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seaphoam-writes · 2 years ago

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A Father's Duty (7/?)

A Father's Duty on AO3

Summary: An encounter with a quantum fissure leaves Picard with more responsibility than he asked for, but he'll do what he always does—his duty.

Chapter 7

Inside the bag, Picard discovers a bundle of papers and a handful of isolinear chips. He puts the papers aside, sits at his desk, and slots one of the chips into his computer. It contains what appears to several months’ worth of the other Data’s personal logs; Picard skims through them before taking the chip out and setting it aside for another—as expected, the second chip contains more of the same, but as he’s skimming those logs he notices Louis in the background, so he rewinds and watches from the beginning.

As Data’s detailing their lukewarm reception aboard the USS Phoenix, Louis appears behind him. Holding a metal foil, the boy scrambles onto a chair. Once his footing is secure, he raises the foil, shouts, “En garde!” and vaults from one piece of furniture to the next.

His leap carries him out of view, but there’s a loud thwack, followed by an, “Oof!”

Data stops, turns in his chair, and regards Louis, still off-screen. He recorded his logs in English, but here he switches to French. “Are you alright?”

“Oui,” Louis replies.

“The furniture is for sitting or lying down. Please do not jump on it.” There’s a pause, and then Data asks, “From where did you obtain that foil?”

“I replicated it.”

“When?”

“Just now.”

"Please return it to the replicator. Objects such as those are for—”

“The holodeck only, I know,” Louis huffs. He reappears in the background. “Can we go climbing?”

“I must complete my log entry first. Have you finished your homework?”

“Yes.”

“Then you may read or draw until I am done.”

“And then we can go climbing?” Louis prompts.

“And then we can go climbing,” Data agrees. He begins turning back towards his computer, but halts halfway. “Louis.”

Louis was retreating but freezes, shoulders hunching guiltily, the foil clutched to his chest with both hands. “Yes?”

“I asked you to return the foil to the replicator.”

Louis huffs again but obeys, managing to convey total unwillingness in every line of his body as he moves towards the replicator in the corner. He mutters something too low for Picard to make out—too low for even the computer to pick up—but Data replies, “That statement is incorrect. I have allowed you to ‘have fun’ approximately 87 times this past year alone .”

Louis giggles, and Picard gets the distinct impression that he baited Data purposely for that exact reaction.

Hope flares briefly in Picard’s chest, and he smiles; to see Louis acting like a normal child fills him with optimism—if the boy was not broken by the events of Wolf 359 and the aftermath, then he’s resilient enough to survive shifting realities as well.

It’s going to take time, Deanna told him.

Picard can be patient, and he can be what Louis needs him to be in order to restore the boy he just witnessed in Data’s logs, a boy that giggles and jokes and jumps on the furniture.

And fences, Picard thinks with glee.

Louis isn’t visible for the remainder of the log, but a portion of it is dedicated to him: the results of the physical he received upon boarding the Phoenix (“I got taller!” Louis crows), an update on his schooling, and a detailing of several mundane occurrences that Picard nevertheless drinks in like a man dying of thirst.

As he reaches for a fourth isolinear chip, he notices that one of them is markedly different from the others. He picks that one up and inserts it into his computer. It contains only three videos, all of which appear to be rather short. Curious, he plays the first.

It’s a home video, and Picard recognizes the setting immediately: his own quarters. Kneeling on the floor beside the coffee table is Louis, clearly several years younger, playing what looks like a flat keyboard. He makes an error, shakes his head. A voice from off screen encourages him—a woman’s voice, soft and melodic.

Nella Daren.

Picard tenses in anticipation, but she doesn’t appear, only murmurs, “Keep going, LJ. You’ve almost got it. Try again.”

LJ?

Does Louis’s middle name begin with a J?

On the screen, Louis nods in response to his mother, starts over with a furrowed brow, and when he plays it correctly he turns, grinning proudly.

Picard expects Nella to react but it’s him—his other self.

“Well done, mon fils!”

Fast as lightning, Picard’s hand darts out and halts the video.

It’s disconcerting, knowing it’s him but not really him, and he’s not ready to see it. He shoves his computer across the desk, as if that small act can purge his anxiety, and reaches instead for the stack of papers, hoping whatever they contain will distract him.

They’re drawings, and with pure delight he realizes they’re Louis’s drawings.

Charmed would accurately describe his first impression of the boy’s artwork. There’s a skill present in his drawings that speaks of genuine talent, and it’s as if Picard is seeing the world through Louis’s eyes.

Shuffling through them, Picard feels a swoop of recognition—of empathy. Drawing is a solitary activity. Louis must not have had many friends his age thus far, and Picard can relate to that.

He’s examining an illustration of a starbase when his door chimes.

Not wanting to raise his voice, Picard goes to the door. It’s Deanna. She’s smiling, and dread settles in his stomach, heavy as lead. Nevertheless, he returns her smile, strained though it may be.

“Are you here to check on me, or Louis?” he asks.

“Both,” she replies. “May I come in?”

Picard knows the only way out is through, and regardless of his desire to keep his own inner workings private, he does both need and want her help regarding Louis, so he moves aside so she can enter and gestures for her to sit on his sofa, explaining quietly that Louis is asleep.

“How is he doing?” she asks.

Her question requires the answer that Beverly’s did not, so Picard relays the events of the afternoon, from entering their quarters to returning from Ten Forward.

Deanna listens to the entire tale before presenting her opinion. “I believe your assessment is correct, Captain: it’s important for Louis to begin seeing the Enterprise as his home and the crew as his family. He needs to feel anchored here.”

The dread evaporates, and a tension he didn’t realize he was holding onto unwinds in his gut. He didn’t muck things up entirely, then.

“We can come up with a list of people it would be good for him to make connections with,” Deanna continues. “And we can also discuss how best to introduce him to people he may know from his own past, beginning with Data.”

Picard sighs. “Yes, I was thinking about that. He can hardly avoid Data forever.”

“I don’t think he should avoid Data at all. When Louis saw Data in sickbay, he felt betrayed and angry. I think he needs to come to terms with these feelings in order to move on from them.”

Picard thinks of the logs, deliberately gathered and put in a bag along with a meticulously compiled portfolio of Louis’s drawings—sending Louis here was premeditated, but Picard doesn’t think Louis was aware of that plan until the moment Data pressed the memory chip into his hand, seconds before beaming him onto the Enterprise.

Picard understands Louis’s reaction, but he doesn’t it to prevent him from building a relationship with Data here.

“Perhaps holding a memorial for the other Data will help Louis find some closure,” he suggests.

“I think that’s a good idea, Captain. Would you like me to make the arrangements?”

“No, I’ll take care of them, thank you.”

Momentarily, there’s a silence in which Deanna regards him with an expression that’s as ominous as storm clouds on the horizon, then she says, “There’s something else I wanted to discuss with you, Captain.”

“Oh?”

He tries to subtly take a deep breath but he’s so clearly braced for impact that Deanna smiles.

“Have you given any thought to how you’ll inform the crew?”

“Must I?”

Deanna chuckles, entirely aware of how much he values his privacy. “I regret to inform you that I’ve already heard the rumors that you were seen in Ten Forward with a child. Some people even seem to think that the child looks just like you.”

Picard grimaces. That’s not ideal.

“The rumors will only spread further, Captain, and the crew will draw their own conclusions. If you want to control the narrative, you’ll have to address it yourself. You don’t have to go into all the details, but you will have to explain Louis’s presence in some way that’s…satisfactory.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, Data wasn’t the only one on the bridge when Louis was beamed aboard. Nor was Beverly alone in sickbay.”

“Ah.”

Whispers of what happened on the bridge during the night shift will have spread from those who witnessed it, along with security and Beverly’s nurses, meaning there’s no way to pretend that Louis came aboard the ship in any manner other than the way in which he did.

“You’ll have to tell Starfleet command as well,” Deanna adds.

Picard blinks. He hadn’t considered that. They’ll want to meet Louis. They may want to run their own tests—he is from another quantum reality, unique as far as Picard’s aware. Perhaps they’ll even want to question him, determine whether he knows anything about the Borg that could be useful here.

But surely Data can provide such information? Picard won’t let Louis be interrogated. Or poked and prodded like some science experiment.

“I’ll draft a report for the crew,” he says, the words bitter in his mouth. “I’d like you to review it; you know better than I how it will be interpreted by the crew. And after that I’ll submit a report to Starfleet.”

“If I may make a suggestion, sir?”

“Of course.”

“Take your time with your report to Starfleet. It can wait for—oh, I don’t know, three days?”

Picard quirks an eyebrow. “Have you been talking to Beverly?”

“Yes,” she says, unashamedly. “Those of us that care about you are…worried.”

“Worried?”

About me?

“You’ve found yourself in an unimaginable situation. Some people might think it a burden—”

“It’s not a burden,” Picard says quickly. “It’s just…”

“A big change.”

“Yes. It’s a…big change.”

Deanna suddenly looks past him, and Picard turns to find Louis standing in the doorway uncertainly. He changed out of his pajamas and back into regular clothes, but his hair’s rumpled and there’s a crease down one side of his face from the pillow.

“Hello, Louis,” Deanna says brightly. “Do you remember me?”

Louis nods, eyes darting to Picard.

“We weren’t introduced before,” Deanna continues. “My name is Deanna. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Louis murmurs.

“I just came by to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m okay.”

He’s still by the door. Picard extends an arm towards him. “Venez ici.”

Come here.

He says it gently, the way his mother used to when she wanted to embrace him, and Louis comes immediately to his side, leans into him.

Deanna’s beaming. “You feel safe here,” she says. “With your father.”

Louis’s reply is another nod, but there’s a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth.

Deanna stands. “Well, I need to be going, but I’d like to see you again, Louis. Would it be okay if I visited you tomorrow?”

Louis looks at Picard, but Picard merely raises a brow, prompting Louis to respond. Louis meets Deanna’s eyes and says, shyly, “Yes.”

“Wonderful.”

Picard escorts her to the door. When she’s gone, he turns to Louis. Louis looks back.

“We have some time yet before dinner,” Picard starts. “I was thinking we could…”

He almost says fence or go climbing, but perhaps those activities are best left for another day. In any case, he has something even better in mind.

“I was looking at your drawings earlier, and I thought we could look at them together, and you could tell me about them.”

Louis grins. His eyes light up, and for a second—just for a second--it’s like looking at the boy he saw in Data’s logs.

#star trek: tng #star trek: the next generation #tng #star trek fic #tng fic #star trek #the next generation #picard #picard fic

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lgcjisoo · 1 year ago

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"hey, hey, i get it, i get it," jisoo says in response to her, patting her on the hand gently. "it is tough to see everyone climb the ladder, when you are meant to be climbing it too. the worst thing i think is we can't really always see what they want, in comparison to what we think they want... i personally feel that unless you're the lucky few, most lose a bit of their sense of self? does that make sense? they begin molding into what they think the company wants, or try to push boundaries where they think the other trainees aren't filling those slots so that they can stand out. it's a brutal industry, i get it. debuting doesn't even guarantee success."

"i mean, debuting in a pre-stablished group isn't all that bad. type zero has had a different roster for some time now, but i understand. some of the older members will always have more of a fond place in fan's hearts, since they are simply more established... in that point, do you have a say in whether you want to debut in a new group or not? i don't think i ever broached that topic because i was quite flimsy of a trainee before i left to pursue modelling," jisoo chuckles a little, fidgeting with the straw before setting the drink down entirely, letting the ice thaw out a bit more. he should have said less ice, but he forgot.

"an idol is basically a group of coworkers. you're not going to like everyone. some groups might be lucky, yet again, that word luck, its all so...random. you could be in a group of people who hate each other, but smile for the cameras, or a group of best friends. its so dependent on chemistry and things happening in everyone's life at one time. i think you really have to weigh if it's worth the risk, of what you're leaving behind. would you regret too much, or be able to let it go? the only thing that was holding me back, honestly, was that i wanted to debut with keeho so badly. but... in the end, he's happy in agito, and i am happy doing what i'm doing. i don't think i could look back, but i think i'm biased. if you miss performing, they also let you perform in some groups sometimes... or even musicals. or maybe you'll get a fun commercial with a beat in it oof, i sound so biased, hyunhee. but i suppose you did need to hear it from a model's perspective too.'

"i auditioned and everything!" hyunhee tells him, huffing. "it doesn't feel good to not even make it past the trials, you know? i wanted to be on future dreams so bad. it's like, what am i doing rotting in the dungeons- sorry, practice rooms, when i could be out there," she gestures wildly into the air beside her.

she pouts and slumps back into her seat. this conversation with jisoo has been eye-opening to say the least. it seems like he's been where she's stood. hyunhee always knew the two of them were similar, but not to this degree.

"as much as i'm in love with fabula," she tells jisoo, although anyone who knows her should know she's the biggest girl group stan. "the thought of debuting in an already established group doesn't really excite me," hyunhee confesses. "they have their signature sound and are already so far in their careers. if i debut, i want to be a part of something from the ground up."

"is that really what being an idol is?" she asks, curious. to her, all the idols seem to have good relationships with their group mates, but maybe that's just fanservice. "i guess you're right, but i kind of romanticized the idea of debuting with all my friends," hyunhee thinks back to all of the memories she's made with the various trainees over the years. "i don't know, jisoo," she sighs. "there's a bunch of different motivations for this decision, i'm just not sure if it's the right one. do i wait things out and see what happens? or do i jump the gun and try to be a model just to do something with my life."

#( lgchyunhee )#( t : model behaviour )#why are my tags not showing u p ...

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holly-fixation · 3 years ago

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An Astral Myth: Chapter 1

Summary: Cloud Strife is an engineering student at Midgar U, who decided to take art history as an elective because it was the only good option left. But when an assignment on an “obscure god” (nothing Shiva or he gets stabbed with an ice pick) causes repeated dreams of swirling pink clouds in a blue sky, Cloud has to find out what it means. And the best place to start: seeing the statue for himself.

Inspired by this art by @hueyoart and the concept by @ehrenyu on Twitter.

Please Enjoy!

Junior year. Third year. Whatever it was called, Cloud could not believe he made it this far. Three years at Midgar University. Well, two and a half. He really thought he would fail by now, yet here he is, two years away from a degree in engineering design. This was a dream almost come true. He always loved to design all sorts of things. As a kid, he had this insane idea to build a sword made of smaller swords that fit together like Lego pieces. Of course, all of his attempts didn’t go well but his mother refuses to get rid of his only somewhat successful attempt made of cardboard, card stock, duct tape, and hot glue. Nowadays he designed more practical objects and helped out his various other friends in similar majors. Although Barret almost broke his arm after seeing how fantastical he made the simplest concepts. You need to chill the hell out, blondie! It’s the modern day, not the renaissance, man! Then Barret made him redesign all of his concepts for the team’s sanity. Oof, that was a bad day.

But now he’s more than halfway there, just a few more engineering classes and...electives. Ugh. He hated electives. When they were related to his major, he cared and he tried. But these other, unrelated, useless to the real world electives...he rolled his eyes. What a waste of money. He tried, gods did he try, to take the easiest, most pointlessly simple class he could to fill the slot. And then they all got taken by the seniors, and the only class he could get into with ‘okay’ ratings was Art History: Analysis of Mythology. He was kind of interested in mythology. Who wasn’t? If it was all based off of things that aren’t real, it should be easy right?

Wrong.

The class only had two assignments, which decided the entirety of the grade. If he failed one, he failed the class. Fairly high stakes, but it didn’t seem that bad, compared to his major classes which required multiple six-hour-assignments completed per week, until tonight.

It was 11:45 PM, and he was smacked with the sudden realization he needed to submit his topic for the first paper. Hell, he suddenly remembered he was in this class. Gods forbid he got any rest tonight, gods forbid he hung out with his friends until 11:30 on a Sunday. Cracking his eyes open, he pulled his laptop into his lap and sat up in his bed, immediately clicking the class page. Maybe he was lucky, and this was one of the professors that made assignments due before lecture began?

Nope. Due date: Today, 11:59 PM. Fourteen minutes until submission closed.

Okay, the essay must be a research paper into an obscure or uncommonly studied god or goddess. “If any single one of you picks Ifrit for this assignment, I will fail you immediately.” His professor’s voice suddenly rang in his ears, spoken in lecture when assigning this a month ago. For extra credit, he could take a selfie with the statue of this god. Yeah right, not unless he’s desperate. Then he realized he forgot about this class, and that extra credit may keep his GPA up to standards. He sighed. So none of the Six. Got it. Maybe he’d get lucky if he checked archeology websites. He couldn’t care what this god was, as long as it was obscure enough.

Maybe some god really was on his side.

A month ago, archeologists discovered a shrine to a god named “Sephiroth”, supposedly some God of the Stars. Please have enough information publicly available, Cloud begged internally.

Though the statue was recently discovered, many texts have been unearthed and translated throughout the last few years. Using a language similar to the Cetra, most of the legend of “Sephiroth and his Sacrifice” has been translated. This legend is available at this link. However, for all the information, most photos of the shrine itself were corrupted during digital rendering, and the current museum housing the main statue refuses to allow professional photos.

Perfect, good enough. Cloud immediately wrote a response for the assignment, making sure to “paraphrase, not plagiarize, and quotes are for newspapers, not essays!” a five sentence backstory. Well, the two facts he could learn in two seconds with some nonsense about why he was interested. And now...submitted. 11:56 PM. He knocked the back of his head against the wall with a sigh of relief.

...Shoot. Now he’s awake. The panic from his sudden realization forced his heart to race. So screw it. He decided to start his research tonight, collecting links for sources and taking sections of lore that seemed important, though he was barely skimming the passages and absorbing almost none of the words. His document was filling quickly, about a solid page and a half by the time he felt tired again. He glanced at the clock: 12:30 AM. He had his early class tomorrow. How the hell did he get stuck with an 8 AM in his junior year?

He closed his laptop and placed it back on his desk before lifting up the covers and attempting an early sleep, tossing and turning until his subconscious finally took over.

He felt his eyes open, as if waking up from a peaceful dream, to the sight of swirling pink clouds, separated at the center and turning like the eye of a slow hurricane.

Was he standing? Or floating?

He could almost feel a surface beneath his feet, but when he looked, there was no ground, just the ever present stirring of the pink puffs.

Was he looking up? Or forward?

He found himself staring at the blue opening of sky, mesmerized, hypnotized, and...controlled.

Had he made a single decision? Or was he pulled by invisible strings?

By a red thread of fate? Or the clear strings of a puppet at every joint?

His thoughts quickly vanished, his attention captured. A tiny gold and white light shone in the center blue, tiny, like the stars in the night sky. But as he watched, it grew. It couldn’t be a star, it was too unbalanced, too many points of the spikey nature emitted from the bottom half. Then it got bigger. Grander and brighter, all consuming like the sun. Blocking out the sky and obscuring the shape. Capturing the clouds in its reaching rays.

White. Blinding white devoured his sight.

Suddenly he surged in pain, the seering of a blade ripping through his chest, through his back, deeper, and deeper, and Deeper, and Deeper.

Cloud jumped awake with a gasp and held his head and his heart, his breathing out of control and cold sweat dripping down the sides of his face. What the hell was that? It felt so real. He felt that blade tear through his body. What kind of nightmare was that?! He quickly grabbed at his phone and opened the screen. 4 AM. Maybe reading lore on some random god right before bed was a bad idea. Noted. Would not happen again.

Well, he was awake, so he might as well check his messages before he passed out again. He opened his email app, deleted a few spam notifications, and saw an email from his professor. Alright, the god he picked was approved, so there was no going back now. He decided to officially start this essay tomorrow, and checked his various entertainment apps until he was tired enough to fall back asleep.

* * *

“You forgot you were in a class?” Barret almost slapped him in the back of the head for his stupidity. “How do you forget about an in person class?!”

Cloud scratched the back of his head and looked away as they both walked to their next class. “It only has a few deadlines, nothing popped up on the course page before the weekend, so I thought I was good,” He tried to defend.

“You still go every week, right?!” He didn’t necessarily yell at the blonde, he was only loudly confused.

“Yeah yeah, I do.” He adjusted his bag. “But he didn’t mention anything about it last week.”

Barret sighed, deciding to cool down the almost fatherly tone. “Look, Spiky, just don't overwork yourself. We still have a project milestone to finish!” Cloud let out a soft groan before Barret continued. “Just start it early. Twenty minutes a night should at least get you interested in this god essay.”

He sighed. “Gods I hope so. I’ll try it.”

“But you better be at the meeting tonight.”

“Of course I’ll be at the meeting tonight,” Cloud countered. “Haven't missed one yet.”

So, that was exactly what Cloud did: went to his lectures, got multiple hours of homework completed, and finished the night off with the team meeting before finally arriving back at his apartment. Once he was settled in and ate somewhat of a dinner, he was back at his desk to try to enjoy the small remainder of his night (if he planned on having a slightly okay sleep schedule). Then he remembered his conversation with Barret. Crap.

He groaned to himself. Twenty minutes less of ‘him time’ wasted for this stupid essay. Maybe paraphrasing what he copied last night would be a good place to start. He opened his laptop with a pout, angrily opening the links he collected from the previous night and his current document. He took a breath before actively reading the text.

Sephiroth is an ancient God of the Stars, whose worshipers are currently unknown. Though, from carvings and surviving text, they clearly spoke a language similar to the Cetra. He is the son of Jenova, Goddess of the Cosmos, and is one of the few gods who remained completely loyal to their patronage. However, his father is still unknown.

So they’re space gods. Got it. He’d moogle if there was a specific difference between the cosmos and the stars later, and he noted that in his document before he continued.

Ironically, despite their nature, there is no current mention of any constellation bearing either name.

According to legend, Jenova came to our planet, Gaia, on a meteor dating back about 66 million years.

Oh come on, everyone knows that’s the meteor that killed the dinosaurs. And are they really claiming humans were around back then? He groaned again. He did not care about this useless parent, but every article on this god explained her origins. He guessed he didn’t have a choice.

Translations and transcriptions differ greatly on the reason she came to Gaia. Some claim it was curiosity, stating we are one of the few planets with life in the cosmos. Others say she landed by accident, and our people accepted her as a new God, worshiping and praising as she wished. Though no written text agreed completely, they all claim she was strikingly beautiful and impossible to look away from, almost like the night sky.

Were they really pretending humans were around to know that back then? 66 million years ago?

But Jenova’s presence or aura, carrying the weight of the cosmos, was too much for the planet to handle. Both the Lifestream and the oceans gravitated toward her like the moon. All types of plants, animals, fish, insects, and fungi suffered or completely died off as a result, even though she was not on the planet for long.

The people of the planet, though we are unsure if they were human or some other species at the top of the food chain, asked the goddess to leave for the sake of their world. This is where conflict of translation and various sources comes up. This angered or some even just said annoyed her. She agreed to leave the planet after seven of our days.

It’s claimed her retaliation for the disrespect were calculated diseases and mutations to plague the inhabitants, similar to how overexposure of mako happens extremely rare today.

Good to know Shinra’s bribing them to keep things quiet. Cloud gave a quick shake of his head to remove the conspiracy theory going through his mind and return to the page before he had to re-read the entire section due to lack of focus.

Yet other sources claim the effects were a result of her anger directly, even some claim she did not know she caused it at all.*

*This is where the language similarity to the Cetra gets difficult to translate, as we are still learning most Cetra scripts and these legend scripts are not completely identical to the Cetra language. We provide as many of the accepted translations as possible, but the most accurate translation has yet to be determined.

Fantastic, so he either needed to copy every attempt at a translation or pick one and defend why he believed it was the most accurate, something he was not at all qualified to do.

Her reign was too large to maintain such minimal functions intentionally, her anger rarely ignited by any being to know how to handle the unconscious response.

What was she, a robot? ‘Minimal functions’?

Every planet she visited was affected differently, so the people were not asking her to leave out of fear, but for the sake of their world. Seven days was too long. Their world was falling to her in only three.

Then Gaia, the Goddess of our Planet, spoke to the other goddess and explained the results of her presence. Intentionally or not, Jenova was killing Gaia (both the planet and the goddess). The Planet made a deal with The Cosmos: to feed her curiosity, let her heal and then send a proxy when it was time. This proxy would be taught all the knowledge of herself and the creatures that called her being their home. Her people would be informed when the time came, and they would prepare for the proxy. Jenova agreed, on two conditions: Gaia must accept any proxy of her choice, and the people must obey her proxy unquestionably.

Gaia agreed.

What could possibly go wrong?

With honor of their agreement, Jenova left the planet, and her virus stopped. Millenia of millenia passed before Gaia informed her people of the messenger’s title and coming arrival, with some reports dating back only 2,000 years ago.

Oh for gods sake. Really? Were they honestly claiming this? Were humans walking around and completely ignoring this new god? Comparatively, compared to 66 million years, it was not that long ago. Oh come on.

Not once in Gaia’s billions of years of existence did she expect the cosmos to send the most cherished son: Sephiroth, God of the Stars, as the proxy of the cosmos.

Alright, that’s enough for today. He’d finish this lore some other night. He wanted to enjoy the rest of his time, playing some games or watching some shows, or doing anything that wasn’t an assignment for once. Just to reach the page minimum faster, he looked for this statue that made this god known. He scrolled through this article: nothing. The next one: nothing. The third, fourth, and fifth: nothing. Why were there no photos? Even if the professional shots were only available through a museum pay wall, there should at least be some pictures and selfies on social media, right?

Report: Is the new statue cursed?

It sounded like clickbait and looked like a blog, but no other article explained this specific phenomenon, so he read on.

The original photos from the exposition were corrupted within the day, before printing or digital upload was possible. This was odd, but technically possible. However, even photos taken in the Midgar Museum of Natural History, where the statues are currently on display, are immediately ruined. Whether it’s a flash from some ancient technology or some kind of spell, every photo taken results in a bright shine from the halo, the same effect as taking a picture of the sun.

Halo?

We should probably explain what the statue looks like.

That would be very helpful.

The most interesting and popular statue, “Reunion”, depicts Sephiroth and his Sacrifice, and is based off of one of the final scenes of the legend. Sephiroth’s upper torso and face resemble a human’s, but his legs are six perfect angel wings, and his right arm is a deformed wing holding a sword. He has two halos emitting from his center like a throne, and his long hair flows up through them. Many observers state the beauty of the statue, especially Sephiroth himself. As for his sacrifice, he’s pulled up and impaled by the sword, straight through the heart. Yet his face shows no pain, almost like sleep or acceptance. “Reunion” is supposed to refer to the promise Sephiroth made with humanity, but there are too many mistranslations for us to count so we’ll spare you the details.

Wow. Did Cloud really manage to pick the only god on the planet who cannot be photographed? There goes the extra credit. Maybe he’d look for artwork later. He wanted to enjoy his last few hours of night before it was back to the grind. He bookmarked each open tab, then closed the browser before finally enjoying part of his night.

* * *

He woke up to the same panic, the same strings, the same searing pain through his body, for four days. Something was wrong. He never had the same dream twice, but this was identical four times in a row. The same light, the same sky, the same clouds, the same sword. Sword? Yeah, probably a sword, through his chest. And now he had a headache. Again. Wonderful. He hadn’t touched the assignment since Monday. How was this still happening?

He should tell someone about this. Who, though? It was too soon to tell Tifa, and he didn’t want to seem like a wimp around her. Barret may actually hit him in the head in an attempt to knock some sense into him. Zack… Zack’s a good plan B, but it requires, absolutely requires, playful fighting that always ends with Cloud in a headlock. Maybe Aerith?

Yeah. Aerith was good for situations like this. She always knew what to say to make people feel better. Her minor in psychology completely reflected that, even though her major was environmental science. Without thinking, he grabbed his phone and texted her.

Cloud: Hey Aerith, is there any way we can meet up tomorrow? No big deal, just need to destress.

Then send. Oh Gods he hit send. What time was it?!

Sent: 4:38 AM.

She might actually kill him. He didn’t know how late it was. He didn’t mean to text this late. Oh gods she’s gonna be- His phone dinged.

Aerith: Sure, Cloud! I usually eat lunch alone on Thursdays, so come to the Chocobo Student Center at 11. I’ll be there.

Okay, maybe he wasn’t a complete jerk or he absolutely just woke her up and she was hiding it.

Cloud: Works for me. Thanks, Aerith. I’ll see you there.

* * *

Even on a Thursday morning, these restaurants were buzzing with students, everyone looking for something to eat that wasn’t the slowly degrading dining hall food. The large windows gave an effect of calm by actually allowing students to see sunlight, unlike his usual study spot, which had just the right mix of orderly chaos from tables nearby but came at the cost of no natural light.

He scanned the square tables for his friend with the pink bow. She always wore that bow. She told him once it was because the bow reminded her of home.

“Cloud!” He heard her yell from the exact opposite direction than he was looking. He turned and saw her waving at a table she had already begun eating at with a smile.

“Over here!”

Cloud waved awkwardly before approaching and dropping his bag in one of the open seats. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“Pretty good for now,” She answered casually. “And you?”

He shrugged as he sat. “Hangin’ in there. You know how it is with STEM majors.”

She gave him a point in agreement. “You got me there.” Then she smacked a hand to the table in order, like a judge does during court. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong while I eat? And next time, try to text me a little later. A girl’s gotta sleep, you know.”

Cloud rubbed the back of his neck and avoided her eyes. She saw right through his message to the truth. “Sorry. I didn’t know what time it was.”

She kindly waved him off. “No worries. Just imagine what would happen if you texted Tifa that late.”

His cheeks heated as he considered what their friend would think. She’d probably assume it was a drunk text, march over, question him for the truth, and kick his ass if he was really drunk.

She gave a soft giggle. “I’m kidding! But come on, tell me what happened.”

Cloud took a breath before dropping the hand from his neck so he could cross his arms lightly. Then he explained the project of the god, the lore he could remember, the weird photo corruption, and the repeated dream that haunted his mind.

“It happene four times, I feel stupid-”

“You’re not stupid for asking for help.” That was the first time she talked during his explanation.

His eyes dropped straight to the table at her nearly scolding tone.

“You can’t find any pictures of the statue?” Aerith asked for confirmation, and he nodded. “Why don’t you go to the museum? Maybe if you actually see it, you’ll stop worrying about it so much?” She tilted her head softly. “It’ll at least put a face to the name.”

He pouted and mumbled under his breath, “Would that be better, or more nightmare fuel?”

She shrugged with a genuinely caring expression on her face. “There’s only one way to tell. And it’s only a few blocks away, so it won’t kill your day to go over there.”

He stared down and paused. “Is there any way I can convince you to come with me?”

To his dismay, she shook her head. “Sorry. Zack gets off work at five, and I’m stuck in classes until then.”

He sighed, but nodded. His classes got out at 4:50, but it wouldn’t be fair to Zack to take his girlfriend on a field trip just because of some weird dreams. “I understand. Thanks, Aerith.”

“Of course!” She smiled at him, attempting to raise his spirits a little. “If you need me, call me. And if for some reason I don’t answer, leave a message and text me.”

He nodded again before standing up and grabbing his bag. “Thank you. I will. But I hope I won’t need to.”

* * *

Well, here he was, on the marble stairs, following Aerith’s advice. He stared and read the sign on above the stone columns of the massive structure.

Migar Museum of Natural History

He inhaled. He exhaled. Let’s do this. He adjusted his jacket, then his bag, and marched up to the entrance. He bought a ticket, security checked his bag, and finally he was off into the building of unearthed knowledge. Next step: he needed to find the exhibit. It was a new discovery, so it might be closer to the entrance. Luckily, there were QR codes on nearly every corner, which were scannable to get a pdf of the map on phones. Convenient.

Oh of course they put it in the back so you waste more time here. He shook his head to rid himself of the negative attitude, because it certainly wasn’t helping him through this. Cloud steeled himself once again and walked through the many decorated hallways, past dozens of displays and exhibits in search of his target. Though he would be lying if he claimed he was not distracted every once in a while by a particularly interesting piece, most of which were swords or various other bladed weapons. That tiny, childish part of him still cried out in joy whenever he saw a new or interesting design, too ingrained in him to keep his heart at a steady rate, the small excitement inevitable in his chest.

Finally, he made it to the new exhibition hall, which was far less crowded than he expected. It was a Thursday, yes, but this was a completely new discovery, correct? At least fairly new? The ceilings in the hall were three stories high, and he saw a second level balcony wrapping around the room with bronze trim. As he looked higher, he noticed a circular skylight, simulating rays of the sun which cascaded down to the largest and most detailed statue in the exhibit. The light through the window was blinding, and his only option was to move closer to see the statue at all.

He should not have come here.

The descriptions online were accurate, the piece was stunning. “Reunion” was stunning. The god occupied most of the marble in ways that didn’t seem physically possible, like a simple gust of wind would crack the piece in two. Yet it remained strong, fighting in majesty. But he couldn’t focus on the magnificent god, because the sacrifice the god was holding was Him.

The sacrifice. Was him. To a T. The body, the face, the hair, every detail visible on this statue was Him, like looking into a mirror.

It’s me. It’s me.

His body froze as his eyes analyzed every detail of the statue subconsciously. Every feather, every engraving, every point, every cloth, every cloud, every body, every strand of hair. Something grabbed at his chest, some kind of glow consuming him, eerie and familiar, like being wrapped in a warm blanket of feathers, with a low underlining of dread.

He ran, no, sprinted out of the museum, not caring for anyone he rushed passed or bumped against on his way out. It was him. It was him. It was him. Down to the sword through his chest. His breath defected to panting from the exertion. Was he having a panic attack? His whole body was tight, wound like a music box, like a timer ready to blow. He was barely thinking as he pushed the doors open and barreled down the stairs, his mind racing as fast as his body for three blocks, ignoring every bystander around him.

Aerith. He has to call Aerith, she always helped, always. He stumbled as he whipped out his phone to slow himself down. She said to call her first, so he tapped the icon and held the phone to his ear. But only after the first ring did his body seize, and he instinctively canceled the call, his phone still held to his ear.

Across the street, there was absolutely no mistaking it, was the god from the statue, who looked like a normal man to anyone else. Long silver hair in a ponytail that stopped at his mid thigh instead of defying gravity, and the exact same face and upper body. Though this man was dressed in a formal black suit, with a button down shirt with a little too buttons attached than socially acceptable, almost like a stereotypical businessman from a movie. He stared down at his watch and took a sip of his coffee as his purposeful walk continued through the sidewalk.

“I don’t care what it takes,” Cloud heard him in perfect clarity despite their distance, as if he was only inches away, the deep voice weaving its way through him like cold water on a summer day. “I need that report on my desk by tomorrow. Understood? …Good.” Then this walking god tapped the center of his ear, probably to stop the call and move on.

It took everything Cloud had not to scream. His panic surged back in full force, he sprinted all the way back to his apartment. This isn’t possible. This isn’t possible. This isn’t possible.

* * *

Damn it, he’s asleep again, because he’s back in the clouds.

But this time was different. He knew it was a dream. He knew what was happening.

Though the sky looked exactly the same, and the star still appeared in the distance, it didn’t brighten as it got closer. Cloud could finally see what this star really was.

It was the god. His six wings moved like the fins in perfect symmetry, yet his right arm was completely black, a deformed wing that grew on the side of his shoulder, the curve of the dark wing that held the sword in the statue.

He came closer and closer and Closer. So close Cloud could see his eyes. Snake-like, mako blue. Mako?

“Are you real…?” Cloud questioned softly, barely audible in the ever swirling sky, the first time he ever dared to speak in this place.

It was silent for what felt like an eternity as the god seemed to scan him.

“The time is now.”

The god spoke to him, and it was the same voice as the businessmen across the street..

But immediately after, he shot awake without a stabbing pain in his chest for the first time in four days, the warm feeling from the museum returned. Yet he was at his desk, and the only pain he felt was the crick in his neck from the terrible angle and lack of support. As his sight returned, he saw his open laptop with dozens of open tabs, every one of them about the god he just talked to. There were so many different translations and interpretations of this god’s legends that Cloud was ready to bash his head through a wall. Every theory he derived was too illogical to be true, even when compared to every attempted translation on the internet. He slowly glanced at the clock in the corner of his screen. 12:03 AM. He did not eat dinner. He had not showered yet. Maybe those two tasks should be accomplished before Cloud attempted more research or passed out again.

First he grabbed his phone and opened it subconsciously. Oh no. The call he canceled with Aerith earlier went through, and his phone was still on silent for lectures.

He missed three texts and two calls from Aerith, and one of each from Zack.

He’s a terrible friend. And he’s surprised they didn’t break his door down looking for him. Should he respond? Aerith was probably asleep by now. He decided a text would be better and sent it to both of them, hoping neither would respond.

Cloud: Sorry about the call. I’m okay. I’ll try to explain tomorrow.

He sighed as he sent the message, then flipped his phone screen face down. Don’t look, he told himself. Just let them sleep.

* * *

No more pain in the morning. No more dreams in those clouds either. But it came at a cost. Cloud looked up at the sky through the window in his room, and he could see a white streak, like a comet, hovering in the sky. Though the tail burned and fizzled, it was stationary in the blue mass. The timing was too perfect. He checked his phone for any reports, unconsciously ignoring the messages from Zack and Aerith, but the news showed nothing of the phenomenon, anywhere. Taking a picture, he sent the scenario to his entire friend group through a group chat and asked if they saw anything.

They all claimed the sky was perfectly normal, and talked about how good the weather was looking today.

What the hell was going on?

Thanks for reading!

Author’s Notes: Well, this is my second attempt at a full au. I hope you enjoyed it! I’m totally willing to continue it if people are interested. Let me know what you think and thank you for reading! (Check the tags for more notes)

Update: Will be continuing. Hope you're ready!

#ff7 #final fantasy vii #cloud strife #sephiroth #zack fair #jenova #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #tifa lockhart #aerith gainsborough #barret wallace #the document was so long #editing was difficult and loading times were obnoxious. I also absolutely projected my college experience onto everyone in the AU for my ow #i have so much of the lore of the gods completed #i spent more time on that than the actual art this is based on #woops #still had a lot of fun #thanks for reading! hope you enjoy!

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sweetdemonbakery · 2 years ago

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Dinner Time (sub POV)

Contains: feeding, forced blowjob (top receives), rimming (top receives), facesitting

It's 7:00 PM, I hear a big yawn and prepare myself for what's coming.

"Naps always make me so hungry," I hear from the other room. Good thing I already spent the afternoon making a full course meal for a family of four. Although there would only be one person eating tonight.

I hear the floorboards creaking and wait patiently for my dinner guest to take his seat. Matty makes it to the dinner table and prepares to sit on me. Oh, did I not mention? I'm his seat. Kneeling underneath a large armchair fit to be my master's throne, there's a special slot for me to put my face to fill my role as Matty’s cushion. I first became his cushion because he complained his last chair wasn't comfortable enough. It seems my face was satisfactory though, because I have been here for every meal since.

"Mmm food looks good." Matty scratches his belly in anticipation. No thank you to the one who slaved all afternoon to try and feed his insatiable belly, it's just expected. A large shadows looms above me, I have just enough time to look up and see two giant cheeks coming towards my face, before I'm forced to suffocate between them. My nose is stuck deep in his hole, it's warm, wet, and musty. I hear Matty's deep breathing and belly gurgling. "Ah...let's hope this fills me up." His voice is muffled, and I hear the clinking of plates as he grabs his first plate of food and starts gorging himself.

With every slurp and swallow, I feel a bit more weight pressed onto my face as Matty grows bigger. It feels like hours passed, and I'm close to passing out from the lack of oxygen between his cracks, until I'm startled back to consciousness by a long burp. "BWAAAARRRP...oof, that hit the spot." Matty slaps his now full belly and playfully rolls his fat cheeks against my face. "You doing okay back there? Heh."

With a grunt and straining effort, Matty pulls himself forward to stand up, and I'm pulled along with him, still wedged between his cheeks before falling to ground. Coughing and gasping, I look up and allow my vision to adjust to the light after being kept in darkness for so long. The dinner table is trashed with dozens of empty plates all licked clean, I'll have to wash those later while Matty is busy digesting his meal. Scraps of food are littered across the floor, the only sustenance I'm allowed. In the center of it is Matty, holding his rotund gut and smiling contently.

"Alright, time for bed!" he says joyfully. Finally, I'll be allowed to rest. "Thank you, Mat-" Before I can finish responding, I'm crushed to the ground by his weight again. "Silly pony, you didn't think I meant bedtime for you, did you? Your night's only getting started. Come on, you can do it," He points towards the bedroom, "and try to hurry, it's not easy carrying all this food in my gut, I want my bed now." I put all my remaining strength into lifting myself into position to carry my master to the bedroom. My arms and knees are wobbling from all the weight, "Please sir, you're so much heavier than I thought when I agreed to do this." Matty just laughs, "That's not my problem! You're my slave, aren't you? If you don't think you can carry me the entire way, you better try your best until you're crushed under my weight. Now hurry up, pony." He spanks me for extra emphasis.

I start inching forward. The bedroom is only a few steps away but it feels like an eternity. Step by step, I struggle towards the bedroom while Matty moans and rubs his belly.

Finally, I reach the bedroom. Two steps away from the bed, Matty belches again and I lose my balance, collapsing under his weight. Passed out on the floor, I hear him get in bed, "Ah...finally. I swear it takes you longer and longer each night." It's only because you keep getting bigger, I think to myself. Completely exhausted, I decide to just sleep on the floor by Matty's bed...

Not even two seconds after I shut my eyes, I feel myself being pulled up by the collar before I'm dropped down. Forcing my eyes open, I look forward and find myself in front of Matty's groin. "Like I said, your night's only getting started." He chuckles and grabs me by the back of my head, rubbing me up against his balls while he rubs his belly with the other hand.

"I'm about ready to slip into a food coma, but I think you can help me make sure I have a good night's sleep." Too tired to resist, I feel Matty slide his fat cock deep into my throat. "Ohhhh, that's it, take it all." Tears well up in my eyes. This isn't what I wanted. My body is completely limp, I can't even push him off me. "Mmph, you're not resisting at all, what a good sex toy." He's pumping faster now, I'm pushed up against the bottom of his belly again and again, making him gurgle more. "Can't even- urp, see your little face down there, just- oh fuck, my belly, all my belly, growing so- mmph, big." I taste the precum in his mouth and feel him getting close. Suddenly, he flips his fat thigh on top of my head, pushing my head onto the bed and he starts to facefuck me. "You're just- oof...my little- MMPH slave, just mmm UGHHHHHH!" He pushes deep into my throat, torrents of cum streaming down my throat. His breathing slows, until he shifts into a more comfortable position, accidentally wedging me between his ass cheeks again. "Mmm that felt good...oh you still down there? I'll let you out...in a little..." His voice trails off until I hear him fall asleep. I guess it's only right that I'm back to my rightful position as his ass cushion, ready to start it all again when he wakes up.

#feeder master slave facesit forced

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ozarkthedog · 4 years ago

Text

Tethered / C. Evans x Fem!Reader

summary: After two months apart, Chris is finally home and he’s wearing that belt.

warnings: SMUT. 18+ only. rough oral sex. rough sex. asphyxiation. restraining with a belt. fingering. slight breeding kink. spanking. dirty talk. over stimulation. female ejaculation. basically, pwp.

word count: 2,369

author’s note: honestly, this was supposed to be a smutty little fic about his infamous red belt, but then it turned into so much more. also, for having not written anything in 2 weeks, I’d say I did ok with this. *credit goes to gif owner.

📖 Master List

Reblogs and Likes are amazing! Feedback and comments are encouraged!

Lips were locked and bodies a tangled mess as you crossed the threshold with an “-oof.” Chris barely shutting the front door behind him with a callous foot.

The foyer was dark, dimly lit from the Kitchen light as it left just enough glow to illuminate your silhouettes. Chris pushed you against the closed front door, not caring about your pained whines when he slotted his body over yours.

Finally, you were alone after so much time spent apart.

“Missed you so much.” Chris admitted between rushed kisses, “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you. About this body.” His hand dove into your leggings and found your panties drenched. “About this sweet pussy.”

He leaned his forehead against yours watching as your face twisted in pleasure as he ground his palm against your tiny nub, “Can’t wait to feel you wrapped around me. Gonna split you open all over again, just like the first time.”

It’d been 2 months since you’d last seen one another and the tension was palpable. The car ride home from the airport via a car service was full of longing stares, playful touches and sneaky kisses as you sat in the back seat like anxious teenagers, desperate to get your hands on one another.

Your eyes slammed shut at his statement, knowing that despite the times you fucked yourself with the few dildos you owned while he was away, nothing compared to Chris.

He was right. It’d be just like your first time together.

He dragged you from your thoughts when he pushed two fingers into your sopping heat, tearing a broken gasp from your lips. His auburn beard scratched your cheek as he peppered kisses down your jaw. Your silky walls welcomed his digits, fluttering and constricting at the intrusion.

“Damn. Forgot how tight you can get, Darlin’.” His lips fit over your open ones as you let out a tiny moan when he scissored his fingers, spreading you open. The kiss was vicious, his tongue diving over yours with long, playful swipes. Your core clenching so hard his fingers faltered.

“That’s my Girl. Come on, lemme feel you cum. Give it to me.” He grunted, while thrusting his clothed covered hard on against your hip.

His command pushed you over the edge and you came with an abrupt shout, easily hitting your peak via another person after so long. Your body shook in his grasp as he eased away the aftershocks with soft, tender kisses.

You stared at him, relishing the way his eyes were blown wide having just seen you come apart so quickly under his touch. It took your breath away to be back in his hold again. To have him home.

His lips twisted into that dorky smile as you sunk down to your knees wanting to return the favor before he split you in two.

“This belt. This fucking belt.” You laughed, slipping the thick red material through the shiny double loops. He wore this belt all the damn time. It simultaneously drove you mad and caused your pussy to combust. Of all the belts he could wear, he always chose this bright red one and you loved it.

Chris stared down at you in a stupor. “What’s the problem?”

You quirked your head, “Something about this belt drives me wild.”

Chris smirks at your admission but then his jaw falls when your fingers find their way inside his jeans and circle his length. His hips involuntarily jolting in your grasp.

“Fuck, it’s been so fuckin’ long.” He groaned as you pull his rigid cock from the confines of his jeans and playfully lick at his swollen crown.

He stared in fascination as you licked from base to tip before circling the bulbous head with your lips. His cock was heavy on your tongue as you swallowed him down and jerked the base with tight tugs. You rolled his balls in your left palm, clamping your thighs together to ease the ache whenever he let out a lewd groan.

You bobbed your head skillfully over his length eventually feeling his cock swell. You flicked his perineum friskily before pulling away, leaving him painfully on edge.

A deep growl resonated through his chest, “You’re playing a dangerous game, Sweetheart.”

“Then why don’t you punish me?” Your tongue poked out the side of your mouth, hoping he’d take the bait and fuck you on the floor.

He surprised you by shaking his head and dragging that god forsaken belt from his jeans before wrapping each end around his fists. “I’ll get to that sweet cunt in a minute. But right now, I want your mouth back on my cock.”

One moment you were sitting on your heels gloating and the next Chris had looped the belt around the back of your neck pulling you flush against his lower abs.

“Gonna punish that wicked mouth before I open up your cunt.”

His cock bounced in your peripheral as he held you close before easing up enough on the belt for his girth to find your lips once more. He gave you no time to adjust as he pushed his length between your lips causing you to sputter.

His hold on the belt barely gave you any freedom, only allowing you to pull off until your lips brushed his reddened tip. He let you suck on the crown momentarily until he forced his way back into your mouth when he tugged on the ends of the belt.

Your hands sought out his hips as he drove his thickness in and out nudging your tonsils with every pass. His grunts of satisfaction had your core quivering and the way his cock swelled whenever it hit the back of your throat had your eyes rolling with arousal.

“Missed bein’ on your knees for me, huh, Pretty Girl?” His mouth hung open as your debauched groans vibrated his cock in reply. “Missed havin’ my cock stretch out your holes?”

Your belly twisted at his words and then heaved when he pulled on the belt making you take every inch of his length. The breath in your lungs burned and the belt around the back of your neck dug into your skin as he watched from above at your pitiful struggles.

His brows pitched together when he felt your throat convulse, “Lookit’ you droolin’ all over my cock like a good little cock slut.”

You scratched at his jeans desperate to breathe, lungs sizzling aflame and just as your face started to tingle, he pulled free from your mouth letting you fall onto all fours.

You coughed out the stale breath from your lungs while Chris dropped to his knees behind you. He ran his hands over the curve of your ass before shoving the waist band of the leggings and your panties down your thighs effectively trapping your legs together.

-SMACK-

Your head shot up with a shriek when Chris landed the belt onto your exposed skin before grabbing a handful of your behind. “Love this ass. Love watching it jiggle as I fuck you.”

Teeth nipped at your flesh causing you to call out his name in the dim foyer and push back onto his face with a soft whimper. His fingers found your core once again, tracing your slit from end to end before spitting onto your puffy mound.

Your arms buckled and your upper body fell onto the carpet with a whine as Chris spread apart your inner lips, “What a sight for sore eyes.”

He pushed two fingers through your glistening lips, curling his digits just right to make you see stars. Your body yearned as it instinctively pushed back, softly chanting, “More.”

“You think you can take my cock? Think it’ll fit in this tight cunt?”

You whimpered when he smacked his pulsating girth against your soaked core after removing his fingers, teasing your quivering opening with his throbbing cock head. “It’s going to hurt, Baby...”

You shook your head, not caring about the repercussions. You needed his cock, now.

He slowly pushed into your warmth as the foyer filled with debauched moans and low growls. Every inch felt like it lasted forever before he bottomed out, punching the breath from your lungs when he bumped your cervix with his massive cock. He stretched you so wide it felt like you’d split in two if he wasn’t careful.

He caressed the junction of your neck with tender kisses as he leaned over you, “So good to finally be buried deep inside you.”

He kept his hips still letting you relax around his girth until he felt you shift. The growing need to get fucked was consuming your body to the point of vibration once your core got used to the thickness. You wanted him to take you hard. Fuck you into the floor and make your voice hoarse.

He chuckled in your ear at your pitiful attempts of moving under him. He breathed in your scent, the one he missed waking up to every morning while he was away. He withdrew his cock slowly before slamming back into your heat with a heavy punch that made your body shove forward with a wrecked moan.

“Need it so bad, don’t you Darlin’.” He repeated his actions, making your cheek burn on the carpet as he fucked into you so powerfully your world spun. His grip was tight on your hips as he thrusted into your swollen core, leaving crescent moons in your flesh.

“I’ll take care of you. Make sure your cunt is molded back into the shape of my cock.”

His hips never faltered. The steady pace made your body surge with every drive. He reverted to curling his hands around your shoulders making you take every inch he was giving.

Still, you needed more.

You tried to buck your hips, not knowing why you were doing it but your body just needed something. Your hands slammed into the floor and you screamed out in confused agony. Your core was tight and ready to explode but you just couldn’t get there.

Chris stilled his hips watching your turmoil before reaching for the fallen belt next to him.

“Shhh. I’ve got what you need, Darlin’.” He whispered into the dim room while grabbing the base of your neck and hauling you onto your hands.

Your head hung forward despairingly, on the verge of tears when suddenly you felt the rough belt at the front of your neck. Chris grasped both sides again, pulling steadily until you were on the tips of your fingers. Your heart leapt into your throat feeling your neck compress at the odd angle but your belly strained immensely.

Anxious gasps echoed off the walls when his hips began to move. Picking up pace with every drive, sliding over your soaked walls and pressing against your cervix with fury and determination.

Chris tugged on the belt, using the momentum to fuck your body back onto his cock, grinning madly at your raspy, choked moans and the way your walls convulsed. Slick dripped down your tied-up thighs soaking your leggings as he molded your cunt around him.

“Like me fuckin’ into this cunt like I own it?” He grunted, snapping his hips quickly feeling your walls obscenely tighten signaling your oncoming peak. “Gonna fill this pretty cunt. Make you swell with my load.”

Your body bowed; the tension unbearable. Your neck pushed against the unforgiving belt until you exploded into a million pieces when your peak slammed through you. You squirted your release with a hoarse shout, soaking your thighs along with Chris’s as he rode out your orgasm.

Chris groaned sinfully as he felt your cum drip from his sack and smack against your ass with every pummel of his cock. He pulled on the belt savagely until you were slotted against his chest. Chris wrapped his right arm around your waist possessively as your knees buckled, threatening to give out.

His left hand held both ends of the belt keeping your head locked against his shoulder. His voice gruff in your ear as he pounded into you with a controlling force.

“Such a dirty girl takin’ my cock on the floor… like a good breedin’ bitch.” He licked up the side of your face making you whine. The over stimulation had your body thrashing as he kept an even pace, pushing through your folds with a punishing pace.

His left hand tightened the slack on the belt cutting off your sobs instantly. He withheld your oxygen for a few seconds, relishing the way your body locked up around him. Your mouth bobbed open like a fish, desperate for air the entire time.

He eased the tension with a teasing chuckle, “Something about watching you struggle makes my cock so hard.”

He cut your air off again, spearing into your swirling warmth while your hands scratched at the arm wrapped around your waist frantically. The pressure in your belly boiled. You were going to cum and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Lemme feel that cunt soak my cock one more time, Darlin’.” He urged, nipping at your jaw.

His hips stuttered for the first time, getting closer and closer to the edge with every drive. He wasn’t going to last much longer but he wasn’t going to cum without you.

Your mind started slipping from the lack of oxygen and the constant over stimulation. Your body was tired and beaten, but still the pressure in your belly was intent on snapping.

“Gimme that cunt. Cum all over me.” He demanded with a harsh slap to your mound and released the slack on the belt. His fingers slapped against your tiny nub over and over until your body lit up and you shook heavily in his arms, cumming with a silent scream that finished with a feral growl.

Chris grunted in your ear as you milked his girth forcefully. His cock swelled and flooded his spend into your awaiting heat where it welcomed everything he had to give.

Chris slipped from your body and lowered the two of you to the ground panting the final tremors of the ravenous act. Your eyes felt heavy and your body screamed, but you lifted your head to plant a soft kiss on his lips as he leaned over your spent body.

“It’s good to have you home.” You whispered, against his lips as he pulled them into a smile.

“It’s good to be home.”

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans smut #chris evans imagine #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans/you #chris evans/reader #ozark writes #tethered #c evans #chris evans headcanon #chris evans drabble #chris evans blurb

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duskholland · 4 years ago

Note

since everybody loves tommy’s arms & all...how about during the middle of sex mob!tom finds our reader has a choking kink, & then maybe teases her about it afterwards (playfully, of course)...honestly anything where mob!tom chokes me & then cuddles me because THATS THE FUCKING DREAM OOF ok byeeeee

hnnnng. nsfw 18+ extended warnings beneath cut.

— it’s mob monday !! —

extended warnings: choking, MxF unprotected sex. pls have a discussion and establish safe words with your partner if you’re going to engage in kink!!!

————

Tom knows you like his arms.

It’s no secret. You love feeling his strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, love watching him when he’s in the gym letting his fists rain down over the tough material of the punching bag. There’s just something about the way his muscles clench and flex whenever he extends his arms, biceps pronounced and bulging, that turns you on beyond reproach. You always make a point of kissing them - taking each and every opportunity to drag your lips over the curves of his arms, trailing down, down, down, until your mouth settles on his fingers and you feel the weight of his digits on your tongue.

The way he touches you with his hands never fails to spike your pulse, and as he lays you down in bed one night and slots himself between your thighs, you find yourself whimpering to feel one of his palms stroking over your neck. Tom’s gentle, the lightness of his fingers contrasting the way he’s fucking you, slotting his hips against yours as he thrusts into you with deep, pleasurable movements. His lips are on yours, mouth swallowing your moans, but he notices the particularly loud groan you release when his fingers rest over the column of your throat.

With a smirk on his face, Tom pulls away from your mouth, his pupils blown with lust.

“What’s that?” He asks cockily. He stills his movements, resting with his cock lodged deep inside you. You whimper as you clench around him, and the noise doubles in volume as Tom runs his fingers over the base of your neck. Tom’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, and he looks at you curiously. “Do you like it when I touch your neck, angel?”

It wasn’t like it was supposed to be a secret, yet you’ve found yourself keeping this card close to your chest. You know Tom would never judge you for anything - let alone a kink - but it’d never come up, and if you’re honest, you didn’t think he’d be into it. Yet now, he’s looking between his hand resting on your neck and the way you’re biting your lip, and you think you can see something like curiosity fluttering over his face.

“Yeah,” you admit. You strain against his hand, trying to feel a little more pressure. When you receive it and feel the hard of his palm pressing up against your neck, your eyes roll back and you whimper. “Want you to choke me, Tom.”

“Choke you, eh?” Tom brings his hand away from your neck, bringing it nearer him and staring at his palm. His Rolex glints as he flexes his fingers, a deep frown line between his eyebrows. You bite at your lip as he ponders your request, his eyes shifting a shade darker when he looks back at you. With a nod, he shifts his hand back into place, applying the most minimal of pressures. “If you want me to stop, tap out,” he murmurs, “And I’m not going to do it too hard. Not until we’ve done it a few times, alright?”

You nod immediately, but he continues to look at you, eyebrow raised, until you say, “Yeah. I understand.”

Tom hums. He burrows his face in the crook of your neck for a moment, leaving a scattering of wet kisses over your skin, and then he pulls back to press his lips to yours. He starts to move again, the brief interlude to his actions over, and you throw your head back as you feel his cock, ridged and thick, filling you up deliciously.

It’s only made better when his hand shifts back to your neck, and Tom’s thumb and index finger stretch to wrap around the front of your throat. He’s experimental with it for a while, alternating between light touches and deeper, more focused presses of his fingers, but eventually, he seems to grasp that you like it hard. You like the feeling of his hand pushing you down, love the constriction to your airway and the way your breaths come out raspy and tighter when he pushes down against you. It gives you an edge, makes your harsh moans come out louder, has you clenching around his cock. And he seems to love it, too.

“Such a pretty little thing,” Tom murmurs. His brown curls cling to his forehead as he watches you, suspended above you as he continues to fuck you. His movements are slick and easy - Tom had already brought you to two orgasms before finally slipping into you, and he’s found an easy home buried between your thighs. “Look so innocent, with my hand around your neck.” He smirks, teeth glinting. “Never would’ve known you’re so fucking dirty.”

You lick your lips as you whimper, the pressure of Tom’s hips coming down against your clit each time he thrusts into you bringing you near the edge. When his hand loosens as he repositions ever so slightly, you’re quick to push up against his palm, craving the heat of his strength coming down over you, loving the ache that’s forming in your throat.

“Desperate for it, aren’t you?” Tom’s voice is deep and husky, stacked full of arousal. “You want to feel this tomorrow, have the marks of my fingers wrapped around your throat.” He breaks off to chuckle, brown eyes almost black. “You want everyone to know that you like to get choked by your boyfriend.”

It’s so much to focus on - the snapping of his pelvis against yours, the feeling of his cock filling you up so completely, the sensations spreading out from your neck. You’re sinking into the mattress, clinging to Tom’s shoulders, your eyelids fluttering shut as you feel your orgasm near.

“Looks so fucking pretty like this-” He’s muttering, close himself. His fingers on your neck are hot and slippery with sweat, but he’s still in control. Tom darts down, dropping his head until he’s able to kiss along your jaw, rasping into your ear a low, “G’nna cum for me, angel? With my hand around your throat?” When you whimper, the sound pitched high, he chuckles. “Do it, lovie. Let me feel how much you love me being in control.”

Your eyes roll back as you follow his request a few moments later, spasming over the sheets. His touch keeps you in place, and you’re moaning loudly as Tom fucks you harder, chasing his own release and spilling into you with a loud grunt of your name. His hand loosens on your neck, leaving completely to fist the sheets beside your head as he slows down, his face the picture of blissed exhaustion as both of you recover. You gasp for breath, your lungs flooding with deep inhalations of oxygen, and there’s a lightness in your chest that makes you smile lazily.

“Y/N?”

You open your eyes, realising you’ve spaced out a little. Tom’s now beside you on the mattress, looking at you with concern in his gaze.

“Mm?”

“C’mere.” Tom reaches out for you, and you roll onto your side as he pulls you in closer. Your head goes to rest in the crook of his arm, and one of his hands rolls over your cheek. You sigh softly as the scent of his cologne drifts up your nose, and sink further into him as he leaves a series of gentle kisses to your temple. “Are you okay?”

You hum, reaching out to rest a hand on Tom’s stomach. He immediately links your fingers together, and you smile against him as he rolls his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Yeah.” Your voice comes out slightly strained, and your throat aches, causing you to giggle. “I can definitely feel it.”

Tom chuckles, moving his other hand over your waist. With each repetition of the movement, you feel more relaxed, basking in his body heat.

“I didn’t ever think you’d be into that,” he admits, “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

You feel the warm rush of shy embarrassment fill you, and burrow your head further into his side. “Shut up,” you whine.

“It’s cute.”

You peer up at him, narrowing your eyes. “Cute?”

Tom hums. He dives down to kiss you, lips warm against yours as he spends a few moments caressing your mouth with his. “Yes,” he whispers. “Means you trust me to do it to you.” His mouth leaves yours when he smirks. “And also means you’re kinky, which is cute.”

You scrunch your nose up. “Don’t act like I’m the only one that enjoyed it,” you respond. You arch an eyebrow. “I know it got you off, too.”

Tom’s cheeks fill with a darker hue, and he hums. He kisses you again, before wrapping you up in his arms and holding you tighter.

“Yeah,” he admits, mumbling against your hairline. “It was bloody hot.”

#fun fact i acted this out on myself and my throat is still aching...pls appreciate my dedication to the art hgdhgfhdgf #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fic #myblurbs #tomblurbs #mob!tomfic #mob!tomblurbs #chloecreatesfictions #smut #tom.filth

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goldentsum · 5 years ago

Text

━ jealousy

REQUESTS: (seperately) bokuto, hinata, and akaashi x jealous s/o. say that she isn’t a very jealous person to begin with but there’s another girl who seemed to have taken a liking to the boys and she doesn’t like it. add some angst if you will :) hopefully ends with some fluff.

🎕 asked by: nonnie 🎕

CHARACTERS: bokuto koutarou, hinata shouyou, and akaashi keiji

GENRE: angst, fluff

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i don’t know if i did it right but D: i’m rlly active rn cus im excited idk why-- also hinata has a lot of dialogue in this one

━ bokuto ♡

bokuto is a jealous baby owl and you know it,, know it too well... he gets pouty if your attention is elsewhere even for a minute!

you, on the other hand, is as cool as a cucumber. well, that what it looks like anyway.

you get jealous quite a lot, to be honest, but your pride won’t live if you show it so you just try to shrug it off every time

but when kou gets a little too much attention it pisses you the fuck off

you get snappy and your mood is down for the day but kou is always on his way to make it better~

the baby owl may be oblivious but when the topic is about you, he pays attention to your every movement and to what makes you tick

so when someone!! a person you hate because of their flirty attitude and rude remarks gets a little too close to your baby--

oh, it's about to go down!

you’re in the cafeteria sitting on one of the free tables, waiting for your hyperactive baby owl, when you see a certain someone clinging to Bokuto and pressing their chest against his arm

aND WHAT PISSES YOU OFF MORE IS THE OBLIVIOUS SMILE ON BOKUTO’S FACE

you turned around and looked at the juice box you bought for bokuto and grabbed it roughly, stabbing the straw to drink it yourself

you knew how popular bokuto was and how ‘plain’ you were but it still hurt when people never respecting bo’s personal space and your relationship as you two were publicly open with your relationship

akaashi, who was lagging behind bokuto, saw this and quickly rescued the dense captain making a certain someone whines about it but akaashi paid no mind and dragged bo away and towards your table

“hey, babe!”

you looked at him and rolled your eyes, scoffing a little with the straw still on your mouth as you proceed to ignore him

bokuto’s eyes widen at that and sat closer to you, leaning closer and putting his head on your shoulder, nuzzling at you.

this usually makes you break but nope, your pride said nope and you ate lunch with bo pouting and whining to you. akaashi who watched the whole scene sighed.

the next time you saw bokuto was at dismissal with him racing to your classroom the moment the bell rang. he went inside when your teacher dismissed you and waited on the side for you even though you were ignoring him. but what slightly shocked you was the serious face he has on.

when everyone else was gone and you were about to go to, bokuto grabbed your hand and made you stay

“what’s wrong? please talk to me...” He whispered, hugging you close to his body.

you pouted at that, the gesture cracking your cold demeanor quickly. you sighed and hugged back the sweet boy.

“i’m sorry for ignoring you, kou...”

you felt his smile on your skin making you smile too

“It’s okay but please explain...”

his innocent words and eyes made you shy. maybe you overreacted a little bit but your ego is too big sometimes

you averted your eyes and looked at your shoes, bokuto’s arms still around you.

“cus... you let (h/n) touch you and you were smiling too!”

you whined a bit, looking up at him. his surprised expression then turned into relief and he started laughing

“who knew you were the jealous type too, (Y/n)!”

you pouted and hid your face on his chest,

“shut up... i’m human too, ya know... and you’re not one to talk, you’re the one who always gets jealous..”

“That’s cus my girlfriend is too pretty and too many guys have their eyes on you!”

you scoffed playfully at that, not having the energy to remind bokuto that those guys were just asking for some notes or something to you, knowing well that it would brew into bokuto pulling up his ‘facts’ and arguments on you again that those guys were unto something...

“shut up, you owl”

“your owl~”

━ hinata ♡

this small bean is also one of the easily jealous type and he creates a safe and danger distance around you in his mind

there’s only a certain distance a guy can come close to you and if that line gets crossed, he goes pROTECTIVE MODE

tanaka and noya are proud of their pupil as they watch him circle around you like a rabid dog or crow?

he is always with you! ALWAYS! And he always buys you some cold drink or if you don’t bring lunch, he lets you share his bento with the courtesy of his mother as he asks her to make a bigger lunch for him when he knew that you don’t really bring your own lunch.

so when it was lunchtime and hinata was nowhere in sight, that worries you a LOT

you run to the courtyard where you two usually hangs out with kageyama but was surprised to only see Kageyama and his milk box

jogging up to the tall male and you asked him about shoyou and you heard an answer you were not expecting to hear

“some fancy pink letter asked him to go to the rooftop, it said that they wanted to say something to that tangerine”

(y/n).exe has stopped working

kageyama looked at you with a quirked brow, still sipping on the milk box, he poked you with a curious look

“why did you let him go, you idiot!” you said, surprising kageyama who pouted and glared at you

“why the hell are you yelling? he’s just meeting someone!”

“you dense blueberry!” you shouted and hit kageyama on the shoulder with a light scowl

kageyama was about to retort when a familiar childish growling caught his attention as you both looked at the side and saw a glaring hinata racing towards you two at a fast rate

“why you kageyama--! don’t get too close to my girlfriends!”

hinata slotted himself between you two and started bickering with the tol blueberry

you sighed at the scene in front of you and a light pink object caught your attention. there it was, a pink chocolate bar in hinata’s hand as he waved it around, trying to punch kageyama.

you frowned at it and started walking away, leaving kageyama and hinata at the courtyard. hiding from hinata, you ate lunch in the bathroom stall as icky feelings start to grow.

after lunch, you quickly run to your classroom wanting to avoid seeing hinata at the moment

but luck wasn’t at your side when Hinata dragged you off and got inside the janitor’s closet with you.

“hinata, what are you doing! lunch is already finished, i’m gonna be late for class!”

you tried to leave the small room but hinata closed the door when you tried to open it

“no! you left me with kageyama all lunch break!”

“i-i had a stomach ache and went to the nurse’s office--”

“i went there too, you weren’t in there”

an awkward silence filled the small room while you looked at hinata with surprise

“i-it doesn’t matter--”

“It does matter! If you feel the need to lie to me then it’s a big matter!” hinata said, frowning at you

you sighed and let hinata hold your hand

“please tell me what’s wrong”

“i heard you got confessed to”

hinata blew a fuse at that and started waving his hands furiously, “h-how’d you know?! i didn’t accept it, i promise--!”

“you didn’t?”

hinata stopped for a moment and looked at you, eyebrows furrowing

“yeah, i got myself the best girlfriend... why would i wanna change that?”

you went closer to Hinata, letting your body hit his and hugged him

“i-i’m sorry... it’s just that, i thought you would find someone better and leave me...”

“I WOULD NEVER! You’re the best girlfriend in the whole wide world, (Y/n)!”

“You’re the best boyfriend too, little tangerine”

━━ akaashi ♡

let’s be real here, you’re definitely the jealous one in the relationship. I mean having a boyfriend who’s too pretty to comprehend and easily attracts a lot of attention can make you like that. but you hide it pretty well, well most of the time anyway...

akaashi always ALWAYS pays attention to you and knows everything that can trigger you to become sad, angry, jealous, and happy

he always makes sure that you’re always fine and happy, that you’re comfortable and content

we stan the perfect boyfie 🥺

bUT he can be quite dense sometimes when it’s not about you or volleyball.. fUKURODANI PPL ARE DENSE

girls would always flock his classroom before you can get there, snacks and treats in their hands to give it to akaashi and being the petty little gremlin that you are, you were pouty

akaashi sighed because it’s always either you were pouty or bokuto is and sometimes the worst-case scenario happened where both of you are pouty at the sAME TIME!

akaashi= Mom Daddy

you reached our final form of pouty when you saw a certain someone a bitch dragged akaashi to talk to him or whatever and being the curious thing you are, you followed them and hid behind the vending machine, listening to their convo

“you know, your girlfriend is cheating on you, right?”

wHY THAT BITCH! She just lied like it’s her common language wtf!

you prayed that your baby boo won’t believe her cus YOU ARE NOT CHEATING ON HIM! why tf would you cheat on him when you hit the jackpot? tf

“and you must know that spreading rumors and lies about a person can take you off the first string in the track team right?”

oOF--! YOUR BOYFIE REALLY POPPED OFF HUH

you snickered behind your hands, listening to the lying snake stutter a complain but akaashi cut her off

“if this is all then I’m going now but if i hear any rumor circling around (y/n), i won’t hesitate to take action myself.”

the snake scoffed at that and walked away, stomping

there was silence for a moment but then keiji called out, surprising you

“i know you’re here, (y/n)”

you stiffened at that and moved away from your hiding spot while coming up with excuses

“i-i wasn’t doing anything! she just dragged you off so i followed--!”

akaashi smiled softly at you, walking closer and patted your head gently making you feel flustered.

“i know, let’s go? you must be hungry”

“you won’t leave me for her, right, keiji?”

akaashi shook his head at your question, a small smile on his face and looked at you, letting his hand fall and held your smaller hand in his

“it’s not like you’ll let me leave”

“HEY! you make it seem like i’m holding you as a hostage or something!”

“hmm”

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almond-arlet · 4 years ago

Text

Heavenly | Nanami x Reader

“Because this is where I wanna be, where it’s so sweet and heavenly, I’m giving you all my love.” - cigarettes after sex

this is my first time writing anything on here so I’m a noob, pls go easy on me. i also haven’t written much in a long time since this pandemic started so...

Warnings: none! just some nanami fluff bc I miss him.

“HE’S LATER THAN USUAL.” You think out loud, looking at the clock indicating that it was a little after 8pm hanging on the wall before you. You decided to get comfier on the couch you were seated on, resuming the task of reading a book you had left on your shelf for way longer than you should have. You had wanted to surprise your long term boyfriend with a visit to his place. You knew he sometimes finished work much later than his usual time, which was 6pm, but he often worked hard to be clocking out of his space as soon as the big hand hit 12. He loathed working overtime, after all.

Your relationship with Nanami Kento was an unexpected surprise, having not been attracted to him in the slightest at first. Sure, you acknowledged that he was physically attractive, but his stiff and inflexible personality was something you didn’t quite vibe with. You met him a few times when you worked morning shifts at a coffee shop he frequented. He would always answer your ‘how are you?’ with the same one word, fine, monotonous and barely sparing you a glance. Then you began working at a local bar that often had karaoke nights and your superiors would always put you in charge with setting up for the half-drunken ‘singers’.

One day you decided to (you were forced to by a colleague) sing yourself, and it seemed to have grabbed the attention of a guest who had visited the bar for the first time. You knew that because his high cheek-boned, sharp jawed, pointed nose and stiff posture made him stand out like a sore thumb. He came every night in case you sang again. On the days you didn’t sing, he’d make sure you were the one to serve him, and although he wasn’t as interactive with small talk, you very quickly figured out how to interact with him. Then he began to stay long enough to be able to walk you to the nearest taxi pick up spot. Then he began to take you straight home to your doorstep.

And now you’re sitting on the small couch in his living room, reading a book to entertain yourself until he comes home - something you did a minimum of three times a week.

It wasn’t long after the acknowledgment of the time that you heard the familiar sound of keys slotting into the lock of the front door, followed by the sound of the door opening. A smile played on your lips as you listened to the sound of shoes being taken off, a bag hitting the floor and then the sound of sliders dragging across the floor - all sounds that you knew like the back of your hand.

You mark your page in your book and look up to the man who just entered, a tired expression etched onto his sharp features, head of blonde hair dishevelled and goggles still comfortably sitting on the bridge of his nose. Before you could greet him, he came right over to you, taking a seat next to you then dropped his head into your lap. You were quick to raise your arms as soon as you saw what he was doing, a startled ‘oof’ leaving your lips when his head landed onto your thighs.

“Good evening to you, too, Kento.” You muttered, letting him get comfortable as he took off his goggles and then crossed his arms over his chest. You watched him exhale, closing his eyes and remaining silent for a short while.

“Sorry,” he grumbled, sighing again then opening his eyes and looking up to meet your amused gaze. “It’s been a long day.”

“I can tell.” You replied, placing your book on the empty space beside you then bringing a hand up to run your fingers through his hair gently. “You smell gross.” He shut his eyes in response and huffed.

“You smell nice.” He retorted, and you smiled when you saw a hint of amusement playing at the corner of his lips.

“You must be hungry.” You comment, moving some strands of his hair out of the space on his forehead. You leaned down and planted a soft kiss in the spot between his brows then straightened up and gently tapped the crown of his head. “If you go shower, I’ll be finished making something for you to eat . How does that sound?”

“Are you on the menu?” He asked, tone as serious as ever but it made you laugh, tapping the crown of head again.

“Not tonight, you’re already worn out,” you hummed, letting your fingers play with his hair again momentarily. “Up you get, then.”

He nodded his head, opening his eyes and sitting up in one swift movement. Though he was never one to talk about how he felt, he appreciated your very existence. He appreciated that you never probed about his work-life any more than he was comfortable. He appreciated that you read him like an open book and accepted him and all his stiffness. He appreciated that you would always randomly smother him with soft kisses all over his face for no reason. He hoped he’d be able to tell you one day, but for now, he knew that you felt it.

And that you did, which is why you were happy to do things for him as you were doing now, preparing a small snack for him to eat whilst he showered and changed into more comfortable clothing. He was in and out in a flash, which you assumed was either because he didn’t want to be without you for a second or he was incredibly hungry.

You had set up his food on the small kitchen table he had, and watched him take a seat and thank you for the meal. You remembered that there were some pears that hadn’t been touched since the day you brought them to him two days ago, deciding to cut them up for him and see if he would eat them.

Although the both of you sat in a comfortable silence, you couldn’t help but think about how much you loved doing the mundane things for him. Sure, it was nice when you were cuddling on the couch or embraced in all sorts of positions in the bedroom, but there was something about the smaller things that filled your heart with joy.

You looked up from the pear in your hands to see that he had stopped eating, his head resting on a balled fist that was propped up onto the table abs his eyes were on you. His hair was still damp from his shower and pulled back so that his whole face was visible. His expression was hard to read but it didn’t intimidate you, instead, you scoffed and continued to cut the pair in your hands into four.

“What?” You asked, looking down at the piece of pear you were cutting the seeds out of and got rid of the stalk, placing the piece into a bowl before doing the same to the remaining three pieces.

“Should we get married?” He asked, the question catching you off-guard but you remained calm. Your eyes flickered up to him, trying to scan his face for any sign of amusement and finding nothing. He was being serious.

“Why are you asking right now?”

“Because I like the way you cut pears for me.” His answer had you confused and it took all you had inside not to laugh. You slowly nodded your head, putting the rest of his pear slices into the bowl and pushing it towards him.

“So, what? You want me to cut your pears everyday until the end of time?” You teased with a light laugh, wiping your wet hands with a drying cloth that was next to you.

“Yes.” He answered, taking the bowl of pear slices and digging into them right away. “You haven’t answered my question.”

You smiled at him, propping your elbows onto the table and resting your chin in your hands whilst you watched him eat. “Okay. But on one condition.” He didn’t say anything but the speed at which he looked at you indicated he didn’t expect you to agree so easily. “You have to spoil me with gifts everyday. I cut you pear slices, you buy me expensive shiny things.”

His lips pulled into a humoured smile that you rarely saw when you were not in his home. “If that’s what I need to keep you by my side everyday.”

#nanami x reader #nanami fluff #nanami kento #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu sorcerer #I just really think he deserves a smooch to his forehead #Nanami fic #jjk nanami #nanami x you #jjk fluff

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waywardstation · 2 years ago

Note

Sup, it's Meeee The one who is Lotfing in the asks

(glad you liked my ideas~)

so about all those characters and how it is hard to keep track of

Do you know how I have been focusing on three characters? Giovanni, Cryus, and Guzma?

maybe, if you do the same, it could help? (at least in Lotf)

It helps me develop ideas for character-driven plots and if you need a role filled. you got pokemon kids you can slot in place.

If you want a pokemon kid figure out what they add or subtract to the three focuses. (if they Subtract? OOF no kid) ( just a suggestion btw)

anyways~~ I Have been stewing and I have been trying to hold myself back.

How about one a day?

Hello hello!

Thanks for the suggestion! I admit it’s moreso hard to keep track of for me because it feels like people have different iterations in mind of these characters that I don’t know too well (from the manga, the games, the anime) and I have a hard time keeping it consistent, on top of them now being kids ^^;

I’m very passive with this AU at this point because of it, and sort of take a back seat to let others who know more what they’re talking about (like you!) discuss and suggest things ^^ maybe I can catch on more with the characters in time!

And sure thing! You can send one a day; I can’t promise I’ll get to asks every day, but I can do my best! ^^

#papa ingo au #lord of the flies variant

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sweatersstyles · 4 years ago

Text

onding

onding (n.)-a heavy fall of rain or snow (in this case snow!)

this was inspired by this request and I thought it would be perfect to include in the A Very Merry Styles Fic Challenge! I cannot take full credit for this one as @tbslenthusiast helped guide me as my wonderful creative director, @taintedwonder was my amazing editor, and @bfharry was my lovely beta reader! honestly owe the title to miss tanya @sunflowers-styles cause she was a huge help with that! I appreciate you all so much ❤

hope you all enjoy!!

word count: 1.6k

writing tag | masterlist

Snow falls rapidly from the sky as you and Harry drive to your destination, neither of you noticing just how fast at first. You were both too excited at the idea of getting away from your busy schedules to celebrate the holidays with Harry’s family for the week.

His hand rests on your leg as he drives, fingers tapping along to the Christmas music playing from the radio. Occasionally offering a gentle squeeze to your thigh and a sweet smile; relaxation already flowing through his body and wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

The snowflakes seem to get larger and fall faster as you get closer to your destination and, as much as you don’t want to burst through his bubble of contentment, you begin to worry about the quick escalation of them. Your mind starts running through all the many possibilities that could go wrong at the idea of the weather worsening the further you travel.

“Harry..are you sure we shouldn’t stop for the night? It’s getting a bit late and those snowflakes aren’t getting any smaller..”

He ducks his head down slightly to look out the windshield and a deep sigh falls from his lips as he returns to his upright position. You don’t miss the way his fingers grip the steering wheel a bit tighter when he says, “Hate to admit it but, maybe you’re right.”

He still hums along to the songs filling the space, but there’s a significant drop in his mood as he takes the next exit with the most promising hotel options. Your hand trails upwards to work over the knot you can already feel forming on the back of his neck from the stress of the situation as he decides which place would be better suited for the two of you to stay in.

You know his source of frustration only lies with the fact that you’re supposed to be at Anne’s house for Christmas dinner the following evening. You can only hope that the weather permits you to be able to still make an appearance on her doorstep at the time she requested you be there. You know she would be just as happy to see her baby boy a day later than he promised, but it would hurt Harry’s heart deeply not to live up to his word.

The clerk flashes Harry a knowing look when he hands over his card and tells him he only needs one bed for one night. It has Harry’s own smirk returning to his face and a blush spreading across yours at the implication. You suppress a giggle as the rest of the transaction is processed, but it bubbles up out of you the second you’re in the elevator on the way to the 4th floor where your room waits for you. Your laughter rings through the tiny space and only stops when you let your head fall against his chest. He loops the arm that isn’t supporting his duffel bag around your body to pull you even closer, smacking a kiss to the top of your head.

“Someone’s sleepy,” He mumbles into your hair, “Y’only get this deliriously happy when you’re tired.”

You pull your face away from his chest to look up at him, “Or when I’m spending the weekend snowed in with my rockstar boyfriend.”

“Y’really think we’ll get snowed in?”

You shrug, “Maybe. Would it be so bad to be stuck here together for a few days?”

He scrunches his nose at you, “Nah..we’d miss dinner and presents at Mum’s though.”

“Anne’ll forgive us.”

He nods in agreement, “Yeah, know she would. Can’t control the weather, can we?”

You try to restrain the yawn that creeps up but you fail miserably and cover your mouth as it stretches across your face. It had been a long day; an early morning flight and the new international time zone making your eyes drop closed just until the ding indicates you’ve reached your intended floor.

You keep yourself pressed close to Harry’s side as you make your way down the hallway to your room. He fiddles with the key for only a moment before you almost tumble through the open door and his hand catches your waist quickly to steady you. Luckily the bed is close by and you plop down across the bottom of it, your own duffel tossed aside on the floor, arms extended wide across the cream colored duvet.

He tugs on your wrist and you quietly whine before you peek one eye open to look up at him. Before he can say anything, your stomach growls, outraged at the idea of not being fed since the quick lunch you’d been able to grab much earlier in the day.

“M’hungry, Harry, think we could find some dinner before we crash for a few hours?”

“Doubt anything’s open this time’a night. Let’s do a shower first and then we’ll raid the vending machine, yeah?”

You’re both too tired to do anything much more than actually get clean under the spray of the hot water. It feels like a blessing on your skin and you let it rinse away any worry you might still have about the weather outside. His long fingers work over your scalp to ensure all the suds from your shampoo have disappeared and your eyes droop closed without your consent. You have to splay one hand firmly on his chest to keep from falling into him and knocking you both down in your exhausted state.

He steps out first, careful to keep his eyes on you as he works a towel over his body to dry off, grabbing another one off the small shelf mounted on the wall to wrap you in before he lifts you lightly up and over the edge of the tub.

“Arms up.” He’s already dressed himself quickly in a loose pair of sweatpants and a long sleeved t-shirt and you silently curse yourself for being too tired to enjoy the view. He gently assists you in completing your own nighttime ensemble by slipping your oversized night shirt over your head and guiding your arms through. You sink into the soft piece of clothing as your fingers dance across the hem of the shirt.

“Hey. Y’forgot something,” He chuckles when you look down at your outfit, confused by what he means. “Up here, love. Kiss?” He requests and bends down so you don’t have far to reach up and indulge his offer. It’s a quick peck, mainly to the side of his mouth, but he doesn’t complain; fingers gently guiding your chin to center his lips over yours, a satisfied hum vibrating through his chest just before he pulls away.

You’re more alert now as you make your way to the small vending area that the two of you had passed earlier on your way to the room. He digs some change from his pocket with the hand that isn’t laced with yours, transferring some of it over to your free hand, before jingling his portion around while he surveys the options in the machine. You’re already loading your coins in, poking the numbers on the keypad, and you eagerly await your snack as it makes its way out of the coils to drop down into the slot.

“Knew you’d go for those.” There’s a lazy smile working its way over one side of his mouth as he watches you bend to retrieve the bag of pretzels.

“They’re my favorites,” You mumble and you tear the bag open, unable to wait until you get back to the room. You rest your head on his shoulder while you wait for him to decide on his own snack, “What’re you gonna get?”

“Well seein’ as you snagged the last bag of those, ya g’nna hafta share.”

“Gladly.” You pluck one from the now partly empty bag and bring it to his lips. He bends to accept it, crunching as he finally adds his coins in the machine.

“I’ll get somethin’ sweet for us to split, how’s that sound?”

You hum in agreement, exhaustion working its way through your body again, your brain too tired to form words at the moment. The coils around his selection unwind, dropping it with a clatter, and you move with him when he bends to collect it.

You’re again thankful for the short distance back to the room and a whispered “oof” falls from his lips when you trip over nothing but your socked feet. His hand loosely clutches a handful of the fabric of your shirt to help steady you until you’re falling back on the bed and scooting up to the top. You tuck yourself under the heavy layers of the sheets and duvet and don’t bother waiting for him as you burrow as deep as you can to get warm.

You don’t make it to dessert, passing off the now half eaten bag of pretzels to him, preferring the comfort of the pillow against your cheek over the bite of chocolate he offers you.

“Reckon y’were right about us stopping when we did,” He mutters as he stares down at his phone, the weather app casting a glow onto his face in the now dimly lit room, “Pretty big snow storm blowin’ through. We might be here a lil’ longer than one night.”

“Hmm.”

He knows you’re mostly gone, sleep overtaking any conscious response you may have been able to provide, and he shakes his head at the sleepy smile on your face. Just as your soft snores fill the space between you, his heart swells at the sight of you resting peacefully; knowing there’s no one else he’d rather be snowed in with than his sweet, sleepy girl.

#averymerrystyleschallenge #harry styles imagine #harry x reader #my writing #sorry it’s so short!#hopefully will have a couple of other things done for y’all later

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on-a-lucky-tide · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! Absolutely love your work! For the prompt fill can i request Aiden/lambert with fluff 22? Thank you!

Aiden can make Lambert laugh effortlessly...

Lambert stretched. Bare fingers nestled in the damp leaves of the shrub above his head and he opened his eyes slowly to look up at the clear blue sky. A warm weight sat on his stomach and legs, soft hair tickled his chest, and he looked down into two big, green-yellow eyes. They glittered with amusement. “What?”

“You were smiling,” Aiden whispered, voice soft beneath the sleepy stirrings of the waking forest around them.

“Uh,” Lambert blinked in confusion, colour rising up his cheeks; he dropped a hand to comb back some of the messy auburn hair falling across Aiden’s freckled face. “Right.”

“What were you dreaming about?”

You. “Umm, just some funny shit an alderman said about drowners and… uh, and their dicks or something.”

Aiden’s brow set. “Drowner dicks. You were dreaming—and smiling—about drowner dicks.”

Well, now he said it like that, the ‘you’ didn’t seem so corny. “It was funny.”

“Huh,” Aiden wiggled, adjusting onto his elbows to nuzzle into Lambert’s chest hair. “I think you’re lying.”

“Why?”

“You only ever smile like that at me.” Aiden winked and then dropped his mouth to blow a wet raspberry on Lambert’s stomach. The witcher’s yelp of protest melted into barely restrained giggles as dextrous fingers tickled over his ribs.

“S—stop, Aiden, that’s not fucking fair! F-f—,” Lambert laughed as he tried to grab hold of Aiden’s wrists, head thrown back, eyes closed tightly. The raspberry continued until the hair on his stomach was damp with saliva, and then finally Aiden sat up and straddled his hips; Lambert gazed up into those bright, adoring eyes, roguish smile still quirking the corner of his lips. “Alright, I lied.”

“Yeah?”

“Was dreamin’ about you,” Lambert sniffed. “Don’t get a big head though.”

“You weren’t complaining about my big head last night. If I remember it was ‘ahh, ahh, Aiden, yeah, your fat cock feels so good, deeper; harder, Aiden’,” the Cat bounced on Lambert’s hips lightly in his best comic imitation of an elated, sex drunk Lambert and received a light punch in the stomach. “Oof.”

Lambert chuckled, dropping his hands back to tuck them behind his head. “You’re such an asshole.”

Aiden leaned forward, hands planted beneath Lambert’s arms and brushed their noses together. “But I make you laugh, so we’re all good, right?”

“Yeah, more than good,” Lambert whispered before their lips slotted together and his eyes slid closed; Aiden was the only man on the whole Continent that could make him laugh until his stomach hurt and his lungs struggled for air. It was one of the reasons he loved him. One of many.

#rawrkinwrites #Lambden shorts #fluff #cuddles #lambert #aiden

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glimmerglanger · 4 years ago

Text

Whumptober 2020 - Day 9

Day 9 of Whumptober, part 9 of the oof!au. And now we come to the turning of the tides. This one is SUPER long (6k) and is also the only part of the series to have a split POV.

General Info: Post Order 66 Vader-Captures-Obi-Wan AU. Eventual happy(ish) ending. Past/eventual Codywan. One-sided Vaderwan.

WARNINGS: Mentions of past torture and loss of a limb. Implications of non-con. Mistreatment of a prisoner. Fall-out of mind control. Mentions of/thoughts about suicide. Death (including a major character. For the sake of spoilers, I’m not going to say who dies, but if you need to know before you read shoot me a msg and I’ll tell you).

No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?

On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

Victory left Vader feeling warm inside, pleased. For a time. He got what he wanted, what he deserved, Obi-Wan begging for his forgiveness, using his proper title, obeying. He got all the apologies he was owed, and it only cost a few bodies, slumped against a wall.

Obi-Wan’s agony and horror filled the entirety of the Force, ratcheting higher with each clone that died. He was such a weak fool. They were nothing, just things, and broken things at that, for all that Obi-Wan carried on, his pain so large it felt like a living creature, sucking up all the air in the room, filling every possible piece of Vader’s mind, battering at him from across their bond.

He’d never, actually, felt pain like that from Obi-Wan before. Never once. It brought back memories of their time on Zygerria, where similar emotions had swirled out of Obi-Wan’s head, but… Obi-Wan had more control, back then.

Under Vader’s command, he cracked and broke, shattering like glass each time Vader so much as threatened one of the clones. It was ridiculous. Every single one of them would happily put a blaster bolt in Obi-Wan’s head, and yet he fell to his knees and he groveled and he said, obediently, whichever words Vader wanted.

He did whatever Vader wanted, without protest, without hesitation, for all that his expression was some blank and empty thing. Sometimes, Vader had one of the clones shot, anyway, just to make sure Obi-Wan didn’t lose track of the stakes.

He did everything Vader wanted, so agreeable, the great General Kenobi brought so low. Finally put into his place. Agreeing, with the rasp that remained of his voice, that Vader was right to take his arm, stretching it out, head bowed, fair was fair, after all. Agreeing that he’d been wrong. Agreeing while his agony curled through the Force, staining everything.

Vader worked to hold onto the initial pleasure of his victory, fought for it, temper growing worse as Obi-Wan spoiled things, once more. He could barely breathe, around Obi-Wan’s cursed emotions, by the time it became obvious that Obi-Wan needed to go to the medbay, no longer shaking, no longer doing much of anything but breathing shallowly, gone pale all over, staring at the troopers, intently.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan was murmuring, barely audible, as a pair of troopers lifted him and carried him away - strange that they had not dragged him, Vader considered, but only briefly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he kept repeating, as they carried him through the door. He had been slurring the words for some hours.

Vader appreciated the apologies, but, truly, they were far too little too late.

He turned away as the door shut, moving to look out over the open viewport along the side of the room, staring out across the lava fields below. He curled his hands around the railing, breathing hard, and reassured himself that he had, in fact, gotten everything he wanted, finally.

He turned away from the view, eventually, and went to check the messages his Master had sent him, over the past days.

Cody warned Crys to watch his expression when they were out of the medbay. To control his emotions. Vader was one of the few Force sensitive people left in the galaxy, as far as Cody knew. That meant he could, technically, pick up emotions.

Cody worked to keep his feelings contained. To stay as blank as possible. But there was fury in him. Fury and rage and guilt and hurt and--

And Obi-Wan had taught him, back during the war, how to breathe slowly and deeply, how to settle himself when the noise in his head got to be too much. Cody remembered sitting beside him, quietly, meditating in a dimly lit room with the sweet smell of incense all around them, listening to Obi-Wan’s breath and falling into the same pattern, so they were breathing as one and, he had imagined, perhaps their heartbeats even changed to match--

Obi-Wan floated in a bacta tank as Cody walked back into the medbay, hours after he’d left, leaving Crys to continue on with their preparation. Obi-Wan’s remaining limbs curled close, like he was trying to make himself small, even while unconscious.

Cody remembered everything his body had done. Remembered, so clearly, giving the order to shoot Obi-Wan down on Utapau, the cool slide of satisfaction in his mind as he’d watched his General plunge into the waste-water pit. He remembered moving out, remembered reassignment, remembered people begging, pleading with him--

He dug his nails up into his palms, when the memories got to be too much, and marched forward, back towards where he’d left Bones. Who was… bent over another trooper, when Cody entered the room, and who snapped, “Don’t say a word.”

And so Cody didn’t, because you listened to the medics when they gave you orders, even when you, technically, out-ranked them. He waited, patiently, moving a bit around the side of the bed to watch as Bones did… something to the side of their brother’s head.

It didn’t take very long before Bones shifted, pressed a bacta patch into place, and looked up at Cody, scowling, to snap, “Chips.”

“Excuse me?” Cody said, considering that the aneurysm may have caused more damage to Bones’ mind than they’d first assumed, adjusting his plan to work around that, and--

“There are chips in our brains,” Bones said. “Frontal lobe. I assume that’s what’s controlling us, because I’ve removed four of them so far, and the results have been favorable.”

Cody blinked at him, struck, abruptly, by how good it was to have his brothers back, to have help, to remember that Bones was every bit as competent as he was, if with the tools of the medical bay instead of combat planning. “Where are they?” he asked, “The ones you freed?”

“Waiting for you,” Bones said, mouth quirking, his eyes hard and flat as Cody’s felt. “I sent them to the barracks and told them not to draw attention to themselves. Guv is going to stay here, though. He’ll help me, we’ll move twice as quickly.”

Cody nodded, calculations streaming through his head. There wasn’t much of the 212th left. Their men had been thrown onto the front lines in the immediate aftermath of the war. He didn’t believe for a moment that hadn’t been intentional, another jab at Obi-Wan, even though everyone had thought him dead.

Palpatine and Skywalker had wanted them all dead, at first, just because they were Obi-Wan’s.

The survivors were mostly clustered on Mustafar, such as they were. “How long to free them all?” he asked, as Guv started to stir around.

Bones shrugged. “A few days? Maybe less, if I can find another medic or two.”

Cody reached out and gripped his shoulder. He said, “Good work. Stay out of the way in here, you hear me? Just leave if Skywalker comes by.” To see Obi-wan, he did not add. He didn’t think he needed to. “But make sure I’m informed.”

“Will do,” Bones said, and Cody left him to his work, a piece of his plan that he’d dared only hope for slotting into place. He’d been prepared to bring this entire place down on his own, if necessary. It looked like he was going to have help. He could work with that.

He looked at Obi-Wan again, on his way out of the medbay, bile burning in the back of his throat, and then set his expression. He stared forward and worked to keep his expression cool and blank. Empty. Just like the faces of all of his brothers.

Cody knew every face around him. His men, wiped clean. Emptied. Screaming inside their own heads, the way he’d been. Begging for someone to help, where no one could hear. Trying desperately to regain control of themselves long enough to - to make it stop.

Cody had spent three long years trapped inside the prison of his own mind, watching his body commit atrocities. All he’d wanted was the opportunity to put a blaster to the side of his head and pull the trigger. It had seemed, for so long, the only way to escape.

He’d managed to fight his way to a different kind of freedom. He didn’t understand why he hadn’t been strong enough to do it weeks ago, before--

Before Vader had gotten his hands on Obi-Wan. Before he’d made Cody--

Cody fought to keep his breathing steady and lost, but none of his brothers looked his way as he reached out, bracing a hand against the wall, back curling over as his heart lurched, off-rhythm and agonizing.

He’d beaten Obi-Wan. With his own hands, he’d-- he’d thought about the best ways to cause pain and then he’d done it, methodical. Effective. And he’d - he’d - Force - Obi-Wan had begged him not to and he hadn’t been strong enough to stop, he’d--

Never again, he thought, straightening and continuing towards the door to move through all the expected motions and to check on his brothers, such as they were. The bunk room. That was where Bones had sent those he’d freed.

They were all packed in, barely enough room to walk between the beds. The space felt claustrophobic and empty at the same time, because even when the bunks were all full it was silent. No one talked. No one laughed. They just… moved about. Silent. Ghosts made flesh.

Cody walked between them, memories of the past dogging his steps, drawing to a stop by Swoop, who was… sitting like all the rest of them. They were supposed to be cleaning their blasters. It looked like he’d started the process and abandoned it.

He was sitting, staring straight forward, blaster in hand and shaking, badly, as he slowly raised his arm, his finger on the trigger. Cody’s heart lurched in his chest and he reached out, without even thinking, grabbing Swoop’s wrist with one hand, stripping the blaster away with the other.

He said, quietly, hoping Bones would understand, “Report to the medbay.”

Swoop stared forward, breathing shakily, his ear shiny with red blood, and Cody swallowed, wishing he could do more. “I’ve got you,” he said. “Just go to the medbay. That’s an order.” He’d been able to hear things, while he was trapped.

Swoop must have been listening, because he let out a shuddery breath, and stood, moving without a word towards the door. Cody checked on the rest of his men - his brothers - and found those Bones had freed clustered together, looking over to watch him with haunted, shadowed eyes.

“Come with me,” he said, as he reached them, tilting his head towards the door. He had so much to do and intended to waste no time accomplishing it. He gave them instructions and sent them on their way, smiling grimly as they moved off. He turned on his heel; there was so much to do, and had a moment where he thought everything might go wrong, when he stepped out of the barracks and found Vader walking down the hall, ridiculous cloak flapping behind him.

He resisted the urge to go for his blaster. It wouldn’t work, he reminded himself, and instead drew to attention, the way he’d been forced to do for so long. Cody stared forward, face carefully blank, focusing on being...empty, inside.

He hoped Vader wouldn’t glance towards him and his heart lurched, unpleasantly, when Vader drew to a stop before him. Cody saw his own reflection in the side of Vader’s helmet, the lines on his face deeper, a distortion of himself.

“2224,” Vader said, something pleased and thick in his tone. Gloating. Smug. “Obi-Wan asked if you were alright. Did you know that? So worried you were hurt. The things he did, to make sure I allowed the droids to tend to you. Can you imagine them?”

There was no reason to tell him. No reason at all, except to revel in the hurt he was causing Obi-Wan. Vader, as far as Cody knew, thought they were all… dead inside. Cody fought with himself; he’d been doing that without respite for three years. He’d gotten very, very good at it, apparently. His expression did not twitch as he said, blank, “No, Lord Vader.”

He expected Vader to notice how very badly Cody wanted to kill him. Instead, Vader just said, “You’ll report to my quarters when he’s recovered. I think it’s time we ended his fascination with you.”

And he turned away, resuming his march. Cody exhaled, harshly, as Vader exited through the doors at the end of the hall, heat from the volcanos beyond sweeping in, temporarily, before the doors closed. His hands itched, not with the urge to reach for a blaster. He’d rather beat Vader to death, he realized, with a dark, twisting slant of his emotions, beat him the way Vader had forced him to beat Obi-Wan, until he wasn’t moving anymore and--

But that would have to wait. He was not ruled by his emotions or the flat, cold fury inside of him. He had one possible opportunity to get Obi-Wan out of here. To rescue his brothers. He wasn’t going to waste it.

No one cared where he went around the base. Vader had, after all, left him in charge of so much, ever so confident in the power of his control, in his ability to make Cody do whatever Vader liked. Well, Cody considered, heading for the munitions bay to check on Crys, keeping his expression studiously blank, he was in the mood to do what he liked.

He’d always favored explosions.

Vader wanted nothing more than to enjoy his crowning moment of victory for a little while. He didn’t see why, after all he’d done for the galaxy and his Master, that could not be allowed. But, apparently, he had been silent for too long after his successes.

His Master had sent Tarkin to check on him, as though he were a wayward child. Vader recalled being quite impressed with Tarkin, once. He’d seemed sure of purpose, during the war. Willing to do what needed done.

Currently, Tarkin only irritated him. Lectures appealed not at all to him, but he had his orders and, besides, Obi-Wan would be in the medbay for some time yet. Vader had been forced to punish him, to remind him of his place, to take a pound of flesh; it was nothing Obi-Wan hadn’t taken from him.

And when he recovered enough to be stable, Vader would take the rest of what he was owed.

Tarkin asked after his current projects and sneered at the base and was, generally, an irritant. Vader resisted the urge to lift a hand and strangle the man. His Master would be displeased, if he did.

His irritation built up behind his bones, restrained and held back. This was Obi-Wan’s fault, anyway. If he hadn’t distracted Vader so much, he’d have completed the tasks set before him and wouldn’t have to deal with Tarkin’s overbearing presence, for however long the man decided to stay.

Vader scowled behind his mask, and resigned himself to playing the unwilling host for nearly three days, before Tarkin finally left, apparently satisfied that he’d thrown his weight around enough.

It left Vader’s temper surging through his veins, burning hot and stinging. He sent an order to the medbay that Obi-Wan be dragged from the bacta, ignoring the droid’s complaints that he was not fully healed; apparently, there was some kind of internal damage. “He’ll live,” Vader snapped, “I want him brought to me.”

He needed to settle the pressure in his head, the rage in his blood.

It was, after all, all Obi-Wan’s fault.

Cody worked unceasingly for three days, getting everything moved into place. Exhaustion beat at the insides of his head, forcing him to get his head down for a few hours at a time. He wouldn’t risk ruining the mission because he was kriffing tired, so he made himself wedge into a bunk and shut his eyes, determined.

The nightmares woke him after what felt like moments, leaving him gasping and jerking to sit, vomit rising in his throat. In the nightmares, he saw Obi-Wan, every single time. Begging, bloody, held down and hurt and--

And Cody was the one hurting him, every time.

He swallowed, hard, panting and feeling sweat break out across his skin. His stomach hurt, terribly and his head throbbed. But a few nightmares were less of a punishment than he deserved, for what he’d done. He was going to get Obi-Wan out of here. He was going to drop the entire base into a volcano. He was going to kill Skywalker, with his bare hands, if possible.

And then he’d think of a way to pay for what he’d done, and pay the cost, gladly.

Until then, he scrubbed a hand across his face and stood. He’d slept a few hours. More than long enough. It would have to be. He couldn’t bear the thought of putting his head on the pillow again, of shutting his eyes, of leaving his subconscious free to return to the monstrosities he’d committed.

He loved Obi-Wan. Had loved Obi-Wan for so kriffing long. And he’d still--

Cody pushed the thoughts away, rising from the bunk and meeting Reck’s eyes from the bunk across the aisle. Reck nodded, just a little, barely a sign of movement, but enough to show he was in there.

So many of them were free.

Soon everyone on the base would be themselves again. They’d gotten lucky in that regard, Cody knew. The visit of the Admiral had distracted Skywalker, something Cody hadn’t anticipated. Thus far, Obi-Wan had been the only thing that adequately kept Skywalker occupied and--

And Cody hadn’t been willing to use that distraction again. Skywalker was never going to raise a hand to Obi-Wan, ever. He was never going to get the chance.

Cody held onto that thought, moving out into the base, expression studiously blank, just in case. He threw himself into the last stages of his preparations; making sure the base was wired appropriately was important. Taking care of the ships in the hangar needed handled, as well. They needed one clean - free of any tracking devices - and the rest… well.

Cody wasn’t taking any chances. There’d be no way for Vader to get off of this rock, if somehow Cody failed to kill him directly. He didn’t plan to fail, but having contingencies never hurt anyone.

He spent hours in the hangar, ensuring everything was just so, nodded grimly once finished, and moved back through the base, looking for something else to keep him busy. It was so vitally important that he stay busy. It kept the memories away, kept his thoughts from spiralling inward in a way that made him want to reach for his blaster.

He didn’t think he could kill Skywalker with it. Yet. But lifting it, pressing it to the side of his own temple, was…

He swallowed, marching blank faced down the hall. Those were thoughts for another time. Save Obi-Wan. Kill Skywalker. Blow up the base. Get his brothers out of here. Those were the goals he needed to hold onto. And he gripped them, tight. Focused on nothing else and nothing more.

Cody went to the medbay. There was generally something to do there, and most of the rest of his preparations were complete. Bones almost always had a brother in recovery, someone who needed explanations and comfort, who needed to be told it was alright, now, that it was over, the long nightmare they’d all shared.

Cody went over all the completed preparations one more time, as he reached the medbay, making it two steps in before a jarring sense of wrongness swept over him. He froze, gaze jerked towards the bacta tank where Obi-Wan had been floating, last he checked, and--

“They took him,” Bones said, fast, coming forward and gripping Cody’s arms, his expression distraught, openly so. “Sir, they took him, the droids had orders and Crys and--”

“To Skywalker?” Cody asked, hoping that - maybe - the answer was no. That maybe they’d just dragged him to his cell. That would make everything so much easier. Cody planned to keep Obi-Wan away from Skywalker’s execution, if at all possible.

Obi-Wan had loved the man Skywalker had been, once. He didn’t need to see what Cody was going to do to him.

“Yes,” Bones said, sounding gutted. “What are we going to--”

“How many of us are still chipped?” Cody asked, feeling something cold settle across him, ice itself moving through his veins. There was no more time to wait, then. He’d already failed his promise not to let Skywalker touch Obi-Wan again, but-- Running off immediately wasn’t going to serve any of them.

He needed to set everything into motion. Then he’d run off.

“Less than a dozen,” Bones said, “but it’ll take me hours--”

“Order them to board the ship,” Cody cut in. There wasn’t time to waste on explanations and fretting. “Tell them I’ve ordered general quarters. Lock them in. We’ll deal with them later. I want them out of here now, before anyone can start issuing orders. You’re to stay on the ship with them. Get the medbay made ready. We’re not getting out of this without injuries.”

“Yes, sir,” Bones said, nodding, and turned, just like that, motions suddenly calm and controlled. They’d all been waiting for this such a long time, Cody knew. He certainly had.

He turned on his heel, walking out of the room, ignoring the droids watching them curiously. A few droids were no longer a concern. They wouldn’t be able to get word to Skywalker, anyway. Not if he were - were distracting himself with Obi-Wan again.

Cold fire spread in Cody’s gut as he walked. He’d almost made it to the barracks when an order came over the comm in his ear. It seemed he was wanted, immediately, in Skywalker’s throne room.

He could guess at why, and grinned, small and tight. Skywalker would invite him in, would not even be startled when Cody showed up, because Skywalker had called him. Made it easy, over confident and sure he was in utter control. The throne room was more of a problem than his private chambers. There were automated defenses in there. But Cody had prepared for this eventuality. His knuckles itched.

Cody continued to the barracks and gestured, silently, when he stepped inside. The few of his brothers still under the control of the thing in their heads never even looked up, never saw the signs Cody sketched through the air.

The rest of them, those freed, those ready to fight, stood with grim, determined looks, checking their blasters and straightening their armor. Cody looked over all of them, heart beating steady and sure in his chest, and nodded. They were as ready as they were ever going to be. And he was so tired of waiting. He marched through the halls, men falling in at his back, without a word or hesitation.

He gestured again as they reached Skywalker’s throne room. His brothers nodded, spreading out, pressed to the walls, blasters drawn, ready and waiting, as he blanked his expression and waved the door open, stepping in to get a look at the exact situation they were dealing with before he called in all his back-up.

The throne room smelled like blood and the poisoned, volcanic air from outside, in a way that dropped the bottom out of Cody’s stomach. The room was brightly lit, not even the brief mercy of shadows there to hide the sights that awaited.

Obi-Wan was there, and Cody’s heart ached to see him. He was kneeling on the floor, head down, beside Skywalker, who was sitting on that throne of his, the ugly, brutal shape of it looming through the smoke that had been allowed to billow into the room. Cody resisted looking towards the open window, an itching sense of anticipation in his bones.

Skywalker had his legs crossed, a chain wound around one hand, connected to the collar at Obi-Wan’s throat. Obi-Wan’s right arm hung limp by his side, unbond. Cody swallowed bile, the abbreviated end of Obi-Wan’s left arm a condemnation, another way he’d failed, and he’d--

“Come here,” Skywalker ordered, voice a boom, and Cody remembered when he’d sounded like a boy, those first few months of the war. That boy had grown into a monster. Cody wished, absently, that he’d killed Skywalker long ago. Years ago. If only he’d known.

He walked forward, assessing the situation. Some of his brothers were already in the room. But that wasn’t a surprise. Skywalker liked to keep guards around, and perhaps he intended to force Cody to kill them. Or, Cody considered, eyeing the blasters they already held, perhaps they were to be his executioners.

They were all but two of them awake.

He hoped Skywalker enjoyed the surprise he was about to get. It had been far too long in coming.

Cody came to a stop in front of the throne, staring forward, waiting for the perfect moment, and Obi-Wan hitched in a breath, rasping - his voice was still barely a whisper, strained and hoarse, “Please, please, don’t--”

“I didn’t give you permission to speak,” Vader snapped, jerking on the chain, and Cody’s hands tightened into fists. He fought to keep his emotions calm and still. “I told you,” Skywalker continued, after a moment, “that 2224 has been experiencing defects. I think it’s time we resolved that.”

Cody watched Obi-Wan go still, strangely and totally. Centering himself, Cody realized. Preparing for something.

“I know how I’d prefer to handle the execution. We could see how long it would take, if you like,” Skywalker continued, voice thrumming with implications. “But you could, perhaps, convince me to make it painless.” He tugged on the chain, again, jerking Obi-Wan forward against his legs, even as he uncrossed them, and Cody was going to--

“Yes, Lord Vader,” Obi-Wan said, before Cody could signal the other troopers, sliding his hand up Vader’s leg, and there was no more time to wait because Cody wasn’t letting this happen again. Never again. Never--

He made a sign, sharp and short, by his hip, and everything went mad, all at once.

Vader made a harsh, furious sound, standing and throwing Obi-Wan back, viciously. Cody blinked, because there was a flash of red, and for a moment, Cody thought that Vader had drawn his lightsaber and killed Obi-Wan and--

The red went with Obi-Wan, who hit the ground, rolled, and came up on one knee, glowing lightsaber in hand and blood streaking down his chin as he rasped, “You’re not going to hurt them, ever again, Anakin.”

That was when the first explosions started going off, right on schedule.

It was when Vader roared an order to kill him.

And it was when his two chipped brothers opened fire.

Vader told Obi-Wan, when he was dragged in and dumped across the ground, that he had a special treat planned. He enjoyed the way Obi-Wan shuddered at the words, the way his emotions tangled and warped, dread and even still some scraps of determination threading through him.

Obi-Wan still thought he had a chance, even after everything. Even after Anakin had taken his arm - and he thought, perhaps, after he handled 2224, he’d take a leg, make Obi-Wan see exactly what he’d done, make him live it. He was going to undo Obi-Wan, utterly. It simply might take longer than he’d first hoped.

In any case, wrapping Obi-Wan’s chain around his hand and dragging him closer had settled some of the anger left behind by Tarkin’s visit. Obi-Wan still moved like he was hurt inside, carefully, a soft sound punching out of him as Vader dragged him into place.

He considered, for a moment, that something should be done about Obi-Wan’s right arm. There was no easy way to restrain it, though, and anyway, what was he going to do? The collar around his neck prevented him from acting against Vader’s will. And, if that failed, well…

There were troopers in the room. They’d proven so effective at getting Obi-Wan to listen. Just the threat of their deaths was more than enough to have Obi-Wan begging for mercy he wasn’t going to receive. A few executions were a good way to remind Obi-Wan of who was in control.

Still, Vader planned only one such execution for the evening. He’d grown tired of seeing 2224’s face around the base. He had a sneaking suspicion that Obi-Wan was thinking about the defective damn thing, that, even when he was with Vader, his thoughts were elsewhere. Another betrayal.

Besides, 2224 deserved to die for everything it had done during the war, for taking Obi-Wan’s focus away, distracting him.

Vader called it in, sitting back on his throne and relaxing. Tarkin had gone. He had Obi-Wan. He’d soon be rid of 2224. He’d gotten what he wanted and shuddered, just for a moment, at the way the realization left him feeling strange and hollow.

He focused on the twist and ache of Obi-Wan’s emotions as 2224 marched in to face its execution. Obi-Wan’s agony was so rich, so complex. He hadn’t hurt nearly so much when Vader took his arm. That had just been… pain. Physical. Fleeting. The way he split open as Vader told him exactly what was going to happen to 2224 was so much thicker. Choking. Spilling into the Force.

Vader’s mouth twitched behind his helmet - it was wrong that Obi-Wan cared so much about some thing, a clone, anything that wasn’t him - and he jerked on the chain, only slightly mollified when Obi-Wan slid a hand up his leg.

How many times had he thought about Obi-Wan touching him like this? Obi-Wan kneeling between his spread legs, head bent forward, focused on making him feel good? They should have had this before, Padmé would have understood, Vader could have made her understand.

His respiration quickened with anticipation. He knew exactly when he planned to order 2224 executed. He’d order it to kill itself, he decided, after making it watch. After he had Obi-Wan’s mouth on him, after--

His sweet musings were interrupted when Obi-Wan’s emotions shifted, all at once, agony and grief peeling away to reveal something cool and calm and flat. He jerked at the same instant he felt Obi-Wan’s fingers curl around his lightsaber, and--

Vader shoved him back, immediately, with the Force, the saber activating even as he tossed Obi-Wan across the room. A second later and it would have carved up through his gut. Obi-Wan had activated it while it was pressed close to his skin, had intended to kill him and--

Fury and betrayal swirled through Vader’s mind as he lurched to his feet, drawing the Force around him, watching Obi-Wan grip his lightsaber, the red blade glowing across his skin, his eyes fierce and blue, sharp all of a sudden, all the misery he’d worn just pulled away, like a mask, like they’d been put-on, which was impossible.

Vader snarled, reaching for the controls for the collar, and the ground shook under him. Around the room the troopers were moving, suddenly, opening fire on 2224, who jerked away, impossibly, he should have stayed where he was, unmoving, not fired back at them, grunting when a blaster shot caught him in his side before some of the other troopers opened fire, taking out each other, not--

Vader didn’t understand what was happening. It didn’t matter. He moved to activate the controls, to bring Obi-Wan to heel, and 2224 said, “Skywalker.”

Vader blinked, surprise making him look over, sure he’d misheard and--

“For Trip,” 2224 said, calm and flat, as he shot the controls on Vader’s arm, sparks jumping out of the suit even as the rest of the troopers not on the ground opened fire on him. Vader roared in fury, unsure how Obi-Wan had managed this, how he’d managed to corrupt the clones’ programming, but none of that mattered.

Vader could figure that out later. After they were all dead. He lashed out with the Force, throwing them back, lifting three of them into the air at once, grip choking around their throats. He would kill them, oh yes. All of them, one after another, the entire 212th, ending with Obi-Wan. He’d make Obi-Wan watch each of them die, make sure he couldn’t look away, make sure--

He tightened his grip in the Force and made a hoarse, surprised sound when the troopers fell, anyway, his power pulled apart. The Force shifted in the room, swelling up, sweet and sharp, and he looked over, confusion coursing through him, to find Obi-Wan on his feet, saber shaking, breathing hard, what remained of his left arm stretched out.

“I won’t let you hurt them. Ever again,” Obi-Wan panted, eyes blazing, power coursing out of him, holding Vader back, which was impossible. Obi-Wan had ever been able to match him, but Vader had taken care of that, restrained him--

And the collar lay on the floor, twisted, the edges still smoking faintly from the blade of his saber. Vader snarled, moving towards Obi-Wan, fury building in his bones, all his focus on his old master. Blaster bolts hit across his shoulders and back, his chest, deflected by all the shielding in his suit, and then there was another explosion, closer, rocking the room.

Sparks jumped inside his systems, when it hit, a few warnings going off and silencing at once. His respiratory system stopped responding; as did his cardiac. The next blaster bolt hit true, and he stumbled back a step, and then another, as more bolts hit him.

He needed to get out, get away from this madness. Institute repairs. His chest split with agony as his heart struggled to keep beating without mechanical support. He wheezed, gasping for breath inside his helmet, driven back further, until he hit the wall, gripping at the edge of the window.

“No!” he panted, raising one hand, rage and sharp fear echoing through him, allowing him to pull hard on the Force. He lashed out at Obi-Wan, the source of all of this trouble, and heard him cry out, sharply, as half the room came down in the grip of Vader’s power.

Stone and rock spilled across the floor, choking dust swirling through the air, giving Vader a moment to sway, his access to the Force no longer so restrained. Everything hurt. He didn’t - it was impossible. There were alarms going off, everywhere, and no one had come to help him. He hurt. He’d--this was all wrong. Impossible and wrong.

He looked around, as the air currents rising off of the lava moved through the room, clearing some of the smoke. He found cold, furious faces everywhere, and Obi-Wan, up on one knee, somehow, looking up at him with his shining blue eyes, saber dropped so he could extend his right hand, shaking with the effort of restraining Vader’s use of the Force.

The troopers opened fire on him, all at once and it - his suit wasn’t working properly. He felt each impact, terrible.

“Master!” he wailed, unable to breathe, heart stuttering, tripping, because Obi-Wan had so many weak spots and he knew he was one of them. Obi-Wan wouldn’t let them actually kill him. It wasn’t the Jedi way, after all.

A blaster shot caught him dead center in his helmet, shoving him back, almost over-balancing him. “For Dart,” 2224 said, flat, as Vader gripped at the edge of the open window. 2224 stared at him, his eyes dark and terrible even as he bled from the blaster wound in his side, even as he made a sharp sign with his hand and the blaster fire stopped. “For all our brothers.”

Vader gasped, choking, planning to take advantage of their foolish mercy. He started, “Obi-Wan--”

And 2224 said, “Yes,” grimly. “For Obi-Wan.” And he pulled the trigger once more, stepped forward while Vader was reeling, and kicked him, impossible force behind the blow. Vader made a sound, heard it echo in his helmet, as he overbalanced, grabbing for the edge of the window and missing and--

Cody leaned out over the side of the window, listening to further explosions go off, exactly as they should have. The EMP had worked well, he thought. A nice touch. It would have been enough to take Skywalker out, even without Obi-Wan’s help.

But Obi-Wan’s help meant they hadn’t lost more men, and--and that split something open, inside Cody’s chest. Obi-Wan had still fought for them. After everything, he’d tried to put himself between them and Skywalker.

And so Cody stared down into the lava, so far below, watching as it closed over Vader’s head, his one outstretched hand. He ignored the pain in his side, hot and cold at the same time, and the feel of blood sliding across his skin. The shot had gone clean through and he knew he was losing blood, lots of it.

It didn’t feel terribly important, at the moment. “Sir?” Crys asked, stepping up beside him, blaster still in hand. “Did you get visual confirmation?”

Cody spat over the edge, turned away, and said, “Yes. He’s dead. Let’s go.”

They weren’t done.

Not yet.

He’d killed Skywalker. He’d freed most of his brothers and the rest were going to be sorted. All that was left, he considered, turning away from the fire, was getting Obi-Wan out of here. Making him safe and never letting anyone hurt him, ever again.

#whumptober2020 #no.5 #rescue #clone wars #fic #torture #mentions of non con #mentions of suicide #character death #loss of a limb #mistreatment of prisoners #mind control #oof!au #my writing #codywan #vaderwan #please heed the warnings #i've been waiting for this part for so long

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