss of Oliver on her lips that robbed her of any scream.

She felt his hands running over her body, reaching for everything he could get, wanting more and more. It was disgusting the pressure on her arms, legs and back as he tried to loosen the bow.

Before suddenly all her senses exploded fear and panic flooded through her and she tore him away from her. She ran out and saw the grin behind her as he licked his lips as if he wanted more of this forbidden treasure.

She no longer saw anything but fear as she hurried through the crowd, not paying attention to the people, and only cried out again, which was drowned out by the music when she felt hands on her shoulders.

,,Darling!" she heard the nickname and feared it was Oliver who had opened up to her and wanted to pull her back into the room and take her into the dark.

She was afraid of what would happen. ,,Honey, it's Michael! What's going on? What happened?" he asked, his hands on her cheeks trying to calm her down, seeing the fear screaming in her eyes.

Her eyes full of fear looked at him and slowly she began to understand that it wasn't Oliver, that it wasn't the one who had kissed her who wanted more of her. ,,Mi-Michael...I-I want to leave now!" she screamed at him and saw that he was looking over her, searching for something to explain what had happened.

But by then he had already grabbed her by the hand and taken her out of the building, walked her to the car and put her inside.

The cool night enveloped her, but the heat seemed slow to overcome her. ,,What happened?" he asked, his voice calm yet demanding, she didn't have to look to know that he was pulling himself together, that his hands were shaking, that his body was tense and that he would give anything to help her.

,,Oli-Oliver he...kissed me...I flew I had to get away," she stammered, still afraid of what might have happened if she hadn't escaped.

Instead, she felt a comforting warmth other than the heat of the party Oliver gently placed his hand on hers and gave her a soft sympathetic expression before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a Crunchy bar.

His kiss was as gentle and careful as Oliver could ever be and he said, ,,Wait here please I'll be back in a few minutes everything will be fine darling". It was almost absurd how gentle he could be in this situation and she gave him as grateful a look as she could.

Before he left, he pulled out a handkerchief, skillfully wiped away the tears and gave her one last gentle kiss on the head.

It was so different from Oliver when Michael disappeared into the dark back to the party while she was back in the car looking at the bar in her hand. But this time the beating of her heart was different, it wasn't full of fear, it was full of love.

Even then, when he returned a few minutes later, she was startled to see the blood on his white shirt, the splinter in his glasses and the blood on his fingers. He wanted to start the car without saying a word but hadn't sorted himself out.

This time she put her hand on his, put her head on his shoulder and said a simple, ,,Thank you Michael, I love you" as he gave her another kiss.

She knew the blood smelled of Oliver he knew Michael had hit him but she didn't care she had him with her. His kisses covered Oliver's and with each kiss she slowly forgot what had happened.

There was only her and Michael had only ever given it and would only ever give it.

~~~~~~~~~

@ateliefloresdaprimavera , @valeskafics , @ria-coolgirl , @wigglywoos59 , @sapphirespiders , @su-per-fi-cial-if-rep-us

#saltburn #saltburn 2023 #ewan mitchell #michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #saltburn movie

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mermaidchansons · 1 year

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Princess Charming: Shuri One Shot

Shuri x black!Fem Reader

Summary: You try to keep your crush on Princess Shuri in check while working as one of her lab assistants. Fluff!

A/N: Hi, it’s me again lol. The undercut got me and I had to write this story. She’s just too fine. Please reblog, like, and ESPECIALLY comment!

Song recs for reading:

Let My Baby Stay - Amandla Stenberg

my slime - Fousheé

To say that you had a crush on Shuri was an understatement.

It had been two years since you were recruited as a lab assistant for the princess’ lab in Mount Bashenga. Ever since day one, the two of you had become close. She was your first friend in Wakanda. And yet, you kept it to yourself; the fear of rejection outweighed your curiosity about what she might say. But Shuri was so easy to talk to, you were surprised you hadn’t already let it slip. All those late-night lab sessions with just the two of you, working shoulder to shoulder. She always smelled of freshly whipped Wakandan shea butter and tea tree oil. Her fresh undercut and toned physique in her crop top constantly made you sweat.

It was in those times when she caught you staring that she’d ask about your love life and laugh when she saw the nervous look on your face.

“Y/n, why is it that whenever I ask you this, you freeze up? You can relax, I won’t bite. Unless you want me to,” Shuri chuckled, her eyes scanning your form and immediately making you hot.

You tried your best to keep your pining to yourself but you just couldn’t keep it together; laughing too hard at her jokes, daydreaming about being in her arms each night, stealing glances at the princess as she worked intently, wanting so desperately to smooth out the lines of her furrowed brows with your fingers.

The whole thing was too much to the point that you took a sick day to talk some sense into yourself. You couldn’t handle heartbreak in a country that was not your own. Who would you lean on? You had a crush on your boss who you see every day. And this wasn’t a job that you could just leave. You definitely could not tell her. After all, she was the princess of the most powerful nation. How would it look if she dated one of her assistants?

~The Lab~

Shuri walked in, examining the newly made tech samples on the table.

“Griot, can you pin y/n so she can review these?” She scanned the sample with her kimoyo beads, prepping the specs.

“Yes, princess. But I must inform you that Y/n is out sick,” the AI sounded.

Shuri had noticed you had been less talkative around her the past couple of days but you didn’t seem under the weather.

“She wrote in her day off request that she was feeling sick yesterday afternoon. Would you still like me to send the specs?”

“No, I will take them to her myself. Bring up her location and inform Okoye that I am going out.”

~The Ikhaya Eliluhlaza Apartments~

You sat curled up in your Yitty onesie and matching blanket, laughing at an episode of Living Single. The doorbell rang and you sighed, not wanting to leave your cozy corner. But you knew that the doorbell meant that your jollof rice and piri piri fish had finally been delivered. You groaned as you stood, stretching your arms as you walked to open the door.

To your surprise, your food was not behind the door.

“Princess, what are you doing here?!” You spit out, looking up at her.

“Griot informed me of your sick day and after doing some research, I brought you some medicine. I actually found a really funny tweet, apparently, you need to watch a show called judge Judy for it to work.” Shuri chuckled, holding up saltine crackers and Canada Dry ginger ale.

You stood there wide-eyed and moved aside to let her in.

“Oh, thank you, nkosazana. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my day off.”

“Don’t worry about it. Wow, look at your place; it’s so you!” She waved you off and slipped into your apartment, setting the ‘meds’ on your coffee table. You followed apprehensively as she looked at the paintings on the wall.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You scrunched up your face at her comment and she chuckled.

“American.”

Normally you’d give a quick comeback, but your mind was elsewhere. You couldn’t help but notice how beautiful her brown skin looked against the cream of her windbreaker. Her fit was on point as always.

Realization of your own attire flooded your mind and you remembered that you weren’t wearing anything under your onesie. You wrapped your arms over your chest, pushing down your now erect nipples.

“I should change, excuse me—“

“It’s too late for that. I’ve already seen you. You look good as always,” She smirked, looking at you from over her shoulder.

You playfully rolled your eyes as heat rushed to your cheeks, leaning against the island counter.

“Where are your glasses? I’ll pour you some of the ginger ale.”

“They’re in the top left cabinet.” You watched as she maneuvered through your small kitchen.

“You’re clearly not sick, judging by how loudly you were cackling. Are you avoiding me again?” Shuri said, handing you the chilled glass.

She stood across from you, watching you look everywhere else but at her.

“Lo mfazi, let me ask the right question. How long have you had feelings for me?”

You stopped drinking and gulped down what you had in your mouth. She lifted her brow, waiting for you to answer.

“I um, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whispered.

“You think I haven’t seen the way you look at me?” Shuri took the glass from your hands and sat it down behind her. Closing the space between you, she pinned you against the island with her hands painfully close to your waist.

“How long, y/n?” She whispered in your ear and a shiver ran down your spine.

“Like 8 months... maybe a year.” You held your breath as you watched her face contort with frustration.

“A year?! Why didn’t you say anything,” she yelled, throwing her hands up. You finally exhaled and backed away in surprise.

“I was scared—“

“Of what,” she questioned, cutting you off,” that I wouldn’t feel the same way? Bast, woman. I couldn’t have made it more obvious.”

Shuri’s words caused you to nervously chuckle. Was this a joke? Had all those times when she had humorously flirted with you, been real?

“Shuri, please don’t play around like that. I’m real fragile right now.” Her eyes softened as she looked at you, softly kicking the air in your bunny slippers.

“I’m not playing around, y/n. Come here,” she sighed, pulling you in by your onesie. With an arm wrapped around your waist, she lifted your chin; your eyes meeting hers.

“Ubuhle, I wouldn’t joke about this. I wish you would have told me sooner. I adore you, y/n.”

Your eyes welled and you looked away, a tear escaping.

“Damnit, Shuri,” you mumbled, cursing her for being so sweet. She smiled, placing a small kiss on your temple. You hid your face in the crook of her neck, hugging her shoulders.

“Does this mean I have to quit working in the lab?”

Shuri belly laughed and grabbed your face. She quickly took your bottom lip between hers and kissed you so sweetly that you could feel your knees go weak. This was so much more than you had dreamed. The softness of her lips and the gentle way she caressed your cheek; it was everything. She was everything.

“You do not have to quit the lab, intombi eswiti. It will be far easier to fall in love with you while we work together,” Shuri whispered against your lips. Warmth washed over you and you leaned more into her touch. You never wanted this moment to end.

“Now let’s talk about what’s under this onesie,” she lifted your zipper and looked down the hem, darkly laughing. You smacked her hand away and tried to fight the smile that crept onto your face.

“Shuri, cut it out!”

Tagging my new bestie: @tchallasbabymama

#wlw fanfic #princess shuri #black panther shuri #shuri udaku #shuri x reader #shuri x y/n #mcu shuri #shuri x you #shuri x black!reader #shuri x black!fem reader #princess shuri x reader #black panther wakanda forever #black panther fic #black panther #black panther one shot

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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 1 month

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Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 13

I hope you all enjoy! please comment and reblog and tell me what u enjoyed <3

MASTAPOST

The reality hit Maddie like a truck, once they’d ferried the kids home, and returned to Fentonworks. Bruce Wayne had excused himself, and went back to his hotel after bidding farewell to them.

That left her and Jack alone on the couch. Jazz was upstairs, probably studying psychology and sciences, on her way to be a genius just like her family.

Just like Danny.

Tears wracked Madeline. Jack was openly sobbing at the couch. Not the silly way he would sometimes cry at small things that he would get over quickly. Maddie could feel the bone-deep anger and grief seeping through her and her husband.

She needed to tell Jazz. Tell her what had happened. But she dreaded the thought of talking to her daughter in this state. It wouldn’t do to give her the news and then break down underneath Jazz’s feet.

That thought didn’t do much to stem the tide. Maddie idly reached for the tea, cold from where they’d left it in the afternoon. The realization that this was happening again, again in the family, rocked her to her bones. Maddie’s mind conjured up images of blood over wooden floors, and red hair spilling out and covering still, dead eyes. Claw marks over a bruised throat.

She had trusted Danny. Loved him more than anything. What mother couldn’t trust their child? That sweet boy whose eyes sparkled with kindness and who jumped up and down on dreams of seeing the stars. His kindness meant he gave anything a chance. She had thought she’d lost him. She had raged and tore through everything and everyone and suddenly, through no result of her actions, he came.

And now he was gone again. Taken, just like her great-great-grandpappy. Just like so many others across the world. Just like Alicia’s son. Never to be seen again.

There had to be a way, an answer. There had to be some kind of inconsistency in the data. Something that could show the path forward, a path where her baby boy could still be out there and able to returned home safe.

Maddie descended the stairs into the labs, ready to look over dusty notebooks, and old journals. Jack followed her soon after, not a word exchanged between them.

To say Bruce Wayne was shaken was an understatement. That girl, Samantha, had no idea what she was talking about. All Bruce was interested in was the safety of his son and Daniel Fenton, and the pursuit of justice.

That didn’t mean she would’ve had a point, once upon a time. How Jason came back, but it wasn’t a joyous celebration, but the beginning of more pain, more misunderstanding and accusation. How Damian first came to them. He had a son who had finally returned home, but there was no celebration then either.

They had just started to get along again. They were this close to being happy.

Bruce held his head in his hands. He needed to review the facts again. The facts, the players, the unknowns and mysteries. Damian just had to be out there, he just had to.

Sirens, the GiW, the Fentons… Where to begin?

A message pinged on his comm. It was from Tim. Had he finished sifting through the files?

Bruce opened his laptop, seeing an email with attached analysis and files. Good work, Tim. He knows how hard it must be for him, to dedicate this effort into saving a brother with whom he had a very rocky start.

The email confirmed many of his suspicions. Tim was able to recover the majority of the files that Tucker Foley had attempted to destroy. Damning evidence showed Samantha and Tucker engaging directly against various sirens, using magic and technology respectively. Daniel Fenton was nowhere near such attacks, but his role as supplier to Phantom was clear. At several points over the last few months, the boy could be seen sneaking into secluded areas with experimental weapons and gadgets stuffed into his pockets, that would later be seen in the webbed hands of Phantom.

Daniel was hardly ever seen in the same vicinity as Phantom, or any other siren. That was not surprising. The kid wasn’t athletic in any way like Samantha, nor did he have her talent for the mystical arts. He didn��t have Tucker’s affinity for technology, either. That, combined with the obvious discomfort around his parents’ grudge against sirens meant that it was reasonable he’d avoid being seen around sirens at all costs, while silently supporting them from the background.

The kid had his convictions, was for sure. But what kind of motive would cause the boy to do such a thing? Going against his parents was normal, almost ubiquitous at that age range. Did this trio harbour desires of becoming a hero, like Dick and Jason and all others that followed?

Tucker Foley kept Tim and the Batcomputer out for half an hour with nothing but a laptop. Sam Manson had an incredible drive to do right, and a less impressive sense of restraint (it pained him how much of his children that reminded him).

It was clear they had the hearts of heroes, and the potential too. But those desires landed his children in immense pain over the years, failures Bruce would regret for the rest of his days, and now those same failures repeated once more.

He needed to do this, for them.

The GiW were suspect. He would need to direct the Batcave into cracking their secrets open. Those men could not be trusted one bit. Not their DNA test, not their documents, not their badges. And certainly not for their CSI skills. They didn’t even report whether there were signs of a struggle on the island where Damian’s blood was found!

And for what motives did the sirens even abduct people in the first place? The more he considered, the more the GiW’s explanation of Damian being devoured seemed like utter bullshit. He hoped that was not denial speaking.

Bruce began to plan.

His phone rang. He ignored it. He formed a list of contacts to call upon for advice and consultation.

His phone rang again. He made a web of connections to the Fentons.

His phong rang, rang, rang again. A collage of every unsolved missing persons’ case ‘from the last twenty years.

The phone answered itself on speaker. It jolted Bruce from his work. Alfred’s stern voice sounded out. “Master Bruce, you are spiraling again, sir.”

Bruce hummed. “I’m working, Alfred.”

“Yes, I know. However, in your pursuit to discover Master Damian’s whereabouts, I must remind you that your other children still need their father. Master Timothy is on his eighth cup of coffee, and Master Richard has sent twelve common crooks to the emergency room. Master Jason had to calm him down, sir. They need you, sir.” Alfred stressed.

Bruce stood up, his back cricking from the strain of hunching over documents and files. He stared at the growing pile of papers on his desk and tabs on his laptop, before sweeping them all to the side.

“You’re right, Alfred. Thank you for reminding me.”

Why? Why? Why, why, why, why why? That was the question running through the Fenton parents’ heads as they combed over observations, data, charts, and historical records. The documents and files sprawled out over the floor of the lab. They had to find the connection, if there was one out there.

Why did the sirens abduct humans?

Despite what the goons in white thought, the biologist in Maddie found herself doubting it was all for food. Considering their latest population estimates, the amount of humans required to sustain siren numbers was completely impractical.

Ok, maybe they don’t have to eat humans, but do it as a luxury?

Such a hypothesis would have seemed more plausible, had there not been a plethora of new data counteracting that point. The Amity Island sirens pursued a number of different goals, very few of which overlapped, very few of which involved eating humans in any way. If there was an incentive to eat humans or even just abduct, then far, far more people would’ve been grabbed off the piers and beaches, even if Phantom could stop them all.

That lead to another question. Why would the sirens of Amity not even bother with abductions for the most part, when the majority of sightings and suspected siren incidents were brought to light because of the missing people?

Maddie kicked the wall. The impact resounded and echoed through the room.

Jack wrapped his arms around her waist tenderly, a calm presence. Maddie’s heart relaxed a little, the scent of chocolate bringing her back to warm nights with the kids. “You know this reminds me of a story grandpa Fenton told me about when he was a kid back during the war.” Jack said quietly. “His grandpa used to be a surveyor or analyst or some kind of smart guy at some big factory, makin’ planes to fight the Japanese. One morning he was banging his head on the desk.”

Maddie wasn’t sure where Jack was going with this, but she nodded for him to continue.

“And so Grandpa Fenton asked him, ‘Gramps, what’s the big deal?’ and great great grandpa showed him these pictures. They showed where bullet holes would appear, said it was to design better armour for ‘em. But the strangest thing was that none of the bullet holes were in the engines or near the tail. Gramps was seriously worked up about it! Spent all day pacin’ back and forth.”

Maddie gasped. Jack continued, although trailing off. “Anyway when Grandpa Fenton told me about it, all I could think of was how nice that they had planes comin’ back anyway. Have you seen the casualty rates for those things? Gave me the stuff of nightmares!”

Information whirled through Maddie’s head.

“And that’s how I gave up my dreams of being a fighter pilot!”

“Jack, you’re a genius!” She shouted. Jack blinked.

“Huh? What for?”

Maddie jumped up and kissed her amazing husband. This was a breakthrough.

It was survivorship bias. The reason none of the planes returning had bullet holes in the engines and lower fuselage was because the planes that had taken hits there were too damaged to return in the first place!

They were too busy looking at what they could see and not spending enough time looking for what they couldn’t. Jack’s great, great grandpa needed to look at the situation holistically, and from there it would all make sense.

What did that mean?

Sirens were crafty. And as they learnt from the attacks on Amity, they were petty, ambitious, power-hungry, lustful, and vengeful, among many other insidious attributes.

She and Jack had been fixating on the missing people cases, but what if those cases were only a small number of the illicit criminal dealings these monsters had been unknowably perpetrating in the human world? And if sirens can commit many, many other crimes than mindlessly violence and murder, then that means there could be any number of other reasons they could abduct a human.

If they wanted revenge or to satisfy their bloodlust, would they not have left a body somewhere? But no such body of either Damian Wayne or Danny was found. If they ate the boys, then the blood would’ve attracted sharks, but no sharks were to be found either.

Terrifying scenarios passed through Maddie’s mind. Slavery, trafficking, arena fighting. Any number of horrendous crimes that would not require any spilt blood. Horrors unimaginable for a woman to see her child suffer through. But a tiny, faint light shone through all of them: hope.

Because she had reason now to believe Danny and Damian Wayne were alive, out there somewhere, praying for their parents to come save them from the nightmare.

Jack blinked, expression blank. “You know I don’t mind staring at your beautiful face for hours, but I feel like there’s something you’ve figured out.”

Maddie’s eyes turned steely and determined. “Jack, get the SAV ready. We’re going on a hunt.”

The only one who knew where the boys were was Phantom, and Maddie would extract every secret that menace kept, even if it meant tearing him apart. Molecule. By. Molecule.

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