#I’ve had stretch marks on my knees for YEARS and then out of nowhere he pointed them out today

[nirby-wirby]

Don’t you just love it when your dad points out your stretch marks on your knees and proceeds to act like it’s the biggest deal in the world?? And proceeds to act like and say it isn’t normal?? Therefore making you feel insecure about something that you weren’t really insecure about before??? It’s. So great.

[aspiringtrashpanda]

🍙TOGE x YUUTA💍

This is for my spontaneous event, which can be found here! I LOVE this prompt, thank you Twitter friend! There’s something just so bewitching about the mountains and the sage and I had so much fun writing (and doing way too much research about sage for) this! 💕

“Italics” is sign language

No C/W apply

“Why did we have to get Ijichi to drive us 3 hours way, into the middle of nowhere, again?” Yuuta asked, lifting his knees high as he stepped around the crawling bushes and tree roots of the Honshu mountains.

He heard Maki scoff from up ahead, her jade ponytail swinging with each step she took as she lead the team into further wilderness, “It’s not the middle of nowhere.  We’re at the base of Mt. Fuji.”

“Base?” Yuuji scrambled after her, red sneakers digging into the loose soil marking their departure from the main, trodden trail, “We just climbed... like a wholeass mountain.”

Panting as she stretched her arms high above her head in an attempt to relieve a stitch in her side, Nobara huffed, “Well, yeah, a mountain is made up of smaller mountains.”

“I thought just the peak was considered Mt. Fuji,” Megumi added, gaze fixed to the birds flitting from tree to tree, their shadows dancing against the midday sun. 

Panda lifted a claw to his chin, following Megumi’s stare as he mused, “The whole island is Mt. Fuji, I think?”

Maki paused mid-step, shooting an incredulous look over her shoulder, “You’re all idiots.”

“Shake,” Toge spoke up from where he walked next to Yuuta, hands shoved in the pockets of his baggy pants as if he wasn’t the least bit concerned about tripping.

Maki snorted, “Oh shut up, Toge.  You’re no better.”

“Okaka!”

“But why are we here?” Yuuta tried again, accidentally nudging Toge’s shoulder with his bicep as he swerved to avoid a particularily pointed, low-hanging branch.  

Heat rocketed through his arm like he had been stuck by lightning, his heart skipping a beat.  

Toge blinked up at him in surprise, concern lancing through those pretty, lilac, heavy-lidded eyes with the platinum lashes that kissed his cheeks whenever he blinked and...

Yuuta squawked as the tip of his shoe knocked against a rock.  

Nobara narrowed her eyes as she glanced in his direction, as if she was disgusted by his panic over something as inoffensive as a rock... or still not over the whole Kyoto thing from his first year.  Who knows.  It had been months since he had returned home from abroad, and to this day, he had no clue where he stood with the fiery woman.

He must have looked might pathetic, stumbling over roots and branches like he wasn’t a Special Grade sorcerer, since she took pity on him.  “There’s this thing I read about online that I want to try.  I’m pretty sure there’s a ghost in my dorm room and I’ve tried almost everything else,” She finally answered.

“Did you...” Yuuji jumped over a fallen tree trunk, “Did you try exorcising it?”

“It’s a ghost, not a curse, you imbecile!” She snapped back.  

Maki let out a dramatic sigh, looking over her shoulder once more to lament, “And here I thought she just wanted to sleep in my room for me.”  She shot a wink in Nobara’s direction, ducking under a branch without even looking.

“Well that too, but the point is that I need sage.  To burn.  To rid my room of bad energy,” Nobara punctuated each break in the sentence by hopping from boulder to boulder, the path growing more rocky the higher they wandered, “It’s supposed to clear approximately 94 percent of airborne bacteria and release negative ions, which bring forth positive vibes.”

“Vibes, yeah,” Yuuji nodded, feigning comprehension.  

“You know, I also read about smudging online,” Megumi started, surprising everybody.  Heads swiveled towards him, eyes wide.  Yuuta stumbled as a leaf obscured his view momentarily.  Megumi frowned, continuing, “More so about the impact on nature from the over-harvesting of sage due to New Age practices growing in popularity.”

The group hummed in disappointed comprehension.  Very few people enjoyed reading boring non-fiction articles in their free time.  Megumi and, like, 7 other people.  If that.

“No one said you had to join, party pooper,” Nobara rolled her eyes, “Besides, sage is native to Honshu.  There’s almost too much of it here.”  

“YO! Is that a giant panda!?” Yuuji’s excited gasp had everyone rushing ahead, just to meet more disappointment.  

“Just me,” Panda lumbered back to the group, a cluster of yellow flowers in hand. “Sorry to let you down, but there are no pandas on Mt. Fuji.  Is this the sage you’re looking for, Kugisaki?”

Yuuta immediately looked to Toge as the others gathered around Panda’s find.  

Toge’s shoulders had slumped slightly, his eyes on his shoes as he trudged along.

Yuuta extended a hand, considering touching Toge’s back in comfort.  Of course Toge would deflate after Panda’s admission.  He loved pandas.  He had probably been quietly wishing they would see one, and now his dreams had been crushed in an instant.    

Yuuta was overwhelmed by an urge to make it all better, to find a panda somewhere and present it to Toge just to see his pretty smile, to see the way his dimples warped seals on either side of his mouth.  He was pretty sure that Toge’s smile was to Yuuta what pandas were to Toge, and he never ever wanted to go another day without seeing the way Toge’s nose squished and his cheeks – covered in a fine dusting of freckles – lifted when he laughed, squinting his enchanting eyes and...  

“HEY! Is that a red panda?”

Ah.  He had zoned out again, apparently coming back to earth just in time to see Yuuji throw himself deeper into the forest, accelerating by the second, swiftly disappearing from view.  

“Wait! Itadori, don’t-” Megumi’s head lolled against his backpack as he groaned up at the sky, “We have to go after him, don’t we?”

Murmurs of resignation were interupted only by Toge sighing, “Okaka.” He shrugged when everyone looked his way, signing, “Speak for yourself.”

As everyone rushed off in the direction that Yuuji had disappeared, Toge wandered off in the opposite direction, Yuuta following him.  

Toge had to know that Yuuta was there.  It had already been made painfully obvious that Yuuta was as clumsy as a newborn foal in such an obstacle-ridden environment.  Though, despite Yuuta’s shoes crunching twigs as he trotted after Toge, the latter made no effort to acknowledge him.

Not until he reached the treeline, the forest opening up into a grassy, sloping hill, a mountain valley stretching before them.  Only then, when he stood at the edge of the forest, the backdrop painted with clear blue sky and emerald green forest, did Toge look back at Yuuta, smiling softly and squinting against the sun.    

“Hey, Inumaki-san, um,” Yuuta watched as Toge plopped himself down in the tall grass, mountain breeze lifting strands of pale blond hair to dance in the clean air, “Do you mind if I join you?”

Toge patted the ground next to him.  

They sat in silence for a little bit, Toge’s features relaxing as he gazed out over the field.  In the distance, a deer and her fawn skittered around the far edge of forest.  Yuuta admired the way Toge’s breath caught in his throat, a faint gasp muffled by the face mask he had donned for their excursion, as he watched the animals interact with the nature around them.  The affection in Toge’s pretty eyes had Yuuta’s heart hammering in his chest.

Then, Toge turned to him, raising a brow in silent question, and Yuuta realized that he’d been caught staring.

“Um,” Yuuta floundered, trying to come up with something, anything, to say, “Do you think the sage thing really works?”

“Tuna tuna,” Toge shrugged, his eyes crinkling with amusement like he could see right through him.  His fingers flashed a quick, “Maybe.”

“Do you want to try it?”

“Okaka,” Toge waved him off, “Don’t need to.”

Yuuta balked, his jaw droping as he stammered through a protest, “What do you mean?!  We’re literally surrounded by negative energy all the time.  Wouldn’t it be nice to, I don’t know, not feel the crushing weight of cursed energy for a little bit?”

Toge hummed, turning his eyes to the mountains in the distance as he answered, “I already have my own way of smudging out the negative ‘vibes’.”

“You do?” Yuuta held his breath as Toge nodded.  

“Everything feels a lot lighter when you’re around.”

Did he mean...?  Like, the way that Toge had Yuuta feeling as though he was pumped full of helium whenever he so much as looked at him?  

“It does?” Yuuta curled his fingers into the grass, trying to ground himself, to set his expectations low, “Am I, um, am I controlling that?  Was Miguel supposed to teach me about this?”

“Yuuta,” Toge chuckled, reaching out to flick Yuuta’s nose, “I’m saying I like being around you.”

“Oh, I like being around my friends too,” Yuuta thought we was going to have a heartattack.  This wasn’t real.  This was a dream, right?  If he pinched himself he’d wake up and...

“Okaka,” Toge blinked slowly, unable to stop the way his shoulders shook in mirth, amusement making his hands tremble as he signed, “I like you more than a friend.”

“More than a friend?” Yuuta was going to die.

“I’m saying I have a crush on you.”

This was so much better than his dreams.  He had always thought that he’d be the one to confess to Toge, with some of Toge’s favourite flowers, in Tokyo, after taking him to dinner at his favorite sushi restaurant.  

And yet, here, surrounded by nature and mountains and the clear, blue sky, Toge’s blush creeping up from the edge of his face mask as his eyes darted away nervously... Yuuta couldn’t have asked for more.  

“Oh.  Oh,” He scrambled to his knees, twisting his body so that he was facing Toge, the grass      around them waving in the crisp breeze, molding to their shapes, “Oh!  Inumaki-san, I have a crush on you too!”  

“Shake?” Toge’s eyes widened, flitting back to Yuuta’s as they flooded with relief and nervous anticipation.  

“I do!” Yuuta’s voice cracked, jumping up an octave as he grabbed one of Toge’s hands, gushing, “God, Inuamki-san, I’ve had a crush on you for so long.”  

“Gross,” Toge finger-spelled.

Yuuta could have sworn he heard the record scratch.  “Oh, were you joking?”

“YUUTA!” Toge laughed, louder than Yuuta had ever heard him, tearing off his face mask to reveal his wide beam, his flushed cheeks his ever so kissable lips that were just calling Yuuta’s name.

So Yuuta leaned in and kissed him like it was something he had done thousands of times before.  Which, if he was including in dreams, he had.

Toge’s lips were soft against his own, slotting against his mouth like they belonged there, and god, Yuuta had known that to be true for so long.  

“Can I... Can I call you babe?” Yuuta caressed Toge’s cheek, gazing lovingly into his eyes, sparkling in pure joy.  

“Okaka,” Toge snorted, squishing up his nose.

He tried another approach, “...Dear?”

“O-ka-ka,” Toge punctuated each syllable with a kiss to Yuuta’s cheek, to his nose, to his lips.

“How about sweetheart?”

Toge mulled this one over, pursing his lips in thought.  Yuuta was prepared for another rejection, when he hummed, nodding with finality, “Shake.”

Yuuta smiled so hard his cheeks ached.  

“Hey, Nobara!” That was Yuuji’s voice, the sound of multiple pairs of shoes thumping against the ground nearing alarmingly fast. “This article says you’re supposed to use white sage.  This is Japanese yellow sage!”  

“Japanese sage for a Japanese ghost?” Toge pumped his eyebrows, grinning mischievously at Yuuta, his perfect teeth and pale pink lips so inviting.  

Yuuta grinned, unable to help himself, “I’m going to kiss you again, sweetheart.” 

And, because the universe hated him, his friends rolled up to the forest clearning just in time to not only hear his claim, but to see it in action too.

The ride back to Tokyo had been less than pleasant.  

“Hey, sweetheart, can you pass me the AUX?” Yuuji tapped Toge on the shoulder, gesturing to the stereo console closest to the latter’s seat next to Ijichi.  

Nobara butted in, thrusting her beverage into Toge’s hands, “Sweetheart, can you put my iced coffee in the cupholder?”

Yuuta groaned, ignoring the chuckles bouncing around the interior of the vehicle. 

“Everyone leave Yuuta alone,” Maki scolded, offering Yuuta reprieve.

...That lasted for a split second before she turned to Toge, adding, “You too, sweetheart.”  

[lostinthewiind]

Piss Off Your Parents - Part 3

Ukai Keishin - Haikyuu

Synopsis: freshly turned 18, you want to prove to your parents that you aren’t a child for them to push around anymore. First, get a job at the local corner store. Second, use the store owner’s 26-year-old son with piercings and a cigarette addiction to piss your parents off. Third, accidentally fall in love.

Rating: PG

Warnings: none

Song → 18 by Anarbor

Previous →Part 2

Next →Part 4

Never before had you dreaded something more than you dreaded arriving for work the morning following your incident with Keishin. More than anything, you hoped he was thoroughly pissed at you and had left for work early that day so that the two of you wouldn’t have to see each other, but much to your displeasure and horror, when you stepped into the store that morning, he was sitting at the front counter, waiting for you.

How was he not pissed at you after what you had said to him? 

When the sound of the front doors sliding open filled the otherwise silent building, leaving the keys in your hand useless as Keishin had already unlocked the store, you gripped the keys tightly and swallowed hard when he looked up at you. He didn’t say anything at first, maybe because he was waiting to see if you would make the first move, but after last night you were done making first moves when it came to him.

Averting his gaze and dropping your head low, you shoved the keys back into your pocket and headed for the back room to put your stuff away and get this day over with. 

Just as you were about to open the door to the back room, Keishin cleared his throat and you stopped in your tracks, head turning to look at him without thinking about it. 

“Good morning, Y/N.” This was the very first time he had greeted you first, and on top of that, the very first time he had ever used your name. 

You weren’t sure how to respond, confusion and excitement mixing in your body to create an overwhelming concoction. “Good morning,” you mumbled in response before disappearing into the back before he could do anything else out of the ordinary, like God forbid initiate a conversation or something.

You took your sweet time getting ready, delaying heading out to the front of the store as long as possible to give Keishin ample time to leave. After about fifteen minutes or so, you emerged only to find him sitting right where he had been before, newspaper sprawled on the counter and a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Shouldn’t you have left by now?” The questioned slipped past your lips before you even had the chance to filter it through your head.

Eyes wide, Keishin was surprised that you had spoken to him almost as much as you were. “We’re expecting a big delivery today, so I’m sticking around,” he answered. “You’ve never handled one by yourself so my mom asked me to show you how it’s done.”

Your heart sank, your stomach twisted, your knees felt weak. So he was going to be here with you all day long? “Perfect,” you groaned, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm in your tone. “That’s just awesome. Great.”

“Listen, it’s not my idea of an ideal day either, but it is what it is,” he said. “So why don’t we just put last night behind us, chalk it up to exhaustion and the influence of alcohol on my part, and move forward?”

You quirked an eyebrow at him, the fact that you couldn’t seem to figure him out thoroughly starting to irritate you. “How are you not angry at me?” you questioned him. “I was . . . horrible last night.”

You had spent the entire night after getting home thinking about the horrendous way you had behaved. The things you had done and said made you feel awful and you couldn’t understand how Keishin wasn’t on the brink of smacking the shit out of you right now.

“It’s fine.” He flashed a smile, trying his best to prove that he wasn’t dwelling on the past. “I’m a big boy. I can take it.”

Looking around to double check that the two of you were the only ones in the store, you lowered your voice before speaking. “But I put my hands on you. You can really just forget that?” Heat swelled in your cheeks as you recalled the less horrible events that had taken place.

“I touched you too,” he reminded you.

“Yeah, but yours was an accident.” You weren’t sure why you were saying all of this stuff; it was almost like you wanted him to be angry at you. Who knows, maybe you did. “I called you a burnout.”

Keishin let out a booming laugh at that. “Take a good long look at me, kid.” He smirked, gesturing to himself. “You really think I’ve never been called worse?”

“I don’t think that’s the point,” you breathed out.

Keishin opened his mouth to speak, but before he let a word out, he changed his mind and pressed his lips together. In the meantime, he watched you, the cogs in his head obviously working hard. “You’re an odd one, you know that?” He stood up, walked over to you, and set a hand on your shoulder. “I said it’s fine, so just forget about it, okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded, finally giving in. 

“Good. Now, get to work, because this place isn’t going to run itself and I’m only here to help with the delivery, so until then, I’ll be napping on the couch in the back. Wake me up when the truck gets here.”

Before you had a chance to respond, Keishin gave you a pat on the head and disappeared into the back room without another word.

You stood in place for a moment, unsure if the fact that he had forgiven you so easily was a relief or not. You didn’t allow yourself to worry too long about that though, because, like Keishin had said, you had work to do and the store wasn’t going to run itself. And, if your memory served you correctly, you had some sweeping to do in the back corner.

For about two hours, you fell back into your normal workday routine, completely forgetting about the events of the previous night or the fact that Keishin was napping in the back. That was, until you saw the delivery truck pull up in front of the store and remembered you had been given the task of waking the sleeping man. 

Heading into the back, you moved slowly and quietly even though it didn’t matter if you woke Keishin since that was what you were supposed to do anyway. 

“Keishin,” you spoke softly, not wanting to startle him. “The delivery truck is here.”

Of course, he didn’t even budge at that. Nervously, you stepped closer to the couch, unable to ignore the fact that Keishin looked completely different when he was asleep. The usual frown or cocky grin he sported was nowhere to be seen and he didn’t seem as intimidating when his eyes were closed and his breathing was so slow and rhythmic. 

“Keishin.” You reached out and placed your hand on his shoulder like he had done to you earlier and shook him slightly. Still nothing. Rolling your eyes, you were unsure what to try next aside from shouting right in his face. If only he had warned you he was a heavy sleeper. 

Deciding to try one last thing before you resorting to screeching, you leaned closer to his ear, planted your hand on his chest—a brief memory of how you had touched him last night flashing in your mind—and shook him once more while you spoke. “Keishin, the delivery truck is here,” you said, not whispering but also not being too loud.

Thankfully, the mixture of shaking him and speaking directly into his ear seemed to finally do the trick and his eyes shot open. Immediately, you jumped back, not wanting him to be weirded out by how close you were to him. 

Eyes travelling up to meet yours, Keishin yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “Truck’s here?” he clarified.

“Yeah, it just arrived,” you told him, waiting for him to get up. “You should have told me you were a heavy sleeper. I was about to scream or pour water over you or something.”

Keishin cringed at the thought of that. “Well, thank goodness you didn’t. Next time, just pinch my nose or tickle me or something . . . anything but water.”

“Next time?” you asked. “You plan on taking naps on the couch often?”

“It’s my favourite place to nap. You should try it sometime,” he said before heading for the door. “Come on, let’s get this delivery over with. Try to learn fast so I don’t have to teach you again.”

“I’ll try my best.”

As you had pretty much expected, the delivery had been pretty straight forward. After helping the delivery man unload all of the boxes into the storage room and signing off on the delivery, the most time-consuming and complex part of the process was taking an inventory of the new supplies, which you picked up on pretty quickly. 

Keishin showed you how to mark down the new delivery on the clipboard kept in the storage room and where to input the total count for each item. From there, all you had to do was make sure you had received everything and had the correct number ordered. 

“Pretty easy, right?” He glanced at you out the corner of his eye as the two of you worked together at counting the inventory, keeping an ear open for customers in the process.

“Yeah, it doesn’t seem hard. Just time consuming,” you agreed. 

“Exactly. We usually get a big delivery like this about once a month, then smaller deliveries throughout the week for more perishable items, as you already know.”

You nodded, quickly becoming lost in the repetitive task of counting and writing down the amount on the clipboard. Weirdly enough, you found that you didn’t actually hate taking inventory; the simple task was actually kind of calming and passed the time effortlessly. 

“50,” you muttered under your breath, jotting down the number in the correct box right after you finished counting. When you turned back to start on the next box, you caught Keishin looking in your direction. “What?” You furrowed your brows at him. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“You,” he responded, quickly elaborating when you shot him a confused look. “Well, more specifically, why you took this job.”

You shrugged as you continued working. “I already told you. I need the money.”

“Right, so you can move out on your own. But why?”

Your hands stopped grabbing items and your mind stopped counting, making you lose track. “Because I’ve been waiting for as long as I can remember to live my own life and now that I have the opportunity, I’m not going to pass it up.”

“But wouldn’t you much rather be going to school? Surely you don’t want to work in a place like this for the rest of your life.”

You sighed heavily. “You ask a lot of questions, you know that?”

“I’m just curious,” Keishin said. “I want to understand you better.”

“I don’t think you could truly understand unless you experienced the childhood that I did.”

Stopping his work as well, Keishin leaned against the shelf and crossed his arms over his chest. “Try me.”

Rolling your eyes, you accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to give up. “First thing’s first, I’m not saying my childhood was tragic or anything. My parents didn’t beat me. They fed me and clothed me and everything a parent should.” You started, waiting for him to nod before continuing. “I was just never allowed to live my own life or make my own decisions. I ate what my parents wanted me to eat, I wore what they wanted me to wear. I took the classes they wanted me to, I was friends with who they thought would make a good friend. They went overboard on trying to get me to do what they thought was best for me. I was never old enough or mature enough to know what I really wanted. I lived in a controlling dictatorship.”

“What about soccer?” Keishin asked, proving that he had actually remembered the conversation the two of you had had on your first day at the store. “You told me you used to play.”

You smiled fondly at the thought of your high school soccer team. “That was the only thing I ever got to pick for myself . . . and it took months of convincing, and in the end, I was only allowed to continue because I was good at it. The fact that I genuinely enjoyed it never came into account for my parents.” Your smiled faded slightly. “Sometimes they even managed to drain the fun from that as well, but I refused to let them ruin it for me because it was the only thing I had that was mine.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Every day . . . but this is more important right now.”

Keishin was silent for a few moments while he processed everything you had said. “Sounds like everything needed to have a purpose.”

“Pretty much. If something had no chance of providing success in the future, it was a waste of time.”

“So the plan is to work so you can afford your own place, then go to school next year? How are you going to afford school?”

“Well, if I had followed my parents plan for me and started working toward a law degree, they would have paid for it. But since I’ve decided to do my own thing now, I’m just lucky they haven’t kicked me out of the house yet . . . so I guess I’ll have to get a scholarship or apply for student loans. I’ll basically be scraping by, so I’ve applied for a bunch of community colleges and I’ll go from there I guess.”

Fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, Keishin lit one before sticking it between his lips. “What do you want to do?”

You laughed slightly at that. “I have no idea. I was never allowed to have hobbies or interests, so I don’t even know what I like. I just know what I don’t like. If I could do anything though, I’d apply for the University of Tokyo. They have a great soccer program. I just want to play soccer again.”

Keishin smiled. “Just soccer?”

“For now, yeah. I’ve learned that I’ll have to take life step by step, so that’s the first major goal. I’ll probably take some first year classes and see what I like and go from there. I think it’s okay to not have a set-in-stone plan sometimes . . . after all, this is the first time in my life I’ve never had my future planned out for me. It’s kind of exciting . . . scary, too, but exciting.”

Keishin sighed contently as he watched your eyes light up when you talked about the things you wanted to do in the future. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Sure.”

“So what was the point of what happened last night?” he inquired. “And, while we’re at it, the past few weeks as well. How do I fit into this grand plan of yours?”

You felt your heart pound against your chest. “I thought we were forgetting about last night?”

“We are,” he assured you. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m just curious, is all.”

You thought for a moment, unsure how to phrase exactly how you were feeling. At first, you were inclined to take him up on his offer to not answer, but after how nice he had been to you today, you felt you owed him at least that. 

“Originally, I was in a pretty messed-up head space and I wanted to use you to get back at my parents,” you told him truthfully, “. . . but after last night, I did some serious thinking and realized that wasn’t the case. What I really want is to prove to my parents that not everything that is different or ‘not according to plan’ is bad. You have an  . . . alternative look about you,” you tried to phrase that as respectfully as possible, causing Keishin to chuckle, “but you’re not a bad person or, despite my harsh words last night, a burnout. You coach volleyball for high school kids and you help out at your family’s store and even though I’ve been pretty horrible to you, you’ve been nothing but nice to me.”

You paused, unsure if you should say the last part or not. “I don’t know, I just think that maybe if they met you, they might realize that I’m capable of making good choices for myself even if it doesn’t fit their predetermined mold of my life.”

“You think I’m a good choice?” he asked, taken aback by your honesty.

“Yeah.” You eyed him while he took a drag from his cigarette and let the smoke spill from his lips. “Maybe not the nicotine addiction part, but hey, no one’s perfect.”

Keishin chuckled before putting his smoke out. “Okay, I’ve got a deal for you.”

You cocked a brow at him. “What?”

“If I pretend to be your boyfriend and help you fix things with your parents, you have to apply to the University of Tokyo and follow your dream of playing soccer.”

You were thoroughly perplexed. “Both conditions of that deal only really benefit me. What do you get out of it?”

He just shrugged. “Nothing.”

You scoffed. “Well, as generous and sketchy as that sounds, there is no way I would be able to afford the University of Tokyo on my own and I don’t think any amount of ass-kissing could make my parents agree to pay for me to go there to play soccer and figure life out.”

“Hey, one step at a time, right?” He used your own words against you. 

You contemplated his offer for a moment. “You’re really okay with that? Even though you get nothing but more work out of it?”

“I suggested it, didn’t I?”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “You’d really pretend to be my boyfriend? Even though I’m just some rebellious kid?”

“Your opinion of me changed,” he pointed out. “Why can’t my opinion of you change too?”

“Fair enough,” you conceded. “Well, if you’re absolutely positive you won’t regret it when you wake up tomorrow morning, I’ll happily accept your deal. Thank you.”

Keishin turned back to the stack of boxes and promptly returned to the task at hand. “You’re welcome.”

You watched him work and quietly hum to himself while he did so. This time, it was his turn to catch you staring. “What?” he looked over at you.

“I just didn’t peg you for such a softy is all,” you joked. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he scoffed at you. “Just don’t fall in love with me or anything, kid.”

You smirked. “Whatever you say, old man.”

[backtobackbakubabe]

Speak Easy Part 13

Dabi x Reader , Bakugo x Reader

Words : 3125

Masterlist

Reader has a siren quirk and has spent the past several years of her life as a captive being experimented on by “heroes” Now that she’s out she needs protection and safe place to heal. Who will be the one to put her pieces back together.

Words with ‘this’ is dialogue written in her journal rather than said out loud and and words with ~this~ is dialogue said in sign language rather than out loud.

********************************************************************

You watched as Dabi paced in front of you as you hugged your knees to your chest. Shoto had come to sit next to you and you were grateful for his calming presence. He kept giving you a weird look and then looking at his brother. He obviously wanted to ask what was going on between the two of you, but you mouthed, “later” at him and he shrugged it off.

“Ok. So what? He has a list of my safe houses. That’s okay… That’s arguably a good thing actually.” Dabi was thinking out loud trying, and even though his voice sounded calm, you could see the way his hands balled into fists so tight his staples were pulling.

“No one knows about this place. This is the safest house out of all of them. I bought it after I left the League, it’s in the middle of nowhere, and the security is the best money can buy.” He stopped his pacing and looked at his brother, “So…”

Shoto draped a lazy arm around you and you released a tense breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. He quirked his head at his older brother, “So…? What? Why is that a good thing?”

Dabi’s eyes got this scary look. They practically glowed and you could tell whatever he was thinking probably wasn’t good. “It means we can pick them off. Set up traps for them at my other safe houses. It might take some time… we won’t know what houses they’re targeting so at first it’ll be a lot of guess work.” You could see a scheme hatching behind his eyes and for once he truly looked like a villain. “You said Bakugo was already out looking for them, right? I can meet up with him! They’re my houses after all, no one knows them better than me.”

He took off towards the bedroom mumbling something about needing to pack. Your wide eyes connected with Shoto’s, “How long before he remembers he’d have to leave me behind and panics?”

Shoto hummed, “I’d say about thirty seconds after he’s done packing.” He shrugged, “It’s not a bad plan honestly. I see he’s gotten rather attached to you lately though.”

You could hear the unspoken question and you weren’t sure you were ready to jump into that conversation just yet. It was bad enough that Katsuki knew. You shrugged and averted your eyes back to the door Dabi had disappeared behind. “We’ve gotten pretty close. You learn a lot about someone when you’re stuck in a house with them.”

“SHIT!”

Shoto sighed, “Sounds like he just remembered.”

Dabi stomped back into the living room and stopped a few feet in front of you. His stare was intense almost like he was trying to see through you. You could see his frustration growing as he battelled internally over what he should do. “I can’t leave you here by yourself… I don’t want to leave you at all. But- But I can’t take you with me either.” You could see his mind running a mile a minute trying to come up with a solution.

“You can leave me here, I’m not totally useless. I have the collar, so you can call me, check on my location and vitals and all that creepy shit.” You gestured to the younger Todoroki sitting next to you, “And I’m sure your brother and Izuku are dying to have some time to catch up. They can keep me company. Kiri too if need be.”

Dabi kneeled in front of you and laid his arms on either side of you, caging you in. “It would drive me insane leaving you here.”

You brushed your thumb over the spot between his eyes, smoothing out his worried expression. “More insane than if you stayed here and let Katsuki handle this on his own?”

His body sagged and he leaned his forehead onto your shoulder. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it sounds like you want me to go.”

You leaned your head on his. “Of course I don’t want you to go idiot. But I hate to break it to you, I know you pretty well… And I don’t think sitting here day after day listening to you complain about how you could do it better, sounds like fun.” He groaned because he knew you were right. “So, go ahead and go. I’ll be fine here I promise. Go catch some bad guys with Katsuki.”

“Ugh don’t say it like that. You make is sound like a cheesy buddy cop movie. I just hope your little hero friend isn’t squeamish because I’m not going to hold back.”

Shoto cleared his throat, “Some of us… little heroes… have seen enough shit to last a lifetime. Bakugo’s the hardest working and grittiest out of us all, so believe me when I say you don’t need to worry about him.”

Dabi narrowed his eyes at his brother who he had just realized was practically cuddling with you. “Seeing death and dealing it out are two different things. I know he’s capable of killing someone, but mentally I don’t think he could cross that line.” He held a hand up to stop Shoto from arguing with him. “And I don’t care if he doesn’t want to get his precious hero hands dirty. Because that’s what I’m here for, and I’m honestly looking forward to it.”

You huffed, “Listen, I really don’t like the look you get when you talk about killing people. It’s sick… killing isn’t supposed to be fun you psychopath.”

His eyes shifted back to yours, “Baby girl. I want to make something clear. I will find the sick fucks that kidnapped you. I will torture them in the most painful and humiliating ways possible. By the time I’m done… they will welcome death with open arms. I’ll be doing them a favor.” His forehead pressed against yours. “Unless you’d rather I save them for you…My destroyer of men.”

You hit his shoulder, “I’d rather you let Katsuki arrest them! You know how I feel about killing villains.”

His hand gripped the back of your neck hard to force you to look at him, “…No. You know I can’t do that. The sooner you accept that, the easier all of this will be.” His thumb rubbed your cheek, “I know it sucks. But this is the world you live in now. We can’t trust anyone but ourselves.”

Shoto cleared his throat, “Listen I don’t know what is going on between the two of you, but I would appreciate it if you refrained from being kinky in my presence.”

Dabi growled, “Fuck off! You literally let yourself in unannounced… When all of this over I swear we’re leaving the fucking country. I’m so sick of you brats just coming over whenever you feel like it. We’re gonna leave and you’ll never see us again.”

Shoto quirked an eyebrow, “So… Even after all of this is resolved… you plan to still live with y/n?” You could see the gears turning in his head as he pieced all of this together. “Hmm interesting.” He got up and stretched. “Well I guess I’ll give you guys some alone time to… do whatever this is… just without me having to witness it.”

“Hey before you go… You sure you’re okay with keeping an eye on her while I’m gone?” You hadn’t heard Dabi sound so uncertain before. Usually he carried so much confidence that it was overwhelming. But now he sounded lost.

Shoto nodded, “Yeah it’s not a big deal. Izuku and I can take shifts. Kirishima will probably take over every now and then depending on how long you are gone… But we don’t mind. Y/n was right when she said we’d like to catch up with her.” He gave you an awkward wink that was completely out of character for him. “You’ve been hoarding her all to yourself for months now.” He walked down the hall and shouted, “Try not to be too loud. I’ll just pick the room that smells the least like sex.”

“Good luck! I’ve fucked her on every surface of the hou—” You slammed a hand over Dabi’s mouth to cut him off.

You hid your face in Dabi’s shoulder to stifle your laugh. “I love your brother so much. He has no filter and it’s honestly so refreshing.”

A quick slap to your thigh had you gasping, “I don’t appreciate you talking about my brother that way.” He nipped at your earlobe harshly, “Especially after I just agreed to let him stay here while I’m gone.”

Before you could respond he was standing up and throwing you over his shoulder, “I think I need to remind you who you fucking belong to.” He slapped your ass as you shrieked, “I might be gone for a while, so I think I need to give you something to remember.”

“You are so ridiculous! He’s literally in a committed relationship with another man!”

Dabi tossed you onto his bed and immediately fell on top of you. “He’s also my brother and I know that slut swings both ways.” He bit down hard on your shoulder, “I’m going to leave my fucking mark all over you before I go.” He sucked a bruise into your neck, “Tonight… I’m going to claim every fucking inch of you.”

He had you naked underneath him within seconds, kissing down the column of your neck. He continued down to suck a nipple into his mouth and you had to bite down on your lip to keep from screaming.

“Come on baby, let him hear you. Let him hear how good I treat you. Let him know that there is only one Todoroki for you.”

You wanted to argue with him. There was no way Shoto was interested in you at all. He’d been in love with Izuku since high school. But you were also enjoying the way Dabi was marking his territory. There was something so peaceful about giving up control to another person, especially someone you trust.

You let him kiss and suck and grope every part of you. In this moment you were his to do with as he wished. You didn’t care he was leaving mark after mark on your skin. He was claiming you, he was daring others to lay a finger on what it is his. And you fucking loved it. You loved the peace and the comfort that came with the idea of him declaring that you are his. The security of knowing he wouldn’t let another soul touch you.

He bit harshly into your inner thigh, making you yelp and buck your hips.

He chuckled darkly as he came back up and rubbed his nose against yours. “Baby girl, just look at your face. I haven’t even touched your pussy yet and you already looked so fucked out.” He dragged his fingers lightly over your stomach, across your ribs, over your breast, and finally let them settle on your neck.

You shivered and closed your eyes, “Dabiiii, stop teasing me.”

His fingers tightened around your throat. “You said some shit earlier that really got under my skin. And now I can’t decide if I should punish you or not.”

Your head spun as it tried to think about what you possibly could have said to upset him. “What – what did I say?”

Dabi leaned in sucking your bottom lip into his mouth before biting down hard. “You said…. You loved my brother.”

Your heart pounded in your chest and you felt an intense heart overwhelm your face and neck. Was he saying what you thought he was saying? Was he jealous? Did he want you to say you loved him? Is that really what he wanted to hear?

You hadn’t noticed him pulling his own pants down until he was thrusting into you. “I’m a selfish man y/n. I’m greedy. I don’t share. And hearing those sweet little words said about someone else.” His hips snapped into yours harder, as his fingers got even tighter around your neck to the point where you were sure there would be bruises.

His pace picked up and you could feel the sweat dripping from his forehead, “I wanna hear you say it. Who do you love?”

Your eyes rolled back as you croaked out a horse “you”

“That’s not good enough doll. I said! WHO do you FUCKIN LOVE?”

His fingers let go of your throat and as intense pleasure washed over you, leaving your legs shaking, “YOU!”

He fucked you through your orgasm before he followed right behind you, “That’s what I fuckin thought.”

He only parted with you long enough to clean the two of you up. He wandered to the bathroom to get a warm, wet towel. You hummed contently as rubbed it all over your body, especially over the sore new marks he had made on your skin. When he was satisfied, he tossed the rag to the floor to deal with later and rejoined you in bed. He pulled you to him, your back to his chest, and let out a huge sigh. “I’m really nervous about leaving you here. And it honestly makes me angry. I’ve never cared about another person like this, hell I’ve never even cared about my own well being this much.” You could feel him resting his chin on your shoulder, “It makes me feel weak and I hate it.”

You intertwined your fingers with his that were wrapped around your middle. “You know what they say about bravery right? Bravery isn’t not being scared. Only stupid people aren’t scared of anything. Bravery is being scared of something and doing it anyway.” You sank further into his embrace. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m scared too. Which is equally as frustrating.”

You could feel him kiss your shoulder, encouraging you to continue. “I used to be incredibly independent. I lived alone, I worked alone, because of the classified nature of my job I was pretty isolated. I didn’t need anyone, and I was more than happy to get shit done on my own…Now the thought doing anything without you gives me anxiety.”

He sighed, “If anything that makes me feel worse… I believe we have a classic case of codependency… it’s your fault by the way. For sucking me in to your annoyingly needy arms.”

“Says the guy who has his arms currently wrapped around me like a vice.” You wanted to stay in this sweet moment. He was never this open with you, never this soft. “And even though it’s not my fault, I will admit that I did kind of need you for everything when I first got here.” You felt his chest rumble with silent laughter. “But you never really complained, did you? To be honest I had thought you would have been… I don’t know… a little more… cold I guess.”

His hands heated up as they rubbed circles into your stomach. “To anyone else I definitely would have been.” He turned you around so he could pull your chest to his and rolled onto his back, tucking your head under his chin. “I was fucking toast the second you fell into my arms though.” He groaned, “UGH! I sound like such a pussy. I hate it.”

You pressed several kisses to his chest, “Well I don’t hate it.”

There was a long stretch of silence in which the two of you just held each other, not wanting to burst your bubble.

Dabi cleared his throat and you knew he wanted to talk about it. “Listen… While I’m gone all of the laws are still valid. You still need to take care of yourself. Just because I’m not here to force you to eat lunch doesn’t mean you don’t have to.” His fingers rubbed up and down your spine. “I’m sure if you ask the guys, they’ll work out with you, but they need to keep their filthy hands to themselves.” His hand stopped at your collar, “And as much I hate saying this. Don’t call me.”

You lifted your head and gave him a confused look, “What? You worried your side chicks will hear?”

He reached down and slapped your ass, “Shut up. I literally live with you and we never leave the house. That jokes not even funny.” His hand started to rub the same spot he had just slapped, “I’m being serious though. I don’t want you to call me. If something happens and they get my phone, or hell if they somehow capture me, I don’t want anything tying me to you. Shigaraki suspects you’re with me otherwise he wouldn’t be going through my safe houses. But he doesn’t know you’re with me, and I want to keep it that way.” His voice got quitter as he mumbled into your hair, “Besides… I think if I heard your voice I’d give up and come home.”

You froze, “Okay, that is officially the softest thing you’ve ever said to me… and I love it.”

He growled low in your ear, “That’s it, I’m going to start calling you whore, and making you call me sir. I’m losing my damn edge.”

You just giggled, knowing he was bluffing, but then again… he did get you a collar.

“I’m going to miss you… sir.”

“I’m gonna miss you too… my special little whore.”

You sarcastically beamed at him, “Aww you think I’m special?”

That night, you barley slept. You were so worried he’d leave without waking you up to say bye. So, as a consequence you woke up several times throughout the night and every time, he’d pull you closer and mumble a sleepy “still here.”

When morning finally came you sat on the bed with your kneed tucked under your chin as you watched him finish getting ready. Your eyes followed him as he walked around the room, taking his time. He knew the sooner he got dressed the sooner he’d have to leave.

Finally, when he had no other choice, he laced his boots up and looked at you. “Come here…” He held his arms out to you and you quickly slid into his embrace. “You be a good girl while I’m gone, okay?” He kissed the top of your head. “Listen to Shoto and try not to give him too much shit. Follow the laws, don’t watch any of our shows while I’m gone, if there’s any big emergencies have one of the guys call Bakugo.”

You nodded and looked up into his bright blue eyes, “You be safe, and don’t do anything stupid. Come back preferably in one piece please.”

He chuckled, “I will do my best doll.”

************

Tags: tags: @falling4fandoms @wifunozomi @here-in-never-land @whore-for-anime @klecksstorys @aurorahoneybuns @theunknownrandom @insane-without-delirium @frenchsfryys @officiallydarkgeek @neofixcs @music-is-all-i-need @katsuki-bakubabe@unadulteratedtastemakerpoetry@dabislittlemouse@aimee1602@pinkhatlizzy @kunaigirlx44 @nii-sanfucker@bestgirlb @silver-stardrop@bakubby99 @squichymochi

[dreamcatcherjiah]

Title: Crabs and Pebbles

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: None, total fluff (crab-loving Joon, need I say more?)

A/N: I told my best friend @annywaa that I was planning on writing a Joon AU and she suggested I write a fluffy piece with JOON AND CRABS! What was I gonna do, say no? I hope this was up to your expectations, love!

After more than a year and a half saving money, picking up part-time jobs here and there on top of your day job, you finally had enough to scratch the first item on your bucket list: your first alone trip. Your friends all mocked you, not understanding what was so fascinating about a tiny island in the middle of some ocean that you wanted to go there so desperately. Actually, what they didn’t understand was that the destination was the least important part of your trip. The day you were set to get on the plane, you woke up ecstatic and with a huge smile on your face, every little ritual that you took for granted before now meant so much. Packing your luggage a couple of days before had felt sacrosanct; choosing your best clothes, your favourite ones, so that from then on they’d also have the best of memories woven into them. You also packed your polaroid camera, with dozens upon dozens of packets of undeveloped film so you could capture every second. The ritual, the steps of preparation that you had missed so much while the planet’s life was on hold, was a balm to your tattered nerves. Taking a taxi to the airport brought back so many memories, uncountable flights to destinations that, years later still held a huge part of your heart, so many people with whom you had shared those incredible experiences, all etched in your memory. 

The second you set a foot on the plane, a sense of belonging and calm washed all over your body and you pulled out the camera to snap a picture of the outside of your window. If your body held only a minimum amount of tension, it was all left behind with the feeling of weightlessness and freedom you felt when the plane took off. 

Your plan had been to relax in your room the rest of the first day so jet lag wouldn’t be too much of a bother but, upon seeing the sights you discovered you wanted to lock yourself inside no more than you wanted to go back home. You had found a small resort, only two or three bungalows, after hours of deep surfing among different websites. The small huts were all huddled together, their doors looking directly at the vast expanse of sand and the small cove more to the right. Not even bothering to unpack, you changed into your bathing suit and, grabbing the sunscreen bottle, left to explore the beach. 

The sand, fresh at such an early hour, tickled in between your toes as you decidedly made your way toward the shore, from dry land where your feel only left circulars marks on the ground to the wet and compact patch closer to the water, your footsteps turning into defined decalcomania as you walked. The crystalline water made it almost too easy for you to peek inside; on the ground, next to your feet, a multitude of eroded rocks and pebbles moved with the tide, some clear, others opaque but iridescent.

Their colours and forms used to fascinate you when you were a child, every time your family would go to the beach, you were the one out of all of them who didn’t care for playing among the waves or sunbathing. You would set yourself a limit, left and right of where your family set your belongings and start, your goal clear in your mind: find as many pebbles as your little hands could carry back to the hammocks. Now, even if many years had passed, your inner child screeched at the possibility of having this whole expand of untouched sand to find the finest pebble and take it home as a souvenir. 

After walking up and down the sandy mounds, you got closer and closer to the cove, it wasn’t your fault that the prettiest shells and pebble stones were in that part of the beach. One of the few clouds in the sky dissolved in just the right second, allowing a sunbeam to reflect on something on the ground directly into your eyes, blinding you for a second. Focusing on exactly what had dared to attack you in such an uncalled-for manner, you noticed movement behind a grey-and-white, marble-like pebble, with a golden patina which you weren’t sure if it was an optical illusion or it was really there. Crouching down, you stretched your hand just when a pair of arms came out of nowhere and clutched their respective fists around your pebble. Everything would have been fine and dandy if a huge body hadn’t come barreling after the arms, only to lose its footing and make the both of you collapse. Your hands had fortunately taken the brunt of the fall but, even so, your backside started feeling sore as soon as it touched the compacted sand. You dumbly wondered if that as well had left a print on the ground. Looking up, you set your eyes upon a disgruntled, big man, whose cheeks were red and his eyes were intently focused on his clasped hands. Interesting, he hadn’t used his hands to soften the blow. 

His brown hair was pushed back away from his forehead, held back by a pair of black-rimmed sunglasses, a tad skew due to the collision. Once he checked that whatever he was holding was safe, he rose his eyes and a surprised, then mortified, look took over his face. 

“Oh my God! I am so sorry!” He tried standing up from his sitting position to no avail, only managing to raise to his knees to fall on his behind again. Laughing under your breath, you jumped up and, holding him up by his elbow, you managed to help him stand. He was way taller than he looked. 

“What had you so distracted that you had to attack my pebble?” You asked, hands held behind your back, folding yourself a little at the waist so you could meet the eyes of this gentle giant that looked to all intents and purposes set on not allowing it. 

Seeming to come to a decision, the man walked next to you and, standing in a way that his frame obscured the sun from bothering you, and unclasped his hands. On his big palm, among specs of sand and trying to hide behind your pebble, was a small white crab, claws and shell trying in vain to camouflage with the rock.

“I have been out here more than an hour and this is the first friend I’ve found,” said the man, caressing the fragile creature with the pad of his index finger. “I should have guessed they’d be hiding closer to the rocks…”

“Look!” You said as the crab left behind the rock and started to chase the man’s fingers with its gaping claws. “It has little blue spots around the eyes!”

Your voice managed to distract him and his little friend pinched one of his fingers. The man let out a yelp and his face fell as soon as the creature escaped his hands and buried itself back under the sand.

Disappointment clear in his face, you offered him a small smile as his head went back and forth. Giving up, he opened his hand and offered you your little souvenir. You could have just taken the rock and gone back to your holiday, forgotten all about this tall man with a cute eagerness for finding crabs in some lost beach. But in the spirit of adventure and maybe something else, you closed his fist around the pebble, grabbed his wrist and squatted down on the sand. Looking at you from above with a confused expression, his pouting a little, he looked just the picture of a lost child.

“The name’s Y/N,” you told him, “what are you doing still standing? Come on, stranger! We have to find Nemo!”

With a chuckle that shook him out of his confusion, he crouched down next to you, a smile stretching his lips and creating beautiful deep dimples on both sides of his mouth. 

“I’m Namjoon,” he told you, never taking his eyes away from you, “isn’t Nemo the name of a fish already, by the way?”

“Well then, Namjoon,” you answered, “it is time we find Nemo the Crab, don’t you think? You think you’ll have time?” Your question wasn’t only about crab-finding schedules and you both knew it. Well, in the spirit of adventure, there was nothing wrong with enjoying your holiday right?

“I have all the time in the world,” his smile expanded, “to find Nemo the Crab.”

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 10

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV. Mild smut in this chapter.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Tony fluff, Tony snark, Tony sass and Tony smut (finally!). My & reader's brain be like: tony tony tony tony. A request for my readers: do I write a believeable tony? Is he in character, more or less?

My beta @miscmarvelwritings - she's not into Tony but even then, she was finally excited about them finally getting down & dirty. The patience of this woman...

"Tony, could I borrow, like, a hoodie or something?"

He eyed my attire critically for a moment, seemingly coming to the same conclusion I did minutes earlier, and made a beeline for the couch in the back of the lab. Picking up and examining a black mass of fabric, deeming it satisfactory, he tossed it to me. "It's clean enough, I guess."

The thin straps of my mesh top rubbed against a lot of tender skin, leaving pink lines in the wake of it. A sigh of relief escaped me involuntarily when I removed it -

"Woah, woah," Tony squeaked, covering his eyes with an exaggerated gesture. "Warn a man!"

I honestly didn't see what the big deal was. "Tony, chill. I'm pretty sure you've seen it all and then some." I snorted, stretching briefly, shrugging on the slightly oversized hoodie. It smelled like the lab - like Tony, too, but mostly like motor oil and iron. Beggars can't be choosers, however - I had already devised and executed the plan that will let me keep the hoodie.

"When you put it that way..." He smirked, briefly returning to his usual self and giving me a salacious eyebrow wiggle.

I laughed in response, wiggling my hips, feeling the hem of my skirt swish against my thighs. I considered removing the fishnet tights, too, but a brief look in the reflective wall divide between Tony's and Bruce's labs got me pulling out my phone to take two dozen selfies. I looked great with Tony's clothes on.

The engineer chuckled at my antics, coming up behind me as I sat on the floor with my knee raised, chin resting on it. The amber liquid sloshed over the top of his glass, dripping down his fingers. He sat behind me.

"Weller Full Bourbon?" I asked, bringing my nose closer to his fingers to get a good whiff. The distinctive vanilla notes in his whiskey were unmistakable. "Good choice," I made a serious face. "Fancy."

"I can afford it, darling," He snarked back, devoid of malice.

He was so close. And so warm. And I needed a new screensaver. Shuffling back, I reclined against Tony's chest, carefully wedging my head in the crook of his neck.

God help me.

I felt his breath hitch. The dark, magnetic pools of his eyes stared at me from our combined reflection. Tony's eyes were the most expressive, he could fake a smile, he could charm the press and countless investors, but his eyes only spoke the truth. Always. I loved working with Tony because his gaze would light up. It was akin to seeing a little kid on Christmas.

A muscular arm snaked around my waist, pressing my back to his chest. The metal of his arc reactor jabbed uncomfortably between my shoulder blades but there was nowhere else I'd rather be.

"You're filming, Princess," He interrupted my Moment.

"Sure," I answered, not caring. There could be another alien invasion happening and I wasn't able to give a damn.

I felt the vibrant chuckle more than heard; Tony snatched the phone out of my hand without permission. I noticed the furrowed brow when he opened my Instagram and saw the unmistakable evidence of my frequent partying, yet he didn't comment on it.

"Tony, the press is going to go nuts," I raised my eyebrows, seeing what he was planning to do.

"They've seen me doing worse things," He scoffed. And took a photo of us ‘just chilling’ in his lab, hugging. He picked out a filter and everything., and then posted it.

"First of all, I am pretty awesome to be 'doing', I've had only good feedback," I scoffed at his dismissive attitude, using my free hand to make quote marks. Then I turned my head to stare him square in the face. "Steve's going to be pissed and Ms. Potts is going to call to yell at you." I punctuated the statements with a raised eyebrow.

There was really no innocent way the press could represent the photo that he posted. I didn't care for it, my parents wouldn't give a damn (my father probably would encourage it, the free publicity and all). Tony himself didn't seem like the kind of man to care much about some gossip articles, if anything, he enjoyed provoking them into a frenzy. Or at least, he used to.

"I'll put them both on hold. I like to watch the line blink," Tony winked, smirking. "I've been told the press expects me to have a midlife crisis since my last breakup," Eyes darkening, the man swiftly finished off his drink.

Midlife crisis seemed such a bitter way of putting it. Considering my own preferences in romantic partners, I couldn't help but feel offended at the way people offhandedly dished out labels - "midlife crisis", "daddy issues" and so on and so forth. The briefest part of me traveled back to Mr. Davies' living room where - no, I am not going there.

"Huh," I said, coming to a conclusion. A sad one at that.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Princess, but you don't seem like the kind of girl who thinks about pesky things like reputation or consequences," Tony mused idly, coming to a conclusion of his own.

"Nope, I don't give a fuck," I agreed with his opinion wholeheartedly. "If I would have a publicist, they would quit on the second day."

"I pay mine, uh, twice the average amount and they still quit. We're doomed, baby," Tony's gleeful face was mere inches away from my own, whiskey-tipsy and glowing.

I snorted, sliding lower to further burrow into his arms. Tony's sudden touchy-feely mode wasn't lost on me. My own touch starvation overrode any common sense that I had left. The totally-PG (well, not quite) embrace, one armed hug brought me more satisfaction than any of my sexual partners had ever achieved to give me.

"Why are there so many messages from Banner? Are you staging a world domination plan and forgot to include me? I'm hurt!" Tony exclaimed suddenly, a whiny tone to his voice.

"Thor's space yeasts have corrupted our minds with their spores. Soon all will become... Mushroom!" I deepened my voice for the dramatic effect, flailing my arms on the last word for the extra flair.

The man wiped a fake tear from the corner of his eye; his eyes were sparkling, laughing even. "I'm evicting Thor and his supremely selfish yeast. How dare it ignore me."

"I vouched for you, I really did," I kept up the silly game. "But alas, the yeasts deemed you too... Boomer," The pride in my voice could barely hold back the laughter threatening to spill.

"Did you just..?" Tony gaped. "Did you just call me old?!"

I attempted to get away, shrieking when the tips of Tony's fingers squirmed along my midsection. "It was the yeast! IT WAS THE YEAST!" My resistance proved to be futile. The engineer had mass and strength on his side, years of piloting and maneuvering the Iron Man suits showing just how quick and nimble he could be when the situation demanded it.

"Take that from an old man!" He exclaimed triumphantly, using his arm to hold down both of my hands from grasping at him. One of his legs held down my own; we were a squirming, writhing mass of limbs in the heat of a tickle fight.

The cocaine in my blood, the mild buzz from being drunk on Tony - my body reacted to the close proximity of the man who occupied my fantasies. I was blushing, breathing heavily, and it wasn't just from the exertion. It should have affected me less, but I struggled to keep my eyes from Tony's face; his own flush, the moist part of his lips.

I wondered how a deer in the headlights felt. Was it hot, like it's body was suddenly alight, or was it cold, liquid nitrogen freezing in its veins?

"Fuck," I mumbled half-coherently.

"What was that?" He arched an eyebrow, clever eyes carefully watching my own.

"I'm in trouble," I chuckled weakly, looking away, pretending to struggle against his arms.

"You're trouble," He announced, grinning. His fingertips slowed, skimming gently along my sides now.

I retaliated with a tentative brush of my foot along the softness of his jean-covered inner thigh. It was euphoric, seeing Tony shudder, the thick eyelashes fluttering for the briefest part of a second.

"We should stop," He whispered suddenly, making a move to disentangle us both. Mixed signals, we've got em, ladies and gentlemen.

"Why?" I was tired of this dance. It was fun but painful. My firm decision of the past still stood: I won't be the lovesick fangirl, I won't be another notch in his bedpost. The resolve was crumbling but it was still there, to some point.

"You're not sober, this is wrong," He mumbled. "I'm more than twice your age, Princess."

That ship had sailed, Tony. If only you knew... "Do you seriously expect me, out of all people, to find common ground with someone my age? Someone like Peter? Jeez," I tried to be amused. If it came out more pleading, I pretended to not notice it. It was the moment of truth. It needed to be said. "I'm FUBAR, Tony. I'm lucky if anyone at all will want to put up with me, much less someone I can stand. I'm spoiled, I'm selfish, and annoying. I know that. I just thought we were friends and you'd be...kinder about it." My mumbling was met with a somewhat perplexed stare.

"I..." His eyebrows threatened to have a close encounter with his hairline. "What the fuck? Are you dead set on giving me a stroke today? I have a heart condition," He yanked me back towards his chest, unceremonious and indignant. "You can be so smart yet so stupid. Gosh, where is the world rolling, I'm quoting Pepper now." He seemed to be muttering to himself.

"Pot, kettle." I didn't resist the urge to snark.

"Right," Tony rolled his eyes. "You're beautiful and all that jazz. You deserve much more than this." Uncharacteristically sad, he pointed to himself, again. "I'm an old man with more issues than Playboy magazine."

"And I'm an angsty teenager with daddy issues, we're a match made in heaven."

"Hell," Tony was eyeing our combined reflection with a sort of petulance. It was hard keeping track of his microexpressions; his eyes and face held fleeting, half-finished thoughts, just like when he was creating, inventing something new.

"Works for me. Lucifer's hot," I answered with my brain on autopilot. He caught my eyes in the shiny glass, trapping me in his calculative gaze.

"The Netflix one or the Supernatural one?" Tony asked, equally absent from the conversation. Neither of us were able to break eye contact, breathing laboured and hearts thudding in our chests. I felt Tony's pulse fluttering under my palm where I'd rested it on his wrist.

The organ that dutifully pumped blood through my own veins and kept me alive threatened to escape my body, jump out of my chest, make its way out my mouth. Tony's unblinking stare penetrated my skin, seeped into the hollow behind my eyelids, ignited a flame within me and froze my thoughts.

"The one with the detective kink," I answered breathily. "I have an affinity for brown-eyed, narcissistic, sarcastic men with self-destructive tendencies," The last part of my sentence was swallowed by Tony's lips.

My brain shorted out, just like that. Bourbon on his breath and a new dose of snark on his tongue, he licked into my mouth with the grace and finesse of years of experience. It was sudden, it was rough, it was fantastic. His beard left marks on my face and I craved the burn of it.

"Fuck," I moaned when we were forced to surface for oxygen. My hips had moved, pressed against his own, prominent arousal digging into the small of my back. Tony had me moaning and grinding into it in mere seconds.

A hand rested on my face with surprising tenderness, turning my face to look at my own reflection. My hair was a mess, lips puffy - Tony wasn't looking any better, hunger and lust in plain view. It was a good look on him.

"Watch," His breath ghosted over the shell of my ear, lips traveling to the nape of my neck to attach themselves to the very sensitive flesh of that area.

I obeyed, gazing at the scene with lidded eyes. Keeping them open was a struggle. My body was flooded with sensation, riding the waves of pleasure like a rollercoaster. I wanted to please him, needed to obey him, to feel him.

My thighs quivered at Tony's touch. There was no warning, no preamble as he wedged a firm hand, separating them quickly to follow the heat. His biceps flexed deliciously. Under my skirt, through the fishnets and the tiny, lacy panties I wore.

"Fucking shit," The man moaned loudly, finding me, predictably, soaking wet. It was one hot, sticky mess between my legs.

The keen that left my mouth might've been embarrassing, yet it only spurred Tony on. Gently parting my lower lips, he gathered the moisture, suddenly withdrawing from me. My confusion met his amusement in the mirror as he stuck the two fingers in his mouth, moaning obscenely and loudly at the taste.

The corners of my mouth lifted, happy. "To-ony," I whined, my pussy aching for more. Now that I had felt the relief and pleasure of his touch, I didn't want it to end.

"Princess," He replied, seriously and sternly. I shuddered at the scratchiness of his voice. The hand that I was missing returned, stroking over the outside of my pussy with broad, soft motions. I arched, presented myself into the touch. "So eager," Tony mumbled into my shoulder, catching a bit of my skin between his teeth.

His fingers dipped deeper, delving in between the puffy, engorged flesh and stroking once, twice, before finding my clit. The pads of Tony's fingers were rough, hardened by manual work and hours spent in front of his inventions, making, tinkering, creating. The friction was perfect. I followed each stroke with a fluid motion of my hips.

"Tony, fuck," I slurred my approval, needing him to know how amazing he made me feel. Tony's form pressed closer, both of us melting, molding into each other.

"Baby girl, what do you need?" His raspy voice tickled my neck. I was sure there would be an array of marks decorating me come morning and absolutely loved the thought. I belonged to Tony Stark, in body and heart and mind and soul.

"I want to cum," I had no shame left. "I want to feel you."

He groaned, rutting into me. A squeak was all I managed to emit as two thick fingers plunged inside of me with a wet squelch. My pussy immediately took hold of the situation, squeezing and rippling around them. I was so close, my nerves pulled up taut like an overtaxed string. The effect this man had on me was positively unholy.

My clit throbbed under his thumb. Tony somehow managed to reach every single sweet spot on my body, effortlessly, easily, like he'd done it a thousand times.

"Ohmyfuckinggod, Tony," I came hard, shuddering, drenching the fingers inside of me. The moment I began sagging in his arms was the moment they tightened around me; I felt Tony grind helplessly against me, saw his own eyes slam shut and his brow furrow.

The hand that was in me withdrew rapidly as he hastily popped the button on his pants, freeing his cock and giving it several desperate tugs. I couldn't see it; I had to settle for the sensation of his hand, his hips rubbing against my clothed back.

He came quickly, with a loud shout. My curiosity got the best of me and I used the brief moment of his weakness to turn around, take a good look at him.

Tony was a fucking mess with a fucking gorgeous cock. Thick and veiny.

My face was level with it before he could have opened his eyes. I wanted, craved to know how he tasted. With gentle kitten licks, I collected the stray drops of cum running down his hand, careful of the rapidly softening, sensitive flesh.

His eyes popped open in surprise. I smiled at him, unseeing, collecting as much of him as I could.

"Fuck, Princess," He breathed. "I'm just a man, I'm pushing fifty," Gently pulling my head away but holding it mere inches from his cock. Indecisive.

I reached over for his hand with my own, popping finger after finger in my mouth, collecting every drop of cum like it was nectar. I could be good...I If properly motivated. The salty musk was all the motivation I needed at that moment. He pulled me in for a filthy, sloppy kiss once I was done, both of us humming, vocalising the shared pleasure.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @as-i-layhereinyourbed @sleep-i-ness @gigglyfox01 @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney

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[elenamiria]

Beating the Heat

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi X Reader

Obi-wan and you have been best friends for ages. The constant banter and perhaps not so innocent flirting between the two has led to feelings on your half and you hope Obi-wan reciprocates. It all comes to a head on one scorching day at the Jedi Temple, where your sunbathing leads to a loss of control from a certain fellow padawan.

Word count: 2.67k

Warnings: Light smut, masturbation, handjob, fluff, gn reader (no specific body parts discussed), could be interpreted as sub!obi Talk of force signatures in a way that probably isn’t cannon (just in case that bugs anyone)

This is my first fic that I’ve ever posted (and also my first smut) so please be kind! I picture this set several years before Phantom Menace, placing Obi-wan around 20 to 21 and reader at the same age.  This was inspired by a thot that I brought up to @milleniumvalcon​ one day and then my hand slipped, oops. It was also inspired by this ask about catching obi (sith and jedi) masturbating - once again by the amazing Val! And a big thank you to @hxldmxdxwn​ for being so encouraging to me when I mentioned I was thinking about posting my writing!

Enjoy!

It was hot. It was so hot you had begged your master to let you take the day off from training, you suspected they had relented out of annoyance more than kindness but either way it suited you. This left you with the day free but with nothing to do. You had sought out Obi-Wan, your fellow padawan and object of your hidden affections, but he was practicing with Qui-Gon Jinn. When he saw you step into the training room he paused before finishing the practice fight they were in the middle of, he jogged over to you after muttering a quick “excuse me” to his master. 

Both Jedi had discarded their robe and tunics and you couldn’t help but bite your bottom lip, looking Obi up and down, as he jogged towards you. A sheen of sweat coated his body highlighting every muscle, you swallowed deeply trying to compose yourself before Obi-wan, or even worse Qui-Gon, noticed your improper thoughts. As he reached you a cocky smirk covered his face, oh he had definitely noticed, and he couldn’t help but quip “What, see something you like?” You felt your face grow warm but forced yourself to roll your eyes scoffing “You wish Kenobi”.  His smile only grew, you both loved your banter, he quirked an eyebrow - “then perhaps you were eyeing up the other Jedi present? I didn’t realize Master Qui-gon was your type, I can put in a good word if you’d like”. Your jaw dropped slightly before you playfully glared and shoved him, maker when had his arm gotten so big, shaking your head in exasperation. “No I came to see whenever you’d be done with training. My master gave me the day off, I figured we could find something to do.” You smiled up at him before hastily adding on “I mean if you would want to spend time together” suddenly shy. A warm smile covered Obi’s face as he nodded, reassuring you.

“I’d love to. We’re almost done here, Master Jinn had us start very early to beat the heat today. Where should I find you?”

“I was going to our garden to relax for a bit, meet me there? We can get lunch if you’d like.”

“Of course, I’ll meet you there soon” Obi replied with a smooth wink before jogging back over to his master, eager for training to be over.

You smiled before heading off, your destination was what the two of you had decided was your garden. You had found it one day while wandering the large temple - it was a tiny thing, tucked in a corner that seemed nearly abandoned, you had only come upon other Jedi using it once or twice in the many years you two had been going there. You felt confident that it would be a great place to relax and perhaps remove your outer layers to sunbathe. As you reached the garden you were pleased that it was indeed empty today. You headed to the center of the garden, laying your robe down, you quickly stripped of your other garments until you were left in just your underclothes. You stretched out on your robe sighing contentedly as you soaked in the bright Coruscant sun. Closing your eyes you relaxed, allowing yourself to fall into an easy meditative state.

You weren’t quite sure how much time had passed before you felt another presence start to approach you, in your state it was easy to identify Obi-Wan’s force signature. You roused yourself by allowing your body to stretch, chest arching toward the sky, before settling again. Your eyes were still shut, not wanting to blind yourself just yet, but you knew Obi was standing at the entrance to the garden. Not only was his force signature bright and close but you swore you had heard footsteps as well as a noise you couldn’t quite place (perhaps a gasping sort of noise). A smirk crawled over your lips as you spotted your chance to use his own words against him, “See something you like, Obi-wan?”

You purposely allowed your words to come out a bit breathy and sweet. Giggling lightly you waited for a smart quip back or for him to approach. When neither happened you cracked your eyes open and used your forearms to prop yourself up. Blinking rapidly to try to regain your sight you called out his name again before looking around, he was nowhere to be found. You sat up fully now and frowned lightly, you were positive he had been there. Debating for a moment longer you decided to try to reach out in order to find him through the force. Inhaling deeply your eyes slid shut and you stretched your own signature out searching for him, you could see that he had definitely been to the garden and you traced his path to his quarters. Gently you brushed your signature against his before shooting out of your brief meditation, feeling like you had been burned. His signature was burning white hot and before you had pulled back suddenly it almost felt like his signature was desperately trying to intertwine with yours, you had never felt it like that before and you grew concerned. Hastily you threw on your clothes before heading to Obi’s quarters.

Unknown to you Obi-Wan Kenobi had come to the garden. The last thing he had expected was to see you in such little clothing, he had a witty line to announce his entrance ready to go but the second he laid eyes on your body gleaming in the sun all sense left his head. He was fairly certain he choked, his eyes trailed down your body and he became acutely aware of all the blood rushing to his lower half. You then shifted, arching to the sky, and he had to strangle a groan that worked its way to his throat. He became very aware of the thoughts running through his head - his hands running down your body before pulling your hips harshly to meet his as he pressed into you, his mouth at your throat marking it as you bounced in his lap, you arched up just like you were as he buried his face in between your legs. Stumbling backwards he suddenly felt very overwhelmed, he needed to leave before he did something rash, you were too important to him and he didn’t want to put your relationship at risk. Plus the problem he was experiencing wasn’t one he would be able to easily hide, his cock was straining noticeably against his pants. Letting out a small whine he practically ran to his room, hoping he wouldn’t be stopped by anyone. Reaching his room he rushed in barely making it a few steps into his room before sinking to his knees the second his door closed. Tearing his pants open he moaned quietly as he wrapped a hand around his hard cock, his eyes closed as he pictured you sensually sprawled out below him. His hips bucked hard as he felt something gently envelope him for a second, it had felt like you were pressed against him, and he whined his mind wildly chasing the feeling. Starting a firm pace your name continuously fell from his lips, he was trying to keep it down but it was becoming increasingly difficult. His pace grew quicker as he imagined you moaning his name out, it sounded so real and he was so close.

“Obi?” You called out again as you knocked for a second time. You bit your lip hard as you eyed the keypad, he had given you the codes and you debated whether to enter. You could hear noises coming from within but couldn’t quite discern what they were though you had a feeling what his quiet gasps were and your whole body burned. A warm feeling settled in between your legs - it was like you had not pictured Obi-wan that way before. You knew very well what you were about to do could change your relationship forever but you knew you would go mad if you two danced around each other any longer, plus you could swear that you heard his voice calling out your name. Saying a silently prayer you lightly punched in the code. The door slid open and you stepped in. You weren’t expecting him to be right there in front of you, his back was to you and his whole body was strained tight. One of his hands had been rapidly moving, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was happening, but froze when he heard the door. Letting out a small gasp that turned into a weak moan you rapidly spun back around to the door, all of your courage fleeing your body. Your hand hovered over the button to open the door when you heard a strangled guttural cry of your name followed by a soft “please”. You inhaled shakily, your whole body heating up before turning. You looked him up and down again as you slowly shed your robe. Your hands started pulling your tunic off, fumbling slightly, as you murmured “Would you like some help Obi?”

Your head tilted and a smirk reached your mouth as a groaned yes made its way to you. Shedding your tunic fully you knelt behind him, “are you sure?” You asked as your hands landed on both of his shoulders. He nodded rapidly as a whimper left his mouth at your touch. You let your hands slide down the front of his body, your chest pressing into his back. Your left hand gently removed his as your right wrapped firmly around his cock. Stroking it gently you paused at the head spreading some of his precum around the tip with your thumb. A beautiful moan left his mouth and his head leaned back resting on your shoulder. Switching hands for just a moment you gathered spit in your mouth and spread it on your hand. You brought it back to his length and gripped it tightly before staring a quick pace. He was heavy and hot in your hand and the perfect size to make your mouth water, blinking a few times you swallowed deeply letting out a hot breath against Obi’s neck. Your other hand retreated to his tunic, finding the clasps holding it together and hastily pulling it off his body. Obi-Wan was panting at this point your name falling from his lips in praise, both of you let out loud whimpers as you pressed your bare skin together. You turned your head to stare at him, noticing how his mouth fell open as you increased your pace and started kissing his neck, softly sucking in places that seemed particularly sensitive. You gently bit the junction of his neck and shoulders, he let out a loud gasp at that hips raising wildly.

“Please, please my love I’m so close” He managed to whimper out, hips continuing to buck. You picked up the pace of your right hand, your left coming up to gently push his head off your shoulder and then nudging his jaw to turn towards you. He looked a mess - light sheen of sweat on his brow, his mouth still panting and parted slightly, eyes glazed in pleasure yet still focused on you. You found yourself consumed with pleasure too and a moan of his name loudly fell from your lips, that was all he needed to fall of the edge into his orgasm. A load groan started to rise in his throat and before it could fully escape you were pressing your lips to his. His hips bucked as his load spilled over your hand, your kiss stifled both of your noises as you couldn’t help but let out a desperate whine at the feeling. You continued slowly pumping as he rode out his orgasm and when it became too overstimulating for him he gently pulled your hand away by your elbow.

You two continued the clumsy, it was a first for both of you, yet passionate kiss for a moment longer. A stupid smile covered your face as you pulled back softly and he out let a small incredulous laugh. Neither of you moved for a moment content to bask in bliss. Obi-Wan was the first to move, he pressed his forehead to yours nuzzling his nose against yours softly before pressing a kiss quickly to your lips. This time it was you letting out a small laugh as you said “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you like this”.

He pulled away slightly, a shocked look coming across his face, “You have?” he questioned. You nodded shyly before you pulled away getting ready to stand up, you caught sight of your hand coated in his cum and it was your turn for a shocked expression to cover your face. Obi followed your eye-line and a bright blush covered his face as he hastily stood “I-I’m so sorry let me get you something to uh- just give me a minute” he managed to stutter out as he quickly disappeared into his refresher.

He returned quickly, having cleaned off and situated himself back into his pants, with a spare towel and gently took your hand cleaning you. You watched him with a small smile, he was so careful while holding you, and you felt your heart skip a beat when he bashfully smiled back at you. He then gently pulled you to your feet,tossing the towel off to the side, and couldn’t help his eyes roaming your upper half. You shifted nervously “I hope you don’t mind I removed your tunic, I got so caught up in the moment and I just wanted to feel your skin against mine”.

A brilliant smile lit up his face and his hands hovered over your bare waist, waiting for your approval which you gave with a brief nod, before settling his warm hands on you. He gently squeezed you before pulling you closer, your hands rising to rest on his firm chest, his hands sliding to your back exploring every inch he could.

“My dear it is more than alright” he suddenly grew serious, his blue eyes meeting yours “I, um, I hope you know that I don’t want this, er rather us, to be a one time thing. I-uh” he fumbled with his words for a moment before he collected himself. “I’m yours, if you’ll have me, and I hope you’ll be mine.” His voice trembled as he held you just a little tighter, before anxiously continuing “I know the code prevents this kind of thing but I don’t think I could survive going back to just friends. I do-” you cut off his nervous rambling with a breathy yes.

A more confident yes left your mouth as you nodded “Of course I’m yours Obi, I think I always have been” You stammered out a beautiful smile covering your face. Obi-wan simply couldn’t help himself as he pulled you closer and lifted you clean off the floor in a quick spin, both of you laughing in pure joy. He gently let you slide back to the floor before capturing your lips in another kiss. Both of you were grinning like idiots now and when he pulled away a gentle laugh left your lips, your hand reached up to play with his padawan braid. Teasing you said “I do hope you plan on helping me out later, because after that I’m feeling much too hot for a day like today” Obi-wan couldn’t help but sputter at your forwardness His face lighting up bright red. Laughing at the adorable face he was making you gently tugged on his braid, smile quirking into a smirk - “c’mon let’s go get lunch, I’m starving”. You moved away to toss him his tunic as you tugged yours back on. At this Obi-Wan Kenobi seemed to snap out of his state of shock in order to dress and when you turned to face him again his smirk was back in full force. “Darling I think that’s a wonderful idea,” he started as he winked “the sooner we eat the sooner I get dessert”

[tendertenebrosity]

Illiam and Helis on the road! Close sequel to here and here.  Masterpost for these characters is here. Mostly just some conversation and worldbuilding today; stay tuned for part 2!

Taglist:  @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @doglover82; @top-hat-aye; @burtlederp; @just-a-raccoon-with-wifi   @thesleepysnapdragon @whump-cravings

Helis knew, from the conversations they had overheard at Illiam’s heel, that today they would pass into the south of Rosdan, the part the Toraldan army hadn’t taken yet. If they hadn’t, they probably wouldn’t have been able to guess; the countryside was the same as it had been for the past few days. Heavily forested hills, a dirt road that wound side-to-side between their peaks like the track made by a snake. The ground was rocky, any snow long since trodden into black sludge peppered liberally with gravel. Helis had an impressive bruise on the underside of their foot from trying to make their way through it, and the little downy feathers on their ankles hadn’t been either white or downy in days.  

“We have quite a large ravine to cross next,”  Illiam commented. “The town is just over the bridge; we should be able to see both once we’re around this next bend in the road.”

Helis made a wordless hum of acknowledgment. They wouldn’t be stopping for the night in this town; they might pause so that people could mill about, make a mess and maybe have another urgent, terse meeting. Or they might not. Helis supposed they’d be glad for a chance to stretch their legs.

The thick pine forest on some of these hills was a lot like the country that they’d spent a few weeks camping in with Reed. Had it been this tiring, going up and down the hills? Not for Helis, but maybe for Reed it had been. He’d never complained.

“I built some bridges, you know,” Illiam remarked.  

Helis blinked, roused from their reverie. “What?”

“Bridges. You know, big structures, usually made of wood or stone, they allow you to get over bodies of water… ”

Helis hunched their shoulders. Yes, very funny. “You… built bridges? Why?” It wasn’t something they’d ever considered him doing. It seemed… beneath him, or at least that he ought to think it was beneath him. They didn’t remember him ever showing the slightest interest in that kind of thing before.

“It’s the kind of thing I’ve been working on, the last few years,” Illiam explained. “Not just bridges, but… large engineering work. Repairing dams, roads. You usually do that with magic in Crestmead, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” Helis said. Their friend Diamand had taken a job in that direction; another scholarship student, like them, he’d chosen to go into government service in construction. “It’s usually done with teams of mages…”

“It’s not been used much here,” Illiam said. “Most things like that in the North are built the old-fashioned way. Bricks and mortar and a lot of peasants with shovels. It can be difficult and dangerous work, not to mention slow. I had seen a lot of… interesting things done in the South, and I wanted to try and replicate them. Not just structures, either - I still wonder if I could get some of your irrigation and wind shelter techniques to work with our farms.” He paused. “You came from a farm, didn’t you?”

“Yeees…” Helis wasn’t sure whether to be surprised he remembered, or brace themself for him to say something derogatory. “We didn’t use any magic, though. I think you’re talking about bigger places than ours…”

He barely seemed to be listening. “I imagine the climate to the south is better, so you probably didn’t need much help. The land to the west of our holdings is harsh, and crop failures are common. It would make a big difference if I could increase yield even a little bit.” He sighed. “Bridges proved easier, at least to start with. Of course, I was somewhat hampered by the fact that, as you say, I don’t have a trained team. I only have myself. So a lot of the techniques needed… adjusting.”

Despite themselves, Helis found themself a little interested. “That’s a bit more than just an ‘adjustment’,” they said. “You’re trying to do the work of, what - four to six people by yourself?”

“Mm,” he said, dismissive.

“That sounds… dangerous,” Helis said. They’d had to design the kind of spells Illiam was talking about as part of their course; they couldn’t imagine trying to handle that much magic, in that many different moving parts, at once. It was overambitious to the point of being irresponsible.

Then again, in light of his current project, they shouldn’t be surprised.

“Oh, maybe if you don’t know what you’re doing,” Illiam said, airily. They could practically picture the smug tilt of his chin as he said it. “I had it down pretty well by the third attempt. Besides, it was unavoidable. Even if I’d managed to get four or five mages together, there’s no guarantee they’d have been able to work together in that way. It’s not a common skill here.”

Helis’ brow wrinkled. “But… I’ve seen other mages here, in the army ranks.” Mostly men, a scattering of women, their uniform marked out with a red scarf or sash or hat. The common soldiers deferred to them, but nowhere near as much as they did to Illiam. Helis had seem them performing heat spells, wind spells, stick-fast spells - the kinds of minor workings any large group of people needed.  Are they mages or not? they wanted to ask. Why ‘if’ you get four or five people? Aren’t they trained properly?

He hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, but the… culture, I suppose you’d say… amongst mages is different here. Much less collaborative. Much less standardised. A Northern sorceror works alone, or maybe with an apprentice or two if they’re inclined to that sort of thing.”

“Oh.”

“There’s nothing like the Academy here, or even the sort of smaller schools that teach people to read and write in Crestmead,” Illiam explained. “I learned my Northern magic from my master, Karlin, who learned it from his, and so on. I started when I was nine - that’s pretty normal. He didn’t have a second apprentice while teaching me, but I understand he often did. Some masters can get a bit… stingy, paranoid. They don’t like to share their knowledge too freely. Karlin was never like that.”

“Oh. You… always did seem like you knew a bit already, in the first semester,” Helis admitted.

Illiam was silent, just a beat longer than usual. “You could say that,” he said. “You know, I - ”

He cut himself off - the hands that had been fairly slack on the reins in front of Helis were suddenly moving, pulling the horse up to a sudden stop.

They had just rounded the curve of the hillside. As Illiam had said, they could look down and see the bridge - miles ahead of them yet, a squat and sturdy structure made from the same grey stone as the cliffs it straddled. The riverbed was a long way down.

They couldn’t see much of the town, though, because it and the forest to the east were obscured by a thick dark plume of smoke.

The soldiers in front of them were clogging the road, the whole unit that had been ahead of Illiam’s horse, pulled to an unplanned halt. Raised voices and curses reached Helis’ ears; people were pointing at the smoke, barking orders, shoving the people ahead or behind them.

“This town was supposed to be secured!” someone was insisting, harsh and strident. “Lord Garnier sent - ”

As the army milled, disorganised, there was a sharp whistle, thinned out by distance and followed by a crack. The light that flashed in the forest beyond the town was tinged pale blue, obviously magical in origin. People in the army flinched and swore as more clouds of dust and smoke rose up. As they watched, aghast, a wedge of stone split away from the cliff face and tumbled down into the ravine with a crash.

Illiam hissed wordlessly under his breath, and tapped Helis - more of a shove, really - on the shoulder.

"You’re getting off,” he said abruptly.

“What?”

“Get off the horse, lackwit, move!”

Helis let go of their grip on the saddle and drew their knees up slightly, uncertain of what to do next. Illiam lifted them unceremoniously around the waist, and they swung their leg awkwardly over the horse’s neck. They made it to the ground in an awkward, flapping fall, their legs nearly giving way under them.

The horse stamped and sidled back and forth, rolling one dark eye as Helis stumbled back. Illiam gathered up his reins. He didn’t even look down at Helis.

“Go back and wait with the rest of the camp followers,” he said, his voice raised over the commotion. “Do not come and find me. Do not cause problems.”

He kicked the horse into motion. Helis shielded their eyes from the dirt he threw up; they could hear him yelling something at the soldiers down the slope. By the time they had collected themself, the crowd of soldiers had parted to allow Illiam and his horse to canter down the hill in the direction of the smoking town.

“Well, now what?” Helis asked aloud, to nobody in particular. They watched the figure of Illiam and his horse, dramatic black cloak flapping, until it was out of sight. Helis didn’t know much about war magic. But they had a hazy, uneasy idea how much damage a single magic-user could wreak against an undefended force. Was he going to fight? Or did he think the battle needed him in command? It still seemed unbelievable to Helis, that men twice their age, generals and leaders, actually took orders from Illiam, who wasn’t any older than Helis themself.

The crowd of soldiers was forming up into some kind of order in his wake, the person who’d been yelling about Lord Garnier unloading a series of profanities and insults on everybody in earshot.

The wagons and the rest of the army had been following Illiam and the advance party, much slower on the hilly ground. Helis had no idea how far away they might be.

They sighed, picked a rock out from between their toes, and set off back the way they’d come.

[omgkalyppso]

It's 1 AM — happy belated birthday Owain! I wrote some owainigo / laslodin ? Intended as being able to be read as an S support for Laslow and Odin. Written to recognize Inigo as bisexual and polyamorous and Owain as a trans man. Vague about Owain's sexuality because he currently has his sights on Inigo only.

.

It had been a long time since Laslow had felt like dancing; even recently, he’d wondered if he’d ever want to again, when they’d fallen into Valla and all hope had seemed lost. Yet when Xander had ordered he and Peri enjoy themselves this eve, he’d had a week for his dancer’s garb to be refitted — the clothes he’d arrived in — now matching a soldier’s girth and shoulders. He was not the spritely lad of years past, and wondered whether he looked like a fool.

In the least, the steps were as familiar as breathing, and the melody of the drums was known to his heart, even if the tune wasn’t the same.

His mother — his birth mother, whom he’d only known for such a short time, so much of her dancing was made for battle: relief in victory, love in anticipation, heart in loss. She remembered music of happier times, but those dances hadn’t translated into his tiny feet, so used to the sound of war drums.

He found his dancing riled the spirits of some, who watched or tapped a foot, mimicking a step or two, and Laslow felt further from them than he ever had before.

They were going home. He was going home.

This crowd would only be a memory.

.

He wondered where he would find himself: would it really be the world left in relative peace where Grima lay sleeping? Or would his intent send him spiraling far and away to the land of memory, nightmares and blight? Would Owain even wish to leave Nohr? It suited Odin Dark so naturally. He seemed happier as a mage, and through magic, his own and discovered, Owain had even managed to mold his chest into a form that brought him joy and comfort.

Inigo wondered whether Owain would hold any apprehension in sharing this version of himself with old friends and family.

Some would say Owain had no understanding of shame or embarrassment, but they’d never read his stories aloud, or seen him as a young bashful man who knew little and less of how to present himself. Still, Owain had grown, had carved himself and the world around him in ways that had secured their victories as of late.

Inigo knew that it was his own insecurities over returning that truly alarmed him.

Meanwhile Severa knew what she wanted. She always had. Her heart might be large enough to reserve pieces for all who showed her kindness and some manner of discipline, but she could never stay away from Morgan and her parents. Her home was known and waiting.

.

The song ended and he shared a soft laugh with his liege, a man whose trust and generosity he was on the cusp of betraying.

.

Public celebrations were a favorite of Owain’s. He had learned to handle a crowd, and could often find a group or three to regale with tales of victory, honor and suspense. There were jeers at times, but less when the people were joyous and relieved. Perhaps not all understood the challenges that had weighed upon their liege lords and borders, or their fabric of reality, but they knew strife, and wanted to believe it could be felled by a hero — why shouldn’t he be that.

He’d been shouting over the music for so long, that he’d nearly missed Elise’s voice marveling excitedly, “Hey! Did you know about this? He told me his dancing was a secret.”

While the Xander hushed his sister and they chittered on in silence, Odin Dark also fumbled in his tale, glancing, for a moment, to where Laslow spun daggered discs on his wrists. Owain might have trailed off entirely, and taken the time to watch as much of the performance as possible, whether to jeer or jest or compliment, but Odin had an audience, people who would think him missing or worse in the weeks to come, and so he dove back into an embellishment of the beasts they had defeated. He could watch Inigo dance again. He was sure of it.

.

The tents were relatively empty when the witching hour came to pass. The masses had retreated to the castles and campgrounds, manor houses and taverns where guests and guards were making due. A flutist was speaking with Laslow, a dancer by his side, correcting his posture, of all things. Owain sat on the edge of a fountain, and watched until his friend noticed, as Laslow turned away, red in his cheeks and upon his neck. He stopped their performance swiftly, seemingly assuring the dancer that he would remember to practice. It put a pinch in Owain’s brow, mournful that he’d spurred his friend toward another broken promise.

“You were watching then?” asked Laslow, spinning a ribbing at his side through his hoops so that they would lay at his hip, jingling.

“Even those whose ears I captivated with tales from the saga of Odin Dark, could look nowhere else!” He chuckled as Laslow sat by his side, shifting slightly, as the costume left little protection against the cool damp stone of the fountain. “If only you’d told me, we might have coordinated our performance!”

“I’d make a poor archrival then,” Laslow teased. “If I weren’t stealing your audience.” He stretched, and Odin watched how the bulge of his belly and triceps marked Laslow for his latest manner of fighting — reserved, sturdy, and strong. “And still, not one enraptured lady to request an encore, nor a single suitor to waylay my evening with a flower or three.”

“Only me,” Odin said mournfully, shaking his head.

“Only you,” Laslow agreed, smirking, and he saw how tired Owain was then, and hoped it was his performance, regaling the public with magic and mystery, but he knew it was the war, the ever present ones they’d fought through. He wondered if he would ever feel so comfortable as to compliment his friend, the growing wrinkles at his eyes, the stubble of his beard, the mouthwatering line of muscle revealed by his boastful outfit. He licked his lips. “My vexatious tormentor. Are you headed to sleep?”

Owain saw that the question had two answers. The first was an affirmative, though he would go to his room and stare at the ceiling, perhaps retreat to the library and spend his last few hours in this realm reading more and more of foreign magic as their time grew short. The second was a negative, and perhaps he and Laslow could find somewhere that drink still flowed, and they could pretend to lose themselves in tankards while he made a show of failing to find them dates and he either made a friend of the barman or annoyed him until they were both ejected into the night. However, something inside him overflowed, and Owain found himself seeking to fight the beasts of trepidation and consideration — perhaps he had already won, and it was their blood that had filled him with their ferocious candor as he asked, “Do you know I’m in love with you?”

Laslow’s eyes blinked wide, lashes casting a flickering shadow across his cheekbones.

“Owa—Odin,” he objected. “You can’t—” He huffed, frustrated, taking to his feet. “We fight against each other with every step.” He hid his eyes in his hands and then slowly adjusted his head as he admitted aloud, “I fight against commitment with every breath.”

“When do we not fight towards a common goal — against the forces of darkness, together?” Owain asked with a small smile, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the insides of his spread knees. “My confession need not change anything between us, it certainly doesn’t mean to change anything about you. My affection has grown even as you’ve found joy and rejection with your strings of lovers. And I’ve found that I can love you — that I do,” he swallowed, “love you. I’m saying it too much now.”

“There is nothing consistent in our lives,” Inigo said, sad and distressed. He wrapped his right arm around himself, squeezing at a shoulder, too muscled to feel right going back into his old life, too scarred to hope that wherever they found themselves in two days time that there would be the peace and family he’d hoped for. “I have gone days feeling as though everything around me is temporary, and others believing that this is what is real and it is me who doesn’t belong. We nearly failed. We—”

He hesitated as Owain stood before him, reaching out carefully to take hold of either of his elbows.

“We didn’t,” Owain said, calm and sure.

Time passed. Neither man could say how much. Patiently, Owain did not force an embrace, but he did rest his temple against Inigo’s, rocking his face towards him as he whispered, “And you’ve had some consistencies in your life. And me in mine.”

He waited longer, breathing deeply while his friend calmed in his arms, and then Inigo was lifting his left hand up to Owain’s hip and the mage smiled, letting his hands creep around the small of Inigo’s back, locking them together. “If I declared that I would dedicate my life to you, very little would change … and I think that’s very telling.”

“I feel good, with you,” Inigo murmured, tucking his face into the curve of Owain’s neck, “but my trysts don’t last and you—” he bit his lips, and as they rolled back into place he felt them pout against Owain’s skin, almost a kiss, “you’re too important for me to risk in a bout of bad behavior.”

Owain snickered. “Are you asking me to make sure you don’t grow bored? I think no matter what awaits us after tomorrow, I can promise it will be interesting.” He tossed his head back, and smiled wider as Inigo admired him; it was a wonderfully new feeling. “Do you think Odin Dark would settle for less? That the tale of the Avengers of Righteous Justice would end here?”

“Avengers?” Inigo repeated, pulling away from the embrace.

“I don’t forget my friends,” Owain assured him, but Inigo continued.

“And, really, I rather hoped that my tale might end. In some manner of the word… I want to rest. I want to feel the relief that these people felt, that our parents felt when their journey was over. To find a stage to dance upon, perhaps a student to apprentice while I’m still young enough to perform.”

“Then we will find it,” Owain said with conviction, his hands on Inigo’s shoulders. “A place where Selena can be a tired old general, or an extension of nobility, where our friends are close, and our families closer still, and where I study all the magic that has ever beset us with worry — that of gods, and dragons, and travel between realms—”

“Is this why you sought to be a mage?” Inigo balked, holding the dips at Owain’s elbows.

“All to keep us safe,” Owain said cryptically, blue eyes flickering with withheld words. “I will work tirelessly to make that peaceful realm you dream of, friend.”

“I can’t expect you to vanquish evil on your own,” Inigo said, a measure of wonder on his face. A puff of air passed his lips, joy and shock and hope twisting his lips first in a frown and then in a smile. “Very well then. Together, this time. We’ll start this tale together, as we’ve always been.”

“Then—?” Owain prompted, hopeful.

“Of course,” Inigo assured him, pulling himself into Owain’s space again, this time to plant a kiss on his warm lips. “I’ve loved you too. You need only look to your side — if you truly wish to take me as I am … then you will always find me here.”

[youreacowgirllikeme]

Revelation

note: Chris Cuomo really is the only person who has the power to make me drop everything and write smut in the middle of the day just bc of one sentence he said on air (I’m obv talking about this) and I hate him a little bit for it (jk I don’t)

words: 1.4 k

warning: swearing (as usual), smut, daddy kink (obv)

Enjoy and sorry for typos and grammar, this came right out of my stupid brain

“I just don’t know what to do! “you whined, throwing up your hands in exasperation.

The decision about whether or not you should take this once-in-a-lifetime job offer had you racking your brain for the last two weeks. You loved the place you were working at right now, it was familiar and safe, the first job you took right out of college. But you were in a dead end now, and this new opportunity meant that you would be able to climb a gigantic step up the career letter, the better salary was also a huge plus.

But with that came a lot of added responsibility, the possibility of long hours and a whole new field of work you had little experience in. The new firm was expecting your decision the next day, and you were freaking out.

You had never been the type of person to just take a leap of faith, you were a careful planner and loved talking things through over and over again before making a decision.

So you talked to the person you trusted most, you boyfriend Chris. He was a couple of years older than you, meaning that he had considerably more career and overall life experience. When you addressed the topic, he went out of his way to help you. You made lists, had hour-long discussions about the pros, cons and how it would influence the life you had together. Chris was definitely in favor of you taking the new job.

“A change of career paths is a normal thing to do, this position would grant you so much more creative space and room to grow professionally. Your current firm is great, but there is nothing left for you to aim for there. You’re only 30, you’re too young to just settle for a job without persepective.” He said, voice already slightly annoyed. You have been talking about this for two weeks now, always going back and forth, and he was starting to get fed up with the topic.

“You’re right, but I’m just so afraid. It’s so much responsibility, and I’ve never worked for a magazine like that before. What if they find out I’m completely useless at writing about fashion, and then I’ll be fired?”

“Babe, they offered you the position. That means they’ve seen your work, and they like it. They want you. Trust me, those changes are necessary. It was such a big risk for me to abandon law and go into journalism instead but look where it got me. If I hadn’t taken that step, maybe I would sit in some law firm now, but I would definitely not be happy. And even as a journalist, I had to take several turns and make changes to get where I am now. It’s part of the journey.”

“I know.” You whined. You had heard all those arguments before, but you just couldn’t make up your mind. Turning to Chris, you pouted a bit and spoke. “I hate making decisions, why can’t you just decide for me.” Hearing that, Chris just shook his head, looking really frustrated now.

“For God’s sake, Y/N, don’t force making that decision on me. I can’t do that for you. I’m not your daddy.”

It was like your brain suddenly decided to completely shut down, the words Chris just said echoing in your head over and over again. You felt a spike of arousal between your legs, clenching them together as you tried to stifle a groan.

“Say that again.” You whispered in a breathy voice.

Chris was visibly confused.

“What, I said I’m not your daddy, why-“

The needy whimper that escaped your mouth at hearing that word again interrupted him, and he looked at you with the most perplexed expression before it dawned on him.

“Fuck, baby.” He murmured as he realized what you were up to. You could see his eyes darken as he was making his way over to you, grabbing you to pull you close. He leaned down to cup your jaw with his huge hand and tilted your head up so you were looking directly at him.

“What do you want to call me, baby?” he asked, voice a low growl now.

“Daddy.” You whimpered, leaning into the touch of his hand.

“Say it again.” He groaned, and you could feel the evidence of arousal starting to push against your stomach. You moaned at how stained his voice sounded, burying your head into his broad chest. “Daddy, please.”

“Do you want daddy to take care of you, baby?” He asked, and roughly squeezed your ass over the fabric of your yoga pants.

“Yes, please touch me, I need you.” You were a total mess just from the few words Chris had said, your panties already drenched as you grinded against the bulge in his sweats.

His huge hands gripped the hem of your pants and pulled them down together with your panties in one swift motion. Seconds later, his fingers were buried in you, pumping in and out of your pussy while you were clinging to him, your knees almost giving out under you.

“Good girl, you’re so wet for daddy.” Chris muttered, his thumb brushing over your clit before harshly pressing down. You could swear that you saw stars for a second as a powerful orgasm ripped through you, making you coat Chris fingers with your arousal.

You collapsed against him, and he picked you up, carrying you over to the couch. He carefully sat you down before quicky pulling down his own pants. His cock sprung free, he was already hard, clearly enjoying this as much as you did.

Chris sat down on the couch and beckoned you over with his finger.

“Come here, baby, you know what to do.” he said, and the deep, wanton tone of his voice would’ve make you do literally anything.

You crawled over to him, climbing on his lap before slowly lowering yourself onto his cock. You cried out at the feeling of being filled like this as you slowly took every inch of him until he was fully settled inside of you.

“Shit, Y/N, you feel so perfect around my cock.” Chris pressed out through clenched teeth, his hands gripping your tights so hard he was definetly leaving marks.

"Move for me, baby.” He groaned, delivering a sharp smack to your ass.

You started bouncing up and down on his cock, whimpering every time you sunk back down and felt him stretching you all over again. The friction was delicious, but you needed more.

"Daddy.” You whimpered. “Fuck me, please. I need more.” For a second, it surprised you how needy your voice was sounding, but you were beyond caring.

With a growl, Chris grabbed your tights and started pushing you up and down on his cock, snapping up his hips to deepen his thrusts. He was handling you like you weighted next to nothing and seeing him use his strength that way turned you on beyond measure. You threw your head back, totally lost in the pleasure he was giving you.

“You’re so perfect, baby.” He moaned, “such a good girl for me.”

Hearing those words was like a catalyst, and when Chris roughly pressed you down onto his cock, your climax hit you out of nowhere, making you tremble and shudder as you came. Seeing you falling apart like that pushed him over the edge as well, his iron like grip holding you down as he spent himself deep inside of you with a shout.

For a moment, no one was speaking as you slowly collected yourselves again.

“Wow, that was crazy.” You exclaimed after catching your breath.

“Yeah, I have no idea where that came from.” Chris admitted, pushing his sweat-slick hair out of his forehead before kissing you deeply. “But I really liked it.”

“Me too.” You replied. “Maybe it even convinced me to take that job offer. But I think we have to do it again before I can make a definite decision.”

You winked at him and he playfully smacked your ass in return.

“Everything for you, baby.”

[chews-erotically]

Waxing Gibbous 

Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader

Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

       * Warnings: Angst/ mentions of childhood trauma/ mention of domestic abuse, violence/ killing both in- and unintentional/ SMUT/ hand job/ fingering/ mentions of partner-sharing, threesomes/ PTSD/ nightmares

      * Summary: Confessions of sin and of desires.

      * Word Count: ~2200

*Part ONE* *Part TWO* *Part THREE* *Part FOUR* *Part FIVE**Part SIX*        *Part SEVEN*  *Part EIGHT*  *Part NINE*  *Part TEN*  *Part ELEVEN*  *Part TWELVE*

 PART THIRTEEN

    The weather on Central turned cool as the months stretched on. You’d realized after the bar that you had perhaps pushed too far, too soon. You’d both retreated back to the sanctuary of your home to regroup. The insidious nightmares continued for you, though nowhere near the level of intensity of the first. You continued to sleep with the lights on, limbs entangled with Ezra’s. You held on to one another, fingers drifting over pulse points, entwining fingers and legs. Two halves of some damaged whole.

    You’d found some solace in cooking. You had gone so long without anything more than the nutritionally dense, yet bland and uninspired nutribars and ration packs that you were desperate to experiment. It was slow going at first, but Ezra was far from selective with what he’d eat. He devoured everything you put in front of him, even burnt and strangely seasoned. He offered profuse compliments that expounded upon his good fortune in having found someone so willing to graciously cook for him. It always made you snort, but you appreciated the fact that he was supportive.

    Ezra had begun writing an autobiography of sorts. You often heard his dictation well into the stretch of your afternoons, his voice animating into flights of vivid imagery and florid, expounding descriptions. He dictated, but he also typed, pecking with the pointer fingers of each hand. You knew that when he was typing he was not to be disturbed. He never said it outright, but you knew that he typed because he could not bring to life the horrors he’d both witnessed and committed, he could not convince himself to speak of things he’d done that would shake the foundations of a kinder man’s moral compass.

    You were not privy to those thoughts. You stayed away, you respected his need to keep that part of him tucked away. You knew it was his way of working through it, of processing the deeds that had led him to what seemed in the reaches of his mind to be an unearned reward. He would tell you in his own time, you did not press or push him as you knew better than most how fragile peace of mind could be. You would allow him any indulgence that may work to keep the dreams away.

    When Ezra had a nightmare, you were most often awoken by a keening whine between clenching teeth. He did not thrash as you did, rather he’d lie beside you as if paralyzed. You had to talk to him to bring him back, coaxing his rigid muscles to loosen with careful, even strokes of your palms across his limbs and torso. 

    “Come back to me, love. You’re not back there. You’re here with me.”

    He would reemerge from his fathomless depths gasping, and reach out to you, winding his limbs through yours as a thistle seeks to weave itself into the wind that caresses it.

    You moved your hand to his chest, felt the frantic pounding beneath his breast. Like a trapped bird desperate to escape. You smoothed your fingers across the expanse of his bare chest, his skin warm and alive, thrumming. Present. And then lower, rubbed against the soft curve of his belly as its panicked heaving incrementally slowed.

    Lower still to the soft curls beneath his navel. Your fingers wove through the hair, teasing the skin with your nails. Ezra huffed, eyes fluttering. He turned his head toward you, knocking his forehead against yours.

    “My Dove….the succubi had their talons hooked into my tattered soul once again, I’m afraid.”

    You leaned forward and kissed him softly. His hitching exhale made its home within your mouth.

    “Is there nothing I can do to take this away, Ezra? Nothing I can offer you that will soothe you?”

    Your finger dipped down, lightly tracing the curve of his half-hard cock. You felt it twitch, followed by Ezra’s sharp intake of breath.

    “The demons that consume the nether regions of my addled mind cannot be placated so easily, Dove. The things I have done, the wretched life I’ve lived would leave you without thought of staying. My greatest fear is your discovering the nefarious deeds of my past, of learning exactly who it is that you lie willingly next to in this bed.”

    “I know who I lie next to, Ezra. I lie next to a man who decided to trust me, who gave me my voice back and showed me that I am worthy of love. That will never change. No matter what sins you’ve committed, I can stop loving you no more than I can keep the moon from waxing and waning.” Your hand encircled his length, rubbing gently. You trailed kisses across his shoulder as he gasped. He reached a hand to cover yours, stilling your actions momentarily. He paused for what seemed an impossibly long beat, seeming to consider his next words to you.

    “When I was a child in Louisiana we were poor. Mama worked three jobs to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. My father was a drunk, shiftless sonofabitch. He put his hands on Mama and on me and Isaiah like clockwork when his life did not go his way. It did not go his way often. One night, he was really workin’ Mama over something awful. Isaiah was out in the shed fiddlin’ with an old transistor we found earlier that day at the salvage yard. I was alone in the house and Father had his hands around Mama’s neck.

    “She was strugglin’ and kicking at his knees, wherever she could reach, but Father wouldn’t stop. When he maneuvered close enough to the root cellar I saw my chance. I ran and I screamed, as loud as I could, and I shoved up against Father with all of the force I could muster. A meager show, to be sure, but Father was well on his way to obliterated by that time. He was just unsteady enough on his feet to topple forward down the steps. I heard his neck snap like a twig and he was dead before he hit the dirt. Mama and I told Isaiah it was an accident. But the truth is, Dovie, I took a life for the first time when I was nine years old.”

    Your hand raised from his groin to cup his cheek, your throat constricting around the lump forming there.

    “You were just a little boy, Ezra, scared for his Mama. You were protecting her. He may have killed her that day, if not for you.”

    His eyes narrowed, his voice thick with emotion. “That day set my path. I knew that I was not fortunate. I hated that I didn’t have what others were so freely given. I was born under a bad star, under an awning of misfortune. I was determined from that day forward to do whatever it took to survive. Kill, maim, steal. I have sold my soul a million times over to ensure my own victory in all my ensuing endeavors.”

    When he paused to collect his thoughts further, your hand drifted back down to his groin. He was now fully erect, and you felt the precum beading at the tip of his cock. He was hot, unbelievably so, and his eyes squeezed shut with a low groan as you swept your thumb through the slick of his crown. His head tipped back into his pillow. He resumed his confessions with a straining voice.

    “Later on, when Isaiah and I began prospecting as a means of finding our fortunes, we often found ourselves on the wrong end of an underhanded deal. We were green, and we were easy marks. We were swindled, robbed and double-crossed more than I care to admit, Dove. It took me a fair amount of time to become just as ruthless as those who would venture to hoodwink myself and my partner. The first time I killed on a job, it was a woman who thought she could bewitch and seduce me. Isaiah had overheard her plans with her partner to satiate my carnal desires before making off with my haul in the dead of night. I saw the knife in her hand as she tried her best to take my cock down her throat. I wrested it from her and used it to penetrate her chest. The third intercostal space of the ribcage houses an anatomical landmark known as Erb’s Point. Her own weapon found its home at the apex of her heart, and she bled out summarily.”

    His breathing was becoming more shallow,  his exhales more explosive as you continued to stroke him as he spoke, reaching every so often lower still to cup and gently roll his balls, which were steadily drawing themselves up, tightening against his tensing body. He canted his hips up into the air as you worked him. He rasped out a stuttering groan and panted up into the ceiling before whipping his head toward you, turning his body onto its side in the bed beside yours.

    “You know by now….”

    (gasp)

    “Isaiah was stabbed and left to die in an alley. It was the work of that woman’s partner. While I…”

    (groan)

    “While a did heartily mourn the loss of my only sibling, I could not….Kevva, girl….I could not begrudge him his need for karmic justice.”

    You brought your palm to your mouth, licked a wide, lascivious stripe from the base of your palm to the tips of your fingers. Ezra’s hand found your hip and squeezed. His eyes were dark, lust-filled and far away. He was lost in his reverie while consumed with your ministrations.

    “Keep going, sweetheart,” you soothed to him, nipping at the junction of his neck and shoulder. “I’ll take it from you. Don’t hold it back..”

    He answered with a full-body shudder, teeth catching his lip. He swelled and twitched and leaked into your eager hand; you knew he was close. He canted his lips to the cusp of your ear, breath hitching, stirring the hair there like chaffs of wheat in summer wind.

    “I found...myself alone and so I was available to partner up with whomever I could find that I deemed beneficial on my various excursions. I...fuck, I….found myself attached to a most open arrangement related to a job I signed up for on the Pug. A married couple, male and female. They….they both took a shine to my proselytizing, indeed they each became in short order equally enamored with...other more physical aspects of my prowesssweetmother….”

    His canting hips began an erratic stutter as your hand squeezed and stroked and twisted around his turgid cock. Your own breath became thick and shallow, a pool of arousal collecting at your center that you soon felt drooling onto the flesh of your inner thighs. You nipped at his jawline as his eyes fluttered shut, eyebrows knit together, mouth open as he embraced the divine sensations you were giving him.

    “Ezra….” you moaned against him. “Ezra, did you fuck them? Tell me how you fucked them…”

    “Always….shit….always together. That was the agreement. His cock in my mouth, her mouth on my cock… oh my gods sweetheart I’m close….he’d eat her pussy while I fucked his tight ass….she...fuck meee...she loved a hard cock in her cunt and in her ass at the same tiiiimme…..oh Jesus Dove FUCK.”

    His hips thrust and stuttered, his balls drawn taut and tight as he spilled into your hand. He buried his face in your neck and moaned, whimpered, as his seed came forth hot and thick to paint your palm and fingers.

    When he finally stilled, you brought the mess he’d made to your lips and made a show of licking every finger before lapping at your palm to clean it thoroughly.

    Ezra’s fingers found themselves parting your soaked, swollen folds as you gasped against his mouth, your tongue licking in to caress his teeth, to tangle with the slick velvet of his own talented instrument.

    “I want that, Ezra,” you groaned against his hot mouth. “I want that with you...I want you to watch me while I lick a cunt. I want to gag on someone else’s cock for you. Perform for you. I want to watch you get fucked in that beautiful ass….” you keened as two of his fingers entered your twitching, weeping hole. Ezra watched your face, eyes wide and mouth open, as he processed the frantic, lust-soaked words that spilled from your lips unabashed in their filth.

    “Is that what you desire my love? To explore the whims of the Satyr, to share the pleasure of other willing bodies with one another?”

    “Fuck yes, Ezra…” you sobbed against his flexing bicep as his fingers and palm worked you toward your own rapid petit mort.

    “Kevva wept, Dove, then you shall have it.”

tag list:  @ifimayhaveaword, @rzrcrst, @absurdthirst, @cinewhore, @hopelikethesun, @yespolkadotkitty, @sin-djarin, @lackofhonor, @din-damn-djarin, @mrpascals, @theocatkov, @thefineandnobleartofavoidance, @hellojustheretolookatmeemees, @cyaredindjarin, @im-like-reallythirsty, @mstgsmy, @goldafterglow, @givemethatgold, @shaqbutt, @sirianisrock, @artemiseamoon, @thatreclusewriter, @scribbledghost, @f0rever15elf, @opheliaelysia, @qveenbvtch, @hdlynn, @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa, @spacegayofficial, @ezraslittlebirdie, @ezrasarm, @ezraslittleblondestreak, @tintinwrites, @kindablackenedsuperhero, @darthadeline, @alexisinorbit, @knittingqueen13, @lueurnotes, @xakilicious, @keeper0fthestars, @huliabitch, @di-kut, @zombieaurora, @corrupt-fvcker, @cryptkeepersoul, @teaofpeach, @thestreamergirl, @frannyzooey, @mndalorians, @sistasarah-sallysaidso, @autumnleaves1991-blog, @heatherbel, @the-feckless-wonder, @millllenniawrites, @revolution-starter, @melon-eyes 

[bluebellhairpin]

Tears, Fears, and Souvenirs

Levi Ackerman X Reader

A/N: I was having a bath the other day - for the first time in years - and I just kinda sat there and did nothing for a while. It was weird. - Nemo

Warning(s): PTSD. Nudity. Probably more forced self-care than I’ll ever get in my entire life. Scars. Anime/Manga Spoilers. 

Summary: Over time, if they’re bottled long enough - emotions build up. Eventually, people find places where they can run free. Luckily for you, you’re alone when it happens. Unluckily for you, that alone-ness did not last long. 

Listening to: ‘Nothing Left To Say/Rocks’ by Imagine Dragons - ‘I've come too far to see the end now ... But I keep pushing on and on and on and on.’

Masterlist 

After days like today where the hours stretched on, and they day was actually three - but still counted as one, because sleep over safety was not an option - you always waited a couple more hours to make sure everyone was asleep.

Especially the newest cadets - or what was left of them. 

You feigned the idea that you were taking care of them. That you waited up so that those who needed coaxing to go to bed actually had someone to coax them. But it wasn’t just that. The baths were always quiet at 2 am. 

Even though it had taken a while to get the water warmed, as you sunk into the steaming water you knew the wait was worth it. Despite no luxury of scented oils or bubbles, you enjoyed it anyway - just the feeling of everything washing away was good enough. It’d tide you over until - one day - you’d get those things. But that would be a time when you wouldn’t need to take a bath to forget.

After the day - or days - that you just had, you’d need more than one bath to completely process and wash away what happened. 

Miche was dead. Your closest friend, someone who was practically a brother to you, died right behind you as you ran away. 

At the time you were in your soldier mindset. He was a fallen comrade with no hope left. In that he was managing to divert the titans away from you, and that was good. He was supposed to be right behind you, his horse appearing in the distance as yours came right up from another direction. He told you to go, that he’d catch up in no time. 

You, in your soldier mindset, listened to your superior like you were taught.

You, in your soldier mindset, didn’t look back like you were taught. 

But now? Now you thought of how you both should’ve just hopped on your horse and left, his would’ve found him and caught up eventually. At least then you both would be alive. The idea of having to do it again - leave someone behind - sent a nauseating pang straight to your heart.

Your head rested back against the bath rim. You felt them coming, the tears, and you’d let them fall. The very least you could give Miche was free-falling tears - you wouldn’t wipe them away, he fought long and hard enough to have deserved them, you knew that much. 

Of course, he was only the first of many casualties that day. Nanaba was gone too, as well as others - some you thought you trusted but no longer could. Then the countless injuries to stack on top of it all. 

It was such a shame, an age-old war needing the sacrifice of young lives in order to be eventually won or lost. 

Your eyes cast downwards, looking at the fresh cuts, grazes, burns, and bruises littering your skin. They’d add to your skin’s collection of marks rather nicely. You pinched your skin between your fingers, remembering a time when you were better fed and weren’t running around after cadets all day. You didn’t like thinking about that.

With a deep breath in and closed eyes, you pressed your fingers to your nose and slid down into the water, staying there just under the surface until your lungs burned and your knees ached from being bent so. You shot up out of the water, taking in quiet gulps of air and pushed your - now - wet hair out of your face.

“You sloshed.” A voice behind you commented. Your instinct was the freeze up, but you knew that tone, and that voice. Levi. 

“You didn’t knock.” You rested back against the tub, lifting your arms to hang over the sides. You didn’t look back at him. 

He shuffled around behind you, and eventually dropped a chair by your side and towels on the floor to half-effort a clean-up of your spilt bath water. 

You looked over at him, locking your eyes with a pair that was already on yours. His nose almost twitched into a frown. 

“You’ve been crying.” You grunted at that.

“Hange should call you Captain Obvious, not Captain Shorty.” He reached over, tugging your hair in a uncharacteristically soft warning. 

“Don’t go thinking you’re the only one that will miss him, he was everyone’s friend.” 

Levi Ackerman was not a tactful man. 

His eyes raked down your face, and then back up again. He wasn’t sitting close enough to look at anything else other than your arms - only because they were still dripping water onto the towels below. Then he visibly - even so still small - grimaced. 

“You’re washing your hair, right?” he asked and you were going to answer, but then he kept on, “It’s greasy, matted. Downright filthy - did you bathe in the titan’s muck before you came here?” You frowned at him.

“Well, I wasn’t planning to, then you asked and I decided I would, but then you insulted me so I think I won’t. Just to piss you off.” you said, sticking your nose in the air with a sniff as you sunk lower into the water.

“You won’t, fine.” he said, “Let me do it then.” You raised an eye at him, and he rolled his eyes at you. “I’m sitting here with nowhere else to be, and you need your hair washed. Win, win.” 

You said nothing, only sinking further into the bath, with your mouth underwater and now a questionable amount of legs sticking out the other end. 

“If you want it washed, then let me wash it for you,” he added. You turned your head over again, only just being able to meet his eyes over the rim. “I won’t look, if that’s what you’re hesitating about.” 

You snorted into the water, sitting yourself up to laugh without drowning yourself. His almost caring delivery of the phrase, paired with his eye roll was comical. After settling, and ignoring Levi’s steely glare for a good few minutes, you let out a sigh. 

“Fine, just this once.”

“I wasn’t planning on washing your hair for you forever brat.” He said, and moved his chair over so it was behind you. 

You supposed, if he didn’t shove you underwater and call it a rinse, getting your hair washed for you would be fine. Nice even. But you didn’t expect for it to feel that relaxing. Sitting there, as the bath water cooled, you felt his fingers run through your hair. Pulling the tangles out with patience that would only be found in a thousand people. Washing out the dirt, mud, sweat, grease, and blood with every pour of a jug. 

You prayed to whatever higher beings there were that his fingers would always work in such a way forever. It would be cruel to have them taken away when they could massage the soap into your scalp so well. 

Only once did you get dunked - but that was because you threatened him with the idea that he was enjoying washing your hair as much as you were enjoying the feeling of it. 

You thought he did, at least, and you knew he’d never admit it if your idea was true.

But whenever you find yourself in the bath at 2 am, when you’re at your lowest and ready to forget the long, taxing, and trying days, he’s always there to wash your hair. 

So then you knew.

[alittlebitmaybe]

making concessions

so i, uh, maybe wrote the nichest, dumbest cracky au ficlet in the world. i blame @yoursummerfrost who is possibly the sole audience for this. i hope you’re happy.

anyway, this is what i described in this post, aka “Geralt and Jaskier meet at a Magic: the Gathering tournament that Jaskier has no business being at but somehow he beats Geralt and then they try to have sex in the bathroom”

featuring a complete disregard for like, legal cards or real decks or any actual knowledge of MTG tournaments beyond living with someone who plays it a lot

rated M for like frottage and marking and stuff

--

“Fresh meat,” Yen mutters, perched against one of the folding tables, knees spread. She punctuates it with a snap of her bubble gum.

Geralt folds his arms across his chest, eyebrow raised. “This is a low-tier Magic tournament, Yen, not a grade school playground.”

“Doesn’t make him not fresh meat. He’s gonna last five minutes, tops. Someone is gonna OTK that poor bastard.”

“We’ve all got to start somewhere.”

“That kid, Geralt,” she says, “is starting nowhere.”

The man Yen calls that kid does look more like he should be at Coachella than at a Magic: the Gathering tournament—bandana, loose tank top, cuffed jean shorts, and all—but, Geralt thinks, clearing his throat, he’s definitely no kid, not with the definition in his arms and the chest hair and the light scruff along his jaw. He is, though, going around and asking people to show him their decks, which he takes from them and riffles through clumsily while oohing and ahhing.

“Good for me, at least,” Geralt adds. “One less actual competitor to knock out.”

Yen punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Sure, if you can keep it in your pants. You just went all googly-eyed. Those baby blues suck you in already?”

He drags his gaze back to her. “He’s alright. If he touches my cards like that I’ll kill him. They’re worth more than his life.”

“I know, dear. I know. Well, gird yourself, because if you both win your first matches you’re against each other.”

Geralt smiles. “No problem. I’ve been playtesting against every meta deck for weeks. My win ratios are favorable against almost anything. This whole thing is mine.”

“Nerd,” says Yen.

Geralt tugs at the hem of her vest, and she kicks out at him with her boot heel. “You’re literally a judge here. You’re certified.”

“Exactly. I’m in a position of power, but you’re just here to show off. Nerd.”

“Keep it up and I won’t share the prize.”

“Half the prize money would barely buy me dinner at Applebee’s, but thanks anyway, darling. You can keep it, I think I’ll manage.”

And well, that’s fair, actually.

“It’s not about the money,” Geralt protests.

Yen snorts. “Obviously, or no one would be here. We all just bow to the whims of MTG. And thank them. And hand over our credit cards.”

Coachella man has dropped someone’s deck all over the floor and is apologetically gathering the cards back into a haphazard pile. The spectacle has drawn stares.

“Who’s the fool, really?” Yen asks. “Him, or us?”

“Hm,” Geralt replies.

--

“Geralt,” says Geralt. “Bant ramp.”

“Jaskier,” says Coachella man, smiling brightly and taking the proffered hand as he settles himself across the table. “Was that last bit English?”

“It’s…my deck,” Geralt explains dubiously. “Bant ramp? Green, white, blue?”

Jaskier pulls an impressed face. “They’ve got names for things like that? You really know your stuff, Geralt.”

“Uh,” says Geralt, nonplussed. “Yeah, thanks. What are you playing, then?”

“Oh, I’ve got this great deck! It’s got all the colors because I couldn’t pick just a few, and all the cards have such pretty art, you know? I had to put in the best ones. A few of ‘em are even shiny. She’s treated me well so far, this deck. I love her.”

Geralt scans down the list of players on his tourney pamphlet. Next to Jaskier’s name it says only Five color aggro???

Geralt huffs out through his nose. That is nonsensical, and—most importantly—not something he ever playtested against. But no matter what is in that deck, Geralt’s got this in the bag. There’s no way this Jaskier guy has the land base needed to support five colors. Especially if he chose his cards, apparently, based on the art.

Jaskier begins slowly pile shuffling his deck of utterly unsleeved cards. Not even inner sleeves, much less double sleeves. Geralt’s blood pressure ticks up.

“So, uh,” he begins, “you’re new to this, huh? What got you into Magic?”

“Ah, my friend Essi plays here and there, she mentioned this and it seemed like it’d be a lark. New experience and such. And hey”—Jaskier looks up and grins—“maybe I’ll win!”

Geralt thinks about the hours and weeks and years he’s spent studying cards and losing games and analyzing pro matches. “Good luck,” he says.

“Thank you, you’re sweet.”

Jaskier continues placing each card meticulously on its own stack. Geralt shuffles his own deck again and again as he waits.

“Do you want me to, uh.”

Jaskier looks up and says, “Oh, would you? That would be so helpful. I’ve never quite got the hang of the—,” he makes a riffle shuffle gesture, “—whole shuffling thing.”

--

He loses the coin toss, which, he realizes a few turns later, is not an auspicious beginning. But even with Jaskier on the play and him on the draw, certainly it won’t make that much of a difference. Not when Jaskier has to squint at his hand like he’s reading all the card texts for the first time ever. At one point he even goes “Oh, that’s an interesting one,” as if surprised. It cannot make that much of a difference to go second.

And it doesn’t. Because he can’t draw shit to save his life.

While Geralt draws white mana after white mana, Jaskier throws down creature after creature, ignoring effects and the stack entirely in favor of big numbers and building a “board aesthetic.” Whatever the fuck that means. He drops a land on every turn and his mana costs curve out perfectly, despite the stretch over five fucking colors. It’s nothing short of miraculous.

Finally, Geralt is staring down a board of attackers against the lone creature he’d managed to play, and Jaskier says “Ooh, I’ve got enough of the land thingies to play this fella!” and drops—of all fucking things—a Craterhoof Behemoth. Like Geralt isn’t already nearly dead on board.

Geralt eyes the board wipe in his hand that—for fuck’s sake—requires blue.

A single blue mana needed, and a stack of Plains in front of him a mile high.

“It resolves,” he grumbles.

“Woooooo,” says Jaskier. “I mean, that’s good, right?”

“Yes,” says Geralt. “For you.”

He’s got one more draw step to try to dig for an Island. One fucking Island, a fetch land, a mana-producing artifact, anything. He’s spent way too much money on his mana fixing for this to happen.

On his draw, he takes into hand a worthless green creature.

“Fuck!” He scrubs a hand over his face, drops his hand onto the table. “That’s the game. Good one.”

Jaskier looks confused. “What do you mean? You mean I win? But I didn’t get to, you know.” He mimes pushing his attackers across the table like an advancing army. “Kill you.”

“I’m dead on board and have nothing.”

“But I wanted to attack with my big fella!”

Geralt sighs and faintly hears Yen laughing her ass off down the table. And they play out Jaskier’s turn. In which Geralt immediately dies.

As Jaskier celebrates and gathers his cards, Geralt levels him with a tired stare. “Look, be straight with me. Is this a fucking hustle?”

Jaskier laughs brightly. “What, didn’t think I could play, eh?”

“You can’t,” Geralt says. “Obviously. Unless it’s a hustle.”

“No hustling here!” Jaskier then wiggles his eyebrows lasciviously. “Unless you’d like to hustle me later. If you catch my drift.”

Geralt does. “That is not a real come on.”

“Sure it is, since you know I’m coming on to you.”

“Let’s just play out the match,” Geralt says with finality.

He’s down one, but he just needs two wins. Two wins against a deck that will, eventually, be inconsistent and impractical. He shuffles his own deck—tested and massaged until its consistency holds up to real life statistics—four times, just to make sure.

Then Jaskier holds out his deck and Geralt begrudgingly shuffles that, too.

“You have nice hands,” Jaskier comments, following his fingers on the cards. “Big. Strong. Capable.”

“Shut up,” Geralt mumbles, and pretends to ignore it when Jaskier says, Yes, sir.

--

He loses the match on game two, and it’s his own damn fault, this time, because Jaskier drops an infinite combo and doesn’t even realize it until Geralt opens his dumb fucking mouth.

“There it is,” he groans, resigned, as Jaskier lays down the last combo piece. “Lucky draw.”

“Eh?”

“You comboed out?”

“Eh?” Jaskier says again, fingers still on the card like he’s thinking of taking it back, face utterly perplexed.

“You—holy fucking Christ.” Geralt throws his hands in the air. “You don’t even know you have that combo, do you.”

“I—do not, per se, know that, no.”

“That effect will untap your artifact, which lets you—oh, who cares. Fine. You win. Congrats.”

Jaskier’s expression brightens. “I win? Really? But I didn’t even attack!”

“You win. Really.”

Geralt wants a beer.

“Oh!” Jaskier is now beaming. He glances at his watch, a gold-trimmed gaudy thing. “Well, that was quick. We’ve got some time before the next round, if you wanna—uh—”

“Yeah,” sighs Geralt. Heat curls in his belly alongside the mingled anger (shame? embarrassment?) and disappointment. “Whatever.”

Might as well.

--

Geralt shoves Jaskier back against the bathroom door as he locks it, and Jaskier promptly wraps his legs around Geralt’s waist. Without a moment of hesitation Geralt leans in, biting at Jaskier’s lips, feeling arms circle his neck and hands weave themselves into his hair. Their bodies align perfectly and when Geralt thrusts forward, Jaskier gasps into his mouth.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “yeah, like that.”

A growl leaves Geralt in response, frustration with this stupid, clueless man bubbling up within him. Jaskier tastes like red Gatorade and smells like that body butter Yen keeps on her bathroom counter.

It’s less off-putting than it should be.

He keeps going like that, not because he was told to but because it’s infuriatingly good, Jaskier’s body warm and firm and pliant against his as he rolls his hips.

“Oh, God,” Jaskier groans on a thrust that results in a particularly good drag, which separates their mouths enough for Geralt to redirect his attention. With one hand he drags down the idiotic bandana tied around Jaskier’s neck and starts to suck harsh marks into salty skin. Jaskier keeps up a noisy litany of gasps and muffled, bitten-off encouragements. “Oh, that’s—good, fuck—your mouth—like it rough, don’t you…”

Geralt doesn’t particularly like it rough, actually, when he hasn’t been fucking hustled at his own game, but Jaskier still doesn’t seem to have caught on to the part where Geralt is sort of fucking furious about this whole situation.

Instead of explaining himself, he just bites down on Jaskier’s pulse point and curls his hand around Jaskier’s waist where his shirt is rucked up, nails digging in.

“Yeah—” Jaskier says, and tugs at Geralt’s hair, and then there’s banging on the door.

“We can hear you, assholes. There’s a line out here and we gotta piss,” an angry voice calls from the other side.

“Use the ladies’!” Jaskier yells hoarsely. “There’s never anyone in there. This one’s occupied.” Geralt moves against him again. “Oh, that’s—more.”

“No,” says the angry voice. “No more.” Another round of banging. “We’re calling property management. They’ve got a key.”

“Shit,” Geralt says, dropping Jaskier, who makes an indignant noise. He unlocks and opens the door.

There is, in fact, a small crowd around the men’s room, headed by a red-faced man half a foot shorter than Geralt.

“Can’t you mind your own business?” Geralt says.

“Can’t you keep it in your pants?” the man sneers back.

“Technically,” Jaskier pipes up, straightening his bandana and swiping at his hair, “nothing ever came out of any pants.”

“Jaskier,” says Geralt, “don’t help.”

An official-looking group of people rounds the corner, accompanied by Yen, who spots Geralt and nearly falls to the floor in a mirthful fit. He rolls his eyes.

The officials don’t like that at all.

--

A few months later, Jaskier kneels on the other side of Geralt’s coffee table, considering his hand. He licks his lip and taps a few lands to place an enchantment, which Geralt promptly counters.

“You and your fucking—control decks,” Jaskier sighs. “Let me play one some time.”

“Make your own,” says Geralt. “You can use my collection.”

“Ah, maybe I will, and then you won’t be able to play anything at all, ever, and how would you like that?”

“Do you have anything to get rid of my flyers?”

“Unfortunately, no, Geralt, I do not, or I would have played it by now.”

“Then you should probably concede.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He picks up his cards, sleeved properly, and slides them over to Geralt’s side. “Shuffle please.”

Geralt shuffles them.

“Shame we can’t go to the tournament today,” says Jaskier wistfully. “Banned. What rot. We didn’t even get off that day. Rudely interrupted.”

“Yeah, well, someone had no business being there, anyway.”

“I still think I could have gone all the way. Beat you, didn’t I?”

“Haven’t since.”

“Only because you learned my tricks.”

“Jaskier, you don’t have tricks.”

“Exactly.” He smiles, and Geralt can’t help but smile back. When he places Jaskier’s deck back on the table, Jaskier’s hand rests on top of his. “I am, though, Geralt, absolutely thrilled that we met. Whatever the circumstance. Or consequence. If it needs saying.”

It doesn’t, but Geralt meets his eyes and says, “Yeah, me too.”

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [22/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: None

A/N: I have started my first original gothic story (it'll be much darker than this fic but can I offer you werewolves, vampires, 1970s Europe aesthetic as an incentive?). It's on Wattpad and I intend to update it every Wednesday, but I never stick to update schedules so... Here ya go: OUR LADY OF DARKNESS

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

The end of the abyss—that frightful stream of continuous fall and forceful uplift—it finally had an end. It was a large door. Smell of rain and storms, with the slick glisten of wet rock hugging the archway. A dark type of stone, jagged and natural, the door seemed to be carved into the side of a mountain. But the mirage ended where the rock began, there were no walls. No infrastructure. Just the green of the mirror world and two hunkering doors. The archway was carved in the shape of a snake; same as the kind that embellished the rigging of ships, tongue curled, eyes made of rings within rings.

A sequence of lettering—foreign, yet oh, so familiar—hovered in the mist, your mind scrambling to make sense of the words.

“Oracle, what is this place?”

The whisper was quiet, for a brief moment you worried that you were truly on your own in this stretch of emptiness.

I sense… something has been concealed from me. Its magic is fevered, dusted in loss. Pain. Desire. It is out of place. Out of time. The conjurer’s magic has the same energy as yours, only… stronger.

“Stronger?” You shuddered at the thought. After a pause, you asked: “You don’t see the door?”

Door? What door?

“What of the letters?”

I—No, I see nothing. Describe it to me.

“There’s a serpent on the door.”

A serpent? Does he eat his tail?

“No, his head marks the start of the archway, but his mouth is facing the ground.”

Then it is incomplete. An incantation must be needed to complete the image. What of the lettering?

“These letters, they’re different than common tongue or Asgardian runes. They aren’t Jotun either. They look… I don’t know. They look so familiar.”

Reach for them.

“What?”

Familiar magic has a tendency to want to be understood, that is why it feels familiar. Touch it.

You stuck your hand up, jumping on your tippy-toes to try and grab the incorporeal words floating above your head. In defiance, they simply rose higher up, further out of reach.

Do not reach with your body, Child of the Sky. Reach with your magic.

With an exhale, you stuck both hands high up in the air, conjuring the bristle of energy that raced across your spine during spellcasting. Remembering through muscle and memory of what it was like to be in control of your magic. Of what it was like to revel in its deliciousness, its wildness, its link to Loki. A swirl of warmth took shelter in your belly, that warmth you’d grown to love before it was ripped from you and replaced by the cold of Odin’s incantation.

Suddenly, the words began to sink, lowering themselves like feathers, at first, then with the heft of an arrow, and finally, a stone.

With a crash, the words burst into fire and embers, each ember digging into your skin in a sensory overload that formed echoes in the mist.

A version of you,—the shade whose voice you heard in the abyss—older, magic glowing a different hue of blue, in strange clothing, stood by the door. You were witnessing the construction of the doorway. Every splinter, fibre, rock and sand particle materialised as though you were undoing the wroth of a sandstorm to make way for a rock giant. A woman, with firebrand hair and soft features, stood beside you, she looked drained, weary. She had magic too, it was the colour of blood. The colour of fire. It flickered in and out around her body, as if fighting to take over.

There was a young boy clasping onto the shade’s hand. Aloof in expression, a scaly growth the colour of white sands on his elbows, ankles, neck and cheeks. He was a beautiful child, hair as soft as down, curls that fluffed in a way you could never get yours too. Eyes of a pure and deep blue. Ocean surface during a thunderstorm blue.

He looked at the shade the same way little Sigrid had when she’d waved her plump, little hand goodbye before following after the hunters. It made you yearn for something so pure with a fierce heart.

“There, that should do it,” the shade said as the door materialised from thin air. “Now, we need a seal so no one who wanders can know of this place.”

“Is this absolutely necessary?” the woman asked, hugging her frame as if she were cold.

“I don’t like it any more than you do, but this is the only way I know for certain that what we’re doing now happens.” The shade’s voice felt dark, wizened in years, the same way Frigga spoke of grave matters. “This fortress is the only way he survived in my time. If we can’t change things, as the sorcerer said, then the least we can do is ensure things continue on their set path.”

“He’ll be trapped… for who knows how long? Centuries? Millennia? He’s just a boy.”

“He’s more than that,” the shade got down on one knee to look at the boy. From that angle, you could see the mangled, L shaped scars over each of her shoulder blades. They resembled the scars birds would suffer when their wings were ripped for medicines. “This is the only way he stays safe. I’ve already cemented the other enchantments. Time will not be felt here. He will not feel sadness or regret or the bitterness of solitude. He will sleep, as I once did, except… he will not be aware. And he will dream of only happy things. Then, when the time comes, I will jump. I’ll take him back with me.”

The firebrand woman showed doubt for the first time, “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve already done it.” The shade touched the other magic bearer’s shoulder, a comradery there. A closeness built from time and triumph, much like that kindred fire you shared with Sif. “Now, a phrase. A word. Anything to bind this lock to. Something unique.”

“Why don’t you choose it?” “Because I know myself. It has to be something I’d never choose so that she never knows it, and no mind reader can ever guess it should they stumble upon this place.”

“Vision,” the woman’s lips quivered with loss, but there was a bloom of hope in the tweak of her lips as your shade repeated the word.

The biting of the magic ended, and suddenly, you were alone again.

What happened? Child of the Sky? Are you there?

“I’m right here, Oracle,” you choked out, a tightness in your throat.

You were gone. One instant here, the next… nowhere. Somewhere. Between.

“I know how to open the door,” you took several steps back and then cleared your throat. With conviction and authority, you calmly said: “Vision.”

What did the magic reveal to you?

Your head was spinning from the fabrics of this mirror universe being so amateurishly tailored, so lacking in its design and purpose. The more you discovered, the more you began to doubt if this world was ancient; or if it was barely into its adolescence. “I do not quite understand it, yet. You said you were imprisoned here?”

Yes. I have been without body or memory for as long as I can remember.

The snake on the door began to slither till its mouth was at the top, and its tail was tucked firmly in its jaws. Then its eyes glowed the same colour as the child’s, thunderstorm blue. With a groan and a strike of something loud, the door peeled back. Beyond its threshold was a mutation of worlds, all collided in exquisite syzygy; aligned, misaligned, human, Asgardian, Jotun, and even the liquid blackness of space with pepper spots for stars.

“And how long ago was that?”

I—I do not… Centuries? Millennia? Aeons?

To busy your mind of doubt and fear as you stepped past the threshold and heard the door seal shut behind you, you toyed with the idea of understanding more of this world. “You said you could hear the beginning of your name… What was it?”

The whisper grew soft, warm. It sounded like ‘see’. Or was it the sea? Sea? Sea. Sea!

A garden shifted into the plane, then with a breath, a lake, then a cave, then a temple, then a waterfall, then a tower made of metal and glass. The world wasn’t fixed to a temporal setting, nor a specific location in space. It was like watching fire tell a story; brief, bright and constant.

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

At the epicentre, laying on a stone tablet with a curtain of gold—that same curtain from the healing chamber—wrapped around like a fleece, was the child. Unaged. Beautiful. Asleep. He had no scaly growths like in the visions.

You took your steps with trepidation. Almost afraid to make a whisper even though the Oracle chanted ‘Sea!’ over and over. Its voice morphing into the very faint intones of a voice you knew all too well.

The world began to peel away the closer you got to the child. A presence was syphoning the magic, transmuting it for another purpose. A purpose that you now realised was meant to happen. Soon, a figure of pure light, with large wings of utmost magnificence, formed from the siphoned magics of the world. The Oracle was gaining form. The fleece turned grey and the boy began to stir. The magic of the sleep spell was broken.

You approached him slowly. Hands seeking out his aura. Then, in the most silver of voices you’d ever heard, he said, “You came. You said you’d come.” A smile of familiarity adorned his freckled laugh lines.

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

“Do you know me?”

He nodded.

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

 “How?”

 “From now.”

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

“What’s your name?”

He seemed confused. Reeling back from the line you’d cast him for with that question. Bait in hook, he fished in the muddy waters that were your consciousness. You could feel his magic, abrasive as sand between toes, cool and wet, but also warm and sea-salt thick. He replied, “You haven’t given it to me yet. But you will return hers to her.”

He pointed to the Oracle’s figure, pulsating into a more corporeal form. The boy opened his hand and you knew instantly what he needed you to do before you thought to ask. A reflex. His magic extended to yours, carrying thought, and the very genesis of thought in its energy. You placed your face close so his hand could cover the cavity where your eye used to be.

Sugar. Berries picked from the wild thickets. A prick into padded thumb. Ooze of blood. A slight sting, then a scab and finally nothing, no marks, no evidence of the thorn in your thumb. He was projecting images of what he envisioned as he healed you. What the berries would taste like; apples. “You can open your eyes now. It was gold when we met. I kept it the same.”

Feeling no different than before, you opened both eyes for the first time since you stepped into Verdenspeil. With a tickle, the runes drawn on your hand and forehead sloughed off like skin cells. You could see the world without them. You could see through both eyes again. The shifting world shifted to a hexagon of mirrors. One, the sky shifting blue of your mother, the other, the ancient, world piercing gold of your father, your face held two eyes again.

“It’s… beautiful,” you looked down at the boy with your eyes. He showed teeth with his grin, pleased with himself. Pleased with your laugh of awe. “There was a boy in my village. Half as beautiful as you are. Half as joyful, with a smile and constellations marking his nose and cheeks too. He showed me kindness. His name was Baldrick. I shall call you Baldrick.”

 “Now that you have spoken my name, remind her of who she is,” the boy said, glancing at the Oracle. “You know. You know but cannot believe.”

A gasp left your mouth. A mix of hope and disbelief. With the new eye, you could see the face of the Oracle beneath the light, beneath the enchantment that kept her hidden.

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

“S-Sigrid.”

The Oracle hushed before exploding into a million, tiny pieces of energy. Out of the explosion was your mother, winged as the Valkyrie from legend, wearing the armour you had seen in the mirror prior to entering Verdenspeil.  

“Y/N,” she said, lowering to the ground. Her hand cupped your face. You could barely feel her. “I have waited so long for this moment.”

“Mother,” you hugged her close.

A swirl of black formed once the mirrors of the world broke. Sigrid looked at you with panic.

“Listen, there isn’t time. Take the boy, “Sigrid removed a bracelet and cast it into the black-hole. A portal began to form, leading to what looked like a stone temple. “Take him and jump, it’ll lead you to the one with answers.”

“I don’t understand! Why can’t you come with us? How are you alive?”

“I’m not alive dear, sweet child. But I can promise this isn’t the last you’ll see of me. We will meet again, soon. I promise. But you must go, the world has fulfilled its purpose. There is no reason for it to exist anymore. It has already began to unravel.”

The mist began to turn sour, choking like poison.

You coughed, breathing through your sleeve, “But, as the Oracle, you said I had to take you to the source.”

“You are the source. You and the boy. Your magics are entangled. The maze was a lie, one devised by you. This world isn’t ancient, it is young. A deception. I am the deceiver. My purpose was to ensure none but you found the boy and the portal to Mímir’s tomb. You enchanted this world so all would walk along the lighted paths until they reached a portal that would return them to a random space within the nine realms. You enchanted this world with your memories, so only you could follow them. Hear them.” Sigrid handed you a four-pronged dagger, “Take this you’ll need it.” She kissed your cheek, then her form started unravelling with the world too. Through transference, she gave you her armour, it was lighter than you'd expected, and it fit to cover your proportions through magical effect.

“Why can’t you come with us?” you reached your hand out to Baldrick. He took it with ease.

“I am not meant for the lands of the living,” she lamented. “Go! Before the world takes you with it.”

You rushed to the portal, but before you could step through you asked one last question: “What did you mean by ‘sins of the father’?”

“The war,” Sigrid fluttered her wings to hover in the green mist. “It was a lie. The Jotuns, they didn’t start it. We—the Himmel Kvinner—there’s a reason why only the women in our family inherited the gift. It’s not just power. It’s essence. A woman’s essence. Odin didn’t know we would develop magic from the artefact, but none of us were able to understand the complexity of her spell. Until you. You will discover the reason behind it all. You told me you did. I suspect it is because you are not fully mortal." Bitterly, she added as her body turned to mist as well, "You will bring the heavens to its knees. And your fate is that none shall remember it.”

One of Sigrid’s wings dissipated, she faltered in the air, then shouted: “Go!”

“I love you,” you whispered before hurtling through the undulating expanse of the portal.

“I know…” you heard her whisper back as Verdenspeil was destroyed.

[ikenbar]

Mr. Love: Ike’s Choice CH4 PT12 (end)

Warnings: (mainly in epilogue if you want to skip that part once you reach it, go ahead) Blood, insinuating a bone breaking, threatening, broken skin, desperate begging, and just evil things all around

... meanwhile we also have fluff!, Gavin fluff!, Victor Fluff!, surprise guest fluff???, also Bart being an icon!, also some insinuated ~✰☽Gayness☾ ✰~ so if you have a problem with any of that you can leave now before you are hooked by the heckin cliffhanger that I have all cooked up for you!! :D

(Chapter Four (Victor and Gavin) Prologue, and part one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, and eleven can be found here!)

Please read the author’s note (and the beginning of the story) on chapter one part one if you’re new here :D

Chapter Four:

Part twelve (end):

She was there again. After all these years, my queen was standing right in front of me. She really hadn’t changed. Sure she had grown quite a bit but,

 It was her. 

She wasn’t very tall. Or plump for that manner. She looked to be only the size of a teenager but, after all the time that had passed from then, I knew she couldn’t have been that young. 

Her hair was brown and shoulder length. She wore a layered white skirt with a striped blue shirt tied just on top of it. She was there. But she was facing away from me. I moved to touch her but my legs wouldn't budge. Why couldn’t she just turn around? Why couldn’t she just let me see her face again?

I called her name 

Everything went black. 

Screams and cries for help filled my head. Scattered footsteps, soft cries, stone grinding stone, a loud bang, and then silence. Pain welled in my chest. A pain I hadn’t felt but somehow seemed familiar. Horribly familiar. It wretched at my insides, breaking me without giving me any kind of release. I wanted to tear the feeling out of me, pull apart my chest until I could find peace again. I just wanted it to stop. To see her again. I just wanted to see my-

I gasped and threw my eyes open. I sat up quickly, clutching at my chest and breathing heavily to steady my racing heart. The dream was over but the pain was still there. It wasn’t as prominent but it was there. What could have caused that? Why was it familiar?? Who was that girl?! 

I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly. "It was just a dream." I whispered to myself, "That girl doesn’t exist. It doesn't mean anything it's… it's just a dream." I repeated those words in my head over and over again but something about it still bothered me. Where had I seen that girl before? Where had I felt that pain before? Why was it all so familiar to me?

I groaned and held my face in my hands. I had a lot of memories that I had repressed from my childhood. That pain was heart wrenching. It’s no wonder I wanted to forget it…

But that girl. She didn’t make me feel bad. In fact, seeing her made me calm. I wanted to be closer to her, to see her face, to hold her. Why would I want to forget that? Forget her?

I looked at my watch. There was just a few minutes until my alarm to work out would go off. I sighed and lay back down. A pain pushed through my chest, not the same one from my dream but a familiar one nonetheless.

 I clutched my side as memories from the night before came flooding back to my mind. I looked over to the living room. Adri stirred from the couch, letting the blanket on her shoulders fall slightly. I slowly got out of bed and approached her cautiously. Being sure to move slowly, I pulled the blanket up and tucked the blanket into her shoulder. She snuggled into it, still fast asleep. I smiled slightly as I looked up. Gavin was sleeping in the recliner. He was sitting up in it. Despite how uncomfortable it seemed, Gavin looked to be sound asleep. I moved to walk back to my bed but paused as something on his lap caught my eye. It was a book. But not just any book. 

It was my high school yearbook. 

A pen rested in the middle, as if marking the page he was on. I smirked and carefully pulled it from him. He sure was obsessed with this book. I put the book away in its rightful place and pulled out a blanket out from a small bin. I gently placed it on Gavin, draping it carefully down his body. He breathed deeply and sunk into the chair further, falling farther into his slumber.

A soft smile blossomed on my lips. He looked so peaceful when he was sleeping like this. Not to mention vulnerable. I wonder how he would look with a mustache…

My phone buzzed. I quickly plucked it from my pocket and turned it off. I glanced at Adri and Gavin. They didn’t seem to be phased by it. Sighing lightly, I looked around my apartment. Well, now that I’m up, I might as well continue with my day…

>>>

I smoothed out my work out clothes before carefully picking up my gym bag. I walked to the door and reached for the door knob. Gavin stirred in his seat slightly. I glanced at him. I should probably leave a note if I’m leaving them like this. I tapped my chin and looked around. My eyes landed on the note pad that I kept on the fridge. Taking that and the pen that Gavin had in his yearbook, I wrote a quick note: 

I’ve already headed to work. You’re welcome to anything in the fridge as a thank you for staying over.  I think I have some homemade casserole in there if you're interested. Maria should arrive around seven so, Gavin, you shouldn’t be late for work and, Adri, have a good day at school. Let’s do this again soon.

Talk to you both later,

Ike.

I placed the note in the middle of the coffee table. I gave one last look to my guests before heading back to the door and grabbing my keys. I moved to reach for the doorknob again but paused. The spare key to my apartment enchantingly dangled before me. I looked back over to Gavin.

>

Gavin’s eyelids were overwhelmed by the morning sun. He squeezed his eyes tightly, hoping to get some more sleep. But he found that to be impossible from a craning on his neck. Gavin slowly blinked awake, his memory slowly coming back to him. He looked down. Wasn’t he reading the yearbook? Now, not only was the yearbook gone, but a blanket sat in its place. Gavin looked around the room, stretching as he did so. Adri and Ike were nowhere to be seen. Gavin quickly stood up and looked around again with more fervently this time. The bathroom door opened and Adri walked out of it, eyes looking down at her phone. She glanced up at the room and paused when she saw Gavin.

“G-good morning.” Adri stammered, cheeks becoming slightly rosy, “How’d you sleep?”

“F-fine.” Gavin faltered, his once racing heart easing at the sight of one of the sisters safe, “Where’s Ike?” Adri gestured to the coffee table, leading Gavin’s eyes down to it. There sat a folded note with his name on it. Gavin picked it up swiftly. 

“Also, I think she wants you to have this.” Adri said, cutting Gavin short of reading the note. She tossed something to him, which he caught with ease. It was a key with a separate note attached to it in Ike’s handwriting. Gavin read it.

Just in case.

“I would guess she’d want that for me but I can’t even drive yet.” Adri laughed sheepishly. Gavin smiled sweetly. Much to Ike’s perceptible dismay, Gavin had expected to use that key whenever he had the chance.

>

I stood in the elevator next to a nervously sweating Bart. “How do I look?!” He asked for the umpteenth time that day.

“Like a nervous wreck.” I honestly answered yet again. I had spent the whole day with my team, trying to put together the plan for next week’s filming. We had spent so much time together that day that I hadn’t seen Victor since he had picked me up that morning. It wasn’t like I wouldn’t see him at all that day. In the car, Victor told me that he would like to meet with both me and Bart. I didn’t know why. All Victor said was that it was important. I was unphased by the sudden invite but Bart on the other hand…

“What if Victor hates the color purple?!” Bart asked, looking distastefully down at his violet tie, “I knew I should have gone with vermillion!”

“Honestly, aren’t you the one that does all the interviews?” I asked, arching my eyebrow, “Why are you so nervous?”

“Because! What if Victor is taking back the investment?!” Bart said quickly, as if he had been waiting for my question, “What if the lunch from yesterday was enough to realize that we spend too much time as a family and not enough time as a company?! What if he hates me and wants me out of the picture so you can take over?!”

“Ok, now that we have all the dumb ideas out of the way,” I rolled my eyes, “let’s start thinking of the good ones. He probably has something that he would like to discuss about the investment to the both of us. You know, to make sure we are all on the same page.” Bart relaxed slightly, “Or he has trained ninjas waiting just beyond this door to take us out so he can take over our company.”

“EVELYN!?”

“We’ll be fine… but maybe let me take the lead.”

“Out of the elevator or in the meeting?”

“Yes.” 

The elevator dinged and, after checking for ninjas, Bart and I hurried to Victor’s office. I knocked on the door. “Come in.” Victor called. I walked in and immediately froze.

 Standing in front of Victor’s desk was a petite, professionally dressed young woman. She had brown hair that fell just at her shoulders, framing the knotted blue shirt she had on perfectly. 

She turned to me. 

As she did the flouncy shirt she wore twirled beautifully around her knees. Her eyes were big, brown, and laced with innocence. And her smile could out match a child’s with it’s purity. 

It was her. 

The woman from my dreams. 

She was standing in front of me. 

She was real.

I staggered in my steps as I watched her, dazed and astonished by the sight of her. Part of me expected to wake up. Another part wanted to continue dreaming. The last part was wondering why the heck I hadn’t said something yet. 

Bart set a hand on my shoulder, “I’m sorry.” he said as he peered into the room, “Are we interrupting something?”

“Not at all.” Victor stood from behind his desk, “Bartholomew, Ikamara, this is Youran.” The name sent sparks in the back of my mind, “She is the producer of the Yu Yun Productions Company.” Youran approached Bart and I. Each step she took shockwaves into my head. For some reason, I felt nervous to greet her. I shouldn’t have been though, as her head barely met the top of my nose  from how short she was. I could have thrown her like a football if I wanted to… or hold her close to me like a puppy.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you!” Her voice was soft and sweet like taffy. Despite the strange feelings I had, I stepped forward. But before I could out stretch my hand, Bart had pulled me aside and took Youran’s hand instead.

“The pleasure is all mine!!” Bart enthusiastically said to her, shaking her hand fervently, “I have been a fan of your show Miracle Finder since I was, well, as young as you are!!” Bart belly laughed, causing Youran to smile sweetly. I gulped. “You’re show is the reason I decided to become a producer myself!! Your father was a legend! It was a shame to see him go... I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” She said meaningfully, accepting another handshake from Bart, “That’s really sweet of you to say.” Youran’s eyes landed on me, making my heart freeze. She held out a hand to me. “Hi!” She said kindly, “You must be-”

“Ike.” I said, finally finding my voice as I took her hand, “Call me Ike.” Something flashed In Youran’s eyes. Something indecipherable. I hesitated. Did she feel the same feelings that I had?... or maybe I was just scaring her with my staring. Speak, Ike, SPEAK! “I-it’s a pleasure to meet you, Youran.” I continued, hoping to ease away any awkwardness I may have conjured, “What are you doing at LFG? Does Victor have an investment with Yu Yun Productions as well?”

“What company hasn’t he invested in?” Youran grumbled slightly, she leaned forward and whispered, “I swear he has the whole city wrapped around his little finger.”

“Please.” I scoffed, folding my arms, “As if Victor would let in the entire city. He would only have the best of the best then leave the rest to wallow.” Youran laughed with such an intoxicating sound that it should be kept in a music box, ready to be played when I needed it. 

“He could be some sort of super villain.” Youran whispered to me as she glanced back at Victor. I bent over next to her ear and away from Victor’s sight.

“Captain Capitalist.” I whispered back. Youran laughed harder, causing a warmth to bubble in my chest and a smile to spring onto my face.

“Alright ladies.” Victor called from the other side of the room, “Time for leisure is over. Youran, you have a report you need to turn in before the end of the week. Ike, we have a meeting.” Youran rolled her eyes.

“Good luck.” She said sweetly to me.

“Thank you.” I said, holding my smile, “Hey, if you need help with that report, you should let me know. I’m pretty good at writing what Victor wants to hear.”

“Really?!” Youran’s eyes became wide with enthusiasm, “That would be great!!”

“Ladies.” Victor urged.

“Sorry!” Youran said, waving to Victor. She turned quickly back to me. “We should continue this later!” She reached in her pocket and pulled out a business card. She handed it to me. “The second number is my cell phone! Text me next time you’re free!” She turned back to Victor and Bart. “Bye! It was nice meeting you!” 

“The pleasure was all mine!” Bart waved happily to her. She turned back to me, gave me one last smile then briskly walked to the door and closed it behind her. I kept my eyes on her, the business card sitting strangely in my hand. She couldn’t have been real. That can’t have happened... Why did she seem so familiar?!

“Wow!” Bart snapped me out of my thoughts. I quickly turned to look at him, catching his teasing expression before it faded.

“What?” I asked, somewhat defensively.

“Nothing! It’s just… I’ve never seen you smile like that with anyone before.”

My breath hitched, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it took us months just to get you to talk! You don’t trust anyone who we bring to the house, and you’re cold to everyone in the office.”

“Yes, Bart. Please keep insulting me in front of Victor. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the encouragement.” 

“But one conversation with her and you’re already smiling!”

My face flushed. “Y-Yeah, well. you’re one to talk!” I stammered, slipping the business card into my blazer pocket and approaching Victor’s desk, “‘You’re the reason I became a producer in the first place!’ She’s like half your age, Bartholomew. Calm down.”

“I’m just saying!” Bart defended, throwing his hands up, “She must be a really neat person if she could pull a smile from you that easily!” I opened my mouth to retort but paused. I was inclined to agree with him. Being with her felt so easy. It was like nothing I had felt before. I wonder why that was…

I cleared my throat. “Don’t we have a meeting to start?” I said, taking on a power stance across from Victor and looking steadfastly at him. Victor had his hand to his mouth, seemingly lost in thought. “...Victor.” I appealed. He snapped to and looked up at me.

“Right.” He said, prepositioning himself in his chair, “Bart, have a seat.” Bart, who was still questionably giddy, sat down in the seat next to me. “First thing’s first,” Victor’s tone had become intensely professional, pulling Bart and me into the same professional mood, “As you can see, Ike, your office has moved.” I looked around. He was right. My desk was gone.

I whistled, “Geez, I didn’t even notice.”

“That was because you were too busy making googly eyes at Youran.” Bart sung.

I snapped my head to face him, “I was doing no such thing!”

“Yes, dear.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Just so you know, Maria and I will support whomever you choose to love.”

“Bart!”

“Focus, you two.” Victor snapped at us, bringing our attention back to him. “You can find your office a couple doors down from mine. It’s close enough to your offices that they don’t have to make too much of a trip to visit you, and yet far enough away for you to get some quiet while you work.”

Bart leaned over next to me, “And I bet if you leave your door open, you can see Youran come and-” Bart suddenly cut off. I looked over to him. He was frozen in place. I quickly looked at Victor. He was already looking at me, expression riding more into dourness then professionalism. We locked eyes.

“It’s also close enough for you to come to me any time you feel as if you are in danger.” Victor’s voice was stern but gentle at the same time, “It’s windowless so you need not worry about another attack. I also put a guard outside your door to stop any suspicious characters from coming in. You should be safe there.” I frowned.

“Didn’t I tell you specifically not to get a bodyguard?” I deadpanned.

“You were pretty quiet in the car.” Victor continued, ignoring my questions, “Are you well? How are your injuries?”

“I’m alright.” I sighed and touched my side out of habit, “I had a friend help me patch up. Though it was harder to work out at the gym with a cracked rib.” Victor’s eyebrows fell into a knot.

“Are you an idiot?” Victor tactlessly barked. I looked at him, clearly taken aback.

“Excuse me?”

“You haven’t even had a full day to recover and you’ve already gone to the gym?!”

“It calms me!”

“How does being in pain calm you?”

I rolled my eyes, “Stop worryi-”

“How can you expect to protect yourself, or anyone for that matter, if you can hardly breathe?” I froze. A sweet smile popped into my mind...

 “...Ok, fine.” I huffed, “I’ll stop going to the gym... For now.” 

“Good.” Victor sounded resolute but something was off about it. I didn’t have time to think about it as Bart finished talking. 

“-go as you please.” I looked over to Bart, shoved his face away, then looked back to Victor.

“Now, for the actual meat of the meeting.” Victor adjusted himself in his chair, “After watching how the both of you run your company this past week, I’ve made two observations. The first being, you two have no control over your employees.” Bart tensed from next to me, “I’ve received countless complaints talking about how your employees have been disruptive in the workplace. From being too loud to leaving messes all over the offices.”

“They're just passionate about their work!” Bart defended.

“Your ‘passion’ is making it hard for LFG’s employees to focus on their own work.” Victor retorted. Bart opened his mouth to speak but I held a hand up to him.

“I’ll have a word with them.” I spoke sternly, “What was your second observation?” Victor trained his eyes on me for a second.

“... There is a potential in this company that LFG would like to underpin.”

Bart and I froze.

>>>

Bart held open the door for me as we stepped out of the office, still in shock. “LFG wants to invest in our company.” Bart whispered to me the moment the door had closed.

“Yup.” I breathed.

“Five hundred thousand dollars.”

“Yup.”

We both stood in silence.

And, as predicted, Bart was the first to break it. 

He started wooping loudly and punching my left arm. “WE DID IT, EVIE!!” He yelled, dancing around the room. “We DID IT!!” Bart continued dancing down the hall, twirling and pumping his fists in the air like a lunatic. I rolled my eyes and walked behind him, heart still bouncing in my chest from the news. Victor actually saw potential in our company. In me. He saw my vulnerable side and didn’t leave. In fact,

He supported it. 

This was all new to me... But, it wasn’t bad. 

I looked out one of the floor to ceiling windows in the hall. It had started raining outside, basking the view of Loveland in a soft gray and cleaning it of what dirt it hid in. I closed my eyes and took in it’s sound against the window as my heart slowly calmed to match the underlying beat of it. 

“Hey, Ike!” Bart called, making me open my eyes once again and turn to him. He was standing in the elevator, holding the doors open for me, “You coming?” I nodded, stealing one last glance through the window.

 I stopped. 

From where I stood, I could see the entrance to LFG where Youran was standing. She looked disgruntled as she looked up at the sky. 

“You go ahead.” My voice drifted softly as I kept my eyes on Youran, “The next time I see the team, I’m going to yell at them for their behavior in the office.”

Bart hissed, “Ah right. Ok! See you soon, Evie!” I nodded lazily as the elevator doors shut.

>>>

By the time I had gotten to the front doors of LFG, Youran had taken a seat on the front steps, resting her head in the palm of one hand and using the other to draw circles on the ground with her finger. I adjusted the grip on the umbrella in my hand and opened the door. Youran’s eyes flashed to me once then landed on me again once she saw who I was. She smiled kindly.

 “Hey!” She chimed, turning to face me better. “It’s Ike, right?” I nodded.

“I thought you had left already.” I said, trying to remain nonchalant. Youran sighed and looked at the rain.

“I didn’t bring an umbrella.” She placed her head back on her hand and pouted, “Even though there was an eighty percent chance of it raining today. Heh, I can be an idiot sometimes.”

“Can’t we all?” I popped open the umbrella in my hand and held it over Youran’s head. She looked at me, shocked. “Come on.” I held out my hand, “I’ll protect you.”

>

Victor watched from his office as Youran accepted Ike’s outstretched hand. She helped the little girl to her feet easily and they both walked down the front steps together. The umbrella was tilted to completely cover Youran’s small body, and, even though Ike’s blazer was getting wet, she didn’t show any signs of changing her position. Victor sighed and shoved his clenched fists into his pockets. “So she does remember her.” Victor spoke to himself as he let his mind wander. Old memories coursed behind his eyes, making his eyebrows furrow deeply.  When the two girls disappeared from his sight, Victor walked to his desk and pulled open a drawer. A folder slid into view. On the tab, in big black letters, it read, 

"BLACK SWAN"

“Perhaps it’s not too late.” Victor lied to himself.

Epilogue:

“S-sir!” Dylan choked, “Sh-she surprised me!! But I got a shot in her! I got her arm!!”

Montu ran to catch up but it was too late. The bike had already driven off and out of sight. They breathed heavily and marched back to the building. Dylan moaned from the floor as he slowly came out of his unconscious state. Montu jumped back into the room, charged over to Dylan, and grabbed his shirt. They raised him in the air as if the six foot man weighed nothing. “What did I say, Dylan?! What did I say about LOSING HER AGAIN?!”

Police sirens cut through the air. Montu cursed. “Sir, the cars.” One of the soldiers pointed out.

“Hit the sewers.” Montu growled, rolling up their sleeves, “I’ll deal with the cars. And lock up this disappointment of a man until otherwise instructed.” The men nodded without hesitation, taking Dylan by the arms. 

“Quit your blathering!!” Montu threw Dylan onto the floor, emanating a loud crack as he landed on his elbow. Dylan screamed and cradled it. “I’ll deal with you further at the base.” Montu spat, glaring distastefully down at him, “And don’t for a second think I’ll let you off as easily as I did before.” Dylan gulped. 

“But it’s true!!” Dylan pleaded his empty case as they dragged him away. “She was hurt when I saw her! I shot the bullet right into her arm!! It stayed there! She was in PAIN!! I SWEAR!!”  Montu removed their mask and rubbed the bridge of their nose, hoping to stifle the rising migraine behind their eyes. 

Unwilling to waste anymore time, Montu focused their attention on the cars. They breathed deeply, creating a rising aura of tense air around them. A soft wind tickled their bangs and brushed the warm blood falling from his forehead. Right as it seemed like something would snap,

Montu raised their hand.

The sound of creaking metal filled the air as each of the cars were lifted from the ground, groaning against the invisible force supporting them.

Montu walked to the window, preparing to leave, when they kicked something on the ground. Looking down, their eyes landed on a tool. 

A grinding tool. 

Pieces of skin were stuck in between it’s blades as drying blood dripped down the side of it. Montu bent to inspect it.

“She was hurt, huh?” Montu’s voice was as smooth as butter as they traced their finger along the tool, “How interesting…”

End of Chapter Four :D

(Next)

[mariinara]

REDAMANCY. (Sam Drake x Reader) PROLOGUE.

A/N: Oh, sweet mother Theresa.. I've been holding this secret for so long. The idea came to me when @the-winchesterboys pitched it as just a fluff request, but I decided to make a whole series out of it. So, I can proudly say that this is a sort of collaboration that gave birth to my first Sam Drake fic. ♡

Tags: @the-drakeboys , @the-winchesterboys , @missdictatorme , @samdrakeftw , @hrgnm , @purplezebra68 , @s4mdrake , @unchartedterritoria

Summary: You're a retired treasure-hunter who had brief history with Sam before the events of Panama, after which you were heartbroken, but met your current fiance, Connor Walsh. You get an unexpected call from a certain someone, asking you to embark on one last adventure together through London and Morocco to uncover a childhood mystery, during which you confront each other, reflect on your past, and rekindle the relationship that might cost you your pretend peaceful life.

Genre: Action/Adventure/Drama/Comedy

Rating: 18+

(PROLOGUE, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4)

  Location: United States, Boston suburbs.

                       __________________

Your paint roller glided smoothly across the wall of your new study room, the wetness glistening with the bright ray of sunlight from your open window. You found yourself smiling in comfort whilst covering the white, dusty pasty color with a refreshing coat of the faintest shade of beige: a color that beautifully complimented the oak-wood theme of your furniture. It was also a color that represented conservativeness, neutrality, and serenity-- The very same traits that you’ve decided to embrace as a new years’ resolution. You knew it was going to be by no means an easy task. 

If you would’ve displayed any of those traits in the profession you’d left behind, you would’ve been dead. 

You’ve always been an excessive, adventurous, fiery, driven human being. It ran in your veins-- this treasure-hunting hogwash. Whether your expeditions proved fruitful or not, you grew obsessed with that adrenaline surge that rushed through you. That little thrill that came with uncovering world secrets or stumbling upon a marvelous find. The extreme enjoyment you got out of surviving a situation that so clearly was against your odds. The way goosebumps riddled your sweaty skin as you leaped from one cliff to the other. Holding onto a rope for dear life as you swung across. You got off on those sort of reckless heroics, but ever since you met him and you’d clicked immediately, his docile nature immediately rubbed off on you. 

There you were, painting your study while reminiscing about your time in Shambhala, where you and your fiance-- Connor -- met. He was a journalist who came along with Elena and her cameraman Jeff and, from what the relationship between him and Elena suggested, they were both co-workers and rivals. He’d gotten there to uncover Lazarevic’s malicious plot first and was doing okay until Elena and Jeff showed up. Though the bickering between them was childish, Connor was an extremely calm, collected, and understanding human being when it counted. Besides that, he was smart, clever, focused, practical, and he was handsome in a very nerdy way. 

He looked like your typical, struggling journalist. He was tall, pasty skin and rosy cheeks. Sort of broad and built. Always had a shirt on that was slightly crinkled at the hem, since he’d get sick of having it tucked into his pants and would yank it out. A habit you grew to smile at and shake your head. His bright green, curious eyes were framed with a pair of glasses that only a semi-visually impaired person would wear. The lenses were so thick that they formed sort of a weight on the bridge of his nose that would eventually leave red marks where they sat. 

He was nowhere near your type of man. As far as Nathan - the man whom you took care of for a long time before he stumbled upon Elena - knew, your type happened to be that sort of man with an infuriatingly charming air about him. Tall, broad, had tattoos that held meaning to him only. Thick Boston accent and a shit-eating grin that made you roll your eyes but smile, nonetheless. The kind of man that made you weak in the knees with just a wink or a suggestive eyebrow raise. 

A heartbreaker, who ripped away every shred of happiness when he left you almost sixteen years ago to wallow in self-doubt and pure despair. The type of man who both gave meaning to your life at one point, but ended up completely ruining you at another. And by the time he’d made a surprising appearance in your lives, you were a changed woman who had a loving boyfriend who made you forget about all of your past troubles. Your heart aches and most of all, Samuel Drake.

It was a little over a year ago since the last time you'd seen him and though Connor had no idea about your past, Sam had a pretty good picture about your relationship with Connor. Boyfriend of almost six years, about to be engaged to you. The works. 

Sam felt like a complete stranger to you and you were no longer the woman he'd fallen in love with. Or at least you thought so. 

He was so foreign to you, even though he was the exact same person. But you were simply not. Back at Libertalia, you couldn't even bear to talk to him for more than a minute and you didn't know why. It was like talking to a phantom. A figment of your imagination. Looking at him reminded you of all the days you couldn't breathe when his memorial day rolled in every year. It reminded you how broken and dysfunctional you were for the first five years of him not holding you or saying something clever to make you laugh in utter embarrassment. It made you remember how cold you were when you slept on the bed you once shared with him, with his side of the bed empty and untouched for years on end. The years and years of therapy and PTSD. 

Looking at him reminded you of everything that you worked so hard to forget and while you knew that it wasn't fair for him, it was just as unfair to you. 

You finally had your life together and you didn't want anything or anyone standing in the way.

Not even him. 

The fact that you'd parted ways on a bad note as well the last time you'd seen each other didn't at all help. 

Libertalia was an adventure you thoroughly enjoyed and loved deeply. You even had some souvenirs and trinkets from there. But the reason you went there altogether was because you didn't want Sam to die again. To leave you and Nathan. The incentive was purely dutiful since you grew up with both of them, but nothing more. 

Or at least you thought so.

You took a few steps back, your eyes studying the freshly painted wall. Slowly, a satisfied smile crept up to your lips as you wiped your forehead from the sweat, being careful so as to not get your paint-covered fingers on your face. Your hands then wiped against the front of your stained apron with a deep sigh, "God, I'm good." You told yourself with a proud smirk and whipped your head around once you heard the sound of a heavy, cardboard box slump on the floor. Your eyes trailed up to be met with Connor's green ones and he smiled as he stretched his back and walked towards you. He was standing next to you, his arm around your waist, holding you close to his side as he stared at your handiwork.

"Wow.." He chuckled with an impressed nod, "This looks great."

You rested your head on his shoulder, a big smile on your face, "You sound surprised." 

He paused a little, "I am–" You lifted your head and playfully glared at him, making him laugh lightly, "Just a little. Calm down..!" 

With a sigh and a shake of your head, you patted his ass with your dry paint-covered hand and he jumped a little, letting out a small surprised noise, "Alright, then, nerd." You ripped yourself from him and looked around, seeing all those boxes that you needed to empty. They were covering the floor from the entrance of the study to the hallway outside and even the kitchen's island had smaller boxes on top, full of utensils and everything from the kitchen of your old apartment, "That's all of 'em?" You asked, sort of hopeful that you wouldn't have to unpack another one of those nightmares.

"Yep." Connor responded, "I'm hungry, though. How 'bout dinner first?" He suggested and you couldn't be more relieved since you were starved.

"Sounds good."

Your fiance smiled sweetly at you, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips that lasted for a while before he pulled away, "I'll go get started with the kitchen stuff, then."

You smiled back at him, your eyes trailing down to look at the messy collar of his shirt, only for your hand to adjust it and smoothen down the shoulders, "Alright, dear."

And he was off to the kitchen, maneuvering around boxes as he did. You watched him for a couple of seconds, feeling as if your life was finally falling into place. That everything was perfect. That you were healed.

As if God didn't want that for you, your cellphone rang in your back pocket, almost startling you. With an exasperated sigh, you untied your apron and crumpled it in your hands, reaching in for your phone with the other. 

Upon seeing the caller ID, your demons crawled back up to gnaw the back of your brain. Your eyes widened briefly and you glanced towards the empty hallway Connor passed through earlier. You contemplated not answering, but knowing him, he was probably in trouble.

Your thumb hovered above the 'reject' icon, your brows furrowed and your heart thumping violently against your ribcage, as if begging to jump out. And against your better judgement, you swiped the 'accept' icon, pulling the phone to your ear slowly and giving your back to the door. 

You heard what sounded like a sigh of relief on the other line. 

"I thought you'd never answer."

You paused for a second, rubbing your forehead with your fingers, "It was tempting."

He chuckled, somewhat bitterly, "Why didn't you?"

You rested your hand on your hip, your eyes flickering all around the room, as if searching for an answer, but you found yourself talking without even thinking, "Because I feel obligated not to." You responded, "You don't usually call, either, so you must be in some sort of trouble."

You heard silence from him for a second, "You know why I don't call. I dunno how your guy would react."

You raised a brow, glancing over your shoulder at the door to make sure Connor wasn't close, "And you thought now's a good time because..?"

"Because I need you."

You inhaled deeply at his reply. A dreadful feeling resided in the pit of your stomach. Something about the way he said that didn't rest well with you, but you knew what he meant.

You looked up to the ceiling, trying your best to bite back a mean response, "What do you want, Sam?"

"Right.." You heard shuffling on his end, sounding like papers and clanking glass, "I'll get to the point."

"Please."

"Remember when we were younger? That book I used to love."

Of course you remembered. You'd stay up all night with Sam, sitting on a bench under streetlights, listening to his stories from the book he so loved. He was so theatrical, acting everything out, doing the pirate accents, deepening his voice, hiding one eye with his hand to give the effect of an eye patch.

How could you possibly forget?

"A general history of the robberies and murders of the most notorious pirates." You responded with a small, wistful smile that you weren't aware of, "Yeah."

"Remember when I said how it was complete bullshit?" 

"You were pretty disappointed.." You muttered in amusement, going over to your desk to sit on the edge.

Sam chuckled lightly, "Then you remember my never-ending babbling about Red Rackham's treasure."

"Sam." You stopped him, feeling the uncomfortable feeling bubbling up to claw at your chest, "Where's this going?" You cautiously asked, narrowing your eyes at nothing in particular.

Another long pause came from him, and with each passing second, you felt your anxiety bubble up more.

"I know where it got sunk."

"Where what got sunk?"

"The unicorn."

You pinched the bridge of your nose at the familiar name of the sunken pirate ship and shook your head, "You can't possibly be doing this on my moving day." You tried to keep your voice low but your dismay was extremely clear and you could almost see him frowning at your tone.

"Moving day?" He asked. You suddenly remembered how transparent he was. He did no effort to hide his bitterness and you could so clearly hear it.

You shook your head and decided to divert the subject, "I don't do that kinda thing anymore, Sam. You know that." 

He snorted, "Since when?"

"Since Libertalia." You retorted, "Since Connor, Sam. He doesn't do that sorta thing, either."

"That–That is good for him, but I know for a fact that that's not who you are."

You let out a humourless laugh and threw your hand up in frustration, "I'm not waiting for you to tell me who I am; I know what I want."

"No, you don't."

You were about to snap at him, but something stopped you. What would you say to that? Was this really who you were? The way Sam put it made you doubt almost everything. 

"Doesn't matter, Sam. I'm happy, okay?"

"You may be now, but the more you fight it, the more you're gonna hate him and hate your life, sweetheart." 

"What are you trying to do?" You asked, in a surrendered voice, your hand tightening around your phone.

"Give you a chance." He replied easily, not even giving it a thought, "This is our story. Our treasure. You were obsessed with this as much as I was. Your journal, your hand drawn maps.." He paused, "I still have 'em.."

You shook your head, feeling your resolve crumble with the sentence he added at the end, looking down at your feet, "What am I gonna tell Connor..?"

"You'll figure somethin' out." He said, his voice a bit hopeful, knowing that he broke your thick skin a bit, "C'mon. Whaddya say..? You and me. One last time?"

You inhaled deeply. 

He was right. You have been obsessed with finding that treasure for the longest time as wanderlust-struck teenagers. It was like your Everest. But you never got around to it, since it all reminded you of him. You didn't want to embark on that journey without him by your side. And now that he was there, you could finally finish the book of journeys. To fulfill the last of your wishes. 

Maybe then you'd be able to live happily with Connor, without having to deal with the burden of having something missing.

And so, you smiled and nodded to yourself, "Okay." You responded simply, earning a relieved chuckle from him, "Sully's gonna be there, though, right?"

"You could say that."

You frowned, "What's that mean?" 

"He'll be there at some point." He vaguely replied, making you roll your eyes, "Just make sure you're there by tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night..?" You asked, closing your eyes and throwing your head back, feeling the fatigue roll over you stronger than ever, "Where do I need to go?"

"London. Bloomsbury." 

You ripped a paper from your notebook, holding the phone against your ear with your shoulder, and grabbed a pen, yanking off the cover with your teeth and writing down the address.

"Okay.." You muttered.

"Euro hotel. The room's under Victor's name. You know what to do."

You felt your heart beating faster as you wrote the last letter, with the small P.S. about the reservation name. 

You let out a shaky breath and held the phone in your hand again, straightening up, "Got it. I'll be there at nine."

"Perfect." You could practically hear the grin in his voice, "See ya soon, sweetheart." 

You smiled softly and nodded, "See you soon.." 

You held the phone against your ear until it went blank and that's when you realized what you've just gotten yourself into.

There you were again. With no self-control when you heard the words treasure and adventure. You were so caught up in the childhood memories that you didn't think of what you'd actually tell Connor and, for some reason, the truth wasn't an option.. 

You heard him calling out your name from the kitchen and you quickly whipped your head towards the door, inhaling deeply to calm your jagged nerves. You found yourself fiddling with the engagement ring on your finger and you looked down at your hands, pursing your lips together tightly.

'No backing out now..' You thought.

You exhaled and forced a smile to your face, "Comin', honey!" You called out cheerfully, quickly stuffing the note with the address in your back pocket, hurrying out of the study room.