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apricot-blossomss · 2 months ago

Note

Okokokok hear me out right

The reader is friends with hermes (God or moral reader, your choice!) And they asked hermes to deliver a love letter for them! Days, even weeks go by and Hermes still hasn't delivered it. He doesn't want to, he doesn't want the reader to be directing their attention at anything but him. Maybe this love interest will get tired of waiting! Maybe he should just hold onto it forever. Maybe he should just read the letter himself and decide if this person is good enough for the reader?

And then he reads it and its says something like "hermes I knew you couldn't stop yourself from reading this, I love you, you bastard"

Just an idea <3

☛ hermes steals f!bff!mortal!reader's love letter

☛ sfw; cw: a little suggestive; I got covid so I have some time on my hands

When you asked him for a favor, Hermes couldn't have imagined a world in which he wouldn't fulfill it. Up until now. Staring down at the pink envelope in his hands, he felt his chest constrict with a feeling that could be perfectly encapsulated in the word 'shit'.

"Hermes?"

"Huh?" He looked up into your eyes and kept staring as you laughed about his dumbfounded expression. Your lovely laugh didn't make the situation any better for him, though it usually did. Now, it only added to the growing whirlwind in his stomach, clawing at his insides, screaming at him 'too late, you're too late, idiot'.

"Can you deliver this for me?" you repeated the question. "It's for someone very important to me."

Why not him? Why weren't you sending it to him? He was important to you, he had to be more important to you than whatever douche this letter was for. Hermes had to swallow down the urge to rip the stupid thing to shreds. But it looked like you had put a lot of care into the letter. It even smelled of sweet citrus, which really pissed him off, because the smell was so utterly you and he didn't want any other man associated with it.

"Yeah, sure," he said, forcing a smile onto his face. Gods, it hurt. The worst of it was the way your smile brightened, your eyes so kind and happy when you gleamed up at him. This wasn't right, you only smiled at him like that. Right?

Without turning the letter to look at the addressee, Hermes stuffed it into his bag that was already filled to the brim without much care. Maybe the bag could accidentally slip over the ocean and spill all the letters. Or he could throw it into Hestia's fire and pretend it was an accident. Or maybe he could deliver the letter but hide it somewhere the guy would never find it. Then he would have delivered the letter, technically.

Over pondering this conundrum, his attentive eyes missed the nervous twitching of your fingers and your excited little glances, as well as the way you practically shoved him outside the door with some rushed goodbyes to run into your bedroom and scream into your pillow.

Hermes stood in front of the closed door and had been standing there for a good minute, but he couldn't get his quick feet to move. On the other side of that door was you. You, with the gentle eyes, the dazzling smile and the understanding heart. You, who was his solace after a long day, his joy, his best friend. Right. His best friend he should not have these thoughts about.

Oh, but how dearly he wished to break down these doors, walk up to you and kiss you. How he dreamt of coming home to you, not just in his head and heart but also in reality. Like he already did, he would knock in your window and you'd let him in as if he were a stray pigeon, laughing at his jokes and winks and flirtatious comments. But in his fantasy, it didn't stop there. No, you would kiss him and tell him how much you missed him, he'd surprise you with a romantic picknick and spend the night with you and fall asleep in your warm arms.

Blinking, Hermes snapped out of his daydreams and cursed himself. He was a leecher, thinking about his damn pretty best friend like that. Sighing, he pulled his hat deeper into his face, obscuring his eyes, and set off for his job with flying feet. Knowing damn well he would not be able to concentrate on a single thing today.

🪽

Hermes had never messed up so many deliveries as in the last two weeks- and it wasn't even on purpose. Unlike his father suspected, ever since he had accidentally opened Aphrodite's sex toy delivery. The smacking down still made him wince, even a good five days later. And Hermes tried to concentrate , he really did, but it was hard when the damn letter, still safely stored in his bag, lay heavily on his mind. Stupid, flimsy little thing.

Hermes didn't want to deliver it. He didn't want anyone to get it, and though the guilt ate him up from the inside, he couldn't deny it: he wanted you all to himself. Selfishly, greedily, he didn't want you to give your attention to any man but him- at least not in that way. And, hey, maybe if he procrastinated it long enough, the guy would get tired of waiting and you would just forget him. Maybe he should just hold onto the letter forever.

"Hermes?" you poked his cheek and the god snapped out of his whirlwind of thoughts. Sitting on your couch, he realized you had stood up before him. Your concerned eyes hovered over him and he had to gulp down the urge to pull you down into his lap so he could study them more closely. "Are you okay? You kinda spaced out there for a second."

"I'm fine, baby," he smiled, glancing up at you sheepishly. "I'm not myself tonight." Your forgiving smile was too much for him as he let his upper body slump forward. His head, luckily hat-less as always around you, weighed against your upper body and when it vibrated with your little laugh, Hermes savored the comforting feeling. Choosing to tempt fate and test his luck, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you down into his lap, eliciting the most adorable squeak from you. He had to suppress the urge to bite you- you were just too cute.

Your friendship with Hermes had always been very affectionate. Lots of hugging, sitting halfway in each others laps, even sleeping next to each other sometimes, too which you would always wake up to an arm wrapped around your waist and a face in your neck. This open display of affection had you wonder first wether Hermes might see you as more than a friend, when his hand always dipped a little farther down, gripped a little tighter than necessary, when he buried his face in your neck and hugged you as if he never wanted to let go again.

Apart from the fact that having a literal god cling to you like a koala bear was a major ego boost, you really liked Hermes, in more ways than the platonic love you two shared. For weeks you had pondered how to do it and finally worked out a plan: you would give Hermes a love letter with a false address. If he delivered it, no one would read it, but if he liked you back and would try to read it...

"Where are we, like, in the plot?" Hermes muffled into your neck and you felt a light shiver run down your spine- you hoped he didn't notice, but you felt his signature grin form against your skin, and his hands departing from their grip on your hips with fingers like spiders up your sides. Squirming, you swatted them away and the god laughed, still holding you close.

"She slept with both of them and now she hates herself," you answered quickly to shut him up. Managing to get a hold of his hands, you pressed them down onto his lap with little resistance and squeezed them under your thighs to block their means of escape. A choking sound left Hermes' and the god coughed, slipping his hands away and placing you next to him on the couch.

Ouch.

What you didn't know was the war for self-control raging inside your best friend the minute you placed your thighs so deliciously and grabbable over his hands. When his daydreams had, up to now, consisted of confessing your love to each other and innocent kissing, he now felt the overwhelming urge to grab you by the thighs, flip you over on your little couch and have you scream out his name- and his name only. For that one, Hermes gave himself a mental beating and gave you a little smile to conceal his red cheeks- and the fact that you would get wind of his predicament if you only looked down into his lap.

"Sounds great!" Honestly, he didn't even remember your answer to his question, and his overly enthusiastic reaction had you giggling. And that was really all he needed to be happy. Why did he want more? Why was he so insatiable?

The movie was pretty boring, and you seemed to think so too, because your gaze wandered frequently and you caught his incessant staring multiple times. But neither of you turned it off, because really, it was fine. Sitting next to to each other, your head coming to rest on your shoulder at some point, his hand slipping into yours in a completely platonic way.

“Hermes?” you asked when the love interest on screen started to have an intense melodramatic meltdown (Hermes did feel seen).

“Hm?”

"Have you... delivered that letter yet?" You fidgeted with your fingers nervously, but Hermes' stomach dropped down to his feet at least. Shit.

"What letter?" Hermes could have punched himself in the face.

"The love letter I gave to you," you explained carefully. "It's just... I never got an answer so I thought maybe you lost it or..." Your voice droned off and you bit down on your lip nervously. Was Hermes purposefully avoiding the topic? Had he read the letter and now wanted to ignore it out of existence because he didn't feel the same way? You had been so sure there was more to it. At least he wasn't making fun of you, but it was still humiliating, thinking he had read those lines and-

"Ah, that one!" Hermes exclaimed and you flinched at his loud tone. A nervous chuckle left his lips. "Uh yeah, I'm so sorry, baby, I must have forgotten about that one, I forget things sometimes, lots of stuff to deliver and sometimes letters get left behind and..." His rambling droned off and he bit down on his lip like a child caught in a lie, looking up at you.

Your understanding smile nearly killed him. It would have, if it could have. Hermes felt like the biggest asshole when you sighed relieved. "Ah, good, I was a little worried." Fittingly, the lady on screen screamed loudly about how much she hated herself and Hermes pondered over how he could relate to every single one of these over-the-top characters.

🪽

"Good night," you smiled as Hermes exited the door and turned around to you. You were dressed all oversized and cuddly with those warm winter socks and looked just about irresistible. Especially with the way the stars reflected in your wide, slightly tired eyes.

Following a shy impulse, he didn't give you a hug, as usual, but pressed a kiss to your warm cheek. When he pulled away, he did feel satisfaction at the way your face had heated up visibly, even in the dim light. "G'night, baby," he grinned with new fervor and a dreadful feeling in his stomach.

When he turned to leave and pushed himself off the ground to fly up into the air, his decision was made. He would deliver the damn letter. No longer would he be in the way of your happiness. If this guy really was who you wanted...

But, Hermes pondered as the houses of your neighborhood shrunk down to little lights, like the sky but below him, and one of the stars was you. But he should make sure this person was good enough for you. And have an address in case they weren't.

Stopping mid-air, Hermes pulled out the dreaded pink envelope. Not recognizing the address, he decided to look for clues in the letter itself. If you were to ask him, the envelope just kind of ... slipped open and the letter just sort of slipped out of there. When he pulled it out, the familiar smell hit him. After two weeks in his bag, the envelope had lost your smell, but it still stuck to the letter it self. With slightly trembling hands, he unfolded the paper, surprised to find only a few lines written in your handwriting.

Hermes, I knew you wouldn't able to stop yourself from reading this. The address is fake, this letter is for you. I love you, you idiot.

Below that, you had given him three options to pick: () don't ever come near me again, () let's ignore this ever happened because you are the shrek to my donkey, () I love you too. Your messy handwriting on that part had him smile, because he could picture you writing the letter, becoming unsure of yourself and scribbling three options down.

Hermes didn't even bother ticking off option three. He had no time to waste. Within seconds, he was bolting down to earth with the speed of a meteor, the wind howling in his ears, the letter firmly in his hand. You were completely right. He was an idiot. But an idiot who was about to make all your time of waiting up to you.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

#greek mythology #greek gods #greek gods x reader #greek mythology x reader #hermes #hermes x you #hermes fluff #hermes x reader

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littlemissmentallyunstable · 20 days ago

Text

title: put your hand on my heart

pairing: micheal townsend x reader

synopsis: you know you’re panicking but you can’t stop it and nothing is helping. the last person you want to see you like this turns out to be your saviour

warnings: panic attack, overwhelming anxiety, dark thoughts

a/n: thanks for reading 🤍🤍

taglist: @inmyheaddd @midiosaamor @lyrakanefanatic @aleatorio1234 @maybe-dj124 @book-nerd-emi @maybxlle @foreverwinter22 @sweetreveriee @hermesenthusiast @shattered-glass-roses @gandergaal @sheisntyou @arias-archive @lila-77 @downrightbooks

Please, please, please. Not again. Not this again. I stumble into the bathroom making sure the door shuts behind me, hastily trying to reach a source of water. My finger shake as I turn on the bathroom tap, they can barely grasp the metal. I wait for the cold water to run before splashing my face three times. It’s meant to be a shock tactic, it’s meant to pull me together, it’s meant to help, but it isn’t doing what it’s meant to, it isn’t doing anything. It never does anything.

I try to swallow but it feels like I’ve forgotten how. It feels like my trachea is slowly constricting, the walls on either side slowly closing in creating a claustrophobe’s nightmare. My throat aches as my mouth fills with saliva that I’m desperate to get rid of. I touch my neck, my fingers scraping against the skin. I want to pry it open. Maybe then I’ll be able to breathe, be able to swallow.

I glance up at myself in the mirror and don’t recognise the girl staring back at me. Her eyes are rimmed with thick black smears, her lips are dry and cracked, there are red streaks of art winding down her neck and her face is a sickly pale colour. I’m but living in the shell of body that used to be mine. The things that made me myself are long gone, a ghost of a whisper living somewhere deep within my veins. I don’t know what parasite has infiltrated my body, all I know is I want it out. I want it gone.

But some things you can never kill, so long as they live in your mind, you’ll never truly be rid of them.

Panic wraps bony fingers around my ankles and yanks me into murky waters, Fear holds my head under and makes sure I can’t scream for help. Is this how you felt mum? Is this how you felt when they drowned you? My lungs burn, scream, beg but I already know I won’t ever get to grace them with oxygen again. My hands and feet are bound with thick rope that cuts deep into my flesh. They tied you up too mum. Why? Did you even fight it? I glance at my captors with pleading eyes, they only laugh. Amused by the emotions that fed them running riot through my soul. Did you look at them like me mum? We always had the same eyes, that’s what everyone said. Did they laugh at you too mum?

I feel my body grow weak, I watch as the world spins and I grow dizzy. I’m lost in a state between life and death, beneath this ocean of panic. My body is still trying to fight for survival even though I want to give up. You never wanted to give up, did you mum? But you had to, they forced you to. Panic gives me one last gift, placing something heavy on my chest. It crushes my rib cage but there’s nothing left in me to cry out. No one would hear anyway, I was underwater. No one heard you, mum. I didn’t hear you either. The weight pushes me down further and further from the surface and slowly, slowly it all grows black. Is this what you saw mum? When your body sunk to the bottom? Were you plunged into the darkness the same way I am?

I’m gasping and spluttering. My chest is in agony, red hot pain prickles over my torso. I want to rip my skin off, claw every inch away with my nails. I throw my sweatshirt over my head so the cotton of my shirt was the only thing touching my upper body. I look back to the stranger in the mirror and prod my face with unfamiliar fingers. The veins under my skin throb, almost like my pulse is so fast it might burst them altogether. Part of me hopes they might, at least I’d be rid of these feelings.

My heart thumps loudly through my ears, each boom more demeaning than the last. It feels like the organ pulsating out of my chest each time it beats. A torturous, monotonous thunderstorm that I can’t avoid.

��I don’t like the thunder,” I tremble in my mother’s arms, clinging to the soft fabric of her shirt as if my life depends on it.

“It can’t hurt you little one,” she whispers, stroking my hair with her tender touch, “but don’t fret, you’re safe, I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’m here.”

I don’t like thunderstorms. I never have. But my mother’s arms aren’t here to be my refuge, all I have are these four bathroom walls.

I try and will myself to cry but there are no tears. My face isn’t damp and my eyes don’t water. They refuse, my mind too stubborn to give me an outlet for my pain. I should be crying, I know I should, it’s unnatural not to, it’s not normal.

But I’m not normal.

I feel the dreaded panic attack me again. It’s like a million tiny bullets are being fired at my body all at once. I can’t avoid a single one, I’m stood in no man’s land. And yet despite being shot so many times, I don’t seem to be able to die. Only writhe in my own agony.

My breathing quickens still, which by now I’d thought might be medically impossible. I wish for Sloane to be here to give me a statistic about breathing or wallabies, I wish for Lia to tell me the lie that I would be okay a thousand times over, I wish for Cassie to hold me until I stop shaking looking at me with her kind eyes, I wish for Dean to help me understand why I’m like this and I wish for Micheal to never, ever see me like this.

My wishes don’t come true. Wishes usually don’t for girls like me.

I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have control of my own body, of my own mind, thoughts and feelings. They’re constantly hijacked by a stronger power. A power that comes dressed in black hood and carries weapons of destruction. Though he doesn’t always use them, not straight away. He presents them first, the fear of the threat. Then at the moment of his choosing - the middle of the night, when I’m out shopping, the early morning, in the middle of a case - he would use them.

I have become a prisoner to the man in my mind.

He remembers everything. My mother. He knows all. She was kind and smart and funny and passionate and bold. The details I wanted to forget. Her cold dead body, hauled from the bottom of a lake. Blue skin, closed eyes, hair plastered to her forehead. The things I’d left in the past. She used to tell me I could do anything, be anything. That I was something. That I was special. Brighter than the stars. All that I’d blocked out. The killers that I couldn’t find, that I’d failed to find.

Another overbearing wave of panic crashes into me and my legs begin to feel unsure of themselves adopting an unnatural wobble. Sure I might fall, I sink to the floor in a helpless heap of heavy breathing and blurred thoughts. The cold tiles that press against the back of my thighs are the only thing to remind me that I can feel.

I need five things. What can I see? What can I touch? What can I hear? What can I smell? What can I taste?

I pry my eyes back open. I can see the bathroom door, it’s white with a golden handle. Two towels hang on a hook from the back of it. They’ve been recently used and are still a little damp. The smile on my mum’s face.

I can touch the fabric of my shirt. I play with it between my fingers. It’s soft, it’s smooth, it can’t hurt me. Her fingers weaving a braid through my hair.

I can hear my heart. No, I have to hear past it. I strain my ears. Talking, I can hear my friends talking in the room next door. Sloane, Cassie, Lia, Dean and Michael. I can hear Sloane’s voice most immediately, then Lia’s. The words are blurred, a soup of sound, too overwhelmed by the pounding in my chest. The hum of her sweet song, the one she wrote just for my name.

I can smell bleach. It’s strong and sterile. The bathroom has been recently cleaned. Rose water and buttermilk. She always smelt of rose water and buttermilk. As long as I could remember.

I can taste nothing. My throat is dry, my lips are dry, my tongue is so dry it’s stuck to the roof of my mouth. The honey sweet syrupy liquid she often gave me before I slept.

I lean back further into the wall and close my eyes again. Is it working? Is it helping? I’ve listed the five things, my task is done. Why do I still feel the same? I shouldn’t still feel the same. It’s not working, it never works, I don’t know why this time I thought it might. I’m an idiot. I always have been.

“y/n? Are you in there?”

I know that voice and I know I don’t want him anywhere near the door. I know I’ve forgotten to lock it and I can’t move from the position I’m in. I know I need to tell him I’m fine, that it’s okay. I know that I should then explain I need Lia to get me a tampon to scare him away.

But I can’t speak, I can’t answer him. When I try I end up gasping for air like a fish out of water. I grip the side of the sink, my knuckles going white, trying to hoist myself up. He can’t see me like this, out of everyone it can’t be him. The moment I get myself to stand, my legs give way and I fall back to the floor. They’re too weak to support me anymore.

I’m too weak.

I land with a crash, sending a shooting pain up my back. I wince and make some sort of strangled sound, a scream but with no breath to make it sound like a scream. Immediately he bursts in, uninvited in classic Micheal style. Though he might be the emotion reader of the two of us, I see the worry on his face, through his eyes. I try to glare at him but can’t even muster that. I know there’s no getting out of this now, the moment he lays eyes on me he knows exactly how I feel. Even if I were Lia I don’t believe there’d be any lie good enough to cover up my situation.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he rushes, dropping to his knees immediately, “hey, it’s okay, I’m here.”

“It’s okay, I’m here.”

My mother’s words echo through my mind. His hand settles on my thigh. I don’t need you here’ I wanted to scream. I need Sloane, Lia, Cassie, Dean, Judd, heck even Briggs just anyone but him. He shouldn’t know that this is the real me, that this is the kind of relationship he is really getting into.

He sees it. He sees my fear, my desperation, my panic, my worry, my pain, my anger. He sees it all in technicolour.

Micheal takes my face between to soft palms, “breathe with me, sweetheart,” he says very slowly, “I need you to breathe with me.”

I can’t even talk. I try to reply, but I physically can’t.

“Don’t try to talk,” he tells me gently, “it’s not going to help you. I need you to try and breathe with me.”

I can barely hear him over the sound of my heart raging through my ears yet manage to shake my head vigorously. I need to explain to him that it won’t work, that it never works.

“Try,” he murmurs, understanding, “with me. In… and out…”

Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. Nothing overtly complicated. Yet it feels like the most difficult task I’ve ever had to do in my life.

“In…” he guides me, steadily, “…and out.”

One. I do it once.

My breathing is still rapid, I am panting like a dog but I did it. Once. He sits down beside me, interlocking his hand into mine. A constant, a rock, he’s telling me he isn’t leaving. His back is up against the cool tiled wall. Gently he puts his hands on my hips. I don’t shy away from his touch, I don’t flinch, I don’t slap him away. I want his hands on me. I want him to distract me.

He pulls me between his legs. I lean on him pressing my back up against his firm chest. I need to feel something, someone, anyone. I need to know that I’m not alone. I want his lips to transport me somewhere else, I want his hands to make me forget everything. I tilt my head so ours eyes meet. I plead silently. I know he can read what I want, what I need. I know he can see it all displayed on my face.

“You have to get your heart rate and breathing back to normal,” he says, “a distraction won’t help that.”

“Need,” I choke, through loud gulps of air.

He presses a kiss to my temple, “breathe, my love, you’re safe, I’ve got you.”

“You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

I see my mum’s face. I roughly grab onto his legs, clawing at the material of his trousers, digging my fingernails in, like some sort of scared animal. I feel his hands on my waist as my chest heaves up and down, still uncontrollable. The untameable beast in my brain still a torrent of darkness.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” he repeats, his voice so smooth, so soothing. I want to believe him, “focus on me…”

I do. I’m focusing on his breath I can feel tickling the back of my neck and his outstretched legs I can see in front of me. I’m focussing on the shade of blue the sweatshirt is and how he smells of that fancy cologne he insists on buying. I’m focussing on the tingling sensation his lips let behind on my temple and the warmth of his body against mine.

“My voice…”

It’s low and even. Steady and constant. The words he says are sweet and soothing and kind. He wants to help me. He cares enough. They’re said softly, gently, tenderly, calmly. He wants me to know I’m safe. He wants to fight the man in my head as much as I do.

“My touch…”

His fingers are delicately wrapped around my waist, but one hand is drawing slow, light circles on my stomach. I feel the shape spiralling in and then back out again. The muscles in his upper arms are against the muscles of my upper arms, they brush together. His heart is beating a little faster than usual against my back.

I think about Micheal. I focus on what he tells me to. Each time I take in oxygen it gets the slightest bit easier. I inhale and I exhale. He waits and he listens and he draws circles on my belly. Sometimes he talks and sometimes he stays silent. But we stay like this until my breathing is only a little worse than normal. The breaths are still short and jagged but they’re less of a gasp, less of a prayer for air.

“You’re okay,” he repeats, “I’ve got you, you’re safe, I’m here.”

I twist my neck to meet his eyes. He looks like he’s in pain. I never meant to cause him pain.

“I’ve got you. Can you feel me?” he whispers, “I’ve got you in my arms. That means you’re safe.”

Safe. Would I ever really be safe when my biggest enemy lived in my own mind?

“I… need… touch…” I tell him, through little breaths.

I haven’t heard the man in my head since Micheal got here. I know this will help. I know I need it. He can make things go away, he can help me, he can keep me safe. He’s got me in his arms. That means I’m safe.

“Okay,” he whispers.

His hand slowly moves from the tight grip on my waist to the bottom of my shirt. It slips under the material, slowly trailing up the bare skin of my stomach. His fingertips skim over my bra and find their way to just below my collarbone on the left side on my chest. He flattens his hand against my heart, pressing down firmly. It’s warm in contrast to the coolness of my skin.

“Breathe again love,” Micheal says in my ear, his voice in the back of his throat, “breathe for me.”

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Do it again. Do it again. Do it again. It’s getting easier. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Do it again. It’s getting easier. It’s getting easier.

I can feel him, only him. Micheal Alexander Thomas Townsend. My heart thumps against his palm. I close my eyes and rest my head back onto him. I feel it, as he presses the lightest of kisses onto my face, first my forehead, my nose, then my lips. Him, it’s all him. He can take this away, this darkness, this sickness, this disease in my mind. He can make it leave.

After what feels like a while, I’m somewhat what I was before. I can’t say things are back to normal because I am not normal. But I can breathe again, my chest doesn’t hurt, my heart isn’t the only thing I can hear and the man in my head has left. For now.

I realise for the first time how Micheal has seen me. This isn’t the me he’s used to. I take his hand from my shirt and move away from his touch. I stand up shakily and he’s quick to follow, ready to catch me should I fall. I lean against the sink, breathing deeply in and out. I can’t rely on him,I can’t afford to. The last person I relied on was my mother and look where that got me.

“You weren’t meant to see that,” I say, my back still towards him. I can’t bear to look him in the eye, not even for a second.

“It’s not a crime to panic,” he tells me slowly, there’s something tentative in his tone.

I turn around to face him, “yes. It is.”

I’m no emotion reader but something in his face looks scared. I had been taught long ago that I had to stay in control. That if anyone saw me out of control, unnatural, disobedient to the requirements set, that I would be less of a person. A nothing in this world. I’m not going to let this make me nothing. Not after I’d been something for so long.

Something to my mother. Something at school. Something to Briggs and his colleagues. Something to the Naturals program. Something to the friends I’d made here. Something… something to Micheal.

“I’m strong Micheal,” I say trying to steady my shaky voice, “I’m strong, I don’t break,” I falter as tears fill my eyes, I haven’t cried in so long, “I’m not like this, it’s not me.”

I meet his eyes again. He can see all of it, the emotions I show him and even the ones I’m holding back. I’m like a naked body in a room full of mirrors.

“Oh sweetheart,” he says, reaching out to take me in his arms once more.

And as much as I want to, crave to, yearn to, I don’t. I jerk away from his quickly, hitting my hip on the corner of the sink. The porcelain sends a sharp jolt of pain through my body. There will be a bruise tomorrow. He immediately backs away, a concern I’m not used to seeing rippling through his features. He could hide it if he wanted but he’s choosing to show me. He’s showing me he cares.

“Don’t pity me Micheal,” I try to snap but instead my voice strains and instead sounds like I’m in pain, “please.”

‘I’m not pitying you’ the unspoken words hang in the air but never reach his lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks instead.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, fumbling over my words, “I don’t know.”

“Come here,” he says, opening his arms again. This time not reaching out for me, this time letting me choose to come towards him.

And I do.

I fall into his arms and melt into his touch. When I feel him around me, everything falls silent, the noise, the stress, the expectation. It’s only him and me. Him and me.

“You are still strong, even after breaking,” he says into my ear, such power in his words but gentleness in his voice, “because you haven’t broken completely, you’re still here,” he murmurs, “and that’s the strongest thing someone can ever do.”

There isn’t any words to reply and he knows that. I let him hold me for a long while before finally, finally I let myself cry.

ahhhh this is my first naturals fic so I’m lowkey nervous… i try and avoid y/n at all costs but I felt like it was sort of needed here. anyways i hoped you liked it and let me know if you want to be on the taglist :))

the natural’s masterlist

#bella writes 🤍#the naturals #the naturals jlb #micheal townsend #micheal townsend x y/n #micheal townsend x reader #micheal townsend x you #micheal townsend one shot #micheal townsend x lia zhang #micheal x lia #jennifer lynn barnes #deancassie #cassie hobbes #dean redding #lia zhang #sloane tavish

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marvelstoriesepic · 4 months ago

Text

Ocean’s claim

Pairing: Lifeguard!Bucky x Amateur!Surfer!Reader

Summary: Seeking a thrill, your friend Natasha convinces you to go surfing during stormy weather conditions - a bad idea as you come to experience.

Word Count: 5.9k 🌊 🫧 💧

Warnings: Reader is a non-professional when it comes to surfing; vivid descriptions of near drowning; mentions of death; slight hypothermia

Author's note: Felt like some angst since my last fic was fluff city. (There is still some fluff in it because it’s me) I'm also already taking notes for a possible second part, so if you like this and would like to see some more, please let me know. 🩵

Masterlist

“Nat, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time in the past half hour, voice trembling with urgency.

Each step feels heavier than the last, your heart pounding in your chest as you draw closer to the beach. You barely hear the playful groan of the redhead in front of you over the howl of the wind whipping around you, making your ears ring uncomfortably and your eyes water slightly.

Natasha struts forward, strands of her hair dancing wildly in the gusts, but she doesn’t seem fazed by the worsening weather. She has her surfboard casually tucked under her arm as if it’s just another sunny day at the beach.

“Come on, buzzkill,” she calls back, her voice light, teasing. “This is the perfect time! Nobody out here to hog the waves.” She glances over her shoulder at you, grinning, eyes bright with excitement that only amplifies your anxiety.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your footing steady as a strong gust nearly knocks you off balance. Your own surfboard feels heavy in your arms, the wind tugging at it like it wants to rip it away from you. Grip tightening, the rough texture of the wax sticks against your palms as your fingers dig in, fighting for control.

The wind picks up as you feel the sand underneath.

Glancing at the sky there are dark, doomy clouds over the horizon, swirling like an angry beast ready to pounce. The ocean beneath them churns restlessly. The waves are massive, their white crest crashing unforgivingly against the shore, louder than normal, almost angry.

Jagged shards of shells skitter across the beach like lost treasures and the wind tugs the sand into tiny tornadoes. The beach is deserted, foreboding, and your heart squeezes at the way the waves crash with unruly vigor.

There is a warning in the air, heavy and electric and your body aches to listen. The hair at the back of your neck stands on end. Every instinct in your body is screaming at you to turn around, to leave before it’s too late.

“Nat!” you shout, your voice barely carrying over the deafening whistle of the wind. It comes out almost as a scream, your desperation clawing at your throat as you try to get across how badly this could end.

But Natasha just throws a glance over her shoulder, her face just as bright as moments before - resolute and unfazed - as if the danger you can practically taste doesn’t exist.

“Come on, Y/n, it’ll be fun!” she shouts back, her voice carried away by the wind before it fully reaches you. Her steps quicken as she nears the water, eagerness fueling her, despite the gusts pushing against you two. She’s practically running, buzzing with adrenaline, her surfboard bouncing under her arm as the storm closes in.

It had been Natasha's idea to come out here, of course. She loves chasing a thrill, convincing you that surfing under those weather conditions would help you two get skilled. “No crowds, no waiting, just us and the ocean.” It’s what she said.

Though the ocean doesn’t seem welcoming at all right now.

You knew she would have gone either way. If you agreed or not. That’s basically the only reason you’re here right now, because as reckless as she could be, there was no way you were going to let her walk into danger alone - or her grave as it seems.

You’re not a professional surfer - neither of you are. The two surfboards you’re clutching onto for dear life are borrowed, a generous loan from the instructor who had run the beginner’s surf class just last week. He’d been a laid-back guy, happy to hear you and Natasha were interested in keeping up with the sport.

Unfortunately though, when he let you take the boards, he couldn’t possibly have any idea that you’d be sneaking out to the beach in the middle of an impending storm.

How could he? This is crazy. The wind tears at your clothes forcefully and your stomach churns, knots replacing your insides.

You’re not ready for this. The boards surely aren’t made for such waves - neither are you for that matter. Your experience amounts to a few rides on gentle waves under the perfect conditions. But this? This is something else entirely.

You watch in dread as Nat wades into the water. She pauses briefly to recheck the leash wrapped around her ankle, the heavy surfboard snug against her body. Your heart races as you hold your breath, bracing yourself for what comes next.

For a fleeting moment, you survey the beach again, hoping against hope to spot someone, anyone, who might help knock some sense into her, to pull her back from the brink of this reckless decision.

The stretch of sand is empty save for the lifeguard’s wooden stand in the distance, its white rescue board secured to the side. You squint, trying to make out if there is someone inside, but the fog of the approaching storm blurs everything, and it’s impossible to tell. Even if there is someone, you’re sure he’d have difficulty to even catch sight of you and it’s too far to run.

You turn back toward the water but the second your eyes meet the rolling waves, a stone lodges in your throat, pushing your heart to the depths of your body. Panic flares up inside you.

She’s gone.

The spot where Natasha was just moments ago is empty, swallowed by the towering swells. The dark water rises and falls, chaotic and aggressive, and your friend is nowhere in sight. Terror seizes you, cold and sharp, tightening your chest as your mind boils over.

The ocean looks so alive, merciless, and indifferent, pulling her deeper, under, with every second that passes.

“Natasha!” you scream, voice raw with fear.

Your body moves before your mind can tell you otherwise, and there is no longer hesitation, no second-guessing as you run to the shoreline. Your legs pump through the sand, lungs protesting and you fight against the force of the wind with everything you have. It feels almost personal.

The freezing cold instantly numbs your legs as your body hits the water. You charge forward, the surf breaking against your thighs. The water threatens to knock you down with each shaky breath but you push deeper, ignoring the icy shock and the way the current pulls at you, fighting your balance.

Blood rushes in your ears, your heart hammering so loudly that it drowns out the roar of the ocean for a second.

Every pulse of the water feels like a living force, hurling you in every direction, a relentless barrage that leaves you gasping for control. The waves slam against you from all sides, tossing you like a leaf caught in a storm.

You grit your teeth, trying to remember what your instructor had taught you. “Don’t fight the waves, use them, move with the water. It’s your friend, not your enemy.”

Well, fuck that, because friendly feels different.

You try to stay calm, arms trembling as you cling to the board, the slick surface cold and uncomfortable under your fingertips.

With a desperate effort, you manage to stay on the board long enough to scream Natasha's name again, your voice strained and choked by the salty wind. Just then, another monstrous wave smashes into you, enveloping you in a wall of water. You’re plunged into darkness, swallowed whole by the chaos, and for a disorienting moment, this doesn’t even feel real anymore.

But then your head breaks the surface again and you gasp for a breath, lungs burning. You clutch the board with a grip so tight it sends sharp stings all the way to your fingertips. The rough surface digs into your palms but you’d be damned if you let go of that thing.

With every ounce of strength you can muster, Natasha’s name leaves your lips again but the sound is ripped away almost as soon as it leaves your throat, swallowed by the howling wind and the whizz of the waves. It feels like screaming into a void, hopeless and hollow.

Then another wave slams into you - so hard, you feel the entire impact - and you’re under again.

Cold water surrounds you, suffocating your head. Your vision is nothing but an unfocused blur and salt stings in your eyes. All sense of direction is once again lost on you, your body twisting in the currents. You feel like a ragdoll, losing all control you have.

Each wave drags you further from the shore, further from safety, and the cold grip of despair tightens around your heart.

Breaking the surface, you gasp like you’ve never breathed before. Each gulp of air is a frantic, panicked effort as if the wind might steal it from you at any second. Each breath that follows fills your body with urgency, littered with the stifling sensation of the sea.

A few waves and more salty water later, you manage to regain some sense of balance, moving back up on your board and scanning the horizon, head whipping around hastily and eyes wide. You would be proud of the second of control you have but your heart sinks lower the longer the water lacks any sign of her.

The panic spreads like ice, the cold seeping into your bones, but the fear for yourself and your best friend burns hot.

You try to focus, to do what you’ve been taught - stay on the board, ride the wave, don’t let it pull you under - but it feels like a losing battle.

Another wave crashes and saltwater fills your mouth and lungs, scorching your throat, gurgling with every ragged breath. You’re still on the board. That’s a surprise you let sink in for a moment.

A voice cuts through the storm - Nat’s. Desperate and terrified. Your name. It sounds like it’s coming from the shore, but it feels impossibly distant like she’s miles away instead of just down the beach.

The realization hits you like a crash with as much power as the waves around you. How far off are you? You twist your neck to look toward the beach, but the looming waves obscure your view, and the horizon is just a blur of grey, indistinguishable from the sea itself.

You have no idea how far you’ve drifted, but it feels like the beach might as well be a world away.

You scream back desperately. This isn’t just fear anymore. It’s a raw, primal terror that digs into the fabric of your being, knitting utter despair tightly with the frantic rhythm of your heart. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever known - this paralyzing panic that roots itself deep inside your bones.

It’s the kind of fear you always imagined would come with the knowledge that death would follow. That slow, creeping certainty that there is no way out, no escape. It wraps around you like the icy water that threatens to pull you under and your clothes that cling to you pressingly, only weighing you down.

You’ve heard of drowning, read about it, seen it on TV, but never once did you think it would happen to you. Not like this. But is this how it ends? The thought flashes through your mind, bitter and cruel. You never envisioned going out this way - suffocated by the ocean, your last breath stolen by the waves.

Sometimes, you’d like to imagine that drowning would be a quiet, perhaps even peaceful descent into darkness. But this is a cacophony, a battle of breath and will, a struggle against an unforgiving beast that demands tribute.

Drowning isn’t an elegant surrender. It’s ruthless and visceral and you’re defenseless in the face of its power.

You cling to the surfboard as if it's the only thing tethering you to life, your muscles blaring in protest as the water laps at you greedily, eager to pull you under, to claim you as its own.

The water is relentless, an unfeeling, unstoppable force. It doesn’t care about your fear, your pain, your will to live. It just keeps coming, wave after wave, crashing into you with a ferocity that feels almost personal.

Your strength is ebbing, but the sea shows no sign of slowing. It’s a living thing, testing your resolve. It’s waiting for the moment when you will lose your grip, when the board will slip from your fingers, when the leash that binds you to it will snap, and you will be claimed.

The dark water beckons, yawning wide, promising oblivion - a cold quiet grave beneath the surface where you would lie, not as a person, but as a forgotten droplet, swallowed by the depths. Because that’s all you are - a speck; a drop of water in its vast, uncaring expanse. The thought terrifies you. The image that the sea will take you and forget you in the same breath.

There is tightness in your throat, a swelling of emotion so overwhelming it feels as if the ocean itself has seeped into your heart. You can’t tell if the salty water on your face is mingling with your tears, can’t tell if you’re actually crying.

You feel like you’re unraveling, piece by piece, your strength, your hope, your very sense of self slipping away with every wave.

Perhaps the water has already masked your sorrow, each rush of water a reminder of your frailty - the fight for one more breath, one more heartbeat.

Numbness creeps through your limbs, a heavy fog settling over your consciousness. It’s strange how empty you begin to feel, devoid of sensation. Not just your body, though that too is beginning to lose its fight against the cold, the chill sinking deeper into you, making it harder to move, harder to care.

But there is a nothingness inside you, like part of you has already accepted what’s coming - an abyss that waits with patient malice and a gaping mouth.

You fight it. Of course, you do, but in the back of your mind, a small voice whispers that it’s only a matter of time. The sea is stronger than you, more patient. It’ll wait for you to falter, to let go, and then it will take you.

There are more wails and screams coming from the shore, all faint and distant. They became as constant as the waves around you. Though the deeper you are engulfed in the surf, the fainter the screaming feels, slipping away like grains of sand between your fingers desperately reaching out for solid ground.

For a moment you imagine letting go. Letting the deep, dark silence of the ocean swallow you, pulling you down to its unreachable and endless depths. A cold, quiet grave, the kind you never expected but that now feels so close you can feel it on your tongue.

Another towering wave rises before you like a mountain, its treacherous crest poised to unleash its ferocity. In a single, brutal shove, it hurls you from the board, and for a heartbeat you’re airborne, a marionette cut from its strings, suspended in an agonizing moment of uncertainty.

But something deep within you ignites, a primal need - a will to live - stronger than anything you’ve ever felt and it pulls you to the surface and up the board again with a strength you didn’t know you had left.

You gasp for air and every single part of your body wants reprieve, but your mind sharpens with a clarity that sears through the chaos. You won’t let the ocean take you. You need to find Nat.

Determination fills your veins like fire and you whip your head around to pinpoint where her relentless screams come from. Her cries, frenzied and panic-stricken, echo from everywhere suddenly, piercing through the tumult like a siren’s wail.

But as you strain against the tide, attempting to hear her better, something halts you for a dangerous moment.

It’s not just Natasha’s voice.

There’s another voice, calm and steady, weaving through her frantic cries, almost soothing in its cadence. The words are impossible to make out over the sound of the storm, but you can tell it’s a man. He’s speaking to her, perhaps trying to calm her down.

You don’t have time to process that before something else grips your attention. A third voice; deep, more resonant - another man - drifts in and out between the wafting waves. It’s closer, much closer than the others.

Your heart pounds so loudly, you can hear it over the storm. You strain your ears, desperate to catch that voice again, to make sense of it, but the wind tears the sound away before you can latch onto it.

With every ounce of focus you can muster, you whip your head around frantically, eyes scanning the water, and then you see it. A flash of white, cutting through the churning grey of the sea. A board?

Your breath catches.

Nat’s board is blue. Yours is still beneath you. The only white board you’ve seen was back on the beach, strapped to the lifeguard’s post.

Could it be?

Is your mind playing tricks on you? Are you that far gone?

But then it appears again. A flash of white and then red between the flooding currents, coming closer to you.

Hope flickers in your chest, fragile but bright. You squint your eyes, willing that shape to appear again, your heart racing in anticipation. But the sea remains relentless, making it impossible to get a clear view.

Your concentration costs you.

The next wave blindsides you, slamming into you with a blow that knocks the breath from your lungs. You yelp in shock as the water swallows you whole again, dragging you down beneath its unforgiving surface once more.

Your body tumbles, twisted by the current, and for a moment, you’re lost in the dark, cold world beneath the waves.

You are weightless. The ocean’s embrace is absolute. You can’t tell where the surface is anymore, can’t feel which way is up or down. Yet, there is that voice again. It’s blurred by the water filling your ears but it seems to surround you.

An urgent shout, muffled and distorted, yet oddly comforting, like it’s reaching through the water just for you. You can’t make out any words, but the tone is strong and deep, cutting through your panic, grounding you for just a moment.

You feel the leash around your ankle tugging, pulling you as your board drifts with the current, but you no longer have the strength to reach for it. You let it pull you along, your limbs flailing uselessly in the water.

Your body is beyond exhausted, each muscle burning with fatigue, your arms and legs barely responding to your desperate attempts to swim. You’re too drained to fight anymore. You feel the air still trapped in your lungs, but your body’s energy is slipping.

Slowly, you let your eyes fall closed and everything blurs. The only thing in focus is that voice. It almost seems like a part of the water, surrounding you, enveloping you. You want to hold onto it, but you’re so tired.

Then, suddenly there is a slight splash nearby - different from the waves. It cuts through the water like a jolt, a ripple of something deliberate. For the first time, you think you might know where the surface is.

Before you can do anything to react, a firm hand clamps onto your arm.

The grip is solid, unwavering, and with a sharp pull, you’re yanked upwards, your body dragged through the water with a sturdiness you couldn’t summon on your own.

Another hand grasps your other arm, and now you’re being lifted, hauled out of the water, breaking the surface.

Your body moves limply, like it’s no longer your own, the weight of exhaustion too much to fight.

Air hits your face, cold and bracing and you feel your lungs expand in relief of it. The sound of the ocean and the wind rushes back into your ears as you’re pulled up onto something hard - a board beneath you.

The tug on your ankle leaves you but you don’t have it in you to question it. Panic ebbs as more air floods into your chest, aching and yet so sweet. You feel the warmth of skin at your back, around your body, keeping you from slipping back under.

But you’re too weak to open your eyes. Too drained to look back at your savior, to see who has pulled you from the water’s grasp. You can only feel the firm grip, the solid presence behind you, and the way the board keeps you afloat.

The world feels so distant, the sounds around you muffled, your body so heavy it’s almost like you’re still submerged.

Fingers are pressing down on your wrist, as steady as the rest of him, perhaps feeling your pulse or just to balance you.

A thought strikes through your weak frame, igniting a flicker of energy fueled by adrenaline. Natasha. Worry surges within you. Is she even safe? Sure, you’ve heard those voices but what do they really convey?

With a sudden burst of resolve, you push away from the muscled body behind you, choking on the saltwater that clings to your lungs, gasping wildly for breath, your throat feeling like sandpaper.

A sharp exhale of relief sounds out from your rescuer, his grip loosening just enough to give you the space you need to find your breath, but your focus is somewhere else entirely.

“Thank god,” he mutters under his breath, but you don’t even register it.

“Nat!” you rasp out, voice trembling and barely more than a croak. “Where is she?” You’re not sure if you’re asking him, yourself, or pleading with the vindictive ocean still around you. The question is ripped from your chest with a feral need to know. She has to be okay.

“Hey,” your savior tries but you shake your head fervently, panic closing in and you snap your head around for a glimpse of her, only feeling his arm tighten around you, pulling you back against his chest.

“You need to get Natasha! She’s somewhere out there, she-”

“Hey, hey,” he interrupts, his tone firmer and louder by your ear, yet still soothing and gentle, and you let it ground you for a second just like in the water moments earlier.

“Your friend’s alright. She’s safe. Sam is looking out for her,” he sweetly explains to you, his thumb brushing tender circles against your arm while his other arm works to maneuver you two back to the beach.

You barely hear him, your gaze still flickering across the waves, but then he turns your head gently. “There, look.”

He nods to the shoreline that’s slowly coming into view. There, through the haze of wind and saltwater, you see her. Natasha is waving frantically, her face pale as a ghost, her mouth moving as she shouts something. Her voice is hoarse, barely audible.

Next to her stands a tall, dark-skinned man, his arm securely around her shoulders, making sure the blanket wrapped around her stays in place at her distressed movements. He is speaking to her in low tones, his hands rubbing warmth into her skin.

She looks wild with fear, the strands of her hair looking dark as they are pressed to the sides of her head. And she is shaking. But she is visibly safe.

Relief crashes into you like another wave, but this time, it doesn’t knock you down. Instead, it lets you breathe again. The tension in your chest that had kept you moving and looking for her, releases. Your body grows heavy, muscles giving in to the exhaustion that had been building since you hit the water.

Your body slumps back against the chest behind you, and you feel the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing. He only tightens his arm around you, pulling you closer, letting you breathe in his warmth.

Your head rests against a sturdy shoulder, your cheek brushing his wet vest. And for the first time since you entered the water, you feel safe.

As you reach the shore, your body betrays you. A violent shiver takes over, teeth clattering uncontrollably, as the wind continues to bite into your soaked skin. But all you can focus on is Nat’s words finally reaching your ears.

“Y/n!” she screams, her voice cracking with emotion. “Oh my god, Y/n!”

You’re barely aware of the man behind you guiding you up to your feet, now both of his arms wrapped around your waist to keep you steady as you stumble forward.

The ground beneath you feels wobbly, the world still swaying like you’re trapped in the rhythm of the waves, but his unyielding grip keeps you from collapsing.

Natasha breaks away from Sam, or at least you assume that’s who he must be, and runs toward you with so much hurry, you’re scared she might knock you over. But again, the strong presence behind you balances your wavering body as she crashes into you.

Her arms sling around you in a tight embrace that makes you forget about your current situation for a second. You feel her sobs against your chest as she pulls back just enough to look at you, her tear-streaked face filled with regret and agony.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out, her hands gripping your shoulders, afraid to let go. “God, Y/n, I’m so sorry!”

You try to shake your head, to give her some semblance of reassurance, but your face is too numb, muscles too drained to manage more than a faint twitch of your lips. “It’s okay,” you whisper.

But Nat shakes her head so fast, it overwhelms you, her eyes wide. “No, it’s not okay. Don’t say that. It’s not.” her voice cracks and you see the guilt warring in her eyes. “I should’ve never asked you to come with me. I should’ve never done this. Fuck, I’m so stupid.”

This time, you’re able to shake your head with more conviction, pulling strength from the man’s touch at your back. “Stop, okay? Please!” you ask, your voice more certain. “I’m just… I’m just glad you’re okay.”You offer her a real smile, though your lips tremble from more than just the cold.

Natasha curses under her breath, shaking hands pulling you into another tight hug. You close your eyes, sinking into her.

You hug for what feels like an eternity, her grip never loosening, and you realize your rescuer doesn’t even attempt to leave your side. At some point, he drapes a warm blanket over your shoulders, which Sam must have given him, and the slight weight of it makes you blink, pulling you back to reality.

The shivers don’t stop, but it’s a comfort to feel the warmth seep into your skin.

When you finally pull back from Nat, strong arms immediately wrap the blanket all around you from behind, his hands unshakable as he rubs in the warmth of it. Sam returns Natasha’s blanket over her own shoulders and you watch the curt nod he shares with the man behind you, a silent acknowledgment that everything went well.

You don’t make a move to do anything, mind still a hazy maze, exhaustion heavily wearing down on you, so you’re thankful to hear the gentle voice again near your ear. “Let’s get you warm, yeah?”

All you do is nod, but it seems to be enough and you let him guide you to the wooden lifeguard post down the beach. Wind is still whipping around you, but you don’t register that anymore.

He gently walks you up the ramp and you notice the missing white rescue board, the one he used to pull you from the water. Another shiver whacks your spine.

He pushes open the door and you step into a small room that seems to be well-organized. The air inside feels warmer, a welcome change from the biting cold you had been under way too long, though it still carries that smell of salt.

There is a wooden bench in front of you with a neat stack of folded towels and blankets in bright red and yellow. He sits you down, layering the blanket over yourself so it is completely enveloping your shivering frame.

He kneels in front of you, moving slowly and deliberately, as if careful not to startle you too much too soon. His presence is calming and you don’t shy away at the intense way he searches your features, the soft expression he wears soothing your aching muscles.

The warmth that radiates from him makes your heart flutter in a way you don’t quite expect.

“Is it okay if I ask you a few questions? Have to make sure everything’s alright.”

His voice. God, you love his voice. There is that slight rasp in it and a boyishness that makes it so soothing, so grounding. It’s as enveloping as the blanket that already surrounds you.

He only makes you feel reassured, and the quiet curve of your lips turns into a small smile as you nod in agreement. His gaze sweeps over your face, checking for any signs of pain, discomfort, or lingering fear. The way he studies you is careful, but not invasive.

“Alright,” he whispers, blue eyes not leaving your face. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

You can’t help the stretch of your smile at the almost bashful way he runs his fingers through his tousled and slightly wet hair. It’s endearing, considering the fact that he just saved your life. The confidence and the sureness he carried while saving you from the water seem to melt into quiet humility now that you’re safe.

You tell him your name and age after he asks. Watching his facial reactions to your words feels so calming, it’s all you can do to slow your heart rate down a notch and stop the involuntary shaking of your body.

There is a small tug at his eyebrows, and a frown threatens to overcome his features, revealing a hint of underlying worry and he keeps drifting his eyes over you, watching the way your shoulders are still shaking.

A little hesitantly he moves his hands up to your knees and rubs the blanket over them softly, hoping to warm up your legs.

“Are you feeling okay? Do you have any trouble breathing? Anything that hurts?” The concern you see on his face is evident in his voice as well and a swell of warmth rises within you, spreading through your body. You relish it.

Sam, who attends to Natasha a foot away, raises an eyebrow in Bucky’s direction, a question in his eyes, but teasing in his smirk.

“Normally, you wait for your patient to answer, before moving on to the next question man,” he chimes in with playful sarcasm. He looks up to you for a second before his gaze moves back to Bucky.

Bucky straightens up before you, the teasing from Sam seemingly lost on him as he clenched his jaw. His face flushes slightly and he looks down at his hands, still gently rubbing circles on your knees. “Yeah, right,” he mutters under his breath, but you pick it up.

A small giggle rises in your stomach and you let it pass, coming out a little breathless and weak, but genuine enough for Bucky’s head to snap back up. His eyes soften, a sparkle shining in them you are able to make out because you watch him so intensely. A smile brightens his face and his momentary embarrassment is lost.

You answer Bucky’s questions one by one, recalling the disorienting moments of your rescue after he almost hesitantly asks you to do so. His hands still soothingly rub your knees.

Bucky listens intently, his eyes never leaving your face, nodding softly at your words. You see him trying his best to remain calm but you notice the tension in his stance, the tick in his jaw, and the slight frown never leaves his face - the weight of his concern lingering in the air.

Sam, who has been standing nearby, leans in slightly. “Gave us a pretty good scare there, sugar.” His tone is light, clearly trying to cut through the tension with a bit of humor, but the moment the words leave his mouth, Bucky’s head snaps up. His gaze hardens drastically as he shoots Sam a sharp look, his voice laced with frustration and irritation.

“Now imagine how she must feel, you fucking idiot.”

His tone catches you off guard. It’s the first time Bucky’s words carry an edge, so different from the gentleness he’s shown you since. Sam raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, licking his lips as he tilts his head slightly.

“Alright, grumpy pants, my bad. You’re right,” he concedes. His demeanor shifts and he becomes more serious, sincere as he steps closer, crouching down to your height and laying a hand on your shoulder. “No, but really,” he says with a nod of his head, “I’m glad you’re okay.” His words hold weight, and the smile he gives you is genuine, toothy even.

You offer him a smile in return, and Sam nods back, satisfied. You can feel Bucky’s gaze still on you, but it’s Nat’s soft, broken voice that cuts through the moment.

“It’s my fault this happened,” she whispers, barely audible. She is hovering nearby, her eyes red and swollen, shoulders hunched under the weight of guilt and her fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket. Her words hang heavy in the air, filled with regret and self-blame.

You react immediately, not letting her fall into that pit of guilt. “Nat!” you say firmly, facing her. “It was my decision to come along.”

Your best friend looks almost childlike in her distress, eyes glistening again with unshed tears. “You came along because you didn’t want me to go alone,” she counters, voice thick. “You and I both know I would have gone without you. I basically pressured you to follow me because I knew you would. You always just want to make sure I’m safe and now-”

Natasha’s voice falters, the words catching in her throat before a heart-wrenching sob leaves her. The sound pierces your chest, and you can’t handle it longer, feeling tears sting behind your eyes.

Without thinking, you push yourself up from the bench, your legs shaky but driven by the need to embrace her. Bucky, still kneeling before the bench, opens his mouth as if to protest, clearly concerned for your state.

You’re sure he was about to remind you that you should be sitting down, but the urgency in your movement stops him.

Nat clings to you immediately, her fingers gripping the blanket around you, sobs muffled into your shoulder. You start to gently shush her, whispering words of comfort as her body trembles in your arms.

You basically feel Bucky and Sam share a meaningful look behind your back.

Sam clears his throat softly, not wanting to intrude on the fragile moment. “Hey,” he says quietly, his voice gentle. “You two are going to be okay.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything but you can feel his quiet support behind you, like ever since he saved you.

“To feel safe around someone's energy is a different kind of intimacy”

- Petra Rush

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #Lifeguard!Bucky #Surfer!Reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #james buchanan barnes #marvel bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fanfiction

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a-boca-do-inferno · 2 years ago

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not a date! (logan howlett x reader)

summary: (y/n) and Logan have dinner. Finally.

warnings: fluff

words: 0.5k

That was new.

Logan had a smile on his face that was as beautiful as it was unusual. Wolverine wasn’t one to smile, after all, and you’d be lying if you said it bothered you; quite the contrary. He walked around the kitchen as if he knew exactly what to do, swiftly chopping off some vegetables and throwing them in boiling water. He even whistled every now and then, as he waited for the food to be ready, and you couldn’t help but find it the cutest thing you ever witnessed. His eyes fell on your figure sitting by the counter sometimes, too, maybe to make sure you were still there, and you grinned softly at that thought. You both were trying this thing for some time now and it finally had happened.

“It smells delicious”, you murmur, with a bit of a bashfulness to your tone. This was your professor still, doesn’t matter how much you wanted to forget that fact.

“Thanks”, he grunts back, not quite as warmly as you would like, sure, but not harsh either. Logan just had a different way of expressing his feelings and you were starting to get a hold of that as you became closer to each other. He dries up his hands with a cloth mindlessly, leaning on the sink and staring at you with an amused look. “This is not a date, by the way.”

You snort, nodding along. “Of course, professor", you joke, throwing a pea at him playfully. He catches it with his claws and eats it, making you roll your eyes. “Show off.”

“So, how’s things back at the school?”, he goes back to stirring his soup. “Been a while since I went there.”

“Things are great, thriving”, you hum, eating a pea. “Charles seems happy, despite everything that happened these past few years. He’s still doing his best for everyone.”

“Good”, he finishes cooking and turns off the stove. Logan’s steps come closer, and he glances at you with a smirk, pointing to your phone with his chin. “And how’s the boyfriend?”

Your eyes narrow at his question, and you shake your head slowly, still holding his gaze. “No boyfriend. Single as a pringle”, you chuckle, shrugging a bit.

He gives you a disbelieved look, but nods. “Right, and my eyes are ocean blue.”

You scoff, shaking your head a bit, “what? Is it really that hard to believe I don’t need a man?”

Logan snorts slightly, walking to your side. He grabs your face softly, yet firmly, and mumbles, “say that again.” You shudder under his touch, trying to formulate an answer, but his hot breath hits you like a brick in your senses. He smirks at your reaction and devours your mouth without warning, holding your waist to his and pulling you by the hair a little. You gasp against his lips, melting completely, surprise and arousal filling up your chest while his tongue painted your teeth with saliva. Logan parts the kiss after a few seconds, with a smug expression towards you, and your cheeks now are as hot as that stove behind you both. “I take back what I said. It’s definitely a date.”

You roll your eyes, smiling.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #wolverine imagine #wolverine x reader #wolverine #logan howlett #hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader #x-men x reader #doodle

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sweetbunpura · 6 months ago

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I'll defend you until my last breath

While spending the summer in the Coral Sea, due to an invite from the infamous Octotrio, Yuu finds themselves exploring part of the ocean while the Octotrio had headed off for a quick second to handle something. It would've been fine, but the sea is dangerous and merciless, and soon Yuu finds themselves being stalked by a deadly predator. Yuu, used to the feeling of being stalked thanks to Rook, freezes in the water and looks around for the sea creature. The creature bursts towards them in a fury of sharp teeth, Yuu narrowly managed to swim out of the way and still gets hit. Blood clouds the water as they frantically swim to the nearest cover. They find their back pressed against the wall, watching with wide eyes as the creature speeds towards their hiding spot....

Jade:

Jade wastes no time, using his long and agile body to slam into the creature and wrap his tail around it. He hisses, fins flaring out as he tightens his hold on the wiggling monster. Jade digs his claws into the creature, tearing into the flesh and causing blood to cloud around the fight. He then throws it into the wall and glares down at it.

"If you value what reminds of your fragile little life, you'll swim away and never come after them again." Jade lets it go and the creature weakly swims away.

He lowers his fins and swims to where Yuu is, who pokes their head out to stare at him with wide eyes.

"I apologize for having to see me in an unsightly manner."

"That was cool..."

"Hmm?" The smile that graces his face means that he definitely heard it.

"Nothing." Yuu swims out and hugs him. "Thank you."

Jade clears his throat and moves his head to hide his blush. "You're welcome."

Azul:

As much as Azul despises his true form, there are times where the strength it provides is needed. Black and dark purple tentacles shoot out and wrap the creature up, halting its snapping jaws from sinking into Yuu by a mere few inches. He handles the creature with ease, increasing the pressure around it before throwing it behind him and punching it into the sandy sea floor.

"Leave, or you'll suffer worse than what I gave you."

The creature shakes its head and departs to no doubt nurse its wounded pride. Azul watches it for a few moments before turning to Yuu.

"Prefect, are you hurt?"

Yuu's staring at him with a stunned look in their eyes, it takes him a few seconds before he realizes why. His tentacles curl around him in an effort to hide his body. Oh, he must look absolutely hideous to them. He starts racking his brain for an NDA for Yuu to sign when they open their mouth.

"That was so cool. You're so cool." They swim towards him and Azul moves a tentacle to watch them. "Oh, and your pupils!"

Yuu starts gushing over him, completely forgetting to thank him, and sending Azul into a flustered mess.

Floyd:

"That's my Shrimpy you're huntin'!"

A teal blur slams into the creature sending them both tumbling around in the water. Floyd's tail wraps around the monster in a crushing grip as his fins flare out. His teeth bared in an angry snarl as he tore mercilessly into the creature. Floyd soon ends its body slamming into the side of the wall as he lets out a very low hiss.

"You better run before I kill ya."

The creature flees as quick as it can with its injured body. He turns to where Yuu is with his body still tense and his fins still out.

"Floyd?" At hearing his name, his body finally relaxed and his fins laid flat.

"You okay, Shrimpy?"

"I got hit, but other than that I'm fine." Yuu swims out and Floyd wraps them up in his tail and presses his cheek against theirs.

"Don't scare me like that." He whines. "What if I didn't get to ya in time?"

"Thank seven you did."

"Here." He places something in their hand.

"Floyd... is this a tooth?"

The smile he sent them was all the answer they needed.

#twisted wonderland #twst rambles #twst yuu #jade leech #floyd leech #azul ashengrotto

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achaotichuman · 6 months ago

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Naked Poetry

Okay so, this is not finished at all. *But* I am a baby smut writer and this is some of the best I've ever written in my opinion and it is just rotting in my docs. So I'm posting it to see if anyone likes it!

Summary

The Seasonal Courts are gathering for an annual meeting. With tensions growing between the Courts, they aim to settle what they can and allow the magic to return to harmony as it was before the Curse of Amarantha.

But after so long away, the magic of each Court is writhing for its sister. From Spring's weakened magic, the power of the Seasons is demanding rejuvenation.

Magic comes with a price, and this is theirs.

Title from Naked Poetry by SKYLAR would recommend listening to whilst reading.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut.

Explicit NSFW

You make me feel, like someone I was before

You make me feel, like the lady I adore

Routine meeting. Kallias watched the line of trees outside the carriage turn into a haze of orange and red as the carriage sped through at unnatural speeds. He remained motionless, perfectly poised even alone, eyes closed, head held high and hands folded into his lap.

At normal times, Viviane would accompany him on these meetings, unfortunately her sister had a bout of sickness and Viviane wished to remain by her side. The thought of his mate with her shimmering gaze and banner of hair brought a smile to his face, that he quickly squashed, they were on Beron Vanserra’s territory. He would gravitate to any weakness he smelled, like a shark searching the ocean for blood.

The Seasonal Courts met every century or so, to discuss the magic of the land. As tight or tense as connections could be, they orbited each other. Like stars whirling around each other, they depended on the magic of the other lands.

It was a week-long trip. The first few days they would discuss the state of their Courts and how this affected the others, before discussing resolutions, and the last days would delve deep into the magic of each individual Court. Often on the last day there were plenty of eye-wateringly boring speeches from historians and scholars about the carefully crafted magic systems they all had at their feet. A lecture in disguise, a snap at the High lords to not kill each other.

Kallias supposed it was necessary.

Particularly for the Vanserra’s.

They had never been able to keep their hands to themselves.

You make me feel, like my feet don’t touch the floor

Brush me down, oh, down in designer

Bit of charm with his one class liners

“Don’t sweat it Tam, you’ll be fine.” Lucien said, adjusting his collar and jacket. The perfectly pristine emissary shot him a cocky grin and a wink, “We’re just in a room with some arrogant males that need a swift kick in the ass to not just hop around alliances.”

“You mean we’re in a room with Kallias, Tarquin and a male that needs a swift kick in the ass to not just hop around alliances.” Tamlin replied with an eyeroll.

Lucien sighed wistfully, “Wish I had been there, heard you dragged him out by his neck to get Autumn to fight in the War on Prythian’s side.”

Tamlin swallowed when he remembered that day. He had been in bloodied armour, stained red with the blood of Hybern’s soldiers. He had thrown the doors of the Forest House throne room wide open. Eyes blazing, tongue lashing behind his sharp teeth, claws bursting through his knuckles so quickly they drew blood which dripped to the ground in time with the fast beating of his heart.

Tamlin had roared for Beron to get off his ass and fucking help. Beron had nearly refused as he drew fire to his hands.

Tamlin then snuffed the oxygen from the fire and they had gone out. Beron’s eyes had been wide, but not with fear. He drew more fire which Tamlin put out again.

The blond had stormed up to the throne. All but throwing off the guards who tried to stop him.

He had stood above Beron Vanserra. The male held up his large hand between them and sparked a flame.

Tamlin had shown his fangs as he snuffed it out again.

Beron had tilted his head, then smiled like a predator.

“Eris, get my armies ready, we’re going to War.” Beron had said.

Tamlin had looked over his shoulder to see a wide-eyed Eris standing in the threshold. He had drawn in a breath before murmuring a respectful “Yes, my Lord.”

Then he quickly ran off to prepare.

Beron had risen to his feet. Standing near pressed against the High lord of Spring, that grin only widening.

Tamlin had nearly faltered in his breath. Beron was taller, but they were the same in build. The Autumn Lord had taken the younger’s chin in between his fingers, leaned down and whispered, “You would’ve been wasted on her, once you’re done with the hero act come find me. I’ll show you how the High lord of Autumn plays.”

Tamlin had shivered, but not from fear. Never from fear.

“Hey! Tamlin!” Lucien snapped his fingers in Tamlin’s face, the blond was thrown from his memories, he lifted an eyebrow as he looked at Lucien.

The carriage bumped and jostled, but Lucien still remained somehow unaffected. Perfect, from his falling hair to his pressed suit.

The Fox leaned back in his seat and grinned, “Went to Tamlin world did you?”

“I-I- Tamlin world?!” Tamlin stammered.

Lucien cackled as he flicked Tamlin’s nose, “Yeah, Tamlin world.” His voice changed to a much higher, mocking version, “Oh I remembered something nostalgic, so I had to retreat to my little Tamlin world where it’s all meadows and deer; and I lie under willow trees, listening to the wind through the grass-”

Tamlin lightly smacked him on the side of his head, Lucien laughed so hard his face turned red.

Tamlin had flushed a splotchy shade of pink, he told Lucien to stop being an idiot, to focus.

They were here for the meeting of the seasonal Courts. Tamlin couldn’t say he was looking forward to seeing Beron again, to seeing any of them again. His Court had finally returned to a state he could call somewhat working.

He finally understood why many of his sentries had turned and left without a word.

Feyre had assaulted them through her mind. Violated and twisted their memories, they’re very minds she turned into her playthings against her will. The disgust he had felt never ended. Tamlin had half a mind to storm Night and demand a reckoning upon them all. For ever daring to harm his sentries, his friends, in such a vile way.

He had found some healers from Day that specialised in undoing such horrible scars to the mind. So far a few had returned to their senses, still they were wary, untrustful, of him, and rightfully so. At least it was of their own accord. None of them though, still loved or cared for the cursebreaker. All of them spat her name like it was a drugged drink.

Tamlin crossed his arms as his gaze followed the never-ending winding roads of Autumn. He looked over to Lucien who watched the scenery as well, a soft longing in his eyes. The longing of a child wishing to return home, yet he smiled like he knew it never could be.

Lucien had come back to Spring one day, and Tamlin had fallen to his knees begging for forgiveness. That night they talked more than Tamlin had ever spoken to anyone in his life. Words were softly hummed and screamed, tears were shed and wiped away, snarling frowns were as much a presence as were soft, happy smiles.

It wasn’t perfect, nor had he made up for it, maybe he never would. But it was a start, and Tamlin felt like he had his friend back.

Maybe it was another apology itself, but Tamlin reached out his hand and took Lucien’s in his own. Quickly looking out the other window as he felt Lucien’s gaze snap to his own.

Tamlin stared at the orange, the red, and the yellow. He felt the piercing gaze of his friend.

Then he felt a slight tightening in his hand as Lucien returned to gesture. When Tamlin glanced over, Lucien was once again looking out the window. ‘

Tamlin looked back at the treelines, and a smile adorned his face.

He curled his fingers around Lucien’s, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. Lucien returned to soft treatment.

Then it came into view. The Forest House loomed above them. Entrenched in dark branches and Autumn dry leaves that swayed in the wind like hands dragging along the brick of the House. Wood and stone were the materials of choice. But there was an elegant touch with the large pillars that supported the ceiling. The polished, refined wood lavished the House in elegance.

Tamlin remembered how his feet had thundered against the tiles of the Forest House. He felt the same shiver of power that rippled over him as they passed the tightly furled wards. Lucien gripped his hand tighter, Tamlin stroked the back of his palm.

The carriage began to walk around the large fountain in the centre of the gravel path to the looming oak doors.

“Ready?” Tamlin asked.

Lucien finally met his eyes and grinned, “Born ready.”

***

Eris slicked back a fallen hair. The short red pushed back, he adjusted his shirt, then fitted his waistcoat on, before shrugging his long jacket over his shoulders and smoothing it over. He pulled several ruby encrusted gold rings over his long pale fingers.

“How do I look brother?” Eris asked, eyes still locked in on his own reflection as he peered at himself.

“Like a polished gold ring with a raw diamond for its gem.” Silas responded.

Eris’ smile turned to a cruel grin, “That’s what I’m going for.”

He turned around, jacket snapping behind him. Silas too was dressed for the occasion, fiery eyes piercing, lithe body wrapped in layers of gold and red.

Eris’ palette of choice was swirling gold and red on black. He looked gilded, carved by Gods and decorated in the finest of robes.

The second eldest Vanserra fell into step with his brother. Both faces falling into the haughty looks of Autumn naturally. Their veins lighting up with fire, turning their eyes a deep shade of burning amber that resembled liquid flame.

Like heartbeats in sync with their own, as the two approached the meeting room, the two missing brothers joined the lineup. Brom, the third-eldest, fell to his left. Albus, the second-youngest, stood tall and proud beside Silas.

The doors opened, the three younger brothers took a slight step back so Eris took the lead. A perfected song and dance that reverberated through their very bones. Like the siblings shared an incarnate rhythm that thundered in their chests. Their very breath hung on each other.

Blood pounded through their heads, hands and legs. Holding them like leashes on dogs, holding the power behind their very step in a tight grip so as to not allow the four to descend into mindless chaos.

Magic and flame and darkness, it writhed between the offspring of Autumn like a wild, untamable wildfire. A part they played so well it was no longer a part, another way of life, a comfort as caring as a shark in a frenzy but as familiar as their mother’s arms.

The dance nearly faltered as power that did not join the song writhed from one side of the room. Eris’ eyes found Lucien’s before he gazed upon anyone else.

For a second, for one precious, treasured second, Lucien’s remaining eye lit up with the fire of Autumn. Eris saw it, his blood beginning to boil as his body begged and screamed and cried to fall into step with his brothers. To complete the lineup by joining Brom’s side.

Lucien looked away before Eris could let out his breath.

Eris then faced the rest of them.

Beron sat at the head of the table. Eyes lazily falling upon Eris and the rest of his breed. For a second, the same happened, his eyes flashed with amber, power responding to power. Eris turned his eyes to Beron’s right, where Kallias’ tight, tense, near glare rested on Eris. Eris just smirked back at the pretty white-haired male. Kallias loosened a breath like it was pain just looking at the Autumn Heir.

Then Eris looked over at the golden male beside Lucien. Tamlin didn’t even look at Eris, rather his emerald eyes gazed at a painting across from him. His posture slack, expression and shoulders loose. Tamlin played the part of the eased, uncaring Lord well. But it wouldn’t work here. The fire the male kept under his skin would be drawn out in response to the burning flames surrounding him. Like fire licking at the wood burying it, stoked to immeasurable temperatures by wild flames surrounding it.

“Eris,” Beron drawled, gesturing to the end of the table and the chairs around it. The brothers waited behind him as Eris took the first chair, exactly opposite of Beron. Then on cue, they stalked with their heads in a slight bow to their own chairs. Kallias sat right beside Albus who paid the Winter Lord no mind. An empty chair separated Lucien and Brom.

“Tarquin is not present,” Kallias noted.

“Tarquin will not be present for these next two days,” Beron notified him. Lips curling in disgust, baring white teeth as the Autumn Lord thought on the young Lord of Summer. Waving his hand in dismissal, “Something about his mother dying.”

Tamlin snapped in a breath, eyes quickly flicked to him as the male’s mask cracked ever so slightly. From where he was, Eris saw Lucien’s hand quickly flick out to Tamlin’s.

Rumours had spread of the Spring Lord finding comfortable company in the arms of the Summer Lord. Rumours had spread that this… company had taken a turn for the sexual. Eris supposed this confirmed nothing, but it was a more than interesting reaction.

“We will begin the meeting without Summer.” Beron said, with a flick of his hand, scrolls filled with the delicate information of the magic of the Seasonal Courts appeared, laid across the table, “Let the meeting of the Seasonal Courts begin.”

Eye to eye, he couldn’t last a minute

But I stole his soul just to watch him finish

The sun had set by the time the meeting came to a close. Kallias felt like yawning, but he stopped himself. His fingers twirled a pencil in his hand and his white eyes flicked up to the male across from him. Tamlin’s eyes were lost on the page he was holding, eyes flicking over the words with a deep concentration Kallias lost half an hour ago.

Beron was reading over something to the room. The Vanserra brothers present down the table nodded along. All jotting down the odd note, this was just the first day, just an outline of what needed to be covered. Lucien and Tamlin continued to work with each other like they were connected by invisible strings. One picked up a paper, one put one down, one jotted down a note before passing the pen to the other. They read scrolls before passing them along.

It was intriguing to see just how well they worked. How they seemed to not just thrive together, but depended on each other to work properly at all.

Beron’s eyes trailed across the room, then they landed on Tamlin. The amber pressing into the pale skin of the Spring Lord. Tamlin didn’t notice the blazing gaze on him as he was too caught in the paperwork at his fingertips. But Lucien looked up, if Kallias wasn’t mistaken, his lips nearly pulled back into a snarl.

Beron saw the twitch in his face. Kallias almost leaned closer. To see the flaming amber, matching that of his son’s. Power thrummed through the room. Kallias shifted, his own magic flaring at it. An automatic response.

Tamlin now lifted his eyes as he too felt the sudden shift in energy. The brothers all glanced around as power began to throb, like a heartbeat beginning to quicken its pace until its pounding was all you could feel in your body.

Beron’s eyes swirled like fire in a pool. He dragged that burning gaze to Kallias, and Kallias swallowed hard. Blue frost began to creep over his skin, delicate as spiderwebs, but reaching its roots deep into his flesh like a mushroom spreading its spores.

“I suppose that brings day one to a close.” Beron murmured. Breaking the spell of power that had washed over the High lords.

Eris cleared his throat from the other end of the table. Tamlin looked over towards him, as Lucien dragged his eyes to Kallias. The Winter Lord leaned back in his chair, regarding the emissary with little emotion. Lucien seemed to peer behind the cold mask, as if he were drawing a curtain back ever so slightly to gaze upon what was behind it.

Kallias shut him out with a hardening of his face before he raised himself from the table, overlooking the Lords gathered, “I assume we have been provided with quarters, Beron?”

Beron raised an eyebrow, eyes turning from burning amber to a mellow hazel, he gestured to the door and as if on cue, a maid walked through, “You shall be escorted, Lord Kallias.”

Kallias nodded tightly, as he did, Tamlin and Lucien stood from their seats, Tamlin murmured his thanks to Beron for hosting, then the three followed the maid from the meeting room. Leaving Beron Vanserra with his four dangerous sons.

As the meeting doors shut, their silence grew thicker. The three followed the High Fae maid through the winding hallways and dowing curling staircases.

Lucien’s posture slackened ever so slightly, his gaze tipping from one spot to the other, walking with leisure. Kallias supposed this place had once been his home, so he knew the halls like the back of his hand.

The Fox leaned in and whispered something into his High lord’s ear. Tamlin stifled a laugh by biting down hard on his bottom lip.

Magic seemed to crackle and pop in the air as the Winter Lord watched with fascination as those sharp teeth dug into the plush, rosy flesh.

Tamlin whispered something back, as he did, Lucien’s face began to flush red, then his eyes…

Kallias straightened his back as Lucien’s eyes flicked to him, just for a moment. A second held in the air, dangling between them like fire reaching out from the borders of Autumn and lingering on the cold snow. Those eyes held the same burning flame that had been there in the meeting room earlier.

Lucien quickly snapped his gaze back to Tamlin and whispered something in a low voice. Kallias found himself straining to listen, frost again creeping up his hands, now at his elbows, covering his forearms in spidering blue.

Tamlin laughed and Kallias ever so quickly glanced to see the Spring Lord’s face was now red as Lucien’s.

They finally made it to a hallway, Kallias spotted two doors, the maid first led Lucien and Tamlin to the first room. They both thanked her as she opened the door, then they looked over at Kallias. Tamlin smiled kindly and said, “Pleasure to meet with you once more, Kallias.”

The way he murmured his name, in a soft, respectful tone. A stark difference to the near child-like way he had been whispering with Lucien earlier. Kallias felt a shiver run down his spine, he straightened once again and bowed his head ever so slightly, “The pleasure was all mine Lord Spring, and Lord Lucien.”

“Please, Kallias,” Lucien said, with a daring smirk, “It’s Tamlin and Lucien.”

Kallias’ eyes nearly went wide, he looked quickly to Tamlin, expecting swift correction on the Lord’s part, for Lucien daring to speak for the High lord.

Instead Tamlin just grinned and turned into the room. Lucien right behind him.

When the door shut, Kallias felt the click echoing through the halls in his very bones.

He must’ve been staring at the door, for the maid had to clap her hands for the Winter Lord to remember he was being escorted somewhere. Quickly he moved towards his room. Right beside Tamlin and Lucien’s.

When he walked past the threshold of his room. All he could think about was the idea of Tamlin and Lucien shrugging off those suffocating jackets and tunics. Maybe their shirts sticking ever so slightly to their too hot skin. Long, lithe fingers moving to the buttons before unclipping each buckle one by one. Eventually sliding the fabric off their chests and shoulders-

Kallias smacked the side of his head, quickly shaking off the thoughts and replacing them by turning to a large dark oak drawer set with a platter of cheese and fruits, a glass with a bottle of red.

The Winter Lord poured himself a glass before finding a large, plush chair by the crackling fire. After drinking half the glass in two gulps, he leaned back and closed his eyes. Smiling as he pulled on the mating bond and felt the joy of his mate.

Now he’s putty in my hands, hedonistic

Graffitied down with my lipstick

“I mean Viviane didn’t choose wrong is all I’m saying.” Lucien laughed as he shrugged off his jacket. He looked over his shoulder to see Tamlin blushing from Lucien’s earlier comments still. He smirked, but the anxiety no doubt coursing through him was still present.

“How can someone look so powerful but…” Tamlin cursed, snapping his finger, he mumbled something in his native tongue before asking, “What’s the word?”

“Pretty?” Lucien lifted an eyebrow.

“No… uh, ethereal!” Tamlin said, a quick victory snap of his fingers before a dreamy look cast over his eyes, “Ethereal.”

Lucien shrugged, “Same same.”

“No, pretty is Albus Vanserra.” Tamlin smirked, “Your brother is very pretty-”

Lucien threw a pillow at him, Tamlin laughed as he let it flop to the ground before taking off his own jacket and beginning to unclasp his waistcoat. Lucien followed suit, peeling away the layers of his form-fitting wear. Until he was bare to the night’s air, warmed by the fireplace.

Lucien and Tamlin flopped onto the bed, kicking off their boots and turning over to stare at the ceiling.

As the silence weighed in, the night’s crushing quiet blanketed them in the events of the day. Lucien finally broached the subject he had been distracting Tamlin from with less than innocent comments about Kallias and playful teasing.

“Tarquin’s mother-”

“He didn’t tell me.” Tamlin whispered in a small voice.

Lucien quickly took Tamlin’s hand in his own. Tarquin and Tamlin had been developing their friendship over the past months. What started as a potential alliance between Courts had turned into a friendship, and if what Tamlin had said was true, they were beginning to broach into something more than just friends.

Lucien felt a stab of writhing jealousy everytime he watched Tamlin give Tarquin those big bright eyes, but he ignored it in favour of being happy seeing his friend happy.

“I know we aren’t… together but I-... is it stupid that I want him to tell me when things like this are happening to him? I mean I-I’ve met his mother and she’s such a lovely person, I don’t want to be blind-sided when I hear of this kind of thing. Least of all I want to hear it from Beron.”

Lucien felt shimmering rage at the mere mention of his name.

The eyes of amber and liquid fire were reflected in Lucien’s own as Beron turned his gaze on Tamlin. Not looking at his face, but rather the milky skin of his neck. Burning gaze branding a mark on each freckle, mapping him like a good view from the window.

Lucien had caught the eyes of his father and nearly snarled. Nearly growled. He had to swallow the sound as magic writhed under his skin, ready to burst through every pore until he turned into power itself.

Tamlin hadn’t noticed the silent battle that occurred, if one could call it that. Lucien felt like he was losing that battle. Like a soldier with their armour dinged and bloody before a King lounging untouched on his throne. Regarding him with nothing but an amused grin before his eyes turned back to the one Lucien tried to protect.

Nothing could be done to stop the magic that erupted in that room. Capturing everyone in the spell of power. Brom near him had twitched, eyes moving quickly over everyone. Albus had glared right at Lucien as if he were to blame for the sudden eruption. And Eris had tensed and looked to Silas who quickly scanned the three High lords.

Lucien had looked up to see Kallias breathing harshly through his nose. Near shivering from the magic that called directly for his own.

This meeting was more than a meeting.

Lucien hadn’t ever been to one, but he felt it. The need for restoration of magic. Each High lord’s power beckoned for its sister Court. Like a siren lounging lazily on a sun-baked rock and hollering for men on ships to join her in the water.

Lucien felt like an outsider, at the same time he had writhed at it, as fire leapt in his veins. Boiling him from the inside out. He knew the others felt the same.

“What do I do?” Tamlin asked, breaking Lucien from his spell.

Lucien squeezed his hand, “Maybe he’s still shocked, Tam. It could’ve happened recently and he had to give the reason to Beron to explain his absence.”

Tamlin released a breath, then turned his head on the pillow to face Lucien, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“I’m just worried about him. I… I don’t want him to be facing this alone.” Tamlin whispered into the space between them.

Lucien took Tamlin’s hand in his and squeezed, “He’s lucky to have you.”

Tamlin scoffed, Lucien just squeezed his hand again. Tamlin smiled at him, then looked down at his collarbone, “I don’t know about that.”

Lucien leaned forward until his forehead was pressing against Tamlin’s, “I know that, more than you think.”

Tamlin playfully shoved him away, but Lucien didn’t miss the way the High lord’s face burned red, “Sap.”

They laughed then fell into the routine of undressing and redressing for bed. Washing up, showering, possibly getting distracted with a game of tossing cheese across the room and seeing if the other could catch it in their mouths.

Eventually they were drawing the curtains and snuffing out the Faelights, with only the embers of the fire to light the room they wrapped themselves in the duvet. Tamlin shivered before huddling closer to Lucien. Lucien, despite usually running hot himself, pulled Tamlin in close. Holding him tightly, until rain and roses was all he could smell. His face was buried in blond curls that he could barely see in the dark. Calloused hands twisted in the back of his silk shirt. The tip of his nose burying in the crook of Lucien’s neck.

They pushed and writhed against each other as they settled themselves. It was all Lucien could do to not lose himself to the scents, the hands, the hair, the lips pressing against the exposed skin just beneath the bones of his neck.

Tamlin settled himself with a leg thrown over Lucien’s hip, pulling him closer in a half asleep daze. The blond murmured in a sleep-ridden voice, “I’m so glad you’re with me again.”

“Me too, Tam.” Lucien whispered into the night, “Me too.”

***

Eris didn’t know how to feel as he recovered from the onslaught of magic that had just assaulted his body. He turned to his other brothers who had been thrown from their own rhythms. Looking to the eldest for answers. Eris had none to give.

Beron watched them. Eyes still blazing with amber. Swirling like wine in a glass. He tracked each of them. The brothers held their breath. Preparing for anything that might be thrown to them. A punishment, screaming, yelling, rage and anger.

Yet the High lord just leaned back into his chair, his lips curling into something that was too wicked and cruel to be a smile, but not at all what they expected. The Vanserra brothers all shared a quick glance, their eyes no longer burning with the heart of Autumn. Rather they kept their eyes low, their heads bowed respectfully.

The next words out of Beron’s mouth were ones no one could predict, “Well done, boys. You may depart.”

Albus’ eyes widened by a fraction, he looked towards Eris, cocking his head in Beron’s direction, as if saying, ‘Is he being serious?”

Eris adjusted himself in his seat, “Father, is there anything else to discuss before we depart?”

Beron planted both forearms onto the table, eyes glazing over them. Wicked grin growing, “Perhaps there is but one thing.”

The brother’s strained to listen, the slight pause making them curl their toes in anxiety. Eris’s skin pricked under the heavy, judging gaze of his father.

Beron appeared to consider his next words before he tilted his head, a cat toying with its food, “After a second consideration, you will find out later tonight. All of you, return to your quarters.”

A breath was held, gazes were met, heads were lowered in a bow. Eris rose to his feet, followed silently by his brothers. The burning gazes returned. Power rippled through the Forest House as the High lord’s power drummed through it’s chosen High lord, and reached out to the next generation.

Eris shivered, he couldn’t help it, but he bowed his head with a murmured thanks to the High lord. Turning on his heels he strode for the door, arms tense at his sides. All magic felt useless in the stifling air. Like he was breathing in ash, desperate for oxygen.

He heard the footsteps of his brothers. They should sound like a single heartbeat falling into one, instead their steps faltered. The dull thuds sounding like metal clashing to the ground for Eris. Weakness. Easy to spot, easy to prey on.

They walked to their quarter in the Forest House. Close to each other. And close to the guests now in the House.

“That was…” Albus started.

Eris shook his head, teeth grinding, “Leave it, Albus.”

The Autumn Heir looked ahead, but he could feel the eyes of his brothers, all glancing at each other. Determining their next move.

“Did anyone else feel that… power?” Silas asked. He asked the group, but Eris knew the question was directed at him. Solely at him. They had all felt the glimmer of power.

Eris had thought it was a fear tactic from Beron. But when he had looked at Beron, then Tamlin and Kallias…

There was no fear, only a strange curiosity, as their magic responded to one another.

“I fear…” Brom said, in a low, resounding voice, “That this meeting is more than just discussing the magic.”

Eris stopped, his brothers breaked instantly.

Whipping around, the Heir’s eyes glowed with a deep amber, fire swirling in honey, “What does that mean, Brom?”

Brom didn’t falter, not for a second. He lifted his head ever so slightly, “Spring is still recovering. Amarantha threw the magic off when she enslaved us. The power of the Seasonal Courts I fear will…”

“Spit it out, brother.” Eris advanced forward. Brom was taller, much taller, but Eris still managed to glared down at him.

“I fear it will demand regeneration.”

Eris blinked, for once, taken by surprise. It lasted mere seconds. Fire returning to his eyes, he took hold of his brother’s chin.

“What does that mean?”

“The magic will want to interact with its sister magic to regenerate itself. Call it magic fertilisation.” Brom shrugged, holding eye contact with his eldest brother.

Albus put a hand on his hips, head falling to the side, “What does magical fertilisation entail?”

“Well little brother, you know of Calanmai, do you not?” Brom pulled away from Eris’ burning hand, rolling his head over his shoulders to smirk at the second-youngest Vanserra.

Albus scrunched up his nose, thinking back on the sex rite and what it meant. The fertilisation of magic in the Spring Court.

Then horror washed over the group. Lapping at their edges like the sea licking the shoreline. It curled low in the pits of their stomachs as the wide, orange eyes all fell on Brom’s face.

No one said a word as the implications of what Brom had said sunk in. Brom just shrugged.

“We’d best sleep. Perhaps, if we’re lucky, I’m incredibly incorrect.”

“And if you’re not.” Silas murmured in a tight, tense voice.

“Then we are going to need that rest.”

Red shade on his neck, artistic

A bit of class, but I kept it cryptic

For round two, a bit of juice and biscuits

With a french tongue, called him the cunni-linguist

It started at three in the morning.

A flush spread up his skin, slowly but surely overtaking him. Tamlin groaned into the hard thing his face was pressed against. When he blinked his bleary eyes open, his hands began to regain their feeling. He arched his back, curving his spine as he drew in a breath.

Settling against the weight in front of him, he realised what his arms were wrapped around was in fact a person. And his face was pressed against a chest. A very, very hot chest.

He stilled, body freezing, unable to process anything until Lucien took a shuddering breath. Skin heating. Getting hotter and hotter underneath Tamlin’s arms.

Tamlin went to pull away, to get his hands, his chest, his leg which was slung over Lucien’s waist off, of the Fire lord. But he couldn’t move. Not even his unfaithful tongue would pick up from its place behind his teeth.

Lucien moaned, it was a soft, gentle sound that would’ve been lost to night if there was even the slightest of sounds. But there was not, and Tamlin found himself drowning in the breathy whimper that followed.

All blood began to rush. Veins expanding, heart pounding, a ringing in his ears drowned out anything else.

Then Lucien was too hot. His skin scalding, beads of sweat dripping from his face and down his neck. Spilling across the fabric beneath them. There was heat and heat and heat.

Burning, burning, burning. He was burning, everything was throbbing, and he couldn’t fucking move. Like something was chaining him there against his will. Like something wouldn’t allow him to leave this moment. To cool down.

Nothing, like ropes had been tied around them. Tamlin closed his eyes, breaths beginning to come out in quick, rough pants as the burning spread through his body. Boiling his blood from the inside out.

“Fuck.” Lucien murmured under his breath, still locked in whatever dream had affected him this way.

Then something thick and hard pressed against Tamlin’s thigh and the whole world zeroed into the feeling.

Finally Tamlin could move. He sat up with a gasp, throat screaming for water. Ears ringing. Vision blurry and muscles slow and sore. His arms, head, legs all throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

Lucien gasped into the pillow beneath him. Quickly getting up on his elbows. With a snap the fire was lit and Tamlin was staring down at Lucien, with Lucien staring up at him. Sweat still dripped from his neck, falling in clear pearls underneath his sleep shirt. Eyes wide-blown, his chest heaved as he stared at Tamlin, who didn’t feel like he looked much better. A strand of blond hair stuck to the side of his face. There was a sticky feeling all over his body. His knees shook underneath him.

And. Everything. Was. Fucking. Burning.

His skin heated to immeasurable temperatures. Body pulsating. His fingers twitched. And nothing could put off the fever overtaking him.

Tamlin shuffled back away from Lucien. And Lucien quickly darted up. As if forced forward by an invisible string. Tamlin nearly reeled back but managed to keep himself right, only a sharp gasp escaping his lips.

Lucien was panting. Sweat dripping like blood onto the bed.

“Fuck.” He croaked hoarsely. And Tamlin’s eyes, the traitors eyes, they travelled below the heaving expanse of his chest.

He nearly snapped into a too sharp breath again. Lucien’s bulge pressed against dark red silk. Dribbles of precum already soaking the fabric. As quickly as Tamlin’s eyes snapped back up, Lucien still noticed the quick dart of his eyes.

Lucien swayed, face too pale, body quivering with the intensity of his hard-on, “Tam, fuck I…”

“You need water.” Tamlin said suddenly.

Lucien blinked, then he licked his dry lips, coating the soft flesh in a soft shine. Tamlin pressed his thighs together.

“Yeah.” Lucien conceded.

Tamlin didn’t waste another precious moment, gathering the shreds of his strength. Tamlin slipped away from the comfort of the bed. His thighs sticking together from sweat collected between them. He swallowed hard.

“I’ll be right back.” Tamlin told Lucien, then with a quick glance over his shoulder, he fled from the room.

The door clicked shut behind him. And Tamlin felt stuck in his skin. Like he was moving in the haze of a dream, he could barely see the world around him as it swirled like wine in a glass. The floor was miles away and his head was turning blurry.

He felt drunk, but not the pleasurable kind. The kind when you woke up in the morning with your head caught between the dazed world of not being able to think but bordering on the headache sure to come.

He hadn’t realised he was running until he tripped over his own feet and collapsed to the ground.

Tamlin cried out as his knees hit stone, cold and rough. Then he slipped even further and fell down what in hindsight were stairs.

He dug his fingertips into the wall beside him, fingers giving way to blood. He still fell, until he eventually hit flat ground again. He fell flat down on his back. Staring up at a swirling ceiling.

Even with the pain in his legs, back and pounding on his fingertips, it only served to disorient his mind even further, now the pounding of his body focused on one spot. Right between his legs, his cock pounded. Precum already dripping from the tip.

Tamlin moaned, breathing was hard, like there was a weight on his chest, something strangling his heart and forcing all blood to remain directed to his groin. Making him light-headed and thinking so hard.

“I was hoping you would be the first to find here.” A wicked voice crooned from the room. Wrapping Tamlin in a haze of undeniable pleasure.

He whined.

Then shot up as he realised he was not alone.

Around him was just swirling darkness. So thick he could taste the cold on his tongue. Pain, sharp and undeniable, shot up from the space between his legs and Tamlin swallowed a sob at the unattended hardness.

A snap reverberated through the room, through his bones like fiddle strings being plucked. A soft light spilled into his vision.

A torch had been lit. Tamlin looked around and realised where he was.

Some kind of a dungeon. Chains, swords and other very sharp and polished weapons hung from the walls. It looked unused, as not a stain marred the floors.

Tamlin could still barely see past the swirls of his vision. Then that deliciously powerful voice, deep and certain, resounded again, “Look here, Spring.”

Green irises followed the voice, until they landed on the source.

The swirling stilled as Beron Vanserra came into his vision, he smirked from a throne-like chair in the centre of the room, it was made with soft red velvet, the dark wood carved with intricate details.

Tamlin let out a small shriek when he saw that the High lord of Autumn wore not a stitch of clothing.

Beron’s smirk grew, he placed an elbow on the armrest of the chair, while supporting his head in his hand.

Tamlin looked back, trying to find the exit, but the second his eyes came off the High lord his vision went blurry once again. He tried to get to his feet but he fell back down to the floor, sprawling across the hard, cruel stone. His cock throbbed again and Tamlin swallowed a whimper, tears springing from the corners of his eyes from sheer need.

“The seasonal magic demands rejuvenation, Spring. You would know that.” Beron spoke. His voice the only clear thing in Tamlin’s head.

When Tamlin focused on the High lord, everything began to still. Rejuvenation?

The Spring Lord slowly pulled himself to sit up, knees bent around him, hand reaching out on the stone. His eyes found Beron again, the Autumn Lord laughed, a dark, low sound that caused Tamlin’s whole body to shake.

Beron relaxed back into the throne, his abs tightening as he moved. Tamlin watched the wide expanse of chest lift and fall under his breathing. Breathing that was tightly controlled, but not even Beron could hide the slight shudder.

And when Tamlin looked lower, curse him for ever looking lower, he saw Beron hard and dripping.

An involuntary sound nearly left his throat. Tamlin had to bite his tongue until it bled in his mouth.

Beron snapped his fingers and Tamlin snapped his gaze up to find the High lord glaring ever so slightly. Tamlin wanted to reach a hand between his legs and finally relieve some of the pressure building up but his hands felt like they were chained to the floor.

“Stay with me, Spring.” Beron said in a slow voice.

Tamlin’s whole body trembled again, twitching against his will.

“Rejuvenation of the magic. Our power is calling, demanding, for its sister.” He leaned back, eyes amused as he watched Tamlin writhe on the floor as his dazed mind tried to make sense of his words.

“You can leave, and writhe with your own want and need for the rest of the week.” Beron said the words painfully slowly, “Or you can stay, and find pleasure unparalleled.”

What?

Tamlin’s toes curled as another wave of throbbing overtook him. His eyes nearly rolled back and he tried to put a hand on his dick, but they refused to listen, like they heeded another master now.

Pleasure unparalleled.

Any pleasure right now sounded better than the pain crying out from his body.

“I…” The rest of his words were lost to the agonising buildup in his core. Threatening to overflow into intense pain.

Beron snapped his fingers once more, and like a deer being spooked, Tamlin’s eyes shot back up to him. Every fibre of his being zeroed into the sound.

“Pick, Spring. Pleasure or agony.” Beron lounged back into the throne and smirked like he already knew the answer.

He did. By the throne, the lack of clothing, the pristine dungeon, this was planned. Carefully calculated. Tamlin was prey caught in a trap, a trap of spiralling pleasure that wound tightly in his belly until the burning was melting his insides.

He needed relief. Fuck, he needed pleasure.

He needed that long, hard cock sitting in between Beron’s legs.

Tamlin tried to move his tongue to speak, but even moving was near impossible. Everything swirled and spiralled and he felt like he was going to faint.

“Gods.” Beron murmured, “Stay with me Spring.”

Tamlin swayed, breathing now harsh, hoarse pants, but he looked back up at Beron. Eyes wide and wanting, continuously flicking down to the cock bobbing under Beron’s slight movements. Hoping he wouldn’t have to speak for Beron to know what he meant.

It seemed the High lord of Autumn already knew how this night would play out.

He grinned, it was full of that fiery wickedness that Tamlin had grown to hate, to loathe.

Beron lifted a finger in a beckoning motion, “Come here, Spring.”

The burning started again. An intense all over flush that made his skin bright red. Tamlin wanted, needed, to rip his clothes off, feel the cool air on his skin. But for a moment in time, all his thoughts went to the throne before him. The feet resting on the ground.

Tamlin crawled to Beron. Unable to do anything else.

The stone scraped his skin, the bleeding from his fingertips had not stopped, red stained the floor underneath him. His skin throbbed and burned. He felt like screaming from the sheer need to release at least a drop of the pent up energy only growing in him.

Far too soon, or not soon enough, Tamlin was kneeling before Beron. He stared at the cock now stationed before him, hands falling atop the soft, pale skin of his thighs. Refusing to look up, refusing to meet the eyes of the male that had just made him crawl.

He had crawled for Beron fucking Vanserra.

If the burning before had been pleasure, it began to wash out, replaced by shame and guilt.

Lucien was still in their room.

Lucien who had been burning.

And hard as a rock.

His eyes widened a touch as realisation dawned over him.

Lucien too had felt the effects of the seasonal magic, the need for regeneration, for rejuvenation.

“Look at me.”

Tamlin felt his body begin to shake again, as everything begged him to look up. To do as told. As ordered. Like he was something that could be ordered about.

“Spring.” Beron’s voice was low and cruel. Demeaning.

Tamlin growled, a low raspy sound.

It only earned him Beron grabbing his chin between his fingers and forcing his head up. Tamlin’s memory snapped back to the day of the War, when he had ordered Beron bring his armies out, when those same rough fingers had grabbed his skin.

“Obey, when I give you an order.” Beron murmured. His voice was like a caressing hand after a slap to the face, a soothing ice to the fire. Something disgustingly caring after brutality.

Burning. He was burning and he thought it would never end. This was how he went, with a throbbing cock and his blood boiling his body until it fell off his bones.

Beron’s hand dragged down his chin, then wrapped around the long column of throat. Tamlin breathed in deeply. Lungs dragging in air. Animalistic instinct shot through the pit of his gut, telling him to run, to get away from the danger, the predator with its hand around his neck.

Like he truly was prey caught in a cage.

The Spring Lord wanted to demand Beron release him, just to get some control, just to be able to say he fought back.

But he could say nothing, for that by hand released his neck. It was like honey torn from starving bees, Tamlin gasped for air and found his body begging for that hand to return.

The Autumn Lord fisted Tamlin’s long curls in his hand, pulling so roughly Tamlin’s scalp burned like the rest of him, he hissed in pain, but the sound was short-lived, as Beron shoved his cock down the younger’s throat, making Tamlin gag around the shaft.

The Spring Lord panicked for a moment, eyes going wide and lungs tightening as all the breath left them, they squeezed with the need for more. His throat tightened, and he gagged again. Beron shoved him down deeper, Tamlin sobbed.

“Breathe through your nose.” Beron ordered.

His body was burning, lungs screaming for air, squeezing in his chest. Whilst his mind begged for some kind of control over the situation, hating the vulnerability in the hands of a male so cruel.

But he heeded the command. Forcing himself to take shallow breaths until his breathing evened out as much as it could. Beron held him in place, waiting just a moment whilst he got his bearings.

Tamlin lifted glistening green eyes to the male and saw wicked eyes grinning down at him. Beron, without warning, fucked up into his mouth, shoving Tamlin down further until his nose brushed the hair at the base of his dick.

The Spring Lord nearly gagged again, but he forced his throat to relax, as the Autumn Lord began to fuck into his mouth, pulling his head up and down in time with his thrusts.

The burning was pooling, leaving his arms and chest and centering around the coil in his belly. Until it was no longer an unfamiliar feeling. Rather, one he knew well from hundreds of Calamnais. Although he had never felt this way whilst pliable under the heavy gaze and rough hands of a male, certainly not a male like Beron.

Slowly, like lazy waves drifting along the shoreline, uncertainty gave way to pleasure. It edged his vision, and made his mind fuzzy. Slowly his thinking descended into a spiral of nothing but the stone his knees dug into, the burning in his core, and the cock in his mouth.

Tamlin moaned, head starting to bob without Beron’s guiding hand, falling into the rhythm and the obscene sounds of his throat being fucked.

“Yes that’s it.” Beron groaned, “Move your head like that, well done.”

Tamlin whined, a high sound he didn’t know he was capable of making. Sucking hard, his cheeks hollowed out, sliding up and down, silky skin thrusting slowly in and out of his throat. Waves of heat washed over him again and again, barrelling through his body as the coil in his belly got tighter and tighter. He grasped Beron’s thighs, desperate for something to keep him connected to the world around him.

“Good boy,” The male above him hissed lowly as his head tipped back, hand tightening in his hair. Tamlin groaned as his eyes rolled back, hips underneath him jutted up, suddenly thrusting into his mouth once more. Pushing his head down, Beron kept him from moving, the head of his cock in the back of his throat. Tamlin gagged, but managed to keep himself composed; or as much as he could in the face of what was happening.

Beron’s thrusts picked up, rocking inside him quicker and quicker, before his body tensed. Muscles going rigid, the cold, cruel High lord’s breaths, normal level with each intentional movement, had turned ragged. The magic flooding his senses cried out at each desperate pant.

Then, Beron readjusted his fingers in Tamlin’s hair, and roughly yanked him off his cock. The High lord of Spring, reduced to something like a rutting, desperate slut whined, voice gone strangely high-pitched.

Tightening his grip, Beron murmured in that harshly aroused, commanding voice, “Swallow everything.”

His eyes had gone blurry once more, he couldn’t focus on a single thing around him. One of his hands seemed to move on its own, moved by an apparition. Grasping the hard, throbbing cock before him, jerking it quickly, the slide made easier by the spit that had drooled down it. He whimpered again, heart pounding in its cage.

Then stinging pain splintered across his face, as the sound of a hard slap to the side of his face echoed in the otherwise empty dungeon.

“Do you understand me?” Beron hissed, his fingers gently tracing the red print he left across pale skin.

“Yes,” Tamlin gasped out, “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.” Beron’s smile was feline as he forced Tamlin back down onto his dick. As if possessed by Calanmai magic, Tamlin’s entire mind went utterly blank as he sucked with twice the enthusiasm as before. The heat was transcending, like burning up in a furnace. Everything was getting tighter and tighter, his whole body shaking. Zeroing in on one end.

A delicious groan left Beron as his head tipped back once more, fucking up into Tamlin’s mouth as he sucked, those hands suddenly pulling his hair again as the Autumn Lord came down his throat.

Tamlin obediently swallowed, the hot salty come in his mouth dripping down his lips as he slowly pulled off Beron’s softening cock. Tongue darting out, his tongue swirled around the tip, tasting the salt-sweet liquid, before trailing his lips down, sucking up the excess.

Beron swallowed hard, “Good boy.”

Tamlin’s eyes fell closed as his head rested on the Lord’s knee as Beron’s hand petted his hair softly. Touching him with the tenderness of a lover. It caused something inside him to purr in content, but his own arousal could not be put far from mind.

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cozage · 1 year ago

Text

The Daughter's Return Part 3

Chapter 14: Returning Home

Start From Beginning | Next Chapter | Table of Contents | Read on AO3

Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace Word Count: 1.4k

You loathed this little cottage house near the ocean.

And yet, as you stood facing the sea, you were overwhelmed with joy.

“Hey.” Ace appeared behind you, kissing your cheek as you turned to look at him. You weren’t sure why, but seeing him here made you want to cry.

He wrapped his arms around your very pregnant belly, and you could feel your stomach start to move in response to his touch.

“Feels like the baby wants to get out pretty bad,” Ace cooed, rubbing his hands across your stretched skin.

“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” You asked. “We haven’t even thought of names yet.”

“I thought we’d have more time,” Ace said, laughing nervously. “Everything happened so fast. At least the nursery is ready.”

You looked at him, surprised. “The nursery?”

“Finished it this morning.” He paused to kiss you again. “Wanna see?”

“No!” You cried. You weren’t sure why, but you knew you couldn’t go into that house.

Ace looked hurt at your immediate distaste, and you rushed to rectify it.

“I’m sure it’s perfect,” you said. “I just want to be here with you right now.”

He smiled, resting his head on your shoulder. “I think it’s a girl,” he muttered. “I hope she looks just like you.”

A ringing came from inside the house, and Ace kissed your cheek and ran to it.

“Ace!” You cried, running after him. “Wait, don’t go in-“

You passed through the door frame without a second thought, only trying to save Ace.

You were suddenly standing in the middle of a Marine Base, Marines rushing around.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Akainu’s voice came from behind you, and a strong hand gripped your shoulder as he turned you around to face him. “How did you-“

The cigar fell out of his mouth, and everyone in the compound stopped to look at you.

His mouth twisted into a smile, his eyes darting down to your round belly. “Newgate. Looks like you’ve been keeping secrets.”

You pulled away from him, sprinting as fast as you could. But you were in enemy territory, and he was faster than you now. You didn’t even make it twenty feet before he grabbed you by the hair, yanking you backwards.

You screamed out, clawing at his arm as you tried to break free. But his grip on you was steeled, refusing to let you go.

“Ace!” You screamed out. “Ace! Help!”

“You poor delusional girl,” he sneered, throwing industrial sea prism handcuffs over your wrists. “Portgas D. Ace is dead. He has been for months. And now you and your child can join him. And finally, two wretched bloodlines will end.”

He shook you like a ragdoll, laughing maniacally at his victory. Just like he had told you long ago, he would get the last laugh.

“Wake up!” Shanks shouted, and your eyes flew open.

Your body was being held down and shaken, and you panicked as you thrashed to get out of Akainu’s grip, still thinking of your dream.

“Get off!” You screamed, pushing people away. “Stay away from me!”

Hands quickly receded, Shanks and Beckman exchanging a worried glance.

“You had a bad dream, kid.” Shanks reached back out, but you cowered away from him, your mind still groggy. “You’re okay. It was just a dream.”

“No.” You searched the room, eyes crazed as if you were a trapped animal. “No. Where’s Ace?”

“He’s not here,” Shanks reminded you gently.

You felt your stomach. It was no longer large and swollen like your dream. It was as you remembered it now, just a small bump.

“It felt so real,” you whispered. But your reality was slowly coming back to you. “Where’s Ace?” You asked again. You were afraid of the answer.

“Impel Down,” Shanks said. “We got news that he arrived there this morning.”

“How long until-“ you couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Eight days,” Shanks told you. “You should really get some-“

“I need to go find my father.” You sat up, ignoring the queasy feeling in your stomach. Your bracelet was still on, so you had to assume this was a result of your own nerves.

“Your boat is ready for you,” Shanks said, accepting your determination to go home. “You should be able to reach Whitebeard by tonight.”

You knew that it should’ve been a longer trip home. Shanks must have been sailing towards Whitebeard while you slept. Towards someone who was supposed to be his rival. Just so you could get home faster.

Tears filled your eyes and you lunged toward him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Thank you, Shanks.”

“I’ll see you in Marineford,” he whispered. You gave a tearful nod and got out of bed, eager to get back to your ship. To your family.

The sea was kind to you on your return journey, and you had the feeling Shanks and his crew followed you back to your ship, always just out of view.

The setting sun painted the Moby Dick in a beautiful glow. You took a chance to admire it, throwing away your fear and dread just for a moment to stand in awe of the massive ship.

Your father stood at the bow of the ship, clearly waiting for you. You almost wished he would use his ability and send a tidal wave your way. It would be less scary than his silent stare. You saw Marco next to him, and he shot into the sky and towards you.

Marco dropped down onto your ship, staring at you in disappointment.

“You knew that day, didn’t you?” He asked. “That’s why you left so fast.”

“I was pretty sure,” you whispered, staring at your feet.

You couldn’t look him in the eye. You couldn’t help but feel like everything that had happened was your fault now.

“Do you not trust me?” Marco asked, his voice breaking. “After everything we’ve been through, you really don't-” He let out a shaky breath, unable to continue his sentence.

“I knew you would have to report it.” Your heart ached. You wanted to go back and change everything. To go to Marco earlier. To question Teach in the hallway. To make Ace realize he needed to stay with you. To hug Thatch again.

“I see.” Marco pulled out some sea prism handcuffs from his bag and held them out to you.

“I have a bracelet already.” You held up your arm, showing him the leather cord with sea prism stone.

“It’s not for that,” he said. “You’re a prisoner now.”

You took a step away from him, your mind clouded with confusion.

“You disobeyed orders, Y/N. Several times. There has to be consequences.”

“Marco-“

“Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“I’ll behave,” you begged, taking another step away from him. If you put those cuffs on, you weren’t sure when they would be taken off. “Please don’t put those on me.”

“Just listen to me!” Marco shouted, stepping towards you. “Stop arguing for once!”

“Please no.” You took another step back, your back pressing against the railing of your ship. “I just wanted to help. Please don’t-“

He took another step toward you, pinning you against the side of the ship. He was close enough to force you to look at him now, and you could see he had dark bags under his eyes. You couldn’t imagine the amount of sleepless nights you had caused him.

“Please,” you begged. “I’ll listen to everything you say no matter what.”

He held out the cuffs silently, waiting for you to put your hands in them.

“You’re going to have to do it yourself,” you said, tears filling your eyes. “Please Marco. Don’t-“

He grabbed your wrist and snapped it into a cuff, and then your other one. You could feel all of the energy drain out of your body at the contact of the Marine-grade stone, and you stumbled from the exhaustion.

“You never did make things easy,” he said. His words were sharp, but his hands were gentle as he carefully scooped you off your feet and held you close to him. You stifled a sob as he extended his Phoenix wings to carry you back to the Moby Dick. Back home.

Tag list! @taeyoge @teiza @tojislawyer @trafalgardnami @bloopbopsblog @dancingnewcat @dxestyi @flooofity @nyxthedragon01 @deadsnothere @h-rhodes1598 @morgyyyyyyy @trafalgardvivi @fiestynatureweeb @frogpogjoghurt @beepboopcowboy @ms-portgas @luvyallbabes @appalost @zuchkaa @saybeyonce @stray-npc @kitsunechan707 @theyluvmesblog @heartysworld @aira-needs-sleep @mothmomjay @ophelias-flowerss @aqualein @sehyojae @fanficwriter5 @forgotten-blues @amberash05 @firefistnoct

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #one piece x you #portgas ace x you #portgas ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #ace x y/n #ace x reader #portgas d ace #portgas d. ace #cozage #✧˚ace✧˚

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dingbatnix · 9 months ago

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Scales

So! This is my thing for mermay! I read @baka-monarch 's little prompt thing (and I totally haven't been sitting on this partially-wtitten fic for several years, nope, not at all xD) and decided I needed to write it : D

So, enjoy!

Word count: 3,166

Warnings: small mention of blood, bare skin (cmon it's mermaids) ect.

Each individual muscle was at least three times as big as he was. George had long since lost his journal, but even if he still had it, he didn't think he would have been able to write anything down. He felt too…too in awe to properly note down data and theories as he traversed the alternating slopes of the frankly massive abs.

The mer's laugh, a deep, powerful thing, knocked George off balance. He wobbled, and when the giant began cackling harder at his predicament, finally fell down onto his chest. The brunette flushed, scowling deeply as he planted his hands on tanned flesh and pushed himself to his knees. The ground-shaking laughter of the mer had George's arms too unsteady to rise back upright, though, and he couldn't stop falling. His face burned in embarrassment.

Two massive fingers appeared and plucked up the tail of his brown leather coat, lifting the human into the air and re-settling him onto his feet nearer to the mer's head, on his sternum. The motions of each and every breath was more notable from George's new location, and he had to throw his arms out, again, to keep from tumbling back down to the gradually swelling ground.

George felt the displacement of air as the long, leviathan-like tail of the mer curled up from the roiling ocean waves and came roaring back down with a massive crash of the salty sea spray. He stumbled from the rush of movement that rippled throughout the colossal body underneath his feet, and, with a frown creasing his lips, George decided to settle down, cross legged, so he wouldn't have so many embarrassing moments of unbalance.

"So what's a little human like you got in the books for me today?" The mer's voice rumbled deep beneath George's crossed legs, and the volume of it had his head snapping up to try and meet the mer's eyes.

"Erm," George blanked as he caught the mer's deep, amber gaze. There were little flecks of brown and gold swimming in those pool-sized irises, and George could swear that he saw his own reflection in those dark, mirror-like slit pupils.

He was jolted out of the alluring sight when the mer blinked, eyes lidding halfway as he scrutinized the human in return. A small smile curled at the edges of his lips, wrinkling his short, flattish nose and crinkling up at the corners of the mer’s eyes.

George blinked rapidly, tearing his gaze away from the mer’s face to peer behind himself, at the supposedly bright green fishtail making up the lower half of the giant. Each scale was almost as big as his entire body, and the tail was at least sixty meters long. And, crazily enough, that estimation wasn’t even counting the length of the mer’s torso. All together, George thought the mer was about ninety meters long in total, or about three hundred feet, but he hadn’t found an instrument big enough to measure his full height. Either way, the mer was massive, truly one of the top predators residing in the ocean.

George cleared his throat, remembering that the mer had asked him a question. "Scale composition. But, Dream, I lost my journal. You made me drop it!" He jabbed an accusing finger up at the blond, turning back to glare up at those amused eyes. George wasn’t actually that upset about it, of course, it had been a new, blank journal, and he had dozens of them at home. It was more of the principle of the matter, that he had lost it while visiting the mer. He could not let that become a habit.

The mer let loose another small laugh, bringing a huge, clawed finger nearer to George to gently brush over the biologist's head. Dream's movements were too fast for George to dodge, so he settled for swatting at the pitted skin of the fingertip with a scowl.

"It would have probably helped," Dream murmured, a note of teasing delight coloring his tone. "If you hadn't been oogling me the whole time you were supposed to be 'researching.' You wouldn't have dropped it, then."

The mer was full on grinning, now, a lopsided, snarky thing that exposed his harpoon-sharp fangs to the coastal sunlight. The long, rugged scar bridging across his nose was warped with the expression, and briefly, the brunette wondered what kind of dangers resided under the ocean waves that could give a mer as enormous as Dream a scar.

He flushed again, scowl deepening as he turned his gaze away from the teasing, cheshire grin and instead inspected the distant sand dunes of the beach, far below his seat on the mer’s chest. “Well, it’s not my fault you’re a marvel of scientific discovery,” he murmured, trying to will away the heat he knew was decorating his cheeks.

The body underneath him tensed, and then fingers appeared behind George to pinch the edge of his coat again, plucking him up from his seat without any other warning. George yelped, scrambling for the rapidly receding ground before crossing his arms over his chest, afraid of slipping out of his jacket as he was lifted higher and higher into the air.

Dream moved suddenly, the behemoth rolling over from his back onto his chest, carefully keeping George high above his colossal movements. George held back a displeased whimper, curling his legs up closer to his body as he was dangled and swung dozens of feet above the ground. If he fell, it might not kill him, he’d be landing on sand, after all, but at the very least he would break something important.

He swallowed, trying to distract himself as the immense creature settled down to lay on his front. George’s eyes wandered to the rippling musculature underneath the mer's skin as he moved, and despite himself, a small grin slipped over his lips. It truly was amazing, how a creature as large as Dream was could survive in the ocean. He still wasn’t sure what Dream ate (he hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to ask, the stories of man-eating sirens and mermaids prevalent in his mind) but he was sure the mer had a carnivorous diet.

George was suddenly hurtling down towards the sandy ground at breakneck speeds, and he couldn't help the terrified shout that escaped from his throat. He slammed his eyes shut, a rush of nausea squirming through his gut and crawling up his spine.

The heavy motions surrounding him stopped, and the toes of his dangling converse bumped against something rough. George blinked his eyes open to find an expanse of tanned, leathery skin splayed out beneath his body. He glanced around, finding that it was Dream’s other hand, vast palm upturned against the sand.

Hesitantly, George stretched out his legs and planted his feet against the pliable skin. The fingers pinched around the back of his jacket released, freeing George to move on his own two legs. Around him, the mer's fingers curled inwards, almost closing George in on all sides by massive, column-esque fingers and long stretches of webbed flesh.

George glanced up at Dream’s looming figure, a questioning expression decorating his face. Long, sea-debris tangled blond hair tumbled down over the mer's shoulders and framed his fine cheekbones. A sharp smile decorated his lips, flashing pointed fangs against the midday light. The hand that had held the human had moved away to prop itself underneath the mer's chin, and the huge, webbed fins on the side of his head where ears would be on a human were twitching in unison.

In the distance behind the looming slope of the mer's shoulders, George could see the lemon yellow shine of Dream's colossal tail as it flicked up to what seemed like hundreds of feet into the air. The vast, sail-like fin tipping the end of the immense appendage flexed casually against the sky, blotting out the sun in the brief few moments it hung in the air. Then, it fell, and there was a far-off boom as it crashed back down into the ocean waves, one that George could feel in his very core.

It was always very humbling to be in the presence of a creature so massive that a wayward breath or an unthinking movement could have you dead, with very little thought or consequence to the behemoth before you. It was even more humbling when every ounce of said leviathan in question's attention was solely focused on you, and you alone, fully in-tune with each potentially devastating movement so as not to injure or even frighten you.

Dream’s grin widened, expression nearly glittering with the sheer amount of delight as he gazed down at him, the miniscule, insignificant human resting in the center of his enormous palm. His claw tipped fingers twitched, casting a brief shadow over George’s form.

“You think I’m a marvel, Goggy?” The mer asked, tilting his head ever-so-slightly to the side. His pupils, sharp slits against the amber of his irises, dilated, growing wide enough that George actually could see his own reflection. His cheeks were dark with a bright, fiery blush at the moment.

"What I think is that you're an idiot," the brunette griped, looking down as he adjusted the lapels of his leather jacket, attempting to hide the ever-deepening flush he knew was spreading. He was sure his ears were red, but he could probably just pass that off as a sunburn if he was asked.

A wheezy laugh escaped from the mer’s colossal lungs, reverberating all the way through the sand underneath them both as the warm, salty breath brushed over George, flattening his hair against his forehead. He wrinkled his nose at the sharp scent and shot a glare up at the blond, coughing meaningfully.

“I mean, I’m at least better than any of the other mers.” Dream rolled his eyes skywards, a frown twisting at his lips. “There’s so much drama nowadays, and some of those kids…” The mer let out a small, surly rumble, nose wrinkling as he grimaced.

The biologist perked up, interest immediately piqued. “There are other mers?"

Dream chuckled. "Yeah, there's a few here and there. You wouldn't want to meet them, though. They're not nearly as nice as I am.” George frowned at the implications of that statement, but decided not to pursue that train of conversation. Instead, he leaned to the side, trying to peer over Dream’s shoulder at the long, flicking tail that trailed for hundreds of feet behind him.

“Mhm. I want to examine your scales.” The human declared abruptly, planting a hand on his hip and pointing over the mer's shoulder. The blond frowned, shooting a quick glance behind himself, past the jagged sail that trailed from his lower back all the way down to about mid tail, to the glittering scales that decorated the appendage itself. They looked just fine, he didn’t know why George even wanted to inspect them. With a pout spanned across his face, he turned back to the little human, brows furrowed.

“But you don't even have your little writing book! C’mon, I just got comfortable,” he whined, ear frills flicking back against his huge skull.

“I don't care! Let me look at them anyway!” George demanded, crossing his arms and puffing his chest out. He cocked his hips, shooting his most petulant expression up at the massive mer. Dream’s pupils rounded out just a little bit more at the human’s actions, and he caved with an exasperated, drawn out sigh.

“Okay, okay, jeez, don't get your fins in a twist. Er. Legs? Hm. That expression doesn’t really work with humans, huh…” Dream trailed off, tilting his head at George for a long moment before his ear fins flickered out in a form of dismissal.

Heaving out a world-weary groan, the leviathan pushed himself upwards with his free hand. The platform of flesh underneath George’s feet moved, suddenly, and he had to drop down to his knees rather quickly unless he wanted to tumble down in an undignified heap. The hand was brought close to the mer’s chest as he rolled over and tried to settle comfortably onto his backside.

Once comfortable, Dream brought his hand down to about mid-tail length, folding over on himself and propping his free elbow on his own tail to lean his head against.

George scooted to the edge of the mer’s palm and hopped down with a small grunt. He nearly slipped when he made contact with the bright scutes and had to lunge back to grab onto the side of the mer’s hand. Dream’s scales, while crusted with beach sand, were still slick with a thin coating of seawater and a protective mucus. George was honestly surprised that Dream’s scales had as much of a slime coat as they did. He would have figured the mer to be more akin to a shark, or some other cartilaginous fish.

He crouched, after he had regained his balance, running a hand over one of the huge, curtain-sized scutes. “You have ctenoid scales,” George murmured, dropping to his knees to peer more closely at the overlapping plates.

“What does that mean?” Dream asked, hunching over just a little bit more to squint at George as the human ran his hands over the edge of one of the scales.

“It means that there are ridges along the edge of each scale. Like tiny teeth.” George paused for a moment, contemplating as he plucked his fingers against the prickly edge of the scale. If he wanted to, he could probably wedge his whole hand underneath the plate of what was probably some mix of collagen and dentine. He was tempted to try, to see how far his hand would go, but he wasn't going to risk it, on the off chance that something bad happened.

"What color did you say your scales were, again?" He inquired, glancing up at the looming shape of Dream’s head and torso. The mer’s eyebrows quirked, and one of his ear fins perked curiously.

“Like a yellowy-green. Can you really not tell? Is that a human thing?" He squinted, gaze searching as if he could see George’s eyes from the distance between them. Maybe he could, George wasn’t sure. He hadn’t gotten around to testing how good Dream’s eyesight was, and how well they worked above and below water.

Regardless, he shook his head. “No, I'm just colorblind. It’s a fairly common thing for people to have, but not all of us do.”

“Oh? Can you not….how does that work? Do colors not exist? How do you see?” A startled snort escaped from the brunette's lips at the mer’s question, and he grinned up at the blond.

“I can still see, you dumbass. I’m not blind. I just can't see red or green, and any colors that have them only look like the other color.” George rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the plates beneath his legs. “For example, you say your scales are green, but they just look bright yellow to me.”

“Huh,” Dream hummed contemplatively as he readjusted the arm his chin was propped on. The position he was in looked uncomfortable, but George wasn’t going to question it. While the mer was still a vertebrate, he probably had to be very flexible for life in the ocean.

He should ask Dream how many bones most mers had, actually. He might know.

George dropped his eyes back down to the mer’s scales, vaguely wishing that he still had some sort of writing instrument on hand. “These really are fascinating…” The human murmured, poking at one of the overlapping ledges with inquisitive fingers. Did the mer shed, like some kinds of fish and most reptiles did? He’d have to ask sometime, preferably when he had a journal on his person.

“Here, do you want one?” The mer abruptly asked, raising a hand and pointing at one of the bright scales. George pulled a face and shook his head, but the mer was already in motion.

“No, wait–” But Dream already had a claw prying underneath one of his scales, pinching it between two massive fingertips and working it out of the overlap from the surrounding plates. George shot to his feet in an attempt to try and stop Dream, but it was already too late. The muscles underneath George’s feet twitched when the scale was yanked from its cradle, and he threw his arms out for what seemed to be the millionth time that day, unwilling to lose his footing again.

Dream suddenly pushed the scale against George's chest, shoving the human backwards more than a couple of steps. It was almost as tall and twice as wide as the human was, and he had to scramble to grab it before Dream bowled him over.

“Dream!” He snapped, scowling as the mer’s huge hand slid away. The mer laughed, grinning brightly down at George. The human’s scowl deepened, and he rolled his eyes, turning his attention to the large scale he now held in his hands. He was surprised to find that it wasn't as heavy as he thought it would be. It only weighed about as much as a small paddle board, about four or five kilograms.

“Dream, where am I going to put this? It's bigger than I am!” George exclaimed, holding it out as far as he could so that he could examine it. Large globs of blood dotted the anterior end of the scale, slowly beading down as the gravity took the weight of the ichor. George grimaced in disgust, holding the sizeable plate further away from himself for a different reason this time. He shot a look up towards Dream, face twisted.

“Didn’t that hurt?” From what he could see, the spot where Dream had plucked the scale from was also bleeding, dark liquid swelling up from the bed of skin underneath the scales. Was it like plucking a hair from your head? Or did it feel like ripping out a fingernail? George wanted to know, but the mer only laughed, avoiding the human’s question and insisting that George keep the scale, as a souvenir until his next visit to the beach.

They devolved into pointless bickering until the sky started to grow dark with heavy clouds, and the wind picked up. At that point, George decided he needed to head home, before the storm properly began. Dream had agreed, saying that it was unpleasant to be near dry land during particularly bad storms. They bid each other goodbye for the day, and each headed their separate ways, Dream sliding back under the crashing waves of the ocean, and George walking back towards the city.

George did end up carrying the scale home with him, even though he had to fight against the growing strength of the wind to keep a good hold on it. He still didn’t know where he was going to put it, though.

Taglist:

@brick-a-doodle-do @i-am-beckyu @da3dm @kayla-crazy-stuffs @local-squishmallow @skullsnbruises @munchkin1156 @gt-daboss

#mer anatomy and biology my beloved <3 #im not a nerd i promise #mermay #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #writing #giant!dream #g/t #tiny!george #g/t writing #bat's writing #mer!dream #giant!mer dream #giant mer!dream #marine biologist george #is that enough tags ???? xD #mermay 2024 #merfolk #mermaid

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bluestarlett · 24 days ago

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(When I scream, the sea is listening.)

(I have met my peace between the moon and where I stand, I have found catharsis in every wave that crashes on the cliffs, and I Learned how to breathe underwater While my lungs begged me for air. I fought my way to the surface and carried myself to land.)

1,559 words. I don’t speak Arabic please correct any mistakes

“Asteria, please,”

Sidra clutched her hair in fistfuls, furiously wiping the tears and blood which poured in streams down her face.

“DO NOT BEG ME!” She screamed, throwing her arm back, sending a porcelain vase crashing against the floor. Luna winced, backing up against the wall.

Asteria’s head dropped, her thin, wiry figure trembling as she sobbed like a child.

“I thought I could trust you, Luna.” She whispered coldly, her voice frail and broken. Pathos reached his hands out imploringly, biting back tears.

“Aster, you can. I promise you, I didn’t mean for this to happe-” The Angel froze as red light began to spill from the Star’s hand, shaping itself into the tines of a trident. His eyes blew wide as each muscle in his body had seemed to lock into place and he lost all feeling in his limbs, like a deer in headlights. He tried desperately to swallow the lump in his throat and the knot in his chest. The world blurred around Asteria, as if Seraph was simply having sleep paralysis.

“Please. Please, please, please, no,” He whispered, pressing himself further against the wall as his autonomy returned to him. Ethos looked up, her eyes locking with Pathos’, and—

They were so empty.

Her eyes, once full of love and light and passion, were devoid of life. Only anger lay in them as her pupils constricted, and the Stars slowly stalked toward the Moon.

Artem let out a choked sob as he was ripped from the wall, Asteria’s hand around his arm like a vice, nails digging into his skin.

He clawed desperately at the walls as she dragged him outside, his wings beating against the air in a craze as he begged incomprehensibly through his frantic sobs. Glass vases were thrown to the floor and paintings were struck from the wall as the Angel screamed, a creature once so tranquil and melodic now singing for its life.

The cold bit at Qamar, the snow melting into his clothes and seeping into the feathers of his wings below him as the frigid, dry air tore at his skin. For just a moment, the snare around his wrist loosened, and he tore away from Eris. Just as quickly, he was ripped back into her grasp by his wings.

The feathers tore from his skin as the humerus dislodged from his back, bones cracking as his wings were held to his body by all but sinews and tendons. He let out a gargled cry, blood trickling down his back.

The Stars refused to let up, dragging him by his tearing limbs like a ragdoll. She stopped at the edge of the cliff, where the ocean remained still as ever. She looked down at the Angel, meeting his eyes.

“please,” he whispered, voice hoarse from his futile sobs.

If Seraph were any more naive, he’d think Asteria had considered him, before he was thrown off the edge of the cliff.

His wings beat helplessly against the air, but there wasn’t enough support. He fell, collapsing against the beach below. The white sand seeped into his wounds as he sobbed against the ground, lying flat on his back. Wind refused to enter his lungs and his muscles refused to hold up, his body as unstable as the ocean before him. His wings contorted impossibly below him, and pain racked through his body.

At some point that night, the Angel slept.

When Luna awoke, the sky was light.

“I’m dead.” He whispered under his breath, squinting against the golden sky.

There was no way this was real. The sky in Tycho had never been light.

So why now?

He had to be dead.

The Moon pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the weight of his contorted wings that dragged against the ground. He took a step forward and-

He collapsed back into the sand, resting his head against the rocks.

A strange, whispering sound made itself known around the Dove, and he propped himself up, looking around curiously.

There was someone else here.

Asteria, maybe: come to heal him and apologise for the damage she’d done.

And yet, as Seraph scanned everything around him that he could see, nobody else had been there.

His eyes, after a moment, settled on the ocean.

The still, crystal clear ocean of Tycho was now gently crashing against the rocks, and deep blue in colour. His gaze travelled further and-

There, a figure stood cast in shadow against the golden sky, looking down at him, still in place despite the waves crashing against it. His eyes widened and he struggled to push himself forward as his back crashed painfully against the rocks once more. The figure curiously slinked over to him, tentacles flitting about curiously from underneath the creature’s dress as it approached. As it came closer to Seraph, he could make out more features about it. Dark, feathery brown curls spilled down its back, and curious, oval-shaped white pupils peered down at him. Deep blue marks decorated its face and its tentacles, like engravings into gold.

One of the creature’s tentacles slowly made its way to Seraph’s face, curiously poking him. Seraph chuckled, his voice hoarse and broken, yet ever-kind as he brushed the tentacle away.

“That tickles,” He muttered. His eyes met the creature’s once more, and its once unfazed, lidded eyes were now wide and perplexed. Its tendrils stroked Seraph’s face once more, the strange figure smiling slightly each time the Angel let out a laugh. Eventually, the creature drew its appendage away, tilting its head at Qamar.

Seraph smiled kindly, wiping the cold from his face.

“My name is Seraph. What... Who are you?”

The creature hummed curiously for a moment, thinking.

".زحل" (Saturn.)

Seraph’s eyes widened and he leaned forward.

“هل تتحدث العربية؟” (You speak Arabic?)

Saturn nodded.

".قليل جدا" (Very little.)

"...You understand English though?” Seraph asked curiously. Saturn nodded once more, humming pensively. The Angel thought pensively, tapping his fingers together.

“Where did you… come from?” He asked curiously. Saturn turned back toward the ocean, a strange, longing gaze in their eyes. Seraph followed their gaze, before pushing himself to his knees, crawling over to the shore. Without a second thought, he cupped the water in his hands, turning and letting the clear, cold liquid trickle into the wound on his wing. The cold stung, but he sighed in relief as the sand and dried blood rinsed out of the gaping hole and in between the tendons of his flesh. Saturn tilted their head curiously, their tentacle hesitantly reaching out, hovering before the wound.

"ماذا حدث؟"(What Happened?)

They asked curiously, tilting their head as their pupils dilated in perplexion. Seraph shook his head, sighing.

“I got into a fight with my sister and she… did that.”

".إنها لا تبدو أختًا جيدة جدًا..."(...She doesn't seem like a very good sister.)

Seraph chuckled harshly, carefully making his way back to Saturn’s side. “She is, I just… made a mistake. I earned it.” He said, a pained look in his eyes. Saturn blinked at him, turning to face the ocean once more.

"جناحاك، ماذا ستفعل بهما؟" (Your wings, what are you going to do with them?) Saturn asked, reaching out to touch the cold, crystalline water. Seraph picked at the blisters on his knuckles, humming thoughtfully.

"I'm not sure. If... If Asteria ever comes back for me, she would heal them, I hope."

"...يمكنني أن أحضرك إلى هناك." (...I can bring you there.) Saturn said, pointing up at the edge of the cliff. Seraph tilted his head curiously.

"Are you sure?" He asked nervously, chewing at the tips of his fingers. Saturn nodded solemnly, rising from the ground and extending a tentacle to Seraph. Hesitantly, the Angel took the tendril, and was pulled to his feet as Saturn crept up the rocks. He gently held onto Saturn's hand as the creature made their way up the side of the cliff, just barely hanging onto loose stones.

Seraph was thrown over the edge, landing softly into the snow as Saturn pulled themself onto the cliff, dusting their deep blue skirts off. They pulled Luna to his feet, pointing at the home before them with a curious lift in their brow. The Moon nodded, guiding Saturn forward. Snow crunched beneath the Moon's feet, his once weightless, feathery body now human. His wings felt like shackles.

Biting back the urge to scream, Seraph stopped before the heavy wooden doors, knocking fiercely against them with his bruised fists. Saturn twirled their hair around their claws, curiously examining the engravings in the golden doorhandles. Luna tapped his foot impatiently, crossing his arms.

Saturn turned to Pathos, parting their lips to speak, before the doors creaked open and Asteria peered back at the two of them, her eyes blown wide with what Seraph could only call fear. Seraph's anxiety bloomed into rage as he saw her, his fists clenching at his sides.

"Eris." Artem said venomously. Ethos' gaze flitted between Seraph and Saturn, her hands ever so slightly shaking.

She locked eyes with Juno, nervously opening the door wider as she stepped out of the way. Luna grabbed Saturn's hand, striding inside furiously. He shot a glare back at Sidra, yet star's head was bowed in shame as she shut the doors behind her.

...

"...welcome back." She whispered as she slinked away.

#cw violence #cw blood #cw gore #cj mind #cj soul #cj heart #chonnys charming chaos compendium #chonny jash #chonny's charming cosmic confluence

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endhisbloodlineinmyesophagus · 1 year ago

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[Headcannons] A Day At The Beach w/ The Ghouls & Ghoulettes

Cutesy lil fluffy thoughts that came to me at 3 am about my favorite band.

Thank you to my writing muse and fabulous goddess @sink-me-in-your-ocean for always proofreading my docs.

Bone apple teet (-‿◦☀)

ℝ𝕒𝕚𝕟

bolts straight for the ocean, manically laughing - he very delulu but so stinking cute

wears fish themed swim trunks with matching fishy arm floaties

anyone who dares enter his domain is in for quite the surprise…

he pretends to be a shark

playfully gnaws on your ankles under the water before yanking on your leg and pulling you under

finds pretty seashells and gifts them to you with the most heart warming smile

“Rain! Its time to leave! Lets go!” you annoyingly yelled into the void of the blue ocean, knowing for damn sure he heard you.

In the distance you spot a gray blob emerging from the surface of the water, “NO!” the voice echoed back to shore before disappearing once again.

…

The car ride home, Rain was sitting in the back row curled up in a ball, tears silently flowing down his cheeks as he aimlessly stared out the window. *insert Summertime Sadness by Lana del Rey*

You roll your eyes as you catch a glimpse of him in the rear view mirror, shaking your head in disbelief, he is such a drama queen…

𝕄𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟

he’s here for the good vibes and shade

paints a thick coat of sunscreen from head to toe

lounges under the umbrella with a paperback book of Twilight

ends up falling asleep within 20 minutes

could honestly sleep for eternity

In a hushed whisper, “M-mountain?”, you gently nudge his shoulder, attempting to awake him so you can pack up the car and leave.

No response.

Anxiety slowly creeps in, i-is he dead?

His neck is exposed and you take two fingers to take his pulse, as soon as you make contact he jolts awake, both of you screaming. Him with a high-pitched shriek of fear and you in shock that he’s alive.

“I thought you were a vampire!” he hysterically gasped.

𝔻𝕖𝕨𝕕𝕣𝕠𝕡

hates despises water with a fiery passion (don’t get me started when it's time for him to bathe)

he made it his mission to dig the largest hole possible beside Phantom and Swiss who were on their separate crusade to construct the most glorious sand castle

starts clawing at the sand like a deranged dog, kicking the small particles in Phantom and Swiss’s face

gets scolded and growls at them before repositioning himself the other way

happily zens out in his proudly accomplished hole

doesn’t realize the high tide was coming in as the day went on, causing the shoreline to sneak in closer and closer

A small stream of water trickled into his territory but he ignored it, not thinking much of it at all and resumed his rest, leaning up against the high wall with his arms crossed. Dozing off after a laborious work day.

SWOOSH! A huge tidal wave of water crashed in, submerging him in salty depths, ultimately scaring him. He yelped and frantically tried to climb out of the overflowing pit. You rushed over to rescue him, pulling him up, his body shivering from the frigid temperature.

Once he secured his bearings within your arms, he angrily turned back to see the catastrophic wreckage. Madness ensued - every hair in his small figure shooting straight up and his tail viscously whipping side to side, creating dents in the soft sand.

Oh, he big mad.

This wasn’t the first time he’s lost his cool and most certainly will not be the last. He aggressively launched himself towards the evil aqua, nothing but pure rage fueling his very fiber. You swiftly caught him by the waist, wrapping your arms around him and digging your heels into the ground for proper anchorage.

He violently hissed and swatted his arms about like a mad man, you held onto him for dear life, shouting, “Dewdrop! Stop it!” over the savage snarling and profanity spewing out of his tiny mouth.

(home boy really thought he could physically throw hands with water).

ℙ𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕠𝕞 & 𝕊𝕨𝕚𝕤𝕤

true definition of bromance

begged and pleaded for you to buy them the “Super Duper Crazy Mega Plastic Sand Castle” building kit (as advertised on TV). Equipped with every tool in the shed to assemble the perfect castle of your dreams!

they damn well knew how to abuse their power of sad puppy dog eyes and pouting lips

so of course you caved into their ridiculous yet adorable request

They scouted the vast sandy land, personal privateers carrying out the Dark Lord’s decree. Dewdrop tagged along behind them as they paced back and forth in this vigorous expedition for the “perfect spot” to declare ownership.

Swiss grunted in annoyance, “That’s too far of a walk from the water, we need it to dampen the sand.”

Phantom sighed, pointing to the area Swiss had fallen in love with, “The rocks are going to get in the way, it's too close.”

The two continued to butt heads, both equally stubborn and childish.

Dewdrop stood in the middle of them, his head whipping between who was speaking. Bored with the endless bickering, he plopped down on the cushiony sand, tracing a phallic symbol in the pale dirt, “What about right here?”

They exchanged a mischievous look with one another, mirroring a brow raise at the fascinating offer. In unison they shouted, leaping in the air to tackle down poor little Dewdrop.

“LAND HO!”

𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕖

fashioning the cutest teeny, weeny, polka dot bikini

sprawled out her towel on the pillowy ground and laid facing down

basking in the sun's scorching hot rays

much like a cat, she loved to lounge in the sun any chance she got

its ultraviolet rays recharging her energy- utter bliss

She stretched her limbs far out as she could before turning over to roast the front of her body, exhaling a deep yawn and placing large rounded shades over her eyes.

Her face scrunched in frustration at the commotion coming from Phantom, Swiss and Dewdrop hooting and hollering - it was disturbing her well deserved me time and she will not have them ruin it!

She propped up on her elbows, lowering the shades to the tip of her nose to gander at what the fuck was going on, “Aye!”, she roared loud enough for everyone within a mile radius to hear, “Shut up over there! I’m trying to relax!”

All three immediately stopped to stare at her with wide, fearful expressions, knowing from past experience she would definitely give em a good bop on the head for pissing her off.

In a stink eye glaring standoff with the Ghouls, she slowly pushed up the frame of her sunglasses -not breaking contact- to re-cover her eyes and reclined backwards to lay.

“Idiots…” she muttered to herself.

ℂ𝕦𝕞𝕦𝕝𝕦𝕤 & ℂ𝕚𝕣𝕣𝕦𝕤

life of the party

verybody wants to be em or fuck em

baddest bitches

matching skull patterned bikinis and fancy floppy hats

love checking out the locale mom and pop shops lined up along the beach

buys trinkets/souvenirs for the other Ghouls

*insert shopping spree montage*

The ultra plush sand squished and practically swallowed their feet as they struggled to walk back to the group, hands full of bags from the shopping haul that they kindly charged to Papa’s credit card.

After settling in at basecamp, they began to unload the many items from chic clothing pieces to varying sizes of memorability that were neatly bound in gift wrap and topped with a colorful bow.

Cirrus used her thumb and pointer finger to whistle, calling the unruly herd to gather. The Ghouls' faces lit up in excitement as they sprinted to welcome the Ghoulettes. As Cirrus distributed the presents, Cumulus unboxed a package of ice cream sandwiches, letting each individual Ghoul pick out a flavor as they approached.

Today was a great day for the beach.

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hetalianskywalker · 9 months ago

Text

Day 4: The Lobster

Pairing: Mer Hardcase x Reader

Summary: A lobster starts talking to you.

Author’s Note: May The 4th Be With You! Have a wild Hardcase.

Warnings: A bit of cursing, but I think that’s it.

Word Count: 1543

Prompt: If a lobster talks, we throw it back, that’s the rule. Don’t ever strike a deal with one, no matter what it says is written in the stars.

Prompt 2711 by deepwaterwritingprompts

“If a lobster talks, we throw it back, that’s the rule. Don’t ever strike a deal with one, no matter what it says is written in the stars.” This piece of advice was one of the first things you were told upon starting work on this lobster boat. You had just shrugged it off as old wives tales until right now.

“Hello! I’m Hardcase!” Oh shit. That lobster is talking and waving a claw at you. You had been sorting through the lobsters in the trap to see which would be thrown back or taken to market. He was the last one in there and he just started talking. Somewhere in the back of your mind you remember what the captain had told you, but instead you stand there frozen in disbelief.

He tilts his had after a moment, seeming a bit worried.

“You okay?” The lobster scurries over to you and you realize this isn’t a dream when he gently pokes you.

“I…” You shake your head before slowly looking over your shoulders. Thankfully no one had noticed anything amiss yet. “I’m fine, but you need to go.”

“What? But!?” You gently scoop him up to toss him back into the water.

“Sorry, them’s the rules.”

“You can look the other way this one time! I just need some help getting home.”

“Isn’t the ocean your home?”

“Well… kinda. But that’s different. I’m actually a Mer clone.” He begins speaking a little too quick, but you keep up. “I think I died at the battle of Umbara. I don’t know how long it’s been, but I need to get back to my brothers.”

“What the…” You just blink; your mind trying to process that. “That battle happened…”

Your captain calls your name. You turn and put Hardcase behind your back, giving him a tired smile. He asks you if everything is alright and you quickly give the excuse of vertigo, but show him the empty lobster trap. You feel Hardcase cuddle into your hands, relaxing in your grip to not attract attention.

Thankfully the captain buys it, he yells over his shoulder to go drink some water or something before getting back to work. You quickly move out of everyone’s line of sight as you feel Hardcase climb up to your shoulder. You should throw him back in the water, but he hasn’t asked for anything unreasonable or even to make a deal with you. You sigh and wipe your hand down your face. You’re really going to help a lobster claiming he was a Mer huh?

“Can you find a place to stay hidden until we make it to shore?” The way the lobster began to hop around in excitement, even though you can’t read the emotions on his face, makes you smile.

“Six months!?” He leans over the side of the bucket of sea water you have him in. It turns out sneaking him off ship hadn’t been too hard, but figuring out how to help him next was. Sadly though, explaining how long he had been “gone” for had to come first. “I’ve been dead six months!?”

You nod, rubbing your temple. You had remembered hearing about the battle since it wasn’t too far from your home. How three Mer clones had snuck aboard a massive separatist battle ship and blown it up. Meeting one stuck in the body of a lobster is making your head hurt honestly.

“I’ll take it that you don’t remember being a lobster that long?” Hardcase shakes his head as you sigh.

“I got blown up. Then, I don’t know, I must have been in and out of consciousness for way longer than I thought. Next thing I knew I was crawling around on the ocean floor.” He hops back down into the water. You walk over to see him pacing around in the bucket, almost making you laugh.

“So what now?” Hardcase looks up at you, but continues to pace. “Do you still want to get back to your old battalion?”

“Yes.” He answers with so much determination and stops pacing, but then he seems to get a bit nervous. His legs begin quickly tapping continuously against the bucket floor. “But, we… we need to make a deal.”

“No.”

“Please!” Hardcase quickly responds. “While there is some truth to the legends, it’s just to turn me back. The other options would be going to Coruscant for Jedi help or Mandalore for Mer help. You don’t have the resources and I need to get back to my brothers.”

You groan, frowning down at the lobster as he looks up at you. Perhaps you should have just thrown him back in the water as your captain had told you, but you feel guilty as soon as you think about it.

“What would a deal entail?” The bucket tips over and the water spills all over your living room floor as he jumps with joy.

“Oops.” He looks up at you sheepishly, standing in the puddle. You should be mad, but laugher comes out instead. Soon you both are and you have a feeling he would be blushing if he could. He helps you clean as best he can as he explains what he knows about his current predicament.

It’s an old mer legend that he had heard a couple times from one of his trainers. Sometimes if a sacrifice of one’s life is truly selfless, the ocean allows an exchange of souls: a second chance. However the consciousness of the Mer is easily overpowered by the instincts of the creature they inhabit, plus a whole host of other things that can go wrong, making the process extremely dangerous.

“While I might be able to get help, the only way to really have a Mer body again is…”

“If you exchange something equivalent.” Your mind wanders back to the old myths. It’s a lot easier to understand with the lobsters being trapped Merpeople; desperation can bring out the worst in any being.

“Basically. How did he describe it…” Hardcase takes a moment to think, tapping his claw against his head. “Permanent transformation takes a lot of magic. From a normal human…”

He abruptly stops. It’s odd watching him go completely still as horror washes over him.

“Nevermind.”

“But-?!”

“I’m not going to ask that of you.”

The next plan is to help him get to Mandalore or Coruscant. However that becomes impossible as a battle begins to wage in the waters around your island. The canons shake your house, but your companion makes you laugh as he tries to catch as many glimpses of the fight as he can. The off and on squirmishes last for weeks and gives you time to get to know Hardcase.

Then finally, the separatists land on your island; the Mer clones and the republic had lost this area. People are fleeing from your village; either heading more inland to hide or risking being caught by a battleship while trying to flee in a boat. However, you have one other option left.

“Hardcase, either way I’m dead. I’d rather cut down my life span and have both of us survive this than both of us dead.” You hiss as you both hide in your house. Hardcase stares up at you before clinking his claws together.

“There is one other way.” He laughs what you have now come know as his nervous laugh. “But-but…”

“Case, please.” You can hear the eerie stop of the separatist golems in the distance.

“Ifwemarrytheoldmerway,oursharedenergyshouldletmehavemytrueformagain.” It takes you a moment to make out the rushed sentence and your face burns scarlet.

“Wh-what do we do?”

“We can still make a run for the ocean…” He fidgets again. “If you don’t want to. Cause this will be permanent.”

“Hardcase.” You say his name softly and full of affection. “It would be my honor. Now what do we do?”

The world goes silent a moment before he is giddy with excitement. You can’t help but smile as he urgently tells you that all you have to do is say four vows together in Mando’a. He says them first and then you say them together. The soft shimmer of ocean magic glows around both of you. You force your eyes shut; your stomach swirling with anxiety.

“Time to go, sweetheart.” The excitement in his tone makes you smile. A pair of arms swiftly picks you up bridal style. You clench your jaw to stop a sound from slipping out as he begins running for the beach. You finally open your eyes and look up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. The white and blue armor glitters in the last rays of the drowning sun. He gives you a smile far brighter as his boots hit the water; time slows for a second as you drink up the bit of face you can see through the t-face of the helmet. Your eyes linger on the bit of blue tattoo you can see.

“Hey, get back here!” One of the golems yells at the two of you. You both only laugh as you feel him begin to shift into his Mer form; the familiar feeling of sea magic engulfs the both of you as he dives into deeper water.

#star wars #maythe4thbewithyou #clone trooper hardcase #hardcase x reader #the clones wars #mermay #mermaid au

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enkvyu · 1 year ago

Note

ENOUGHHHH with the spiderman!jujutsu kaisen angst☹️☹️ spiderman!jjk with blackcat!reader when🙏🙏

i was gonna write a 4k oneshot for this but it was taking too long SO take this super short drabble (?) instead. i'll post the oneshot in a few days if i can finish it in time. thanks for the ask it was sm fun to write !!

6:26pm — getou suguru ;

you knock on the big red door in front of you, and dread the moment it opens. the rain slides down your costume and you rub a hand over your arms, cold.

everything felt odd. never in a million years did you ever imagine yourself waiting outside this suburban home, still in your supervillain attire, acting less like a feisty cat and more like a soggy stray. the comparison is enough to make you grimace. you can feel the usual flame of determination and confidence whimper under the crying skies and you think nothing could make this worse.

unfortunately for you, the person you least wanted to see in this moment opens the door, and their mouth drops open when they see you there, latex black costume still adorned, mask still on, water soaking you down to your bones.

"it isn't good to stare, spiderman." you manage to smirk.

getou closes his mouth with effort and sighs, turning to the side to let you in. he glances side to side, but there would be no one out in the streets at two in the morning. "black cat, just because you found out who i am doesn't mean you can use my place to crash."

you step in and the warmth of a home cuts you deeper than the cold. still, you shake it off along with your hair, combing through knots with your hand and claws. "don't you think you can cut a poor, little kitty like me some slack? where's your sympathy?"

"where's your tact?" getou shoots back, closing the door and reaching over his couch to grab a sweater. he throws it at you. "here, wear this. i don't need my roommate to find out that i'm harbouring a criminal."

you gladly put it in, taking off your whip and placing it on his coffee table. you go to make yourself comfortable when you find him staring at you. "cat got your tongue? they're lying, you know, flattery can definitely get you places. especially with me."

"when are you going to take off your mask?” he asks instead. “you already know who i am.”

"you shouldn’t ask a girl her secrets."

getou blanches. "you're literally in my living room. i'll throw you out on the streets if you keep acting tough especially since you're in no position to be doing that." he walks over to you and you have to force yourself not to flinch when he starts adjusting his sweater on you, the material already damping.

neither of you mention it.

"i was betrayed."

geotu doesn't say anything, just hums to let you know he's listening.

"it was meant to be a simple mission on a yacht. who knew men had more bones than the one in their dicks. i didn't expect any of them to have a backbone but the next thing i knew, i was in the ocean, my loot taken from me."

"so now you're here." getou sums up.

you shrug. "now i'm here."

"but why are you here, is my question."

"i'm just a stray cat now, no place to go no home to call her own. i thought perhaps visiting an older lover would get me going again." you smile up at him, hoping that he’ll take the bait.

he stops his tidying hands that had long finished its purpose and looks at you. "you’re soaked to the bone. do you want to take a shower?"

you think he's getting too good deflecting you, too good at treating you like you weren't black cat. did he think you were a joke, a pathetic, pale reflection of your usual persona just because you had sought him out for help? if there was anything you hated, it was being treated like you were fragile and broken.

you push him in the chest, tucking your feet behind his so he falls hard on his back. you lean over him, hair tumbling over your shoulder and tickling the side of his face. "is that an invitation?" you purr, running your fingers down his chest slowly.

there's a red that's creeping up his face and you think you've won when his hand reaches up and grabs yours, halting its movement. "i'm not in costume right now." he responds and you tilt your head at his random words. "i'm not spiderman right now. you don't have to force yourself to act a certain way."

you freeze before shaking off his grip. it falls away easily, but his gaze is as steady as ever. "playing hard to get?"

"black cat." he says.

"i'm not acting. this is how i usually am."

he frowns as you fidget with the neckline of his shirt. "would you tell me if we were still together?"

you look up at him. "you are so good at saying the worst things possible. you could have said anything in this situation and that's what you came up with?"

he blinks and glances away awkwardly. "it was just a thought."

"maybe it's better that we're over. you don't even know who i am underneath this mask."

getou traces the edges of it and you let him, feeling the familiar caress, the familiar scratch of his callouses that remind you he is just like you, another person hiding under a mask, another person juggling an ordinary persona and the responsibility of great power.

one of his fingers tucks underneath the black material before pausing. "can i?"

for a second, you almost let him do it, heart leaping to your throat.

a single droplet that had been clinging to the front bangs of your hair, falls, and slides down on the space between your eyes before splashing on his cheek. the sight is enough to bring you to your senses.

you interlace his hand on your cheek and drag it away, holding it still against the floor beside his head. his face falls and he gives you a slight smile, like he expected it.

"that's a no, spiderman."

getou looks at you and it's the type of look he gets when he says the wrong thing at the wrong time. "it wasn't you, it was me."

"oh god, spider, you do not get to say that corny shit to me."

"but it was me." he says. "i couldn't make it right between us because of the hero thing and well, you're not exactly the best person to have as a hero, but i still want the best for you, i hope you know. like, i still think about you sometimes and i wonder if you're doing well and, god i'm doing it again aren't i."

"yeah you are."

"but your breathing is getting choppy."

"so is yours."

"oh god."

he doesn't lean in and you don't either. instead, you keep playing with his sweater, hoping that the atmosphere will lighten and return to something comfortable. keep him on his toes, keep him red and hanging off your every word, keep him trailing after you. it was never supposed to turn on you like this.

but getou knows better. he doesn't even tense under your trailing finger and you think, "that's no fun" but you would be lying if you said that was your only thought. he doesn't give you the reaction you want, so eventually you stop and sink into his chest. he wraps his arms around you and it feels so natural, so familiar that you could almost sob.

but even you wouldn't risk such a big loss to your image, so you stay quiet.

"i'm taken now, you know." getou clears his throat awkwardly, and you feel the rumble under you. "so don't think this is anything."

you laugh in his embrace. "just friends."

"right. just friends."

i know this didn't have any of the black cat x spiderman dynamic, for one black cat (you 🫵) is literally going through it but that's because i sped wrote this 😭 the oneshot i'll post later this week (?) will have the usual banter but w gojo intead, i just got hit with some severe writer's block and thought hey what's super easy to write : angst !!

#( 🗒️ ) — requests #zealouswonderz #getou x reader #getou x you #getou suguru #getou angst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk getou #getou fluff #getou drabble #getou imagine #getou suguru x reader

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bearlytolerant · 8 months ago

Note

I'm being greedy

Iris/Raghnall

— sharing a pillow and waking up with their faces only centimetres apart

(don't have to!)

Closer

The campfire crackles amidst the subtle crash of the waves against the rocks and Iris wanders the beach, scouring for any type of dry wood to keep the fire going long enough to get a meal in. But the sun hangs low on the horizon and if the fire keeps ablaze through the night, her location will quickly become grounds for a monster’s feast. Finding a few choice pieces, she carries the wood back to where Raghnall finishes skinning a tideswimmer.

“I need to ask something,” she says, throwing the small sticks into the fire.

“Whatever it is, ask it,” he replies, skewering the fish on the end of a dagger. He balances the butt of it on some rocks, heating the fish in the coals.

“Did my father send you?”

“Believe it or not, I go where the coin flows and that coin flows from more than just your father.” He stands and scratches at the back of his neck.

She stands too, eyeing him closely. “Well that is certainly an answer but not to the question I asked.” She takes a step closer to him. “Did. My. Father. Send you.”

“He might have made mention—”

She huffs and storms off to the edge of the rocky shore, scooping up pebbles and tossing them into the ocean. Raghnall sidles up beside her.

“What can I say?”

“You could say no to glorified babysitting. You are worth more than that.”

“Is it babysitting when you are five and twenty?”

“Six and twenty. And I suppose not in technical terms but it is basically the charge my father gives you.”

“Your father pays so handsomely for me to kill monsters with you. How could I say no?”

She tosses another pebble into the water. “You are infuriating.”

“Get used to it, cos.”

“I cannot believe I am stranded with you here until morning.”

“You seem pent up even after that goblin fight. Perhaps a bout would relieve some of that stress and pass the time. Then it’s just a singular sleep until the morrow and you will be free of me. What do you say?”

The rest of the pebbles slip from her fingertips. “No weapons,” she says, rounding on him. “Just fists. No blows to the head.”

Raghnall grins and bows ever so slightly. “On my honor. I look forward to testing my mettle against yours, cos.”

Iris spits on the ground, removing her dagger strapped around her leg. Raghnall removes his shield and weapons as well, including his armor. He stands bare chested and she notes the tattoos there, but the one with goblin heads skewered on a sword makes her smile. She fucking despises goblins. They are only a monetary thought though as her eyes follow the trail of hair down his abs that disappears beneath the ties of his waistband that could be undone so easily. Her wandering eyes don’t go unnoticed by him as he smirks knowingly at her. Briefly closing her eyes to clear her head, she reopens them and plants her feet firmly against the ground.

“Ready if you are,” she says.

He saunters her way and she plays dirty, scooping up a bit of sand. She tosses it in his face. More than half of it blows away but it disorients him enough.

“Hoy, thought we agreed no hits to the face?” He claws at his eyes and she takes her chance.

A swift sweep of her foot and she knocks him on his ass. She jumps, straddling his hips and grasps his wrists, pinning them to his sides.

“I did not hit your face. Sand did.”

His head slams into hers and she loses her grip. “Pardon me, my head slipped,” he says, flipping her.

She’s on her back, dizzy and panting, unable to move.

He has her secured and rubs it in when he grabs both of her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand. She scowls and he smirks. Chest heaving, all she can think about is how pretty his brown eyes are, especially with the way the firelight dances in the reflection of his pupils and alights on his dark skin. He’s beautiful and she doesn’t know why this is the first time she’s noticed. Probably because she’s never been pinned beneath him after losing a ridiculously short bout.

“I think you won,” she mutters, her eyes falling from his eyes to his lips. She hopes he doesn’t think anything of the way her words come out breathlessly or how her heart beats erratically in her chest.

He doesn’t move, eyes roaming over her face. “Shame. I thought you would have bested me, cos.”

“You are not the first to be disappointed in me and I hardly think you will be the last.”

“Still. I worry your heart was not in this.”

He is still insanely close, hand still closed around her wrists, breath dusting her lips and she is trying to focus on his words. But his body is on hers and she thinks about what he said earlier in the day about battles—the simplicity of it. There’s naught else like it. The clashing of bodies and wills. She can think of a few other things that are simple and very much like the clashing of bodies and wills and she’d very much like to try it out. Her mind travels there in a matter of seconds and she wonders just how salty his skin would taste on her tongue if she ran it along his neck before biting and kissing it tenderly.

She writhes and struggles in his grasp. An attempt to disperse such thoughts.

“You can speculate all you want later. For now, you should get off me so we can eat, put the fire out and try to get some shut eye. Let us hope we will not have to face an ambush mid sleep.”

Wordlessly he climbs off of her, making his way back toward the fire and she follows, taking deep breaths to calm herself. They share their charred fish and an apple she had in her pack before settling in against the ground for some sleep. She rolls up her scarf and they lay down together, using it as a pillow, backs facing one another as they close their eyes for sleep.

Morn comes with bird song and just a touch of orange on the horizon. Iris squints her eyes closed trying to keep out the sun and rolls. Her body brushes against Raghnall and he stirs. Slowly she opens her eyes, hoping he’s still asleep and won’t mind if she siphons some of his body heat but as her eyes trail up from his chest to his face, he smiles at her sleepily, lips closer than they were during their little bout. Her thoughts immediately descend into lustful territory.

“Mornin’,” he says, his breath touching her lips.

She kisses him on impulse. It’s utterly foolish, she thinks, especially if he is not into it. But he cradles her face with his other hand and kisses her back. Slowly and oh so soft and very much into it. She melts into him, her fingers crawling up his shoulder and resting gently there while her leg hooks up and over his hip. Though there’s fabric between them, the throb of his cock flutters her pulse and she presses herself into him, needing all of him. Her hand slips away from his shoulder and skims his skin between their bodies and blindly tugs at the strings on his pants.

Pulling away with a little chuckle, she frowns at him, missing his lips on hers. “That is quite the greeting. Eager are we?”

“Need to go slower?”

“No. You know I hunger—,” he kisses her once, nibbles on her bottom lip, “—for you.” Clamps his hand on her ass. “For your body.”

“Then what is with all the chatter?”

“Just a little exchange of banter. It is a different kind of bout you know. One of wit.”

“Raghnall.”

“Hmm?”

“Please, shut up and just kiss me.” As she utters the words, she’s smacked with a slimy fluid to the face and Raghnall is already scrambling to his feet while she’s still trying to swipe it away with the back of her palm.

“Saurians,” he says, frustrated and hurries off to fetch his sword.

Iris sits up and notices they are much smaller saurians than what she’s used to, not even half the size of the ones she is used to fighting, and they don’t have any weapons. “Wait! I think they’re babies. Probably newly hatched too. Look how cute they are.” She smiles. “Hello there little ones.”

Two out of the dozen warily crawl up her leg but Raghnall returns, swinging his sword and the one bites while the other digs its claws into her right thigh. She screams in pain and reigns her volume in while he hacks and slashes away at the saurians. The two that injured her are now just bits and pieces scattered in her lap.

“Are you alright?” Raghnall asks, barely out of breath.

“Yes. But do you not think that was over doing it? Just a tad?”

He nods, grinning. “Maybe a tad.”

“Help me up.” She wriggles her hand at him and he clasps it, helping her to her feet. “I need to clean these wounds and we need to get out of here before the next dozen eggs hatch.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” he says.

They gather up the remainder of their belongings and make their way off the beach. They have another cave to pass through and a part of her wishes she could have him for just one more night. But to his point, her father pays a handsome sum and he is impatient. He will need his report.

#bear writes #prompt fill #raghnall x arisen #dd2 #dd2 fanfic #thanks so much for the prompt!#I needed the motivation to actually write this down #dragons dogma 2 #dragon’s dogma 2 fanfic

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billycorn · 7 months ago

Text

Empathy - Part 2

A continuation of this fic about a PMD Riolu (now Lucario) Hero who couldn't turn off their aura-sensing. Fic under the cut!

Soaring through the skies and basking in the sun's beating rays, Charizard released a contented sigh, grinning smugly as the fluffy weight on her back shifted. She rolled her eyes and waited for it.

"Sarah, I'm not sure this is a good idea."

There it is! He's nothing if not consistent.

Glancing over her shoulder, she smirked at the Lucario sitting astride her back. "You worry too much."

Blue crossed his arms, wincing as he acidentally stabbed his arms on the steel spike jutting from his chest. He glanced at his chest and rubbed his arms, a betrayed expression on his face. Sarah couldn't help but laugh, the beautiful sound racing away on the wind, but it wasn't lost to his ears.

"It's not funny!"

"Agree to disagree," she answered, her eyes lighting on their destination, a small village tucked in the valley, cradled in the mountains' strong embrace.

"Blue, it'll be fine."

He sighed and leaned back. "You really think so?"

"Hey," she snapped, glancing back at him. "You've got this."

He didn't respond, his was head in the clouds, figuratively speaking, but Sarah could fix that. Grinning, she suddenly beat her powerful wings, rising higher until Blue's upper half disappeared amidst the white of the clouds. When she dropped lower again, he re-emerged, eyes wide and coat dripping wet.

"Thank you," he drawled.

Sarah laughed, but her amusement quickly turned to horror as she watched him move to shake out his pelt.

"Wait, no, don't!"

Blue shook violently, throwing the water from his coat, and throwing himself from Sarah's back. He screamed for a brief moment, the sound torn away by the wind. In an instant, Sarah was banking and closing her wings, dropping like a stone until she was falling alongside Blue. The Lucario's arms and legs were crossed and he glared.

"Next time, we're walking!"

Scoffing, Sarah poked him in the chest, sending him into a spinning freefall. "If you had a single braincell this wouldn't have happened!"

Blue looked affronted. "You're one to talk! Your blast seed curry idea, how did that work out for you?"

At that, Sarah crossed her arms and raised her brows, glancing at the rapidly approaching earth.

Reminded of his plummeting situation, Blue sighed in resignation. "Please, save me."

Sarah picked at her claws. "Nah, not feeling it."

"Oh, great! One of the few humans in this world, dead, because you didn't feel like saving him!"

Tilting her head, Sarah gave the most condescending look she could muster and through gritted teeth, Blue said, "I'm sorry, beautiful. This was entirely my fault."

"And?"

"And your curry was delicious, even though it exploded and the house stank for a week."

"Oh, well I'll make it again sometime."

"What? No-"

Sarah pulled him close and spread her wings, quickly levelling out and transforming his rebuttal into a muffled yelp. She banked almost lazily, drifting downwards in a wide circle until she landed on a busy street near the town centre.

Blue dropped to the ground, caressing the soft grass and promising to never leave it again. At Sarah's nagging, he got up and they hurried down the street, quickly arriving at a large building, doors of varying sizes set into it's face.

Blue paused at the door, nodding, jumping on the spot and whispering to himself. After a moment, he smiled. "Alright, you ready?"

"Pff! I'm not coming."

Blue's face fell. "Wait, wha-"

"Good luck, I'll pick you up at 4!" Sarah yelled, shoving him through the doors before flying away.

Inside, the building was so colourful it nearly hurt Blue's eyes. Forest scenery filled with different Pokemon covered the walls, while an ocean painting covered the floor. There were several chairs and cubbies of various sizes lining the walls. Against the far wall sat a large desk, with two corridors either side. A Lopunny sat behind the desk, looking up as Blue stumbled in.

Smiling kindly, Lopunny waved him over. "Hello, can I help you?"

"Uh, yes," Blue said, smoothing his fur down as he glanced about, slack-jawed. "I'm Blue, I'm here to help with-"

Lopunny clapped her hands together. "Oh, of course, April said you were starting today! Just go down the left hall and it's the third door on your left."

"Oh, um, thank you."

As Blue's tail disappeared round the corner, Lopunny sighed and shook her head. "They're gonna destroy him."

Wandering the corridor, Blue passed the rooms, glancing inside, but they were empty apart from a staff member here and there. Reaching the third door on the left, he knocked and stepped inside.

It was a classroom, filled with (mostly) tiny chairs and desks, cubbies lining the wall and scribbled drawings taped upon the walls. A row of windows was set in the far wall and the morning sun streamed in, lighting upon a hulking figure, humming to itself and flicking through papers at a table tucked in the corner.

Blue cleared his throat and the figure's head snapped up, gaze narrowing at the blurry figure standing in the doorway. Sighing, the figure's twin tails flicked and it reached for a pair of glasses, a smile lighting upon it's face as Blue's figure became clear.

"Blue! You're late, I was worried you weren't coming."

Blue rubbed sheepishly at his arm. "Yeah, sorry about that, April. I had some... trouble, with my commute."

April merely shrugged and waved him closer. Blue obliged, his gaze passing over her. April was an Electivire, huge, with bulging muscles, but her tone was soft and elderly, and her glasses framed her face cutely. Her strong hands sifted gently through a stack of papers.

"I'm so glad you offered to help, I've really got my hands full these days!"

Blue murmured a response, his mind flicking back to when Sarah eagerly volunteered him to help at the local Kindergarten. The look on her face had been a mix of cunning and sheer delight.

"So," said April, "today will be rather straightforward. Class will start, I'll introduce you and then you can just hover, see if the kids need help with anything. I'll likely ask you to handle a problem or two, but I won't be throwing you in the deep end."

"Good, I can't swim."

April laughed, shaking her head and leaning back in her chair. "Neither could I when I started, and I still can't!"

April gave Blue a quick tour of the school, introduced some of the other staff, and before long, the children began to arrive. Like a flood they poured through the doors, shouting goodbyes to fleeing parents, they raced to greet their friends.

Quickly the flood relented as the children drifted to their classes, bundling around desks and talking eagerly. Before long, a full class of kids of all different species were gathered, and April was standing by a chalkboard, clapping her hands. Almost instantly, the kids fell quiet.

"Good morning, everyone! Today, we have a special guest joining us." April waved Blue over, placing him front and centre. "This is Mr. Blue, he'll be helping us today."

Immediately, a hand shot into the air, a Machop sitting in the front row was grinning manically.

Blue pointed cautiously at the kid. "Uh, yes, you."

"Mr. Blue, are you strong?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm pretty strong."

"Bet you're not stronger than my Dad!"

Blue's brows furrowed, his frown deepening as he noted the expectant faces, waiting eagerly for his response. "Well, you're Dad must be pretty strong then because-"

"He is!" Yelled the Machop, leaning so far forwards he was nearly toppling the desk. "He left when I was little. Mum says he's on a training journey. He'll be back someday!"

"He went to get the milk?"

Machop's head tilted, his smile faltering ever so slightly. "What's that mean?"

His ears pinning back, Blue looked desparately at April and she thankfully swooped in, quelling the discussion and beginning the class. She taught for sometime, a basic reading lesson, before handing each student two sheets of paper, large text printed on them in footprint runes.

Blue wandered slowly past the desks, offering the occasional correction or encouragement. It was almost nostalgic, whisking him off into memories of a cranky Charmander, frustrated that he couldn't figure this out. Shaking his head clear, Blue tried and failed hide his trepidation, and it only got worse when there came a tugging at his leg.

Looking down, Blue found an Espurr gazing up at him, thousand yard stare boring straight through his skull.

Clearing his throat, Blue dropped to a knee and looked over the Espurr's paper. "Do you need help?"

Espurr tapped the paper slowly. "The end is nigh."

"N-no, it says, the uh-"

Espurr tapped the paper again. "Time is a cruel mistress, driving us closer to the inevitable, that great unknown we all fear. It awaits us all, Pokemon... and human."

His lips pursed tight, Blue nodded slowly. "You're doing great."

Hurrying away, he moved to stand beside a Voltorb who was rocking back and forth, a deep frown on it's face.

Taking a deep breath, Blue smiled and took a knee once more. "Hey, buddy, you alright?"

Voltorb's eyes didn't leave the paper. "It doesn't make sense!"

"Well, how about we take another look?"

"No, it doesn't make sense! It's too hard."

Blue glanced at the paper, his head tilting. "It's the same as everyone elses."

"Then mine's broken!" The Voltorb began trembling, a quiet buzz building from within it.

In an instant, April was there, shooting Blue a soft smile before shooing him away. She knelt beside the Voltorb, her tail hanging just above it's head and catching the stray sparks that it had begun unconsciously firing.

"It's okay, Ethan. Here, why don't you show me where it's broken?"

The class drifted by and before long, April was releasing the kids into the school grounds to play and devour some lunch. She complimented Blue on his efforts so far before asking him to patrol the playground, handling any problems that arose, and arise they did.

The playground was mostly a large open field, with some toys, play equipment and a sandbox off to one side. Closer to the classrooms, kids zipped between tall pine trees, chasing after one another, laughing all the while.

Early into the break, a Snover waddled over, layered in cardigans and scarves, its face mostly obscured beneath the fabrics. "Help, please. I'm stuck and it's really hot."

"Okay, uh, raise your arms."

The Snover stretched it's arms out, but couldn't raise them past its shoulders. Blue nodded to himself and carefully pulled the scarves off, and then the cardigans, counting fourteen items of clothing in total. Once free, the Snover cheered happily.

"Thank you!"

Blue threw his arms wide. "Why'd you put so many clothes on?"

Snover seemed to think for a second before shrugging. "I dunno."

It waddled away, immediately replaced by a Ralts and a tiny Absol, more fluffball than actually Pokemon.

The Ralts giggled, pointing at Blue. "You're in love!"

His face warm, Blue took a half-step back. "Wha, uh, how'd you know?"

Absol headbutted Blue's leg and looked at him with pity. "A red beauty will make your life miserable. Get out while you can."

Blue stuttered for a moment, then sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Thanks for the warning, but pretty sure I'm stuck with her."

Absol shrugged and trotted away, Ralts hurrying after her.

Thankfully, no more kids approached, but that just meant Blue had to race over when a fight nearly broke out between the Machop from earlier and a Magby from a different class. The two were mostly playfighting, but he felt woefully unprepared as he separated the pair, disappointing the onlooking students.

Continuing to surveil the playground, Blue eventually spotted a small Pokemon sitting alone under a tree, far from everyone else. Slowly, he walked over, smiling and waving as he neared, and the Pokemon shuffled away at his approach. It was tiny, pink and blue, with no eyes that Blue could see; a Hatenna.

"Are you alright?"

The Hatenna didn't answer.

"You don't want to play with everyone?"

Again, no response.

Gesturing at the grassy patch beside Hatenna, Blue asked, "Can I sit?"

Hatenna glanced up for half a second, and nodded. So, Blue sat, leaning back against the tree, arms propped up on his legs. He watched as the kids played, yelling and laughing and running; it made him feel so very tired.

"They're noisy," Hatenna said, her voice barely a whisper.

Blue's eyes widened and he glanced at the Hatenna. "Yeah, they are." His head tilting, Blue drummed his fingers along his arm and an idea pricked at him. "Do you want to play with them?"

Hatenna didn't answer.

Sighing inwardly, Blue closed his eyes and reached out with his aura. The effect was instant, the emotions of all the children rushed into him, forcing the air from his gut. A bead of sweat running down his cheek, he tuned out the flurry of emotions, focusing on just the Hatenna beside him. Her emotions were barely more than a trickle, but there were so many feelings intertwined; fear, longing, loneliness.

Pulling himself back to present, Blue smiled at Hatenna. "Can I introduce you to two of my friends? They're quiet."

Hatenna's jaw dropped and after a brief pause it nodded. Blue quickly disappeared amongst the throng of kids, returning a moment later with Ralts and the tiny Absol.

Blue knelt, gesturing between the Pokemon. "Ralts, Absol, this is, oh, sorry, what's your name?"

"Sarah," squeaked Hatenna.

His head tilting, Blue laughed slightly and shook his head. "Sarah, this is Ralts and Absol."

The horn on Ralt's head glowed briefly for a moment, and then he smiled. "You're really nice! Wanna be friends?"

"Oh, okay."

Ralts gave a quiet cheer and quickly launched into muted conversation, with Absol offering the occasional comment. Hatenna's face lit up as it began talking to its new friends.

Nearby, a Starly squawked as it crashed headlong into a tree during a game of tag. Blue slipped away from the trio, hurrying to Starly's side. The little bird was crying loudly, but after a quick check, Blue realised it was fine.

Carefully, he reached out once more, tuned out the excess, focused on Starly, and, reaching out, Blue pushed forth quiet bursts of peace, like ripples on a large lake. The Starly's crying stopped and upon realising it was fine, the bird Pokemon simply got up and flew away, right back into the game.

So, the day passed, Blue solving problems as they arose, his aura skills getting quite the workout. By the time all the kids had gone home he was practically asleep on his feet.

April couldn't help but laugh knowingly. "Blue, what makes children such a delight, and such a pain, is that they're unpredictable. They'll always find ways to cause mischief, its what they do, but they also say, and do, the most heartwarming things without warning. You don't have control, and that's where the fun comes in."

Control, huh? He certainly felt like he didn't have any, but he'd managed to give it to a few kids today, and it made their days a little bit better. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea, not that he'd admit it to Sarah.

There was a knock at the door and a Charizard appeared in the entryway. Sarah smiled apologetically at April. "Hi! Sorry I'm late, I'm here to pick up my boyfriend, I believe he's in your class?"

"Har har," drawled Blue, stumbling towards the door. "Please, can we go home?"

Sarah threw her head back at laughed, nodding goodbye to April. "Sure, you big baby. How was your day?"

"An Absol told me to break up with you."

"What?!"

"I'm coming back tomorrow."

Sarah snorted, her tail lashing. "Well, they're just kids so-"

"Absol can sense disasters before they happen."

Her gaze narrowing, Sarah glared at him. "What are you trying to say?"

"Your curry is awful." Blue smiled and kissed her cheek. "But I love you anways."

#These two are really growing on me #the snover part is based on a true story #teen boy waddled over like a penguin - unable to move his arms - stuck and overheating in like 9 layers #the irony being the day before I had to fish him out of a river and blast him with a heater because he was getting hypothermia #pokemon #pmd #fanfic #billy's works #pmd fanfic #pmd ocs #pokemon mystery dungeon #lucario #charizard

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